More Jataka Tales

By

Ellen C. Babbitt



I

The Girl Monkey And The String Of Pearls


One day the king went for a long walk in the woods. When he came back to his own garden, he sent for his family to come down to the lake for a swim.

When they were all ready to go into the water, the queen and her ladies left their jewels in charge of the servants, and then went down into the lake.

As the queen put her string of pearls away in a box, she was watched by a Girl Monkey who sat in the branches of a tree near-by. This Girl Monkey wanted to get the queen's string of pearls, so she sat still and watched, hoping that the servant in charge of the pearls would go to sleep.

At first the servant kept her eyes on the jewel-box. But by and by she began to nod, and then she fell fast asleep.

As soon as the Monkey saw this, quick as the wind she jumped down, opened the box, picked up the string of pearls, and quick as the wind she was up in the tree again, holding the pearls very carefully. She put the string of pearls on, and then, for fear the guards in the garden would see the pearls, the Monkey hid them in a hole in the tree. Then she sat near-by looking as if nothing had happened.

By and by the servant awoke. She looked in the box, and finding that the string of pearls was not there, she cried, "A man has run off with the queen's string of pearls."

Up ran the guards from every side.

The servant said: "I sat right here beside the box where the queen put her string of pearls. I did not move from the place. But the day is hot, and I was tired. I must have fallen asleep. The pearls were gone when I awoke."

The guards told the king that the pearls were gone.

"Find the man who stole the pearls," said the king. Away went the guards looking high and low for the thief.

After the king had gone, the chief guard said to himself:

"There is something strange here. These pearls," thought he, "were lost in the garden. There was a strong guard at the gates, so that no one from the outside could get into the garden. On the other hand, there are hundreds of Monkeys here in the garden. Perhaps one of the Girl Monkeys took the string of pearls."

Then the chief guard thought of a trick that would tell whether a Girl Monkey had taken the pearls. So he bought a number of strings of bright-colored glass beads.

After dark that night the guards hung the strings of glass beads here and there on the low bushes in the garden. When the Monkeys saw the strings of bright-colored beads the next morning, each Monkey ran for a string.

But the Girl Monkey who had taken the queen's string of pearls did not come down. She sat near the hole where she had hidden the pearls.

The other Monkeys were greatly pleased with their strings of beads. They chattered to one another about them. "It is too bad you did not get one," they said to her as she sat quietly, saying nothing. At last she could stand it no longer. She put on the queen's string of pearls and came down, saying proudly: "You have only strings of glass beads. See my string of pearls!"

Then the chief of the guards, who had been hiding nearby, caught the Girl Monkey. He took her at once to the king.

"It was this Girl Monkey, your Majesty, who took the pearls."

The king was glad enough to get the pearls, but he asked the chief guard how he had found out who took them.

The chief guard told the king that he knew no one could have come into the garden and so he thought they must have been taken by one of the Monkeys in the garden. Then he told the king about the trick he had played with the beads.

"You are the right man in the right place," said the king, and he thanked the chief of the guards over and over again.



II.

The Three Fishes


Once upon a time three Fishes lived in a far-away river. They were named Thoughtful, Very-Thoughtful, and Thoughtless.

One day they left the wild country where no men lived, and came down the river to live near a town.

Very-Thoughtful said to the other two: "There is danger all about us here. Fishermen come to the river here to catch fish with all sorts of nets and lines. Let us go back again to the wild country where we used to live."

But the other two Fishes were so lazy and so greedy that they kept putting off their going from day to day.

But one day Thoughtful and Thoughtless went swimming on ahead of Very-Thoughtful and they did not see the fisherman's net and rushed into it. Very-Thoughtful saw them rush into the net.

"I must save them," said Very-Thoughtful.

So swimming around the net, he splashed in the water in front of it, like a Fish that had broken through the net and gone up the river. Then he swam back of the net and splashed about there like a Fish that had broken through and gone down the river.

The fisherman saw the splashing water and thought the Fishes had broken through the net and that one had gone up the river, the other down, so he pulled in the net by one corner. That let the two Fishes out of the net and away they went to find Very-Thoughtful.

"You saved our lives, Very-Thoughtful," they said, "and now we are willing to go back to the wild country."

So back they all went to their old home where they lived safely ever after.




III

The Tricky Wolf And The Rats


Once upon a time a Big Rat lived in the forest, and many hundreds of other Rats called him their Chief.

A Tricky Wolf saw this troop of Rats, and began to plan how he could catch them. He wanted to eat them, but how was he to get them? At last he thought of a plan. He went to a corner near the home of the Rats and waited until he saw one of them coming. Then he stood up on his hind legs.

The Chief of the Rats said to the Wolf, "Wolf, why do you stand on your hind legs?"

"Because I am lame," said the Tricky Wolf. "It hurts me to stand on my front legs."

"And why do you keep your mouth open?" asked the Rat.

"I keep my mouth open so that I may drink in all the air I can," said the Wolf. "I live on air; it is my only food day after day. I can not run or walk, so I stay here. I try not to complain." When the Rats went away the Wolf lay down.

The Chief of the Rats was sorry for the Wolf, and he went each night and morning with all the other Rats to talk with the Wolf, who seemed so poor, and who did not complain.

Each time as the Rats were leaving, the Wolf caught and ate the last one. Then he wiped his lips, and looked as if nothing had happened.

Each night there were fewer Rats at bedtime. Then they asked the Chief of the Rats what the trouble was. He could not be sure, but he thought the Wolf was to blame.

So the next day the Chief said to the other Rats, "You go first this time and I will go last."

They did so, and as the Chief of the Rats went by, the Wolf made a spring at him. But the Wolf was not quick enough, and the Chief of the Rats got away.

"So this is the food you eat. Your legs are not so lame as they were. You have played your last trick, Wolf," said the Chief of the Rats, springing at the Wolf's throat. He bit the Wolf, so that he died.

And ever after the Rats lived happily in peace and quiet.




IV

The Woodpecker, Turtle, And Deer


Once upon a time a Deer lived in a forest near a lake. Not far from the same lake, a Woodpecker had a nest in the top of a tree; and in the lake lived a Turtle. The three were friends, and lived together happily.

A hunter, wandering about in the wood, saw the footprints of the Deer near the edge of the lake. "I must trap the Deer, going down into the water," he said, and setting a strong trap of leather, he went his way.

Early that night when the Deer went down to drink, he was caught in the trap, and he cried the cry of capture.

At once the Woodpecker flew down from her tree-top, and the Turtle came out of the water to see what could be done.

Said the Woodpecker to the Turtle: "Friend, you have teeth; you gnaw through the leather trap. I will go and see to it that the hunter keeps away. If we both do our best our friend will not lose his life."

So the Turtle began to gnaw the leather, and the Woodpecker flew to the hunter's house.

At dawn the hunter came, knife in hand, to the front door of his house.

The Woodpecker, flapping her wings, flew at the hunter and struck him in the face.

The hunter turned back into the house and lay down for a little while. Then he rose up again, and took his knife. He said to himself: "When I went out by the front door, a Bird flew in my face; now I will go out by the back door." So he did.

The Woodpecker thought: "The hunter went out by the front door before, so now he will leave by the back door." So the Woodpecker sat in a tree near the back door.

When the hunter came out the bird flew at him again, flapping her wings in the hunter's face.

Then the hunter turned back and lay down again. When the sun arose, he took his knife, and started out once more.

This time the Woodpecker flew back as fast as she could fly to her friends, crying, "Here comes the hunter!"

By this time the Turtle had gnawed through all the pieces of the trap but one. The leather was so hard that it made his teeth feel as if they would fall out. His mouth was all covered with blood. The Deer heard the Woodpecker, and saw the hunter, knife in hand, coming on. With a strong pull the Deer broke this last piece of the trap, and ran into the woods.

The Woodpecker flew up to her nest in the tree-top.

But the Turtle was so weak he could not get away. He lay where he was. The hunter picked him up and threw him into a bag, tying it to a tree.

The Deer saw that the Turtle was taken, and made up his mind to save his friend's life. So the Deer let the hunter see him.

The hunter seized his knife and started after the Deer. The Deer, keeping just out of his reach, led the hunter into the forest.

When the Deer saw that they had gone far into the forest he slipped away from the hunter, and swift as the wind, he went by another way to where he had left the Turtle.

But the Turtle was not there. The Deer called, "Turtle, Turtle!"; and the Turtle called out, "Here I am in a bag hanging on this tree."

Then the Deer lifted the bag with his horns, and throwing it upon the ground, he tore the bag open, and let the Turtle out.

The Woodpecker flew down from her nest, and the Deer said to them: "You two friends saved my life, but if we stay here talking, the hunter will find us, and we may not get away. So do you, Friend Woodpecker, fly away. And you, Friend Turtle, dive into the water. I will hide in the forest."

The hunter did come back, but neither the Deer, nor the Turtle, nor the Woodpecker was to be seen. He found his torn bag, and picking that up he went back to his home.

The three friends lived together all the rest of their lives.




V

The Golden Goose


Once upon a time there was a Goose who had beautiful golden feathers. Not far away from this Goose lived a poor, a very poor woman, who had two daughters. The Goose saw that they had a hard time to get along and said he to himself:

"If I give them one after another of my golden feathers, the mother can sell them, and with the money they bring she and her daughters can then live in comfort."

So away the Goose flew to the poor woman's house.

Seeing the Goose, the woman said: "Why do you come here? We have nothing to give you."

"But I have something to give you," said the Goose. "I will give my feathers, one by one, and you can sell them for enough so that you and your daughters can live in comfort."

So saying the Goose gave her one of his feathers, and then flew away. From time to time he came back, each time leaving another feather.

The mother and her daughters sold the beautiful feathers for enough money to keep them in comfort. But one day the mother said to her daughters: "Let us not trust this Goose. Some day he may fly away and never come back. Then we should be poor again. Let us get all of his feathers the very next time he comes."

The daughters said: "This will hurt the Goose. We will not do such a thing."

But the mother was greedy. The next time the Golden Goose came she took hold of him with both hands, and pulled out every one of his feathers.

Now the Golden Goose has strange feathers. If his feathers are plucked out against his wish, they no longer remain golden but turn white and are of no more value than chicken-feathers. The new ones that come in are not golden, but plain white.

As time went on his feathers grew again, and then he flew away to his home and never came back again.




VI

The Stupid Monkeys


Once upon a time a king gave a holiday to all the people in one of his cities.

The king's gardener thought to himself: "All my friends are having a holiday in the city. I could go into the city and enjoy myself with them if I did not have to water the trees here in this garden. I know what I will do. I will get the Monkeys to water the young trees for me." In those days, a tribe of Monkeys lived in the king's garden.

So the gardener went to the Chief of the Monkeys, and said: "You are lucky Monkeys to be living in the king's garden. You have a fine place to play in. You have the best of food -- nuts, fruit, and the young shoots of trees to eat. You have no work at all to do. You can play all day, every day. To-day my friends are having a holiday in the city, and I want to enjoy myself with them. Will you water the young trees so that I can go away?"

"Oh, yes!" said the Chief of the Monkeys. "We shall be glad to do that."

"Do not forget to water the trees when the sun goes down. See they have plenty of water, but not too much," said the gardener. Then he showed them where the watering-pots were kept, and went away.

When the sun went down the Monkeys took the watering-pots, and began to water the young trees. "See that each tree has enough water," said the Chief of the Monkeys.

"How shall we know when each tree has enough?" they asked. The Chief of the Monkeys had no good answer, so he said: "Pull up each young tree and look at the length of its roots. Give a great deal of water to those with long roots, but only a little to those trees that have short roots."

Then those stupid Monkeys pulled up all the young trees to see which trees had long roots and which had short roots.

When the gardener came back the next day, the poor young trees were all dead.




VII

The Cunning Wolf


Once upon a time the people in a certain town went out into the woods for a holiday. They took baskets full of good things to eat. But when noontime came they ate all the meat they had brought with them, not leaving any for supper.

"I will get some fresh meat. We will make a fire here and roast it," said one of the men.

So taking a club, he went to the lake where the animals came to drink. He lay down, club in hand, pretending to be dead.

When the animals came down to the lake they saw the man lying there and they watched him for some time.

"That man is playing a trick on us, I believe," said the King of the Wolves. "The rest of you stay here while I will see whether he is really dead, or whether he is pretending to be dead."

Then the cunning King of the Wolves crept up to the man and slyly pulled at his club.

At once the man pulled back on his club.

Then the King of the Wolves ran off saying: "If you had been dead, you would not have pulled back on your club when I tried to pull it away. I see your trick. You pretend you are dead so that you may kill one of us for your supper."

The man jumped up and threw his club at the King of the Wolves. But he missed his aim. He looked for the other animals but there was not one in sight. They had all run away.


Then the man went back to his friends, saying: "I tried to get fresh meat by playing a trick on the animals, but the cunning Wolf played a better trick on me, and I could not get one of them."




VIII

The Penny-Wise Monkey


Once upon a time the king of a large and rich country gathered together his army to take a faraway little country. The king and his soldiers marched all morning long and then went into camp in the forest.

When they fed the horses they gave them some peas to eat. One of the Monkeys living in the forest saw the peas and jumped down to get some of them. He filled his mouth and hands with them, and up into the tree he went again, and sat down to eat the peas.

As he sat there eating the peas, one pea fell from his hand to the ground. At once the greedy Monkey dropped all the peas he had in his hands, and ran down to hunt for the lost pea. But he could not find that one pea. He climbed up into his tree again, and sat still looking very glum. "To get more, I threw away what I had," he said to himself.

The king had watched the Monkey, and he said to himself: "I will not be like this foolish Monkey, who lost much to gain a little. I will go back to my own country and enjoy what I now have."

So he and his men marched back home.




IX

The Red-Bud Tree


Once upon a time four young princes heard a story about a certain wonderful tree, called the Red-Bud Tree. No one of them had ever seen a Red-Bud Tree, and each prince wished to be the first to see one. So the eldest prince asked the driver of the king's chariot to take him deep into the woods where this tree grew. It was still very early in the spring and the tree had no leaves, nor buds. It was black and bare like a dead tree. The prince could not understand why this was called a Red-Bud Tree, but he asked no questions.

Later in the spring, the next son went with the driver of the king's chariot to see the Red-Bud Tree. At this time it was covered with red buds.

The tree was all covered with green leaves when the third son went into the woods a little later to see it. He asked no questions about it, but he could see no reason for calling it the Red-Bud Tree.

Some time after this the youngest prince begged to be taken to see the Red-Bud Tree. By this time it was covered with little bean-pods.

When he came back from the woods he ran into the garden where his brothers were playing, crying, "I have seen the Red-Bud Tree."

"So have I," said the eldest prince. "It did not look like much of a tree to me," said he; "it looked like a dead tree. It was black and bare."

"What makes you say that?" said the second son. "The tree has hundreds of beautiful red buds. This is why it is called the Red-Bud Tree."

The third prince said: "Red buds, did you say? Why do you say it has red buds? It is covered with green leaves."

The prince who had seen the tree last laughed at his brothers, saying: "I have just seen that tree, and it is not like a dead tree. It has neither red buds nor green leaves on it. It is covered with little bean-pods."

The king heard them and waited until they stopped talking. Then he said: "My sons, you have all four seen the same tree, but each of you saw it at a different time of the year."




X

The Woodpecker And The Lion


One day while a Lion was eating his dinner a bone stuck in his throat. It hurt so that he could not finish his dinner. He walked up and down, up and down, roaring with pain.

A Woodpecker lit on a branch of a tree near-by, and hearing the Lion, she said, "Friend, what ails you?" The Lion told the Woodpecker what the matter was, and the Woodpecker said: "I would take the bone out of your throat, friend, but I do not dare to put my head into your mouth, for fear I might never get it out again. I am afraid you might eat me."

"O Woodpecker, do not be afraid," the Lion said. "I will not eat you. Save my life if you can!"

"I will see what I can do for you," said the Woodpecker. "Open your mouth wide." The Lion did as he was told, but the Woodpecker said to himself: "Who knows what this Lion will do? I think I will be careful."

So the Woodpecker put a stick between the Lion's upper and lower jaws so that he could not shut his mouth.

Then the Woodpecker hopped into the Lion's mouth and hit the end of the bone with his beak. The second time he hit it, the bone fell out.

The Woodpecker hopped out of the Lion's mouth, and hit the stick so that it too fell out. Then the Lion could shut his mouth.

At once the Lion felt very much better, but not one word of thanks did he say to the Woodpecker.

One day later in the summer, the Woodpecker said to the Lion, "I want you to do something for me."

"Do something for you?" said the Lion. "You mean you want me to do something more for you. I have already done a great deal for you. You cannot expect me to do anything more for you. Do not forget that once I had you in my mouth, and I let you go. That is all that you can ever expect me to do for you."

The Woodpecker said no more, but he kept away from the Lion from that day on.




XI

The Otters And The Wolf


One day a Wolf said to her mate, "A longing has come upon me to eat fresh fish."

"I will go and get some for you," said he and he went down to the river.

There he saw two Otters standing on the bank looking for fish. Soon one of the Otters saw a great fish, and entering the water with a bound, he caught hold of the tail of the fish.

But the fish was strong and swam away, dragging the Otter after him. "Come and help me," the Otter called back to his friend. "This great fish will be enough for both of us!"

So the other Otter went into the water. The two together were able to bring the fish to land. "Let us divide the fish into two parts."

"I want the half with the head on," said one.

"You cannot have that half. That is mine," said the other. "You take the tail."

The Wolf heard the Otters and he went up to them.

Seeing the Wolf, the Otters said: "Lord of the gray-grass color, this fish was caught by both of us together. We cannot agree about dividing him. Will you divide him for us?"

The Wolf cut off the tail and gave it to one, giving the head to the other. He took the large middle part for himself, saying to them, "You can eat the head and the tail without quarreling." And away he ran with the body of the fish. The Otters stood and looked at each other. They had nothing to say, but each thought to himself that the Wolf had run off with the best of the fish.

The Wolf was pleased and said to himself, as he ran toward home, "Now I have fresh fish for my mate."

His mate, seeing him coming, came to meet him, saying: "How did you get fish? You live on land, not in the water."

Then he told her of the quarrel of the Otters. "I took the fish as pay for settling their quarrel," said he.




XII

How The Monkey Saved His Troop


A mango-tree grew on the bank of a great river. The fruit fell from some of the branches of this tree into the river, and from other branches it fell on the ground.

Every night a troop of Monkeys gathered the fruit that lay on the ground and climbed up into the tree to get the mangoes, which were like large, juicy peaches.

One day the king of the country stood on the bank of this same river, but many miles below where the mango-tree grew. The king was watching the fishermen with their nets.

As they drew in their nets, the fishermen found not only fishes but a strange fruit. They went to the king with the strange fruit. "What is this?" asked the king. "We do not know, O King," they said.

"Call the foresters," said the king, "They will know what it is."

So they called the foresters and they said that it was a mango.

"Is it good to eat?" asked the king.

The foresters said it was very good. So the king cut the mango and giving some to the princes, he ate some of it himself. He liked it very much, and they all liked it.

Then the king said to the foresters, "Where does the mango-tree grow?"

The foresters told him that it grew on the river bank many miles farther up the river.

"Let us go and see the tree and get some mangoes," said the king.

So he had many rafts joined together, and they went up the river until they came to the place where the mango-tree grew.

The foresters said, "O King, this is the mango-tree."

"We will land here," said the king, and they did so. The king and all the men with him gathered the mangoes that lay on the ground under the tree. They all liked them so well that the king said, "Let us stay here to-night, and gather more fruit in the morning." So they had their supper under the trees, and then lay down to sleep.

When all was quiet, the Chief of the Monkeys came with his troop. All the mangoes on the ground had been eaten, so the monkeys jumped from branch to branch, picking and eating mangoes, and chattering to one another. They made so much noise that they woke up the king. He called his archers saying: "Stand under the mango-tree and shoot the Monkeys as they come down to the ground to get away. Then in the morning we shall have Monkey's flesh as well as mangoes to eat."

The Monkeys saw the archers standing around with their arrows ready to shoot. Fearing death, the Monkeys ran to their Chief, saying: "O Chief, the archers stand around the tree ready to shoot us! What shall we do?" They shook with fear.

The Chief said: "Do not fear; I will save you. Stay where you are until I call you."

The Monkeys were comforted, for he had always helped them whenever they had needed help.

Then the Chief of the Monkeys ran out on the branch of the mango-tree that hung out over the river. The long branches of the tree across the river did not quite meet the branch he stood on. The Chief said to himself: "If the Monkeys try to jump across from this tree to that, some of them will fall into the water and drown. I must save them, but how am I to do it? I know what I shall do. I shall make a bridge of my back."

So the Chief reached across and took hold of the longest branch of the tree across the river. He called, "Come, Monkeys; run out on this branch, step on my back, and then run along the branch of the other tree."

The Monkeys did as the Chief told them to do. They ran along the branch, stepped on his back, then ran along the branch of the other tree. They swung themselves down to the ground, and away they went back to their home.

The king saw all that was done by the Chief and his troop. "That big Monkey," said the king to the archers, "saved the whole troop. I will see to it that he is taken care of the rest of his life."

And the king kept his promise.




XIII

The Hawks And Their Friends


A family of Hawks lived on an island in a lake not far from the great forest. On the northern shore of this lake lived a Lion, King of Beasts. On the eastern shore lived a Kingfisher. On the southern shore of the lake lived a Turtle.

"Have you many friends near here?" the Mother Hawk asked the Father Hawk.

"No, not one in this part of the forest," he said.

"You must find some friends. We must have some one who can help us if ever we are in danger, or in trouble," said the Mother Hawk.

"With whom shall I make friends?" asked the Father Hawk.

"With the Kingfisher, who lives on the eastern shore, and with the Lion on the north," said the Mother Hawk, "and with the Turtle who lives on the southern shore of this lake."

The Father Hawk did so.

One day men hunted in the great forest from morning until night, but found nothing. Not wishing to go home empty-handed, they went to the island to see what they could find there.

"Let us stay here to-night," they said, "and see what we can find in the morning."

So they made beds of leaves for themselves and lay down to sleep. They had made their beds under the tree in which the Hawks had their nest.

But the hunters could not go to sleep because they were bothered by the flies and mosquitoes. At last the hunters got up and made a fire on the shore of the lake, so that the smoke would drive away the flies and mosquitoes. The smoke awoke the birds, and the young ones cried out.

"Did you hear that?" said one of the hunters. "That was the cry of birds! They will do very well for our breakfast. There are young ones in that nest." And the hunters put more wood on the fire, and made it blaze up.

Then the Mother bird said to the Father: "These men are planning to eat our young ones. We must ask our friends to save us. Go to the Kingfisher and tell him what danger we are in."

The Father Hawk flew with all speed to the Kingfisher's nest and woke him with his cry.

"Why have you come?" asked the Kingfisher.

Then the Father Hawk told the Kingfisher what the hunters planned to do.

"Fear not," said the Kingfisher. "I will help you. Go back quickly and comfort my friend your mate, and say that I am coming."

So the Father Hawk flew back to his nest, and the Kingfisher flew to the island and went into the lake near the place where the fire was burning.

While the Father Hawk was away, one of the hunters had climbed up into the tree. Just as he neared the nest, the Kingfisher, beating the water with his wings, sprinkled water on the fire and put it out.

Down came the hunter to make another fire. When it was burning well he climbed the tree again. Once more the Kingfisher put it out. As often as a fire was made, the Kingfisher put it out. Midnight came and the Kingfisher was now very tired.

The Mother Hawk noticed this and said to her mate: "The Kingfisher is tired out. Go and ask the Turtle to help us so that the Kingfisher may have a rest."

The Father Hawk flew down and said, "Rest awhile, Friend Kingfisher; I will go and get the Turtle."

So the Father Hawk flew to the southern shore and wakened the Turtle.

"What is your errand, Friend?" asked the Turtle.

"Danger has come to us," said the Father Hawk, and he told the Turtle about the hunters. "The Kingfisher has been working for hours, and now he is very tired. That is why I have come to you."

The Turtle said, "I will help you at once."

Then the Turtle went to the island where the Hawks lived. He dived into the water, collected some mud, and put out the fire with it. Then he lay still.

The hunters cried: "Why should we bother to get the young Hawks? Let us kill this Turtle. He will make a fine breakfast for all of us. We must be careful or he will bite us. Let us throw a net over him and turn him over."

They had no nets with them, so they took some vines, and tore their clothes into strings and made a net.

But when they had put the net all over the Turtle, they could not roll him over. Instead, the Turtle suddenly dived down into the deep water. The men were so eager to get him that they did not let go of the net, so down they went into the water. As they came out they said: "Half the night a Kingfisher kept putting out our fires. Now we have torn our clothes and got all wet trying to get this Turtle. We will build another fire, and at sunrise we will eat those young Hawks." And they began to build another fire.

The Mother Hawk heard them, and said to her mate: "Sooner or later these men will get our young. Do go and tell our friend the Lion."

At once the Father Hawk flew to the Lion.

"Why do you come at this hour of the night?" asked the Lion.

The Hawk told him the whole story.

The Lion said: "I will come at once. You go back and comfort your mate and the young ones." Soon the Lion came roaring.

When the hunters heard the Lion's roar they cried, "Now we shall all be killed." And away they ran as fast as they could go.

When the Lion came to the foot of the tree, not one of the hunters was to be seen. Then the Kingfisher and the Turtle came up, and the Hawks said: "You have saved us. Friends in need are friends indeed."




XIV

The Brave Little Bowman


Once upon a time there was a little man with a crooked back who was called the wise little bowman because he used his bow and arrow so very well. This crooked little man said to himself: "If I go to the king and ask him to let me join his army, he's sure to ask what a little man like me is good for. I must find some great big man who will take me as his page, and ask the king to take us." So the little bowman went about the city looking for a big man.

One day he saw a big, strong man digging a ditch "What makes a fine big man like you do such work?" asked the little man.

"I do this work because I can earn a living in no other way," said the big man.

"Dig no more," said the bowman. "There is in this whole country no such bowman as I am; but no king would let me join his army because I am such a little man. I want you to ask the king to let you join the army. He will take you because you are big and strong. I will do the work that you are given to do, and we will divide the pay. In this way we shall both of us earn a good living. Will you come with me and do as I tell you?" asked the little bowman.

"Yes, I will go with you," said the big man.

So together they set out to go to the king. By and by they came to the gates of the palace, and sent word to the king that a wonderful bowman was there. The king sent for the bowman to come before him. Both the big man and the little man went in and, bowing, stood before the king.

The king looked at the big man and asked, "What brings you here?"

"I want to be in your army," said the big man.

"Who is the little man with you?" asked the king.

"He is my page," said the big man.

"What pay do you want?" asked the king.

"A thousand pieces a month for me and my page, O King," said the big man.

"I will take you and your page," said the king.

So the big man and the little bowman joined the king's army.

Now in those days there was a tiger in the forest who had carried off many people. The king sent for the big man and told him to kill that tiger.

The big man told the little bowman what the king said. They went into the forest together, and soon the little bowman shot the tiger.

The king was glad to be rid of the tiger, and gave the big man rich gifts and praised him.

Another day word came that a buffalo was running up and down a certain road. The king told the big man to go and kill that buffalo. The big man and the little man went to the road, and soon the little man shot the buffalo. When they both went back to the king, he gave a bag of money to the big man.

The king and all the people praised the big man, and so one day the big man said to the little man: "I can get on without you. Do you think there's no bowman but yourself?" Many other harsh and unkind things did he say to the little man.

But a few days later a king from a far country marched upon the city and sent a message to its king saying, "Give up your country, or do battle."

The king at once sent his army. The big man was armed and mounted on a war-elephant. But the little bowman knew that the big man could not shoot, so he took his bow and seated himself behind the big man.

Then the war-elephant, at the head of the army, went out of the city. At the first beat of the drums, the big man shook with fear. "Hold on tight," said the little bowman. "If you fall off now, you will be killed. You need not be afraid; I am here."

But the big man was so afraid that he slipped down off the war-elephant's back, and ran back into the city. He did not stop until he reached his home.

"And now to win!" said the little bowman, as he drove the war-elephant into the fight. The army broke into the camp of the king that came from afar, and drove him back to his own country. Then the little bowman led the army back into the city. The king and all the people called him "the brave little bowman." The king made him the chief of the army, giving him rich gifts.




XV

The Foolhardy Wolf


A lion bounded forth from his lair one day, looking north, west, south, and east. He saw a Buffalo and went to kill him.

The Lion ate all of the Buffalo-meat he wanted, and then went down to the lake for a drink.

As the Lion turned to go toward his den for a nap, he came upon a hungry Wolf.

The Wolf had no chance to get away, so he threw himself at the Lion's feet.

"What do you want?" the Lion asked.

"O Lion, let me be your servant," said the Wolf. "Very well," said the Lion, "serve me, and you shall have good food to eat."

So saying, the Lion went into his den for his nap. When he woke up, the Lion said to the Wolf: "Each day you must go to the mountain top, and see whether there are any elephants, or ponies, or buffaloes about. If you see any, come to me and say: 'Great Lion, come forth in thy might. Food is in sight.' Then I will kill and eat, and give part of the meat to you."

So day after day the Wolf climbed to the mountain top, and seeing a pony, or a buffalo, or an elephant, he went back to the den, and falling at the Lion's feet he said: "Great Lion, come forth in thy might. Food is in sight."

Then the Lion would bound forth and kill whichever beast it was, sharing the meat with the Wolf.

Now this Wolf had never had such fine meat to eat, nor so much. So as time went on, the Wolf grew bigger and bigger, and stronger and stronger, until he was really proud of his great size and strength.

"See how big and strong I am," he said to himself.

"Why am I living day after day on food given me by another? I will kill for my own eating. I'll kill an elephant for myself."

So the Wolf went to the Lion, and said: "I want to eat an elephant of my own killing. Will you let me lie in your corner in the den, while you climb the mountain to look out for an elephant? Then when you see one, you come to the den and say, 'Great Wolf, come forth in thy might. Food is in sight.' Then I will kill the elephant."

Said the Lion: "Wolf, only Lions can kill elephants. The world has never seen a Wolf that could kill an elephant. Give up this notion of yours, and eat what I kill."

But no matter what the Lion said, the Wolf would not give way. So at last the Lion said: "Well, have your own way. Lie down in the den, and I will climb to the top of the mountain."

When he saw an elephant the Lion went back to the mouth of the cave, and said: "Great Wolf, come forth in thy might. Food is in sight."

Then from the den the Wolf nimbly bounded forth, ran to where the elephant was, and, howling three times, he sprang at the elephant.

But the Wolf missed his aim, and fell down at the elephant's feet. The elephant raised his right foot and killed the Wolf.

Seeing all this, the Lion said, "You will no more come forth in your might, you foolhardy Wolf."




XVI

The Stolen Plow


At one time there were two traders who were great friends. One of them lived in a small village, and one lived in a large town near-by.

One day the village trader took his plow to the large town to have it mended. Then he left it with the trader who lived there. After some time the town trader sold the plow, and kept the money.

When the trader from the village came to get his plow the town trader said, "The mice have eaten your plow."

"That is strange! How could mice eat such a thing?" said the village trader.

That afternoon when all the children went down to the river to go swimming, the village trader took the town trader's little son to the house of a friend saying, "Please keep this little boy here until I come back for him."

By and by the villager went back to the town trader's house.

"Where is my son? He went away with you. Why didn't you bring him back?" asked the town trader.

"I took him with me and left him on the bank of the river while I went down into the water," said the villager. "While I was swimming about a big bird seized your son, and flew up into the air with him. I shouted, but I could not make the bird let go," he said.

"That cannot be true," cried the town trader. "No bird could carry off a boy. I will go to the court, and you will have to go there, and tell the judge."

The villager said, "As you please"; and they both went to the court. The town trader said to the judge:

"This fellow took my son with him to the river, and when I asked where the boy was, he said that a bird had carried him off."

"What have you to say?" said the judge to the village trader.

"I told the father that I took the boy with me, and that a bird had carried him off," said the village trader.

"But where in the world are there birds strong enough to carry off boys?" said the judge.

"I have a question to ask you," answered the village trader. "If birds cannot carry off boys, can mice eat plows?"

"What do you mean by that?" asked the judge.

"I left my good plow with this man. When I came for it he told me that the mice had eaten it. If mice eat plows, then birds carry off boys; but if mice cannot do this, neither can birds carry off boys. This man says the mice ate my plow."

The judge said to the town trader, "Give back the plow to this man, and he will give your son back to you."

And the two traders went out of the court, and by night-time one had his son back again, and the other had his plow.




XVII

The Lion In Bad Company


One day a young Lion came suddenly upon a Wolf. The Wolf was not able to get away, so he said to the Lion: "Please, Great Lion, could you take me to your den, and let me live with you and your mate? I will work for you all my days."

This young Lion had been told by his father and mother not to make friends with any Wolf. But when this Wolf called him "Great Lion," he said to himself: "This Wolf is not bad. This Wolf is not like other Wolves." So he took the Wolf to the den where he lived with his father and mother.

Now this Lion's father was a fine old Lion, and he told his son that he did not like having this Wolf there. But the young Lion thought he knew better than his father, so the Wolf stayed in the den.

One day the Wolf wanted horse-flesh to eat, so he said to the young Lion, "Sir, there is nothing we have not eaten except horse-meat; let us take a horse."

"But where are there horses?" asked the Lion.

"There are small ponies on the river bank," said the Wolf.

So the young Lion went with the Wolf to the river bank when the ponies were bathing. The Lion caught a small pony, and throwing it on his back, he ran back to his den.

His father said: "My son, those ponies belong to the king. Kings have many skilful archers. Lions do not live long who eat ponies belonging to the king. Do not take another pony."

But the young Lion liked the taste of horse-meat, and he caught and killed pony after pony.

Soon the king heard that a Lion was killing the ponies when they went to bathe in the river. "Build a tank inside the town," said the king. "The lion will not get the ponies there." But the Lion killed the ponies as they bathed in the tank.

Then the king said the ponies must be kept in the stables. But the Lion went over the wall, and killed the ponies in their stables.

At last the king called an archer, who shot like lightning. "Do you think you can shoot this Lion?" the king asked him. The archer said that he was sure he could. "Very well," said the king, "take your place in the tower on the wall, and shoot him." So the archer waited there in the tower.

By and by the Lion and the Wolf came to the wall. The Wolf did not go over the wall but waited to see what would happen. The Lion sprang over the wall. Very soon he caught and killed a pony. Then the archer let fly an arrow.

The Lion roared, "I am shot."

Then the Wolf said to himself: "The Lion has been shot, and soon he will die. I will now go back to my old home in the woods." And so he did.

The Lion fell down dead.




XVIII

The Wise Goat And The Wolf


Once upon a time, many, many wild Goats lived in a cave in the side of a hill. A Wolf lived with his mate not far from this cave. Like all Wolves they liked the taste of Goat-meat. So they caught the Goats, one after another, and ate them all but one who was wiser than all the others. Try as they might, the Wolves could not catch her.

One day the Wolf said to his mate: "My dear, let us play a trick on that wise Goat. I will lie down here pretending to be dead. You go alone to the cave where the Goat lives, and looking very sad, say to her: 'My dear, do you see my mate lying there dead? I am so sad; I have no friends. Will you be good to me? Will you come and help me bury the body of my mate?' The Goat will be sorry for you and I think she will come here with you. When she stands beside me I will spring upon her and bite her in the neck. Then she will fall over dead, and we shall have good meat to eat."

The Wolf then lay down, and his mate went to the Goat, saying what she had been told to say.

But the wise Goat said: "My dear, all my family and friends have been eaten by your mate I am afraid to go one step with you. I am far safer here than I would be there."

"Do not be afraid," said the Wolf. "What harm can a dead Wolf do to you?"

These and many more words the Wolf said to the Goat, so that at last the Goat said she would go with the Wolf.

But as they went up the hill side by side, the Goat said to herself: "Who knows what will happen? How do I know the Wolf is dead?" She said to the Wolf, "I think it will be better if you go on in front of me."

The Wolf thought he heard them coming. He was hungry and he raised up his head to see if he could see them The Goat saw him raise his head, and she turned and ran back to her cave.

"Why did you raise your head when you were pretending to be dead?" the Wolf asked her mate. He had no good answer.

By and by the Wolves were both so very hungry that the Wolf asked his mate to try once more to catch the Goat.

This time the Wolf went to the Goat and said: "My friend, your coming helped us, for as soon as you came, my mate felt better. He is now very much better. Come and talk to him. Let us be friends and have a good time together."

The wise Goat thought: "These wicked Wolves want to play another trick on me. But I have thought of a trick to play on them." So the Goat said: "I will go to see your mate, and I will take my friends with me. You go back and get ready for us. Let us all have a good time together."

Then the Wolf was afraid, and she asked: "Who are the friends who will come with you? Tell me their names."

The wise Goat said: "I will bring the two Hounds, Old Gray and Young Tan, and that fine big dog called Four-Eyes. And I will ask each of them to bring his mate."

The Wolf waited to hear no more. She turned, and away she ran back to her mate. The Goat never saw either of them again.




XIX

Prince Wicked And The Grateful Animals


Once upon a time a king had a son named Prince Wicked. He was fierce and cruel, and he spoke to nobody without abuse, or blows. Like grit in the eye, was Prince Wicked to every one, both in the palace and out of it.

His people said to one another, "If he acts this way while he is a prince, how will he act when he is king?"

One day when the prince was swimming in the river, suddenly a great storm came on, and it grew very dark.

In the darkness the servants who were with the prince swam from him, saying to themselves, "Let us leave him alone in the river, and he may drown."

When they reached the shore, some of the servants who had not gone into the river said, "Where is Prince Wicked?"

"Isn't he here?" they asked. "Perhaps he came out of the river in the darkness and went home." Then the servants all went back to the palace.

The king asked where his son was, and again the servants said: "Isn't he here, O King? A great storm came on soon after we went into the water. It grew very dark. When we came out of the water the prince was not with us."

At once the king had the gates thrown open. He and all his men searched up and down the banks of the river for the missing prince. But no trace of him could be found.

In the darkness the prince had been swept down the river. He was crying for fear he would drown when he came across a log. He climbed upon the log, and floated farther down the river.

When the great storm arose, the water rushed into the homes of a Rat and a Snake who lived on the river bank. The Rat and the Snake swam out into the river and found the same log the prince had found. The Snake climbed upon one end of the log, and the Rat climbed upon the other.

On the river's bank a cottonwood-tree grew, and a young Parrot lived in its branches. The storm pulled up this tree, and it fell into the river. The heavy rain beat down the Parrot when it tried to fly, and it could not go far. Looking down it saw the log and flew down to rest. Now there were four on the log floating down stream together.

Just around the bend in the river a certain poor man had built himself a hut. As he walked to and fro late at night listening to the storm, he heard the loud cries of the prince. The poor man said to himself: "I must get that man out of the water. I must save his life." So he shouted: "I will save you! I will save you!" as he swam out in the river.

Soon he reached the log, and pushing it by one end, he soon pushed it into the bank. The prince jumped up and down, he was so glad to be safe and sound on dry land.

Then the poor man saw the Snake, the Rat, and the Parrot, and carried them to his hut. He built a fire, putting the animals near it so they could get dry. He took care of them first, because they were the weaker, and afterwards he looked after the comfort of the prince.

Then the poor man brought food and set it before them, looking after the animals first and the prince afterwards. This made the young prince angry, and he said to himself: "This poor man does not treat me like a prince. He takes care of the animals before taking care of me." Then the prince began to hate the poor man.

A few days later, when the prince, and the Snake, the Rat, and the Parrot were rested, and the storm was all over, the Snake said good-by to the poor man with these words:

"Father, you have been very kind to me. I know where there is some buried gold. If ever you want gold, you have only to come to my home and call, 'Snake!' and I will show you the buried gold. It shall all be yours."

Next the Rat said good-by to the poor man. "If ever you want money," said the Rat, "come to my home, and call out, 'Rat!' and I will show you where a great deal of money is buried near my home. It shall all be yours."

Then the Parrot came, saying: "Father, silver and gold have I none, but if you ever want choice rice, come to where I live and call, 'Parrot!' and I will call all my family and friends together, and we will gather the choicest rice in the fields for you."

Last came the prince. In his heart he hated the poor man who had saved his life. But he pretended to be as thankful as the animals had been, saying, "Come to me when I am king, and I will give you great riches." So saying, he went away.

Not long after this the prince's father died, and Prince Wicked was made king. He was then very rich.

By and by the poor man said to himself: "Each of the four whose lives I saved made a promise to me. I will see if they will keep their promises."

First of all he went to the Snake, and standing near his hole, the poor man called out, "Snake!"

At once the Snake darted forth, and with every mark of respect he said: "Father, in this place there is much gold. Dig it up and take it all."

"Very well," said the poor man. "When I need it, I will not forget."

After visiting for a while, the poor man said good-by to the Snake, and went to where the Rat lived, calling out, "Rat!"

The Rat came at once, and did as the Snake had done, showing the poor man where the money was buried.

"When I need it, I will come for it," said the poor man.

Going next to the Parrot, he called out, "Parrot!" and the bird flew down from the tree-top as soon as he heard the call.

"O Father," said the Parrot, "shall I call together all my family and friends to gather choice rice for you?"

The poor man, seeing that the Parrot was willing and ready to keep his promise, said: "I do not need rice now. If ever I do, I will not forget your offer."

Last of all, the poor man went into the city where the king lived. The king, seated on his great white elephant, was riding through the city. The king saw the poor man, and said to himself: "That poor man has come to ask me for the great riches I promised to give him. I must have his head cut off before he can tell the people how he saved my life when I was the prince."

So the king called his servants to him and said: "You see that poor man over there? Seize him and bind him, beat him at every corner of the street as you march him out of the city, and then chop off his head."

The servants had to obey their king. So they seized and bound the poor man. They beat him at every corner of the street. The poor man did not cry out, but he said, over and over again, "It is better to save poor, weak animals than to save a prince."

At last some wise men among the crowds along the street asked the poor man what prince he had saved. Then the poor man told the whole story, ending with the words, "By saving your king, I brought all this pain upon myself."

The wise men and all the rest of the crowd cried out: "This poor man saved the life of our king, and now the king has ordered him to be killed. How can we be sure that he will not have any, or all, of us killed? Let us kill him." And in their anger they rushed from every side upon the king as he rode on his elephant, and with arrows and stones they killed him then and there.

Then they made the poor man king, and set him to rule over them.

The poor man ruled his people well. One day he decided once more to try the Snake, the Rat, and the Parrot. So, followed by many servants, the king went to where the Snake lived.

At the call of "Snake!" out came the Snake from his hole, saying, "Here, O King, is your treasure; take it."

"I will," said the king. "And I want you to come with me."

Then the king had his servants dig up the gold.

Going to where the Rat lived, the king called, "Rat!" Out came the Rat, and bowing low to the king, the Rat said, "Take all the money buried here and have your servants carry it away."

"I will," said the king, and he asked the Rat to go with him and the Snake.

Then the king went to where the Parrot lived, and called, "Parrot!" The Parrot flew down to the king's feet and said, "O King, shall I and my family and my friends gather choice rice for you?"

"Not now, not until rice is needed," said the king. "Will you come with us?" The Parrot was glad to join them.

So with the gold, and the money, and with the Snake, the Rat, and the Parrot as well, the king went back to the city.

The king had the gold and the money hidden away in the palace. He had a tube of gold made for the Snake to live in. He had a glass box made for the Rat's home, and a cage of gold for the Parrot. Each had the food he liked best of all to eat every day, and so these four lived happily all their lives.




XX

Beauty And Brownie


Two Deer named Beauty and Brownie lived with their father and mother and great herds of Deer in a forest. One day their father called them to him and said: "The Deer in the forest are always in danger when the corn is ripening in the fields. It will be best for you to go away for a while, and you must each take your own herd of Deer with you."

"What is the danger, Father?" they asked.

"When the Deer go into the fields to eat the corn they get caught in the traps the men set there," the father said. "Many Deer are caught in these traps every year."

"Shall you go away with us?" Brownie said.

"No, your mother and I, and some of the other old Deer will stay here in the forest," said the father. "There will be food enough for us, but there is not enough for you and your herds. You must lead your herds up into the high hills where there is plenty of food for you, and stay there until the crops are all cut. Then you can bring your herds back here. But you must be careful.

"You must travel by night, because the hunters will see you if you go by day. And you must not take your herd near the villages where hunters live."

So Beauty and Brownie and their herds set out. Beauty traveled at night and did not go near any villages, and at last brought his herd safely to the high hills. Not a single Deer did Beauty lose.

But Brownie forgot what his father had said. Early each morning he started off with his herd, going along all through the day. When he saw a village, he led his herd right past it. Again and again hunters saw the herd, and they killed many, many of the Deer in Brownie's herd.

When crops had been cut, the Deer started back to the forest. Beauty led all his herd back, but stupid Brownie traveled in the daytime, and again he took his herd past the villages. When he reached the forest only a few were left of all Brownie's herd.




XXI

The Elephant And The Dog


Once upon a time a Dog used to go into the stable where the king's Elephant lived. At first the Dog went there to get the food that was left after the Elephant had finished eating.

Day after day the Dog went to the stable, waiting around for bits to eat. But by and by the Elephant and the Dog came to be great friends. Then the Elephant began to share his food with the Dog, and they ate together. When the Elephant slept, his friend the Dog slept beside him. When the Elephant felt like playing, he would catch the Dog in his trunk and swing him to and fro. Neither the Dog nor the Elephant was quite happy unless the other was nearby.

One day a farmer saw the Dog and said to the Elephant-keeper: "I will buy that Dog. He looks good-tempered, and I see that he is smart. How much do you want for the Dog?"

The Elephant-keeper did not care for the Dog, and he did want some money just then. So he asked a fair price, and the fanner paid it and took the Dog away to the country.

The king's Elephant missed the Dog and did not care to eat when his friend was not there to share the food. When the time came for the Elephant to bathe, he would not bathe. The next day again the Elephant would not eat, and he would not bathe. The third day, when the Elephant would neither eat nor bathe, the king was told about it.

The king sent for his chief servant, saying, "Go to the stable and find out why the Elephant is acting in this way."

The chief servant went to the stable and looked the Elephant all over. Then he said to the Elephant-keeper: "There seems to be nothing the matter with this Elephant's body, but why does he look so sad? Has he lost a playmate?"

"Yes," said the keeper, "there was a Dog who ate and slept and played with the Elephant. The Dog went away three days ago."

"Do you know where the Dog is now?" asked the chief servant.

"No, I do not," said the keeper.

Then the chief servant went back to the king and said, "The Elephant is not sick, but he is lonely without his friend, the Dog."

"Where is the Dog?" asked the king.

"A farmer took him away, so the Elephant-keeper says," said the chief servant. "No one knows where the farmer lives."

"Very well," said the king. "I will send word all over the country, asking the man who bought this Dog to turn him loose. I will give him back as much as he paid for the Dog."

When the farmer who had bought the Dog heard this, he turned him loose. The Dog ran back as fast as ever he could go to the Elephant's stable. The Elephant was so glad to see the Dog that he picked him up with his trunk and put him on his head. Then he put him down again.

When the Elephant-keeper brought food, the Elephant watched the Dog as he ate, and then took his own food.

All the rest of their lives the Elephant and the Dog lived together.

<eob>

The Story Of A Nodding Donkey

By

Laura Lee Hope



Chapter I

The Santa Claus Shop


The Nodding Donkey dated his birth from the day he received the beautiful coat of varnish in the workshop of Santa Claus at the North Pole. Before that he was just some pieces of wood, glued together. His head was not glued on, however, but was fastened in such a manner that with the least motion the Donkey could nod it up and down, and also sidewise.

It is not every wooden donkey who is able to nod his head in as many ways as could the Donkey about whom I am going to tell you. This Nodding Donkey was an especially fine toy, and, as has been said, his first birthday was that on which he received such a bright, shiny coat of varnish.

"Here, Santa Claus, look at this, if you please!" called one of the jolly workmen in the shop of St. Nicholas. "Is this toy finished, now?" and he held up the Nodding Donkey.

Santa Claus, who was watching another man put some blue eyes in a golden-haired doll, came over to the bench where sat the man who had made the Nodding Donkey out of some bits of wood, glue, and real hair for his mane and tail.

"Hum! Yes! So you have finished the Nodding Donkey, have you?" asked Santa Claus, as he stroked his long, white beard.

"I'll call him finished if you say he is all right," answered the man, smiling as he put the least tiny dab more of varnish on the Donkey's back. "Shall I set him on the shelf to dry, so you may soon take him down to Earth for some lucky boy or girl?"

"Yes, he is finished. Set him on the shelf with the other toys," answered dear old St. Nicholas, and then, having given a last look at the Donkey, the workman placed him on a shelf, next to a wonderful Plush Bear, of whom I shall tell you more in another book.

"Well, I'm glad he's finished," said Santa Claus' worker, as he took up his tools to start making a Striped Tiger, with a red tongue. "That Nodding Donkey took me quite a while to finish. I hope nothing happens to him until his coat of varnish is hard and dry. My, but he certainly shines!"

And the Nodding Donkey did shine most wonderfully! Not far away, on the same shelf on which he stood, was a doll's bureau with a looking glass on top. In this looking glass the Nodding Donkey caught sight of himself.

"Not so bad!" he thought. "In fact, I'm quite stylish. I'm almost as gay as some of the clowns." And his head bobbed slowly up and down, for it was fastened so that the least jar or jiggle would move it.

"I must be very careful," said the Nodding Donkey to himself. "I must not move about too much nor let any of the other toys rub against me until I am quite dry. If they did they would blur or scratch my shiny varnish coat, and that would be too bad. But after I am dry I'll have some fun. Just wait until to-night! Then there will be some great times in this workshop of Santa Claus!"

The reason the Nodding Donkey said this, was because at night, when Santa Claus and his merry helpers had gone, the toys were allowed to do as they pleased. They could make believe come to life, and move about, having all sorts of adventures.

But, presto! the moment daylight came, or any one looked at them, the toys became as straight and stiff and motionless as any toys that are in your playroom. For all you know some of your toys may move about and pretend to come to life when you are asleep. But it is of no use for you to stay awake, watching to see if they will, for as long as any eyes are peeping, or ears are listening, the toys will never do anything of themselves.

The Nodding Donkey knew that when Santa Claus and the workers were gone he and the other toys could do as they pleased, and he could hardly wait for that time to come.

"But while I am waiting I will stay here on the shelf and get hard and dry," said the Nodding Donkey to himself.

Once more he looked in the glass on the doll's bureau, and he was well pleased with himself, was the Nodding Donkey.

Such a busy place was the workshop of Santa Claus at the North Pole, where the Nodding Donkey was drying in his coat of varnish!

The place was like a great big greenhouse, all made of glass, only the glass was sheets of crystal-clear ice. Santa Claus needed plenty of light in his workshop, for in the dark it is not easy to put red cheeks and blue eyes on dolls, or paint toy soldiers and wind up the springs of the toys that move.

The workshop of Santa Claus, then, was like a big greenhouse, only no flowers grew in it because it is very cold at the North Pole. All about was snow and ice, but Santa Claus did not mind the cold, nor did his workmen, for they were dressed in fur, like the polar bears and the seals.

On each side of the big shop, with its icy glass roof, were work benches. At these benches sat the funny little men who made the toys.

Some were stuffing sawdust into dolls, others were putting the lids on the boxes where the Jacks lived, and still others were trying the Jumping Jacks to see that they jerked their legs and arms properly.

Up and down, between the rows of benches, walked Santa Claus himself. Now and then some workman would call:

"Please look here, Santa Claus! Shall I make this Tin Soldier with a sword or a gun?"

And St. Nicholas would answer:

"That Soldier needs a sword. He is going to be a Captain."

Then another little man would call, from the other side of the shop:

"Here is a Calico Clown who doesn't squeak when I press on his stomach. Something must be wrong with him, Santa Claus."

Then Santa Claus would put on his glasses, stroke his long, white beard and look at the Calico Clown.

"Humph! I should say he wouldn't squeak!" the old gentleman would remark. "You have his squeaker in upside down! That would never do for some little boy or girl to find on Christmas morning! Take the squeaker out and put it in right."

"How careless of me!" the little workman would exclaim. And then Santa Claus and the other workmen would laugh, for this workshop was the jolliest place in the world, and the man would fix the Calico Clown right.

"I'm glad I was born in this place," said the Nodding Donkey to himself, as his head swayed to and fro. "This is really the first day of my life. I wish night would come, so I could move about and talk to the other toys. I wonder how long I shall have to wait?"

Not far from the doll's bureau, which held the looking glass, was a toy house, and in it was a toy clock. The Donkey looked in through the window of the toy house and saw the toy clock. The hands pointed to four o'clock.

"The men stop work at five," thought the Donkey. "After that it will be dark and I can move about -- that is if my varnish is dry."

Santa Claus was walking up and down between the rows of work benches. The dear old gentleman was pulling his beard and smiling.

"Come, my merry men!" he called in his jolly voice, "you must work a little faster. It is nearly five, when it will be time to stop for the day, and it is so near Christmas that I fear we shall never get enough toys made. So hurry all you can!"

"We will, Santa Claus," the men answered. And the one who had made the Nodding Donkey asked:

"When are you going to take a load of toys down to Earth?"

"The first thing in the morning," was the answer. "Many of the stores have written me, asking me to hurry some toys to them. I shall hitch up my reindeer to the sleigh and take a big bag of toys down to Earth to-morrow. So get ready for me as many as you can.

"Yes," went on Santa Claus, and he looked right at the Nodding Donkey, "I must take a big bag of toys to Earth to-morrow, as soon as it is daylight. So hurry, my merry men!"

And the workmen hurried as fast as they could.

Ting! suddenly struck the big clock in the workshop. And ting! went the little toy clock in the toy house.

"Time to stop for supper!" called Santa Claus, and all the little men laid aside the toys on which they were working. Then such a bustle and hustle there was to get out of the shop; for the day had come to an end.

Night settled down over North Pole Land. It was dark, but in the house where Santa Claus lived with his men some Japanese lanterns, hung from icicles, gave them light to see to eat their supper.

In the toy shop it was just dimly light, for one lantern had been left burning there, in case Santa Claus might want to go in after hours to see if everything was all right.

And by the light of this one lamp the Nodding Donkey saw a curious sight. Over on his left the Plush Bear raised one paw and scratched his nose. On the Donkey's right the China Cat opened her china mouth and softly said:

"Mew!"

And then, on the next shelf, a Rolling Elephant, who could wheel about, spoke through his trunk, and said:

"The time has come for us to have some fun, my friends!"

"Right you are!" mewed the China Cat.

"And we have a new toy with us," said the Plush Bear. "Would you like to play with us?" he asked the Nodding Donkey.

The Nodding Donkey moved his head up and down to say "yes," for he was afraid of speaking aloud, lest he might wrinkle his new varnish.

"All right, now for some jolly times!" said the Rolling Elephant, and he began to climb down from the shelf, using his trunk as well as his legs.

"Ouch! Look out there! You're stretching my neck!" suddenly cried a Spotted Wooden Giraffe, and the Nodding Donkey, looking up, saw that the Elephant had wound his trunk around the long neck of the Giraffe.

"Oh, I'm going to fall! Catch me, somebody!" cried the Spotted Giraffe. "Oh, if I fall off the shelf I'll be broken to bits! Will no one save me?"



Chapter II

A Wonderful Voyage


"Goodness me! this is a lot of excitement for one who has just come to life and had his first coat of varnish!" thought the Nodding Donkey as he saw what seemed to be a sad accident about to happen. "I wonder if I could do anything to help save the Spotted Giraffe? I must try to do all I can. It will be the first time I have ever moved all by myself."

"Stand aside, if you please! I'll save the Spotted Giraffe!" suddenly called a voice, and from a shelf just underneath the one from which the Rolling Elephant had pulled the long-necked creature there stepped a Jolly Fisherman. This toy fisherman had a large net for catching crabs or lobsters, and he held it out for the Spotted Giraffe to fall into.

Down the Giraffe fell, but he landed in the net of the Jolly Fisherman, just as a circus performer falls into a net from a high trapeze, and he was not harmed.

"Dear! I'm glad you caught me," said the Giraffe, after he had managed to climb out of the net to the top of a work table which ran under all the shelves.

"Yes, I got there just in time," replied the Jolly Fisherman, as he slung his net over his shoulder again.

"And I'm very sorry I pulled you from the shelf," said the Rolling Elephant. "I didn't mean to do it, Mr. Giraffe."

"Well, as long as no harm is done, we'll forget all about it and have some fun," put in the Plush Bear. "This doesn't happen every night," the Bear went on, speaking to the Nodding Donkey. "You must not get the idea that it is dangerous here."

"Oh, no, I think it's a very nice place," the Nodding Donkey answered. "It's my first day here, you see."

"Oh, yes, it's easy to see that," said the China Cat. "You are so new and shiny any one would know you were just made. Well, now what shall we do? Who has a game to suggest or a riddle to ask?" and, as she spoke, she put out her paw and began to roll a red rubber ball on the shelf near her. For, though she was very stiff in the daytime, being made of china like a dinner plate, the Cat could easily move about at night if no human eyes watched her.

"Let's play a guessing game," suggested the Rolling Elephant, who, by this time had managed to get down to the table without upsetting any more of the toys. "If we play tag or hide and go seek, I'm so big and clumsy I may knock over something and break it."

"That's so -- you might," growled the Plush Bear, but, though he spoke in a growling voice he was not at all cross. It was just his way of talking. "Well, what sort of a guessing game do you want to play, Mr. Elephant?"

"I'll think of something, and you must all see if you can guess what it is."

"That's too hard a game," objected the China Cat. "There are so many things you might think of."

"Well, I'll give you a little help," returned the Rolling Elephant. "I'm thinking of something that goes up and down and also sideways."

For a moment none of the toys spoke. Then, all of a sudden, the Plush Bear cried:

"You're thinking of the Nodding Donkey! His head goes up and down and also sideways."

"That's right!" admitted the Rolling Elephant. "I didn't imagine you'd guess so soon. Now it's your turn to think of something."

"Let's have the Nodding Donkey give the next question," suggested the China Cat. "It's his birthday, you know, and we ought to help him remember it."

"Go ahead! Give us something to guess, Nodding Donkey!" growled the Plush Bear.

"Let me think," said the new toy, slowly. "Ah, I have it! What am I thinking of that is like a snowball and has two eyes?"

"A snowman!" guessed a wax doll.

"No," said the Nodding Donkey, laughing.

"A Polar Bear," suggested the Rolling Elephant.

"No," said the Donkey again.

Then the toys thought very hard.

"Is it a rubber doll?" asked a Jack in the Box. "No, it couldn't be that," he went on, "for a rubber doll isn't as white as a snowball. I give up!"

"But I don't!" suddenly cried a Tin Soldier. "You were thinking of our White China Cat, weren't you?" he asked.

"Yes," answered the Nodding Donkey, "I was. You have guessed it!"

"Now it's the Tin Soldier's turn to give us something to guess," said the Elephant. "Oh, we're having lots of fun!"

And so the toys were. All through the night they played about in the North Pole workshop of Santa Claus. When it was nearly morning the Nodding Donkey spoke to the Plush Bear, asking:

"Where is this Earth place, that Santa Claus said he was going to take some of us?"

"Oh, my! don't ask me," said the Plush Bear. "I've never been down to Earth, though I know packs and packs of toys have been taken there. But it must be a real jolly sort of place, for every time Santa Claus goes there he comes back laughing and seems very happy. Then he loads up some more toys to take there."

"I think I should like to go," murmured the Nodding Donkey. "How does one go -- in one of the toy trains of cars I see on the shelves?"

"Oh, my, no!" laughed the Plush Bear. "Santa Claus takes the toys to Earth in his sleigh, drawn by reindeer."

"Oh, how wonderful!" brayed the Donkey. "I wonder if I shall soon take that wonderful voyage. I hope I may!"

"Hush!" suddenly called the Rolling Elephant. "Santa Claus and the workmen are coming in and they must not see us at our make-believe play. Quick! To your shelves, all of you!"

Such a scramble as there was on the part of the toys! Some helped the others to climb up, and just as the last of them, including the Nodding Donkey, were safely in place, the door of the shop opened and in came Santa Claus and his men.

Then such a bustling about as there was! And from outside the shop could be heard the jingle of bells.

"Those must be the reindeer," thought the Nodding Donkey. "Oh, what a jolly time I shall have if I ride in the sleigh with Santa Claus!"

Never was there such a busy time in the shop of Santa Claus! Jolly St. Nicholas himself hurried here and there, helping his men pick up different toys which were put in a big bag. One of the men stopped in front of the Nodding Donkey.

"Shall I put this chap in, Santa Claus?" the man inquired.

"Is the varnish dry?" asked St. Nicholas.

"Yes," answered the little man, testing it lightly with his finger.

"Then put him in," said Santa Claus. "I'll take the Nodding Donkey to Earth with me."

"Oh, joy! Now I shall have some adventures! Now I shall see what the Earth is like!" thought the Nodding Donkey.

A moment later he was picked up, wrapped in soft paper, and thrust into a bag.

"Oh, how very dark it is here," said the Donkey in a whisper.

"Hush!" whispered a Jumping Jack near him. "Don't talk! Santa Claus might hear you. He has very sharp ears. You'll be all right. It is no darker than night."

More toys, all carefully wrapped, came tumbling into the bag, and the merry jingle of bells grew louder. Then the voice of Santa Claus could be heard shouting:

"Hi there, Dasher! Stand still, Prancer! Whoa, Blitzen! What's the matter, Comet? Are you anxious to get to Earth again? Well, we'll soon start. Steady there, Cupid! Whoa!"

"He's talking to his reindeer," whispered the Jumping Jack.

Suddenly the toys in the big sack felt themselves being picked up. Santa Claus had slung them over his back to carry out to the sleigh. A moment later the Nodding Donkey felt a breath of cold air strike him, but he did not mind, as he had on a warm coat of varnish.

Up and down, and from side to side the toys in the bag felt themselves being jostled, until they were set down in the big sleigh.

"All aboard!" called Santa Claus, as he took his seat and gathered up the reins. "Come, Dasher! On, Prancer! Hi, Donner and Blitzen! Down to Earth you go with the Christmas toys!"

There was another jolly jingle of bells, and the toys felt themselves being whisked away over the snow. There was a little hole in the bag near the Nodding Donkey, and also a hole in the paper in which he was wrapped. He could look out, and on every side he saw big piles of snow. Snow was also falling from the clouds.

On and on rushed the sleigh of Santa Claus, drawn by the eight reindeer. Over the clouds and drifts of snow, and through the white flakes they rushed, the sleigh-bells playing a merry tune.

"Oh, this is a wonderful voyage!" thought the Nodding Donkey. "I wonder when I shall reach the Earth?"

Suddenly there was a hard shock. The sleigh stopped as Santa Claus shouted, and then, all at once, the Nodding Donkey felt himself shooting out of the hole in the bag. Into a deep snowdrift he fell, and there he stuck, head down and feet up in the air!



Chapter III

The Jolly Store


"Dear me," thought the Nodding Donkey to himself, as he felt the cold, chilly snow all about him, "this is most dreadful! I hope Santa Claus has not become angry with me and sent me back to the North Pole. I did so much want to go down to Earth and be in a big store for Christmas. I hope I'm not back at the North Pole."

The Nodding Donkey said this aloud, and, as he spoke, he wobbled his head from side to side and tried to turn over so he could stand on his feet.

"Here! Don't do that!" suddenly whispered a voice in one of the Donkey's large ears. "Don't you know it isn't allowed for you to move when any one is looking at you?"

"I didn't know any one was looking at me," the Nodding Donkey answered. "I thought Santa Claus had tossed me back to the North Pole."

"Hush! No! Nothing like that has happened," the voice went on, and, by turning his loose head to one side, the Nodding Donkey saw that a large Jumping Jack was whispering to him.

"There has been an accident," went on the Jumping Jack. "The sleigh of Santa Claus banged into a hard, frozen snow cloud, and we were thrown out into a snowdrift. I am not hurt, and I hope you are not. But we must not talk or move much more, for I see Santa Claus coming this way, and even he is not allowed to see us pretend to be alive, so that we move and talk. He is coming to pick us up, I guess."

And then both toys had to keep quiet, for Santa Claus came stalking along in his big leather boots. St. Nicholas was wiping some snowflakes out of his eyes, his breath made clouds of steam in the frosty air and his cheeks were as red as the reddest apple you ever saw.

"Oh, ho! Here are some of my toys!" cried the jolly old gentleman as he saw the Nodding Donkey and the Jumping Jack. "I was afraid I had lost you. We nearly had a bad accident," he went on, speaking to himself, but loudly enough for the Nodding Donkey to hear. "My reindeer got off the road and ran into a snow cloud and the sleigh was upset."

"It's just as the Jumping Jack told me," thought the Nodding Donkey.

"Steady there, Comet! Keep quiet, Prancer!" called St. Nicholas to his animals, who, stamping their legs, made the bells jingle. "We shall soon be on our way again. Nothing is broken."

Santa Claus picked up the Donkey and the Jumping Jack and carried them back to the sleigh. There the two toys could see their friends, some lying on the seat of the sleigh and others resting in the big bag, through the hole of which the Nodding Donkey had slipped out, falling into the snow.

"Ha! I must fix that hole in the bag," cried Santa Claus, as he noticed it.

St. Nicholas tied some string around the hole in the sack, and then, having again wrapped the tissue paper around the Donkey, the Jumping Jack, and the other toys that had fallen out, the red-cheeked old gentleman put them in the bag and fastened it shut.

"Now we're off again!" cried Santa Claus, as he took his seat in the sleigh. "Trot along, Comet! Fly away, Prancer! Lively there, Donner and Blitzen! We must get down to Earth with these toys, and then back again to North Pole Land for another load! Trot along, my speedy reindeer!"

The reindeer shook their heads, which made the bells jingle more merrily than before, they stamped their feet on the hard, frozen road that led from the North Pole to Earth, and then away they darted. Santa Claus drove them carefully, steering away from snow clouds, and soon the motion was so swift and smooth that the Nodding Donkey went to sleep, and so did most of the other toys in the big sack.

And what a funny dream the Nodding Donkey had! He imagined that he was tumbling around a feather bed and that a Blue Dog was chasing him with a yellow feather duster.

"Don't tickle me with that feather duster!" he thought he cried.

"I won't if you'll sing a song through your ears," said the Blue Dog.

"I can't sing through my ears," wailed the Nodding Donkey, and then of a sudden he seemed to roll over and the dog and the feather bed came down on top of him. Then he seemed to give a sneeze and that blew the dog away and sent the feathers of the bed out into one big snowstorm!

It was dark when the Nodding Donkey awoke. He did not hear the jingle of the bells, nor could he feel the sleigh being drawn along by the reindeer. He could see nothing, either, for it was very black and dark. But he heard some voices talking, and one he knew was that of Santa Claus.

"Now I have brought you a whole sleighful of toys," said St. Nicholas.

"Yes, and I am glad to get them," another voice answered. "The stores are almost empty and it is near Christmas time. I shall send a lot of the toys to the stores the first thing in the morning."

Santa Claus had arrived, in the night, at a large warehouse, where boxes, bales and bags of toys were kept until they could be sent around to the different stores. The Nodding Donkey, the Jumping Jack and the others felt themselves being lifted out of the bag and placed on the floor or on shelves. But they could see nothing, for Santa Claus always comes to Earth in the darkness, so no one sees him. And it was the Earth that the toys had now reached.

"Dear me, this isn't much fun!" complained the Nodding Donkey, as he stood on a shelf in the darkness. Faint and far off he could hear the bells of Santa Claus' reindeer jingling as jolly St. Nicholas drove back to North Pole Land. "I thought the Earth was such a wonderful place," went on the Nodding Donkey. "But I don't like it here at all."

"Hush!" begged the Jumping Jack. "It is night. You have seen nothing yet. Wait until morning."

And, after a while, streaks of light began to come in through the windows of the warehouse where the toys had been left. The sun was rising. From a window near him the Nodding Donkey caught a glimpse of snow outside, but the land was very different from the North Pole where he had been made.

The Nodding Donkey was turning his head to speak to the Jumping Jack, and he was going to take a look and see what other toys were near him, when, all of a sudden, three or four men came into the room. They had hammers, nails and boards in their hands.

"Hurry now!" cried one of the men. "We must box up a lot of these toys and send them to the different stores. It will be Christmas before we know it."

Suddenly one of the men caught hold of the Nodding Donkey, and also of a large doll that had been on the same shelf.

"I'll pack these in a box," said the man. "I just need them to fill one corner. Then I'll ship them off."

The Nodding Donkey wished his friend the Jumping Jack might go in the same box with him, but it was not to be. The Donkey gave one last look at his companion of the snowdrift, and a moment later he was being wrapped in tissue paper again, and was packed down in a corner of a large box. The doll was treated the same way.

Then the board cover was put on the box, and nailed shut with a loud hammering noise.

"Dear me, in the dark again!" said the Nodding Donkey. "I don't seem to be having a good time at all."

"Never mind! It will not last long," said the Doll, who was made of cloth, so it did not matter how much she was squeezed. "We will soon be in the light again."

The toys in the box could hear loud talking going on in the warehouse where they had been left by Santa Claus. They could also hear men moving about and the bang and rattle of boxes, like theirs, as the cases were nailed up and taken away.

Finally the Nodding Donkey, the doll, and other toys who were packed together, felt their box being tilted up on one end. By this time the Nodding Donkey was getting used to being stood on his head, or turned over on his back, and he did not mind it.

"Hurry up! Load this box on a truck and take it to the Mugg store!" cried a voice.

"The Mugg store! I wonder where that is!" thought the Nodding Donkey.

And then he felt the box in which he lay being lifted up and carried along. There were bumps, thumps, turnings and twistings, and then the Nodding Donkey felt himself gliding along.

But he soon noticed that this ride was not as smooth as had been the one from North Pole Land to the Earth. Instead of riding in a sleigh drawn by reindeer, the Nodding Donkey was riding on an automobile truck, and as it went out in the street it bumped and rattled along.

There was so much noise and confusion, and it was so warm and cosy in the box where he was packed, that, before he knew it, the Nodding Donkey had fallen asleep. And, as he slept, the Nodding Donkey dreamed.

He dreamed that he was back in the workshop of Santa Claus at the North Pole and on a shelf with other toys. Suddenly a Wooden Soldier began beating on the Donkey's back with the end of a gun.

"Rub-a-dub-dub!" drummed the Soldier, and the Donkey's head nodded so hard that he feared it would be shaken off.

"Stop! Stop!" cried the Donkey in his dream, and then he suddenly awakened. He heard a hammering, but it was not on his back. It was outside the case in which he was packed, and he soon noticed that some one was knocking off the boards that formed the cover.

With a wrench and a squeak one of the cover boards was raised, letting in a flood of light. The Nodding Donkey blinked his eyes, coming out of the darkness into the glare of the light. Then he felt himself being lifted up and set on a shelf. At the same time he heard a pleasant voice saying:

"Here is the case of new toys, Daughters. And see, one of the very newest is a Nodding Donkey! I'm sure he will please some little boy or girl!"

The Nodding Donkey looked around him. He was on a shelf in the jolliest toy store he had ever imagined. It was almost as nice as the workshop of Santa Claus. Standing in front of the shelf was a white-haired old man and two ladies, one on either side of him. The three were looking at the Nodding Donkey, who bowed his head at them as if saying:

"How do you do? I am very glad to meet you!"



Chapter IV

The China Cat


The Nodding Donkey stood straight and stiff on his four legs, with his shiny, new coat of varnish -- the one he had received in the workshop of Santa Claus at the North Pole. The Donkey wished he might move about and talk with some of the other toys he saw all around him, but he dared not, as the old gentleman and the two ladies were standing in front of him and looking straight at the toy. All the Donkey dared do was to nod his head, for, being made on purpose to do that, it was perfectly proper for him to do so, just as the Jumping Jack jumped, or some of the funny Clowns banged together their brass cymbals.

"Isn't he the dearest Donkey you ever saw, Angelina?" said one of the ladies to the other.

"He certainly is, Geraldine," was the answer. "But something seems to be the matter with his head. It is loose!"

"Tut! Tut! Nonsense! It is made that way, just the same as the moving head of the Fuzzy Bear," said the old gentleman, whose name was Horatio Mugg. At first the Nodding Donkey had taken this old gentleman for a relative of Santa Claus, for he had the same white hair and whiskers and wore almost the same sort of glasses. But a second look showed the Nodding Donkey that this was not any relation of St. Nicholas. Besides, this toy store was not at all like the workshop of Santa Claus.

The Nodding Donkey was at last on Earth in a toy store, and there, it was hoped, some one would see him and buy him for some boy or girl for Christmas.

The toy store was kept by Mr. Horatio Mugg and his two daughters, one being named Angelina and the other Geraldine.

Mr. Horatio Mugg was the jolliest toy-store man you can imagine! Since his own two daughters had grown up he seemed to think he must look after all the other children in his neighborhood. He was always glad to see the boys and girls in his store. He liked to have them look at the toys, and sometimes he showed them how steam engines or flying machines worked.

Of course there were many dolls, big and little -- Sawdust Dolls, Bisque Dolls, Wooden Dolls, some very handsomely dressed, with silk or satin dresses and white stockings and white kid shoes. And some had the cutest hats, and some even had gloves, think of that!

And then the animals -- Lions and Tigers, and a Striped Zebra, and funny Monkeys and Goats, Dogs, Spotted Cows and many kinds of Rocking Horses. And even funny little Mice, that ran all around the floor when they were wound up.

And then the other toys -- trains of cars, fire engines, building blocks, and oh! so many, many things! It was truly a wonderful place, was that store. It was a place where you could spend an hour or two and the time would fly so fast you would scarcely know where it had gone to.

Mr. Mugg knew all about toys, which kind were the best for boys, which the girls liked the best, and he knew which to put in his window so the children would stop and press their noses flat against the glass to look and see the playthings.

"Yes, the Nodding Donkey will be a fine toy for Christmas," said Mr. Mugg, looking over the tops of his glasses at the new arrival. "This last box of playthings I received are the best we ever had. Santa Claus and his men certainly are preparing a fine Christmas this year."

"I think I shall dust off the Donkey," said Geraldine. "He will be much shinier then, and look better."

"And I must dust the China Cat," said her sister Angelina. "She is so white that the least speck shows on her. Real white cats are very fussy about keeping themselves clean, so I do not see why a white China Cat should not be treated the same way. You dust the Nodding Donkey, Geraldine, and I'll dust the Cat."

"That China Cat seems to act as if she wanted to speak to me," thought the Donkey. "Perhaps, after the store is closed to-night, as the workshop of Santa Claus is closed, I may speak to her."

Up and down and to and fro the head of the Nodding Donkey moved as Geraldine Mugg dusted him. Then she set him back on the shelf, as her sister did the China Cat.

"Come here, Daughters, and see this set of Soldiers," called Mr. Mugg, who was unpacking more toys from the box. "They are the nicest we ever had."

"Oh, what fine red coats they wear!" said Angelina.

"And how their guns shine!" exclaimed Geraldine. "Our store will look lovely when we get all the toys placed in it."

"I think the store looks very well as it is," thought the Nodding Donkey to himself, as he stood straight and stiff on his shelf, his coat of varnish glistening in the light. "I never saw such a wonderful place."

And, indeed, the toy store of Mr. Horatio Mugg was a place of delight for all boys and girls. I could not begin to tell you all the things that were in it. Mr. Mugg kept only toys. All the different sorts that were ever made were there gathered together, ready for the Christmas trade.

And as the Nodding Donkey, standing beside the white China Cat, looked on and listened, he saw boys and girls, with their fathers or mothers, coming in to look at the toys. Some were ordered to be put away until Christmas should come. Others were taken at once, to be mailed perhaps to some far-off city.

As the Nodding Donkey watched he saw a little boy with blue eyes and golden hair come in and point to a Jack in the Box.

"Please, Mother, will you tell Santa Claus to bring me that for Christmas?" begged the little boy.

"Yes, I will do that," his mother promised. "And now, Sister, what would you like?" the lady asked.

The Nodding Donkey looked down and saw a little girl, with dark hair and brown eyes standing beside the little boy. This girl pointed to a large doll, and, to his surprise, the Donkey saw that it was the same one he had spoken to in the packing case.

"You may put that Doll aside for my little girl for Christmas, Mr. Mugg," said the lady.

"Very well, Madam, it shall be done," replied the toy man, and he lifted the Cloth Doll down off the shelf.

"Oh, dear! she is going away, and I shall never see her again," thought the Nodding Donkey. "That is the only sad part of life for us toys. We make friends, but we never know how long we may keep them. We are so often separated."

Mr. Mugg put the doll down under the counter, where no other little girl might see her and want her. Then the toy man reached up and gently touched the head of the Donkey, so that it nodded harder than ever.

"Here is a new toy that just came in," said Mr. Mugg. "It is one of the latest. It is called a Nodding Donkey, and once you start his head going it will move for hours."

"Oh, it is nice!" said the lady. "Would you rather have that than your Jack in the Box, Robert?" she asked the little boy.

The boy stood first on one foot and then on the other. He looked first at the Jack in the Box and then at the Donkey.

"They are both nice," he said; "but I think I would rather have the Jack. I'll have the Donkey next Christmas."

The Jack in the Box was set aside with the Cloth Doll, and then the lady and the little boy and girl passed on. But all that day there were many other boys and girls who came into the store to look at the toys. Some only came to look, while others, as before, bought the things they wanted, or had them set aside for Christmas.

After a while it began to grow dark in the store, just as it had grown dark in the workshop of Santa Claus.

"Now I will soon be able to move about and talk to the other toys," thought the Nodding Donkey. But this was not to be -- just yet.

"Turn on the lights, Angelina," called Mr. Mugg to his daughter, and soon the store was glowing brightly.

"Hum! It seems they work at night here, as well as by day," thought the Nodding Donkey. "It was not so at North Pole Land. But it is very jolly, and I like it."

During the evening, when the lights were glowing, many other customers came in, but there were not so many boys and girls. The Nodding Donkey had been taken down more than once and made to do his trick of shaking his head, but, so far, no one had bought him. And though the China Cat had also been looked at and admired, no one had bought her.

At last Mr. Mugg stretched his arms, yawned as though he might be very sleepy, and said:

"Turn out the lights, Angelina! It is time to close the shop and go to bed."

Soon the toy shop was in darkness, all except one light that was kept burning all night. The place became very still and quiet, the only noise being made by a little mouse, who came out to get some crumbs dropped by Mr. Mugg, who had eaten his lunch in the store.

"Ahem!" suddenly said the Nodding Donkey. "Do you mind if I speak to you?" he asked the China Cat, who stood near him on the shelf.

"Not at all," was the kind answer. "I was just going to ask how you came here."

"I came direct from the workshop of Santa Claus at the North Pole," answered the Nodding Donkey. "And I suppose, just as we toys could do there, that we are allowed to move about and talk while here."

"Oh, yes," answered the China Cat. "We can make believe we are alive as long as no one sees us. But tell me, how is everything at the North Pole? It is some time since I was there, as I was made early in the season."

"Well, Santa Claus is as happy and jolly as ever," said the Nodding Donkey, "and his men are just as busy. We had a dreadful accident though, coming down to Earth!"

"You did?" mewed the China Cat. "Tell me about it," and she moved her tail from one side to the other.

Before the Nodding Donkey could speak in answer to this request, a voice suddenly asked:

"I say, Nodding Donkey, do you kick?"

"Kick? Of course not," the Nodding Donkey answered. "Why do you ask such a question? Who are you, anyhow?" and he looked all around.

"Hush! Don't get him started," whispered the China Cat. "It's the Policeman with his club, and if he begins to tickle you he'll never stop. Oh, here he comes now! Here comes the Policeman!"



Chapter V

The Lame Boy


When the China Cat said: "Here comes the Policeman!" the Nodding Donkey, who did not know just what a policeman was, was quite curious to see who was coming. So he walked to the edge of the shelf and bent his head as far down as he could in order to see.

"Be careful! You might fall!" mewed the China Cat.

"Ha! If he falls, then I'll pick him up! That's what I'm here for, to help in case of accident. I could ring for the ambulance!" suddenly came in the same voice that had asked if the Nodding Donkey kicked.

"On second thought perhaps it will be just as well to have an accident. It will give us something to talk about," the voice went on. "Go ahead, Nodding Donkey. Fall off the shelf. I'll pick you up and send you to the toy hospital in the toy ambulance with the clanging bell."

"Indeed I am not going to fall!" brayed the Donkey. "Who is he, anyhow?" he whispered to the China Cat.

"That's the Policeman I was telling you about," was the answer. "Here he comes now!"

And suddenly the Policeman's voice went on, saying:

"Come now! Move along! Don't block up the sidewalk! Move on! Don't loiter here!"

The Nodding Donkey looked to one side and there he saw a toy Policeman, dressed just as a real one would be, with blue coat, brass buttons, a white helmet and a club that swung on the end of a leather string. The Policeman walked along, for he could do that when a spring inside him was wound up. And as he walked he swung his club to and fro, and said, just like a real policeman:

"Come now, move along! Don't block up the sidewalk." Then he added, in a different tone: "There is no accident now, but if that Nodding Donkey would only fall off the shelf we might have one."

"Indeed, and I'm not going to fall off the shelf just for fun!" brayed the Donkey.

"Oh, aren't you? Then we must make fun in some other way," said the toy Policeman. "How are you feeling?" and with that he jumped up on the shelf beside the Donkey and tickled him in the ribs with the club.

"Oh, don't do -- ha! ha! -- Don't -- ha! ha! -- do that!" laughed the Donkey. "You make me feel so funny I may fall!"

The Nodding Donkey is Tickled by the Toy Policeman. Page 50

"Well, if you do, I'll pick you up," said the Policeman, and he twisted his club around on the Donkey's ribs in such a funny way that the nodding creature laughed "ha! ha!" and "ho! ho!"

"I thought I'd stir things up and make them rather lively!" said the Policeman, with a jolly grin on his red face. "How are you feeling?" he asked, turning to the China Cat.

"I feel quite good enough without having you tickle me," she answered, as she got up to move away.

"Oh, you'll feel ever so much better after I tickle you!" cried the Policeman, and he reached out his club toward the Cat. But he was not quick enough. She slipped behind a Jack in the Box, where the Policeman could not see her.

"Well, I guess I'll tickle you again," said the toy with the club, as he turned back toward the Nodding Donkey.

"Oh, no, don't, please!" begged the long-eared chap. "I've had quite enough. When you tickle me I laugh, and when I laugh my head nods harder than it ought to, and maybe it might nod off."

"Oh, I wouldn't want that to happen!" exclaimed the Policeman. "That would be too bad an accident. I guess I'll walk down the shelf and see if there's a fire anywhere," he went on, and away he stalked, swinging his club from side to side.

"Oh, I hope there isn't a fire here," said the Nodding Donkey, as the China Cat came out from behind the Jack's box. "I am not used to being hot. I came from the cold North Pole."

"No, there isn't any fire. If there were you would soon see the toy Fireman and the Fire Engine starting out," replied the China Cat. "I don't like fires myself, and I detest the water they squirt on them. We cats don't like water, you know."

"So I have heard," said the Nodding Donkey.

"Dear me! there's a speck of dirt on my tail," suddenly mewed the China Cat, and she leaned over, and with her red tongue washed her tail clean.

Meanwhile the Policeman walked on down the counter, as though it were a street, and he swung his club and said:

"Move on now! Don't crowd the sidewalk! Everybody must keep moving!"

"Isn't he funny?" asked the Nodding Donkey.

"He is when he doesn't tickle you," said the China Cat, as she looked in a Doll's mirror to see if she had any more specks of dirt on her white coat. But she was nice and clean, was the China Cat.

Then the toys in the store of Horatio Mugg began to have lots of fun. They told stories, sang songs, made up riddles for one another to guess and played tag and hide-and-go-seek. They were allowed to do all this because it was night and no one was watching them. But as soon as daylight came and Mr. Mugg or Miss Angelina or Miss Geraldine or any of the customers came into the store, the toys must be very still and quiet.

"Is this the only store you were ever in?" asked the Donkey of the Cat, as they sat near each other after a lively game of tag.

"No, I was in one other," was the answer. "It was a store in which there lived a Sawdust Doll, a Lamb on Wheels, a Monkey on a Stick and many other playthings."

"Why did you leave?" asked the Donkey. "Was it because there were no other cats there for you to mew to?"

"No, it was not that," was the answer.

"Then why did you leave?" asked the Nodding Donkey.

"Well, one Christmas I was bought by a gentleman who sent me to a lady," was the answer. "She was a lady who was always changing things that came to her from the store. She would buy a thing one day and change it, or send it back, the next.

"And when I came to her as a Christmas present, she happened to have a little China Dog. I guess she thought the dog might bark at me. Anyhow, she sent me back to the store, only she sent me here instead of to the store where the Calico Clown and the other toys lived, and the mistake was never found out. Mr. Mugg and his daughters took me in, and I have been here ever since."

"Do you ever see your friend, the Monkey on a Stick, or hear from the Sawdust Doll?" asked the Donkey.

"Once in a while," was the answer. "Sometimes, when the grown folk buy toys for children they pick out the wrong ones, and the toys are brought back or exchanged. These toys that come back tell us of the houses where they have spent a few days.

"Once a Jumping Jack who was brought back in this way told about being in a house where the Sawdust Doll lived, and where there was also a White Rocking Horse I used to know."

"I should like to meet the White Rocking Horse," said the Nodding Donkey. "He might be a distant relation of mine."

"Perhaps," agreed the China Cat. "But now I think it is time we got back on our shelves. I see daylight beginning to peep in the window, and it would never do for Mr. Mugg or Miss Angelina or Miss Geraldine to see us moving about."

"I suppose not," said the Nodding Donkey, somewhat sadly.

"Move along, everybody! Move back to your places! Daylight is coming!" called the Policeman, as he walked past swinging his club.

And, a little later, when all the toys were back on the shelves, the sun rose, and in came Mr. Mugg to open the store for the day.

All that day people came and went in the toy store, some coming to look, and others to buy. Some of the toys were taken away, and the Nodding Donkey wondered when it would be his turn. But, though he was often taken up, shown and admired, no one purchased him.

"I know what I will do, so that Donkey will be sold!" said Mr. Mugg in the afternoon.

"What?" asked Miss Angelina.

"I will put him in the show window," answered her father.

"Oh, let me decorate the show window!" begged Miss Geraldine. "I'll make up a scene with a Christmas tree, and put the Nodding Donkey under it."

"Very well," agreed Mr. Mugg. "I will leave the show window to you, Geraldine. Make it look as pretty as you can."

And Miss Geraldine did. She got a little Christmas tree and set it up in a box. Then she put some tiny electric lights on it, and also some toys. Other toys were put under the tree, and one of these was the Nodding Donkey.

"Oh, now I can see things!" said the Donkey to himself, as he found he could look right out into the street. It was a scene he had never observed before. All his life had been spent in the workshop of Santa Claus or in the toy store. He was most delighted to look out into the street.

It was snowing, and crowds were hurrying to and fro, doing their Christmas shopping. After the show window in the store of Mr. Horatio Mugg had been newly decorated by Miss Geraldine, many boys and girls and grown folk, too, stopped to peer in. They looked at the Nodding Donkey, at the Jumping Jacks, at the Dolls, the toy Fire Engines, at the Soldiers and at the Policeman.

Toward evening, when the lights had just been set aglow, the Nodding Donkey saw, coming toward the window, a little lame boy. He had to walk on crutches, and with him was a lady who had hold of his arm.

"Oh, Mother, look at the new toys!" cried the lame boy. "And see that Donkey! Why, he's shaking his head at me! Look, he's making his head go up and down! I guess he thinks I asked you if you'd buy him for me, and he's saying 'yes'; isn't he, Mother?"

"Perhaps," answered the lady. "Would you like that Nodding Donkey for Christmas, Joe?"

"Oh, I just would!" cried the lame boy. "Let's go in and look at him. Maybe I can hold him in my hands! Oh, I'd just love that Nodding Donkey!"



Chapter VI

A New Home


For a minute or two longer the lame boy and his mother stood in front of the show window of the toy shop of Mr. Horatio Mugg and his two daughters. The lame boy looked at the Nodding Donkey and the Nodding Donkey bobbed his head in such a funny fashion that the lame boy smiled.

"I'm glad I could make him do that," thought the Donkey. "He doesn't look so sad when he smiles. I wonder what is the matter with him that he walks in such a funny way?"

Of course the Nodding Donkey did not know what it meant to be lame. His own wooden legs were straight and stiff, and he did not need crutches, as did the lame boy.

"Be sure it is the Nodding Donkey you want, and not some other toy," said the boy's mother, as they looked at the things in the window.

"Yes, Mother, I'd rather have him than anything else," the boy answered, and into the store they went. Mr. Mugg came out from behind the counter.

"Would you like to look at some toys?" asked the storekeeper.

"My little boy thinks he would like the Nodding Donkey in the window," said the lady, whose name was Mrs. Richmond.

"Ah, yes, that is a very fine toy!" said Mr. Mugg, with a smile for the lame boy. "It is one of the very latest from the shop of Santa Claus. Geraldine, please show the boy the Nodding Donkey," Mr. Mugg called, and as Joe, the lame boy, walked along with Miss Geraldine, Mr. Mugg said to Mrs. Richmond:

"I am very sorry to see that your boy has to go on crutches."

"Yes, his father and I feel very sad about it," Joe's mother answered. "We have already had the doctors do almost everything they can to cure him, but now we fear he must have another and worse operation. I dread it, and that is why I would get him almost anything to make him happy. He seemed very pleased with the Nodding Donkey."

"I'm sure Joe will like that toy," said Mr. Mugg.

And when Joe had the wooden animal in his hands, and saw how much faster the head nodded at him, the lame boy smiled and said:

"Oh, this is the nicest toy I ever had!"

"I am glad you like it," said the storekeeper. "Geraldine, please wrap up the Nodding Donkey for Joe."

All this while the Nodding Donkey had said nothing, of course, and he had done nothing, except to shake his head. He took one last look around the toy store as he was being wrapped up in paper by Miss Geraldine. The Nodding Donkey saw the Jack in the Box and the China Cat peering at him.

"I wish I might say good-by to them," thought the four-legged toy, "but I suppose it isn't allowed. I shall be lonesome without them."

The China Cat wished she might wave her paw, or even the tip of her tail, at her friend, the Nodding Donkey, and the Jack in the Box did seem to nod a farewell, but perhaps that was because he was on a spring, and could move so easily. As for the China Cat, she had to keep straight and stiff.

With the Nodding Donkey safely wrapped in paper under his arm, Joe left the store of Mr. Mugg with his mother. Joe limped along on his crutches, and he had to go slowly. But he was smiling happily, and for the first day in a long time he forgot about his lameness. And when his mother saw her son smiling, she, too, smiled. But she was worried about another operation that Joe must go through. The doctor had said that one of his legs had grown so crooked that the only way to fix it was to break it, and let it grow together again, straight.

But now, with his Nodding Donkey, Joe thought nothing about operations, or his crutches, or about being lame. All his mind was on the Nodding Donkey, and he even tore a little hole in the paper so he could look through and make sure his toy was all right.

His mother saw him tearing this hole as they sat in the street car riding home, and as she looked down at him sitting beside her she smiled and asked:

"Aren't you afraid your Nodding Donkey will take cold?"

"Oh, no, Mother," Joe answered. "It is nice and warm in this car. But I'll hold my hand over the hole if you want me to, and that will keep out the wind when we walk along the street."

Soon Joe and his mother left the car, to walk toward their home, which was not far from the corner. The weather was getting colder now, and even inside the wrapping paper the Nodding Donkey could feel it, though the lame boy did hold his hand over the hole.

"I wonder what sort of place I am coming into?" thought the Nodding Donkey, as he felt himself being carried inside a house. Wrapped up as he was, of course he could see nothing. But he could feel that the house was warm, for being out in the cold air was almost like the time he had been tossed from the sleigh of Santa Claus into the snowdrift.

"Now I'll have some fun!" cried Joe, as he took the paper off his toy. "Will you please get me my Noah's Ark, Mother? I'll take the animals and have a circus."

Joe sat down to a table and placed the Nodding Donkey in front of him. Up and down and sidewise bobbed the loose head of the toy. And, as he nodded, the Donkey had a chance to look about him. His new home was quite different from the gay toy store he had been taken from. Here was only a plain house, though it was neat and clean and pretty.

"I think I shall like it here," said the Donkey to himself. "I believe Joe will be good and kind to me. I am going to be lonesome at first, but that cannot be helped."

However, the Nodding Donkey was not lonesome now, for Joe's mother set on the table in front of the boy a rather battered old Noah's Ark. From this Joe took out an elephant, a tiger, a lion, a camel and many other animals. They were not as large or as fine as the Nodding Donkey, and they looked at him in a rather queer way, did these animals from the Noah's Ark. Of course they did not dare say or do anything as long as Joe was looking at them.

"Now I will pretend that this table is the circus ring," said Joe, talking to himself, as he often did. "I will put the Nodding Donkey in the middle and all the other animals around him. Then I'll be the Ringmaster and make believe they are doing tricks."

So Joe put the Nodding Donkey in the very center of the table, where the new toy bobbed his head up and down and sidewise, just as he had done in the store of Mr. Mugg and in the workshop of Santa Claus.

"Now comes the Tiger," said Joe, going on with his circus play, and he set that striped animal down near the Donkey. "And then the Lion. I hope they don't bite my new Donkey."

But the Noah's Ark animals were very good and kind, and they did not so much as open their mouths at the Nodding Donkey. Joe played away and had lots of fun at his pretend circus, while his mother got the supper ready. Once when she came into the room where the lame boy sat at the table, Mrs. Richmond said:

"I just saw some friends of yours going past, Joe."

"Who were they?" asked Joe.

"Arnold and Sidney," was the answer. "Arnold had his Bold Tin Soldier, and Sidney was carrying his Calico Clown."

"Oh, I want to see them!" cried Joe. "They have such fun with their toys, and I want them to come in and see mine."

"I'm afraid it is too late -- they have gone on home," answered Mrs. Richmond, but Joe took his crutches, which stood near his chair, and hobbled into the front room, where he could look out in the street to see the boys of whom his mother had spoken.

The Nodding Donkey was left on the table with the other animals from the Noah's Ark. As Mrs. Richmond, as well as Joe, was out of the room, and there was no one to look at them, the animals could do as they pleased.

"How do you do?" politely asked the Lion. "We are glad you have come to live here, Mr. Nodding Donkey. But where is the Noah's Ark that you belong in? It must be very large."

"I did not come out of a Noah's Ark," the Donkey answered, with a friendly nod of his head. "I came first from the workshop of Santa Claus, at the North Pole, and just now I came from a toy store."

"Yes, we, too, were in each of those places, years ago," said the Tiger. "But we have belonged to the little lame boy for a long while. He is very good to us, and you will like it here."

"I heard the boy's mother speak of a Bold Tin Soldier and a Calico Clown," said the Donkey. "Do they belong here?"

"No; they are toys that belong to boys who sometimes come to play with Joe," answered the Elephant. "Then we have jolly times! You ought to see that Calico Clown! He is so funny! And you ought to hear him tell about the time in the toy store when his trousers caught fire!"

"That never happened in the toy store where I was -- not in Mr. Mugg's store," said the Donkey.

"No, that was another store," said the Elephant. "You'll like the Calico Clown, I know you will, and the Bold Tin Soldier, too. Arnold and Sidney will bring them over some day."

"Now that I think of it, I believe I have heard those toys spoken of in the workshop of Santa Claus," said the Donkey. "The China Cat also mentioned them. Yes, I should like to see them. But we had better stop talking. I think I hear Joe or his mother coming back."

There was a noise at the door, but it was not made by the lame boy or his mother. They were both at the front window, looking down the street at Arnold and Sidney, who were going home, one with his Bold Tin Soldier and the other with his Calico Clown.

And then, all of a sudden, something covered with fur and with a big, bushy tail, like a dustbrush, jumped up on the table and sprang at the Nodding Donkey.



Chapter VII

The Flood


"Look out there!" roared the Noah's Ark Lion.

"Here! What are you going to do?" snarled the Noah's Ark Tiger.

Of course neither of these animals made very much noise, being quite small, but they did the best they could.

"Come over by me, Mr. Nodding Donkey, if you are afraid!" called the Elephant through his trunk. He was the largest animal in the Noah's Ark, but even he was not as big as the Donkey. As for that nodding toy, he reared back on his hind legs when he saw the strange animal, covered with fur and with the big tail like a dustbrush, jump on the table. The toy animals could move and talk among themselves now, as long as no human being was in the room.

The furry animal stood on the table in the midst of the toys. He sat up on his hind legs and seemed to be eating something that he held in his forepaws.

"Are you a cat?" asked the Noah's Ark Camel, sort of making his two humps shiver.

"No, I'm not a cat," was the answer. "I am a Chattering Squirrel, and I am eating a nut. I live in a hollow tree just outside this house, and, seeing a window open and all you toys on the table, I jumped in to see what fun you were having."

"Oh, that's all right," said the Nodding Donkey politely. "We are glad to see you. But even I was scared, at first. We were just talking among ourselves while the lame boy is away. He was playing circus with us."

"We Are Glad to See You," Said the Nodding Donkey. Page 73

"I know the lame boy," said the Chattering Squirrel. "He is very kind to me. He puts nuts out for me to eat. I am eating one now. Will you have a nibble?" and the squirrel held out the nut to the Nodding Donkey.

"No, thank you; I don't eat nuts," returned the new toy.

"I eat other things, too," went on the Squirrel. "I take them right out of the lame boy's hand, and I never nip him, for I like him and he likes me. I am sorry he is lame."

"So am I," said the Nodding Donkey. "I felt sorry for him when he looked in the store window of Mr. Mugg's shop, and I nodded to him so that he smiled. But hush! Here he comes now!"

And this time it was the lame boy and his mother coming back into the room where the Nodding Donkey and the Noah's Ark toys had been left on the table. Instantly each toy became stark and stiff and no longer moved or spoke. But the Chattering Squirrel, not being a toy, could do as he pleased. So he frisked his tail and nibbled the nut.

"Oh, Mother! See! There is Frisky, my tame Squirrel!" cried Joe. "He must have come in through the window to see my Nodding Donkey. Hello, Frisky!" cried the lame boy, and then when he put down his hand the Chattering Squirrel scrambled across the table and let Joe rub his soft fur.

"I guess he is looking for something to eat," said Mrs. Richmond, with a smile. "He wants his supper, as you want yours, Joe, and as your father will, as soon as he gets home. You had better put away your toys now -- your Nodding Donkey and the Noah's Ark animals -- and get ready for supper. I think there are a few more nuts left which you may give Frisky."

"Oh, he'll love those, Mother!" cried Joe. And when he had put away his toys he brought out some more nuts for the Squirrel, who liked them very much.

The Nodding Donkey was put up on the mantel shelf in the dining room, but the Noah's Ark toys, being older, were set aside in a closet.

"I want Daddy to see my Donkey as soon as he comes in," said Joe, and he waited for his father. Soon Mr. Richmond's step was heard in the hall, and Joe hobbled on his crutches to meet him. Frisky, the Chattering Squirrel, had skipped out of the open window in the kitchen as soon as he had eaten the nuts Joe gave him.

"How is my boy to-night?" asked Mr. Richmond, as he hugged Joe.

"Oh, I'm fine!" was the answer. "And look what Mother bought me!"

Joe pointed to the Nodding Donkey on the mantel.

"Well, he is a fine fellow!" exclaimed Mr. Richmond. "Where did he come from?"

"From the toy shop," Joe answered, and then, even though supper was almost ready, he had to show his father how the Donkey nodded his head.

"He surely is a jolly chap!" cried Daddy Richmond, when he had taken up the Donkey and looked him all over. "And now how are your legs?" he asked Joe.

"They hurt some; but I don't mind them so much when I have my Donkey," was the answer.

After supper Joe again played with his toy, and, noticing that their son was not listening, Mr. and Mrs. Richmond talked about him in low voices.

"He doesn't really seem to be much better," said the father sadly.

"No," agreed the mother. "I am afraid we shall have to let the doctor break that one leg and set it over again. That may make our boy well."

"I hope so," said Mr. Richmond, and both he and his wife were sad as they thought of the lame one.

But Joe was happier than he had been in some time, for he had his Nodding Donkey to play with. When the time came to go to bed, Joe put the Donkey away in the closet with the Noah's Ark, his toy train of cars, the ball he tossed when his legs did not pain him too much, and his other playthings.

"Well, how do you like it here?" asked the toy Fireman of the toy train, when the house was all quiet and still and the toys were allowed to do as they pleased.

"I think I shall like it very much," was the Donkey's answer.

"I would give you a ride on this toy train," said the Engineer in the cab across from the Fireman, "but you are too large to get in any of the cars."

"But we aren't!" cried the Tiger. "Come on, Mr. Lion, let's go for a ride while we have the chance!"

"All right!" agreed the Lion from the Noah's Ark.

So then, in the closet where they had been put away for the night, the small animals rode up and down the floor in the toy train. The Fireman made believe piles of coal under the boiler, and the Engineer turned on the steam and made the cars go. The Fireman rang the bell, and the Engineer tooted the whistle.

The Nodding Donkey, being rather large, could not fit in the train, but the other toys were just right, and they had a fine time.

"Perhaps if you climbed up on top of the cars I might give you a ride," said the Engineer after he had taken all the Noah's Ark animals on short trips around the closet floor.

"Oh, thank you; but I might fall off and get my head out of order so it would not nod," answered the Donkey. "I think I'll just keep quiet this evening."

"Perhaps you could tell us a story," suggested the Camel. "Tell us the latest news from North Pole Land, where Santa Claus lives. It is a long time since we were there."

"Yes, I could do that," agreed the Nodding Donkey. "And I'll tell you how we ran into a snow bank."

So the Nodding Donkey did this, telling the Noah's Ark animals the same story that I have told you, thus far, in this book. The night passed very happily for the toys in the closet.

When morning came the toys had to become quiet, for it was not allowed for them to be heard talking or to be seen at their make believe fun.

Then began many happy days for the Nodding Donkey. Joe, the lame boy, made a little stable for his new toy, building it out of pieces of wood. He put some straw from the chicken coop in it, so the Donkey would have a soft bed on which to sleep.

Joe played all sorts of games with his new toy. Sometimes it would be a circus game, and again the lame boy would tie little bundles of wood on his Donkey's back, making believe they were gold and diamonds which the animal was carrying down out of pretend mines.

One day Arnold and Sidney, two boys who lived not very far from the home of Joe, came over with their playthings. Arnold brought his Bold Tin Soldier and his company and Sidney his Calico Clown. The three boys looked at the Nodding Donkey and admired him very much, and Joe had fun playing with the Soldier and the Clown.

After a while Mrs. Richmond called to Joe and his chums:

"Come out into the kitchen, boys, and I'll give you some bread and jam," and you can easily believe the boys did not take long to hurry out, Joe stumping along on his crutches.

Meanwhile the Donkey, the Clown, and the Soldier and his men, being left by themselves in the other room, had a chance to talk.

"I am so glad to meet you," brayed the Donkey. "I have heard so much about you."

"Did you hear how once I burned my trousers?" asked the Calico Clown.

"I heard it mentioned," the Donkey said; "but I should like to hear more about it."

"I'll tell you," offered the funny chap. So he related that tale, just as it is told in another of these books.

"Well, that was quite an adventure," said the Donkey, when all had been told. "I suppose you have had adventures, too?" he went on, looking at the Bold Tin Soldier.

"Oh, a few," was the answer.

"Tell them about the time, in the toy shop, when you drew your sword and frightened away the rat that was coming after the Sawdust Doll and the Candy Rabbit," suggested the Clown.

"All right, I will," said the Soldier, and he did. You may read, if you like, about the Candy Rabbit and the Sawdust Doll in the books written especially about those toys.

So the Nodding Donkey listened to the stories told by the Soldier and the Clown, and he was just wishing he might have adventures such as they had had, when back into the room came Joe and his friends. They had finished eating the bread and jam. Then the boys played again with their toys until it was time for Arnold and Sidney to go home.

And now I must tell you of a wonderful adventure that befell the Nodding Donkey about a week after he had come to live with the lame boy, and how he saved Joe's home from being flooded with water.

Joe had been playing with his Nodding Donkey all day, but toward evening the little lame boy's legs pained him so that he had to be put to bed in a hurry. And in such a hurry that he forgot all about the Nodding Donkey and left him on the floor in the kitchen, under the sink, which Joe had pretended was a cave of gold.

"I wonder if I am to stay here all night! It is growing bitterly cold, too!" thought the Donkey, as Joe's father and mother took their boy up to bed. "They must have forgotten me."

And that is just what had happened. After Joe had gone to sleep his father and mother sat in the dining room talking about him.

"I think we shall have to have the doctor come and see Joe to-morrow," said Mr. Richmond. "His legs seem to be getting worse."

"Yes," answered Mrs. Richmond. "Something must be done."

They were both very sad, and sat there silent for some time.

Meanwhile, out in the kitchen, at the sink, something was happening. Suddenly a water pipe burst. It did not make any noise, but the water began trickling down over the floor in a flood. Right where the Nodding Donkey stood, in the pretend cave, the water poured. It rose around the legs of the Donkey, and he felt himself being lifted up and carried across the kitchen toward the dining room door.

The burst pipe had caused a flood, and the Nodding Donkey was right in it!



Chapter VIII

A Broken Leg


Had Mr. and Mrs. Richmond not been in the next room, the Nodding Donkey might have kicked up his heels and have jumped out of the stream of water that was running from the burst pipe of the sink across the floor. But knowing people were so close at hand, where they might catch sight of him, the Donkey dared not move.

All he could do was to float along with the stream of water, which was now getting higher and higher and larger and larger. The water felt cold on the legs of the Donkey, for this was now winter, and the water was like ice. So the Nodding Donkey shivered and shook in the cold water of the flood, and wondered what would happen.

Out in the dining room, next the kitchen, sat Joe's father and mother. They were silent and sad, thinking of their lame boy.

They were thinking so much about him, and what the doctors would have to do to him to make him well and strong, that neither of them paid any heed to the running water. If they had not been thinking so much about Joe they might have heard the hissing sound.

But suddenly Mrs. Richmond, who was looking at the floor, gave a start, and half arose from her chair.

"Look!" she cried to her husband. "There is Joe's Nodding Donkey!"

"Why!" exclaimed Mr. Richmond, "it is floating along on a stream of water! The frost has made a pipe burst in the kitchen and the water is spurting out! Quick! We must shut off the running water!"

It did not take Joe's father long to shut off the water from the burst pipe. That was all that could be done then, as no plumber could be had. Mrs. Richmond lifted the Donkey up off the floor and out of the water, drying him on a towel. And you may well believe that the Donkey was very glad to be warm and dry again. He was afraid his varnish coat would be spoiled, but I am glad to say it was not.

"It's a lucky thing we sat here talking, and that I saw the Donkey come floating in," said Mrs. Richmond, when the water had been mopped up. "If I had not, the whole house might have been flooded by morning."

"Yes," agreed her husband. "Joe's Nodding Donkey did us a good turn. He saved a lot of damage. The water in the kitchen will not do much harm, but if it had flooded the rest of the house it would."

Then the Donkey was put away in the closet where he belonged, together with the animals from the Noah's Ark.

"How cold and shivery you are, Mr. Donkey," said the Noah's Ark Lamb, when the Donkey had been placed on the closet shelf, after the flood.

"I guess you'd be cold and shivery, too, if you had been through such an adventure as just happened to me!" answered the Donkey.

"Oh, tell us about it!" begged the Lion. "We have been quite dull here all evening, wondering where you were."

So the Donkey told his story of the burst pipe, and after that the animals went to sleep.

Joe was quite surprised when, the next morning, he was told what had happened. And when the plumber came to fix the broken pipe Joe showed the man the Nodding Donkey who had first given warning of the flood.

"He is a fine toy!" said the plumber.

After this Joe's Nodding Donkey had many adventures in his new home. I wish I had room to tell you all of them, but I can only mention a few.

The weather grew colder and colder, and some days many snowflakes fell. The Donkey, looking out of the window, saw them, and he thought of Santa Claus and North Pole Land.

Joe was not as lively as he had been that day he went to Mr. Mugg's store and bought the toy. There were days when Joe never took the Nodding Donkey off the shelf at all. The wooden toy just had to stay there, while Joe lay on a couch near the window and looked out.

"This is too bad!" thought the Donkey. "Joe ought to run about and play like Arnold and Sidney. They have lots of fun in the snow, and they take out the Calico Clown and the Bold Tin Soldier, too. I wish Joe would take me out. I don't mind the cold of the snow as much as I minded the cold water."

But Joe seemed to have forgotten about his Nodding Donkey. The toy stood on a shelf over the couch where the lame boy lay. Once in a while Joe would ask his mother to hand him down the Donkey, but more often the lame boy would lie with his eyes closed, doing nothing.

Then, one day, a sad accident happened. Mrs. Richmond was upstairs, getting Joe's bed ready for him. Though it was not yet night, he said he felt so tired he thought he would go to bed. On the shelf over his head was the Nodding Donkey.

Suddenly, in through a kitchen window that had been left open came Frisky, the Chattering Squirrel. Over the floor scampered the lively little chap, and he gave a sort of whistle at Joe.

"Oh, hello, Frisky!" said the lame boy, opening his eyes. "I'm glad you came in!"

Of course Frisky could not say so in boy language, but he, too, was glad to see Joe.

"Come here, Frisky!" called Joe, and he held out his hand.

"I guess he has some nuts for me," thought the squirrel, and he was right. In one pocket Joe had some nuts, and now he held these out to his little live pet.

Frisky took a nut in his paw, which was almost like a hand, and then, as squirrels often do, he looked for a high place on which he might perch himself to eat. Frisky saw the shelf over Joe's couch, the same shelf on which stood the Nodding Donkey.

"I'll go up there to eat the nut," said Frisky to himself.

Up he scrambled, but he was such a lively little chap that in swinging his tail from side to side he brushed it against the Nodding Donkey.

With a crash that toy fell to the floor near Joe's couch!

"Oh, Frisky! Look what you did!" cried Joe. But the squirrel was so busy eating the nut that he paid no attention to the Donkey.

Joe picked up his plaything. One of the Donkey's varnished legs was dangling by a few splinters.

"Oh! Oh, dear!" cried Joe. "My Donkey's leg is broken! Now he will have to go on crutches as I do! Mother! Come quick!" cried Joe. "Something terrible has happened to my Nodding Donkey!"



Chapter IX

A Lonesome Donkey


"What is the matter, Joe? What has happened?" asked Mrs. Richmond, hurrying downstairs, leaving her son's bed half made.

Mrs. Richmond, hurrying into the room where she had left Joe lying on the couch, saw him sitting up and holding his Nodding Donkey in his hands.

"Oh, look, Mother!" and Joe's voice sounded as if he might be going to cry. "Look what Frisky did to my Donkey! Knocked him off the shelf, and his left hind leg is broken."

"That is too bad," said Mrs. Richmond, but her face showed that she was glad it was not Joe who was hurt. "Yes, the Donkey's leg is broken," she went on, as she took the toy from her son. "Frisky, you are a bad squirrel to break Joe's Donkey!" and she shook her finger at the chattering little animal, who, perched on the shelf, was eating the nut the boy had given him.

"Oh, Mother! Frisky didn't mean to do it," said Joe. "It wasn't his fault. I guess the Nodding Donkey was too close to the edge of the shelf. But now his leg is broken, and I guess he'll have to go on crutches, the same as I do; won't he, Mother?"

The Nodding Donkey did not hear any of this. The pain in his leg was so great that he had fainted, though Joe and his mother did not know this. But the Donkey really had fainted.

"No, Joe," said Mrs. Richmond, after a while, "your Donkey will not have to go on crutches, and I hope the day will soon come when you can lay them aside."

"What do you mean, Mother?" Joe asked eagerly. "Do you think I will ever get better?"

"We hope so," she answered softly. "In a few days you are going to a nice place, called a hospital, where you will go to sleep in a little white bed. Then the doctors will come and, when you wake up again, your legs may be nice and straight so, after a while, you can walk on them again without leaning on crutches."

"Oh, won't I be glad when that happens!" cried Joe, with shining eyes. "But what about my Nodding Donkey, Mother? Can I take him to the hospital and have him fixed, too, so he will not need crutches?"

"Well, we shall see about that," Mrs. Richmond said. "I'll tie his leg up now with a rag, and when your father comes home he may know how to fix it. I never heard of a donkey on crutches."

"I didn't either!" laughed Joe. He felt a little happier now, because he hoped he might be made well and strong again, and because he hoped his father could fix the broken leg of the Nodding Donkey.

Mrs. Richmond got a piece of cloth, and, straightening out the Donkey's leg as best she could, she tied it up. Then she put the toy far back on the shelf, laying it down on its side so it would not fall off again, or topple over.

Frisky scampered out of the window, back to his home in the hollow tree at the end of the yard. Frisky never knew what damage he had done. He was too eager to eat the nut Joe had given him.

"Now lie quietly here, Joe," his mother said. "I will soon have your bed ready for you, and then you can go to sleep."

"I don't want to go until Daddy comes home, so he can fix my Donkey," said the boy, and his mother allowed him to remain up until Mr. Richmond came from the office.

"Oh, ho! So the Donkey has a broken leg, has he?" asked Mr. Richmond in his usual jolly voice, when he came in where Joe was lying on the couch. "Well, I think I can have him fixed."

"How?" asked the little lame boy.

"I'll take him back to the same toy store where you bought him," answered his father. "Mr. Mugg knows how to mend all sorts of toys."

By this time the Donkey had gotten over the fainting fit, as his leg did not hurt him so much after Mrs. Richmond had tied the rag around it. And now the Donkey heard what was said.

"Take me back to the toy store, will they?" thought the Donkey to himself. "Well, I shall be glad to have my leg mended, and also to see the China Cat and some of my other friends. But I want to come back to Joe. I like him, and I like it here. Besides, I am near the Calico Clown and the Bold Tin Soldier. Yes, I shall want to come back when my leg is mended."

Mr. Richmond, still leaving on the Donkey's leg the rag Mrs. Richmond had wound around it, put the toy back on the shelf. Then he carried Joe up to bed.

"When will the doctors operate on our boy, to make him better?" asked Mrs. Richmond of her husband, when Joe was asleep.

"In about a week," was his answer. "I stopped at the hospital to-day, and made all the plans. Joe is to go there a week from to-day."

"Will his Nodding Donkey be mended by that time?" asked Mrs. Richmond. "I think Joe would like to take it to the hospital with him."

"I'll try to get Mr. Mugg to finish it so Joe may have it," said Mr. Richmond. "Poor boy! He has had a hard time in life, but if this operation is a success he will be much happier."

All night long the Nodding Donkey lay on the shelf, his broken leg wrapped in the cloth. He did not nod now, for, lying down as he was, his head could not shake and wabble. Besides, the toy felt too sad and was in too much pain to nod, even if he had stood on his feet. But of course he couldn't stand up with a broken leg. Indeed not!

In the closet, where they were kept, the animals from Noah's Ark talked among themselves that night.

"Where is the Nodding Donkey?" asked the Lion. "Why is he not here with us?"

"I hope he hasn't become too proud, because he is a new, shiny toy and we are old and battered," said the Tiger sadly.

"Nonsense!" rumbled the Elephant. "The Nodding Donkey is not that kind of toy. He would be here if he could. Some accident has happened, you may depend on it."

"Well, I'm glad my train didn't run over him," said the Engineer of the toy locomotive.

"It was some kind of accident, I'm sure," insisted the Elephant. "I heard Joe cry out, and his mother came running downstairs."

And it was an accident, as you know. All night the Nodding Donkey lay on the shelf in the dining room. He had no other toys to talk to, and perhaps it was just as well, for he did not feel like talking with his broken leg hurting him as it did.

Early the next morning Mr. Richmond was on his way to the office, taking the Nodding Donkey with him.

"Let me see him once more before you take him to the toy shop to be fixed!" begged Joe, who had been told what was to be done with his plaything.

Joe's father put the Nodding Donkey into his son's hands.

"Poor fellow!" murmured Joe, gently touching the broken leg. "You are a cripple like me, now. I hope they make you well again."

Then, with another kind pat, Joe gave the Donkey back to his father, and, a little later, Mr. Richmond walked into Mr. Mugg's store with the toy.

"Hum! Yes, that is a bad break, but I think I can fix it," said the jolly old gentleman.

"Let me see," begged Miss Angelina, peering over her father's shoulder, with a dustbrush under her arm. She had been dusting the toys ready for the day's business.

"The leg isn't broken all the way off," said Miss Geraldine, who was washing the face of a China Doll, that, somehow or other, had fallen in the dust.

"Yes, that is a good thing," observed Mr. Mugg. "I can glue the parts together and the Donkey will be as strong as ever. Leave it here, Mr. Richmond. I'll fix it."

"And may I have it back this week?" asked the other. "My boy is going to the hospital to have his legs made strong, if possible, and I think he would like to take the Donkey with him."

"You may have it day after to-morrow," promised the toy man.

The Nodding Donkey was still in such pain from his broken leg that he did not pay much attention to the other toys in the store. But Mr. Mugg lost no time in getting to work on the broken toy.

"Heat me the pot of glue, Geraldine," he called to his daughter, "and get me some paint and varnish. When I mend the broken leg I'll paint over the splintered place, so it will not show."

The Nodding Donkey was taken to a work bench. Mr. Mugg, wearing a long apron and a cap, just like the workmen in the shop of Santa Claus, sat down to begin.

With tiny pieces of wood, put in the broken leg to make it as strong as the others that were not broken, with hot, sticky glue, and with strands of silk thread, Mr. Mugg worked on the Nodding Donkey. The toy felt like braying out as loudly as he could when he felt the hot glue on his leg, but he was not permitted to do this, since Mr. Mugg was looking at him. So he had to keep silent, and in the end he felt much better.

"There, I think you will do now," said Mr. Mugg, as he tightly bound some bandages on the Donkey's leg. "When it gets dry I will paint it over and it will look as good as new."

The mended Donkey was set aside on a shelf by himself, and not among the toys that were for sale. All day and all night long he remained there. He was feeling too upset and in too much pain to be lonesome. All he wished for was to be better.

In the morning he was almost himself again. Mr. Mugg came, and, finding the glue hard and dry, took off the bandages. Then with his knife he scraped away little hard pieces of glue that had dried on the outside, and the toy man also cut away some splinters of new wood that stuck out.

"Now to paint your leg, and you will be finished," said Mr. Mugg.

The smell of the paint and varnish, as it was put on him, made the Nodding Donkey think of when he had first come to life in the workshop of Santa Claus. He was feeling quite young and happy again.

"There you are!" cried Mr. Mugg, as he once more set the Donkey on the shelf for the paint and varnish to dry. And this time the Donkey was allowed to be among the other toys, though he was not for sale.

That night in the store, when all was quiet and still, the Nodding Donkey shook his head and spoke to the China Cat, who was not far away.

"Well, you see I am back here again," said the Nodding Donkey.

"Have you come to stay?" asked the China Cat. "You can't imagine how surprised I was when I saw you brought in! But what has happened?"

Then the Donkey told of his accident, and how he had been mended.

"Your leg looks all right now," said the China Cat, glancing at it in the light of the one lamp Mr. Mugg left burning when he closed his store.

"Yes, I am feeling quite myself again," said the Donkey. "But I am not here to stay. I must go back to Joe, the lame boy."

"At least we shall have a chance to talk over old times for a little while," said the China Cat. "I came near being sold yesterday. A lady was going to buy me for her baby to cut his teeth on. Just fancy!"

"I don't believe you would have liked that," said the Donkey.

"No, indeed!" mewed the China Cat. Then she and the Donkey and the other toys talked for some hours, and told stories. On account of his paint not being dry the Donkey did not walk around, jump or kick as he had used to do.

In the morning the toys had to stop their fun-making, for Mr. Mugg and his daughters came to open the store for the day. And in the afternoon Mr. Richmond called to get the mended toy.

And you can imagine how glad Joe was to get his Donkey back again.

"I'll never let Frisky break any more of your legs," said Joe, as he hugged the Donkey to him. "I'll take you to bed with me to-night."

But though Joe was allowed to take his Donkey to bed with him, it was thought best not to send the toy to the hospital with the little boy, when he went early the next week.

"Good-by, Nodding Donkey!" called Joe to his toy, as he was driven away; and when Mrs. Richmond put the mended Donkey away on the closet shelf, there were tears in her eyes.

The Nodding Donkey knew that something was wrong, but he did not understand all that was happening. He had seen Joe taken away, and he saw himself put in the closet with the Noah's Ark animals.

"What is the matter?" asked the Lion. "Is Joe tired of playing with you, as he grew tired of us?"

"I hope not," said the Nodding Donkey sadly.

But as that day passed, and the next, the Nodding Donkey grew very lonesome for Joe, for he had learned to love the little lame boy.



Chapter X

Joe Can Run


About a week after Joe had been taken to the hospital, where he had been put in a little white bed, with a rosy-cheeked nurse to look after him, there came a knock on the door of the house where Joe lived, and where the Nodding Donkey also had his home.

"Is Joe here?" asked a little girl named Mirabell, who carried in her arms a toy Lamb on Wheels.

"Joe? No, dear, he isn't here. He is in the hospital having his lame legs fixed," answered Mrs. Richmond. "Didn't you hear about his going away?"

"No," answered Mirabell, "I didn't. But Sidney said Joe had a Nodding Donkey, and I brought my Lamb on Wheels to see the Donkey."

"That is very kind of you," said Mrs. Richmond. "Come in. We are quite worried about Joe, and we hope he will get well and strong so he can run about. But it will be some time yet before he comes from the hospital."

Mirabell entered the house with her Lamb on Wheels. The little girl looked sad when she heard about Joe, but a smile came over her face when she saw the Nodding Donkey, which Joe's mother brought from the closet.

"Oh, what a lovely Donkey!" cried Mirabell. "See, Lamb!" and she held up her toy. "Meet Mr. Nodding Donkey!"

The Donkey nodded his head, but the Lamb could not do that. However, she looked kindly at the nodding toy.

While Mirabell was playing with her Lamb and the Donkey there came another knock on the door of Joe's house.

"It is Herbert with his Monkey on a Stick," said Mrs. Richmond. "Come in," she added, as she opened the door.

"Is Joe back yet?" asked Herbert, after he had said "hello" to Mirabell and put his Monkey toy on the table.

"No, Joe is still in the hospital," answered the lame boy's mother. "He will be home in about three weeks, we hope. Here is his Nodding Donkey toy."

"Oh, that's fine!" cried Herbert. "Arnold told me about it, and I wanted to see it. My mother told me about Joe going to the hospital, and I came to see how he was."

"It is very kind of you," said Joe's mother. "Now I'll leave you children to play with your toys awhile, until I call up the hospital on the telephone and see how Joe is to-day. I have not had a chance to visit him yet."

Herbert and Mirabell had fun playing together, and with the Lamb on Wheels, the Monkey on a Stick, and the Nodding Donkey. After a while the children were given some bread and jam by Mrs. Richmond, who called them into another room to eat it.

"I heard from the hospital that Joe is much better to-day," said Mrs. Richmond, as she spread more bread and butter for her little visitors.

While they were left in the room by themselves, the toys spoke to one another.

"You are a new one, aren't you?" asked the Lamb of the Donkey.

"Yes," was the answer. "Joe got me only a little while before he was taken to the hospital, wherever that is. I guess I was in the hospital myself, when I had my broken leg mended."

"Oh, tell us about it!" begged the Monkey, as he climbed to the top of his stick and slid down again.

So the Donkey told how Frisky had knocked him off the shelf, breaking his leg.

"And Joe had something the matter with his legs, too, so that's why he had to go to the hospital," added the Donkey, as he finished his story. "I do hope he comes back soon, for I am lonesome without him."

The toys spent a happy half hour together, and then when Mirabell and Herbert came back into the room, having finished their bread and jam, the Donkey, the Lamb, and the Monkey had to become quiet.

"We'll come over again, when Joe gets home," said Mirabell, as she and Herbert left.

"And we'll get the other boys and girls and give him a toy party," added the owner of the Monkey.

"Oh, that will be lovely!" said Mrs. Richmond.

The Nodding Donkey was put back in the closet, where he told the Noah's Ark animals all about the visit of the Monkey and Lamb.

"I have heard of those toys," said the Elephant. "They know the Sawdust Doll, the White Rocking Horse, the Candy Rabbit, and the Bold Tin Soldier."

"My, what a lot of jolly toys there are!" said the Donkey. And then he grew silent, thinking of poor little Joe in the hospital.

Joe did not have an easy time. He was very ill and in great pain, but the kind doctors and nurses looked well after him, and his father and mother went to see him almost every day. One afternoon, when Joe had been in the hospital for what seemed to him a whole year, his father and the doctor came into the room. There was also a nurse, and she began to put on Joe the clothes he wore in the street.

"What is going to happen?" asked the boy.

"I am going to take you home, and give your mother a joyful surprise," said his father.

"Oh, how glad I am!" cried Joe. "And then I can see my Nodding Donkey, can't I? Is he all right, Daddy?"

"As right and as fine as ever," answered Mr. Richmond.

Joe could hardly sit still during the ride home. He got out of the automobile and went through the snow up to the front door. His father opened it, and Joe saw his mother standing at the end of the hall.

For a moment Mrs. Richmond could hardly believe what she saw.

"Joe! Joe, my little boy!" she cried. "Oh, you have come home again! Are you all right? Are your legs better? Can you walk?"

"Can I walk, Mother!" cried Joe, in a happy voice. "Of course I can! I can walk without my crutches, and I can run! I can run! See!"

And with that Joe ran down the hall and into his mother's arms.

Oh, what a joyful happy time there was! Joe's legs were straight and strong again, and he did not need his crutches any more.

"And now where is my Nodding Donkey?" he asked. "I want to see him!"

"I'll get him for you," offered his mother, and when the toy was set on the table near Joe, it nodded its head to welcome him home.

"Oh, my dear Donkey! how I missed you while I was in the hospital," said Joe.

"And I missed you, too," thought the Donkey.

Two or three days after this, when Joe had gotten used to being at home again, there came a knock at the door. Outside happy voices were talking and laughing.

When Joe opened the door there stood Dorothy with her Sawdust Doll, Dick with his White Rocking Horse, Arnold with his Bold Tin Soldier, Mirabell with her Lamb, Madeline, who had a Candy Rabbit, Herbert, who carried a Monkey on a Stick, and Sidney with the Calico Clown.

"Surprise on Joe! Surprise on Joe!" cried the children. "We have come to make a Toy Party for you and your Nodding Donkey!"

"Oh, how glad I am!" Joe laughed. "Look at my legs!" he went on. "They are straight now, and I don't have to go on crutches. And my Nodding Donkey, who had a broken leg, is well, too! He doesn't have to go on crutches, either!"

"Hurray!" cried Dick, and all the other boys and girls said: "Hurray! Hurray! Hurray!"

Then the Toy Party began, and the children and the toys had so much fun that it would take three books just to tell about half of it. Joe and his Nodding Donkey were the guests of honor, and all the others tried to make them feel happy. And Joe was happy! One look at his smiling face told that.

As for the Nodding Donkey, you could tell by the way he moved his head that never, in all his life, had he had such a good time.

When Mrs. Richmond called the children to the dining room to eat, the toys were left by themselves in a playroom.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," said the Calico Clown in his jolly voice, "we have all met together, after a long time of being apart. We have all had good times together, and now I hope you will all agree with me when I say that we are glad to welcome the Nodding Donkey among us."

The Nodding Donkey is Welcomed by the Calico Clown. Page 118

"Yes, he is very welcome," said the Sawdust Doll. "We are glad he has come to live in this part of the world."

"I am glad of it myself," said the Nodding Donkey. "I never knew, while I was in the workshop of Santa Claus, that so many things could happen down here. Yes, I am very happy that I came. There is only one thing I wish."

"What is that?" asked the Monkey.

"I wish the China Cat were here," said the Donkey. "She lives in Mr. Mugg's store, and I'm sure you would all like her, she is so clean and white."

"Three cheers for the China Cat!" called the Bold Tin Soldier, waving his sword.

And the toys cheered among themselves.

"Tell me more about this China Cat," begged the Candy Rabbit to the Donkey. "Is she anything like me?"

The Nodding Donkey was just going to tell about the China Cat when Joe and the other children came trooping back into the room, having finished their lunch.

"Now let's play circus!" cried Joe. "We have a lot of toys and animals now. Let's play circus."

And so they did. But as there is a story to tell about the China Cat, and as I have no room in this book, I will make up another, and it will be all about the Nodding Donkey's friend, the white China Cat, and how she had many adventures, but managed to keep herself clean.

As for Joe and his friends, they had a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, and the Nodding Donkey lived for a long while after that, happy and contented, and he never even had so much as a pain in the broken leg that Mr. Mugg had mended so nicely.

<eob>

When Buffalo Ran

By

George Bird Grinnell



The Plains Country.


Seventy years ago, when some of the events here recounted took place, Indians were Indians, and the plains were the plains indeed.

Those plains stretched out in limitless rolling swells of prairie until they met the blue sky that on every hand bent down to touch them. In spring brightly green, and spangled with wild flowers, by midsummer this prairie had grown sere and yellow. Clumps of dark green cottonwoods marked the courses of the infrequent streams -- for most of the year the only note of color in the landscape, except the brilliant sky. On the wide, level river bottoms, sheltered by the enclosing hills, the Indians pitched their conical skin lodges and lived their simple lives. If the camp were large the lodges stood in a wide circle, but if only a few families were together, they were scattered along the stream.

In the spring and early summer the rivers, swollen by the melting snows, were often deep and rapid, but a little later they shrank to a few narrow trickles running over a bed of sand, and sometimes the water sank wholly out of sight.

The animals of the prairie and the roots and berries that grew in the bottoms and on the uplands gave the people their chief sustenance.

In such surroundings the boy Wikis was born and grew up. The people that he knew well were those of his own camp. Once a year perhaps, for a few weeks, he saw the larger population of a great camp, but for the most part half a dozen families of the tribe, with the buffalo, the deer, the wolves, and the smaller animals and birds, were the companions with whom he lived and from whom he learned life's lessons.

The incidents of this simple story are true.

The life of those days and the teachings received by the boy or the girl who was to take part in it have passed away and will not return.




The Attack on the Camp.


It is the first thing that I can recollect, and comes back to me now dimly -- only as a dream. My mother used to tell me of it, and often to laugh at me. She said I was then about five or six years old.

I must have been playing with other little boys near the lodge, and the first thing that I remember is seeing people running to and fro, men jumping on their horses, and women gathering up their children. I remember how the men called to each other, and that some were shouting the war cry; and then that they all rode away in the same direction. My mother rushed out and caught me by the hand, and began to pull me toward the lodge, and then she stopped and in a shrill, sweet voice began to sing; and other women that were running about stopped too, and began to sing songs to encourage their husbands and brothers and sons to fight bravely; for enemies were attacking the camp.

I did not understand it at all, but I was excited and glad to hear the noise, and to see people rushing about. Soon I could hear shooting at a distance. Then presently I saw the men come riding back toward the camp; and saw the enemy following them down toward the lodges, and that there were many of these strangers, while our people were only a few. But still my people kept stopping and turning and fighting. Now the noise was louder. The women sang their strong heart songs more shrilly, and I could hear more plainly the whoops of men, and the blowing of war whistles, and the reports of guns.

Presently one of our men fell off his horse. The enemy charged forward in a body to touch him, and our few men rushed to meet them, to keep them from striking the fallen one, and from taking the head. And now the women began to be frightened, and some of them ran away. My mother rushed to the lodge, caught up my little sister, and threw her on her back, and holding me by the hand, ran toward the river. By this time I was afraid, and I ran as hard as I could; but my legs were short and I could not keep up, even though my mother had a load on her back. Nevertheless, she pulled me along. Every little while I stumbled and lost my feet; but she dragged me on, and as she lifted me up, I caught my feet again, and ran on.

Before long I began to tire, and I remember that I wanted to stop. In after years mother used to laugh at me about this, and say that I had asked her to throw away my sister, and to put me on her back and carry me instead. She used to say, too, that if she had been obliged to throw away either child I should have been the one left behind, for as I was a boy, and would grow up to be a warrior, and to fight the enemies of our tribe, I might very likely be killed anyway, and it might as well be earlier as later.

When we reached the river, my mother threw herself into it. Usually it was not more than knee-deep, but at this time the water was high from the spring floods, and my mother had to swim, holding my sister on her back, and at the same time supporting me, for though I could swim a little, I was not strong enough to breast the current, and without help would have been carried away.

After we had crossed the river and come out on the other side, we looked back toward the village, and could see that the enemy were retreating. They might easily have killed or driven off the few warriors of our small camp, but not far from us there was a larger camp of our people, and when they heard the shooting and the shouting, they came rushing to help us; and when the enemy saw them coming, they began to yield and then to run away. Our warriors followed and killed some of them; but the most of them got away after having killed four warriors of our camp, whose hard fighting and death had perhaps saved the little village.

After the enemy had retreated, my mother crossed the river again, being helped over by a man who was on the side opposite the camp, and who let us ride his horse, while he held its tail and swam behind it.

In the village that night there was mourning for those who had lost their lives to save their friends. Their relations cried very pitifully over the dead; and early the next day their bodies were carried to the top of a hill near the village, and buried there.

After the mourning for the dead was ended, the people had dances over the scalps that had been taken from the enemy, rejoicing over the victory. Men and women blackened their faces, and danced in a circle about the scalps, held on poles; and old men and old women shouted the names of those men who had been the bravest in the fight. We little boys looked on and sang and danced by ourselves away from the circle.

It was soon after this that my uncle made me a bow and some blunt-headed arrows, with which he told me I should hunt little birds, and should learn to kill food, to help support my mother and sisters, as a man ought to do. With these arrows I used to practice shooting, trying to see how far I could shoot, how near I could send the arrow to the mark I shot at; and afterwards, as I grew a little older, hunting in the brush along the river, or on the prairie not far from the camp with the other little boys. We hunted the blackbirds, or the larks, or the buffalo birds that fed among the horses' feet, or the other small birds that lived among the bushes and trees in the bottom. If I killed a little bird, as sometimes I did, my mother cooked it and we ate it.
This was a happy time for me. We little boys played together all the time. Sometimes the older boys allowed us to go with them, when they went far from the village, to hunt rabbits, and when they did this, sometimes they told us to carry back the rabbits that they had killed; and I remember that once I came back with the heads of three rabbits tucked under my belt, killed by my cousin, who was older than I. Then we used to go out and watch the men and older boys playing at sticks; and we had little sticks of our own, and our older brothers and cousins made us wheels; and we, too, played the stick game among ourselves, rolling the wheel and chasing it as hard as we could; but, for the most part, we threw our sticks at marks, trying to learn how to throw them well, and how to slide them far over the ground.
I remember another thing -- a sad thing -- that happened when I was a very little boy.

It was winter; the snow lay deep on the ground; a few lodges of people were camped in some timber among the foothills; buffalo were close, and game was plenty; the camp was living well. With the others I played about the camp, spinning tops on the ice, sliding down hill on a bit of parfleche, or on a sled made of buffalo ribs, and sometimes hunting little birds in the brush. All this I know about from having heard my mother tell of it; it is not in my memory. This is what I remember: One day, with one of my friends, I had gone a little way from the camp, and down the stream. A few days before there had been a heavy fall of snow, and after that some warm days, so that the top of the snow had melted. Then had come a hard cold, which had frozen it, so that on the snow there was a crust over which we could easily run.

As we were playing we went around the point of a hill, and suddenly, close to us, saw a big bull. He seemed to have come from the other side of the river, and was plowing his way through the deep snow, which came halfway up to the top of his hump. When we saw the bull we were a little frightened; but as we watched him we saw that he could hardly move, and that after he had made a jump or two he stood still for a long time, puffing and blowing, before he tried to go further. As we watched him he came to a low place in the prairie, and here he sank still deeper in the snow, so that part of his head was hidden, and only his hump showed above it. My friend said to me, "Let us go up to this bull, and shoot him with our arrows." We began to go toward him slowly, and he did not see us until we had come quite close to him, when he turned and tried to run; but the snow was so deep that he could not go at all; on each side it rose up, and rolled over, away from him, as the water is pushed away and swells out on either side before a duck that is swimming. My friend was very brave, and he said to me, "I am going to shoot that bull, and count a coup on him"; and he ran up close to the bull, and shot his blunt-headed arrow against him, and then turned off. The bull tried hard to go faster, but the snow was too deep; and when I saw that he could not move, I, too, ran up close to him, and shot my arrow at him, and the arrow bounded off and fell on the snow. Again my friend did this, and then I did it; and each time the bull was frightened and struggled to get away: but the last time my friend did it the bull had reached higher ground, where the snow was not so deep, and he had more freedom. My friend shot his arrow into him, and I was following not far behind, expecting to shoot mine; but when the bull felt the blow of the last arrow, he turned toward my friend and made a quick rush; the snow was less deep; he went faster; my little friend slipped, and the bull caught him with his horns and threw him far. My friend fell close to me, and where he fell the snow was red with his blood, for the great horn had caught him just above the waist, and had ripped his body open nearly to the throat.

I went up to him in a moment, and, catching him, pulled him over the smooth crust, far from the bull; but when I stopped and looked at him, he was still, his eyes were dull, and he did not breathe; he was dead.

I did not know what to do. I had lost my friend, and I cried hard. Also, I wished to be revenged on the bull for what he had done; but I did not wish to be killed. I covered my friend with my robe, and started running fast to the camp, where I told my mother what had happened. Soon all the men in the camp, and some of the women, had started with me, back to where the bull was. My friend's relations were wailing and mourning, as they came along, and soon we reached his body, and his relations carried him back to the camp. Two of the men went to where the bull stood in the snow and killed him; and after he was dead I struck him with my bow.




Standing Alone.


Always as winter drew near, the camps came closer together, and the people began to make ready to start off on the hunt for buffalo. By this time food was scarce, and the people needed new robes; and now that the cold weather was at hand, the hair of the buffalo was long and shaggy, so that the robes would be soft and warm, to keep out the winter cold.

I remember that before the tribe started there used to be a great ceremony, but I was too young to understand what it all meant, though with the others I watched what the old men did, and wondered at it, for it seemed very solemn. There was a big circle about which the people stood or sat, and in the middle of the circle there were buffalo heads on the ground, and before them stood old men, who prayed and offered sacrifices, and passed their weapons and their sacred implements over the skulls, and then people danced; and not long after this the women loaded their lodges and their baggage on the horses, and put their little children into the cages on the travois, or piled them on the loaded pack horses; and then presently, in a long line, the village started off over the prairie, to look for buffalo.

Most of the way I walked or ran, playing with the other little boys, or looking through the ravines to try and find small birds, or a rabbit, or a prairie chicken. Sometimes I rode a colt, too young yet to carry a load, or to be ridden by an older person, yet gentle enough to carry me. In this way I learned to ride.

When buffalo were found, the young men killed them, and then the whole camp, women and children, went out to where the buffalo lay, and meat and hides were brought in to the camp, where the women made robes, and dried meat. Food was plenty, and everybody was glad.

My grandmother lived in our lodge. She was an old woman with gray hair, and was always working hard. Whenever there were skins in the lodge she worked at them until they were tanned and ready for use. Often she used to talk to me, telling me about the old times; how our tribe used to fight with its enemies, and conquer them, and kill them; and how brave the men always were. She used to tell me that of all things that a man could do, the best thing was to be brave. She would say to me: "Your father was a brave man, killed by his enemies when he was fighting. Your grandfather, too, was brave, and counted many coups; he was a chief, and is looked up to by everyone. Your other grandfather was killed in a battle when he was a young man. The people that you have for relations have never been afraid, and you must not be afraid either. You must always do your best, because you have many relations who have been braves, and chiefs. You have no father to tell you how you ought to live, so now your other relations must try to help you as much as they can, and advise you what to do."
She used to tell me of the ancient times, and of things that happened then, of persons who had strong spiritual power, and did wonderful things, and of certain bad persons and animals, who harmed people, and of the old times before the people had bows, when they did not kill animals for food, but lived on roots and berries. She told me that I must remember all these things, and keep them in my mind.

Sometimes my grandmother had hard pains in her legs, and it hurt her to walk, and when she had these pains she could not go about much, and could not work. When this happened, sometimes she used to ask me to go down to the stream and fetch her a skin of water; and I would whine, and say to her, "Grandmother, I do not want to carry water; men do not carry water." Then she would tell us some story about the bad things that had happened to boys who refused to carry water for their grandmothers; and when I was little these stories frightened me, and I would go for the water. So perhaps I helped her a little in some things after she was old. Yet she lived until I was a grown man; and so long as she lived she worked hard; except when she had these pains.

Sometimes my mother and some of her relations would go off and camp together for a long time; and then perhaps they would join a larger camp, and stay with them for a while. In these larger camps we children had much fun, playing our different games. We had many of these. Some, like those I have spoken of, we played in winter, and some we played in summer. Often the little girls caught some of the dogs, and harnessed them to little travois, and took their baby brothers and sisters, and others of the younger children, and moved off a little way from the camp, and there pitched their little lodges. The boys went too, and we all played at living in camp. In these camps we did the things that older people do. A boy and girl pretended to be husband and wife, and lived in the lodge; the girl cooked and the boy went out hunting. Sometimes some of the boys pretended that they were buffalo, and showed themselves on the prairie a little way off, and other boys were hunters, and went out to chase the buffalo. We were too little to have horses, but the boys rode sticks, which they held between their legs, and lashed with their quirts to make them go faster. Among those who played in this way was a girl smaller than I, the daughter of Two Bulls -- a brave man, a friend to my uncle. The little girl's name was Standing Alone; she was pretty and nice, and always pleasant; but she was always busy about something -- always working hard, and when she and I played at being husband and wife, she was always going for wood, or pretending to dress hides. I liked her, and she liked me, and in these play camps we always had our little lodge together; but if I sat in the lodge, and pretended to be resting longer than she thought right, she used to scold me, and tell me to go out and hunt for food, saying that no lazy man could be her husband. When she said this I did not answer and seemed to pay no attention to her words, but sat for a little while, thinking, and then I went out of the lodge, and did as she said. When I came in again, whether I brought anything or not, she was always pleasant.

Once, when we were running buffalo, one of the boys, who was a buffalo, charged me when I got near him, and struck me with the thorn which he carried on the end of his stick, and which we used to call the buffalo's horn. The thorn pierced me in the body, and, according to the law of our play, I was so badly wounded that I was obliged to die. I went a little way toward the village, and then pretended to be very weak. Then my companions carried me into the camp, and to the lodge, and Standing Alone mourned over her husband who had been killed while hunting buffalo. Then one of the boys, who pretended that he was a medicine man, built a sweat lodge, and doctored me, and I recovered.




The Way to Live.


I must have been ten years old when my uncle first began to talk to me. Long before this, when he had made a bow and some arrows for me, he had told me that I must learn to hunt, so that in the time to come I would be able to kill food, and to support my mother and sisters. "We must all eat," he had said, "and the Creator has given us buffalo to support life. It is the part of a man to kill food for the lodge, and after it has been killed, the women bring in the meat, and prepare it to be eaten, while they dress the hides for robes and lodge skins."

My uncle was a brave man, and was always going off on the warpath, searching for the camps of enemies, taking their horses, and sometimes fighting bravely. He was still a young man, not married; but was quiet and of good sense and all the people respected him. Even the chiefs and older men used to listen to him when he spoke; and sometimes he was asked to a feast to which many older men were invited.

All my life I have tried to remember what he told me this first time that he talked with me, for it was good advice, and came to me from a good man, who afterwards became one of the chiefs of the tribe.

One day, soon after he had returned from one of his warpaths, he said to me, early in the morning: "My son, get your bow and arrows, and you and I will go over into the hills, hunting. We will try to kill some rabbits, and perhaps we may find a deer."

I was glad to go with my uncle; no grown man had ever before asked me to go with him, and to have him speak to me like this made me feel glad and proud. I ran quickly and got my bow, and we set out, walking over the prairie. We walked a long way, and I was beginning to get tired, when we came to a place where we started first one rabbit and then another, and then a third. I shot at one, but missed it; and my uncle killed all three. After this we went up to the top of a high hill, to look over the country. We saw nothing, but as we sat there my uncle spoke to me, telling me of the things that he had done not long before; and after a time he began to tell me how I ought to live, and what I ought to do as I grew older.

He said to me: "My son, I am going to tell you some things that will be useful to you; and if you listen to what I say, your life will be easier for you to live; you will not make mistakes, and you will come to be liked and respected by all the people. Before many years now you will be a man, and as you grow up you must try more and more to do the things that men do. There are a few things that a boy must always remember.

"When older people speak to you, you must stop what you are doing and listen to what they say, and must do as they tell you. If anyone says to you, 'My son, go out and drive in my horses,' you must go at once; do not wait; do not make anyone speak to you a second time; start at once.

"You must get up early in the morning; do not let the sun, when it first shines, find you in bed. Get up at the first dawn of day, and go early out into the hills and look for your horses. These horses will soon be put in your charge, and you must watch over them, and must never lose them; and you must always see that they have water."

"You must take good care of your arms. Always keep them in good order. A man who has poor arms cannot fight."

"It is important for you to do all these things. But there is one thing more important than anything else, and that is to be brave. Soon you will be going on a warpath, and then you must strive always to be in the front of the fighting, and to try hard to strike many of the enemy. You must be saying all the time to yourself, 'I will be brave; I will not fear anything.' If you do that, the people will all know of it, and will look on you as a man."

"There is another thing: if by chance you should do anything that is great, you must not talk of it; you must never go about telling of the great things that you have done, or that you intend to do. To do that is not manly. When you are at war you may do brave things, and other people will see what you have done, and will tell of it. If you should chance to perform any brave act, do not speak of it; let your comrades do this; it is not for you to tell of the things that you have done."

"If you listen to my words you will become a good man, and will amount to something. If you let the wind blow them away, you will become lazy, and will never do anything."

So my uncle talked to me for a long time, and just as he had finished his talking, we saw, down in the valley below us, a deer come out from behind some brush, and feed for a little while, and then it went back into another patch of brush, and did not come out again.

"Ah," said my uncle, "I think we can kill that deer." We went around a long distance, to come down without being seen to where the deer was, and we had crept up close to the edge of the bushes before the deer knew that we were there. When we reached the place we walked around it, he on one side and I on the other; and presently the deer sprang up out of the bushes, and my uncle shot it with his arrow; and after it had run a distance it fell down, and when we got to it, was dead. I also shot at it with one of my sharp-pointed arrows, but I did not hit it. After we had cut up the meat of the deer, and made it into a pack, done up in the hide, we started back to the camp. I felt proud to have gone on a hunt with a man and to be carrying the rabbits.

As we walked along to the camp that night, my uncle told me other things. He said: "Always be careful to do nothing bad in camp. Do not quarrel and fight with your fellows. Men do not fight with each other in the camp; to do that is not manly."

You see, my uncle thought that I was now old enough to be taught some of the things a man ought to do, and he tried to help me; for my father was dead, and I had no one else to teach me. The words he spoke were all good words, and I have tried always to remember them.

The white people gather up their children and send them all to one place to be taught; but that is not the way we Indians do. Nevertheless, we try to teach our children in our way; for children must be taught, or they will not know anything, and if they do not know anything they will have no sense, and if they have no sense they will not know how to act.

When our children are small, the mother tries to keep them from making a noise. It is not fitting that young children should disturb older people. I am telling you about the way I was taught in the old times, when there were but few white people in the country.

Because we have no schools, like the white people, we have to teach our children by telling them what to do; it is only in this way that they can learn. They have lived but a short time, and cannot know much. We older ones, after we have lived many years, and have listened to what our fathers and brothers have taught us, know a good many things; but little children know nothing. We want them to be wise, so that they may live well with their people. But we want them to be wise also, so that when they are the chiefs and braves of the tribe they may rule the people well. We remember that before very long we ourselves shall no longer be here; and then the ones who are caring for the people's welfare will be these children that now are playing about the camps. Their relations, therefore, talk to the children, for they want their lives to be made easier for them; and they want also to have the next generation of people wise enough to help all the people to live. The men must hunt and go to war; the women must be good women, not foolish ones, and must be ready to work, and glad to take care of their husbands and their children. This is one of the reasons why we like to have them play at moving the camp, harnessing the old dogs to the travois, pitching the lodges, making clothing for the dolls; while the boys play at hunting buffalo and at making war journeys against their enemies. All are trying to learn how to live the life that our people have always lived.

My grandfather was an old man, who long before this had given up the warpath. He spent most of his time in the camp, and he used to make speeches to the little and big boys, and give them much good advice. Once I heard him talk to a group of boys playing near the lodge, and this is what he said: "Listen, you boys; it is time you did something. You sit here all day in the sun, and throw your arrows, and talk about things of the camp, but why do you not do something? When I was a boy it was not like this; then we were always trying to steal off and follow a war party. Some of those who did so were too little to fight; but we used to follow along, and try to help. In this way, even though we did nothing, we learned the ways of warriors. I do not want you boys to be lazy. It is not a lazy man who does great things, so that he is talked about in the camp, and his name is called aloud by all the people, when the war party returns."



Lessons of the Prairie.


Once when I was a little older, I was out on the hills one day, watching the horses. They were feeding quietly, and I lay on a hill and went to sleep. Suddenly I was awakened by a terrible crash close to my head, and I knew that a gun had been fired close to me, and I thought that the enemy had attacked me and were killing me, and would drive off the horses. I was badly frightened. I sprang to my feet, and started to run to my horse, and in doing this I ran away from the camp, but before I reached the horse I heard someone laughing, and when I looked around my uncle sat there on the ground, with the smoke still coming from his gun. He signed to me to come to him and sit down, and when I had done so, he said:

"My son, you keep a careless watch. You do not act as a man ought to do. Instead of sitting here looking over the prairie in all directions to see if enemies are approaching, or if there are any signs of strange people being near, you lie here and sleep. I crept up to you and fired my gun, to see what you would do. You did not stop to see where the noise came from, nor did you look about to see if enemies were here. You thought only of saving your body, and started to run away. This is not good. A warrior does not act like this; he is always watching all about him, to see what is going to happen, and if he is attacked suddenly, he tries to fight, or, if he cannot fight, he thinks more of giving warning to the people than he does of saving himself."

When my uncle spoke to me like this he made me feel bad, for of all people he was the one whom I most wished to please, and with him I wished to stand well. I considered a little before I said to him: "I was trying to run to my horse, and if I had got him I think I should have tried to reach the camp, and perhaps I should have tried to drive in some of the horses; but I was badly frightened, for I had been asleep and did not know what had happened."

"I think you speak truly," said my uncle, "but you should not have gone to sleep when you were sent out here to watch the horses. Boys who go to sleep when they ought to be looking over the country, and watching their horses, or men who get tired and go to sleep when they are on the warpath, never do much. I should like to have you always alert and watchful."

I made up my mind that I would hold fast to the words which my uncle spoke to me, and after this would not sleep when I was on herd.

It was not long after this that my uncle again told me to get my arrows, and come and hunt with him. He told me also to take my robe with me, and that we would go far up the river and be gone one night. I was glad to go, and we started.

All through the day we traveled up stream, going in low places, and traveling cautiously; for, although we were close to the camp, still my uncle told me no one could be sure that enemies might not be about, and that we might not be attacked at any time; so we went carefully. If we had to cross a hill, we crept up to the top of it, and lifted our heads up little by little, and looked over all the country, to see whether people were in sight; or game; or to see what the animals might be doing.

Once, when we stopped to rest, my uncle said to me: "Little son, this is one of the things you must learn; as you travel over the country, always go carefully, for you do not know that behind the next hill there may not be some enemy watching, looking over the country to see if someone may not be about. Therefore, it is well for you always to keep out of sight as much as you can. If you have to go to the top of the hill, because you wish to see the country, creep carefully up some ravine, and show yourself as little as possible. If you have to cross a wide flat, cover yourself with your robe, and stoop over, walking slowly, so that anyone far off may perhaps think it is a buffalo that he sees. In this respect the Indians are different from the white people; they are foolish, and when they travel they go on the ridges between the streams, because the road is level, and the going easy. But when they travel in this way everyone can see them from a long way off, and can hide in the path, and when they approach can shoot at them and kill them. The white people think that because they cannot see Indians, there are none about; and this belief has caused many white people to be killed."

As I walked behind my uncle, following him over the prairie, I tried to watch him, and to imitate everything that he did. If he stopped, I stopped; if he bent down his head, and went stooping for a little way, I also stooped, and followed him; when he got down to creep, I, too, crept, so as to be out of sight.

That day, as the sun fell toward the west, my uncle went down to the river, and looked along the bank and the mud-bars, trying to learn whether any animals had been to the water; and when he saw tracks he pointed them out to me. "This," he said, "is the track of a deer. You see that it has been going slowly. It is feeding, because it does not go straight ahead, but goes now in one direction, and then in another, and back a little, not seeming to have any purpose in its wandering about, and here," showing me a place where a plant had been bitten off, "is where it was eating. If we follow along, soon we will see its tracks in the mud by the river." It was as he had said, and soon, in a little sand-bar, we saw the place where the animal had stopped. "You see," he said, "this was a big deer; here are his tracks; here he stopped at the edge of the water to drink; and then he went on across the river, for there are no tracks leading back to the bank. You will notice that he was walking; he was not frightened; he did not see nor smell any enemies."

Further up the river, on a sand-bar, he showed me the tracks of antelope, where the old ones had walked along quietly, and other smaller tracks, where the sand had been thrown up; and these marks, he said, were made by the little kids, which were playing and running.

"Notice carefully," he said, "the tracks that you see, so that you will remember them, and will know them again. The tracks made by the different animals are not all alike. The antelope's hoof is sharp-pointed in front. Notice, too, that when his foot sinks in the mud there is no mark behind his footprint; while behind the footprint of a deer there are two marks, in soft ground, made by the little hoofs that the deer has on his foot."

We kept on further up the river, and when night came we stopped, and sat down in some bushes. All day long we had seen nothing that we could kill; but from a fold in his robe my uncle drew some dried meat, and we built a little fire of dried willow brush, that would make no smoke, and over this we roasted our meat, and ate; and my uncle talked to me again, saying: "My son, I like to have you come out with me, and travel about over the country. You have no father to teach you, and I am glad to take you with me, and to tell you the things that I know. It is a good thing to be a member of our tribe, and it is a good thing to belong to a good family in that tribe. You must always remember that you come of good people. Your father was a brave man, killed fighting bravely against the enemy. I want you to grow up to be a brave man and a good man. You must love your relations, and must do everything that you can for them. If the enemy should attack the village, do not run away; think always first of defending your own people. You have a mother, and sisters, who will depend on you for their living, and for their credit. They love you, and you must always try to do everything that you can for them. Try to learn about hunting, and to become a good hunter, so that you may support them. But, above all things, try to live bravely and well, so that people will speak well of you and your relations will be proud.

"You are only a boy now, but the time will come when you will be a man, and must act a man's part. Now your relations all respect you. They do not ask you to do woman's work; they treat you well. You have a good bed, and whenever you are hungry, food is given you. Do you know why it is that you are treated in this way? I will tell you. Your relations know that you are a man, and that you will grow up to go to war, and fight; perhaps often to be in great danger. They know that perhaps they may not have you long with them; that soon you may be killed. Perhaps even to-night or to-morrow, before we get back to the camp, we may be attacked, and may have to fight, and perhaps to die. It is for this cause that you are treated better than your sisters; because at any moment you may be taken away. This you should understand."

After we had eaten it began to grow dark, and pretty soon my uncle stood up and tied up his waist again, and we set out once more, going up the river. I wanted to ask my uncle where we were going, but I knew that he had some reason for moving away from the camp, and before I had spoken to him about it we had gone a mile or two, and it was quite dark, and we stopped again in another clump of bushes. Here we sat down, and my uncle said to me: "My son, here we will sleep. Where we stopped and ate, just before the sun set, was a good place to camp, but it may be that an enemy was watching from the top of some hill, and may have seen us go into those bushes. If he did, perhaps he will creep down there to-night, hoping to kill us; and if there were several persons they may go down there and surround those bushes. I did not want to stop there where we might have been seen, and so when it grew dark we came on here. We will sleep here, but will build no fire."

The next morning, before day broke, my uncle roused me, and we went to the top of a high hill not far off. We reached it before the sun rose, and lay on top of it, looking off over the prairie. From here we could see a long way. Many animals were in view, buffalo and antelope, and down in the river bottom a herd of elk. For a long time we lay there watching, but everywhere it was quiet. The animals were not moving; no smokes were seen in the air; birds were not flying to and fro, as if waiting for the hunter to kill a buffalo, or for people to fight and kill each other, when they might feed on the flesh.

After we had watched a long time, my uncle said: "I see no signs of people. Let us creep down this ravine, and get among the bushes, and perhaps we can kill one of these elk." We did as he had said; and before very long had come near to the elk. Then he told me to wait there. I stopped and for a few moments I could see him creeping up nearer and nearer to the elk. Presently they started and ran; and one cow turned off to cross the river, and as she was crossing it she fell in the water.

My uncle stood up and motioned to me to go down to where the elk lay. We met there and cut up the elk, and my uncle took a big load of meat on his back, and I a smaller load, and we started back toward the village.

As we were returning, he spoke to me again, saying: "I want you to remember that of all the advice I give you the chief thing is to be brave. If you start out with a war party, to attack enemies, do not be afraid. If your friends are about to make a charge on the enemy, still do not be afraid. Watch your friends, and see how they act, and try to do as the others do. Try always to have a good horse, and to be in the front of the fighting. To be brave is what makes a man. If you are lucky, and count a coup, or kill an enemy, people will look on you as a man. Do not fear anything. To be killed in battle is no disgrace. When you fight, try to kill. Ride up close to your enemy. Do not think that he is going to kill you; think that you are going to kill him. As you charge, you must be saying to yourself all the time, 'I will be brave; I will not fear anything.'

"In your life in the camp remember this too; you must always be truthful and honest with all your people. Never say anything that is not true; never tell a lie, even for a joke -- to make people laugh. When you are in the company of older people, listen to what they say, and try to remember; thus you will learn. Do not say very much; it is just as well to let other people talk while you listen. If you have a friend, cling close to him; and if need be, give your life for him. Think always of your friend before you think of yourself."

That night we reached the camp again. My uncle left the meat that he had killed at my mother's lodge.




On a Buffalo Horse.


I had lived twelve winters when I did something which made my mother and all my relations glad; for which they all praised me, and which first caused my name to be called aloud through the camp.

It was the fall of the year, and the leaves were dropping from the trees. Long ago the grass had grown yellow; and now sometimes when we awoke in the morning it was white with frost; little places in the river bottom, where water had stood in the springtime, and which were still wet, were frozen in the morning; and all the quiet waters had over them a thin skin of clear ice. Great flocks of water birds were passing overhead, flying to the south; and many of them stopped in the streams, resting and feeding. There were ducks of many sorts, and the larger geese, and the great white birds with black tips to their wings, and long yellow bills; and the cranes that fly over, far up in the sky, looking like spots, but whose loud callings are heard plainly as they pass along. Often we saw flocks of these walking on the prairie, feeding on the grasshoppers; and sometimes they all stopped feeding and stuck up their heads, and then began to dance together, almost as people dance.

We boys used to travel far up and down the bottom, trying to creep up to the edge of the bank, or to the puddles of water, where the different birds sat, to get close enough to kill them with our arrows. It was not easy to do this, for generally the birds saw us before we could get near enough; and then, often, even if we had the chance to shoot, we missed, and the birds flew away, and we had to wade out and get back our arrows.

One day I had gone with my friend a long way up the river, and we had tried several times to kill ducks, but had always missed them. We had come to a place where the point of a hill ran down close to the river, on our side, and as we rounded the point of this hill, suddenly we saw close before us three cranes, standing on the hillside; two of them were gray and further off, but one quite near to us was still red, by which we knew that it was a young one. I was ahead of my friend, and as soon as I saw the cranes I drew my arrow to its head, and shot at the young one, which spread its wings and flew a few yards, and then came down, lying on the hillside, with its wings stretched wide, for the arrow had passed through its body. I rushed upon it and seized it, while the old cranes flew away. Then I was glad, for this was the largest bird that I had ever killed; and you know that the crane is a wise bird, and people do not often kill one.

After my friend and I had talked about it, I picked up the bird and put it on my back, holding the neck in one hand, and letting the legs drag on the ground behind me; and so we returned to camp. When we reached the village some of the children saw us coming, and knew me, and ran ahead to my mother's lodge, and told her that her boy was coming, carrying a great bird; and she and my sisters came out of the lodge and looked at me. I must have looked strange, for the crane's wings were partly spread, and hung down on either side of me; and when I had nearly come to the lodge, my mother called out: "What is the great bird that is coming to our lodge? I am afraid of it," and then she and the children ran in the door. Then they came out again, and when I reached the lodge, all looked at the bird, and said how big it was, and how fine, and that it must be shown to my uncle before it was cooked. They sent word to him, asking him to come to the lodge, and soon he did so, and when he saw what I had killed, he was glad, and told me that I had done well, and that I was lucky to have killed a crane. "There are many grown men," said he, "who have never killed a crane; and you have done well. I wish to have this known."

He called out in a loud voice, and asked Bellowing Cow, a poor old woman, to come to the lodge and see what his son had done; and he sent one of the boys back to his lodge, telling him to bring a certain horse. Soon the boy returned, leading a pony; and when Bellowing Cow had come, my uncle handed her the rope that was about the pony's neck, and told her to look at this bird that his son had killed.

"We have had good luck," he said; "my son has killed this wise bird; he is going to be a good hunter, and will kill much meat. In the time to come, after he has grown to be a man, his lodge will never lack food. His women will always have plenty of robes to dress."

Then Bellowing Cow mounted her horse and rode around the village, singing a song, in which she told how lucky I had been; that I had killed a crane, a bird that many grown men had not killed; and that I was going to be a good hunter, and always fortunate in killing food. My uncle did not give the bird to Bellowing Cow; he kept it, and told my mother to cook it; and he said to her: "Save for me the wing bones of this bird, and give them to me, in order that I may make from them two war whistles, which my son may carry when he has grown old enough to go to war against his enemies."

I was proud of what had happened, and it made me feel big to listen to this poor old woman as she rode through the village singing her song.

What he did at this time showed some things about my uncle. It showed that he liked me; it showed that he was proud of what I had done; and it showed, too, that he was a person of good heart, since he called to see what I had done a poor old woman who had nothing, and gave her a horse. It would have been as easy for him to have called some chief or rich man who had plenty of horses, and then sometime this chief or rich man would have given him a horse for some favor done him.

I had killed the crane with a pointed arrow, of which I had three, though in my hunting for little birds I still used blunt arrows. My uncle had made me another bow, which was almost as large as a man's bow; and I was practicing with it always, trying to make my right arm strong, to bend it, so that it might send the arrow with full force.

The next summer, when the tribe had started off to look for buffalo, I spoke one night to my uncle, as he was sitting alone in his lodge, and said to him: "Father, is it not now time for me to try to kill buffalo? I am getting now to be a big boy, and I think big enough to hunt. I should like to have your opinion about this." For a time he sat smoking and considering, and then he said: "Son, I think it is time you should begin to hunt; you are now old enough to do some of the things that men do. I have watched you, and I have seen that you know how to use the bow. The next time that we run buffalo, you shall come with me, and we will see what we can do. You shall ride one of my buffalo horses, and you shall overtake the buffalo, and then we shall see whether you are strong enough to drive the arrow far into the animal."

It was not long after this that buffalo were found, and when the tribe went out to make the surround, my uncle told me to ride one of his horses, and to keep close to him. As we were going toward the place where the surround was to be made, he said to me: "Now, to-day we will try to catch calves, and you shall see whether you can kill one. You may remember this, that if you shoot an arrow into the calf, and blood begins to come from its mouth, it will soon die, you need not shoot at it again, but may go on to overtake another, and kill it. Then, perhaps, after a little while you can chase big buffalo. One thing you must remember. If you are running buffalo, do not be afraid of them. Ride your horse close up to the buffalo, as close as you can, and then let fly the arrow with all your force. If the buffalo turns to fight, your horse will take you away from it; but, above all things, do not be afraid; you will not kill buffalo if you are afraid to get close to them."

We rode on, and before the surround was made we could see the yellow calves bunched up at one side of the herd. My uncle pointed them out to me, and said, "Now, when the herd starts, try to get among those calves, and remember all that I have told you."

At length the soldiers gave the word for the charge, and we all rushed toward the buffalo. They turned to run, and a great dust rose in the air. That day there were many men on fast horses, but my uncle's horse was faster than all; and because I was little and light, he ran through the big buffalo, and was soon close to the calves. When he was running through the buffalo I was frightened, for they seemed so big, and they crowded so on each other, and their horns rattled as they knocked together, as the herd parted and pushed away on either side, letting me pass through it.

In only a short time I was running close to a yellow calf. It ran very fast, and for a little while I could not overtake it; but then it seemed to go slower, and my horse drew up close to it. I shot an arrow and missed it, and then another, and did not miss; the arrow went deep into it, just before the short ribs, and a moment afterward I could see blood coming from the calf's mouth; and I ran on to get another. I did kill another, and then stopped and got down. The herd had passed, and I began to butcher the last calf; and before I had finished my uncle rode up to me and said, "Well, son, did you kill anything?" I told him that I had killed two calves; and we went back and looked for the other. He helped me to butcher, and we put the meat and skins of both calves on my horse and then returned to the camp.

When we reached there, my uncle stood in front of the lodge, and called out with a loud voice, saying: "This day my son has chased buffalo, and has killed two calves. I have given one of my best horses to Red Fox." This he called out several times, and at the same time he sent a young man to his lodge, telling him to bring a certain good horse, which he named. Before very long the young man came with the horse, and about the same time the old man Red Fox, who was poor and lame, and without relations, was seen limping toward the lodge, coughing as he came.

In his young days Red Fox had been a brave and had done many good things, but he had been shot in the thigh, in battle, and his leg had never healed, so that he could not go to war. After that, his wife and then his children one by one had died, or been killed in battle, and now he had nothing of his own, but lived in the lodge with friends -- people who were kind to him. After Red Fox had mounted his horse, and had ridden off about the circle of the lodges, singing a song, in which he told what I had done, and how my uncle was proud of my success, and of how good his heart was toward poor people, so that when he made gifts he gave them to persons who had nothing, and not to people who were rich and happy, my uncle turned about and went into the lodge. He told the young man who had brought the horse to go out and call a number of his friends, and older people, to come that night to his lodge, to feast with him.

After they had come, and all had eaten, and while the pipe was being smoked, my uncle said: "Friends, I have called you to eat with me, because this day my son has killed two calves. He has done well, and I can see that he will be a good man. His lodge will not be poor for meat nor will his wife lack skins to tan, or hides for lodge skins. We have had good luck, and to-day my heart is glad; and it is for this reason that I have asked you to come and hear what my son has done, in order that you may be pleased, as I am pleased."

When he had finished speaking, Double Runner, an old man, whose hair was white, stood up on his feet and spoke, and said that I had done well. He spoke good words of my uncle because he had a kind heart and was generous, and liked to make people happy. He spoke also of my father, and said that it was bad for the tribe when the enemy killed him; but, nevertheless, he had died fighting, as a brave man would wish to die.

From that time on, so long as the buffalo were seen, I went out with the men of the camp. Sometimes I went alone, or with companions of my own age, and we tried to kill calves, but more than once I went with my uncle. The second time I rode with him he said to me that I had killed calves, and now I must try to kill big buffalo. I remembered what he had said about riding close to the buffalo, but I was afraid to do this, and yet I was ashamed to tell him that I was afraid. When the surround was made, my uncle and I were soon among the buffalo. I was riding my uncle's fast buffalo horse. My uncle rode on my right hand, and when we charged down and got among the buffalo we soon passed through the bulls and then drew up slowly on the cows, and those younger animals whose horns were yet straight. I thought we were going to pass on through these, and kill calves, but suddenly my uncle crowded his horse up close to me, and, pointing to a young bull, signed to me to shoot it. I did not want to, but my uncle kept crowding his horse more and more on me, and pushing me close to the bull. I was afraid of it; I thought that perhaps it would turn its head toward me and frighten my horse, and my horse could not get away because of my uncle's horse, and then my horse, and perhaps I, myself, would be killed; but there was not much time to think about it. I felt that I was not strong enough to kill a buffalo; I did not want to try; but all the time my uncle was signing to me, "Shoot, shoot." There was no way for me to escape, and I drew the arrow and shot into the buffalo. The point hit the animal between the ribs, and went in deep, yet not to the feathers. When I shot, my uncle sheered off, and I followed him; and in a moment, looking back, I saw that the blood was coming from the bull's nose and mouth; and then I knew that I had killed it. In a few moments it fell, and I went back to it. Then truly I thought that I had done something great, and I felt glad that I had killed a big buffalo. I forgot that a little while before I had been frightened, and had wanted to get away without shooting. I forgot that, except for my uncle, I should not have made this lucky shot. I felt as if I had done something, and something that was very smart and great. You see, I was only a boy.

This feeling did not last very long; after a little I remembered that except for my uncle I should have still been afraid of big buffalo, and should not have dared to go near enough to kill one, but should have been content to kill calves. My mind was still big for what I had done, and I felt thankful to my uncle for making me do it. I wanted to pass my hands over him -- to express my gratitude to him -- for all his kindness to me. No father could have done more for me than he had done, and always did.

That night when we came back to the camp my horse was carrying a great pile of meat; and when I stopped in front of the lodge, I called out to my mother to come and take my horse, and take the meat from it; for so my uncle had told me to do. "Now," he said, "you have become a man; you are able to hunt, and to kill food, and you must act as a man acts."

When my mother came out of the lodge she was astonished; she could hardly believe that it was I who had killed this buffalo. Nevertheless, she took the rope from me, and began to take the meat from the horse; and I went into the lodge and lay down on the bed by the fire to rest, for this too was what my uncle had told me to do.

The next time the camp made a surround, I rode alone, and this time I did not do so well. It is true that I killed a cow, but also I shot another animal, which carried away three of my arrows. It was afterward killed by a man a long way off, and the next day he gave me back my arrows, which he had taken from the cow. I felt ashamed of this, but, nevertheless, I kept on, and before the hunt was over I killed many buffalo, and my mother dressed the hides.



In the Medicine Circle.


Soon after I had killed my big buffalo, my uncle had sent for me and when I had gone to his lodge, he said, "Come with me"; and we walked out on the prairie where his horses were feeding. He carried a rope in his hand, and, throwing it over the fast buffalo horse, that he had told me to ride when I first hunted buffalo, he put the rope in my hand, and said: "Son, I give you this horse; he is fast, and he is long-winded. You have seen that he can overtake buffalo. I tell you now that he is a good horse for war. If you ride him when you go on the warpath, you can get up close to your enemy, and strike him; he will not be able to run away from you."

This was the first horse I had, and I was proud to own it. Also, later, my uncle said to me, "My son, if you need horses for riding, catch some of those out of my band, and use them." This I did, sometimes. My uncle had plenty of horses, and was always going to war and getting more.

I was now a big boy, and began to think more and more about going to war. Ever since I had been little I had talked with my companions, and they with me, about the time when we should be big enough to do the things that our fathers and uncles did; and the thing that we most wished to do was to go to war against the enemy, and to do something brave, so that we should be looked up to by the people. As we grew older the wish to do this increased. That summer, when the old men used to come out of their lodges, and sit in the sun, smoking, or to gather in little groups, and gossip with one another, I used to listen to their talk of the things that had happened in past years, when they were young. They told of many strange things that had happened; of war; journeys that they had made against their enemies, of fights that they had had, and horses that they had taken. They spoke, too, of treaties that they had made with other tribes; and told how they had visited the camps of people who lived far off, whose names I had heard, but of whom I knew nothing.

Sometimes, too, I was present in my uncle's lodge when he gave a feast to friends; and often among them were chiefs and older men, who in their day had done great things, and brought credit to the tribe. At such feasts, after all had eaten, and my uncle had filled the pipe, and pushed the tobacco board back under the bed, he gave the pipe to some young man, who lighted it and handed it back to him; and then he smoked, holding the pipe to the sky, and to the earth, and to the four directions, and made a prayer to the spirits, and then passed the pipe along to the end of the circle on his left; and, beginning there, each man smoked and made a prayer, and the pipe passed from hand to hand. After this the guests talked and joked, and laughed, and stories were told, perhaps of war or adventure, perhaps of hard times when food was scarce and the cold bitter, perhaps of those mysterious persons who rule the world, and of the kindly or the terrible things that they have done.
I remember well one such feast, when for the first time my uncle told me to sit on his right hand, and behind him; and when he had filled it, told me to light the pipe. I reached over to the fire, and with a tongs made of willow took up a small coal and lighted the pipe, and after it was going well, passed it to my uncle. And so I lighted all the pipes that were smoked that night. It was during the second of these pipes that an old man, Calf Robe, told a story of a thing that had happened in the tribe long ago, when he was a young man. He was a little man, thin and dried up, but in his time he had been a great warrior. Now he was old and poor, his left arm thin, withered and helpless, and on his side a great scar, much larger than my two hands, where people said his ribs on that side had all been torn away. I had heard of his adventures, how once the animals had taken pity on him, and brought him, after he was sorely wounded on a war journey, safe back to his people and his village. It was on this night that I first heard the story of the Medicine Circle. This was what he said:

"It was winter. The people were camped on Lodgepole Creek near the Big Horn Mountains. Buffalo were close and small game plenty. The snow was deep, and the people did not watch their horses closely, for they thought no war parties would be out in such cold and in such deep snow.

"The chief of this camp had strong mysterious power. On the ground at the right of his bed in his lodge was always a space, where red painted wooden pegs were set in the ground in a circle. Above this hung the medicine bundles. No one was allowed to step or sit in this circle. No one might throw anything on the ground near it. No one might pass between it and the fire. It was sacred.

"It was a very cold night. The wind blew the snow about so that one could hardly see. The chief had gone to a feast in a lodge near his own, and his wives were in bed, but one of them was still awake. The fire had burned down, and the lodge was almost dark. Suddenly the curtain of the doorway was thrown back. A person entered, passed around to the back of the lodge, and sat down in the medicine circle.

"'Now what is this?' the woman thought; 'why does this person sit in the medicine circle?'

"She said to him: 'You know that is the medicine circle. Quick! get up, and sit down somewhere else. My husband will be angry if he sees you there.'

"The person did not speak nor move, so the woman got up and put grass on the fire, and when it made a light, she saw that the man was a stranger, for his clothing was different from ours; but she could not see his face; he kept it covered, all but his eyes. The woman went out and ran to the lodge where her husband was, and said to him: 'Come quickly! A stranger has entered our lodge. He is sitting in the medicine circle.'

"The chief went to his lodge, and many with him -- for chiefs and warriors had been feasting together -- and they carried in more wood and built a big fire. Then the stranger moved toward the fire, nearer and nearer, and they saw he was shaking with cold. His moccasins and leggings were torn and covered with ice, and his robe was thin and worn.

"The chief was greatly troubled to see this person sitting in his medicine circle, and he asked him in signs, 'Where did you come from?'

"He made no answer.

"Again he asked, 'Who are you?'

"The stranger did not speak. He sat as close to the fire as he could get, still shivering with cold.

"The chief told a woman to feed him; and she warmed some soup and meat over the fire, and set it before the stranger. Then he threw off his robe, and began to eat like a dog that is starved; and all the people sat and looked at him. He was a young man; his face was good, and his hair very long; but he looked thin, and his clothes were poor.

"The stranger ate all the soup and meat, and then he spoke, in signs: 'I came from the north. I was with a large party. We traveled south many days, and at last saw a big camp by a river. At night we went down to it, to take horses, but I got none, and my party rode off and left me. They told me to go with them and they would give me some of the horses that they had taken, but I was ashamed. I had taken no horses, and I could not go back to my people without counting a coup. So I came on alone, and it is now many days since I left my party. I had used up all my arrows, and could kill no food. I began to starve. To-day I saw your camp. I thought to take some horses from you, but my arrows are gone; I should have starved on the road. My clothes are thin and torn; I should have frozen. So I made up my mind to come to your camp and be killed.

"'Come, I am ready. Kill me! I am a Blackfoot.'

"A pipe was filled, lighted, and passed around. But the chief sat thinking. Everyone was waiting to hear what he would say.

"At last he spoke: 'An enemy has come into our camp. The Blackfeet are our enemies. They kill us when they can. We kill them. This man came here to steal our horses, and he ought to be killed. But, you see, he has come into my lodge and sat down in the medicine circle. Perhaps his medicine led him to the place. He must have a powerful helper.

"'There are many lodges in this camp, and in each of these lodges many seats, but he has come to my lodge, and has sat down in my medicine circle. I believe my medicine helped him too. So now I am afraid to kill this man, for if I do, it may break my medicine. I have finished.'

"Everyone said the chief's talk was good. The chief turned to the Blackfoot and said: 'Do not be afraid; we will not kill you. You are tired. Take off your leggings and moccasins, and lie down in that bed.'

"The Blackfoot did as he was told, and as soon as he lay down he slept; for he was very tired.

"Next morning, when he awoke, there by his bed were new leggings for him, and warm hair moccasins, and a new soft cow's robe; and he put these on, and his heart was glad. Then they ate, and the chief told him about the medicine circle, and why they had not killed him.

"In the spring a party of our people went to war against the Crows and the Blackfoot went with them, and he took many horses. He went to war often, and soon had a big band of horses. He married two women of our tribe, and stayed with us. Sometimes they used to ask him if he would ever go back to his people, and he would say: 'Wait, I want to get more horses, and when I have a big band -- a great many -- I will take my lodge, and my women and children, and we will go north, and I will make peace between your tribe and the Blackfeet.'

"One summer the people were running buffalo. They were making new lodges. One day the men went out to hunt. At sundown they came back, but the Blackfoot did not return. Next day the men went out to look for him, and they searched all over the country. Many days they hunted for the Blackfoot, but he was never seen again. Some said he had gone back to his people. Some said that a bear might have killed him, or he might have fallen from his horse and been killed, and some said that a war party must have killed him and taken the horse with them. Neither man nor horse was seen again."




Among Enemy Lodges.


It was late in the winter, when I was fifteen years old, that I made my first trip to war. We were camped on a large river, and not far from our camp was a village of the Arapahoes.

One day I went to visit their camp, taking with me only my buffalo robe and my bow and arrows. At the camp I found a number of young men of my tribe, and I went into the lodge where they were sitting, and sat down near the door. Soon after I had entered a young man of my tribe proposed that our young men should gamble against the young men of the Arapahoes, and when they had agreed, we all left the lodge where we were sitting, and went off to that owned by Shaved-head. I followed along after the others, and when I entered the lodge I found that they were making ready to gamble. The counters were lying between the lines, ten of the sticks lying side by side, and two lying across the ten.

When all was ready, the leader of the Arapahoes threw down on the ground the bone they were to gamble with, and the leader of our young men threw down his bone, and then all the young men of both parties began to sing, and dance, and yell, each trying to bring luck to his side. Some of them danced all around the lodge, singing as hard as they could sing. After a time all sat down, and then one of the Arapahoes chose a man from his side, and called him out and told him to sit down in front of his line. The leader took up the bone, and held it up to the sun, and to the four directions, praying that his side might win, and then handed it to this man, who let the robe fall back from his shoulders, rose to his knees, and after rubbing his hands on the ground, began to pass the bone from one hand to the other. Then the leader of our party stood up, and looked over his men, to choose someone who was good at guessing. He chose a man, and called him out in front of the line, to guess in which hand the Arapahoe held the bone. Then everybody began to sing hard, and four young men pounded with sticks on a parfleche, in time to the music. Presently our man guessed and guessed right. Then our people chose a man to pass the bone for them, and when the Arapahoes guessed, they guessed wrong. So it kept on. The Arapahoes did not win one point, and our people won the game. Then the Arapahoes would play no more, and the gambling stopped. Afterward they had a dance. It was now night. I had heard the young men talking to one another, and I knew that they were about to start off to war. After the dance was over, one of them said to the others, "Come, let us go about the camp to-night, and sing wolf songs." They did so, and I went with them. Every little while they would stop in front of some lodge and sing; and perhaps the man who owned the lodge would fill a pipe, and hold it out to them, and all would smoke; or someone would hand out a bit of tobacco, or a few arrows, or five or six bullets, or some caps, or a little powder. In this way they sang for a long time; and then, when they were tired, they went to the different lodges and slept.

The next morning I saw them making up the packs which they were to carry on their backs, and packing the dogs which they had with them to carry their moccasins. I watched them, and as I looked at them I wished that I, too, might go to war; and the more I thought about it the more I wished to go. At last I made up my mind that I would go. I had no food, and no extra moccasins, but I looked about the camp, and found some that had been thrown away, worn out; and I asked one kind-hearted woman to give me some moccasins, and she gave me three pairs. By this time the war party had started, and I followed them.

The snow still lay deep on the ground; and as we marched along, one after another, each man stepped in the tracks of the man before him. We traveled a long way, until we came to some hills, from which we could see a river; and before we got down to the river's valley we stopped on a hill, and took off our packs, and looked about and rested. After a time someone said, "Well, let us go down to the river and camp." They all started down the hill, but I remained where I was, waiting to see what they would do. You see, I did not belong to the party, and I did not know how the others felt toward me; so I was shy about doing anything; I wanted to wait and see what they did.

When the others reached the level ground near the stream they threw down their packs and began to go to work. Some of the men scraped away the snow from the ground where they were to sleep; others went off into the timber, and soon returned with loads of wood on their backs, and started fires; others brought poles with which to build lodges; others, bark from old cottonwood trees, and others, still, brush. Everyone worked hard.

Presently I grew tired of sitting alone on the hill, and went down to the others. When I reached there, I found that they were building three war lodges, and as I drew near, all the young men began to call out to me, each one asking me to come over to him. I was the littlest fellow in the party, and they all wanted me, thinking that I might bring them luck. When they called to me, they did not speak to me by my name, but called me Bear Chief, the name of one of the greatest warriors of the tribe. They were joking with me, to tease me.

When I was near the lodges I stopped, uncertain what to do, or where to go, and Gray Eyes, a man a little older than the others, walked up to me, and took me by the arm, saying: "Friend, come to our lodge. If you go to one of the others, the young men will be making fun of you all the time." I went to his lodge, and he told me to sit down near the door. This lodge was well built, warm and comfortable. They had taken many straight poles and set them up as the poles of a lodge are set up, but much closer together. Then the poles were covered with bark and brush, so as to keep out the wind; and within, all about the lodge, were good beds, with bark and brush under them, so as to keep those who were to sleep there from the snow. A good fire burned in the middle of the lodge.

When I grew warm I began to wonder what we should have to eat. We had traveled all day, and I was hungry; yet I had no food, and could see none, and there was nothing to cook with, not even a kettle. A man sitting by the fire seemed to know what was in my mind, and said to me, "Take courage, friend, soon you shall have plenty to eat." A little while after this, a man called out, saying, "If anyone has food to eat, let him get it out." When he said that, the young men began to open their packs. While they were doing this, someone cried, "The hunters are coming"; and when I looked I saw three or four men coming, each with an antelope on his back. When these men had come near to the camp, everyone rushed for them, and they threw their loads on the snow, and each man cut off meat for his lodge. Then they cut it into pieces and it was set up on green willow twigs, stuck in the ground near the fire, to roast. One of the men in our lodge said, "Let our young friend here be the first one to eat," and someone cut a piece of the short ribs of an antelope, and gave it to me. So we all ate, and were warm and comfortable. That night we slept well, lying with our feet to the fire, as people always lie in a war lodge.

The next day we traveled on. Just before we camped at night I heard the sound of guns, and someone told me that the young men were killing buffalo. Soon after we had made camp, they began to come in, some carrying loads of meat on their backs, and others dragging over the snow a big piece of buffalo hide, sewed up into a sack, and full of meat. Everyone was good-natured, and each young man was laughing and joking with his fellows, and sometimes playing tricks on them. That night a friend took a piece of buffalo hide and sewed it up, and partly dried it over the fire, and then turned it inside out, and stuffed it full of meat, and gave it to me, saying, "Here is a pack for you to carry."

We traveled on for several days; but it was not long after this that the scouts came in, and told us that they had seen signs of people, a trail where a large camp had passed along only a few days before. When I heard this I was a little frightened, for I thought to myself, "Suppose we were to be attacked, how could I run away with this big pack on my back?" But I said nothing, and no one else seemed to be afraid; all were happy because there was a chance that we might meet enemies. They laughed and talked with one another, and said what a good time we should have if there should be a fight. Nevertheless, that night the leader told the young men to bring logs out of the timber, and pile them up around the war lodges, so that if we should be attacked we might fight behind breast works. Also, he told them that if we should be attacked we must not run out of the lodges, but must stay in them, where we could fight well, and be protected and safe. Also, he said, "Everyone must be watchful; it may be that enemies are near; therefore, act accordingly."

The next morning the leader sent out two parties of scouts, to go in two directions to look for enemies. He told them where they should go, and where they should meet the main party, which was to keep on its way, traveling carefully, and out of sight.

At night, after we had reached the appointed place, and had camped there, the scouts came in, and told us that they had found the enemy, and that their camp was not far off. When the leader learned that, he said, "It will be well for us to go to-night to the camp of these enemies, and try to take their horses." The distance was not great, and after we had eaten, all set out. When we had come near to the camp, we could see in some of the lodges the fires still burning, and knew that all the people had not gone to bed. In a low place we stopped, and there put down all our things. Here the leader told us what we must do, calling out by name certain men who should go into the camp, and certain other men, younger, who should go about through the hills and gather up loose horses, and drive them to the place where we had left our packs. My name he did not speak, and I did not know what to do. While I sat there, doubtful, all the others started off. Then I made up my mind that I, too, would go into the camp, and would try to do something, and I followed the others. After a little time I overtook them, and followed along, and as we went on and drew nearer and nearer to the camp, men kept turning off to one side, until presently, when we were quite near the camp, most of them had disappeared into the darkness; but I could still see some, walking along ahead of me. Presently we reached the outer circle of the lodges, and a moment or two after that I could see none of our people. I was walking alone among the lodges. Now I was afraid, for I did not know how to act, nor what I wanted to do, and I thought that perhaps one of the enemy might see me, and see that I did not belong to his tribe, and attack me and kill me. I held my head down, and walked straight along. Not many people were about, and no one passed me. Presently I came to a lodge in which a little fire was burning, and not very far away was another lodge, in which people were singing and drumming, as if for a dance. I stopped, and looked into the first lodge. The fire was low, but still it gave some light, and I could see plainly that no one was there. Then suddenly it came to me that I would go into this lodge, and take something out of it, which should show to my friends that I, too, had been in the camp. I did not think much of the danger that someone might come in, but, stooping down, entered the lodge, and looked about. Hanging over the bed, at the back of the lodge, was a bow-case and quiver full of arrows. I stepped quickly across and took this down, and putting it under my robe, went out of the lodge, and walked back the way I had come.

As I had entered the camp I had seen horses standing, tied in front of the lodges, and now, as I was going back, I stooped down in front of a lodge, where all was dark, cut loose a horse, and walked away, leading it by its rope. No one saw me, and when I had passed beyond the furthest lodge I mounted the horse and rode along slowly. After I had gone a little further, I went faster, and soon I was at the place where we had left our things. There were many horses there, brought in by the younger men that had been looking for loose horses, and some cut loose by those who had gone into camp. Every minute other men kept coming up, and presently all were there. The young men had filled their saddle-pads with grass, and now each one chose a good horse, and mounting it drove off the herd. I had only one horse, yet my heart was glad, for it was the first I had ever taken.

For a time we rode slowly, but presently, faster; and when day had come we had gone a long way. The horses were still being driven in separate bunches, so that each man should know which were his -- the ones he had taken; but soon after day broke, and there had been time for each to look over his animals, they were bunched together, and we went faster. Nevertheless, the leader said to us: "Friends, do not hurry the horses too much; they are poor, and we must not run them too hard. The horses on which the Crows will follow us are poor also, and they cannot overtake us."

We rode fast until afternoon, when we came down into the valley of a river, and there stopped to let our horses feed. Two young men with fresh horses were left behind, on top of the highest hills, to watch the trail, to see whether the enemy were following us. After we had been there for a time, and the horses had eaten, the leader called out, "Friends, the enemy are pursuing; we must hurry on the horses." In a moment we had caught our animals, and mounted, and were driving on the herd; for, far back, we could see the scouts who had been left behind coming toward us, riding fast, and making signs that people had been seen. After we had left the valley, and were among the hills, the leader left two other young men, on fresh horses, behind, to see whether the enemy crossed the river, and followed; while we went on with the horses. We rode all that night and part of the next day, and then stopped again; and that night, in the middle of the night, the scouts overtook us, and told us that the enemy had not crossed the river, where we had first slept, but had turned about there, and had gone back. "There were only a few of them," they said. "We two were almost tempted to attack them, but we had been told only to watch them, and we thought it better to do that." Four days afterward we reached our village.

I had no saddle, and when I reached the camp I was very sore and stiff from riding so long without a saddle. Nevertheless, I was pleased, for I had taken a horse that was fast, long-winded and tough; and I had taken also a fine bow and arrows, with an otter-skin case. The leader spoke to me, and told me that I had done well to go into this lodge. He said to me, "Friend, you have made a good beginning; I think that you will be a good warrior." Also, when we reached the village, my uncle praised me, and said that I had done well. He looked at the bow and the arrows, and told me that to have taken them was better than to have taken a good horse, and that he hoped that I would be able to use them in fighting with my enemies. Such was my first journey to war.




A Grown Man.


That summer my uncle gave me a gun, and now I was beginning to feel that I was really a man, and I hunted constantly, and had good luck, killing deer and elk, and other game.

One day the next year, with a friend, I was hunting a two days' journey from the camp. We had killed nothing until this day, when we got a deer, and toward evening stopped to cook and eat. The country was broken with many hills and ravines, and before we went down to the stream to build our fire I had looked from the top of a little hill, to see whether anything could be seen. My friend was building a fire to cook food, and I had gone down to the fire and spread my robe on the ground, and was lying on it, resting, while our horses were feeding near by, when suddenly I had a strange feeling. I seemed to feel that I was in great danger, and as if I must get away from this place. I was frightened. I felt there was danger; that something bad was going to happen. I did not know what it was, nor why I felt so, but I was afraid. I seemed to turn to water inside of me. I had never felt so before. I sat up and looked about; nothing was to be seen. My friend was cutting some meat to cook over the little fire, and just beyond him the horses were feeding. My friend was singing to himself a little war song, as he worked.

My feelings grew worse instead of better. I stood up, took my gun, and walked toward a little hill not far from where we were, and my friend called out to me, "Where are you going? I thought you wished to rest." I said to him, "I will go to the top of that little hill, and look over it." When I got there I looked about; I could see nothing. It was early summer, and the grass was green. The soil was soft and sandy. For a long time I looked about in all directions, but could see nothing, but then I could not see far, for there were other little hills, nearly as high, close to me.

Presently I looked at the ground a few steps before me, and I thought I saw where something had stepped. It was hard for me to make up my mind to walk to this place, but at length I did so. When I got there I saw where a horse had stood -- a fresh horse track. Near it were two tracks made by a man, an enemy. I could see where he had stood, with one foot advanced before the other. When I saw these tracks I knew what had happened; an enemy had stood there looking over at us, and when he saw me with my gun start toward the top of the hill he had gone away. Standing where he had stood, I looked back toward our horses; I could hardly see their backs, but a man taller than I could have seen more of them, and the heads of the two men. I turned to follow the tracks a little way, and as I walked, it did not seem to me that my bones were stiff enough to support my body; I seemed to sway from side to side, and felt as if I should fall down. I was frightened.

I saw where the man had led his horse a little way back from the hill, and then had jumped on it and ridden off as hard as he could gallop. A little further on was the place where another horse had stood; it, too, had turned and gone off fast; its rider had not dismounted. One of the men had said to the other: "You wait here, and I will go up and take a look. If these people sleep here we will attack them when it is dark, and kill them and take their horses."

I cannot tell you how much I wanted to run back to my friend and tell him what I had seen; but I had courage enough to walk. I felt angry at myself for being so frightened. I said to myself: "Come, you are a man; you belong to brave people; your uncle and your father did not fear things that they could not see. Be brave. Be strong." It was no use for me to say this; I was so frightened I could hardly control myself. I felt as if I must run away.

I walked until I was close to my friend. He was cooking meat, and was still singing to himself. When I was pretty near to him I said, "Friend, put the saddle on your horse, and I will saddle mine, and we will go away from here." He turned and looked at me, and in a moment he had dropped the meat that he was cooking, and was saddling up. He told me the next day that my face had changed so that he hardly knew me; my face was like that of one dead. I said to him, "Do you go ahead, and go fast, but do not gallop." He started off without a word, and I followed him. It was now growing dark, but you could still see a long way. As I rode I seemed to have three heads, I looked in so many different directions. We traveled fast. My courage did not come back to me. I was still miserable.

About the middle of the night I said to my friend, "Let us stop here, so that the horses may eat." We stopped and took off our saddles, and held the ropes of our horses in our hands, and lay down on the ground together, looking back over the trail that we had come. My friend's horse was eating, but mine stood with his head high, and his ears pricked, and kept looking back toward where we had come from. Every now and then he would snort, as if frightened. Sometimes he would take a bite or two of grass, and then would again stand with his head up, looking and snorting. This made me more afraid than ever; and now my friend was as badly frightened as I.

At last I could stand it no longer, and I said to him, "Let us turn off the trail, and go along a divide where no one is likely to follow us." We started, loping. After we had gone some distance we stopped, took off our bridles, and again lay down, looking back over the way we had come. The night was dark, but we could see a little, and we watched and listened. Still my horse would not eat, but kept looking back over the trail. Suddenly, my friend said, "There he is. Do you see?" I looked, and looked, but could see nothing. "Where is it?" said I. With my head close to the ground I looked in the direction in which he pointed, but could see nothing. My friend saw it move, however. I said to him, "Here, let us change places;" and I moved to his place, and he to mine. Then I looked, and in a moment I saw just in front of my face a weed-stalk, and when I moved my head the stalk moved. This was what he had seen.

For the first time since this feeling had come over me in the afternoon I laughed, and with a rush my courage came back to me. I felt as brave and cheerful as ever. All through the evening I had not wished to smoke, and if I had wished to, I should have been afraid to light my pipe. Now I filled my pipe, lighted it, and we smoked. When I laughed my friend's courage came back too. We lay down and slept, and the next day went on to the village.




A Sacrifice.


During the next two years I went to war five times, always as a servant, but always I had good luck. This was because early, after my first trip to war, I had asked an old man, one of my relations, to teach me how to make a sacrifice which should be pleasing to those spirits who rule the world.

It was in the early summer, when the grass was high and green, not yet turning brown, that, with this old man, Tom Lodge, I went out into the hills to suffer and to pray, to ask for help in my life, and that I might be blessed in all my warpaths. Tom Lodge had told me what I must do, and before the time came I had cut a pole, and brought it and a rope, and a bundle of sinew, and some small wooden pins near to the place where we were to go, and had hidden them in a ravine.

It was before the sun had risen that we started out, and when we came to the hill where the things were, I carried them to the top of the hill, and there Tom Lodge and I dug a hole in the soil with our knives, and planted the pole, stamping the earth tightly about it, and then putting great stones on the earth, so that the pole should be held firmly. Then Tom Lodge tied the rope to the pole, and with sinew tied the pins to the rope, and then holding the pins and his knife up to the sun, and to the sky, and then placing them on the earth, he prayed to all the spirits of the air, and of the earth, and of the waters, asking that this sacrifice that I was about to make should be blessed, and that I should have help in all my undertakings. Then he came and stood before me, and taking hold of the skin of my breast on the right side, he pinched it up and passed his knife through it, and then passed the pin through under the skin, and tied the end to the rope with another strand of sinew. In the same way he did on the left side of my breast. Then he told me that all through the day I should walk about this pole, always on the side of the pole toward which the sun was looking, and that I should throw myself back against the rope and should try to tear the pins from my skin. Then, telling me to pray constantly, to have a strong heart, and not to lose courage, he set out to return to the village.

All through the long summer day I walked about the pole, praying to all the spirits, and crying aloud to the sun and the earth, and all the animals and birds to help me. Each time when I came to the end of the rope I threw myself back against it, and pulled hard. The skin of my breast stretched out as wide as your hand, but it would not tear, and at last all my chest grew numb, so that it had no feeling in it; and yet, little by little, as I threw my whole weight against the rope, the strips of skin stretched out longer and longer. All day long I walked in this way. The sun blazed down like fire. I had no food, and did not drink; for so I had been instructed. Toward night my mouth grew dry, and my neck sore; so that to swallow, or even to open my mouth in prayer hurt me. It seemed a long time before the sun got overhead and the pole cast but a small shadow; but it seemed that the shadow of the pole grew long in the afternoon much more slowly than it had grown short in the morning.

I was very tired, and my legs were shaking under me, when at last, as the sun hung low over the western hills, I saw someone coming. It was my friend, Tom Lodge; and when he had come close to me, he spoke to me and said, "My son, have you been faithful all through the day?" I answered him, "Father, I have walked and prayed all day long, but I cannot tear out these pins." "You have done well," he said; and, drawing his knife, he came to me, and taking hold first of one pin and then of the other, he cut off the strips of skin which passed about the pins, and set me free. He held the strips of skin that he had cut off, toward the sky, and toward the four directions, and prayed, saying: "Listen! all you spirits of the air, and of the earth, and of the water; and you, O earth! and you, O sun! This is the sacrifice that my son has made to you. You have heard how he cries to you for help. Hear his prayer." Then at the foot of the pole he scraped a little hole in the earth and placed the bits of skin there, and covered them up. Then he gave me to drink from a buffalo paunch waterskin that he had brought.

"Now, my son," said he, "you shall sleep here this night, and to-morrow morning, as the sun rises, leave this; hill, and everything on it, as it is, and return to the camp. It may be that during the night something will come to you, to tell you a thing. If you are spoken to in your sleep, remember carefully what is said to you."

After he had gone I lay down, covering myself with my robe, and was soon asleep, for I was very tired. That night, while I slept, I dreamed that a wolf came to me, and spoke, saying: "My son, the spirits to whom you have cried all day long have heard your prayers, and have sent me to tell you that your cryings have not been in vain. Take courage, therefore, for you shall be fortunate so long as these wars last. You shall strike your enemies; your name shall be called through the camp, and all your relations will be glad.

"Look at me, and consider well my ways. Remember that of all the animals, the wolves are the smartest. If they get hungry, they go out and kill a buffalo; they know what is going to happen; they are always able to take care of themselves. You shall be like the wolf; you shall be able to creep close to your enemies, and they shall not see you; you shall be a great man for surprising people. In the bundle that you wear tied to your necklet, you shall carry a little wolf hair, and your quiver and your bow-case shall be made of the skin of a wolf." The wolf ceased speaking, yet for a time he sat there looking at me, and I at him; but presently he yawned, and stood up on his feet, and trotted off a little way, and suddenly I could not see him.

So then in these five times that I went to war, once I counted the first coup of all on an enemy; and three times I crept into camp and brought out horses, twice going with other men who went in to cut loose the horses, and once going in alone. For these things I came to be well thought of by the tribe. My uncle praised me, and said that the time was coming when I would be a good warrior. All my relations felt proud and glad that I had such good luck.

I knew why all this had come to me. I had done as the wolf had said, and often I went out from the camp -- or perhaps I stopped when I was traveling far from the village -- and went up on a hill, and, lighting a pipe, offered a smoke to the wolf, and asked him not to forget what he had said to me.

I was now a grown man, and able to do all the things that young men do. I was a good hunter; I had a herd of horses, and had been to war, and been well spoken of by the leaders whose war parties I went with. I was old enough, too, to think about young girls, and to feel that some day I wanted to get married, and to have a lodge and home of my own. There were many nice girls in the camp; many who were hard workers, modest, and very pretty. I liked many of them, but there was no one whom I liked so much as Standing Alone. I often saw her, but sometimes she would not look at me, and sometimes she looked, but when she saw me looking at her she looked down again; but sometimes she smiled a little as she looked down. It was long since we had played together, but I thought that perhaps she had not forgotten the time, so many years ago, when she pretended to be my wife, and when she had mourned over me once when I was killed by a buffalo.

As I grew older I felt more and more that I wished to see and talk with her. Of course I was too young to be married yet, but I was not too young to want to talk with Standing Alone. I used to go out and stand by the trail where the women passed to get water, hoping that I might speak to her, but often there was no chance to do so. Sometimes she was with other girls, who laughed and joked about me, and asked whom I was waiting for. They could not tell who was standing there, for my robe or my sheet covered my whole body, except the hole through which I looked with one eye. But one day when Standing Alone was going by with some girls, one of them recognized the sheet that I had on, and called out my name, and said that she believed that I was waiting for Standing Alone. I was surprised that she should know me, and felt badly, but I did not move, and so I think neither she nor the girls with her knew that she had guessed right; and the next time I went I wore a different sheet, and different moccasins and leggings.

One evening I had good luck; all the women had passed, and Standing Alone had not appeared. I supposed that all had got their water, and was about to go away when she came hurrying along the trail, and passed me and went to the water's edge. She filled her vessel and came back, and when she passed me again I took hold of her dress and pulled it, and dropped my sheet from my head. She stopped and we stood there and talked for a little while. We were both of us afraid, we did not know of what, and had not much to say, but it was pleasant to be there talking to her, and looking at her face. Three times she started to go, but each time I said to her, "Do not go; wait a little longer"; and each time she waited. The fourth time she went away. After that, I think she knew me whenever I stood by the trail, and sometimes she was late in coming for water, and I had a chance to speak to her alone.
In those days I was happy; and often when the camp was resting, and there was nothing for me to do, I used to go out and sit on the top of a high hill, and think about Standing Alone, and hope that in the time to come I might have her for my wife, and that I might do great things in war, so that she would be proud of me; and might bring back many horses for her, so that she could always ride a good horse, and have a finely ornamented saddle and saddle-cloth. If I could take horses enough, I should be rich, and then whatever Standing Alone might desire, I could give a horse for it.




A Warrior Ready to Die.


It was not long after this that buffalo were found, and we began to kill them, as we used to do in the old times; and then a great misfortune happened to me.

One day I was chasing buffalo on a young horse, and as it ran down a steep hill, it stumbled among the stones, and fell down, rolling over, and I was thrown far; and, as I fell to the ground, my knee struck against a large stone. When I got up my leg was useless, and I could not walk, but I managed to catch my horse, and crawling on it I reached the camp. After a little my knee got better, and then again worse, and then better again. Still I could not walk, and for two years I stayed in the camp, crippled, and unable to go from place to place, except when I was helped on my horse. I grew thin and weak, and thought that I should die.

Many of the young men of my age, my friends, were sorry for me. They used to come to my lodge and eat and talk, telling me the news. Sometimes, when I was sitting out in the shade of the lodge, looking over the camp, and feeling the pleasant breeze blow on my face, or the warm sun shine on my body, I saw the young men and boys walking about, and running, and wrestling, and kicking, and jumping on their horses and galloping off, and it made me feel badly to think that I could no longer do the things that I used to do; could no longer hunt, and help to support my relations; could no longer go off on the warpath with my fellows, to fight the enemy, or to take plunder from them. I was useless.

Often during this time, older men -- my uncle's friends -- used to come to the lodge, and stop there and talk with me for a little time, to cheer me up, for I think they too felt sorry for me. The doctors tried hard to cure my leg, but though they did many things, and I and my uncle paid them many horses, and saddles and blankets, they could not help me. Once in a while, in the morning, after all the men had gone out to chase buffalo, or to hunt for smaller animals, deer or elk or antelope, Standing Alone would come to my mother's lodge, perhaps bringing some little present for her, and would sit and talk with her, and sometimes look at me, and I could see that her eyes were full of tears, and that she too felt sorry. Sometimes she spoke to me, but not often; but it always made me glad to see her, and made me feel more than ever that she had a good heart.

At the end of two years I sent word to my uncle, asking him to come to see me; and when he had come and sat down, I asked my mother and my sisters to leave the lodge, and when they had gone I spoke to my uncle. "Father, you have seen how it has been with me for two years; that I am no longer able to go about; that I am a cripple, lying here day after day, useless to my relations, and very unhappy. Now, I have thought of this for a long time, and I have made up my mind what I shall do. It is time for me to go off with some of the young men on the warpath, and when we meet the enemy, I will ride straight into the midst of them, and will strike one, and he shall kill me. I am no longer glad to live, and it will be well for me to die bravely."

For a long time my uncle said nothing, but sat there looking at the ground. After he had thought, he raised his head and spoke to me, saying: "Son, you can remember how it has been with us since you were a little boy. You have been my son, and I have loved you. I have been glad when you went to war, and glad when you returned with credit; yet I should not have mourned if you had been killed in battle, for that is the way a man ought to die. I have seen your sufferings now for two years, and I know how you feel. I think that it will be well for you to do as you have said, and for you to give your body to the enemy, and to be killed on the open prairie, where the birds and the beasts may feed on your flesh, and may scatter it over the plain. Now, when you are ready to do this, tell me, so that I may see that you go to war as becomes a warrior who is about to die."

It was not very long after this that a party of young men set out to war, all mounted, to go south to look for the Utes. Among them was the one who had been my close friend, and to him I had told what was in my mind; and when I spoke to the leader of the party, he was glad to have me go with him, as were all of them.

I told my uncle, and he gave me his best war horse to ride, and gave me also a sacred headdress that he wore, which had in it some of the feathers of the thunder bird. I took with me no arms, except a stone axe that my father had had from his father, and he from his father, and which had come down in our family through many generations.

The party started, and we traveled fast and far to the south. At first I was very weak, and got very tired during the long marches, but after a time I grew stronger, and could eat better, and felt better; but my leg was as bad as ever.

We had been out many days and were still traveling south, east of the mountains, when, one day our scouts came upon the carcasses of buffalo that had been killed only a little time before, and the meat cut from the bones. From this we knew that enemies were close by, and we went carefully. Not far beyond these carcasses, as we rode up on a hill, we saw before us in the valley two persons butchering a buffalo, and as we watched them at their work, we could see that they were Utes -- enemies. All the young men jumped on their horses, and we charged down on them. Before we were near them they had seen us, and had run to their horses, and jumped on them and ridden away. By this time I was far ahead of my friends, for my horse was the fastest of all; and soon I was getting close to these enemies. They rode almost side by side, but one a little ahead of the other.

The one who was on the left and a little behind carried a bow and arrows, while the man on the right had a gun. I said to myself: "I will ride between these two persons, and the man with the bow will then have to shoot toward his right hand, and will very likely miss me, while I may be able to knock him off his horse with my axe." I was not afraid, for I had made up my mind to die.

Before long I had overtaken the Utes, and, riding between them, made ready to strike them. The man with the arrows turned on his horse, and shot at me, but I bent to one side, and the arrow passed by without hitting me, and I struck him with my axe and knocked him off his horse. Then the man with the gun turned and was aiming at me, but when he pulled the trigger his gun snapped and did not go off. I was close to him and caught the barrel in my hand, and struck him with my axe, and knocked him off his horse. Then I rode on, holding his gun in my hand. Before the two men whom I had struck could get on their horses again, my friends had overtaken and killed them.

We traveled on further, but found no more enemies, and at last we gave up, and returned to our village. All the time, as we were journeying about, and going back, I kept feeling better and better. I grew stronger slowly. The swelling on my knee began to go down, so that before we reached the village I could rest my weight on that foot a little. At last we arrived, and when we came in sight of the camp, we could see people looking from the lodges to see who were coming.

As we rode down the hill to charge upon the village, the leader told me to ride far in front, "For," he said, "you are the bravest of all." When we came into the village the men and the women and the children came out to meet us. All of them shouted out my name, and my heart grew big in my breast, for I felt that all the people thought that I had done well. Among the women who came out to meet us, I saw Standing Alone, running along by my mother, and both were singing a glad song. And when I saw this, I came near to crying.

At last I reached my lodge, and before it stood my uncle; and as I rode toward him he called out in a loud voice, and asked a certain man named Brave Wolf to come to his lodge and see his son who had given his body to the enemy, desiring to be killed, but who had done great things and had survived. And when Brave Wolf came to the lodge, my uncle gave to him the best horse that he had, a spotted war pony, handsome and long-winded and fleet.

All that day I sat in the lodge and rested, and talked to my uncle. I told him about our journey to war, and while he did not say much I could see that his heart was glad. Before he got up to leave the lodge, he said to me, "Friend, you have done well; I am glad to have such a son." This made me feel glad and proud -- more proud, I think, than I felt when I heard the people shout out my name. I loved my uncle and it seemed good that I had done something that pleased him.

All day long people were coming to our lodge and talking about what had happened to us while on our journey. Those who came were my relations and friends, but, besides these, older men, good warriors, people to whose words all the tribe listened, came and sat and talked with me for a little while. My mother and one or two of her relations were busy all day cooking food for the visitors. It was a happy time.

The leader of our war party sent word to me that this night there would be a war dance over the scalps that had been taken. Although I could walk a little, I could not dance, yet I wished to go to the dance and watch the others. All through the afternoon boys and young men were bringing wood to a level place in the circle of the camp, and there they built what we call a "skunk," piling up long poles together in a shape somewhat like a lodge, so that when finished the "skunk" looked like a war lodge.

Late in the night the people gathered near the "skunk," called together by the sound of the singing and the drumming. Leaning on a stick, I walked down there, and before long the "skunk" was lighted, and the members of our war party and the young women began to dance. Although I could not dance, my face was painted black like those of other men of the war party, and I sat there and watched the young people dance and saw the old men and women carry about the scalps. That was one of the last of the old-fashioned war dances that I ever saw held.

The days went by, and before the birds had flown over on their way to the south, and the weather became cold, I could walk pretty well, and could ride easily. One day about this time a doctor whom I had given many presents a year or two before to cure my sickness came to my lodge and asked me if I did not think I ought to give him a present because he had cured me of the swollen knee that I had had so long. I said to him that I believed that not he but the Great Power, to whom I had prayed and to whom I had offered my body as a sacrifice, had cured me. The doctor said that this was a mistake; that really he had cured me, but that his power had not had time to work until after I had started on my warpath.

I did not think that this was true, but I remembered that this man possessed mysterious power, and I felt that perhaps it would not be wise to refuse what he asked. I told him I must have time to think about this, and that in seven days he should return and I would talk further with him about it. Not long after this I told my uncle what the doctor had said. At first he was angry and said that I would do well to refuse what had been asked of me, but after we had talked about it, he came to think as I thought, that perhaps it would be better to make the doctor a present, rather than to have his ill will, for it was possible that he might be able to harm us. My uncle, therefore, told me to give the doctor a certain horse, and a day or two after that he sent me the horse, to be put with my band and later to be given to the doctor. When he received the horse, the doctor was glad, and he told me that after this he would protect me in case any danger threatened me.

The winter passed, the snow melted, the birds went north in spring, and the buffalo began to get poor. It seemed to me now that I was as strong and well as ever I had been. I walked alike on both legs, and was as active as any of the young men. During this summer I joined one of the soldier societies of the tribe, and in this I followed the advice of my uncle, who had belonged to this same society.




A Lie That Came True.


Soon after this something strange happened.

I had a friend named Sun's Road. He was a little younger than I, perhaps eighteen or twenty years old, big enough to have a sweetheart, and there was a girl in the camp that he wished to please. He had been more than once to war and had done well, but he wanted to do still better. He was eager to do great things, to make the people talk about him and say that he was brave and always lucky. Like most other young men, he wished to become a great man.

Our camp was on the South Platte River, a big village of near two hundred lodges. All these had been made during the summer, and were new, white and clean. The camp looked nice, but now the buffalo had all gone away. None were to be found and the people were hungry. They had eaten all the food they had saved and now they were eating their dogs, and most of these were already gone.

One day two boys, each the son of a chief, were out on the prairie hunting, and each killed an antelope and took it to his father's lodge. After these had been cooked the chiefs were called together to feast. There was not enough food to allow them to call any others except the chiefs.

I heard of all this at the time, but it was a good deal later that Sun's Road told me what he had done and what happened to him about this time. He did not wish me to tell anyone about it, but it is a long time ago and those who were important people at that time are now dead, so I think no harm can be done by telling of it.

After these chiefs had eaten, they talked of the suffering of the people and tried to think what could be done to help them. After a time one of the chiefs came out of the lodge and walked through the camp crying aloud to the people, saying, "Listen, listen, you people; we will all stay in this camp." This he called out again and again as he walked around the circle, so that all might hear him.

After a time Sun's Road heard his name called, and the old man shouted: "Sun's Road, Sun's Road; the chief wishes you to go to his lodge. He wishes you to go out to look for buffalo."

Sun's Road went to the chief's lodge and when he had entered they told him where he should sit, by the door, and gave him a little piece of antelope meat to eat. After he had finished eating, the chief said to him: "We want you to-night to go across the river to the other side, and you shall go to where the pile of bones is, where we had the fight with the Pawnees. On the other side of that hill for a long distance the country is level. Look over that country and see if you can see any buffalo and come back and let us know what you have seen. If you see no buffalo do not go farther; come back from there."

The pile of bones was a breastwork of buffalo bones built on the top of a very high hill by some Pawnees who many years before had been surrounded there by men of our tribe.

Sun's Road started on his journey. When he came to the river he took off his leggings and moccasins and waded across. It was cold, for by this time it was late in the night. On the other side of the river he put on his leggings and moccasins again and walked on north, sometimes walking, and sometimes trotting for a little way. After he had walked a long distance and it was beginning to get toward morning he felt tired and thought that he would rest for a little while. He looked about for a place to lie down, and found a little bunch of brush behind a small bank, and there unbelted his robe and lay down to sleep for a little while. He had not slept long when his feet became cold and this woke him, and when he raised his head he saw that day was beginning to break. He said to himself: "I must not stay here longer. I am out looking for buffalo for people who are starving. I must not lie here," so he rose and tied up his waist and started on.

He walked on and on and at length he saw the high hill and on it the pile of bones. As he went on he came nearer and nearer, and he walked up the hill until he was close by the pile of bones. Then he stopped, for he was afraid. He was afraid that when he looked over the hill he would see nothing. He wanted to make a great man of himself, and to take back the news that he had seen buffalo, so that the people would call his name and all would say that Sun's Road was smart and was lucky. He was so afraid that he would see nothing when he looked over the hill that he stopped and stood there and thought. He said to himself: "If I shall not see anything and go back, they will all hear of it and my girl will hear of it. They will not think much of me. If I could only see plenty of buffalo, what a great man I should be!"

He went on and when he came to the top of the hill and peeped over, there down below him he saw and counted thirty bulls and a calf. He looked at them and said, "Those are bulls; they are not much, but something." He looked another way, and presently he saw one bull, and then two, and then others far off, scattered -- in all five or six. He said again, "These are not many, but they will be some help to the people." A little to his right and down the hill a point of the bluff ran out a little way and this point hid a part of the country beyond, and Sun's Road walked down there just a few steps to see what was over that way. When he got there he looked out into a very pretty, level basin with a stream running through it, and said to himself: "This is a pretty place, a good place for buffalo. There ought to be a great many of them here."

At first he could see none, but he kept on looking and at last far off, just specks, he saw a few -- a very few, perhaps ten or fifteen -- cows.

For a long time he stood there trying to think what he should tell the chiefs when he went back to the camp. He said to himself: "If I go back and tell them just what I have seen it will be nothing to tell. Now, I want people to think that I am a great man, and I am going to tell them a lie. Yes, I shall have to tell them a lie. I shall tell them that when I looked over the hill I saw those thirty bulls with one calf, but beyond I saw many buffalo -- hundreds. I know it is a lie, but I shall have to tell it." Then he turned about and went back.

He traveled fast, walking and trotting, and sometimes running, for he wished to reach the camp before night. It was late in the afternoon when he came to the river, waded across and reached the camp. He went into his father's lodge and sat down. His father was at work making a whetstone. He looked up at his son, and said, "Ha, you have returned," and he turned to his wife and said, "Give our son something to eat." His mother was cooking a little dog, the last one they had, and she gave Sun's Road a piece of it and he ate. Then he took off his moccasins, went over to his bed and lay down, covered himself, and went to sleep. He did not speak, and he made no report to the chiefs. Some children were playing in the lodge, and making a little noise, and his father spoke to them, saying, "Go out, you will wake my son; he is tired and has gone to sleep." Sun's Road slept only for a short time, for the lie that he was going to tell troubled him. Pretty soon he heard one of the old chiefs coming -- old Double Head. He could hear him coming, coughing and groaning and clearing his throat, and he knew who it was by the sound. The chief entered the lodge and sat down, and said to Sun's Road's father, "Has your son returned?" The father replied, "Yes, he is asleep." He filled the pipe and Double Head smoked. Sun's Road lay still. In a few moments he heard another old man coming towards the lodge grunting. He knew who it was -- White Cow. He came in, sat down, asked the same question that Double Head had asked, and smoked.

White Cow called to Sun's Road, "Nephew, get up now and tell us what you saw; we are starving."

Sun's Road rolled over, pulled the robe from his head, raised himself on his elbow and said: "I went to the hill of the pile of bones, and on the other side of the hill right over beyond the bones I saw thirty bulls and a calf. Just beyond them, as I looked over, I saw many buffalo."

The old men stood up and went out. Soon he heard them crying out through the camp so that all the people should hear: "Sun's Road has come in. On the other side of the pile of bones he saw thirty bulls and a calf, and just below this he saw many buffalo. Gather in your horses. Get them up. Women, sharpen your knives. Men, whet your arrow points. Tie up your horses, and early in the morning we will go after buffalo. The camp will stay here. All will go on horseback."

Sun's Road was frightened when he heard this, but it was now too late to be sorry for what he had done. Next morning just at break of day, before it was light, all the people were out. The old crier was still shouting out, "Saddle your horses; make ready to start, men, women and all."

Soon all were saddled, and they crossed the river and went on. The chiefs rode first and everyone was behind them. No one rode ahead of them. They went pretty fast, for all were eager to get to the buffalo.

Pretty soon they came in sight of the pile of bones. Sun's Road could hear the old chiefs talking and saying to each other, "There are the bones; soon we will be there at the buffalo." All the time he kept thinking of the lie that he had told, and remembering that there were only a few buffalo, while he had said that there were many. He did not know what he should do.

When they reached the foot of the hill close to the bones, the chiefs stopped and everyone behind them stopped. All the chiefs got off their horses and sat down in a row and filled the pipe and began to smoke. Soon Sun's Road heard one of them call out: "Sun's Road, Sun's Road, go up to the pile of bones and see if you can see your buffalo now. Let us know if they are there." Then Sun's Road was still more frightened. When he first heard his name called, his heart seemed to stop and then it began to beat so fast that it almost choked him. He did not know what to do. He did not move.

Soon old Standing Water, another chief, called out sharply, "Sun's Road, go to the pile of bones and see if you can see those buffalo; come back and tell us what you see."

Then Sun's Road started and rode up towards the pile of bones. Just as he did so a raven flew over him and began to call "Ca, Ca, Ca." He kept riding on, his heart beating fast, but as he rode he held up his hands to the raven and prayed, "Ah, raven, take pity on me and fetch the buffalo." He held his hands up higher and prayed to the Great Power, "O He amma wihio, you are the one who made the buffalo; take pity on me; you know what I need." Then he rode up to the top of the hill.

The moment his head got to where he could see over the hill, he looked and there he saw thirty bulls and the calf. They had hardly moved at all. Then he went on a step or two further, so that he could see beyond them, and the place that he had seen the day before was just full of buffalo. Again he held up his hands to the sky and said: "O raven, O He amma wihio, you have made my words true. The lie that I told you have made come true."

He turned and rode down the hill towards the chiefs. Before he had reached them, one of them called to him to come right to the middle of the line where they were sitting, and when he had come near, they told him to get off his horse and lead it off to one side and then to come back to the middle of the line. They sent a young man to bring a buffalo chip and he brought one and put it down on the ground before the old chief Standing Water, and then went away. The chief placed it on the ground in front of him, about the length of his arm distant from his knees. Then he filled a pipe. Sun's Road still stood out in front of the line, in sight of all the people. He was still badly frightened, for he did not know what they were going to do. He was young, and did not know the ceremonies.

When the pipe was filled, the old chief lighted it and pointed the stem to the east, to the south, to the west and to the north, then up to the sky, and then down to the ground. Then he rested the bowl of the pipe on the buffalo chip and said, "Sun's Road, come here." When he had come close, the chief said, "Take hold of this pipe and draw on it five times." The old man held the pipe, and so did Sun's Road, until he had drawn five times on the pipe. Then the chief said, "Now do you hold the pipe," and Sun's Road held it while the old man took his hands away, and he said: "Sun's Road, pass your hands all down the stem and over the pipe, and then rub your hands over your face and head, and over your arms and body and legs. Then hand me the pipe." Sun's Road did as he was bade. Then the old man put his hand on the buffalo chip and said to Sun's Road, "Did you see bulls?"

And Sun's Road answered, "I saw them."

The old man pulled in the chip a little way toward himself.

"Did you see cows?"

"I saw them."

The chief moved the chip a little further toward himself.

"Did you see two-year-olds?"

"I saw them."

Standing Water moved the chip a little further toward himself.

"Did you see yearlings?"

"I saw them."

"Did you see small calves?"

"I saw them."

After each answer the chip was moved nearer the chief, and when all the questions had been answered it was close to his body. Then Standing Water lifted up his hands toward the sky and thanked He amma wihio for all his goodness to the people.

Standing Water cleaned out the pipe, emptied the ashes on the chip in four piles and left them there. He put his pipe in its sheath and said to the people: "Now, let none of you people go around toward the left and pass in front of this chip -- between it and the camp. Back off and all go around behind it, on the side toward the buffalo. If you should pass in front of it that might make the buffalo all go away." All the people went around it, as they had been told to do.

The chiefs mounted and all rode up on the ridge and all saw the buffalo. The chiefs said: "Now here we will divide into two parties; let half go to the right and half to the left. The chiefs will go straight down from here. Let one party go around below the buffalo, and the other party on the upper side. When you get to your places let all make the charge at the same time."

Sun's Road watched where his girl was riding, and when he saw that she went to the right he went that way too, and she saw him on his fine horse. They charged down on the buffalo and he rode close to a fat cow and killed it.

The people killed plenty of buffalo and took much meat back to the camp and ate, and all were happy.

A day or two afterward someone who was out saw the buffalo quite close and coming toward the river. They went out and chased them and again killed plenty. Two or three days later the buffalo began to come down to the river and then to cross the river and to feed in the hills about the camp. The people stayed in this camp for a long time and killed many buffalo and made plenty of robes.




My Marriage.


The next summer I went with a party to war against the Mexicans. There were seventeen men, and two of them, Howling Wolf and Red Dog, had taken their wives with them. We took many horses, and were coming back, when, while we were passing through the mountains, two of the young men who had been sent ahead as scouts came hurrying back and told us that they had been seen by a camp of enemies, and that many of them were coming. We had a little time, and perhaps if the leaders of the party had been willing to give up the horses we were driving and had told each man to catch his fastest horse, we might have run away, but the leaders did not like to leave the horses and determined to fight those who were coming. Before long we saw them, Utes and Mountain Apaches, a large party -- too many for us to fight with. We started to run.

Our horses were tired, and it was not long before our enemies began to overtake us and some of them to strike us with their whips, counting coups. Howling Wolf, a brave man, rode behind us all, trying to defend us, riding back and forth fighting off the enemy and whipping up the slower horses. As we ran, partly surrounded by the enemy and all in confusion, the girth on the saddle of Howling Wolf's wife broke and she fell off her horse with the saddle, and was left behind and taken prisoner. One of the Utes captured her and took her up behind him on his horse.

After they had taken this prisoner the enemy stopped, and presently one of our men called out to Howling Wolf, saying, "Look, look, there is your wife! They have taken her prisoner!" Howling Wolf said, "Can that be?" and then as he looked he threw down his empty gun, calling out, "Someone pick up that gun." He drew his bow and strung it, and alone charged back on the man who had his wife. The Utes had gathered in a little group about this woman, and Howling Wolf rode straight for this crowd, shooting right and left with his arrows, when he got close to them. He ran against one man, and his horse knocked down horse and rider. He passed through the crowd up to the man who had his wife as prisoner, and shot an arrow through him, and then shot another man who tried to lead off the horse the woman was riding. A third ran up to take the bridle and he shot an arrow through his head. Then all the Utes made a rush at Howling Wolf and his wife. Their horses were separated, and the woman pushed off to one side. All the Utes were shooting at Howling Wolf, and he fought until all his arrows were gone, and then he was pushed off further, and rode to us. We never knew how many of the Utes were wounded. Howling Wolf was not hurt, but his horse was shot through the mane with an arrow.

Long afterwards, we were told that the Utes said to this woman, "Who is that man who is doing all this fighting?" She answered proudly, "That man is my husband." When she said that the Utes rushed upon her and shot her with arrows, so that she died.

The enemy did not follow us further. They had killed two more of our men and this woman, and had captured all the horses we were driving. Perhaps they were satisfied.

For the last year I had been thinking a great deal about Standing Alone. I saw and spoke to her sometimes, but in these later days not so often as when I had been younger and had not been so often going on the warpath against my enemies. Yet she knew how I felt and her family and my mother also knew how I felt. She was wearing a ring of horn that I had given her and I wore her ring.

Three times in the last two years when I had come back from my war journeys with horses I had driven the horses to Two Bulls' lodge and left them there, and had sent him a message telling him that those horses were his. I had not given any present to Standing Alone.

In summer of this year I spoke to my uncle and told him that I wished to send horses to Two Bulls, and to ask him to give me his daughter for my wife. My uncle felt that this would be good and advised me to do it, saying that if I had not so many horses as I wished to send I should go to his band and take any that I liked. I told him that this need not be done for I, myself, could furnish the horses. Besides, my relations would give such other presents as might be needed.

So it happened that about the time the leaves of the cottonwoods began to turn yellow, my aunt, my mother's oldest sister, went to Two Bulls' lodge taking ten horses, which she tied before the lodge, and then, entering, gave the message, saying that Wikis wished Standing Alone for his wife. After she had said this, my aunt returned to her lodge.

That night Two Bulls sent for his relations and told them what I had said. They counseled together and agreed that the young woman should be given to me. When I learned this my heart was stirred.

The news came to my lodge through one of the women of Two Bulls' family, and my mother and sisters prepared our lodge for the coming of Standing Alone.

It was about the middle of the day when they told me that she was coming.

Standing Alone, finely dressed, was riding a handsome spotted horse led by one of her relations, and other women were coming behind, leading other horses which bore loads.

The horse ridden by Standing Alone was led up close to the lodge and my mother ran out to it. Standing Alone put her arms around my mother's neck and slipped out of the saddle on my mother's back. My sisters caught her feet and supported Standing Alone, who was thus carried on my mother's back into the lodge and her feet did not touch the ground. Then she was carried around to the back of the lodge where my sleeping place was and seated next to me on my bed. Presently food was prepared and for the dish to be offered to Standing Alone my mother cut up the meat into small pieces, so that she should have no trouble in eating her food. Then Standing Alone and I ate together and so I took her for my wife.

Many of the gifts that Two Bulls had sent with Standing Alone were distributed among my relations.

That day all my near relations came, bringing gifts of many sorts to us who were newly married. They brought us a lodge and much lodge furniture -- robes and bedding, backrests, mats and dishes -- all the things that people used in the life of the camp. Of these presents some were sent to the relations of Standing Alone and they in turn sent other presents to us, so that as husband and wife Standing Alone and I began our life well provided with all that we needed.

I did not again go to war that year, but spent much of my time hunting -- providing food for my own family and often leaving meat at my father-in-law's lodge.

Up to this time, as I look back on it to-day, it seems to me that life had been easy for me and for the tribe. We had many skins for robes, lodges and clothing. Food was plenty. If we needed horses we made journeys to war against our enemies to the south and took what we required -- but hard times were coming.

It was but a few years after I took Standing Alone for my wife, when my oldest boy was four years old, that the wars were begun between the white people and my tribe.

This was a hard time. It is true we killed many white people and captured much property, but though most of the tribe did not seem to see that it was so, my uncle and I felt that the Indians were being crowded out, pushed further and further away from where we had always been -- where we belonged. After each expedition through the country by white troops and after each fight that we had with the white men, we felt as if some great hand that was all around my tribe and all the other tribes, was closing a little tighter about us all, and that at last it would grasp us and squeeze us to death.

Of that bad time and of what followed that time, I do not wish to speak, and so my story ends.

<eob>

Peter And Polly In Winter

By

Rose Lucia



Peter And Polly


Peter Howe is a little boy. Polly is his sister. She is older than Peter.

They live in a white house. The house is on a hill. It is not in the city. It is in the country.

There are no houses close about it. But there are trees and fields around it.

In summer these fields are green. In winter the snow covers them.

The fields and the hills are as white as the house. Then there is fun playing in the snow.

Peter likes to watch the snowflakes. He calls them "white butterflies." But he knows what they are.

His friend, the Story Lady, told him. They are just frozen clouds.

Peter said to her, "I think they are prettier than raindrops. They can sail about in the air, too. Raindrops cannot. I like winter better than summer."

"It will be winter soon, Peter," said the Story Lady. "But many things must happen first.

"The birds must fly away. The leaves must turn red and yellow. Then they will fall and you can rake them into heaps. We will go to the woods for nuts.

"All these things will happen before winter comes."

"Yes," said Peter. "And my grandmother must knit me some thick stockings. And my father must buy me a winter coat. Grandmother must knit some stockings for Wag-wag, too."

"But Wag-wag is a dog, Peter. Dogs do not need stockings."

"My dog does," said Peter. "He needs a coat, too. His hair is short. It will not keep him warm. I shall ask father to buy him a coat."

"Do, Peter," said the Story Lady. "It is good to be kind to dogs. And when Wag-wag wears his coat and stockings, bring him to see me. I will take his picture."




The Birds' Game Of Tag


It is fall. Summer is really over. But it is still warm. Jack Frost has not yet begun his work.

Peter and Polly have been watching the birds. For days they have seen great flocks of them. In the summer there were not so many together.

One day they saw several robins. These were flying from tree to tree.

Peter said, "I know they are having a party. They are playing tag."

"Perhaps they are," said his father. "Perhaps each bird is telling something to the bird he tags."

"What is he telling?" asked Peter.

"I think he is saying, 'Brother bird, don't you know that winter is coming? Soon the snow will be here. What shall we do then?

"'We cannot get food. We shall freeze. Come, let us fly away to the South. It is warm there.'"

"What does brother bird say?" asked Peter.

"I think brother bird says, 'It is a long way to the South. It will take many days and nights to fly there.

"'Are our children's wings yet strong enough? I do not like to go. But I know that we must.'"

"Doesn't he like to go, truly?" asked Peter.

"We do not know, Peter. The robins make their nests here. They lay their blue eggs here. They hatch their little birds here. They never do this in the South.

"Besides, they sing their beautiful songs here. They never sing them in the South. We like to think that they love the North better. But, of course, we do not know."

"How can they find their way back?" asked Polly.

"We do not know that, either, Polly. Many birds fly in the nighttime. Then they rest a part of the day."

"I couldn't find my way in the dark," said Polly.

"But the birds can," said father. "We do not know how. The winter home of some of our birds is thousands of miles from here."

"I like to watch the swallows," said Polly. "They sit in a line on a telephone wire. Then one flies to another wire. In a minute they all fly, too.

"I think that they are talking about going away soon. I hope they will not get lost."

"Yes," said father. "They will soon be gone. But perhaps some of these very birds will come back here next summer."

"I wish we could know them," said Polly.

"We shall have a few birds left this winter," said father. "You know some of them. You know the chick-a-dees and the woodpeckers. And this winter I shall show you others."

"May we hunt for nests and eggs, father?" asked Peter.

"We may hunt, Peter, but we won't find any eggs in winter. We shall find other things. Perhaps we shall find the white-footed mouse. He sometimes makes his home in an old bird's nest."

"Can a mouse climb trees, father? If he lives in a bird's nest, does he lay bird's eggs?"

"He can climb trees, Peter. But he cannot lay eggs. We will see if we can find Mr. White-foot some day.

"But first we will watch the birds fly away and the snow come."




The Stone-Wall Post Office


Around Peter's house is a beautiful field. This is Mr. Howe's hayfield. You can find it on the map in the front of this book.

The children like this field. All the year round, it is a pleasant place.

In the spring they find blue violets here. In the summer they watch the birds that make nests in the tall grass. In the winter they slide here on the crust.

At the farther side of the field, there are some trees. These are butternut trees. In front of the trees is a stone wall.

Peter and Polly like to play by this wall. Sometimes they play that it is a post office.

The holes in the wall are the boxes. There is a box for every one in the village. Peter has more than one box; so has Polly.

The children take turns being the postmaster. If Peter is the postmaster, Polly calls for the mail.

The real post office is in their father's store. So they have often seen Mr. Howe put the mail into the boxes.

They use little sticks for the post cards. Leaves are the letters. Stones are the packages. Sometimes the boxes are full of mail -- especially Peter's and Polly's.

Often they play that it is Christmas time. Then the boxes are full of packages. It is fun to guess what is in each package.

One day Peter said, "There is a knife in this package. I like it. There is a hammer in this package. I will build a house with it.

"There is a game in this package. Will you play it with me, Polly? And, O Polly! There is a pony in this package! That is what I wish for most of all."

"But, Peter, a pony is too big to be in your post-office box. It would not come by mail."

"Then Santa Claus will bring it," said Peter. "If I get it, I do not care how it comes."

One day the children saw that the butternuts were falling.

Polly said, "Let's pick up all we can. We will put them in our post-office boxes. When they are full, we will bring your cart. Then we can take the nuts home. We will crack them next winter."

So they filled the boxes with nuts. The nuts were still green. The children stained their hands with them.

While they were playing with the nuts, they saw two squirrels. These sat in the trees above them. They watched Peter and Polly with their bright eyes, and scolded them a great deal.

"They want our nuts," said Polly. "But we have put them into our post-office boxes. We will keep them."

The next day the children went for their nuts. They took Peter's cart with them. What do you think they found?

Why, they found their boxes empty! The nuts were all gone!

"Some one bad has been here," said Peter.

Polly laughed. "You always say that, Peter. I think it was those squirrels. And I don't care, because they need the nuts to eat this winter."

"I don't care, either," said Peter. "I think we forgot to lock our boxes."

"Perhaps we did," said Polly. "But I guess the squirrels thought the boxes were theirs. When they called for their mail, they found the boxes full. How pleased they must have been! Let's pick up more nuts for them."

So the children again filled the post-office boxes with nuts. Then they went home and left them for the squirrels.




Playing In The Leaves


One day Peter saw something that pleased him. It was a branch of red leaves on a maple tree.

He said to mother, "It will be winter soon."

"Why do you think so, Peter?"

"I have seen red leaves," said Peter.

"But, Peter, a few red leaves do not count. There are red leaves in the summer. You must watch until you see many red, yellow, and brown leaves."

"What makes the leaves red and yellow, mother? Is it magic?" asked Peter. "Can you do it?"

"Perhaps it is a kind of magic, Peter. It is like the clouds turning into snow. I cannot do that."

Then Peter watched for all the trees to turn. At last they were bright with colors.

The maples were red and yellow; the oaks a deep red. The beeches were a bright yellow.

Even the elm trees in front of the house were yellow. Now Polly liked more than ever to swing. The swing took her way up among the yellow leaves.

Then, one day, the leaves began to fall. Down they came, a few at a time. The next day more fell, and the next and the next.

Polly said, "They are prettier than the snowflakes. The snow is white. These have lovely colors. See them flying through the air."

At last most of the trees were bare. The leaves lay on the ground.

Then Peter said, "Oh, the poor trees! They haven't any clothes on. I am so sorry."

Polly said, "The leaves are not clothes. They are children. Now they have gone to bed. The snow is their blanket. When it comes, it will keep them warm. If we leave them alone, they will sleep all winter. I learned it in a poem."

"They cannot go to sleep yet," said Peter. "I shall not let them. I shall wake them up."

"How will you do that?" asked Polly.

"I shall run in them. That will keep them awake. I shall do it now. Come on! See if you can make as much noise as I can."

After a while the children raked the leaves into large heaps. Then they jumped in the heaps. This scattered the leaves. But the children did not care. They raked them up again.

Once Peter jumped where the leaves were not very deep. He came to the ground with a bang. He was surprised. But he was not much hurt.

He said to mother, "My teeth shut with a noise when I went down."

Mother said, "It is lucky that your tongue was not in the way. You would have bitten it badly."

"Come in now, both of you. You must wash your hands and faces. Father will be home soon. You may play in the leaves to-morrow."




How The Leaves Came Down[1]


I'll tell you how the leaves came down. The great Tree to his children said, "You're getting sleepy, Yellow and Brown, Yes, very sleepy, little Red; It is quite time you went to bed."

"Ah!" begged each silly, pouting leaf, "Let us a little longer stay; Dear Father Tree, behold our grief; 'Tis such a very pleasant day We do not want to go away."

So, just for one more merry day To the great Tree the leaflets clung, Frolicked and danced and had their way, Upon the autumn breezes swung, Whispering all their sports among, -- 

"Perhaps the great Tree will forget, And let us stay until the spring, If we all beg and coax and fret." But the great Tree did no such thing; He smiled to hear their whispering.

"Come, children, all to bed," he cried; And ere the leaves could urge their prayer He shook his head, and far and wide, Fluttering and rustling everywhere, Down sped the leaflets through the air.

I saw them; on the ground they lay, Golden and red, a huddled swarm, Waiting till one from far away, White bedclothes heaped upon her arm, Should come to wrap them safe and warm.

The great bare Tree looked down and smiled, "Good night, dear little leaves," he said. And from below, each sleepy child Replied, "Good night," and murmured, "It is so nice to go to bed!"

 -- Susan Coolidge.

[1] Copyright, 1889, by Roberts Brothers.




The Bonfire


The next day father said, "Peter and Polly, will you work for me? I wish to buy your leaves. I will give you a cent for three loads."

"Oh, goody, goody!" said Polly.

"Oh, goody, goody!" said Peter.

"You must put the leaves in a pile in the garden. I will show you where."

"What will you do with them, father?" asked Polly.

"You will see to-night, if you are good workmen."

In the night the wind had blown the leaves about. So the children raked them up once more.

Then they filled the big basket full. They packed in the leaves as hard as they could.

"That is to give good measure," said Polly. "Father always gives good measure at his store. So you and I must, too."

Every time they took a basketful to the garden, Polly made a mark on a piece of paper.

At last the yard was raked clean. They had taken to the garden twenty-nine loads. They had worked nearly all day.

At supper father said, "You are good workmen, chicks. Our yard looks very clean. It is ready for winter.

"You piled the leaves carefully in the garden, too. Now, how much do I owe you?"

"We took twenty-nine loads, father," said Polly. "I wish there had been one more to make thirty."

"Why do you wish that, Polly?"

"Because three goes in thirty better than in twenty-nine."

"Well," said father, "we will call it thirty loads, Polly. I saw you packing the leaves into the basket very hard.

"You are honest workmen to give me such good measure. Now, Polly, three goes in thirty how many times?"

"Ten times, father. So you owe us ten cents. We shall each have five cents."

"Very good, Polly. Here is your money. I have a surprise for you. Put on your coats and come to the garden. Mother will come, too."

In the garden they found father beside the pile of leaves. He had thrown many things upon it.

He said, "I came home early and cleaned up the garden. Now, what shall we do with all this stuff?"

"Burn it, burn it!" shouted both children at once. "A bonfire, a bonfire!"

"Very well," said father. "You may burn it. Here is a match for you, Polly. And here is one for you, Peter. Light your fire."

Polly and Peter lighted the great heap. Soon the red flames were leaping up. They made the garden bright. Farther away from the fire it was very dark.

"Oh, see, see, mother!" cried Polly. "The flames are as pretty as the red and yellow leaves. Have they taken the color from the leaves? How hot they are!"




The Hen That Helped Peter


Peter is a nice little boy. But he can be very naughty. Mother and father know this. Grandmother Howe and Polly know it, too.

You see, Peter always wishes his own way. And you know this is not good for little boys and little girls.

Peter cannot have cake between his meals. He may always have milk to drink. Sometimes he may have bread and jelly, or bread and sugar.

He likes this very much. But he does not like the crusts of the bread. So he used to eat only the soft part. The crusts he threw away.

But at the table he could not throw them away.

Then he put them under the edge of his plate. You know how.

When mother took the plate, there would be a crust on the table. It did not look very well.

One day father said, "Peter, you are a big boy now. You are nearly five years old. You are old enough to eat your crusts.

"I will give you a week in which to learn how. After that, I shall not expect to see any more crusts on the table."

Peter knew that, when his father spoke so, he meant what he said. But the little boy thought he would not eat his crusts until he had to do so.

He said to himself, "In a week I will begin to eat them all up. But now I will still put them under my plate."

So, every day when his plate was taken away, there were the crusts. Peter did not see his father look at them. And his father said nothing more about them.

By and by Peter began to think that his father had forgotten.

So, when the week was over, he said to himself, "I am sure that my father has forgotten. I am going to keep on leaving my crusts."

But his father had not forgotten. He was just waiting to see if Peter would obey.

That noon he saw that Peter had left a crust.

He said, "My son, you have not learned to eat your crusts. And you have not learned to obey. I must teach you."

Then Peter was more naughty still. He said, "I do not like old crust. I will throw old crust away. Then I cannot eat it."

He picked up the crust and jumped down from his chair.

His father called, "Peter!"

But Peter did not stop. He ran to the door and threw the crust out upon the grass.

His father went after him. "You may pick up your crust, Peter," said he.

This time Peter started to obey. He knew that he had been very naughty. But, before he could get to the crust, an old hen ran up. She snatched it in her bill and off she went.

Peter looked at his father. He was not sure what his father would do. He almost wished the hen had not taken the crust.

Father only laughed. He said, "That old hen is a friend of yours, Peter. If it had not been for her, you would have eaten that crust."

"I know it," said Peter. "And, father, I am sorry. I do not like to be naughty. I will be good. I will eat my crusts now to please you."

And after this he did.




The First Ice

"Water now has turned to stone, Stone that I can walk upon."


One morning mother said, "Polly, will you go to the store for me? I need a can of corn. We must have it for dinner."

"May Peter go, too, mother?"

"Oh, yes, Peter may go, if he wishes. Run and find him."

Now Polly and Peter liked to go to the store. It belonged to their father. Sometimes they helped him unpack goods. Sometimes they sat still and watched the customers.

Sometimes he let them play keeping store. Once Polly had really sold some candy to another little girl.

But to-day they could not stay to play. They must get the can of corn for mother, and come home.

They went down the hill. At the railroad tracks they stopped. They looked for a train. They saw none, so they ran across the tracks.

Then they came to the bridge. You can find it on the map in the front of this book.

They stopped to look over the rail at the water, far below.

"O Polly!" said Peter. "What is on the water?"

"Why, it is ice, Peter. The top of the water is frozen. See, the ice goes nearly across the river."

"Ice, ice!" shouted Peter. "Now winter is almost here. The leaves have gone. The ice has come. Let's run and tell father."

The children ran to the store.

"Father, father," called Peter, "we have seen ice!"

"So have I," said father. "Where did you see it?"

"We saw it from the bridge. The river is frozen at the sides. It is not frozen in the middle."

"Yes," said father. "It freezes first at the edges, because the water flows more slowly there. In the middle it flows faster.

"Every cold night that ice will grow. It will soon cover the middle of the river, too. And at the same time it will grow thicker."

"By and by it will be so thick that we can walk upon it. Then it is time to learn to skate. Perhaps you can learn this winter."

"When the ice is thick enough, men cut it into blocks. What will they do with them?"

"Make houses of them," said Peter.

"O Peter, we are not Eskimos," said Polly. "I know, father. They will put the ice into big ice houses. They will keep it to use in the hot summer. I saw them doing it last winter."

"Right, Polly. That is where our ice comes from in the summer."

"Does all the water in the river freeze, father? Where do the fishes go? Are they in the ice?"

"The ice is lighter than the water, Peter. So it stays on top of the water. The bottom of our river does not freeze. The fishes are there. They do not mind the cold as we do.

"Did you come to the store just to tell me about the ice, chicks?"

"No, father," said Polly. "We came for a can of corn. We saw the ice when we were on the bridge."

"Then here is the corn. Take it to mother and tell her about the ice."

Off went the children. When they came to the bridge, Peter dropped some small stones on the ice. But it did not break.

"It must be thick now, Polly," said he. "I wish we could skate."

"We weigh more than those stones do, Peter. I think the cold will have to make the ice grow more before father will let us. And, anyway, we have no skates."

"Let's tell mother about that, too, Polly. Perhaps she knows where there are some."

So Peter and Polly hurried up the hill to find their mother.




The Three Guesses


"Polly and Peter," said Mr. Howe, "I have something for you. It is something to use in the winter, and not in the summer. You may have three guesses."

"It can't be a sled," said Polly, "for we have sleds."

"It can't be a coat," said Peter, "for we have coats."

"And we have mittens and leggings and overshoes, too," said Polly.

"It might be my pony," said Peter.

"No," said Polly. "It couldn't be, Peter. We can use a pony in the summer. Let's not guess that."

"Is it good to eat, father?" asked Peter. "I am hungry now."

"No, Peter. And there are four of them; two for each of you. They are hard and shiny."

"Guns, guns!" shouted Peter.

"One guess is gone, Peter. What would you do with two guns?"

"Are they for us to wear, father?" asked Polly.

"Yes, Polly, but not all the time. You cannot wear them in the house."

"Then I know what they are, father. If there are two for each of us, that is one for each foot. Can't you guess now, Peter?"

"Rubber boots," shouted Peter.

"I think it is skates, father. And I am glad. I have wished for some ever since we saw the ice."

"You have made a good guess, Polly. Bring me the box that is in the hall."

Out of the box Mr. Howe took two pairs of shining new skates.

"Oh, goody, goody!" cried both children, when they saw what was in the box.

"We will go skating now," said father. "Then we can try them."

At the edge of the river he stopped. He put on the children's skates. Then he put on his own.

"I will show you how to do it," he said. "Then I will help you just a little."

He showed them how to strike out, first with one foot and then with the other. His tracks looked like this:

Then Polly tried, but her tracks looked like this:

"That is not the way, Polly," said her father. "You are skating with your right foot. But you are only pushing with your left. You must skate with both. Watch me again."

Then Peter tried. His tracks looked like this:

The cross marks the place where Peter fell down. But he did not care. He got up and tried again.

Polly was doing better. So her father took hold of her and helped her a little.

He said, "I wish you to learn alone. Then you will be a good skater. If I help you all the time, you will never be able to skate alone."

Polly said, "That is what my teacher tells us. She says, 'I will show you how to do it. And I will help you a little. Then you must try for yourself.'"

"That is good," said father. "You must learn to do things alone. Your teacher and your father will not always be near."

Soon the skates were taken off. "We must not stay too long the first time," said father. "You may come again to-morrow. You may skate every day until the snow comes."

"Oh, may we, father, may we?" cried Peter and Polly, jumping up and down. "And when the snow comes, we can sweep it off the ice."

"Maybe I shall not wish for any snow now," said Peter. "Maybe I like skating better."

"You will get the snow just the same, my son," said father. "So you may as well wish for it. It is sure to come."

"Now, good-by. We have all had a good time. Take my skates home with you and dry them when you dry yours. Then they will not rust. We will bring mother the next time we come."




The First Snowstorm


One morning mother called to Peter, "Wake up, Peter! Look out of your window. Winter has come."

Peter had been dreaming about a big snow man who chased him. He jumped out of bed and said, "You didn't get me that time, old snow man. I woke up too soon."

He ran to the window. The ground was white. The trees were white. The air was full of the white butterflies that Peter likes so well.

"Oh! Oh!" he shouted. "I must go out to play! I must go out to play!"

"Not until you are dressed, Peter," said mother. "Then you must have breakfast. After that you may go out."

At breakfast father said, "It has snowed a foot since dark yesterday. How many inches is that, Polly?"

"It is twelve inches, father. Do you think this snow has come to stay? Or will it melt away?"

"I think that it will stay, Polly. It is time for sleighing."

Peter and Polly put on their coats and caps, their leggings, overshoes, and mittens. Then they were ready to go out.

At first Peter ran about in the yard. He kicked up the snow as he ran. It flew all over him.

"Polly, Polly!" he called. "I am a snow man now. I shall chase you as the one in my dream chased me."

He ran after her. Just as he caught her, she slipped. Down they both went. They were covered from head to foot with snow.

"Now we are both snow men," said Polly. "Let's go and shake the little trees."

These were two fir trees. They were at the side of the house. Polly took hold of the end of a low branch. Peter stood under the tree, while Polly shook it. Down came a shower of snow.

Then Polly stood under the other, while Peter shook that. Down came another shower of snow. Some of this went into Polly's neck. But Polly did not care.

"Now we will show grandmother how white we are," she said.

Grandmother heard them coming. She went out on the piazza.

She said, "I see two snow men. I cannot ask them in. Snow men would melt near the fire. Then they would be nothing but water."

"Oh, yes, grandmother, they would be Peter and Polly," said Peter.

"Why, Peter! Why, Polly! Is this really you? I have no spectacles on, this morning. Where are your sleds?"

"In the barn, in the barn!" shouted Peter. "We could not wait for them."

"See the posts of your fence, grandmother," said Polly. "They all have on tall white caps."

"So they have, Polly. And how clean the snow caps are. How clean the snow makes everything. We are all glad to have it, aren't we?"

"I am, I am!" shouted Peter. "Winter has come, winter has come! Good-by, grandmother. I must go and play."

"Good-by," called grandmother. "Come down to dinner, if mother will let you. We will have sugar on snow."

"She will let us," called Peter. "I know she will. And I will get the pan of snow for the sugar."




The Star Snowflake


All that day Peter and Polly played in the snow. All day Peter's white butterflies fell. Down they came out of the air, softly and silently.

Peter liked to stand and look up into the sky. He liked to feel the soft flakes light upon his face. He liked to see them on his coat sleeve.

Polly said, "Aren't the flakes pretty, Peter? They are little stars. The perfect ones have six points. The Story Lady told me a story about a star snowflake. I will tell it to you.

"Once a little water fairy lived in our brook, back of grandmother's house. One day she was very, very naughty. She did not wish to go up into the air. She did not wish to be part of a cloud. She wished to stay in the brook.

"Her father said, 'You must go. And I shall have you punished for being so naughty. I shall have Jack Frost change you into a snowflake.'

"Jack Frost came one day to change the cloud into snowflakes. He saw how sorry the water fairy was because she had been so naughty.

"So he said, 'You know that I have to make all snowflakes like stars. Some of them are very pretty. I will change you into the prettiest star snowflake that I know.'

"'And when you melt,' said Jack Frost, 'you will be a water fairy again. You will always be good then, won't you?'

"So he changed her into a beautiful star snowflake. I have seen her picture. The Story Lady showed it to me."

"Let's find her," said Peter. "Then let's show her to the Story Lady. That will be better than the picture."

So the children looked and looked. They found many stars. But Polly was not sure that any one of them was the right one.

At last Peter found the most beautiful star of all. "This is the water fairy, this is the water fairy!" he cried.

And Polly said, "It does look like the picture. So let's go and show it to the Story Lady."

Down they went to her house and into the kitchen. There was the Story Lady, washing dishes.

"O Story Lady," said Peter. "I have the water fairy on my arm! She is changed into a star. See her!"

But when the Story Lady looked, there was no star snowflake.

"She has gone," said Peter. "That is too bad." And he looked ready to cry.

"Why, yes, Peter," said the Story Lady. "She has gone. But don't you think that she is happy to be just a water fairy again? She likes that better, you know. You must be glad that you found her and helped her melt."

"I am glad," said Peter. "But it was only a 'Once upon a time' story, wasn't it?"

"Of course it was, Peter. But don't you know that all snowflakes are water fairies? Now run along and play with those that are left."




How Peter Helped Grandmother


Grandmother was getting ready for Thanksgiving. Peter and Polly and father and mother were going to her house on that day.

So grandmother was making mince pies. She was making other things, too. One was fruit cake.

Peter and Polly were down at grandmother's, helping. At least, Polly was helping and Peter was hindering.

He seemed bound to stand just where grandmother wished to walk. He spilled a cup of milk on the table. After he had wiped it up, he upset some flour.

But he did not mean to hinder.

Polly watched her grandmother make the pies. She watched her roll the pie crust thin and trim it to the size of the plate.

She said, "If I had some dough, I am sure I could do that."

Her grandmother gave her some and a little plate. Polly rubbed the plate with melted butter. Then she rolled out the dough and put it on the plate.

"That is very good, Polly. Now we will fill our pies. Here is the mincemeat."

Polly tried to make her little pie look like grandmother's large one.

"Next we must put on the covers," said grandmother. "Roll yours out like mine."

She had Polly stick a knife through her cover in four places. Ask your mother why she did this.

Then she helped Polly put on her cover, for that was quite hard to do. Last of all she showed her how to pinch together the edges.

"Now," said grandmother, "we will bake our pies. What shall you do with yours?"

"I should like to take it home to show mother and father. May I?"

"Why, to be sure. They ought to have a bite of your first pie. Please, Peter, carry this pail of sugar into the pantry for me. I do not need it any more."

The pies were baked brown. As soon as hers was cool enough, Polly carried it up the hill to mother.

"See, mother," she said, "I can cook now. Grandmother let me make a pie. It is for you and father."

"How good it looks, Polly! We will try it for dinner. You have done this well. I see that I must begin to teach you to cook.

"Bread comes first. The next time I sponge bread, you may try. Your first good loaf you may take to grandmother."

"Oh, may I, mother? I want to learn to cook. Then I can cook for you and father. I watched grandmother all the morning. I helped her, too."

"So did I help grandmother," said Peter.

"O Peter, what did you do to help?" asked Polly. "You spilled the milk and then you spilled the flour. That isn't helping much."

"I did help," said Peter. "I helped all the morning. I worked very hard."

"I am sure that you meant to, Peter," said mother. "But tell me what you did."

"Why," said Peter, "why, I carried away the pail of sugar."

Polly laughed, but mother said, "That was kind, Peter. And you know that you always help by being a good boy. So I really think that you are right."




The Snow Man


"Let's make a snow man this morning. Will you, Peter? The snow is just right for big balls."

"Then we will," said Peter. "But let's get Tim to help us."

Tim is Peter's playmate. He lives on a farm. His house is farther up the hill. Look for it on the map in the front of this book.

Soon Tim was down at Peter's. His big dog Collie was with him. Wag-wag and Collie are friends. They often play together.

The three children began to roll snowballs. Polly's grew very large. The boys had to help her with it. They pushed it over and over. At last it was quite near the edge of the bank.

"One more push," said Polly. "Then it will be just right. People can see the man from the road."

But that push was too much. Over the edge of the bank the big ball rolled.

"Oh, stop, stop!" cried Peter. "Do not run away. We will make you into a good snow man."

But the ball did not stop. It rolled against Tim. It knocked him flat. Peter and Polly fell down the bank after it. At last it smashed itself against the fence.

"Never mind," said Polly. "We can make another. Do not let the next one knock you down, Tim."

"Old snowball ran over me," said Tim. "But I do not care. He smashed himself."

Another big ball was made. It was rolled into place. Then smaller ones were lifted on it. These were for the body.

At last the head was ready. Polly stood in a chair. She stuck the head on the body. She made eyes, a nose, and a mouth with small sticks.

She put an old hat on the head. She put a branch under the arm.

Then she said, "We will name you White Giant. You may take care of our house at night. In the daytime you may play with us. Will you, old Giant?"

Polly did not think that the snow man could talk. But just then she heard some one say, "Of course I will play with you, Polly."

"Oh, oh! Has he come alive?" cried Peter. "Can he chase me? I do not wish him to do that." And he ran behind Polly.

"I cannot chase you, Peter," the snow man seemed to say. "I cannot move at all in the daytime. But at night you should see me."

"I saw you the other night in a dream," said Peter. "I did not like you. You chased me."

"I will never do that again, Peter. So you must not be afraid of me."

Just then Tim cried out, "Look, look!" And there behind a tree was Peter's father.

Polly laughed. "I know now that the snow man did not talk," she said. "At first I thought he did. It was you, wasn't it, father?"

"Why do you think so, Polly? You didn't see me. Did it sound like me?"

"No, it did not, father," said Peter. "And I think it was the snow man. I am going to watch him to-night and see."

"Why don't you?" asked father. "I should like to know about it. You tell me when you find out. Where are your mittens, Tim? Aren't your hands cold?"

"I've lost them. And Peter has lost one of his red ones. We can't find them at all."

"Perhaps they are under the snow. The sun will help you find them by and by. Peter, run in and tell mother. She will get some mittens for you and Tim to wear.

"When you come back, bring the old broom. That is better than the branch for your snow man. If you watch to-night, you may see what he does with it."




Peter's Dream


At bedtime Peter said, "I want to sit up. I am going to watch the snow man."

"Why?" asked mother.

"I heard him speak," said Peter. "He said he would not chase me. He said I ought to see him at night. He can move then."

"Very well," said mother. "But you might get into your bed. You can watch him from your window."

"I did not think of that, mother. I will go now."

Soon Peter was in bed. By sitting up, he could see the snow man. His window was wide open. But Peter had on thick night clothes. He did not feel the cold.

The moon was bright. Peter thought of his friend, the Fairy Bird. He wished the Bird would come again and take him to the moon.

All at once he rubbed his eyes. Where was the snow man? He looked again. The snow man was gone!

"Oh, oh!" said Peter to himself. "I've lost him. That's too bad. Now I shall not see anything."

But just then the door opened softly. Peter saw something white coming into his room. It was the snow man!

Peter was so surprised that he nearly jumped out of bed. He was frightened, too. He called, "Oh, dear!"

"Sh, sh, sh!" said the snow man. "You'll wake every one in the house. I came up here to please you. I don't care to see any one else.

"It was hard work climbing the stairs. You children didn't make me very good legs; nor very good arms, either, I must say. I have no feet and no hands.

"My hat came off when I broke myself away from the snow. But, without hands, I couldn't put it back on my head.

"I do wish that you would make me better next time. You can, if you try. But I'm thankful you gave me eyes and a mouth, too. I like to see and I like to talk."

"Don't you like to eat?" asked Peter. "What do you eat? Oh, dear! I'm afraid you eat little boys like me."

The snow man began to shake. Bits of snow dropped on the floor.

"Why, Peter, I believe you are afraid of me. You needn't be. You'll laugh, too, when I tell you what I do eat. Sticks and twigs and leaves that I pick up when you are rolling me.

"Best of all I like mittens. I don't get very many. But I ate yours and Tim's this morning. They were good. I like red ones best. And I had only one red mitten."

Then Peter did laugh. "What queer things to eat," he said. "And how funny you look when you laugh. You shake, but you do not laugh with your mouth."

"Yes," said the snow man. "That's all because of Polly. You see, she made my mouth with a horrid straight stick. I can't bend it at all."

"You make me very cold," said Peter. "You are so white. I want my mother to come and tuck me up."

"I will try," the snow man said. And, with his snowy arms, he tried to pull up the bedclothes. One arm slipped and hit Peter's neck. Peter was so surprised that he screamed.

In just a minute mother ran in. "What is it, dear?" she asked.

Peter could only say, "The snow man, the snow man! He has been up here!"

"He's out in the yard, dear. I can see him. And he has lost his hat. The wind must have blown it off. It has been raining hard. The rain has come in at the window. It is wet on the floor."

"He didn't have his hat up here," said Peter. "He dropped it when he started. He couldn't put it on. And he made those spots on the floor. It was not the rain. Pieces of snow dropped off him when he laughed."

Mother only said, "I'll tuck you up again, Peter. We can see about it in the morning. Now good night."

In the morning the rain had stopped. The children went to look at the snow man. He had grown much smaller in the night. There was a crack near the bottom of his legs.

"He did walk, he did, I know he did!" cried Peter. "That's what made the crack. And, O Polly, look at this!"

Sticking out of the snow man's stomach was the end of a red mitten!




Cutting The Christmas Tree


It was nearly Christmas. Peter could hardly wait for the day to come.

He kept saying, "Mother, will it be Christmas to-morrow? Mother, will it be Christmas to-morrow?"

At last father said, "Do you want Christmas before I get the tree?"

"No," said Peter. "But will you ever get it?"

"I will to-day. You and Polly may go with me. We will choose the prettiest fir tree we can find. Put on your things, and we will start now."

"Oh, goody, goody!" cried Peter, jumping up and down. "Now I know that Christmas is almost here."

"It will be here to-morrow," said father. "Run and tell Polly."

They went through the field back of the house. They climbed over the stone-wall post office. Polly looked into some of the boxes for mail.

She said, "Father, one day Peter told me that he had a pony in his post-office box."

"It must have been a very large box, Polly. We do not have such large ones at the store. Which is it?"

"I don't care if I didn't have it in my box," said Peter. "I think I shall get it on the tree. It will be up in the tiptop."

"Then we must find a strong tree, my boy. Can you see one you like?"

"That one," said Peter.

Father laughed. "That is a strong tree. But it is too tall. We should have to cut a hole in the ceiling to stand it up. Find a smaller one."

"There is a good tree, father. See how pretty it is. It looks like our little firs at home."

"I believe that is just right for us, Polly. I will cut it down. Please hold my coat."

Father swung his ax. He gave three sharp blows. All at once there was a chatter overhead.

In the next tree a gray squirrel was running up a large branch. He was scolding with all his might. His tail was jerking. He looked very cross.

"Well, old fellow," said father, "did I disturb you? I am sorry. Go back to sleep. We will not take your tree."

"His is too bare, isn't it, father? The leaves have all gone. We must have a fir tree for ours. It has queer leaves. But they do not fall off in the winter."

"That is why we call such trees evergreens, Polly. They are always green. Pine trees are evergreens, too. Their needles are longer than fir needles."

"I think that is one of our squirrels," said Peter. "He took our nuts, Polly. I wonder where he put them."

"He thought they were his," said Polly. "He needed them."

Soon father had cut down the fir. He put it over his shoulder. The end dragged on the snow.

"Now we are ready for home," he said. "To-night mother and I will dress this tree. To-morrow you may see it."

"Have you really a dress for it?" asked Peter. "I hope it is red. Who made it?"

"O Peter, how silly you are! Father means dress it up with candy bags and popped corn and presents."

"I know now," said Peter. "Ponies and guns and things."

"See the snow sparkle, children. The sun makes it do that. Look at the blue sky. Doesn't the air feel good to you?"

"It makes me feel like running," said Polly.

"Then run along, chicks. You will get home first. Tell mother that the Christmas tree is really coming. You may pop the corn this afternoon."




The Give-Away Box


When Peter and Polly got home, they ran into the house.

"Mother, mother!" they shouted. "The Christmas tree is coming. Father has it."

"Why, mother," said Polly, "what makes the house smell so sweet? It smells just like the woods."

"It is the green wreaths, Polly. I have them in all the rooms. There is one on the front door, too. These wreaths smell better than the ones that we buy. You may help me make the rest of them. We need more."

So the children went into the kitchen. On a table were pieces of evergreen boughs.

They helped their mother twist the pieces into circles. On each circle she wound many small twigs. When done, the wreaths were firm and thick and green.

"How good it does smell, mother. I like Christmas smells. But see my hands."

"That is the pitch from the greens, Polly. Just rub on a little butter. It will take off the pitch. Then wash your hands in warm water. I will clean up the rest of the greens. When this is done, we will pop our corn."

That was always fun. Polly liked to shake the popper. She liked to see the white kernels of corn hop up and down. She liked the good smell, too.

Soon two large panfuls were popped. Then came another task. The corn must be strung. Polly and Peter both helped. But, of course, mother could string faster than they. She told them stories while they worked.

"When I was a little girl," said mother, "we did not have a Christmas tree. Instead, we hung up our stockings. We hung them near the fireplace. We thought Santa Claus could reach them better there.

"I was the smallest in our family. So my stocking was the smallest. My presents would never go into my stocking. This used to tease me.

"My dear grandmother found it out. One day she said to me, 'I am going to knit you a new red stocking. It is not to wear. It is for you to hang up.'

"And the very next Christmas, what do you think? She had knit me a stocking as long as I was tall! How pleased I was to hang it up!

"Now, children, the Give-away Box is ready. You may choose your things to give away."

On the floor in the dining room there was a large box. It was filled with games, dolls, bags of candy and popped corn, and many other things.

These were for Peter and Polly to give away. They would make other children happy. And that would make Peter and Polly happy, too.

Peter chose a jumping jack for Tim. Polly chose to give him a whistle.

"He cannot whistle with his mouth yet," she said. "Perhaps Collie will come for this whistle."

When Polly was out of the room, Peter chose a present for her. It was the prettiest doll that he had ever seen.

Polly chose a train of cars for Peter. But he did not know that.

"We can give this candlestick to Mrs. White," said Polly. "She gave us back our Jack-o'-lanterns. I think she would like it."

Mother said, "Why don't you give the hot water bag to grandmother? Her bag leaks."

"Oh, we will, we will!" cried both children.

"Farmer Brown is our friend," said Polly. "He showed us his sheep. Mrs. Brown is our friend, too. She gave us a party last summer. The lambs came to it. It was on her steps. Let us give them two wreaths."

"There is my teacher," said Peter. "I will give her these marbles."

Polly said, "Your teacher! You don't go to school, Peter."

"I did one day," said Peter. "I like her. She was good to me. She is my teacher. I don't care what you say."

"Never mind about that, chicks," said mother. "I'm afraid she hasn't a pocket for the marbles. Why not give her the box of handkerchiefs?"

Before long the Give-away Box was empty. The presents were tied up. Every friend in the village had been remembered.

Peter and Polly were tired. They were glad when it was bedtime.

As mother tucked her up, Polly said, "I like the Give-away Box. It is fun. It is as much fun as it is to get things. You gave it to us, mother. You give us everything."

"Father, too," said mother. "And it makes fathers and mothers happy to do that."




Christmas Morning


Early Christmas morning Peter awoke. He heard a noise in mother's room. So he knew that he might get up.

He pushed open the door. "Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!" he shouted.

"Merry Christmas," said mother, hugging him tightly.

"Merry Christmas," said father, tossing him up into the air. "Did you see Santa Claus last night?"

Just then Polly ran in. "Oh, oh, it is Christmas!" she cried. "Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas! See what I found in my bed."

It was a box of animal crackers. They were all sheep.

"O father! You did it for a joke. You know I do not like mutton."

Peter ran to look in his room. He thought a joke might be there, too.

"See, see!" he shouted. "I have found a letter box. That is not a joke."

"Look inside," said father.

Peter looked. There he saw a very small pony. It was made of cloth. On its back it had a cloth monkey.

"A joke, a joke!" cried Polly. "Your pony came in your letter box after all."

There were to be no more presents until after breakfast. So the children dressed quickly.

It was hard for them to eat anything.

At last Polly said, "I cannot wait another second. I will eat my breakfast with my dinner. Here comes grandmother. Now may we open the door and see the tree?"

"In just a minute," said father. "You say 'Merry Christmas' to grandmother. I have one last thing for the tree. You may come in when I call." And out he ran.

"I wonder what it is," said Polly. "I can hear him coming back through the side door."

Then grandmother came in, and Polly forgot to wonder any more.

At last they heard father shout, "Come!"

Polly opened the door, and the children rushed in.

"Oh! Oh!" said Polly.

"Oh! Oh!" said Peter.

Such a beautiful tree they had never before seen. It was hung with strings of popped corn and red cranberries. It was covered with colored balls and big gold stars. Over it was white, shiny stuff that looked like snow.

It had candy bags and oranges. At the top, there was a doll with wings. And there were many boxes and packages.

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" said both children again.

"Do you like it?" asked mother.

"I never saw anything so pretty," said Polly. "Is that a fairy at the top?"

"I think it is Santa Claus's little girl," said Peter. "I should like to have her for my own."

"Should you rather have that than anything else here?" asked father.

"I think so, father. May I?"

"Walk around the tree and see if you are sure, my son."

Peter did as he was told. He had not taken many steps when he jumped back with a cry.

"What is it? What is it?" he asked.

Polly ran forward, and what do you think she saw?

On the other side of the tree something moved. Polly saw two large eyes, two long ears, a brown head, and then she knew that it was a pony.

"Peter, Peter!" she cried, "here is the pony! It is on the Christmas tree! O Peter, Peter, Peter!"

"Lead her out," said father. "She will come with you. She likes children."

So Polly took hold of the little strap. And the pony walked out into the room after her.

"Her name is Brownie," said father. "She is grandmother's present to you and Peter. She is half yours and half Peter's."

"O grandmother!" cried Polly. "I thank you now, but I will thank you better by and by."

"Which half is mine, grandmother?" asked Peter.

"Half of both halves," said grandmother. "Why?"

"Nothing," said Peter. "I love both her halves. And I love you, too. And I love the tree, and Christmas, and everybody."

"And so you should," said father. "Come now, we will take Brownie to her stable. Then you may get the presents off the tree."




The Snow House


One day there was a heavy snowstorm. At the same time the wind blew. It heaped the snow over the road in front of Polly's house.

The snow was so deep that horses could not walk through. Men had to dig the road out.

Mr. Howe helped to do this. Peter and Polly watched the work. They thought it great fun.

The men threw the snow by the side of the road. Soon the piles were very high. They were twice as high as Polly could reach.

A few days after this Polly said, "I know what we can do."

"What?" asked Peter.

"Let's play Eskimos."

"How do you play it?" asked Peter.

"Well," said Polly, "first we must make a snow house. Then we can think of other things to do."

"We can't," said Peter.

"Can't what?" asked Polly. "Can't think of things to do? I can, if you can't."

"No," said Peter, "we can't make a snow house. We tried. It tumbled down. Don't you remember?"

"I've thought how to do it, Peter. Come on. I will show you."

Polly took Peter to the great pile of snow by the side of the road.

"There is our house," she said. "It is all made for us."

"That isn't any house, Polly. I think I won't play with you to-day. You tease me. I am going to see Tim. Good-by."

"O Peter! Wait, wait! I won't tease. I will tell you about it now. That is our house really and truly. But it is just the outside.

"We must make a hole in the pile for a door. Then we must dig out the inside. Can't we do that, Peter?"

Peter said, "Oh, yes. We can do that. I see about it now. I will help. We can dig very well.

"We dug our cyclone hole last summer. Perhaps we shall find another box with silver dollars in it."

"Perhaps we shall not, too," said Polly. "I don't expect to find things in the snow. People hide their gold and silver in the ground.

"The ground does not melt. Snow does. So it would not hide their gold and silver very long."

"Why doesn't the ground melt, Polly?"

"Well, I don't know. You ask father. Snow melts because it is made of water."

"Butter melts, sugar melts," said Peter. "They are not made of water. I wish to know why the ground does not melt, too. I wish to know now."

"Peter, can't you stop asking questions and go to work? See, first we must dig a path here. Then we will begin our door."

It took a long time to dig the path. But at last it was finished. Then they made a hole. It went straight into the side of the big snow pile. That was for the door.

"Now we must hollow out a place," said Polly. "It will be our room. We must make it large. We shall sleep there and eat there and live there. That is the way the Eskimos do. I read it in a book at school."

"I'd rather live in a house," said Peter. "Let's live in the house and play out here."

"Then we will," said Polly. "It would be cold here anyway. I should think Eskimos would freeze in snow houses. But they do not."

The next day the children scraped out more snow, and the next and the next. At last they had made quite a large room.

It was nearly round. The floor was packed hard. The white walls were smooth. Polly could stand up straight in the middle.

Mother gave them an old rug for the floor.

She said, "Eskimos have fur rugs. You must play that this is bearskin."

Father said, "Do you know what Eskimos call a snow house? It is igloo. Perhaps some day I will try to crawl into your igloo. I should like to see it."

"Oh, do, father. Then we will have a party. It is quite warm inside. But we can make the door bigger for you."

"Never mind about that," said father. "Perhaps I can get a fairy to shrink me. We shall see."




The Fall Of The Igloo


For many days the children played in their igloo. More snow fell. They dug it out of the path. Then they could get to the door.

"It only makes our house taller," said Polly. "It does not hurt the inside. I do not care how much snow comes on top of it."

"You may care some day," said father. "Snow is heavy. After a while it may break down your roof."

"What if we are inside when the roof breaks, Peter? The snow will get down our necks."

"It will do more," said father. "It will bury you."

"Will it hurt us, father?"

"I think not. But you will look like snow men afterward."

One day Tim was playing with Peter and Polly. They were in the igloo. Collie was outside playing with Wag-wag.

Wag-wag could go into the igloo. But the children did not like to have Collie there. He was so large that he took up too much room.

Polly was the mother Eskimo. Peter was the father Eskimo. Tim was the little boy Eskimo.

Mother Eskimo. "I think we need some meat. We need a seal. I can use its skin. I will make boots of it."

Father Eskimo. "I killed a bear yesterday. Use the bearskin for boots."

Mother Eskimo. "Oh, no. That would not make good boots. I need sealskin for them. Besides I wish to use the bearskin to make some trousers. I must have new ones."

"O Polly," said Peter, "women do not wear trousers."

"Eskimo women do, Peter. Now you go and catch me a seal."

Father Eskimo. "But it is cold. I may have to watch many hours for a seal. I must sit very still beside his hole in the ice. If I move, he will not come up there to breathe. Perhaps I shall freeze, sitting so still."

Mother Eskimo. "No, you will not. Do I not make you good fur clothes? Do I not sew them with my good bone needle? They will keep you warm."

Father Eskimo. "Yes, but don't I have to get the fur for them? That is harder than making the clothes."

Mother Eskimo. "I am not so sure that it is. Should you like to scrape the skins to clean them? Should you like to chew them to make them soft?"

Father Eskimo. "No, I should rather hunt than chew skins. So I will go now."

Father Eskimo crawled out of the igloo. He called to the dogs.

"Come here, dogs. You must drag my sledge. I am going out to catch a seal. You must draw it home on the sledge."

The dogs were jumping up and down and playing with each other. They did not know that they were Eskimo dogs.

Peter could not get them. He grew quite cross. He crawled back into the igloo.

"I cannot catch the dogs," he said. "I shall not go hunting. I shall not play Eskimo any more to-day."

Polly started to speak. But instead she screamed. Something was happening. What were the dogs doing? Were they on the top of the igloo?

The roof was breaking. She could see the leg of one dog sticking through. Then something fell on the children.

It was the snow roof. It was also two dogs. Collie and Wag-wag had broken down the igloo.

Father was just coming home. How he laughed when he saw the children and the dogs. He pulled them out from under the snow.

He said, "Aren't you glad you are not real Eskimos? Aren't you glad you live in a strong house? Let's all go in and see what mother is cooking for supper. It will not be seal meat. Tim must come, too."




Pulling Peter's Tooth


Peter had a loose tooth. It was a lower front tooth. It was his first loose tooth. He had always wanted one.

When Polly's teeth became loose, he would feel of his.

He would say, "I wish I could wiggle mine, too. I wish I could pull mine out."

Mother said, "You are not yet old enough to lose your teeth. I am glad that you are not. Why do you wish to have a loose tooth?"

"Because they are nice to wiggle," said Peter. "Because Polly is faster than I am. She has had four. I like the holes in her face, too. She can make a funny noise through them. It is a whistle."

"Your turn will come by and by," said mother. "I suppose you will lose your upper front teeth first."

But it happened one day that Peter fell down. He bumped his nose. He also cut his lip on a tooth.

He must have bumped that tooth quite hard, for it became loose. Peter was much pleased.

"I should let it alone," said mother. "Perhaps it will grow tight again."

But Peter could not seem to let it alone. He wiggled it with his tongue. He wiggled it with his fingers. At last he made it very loose.

Then he said, "Polly, I must pull my tooth."

"Oh, let it come out," said Polly. "Two of mine did."

"No," said Peter. "I shall pull it. You pulled one of yours with your fingers. I shall do that."

But the loose tooth would not come out.

"It will not pull," said Peter. "I shall put a string on it. I shall tie the end of the string to the door. Then I shall shut the door hard. It will pull my tooth. You did that."

"Yes," said Polly. "That was fun. But I know a better way now. I will show it to you."

She took a flatiron. She tied a string to it. She set it on the kitchen table. Then she tied the other end of the string to Peter's loose tooth.

She said, "This string is too short to reach the floor. You push the flatiron off the table. It will fall down and jerk out your tooth."

"Shall I now?" asked Peter.

"Yes, now."

So Peter pushed the flatiron. But Polly had not been right. The string was too long. It reached to the floor.

Down went the flatiron, bang! It landed on the edge of Peter's boot. It landed on the edge of Peter's toe, too. It hurt him, but not much. And the tooth did not come out.

"Oh! Oh!" cried Peter. "It hurt my foot, it hurt my foot! It didn't pull out my tooth at all." And he started to jump up and down.

The very first jump surprised him. Something pulled at his mouth and then seemed to let go.

It was the string around his tooth. He had jumped up far enough to pull the tooth out himself.

How Polly did laugh when she saw this!

Peter cried, "It's out, it's out! We have found a new way! I found it!" And he got down on the floor to pick up his tooth.

"I am going to save it to plant in my garden," he said.

"To plant!" said Polly. "What for?"

"So I shall have more," said Peter.

Then Polly laughed again. She ran to tell mother about Peter's garden.




Driving With Father


One morning father said, "I am going to Large Village to-day. You children may have a ride. You may go as far as Farmer Brown's. I will leave you there."

"Oh, goody, goody!" cried Polly.

"Oh, goody, goody!" cried Peter.

"You are to stay to dinner. I shall have my dinner at Large Village. Run and get ready."

"Oh, oh, oh!" cried both children at once.

Farmer Brown lived two and one half miles away. You must follow the road past Mr. Howe's store to find his house.

Peter and Polly liked to go there. They liked to see his horses, cows, sheep, pigs, and hens.

"We can see the sheep," said Polly. "They will not be in the pasture. The snow has covered the grass. Their wool will be thicker now than it was last summer."

"We can see the pigs," said Peter. "Perhaps they will grunt at us."

They drove to the farm in a low sled. When they were out of the village, Mr. Howe stopped.

"Do you wish to ride on the runners?" he asked.

This was a great treat. Peter and Polly could never "catch rides" on people's sleds. Some of the other children were allowed to do this. But father showed Peter and Polly how they might get hurt.

He said, "If you 'catch rides,' I shall worry. I shall worry all the time. So I ask you not to do it. When you drive with me, you may 'catch rides' all you please."

So, on the way to Farmer Brown's, he drove slowly. And the children jumped on and off the sled at any time they wished. It was fun.

The road followed the river all the way. But the river could not sing now. It was covered with ice.

They passed through thick woods. Many of the trees were cedar. They are evergreens. So they had not lost their leaves.

"Look there," said father, stopping the horse.

On one tree were many little birds. They looked black and gray. They were hopping about from twig to twig. They were calling, "Chick-a-dee, chick-a-dee."

"I know them," said Polly. "They are saying their own names over and over. They are getting their breakfast. Aren't they cold at night, father? Where do they sleep? I wish they would come to our house."

"I hope they sleep in some old hole, Polly. Then they can keep one another warm. Perhaps they rent part of a woodpecker's hole for the winter.

"We must put out some food for the birds to-morrow. Do not let me forget."

At last Mr. Brown's house was in sight. The farmer and his wife came to the door to meet them.

"Well, well," said Mr. Brown, "here are our little friends. Your cheeks are red. You look as if you had been running. Didn't your father give you a ride?"

"Oh, yes," said Polly. "But we have been running behind. We have been catching rides on his sled. He lets us.

"He lets us ride on the runners, too. He does not wish us to do it except on his sled."

"I hope that you mind him," said Mr. Brown.

"We do," said Polly.

"Shall we go out to the barn?" asked the farmer. "Where is Wag-wag? Didn't you bring him? He might have come."

"I didn't know he was invited," said Polly. "Yes, let's go to the barn. Let's see everything you have there. Have you any little lambs?"

"It is not quite time for little lambs yet. But you can see all the sheep. They look fatter than they did last summer. That is because their wool has grown longer. When we get back, it will be dinner time."




The Stag


"There is one hen that goes up into the hay," said Farmer Brown. "I think she lays her eggs there. But I cannot find them."

"Let us go up into the hay to look for them," said Polly.

So the children hunted. The barn was not very cold. Still it was not so nice as in the summer time.

At last Polly nearly tumbled over something. It was the brown hen. She flew away with a loud cackle. Then Polly saw four eggs lying in the hay.

"I've found them, I've found them!" she shouted. She gave Peter two and took two herself. Then they went down to show Mr. Brown.

"You have sharp eyes," he said.

"I used to think I could see better if I had spectacles," said Polly. "I used to think that I should have four eyes then."

"I am going to feed the horses now," said Mr. Brown. "You may come."

While Mr. Brown did this, Peter and Polly looked carefully at each horse. They were hunting for one that they knew.

It was the old brown mare. They had ridden horseback on her last summer. That was when they went with John to hunt for the turtle's eggs.

"There she is, I think," said Polly.

"Are you looking for John's mare? Yes, that is the one," said Farmer Brown. "You will not need her to ride any more. I hear you have a pony of your own."

Then the children told him about their pony. They told him about the Christmas tree.

"Ho, ho!" laughed Farmer Brown. "Who ever heard of a pony on a Christmas tree?"

"But think of a pony in a letter box," said Polly. And Farmer Brown laughed still more.

How warm the cow stable was! Polly said, "How can it be so warm? There is no stove."

"The cows themselves make it warm," said Mr. Brown. "See, here is one just the color of a deer. Isn't she pretty?"

"I guess the deer would be glad, if they had such a nice, warm house," said Polly.

"Yes, the winter is hard for them. It is cold, and food is not easy to find. There are two that sometimes come to our barnyard. I give them grain and hay and salt."

"I wish I could see a deer to-day," said Polly. "Let us go to the barnyard and look."

"We will feed the sheep now, Polly. You can watch for one while I am doing that."

When the sheep were fed, it was dinner time. After dinner Mrs. Brown let the children play on the piazza.

All at once Peter said, "See the pretty cow coming down from the woods. Whose is she? Perhaps she is lost."

"Where, Peter?" asked Polly.

"Coming across the field. Now it is right there near the fence."

"Oh, oh!" cried Polly. "That isn't a cow. I think it is a deer. See its horns."

She called to Mr. Brown. Just as he came out of the house, the deer reached the fence. He walked quite close to it. Then he jumped over it.

"A pretty jump," said Mr. Brown. "The fence is more than four feet high. That is a fine stag. A stag is a father deer, you know."

The stag walked across the road. He jumped another high fence. Then he went off up the railroad track.

"Oh," said Polly, "I wish I could jump like that. He didn't run at all."

"It was a pretty sight," said Mr. Brown. "I am sorry the old fellow did not stop for dinner. I am afraid he will have nothing better than bark and twigs, now."

"It wasn't a cow, was it?" asked Peter.

"Cows can't jump like that, Peter. Though perhaps one did. I have heard of a cow that jumped over the moon. Have you?"

"Yes, I have. But I know she didn't really. Oh, here is father. We will tell him about my pretty cow."




Polly's Bird Party


"Do you remember something, father?" asked Polly.

"What is it, chick?"

"Something you told me not to forget, father."

"Let me think. What was it? Yes, I remember now. We were to put out some food for the birds. Is that it?"

"That is it. So, let us do it now."

"Very well," said father. "We will. But mother must help. She must give us bones."

"Bones!" said Polly. "Birds don't eat bones. But dogs do. If we put out bones, Wag-wag will get them."

"Wag-wag will not get these," said father. "I shall tie them up in the trees. Wag-wag has not learned to climb trees."

"I saw him trying one day," said Polly. "He was after a chipmunk. The chipmunk ran up a tree. Wag-wag put his fore paws on the trunk. He stood up on his hind feet. He tried hard to get up that trunk. He barked and barked."

"What did the chipmunk do?" asked father.

"The chipmunk stopped on a branch over his head. He sat there and chattered. Grandmother said he was laughing.

"She told me he was saying, 'You can't come up, Wag-wag. You can't come up. You don't know how to climb. I am safe!'"

"Perhaps he was saying that," said father. "Now here are the bones."

"Oh, I see," said Polly. "They have meat and fat on them. That is for the birds. They need not try to eat bones."

"Yes, and here is grass seed. Some birds would rather have that. And here is cracked corn, too. It is for the larger birds."

He put the grass seed into small baskets. He did the same with the corn.

"Now we are ready," he said. "You help me carry these things out. I will come back for the stepladder."

Soon father had tied the bones to the trees. He put them on the small branches. He tied them so that the birds could get at them easily. The birds could perch on the branches and peck at the meat.

He said, "I will not tie them to large branches. Some cat might walk out and catch our birds."

Then he fastened up the baskets. He fastened them tightly. They could not swing. The birds could perch upon the edge and eat the seeds and the corn.

"Now our party is ready," said father. "Do you suppose anything will come to it? We will keep food here the rest of the winter."

How Peter and Polly watched the food! It seemed as if the birds would never come. But at last they found it.

The very next morning Polly saw two birds eating there. She did not know what they were. She ran to tell mother.

"See our birds!" she cried. "We have two. What are they, oh, what are they?"

"You know them in the summer," said mother. "Then the father bird is yellow and black. You call them your canaries."

"But they have changed their clothes," said Polly. "They do not look the same. They are not so pretty."

"Many birds change their color," said mother. "Do you dress in the winter just as you do in the summer? How those birds like the seeds!"

"There, there!" cried Polly. "See that big bird. He is after the meat. I know him. He is a blue jay. Don't you frighten away my other birds, Mr. Blue Jay."

It was not long before many birds found the food. Day after day the chick-a-dees feasted. A few crows came. Once a flock of snowbirds stopped at the party. And there were many that Peter and Polly did not know.

One day Polly saw a bird that she liked very much. It was a robin. She was surprised and pleased.

"I did not know that robins were here in cold weather," she said to him. "I like you best of all. You make me think of spring. Peter likes winter best. But I like you and spring. Please come to see me every day."

And the robin did for nearly a month. Then he came no more. Perhaps he grew tired of waiting for spring. Perhaps he flew south to find it. Polly never knew.




The New Sled


"I am going to begin to make something to-day," said father. "The stove is lighted. The workshop is warm. Who will be my helper?"

"I will," said Polly.

"I will," said Peter.

"Very well. You may both help. Come to the shop and guess what we are to make."

The workshop was in Mr. Howe's barn. In it was a large workbench. Tools hung on the walls. A box of tools was near the bench.

On the other side of the shop there was a very low workbench. It had two drawers. In the drawers were tools.

There were two small hammers. There were two small saws. There were two small screw drivers. There were two pots of glue. There were nails, tacks, and screws.

The big bench and the big tools were for Mr. Howe. The little bench and the little tools were for Peter and Polly.

It was not hard to guess what was to be made. Father had laid the pieces of wood together. Any one could tell what they would make.

"It's a sled like your low one," said Polly. "I think it must be for Brownie. It is too small for a big horse."

"That is just what it is, Polly. Grandmother wished to give you a sleigh. But this will be better. If you tip over, you will not fall far.

"I am glad to have you learn to use Brownie in the winter, too. The snow will make a soft cushion, if you fall off your sled."

The parts of the sled had been made for father. He needed only to put them together. This did not take very long.

"Now," said father, "the carpenters have finished their work. We must draw our sled to the blacksmith's shop."

"What for?" asked Peter.

"For the iron runners, my boy. They will make your sled slip easily. The blacksmith has been making them. He says that he will fit them on to-morrow."

So the three took the sled to the blacksmith. On the way Polly rode a little. Then Peter rode a little. Father was the horse.

Once he played that he was running away. He tumbled Polly off into the soft snow. The children thought this great fun.

At the blacksmith's shop they saw the runners. These did not quite fit the wooden runners. Polly felt sorry about this.

But the blacksmith said, "Never you mind, Polly. I can heat them at the forge. That will make them soft. Then I can bend them as I wish.

"You ought to know about this. Haven't you seen me shoe horses? Haven't you seen me make the shoes fit?"

"Yes," said Polly. "But, you see, I forgot about that."

The next afternoon the sled came home. The blacksmith's boy drew it. The iron runners were on. They fitted well.

"Now," said father, "we have another job to begin to-morrow. We must paint the sled. What color shall it be?"

The children talked about it a long time.

At last Polly said, "Peter likes red and I like red. May we paint it red, father?"

"Red is a good color," said father. "We will paint it red. See that your brushes are soft. You must help on the work, you know."

The next day the painting began. Each child had a part to do all alone. Of course, Peter got paint on his hands. And there were large, red spots on his clothes. But they were old, and no one cared.

The first coat of paint dried quickly in the warm room. Then another was put on, and the work was done.

Peter and Polly went to the workshop many times a day to look at the sled. They touched the paint with their fingers. Surely it must be dry.

At last father said, "The paint is hard now. The sled is ready for use. We will harness Brownie to it to-morrow."




Brownie


"Now may we harness Brownie?" asked Polly.

"Now you may," said father.

He drew out the new, red sled. He put on Brownie's little harness. He helped the children harness her to the sled.

They jumped in. Polly had the reins. She said, "Get up, Brownie," and Brownie walked out of the yard.

"First, we will show grandmother," said Polly. "Brownie is grandmother's present. She must see us driving her."

They stopped in front of grandmother's house. Peter went in to call her to the door. Polly held Brownie.

"Well, well," said grandmother, "that is nice. What a pretty sled you have. I like the color."

"We helped to make it," said Polly. "We wished you to see us first. We are going to show the children now. Hear our pretty sleigh bells. Good-by."

Down the hill Brownie trotted. Her bells jingled softly. She went across the railroad track and into the bridge.

Some of the village children were looking over the railing. They were watching men cutting ice.

When they saw Peter and Polly, they cried, "Here comes the pony! See Peter and Polly! Look at the red sled! Give us a ride! Oh, give us a ride!"

"Yes, we will," said Polly. "Come up on the street, where it is smooth. Two of you get in with us. We will take two more by and by."

Polly could drive quite well. She had often driven father's horse, when father took her with him. She let each child hold Brownie's reins.

"Let more ride at once," said one of the girls. "There is room in the sled."

"No," said Polly. "The pony is strong, but she is little. I will not let her drag more than four. And two are enough, going uphill."

So they trotted up and down the street. Sometimes the boys and girls who were not riding ran by Brownie's side. Brownie seemed to enjoy the fun as much as any of them.

At last it was time to go home. The children all patted the pony. This was to thank her for the good time she had given them. Then Peter and Polly drove away, up the hill.

Mother came out of the house. She said, "Do you think you can do an errand for me? Can you drive to the creamery? I wish some buttermilk. Here is a pail for it."

"What fun," said Polly. "Yes, of course, we can do that. You hold the pail, Peter."

Down the hill they trotted again. At the creamery, Polly took the pail. She went inside.

She said, "Have you some buttermilk for me?"

"Plenty," said the creamery man. "Just hold your pail under the faucet."

"See our new pony," said Polly. "See our new sled."

"Are you driving your pony? I saw her the day she came. She is a fine pony. If you tip over going home, come back for more buttermilk."

"Thank you," said Polly. "We have not tipped over yet."

"There always has to be a first time," said the man.

Going up the hill, Polly said, "We are nearly home. Perhaps we shall not tip over to-day. Why does every one think that we shall?"

But, as they turned into their driveway, Polly pulled the wrong rein. Brownie stepped to the side of the road. One of the sled runners struck a bank of snow.

Over went sled, children, and buttermilk. Brownie stopped and looked around. Polly was standing on her head in the soft snow. Peter was covered with buttermilk. No one was hurt.

Polly scrambled up. She pulled Peter to his feet. She said, "Don't cry, Peter. Buttermilk will not hurt you. You like it."

"Yes, I do," said Peter. "But that is inside, not outside. How would you like it down your neck?"

"Well," said Polly, "you get into the sled again. We must go back for more buttermilk. You may drive all the way. Perhaps you won't tip us over."




Dish-Pan Sleds


"Peter and Polly," said mother, "should you like to play a new game?"

"Oh, yes, oh, yes! Tell us fast!" cried both children.

"I cannot tell you," said mother. "But I will show you. Get ready to go out of doors. Here comes Tim. That is good. He may play, too."

"How many can be in this game, mother?"

"Ever so many, Polly. Please take this dish pan. Peter, carry this pan. Tim, here is one for you. Now follow me."

Mrs. Howe went through the open gate into the hayfield. A hard crust was on the top of the snow.

"See, children," she said, "what a fine crust. It holds me up. It is just right for sliding. By and by the sun will make it soft."

"I wish we had our sleds," said Peter. "Let's go back for them."

"You have them with you," said mother. "That is the game."

"I don't see any game," said Peter. "And I don't see any sleds."

"Then I will show you, my son. Bring your big pan here. Put it down on the edge of the hill. Now sit in it. Hold on to the handles. Keep your feet up. You need not steer. You can't run into anything here. Now go."

Mother gave Peter a push. Away he went on the icy crust.

"Mother, mother!" cried Polly, jumping up and down. "Look at Peter, look! I want to go! I want to go!"

"In a minute," said mother. "Watch Peter, first."

Peter's dish-pan sled was not like a real sled. It did not go straight. It turned around and around. First Peter slid backward, then sideways. At last he reached the bottom.

He stood up and looked around. Then he laughed.

"Did you like it, Peter?" called mother.

"I did! I did!" cried Peter. "It felt just like sliding and rolling down hill at the same time. I am going to play this game all the morning. Let's all go now."

"Very well," said mother. "If you bump into one another, it won't hurt you. Get ready."

So the children, in their dish-pan sleds, started down the hill. Polly bumped into Tim. This made him spin around and around. Polly went the rest of the way backward. Near the bottom she fell out.

Just then Wag-wag came running up the field. He was dragging Peter's sled behind him.

He had heard the children and was coming to find them. Perhaps he thought they had forgotten Peter's sled.

"Oh, look, look!" said Polly. "Wag-wag has a sled, too. Let's give him a slide. Come here, Wag-wag. Come here, sir."

But Wag-wag would not come. Instead, he ran up the hill past Mrs. Howe. The children picked up their dish pans and chased him.

"Never mind," said mother. "When he is tired of playing with the sled, he may bring it back. Or you can go after it.

"Now good-by. Slide until the crust is soft. Then come in. Do you like the new game, children?"

"Oh, we do, we do!" they all cried.

"And we like our new sleds, mother. We are going to name them," said Polly.

"I am going to tell my mother not to wash dishes any more. I am going to tell her to give me her dish pan," said Tim.

The children slid for a long time. At last the crust began to be soft. They sank in a little at every step.

"I shall slide once more," Polly said. "Then I shall go home."

"I shall get my sled first," said Peter. "I wish Wag-wag had not left it so far away."

Peter started across the field. Before long, he came to a place where the snow was very soft. He sank into it as far as his legs could go. He could not get to the sled. So he went home feeling quite cross.

Tim's father was in the yard. He had come for Tim. Collie was with him.

Peter said, "Wag-wag is a bad dog. He left my sled out in the field. The snow is soft. I cannot get to it."

Tim said, "My father will send Collie after your sled, Peter. Won't you, father?"

"Oh, will you?" asked Peter. "I shall want to slide in the road after dinner. Dish pans are not good in the road. So I need my sled."

"Why, yes," said Tim's father. "Collie can get it. He will not break through the crust as you do."

He showed Tim's sled to Collie. He put the rope into Collie's mouth. He pointed to the end of the big field. Then he said, "Collie, go bring the sled."

Collie was a wise dog. He understood many things that were said to him. He knew what his master wished him to do now.

He went running over the snow. He found the sled and drew it home.

"Good old Collie," said his master, patting him.

"There," said Tim, "I told you Collie is smarter than Wag-wag. He is, too."

"Maybe he isn't," said Peter. "Maybe Wag-wag was smart to leave my sled there. But anyway I like Collie because he got it for me."




Cat And Copy-Cat


One winter day grandmother had been visiting Mrs. Brown. In the afternoon she started for home. The sun was warm. The snow was packed hard in the road. The walking was good.

Grandmother liked the cold, crisp air. She liked the blue sky, and the hills and fields all white with snow. She liked to hear the chick-a-dees, calling among the trees.

She was halfway home, when she heard a noise behind her. It was, "Meow, meow."

"That sounds like a cat," said grandmother to herself. "But, of course, it is not. No cat would be in these woods in winter."

"Meow, meow," came the sound again.

This time grandmother looked around. What do you think she saw? There, in the road behind her, were two black and white kittens. They were trotting along side by side. They looked just alike.

Grandmother stopped and called, "Kitty, kitty, kitty! Come here, you pretty kitties. Where did you come from? Are you following me?"

As soon as grandmother stopped, the kittens, too, stopped. She went back toward them. When she did this, the kittens turned and ran away. They did not wish to be caught.

Grandmother called to them again. She tried in every way to get near them. But she could not.

At last she said, "Poor kittens! You do not know that I am your friend. I do not like to leave you here in the cold. But I cannot stay any longer. I must go home."

So she walked on up the road. When the kittens saw this, they started after her. She looked back and saw them following. Side by side they came, their little pointed tails straight up.

"Well, I never!" said grandmother to herself. "Now, do you suppose they will follow me home?"

She kept looking back to see. Every time she looked, the kittens were coming. But, if she stopped, they stopped.

Through the village they went. They did not seem afraid. There were no people about. Not a dog was to be seen.

At last they reached grandmother's house.

"Now," said grandmother, "you have followed me to my door. Are you looking for a new home? Did you pick me out to be your mistress? If you really wish to live with me, you may. We shall see."

She unlocked the door and went in. She left the door open. And after her went the two black and white kittens. They ran under the stove at once. Then grandmother shut the door.

In a short time she gave them some warm milk. When they had finished it, they took a walk around the room.

One found grandmother's workbasket. Then he felt sure that he should like his new home. He began to play with the spools.

His brother saw him. He thought he should like a game, too. So he rolled some of the spools out on the floor. But grandmother put the basket away before they did much harm.

Just then the telephone bell rang. The kittens both looked around. One jumped upon the table. From there he jumped to the telephone box.

He put his paw on the bell, which kept ringing. Perhaps he thought it would play with him. Perhaps he did not like the noise.

Then one jumped up into grandmother's lap. She patted it; and soon the other came, too.

"You funny kittens," said grandmother. "You are almost alike. You, sir, have a black spot on this leg. You have not. If you are to be my kittens, I must name you.

"You are so nearly alike, I shall call you Cat and Copy-cat. And, if you are good, you shall always live with me.

"Now I will telephone to Peter and Polly about you."




Polly's Snowshoes


"Peter, I've thought of something. Let's make some snowshoes."

"How do you do it, Polly?"

"I think I know. I saw a pair this morning. They were made of barrel staves. They are not real snowshoes, of course."

"Of course not," said Peter. "Father's snowshoes are not made of barrel staves. Let's go to look at his. Let's make some like them."

"We can't, Peter. But we can make the other kind. Let's see if there is a broken barrel. Then we'll ask mother if we may have four staves."

"My flour barrel is just empty," said mother. "We will roll it outside. I will knock it to pieces. Then you may have your four staves. Please clean them out of doors. If you do not, you will get flour all over the workshop."

When the children took the staves into the workshop, Peter said, "What next?"

"We want four strips of leather next. They are for straps. We will tack one strap on each stave. They will go across the staves. We will tack them at the sides. They must be loose. We shall put our toes under them."

"How will our snowshoes stay on?" asked Peter.

"I'll show you by and by. I must ask mother to cut this leather for me."

When the leather was cut, Polly tacked on the straps. The snowshoes now looked like this:

"I wish to put mine on," said Peter.

So he stuck his toes under the leather straps. He scuffed over the floor. Then he tried to go backward. But he only pulled his feet out of the leather straps.

"They will not stay on. I knew they would not," he said. "I do not like them very well."

"I'm fixing mine so that they will stay on," said Polly. "I will fix yours, too."

To each end of the leather straps Polly had tied a piece of soft rope. Her snowshoes now looked like this:

"Put your toes under the straps, Peter. I will wind the ropes back of your heels. Now they go around your ankles and tie in front. See if the snowshoes will come off now."

Peter scuffed around the room again. The snowshoes held fast. They worked very well when he scuffed. But, if he tried to step, the backs flew up and hit him.

"Father's don't do that," said Peter.

"I know it," said Polly. "There are holes in father's. His toes go down through those holes. You haven't any holes. So your toes push the front of your snowshoes down. Then the backs fly up and hit you. You must scuff, not walk."

"I will," said Peter. "Let's go out of doors and try them. They are good snowshoes now."

So out the children went. There was a little crust. The children walked on it. Their snowshoes held them up.

They called to mother. She must see them. Mother looked through the window. She clapped her hands.

All went well for a few steps. Then the toe of Polly's snowshoe caught. It cut into the crust.

This pulled Polly forward. She fell on her face. Her arms stuck down into the snow. The points of her snowshoes stuck down into the snow, too. At first Polly could not get up.

Then she rolled over on her side. She was almost on her feet again, when Wag-wag dashed up.

He had seen Polly rolling in the snow. He thought it was a game. He wished to play, too.

He took the end of one snowshoe in his teeth. He pulled and pulled. He shook the snowshoe. Then he jumped around Polly and on her.

Polly was laughing so that she could not scold him. She could only say, "Oh, don't, Wag-wag! Don't!"

Mother and Peter were laughing. And perhaps Wag-wag was laughing, too.

At last he stopped playing. Mother came out of the house. She threw a broom to Polly. Polly helped herself up with this.

She said, "These are good snowshoes. They are best when I am on them. They are not so good when I am down. But I think that I can do better than that next time."




The Woods In Winter


"We are going on a picnic to-day, chicks," said Mr. Howe.

"A picnic, father! I thought picnics were in summer."

"So they are, Polly. But why not have a winter picnic, too? I am going into the woods. You may come, if you wish."

"But at picnics we have things to eat. We eat out of doors."

"We shall have things to eat to-day. And we shall eat out of doors, too."

"But, father, we shall be cold!"

"What keeps us warm in the house in winter, Polly?"

"A fire," said Polly. "Oh, now I know, now I know! You will build a fire in the woods. Once you promised me that you would. Goody, goody, goody, goody!" And Polly jumped up and down for joy.

"What shall we eat?" asked Peter. "Just bread and butter?"

"Oh, no," said father. "We shall have bread and butter, of course. But we shall have other things, too. We will cook our dinner."

"Oh, oh, oh!" cried both children.

"Are you glad? I thought you would like it. Now help me get ready. Please get my knapsack, Polly."

In the kitchen, mother was busy spreading bread. She wrapped paper around the slices. She put coffee into a small, cheese-cloth bag. She filled a flat bottle with milk.

Father took six eggs. He rolled them up in paper. He put a jar of bacon into his knapsack. Then the bread, coffee, and eggs were fitted in. The bottle of milk went into his pocket.

"We will take my camp dishes," he said. "I will fasten my hatchet to my belt. Get on your things, and we are ready."

"Let's play that we are Indians," said Polly. "Where are we going, father?"

"Up the wood road on the hill. I must see if all our wood has been cut. We need a little for our furnace, a little for our stove, and a great deal for our fireplaces.

"Let's all keep our eyes wide open to-day. We may see interesting things."

"I think that cooking our dinner will be interesting, father. I almost wish it were dinner time now."

"We will build our fire where our trees have been cut. There we shall find plenty of firewood," said father.

"See those tracks in the snow, children. A rabbit has been here. Yes, this hollow is where he lies. The snow is packed hard. It is a little dirty, too. Perhaps he is near by, watching us."

"Poor rabbit," said Polly. "What a cold bed. The Eskimos have snow beds. But they have fur rugs to cover the snow."

"The rabbit has one between him and the snow, too. Only his rug is on his back. It keeps him warm," said father.

"Look, look!" cried Polly. "Over there by those trees!"

"That's surely a rabbit, Polly. See him jump along. He is nearly as white as the snow. He did not wait for us to call, did he?"

"What big jumps," said Polly. "I think he could beat Wag-wag."

"I am sure that he could, Polly. His hind legs are very long. They are made for jumping. He can take twice as big jumps as he is taking now. But he will not, unless we frighten him."

"Why doesn't he go into a hole in the winter? Why doesn't he sleep until spring comes? The woodchuck does. Why doesn't he?" asked Polly.

"He is not made so that he can. Some animals store up fat on themselves. In the winter they go to sleep.

"Then they seem to live on that fat. For, in the spring, they are always thin and hungry looking.

"You couldn't do that, you know. And the rabbit cannot do it. What are those birds, Peter?"

"Chickadees," said Peter. "I always know them. They cannot fool me. They never say anything but 'chick-a-dee.'"

"Oh, yes, they do, my son. Listen! What is that? There it is again."

"Some one is whistling," said Polly. "Isn't it a pretty whistle?"

"It is just two notes," said father. "Aren't they sweet and clear?"

"It is quite near. But I cannot see any one. Are you doing it, father?" asked Polly. "Why, now I can hear three people."

"Look above you, Polly. You will see who is whistling."

Polly looked. There on a limb of a tree was a chick-a-dee. He was singing those two notes. In the next tree another was singing two other notes.

"So you see, Peter, that they do say something besides 'chick-a-dee.' These two notes are their song. The other is just their talk. Perhaps you can learn to whistle those notes.

"Here is the place where our wood has been cut. Let us look at it."




The Winter Picnic


"Yes," said father, "we shall have plenty of wood. See, this wood with rough bark is maple. This, with smooth bark and lighter spots, is beech. We will not use it in our fireplaces. It might snap sparks out on the floor.

"And here is some beautiful white birch. This is for our fireplaces. Here is yellow birch, too. Yes, there is plenty for next winter."

"If we were really Indians, we could make canoes out of the white birch bark," said Polly.

"Isn't it nice here? The trees are thick all about us. How still it is!"

"It is still in the woods in winter," said father. "I always like it."

"I think it is too bad to cut the trees down, father. Will they grow again?"

"See, Polly," said father. "We have cut down only the largest trees. They were as large as they would ever be. Now the smaller ones will have a better chance to grow.

"I would not cut them all down, unless I planted more. It would not be good for my land to do that.

"This is the spot for our fire. Let us make it now."

He found a place, near a log, where the snow was not deep. He cleared most of it away. There he built the fire. He used pieces of birch bark instead of paper. Small twigs made very good kindling wood.

Peter and Polly pulled birch bark from the logs. They broke up the dry twigs.

With his hatchet, father cut sticks of wood. He laid some of these on the fire. He stuck his kettle irons down into the snow. They looked like this:

Then he lighted the fire.

He filled the coffeepot with snow. He hung it on the hook of the kettle irons. It was quite near the blaze. When the snow had melted, more was put in.

Father said, "It takes much snow to make a coffeepot full of water. When the water boils, we will put in the bag of coffee."

Polly had taken out the camp dishes. She said, "We must have three plates, three cups, three knives and forks and spoons. I will put them on this log. I will put the bread and butter on the log, too."

Father had cut a straight stick. It looked like a cane. He took out the frying pan.

"This stick is my handle," said he. "See where it fits in. Now I shall not need to stand too near the fire. Frying would be hot work, if I had not a long handle. Give me the bacon, Peter."

Soon the bacon was cooking nicely. How good it smelled! Then the eggs were dropped into the pan.

When they were fried, father said, "Dinner is ready. Bring your cups. You are to have a little coffee. It will be mostly milk."

This was a great treat. Peter and Polly did not drink coffee at home. Then father gave them their bacon and eggs.

"Why," said father, "I forgot the sugar for our coffee."

"Mother did not," said Polly. "I saw her put it in, and here it is."

How good everything tasted! They sat on the log near the fire to eat. So they were quite warm.

"This is the best dinner I ever had," said Polly. "Who taught you to cook, father? I forgot all about playing Indians, I have been so busy."

When dinner was over, father picked up the dishes. He wiped them with paper napkins. He put them into their case. Mother would wash them at home.

The fire burned low. He threw some snow on it. This made it safe to leave.

"Now I will show you some tracks," said he. "They were made by the white-footed mouse. See how small they are. That line in the snow is where he dragged his tail.

"He must have gone up into this tree. But I cannot see him anywhere. Perhaps he lives in that old nest up there. He may have watched us eat our dinner."

"Good-by, Mr. White-foot," called Polly. "We are sorry not to see you. We are going home now."

Down the hill through the quiet woods they went. Polly had the big knapsack over her shoulder. It was quite empty now, and not at all heavy. Peter ran ahead.

At the door, Polly said, "Thank you, father, for our good time. It is the best picnic that I ever had."




The Sewing Lesson


"Mother," said Polly one day, "I wish I could sew something real. I am tired of my patchwork. I wish I could make a dress for my doll. She needs a new dress."

"Then you shall try it, Polly. Go to the drawer in the sewing table. You will find a pattern at the back of the drawer. It is for you."

"O mother!" said Polly. "How did you think of it?"

"I knew you would need it soon. Here is the cloth for the dress."

She gave Polly some pretty blue cloth. She said, "Spread it out on the table. Pin the pattern smoothly to the cloth. Be sure to pin it straight. Now cut around the edge."

Polly worked very carefully. At last she said, "See, mother, this is what I have left. There was too much."

Just then Peter came into the room. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"I am cutting out a doll's dress. See my pattern. See my pretty cloth."

"What is this piece for?" asked Peter.

"Nothing," said Polly. "That is left over. I do not need it at all."

"I wish I could have it," said Peter. "I wish I could sew something, too."

"You may have it," said mother. "You may sew something. What do you wish to sew?"

"Let me see, mother. I think I will make me some clothes."

"There is not quite cloth enough for that, Peter. Besides, it would be hard to do. Why not make a bean bag?"

"That would be good," said Peter. "Where are the beans?"

"You shall have them when the bag is finished," said mother.

"But I must have them now. I must sew around them, mustn't I?"

"No, dear. This is the way we do it. First we cut it right. Then we turn the edges. Then we baste them together.

"Here is a little thimble. Here is a large needle. Begin at this corner. Make your stitches as small as you can.

"If they are too far apart, your beans will fall out, by and by. How are you getting on, Polly?"

"I have some of the pieces basted together. May I stop basting and sew a little?"

"If you like. Aren't you glad now that you can sew over and over so nicely?"

Peter and Polly did not finish their work that day. But at last the bean bag was done. Then Peter took it to Tim's house. He wished to show Tim what he had made.

At last the dress, too, was finished. How pleased Polly was! She put it on her doll at once.

She said, "Now I will take her calling. I will show her to the other children. They will all wish to make dresses."

"If they do, we will cut the patterns for them," said mother. "Perhaps we can have a little sewing school. I will be the teacher, and you may be my helper. Should you like that?"

"Oh, I should, I should, mother. You do think of nice things. I will go this minute and tell the other girls."




Fishing Through The Ice


"I wish I could go fishing," said Peter.

"You'll have to wait until summer," said Polly.

"Then I wish it were summer now."

"Why, Peter Howe! When it was summer, you wished for winter. Now it is winter, you would like it to be summer."

"Yes," said Peter. "You see, when I wished for winter, I forgot all about fishing. Anyway it will be summer soon."

"Not very soon," said Polly. "Will it, mother?"

"I will take you fishing," said father.

"How can you?" cried Peter. "Can you make it summer?"

"No, but I can take you fishing just the same. Get ready and we will go. Polly may come, too, if she likes."

"Oh, oh, oh!" shouted Peter. "Where is my fish pole, mother?"

"You will not need it, Peter," said father. "We shall need just our lines, hooks, sinkers, and bait.

"Put an extra pair of mittens in your pocket. You might take the red ones that the snow man liked so well."

They walked up the road. By and by they came to a bridge. At one end they climbed down to the river.

Here they found a path. It took them on to the river. At the end of the path the snow was trodden down. Peter saw two holes in the ice.

"Father," he said, "see those holes. Who made them?"

"The blacksmith and his boy chopped them yesterday. Then they fished through them. You see now why the blacksmith did not shoe Brownie yesterday.

"He knew you would be sorry about that. So he told me to bring you fishing."

"I'd rather do this than anything else," said Peter. "I will thank him for his holes."

"You will not like to do it long," said father. "It is a cold day."

He baited Polly's hook and Peter's hook. He showed them how far into the water to put their lines.

Then he said, "While you are fishing, I will build a little fire. There are plenty of small pieces of wood by the bank. You may warm your fingers at my fire. Perhaps the fish will not bite to-day."

"Did the blacksmith catch any?" asked Polly. "Oh, yes," said father.

"Maybe he caught them all," said Polly. "I haven't had a bite yet. I am getting cold standing here."

"Then come and warm your fingers at my fire," said father.

Just then Peter said, "I feel something!" And he began to pull up his line.

As soon as he pulled, Polly cried, "Oh, I feel something, too. It's a bite, a bite!" And she began to pull up her line.

All at once they both stopped pulling.

"I'm caught," said Polly.

"I'm caught," said Peter. "It won't come any farther. But it jerks. Maybe it isn't caught. Maybe it's a big fish."

Father began to laugh. "I think your big fish is Polly," he said. "Let me see."

He took Peter's line. He told Polly to let hers out slowly. Then he pulled. Surely enough, Peter's hook came up through his hole. Polly's hook came up, too.

Peter and Polly had caught each other! How they laughed at this!

Peter said, "I shall carry my big fish home to mother. She will like it. But she will not cook it. Let us go now to tell her."

"Very well," said father. "Roll up your line. Then warm your hands before we start."

Polly had dropped her hook back into the water. All in a minute she felt a good bite.

"Oh, I have one, I have one!" she cried.

"Pull in!" said father.

Polly pulled. Up through the hole came a beautiful big trout.

"Well, well, well!" said father. "Isn't that a beauty? I wonder how it happened to bite our pork. We must throw it back. It's too bad."

"O father, my fish!" cried Polly. "Why did you? Wasn't it a good fish?"

"Indeed it was, Polly. But back it had to go. We can't keep trout in the winter."

"Then let's go home now," said Polly. "I might catch more. And I should not like to throw them back."

"I'm all ready," said Peter. "I think we have had a good time. You caught a big fish and I caught a big fish and we can't eat either of them."




Making Molasses Candy


It was a wet, rainy day. Peter and Polly had been out in the rain. It did not hurt them.

They had on rubber boots, rubber coats, and rubber caps. Peter's rubber coat was yellow. Polly's was black. They played that they were firemen.

In the afternoon, mother wished them to stay in the house.

She said, "The rain makes the snow wet. It is not nice to play in. We will have a candy party. We will make molasses candy. You may each pull some."

"I should rather do that than play out of doors," said Polly.

"So should I," said Peter.

"Very well, children. Put on your aprons. Now, Polly, get the molasses jug."

Mother measured out the molasses. Then she put it on the stove to boil. Soon she measured out some white sugar. She poured it into the molasses.

"Peter, you may carry away the sugar. That is the way you helped grandmother, you know."

"Now let me stir," said Polly.

"Oh, no," said mother. "We do not stir this candy. I thought you knew better than that."

Soon the molasses boiled. The children liked to watch it. They liked the good smell.

Peter said, "See it bubble up just like our spring."

"It is the steam, trying to get out, that makes the bubbles," said mother. "You know that steam is strong. You have seen it lift the lid of the teakettle.

"Now let us try the candy. Bring a cup, Polly. Bring a cup, Peter. Fill them half full of cold water."

Mother dipped a spoon into the boiling candy. She poured part of the spoonful into Polly's cup, and the rest into Peter's cup.

"Let it stand a minute. Then we will see if the candy is hard enough to pull. After that you may eat it."

This was just what the children wished to do. They were glad because mother had to try the candy again.

At last, it was poured into cake tins. It was set out of doors to cool. There was a big tin for mother, a little tin for Polly, and a little tin for Peter.

Peter and Polly could hardly wait for the candy to cool. They were in such a hurry to begin pulling it. Polly stuck her finger into hers before it was ready. It almost burned her.

A few minutes after this, mother said, "Yours is cool enough now. Mine is not. Wash your hands again. Then you may begin."

What a sticky time there was!

Polly pulled her piece over and over quite well. Soon it began to grow light colored. When it stuck to her hands, she ran out of doors. This cooled the candy.

But Peter could not pull so fast. His piece stuck to both hands. It got between his fingers. Mother scraped it off and he began again.

At last, he dropped part of it on the floor. Mother said, "Let it alone, Peter. I will scrape it up. It is not good to put with yours now."

Peter said, "I guess I do not like to pull candy. I am going to make fly paper of mine. It is sticky enough."

"Yes," said mother. "It is sticky. But you are doing very well."

"Mine is ready to cut up, I think," said Polly.

She laid it on the clean kitchen table. She pulled it out into a long, thin strip. Then she took a pair of clean scissors. She cut the strip into short pieces.

"That is just the way," said mother. "Put it on the buttered plate. You are a good candy maker. Grandmother must have some of this. O Peter! What are you doing?"

Poor Peter had somehow got his hand stuck to his hair.

"I am just trying to get my hand away," said Peter. "But it is stuck."

"I should think it is," said mother. "You must sit quite still until I get my candy ready to cut. Then I will help you."

"O Peter! How funny you look!" laughed Polly. And indeed he did look funny, with his hand held close to his hair.

"But I don't feel funny, Polly. You stop laughing at me."

Mother gently pulled his hair away from the candy. Then she scraped his hands.

"Please save my candy, mother," said Peter.

"I cannot, Peter. It is not clean now."

And Polly said, "You may have mine, Peter. I am sorry I laughed."

Then mother washed Peter's hands. "I must wash your hair, too," she said. "But never mind. It needed washing. You have had fun with your candy, haven't you?"

Peter answered, "Yes, I have, mother. But please do not make it so sticky next time."




Grandmother's Birthday Party


"Here is grandmother. Light the fire, Peter. Light the fire, Polly."

Peter and Polly each took a match. Peter lighted the open fire at the left. Polly lighted it at the right side.

Soon the kindling wood began to crackle. Then the flames leaped high in the fireplace.

Grandmother had come over to supper. She was to spend the evening. It was her birthday. Peter and Polly were to stay up later because of this.

The Story Lady was coming to supper, too. Perhaps, just perhaps, she would tell them a story. She knew stories about everything.

"Here she is now," cried Polly. And the Story Lady walked in at the door with grandmother.

Soon supper was ready. Polly had helped mother set the table. She thought that it looked very pretty.

Grandmother's birthday cake was in the center. On it were a dozen small, colored candles. Polly had helped to put them there.

When mother had shown her the candles, she had said, "Why, mother, grandmother is more than twelve years old.

"She must have a candle for every year. That is what I have."

"I know you do, Polly," mother had said. "But grandmother is sixty years old. We cannot put sixty candles on this cake. It is not large enough.

"So we will count the fives in sixty. Then we will use one for every five years. That makes just twelve."

"Yes," Polly had answered, "I have learned that. Twelve fives make sixty. It is a good way to do. I shall do it when I am sixty years old."

Now the cake was on the table. Just before it was time to cut it, father lighted the candles.

They all watched them burn for a few minutes. The melted wax ran down the sides. They grew shorter and shorter.

"See Nan Etticoat," said Polly. "The longer she stands, the shorter she grows. Do you know that story, grandmother?"

"My grandmother taught me to say Nan Etticoat," said grandmother. "That was many years ago. She told me about making candles, too.

"When she was a little girl, there were no electric lights. There were no gas lights. There were no lamps. Every one used candles.

"Not such pretty, colored ones as these. They were larger and quite rough. How should you like to make them, Polly?"

"Oh, I should like to," said Polly. "May we?"

"Perhaps not," said grandmother. "We do not need to do so. We have other lights.

"But in those old days, people made their own candles. They called it 'dipping candles.' It was a hard task.

"I am sure that they did not light many at once. I am sure that my grandmother did not have candles on her birthday cakes.

"Now, my son, the wax is dripping on the frosting. The candles are nearly burned. If you will put them out, I will cut my birthday cake."

Mr. Howe pinched the lighted ends in his fingers. He did this very quickly.

"Don't they burn your fingers, father?" asked Polly.

"No, indeed, Polly. I do not give them time to burn me. This is better than to blow them out. Then there is smoke. But children must not do it this way."

Grandmother took the knife and cut the cake. She cut it as a pie is cut. Each one had a very fat piece.

"Now we shall see if this cake is as good as it looks," said grandmother. "I am sure that it is, for your mother is a good cook, Polly."

But Polly was not listening. She was looking at something that she had found in her cake.

She poked it with her fork. Then she took it up in her fingers.

"Why, mother," she said, "what a queer thing there is in my cake. How did it get there?"

Just then Peter said, "There is a lump in my piece, too. It is something hard."

Father said, "Clean the cake from your lumps and see what they are. Why, I have a lump myself."

"And so have I," said the Story Lady.

"And so have I," said mother.

"Then," said grandmother, "I am the only one who has no lump. How did you let these lumps fall into your cake, daughter? Can I ever again call you a good cook?" And she laughed at Mrs. Howe.

Just then her fork struck something.

"Dear me!" cried grandmother. "A lump in my piece, too! Now I think they must have been put in the cake on purpose."

"Oh, see, see, grandmother! See what mine is!" And Polly held up a little, white china pig.

"Look at mine!" shouted Peter. He had scraped the cake from his lump. In his hand was a small, white china monkey.

"What is yours, Story Lady? And yours, mother? And yours, father?" asked Polly.

"Mine is a cat," said the Story Lady.

"And here is a kitten to go with her," said mother.

"And here is a naughty dog, to chase your cat and kitten," said father. "Let's put them in a row on the table. Then we can all see them."

"But where is your lump, grandmother?" asked Polly.

Grandmother held out her hand. On it, there lay a beautiful, gold thimble.

"Oh! Oh! Isn't it pretty!" cried Polly. "Who gave it to you?"

"Indeed it is, Polly. I think I know who gave it to me. It was you, my daughter. You knew that I had lost mine.

"I thank you for this. And I thank you for another happy birthday party. Perhaps you may put lumps in your cakes, just on birthdays."

"I will not do it at other times," said mother. "Now let us all go into the other room and sit before the open fire."

"When our bedtime comes we need not go, need we, mother?" asked Polly.

"Not to-night, Polly. You and Peter may sit up a while," said mother.




Around The Open Fire


The open fire was blazing well. "Let me draw the chairs about it," said father. "Then we can all enjoy it."

"We do not need chairs, father," said Polly. "Peter and I will sit on the floor. I will sit next to grandmother."

"I will sit next to mother," said Peter.

"When I was little," said grandmother, "I liked to sit on the floor. I thought it quite soft enough. Now that I am older, I like chairs better."

"If you sit in a chair, it is never in the right place," said Polly. "A floor is always in the right place. It is a big seat, too."

"What a good fireplace this is," said the Story Lady. "It is so large that you can put real logs into it. And it never smokes."

"Just think of long ago, when there were no stoves," said grandmother. "How would it seem now to heat our houses with open fires?"

"Why weren't there any stoves, grandmother? And where were the furnaces?"

"People did not know how to make stoves and furnaces, Peter. They had very large fireplaces, instead. My grandmother told me about them."

"What beautiful white birch logs," said the Story Lady. "They make such a good fire."

"They came from our woods," said Peter. "We were up there one day. We went to see next winter's wood. There is plenty. Some is already cut and piled."

"At first, I did not like to see the pretty trees cut down," said Polly. "But father told me that it is sometimes best."

"So it is, Polly," said the Story Lady. "We need the wood to keep us warm, and for many other things, too. What are some of them?"

"Carts, sleds, telephone poles!" shouted Peter.

"Houses, barns, bridges!" shouted Polly.

"Yes, indeed, children, for all those and more. So we must cut down some of the trees. But we must take care that others grow in their places.

"Thousands of years ago, people believed strange things about trees. They believed that in some lived beings called dryads.

"These dryads were like lovely maidens. A maiden is a girl, you know. They could come out of their trees. But still they were a part of the tree.

"If a tree was cut down, the lovely dryad who lived in it died. So, in those days, most people did not wish to cut down trees. They were afraid of hurting the dryads.

"When trees grew old and fell, the dryads died, too. Sometimes kind people propped up old trees. Then the dryads could live a little longer."

"Oh, I wish I could see one," said Polly. "What did they wear?"

"No one knows exactly, Polly, because no one ever saw a dryad. It is one of those stories that have come to us from thousands of years ago.

"Most of the stories are not true. We call them myths. And we like them very much."

"Are myths as good as 'Once upon a time' stories?" asked Peter.

"Yes, indeed, Peter. Get your mother to tell you some, and see."

"Now I shall think of this story, when I see our fire burning a dryad's house," said Polly.

"I shall play that there are dryads in our trees, too. Perhaps, if I play hard enough, one will really be there.

"When spring comes, I shall go to the woods often. I know where there is a hollow tree. That will make a good dryad's house."

"Spring is coming soon," said mother. "The cold winter is nearly over. But, first of all, bedtime is coming. It has nearly come, now. Say good night, Peter and Polly. Then off with you."

So Peter and Polly said good night and went upstairs to bed. Perhaps they dreamed of dryads. Perhaps they dreamed of spring-time. Perhaps they slept soundly and did not dream at all.

<eob>

The Bobbsey Twins On The Deep Blue Sea

By

Laura Lee Hope



Chapter I

On The Raft


"Flossie! Flossie! Look at me! I'm having a steamboat ride! Oh, look!"

"I am looking, Freddie Bobbsey!"

"No, you're not! You're playing with your doll! Look at me splash, Flossie!"

A little boy with blue eyes and light, curling hair was standing on a raft in the middle of a shallow pond of water left in a green meadow after a heavy rain. In his hand he held a long pole with which he was beating the water, making a shower of drops that sparkled in the sun.

On the shore of the pond, not far away, and sitting under an apple tree, was a little girl with the same sort of light hair and blue eyes as those which made the little boy such a pretty picture. Both children were fat and chubby, and you would have needed but one look to tell that they were twins.

"Now I'm going to sail away across the ocean!" cried Freddie Bobbsey, the little boy on the raft, which he and his sister Flossie had made that morning by piling a lot of old boards and fence rails together. "Don't you want to sail across the ocean, Flossie?"

"I'm afraid I'll fall off!" answered Flossie, who was holding her doll off at arm's length to see how pretty her new blue dress looked. "I might fall in the water and get my feet wet."

"Take off your shoes and stockings like I did, Flossie," said the little boy.

"Is it very deep?" Flossie wanted to know, as she laid aside her doll. After all she could play with her doll any day, but it was not always that she could have a ride on a raft with Freddie.

"No," answered the little blue-eyed boy. "It isn't deep at all. That is, I don't guess it is, but I didn't fall in yet."

"I don't want to fall in," said Flossie.

"Well, I won't let you," promised her brother, though how he was going to manage that he did not say. "I'll come back and get you on the steamboat," he went on, "and then I'll give you a ride all across the ocean," and he began pushing the raft, which he pretended was a steamboat, back toward the shore where his sister sat.

Flossie was now taking off her shoes and stockings, which Freddie had done before he got on the raft; and it was a good thing, too, for the water splashed up over it as far as his ankles, and his shoes would surely have been wet had he kept them on.

"Whoa, there! Stop!" cried Flossie, as she came down to the edge of the pond, after having placed her doll, in its new blue dress, safely in the shade under a big burdock plant. "Whoa, there, steamboat! Whoa!"

"You mustn't say 'whoa' to a boat!" objected Freddie, as he pushed the raft close to the bank, so his sister could get on. "You only say 'whoa' to a horse or a pony."

"Can't you say it to a goat?" demanded Flossie.

"Yes, maybe you could say it to a goat," Freddie agreed, after thinking about it for a little while. "But you can't say it to a boat."

"Well, I wanted you to stop, so you wouldn't bump into the shore," said the little girl. "That's why I said 'whoa.'"

"But you mustn't say it to a boat, and this raft is the same as a boat," insisted Freddie.

"What must I say, then, when I want it to stop?"

Freddie thought about this for a moment or two while he paddled his bare foot in the water. Then he said:

"Well, you could say 'Halt!' maybe."

"Pooh! 'Halt' is what you say to soldiers," declared Flossie. "We said that when we had a snow fort, and played have a snowball fight in the winter. 'Halt' is only for soldiers."

"Oh, well, come on and have a ride," went on Freddie. "I forget what you say when you want a boat to stop."

"Oh, I know!" cried Flossie, clapping her hands.

"What?"

"You just blow a whistle. You don't say anything. You just go 'Toot! Toot!' and the boat stops."

"All right," agreed Freddie, glad that this part was settled. "When you want this boat to stop, you just whistle."

"I will," said Flossie. Then she stepped on the edge of the raft nearest the shore. The boards and rails tilted to one side. "Oh! Oh!" screamed the little girl. "It's sinking!"

"No it isn't," Freddie said. "It always does that when you first get on. Come on out in the middle and it will be all right."

"But it feels so -- so funny on my toes!" said Flossie, with a little shiver. "It's tickly like."

"That's the way it was with me at first," Freddie answered. "But I like it now."

Flossie wiggled her little pink toes in the water that washed up over the top of the raft, and then she said:

"Well, I -- I guess I like it too, now. But it felt sort of -- sort of -- squiggily at first."

"Squiggily" was a word Flossie and Freddie sometimes used when they didn't know else to say.

The little girl moved over to the middle of the raft and Freddie began to push it out from shore. The rain-water pond was quite a large one, and was deep in places, but the children did not know this. When they were both in the center of the raft the water came only a little way over their feet. Indeed there were so many boards, planks and rails in the make-believe steamboat that it would easily have held more than the two smaller Bobbsey twins. For there was a double set of twins, as I shall very soon tell you.

"Isn't this nice?" asked Freddie, as he pushed the pretend boat farther out toward the middle of the pond.

"Awful nice -- I like it," said Flossie. "I'm glad I helped you make this raft."

"It's a steamboat," said Freddie. "It isn't a raft."

"Well, steamboat, then," agreed Flossie. Then she suddenly went:

"Toot! Toot!"

"Here! what you blowin' the whistle now for?" asked Freddie. "We don't want to stop here, right in the middle of the ocean."

"I -- I was only just trying my whistle to see if it would toot," explained the little girl. "I don't want to stop now."

Flossie walked around the middle of the raft, making the water splash with her bare feet, and Freddie kept on pushing it farther and farther from shore. Yet Flossie was not afraid. Perhaps she felt that Freddie would take care of her.

The little Bobbsey twins were having lots of fun, pretending they were on a steamboat, when they heard some one shouting to them from the shore.

"Hi there! Come and get us!" someone was calling to them.

"Who is it?" asked Freddie.

"It's Bert; and Nan is with him," answered Flossie, as she saw a larger boy and girl standing on the bank, near the tree under which she had left her doll. "I guess they want a ride. Is the raft big enough for them too, Freddie?"

"Yes, I guess so," he answered. "You stop the steamboat, Flossie -- and stop calling it a raft -- and I'll go back and get them. We'll pretend they're passengers. Stop the boat!"

"How can I stop the boat?" the little girl demanded.

"Toot the whistle! Toot the whistle!" answered her brother. "Don't you 'member, Flossie Bobbsey?"

"Oh," said Flossie. Then she went on:

"Toot! Toot!"

"Toot! Toot!" answered Freddie. He began pushing the other way on the pole and the raft started back toward the shore they had left.

"What are you doing?" asked Bert Bobbsey, as the mass of boards and rails came closer to him. "What are you two playing?"

"Steamboat," Freddie answered. "If you want us to stop for you, why, you've got to toot."

"Toot what?" asked Bert.

"Toot your whistle," Freddie replied. "This is a regular steamboat. Toot if you want me to stop."

He kept on pushing with the pole until Bert, with a laugh, made the tooting sound as Flossie had done. Then Freddie let the raft stop near his older brother and sister.

"Oh, Bert!" exclaimed Nan Bobbsey, "are you going to get on?"

"Sure I am," he answered, as he began taking off his shoes and stockings. "It's big enough for the four of us. Where'd you get it, Freddie?"

"It was partly made -- I guess some of the boys from town must have started it. Flossie and I put more boards and rails on it, and we're having a ride."

"I should say you were!" laughed Nan.

"Come on," said Bert to his older sister, as he tossed his shoes over to where Flossie's and Freddie's were set on a flat stone. "I'll help you push, Freddie."

Nan, who, like Bert, had dark hair and brown eyes, began to take off her shoes and stockings, and soon all four of them were on the raft -- or steamboat, as Freddie called it.

Now you have met the two sets of the Bobbsey twins -- two pairs of them as it were. Flossie and Freddie, the light-haired and blue-eyed ones, were the younger set, and Bert and Nan, whose hair was a dark brown, matching their eyes, were the older.

"This is a dandy raft -- I mean steamboat," said Bert, quickly changing the word as he saw Freddie looking at him. "It holds the four of us easy."

Indeed the mass of boards, planks and rails from the fence did not sink very deep in the water even with all the Bobbsey twins on it. Of course, if they had worn shoes and stockings they would have been wet, for now the water came up over the ankles of all of them. But it was a warm summer day, and going barefoot especially while wading in the pond, was fun.

Bert and Freddie pushed the raft about with long poles, and Flossie and Nan stood together in the middle watching the boys and making believe they were passengers taking a voyage across the ocean.

Back and forth across the pond went the raft-steamboat when, all of a sudden, it stopped with a jerk in the middle of the stretch of water.

"Oh!" cried Flossie, catching hold of Nan to keep herself from falling. "Oh, what's the matter?"

"Are we sinking?" asked Nan.

"No, we're only stuck in the mud," Bert answered. "You just stay there, Flossie and Nan, and you, too, Freddie, and I'll jump off and push the boat out of the mud. It's just stuck, that's all."

"Oh, don't jump in -- it's deep!" cried Nan.

But she was too late. Bert, quickly rolling his trousers up as far as they would go, had leaped off the raft, making a big splash of water.




Chapter II

To The Rescue


"Bert! Bert! You'll be drowned!" cried Flossie, as she clung to Nan in the middle of the raft. "Come back, you'll be drowned!"

"Oh, I'm all right," Bert answered, for he felt himself quite a big boy beside Freddie.

"Are you sure, Bert, it isn't too deep?" asked Nan.

"Look! It doesn't come up to my knees, hardly," Bert said, as he waded around to the side of the raft, having jumped off one end to give it a push to get it loose from the bank of mud on which it had run aground. And, really, the water was not very deep where Bert had leaped in.

Some water had splashed on his short trousers, but he did not mind that, as they were the old ones his mother made him put on in which to play.

"Maybe we can get loose without your pushing us," said Freddie, as he moved about on the raft, tilting it a little, first this way and then the other. Once before that day, when on the "boat" alone, it had become stuck on a hidden bank of mud, and the little twin had managed to get it loose himself.

"No, I guess it's stuck fast," Bert said, as he pushed on the mass of boards without being able to send them adrift. "I'll have to shove good and hard, and maybe you'll have to get in here and help me, Freddie."

"Oh, yes, I can do that!" the little fellow said. "I'll come and help you now, Bert."

"No, you mustn't," ordered Nan, who felt that she had to be a little mother to the smaller twins. "Don't go!"

"Why not?" Freddie wanted to know.

"Because it's too deep for you," answered Nan. "The water is only up to Bert's knees, but it will be over yours, and you'll get your clothes all wet. You stay here!"

"But I want to help Bert push the steamboat loose!"

"I guess I can do it alone," Bert said. "Wait until I get around to the front end. I'll push it off backward."

He waded around the raft, which it really was, though the Bobbsey twins pretended it was a steamboat, and then, reaching the front, or what would be the bow if the raft had really been a boat, Bert got ready to push.

"Push, Bert!" yelled Freddie.

But a strange thing happened.

Suddenly a queer look came over Bert's face. He made a quick grab for the side of the raft and then he sank down so that the water came over his knees, wetting his trousers.

"Oh, Bert! what's the matter?" cried Nan.

"I -- I'm sinking in the mud!" gasped Bert. "Oh, I can't get my feet loose! I'm stuck! Maybe I'm in a quicksand and I'll never get loose! Holler for somebody! Holler loud!"

And the other three Bobbsey twins "hollered," as loudly as they could.

"Mother! Mother!" cried Nan.

"Come and get Bert!" added Freddie.

"Oh, Dinah! Dinah!" screamed Flossie, for the fat, good-natured colored cook had so often rescued Flossie that the little girl thought she would be the very best person, now, to come to Bert's aid.

"Oh, I'm sinking away down deep!" cried the brown-eyed boy, as he tried to lift first one foot and then the other. But they were both stuck in the mud under the water, and Bert, afraid of sinking so deep that he would never get out, clung to the side of the raft with all his might.

"Oh, you're making us sink. You're making us sink!" screamed Nan. Indeed, the raft was tipping to one side and the other children had all they could do to keep from sliding into the pond.

"Oh, somebody come and help me!" called Bert.

And then a welcome voice answered:

"I'm coming! I'm coming!"

So, while some one is coming to the rescue, I will take just a few moments to tell my new readers something about the children who are to have adventures in this story.

Those of you who have read the other books of the series will remember that in the first volume, called "The Bobbsey Twins," I told you of Flossie and Freddie, and Bert and Nan Bobbsey, who lived with their father and mother in the eastern city of Lakeport, near Lake Metoka. Mr. Richard Bobbsey owned a large lumberyard, where the children were wont often to play. As I have mentioned, Flossie and Freddie, with their light hair and blue eyes, were one set of twins -- the younger -- while Nan and Bert, who were just the opposite, being dark, were the older twins.

The children had many good times, about some of which I have told you in the first book. Dinah Johnson, the fat, jolly cook, always saw to it that the twins had plenty to eat, and her husband, Sam, who worked about the place, made many a toy for the children, or mended those they broke. Almost as a part of the family, as it were, I might mention Snap, the trick dog, and Snoop, the cat. The children were very fond of these pets.

After having had much fun, as related in my first book, the Bobbsey twins went to the country, where Uncle Daniel Bobbsey had a big farm at Meadow Brook. Later, as you will find in the third volume, they went to visit Uncle William Minturn at the seashore.

Of course, along with their good times, the children had to go to school, and you will find one of the books telling what they did there, and the fun they had. From school the Bobbsey twins went to Snow Lodge, and then they spent some time on a houseboat and later again went to Meadow Brook for a jolly stay in the woods and fields near the farm.

"And now suppose we stay at home for a while," Mr. Bobbsey had said, after coming back from Meadow Brook.

At first the twins thought they wouldn't like this very much, but they did, and they had as much fun and almost as many adventures as before. After that they spent some time in a great city and then they got ready for some wonderful adventures on Blueberry Island.

Those adventures you will find told about in the book just before this one you are now reading. The twins spent the summer on the island, and many things happened to them, to their goat and dog, and to a queer boy. Freddie lost some of his "go-around" bugs, and there is something in the book about a cave, -- but I know you would rather read it for yourself than have me tell you here.

Now to get back to the children on the raft, or rather, to Flossie, Freddie and Nan, who are on that, while Bert is in the water, and stuck in the mud.

"Oh, come quick! Come quick!" he cried. "I can't get loose!"

"I'm coming!" answered the voice, and it was that of Mrs. Bobbsey. She had been in the kitchen, telling Dinah what to get for dinner, when she heard the children shouting from down in the meadow, where the big pond of rain water was.

"I hope none of them has fallen in!" said Mrs. Bobbsey as she ran out of the door, after hearing Bert's shout.

"Good land ob massy! I hopes so mahse'f!" gasped fat Dinah, and she, too, started for the pond. But, as she was very fat, she could not run as fast as could Mrs. Bobbsey. "I 'clar' to goodness I hopes none ob 'em has falled in de watah!" murmured Dinah. "Dat's whut I hopes!"

Mrs. Bobbsey reached the edge of the pond. She saw three of the twins on the raft. For the moment she could not see Bert.

"Where is Bert?" she cried.

"Here I am, Mother!" he answered.

Then Mrs. Bobbsey saw him standing in the water, which was now well over his knees. He was holding to the edge of the raft.

"Oh, Bert Bobbsey!" his mother called. "What are you doing there? Come right out this instant! Why, you are all wet! Oh, my dear!"

"I can't come out, Mother," said Bert, who was not so frightened, now that he saw help at hand.

"You can't come out? Why not?"

"'Cause I'm stuck in the mud -- or maybe it's quicksand. I'm sinking in the quicksand. Or I would sink if I didn't keep hold of the raft. I dassn't let go!"

"Oh, my!" cried Mrs. Bobbsey. "What shall I do?"

"Can't you pull him out?" asked Nan. "We tried, but we can't."

They had done this -- she and Flossie and Freddie. But Bert's feet were too tightly held in the sticky mud, or whatever it was underneath the water.

"Wait! I'll come and get you," said Mrs. Bobbsey. She was just about to wade out to get Bert, shoes, skirts and all, when along came puffing, fat Dinah, and, just ahead of her, her husband, Sam.

"What's the mattah, Mrs. Bobbsey?" asked the colored man, who did odd jobs around the Bobbsey home.

"It's Bert! He's fast in the mud!" answered Mrs. Bobbsey. "Oh, Sam, please hurry and get him out!"

"Yas'am, I'll do dat!" cried Sam. He did not seem to be frightened. Perhaps he knew that the pond was not very deep where Bert was, and that the boy could not sink down much farther.

Sam had been washing the automobile with the hose, and when he did this he always wore his rubber boots. He had them on now, and so he could easily wade out into the pond without getting wet.

So out Sam waded, half running in fact, and splashing the water all about. But he did not mind that. As did Dinah, he loved the Bobbsey twins -- all four of them -- and he did not want anything to happen to them.

"Jest you stand right fast, Bert!" said the colored man. "I'll have yo' out ob dere in 'bout two jerks ob a lamb's tail! Dat's what I will!"

Bert did not know just how long it took to jerk a lamb's tail twice, even if a lamb had been there. But it did not take Sam very long to reach the small boy.

"Now den, heah we go!" cried Sam.

Standing beside the raft, the colored man put his arms around Bert and lifted him. Or rather, he tried to lift him, for the truth of the matter was that Bert was stuck deeper in the mud than any one knew.

"Now, heah we go, suah!" cried Sam, as he took a tighter hold and lifted harder. And then with a jerk, Bert came loose and up out of the water he was lifted, his feet and legs dripping with black mud, some of which splashed on Sam and on the other twins.

"Oh, what a sight you are!" cried Mrs. Bobbsey.

"Oh, but good land of massy! Ain't yo' all thankful he ain't all drown?" asked Dinah.

"Indeed I am," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "Come on away from there, all of you. Get off the raft! I'm afraid it's too dangerous to play that game. And, Bert, you must get washed! Oh, how dirty you are!"

Sam carried Bert to shore, and Nan helped Freddie push the raft to the edge of the pond. And then along came Mr. Bobbsey from his lumberyard.

"Well, well!" exclaimed the father of the Bobbsey twins. "What has happened?"

"We had a raft," explained Freddie.

"And I had to toot the whistle when I wanted it to stop," added Flossie.

"We were having a nice ride," said Nan.

"Yes, but what happened to Bert?" asked his father, looking at his muddy son, who truly was a "sight."

"Well, the raft got stuck," Bert answered, "and I got off to push it loose. Then I got stuck. It was awful sticky mud. I didn't know there was any so sticky in the whole world! First I thought it was quicksand. But I held on and then Sam came and got me out. I -- I guess I got my pants a little muddy," he said.

"I guess you did," agreed his father, and his eyes twinkled as they always did when he wanted to laugh but did not feel that it would be just the right thing to do. "You are wet and muddy. But get up to the house and put on dry things. Then I have something to tell you."

"Something to tell us?" echoed Nan. "Oh, Daddy! are we going away again?"

"Well, I'm not sure about that part -- yet," replied Mr. Bobbsey. "But I have strange news for you."




Chapter III

Strange News


Bert and Nan Bobbsey looked at one another. They were a little older than Flossie and Freddie, and they saw that something must have happened to make their father come home from the lumber office so early, for on most days he did not come until dinner time. And here it was scarcely eleven o'clock yet, and Dinah was only getting ready to cook the dinner.

"Is it bad news?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey of her husband.

"Well, part of it is bad," he said. "But no one is hurt, or killed or anything like that."

"Tell us now!" begged Bert. "Tell us the strange news, Daddy!"

"Oh, I couldn't think of it while you look the way you do," said Mr. Bobbsey. "First get washed nice and clean, and put on dry clothes. Then you'll be ready for the news."

"I'll hurry," promised Bert, as he ran toward the house, followed by Snap, the trick dog that had once been in a circus. Snap had come out of the barn, where he stayed a good part of the time. He wanted to see what all the noise was about when Bert had called as he found himself stuck in the mud.

"Are you sure no one is hurt?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey of her husband. "Are Uncle Daniel and Aunt Sarah all right?"

"Oh, yes, of course."

"And Uncle William and Aunt Emily?"

"Yes, they're all right, too. My news is about my cousin, Jasper Dent. You don't know him very well; but I did, when I was a boy," went on Mr Bobbsey. "There is a little bad news about him. He has been hurt and is now ill in a hospital, but he is getting well."

"And is the strange news about him?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey, as she walked on, with Flossie, Freddie and Nan following.

"Yes, about Cousin Jasper," replied Mr. Bobbsey. "But don't get worried, even if we should have to go on a voyage."

"On a voyage?" cried Mrs. Bobbsey in surprise.

"Yes," and Mr. Bobbsey smiled.

"Do you mean in a real ship, like we played our raft was?" asked Freddie.

"Yes, my little fireman!" laughed Mr. Bobbsey, catching the little bare-footed boy up in his arms. Often Freddie was called little "fireman," for he had a toy fire engine, and he was very fond of squirting water through the hose fastened to it -- a real hose that sprinkled real water. Freddie was very fond of playing he was a fireman.

"And will the ship go on the ocean?" asked Flossie.

"Yes, my little fat fairy!" her father replied, as he caught her up and kissed her in turn.

"If your mother thinks we ought to, after I tell the strange news about Cousin Jasper, we may all take a trip on the deep blue sea."

"Oh, what fun!" cried Freddie.

"I hope we can go soon," murmured Nan.

"But Bert mustn't get off the ship to push it; must he, Daddy?" asked Flossie.

"No, indeed!" laughed her father, as he set her down in the grass. "If he does the water will come up more than above his knees. But now please don't ask me any more questions until I can sit down after dinner and tell you the whole story."

The children thought the dinner never would be finished, and Bert, who had put on dry clothes, tried to hurry through with his food.

"Bert, my dear, you must not eat so fast," remonstrated his mother, as she saw him hurrying.

"Bert is eating like a regular steam engine," came from Flossie.

At this Nan burst out laughing.

"Flossie, did you ever see an engine eat?" she asked.

"Well, I don't care! You know what I mean," returned the little girl.

"Course engines eat!" cried Freddie. "Don't they eat piles of coal?" he went on triumphantly.

"Well, not an auto engine," said Nan.

"Yes, that eats up gasolene," said Bert.

But they were all in a hurry to listen to what their father might have to say, and so wasted no further time in argument. And when the rice pudding was brought in Nan said:

"Dinner is over now, Daddy, for this is the dessert, and when you're in a hurry to go back to the office you don't wait for that. So can't we hear the strange news now?"

"Yes, I guess so," answered her father, and he drew from his pocket a letter. "This came this morning," he said, "and I thought it best to come right home and tell you about it," he said to his wife.

"The letter is from my Cousin Jasper. When we were boys we lived in the same town. Jasper was always fond of the ocean, and often said, when he grew up, he would make a long voyage."

"Freddie and I were having a voyage on a raft to-day," said Flossie. "And we had fun until Bert fell in."

"I didn't fall in -- I jumped in and I got stuck in the mud," put in Bert.

"Don't interrupt, dears, if you want to hear Daddy's news," said Mrs. Bobbsey, and her husband, after looking at the letter, as if to make sure about what he was talking, went on.

"Cousin Jasper Dent did become a sailor, when he grew up. But he sailed more on steamboats than on ships with sails that have to be blown by the wind. Many things happened to him, so he has told me in letters that he has written, for I have not seen him very often, of late years. And now the strangest of all has happened, so he tells me here."

"What is it?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey.

"Well, he has been shipwrecked, for one thing."

"And was he cast away on a desert island, like Robinson Crusoe?" asked Bert, who was old enough to read that wonderful book.

"Well, that's what I don't know," went on Mr. Bobbsey. "Cousin Jasper does not write all that happened to him. He says he has been shipwrecked and has had many adventures, and he wants me to come to him so that he may tell me more."

"Where is he?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey.

"In a hospital in St. Augustine, Florida," was the answer.

"Oh, Florida!" exclaimed Flossie. "That's where the cocoanuts grow; isn't it, Daddy?"

"Well, maybe a few grow there, but I guess you are thinking of oranges," her father answered with a smile. "Lots of oranges grow in Florida."

"And are we going there?" asked Bert.

"That's what I want to talk to your mother about," went on Mr. Bobbsey. "Cousin Jasper doesn't say just what happened to him, nor why he is so anxious to see me. But he wants me to come down to Florida to see him."

"It would be a nice trip if we could go, and take the children," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "Though, I suppose, this is hardly the time of year to go to such a place."

"Oh, it is always nice in Florida," her husband said, "though of course when it is winter here it seems nicer there because it is so warm, and the flowers are in blossom."

"And do the oranges grow then?" asked Freddie.

"I guess so," his father said. "At any rate it is now early spring here, and even in Florida, where it is warmer than it is up North where we live, I think it will not be too hot for us. Besides, I don't believe Cousin Jasper intends to stay in Florida, or have us stay there."

"Why not?" Mrs. Bobbsey asked.

"Well, in his letter he says, after he has told me the strange news, he hopes I will go on a voyage with him to search for some one who is lost."

"Some one lost!" replied Nan. "What does he mean, Daddy?"

"That's what I don't know. I guess Cousin Jasper was too ill to write all he wanted to, and he would rather see me and tell me. So I came to ask if you would like to go to Florida," and Mr. Bobbsey looked at his wife and smiled.

"Oh, yes! Let's go!" begged Bert.

"And pick oranges!" added Flossie.

"Please say you'll go, Mother!" cried Nan. "Please do!"

"I want to go in big steamboat!" fairly shouted Freddie. "And I'll take my fire engine with me and put out the fire!"

"Oh, children dear, do be quiet one little minute and let me think," begged Mrs. Bobbsey. "Let me see the letter, dear," she said to her husband.

Mr. Bobbsey handed his wife the sheets of paper, and she read them carefully.

"Well, they don't tell very much," she said as she folded them and handed them back. "Still your cousin does say something strange happened when he was shipwrecked, wherever that was. I think you had better go and see him, if you can leave the lumberyard, Dick."

"Oh, yes, the lumber business will be all right," said Mr. Bobbsey, whom his wife called Dick. "And would you like to go with me?" he asked his wife.

"And take the children?"

"Yes, we could take them. A sail on the ocean would do them good, I think. They have been shut up pretty much all winter."

"Will we go on a sailboat?" asked Bert.

"No, I hardly think so. They are too slow. If we go we will, very likely, go on a steamer," Mr. Bobbsey said.

"Oh, goody!" cried Freddie, while Mrs. Bobbsey smiled her consent.

"Well, then, I'll call it settled," went on the twins' father, "and I'll write Cousin Jasper that we're coming to hear his strange news, though why he couldn't put it in his letter I can't see. But maybe he had a good reason. Now I'll go back to the office and see about getting ready for a trip on the deep, blue sea. And I wonder --  -- "

Just then, out in the yard, a loud noise sounded.

Snap, the big dog, could be heard barking, and a child's voice cried:

"No, you can't have it! You can't have it! Oh, Nan! Bert! Make your dog go 'way!"

Mr. Bobbsey, pushing back his chair so hard that it fell over, rushed from the room.




Chapter IV

Getting Ready


"Oh, dear!" cried Mrs. Bobbsey, "I wonder what has happened now!"

"Maybe Snap is barking at a tramp," suggested Bert. "I'll go and see."

"It can't be a tramp!" Nan spoke with scorn. "That sounded like a little girl crying."

"It surely did," Mrs. Bobbsey said. "Wait a minute, Bert. Don't go out just yet."

"But I want to see what it is, Mother!" and Bert paused, half way to the door, out of which Mr. Bobbsey had hurried a few seconds before.

"Your father will do whatever needs to be done," said Bert's mother. "Perhaps it may be a strange dog, fighting with Snap, and you might get bitten."

"Snap wouldn't bite me."

"Nor me!" put in Nan.

"No, but the strange dog might. Wait a minute."

Flossie and Freddie had also started to leave the room to go out into the yard and see what was going on, but when they heard their mother speak about a strange dog they went back to their chairs by the table.

Then, from the yard, came cries of:

"Make him give her back to me, Mr. Bobbsey! Please make Snap give her back to me!"

"Oh, that's Helen Porter!" cried Nan, as she heard the voice of a child. "It's Helen, and Snap must have taken something she had."

"I see!" exclaimed Mrs. Bobbsey, looking out the door. "It's Helen's doll. Snap has it in his mouth and he's running with it down to the end of the yard."

"Has Snap really got Helen's doll?" asked Flossie.

"Yes," answered her mother. "Though why he took it I don't know."

"Well, if it's only Snap, and no other dog is there, can't I go out and see?" asked Bert. "Snap won't hurt me."

"No, I don't believe he will," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "Yes, you may all go out. I hope Snap hasn't hurt Helen."

Helen Porter was a little girl who lived next door to the Bobbsey twins, and those of you who have the book about camping on Blueberry Island will remember her as the child who, at first, was thought to have been taken away by the Gypsies.

"Oh, Helen! What is the matter, my dear?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey, as she hurried out into the yard, followed by Bert, Nan, Flossie and Freddie.

"Did Snap bite you?" asked Nan, looking toward her father, who was running after the dog that was carrying the little girl's doll in his mouth.

"No, Snap didn't bite me! But he bit my doll!" Helen answered.

"It doesn't hurt dolls to bite 'em," said Bert, with a laugh.

"It does so!" cried Helen, turning her tear-filled eyes on him. "It makes all their sawdust come out!"

"So it does, my dear," said Mrs. Bobbsey kindly. "But we'll hope that Snap won't bite your doll as hard as that. If he does I'll sew up the holes to keep the sawdust in. But how did he come to do it?"

"I -- I guess maybe he liked the cookie my doll had," explained Helen, who was about as old as Flossie.

"Did your doll have a cookie?" asked Nan.

"Yes. I was playing she was a rich lady doll," went on the little girl from next door, "and she was taking a basket of cookies to a poor doll lady. Course I didn't have a whole basket of cookies," explained Helen. "I had only one, but I made believe it was a whole basket full."

"How did you give it to your doll to carry?" asked Nan, for she had often played games this way herself, making believe different things. "How did your doll carry the cookie, Helen?"

"She didn't carry it," was the answer. "I tied it to her with a piece of string so she wouldn't lose it. The cookie was tied fast around her waist."

"Oh, then I see what happened," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "Snap came up to you, and he smelled the cookie on your doll; didn't he?"

"Yes'm," answered Helen.

"And he must have thought you meant the cookie for him," went on Nan's mother. "And he tried to take it in his mouth; didn't he?"

"Yes'm," Helen answered again.

"And when he couldn't get the cookie loose, because you had it tied fast to your doll, he took the cookie, doll and all. That's how it was," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "Never mind, Helen. Don't cry. Here comes Mr. Bobbsey now, with your doll."

"But I guess Snap has the cookie," said Bert with a laugh.

"I'll get you another one from Dinah," promised Nan to Helen.

In the meantime Mr. Bobbsey had run down to the lower end of the yard after Snap, the big dog.

"Come here, Snap, you rascal!" he cried. "Come here this minute!"

But for once Snap did not mind. He was rather hungry, and perhaps that accounted for his disobedience. Instead of coming up he ran out of sight behind the little toolhouse. Mr. Bobbsey went after him, but by the time he reached the spot Snap was nowhere to be seen.

"Snap! Snap!" he called out loudly. "Come here, I tell you! Where are you hiding?"

Of course, the dog could not answer the question that had been put to him, and neither did he show himself. That is, not at first. But presently, as Mr. Bobbsey looked first in one corner of the toolhouse and then in another, he saw the tip end of Snap's tail waving slightly from behind a big barrel.

"Ah, so there you are!" he called out, and then pushed the barrel to one side.

There was Snap, and in front of him lay the doll with a short string attached to it. Whatever had been tied to the other end of the string was now missing.

"Snap, you're getting to be a bad dog!" said Mr. Bobbsey sternly. "Give me that doll this instant!"

The dog made no movement to keep the doll, but simply licked his mouth with his long, red tongue, as if he was still enjoying what he had eaten.

"If you don't behave yourself after this I'll have to tie you up, Snap," warned Mr. Bobbsey.

And then, acting as if he knew he had done wrong, the big dog slunk out of sight.

"Here you are, Helen!" called Flossie's father, as he came back. "Here's your doll, all right, and she isn't hurt a bit. But the cookie is inside of Snap."

"Did he like it?" Helen wanted to know.

"He seemed to -- very much," answered Mr. Bobbsey with a laugh. "He made about two bites of it, after he got it loose from the string by which you had tied it to the doll."

Helen dried her tears on the backs of her hands, and took the doll which had been carried away by the dog. There were a few cookie crumbs sticking to her dress, and that was all that was left of the treat she had been taking to a make-believe poor lady.

"Snap, what made you act so to Helen?" asked Bert, shaking his finger at his pet, when the dog came up from the end of the yard, wagging his tail. "Don't you know you were bad?"

Snap did not seem to know anything of the kind. He kept on wagging his tail, and sniffed around Helen and her doll.

"He's smelling to see if I've any more cookies," said the little girl.

"I guess he is," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "Well, come into the house, Helen, and I'll give you another cookie if you want it. But you had better not tie it to your doll, and go anywhere near Snap."

"I will eat it myself," said the little girl.

"One cookie a day is enough for Snap, anyhow," said Bert.

The dog himself did not seem to think so, for he followed the children and Mr. and Mrs. Bobbsey back to the house, as though hoping he would get another cake.

"Heah's a bone fo' yo'," said Dinah to Snap, for she liked the big dog, and he liked her, I think, for he was in the kitchen as often as Dinah would allow him. Or perhaps it was the good things that the fat cook gave him which Snap liked.

"When we heard you crying, out in the yard," said Mr. Bobbsey to Helen, as they were sitting in the dining-room, "we didn't know what had happened."

"We were afraid it was another dog fighting with Snap," went on Nan.

"Snap didn't fight me," Helen said. "But he scared me just like I was scared when the gypsy man took Mollie, my talking doll."

I have told you about this in the Blueberry Island book, you remember.

"Well, I must get back to the office," said Mr. Bobbsey, after a while. "From there I'll write and tell Cousin Jasper that I'll come to see him, and hear his strange story."

"And we'll come too," added Bert with a laugh. "Don't forget us, Daddy."

"I'll not," promised Mr. Bobbsey.

The letter was sent to Mr. Dent, who was still in the hospital, and in a few days a letter came back, asking Mr. Bobbsey to come as soon as he could.

"Bring the children, too," wrote Cousin Jasper. "They'll like it here, and if you will take a trip on the ocean with me they may like to come, also."

"Does Cousin Jasper live on the ocean?" asked Flossie, for she called Mr. Dent "cousin" as she heard her father and mother do, though, really, he was her second, or first cousin once removed.

"Well, he doesn't exactly live on the ocean," said Mr. Bobbsey. "But he lives near it, and he often takes trips in boats, I think. He once told me he had a large motor boat."

"What's a motor boat?" Freddie wanted to know.

"It is one that has a motor in it, like a motor in an automobile, instead of a steam engine," said Mr. Bobbsey. "Big boats and ships, except those that sail, are moved by steam engines. But a motor boat has a gasolene motor, or engine, in it."

"And are we going to ride in one?" asked Flossie.

"Well, we'll see what Cousin Jasper wants us to do, and hear what his strange news is," answered her father.

"Are we going from here to Florida in a motor boat?" Freddie demanded.

"Well, not exactly, little fireman," his father replied with a laugh. "We'll go from here to New York in a train, and from New York to Florida in a steamboat.

"After that we'll see what Cousin Jasper wants us to do. Maybe he will have another boat ready to take us on a nice voyage."

"That'll be fun!" cried Freddie. "I hope we see a whale."

"Well, I hope it doesn't bump into us," said Flossie. "Whales are awful big, aren't they, Daddy?"

"Yes, they are quite large. But I hardly think we shall see any between here and Florida, though once in a while whales are sighted along the coast."

"Are there any sharks?" Bert asked.

"Oh, yes, there are plenty of sharks, some large and some small," his father answered. "But they can't hurt us, and the ship will steam right on past them in the ocean," he added, seeing that Flossie and Freddie looked a bit frightened when Bert spoke of the sharks.

"I wonder what Cousin Jasper really wants of you," said Mrs. Bobbsey to her husband, when the children had gone out to play.

"I don't know," he answered, "but we shall hear in a few days. We'll start for Florida next week."

And then the Bobbsey twins and their parents got ready for the trip. They were to have many strange adventures before they saw their home again.




Chapter V

Off For Florida


There were many matters to be attended to at the Bobbsey home before the start could be made for Florida. Mr. Bobbsey had to leave some one in charge of his lumber business, and Mrs. Bobbsey had to plan for shutting up the house while the family were away. Sam and Dinah would go on a vacation while the others were in Florida, they said, and the pet animals, Snap and Snoop, would be taken care of by kind neighbors.

"What are you doing, Freddie?" his mother asked him one day, when she heard him and Flossie hurrying about in the playroom, while Mrs. Bobbsey was sorting over clothes to take on the trip.

"Oh, we're getting out some things we want to take," the little boy answered. "Our playthings, you know."

"Can I take two of my dolls?" Flossie asked.

"I think one will be enough," her mother said. "We can't carry much baggage, and if we go out on the deep blue sea in a motor boat we shall have very little room for any toys. Take only one doll, Flossie, and let that be a small one."

"All right," Flossie answered.

Mrs. Bobbsey paid little attention to the small twins for a while as she and Nan were busy packing. Bert had gone down to the lumberyard office on an errand for his father. Pretty soon there arose a cry in the playroom.

"Mother, make Freddie stop!" exclaimed Flossie.

"What are you doing, Freddie?" his mother called.

"I'm not doing anything," he answered, as he often did when Flossie and he were having some little trouble.

"He is too doing something!" Flossie went on. "He splashed a whole lot of water on my doll."

"Well, it's a rubber doll and water won't hurt," Freddie answered. "Anyhow I didn't mean to."

"There! He's doing it again!" cried Flossie. "Make him stop, Mother!"

"Freddie, what are you doing?" demanded Mrs. Bobbsey. "Nan," she went on in a lower voice, "you go and peep in. Perhaps Flossie is just too fussy."

Before Nan could reach the playroom, which was down the hall from the room where Mrs. Bobbsey was sorting over the clothes in a large closet, Flossie cried again:

"There! Now you got me all over wet!"

"Oh, dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Bobbsey, laying aside a pile of garments. "I suppose I'll have to go and see what they are doing!"

Before she could reach the playroom, however, Nan came back along the hall. She was laughing, but trying to keep quiet about it, so Flossie and Freddie would not hear her.

"What is it?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey. "What are they doing?"

"Freddie is playing with his toy fire engine," Nan said. "And he must have squirted some water on Flossie, for she is wet."

"Much?"

"No, only a little."

"Well, he mustn't do it," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "I guess they are so excited about going to Florida that they really don't know what they are doing."

Mrs. Bobbsey peered into the room where the two smaller twins had gone to play. Flossie was trying different dresses on a small rubber doll she had picked out to take with her. On the other side of the room was Freddie with his toy fire engine. It was one that could be wound up, and it had a small pump and a little hose that spurted out real water when a tank on the engine was filled. Freddie was very fond of playing fireman.

"There, he's doing it again!" cried Flossie, just as her mother came in. "He's getting me all wet! Mother, make him stop!"

Mrs. Bobbsey was just in time to see Freddie start his toy fire engine, and a little spray of water did shower over his twin sister.

"Freddie, stop it!" cried his mother. "You know you mustn't do that!"

"I can't help it," Freddie said.

"Nonsense! You can't help it? Of course you can help squirting water on your sister!"

"He can so!" pouted Flossie.

"No, Mother! I can't, honest," said Freddie. "The hose of my fire engine leaks, and that makes the water squirt out on Flossie. I didn't mean to do it. I'm playing there's a big fire and I have to put it out. And the hose busts -- just like it does at real fires -- and everybody gets all wet. I didn't do it on purpose!"

"Oh, I thought you did," said Flossie. "Well, if it's just make believe I don't mind. You can splash me some more, Freddie."

"Oh, no he mustn't!" said Mrs. Bobbsey, trying not to laugh, though she wanted to very much. "It's all right to make believe you are putting out a fire, Freddie boy, but, after all, the water is really wet and Flossie is damp enough now. If you want to play you must fix your leaky hose."

"All right, Mother, I will," promised the little boy.

One corner of the room was his own special place to play with the toy fire engine. A piece of oil cloth had been spread down so water would not harm anything, and here Freddie had many good times.

There really was a hole in the little rubber hose of his engine, and the water did come out where it was not supposed to. That was what made Flossie get wet, but it was not much.

"And, anyhow, it didn't hurt her rubber doll," said Freddie.

"No, she likes it," Flossie said. "And I like it too, Freddie, if it's only make believe fun."

"Well, don't do it any more," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "You'll soon have water enough all around you, when you sail on the blue sea, and that ought to satisfy you. Mend the hole in your fire engine hose, Freddie dear."

"All right, Mother," he answered. "Anyhow, I guess I'll play something else now. Toot! Toot! The fire's out!" he called, and Mrs. Bobbsey was glad of it.

Freddie put away his engine, which he and Flossie had to do with all their toys when they were done playing with them, and then ran out to find Snap, the dog with which he wanted to have a race up and down the yard, throwing sticks for his pet to bring back to him.

Flossie took her rubber doll and went over to Helen Porter's house, while Nan and Mrs. Bobbsey went back to the big closet to sort over the clothes, some of which would be taken on the Florida trip with them.

"I'm going to take my fire engine with me," Freddie said, when he had come in after having had fun with Snap.

"Do you mean on the ship?" asked Nan.

"Yes; I'm going to take my little engine on the ship with me. But first I'm going to have the hose mended."

"You won't need a fire engine on a ship," said Mrs. Bobbsey.

"Oh, I might," answered Freddie. "Sometimes ships get on fire, and you've got to put the fire out. I'll take it all right."

"Well, we'll hope our ship doesn't catch fire," remarked his mother.

When Mr. Bobbsey came home to supper that evening, and heard what had happened, he said there would be no room for Freddie's toy engine on the ship.

"The trip we are going to take isn't like going to Meadow Brook, or to Uncle William's seashore home," said the father of the Bobbsey twins. "We can't take all the trunks and bags we would like to, for we shall have to stay in two small cabins, or staterooms, on the ship. And perhaps we shall have even less room when we get on the boat with Cousin Jasper -- if we go on a boat. So we can't take fire engines and things like that."

"But s'posin' the ship gets on fire?" asked Freddie.

"We hope it won't," said Mr. Bobbsey. "But, if it does, there are pumps and engines already on board. They won't need yours, Freddie boy, though it is very nice of you to think of taking it."

"Can't I take any toys?"

"I think you won't really need them," his father said. "Once we get out on the ocean there will be so much to see that you will have enough to do without playing with the toys you use here at home. Leave everything here, I say. If you want toys we can get them in Florida, and perhaps such different ones that you will like them even better than your old ones."

"Could I take my little rubber doll?" asked Flossie.

"Yes, I think you might do that," her father said, with a smile at the little girl. "You can squeeze your rubber doll up smaller, if she takes up too much room."

So it was arranged that way. At first Freddie felt sad about leaving his toy fire engine at home, but his father told him perhaps he might catch a fish at sea, and then Freddie began saving all the string he could find out of which to make a fish line.

Finally the last trunk and valise had been packed. The railroad and steamship tickets had been bought, Sam and Dinah got ready to go and stay with friends, Snap and Snoop were sent away -- not without a rather tearful parting on the part of Flossie and Freddie -- and then the Bobbsey family was ready to start for Florida.

They were to go to New York by train, and as nothing much happened during that part of the journey I will skip over it. I might say, though, that Freddie took from his pocket a ball of string, which he was going to use for his fishing, and the string fell into the aisle of the car.

Then the conductor came along and his feet got tangled in the cord, dragging the ball boundingly after him halfway down the coach.

"Hello! What's this?" the conductor cried, in surprise.

"Oh, that's my fish line!" answered Freddie.

"Well, you've caught something before you reached the sea," said the ticket-taker as he untangled the string from his feet, and all the other passengers laughed.

After a pleasant ride the Bobbsey twins reached New York, and, after spending a night in a hotel, and going to a moving picture show, they went on board the ship the next morning. The ship was to take them down the coast to Florida, where Cousin Jasper was ill in a hospital, though Mr. Bobbsey had had a letter, just before leaving home, in which Mr. Dent said he was feeling much better.

"All aboard! All aboard!" called an officer on the ship, when the Bobbseys had left their baggage in the stateroom where they were to stay during the trip. "All ashore that's going ashore!"

"That means every one must get off who isn't going to Florida," said Bert, who had been on a ship once before with his father.

Bells jingled, whistles blew, people hurried up and down the gangplank, or bridge from the dock to the boat, and at last the ship began to move.

Mr. and Mrs. Bobbsey were waving good-bye to friends on the pier, and Nan and Bert were looking at the big buildings of New York, when Mrs. Bobbsey turned, putting away the handkerchief she had been waving, and asked:

"Where are Flossie and Freddie?"

"Aren't they here?" asked Mr. Bobbsey quickly.

"No," answered his wife. "Oh, where are they?"

The two little Bobbsey twins were not in sight.




Chapter VI

In A Pipe


There was so much going on with the sailing of the ship -- so many passengers hurrying to and fro, calling and waving good-bye, so much noise made by the jingling bells and the tooting whistles -- that Mrs. Bobbsey could hardly hear her own voice as she called:

"Flossie! Freddie! Where are you?"

But the little twins did not answer, nor could they be seen on deck near Mr. and Mrs. Bobbsey where they stood with Bert and Nan.

"They were here a minute ago," said Bert. "I saw Flossie holding up her rubber doll to show her the Woolworth Building." This, as you know, is the highest building in New York, if not in the world.

"But where is Flossie now?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey, and there was a worried look on her face.

"Maybe she went downstairs," said Mr. Bobbsey.

"And where is Freddie?" asked his mother.

"I saw him getting his ball of string ready to go fishing," laughed Bert. "I told him to put it away until we got out on the ocean. Then I saw a fat man lose his hat and run after it and I didn't watch Freddie any more."

"Oh, don't laugh, Bert! Where can those children be?" cried Mrs. Bobbsey. "I told them not to go away, but to stay on deck near us, and now they've disappeared!"

"Did they go ashore?" asked Nan. "Oh, Mother! if they did we'll have to stop the ship and go back after them!"

"They didn't go ashore," said Bert. "They couldn't get there, because the gangplank was pulled in while Freddie was standing here by me, getting out his ball of string."

"Then they're all right," Mr. Bobbsey said. "They are on board, and we'll soon find them. I'll ask some of the officers or the crew. The twins can't be lost."

"Oh, but if they have fallen overboard!" exclaimed Mrs. Bobbsey.

"Don't worry," said her husband. "We'd have heard of it before this if anything like that had happened. They're all right."

And so it proved. A little later Flossie and Freddie came walking along the deck hand in hand. Flossie was carrying her rubber doll, and Freddie had his ball of string, all ready to begin fishing as soon as the ship should get out of New York Harbor.

"Where have you been?" cried Mrs. Bobbsey. "You children have given us such a fright! Where were you?"

"We went to look at a poodle dog," explained Flossie.

"A lady had him in a basket," added Freddie.

"What do you mean -- a poodle dog in a basket?" asked Bert.

Then Freddie explained, while Mr. Bobbsey went to tell the steward, or one of the officers of the ship, that the lost children had come safely back.

The smaller twins had seen one of the passengers with a pet dog in a blue silk-lined basket, and they had followed her around the deck to the other side of the ship, away from their parents, to get a better look at the poodle. It was a pretty and friendly little animal, and the children had been allowed to pat it. So they forgot what their mother had said to them about not going away.

"Well, don't do it again," warned Mr. Bobbsey, and Flossie and Freddie said they would not.

By this time the big ship was well on her way down New York Bay toward the Statue of Liberty, which the children looked at with wondering eyes. They took their last view of the tall buildings which cluster in the lower end of the island of Manhattan, and then they felt that they were really well started on their voyage.

"Oh, I hope we have lots of fun in Florida!" said Nan. "I've always wanted to go there, always!"

"So have I," Bert said. "But maybe we won't stay in Florida long."

"Why not?" his sister asked.

"Because didn't father say Cousin Jasper wanted us to take a trip with him?"

"So he did," replied Nan. "I wonder where he is going."

"That's part of the strange news he's going to tell," said Bert. "Anyhow we'll have a good time."

"And maybe we'll get shipwrecked!" exclaimed Freddie, who, with his little sister Flossie, was listening to what the older Bobbsey twins were saying.

"Shipwrecked!" cried Bert. "You wouldn't want that, would you?"

"Maybe. If we could live on an island like Robinson Crusoe," Freddie answered, "that would be lots of fun."

"Yes, but if we had to live on an island without anything to eat and no water to drink, that wouldn't be so much fun," said Nan.

"If it was an island there'd be a lot of water all around it -- that's what an island is," Flossie said. "I learned it in geogogafy at school. An island has water all around it, my geogogafy says."

"Yes, but at sea the water is salty and you can't drink it," Bert said. "I don't want to be shipwrecked."

"Well, maybe I don't want to, either," said Freddie, after thinking about it a little. "Anyhow we'll have some fun!"

"Yes," agreed Bert, "I guess I will."

"Now I'm going to fish," remarked Freddie.

"You won't catch anything," Bert said.

"Why not?" Freddie wanted to know, as he again took the ball of string from his pocket.

"'Cause we're not out at sea yet," Bert replied. "This is only the bay, and fish don't come up here on account of too many ships that scare 'em away. You'll have to wait until we get out where the water is colored blue."

"Do fish like blue water?" asked Flossie.

"I guess so," answered Bert. "Anyhow, I don't s'pose you can catch any fish here, Freddie."

However, the little Bobbsey twin boy had his own idea about that. He had been planning to catch some fish ever since he had heard about the trip to Florida. Freddie had been to the seashore several times, on visits to Ocean Cliff, where Uncle William Minturn lived. But this was the first time the small chap had been on a big ship. He knew that fish were caught in the sea, for he had seen the men come in with boatloads of them at Ocean Cliff. And he had caught fish himself at Blueberry Island. But that, he remembered, was not in the sea.

"Come on, Flossie," said Freddie, when Bert and Nan had walked away down the deck. "Come on, I'm going to do it."

"Do what, Freddie?"

"I'm going to catch some fish. I've got my string all untangled now."

"You haven't any fishhook," observed the little girl; "and you can't catch any fish lessen you have a hook."

"I can make one out of a pin, and I've got a pin," answered Freddie. "I dassen't ever have a real hook, anyhow, all alone by myself, till I get bigger. But I can catch a fish on a pin-hook."

He did have a pin fastened to his coat, and this pin he now bent into the shape of a hook and stuck it through a knot in the end of the long, dangling string.

"Where are you going to fish?" asked Flossie. She and her brother were on the deck not far from the two staterooms of the Bobbsey family. Mrs. Bobbsey was sitting in a steamer chair near the door of her room, where she could watch the children.

"I'm going to fish right here," Freddie said, pointing to the rail at the side of the ship. "I'm going to throw my line over here, with the hook on it, just like I fish off the bridge at home."

"And I'll watch you," said Flossie.

Over the railing Freddie tossed his bent-pin hook and line. He thought it would reach down to the water, but he did not know how large the boat was on which he was sailing to Florida.

His little ball of string unwound as the end of it dropped over the rail, but the hook did not reach the water. Even if it had, Freddie could have caught nothing. In the first place a bent pin is not the right kind of hook, and, in the second place, Freddie had no bait on the hook. Bait is something that covers a hook and makes the fish want to bite on it. Then they are caught. But Freddie did not think of this just now, and his hook had nothing on it. Neither did it reach down to the water, and Freddie didn't know that.

But, as his string was dangling over the side of the ship there came a sudden tug on it, and the little boy pulled up as hard as he could.

"Oh, I've caught a fish! I've caught a fish!" he cried. "Flossie, look, I've caught a fish!"

Of course Flossie could not see what was on the end of her brother's line, but it was something! She could easily tell that by the way Freddie was hauling in on the string.

"Oh, what have you got?" cried the little girl.

"I've got a big fish!" said Freddie. "I said I'd catch a fish, and I did!"

From somewhere down below came shouts and cries.

"What's that?" asked Flossie.

"Them's the people hollering 'cause I caught such a big fish," answered Freddie. "Look, there it is!"

Something large and black appeared above the edge of the rail.

"Oh! Oh!" cried Flossie.

Mrs. Bobbsey, from where she was sitting in her chair, heard the cries and came running over to the children.

"What are you doing, Freddie?" she asked.

"Catching a fish!" he answered. "I got one and --  -- "

The black thing on the end of his line was pulled over the rail and flapped to the deck. Flossie and Freddie stared at it with wide-open eyes. Then Flossie said:

"Oh, what a funny fish!"

And so it was, for it wasn't a fish at all, but a woman's big black hat, with feathers on it. Freddie's bent-pin hook had caught in the hat which was being worn by a woman standing near the rail on the deck below where the Bobbsey family had their rooms. And Freddie had pulled the hat right off the woman's head.

"No wonder the lady yelled!" laughed Bert when he came to see what was happening to his smaller brother and sister. "You're a great fisherman, Freddie."

"Well, next time I'll catch a real fish," declared the little boy.

Bert carried the woman's hat down to her, and said Freddie was sorry for having caught it in mistake for a fish. The woman laughed heartily and said no harm had been done.

"But I couldn't imagine what was pulling my hat off my head," she told her friends. "First I thought it was one of the seagulls."

Freddie wound up his string, and said he would not fish any more until he could see where his hook went to, and his father told him he had better wait until they got to St. Augustine, where he could fish from the shore and see what he was catching.

From the time they came on board until it was the hour to eat, the Bobbsey twins looked about the ship, seeing something new and wonderful on every side. They hardly wanted to go to bed when night came, but their mother said they must, as they would be about two days on the water, and they would have plenty of time to see everything.

Bert, Freddie and their father had one stateroom and Mrs. Bobbsey and the two girls slept in the other, "next door," as you might say.

The night passed quietly, the ship steaming along over the ocean, and down the coast to Florida. The next day the four children were up early to see everything there was to see.

They found the ship now well out to sea, and out of sight of land. They were really on the deep ocean at last, and they liked it very much. Bert and Nan found some older children with whom to play, and Flossie and Freddie wandered off by themselves, promising not to go too far from Mrs. Bobbsey, who was on deck in her easy chair, reading.

After a while Flossie came running back to her mother in great excitement.

"Oh, Mother! Oh, Mother!" gasped the little girl. "He's gone!"

"Who's gone?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey, dropping her book as she quickly stood up.

"Freddie's gone! We were playing hide-and-go-seek, and he went down a big pipe, and now I can't see him! He's gone!"




Chapter VII

The Shark


Mrs. Bobbsey hardly knew what to do for a moment. She just stood and looked at Flossie as if she had not understood what the little girl had said. Then Freddie's mother spoke.

"You say he went down a big pipe?" she asked.

"Yes, Mother," answered Flossie. "We were playing hide-and-go-seek, and it was my turn to blind. I hollered 'ready or not I'm coming!' and when I opened my eyes to go to find Freddie, I saw him going down a big, round pipe."

"What sort of pipe?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey, thinking her little boy might have crawled in some place on deck to hide, and that to Flossie it looked like a pipe.

"It was a pipe sticking up like a smokestack," Flossie went on, "and it was painted red inside."

"Oh, you mean a ventilator pipe!" cried Mrs. Bobbsey. "If Freddie crawled down in one of those he'll have a dreadful fall! Flossie, call your father!"

Flossie did not exactly know what a ventilator pipe was, but I'll tell you that it is a big iron thing, like a funnel, that lets fresh air from above down into the boiler room where the firemen have to stay to make steam to push the ship along. But, though Flossie did not quite know what a ventilator pipe was, she knew her mother was much frightened, or she would not have wanted Mr. Bobbsey to come.

Flossie saw her father about halfway down the deck, talking to some other men, and, running up to him, she cried:

"Freddie's down in a want-you-later pipe!"

"A want-you-later pipe?" repeated Mr. Bobbsey. "What in the world do you mean, Flossie?"

"Well, that's what mother said," went on the little girl. "Me and Freddie were playing hide-and-go-seek, and he hid down in a pipe painted red, and mother said it was a want-you-later. And she wants you now!"

"A want-you-later pipe!" exclaimed one of the men. "Oh, she must mean a ventilator. It does sound like that to a little girl."

"Yes, that's it," said Flossie. "And please come quick to mother, will you, Daddy?"

Mr. Bobbsey set off on a run toward his wife, and some of the other men followed, one of them taking hold of Flossie's hand.

"Oh, Dick!" cried Mrs. Bobbsey as her husband reached her, "something dreadful has happened! Freddie is down a ventilator pipe, and I don't know what to do!"

Neither did Mr. Bobbsey for a moment or two, and as the men came crowding around him, one of them bringing up Flossie, a cry was heard, coming from one of the red-painted pipes not far away. It was not a loud cry, sounding in fact, as if the person calling were down in a cellar.

"Come and get me out! Come and get me out!" the voice begged, and when Flossie heard it she said:

"That's him! That's Freddie now. Oh, he's down in the pipe yet!"

"Which pipe?" asked Mr. Bobbsey.

Flossie pointed to a ventilator not far away. Mr. Bobbsey and the men ran toward it, and, as they reached it, they could hear, coming out of the big opening that was shaped somewhat like a funnel, a voice of a little boy, saying:

"Come and get me out! I'm stuck!"

Mr. Bobbsey put his head down inside the pipe and looked around. There he saw Freddie, doubled up into a little ball, trying to get himself loose. Flossie's brother was, indeed, stuck in the pipe, which was smaller below than it was at the opening -- too small, in fact, to let the little boy slip through. So he was in no danger of falling.

"Oh, Freddie! what made you get in there?" asked his father, as he reached in, and, after pulling and tugging a bit, managed to get him out. "What made you do it?"

"I was hiding away from Flossie," answered the little fellow. "I crawled in the pipe, and then I waited for her to come and find me. She didn't know where I was."

"Yes, I did so know where you went," declared Flossie. "I saw you crawl into the pipe, and I didn't peek, either. I just opened my eyes and I saw you go into the pipe, and I was scared and I ran and told mother."

"Well, if you didn't peek it's all right," Freddie said. "It was a good place to hide. I waited and waited for you to come and find me and then I thought you were going to let me come on in home free, and I tried to get out. But I couldn't -- I was stuck."

"I should say you were!" laughed Mr. Bobbsey. He could laugh now, and so could Mrs. Bobbsey, though, at first, they were very much frightened, thinking Freddie might have been hurt.

"Don't crawl in there again, little fireman," said one of the men with whom Mr. Bobbsey had been talking, and who knew the pet name of Flossie's brother. "This pipe wasn't big enough to let you fall through, but some of the ventilator pipes might be, and then you'd fall all the way through to the boiler room. Don't hide in any more pipes on the steamer."

"I won't," Freddie promised, for he had been frightened when he found that he was stuck in the pipe and couldn't get out. "Come on, Flossie; it's your turn to hide now," he said.

"I don't want to play hide-and-go-seek any more," the little girl said. "I'd rather play with my doll."

"If I had my fire engine I'd play fireman," Freddie said, for he did not care much about a doll.

"How would you like to go down to the engine room with me, and see where you might have fallen if the ventilator pipe hadn't been too small to let you through?" asked Mr. Bobbsey.

"I'd like it," Freddie said. "I like engines."

So his father took him away down into the hold, or lower part of the boat, and showed him where the firemen put coal on the fire. There Freddie saw ventilator pipes, like the one he had hid in, reaching from the boiler room up to the deck, so the firemen could breathe cool, fresh air. And there were also pipes like it in the engine room.

Freddie watched the shining wheels go spinning round and he heard the hiss of steam as it turned the big propeller at the back of the ship, and pushed the vessel through the waters of the deep blue sea.

"Now we'll go up on deck," said Mr. Bobbsey, when Freddie had seen all he cared to in the engine room. "It's cooler there."

Freddie and his father found several women talking to Mrs. Bobbsey, who was telling them what had happened to her little boy, and Bert and Nan were also listening.

"I wonder what Freddie will do next?" said Bert to his older sister. "First he catches a lady's hat for a fish, and then he nearly gets lost down a big pipe."

"I hope he doesn't fall overboard," returned Nan.

"So do I," agreed Bert. "And when we get on a smaller ship, if we go on a voyage with Cousin Jasper, we'll have to look after Flossie and Freddie, or they will surely fall into the water."

"Are we really, truly going on a voyage with Cousin Jasper, do you think?" Nan asked.

"Well, I heard father and mother talking about it, and they seemed to think maybe we'd take a trip on the ocean," went on Bert.

"I hope we do!" exclaimed Nan. "I just love the water!"

"So do I!" her brother said. "When I get big I'm going to have a ship of my own."

"Will you take me for a sail?" asked Nan.

"Course I will!" Bert quickly promised.

The excitement caused by Freddie's hiding in the ventilator pipe soon passed, and then the Bobbsey family and the other passengers on the ship enjoyed the fine sail. The weather was clear and the sea was not rough, so nearly every one was out on deck.

"I wonder if we'll see any shipwrecks," remarked Bert a little later, as the four Bobbsey twins were sitting in a shady place not far from Mrs. Bobbsey, who was reading her book. She had told the children to keep within her sight.

"A shipwreck would be nice to see if nobody got drowned," observed Nan. "And maybe we could rescue some of the people!"

"When there's a shipwreck," said Freddie, who seemed to have been thinking about it, "they have to get in the little boats, like this one," and he pointed to a lifeboat not far away.

"That's an awful little boat to go on the big ocean in," said Flossie.

"It's safe, though," Bert said. "It's got things in it to make it float, even if it's half full of water. It can't sink any more than our raft could sink."

"Our raft nearly did sink," said Flossie.

"No, it only got stuck on a mud bank," answered Bert. "I was the one that sank down in my bare feet," and he laughed as he remembered that time.

"Well, anyhow, we had fun," said Freddie.

"Oh, look!" suddenly cried Nan. "There's a small boat now -- out there on the ocean. Maybe there's been a shipwreck, Bert!"

Bert and the other Bobbsey twins looked at the object to which Nan pointed. Not far from the steamer was a small boat with three or four men in it, and they seemed to be in some sort of trouble. They were beating the water with oars and poles, and something near the boat was lashing about, making the waves turn into foam.

"That isn't a shipwreck!" cried Bert. "That's a fisherman's boat!"

"And something is after it!" said Nan. "Oh, Bert! maybe a whale is trying to sink the fisherman's boat!"

By this time Mrs. Bobbsey and a number of other passengers were crowding to the rail, looking at the small boat. The men in it did, indeed, seem to be fighting off something in the water that was trying to damage their boat.

"It's a big shark!" cried one of the steamship sailors. "The fishermen have caught a big shark and they're trying to kill it before it sinks their boat. Say, it's a great, big shark! Look at it lash the water into foam! Those men may be hurt!"

"A shark! A shark!" cried the passengers, and from all over the ship they came running to where they could see what was happening to the small boat.




Chapter VIII

The Fight In The Boat


When the Bobbsey twins first saw the small boat, and the fishermen in it trying to beat off the shark that was trying to get at them, the steamer was quite a little distance off. The big vessel, though, was headed toward the fishing boat and soon came close enough for the passengers to see plainly what was going on. That is, they could not see the shark very plainly, for it was mostly under water, but they could see a long, black shape, with big fins and a large tail, and the tail was lashing up and down, making foam on the waves.

"Hi!" cried Freddie in great excitement. "That's better'n a shipwreck, isn't it?"

"Almost as bad, I should say," remarked Mr. Bobbsey, who, with his wife and other passengers, stood near the rail with the children watching the ocean fight.

"The captain ought to stop the ship and go to the rescue of those fishermen," said the man who had told Freddie not to get in the ventilator pipe again. "I guess the shark is bigger than those men thought when they tried to kill it."

"Is that what they are trying to do?" asked Bert.

"It looks so," replied his father. "Sometimes the fishermen catch a shark in their nets, and they kill it then, as sharks tear the nets, or eat up the fish in them. But I guess this is a larger shark than usual."

"And is it going to sink the boat?" Nan wanted to know.

"That I can't say," Mr. Bobbsey replied. "Perhaps the fishermen caught the shark on a big hook and line, and want to get it into the boat to bring it to shore. Or maybe the shark is tangled in their net and is trying to get loose. Perhaps it thinks the boat is a big whale, or other fish, and it wants to fight."

"Whatever it is, those fishermen are having a hard time," said another passenger; and this seemed to be so, for, just as soon as the steamer came close enough to the small boat, some of the men in it waved their hands and shouted. All they said could not be heard, because of the noise made by the steamer, but a man near Mrs. Bobbsey said he heard the fisherman cry:

"Come and help us!"

"The captain ought to go to their help," said Flossie's mother. "It must be terrible to have to fight a big shark in a small boat."

"I guess we are going to rescue them," observed Bert. "Hark! There goes the whistle! And that bell means stop the engines!"

The blowing of a whistle and the ringing of a bell sounded even as he spoke, and the steamer began to move slowly.

Then a mate, or one of the captain's helpers, came running along the deck with some sailors. They began to lower one of the lifeboats, and the Bobbsey twins and the other passengers watched them eagerly. Out on the sea, which, luckily, was not rough, the men in the small boat were still fighting the shark.

"Are you going to help them?" asked Mr. Bobbsey of the mate who got into the boat with the sailors.

"Yes, I guess they are in trouble with a big shark, or maybe there are two of them. We'll help them kill the big fish."

When the mate and the sailors were in the boat it was let down over the side of the ship to the water by long ropes. Then the sailors rowed toward the fishermen.

Anxiously the Bobbsey twins and the others watched to see what would happen. Over the waves went the rescuing boat, and when it got near enough the men in it, with long, sharp poles, with axes and with guns, began to help fight the shark. The waters foamed and bubbled, and the men in the boats shouted:

"There goes one!" came a call after a while, and, for a moment, something long and black seemed to stick up into the air.

"It's a shark!" cried Bert. "I can tell by his pointed nose. Lots of sharks have long, pointed noses, and that's one!"

"Yes, I guess it is," his father said.

"Then there must be two sharks," said Mrs. Bobbsey, "for the men are still fighting something in the water."

"Yes, they certainly are," her husband replied. "The fishermen must have caught one shark, and its mate came to help in the fight. Look, the fishing boat nearly went over that time!"

That really came near happening. One of the big fish, after it found that its mate had been killed, seemed to get desperate. It rushed at the fishermen's boat and struck it with its head, sending it far over on one side.

Then the men from the steamer's boat fired some bullets from a gun into the second shark and killed it so that it sank. The waters grew quiet and the boats were no longer in danger.

The mate and the sailors from the steamer stayed near the fishing boat a little while longer, the men talking among themselves, and then the sailors rowed back, and were hoisted upon deck in their craft.

"Tell us what happened!" cried Mr. Bobbsey.

"It was sharks," answered the mate. "The fishermen came out here to lift their lobster pots, which had drifted a long way from shore. While they were doing this one of them baited a big hook with a piece of pork and threw it overboard, for he had seen some sharks about. A shark bit on the hook and then rammed the boat.

"Then another shark came along and both of them fought the fishermen, who might have been drowned if we had not helped them kill the sharks. But they are all right now -- the fishermen, I mean -- for the sharks are dead and on the bottom of the ocean by this time."

"Were they big sharks?" asked Bert.

"Quite large," the mate answered. "One was almost as long as the fishing boat, and they were both very ugly. It isn't often that such big sharks come up this far north, but I suppose they were hungry and that made them bold."

"I'm glad I wasn't in that boat," said Nan.

"Indeed we all may well be glad," Mrs. Bobbsey said.

"Will those fishermen have to row all the way to shore?" asked Freddie, looking across the waters. No land was in sight.

"No, they don't have to row," said the mate of the steamer. "They have a little gasolene engine in their boat, and the land is not so far away as it seems, only five or six miles. They can get in all right if no more sharks come after them, and I don't believe any will."

The fishermen waved their hands to the passengers on the steamer, and the Bobbsey twins and the others waved back.

"Good-bye!" shouted the children, as loudly as they could. Whether the others heard them or not was not certain, but they continued to wave their hands.

It took some time to hoist the lifeboat up in its place on the steamer, and in this Freddie and the others were quite interested.

"I'd like to own a boat like that myself," said the little boy.

"What would you do with it?" questioned Flossie.

"Oh, I'd have a whole lot of fun," was the ready answer.

"Would you give me a ride?"

"Of course I would!"

At last the lifeboat was put in its proper place, and then the steamer started off again.

The Bobbsey twins had plenty to talk about now, and so did the other passengers. It was not often they witnessed a rescue of that kind at sea, and Bert, who, like Freddie, had been hoping he might sight a shipwreck -- that is, he wished it if no one would be drowned -- was quite satisfied with the excitement of the sharks.

"Only I wish they could have brought one over closer, so we could have seen how big it was," he said.

"I don't," remarked Nan. "I don't like sharks."

"Not even when they're dead and can't hurt you?" asked Bert.

"Not even any time," Nan said. "I don't like sharks."

"Neither do I," said Flossie.

"Well, I'd like to see one if daddy would take hold of my hand," put in Freddie. "Then I wouldn't be afraid."

"Maybe there'll be sharks when we get to Cousin Jasper's house," said Flossie.

"His house isn't in the ocean, and sharks is only in the ocean," declared Freddie.

"Well, maybe his house is near the ocean," went on the little "fat fairy."

"Cousin Jasper is in the hospital," Nan remarked; "and I guess they don't have any sharks there."

"Maybe they have alligators," added Bert with a smile.

"Really?" asked Nan.

"Well, you know Florida is where they have lots of alligators," went on her older brother. "And we're going to Florida."

"I don't like alligators any more than I like sharks," Nan said, with a little shivery sort of shake. "I just like dogs and cats and chickens."

"And goats," said Flossie. "You like goats, don't you, Nan?"

"Yes, I like the kind of a goat we had when we went to Blueberry Island," agreed Nan. "But look! What are the sailors doing?"

She pointed to some of the men from the ship, who were going about the decks, picking up chairs and lashing fast, with ropes, things that might roll or slide about.

"Maybe we're almost there, and we're getting ready to land," said Freddie.

"No, we've got another night to stay on the ship," Bert said. "I'm going to ask one of the men." And he did, inquiring what the reason was for picking up the chairs and tying fast so many things.

"The captain thinks we're going to run into a storm," answered the sailor, "and we're getting ready for it."

"Will it be very bad?" asked Nan, who did not like storms.

"Well, it's likely to be a hard one, little Miss," the sailor said. "We will soon be off Cape Hatteras, and the storms there are fierce sometimes. So we're making everything snug to get ready for the blow. But don't be afraid. This is a strong ship."

However, as the Bobbsey twins saw the sailors making fast everything, and lashing loose awnings and ropes, and as they saw the sky beginning to get dark, though it was not yet night, they were all a little frightened.




Chapter IX

In St. Augustine


The storm came up more quickly than even the captain or his sailors thought it would. The deep, blue sea, which had been such a pretty color when the sun shone on it, now turned to a dark green shade. The blue sky was covered by black and angry-looking clouds, and the wind seemed to moan as it hummed about the ship.

But the steamer did not stop. On it rushed over the water, with foam in front, at the prow, or bow, and foam at the stern where the big propeller churned away.

"Come, children!" called Mrs. Bobbsey to the twins, as they stood at the rail, looking first up at the gathering clouds and then down at the water, which was now quite rough. "Come! I think we had better go to our cabins."

"Oh, let us stay up just a little longer," begged Bert. "I've never seen a storm at sea, and I want to."

"Well, you and Nan may stay up on deck a little longer," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "But you must not go far away from daddy. I don't want any of you to fall overboard, especially when such big sharks may be in the ocean."

"Oh, I'm not going to fall overboard!" exclaimed Bert. "Never!"

"Nor I," added his sister. "I'll keep tight hold of the rail, and when it gets too rough we'll come down."

Mr. Bobbsey and some of the men passengers were still on deck, watching the approach of the storm, and Bert and Nan moved over nearer their father, while Mrs. Bobbsey went below with Flossie and Freddie. The two smaller twins, when they found their older brother and sister were going to stay on deck, also wanted to do this, but their mother said to them:

"No, it is safer for you to be down below with me. It may come on to blow hard at any moment, and then it won't be so easy to go down the stairs when the ship is standing on its head, or its ear, or whatever way ships stand in a storm."

"But I want to see the storm!" complained Freddie.

"You'll see all you want of it, and feel it, too, down in our stateroom, as well as up on deck, and you'll be much safer," his mother told him.

The storm came up more and more quickly, and, though it was not yet four o'clock, it was as dark as it usually is at seven, for so many clouds covered the sky. The waves, too, began to get larger and larger and, pretty soon, the steamer, which had been going along smoothly, or with not more than a gentle roll from side to side, began pitching and tossing.

"Oh, my! isn't it getting dark?" cried Flossie.

"Say, it isn't time to go to bed yet, is it?" questioned Freddie anxiously.

"Of course not!" answered his twin. "It's only about the middle of the afternoon, isn't it, Mother?"

"Just about," answered Mrs. Bobbsey.

In the meanwhile the others, who were still on deck, were having a decidedly lively time of it.

"Come on, Nan and Bert!" called Mr. Bobbsey, to the older twins. "Better get below while you have the chance. It's getting too rough for children up here."

"Are you coming too, Daddy?" asked Nan.

"Yes, I'll go down with you. In fact, I think every one is going below except the sailors."

This was so, for the mate was going about telling the passengers still on deck that it would be best for them to get to the shelter of the cabins and staterooms.

Nan and Bert started to walk across the deck, and when they were almost at the stairs, or the "companionway" as it is called, that led to their rooms, the ship gave a lurch and roll, and Bert lost his balance.

"Oh! Oh!" he cried, as he found himself sliding across the deck, which was tilted up almost like an old-fashioned cellar door, and Bert was rolling down it. "Oh, catch me, Dad!"

Luckily he rolled in, and not out, or he would have rolled to the edge of the ship. Not that he could have gone overboard, for there was a railing and netting to stop that, but he would have been badly frightened if he had rolled near the edge, I think.

"Look out!" cried Mr. Bobbsey, as he saw Bert sliding and slipping. "Look out, or you'll fall downstairs!"

And that is just what happened. Bert rolled to the top of the companionway stairs, and right down them. Luckily he was a stout, chubby boy, and, as it happened, just then a sailor was coming up the stairs, and Bert rolled into him. The sailor was nearly knocked off his feet by the collision with Bert, but he managed to get hold of a rail and hold on.

"My! My! What's this?" cried the sailor, when he got his breath, which Bert had partly knocked from him. "Is this a new way to come downstairs?"

"I -- I didn't mean to," Bert answered, as he managed to stand up and hold on to the man. "The ship turned upside down, I guess, and I rolled down here."

"Well, as long as you're not hurt it's all right," said the sailor with a laugh. "It is certainly a rough storm. Better get below and stay there until it blows out."

"Yes, sir, I'm getting," grinned Bert.

"I think that is good advice," said Mr. Bobbsey to the sailor, with a smile, as he hurried after Bert, but not coming in the same fashion as his son.

Nan had grabbed tightly hold of a rope and clung to it when the ship gave a lurch. She was not hurt, but her arms ached from holding on so tightly.

After that one big roll and toss the steamer became steady for a little while, and Mr. Bobbsey and the two children made their way to the stateroom where Mrs. Bobbsey was sitting with Flossie and Freddie.

"What happened?" asked Bert's mother, as she saw that he was rather "mussed up," from what had occurred.

"Oh, I tried to come down the stairs head first," Bert answered with a laugh. "I don't like that way. I'm not going to do it again," and he told what had taken place.

And then the storm burst with a shower of rain and a heavy wind that tossed and pitched the boat, and made many of the passengers wish they were safe on shore.

The Bobbsey twins had often been on the water, when on visits to Uncle William at the seashore, as I have told you in that book, and they were not made ill by the pitching and tossing of the steamer.

Still it was not much fun to stay below decks, which they and the others had to do all that night and most of the next day. It was too rough for any one to be out on deck, and even the sailors, used as they were to it, had trouble. One of them was nearly washed overboard, but his mates saved him. And one of the lifeboats -- the same one in which the men had gone to save the fishermen from the sharks -- was broken and torn away when a big wave hit it.

"Is it always rough like this when you go past Cape Hatteras?" asked Bert of his father.

"Very frequently, yes. You see Cape Hatteras is a point of land of North Carolina, sticking out into the ocean. In the ocean are currents of water, and when one rushes one way and one the other, and they come together, it makes a rough sea, especially when there is a strong wind, as there is now. We are in this rough part of the ocean, and in the midst of a storm, too. But we will soon be out of it."

However, the steamer could not go so fast in the rough water as she could have traveled had it been smooth, and the wind, blowing against her, also held her back. So it was not until late on the second day that the storm passed away, or rather, until the ship got beyond it.

Then the rain stopped, the sun came out from behind the clouds just before it was time to set, and the hard time was over. The sea was rough, and would be for another day, the sailors said.

"And can we go on deck in the morning?" asked Bert, who did not like being shut up in the stateroom.

"I guess so," his father answered.

The next morning all was calm and peaceful, though the waves were larger than when the Bobbsey twins had left New York.

Every one was glad that the storm had passed, and that nothing had happened to the steamer, except the loss of the one small boat.

"Were those fishermen who fought the sharks out in all that blow in their small motor boat, Dad?" asked Bert.

"Oh, no," his father told him. "They only go out from shore, take up their nets or lobster pots, and go quickly back again. Their boats are not made for staying out in all night. Though perhaps sometimes, in a fog, when they can't see to get back, they may be out a long time. But I don't believe they were out in this storm."

It was peaceful traveling now, on the deep blue sea, which was a pretty color again, and the Bobbsey twins, leaning over the rail and looking at it, thought they had never come on such a fine voyage.

"It's getting warmer," said Bert when they had eaten dinner and were once more on deck.

"Yes, we are getting farther south, nearer to the equator, and it is always warm there," said Mr. Bobbsey.

"Are we near Florida?" asked Nan.

"Yes, we will be there this evening," her father told her.

It was late in the afternoon when the steamer reached Jacksonville. As the arrival of the steamship had been delayed by the storm, the Bobbsey's were left no time to look about Jacksonville, but hurried at once to the railroad station, and there took the train that carried them to St. Augustine. It was about an hour before sunset when they got out of the train at this quaint, pretty old town.

"Oh, what funny little streets!" cried Bert, as they started for their hotel where they were to stay until they could go to the hospital and see Cousin Jasper. "What little streets!"

"Aren't they darling?" exclaimed Nan.

"Yes, this is a very old city," said Mr. Bobbsey, "and some of the streets are no wider than they were made when they were laid out here over three hundred years ago."

"Oh, is this city as old as that -- three hundred years?" asked Nan, while Flossie and Freddie peered about at the strange sights.

"Yes, and older," said Mr. Bobbsey. "St. Augustine is the oldest city in the United States. It was settled in 1565 by the Spaniards, and I suppose they built it like some of the Spanish cities they knew. That is why the streets are so narrow."

And indeed the streets were very narrow. The one called St. George is only seventeen feet wide, and it is the principal street in St. Augustine. Just think of a street not much wider than a very big room. And Treasury street is even narrower, being so small that two people can stand and shake hands across it. Really, one might call it only an alley, and not a street.

The Bobbseys saw many negroes about the streets, some driving little donkey carts, and others carrying fruit and other things in baskets on their heads.

"Don't they ever fall off?" asked Freddie, as he watched one big, fat colored woman on whose head, covered with a bright, red handkerchief, or "bandanna," there was a large basket of fruit. "Don't they ever fall off?"

"What do you mean fall off -- their heads?" asked Bert with a smile.

"No, I mean the things they carry," said Freddie.

"Well, I guess they start in carrying things that way from the time they are children," said Mrs. Bobbsey, "and they learn to balance things on their heads as well as you children learn to balance yourselves on roller skates. I dare say the colored people here would find it as hard to roller skate as you would to carry a heavy load on your head."

"Well, here we are at our hotel," said Mr. Bobbsey, as the automobile in which they had ridden up from the station came to a stop in front of a fine building. "Now we will get out and see what they have for supper."

"And then will we go to Cousin Jasper and find out what his strange story is?"

"I guess so," her father answered.

"Say, this is a fine hotel!" exclaimed Bert as he and the others saw the beautiful palm and flower gardens, with fountains between them, in the courtyard of the place where they were to stop.

"Oh, yes, St. Augustine has wonderful hotels," said his father. "This is a place where many rich people come to spend the winter that would be too cold for them in New York. Now come inside."

Into the beautiful hotel they went, and when Mr. Bobbsey was asking about their rooms, and seeing that the baggage was brought in, Mrs. Bobbsey glanced around to make sure the four twins were with her, for sometimes Flossie or Freddie strayed off.

And that is what had happened this time. Freddie was not in sight.

"Oh, where is that boy?" cried his mother. "I hope he hasn't crawled down another ventilator pipe!"

"No'm," answered one of the hotel men. "He hasn't done that. I saw your little boy run back out of the front door a moment ago. But he'll be all right. Nothing can happen to him in St. Augustine."

"Oh, but I must find him!" exclaimed Mrs. Bobbsey. "Dick, Freddie is gone again!" she said to her husband. "We must find him at once!" and she hurried from the hotel.




Chapter X

Cousin Jasper's Story


Mr. Bobbsey, who had been talking to the clerk of the hotel at the desk, looked toward Mrs. Bobbsey, who was hurrying out the front door.

"Wait a minute!" he called after her. "I'll come with you!"

"No, you stay with the other children," she answered. "I'll find Freddie."

"But you don't know your way about St. Augustine," said Mr. Bobbsey. "You've never been here before."

"Neither have you," returned his wife with a laugh, for she was not very much alarmed about Freddie -- he had slipped away too often before.

"I can find my way about as well as you can, Dick," went on Mrs. Bobbsey. "You stay here and I'll get our little fat fireman."

"Maybe he has gone to see a fire engine," suggested Nan.

"I don't believe so," answered her father. "I didn't hear any alarm, but perhaps they don't sound one here as we do back in Lakeport."

"I guess he's just gone out to look at the things in the streets here," said Bert. "They're a lot different from at home."

"Indeed they are!" exclaimed Mr. Bobbsey. "Well, I'll stay here," he said to his wife, "and you go and look for Freddie. But if you don't soon find him come back and I'll go out."

"I'll find him," she said, and one of the porters from the hotel offered to go with her to show Mrs. Bobbsey her way about the strange streets of St. Augustine -- the little, narrow streets that had not been changed much in three hundred years.

"Oh, what a lovely place this is," said Nan to Bert, while their father was talking with the hotel clerk. "It's like a palace."

"It looks like some of the places you see in a moving picture," said Bert.

And indeed the beautiful hotel, with the palms and flowers set all about, did look like some moving picture play. Only it was real, and the Bobbsey twins were to stay there until they had seen Cousin Jasper, and found out what his strange story was about.

Soon after Mr. Bobbsey had finished signing his name and those of the members of his family in the hotel register book, Mrs. Bobbsey came back, leading Freddie by the hand.

The little boy seemed to be all right, and he was smiling, while in one hand he held a ripe banana.

"Where've you been, Freddie?" asked Flossie. "I was afraid you had gone back home."

"Nope," Freddie answered, as he started to peel the banana. "I was seeing how they did it."

"How who did what?" asked his father.

"Carried the big baskets on their heads," Freddie answered, and by this time he had part of the skin off the yellow fruit, and was breaking off a piece for Flossie. Freddie always shared his good things with his little sister, and with Bert and Nan if there was enough.

"What does he mean?" asked Bert of his mother. "Was he trying to carry something on his head?"

"No," answered Mrs. Bobbsey with a laugh, "but he was following a big colored woman who had a basket of fruit on her head. I caught him halfway down the street in front of another hotel. He was walking after this woman, and he didn't hear me coming. I asked him what he was doing, and he said he was waiting to see it fall off."

"What fall off?" asked Nan, coming up just then.

"I thought maybe the basket would fall off her head," Freddie answered for himself. "It was an awful big basket, and it wibbled and wobbled like anything. I thought maybe it would fall, but it didn't," he added with a sigh, as though he had been cheated out of a lot of fun.

"If it did had fallen," he went on, "I was going to pick up her bananas and oranges for her. That's why I kept walking after her."

"Did she drop that banana?" asked Mr. Bobbsey, while several smiling persons gathered about the Bobbsey twins in the hotel lobby.

"No, I bought this with a penny," Freddie answered. "The colored lady didn't drop any. But if her basket did had fallen from off her head I could have picked up the things, and then maybe she'd have given me a banana or an orange."

"And when that didn't happen you had to go buy one yourself; did you?" asked Mr. Bobbsey with a laugh. "Well, that's too bad. But, after this, Freddie, don't go away by yourself. It's all right, at home, to run off and play in the fields or woods, for you know your way about. But here you are in a strange city, so you must stay with us."

"Yes, sir," answered Freddie, like a good little boy.

"I will, too," promised Flossie.

The Bobbsey family was together once again, and when Flossie and Freddie had eaten the banana, and porters had taken charge of their baggage, they all went up to the rooms where they were to stay.

"We don't know just how long we'll be here," said Mr. Bobbsey, as they were getting ready to go down to supper, as the children called it, or "dinner," as the more fashionable name has it.

"Are we going out on the ocean again?" asked Nan.

"Did you like it?" her father wanted to know.

"Oh, lots!" she answered.

"It was great!" declared Bert.

"I want to see 'em catch some more sharks," Freddie said.

"I like to see the blue water," added Flossie, who had got out a clean dress for her rubber doll.

"Yes, the blue water is very pretty," remarked Mr. Bobbsey. "Well, we shall, very likely, sail on it again. I don't know just what Cousin Jasper wants to tell me, or what he wants me to do. But I think he is planning an ocean trip himself. I'll go to see him this evening, after we have eaten, and then I can tell you all about it."

"May I come with you?" asked Bert.

"Well, I think not this first trip," answered Mr. Bobbsey slowly. "I am going to the hospital where Cousin Jasper is ill, and he may not be able to see both of us. I'll take you later."

"We can stay and watch the colored people carry things on their heads," put in Freddie. "That's lots of fun, and maybe some of 'em will drop off, and we can help pick 'em up, and they might give us an orange."

"I guess I'd rather buy my oranges, and then I'll be sure to have what I want," said Bert with a laugh.

"There are plenty of things you can look at while I'm at the hospital," said Mr. Bobbsey, and after the meal he inquired the way to the place where Cousin Jasper was getting well, while Mrs. Bobbsey took the children down to the docks, where they could see many motor boats, and fishing and oyster craft, tied up for the night.

It was a beautiful evening, and the soft, balmy air of St. Augustine was warm, so that only the lightest clothing needed to be worn.

"It's just like being at the seashore in the summer," said Nan.

"Well, this is summer, and we are at the seashore, though it is not like Ocean Cliff," said Mrs. Bobbsey with a smile. She was glad the children liked it, and she hoped they would have more good times if they were again to go sailing on the deep, blue sea.

When they got back to the hotel Mr. Bobbsey had not yet returned from the hospital, but he came before Flossie and Freddie were ready for bed, for they had been allowed to stay up a little later than usual.

"Well, how is Cousin Jasper?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey.

"Much better, I am glad to say," answered her husband. "He will be able to leave the hospital in a few days, and then he wants us to start on a trip with him."

"Start on a trip so soon!" exclaimed Mrs. Bobbsey. "Where does he want to go, and will he be well enough to travel?"

"He says he will. And as to where he wants to go, that is a strange story."

"Oh, tell us about it!" begged Bert.

"We're going to hear Cousin Jasper's secret at last!" cried Nan.

"Is it a real story, with 'once upon a time' in it?" Freddie questioned. "And has it got a fire engine in it?" he added.

"Well, no, not exactly a fire engine, though it has a boat engine in the story. And I can make it start with 'once upon a time,' if you want me to."

"Please do," begged Flossie. "And has it got any fairies in it?"

"No, not exactly any fairies," her father said; "though we may find some when we get to the island."

"Oh, are we going on an island?" exclaimed Bert.

"There!" cried his father, "I've started at the wrong end. I had better begin at the beginning. And that will be to tell you how I found Cousin Jasper.

"He has been quite ill, and is better now. Part of the time he was out of his head with fever, even after he wrote to me, and for a time the doctor feared he would not get well. But now he is all right, except for being weak, and he told me a queer story.

"Once upon a time," went on Mr. Bobbsey, telling the tale as his littler children liked to hear it, "Cousin Jasper and a young friend of his, a boy about fifteen years old, set out to take a long trip in a motor boat. That is it had an engine in it that ran by gasolene as does an automobile. Cousin Jasper is very fond of sailing the deep, blue sea, and he took this boy along with him to help. They were to sail about for a week, visiting the different islands off the coast of Florida.

"Well, everything went all right the first few days. In their big motor boat Cousin Jasper and this boy, who was named Jack Nelson, sailed about, living on their boat, cooking their meals, and now and then landing at the little islands, or keys, as they are called.

"They were having a good time when one day a big storm came up. They could not manage their boat and they were blown a long way out to sea and then cast up on the shore of a small island.

"Cousin Jasper was hurt and so was the boy, but they managed to get out of the water and up on land. They found a sort of cave in which they could get out of the storm, and they stayed on the island for some time."

"For years?" asked Bert, who, with the other Bobbsey twins, was much interested in Cousin Jasper's strange story. "That was just like Robinson Crusoe!" Bert went on. "Why didn't they stay there always?"

"They did not have enough to eat," said Mr. Bobbsey, "and it was too lonesome for them there. They were the only people on the island, as far as they knew. So they made a smudge of smoke, and on a pole they put up some pieces of canvas that had washed ashore from their motor boat. They hoped these signals would be seen by some ship or small boat that might come to take them off."

"Did they get rescued?" asked Bert.

Mr. Bobbsey was about to answer when the telephone, which was in the room, gave a loud ring.

"Some one for us!" exclaimed Mrs. Bobbsey.




Chapter XI

The Motor Boat


Mr. Bobbsey arose to answer the telephone, which big hotels put in the rooms of their guests nowadays instead of sending a bellboy to knock and say that the traveler is wanted.

"I wonder who wants us?" murmured Mr. Bobbsey.

The children looked disappointed that the telling of the story had to be stopped.

"Hello!" said their father into the telephone.

Then he listened, and seemed quite surprised at what he heard.

"Yes, I'll be down in a little while," he went on. "Tell him to wait."

"What is it?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey. "Was that Cousin Jasper?"

"Oh, no indeed!" her husband answered. "Though he is much better he is not quite well enough to leave the hospital yet and come to see us. This was an old sea captain talking from the main office of the hotel downstairs."

"Is he going to take us for a trip on the ocean?" asked Bert eagerly.

"Well, that's what he wants to do, or, rather, he wants me to see about a big motor boat in which to take a trip. Cousin Jasper sent him to me. But let me finish what I was saying about the island, and then I'll tell you about the sea captain."

Mr. Bobbsey hung up the telephone receiver and took his seat between Flossie and Freddie where he had been resting in an easy chair, telling the story.

"Cousin Jasper," went on Mr. Bobbsey, "was quite ill on the island, and so was Jack Nelson. Just how long they stayed there, waiting for a boat to come and take them off, they do not know -- at least, Cousin Jasper does not know."

"Doesn't that boy -- Jack Nelson -- know?" asked Bert.

"No, for he wasn't taken off the island," said Mr. Bobbsey. "And that is the strange part of Cousin Jasper's story. He, himself, after a hard time on the island, must have fallen asleep, in a fever probably. When he awakened he was on board a small steamer, being brought back to St. Augustine. He hardly knew what happened to him, until he found himself in the hospital.

"There he slowly got better until he was well enough to write and ask me to come to see him. He wanted me to do something that no one else would do."

"And what is that?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey.

"He wants me to get a big motor boat, and go with him to this island and get that boy, Jack Nelson."

"Is that boy still on the island?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey. "Why how long ago was this?"

"About three weeks," her husband answered. "Cousin Jasper does not know whether or not the boy is still there, but he is afraid he is. You see when the boat came to rescue Mr. Dent, as my cousin is called at the hospital, they did not take off with him his boy friend. The sailors of the rescue ship said they saw Cousin Jasper's canvas flag fluttering from a pole stuck up in the beach, and that brought them to the island. They found Cousin Jasper, unconscious, in a little cave-like shelter near shore, and took him away with them."

"Didn't they see the boy?" asked Nan.

"No, he was not in sight, the sailors afterward told Mr. Dent. They did not look for any one else, not knowing that two had been shipwrecked on the island. They thought there was only one, and so Cousin Jasper alone was saved.

"When he grew better, and the fever left him, he tried to get some one to start out in a boat to go to the island and save that boy. But no one would go."

"Why not?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey.

"Because they thought Cousin Jasper was still out of his mind from fever. They said the sailors from the rescue ship had seen no one else, and if there had been a boy on the island such a person would have been near Mr. Dent. But no one was seen on the island, and so they thought it was all a dream of Cousin Jasper's."

"And maybe that poor boy is there yet!" exclaimed Mrs. Bobbsey.

"That's what my cousin is afraid of," her husband said. "And that is why he sent for me, his nearest relative. He knew I would believe him, and not imagine he was dreaming. So he wants me to hire for him, as he is rich, a motor boat and go to this island to rescue the boy if he is still there. Cousin Jasper thinks he is. He thinks the boy must have wandered away and so was not in sight when the rescue ship came, or perhaps he was asleep or ill further from the shore.

"At any rate that's Cousin Jasper's strange story. And now he wants us to help him see if it's true -- see if the boy is still on the island waiting to be rescued."

"How can you find the island?" asked Nan.

"Cousin Jasper says he will go with us and show us the way. The sea captain who called me up just now from down in the office of the hotel is a man who hires out motor boats. Cousin Jasper knows him, and sent him to see me, as I am to have charge of everything, Mr. Dent not yet being strong enough to do so."

"And are you going to do it?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey.

"Oh, yes," her husband said. "I came here to help Cousin Jasper, and if he wants me to set off on a sea voyage to rescue a poor lonely boy from an island, why I'll have to do it."

"May we go?" eagerly asked Bert.

"Yes, I think so. Cousin Jasper says he wants me to get for him a big motor boat -- one large enough for all of us. We will have quite a long trip on the deep, blue sea, and if we find that the boy has been taken off the island by some other ship, then we can have a good time sailing about. But first we must go to the rescue."

"It's just like a story in a book!" cried Nan, clapping her hands.

"Is they -- are there oranges and bananas there?" asked Freddie.

"Where?" his father asked.

"On the island where the boy is?"

"Well, I don't know," answered Mr. Bobbsey. "Perhaps bananas may grow there, though I doubt it. It is hardly warm enough for them."

"Well, let's go anyhow," said Freddie. "We can have some fun!"

"Yes," said Flossie, who always wanted to do whatever her small brother did, "we can have some fun!"

"But we are not going for fun -- first of all," said Mr. Bobbsey. "We are going to try to rescue this poor boy, who may be sick and alone on the island. After we get him off, or find that he has been taken care of by some one else, then we will think about good times.

"And now, my dear," said Mr. Bobbsey to his wife, "the question is, would you like to go?"

"Will it be dangerous?" she asked.

"No, I think not. No more so than coming down on the big ship. It is now summer, and there are not many storms here then. And we shall be in a big motor boat with a good captain and crew. Cousin Jasper told me to tell you that. We shall sail for a good part of the time -- or, rather, motor -- around among islands, so each day we shall not be very far from some land. Would you like to go?"

"Please say yes, Mother!" begged Bert.

"We'd like to go!" added Nan.

"Well," answered Mrs. Bobbsey slowly, "it sounds as if it would be a nice trip. That is it will be nice if we can rescue this poor boy from the lonely island. Yes," she said to her husband, "I think we ought to go. But it is strange that Cousin Jasper could not get any one from here to start out before this."

"They did not believe the tale he told of the boy having been left on the island," said Mr. Bobbsey. "They thought Cousin Jasper was still out of his head, and had, perhaps, dreamed this. He was very anxious to get some one started in a boat for the island, but no one would go. So he had to send for me."

"And you'll go!" exclaimed Bert.

"Yes, we'll all go. Now that I have told you Cousin Jasper's strange story I'll go down and talk to the sea captain. I want to find out what sort of motor boat he has, and when we can get it."

"When are we going to start for the island?" asked Bert.

"And what's the name of it?" Nan questioned.

"Is it where Robinson Crusoe lived?" queried Freddie.

"I'll have to take turns answering your questions," said Mr. Bobbsey with a laugh. "In the first place, Bert, we'll start as soon as we can -- that is as soon as Cousin Jasper is able to leave the hospital. That will be within a few days, I think, as the doctor said a sea voyage would do him good. And, too, the sooner we start the more quickly we shall know about this poor boy.

"As for the name of the island, I don't know that it has any. Cousin Jasper didn't tell me, if it has. We can name it after we get there if we find it has not already been called something. And I don't believe it is the island where Robinson Crusoe used to live, Freddie. So now that I have answered all your questions, I think I'll go down and talk to the captain."

Flossie and Freddie were in bed when their father came back upstairs, and Nan and Bert were getting ready for Slumberland, for it was their first day ashore after the voyage, and they were tired.

"Did you get the motor boat?" asked Bert.

"Not yet," his father answered with a laugh. "I am to go to look at it in the morning."

"May I come?"

"Yes, but go to bed now. It is getting late."

Mr. and Mrs. Bobbsey stayed up a little longer, talking about many things, and sending a few postcards to friends at home, telling of the safe arrival in St. Augustine.

Freddie was up early the next morning, standing with his nose flattened against the front window of the hotel rooms where the Bobbseys were stopping.

"I see one!" he cried. "I see one!"

"What?" asked Flossie. "A motor boat?"

"No, but another colored lady, and she's got an awful big basket on her head. Come and look, Flossie! Maybe it'll fall off!"

But nothing like that happened, and after breakfast Mr. Bobbsey suggested that the whole family set out to see some of the sights of St. Augustine -- the oldest city of the United States -- and also to go to the wharf and view the motor boat.

"Can't we send some postcards before we start, Mother?" questioned Nan eagerly.

"Certainly," returned Mrs. Bobbsey.

"I think I'll send a few to my friends," said Bert, and he and Nan spent some time picking out the postcards.

Even Flossie insisted upon it that she be allowed to send several to her best friends at home.

I wish I had room to tell you all the things the children saw -- the queer old streets and houses, the forts and rivers, for there are two rivers near the old city. But the Bobbsey twins were as anxious as I know you must be to see the motor boat, and hear more about the trip to the island to save the lonely boy, so I will go on to that part of our story.




Chapter XII

The Deep Blue Sea


"Glad to see you! Glad to see you! Come right on board!" cried a hearty voice, as the Bobbsey twins and their father and mother walked down the long dock which ran out into the harbor of St. Augustine.

"That's Captain Crane, with whom I was talking last night," said Mr. Bobbsey to his wife in a low voice.

"And is that the boat we are to take the trip in?" she asked, for the seaman was standing on the deck of a fine motor craft, dark red in color, and with shiny brass rails. A cabin, with white curtains at the portholes, or windows, seemed to offer a good resting place.

"Yes, that's the Swallow, as Captain Crane calls his boat," Mr. Bobbsey said.

"She's a beaut!" exclaimed Bert.

"Come on board! Come on board! Glad to see you!" called the old captain again, as he waved his hand to the Bobbseys.

"Oh, I like him, don't you?" whispered Nan to Bert.

"Yes," he replied. "He's fine; and that's a dandy boat!"

Indeed the Swallow was a beautiful craft. She was about eighty feet long, and wide enough to give plenty of room on board, and also to be safe in a storm. There was a big cabin "forward," as the seamen say, or in the front part of the boat, and another "aft," or at the stern, or back part. This was for the men who looked after the gasolene motor and ran the boat, while the captain and the passengers would live in the front cabin, out of which opened several little staterooms, or places where bunks were built for sleeping.

The Swallow was close to the dock, so one could step right on board without any trouble, and the children were soon standing on the deck, looking about them.

"Oh, I like this!" cried Freddie. "It's a nicer boat than the Sea Queen!" This was the name of the big steamer on which they had come from New York. "Have you got a fire engine here, Captain?" asked the little Bobbsey twin.

"Oh, yes, we've a pump to use in case of fire, but I hope we won't have any," the seaman said. "I don't s'pose you'd call it a fire engine, though, but we couldn't have that on a motor boat."

"No, I guess not," Freddie agreed, after thinking it over a bit. "I've a little fire engine at home," he went on, "and it squirts real water."

"And he squirted some on me," put in Flossie. "On me and my doll."

"But I didn't mean to -- an' it was only play," Freddie explained.

"Yes, it was only in fun, and I didn't mind very much," went on the little girl. "My rubber doll -- she likes water," she added, holding out the doll in question for Captain Crane to see.

"That's good!" he said with a smile. "When we get out on the ocean you can tie a string around her waist, and let her have a swim in the waves."

"Won't a shark get her?" Flossie demanded.

"No, I guess sharks don't like to chew on rubber dolls," laughed Captain Crane. "Anyhow we'll try to keep out of their way. But make yourselves at home, folks. I hope you'll be with me for quite a while, and you may as well get used to the boat. Mr. Dent has sailed in her many times, and he likes the Swallow first rate."

"Can she go fast?" asked Bert.

"Yes, she can fairly skim over the waves, and that's why I call her the Swallow," replied the seaman. "As soon as Mr. Dent heard I was on shore, waiting for some one to hire my boat, he told me not to sail again until you folks came, as you and he were going on a voyage together. I hope you are going?" and he looked at Mr. Bobbsey.

"Yes, we have made up our minds to go," said the children's father. "We are going to look for a boy who may be all alone on one of the islands off the Florida coast. We hope we can rescue him."

"I hope so, too," said Captain Crane. "I was shipwrecked on one of those islands myself, once, as your Cousin Jasper was. And it was dreadful there, and I got terribly lonesome before I was taken off."

"Did you have a goat?" asked Flossie.

"No, my little girl, I didn't have a goat," answered Mr. Crane. "Why do you ask that?"

"Because Robinson Crusoe was on an island like that and he had a goat," Flossie went on.

"When you were shipwrecked did you have to eat your shoes?" Freddie queried.

"Oh, ho! No, I guess not!" laughed Captain Crane. "I see what you mean. You must have had read to you stories of sailors that got so hungry, after being shipwrecked, that they had to boil their leather shoes to make soup. Well, I wasn't quite so bad off as that. I found some oysters on my island, and I had a little food with me. And that, with a spring of water I found, kept me alive until a ship came and took me off."

"Well, I hope the poor boy on the island where Cousin Jasper was is still alive, or else that he has been rescued," said Mrs. Bobbsey.

"I hope so, too," said the captain. "Now come and I'll show you about my boat."

He was very proud of his craft, which was a beautiful one, and also strong enough to stand quite a hard storm. There was plenty of room on board for the whole Bobbsey family, as well as for Mr. Dent, besides a crew of three men and the captain. There were cute little bedrooms for the children, a larger room for Mr. and Mrs. Bobbsey, one for the captain and there was even a bathroom.

There was also a kitchen, called a cook's galley, and another room that could be used in turn for a parlor, a sitting-room or a dining-room. This was the main cabin, and as you know there is not room enough on a motor boat to have a lot of rooms, one has to be used for different things.

"What do you call this room?" questioned Flossie, as she looked around at the tiny compartment.

"Well, you can call this most anything," laughed the captain. "When you use it for company, it's a parlor; and when you use it for just sitting around in, it's a sitting-room; and when you use it to eat in, why, then what would you call it?"

"Why, then you'd call it a dining-room," answered the little girl promptly.

"And if I got my hair cut in it, then it would be a barber shop, wouldn't it?" cried Freddie.

"Why, Freddie Bobbsey!" gasped his twin. "I'm sure I wouldn't want my dining-room to be a barber shop," she added disdainfully.

"Well, some places have got to be barber shops," defended the little boy staunchly.

"I don't think they have barber shops on motor boats, do they, Daddy?"

"They might have if the boat was big enough," answered Mr. Bobbsey. "However, I don't believe we'll have a barber shop on this craft."

"When are we going to start?" asked Bert, when they had gone all over the Swallow, even to the place where the crew slept and where the motors were.

"We will start as soon as Cousin Jasper is ready," said Mr. Bobbsey. "It may be a week yet, I hope no longer."

"So do I, for the sake of that poor boy on the island," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "Tell me, has nothing been heard of him since he was shipwrecked there with Mr. Dent?" she asked Captain Crane. "Has no other vessel stopped there but the one that took off Cousin Jasper?"

"I guess not," answered Captain Crane. "According to Mr. Dent's tell, this island isn't much known, being one of the smallest. It was only because the men on the ship that took him off saw his flag that they stood in and got him."

"And then they didn't find the boy," said Mr. Bobbsey.

"Perhaps he wasn't there," Captain Crane said. "He might have found an old boat, or made one of part of the wrecked motor boat, and have gone away by himself."

"And he may be there yet, half starved and all alone," said Mrs. Bobbsey.

"Yes, he may be," admitted the old seaman. "But we'll soon find out. Mr. Jasper Dent is very anxious to start and look for this boy, who had worked for him about two years on his boat. So we won't lose any time in starting, I guess."

"But how do you like my boat? That's what your cousin will be sure to ask you. When he heard that you were coming to see him, and heard that I was free to take a trip, he wanted you folks to see me and look over the Swallow. Now you've done it, how do you like it?"

"Very much indeed," said Mr. Bobbsey. "We like the boat exceedingly!"

"And the captain, too," added Mrs. Bobbsey, with a smile.

"Thank you kindly, lady!" said the seaman, with a smile and a bow. "I hope we'll get along well together."

"And I like the water pump!" exclaimed Freddie. "Please may I squirt the hose some day?"

"I guess so, when it's nice and warm, and when we wash down the decks," said Captain Crane. "We use the pump for that quite a lot," he added. "We haven't had to use it for fire yet, and I hope we never have to."

"That's what we all say," put in Mr. Bobbsey. But no one could tell what might happen.

The Bobbsey twins went about the Swallow as they pleased, having a good time picking out the rooms they wanted to sleep in. Bert said he was going to learn how to run the big gasolene motors, and Freddie said he was going to learn how to steer, as well as squirt water through the deck hose.

"I want to cook in the cute little kitchen," said Nan.

"And I'll help set table," offered Flossie.

"We'll have a good time when we get to sea in this boat," declared Bert.

"And I hope we find that boy on the island," added Nan.

"Oh, yes, I hope that, too," agreed Bert.

None of the crew of the Swallow was on board yet, Captain Crane not having any need for the men when the boat was tied up at the dock.

"But I can get 'em as soon as you say the word," he told Mrs. Bobbsey when she asked him.

"And what about things to eat?"

"Oh, we'll stow the victuals on board before we sail," said the seaman. "We'll take plenty to eat, even though lots of it has to be canned. Just say the word when you're ready to start, and I'll have everything ready."

"And now we'll go see Cousin Jasper," suggested Mr. Bobbsey, when at last he had managed to get the children off the boat. "He will be wondering what has become of us."

They went to the hospital, and found Mr. Dent much better. The coming of the Bobbseys had acted as a tonic, the doctor said.

"Do you like the Swallow and Captain Crane?" asked the sick man, who was now getting well.

"Very much," answered Mr. Bobbsey.

"And will you go with him and me to look for Jack Nelson?"

"As soon as you are ready," was the answer.

"Then we'll start in a few days," decided Cousin Jasper. "The sea-trip will make me entirely well, sooner than anything else."

The hospital doctor thought this also, and toward the end of the week Mr. Dent was allowed to go to his own home. He lived alone, except for a housekeeper and Jack Nelson, but Jack, of course, was not with him now, being, they hoped, either on the island or safely rescued.

"Though if he had been taken off," said Mr. Dent, "he would have sent me word that he was all right. So I feel he must still be on the island."

"Perhaps the ship that took him off -- if one did," said Mr. Bobbsey, "started to sail around the world, and it will be a long while before you hear from your friend."

"Oh, he could send some word," said Cousin Jasper. "No, I feel quite sure he is still on the island."

Just as soon as Mr. Bobbsey's cousin was strong enough to take the trip in the Swallow, the work of getting the motor boat ready for the sea went quickly on. Captain Crane got the crew on board, and they cleaned and polished until, as Mrs. Bobbsey said, you could almost see your face in the deck.

Plenty of food and water was stored on board, for at sea the water is salt and cannot be used for drinking. The Bobbseys, after having seen all they wanted to in St. Augustine, moved most of their baggage to the boat, and Cousin Jasper went on board also.

"Well, I guess we're all ready to start," said Captain Crane one morning. "Everything has been done that can be done, and we have enough to eat for a month or more."

"Even if we are shipwrecked?" Freddie questioned.

"Yes, little fat fireman," laughed the captain. "Even if we are shipwrecked. Now, all aboard!"

They were all present, the crew and the Bobbseys, Captain Crane and Cousin Jasper.

"All aboard!" cried the captain again.

A bell jingled, a whistle tooted and the Swallow began to move away from the dock. She dropped down the river and, a little later, was out on the ocean.

"Once more the deep, blue sea, children!" said Mrs. Bobbsey. "Shall you like the voyage?"

"Oh, very much!" cried Nan, and the others nodded their heads to agree with her.

And then, as they were puffing along, one of the crew called to Captain Crane:

"There's a man in that motor boat who wants to speak to you! Better wait and see what he wants!"




Chapter XIII

Flossie's Doll


Captain Crane jingled a bell that told the engineer of the motor boat to slow down. Then he steered the Swallow over toward the other motor boat in which was a man waving his hand, as though he wanted the Bobbseys to stop, or at least to come closer, so that he might speak to them.

The Bobbsey twins were wildly excited.

"Hello, Captain Harrison!" called Captain Crane, as soon as the two boats were close enough to talk from one to the other. "Did you want to see me?"

"Well, yes, I did," answered Captain Harrison, who was on the other motor boat, which was named Sea Foam. "I think I have some news for you."

"I hope it's good news," Captain Crane made reply.

"Yes, I believe it is. Are you going out to rescue a boy from an island quite a way to the south of us?"

"Yes, these friends of mine are going," answered Captain Crane, pointing to the Bobbseys and to Cousin Jasper, who were sitting on the deck under the shade of an awning. "But how did you know?"

"I just passed Captain Peters in his boat, and he told me about your starting off on a voyage," went on Captain Harrison. "As soon as I heard what you were going to do, I made up my mind to tell you what I saw. I passed that island, where you are going to look for a lost man --  -- "

"It's a lost boy, and not a lost man," interrupted Captain Crane.

"Well, lost boy, then," went on Captain Harrison. "Anyhow, I passed that island the other day, and I'm sure I saw some one running up and down on the shore, waving a rag or something."

"You did!" cried Cousin Jasper, who, with the Bobbseys, was listening to this talk. "Then why in the world didn't you go on shore and get Jack? Why didn't you do that, Captain?"

"Because I couldn't," answered Captain Harrison. "A big storm was coming up, and I couldn't get near the place on account of the rocks. But I looked through my telescope, and I'm sure I saw a man -- or, as you say, maybe it was a boy -- running up and down on the shore of the island, waving something.

"When I found I couldn't get near the place, on account of the rocks and the big waves, I made up my mind to go back as soon as I could. But the storm kept up, and part of my motor engine broke, so I had to come back here to get it fixed.

"I just got in, after a lot of trouble, and the first bit of news I heard was that you were going to start off for this island to look for some one there. So I thought I'd tell you there is some one on the shore -- at least there was a week ago, when I saw the place."

The Bobbsey twins listened "with all their ears" to this talk, and they wondered what would happen next.

"Well, if Captain Harrison saw Jack there he must be alive," said Bert to Nan.

"Unless something happened to him afterward in the storm," remarked Nan.

"I wish we could hurry up and get him," said Freddie.

"Be quiet, children," whispered Mrs. Bobbsey. "Captain Crane wants to hear all that the other captain says."

"S-sh," hissed Flossie importantly.

"How long ago was this?" asked Captain Crane.

"About a week," answered Captain Harrison. "I had trouble getting back, so it was a week ago. I tried to see some other boat to send to the island to take off this lost boy, but I didn't meet any until I got here. Somebody on shore told me about you. Then I thought, as long as you are going there, I'd tell you what I saw."

"I'm glad you did," observed Cousin Jasper. "And I'm glad to know that Jack is well enough to be up and around -- or that he was when you saw him. We must go there as fast as we can now, and rescue him."

"Maybe some other boat stopped and took him off the island," said Captain Harrison.

"Well, maybe one did," agreed Cousin Jasper. "If so, that's all the better. But if Jack is still there we'll get him. Thank you, Captain Harrison."

Then the two motor boats started up again, one to go on to her dock at St. Augustine and the other -- the one with the Bobbsey twins on board -- heading for the deep blue sea which lay beyond.

"Do you think you can find Jack?" asked Freddie, as he stood beside Captain Crane, who was steering the Swallow.

"Well, yes, little fat fireman. I hope so," was the answer. "If Captain Harrison saw him running around the island, waving something for a flag, that shows he was alive, anyhow, and not sick, as he was when the folks took Mr. Dent off. So that's a good sign."

"But it was more than a week ago," said Mr. Bobbsey. "Of course we all hope he can be found, but we must hurry as fast as we can."

"That's right," said Cousin Jasper. "Make the boat go as fast as you can, Captain Crane."

"I will," answered the seaman. "You'll see how quickly my Swallow can skim over the waves."

Now that they were started on their voyage over the sea the Bobbsey twins had a good chance to get better acquainted with Cousin Jasper. There had been so much to do in getting ready for the trip and in leaving the hotel that they had hardly spoken to him, or he to them.

But now that they were all on board the motor boat, and there was nowhere else to go, and nothing to do, except to sit around on deck, or eat when the meal times came, there was a chance to see Cousin Jasper better and to talk with him more.

"I like him," said Freddie, as the four twins sat together under an awning out of the sun, and listened to the conversation of the older folk, who were talking about the news given them by Captain Harrison. "I like Cousin Jasper!"

"So do I. And he likes my rubber doll," said Flossie.

"What makes you think he likes your doll?" asked Nan, with a laugh at her little sister.

"'Cause when I dropped her on the floor in the cabin he picked her up for me and asked if she was hurt."

"You can't hurt a rubber doll!" exclaimed Freddie.

"I know you can't," said Flossie, "'ceptin' maybe when you pretend, and I wasn't doing that then. But Cousin Jasper brushed the dust off my doll, and he liked her."

"That was nice of him," said Bert. "I like Captain Crane, too. He's going to let me steer the boat, maybe, when we get out where there aren't any other ships for me to knock into."

"And he's going to let me run the engine -- maybe," added Freddie.

"Well, you'd better be careful how you run it," laughed Bert. "It's a good deal bigger than your fire engine."

So the Bobbsey twins talked about Cousin Jasper and Captain Crane, and they were sure they would like both men. As for Cousin Jasper, he really loved the little folk, and had a warm place in his heart for them, though he had not seen any of them since they were small babies.

On and on puffed the Swallow, over the deep blue sea, drawing nearer to the island where they hoped to find Jack Nelson.

"But it will take us some little time to get there, even if nothing happens," said Cousin Jasper, as they all sat down to dinner in the cabin a little later. The meal was a good one, and Nan and her mother were quite surprised that so much could be cooked in the little kitchen, or "galley," as Captain Crane called it, for on a ship that is the name of the kitchen.

One of the members of the crew was the cook, and he also helped about the boat, polishing the shiny brass rails, and doing other things, for there is as much work about a boat as there is about a house, as Nan's mother said to her.

"Yes, Mother, I can see that there is a lot of work to do around a boat like this, especially if they wish to keep it in really nice style," said Nan. "The sailors have to work just about as hard as the servants do around a house."

"Yes, my dear, and they have to work in all sorts of weather, too."

"Well, we have to work in the house even in bad weather."

"That's true. But the sailors on a boat often have to work outside on the deck when the weather is very rough."

"And that must be awfully dangerous," put in Bert.

"It does become dangerous at times, especially when there is a great storm on."

"Do you think we'll run into a storm on this trip?" Nan questioned.

"I'm sure I hope not!" answered the mother quickly. "To run into a big storm with such a small boat as this would be dangerous."

"Maybe we'd be wrecked and become regular Robinson Crusoes," said Bert.

"Oh, please, Bert! don't speak of such dreadful things!" said his mother.

"But that would be fun, Mother."

"Fun!"

"All right. We won't be wrecked then." And Bert and his mother both laughed.

After dinner the Bobbsey twins sat out on the deck, and watched the blue waves. For some little time they could look back and see the shores of Florida, and then, as the Swallow flew farther and farther away, the shores were only like a misty cloud, and then, a little longer, and they could not be seen at all.

"Now we are just as much at sea as when we were on the big ship coming from New York, aren't we?" Bert asked his father.

"Yes, just about," answered Mr. Bobbsey.

It was a little while after this that Mrs. Bobbsey, who had gone down to the staterooms, to get a book she had left there, heard Flossie crying.

"What's the matter, little fairy?" asked her mother, as she came up on deck.

"Oh, Mother, my nice rubber doll is gone, and Freddie took her and now he's gone," said Flossie.

"Freddie gone!" cried Mrs. Bobbsey. "What do you mean, Flossie? Where could Freddie go?"

"I don't know where he went. I guess he didn't go to look at any colored ladies with baskets on their heads, 'cause there aren't any here. But he went downstairs, where the engine is, and he took my doll with him. I saw him, and I hollered at him, but he wouldn't bring her back to me. Oh, I want my doll -- my nice rubber doll!" and Flossie cried real tears.

"I must find Freddie," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "I wonder where that boy could have gone this time?"




Chapter XIV

Freddie's Fish


Although she was a little worried about Freddie, Mrs. Bobbsey felt quite sure nothing very serious could happen to him. He would not go near enough the railing of the deck to fall over, for he and Flossie, as well as Bert and Nan, had promised not to do this while they were on the Swallow. And if the little boy had gone "downstairs," as Flossie said, he could be in no danger there.

"Even if he went to the motor room," thought Mrs. Bobbsey, "he could come to no harm, for there is a man there all the while looking after the engine. But I must find him."

Flossie was still sobbing a little, and looking about the deck as if, by some chance, her doll might still be there.

"Tell me how it happened, Flossie," said Mrs. Bobbsey.

Her husband was down in the cabin, talking to Captain Crane and Cousin Jasper. The cook was getting things ready for supper, one of the men was steering, and another was looking after the engine. Nan and Bert were up in the bow of the boat, watching the waves and an occasional seagull flying about, and Flossie was with her mother. The only one of her family Mrs. Bobbsey did not know about was Freddie.

"It happened this way," said Flossie. "I was playing up here with my rubber doll, making believe she was a princess, and I was putting a gold and diamond dress on her, when Freddie came up with a lot of string. I asked him what he was going to do, and he said he was going to fish, and he asked me if I had a piece of cookie."

"What did he want of a piece of cookie?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey.

"He wanted it to fasten on his line for bait for the fishes, he said," went on Flossie. "But I didn't have any cookie. I did have some before that, and so did Freddie. The cook gave them to us, but I did eat all my piece up and so did Freddie. So I didn't have any for his fishline."

"Then what happened?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey, as she started down the companionway to look for Freddie.

"Well, Freddie asked me to go and get some more cookie from the cook, and I did, 'cause I was hungry and I wanted to eat more. But I couldn't find the cook, and when I came back upstairs again, and outdoors -- here on deck, I mean -- I saw Freddie grab up my doll, and run down the other stairs."

"Oh, well, maybe he only took it in fun," said Mrs. Bobbsey, and she was not at all worried now, feeling sure Freddie was safe, though he might be in some sort of mischief.

"Anyhow he took my doll," Flossie went on. "And he wouldn't bring her back to me when I told him to. Then I -- I cried."

"Yes, I heard you," said her mother. "But you mustn't be such a baby, Flossie. Of course it wasn't right for Freddie to take your doll, but you shouldn't have cried about a little thing like that. I'll tell him he mustn't plague you."

"But, Mother! he was going to throw my doll into the ocean, I'm sure he was."

"Oh, no, Flossie! Freddie wouldn't do a thing like that!"

"But I saw him tying a string to her, and I'm sure he was going to throw her into the ocean."

"Well, then he could pull her out again."

"Yes, but I don't want my doll in the ocean. The ocean is salty, and if salty water gets in her eyes it might spoil them."

Mrs. Bobbsey wanted to laugh, but she did not dare, for that would have made Flossie feel worse than ever.

"What makes you think Freddie was going to toss your doll into the ocean?" asked Flossie's mother.

"'Cause, before that he wanted me to do it to give her a bath. He had a long string and he said, 'let's tie it to the rubber doll and let her swim in the ocean.'"

"No, he mustn't do that, of course," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "And I'll tell him so when I find him. But perhaps he didn't do it, Flossie."

"Oh, yes he did!" said the little girl. "When he ran downstairs with my doll, and wouldn't come back when I hollered at him, he was tying a string on her then. Oh, dear!"

"Never mind! I'll get your doll back," Mrs. Bobbsey said. "But first we must find Freddie."

"He went down those stairs," said Flossie, pointing to a flight that led to the motor room, where the engine was chug-chugging away, sending the Swallow over the waves. "He went down there."

The engine room of the motor boat was a clean place, not like the engine room on a steamboat, filled with coal dust and a lot of machinery, and Mrs. Bobbsey knew it would be all right for her and Flossie to go down there and see what Freddie was doing.

"Now don't cry any more," Flossie's mother told her, giving the little girl a handkerchief on which to dry her tears. "We'll get your doll back, and I'll have to scold Freddie a little, I think."

"Maybe you can't find him," said Flossie.

"Oh, yes I can," her mother declared.

"You can't find him if he is hiding away."

"I don't think he will dare hide if he hears me calling him."

"Maybe he will if he's got my doll," pouted Flossie.

"Now, Flossie, you mustn't talk that way. I don't believe Freddie meant to be naughty. He was only heedless."

"Well, I want my doll!"

It was no easy matter for little Flossie to get down into the engine room of the motor boat. The little iron stairway was very steep, and the steps seemed to be very far apart.

"Let me help you, Flossie," said her mother. "I don't want you to fall and get yourself dirty."

"Oh, Mother, it isn't a bit dirty down here!" the little girl returned. "Why, it's just as clean as it can be!"

"Still, there may be some oil around."

"I'll be very careful. But please let me go down all by myself," answered the little girl.

She was getting at that age now when she liked to do a great many things for herself. Often when there was a muddy place to cross in the street, instead of taking hold of somebody's hand Flossie would make a leap across the muddy place by herself.

Knowing how much her little girl was disturbed over the loss of her doll, Mrs. Bobbsey, at this time, allowed her to have her own way. And slowly and carefully the stout little girl lowered herself from one step of the iron ladder to the next until she stood on the floor of the engine room.

"Now, I got down all right, didn't I?" she remarked triumphantly.

"Yes, my dear, you came down very nicely," the mother answered.

Down in the engine room a man was oiling the machinery. He looked up as Mrs. Bobbsey and Flossie came down the stairs.

"Have you seen my little boy?" asked Freddie's mother. "My little girl says he came down here."

"So he did," answered the engineer. "I asked him if he was coming to help me run the boat, and he said he would a little later. He had something else to do now, it seems."

"What?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey.

"Well, he said he wanted to go fishing. And as I knew you wouldn't want him leaning over the rail I showed him where he could fish out of one of the portholes of the storeroom. A porthole is one of the round windows," the engineer said, so Flossie would know what he was talking about. "I opened one of the ports for him, and said he could drop his line out of that. Then he couldn't come to any harm."

"Did he have a line?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey.

"Yes, a good, strong one. I guess he must have got it off Captain Crane. He's a fisherman himself, the captain is, and he has lots of hooks and lines on board."

"Oh, I hope Freddie didn't have a hook!" cried Mrs. Bobbsey.

"No'm," answered the engineer. "I didn't see any, and I don't think he did have any. He just had a long string, and I thought all he was going to do was to dangle it out of the porthole in the storeroom. He couldn't come to any harm there, I knew, and I could keep my eye on him once in a while."

"Did he have my rubber doll?" asked Flossie.

"I didn't see any doll," answered the engineer. "But he's in there now," he went on. "You can ask him yourself."

Looking out of the engine room, Freddie could be seen farther back in the motor boat, in a place where boxes and barrels of food, and things for the boat, were kept. One of the side ports was open, and Freddie's head was stuck out of this, so he could not see his mother and Flossie and the engineer looking at him.

"Well, I'm glad he's all right," said Mrs. Bobbsey with a sigh of relief. "Thank you for looking after him."

"Oh, I like children," said the man with a smile. "I have some little ones of my own at home."

Mrs. Bobbsey and Flossie went into the storeroom. Freddie did not hear them, for his head was still out of the round window. There was no danger of his falling out, for he could not have got his shoulders through, so Mrs. Bobbsey was not frightened, even though the little boy was leaning right over deep water, through which the Swallow was gliding.

"Oh, where is my doll?" asked Flossie, looking about and not seeing it. "I want my rubber doll!"

"I'll ask Freddie," said Mrs. Bobbsey, and then, in a louder voice, she called:

"Freddie! Freddie! Where is Flossie's doll? You mustn't take it away from her. I shall have to punish you for this!"

For a moment it seemed as if the little boy had not heard what his mother had said. Then, when she called him again, he pulled his head in from the porthole and whispered:

"Please don't make a noise, Mother! I'm fishing, and a noise always scares the fish away!"

"But, Freddie, fishing or not, you mustn't take Flossie's playthings," his mother went on.

Freddie did not answer for a moment. He had wound around his hand part of a heavy cord, which Mrs. Bobbsey knew was a line used to catch big fish. Freddie was really trying to catch something, it seemed.

"Is there a hook on that line?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey, fearing, after all, that her little boy might have found one.

"Oh, no, Mother, there's no hook," Freddie answered. "I just tied on --  -- " And then a queer look came over his face. His hand, with the line wound around it, was jerked toward the open porthole and the little boy cried:

"Oh, I got a fish! I got a fish! I got a big fish!"




Chapter XV

"Land Ho!"


Mrs. Bobbsey at first did not know whether Freddie was playing some of his make-believe games, or whether he really had caught a fish. Certainly something seemed to be pulling on the line he held out of the porthole, but then, his mother thought, it might have caught on something, as fishlines often do get caught.

"I've caught a fish! I've caught a fish!" Freddie cried again. "Oh, please somebody come and help me pull it in!"

Flossie was so excited -- almost as much as was her brother -- that she forgot all about her lost doll.

"Have you really caught a fish?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey.

"I really have! I guess maybe it's a shark or a whale, it's so big, and it pulls so hard!" cried Freddie.

And, really, the line that was wound around his hand was pulled so tight, and stretched so hard, where it went out of the hole and down into the ocean, that Freddie could not lower his fist.

"Oh, Freddie!" cried his mother. "If you have caught a fish it may cut your fingers by jerking on that line."

"Well, I -- I caught something!" Freddie said. "Please somebody get it off my line. And hurry, please!"

By this time Nan and Bert had run down into the storeroom. They saw what was going on.

"Are you sure you haven't caught another hat?" asked Bert, as he remembered what had once happened to his little brother.

"It doesn't pull like a hat," Freddie answered. "It's a real fish."

"I believe he has caught something," said Mr. Chase, the engineer, as he ran in from the motor room. "Yes, it's either a fish or a turtle," he added as he caught hold of the line and took some of the pull off Freddie's hand. "Unwind that cord from your fingers," he told the little boy. "I'll take care of your fish -- if you really have one."

"Could it be a turtle?" asked Nan.

"Yes, there are lots of 'em in these waters," the engineer said. "But I never knew one of 'em to bite on just a piece of string before, without even a hook or a bit of bait on it."

"Oh, I got something on my line for bait," Freddie answered.

But no one paid any attention to him just then, for the engineer, gently thrusting the little boy aside, looked from the porthole himself, and what he saw made him cry:

"The little lad has caught something all right. Would you mind running up on deck and telling Captain Crane your brother has caught something," said Mr. Chase to Bert. "And tell him, if he wants to get it aboard he'd better tell one of the men to stand by with a long-handled net. I think it's a turtle or a big fish, and it'll be good to eat whatever it is -- unless it's a shark, and some folks eat them nowadays."

"Oh, I don't want to catch a shark!" exclaimed Freddie.

"It's already caught, whatever it is," said Mr. Chase, "It seems to be well hooked, too, whatever you used on the end of your line."

"I tied on a --  -- " began Freddie, but, once again, no one paid attention to what he said, for the fish, or whatever it was on the end of the line, began to squirm in the water, "squiggle" Freddie called it afterward -- and the engineer had to hold tightly to the line.

"Please hurry and tell the captain to reach the net overboard and pull this fish in," begged Mr. Chase of Bert. "I'd pull it in through the porthole, but I'm afraid it will get off if I try."

All this while the Swallow was moving slowly along through the blue waters of the deep sea, for when the engineer had run in to see what Freddie had caught he had shut down the motor so that it moved at a quarter speed.

Up on deck ran Bert, to find his father and Captain Crane there talking with Cousin Jasper.

"What is it, Bert?" asked Mr. Bobbsey.

"Oh, will you please get out a net, Captain!" cried Nan's brother. "Freddie has caught a big fish through the porthole and the engineer -- Mr. Chase -- is holding it now, and he can't pull it in, and will you do it with a net?"

"My! that's a funny thing to have happen!" said Mr. Bobbsey.

"I'll get the net!" cried Captain Crane. "If your brother has really caught a fish or a turtle we can have it for dinner. I wouldn't be surprised if it was a turtle," said the captain to Bert's father. "There are plenty around where we are sailing now, and they'll sometimes bite on a bare hook, though they like something to eat better. What bait did Freddie use?" he asked.

"I don't know," Bert answered.

By this time Captain Crane had found a large net, which had a long handle fast to it, and also a rope, so that if the fish were so large that the handle should break in lifting it from the water, the rope would hold.

With the net ready to dip down into the water, Captain Crane ran along the deck until he stood above the porthole, out of which ran the line. The fish, or whatever it was, was still fast to the other end of the strong cord.

"Haul it up as close as you can to the side of the boat!" called the captain to the engineer, who thrust his head partly out of the round hole. "Then I'll scoop it up in the net. Watch out he doesn't get off the hook."

"That's the trouble," said the engineer. "I don't believe Freddie used a hook. But we'll soon see."

Up on the deck of the Swallow, as well as down in the storeroom, where Freddie, his mother and the others were watching, there was an anxious moment. They all wanted to see what it was the little boy had caught.

"Here we go, now!" cried Captain Crane, as he lowered the long-handled net into the water near the cord. The captain held to the wooden handle, and Mr. Bobbsey had hold of the rope.

Through the porthole Mr. Chase pulled on the cord until he had brought the flapping, struggling captive close to the side of the motor boat. Then, with a sudden scoop, Captain Crane slipped the net under it.

"Now pull!" he cried, and both he and Mr. Bobbsey did this.

Up out of the blue sea rose something in the net. And as the sun shone on the glistening sides Freddie, peering from the porthole beside the engineer, cried:

"Oh, it's a fish! It's a big fish!"

And indeed it was, a flapping fish, of large size, the silver scales of which shone brightly in the sun.

"Pull!" cried the captain to Mr. Bobbsey, and a few seconds later the fish lay flapping on deck.

Up from below came Freddie, greatly excited, followed by his mother, Nan, Flossie and Mr. Chase, Flossie chanting loudly: "Freddie caught a fish! Freddie caught a fish!"

"Didn't I tell you I caught a fish?" cried the little boy, his blue eyes shining with excitement.

"You certainly did," his father answered. "But how did you do it, little fat fireman?"

"Well, Captain Crane gave me the fishline," Freddie answered.

"Yes, I did," the captain said. "He begged me for one and I let him take it. I didn't think he could do any harm, as I didn't let him take any sharp hooks -- or any hooks, in fact."

"If he didn't have his line baited, or a hook on it, I don't see how he caught anything," said the engineer.

"I did have something on my line," Freddie exclaimed. "I had -- I had --  -- "

But just then Flossie, who had been forgotten in the excitement, burst out with:

"Where's my doll, Freddie Bobbsey? Where's my nice rubber doll that you took? I want her! Where is she?"

"I -- I guess the fish swallowed her," Freddie answered.

"The fish!" cried all the others.

"Yes. You see I tied the rubber doll on the end of the line 'stid of a hook," the little boy added. "I knew I had to have something for to bait the fish, so they'd bite, so I tied Flossie's doll on. The fish couldn't hurt it much," he went on. "'Cause once Snap had your rubber doll in his mouth, Flossie, and she wasn't hurt a bit."

"And is my doll in the fish now?" the little girl demanded, not quite sure whether or not she ought to cry.

"I guess it swallowed the doll," returned Freddie. "Anyhow the doll was on the end of the string, and now the string is in the fish's mouth. But maybe you can get your doll back, Flossie, when the fish is cooked."

Captain Crane bent over the fish, which was flopping about on deck.

"It has swallowed the end of the line, and, I suppose, whatever was fast on the cord," he said. "If it was Flossie's doll, that is now inside the fish."

"And can you get it out?" asked Bert.

"Oh, yes, when we cut the fish open to clean it ready to cook, we can get the doll."

"Is that fish good to eat?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey.

"Very good indeed. It's one of our best kind," the captain said. "Freddie is a better fisherman than he knew."

And the little Bobbsey twin had really caught a fish. Just why it was the fish had bit on the line baited with Flossie's rubber doll, no one knew. But Captain Crane said that sometimes the fish get so hungry they will almost bite on a bare hook, and are caught that way.

This fish of Freddie's was so large that it had swallowed the doll, which was tied fast on the end of the line, and once the doll was in its stomach the fish could not get loose from the heavy cord.

"But you mustn't take Flossie's doll for fish-bait again," said Mrs. Bobbsey.

"No'm, I won't!" Freddie promised. "But now maybe I can have a real hook and bait."

"Well, we'll see about that," said Mr. Bobbsey with a smile.

The line was cut, close to the mouth of the big fish, which weighed about fifteen pounds, and then Freddie's prize was taken by the cook down to the galley, or kitchen. A little later the cook brought back Flossie's rubber doll, cleanly washed, and with the piece of string still tied around its waist.

"Is she hurt?" asked Flossie, for her doll was very real to the little girl, since she often pretended she was alive.

"No, she's all right -- not even a pinhole in her," said Mr. Bobbsey. "There are a few marks of the teeth of the fish, where it grabbed your rubber doll, but she was swallowed whole, like Jonah and the whale, so no harm was done."

"I'm glad," said the little girl, as she cuddled her plaything, so strangely given back to her. "And don't you dare take her for fish-bait again, Freddie Bobbsey."

"No, Flossie, I won't," he said. "I'll use real bait after this."

"But you mustn't do any more fishing without telling me or your mother," cautioned Mr. Bobbsey. "You might have been pulled overboard by this one."

"Oh, no, I couldn't," Freddie declared. "Only my head could go through the porthole."

"Well, don't do it again," his father warned him, and the little boy promised that he would not.

The fish was cooked for supper, and very good it was, too. Flossie and Freddie ate some and Flossie pretended to feed her doll a little, though of course the doll didn't really chew.

"The fish tried to eat you, and now you can eat some of the fish," Flossie said, with a laugh.

The Bobbsey twins wanted to stay up late that night, and watch the moonlight on the water, but their mother, after letting them sit on deck a little while, said it would be best for them to "turn in," as the sailors call going to bed. They had been up early, and the first day of their new voyage at sea had been a long one.

So down to their berths they went and were soon ready for bed.

"My, we had a lot of things happen to-day!" remarked Flossie.

"Well, I'm sorry I took the doll, but I'm awful glad I caught that great big fish," answered Freddy.

"But you're never going to take her for fish bait again, Freddie Bobbsey!" repeated his twin.

"I didn't say I was. I guess the next time I want to go fishing I'll get a regular piece of meat from the cook."

"Children, children! It's time to go to sleep now," broke in their mother. "Remember, you'll want to be up bright and early to-morrow."

"If I don't wake up, you call me, please," cried Freddie; and then he turned over and in a few minutes was sound asleep, and soon the others followed.

The next day passed. The children had fun on board the motor boat, and the older folks read and talked, among other things, of how glad they would be to rescue Jack from the lonely island. The following day it rained hard, and the four twins had to stay in the cabin most of the time. But they found plenty to amuse them.

The third morning, as they came up on deck, the sun was shining, and one of the men was looking at something through a telescope.

"Does he see another fish, or maybe a whale or a shark?" asked Freddie.

The sailor answered for himself, though he was really speaking to Captain Crane, who was at the steering wheel.

"Land ho!" cried the sailor.

"Where away?" asked the captain.

"Dead ahead!" went on the sailor.

That is the way they talk on board a ship and it means:

"I see some land."

"Where is it?"

"Straight ahead."

The Bobbsey twins looked, but all they could see was a faint speck, far out in the deep, blue sea.

"Is that land?" asked Nan.

"Yes, it's an island," answered Captain Crane.

"Oh, maybe it's the island where Jack is!" Bert cried.

"Perhaps," said Captain Crane. "We'll soon know, for it is not many miles away, though it looks far off on account of the fog and mist. We'll soon be there."

He was just going to ring the bell, giving a signal to the engineer to make the boat go faster when, all at once, Mr. Chase, who had helped Freddie catch the fish, came hurrying up out of the motor room.

"Captain!" he cried. "We'll have to slow down! One of the motors is broken! We'll have to stop!"

This was bad news to the Bobbsey twins.




Chapter XVI

Under The Palms


Cousin Jasper, who had been talking to Mr. Bobbsey, walked along the deck with the children's father until he stood near Captain Crane, who was now looking through the telescope, across the deep, blue sea, at the speck which, it was said, was an island.

"What's the matter?" asked Mr. Dent. "Why are we stopping, Captain Crane?"

"Because one of our motors is broken, Mr. Dent. But don't let that worry you. We have two, or, rather, a double motor, and if we can't go with one we can with the other. It's like a little boy or girl, when they break one of their roller skates," he went on, looking at Flossie and Freddie.

"If they can't skate on two skates they can push themselves around on one skate," said the captain. "And that's what we'll have to do. But, Mr. Chase, you think you can mend the broken engine easily enough, don't you?" he asked the man who had helped Freddie hold on to the big fish.

"Oh, yes," answered the engineer. "We can easily fix the broken motor. But it will take a day or so, and we ought to be in some quiet place where the waves won't rock us so hard if a storm comes up. So why not go to this island that we see over there?" and he pointed to the speck in the ocean. "Maybe there is a little bay there where the Swallow can rest while my men and I fix the engine."

"That's a good idea," said Captain Crane. "Can you run to the island?"

"Oh, yes, if we go slowly."

"What's that?" cried Cousin Jasper. "Is there an island around here?"

"The sailor who was looking through his telescope just saw one," returned Captain Crane. "I was going to tell you about it when Mr. Chase spoke to me about the broken engine. There is the island; you can see it quite plainly with the glass," and he handed the spy-glass to Cousin Jasper.

"Maybe it's the island where that boy is," said Flossie to her father.

"Maybe," agreed Mr. Bobbsey.

"I hardly think it is," said Mr. Dent, as he put the telescope to his eye. "The island where we were wrecked is farther away than this, and this one is smaller and has more trees on it than the one where poor Jack and I landed. I do not think this is the place we want, but we can go there to fix the engine, and then travel on farther."

"Can we really land on the island?" asked Freddie.

"Yes, you may go ashore there," the captain said. "We shall probably have to stay there two or three days."

"Oh, what fun we can have, playing on the island!" cried Flossie.

"We'll pretend we're Robinson Crusoe," said her little brother. "Come on, Flossie, let's go and tell Nan and Bert!"

And while the two younger Bobbsey twins ran to tell their older brother and sister, Mr. and Mrs. Bobbsey, Cousin Jasper and Captain Crane took turns looking through the glass at the island, which was about five miles away.

"It is not the island where I was," said Cousin Jasper again. "But it looks like a good place to stay while the engines of the Swallow are being mended. So we'll go there, Captain!"

"All right," Captain Crane answered. "We'll have to go a little slow, but we'll be there in plenty of time."

Once more the motor boat started off, not going as fast as at first, but the Bobbsey twins did not mind this a bit, as they were thinking what fun they would have on the island so far out at sea, and they stood at the rail watching it as it appeared to grow larger the nearer the boat came to it.

"We're coming up pretty fast, aren't we?" remarked Freddie.

"Not as fast as we might come," answered Bert. "However, we've got lots of time, just as Captain Crane said."

"Is it a really and truly Robinson Crusoe place?" questioned Flossie.

"I guess we'll find out about that a little later," answered her sister.

"I can see the trees now!" exclaimed Freddie presently.

"So can I," answered his twin.

At last the anchor was dropped in a little bay, which would be sheltered from storms, and then the small boat was lowered so that those who wished might go ashore.

"Oh, what lovely palm trees!" exclaimed Nan, as she saw the beautiful branches near the edge of the island, waving in the gentle breeze.

"They are wonderful," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "The whole island is covered with them."

"Do palm leaf fans grow on these trees, Mother?" asked Freddie as they were being rowed ashore by one of the sailors.

"Well, yes, I suppose they could make palm leaf fans from some of the branches of these palm trees," Mrs. Bobbsey said. "And shall we call this Palm Island? That is, unless it has some other name?" she asked Captain Crane.

"No, I hardly think it has," he answered. "I was never here before, though I have been on many of the little islands in this part of the sea. So we can call this Palm Island, if you like."

"It will be a lovely place to stay," stated Nan. "I just love to sit under a tree, and look at the waves and the white sand."

"I'm going in swimming!" declared Bert. "It's awful hot, and a good swim will cool me off."

"Don't go in until we take a look and see if there are any sharks or big fish around," his father warned him. "Remember we are down South, where the water of the ocean is warm, and sharks like warm water. This is not like it was at Uncle William's at Ocean Cliff. So, remember, children, don't go in the water unless your mother, or some of the grown people, are with you."

The children promised they would not, and a little later the rowboat grated on the sandy shore and they all got out on the beach of Palm Island.

"Then this isn't the place where you were wrecked with Jack?" asked Mr. Bobbsey of Cousin Jasper.

"No; it isn't the same place at all. It is a beautiful island, though; much nicer than the one where I was."

"I wonder if any one lives on it," said Mrs. Bobbsey.

"I think not," answered Captain Crane. "Most of these islands are too small for people to live on for any length of time, though fishermen might camp out on them for a week or so. However, this will be a good place for us to stay while the engines are being fixed."

"Can we sleep here at night?" asked Bert, who wanted very much to do as he had read of Robinson Crusoe doing.

"Well, no, I hardly think you could sleep here at night," said Captain Crane. "We may not be here more than two days, and it wouldn't be wise to get out the camping things for such a little while. Then, too, a storm might come up, and we would have to move the boat. You can spend the days on Palm Island and sleep on the Swallow."

"Well, that will be fun!" said Nan.

"Lots of fun," agreed Bert. "And please, Daddy, can't we go in swimming?"

It was a hot day, and as Captain Crane said there would be no danger from sharks if the children kept near shore, their bathing garments were brought from the boat, and soon Bert and Nan, and Flossie and Freddie, were splashing about in the warm sun-lit waters on the beach of Palm Island.

Mr. and Mrs. Bobbsey were sitting in the shade watching them, while the men on the boat were working at the broken engine, when suddenly Flossie, who had come out of the water to sit on the sand, set up a cry.

"Oh, it's got hold of me!" she shouted. "Come quick, Daddy! Mother! It's got hold of my dress and it's pulling!"

Mr. and Mrs. Bobbsey jumped up and ran down the beach toward the little girl.




Chapter XVII

A Queer Nest


Nan and Bert, who, with Freddie, were splashing out in the water a little way from where Flossie sat on the beach, heard the cries of the little girl and hurried to her. But Mr. and Mrs. Bobbsey were the first to reach Flossie.

"What is it?" asked Mr. Bobbsey.

"What's the matter?" asked Flossie's mother.

"Oh, he's pulling me! He's pulling me!" answered the little girl.

And, surely enough, something behind her, which Mr. and Mrs. Bobbsey could not see, did appear to have hold of the little short skirt of the bathing suit Flossie wore.

"Can it be a little dog playing with her?" asked Mr. Bobbsey.

"We'd hear him bark if it was," his wife answered. "And I don't believe there are any dogs on this island."

Flossie was trying to pull away from whatever had hold of her, and the little girl was having a hard time of it. Her bare feet dug in the white sand, and she leaned forward, just as she would have done if a dog had had hold of her short skirt from behind.

Mr. Bobbsey, running fast, caught Flossie in his arms, and when he saw what was behind her he gave a loud shout.

"It's a turtle!" he cried. "A great, big turtle, and it took a bite out of your dress, Flossie girl!"

"Will it bite me?" asked the little "fairy."

"Not now!" the twins' father answered with a laugh. "There, I'll get you loose from him!"

Mr. Bobbsey gave a hard pull on Flossie's bathing suit skirt. There was a sound of tearing cloth and then Mr. Bobbsey could lift his little girl high in his arms. As he did so Mrs. Bobbsey, who hurried up just then, saw on the beach behind Flossie a great, big turtle, and in its mouth, which looked something like that of a parrot, was a piece of the bathing skirt. Mr. Bobbsey had torn it loose.

"Oh, if he had bitten you instead of your dress!" cried Mrs. Bobbsey. "Flossie, are you hurt?"

"No, she isn't hurt a bit," her father said. "But of course it is a good thing that the turtle did not bite her. How did it happen, Flossie?"

"Well, I was resting here, after I tried to swim," answered the little girl, for she was learning to swim; "and, all of a sudden, I wanted to get up, for Freddie called me to come and see how he could float. But I couldn't get up. This mud turkle had hold of me."

"It isn't a mud turtle," said Mr. Bobbsey. "But it certainly had hold of you."

Just then Cousin Jasper came along and saw the turtle crawling back toward the water.

"Ha! I'll stop that and we'll have some turtle soup for dinner to-morrow!" he cried. "Not so fast, Mr. Turtle!"

With that Cousin Jasper turned the turtle over on its back, and there the big creature lay, moving its flippers, which it had instead of legs. They were broad and flat.

"Won't it bite you?" asked Freddie, who, with Nan and Bert, had waded ashore.

"Not if I don't put my hand too near its mouth," Cousin Jasper answered. "If I did that it would take hold of me, as it took hold of Flossie's dress. But I'm not going to let it. Did the turtle scare you, little fat fairy?"

"I -- I guess it did," she answered. "Anyhow I hollered."

"You certainly did," her father said with a laugh. "At least, you hallooed."

"What are you going to do with it?" asked Bert, as he watched the big turtle, which still had hold of the piece torn from Flossie's bathing skirt.

"We'll eat him -- that is part of him, made into soup," answered Cousin Jasper.

"Can't he get away?" Nan inquired.

"Not when he's on his back," said Mr. Dent. "That's how the people down here catch turtles. They go out on the beach, and when any of the crawling creatures are seen, they are turned over as soon as possible. There they stay until they can be picked up and put into a boat to be taken to the mainland and sold."

"Can they bite hard?" asked Bert.

"Pretty hard, yes. See what a hold it has of Flossie's dress. I had to tear it to get it loose," returned Mr. Bobbsey. And the turtle still held in his mouth, which was like the beak of a parrot, a piece of the cloth.

"He looks funny," put in Nan. "But I feel sorry for him."

Bert and Freddie laughed at Nan for this.

"The turtle must have been crawling along the beach, to go back into the ocean for a swim," said Cousin Jasper, "and it ran right into Flossie as she sat on the sand. Then, not knowing just what sort of danger was near, the turtle bit on the first thing it saw, which was Flossie's dress."

"And it held on awful tight," said the little girl. "It was just like, sometimes, when our dog Snap takes hold of a stick and pulls it away from you. At first I thought it was Snap."

"Snap couldn't swim away down here from Lakeport!" said Freddie, with some scorn.

"I know he couldn't!" said his little sister. "But only at first I thought it was Snap. Are there any more turkles here, Cousin Jasper?"

"Well, yes, a great many, I suppose. They come up out of the sea now and then to lie on the sand in the sun. But I don't believe any more of them will take hold of you. Just look around before you sit down, and you'll be all right."

"My, he's a big one!" cried Bert, as he looked at the wiggling creature turned on its back.

"Oh, that isn't half the size of some," said Cousin Jasper. "They often get to weigh many hundreds of pounds. But this one is large enough to make plenty of soup for us. I'll tell Captain Crane to send the men over to get it."

A little later the turtle was taken on board the Swallow in the boat, and the cook got it ready for soup.

"And I think he'll make very good soup, indeed," said the cook.

"He certainly ought to make good soup," answered Captain Crane. "It will be nice and fresh, if nothing else."

While Mr. Chase and his men were mending the broken engine, and the cook was making turtle soup, the Bobbsey twins, with their father and mother and Cousin Jasper, stayed on Palm Island. They walked along the shore, under the shady trees, and watched the blue waves break up on the white sand. Overhead, birds wheeled and flew about, sometimes dashing down into the water with a splash to catch a fish or get something else to eat.

"It's getting near dinner time," said Mr. Bobbsey, after a while. "I guess you children had better get ready to go back to the boat for a meal. You must be hungry."

"I am," answered Nan. "It always makes me hungry to go in swimming."

"I'm hungry anyhow, even if I don't go in swimming," Bert said.

"Perhaps we could have a little lunch here, on Palm Island, without going back to the Swallow," Mrs. Bobbsey suggested.

"Oh, that would be fun!" cried Nan.

"Daddy and I'll go to the ship in the boat and get the things to eat," proposed Bert. "Then we'll bring 'em here and have a picnic."

"Yes, we might do that," Mr. Bobbsey agreed. "It will save work for the cook, who must be busy with that turtle. We'll go and get the things for an island picnic."

"This is almost like the time we were on Blueberry Island," said Nan, when her father and brother had rowed back to the Swallow.

"Only there isn't any cave," Freddie said.

"Maybe there is," returned Nan. "We haven't looked around yet. Maybe we might find a cave here; mightn't we, Mother?"

"Oh, yes, you might. But don't go looking for one. I don't want you to get lost here. We must all stay together."

In a little while Bert and Mr. Bobbsey came back with baskets filled with good things to eat. They were spread out on a cloth on the clean sand, not far from where the waves broke on the beach, and then, under the waving palms, the picnic was held, Captain Crane and Cousin Jasper having a share in it. On the Swallow the men still worked to mend the broken engine.

"How long shall we be here?" Mr. Bobbsey asked.

"About two days more," answered Captain Crane. "It will take longer than we at first thought to fix the break."

"Oh, I'm sorry about that!" exclaimed Cousin Jasper. "I wanted to get to the other island as soon as we could, and save Jack. It must be very lonesome for him there, and perhaps he is hurt, or has become ill. I wish we could get to him."

"We'll go there as soon as we can," promised Captain Crane. "I am as anxious to get that poor boy as you are, Mr. Dent. At the same time I hope he has, before this, been taken off the island by some other boat that may have seen him waving to them."

"I hope so, too," said Mr. Dent. "Still I would feel better if we were at the other island and had Jack safe with us."

They all felt sorry for the poor boy, and wondered what he was doing just then.

"I hope he has something as good to eat as we have." Nan spoke with a sigh of satisfaction.

"Indeed, this is a very nice meal, for a picnic," said her mother. "We ought to be very thankful to Cousin Jasper for taking us on such a nice voyage."

"I am glad you like it," returned Mr. Dent. "All the while I was in the hospital, as soon as I was able to think, my thoughts were with this poor boy.

"I tried to get the hospital people to send a boat to rescue Jack; but they said he could not be on the island, or the sailors who brought me off would have seen him. Then they thought I was out of my head with illness, and paid little attention to me.

"Then I thought of you, Dick, and I wrote to you. I knew you liked traveling about, and especially when it was to help some one."

"Indeed I do," said the father of the Bobbsey twins. "And if all goes well we'll soon rescue Jack!"

After the picnic lunch the Bobbseys and their friends sat in the shade of the palms and talked over what had so far happened on the voyage. Flossie and Freddie wandered down the beach, and the little girl was showing her brother where she sat when the turtle grabbed her dress.

"Let's dig a hole in the sand," Freddie said, a little later.

"We haven't any shovels," Flossie answered.

"We can take shells," said Freddie.

Soon the two little twins were having fun in the sand of the beach. They had not been digging very long when Freddie gave a shout.

"Oh, I hope nothing more has happened!" exclaimed Mrs. Bobbsey, starting up.

"What is it, Freddie?" called Mr. Bobbsey.

"Look at the funny nest we found!" answered the little boy. "It's a funny nest in the sand, and it's got a lot of chicken's eggs in it! Come and look!"




Chapter XVIII

The "Swallow" Is Gone


"What is the child saying?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey of her husband, for she did not hear all that Freddie said.

"He's calling about having found a hen's nest," Mr. Bobbsey answered, "but he must be mistaken. There can't be any chickens on this island."

"Maybe there are," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "Perhaps, after all, some one lives here, on the other side where we haven't been. And they may keep chickens."

"Oh, no," answered her husband.

"I hardly think so," said Cousin Jasper. "But we'll go to look at what Freddie has found."

Mr. and Mrs. Bobbsey, with Cousin Jasper, followed by Bert and Nan, hurried down the beach to Flossie and Freddie, standing beside a hole they had dug in the sand. The children were looking down into it.

"I busted one egg with my clam-shell shovel," Freddie was saying, "but there's a lot left."

"They were all covered with sand," added Flossie. "And we dug 'em up! Didn't we, Freddie? We dug up the chickie's nest!"

"But we didn't see any chickens," said the little boy.

"And for a very good reason," stated Cousin Jasper with a laugh, as he looked down into the little sand pit. "Those are the eggs of a turtle. Perhaps the very turtle that had hold of your dress, Flossie."

"Do turtles lay eggs?" asked Freddie in surprise.

"Indeed they do," said Cousin Jasper.

"O-o-oh!" gasped Flossie.

"And the turtle's eggs are good to eat, too. They are not quite as nice as the eggs of a hen, but lots of people, especially those who live on some of these islands, like them very much," went on Mr. Dent.

"Does a turkle lay its eggs in a nest like a hen?" Flossie questioned. "What made them all be covered up?"

"Well," answered Cousin Jasper, as they all looked at the eggs in the sand, "a turtle lays eggs like a hen, but she cannot hover over them, and hatch them, as a hen can, because a turtle has no warm feathers. You know it takes warmth and heat to make an egg hatch. And, as a turtle isn't warm enough to do that, she lays her eggs in the warm sand, and covers them up. The heat of the sun, and the warm sand soon hatch the little turtles out of the eggs."

"Would turtles come out of these eggs?" asked Nan.

"Really, truly?" added Flossie.

"Just as surely as little chickens come out of hen's eggs," answered Cousin Jasper. "But they must be kept warm."

"Then we'd better cover 'em up again!" exclaimed Freddie. "We found the turtle's eggs when we were digging in the sand -- Flossie and me. And I didn't know they were there and I busted one of the eggs. First I thought they were white stones, but when I busted one, and the white and yellow came out, I found they were eggs."

"And the shells aren't hard," said Mrs. Bobbsey, as she leaned over the hole and touched the queer eggs in the sand-nest. "The shells are like the shell of a soft egg a hen sometimes lays."

"Except that the shells, or rather, skins, of these eggs are thicker than those of a chicken," explained Cousin Jasper. "These egg-skins are like a piece of leather. If they were hard, like the eggs of a hen, perhaps the little turtles could not break their way out, as a turtle, though it can give a hard bite, has no pointed beak to pick a hole in the shell."

"Well, you have made quite a discovery," said Mr. Bobbsey to the little twins. "Better cover the eggs up now, so the little turtles in them will not get cold and die."

"Are there turtles in them now?" asked Freddie.

"No, these eggs must be newly laid," Cousin Jasper said. "But if they are kept warm long enough the little turtles will come to life in them and break their way out. Would you like some to eat?" he asked Mr. Bobbsey.

The father of the twins shook his head.

"I don't believe I care for any," he answered. "I'm not very fond of eggs, anyhow, and I'll wait until we can find some that feathered chickens lay."

"Well, I'll take a few for myself, and I know Captain Crane likes them," said Cousin Jasper. "The rest we will leave to be hatched by the warm sun."

Mr. Dent took some of the eggs out in his hat, and then Flossie and Freddie covered the rest with sand again.

"We'll dig in another place, so we won't burst any more turtle's eggs," said the little boy, as he walked down the beach with Flossie, each one carrying a clam shell.

It was so nice on Palm Island that Mrs. Bobbsey said they would have supper there, before going back on board the Swallow to spend the night. So more things to eat were brought off in the small boat, and, as the sun was sinking down in the west, turning the blue waves of the sea to a golden color, the travelers sat on the beach and ate.

"Maybe we could build a little campfire here and stay for a while after dark," suggested Bert, who felt that he was getting to be quite a large boy now.

"Oh, no indeed! We won't stay here after dark!" cried Mrs. Bobbsey. "Snakes and turtles and all sorts of things might crawl up out of the ocean and walk all around us on the beach. As soon as it gets dark we'll go back to the ship."

"Yes, I think that would be best," said Mr. Bobbsey. "When we get to the other island, where we hope to find Jack, it will be time enough to camp out."

"Shall we stay there long?" Bert wanted to know.

"It all depends on how we find that poor boy," answered Cousin Jasper. "If he is all right, and doesn't mind staying a little longer, we can make a camp on the island. There are some tents on board and we can live in them while on shore."

"Oh, that'll be almost as much fun as Blueberry Island!" cried Nan.

"It'll be nicer!" Bert said. "Blueberry Island was right near shore, but this island is away out in the middle of the ocean, isn't it, Cousin Jasper?"

"Well, not exactly in the middle of the ocean," was the answer. "But I think, perhaps, there is more water around it than was around your Blueberry Island."

After supper, which, like their lunch, was eaten on the beach under the palm trees, the Bobbsey twins and the others went back to the Swallow. The men working for the engineer, Mr. Chase, had not yet gotten the engine fixed, and it would take perhaps two more days, they said, as the break was worse than they had at first thought.

"Well, we'll have to stay here, that's all," said Cousin Jasper. "I did hope we would hurry to the rescue of Jack, but it seems we can't. Anyhow it would not do to go on with a broken engine. We might run into a storm at sea and then we would be wrecked. So we will wait until everything is all right before we go sailing over the sea again."

"It seems like being back home," said Mrs. Bobbsey, as she sat down later in a deck chair.

"Didn't you like it on the island?" asked Bert.

"Yes. But after it got dark some big turtle might have come up out of the sea and pulled on you, as one did on Flossie," and Bert's mother smiled.

"Well, no mud turkles can get on our ship, can they?" asked the little "fat fairy."

"No turtles can get on board here, unless they climb up the anchor cable," said Captain Crane with a laugh. "Now we'll get all snug for the night, so if it comes on to blow, or storm, we shall be all right."

It was a little too early to go to bed, so the Bobbsey twins and the grown folks sat on deck in the moonlight. The men of the crew, and the cook, sat on the other end of the deck, and also talked. It was very warm, for the travelers were now in southern waters, nearer the equator than they had ever been before. Even with very thin clothes on the air felt hot, though, of course, just as at Lakeport or Meadow Brook, it was cooler in the evening than during the day.

"It's almost too hot to go down into the staterooms," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "I wonder if we couldn't sleep out on deck?"

"Yes, we could have the mattresses brought up," said Cousin Jasper. "I have often slept on the deck of my own boat."

"Some of the crew are going to, they tell me," Captain Crane said.

"Then we will," Mr. Bobbsey decided. "It will be more like camping out. And it certainly is very hot, even with the sun down."

"We may have a thunderstorm in the night," the captain said, "but we can sleep out until then."

So the mattresses and bed covers were brought up from the stateroom.

"This is a new kind of camping out, isn't it?" remarked Flossie, as she viewed the bringing up of the bed things with great interest.

"It's a good deal like moving, I think," answered Freddie. "Only, of course, we haven't got any moving van to load the things on to."

"What would you do with a moving van out here on a boat?" demanded Bert.

"I could put it on another boat -- one of those flat ones, like they have down at New York, where the horses and wagons walk right on," insisted Freddie, thinking of a ferryboat.

"Well, we haven't any such boats around here, so we'd better not have any moving vans either," remarked Mr. Bobbsey, with a laugh.

"I don't want to move anywhere, anyway," said Flossie. "I'm too tired to do it. I'm going to stay right where I am."

"Oh, so'm I going to stay!" cried Freddie quickly. "Come on -- let us make our beds right over here," and he caught up one of the smaller mattresses. He struggled to cross the deck with it, but got his feet tangled up in one end, and pitched headlong.

"Look out there, Freddie Bobbsey, or you'll go overboard!" cried his brother, as he rushed to the little boy's assistance.

"If I went overboard, could I float on the mattress?" questioned Freddie, as he scrambled to his feet.

"I don't think so," answered his father. "And, anyway, I wouldn't try it."

Presently the mattresses and bedcovers were distributed to everyone's satisfaction, and then all lay down to rest.

For a time, Flossie and Freddie, as well as Nan and Bert, tossed about, but at last they fell asleep. It was very quiet on the sea, the only noise being the lapping of the waves against the sides of the Swallow.

Mrs. Bobbsey was just falling into a doze when there was a sudden splash in the water, and a loud cry.

"Man overboard! Man overboard!" some one yelled.

"Oh, if it should be one of the children!" cried Mrs. Bobbsey. For, no matter whether it is a boy, girl or woman that falls off a ship at sea, a sailor will always call: "'Man' overboard!" I suppose that is easier and quicker to say.

"Who is it? What's the matter?" cried Mr. Bobbsey, awakened suddenly from his sleep.

There was more splashing in the water alongside the boat, and then Captain Crane turned on a lamp that made the deck and the water about very light.

"Jim Black fell overboard," answered Mr. Chase, the engineer. "He got up to draw a bucket of water to soak his head in so he could cool off, and he reached over too far."

"Is he all right?" asked Captain Crane.

"Yes, I'm all right," was the answer of the sailor himself. "I feel cooler now."

At this the older people laughed.

He had fallen in with the clothes on, in which he had been sleeping, but as soon as he struck the water he swam up, made his way to the side of the ship, grabbed a rope that was hanging over the side, and pulled himself to the deck.

"My! what a fright I had!" exclaimed Mrs. Bobbsey. "I thought one of the children had rolled into the ocean!"

"That couldn't happen," said Captain Crane. "There is a strong railing all about the deck."

"Well, it's cooler now," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "I think I'll take the twins and go to our regular beds."

She did this and was glad of it, for a little later a thunderstorm broke, and it began to rain, driving every one below. The rest of the night the storm kept up, and though the thunder was loud and the lightning very bright, the rain did one good service -- it made the next day cooler.

"Well, shall we go ashore again?" asked Mr. Bobbsey, when breakfast had been eaten aboard the Swallow.

"Oh, yes!" cried the twins. "We want to go swimming again!"

"And I'm going to watch out for 'mud turkles,'" said Flossie, as she called them.

Once more they went to the beach of Palm Island, and they had dinner on the shady shore. In the afternoon, leaving the engineer and his helpers on board to work away at the motor, the whole party of travelers, Captain Crane, Cousin Jasper and all, started on a walk to the other side of the island. This took them out of sight of the boat.

They found many pretty things at which to look -- flowers, a spring of sweet water where they got a drink, little caves and dells, and a place where hundreds of birds made their nests on a rocky cliff. The birds wheeled and soared about, making loud noises as they saw the Bobbsey twins and the others near their nests.

It was along in the afternoon when they went back to the beach where they had eaten, and where they were to have supper. Bert, who had run on ahead around a curve in the woodland path, came to a stop on the beach.

"Why -- why!" he cried. "She's gone! The Swallow is gone!" and he pointed to the little bay.

The motor boat was no longer at anchor there!




Chapter XIX

Away Again


"What's that you say?" asked Captain Crane. "The Swallow gone?"

"She isn't there," Bert answered. "But maybe that isn't the bay where she was anchored. Maybe we're in the wrong place."

"No, this is the place all right," said Cousin Jasper. "But our boat is gone!"

There was no doubt of it. The little bay that had held the fine, big motor boat was indeed empty. The small boat was drawn up on the sand, but that was all.

"Where can it have gone?" asked Mr. Bobbsey. "Did you know the men we left on it were going away, Captain Crane?"

"No, indeed, I did not! I can't believe that Mr. Chase and the others have gone, and yet the boat isn't here."

Captain Crane was worried. So were Mr. and Mrs. Bobbsey and Cousin Jasper. Even Flossie and Freddie, young as they were, could tell that.

"Maybe a big mud turkle came and pulled the ship away," said Flossie.

"Or a whale," added Freddie. Any big fish or swimming animal, the little twins thought, might do such a thing as that.

"No, nothing like that happened," said Captain Crane. "And yet the Swallow is gone. The men could not have thought a storm was coming up, and gone out to sea to be safe. There is no sign of a storm, and they never would have gone away, unless something happened, without blowing a whistle to tell us."

"Maybe," said Bert, "they got word from Jack, on the other island, to come and get him right away, and they couldn't wait for us."

Captain Crane shook his head.

"That couldn't happen," he said, "unless another boat brought word from poor Jack. And if there had been another boat we'd have seen her."

"Unless both boats went away together," suggested Mr. Bobbsey.

"No, I think nothing like that happened," said the captain.

"But what can we do?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey. "Shall we have to stay on this island until the Swallow comes back?"

"She may not be gone very long," Mr. Bobbsey said.

"We can camp out here until she does come back," observed Nan. "We have lots left to eat."

"There won't be much after supper," Bert said. "But we can catch some turtles, or find some more eggs, and get fish, and live that way."

"I'll catch a fish," promised Freddie.

"I don't understand this," said Captain Crane, with another shake of his head. "I must go out and have a look around."

"How are you going?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey.

"In the small boat. I'll row out into the bay for a little way," said the seaman. "It may be that the Swallow is around some point of the island, just out of sight. I'll have a look before we get ready to camp here all night."

"I'll come with you," offered Cousin Jasper.

"All right, and we'll leave Mr. Bobbsey here with his family," the captain said. "Don't be afraid," he added to the children and Mrs. Bobbsey. "Even if the worst has happened, and the Swallow, by some mistake, has gone away without us, we can stay here for a while. And many ships pass this island, so we shall be taken off pretty soon."

"We can be like Robinson Crusoe, really," Bert said.

"That isn't as much fun as it seems when you're reading the book," put in his mother. "But we will make the best of it."

"I think it'd be fun," murmured Freddie.

Captain Crane and Cousin Jasper got in the small boat and rowed out into the bay. Anxiously the others watched them, hoping they would soon come back with word that the Swallow had been blown just around "the corner," as Nan said, meaning around a sort of rocky point of the island, beyond which they could not look.

"I do hope we shall not have to camp out here all night," said Mrs. Bobbsey, with a little shiver, as she looked around.

"Are you afraid of the mud turkles?" asked Flossie.

"No, dear. But I don't want to sleep on the beach without a bed or any covers for you children."

"Perhaps we shall not have to," said Mr. Bobbsey.

They waited a while longer, watching the small boat in which were Captain Crane and Cousin Jasper, until it was rowed out of sight. Bert did not seem to mind much the prospect of having to stay all night on Palm Island.

Nan, however, like her mother and her father, was a bit worried. But Flossie and Freddie were having a good time digging in the sand with clam shells for shovels. The little twins did not worry about much of anything at any time, unless it was getting something to eat or having a good time.

"I know what I'm going to build!" cried Freddie.

"What?" demanded his twin quickly.

"I'm going to build a great big sand castle."

"You can't do it, Freddie Bobbsey. The sand won't stick together into a castle."

"I'm going to use wet sand," asserted Freddie. "That will stick together."

"You look out, Freddie Bobbsey, or you'll fall in!" cried his sister, when Freddie had gone further down near the water where the sand was wet.

"Freddie! Freddie! keep away from that water!" cried Mrs. Bobbsey. "I don't want you to get all wet and dirty."

"But I want to build a sand castle."

"Well, you come up here where the sand is dry and build it," continued Mrs. Bobbsey.

"All right. In a minute," answered Freddie.

Mr. Bobbsey was straining his eyes, looking out toward the point of rock, around which the rowboat had gone, and his wife was standing beside him, gazing in the same direction, when Bert, who looked the other way, cried:

"There she comes now! There's the Swallow!"

And, surely enough, there she came back, as if nothing had happened.

Mr. Bobbsey waved his hat and some one on the motor boat blew a whistle. And then, as if knowing that something was wrong, the boat was steered closer to shore than it had come before, and Mr. Chase cried:

"What's the matter? Did anything happen?"

"We thought something had happened to you!" shouted Mr. Bobbsey. "Captain Crane and Mr. Dent have gone off in the small boat to look for you."

"That's too bad," said Mr. Chase. "While you were away, on the other side of the island, we finished work on the engine. We wanted to try it, so we pulled up anchor and started off. We thought we would go around to the side of the island where you were, but something went wrong, after we were out a little while, and we had to anchor in another bay, out of sight. But as soon as we could we came back, and when I saw you waving your hat I feared something might have happened."

"No, nothing happened. And we are all right," said Mr. Bobbsey, "except that we were afraid we'd have to stay on the island all night. And Captain Crane has gone to look for you."

"I'm sorry about that," returned the engineer. "It would have been all right, except that the motor didn't work as I wanted it to. But everything is fine now, and we can start for the other island as soon as we like. I'll blow the whistle and Captain Crane will know that we are back at our old place."

Several loud toots of the air whistle were given, and, a little later, from around the point came the small boat with the captain and Cousin Jasper in it. They had rowed for some distance, but had not seen the Swallow, and they were beginning to get more worried, wondering what had become of her.

"However, everything is all right now," said Captain Crane, when they were all once more on board the motor boat, it having been decided to have supper there instead of on Palm Island.

"Aren't we coming back here any more?" asked Freddie.

"Not right away," his father told him. "We stopped here only because we had to. Now we are going on again and try to find Jack Nelson."

"We have been longer getting there than I hoped we'd be," said Cousin Jasper, "but it could not be helped. I guess Jack will be glad to see us when we do arrive."

The things they had taken to Palm Island, when they had their meals under the trees, had been brought back on the Swallow. The motor boat was now ready to set forth again, and soon it was chug-chugging out of the quiet bay.

"And we won't stop again until we get to where Jack is," said Mr. Dent.

"Not unless we have to," said Captain Crane.

The Swallow appeared to go a little faster, now that the engine was fixed. The boat slipped through the blue sea, and, as the sun sank down, a golden ball of fire it seemed, the cook got the supper ready.

The Bobbseys had thought they might get to eat on the beach, but they were just as glad to be moving along again.

"And I hope nothing more happens," said Mr. Bobbsey. "Freddie, don't try to catch any more fish, or anything like that. There is no telling what might come of it."

"I won't," promised the little fellow. "But if I had my fire engine here Flossie and I could have some fun."

On and on sailed the Swallow. Every one was safely in bed, except one man who was steering and another who looked after the motor, when Mrs. Bobbsey, who was not a heavy sleeper, awakened her husband. It was about midnight.

"Dick!" she exclaimed in a loud whisper, "I smell smoke! Do you?"

Mr. Bobbsey sniffed the air. Then he jumped out of his berth.

"Yes, I smell smoke!" he cried. "And I see a blaze! Wake up, everybody!" he cried, "The boat is on fire!"




Chapter XX

Orange Island


Perhaps Freddie Bobbsey had been dreaming about a fire. At any rate he must have been thinking about it, for, no sooner did Mr. Bobbsey call, after his wife spoke to him, than Freddie, hardly awake, cried:

"Where's my fire engine? Where's my fire engine? I can put out the fire!"

Mr. Bobbsey hurried to the berths where the children were sleeping.

That is, they had been sleeping, but the call of their father, and the shouting of Freddie, awakened them. Flossie, Nan and Bert sat up, rubbing their eyes, though hardly understanding what it was all about.

"What's the matter?" cried Bert.

"The boat is on fire!" his mother answered. "Slip on a few clothes, take your life preserver, end get out on deck."

When the Bobbseys first came aboard the Swallow they were shown how to put on a life preserver, which is a jacket of canvas filled with cork. Cork is light, much lighter than wood, and it will not only float well in water, but, if a piece is large enough, as in life preservers, it will keep a person who wears it, or who clings to it, up out of the sea so they will not drown.

"Get your life preservers!" cried Mr. Bobbsey; then, when he saw that his wife had one, and that the children were reaching under their berths for theirs, he took his.

The smoke was getting thicker in the staterooms, and the yells and shouts of Captain Crane, Cousin Jasper and the crew could be heard.

Up on deck rushed the Bobbseys. There they found the electric lights glowing, and they saw more smoke. Cousin Jasper and Captain Crane had a hose and were pointing it toward what seemed to be a hole in the back part of the boat.

"Oh, see!" shouted Flossie.

"Is the fire engine working?" Freddie demanded, as he saw them. "Can I help put the fire out?"

"No, little fireman!" said Captain Crane with a laugh, and when Mrs. Bobbsey heard this she felt better, for she thought that there was not much danger, or the captain would not have been so jolly. "We have the fire almost out now," the captain went on. "Don't be worried, and don't any of you jump overboard," he said as he saw Mrs. Bobbsey, with the twins, standing rather close to the rail.

"No, we won't do that," she said. "But I was getting ready to jump into a boat."

"I guess you won't have to do that," said Cousin Jasper.

"Is the Swallow on fire?" asked Mr. Bobbsey.

"It was," his cousin answered. "But we have put it out now. There is a good pump on board, and we pumped water on the blaze as soon as we saw it."

From the hold, which was a place where canned food and other things could be stored, smoke was still pouring, and now and then little tongues of fire shot up. It was this fire which Mr. Bobbsey had seen through the open door of his stateroom.

"Oh, maybe it's going to be an awful big fire!" said Freddie. "Maybe it'll burn the whole boat up!"

"Freddie, Freddie! Don't say such dreadful things!" broke in his mother. "We don't want this boat to burn up."

"I see where it is," said Flossie. "It's down in that great big cellar-like place where they keep all those things to eat -- those boxes of corn and beans and salmon and sardines and tomatoes, and all the things like that."

"Yes. And the 'densed milk!" put in Freddie. "And 'spargus. And the jam! And all those nice sweet things, too!" he added mournfully.

"What shall we do if all our food is burnt up?" went on Flossie.

"We can't live on the boat if we haven't anything to eat," asserted Freddie. "We'll have to go on shore and get something."

"You might catch another big fish," suggested his twin.

"Would you let me have your doll?"

"No, I wouldn't!" was the prompt response. "You can get lots of other things for bait, and you know it, Freddie Bobbsey!"

"How did the fire happen?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey of the captain, when she got the chance.

"One of the electric light wires broke and set fire to some oily rags," answered Captain Crane. "Then some empty wooden boxes began to blaze. There was nothing in them -- all the food having been taken out -- but the wood made quite a fire and a lot of smoke.

"Mr. Chase, who was on deck steering, smelled the smoke and saw the little blaze down in a storeroom. He called me and I called Mr. Dent. We hoped we could get the fire out before you folks knew about it. But I guess we didn't," said the captain.

"I smelled smoke, and it woke me up," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "Then I called my husband and we all came on deck."

"That was the right thing to do," Captain Crane said. "And it was also good to put on the life preservers," for even Flossie and Freddie had done this. "Always get ready for the worst," the captain went on, "and then if you don't have to take to the small boats so much the better. But the fire will soon be out."

"Can I see the fire engine?" asked Freddie. "I haven't seen a fire engine for a long while." At his home he was always interested in this, but, luckily, Lakeport had few fires.

"It isn't exactly a fire engine," said Cousin Jasper to the little fellow. "It's just a big pump that forms part of one of the motors. I guess you can see how it works, for the fire is so nearly out now that we won't need much more water on it."

So the Bobbseys took off their life preservers, which are not very comfortable things to wear, and stayed on deck, watching the flames die out and the smoke drift away. The Swallow had been slowed down while the captain and the others were fighting the fire.

"Everything is all right now," said Cousin Jasper, and he took Freddie to the motor room to show him the pump, while Captain Crane still played the hose on the last dying embers.

The fire only burned up the oil-soaked rags and some empty boxes, not doing any damage to the motor boat, except a little scorching. The smoke made part of the Swallow black, but this could be painted over.

"And very lucky for us it was no worse," said Mr. Bobbsey, when they were ready to go back to their staterooms.

Freddie stayed and watched the pump as long as they would let him. It could be fastened to one of the motors and it pumped water from the ocean itself on the blaze.

"It's better than having a regular fire engine on land," said Freddie, telling Flossie about it afterward, "'cause in the ocean you can take all the water you like and nobody minds it. When I grow up I'm going to be a fireman on the ocean, and have lots of water."

"You'll have to have a boat so you can go on the ocean," said the little girl.

"Well, I like a boat, too," went on Freddie. "You can run the boat, Flossie, and I'll run the pump fire engine."

"All right," agreed little Flossie. "That's what we'll do."

After making sure that the last spark was out, Captain Crane shut off the water. The Bobbseys went back to bed, but neither the father nor the mother of the twins slept well the rest of the night. They were too busy thinking what might have happened if the fire had not been seen in time and plenty of water sprayed on it to put it out.

"Though there would not have been much danger," Captain Crane said at the breakfast table, where they all gathered the next morning. "We could all have gotten off in the two boats, and we could have rowed to some island. The sea was smooth."

"Where would we get anything to eat?" asked Nan.

"Oh, we'd put that in the boats before we left the ship," said the captain. "And we'd take water, too. But still I'm glad we didn't have to do that."

And the Bobbseys were glad, too.

Part of the day was spent in getting out of the storeroom the burned pieces of boxes. These were thrown overboard. Then one of the crew painted over the scorched places, and, by night, except for the smell of smoke and paint, one would hardly have known where the fire had been.

The weather was bright and sunny after leaving Palm Island, and the twins sat about the deck and looked across the deep, blue sea for a sight of the other island, where, it was hoped, the boy Jack would be found.

"I wonder what he's doing now," remarked Bert, as he and Nan were talking about the lost one, while Flossie and Freddie were listening to a story their mother was telling.

"Maybe he's walking up and down the beach looking for us to come," suggested Nan.

"How could he look for us when he doesn't know we're coming?" asked Bert.

"Well, maybe he hopes some boat will come for him," went on Nan. "And he must know that Cousin Jasper wouldn't go away and leave him all alone."

"Yes, I guess that's so," agreed Bert. "It must be pretty lonesome, all by himself on an island."

"But maybe somebody else is with him, or maybe he's been taken away," went on Nan. "Anyhow we'll soon know."

"How shall we?" asked Bert.

"'Cause Captain Crane said we'd be at the island to-morrow if we didn't have a storm, or if nothing happened."

On and on went the Swallow. When dinner time came there was served some of the turtle soup from the big crawler that had pulled on Flossie's dress. There was also fish, but Freddie did not catch any more.

Cousin Jasper and Mr. Bobbsey fished off the side of the motor boat and caught some large ones, which the cook cleaned and got ready for the table.

"Going to sea is very nice," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "You don't have to send to the store for anything to eat, and when you are hungry all you have to do is to drop your hook overboard and catch a fish."

It was about noon of the next day when Bert, who was standing in the bow, or front part of the vessel, said to his father:

"I see something like a black speck out there," and he pointed. "Maybe it's another boat."

Mr. Bobbsey looked and said:

"I think more likely that is an island. Perhaps it is the very one we are sailing for -- the one where Cousin Jasper left Jack."

He called to Captain Crane, who brought a powerful telescope, and through that the men looked at the speck Bert had first seen.

"It's land all right," said Captain Crane. In about an hour they were so near the island that its shape could easily be made out, even without a glass. Then Cousin Jasper said:

"That's it all right. Now to go ashore and find that poor boy!"

On raced the Swallow, and soon she dropped anchor in a little bay like the one at Palm Island. In a small boat the Bobbseys and others were rowed to the shore.

"Oh, look at the orange trees!" cried Nan, as she saw some in a grove near the beach.

"Are they real oranges, Captain?" asked the younger girl twin.

"Yes. And it looks as though some one had an orange grove here at one time, not so very long ago, though it hasn't been kept up."

"Is this Orange Island?" asked Bert.

"Well, we can call it that," said Cousin Jasper. "In fact it never had a name, as far as I know. We'll call it Orange Island now."

"That's a good name for it, I think," remarked Nan.

"And now to see if we can find Jack!" went on Nan's twin.

"Let's all holler!" suddenly said Freddie. "Let's all holler as loud as we can!"

"What for?" asked Cousin Jasper, smiling at the little boy. "Why do you want to halloo, Freddie?"

"So maybe Jack can hear us, and he'll know we're here. Whenever me or Flossie gets lost we always holler; don't we?" he asked his little sister.

"Yes," she answered.

"And when Bert or Nan, or our father or mother is looking for us, even if we don't know we're lost, they always holler; don't you, Bert?"

"Yes, and sometimes I have to 'holler' a lot before you answer," said Nan's brother.

"Well, perhaps it would be a good thing to call now," agreed Mr. Bobbsey. "Shall we, Cousin Jasper?"

"Yes," he answered. So the men, with the children to help them, began to shout.

"Jack! Jack! Where are you, Jack?"

The woods and the orange trees echoed the sound, but that was all.

Was the missing boy still on the island?




Chapter XXI

Looking For Jack


Again and again the Bobbseys and the others called the name of Jack, but the children's voices sounding loud, clear and shrill above the others. But, as at first, only the echoes answered.

"That's the way we always holler when we're lost," said Freddie.

"But I guess Jack doesn't hear us," added Flossie.

"No, I guess not," said Cousin Jasper, in rather a sad voice.

"Are you sure this is the right island?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey, looking about the place where they had landed from the Swallow.

"Oh, yes, this is the island where I was shipwrecked," said Mr. Dent, "though Jack and I did not land just here. It was on the other side, and when we go there I can show you the wreck of my motor boat -- that is, if the storms have not washed it all away."

"Well, then maybe Jack is on the other side of the island," said Bert. "And he couldn't hear us."

"Yes, that might be so," agreed Cousin Jasper. "We'll go around there. But as it will take us some little time, and as we want to get some things ashore from the ship, we had better wait until later in the day, or, perhaps, until to-morrow, to look. Though I want to find Jack as soon as I can."

"Maybe he'll find us before we find him," suggested Mr. Bobbsey. "I should think he would be on the lookout, every day, for a ship to which he could signal to be taken off."

"Perhaps he is," said Cousin Jasper. "Well, I hope he comes walking along and finds us. He'll be very glad to be taken away from this place, I guess."

"And yet it is lovely here," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "I never thought we would find oranges growing in such a place."

"I forgot to speak about them," said Cousin Jasper. "In fact I was so ill and so miserable after the wreck, that I did not take much notice of what was on the island. But there are many orange trees. It must have, at some time, been quite a grove."

"I was thinking maybe we'd find cocoanuts," said Freddie.

"But oranges are just as nice," put in his little sister.

"Nicer," Freddie declared. "I like oranges. May we eat some, Mother?"

"Why, yes, I guess so," answered Mrs. Bobbsey slowly. "Will it be all right, Cousin Jasper?"

"Oh, yes, the oranges are for whomsoever wants them. Help yourselves, children, while we get the things on shore that we need from the motor boat."

"Oh, goody!" shouted Flossie.

"Are we going to sleep here at night?" asked Bert.

"Well, I did think we might camp out here for a week or so, after we got here and found that Jack was all right," answered Cousin Jasper. "But if he is ill, and needs a doctor, we shall have to go right back to Florida. However, until we are sure of that, we will get ready to camp out."

"Oh, what fun!" cried Nan.

"It'll be as nice as on Blueberry Island!" Flossie exclaimed, clapping her fat little hands.

"But there weren't any oranges on Blueberry Island," added Freddie. "Still the blueberries made nice pies."

"Mother made the pies," said Flossie.

"Well, the blueberries helped her," Freddie said, with a laugh.

The Bobbsey twins gathered oranges from the trees and ate them. The men folks then began to bring things from the Swallow, which was anchored in a little bay, not far from shore.

Two tents were to be set up, and though the crew would stay on the boat with Captain Crane, to take care of the vessel if a sudden storm came up, the Bobbseys and Cousin Jasper would camp out on Orange Island.

In a little while one tent was put up, an oil-stove brought from the boat so that cooking could be done without the uncertain waiting for a campfire, and boxes and baskets of food were set out.

"I want to put up the other tent," said Freddie. "I know just how it ought to be done."

"All right, Freddie, you can help," was the answer from Bert. "Only, you had better not try to pound any of the pegs in the ground with the hatchet, or you may pound your fingers."

"Ho! I guess I'm just as good a carpenter as you are, Bert Bobbsey!" said the little boy stoutly.

He took hold of one of the poles and raised it up, but then it slipped from his grasp and one end hit Nan on the shoulder.

"Oh, Freddie! do be careful!" she cried.

"I didn't mean to hit you, Nan," he said contritely. "It didn't hurt, did it?"

"Not very much. But I don't want to get hit again."

"Freddie, you had better let the older folks set up that tent," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "Here, you and Flossie can help put these boxes and baskets away. There is plenty of other work for you to do."

A little later the second tent was in position, and everything about the camp was put in good shape.

Then Cousin Jasper, Mr. Bobbsey and the captain, taking Bert with them, started around for the other side of the island to look and call for the missing Jack.

"I want to come, too," said Freddie.

"Not now," his mother told him. "It is too far for a little boy. Perhaps you and Flossie may go to-morrow. You stay and help me make the camp ready for night."

This pleased Freddie and Flossie, and soon they were helping their mother, one of the sailors doing the heavy lifting.

Meanwhile Bert, his father and the others walked on through the woods, around to the other side of the island. They found the place where Cousin Jasper's boat had struck the rocks and been wrecked, and Mr. Dent also showed them the place where he and Jack stayed while they were waiting for a boat to come for them.

"And here is where we set up our signal," cried Mr. Bobbsey's cousin, as he found a pole which had fallen over, having been broken off close to the ground. On top was still a piece of canvas that had fluttered as a flag.

"But why didn't Jack leave it flying, to call a boat to come and get him when he found you gone?" asked Mr. Bobbsey.

"I don't know," said Cousin Jasper. "This is very strange. I thought surely we would find Jack as soon as we reached the island. It may be that he has been taken off by some fishermen, but I think I would have heard of it. And he was here about a week ago, for Captain Harrison saw him, you remember he told us. Well, we must look further."

"And yell and yell some more," added Bert. "Maybe he can hear us now."

So they shouted and called, but no one answered them, and Cousin Jasper shook his head.

"I wonder what can have happened to the poor boy!" he said.

They walked along the beach, and up among the palm and orange trees, looking for the missing boy. But they saw no signs of him.




Chapter XXII

Found At Last


When Bert, with his father, Cousin Jasper and Captain Crane, got back to the place where Mrs. Bobbsey had been left with Nan and the two smaller twins, the camp on Orange Island was nearly finished. The tents had been put up, and the oil-stove was ready for cooking.

"Didn't you find that poor boy?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey.

"No, we saw no trace of him," her husband answered.

"Oh, isn't that too bad?"

"Yes, I am very sorry," sighed Cousin Jasper. "But I have not yet given up. I'll stay here until either I find him, or make sure what has happened to him. Poor Jack has no relatives, and I am his nearest friend. I feel almost as though he were my son. We will find him if he is on this island."

Bert and the others who had walked around to the other side of the island, hoping that Jack might be found, were tired from their trip, and when they got back were glad to sit on the beach in the shade. A meal was soon ready, and when they had eaten they all felt better.

"It is too late to do much more searching to-day," said Cousin Jasper, "but we will start early in the morning."

And this they did, after a quiet night spent on the island. As soon, almost, as the sun had risen, the Bobbsey twins were up, and Bert and Nan gathered oranges for breakfast.

"I wish we could live here always," said Freddie. "I'd never have to go to the store for any fruit."

"But if we stayed here we couldn't have Snap or Snoop or Dinah or Sam, or anybody like that from Lakeport," put in Flossie.

"Couldn't we, Mother?" asked the little boy.

"Course we couldn't!" insisted Flossie.

"Well, I guess it would be hard to bring from Lakeport all the friends and all the things you like there," said Mrs. Bobbsey.

"Well, then we'll go back home after we find Jack," decided Freddie.

Breakfast over, the search for the missing boy was begun once more, Mrs. Bobbsey and the smaller twins going along.

In some places, however, the way was rough and steep, and once on top of a little hill, Freddie suddenly cried:

"Look out! I'm coming!"

And come he did, but in a queer way. For he slipped and fell, and rolled to the bottom, bringing up with a bump against a stump.

"Oh, my dear little fat fireman! Did you hurt yourself?" asked his father.

Freddie did not answer at first. He slowly got to his feet, looked up the hill down which he had rolled, and then at the stump, which was covered with moss.

"I -- I guess I'm all right," he said.

"He's so fat he didn't get hurt," said Cousin Jasper. "Fat boys and girls are just the kind to bring to a place like this. They can't get hurt easily."

Freddie laughed, and so did the others, and then they went on again. They looked in different places for the missing boy, and called his name many times.

But all the sounds they heard in answer were those of the waves dashing on the beach or the cries of the sea-birds.

"It is very strange," said Captain Crane. "If that boy was here about a week ago, you'd think we could find some trace of him -- some place where he had built a fire, or set up a signal so it would be seen by passing ships. I believe, Mr. Dent, that he must have been taken away, and when we get back to St. Augustine he'll be there waiting for us."

"Well, perhaps you are right," said Cousin Jasper, "but we will make sure. We'll stay here a week, anyhow, and search every part of Orange Island."

They had brought their lunch with them, so they would not have to go back to the camp when noon came, and, finding a pleasant place on the beach, near a little spring of water, they sat down to rest.

Flossie and Freddie, as often happened, finished long before the others did, and soon they strolled off, hand in hand, down the sands.

"Where are you going, children?" called Mrs. Bobbsey to them.

"Oh, just for a walk," Freddie answered.

"An' maybe we'll see Jack," added Flossie.

"I only wish they would, but it is too much to hope for," said Cousin Jasper, and he looked worried.

Bert, Nan and the others stayed for some little time after lunch, sitting in the shade on the beach, and talking. They were just about to get up and once more start the search; when Flossie and Freddie came running back. One look at their faces told their mother that something had happened.

"What is it, children?" she asked.

"We -- we found a big, black cave!" answered Freddie, somewhat out of breath.

"An' -- an' they's a -- a giant in it!" added Flossie, who was also breathing hard.

"A cave!" cried Mr. Bobbsey.

"What do you mean by a giant in it?" asked Cousin Jasper.

"Well, when you see a big black hole in the side of a hill, isn't that a cave?" asked Freddie.

"It surely is," said his father.

"An' when you hear somebody making a big noise like 'Boo-oo-oo-oo! Boo!' maybe that's a giant, like it is in the story," said Flossie.

"Oh, I guess perhaps you heard the wind moaning in a cave," said Captain Crane.

"No, there wasn't any wind blowing," Freddie said. And, surely enough, there was not. The day was clear and calm.

"We heard the booing noise," Freddie said.

"Are you sure it wasn't a mooing noise, such as the cows make?" asked Nan.

"There aren't any cows on Orange Island; are there, Cousin Jasper?" asked Bert.

"I think not. Tell me, children, just what you heard, and where it was," he said to Flossie and Freddie.

Then the little twins told of walking along the hill that led up from the beach and of seeing a big hole -- a regular cave. They went in a little way and then they heard the strange, moaning sound.

Cousin Jasper seemed greatly excited.

"I believe there may be something there," he said. "We must go and look. If they heard a noise in the cave, it may be that it was caused by some animal, or it may be that it was --  -- "

"Jack!" exclaimed Bert. "Maybe it's Jack!"

"Maybe," said Cousin Jasper. "We'll go to look!"

Cousin Jasper and Mr. Bobbsey walked on ahead, with Flossie and Freddie to show where they had seen the big, black hole. It was not far away, but so hidden by bushes that it could have been seen only by accident, unless some one knew where it was.

Outside the entrance they all stopped.

"Listen!" said Flossie.

It was quiet for a moment, and then came a sound that surely was a groan, as if some one was in pain.

"Who's in there?" cried Cousin Jasper.

"I am," was the faint answer. "Oh, will you please come in and help me. I fell and hurt my leg and I can't walk, and --  -- "

"Are you Jack Nelson?" cried Cousin Jasper.

"Yes, that's my name. A friend and I were wrecked on this island, but I can't find him and --  -- "

"But he's found you!" cried Mr. Dent. "Oh, Jack! I've found you! I've found you! I've come back to get you! Now you'll be all right!"

Into the cave rushed Cousin Jasper, followed by the others. Mr. Bobbsey and Captain Crane had pocket electric flashlights, and by these they could see some one lying on a pile of moss in one corner of the cavern.

It was a boy, and one look at him showed that he was ill. His face was flushed, as if from fever, and a piece of sail-cloth was tied around one leg. Near him, on the ground where he was lying, were some oranges, and a few pieces of very dry crackers, called "pilot biscuits" by the sailors.

"Oh, Jack, what has happened to you? Are you hurt, and have you been in this cave all the while?" asked Mr. Dent.

"No, not all the while, though I've been in here now for nearly a week, I guess, ever since I hurt my leg. I can crawl about a little but I can't climb up and down the hill, so I got in here to stay out of the storms, and I thought no one would ever come to me."

"You poor boy!" softly said Mrs. Bobbsey. "Don't talk any more now. Wait until you feel better and then you can tell us all about it. Poor boy!"

"Are you hungry?" asked Freddie; for that, to him, seemed about the worst thing that could happen.

"No, not so very," answered Jack. "When I found I couldn't get around any more, or not so well, on my sore leg, I crawled to the trees and got some oranges. I had a box of the biscuit and some other things that washed ashore from the wreck after you went away," he said to Cousin Jasper.

"Well, tell us about it later," said Mr. Bobbsey. "Now we are going to take care of you."

They made a sort of little bed on poles, with pieces of the sail-cloth, and the men carried Jack to the camp. There Captain Crane, who knew something about doctoring, bound up his leg, and when the lost boy had been given some hot soup, and put in a comfortable bed, he felt much better.

A little later he told what had happened to him.

"After you became so sick," said Jack to Cousin Jasper, the others listening to the story, "I walked to the other end of the island to see if I could not see, from there, some ship I could signal to come and get us. I was so tired I must have fallen asleep when I sat down to rest, and when I woke up, and went back to where you had been, Mr. Dent, you weren't there. I didn't know what had happened to you and I couldn't find you."

"Men came in a boat and took me away," said Cousin Jasper, "though I didn't know it at the time. When I found myself in the hospital I wondered where you were, but they all thought I was out of my head when I wanted them to come to the island and rescue you. So I had to send for Mr. Bobbsey to come."

"And we found the cave, didn't we?" cried Freddie.

"Yes, only for you and Flossie, just stumbling on it, as it were," said his father, "we might still be hunting for Jack."

"I'm glad we found you," said Flossie.

"So'm I," added Freddie.

"I'm glad myself," Jack said, with a smile at the Bobbsey twins. "I was getting tired of staying on the island all alone."

"What did you do all the while?" asked Bert. "Did you feel like Robinson Crusoe?"

"Well a little," Jack answered. "But I didn't have as much as Robinson had from the wreck of his ship. But I managed to get enough to eat, and I had the cave to stay in. I found that other one, and went into that, as it was better than where we first were," he said to Mr. Dent.

"I made smudges of smoke, and set up signals of cloth," the boy went on, "but a storm blew one of my poles down, and I guess no one saw my signals."

"Yes, Captain Harrison did, but it was so stormy he couldn't get close enough to take you from the island," said Captain Crane.

"And then we came on as soon as we could," added Cousin Jasper. "Oh, Jack, I'm so glad we have found you, and that you are all right! You had a hard time!"

"Yes, it was sort of hard," the boy admitted. "But it's a good thing oranges grow here. I got some clams, too, and I found a nest of turtle's eggs, and roasted some of them. I didn't like them much, but they stopped me from being hungry."

"Well, now we'll feed you on the best in camp," said Mrs. Bobbsey.

"And I caught a turkle, once!" added Flossie.

"I guess you mean the turtle caught you," said Nan with a laugh.

But now Jack's troubles were over. As he was weak from not having had good food, and from being ill, it was decided to keep him at the camp for a short while. In that time the Bobbsey twins had a good time on Orange Island, and when he was able to walk about, even though he had to limp on a stick for a crutch, Jack went about with the children, showing them the different parts of the cave where he had stayed. He could not have lived there much longer alone, for his food was almost gone when Flossie and Freddie heard him groaning in the cavern.

"And we thought you were a giant!" said Flossie with a laugh.

They had found, by accident, what the others had been looking for so carefully but could not find. And Jack had no idea his friends were on the island until they walked into the cave with the flashing lights.

"Oh, I'm glad we traveled on the deep, blue sea," said Nan, about a week after Jack had been found. "This is the nicest adventure we ever had!"

These were happy days on Orange Island. Jack rapidly grew better, and would soon be able to make the trip back to St. Augustine in the motor boat. But it was so lovely on that island in the deep, blue sea that the Bobbseys stayed there nearly a month, and by that time they were all as brown as berries, including Jack, who had been pale because of his illness.

So the lost and lonely boy was found, and he and Cousin Jasper were better friends than ever. And as for the Bobbsey twins, though they had had many adventures on this voyage, still others were in store for them. But now we will say "Good-bye!" for a time.

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Bunny Brown And His Sister Sue At Aunt Lu's City Home

By

Laura Lee Hope



Chapter I

A Midnight Alarm


"Bunny! Bunny Brown! Sue, dear! Aren't you going to get up?"

Mrs. Brown stood in the hall, calling to her two sleeping children. The sun was shining brightly out of doors, but the little folks had not yet gotten out of bed.

"My! But you are sleeping late this morning!" went on Mrs. Brown. "Come, Bunny! Sue! It's time for breakfast!"

There was a patter of bare feet in one room. Then a little voice called.

"Oh, Bunny! I'm up first. Come on, we'll go and help grandma feed the chickens!"

Little Sue Brown tapped on the door of her brother's room.

"Get up, Bunny!" she cried, laughing. "I'm up first; Let's go and get the eggs."

In the room where Bunny Brown slept could be heard a sort of grunting, stretching, yawning sound. That was the little boy waking up. He heard what his sister Sue said.

"Ho! Ho!" he laughed, as he rubbed his sleepy eyes: "Go to get eggs with grandma! I guess you think we're back on grandpa's farm; don't you Sue?" and he came to his door to look out into the hall, where his mother stood smiling at the two children.

When Bunny said that, Sue looked at him in surprise. She rubbed her hand across her eyes once or twice, glanced around the hall, back into her room, and then at her mother. A queer look was on Sue's face.

"Why -- why!" she exclaimed. "Oh, why, Bunny Brown! That's just what I did think! I thought we were back at grandpa's, and we're not at all -- we're in our home; aren't we?"

"Of course!" laughed Mrs. Brown. "But you were sleeping so late that I thought I had better call you. Aren't you ready to get up? The sun came up long ago, and he's now shining brightly."

"Did the sun have its breakfast, Mother?" asked Bunny.

"Yes, little man. He drank a lot of dew, off the flowers. That's all he ever takes. Now you two get dressed, and come down and have your breakfast, so we can clear away the dishes. Hurry now!"

Mrs. Brown went down stairs, leaving Bunny and Sue to dress by themselves, for they were old enough for that now.

"Oh, Bunny!" exclaimed the little girl, as she went back in her own room. "I really did think, when I first woke up, that we were back at Grandpa Brown's, and that we were going out to help grandma feed the hens."

"Do you wish we were, Sue?" asked Bunny.

"Oh, I don't know, Bunny," said Sue slowly. "I did like it at grandma's, and we had lots of fun playing circus. But I like it at home here, too."

"So do I," said Bunny, as he started to get dressed.

The two children, with their father and mother, had come back, only the day before, from a long visit to Grandpa Brown's, in the country. I'll tell you about that a little later. So it is no wonder that Sue, awakening from the first night's sleep in her own house, after the long stay in the country, should think she was back at grandpa's.

"Bunny, Bunny!" called Sue, after a bit.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Will you button my dress for me?"

"Is it one of the kind that buttons up the back, Sue?"

"Yes. If it buttoned in front I could do it myself. Will you help me, just as you did once before, 'cause I'm hungry for breakfast!"

"Yep, I'll help you, Sue. Only I hope your dress isn't got a lot of buttons on, Sue. I always get mixed up when you make me button that kind, for I have some buttons, or button-holes, left over every time."

"This dress only has four buttons on it, Bunny, an' they're big ones."

"That's good!" cried the little fellow, and he had soon buttoned Sue's dress for her. Then the two children went down to breakfast.

"What can we do now, Bunny?" asked Sue, as they arose from the table. "We want to have some fun."

"Yes," said Bunny. "We do."

That was about all he and Sue thought of when they did not have to go to school. They were always looking for some way to have fun. And they found it, nearly always.

For Bunny Brown was a bright, daring little chap, always ready to do something, and very often he got into mischief when looking for fun. Nor was that the worst of it, for he took Sue with him wherever he went, so she fell into mischief too. But she didn't mind. She was always as ready for fun as was Bunny, and the two had many good times together -- "The Brown twins," some persons called them, though they were not, for Bunny was a year older than Sue, being six, while she was only a little over five, about "half-past five," as she used to say, while Bunny was "growing on seven."

"Yes," said Bunny slowly, as he went out on the shady porch with his sister Sue, "we want to have some fun."

"Let's go down to the fish dock," said Sue. "We haven't seen the boats for a long time. We didn't see any while we were at grandpa's."

"Course not," agreed Bunny. "They don't have boats on a farm. But we had a nice ride on the duck pond, on the raft, Sue."

"Yes, we did, Bunny. But we got all wet and muddy." Sue laughed as she remembered that, and so did Bunny.

"All right, we'll go down to the fish dock," agreed the little boy.

Their father, Mr. Walter Brown, was in the boat business at Bellemere, on Sandport bay, near the ocean. Mr. Brown owned many boats, and fishermen hired some, to go away out on the ocean, and catch fish and lobsters. Other men hired sail boats, row boats or gasoline motor boats to take rides in on the ocean or bay, and often Bunny and Sue would have boat trips, too.

The children always liked to go down to the fish dock, and watch the boats of the fishermen come in, laden with what the men had caught in their nets. Mr. Brown had an office on the fish dock.

"Where are you two children going?" called Mrs. Brown after Bunny and Sue, as they went out the front gate.

"Down to Daddy's dock," replied Bunny.

"Well, be careful you don't fall in the water."

"We won't," promised Sue. "Wait 'til I get my doll, Bunny!" she called to her brother.

She ran back into the house, and came out, in a little while, carrying a big doll.

"I didn't take you to grandpa's with me," said Sue, talking to the doll as though it were a real baby, "but I'll take you down to see the fish now. You like fish, don't you, dollie?"

"She wouldn't like 'em if they bit her," said Bunny.

"I won't let 'em bite her!" retorted Sue.

At the fish dock Bunny and Sue saw a tall, good-natured, red-haired boy coming out of their father's office.

"Oh, Bunker Blue!" cried Bunny. "Are any fish boats coming in?"

Bunker Blue was Mr. Brown's helper, and was very fond of Bunny and Sue. He had been to grandpa's farm, in the country, with them.

"Yes, one of the fish boats is coming in now," said Bunker. "You can come with me and watch."

Bunny took hold of one of Bunker's hands, and Sue the other. They always did this when they went out on the dock, for the water was very deep on each side, and though the children could swim a little, they did not want to fall into such deep water; especially with all their clothes on.

Soon they were at the end of the dock. Coming up to it was a sailing boat, that had been out to sea for fish.

"Did you get many?" called Bunker to the captain.

"Yes, quite a few fish this time. Want to come and look at them? Bring the children!"

"Oh, can we go on the boat?" asked Bunny eagerly.

"I guess so," said Bunker Blue.

He led the children carefully to the deck of the fish boat. Bunny and Sue looked down into a hole, through an opening in the deck. The hole was filled with fish, some of which were still flapping their tails, for they had only just been taken out of the nets.

"Oh-o-o-o! What a lot of fish!" exclaimed Sue. She leaned over to see better, when, all at once, her doll slipped from her arms, and fell right down among the flapping fish.

"Oh, dear!" cried Sue.

"I'll get her for you!" cried Bunny, and he was just going to jump down in among the fish, too, but Bunker Blue caught him by the arm.

"You'll spoil all your clothes if you do that, little man!" Bunker said.

"But I want to get Sue's doll!"

Bunny himself did not care anything about dolls; he would not play with them. But he loved his sister Sue, and he knew that she was very fond of this doll, so he wanted to get it for her. That was why he was ready to jump down in the hold (as that part of the ship is called) among the flapping fish.

"I'll get her for you," said Bunker. With a long pole Bunker fished up the doll. Her dress was all wet, for there was water on the fish.

"And oh! dear! She smells just like a fish herself!" cried Sue, puckering up her nose in a funny way.

"You can take off her dress and wash it," said Bunny.

"Yes," said Sue, "I can do that, and I will." She took off the doll's dress, and then looked for some place to wash it.

"Here, Sue, give it to me," said the captain of the boat, for he knew Bunny and Sue very well indeed. "I'll soon have the dress clean for you."

"How?" asked Sue, as she gave it to Captain Tuttle.

He tied the dress to a string, and then dipped it in the water, over the side of the boat. Up and down in the water he lifted the doll's dress, pulling it up by the string.

"That's how we sailors wash our clothes when we're in a hurry," said Captain Tuttle. "Now when your doll's dress is dry, it will be nice and clean. You can hang it up here to dry, while you're watching us take out the fish."

He fastened Sue's doll's dress on a line over the cabin, and then he and his men took the fish out of the boat, and packed them in barrels in ice to send to the city.

Bunny and Sue looked on, and thought it great fun. Sometimes a big flat fish, called a flounder, would slip from one of the baskets, in which the men were putting them, and flop out on deck, almost sliding overboard.

Soon all the fish were out, and as Sue's doll's dress was now dry, she and Bunny started back home.

"Well, we had fun then, Sue," said the little boy. "Didn't we?"

"Yes," agreed his sister. "But what can we do this afternoon?"

"Oh, we'll go down to Charlie Star's house and have some fun. He's got a new swing and a hammock."

"Oh, that will be fine!" cried Sue.

The children had a good time playing with Charlie that afternoon. Others of their playmates came also, and Bunny and Sue told of the jolly fun they had had in the country, on grandpa's farm.

After a while the sun, that had been shining brightly all day, began to get ready to go to bed, down back of the hills where the clouds would cover it up until morning. And it was time also, for Bunny Brown and his sister Sue to go to bed. All the little folk of the town of Bellemere were getting sleepy.

How long Bunny and Sue slept they did not know. But Bunny was dreaming he had turned into a fish, and was going to flop into the water, and Sue was dreaming that she and her doll were having a fine ride in a motor boat, when both children were awakened by the loud ringing of a bell.

"Ding-dong! Ding-dong! Ding-dong!" went the bell.

"Is that our door bell?" asked Sue of Bunny, who slept in the room next to hers, the door being open between.

"No, I guess it's a church bell," said Bunny, half awake.

Then he and his sister heard their father moving around his room.

"What is it, Walter?" asked Mrs. Brown.

"It's a midnight alarm," he answered. "I guess it must be a fire, though it's the church bell that's ringing. I can't see any blaze from my window, but it must be a fire, or why would they ring the bell?"

"And why should they ring the church bell, when we have a fire bell?" asked Mrs. Brown.

"I don't know," answered her husband. "I guess I'd better get up, and see what it is. I wouldn't want any of my boats to burn up."



Chapter II

Bunny And Sue Go Out


Bunny Brown, in his little room, and Sue Brown, in hers, jumped out of bed and ran to the window. They could hear the ringing of the church bell more plainly now.

"Ding-dong! Ding-dong!" it sounded through the silence of the night. It was not altogether dark, for there was a big, bright moon in the sky, and it was almost as light as a cloudy day.

"Can you see any blaze?" Bunny and Sue heard their mother ask their father.

"No, not a thing. But it's funny that that bell should ring. I'm going out to see what it is."

"I'll come with you," said Mrs. Brown. "I'll just put on my slippers, a bath robe and a cloak, and come along. It's so warm that I'll not get cold."

"All right, come along," said Mr. Brown. "The children are asleep and they won't miss us."

Bunny and Sue felt like laughing when they heard this. They were not asleep, but their father and mother did not know they were awake. Pretty soon Mr. and Mrs. Brown slipped quietly down the stairs and out of the house -- out into the moonlit night. The church bell was still ringing loudly, and Bunny and Sue could hear the neighbors, in the houses on either side of them, talking about it. Everyone wondered if there was a fire.

"Oh, Bunny!" called Sue in a whisper to her brother, when daddy and Mother Brown had gone out. "Is you awake, Bunny?"

"Yep, course I am! Are you?"

"Yep. Say, Bunny, let's go to the fire; will you?"

"Yep. I'll just put on my bath robe and slippers."

"An' I will too. We'll go and see what it is. Daddy and mother won't care, and we can come home with them."

Now while Bunny Brown and his sister Sue are getting ready to go out to see what that midnight alarm means, I'll tell you a little bit about the children, and the other books, of Which this is one in a series.

The first book was called "Bunny Brown and His Sister Sue." In that I told you that Bunny and Sue lived with their father and mother in Bellemere, near the ocean. Mr. Brown was in the boat business, and he had a big boy, Bunker Blue, as well as other men and boys, to help him. But of them all Bunny and Sue liked Bunker Blue best.

In the first book I told how Bunny's and Sue's Aunt Lu came from the city of New York to pay them a long visit, how she lost her diamond ring, and how Bunny found it in the queerest way.

In the second book, named "Bunny Brown and His Sister Sue on Grandpa's Farm," I told how the Brown family went on a trip in a big automobile. It was a regular moving van of an automobile, and so large that Bunny and Sue, Mr. and Mrs. Brown and Bunker Blue could eat and sleep in it. They camped out during the two or more days they were making the trip to grandpa's.

And what fun the children had in the country! You may read in the book all about how they saw the Gypsies, how they were frightened by tramps at the picnic, how they were lost, and what jolly times they had with their dog Splash.

Then, too, Bunny and Sue helped find grandpa's horses, that the Gypsies had taken away. So, altogether, the children had lots of fun on Grandpa Brown's farm. They even went to a circus, and this brings me to the third book, which is called: "Bunny Brown and His Sister Sue Playing Circus."

And that is just what Bunny and Sue did. They got up a little circus of their own, and held it in grandpa's barn. Then Bunker Blue, and some of the larger boys in the country, thought they would get up a show. They did, and held it in two tents. Of course Bunny and Sue helped.

A week or so after the circus Bunny and Sue, with Bunker, and their father and mother (and of course their dog Splash) came back from the country in the big automobile.

Bunny and Sue had many friends in Bellemere where they lived. Not only were the boys and girls their friends, but also many grown folk, who liked the Brown children very much indeed. There was Mrs. Redden, who kept the village candy store, and there was Uncle Tad, an old soldier, who lived in the Brown house. Bunny and Sue liked them very much.

Then there was old Jed Winkler, a sailor, who lived with his sister, Miss Euphemia Winkler, and a monkey. That's right! Mr. Winkler did have a pet monkey named Wango, and he was very funny -- I mean the monkey was funny. He was so gentle that Bunny and Sue often petted him, and gave him candy and peanuts to eat. Wango did many queer tricks.

But now I think I have told you enough about Bunny and Sue, as well as about their friends, so we will go back to the children. We left them getting ready to go out into the moonlight, you know, to see what the ringing of the church bell meant.

"Is you all ready, Bunny?" called Sue when she had put on her bath robe and slippers.

"Yep," he answered. "Come on."

Hand in hand the children went softly down the front stairs, as their father and mother had done. Mr. and Mrs. Brown were now out in the street, some distance away from the house. Men and women from several other houses, near that of the Brown family, were also out, wondering why the bell was ringing.

"Don't wake up Uncle Tad!" whispered Bunny to Sue, as they walked along so softly in their bath slippers.

"No, I won't," answered the little girl. "And don't wake up Mary, either. She might not let us go."

"All right," whispered Bunny.

Mary was the cook, but, as she slept up on the third floor, she would hardly hear the children going out.

"Shut the door easy," said Bunny to Sue, as they reached the front steps. "Don't let it slam."

They had found the door open, as Mr. and Mrs. Brown had left it, and the two children, each taking hold of it, closed it softly after them.

"Now we're all right!" whispered Bunny, as he started down the street on the run, for the bell was ringing louder than ever now, and Bunny was anxious to see the fire, if there was one. He hoped it would not be one of his father's boats, or the office on the fish dock.

"Wait! Wait for me!" cried Sue to her brother. "I can't run so fast, Bunny, 'cause I'll stumble over my bath robe. It's awful long!"

"Hold it up, just as I do," said Bunny, turning around to look at his sister. "Hold it up, and then your legs won't get tangled in it."

Sue pulled the robe up to her knees, and held it there. Bunny was doing the same thing, the bare legs of the children showing white in the moonlight. Bunny started off again.

"Wait! Wait!" begged Sue. "Take hold of my hand, Bunny."

"I can't!" he answered. "I've got to hold up my robe, or I'll tumble and bump my nose. Besides, how can I take hold of your hand when you haven't got any hand for me to take hold of?"

That was true enough. Sue was holding up her long robe with both hands.

"If I had some string I could tie up our robes," said Bunny, looking on the moonlit sidewalk, hoping he might find a piece. "But I hasn't got any," he said, "so I can't hold your hand, Sue. But I'll go slow for you."

He waited for his sister to catch up to him, and then the two children hurried on. They could go faster now, for their long bath robes did not dangle around their feet.

Down the street they hurried. The bell kept ringing and ringing, and Bunny and Sue could see and hear many other persons who had gotten up to see what it all meant, and who were now hurrying down the street.

"Oh, Bunny!" said Sue. "Isn't it just nice out to-night?"

"Yes," he said. The night was warm, and the moon was bright. Bunny Brown and his sister Sue did not think they were doing wrong to get up at midnight, and run down the street.

"I -- I wonder where mother is?" said Sue, as they turned a corner.

"We don't want to see her, or daddy either," answered Bunny, keeping in the shadows, out of sight.

"Why not, Bunny Brown? Why don't we want to see our papa or mamma?"

"'Cause they'll send us back to bed, and we want to see the fire."

"Oh! do you think there is a fire, Bunny?"

"I guess so, or the bell wouldn't ring. But we'll soon see it, Sue, for we're almost at the church."



Chapter III

Aunt Lu's Invitation.


"Ding-dong!" went the bell in the steeple. "Ding-dong! Ding-dong!"

By this time many persons were out in the street. Mr. Gorden, the grocery man, who lived next door to the Brown family, saw Bunny and Sue hurrying along.

"Hello!" he cried. "What are you two youngsters doing up at this hour of night?"

"We -- we came to see the fire," said Bunny.

"Where is your pa and your ma?" asked Mr. Gordon.

"They -- they went on ahead," explained Bunny.

"Oh, well, if they're with you I guess it's all right," the grocer said.

Of course Mr. and Mrs. Brown were not with Bunny and Sue, and their parents didn't even know that the children were out of their beds. But Mr. Gordon thought Bunny and Sue were all right, for he hurried on, calling back over his shoulder:

"I don't know where the fire is. I think it must be a mistake, for I don't see any bright light. Good-night, Bunny and Sue!"

"Good-night!" called the children, and they followed on behind Mr. Gordon.

Now they were in front of the church. Before it was quite a crowd of people, but Bunny and Sue seemed to be the only children. At first no one noticed them. Everyone was anxious to know what the ringing of the bell meant.

"Where's the fire?"

"Who rang the alarm?"

"Why didn't they ring the fire bell instead of the church bell?"

"Who's ringing it, anyhow?"

"And what a funny way to ring it!"

Those were some of the remarks and questions Bunny and Sue heard, as they stood in front of the church.

"Ding-dong!" the bell kept on ringing. "Ding-dong!"

"Well, there's one thing sure," said Mr. Gordon. "There isn't any fire around here, or we'd see it."

"Then someone must be ringing the bell for fun," suggested another voice.

"That's daddy," whispered Sue to Bunny.

"Hush!" Bunny said, as he moved around behind Mr. Gordon. He did not want his father or his mother to see him just yet -- not until he had found out what made the bell ring.

"It must be some boys doing it just for fun," said another man.

"Then we ought to get the police after them!" exclaimed someone else. "The idea of waking folks up at this hour of the night by ringing a church bell! They ought to be spanked!"

"Ding-dong! Ding-dong!" went the bell again. Everyone looked up at the church steeple, trying to see who was ringing the bell. There was no fire -- everyone was sure of that.

Then, all at once a man cried:

"There he is! I see him! There's the boy who has been ringing the bell!"

He pointed up to the steeple. Climbing out of one of the little windows, near the top, could be seen something small and black.

"It's a boy -- a little boy!" cried Mr. Gordon.

"Oh, he'll fall!" gasped Mrs. Brown. "The poor little fellow! How will he ever get down?"

Indeed he was very high above the ground. But he did not seem to be afraid.

"Little tyke!" said a man. "He ought to be spanked for this! I wonder whose boy he is?"

"I'm glad it isn't Bunny or Sue," said Mrs. Brown.

"Yes, they are safe at home in bed," answered Mr. Brown.

And, all this while, mind you, Bunny and Sue were right there in the crowd, where they could hear their father and their mother talking. But Mr. and Mrs. Brown did not see their children.

"Who are you, up there on that steeple?" cried Mr. Gordon. "Whose boy are you, and what are you doing there?"

There was no answer.

"Maybe it's Ben Hall, the circus boy," said Sue, as she thought of the strange boy who had come to grandpa's farm.

"No, it couldn't be!" said Bunny.

"It might," Sue went on. "Ben was a good climber, you know. He climbed up high in the barn, and jumped down in the hay, and he turned a somersault."

"Yes, but the church steeple is higher than the barn," said Bunny. "That isn't Ben Hall. It's a little boy -- not much bigger than I am."

Just then the moon, which had been behind a cloud, came out. The church steeple was well lighted up, and then everyone cried:

"Why, it isn't a boy at all! It's a monkey!"

"A monkey has been ringing the bell!"

"Whose monkey is it?" someone asked.

"Why it's Wango!" exclaimed Bunny Brown, out loud, before he thought. "It's Mr. Winkler's monkey, Wango!"

"And I know how to get him down!" chimed in Sue. "Just give him some peanuts, and he'll come down!"

The children's voices rang out clearly in the silence of the night. Everyone heard them, Mr. and Mrs. Brown included.

"Why -- why, that sounded just like Bunny!" said Mrs. Brown.

"And Sue," added Mr. Brown. "Bunny! Sue!" he called. "Are you here? Where are you?"

"We -- we're here, Daddy," said Bunny, sliding out from behind Mr. Gordon.

"And I'm here, too!" said Sue. She let her bath robe fall down over her bare legs.

"Well I never!" cried Mrs. Brown. "I thought you were at home in bed!"

"We -- we heard the fire-bell, Mother," said Bunny, "and when you and daddy got up we got up, too."

"But we didn't wake Uncle Tad nor Mary," said Sue.

The crowd laughed, and Mr. and Mrs. Brown had to smile. After all, Bunny and Sue had done nothing so very wrong. It was a warm, light night, and they were not far from home. Besides, they were only following their father and mother, though of course they ought not to have done that.

"Well, well!" said Mrs. Brown. "I wonder what you children will do next?"

"We -- we don't know," answered Sue, and everyone laughed again.

"As long as there isn't any fire, we'd better get back home," said Mr. Brown. "Come on, Bunny and Sue."

"Oh, please let us watch 'em get Wango down," begged Bunny. "Did he really ring the bell?"

"I guess he must have," said Mr. Gordon. "He's a great monkey for getting loose, and doing tricks. I don't see how we're going to get him down if he doesn't want to come, though. It's too high to climb after him."

"If we had some peanuts or lollypops, he'd come down," said Sue. "Once he was up on a high candy shelf in Mrs. Redden's store, and he came down for peanuts."

"Well, we might try that," said the store-keeper. "But here comes Mr. Winkler himself. I guess he'll know how to manage Wango."

The old sailor, who had also been awakened by the ringing of the bell, came slowly down the street. He looked toward the church steeple in the moonlight, and saw his pet.

"Wango, you bad monkey! Come right down here!" called Mr. Winkler.

But Wango only chattered, and stayed where he was.

"How'd he get up there?" someone asked.

"Oh, he broke loose in the night, when we were all asleep, and jumped out of an open window," said Mr. Winkler. "I suppose he must have climbed up inside the church steeple, and, seeing the bell rope hanging down, he swung himself by it, as he does on a rope I have fixed for him at home. His swinging back and forth on the rope rang the bell. I don't really believe he meant to do it."

And that was how it had happened, and how Wango had made people think there was a fire in the middle of the night when there wasn't any fire at all.

"Wango, come down!" called Mr. Winkler.

But the monkey would not come.

"If you had some peanuts he'd come," said Sue.

"I have some peanuts, little Sue," said Mr. Winkler, and he brought out a handful from his pocket. "Here, Wango, come and get these!" the old sailor called.

Wango chattered, and came scrambling down the church steeple. He liked peanuts very much, and he was soon perched on his master's shoulder eating the brown kernels, and throwing the shells to one side.

"Well, now that everything is over all right, we'll go back home," said Mr. Brown. "But the next time a bell rings at night, I don't want you children running out," he said.

"We won't," promised Bunny. "But it was so nice and warm, and moonlight, that we couldn't stay in, Daddy."

Daddy Brown laughed, and a little later he and his wife, with Bunny and Sue, were safe at home. They went in without awakening Uncle Tad or Mary, the cook. The other people also went home. Mr. Winkler fastened Wango so he could not get loose, and soon everyone was asleep again, even the bell-ringing monkey.

In the morning Bunny and Sue went over to see the old sailor's pet. Wango jumped around on his perch and chattered, for he liked the children.

"I -- I wish we'd had him in the circus at grandpa's farm," said Bunny, as he watched Wango do some of his tricks. "He would have made them all laugh."

"Yes," said Sue. "Wango is funny!" and she petted the little, brown animal.

When Bunny and Sue reached home again, munching on some cookies Miss Winkler had given them, they found their mother reading a letter.

"Good news, children!" Mother Brown cried. "Good news!"

"Oh, are we going back to grandpa's farm?" asked Bunny.

"No, not this time," said his mother. "This is a letter from Aunt Lu. She invites us to come to her home, in New York City, to spend the fall and winter. Oh, it's just a lovely invitation from Aunt Lu!"



Chapter IV

On The Grocery Wagon


Bunny Brown and his sister Sue began to dance up and down, and to clap their fat little hands. They always did this when they were happy over some pleasure that was coming. And surely it would be a pleasure to go to Aunt Lu's city home.

"Oh, Mother, may we go?" cried Bunny.

"Please say we can!" begged Sue.

"Why, yes, I think we'll go," smiled Mother Brown. "I have been thinking for some time of paying Aunt Lu a visit, and, now that she asks us to come, I think we will go."

"And will daddy come?" Bunny wanted to know.

"Well, he can't come and stay as long as we shall stay, perhaps," said Mrs. Brown, "but he may be with us part of the time, as he was at grandpa's farm."

"Oh, goodie! What fun we'll have! Oh, goodie! What fun we'll have!" sang Sue, dancing around, holding her doll by one arm.

"And we'll ride in street cars, and on the steam cars," said Bunny, "and I'll see a policeman and a fireman and the fire engines, and we'll have ice cream cones, and -- and --  -- "

But that was all the little boy could think of just then, and he had to stop to catch his breath, which had nearly got away from him, he had talked so fast.

"There won't be any horses to ride, and we can't see the ducks and chickens," said Sue, "like we did on grandpa's farm in the country, Bunny."

"No, but we can see lots of other things in the city. I know we'll have plenty of fun, Sue."

"Yes, I guess we will. When are we going, Mother?"

"Oh, in about a week, I think. I'll write and tell Aunt Lu we are coming."

"She hasn't lost her diamond ring again; has she?" asked Bunny.

"No, I guess not. She doesn't say anything about it, if she has," answered Mrs. Brown.

"'Cause if she had lost it we'd help her find it," the little boy went on. "Oh, Sue! aren't you glad we're going?"

"Well, I just guess I am!" said Sue, happily, singing again.

She and Bunny talked of nothing else all that day but of the visit to Aunt Lu, and at night, when they were going to bed, they made plans of what they would do when they got to Aunt Lu's city house in New York.

"You'll come; won't you, Daddy?" asked Bunny, at breakfast the next morning, just before Mr. Brown was ready to start for his office at the fish dock.

"Well, yes, I guess I'll come down when it gets so cold here that the boats can't go out in the bay on account of the ice," said daddy.

"Oh, are we going to stay until winter?" asked Sue.

"Yes, we shall stay over Christmas," her mother answered.

"Will there be a place to slide down hill?" Bunny wanted to know.

"I'm afraid not, in New York City," Mr. Brown said. "But you can have other kinds of fun, Bunny and Sue."

"Oh, I can hardly wait for the time to come!" cried Sue, as she once more danced around the room with her doll.

"Let's go out in the yard and play teeter-tauter," called Bunny. "That will make the time pass quicker, Sue."

Bunker Blue had made for the children a seesaw from a long plank put over a wooden sawhorse. When Bunny sat on one end of the plank, and Sue on the other, they went first up and then down, "teeter-tauter, bread and water," as they sang when they played this game.

Soon the brother and sister were enjoying themselves this way, talking about what fun they would have at Aunt Lu's city home. Then, all at once, Bunny jumped off the seesaw, and of course Sue came down with a bump.

"Oh, Bunny Brown!" she cried, "what did you do that for? Why didn't you tell me you were goin' to get off, an' then I could stop myself from bumpin'."

"I'm sorry," said Bunny. "I didn't know I was going to jump till I did. Did you get hurted?"

"No, but I might have. And you knocked my doll out of my lap, and maybe she's hurted."

"Oh, you can't hurt a doll!" cried Bunny. "Pooh!"

"Yes you can, too!"

"No you can't!"

The children might have gone on talking in this unpleasant way for some time, only, just then, up the side drive came Mr. Gordon's grocery wagon, with Tommie Tobin, the grocery boy, on the seat driving the horse.

"Oh, he's got things in for us!" cried Sue. "Let's go an' see what they is, Bunny. Maybe it's cookies, and we can have one. I'm hungry, and it isn't near dinner time yet. It's only cookie time."

The two children went over to the grocery wagon. Tommie Tobin jumped off the seat, and hurried into the Brown kitchen with a basket of things. He did not see Bunny and Sue, as they were on the other side of the wagon.

Just then Bunny had an idea. He often got ideas in his queer little head.

"Oh, Sue!" he cried. "I know what let's do!"

"What?" she asked.

"Let's get in the grocery wagon, and have a ride."

"Oh, Bunny! All right. Let's!"

Softly the children drew nearer the wagon. Then Sue thought of something.

"But, Bunny," she said, "Tommie won't like it. Maybe he won't let us ride."

"Oh, he'll like it all right," said Bunny. "He gave Charlie Star a ride the other day. Anyhow he won't know it."

"Who won't know it; Charlie?"

"No, Tommie. We'll get in the wagon, and hide down between the boxes and baskets, while he's in our house. Then he won't see us. Come on, Sue."

"But it's so high up I can't get in, Bunny."

"Oh, I'll help you. Here, we can stand on this box, and then we can easy get up."

Bunny found a box beside the drive-way. He put it up near the back of the grocery wagon, and stood up on it. Then he helped Sue up on the box.

"Now you can get in," said the little boy. "I'll boost you, just like Bunker Blue boosts me when I climb trees. Up you go, Sue!"

Bunny raised Sue up from the box. She put one leg over the tail-board of the wagon, and down inside she tumbled in the midst of the grocery packages, the boxes and baskets.

"Here I come!" cried Bunny, and in he came tumbling. He fell between Sue and a bag of potatoes. Just then the children heard a joyous whistle.

"Now keep still -- keep very still," whispered Bunny to Sue. "Here comes Tommie, and if he doesn't see us he'll drive off and give us a nice ride. Keep still, Sue."

Sue kept very still. So did Bunny. Tommie came out whistling. He tossed the empty basket into the back of the wagon, gave one jump up on to the seat, and cried:

"Giddap!"

Off trotted the horse with the wagon, taking Sue and Bunny for a ride, along with the groceries.



Chapter V

Surprising Old Miss Hollyhock


"Aren't we having a fine ride, Bunny?"

"Hush, Sue! Not so loud! He'll hear us!" whispered the little boy, as he and his sister cuddled down in among the boxes and baskets in the grocery wagon.

"But it is a nice ride; isn't it?"

"It sure is, Sue." Bunny laughed in a sort of whisper, so Tommie, the boy who drove the wagon, would not hear him. And, so far, Tommie had no idea that he was taking with him Bunny and Sue.

The two children had no idea where they were going. They often did things like that, without thinking, and sometimes they were sorry afterward. But it had seemed all right to them to get into the wagon for a ride.

"We won't go very far," Bunny went on, in another whisper, after a bit. "We'll just ride around the block, and then get out."

"Will we have to walk home?" Sue asked.

"Maybe Tommie will drive us back," said Bunny. "He's real good, you know."

"I'd rather ride than walk," said Sue.

Tommie was whistling away as loudly as he could, and this, with the rattle of the wagon, and the clatter of the horse's hoofs made so much noise that the whisperings of Bunny and Sue were not heard by the grocery boy.

The horse began to trot slowly, and Bunny and Sue, peering out from the back of the wagon, saw that it was going to stop in front of Charlie Star's house.

"What's he stopping for?" asked Sue.

"Hush!" whispered Bunny. "I guess Tommie is going to leave some groceries here."

Bunny had guessed right. Tommie reached back inside the wagon, and picked up a basket full of packages and bundles. The delivery boy did not notice Bunny and Sue, who crouched down low, so as to keep out of sight. Then, still whistling, Tommie ran up the walk with some groceries for Mrs. Star.

In a little while Tommie was back again, and once more the horse trotted off as the grocery boy called: "Giddap there, Prince!" Prince was the name of the horse.

"Oh, this sure is a fine ride!" said Sue, laughing and snuggling close up to Bunny. "Aren't you glad we came?"

"Yes," he answered, "but I hope he brings us back. We're a long way from home now, and it's pretty far to walk."

"Oh, I guess he'll take us," said Sue. "Anyhow we're having a good time, and so is my doll," and she looked at her toy which she had brought with her. The doll was now sound asleep on a pound of butter in one of the baskets, her feet resting on a bag of sugar, and one arm stretched over a box of crackers.

"She won't get hungry, anyhow," said Bunny with a laugh.

"She doesn't eat when she's asleep," said Sue.

Tommy stopped his grocery wagon several times, to leave boxes or baskets of good things at the different houses. Finally he stopped in front of a house where lived Mr. Thompson, and here Tommie had to wait a long time, for the Thompson family was very large, and they bought a number of groceries. Tommie used to write down in his book the different things Mrs. Thompson wanted to order, so he could bring them to her the next time he drove past.

Bunny and Sue, cuddled down amid the boxes and baskets, did not like to stay still so long. They wanted to be riding. Finally Sue looked out of the back of the wagon and said:

"Oh, Bunny, look! There's where old Miss Hollyhock lives," and she pointed to a shabby little house, where lived a poor old woman. "Hollyhock" was not her name, but everyone called her that because she had so many of those old-fashioned flowers around her house. She was so poor that often she did not have much to eat, except what the neighbors gave her. Mrs. Brown often sent her things, and once Bunny and Sue sold lemonade, and gave the money they took in to old Miss Hollyhock.

"Yes, that's where she lives," said Bunny.

"And maybe she's hungry now," Sue went on.

"Maybe she is," agreed Bunny.

"We could give her something to eat," suggested Sue, after thinking a few seconds.

"How?" Bunny wanted to know.

"Look at all these groceries," Sue said. "There's a lot here that Tommie don't need. We could get out, and take a basket full in to old Miss Hollyhock."

"Oh, so we could!" Bunny cried. "We'll do it. Pick out the biggest basket you can find, Sue."

Neither Bunny Brown nor his sister Sue thought it would be wrong to take a basket of groceries from the wagon for poor old Miss Hollyhock. They did not stop to think that the groceries belonged to someone else. All they thought of was that the old lady might be hungry.

"We'll take this basket," said Sue. "It's got lots in."

She pointed to one that held some bread, crackers, sugar, butter, potatoes, tea and coffee. All of these things were done up in paper bags, except the potatoes. Bunny and Sue could tell which was tea and which was coffee by the smell. And they had often gone to the store for their mother, so they knew how the grocer did up other things good to eat, in different sized bags or packages.

"Yes, that will be a nice basket to take to old Miss Hollyhock," agreed Bunny. "But I don't think I can carry it, Sue."

"I'll help you," said the little girl. "Anyhow, if we can't carry it all at once, we can take it in a little at a time."

"We -- we ought to have a box to step on when we get out, same as we had to get in," said Bunny.

"Here's one," and Sue pointed to an empty box in the wagon.

Bunny dragged it to the back of the wagon. The end, or "tail," board was down, so there was no trouble in dropping the box out of the wagon to the ground. Then Bunny could step on it and get out. He also helped Sue down. But first they pulled the big basket of groceries close to the end of the wagon, where they could easily reach it.

"Now we'll surprise old Miss Hollyhock," said Bunny.

"Won't it be nice!" exclaimed Sue.

They did not stop to think that they might also surprise someone else besides the poor old lady.

Looking toward the Thompson house, to make sure Tommie was not coming out, Bunny and Sue filled their little arms with bundles from the grocery basket, and started toward old Miss Hollyhock's cabin. They did not want Tommie to see what they were doing.

"'Cause maybe he wouldn't want to give her so much," said Bunny. "But mother will pay for it if we ask her to."

"Yes," said Sue.

Together they went up to old Miss Hollyhock's door. Then Bunny thought of something else.

"We'll give her a surprise," he whispered to Sue. "We'll make believe it's Valentine's Day or Hallowe'en, and we'll leave the things on her doorstep, and run away."

"That will be nice," said Sue.

The children had to make three trips before they had all the groceries out of the basket and piled nicely on the front steps of old Miss Hollyhock's house. But at last it was all done, and Bunny and Sue climbed back in the wagon again. Bunny even reached down and pulled up after him the box on which he and his sister had stepped when they got in and out.

All this while Tommie had not come out of the Thompson house, so of course he had not seen what the children had done. Soon after Bunny and Sue were safely snuggled down amid the boxes and baskets once more, the grocery boy came down the walk whistling.

He threw an empty basket into the wagon, put in his pocket the book in which he had written down the order Mrs. Thompson had given him, and cried to Prince:

"Giddap!"

"And he giddapped as fast as anything!" said Sue, in telling about it afterward. "He giddapped so fast that I tumbled over backward into a box of strawberries. But I didn't smash very many, and Bunny and me ate 'em, so it didn't hurt much."

On went the grocery horse, and pretty soon Tommie, on the front seat, cried:

"Whoa!"

The horse stopped in front of a big house where lived Mr. Jones. Tommie looked back into the wagon. He did not see Bunny and Sue, for they had pulled a horse blanket over themselves to hide, since there were not so many boxes in the wagon now.

"Hello!" cried Tommie in surprise. "Where's that big basket of groceries for Mr. Jones? I surely put it in the wagon, but it's gone! This is queer!"

Bunny and Sue, hiding under the blanket, wondered what would happen next.



Chapter VI

Off For New York


"Where is that basket of groceries for the Jones house? Where can it have gone to?" asked Tommie aloud, as he looked back into his wagon. "I'm sure I put it in, and now -- "

He turned around on his seat, and stepped over into the back part of the wagon, among the boxes and baskets. He looked at them carefully, and finally he raised the horse blanket that was over Bunny and Sue.

"Why -- why -- what -- what in the world are you doing here?" cried Tommie, much surprised to see the two children hiding there.

"We -- we're having a ride," said Sue.

"Where did you get in?" asked Tommie.

"When you stopped at our house," answered Bunny. "And we've been riding with you ever since."

"Well, well!" cried Tommie. "And to think I never knew it! You riding in with me all the while, and I never knew a thing about it! Well, well!"

He laughed, and Bunny and Sue laughed also. It was quite a joke.

"You don't mind, do you, Tommie?" asked Bunny.

"No, not a bit. I'm glad to have you."

"And will you ride us home?" asked Sue.

"Sure, yes, of course I will. But I've got to deliver the rest of my groceries first. And that makes me think -- I've lost a big basket full that ought to go to Mr. Jones. I'm sure I put 'em in the wagon, but they're not here. You didn't see a big basket of groceries -- butter, bread, tea, coffee and sugar -- fall out, while you were riding in there, did you?"

Bunny and Sue looked at one another. They were both thinking of the same thing.

"That must have been the basket," said Bunny slowly.

"Yes," agreed Sue.

"What basket?" asked Tommie.

"We -- we gave a basket of groceries to old Miss Hollyhock," said Bunny slowly. "It was while you were in Mr. Thompson's house. You know old Miss Hollyhock is awful poor, and we gave her the things to eat. We left 'em on her doorstep."

"For a Hallowe'en surprise," added Sue, "or a Valentine, though it isn't Valentine's Day yet, either."

"So that's what happened; eh?" cried the grocery boy. "Old Miss Hollyhock has the things I ought to leave for Mrs. Jones! Well, well!"

"Is you mad?" asked Sue, for there was a queer look on Tommie's face.

"No, not exactly mad, Sue," said Tommie slowly. "But I don't know what to do. I know you meant to be kind, and good to old Miss Hollyhock; but what am I to do about the things for Mrs. Jones? I can't very well go and take them away from old Miss Hollyhock, for she must think that some of her friends sent them, as they often do. It wouldn't do to take them away."

"Oh, no! You musn't take 'em away from her, after we gave 'em to her," said Bunny. "That would make her feel bad."

"And she feels bad now, 'cause she's poor," put in Sue. "She's hungry, too, maybe."

"Yes, I guess she is," agreed Tommie. "Well, I don't know what to do. If I go back to the store to get more things for Mrs. Jones, Mr. Gordon will want to know what became of the basketful I had. And old Miss Hollyhock has them. Well -- "

"Oh, I know what to do!" cried Bunny.

"What?" asked Tommie.

"You go to my house," said the little boy, "and my mamma will give you money to buy more groceries for Mrs. Jones. Then old Miss Hollyhock can keep the ones Sue and me give her. Won't that be all right?"

"Yes, I s'pose it will if your mother gives me the money," answered Tommie slowly.

"She won't have to give you the money," said Sue. "We don't pay money for groceries anyhow; we charge 'em."

"Well, it's the same thing in the end," said Tommie with a laugh. "But I guess the best I can do is to take you two youngsters home, and see what happens then. I'll tell Mrs. Jones I'll come later with her groceries."

Tommie ran up to the Jones house, and was soon back on the wagon again. He drove quite fast to the home of Bunny and Sue.

"Oh, you children!" cried Mrs. Brown, when she heard what had happened -- about Bunny and Sue riding in the grocery wagon, and giving the things away to old Miss Hollyhock that Mrs. Jones ought to have had.

"You'll pay for the groceries, won't you, Mother?" asked Bunny.

"Yes, dear, I suppose so. I know you meant to be kind, but you should ask me before you do things like that. However, the food will be a great help to old Miss Hollyhock. I was going to send her some anyhow.

"Here, Tommie, you give this note to Mr. Gordon, the grocer, and he will charge the things to me, and give you more for Mrs. Jones. I'm sorry you had all this trouble."

"Oh, I don't mind," and Tommie was smiling now. "I'm glad Bunny and Sue had a nice ride."

"And it makes you feel good to give things to people," said Bunny. "I mean it makes you feel good inside."

"Like eating bread and jam when you're hungry," observed Sue.

"No, it isn't like that," said Bunny. "'Cause when your hungry, and you eat bread and jam it makes you feel good here," and he put his hand on his stomach. "But when you make somebody, like old Miss Hollyhock, a present it makes you feel good higher up," and he patted his little heart.

"Well, I'm glad to know you like to be kind," said Mother Brown. "But please don't run away and ride in any more grocery wagons, or something may happen so that you can't go on a visit to Aunt Lu's city home."

"Oh dear!" cried Sue. "We wouldn't want that to happen! Are we soon going, Mother?"

"Pretty soon, I guess. I have some sewing to do first. I must make you some new dresses."

The next week was a busy one in the Brown house. There were clothes to get ready for Bunny and Sue, and as they had just come back from a long visit to grandpa's, in the country, some of their things needed much mending. For Bunny and Sue had played in the hay; they had romped around in the barn, and had run through the woods, and across the fields.

But the summer vacation had done them good. They were strong and healthy, and as brown as little Indian children. They could play all day long, come in, go to bed, and get up early the next morning, ready for more good times.

One day the postman brought another letter from Aunt Lu.

"I can hardly wait for Bunny and Sue to come to see me," said Aunt Lu. "I am sure they will have a fine time in the city, though it is different from the seashore where they live. Bunny will not find any lobster claws here. And my home isn't in the country, either. There are no green fields to play in, though we can go to Central Park, or the Bronx Zoo."

"What's a Zoo?" asked Bunny. "Is it something good to eat?"

"It's a game, like tag," guessed Sue.

"No," said Mother Brown. "Aunt Lu means the Bronx Zoölogical Park, and she calls it Zoo for short. That means a place where animals are kept."

"Wild animals?" asked Bunny.

"Yes."

"Pooh! I know what a Zoo is -- it's a circus!" the little boy exclaimed.

"Well, it's partly like that," said his mother. "But that isn't all of Aunt Lu's letter."

"What else does she say?" asked Sue.

"Why, she writes that she has a surprise for you."

"Oh, what is it?" asked Bunny.

"Tell us!" begged Sue.

"Aunt Lu doesn't say," said Mrs. Brown. "You will have to wait until you get to Aunt Lu's city home. Then you'll find out what the surprise is."

Bunny and Sue tried all that day to guess, but of course they could not tell whether they had guessed right or not.

"Oh dear!" sighed Sue. "I wish it was time to go now."

But the days soon passed, and, about a week later, Mrs. Brown, with Bunny and Sue, were at the railroad station, ready to take the train for New York. Mr. Brown could not go with them, though he said he would come later. He went to the station with them, however.

"Here comes the New York train," said Mr. Brown as a whistle sounded down the track. "Now you're off for Aunt Lu's!"



Chapter VII

On The Train


Mr. Brown helped his wife and the two children on to the train. Then he had to hurry down the steps, for the engine was whistling, which meant that it was about to start off again.

"And I don't want to be carried away with it, much as I would like to go," said Daddy Brown. "But I'll come to Aunt Lu's and see you before the winter is over, though now I must stay here, and look after my boat business, with Bunker Blue."

"Bring Bunker with you when you come to New York," called Bunny to his father, as the train slowly rolled out of the station.

"All right, perhaps I will," answered Mr. Brown.

Bunny Brown and his sister Sue crowded up to the open car window to wave a last good-bye to their father, who stood on the depot platform. At last they could see him no longer, for the train was soon going fast, and was quickly far away. Then the children settled down to enjoy their ride.

"Mother, can't I sit next to the window?" begged Sue.

"No, I want to!" cried Bunny.

The children did not often ride in the steam cars, and of course it was quite a treat for each of them to sit next to the window, where one could watch the trees, houses, fences and telegraph poles as they seemed to fly past. In fact Bunny and Sue both wanted the window so much that they quite forgot to be polite, as they nearly always were.

"I'm going to be at the window," said Sue.

"No, I am!" cried Bunny.

"Children, children!" said Mrs. Brown softly. "Be nice now. I will let you each have a seat by yourself, then you may each sit by a window. You must not be so impatient about it."

The car was not crowded, and there was plenty of room for Bunny and Sue to have each a seat by a window. Mrs. Brown also sat in a seat by herself behind the two little ones. She had seen that the windows were not raised high enough for Bunny or Sue to put out their heads.

"And you must not put out your arms, or hands, either," she said. "You might be hit by a post or something, and be hurt. Keep your hands and arms in."

Bunny and Sue were quite happy now, for they loved to travel, as most children do. Then, too, they were going to Aunt Lu's in the big city of New York, and would have lots of good times there. They had said good-bye to all their little friends, and to old Miss Hollyhock. The poor old lady had found the groceries on her doorstep, and she was very thankful for them.

"I hope when you get old, and poor and hungry, you'll have some one to be kind to you," she had said to Bunny and Sue, when she found out it was to them she owed the good things.

"Oh, we're never going to be poor!" Sue had said. "Our papa will buy us things to eat. He buys us ice cream cones; don't he Bunny?"

"Yes, dear, and I hope he will always be with you, to look after you," said old Miss Hollyhock.

Bunny and Sue had also said good-bye to Uncle Tad, to Mrs. Redden who kept the candy store, and to Mr. and Miss Winkler. Nor did they forget to say good-bye to Wango, the monkey.

"We won't see any monkeys in the city," said Sue.

"Yes we will," cried Bunny. "We'll see 'em in the Zoo. And they have hand-organ monkeys in cities, Sue."

"Maybe they do," she said.

And now, as the two children were riding in the train, they talked of what they saw from the windows, and also of the friends they had left behind in Bellemere, not forgetting Wango, the monkey.

"Mother, I want a drink of water," said Sue, after a while. "I'm thirsty."

"All right, I'll get you a drink," said Mrs. Brown. In her bag she had a little drinking cup, that closed up, "like an accordion," as Bunny said. And, taking this out, Mrs. Brown walked to the end of the car where the water was kept in a tank, to get Sue a drink.

As the little girl was taking some from the cup the train gave a sudden swing to one side, and, the first thing Sue knew, the water had splashed up in her face, and down over her dress.

"Oh -- oh, Mother!" gasped Sue. "I -- I didn't mean to do that."

"No, you couldn't help it," said Mrs. Brown. "It was the train that made you do it. Water won't hurt your dress."

Mrs. Brown sat down, after wiping the drops off Sue's skirt and face. She was beginning to read a book when Bunny, who had been looking out of his window, called:

"Mother, I'm thirsty. I want a drink!"

"Oh, Bunny dear! Why didn't you tell me that when I was getting one for Sue?"

"'Cause, Mother, I wasn't thirsty then."

Mrs. Brown smiled. Then she once more went down to the end of the car and got Bunny a drink. By this time the train had stopped at a station, so the car was not "jiggling" as Sue called it. And Bunny did not spill his cup of water.

For some time after this the two children sat quietly in their seats.

"I just saw a cow!" Sue called back to her brother.

"Pooh!" he answered. "That's nothing. I just saw two horses in a field, and one was running."

"Well, a cow's better than a horse," insisted Sue.

"No it isn't!" Bunny cried. "You can ride a horse, but you can't ride a cow."

"Well, a cow gives milk."

Bunny could not think of any answer for a minute, and then he said:

"Well, anyhow, two horses is better than one cow."

Even Sue thought this might be so. She sat looking out of the window, watching the trees, houses, fences and telegraph poles, as they seemed to fly past.

By and by a boy came through the car selling candy.

"Mother, I'm hungry!" said Bunny.

"So am I!" added Sue. "I want some candy!"

Mrs. Brown bought them some chocolates, for the ride was a long one, and they had eaten an early breakfast. The candy kept Bunny and Sue quiet for a while, and Mrs. Brown was shutting her eyes for a little sleep, when she heard some one behind her saying:

"Oh, children, I wouldn't do that!"

Quickly opening her eyes she saw Bunny and Sue crossing to the other side of the car, to take some empty seats there. A passenger behind Mrs. Brown, seeing that she was asleep, had spoken to the children.

"Oh, you musn't do that," said Mrs. Brown. "Stay in the seats you had first."

"We want to see what's on this side," said Bunny. He had already climbed up into a vacant seat, and was near the window, when, all at once, a train rushed past on the other track, with a loud whistle, a clanging of the bell and puffing of the engine, that sent smoke and cinders into Bunny's face. The little fellow jumped back quickly.

"There!" exclaimed Mrs. Brown. "You see it is much nicer on the side where you were first. No trains pass on this side."

So Bunny and Sue were glad enough to go back to the places they had at first. For some time they were quiet, looking out at the different stations as they stopped. At noon their mother gave them some chicken sandwiches from a basket of lunch she had put up.

"Why don't we go into the dining car, like we did once?" Bunny wanted to know.

"Because there isn't any on this train," said Mrs. Brown. "But we will soon be at Aunt Lu's. Now sit back in your seats, and rest yourselves."

Bunny and Sue did for a while. Then they looked for something else to do. The train boy came through with some picture books, and Mrs. Brown bought one each for Bunny and Sue.

These kept them quiet for a little while, but the books were soon finished, even when Bunny took Sue's and gave her his, to change about.

"You come back and sit in my seat, Bunny," Sue invited her brother after a while.

"No, you come with me," said Bunny. So Sue got in with him, but she wanted to sit next to the window, and as Bunny wanted that place himself, they were not satisfied, until Sue went back in her own seat.

About this time Bunny looked up and saw a long cord stretched overhead in the car, like a clothes line. It hung down from the car ceiling, and ran over little brass wheels, or pulleys, like those on Mr. Brown's boats, only much smaller.

"Do you see that cord, Sue?" asked Bunny.

"Yes," answered the little girl. "What's it for?"

"That's what holds the cars together," Bunny said. "The cars are tied to the engine with that cord."

Of course this was not so, for it takes strong iron chains and bars to hold the railroad cars one to another, and to the engine. But Bunny thought the cord, that blew a whistle in the engine, kept the train from coming apart.

"Is that what it's for?" asked Sue. "It isn't a very big string for to hold a train."

"Oh, it's very strong," Bunny said. "Nobody could break it."

"I -- I guess daddy could break it," Sue suggested.

"No he couldn't!"

"Yes he could! Daddy's awful strong!"

"He couldn't break that cord!" declared Bunny. "Nobody could break it. If I could pull it down here, you could pull on it and see how strong it is. No one can break it."

He reached up toward the whistle cord, but he was too short to get hold of it.

"I know how you can get it," said Sue.

"How can I get it?" Bunny asked.

"Hook it down with mother's parasol," answered Sue.

"Oh, so I can!" cried Bunny.

He went back to the seat where his mother sat. Mrs. Brown had fallen asleep, and Bunny got her parasol without awakening her.

The little fellow raised the umbrella, and hooked the crook in the end of it over the whistle cord. He pulled down hard, and then -- well, I guess I'll tell you in the next chapter what happened.



Chapter VIII

Aunt Lu's Surprise


When Bunny Brown pulled down on the whistle cord in the railroad car, a very strange thing happened. All at once there was a loud squeaking, grinding sound. The car shivered and shook and began to go slowly. It stopped so suddenly that Bunny slid out of the smooth plush seat down to the floor. So did his sister Sue.

Some of the other passengers had hard work to keep from sliding from their seats, and many of them jumped up and began calling:

"What's the matter?"

"What has happened?"

"Is there an accident?"

For when a train stops suddenly, you know, if it is going along fast, it almost always means that something has happened, or that there is a cow, or something else, on the track, and that the engineer wants to stop, quickly, so as not to hit it. And that's what the other passengers thought now.

Mrs. Brown was suddenly awakened from her sleep. She, too, had almost slid from her seat when the car stopped so suddenly. For the moment Bunny pulled down on the cord, it blew a whistle in the cab, or little house of the engine, where the engineer sits. And when the engineer heard that whistle he knew it meant for him to stop as soon as he could.

He could look down the track, and see that there was nothing on the rails that he could hit, but, hearing the whistle, he thought the conductor, or one of the brakemen, must have pulled the cord. Perhaps the engineer thought some one had fallen off the train, as people sometimes fall off boats, and the engineer wanted to stop quickly so the passenger could be picked up. At any rate, he stopped very suddenly, and that was what made all the trouble. Or, rather, Bunny Brown made all the trouble, though he did not mean to.

"Why, Bunny!" cried his mother, as she straightened up in her seat. "Where are you? Where is Sue? What has happened?"

For, you know, Bunny and Sue had slid down to the floor of the car when the train came to such a sudden stop.

"Where are you, children?" called Mrs. Brown, anxiously.

"I -- I'm here, Mother!" answered Sue. "Bunny pushed me off my seat!"

"Oh-o-o-o, Sue Brown! I did not!" cried the little fellow, getting up with the parasol still in his hand. "I did not!"

"Well, you made the train stop, and that knocked me out of my seat, and my doll was knocked down too, so there!" answered Sue, and she seemed ready to cry.

"Bunny, what happened? What did you do?" asked his mother. "What are you doing with my parasol?" she asked.

"I -- I just reached up to pull down that rope with the crooked handle end," Bunny answered, pointing to the whistle cord. "I wanted to show Sue how strong it was, so I pulled on it."

"Oh ho!" exclaimed a fat man, a few seats ahead of Bunny. "So that's what made the train stop; eh? I thought someone must have pulled the engineer's whistle cord to make him stop, but I didn't think it was a little boy like you."

"Oh, Bunny!" exclaimed his mother, when she saw what had happened. "You shouldn't have done that. You musn't stop the train that way."

"I -- I didn't want to stop the train, Mother!" the little boy answered. "I just wanted to show Sue about the cord. I fell out of my seat, too," he added.

"Yes, nearly all of us did," said the fat man with a laugh. "Well if you didn't mean to do it Bunny, we'll forgive you I suppose," and he laughed in a jolly way.

Into the car came hurrying the conductor, with the gold bands on his cap, and the brakeman. They looked all around, and then straight at Bunny who still held his mother's parasol.

"Who pulled the whistle cord?" asked the conductor. Years ago there used to be a bell cord in the train, and a bell rang in the engineer's cab when the cord was pulled. But now an air whistle blows. "Who pulled the cord?" asked the conductor.

Now Bunny Brown was a brave little chap, even when he knew he had done wrong. So he spoke up and said:

"I -- I pulled it, Mr. Conductor. I pulled the cord."

"You did eh?" and the conductor smiled a little now. Bunny looked so funny and so cute standing there, with the parasol, and Sue looked so pretty, standing near him, holding her doll upside down, that no one could help at least smiling. Some of the passengers were laughing.

"And so you stopped my train; did you?" the conductor asked.

"I -- I guess so," Bunny answered. "I was pulling down on the rope, to show my sister how strong it was."

"Oh, I see," the conductor went on. "Then you didn't stop my train because you wanted to get off?"

"Oh, no!" cried Bunny quickly. "I don't want to get off now. I want to go to New York. We're going to my Aunt Lu's house."

"Well, New York is quite a way off yet," laughed the conductor, "so I guess you had better stay with us. But please don't pull on the whistle cord again."

"I won't," Bunny promised. "But it is a strong rope, isn't it, Mr. Conductor? And it does hold the cars together; doesn't it?"

"Well, no, not exactly," the conductor answered, while the passengers laughed. "I'll show you what the cord does in a little while. But I'm glad nothing has happened. I thought there was an accident when the train stopped so quickly, so I ran through all the cars to find out. Now we'll go on again."

He reached up and pulled the car-cord twice. Far up ahead, in the cab of the locomotive, a little whistle blew twice, and the engineer knew that meant for him to go ahead. It's just like that on a trolley car. One bell means to stop, and two bells to go ahead.

"Oh Bunny! Why did you do it?" asked his mother, as she took the parasol from him.

"Why -- why, I didn't mean to stop the train," he said.

Mrs. Brown thought there was not much need of scolding Bunny, for he had not meant to do wrong. He promised never again to pull on a whistle cord in a train.

Now the cars were rolling on again, and, in a little while the conductor again came back to where Mrs. Brown was sitting.

"Now where's the little boy who stopped my train?" he asked with a smile.

"I'm here," Bunny answered, "and this is my sister Sue."

"Well, I'm glad to meet you both again, I'm sure," and the conductor shook hands with Bunny and kissed Sue. "Now, if you two would like it, I'll show you where you blew the whistle in the engine."

"Oh, will you take us in the engine?" asked Bunny, who had always wanted to go in that funny little house on top of the locomotive's back.

"Yes, I'll take you in when we make the next stop," the conductor said. "We have to wait a few minutes to give the engine a drink of water, and I'll take you and your sister in the engine. That is if you say it's all right," and he turned around to look at Mrs. Brown.

"Oh, yes," Bunny's mother answered. "They may go with you if they won't be a bother. I'm sorry my little boy made so much trouble about stopping the train."

"Oh, well, he didn't mean to, so we'll forget all about it. I'll come back and get you when we stop," he said.

A little later the train slowed up. It did it so easily that no one fell out of his seat this time, and, pretty soon, back came the conductor to get Bunny and Sue.

The engine had stopped near a big wooden tank filled with water, and some of this water was running through a big pipe into the tender of the engine. The tender is the place where the coal is kept for the locomotive fire.

"Hello, Jim!" called the conductor to the engineer who was leaning out of the window of his little house. "Here's the boy who stopped the train so suddenly a while back."

"Oh ho! Is he?" asked the engineer. "Well, he isn't a very big boy, to have stopped such a big train."

"I -- I didn't mean to," said Bunny, and he and Sue looked back, and saw that truly it was a long train. And the locomotive pulling it was a very big one.

"Well, you didn't do much damage," laughed the engineer.

"I'm going to bring them up to see you," the conductor said.

"That's right, let 'em come!"

The engineer came out of his cab and took first Bunny, and then Sue, from the conductor, who lifted them up to the iron step near the boiler. A hot fire was burning under the engine to make steam, and Bunny and Sue looked at it in wonder.

Then the engineer took them up in his cab, and showed Bunny where, on the ceiling, was the little air whistle -- the one Bunny had blown when he pulled the cord with the parasol. Then the engineer showed the children the shiny handle that he pulled to make the engine go ahead, and another that made it go backward. Then he showed a little brass handle.

"This is the one I pulled on in a hurry when I heard you blow the whistle once," he said.

"What handle is that?" asked the little boy.

"That's the handle that puts on the air brakes," said the engineer. "And over here is the rope the fireman pulls when he wants to ring the bell. I'll let you ring it."

"And me, too?" asked Sue.

"Yes, you too!" laughed the engineer.

First Bunny pulled on the rope that was fast to the big bell on the top of the engine, near the smoke-stack where the puffing noise sounded. Bunny could hardly make the bell ring, as it was very heavy, but finally he did make it sound:

"Ding-dong!"

"Now it's my turn!" cried Sue.

She could only make the bell ring once:

"Ding!"

But she was just as well pleased.

By this time the engine had taken enough water for its boiler, to last until it got to New York, and the conductor took Bunny and Sue back to their mother. They were quite excited and pleased over their visit to the locomotive, and told Mrs. Brown all about the strange sights they had seen.

"But when will we be at Aunt Lu's?" asked Bunny, as he looked out of the window.

"Oh, soon now," his mother answered.

And, in about an hour, the brakeman put his head in through the door of their car, and called out:

"New York! All change!"

"Change what, Mother?" asked Sue. "Have we got to change our clothes? Are we going to bed?"

"No, dear. The man means we must change cars. We are at the end of our railroad trip."

"But it's so dark," said Bunny. "I thought it was time to go to bed."

"It's the station that's dark," said Mrs. Brown. "Part of it is underground, like a tunnel."

Indeed it was so dark in the train and the station that the car lamps were lighted. No wonder Bunny and Sue thought it time to go to bed.

But when they got outside the sun was shining, though it was afternoon, and would soon be supper time.

"Oh, here you are! Hello, Bunny dear! Hello, Sue dear!" cried a jolly voice.

"Oh, Aunt Lu! Oh, Aunt Lu!" cried Bunny and Sue as they clung to their aunt. "We're so glad to see you!"

"And I'm glad to see you!" she cried, as she kissed her sister, Mrs. Brown. "Now come on, and we'll soon be at my house."

"But where's the surprise?" asked Bunny.

"Yes, we want to see the surprise," said Sue.

"It's in my automobile," said Aunt Lu with a laugh. "Come on, I'll show her to you."

"Is it -- is it a her?" asked Bunny.

"Yes, my dear. You'll soon see. Come on!"

Aunt Lu led the way to a fine, large automobile just outside the station. A man wearing a tall hat opened the door of the car, and looking inside Bunny and Sue saw a queer little colored girl, her kinky hair standing up in little pigtails all over her head. She smiled at Bunny and Sue, showing her white teeth.

"There!" cried Aunt Lu. "What do you think of my surprise?"



Chapter IX

The Wrong House


For a second or two Bunny Brown and his sister Sue did not know what to say. They stood on the sidewalk, at the door of the automobile, which was one of the closed kind, staring at the little colored girl, with her kinky wisps of hair.

"Well, what do you think of Wopsie?" asked Aunt Lu again. "Don't you like my surprise, Bunny -- Sue?"

"Is -- is this the surprise?" asked Bunny.

"Yes, this is Wopsie. I'll tell you about her in a little while. Get in now, and we'll soon be at my house."

Wopsie, the colored girl, smiled to show even more of her white teeth, and then she asked:

"Is yo' all de company?"

"Yes, this is the company I told you about, Wopsie," said Miss Baker, which was Aunt Lu's name. "This is Bunny," and she pointed to the little boy, "and this little girl is Sue. They are going to be my company for a long time, I hope."

Wopsie gave a funny little bow, that sent her black topknots of hair bobbing all over her head, and said:

"Pleased to meet yo' all, company! Pleased to meet yo'!"

Bunny and Sue thought Wopsie talked quite funnily, but they were too polite to say so. They looked at the little colored girl and smiled. And she smiled back at them.

"Home, George," said Miss Baker to one of the two men on the front seat of the automobile. The man touched his cap, and soon Bunny, Sue and their mother were being driven rapidly through the streets of New York in Aunt Lu's automobile.

"It's almost as big as the one we went in to grandpa's, in the country," said Bunny, as he looked around at the seats, and noticed the little electric lamp in the roof.

"But you can't sleep in it or cook in it," said Sue. "And there's no place for Splash or Bunker Blue."

"No," said Bunny. "That's so."

The children had had to leave Splash, the dog, home with Daddy Brown, and of course Bunker Blue did not come to Aunt Lu's.

"No, we can't sleep in my auto, nor eat, unless it is to eat candy, or cookies, or something like that," said Aunt Lu. "And I have some sweet crackers for the children, if you think it's all right for them to eat," said Aunt Lu to Mother Brown.

"Oh, yes. I guess it will be all right. They must be hungry, though they ate on the train."

"And Bunny stopped the train, too!" cried Sue. "He pulled on the whistle cord, with mother's parasol, and we stopped so quick we slid out of our seats; didn't we, Bunny?"

"Yep!"

"My! That was quite an adventure," said Aunt Lu, laughing.

"And we went in the choo-choo engine," went on Sue. "I ringed the bell, I did, and so did Bunny. Was you ever in a train, Wopsie?" Sue asked the little colored girl.

"Yes'm, I was once."

"Wopsie came all the way up from down South," said Aunt Lu. "She is a little lost girl."

"Lost!" cried Bunny and Sue. They did not understand how any one could be lost when in a nice automobile with Aunt Lu.

"Yes'm, I'se losted!" said Wopsie, shaking her kinky head, "an' I suttinly does wish dat I could find mah folks!"

"I must tell you about her," said Aunt Lu. "Wopsie, which is the name I call her, though her right name is Sallie Jefferson, was sent up North to live with her aunt here in New York. Wopsie made the trip all alone. She was put on the train, at a little town somewhere in North Carolina, or South Carolina -- she doesn't remember which -- and sent up here."

"All alone?" asked Bunny.

"Yes, all alone. She had a tag, or piece of paper, pinned to her dress, with the name and house number of her aunt. But the paper was lost."

"De paper was losted, and now I'se losted," said Wopsie.

"I'll tell them all about you, Wopsie," said Aunt Lu.

Then she told Bunny and Sue how the little colored girl had reached New York all alone, not knowing where to go.

"A kind lady, in the same station where you children just came in, looked after Wopsie," said Aunt Lu. "This lady looks after all lost boys and girls, and she took Wopsie to a nice place to stay all night. In the morning she tried to find Wopsie's aunt, but could not. Nor could Wopsie tell her aunt's name, or where she lived. She was lost just as you and Sue, Bunny, sometimes get lost in the woods."

"And how did you come to take her?" asked Mother Brown.

"Well, Wopsie was sent to a society that looks after lost children," said Aunt Lu. "They tried to find her friends, either up here, in New York, or down South, but they could not. I belong to this society, and when I heard of Wopsie I said I would take her and keep her in my house for a while. I can train her to become a lady's maid while I am waiting to find her folks."

"Are you trying to find them?" asked Mrs. Brown.

"Yes, I have written all over, and so has the society. We have asked the police to let us know if any one is asking for a little lost colored girl. But I have had her nearly a month now, and no one has claimed her."

"Yep. I suah am losted!" said Wopsie, but she laughed as she said it, and did not seem to mind very much. "It's fun being losted like this," she said, as she patted the soft cushions of the automobile. "I likes it!"

"And are you really going to keep her?" asked Mrs. Brown of her sister.

"Yes, until she gets a little older, or until I can find her folks. I think her father and mother must have died some time ago," said Aunt Lu in a whisper to Mrs. Brown. "She probably didn't have any real folks down South, so whoever she was with sent her up here."

"Well, I'm glad you took care of her," said Mrs. Brown. "She looks like a nice clean little girl."

"She is; and she is very kind and helpful. She is careful, too, and she will be a help with Bunny and Sue. Wopsie has already learned her way around that part of New York near my apartment, and I can send her on errands. She can take Bunny and Sue out."

While Mrs. Brown and Aunt Lu were talking together Wopsie had given Bunny and Sue some sweet crackers from a box she took out from a pocket in the side of the automobile. Aunt Lu had told her to do so. So Bunny and Sue ate the crackers as they rode along, and Wopsie sat near them.

"Don't you want a cracker?" asked Bunny.

"No, sah, thank you," answered the little colored girl. "I don't eat 'tween meals. Miss Baker say as how it ain't good for your intergestion."

"What's in -- indergaston?" asked Sue.

"Huh! Dat's a misery on yo' insides -- a pain," said Wopsie. "I t'ought everybody knowed dat!"

Bunny was silent a minute.

"Do you know how to stop a train by pulling on the whistle cord?" he asked.

"No," said Wopsie.

"Huh! I thought everybody knew that!" exclaimed Bunny. Then he laughed, as Wopsie did. It was a little joke on her, when Bunny answered her the way he did.

The automobile came to a stop in front of a large building. Bunny and Sue looked up at it.

"My! What a big house you live in, Aunt Lu!" said Bunny.

"Oh, this isn't all mine!" laughed Aunt Lu. "There are many others who live in here. This is what is called an apartment house. I have my dining room, kitchen, bath room and other rooms, and other families in this building have the same thing. You see there isn't room in New York to build separate houses, such as you have in Bellemere, so they make one big house, and divide it up on the inside, into a number of little houses, or apartments."

Bunny and Sue thought that very strange.

"But you haven't any yard to play in!" exclaimed Bunny, as he and his sister got out of the automobile, and found that the front door of Aunt Lu's apartment was right on the sidewalk.

"No, we don't have yards in the city, Bunny. But we have a roof to go up on and play."

"Playing on a roof!" cried Bunny. "I should think you'd fall off!"

"Oh, it has a high railing all around it. Wopsie may take you up there after a bit. Then you can see how it seems to play on a roof, instead of down on the ground. We have to do queer things in big cities."

Bunny Brown and his sister Sue certainly thought so.

As they entered the apartment house the children found themselves in a wide hall, with marble floor and sides. There was a nice carpet over the marble floor and bright electric lights glowed from the ceiling.

"Right in here," said Aunt Lu, leading the children toward what seemed to be a little room with an iron door, like the iron gate to some park. A colored boy, with many brass buttons on his blue coat, stood at the door.

"Jes' yo' all wait an' see what gwine t' happen!" said Wopsie.

"Why, what is going to happen?" asked Bunny.

"Oh, ho! Yo' all jes' wait!" exclaimed Wopsie, laughing at her secret.

"What is it? I don't want anything to happen!" cried Sue hanging back.

"Oh, it isn't anything, dear. This is just the elevator," said Aunt Lu. "Get in and you'll have a nice ride."

"Oh, I like a ride," Sue said.

In she stepped with Bunny, her mother, Aunt Lu and Wopsie. The colored boy, who was also smiling, and showing his white teeth as Wopsie was doing, closed the iron door. Then, all of a sudden, Bunny and Sue felt themselves shooting upward.

"Oh! Oh!" cried Bunny. "We're in a balloon! We're in a balloon! We're going up!"

"Just like a skyrocket on the Fourth of July!" added Sue. She was not afraid now. She was clapping her hands.

Up and up and up they went!

"Oh, what makes it?" asked Bunny. "Is it a balloon, Aunt Lu?"

"No, dear, it's just the elevator. You see this big house is so high that you would get tired climbing the stairs up to my rooms, so we go up in the elevator. It lifts us up, and in England they call them 'lifts' on this account."

"Oh, I see!" Bunny cried, as he looked up and saw that he was in a sort of square steel cage, going up what seemed to be a long tunnel; standing up instead of lying on the ground as a railroad tunnel lies. "I see! We're going up, just like a bucket of water comes up out of the well."

"That's it!" said Aunt Lu. "And when we go down we go down just like the bucket going down in the well."

"It's fun! I like it!" and Sue clapped her hands. "I like the elevator!"

"Yes'm, it sho' am fun!" echoed Wopsie.

"Wopsie would ride up and down all day if I'd let her," said Aunt Lu. "But here we are at my floor. Now wasn't that better than climbing up ten flights of stairs, children?"

"I guess it was!" cried Bunny. "Do you live up ten flights?"

"Yes, and there are some families who live higher than that."

They stepped out of the elevator into a little hall, and soon they were in Aunt Lu's nice city apartment, or house, if you like that word better.

"Now, Wopsie," said Aunt Lu, "you tell Jane to make Mrs. Brown a nice cup of tea."

"And can we go up on the roof?" asked Bunny.

"Not right away -- but after a while," said his aunt.

"Let's go out into the elevator again," suggested Sue.

"No, dear, not now," said Mrs. Brown.

Bunny and Sue thought they had never been in such a nice place as Aunt Lu's city home. From the windows they could look down to the street, ten stories below.

"It's a good way to fall," said Bunny, in a whisper.

"But you musn't lean out of the windows, and then you won't fall," his mother told him.

The children were given their supper, and then Wopsie took them up on the roof. This was higher yet. It was a flat roof, with a broad, high railing all around it so no one could fall off. And from it Bunny and Sue could look all over New York, and see the twinkling lights far off, for it was now getting on toward evening, though it was not yet dark.

A little later Wopsie took them down in the elevator again, to the street. There they saw other children walking up and down, some of them playing; some babies being wheeled in carriages, and many men and women walking past.

"My! What a lot of people!" cried Bunny. "Is it always this way in a city, Wopsie?"

"Yes'm," answered the little colored girl, who seemed to mix up "Yes, ma'am," and "Yes, sir." But what of it? She meant all right. "It's bin dis way eber sence I come t' New York," she went on. "Allers a crowd laik dis. Everybuddy hurryin' an' hurryin'."

Wopsie stood still a moment to speak to another colored girl, who came out of the next house, and Bunny and Sue walked on ahead. Before they knew it they had turned a corner. Down at the end of the street they saw a man playing a hand-piano, or hurdy-gurdy, as they are called.

"Oh, Bunny!" cried Sue. "Let's go down and listen to the music."

"All right," Bunny agreed. "And maybe he has a monkey, like Wango."

Hand in hand the two children ran on. They saw other children about the hurdy-gurdy. Some of them were dancing. Bunny and Sue danced too. Then the music-man wheeled his music machine away, and Bunny and Sue turned to go back. They walked on and on, and finally Bunny, stopping in front of a big house said:

"This is where Aunt Lu lives."

"But where is Wopsie?" asked Sue. "Why isn't she here?"

"Oh, maybe she went inside," replied Bunny. "Come on, we'll go in the elevator and have a ride."

They went into the marble hall. It looked just like the one in Aunt Lu's apartment. And there was the same colored elevator boy in his queer little cage. Bunny and Sue went to the entrance.

"Where yo' want to go?" asked the elevator boy.

"To Aunt Lu's," answered Bunny.

"What floor she done lib on?" the boy asked.

"I -- I don't know," Bunny said. "I -- I forgot the number."

"What's her name?"

"Aunt Lu," said Sue.

"No, I mean her last name?"

"Oh, it's Baker," said Bunny. "Aunt Lu Baker."

The colored elevator boy shook his head.

"They don't no Miss Baker lib heah!" he said. "I done guess yo' chilluns done got in de wrong house!"



Chapter X

In The Dumb Waiter


Bunny Brown looked at his sister Sue, and his sister Sue looked at Bunny Brown. Then they both looked at the colored elevator boy. He was smiling at them, so Bunny and Sue were not as frightened as they might otherwise have been.

"Isn't this where Aunt Lu lives?" asked Bunny.

"Nope. Not if her name's Baker," answered the elevator lad. "We sure ain't got nobody named Baker in heah!" (He meant "here.")

"Oh, Bunny!" cried Sue. "Then we're losted again!"

"Where'd you come from?" asked the colored boy. "Now don't git skeered, 'cause yo' all ain't losted very much I guess. Maybe I kin find where yo' all belongs. What's de number of, de house where yo' auntie libs?"

"I -- I don't know," said Bunny. He had not thought to ask the number of his aunt's house, nor had he looked to see what the number was over the door before he and Sue came out. In the country no one ever had numbers on their houses, and Bellemere was like the country in this way -- no houses had numbers on them.

"Well, what street does your aunt done lib on?" asked the colored boy, in the funny way he talked.

"I don't know that, either," said Bunny.

"Huh! Den yo' suah am lost!" cried the elevator lad. "But don't yo' all git skeered!" he said quickly, as he saw tears coming in Sue's brown eyes. "I guess yo' all ain't losted so very much, yet. Maybe I kin find yo' aunt's house."

"If you could find Wopsie for us, she could take us there," said Bunny.

"Find who?"

"Wopsie. She's a little girl that lives with my aunt, and -- "

But the elevator boy did not wait for Bunny to finish.

"Wopsie!" he cried. "Am she dat queer li'l colored gal, wif her hair all done up in rags?"

"Yes!" cried Sue eagerly. "That's Wopsie. We came out to walk with her, but we heard the hand-piano music, and we got lost."

"Do you know Wopsie?" asked Bunny.

"I suah does!" cried the elevator boy. "She's a real nice li'l gal, an' we all likes her."

"She's losted too," said Bunny.

"Yes, I knows about dat!" replied the elevator boy. "We all knows 'bout Wopsie. Why she's jest down the street, and around the corner a few houses. Now I know where yo' Aunt Lu libs. If you'd a' done said Wopsie fust, I'd a knowed den, right off quick!"

"Can you take us home?" asked Sue.

"I suah can!" cried the kind colored boy. "Jes yo' all wait a minute."

He called to another colored boy to take care of his elevator, and then, holding one of Bunny's and one of Sue's hands, he went out into the street. Around the corner he hurried, and, no sooner had he turned it, than up rushed Wopsie herself. She made a grab for Bunny and Sue.

"Oh, mah goodness!" cried the little colored girl. "Oh, mah goodness! I'se so skeered! I done t'ought I'd losted yo' all!"

"No, Wopsie," said Bunny. "You didn't lost us. We losted ourselves. We heard music, and we went to look for a monkey."

"But there wasn't any monkey," said Sue, "and we got in the wrong house, where Aunt Lu didn't live."

"But he brought us back. He knows you, Wopsie," and Bunny nodded toward the kind elevator boy.

"I guess everybody around dish yeah place knows Wopsie," said the boy, smiling. "Will yo' all take dese chilluns home now?" he asked.

"I suah will!" Wopsie said. "Mah goodness! I'se bin lookin' all ober fo' 'em! I didn't know where dey wented. Come along now, an' yo' all musn't go 'way from Wopsie no mo'!"

"We won't!" promised Bunny.

He and Sue were beginning to find out that it was easier to get lost in the city, even by going just around the corner, than it was in the country, when they went down a long road. For in the city the houses were so close together, and they all looked so much alike, that it was hard to tell one from the other.

"But yo' all am all right now, honey lambs," said Wopsie, who seemed to be very much older than Bunny and Sue, though really she was no more than three or four years older.

"Do we have to go in now?" asked Bunny, as Wopsie led him and Sue down the street, having said good-bye to the kind elevator boy who had brought them part way home.

"Yes, I guess we'd better go in," said the little colored girl. "Yo' ma might be worried about yo'. We'll go in. It's gittin' dark."

The elevator quickly carried them up to Aunt Lu's floor.

"Oh, now I see the number!" cried Bunny. "It's ten -- I won't forget any more."

"Well, did you have a good time?" asked Mother Brown when Bunny and Sue came in, followed by Wopsie.

"We got losted!" exclaimed Sue.

"What! Lost so soon?" cried Aunt Lu. "Where was it?"

"In a house just like this," broke in Bunny. "And it had a lift elevator and a colored boy and everything. Only he said you didn't live there, and you didn't, and I didn't know the number of your floor, or of your house, and we got losted!"

"But I found them!" said Wopsie, for she felt it might be a little bit her fault that Bunny and Sue had gotten away. But of course it was their own fault for running to hear the music.

"You must be careful about getting lost," said Aunt Lu. "But of course, if ever you do, just ask a policeman. I'll give you each one of my cards, with my name and address on, and you can show that to the officer. He'll bring, or send, you home."

Sue and Bunny were each given a card, and they put them away in their pockets, where they would have them the next time they went out on the street.

For the next two or three days Bunny Brown and his sister Sue did not go far away from Aunt Lu's house. Wopsie took them up and down the block for a walk, but more often they were riding in Aunt Lu's automobile. And many wonderful sights did the children see in the big city of New York. They could hardly remember them, there were so many.

Bunny and Sue grew to like Wopsie very much. She was a kind, good girl, anxious to help, and do all she could, and she just loved the children. She was almost like a nurse girl for them, and Mrs. Brown did not have to worry when Bunny and Sue were with Wopsie.

"Do you think you'll ever find her folks?" asked Mrs. Brown of Aunt Lu, when they were talking of the colored girl one day.

"Well, I'm sure I hope so," answered Aunt Lu, "though I like the poor little thing myself very much, and I would like to keep her with me. But I know she is lonesome for her own aunt whom she has not seen since she was a little baby. And I think the aunt must be worrying about lost Wopsie. The police haven't been able to find any one who is looking for a little colored girl, to come up from down South. Perhaps her aunt has moved away. Anyhow I'll keep Wopsie until I find her folks."

Sometimes Bunny and Sue thought that Wopsie looked sad. Perhaps she did, when she thought of how she was lost. But she had a good home with Aunt Lu, and after all, Wopsie was quite happy, especially since Bunny and Sue had come.

The two Brown children thought riding in the elevator was great fun. Often they would slip out by themselves and get Henry, the colored boy, to carry them up and down. And he was very glad to do it, if he was not busy.

One day Bunny and Sue went out into Aunt Lu's kitchen, where Mary, the colored cook, was busy. She often gave the children cookies, or a piece of cake, just as Mother Brown did at home.

This day, after they had eaten their cookies, Bunny and Sue heard a knocking in the kitchen.

"Somebody's at the door," called Bunny.

"No, chile! Folks don't knock at de kitchen do' heah," said Mary. "Dey rings de bell."

"But somebody's knocking," said Bunny.

"Yes chile. I s'pects dat's de ice man knockin' on de dumb waiter t' tell me he's put on a piece ob ice," went on the cook.

She opened a door in the kitchen wall, and Bunny and Sue saw what looked like a big box, in a sort of closet. In the box was a large piece of ice.

"Yep. Dat's what it am. Ice on de dumb waiter," said Mary, as she took off the cold chunk and put it in the refrigerator. It was an extra piece gotten that day because she was going to make ice cream for dessert.

"What's a dumb waiter?" asked Bunny.

"Dis is," said Mary, pointing to the box, back of the door in the wall. "It waits on me -- it brings up de milk and de ice. It's jest a big box, and it goes up an' down on a rope dat runs ober a wheel."

"I know -- a pulley wheel," said Bunny.

"Dat's it!" cried Mary. "De box goes up an' down inside between de walls, and when de ice man, or de milk man puts anyt'ing on de waiter in de cellar, dey pulls on de rope and up it comes to me."

"What makes them call it a dumb waiter?" asked Sue.

"'Cause as how it can't talk, chile. Anyt'ing dat can't talk is dumb, an' dis waiter, or lifter, can't talk. So it's dumb."

Bunny and Sue looked at the dumb waiter for some time. Mary showed them how it would go up or down on the rope, very easily.

A little while after that, Mary went to her room to put on a clean apron; Bunny and Sue were still in the kitchen.

"Sue," said Bunny. "I know something we can do to have fun."

"What?" asked the little girl.

"Play with the dumb waiter. It's just like a little elevator. Now I'll get in, you close the door, and I'll ride down cellar. Then when I ride up it will be your turn to ride down."

"All right!" cried Sue. "I'll do it. You go first, Bunny."

Standing on a chair, Bunny managed to crawl into the dumb waiter box, where the piece of ice had been. And then, all at once something happened.



Chapter XI

A Long Ride


"Are you all ready, Bunny?" asked Sue, as she stood on the chair close to the little door of the dumb waiter, or elevator.

"Yep," Bunny answered.

Sue closed the door, and then there was a squeaking sound inside the little closet where the waiter slid up and down. At the same time Bunny's voice was heard crying:

"Oh, Sue! I'm falling! I'm falling down!"

Sue did not know what to do. She tried to open the door, but it had shut with a spring catch when she pushed on it, and her small fingers were not strong enough to open it again.

"Oh dear!" cried the little girl. "Oh dear! Bunny! Mother! Aunt Lu! Mary! Wopsie!"

She called every name she could think of, and she would have called for her father, Grandpa Brown and even Uncle Tad, only she knew they were far away.

"Bunny! Bunny!" Sue called. "Is you there? Is you in there?"

But Bunny did not answer. And now Sue could hear no noise from the dumb waiter, inside of which she had shut her brother.

"Bunny! Bunny!" begged Sue. "Speak to me! Where is you?"

But no answer came. Bunny was far off. I'll tell you, soon, where he was.

Sue got down off the chair, on which she stood to push shut the door, after Bunny crawled inside the dumb waiter. The little girl ran out of the kitchen, calling to her mother, Aunt Lu and Wopsie. The colored cook was the first one to answer.

"What's the matter?" she called. "What hab happened, Sue?"

"Oh, it's Bunny! He's gone! He's gone!" sobbed Sue.

"Gone? Gone where?" Mary asked.

"Down there!" and Sue pointed to the dumb waiter door.

Mary ran across the kitchen, and opened the door. She looked down, and then she turned to Sue and asked:

"Did he fall down, Sue?"

"No, he didn't fall down. But he got in the little box, where the ice was, and told me to shut the door. He was going to have a ride. It was going to be my turn when he came back. But there was a big bump, and Bunny hollered, and he didn't come back, and oh dear! I guess he's losted again!"

Mrs. Brown and Aunt Lu came hurrying into the kitchen. Behind them was Wopsie, her hair standing up more than ever, for she had just finished tying it in rags.

"What's the matter?" asked Mother Brown and Aunt Lu at the same time.

"Oh, Bunny's gone!" wailed Sue.

"He's in de dumb waiter," explained Mary.

"Oh, did he fall?" cried Aunt Lu.

"No'm, he jest got in to hab a ride, same as dat little boy who used to lib up stairs," Mary explained. "We'll find him in de cellar all right, Miss Baker."

"Find who?" Sue wanted to know.

"Yo' brudder!" said Mary. "Now don't yo' all git skairt. 'Case little Massa Bunny am suah gwine t' be all right."

"I'll go and get him!" cried Aunt Lu.

"And I'll go with you," said Mother Brown.

"Oh, I'm coming too!" exclaimed Sue.

"No, you stay here, dear," said her mother. "You stay here with Mary and Wopsie."

Mrs. Brown and her sister, who was the aunt of Bunny and Sue, went down in the big elevator to the basement or cellar of the apartment house. And there they saw a strange sight.

Bunny, whose clothes were all dusty, and whose hair was all topsy-turvy, was standing in front of the janitor, an iceman and a policeman. These three men were looking at the little boy who did not seem to know what to do or say. But he was not crying. He was too brave for that.

"Oh, Bunny Brown!" cried his mother. "Why did you do it?"

Bunny did not answer, but the policeman spoke, and said:

"Is it all right, lady? Does he belong here?"

"Oh, yes, he's my little boy," explained Mrs. Brown.

"He rode down in the dumb waiter," Aunt Lu said. "You see he is visiting me, and he had never seen a dumb waiter before."

"Well, he came down in one all right," said the iceman. "It was like this," he explained to Aunt Lu. "After I sent up your piece of ice, Miss Baker, I stood here talking to the janitor. All at once we heard the dumb waiter come down with a bang, and then we heard someone in it yelling. I thought it was a sneak-thief, or a burglar, for you know they often rob houses by going up in dumb waiters.

"So I spoke to the janitor about it, and we called in the policeman who was going past. We thought if it was a burglar we'd sure have him. But when we opened the door there was only this little chap."

"I -- I didn't mean to do it," said Bunny, as he saw them all looking at him. "I just wanted to get a ride, and then Sue was going to have one. But, as soon as I got in, the dumb waiter went down so quick I couldn't stop."

"He sure did come down with a bump!" exclaimed the iceman. "I guess he was a little too heavy for it, or else the rope must have slipped. Anyhow he's not hurt much, except he's a bit mussed up."

"Are you hurt, Bunny?" his mother asked him.

"No'm," he answered. "Just bumped, that's all. I -- I won't do it again."

"No, you'd better not, because you might get hurt," said the policeman. "Well," he added, "I might as well go along, for you have no burglars for me to arrest this day," and away he went.

Then the iceman went off, laughing, and Mrs. Brown and Aunt Lu took Bunny up to their apartment in the elevator.

"This is nicer than the dumb waiter," Bunny said, as Henry took them up. "I was all scrunched up in that, and I got a awful hard bump."

Mrs. Brown sighed.

"I'm sure I don't know what you will do next," she said. "You and Sue never do the same thing twice, so there's no use in telling you to be careful."

"Oh, I won't get in any more dumb waiters," said Bunny, with a shake of his head. "They're too small, and they're too bumpy."

Sue felt much better when she saw that Bunny was all right, and Mary gave each of the children a piece of cake, after which Wopsie took them up to the roof, where an awning had been stretched to make shade, and there, high above the city streets, the two children had a sort of play-party.

"I like it in the city; don't you, Bunny?" asked Sue.

"Yes, I think it's fine at Aunt Lu's house," returned Bunny. "Don't you like it here, Wopsie?"

"Yes'm, I suah does. But I wishes as how I could find mah folks. It's awful nice heah, an' Miss Baker suah does treat me mighty fine, but I'd like to find mah own aunt."

"And don't you know where she is?" asked Bunny.

"No'm, I don't 'member much about it all," said the colored girl, with a shake of her kinky head. "I lived down Souf, an' I s'pects dey got tired ob me down dere. Or else maybe dey didn't hab money 'nuff t' keep me. Colored folks down Souf is terrible poor. They ain't rich, laik yo' Aunt Lu."

"Aunt Lu is terrible rich," said Sue. "She's got a diamond ring."

"I knows dat!" said Wopsie.

"An' it was losted, like we was," Sue went on, "but Bunny, he found it in a lobster claw. And we had a Punch and Judy show."

"I'd laik dat!" exclaimed Wopsie, her eyes sparkling.

"Maybe we could help you find your folks," said Bunny. "We found Aunt Lu's diamond ring, and grandpa's horses, that the Gypsies took; so maybe we could find your folks, Wopsie."

"I don't believe so," and the little colored girl shook her head. "Yo' all sees it was dis heah way. Somebody down Souf, what was takin' care ob me, got tired, and shipped me up Norf here. Dey didn't come wif me deyse'ves, but dey puts a piece ob paper on me, same laik I was a trunk, or a satchel.

"Well, maybe it would a' bin all right, but dat piece ob paper come unpinned offen me, an' I got losted, same laik you'd lose a trunk. Only Miss Lu found me, an' she's keepin' me, but she don't know who I belongs to, nohow."

"And is your aunt up here?" asked Bunny.

"Yes'm, she's somewheres in New York," and Wopsie waved her hand over the big city, down on which Sue and Bunny could look from the roof of the apartment house.

"Well, maybe we can find her for you," said Bunny. "We'll try; won't we, Sue?"

"Course we will, Bunny Brown."

Just how he was going to do it Bunny Brown did not know. But he made up his mind that he would find Wopsie's aunt for her. And two or three times after that, when he and Sue happened to be out in the street, and saw any colored women, the children would ask them if they were looking for a little, lost colored girl named Wopsie. But of course the colored women knew nothing about the little piccaninny.

"Well, we'll have to ask somebody else," Bunny would say, after each time, when he had not found an aunt for Wopsie. "We'll find her yet, Sue."

"Yes," Sue would answer, "we will!"

From the windows of Aunt Lu's house Bunny and Sue could look down on the street and see many strange sights. Oh! how many automobiles there were in New York!

There were big ones, and little ones, but there were more of the small kind, with little red flags in front, than any other.

"Those are called taxicabs," Aunt Lu told Bunny. "They are like the old cabs, drawn by horses. If a person wants to ride in a taxicab he just waves his hand to the men at the steering wheel."

"And does he stop?" asked Bunny.

"Yes," answered Aunt Lu. "The taxicab man stops."

"And gives 'em a ride?" Sue wanted to know.

"Yes, he takes them wherever they want to go."

Bunny and Sue looked at each other. Their eyes sparkled, and it is too bad Aunt Lu did not see them just then, or she might have said something that would have saved much trouble. But she was busy sewing, and she did not notice Bunny and Sue.

The next day the two children slipped out into the hall, and went down to the street in the elevator.

Once out in the street Bunny and Sue watched until they saw, coming along, one of the little taxicabs, with the red flag up, which meant that no one was having a ride in it just then.

"Hi there!" called Bunny, holding up his hand to the man at the steering wheel.

"Want a ride?" asked the man, as he swung his taxicab up to the curb.

"Yes," answered Bunny. "My sister -- Sue and I -- we want a ride."

"Where to?" asked the man, as he helped the children up inside the car.

"Oh, we want a nice, long ride," said Bunny. "A nice, long ride; don't we, Sue?"

"Yep," answered the little girl.



Chapter XII

Bunny Orders Dinner


You may think it strange that the man on the taxicab automobile would so quickly help Bunny Brown and his sister up into his machine and give them a ride. And that, without asking for any money.

But it was not at all strange in New York. There are many children in that big city, and often they go about by themselves, some who are no larger than Bunny and Sue. They get used to looking out for themselves, learn how to make their way about, and they often go in taxicabs alone.

So the automobile man thought nothing of it when Bunny said he wanted a ride. The automobile man just thought the children's father, or mother, had sent them out to go somewhere.

"And so you want a long ride," repeated the automobile man, as he closed the door so Bunny or Sue would not fall out when he started. "How about Central Park? Do you want to go there?"

"Do we want to go to Central Park, Sue?" asked Bunny.

"Is they elephants there, like a circus?" asked the little girl.

"Is they?" Bunny asked of the automobile man.

"Yes, there are some animals in the park. Not as many as up in the Bronx Zoo, but that's a little too far for me to go. I'll take you to Central Park if you say so."

"Please do," begged Bunny. "We want to see the animals. We were in a circus once, Sue and I were. Our dog was a blue striped tiger, and we had a green painted calf, for a zebra."

"That must have been some circus!" laughed the automobile man, as he got up on his seat, and took hold of the steering wheel. "Well, here we go!"

And away went the automobile, taking Sue and Bunny off to Central Park, and their mother and Aunt Lu didn't know a thing about it!

"Isn't this nice, Sue?" asked Bunny, when they had ridden on for a few blocks.

"Yes," answered Sue. "I like it. But I wish we had our dog Splash here with us, Bunny."

"Yes, it would be fine!" Bunny said.

Speaking of the circus had made Sue think about Splash, who was far away, at home in Bellemere.

The taxicab wound in and out among other cabs, horses and wagons of all sorts. Now it would have to go slowly, through some crowded street, and again the children were moving swiftly, when there was room to speed.

"He's a awful nice man to give us a ride like this," said Bunny to Sue.

"Yes; isn't he?" answered the little girl. "There's lots of people getting rides, Bunny; see!"

Indeed there were many other taxicabs, and other automobiles on the streets of New York, but Bunny and Sue looked most often at the taxicabs like their own.

"There must be a awful lot of nice men, like ours, in New York," Bunny went on. And, mind you, neither he nor Sue thought they would have to pay for their automobile ride. They just thought you got in one of the taxicabs, and rode as far as you liked, for nothing.

Pretty soon they were at Central Park.

"Now where shall I take you?" asked the man.

"Down by a elephant," spoke up Sue.

"Are you sure your mother will let you go?" asked the taxicab man. He felt he must, in a way, look after the children.

"Oh, yes," said Bunny. "Mother would let us. She likes us to see animals. She lets us have a circus whenever we like."

Bunny and Sue had on nice clothes, and the chauffeur knew they had come from a street where many rich persons lived, so he was sure if the children did not have with them the money to pay him, that their folks would settle his bill.

"You can get out here, and walk along that path," he said, stopping his machine on a roadway. "Then you can see the elephant, the lion and the tiger. I'll wait for you here."

Hand in hand, Bunny and Sue went to the place in Central Park where the animals are kept. It was not far from where the automobile had stopped, out on Fifth Avenue, New York, and Bunny looked back, several times, as he and his sister went down the steps, to make sure he would know the place to find the automobile again, when he wanted to go home.

"Oh, there's a elephant!" cried Sue, as, walking along, her hand in Bunny's, she saw one of the big animals, just stuffing some hay into his mouth with his trunk. It was a warm day, and the elephant was out in the "back yard" of his cage. In the winter he was kept in the elephant house, where the people could look at him standing behind the heavy iron bars, but in summer he was allowed to go out of doors, though his yard had a fence of big iron bars all around it.

"I wish we had some peanuts to give him," said Sue.

"Well, I haven't any money," answered Bunny. "Anyhow, if I had, Sue, I'd rather buy us each a lollypop. The elephant has hay to eat."

"Yes, I know," said Sue. "But I like to see him pick up peanuts with his trunk."

However, they had no money, so they could not feed peanuts to the elephant. Some other children, though, had bought bags of the nuts, and these they tossed in to the big animal. There was a sign on his yard, which said no one must feed the animals, but no one stopped the children, so Sue did see, after all, the elephant chewing the roasted nuts.

For some time Bunny and Sue watched the elephants. There were two of them, and, after a while, a keeper came into the yard, and handed a large mouth organ to the biggest elephant. The wise creature held it in his trunk, and, to the surprise of Sue and her brother, began to blow on the mouth organ, making music, though of course the elephant could not play a regular tune.

"Oh, isn't he smart, Bunny!" cried Sue.

"He -- he's a regular circus elephant!" Bunny cried. "I like him!"

The other children, who had come to Central Park, also enjoyed seeing the big elephant eat peanuts, and play a mouth organ.

"I'd like to see some monkeys," said Bunny, after a bit, when the elephant seemed to have gone to sleep standing up, for elephants do sleep that way.

"The monkeys are over in that house," a boy told Bunny, pointing to a brown building not far from the elephant's cage and yard.

"Oh, let's go!" cried Sue.

Soon she and her brother were watching the monkeys do funny tricks, climb up the sides of their cage, eat peanuts and pull each other's tails and ears.

Bunny and Sue spent some time in Central Park, looking at the different animals. There was one, almost as big as an elephant, only not so tall. He was called a hippopotamus, and he swam in a tank of water, next door to a pool in which lived some mud turtles and alligators. When the hippopotamus opened his mouth it looked big enough to hold a washtub.

"Oh!" cried Sue, as she saw this. "I wouldn't like him to bite me, would you, Bunny?"

"No, I guess not!" said the little boy.

But there was no danger that the hippopotamus would bite anyone, for he was behind big, strong, iron bars, and could not get out. There was also a baby hippopotamus, swimming around in a tank with the mother.

Bunny and Sue saw many other animals in Central Park, and then, as he was getting hungry, and as he began to think his mother might be wondering where he was, Bunny said to Sue that they had better go back home.

"All right," Sue answered. "I'm tired, too."

They went back to where they had left the automobile taxicab.

"Well, did you see enough?" the man asked them.

"Yes," Bunny answered, "and now we want to go home, if you please."

"All right," said the man. He knew just where to take Bunny and Sue, for he remembered where he had found them, right in front of Aunt Lu's house. So the two children did not get lost this time, though they had gone a good way from home.

"Thank you very much," said Bunny as he and Sue got out.

The automobile man laughed, as Bunny and Sue started up the front steps, and then he called to them:

"Wait a minute, little ones, I must have some money for giving you a ride."

"Oh!" exclaimed Bunny. "I -- I thought you gave folks rides for nothing. Wopsie said you did."

"Well, I don't know who Wopsie is," said the cab man, "but I can't afford to ride anyone around for nothing. You'd better tell your mother that I must be paid."

"Oh, I'll tell her," said Sue. "Mother or Aunt Lu will pay you."

"I'll come up with you I guess," said the automobile man, and he rode up in the elevator with Bunny and Sue.

And you can guess how surprised Mrs. Brown and Aunt Lu were when the two children came in.

"Oh, where have you been?" cried Mother Brown. "We've been looking all over for you; up on the roof, down in the basement, out in the street -- and Wopsie was just going to ask the policeman on this block if he had seen you. Where have you been?"

"Riding," answered Bunny.

"Up in Central Park, to see a elephant," added Sue.

"And we had a good time," Bunny went on.

"And now the automobile man wants some money, and we haven't any so you must pay him, Mother," said Sue.

"We -- we thought we were riding for nothing," Bunny explained.

Mrs. Brown and Aunt Lu looked at the automobile man, who smiled, and told how the children had called to him, and asked him to give them a long ride.

"Which I did," he said. "I thought their folks had maybe sent them to get the air, as folks often do here, and -- "

"Oh, it isn't your fault," said Mrs. Brown. "I'll pay you for the children's ride, of course. But oh, dear! Bunny, you musn't do this again."

"No'm, I won't," Bunny said. "But we had a nice ride."

Mrs. Brown gave the taxicab man some money, and thanked him for having taken good care of the children. Then Wopsie did not have to go to tell the policeman, for Bunny and Sue were safe home again.

"I wonder what they'll do next?" said Mrs. Brown.

"No one knows," answered Aunt Lu.

But, for several days after this, Bunny and Sue did nothing to cause any trouble. They went with their aunt and mother to different places about New York in Aunt Lu's automobile, Wopsie sometimes going with them. Several times Bunny or Sue asked colored persons they met if they were looking for a little lost colored girl, but no one seemed to be.

"Never mind, Wopsie," Bunny would say. "Some time we'll find your folks."

"Yes'm, I wishes as how yo' all would," Wopsie would answer.

Bunny and Sue liked it very much at Aunt Lu's city home. They had many good times. And that reminds me; I must tell you about the time Bunny ordered a queer dinner for himself and Sue.

The children had been out with Wopsie for a walk, and when they came back to Aunt Lu's house it was such a nice day that Bunny and Sue did not want to go in.

"Let us stay out a while, Wopsie," Bunny begged.

"Well, don't go 'way from in front, an' yo' all can stay," Wopsie said. So Bunny and Sue sat on the side of the big stone steps, in front of Aunt Lu's house.

They really did not intend to go away, but when they saw a fire engine dashing down the street, whistling and purring out black smoke, they just couldn't stand still.

"Let's go and see the fire!" cried Bunny.

"Come on!" agreed Sue.

But it was only a little fire, after all, though quite a crowd gathered. It was upstairs in a store, and it was soon out. Bunny and Sue started back, for they had not come far. They were getting so they knew their way around pretty well now.

As they passed a restaurant, or place to eat, they saw, in the window, a man baking griddle cakes on a gas stove. He would let the cakes brown on one side, toss them up in the air, making them turn a somersault, catch them on a flat spoon, and then they would brown on the other side.

"Oh Bunny!" cried Sue. "Wouldn't you like some of those?"

"I would," said Bunny. "Come on in and we'll have some. I'm hungry!"

He and Sue went into the restaurant, and sat down at one of the tables. A girl, with a big white apron on over her black dress, brought them each a glass of water and a napkin, and said:

"Well, children, what do you want?"

"We want dinner," said Bunny. "We're hungry, and we want some of those cakes the man in the window is baking."



Chapter XIII

The Stray Dog


The girl waitress in the restaurant smiled at Bunny Brown and his sister Sue. They seemed too small to be going about, ordering meals for themselves, but then the girl knew that in New York people do not live as they do in other cities, or in the country. Many New York persons never eat a meal at home, nor do their children. They go out to hotels, restaurants or boarding houses.

And perhaps this girl thought Bunny and Sue might be the children of some family who had rooms near the restaurant, and who went out to their meals. So she just asked them:

"Are cakes the only things you want?"

"Oh, no, we'll want more than that," said Bunny. "But we want the cakes first; don't we, Sue?"

"Yep," Sue answered. "I like pancakes. And I want some syrup on mine."

"So do I!" cried Bunny.

"I'll bring you some maple syrup when I bring you the cakes," the girl said as, with a smile, she went up to the front of the restaurant to tell the white-capped cook in the window to bake a plate of cakes for each of the children.

Several other persons in the restaurant smiled at Bunny and Sue, as they sat there waiting for the cakes. They seemed such little tots to be all alone. But Bunny and Sue knew what they were doing. At least they thought they did, and they were not at all bashful.

When the hot cakes were brought to them they spread on some butter, poured the maple syrup over their plates, out of the little silver pitchers, and began to eat.

"They're awful good, aren't they, Bunny?" asked Sue, as she took up the last piece of her third cake.

"Yep," he answered. "I like 'em."

"Let's have some more," Sue said.

"No, let's have something else," said Bunny. "I'm hot now."

"Oh, then we ought to have ice-cream," cried Sue. "You know the other night, when Aunt Lu and mother were so warm, they had ice-cream."

"Then we'll have some," agreed Bunny.

"Anything else?" asked the waitress girl, coming up to their table.

"Ice-cream, please -- two plates," ordered Bunny. Soon he and Sue were eating the cold dessert. As they were taking up the last spoonfuls they saw the waitress girl, at the next table carrying a large piece of red watermelon to a man.

"Oh, Bunny!" cried Sue. "I want some of that!"

"So do I!" exclaimed Bunny. "We'll have some."

And so, after the ice-cream, they ordered watermelon.

"Do you think it will be good for you?" asked the waitress girl.

"Oh, yes, we like it," said Bunny. That was all he thought of -- just then.

The ice-cream had been cold, and so was the watermelon, for it had been on the ice, and by the time they had finished that Bunny and Sue were quite chilled through.

"Now I'd like to be warm again," said Sue. "Let's have some more hot cakes, Bunny."

"All right," agreed her brother. He waved his hand to the waitress girl.

"Some more hot cakes!" ordered Bunny.

The girl laughed and said:

"I guess you tots had better not eat any more. I'll call the manager, and ask him if he thinks it safe."

A man, with a black moustache and red cheeks, came up to the table.

"What is it?" he asked. The waitress girl explained. At the same time she put down on the table, by Bunny's plate, two little cards, with some numbers on them, and some round holes punched near the numbers.

"We want some hot cakes, 'cause the ice-cream and watermelon made us so cold," Bunny said.

"How much money have you?" asked the manager, who is the man who sees that everyone gets enough to eat, and then that they pay for it.

"Money?" cried Bunny Brown. "Money?"

"Yes, you must have money to pay for what you eat," the man said.

"I've five cents," explained Sue. "My mother gave it to me for a toy balloon, but I didn't spend it yet."

"I've four cents," said Bunny, reaching into his pocket, and bringing out four pennies. "I had five cents," he explained, "but I spent a penny for a lollypop."

He shoved the four pennies over toward the girl. Sue began looking in her pocket for her five cent piece.

"I'm afraid you won't have enough money," the manager said. "But if you tell me where you live, and give me the name of your father, I'll call him up on the telephone, and let him know you are here."

"Oh, our daddy's away off," said Bunny. "But you can talk to Aunt Lu on the telephone. She's got one. My mother is with her. She'll buy some cakes for us."

"What's your aunt's name?" the manager wanted to know.

"Aunt Lu!" said Sue.

"Aunt Lu Baker," added Bunny.

"All right. I'll call her up," said the man, smiling. "And I don't believe you had better eat any more griddle cakes. You might be made ill. Give them some dry, sweet crackers, and a glass of milk," he said to the girl. "That won't hurt them."

Bunny and Sue liked the crackers very much. They were eating away, having a fine time, when, all at once, into the restaurant came Mrs. Brown.

"Oh, Mother!" cried Bunny, as he saw her. "Are you hungry too? Sit down by us and eat! We had a fine meal, didn't we, Sue?"

"Yep," answered the little girl. "The ice-cream and watermelon is awful good, Mother!"

"Yes, I suppose it is," and Mrs. Brown could not help smiling. "But you musn't come in restaurants, and order meals like this, Bunny Brown, without having money to pay for them. It isn't right!"

"I -- I thought I had money enough," and Bunny looked at his four pennies.

The manager laughed. He had found Aunt Lu's name in the telephone book, and had talked to her, telling her about Bunny and Sue. And then, as the restaurant was just around the corner from Aunt Lu's house, Mrs. Brown had hurried there to get her children.

She paid for what they had eaten, and took them back with her. The waitress girl smiled, so did the manager, and so did many persons in the restaurant, who had seen Bunny and Sue eating.

"Don't ever do anything like this again, Bunny," said Mrs. Brown.

"I won't," Bunny promised. "But we went to the fire, and we were awful hungry; weren't we, Sue?"

"Yes, we was. And the hot cakes was good."

"Oh dear!" sighed Mrs. Brown. "I wonder what it will be next."

But even Bunny Brown and his sister Sue did not know.

For several weeks the two children stayed at Aunt Lu's city home. They had more good times, and often went with their mother or Aunt Lu to the moving pictures. Then, too, there was much to see on the city streets, and Bunny and Sue never grew tired of looking at the strange sights. Daddy Brown wrote letters, saying he was so busy, looking after his boat business, that he could not come to see them for a long time.

"Does he say how Splash, our dog, is?" asked Bunny, when part of one of his father's letters had been read to him and Sue.

"Yes, Daddy says Splash is all right, but lonesome," Mrs. Brown answered.

"I wish we had Splash here with us," sighed Sue.

"So do I," echoed her brother.

After that, whenever they saw a dog out in the street, they looked anxiously at him, especially if he looked like Splash. And one day, when Bunny and Sue had gone down to the corner of their street, to listen to another hurdy-gurdy hand-piano, they saw a big yellow dog running about, sniffing at some muddy water in a puddle in the sidewalk, as though he wanted a drink.

"Oh, look at that dog!" cried Bunny to Sue. "He's thirsty!"

"He looks as nice as Splash, only, of course, it isn't Splash," Sue said.

"Maybe we could take him," said Bunny. "Let's try. Then we'll have a city dog and a country dog, too."

Sue was willing, and she and Bunny walked up to the stray dog.

"Come here!" called Bunny, just as he used to call to Splash.

The dog looked up. He seemed to like children, for he came straight to Bunny and Sue.

"Oh, he's got a nice collar on," said Sue. "Let's take him to Aunt Lu's, Bunny, and give him a nice drink of water."

"All right," agreed Bunny. "We will." Then, each with a hand on the dog's collar, Bunny and Sue walked along with the nice animal, whose red tongue hung out of his mouth, for the dog had been running, and was quite hot.



Chapter XIV

The Ragged Man


"Come on, nice dog!" coaxed Sue, for as the children came nearer to the house where Aunt Lu lived, the animal seemed to want to turn back and run away.

"Yes, don't be afraid," said Bunny. "We'll give you something nice to eat, and some cold water."

Whether the dog understood what Bunny and Sue said to him, or whether he was thirsty and hungry and hoped to get something to eat, I do not know. Some dogs seem to know everything you say to them, and certainly this one was very wise. So he walked on willingly with the two children.

"Do you think we can keep him?" asked Sue.

"I guess so," answered her brother. "He's my dog, 'cause I saw him first."

"Isn't he half mine?" Sue wanted to know.

"Nope, he's all mine!" and Bunny took a firmer grasp on the dog's collar.

"Well, I don't care!" cried Sue, stamping her foot, which she sometimes did when she was getting angry. "Half of our dog Splash at home is mine, and I don't see why I can't have half of this one."

"Nope, you can't!" cried Bunny. He hardly ever acted this way toward his sister. Generally he gave her half of everything. "I want all this dog," Bunny said. "I'm going to train him to be a circus animal, and if a girl owns part of a dog she don't want him to run, or get muddy or anything like that."

"Oh, Bunny Brown!" cried Sue. "I don't care if he does get muddy. I want him to be a circus dog, too. So please can't I have half of him? I'll take the tail end for my half, or the head end half or down the middle, just like we do with Splash!"

"Well," and Bunny seemed to be thinking about it. "Maybe I'll let you have half of him, Sue. But you've got to let me train your half the same as mine, to be a circus dog."

"Yes, Bunny, I will. Oh, isn't he a nice dog!" and she patted him on the head. The dog wagged his tail and seemed happy.

Into the apartment house hall walked the children, leading the stray dog they had found in the street. The elevator was not open, being on one of the upper floors, and Bunny pushed the button that rang the bell, which told Henry, the colored elevator boy, that someone was on the lower floor, waiting to be taken up.

When Henry came down in the queer iron cage that slid up and down, he looked first at Bunny, then at Sue, and then at the dog.

"What yo' all want?" asked the colored boy, smiling and showing his big, white teeth.

"We want to ride up to Aunt Lu's house," answered Bunny.

"We got a new dog, Henry," said Sue.

Henry shook his head.

"I'll take you little folks up to yo' aunt's house," he said, "but I can't take up dat dawg."

"Why not?" asked Bunny. "Is he too heavy? 'Cause if he is, Henry, we'll go up with you first, and you can bring the dog up alone. We'll wait for him up stairs."

Once more the elevator boy shook his head.

"No, sah! I can't do it!" he exclaimed.

"Is you afraid, Henry?" asked Sue, putting her head down on the dog's back. "Is you afraid he'll bite you, Henry? He won't. He's as nice a dog as Splash is, the one we have at home. He won't bite, Henry."

"No, Miss Sue. I ain't askeered ob dat," said Henry, with another smile. "But yo' all can't bring no dawgs in heah! It ain't allowed, nohow!"

"You mean we can't bring a dog in the house?" asked Bunny.

"Yes, sah!" Henry exclaimed. "Dat's it. De man what owns dis house done gib strict orders dat no dogs or cats or parrots can come in, an' I got t' keep 'em out. Yo' all jest go up an' ast yo' Aunt Lu 'bout it."

"Shall we?" asked Sue, as she looked down at the dog.

"Yes," said Bunny. "But, of course, Henry ought to know. But we've got to give this dog something to eat and drink, Sue, 'cause we promised we would. So we'll just leave him down here, and go up and tell Aunt Lu. We can do that; can't we, Henry?" Bunny asked.

"Oh, yes, Bunny. Yo' all kin do dat I'll jest tie de dawg down here in de hall, an' yo' all kin go ast yo' Aunt Lu."

The dog did not seem to mind being tied and left alone. Henry fastened him with a cord, and the dog lay down on the cool marble floor, while the colored boy took the two children up in the elevator.

"Oh, Bunny!" said Sue, in a whisper, as they were waiting for their aunt's maid, or for Wopsie, to open the door of the hall. "Oh, Bunny, I know what we could do."

"What?" Bunny wanted to know.

Sue looked around, and seeing that Henry had gone down in his elevator, she said:

"We could have walked our new dog up the stairs. We didn't need to bring him up in the elevator. Then Henry wouldn't have seen him."

"Yes, but he'd hear him when he barks. If they won't let us keep our new dog here we can take him to Central Park, Sue."

"What for, Bunny?"

"To put him in a cage until we go home. Then we can take him with us to play with Splash."

"Oh, maybe we could!" cried Sue, clapping her hands.

By this time Wopsie had opened the door.

"Well, where yo' chilluns bin?" she asked. "Yo' ma an' yo' aunt Lu am gettin' worried 'bout yo'."

"We found a dog!" cried Bunny. "A real dog!"

"And he's down stairs," said Sue. "Henry won't bring him up on the elevator, but it isn't 'cause Henry's afraid. They won't let dogs live in here, he says. Don't they, Aunt Lu?"

"Don't they what, Sue?" asked Miss Baker, coming into the room just then.

"Dogs," answered Bunny. "We found a nice dog, Aunt Lu, and we want to keep him, but Henry won't let us," and he told all that had happened.

"No, I am sorry," said Aunt Lu. "They don't allow any dogs, cats or parrots in this building. You see they think persons who have no pets would be bothered by those animals of the neighbors. I'm sorry, Bunny and Sue, but you can't have the dog. One is enough, anyhow, and you have Splash."

"Yes, but he's away off home," said Bunny.

"Never mind, dears. I'm sorry, but I haven't any place for a dog, or a cat or even a parrot."

Bunny and Sue thought for a moment Then Bunny asked:

"Could you keep a monkey, Aunt Lu?"

"Gracious goodness, no!" cried his aunt. "I should hope not! A monkey would be worse than a dog, a cat or a parrot. I hope you don't think of bringing a monkey home, Bunny."

"Oh, no'm. I was just wondering what we'd do if a hand-organ man gave us a monkey."

Mrs. Brown and Aunt Lu laughed.

"Well, I hope a hand-organ man won't give you a monkey," said Bunny's mother, "but, if one does, you'll have to say that you're much obliged, but that you can't keep it."

"Well," broke in Sue, "can we give this dog something to eat and drink, Aunt Lu? We promised him some."

"Yes, you can do that. Poor dog, he's probably a stray one, and will be glad of a meal. Mary will get you some cold meat and a pail of water, and you can take it down to the poor dog. But don't invite him up here, Bunny dear."

The children were sorry they could not keep the dog they had found in the street, but perhaps it was better not to have him. They gave him the water and meat, standing with Henry in the lower hall while the animal ate and drank. Then the elevator boy loosened the string from the dog's collar.

"Run along now!" called Henry, and the dog with a bark, and a wag of his tail, trotted off down the street.

"He's happy, anyhow," remarked Sue. "Dogs is always happy when they wag their tails; aren't they Bunny?"

"I guess so. Well, what will we do next?"

That question was answered for Bunny and Sue when they went up stairs again. For Wopsie was waiting to take them to a moving picture show not far away. There Bunny and Sue had a good time the rest of the afternoon.

It was two or three days after this that, as Bunny and Sue were walking up and down on the sidewalk in front of Aunt Lu's house, waiting for Wopsie to come down and go with them to another moving picture show, the two children saw, walking along, a very ragged man. And, as they watched him, they saw the poor man stoop over a can of ashes on the street, and take from it a piece of dried bread, which he began to eat as though very hungry indeed.

"Oh, Bunny! Look at that!" cried Sue.

"What is it?" asked the little boy.

"That man! He's so hungry he took bread out of the ash can."

"He must be terrible hungry," said Bunny. "Oh, Sue, I know what we can do!"

"What?"

"We can get him something to eat," said Bunny. "I heard Aunt Lu say she didn't know what she was going to do with all the meat left over from dinner. This man would like it, I'm sure. We can ask him up to Aunt Lu's rooms. She'll feed him."

"All right," cried Sue, always ready to do what Bunny did.

"We'll ask him. But we won't take him up in the elevator, Sue," Bunny went on.

"Why not?"

"'Cause maybe Henry won't let him come up, same as he wouldn't let the dog we found. We'll walk up the stairs with the man."

"It -- it's awful far," said Sue, with a sigh, as she thought of the ten flights. Once she and Bunny, just for fun, had walked up them. It took a long while.

"Well, I'll walk up with the ragged man," said Bunny. "You can ride up in the elevator, Sue, and tell Aunt Lu we're coming, so she can have something to eat all ready."

"All right," agreed Sue. "That will be nice!"

Then she and Bunny started toward the ragged man who was poking about in the ash can with a long stick, as though looking for more pieces of bread.



Chapter XV

Bunny Goes Fishing


"Are you hungry, Mr. Man?" asked Bunny, standing, with his sister Sue, behind the ragged man. "Are you hungry?"

The man turned quickly, and seeing it was only two little children, he smiled.

"Yes, I am hungry," he said. "I guess you'd be hungry, too, if you hadn't had any breakfast, or dinner or supper, except what you picked out of the ashes."

"My Aunt Lu will give you something to eat," said Sue. "You're going to walk up stairs with Bunny, so Henry, the elevator boy, won't see you. You don't mind walking, do you?"

"Not if I get something to eat," and the man chewed on a piece of the dried bread.

"Oh, Aunt Lu will give you lots!" promised Sue. "She's got plenty of meat left over from dinner, I heard her say so. But you can't go in the elevator. Henry wouldn't let us take up a dog we found."

"Course you're not a dog," Bunny explained quickly, "but they don't let dogs or cats or parrots, or I guess monkeys, up in this place, so maybe they wouldn't let you. But I don't know about that. Only I'll walk up stairs with you, and get you something to eat."

"And I'll go on ahead and tell Aunt Lu you're coming," said Sue. "Then Henry won't see you in his elevator. Go on, Bunny."

"Come along," said the little fellow, holding out his hand to the ragged man. Even though he was ragged he seemed clean.

"Oh, I guess I'd better not go up with you, little ones," the man said. "I'm not dressed nice enough to go in there," and he looked up at the fine, big apartment house in which lived Aunt Lu. "If there was a back door I'd go round to that," he said, "but they don't have back doors to city houses. I'm not used to being a tramp, and begging, either," he said. "But I've been sick, and I can't get any work, and I don't want to beg."

"Aunt Lu likes to help people," said Bunny, "and so does my mother. You come on up stairs with me and I'll get you something to eat. Sue, you go in first, and get Henry to take you up in the elevator. Then Henry won't see me and this man come in, and he can't stop us."

"All right," agreed Sue. So, while Bunny stayed outside, with the ragged man, Sue went into the hall, and rang the elevator bell.

"Hello!" exclaimed Henry, as he opened the sliding door for Sue. "Where's Bunny?"

"Oh, he's coming," Sue said.

"Then I'll wait for him," said Henry.

"Oh, no! You needn't!" Sue exclaimed. "Maybe he won't be in for a long time. I want to go up right away, to tell Aunt Lu she's going to have company."

"Company!" cried Henry. "If company is comin', I'll wait and take 'em up."

"No, please don't!" begged Sue. "Take me up right away, and then you can come down again." She did not want Henry to wait there in the lower hall, with his elevator, and see Bunny going up the stairs with the ragged man. Sue wanted to get Henry safely out of the way.

"All right. I'll take you up," promised Henry, and, a second later, Sue was shooting upward in the elevator car.

"Come on now. We can get in without Henry's seeing us!" called Bunny to the ragged man. "It's a long walk, but Sue and I did it once."

"Say, I'm much obliged to you," said the tramp, for that's what he was. "But maybe I'd better not go in. They might arrest me."

"No they won't -- not while I'm with you," Bunny said. "I'll tell a policeman you're going up to my Aunt Lu's. She's got lots to eat."

And so Bunny and the ragged man began the long climb up the stairs, while Sue rode in the elevator. She, of course, was the first to reach her aunt's rooms. Wopsie let Sue in.

"Oh, Aunt Lu!" cried Sue. "The hungry, ragged man's coming. He ate bread out of the ash can, and he hasn't had any breakfast, dinner or supper. Bunny's walking up stairs with him, so Henry won't see him, 'cause Henry, maybe, wouldn't let him ride in the elevator. But he's awful hungry, so please give him some of that meat!"

For a moment Aunt Lu stared at Sue, and so did Mrs. Brown.

"Bless my stars!" cried Aunt Lu, after a bit. "What does the child mean?"

"It's the ragged man," Sue explained. "Bunny's bringing him up the stairs," and then the little girl told her aunt and mother all about it.

"But, Sue, dear! You musn't bring strange men in the house," said her mother.

"Oh, he was so hungry and ragged!" cried the little girl.

"She meant all right," remarked Aunt Lu. "I dare say it is some poor tramp. There are many of them in New York. I'll give him something to eat. Is Bunny bringing him here?"

"Yes, Aunt Lu. Bunny's walking up the stairs with him, so Henry won't see him, and put him out, like he did our dog that we found."

Aunt Lu and Mother Brown laughed at this, but Sue did not mind. Soon there came a ring at Aunt Lu's hall bell. She opened the door herself, and saw, standing there, Bunny and the ragged man.

"Here he is!" Bunny cried. "I got him up stairs all right, but he slipped on one step. I didn't let him fall, though, and Henry didn't see us. He's hungry, Aunt Lu."

The ragged man took off his ragged cap.

"I'm sorry about this, lady," he said to Aunt Lu. "But the little boy would have it that I come up with him. He said you'd give me a meal, but I don't like to trouble you -- "

"Oh, I'm glad to help you," said Aunt Lu. "Wait a minute and I'll hand you out something to eat."

"Come on in!" said Bunny, who did not see why the ragged man should be left standing in the hall.

"No, little chap, I'll wait here," said the man. A few minutes later he was drinking a bowl of coffee Mary, the colored cook, brought him, and he was given a bag of bread and meat, with a piece of cake.

"It's mighty good of you, lady," said the ragged man, as he started to walk down the stairs again.

"You can thank the children," said Aunt Lu with a smile, as she gave the man some money. "And you needn't walk down. I'll ring for the elevator for you."

"Oh, no'm, I'd rather walk. I'm stronger now I've had that coffee. I'll walk down. The elevator boy wouldn't want me in his car. I'll walk."

Down he started, not so hungry now, though as ragged as ever. And, too, Aunt Lu had given him money enough to last him for a few days, until he could find work to earn money for himself.

"But, Bunny and Sue, please don't ask any more ragged men up without first coming to tell me," said Aunt Lu with a smile. "I like to be kind to all poor persons, but you see I live in a house with many other families, and some of them might not like to have tramps come up here. However, you meant all right, only come and tell me or your mother first, after this."

"I will," promised Bunny. "But he was awful hungry; wasn't he?"

"I guess he was, and I'm glad we could help him. But now Wopsie is ready to take you to the moving pictures. Run along."

Bunny and Sue had another good time at the pictures. They saw the play of Cinderella, and liked it very much. After they came out they went to a drug store, and had ice-cream.

One day Aunt Lu said to Bunny and Sue:

"How would you like to go to the aquarium?"

"What's that?" asked Bunny. "Is it like a moving picture show?"

"Well, it is moving, and it is a show," answered Aunt Lu, with a smile. "But it is not exactly pictures. It is a big building down at the end of New York City, in a place called Battery Park, and in the building are tanks and pools, where live fish are swimming around. There are also seals, alligators and turtles. Would you like to go to see that?"

Bunny and Sue thought they would, very much, and a little later, with their mother and Aunt Lu, they were in the aquarium. All around the building, which was in the shape of a circle, were glass tanks, in which big and little fish could be seen swimming about. In white tile-lined pools, in the middle of the floor, were larger fish, alligators, turtles and other things. Bunny was delighted.

"Oh, if I could only catch some of these big fish," he said to Sue.

"But you can't!"

"Maybe I can," he said to her in a whisper. "I brought some pins with me, and some string. I'm going to try and catch a fish. Come on over here."

From his pocket Bunny took a string and a pin. His mother and his aunt were looking down in the pool where some seals were swimming about. Bunny, holding Sue's hand, led her over to the other side of the aquarium where there was a pool containing some large fish, and some big turtles.

"I'm going to fish here," said Bunny Brown.



Chapter XVI

Lost In New York


Bunny's sister Sue did not think her brother was doing anything wrong. She had so often seen him do many things that other boys did not do that she thought whatever Bunny did was all right.

"How you going to catch fish?" she asked.

"I'll show you," Bunny answered. "But don't call mother or Aunt Lu. They want to stay looking at the seals. I've seen enough of them."

But I think, though, that the real reason Bunny did not want Sue to call his mother, or his aunt, was because he was afraid they might stop him from trying to catch a fish.

And that was what Bunny Brown was going to try to do.

While Sue watched, Bunny bent a pin up in the shape of a hook. He and his sister had often fished with such hooks down in the brook near their house. Bunny tied the bent pin to the end of a long string, and then he walked over toward the white, tile-lined pool.

Just at this time there was no one near this pool, for most of the visitors in the aquarium were watching the seals, as Mrs. Brown and Aunt Lu were doing. The seals, of whom there were three or four, seemed to be having a game of tag. They swam about very swiftly, and leaped half out of the water, splashing it all about, and even on the persons standing about the pool. But the men, women and children only laughed, and crowded up closer to look at the playing seals.

"I want to see them," said Sue, pointing to where the crowd stood, laughing.

"Wait until I catch a fish," pleaded Bunny. "I'll soon have a fish, or a turtle or an alligator, Sue."

"I don't want any alligators," said the little girl. "They bite, and so does a turtle."

"All right. I won't catch them," promised Bunny. "I'll just catch a fish. Then we'll go to look at the seals."

"All right," agreed Sue. She went with her little brother over to the other pool. They were the only ones there, because everyone else was so anxious to look at the seals.

"Now watch me catch a fish," Bunny said. To the bent pin hook, on the end of the string, he tied a piece of rag. He had brought all these things with him, hoping he might get a chance to fish in the aquarium.

"What's that rag?" Sue wanted to know.

"That's my bait," Bunny answered. "You can't dig any worms in the city, 'cause there's all sidewalk. So I use this rag for bait."

"I don't like worms, anyhow," said Sue. "They is so -- so squiggily. Rags is nicer for bait. But will the fish eat rags, Bunny?"

"I guess so."

The pool that Bunny had picked out to fish in was in two parts. There was a wire screen across the middle, and on one side were the alligators and turtles -- some large and some small, while on the other side of the wire were fish. It was these fish -- or one of them at least -- that Bunny Brown was going to try to catch.

Into the water he cast his bent pin hook, with the fluttering rag for bait. No one saw him, everyone else being at the seal-pool. Sue watched her brother eagerly. She wanted him to hurry, and catch a fish, so they could go over where their mother and Aunt Lu were.

But the fish in the pool did not seem to care for Bunny's rag bait. Perhaps they knew it was only a piece of cloth, and not a nice worm, or piece of meat, such as they would like to eat. Anyhow, they just swam past it in the water.

"Hurry up, Bunny, and catch a fish!" begged Sue. "I want to go and look at the seals."

"All right -- I'll have a fish in a minute," Bunny said, hopefully.

But he did not. The fish would not bite. Bunny wanted to catch something, and, all at once, he decided that if he could not get a fish he might get a turtle, or a small alligator. But he did not tell Sue what he was going to do, for he knew she would not like it. She was afraid of alligators and turtles.

Bunny pulled his line from the fish-pool and tossed the pin-hook over into the turtle-pool. And then something happened, all at once! There was a rush through the water, as a big turtle saw the fluttering rag, and the next minute Bunny was nearly pulled over the low railing into the pool. For the turtle had swallowed his bent pin hook.

"Oh, Sue! I've got one! I've got one!" cried Bunny, shouting out loud, he was so excited.

"Have you got a fish, Bunny?" asked Sue, who had walked a little way over toward the seal-pool.

"No, I haven't got a fish, but I've got a turtle. But I won't let him hurt you, Sue!" he called. "Oh, I've got a big one! Look, Sue!"

Bunny was holding tightly to the string. He had wound it about his hands, and as the cord was a strong one, and as the turtle had swallowed the bent-pin hook on the other end, Bunny was almost being pulled over into the tank full of water, where the alligators and other turtles were now swimming about, very much excited, because the turtle which Bunny had caught was making such a fuss.

"Oh, I've got him! I've got him!" cried Bunny, eagerly.

"I rather think he has got you!" said a man, rushing up to Bunny just in time to grab him. The little fellow's feet were being lifted off the floor and, in another few seconds, he himself was in danger of being pulled into the pool. For the cord was a strong one, and the turtle was one of the largest.

"Let go the string!" called the man who had hold of Bunny. "Let go the string!"

Bunny did so, and the turtle swam away with it.

By this time Mother Brown and Aunt Lu, who had heard Bunny's calls, had rushed over to him. Others, too, left the seals, to see what was the excitement at the turtle and alligator pool.

"Oh, Bunny! What have you done?" cried his mother.

"I -- I was catching a fish," Bunny explained, as the man who had stopped him from being pulled into the pool, set the little fellow down. "I was catching a fish and -- "

"But you musn't catch any fish in here!" exclaimed one of the men in uniform, who was on guard in the aquarium. "You're not allowed to catch fish in here!"

"It -- it wasn't a fish," said Bunny. "It was a turtle. I tried to get a fish, but I couldn't. But the turtle bit on the rag bait."

"Yes, turtles will do that," said the guard. "But you must never again try to fish in here. These fish are to look at, not to catch."

"Oh, I'm sure he didn't mean to do wrong," said the man who had saved Bunny from getting wet in the pool.

"I'll forgive him this time," the guard said, "but he must not do it again."

"I won't," Bunny promised.

The turtle that had taken the pin hook was swimming about with the string dragging after it. One of the aquarium men, with a net, caught the turtle, and took the pin and string out of its mouth.

"Now let's go and look at the seals," said Bunny, when the crowd, laughing at what the little boy had done, had moved away.

"But you musn't try to catch any of them," his mother said.

"I won't," promised Bunny.

Watching the seals was fun, and Bunny and Sue had a good time there, until it was time to go out of the aquarium for dinner. The children had a nice meal, in a restaurant, and Aunt Lu said:

"I think this afternoon we will take a little ride on the boat to Coney Island. You children can have an ocean bath there. It is getting on toward fall, I know, but it is all the nicer down at the beach, and there won't be such crowds there as in real hot weather."

"Oh, won't it be fun to paddle in the water again!" cried Sue.

"That's what it will!" said Bunny Brown.

The place to take the boat for Coney Island was two or three blocks from the restaurant where they had eaten lunch. Bunny and Sue walked behind Mother Brown and Aunt Lu along the street to the boat-dock.

"This is just like home," said Bunny as he saw the water-front, with many boats tied up along the docks, just as they were at his father's pier at home.

Sue liked it, too. There were many things to see. In one window the children saw a number of monkeys, and birds with brightly colored feathers.

"Oh, let's stop and look at them!" cried Sue. Bunny was willing, so they stood looking in the window. Mrs. Brown and Aunt Lu, thinking the children were coming right along, walked on. And it was not until they were ready to cross the street that the mother and aunt missed the little ones.

"Why, where can they have gone?" cried Mrs. Brown, looking all around.

"Oh, they're just walking slowly, behind us," Aunt Lu said. "We'll go back and find them."

She and her sister walked back, but they could not see Bunny and Sue.

"Oh, where are they?" cried Mrs. Brown. "My children are lost! Lost in New York! Oh dear!"



Chapter XVII

At The Police Station


Bunny Brown, and his sister Sue, standing in front of the window where the monkeys and birds were, in cages, had forgotten all about Mother Brown and Aunt Lu. All the children thought of was watching the funny things the monkeys did, for there were three of the long-tailed animals in one cage, and they seemed to be playing tricks on one another.

"Oh, Bunny!" said Sue, "this must be where the hand-organ men get their monkeys."

"Maybe," Bunny agreed. "But hand-organ monkeys have red caps on, and wear green coats, and these monkeys haven't anything on."

"Maybe they make caps and jackets for them from the birds' feathers," Sue said.

"Maybe," agreed Bunny. Certainly the feathers of the birds were red and green, just the colors of the caps and jackets the monkeys wore.

"I wonder if the man would give us a monkey?" Sue said, as she pressed her little nose flat against the window glass, so she would miss nothing of what went on in the store.

"Maybe he would, or we could save up and buy one," Bunny answered.

"Monkeys don't cost much I guess. 'Cause hand-organ mens isn't very rich, and they always have one. I'd like a parrot, too," said Sue.

"Yes, a parrot is better than a doll, for a parrot can talk."

"A parrot is not better than a doll!" Sue cried.

"Yes it is," said Bunny. "It's alive, too, and a doll isn't."

"Well, I can make believe my doll is alive," said Sue. "Anyhow, Bunny Brown, you can't have a parrot or a monkey, 'cause Henry, the elevator boy, won't let 'em come inside Aunt Lu's house."

"That's so," Bunny agreed. "Well, anyhow, we can go in and ask how much they cost, and we can save up our money and buy one when we go home. We aren't always going to stay at Aunt Lu's. And our dog, Splash, would like a monkey and a parrot."

"Yes," said Sue, "he would. All right, we'll go in and ask how much they is."

Hand in hand, never thinking about their aunt and their mother, Bunny and Sue went into the animal store, in the window of which were the monkeys and the parrots. Once inside, the children saw so many other things -- chickens, ducks, goldfish, rabbits, squirrels, pigeons and dogs -- that they were quite delighted.

"Why -- why!" cried Sue, "it's just like Central Park, Bunny!"

"Almost!" said the little boy. "Oh, Sue. Look at the squirrel on the merry-go-'round!"

In a cage on the counter, behind which stood an old man, was a bushy-tailed squirrel, and he was going around and around in a sort of wire wheel. It was like a small merry-go-'round, except that it did not whirl in just the same way.

"What do you want, children?" asked the old man who kept the animal store.

"We -- we'd like a monkey, if it doesn't cost too much," said Bunny.

"And a parrot, too. Don't forget the parrot, Bunny," whispered Sue. "We want a parrot that can talk."

"And how much is a parrot, too?" asked Bunny.

The old man smiled at the children. Then he said:

"Well, parrots and monkeys cost more than you think. A parrot that can talk well costs about ten dollars!"

Bunny looked at Sue and Sue looked at Bunny. They had never thought a parrot cost as much as that. Bunny had thought about twenty-five cents, and Sue about ten.

"Well," said Bunny with a sigh, "I guess we can't get a parrot."

"Does one that can't talk cost as much as that?" Sue wanted to know.

"Well, not quite, but almost, for they soon learn to talk, you know," answered the nice old man.

"How much are monkeys?" asked Bunny. It was almost as if he had gone into Mrs. Redden's store at home, and asked how much were lollypops.

"Well, monkeys cost more than parrots," said the old man.

"Oh, dear!" sighed Bunny. "I -- I guess we can't ever save up enough to get one."

"No, I guess not," agreed Sue.

The old man smiled in such a nice way that Bunny and Sue felt sure he would be good and kind. He was almost like Uncle Tad.

"Where did you get all these animals?" asked Bunny, as he and his sister looked around on the dogs, cats, monkeys, parrots, guinea pigs, pigeons and goldfish, that were on all sides of the store.

"Oh, I have had an animal store a long time," said the old man. "I buy the animals and birds in different places, and sell them to the boys and girls of New York who want them for pets."

"We have a pet dog named Splash," said Bunny. "He's bigger than any dogs you have here."

"Yes, I don't keep big dogs," said the old man. "They take up too much room, and they eat too much. Mostly, folks in New York want small dogs, because they live in small houses, or apartments."

"My Aunt Lu can't have a dog or a parrot or a monkey in her house," said Sue. "Henry, the colored elevator boy, won't let her. Bunny and me, we found a dog, and Henry made us tie him down in the hall to feed him."

"Yes, I suppose so," said the old man.

"And we found a ragged man," went on Bunny, "and I had to lead him up stairs -- ten flights -- 'cause Henry maybe wouldn't let him ride in the elevator."

"That was too bad," said the old animal store-keeper. "But where do you children live? Is your home near here, and do your folks know you are trying to buy a monkey and a parrot?"

Then, for the first time since they had looked in the window of the animal store, Bunny and Sue thought of Mother Brown and Aunt Lu. They remembered they had started for the seashore.

"Oh, our mother and aunt are with us," said Bunny. "We had our dinner, and we're going to Coney Island. I guess we'd better go, too, Sue. Maybe they're waiting for us."

Bunny and Sue started out of the animal store, but, just then, one monkey pulled another monkey's tail, and the second one made such a chattering noise that the children turned around to see what it was. Then the monkey whose tail was pulled, reached out his paw, through the wires of his cage, and caught hold of the tail of a green parrot. Perhaps he thought the parrot was pulling his tail.

"Stop it! Stop it!" screamed the parrot. "Polly wants a cracker! Oh, what a hot day! Have some ice-cream! Stop it! Stop it! Pop goes the weasel!"

Bunny and Sue laughed, though they felt sorry that the monkey's and parrot's tails were being pulled. The animal-store man hurried over to the cages to stop the trouble, and Bunny and Sue stayed to watch.

So it happened, when Mother Brown and Aunt Lu turned around, to find the missing children, Bunny and Sue were not in sight, being inside the store. So, of course, their mother and their aunt did not see them.

"Oh, where could they have gone?" cried Mother Brown.

"Perhaps they are just behind us," said Aunt Lu. "We'll find them all right."

"But suppose they are lost?"

"They can't be lost very long in New York," Aunt Lu said. "The police will find them. Come, we'll walk back and look for them."

But though Mother Brown and Aunt Lu walked right past the store, they never thought that Bunny and Sue were inside.

"Oh, dear!" cried Aunt Lu, "I don't see where they can be!"

"Nor I," said Mrs. Brown. "Oh, if my children are lost!"

"If they are we'll soon find them," asserted Aunt Lu, looking up and down the street, but not seeing Bunny or Sue. "Here comes a policeman now," she went on. "We'll ask him."

But, though the policeman had seen many children on the street, he was not sure he had seen Bunny and Sue.

"However," he said, "the police station is not far from here. You had better go there and ask if they have any lost children. We pick up some every day, and maybe yours are there. Go to the police station. You'll find 'em there."

And to the police station went Mother Brown and Aunt Lu. They walked in toward a big, long desk, with a brass rail in front. Behind the desk sat a man dressed like a soldier, with gold braid on his cap.

"Have you any lost children?" asked Mother Brown.

"A few," answered the police officer behind the brass rail. "You can hear 'em crying."

Aunt Lu and Mother Brown listened. Surely enough, they heard several little children crying.

"They're in the back room," said the officer. "I'll take you in, and you can pick yours out."



Chapter XVIII

Home Again


Mother Brown and Aunt Lu went into the back room of the police station. Around the room, at a table, sat many policemen, most of them with their coats off, for it was rather a warm day. These were the policemen who were waiting for something to happen -- such as a fire, or some other trouble -- before they went out to help boys and girls, or men and women.

But, besides these policemen, there were some little children, three little boys, and two little girls, all rather ragged, all quite dirty, and at least one boy and one girl were crying.

"Oh, where did you get them all?" asked Mother Brown.

"They are lost children," said the policeman who looked like a soldier, with the gold braid on his cap. "Our officers find them on the street, and bring them here."

"And how do their fathers and mothers find them?" asked Aunt Lu.

"Oh, they come here looking for them, the same as you two ladies are doing. The children are never lost very long. You see they're so little they can't tell where they live, or we'd send them home ourselves. Are any of these the lost children you are looking for?"

"Oh, no! Not one!" exclaimed Mother Brown. It took only one look to show her and Aunt Lu that Bunny and Sue were not among the lost children then in the police station.

"Well, I wish some of these were yours," returned the officer. "Especially those two crying ones. They've cried ever since they came here."

"Boo-hoo!" cried two of the lost children. They seemed to be afraid, more than were the others. The others rather liked it. One boy was playing with a policeman's hat, while a little girl was trying to see if she was as tall as a policeman's long club.

"Will they stay here long?" asked Aunt Lu.

"Oh, no, not very long," said the officer.

"Their mothers will miss them soon, and come to look for them. So none of these are yours?" he asked.

"No, but I wish they were," said Mother Brown. "Oh, what has happened to Bunny and Sue?" she asked, and there were tears in her eyes.

"They'll be all right," said the officer in the gold-laced cap. "Maybe they haven't been found yet. As soon as a policeman on the street sees that your children are lost he'll bring them here. You can sit down and wait, if you like. Your little ones may be brought in any minute now."

But Aunt Lu and Mother Brown thought they would rather be out in the street, looking for Bunny and Sue, instead of staying in the police station, and waiting.

"If you leave the names of your children," said the officer to Mother Brown, "we'll telephone to you as soon as they are found. That is if they can tell their names."

"Oh, Bunny and Sue can do that, and they can also tell where they live," said Aunt Lu.

"Oh, then they'll be all right," the officer said, with a laugh. "Maybe they're home by this time. If they told a policeman where they lived he might even take them home, or send them home in a taxicab. We often do that," he said, for he could tell by looking at Aunt Lu and Mother Brown that the two ladies lived in a nice part of New York, maybe a long way from this police station.

"Oh, perhaps Bunny and Sue are home now, waiting for us!" said Mother Brown. "Let's go and see!"

"And if they're not, and if they are brought here, we'll telephone to you," the officer said, as he put the names of Bunny and Sue down on a piece of paper, and also Aunt Lu's telephone number.

So Mrs. Brown and her sister left the police station, and, after another look in the street where they last had seen Bunny and Sue, hoping they might see them (but they did not), off they started for Aunt Lu's house.

"Maybe they are there now," said Mother Brown.

But of course Bunny Brown and his sister Sue were not. We know where they were, though their mother and aunt did not. The children were still in the animal store, laughing at the funny things the monkeys were doing.

After a while, though, one monkey stopped pulling the other monkey's tail, and the other monkey stopped trying to pull the green feathers out of the parrot's tail, and it was quiet in the animal store, except for the cooing of the pigeons and the barking of the dogs.

"So you don't think you want to buy a monkey or a parrot to-day, children?" asked the animal-man, with a smile.

"No, thank you. We haven't the money," said Bunny. "But I would like a monkey."

"And I'd like a parrot," added Sue. "But Henry, the elevator boy, wouldn't let us keep 'em, so maybe it's just as well."

"We can come down here when we want to see any animals," said Bunny to his sister. "I like it better than Central Park."

"So do I," said Sue.

"Yes, come down as often as you like," the old man invited them. "Are you going?" he asked, as he saw Bunny and Sue open the door.

"Yes, we're going to Coney Island with mother and Aunt Lu," Bunny answered.

He and Sue stepped out into the street. They had forgotten all about their mother and their aunt until now, and they thought they would find them on the sidewalk, waiting. But, of course, we know what Mother Brown and Aunt Lu had done -- gone to the police station, looking for the lost ones.

So, when Bunny and Sue looked up and down the street, as they stood in front of the animal store, they did not see Mrs. Brown or Aunt Lu.

"I -- I wonder where they went?" said Sue.

"I don't know," answered Bunny. "Maybe they're lost!"

Sue looked a little frightened at this. The animal-man, seeing the children did not know what to do, came out to them.

"Can't you find your mother?" he asked.

"No," answered Bunny. "She -- she's lost!"

"I guess it's you who are lost," said the animal-man. "But never mind. Tell me where you live, and I'll have the police take you home."

Bunny and Sue, when first they came to New York, had been told by their Aunt Lu that if they ever got lost not to be worried or frightened, for a policeman would take them home. So now, when they heard the animal-man speak about the police, they knew what to expect.

"Where do you live, children?" asked the gray-haired animal-man. "Tell me where you live."

But, strange to say, Bunny and Sue had each forgotten. Some days past their aunt and mother had made them learn, by heart, the number and the street where Aunt Lu's house stood. But now, try as they did, neither Bunny nor Sue could remember it. Watching the monkeys and parrots had made them forget, I suppose.

"Don't you know where you live?" asked the animal-man.

Bunny shook his head. So did Sue.

"Our elevator boy is named Henry," Bunny said.

The animal-man laughed.

"I guess there are a good many elevator boys named Henry, in New York," he said. "I'll just tell the police that I have two lost children here. They'll come and get you, and take you home. Maybe your aunt and mother have already been at the police station looking for you."

It took only a little while for the kind man to telephone to the same police station where Aunt Lu and Mother Brown had been. Of course they were not there then.

But soon a kind policeman came and took Bunny and Sue to the police station, leading them by the hand. Bunny and Sue thought it was fun, and persons in the street smiled at the sight. They knew two lost children had been found.

"What are your names, little ones?" asked the policeman behind the big brass railing, when the two tots were led into the station house.

"I'm Bunny Brown, and this is my sister Sue," spoke up the little boy. "We're lost, and so is our mother and our Aunt Lu."

"Well, you won't be lost long," said the officer with a laugh. "Your mother and aunt have been here looking for you, but they've gone home. I'll telephone them you are here, and they'll come and get you."

And that's just what happened. Bunny and Sue sat in the back room, with the other lost children, though there were not so many now, for two of them -- the crying ones -- had been taken away by their mothers. And, pretty soon, along came Aunt Lu's big automobile, and in that Bunny and Sue were ready to be taken safely home.

Then Aunt Lu rode past the kind animal-man's place, and she and Mother Brown thanked him for his care of the children.

"We couldn't have a monkey and a parrot, could we, Mother?" asked Bunny, as they left the animal store.

"No, dear. I'm afraid not."

"I didn't think we could," Bunny went on. "But when we get back home, where Henry, the elevator boy, can't see 'em, Sue and I is going to have a monkey and a parrot."



Chapter XIX

Bunny Flies A Kite


Mother Brown and Aunt Lu laughed when Bunny said this. Bunny's and Sue's mother and aunt were glad to have the children safely with them again. They were soon at Aunt Lu's home.

"Whatever made you two children go into that animal store?" asked Mrs. Brown. "Aunt Lu and I thought you were right behind us, going to take the boat for Coney Island. Now we can't go."

"We can go some other day," declared Bunny. "You see we just stopped to look in the animal store window, Mother, and then we thought we'd go in to see how much a monkey and a parrot cost."

"But they cost ten dollars," said Sue, "so we didn't get any."

"I should hope not!" exclaimed Aunt Lu.

The next day Bunny and Sue went to Coney Island with their aunt and their mother. This time Aunt Lu and Mother Brown kept close hold of the children's hands, so they were not lost. They very much enjoyed the sail down the bay, and they had lots of fun at Coney Island.

Of course Bunny and Sue were not like some children, who have never seen the grand, old ocean. Bunny and Sue lived near it at home, and had seen it ever since they were small children. But, to some, their visit to Coney Island gives the first sight of the sea, and it is a wonderful sight, with the big waves breaking on the sandy shore.

But if Bunny and Sue were not so eager to see the ocean, they were glad to look at the other things on Coney Island. They rode on a merry-go-'round, slid down a long wooden hill, in a wooden boat, and splashed into the water; this was "shooting the chutes," of which you have heard.

They even rode on a tame elephant, in a little house on the big animal's back. Then they had popcorn and candy, and some lemonade, that, if it was not pink, such as they had at their little circus, was just as good. In fact Bunny Brown and his sister Sue had a very good time at Coney Island.

Coming back on the boat was nice, too. There was a band playing music, and Bunny and Sue, and some other children, danced around. They reached home after dark, and Bunny and Sue were glad to go to bed.

But Bunny was not too sleepy to ask:

"What are we going to do to-morrow, Mother?"

"Oh, wait until to-morrow comes and see," she answered. "I hope you don't get lost again, though."

But Bunny and Sue were not afraid of getting lost in New York, now. They knew the police would find them, and be kind to them.

Their mother and Aunt Lu had made them say, over and over again, the number of the house, and the name of the street where Aunt Lu lived. The children also had cards with the address on. But the day they went into the animal store they had left their cards at home.

"What shall we do, Bunny?" asked Sue, the day after their trip to Coney Island. "I want to have some fun."

"So do I," said Bunny.

Having fun in the big city of New York was different from playing in the country, on grandpa's farm, or near the water in Bellemere, as Bunny and Sue soon found. But they had many good times at Aunt Lu's, though they were different from those at home. One thing about being in the country, at grandpa's, or at their own home, was that Bunny and Sue could run out alone and look for fun. In New York they were only allowed to go on the street in front of Aunt Lu's house alone. Of course if Aunt Lu, or Mother Brown, or even Wopsie went with them, the children could go farther up or down the street.

"Let's see if we can go out and find Wopsie's aunt to-day," said Bunny to Sue, after they had eaten breakfast.

"All right," agreed the little girl. "Where'll we look?"

"Oh, down in the street," said Bunny. "We'll ask all the colored people we meet if they have lost a little girl. And we could ask at a police station, too, if we knew where there was one."

"Yes," said Sue, "we might ask at the station where we was tooken, after we saw the monkeys and parrots in the animal store."

"But we don't know where that police station is," Bunny said. "I guess we'd just better ask in the street."

Bunny and Sue were quite in earnest about finding little Wopsie's aunt for her. For they wanted to make the little colored girl happy.

And, strange as it may seem, Bunny and Sue had asked many colored persons they met, if they wanted a little lost colored girl. Bunny and Sue did not think this was at all strange, for they were used to doing, and saying, just what they pleased, as long as it was not wrong.

Of course some colored men and women did not know what to make of the queer questions Bunny and Sue asked, but others replied to them kindly, and said they were sorry, but that they had not lost any little colored girl.

"But we'll find Wopsie's aunt some time," said Bunny, and Sue thought they might. So now, having nothing else to do to "have fun," as they called it, Bunny and Sue started to go down to the street.

"Don't go away from in front of the house!" their mother called to them.

"We won't," Bunny promised.

Henry, the colored elevator boy, took them down in his car.

"We're going to find Wopsie's aunt," said Bunny.

"Well, I hopes you do," replied Henry. For, all this while, though Aunt Lu had tried her best, nothing could be found of any "folks" for the little colored girl. She still lived with Aunt Lu, helping keep the apartment in order, and looking after Bunny and Sue.

Down on the sidewalk went Bunny and his sister. For some time they sat on the shady front steps, watching for a colored man or woman. But it was quite long before one came along. Then it was a young colored man. Up to him ran Bunny.

"Is you looking for Wopsie?" he asked. For the colored man was looking up at the numbers on the houses.

"No, sah, little man. I'se lookin' fo' Henry," was the answer. "He's a elevator boy, an' he done lib around yeah somewheres."

"Oh, he lives in here!" cried Sue. "Henry's our elevator boy. We'll show you!"

She and Bunny ran into the hall, calling:

"Henry! Henry! Here's your brother looking for you!"

And so it was Henry's brother. He worked as an elevator boy in another apartment house, and, as he had a few hours to spare, he had come to see Henry.

The two colored boys talked together, riding up and down in the sliding car, while Bunny and Sue went back to the street.

"Well, we didn't find anyone looking for Wopsie," said Bunny, "but we found someone looking for Henry, and that's pretty near the same."

"Yes," said Sue. "Maybe we'll find Wopsie's aunt to-morrow."

But no more colored persons came along, and, after a while, Bunny and Sue grew tired of waiting. Looking up in the air Bunny suddenly gave a cry.

"Oh, Sue! Look!" he shouted. "There's a boy on the roof of that house across the street, flying a kite. I'm going to get a kite and fly it from our roof!"

"Do you think mother will let you?" asked Sue.

"I'm going to tell her about it!" Bunny exclaimed.

At first Mrs. Brown would not hear of Bunny's flying a kite from the roof of the apartment house. But Aunt Lu said:

"Oh, the boys here often do it. That's the only place they have to fly kites in New York. There is a good breeze up on our roof, and it's safe. I don't know anything about a kite though, or how we could get Bunny one."

"You can buy 'em in a store," said the little boy. "There's a store just around the corner, and the kites cost five cents."

Mrs. Brown, hearing her sister say it was safe, and all right, to fly kites from the roof, said Bunny might get one. So he and Sue, with Wopsie, went to the little store around the corner. There Bunny got a fine red, white and blue kite, with a tail to it.

"Now we'll take it up on the roof and fly it," he said to his sister and the little colored girl, after he had tied the end of a ball of string to his kite.

There was a good wind up on the roof, and the railing was so high there was no danger of the children sliding off. Bunny's kite was soon flying in the air, and he and Sue took turns holding the string, as they sat on cushions on the roof. Wopsie stood near, looking on.

"I never flied a kite like this before," laughed Bunny -- "up on a house roof."



Chapter XX

The Play Party


High up in the air flew Bunny Brown's kite. The wind blew very hard on the high roof of Aunt Lu's house, harder than it blew down in the street. And, too, on the roof, there were no trees to catch the kite's tail and pull it. I think a kite doesn't like its tail pulled any more than a pussy cat, or a puppy dog does. Anyhow, nothing pulled the tail of Bunny's kite.

"Doesn't it fly fine!" cried Sue, as Bunny let out more and more of the ball of cord.

"Yes," he answered. "I'll let you hold it awhile, Sue, after it gets up higher."

"And will you let Wopsie hold it, too?" asked the little girl.

Sue was very kind hearted, and she always wanted to have the lonely little colored girl share in the joys and pleasures that Bunny and his sister so often had.

"Sure, Wopsie can fly the kite!" Bunny answered. "It's almost up high enough now. Pretty soon it will be up near the clouds. Then I'll let you and Wopsie hold it awhile."

Up and up went the kite, higher and higher. The wind was blowing harder than ever, sweeping over the roof, and Bunny moved back from the high rail for fear that, after all, the kite might pull him over. Pretty soon he had let out all the cord, except what was tied to a clothes pin his aunt had given him, and Bunny said:

"Now you can hold the kite, Sue. But keep it tight, so it won't pull away from you."

Sue did not come up to take the string, as Bunny thought she would. Instead, Sue said:

"I -- I guess Wopsie can take my turn, Bunny. I don't want to hold the kite. Let Wopsie."

"Why, I thought you wanted to," the little boy said.

"Well, I -- I did, but I don't want to now," and Sue looked at the kite, high up in the air above the roof.

"Come on, Wopsie!" called Bunny to the little colored girl. "You can hold the kite awhile."

Wopsie shook her kinky, black, curly head.

"No, sah, Bunny! I don't want t' hold no kite nohow!" she said.

"Why not?" Bunny wanted to know.

"Jest 'case as how I don't!" Wopsie explained.

"Is -- is you afraid, same as I am?" asked Sue.

"Why, Sue!" cried Bunny. "You're not afraid to hold my kite; are you?"

"Yes I is, Bunny."

"What for?"

"'Cause it's so high up," Sue told him. "The wind blows it so hard, and we're up on such a high roof, and the kite pulls so hard I'm afraid it might take me up with it."

"That's jest what I'se skeered ob, too!" cried Wopsie. "I don't want t' git carried off up to no cloud, no sah! I wants t' find mah aunt 'fore I goes up to de sky!"

Bunny Brown laughed.

"Why this kite wouldn't pull you up!" he said. "It can't pull hard enough for that. Come on, I'll let both of you hold it together. It can't pull you both up."

"Shall we?" asked Sue, looking at Wopsie.

"Well, I will if yo' will," said the colored girl slowly.

Slowly and carefully Sue and Wopsie took hold of the kite string. No sooner did they have it in their hands than there came a sudden puff of wind, harder than before, and the kite pulled harder than ever.

"Oh, it's taking us up! It's taking us up!" cried Sue, and she let go the string.

"I can't hold it all alone! I can't hold it all alone!" cried Wopsie. "I don't want to go up to de clouds in de sky!"

And she, too, let go the cord. As it happened, Bunny did not have hold of it just then, thinking his sister and Wopsie would hold it, so you can easily guess what happened.

The strong wind carried the kite, string and all, away through the air, the clothes pin, fast to the end of the cord, rattling along over the roof.

"Oh, look!" cried Sue. "Your kite is loose, Bunny!"

"Cotch it! Cotch it!" shouted Wopsie, now that she saw what had happened.

Bunny did not say it was the fault of his sister and the little colored girl that the kite had gone sailing off by itself, though if the two girls had held to the string it never would have happened. But Bunny was too eager and anxious to get back his kite to say anything just then.

With a bound he sprang after the rolling clothes pin. But it kept just beyond his reach. He could not get his hand on it. Faster and faster the kite sailed away. Bunny was now running across the roof after the clothes pin that was tied on the end of his kite cord.

Then, all of a sudden, the clothes pin was pulled over the edge of the roof railing. Bunny could not get it. He stopped short at the edge of the roof, and looked at his kite sailing far away.

"It -- it's gone!" said Sue, in a low voice.

"It -- it suah has!" whispered Wopsie. "Oh, Bunny. I'se so sorry!"

"So'm I!" added Sue.

Bunny said nothing. He just looked at his kite, growing smaller and smaller as it sailed away through the air. It was too bad.

"Never mind," said Bunny, swallowing the "crying lump" in his throat, as he called it. "It -- it wasn't a very good kite anyhow. I'm going to get a bigger one."

"Den we suah will be pulled offen de roof!" said Wopsie, and Bunny and Sue laughed at the queer way she said it.

However, nothing could be done now to get the kite. Away it went, sailing on and on over other roofs. The long string, with the clothes pin on the end of it, dangled over the courtyard of the apartment house. Then the wind did not blow quite so hard for a moment, and the kite sank down.

"Oh, maybe you can get it!" cried Sue.

"Let's try!" exclaimed Bunny. "Come on, Wopsie. We'll go down to the street and run after my kite."

Down to Aunt Lu's floor went the children. Quickly they told Mother Brown and Aunt Lu what had happened.

"We're going to chase after my kite," said Bunny. "That's what we do in the country when a kite gets loose like mine did."

"But I'm afraid it won't be so easy to run after a kite in the city as it is in the country," said Mother Brown. "There are too many houses here, Bunny. But you may try. Wopsie will go with you, and don't go too far away."

Wopsie knew all the streets about Aunt Lu's house, and could not get lost, so it was safe for Bunny and Sue to go with her. A little later the three were down on the street, running in the direction they had last seen the kite. But they could see it no longer. There were too many houses in the way, and there were no big green fields, as in the country, across which one could look for ever and ever so far.

For several blocks, and through a number of streets, Bunny Brown and his sister Sue, with Wopsie, tried to find the kite. But it was not in sight. They even asked a kind-looking policeman, but he had not seen it.

"I guess we'll have to go back without it," said Bunny, sighing. "But I'll buy another to-morrow."

The children turned to go back to Aunt Lu's house. Bunny and Sue looked about them. They had never been on this street before. It was not as nice as the one where their aunt lived. The houses were just as big, but they were rather shabby looking -- like old and ragged dresses. And the people in the street, and the children, were not well dressed. Of course that was not their fault, they were poor, and did not have the money. Perhaps some of them did not even have money enough to get all they wanted to eat.

"I -- I don't like it here," whispered Sue to Wopsie. "Let's go home."

"There's more children here than on our street," said Bunny. "Look at those boys wading in a mud puddle. I wish I could."

"Don't you dare do it, Bunny Brown!" cried Sue. "You know we can't go barefoot in the city. Mother said so."

"Yes, I know," Bunny answered.

The three children walked on. As they passed a high stoop they saw a number of ragged boys and girls sitting around a box, on which were some old broken dishes and clam shells. One girl, larger than the others, was saying:

"Now you has all got to be nice at my party, else you won't git nothin' to eat. Sammie Cohen, you sit up straight, and don't you grab any of that chocolate cake until I says you kin have it. Mary Mullaine, you keep your fingers out of dat lemonade. The party ain't started yet."

"I -- I don't see any party," said Bunny, looking at the empty clam shells, and the empty pieces of broken dishes on the soap box.

"Hush!" exclaimed Sue in a whisper. "Can't you see it's a play-party, Bunny Brown. Same as we have!"



Chapter XXI

The Real Party


The poor children on the stoop (I call them poor just so you'll know they didn't have much money) these poor children were pretending so hard to have a party, that they never noticed Bunny Brown, and his sister Sue, with Wopsie, watching them.

"When are we goin' to eat?" asked a ragged little boy, who sat on the lowest step.

"When I says to begin, dat's when you eat," said the big, ragged girl, who seemed to have gotten up the play-party. "And I don't want nobody to ask for no second piece of cake, 'cause there ain't enough."

"Is there any pie?" asked a little boy, whose face was quite dirty. "'Cause if there's pie, I'd just as lief have that as cake."

"There ain't no pie," said the big girl. "Now we'll begin. Mikie Snell, you let that ice-cream alone, I tells you!"

"I -- I was jest seein' if it was meltin'," and Mikie drew back a dirty hand he had reached over toward a big empty clam shell. That shell was the make-believe dish of ice-cream, you see.

"Say, dis suah am a funny party," whispered Wopsie to Sue. "I -- I don't see nuffin to eat!"

"Hush!" whispered Sue. "You never have anything to eat at a play-party; do you, Bunny?"

"Nope. But when we have one we always go in the house afterward, and mother gives us something."

"Let's watch them play," whispered Sue.

And so, not having found Bunny's kite, he and his sister Sue, and Wopsie, stood by the stoop, and watched the poor, ragged children at their play-party.

It was just like the ones Bunny and Sue sometimes had. There was make believe pie, cake, lemonade and ice-cream. And the children on the stoop, in the big, busy street of New York, had just as much fun at their play-party as Bunny and Sue had at theirs, in the beautiful country, or by the seashore.

"Now we're goin' to have the ice-cream," said the big girl, as she smoothed down her ragged dress. "And don't none of you eat it too fast, or it'll give you a face-ache, 'cause it's awful cold."

Then she made believe to dish out the pretend-ice-cream, and the children made believe to eat it with imaginary spoons.

"I couldn't have no more, could I?" asked a little girl.

"Why Lizzie Bloomenstine! I should say not!" cried the big girl. "The ice-cream is all gone. Hello, what you lookin' at?" she asked quickly as she saw Bunny, Sue and Wopsie.

For a moment Bunny did not answer. The big girl frowned, and the others at the play-party did not seem pleased.

"Go on away an' let us alone!" the big girl said. "Can't we have a party without you swells comin' to stare at us?"

Bunny and Sue really were not staring at the play-party to be impolite.

"What they want?" asked another of the ragged children.

"Oh, jest makin' fun at us, 'cause we ain't got nothin' to play real party with, I s'pose," grumbled the big girl. "Go on away!" she ordered.

Then Sue had an idea. I have told you of some of the ideas Bunny Brown had, but this time it was Sue's turn. She was going to do a queer thing.

"If you please," she said in her most polite voice to the big ragged girl, "we only stopped to look at your play-party, to see how you did it."

"'Cause we have 'em like that ourselves," added Bunny.

"And they're lots of fun," went on Sue. "We play just like you do, with empty plates, and tin dishes and all that. Do you ever have cherry pie at your play parties?"

The big girl was not scowling now. She had a kinder look on her face. After all she had found that the "swells," as she called Bunny and Sue, were just like herself.

"No, we never have cherry pie," she said, "it costs too much, even at make-believe parties. But we has frankfurters and rolls."

"Oh, how nice!" Sue said. "We never have them; do we Bunny?"

"Nope."

"But we will, next time we have a play-party," Sue went on. "I think they must be lovely. How do you cook 'em?"

"Well, we just frys 'em -- make believe," said the big girl, who was smiling now. "But I can cook real, an' when we has any money at home, an' me ma buys real sausages, I boils 'em an' we eats 'em wit mustard on."

Sue thought the big girl talked in rather a queer way, but of course we cannot all talk alike. It would be a funny world if we did; wouldn't it?

"It must be nice to cook real sausages," said Sue. "I wish I could do it. But will all of you children come to my party to-morrow?" she asked.

"Are you goin' to have a party?" inquired the big girl.

"Yes," nodded Sue. "We're going to have a party at our Aunt Lu's house; aren't we, Bunny? We are, 'cause I'm going to ask her to have one, as soon as we get back," Sue whispered to her brother. "So you say 'yes.' We are going to have a party; aren't we, Bunny?" Sue spoke out loud this time.

"Yes," answered the little boy. "We're going to have one."

"A real party?" the big girl wanted to know.

Bunny looked at Sue. He was going to let her answer.

"Yes, it will be a real party," said Sue, "and we'll have all real things to eat. Will you come?"

"Will we come?" cried the big girl. "Well, I guess we will!"

"Even a policeman couldn't keep us away!" said the boy who had wanted to feel the ice-cream, to see if it was melting.

"Then you can all come to my Aunt Lu's house to-morrow afternoon," Sue went on. "I'll tell her you're coming."

"Where is it?" asked the big girl.

Sue felt in her pocket and brought out one of Aunt Lu's cards, which Miss Baker had given the little girl in case she became lost.

"That's our address," said Sue. "You come there to-morrow afternoon, and we'll have a real party. I'm pleased to have met you," and with a polite bow, saying what she had often heard her mother say on parting from a new friend, Sue turned away.

"Will you an' your brother be there?" the big, ragged girl wanted to know.

"Yes," said Bunny. "I'll be there, and so will Wopsie."

"Is she Wopsie?" asked the big girl, pointing to the colored piccaninny.

"Dat's who I is!" Wopsie exclaimed. "But dat's only mah make-believe name. Mah real one am Sallie Jefferson. Dat name was on de card pinned to me, but de address was tored off."

"Well, Sallie or Wopsie, it's all de same to me," said the big girl. "We'll see you at de party!"

"Yes, please all come," said Sue once more. Then she walked on with Wopsie and her brother.

"Say, Miss Sue, is yo' all sartin suah 'bout dis yeah party?" asked Wopsie, as they turned the corner.

"Why, of course we're sure about it, Wopsie."

"Well, yo' auntie don't know nuffin 'bout it."

"She will, as soon as we get home, for I'll tell her," said Sue. "It will be fun; won't it, Bunny?"

"I -- I guess so."

Bunny did not know quite what to make of what Sue had done. Getting up a real party in such a hurry was a new idea for him. Still it might be all right.

"It's a good thing I lost my kite," said Bunny. "'Cause if I hadn't we couldn't have seen those children to invite to the party."

"Yes," said Sue, "it was real nice. We'll have lots of fun at the party. I hope they'll all come."

"Oh, dey'll come all right!" said Wopsie, shaking her head. "But I don't jest know what yo' Aunt Lu's gwine t' say."

"Oh, that will be all right," answered Sue easily.

When the children reached home, they rode up in the elevator with Henry, and Sue found her aunt in the library with Mother Brown.

"Aunt Lu," began Sue, "have you got lots of cake and jam tarts and jelly tarts in the house?"

"Why, I think Mary baked a cake to-day," Sue. "What did you ask that for?"

"And can you buy real ice-cream at a store near here, or make it?" Sue wanted to know.

"Why, yes, child, but what for?" Aunt Lu was puzzled.

"Then it's all right," Sue went on. "You're going to give a real play-party to a lot of ragged children here to-morrow afternoon. I invited them. I gave them your card. And now, please, I want a jam tart, or a piece of cake, for myself. And then we must tell Henry when the ragged children come, to let them come up in the elevator. They're little, just like me, and they never could walk up all the stairs. I hope your real play-party will be nice, Aunt Lu," and Sue, smoothing out her dress, sat down in a chair.



Chapter XXII

In The Park


Aunt Lu looked first at Sue, and then at Bunny Brown. Mother Brown did the same thing. Then they looked at Wopsie. Finally Aunt Lu, in a sort of faint, and far-away voice asked:

"What -- what does it all mean, Sue?"

Sue leaned back in her chair.

"It's just like I told you," she said. "You know Bunny's kite got away, and we ran after it. We didn't find it, but we saw some poor children having a play-party, with broken pieces of dishes on a box, same as me and Bunny plays sometimes. We watched them, and I guess they thought we was makin' fun of 'em."

"Yes," said Bunny, "that's what they did."

"But we wasn't makin' fun," said Sue. "We just wanted to watch, and when they saw us I asked them to come here to-morrow to a real party."

"Oh, Sue, you never did!" cried her mother.

"Yes'm, I did," returned Sue. "I gave 'em Aunt Lu's card, and they're coming, and we're going to have real cake and real ice-cream. That one girl can cook real, or make-believe, sausages, but we don't need to have them, 'less you want to, Aunt Lu! Only I think it would be nice to have some jam tarts, and I'd like one now, please."

Aunt Lu and Mrs. Brown again looked at one another. First they smiled, and then they laughed.

"Well," said Aunt Lu, after a bit. "I suppose since Sue has invited them I'll have to give them a party. But I wish you had let me know first, Sue, before you asked them."

"Why, I didn't have time, Aunt Lu. I -- I just had to get up the real party right away, you see."

"Oh, yes, I see."

So Aunt Lu told Mary, her cook, and her other servants, to get ready for the party Sue had planned. For it would never do to have the big girl, and the little boys and girls, come all the way to Aunt Lu's house, and then not give them something to eat, especially after Sue had promised it to them.

Bunny and Sue could hardly wait for the next day to come, so eager were they to have the party. They were up early in the morning, and they wanted to help make the jam and jelly tarts, but Aunt Lu said Mary could better do that alone. Wopsie helped dust the rooms, though, and she lifted up to the mantel several pretty vases that had stood on low tables.

"Dem chilluns might not mean t' do it," said the little colored girl, "but dey might, accidental like, knock ober some vases an' smash 'em. Den Miss Lu would feel bad."

Bunny and Sue spoke to Henry, the elevator boy, about the ragged children coming to the party.

"You'll let them ride up with you; won't you, Henry?" asked Sue.

"Oh, suah I will!" he said, smiling and showing all his white teeth. "Dey kin ride in mah elevator as well as not."

And, about two o'clock, which was the hour Sue had told them, the ragged children came, the big girl marching on ahead with Aunt Lu's card held in her hand, so she would find the apartment house. But the children were not so ragged or dirty now. Their faces and hands were quite clean, and some of them had on better clothes.

"I made 'em slick up, all I could," said the big girl, who said her name was Maggie Walsh. "Is the party all ready?"

"Yes," answered Sue, who with Bunny, had been waiting down in the hall for the "company."

Into the elevator the poor children piled, and soon they were up in Aunt Lu's nice rooms. The place was so nice, with its satin and plush chairs, that the children were almost afraid to sit down. But Aunt Lu, and Mrs. Brown soon made them feel at home, and when the cake, ice-cream, and other good things, were brought in, why, the children acted just like any others that Bunny and Sue had played with.

"Say, it's real ice-cream all right!" whispered one boy to Maggie Walsh. "It's de real stuff!"

"Course it is!" exclaimed the big girl. "Didn't she say it was goin' to be real!" and she nodded at Sue.

"I t'ought maybe it were jest a joke," said the boy.

Aunt Lu had not had much time to get ready for Sue's sudden little party, but it was a nice one for all that. There were plenty of good things to eat, which, after all, does much to make a party nice. Then, too, there was a little present for each of the children. And as they went home with their toys, pleased and happy, there was a smile on every face.

They had had more good things to eat than they had ever dreamed of, they had played games and they had had the best time in their lives, so they said. Over and over again they thanked Sue and her mother and Aunt Lu, and Bunny -- even Henry, the elevator boy.

"We'll come a'gin whenever you has a party," whispered a little red-haired girl, to Sue, as she said good-bye.

"And youse kin come to our make-believe parties whenever you want," said the big girl.

"Thanks." Sue waved her hands to the children as they went down the street. She had given them a happy time.

For a few days after Sue's party she and Bunny did not do much except play around Aunt Lu's house, for there came several days of rain. The weather was getting colder now, for it was fall, and would soon be winter.

"But I like winter!" said Bunny. "'Cause we can slide down hill. Are there any hills around here, Aunt Lu?"

"Well, not many. Perhaps you might slide in Central Park. We'll see when snow comes."

One clear, cool November day Bunny and Sue were taken to Central Park by Wopsie. They had been promised a ride in a pony cart, and this was the day they were to have it.

Not far from where the animals were kept in the park were some ponies and donkeys. Children could ride on their backs, or sit in a little cart, and have a pony or donkey pull them.

"We'll get in a cart," said Bunny. "I'm going to drive."

"Do you know how?" asked the man, as he lifted Bunny and Sue in. Wopsie got in herself.

"I can drive our dog Splash, when he's hitched up to our express wagon," said Bunny. "I guess I can drive the pony. He isn't much bigger than Splash." This was so, as the pony was a little one.

So Bunny took hold of the lines, but the man who owned the pony carts sent a boy to walk along beside the little horse that was pulling Bunny, Sue and Wopsie.

"Giddap!" cried Bunny to the pony. "Go faster!" For the pony was only walking. Just then a dog ran out of the bushes along the park drive, and barked at the pony's heels. Before the boy, whom the man had sent out to take charge of the pony, could stop him, the little horse jumped forward, and the next minute began trotting down the drive very fast, pulling after him the cart, with Bunny, Sue and Wopsie in it.



Chapter XXIII

Old Aunt Sallie


"Bunny! Bunny! Isn't this fun?" cried Sue, as she looked across at her brother in the other seat of the pony cart. "Don't you like it?"

"Yes, I do," Bunny answered, as he pulled on the reins. "Do you, Wopsie?"

The colored girl looked around without speaking. She looked on the ground, as though she would like to jump out of the pony cart. But she did not. The little horse was going faster than ever.

"Don't you like it, Wopsie?" asked Sue. "It's fun! This pony goes faster than our dog Splash, and Splash couldn't pull such a nice, big cart as this; could he, Bunny?"

"No, I guess not," Bunny answered. He did not turn around to look at Sue as he spoke.

For, to tell the truth, Bunny was a little bit worried. The dog that had jumped out of the bushes, to bark at the pony's heels, was still running along behind the pony cart, barking and snapping. And, though Bunny and Sue did not mind their dog Splash's barking, when he pulled them, this dog was a strange one.

Then, too, the boy, who had started out with the pony cart, was running along after it crying:

"Stop! Stop! Wait a minute. Somebody stop that pony!"

But there was no one ahead of Bunny, Sue and Wopsie on the Park drive just then, and no one to stop the pony, which was kicking up his heels, and going faster and faster all the while.

"He's running hard; isn't he, Bunny?" asked Sue.

"Yes, he -- he's going fast -- very fast!" panted Bunny, in a sort of jerky way, for the cart rattled over some bumps just then, and if Bunny had not been careful how he spoke he might have bitten his tongue between his teeth.

"Don't -- don't you li -- like it -- Wop -- Wopsie?" asked Sue, speaking in the same jerky way as had her brother.

Wopsie did not open her mouth. She just held tightly to the edge of the pony cart, and shook her head from side to side. That meant she did not like it. Sue and Bunny wondered why.

True, they were going a bit fast, but then they had often ridden almost as fast when Splash, their big dog, drew them in the express cart. And this was much nicer than an express cart, though of course Bunny and Sue liked Splash better than this pony. But if they had owned the pony they would have liked him very much, also, I think.

Now the pony swung around a corner of the drive, and he went so fast, and turned so quickly, that the cart was nearly upset.

Sue held tightly to the side of her seat, and called to her brother:

"Oh, Bunny! Don't make him go so fast! You'll spill me and Wopsie out!"

"I didn't make him go fast," Bunny answered. "I -- I guess he's in a hurry to get away from that dog."

"Make the dog go 'way," pleaded Sue.

Bunny looked back at the barking dog, who was still running after the pony cart.

"Go on away!" Bunny cried. "Let us alone -- go on away and find a bone to eat!"

But the dog either did not understand what Bunny said, or he would rather race after the pony cart than get himself a bone. At any rate he still kept running along, barking and growling, and the pony kept running.

The boy who had started out with the children, first walking along beside the pony, was now far behind. He was a small boy, with very short legs, and, as the pony's legs were quite long, of course the boy could not run fast enough to keep up. So he was now far behind, but he kept calling:

"Stop that pony! Oh, please someone stop that pony!"

Bunny and Sue heard the boy calling. So did Wopsie, but the colored girl said nothing. She just sat there, holding to the side of the seat and looking at Bunny and Sue.

"I wonder what that boy's hollering that way for?" asked Sue, as the pony swung around another corner, almost upsetting the cart again.

"I don't know," said Bunny. "Maybe he likes to holler. I do sometimes, when I'm out in the country. And this park is like the country, Sue."

"Yes, I guess it is," said the little girl. "But what's he saying, Bunny?"

They listened. Once more the boy, running along, now quite a long way behind the pony cart, could be heard crying:

"Stop him! Stop him! He's running away! Stop him!"

Bunny and Sue looked at one another. Then they looked at Wopsie. The colored girl opened her mouth, showing her red tongue and her white teeth.

"Oh! Oh!" she screamed. "De pony's runnin' away! Dat's what de boy says. I'se afeered, I is! Oh, let me out! Let me out!"

Wopsie, who sat near the back of the cart, where there was a little door, made of wicker-work, like a basket, started to jump out. But though Bunny Brown was only a little fellow, he knew that Wopsie might be hurt if she jumped from the cart, which the pony was pulling along so fast, now.

"Sit still, Wopsie!" Bunny cried. "Sit still!"

"But we's bein' runned away wif!" exclaimed Wopsie. "Didn't yo' all done heah dat boy say so? We's bein' runned away wif! I wants t' git out! I don't like bein' runned away wif!"

"It won't hurt you," said Sue. She did not seem at all afraid. "It won't hurt you, Wopsie," Sue went on. "Me and Bunny has been runned away with lots of times, with our dog Splash; hasn't we, Bunny?"

"Yes, we have, Sue. Sit still, Wopsie. I'll stop the pony."

Bunny began to pull back on the lines, and he called:

"Whoa! Whoa there! Stop now! Don't run away any more, pony boy!"

But the pony did not seem to want to stop. Perhaps he thought if he stopped, now, the barking dog would bite his heels. But the dog had given up the chase, and was not in sight. Neither was the running boy.

The boy had found that his short legs were not long enough to keep up with the longer legs of the pony. Besides, a pony has four legs, and everybody knows that four legs can go faster than two. So the boy stopped running.

"Can you stop the pony?" asked Sue, after Bunny had pulled on the lines a number of times, and had cried "Whoa!" very often. "Can you stop him?"

"I -- I guess so," answered the little boy. "But maybe you'd better help me, Sue. You pull on one line, and I'll pull on the other. That will stop him."

Bunny passed one of the pony's reins to his sister and held to the other. The children were sitting in front of the cart, Bunny on one side and Sue on the other. Both of them began to pull on the lines, but still the pony did not stop.

"Pull harder, Bunny! Pull harder!" cried Sue.

"I am pulling as hard as I can," he said. "You pull harder, Sue."

But still the pony did not want to stop. If anything, he was going faster than ever. Yes, he surely was going faster, for it was down hill now, and you know, as well as I do, that you can go faster down hill, than you can on the level, or up hill.

"Oh, I want to git out! I want to git out!" cried Wopsie. "I don't like bein' runned away wif! Oh, please good, kind, nice, sweet Mr. Policeman, stop de pony from runnin' away wif us!"

"Where's a policeman?" asked Sue, turning half way around to look at Wopsie. "Where's a policeman?"

"I -- I don't see none!" said the colored girl, "but I wish I did! He'd stop de pony from runnin' away. Maybe if we all yells fo' a policeman one'll come."

"Shall we Bunny?" asked Sue.

"Shall we what?" Bunny wanted to know. He had been so busy trying to get a better hold on his rein that he had not noticed what Sue and Wopsie were talking about.

"Shall we call a policeman?" asked Sue. "Wopsie says one can stop the pony from running away. And I don't guess we can stop him, Bunny. We'd better yell for a policeman. Maybe one is around somewhere, but I can't see any."

"All right, we'll call one," Bunny agreed. He, too, was beginning to think that the pony was never going to stop. "But let's try one more pull on the lines, Sue. Now, pull hard."

And then something happened.

Without waiting for Sue to get ready to pull on her line, Bunny gave a hard pull on his. And I guess you know what happens if you pull too much on one horse-line.

Suddenly the pony felt Bunny pulling on the right hand line, and the pony turned to that side. And he turned so quickly that the harness broke and the cart was upset. Over it went on its side, and Bunny Brown and his sister Sue, as well as Wopsie, were thrown out.

Right out of the cart they flew, and Bunny turned a somersault, head over heels, before he landed on a soft pile of grass that had been cut that day. Sue and Wopsie also landed on piles of grass, so they were not any more hurt than was Bunny.

The pony, as soon as the cart had turned over, looked back once, and then he stopped running, and began to nibble the green grass.

"Well, we aren't being runned away with now," Bunny finally said.

"No," answered Sue. "We've stopped all right. Wopsie, is you hurted?"

The colored girl put her hand up to her kinky head. Her hat had fallen off into her lap. Carefully she felt of her braids. Then she said:

"I guess I isn't hurted much. But I might 'a' bin! I don't want no mo' pony cart rides!"

Before the children and Wopsie could get up they heard a voice calling to them:

"Bress der hearts! Po' li'l lambs! Done got frowed out ob de cart, an' all busted t' pieces mebby. Well, ole Aunt Sallie'll take keer ob 'em! Po' li'l honey lambs!"

Glancing up, Bunny and Sue saw a motherly-looking colored woman coming across the grass toward them. She held out her fat arms to the children and said:

"Now don't cry, honey lambs! Ole Aunt Sallie will tuk keer ob yo' all!"



Chapter XXIV

Wopsie's Folks


The nice old colored woman, who called herself Aunt Sallie, bent first over Sue, helping the little girl stand up.

"Is yo' all hurted, honey?" asked Aunt Sallie, brushing the pieces of grass from Sue's dress.

"Oh, no, I'm not hurt at all, thank you," Sue replied. "It was a soft place to fall."

"An' yo', li'l boy; am yo' all hurted?" she asked Bunny.

"No, thank you, I'm all right. I used to be in a circus, so I know how to turn somersaults, you see."

"What's dat! A li'l boy like yo' in a circus?"

Aunt Sallie seemed very much surprised.

"Oh, it wasn't a real circus," explained Sue.

"No, it was only a make-believe one," Bunny said, as he began to brush the grass off his clothes. "We had one circus in grandpa's barn," he said, "and another in some tents. Say, Wopsie, is you hurted?" Bunny asked.

By this time the colored girl had found out there was nothing the matter with her. Not even one of her tight, black braids of kinky hair had come loose. She stood up, smoothed down her dress, and said:

"No'm, I'se not hurted."

"Dat's good," said Aunt Sallie. "It's lucky yo' all wasn't muxed up an' smashed, when dat pony cart upset. Now yo' all jest come ober t' my place an' I'll let yo' rest. I guess heah comes de boy what belongs t' de pony."

The short-legged boy came running across the field. He was very much out of breath, for he had run a good way.

"Any -- anybody hurt?" he asked.

"No," said Bunny, "we're all right, and your pony's all right too, I guess."

It seemed so, for the pony was eating grass as if he had had nothing to chew on in a long while. But then perhaps running made him hungry, as it does some boys and girls.

The boy, with the help of Aunt Sallie, turned the cart right side up, fixed the harness, and then got in to drive back to the place where the other ponies and donkeys were kept.

"Wait a minute!" cried Wopsie. "I done didn't pay yo' all fo' de chilluns' ride yet."

"Oh, never mind," said the boy. "I guess the man won't charge you anything for this ride, because the pony ran away with you. It wasn't a regular ride. I won't take your money."

"Oh, then we can save it for ice-cream cones!" cried Sue, for Wopsie had been given the money to pay for the children's rides in the pony cart.

"Ice-cream cones!" cried Bunny. "I guess you can't get any up here!"

"Oh, yes yo' kin, honey lamb!" exclaimed Aunt Sallie, as she called herself. "I keeps a li'l candy an' ice-cream stand right ober dere," and she pointed across the grassy lawn. "I was in my stand when I seed yo' all bein' runned away wif, so I come ober as soon as I could. I sells candy an' ice-cream cones, but I won't sell ice-cream much longer, 'cause it'll soon be winter. Den I'll sell hot coffee an' chocolate. But I got ice-cream now, ef yo' all wants to buy some."

"Yes, I guess we do," stated Bunny. "Come on, Sue and Wopsie. We'll have some fun anyhow, even if we did get runned away with."

"We's mighty lucky!" said Wopsie, as she watched the boy driving back in the pony cart. The little horse was going slowly now. "I guess we'll walk back," went on the colored girl. "It isn't so awful far."

Following Aunt Sallie, who was quite fat, the children and Wopsie walked across the green, grassy lawn, for it was still green though it was now late in the fall. Soon the green grass would be covered with snow.

Just as she had said, Aunt Sallie kept a little fruit, candy and ice-cream stand in the park. Soon the children and Wopsie were eating cones.

"Does yo' chilluns lib 'round yeah?" asked Aunt Sallie, as she stood back of her little counter, watching Bunny and Sue.

"We live at Aunt Lu's house -- that is we're paying her a visit," said Bunny. "We live a good way off, and we were on Grandpa Brown's farm all summer. We're going to stay here in New York over Christmas."

"Dat's jest fine!" exclaimed Aunt Sallie. "An' I suah hopes dat Santa Claus'll bring yo' all lots ob presents. Be yo' dere nuss maid?" Aunt Sallie asked of Wopsie.

"No, Wopsie's a lost girl," said Bunny.

"Lost? What yo' all mean?" asked Aunt Sallie. "She don't look laik she's lost."

"But I is," Wopsie said. "I'se losted all mah folks. Miss Baker, dat's de Aunt Lu dey speaks ob, she tuck me in. She's awful good t' me."

"We all like Wopsie," explained Sue. "She takes care of us."

"Wopsie!" exclaimed Aunt Sallie. "Dat suah am a funny name. Who gib yo' all dat name, chile?"

"Oh, dat's not mah real name," Wopsie explained. "Miss Lu jest calls me dat fo' short. Mah right name am Sallie Alexander Jefferson!"

The old colored woman jumped off the chair on which she had been sitting. She looked closely at Wopsie.

"Say dat ag'in, chile!" she cried. "Say dat ag'in!"

"Say what ag'in?" Wopsie asked.

"Yo' name! Say yo' name ag'in!"

"Sallie Alexander Jefferson. Dat's mah name."

To the surprise of Bunny Brown, and his sister Sue, Aunt Sallie threw her arms around Wopsie. Then the nice old colored woman cried:

"Bress de deah Lord! I'se done found yo'!"

She hugged and kissed Wopsie, who did not know what it all meant. She tried to get away from Aunt Sallie's arms, but the old colored woman held her tightly.

"Bress de deah Lord! Bress de deah Lord!" Aunt Sallie cried over and over again. "I'se done found yo'!"

Somehow or other Bunny understood.

"Is you Wopsie's aunt that we've been looking for?" he asked. "She lost her folks, you know, when she came up from down South. I heard Aunt Lu say so. Are you her aunt?"

"I suttinly believe I is, chile! I suttinly believe I is!" cried Aunt Sally. "Fo' a long time I'se bin 'spectin' de chile ob mah dead sister t' come t' me. Mah folks down Souf done wrote me dat dey was sendin' li'l Sallie on, but she neber come, an' I couldn't find her. But bress de deah Lord, now I has! I suttinly t'inks yo' suah am mah lost honey lamb! Her name was Sallie Jefferson. Jefferson was de name ob mah sister what died, an' she say, 'fore she died, dat she'd named her chile after me. So yo' all mus' be her."

"Maybe I is! Oh, maybe I is! An' maybe I'se found mah folks at last!" cried Wopsie, or Sallie, as we must now call her. There were tears of joy in her eyes, as well as in the eyes of Aunt Sallie.

"If you ask Aunt Lu maybe she could tell you if Wopsie is the one you're looking for," said Bunny.

"Dat's what I'll do, chile! Dat's what I'll do!" cried Aunt Sallie. "I'll shut up mah stand, an' go see yo' Aunt Lu."

And, a little later, they were all in Aunt Lu's house.

"Well, what has happened now?" asked Aunt Lu, as she saw the strange colored woman with Wopsie and the children.

"Oh, we was runned away with in the pony cart," explained Sue, "and we got spilled out, but we fell on some piles of grass and didn't get hurt a bit. And Aunt Sallie found us, and we bought ice-cream cones of her and -- "

"And -- and she's Wopsie's aunt, what we've been looking for," interrupted Bunny, fearing Sue would never tell the best part of the news. "This is Wopsie's aunt," and he waved his hand toward fat Aunt Sallie. "She's been looking for a lost girl, and her name is Sallie, and -- "

"Dat's it -- Sallie Jefferson," broke in the colored woman. "Mah name is Sallie Lucindy Johnson, an' I had a sister named Dinah Jefferson down Souf. So if dis girl's name am Sallie Jefferson den she may be mah sister's chile, an', if she am -- "

"Why, den I'se found mah folks! Dat's what I has!" cried Wopsie, unable to keep still any longer. "Oh, I do hope I'se found mah folks!"



Chapter XXV

A Happy Christmas


Aunt Lu and Mother Brown were very much surprised when Bunny Brown and his sister Sue came in with Aunt Sallie; and when they heard the story told by the nice, old colored woman, they were more surprised than before.

"Do you really think she can be Wopsie's aunt?" asked Mrs. Brown.

"It may be," answered Aunt Lu. "We can find out."

"Oh, I do hope I'se got some folks at last!" said Wopsie, over and over again. "I do hope I's gwine t' hab some folks like other people."

Aunt Lu asked Aunt Sallie many questions, and it did seem certain that the old colored woman was aunt to some little colored girl who had been sent up from down South, but who had become lost.

And if Aunt Sallie had lost a niece, and if Wopsie had lost an aunt, it might very well be that they belonged to one another.

"We can find out, if you write to your friends down South," said Aunt Lu to the old colored woman.

"An' dat's jest what I'll do," was the answer.

It took nearly two weeks for the letters to go and come, and all this while Wopsie was anxiously waiting. So was Aunt Sallie, for Bunny and Sue learned to call her that. She would come nearly every day to Aunt Lu's house, to learn if she had received any word about Wopsie.

And, every day, nearly, Bunny and Sue, with Wopsie, or Sallie, as they sometimes called her, would go to Central Park. They would walk up to Aunt Sallie's stand, and talk with her, sometimes buying sticks of candy.

For now it was almost too cold for ice-cream. Some days it was so cold and blowy that Bunny and Sue could not go out. The ponies and donkeys were no longer kept in the park for children to have rides. It was too cold for the little animals. They would be kept in the warm stables until summer came again.

Wopsie, or Sallie, still stayed at Aunt Lu's house, with Bunny and Sue. For Aunt Lu did not want to let the little colored girl go to live with Aunt Sallie, until it was sure she belonged to her. Aunt Sallie had made money at her little candy stand, which she had kept in the park for a number of years, and she was well able to take care of Sallie and herself.

"As soon as I hear from down South, that Aunt Sallie is your aunt, you shall go to her, Wopsie," Aunt Lu had said.

"Well, Miss Baker, I suttinly wants t' hab folks, like other chilluns," said the little colored girl, "but I suah does hate t' go 'way from yo' who has bin so good t' me."

"Well, you have been good, and have helped me very much, also," said Aunt Lu.

One day there was a flurry of snow flakes in the air. Bunny and Sue watched them from the windows.

"Oh, soon we can ride down hill!" cried Sue. "Won't you be glad, Bunny?"

"I sure will!" Bunny said. Then, coming close to Sue he whispered: "Say, maybe if we went up on the roof now, we could have a slide. Let's go. The roof is flat, and we can't fall off on account of the railing around it. Come on and have a slide."

"I will!" said Sue.

Putting on their warm, outdoor clothes, the children went up on the flat roof. There was plenty of snow up there, and soon they were having a fine slide. It was rather funny to be sliding up on the roof, instead of down on the ground, as they would have done at home, but, as I have told you, New York is a queer place, anyhow.

After a while Bunny and Sue grew tired of sliding. It was snowing harder now, and they were cold in the sharp wind.

"Oh, Bunny!" cried Sue, "I wonder if Santa Claus can get down this chimney? It's the only one there is for Aunt Lu's house, and it isn't very big. Do you think Santa Claus can climb down?"

"We'll look," Bunny said.

But the chimney was so high that Bunny and Sue could not look down inside. They were very much worried as to whether St. Nicholas could get into Aunt Lu's rooms to leave any Christmas presents.

"Let's go down and ask her how Santa Claus comes," said Sue.

"All right," agreed Bunny, and down they went.

But when they reached Aunt Lu's rooms, Bunny and Sue found so much going on, that, for a while, they forgot all about Santa Claus.

For Aunt Lu was reading a letter, and Wopsie was dancing up and down in the middle of the floor, crying out:

"Oh, I'se got folks! I'se got folks!"

"Is Aunt Sallie really your aunt?" asked Bunny.

"Yes'm! She is. She is! I'se got folks at last!" and up and down danced Wopsie, clapping her hands, the "pigtails" of kinky hair bobbing up and down on her head.

And so it proved. The letters from down South had just come, and they said that Sallie Lucindy Johnson, or "Aunt Sallie," as the children called her, was really the aunt to whom Wopsie, or Sallie Jefferson, had been sent. The card had been torn off her dress, and so Sallie's aunt's address was lost. But that meeting in the park, after the pony runaway, had made everything come out all right.

The letters which Aunt Lu had written before, and the messages she had sent, had not gone to the right place. For it was from Virginia, that Wopsie came, not North or South Carolina, as the little colored girl had said at first. You see she was so worried, over being lost, that she forgot. But Aunt Sallie knew it was from a little town in Virginia that her sister's child was to come, and, writing there, she learned the truth, and found out that Wopsie was the one she had been so long expecting. So everything came out all right.

"Oh, but I suah is glad I'se found yo' at last!" said the nice old colored woman, as she held her niece in her arms.

"I suppose you are going to take her away from us?" said Aunt Lu.

"Yaas'm. I'd like t' hab mah Sallie."

"Well, now she can go. But I want you both to come back for Christmas."

"We will!" promised Aunt Sallie and little Sallie.

The word Christmas made Bunny and Sue think of what they were going to ask their Aunt Lu.

"Where does Santa Claus come down?"

"Is that chimney on the roof big enough for him?" asked Sue. "And hasn't you got an open fireplace, Aunt Lu?"

"No, we haven't that. But I think Santa Claus will get down the chimney all right with your presents. If he doesn't come in that way, he'll find some other way to get in. Don't worry."

So Bunny Brown and his sister Sue waited patiently for Christmas to come. Several times, when it was not too cold, or when there was not too much snow, the children went up on the roof. Once they took up with them a box, so Bunny could stand on it. He thought perhaps he could look down the chimney that way.

But the box was not high enough, and Bunny slipped off and hurt his leg, so he and Sue gave it up.

Two weeks passed. It would soon be Christmas now. Bunny and Sue were taken through the New York stores by their mother and aunt, and the children saw the many wonderful things Santa Claus's workers had made for boys and girls -- dolls, sleds, skates, toy-airships, Teddy bears, Noah's arks, spinning tops, choo-choo cars, electric trains, dancing clowns -- little make-believe circuses, magic lanterns -- so many things that Bunny and Sue could not remember half of them.

The children had written their Christmas letters, and put them on the mantel one night.

In the morning the letters were gone, so, of course, Santa Claus must have taken them.

Then it was the night before Christmas. Oh, how happy Bunny and Sue felt! They hung up their stockings and went to bed. Their rooms were next to one another with an open door between.

"Bunny," whispered Sue, as Mother Brown went out, after turning low the light; "Bunny, is you asleep?"

"No, Sue. Are you?"

"Nope. I don't feel sleepy. But does you think Santa Claus will surely come down that little chimney, when Aunt Lu hasn't got a fireplace for him?"

"I -- I guess so, Sue."

"Come, you children must get quiet and go to sleep!" called Mother Brown. "It will be Christmas, and Santa Claus will be here all the quicker, if you go to sleep."

And at last Bunny Brown and his sister Sue did go to sleep. The sun was not up when they awoke, but it was Christmas morning.

"Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!" cried Bunny and Sue as they ran to where they had hung their stockings.

They found many presents on the chairs, over the backs of which hung their stockings, which were filled with candy and nuts.

"Oh, Santa Claus came! Santa Claus came!" cried Sue.

"Yep! He found the chimney all right!" laughed Bunny.

And such a Merry Christmas as the children had! There were presents for Mother Brown, and Aunt Lu, and some for Mary the cook, and Jane, the housemaid, and later in the day, when Sallie and her aunt came, there were presents for them, also.

And when dinner time came, and the big turkey, all nice and brown, was taken from the oven, and put on the table, Mother Brown said:

"And now for the best present of all!"

She opened a door, and out stepped Daddy Brown!

"Merry Christmas, Bunny! Merry Christmas, Sue!" he cried, as he caught them up in his arms and hugged and kissed them.

And a very Merry Christmas it was. Mr. Brown had come to spend the holidays with his family in New York. And such fun as Bunny and Sue had telling him all their adventures since coming to Aunt Lu's city home. I couldn't begin to tell you half!

"I don't believe we'll ever have such a good time anywhere else," said Sue, as she hugged her new doll in her arms.

"Oh, maybe we will," cried Bunny, as he ran his toy locomotive around the room.

And whether the children did or not you may learn by reading the next book of this series, which will be named: "Bunny Brown and His Sister Sue at Camp Rest-a-While." In that I will tell you all that happened when the children went out in the woods, to live in a tent, near a beautiful lake.

"And so you two found Wopsie's aunt for her, did you?" asked Mr. Brown as he sat down, after dinner, with Bunny on one knee and Sue on the other.

"Well, I guess it was the runaway pony that did it," said Bunny, with a laugh. And I, myself, think the pony helped; don't you?

"Oh, Bunny!" whispered Sue that night, as she went to bed, hugging her new doll. "Hasn't this been a lovely Christmas?"

"The best ever," said Bunny, sleepily.

And so, for a little while we will say Merry Christmas, and good-bye, to Bunny Brown and his sister Sue.

<eob>

The First Christmas In New England

By

Hezekiah Butterworth



They thought they had come to their port that day, But not yet was their journey done; And they drifted away from Provincetown Bay In the fireless light of the sun. With rain and sleet were the tall masts iced, And gloomy and chill was the air, But they looked from the crystal sails to Christ, And they came to a harbor fair. The white hills silent lay, --  For there were no ancient bells to ring, No priests to chant, no choirs to sing, No chapel of baron, or lord, or king, That gray, cold winter day.

The snow came down on the vacant seas, And white on the lone rocks lay, --  But rang the axe 'mong the evergreen trees And followed the Sabbath day. Then rose the sun in a crimson haze, And the workmen said at dawn: "Shall our axes swing on this day of days, When the Lord of Life was born?" The white hills silent lay, --  For there were no ancient bells to ring, No priests to chant, no choirs to sing, No chapel of baron, or lord, or king, That gray, cold Christmas Day.

"The old town's bells we seem to hear: They are ringing sweet on the Dee; They are ringing sweet on the Harlem Meer, And sweet on the Zuyder Zee. The pines are frosted with snow and sleet. Shall we our axes wield When the chimes at Lincoln are ringing sweet And the bells of Austerfield?" The air was cold and gray, --  And there were no ancient bells to ring, No priests to chant, no choirs to sing, No chapel of baron, or lord, or king, That gray, cold Christmas Day.

Then the master said, "Your axes wield, Remember ye Malabarre Bay; And the covenant there with the Lord ye sealed; Let your axes ring to-day. You may talk of the old town's bells to-night, When your work for the Lord is done, And your boats return, and the shallop's light Shall follow the light of the sun. The sky is cold and gray, --  And here are no ancient bells to ring, No priests to chant, no choirs to sing, No chapel of baron, or lord, or king. This gray, cold Christmas Day.

"If Christ was born on Christmas Day, And the day by Him is blest, Then low at His feet the evergreens lay And cradle His church in the West. Immanuel waits at the temple gates Of the nation to-day ye found, And the Lord delights in no formal rites; To-day let your axes sound!" The sky was cold and gray, --  And there were no ancient bells to ring, No priests to chant, no choirs to sing, No chapel of baron, or lord, or king, That gray, cold Christmas Day.

Their axes rang through the evergreen trees Like the bells on the Thames and Tay; And they cheerily sang by the windy seas, And they thought of Malabarre Bay. On the lonely heights of Burial Hill The old Precisioners sleep; But did ever men with a nobler will A holier Christmas keep, When the sky was cold and gray, --  And there were no ancient bells to ring, No priests to chant, no choirs to sing, No chapel of baron, or lord, or king, That gray, cold Christmas Day?

<eob>

The Life Of Our Lord In Simple Language For Little Children

By

Anonymous



In ages past God made the world: the earth, the sea, the hills, the streams, the trees; the fish, birds and beasts; last of all He made Adam, the first man, and Eve his wife, and they lived in the Garden of Eden. They were quite good at first, but tempted by Satan they ate the fruit of a tree God told them not to eat, and that brought sin into the world; they could not live for ever now, they must die; but that their souls might go to heaven, God's own Son said He would come down on earth and die to save them. God said His Son should be born of Abraham's nation, and should be one of the sons of the line of King David, who sang the sweet psalms in praise of God.

Abraham was a good man, so good that God called him His friend; and from him came the people called Jews. David was one of their kings. God always keeps His word, but He makes men wait till it is His time to do as He says; and it was a long, long time after Abraham and David that our Lord came to live among men.

At last God sent His angel Gabriel to a young maiden, named Mary, who lived at a town called Nazareth, to tell her that God loved her, and that she should have God's Son for her own son. Our Lord would be her little babe. When Mary saw the angel she was at first afraid, but he said to her, "Fear not, Mary," and he told her that she must call the child's name Jesus -- that means Saviour -- for He would save the people from their sins. Then Mary must have been glad. She said, "I am God's servant; may His will be done." Mary was to be the wife of her cousin Joseph -- they were both of David's family -- so the angel went and told him too, that Mary should have God's Son for her own, and that he must call the child Jesus.

Joseph and Mary lived at Nazareth. At that time the Jews were ruled over by the Romans, whose king was called Caesar. He wanted to know how many people there were in that land, so he said all the men and women of it must go to their own towns to be counted. Now Mary and Joseph's town was Bethlehem. It was a great way off, but they had to go. It took days and days to get there, for they went slowly, and when at last they came to the town they found the inn full; there was no room for them, and they had to go to a stable to sleep and eat and drink.

And that night God sent Mary her Son. She had no nice cradle to lay the Lord in, but she had some clothes to put on Him, so she wrapped the sweet babe in them, and laid Him in a manger, where the ox and the ass fed.

How good it was of our Lord to be born a poor child for our sakes, was it not? He was the Son of God, but to save men He came down and was a babe in a stable of Bethlehem.

Winter had come, the snow was on the hills near Bethlehem, and some shepherds were keeping watch over their flocks at night for fear the wolves or bears should come and hurt them, when suddenly they saw a great light in the dark sky, and from it a bright angel came down close to them, and they were much afraid. But the angel said, "Fear not, for I bring you good tidings" -- that is, news -- "of great joy which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day, in the city of David, a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this is how you will know Him: you shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes lying in a manger." And then a great many angels came out of the light and sang, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace; good-will to men." The song ended, they went back to heaven, and the shepherds said, "Let us go to Bethlehem, and see this great thing of which the Lord has told us." And they made haste, and found Mary and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger. And the shepherds praised God, and told the people all that they had seen and heard. The Son of God had no nice soft cradle as you had; He was laid in a manger from which the ox and ass fed: He chose to be a poor child for our sakes.

Mary gave the name of Jesus to the babe as God had told her, and when He was six weeks old she and Joseph brought Him to God's Temple to present Him to the Lord, and to give two doves to show her thanks for the child God had sent to her. There was an old and good man at that time, to whom God had promised that he should not die till he had seen the Lord's Son; and now God's Holy Spirit told him that the Child was in the Temple; and the old man, Simeon, went there and took the Babe in his arms, and thanked God, and said that now he should die in peace, for he had seen the Saviour. And Simeon blessed Joseph and Mary, but he told her that men would speak ill of her Child. Then a good old woman -- her name was Anna -- came in; she was day and night praying in the Temple, and God let her, too, know that this Child was God's Son, come to save men; and she was glad, and gave God thanks, and told every one that the Christ was come.

The word Christ means anointed -- that is, touched with oil, as kings and priests were -- and the Jews always spoke of the Saviour who was to come as "the Christ," or "King."

Then Mary took the Child back to Bethlehem.

Now there were some Wise Men who lived a long way off, and who knew a great deal about the stars. At that time all the world expected that Christ would come, and these wise men had heard that when He was born they would see a new star. One night they saw a bright one that they did not know, and it shone over the land of the Jews. So they set off at once to go and see the new-born King. It was a long way to go; they rode across the sands on camels, and went on and on to where the star shone. At last they came to Jerusalem, and they asked the people, "Where is He that is born King of the Jews? for we have seen His star in the east, and are come to worship him."

Now at that time the Romans had made a very bad, cruel man, whose name was Herod, King of the Jews. When he heard of the wise men and of what they wanted to know, he was troubled; for he was afraid if the great King was born that he (Herod) would not be King any longer. So he sent for the chief priests and asked them where God had said that the Christ should be born. He did not know himself, for he was not a Jew. And the priests said that Christ should be born in the little town of Bethlehem.

Then Herod sent for the wise men and asked them when they first saw the star; and he sent them to Bethlehem and said: "When you have found the young Child bring me word, that I may come and worship Him too."

But the cruel King meant to kill the Babe if he found him. Then the wise men went to Bethlehem, and to their great joy, the star that they saw in the east went before them till it came and stood over where the young Child was.

Then the wise men went in, and saw the young Child and Mary his mother, and they fell down and worshipped Him, and gave Him rich gifts -- gold and a sweet scent, and myrrh, which is a kind of gum. But God told them, in a dream, not to return to Herod, so they went back to their own land by another way. And when they were gone, the angel of the Lord came to Joseph in a dream, and told him to rise, and take the young Child and His mother and flee into Egypt, for Herod would seek for the Babe to kill Him. Joseph rose at once, though it was night, and took the Child and His mother and made haste to go to Egypt.

King Herod was very angry when he knew that the wise men were gone home, and he sent and had all the babes in Bethlehem killed, from quite babies up to two years old. He thought, thus, that he would be sure to kill the Holy Child, but God did not let him, you know.

When this cruel King died, an angel came and told Joseph to take the Child back again into His own land. And Joseph took Him and Mary, and they went to live at Nazareth, a town on the shore of the Sea of Galilee.

And the Child grew strong and full of wisdom, and the grace of God was on him. And when He was twelve years old, He went up with Mary and Joseph to Jerusalem, to keep the Passover -- this was a feast that God had commanded the Jews to keep, to remind them that He had saved them from death, and set them free when they were slaves in Egypt. They ate a lamb at it, and drank some wine. When the feast was over, Mary and Joseph went on their way home, but Jesus stayed behind in the city. There were so many people going to Galilee that Mary did not miss her son till night; then she went to look for Him, for she thought He must be with some friends; but she could not find Him, and in great fear, she and Joseph went back to the city to seek for Him. They did not find Him for three days, and then they went to the Temple, and there He was in the midst of the priests and learned men, listening to them, and asking them questions. And they were all much surprised at his great sense and wise answers. His mother, also, was amazed; but she said to Him, "Son, why have you done this? your father and I have sought You sorrowing." And He said to them, "How is it that you sought me? Did you not know that I must do My Father's business?" He meant "God's business," but they did not know the meaning of His words. Then He went home with them and obeyed them, and was a good, kind Son; but His mother kept all these things in her heart. Jesus has shown all children how to behave to their parents; to obey them and be kind to them as He was.

Now about fifteen years after this time there came a man in the wild part of the land, by the river Jordan, who cried to the people, "Repent," that is, "Be sorry for your sins and be good," "for the Kingdom of Heaven is near." This man's name was John, and he was the cousin of Jesus. He wore only a rough robe of camel's hair and a belt of leather round his waist; he had never tasted wine; he fed on insects called locusts, and wild honey.

Then all the people of Jerusalem, and in all the places near, came to John, and said how sorry they were for their sins, and he baptized them in the Jordan -- that is, he poured water on their heads as they stood in the stream as a sign that God would wash their sins away -- that is, forgive them. But he told them all that he was not the Christ who was to come. He said he was only a Voice to call them from their bad ways and make them ready for the One that was to come, whose shoes he was not good enough to untie. At last, one day, Jesus came to be baptized, but John, who knew how good He was, said, "No, I need to be baptized by You. Why do You come to me?" But Jesus said, "It was right to do so," and then John obeyed Him and baptized Him. Our Lord had no sins to be forgiven, but He wished to set us an example, always to do right. And as He came up out of the river, the heavens opened, and the Spirit of God, like a dove, came down and rested on Him, and there came a voice from heaven, saying, "This is my beloved Son in Whom I am well pleased." Then John knew that Jesus was God's Son -- the Christ.

After He had been baptized, Our Lord went into the wild country, or wilderness, for forty days, and was tempted by the wicked spirit, called the Devil. To tempt any one is to try and make him wicked; but the devil could not make our Lord say or do a wrong thing, although he tried in every way that he possibly could, and so he left Him.

But Jesus came back to John the Baptist, and as He came near the river, John said to those who stood by him, "Behold the Lamb of God that taketh away the sin of the world." And he told them how he knew that Jesus was the Son of God, by the voice from heaven and the dove coming down on Him. Again, the next day as John stood with two of his disciples -- that means, men who were taught by him -- Jesus came near, and John said, "Behold the Lamb of God." And then the two disciples of John followed Jesus. He turned and saw them, and said, "What seek ye?" They said, "Master, where do You live?" And He said, "Come and see," and He took them to His house, and they stayed with Him all day. Now one of them was called Andrew. He was so sure that Our Lord was Christ, the Son of God, that he went and found his own brother, Simon, and brought him to hear and know this great teacher. A good brother or sister will always try to make his or her own brother know and love Our Lord.

The next day Our Lord told Philip to follow Him. And Philip went to his friend Nathanael, and said to him, "We have found the Lord who is Christ, He is Jesus of Nazareth." Nathanael said, "Can any good thing come out of Nazareth?" for Nazareth was a very bad town. Philip said, "Come and see." He knew that if his friend saw and heard Jesus he would love Him. So he brought Nathanael to Our Lord, and Jesus said, "Here is a very good, true man." Nathanael said, "How do You know me?" Jesus said, "Before Philip called you I saw you when you were under the fig-tree." God can see us always. So then Nathanael knew that Jesus must be the Son of God -- the King -- for only the Son of God could have seen him so far off; and he stayed with Our Lord as the others did.

Now Jesus had five disciples with Him, and He left the shores of the Jordan and went with his friends, John, Andrew, Peter, Philip, and Nathanael, to a town called Cana.

And three days after they came to it, there was to be a wedding in Cana. The mother of Jesus was there, and Our Lord and His disciples were invited to the marriage. Now, you know the Lord Jesus and His mother were poor, and no doubt the people who gave the feast were also poor, for they had not enough wine to last till the end; and when there was not any more the mother of Jesus went to Him and said, "They have no wine." Jesus did not say at once, "I will give them some;" He said, "What have I to do with thee? My time has not yet come." But His mother believed that He would help all the same; she knew how good and kind He was. So she said to the servants, "Do what He tells you."

Now there were some large stone jars or pots in the room used for holding water, and Jesus said to the servants, "Fill the water-pots with water." And they filled them up to the brim. And then Our Lord told them to pour it out and take it to the man who was ruler of the feast; for the Jews used to get a friend to see that things went right at their feasts, and he was called the governor or ruler.

Now Our Lord had changed the water into wine, and when the ruler of the feast had tasted it he sent for the bridegroom, and said to him, "You have kept the good wine till now," for it was very good wine. But the servants knew that it had been water, and they told every one that Jesus had made it wine. This was the first miracle -- that is, wonderful thing -- that Our Lord did before all the people. It was a great miracle; and when His disciples saw it they were sure that He must be the Christ.

Why did our Lord do this wonderful thing? To be kind, and to show men that He was God. There are things men cannot do; but God can do them, and when Jesus did them He showed men that He was God.

Soon after this, Our Lord went up to Jerusalem to keep the Passover. He went to the Temple -- God's house in which He was worshipped; and where every day they killed a lamb and burnt it on the altar. The lamb was offered up that God might forgive the sins of the people. So when John the Baptist said, "Here is the Lamb of God," he meant that Our Lord would die, as the Temple Lamb did, to save men from their sins.

But when our Lord came into the Temple He was very angry. For He saw in it oxen and sheep, doves and pigeons waiting to be sold to people for sacrifice, and tables with heaps of money on them that came from all lands; for the men whose the tables were, changed the gold of far off countries for the Jew's money. Do you not think it was very wrong of men to bring oxen, and lambs, and money to change into God's House? Our Lord was very angry to see it. He made a whip of small cords and drove out the oxen and sheep; and He upset the tables of money, and the seats of those who sold doves, and said, "Take these things away. Do not make my Father's house a place to buy and sell in."

The men whom the Lord drove out were very angry, but they knew that He was quite right, and so they did not strive against Him. But the priests, who ought not to have allowed such things, came to Jesus and said, "Give us some sign, you have a right to do this." They meant, do some miracle.

But our Lord would not do a miracle for them. He said the only sign that should be given them was, that if they killed Him He would rise again in three days. But they did not know what His words meant.

While Jesus was here a very good and wise rich man, named Nicodemus, came to see Him by night. He did not go to see Jesus in the daytime, because he was afraid of the Jews; but Our Lord taught him a great many things. Among others, that God so loved the World that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believed in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life. For God sent His Son into the World that through Him it might be saved.

Then Jesus left the City, and went about teaching and doing good, healing the sick, making the blind see, and the deaf hear, and so He came to Samaria. Now the Jews hated the people who lived there; and the Samaritans hated the Jews. Our Lord never hated any one. He loved both the good and the bad, and came to save all. Of course God loves good men or good children best; Our Lord loved His Apostle John best of all, but He does good to all men, and lets His sun shine on all alike.

One day Our Lord was very tired; He had been teaching the poor and making the sick well, and He had walked a long way, and He wanted food. So He sat down on the stone edge of an old well in Samaria, while the disciples went to buy food, and while He sat there a woman came from the town with a jug to draw water. And Jesus said to her, "Give me some to drink." But she said, "How is it that you, who are a Jew, ask me, who am a Samaritan, for drink? for the Jews will not have anything to do with the Samaritans." Jesus told her that if she had but known Who it was that asked her for drink, she would have begged Him to give her living water. The woman said, "You have not anything to draw the water in, and the well is deep. How can you get living water? Are you greater than our father, Jacob, who gave us this well?" But Our Lord told her that they who drank the water of that well would be thirsty again; but that if she drank of the water He could give her she should never thirst; it should give her life that would not end.

What did Our Lord mean by living water? He meant God's grace -- that is -- God's help to make us good. The woman did not know what He meant, so she said, "Give me this water that I may not have to come here to draw any more." Then Our Lord told her of her sins; He knew that she was not good; He knew all her past life, and He told her about God, and that He must be worshipped in spirit and in truth. The woman said, "I know that Christ will come soon, and He will tell us all things."

Think how glad she must have been when Our Lord said, "I, that speak unto you, am He."

Just then His disciples came, and they wondered that He talked to a Samaritan woman. She left her water-pot, and went to tell her friends, and to ask them to come and see Jesus. The disciples said to Our Lord, "Master, eat;" they had brought food; but Jesus cared more to do God's work than to eat, though He was hungry.

The woman brought many of the people of the town to Our Lord, and they believed that He was the Christ, and begged that He would stay with them and teach them; and He did stay there for two days. How good our Lord was to stay and teach these poor men, to whom the proud Jews would not even speak. Then Jesus went to Cana again where He had made the water into wine; and a rich man who had a young son very ill came to Him and begged Him to make his child well.

Our Lord wanted to try the man's faith, so He did not say, "Yes, I will," at once. He said, "If you do not see signs and wonders you will not believe." But the man said again, "Sir, do come down or my son will be dead." Our Lord pitied him and said, "Go thy way, thy son liveth."

Jesus could cure the sick boy without seeing him. The rich man had faith; he believed Our Lord's words and went his way, but before he reached his house his servants met him, and said, "Your son is getting well." "When did he begin to get better?" asked the father. "Yesterday, at the seventh hour, the fever left him," they said. Then the father knew that it was at the very same hour that Our Lord spoke that his son was made well. And now Our Lord came to Nazareth where He had been brought up, and He went into the synagogue -- that is the Jews' chapel -- on the seventh day and He stood up to read. The priest gave Him the book. It was that part of the Bible where God told men what Christ would do when He came, how He would teach men, and comfort sad people, and make blind men see. And when Our Lord had read it He gave the book back to the priest, and said, "All this has come true to-day." And He told them that He was the Christ. At first they liked to hear Him preach, for His words and voice were sweet; but when He told them that He was Christ they grew very angry, and said, "Is not this the carpenter's son? He is not Christ;" and they got up and dragged Our Lord out of the town to the edge of the hill on which their city was built, that they might cast Him down headlong and kill Him. But it was not the time Jesus meant to die, so He made them not able to see Him, and He walked through the midst of them and went away.

You see what bad men lived in Nazareth. They drove away the good, gentle Lord, who came to save them from their sins, because they were proud and jealous of Him; and He never again came to teach them. He went down to Capernaum, another town by the Sea of Galilee, and taught there and did many miracles, and it was called His Town.

Our Lord had not His disciples always with Him yet; John and James and Andrew and Peter had gone back to their boats to fish; but now Jesus wished them to be always with Him, so He called them again. I will tell you how. One day when Jesus was on the sea-shore, such crowds of people came to hear Him speak to them that there was not room, and they pressed upon Him. There were two large boats close to the shore; the fishers had gone out of them and were washing their nets; so our Lord went into one of them, which was Peter's, and asked him to push the boat a little way out from the land. Then He sat down and taught the people from the boat. And when He had done speaking, He said to Peter, "Pull out into the deep water and let down your nets to catch some fish." But Peter said, "Master, we have toiled all night and have not caught one fish; but still at Thy word I will let down the net." Peter thought that it would be of no use to do so, but still he would obey the Lord. So he threw the net into the sea, and heaps and heaps of fishes came into it directly, so many that the net broke.

Then Peter called to the other boat, in which were his partners, James and John, to help him, and they came and filled both boats with fish; there were so many that the boats began to sink.

When Simon Peter saw it he fell down at Our Lord's feet, and said, "Go away from me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord."

For he was afraid. But Jesus said to him, "Fear not; from this time you shall catch men." What did that mean? Peter knew, and James and John knew; it meant that they must not fish any more, but come and try to draw men to the Lord to make them good. They were quite sure now that Our Lord was the Christ, so when they had brought their boats to the shore, they left them and all they had, and went with Jesus, and did not leave Him any more till the end came.

After Our Lord had been away for a time from Capernaum, He went back there. As soon as the people heard it they came in great numbers to the house Jesus was in, to see and hear Him.

Now the houses in that land are not like ours: they have flat roofs, on which you can walk or sit, and a staircase outside the house leads up to it. Most of the houses -- all the large ones -- have a court in the middle of them. The people crowded into the court of the house where Our Lord was, and He preached to them there. More and more came in till there was no room, not so much as about the door.

Now there was a poor man in the town who was sick of the palsy, so that he could not move; and lay always on a bed. He wished very much to go to Our Lord for help, and his friends who loved him had him carried by four men on a kind of bed to the house where the Lord Jesus was, but they could not come near Him through the crowd. So they carried him up to the roof, and took off enough of the tiles to make room for them to let the bed down by ropes put at each of the four corners, and thus they lowered it down with him on it, right in the front of the Lord. He looked at the sick man, and said, "Son, thy sins be forgiven thee." Jesus knows all we think, and He knew the poor man wished more to be forgiven for his sins than to be made well. But some of the Jews -- lawyers -- who hated Our Lord, thought to themselves, "How wickedly this man speaks. Who can forgive sins but God only?" They did not think the Lord could know their thoughts; but He did know them, and He said, "Why do you think this in your hearts? Is it easier to say to the sick man, Your sins are forgiven, or to say, Arise, take up your bed and walk? But that you may know that (I) the Son of Man have power on earth to forgive sins, I will do so." And then our Lord said to the sick man, who could not move, "Arise, and take up thy bed, and go thy way into thine house." And the sick man rose up and stood, and took up his bed and walked out before them all. And they were amazed, and praised God, saying, "We never saw anything like it before."

After Our Lord had made the sick man well, He walked down to the shore of the beautiful sea of Galilee. The crowd followed Him, and there in the fresh, sweet air, He went on teaching them. Not far off was a place called the Receipt of Custom. I will tell you for what it was used.

The Romans made the Jews pay them money, and this was called a tax. They put men in some places to receive this tax for them, and these men were called Publicans. They were not good men generally, and the priests and great men hated them; but some of them were just and honest. Levi was; and we may be sure he had heard Our Lord preach and loved Him, for one day, as he was sitting at the place where men paid the tax to him, Our Lord went up to him and said, "Follow Me." Levi must have known who spoke to him, for he at once rose and was ready to give up all his riches and go with Jesus. And he was so glad that the Lord had called him that he gave a feast at his house, and asked all his friends to come to it to meet their Saviour. His friends were most of them Publicans like himself, and not all good men; but Jesus and His disciples sat down and ate with them.

Now some of the Jews hated Our Lord; these were the Scribes and Pharisees. The Scribes were men who wrote out the laws -- there were no printed books in those days -- so they were thought wise; the Pharisees were a set of men who pretended to serve God better than any other people, and made a show of praying, saying their prayers in the streets to be seen of men; but they were not really good. These men came now, and said to Jesus, "How can You sit down to eat with publicans and sinners?" Jesus said, "Men who are well do not want a doctor, but those who are sick do. I am not come to call good men to be sorry for their sins, but bad men." The Pharisees did not know that they and all men were sinners, and that all must be saved by Jesus.

Now I must tell you that Levi had two names, as you have. His first name was Matthew, and a long time after, he wrote the story of Our Lord's life. It is called the Gospel -- that means good news -- of St. Matthew, and it is in the Bible.

Now just as the feast was ending there came a ruler and he threw himself down at Jesus' feet, and said, "My daughter is dying, but come and lay Your hands on her and she shall live." This ruler's name was Jairus; he had great faith. And Jesus rose up at once and went with him, and so did His disciples. And as they went along the road a poor woman who had been ill for years and had spent all her money to pay doctors, who did her no good, crept softly up behind Our Lord and just touched the hem of His robe, for she said, "If I may but touch His robe I shall be well." There was a great mob of people at the time and they pressed up against Jesus, but He stopped, and said, "Who touched Me?" Then Peter and the rest said, "Master, all the people press on You; why do You ask 'who touched Me?'" And Jesus said, "Some one has touched Me." Then the woman came and knelt down, and said, "I did," and Jesus was pleased with her faith and told her to go in peace, and she was quite cured. Then they went on to Jairus' house. The little girl was dead; but Jesus took the father and mother and Peter, James, and John with Him and went in where she lay and took her little hand, and said, "Maid, arise." And the little girl came to life and got up, and Jesus told them to give her something to eat.

How glad her father and mother must have been to have their dear child again, alive and well! How they must have thanked and blessed Our Lord! All her friends would always believe in Him now; and do you not think the little girl -- she was only twelve years old -- must have loved the Lord Jesus very much, and tried to be good to please Him.

When Jesus left the house where He had raised the child from the dead, two blind men followed Him crying, "Thou Son of David, have mercy on us." When they called the Lord the Son of David, they meant that they believed He was the Christ. And they followed Him into the house. And Jesus said to them, "Do you believe I can make you see?" They said, "Yes, Lord." Then he touched their eyes and said, "As your faith is so be it unto you." And their eyes were opened and they could see. They had told the truth, they did believe in Jesus; if they had said they did untruly they would not have been cured. Our Lord told them not to let any one know it; but when they were gone they told about it everywhere.

When Jesus went out again they brought to Him a dumb man; Our Lord ordered him to speak and he did so. Indeed no poor sick man came to Him in vain. He made lepers well, and cured a man with dropsy; and made a crooked woman straight. He made the dumb speak, the deaf hear, the blind see, the cripple walk. We cannot in this little book tell you half the kind, good, and wonderful things Our Lord did while He was on earth.

And He sent His apostles also to teach the people, and made them able to heal the sick and to do other miracles. One day the disciples were angry because one who was not a disciple cured a man in Christ's Name, but Our Lord said, "Forbid him not, for even he who gives you a cup of water in My Name, shall not lose his reward."

About this time there was a feast of the Jews, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem. Now there was at Jerusalem by the sheep-market a pool of water which was called Bethesda, that means House of Mercy. Round it were five porches or doorways, and in these lay a great many poor sick men.

There was something wonderful about the pool. At times in the year the water bubbled up -- the Jews said an angel made it do so. The first person who stepped into the pool as it bubbled was cured at once. So many sick men waited for the chance. One man was there who had been crippled for thirty-eight years. The Lord Jesus walked down one day to this pool, and when He saw the poor man and heard how long he had been thus, He said to him, "Will you be made well?" The helpless man thought Our Lord meant, "Will you not go into the pool," for he answered, "Sir, I have no man who will put me in when the pool is bubbling, and while I try to get to it another man steps down before me." It was, as you know, only the first who stepped in after the water was troubled that was cured. Then Jesus said, "Take up your bed and walk."

And the man who could not move at all at once rose, took up his bed -- a rug most likely -- and walked.

Now it was the Sabbath day, and you know how strict the Jews were about it. They said at once to the man who was cured, "Why do you carry your bed on the Sabbath day? it is forbidden by the law."

The man said, "He that made me well said to me, 'Take up your bed and walk.'"

When they asked him, "What man was it who told you to do so?" But the man did not know, because Jesus had gone away with the crowd.

Afterwards Jesus found him in the Temple and said to him, "You are well now; do not sin again lest a worse thing come on you."

The man must have been a sinner, and Jesus told him to take care to be a better man, or God might punish him with a worse illness, but he was so ungrateful that, though he must have known the Jews would be angry with Our Lord for making him well on the Sabbath day, he went at once to them and told them that it was Jesus who had made him well.

The priests were very angry, but Jesus said to them, "My Father works on the Sabbath and so do I." Then they wanted to kill Him, because he had not only done a miracle on the Sabbath, but said that God was His Father, making Himself equal with God.

And so, you know, He was; but these wicked Jews would not believe it; they were jealous of Him because the people loved Him, and angry because He told them how wicked they were.

Our Lord told His disciples one day this pretty parable. The Kingdom of Heaven is like treasure -- that is, something precious like gold or gems -- hid in a field, and a man who knows about it, and wishes to get it, sells all that he has and buys the field; the treasure is then his and he digs it up. In that country much gold had been hidden in the ground by men who fled from their enemies, and never came back to dig it up again, and there were many who sought for it.

This parable means that the kingdom of God, the love of Christ, and His help to make us good are so precious that we should give up anything for them, and try as hard as we can to gain them.

Our Lord and His disciples were poor, and sometimes wanted food. One Sabbath day they were walking through the corn-fields, and the disciples were hungry, so they picked some ears of corn, rubbed them in their hands, and ate the wheat.

The Jews might eat corn in the fields on week-days, but the Pharisees had made many hard and silly rules about the Sabbath day. God had said that they must keep the seventh day holy; but He meant it to be a rest from work and a day for men to pray to Him, not a day such as they made it.

The Pharisees said that no fire might be lighted on the Sabbath day, no food cooked, not one thing might be done; they might only walk a little way on that day; and doctors might not cure or help the sick. So it was a day when men, and children too, were not happy, as God meant them to be.

Now, when the Pharisees saw the disciples eat the corn, they said, "Why do you do that which is not right on the Sabbath day?" Our Lord answered, and told them that there was no harm in His disciples eating the corn, for men must eat on the Sabbath day, and that we might do needful things on it. Then He went into the synagogue, and He saw there a man with a withered hand. And the Jews said to Christ, "Is it right to make men well on the Sabbath day?" And Jesus said, "Yes, it is; for if a sheep fell into a pit on the Sabbath day you would take it out, and a man ought to be helped more than a sheep." And He told the poor man to stretch out his hand; he did so, and found that Jesus had made it well, and just like the other hand. And the Pharisees were so angry because He had told men that they were wrong, that they began to talk about killing Him. But Jesus went away when He knew it; and a great crowd of people followed Him, and He made all the sick ones well.

One day, when He saw how many there were following Him, He wished to teach them, and, that they might hear Him well, He went up on a mount close by, and sat down. The Jews always sat down to preach. And when He was seated, His disciples came to Him, and the words He then spoke are called the Sermon on the Mount. You will read it when you are older; it is too hard for you now, but we may tell you a few things out of it. Jesus told them that God would bless those who were humble -- that is, not proud -- and the meek and gentle. He said that God would comfort those who were sad; that He would bless those who were kind; that the pure in heart should see God, and that those who made up quarrels should be called God's children. He told them that they need not "take thought" about how they should get food and clothes. "See," He said, "the birds of the air: God feeds them; He will also feed you; and look at the lilies: they toil not, neither do they spin, yet the grandest king in all his glory was not arrayed -- that is, dressed -- like one of them. Seek to please God, and He will take care of you." Then He taught them to say the prayer "Our Father," just as you do now at your mother's knee.

When Jesus had ended the Sermon on the Mount, He came down, and a great many people followed Him; and there came a leper, and knelt down to Him, and said, "Lord, if You will, You can make me clean."

A leper was a man whose flesh was eaten away by disease; sometimes the fingers and feet of the leper would fall off. No one could cure him, and men might catch the complaint, so the lepers were kept in a place by themselves; and if they went into the town, they had to cry as they went, "Unclean! unclean!" We are sure that, when this leper came to Christ, all the people got out of his way, and would not touch the poor man. But Our Lord put out His kind hand and touched him, and said, "I will; be thou clean;" and in a moment the leper was quite well; and Our Lord told him to go to the priest and offer a gift of thanks to God. No one but God can cure a leper; but Jesus is God, and He could.

Now, when Our Lord had come to Capernaum, there came a Roman, the captain of a hundred men, and begged Him to make his servant well, for he was very ill with the palsy. Our Lord said at once, "I will come and heal him." But the Roman captain said, "Lord, I am not good enough for You to come to my house, but speak the word only, and my servant will be well." You see, this Roman had even more faith than the rich man, whose son was ill. "For," the Roman went on, "if I tell my servants to do anything, they do it; and You, who rule all things, need only speak to be obeyed." And Jesus wondered at the Roman's words, and said, "Verily, I have not found such great faith, no, not in Israel," and He said to the centurion, "Go your way; and as you have believed so be it done unto you." And the man went home, and found his servant well.

Then Jesus went to Peter's house, and made his wife's mother well of a fever, and healed many more sick, and made the blind see and the deaf hear. We cannot, in this little book, tell you half of the good and kind things Our Lord did.

Jesus sometimes told His disciples lovely tales that meant something more than just the story, so they were called Parables. One of these was that the Kingdom of Heaven is like a merchant who wanted to buy good pearls. You know what pearls are, do you not? They are pure white shining beads that men find in the shell of the oyster. To get them the fishers have to go down to the bottom of the sea; so, of course, they sell the pearls very dear. Now, when the pearl-fishers had found a very large pearl of great price, they took it to the merchant; it would cost a great deal, but he knew it was worth even more; so he sold all he had and bought it. Now this story means that God's Kingdom is such a beautiful place, and that it is so good for us to serve Christ here, that we should give up all that we most care for to gain the love of God.

One day, Our Lord, with His disciples and a great crowd who followed Him, came near a little town called Nain. And just as He drew near the gate of the city a dead young man was brought out to be buried. His mother was walking by the side of the bier and crying very much, for her husband was dead, and she had no other son. And when Our Lord saw her He had pity on her, and said, "Weep not," and He came and touched the bier, and the men who were carrying it stood still. And Jesus said, "Young man, I say unto thee, Arise!" And the dead man came to life and sat up and began to speak, and the Lord gave him to his mother. And there came a great fear on all who saw it, and they said, "God has visited His people."

Another parable Jesus told them was of a sower who went out to sow seed. And as he cast the seeds about some of them fell by the wayside; and the birds came and ate them up; some fell on stony places where they had not much earth to grow in, and they sprang up fast, because they were not deep in the ground; but when the sun came out, it burned them up quite dry, for they had no root; and some fell among thorns, and the thorns sprang up and choked them -- that is, did not leave them room to grow. But some fell on good ground, and grew up and brought forth much fruit.

The Apostles did not quite know what hidden meaning there was in this Parable, so Jesus told them.

The seed meant the Word of God; the sower, a servant of God who had to teach the Word. The seed that fell by the wayside meant that the words had not been cared for by those who heard them, and the Wicked Spirit then made them forget all they had heard. That which fell on stony places and had no depth of earth, meant those who at first are glad to hear of God's love, and seem as if they would be His children; but their goodness has "no root," and so a little trouble makes them give up trying. We must all ask God to keep us Christ's children. The seed that fell among thorns meant that sometimes when men have been taught about God, they let the love of money and the cares of life and its pleasures fill their minds so that they have no time or thought to give to God, or to read and pray. Those seeds that fell on good ground meant the children or men who listen to God's Word, and read it, and pray to Him for help, and try to obey it. These grow better and better, and God will love and help them.

Our Lord was often very tired when He had been making sick people well and teaching them by these lovely stories; and then He would go up a mountain alone and pray to His Father in Heaven, or cross the sea to some other place, for He had hardly time to eat or sleep. One day He was very tired and the sun had set, so He said to His disciples, "Let us cross to the other side." Then they sent away the crowd of people and took Jesus in the ship, and put out to sea, and there were with them many other little ships.

And there arose a great wind; the waves were high and beat into the boat, so that it was full of water and going to sink; but Our Lord was fast asleep, with his head on a pillow, in the stern of the ship. The disciples were much afraid, and they woke him, saying, "Lord, do you not care that we perish?" Then Jesus rose and stood up and spoke to the wind and waves, and said, "Peace" -- that is, Hush! -- "be still." And the wind stopped blowing, and the waves grew still, and there was a great calm. Then the disciples said to each other, "What kind of man is this, that even the wind and the sea obey Him?" They ought to have known, for they had seen Him raise the dead. You know, do you not? He was the Son of God.

Our Lord chose twelve of the men who followed Him to be his apostles, and He sent seventy of His disciples out to teach, and gave them power to make sick people well. The apostles also, were sent, but after a time they came back to Our Lord, and told Him all that they had done and taught. And He said to them, "Come ye apart into a desert place and rest awhile," for there were many coming and going, and they had not even time to eat. And they went by ship with Him to a desert place near a city called Bethsaida. But when the people found out where He had gone, they came in crowds after Him. Our Lord was very kind to them. He went to this desert place to rest, but He did not care for rest or food, if He could do good, so He did not say, "Why did you come here?" but He went up on a mount and told them about God, and made all the sick ones well. And when the day began to wear away, the twelve apostles came to Him, and said, "Send this great crowd away that they may go to the towns near and get food, for this is a desert place." Then Jesus said to Philip, "Where shall we get bread that these may eat?" And this He said to try him, for He Himself knew what He would do. And Philip said, "A great deal of bread would not be enough to give each of them a little piece." Then Andrew said, "There is a lad here who has five barley loaves and two small fishes, but what are they among so many?" And Jesus said, "Make the men sit down." And they sat down on the grass, fifty in one place, and there were five thousand men there. Then Jesus took the loaves, and when He had given thanks He broke them, and gave the pieces to His disciples, and they gave them to the people; and He gave them of the fishes as much as they would, and they all ate and left many pieces. Then Our Lord told the Apostles to gather the pieces up so that nothing might be lost; for Jesus does not like people to waste things, and they picked up enough pieces to fill twelve baskets with the bread that was left. Was not this a very great miracle? The people who saw it said at once, that Our Lord was the Christ that was to come, and they wanted to make Him a King; and when He would not be one, they thought they would take Him by force and crown Him; but Jesus sent His disciples away and went into a mountain all by Himself and prayed to His Father. This miracle made the people believe in our Lord more than any other. They thought that He Who could feed them when they were hungry, must be the promised Saviour; and they had been taught by the priests that when Christ came He would be a king, that He would free them from the Romans and make them rich and great. That was a great mistake. The Christ was coming to set them free from their sins, and bring them to His Heavenly Kingdom, not only to do them good on earth.

And when the sun had set the disciples were on the sea, and it was now dark, and Jesus was not come to them. The wind blew, and the great waves rose. How they must have wished Our Lord had been there to hush the storm. But Jesus saw them, and in the middle of the night He went to them; He had no boat so He walked on the sea. Can men walk on the sea? No; but Our Lord could, because He was God. When the disciples saw Him, they were afraid, and cried out. But Jesus spoke to them at once, and said, "Fear not, it is I." And Peter said, "Lord, if it is You tell me to come to You on the sea." And Jesus said, "Come." Peter stepped out of the boat and walked on the water to go to Jesus, but when he saw the great waves, he was afraid and began to sink; and he cried out, "Lord, save me." Then Jesus at once put out His hand, and caught him, and said, "O why have you so little faith!" And when they had both got into the boat, the wind left off blowing, and the ship was at the place they were going to at once. Then those in the ship came and knelt down to Jesus, and said, "Of a truth, Thou art the Son of God."

One day, Our Lord was with His apostles near the place where the Jews' land joined that of the people who did not know about God. And a poor woman of that country followed Him, and cried after Him, "Have mercy on me, O Lord, Thou Son of David, for my daughter is very ill." But He did not answer her; and so she kept crying to Him till the apostles said, "Send her away, for she crieth after us." They wanted Our Lord to cure her child, so that she might go away. But Jesus said, "I am not sent to any but the Jews."

Then the woman came and kneeled down to Him, and said, "Lord, help me." And Jesus said, "It is not right to take the children's bread and cast it to the dogs." Did not Our Lord seem unkind? But He was not; He was only trying the woman's faith. But she was very humble; she said, "That is true, Lord, but the dogs eat of the crumbs that fall from their master's table." Then Jesus said, "O woman, great is thy faith, be it unto thee even as thou wilt;" and her daughter was made well that very hour.

This woman was at first of the Greek religion; that is, she had worshipped and prayed to idols of stone, whom she called Jove and Apollo and Diana. But she had heard of the God of the Jews, and we think had given up her false gods and believed in Him; for she knew of the expected Christ, and that he would be of David's family. Then her dear child was ill, and she went to Jesus for help. Very great was her faith, as Our Lord said.

This was the second miracle Our Lord did for people who were not Jews, but who had learned to believe in God.

Our Lord was often spoken to as He went on His way by people who thought they would like to be His disciples, but had not faith enough in the end to give up the things they loved to go with Him. Once a man said to Him, "I will follow You wherever You go." And Jesus said, "Foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests, but I, the Son of Man, have not where to lay My head." For the Lord Jesus was very poor; He had no home then on earth. He stayed, we read, sometimes in Peter's house, and with other friends of whom we shall tell you by-and-by. We do not know if the man who spoke still wished to follow Christ; we fear he did not, or we should have heard he did.

Another day as He was going on His way, a young man ran up to Him, kneeled down, and said, "Good Master, what good thing shall I do that I may have eternal life?" And Jesus said, "Why do you ask Me concerning that which is good?[A] One there is who is good; but, if you would enter into life keep God's Commandments." The young man asked "Which?" Jesus said, "Thou shalt not kill; thou shalt not steal; thou shalt not bear false witness; honour thy father and mother; thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself." The young man said, "I have kept all these; what is wanting in me?" And Our Lord looking on him loved him, for he was very good; but he had one great fault, he loved money, and Jesus said, "If you would be perfect, go and sell what you have and give to the poor, and you shall have treasure in Heaven; and come, and follow Me."

But when the young man heard this he went away sorrowful, for he had great riches, and he did not like to part with them and go about poor with Our Lord's disciples. We are sure that Jesus was sorry for him, and we hope he came back afterwards, but we do not know. Poor young man! he was so good that we think perhaps in the end he did.

Our Blessed Lord went through every city and village telling them the glad tidings of the Kingdom of God, and the twelve apostles were with Him. There were some women with them also whom Christ had made well. One was called Mary Magdalene, who had been cured of a sad disease, and Joanna, the wife of Herod's steward, and Susannah, and many others, who brought Our Lord and His apostles food, and did all they could to serve Him.

Jesus had many friends as well as cruel enemies.

There were some good people who lived at Bethany, a pretty little village near Jerusalem. They were two sisters and a brother, called Martha, Mary, and Lazarus. When Our Lord was at Jerusalem, He often went to see them; and they were very glad to have Him in their house. Martha bustled about to get a feast for Him and His apostles one day when He came there; but Mary sat at his feet listening to His words. Then Martha thought her sister ought to help her, so she came, and said, "Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to serve alone? Bid her help me." But Jesus said to her, "Martha, Martha, you are careful and troubled about many things; there is only one thing needful; and Mary has chosen that good part that shall not be taken away from her."

Jesus was not angry with Martha; He only told her not to be so full of care about earthly things, but to care most for listening to His words. We cannot hear Christ's voice now, but we can hear and read His words still. Do you know where they are found? In the Bible.

Our Lord prayed a great deal. Sometimes He prayed all night long; He loved to pray to His Father in Heaven. And one day He told a pretty story to His disciples to teach them how to pray.

Two men went into the Temple to pray. One was a Pharisee, the other a publican. The Pharisee stood and prayed, and said, "God, I thank Thee that I am not as bad as other men, or even as this publican; I obey Thy law." The publican stood a great way off and would not lift up so much as his eyes unto Heaven, but struck his breast with his hand to show he was sorry, and said, "God be merciful to me a sinner."

The Pharisee boasted how good he was; the publican only asked God to forgive him. Which of the two prayed best? Our Lord said the publican did; for God will not hear the prayers of the proud, but listens to those of the humble.

The Lord Jesus has told us that God will give us what we ask for in prayer if we do not pray for wrong things. He says, "Ask, and ye shall receive; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you." The meaning is, If you ask God's help, He will give it; if you seek to find out what is His will, you will find it; if you beg God to make you understand His word, He will let you; for Our Lord said, "If a son ask his father for bread, will he give him a stone, or, if he ask a fish, will he give him a serpent?" -- that is, a snake. No; you know he will not. Since, then, even men who are not good will be kind to their children, how much more will your Heavenly Father give good things to them who ask Him! The Lord loves to hear the prayer of a little child. You may pray when you like; at your mothers knee, or in the day if you feel you want God's help. He will hear you if you say in your mind, "Make me a good child, for Christ's sake."

One day a lawyer stood up from among the crowd who listened to Our Lord and asked Jesus a question. He did it to try the Lord and see if He would say something that the priests might think wrong. He said, "Master, what shall I do to gain eternal life" -- that is, life in Heaven? And Jesus said, "What is written in the law?" And the lawyer said, "The law tells me that I must love the Lord my God with all my heart, and with all my soul, and with all my strength, and my neighbour as myself." Our Lord said, "You have answered right; do this and live." But the lawyer, not yet satisfied, asked, "Who is my neighbour?" And Our Lord answered by telling him a pretty story.

A man went down from Jerusalem to Jericho: it was a wild, lonely road over the hills; and he met some thieves who robbed him, took off his clothes, wounded him, and left him for dead by the road-side. And by chance a priest came by that way but he did not help the poor man; he crossed over to the other side of the way and went on. Then, a Levite, one of the men who served the priests in the Temple, came that way; he stopped and looked at the poor man, and then left him and crossed to the other side of the road.

Next, a Samaritan came along -- you remember, do you not, that the Jews hated the Samaritans? -- but this man, when he saw the poor wounded Jew lying in the road, had pity on him. And he went to him and bound up his wounds, putting oil and wine to them, as people used then to do; and he lifted him off the hard ground and put him on his own beast and brought him to an inn and took care of him. And the next day, when he had to go away, he called the host -- that is, the man who kept the inn -- and gave him two pence -- which were worth more than a shilling -- and said, "Take care of the poor man, and whatever you spend I will repay you when I come again."

"Which of these three men do you think was neighbour to the man who fell among thieves?" asked Our Lord. And the lawyer could not help answering, "He that had mercy on him."

Then Jesus said to him, "Go and do the same."

One day Our Lord told His disciples of what would happen soon, how He must go up to Jerusalem and die for them and for all the world; and that made them very sad.

About eight days after, He took Peter and James and John with Him and went up a high mountain to pray. It was late, and the disciples were tired, and while Jesus prayed they fell asleep. But a great light woke them, and then they saw a wonderful thing. Our Lord's face shone like the sun, and His robe was white and glittering as the light; and two men stood by Him in shining white robes; and the apostles knew that they were Moses and Elijah. Moses had been dead very, very long, and Elijah had been taken up to Heaven alive; but now, like two bright angels, they talked with Our Lord. What did they talk about? Of how Jesus would go up to Jerusalem and die to save men. The disciples could not quite tell what it meant, and Peter said, "Lord, it is good for us to be here. Let us make here three tents for Thee and Moses and Elijah," not knowing what he said; but, as he spoke, a bright cloud came over them, and they were taken into it, and a voice came out of the cloud and said, "This is My Beloved Son; hear Him." And when the voice was past, Jesus was alone. It was He who was God's Dear Son.

Soon after this the disciples began to talk together about which of them should be greatest in the Kingdom of Heaven. And Jesus called a little child to Him, and when He had taken him in His arms, He said to them, "Whoever will receive one of such children in My name receiveth Me, and whosoever shall receive Me receiveth not Me but Him that sent Me." And He told the apostles that they must be as gentle and humble as little children if they would be great in Heaven, for there the humble would be the first, and the proud the last.

Our Lord loved little children very much. Soon after this, some mothers brought their children and infants to Jesus that He might touch and bless them; but the apostles told them to go away and not to trouble the Lord. When Jesus knew it He was very angry, and said, "Suffer little children to come unto Me, and do not forbid them, for of such is the Kingdom of God." And He took the little ones in His arms, put His hands upon them, and blessed them. How good and kind Jesus was! Little children ought to love Him with all their heart, and be very good to please Him.

Our Lord came, you know, to bear the punishment of our sins; and He told some pretty parables to the Pharisees to try and make them understand why He talked so much to bad men. It was because His great love made Him wish to save them. He told them that if they had a great many sheep and one was lost, the shepherd would leave all the others and go to find the lost one; and when he had found it he would bring it back with great joy.

And He said: "If a woman has ten pieces of silver and she loses one she will light a candle and sweep the house and look carefully for it. And when she has found it she will call her friends, and say, Be glad with me; I have found the piece that I had lost, so" -- went on Our Lord -- "there is joy in Heaven with the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth."

Once Our Lord told His disciples a parable of a fig-tree. Fig-trees grow by the side of the road in that land, and people might pick the figs. But this fig-tree grew in a man's garden; and for three years it had borne no figs. Then the master called his gardener and said to him, "For three years I have come to find figs on this tree and there are none; cut it down; it is of no use." But the gardener said, "Lord, let it stay this year, I will dig round it and manure it, and if next year it bears fruit, well; but if not, then you shall cut it down."

This parable meant that Christ is always asking God, His Father, to let us have time to be sorry for our sins before we die. It meant, too, that He asked God to give the Jews time to be sorry before He destroyed their city and sent them out of their own land.

Then He told them this other story: "Once, there was a man who had two sons. The younger of the two said to him one day, 'Father, give me now the share of your money you mean me to have.' And the kind father divided his money between the sons as the greedy one asked. As soon as the younger son had his share he left his father's house and went to a far off land, and there he spent his money in eating and drinking with bad people. And when he had spent all he had, great want came on that land; there was very little food, and bread was very dear. Now this sinful lad had no money left, so he was obliged to go and be a servant to a man of that country, who sent him into his fields to feed pigs; and he had so little food and was so hungry that he would have liked to eat the husks the pigs ate, and no man gave any food to him. Then he felt how sinful he had been, and he said, 'My father's servants have more bread to eat than they want, while I shall die of hunger. I will go back to my father, and say to him, "Father, I have sinned against God and against you, and am not fit to be called your son; make me your servant."' And he arose and went to his father; and when he was yet a great way off his father saw him -- a poor, ragged man -- and he ran to meet him, and fell on his neck, and kissed him. And the son said, 'Father, I have sinned against Heaven and against thee, I am not good enough to be called thy son; let me be one of thy servants.' But his father quite forgave him, and told the servants to bring the best robe and put it on him, and to put shoes on his feet, and a ring on his hand, and to cook the fat calf that they might eat; and they were merry.

"Now, when the elder son, who was in the fields, heard the sound of music and dancing, and was told what the feast was for, he was angry, and would not go in; his father came out and begged that he would. But the son said, 'I have been a good son, but you did not give me a kid that I might make a feast for my friends; yet, now your wicked son is come who has spent all on bad living, you have had the calf killed for him.' It was wrong of this son to be jealous, was it not? He ought to have been glad that his brother had come home again. But his father said, 'Son, you are always with me, and all that I have is yours; but it was right to be glad now, for your brother who was dead is alive again, was lost, and is found.'"

Jesus meant to teach us by this story that God will forgive us and love us as soon as we are sorry for being naughty. People who keep on being naughty are said in God's Book to be dead and lost -- and so they are -- till they are sorry and do better.

Now it was winter-time, and a feast was being kept in Jerusalem. Our Lord went to it, and walked in the Temple in Solomon's Porch. Then the Jews came round about Him, and said, "How long do You mean to keep us in doubt" -- to be in doubt is not to be sure of a thing -- "If You are Christ, tell us plainly?"

Jesus said, "I have told you, and you would not believe Me. The works I do show that I am the Christ, but you will not believe. Ye are not My sheep. My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me, and I give unto them eternal life, and no man can take them out of My Father's hand. I and My Father are one."

The Jews knew that Our Lord meant to say that He was God, for He was God's Son, and they were so angry that they took up stones to throw at Him and sought to take Him, but it was not yet time for Jesus to die for us all, so He passed from them and went away to the other side of the river Jordan, to the place where John baptized, and many believed on Him there. John the Baptist was dead, another cruel Herod had had his head cut off.

It was while Our Lord was here that a man was sent to Him by Martha and Mary to say that Lazarus, their brother, whom the Lord loved, was ill. The sisters thought Jesus would be sure to come and make His dear friend well. But, though Our Lord loved these good people, He did not go at once. He waited for two days, and then He said to His disciples, "Let us go into Judea again." But the disciples said, "Master, the Jews of late tried to kill You; why will You go there again?" Then Jesus said, "Our friend Lazarus is asleep; I go that I may awake him." They did not know what Jesus meant, so they said, "If he is asleep he will get well." Then Our Lord told them that Lazarus was dead, and said that He must now go to him. The apostle Thomas said to the others, "Let us go, too, that we may die with Him." For they thought the Jews would be sure to kill Jesus if He went near Jerusalem; and Martha and Mary lived very near it. Lazarus had been buried four days when they arrived at Bethany.

As soon as Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went out to meet him, and said to Him, "Lord, if You had been here my brother would not have died; but I know that even now if You ask God anything He will give it You." Jesus said, "Thy brother shall rise again." "Yes; I know," said Martha, "he will rise at the last day." But Jesus told her that He could give life to the dead. Then He asked for Mary. She was sitting with a great many friends who had come to comfort her in her grief, but Martha made haste to tell her that Our Lord was come; and Mary went out to the Lord and said, as Martha had, "Lord, if You had been here he would not have died." Then Jesus said, "Where have you laid him?" The Jews had also come out now, and they said, "Come and see." They were all weeping, and Our Lord had such pity for their grief, that He too shed tears. Now the grave was a place in a rock and a stone lay upon it. Jesus said, "Take away the stone." And when they had taken it away, Our Lord said some words to God in heaven, and then He cried out with a loud voice, "Lazarus, come forth." And the dead man came out alive, though he had lain four days in the grave. How glad Mary and Martha must have been! A great many of the Jews who were there, when they saw this wonderful thing, believed that Jesus was the Son of God; but some of them went to the Pharisees and told them what Jesus had done. And they were angry, and said, "What shall we do? for if we let this man alone all will believe in Him, and the Romans will come and take away our place and nation." They meant that the Romans would take them and sell them for slaves, as was sometimes done in those days. Then the high priest said, "One man must die for the people." He did not know how true his words were, for Jesus meant to die to save all men. But the Lord did not let them kill Him yet, He went to another place with his disciples.

However, as soon as the time of the Passover drew near, He went up to Jerusalem, and then to Martha's house, where Lazarus was; and Simon, who had been a leper, made a supper for Him, and Martha waited on Him; but Lazarus sat at the table. Then Mary took a pound of very sweet-scented ointment, that cost a great deal of money, and she put it on the feet of Jesus and wiped His feet with her hair, and the scent went all over the house.

Now Jesus had one bad man among His apostles. His name was Judas. He kept the bag in which Our Lord and the disciples put their money, and he used to steal from it. He was vexed when he saw Mary use the sweet ointment; he could have sold it, he thought, and stolen the money if she had given it to Our Lord, and not used it, so he said, "That is a waste, the ointment could have been sold for a great deal and the money given to the poor." But Jesus said, "Let her alone; the poor you have always with you, but Me ye have not always. She has done it for My burial."

There were a great many Jews at this feast, they came to see Lazarus who was raised from the dead, as well as Jesus; and many of them believed in the Lord.

The priests then thought that they had better kill Lazarus as well as Our Lord, and that very night Judas came to them, and offered to help them take Jesus if they would pay him for it. And they gave him some silver money for doing it -- as much as four of our sovereigns -- just as much as people paid for a slave.

Now the next day, when the people who had gone up to Jerusalem for the feast, heard that Our Lord was coming, they went out to meet Him, with branches of palm-trees in their hands, crying, "Blessed is the King that cometh in the name of the Lord." Jesus had sent for a young ass and was riding on it, and the people, to show how they loved him, and that they would have Him for their King, spread their garments on the ground for the ass to tread on.

And when Our Lord was come near the city, and saw it, He wept over it; He was very sorry that it was so wicked, and He knew that God would destroy it.

They went on into Jerusalem, and the people wondered, and said "Who is this?" And the crowd answered, "Jesus of Nazareth!"

Then, Our Lord went into the Temple, and found there the tables of money and the oxen and sheep as He had before, and He drove them out again. The children, with palms in their hands, had followed Him into the Temple, and sang, with their sweet voices "Hosanna (that is, praise) to the Son of David;" and when the priests heard them they were angry, and said, "Do You hear what these children say?" And Our Lord said, "Yes; have you never heard that out of the mouth of babes and little infants God has perfect praise?"

Then Jesus left them and went back to Martha's house, where He slept.

For five days more, Our Lord came every morning to Jerusalem, and went back in the evening to the house of Lazarus to sleep. And He taught His apostles many things, and talked with the Pharisees and priests in the Temple. One day, when His disciples showed Him what a grand place the Temple was, He told them that not one stone would be left on another. And He said that one day He would come again to judge the world.

One day, He saw a very poor woman -- she was a widow -- drop two mites -- that is, less than a farthing -- into the box that was placed for men to give money to the Temple. And Jesus said to His disciples, "This poor widow has cast in more than they all, for the rich men could spare all they gave, but she has given to God all the living she had."

You see, God does not mind how small the gift is that we offer to Him, if it is all we can do; He loves the gift of the poor.

One day some of the wicked people who wanted to find fault with Him, came and asked Our Lord if it was right to pay the tax to the Romans. Jesus said, "Show me a penny;" and when they brought it He said, "Whose likeness is on it and what name?" They said, "Caesar's." Then said Jesus, "Give to Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and to God the things that are God's."

It was of no use to teach these men; they would not believe though they heard how wisely Jesus spoke and saw the wonderful works He did. Some of the chief rulers believed on Him, but they were afraid of the Pharisees and would not say that they did; for the Bible tells us they loved the praise of men more than the praise of God.

It was on one of the first days of this week, that some Greeks came to the Apostle Philip and said, "Sir, we wish to see Jesus." Philip told Andrew, and they went together to tell Our Lord. Jesus said that the hour was come that He should be glorified, and He spoke to the Greeks, and told them that if any man served Him, God would honour him; and ended His words by saying, "Father, glorify Thy Name," and there came a voice from heaven, saying, "I have both glorified it and will glorify it again." Some of the people who stood by said that it thundered; but others -- perhaps the Greeks, who were nearer -- said that an angel spoke to Him. Our Lord told them that the voice came not for Him but for their sakes. It was meant to make them believe in Jesus, and these good Greeks must have gone away sure now that He was indeed the expected Christ.

Now, Our Lord had told the apostles to get Him a room in which He would eat the Passover with them, and, when they were there, Our Lord took a towel and poured some water into a basin and began to wash His disciples' feet, and wipe them with the towel. But, when He came to Peter, Peter said, "Lord, Thou shalt not wash my feet."

He thought it was not fit that Our Lord should do as a servant would.

But Jesus said, "If I do not wash you, you have no part in Me." Then Peter let Him do it. Why did Our Lord wash His apostles' feet? To show us that we must not be too proud to do anything for one another.

Then Our Lord sat down to supper, and He was troubled, and said, "One of you will give Me up to the priests." And the disciples looked at one another and wondered which of them would be so wicked. Peter made signs to John, who was close to Our Lord, to ask Him; and John did. And Jesus said, "The one to whom I shall give a sop when I have dipped it." And He dipped a piece of bread in some sauce and gave it to Judas, and said to him, "What you are going to do, do quickly." Then, Judas, who knew what Our Lord meant, went out; but the others did not know; they thought Our Lord sent him to give something to the poor.

We shall not tell you all Our Lord did and said at this Last Supper; it would be too hard for you to understand; but we will tell you that He grew sad and told His apostles that they would all leave Him that night. Peter said, "Lord, I will go with Thee to prison or to death." Our Lord answered, "I tell you, Peter, before the cock crows you will three times say you do not know Me."

When the supper was ended and they had sung a hymn, they went out to the Mount of Olives; and on the way the Lord talked to them, and told them to love one another.

Now, on that Mount, there was a garden called Gethsemane; Our Lord went into it, and with Him He took Peter and James and John, and told them to watch while He prayed. They were tired, and only kept awake a little while; but they heard Our Lord pray. He was very sorrowful, for He knew He must die, and He was sad because men were so wicked; but He said to God, "Not My will, but Thine be done;" and His Father sent an angel from Heaven to comfort Him. Twice Jesus went to His apostles and found them asleep. It must have seemed very unkind of them; but Our Lord was not angry. He said they could not help it, they were so tired. But the third time He came to them He told them to rise, for Judas was coming with the priests to take Him.

And just then the priests came with soldiers and lamps, for it was night, and Judas was with them. He said, "I will show you which is Jesus; I will kiss Him." So he went up to Our Lord, and said, "Hail, Master," and kissed Him. Jesus said, "Judas, betrayest thou the Son of Man with a kiss." Then He said to the soldiers, "Whom seek ye?" They said, "Jesus of Nazareth." Our Lord said, "I am He," and they fell on their faces before Him; they felt how great He was. But they soon got up, and when Our Lord said again, "Whom seek ye?" and they answered, "Jesus," He said, "I am He; but let My disciples go." Now Peter had a sword, and he was so angry that he drew it and cut off the ear of one of the high priest's servants.

But Our Lord told him to put up his sword, and touched the ear of the wounded man and made it well at once. Was not Jesus good and kind to heal the man who came to take Him? Then all His disciples forsook Him and fled; and the soldiers led Him to the High Priest's house, where all the wicked priests and scribes were sitting up waiting for Him. John and Peter were soon sorry that they had left Our Lord, and went after Jesus. John had a friend in the High Priest's house who let him go in; and then John went and brought Peter in. The priests were very cruel to Our Lord; they told falsehoods about Him. But when they asked Him if He was the Christ, and He said, "I am, and you will see Me one day sitting on the right hand of God, and coming in the clouds with the Holy Angels," they were so angry that they tore their clothes, and said, "He ought to die." And then they began to ill-treat Our Lord, and threw a cloth over His face and beat Him with the palms of their hands, and said, "Tell us who struck You!"

Now Peter sat in the part of the great hall that was lower down than that where Our Lord was, and he warmed himself by the fire; and a maid came up, and said to him, "You are one of the men who were with Jesus;" but he said, "I do not know Him." Then another servant said to him, "You are one of His disciples;" but Peter said, "Man, I am not." An hour went by, and then another said, "This fellow was with Jesus." And Peter said he was not, and began to use bad words. Just then the cock crowed; and Our Lord turned and looked at Peter. It must have been such a sad look! and it reminded him of what Our Lord had said, "Before the cock crow thou shalt deny Me three times." And he was so much ashamed and so very sorry that he went out and wept bitterly.

Now, when Judas saw that Our Lord would be put to death, he repented, and brought back the thirty pieces of silver to the chief priests, and said, "I have sinned, for I have given up to you an innocent man." The wicked priests answered, "What is that to us? See thou to that." And Judas cast down the pieces of silver and went and hanged himself. Very bad men sometimes cannot bear to live, when they feel how wicked they have been; but it only adds to their sins to kill themselves; for God has said men may not do so.

When daylight came, the great crowd of the priests and scribes and their friends led Our Lord from the High Priest's house to that of Pilate, the Roman governor, to have Him judged; for the Romans did not allow the Jews to put any one to death. Pilate was in his hall where he judged people. He came out and asked, "What has this Man done?" "He teaches men wrong," said they; "He tells them not to pay the tax to Caesar, and says that He is Christ, a King." Then, Pilate went back to the judgment hall and had Christ brought before him, and said, "Are You a King?" Our Lord told him that He was; but not a king of this world; His Kingdom was a heavenly one. Then Pilate went out to the people, and said, "I find no fault in this man." But they were more angry, and cried, "He teaches the people wrongly, from Galilee to this place." When Pilate found that Jesus came from Galilee, he sent Him to Herod to be judged, for Herod was ruler over that part of the land. And when Herod saw Our Lord, he was glad, for he hoped to see some miracle done by Him; and he questioned Jesus with many words; but the Lord would not even speak to the cruel man who had killed John the Baptist. Then Herod grew angry, and he and his soldiers mocked the Lord, and put on Him a purple robe such as kings wear, and sent Him back to Pilate. The priests and scribes then said all manner of false things about Jesus; but He did not speak or answer at all. Then Pilate's wife sent to tell him not to have anything to do with that just man, as she had had a terrible dream about Him. And again Pilate tried to save Him. The Romans set free any prisoner that the Jews asked for at the Passover; so Pilate said to them, "I will have Jesus beaten and then set Him free." But the priests told the people to say, "No; set Barabbas free." Now, Barabbas was a robber.

Then Pilate said, "What, then, shall I do with Jesus who is called Christ?" and they said, "Crucify Him!" -- that is, "Nail Him to a cross." But Pilate still tried to save Jesus; he told his soldiers to beat Our Lord with great knotted ropes; and then the men made a crown of sharp thorns and pressed it on His head, so that the blood ran down; and they put a reed in His hand, and the purple robe on again, and cried, "Hail, King of the Jews!" and kneeled down to Him, mocking Him. Pilate, thinking that the cruel Jews would be quiet and let Him go if they saw Him thus, took Him out, and said to them, "Behold the Man!" But they only cried more and more, "Crucify Him!" Pilate said, "Take ye Him and crucify Him, for I find no fault in Him." They answered, "We have a law, and by our law He ought to die, because He says He is the Son of God."

When Pilate heard that, he was much afraid; he took Our Lord back into the hall, and asked Him, "Whence do you come?" But Jesus did not answer him. Pilate said, "Why do you not answer me? Do you not know that I can crucify you, or let you go free?" But Jesus said that Pilate's power was given from above, and that the Jews had the greater sin. Then Pilate tried very hard to save the Lord, but the Jews cried out again, "If you let this Man go, you are not Caesar's friend."

And Pilate was much afraid of Caesar, who was a cruel man. Then the Jews began to make a great disturbance; but Pilate took water, and washed his hands before them, and said, "I am innocent of the blood of this just Man; see ye to it." Was this true? No. Pilate ought to have rather died himself than let a good man be killed. But fear often makes men wicked. Be ashamed to be a coward.

Then the soldiers took the robe off Christ, and put His own clothes on Him, and led Him away to crucify Him. At first they made Him carry the great cross on which He was to be nailed; but He fainted under the weight and fell, and then they made a man they met carry it for Him.

They nailed the dear Lord's hands and feet to the cross; but first they wanted Him to drink some wine and myrrh that He might not feel the pain so much, but He would not drink it. Now, the mother of Jesus stood by the cross with his favourite apostle, John. How sad it was for her to see her dear Son in such pain! But Jesus still thought of her. He looked at John, and said, "Woman, behold thy son;" and to John He said, "Behold thy mother;" and from that hour John was a good son to the mother of his Lord.

Then Our Lord prayed to God for the cruel Jews. He said, "Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they do" -- that is, they did not know that He was God's Son. There were two thieves crucified with Christ, one on each side. One of them was wicked; the other was sorry for his sin, and asked Jesus to forgive him. The Lord told him, "To-day you shall be with Me in Paradise" -- the happy place, you know. Then a great darkness came on like night, and there was a hush -- the cruel Jews had been mocking Our Lord; now, they were frightened. The darkness lasted for three hours; then light came back. Our Lord said, "I thirst." And the soldiers dipped a sponge in vinegar, and put it on a reed and held it to His lips. When He had tasted it, He said, "It is finished!" and bowed His head and died. Then the earth and the city shook, and the Roman Captain, close by, said, "This Man really was the Son of God."

The Jews asked Pilate to take Our Lord and the others down from the crosses, because the next day was their Sabbath. So he sent to see if they were dead. Jesus was, but, to make sure, one of the soldiers stabbed His side with a spear. The thieves were not dead; so their legs were broken, that when taken down they might not get away, and die sooner.

Then a rich man, named Joseph, begged Pilate to let him bury Our Lord, and Pilate said he might. So Joseph, and Nicodemus, who came to Jesus by night, wrapped Him in white linen and put Him in a grave that Joseph had made for himself in a garden, and a great stone was put for a door to it. The Jews begged Pilate to set a guard upon the tomb for fear the disciples should take the Lord away; for they remembered that He had said He would rise again. So Pilate sent a great many soldiers to watch. But at day-dawn an angel of the Lord came down from Heaven: his face was bright as the lightning, and his robe as white as snow; and the earth shook very much as he came down. He rolled away the stone that shut the tomb, and sat on it. The guards were nearly dead with fear, and made haste away.

Now, the women who loved the Lord were coming to put sweet spices on Him, even while it was dark. But when they came, they saw that the stone was rolled away, and that the grave was empty; so Mary Magdalene ran off at once to tell Peter and John of it. The other women went and looked into the tomb, and there they saw two bright angels, and they were afraid. But the angels said, "Do not be afraid. We know you are looking for Jesus; He is not here; He is risen. Go and tell Peter and the disciples that He is risen." And they made haste to take the message.

And while they were going, some of the watch came into the city and told the chief priests all that had been done; how an angel had come down and rolled away the stone from the tomb. The priests were afraid, and called the elders together to ask their advice; it was that they should give a great deal of money to the soldiers and tell them to say that the disciples came in the night, and stole Our Lord's body away while they were asleep, and this wicked thing they did. They paid the Roman soldiers to tell a falsehood, and said that they would take care that Pilate should not punish them for sleeping on their watch; for which they might be put to death.

Then Peter and John came with Mary Magdalene, and looked into the tomb, but it was empty -- only the linen lay folded up on one spot. They were very much surprised, but by-and-by they went home. Mary did not; she stood crying by the tomb. Then she looked into the grave, and she also saw the two angels. They said to her, "Why do you weep?" She said, "Because they have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid Him." She turned back as she spoke, and Jesus stood close by her, but she did not know Him. He said, "Why do you weep?" Mary was crying so much she could not see His face, and she thought He was the gardener, so she said, "Sir, if you have taken my Lord away, tell me where you have laid Him, and I will take Him away." Jesus said, "Mary!" When she heard His voice and her name, she knew who He was, and kneeled down to Him. He told her to go and tell "His brothers" -- the disciples -- that He had come out of the grave and would soon go up to Heaven.

Then the Lord Jesus went and spoke to Peter, because the kind Saviour knew how sad he was.

Two disciples that day were walking to a place eight miles from Jerusalem. They were very sad, talking about Our Lord, when He came up and walked with them; but He did not let them know who He was. He asked them why they were sad, and they told Him it was because Jesus was dead. Then He made them understand that Jesus died that they might go to Heaven, and they were quite glad of what He said. They begged Him to go in with them to supper, and He went in; and when He took bread and blessed it they knew Him at once. But He passed away, they could not tell how, so they made haste to go back to Jerusalem to tell the Apostles. They found them all, except Thomas, in one room, with the doors shut, but before they could tell their tale, the men said, "Our Lord has risen from the dead, and has been seen by Peter." Then the two told how He had walked with them; and while they spoke Jesus stood in the midst of them, and said, "Peace be to you;" and He showed them the holes of the nails in His hands and feet. Then they knew that it was the Lord. They told Thomas of it, but he was so sad he could not believe them. "You must make a mistake," he said; "I will not believe Our Lord is alive again unless I can put my hand in His side, where the spear went in, and my fingers in the holes of the nails."

The next first day of the week -- Sunday -- they were all in the room, Thomas too, when Our Lord came into the midst of them, and said to Thomas, "Put out your hand and feel my side, and put your fingers in the nail-holes." Then Thomas kneeled down and said, "My Lord and my God." Jesus said, "Thomas, because you have seen Me you believe; blessed are they who have not seen, and yet have believed."

Our Lord stayed forty days on earth, and often came and talked to His disciples; once He came to five hundred all in one place. But some of the apostles went back to their boats. There were together Peter, James and John, Thomas, Nathanael, and two other disciples. They went out to fish; but all night they did not catch one, and when day broke Jesus stood on the shore. They did not know Him, and He asked if they had any fish. They said, "No;" and then He told them to cast their net on the right side of the ship. They did so, and now the net nearly broke with the weight of the fish. Then John said, "It is the Lord," and Peter at once swam ashore to Jesus. The others came in the boat dragging the net full of fish. And when they came to the shore they saw a fire of coals and fish laid on it, and bread. And Jesus told them to bring some of their own fish; there were a hundred and fifty great ones in the net, but it did not break. Then Jesus said, "Come and dine;" and He gave them fish and bread. When they had dined, the Lord said to Peter, "Do you love Me more than these?" Peter said, "Yes, Lord; You know that I love You." Then Christ said, "Feed My lambs." Again He asked Peter, "Do you love Me?" "Yes, Lord," said Peter. Then said Jesus, "Feed My sheep." A third time He asked Peter, "Do you love Me?" Peter was grieved because Jesus asked him three times; he thought Our Lord remembered that he had three times said he did not know Him, and he said, "Lord, You know all things; You know that I love You." Then Jesus said, "Feed My sheep." Who are Christ's lambs? Little children, whom Jesus loves; to feed the sheep and lambs means to teach them.

Then Jesus said to Peter, "When you were young you walked where you would; but when you are old you shall stretch forth your hands, and another shall gird you and carry you where you do not wish to go." Jesus thus foretold Peter's death; who, when old, was crucified. Peter asked Our Lord what John would do -- you remember that John and Peter were great friends -- and Jesus gently reproved him for asking, by saying, "If I will that he tarry till I come, what is that to thee?"

Our Lord also told His disciples to go all over the world and tell people about Him, and baptize them; and then He took them out to the Mount of Olives, and, while He was blessing them, He was taken up, and a cloud hid Him from their sight; but they stood a long time looking up after their Lord, till two angels came to them, and said, "Why do you stand looking up into Heaven? This same Jesus who is taken up from you into Heaven will come again in the same way as you have seen Him go up." Then the disciples were very glad, and they went back to Jerusalem.

Has not the story of Our dear Lord made you love Him? We hope so; and if you love Him you will be a good child to please Him, for He sees you now from where He sits at God's right hand, whence He will come by-and-by and -- if you obey Him -- will take you to live with Him in Heaven.

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The Book Of One Syllable

By

Esther Bakewell



The Wreck Of A Feast.


What a sad sight it is to see a young child who does not know how to keep a check on the wish that tempts him to do wrong. The first rule that they who love a child should teach him, is the rule of self. It is the want of this self-rule that is the cause of so much that is bad in the world. It is this that makes girls and boys think more of what they want to do, than of what they ought to do; and each time they give way to it, they find it more hard not to yield the next time; and thus they go on till they are grown-up folks. They who would not like to grow up in this bad way must take great care while they are young not to think so much of self.

The sense of taste is the sense that a child likes best to use. It would be strange to see a child who did not like cake, or tart, or fruit, or most sweet things. But a child should know when it is right to eat, and when it is right not to eat: he should know that he ought not to touch nice things that are not meant for him.

The tale we have to tell is of a young girl who had not this sense of right so strong as it ought to have been. She knew what it was right to do, and she knew what it was wrong to do, but yet the sense of right was not at all times quite strong. The name of this girl was Ruth Grey.

Now there was a room in Mr. Grey's house known by the name of the green-house room, and here were put a few choice plants that could not bear the cold air. In this room too there was a large stand, on which were set out all the sweet things when Mrs. Grey had friends to dine or take tea with her. Here they were all put, to be brought out at the right time. The door of this room was kept shut, and made fast with a lock and key. Ruth had seen some of these nice things put on the stand, but she had not seen all, and she had a great wish to see them. She thought, if the door should not be shut, she would just peep in. She went twice to the door, but she found it fast. When she went a third time she found the key left in, and as she thought she could turn the key, she did, and went in.

Now it was wrong in Ruth to want to go near this room, as she knew quite well that Mrs. Grey did not wish her to go in. Once when she was near the door she thought she heard some one, and then she ran off as fast as she could. This she would not have done if she had not felt sure it was wrong to go in that room.

But now she was in! and what did she see there? Why, she saw the stand quite full of all sorts of nice sweet things. There were sponge cakes, and plum cakes, and queen cakes; there were two turn-outs, and whips and creams of all sorts; and there was a cake hid in red jam, with small thin white things put all up and down it, which stuck out. What could this be? She was sure it was jam, and yet she was sure jam was too soft to stand up in that way: she would just touch it. She did touch it, and she felt there was some hard thing in it: that could not be jam! It was strange! She would just like to know what it was: she must taste a small bit of the top -- that could not spoil it, and she did so much want to know. She did taste -- it was jam, spread on a sponge cake.

"A sponge cake! well, this is odd," thought Ruth. "I will just taste a bit: the jam will hide where I take it from."

She then tore a bit from the cake: it was more than she meant to take; but it was done, and she could not help it now. In vain did she try to hide the place -- she could not do it; for if she took jam from this place, the cake was left bare on that. And the shape of the cake was not the same as it had been. She thought she would try to make that side of the cake on which the jam still was, like the side on which it was not; so off she took a piece from that side too. The cake was now in such a state that she could not hope to hide what she had done; and she was in such a state that she did not seem to care at all.

She next took up a spoon, and took a large piece from one of the turn-outs. She then went to the plum cake, and to the grapes, and to all the fruit. In short, she went from dish to dish, till there was not one in which she had not put her spoon.

Then she stood still -- she stood to see the wreck she had made. Long she did not stand: a rush of thought gave wings to her feet, and she fled to hide in some place where she could not, she thought, be found. She fled to a tool-house in the yard; but she had not been half an hour there when she heard the voice of Mrs. Grey; she heard her step, too, come near and more near, till at length it came close to the door of the tool-house.

"Ruth, my dear," said Mrs. Grey, "why did you come out here? But I am glad to have found you, for I want you to come with me and take a plant to the green-house room."

"Oh, no, no! not in there -- do not go in there!" cried Ruth, with a face quite pale.

Mrs. Grey could not think what Ruth meant, so she set off at once to the green-house room, and told Ruth that she must come too. But when Mrs. Grey had got to the door, no Ruth was to be seen. She then went in the room, and what she saw there told her more than words could tell.

"Ruth!" said she, "can you have done this?"

It was grief to think that a child of hers could have done this; but, much as she felt hurt, it was not for the loss of these things. Mrs. Grey sat down, and for a long time she did not move; at length she got up with the air of one who had made up her mind what it would be best for her to do.

And Ruth -- where was she? What did she think, what did she feel, what did she do all the time Mrs. Grey was in the green-house room?

What she felt was a kind of grief, such as she had not felt till that time: it was a sense of deep shame. So much did she dread to see Mrs. Grey, that she hid her face in her hands, as though Mrs. Grey were near her. Then all at once she thought that Mrs. Grey would come back to speak to her.

At this thought she sprang up, ran to her own room, shut the door, and fell down on the bed. Here she lay for a long time, with her face hid in the bed-clothes: her tears fell fast, and her sobs were loud. In this sad state she lay for a long time, till at last she went to sleep.

How long she had slept she could not tell, but when she rose up in the bed it was quite dark. At first she could not think how she came to be there, but all at once the green-house scene came back to her mind. Once more she fell down on the bed to hide her face, though no one was there to see it.

Soon there came a stream of light through a chink in the door: it grew more strong, till at length it came in the room in a full blaze. Ruth gave a quick glance, and saw that it was not Mrs. Grey, but Mrs. Grey's maid.

"Miss Ruth," said the maid, "I am sent to bid you go down stairs: the first course is come out of the room, and Mrs. Grey bids me tell you to go down to see the sweet things. You are to go at once."

Poor Ruth! what did she feel then? She took hold of the maid's hand, and said,

"Oh, do not, do not let me go! pray do not let me go!"

"You must go, and go at once too, Miss Ruth," said the maid, as she drew her near the door. "You must come, miss. And see, here is James sent to take you down."

There was no help for it: down stairs she went, and soon she found that she was in the room. There she stood! full of shame and deep grief! And there was spread out each dish of sweets, just as she had left it -- each dish spread out with as much care as if it had been right. The eyes of all were on Ruth -- in vain did she try to shrink from their gaze.

There was a pause; then Mrs. Grey said, "Ruth, come here, and stand where all my friends can see you."

She came with slow step, her head bent down, and her eyes cast on the ground.

"I grieve to tell you, my friends," said Mrs. Grey, "that it is Ruth -- that it is this child whom I love so much -- that it is she who has made all this wreck."

There was a pause once more; and there stood Ruth! All had their eyes on her. At length Mrs. Grey said,

"Now leave the room, Ruth."

Ruth did not stay, she was too glad to be gone at once.

The next day, nor the next, did Mrs. Grey speak of the past, and all things went on as they were wont to do. But on the third day, when the first course was gone, a dish that had been in the green-house room was put near her. It was just in the same state in which Ruth had left it. Ruth could not bear the sight of it, so she got up and ran out of the room.

"Poor Ruth!" said Mr. Grey to his wife, "she feels this so much! and to a child like her, who can feel, I think that your plan seems the best way to cure her."

It was the best way. Ruth felt all this much more than she would have felt the stroke of a whip: she felt it in her mind.

For a long time, for months and for years, she could not bear to see a jam cake or a turn-out, nor one of the things like those that had been in the green-house room. When she did see them, she felt a sting of mind that gave her a great deal of pain. Ruth had one young friend who knew what she had done; and this friend had so much love for Ruth, so much real grief for what she knew Ruth felt, that when young friends came to play with her, she took care to beg that there should not be jam cake.




The Air.


What is air? Look up and look round; there is air, though it is not to be seen. It fills all things. The glass jug which seems to be quite void is still full of air.

It is the air we feel when the wind blows. We do not see the wind, but it can blow with such force as to throw down trees. When the wind blows it makes ships sail on the seas to all parts of the world, and brings them back home. It turns mills, to grind corn; and in some parts they use the force of wind to do all kinds of work. The wind is but the air, and it does all these things, though it is not to be seen.

But the air does more than this. If it were not for the air we could not live. It is the air we breathe; and if the breath were stopt, we all know that we should die. How it is that the air does this would take a long time to tell, and you must learn a great deal more of such things than you have yet done, to know why air keeps up life. But so it is. The air is the breath.

It is the breath, too, that makes us warm and keeps us so; for if it were not for the air we breathe, we should be as cold as stones.

The air it is that makes fire burn. The fire in the grate would soon go out if it were not for the air. The flame in a lamp burns dim when it has not so much air as it wants; and when the air is shut from the flame it goes out.

Trees and plants could not live if they had not air. The birds fly by means of the air, which helps to keep them up, while their wings flap up and down. If there were no air, they could not rise from the ground at all, nor could they live if they did not breathe.

It is the air which makes sound. We could not hear men talk, nor bells ring, if the air did not bring the sound to our ears.

Of such great use is the air, though we can not see it, that no one thing could move, or be heard, or live, if it were not with us and round us.




Saib, The Black Boy.


In a far-off part of the world there is a place where the boys and girls have not the white fair skins that boys and girls have here, but whose skins are quite black, and whose hair is short and thick, like black wool. Some of these poor things know not what it is to have a home, they know not what it is to have kind friends, they know not what it is to do as they would like to do: they must do all that he who has bought them bids them do.

Yes, he who has bought them! for these poor boys and girls can be bought and sold. They are put on board ships that sail far from the homes of their hearts; they are torn from all they like best in the world, from all they have had to love. Far, far off from these scenes do they sail, and with swoln hearts, and tears too big to fall, they feel that they must work or die. Some would think it a joy to die, for death would put an end to what they feel. They think, too, that when they die they will go back to the home round which their thoughts cling.

Saib was one of these poor boys -- he was born in that far-off place. As long as he was there, each day was to him a day of joy. Saib had a dear friend, who was near him at all times, and who took part in all his sports, and had a tear for all his pains.

Boa was the name of this friend, and she would sit in the same deep shade with him, and they would climb the same tall tree, and eat the same fruits. They would row in the same boat, and go fast down the dark deep stream. There were, too, those who were glad to see their joy, and who would watch them as they went on and on, till they were far out of sight. They knew no fear -- they had no cause for fear, but in the shape of a white man.

It was in one of these sails down the stream that they drew their boat to the shore at a place that was quite strange to them. They got out of it, and went on till they had gone far in a strange wild spot. On and on they went, till the step of Boa was not so firm as it had been; it was less firm each time she put her foot to the ground.

"I can walk no more," she said at last; and quite faint and worn out, she lay down on the ground. Poor Saib! he all at once thought of their lorn state, and of how far they were from their home and from help. There was no sound to be heard, and not a breath of air: all was a still dead calm.

The strength of Saib, too, was gone -- he could hold out no more; and he, too, sank on the ground. There they both lay, quite worn out with so much toil; and they fell to sleep. How long they had lain thus they could not know, for when the next day's sun was far on his course, where were they then?

All was strange to them -- like the queer things dreams are made of. So they shut their eyes once more, and thought they dreamt about the white men.

But it was no dream: they did see the white men! Yes, it was the white men who had put those cords round their hands and feet. There they lay, like logs of wood thrown on a plank, a man at each end of the plank, and these men took poor Saib and Boa.

For a long time the minds of poor Saib and Boa were in such a state that they could not think, nor could they call to mind how they came to be where they were. Thus did they go for miles, till at last they came near the sea coast, and Saib saw a ship out at sea, with her sails spread. Close to the shore was a small boat, near which there were two or three black men, who, as Saib and the rest came in sight, rose up in haste, and the sound of a gun was heard. Saib did not know if this sound came from the ship or the boat, but as soon as it was heard there was a great rush of men to the sea shore.

Where these men came from it would have been hard to guess, for they rose up all at once, as if they had sprung out of the earth. Long had they lain in wait to try if they could keep that ship from the shore, for that ship was a slave ship, and the white men meant to take on board all the blacks they could seize. That it was a slave ship had been found out by scouts set to watch this part of the coast.

Great was the joy of Saib when he saw the chance of help -- when he thought that he should once more be free! The fight was a fight of blood, and some on each side were left dead on the shore.

The ship came near to the shore, and soon a boat was put out in which there were more white men. Few of the poor blacks were left, and those that were took to flight when they saw that all hope was gone.

Saib was one of those who could not take to flight. His cords had been cut off at the first of the fight, but such was his state of mind, so much did he feel from hope and fear, that he could not move, nor make use of his limbs.

And, oh! what a sight for him to see! There was Boa, his friend -- the poor girl for whom he had more love than he had for all else on the earth -- there she was on the ground at his feet. She would not look at him more; he would hear her voice no more: Boa lay there, dead!

From this time he had no sense of what was said or done; he had no care, no thought, for what might be done to him. So there he stood mute and still, like a thing cut in stone.

Some time he had stood thus when there was seen far off a dense cloud like dust.

"They come! they come!" said the white men. "More blacks are on us! To the ship! to the ship!"

Saib knew not what was said or done, and if he had heard, there would have been no help for him. He was thrown in the boat with two or three more blacks, and then from the boat he was flung on board the ship, and the ship set sail.

Fast did she cut through the sea, and soon was far out of sight of land. It was well for Saib that he could not feel. Four or five days ran their course, and still was Saib in this state.

The first words he heard when he came to his senses were -- "He is not dead, I tell you."

"I tell you he is," a voice said: "it is of no use to keep him, so here he goes -- (Saib felt a hand) -- and let the sea take the rest of him."

Poor Saib had but so much strength left that he could just raise his arm.

"There, there!" said the first voice, "I told you he was not dead, and now you see."

"Well, let him be, then, but he shall pay us well for this; he shall bring us a good price."

Saib could hear no more; but the first man, who was a kind one, went to get some warm drink to put in Saib's mouth. He put more and still more, till at length Saib could move and raise his head.

"Boa! Boa!" were the first words he spoke; and he put his hands to his eyes, and did not speak for a long time. He then gave one loud, deep sob, and his tears fell fast.

Those tears took a weight from his mind, a weight he felt he could not have borne long. For some time did these tears fall, and as they fell the view of things that had been was more clear to his mind.

Saib felt that all joy for him in this world was gone: he felt there was no one for him to love now; and great was his grief when he thought of those who would not know what had been the fate of poor Boa and of him. He thought of these things, and his heart was sad. In this state of mind he was for two or three days, and the ship was still on the wide sea.

Saib knew well what would be his fate: he knew that he would be sold for a slave; and he did all he could to try to bear this thought; nay, lorn and sad as he was, he could find a source of thanks in the fact that the pang he would have felt to have seen Boa a slave was not to be his.

Yes, this was a source of deep thanks; and as the ship cut through the blue waves, Saib would sit for hours with his eyes on some far-off star, and that star would shed a ray of light on his soul.

He would think it shone so bright, to tell him that it was Boa's world now. He felt sure that all things there must be pure and bright, and that Boa might there have more joy than she had had on earth.

"And I shall go there too," he thought, "and so I will not care much for what I have to bear in this world." Poor Saib!

The ship had not been long at shore, when Saib, and the rest of the blacks, were all put in a large slave cart that took them to the place where they were to be sold.

There stood Saib, his eyes bent down: now and then he would raise them up as a white man came near; but these did not want to buy him. At last there came one, a man with a hard cross face: he stood close to him, and Saib felt his stern eyes fix on him. This man spoke to the one who had to sell the slaves, and poor Saib was sold! He was soon put on board a ship that was to set sail to that part of the world where white men may keep slaves; here, in our land, such things are not done.

Saib felt it a hard task to do such things as he was told to do, for he had to work all day long, and had no will of his own. If he were not so quick as Mr. Stone thought he ought to be, he would whip him; and so much would he whip him, that Saib, though he did all he could to try to help it, could not help the scream or groan that would break forth.

There were those on board this ship who had kind hearts, and who could not bear to see a boy feel such pain as Saib was made to feel. There was a Mr. and Mrs. Bright who had felt much grief to see how hard was the lot of Saib.

Saib soon found out that they felt for him; and he would look at Mrs. Bright and think how kind she must be; and he would wish Mr. Bright had bought him, for he thought it would not be so hard a thing to be a slave, if he had to serve those who were kind.

Once, when Mrs. Bright was on deck, and Mr. Stone was not there, Saib came near to her; he could not speak such words as Mrs. Bright spoke, but he could make signs, and the signs that he made were such as told her more than words could have told. All she said was, "Poor boy!" but Saib saw a tear in her eye, and that tear shot a gleam of joy on his soul, for he knew it was for him.

One day Saib was no where to be found. In vain did Mr. Stone call to him -- the name of Saib! Saib! Saib! was heard in all parts of the ship, but no Saib came.

In each place that could be thought of was Saib sought for, but in no place could he be found. At length all thought that he had sought a grave in the deep sea, and that no one would see him more. His fate had been a sad one, and all felt that it had been so.

All on board thought a great deal of Saib. All that day did they think of him, and the next day, and the next, and the next. But there was no one who thought of poor Saib so much as Mrs. Bright did; she thought of him so much that she saw him in her dreams, and she would start up in her bed and call Saib! Saib! and this would seem so real that she could not think it had been a dream.

One night when she had had this same dream, and had seen Saib, as she thought, at the foot of her bed, she rose up with a start, but still he was there! This was most strange. "Saib! Saib!" she said, "you are there, and it is no dream."

But Saib was gone! and there was no trace of him to be seen. Yet so sure did Mrs. Bright feel that she had seen him, and that he was not dead, that she could have no peace of mind. She thought of him the whole of that day, and at night she made up her mind that she would not go to sleep, but would lie quite still, as though she were gone to sleep.

When she had been in bed two or three hours, she heard a slight noise in her room, yet she did not move. All was soon still, and then once more she heard a noise. The sound was like that of a piece of wood on the slide, but so soft it was that it could not have been heard by ears less quick than the ears of Mrs. Bright were just at that time. Once more she was still, and then she heard the soft step of a foot. The watch-light was dim, and yet such ray as there was, fell on the form of Saib! Yes! it was he, there he stood; Mrs. Bright saw, and she could not doubt that it was he!

She lay quite still, nor could she have made the least sign of life had she had the wish to do so. Her eyes were not shut, so she could see all that was done. Saib at first stood quite still, as if to be sure that he was safe; and then he went with step soft and slow to a tub of dry ship cakes, that Mrs. Bright kept in her room. She saw him take four or five of these in his hand, and then he stole back to the place from whence he had come.

All this she saw, but she could not have made known to Saib that she saw it. Yet when he was gone out of her sight she gave one loud scream. Mr. Bright, who slept in the berth next to hers, was up and on the floor just in time to see Saib.

When Saib saw that he was seen, and that he was known, he fell on his knees, and, oh, how much was told in that one look of his!

"My poor boy!" said Mr. Bright, "what you must have gone through, to have made you make choice of such a life as this." As he spoke he saw the hole in the side of the room through which Saib had come.

He found that it was a place made to keep things in that were out of use, and it was so small that there was not room for Saib to lie down in. Mrs. Bright did not know that there was such a place, and when it was shut, the door was so like the rest of the side of the room, that no one could have told there was a door there.

Saib had known of it, for he had seen a man put cords and ropes there, at a time when the berths in that room were not in use. The place was not quite dark -- there were small holes on the deck of that part of the ship, which let in light and air.

When Saib found that the looks of Mr. and Mrs. Bright were kind, hope took the place of fear, and, by signs and such words as he could speak, he made known his wish that they would let him stay where he had been, till the ship came to shore.

Mr. and Mrs. Bright felt so much grief for the state the poor boy was in, that they each had a strong wish to save him from all chance of more pain, and they knew that the best way to do this would be to buy him from Mr. Stone.

They made this wish known to Saib, and who could have seen the gleam of joy shed on the face of Saib, when he knew what Mr. and Mrs. Bright meant to do -- who could have seen it, and not have felt joy too?

Mr. Stone, as has been said, was a hard man, and Mr. Bright had to fear that he might be in such a rage at what Saib had done, that he would not sell him.

Yet, though Mr. Stone was a hard man, he was a man who had so great a wish to be a rich man, that he could not say no, when there was gain in his way; and though he was at first in a great rage, the sum Mr. Bright said he would give for Saib was so large a one, that Mr. Stone did not say no.

What was the joy of poor Saib when told he should be free! -- what was the joy of poor Saib when he found how much thought and care Mr. and Mrs. Bright had for him!

They took Saib with them to their own home, and had him taught all things that could be of use to him in the new state in which he now was.

Saib is now more than twelve years old; he has learnt to read, to write, to speak the truth, to try to be calm when rude boys tease him, and to feel grief when he has done wrong. To love his kind friends he has not to learn -- his heart bids him do that.

He feels all that Mrs. Bright has done for him -- he hopes he may not grieve her or Mr. Bright, but that he may be to them as a good son. -- Then they will not part with him; then they will be paid back for all that they have done.

The thought of such a great and good deed must make them glad in this world, and bring them joy in the next.




The Earth.


The world we live on is a large round ball, made of all kinds of rocks and of earths; and on a great part of it there are seas and lakes. The earth turns round each day, and goes round the sun once each year. In the day, that part of the world where we live points to the sun, and when the earth turns from the sun, it is night.

When the earth goes round the sun, the heat at one part of the year comes from the sun more straight to that part where we live, and makes the days hot and long, and the nights short, as in June; and when the light and heat do not come to us so straight, there are cold and frost and long nights.

In some parts of the world it is much more cold than where we live. There are parts, too, where the sun is more hot at all times of the year than we feel it. It is the heat of the sun that makes the winds. His heat on the sea makes the clouds.

The clouds rise in the air and fly to the land, where they fall in rain, and make plants and trees grow, and the brooks and springs flow.

The sea is salt, but the heat does not take up the salt in the fogs and clouds; so that the rain is quite pure, and makes springs for us to drink from.




A Fall From The Cliffs.


George Crisp was a good boy; he was kind to those he knew, and could not bear to have a thing that they had not.

He was glad when he could give things, and he gave a great deal to the poor that came to the house, so that his stock of cash was at a low ebb.

Though George might have set his mind on some toy, he felt glad to think that the pence which would have bought it had been of more use to some one else.

But though he was so good in this way, yet he had one fault which spoilt the whole. This fault was, that he would not do as he was bid; for he thought he knew as well as those who told him, and his Aunt, who taught him, did all she could to break him of the fault, but in vain.

George's house was on the sea coast, and George went to dig in the sands, to get shells, and to fish, and to sail boats in the pools which were left at low tide; and when it was high tide he went with his Aunt on the cliffs.

Now his Aunt had told him he must not go near the edge of the cliffs, for they were steep and high. His Aunt took hold of his hand when she went with him to the cliffs; for once he went so near the edge that he must have gone down, and would have been much hurt, had not his Aunt just caught him in time to save him.

One day, when they were on the cliffs, George's Aunt had left hold of his hand to get a wild rose from a bush. She had got it, and had gone back to take hold of George's hand, but no George was to be seen!

She then ran home, as she thought he might have gone back, but when she came near the town she saw two men with a dead boy in their arms. She ran in haste to look at him, and what was her grief to find that he was George!

The men took him home, and his Aunt, though in such a state that she knew not what she did, went home too.

When Mrs. Crisp saw him she sent at once for Mr. Pill.

Mr. Pill said that he was not quite dead, that he might, with great care, be brought to life, but that he would be ill for a long time. George was brought to the fire and wrapt up in warm things; air was blown down his mouth, and he was put in a warm bed. At last he came to life, but he was so ill that he knew no one, and could not speak.

The men told George's Aunt that they were in their boat, and had just gone out to fish, when they saw George fall down from the cliff. They got their boat to the place as soon as they could, and brought him home. George's Aunt now knew that he had gone to the edge of the cliff, when she had told him not to do so.

While George lay in bed, he thought what a bad boy he had been, and of what his Aunt had told him. And he thought, too, that if he should get well he would try to do what his Aunt told him to do.

George was a month ill. As soon as he was well he told his Aunt he would be a good boy, and try to do as she bid him -- for he now knew that what she told him to do was right.

Since that time George has done what he has been told to do, in all things; for he has thought of the fall he had down the cliff.

He was such a good boy, that all were fond of him, and what is more, he has grown up a good man.

Then let this tale warn those boys and girls who read it. May they do as they are bid, and may they not, as George once did, think that they know more than those who are more old than they are.




The Moon.


What is the bright moon, that shines so in the sky?

It is a world like ours, but not so large; and boys and girls may live there, and go to school and play, as they do on this earth. To boys or girls who live in the moon this earth of ours shines like a large moon, and must give a great deal more light to them than their moon does to us. They could see to read and write by the light of the earth quite well.

The moon gives light from the sun, and does not shine with its own light; and so the earth would give back the sun's light to the men in the moon.

There are land and sea, and hills and dales, in the moon; and the marks we see on it, like a face, are the lights and shades of the land, the hills, and the sea. There are hills too which are on fire, and they can be seen through a large spy-glass. Some men have thought they could make a spy-glass so large as would let them see the boys and girls in the moon, but they have not yet done it.

What a strange sight would it be if we could see them all at work!




The Man In The Moon.


Once on a time there was a man who had his home in the moon. He was a queer man, with a large round face that was kept so clear and bright that it shone, and on a clear night could be seen far, far off -- on the earth.

This man in the moon did like to look on the earth, and though it was so far off, he oft thought he should like to come and live here.

The earth to him did look so large and bright that he thought it must be a fine world to live in, where he could have more room to walk up and down, and not be kept in so small a place as the moon.

It made him sad when he could not look on this world, but for three weeks in each month he was made to turn his face, or to shade it from the world, so that he could not catch a straight view of it at those times.

And then he could not be seen by those men and boys on the earth, to whom he was so great a friend. His large round face was so bright that they, too, did not like him to leave them; but they knew he would come back in less than a month.

When he first came he was seen near to the sun, where it had just set, and he gave a side look at the earth. The next night he would be more from the sun, and swell out his face a bit; it would then look like a hoop that had been cut in two. His face would grow more fat each night, till one eye could be seen, then two, and then his whole round face.

Now this man would fret, and try to get on to the earth. Day by day, hour by hour, he would try, and try, and try to come more near.

He did move quite fast, and thought he got some miles on his way, but for all that he was still as far off. He went in a round, like a horse in a ring, and there kept, and still keeps as far off as he was, and will keep there for years to come.

Now you could tell him that it is far from wise for a man with a fat round face like his, to grieve and want to come to a world that he does not know to be a more nice place than the one he lives in.

You could tell him that there is much grief and pain to be borne here -- that few men who live here have such a round fat face as his, and that if he came he would have to work hard, and that care, and work, and pain might soon make him look thin, and lose his round bright face that shines so.

Yes, man in the moon, stay where you are. Do not long to have what you can not get, but rest there, and do what you have to do in peace and joy.

Be sure, man in the moon, you will find peace and joy if you do all the good you can in that world of yours, and that if you pine and grieve to come here, you will do no good at all, and make your life sad.

Boys and girls should do the same. They should not want to reach the man in the moon, but try to make the best of what they have. They may be sure that to be good and do as they are bid, will give them more joy than the most bright things they could find in the moon.




Frank Hart.


There is in this world one grief of a kind so sad that there are some who have not heard of it -- there are still more who have not felt it.

This is the grief of a young child when he feels that he who ought to be his best friend -- he who ought to love him more than all else love him -- he who ought to soothe all his pains, and be glad at all his joys, -- that he has no thought, no care, no love for him; and what is far worse than this, who chills the pure first thoughts of a young child's mind, and turns such thoughts to pain.

Let all those who have not heard of grief so great as this, joy and be glad; but let them, while they dwell with thanks on their own lot, think and feel for the lot of poor Frank Hart.

Mr. Hart was a man who did not know the rule of self. He had not been taught this rule when he was young, and when he grew up to be a man, self had full rule over him.

His young ones, for he had more than Frank, felt this fault hard to bear. So great was their fear of Mr. Hart, that when he was in the room they did not dare to speak, or to laugh, or to move. Had they a book in hand, they did not dare to turn the leaves, for fear that they might be heard; nor could they leave the room, for their shoes might creak, or the door might make a noise.

Thus would these poor things sit, till (sound of joy!) the well known, and at times the long sought for sound, the push of Mr. Hart's chair, told them he would soon be gone. Then the door would shut; and no shut of door could bring more ease and joy than the shut of that.

He was gone! and these young ones, freed from such chains as few so young have felt, would rise up from their chairs and jump, in proof that they were free; and though they might not speak a word, each knew what was felt by all.

Frank was not so old by two years as the one next to him in age: he was but eight years old, and he did not dare to tell how great was his fear of Mr. Hart.

Frank thought that to feel as he felt must be wrong, and yet he could not help it. He thought this when he saw all boys else so glad to see the friend who was to them all that Mr. Hart ought to have been to Frank.

Frank, when he saw the rush of joy, when he heard the loud laugh of glee with which these boys were wont to greet this friend of theirs, has felt sad.

The bell that calls a child, though from its room of play to the room down stairs, that bell which is a sound so full of joy, brought no joy to poor Frank. It was a sound that he could not bear to hear, for to him it rang a knell of pain. And who can blame Frank for this? who can when they know the scene to which such a bell would call him?

"Come in, Frank," said Mr. Hart one day to him, "come in: here is an egg for you."

Frank could not think that such a thing could be for him, yet he saw the egg, and his face told how glad he was.

"Thank you," said Frank, as in great haste he took hold of the spoon.

He broke the shell with much care, and took it off bit by bit. He had just put his spoon so as to take up some of the nice white, when he found that quite as hard as he had found the shell. This was odd! but still he broke through that, when his spoon fell through it -- it was but an egg-shell full of air!

What was poor Frank's look of woe! He gave one quick glance at Mr. Hart: such a glance it was! It said as plain as glance could say, "How can you do this to me?"

Yet the glance did not stop the loud laugh which burst forth; nor did that laugh cease till Frank had left the room, and then it rung in his ears for a long time.

Such a child as Frank was feels a thing like this much more than he feels pain that he is made to feel when he has done wrong. Such a child as Frank was knows when he has done wrong, and when he is made to feel pain for it, he thinks it is pain he ought to feel, to make him a good boy.

A child like Frank soon finds out if he is made to feel pain for his own good, or if he is made to feel it from some cross thought that may pass through the mind of some one who may not care for his good at all.

Thus Frank, who was a boy who thought a great deal, as young as he was, knew well when it was right he should be made to feel pain, and when it was done for no fault of his own.

Poor Frank! he has thought this last was the case when he has been told by Mr. Hart to snuff the light on his desk, and he has put it out.

Poor Frank! he has now and then made all dark; for when he has put out this desk light, there has been no light but the fire light to guide Mr. Hart's hand to Frank's ear. And, oh! that poor ear, how it did smart, and how loud the noise of the box did sound!

At these times Frank said not a word, nor did he shrink from the blow; but Frank thought, and his mind grew more and more full of thought.

But what most hurt Frank was, that things were done and said to him just to make him say what was queer, and then this queer thing would be told by Mr. Hart to his friends, and they would laugh at Frank.

Now Frank did not like this at all; and one night, when he had still on his mind some thing that he had said, which Mr. Hart had told, Mr. Hart all at once said to him, "Frank, wish a wish."

"I can't wish," said Frank.

"But you must wish, and you shall," said Mr. Hart.

Still Frank spoke not.

"What would you most wish to have?" said Mr. Hart.

"I don't know," said Frank.

"But you shall know -- I'll make you know -- you shall not go to bed till you do know, so speak at once."

Still Frank said not a word.

"Speak, Frank," once more said Mr. Hart: "speak, Frank, and say what you would the most wish to have, if you could have what you wish."

"I don't know," once more said Frank.

"You don't know! but I say you shall know -- you must know -- I'll make you know, I tell you. Go! you shall be shut up in that dark room! Go! there you shall stay, if it be all night; go!"

Frank said not a word, but did not move.

"Do you hear me?" said Mr. Hart.

Still Frank did not move.

Mr. Hart at length took him by the hand, and led him to the dark room.

This room was next to the one where they were. Mr. Hart took Frank by force, put him in, and shut the door.

And now there was poor Frank all in the dark.

The first sounds that came forth were "Oh! oh! oh!" and then a burst of tears. Soon all was still, and then there were more sobs and tears.

"Wish a wish, I tell you," once more said Mr. Hart. "Wish a wish, or you shall stay where you are all night."

"Stay! stay! stay!" said Frank. "Don't go, don't go!"

And now such a noise did he make at the door with his feet and hands that his voice could not well be heard; but through it all the scream of "Don't go, don't go!" went on.

"Good night," said Mr. Hart, when the noise was for a short time still, "good night, we all go, and we leave you there."

"Stay! oh, stay!" said Frank, in tones of woe.

"Wish a wish," said Mr. Hart, "or we are all gone."

"Oh!" said Frank, "I do wish I were in bed."

There was a loud laugh.

"You have now told your wish," said Mr. Hart, "and you may go to bed."

Frank did not stay to be told twice.




The Lost Ones.


Mr. and Mrs. Lloyd had two boys and one girl; their names were Paul, Charles, and Grace. They were good on the whole, but they had one fault.

Mrs. Lloyd had told them that she should not like them to go to a fair which was to be held on the tenth of June. It was now near that time, and they had a strong wish to go.

The tenth of June came, and the fair this year was most grand.

When they came to the front door, they saw such crowds of men, girls, and boys, that their wish to go was more strong than it had been.

Soon Mr. and Mrs. Lloyd went out, and left Paul, Charles, and Grace in the room. When they had been gone some time, Paul said to Grace, "Shall we take a walk?"

Grace said, "Yes, I should like to go; what do you think if we were to take a peep at the fair?"

"Oh," said Charles, "I should like that the best of all things. I will go and put on my hat."

So they went to put on their things, and out they set. Soon they came near the fair. Guess how great their joy! But how much more great would it have been if they had not felt that they had done wrong!

They saw grand shows, and stalls full of nice things. They had each of them brought half a crown; but the half-crowns were soon spent, and they would have been glad of more.

The day was far gone when they thought of home, and they were in a great fright to find that they were so far from home, and in a new road which they had not been in till then.

They were sad, and they knew, too, that they had brought this on them selves; for if they had not gone to the fair, when Mrs. Lloyd had told them not to go, this would not have been.

These thoughts were in their minds, when a Strange One, whose trade it was to tell fates, came near them, and said that if they had lost their way, she would take them home.

They told her they had been at the fair, and that they could not find their way home.

"Oh," said she, "I knew that, -- you could not cheat me." She then took Grace by the hand, Paul and Charles went on first. She led them on a great way: they did not dare to speak a word, for they were in a great fright. At last she came to a place where there was a large fire, with a pot on the top of it.

"Look here," said she to a man who was there, "I have brought these young folks, who do not know their way home."

"Oh!" said the man, "let 'em sleep here."

They slept that night on a mat.

The next day the Strange One put them on some rags, and took off their own nice clothes.

When they saw what clothes they had got on, they did not like them, but they did not dare to speak.

Soon this Strange One told them to go with her, and she led them on a great way. How they did scream and cry out! "This is not the way home; I want to go home: I will go home." This Strange One could bear it no more, and she told them that she would tie up their mouths, but they did not seem to mind.

At last she did tie their mouths; and she led them on, and on, and did not stop till she came to a wild heath.

There were a few tall trees, and here and there, there were wild roots and grass. She took some string, and bound them to trees, and left them.

No more has been known of the Strange One, nor of the man, from that day to this.

Now when Mr. and Mrs. Lloyd came home and found no Paul, nor Charles, nor Grace, they were in great grief. They then thought what would be the best to be done. At last Mrs. Lloyd went to ask her friend, Mrs. Wood, who told her that she had seen them at the fair.

Mrs. Lloyd, when she heard this, had more hope, and she thought that they might soon come home. But no! the clock struck one, two, and three, and still they did not come!

When this Strange One went, Paul, and Charles, and Grace were left on the wild heath. Think what a fright they must have been in -- no one near them: and no one knew where they were but this Strange One who had left them there.

At last Paul broke his string, and then he cut the strings of Charles and Grace. He took hold of their hands and led them up and down.

This heath was large and wild. Just as it was dark, great was their joy when they saw a house. It was a farm house; they went in the barn and slept all night on some straw. When day light came they got up, and went on till they came to a town.

They had not gone down the first street, when they saw their own milk-man. They ran to him at once: "Take us home," said they, "do take us home."

The milk-man did take them home.

When Mrs. Lloyd saw them -- when she knew that they were safe, she could not speak a word, but her look told a great deal -- they felt that look, and they all said, "We have done wrong, but we will try not to do wrong more."




The Sun.


The sun is a large world of much more size and weight than the earth and all the stars that move round it. It is by its great weight that it draws them all to it, and if they did not move fast and far in a course that takes them from the sun, all those stars that move round it with our world would be drawn to it in a short time. No one knows of what the sun is made, nor how it is that it gives so much heat and light; but most wise men think that it is a world like our own, where men can live, and not be burnt more than we are burnt by the heat of the earth. What makes the light and heat is a thing that seems strange to all. Some think that the clouds round it give out the light; that the black spots which are seen on the sun are large holes in the clouds round it, through which the sun is seen, and that the black spots are parts of the real sun. The sun shines and gives out heat to all the stars, which could not move in their orbs if the sun did not draw them to it; for they would else fly off through space.




The Doll's Head.


Jane Thorpe was eight years old; so good had she been that Mrs. Thorpe told her she would take her to a toy shop, where she might choose the toy she would like best.

The toy shop was three or four miles from Mrs. Thorpe's house, so she rang the bell, and sent to tell the groom to bring round the coach.

The coach came round to the door, and great was the joy of Jane.

Yet, though Jane was so glad, she would have been more glad if Charles might have gone too. But Charles could not go; he had not been a good boy, and Mrs. Thorpe said he must stay at home.

Jane gave one look at him as she left the room to put on her things, and as she got in the coach, a tear fell down her cheek.

But on went the coach, and soon Jane thought but of the toy shop, and of what toy she would like best to have. Round and round went the wheels, and soon they were put down at the door of the toy shop.

How hard it was to choose! Yet no choice could fail to please. But choose what she would, some things must be left that she would like to have!

There was a large coach, and each horse would put on and take off. There was a man to drive, who sat on the box, and who had a long whip in his hand; and, more than all, the doors of the coach would turn back, and they would shut! There was a hay cart, and in it were three men with smock frocks; and there were some dolls in gay clothes -- a great deal too smart to make hay, but they were so nice and so neat! and then all their things would take off and on, and they had large round hats on their heads.

Near this cart Jane stood a long time. At length she said, "I will choose this." But just when she said it she saw a doll -- a large doll, with blue eyes and light hair. Jane thought the doll's eyes were sweet and soft, and she said, "No, no; I will not have the cart, I will have that sweet doll: do, do let me have that."

The doll, which was made of wood, was a nice strong doll, and Jane saw it put up for her to take home. She took hold of it with great care, in fear to spoil the clean white frock it had got on.

When Jane was at home, she ran up stairs to show it to Charles and to her Aunt: and her Aunt gave her some silk to make a cloak for it. Jane did her best to try to make it well, nor did it take her a long time to do this, as her Aunt cut out the parts and put them for her in the right way.

Jane then ran for her hat, and, in great joy, took her doll, and went in the lime walk.

There was a seat in this walk; and here Jane would oft spend two or three hours in the cool shade of the trees.

On this seat she sat down now, and, when she had been some time, she thought she would fix her doll on a branch of a tree. She did so; and she thought she must run and ask her Aunt just to come and look at it. The doll was left, and off she went, full of glee and song.

Where her Aunt was gone Jane did not know; she was not in the rooms down stairs, nor was she in her own room up stairs; so Jane went in all parts of the house. "Aunt! Aunt!" she said, but no Aunt could she find. This took up a great deal of time, and at length she went back to the lime walk.

Poor Jane! what a sight for you to see was there! -- "My doll! my doll! O my doll!" were the first words she said, and then she sank down on the seat near the tree. And where was this doll of poor Jane's? There it was -- not the doll such as she had left it, but the doll with its head cut off!

The head was hung by a string to a branch of the tree, and the rest of the doll was on the ground.

"O my doll, my dear, dear doll! who can have done so bad a thing as this? my doll! my doll!"

Just at this time her Aunt came near the lime walk. She heard the sobs of Jane, and ran fast to see what was the cause. All she said when she saw the doll was, "My dear Jane," and she gave her such a kiss as an Aunt who loves her Niece can give. And then they went back to the house.

And who had done this bad thing? That must now be told.

There was a boy whose name was John Snap; he did not live far from Broom Hill, the house of Mr. Thorpe.

John Snap was not a good boy: he was so far from it that there was no one who had a child that did not try to keep him out of the way of John Snap. Mr. Thorpe had told Charles that he would not let him play with a boy he thought so ill of.

John Snap would take birds' nests, a thing which no boy with a kind heart could do; and he would tease dogs and cats, and do things that he knew would hurt them. Now it is quite sure that no good boy could do this; for he must know that all things that have life can feel pain as much as he feels it.

All things that have life can feel pain in all parts of their frame; but there is one kind of pain which dogs, and cats, and such things as they, do not feel as man feels it -- and that is pain of mind. Such pain as this is hurts much more than some pains that are felt to be hard to bear in the frame of man.

It was just such pain as this that Jane felt when she saw the head of her doll cut off. It was such pain as this that John Snap likes to give.

Though John Snap was so bad, yet he could do and say things which made boys like to be with him. There was now and then a great deal of fun in what he said, and he could make boys laugh. All boys like to laugh, and few could fail to laugh at what John Snap said.

Thus, in time, they might have been led to like him, and then they would not have thought some of the things he did so bad as they were. It was the fear of this which made Mr. Thorpe tell Charles he did not wish him to play with John Snap.

Mr. Thorpe told Charles that when John Snap spoke to him he must say what he had to say to him in a kind way, but that he must leave him as soon as he could.

Now it was not right of Charles Thorpe to go to John Snap's house, nor ought he to have gone out with him to play at trap and ball, for he knew that it was wrong to do so. This was the cause why he could not go with Jane to the toy shop. He was kept at home for a week, and told not to go past the sunk fence.

John Snap had not seen him for six days, so he thought he would go and call at Broom Hill. When he got there, he did not go to the house, but took a walk down the lime walk. This was just at the time when Jane was gone; and when he came to the seat near the tree he saw the doll. What he did may now be told.

Yes! it was John Snap who had done this deed. At noon, as soon as it was done, he went close to a tree, so that he could not be seen. He did this that he might see what Jane would do when she came back, and hear what she would say.

He heard and saw all; but when he found how great was Jane's grief, he kept quite close to the tree, and did not dare to move till she was gone. He then went home as fast as he could, and great was his hope that no one would know that it was he who had cut off the poor doll's head.

Mr. and Mrs. Thorpe, and Jane's Aunt too, thought that this was like some of John Snap's tricks, but they did not wish to say so to Jane or to Charles. Jane's Aunt had a plan which she thought would be the means to find out if he had done this or not.

One day Charles was sent to ask John Snap to dine at Broom Hill.

John was glad to go; but he felt he should not like to see Jane, for she might talk of her doll; and if she should talk of it, he thought that he might say or do that which might tell what he had done. Yet John Snap went to dine at Broom Hill.

Now there was one thing of which John Snap was most fond, and this thing was fruit tart. The fruit tarts at Broom Hill were so sweet, and the crust was so light!

The day on which John Snap went to dine at Broom Hill the fruit tart was put near where he sat. How nice and large it was! and how good it smelt too! He thought the time was long till the time came for the tart to be cut.

"It will soon be cut now," thought he. But this dish came, and that dish went, yet still the fruit tart was not cut. He said, "No thank you," to all, for he thought but of the tart.

At length all the things were gone but the tart. "That won't go, I hope," thought John; and great was his joy when he heard Mr. Thorpe say in a loud clear tone, "John Snap, will you please to cut that tart?"

John, in great haste to do what he was told, took up the spoon -- but the crust would not break: there was some hard thing, and the spoon would not go through the crust. One, twice, three times did he try. "Put a knife round the edge of the dish and clear off the crust," said Mr. Thorpe; "we must come to the fruit."

John Snap did so. He put a knife round the edge of the dish, and all the crust came off at once. And what was there in that dish?

A dolls head!

Jane gave a loud scream, and John Snap made a rush to the door.

He was out of the room, but he heard Jane say, "It was he who did it! it was he who did it! My poor doll!"

The tone of Jane's voice, as she said this, made John go back. He could not bear to hear her. "Jane! Jane!" he said, "that doll's head will be the means to make me a good boy. I feel I could be good. I feel some thing that tells me so. I grieve for what I have done -- I feel grief of such a kind as I have not felt till now."

Jane saw his face. When she saw his face, it told her so much that she said, "I will think of this no more."




Play Not With Fire.


Mr. and Mrs. Green had two girls, and their names were Kate and Anne. Kate was ten and Anne was eight years old.

It made Mrs. Green quite sad to think that she could not cure them of one bad fault; this fault was that they would play with fire.

All she said was of no use, for they would do it. Though she bought them books, and dolls, and all things that were nice, to play with, still fire was the thing they would play with. They would get a long piece of straw and set it on fire, and say it was a torch; and they went with these straws up and down stairs, and said they were in mines.

When Mrs. Green saw them do so she would scold them, and put them on chairs, or send them to bed, and did all she could to break them of it, but still they did not mind, and in a short time they would do the same.

Once one of the straws dropt and set their work on fire; and it might have done much harm, had not the maid just then come in to put on some coals. She threw the rug on the blaze, and put it out.

One day Mr. and Mrs. Green went out for a walk, and, as they could not take Kate and Anne with them, they were left in the house. When Mrs. Green left the house, she told them to mind not to touch the fire, and that, if they were good and did not touch it, she would bring them a nice toy.

Kate and Anne were glad at the time, but as soon as she was gone, they went down to the dog's house, which was full of straw, and each got some nice long straws. Then they went up stairs to pull down the blinds, to make it, as they said, seem more like a real mine. They then put long straws in the fire to light, and went with them up and down the room.

Kate bent some straws, and made them go round and round, and said they were squibs; Anne did the same; and they did this for more than half an hour.

They found that to do this did not burn them, as Mrs. Green had told them it would do, and they did not know why she did not like them to do it. This made them more bold, and they did it still more.

And at last Anne's frock caught fire, -- and how it did blaze up!

She ran up and down the room, and did not know what to do, she was in so much fear. Kate went to her to try to put out the blaze; then she, too, caught fire, and not one of them had the sense to roll on the rug.

Their cries brought up the maid, who wrapt them in the rug, which soon put out the fire; but when she took them out, what was her grief to see how they were burnt! Kate was not so much burnt as Anne, but still she was so sore that she could not stand; and so loud were their screams, that the maid thought that they would scream till they were dead. Great was their pain, and the maid put them in bed.

As soon as they were in bed Mr. and Mrs. Green came home from their walk. They were most sad when they saw the state in which Kate and Anne were; and still more sad were they to think that they had been at the fire, when Mrs. Green had told them not to go there.

She had brought Kate a book, and Anne a nice wax doll, as she thought to have found them good when she came home.

Both Kate and Anne felt a great deal of pain, and they were ill for a long time.

When they were well, poor Anne's face was not at all what it had been -- it was full of large scars and deep marks, that would not come out; and when she went to look in the glass, she gave a loud scream. How much did she wish she had not gone to the fire when she had been told not to so!

Poor Kate! the black mark on her hand gave her a great deal of pain, and when it was well she could not bear to look at it, for it brought to her mind what she had done.

They could not bear to see a large blaze, or to go near the fire, nor to warm their hands when they were cold.

Once when Mr. Green let off some squibs, they could not bear to see them, for it brought to their minds the time when they had been so much burnt.




One Fault Leads To A Worse One.


John Gay was eight years old. He was not a good boy, for he now and then told what was not true, and that is not right, for all boys and girls should speak the truth.

One day when his Aunt was in the room, John came in, and he saw her with a plum cake in her hand. She told him when she left the room, that he must not touch. He said, "No, Aunt; I will not touch it."

When his Aunt had been some time gone, John thought, "Well, if I were to take a bit of cake, my Aunt would not miss it from such a large cake as this is: yet it seems to me not to be quite right to take it."

But this boy (sad to say!) did take a piece, and he found it so good that he thought he would take a piece more. He did take some more; and he took piece by piece, and piece by piece, till he had made the cake quite small.

When he had done this, he knew that he had done wrong, and he felt sad. He went in his own room. He knew that the time must come when his Aunt would find it out.

He was sure that his Aunt would scold him if she knew; but he thought if he told her he had not done it she would think that he told the truth.

With these thoughts in his mind, he heard a knock at the door. He knew that it was his Aunt, so he made haste to come down stairs. He did not go in the room where the plum cake was, but he went in the next room. He took up a book, but he could not read, for his thoughts were too full of what he had done.

Soon his Aunt came in with the plum cake in her hand. "John," said she, "look at this cake: when I went out it was quite large, and now look at it!"

John said, "I do not know of it: how should I?"

She then rang; the bell: "Ann," said she as the maid came in the room, "do you know what has made the cake in this state? Call the cook, and ask her."

The cook said the same as Ann had said, that "she did not know of it."

When they were gone, his Aunt said to John, "It can be no one but you who have done this. I left you in the room with this cake, and told you not to touch it, and now, when I am come back, I find it in this state."

John could not speak a word, for he felt that he had done wrong. His Aunt saw this, and told him to go to bed.

When he was in bed he thought what a bad boy he had been, and how wrong it was for him to have told his Aunt what was not true. He thought that when he got up he would go and tell his Aunt how wrong he had been, and that he would do so no more.

John did as he thought he would do. His Aunt told him that if he was a good boy for a month, no more should be said of it.

He was a good boy for a month; but for a long time past the month, when John saw plum cake, a flush of shame came on his face.




What A Price For A Box!


Rose Wood was in want of six pence. She had seen a box that she had a great wish to buy; and she thought that if she had but six pence, which was the price of that box, she should not have a want for a long time.

Rose would stand close to the shop, near a pane of glass through which she could see this box, and each time she saw it the more strong was her wish to have it for her own.

So much did Rose think of it that it might be said she had not a wish but what was shut up in that box.

"What shall I do for six pence?" said Rose one day; "that box will cost but six pence, and if I had six pence it would be my own."

"Why," said Mark Wood, "if you will sell your self to me, I will give you six pence."

"Sell my self! yes, that I will," said Rose. "Give me six pence, and I will sell my self at once."

"But," said Mark, "do you know that when I have bought you, you will be my child, and that you must do all that I bid you do?"

"Oh! I will do all: I don't care what you bid me do, if I may but have the six pence to buy that box."

The six pence were hers, and the box was bought; but, poor Rose! you had to pay a great price for it.

With what joy she ran home box in hand!

"Look at it, look at it, Mark! This box is mine now; do just look at it. Do just look at this glass at the top: I can see my face in it, and I can see some of the things that are in the room. In the box I mean to keep small sweet cakes; and, Mark, I am sure I shall give you some, for you have been so kind to let me have the six pence. Oh, Mark, I do thank you so much."

"Stop, Rose, stop!" said Mark, "and do not thank me for the six pence till you know what I mean you to do for it. The first thing I shall tell you to do is, 'Put down the box.'"

"Put down the box!" said Rose: "not yet: -- why must I put down the box?"

"Why! I tell you to do so; you are my child now, and must do what I bid you."

Poor Rose!

"But I may play with the box? I must and will play with my nice new box; that you will let me do."

"No, Rose," said Mark, "I can let you play with it no more. You must come with me; I mean to send you out to find some cress, and then you must go and try to sell it. Come, I shall put you on this hat of old Bet's, and you must wear this old shawl, and you must tuck up your frock, and go out to find the cress."

"Oh dear! oh dear!" said Rose; "you do not mean that I should do this?"

"But I do mean it, and you must go at once."

Mark put on the hat and the shawl for her. She was quite still, and said not a word. Mark then took hold of her hand and led her to a field near the house, and told her she must not come back till she had got as much nice cress as would sell for two pence. He then shut the gate of the field, and left poor Rose by her self.

At first she did not move, so strange did it seem to her that she should be left thus.

Soon she sat down on a bank. When she had been there some time she got up.

"How queer this is!" said she; "but it is all fun:" yet the laugh with which she said this was soon a cry.

Rose was a girl not soon cast down; all that she had to do or to bear, she did her best to do and to bear it well. She took a walk up and down the field, and at last she thought, "Well, I might as well try and see if I can find some cress;" and then she ran up and down till she had got a great way from the house.

No cress could she find, so she thought she would turn back and go home. But just when she had thought this, she saw on a pond, at the foot of the long slope on which she stood, some bright green weed, that she thought was cress. Off she set down the slope as fast as she could run, and she ran so fast that she could not stop till she came to the end. When she did stop she could not move.

Rose was deep in the pond -- it came up as far as her throat! There she stuck quite fast, and there she might have stuck for hours, had not her cries been heard by Mark, who, though not seen, had not lost sight of her since the time she had left the house.

Mark, who was now in great fear, ran as fast as feet could run to the place where the head of Rose was to be seen on the pond, like a float on the top of green weeds. When Mark came to the slope, he went down it with care, lest the fate of Rose should be his.

The screams of Rose were loud: "I shall sink! I shall sink deep, deep down! Oh, help me! help me!" She then saw Mark: "Mark! Mark!" she said; "fast! fast! pray, pray come fast." Mark was now at the edge of the pond. "Raise up your arms," said he; "raise up your arms, and take fast hold of my hand."

The mud and slime were so thick that poor Rose found it hard to raise up her arms. Yet she did so, and caught hold of Mark's hand with such force that he, too, would have been in the pond had he not made a quick step back.

When Rose had got a firm grasp, Mark, with all the strength he had, did what he could to drag her out. At length she was out: she stood at the edge of the pond, her clothes thick with mud and slime; and such a weight she was, that she could not move fast.

Poor Mark stood by her side, his face quite pale with the fright he had had. They went up the slope as well as they could. When they were near home, just at the gate which led out of the last field, they were met by Mr. Wood. What must Mr. Wood have thought to see Rose in that strange state, and with such a queer hat on her head?

"Rose," he said, and the tone of his voice was a cross tone; "Rose, how is this? where can you have been, and how is it that I see you thus?"

"O Sir," said Mark, "do not scold Rose, do not scold Rose; it is all my fault, and all the blame must be mine." Mark then told Mr. Wood how Rose had sold her self to him for six pence, and what he had made her do when he had bought her.

"Go in the house, Rose," said Mr. Wood; "go to bed at once; what I have to say to you must not be said now."

Rose did not dare to hold up her head as she went through the hall. She felt much shame when the maid came to take off her clothes and to wash her. Rose saw the maid laugh, and that she did think was hard to bear, but she did not say a word.

Now Mr. Wood was a man who had a great deal of good sense, and when his boy or girl had done what was wrong, it was his wish that the cure should be wrought by their own sense of right and wrong. He thought that the shame they felt from the sense of wrong would be the best cure they could have. He did all he could to make them feel in what they had done wrong, and when he was sure they felt this he was sure they would do so no more.

Now Mark was wrong to have let Rose have the six pence; and what made it the more wrong was that he knew Mrs. Wood had once told Rose she did not wish her to buy the box she had so great a wish to buy, for she thought the glass at the top would soon break, and that Rose might be cut by it. Mr. Wood did not say much to Mark, for he saw that he felt a great deal. But he told Mark it was his wish that the pond scene should be felt by Rose, and that it should be made the means to cure her of her worst fault.

This fault was, that when Rose had a strong wish to have a thing she thought she should like to have, she would not hear no.

The more no was said, the more did she wish to have the thing to which it was said. This had just been the case with the box. Mrs. Wood had said no two, three, and four times, and each time that the no was said, the wish for yes had been more strong.

The next day, when Rose came down stairs, she did not raise up her eyes. Mr. Wood told her that as she had sold her self to Mark, he should leave her to his charge for three days, and in that time she must do all that Mark told her, and that she would have to do much she would not like.

"Oh, Sir," said Rose, "buy me back! do buy me back!"

"Not yet," said Mr. Wood, "but if you do all that Mark bids you do for three days, and if you do your best to try to put a check on the fault which has been the cause of all this, why, then I will buy you back."

The first day Rose did try as much as she could; but it was all she could do not to cry when Mark told her to do things: "You tell me, Mark! -- why should I do what you tell me?" and then she would think of the cause of that why, and she would hang down her head and blush.

The last of the three days was come, and on this day Rose felt light of heart. Once she went to the place where the box had been put; she took it up and said, "This box is mine -- I shall not lose this." She took off the lid, and just then she heard some one at the door. In great haste to put back the box, her foot slipt, and down she fell. In the fall the glass lid broke, and a piece of the glass stuck in her lip. The blood came in streams. Her cries were loud, and Mrs. Wood, who heard them, ran in great fear to know the cause.

It was a sad deep gash, and poor Rose was faint with pain and fright.

So deep was the wound, that for ten days Rose could not put food in her mouth; what food she took came through the spout of a tea-pot. Rose could not speak nor laugh: she had a great deal of pain to bear, and she did all she could to bear it well.

Mark would sit near her, and watch her, and read to her; and he would look so sad at times! When he was sad, Rose would do what she could to make her pain seem less than it was; but Rose's mouth could not prove the kind smile that was in her heart.

It was a long time ere Rose was quite well. Years are now flown in the stream of time since the day when Rose cut her lip.

The mark left by the cut is on her lip still. There it will be as long as she lives; and when she has a wish for that which she knows she ought not to have, that mark tells her to TAKE CARE.

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Uncle Wiggily And Old Mother Hubbard

By

Howard R. Garis



Chapter I

Uncle Wiggily And Mother Goose


There once lived in the woods an old rabbit gentleman named Uncle Wiggily Longears, and in the hollow-stump bungalow where he had his home there also lived Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, a muskrat lady housekeeper. Near Uncle Wiggily there were, in hollow trees, or in nests or in burrows under the ground, many animal friends of his -- rabbits, squirrels, puppy dogs, pussy cats, frogs, ducks, chickens and others, so that Uncle Wiggily and Nurse Jane were never lonesome.

Often Sammie or Susie Littletail, a small boy and girl rabbit, would hop over to the hollow-stump bungalow, and call:

"Uncle Wiggily! Uncle Wiggily! Can't you come out and play with us?"

Then the old rabbit gentleman, who was as fond of fun as a kitten, would put on his tall silk hat, take his red, white and blue striped barber-pole rheumatism crutch, that Nurse Jane had gnawed for him out of a corn-stalk, and he would go out to play with the rabbit children, about whom I have told you in other books.

Or perhaps Johnnie and Billie Bushytail, the squirrel boys, might ask Uncle Wiggily to go after hickory nuts with them, or maybe Lulu, Alice or Jimmie Wibblewobble, the duck children, would want their bunny uncle to see them go swimming.

So, altogether, Uncle Wiggily had a good time in his hollow-stump bungalow which was built in the woods. When he had nothing else to do Mr. Longears would go for a ride in his airship. This was made of a clothes-basket, with toy circus balloons on it to make it rise up above the trees. Or Uncle Wiggily might take a trip in his automobile, which had big bologna sausages on the wheels for tires. And whenever the rabbit gentleman wanted the automobile wheels to go around faster he sprinkled pepper on the sausages.

One day Uncle Wiggily said to Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy:

"I think I will go for a ride in my airship. Is there anything I can bring from the store for you?"

"Why, you might bring a loaf of bread and a pound of sugar," answered the muskrat lady.

"Very good," answered Uncle Wiggily, and then he took some soft cushions out to put in the clothes-basket part of his airship, so, in case the air popped out of the balloons, and he fell, he would land easy like, and soft.

Soon the rabbit gentleman was sailing off through the air, over the tree tops, his paws in nice, warm red mittens that Nurse Jane had knitted for him. For it was winter, you see, and Uncle Wiggily's paws would have been cold steering his airship, by the baby carriage wheel which guided it, had it not been for the mittens.

It did not take the bunny uncle long to go to the store in his airship, and soon, with the loaf of bread and pound of sugar under the seat, away he started for his hollow-stump bungalow again.

And, as he sailed on and over the tree tops, Uncle Wiggily looked far off, and he saw some black smoke rising in the air.

"Ha! That smoke seems to be near my hollow-stump bungalow," he said to himself. "I guess Nurse Jane is starting a fire in the kitchen stove to get dinner. I must hurry home."

Uncle Wiggily made his airship go faster, and then he saw, coming toward him, a big bird, with large wings.

"Why, that looks just like my old friend, Grandfather Goosey Gander," Uncle Wiggily thought to himself. "I wonder why he is flying so high? He hardly ever goes up so near the clouds.

"And he seems to have some one on his back," spoke Uncle Wiggily out loud this time, sort of talking to the loaf of bread and the pound of sugar. "A lady, too," went on the bunny uncle. "A lady with a tall hat on, something like mine, only hers comes to a point on top. And she has a broom with her. I wonder who it can be?"

And when the big white bird came nearer to the airship Uncle Wiggily saw that it was not Grandfather Goosey Gander at all, but another big gander, almost like his friend, whom he often went to see. And then the bunny uncle saw who it was on the bird's back.

"Why, it's Mother Goose!" cried Uncle Wiggily Longears. "It's Mother Goose! She looks just like her pictures in the book, too."

"Yes, I am Mother Goose," said the lady who was riding on the back of the big, white gander.

"I am glad to meet you, Mother Goose," spoke Mr. Longears. "I have often heard about you. I can see, over the tree tops, that Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, my muskrat lady housekeeper, is getting dinner ready. I can tell by the smoke. Will you not ride home with me? I will make my airship go slowly, so as not to get ahead of you and your fine gander-goose."

"Alas, Uncle Wiggily," said Mother Goose, scratching her chin with the end of the broom handle, "I cannot come home to dinner with you much as I would like it. Alas! Alas!"

"Why not?" asked the bunny uncle.

"Because I have bad news for you," said Mother Goose. "That smoke, which you saw over the tree tops, was not smoke from your chimney as Nurse Jane was getting dinner."

"What was it then?" asked Uncle Wiggily, and a cold shiver sort of ran up and down between his ears, even if he did have warm, red mittens on his paws. "What was that smoke?"

"The smoke from your burning bungalow," went on Mother Goose. "It caught fire, when Nurse Jane was getting dinner, and now --  -- "

"Oh! Don't tell me Nurse Jane is burned!" cried Uncle Wiggily. "Don't say that!"

"I was not going to," spoke Mother Goose, kindly. "But I must tell you that your hollow-stump bungalow is burned to the ground. There is nothing left but some ashes," and she made the gander, on whose back she was riding, fly close alongside of Uncle Wiggily's airship.

"My nice bungalow burned!" exclaimed the rabbit gentleman. "Well, I am very, very sorry for that. But still it might be worse. Nurse Jane might have been hurt, and that would have been quite too bad. I dare say I can get another bungalow."

"That is what I came to tell you about," said Mother Goose. "I was riding past when I saw your Woodland hollow-stump house on fire, and I went down to see if I could help. It was too late to save the bungalow, but I said I would find a place for you and Nurse Jane to stay to-night, or as long as you like, until you can build a new home."

"That is very kind of you," said Uncle Wiggily. "I hardly know what to do."

"I have many friends," went on Mother Goose. "You may have read about them in the book which tells of me. Any of my friends would be glad to have you come and live with them. There is the Old Woman Who Lives in a Shoe, for instance."

"But hasn't she so many children she doesn't know what to do?" asked Uncle Wiggily, as he remembered the story in the book.

"Yes," answered Mother Goose, "she has. I suppose you would not like it there."

"Oh, I like children," said Uncle Wiggily. "But if there are so many that the dear Old Lady doesn't know what to do, she wouldn't know what to do with Nurse Jane and me."

"Well, you might go stay with my friend Old Mother Hubbard," said Mother Goose.

"But if I went there, would not the cupboard be bare?" asked Uncle Wiggily, "and what would Nurse Jane and I do for something to eat?"

"That's so," spoke Mother Goose, as she reached up quite high and brushed a cobweb off the sky with her broom. "That will not do, either. I must see about getting Mother Hubbard and her dog something to eat. You can stay with her later. Oh, I have it!" suddenly cried the lady who was riding on the back of the white gander, "you can go stay with Old King Cole! He's a jolly old soul!"

Uncle Wiggily shook his head.

"Thank you very much, Mother Goose," he said, slowly. "But Old King Cole might send for his fiddlers three, and I do not believe I would like to listen to jolly music to-day when my nice bungalow has just burned down."

"No, perhaps not," agreed Mother Goose. "Well, if you can find no other place to stay to-night come with me. I have a big house, and with me live Little Bo Peep, Little Boy Blue, who is getting to be quite a big chap now, Little Tommie Tucker and Jack Sprat and his wife. Oh, I have many other friends living with me, and surely we can find room for you."

"Thank you," answered Uncle Wiggily. "I will think about it."

Then he flew down in his airship to the place where the hollow-stump bungalow had been, but it was not there now. Mother Goose flew down with her gander after Uncle Wiggily. They saw a pile of blackened and smoking wood, and near it stood Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady, and many other animals who lived in Woodland with Uncle Wiggily.

"Oh, I am so sorry!" cried Nurse Jane. "It is my fault. I was baking a pudding in the oven, Uncle Wiggily. I left it a minute while I ran over to the pen of Mrs. Wibblewobble, the duck lady, to ask her about making a new kind of carrot sauce for the pudding, and when I came home the pudding had burned, and the bungalow was on fire."

"Never mind," spoke Uncle Wiggily, kindly, "as long as you were not burned yourself, Nurse Jane."

"But where will you sleep to-night?" asked the muskrat lady, sorrowfully.

"Oh," began Uncle Wiggily, "I guess I can --  -- "

"Come stay with us!" cried Sammie and Susie Littletail, the rabbit children.

"Or with us!" invited Johnnie and Billie Bushytail, the squirrels.

"And why not with us?" asked Nannie and Billie Wagtail, the goat children.

"We'd ask you to come with us," said Jollie and Jillie Longtail, the mouse children, "only our house is so small."

Many of Uncle Wiggily's friends, who had hurried up to see the hollow-stump bungalow burn, while he was at the store, now, in turn, invited him to stay with them.

"I, myself, have asked him to come with me," said Mother Goose, "or with any of my friends. We all would be glad to have him."

"It is very kind of you," said the rabbit gentleman. "And this is what I will do, until I can build me a new bungalow. I will take turns staying at your different hollow-tree homes, your nests or your burrows underground. And I will come and visit you also, Mother Goose, and all of your friends; at least such of them as have room for me.

"Yes, that is what I'll do. I'll visit around now that my hollow-stump home is burned. I thank you all. Come, Nurse Jane, we will pay our first visit to Sammie and Susie Littletail, the rabbits."

And while the other animals hopped, skipped or flew away through the woods, and as Mother Goose sailed off on the back of her gander, to sweep more cobwebs out of the sky, Uncle Wiggily and Nurse Jane went to the Littletail burrow, or underground house.

"Good-bye, Uncle Wiggily!" called Mother Goose. "I'll see you again, soon, sometime. And if ever you meet with any of my friends, Little Jack Horner, Bo Peep, or the three little pigs, about whom you may have read in my book, be kind to them."

"I will," promised Uncle Wiggily.

And he did, as you may read in the next chapter, when, if the sugar spoon doesn't tickle the carving knife and make it dance on the bread board, the story will be about Uncle Wiggily and the first little pig.



Chapter II

Uncle Wiggily And The First Pig


Uncle Wiggily Longears, the nice old gentleman rabbit, came out of the underground burrow house of the Littletail family, where he was visiting a while with the bunny children, Sammie and Susie, because his own hollow-stump bungalow had burned down.

"Where are you going, Uncle Wiggily?" asked Sammie Littletail, the rabbit boy, as he strapped his cabbage leaf books together, ready to go to school.

"Oh, I am just going for a little walk," answered Uncle Wiggily. "Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper, asked me to get her some court plaster from the five and six cent store, and on my way there I may have an adventure. Who knows?"

"We are going to school," said Susie. "Will you walk part of the way with us, Uncle Wiggily?"

"To be sure I will!" crowed the old gentleman rabbit, making believe he was Mr. Cock A. Doodle, the rooster.

So Uncle Wiggily, with Sammie and Susie, started off across the snow-covered fields and through the woods. Pretty soon they came to the path the rabbit children must take to go to the hollow-stump school, where the lady mouse teacher would hear their carrot and turnip gnawing lessons.

"Good-by, Uncle Wiggily!" called Sammie and Susie. "We hope you have a nice adventure,"

"Good-by. Thank you, I hope I do," he answered.

Then the rabbit gentleman walked on, while Sammie and Susie hurried to school, and pretty soon Mr. Longears heard a queer grunting noise behind some bushes near him.

"Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!" came the sound.

"Hello! Who is there?" asked Uncle Wiggily.

"Why, if you please, I am here, and I am the first little pig," came the answer, and out from behind the bush stepped a cute little piggie boy, with a bundle of straw under his paw.

"So you are the first little pig, eh?" asked Uncle Wiggily. "How many of you are there altogether?"

"Three, if you please," grunted the first little pig. "I have two brothers, and they are the second and third little pigs. Don't you remember reading about us in the Mother Goose book?"

"Oh, of course I do!" cried Uncle Wiggily, twinkling his nose. "And so you are the first little pig. But what are you going to do with that bundle of straw?"

"I'm going to build me a house, Uncle Wiggily, of course," grunted the piggie boy. "Don't you remember what it says in the book? 'Once upon a time there were three little pigs, named Grunter, Squeaker and Twisty-Tail.' Well, I'm Grunter, and I met a man with a load of straw, and I asked him for a bundle to make me a house. He very kindly gave it to me, and now, I'm off to build it."

"May I come?" asked Uncle Wiggily. "I'll help you put up your house."

"Of course you may come -- glad to have you," answered the first little pig. "Only you know what happens to me; don't you?"

"No! What?" asked the rabbit gentleman. "I guess I have forgotten the story."

"Well, after I build my house of straw, just as it says in the Mother Goose story book, along comes a bad old wolf, and he blows it down," said the first little pig.

"Oh, how dreadful!" cried Uncle Wiggily, "but maybe he won't come to-day."

"Oh, yes, he will," said the first little pig. "It's that way in the book, and the wolf has to come."

"Well, if he does," said Uncle Wiggily, "maybe I can save you from him."

"Oh, I hope you can!" grunted Grunter. "It is no fun to be chased by a wolf."

So the rabbit gentleman and the piggie boy went on and on, until they came to the place where Grunter was to build his house of straw. Uncle Wiggily helped, and soon it was finished.

"Why, it is real nice and cozy in here," said Uncle Wiggily, when he had made a big pile of snow back of the straw house to keep off the north wind, and had gone in with the little piggie boy.

"Yes, it is cozy enough," spoke Grunter, "but wait until the bad wolf comes. Oh, dear!"

"Maybe he won't come," said the rabbit, hopeful like.

"Yes, he will!" cried Grunter. "Here he comes now."

And, surely enough, looking out of the window, the piggie boy and Uncle Wiggily saw a bad wolf running over the snow toward them. The wolf knocked on the door of the straw house and cried:

"Little pig! Little pig! Let me come in."

"No! No! By the hair of my chinny-chin-chin. I will not let you in!" answered Grunter, just like in the book.

"Then I'll puff and I'll blow, and I'll blow your house in!" howled the wolf. Then he puffed and he blew, and, all of a sudden, over went the straw house. But, just as it was falling down, Uncle Wiggily cried:

"Quick, Grunter, come with me! I'll dig a hole for us in the pile of snow that I made back of your house and in there we'll hide where the wolf can't find us!" Then the rabbit gentleman, with his strong paws, just made for digging, burrowed a hole in the snow-bank, and as the straw house toppled down, into this hole he crawled with Grunter.

"Now I've got you!" cried the wolf, as he blew down the first little pig's straw house. But when the wolf looked he couldn't see Grunter or Uncle Wiggily at all, because they were hiding in the snow-bank.

"Well, well!" howled the wolf. "This isn't like the book at all! Where is that little pig?"

But the wolf could not find Grunter, and soon the bad creature went away, fearing to catch cold in his eyes. Then Uncle Wiggily and Grunter came out of the snow-bank and were safe, and Uncle Wiggily took Grunter home to the rabbit house to stay until Mother Goose came, some time afterward, to get the first little pig boy.

"Thank you very much, Uncle Wiggily," said Mother Goose, "for being kind to one of my friends."

"Pray don't mention it. I had a fine adventure, besides saving a little pig," said the rabbit gentleman. "I wonder what will happen to me to-morrow?"

And we shall soon see for, if the snowball doesn't wrap itself up in the parlor rug to hide away from the jam tart, when it comes home from the moving pictures, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the second little pig.



Chapter III

Uncle Wiggily And The Second Pig


"There! It's all done!" exclaimed Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the nice muskrat lady housekeeper, who, with Uncle Wiggily Longears, the rabbit gentleman, was staying in the Littletail rabbit house, since the hollow-stump bungalow had burned down.

"What's all done?" asked Uncle Wiggily, looking over the tops of his spectacles.

"These jam tarts I baked for Billie and Nannie Wagtail, the goat children," said Nurse Jane. "Will you take them with you when you go out for a walk, Uncle Wiggily, and leave them at the goat house?"

"I most certainly will," said the rabbit gentleman, very politely. "Is there anything else I can do for you, Nurse Jane?"

But the muskrat lady wanted nothing more, and, wrapping up the jam tarts in a napkin so they would not catch cold, she gave them to Mr. Longears to take to the two goat children.

Uncle Wiggily was walking along, wondering what sort of an adventure he would have that day, or whether he would meet Mother Goose again, when all at once he heard a voice speaking from behind some bushes.

"Yes, I think I will build my house here," the voice said. "The wolf is sure to find me anyhow, and I might as well have it over with. I'll make my house here."

Uncle Wiggily looked over the bushes, and there he saw a funny little animal boy, with some pieces of wood on his shoulder.

"Hello!" cried Uncle Wiggily, making his nose twinkle in a most jilly-jolly way. "Who are you, and what are you going to do?"

"Why, I am Squeaker, the second little pig, and I am going to make a house of wood," was the answer. "Don't you remember how it reads in the Mother Goose book? 'Once upon a time there were three little pigs, named Grunter, Squeaker and --  -- '"

"Oh, yes, I remember!" Uncle Wiggily said. "I met your brother Grunter yesterday, and helped him build his straw house."

"That was kind of you," spoke Squeaker. "I suppose the bad old wolf got him, though. Too bad! Well, it can't be helped, as it is that way in the book."

"Little pig! Little pig! Let me come in!"

Uncle Wiggily didn't say anything about having saved Grunter, for he wanted to surprise Squeaker, so the rabbit gentleman just twinkled his nose again and asked:

"May I have the pleasure of helping you build your house of wood?"

"Indeed you may, thank you," said Squeaker. "I suppose the old wolf will be along soon, so we had better hurry to get the house finished."

Then the second little pig and Uncle Wiggily built the wooden house. When it was almost finished Uncle Wiggily went out near the back door, and began piling up some cakes of ice to make a sort of box.

"What are you doing?" asked Squeaker.

"Oh, I'm just making a place where I can put these jam tarts I have for Nannie and Billie Wagtail," the rabbit gentleman answered. "I don't want the wolf to get them when he blows down your house."

"Oh, dear!" sighed Squeaker. "I rather wish, now, he didn't have to blow over my nice wooden house, and get me. But he has to, I s'pose, 'cause it's in the book."

Still, Uncle Wiggily didn't say anything, but he just sort of blinked his eyes and twinkled his pink nose, until, all of a sudden, Squeaker looked across the snowy fields, and he cried:

"Here comes the bad old wolf now!"

And, surely enough, along came the growling, howling creature. He ran up to the second little pig's wooden house, and, rapping on the door with his paw, cried:

"Little pig! Little pig! Let me come in!"

"No, no! By the hair on my chinny-chin-chin I will not let you in," said the second little pig, bravely.

"Then I'll puff and I'll blow, and I'll puff and I'll blow, and blow your house in!" howled the wolf.

Then he puffed out his cheeks, and he took a long breath and he blew with all his might and main and suddenly:

"Cracko!"

Down went the wooden house of the second little piggie, and only that Uncle Wiggily and Squeaker jumped to one side they would have been squashed as flat as a pancake, or even two pancakes.

"Quick!" cried the rabbit gentleman in the piggie boy's ear. "This way! Come with me!"

"Where are we going?" asked Squeaker, as he followed the rabbit gentleman over the cracked and broken boards, which were all that was left of the house.

"We are going to the little cabin that I made out of cakes of ice, behind your wooden house," said Uncle Wiggily. "I put the jam tarts in it, but there is also room for us, and we can hide there until the bad wolf goes off."

"Well, that isn't the way it is in the book," said the second little pig. "But --  -- "

"No matter!" cried Uncle Wiggily. "Hurry!" So he and Squeaker hid in the ice cabin back of the blown-down house, and when the bad wolf came poking along among the broken boards, to get the little pig, he couldn't find him. For Uncle Wiggily had closed the door of the ice place, and as it was partly covered with snow the wolf could not see through.

"Oh, dear!" howled the wolf. "That's twice I've been fooled by those pigs! It isn't like the book at all. I wonder where he can have gone?"

But he could not find Squeaker or Uncle Wiggily either, and finally the wolf's nose became so cold from sniffing the ice that he had to go home to warm it, and so Uncle Wiggily and Squeaker were safe.

"Oh, I don't know how to thank you," said the second little piggie boy as the rabbit gentleman took him home to Mother Goose, after having left the jam tarts at the home of the Wagtail goats.

"Pray do not mention it," spoke Uncle Wiggily, modest like, and shy. "It was just an adventure for me."

He had another adventure the following day, Uncle Wiggily did. And if the dusting brush doesn't go swimming in the soap dish, and get all lather so that it looks like a marshmallow cocoanut cake, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the third little pig.



Chapter IV

Uncle Wiggily And The Third Pig


Uncle Wiggily Longears sat in the burrow, or house under the ground, where he and Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady, lived with the Littletail family of rabbits since the hollow-stump bungalow had burned.

"Oh, dear!" sounded a grunting, woofing sort of voice over near one window.

"Oh, dear!" squealed another voice from under the table.

"Well, well! What is the matter with you two piggie boys?" asked Uncle Wiggily, as he took down from the sideboard his red, white and blue barber-pole striped rheumatism crutch that Nurse Jane had gnawed for him out of a cornstalk.

"What's the trouble, Grunter and Squeaker?" asked the rabbit gentleman.

"We are lonesome for our brother," said the two little piggie boys No. 1 and No. 2. "We want to see Twisty-Tail."

For the first and second little pigs, after having been saved by Uncle Wiggily, and taken home to Mother Goose, had come back to pay a visit to the bunny gentleman.

"Well, perhaps I may meet Twisty-Tail when I go walking to-day," spoke Uncle Wiggily. "If I do I'll bring him home with me."

"Oh, goodie!" cried Grunter and Squeaker. For they were the first and second little pigs, you see. Uncle Wiggily had saved Grunter from the bad wolf when the growling creature blew down Grunter's straw house. And, in almost the same way, the bunny uncle had saved Squeaker, when his wooden house was blown over by the wolf. But Twisty-Tail, the third little pig, Uncle Wiggily had not yet helped.

"I'll look for Twisty-Tail to-day," said the rabbit gentleman as he started off for his adventure walk, which he took every afternoon and morning.

On and on went Uncle Wiggily Longears over the snow-covered fields and through the wood, until just as he was turning around the corner near an old red stump, the rabbit gentleman heard a clinkity-clankity sort of a noise, and the sound of whistling.

"Ha! Some one is happy!" thought the bunny uncle. "That's a good sign -- whistling. I wonder who it is?"

He looked around the stump corner and he saw a little animal chap, with blue rompers on, and a fur cap stuck back of his left ear, and this little animal chap was whistling away as merrily as a butterfly eating butterscotch candy.

"Why, that must be the third little pig!" exclaimed Uncle Wiggily. "Hello!" called the rabbit gentleman. "Are you Twisty-Tail?"

"That's my name," answered the little pig, "and, as you see, I am building my house of bricks, just as it tells about in the Mother Goose book."

And, surely enough, Twisty-Tail was building a little house of red bricks, and it was the tap-tap-tapping of his trowel, or mortar-shovel, that made the clinkity-clankity noise.

"Do you know me, Uncle Wiggily?" asked the piggie boy. "You see I am in a book. 'Once upon a time there were three little pigs, and --  -- '"

"I know all about you," interrupted Uncle Wiggily. "I have met Mother Goose, and also your two brothers."

"They didn't know how to build the right kind of houses, and so the wolf got them," said Twisty-Tail. "I am sorry, but it had to happen that way, just as it is in the book."

Uncle Wiggily smiled, but said nothing.

"I met a man with a load of bricks, and I begged some of them to build my house," said Twisty-Tail. "No wolf can get me. No, sir-ee! I'll build my house very strong, not weak like my brothers'. No, indeed!"

"I'll help you build your house," offered Uncle Wiggily, kindly, and just as he and Twisty-Tail finished the brick house and put on the roof it began to rain and freeze.

"We are through just in time," said Twisty-Tail, as he and the rabbit gentleman hurried inside. "I don't believe the wolf will come out in such weather."

But just as he said that and looked from the window, the little piggie boy gave a cry, and said:

"Oh, here comes the bad animal now! But he can't get in my house, or blow it over, 'cause the book says he didn't."

The wolf came up through the freezing rain and knocking on the third piggie boy's brick house, said:

"Little pig! Little pig! Let me come in!"

"No! No! By the hair of my chinny-chin-chin, I will not let you in!" grunted Twisty-Tail.

"Then I'll puff and I'll blow, and I'll blow your house in!" howled the wolf.

"You can't! The book says so!" laughed the little pig. "My house is a strong, brick one. You can't get me!"

"Just you wait!" growled the wolf. So he puffed out his cheeks, and he blew and he blew, but he could not blow down the brick house, because it was so strong.

"Well, I'm in no hurry," the wolf said. "I'll sit down and wait for you to come out."

So the wolf sat down on his tail to wait outside the brick house. After a while Twisty-Tail began to get hungry.

"Did you bring anything to eat, Uncle Wiggily?" he asked.

"No, I didn't," answered the rabbit gentleman. "But if the old wolf would go away I'd take you where your two brothers are visiting with me in the Littletail family rabbit house and you could have all you want to eat."

Rut the wolf would not go away, even when Uncle Wiggily asked him to, most politely, making a bow and twinkling his nose.

"I'm going to stay here all night," the wolf growled. "I am not going away. I am going to get that third little pig!"

"Are you? Well, we'll see about that!" cried the rabbit gentleman. Then he took a rib out of his umbrella, and with a piece of his shoe lace (that he didn't need) for a string he made a bow like the Indians used to have.

"If I only had an arrow now I could shoot it from my umbrella-bow, hit the wolf on the nose and make him go away," said Uncle Wiggily. Then he looked out of the window and saw where the rain, dripping from the roof, had frozen into long, sharp icicles.

"Ha!" cried Uncle Wiggily. "An icicle will make the best kind of an arrow! Now I'll shoot the wolf, not hard enough to hurt him, but just hard enough to make him run away."

Reaching out the window Uncle Wiggily broke off a sharp icicle. He put this ice arrow in his bow and, pulling back the shoe string, "twang!" he shot the wolf on the nose.

"Oh, wow! Oh, double-wow! Oh, custard cake!" howled the wolf. "This isn't in the Mother Goose book at all. Not a single pig did I get! Oh, my nose! Ouch!"

Then he ran away, and Uncle Wiggily and Twisty-Tail could come safely out of the brick house, which they did, hurrying home to the bunny house where Grunter and Squeaker were, to get something to eat. So everything came out right, you see, and Uncle Wiggily saved the three little pigs, one after the other.

And if the canary bird doesn't go swimming in the rice pudding, and eat out all the raisin seeds, so none is left for the parrot, I'll tell you next of Uncle Wiggily and Little Boy Blue.



Chapter V

Uncle Wiggily And Little Boy Blue


"Uncle Wiggily, are you very busy to-day?" asked Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper, who, with the old rabbit gentleman, was on a visit to the Bushytail family of squirrels in their hollow-tree home.

After staying a while with the Littletail rabbits, when his hollow-stump bungalow had burned down, the bunny uncle went to visit Johnnie and Billie Bushytail.

"Are you very busy, Uncle Wiggily?" asked the muskrat lady.

"Why, no, Nurse Jane, not so very," answered the bunny uncle. "Is there something you would like me to do for you?" he asked, with a polite bow.

"Well, Mrs. Bushytail and I have just baked some pies," said the muskrat lady, "and we thought perhaps you might like to take one to your friend, Grandfather Goosey Gander."

"Fine!" cried Uncle Wiggily, making his nose twinkle like a star on a Christmas tree in the dark. "Grandpa Goosey will be glad to get a pie. I'll take him one."

"We have it all ready for you," said Mrs. Bushytail, the squirrel mother of Johnnie and Billie, as she came in the sitting-room. "It's a nice hot pie, and it will keep your paws warm, Uncle Wiggily, as you go over the ice and snow through the woods and across the fields."

"Fine!" cried the bunny uncle again. "I'll get ready and go at once."

Uncle Wiggily put on his warm fur coat, fastened his tall silk hat on his head, with his ears sticking up through holes cut in the brim, so it would not blow off, and then, taking his red, white and blue striped rheumatism crutch, that Nurse Jane had gnawed for him out of a cornstalk, away he started. He carried the hot apple pie in a basket over his paw.

"Grandpa Goosey will surely like this pie," said Uncle Wiggily to himself, as he lifted the napkin that was over it to take a little sniff. "It makes me hungry myself. And how nice and warm it is," he went on, as he put one cold paw in the basket to warm it; warm his paw I mean, not the basket.

Over the fields and through the woods hopped the bunny uncle. It began to snow a little, but Uncle Wiggily did not mind that, for he was well wrapped up.

When he was about halfway to Grandpa Goosey's house Uncle Wiggily heard, from behind a pile of snow, a sad sort of crying voice.

"Hello!" exclaimed the bunny uncle, "that sounds like some one in trouble. I must see if I can help them."

Uncle Wiggily looked over the top of the pile of snow, and, sitting on the ground, in front of a big icicle, was a boy all dressed in blue. Even his eyes were blue, but you could not very well see them, as they were filled with tears.

"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" said Uncle Wiggily, kindly. "This is quite too bad! What is the matter, little fellow; and who are you?"

"I am Little Boy Blue, from the home of Mother Goose," was the answer, "and the matter is that it's lost!"

"What is lost?" asked Uncle. "If it's a penny I will help you find it."

"It isn't a penny," answered Boy Blue. "It's the hay stack which I have to sleep under. I can't find it, and I must see where it is or else things won't be as they are in the Mother Goose book. Don't you know what it says?" And he sang:

"Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn, There are sheep in the meadow and cows in the corn. Where's Little Boy Blue, who looks after the sheep? Why he's under the hay stack, fast asleep.

"Only I can't go to sleep under the hay stack, Uncle Wiggily, because I can't find it. And, oh, dear! I don't know what to do!" and Little Boy Blue cried harder than ever, so that some of his tears froze into little round marbles of ice, like hail stones.

"There, there, now!" said Uncle Wiggily, kindly. "Of course you can't find a hay stack in the winter. They are all covered with snow."

"Are they?" asked Boy Blue, real surprised like.

"Of course, they are!" cried Uncle Wiggily, in his most jolly voice. "Besides, you wouldn't want to sleep under a hay stack, even if there was one here, in the winter. You would catch cold and have the sniffle-snuffles."

"That's so, I might," Boy Blue said, and he did not cry so hard now. "But that isn't all, Uncle Wiggily," he went on, nodding at the rabbit gentleman. "It isn't all my trouble."

"What else is the matter?" asked the bunny uncle.

"It's my horn," spoke the little boy who looked after the cows and sheep. "I can't make any music tunes on my horn. And I really have to blow my horn, you know, for it says in the Mother Goose book that I must. See, I can't blow it a bit." And Boy Blue put his horn to his lips, puffed out his cheeks and blew as hard as he could, but no sound came out.

"Let me try," said Uncle Wiggily. The rabbit gentleman took the horn and he, also, tried to blow. He blew so hard he almost blew off his tall silk hat, but no sound came from the horn.

"Ah, I see what the trouble is!" cried the bunny uncle with a jolly laugh, looking down inside the "toot-tooter." "It is so cold that the tunes are all frozen solid in your horn. But I have a hot apple pie here in my basket that I was taking to Grandpa Goosey Gander. I'll hold the cold horn on the hot pie and the tunes will thaw out."

"Oh, have you a pie in there?" asked Little Boy Blue. "Is it the Christmas pie into which Little Jack Horner put in his thumb and pulled out a plum?"

"Not quite, but nearly the same," laughed Uncle Wiggily. "Now to thaw out the frozen horn."

The bunny uncle put Little Boy Blue's horn in the basket with the hot apple pie. Soon the ice was melted out of the horn, and Uncle Wiggily could blow on it, and play tunes, and so could Boy Blue. Tootity-toot-toot tunes they both played.

"Now you are all right!" cried the bunny uncle. "Come along with me and you may have a piece of this pie for yourself. And you may stay with Grandpa Goosey Gander until summer comes, and then blow your horn for the sheep in the meadow and the cows in the corn. There is no need, now, for you to stay out in the cold and look for a haystack under which to sleep."

"No, I guess not," said Boy Blue. "I'll come with you, Uncle Wiggily. And thank you, so much, for helping me. I don't know what would have happened only for you."

"Pray do not mention it," politely said Uncle Wiggily with a laugh. Then he and little Boy Blue hurried on through the snow, and soon they were at Grandpa Goosey's house with the warm apple pie, and oh! how good it tasted! Oh, yum-yum!

And if the church steeple doesn't drop the ding-dong bell down in the pulpit and scare the organ, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and Higgledee Piggledee.



Chapter VI

Uncle Wiggily And Higgledee Piggledee


One day Uncle Wiggily Longears, the nice old gentleman rabbit, was sitting in an easy chair in the hollow-stump house of the Bushytail squirrel family, where he was paying a visit to Johnnie and Billie Bushytail, the two squirrel boys.

There came a knock on the door, but the bunny uncle did not pay much attention to it, as he was sort of taking a little sleep after his dinner of cabbage soup with carrot ice cream on top.

Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper, went out in the hall, and when she came back, with her tail all tied up in a pink ribbon, (for she was sweeping) she said:

"Uncle Wiggily, a friend of yours has come to see you."

"A friend of mine!" cried Uncle Wiggily, awakening so suddenly that his nose stopped twinkling. "I hope it isn't the bad old fox from the Orange Mountains."

"No," answered Nurse Jane with a smile, "it is a lady."

"A lady?" exclaimed the old rabbit gentleman, getting up quickly, and looking in the glass to see that his ears were not criss-crossed. "Who can it be?"

"It is Mother Goose," went on Nurse Jane. "She says you were so kind as to help Little Boy Blue the other day, when his horn was frozen, and you thawed it on the warm pie, that perhaps you will now help her. She is in trouble."

"In trouble, eh?" exclaimed Uncle Wiggily, sort of smoothing down his vest, fastidious like and stylish. "I didn't know she blew a horn."

"She doesn't," said Nurse Jane. "But I'll bring her in and she can tell you, herself, what she wants."

"Oh, Uncle Wiggily!" cried Mother Goose, as she set her broom down in one corner, for she never went out unless she carried it with her. She said she never could tell when she might have to sweep the cobwebs out of the sky. "Oh, Uncle Wiggily, I am in such a lot of trouble!"

"Well, I will be very glad to help you if I can," said the bunny uncle. "What is it?"

"It's about Higgledee Piggledee," answered Mother Goose.

"Higgledee Piggledee!" exclaimed Uncle Wiggily, "why that sounds like --  -- "

"She's my black hen," went on Mother Goose. "You know how the verse goes in the book about me and my friends."

And, taking off her tall peaked hat, which she wore when she rode on the back of the old gander, Mother Goose sang:

"Higgledee Piggledee, my black hen, She lays eggs for gentlemen. Sometimes nine and sometimes ten. Higgledee Piggledee, my black hen. Gentlemen come every day, To see what my black hen doth lay."

"Well," asked Uncle Wiggily, "what is the trouble? Has Higgledee Piggledee stopped laying? If she has I am afraid I can't help you, for hens don't lay many eggs in winter, you know."

"Oh, it isn't that!" said Mother Goose, quickly. "Higgledee Piggledee lays as many eggs as ever for gentlemen -- sometimes nine and sometimes ten. But the trouble is the gentlemen don't get them."

"Don't they come for them?" asked Uncle Wiggily, sort of puzzled like and wondering.

"Oh, yes, they come every day," said Mother Goose, "but there are no eggs for them. Some one else is getting the eggs Higgledee Piggledee lays."

"Do you s'pose she eats them herself?" asked the old rabbit gentleman, in a whisper. "Hens sometimes do, you know."

"Not Higgledee Piggledee," quickly spoke Mother Goose. "She is too good to do that. She and I are both worried about the missing eggs, and as you have been so kind I thought perhaps you could help us."

"I'll try," Uncle Wiggily said.

"Then come right along to Higgledee Piggledee's coop," invited Mother Goose. "Maybe you can find out where her eggs go to. She lays them in her nest, comes off, once in a while, to get something to eat, but when she goes back to lay more eggs the first ones are gone."

Uncle Wiggily twinkled his nose, tied his ears in a hard knot, as he always did when he was thinking, and then, putting on his fur coat and taking his rheumatism crutch with him, he went out with Mother Goose.

Uncle Wiggily rode in his airship, made of a clothes-basket, with toy circus balloons on top, and Mother Goose rode on the back of a big gander, who was a brother to Grandfather Goosey Gander. Soon they were at the hen coop where Higgledee Piggledee lived.

"Oh, Uncle Wiggily, I am so glad you came!" cackled the black hen. "Did Mother Goose tell you about the egg trouble?"

"She did, Higgledee Piggledee, and I will see if I can stop it. Now, you go on the nest and lay some eggs and then we will see what happens," spoke Uncle Wiggily.

So Higgledee Piggledee, the black hen, laid some eggs for gentlemen, and then she went out in the yard to get some corn to eat, just as she always did. And, while she was gone, Uncle Wiggily hid himself in some straw in the hen coop. Pretty soon the old gentleman heard a gnawing, rustling sound and up out of a hole in the ground popped two big rats, with red eyes.

"Did Higgledee Piggledee lay any eggs today?" asked one rat, in a whisper.

"Yes," spoke the other, "she did."

"Then we will take them," said the first rat. "Hurray! More eggs for us! No gentlemen will get these eggs because we'll take them ourselves. Hurray!"

He got down on his back, with his paws sticking up in the air. Then the other rat rolled one of the black hen's eggs over so the first rat could hold it in among his four legs. Next, the second rat took hold of the first rat's tail and began pulling him along, egg and all, just as if he were a sled on a slippery hill, the rat sliding on his back over the smooth straw. And the eggs rode on the rat-sled as nicely as you please.

"Ha!" cried Uncle Wiggily, jumping suddenly out of his hiding-place. "So this is where Higgledee Piggledee's eggs have been going, eh? You rats have been taking them. Scatt! Shoo! Boo! Skedaddle! Scoot!"

And the rats were so scared that they skedaddled away and shooed themselves and did everything else Mr. Longears told them to do, and they took no eggs that day. Then Uncle Wiggily showed Mother Goose the rat hole, and it was stopped up with stones so the rats could not come in the coop again. And ever after that Higgledee Piggledee, the black hen, could lay eggs for gentlemen, sometimes nine and sometimes ten, and there was no more trouble as there had been before Uncle Wiggily caught the rats and made them skedaddle.

So Mother Goose and the black hen thanked Uncle Wiggily very much. And if the stylish lady who lives next door doesn't take our feather bed to wear on her hat when she goes to the moving pictures, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and Little Bo Peep.



Chapter VII

Uncle Wiggily And Little Bo Peep


"What are you going to do, Nurse Jane?" asked Uncle Wiggily Longears, the rabbit gentleman, as he saw the muskrat lady housekeeper going out in the kitchen one morning, with an apron on, and a dab of white flour on the end of her nose.

"I am going to make a chocolate cake with carrot icing on top," replied Miss Fuzzy Wuzzy.

"Oh, good!" cried Uncle Wiggily, and almost before he knew it he started to clap his paws, just as Sammie and Susie Littletail, the rabbit children, might have done, and as they often did do when they were pleased about anything. "I just love chocolate cake!" cried the bunny uncle, who was almost like a boy-bunny himself.

"Do you?" asked Nurse Jane. "Then I am glad I am going to make one," and, going into the kitchen of the hollow-stump bungalow, she began rattling away among the pots, pans and kettles.

For now Nurse Jane and Uncle Wiggily were living together once more in their own hollow-stump bungalow. It had burned down, you remember, but Uncle Wiggily had had it built up again, and now he did not have to visit around among his animal friends, though he still called on them every now and then.

"Oh, dear!" suddenly cried Nurse Jane from the kitchen. "Oh, dear!"

"What is the matter, Miss Fuzzy Wuzzy?" asked the bunny uncle. "Did you drop a pan on your paw?"

"No, Uncle Wiggily," answered the muskrat lady. "It is worse than that. I can't make the chocolate cake after all, I am sorry to say."

"Oh, dear! That is too bad! Why not?" asked the bunny uncle, in a sad and sorrowful voice.

"Because there is no chocolate," went on Nurse Jane. "Since we came to our new hollow-stump bungalow I have not made any cakes, and to-day I forgot to order the chocolate from the store for this one."

"Never mind," said Uncle Wiggily, kindly. "I'll go to the store and get the chocolate for you. In fact, I would go to two stores and part of another one for the sake of having a chocolate cake."

"All right," spoke Nurse Jane. "If you get me the chocolate I'll make one."

Putting on his overcoat, with his tall silk hat tied down over his ears so they would not blow away -- I mean so his hat would not blow off -- and with his rheumatism crutch under his paw, off started the old gentleman rabbit, across the fields and through the woods to the chocolate store.

After buying what he wanted for Nurse Jane's cake, the old gentleman rabbit started back for the hollow-stump bungalow. On the way, he passed a toy store, and he stopped to look in the window at the pop-guns, the spinning-tops, the dolls, the Noah's Arks, with the animals marching out of them, and all things like that.

"It makes me young again to look at toys," said the bunny uncle. Then he went on a little farther until, all at once, as he was passing a bush, he heard from behind it the sound of crying.

"Ha! Some one in trouble again," said Uncle Wiggily. "I wonder if it can be Little Boy Blue?" He looked, but, instead of seeing the sheep-boy, whom he had once helped, Uncle Wiggily saw a little girl.

"Ha! Who are you?" the bunny uncle asked, "and what is the matter?"

"I am Little Bo Peep," was the answer, "and I have lost my sheep, and don't know where to find them."

"Why, let them alone, and they'll come home, wagging their tails behind them," said Uncle Wiggily quickly, and he laughed jolly like and happy, because he had made a rhyme to go with what Bo Peep said.

"Yes, I know that's the way it is in the Mother Goose book," said Little Bo Peep, "but I've waited and waited, and let them alone ever so long, but they haven't come home. And now I'm afraid they'll freeze."

"Ha! That's so. It is pretty cold for sheep to be out," said Uncle Wiggily, as he looked across the snow-covered field, and toward the woods where there were icicles hanging down from the trees.

"Look here, Little Bo Peep," went on the bunny uncle. "I think your sheep must have gone home long ago, wagging their tails behind them. And you, too, had better run home to Mother Goose. Tell her you met me and that I sent you home. And, if I find your sheep, I'll send them along, too. So don't worry."

"Oh, but I don't like to go home without my sheep," said Bo Peep, and tears came into her eyes. "I ought to bring them with me. But today I went skating on Crystal Lake, up in the Lemon-Orange Mountains, and I forgot all about my sheep. Now I am afraid to go home without them. Oh, dear!"

Uncle Wiggily thought for a minute, then he said:

"Ha! I have it! I know where I can get you some sheep to take home with you. Then Mother Goose will say it is all right. Come with me."

"Where are you going?" asked Bo Peep.

"To get you some sheep." And Uncle Wiggily led the little shepardess girl back to the toy store, in the window of which he had stopped to look a while ago.

"Give Bo Peep some of your toy woolly sheep, if you please," said Uncle Wiggily to the toy store man. "She can take them home with her, while her own sheep are safe in some warm place, I'm sure. But now she must have some sort of sheep to take home with her in place of the lost ones, so it will come out all right, as it is in the book. And these toy woolly sheep will do as well as any; won't they, Little Bo Peep?"

"Oh, yes, they will; thank you very much, Uncle Wiggily," answered Bo Peep, making a pretty little bow. Then the rabbit gentleman bought her ten little toy, woolly sheep, each one with a tail which Bo Peep could wag for them, and one toy lamb went: "Baa! Baa! Baa!" as real as anything, having a little phonograph talking machine inside him.

"Now I can go home to Mother Goose and make believe these are my lost sheep," said Bo Peep, "and it will be all right."

"And here is a piece of chocolate for you to eat," said Uncle Wiggily. Then Bo Peep hurried home with her fleecy toy sheep, and, later on, she found her real ones, all nice and warm, in the barn where the Cow with the Crumpled Horn lived. Mother Goose laughed in her jolliest way when she saw the toy sheep Uncle Wiggily had bought Bo Peep.

"It's just like him!" said Mother Goose.

And if the goldfish doesn't climb out of his tank and hide in the sardine tin, where the stuffed olives can't find him, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and Tommie Tucker.



Chapter VIII

Uncle Wiggily And Tommie Tucker


"Oh, Uncle Wiggily!" called Susie Littletail, the rabbit girl, one day, as she went over to see her bunny uncle in his hollow-stump bungalow. "Oh, Uncle Wiggily! Isn't it too bad?"

"Isn't what too bad?" asked the old gentleman rabbit, as he scratched his nose with his left ear, and put his glasses in his pocket, for he was tired of reading the paper, and felt like going out for a walk.

"Too bad about my talking and singing doll, that I got for Christmas," said Susie. "She won't sing any more. Something inside her is broken."

"Broken? That's too bad!" said Uncle Wiggily, kindly. "Let me see. What's her name?"

"Sallieann Peachbasket Shortcake," answered Susie.

"What a funny name," laughed the bunny uncle.

Uncle Wiggily took Susie's doll, which had been given her at Christmas, and looked at it. Inside the doll was a sort of phonograph, or talking machine -- a very small one, you know -- and when you pushed on a little button in back of the doll's dress she would laugh and talk. But, best of all, when she was in working order, she would sing a verse, which went something like this:

"I hope you'll like my little song, I will not sing it very long. I have two shoes upon my feet, And when I'm hungry, then I eat."

Uncle Wiggily wound up the spring in the doll's side, and then he pressed the button -- like a shoe button -- in her back. But this time Susie's doll did not talk, she did not laugh, and, instead of singing, she only made a scratchy noise like a phonograph when it doesn't want to play, or like Bully No-Tail, the frog boy, when he has a cold in his head.

"Oh, dear! This is quite too bad!" said Uncle Wiggily. "Quite indeed."

"Isn't it!" exclaimed Susie. "Do you think you can fix her, Uncle?"

Mr. Longears turned the doll upside down and shook her. Things rattled inside her, but even then she did not sing.

"Oh, dear!" cried Susie, her little pink nose going twinkle-inkle, just as did Uncle Wiggily's. "What can we do?"

"You leave it to me, Susie," spoke the old rabbit gentleman. "I'll take the doll to the toy shop, where I bought Little Bo Peep's sheep, and have her mended."

"Oh, goodie!" cried Susie, clasping her paws. "Now I know it will be all right," and she kissed Uncle Wiggily right between his ears.

"Well, I'm sure I hope it will be all right after that," said the bunny uncle, laughing, and feeling sort of tickled inside.

Off hopped Uncle Wiggily to the toy shop, and there he found the same monkey-doodle gentleman who had sold him the toy woolly sheep for Little Bo Peep.

"Here is more trouble," said Uncle Wiggily. "Can you fix Susie's doll so she will sing, for the doll is a little girl one, just like Susie, and her name is Sallieann Peachbasket Shortcake."

The monkey-doodle man in the toy store looked at the doll.

"I can fix her," he said. Going in his back-room workshop, where there were rocking-horses that needed new legs, wooden soldiers who had lost their guns, and steamboats that had forgotten their whistles, the toy man soon had Susie's doll mended again as well as ever. So that she said: "Papa! Mama! I love you! I am hungry!" And she laughed: "Ha! Ha! Ho! Ho!" and she sang:

"I am a little dollie, 'Bout one year old. Please take me where it's warm, for I Am feeling rather cold. If you're not in a hurry, It won't take me very long, To whistle or to sing for you My pretty little song."

"Hurray!" cried Uncle Wiggily when he heard this. "Susie's dolly is all right again. Thank you, Mr. Monkey-Doodle, I'll take her to Susie." Then Uncle Wiggily paid the toy-store keeper and hurried off with Susie's doll.

Uncle Wiggily had not gone very far before, all at once from around the corner of a snowbank he heard a sad, little voice crying:

"Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Oh, dear!"

"My goodness!" said the bunny uncle. "Some one else is in trouble. I wonder who it can be this time?"

He looked, and saw a little boy standing in the snow.

"Hello!" cried Uncle Wiggily, in his jolly voice. "Who are you, and what's the matter?"

"I am Little Tommie Tucker," was the answer. "And the matter is I'm hungry."

"Hungry, eh?" asked Uncle Wiggily. "Well, why don't you eat?"

"I guess you forgot about me and the Mother Goose book," spoke the boy. "I'm in that book, and it says about me:

"'Little Tommie Tucker, Must sing for his supper. What shall he eat? Jam and bread and butter.'"

"Well?" asked Uncle Wiggily. "Why don't you sing?"

"I -- I can't!" answered Tommie. "That's the trouble. I have caught such a cold that I can't sing. And if I don't sing Mother Goose won't know it is I, and she won't give me any supper. Oh, dear! Oh, dear! And I am so hungry!"

"There now, there! Don't cry," kindly said the bunny uncle, patting Tommie Tucker on the head. "I'll soon have you singing for your supper."

"But how can you when I have such a cold?" asked the little boy. "Listen. I am as hoarse as a crow."

And, truly, he could no more sing than a rusty gate, or a last year's door-knob.

"Ah, I can soon fix that!" said Uncle Wiggily. "See, here I have Susie Littletail's talking and singing doll, which I have just had mended. Now you take the doll in your pocket, go to Mother Goose, and when she asks you to sing for your supper, just push the button in the doll's back. Then the doll will sing and Mother Goose will think it is you, and give you bread and jam."

"Oh, how fine!" cried Tommie Tucker. "I'll do it!"

"But afterward," said Uncle Wiggily, slowly shaking his paw at Tommie, "afterward you must tell Mother Goose all about the little joke you played, or it would not be fair. Tell her the doll sang and not you."

"I will," said Tommie. He and Uncle Wiggily went to Mother Goose's house, and when Tommie had to sing for his supper the doll did it for him. And when Mother Goose heard about it she said it was a fine trick, and that Uncle Wiggily was very good to think of it.

Then the bunny uncle took Susie's mended doll to her, and the next day Tommie's cold was all better and he could sing for his supper himself, just as the book tells about.

And if the little mouse doesn't go to sleep in the cat's cradle and scare the milk bottle so it rolls off the back stoop, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and Pussy Cat Mole.



Chapter IX

Uncle Wiggily And Pussy Cat Mole


"Oh, dear! I don't believe he's ever coming!" said Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper, as she stood at the window of the hollow-stump bungalow one day, and looked down through the woods.

"For whom are you looking, Nurse Jane?" asked Uncle Wiggily Longears, the rabbit gentleman. "If it's for the letter-man, I think he went past some time ago."

"No, I wasn't looking for the letter-man," said the muskrat lady. "I am expecting a messenger-boy cat to bring home my new dress from the dressmaker's, but I don't see him."

"A new dress, eh?" asked Uncle Wiggily. "Pray, what is going on?"

"My dress is going on me, as soon as it comes home, Uncle Wiggily," the muskrat lady answered, laughingly. "And then I am going on over to the house of Mrs. Wibblewobble, the duck lady. She and I are going to have a little tea party together, if you don't mind."

"Mind? Certainly not! I'm glad to have you go out and enjoy yourself," said Uncle Wiggily, jolly like and also laughing.

"But I can't go if my new dress doesn't come," went on Nurse Jane. "That is, I don't want to."

"Look here!" said the bunny uncle, "I'll tell you what I'll do, Nurse Jane, I'll go for your dress myself and bring it home. I have nothing to do. I'll go get your dress at the dressmaker's."

"Will you, really?" cried the muskrat lady. "That will be fine! Then I can curl my whiskers and tie a new pink bow for my tail. You are very good, Uncle Wiggily."

"Oh, not at all! Not at all!" the rabbit gentleman said, modest like and shy. Then he hopped out of the hollow-stump bungalow and across the fields and through the woods to where Nurse Jane's dressmaker made dresses.

"Oh, yes, Nurse Jane's dress!" exclaimed Mrs. Spin-Spider, who wove silk for all the dresses worn by the lady animals of Woodland. "Yes, I have just finished it. I was about to call a messenger-boy cat and send it home, but now you are here you may take it. And here is some cloth I had left over. Nurse Jane might want it if ever she tears a hole in her dress."

Uncle Wiggily put the extra pieces of cloth in his pocket, and then Mrs. Spin-Spider wrapped Nurse Jane's dress up nicely for him in tissue paper, as fine as the web which she had spun for the silk, and the rabbit gentleman started back to the hollow-stump bungalow.

Mrs. Spin-Spider lived on Second Mountain, and, as Uncle Wiggily's bungalow was on First Mountain, he had quite a way to go to get home. And when he was about half way there he passed a little house near a gray rock that looked like an eagle, and in the house he heard a voice saying:

"Oh, dear! Oh, isn't it too bad? Now I can't go!"

"Ha! I wonder who that can be?" thought the rabbit gentleman. "It sounds like some one in trouble. I will ask if I can do anything to help."

The rabbit gentleman knocked on the door of the little house, and a voice said:

"Come in!"

Uncle Wiggily entered, and there in the middle of the room he saw a pussy cat lady holding up a dress with a big hole burned in it.

"I beg your pardon, but who are you and what is the matter?" politely asked the bunny uncle, making a low bow.

"My name is Pussy Cat Mole," was the answer, "and you can see the trouble for yourself. I am Pussy Cat Mole; I jumped over a coal, and --  -- "

"In your best petticoat burned a great hole," finished Uncle Wiggily. "I know you, now. You are from Mother Goose's book and I met you at a party in Belleville, where they have a bluebell flower on the school to call the animal children to their lessons."

"That's it!" meowed Pussy Cat Mole. "I am glad you remember me, Uncle Wiggily. It was at a party I met you, and now I am going to another. Or, rather, I was going until I jumped over a coal, and in my best petticoat burned a great hole. Now I can't go," and she held up the burned dress, sorrowful like and sad.

"How did you happen to jump over the coal?" asked Uncle Wiggily.

"Oh, it fell out of my stove," said Pussy Cat Mole, "and I jumped over it in a hurry to get the fire shovel to take it up. That's how I burned my dress. And now I can't go to the party, for it was my best petticoat, and Mrs. Wibblewobble, the duck lady, asked me to be there early, too; and now -- Oh, dear!" and Pussy Cat Mole felt very badly, indeed.

"Mrs. Wibblewobble's!" cried Uncle Wiggily. "Why, Nurse Jane is going there to a little tea party, too! This is her new dress I am taking home."

"Has she burned a hole in it?" asked the pussy cat lady.

"No, she has not, I am glad to say," the bunny uncle replied. "She hasn't had it on, yet."

"Then she can go to the party, but I can't," said Pussy Cat Mole, sorrowfully. "Oh, dear!"

"Yes, you can go!" suddenly cried Uncle Wiggily. "See here! I have some extra pieces of cloth, left over when Mrs. Spin-Spider made Nurse Jane's dress. Now you can take these pieces of cloth and mend the hole burned by the coal in your best petticoat. Then you can go to the party."

"Oh, so I can," meowed the pussy cat. So, with a needle and thread, and the cloth she mended her best petticoat.

All around the edges and over the top of the burned hole the pussy cat lady sewed the left-over pieces of Nurse Jane's dress which was almost the same color. Then, when the mended place was pressed with a warm flat-iron, Uncle Wiggily cried:

"You would never know there had been a burned hole!"

"That's fine!" meowed Pussy Cat Mole. "Thank you so much, Uncle Wiggily, for helping me!"

"Pray do not mention it," said the rabbit gentleman, bashful like and casual. Then he hurried to the hollow-stump bungalow with Nurse Jane's dress, and the muskrat lady said he had done just right to help mend Pussy Cat Mole's dress with the left-over pieces. So she and Nurse Jane both went to Mrs. Wibblewobble's little tea party, and had a good time.

And so, you see, it came out just as it did in the book: Pussy Cat Mole jumped over a coal, and in her best petticoat burned a great hole. But the hole it was mended, and my story is ended. Only never before was it known how the hole was mended. Uncle Wiggily did it.

And, if the apple doesn't jump out of the peach dumpling and hide in the lemon pie when the knife and fork try to play tag with it, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and Jack and Jill, and it will be a Valentine story.



Chapter X

Uncle Wiggily And Jack And Jill


Uncle Wiggily Longears, the nice old gentleman rabbit, was asleep in an easy chair in his hollow-stump bungalow one morning when he heard some one calling:

"Hi, Jack! Ho, Jill! Where are you? Come at once, if you please!"

"Ha! What's that? Some one calling me?" asked the bunny uncle, sitting up so suddenly that he knocked over his red, white and blue striped barber-pole rheumatism crutch that Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper, had gnawed for him out of a corn-stalk. "Is any one calling me?" asked Mr. Longears.

"No," answered Miss Fuzzy Wuzzy. "That's Mother Goose calling Jack and Jill to get a pail of water."

"Oh! is that all?" asked the rabbit gentleman, rubbing his pink eyes and making his nose twinkle like the sharp end of an ice cream cone. "Just Mother Goose calling Jack and Jill; eh? Well, I'll go out and see if I can find them for her."

Uncle Wiggily was always that way, you know, wanting to help some one. This time it was Mother Goose. His new hollow-stump bungalow was built right near where Mother Goose lived, with all her big family; Peter-Peter Pumpkin-Eater, Little Jack Horner, Bo Peep and many others.

"Ho, Jack! Hi, Jill! Where are you?" called Mother Goose, as Uncle Wiggily came out of his hollow stump.

"Can't you find those two children?" asked the rabbit gentleman, making a polite good morning bow.

"I am sorry to say I cannot," answered Mother Goose. "They were over to see the Old Woman Who Lives in a Shoe, a while ago, but where they are now I can't guess, and I need a pail of water for Simple Simon to go fishing in, for to catch a whale."

"Oh, I'll get the water for you," said Uncle Wiggily, taking the pail. "Perhaps Jack and Jill are off playing somewhere, and they have forgotten all about getting the water."

"And I suppose they'll forget about tumbling down hill, too," went on Mother Goose, sort of nervous like. "But they must not. If they don't fall down, so Jack can break his crown, it won't be like the story in my book, and everything will be upside down."

"So Jack has to break his crown; eh?" asked Uncle Wiggily. "That's too bad. I hope he won't hurt himself too much."

"Oh, he's used to it by this time," Mother Goose said. "He doesn't mind falling, nor does Jill mind tumbling down after."

"Very well, then, I'll get the pail of water for you," spoke the bunny uncle, "and Jack and Jill can do the tumbling-down-hill part."

Uncle Wiggily took the water pail and started for the hill, on top of which was the well owned by Mother Goose. As the bunny uncle was walking along he suddenly heard a voice calling to him from behind a bush.

"Oh, Uncle Wiggily, will you do me a favor?"

"I certainly will," said Mr. Longears, "but who are you, and where are you?"

"Here I am, over here," the voice went on. "I'm Jack, and will you please give this to Jill when you see her?"

Out from behind the bush stepped Jack, the little Mother Goose boy. In his hand he held a piece of white birch bark, prettily colored red, green and pink, and on it was a little verse which read:

"Can you tell me, pretty maid, Tell me and not be afraid, Who's the sweetest girl, and true? --  I can; for she's surely you!"

"What's this? What's this?" asked Uncle Wiggily, in surprise. "What's this?"

"It's a valentine for Jill," said Jack. "To-day is Valentine's Day, you see, but I don't want Jill to know I sent it, so I went off here and hid until I could see you to ask you to take it to her."

"All right, I'll do it," Uncle Wiggily said, laughing. "I'll take your valentine to Jill for you. So that's why you weren't 'round to get the pail of water; is it?"

"Yes," answered Jack. "I wanted to finish making my valentine. As soon as you give it to Jill I'll get the water."

"Oh, never mind that," said the bunny uncle. "I'll get the water, just you do the falling-down-hill part. I'm too old for that."

"I will," promised Jack. Then Uncle Wiggily went on up the hill, and pretty soon he heard some one else calling him, and, all of a sudden, out from behind a stump stepped Jill, the little Mother Goose girl.

"Oh, Uncle Wiggily!" said Jill, bashfully holding out a pretty red leaf, shaped like a heart, "will you please give this to Jack. I don't want him to know I sent it."

"Of course, I'll give it to him," promised the rabbit gentleman. "It's a valentine, I suppose, and here is something for you," and while Jill was reading the valentine Jack had sent her, Uncle Wiggily looked at the red heart-shaped leaf. On it Jill had written in blue ink:

"One day when I went to school, Teacher taught to me this rule: Eight and one add up to nine; So I'll be your valentine."

"My, that's nice!" said Uncle Wiggily, laughing. "So that's why you're hiding off here for, Jill, to make a valentine for Jack?"

"That's it," Jill answered, blushing sort of pink, like the frosting on a strawberry cake. "But I don't want Jack to know it."

"I'll never tell him," said Uncle Wiggily.

So he went on up the hill to get a pail of water for Mother Goose. And on his way back he gave Jill's valentine to Jack, who liked it very much.

"And now, since you got the water, Jill and I will go tumble down hill," said Jack, as he found the little girl, where she was reading his valentine again. Up the hill they went, near the well of water, and Jack fell down, and broke his crown, while Jill came tumbling after, while Uncle Wiggily looked on and laughed. So it all happened just as it did in the book, you see.

Mother Goose was very glad Uncle Wiggily had brought the water for Simple Simon to go fishing in, and that afternoon she gave a valentine party for Sammie and Susie Littletail, the Bushytail squirrel brothers, Nannie and Billie Wagtail, the goats, and all the other animal friends of Uncle Wiggily. And every one had a fine time.

And if the cup doesn't jump out of the saucer and hide in the spoonholder, where the coffee cake can't find it, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and little Jack Horner.



Chapter XI

Uncle Wiggily And Jack Horner


"Well, I think I'll go for a walk," said Uncle Wiggily Longears, the rabbit gentleman, one afternoon, when he was sitting out on the front porch of his hollow-stump bungalow. He had just eaten a nice dinner that Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper, had gotten ready for him.

"Go for a walk!" exclaimed Nurse Jane. "Why, Mr. Longears, excuse me for saying so, but you went walking this morning."

"I know I did," answered the bunny uncle, "but no adventure happened to me then. I don't really count it a good day unless I have had an adventure. So I'll go walking again, and perhaps I may find one. If I do, I'll come home and tell you all about it."

"All right," said Nurse Jane. "You are a funny rabbit, to be sure! Going off in the woods, looking for adventures when you might sit quietly here on the bungalow front porch."

"That's just it!" laughed Uncle Wiggily. "I don't like to be too quiet. Off I go!"

"I hope you have a nice adventure!" Nurse Jane called after him.

"Thank you," answered Uncle Wiggily, politely.

Away over the fields and through the woods went the bunny uncle, looking on all sides for an adventure, when, all of a sudden he heard behind him a sound that went:

"Honk! Honk! Honkity-honk-honk!"

"Ha! That must be a wild goose!" thought the rabbit gentleman.

So he looked up in the air, over his head, where the wild geese always fly, but, instead of seeing any of the big birds, Uncle Wiggily felt something whizz past him, and again he heard the loud "Honk-honk!" noise, and then he sneezed, for a lot of dust from the road flew up his nose.

"My!" he heard some one cry. "We nearly ran over a rabbit! Did you see?"

And a big automobile, with real people in it, shot past. It was the horn of the auto that Uncle Wiggily had heard, and not a wild goose.

"Ha! That came pretty close to me," thought Uncle Wiggily, as the auto went on down the road. "I never ride my automobile as fast as that, even when I sprinkle pepper on the bologna sausage tires. I don't like to scare any one."

Perhaps the people in the auto did not mean to so nearly run over Uncle Wiggily. Let us hope so.

The old gentleman rabbit hopped on down the road, that was between the woods and the fields, and, pretty soon, he saw something bright and shining in the dust, near where the auto had passed.

"Oh, maybe that's a diamond," he said, as he stooped over to pick it up. But it was only a shiny button-hook, and not a diamond at all. Some one in the automobile had dropped it.

"Well, I'll put it in my pocket," said Uncle Wiggily to himself. "It may come in useful to button Nurse Jane's shoes, or mine."

The bunny gentleman went on a little farther, and, pretty soon, he came to a tiny house, with a red chimney sticking up out of the roof.

"Ha! I wonder who lives there?" said Uncle Wiggily.

He stood still for a moment, looking through his glasses at the house and then, all of a sudden, he saw a little lady, with a tall, peaked hat on, run out and look up and down the road. Her hat was just like an ice cream cone turned upside down. Only don't turn your ice cream cone upside down if it has any cream in it, for you might spill your treat.

"Help! Help! Help!" cried the lady, who had come out of the house with the red chimney.

"Ha! That sounds like trouble!" said Uncle Wiggily. "I think I had better hurry over there and see what it is all about."

He hopped over toward the little house, and, when he reached it he saw that the little lady who was calling for help was Mother Goose herself.

"Oh, Uncle Wiggily!" exclaimed Mother Goose. "I am so glad to see you! Will you please go for help for me?"

"Why, certainly I will," answered the bunny gentleman. "But what kind of help do you want; help for the kitchen, or a wash-lady help or --  -- "

"Neither of those," said Mother Goose. "I want help so Little Jack Horner can get his thumb out of the pie."

"Get his thumb out of the pie!" cried Uncle Wiggily. "What in the world do you mean?"

"Why, you see it's this way," went on Mother Goose. "Jack Horner lives here. You must have heard about him. He is in my book. His verse goes like this:

"Little Jack Horner Sat in a corner, Eating a Christmas pie. He put in his thumb, And pulled out a plum, And said what a great boy am I.

"That's the boy I mean," cried Mother Goose. "But the trouble is that Jack can't get his thumb out. He put it in the pie, to pull out the plum, but it won't come out -- neither the plum nor the thumb. They are stuck fast for some reason or other. I wish you'd go for Dr. Possum, so he can help us."

"I will," said Uncle Wiggily. "But is Jack Horner sitting in a corner, as it says in the book?"

"Oh, he's doing that all right," answered Mother Goose. "But, corner or no corner, he can't pull out his thumb."

"I'll get the doctor at once," promised the bunny uncle. He hurried over to Dr. Possum's house, but could not find him, as Dr. Possum was, just then, called to see Jillie Longtail, who had the mouse-trap fever.

"Dr. Possum not in!" cried Mother Goose, when Uncle Wiggily had hopped back and told her. "That's too bad! Oh, we must do something for Jack. He's crying and going on terribly because he can't get his thumb out."

Uncle Wiggily thought for a minute. Then, putting his paw in his pocket, he felt the button-hook which had dropped from the automobile that nearly ran over him.

"Ha! I know what to do!" cried the bunny uncle, suddenly.

"What?" asked Mother Goose.

"I'll pull out Jack's thumb myself, with this button-hook," said Mr. Longears. "I'll make him all right without waiting for Dr. Possum."

Into the room, where, in the corner, Jack was sitting, went the bunny gentleman. There he saw the Christmas-pie boy, with his thumb away down deep under the top crust.

"Oh, Uncle Wiggily!" cried Jack. "I'm in such trouble. Oh, dear! I can't get my thumb out. It must be caught on the edge of the pan, or something!"

"Don't cry," said Uncle Wiggily, kindly. "I'll get it out for you."

"I wish you'd go for Dr. Possum."

So he put the button-hook through the hole in the top pie crust, close to Jack's thumb. Then, getting the hook on the plum, Uncle Wiggily, with his strong paws, pulled and pulled and pulled, and --  -- 

All of a sudden out came the plum and Jack Homer's thumb, and they weren't stuck fast any more.

"Oh, thank you, so much!" said Jack, as he got up out of his corner.

"Pray don't mention it," spoke Uncle Wiggily, politely. "I am glad I could help you, and it also makes an adventure for me."

Then Jack Horner, went back to his corner and ate the plum that stuck to his thumb. And Uncle Wiggily, putting the button-hook back in his pocket, went on to his hollow-stump bungalow. He had had his adventure.

So everything came out all right, you see, and if the snow-shovel doesn't go off by itself, sliding down hill with the ash can, when it ought to be boiling the cups and saucers for supper, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and Mr. Pop-Goes.



Chapter XII

Uncle Wiggily And Mr. Pop-Goes


"Uncle Wiggily," said Mrs. Littletail, the rabbit lady, one morning, as she came in the dining-room where Mr. Longears was reading the cabbage leaf paper after breakfast, "Uncle Wiggily, I don't like you to go out in such a storm as this, but I do need some things from the store, and I have no one to send."

"Why, I'll be only too glad to go," cried the bunny uncle, who was spending a few days visiting the Littletail family in their underground burrow-house. "It isn't snowing very hard," and he looked out through the window, which was up a little way above ground to make the burrow light. "What do you want, Mrs. Littletail?" he asked.

"Oh, I want a loaf of bread and some sugar," said the bunny mother of Sammie and Susie Littletail.

"And you shall certainly have what you want!" cried Uncle Wiggily, as he got ready to go to the store. Soon he was on his way, wearing his fur coat, and hopping along on his corn-stalk rheumatism crutch, while his pink nose was twinkling in the frosty air like a red lantern on the back of an automobile.

"A loaf of home-made bread and three and a half pounds of granulated sugar," said Uncle Wiggily to the monkey-doodle gentleman who kept the grocery store. "And the best that you have, if you please, as it's for Mrs. Littletail."

"You shall certainly have the best!" cried the monkey-doodle gentleman, with a jolly laugh. And while he was wrapping up the things for Uncle Wiggily to carry home, all at once there sounded in the store a loud:

"Pop!"

"My! What's that?" asked Uncle Wiggily, surprised like and excited. "I heard a bang like a gun. Are there any hunter-men, with their dogs about? If there are I must be careful."

"No, that wasn't a gun," said the monkey-doodle gentleman. "That was only one of the toy balloons in my window. I had some left over from last year, so I blew them up and put them in my window to make it look pretty. Now and then one of them bursts." And just then, surely enough, "Pop! Bang!" went another toy balloon, bursting and shriveling all up.

Uncle Wiggily looked in the front window of the store and saw some blown-up balloons that had not burst.

"I'll take two of those," he said to the monkey-doodle gentleman. "Sammie and Susie Littletail will like to play with them."

"Better take two or three," said the monkey-doodle gentleman. "I'll let you have them cheap, as they are old balloons, and they will burst easily."

So he let the air out of four balloons and gave them to Uncle Wiggily to take home to the bunny children.

The rabbit gentleman started off through the snow-storm toward the underground house, but he had not gone very far before, just as he was coming out from behind a big stump, he heard voices talking.

"Now, I'll tell you how we can get those rabbits," Uncle Wiggily heard one voice say. "I'll crawl down in the burrow, and as soon as they see me they'll be scared and run out -- Uncle Wiggily, Mrs. Littletail, the two children, Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy and all. Then you can grab them, Mr. Bigtail! I am glad I happened to meet you!"

"Ah, ha!" thought Uncle Wiggily. "Mr. Bigtail! I ought to know that name. It's the fox, and he and some one else seem to be after us rabbits. But I thought the fox promised to be good and let me alone. He must have changed his mind."

Uncle Wiggily peeked cautiously around the stump, taking care to make no noise, and there he saw a fox and another animal talking. And the rabbit gentleman saw that it was not the fox who had promised to be good, but another one, of the same name, who was bad.

"Yes, I'll go down the hole and drive out the rabbits and you can grab them," said the queer animal.

"That's good," growled the fox, "but to whom have I the honor of speaking?" That was his way of asking the name of the other animal, you see.

"Oh, I'm called Mr. Pop-Goes," said the other.

"Mr. Pop-Goes! What a queer name," said the fox, and all the while Uncle Wiggily was listening with his big ears, and wondering what it all meant.

"Oh, Pop-Goes isn't all my name," said the queer animal. "Don't you know the story in the book? The monkey chased the cobbler's wife all around the steeple. That's the way the money goes, Pop! goes the weasel. I'm Mr. Pop-Goes, the weasel, you see. I'm 'specially good at chasing rabbits."

"Oh, I see!" barked Mr. Bigtail, the fox. "Well, I'll be glad if you can help me get those rabbits. I've been over to that Uncle Wiggily's hollow-stump bungalow, but he isn't around."

"No, he's visiting the Littletail rabbits," said Mr. Pop-Goes, the weasel. "But we'll drive him out."

Then Uncle Wiggily felt very badly, indeed, for he knew that a weasel is the worst animal a rabbit can have after him. Weasels are very fond of rabbits. They love them so much they want to eat them, and Uncle Wiggily did not want to be eaten, even by Mr. Pop-Goes.

"Oh, dear!" he thought. "What can I do to scare away the bad fox and Mr. Pop-Goes, the weasel? Oh, dear!" Then he thought of the toy balloons, that made a noise like a gun when they were blown up and burst. "The very thing!" thought the rabbit gentleman.

Carefully, as he hid behind the stump, Uncle Wiggily took out one of the toy balloons. Carefully he blew it up, bigger and bigger and bigger, until, all at once:

"Bang!" exploded the toy balloon, even making Uncle Wiggily jump. And as for the fox and Mr. Pop-Goes, the weasel, why they were so kerslostrated (if you will kindly excuse me for using such a word) that they turned a somersault, jumped up in the air, came down, turned a peppersault, and started to run.

"Did you hear that noise?" asked the weasel. "That was a pop, and whenever I hear a pop I have to go! And I'm going fast!"

"So am I!" barked the fox. "That was a hunter with a gun after us, I guess. We'll get those rabbits some other time."

"Maybe you will, and maybe not!" laughed Uncle Wiggily, as he hurried on to the burrow with the bread, sugar and the rest of the toy balloons, with which Sammie and Susie had lots of fun.

So you see Mr. Pop-Goes, the weasel, didn't get Uncle Wiggily after all, and if the pepper caster doesn't throw dust in the potato's eyes, and make it sneeze at the rag doll, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and Simple Simon.



Chapter XIII

Uncle Wiggily And Simple Simon


"There!" exclaimed Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper, who, with Uncle Wiggily Longears, the rabbit gentleman, was visiting at the Littletail rabbit burrow one day. "There they are, Uncle Wiggily, all nicely wrapped up for you to carry."

"What's nicely wrapped up?" asked the bunny uncle. "And what do you want me to carry?" And he looked over the tops of his spectacles at the muskrat lady, sort of surprised and wondering.

"I want you to carry the jam tarts, and they are all nicely wrapped up," went on Nurse Jane. "Don't you remember, I said I was going to make some for you to take over to Mrs. Wibblewobble, the duck lady?"

"Oh, of course!" cried Uncle Wiggily. "The jam tarts are for Lulu, Alice and Jimmie Wibblewobble, the duck children. I remember now. I'll take them right over."

"They are all nicely wrapped up in a clean napkin," went on the muskrat lady, "so be careful not to squash them and squeeze out the jam, as they are very fresh."

"I'll be careful," promised the old rabbit gentleman, as he put on his fur coat and took down off the parlor mantle his red, white and blue striped barber-pole rheumatism crutch, made of a corn-stalk.

"Oh, wait a minute, Uncle Wiggily! Wait a minute!" cried Mrs. Littletail, the bunny mother of Sammie and Susie, the rabbit children, as Mr. Longears started out. "Where are you going?"

"Over to Mrs. Wibblewobble, the duck lady's house, with some jam tarts for Lulu, Alice and Jimmie," answered Uncle Wiggily.

"Then would you mind carrying, also, this little rubber plant over to her?" asked Mrs. Littletail. "I told Mrs. Wibblewobble I would send one to her the first chance I had."

"Right gladly will I take it," said Uncle Wiggily. So Mrs. Littletail, the rabbit lady, wrapped the pot of the little rubber plant, with its thick, shiny green leaves, in a piece of paper, and Uncle Wiggily, tucking it under one paw, while with the other he leaned on his crutch, started off over the fields and through the woods, with the jam tarts in his pocket. Over toward the home of the Wibblewobble duck family he hopped.

Mr. Longears, the nice old rabbit gentleman, had not gone very far before, all at once, from behind a snow-covered stump, he heard a voice saying:

"Oh, dear! I know I'll never find him! I've looked all over and I can't see him anywhere. Oh, dear! Oh, dear! What shall I do?"

"My! That sounds like some one in trouble," Uncle Wiggily said to himself. "I wonder if that is any of my little animal friends? I must look."

So the rabbit gentleman peeked over the top of the stump, and there he saw a queer-looking boy, with a funny smile on his face, which was as round and shiny as the bottom of a new dish pan. And the boy looked so kind that Uncle Wiggily knew he would not hurt even a lollypop, much less a rabbit gentleman.

"Oh, hello!" cried the boy, as soon as he saw Uncle Wiggily. "Who are you?"

"I am Mr. Longears," replied the bunny uncle. "And who are you?"

"Why, I'm Simple Simon," was the answer. "I'm in the Mother Goose book, you know."

"Oh, yes, I remember," said Uncle Wiggily. "But you seem to be out of the book, just now."

"I am," said Simple Simon. "The page with my picture on it fell out of the book, and so I ran away. But I can't find him anywhere and I don't know what to do."

"Who is it you can't find?" asked the rabbit.

"The pie-man," answered the funny, round-faced boy. "Don't you remember, it says in the book, 'Simple Simon met a pie-man going to the fair?'"

"Oh, yes, I remember," Uncle Wiggily answered. "What's next?"

"Well, I can't find him anywhere," said Simple Simon. "I guess the pie-man didn't fall out of the book when I did."

"That's too bad," spoke Uncle Wiggily, kindly.

"It is," said Simple Simon. "For you know he ought to ask me for my penny, when I want to taste of his pies, and indeed, I haven't any penny -- not any, and I'm so hungry for a piece of pie!" And Simple Simon began to cry.

"Oh, don't cry," said Uncle Wiggily. "See, in my pocket I have some jam tarts. They are for Lulu, Alice and Jimmie Wibblewobble, the ducks, but there are enough to let you have one."

"Why, you are a regular pie-man yourself; aren't you?" laughed Simple Simon, as he ate one of Nurse Jane's nice jam tarts.

"Well, you might call me that," said the bunny uncle. "Though I s'pose a tart-man would be nearer right."

"But there's something else," went on Simple Simon. "You know in the Mother Goose book I have to go for water, in my mother's sieve. But soon it all ran through." And then, cried Simple Simon, "Oh, dear, what shall I do?" And he held out a sieve, just like a coffee strainer, full of little holes. "How can I ever get water in that?" he asked. "I've tried and tried, but I can't. No one can! It all runs through!"

Uncle Wiggily thought for a minute. Then he cried:

"I have it! I'll pull some leaves off the rubber plant I am taking to Mrs. Wibblewobble. We'll put the leaves in the bottom of the sieve, and, being of rubber, water can't get through them. Then the sieve will hold water, or milk either, and you can bring it to your mother."

"Oh, fine!" cried Simple Simon, licking the sticky squeegee jam off his fingers. So Uncle Wiggily put some rubber plant leaves in the bottom of the sieve, and Simple Simon, filling it full of water, carried it home to his mother, and not a drop ran through, which, of course, wasn't at all like the story in the book.

"But that isn't my fault," said Uncle Wiggily, as he took the rest of the jam tarts to the Wibblewobble children. "I just had to help Simple Simon." Which was very kind of Uncle Wiggily, I think; don't you? It didn't matter if, just once, something happened that wasn't in the book.

And Mrs. Wibblewobble didn't at all mind some of the leaves being off her rubber plant. So you see we should always be kind when we can; and if the canary bird doesn't go to sleep in the bowl with the goldfish, and forget to whistle like an alarm clock in the morning, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the crumple-horn cow.



Chapter XIV

Uncle Wiggily And The Crumple-Horn Cow


"Where are you going, Uncle Wiggily?" asked Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper, as she saw the rabbit gentleman starting out from his hollow-stump bungalow one day. He was back again from his visit to Sammie and Susie Littletail.

"Oh, I'm just going for a walk," answered Mr. Longears. "I have not had an exciting adventure since I carried the valentines for Jack and Jill, before they tumbled down hill, and perhaps to-day I may find something else to make me lively, and happy and skippy like."

"Too much hopping and skipping is not good for you," the muskrat lady said.

"Yes, I think it is, if you will excuse me for saying so," spoke Uncle Wiggily politely. "It keeps my rheumatism from getting too painful."

Then, taking his red, white and blue striped rheumatism crutch from inside the talking machine horn, Uncle Wiggily started off.

Over the fields and through the woods went the rabbit gentleman, until, pretty soon, as he was walking along, wondering what would happen to him that day, he heard a voice saying:

"Moo! Moo! Moo-o-o-o-o!"

"Ah! That sounds rather sad and unhappy like," spoke the rabbit gentleman to himself. "I wonder if it can be any one in trouble?"

So he peeked through the bushes and there he saw a nice cow, who was standing with one foot in the hollow of a big stump.

"Moo! Moo!" cried the cow. "Oh, dear, will no one help me?"

"Why, of course, I'll help you," kindly said Uncle Wiggily. "What is the matter, and who are you?"

"Why, I am the Mother Goose cow with the crumpled horn," was the answer, "and my foot is caught so tightly in the hole of this stump that I cannot get it out."

"Why, I'll help you, Mrs. Crumpled-horn Cow," said Uncle Wiggily, kindly. Then, with his rheumatism crutch, the rabbit gentleman pushed loose the cow's hoof from where it was caught in the stump, and she was all right again.

"Oh, thank you so much, Uncle Wiggily," spoke the crumpled-horn cow. "If ever I can do you a favor I will."

"Thank you," said the rabbit gentleman, politely. "I'm sure you will. But how did you happen to get your hoof caught in that stump?"

"Oh, I was standing on it, trying to see if I could jump over the moon," was the answer.

"Jump over the moon!" cried the rabbit gentleman. "You surprise me! Why in the world --  -- "

"It's this way, you see," spoke the crumpled-horn lady cow. "In the Mother Goose book it says: 'Hi-diddle-diddle, the cat's in the fiddle, the cow jumped over the moon.' Well, if one cow did that, I don't see why another one can't. I got up on the stump, to try and jump over the moon, but my foot slipped and I was caught fast.

"I suppose I should not have tried it, for I am the cow with the crumpled horn. You have heard of me, I dare say. I'm the cow with the crumpled horn, that little Boy Blue drove out of the corn. I tossed the dog that worried that cat that caught the rat that ate the malt that lay in the house that Jack built."

"Oh, I remember you now," said Uncle Wiggily.

"And this is my crumpled horn," went on the cow, and she showed the rabbit gentleman how one of her horns was all crumpled and crooked and twisted, just like a corkscrew that is used to pull hard corks out of bottles.

"Well, thank you again for pulling out my foot," said the cow, as she turned away. "Now I must go toss that dog once more, for he's always worrying the cat."

So the cow went away, and Uncle Wiggily hopped on through the woods and over the fields. He had had an adventure, you see, helping the cow, and later on he had another one, for he met Jimmie Wibblewobble, the boy duck, who had lost his penny going to the store for a cornmeal-flavored lollypop. Uncle Wiggily found the penny in the snow, and Jimmie was happy once more.

The next day when Uncle Wiggily awakened in his hollow-stump bungalow, and tried to get out of bed, he was so lame and stiff that he could hardly move.

"Oh, dear!" cried the rabbit gentleman. "Ouch! Oh, what a pain!"

"What is it?" asked Nurse Jane. "What's the matter?"

"My rheumatism," answered Uncle Wiggily. "Please send to Dr. Possum and get some medicine. Ouch! Oh, my!"

"I'll go for the medicine myself," Nurse Jane said, and, tying her tail up in a double bow-knot, so she would not step on it, and trip, as she hurried along, over to Dr. Possum's she went.

The doctor was just starting out to go to see Nannie Wagtail, the little goat girl, who had the hornache, but before going there Dr. Possum ran back into his office, got a big bottle of medicine, which he gave to Nurse Jane, saying:

"When you get back to the hollow-stump bungalow pull out the cork and rub some on Uncle Wiggily's pain."

"Rub the cork on?" asked Nurse Jane, sort of surprised like.

"No, rub on some of the medicine from the bottle," answered Dr. Possum, laughing as he hurried off.

Uncle Wiggily had a bad pain when Nurse Jane got back.

"I'll soon fix you," said the muskrat lady. "Wait until I get the cork out of this bottle." But that was more easily said than done. Nurse Jane tried with all her might to pull out the cork with her paws and even with her teeth. Then she used a hair pin, but it only bent and twisted itself all up in a knot.

"Oh, hurry with the medicine!" begged Uncle Wiggily. "Hurry, please!"

"I can't get the cork out," said Nurse Jane. "The cork is stuck in the bottle."

"Let me try," spoke the bunny uncle. But he could not get the cork out, either, and his pain was getting worse all the while.

Just then came a knock on the bungalow door, and a voice said:

"I am the cow with the crumpled horn. I just met Dr. Possum, and he told me Uncle Wiggily had the rheumatism. Is there anything I can do for him? I'd like to do him a favor as he did me one."

"Yes, you can help me," said the rabbit gentleman. "Can you pull a tight cork out of a bottle?"

"Indeed I can!" mooed the cow. "Just watch me!" She put her crooked, crumpled horn, which was just like a corkscrew, in the cork, and, with one twist, out it came from the bottle as easily as anything. Then Nurse Jane could rub some medicine on Uncle Wiggily's rheumatism, which soon felt much better.

So you see Mother Goose's crumpled-horn cow can do other things besides tossing cat-worrying dogs. And if the fried egg doesn't go to sleep in the dish pan, so the knives and forks can't play tag there, I'll tell you next of Uncle Wiggily and Old Mother Hubbard.



Chapter XV

Uncle Wiggily And Old Mother Hubbard


"Uncle Wiggily, have you anything special to do this morning?" asked Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper for the rabbit gentleman, as she saw him get up from the breakfast table in his hollow-stump bungalow.

"Anything special? Why, no, I guess not," answered the bunny uncle. "I was going out for a walk, and perhaps I may meet with an adventure on the way, or I may help some friends of Mother Goose, as I sometimes do."

"You are always being kind to some one," said Nurse Jane, "and that is what I want you to do now. I have just made an orange cake, and --  -- "

"An orange cake?" cried Uncle Wiggily, his pink nose twinkling. "How nice! Where did you get the oranges?"

"Up on the Orange Mountains, to be sure," answered the muskrat lady, with a laugh. "I have made two orange cakes, to tell the exact truth, which I always do. There is one for us and I wanted to send one to Dr. Possum, who was so good to cure you of the rheumatism, when the cow with the crumpled horn pulled the hard cork out of the medicine bottle for us."

"Send an orange cake to Dr. Possum? The very thing! Oh, fine!" cried the bunny uncle. "I'll take it right over to him. Put it in a basket, so it will not take cold, Nurse Jane."

The muskrat lady wrapped the orange cake in a clean napkin, and then put it in the basket for Uncle Wiggily to carry to Dr. Possum.

Off started the old rabbit gentleman, over the woods and through the fields -- oh, excuse me just a minute. He did not go over the woods this time. He only did that when he had his airship, which he was not using to-day, for fear of spilling the oranges out of the cake. So he went over the fields and through the woods to Dr. Possum's office.

"Well, I wonder if I will have any adventure to-day?" thought the old rabbit gentleman, as he hopped along. "I hope I do, for --  -- "

And then he suddenly stopped thinking and listened, for he heard a dog barking, and a voice was sadly saying:

"Oh, dear! It's too bad, I know it is, but I can't help it. It's that way in the book, so you'll have to go hungry."

Then the dog barked again and Uncle Wiggily said:

"More trouble for some one. I hope it isn't the bad dog who used to bother me. I wonder if I can help any one?"

He looked around, and, nearby, he saw a little wooden house on the top of a hill. The barking and talking was coming from that house.

"I'll go up and see what is the matter?" said the rabbit gentleman. "Perhaps I can help."

He looked through a window of the house before going in, and he saw a lady, somewhat like Mother Goose, wearing a tall, peaked hat, like an ice cream cone turned upside down. And with her was a big dog, who was looking in an open cupboard and barking. And the lady was singing:

"Old Mother Hubbard Went to the cupboard To get her poor dog a bone. But, when she got there, The cupboard was bare, And so the poor dog had none."

"And isn't there anything else in the house to eat, except a bone, Mother Hubbard?" the dog asked. "I'm so hungry?"

"There isn't, I'm sorry to say," she answered. "But I'll go to the baker's to get you some bread --  -- "

"And when you come back you will think I am dead," said the dog, quickly. "I'll look so, anyhow," he went on, "for I am so hungry. Isn't there any way of getting me anything to eat without going to the baker's? I don't care much for bread, anyhow."

"How would you like a piece of orange cake?" asked Uncle Wiggily, all of a sudden, as he walked in Mother Hubbard's house. "Excuse me," said the bunny uncle, "but I could not help hearing what your dog said. I know how hard it is to be hungry, and I have an orange cake in my basket. It is for Dr. Possum, but I am sure he would be glad to let your dog have some."

"That is very kind of you," said Mother Hubbard.

"And I certainly would like orange cake," spoke the dog, making a bow and wagging his nose -- I mean his tail.

"Then you shall have it," said Uncle Wiggily, opening the basket. He set the orange cake on the table, and the dog began to eat it, and Mother Hubbard also ate some, for she was hungry, too, and, what do you think? Before Uncle Wiggily, or any one else knew it, the orange cake was all gone -- eaten up -- and there was none for Dr. Possum.

"Oh, see what we have done!" cried Mother Hubbard, sadly. "We have eaten all your cake, Uncle Wiggily. I'm sure we did not mean to, but with a hungry dog --  -- "

"Pray do not mention it," said the rabbit gentleman, politely. "I know just how it is. I have another orange cake of my own at home. I'll go get that for Dr. Possum. He won't mind which one he has."

"No. I can't let you do that," spoke Mother Hubbard. "You were too kind to be put to all that trouble. Next door to me lives Paddy Kake, the baker-man. I'll have him bake you a cake as fast as he can, and you can take that to Dr. Possum. How will that do?"

"Why, that will be just fine!" said Uncle Wiggily, twinkling his pink nose at the dog, who was licking up the last of the cake crumbs with his red tongue.

So Mother Hubbard went next door, where lived Paddy Kake, the baker. And she said to him:

"Paddy Kake, Paddy Kake, baker-man, Bake me a cake as fast as you can. Into it please put a raisin and plum, And mark it with D. P. for Dr. Possum."

"I will," said Paddy Kake. "I'll do it right away."

And he did, and as soon as the cake was baked Uncle Wiggily put it in the basket where the orange one had been, and took it to Dr. Possum, who was very glad to get it. For the raisin and plum cake was as good as the orange one Mother Hubbard and her dog had eaten.

So you see everything came out all right after all, and if the cork doesn't pop out of the ink bottle and go to sleep in the middle of the white bedspread, like our black cat, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and Little Miss Muffet.



Chapter XVI

Uncle Wiggily And Miss Muffet


"Rat-a-tat-tat!" came a knock on the door of the hollow-stump bungalow, where Uncle Wiggily Longears, the rabbit gentleman, lived with Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper. "Rat-a-tat-tat!"

"Come in," called Nurse Jane, who was sitting by a window, mending a pair of Uncle Wiggily's socks, which had holes in them.

The door opened, and into the bungalow stepped a little girl. Oh, she was such a tiny thing that she was not much larger than a doll.

"How do you do, Nurse Jane," said the little girl, making a low bow, and shaking her curly hair.

"Why, I am very well, thank you," the muskrat lady said. "How are you?"

"Oh, I'm very well, too, Nurse Jane."

"Ha! You seem to know me, but I am not so sure I know you," said Uncle Wiggily's housekeeper. "Are you Little Bo Peep?"

"No, Nurse Jane," answered the little girl, with a smile.

"Are you Mistress Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow?" Nurse Jane wanted to know.

"I am not Mistress Mary," answered the little girl.

"Then who are you?" Nurse Jane asked.

"I am little Miss Muffet, if you please, and I have come to sit on a tuffet, and eat some curds and whey. I want to see Uncle Wiggily, too, before I go away."

"All right," spoke Nurse Jane. "I'll get you the tuffet and the curds and whey," and she went out to the kitchen. The muskrat lady noticed that Miss Muffet said nothing about the spider frightening her away.

"Perhaps she doesn't like to talk about it," thought Miss Fuzzy Wuzzy, "though it's in the Mother Goose book. Well, I'll not say anything, either."

So she got the tuffet for little Miss Muffet; a tuffet being a sort of baby footstool. And, indeed, the little girl had to sit on something quite small, for her legs were very short.

"And here are your curds and whey," went on Nurse Jane, bringing in a bowl. Curds and whey are very good to eat. They are made from milk, sweetened, and are something like a custard in a cup.

So little Miss Muffet, sat on a tuffet, eating her curds and whey, just as she ought to have done.

"And," said Nurse Jane to herself, "I do hope no spider will come sit beside her to frighten Miss Muffet away, before Uncle Wiggily sees her, for she is a dear little child."

Pretty soon some one was heard hopping up the front steps of the bungalow, and Nurse Jane said:

"There is Uncle Wiggily now, I think."

"Oh, I'm glad!" exclaimed little Miss Muffet, as she handed the muskrat lady the empty bowl of curds and whey. "I want to see him very specially."

In came hopping the nice old rabbit gentleman, and he knew Little Miss Muffet right away, and was very glad to see her.

"Oh, Uncle Wiggily!" cried the little girl. "I have been waiting to see you. I want you to do me a very special extra favor; will you?"

"Why, of course, if I can," answered the bunny uncle, with a polite bow. "I am always glad to do favors."

"You can easily do this one," said Little Miss Muffet. "I want you to come --  -- "

And just then Uncle Wiggily saw a big spider crawling over the floor toward the little girl, who was still on her tuffet, having finished her curds and whey.

"And if she sees that spider, sit down beside her, it surely will frighten her away," thought Uncle Wiggily, "and I will not be able to find out what she wants me to do for her. Let me see, she hasn't yet noticed the spider. I wonder if I could get her out of the room while I asked the spider to kindly not to do any frightening, at least for a while?"

So Uncle Wiggily, who was quite worried, sort of waved his paw sideways at the spider, and twinkled his pink nose and said "Ahem!" which meant that the spider was to keep on crawling, and not go near Miss Muffet. Uncle Wiggily himself was not afraid of spiders.

"Yes, Uncle Wiggily," went on little Miss Muffet, who had not yet seen the spider. "I want you to come to --  -- " and then she saw the rabbit gentleman making funny noses behind her back, and waving his paw at something, and Miss Muffet cried:

"Why, what in the world is the matter, Uncle Wiggily? Have you hurt yourself?"

"No, no," the rabbit gentleman quickly exclaimed. "It's the spider. She's crawling toward you, and I don't want her to sit down beside you, and frighten you away."

Little Miss Muffet laughed a jolly laugh.

"Oh, Uncle Wiggily!" she cried. "I'm not at all afraid of spiders! I'd let a dozen of them sit beside me if they wanted to, for I know they will not harm me, if I do not harm them. And besides, I knew this spider was coming all the while."

"You did?" cried Nurse Jane, surprised like.

"To be sure I did. She is Mrs. Spin-Spider, and she has come to measure me for a new cobweb silk dress; haven't you, Mrs. Spin-Spider?"

"Yes, child, I have," answered the lady spider. "No one need be afraid of me."

"I'm not," Uncle Wiggily said, "only I did not want you to frighten Miss Muffet away before she had her curds and whey."

"Oh, I had them," the little girl said. "Nurse Jane gave them to me before you came in, Uncle Wiggily. But now let me tell you what I came for, and then Mrs. Spin-Spider can measure me for a new dress. I came to ask if you would do me the favor to come to my birthday party next week. Will you?"

"Of course I will!" cried Uncle Wiggily. "I'll be delighted."

"Good!" laughed Little Miss Muffet. Then along came Mrs. Spin-Spider, and sat down beside her and did not frighten the little girl away, but, instead, measured her for a new dress.

So from this we may learn that cobwebs are good for something else than catching flies, and in the next chapter, if the piano doesn't come upstairs to lie down on the brass bed so the pillow has to go down in the coal bin to sleep, I'll tell you about Uncle Wiggily and the first little kitten.



Chapter XVII

Uncle Wiggily And The First Kitten


Uncle Wiggily Longears, the nice old rabbit gentleman, was asleep in his easy chair by the fire which burned brightly on the hearth in his hollow-stump bungalow. Mr. Longears was dreaming that he had just eaten a piece of cherry pie for lunch, and that the cherry pits were dropping on the floor with a "rat-a-tat-tat!" when he suddenly awakened and heard some one knocking on the front door.

"Ha! Who is there? Come in!" cried the rabbit gentleman, hardly awake yet. Then he happened to think:

"I hope it isn't the bad fox, or the skillery-scalery alligator, whom I have invited in. I ought not to have been so quick."

But it was none of these unpleasant creatures who had knocked on Uncle Wiggily's door. It was Mrs. Purr, the nice cat lady, and when the rabbit gentleman had let her in she looked so sad and sorrowful that he said:

"What is the matter, Mrs. Purr? Has anything happened?"

"Indeed there has, Mr. Longears," the cat lady answered. "You know my three little kittens, don't you?"

"Why, yes, I know them," replied the bunny uncle. "They are Fuzzo, Muzzo and Wuzzo. I hope they are not ill?"

"No, they are not ill," said the cat lady, mewing sadly, "but they have run away, and I came to see if you would help me get them back."

"Run away! Your dear little kittens!" cried Uncle Wiggily. "You don't mean it! How did it happen?"

"Well, you know my little kittens had each a new pair of mittens," said Mrs. Purr.

"Yes, I read about that in the Mother Goose book," said the rabbit gentleman. "It must be nice to have new mittens."

"My little kittens thought so," went on Mrs. Purr. "Their grandmother, Pussy Cat Mole, knitted them."

"I have met Pussy Cat Mole," said Uncle Wiggily. "After she jumped over a coal, and in her best petticoat burned a great hole, I helped her mend it so she could go to the party."

"I heard about that; it was very good of you," mewed Mrs. Purr. "But about my little kittens, when they got their mittens, what do you think they did?"

"Why, I suppose they went out and played in the snow," Uncle Wiggily said. "I know that is what I would have done, when I was a little rabbit, if I had had a new pair of mittens."

"I only wish they had done that," Mrs. Purr said. "But, instead, they went and ate some cherry pie. The red pie-juice got all over their new mittens, and when they saw it they became afraid I would scold them, and they ran away. I was not home when they ate the pie and soiled their mittens, but the cat lady who lives next door told me.

"Now I want to know if you will try to find my three little kittens for me; Fuzzo, Wuzzo and Muzzo? I want them to come home so badly!"

"I'll go look for them," promised the old rabbit gentleman. So taking his red, white and blue rheumatism crutch, off he started over the fields and through the woods. Mrs. Purr went back home to get supper, in case her kittens, with their pie-soiled mittens, should come back by themselves before Uncle Wiggily found them.

On and on went the old rabbit gentleman. He looked on all sides and through the middle for any signs of the lost kittens, but he saw none for quite a while. Then, all at once, he heard a mewing sound over in the bushes, and he said:

"Ha! There is the first little kitten!" And there, surely enough she was -- Fuzzo!

"Oh, dear!" Fuzzo was saying, "I don't believe I'll ever get them clean!"

"What's the matter now?" asked the rabbit gentleman, though he knew quite well what it was, and only pretended he did not. "Who are you and what is the matter?" he asked.

"Oh, I'm in such trouble," said the first little kitten. "My sisters and I ate some pie in our new mittens. We soiled them badly with the red pie-juice. Weren't we naughty kittens?"

"Well, perhaps just a little bit naughty," Uncle Wiggily said. "But you should not have run away from your mamma. She feels very badly. Where are Muzzo and Wuzzo?"

"I don't know!" answered Fuzzo. "They ran one way and I ran another. I'm trying to get the pie-juice out of my mittens, but I can't seem to do it."

"How did you try?" Uncle Wiggily wanted to know.

"Weren't we naughty kittens?"

"I am rubbing my mittens up and down on the rough bark of trees and on stones," answered Fuzzo. "I thought that would take the pie stains out, but it doesn't."

"Of course not!" laughed Uncle Wiggily. "Now you come with me. I am going to take you home. Your mother sent me to look for you."

"Oh, but I'm afraid to go home," mewed Fuzzo. "My mother will scold me for soiling my nice, new mittens. It says so in the book."

"No, she won't!" laughed Uncle Wiggily. "You just leave it to me. But first you come to my hollow-stump bungalow."

So Fuzzo, the first little kitten, put one paw in Uncle Wiggily's, and carrying her mittens in the other, along they went together.

"Where are you, Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy?" called the rabbit gentleman, when they reached his hollow-stump bungalow. "I want you to make some nice, hot, soapy suds and water, and wash this first little kitten's mittens. Then they will be clean, and she can take them home with her."

So the muskrat lady made some nice, hot, soap-bubbily suds and in them she washed the kitten's mittens. Then, when they were dry, Uncle Wiggily took the mittens, and also Fuzzo to Mrs. Purr's house.

"Oh, how glad I am to have you back!" cried the cat mother. "I wouldn't have scolded you, Fuzzo, for soiling your mittens. You must not be afraid any more."

"I won't," promised the first little kitten, showing her nice, clean mittens.

And then Uncle Wiggily said he would go find the other two lost baby cats. And so, if the milkman doesn't put goldfish in the ink bottle, to make the puppy dog laugh when he goes to bed, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the second kittie.



Chapter XVIII

Uncle Wiggily And The Second Kitten


"Well, where are you going now, Uncle Wiggily?" asked Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper, of the rabbit gentleman, one day as she saw him starting out of his hollow-stump bungalow, after he had found the first of the little kittens who had soiled their mittens.

"I am going to look for the second little lost kitten," replied the bunny uncle, "though where she may be I don't know. Her name is Muzzo."

"Why, her name is almost like mine, isn't it?" asked Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy.

"A little like it," said Uncle Wiggily. "Poor little Muzzo! She and the other two kittens ran off after they had soiled their mittens, eating cherry pie when their mother, Mrs. Purr, was not at home."

"It is very good of you to go looking for them," said Nurse Jane.

"Oh, I just love to do things like that," spoke the rabbit gentleman. "Well, good-by. I'll see if I can't find the second kitten now."

Away started the rabbit gentleman, over the fields and through the woods, looking on all sides for the second lost kitten, whose name was Muzzo.

"Where are you, kittie?" called Uncle Wiggily. "Where are you, Muzzo? Come to me! Never mind if your mittens are soiled by cherry-pie-juice. I'll find a way to clean them."

But no Muzzo answered. Uncle Wiggily looked everywhere, under bushes and in the tree tops; for sometimes kitty cats climb trees, you know; but no Muzzo could he find. Then Uncle Wiggily walked a little farther, and he saw Billie Wagtail, the goat boy, butting his head in a snow-bank.

"What are you doing, Billie?" asked the rabbit gentleman.

"Oh, just having some fun," answered Billie, standing up on his hind legs.

"You haven't seen a little lost kitten, with cherry-pie-juice on her new mittens, have you?" asked the rabbit gentleman.

"No, I am sorry to say I have not," said Billie, politely. "Did you lose one?"

"No, she lost herself," said Uncle Wiggily, and he told about Muzzo.

"I'll help you look for her," offered the goat boy, so he and Uncle Wiggily started off together to try to find poor little lost Muzzo, and bring her home to her mother, Mrs. Purr.

Pretty soon, as the rabbit gentleman and the goat boy were walking along they heard a little mewing cry behind a pile of snow, and Uncle Wiggily said:

"That sounds like Muzzo now."

"Perhaps it is. Let's look," said Billie Wagtail.

He and the bunny uncle looked over the pile of snow, and there, surely enough, they saw a little white pussy cat sitting on a stone, looking at her mittens, which were all covered with red pie-juice.

"Oh, dear!" the little pussy was saying. "I don't know how to get them clean! What shall I do? I can't go home with my mittens all soiled, or my mamma will whip me."

Of course, Mrs. Purr, the cat lady, would not do anything like that, but Muzzo thought she would.

"What are you trying to do to clean your mittens, Muzzo?" asked Uncle Wiggily.

"Oh, how you surprised me!" exclaimed the second little lost kitten. "I did not know you were here."

"Billie Wagtail and I came to look for you," said Uncle Wiggily. "But what about your mittens?"

"Oh, I have been dipping them in snow, trying to clean them," said Muzzo. "Only the pie-juice will not come out."

"Of course not," spoke Uncle Wiggily, with a laugh. "It needs hot soap-suds and water to clean them. You come home to my bungalow and we will get some."

"Oh, I am so cold and tired I can't go another step," said the second little kitten, who had run away from home after she soiled her mittens. "I just can't."

"Well, then, I don't know how you are going to get your mittens washed, out here in the cold and snow," said the rabbit gentleman.

"Ha! I know a way!" said Billie Wagtail, the goat boy.

"How?" asked Uncle Wiggily.

"I'll get an empty tomato can," spoke Billie. "I know where there is one, for I was eating the paper off it, to get the paste, just before you came along."

Goats like to eat paper off tomato cans, you know, because the paper is stuck on with sweet paste, and that is as good to goat children as candy is to you.

"I'll go get the tomato can," said Billie, "and you can make a fire, Uncle Wiggily."

"And then what?" asked the rabbit gentleman.

"Then we will melt some snow, and make some hot water," went on Billie. "I have a cake of soap in my pocket, that I just bought at the store for my mother.

"With the hot water in the can, and the soap, we can make a suds, and wash Muzzo's mittens out here as well as at your bungalow."

"So we can, Billie!" cried the bunny uncle. "You go get the empty tomato tin and I'll make the fire. You needn't try to wash your soiled mittens in the snow any more, Muzzo," he said to the second lost kittie. "We will do it for you, in soapy water, which is better."

Soon Uncle Wiggily made a fire. Back came Billie Wagtail with the tomato can. Some snow was put in it, and it was set over the blaze. Soon the snow melted into water, and then when the water was hot Uncle Wiggily made a soapy suds as Nurse Jane had done.

"Now I can wash my mittens!" cried Muzzo, and she did. And when they were nice and clean she went home with them, and oh! how glad her mother was to see her!

"Never run away again, Muzzo," said the cat lady.

"I won't," promised the kitten. "But where is Wuzzo?"

"She is still lost," said Mrs. Purr.

"But I will go find her, too," said Uncle Wiggily.

And if the apple pie doesn't go out snowballing with the piece of cheese, and forget to come back to dinner, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the third little kitten.



Chapter XIX

Uncle Wiggily And The Third Kitten


Uncle Wiggily Longears, the nice old gentleman rabbit, came walking slowly up the front path that led to his hollow-stump bungalow. He was limping a little on his red, white and blue striped barber-pole rheumatism crutch that Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper, had gnawed for him out of a corn-stalk.

"Well, I'm glad to be home again," said the rabbit uncle, sitting down on the front porch to rest a minute. And just then the door in the hollow stump opened, and Nurse Jane, looking out, said:

"Oh, here he is now, Mrs. Purr."

With that a cat lady came to the door and she said:

"Oh, Uncle Wiggily! I thought you never would come back. Did you find her?"

"Find who?" asked the rabbit gentleman. "I was not looking for any one. I have just been down to Lincoln Park to see some squirrels who live in a hollow tree. They are second cousins to Johnnie and Billie Bushytail, the squirrels who live in our woods. I had a nice visit with them."

"Then you didn't find Wuzzo, my third little lost kitten, did you?" asked Mrs. Purr, the cat mother.

"What! Is Wuzzo still lost?" asked the bunny uncle, in great surprise. "I thought she had come home."

"No, she hasn't," said Mrs. Purr. "You know you found my other kittens, Fuzzo and Muzzo, for me, but Wuzzo, the third little kitten, is still lost. She has been away all night, and I came over here the first thing this morning to see if you would not kindly go look for her. But you had already left and I have been waiting here ever since for you to come back."

"Yes, I stayed longer with the park squirrels than I meant to," said Uncle Wiggily. "But now I am back I will start off and try to find Wuzzo. It's too bad your three little kittens ran away."

They had, you know, as I told you in the two stories before this one. The three little kittens ate cherry pie with their new mittens on. And they soiled their mittens. Then they were so afraid their mother, Mrs. Purr, would scold them that they all ran away.

But Mrs. Purr was a kind cat, and would not have scolded at all. And when she found her little kittens were gone she asked Uncle Wiggily to find them.

"And you did find the first two, Fuzzo and Muzzo," said the cat lady. "So I am sure you can find the third one, Wuzzo."

"I hope I can," Uncle Wiggily said. "I remember now I started off to find her, but my rheumatism hurt me so I had to come back to my bungalow. Then I forgot all about Wuzzo. But I'm all right now, and I'll start off."

So away over the fields and through the woods went Uncle Wiggily, looking for the third little lost kitten. When he had found the two others he had helped them wash the pie-juice off their mittens, so they were nice and clean. And then the kittens were not afraid to go home.

Uncle Wiggily looked all over for the third little kitten, under bushes, up in trees (for cats climb trees, you know), and even behind big rocks Uncle Wiggily looked. But no Wuzzo could he find.

At last, when the rabbit gentleman came to a big hollow log that was lying on the ground, he sat down on it to rest, and, all of a sudden, he heard a voice inside the log speaking. And the voice asked:

"Pussy cat, pussy cat, where have you been?"

"I've been to London to see the Queen," answered another voice.

"Pussy cat, pussy cat, what did you do there?"

"I frightened a little mouse, under her chair," came the answer, and this time it was a little pussy cat kitten speaking, Uncle Wiggily was certain.

The old rabbit gentleman looked in one end of the hollow log, and there surely enough, he saw Wuzzo, the third lost kitten.

And besides Wuzzo, Uncle Wiggily saw Neddie Stubtail, the little bear boy, who always slept in a hollow log all Winter. But this time Neddie was awake, for it was near Spring.

"Wuzzo, Wuzzo! Is that you? What are you doing there?" asked Uncle Wiggily. "Don't you know your poor mother is looking all over for you, and that she has sent me to find you? Why don't you come home?"

"I -- I'm afraid to," said Wuzzo, crawling out of the hollow log, and Neddie, the boy bear also crawled out, saying:

"Hello, Uncle Wiggily!"

"How do you do, Neddie," spoke the bunny uncle. "How long has Wuzzo been staying with you?"

"She just ran in my hollow log," said the little bear chap, "and her tail, brushing against my nose, tickled me so that I sneezed and awakened from my Winter sleep."

"Where have you been all night, since you ran away, Wuzzo?" asked Uncle Wiggily.

"Well," answered the third little kitten. "After Fuzzo, Muzzo and I soiled our mittens with cherry pie we all ran away."

"Yes, I know that part," spoke the bunny uncle. "It was not right to do, but I have found the two other lost kitties. I couldn't find you, though. Why was that?"

"Because I met Mother Goose," said Wuzzo, "and she asked me to go to London to see the Queen. She took me through the air on the back of her big gander, and we flew as quickly as you could have gone in your airship."

"You went to London to see the Queen!" exclaimed Uncle Wiggily, in surprise. "Well, well! What did you do there?"

"I frightened a little mouse under her chair, just as Mother Goose wanted me to do," said Wuzzo. "Then the big gander flew with me to these woods and went back to get Mother Goose, who stayed to talk with the Queen. So here I am, but I don't know the way home."

"Oh, I'll take you home all right," said Uncle Wiggily. "But first we must wash your mittens."

"Oh, I did that for her, in the log," said Neddie Stubtail, laughing. "With my red tongue I licked off all the sweet cherry-pie-juice, which I liked very much. So, now the mittens are clean."

"Good!" cried the bunny uncle. "Now we will go to your mother, Wuzzo. She will be glad to know that you frightened a little mouse under the Queen's chair."

So Uncle Wiggily took the third little kitten home, and thus they were all found. And if the cat on our roof doesn't jump down the chimney, and scare the lemon pie so it turns into an apple dumpling, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the Jack horse.



Chapter XX

Uncle Wiggily And The Jack Horse


"Well, where are you going to-day, Uncle Wiggily?" asked Nurse Jane Fuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper, as she saw the rabbit gentleman putting on his tall silk hat, and taking his red, white and blue striped rheumatism crutch down off the mantel.

"I am going over to see Nannie and Billy Wagtail, the goat children," answered the bunny uncle. "I have not seen them in a long while."

"But they'll be at school," said Nurse Jane.

"I'll wait until they come home, then," said Uncle Wiggily. "And while I'm waiting I'll talk to Uncle Butter, the nice old gentleman goat."

So off started Uncle Wiggily over the fields and through the woods.

Pretty soon he came to the house where the family of Wagtail goats lived. They were given that name because they wagged their little short tails so very fast, sometimes up and down, and again sideways.

"Why, how do you do, Uncle Wiggily?" asked Mrs. Wagtail, as she opened the door for the rabbit gentleman. "Come and sit down."

"Thank you," he answered. "I called to see Nannie and Billie. But I suppose they are at school."

"Yes, they are studying their lessons."

"Well, I'll come in then, and talk to Uncle Butter, for I suppose you are busy."

"Yes, I am, but not too busy to talk to you, Mr. Longears," said the goat lady. "Uncle Butter is away, pasting up some circus posters on the billboard, and I wish he'd come back, for I want him to go to the store for me."

"Couldn't I go?" asked Uncle Wiggily, politely. "I have nothing special to do, and I often go to the store for Nurse Jane. I'd like to go for you."

"Very well, you may," said Mrs. Wagtail. "I want for supper some papers off a tomato can, and a few more off a can of corn, and here is a basket to put them in. And you might bring a bit of brown paper, so I can make soup of it."

"I will," said Uncle Wiggily, starting off with the basket on his paw. Goats, you know, like the papers that come off cans, as the papers have sweet paste on them. And they also like brown grocery paper itself, for it has straw in it, and goats like straw. Of course, goats eat other things besides paper, though.

Uncle Wiggily was going carefully along, for there was ice and snow on the ground, and it was slippery, and he did not want to fall. Soon he was at the paper store, where he bought what Mrs. Wagtail wanted.

And on the way back to the goat lady's house something happened to the old rabbit gentleman. As he stepped over a big icicle he put his foot down on a slippery snowball some little animal chap had left on the path, and, all of a sudden, bango! down went Uncle Wiggily, basket of paper, rheumatism crutch and all.

"Ouch!" cried the rabbit gentleman, "I fear something is broken," for he heard a cracking sound as he fell.

He looked at his paws and legs and felt of his big ears. They seemed all right. Then he looked at the basket of paper. That was crumpled up, but not broken, and the bunny uncle's tall silk hat, while it had a few dents in, was not smashed.

"Oh, dear! It's my rheumatism crutch," cried Uncle Wiggily. "It's broken in two, and how am I ever going to walk without it this slippery day I don't see. Oh, my goodness me sakes alive and some bang-bang tooth powder!"

Carefully the rabbit gentleman arose, but as he had no red, white and blue striped crutch to lean on, he nearly fell again.

"I guess I'd better stay sitting down," thought Uncle Wiggily. "Perhaps some one may come along, and I can ask them go get Nurse Jane to gnaw for me another rheumatism crutch out of a corn-stalk. I'll wait here until help comes."

Uncle Wiggily waited quite a while, but no one passed by.

"It will soon be time for Billie and Nannie Wagtail to pass by on their way from school," thought the bunny uncle. "I could send them for another crutch, I suppose."

So he waited a little longer, and then, as no one came, he tried to walk with his broken crutch. But he could not. Then Uncle Wiggily cried:

"Help! Help! Help!" but still no one came. "Oh, dear!" said the rabbit gentleman, "if only Mother Goose would fly past, riding on the back of her gander, she might take me home." He looked up, but Mother Goose was not sweeping cobwebs out of the sky that day, so he did not see her.

Then, all of a sudden, as the rabbit gentleman sat there, wondering how he was going to walk on the slippery ice and snow without his crutch to help him, he heard a jolly voice singing:

"Ride a Jack horse to Banbury Cross, To see an old lady jump on a white horse. With rings on her fingers and bells on her toes, She shall have music wherever she goes."

And with that along through the woods came riding a nice, old lady on a rocking-horse. And on the side of the rocking-horse was painted in red ink the name:

Jack

"Why, hello, Uncle Wiggily!" called the nice old lady, shaking her toes and making the bells jingle a pretty tune. "What is the matter with you?" she asked.

"Oh, I am in such trouble," replied the bunny uncle. "I fell down on a slippery snowball, and broke my crutch. Without it I cannot walk, and I want to take these papers to Mrs. Wagtail, the goat lady, to eat."

"Ha! If that is all your trouble I can soon fix matters!" cried the jolly old lady. "Here, get up beside me on my Jack horse, and I'll ride you to Mrs. Wagtail's, and then take you home to your hollow-stump bungalow."

"Oh, will you? How kind!" said Uncle Wiggily. "Thank you! But have you the time?"

"Lots of time," laughed the old lady. "It doesn't really matter when I get to Banbury Cross. Come on!"

Uncle Wiggily got up on the back of the Jack horse, behind the old lady. She tinkled the rings on her fingers and jingled the bells on her toes, and so, of course, she'll have music wherever she goes.

"Just as the Mother Goose books says," spoke the bunny uncle. "Oh, I'm glad you came along."

"So am I," said the nice old lady. Then she took Uncle Wiggily to the Wagtail house, where he left the basket of papers, and next he rode on the Jack horse to his bungalow, and, after the bunny uncle had thanked the old lady, she, herself, rode on to Banbury Cross, to see another old lady jump on a white horse. And very nicely she did it too, let me tell you.

So everything came out all right, and in the next chapter, if the apple pie doesn't turn a somersault and crack its crust so the juice runs out, I'll tell you about Uncle Wiggily and the clock-mouse.



Chapter XXI

Uncle Wiggily And The Clock-Mouse


Uncle Wiggily Longears, the nice old rabbit gentleman, sat in an easy chair in his hollow-stump bungalow. He had just eaten a nice lunch, which Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper, had put on the table for him, and he was feeling a bit sleepy.

"Are you going out this afternoon?" asked Miss Fuzzy Wuzzy, as she cleared away the dishes.

"Hum! Ho! Well, I hardly know," Uncle Wiggily answered, in a sleepy voice. "I may, after I have a little nap."

"Your new red, white and blue striped rheumatism crutch is ready for you," went on Nurse Jane. "I gnawed it for you out of a fine large corn-stalk."

Uncle Wiggily had broken his other crutch, if you will kindly remember, when he slipped as he was coming back from the store, where he went for Mrs. Wagtail, the goat lady. And it was so slippery that the rabbit gentleman never would have gotten home, only he rode on a Jack horse with the lady, who had rings on her fingers and bells on her toes, as I told you in the story before this one.

"Thank you for making me a new crutch, Nurse Jane," spoke the bunny uncle. "If I go out I'll take it."

Then he went to sleep in his easy chair, but he was suddenly awakened by hearing the bungalow clock strike one. Then, as he sat up and rubbed his eyes with his paws, Uncle Wiggily heard a thumping noise on the hall floor and a little voice squeaked out:

"Ouch! I've hurt my leg! Oh, dear!"

"My! I wonder what that can be? It seemed to come out of my clock," spoke Mr. Longears.

"I did come out of your clock," said some one.

"You did? Who are you, if you please?" asked the bunny uncle, looking all around. "I can't see you."

"That's because I'm so small," was the answer. "But here I am, right by the table. I can't walk as my leg is hurt."

Uncle Wiggily looked, and saw a little mouse, who was holding his left hind leg in his right front paw.

"Who are you?" asked the bunny uncle.

"I am Hickory Dickory Dock, the mouse," was the answer. "And I am a clock-mouse."

"A clock-mouse!" exclaimed Uncle Wiggily, in surprise. "I never heard of such a thing."

"Oh, don't you remember me? I'm in Mother Goose's book. This is how it goes:

"'Hickory Dickory Dock, The mouse ran up the clock. The clock struck one, And down he come, Hickory Dickory Dock!'"

"Oh, now I remember you," said Uncle Wiggily. "And so you are a clock-mouse."

"Yes, I ran up your clock, and then when the clock struck one, down I had to come. But I ran down so fast that I tripped over the pendulum. The clock reached down its hands and tried to catch me, but it had no eyes in its face to see me, so I slipped, anyhow, and I hurt my leg."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," said Uncle Wiggily. "Perhaps I can fix it for you. Nurse Jane, bring me some salve for Hickory Dickory Dock, the clock-mouse," he called.

The muskrat lady brought some salve, and, with a rag, Uncle Wiggily bound up the leg of the clock-mouse so it did not hurt so much.

"And I'll lend you a piece of my old crutch, so you can hobble along on it," said Uncle Wiggily.

"Thank you," spoke Hickory Dickory Dock, the clock-mouse. "You have been very kind to me, and some day, I hope, I may do you a favor. If I can I will."

"Thank you," Uncle Wiggily said. Then Hickory Dickory Dock limped away, but in a few days he was better, and he could run up more clocks, and run down when they struck one.

It was about a week after this that Uncle Wiggily went walking through the woods on his way to see Grandfather Goosey Gander. And just before he reached his friend's house he met Mother Goose.

"Oh, Uncle Wiggily," she said, swinging her cobweb broom up and down, "I want to thank you for being so kind to Hickory Dickory Dock, the clock-mouse."

"It was a pleasure to be kind to him," said Uncle Wiggily. "Is he all better now?"

"Yes, he is all well again," replied Mother Goose. "He is coming to run up and down your clock again soon."

"I'll be glad to see him," said Uncle Wiggily. Then he went to call on Grandpa Goosey, and he told about Hickory Dickory Dock, falling down from out the clock.

On his way back to his hollow-stump bungalow, Uncle Wiggily took a short cut through the woods. And, as he was passing along, his paw slipped and he became all tangled up in a wild grape vine, which was like a lot of ropes, all twisted together into hard knots.

"Oh, dear!" cried Uncle Wiggily. "I'm caught!" The more he tried to untangle himself the tighter he was held fast, until it seemed he would never get out.

"Oh!" cried the rabbit gentleman. "This is terrible. Will no one come to get me out? Help! Help! Will some one please help me?"

"Yes, I will help you, Uncle Wiggily," answered a kind, little squeaking voice.

"Who are you?" asked the rabbit gentleman, moving a piece of the grape vine away from his nose, so he could speak plainly.

"I am Hickory Dickory Dock, the clock-mouse," was the answer, "and with my sharp teeth I will gnaw the grape vine in many pieces so you will be free."

"That will be very kind of you," said Uncle Wiggily, who was quite tired out with his struggles to get loose.

So Hickory Dickory Dock, with his sharp teeth, gnawed the grape vine, and, in a little while, Uncle Wiggily was loose and all right again.

"Thank you," said the bunny uncle to the clock-mouse, as he hopped off, and Hickory Dickory Dock went with him, for his leg was all better now. "Thank you very much, nice little clock-mouse."

"You did me a favor," said Hickory Dickory Dock, "and now I have done you one, so we are even." And that's a good way to be in this world. So, if the ink bottle doesn't turn pale when it sees the fountain pen jump in the goldfish bowl and swim I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the late scholar.



Chapter XXII

Uncle Wiggily And The Late Scholar


"Heigh-ho!" cried Uncle Wiggily Longears, the nice rabbit gentleman, one morning, as he hopped from bed and went to the window of his hollow-stump bungalow to look out. "Heigh-ho! It will soon be Spring, I hope, for I am tired of Winter."

Then he went down-stairs, where Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper, had his breakfast ready on the table.

Uncle Wiggily ate some cabbage pancakes with carrot maple sugar sprinkled over them, and then as he wiped his whiskers on his red tongue, which he used for a napkin, and as he twinkled his pink nose to see if it was all right, Nurse Jane said:

"Yesterday, Uncle Wiggily, you told me you would like me to make some lettuce cakes today; did you not?"

"I did," answered Uncle Wiggily, sort of slow and solemn like. "But what is the matter, Nurse Jane? I hope you are not going to tell me that you cannot, or will not, make those lettuce cakes."

"Oh, I'll make them, all right enough, Wiggy," the muskrat lady answered, "only I have no lettuce. You will have to go to the store for me."

"And right gladly will I go!" exclaimed the bunny uncle, speaking like some one in an old-fashioned story book. "I'll get my automobile out and go at once."

Uncle Wiggily had not used his machine often that Winter, as there had been so much snow and ice. But now it was getting close to Spring and the weather was very nice. There was no snow in the woods and fields, though, of course, some might fall later.

"It will do my auto good to have me ride in it," said the bunny uncle. He blew some hot air in the bologna sausage tires, put some talcum powder on the steering-wheel so it would not catch cold, and then, having tickled the whizzicum-whazzicum with a goose feather, away he started for the lettuce store.

It did not take him long to get there, and, having bought a nice head of the green stuff, the bunny uncle started back again for his hollow-stump bungalow.

"Nurse Jane will make some fine lettuce cakes, with clover ice cream cones on top," he said to himself, as he hurried along in his automobile.

He had not gone very far, and he was about halfway home, when from behind a bush he heard the sound of crying. Now, whenever Uncle Wiggily heard any one crying he knew some one was in trouble, and as he always tried to help those in trouble, he did it this time. Stopping his automobile, he called:

"Who are you, and what is the matter? Perhaps I can help you."

Out from behind the bush came a boy, a nice sort of boy, except that he was crying.

"Oh, are you Simple Simon?" asked Uncle Wiggily, "and are you crying because you cannot catch a whale in your mother's water pail?"

"No; I am not Simple Simon," was the answer of the boy.

"Well, you cannot be Jack Horner, because you have no pie with you, and you're not Little Boy Blue, because I see you wear a red necktie," went on the bunny uncle. "Do you belong to Mother Goose at all?"

"Yes," answered the boy. "I do. You must have heard about me. I am Diller-a-Dollar, a ten o'clock scholar, why do you come so soon? I used to come at ten o'clock, but now I'll come at noon. Don't you know me?"

"Ha! Why, of course, I know you!" cried Uncle Wiggily, in his jolly voice, as he put some lollypop oil on the doodle-oodleum of his auto. "But, why are you crying?"

"Because I'm going to be late at school again," said the boy. "You see of late I have been late a good many mornings, but this morning I got up early, and was sure I would get there before noon."

"And so you will, if you hurry," Uncle Wiggily said, looking at his watch, that was a cousin to the clock, up which, and down which, ran Hickory Dickory Dock, the mouse. "It isn't anywhere near noon yet," went on the rabbit gentleman. "You can almost get to school on time this morning."

"I suppose I could," said the boy, "and I got up early on purpose to do that. But now I have lost my way, and I don't know where the school is. Oh, dear! Boo hoo! I'll never get to school this week, I fear."

"Oh, yes, you will!" said Uncle Wiggily, still more kindly. "I'll tell you what to do. Hop up in the automobile here with me, and I'll take you to the school. I know just where it is. Sammie and Susie Littletail, my rabbit friends, and Johnnie and Billie Bushytail, the squirrels, as well as Nannie and Billie Wagtail, the goats, go there. Hop in!"

So Diller-a-Dollar, the late scholar, hopped in the auto, and he and Uncle Wiggily started off together.

"You'll not be late this morning," said the bunny uncle. "I'll get you there just about nine o'clock."

Well, Uncle Wiggily meant to do it, and he might have, only for what happened. First a hungry dog bit a piece out of one of the bologna sausage tires on the auto wheels, and they had to go slower. Then a hungry cat took another piece and they had to go still more slowly.

A little farther on the tinkerum-tankerum of the automobile, which drinks gasolene, grew thirsty and Uncle Wiggily had to give it a glass of lemonade. This took more time.

And finally when the machine went over a bump the cork came out of the box of talcum powder and it flew in the face of Uncle Wiggily and the late scholar and they both sneezed so hard that the auto stopped.

"See! I told you we'd never get to school," sadly said the boy. "Oh, dear! And I thought this time teacher would not laugh, and ask me why I came so soon, when I was really late."

"It's too bad!" Uncle Wiggily said. "I did hope I could get you there on time. But wait a minute. Let me think. Ha! I have it! We are close to my bungalow. We'll run there and get in my airship. That goes ever so much faster than my auto, and I'll have you to school in no time."

No sooner said than done! In the airship the late scholar and Uncle Wiggily reached school just as the nine o'clock bell was ringing, and so Diller-a-Dollar was on time this time after all. And the teacher said:

"Oh, Diller-a-Dollar, my ten o'clock scholar, you may stand up in line. You used to come in very late, but now you come at nine."

So the late scholar was not late after all, thanks to Uncle Wiggily, and if the egg beater doesn't go to sleep in the rice pudding, where it can't get out to go sleigh-riding with the potato masher, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and Baa-Baa, the black sheep.



Chapter XXIII

Uncle Wiggily And Baa-Baa Black Sheep


"My goodness! But it's cold to-day!" exclaimed Uncle Wiggily Longears, the nice rabbit gentleman, as he came down to breakfast in his hollow-stump bungalow one morning. "It is very cold."

"Indeed it is," said Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper, as she put the hot buttered cabbage cakes on the table. "If you go out you had better wear your fur coat."

"I shall," spoke the bunny uncle. "And I probably shall call on Mother Goose. She asked me to stop in the next time I went past."

"What for?" Nurse Jane wanted to know.

"Oh, Little Jack Horner hurt his thumb the last time he pulled a plum out of his Christmas pie, and Mother Goose wanted me to look at it, and see if she had better call in Dr. Possum. So I'll stop and have a look."

"Well, give her my love," said Nurse Jane, and Uncle Wiggily promised that he would.

A little later he started off across the fields and through the woods to the place where Mother Goose lived, not far from his own hollow-stump bungalow. Uncle Wiggily had on his fur overcoat, for it was cold. It had been warm the day before, when he had taken Diller-a-Dollar, the ten o'clock scholar, to school, but now the weather had turned cold again.

"Come in!" called Mother Goose, when Uncle Wiggily had tapped with his paw on her door. "Come in!"

The bunny uncle went in, and looked at the thumb of Little Jack Horner, who was playing marbles with Little Boy Blue.

"Does your thumb hurt you much, Jack?" asked Uncle Wiggily.

"Yes, I am sorry to say it does. I'm not going to pull any more plums out of Christmas pies. I'm going to eat cake instead," said Jack Horner.

"Well, I'll go get Dr. Possum for you," offered Uncle Wiggily. "I think that will be best," he remarked to Mother Goose.

Wrapped in his warm fur overcoat, Uncle Wiggily once more started off over the fields and through the woods. He had not gone very far before he heard a queer sort of crying noise, like:

"Baa! Baa! Baa!"

"Ha! That sounds like a little lost lamb," said the bunny uncle, "only there are no little lambs out this time of year. I'll take a look. It may be some one in trouble, whom I can help."

Uncle Wiggily looked around the corner of a stone fence, and there he saw a sheep shivering in the cold, for most of his warm, fleecy wool had been sheared off. Oh! how the sheep shivered in the cold.

"Why, what is the matter with you?" asked Uncle Wiggily, kindly.

"I am c-c-c-c-cold," said the sheep, shiveringly.

"What makes you cold?" the bunny uncle wanted to know.

"Because they cut off so much of my wool. You know how it is with me, for I am in the Mother Goose book. Listen!

"'Baa-baa, black sheep, have you any wool? Yes, sir; yes, sir; three bags full. One for the master, one for the man, And one for the little boy who lives in the lane.'

"That's the way I answered when they asked me if I had any wool," said Baa-baa.

"And what did they do?" asked the bunny uncle.

"Why they sheared off my fleece, three bags of it. I didn't mind them taking the first bag full, for I had plenty and it was so warm I thought Spring was coming. And it doesn't hurt to cut off my fleecy wool, any more than it hurts to cut a boy's hair. And after they took the first bag full of wool for the master they took a second bag for the man. I didn't mind that, either. But when they took the third --  -- "

"Then they really did take three?" asked Uncle Wiggily, in surprise.

"Oh, yes, to be sure. Why it's that way in the book of Mother Goose, you know, and they had to do just as the book says."

"I suppose so," agreed Uncle Wiggily, sadly like.

"Well, after they took the third bag of wool off my back the weather grew colder, and I began to shiver. Oh! how cold I was; and how I shivered and shook. Of course if the master and the man, and the little boy who lives in the lane, had known I was going to shiver so, they would not have taken the last bag of wool. Especially the little boy, as he is very kind to me.

"But now it is done, and it will be a long while before my wool grows out again. And as long as it is cold weather I will shiver, I suppose," said Baa-baa, the black sheep.

"No, you shall not shiver!" cried Uncle Wiggily.

"How can you stop me?" asked the black sheep.

"By wrapping my old fur coat around you," said the rabbit gentleman. "I have two fur overcoats, a new one and an old one. I am wearing the new one. The old one is at my hollow-stump bungalow. You go there and tell Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy to give it to you. Tell her I said so. Or you can go there and wait for me, as I am going to get Dr. Possum to fix the thumb of Little Jack Horner, who sat in a corner, eating a Christmas pie."

"You are very kind," said Baa-baa. "I'll go to your bungalow and wait there for you."

So he did, shaking and shivering all the way, but he soon became warm when he sat by Nurse Jane's fire. And when Uncle Wiggily came back from having sent Dr. Possum to Little Jack Horner, the rabbit gentleman wrapped his old fur coat around Baa-baa, the black sheep, who was soon as warm as toast.

And Baa-baa wore Uncle Wiggily's old fur coat until warm weather came, when the sheep's wool grew out long again. So everything was all right, you see.

And now, having learned the lesson that if you cut your hair too short you may have to wear a fur cap to stop yourself from getting cold, we will wait for the next story, which, if the pencil box doesn't jump into the ink well and get a pail of glue to make the lollypop stick fast to the roller-skates, will be about Uncle Wiggily and Polly Flinders.



Chapter XXIV

Uncle Wiggily And Polly Flinders


"There!" cried Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper, who took care of the hollow-stump bungalow for Uncle Wiggily Longears, the rabbit gentleman. "There, it is all finished at last!"

"What's all finished?" asked the bunny uncle, who was reading the paper in his easy chair near the fire, for the weather was still cold. "I hope you don't mean you have finished living with me, Nurse Jane? For I would be very lonesome if you were to go away."

"Oh, don't worry, I'll not leave you, Wiggy," she said. "What I meant was that I had finished making the new dress for Susie Littletail, the rabbit girl."

"Good!" cried the bunny uncle. "A new dress for my little niece Susie. That's fine! If you like, Nurse Jane, I'll take it to her."

"I wish you would," spoke the muskrat lady. "I have not time myself. Just be careful of it. Don't let the bad fox or the skillery-scalery alligator with humps on his ears bite holes in it."

"I won't," promised Uncle Wiggily. So taking the dress, which Nurse Jane had sewed for Susie, over his paw, and with his tall silk hat over his ears, and carrying his red, white and blue striped barber-pole rheumatism crutch, off Uncle Wiggily started for the Littletail home.

"Susie will surely like her dress," thought the rabbit gentleman. "It has such pretty colors." For it had, being pink and blue and red and yellow and purple and lavender and strawberry and lemon and Orange Mountain colors. There may have been other colors in it, but I can think of no more right away.

Uncle Wiggily was going along past Old Mother Hubbard's house, and past the place where Mother Goose lived, when, coming to a place near a big tree, Uncle Wiggily saw another house. And from inside the house came a crying sound.

"Oh, dear! Oh, dear! What shall I do?" sobbed a voice.

"Ah, ha! More trouble!" cried Uncle Wiggily. "I seem to be finding lots of people in trouble lately. Well, now to see who this is!"

Going up to the house, and peering in a window, Uncle Wiggily saw a little girl sitting before a fireplace. And this little girl was crying.

"Hello!" called Uncle Wiggily, in his jolly voice, as he opened the window. "What is the matter? Are you Little Bo Peep, and are you crying because you have lost your sheep?"

"No, Uncle Wiggily," answered the little girl. "I am crying because I have spoiled my nice new dress, and when my mother comes home and finds it out she will whip me."

"Oh, no!" cried the bunny uncle. "Your mother will never do that. But who are you?"

"Why, don't you know? I am little Polly Flinders, I sat among the cinders, warming my pretty little toes. 'And her mother came and caught her, and she whipped her little daughter, for spoiling her nice new clothes.'

"That's what it says in the Mother Goose book," said Polly Flinders, "and, of course, that's what will happen to me. Oh, dear! I don't want to be whipped. And I didn't really spoil quite all my nice new clothes. It's only my dress, and some hot ashes got on that."

"Well, that isn't so bad," said Uncle Wiggily. "It may be that I can clean it for you." But when he looked at Polly's dress he saw that it could not be fixed, for, like Pussy Cat Mole's best petticoat, Polly's dress had been burned through with hot coals, so that it was full of holes.

"No, that can't be fixed, I'm sorry to say," said Uncle Wiggily.

"Oh, dear!" sobbed Polly Flinders, as she sat among the cinders. "What shall I do? I don't want to be whipped by my mother."

"And you shall not be," said the bunny uncle. "Not that I think she would whip you, but we will not give her a chance. See here, I have a new dress that I was taking to Susie Littletail. Nurse Jane can easily make my little rabbit niece another.

"So you take this one, and give me your old one. And when your mother comes she will not see the holes in your dress. Only you must tell her what happened, or it would not be fair. Always tell mothers and fathers everything that happens to you."

"I will," promised Polly Flinders.

She soon took off her old dress and put on the new one intended for Susie, and it just fitted her.

"Oh, how lovely!" cried Polly Flinders, looking at her toes.

"And now," said Uncle Wiggily, "you must sit no more among the cinders."

"I'll not," Polly promised, and she went and sat down in front of the looking-glass, where she could look proudly at the new dress -- not too proudly, you understand, but just proud enough.

Polly thanked Uncle Wiggily, who took the old soiled and burned dress to Susie's house. When the rabbit girl saw the bunny uncle coming she ran to meet him, crying:

"Oh! did Nurse Jane send you with my new dress?"

"She did," answered Uncle Wiggily, "but see what happened to it on the way," and he showed Susie the burned holes and all.

"Oh, dear!" cried the little rabbit girl, sadly. "Oh, dear!"

"Never mind," spoke Uncle Wiggily, kindly, and he told all that had happened. It was a sort of adventure, you see.

"Oh, I'm glad you gave Polly my dress!" said Susie, clapping her paws.

"Nurse Jane shall make you another dress," promised Uncle Wiggily, and the muskrat lady did. And when the mother of Polly Flinders came home she thought the new dress was just fine, and she did not whip her little daughter. In fact, she said she would not have done so anyhow. So that part of the Mother Goose book is wrong.

And thus everything came out all right, and if the shaving brush doesn't whitewash the blackboard, so the chalk can't dance on it with the pencil sharpener, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the garden maid.



Chapter XXV

Uncle Wiggily And The Garden Maid


"Hey, ho, hum!" exclaimed Uncle Wiggily Longears, the rabbit gentleman, as he stretched up his twinkling, pink nose, and reached his paws around his back to scratch an itchy place. "Ho, hum! I wonder what will happen to me to-day?"

"Are you going out again?" asked Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper. "It seems to me that you go out a great deal, Mr. Longears."

"Well, yes; perhaps I do," admitted the bunny uncle. "But more things happen to me when I go out than when I stay in the house."

"And do you like to have things happen to you?" asked Miss Fuzzy Wuzzy.

"When they are adventures I do," answered the rabbit gentleman. "So here I go off for an adventure."

Off started the nice, old, bunny uncle, carrying his red, white and blue striped barber-pole rheumatism crutch -- over his shoulder this time. For his pain did not hurt him much, as the sun was shining, so he did not have to limp on the crutch, which Nurse Jane had gnawed for him out of a corn-stalk.

Uncle Wiggily had not gone very far toward the fields and woods before he heard Nurse Jane calling to him.

"Oh, Wiggy! Wiggy, I say! Wait a moment!"

"Yes, what is it?" asked the rabbit gentleman, turning around and looking over his shoulder. "Have I forgotten anything?"

"No, it was I who forgot," said the muskrat lady housekeeper. "I forgot to tell you to bring me a bottle of perfume. Mine is all gone."

"All right, I'll bring you some," promised Mr. Longears. "It will give me something to do -- to go to the perfume store. Perhaps an adventure may happen to me there."

Once more he was on his way, and soon he reached the perfume store, kept by a nice buzzing bee lady, who gathered sweet smelling perfume, as well as honey, from the flowers in Summer and put it carefully away for the Winter.

"Some perfume for Nurse Jane, eh?" said the bee lady, as the rabbit gentleman knocked on her hollow-tree house. "There you are, Uncle Wiggily," and she gave him a bottle of the nice scent made from a number of flowers.

"My! That smells lovely!" exclaimed Uncle Wiggily, as he pulled out the cork, and took a long sniff. "Nurse Jane will surely like that perfume!"

With the sweet scented bottle in his paw, the rabbit gentleman started back toward his hollow-stump bungalow. He had not gone very far before he saw a nurse maid, out in the garden, back of a big house. There was a basket in front of the maid, with some clothes in it, and stretched across the garden was a line, with more clothes on it, flapping in the wind.

"Ha!" exclaimed Uncle Wiggily. "I wonder if that garden maid, hanging up the clothes, wouldn't like to smell Nurse Jane's perfume? Nurse Jane will not mind, and perhaps it will be doing that maid a kindness to let her smell something sweet, after she has been smelling washing-soap-suds all morning."

So the bunny uncle, who was always doing kind things, hopped over to the garden maid, and politely asked:

"Wouldn't you like to smell this perfume?" and he held out the bottle he had bought of the bee lady.

The garden maid turned around, and said in a sad voice:

"Thank you, Uncle Wiggily. It is very kind of you, I'm sure, and I would like to smell your perfume. But I can't."

"Why not?" asked the bunny uncle. "The cork is out of the bottle. See!"

"That may very well be," went on the garden maid, "but the truth of the matter is that I cannot smell, because a blackbird has nipped off my nose."

Uncle Wiggily, in great surprise, looked, and, surely enough, a blackbird had nipped off the nose of the garden maid.

"Bless my whiskers!" cried the bunny uncle. "What a thing for a blackbird to do -- nip off your nose! Why did he do such an impolite thing as that?"

"Why, he had to do it, because it's that way in the Mother Goose book," said the maid. "Don't you remember? It goes this way:

"'The King was in the parlor, Counting out his money, The Queen was in the kitchen, Eating bread and honey. The maid was in the garden, Hanging out the clothes, Along came a blackbird And nipped off her nose.'

"That's the way it was," said the garden maid.

"Oh, yes, I remember now," spoke Uncle Wiggily.

"Well, I'm the maid who was in the garden, hanging out the clothes," said she, "and, as you can see, along came a blackbird and nipped off my nose. That is, you can't see the blackbird, but you can see the place where my nose ought to be."

"Yes," answered Uncle Wiggily, "I can. It's too bad. That blackbird ought to have his feathers ruffled."

"Oh, he didn't mean to be bad," said the garden maid. "He had to do as it says in the book, and he had to nip off my nose. So that's why I can't smell Nurse Jane's nice perfume."

Uncle Wiggily thought for a minute. Then he said:

"Just you wait here. I think I can fix it so you can smell as well as ever."

Then the bunny uncle hurried off through the woods until he found Jimmie Caw-Caw, the big black crow boy.

"Jimmie," said the bunny uncle, "will you fly off, find the blackbird, and ask him to give back the garden maid's nose so she can smell perfume?"

"I will," said Jimmie Caw-Caw, very politely. "I certainly will!"

Away he flew, and, after a while, in the deep, dark part of the woods he found the blackbird, sitting on a tree.

"Please give me back the garden maid's nose," said Jimmie, politely.

"Certainly," answered the blackbird, also politely. "I only took it off in fun. Here it is back. I'm sorry I bothered the garden maid, but I had to, as it's that way in the Mother Goose book."

Off to Uncle Wiggily flew Jimmie, the crow boy, with the young lady's nose, and soon Dr. Possum had fastened it back on the garden maid's face as good as ever.

"Now you can smell the perfume," said Uncle Wiggily, and when he held up the bottle the maid said:

"Oh, what a lovely smell!"

So the bunny uncle left a little perfume in a bottle for the garden maid, and then she went on hanging up the clothes, and she felt very happy because she had a nose. So you see how kind Uncle Wiggily and Jimmie were, and Nurse Jane, too, liked the perfume very much.

So if the little girl's roller-skates don't run over the pussy's tail and ruffle it all up so she can't go to the moving picture party, I'll tell you next of Uncle Wiggily and the King.



Chapter XXVI

Uncle Wiggily And The King


Uncle Wiggily Longears, the nice old rabbit gentleman, was sitting in an easy chair in his hollow-stump bungalow, one day, looking out of the window at the blue sky, and he was feeling quite happy. And why should he not be happy?

Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, his muskrat lady housekeeper, had just given him a nice breakfast of cabbage pancakes, with carrot maple sugar tied in a bow-knot in the middle, and Uncle Wiggily had eaten nine. Nine cakes, I mean, not nine bows.

"And now," said the bunny uncle to himself, "I think I shall go out and take a walk. Perhaps I may have an adventure. Do you want any perfume, or anything like that from the store?" asked Mr. Longears of Miss Fuzzy Wuzzy.

"No, thank you, I think not," answered the muskrat lady. "Just bring yourself home, and that will be all."

"Oh, I'll do that all right," promised the bunny gentleman. So away he hopped, over the fields and through the woods, humming to himself a little song which went something like this:

"I'm feeling happy now and gay, Why shouldn't I, this lovely day? 'Tis time enough to be quite sad, When wind and rain make weather bad. But, even then, one ought to try To think that soon it will be dry. So then, no matter what the weather, Smile, as though tickled by a feather."

Uncle Wiggily felt happier than ever when he had sung this song, but, as he went along a little further, he came, all at once, to a very nice house indeed, out of which floated the sound of a sad voice.

Uncle Wiggily was surprised to hear this, for the house was such a nice one that it seemed no one ought to be unhappy who lived there.

The house was made of gold and silver, with diamond windows, and the chimney was made of a red ruby stone, which, as every one knows, is very expensive. But with all that the sad voice came sailing out of one of the opened diamond windows, and the voice said:

"Oh, dear! It's gone! I can't find it! I dropped it and it rolled down a crack in the floor. Now I'll never get it again. Oh, dear!"

"Well, that sounds like some one in trouble," said the bunny uncle. "I must see if I cannot help them," for Uncle Wiggily helped real folk, who lived in fine houses, as well as woodland animals, who lived in hollow trees.

Uncle Wiggily hopped up to the open diamond window of the gold and silver house, with the red ruby chimney, and, poking his nose inside, the rabbit gentleman asked:

"Is there some one here in trouble whom I may have the pleasure of helping?"

"Yes," answered a voice. "I'm here, and I'm surely in trouble."

"Who are you, and what is the trouble, if I may ask?" politely went on Uncle Wiggily.

"I am the king," was the answer. "This is my palace, but, with all that, I am in trouble. Come in."

In hopped Uncle Wiggily, and there, surely enough, was the king, but he was in the kitchen, down on his hands and knees, looking with one eye through a crack in the floor, which is something kings hardly ever do.

"It's down there," he said. "And I can't get it. I'm too fat to go through the crack."

"What's down there?" Uncle Wiggily wanted to know.

"My money," answered the king. "You may have heard about me," and he recited this little verse:

"The king was in the kitchen, Counting out his money; The queen was in the parlor, Eating bread and honey; The maid was in the garden, Hanging out the clothes, Along came a blackbird, Who nipped off her nose."

The fat man got up off the kitchen floor.

"I'm the king," he said, taking up his gold and diamond crown from a kitchen chair, where he had put it as he kneeled down, so it would not fall off and be dented. "From Mother Goose, you know; don't you?"

"Yes, I know," answered Uncle Wiggily.

"I dare say you'll find the queen in the parlor eating bread and honey," went on the king. "At least I saw her start for there with a plate, knife and fork as I was coming here. And, no doubt, the maid is in the garden, where she'll pretty soon have her nose nipped off by a blackbird."

"That part happened yesterday," said Uncle Wiggily. "I was there just after it happened, and I got Jimmie Caw-Caw, the crow boy, to fly after the blackbird and bring back the maid's nose. She is as well as ever now and can smell all kinds of perfume."

"Good!" cried the fat king. "You were very kind to help her. I only wish you could help me. But I don't see how you can. My money, which I was counting, fell out of my hands and dropped down a crack in the floor. I can see it lying down there in the dirt, but I can't get at it unless I move to one side my gold and silver palace, and I don't want to do that. I don't suppose you can move a palace, can you?" And he looked askingly at Uncle Wiggily.

"No, I can't do that," said the bunny uncle. "But still I think I can get your money without moving the palace."

"How?" asked the king.

"Why, I can go outside," said Mr. Longears, "and with my strong paws, which are just made for digging, I can burrow, or dig, a place through the dirt under your palace-house, crawl in and get what you dropped."

"Oh, please do!" cried the king.

So Uncle Wiggily did.

Down under the cellar wall of the palace, through the dirt, dug the bunny gentleman, with his strong paws. Pretty soon he was right under the kitchen, and there, just where they had dropped through the crack, were the king's gold and silver pennies and other pieces of money. Uncle Wiggily picked them up, put them in his pocket and crawled out again.

"There you are, king," he said. "You have your money back."

"Oh, thank you ever so much!" cried the king. "I'll have the cook give you some carrots." And he did, before he went on counting his money in the kitchen. And this time he stuffed a dish-rag in the crack so no more pennies would fall through.

"Well, Uncle Wiggily, where are you going now?" asked the King, as he saw the bunny gentleman hopping away with the bunch of carrots.

"I hardly know that myself," answered the rabbit. "I want to have more adventures, either with the friends of Old Mother Hubbard and Mother Goose, or with some of the animal or birds that live in the woods."

"I think some adventures with birds would be exciting," spoke the King. "This blackbird who nipped off the maid's nose was a lively sort of chap."

"He was, indeed," agreed the bunny gentleman. "I think I should like some adventures with my feathered friends who fly in the air. When I come back I'll tell you about them, Mr. King."

"Please do," begged the gentleman with the gold and diamond crown. And so, as long as the rabbit wishes it, and if the condensed milk doesn't jump out of the molasses jug and scare the coffee pot so that it drinks tea, I shall make the next book "Uncle Wiggily and the Birds," and I hope you will like it.

<eob>

Rollo's Experiments

By

Jacob Abbott



Jonas An Astronomer.


One day, when Rollo was about seven years old, he was sitting upon the steps of the door, and he heard a noise in the street, as of some sort of carriage approaching. A moment afterwards, a carryall came in sight. It drove up to the front gate, and stopped. Rollo's father and mother and his little brother Nathan got out. His father fastened the horse to the post, and came in.

When Rollo first heard the noise of the carryall, he was sitting still upon the steps of the door, thinking. He was thinking of something that Jonas, his father's hired boy, had told him about the sun's shining in at the barn door. There was a very large double door to Rollo's father's barn, and as this door opened towards the south, the sun used to shine in very warm, upon the barn floor, in the middle of the day.

Rollo and Jonas had been sitting there husking some corn, -- for it was in the fall of the year; -- and as it was rather a cool autumnal day, Rollo said it was lucky that the sun shone in, for it kept them warm.

"Yes," said Jonas; "and what is remarkable, it always shines in farther in the winter than it does in the summer."

"Does it?" said Rollo.

"Yes," said Jonas.

"And what is the reason?" asked Rollo.

"I don't know," said Jonas, "unless it is because we want it in the barn more in the winter than we do in the summer."

"Ho!" said Rollo; "I don't believe that is the reason."

"Why not?" said Jonas.

"O, I don't believe the sun moves about in the heavens, to different places, only just to shine into barn doors."

"Why, it keeps a great many farmers' boys more comfortable," said Jonas.

"Is it so in all barns?" asked Rollo.

"I suppose so," said Jonas.

After some further conversation on the subject, the boys determined to watch the reflection of the sun's beams upon the barn floor for a good many days, and to mark the place that it came in to, at noon every day, with a piece of chalk. It was only a few minutes before the carryall came up, that they had determined upon this, and had marked the place for that day; and then Rollo had come out of the barn, and was sitting upon the door step, thinking of the subject, when his reflections were interrupted in the manner already described.

So, when Rollo saw his father getting out of the carryall, he ran to meet him, and called out to him, talking very loud and rapidly,

"Father, Jonas says that the sun shines farther in, upon the barn floor, in winter than in summer; -- does it, do you think?"

But this was not a proper time for Rollo to bring up his philosophical question. His father had a carpet bag and several packages in his hands, and he was also conducting Rollo's mother in, and thinking about the horse and carryall. So he told Rollo that he must not speak to him then, for he could not attend to him.

Rollo then walked along back into the yard, and began to think of the subject of the sun's shining in at the south door. He looked up towards the sun, and began to consider what sort of a change in its place, at noon, on different days, would be necessary in order to account for its shining in more at south doors and windows, on some days, than on others. He reflected that if the sun were exactly overhead, at noon, it could not shine in at any doors at all; for the rays would then strike perpendicularly down the sides of the houses. While he was standing thus, lost in thought, looking up to the sun, with his arm across his forehead, to shelter his eyes a little from the dazzling rays, he suddenly felt the pressure of two soft hands upon his ears, as of somebody who had come up behind him. He turned round, and found his cousin Lucy standing there.

Lucy asked him what he was thinking of, and he told her. He then took Lucy into the barn, and showed her the chalk mark upon the floor. She looked on with a good deal of interest, and said she thought it was an excellent plan; and she wished there was a great barn with a south floor at their house. Lucy knew more about the subject than Rollo did, and she gave him some explanations about it. "You see," said she, "that the sun rises in the east every morning, and comes up higher and higher, every hour, till noon; and then it begins to go down again, and at last it sets in the west. But, at some times in the year, it comes up higher at noon than it does at other times, and so it does not shine so much into the door."

"It shines more, you mean," said Rollo.

"No," said Lucy; "not so much. In the winter the sun moves around by the south, and keeps pretty low all day, and of course shines farther into doors and windows."

Then, after a moment's pause, she added,

"If we should mark the place on the floor all the year round, we should find what time the sun is farthest to the south."

"So we should," said Rollo.

"It would be in the winter," said Lucy.

"Yes," said Rollo; "in the middle of the winter exactly."

"Yes," said Lucy; "and in the middle of the summer it would be nearest overhead."

"Jonas and I will try it," said Rollo.

"I can try it in the house," said Lucy, "where the sun shines in at my chamber window."

"O no," said Rollo; "that won't do."

"Why not?" said Lucy.

"Because the window does not come down to the floor, and so does not let the sun in enough."

"O, that makes no difference," said Lucy; "we have nothing to do with the bottom of the door; you only mark where it shines in the farthest, and that place is made by the top of the door, for it shines in farthest by the top of the door."

"Well," said Rollo, "I don't know but that the house will do; but then you can't chalk on the carpet."

"Chalk on the carpet?" said Lucy.

"Yes, to mark the place."

"No," said Lucy, thinking; "but I can mark it some other way."

"How?" asked Rollo.

"Why, I can put a pin in," said Lucy.

"O dear," said Rollo, with a laugh, "put a pin in! That's no way to mark a shadow."

"It isn't a shadow," said Lucy.

"Yes, it is," said Rollo.

"No," said Lucy; "a shadow is dark, and this is bright."

"Yes," said Rollo, "this is a bright shadow; some shadows are bright, and some are dark."

"O Rollo!" said Lucy; and she turned away from him, a little out of humor.

The truth was, that Rollo and Lucy were getting decidedly into a dispute. From the sublime heights of practical astronomy, they had fallen, by a sad and very rapid descent, to a childish altercation. Rollo had a very high idea of the superior facilities afforded by Jonas's barn floor for observing the daily changes in the sun's meridian altitude, and he did not like the idea of Lucy's finding that she had equally good opportunities for observation at her home. Lucy was a little fretted at Rollo's captious spirit; but then her mind soon became unruffled again, and she turned back towards Rollo, and said, as they walked along the yard,

"I don't think the sunshine on the floor is a shadow, Rollo; but then I don't see why a shadow would not do, just as well."

"How?" said Rollo.

"Why, look there at the shadow of that post, -- that would do."

She pointed to a post with a rounded top upon it, which stood by the side of the garden gate. The shadow, clear, distinct, and well defined, was projected upon the walk; and Lucy told Rollo that they might mark the place where the top of that shadow came every day, and that that would do just as well.

"But how could we mark it?" said Rollo.

"Why, we could drive a little stake unto the ground."

"O, that would not do," said Rollo. "People would trip over them, and break them down. They would be exactly in the walk."

Lucy saw that this would be a difficulty, and, for a moment, seemed to be at a loss. At length, she said,

"We might go somewhere else, then, where the people would not come."

"But what should we do for a post?" said Rollo.

"Could not we get Jonas to drive a tall stake down?" said Lucy.

"Yes," said Rollo; "I suppose so."

The children went out into the garden to find a good smooth place, and while they were walking about there, Rollo's mother came out, and they told her the whole story. She seemed quite interested in the plan, and told them of a better way than any that they had thought of.

"You see," said she, "that the height of the stake or pole that makes the shadow is not material; for the shadow of a small one will vary just as much, in proportion to its length, as that of a long one will. So, instead of taking a wooden stake, out of doors, you might take a large pin, and drive it down a little way into the window sill, in the house. Then you can mark the shadow with a pen, very exactly."

"So we can," said Lucy, clapping her hands.

"And you might put a piece of white paper, or a card down first," continued Rollo's mother, "and drive the pin through that, and then mark the places where the end of the shadow comes every day, directly on the card, with a fine pen. Thus you could be a great deal more exact than you can in chalking upon a barn floor."

Rollo asked his mother if she would not be kind enough to help them fix their apparatus; but she said she would give them particular directions, though she should prefer letting them do the whole themselves, and then, if they met with any difficulties, they might come and report them to her, and she would tell them how to surmount them. So she recommended to them to go and find a blank card, or piece of white pasteboard, or of stiff white paper, as big as a common card. "Then," said she, "choose some window where the sun shines in at noon, and put the card down upon the sill, and drive the pin down through it. But you must not drive the pin through the middle of the card, for the shadow will always be off to the north of the pin, and therefore the pin may be pretty near the south end of the card. Then the shadow will be more likely to come wholly upon the card, even when it is longest. You had better place the card in such a position, too, that its sides shall lie in the direction of north and south. Then the shadow at noon will lie along exactly in the middle of it. You must get a large and stout pin, too; and drive it in firmly, a little way, with a small hammer. It will be well, too, to drive another smaller pin into the other end of the card, so as to keep it fixed in its north and south position."

"How can we know when it is north and south, exactly?" said Lucy.

"You cannot do it exactly," said Rollo's mother; "but you can get it pretty near. One way is to borrow father's little compass, and adjust it by that. Another way is to see when it is exactly twelve o'clock by the clock, and then the shadow of the pin will of itself be about north.

"Then you might move the north end of the card until the shadow is brought exactly into the middle of the card, and then put the other pin in, and fix it in that place. Then if you make a mark along where the shadow comes, that mark will be a north and south line, and you can mark the place where the shadow of the pin's head crosses that line, when it crosses it every day at noon."

The children said that they believed they understood the directions, and they determined to try the plan. They thought they would fix two cards, one at Rollo's house, and one at Lucy's; and they immediately went off in pursuit of blank cards and big pins.



Pruning.


One afternoon, Rollo saw his father coming out into the garden, with a little saw and a knife, and a small pot of paint in his hands.

"Father," said he, "are you going to prune your trees now?"

"Yes," said his father.

"Then, shall I go and get my wheelbarrow?"

"Yes," replied his father, again.

So Rollo ran off after his wheelbarrow. It had been arranged, between him and his father that morning, that they should work in the garden an hour or two in the afternoon, and that Rollo should pick up all the cuttings from the trees, and wheel them away, and then, when they were dry, make a bonfire with them.

Rollo found his wheelbarrow in its proper place, and trundled it along into the garden.

"Father," said he, "what trees are you going to prune first?"

"O, I am going to begin at the back side of the garden, and prune them all, advancing regularly to the front."

"What is the saw for?" said Rollo.

"To saw off the large branches, that I can't cut off easily with a knife."

"But I should not think you would want to saw off any large branches, for so you will lose all the apples that would grow on them next year."

"Why, sometimes, the branches are dead, and then they would do no good, but only be in the way."

"But do they do any hurt?" said Rollo.

"Why, they look badly."

"But, I mean, would they do any actual hurt to the tree?"

"Why, I don't know," said his father; "perhaps they would not. At any rate, if I cut them off pretty close to the living part of the tree, the bark will then gradually extend out over the little stump that I leave, and finally cover it over, and take it all in, as it were."

By this time, Rollo and his father had reached the back side of the garden, and his father showed him the place where he had cut off a limb the year before, and he saw how the fresh young bark had protruded itself all around it, and was spreading in towards the centre so as to cover it over. Rollo then saw that it was better that all old dead limbs should be cut off.

"That's curious," said Rollo.

"Yes, very curious," said his father. "A tree will take in, and cover up, almost any thing that is fastened to the wood, in the same manner."

"Will it?" said Rollo.

"Yes," said his father. "If you drive a nail into a tree, the bark will, after a time, cover it over entirely. Sometimes people find things in old trees, which were put upon them when they were young."

"How big things?" said Rollo.

"O, I don't know exactly how big. The tree will make an effort to enclose any thing small or large. Only, if it is very large, it will take a great while to enclose it, and it might be so large that it never could enclose it."

"Well, father, how large must it be so that the tree never could enclose it?"

"O, I don't know, exactly. Once I saw a tree that was growing very near a rock. After a time it came in contact with it, and it grew and pressed against it, until the rock crowded into the wood. Then the bark began to protrude in every direction along the rock, as if it was making an effort to spread out and take the rock all in. But I don't think it will ever succeed; for the rock was part of a ledge in a pretty large hill."

"What a silly tree!" said Rollo.

"Father, I believe I will try the experiment some time," continued Rollo, after a pause.

"Very well," said his father.

"What shall I put into the tree?" asked Rollo.

"You might put in a cent," said his father, "and then, if it should get fairly enclosed, I presume the tree will keep it safe for you a good many years."

Rollo determined to do it. "Then," said he, "I shall never be out of money, and that will be excellent." His father told him that he must make a small cleft in the bark and wood, with a chisel and mallet, and then drive the cent in, edgewise, a little way.

So Rollo got his chisel and mallet, and inserted the cent according to his father's directions, and by that time there were a good many branches and twigs on the ground, which his father had taken off from the trees, and so he began to pick them up, and put them into his wheelbarrow.

They went on working together for some time, and talking while they worked. Rollo was continually asking his father questions, and his father sometimes answered them, and sometimes did not, but was silent and thoughtful, as if he was thinking of something else. But whether he got answers or not, Rollo went on talking.

"Father," said Rollo, at length, after a short pause, during which he had been busily at work putting twigs into his wheelbarrow, "Henry has got a very interesting book."

His father did not answer.

"I think it is a very interesting book indeed. Should not you like to read it, father?"

His father was just then reaching up very high to saw off a pretty large limb, and he paid no attention to what Rollo was saying. So Rollo went on talking half to himself -- 

"One story is about Aladdin and his lamp. If he rubbed his lamp, he could have whatever he wished; something would come, I have forgotten what its name was, and bring him whatever he asked for."

Just then, down came the great branch which his father had been sawing off, falling from its place on the tree to the ground.

Rollo looked at it a moment, and then, when his father began sawing again, he said,

"Should not you like such a lamp, father?"

"Such a lamp as what, my son?" said his father.

"Why, such a one as Aladdin's."

"Aladdin's! why, what do you know of Aladdin's lamp?"

"Why, I read about it in Henry's story book," said Rollo. "I just told you, father."

"Did you?" said his father. "Won't you just hand me up the paint brush?"

"Well, father," said Rollo, as he handed him the brush, "don't you wish you had an Aladdin's lamp?"

"No, not particularly," said his father.

"O father!" exclaimed Rollo, with surprise, "I am sure I do. Don't you wish I had such a lamp, father?"

"No," said his father.

"Why, father, I really think I could do some good with it. For instance, I could just rub my lamp, and then have all your trees pruned for you, at once, without any further trouble."

"But that would not be worth while; for you might have a much larger and better garden than this made at once, with thousands of trees, bearing delicious fruit; and ponds, and waterfalls, and beautiful groves."

"O, so I could," said Rollo.

"And, then, how soon do you think you should get tired of it, and want another?"

"O, perhaps, I should want another pretty soon; but then I could have another, you know."

"Yes, and how long do you think you could find happiness, in calling beautiful gardens into existence, one after another?"

"O, I don't know; -- a good while."

"A day?"

"O, yes, father."

"A week?"

"Why, perhaps, I should be tired in a week."

"Then all your power of receiving enjoyment from gardens would be run out and exhausted in a week; whereas mine, without any Aladdin's lamp, lasts me year after year, pleasantly increasing all the time without ever reaching satiety."

"What is satiety, father?"

"The feeling we experience when we have had so much of a good thing that we are completely tired and sick of it. If I should give a little child as much honey as he could eat, or let him play all the time, or buy him a vast collection of pictures, he would soon get tired of these things."

"O father, I never should get tired of looking at pictures."

"I think you would," said his father.

Here the conversation stopped a few minutes, while Rollo went to wheel away a load of his sticks. Before he returned, he had prepared himself to renew his argument. He said,

"Father, even if I did get tired of making beautiful gardens, I could then do something else with the lamp, and that would give me new pleasure."

"Yes, but the new pleasure would be run out and exhausted just as soon as the pleasure of having a garden would have been; so that you would, in a short time, be satiated with every thing, and become completely wretched and miserable."

"But, father," said Rollo, after being silent a little while, "I don't think I should get tired of my beautiful gardens very soon: I don't think I should get tired even of looking at pictures of them."

"Should you like to try the experiment?"

"Yes, sir," said Rollo, very eagerly.

Rollo's father had a great many books of pictures and engravings of various kinds in his library; and sometimes he used to allow the children to see them, but only a very few at a time. They had not yet seen them all. He only allowed them to see them as fast as they had time to examine them thoroughly, and read about them and understand them. But now he said to Rollo,

"I could let you have all the books of prints and engravings I have got, and see them all at one time, and that would be giving you Aladdin's lamp, exactly, so far as my pictures are concerned."

"Well," said Rollo, clapping his hands.

"But then, in a short time, you would get tired of looking at them; you would become satiated, and would in fact spoil the whole pleasure by attempting to enjoy it too fast. But then I think it would perhaps do you good."

"How, father?"

"Why, by teaching you the value of moderation, and the uselessness of Aladdin's lamps in all human enjoyments. It would be a very valuable experiment in intellectual philosophy, which I think it very probable might be of use to you. So, if you please, you may try it."

"Well, father, I am sure I should like to see the pictures."

"That is all settled then," said his father; "some day you shall."



The Great Beetle And Wedge.


Rollo was coming home one morning after having been away on an errand, and he saw a large wood pile near Farmer Cropwell's door. Now it happened that Rollo had once been on a journey pretty far back into the country; it was at the time when Jonas told him and Lucy the stories related in the book called "Jonas's Stories." On that journey, Jonas had one day told him that the sap of the maple-tree was sweet, and had let him taste of some, where it oozed out at the end of the log. Seeing Farmer Cropwell's wood pile reminded Rollo of this; and he thought he would look at the ends of all the logs, and see if he could not find some drops of sweet sap there.

But he could not, for two reasons: none of those trees were maple-trees, and then, besides, they were all dry. There was no sap in them of any kind; at least, not enough to ooze out. While Rollo was looking there, one of Farmer Cropwell's large boys came out with an axe in his hand. He rolled out a pretty large log of wood, though it was not very long, and struck his axe into the end of it, as if he was going to split it.

"I don't believe you can split that great log," said Rollo.

"I don't expect to do it with the axe," said the boy, as he left the axe sticking in the log.

"How then?" said Rollo.

"I have got beetle and wedges here, round behind the wood pile."

So the boy went to another side of the wood pile, and brought a large beetle and an iron wedge. When he got back to his log, he started out the axe which he had left sticking into it. Then Rollo saw that the axe had made a little indentation, or cleft, in the wood. He put the point of the wedge into this cleft, and drove it in a very little, with a few light blows with the axe. Then he took the great heavy beetle, and began driving the wedge in, with very heavy blows.

Presently, Rollo saw a little crack beginning to extend out each side from the wedge. The crack ran along across the end of the log, and thence down the side, and grew wider and wider every moment. At last, the wedge was driven in as far as it would go, and still the log was not split open.

"Now stop," said Rollo; "I will put a stick in, and keep the crack open, while you drive the wedge in, in another place."

"O, that won't do," said the boy; "a stick would not keep it open."

"Why not?" said Rollo.

"Because it is not solid enough; the sides of the cleft draw together very hard. They would crush the stick."

Here Rollo put his hand into his pocket, and drew out a walnut, and he asked the boy if it would crack a walnut.

"Try it," said the boy.

So Rollo put the walnut into the crack. He slipped it along until he got it to a place where the crack was just wide enough to receive it, and hold it steady. He left it there, and then the boy began to knock out the wedge.

He struck it first upon one side, and then upon the other, and thus gradually worked it out. The walnut was crushed all to pieces. The boy then drove in the wedge again, so as to open the log as it was before. He then went to the place where he had got the beetle and wedge at first, and brought a large wooden wedge which he had made before, and began to put that into the crack, not very far from the iron wedge.

"This will keep it open," said he.

"Yes, I think it will," said Rollo. "But put it up close to the iron wedge."

"No," said the boy; "for then I can't knock the iron wedge out."

So the boy put the large wooden wedge in, at a little distance from the iron one, and drove it in rather gently with the beetle. This opened the cleft a little more, so that the iron wedge came out pretty easily.

"I don't see what makes the sides of the logs draw together so hard," said Rollo.

"O, they can't help it," said the boy.

"That is no reason," rejoined Rollo. "I should think that, after the log is once split open, it would stay so. If I split a piece of wood in two with my knife, the pieces don't try to come together again."

So Rollo began to examine the log, and to look into the cracks, to see if he could find out what it was that made the parts draw together so hard as to crush the walnut. Presently, he observed that the log was not split open from end to end. The crack commenced at one end, and extended nearly towards the other, but not quite; so that at this other end the log was solid and whole, just as it always had been. So Rollo perceived that the two halves being joined and held together firmly here, they could only be separated at the other end by the wedge springing them open, and, of course, by their elasticity they tended to spring together again. Then besides, he saw, by looking into the crack, a great number of splinters, large and small, which extended obliquely from one side to the other, and bound the two sides strongly towards each other.

By this time the boy had got the wedge knocked out.

"It is strange," said Rollo, "that such a small wedge will split such a tough and solid log."

"O, not very strange," said the boy. "You see," he continued, taking up the wedge, and pointing to the several parts as he explained them, "you see here at this part, where it enters the wood it is sharp, and the sides spread out each way, so that, when I drive it in, they force the wood apart."

"Why don't they have the back of the wedge wider still? and then it would force the wood open farther; and then you would not have to put in a wooden wedge afterwards, -- so," he added, making a sign with his fingers. He put the tips of his fingers together, and then separated his hands, so as to represent a very blunt-shaped wedge.

"Then it would not drive in so easily," answered the boy. "Perhaps I could not drive it in at all, if it was so blunt."

"They might have the wedge longer then," said Rollo, "and then it would be just as tapering, and yet it would be a great deal broader at the back, because the back would be farther off."

"That would make the wedge a great deal too heavy. It would not drive."

"Why, yes, it would," said Rollo.

"No, it would not," said the boy. "It would be just like a shoemaker's lap-stone; pounding it would hardly move it."

Rollo did not understand what the boy meant by what he said about the shoemaker's lap-stone; so he paused a moment, and presently he said,

"I don't think it would make any difference, if it was heavy. And, besides, it might be made of wood, and that wouldn't be heavy."

"O, wood wouldn't do," said the boy.

Now it happened that while they had been talking, the boy had gone on driving in his wooden wedge into the cleft that the iron one had made, and it had been gradually splitting the log open more and more. So that just as the boy was saying that "a wooden wedge wouldn't do," Rollo was actually seeing with his own eyes that it would do; for at that moment the boy gave the last blow, and the halves of the log came apart and fell over, one to one side, and the other to the other.

"Why, there," said Rollo, "you have split the log open with a wooden wedge."

"O, that is because I had an iron one in first," said the boy.

"What difference does that make?" said Rollo.

"A great deal of difference," said the boy.

"But what difference?" persisted Rollo.

"I don't know exactly what difference," said the boy; "only I know you can't do any thing with a wooden wedge until you have first opened a seam with an iron one."

Rollo was confident that it could not possibly make any difference whether a wooden wedge was used first or last. The boy was sure that it did, though he could not tell why. Finally, they determined to try it; so the boy struck his axe into the end of the next log, and then attempted to drive in his wooden wedge. But he did not succeed at all. The wedge would not stay. Rollo told him that he did not strike hard enough. Then he struck harder, but it did no good. The wedge dropped out the moment he let go of it, and on taking it up, they found that the edge of it was bruised and battered; so that even Rollo gave up all hopes of making it enter.

"Ah!" said the boy, taking up the wedge, and looking at it, "now I know what the reason is. It is the edge."

"Where?" said Rollo. "Let me see."

"Why, when there is no crack," said the boy, "you see the edge of the wedge comes against the solid wood, and when I drive, it only bruises and batters it; but the iron is hard, and goes in. But then, when a crack is made, the wedge can go in easily; for the edge does not touch; then only the sides rub against the wood."

"How?" said Rollo. "I don't understand."

"I'll show you in a minute," said the boy. So he took the iron wedge, and went to work driving it into the log. It soon began to make a crack, which ran along the log, and opened wider and wider. When, at length, it was pretty wide, he put the wooden wedge in, and he showed Rollo that the edge of the wedge did not now have to force its way, but went easily into the crack, and only the sides came in contact with the two parts of the log which it was separating.

"That's curious," said Rollo.

"Yes," said the boy.

"I wish I had a little beetle and wedge," said Rollo. "I have got a hammer. That would do for a beetle, if I only had a wedge."

"O, a hammer won't do," said the boy.

"Why not? Would not an axe do as well as a beetle?"

"No," said the boy, "it would spoil the axe and the wedge too."

"How?" asked Rollo.

"Why, it would bruise it all up, -- hard iron knocking against the hard iron."

"Would it?" said Rollo.

"Yes," replied the farmer's boy; "it would spoil the head of the axe, and the head of the wedge too."

"Is that the reason why they make a wooden beetle?"

"Yes," said the boy; "and they put iron rings around the ends to keep the wood from being bruised and battered."

"O, I wish I had a little beetle and wedge!" said Rollo.

"Perhaps you might make one."

"O, I could not make an iron wedge -- nor the beetle rings."

"No, but you might make wedges of wood, -- pretty hard wood; that would do to split up pieces of pine boards, and then you would not need any rings to your beetle."

"Jonas can help me," said Rollo.

"Yes," said the boy; "Jonas will know all about it."

So Rollo set out to go home, full of the idea of making a wooden beetle and wedge, so as to split up pieces of boards. He determined, in case he should succeed, to make a smaller one still for Thanny.



The Little Beetle And Wedge.


When Rollo got home, he looked about for Jonas every where, but could not find him. He went around the house and yard, calling "Jonas! Jonas!" very loud. Presently Nathan came out to the door, and told him that his mother wanted to see him. So Rollo went in to his mother.

"You ought not to make such a noise," said she, "calling Jonas. You disturb us all."

"But, mother," said he, "I want to find him very much."

"No doubt," said his mother; "but you must find him with your eyes, not with your tongue."

"Why, mother," said Rollo, laughing, "what do you mean by that?"

"Boys very generally have a habit of trying to find people with their tongues, that is, by calling them; but it is a very bad habit. You see," she continued, "there are five or six persons now in and about the house, and if you go around calling out for Jonas, you disturb us all; but if you go about quietly, and look for him, you do not disturb any body."

"But then it is not so easy to find him by looking for him," said Rollo.

"Why not?" asked his mother.

"Because," said Rollo, "I can call out for him, in a moment, in the yard, and then if he is any where within hearing, he answers; and so I know where he is. But it would take me some time to go to all the places that are within hearing."

"True," said his mother, "I see it is more trouble to find any body with your eyes, than with your voice; but then it is so much pleasanter for all the rest of us, that you must submit to it."

So Rollo went away again to look for Jonas. He inquired of Dorothy in the kitchen, and she told him that she saw Jonas going out towards the barn a few minutes before. So Rollo went off in pursuit of him.

He found him at work in a little back room in the barn, looking over some harnesses.

"What are you doing, Jonas?" said Rollo.

"I am overhauling these harnesses, to get them all ready for winter."

"For winter?" said Rollo.

"Yes," replied Jonas; "they are sleigh-harnesses."

"Well, Jonas," said Rollo, "I wanted to see you about a beetle and wedge. Do you think you could help me about making a little beetle and wedge?"

"I can help you by my advice," said Jonas.

"O, but I want you to help me make them."

Then Jonas asked Rollo what made him think of a beetle and wedge; and Rollo told him of the conversation he had held with the farmer's boy. Then Jonas talked a long time about it, giving him particular advice and direction about the plan, though he said he could not himself go and help him then, for he could not leave his harnesses.

The advice which Jonas gave him was, substantially, this: -- 

"The boy was right in what he said about the necessity of having iron wedges, to split up large logs of hard wood; but you had better have short pieces of pine boards for your logs, and then wedges of hard wood will do instead of iron; for hard wood is so much more solid than pine, that I think wedges of it will answer very well. There are some pieces of walnut under the bench, which will do finely, and I will give you one of them."

"I'll go, now, and get it," said Rollo.

"No," said Jonas, "not yet; let me tell you about making the beetle."

So Rollo stood in the door way, waiting to hear what Jonas had to say about the beetle, but evidently quite impatient to go.

"If you make your wedges of hard wood, it will not be necessary to have iron rings to your beetle, because it will not get battered much, in driving wooden wedges. Now you must go to the wood pile, and look out a piece of round wood, about as large round as my arm, and bore a hole in it."

"A hole in it!" said Rollo.

"Yes, a small auger hole, to put the handle into. Then you must put the wood into the saw-horse, and saw off the ends, at a little distance from the hole, so that, when the handle is put in, it will be like a mallet."

"A mallet!" said Rollo. "But I wanted a beetle."

"Well, a mallet is a small beetle, without rings."

"Is it?" said Rollo, thoughtfully.

"Yes," replied Jonas; "and if you work slowly and carefully, I think you can make a pretty good one yourself."

Rollo thought so too, and away he ran to make the experiment. Under the great work bench, he found, among a quantity of boards and bits of wood, a number of long bars of walnut, which Jonas had split out from the wood pile to keep for handles. He took one of these, and carried it off to the shed, to look for the saw and the hatchet.

The first thing was, as he supposed, to saw off a piece of the wood just long enough for a wedge. But in this he was mistaken. In doing any piece of work of this kind, it is always very important to consider which part it is best to do first. Rollo did not think of this, and so he marked off a piece of the walnut wood about long enough for a wedge, and then sawed it off.

"Now," said he, "I must make the sides smooth, and sharpen it."

So he took the piece of wood in his hand, and put one end of it down upon a large log of wood, and then attempted to smooth and sharpen it, as he had seen Jonas sharpen a stake. But he could not succeed very well. The wood was very hard, and he could not cut it. Then it was so short that it was almost impossible to hold it. At almost every blow of the hatchet it slipped out of his hand; and then, besides, he was very much afraid of cutting his fingers; so that, after working laboriously for some time, he came back to Jonas in despair, holding his wedge in his hands, which, however, instead of being properly sharpened, was only rounded off a little at the corners.

"O dear me!" said he to Jonas, as he came up to him with the intended wedge in his hands, "I can't make a wedge at all. It's no use to try." Then he explained to Jonas the difficulties that he had met with.

"True," said Jonas; "I see. I advise you to give it up."

"Yes," said Rollo, "the wood is so hard."

"O, no," said Jonas; "that is no great trouble -- you could easily manage that."

"But then I can't hold it."

"That is of no consequence either. I could tell you a way to hold it well enough."

"What is the reason, then, why you think I had better give up?"

"Because you have not patience enough."

Rollo stood silent and thoughtful as Jonas said this, with his piece of wood in one hand, and his hatchet in the other.

"It takes a great deal of patience to make a thing which we never made before."

"Why?" said Rollo.

"O, because there are always unforeseen difficulties. We don't know exactly how to do it, and are apt to make mistakes; and so we spoil some of our work, and this makes us impatient and fretful."

"But I could not help coming to you," said Rollo, "when I found I could not sharpen my wedge."

"I did not blame you for coming to me," said Jonas.

"But you said I was impatient."

"Yes, but not for coming to me -- I judged by your looks and tone of voice. Now if you can keep good-natured and pleasant, so as to go on steadily and patiently, difficulties or no difficulties, I will help you by my advice; otherwise, I think you had better give up the plan."

Rollo stood a few minutes leaning on the door, and swinging it back and forth a little. He seemed to be in doubt whether to be good-natured or not. At length, the better feelings triumphed, and he said,

"Well, Jonas I will try. How can I hold my wedge while I sharpen it?"

"You must not saw it off until it is all sharpened and smoothed. By that means, you see, the long end of the stick, that you make it from, will serve for a handle."

"So it will," said Rollo; "I never thought of that."

So Rollo went off in pursuit of the stick from which he had sawed off his first wedge, intending to make another upon the end of it, and then saw it off when it was all ready.

He found that now he could hold his wood very easily, and there was no danger of cutting his fingers. So he could strike much heavier blows. He soon sharpened his wedge, and then carried it to Jonas to ask him if he thought it would do.

"No," said Jonas, "I don't think it will do, very well."

"Won't it?" asked Rollo, looking somewhat disappointed.

"Why, you see the sides are not smooth; and then you have not sharpened it uniformly. You have cut away more at the corners than you have in the middle, so that it is thicker in the middle. That is the way that boys always sharpen wedges."

"Why do they?" asked Rollo.

"I suppose it is because it is easier to cut away at the edges, and so they get more off there. Now you had better get your wedge as true, and perfect, and smooth as you can, before you saw it off. It will be a great deal pleasanter to work with a good wedge than with a poor one, and so you had better take pains with it, and make as perfect a one as you can, if you make any."

"But, Jonas," said Rollo, "I can smooth it and finish it, after I get it sawed off."

"Not half as easily as you can now," said Jonas.

During all this time Jonas kept on with his own work; and now he said no more, and seemed disposed to leave Rollo to his own decision.

Rollo walked slowly back to the shed. He longed to have his wedge done; but then Jonas had often told him before, that if he was attempting to make any thing, it was best to take pains with it, and make it as complete and perfect as possible, and then he would prize it more, and take more pleasure in it, when it was done. Rollo knew that this was good advice, though, like almost all other boys, he was always in such a hurry to finish any thing that he undertook, and to have it ready for use, that he did not like to take the necessary pains.

On reflection, however, he concluded to take Jonas's advice; and he accordingly began to smooth the sides of his wedge again with the hatchet. He did it slowly and carefully; and after some time he found that he had got the wedge into a much more perfect shape than before. He then carried it to Jonas again.

Now Jonas approved it very much, but told him that he had better smooth it a little more with his knife before sawing it off. Rollo did so; and then he carried it back to the horse, and sawed it off at the right distance, and it made an excellent wedge. The edges, at the head of the wedge, were left somewhat rough by the saw. These, however, he trimmed off with his knife, and then carried the wedge to Jonas.

"Very well," said Jonas; "now you want one more."

"One more?" said Rollo. "No, I want my beetle next."

"No," said Jonas, "one more wedge. Make all your wedges first."

"Why, Jonas, you see, if I make my beetle next, I can try it with this wedge, and then I can make another, if I want it, afterwards."

"No," replied Jonas, "that is not a good way. You ought to finish up your apparatus all complete, before you try it at all. Then you will take a great deal more pleasure in trying it. Besides, if you get to work splitting up your wood, you will not want to leave it, and go to making a new wedge then. Now is the time to do it."

Rollo felt very desirous to make his beetle first, so as "just to try it a little," as he said. Still, he had so often found, when he had not followed Jonas's advice, that he was sorry for it afterwards, that he concluded to make another wedge now. He accordingly went to work again, and having learned how to do it by his practice upon the first one, he succeeded very easily, and finished it much quicker than he did before.

Then he went to work upon his beetle. He selected a round stick of wood, of about the right size, and then examined it carefully to find the part which was most uniform and regular in its shape; and he bored a hole for the handle in the middle of this part. He made his handle of pine wood, for this was much easier to cut, and Jonas told him he thought it would do nearly as well. When the handle was finished, he drove it into the hole, and then he sawed off the ends of the stick of wood at the right distances from the hole. He first took pains to measure on each side, so as to have the distances exactly the same.

When this was done, he had quite a pretty little mallet. That is, it was made very much like a carpenter's mallet; still, as a mallet is made chiefly for the purpose of driving a chisel, and this was, on the other hand, only intended to be used for splitting wood with a wedge, Jonas told him he thought it would be strictly proper to call it a little beetle. He worked so slowly and carefully, however, in doing all this, that the afternoon had entirely passed away when he got the beetle and the wedges done; and just when he was thinking that he was ready to try them, he saw Dorothy at the kitchen door, ringing the bell to call him in to tea.



Splitting.


When play time came the next day, Rollo ran after Nathan to show him his beetle and wedges, and to get him to go out and see him 'split' with them. Nathan trotted along after him, very much pleased.

Rollo had his beetle in one hand, and his two wedges in the other, and, as he walked along, he looked over his shoulder towards Nathan, who was following him, and talked to him by the way, explaining to him something about his beetle and wedges.

"You see I am going to split, Thanny. I am going to split some kindling wood for Dorothy. I shall put my wedges into the wood, and then drive them in with my beetle, and that will make the wood split open more and more; and perhaps I will let you split a little, Thanny."

By this time Rollo had got out to the shed, and he put his beetle and wedges down upon the floor, while he went away to get some boards to split. There were some old boards behind the barn, which Jonas told him were to be split up to burn, and from these he chose one, which was not very long, and dragged it to the shed. He placed this upon the saw-horse, and then sawed off a piece from one end, about as long as he thought it would be well to have the sticks of kindling wood. After he had sawed off one piece, he was going to split it up, but then he reflected that it would be more systematic and workmanlike to finish his sawing first. So he sawed off another, and another piece, until the board was all sawed up into short pieces. He placed these together neatly in a pile, and then taking one of them, he sat down upon the floor, with Thanny, and prepared to try his beetle and wedges.

"Now," said Rollo, "I think I must have a knife, -- some old knife or other, -- to make a little place to drive my wedge in. Thanny, why can't you go and ask Dorothy to let me have a knife? Come, that's a good boy."

So Nathan got up off of the floor, where he had been sitting by Rollo's side, and went in for a knife. In a few minutes he came out, and asked Rollo if a broken one would do. He had brought out a broken knife. The handle was whole and strong, but the blade was broken in two, about in the middle.

"Why, yes," said Rollo, taking the knife and looking at it, "I believe that will do.

"Yes," he continued, "I shall like this better, for I can keep this all the time, with my wedges. And besides, I believe that I can drive it better."

So Rollo held the edge of the knife to the end of the board, and then drove it in a little way, with his little beetle. This made a small opening or cleft in the angle or edge of the board at one end. Then he began to drive in his wooden wedge, telling Nathan to look carefully and see when it began to split. Nathan stood near him, stooping down, with his hands upon his knees, and looking on with great attention.

Rollo drove in his wedge, and it proceeded admirably. The wood soon began to crack, and the crack gradually extended almost to the end of the board. When he had driven it in pretty far, he told Nathan to see how he was going to manage with his second wedge. He was now very glad that he had followed Jonas's advice, and made the second wedge before trying the first. He inserted the second wedge in the crack, and drove it in. This forced the wood open more, and loosened the first wedge, so that he could easily get it out again, and very soon the board was split entirely in two. Nathan was very much delighted with the whole operation.

In the same manner, Rollo split two or three other pieces off from his board, and then Nathan wanted him to let him split one. Rollo was at first somewhat unwilling to let his little beetle go out of his hand at all, he was so interested in using it; but considering that it would give Nathan a good deal of pleasure, he concluded to let him try it once.

"I will start it for you, Thanny," said he. And he accordingly made a small cleft by driving in his knife; and then he inserted the wedge, and drove that in too, just far enough to start the crack, and enable the wood to retain the wedge. Nathan then took the beetle, and pounded away.

He found that he could not strike such heavy blows as Rollo could, and yet the wedge gradually penetrated farther and farther, and the crack opened wider and wider, to Nathan's great delight. Rollo was himself gratified to see how much his little brother was pleased with his beetle and wedges. When the first wedge was driven fully in, he handed him the other, and showed him how to insert that into the crack made by the first wedge, at a little distance from it. Nathan then drove in the second wedge, and this soon finished the work, for it split the piece off entirely, and Nathan took it up, and looked at it, very much pleased at what he had done.

"Now," said Rollo, "give me the beetle again."

"No," said Nathan, "I want to split some more."

"O, no," said Rollo, in a tone of good-humored expostulation; "no; it is my beetle and wedge. I let you have it to split one stick off; but now you ought to let me have it again, immediately."

"No," said Nathan, "I want to split some more."

Rollo took up the two wedges, and would not let Nathan have them, and Nathan held the beetle away behind him so that Rollo should not have that. Thus they seemed to be in inextricable difficulty. Rollo did not know what to do.

"Nathan," said he, at length, after a pause, "give me my beetle."

"No," said Nathan, "I want to split."

"O, dear me!" said Rollo, with a sigh.

At first, he thought that he would take the beetle away from Nathan by force; but he reflected in a moment that this would be wrong, and so finally he concluded to go and state the case to his mother.

So he rose, and began to walk away, saying,

"Well, Nathan, I mean to go and tell mother, that you won't let me have my beetle."

Then Nathan, whose conscience secretly reproved him for what he was doing, pulled the beetle round from behind him, and threw it down upon the floor, where Rollo had been sitting. This was wrong. It was a very ill-natured way of giving it up. If he was satisfied that he was wrong, he ought to have handed it to Rollo pleasantly. Instead of that, he threw it down, with a sullen look, and sat still.

Then Rollo, thinking that it was now no longer necessary to go and trouble his mother with the difficulty, began to return. As he came back, he said, in a kind and soothing tone,

"Now, you are a good boy, Nathan. That is right -- to give me back my beetle. Now I will let you split again, some time."

But Rollo was mistaken in supposing that Nathan was a good boy. Boys are not good until their hearts are right. When a child has something which he ought not to have, it is not enough for him to throw it down upon the floor, sullenly, because he is afraid to have his father or mother told that he has got it. He ought to give it up pleasantly, and feel that it is right that he should do so. If Nathan had said to himself, "I ought not to keep this beetle, for it is not mine -- it is Rollo's; he made it, and he has been kind enough to lend it to me, and now I ought to be willing to give it back to him pleasantly again;" and then had given it to him with a pleasant countenance, -- that would have been really being a good boy. But to throw it down in a pet, because he was afraid to have Rollo complain to his mother, was very far from being like a good boy.

However, it was very kind in Rollo to speak soothingly and pleasantly to Nathan; though, if he had reflected how much goodness depends upon the state of the heart, he would not have supposed that Nathan was yet a good boy. In fact, when he saw that Rollo was coming back again, and was not going to his mother, after standing still, looking quite sullen for a moment, he suddenly stooped down, seized Rollo's knife, and ran off with it out into the yard.

Rollo instantly pursued him, calling out, "Nathan! bring back my knife; Nathan! Nathan! give me my knife."

Nathan, however, ran on, though Rollo ran the fastest, and was rapidly overtaking him; and just at the instant before he reached him, Nathan's foot tripped; he fell, and as he threw forward his hands to try to save himself, they came down upon the ground, and his forehead struck the corner of the knife blade. He immediately screamed out with pain and terror. Dorothy, alarmed by his cries, came out, took him up in her arms, and carried him into the house.

She took him to the table, and began to bathe the wounded forehead in cold water. This was what she always did when the children got cut or scratched, or hurt in any such way. It prevents inflammation. She saw that Nathan was not hurt much, though he continued to cry very loud. His crying was, however, partly from pain, and partly from vexation.

In a few minutes, Rollo's mother came down stairs to see what was the matter. Rollo thought that his mother might suppose that he had hurt Nathan, and so he began to explain at once how it happened. But his mother held up her hand to him, as a signal for him to be silent. She knew that it was then no time to ascertain the facts.

She came up and looked at Nathan's forehead a moment, and she saw that it was not much hurt. Besides, she knew, by the sound of Nathan's cries, that they did not proceed from much pain. She therefore said to him, gently,

"Stop crying, Nathan!"

Now Nathan knew that his mother did not tell him not to cry, except when she was sure that he could control himself if he chose to do so; and he also knew that she punished him if he did not obey. So he began immediately to repress his sobs and cries, and very soon became still. She then put a small plaster, of some sort, upon his forehead, and then carried him up stairs and laid him on the bed.

"There," said she, "Thanny, lie still there a little while, till your forehead has done aching, and you get pleasant again; then you may get up, and come to me."

Then she went to her work again, and Rollo came and stood by her side, and told her the whole story.

"Nathan did wrong," said she; "but it would have been better for you not to have run after him."

"Why, mother," said Rollo, "he was running away with my knife; and I can't split at all without my knife. One thing I know, -- I shall not let him split any more with my beetle and wedges."

"That would be one way to treat him," said his mother; "but there is another thing you might do, if you chose."

"What, mother?" asked Rollo.

"Why, make him a beetle and wedge, for his own."

"Why, mother!" said Rollo, with surprise.

"Yes," said she. "You might make him one. Think how pleased he would be with it. Then he could sit down with you, and you could both be splitting together."

"But, seems to me, mother, that that would be rewarding him for being a naughty boy."

"It would be so, if you were to make him a beetle and wedge, because he was a bad boy; but I proposed that you should make it for another reason, that is, to please him."

"But perhaps he would think I did it because he ran away with my knife," said Rollo.

"I don't think there is any danger that he would imagine that you did it as a reward for that," replied his mother.

Here Rollo paused a moment. He did not feel quite ready to undertake to make Nathan a beetle and wedges; but he did not know exactly how to reply to his mother's reasoning. At length he said, in a timid and hesitating voice,

"But, mother, it seems to me that it would be better to punish Nathan, rather than reward him, or do any thing which would seem like rewarding him for acting so."

"That may be true," said his mother. "And it is true, also, that if you should refuse to let him split wood any more with your wedges, it would be punishing him; while, on the other hand, if you should make him a little beetle and wedge of his own, it would be forgiving him. Now I do not say that he ought not to be punished; but which do you think is your duty towards him, -- you, yourself, being only another child, a few years older than he, -- to punish or to forgive?"

"Why, -- to forgive, -- I suppose," said Rollo, rather doubtfully.

"I am rather inclined to that opinion, myself," said his mother: "but you can do just as you please."

Rollo remained some minutes about his mother's chair, not knowing exactly what to do or say next. He sat down upon the floor, and began to play with some shreds of cloth which were lying there. Presently, he looked up and said,

"Mother, what was the reason why you would not let me tell you what was the matter with Nathan in the kitchen?"

"Because," said she, "he was crying then, and it is no time to learn how an injury happened, during the excitement of the moment. If you find Nathan crying out in the yard, for instance, and try to get him to tell you how he got hurt, you only make him cry the more. Get him quiet first, and then learn the story afterwards.

"Then, besides the difficulty of his speaking intelligibly," she continued, "at such a time, boys are very strongly tempted to misrepresent the facts, during the excitement of the first moments. They are very likely to be a little vexed or angry, and, under the influence of those feelings, not to give a correct and honest account. So that it is always best to put off inquiries till the trouble is all over."

Here Nathan came into the room. His forehead had ceased to give him pain, and so he had clambered down from the bed where his mother had placed him, and now came into the room, looking quiet and calm, though still not very happy.

Rollo went to him, and said, "Come, Nathan, now we will go down stairs to play again." And he began to lead him down stairs. As they walked along, Rollo said,

"I am going to make you a beetle and wedge for your own, Nathan, and then you and I can split together: only, it is not a reward, you must understand. It was wrong for you to keep my beetle, and run away with my knife, and you are sorry you did so, an't you, Nathan?"

"Yes," said Nathan.

"And you won't do so any more, will you, Nathan?"

"No," said Nathan, "I won't do so any more."

Whether Nathan was really sorry for what he had done, or whether he only said so because Rollo was going to make him a beetle, is very doubtful; though it is not impossible that he was a little sorry.

Rollo went down into the shed again with Nathan; and while he was at work making the new beetle and wedge, he let Nathan use his. The first piece of board had been split up; so he laid another one before Nathan, and gave him his beetle and wedges and knife, and then went away out to the barn to get some more wood for wedges, and an auger.

When he came back, he found Nathan standing at the shed door, with the little beetle in his hand, waiting for him. As Nathan saw Rollo coming, he called to him, saying,

"Come, Rollo, come and help me; the board won't split."

"What is the matter with it?" said Rollo.

"I don't know," said Nathan, "only it won't split."

So Rollo went in to see. He found that Nathan had gone to work wrong. Instead of trying to drive the wedge into the end of the board, so as to split it along the grain, he had made the cleft with the knife in the side of the board, and was attempting to drive it in there, as if he supposed he could split the board across the grain.

"Why, Nathan," said Rollo, "that isn't right. You can't split it across."

Then he put the wedge into the end, where it ought to be put, and set Nathan to driving it. Now it began to split at once; though Nathan could not see why the board should not split one way as well as the other.

Rollo himself did not understand it very well. Nathan asked him why it would not split the other way, and he said that that was across the grain. But when Nathan asked him what he meant by grain, he could not tell.

He took up the wood and examined it, and observed little lines and ridges, running along in the direction in which it would split; but at the ends of the board, where it had been sawed across the grain, it was rough. He determined to ask Jonas about it, or his father.

He then went to work, and made the wedges and a little beetle for Nathan. He made Nathan's beetle smaller than his own, because Nathan was not strong enough to strike hard with such a heavy beetle. He did not get it done in season to use that day; but, the next day, he and Nathan sat down upon the shed floor, and spent an hour in splitting up the boards. They split them all up into good, fine kindling wood. Then they piled the pieces up in a neat pile, and then brought Dorothy out to see them.

Dorothy seemed very much pleased, and promised the boys that, the next time she baked pies, she would kindle the fire in the oven with their kindling wood, and then she would bake them each a little apple turnover.

*    *    *    *    *

That evening, just before Rollo went to bed, he asked Jonas if he could tell him why boards would only split along the grain.

"Yes," said Jonas, "I think I can tell you. But do you know what the grain is?"

"No," said Rollo, "I don't know any thing about it."

"You know that boards are made from the stems of tall trees."

"Yes," said Rollo.

"Well, now when trees are growing, there are little channels running up and down from the roots to the branches."

"What are they for?" said Rollo.

"They are for the sap. The sap flows up and down in them. But then there are no channels across from one side of the tree to the other, because there is no sap to go across. The sap all has to go up from the roots to the branches; and so the channels must all be up and down the tree.

"Now," continued Jonas, "when they cut down the tree, the trunk will split easily, up and down, the way the channels and fibres all go; but it won't split easily across. And just so, when they saw it up into boards, the boards will all split lengthwise, from end to end, for this is the way the channels and fibres all lie; but it won't split across, for that would be across all the fibres, and the wood is made very strong in that direction, and it is well it is so."

"Why?" said Rollo.

"Because, if trees would split across, as easily as they do up and down, the first good wind would blow down all the forests in the world."

"O, Jonas!" exclaimed Rollo, "all the forests in the world?"

"Yes," replied Jonas, "if the wind blew all over the world."



Horology.


One day, at eleven o'clock, Rollo, after having put away his books carefully into his desk, went out to play. It was a calm and pleasant autumnal day. Brown and yellow leaves were falling from the trees, and lying about the yard. Rollo found Nathan sitting upon the steps of the door which looked toward the garden yard. He felt satisfied and happy, for he had studied his lessons diligently, and, when he saw Nathan, he concluded to have a little play with him.

"Now, Nathan," said Rollo, "I will lie down upon the steps, and make believe I am a bear gone to sleep, and you come and poke me with your stick, and then I will growl at you."

"Well," said Nathan, "I will."

So Rollo laid down upon the steps, putting his arms upon the threshold of the door for a pillow, and his head upon his arms, and pretended to be asleep; but he did not look much as if he was asleep, after all, for he could not look quite sober. He tried to look sober; but there was a lurking smile upon his face, which made his countenance look quite different from that of a bear. Nathan came creeping along softly, and when he got near enough, he began to poke him with the end of his little whip-handle; then Rollo would start up and begin to growl, when Nathan would scamper away, shouting with laughter, Rollo after him, upon all-fours.

This play lasted several minutes, until at length Nathan spoiled it by punching Rollo too hard with his whip-handle. A great many plays are spoiled by roughness on the part of some who are engaged. Rollo, being hurt a little, got out of patience. He ought to have asked Nathan, pleasantly, not to punch him so hard. Instead of that, however, he declared that he would not play any more, and got up and went away. Nathan followed him, lashing the ground and the leaves with his whip.

They both went into a corner of the yard, where Rollo used to have his sand-garden. This sand-garden was made of clean sand, which Rollo and his cousin James once wheeled up from the brook; and then, after they had smoothed it out, and raked it over, they used to get plants and flowers, without any roots, and stick down, and then call it their garden. They used to water the plants, and so they could keep them green and bright for several days, which was long enough for them; for, after that, they generally preferred putting down fresh ones. But, now, the sand-garden had been for a long time neglected. The remains of some of the old plants were there, withered and dried, and the leaves of autumn were scattered over its surface.

Rollo began to rake off the leaves with his fingers, and then sat down, and went to digging a hole in the sand. It was very dry upon the top, but on digging down a little way, he found it damp, and so it would hold together pretty well, and he could pat it into any shape. A load of clean sand makes a very good place for children to play in, in a corner of a yard.

Rollo sat down on one side of the sand-garden, and Nathan on the other, and both busied themselves in digging and building little houses. They both became very much interested, and sat some time very still, until, at length, Rollo looked around to see what Nathan might be doing.

"What are you doing, Thanny?" said he.

"O, I'm making the sand run down through."

Rollo observed that Nathan had an old tin dipper, which he was holding up in one hand, and putting some dry sand into it with the other. There was a very small hole in the bottom of the dipper, for it was an old one which had been worn out and thrown away; and the sand ran out of this little hole in a fine stream, and it was this which interested Nathan so much.

"O, Nathan," said Rollo, "let me have the dipper."

"No," said Nathan, "I want it myself."

Rollo would not take it away from Nathan, though he wanted it very much indeed.

"Yes, Nathan," said he, "let me have the dipper, and I will make you an hour-glass out of it."

But Nathan said, "No, no," and moved away a little farther.

Rollo then remembered that such a little boy was generally not interested in any one thing very long, and that, if he should let Nathan alone, he would soon put the dipper down, and then he could have it without any difficulty. So he went on making houses in the sand, and in a few minutes Nathan put the dipper down. Then, soon after, Rollo took it up and put some dry sand into it, and he found that the sand would run very smoothly, in a fine stream, through a small hole there was in the bottom of it.

He determined to make an hour-glass of it. He had seen an hour-glass at his uncle George's. It was made of glass, big at the bottom and at the top, and narrow in the middle between the two. Through the narrow part in the middle, there was a very small hole, to let the sand run down through; and there was just sand enough put in to run through in an hour. So that, if a person should set the sand to running, he would know when an hour had expired, by observing when the sand had all run through.

Rollo thought that he could make an hour-glass; and he thought it would be a great convenience to him to have an hour-glass in the yard; because it often happened, when he came out to play, that his mother would tell him that he might stay out an hour; and then he had to go in very often to look at the clock, in order to know exactly when the hour had expired.

There were, however, so many little sticks and old leaves in the sand, that it kept getting continually clogged up, and at last Rollo began to get discouraged. He tried to pick out the little sticks; but he found he could not do that, and at last it occurred to him that probably Dorothy had some sand in the house that was cleaner.

He accordingly went in and asked her. She told him that he must wash his own sand, and that would make it clean.

"But haven't you got some that is clean already?" said he.

"Yes," said Dorothy; "but you will like your hour-glass better if you make it all yourself."

So Dorothy told him how to wash sand, for Rollo said that he did not know. She said he must put a little in a basin, and then pump water into it. "When the basin is nearly full of water, you must stir it round, and then pour off the water, and pump in more; -- do this until the water comes off clear."

So Rollo took the basin which Dorothy gave him, and went out to his sand-garden, and put in a little sand. Then he went to the pump, and pumped water into it. Then he stirred it about with his hand. The water immediately became very turbid, and a great many little sticks and leaves came floating up to the surface. Rollo was surprised to find how rapidly the water separated the light things which would float upon the top, from the heavy sand which would sink to the bottom. He kept pouring off the water, and pumping in more, until at length no more sticks and leaves came off, and the water appeared pretty clear. Then he carried the sand away, and spread it out upon a clean board in the sun to dry.

While he was thus at work preparing the sand for his hour-glass, Jonas happened to come by, and asked Rollo what he was doing. Rollo told him that he was making an hour-glass. Jonas looked on for a few minutes, and then he told Rollo that he thought that was a pretty good plan. "And I am going to have a time-keeper, too," said he.

"Are you?" said Rollo. "What?"

"I am going to make a dial," said he.

"A dial!" said Rollo; "what, a real dial?"

Rollo had an idea that a dial was exceedingly complicated and difficult to make, or to understand; and, in fact, it is difficult to make one that shall be exact in its indications. He did not think it possible that Jonas could make one.

"Yes," said Jonas, "a real dial; and I have got a noon mark already."

"A noon mark!" said Rollo; "what is a noon mark?"

"It is a mark to show when it is exactly twelve o'clock."

"Let me go and see it," said Rollo, "while my sand is drying."

Rollo followed Jonas off into the barn, and when there, Jonas pointed to a small line which he had cut with his penknife upon the barn floor. It began at the foot of one of the posts, by the side of the door, and extended back into the barn exactly straight.

"Is that the noon mark?" said Rollo. He was surprised to see that a noon mark was nothing but a cut with a penknife upon a barn floor.

"Yes," said Jonas; "that is a meridian."

"A meridian!" said Rollo, looking upon it with an air of great curiosity and respect.

"Yes," said Jonas; "a line drawn exactly north and south, is called a meridian line; and that is exactly north and south."

"What do you call it a noon mark for?" said Rollo.

"Because," said Jonas, "the shadow of the edge of the door post will always be exactly upon it at noon. So that I can always tell now when it is noon, by the shadow of the post upon my noon mark, if the sun shines."

All this was very new and very curious to Rollo. He had never seen or heard of a noon mark before; and it seemed to him a very simple and beautiful way of knowing when it was noon. He asked Jonas how he found out about it, and Jonas told him that he had been reading about it in a book on astronomy.

"Your father let me have the book," said he; "and see my chalk marks for the sun's shadow."

Rollo looked, and found that Jonas had put down quite a number of chalk marks along in a line, where they had first began to mark the place where the shadow of the door reached into. Rollo and Lucy had forgotten all about their plan of making such a series of observations; but Jonas had gone on regularly, making a mark every Monday, at noon, precisely. As the sun, at that season of the year, was going round farther and farther to the south every week, it shone in farther and farther upon the floor, so that each chalk mark was farther in than the one made the week before.

In order to make his marks at the right time, Jonas wanted to know, every Monday, when it was precisely twelve o'clock, and this led him to make his noon mark, having seen the account of it in the book which Rollo's father had lent him. He learned there that the shadows of all upright objects are cast exactly north at twelve o'clock, or rather very nearly north; near enough for his purposes. Now, as the post of the barn door was upright, he knew that the shadow of it would be in the north and south line at noon. Of course, if he had a north and south line, or a meridian line, as it was called in the book, drawn upon the floor, he knew that he could tell when it was noon, by the shadow of the post coming then exactly upon that line. He explained this all to Rollo, and Rollo was very much pleased with it indeed. He determined to have a noon line somewhere in the house.

Rollo asked Jonas what was the way to draw a noon line. Jonas told him that there were several ways. One way, he said, was to observe some day, by the clock, when it was exactly noon, and then to mark, upon the barn floor, the line where the shadow of the edge of the post fell precisely at that moment. Another way was to get a compass needle, and put it down upon the floor, and then draw a north and south line precisely in the direction that the needle indicated. That would, of course, be a north and south line, because the compass needle always pointed north and south. He said that he adopted both these methods to make his noon line. First, he got a compass needle, which Rollo's father had lent him, and put that down upon the barn floor just at the foot of the door post, and observed the direction; and he also noticed when it was twelve, by the clock in the house, and he found that, when it was twelve by the clock, the shadow of the post came exactly to the line indicated by the direction of the compass needle; and so he knew that that was a correct meridian line.



Jonas's Dial.


That evening, Rollo told his father about his hour-glass, and also about Jonas's noon line. His father said it was very difficult to draw a meridian line.

"O no, father," said Rollo; "Jonas has drawn one, and he told me how, and it was a very easy way."

"Yes," said his father, "it is easy to draw something which you can call a noon mark; but it is a very difficult and delicate operation to do it with any considerable degree of exactness."

"I think that Jonas's is exact," said Rollo.

"It probably may be as exact as he could make it with his means and instruments; but there are a great many sources of error which he could not possibly have avoided."

"What?" asked Rollo.

"Why, in the first place, the clock is not exact. It is near enough to answer all the purposes of a family; but it may often be a minute or more out of the way. Then besides, while Jonas is going from the clock out to the barn, the shadow is slowly moving on, all the time; so that he cannot tell exactly where the shadow was, when it was precisely twelve by the clock.

"Then again, it is not always exactly noon when the shadow comes to the north and south line. It varies a little at different seasons of the year, though it is so near that we say, in general terms, that at noon all shadows of upright objects point to the north. Still, it is not precisely true, except on a very few days in the year. Then, again, the post of the barn door is not exactly upright."

"I thought they always made door posts exactly upright," said Rollo.

"They do make them as nearly upright as they can, with the common carpenters' instruments; but they are not exact. To set a post of any kind, with great precision, perpendicular to the horizon, would require very expensive mathematical instruments, and very laborious and nice observations. Then, again, if the clock had been exact, and the post perfectly upright, Jonas could not have marked the place of the shadow exactly. The shadow has not an exact and well-defined edge; and then, even while he was marking at one end, the shadow would be moving along at the other end, and so his noon mark would not be exactly straight."

"Why, father, he could make the mark right along quick."

"No matter how quick he might make it. It would take some time, wouldn't it?"

"Only a very little," said Rollo.

"And do you suppose the sun would stand still, even during that little time, so as to let the shadow remain stationary?

"However," continued his father, "I don't say this to disparage Jonas's noon mark. I dare say, it is accurate enough for his purposes. He only wants to know from it when it is time for him to come in to dinner, or something like that. I only want you to understand what exactness is, and to see, a little, how difficult it is to attain to any considerable degree of it, in such cases. So thus, it seems, that Jonas has got a sort of a dial?"

"Why, it only tells him what o'clock it is at one hour in the day," said Rollo. "But I think he might make it do for all the afternoon and forenoon."

"How?" inquired his father.

"Why, all he has got to do is to watch some day when it is nine o'clock, and ten o'clock, and so on, every hour; and then make a line where the shadow comes every hour, just as he did for twelve o'clock. Then he will have marks for every hour in the day, and when the shadow comes along to these marks, one after another, he will know what time it is."

"O, but the difficulty is," said his father, "that the shadow will not come to the same places, at the same hours, on different days. It will come to the meridian line, at twelve, always, -- that is, nearly to it; but it will not come to any other lines regularly, -- that is, if the object, which casts the shadow, is upright."

"Will any other kind of object carry the shadow regularly?" asked Rollo.

"Yes," said his father, "an object that leans over to the north, so as to point to the North Star. If you and Jonas could put a post into the ground so as to have it point to the North Star, then you could mark, all around it, the places to which the shadow would come for every hour in the day, and afterwards it would come to the same places regularly, or nearly so. It would be near enough for your purposes; and I don't know but that it would be quite a respectable dial for you."

Rollo then asked his father why it was that a post, which pointed to the North Star, would bring a shadow any more regularly to the hour marks, than an upright one would; but he said that Rollo did not know enough, yet, to understand the explanation, even if he were to try to explain it. "Therefore," said he, "you must wait until you study astronomy before you can expect to understand it; but you can now, in the mean time, make such a dial, if you wish to do it."

Rollo did wish to do it very much. He accordingly told Jonas all that his father had said. It seemed very strange to Jonas, that a post, pointing to the North Star, should have its shadows move round any more regularly than a post in any other position. He could not imagine what the North Star could have to do with the shadows. Still, he determined to try the experiment.

A few days after this, Jonas did try the experiment. He got two narrow boards, which were once pickets belonging to a picket fence, one end of each was sharp, so that it could be driven down into the ground. Then he selected a certain part of the yard, in a corner, where the dial would be out of the way, and yet the path to the barn led along pretty near it. The reason why Jonas got two boards was this: he knew that, if he drove only one stake into the ground, and inclined it towards the North Star, it would be very likely to get started out of its proper position; but if he had two, he could drive the second one down perpendicularly from the end of the first, and then nail the two ends together; and that would keep all steady.

After having got every thing ready, the boys waited till the evening before fixing up the dial, because they could not see the North Star in the day time. But when the evening came, they went out, and began their preparations. It was a clear and pretty cold evening, and the stars were out in thousands.

"Which is the North Star?" asked Rollo.

Jonas looked about a minute or two, saying, "Let me see -- where's the Dipper? O, I see a part of it; the rest is down behind the barn. It was up high the last time I saw it."

"Where is the Dipper?" said Rollo, looking eagerly in the direction to which Jonas was turned.

"Come this way," said Jonas, "so as to be out of the way of the barn, and you can see it better."

So Jonas pointed out the Dipper to Rollo, with its square body, and long, bent handle. It was at first quite difficult for Rollo to see any thing that looked at all like a dipper; as it consisted only of stars, which it required some imagination to make look like one.

"The handle reaches almost down to the ground," said Rollo.

"Down to the horizon, you mean," said Jonas.

"Is that the horizon?" said Rollo.

"Yes," said Jonas, "where the earth and sky meet. Not long ago the Dipper handle was away up there," he continued, pointing up very high.

"Does the Dipper move?" said Rollo.

"Yes, it goes round and round the North Star, all the time. All the stars that are near the North Star keep going round and round it, once every day."

"And the rest of the stars," said Rollo, "do they go round too?"

"Yes," said Jonas; "only they are so far from the North Star, that they go in larger circles, and so go down below the horizon, and are out of sight sometimes. They come up in the east, like the sun, and go over and down in the west. But they don't go over straight," he added. "They don't come right up straight; and so go directly over. They slant away, off to the south, so as to keep always just so far from the North Star."

"That's curious," said Rollo.

"I think it is," said Jonas. "And they all go together; they don't move about among themselves, at all."

"Don't they?" said Rollo.

"No," said Jonas; "only there are a few wandering stars, that keep wandering about among the others. But the rest all keep exactly in their places, and all go round together; so they are called fixed stars."

"Show me one of the wandering stars," said Rollo.

"I don't know which they are," said Jonas, "only they are pretty bright ones."

"I guess that's one," said Rollo, pointing to a pretty bright star in the east.

"Perhaps it is," said Jonas.

"I wish I knew," said Rollo.

"I'll tell you how you can find out," said Jonas.

"How?" asked Rollo.

"Why, when you go into the house, take a piece of paper, and go to the window, and make some dots upon it, for all the stars around that one. Make the dots just in the places that the stars seem to be in. Then let them all go. They will rise more and more, and go overhead, and down in the west, and to-morrow night they will come up in the east again; and then you can look at them again, and see if the bright star has changed its place at all."

Rollo said that he meant to do that; and then he said that he began to feel cold, and wanted to go in. But Jonas told him that he ought to wait and help finish the dial.

So they went to the place which Jonas had selected, and Jonas, looking up first at the North Star, made a hole in the ground, with an iron bar, in an oblique direction, so that the bar should point pretty nearly to the North Star. Then he drove in one of his stakes in the same way. He then made a hole, perpendicularly, directly under the end of this inclined stake, and drove the other stake down into that. The two upper ends of the stakes were now together.

Then Jonas stooped down, so as to bring his eye near the edge of the inclined stake, at the lower end, so that he could "sight" along the edge of it, towards the star. He had previously cut a notch in it, so that he could get his eye down far enough to look directly along the edge. At the same time, Rollo took hold of the upper end, and stood ready to move it either way, as Jonas might direct, until it should point exactly towards the North Star.

"Down," said Jonas.

Then Rollo moved it a little down.

"Down more."

Rollo moved it farther.

"Up -- up a little," added Jonas. "There -- that will do. Now hold the two stakes firmly together, exactly so."

Then Jonas took some nails, which he had before provided, and nailed the tops of the stakes together, Rollo holding the axe up against them, on the opposite side. This supported the end of the inclined stake firmly, so that it could not move up or down. This was all that the boys wanted to do in the evening, and so they both went in.

The next day, Jonas sawed off the ends of both stakes where they projected beyond the junction; and then Rollo said he would watch the clock all day, and mark the place where the shadow came each hour, and drive a little stake down. "Then," said he, "our dial will be done."

"But what do you suppose is the reason," said Rollo, "that we must make it point to the North Star more than to any other?"

"I don't know," said Jonas, "unless it is because the North Star is the only one that keeps always in the same place. The rest move round and round every day. Those that are far enough from the North Star to go down below the horizon, rise and set; and those that are not far enough, go round and round in circles, in the open sky. But the North Star keeps still."

"Does it?" said Rollo, turning around, and looking up to the part of the heavens where he had seen the star the evening before.

"Yes," said Jonas; "and the reason why we cannot see it now, is the bright daylight. It is up there now, just where it was last night."

"And the Dipper, too?" said Rollo.

"Yes, and the Dipper, too; only that has moved half round, I suppose, and is now away up above the North Star."

"I wish I could see it," said Rollo. And he looked as steadily and intently into the clear blue sky, as he could; but he could not possibly see the least sign of a star.

*    *    *    *    *

However, the sun shone bright, and it cast a strong shadow from the stakes which they had driven into the ground. Jonas soon went away to his work, and left Rollo to mark the hours by means of the clock.

So Rollo had to go into the house very often to see what time it was; and at last his father, who was sitting there at his writing, asked him what made him want to see the clock so much. Rollo told him the reason. So his father put down his pen, and came out to see the dial.

When he saw the two stakes, with their lower ends driven into the ground, and the upper ends nailed firmly together, he looked at them with a smile, but did not say any thing.

"Will that do?" said Rollo, looking up very eagerly into his father's face.

His father did not answer, but continued to examine the work on all sides, with a countenance expressive of curiosity and pleasure.

"It points to the North Star, exactly," added Rollo. "Jonas sighted it."

"Yes," said his father; "I think that will do; you have got quite a respectable gnomon."

"Gnomon?" said Rollo.

"Yes," said his father; "we call such a thing a gnomon. In common dials, they are made of brass; but I don't see why this won't do very well. It is rather a large gnomon."

"Is it?" said Rollo.

"Yes," said his father, "I think it is the biggest gnomon I ever saw.

"But how are you going to mark the hour lines, Rollo?" asked his father.

"Why, we are going to drive little stakes down into the ground."

"'Seems to me that you can contrive some better plan than that," said his father.

"Why?" said Rollo. "Is not that a good plan?"

"Not very good," he replied; "because you cannot be exact in driving down stakes. The beauty of a dial is its exactness. I should think that you would do better to put a board down upon the ground, and mark your lines upon that."

"O, the board would get knocked about," said Rollo.

"I dare say that Jonas would contrive some way to keep it steady."

"But he says he can't do any thing more about the dial to-day, for he must attend to his work."

"Let me see -- he is putting the harnesses in order, I believe."

"Yes, sir," said Rollo.

"Well, you may tell him that after he has done the harness that he is at work upon now, he may finish his dial."

Then Rollo's father went into the house, and away went Rollo in pursuit of Jonas.

Jonas liked the plan of putting a board down very much, and in a short time he went to work to do it. He planed out a board of the right length, and then put it down upon the ground, under and between the two stakes, but nearest to the upright one. They placed it across at right angles to the line between the stakes, and of course, as the stakes were in a north and south line, the board was in an east and west line, and so the shadows were cast exactly across it.

The board being planed smooth, the edge of the shadow could be seen much more distinctly upon it, than upon the ground; so Jonas was satisfied that it would be a great deal better to draw the hour lines upon the board. After having determined upon the place where it was to go, he took it up again, and then drove down two strong but short stakes, sawed off square at the top, into the ground, one on each side; so that they should come under the two ends of the board. Then he laid the board down again upon the stakes, and nailed the ends of the board to them. The stakes had been driven in until they were just level with the surface of the ground, and so the board seemed to be lying along upon the ground too, though it was, in fact, fastened securely to the short stakes. Then the boys marked the hour lines upon the board with some black paint; and thus they had a very respectable dial. When the sun shone, Rollo could tell what o'clock it was near enough for all his purposes.



The Bee-Hive.


One of the drollest of all of Rollo's experiments was his plan for getting a bee-hive.

One day, he was in the garden with a playmate of his, named Henry, who lived not very far from his father's house.

In the back part of the garden were some tall hollyhocks growing. They were in full flower. Hollyhocks are very tall. They grow up in a straight stem, as high as a man's head, with leaves and flowers from top to bottom.

The flowers are large, and shaped somewhat like a cup, or rather a wine-glass, and bees often go into them to get honey.

Now it happened that as Rollo and Henry were sauntering about, near these hollyhocks, Rollo happened to see a bee in one of the flowers, loading himself up with wax or honey. The flower, that the bee was in, was just about as high as Rollo's head.

"O, there's a bee!" said Rollo; "let's catch him."

"Catch him!" said Henry. "If you do, you'll catch a sting, I rather think."

"No," said Rollo, "I can catch him without getting stung."

"How?" said Henry.

"I will show you," said Rollo.

So saying, Rollo approached the hollyhocks, and put both his hands up slowly to the flower which the bee was in. He then very carefully gathered together the edges of the flower, so as to enclose and imprison the bee. He then gently broke off the stem of the flower, and held it up to Henry's ear, to let him hear the bee buzz within.

"Now," said Rollo, "I wish I had a little bee-hive. I would put him in, and perhaps he would make some honey in there."

"Do you think he would?" said Henry.

"Yes," replied Rollo, "I have no doubt he would; bees always make honey in bee-hives."

"Haven't you got some box that will do?" said Henry.

"I don't know," said Rollo; "let us go along towards the barn, and see if we can't find one. I suppose it is no matter what the shape of it is," he added, "if it is only a box, with a small hole for the bees to go in and out."

"But you haven't got but one bee," said Henry, as they walked along towards the barn.

Rollo held the flower, with the bee imprisoned in it, safely in his fingers.

"O, I can catch plenty more. I could catch a whole hive of them, in time."

"But I don't believe they will stay and work in your hive," said Henry. "They will all fly off and go home to where they belong."

"No," said Rollo, "I will plug up the hole, and keep them shut in until they get used to it. When they get wonted to the new hive, they will stay there, after that, I know. That's the way they do with doves."

"But you won't have any queen bee," said Henry. "Bees won't work without a queen bee. I read it in a book."

"Well, perhaps I can catch a queen bee, some day," said Rollo, rather doubtfully.

Rollo was so much interested in his plan, that he was determined not to see any difficulties in the way of it; and yet he could not help feeling that there was some uncertainty about his succeeding in entrapping a queen bee.

However, just at this point in the conversation, he suddenly stopped, and pointed down to a flower-pot, which stood bottom upwards, upon a seat, near where they were walking.

"There," said he, "that will do for a bee-hive."

"Ho!" said Henry, "that is not a box."

"No matter," said Rollo; "it is just as good, and there is a little hole for the bees to go out and in at."

There is always a little hole in the bottom of a flower-pot.

"So there is," said Henry; "but do you think that the bees will make honey in an earthen pot?"

"O, yes," said Rollo, "just as well as in any thing. The bees don't care what they make the honey in. Sometimes they make it in old logs."

"Well," said Henry, "and we'll call it a honey-pot. And where shall we put it?"

"We can keep it on this seat: it is as good a place as any; the bees will be right in the garden as soon as they come out of their hive."

So saying, Rollo asked Henry to hold his bee a minute, while he got the honey-pot ready. Henry took the flower very carefully, so as not to let the bee escape, and then Rollo lifted up the flower-pot, and looked inside. It was pretty clean; but as Rollo knew that bees were very nice in their habits, he thought he would just take it to the pump, and wash it out a little.

In a few minutes, he brought it back, and replaced it, bottom upwards, upon the seat, and then prepared to put the bee in. He took the flower again from Henry's hand, and then very carefully inserted the edges of it, which had been gathered together with his fingers, into the hole. He then began to knock and push the bottom of the flower, to make the bee go in. The bee, not knowing what to make of this treatment, kept up a great buzzing, but soon went in.

"There," said Rollo. "Now, Henry, you be ready to clap your thumb over the hole, as soon as I take the flower away, or else he'll come out."

"O, no," said Henry; "he'll fly up and sting me."

"No, he won't," said Rollo. "I only want you to keep him in a minute, while I go and get a plug."

Henry then, with much hesitation and fear, put his thumb over the hole, as Rollo withdrew the flower. He stood there while Rollo went for a plug; but he seemed to feel very uneasy, and continually called Rollo to be quick.

Rollo could not find a plug, but he picked up a small, flat stone, and concluded that that would do just as well. So he released Henry from his dangerous position, and put the stone over the hole.

"There," said Rollo, with a tone of great satisfaction, when he had done this, "now he is safe. We'll let him stay, while we go and catch another bee."

So they went back to the hollyhocks, and there, quite fortunately, they found another bee just going into one of the flowers. Rollo secured him in the same way, and carried him along, and pushed him into the flower-pot. Henry stood ready to clap the stone on, as soon as he was in, and then they came back to the hollyhocks again. They had then to wait a little while, watching for bees; at length, however, one came, and, by and by, another; and so, in the course of an hour or two, they got seven bees, all safe in the honey-pot, and Rollo said he thought seven were about enough to go to work, at least, to begin. They had not yet found any one, however, that seemed to Rollo to be a queen bee.

At last, it was time for Henry to go home, and Rollo concluded to leave his bee-hive until the next morning. He thought he would leave the hole stopped up, so that the bees might get used to their new accommodations; but he intended to open it the next day, in order to let them begin their work.

The next morning, Henry came over soon after breakfast to see how affairs stood in respect to the bee-hive. He and Rollo went out into the garden to look at the establishment, and found every thing as they had left it the night before. Rollo felt quite confident of the success of his experiment. The only thing that gave him any uneasiness was the want of a queen bee. He and Henry were just speculating upon the expediency of sending in a bumble-bee instead, for a king, when their attention was arrested by hearing Jonas calling Rollo. They looked up, and saw him standing at the garden gate.

"Rollo," said Jonas, "do you want to go out with me to the pasture, and catch the horse?"

"Why, -- yes," said Rollo. But yet he did not go. He seemed to feel in doubt. "Must you go this minute?" said he.

"Yes," said Jonas. "Come; and Henry may go, too."

"Well, wait a minute, just till I go and open the door in my bee-hive."

"Your bee-hive!" said Jonas; "what do you mean by that?"

But Rollo did not hear what Jonas said; for he had run off along the alley, Henry after him, towards the place where they had established their hive.

"What does he mean by his bee-hive?" said Jonas to himself. "I mean to go and see."

So Jonas opened the garden gate, and came in. When he came up near the seat where Henry and Rollo stood, he found the boys standing a step or two back from the flower-pot, both watching the hole with the utmost intentness.

"What are you looking at, there, boys?" said Jonas, with great surprise.

"O, we are looking to see the bees come out."

"The bees come out!" said Jonas.

"Yes," said Rollo; "that is our bee-hive, -- honey-pot we call it. We have put some bees in it."

Here Jonas burst into a loud, and long, and apparently incontrollable fit of laughter. Henry and Rollo looked upon him with an expression of ludicrous gravity and perplexity.

"What are you laughing at?" said Rollo.

Jonas could hardly control himself sufficiently to speak; but presently he succeeded in asking Rollo if he supposed that bees would make honey there.

"Certainly I do," said Rollo, with a positive air. "Why should they not? They don't care what shape their hive is, or what it is made of, and this flower-pot is as good as any thing else. There! there! see, Henry," he exclaimed, interrupting himself, and pointing down to the flower-pot, "one is coming out."

Henry and Jonas both looked, and they saw a poor, forlorn-looking bee cautiously putting forth his head at the hole, and then slowly crawling out. He came on until he was fairly out of the hole, and then, extending his wings, rose and flew away through the air.

Here Jonas burst out again in a fit of laughter.

"You needn't laugh, Jonas," said Rollo; "he'll come back again; I know he will. That's the way they always do."

"And you suppose that the bees will fill up the flower-pot with honey?" said Jonas.

"Yes," said Rollo; "and then I shall take it away without killing any of the bees. I read how to do it in a book."

"How shall you do it?" said Jonas.

"Why, when this honey-pot is full of honey, I shall get another, and put on the top of it, bottom upwards. Then the bees will work up into that, and come out at the upper hole. When they get fairly at work in the upper hive, then I shall get Henry to hold it, while I slip the lower one out, and put the upper one down in its place."

As Rollo was speaking these words, in order to show Jonas more exactly how he meant to perform the operation, he took hold of the flower-pot with both his hands, and slid it suddenly off of the seat. Now it happened that the poor bees that were inside, chilled with the dampness and cold, were nearly all crawling about upon the seat; and when Rollo suddenly moved the flower-pot along, forgetting for a moment what there was inside, the rough edges of the flower-pot bruised and ground them to death, and they dropped down upon the walk, some dead, some buzzing a little, and one trying to crawl.

"There now, Rollo," said Henry, in a tone of great disappointment and sorrow, "now you have killed all our bees!"

Rollo looked astonished enough. He had no idea of such a catastrophe; and he and Henry both at the same instant took up the honey-pot to see if any of the bees had escaped destruction. Their eyes fell, at the same moment, upon one solitary bee that was standing upon the inside of the flower-pot. His attention had been arrested by the sudden glare of light, and so, just as Rollo and Henry first observed him, and before they had time to put the flower-pot down again, he spread his wings and flew out towards them.

Down dropped the flower-pot. The boys started. "Run!" exclaimed Jonas, following them with shouts of laughter, "run, run, boys, for dear life!" and away they all went towards the garden gate.

The bee, however, was not following them. His only object was to get away. He flew in another direction; but Rollo, Henry, and Jonas did not stop to look behind them. They kept on running, until Jonas was well on his way towards the pasture, and Rollo and Henry were safe in the shed. And this was the last time that Rollo ever attempted to make up a hive of bees.



Jonas's Magnet.


One evening, after tea, Rollo was seated upon his cricket, before the fire, reading. His mother was upon the sofa, also reading, and so the room was very still.

By and by, Rollo finished his book. It was quite a small story-book, and he had been reading it some time, and so he had got to the end. He laid the book down, therefore, upon the table, and began to consider what he should do next.

"Mother," said Rollo, "what shall I do?"

"I don't know," said his mother; "you must contrive some way to amuse yourself, for I am busy reading, now."

Rollo sat still, looking at the fire a few minutes, and then he thought he would go out into the kitchen, and see what Nathan was about. Accordingly, he went into the kitchen. Dorothy was at work, making some bread for the next day. Jonas was bringing in wood. Nathan was sitting upon the floor before the fire, very much interested in looking at something which he held in his hand.

"What have you got, Nathan?" said Rollo.

"I am seeing this nail stick on," said Nathan.

"Stick on!" said Rollo; "what does the child mean?" He accordingly came up to Nathan, and found that he had a smooth, flat bar of steel, not very regular in its shape, in one hand, and a nail in the other; and he was amusing himself with applying the nail to the bar of steel, and seeing it adhere.

"It is a magnet," said Rollo. "What a big magnet! Where did you get it, Nathan?"

"Jonas gave it to me," said Nathan.

"Let me try it," said Rollo. And he stooped down by the side of Nathan, and offered to take away the magnet.

But Nathan held it off upon one side, and said, "No, no; I must have it. Jonas gave it to me."

"Well, Thanny," said Rollo, "I won't take it away; only you let me sit here and see you play with it."

So Rollo sat still, and did not molest Nathan, but only looked on and saw him touch the little nail to the bar, and leave it hanging there. Rollo knew it was a magnet, for he had heard of magnets, though he had never before had an opportunity of seeing one. As Nathan found that Rollo was not going to take the magnet away from him, he soon ceased to appear afraid of him, and presently he let Rollo have the magnet in his hands. Rollo said he only wanted to look at it a moment, to see what made the nail stick on.

He examined the steel bar carefully. It was not quite a foot long, and was shaped like a common flat ruler; only, instead of being straight from end to end, it was swelled out a little along in the middle. On looking at the bar very attentively, Rollo observed some very fine, hair-like lines, crossing each other, so as to produce the appearance of fine net-work. Rollo supposed that this was what caused the magnet to take up the nail. He observed that there was one place, near the middle of the bar, where this net-work was more distinct and strong than in the other parts of the bar, and so he put the nail there, expecting that it would be attracted very strongly. But he was surprised at observing that it was not attracted there at all. He then tried it at different places, all along the bar, and he found that it was not attracted any where in the middle, but only at the two ends.

While he was wondering what could be the cause of this, he heard the front door open, and he knew that his father had come home. So he jumped up and ran off into the entry, Nathan following him, to show his father the magnet. His father was busy putting away his coat and hat, and told the boys to go into the parlor, and he would come in, in a moment, and see it. When he came in, he sat down before the fire, and took the magnet, Rollo and Nathan standing by his side, and looking on with eager curiosity.

Rollo's father examined the magnet from end to end, very carefully, for some time, without speaking. At length, he said,

"It is an old file."

"An old file!" said Rollo.

"Yes," said his father. "Some of Jonas's work, I suppose."

"Yes, sir," replied Rollo; "at least it is Jonas's magnet."

"There you see the marks," continued his father, pointing to the net-work, "of the old file teeth. Jonas ground them nearly out."

"Are those the marks of the file teeth?" said Rollo. "I thought it was the magnetism."

"No," said his father, smiling, "those are the traces of the file teeth, undoubtedly. You may go and ask Jonas how he got his magnet."

So away went Rollo and Nathan in pursuit of Jonas. They found him in the kitchen, just arranging his wood for the morning fires. They asked him where he got his magnet, and Jonas replied as follows: -- 

"Why, the other day, I went into town with your father's watch, to get a new crystal put in; and when I was at the watchmaker's, I saw a curious-shaped piece of iron hanging up. I asked the man what it was. He said it was a magnet, that he kept to touch needles. Then he gave me a nail, and let me see how the magnet would attract it. He told me, too, that if I had a knife, and would rub my knife on the magnet, the knife would attract, too; and so I did rub it, and I found that my knife would attract the nail, though not very strong. Then I asked him if any piece of iron would attract, after it was rubbed upon the magnet; and he said that iron would not, but that any piece of steel would. He told me that if I would bring a larger piece of steel, when I came after the watch, he would rub it for me, and then I should have a larger magnet. I told him I had not any steel. But he said any old file would do, and that I might grind the sides and edges a little, and make it smooth.

"So, when I came home, I found some old files in the barn. Some were three-cornered, and some were flat. I thought the flat would be the best shape, and I asked your father if he would give me one of them. He said he would; and so I ground the ends square, and the sides smooth, upon the grindstone. Then, when I went after the watch, the man rubbed it for me, and it makes a very good magnet."

Then Rollo and Nathan went back, and repeated this story to their father.

"Very well," said their father; "that was a very good way to get a magnet. I remember giving Jonas the file; but I did not know what he wanted it for."

"I think a magnet is a very curious thing," said Rollo. "See how the nail sticks to it!"

"There are a great many other things curious about it," said his father, "besides that."

"What?" said Rollo.

"I should want some other apparatus to show you," replied his father.

"And can't you get the other apparatus?"

"I don't know. Perhaps mother might get it. Yes, I'll tell you what we will do. I will name some things which mother may prepare, and you may get them together upon the table in the kitchen, when they have got the kitchen all in order. Then I will come out, and give you all, out there, a lecture upon magnetism."

Rollo and Nathan were exceedingly pleased with this plan; and even Rollo's mother looked somewhat gratified. She said she did not know much about magnetism, and she meant to go out into the kitchen herself, and hear the lecture.

"And what things shall we get?" said Rollo.

"Two or three needles," replied his father, "some fine, and some coarse; some thread, a saucer nearly full of water, a cork, the sand-box off of my table, and a sheet of white paper. Put them all in good order upon the table, and set the chairs around it. Then, when all is ready, come and tell me."

So Rollo's mother put down her book and went to help Rollo collect the articles which his father had said he should require. She began to look into her needle book for the needles and thread, while Rollo went for the sand-box. When Rollo came back with the sand-box and the sheet of paper in his hand, he found Nathan with his high chair, at the kitchen door, trying to get in.

"What are you doing here, Nathan?" said Rollo.

"I want to get my high chair in," he replied.

The truth was, that Nathan, having learned from the conversation what was going on, was eager to secure a good seat for himself, and so he was attempting to drag out the high chair which was kept in the parlor for him to sit up to the table in.

Rollo, as he happened to feel rather good-natured than otherwise, just then, after putting down his things, helped Nathan get his chair through the door, and placed it up at the kitchen table, which stood out in the middle of the floor. He then went into a closet, and opened a little drawer, where he knew corks were kept, and brought out one or two, selecting the cleanest and softest that he could find. When he came back, he found Nathan, pouring out some black sand, from the sand-box, upon the sheet of paper.

"Now, Nathan," exclaimed Rollo, running up to him, and seizing the sand-box, "you are a very naughty boy." And he attempted to take away the sand-box violently.

But Nathan, though he knew very well that he was doing wrong, did not seem fully disposed to admit Rollo's authority to set him right by violence. He resisted; and, in the struggle, the table was pushed away, and the water in the saucer spilled over. The water ran along under the sheet of paper. Nathan, seeing the mischief that had been done, was a little frightened, and released his hold. Rollo then took up the paper, which had sand upon the upper side, and water dripping off from the under side, saying,

"There, Nathan, now see what you have done!"

"I didn't do it," said Nathan.

"You did," said Rollo.

"I didn't," said Nathan.

Hereupon, Jonas came up to the table to see what was the matter. Each of the boys told his story.

"Now we are in pretty trouble," said Jonas; "we thought we were going to have a fine lecture; instead of that, there are two boys to be punished, and wet paper to be dried."

"Punished?" said Rollo.

"Yes," said Jonas, "Nathan for touching the sand-box, and you for touching him."

"Why, he was pouring out all the sand," said Rollo, "and I was only trying to stop him."

"Yes, but you know," said Jonas, "that you had no right to stop him by violence. That always makes the difficulty worse."

Here Rollo began to look pretty sober. He knew that he had done what he had very often been forbidden to do.

"Now," said Jonas, "we can wait and tell your mother about it, when she comes out, or we can just settle it all among ourselves."

"How?" said Rollo, with an anxious look.

"Why, I can dry the paper and the sand," said Jonas, "if you and Nathan will only punish the boys."

"How shall we do it?" asked Rollo, looking up with a faint and doubtful smile.

"I think a pretty good punishment," said Jonas, "would be for you and Nathan to go and sit in two corners of the room, with your faces to the wall, until I get the paper and sand dry -- if you think that would be punishment enough."

"Well," said Rollo, -- his eye brightening at the idea of winding up so unpleasant a business so easily, -- "well, Nathan, let's go."

Nathan was ready, and so he climbed down from his high chair, and as Rollo went to one corner of the room, he went to the other, and they took their places, as Jonas had directed; only Nathan could not resist the temptation of looking round, now and then, to see how Jonas got on with the drying of the paper. They, however, bore their self-inflicted punishment very patiently; and when Jonas had got the paper dried, and the table wiped down, and every thing replaced as it was before, he told them that it was time for them to get up again. The punishment was not very severe, it is true; but then, it was probably a pretty efficacious one, in respect to its effect in impressing it upon Nathan's mind that he must not touch things without leave, and upon Rollo's, that, when Nathan is doing wrong, he must not set him right by violence.

In a short time after this, the things were all ready upon the table, the chairs were placed around it, and Rollo went to call his father. He found him writing a letter. As soon as he reached the end of a sentence, he came out, and took his place at the table. Rollo's mother sat next to him at the same side of the table, and Jonas and Dorothy in two chairs, on the opposite side. Rollo then was placed at one end of the table, and Nathan, in his high chair, at the other.

Just then, however, Rollo's mother observed that the table was wet a little.

"Why, Rollo," said she, "how came the table wet?"

"Why, Nathan and I did it," said he.

"How?" said his mother.

"Why, we did it -- eh -- pulling. But Jonas has settled it all, mother."

"Ah! Jonas has settled it, has he? very well. Then we will all now attend to the lecture."



Magnetism.


Rollo's father looked over the things which had been arranged upon the table, for a moment, in silence, and then took up Jonas's magnet.

"This bar is what they call a magnet," said he; "but all the magnetism is in the two ends."

"It is?" said Rollo; "and what is the reason of that?"

"You can see that it is so," said his father, without answering Rollo's question, "in this way."

So he laid a small nail down upon the table, and then touched the middle of the magnet to the nail. It was not attracted at all. Then he moved it along a little, towards one end, and touched it again. Still it was not attracted. Then he moved it along farther and farther; but the nail was not attracted until he got to the end of the bar, and then the nail hopped up and adhered to it quite strongly.

"How curious!" said Rollo.

His father then repeated the same experiment with the other half of the bar, and found the result the same. The nail did not appear to be at all attracted until he reached the end, and then it was lifted and held by this end, just as it was by the other.

"So that, you see," said Rollo's father, "that the attractive power of the magnet resides in the ends."

"Well, father, what is the reason?"

"I don't know," said his father.

"Don't you know, father?" said Rollo. "I thought you were going to tell us all about it."

"No," said his father. "I only know a very little about it, myself. I am going to explain to you some of the facts, -- such as I happen to know. So you must all remember this fact, that in the magnet, the attractive power is not distributed over the whole mass, but resides only in the opposite ends. These ends are called poles."

"Yes, sir," said Rollo, "we will remember."

"Now I can make this apparent in another way," said his father. Then he asked Rollo's mother to thread a needle; and when it was threaded, he asked Jonas to stand up and hold the thread in such a manner as to let the needle hang over the middle of the table.

Then, when the needle was still, he brought up the middle of the magnet very near to the needle; but it did not move towards it at all. Then he drew the magnet along towards himself, keeping it at the same distance from the needle, and when the end of the bar came opposite to the needle, it immediately leaped out of its place, and adhered strongly to it.

"There is another way still," continued the lecturer, "better than either of these."

So saying, he took off the needle, which had adhered to the magnet, and drawing out the thread, he laid the needle itself carefully away upon a distant corner of the table. Rollo took it up, and was going to place it back with the others. But his father told him to put it down again, by itself, where he had placed it, and not to touch any of the things without his direction.

"I am going to show you another way," he added, "of making it evident that the attractive power of the magnet resides at or near the poles."

So saying, he opened the sheet of paper, and spread it out upon the table. Then he laid the magnet down upon it.

"Now, Jonas," said he, "sprinkle some sand upon it from my sand-box, carefully, and see where the sand will adhere."

So Jonas took the sand-box, and held it over the bar, not very high, and moved it slowly along, from one end to the other, and thus sanded the magnet all over. The sand fell off of it, however, freely, at every part except the ends; and Jonas, observing that it seemed to adhere there, held the sand-box a little longer over those places; and thus there was formed a sort of a black bur at the extremities, consisting of an accumulation of the black particles of sand. Rollo's father then took up the bar carefully, and passed it around, so that all who were seated at the table could examine it closely.

"It is thickest on all the edges and corners," said Rollo.

"Yes," said his mother; "and the sand forms little black bristles, pointing off in every direction."

They all examined it attentively, and observed the little black bristles pointing out every way from the edges and corners at the ends.

"This shows you," said Rollo's father, "exactly how the magnetic power, so far as its attractive force on other bodies is concerned, is distributed. You see it resides in the two ends, and the two ends seem to be exactly alike."

"Yes, sir," said Rollo, "exactly."

"They seem to be so," continued his father; "but the fact is, the magnetism of one end is very different from that of the other."

"I see that the cluster of sand is a little bigger at one end, than it is at the other," said Rollo's mother. She was more observing than the others, and had noticed a little difference, which had escaped the rest.

"That indicates only a difference in degree," said Rollo's father; "but there is a difference in kind."

"What do you mean by that, father?" asked Rollo.

"Why, if the attractive powers at the two ends were both alike in their nature, only one was stronger than the other, then the difference would be in degree; but there is a difference in the nature of the magnetism itself. In fact, the magnetisms of the two ends are of opposite natures in some respects."

"Why, both ends attract the sand," said Rollo, "just alike."

"True," said his father; "they seem to attract the sand in precisely the same way; and, looking at the bar, as I now hold it up," he added, "with the sand adhering in the same way at the two ends, one would suppose that they were both magnetic alike. But, in fact, there is a great difference between them."

All the company looked upon the two ends of the bar, as Rollo's father held it up, wondering how he would show that there was any difference between them.

"Now, in the first place," he continued, "we must get the sand off of the ends. Do you think you can get it off for me, Rollo?" said he.

Rollo took the bar very eagerly, and attempted to brush the sand back upon the paper. He succeeded in brushing off a little of it; but the greater portion remained. When he rubbed upon one side, it moved round to the other; and he could not get it off.

"Hand it to me," said his father, "and I will show you how it can be done."

He also asked Jonas to hand him the tongs, which were standing by the side of the fire. He then held the tongs over the sheet of paper, in a horizontal position, and gently rapped the end of the magnet against them, letting the end project a little over the tongs. This knocked all the sand off, and left the bar clean as it was before.

"Now let me see," said he, "what was it that I was going to tell you next?"

"You were going to show us," said Rollo's mother, "that there are two different kinds of magnetisms in the two ends of the bar."

"O, yes," said he. "In order to do this, I must poise a needle in a new way."

He then took up one of the corks which Rollo had put upon the table. From one end of this cork, he cut off, with his penknife, a round, flat piece. It was about as large around as a wafer, but somewhat thicker. He cut a little groove along the upper side of this, and laid the same needle which he had before used, and which he had put away upon the corner of the table, into this groove. Then he put the whole carefully into the saucer of water, which he had previously drawn up towards him.

"There," said he, "we call a cork like that, a float; because it is intended to float a needle upon. Now, you see, the needle being supported by the cork, and the cork floating freely in the water, the needle is at liberty to move in any way."

Nathan thought it was a very curious experiment to poise a needle so, upon a piece of cork, -- even without the magnetism. And he watched it as it slowly moved about, with a face full of interest and curiosity.

The needle swung round a little one way and the other, and finally came to a state of rest. Then Rollo's father held the magnet in his hands, in such a manner as to point it towards the needle, and then gradually brought it down near the water, just by the side of the point of the needle. The point immediately began to move slowly towards the bar; but Rollo's father lifted it up suddenly, before the needle had time to touch it. Then he brought the same end of the magnet down upon the other side of the point of the needle, and that drew it back again.

"There," said he, "you all see that the point of the needle is attracted by the bar, whichever side I put it."

They all said they saw it very plainly.

"Now," said he, "I am going to turn the magnet, and bring the other end of it down to the point of the needle; and if the magnetism at this end is the same with that in the other, the point of the needle will of course be attracted by this end too."

"Certainly," said Rollo's mother.

Then he brought down the other end of the bar towards the needle. This other end was a little bigger than the one which he had tried first, because the file had been a little bigger at that end. But the needle, instead of being drawn towards it, as it had been towards the other end, began to move slowly away from it.

"Why, it is going away," said Rollo.

His father did not answer, but immediately raised the bar and put it down upon the other side of the point, and then the point began to move away back again; being evidently driven away from the large end of the magnet, on whichever side it was presented.

Then Rollo's father reversed the magnet again; that is, he brought the smaller end towards the needle as at first. The point of the needle was now attracted, that is, drawn towards the magnet; and then when he changed it again, and brought the large end to the needle, it was always repelled; that is, driven away again.

"Now you see," he said, "that the small end of the magnet attracts the point of the needle, and the large end drives it away. That shows that the magnetism in the two ends is of two different kinds.

"And now," he continued, "there is one thing more which is remarkable about it; and I want you to observe it very carefully. You see," he says, "that the small end of the magnet attracts the point of the needle. But if I try it now upon the other end of the needle, where the eye is, it will repel that, just as the large end of the magnet repels the point."

He tried it, and the result was just as he had said. And he repeated the experiment in a great many ways, and they always found that the large end of the magnet would draw the eye of the needle towards it, and drive the point away; and the small end of the magnet would draw the point of the needle, and drive the eye away. This proved, as Rollo's father said, some great difference between the magnetisms of the two ends. "And you see," he added, "that it is a difference in kind, not merely a difference in degree."

"But one thing seems strange to me," said Rollo's mother, "and that is, that both ends of the magnet don't attract the point of the needle, just as both of them attracted the nail."

"And the sand," said Rollo.

"Yes," added his mother. "When you brought both ends of the magnet, one after the other, to the nail, they both attracted it."

"And so they did the needle which hung down by the thread," said Jonas.

"Yes," said Rollo's mother; "but now this needle, that is floating upon the water, is half attracted, and half repelled."

"The reason is," said Rollo's father, "that the needle, that is floating upon the water, is a magnet itself, and has two magnetic poles; but the sand, and the nail and the needle that Jonas held up by the thread, were not magnets. They were only common pieces of iron and steel."

"Why, father," said Rollo, "that was the very same needle; you laid it away upon the corner of the table."

"Yes," said his father; "but it was not a magnet then."

"When?" asked Rollo.

"Why, when Jonas held it up by the thread."

"And is it a magnet now?"

"Yes," said his father. "We will see if it is not."

So he took the needle off from the float, and put it upon the paper. He then sprinkled a little sand over it, from the sand-box, and, upon taking it up, they all saw that there was a little tuft of black sand both upon the point and at the eye, showing that it was magnetic at both ends.

"It became magnetic," said Rollo's father, "only by being touched by the bar magnet; and that was the reason why I put it away by itself as soon as it had touched the bar. I did not want to have it mixed with the other needles, which had not been touched, and which, of course, were not magnetic. Now, if I take one of the needles which has not been touched, and put it upon the float, you will see that both ends of it will be attracted by both ends of the bar."

So he placed away the magnetized needle upon the corner of the table again, and took another one, and placed it very carefully upon the float. Then he brought down one end of Jonas's magnet very near the point of the needle. It attracted it. Then he brought it down very near the eye of the needle. It attracted the eye too. Then he turned the magnet, and tried the other end, and he found that that end also would attract both the eye and the point of the needle.

"Try the magnetized needle, and see if that will attract it too," said Rollo's mother.

Then Rollo's father took the magnetized needle from the corner again, and brought the two ends of that, one after another, near to the ends of the needle upon the float. It attracted them just as Jonas's magnet had done, only a great deal more feebly.

"So, you see that this needle is really a little magnet, just like Jonas's great one."

"Only there is no proof that it has the two different kinds of magnetism in the two ends," said Rollo's mother.

"We can easily show that," said his father. He asked Dorothy to get another saucer full of water, while he prepared another float. Then he put the magnetized needle upon the new float, leaving the unmagnetized one upon the old float. They both looked almost precisely alike, each upon its own little disc of cork in its saucer of water.

"There," said he, "you cannot see any difference between them; but there is a great deal of difference between them; for one is only a common needle of steel, but the other has its two extremities magnetic in opposite ways."

To prove this, Rollo's father brought one end of the bar to the point of the magnetized needle, and the point was repelled. He brought it then to the eye of the same needle, and it attracted it. Then he brought the same end of the bar, first to the point, and then to the eye of the unmagnetic needle, and it attracted them both; so it was evident that there was a considerable difference, in reality, between the condition of the two, though there was no difference in external appearance.

"Now you see, from all this," added Rollo's father, "that when a magnet touches a piece of steel, like a needle, it immediately makes it a magnet itself; that is, it makes the two ends magnetic, one having one kind of magnetism, and the other the other kind; and then, if you take two magnets, and bring those two poles which have the same magnetism together, they repel one another; and if you bring those together which have different magnetisms, they attract each other."

"How do you know that they are the same magnetisms that repel, and different that attract?" said Rollo's mother.

"I will show you," said his father.

Then he took the needles that he had used off from their floats, and laid them away. He took next two new needles, exactly of a size, and he held them together between his thumb and finger, with the eyes projecting together. Then he rubbed them once or twice upon the end of Jonas's magnet, saying,

"There, you see I use both of these needles alike. Of course the eyes have both the same magnetisms. Now you will find that when I put one of them upon the float, and then bring the eyes together, they will repel each other; but an eye and a point will attract. So two points will repel."

"But you have not magnetized the points," said Rollo's mother.

"Yes," said his father. "When we magnetize one end, the other end becomes magnetized, itself, in the contrary way."

So he put one of the needles upon the float, and then brought the eye of the other down very near to its eye. It was repelled, as he had said it would be. He then brought the two points together, and they were repelled. But if he brought an eye towards a point, or a point towards an eye, they were attracted.

"This is the end of my lecture," said he, "for to-night."

"O, father," said Rollo, "a little more."

"No more to-night, only to recapitulate," said he.

"Recapitulate? what is that?"

"Why, tell you, briefly, the substance of what I have explained, so that you may remember it."

"Well, father," said Rollo.

"In the first place, a magnet has a peculiar and mysterious attractive power for iron, residing in its two extremities, which are called its poles; and the power which resides in one extremity is, in some way or other, opposite in its nature to that of the other extremity. Each of these poles repels a pole like itself, and attracts one different from itself, in any other magnet."

Poor Nathan could not understand this grave, philosophical disquisition very well, and he began to get pretty sleepy. He had, however, been somewhat amused, during the greater part of the time, in seeing the corks float about upon the water, with the needles upon them. So his father took the needles off, and let him have the two floats in one of the saucers to play with, a few minutes, while Dorothy put the other things away. He asked her to put all the things away together, so that they could get them ready the next evening, and then he said that perhaps he would give them another lecture.



Intellectual Philosophy


Rollo's father gave one or two other lectures upon magnetism, in the course of which Rollo found out a good deal about the subject; and, having learned from his father's explanations that any magnet, when balanced freely, would point to the north and south, that is, one end to the north and the other to the south, he determined to try the experiment. He accordingly poised a needle carefully upon a cork, as his father had done in his lecture, and put it in a basin of water upon the platform. But he did not succeed very well. The needle would always swing round, and turn its point towards the garden gate; but Rollo knew very well that the garden gate was not north from the platform. He remembered that the North Star was over the barn, for he and Jonas had noticed it particularly when they had made the dial. The needle, therefore, ought to have pointed towards the barn, according to his father's lecture; but it would not. Rollo took up a straw, and pushed the point of the needle round, and said, "Point there! point there, I tell you!" But all in vain. The needle would not heed either his pushing or his commands; but, as soon as he let it go, it would immediately swing back into its old position, where it pointed towards the garden gate.

Rollo was just about giving up in despair, when he saw his sister Mary coming in from the garden gate, with a book under her arm.

"O Mary," said he, "what shall I do? My needle won't point right."

"Why, what is the matter with it?" said Mary.

"It will point over towards the garden," said Rollo; "look."

So Mary came up, and looked at his needle. She saw that it was pointing towards the garden gate.

"Now I'll push it away," said Rollo, "and you will see that it comes directly back again."

So he took up his straw, and pushed the point of the needle away. The cork moved, turning round rapidly, until at length it swung away towards one side of the basin, and then suddenly drifted up against the side, and stuck there.

"That's another plague," said Rollo. "It will run up to the side of the basin, and stick there."

"What makes it?" said Mary.

"I don't know," said Rollo.

Mary sat down upon the platform, and examined the needle and the surface of the water very carefully. She observed that the water was heaped up a little against the side of the basin, all around. She asked Rollo to observe it.

"Yes," said he, "and the needle and cork run right up that ridge of water."

"And the bubbles too," said Mary.

Mary pointed, when she said this, to several little bubbles which were adhering closely to the side of the basin, in another place.

She took up a little straw, and pushed away some of the bubbles from the side of the basin, and then gently moved them back again until they were pretty near, and observed that they would immediately rush up against the side again. She did not understand this phenomenon, especially as the water was raised a little along the edge by the side of the basin, so that the bubbles and the needle actually appeared to rush up hill.

After examining this for some time, Mary moved the cork float, with the needle upon it, back into the middle of the basin, and then left it to itself. It slowly moved around until it pointed to the garden gate, as it had done before.

"Now what is the reason?" said Rollo; "that isn't north."

Mary looked upon it very attentively for a few minutes in silence, and then said, suddenly,

"O, I see."

"What?" said Rollo.

She did not answer, but pointed down to the platform by the side of the basin.

Rollo looked where she pointed, and saw the hammer lying there. He had had it to play with a short time before, and, when he brought the basin of water, he had laid it down by his side.

"What?" said Rollo.

"The hammer attracts the needle," replied Mary.

"The hammer?" said Rollo.

"Yes," replied Mary. "Don't you know that iron attracts the needle, and it will not point to the north if there is any iron near to draw it away?"

Rollo was just going to take the hammer up, but Mary stopped him, saying,

"Wait a moment. Let me take it away slowly, and see the effect."

So Mary told Rollo to watch the needle, while she carefully drew the hammer away.

Rollo did so. He and Mary both watched the needle. It was pointing pretty nearly toward the hammer, and when Mary gently moved the hammer away, the needle, released from the influence which the iron exerted upon it, slowly moved back towards the direction of the barn, that is, the direction of a north and south line, which is called the meridian.

"It's going back! it's going back!" said Rollo.

Mary said nothing, but watched it carefully. The needle swung beyond the direction of the meridian a little way, and then came slowly back again. So it continued vibrating from one side to the other, though to a less and less distance every time. Finally, it came to a state of rest; but it was not then, however, exactly in the meridian.

"What makes it swing so, back and forth?" said Rollo.

"I don't know exactly," said Mary. "I suppose the force that it moves with, carries it a little beyond, and then it is drawn back again, and that makes the oscillations."

"Oscillations?" said Rollo, inquiringly.

"Yes. They call this swinging back and forth, oscillating; and each movement is an oscillation."

"Is that the name of it?" said Rollo.

"Yes," said Mary. "When you tie a little stone to a string, and hold the upper end of the string still, and let the stone swing back and forth, it makes oscillations."

"I mean to try it," said Rollo.

"Yes," said Mary; "and I will help you by and by, after I have studied my philosophy lesson."

"Your philosophy lesson?" asked Rollo. "Have you got a philosophy lesson to get?"

"Yes," said Mary, "in that great book."

So Rollo took up Mary's book, which she had laid down upon the platform near Rollo's apparatus. He found that the title of it was "Intellectual Philosophy."

"Intellectual Philosophy?" said Rollo; "and what sort of philosophy is intellectual philosophy?"

"It is the philosophy of the mind," replied Mary. "It explains to us about the thoughts and feelings of our minds."

"Are there any experiments in intellectual philosophy?" asked Rollo.

"Yes," said Mary, "we can try experiments in intellectual philosophy."

"What experiments?" said Rollo.

"Why, there is a question whether we always dream when we are asleep."

"I do," said Rollo, "every night."

"Yes, but perhaps not all night long."

"Yes, I do," said Rollo. "I have good long dreams."

"But," replied Mary, "you may dream several hours in the night, so as to remember good long dreams in the morning, and yet perhaps you might have been, for some time, perfectly sound asleep, so as not to have any dreams in your mind at all. Some persons think we dream all the time when we are asleep, and others think we don't dream all the time. Now we might contrive some experiments to decide the question."

"How?" said Rollo.

"Why, you and I might agree to wake each other up several times, from a sound sleep, and then, if we were dreaming at that time, we should probably remember it."

"Well," said Rollo, "let us try it."

"That would be an experiment in intellectual philosophy," said Mary.

Rollo determined to try the experiment; and then he took Mary's book, and asked her where her lesson was that day. She found the place, and Rollo read a little. He could not understand it very well, and so he concluded that he would rather have Mary go and study her lesson, and then come down and help him make the experiments of oscillation.

Mary accordingly took her book and went in, and left Rollo at his play.



Oscillations.


In about an hour, Mary came down into the yard in pursuit of Rollo, in order to try the experiments which she had proposed.

When Rollo saw her coming, he left his play, and ran to meet her.

"Well, Mary," said he, "have you come to make the oscillations?"

"Yes," said Mary. "I have brought some thread for strings, and I want you to get some pebble stones -- some large, and some small ones."

Rollo went for the pebble stones, while Mary looked about for a suitable place for making the experiments. In a corner of the yard there was a bench under a tree, and the branches came down pretty low. Mary thought that this would be a good place, for she could tie her strings to these branches with the pebbles hanging down below; and she and Rollo could watch the oscillations, while seated upon the bench.

Mary took her station here, and Rollo presently appeared, with the crown of his cap half filled with pebble stones. Mary said they would do finely. She poured them out upon the bench by her side, and Rollo put his cap upon his head again.

"Now, Rollo," said she, "we will study the art of experimenting."

"No," said Rollo, "we are going to study oscillation."

"Yes," replied Mary; "the experiments are to be on oscillations; but what I want principally to teach you, is, the proper way to make experiments."

"Well," said Rollo.

Mary said no more, but she proceeded to tie a small pebble to the end of one of the long threads which she had brought out with her. Then she tied the other end of the thread to the branch of the tree, which was over her head. The pebble then hung down before them, so that both Rollo and herself could plainly see all its motions.

"The first thing," said Mary, "is to get a clear idea of the nature of the oscillation, for we must know what we are experimenting about."

So saying, Mary carefully took hold of the suspended pebble stone, and began to draw it off towards one side. She showed Rollo that, as it was confined by its string above, it must move in a curved line when she drew it away from its place, rising higher and higher the farther it was drawn away. And when she had drawn it out to a considerable distance, to one side, it was at a much higher level, than when it hung down freely in its natural position.

"Now," said Mary, "you see that if I let it go, it will descend of course as much as it can, for the earth draws it downwards."

"The earth draws it?" said Rollo.

"Yes," said Mary. "The reason why things fall is that they are attracted, or drawn down, by the earth. Now the earth draws the pebble. It would go straight towards it, if it could; but the string confines it, and so it can only go down in the same way that it came up; that is, by the curved line."

Mary then held one of her hands open at the place where the pebble had hung when it had been at liberty, and let go the pebble, which she had been holding with the other. It fell down in the curved line, or arc, as Mary had said it would, until it struck her hand, and there it stopped and remained at rest.

"What did you stop it for?" said Rollo.

"So that we could see and attend to one part of the phenomenon at a time," said Mary; "that is, the descent of the pebble. You see the attraction of the earth causes the pebble to go down if it can, and the confinement of the string prevents its going down in any other way than in that curve or arc. For the string keeps it always just its own length from the branch, and so that makes the curved line the arc of a circle."

"Yes," said Rollo, "I understand."

Then Mary drew up the pebble once or twice more, and let Rollo see it fall against her hand. Rollo observed that it was a very regular arc.

"Now we see," continued Mary, "that I hold my hand so as to stop the pebble stone at the lowest point to which it can go; for I hold it exactly under the point where the upper end of the string is fastened to the tree. Now I will take my hand away, and then let the pebble fall, and we will see what takes place."

So Mary took her hand away, and let the pebble fall freely. It descended as before through the arc, and then, by the force which it acquired in moving so far, it was propelled beyond the lowest point, and ascended in another curve, upon the other side, similar to the first. When the force was expended, it came back again; and thus it swung to and fro, several times, and at length came almost to a state of rest.

"There," said Mary, "those are the oscillations we are going to experiment upon."

"Yes," said Rollo.

"And first," said Mary, "we notice that they are regular."

So she swung the pebble again; and as it moved to and fro, she counted the oscillations aloud, beating time with her hand, down and up, thus, -- 

"One, -- two, -- three, -- four," &c. Rollo perceived that they were very regular.

"Now, first we will endeavor to ascertain by our experiments," said Mary, "what the time of the vibrations depends upon."

"Well," said Rollo.

"You see," continued Mary, "it swings back and forth with a certain degree of rapidity. Now we want to know what this rapidity depends upon, and then we could make a pendulum so that it would oscillate faster or slower, just as we pleased."

"A pendulum?" asked Rollo.

"Yes," said Mary, "we call it a pendulum. Any heavy body hung in this manner, so as to swing back and forth by its weight, is called a pendulum. So that we are experimenting upon the oscillations of a pendulum."

"Yes," said Rollo, "I understand."

"Now the question which we are going to examine," said Mary, "is, what the rapidity of the vibrations depends upon."

"O, it depends upon the bigness of the pebble," said Rollo.

"How do you know?" said Mary.

"Why, of course, a bigger pebble will be heavier, and will fall quicker, and that will make it vibrate faster."

"That is reasoning about it," said Mary, "and what we want to do, now, is to experiment. Now, in order to decide it by experiment, we must try two pendulums, one with a small pebble, and the other with a large one."

"Very well," said Rollo, "we will; and then we shall see that the big one will vibrate the quickest."

"Let us think, first, what other circumstances there are, that it may depend upon."

"I can't think of any thing else," said Rollo.

"Why, there is the nature of the body which we suspend. A piece of cork may oscillate differently from a piece of stone."

"Yes," said Rollo, "it will oscillate slower."

"We must not decide," said Mary, "in our own minds, before we try the experiment. We must leave our minds free to observe the facts, and wait until we make the experiment, before we come to any conclusion, or else we shall not be good experimenters."

"Why not?" said Rollo.

"Because," said Mary, "when persons make up their minds beforehand what the facts will be, they are very apt not to observe fairly. So good observers or experimenters always take care to keep their minds free and unbiassed."

"Well," said Rollo, "and what else is there that the oscillations may depend upon?"

"The length of the string," replied Mary.

"O yes," said Rollo, "it may depend upon that."

"Let us see," continued Mary. "There are three experiments we have already proposed; a large and a small pebble; a pebble and a cork; a long and a short string; and now there is one more, -- a long and short arc."

"How?" said Rollo.

"Why, if I draw up the weight, which forms the pendulum, pretty high, it will swing back and forth through a long arc. But if I move it only a little way, it will swing through only a short arc, and that may make a difference in the length of the vibrations."

"Well," said Rollo, "and now let us try."

"First, let us see whether we have got all the apparatus we want. Here are strings and pebbles, -- only we want a cork."

"I'll go and get one," said Rollo.

So Rollo went off towards the house to get the cork. In a few minutes he came back, saying,

"I have got the cork. Now how shall we begin?"

"First," replied Mary, "we will try what effect the weight of the pebble will have upon the oscillations."

"Very well," said Rollo.

"Now, in order to test that," added Mary, "we must take two pebble stones, of different sizes, and hang them together, by strings of the same kind, and of the same length; and then we must set them a-going exactly together, and then watch the oscillations. You see that as they will be alike in every respect, excepting the size of the pebble stones, whatever difference there is in the mode of vibration will probably be caused by the difference in the size of the stones."

"Is that the way they do it?" said Rollo.

"Yes," replied Mary. "Whenever we want to know what effect any one circumstance produces, in such a case, we always arrange two experiments, making them very different in respect to the circumstance which we wish to examine, and as nearly alike as possible in all other respects."

"I think that is a very good way," said Rollo.

"Yes," replied Mary, "I think it is an excellent way."

While Mary was thus explaining her plan to Rollo, she was going on steadily with preparations, Rollo standing all the time by her side, looking on with great interest. Mary selected two pebbles. One was as big as a walnut, and the other about as big as an egg. She tied two of her threads to these stones, one to each, and then tied the other ends of these threads to a small branch of the tree which extended horizontally over their heads. They hung down about two feet. She took care so to adjust the strings, as to have the centres of the stones as nearly as possible on a level.

"The big one is twice as large, and so it will go twice as fast," said Rollo.

"We shall see," said Mary.

She then drew them both carefully out a little way on one side, and holding them there steadily a moment, she let them go. They immediately began to swing back and forth, together.

After a few oscillations, however, the large stone began to gain a little upon the other, and seemed to be moving faster. Presently it had gained half an oscillation, i. e. when the large one was moving forward, the small one would be coming back.

"The big one moves the fastest," said Rollo.

"Not much," said Mary.

"No," said Rollo, "not much."

"And I don't think it is owing to the difference in the bigness of the stones."

"What else can it be?" said Rollo. "They are exactly alike in all other respects."

"Not exactly," said Mary. "We have made them as nearly alike as we could, but not exactly. There may be a good many little differences that we do not observe. But if the size of the stone would cause any difference in the vibrations, I should think it would make a much greater difference, for one is twice as big as the other."

"Let us try a very big stone," said Rollo.

"Well," said Mary.

So Rollo got a stone as large as an orange, which was as heavy a one as Mary thought the thread would hold; and Mary suspended that from the branch of the tree, and then swung it in company with the two others. They all went very nearly together at first, though there was evidently a slight difference, which, in a short time, separated the oscillations, so that the stones did not keep together; while yet they each swung back and forth, in nearly the same time. Rollo and Mary both concluded, from the result of this experiment, that the size of the vibrating body did not perceptibly affect the rapidity of the vibrations.

"Now," said Mary, "we will try different lengths of string."

So she began to look over Rollo's pebbles, to find two as nearly as possible alike.

"The pebble stones must be of the same size, this time, for we want the two pendulums to be alike in all respects, except the length of the string, for that is the circumstance which we are now going to consider. We will have one string twice as long as the other."

Mary found two pebbles very nearly equal in size, and similar in shape. She tied them to two strings, making one string twice as long as the other. She suspended them as before, and then, taking hold of one with one hand, and the other with the other, she drew them out to the same distance on one side, and let them go. The short one began at once to swing back and forth very quick, while the other followed quite slowly.

"That makes a difference," said Rollo, clapping his hands.

"It goes twice as fast," said Mary.

"More than twice as fast," said Rollo, "I think."

"Let us see," said Mary.

They set them vibrating again; but they did not succeed in ascertaining whether the short one went more or less than twice as fast as the other. The two motions, so rapid and so near together, confused them. At length, Mary proposed that Rollo should count the vibrations of the long pendulum, while she counted those of the short one, and when she had got up to twenty, she said they would both stop, and then Rollo could tell how many he had got in the same time. But this plan, though apparently a very simple one, they found it somewhat difficult to put into practice. Mary's pendulum puzzled Rollo's counting, and Rollo, who could not count very well without at least whispering the numbers, puzzled Mary, and so pretty soon they gave it up.

Rollo then said that he meant to try a very short pendulum indeed, and he asked Mary to tie one up for him, not more than an inch in length. She, however, said that it would not be necessary to tie it to the branch; but, instead of that, she took hold of the string of one of the pebbles which was already hanging before them, about an inch above the pebble itself, and then set the pebble in motion; and they were both very much interested in observing how quick it vibrated to and fro.

Rollo then wanted to try a very long one, and proposed that he should climb up into the tree, and tie the end of the string to a high branch. But Mary was afraid that he would fall; and besides, she said that the pendulum would not swing clear of the branches below. She, however, immediately thought of the chamber window, and said that she would try it there. She accordingly went up into her chamber, taking a large pebble stone with her, and Rollo remained below to set the pendulum in motion, when it should be ready. Mary soon appeared at the window, and Rollo watched her while she tied her pebble to the end of a thread.

"Have you got your thread long enough?" said Rollo. "It will take a good long thread to reach away down here."

"It is a whole spool of cotton," said Mary. And, so saying, she held up in her hand the spool, to the thread of which she was tying her pebble stone.

When it was secured, she slowly let it down, until it reached Rollo's hand, which was held up from below, ready to receive it. Mary then held the thread steady above, at a little distance out from the window, while Rollo took the stone along the side of the house, three or four feet from the place where it would naturally hang. He then let it go, and it swung back very slowly.

"O, how slow!" said Rollo.

"Yes," said Mary, "it is very slow, indeed."

"I wish you had gone up to the garret window," said Rollo.

"O, this will do very well," said Mary.

Rollo determined to see how many he could count while the stone made one oscillation to and fro. He counted sixteen.

Mary then said she was tired of experimenting, and so she should not come down again. She, however, asked Rollo to set the pendulum swinging, and that then she would draw the thread in, and he could see that it would go faster and faster, the farther she drew it up, for that would make the string grow shorter and shorter.

Rollo did so; and this was the end of the experiments on oscillations.

<eob>

The Swiss Family Robinson Told In Words Of One Syllable

By

Mary Godolphin



Chapter I.

WHEN one has a good tale to tell, he should try to be brief, and not say more than he can help ere he makes a fair start; so I shall not say a word of what took place on board the ship till we had been six days in a storm. The barque had gone far out of her true course, and no one on board knew where we were. The masts lay in splints on the deck, a leak in the side of the ship let more in than the crew could pump out, and each one felt that ere long he would find a grave in the deep sea, which sent its spray from side to side of what was now but a mere hulk.

"Come, boys," said I to my four sons, who were with me, "God can save us if it please Him so to do; but, if this is to be our last hour, let us bow to His will -- we shall at least go down side by side."

My dear wife could not hide the tears that fell down her cheeks as I thus spoke to my sons, but she was calm, and knelt down to pray, while the boys clung round her as if they thought she could help them.

Just then we heard a cry of "Land! land!" felt a shock, and it was clear that we had struck on a rock, for we heard a loud cry from one of the men, "We are lost! Launch the boat; try for your lives!"

I went at once on deck, and found that all the boats had been let down, and that the last of the crew had just left the ship. I cried out for the men to come back and take us with them, but it was in vain.

I then thought that our last chance was gone. Still, as I felt the ship did not sink, I went to the stern, and found, to my joy, that she was held up by a piece of rock on each side, and made fast like a wedge. At the same time I saw some trace of land, which lay to the south, and this made me go back with some hope that we had still a faint chance.

As soon as I got down stairs I took my wife by the hand, and said, "Be of good cheer, we are at least safe for some time, and if the wind should veer round, we may yet reach the land that lies but a short way off."

I said this to calm the fears of my wife and sons, and it did so far more than I had a right to hope.

"Let us now take some food," said my wife. "We are sure to need it, for this will no doubt be a night to try our strength."

My wife got some food for her boys, which we were glad to see them eat, poor as it was; but we could not share their meal. Three out of the four were put to bed in their berths, and soon went to sleep; but Fritz, who was our first child, would not leave us. He said, like a good son, that he would try to be of some use, and think what could be done.

"If we could but find some cork," said Fritz to me in a low tone, "we might make floats. You and I will not need them, for we can swim, but the rest will want some such means to keep them up."

"A good thought," said I. "Let us try to find what things there are in the ship that we can thus make use of."

We soon found some casks and ropes, and with these we made a kind of float for each of the three boys, and then my wife made one for her own use. This done, we got some knives, string, and such things as we could make fast to our belts. We did not fail to look for and find a flint and steel, and the box in which the burnt rags were kept, for these were at that time in use as the means to strike a light.

Fritz, who was now well-nigh worn out, lay down on his bed and slept like the rest. As for me and my poor wife, we kept watch, each in fear lest the next wave should lift the ship off the rock and break it up.

I need not tell you how glad we were when we saw the first gleam of light. At dawn the wind did not blow so strong, the sky was clear of clouds, and we saw the sun rise, and with it rose our hopes. I soon had my wife and sons on deck.

"Where are the men?" said they. "How can we steer the ship?"

"My dear boys," said I, "He who has kept us safe till now will still aid us. Let all hands set to work, and leave the rest to God."

At these words we all went to work with a will. My wife went to feed the live stock; Fritz set off in search of arms, and the means to make use of them; and Ernest made his way to the tool chest. Jack ran to pick up what he could find, but as he got to one of the doors he gave it a push, and two huge dogs sprang out and leaped at him. He thought at first that they would bite him, but he soon found that they meant him no harm, and one of them let him get on his back and ride up to me as I came from the hold of the ship.

When the boys had done their search, and the spoil was brought on deck, we thought we had found all that we should need. "As for me," said my wife, "I have brought good news, for I find we have still on board a cow, an ass, two goats, six sheep, a ram, a pig, and a sow, and I have found food for them all."

"All that you bring will be of use," said I; "but I fear that Jack's dogs will do us more harm than good."

"Not at all," said Jack, "for they can help us to hunt when we get to land."

"Well said, Jack. And now let us see what we can do that will aid us to get there."

We then took the casks that we had found, and Ernest and I soon cut them in half. With these tubs we made a kind of raft, though it was no slight task. The tubs, in fact, were a fleet of eight small round boats, made so fast to some planks that no one of them could float from the rest. The next thing to be done was to launch the raft. This we at length did, and when the boys saw it slide down the side of the ship and float on the sea, they gave a loud shout, and each one tried who should be the first to get on it. I made it fast to the ship, and there left it.

I then told my wife to change her dress for that of one of the crew which she had found, as her skirts would have got in her way when she had to climb. She did not at first like this, but did so as soon as she saw the truth of what I told her.

At last, when all was done, we went to bed, and slept as sound as if we had been on land.



Chapter II.

WE were all up at the break of day, and knelt down to thank God that He had kept us from harm through the night.

We then put all the things on the raft, and ten live hens and two cocks were put in one of the tubs. Some ducks and geese we let go, in the hope that they would swim to the shore; and a pair of doves were set free, as they could fly to the land.

There was a place in the raft for each of us. In the first tub sat my wife; in the next Frank, who was eight years old; in the third Fritz, not quite twice the age of Frank; in the fourth were the fowls, and some old sails that would make us a tent; the fifth was full of good things in the way of food; in the sixth stood Jack, a bold lad, ten years old; in the next Ernest, twelve years of age, well taught, but too fond of self, and less fond of work than the rest; while I sat in the eighth, to guide the raft that was to save all that was dear to me in the world.

As soon as the dogs (Bill and Turk by name) saw us push off from the ship they leaped in the sea, swam near the raft, and kept well up with us.

The sea was calm; so that we felt quite safe. We made good use of the oars, and the raft bore its freight straight to the land; but as we drew near to the shore the sight of the bare rocks led us to think that we might still be in need of food and drink when that which we had was gone.

As we got near, the coast lost its bare look, and we were glad to see that there was no lack of trees. We soon found a bay, to which the ducks and geese had found their way, and here we saw a place where we could land.

As soon as we had made the raft fast with a strong rope, we took out all our wealth, and made a tent with the old sail cloth we had brought with us, and stuck a pole in the ground to keep it up. This done, I sent the boys to get some moss and dry grass to make our beds with. With the flint and steel we soon set fire to some dry twigs, and my wife made a pot of soup with what she had brought from the ship.

Fritz, who had charge of the guns, chose one, and took a stroll by the side of a stream, while Jack went in search of shell fish, which he thought he might find on the rocks. My share of the work was to save two large casks which were near the shore. While I was up to my knees in the sea I heard a shrill cry, which I knew to come from Jack. I got out at once, took up an axe, and ran to his help. I found him with his legs in a rock pool, where a large crab held him by his toes. It soon made off as I came near; but I struck at it with the axe, and brought it out of the pool. Jack then took it up, though it gave him a pinch or two ere he found out how to hold it, and ran off in high glee to show what he had caught.

When I got back to the tent, I found that Ernest had brought us news that he had seen salt in the chinks of the rocks, and that shell fish were not scarce.

"Well, my boy, if you are sure you saw them, I will ask you to go back for some. We must each do some work for the good of all."

He went, and soon found the salt, left by the sea on the rocks, which the sun had made quite dry. There was some sand with it, but my wife did not take long to find a way to cure that. She had been to a fresh stream with a large jug; from this I saw her pour some on the salt, strain it through a cloth, and let it drip in a cup, so that all the sand was left on the cloth.

When the soup was made hot we had each a taste, and all said that it was good.

"Be not in too great haste," said my wife, "we must wait for Fritz; but if he were here, I do not see how we are to take our soup, for we have no plates nor spoons."

"If we had but some large nuts," said Ernest, "we might cut them in half, and they would make good bowls."

"Quite true," said I; "but as there are none, we may as well wish for delf bowls and real spoons at once."

"Now I have it," quoth Ernest. "Let us use the shells I saw on the shore."

Off ran Jack to the shore, with Ernest at his heels, and back they both came with large and small shells for us all.

Just then Fritz came in, with a look of gloom on his face, which I could see was a sham.

"You do not mean to tell me you have come back with nought?" said I, as he put out his hands as if to prove that such was the case. But Jack, who had been round him, cried out, "No, no! he's got a pig! -- such a fine one. Tell us where you found it."

Fritz now brought forth his prize. When I saw it, I knew, from what I had read, that it was not a pig, but a swift beast, known in these parts, that lives on fruit and nuts, and hides in the earth. (*The Agouti.)

"I like the place much more than I do this spot," said he. "The shore lies low, and there are planks, casks, chests, and all sorts of things, that the sea has thrown up. Why not leave this place at once, and go there?"

"There is a time for all things," said I. "We must at least rest here for one night."

We all sat down to take our soup with the shell spoons. Ernest took from his coat a large shell, which he had hid till now, put it in the soup, and then set it down to cool.

"You do not show want of thought," said I to him. "But I am not glad to see that you think so of your-self, and do so much for your own ease, when all the rest do so much for yours. Now, that shell full of soup you must give to our two dogs. We can all dip our small shells in the pot, and you must do as we do."

I knew he felt hurt at this, but he gave it to the dogs at once, and they soon made quick work of their share of the soup.

The sun was low when our meal came to an end. The fowls came round us to pick up the stray crumbs we had let fall, and my wife took out her bag of grain and fed the cocks and hens, and sent them to roost on the top of our tent.

We took care to load our fire-arms, in case we might need them in the night; sang a hymn of praise to God, and then left our fate in His hands.


Chapter III.

As soon as I heard the cock crow, and saw by the light that it was break of day, I got out of bed and spoke to my wife as to what we should do next.

"First," said I, "Fritz and I will make a tour of the coast and try to find some of the men who left the ship, for if they are here they may be in want."

"But," said Fritz, who had heard me from his bed, "why should we search for those who left us to die on the wreck?"

"Well, I will tell you," said I. "First, we should do to them as we would wish them to do to us, not as they have done; next, we know that they took no food with them, and we should not leave them to starve; and last, it may be that they can help us, though now they stand more in need of our aid."

The boys were soon up, and we all sat down to a good meal. That done, Fritz and I got our guns. I put a pair of small arms in his belt, gave him a game bag, and told him to take an axe. I took some food for us both, and a full flask, out of which we could drink if we should stray far from a stream.

When we took our leave, my wife and the three boys were in tears. The dog Bill we left to guard the tent, but Turk went with us, and ran by our side.

We soon got to the banks of a stream; but then had to make our way down its course. It took us some time to reach the sea shore. There was not a boat to be seen, or any sign that the ship's crew had found the land. We left the shore, and went through a wood full of tall trees. Here Fritz struck some hard thing on the ground with his foot, which we found to be a CO-COA NUT. He gave it a blow with his axe, and broke the shell, and we both sat down to rest, and eat the nut.

At the end of the wood we came to a plain which gave us a clear view of the place. Fritz, who was on the look out, ran off with Turk to some strange trees that he saw on the right.

When I got up to him, it gave me no small joy to find that it was a gourd tree.

"Try," said I, "if you can get hold of one of those queer lumps that grow on it."

With that he brought one down, and we had a look at it.

"Now, of this," said I, "we can make a plate, a dish, or a flask. Wild men set great store by its shell, which they use to hold their food and drink."

We then set to work to make plates of the gourds. When we had made some eight or ten bowls, and some flat ones for plates, we laid them out in the sun to dry, and then went on our way.

We could see, not far off, a grove of fine palm trees, but to reach them we should have to pass through reeds and long grass. I knew this was just the place to find snakes, so we each cut a cane, that we might beat them off should we meet with any. As I took hold of my staff, I felt a gum or juice ooze out of the end. I put my tongue to it, and found it of a sweet taste. This led me to suck the reed, and I then knew that we had met with the SUG-AR CANE. By this time Fritz had done the same, for I could see that he held his cane to his mouth.

"Do not suck too much of it," said I, "or it will make you ill; but let us cut some of the best and take them back with us, for those at home will prize so great a treat."

It did not take us long to reach the place where the palms grew, and then we sat down in the shade to eat the food we had brought with us.

"Do you see those nuts at the top of the trees, Fritz?" said I.

"To be sure I do; but they are far too high to reach. Look, look!" he cried, "there are some MON-KEYS; let me have a shot at them." "Do not do that," I said, and held his arm; "it will do us no good to kill them, and I think I can make use of them." With that I threw some stones up at the tree where they were, though they had got safe out of my reach. They then made a loud noise, took hold of the nuts that were near, and flung them straight at us. The trick made Fritz laugh, who soon had hard work to pick up the nuts that were thrown at him.

We broke some of the nuts, and put the juice of the canes in the thick white cream which forms close to the shell; and this made us a dish that Fritz said was fit for a king.

Fritz and I then made fast some nuts to a string, which I tied round my waist, while he took up his canes, and we both set off on our road home.



Chapter IV.

ON our way back we took up the gourd bowls and plates, which we found quite dry and hard as bone, and put them in our bags. We had scarce got through the wood, when Turk made a dart in front of us, and we saw a troop of apes rush out of the way. But he gave a leap and brought down one that could not climb so fast as the rest, for she had a young one in her arms. Turk made short work of the poor thing, for ere Fritz could call the dog off, the ape was dead. The young one, as soon as it saw Fritz, sprang on his back, put its paws in his curls, and would not let go. I at length got the ape from Fritz's back, and took it up in my arms like a child. We found that it was too young to seek its own food, and, as Fritz said he should like to take it home, we put it on Turk's back. Turk did not at first like this, but we soon got him to bear the ape, which held so tight by the hair on the dog's neck that it could not well fall off. Fritz then led Turk with a string, that he might not stray out of sight, or throw off his charge, which I think he would have done had we not been on the watch.

It did not take us long to reach the bank of the stream near to our home.

I need not tell you how glad my wife and sons were to see us safe back, or with what joy the boys took the "real live ape" out of Fritz's arms.

At length, when they got more staid, I told them that we had brought them all sorts of good things, but that we had not met with any of the men of whom we went in search. "God's will be done," said my wife, "let us thank Him that you have come back safe to us. This day to me has been an age; but put down your loads, for we must now go in and hear what you have to tell."

Fritz and I then told them, by turns, where we found the things we brought with us, how we made and dried the plates and bowls, cut the canes, and caught the ape in the wood. Our tales had not come to an end when we were told that it was time to sup. Ernest had shot a wild goose, and some fish had been caught in the stream. With these, and the Dutch cheese that we brought from the ship, we made a good meal; but the boys would not rest till we broke some of the nuts, from which they drank the milk, made sweet with the juice of the canes. I must tell you that we ate our food in great state from our gourd rind plates, which my wife said she should prize more than if they were made of pure gold.

That night the ape went to bed with Jack and Fritz, and we all slept in peace till the cocks on the roof of the tent woke us up.

Next day Fritz and I went back to the wreck to save the live stock, and get what else we had left that might be of use to us. We found it no light task, for we had to make floats for the cow, the ass, the sheep, and the goats, throw them in the sea, and tie them with ropes to our raft. We put on board the raft a vast deal of food that had not been spoiled by the sea, though the waves had made a breach in the sides of the wreck. We then put to sea with our train of live stock made fast to the stern.

We had not gone far when I heard a loud cry of fear from Fritz, "We are lost! We are lost! See what a great shark is on its way to us!"

Though pale with fright, he took aim with his gun, and shot the fish in the head. It sank at once, but left a track of blood in the sea, which I knew to be a sign that we were once more safe. We then got to land, and made fast our freight to the shore. Ere we had done this our friends came to give us what help they could to get the beasts out of the stream, and take them up to the tent. The poor things were well nigh worn out; but we took good care of them, and put them to rest on some dry grass that my wife had laid out for them.

That night we did not sup on the ground. My wife had spread a cloth on the top of a cask, and we each sat on a tub. With the knives and forks that we had found in the ship we ate a dish of hot ham and eggs, nor did we fail to test the wine that I had brought with me in a small cask from the wreck.

Ere bed-time my wife had told me that while I was at the wreck she had gone in search of some place in which we could build a house.

"And did you find one, my dear?" I said.

"Oh, yes," said she. "We can take you to a great tree that will serve us well, if we can but get across the stream with our goods."

"But would you have us roost, like fowls, in a tree? How do you think we could get up to our perch?"

"Was there not a large lime tree in our town in which they built a ball room, with stairs up the trunk?"

"To be sure there was," said I; "and if we can not build in it, we can at least make use of its shade, and dwell in a hut on the roots."

Ernest said that he took a string, and found that it was twelve yards round. This led me to think that my wife's scheme was by no means a bad one, and that I would have a look at the tree the next day.

When I had heard all they had to tell, we knelt down to pray, and then sought a good night's rest, which the toils of the day made us much in need of.



Chapter V.

WHEN I rose from my bed the next day, I said to my wife: "Does it not seem, my dear, as if God had led us to this place, and that we should do wrong to leave it?"

"What you say may be quite true, so far as it goes," she said; "but I must tell you that the mid-day heat is more than we can bear, and that if we stay here we may have to keep watch at night, for there are, no doubt, wild beasts of some kind that will find us out; and we should not trust too much to our dogs, who may lose their lives in a fight with them."

"I dare say you are right," said I; "but I do not yet see how we can cross the stream. We shall first have to build a bridge."

The boys were now all out of their beds; and while my wife went to milk the cow and cook some food, I made my plans known to them. They were all glad when they heard that we were to leave, and each said he, would help to build the bridge.

The first thing to be done was to find some strong planks; and Fritz, Ernest, and I went down to the shore, and got in the boat, which the tide took down to the bay.

On a piece of land which lay to the left we could see some large dark thing, round which flew a flock of sea gulls. We put up a sail and caught a gust of wind which had sprung up, and this soon brought the boat to the spot. We made no noise, but crept up the shore step by step, and we got so near that Ernest brought down some of the birds with a stick. Fritz was the first to find out that what the sea gulls had just left was the huge fish he had shot in the sea. We cut off some rough skin, which we thought might serve for files, and then went back to the boat. I took a glance at the shore ere I got in, and to my great joy saw some of the planks and spars from the wreck lay on the ground not far off. Our next care was to bind these so as to make a raft, which we tied to the stern of the boat, and then, by the use of our oars, soon made our way up the stream to the place where the bridge was to be built. Our young friends were glad to see us back so soon, and ran to meet us; Jack had a cloth in his hand, in which was a store of cray fish and crabs just caught in some of the nooks of a rock up the stream.

"Do not fail to give God thanks," said I, "that our lot has been cast where we can pick up more food than we can eat."

It would take a long time to tell how we brought all the wood up to the spot, built piers of stone in the stream, and put the planks one by one in the place; it was late at night when we left off work, and once more sought our tent.

The next day we saw the sun rise, and took our first meal in haste, for we knew we should have a long day's toil. All the stores that we could not take with us were laid by in the tent, the door of which was made safe by a row of casks, that we put round it. My wife and Fritz soon led the way; the cow went next; then the ass, with Frank on its back. Jack led the goats, and on the back of one of them sat the ape. Ernest took charge of the sheep, and I brought up the rear as chief guard. We took care to cross the bridge one at a time, and found it bore our weight well; but once or twice we thought the cow would step in the stream, or fall off the boards, when she went to the sides to drink.

Just as we had left the bridge, Jack cried out, "Be quick! here is a strange beast with quills as long as my arm." The dogs ran, and I with them, and found a large POR-CU-PINE, in the grass. It made a loud noise, and shot out its quills at the dogs, and made them bleed. At this Jack shot at the beast, which fell dead on the spot. My wife's first thought was to dress the wounds made by the quills, which had stuck in the nose of one of the dogs, while the boys made haste to pluck some of the quills from the skin of their strange prize.

At last our march came to an end, and I saw for the first time the great trees that my wife had told me of. They were of vast size, and were, I thought, fig trees. "If we can but fix our tent up there," I said, "we shall have no cause to dread, for no wild beasts can reach us." We sent Frank off to find sticks, with which to make a fire, and my wife made some soup of the flesh of the beast we had slain, though we did not like it so well as we did the ham and cheese we brought with us.



Chapter VI.

THE meal at an end, my first thought was to make some steps by means of which we could reach the first strong branch of the tree. Ernest and I went in search of some thick canes that grew in the sands hard by. These we cut down, bound them to four long poles, and thus made a pair of steps that would, we thought, reach far up the trunk.

On our way back from the sands, one of the dogs made a dart at a clump of reeds, and a troop of large birds rose on the wing with a loud noise. Fritz let fly at them, and brought down two at a shot. One of them fell quite dead, but its mate, though hurt in the wing, made use of its long legs so well that it would have got off if Bill had not held it. The joy of Fritz, to have caught such a strange bird, was so great that he would have us at once bind it by the neck and take it back with us. "Look," said Ernest, "what fine plumes he has, and you see he has web feet like a goose, and has long legs like a stork: thus he can run on land as fast as he can swim."

"Yes," said I, "and he can fly with more speed through the air, for these birds have great strength in their wings. In fact, few birds have such means of flight as the FLA-MIN-GO."

My wife thought the great bird might need more food than we could spare. I told her that it would feed on small fish and worms, and not rob our geese of their grain. I then tied him to a stake near the stream; and in a few days we were glad to find that he knew us, and would come at a call, like a tame bird.

While I sat on the grass with my sons, late in the day, I thought I would try to make a bow and thus save our shot. This I did with a long cane and a piece of string, and then made a dart with a sharp point, which I shot off and found it would go straight. The branch of the tree on which we were to fix our hut was so high that our steps would not near reach it. I tied some strong thread to the dart, and shot it over the branch; then tied a piece of rope to the end of the thread, and drew that up, and at last made a long row of cane steps, with a rope at each side, which we drew up to the first strong branch. The boys were now all in haste to climb the tree, but I chose that Jack, who was light of build and sure of foot, should go up first and try the strength of our work. Fritz went up next with some nails, and made the ropes fast to the tree, while I drove stakes in the ground to keep them firm at the foot. It was now time for me to mount, and up I went with an axe to lop off the twigs and smooth the bough that was to form the ground of our new house. I sent the boys down out of my way, and kept hard at work till it was late, for the sky was clear, and the moon lent me her beams of light to see by.

When I came down my wife spread a good meal on the ground, which we ate as best we could, and then made our beds of dry moss, round which we put heaps of twigs. These we set light to, as watch fires to keep off wild beasts and snakes. The toils of the day had made the boys tired, and they were soon in a sound sleep, but my wife and I took it in turns to watch through the whole night.

We were all out of bed as soon as light was in the sky, and set to work to hoist up the planks that were to form the floor of our hut. These we laid down on the branch, with their ends made fast to a cross piece of wood that we had to fix to the trunk of the tree. Our nails were long, and we drove each one of them home, so that we had no cause to fear the strength of our work. By the time we had done this the day was far spent, and we were all glad to lay by our tools and rest our limbs. That night we lit our fires round the tree, tied the dogs to the roots, and went up to sleep out of harm's way for the first time since we left the ship. When the steps were drawn up we all felt that we were now safe at last, and that we had brought the toils of the day to a good end.



Chapter VII.

WE did not wake next day till the sun shone in upon us. I told my wife and sons that as it was the Lord's day we would do no work. Our beasts and birds had first to be fed. This was done by my wife, who then brought us some hot milk, and made us sit down on the grass and take it. When our meal was done, I got on a log in front of my sons, and we all sang a psalm we knew by heart. Then I sought to teach them and spoke to them thus:

"There was once on a time a Great King, who had two vast realms, the Land of Light and Truth, and the Land of Night and Sloth. Those who dwelt in the first were full of life and joy. The King held his court at the Place of Rest where all was bright.

"This King had a land, not far off, where those for whom he had so much love should dwell ere they went one by one to the Place of Rest. This land was the Home of Earth. He gave to his Son the right to rule the host that dwelt in the Home of Earth, and set forth to think what they were to do, and all the ills that would come to them if they did not do as they were bid.

"At first they were all glad to hear the way in which they were to live, and the terms on which they could reach the Land of Light and Truth. Sad to tell, they soon broke the King's laws, and paid no heed to what they knew to be his will. Still there were a few who did as they had been taught, and dwelt in peace, in the hope that they would please the King and at last reach the place where he held his court.

"From time to time ships came to the Home of Earth, and at last a great ship was sent, the name of which was The Grave, which bore the flag of Death. To the good it was a sign of hope, but the bad were thrown by the sight of it into a state of gloom. These ships were not seen till they came close to the shore, and then the crew were sent forth to find those whom they were told to seize. Some went back with them full of joy, but most were seen to weep and mourn their fate. So soon as they were brought in sight of the Great King, the Prince took those who had done well, and put a white robe on them; but those who went their own way when on the Home of Earth, he sent down to toil in deep, dark mines till time shall be no more."

When my sons had heard my tale to the end they all knew what it meant; I then drew from them their views of what they ought to do to please and serve the Great King. We then sang a hymn; and my wife drew from her bag the BIBLE, which I gave to one of the boys, who read from it in a clear, loud voice. When this was brought to a close, we all knelt down on the grass to pray, and to ask God to bless the means we took to learn His will.

We did no work that day, but took a long stroll up the banks of the stream.

The next day Ernest and Jack tried their skill with the bow, and brought down some small birds that came to the great tree in quest of figs. I gave them leave to kill what they could; for I knew if put in casks made air tight with grease, they would keep for a time, and might prove a boon, if our stock of food should get low.

When we sat down to dine, the thought struck me that it would be well to give some name to each part of the land that was known to us. This was at first the source of some fun, for Fritz said we should call the bay where we had found the shell spoons by the name of Spoon Bay; but Jack, who still had a mark on his toe where the crab gave him a pinch, thought we ought to term it Crab Bay.

"If you will let me give it a name," said my wife, "I should wish to know it by some term that will make us bear in mind how good God was to lead our raft there, and I don't think Safe Bay will be a bad name for it."

"So let it be," said I; and from that time Safe Bay had a name. "What shall be the name of the spot where we spent our first night on shore? You shall give that its name," said I to Fritz.

"Let us call it Tent House."

"That will do," said I. "And now for the spot at the mouth of Safe Bay, where we found our planks?"

"Sharp Point," said Ernest. The place from which Fritz and I sought for a trace of out ship mates was to be known as No Man's Cape. Then we had the Boys' Bridge, which name I gave it from a wish to please my sons, who had done so much to build it.

"But what shall we call the place which is most dear to us all?"

"Now, my dear," said I to my wife, "it is your turn. What shall we say?"

"Let us call it The Nest," said she; and with that I gave each of my young birds a glass of sweet wine.

"Here's to 'The Nest,'" said I; "and may we live long to bless the day and the means that brought us here."

When the heat of the day was past, I told my sons that I should be glad to take a walk with them. My wife said that she should like to go with us; so we left The Nest in charge of Turk, and bent our course to the banks of the stream. On our way we went past some shrubs and rare herbs, which my wife knew well how to make use of should we fall sick; and Ernest found a large spot of ground on which grew a fine kind of PO-TA-TO. At these the boys set to work with such zeal, that we soon had a full bag of the ripe fruit. We then went on to Tent House, which we found in the same state as when we left it to cross the stream on our way to the great tree.

We found that our ducks and geese had grown so wild that they would not come near us; so, while my wife and I went to pick up such things as we thought we might take back with us, Ernest and Fritz were sent to catch them, and to tie their legs and wings, and in this way we got them at last to The Nest.



Chapter VIII.

IT took the whole of the next day to make a sledge, to which we tied the ass, and drove to Tent House. On our sledge we put such of the casks which held food, and took them back to The Nest. Fritz and I went once more to the wreck, and this time we brought off chests of clothes, pigs of lead, cart wheels, sacks of maize, oats, peas, and wheat. With a strong bar we broke down some of the doors, and took such parts of the ship as we thought would aid us to build our house, which as yet was far less safe than I could wish. These we bound with cords, and made them float back at the stern of the raft.

When we got to the shore my wife and the three boys were there to greet us. My first care was to send for the sledge, and with this we took most of our new wealth up to The Nest.

The next day I told my sons that they must now learn to run, to leap, to climb, and to throw stones straight at a mark, as all these things would be of great use to them in their new mode of life.

I next taught them to use the LAS-SO, by means of which men catch the wild horse on the vast plains of the New World. I tied two stones to the ends of a cord some yards in length, and flung off one of them at the trunk of a young tree; the cord went round and round it in a coil and bound it so tight that I could have drawn it to me had it not been fast in the ground. This trick the boys were not slow to learn; and Fritz, in a short time, could take an aim as well with a stone as he could with his gun.

As yet we had not seen much of the isle; for it took most of our time to build the house. But one day we made up our minds that we would all start on a tour. We rose at dawn, put the ass in the sledge, took what food we thought we should need, and set out from The Nest just as the sun rose.

When we came to the wood where Fritz found the ape, he told them by what means we got the nuts, but now there were no apes there to throw them down.

"Oh, if one would but fall from the trees," he said.

The words had but just left his lips when a large nut fell at his feet. He made a start back, and two more came down near the same spot.

As the nuts were far from ripe, I was at a loss to know how they could fall off the tree, for I could not see an ape nor a bird near.

I went close up to the tree, and saw a large land crab on its way down the trunk. Jack struck a blow at him with a stick, but did not hit the beast. He then took off his coat and threw it on the crab's head, while I made an end of him with an axe. I told them that these crabs climb the trees and break off the nuts, as we had seen, and then come down to feast on them at their ease.

"But how do they crack the nuts?" said Jack.

"They make a hole through the shell at the thin end, and then suck them dry."

The dead crab was put in the sledge, and we went on through the wood. When we came to the Gourd Wood, we sat down to make some more bowls and flasks to take back with us. Ernest had gone to try what new thing he could find, but he had not been from us long, when we heard him call out,

"A wild boar! A great wild boar! Come here, pray!"

We took up our guns, and went at once with the dogs to the spot. We soon heard Turk give a loud bark, and just then we heard Ernest laugh, and saw the two dogs come through a clump of brush wood, with our old sow fast by the ears. She did not seem to like the way in which they had put an end to her feast of fruit, so she ran back as soon as we told the dogs to let go their hold of her ears.

"But with all our sport," said Fritz, "we have a poor show of game. Let us leave the young ones, and set off to see what we can meet with." Ernest sat down with Frank, and we left them and my wife at the gourd tree, while Fritz and Jack set off with me to a high rock which we saw on the right.

"Fritz, look here," said Jack, as he made his way to the rock.

"What have you found now?" said Fritz.

"I don't know what it is, but it's a fine prize."

When I went up I saw at once that it was a large I-GUA-NA, the flesh and eggs of which are both good for food. I had heard that these and such like beasts will stand still if you play an air on a pipe. So I crept near, and made a low sound with my lips, while I held in my right hand a stout stick, to which I had tied a cord with a noose, and in my left hand a slight wand. I saw it first move its tail, and then draw its head from side to side, as if to look where the sound came from. I then threw the noose round its neck, drew it tight, got on its back with a leap and thrust the wand up its nose, which is the sole part of the beast where there are no hard scales. It bled at once, and was soon dead, nor did it seem to feel any pain. Our prize, which was near five feet long was no slight weight to lift. I got it at last on my back, and thus we went back to the gourd tree, where we found the rest quite safe.

It took us a long time to reach The Nest that night. My wife did her best to dress some of the flesh of the land crab, but it was tough, and did not taste so nice as the soup made from the beast that we had caught by the nose.



Chapter IX.

FRITZ and I spent the whole of the next day in the woods. We took the ass and one of the dogs with us, but left all else at home.

Our way first lay through a dense wood, where we saw no end of small birds, but such game could not now tempt Fritz to waste his shot. We then had to cross a vast plain, and to wade through the high grass, which we did with care, lest we should tread on some strange thing that might turn and bite us.

We came at last to a grove of small trees, and in their midst I saw a bush, which I knew to be the wax tree, for the wax grew on it like white beads. I need not say how glad I was to find so great a prize. We had up to this time gone to bed as soon as the sun went down, for we had no lamp to use; but as we could now make wax lights, I told Fritz that we had found what would add two or three hours per day to our lives. We took as much of the wax as would serve us for some time, and then made our way out of the grove.

"How came you," said Fritz, "to know so much of the queer beasts, trees, and plants that we have found here?"

"When young," said I, "I used to read all the books that fell in my way; and those that told of strange lands and what was to be seen in them had for me as great a charm as they have for Ernest, who has read a great deal, and knows more of plants than you do."

"Well," said he, "I will do the same if I but get the chance. Can you tell what is the name of that huge tree on the right? See, there are balls on the bark."

We went close to it, and found that these balls were of thick gum, which the sun had made quite hard. Fritz tried to pull one of them off, but felt that it clung tight to the bark, though he could change its shape with his warm hands. "Look," said he, "I feel sure that this is the IN-DI-A RUB-BER which we used to clean our school books." I took a piece of it in my hand, and said, "To be sure it is. What shall we not find in this rich land?" I then told him how the men in the New World made flasks of this gum, in which form it is sent to all parts of the world. "And I do not see why we should not make boots of it in the same way. We have but to fill a sock with sand, then put gum all round it, while in a soft state, till it is as thick as we need, then pour the sand out, and we shall have made a shoe or a boot that will at least keep out the damp, and that is more than mine do just now."

Not far from this we came to a bush, the leaves of which were strewn with a white dust; and close by were two or three more in the same state. I cut a slit in the trunk of one of these, and found it full of the white dust, which I knew by the taste to be SA-GO. We took all of this that we could get out of the tree, for it would add to our stock of food; and when our bags were full we laid them on the back of the ass, and set off to find our way back to The Nest.

"Each day brings us fresh wealth," said my wife; "but I think we might now try to add to our goods." I knew that she had some fear lest we should one day get lost in the woods, or meet with wild beasts, so I at once said that we would now stay at home, at least for some days.

My first work was to make some wax lights, for my wife could then mend our clothes at night, while we sat down to talk. This done, the next task they gave me was to make a churn. I took a large gourd, made a small hole in the side, and cut out as much as I could, so as to leave but the rind. In this I put the cream, laid a piece on the hole, and bound it up so that none could come out. The boys then held a cloth, and on it I put the gourd, which they rolled from side to side. They kept up this game with great mirth for near an hour, when my wife took off the string, and found that the churn had done its work well.

As our sledge was not fit to use on rough roads, my next work was to make a cart. I had brought a pair of wheels from the wreck, so that my task did not prove a hard one.

While I was thus at work, my wife and the boys took some of the fruit trees we had brought with us, and put them in the ground where they thought they would grow best. On each side of the path that led from The Nest to the Boy's Bridge they put a row of young nut trees. To make the path hard we laid down sand from the sea shore, and then beat it down with our spades.

We were for six weeks at this and such like work. We were loth to spare any pains to make The Nest, and all that could be seen near it, look neat and trim, though there were no eyes but our own to view the scene.

One day I told my sons that I would try to make a flight of stairs in place of the cane steps with rope sides, which were, to tell the truth, the worst part of our house. As yet we had not used them much, but the rain would some day force us to keep in The Nest, and then we should like to go up and down stairs with more ease than we could now climb the rude steps. I knew that a swarm of bees had built their nest in the trunk of our tree, and this led me to think that there might be a void space in it some way up. "Should this prove to be the case," I said, "our work will be half done, for we shall then have but to fix the stairs in the tree round the trunk." The boys got up and went to the top of the root to tap the trunk, and to judge by the sound how far up the hole went. But they had to pay for their want of thought; the whole swarm of bees came out as soon as they heard the noise, stung their cheeks, stuck to their hair and clothes, and soon put them to flight.

We found that Jack, who was at all times rash, had struck the bees' nest with his axe, and was much more hurt by them than the rest. Ernest, who went to his work in his slow way, got up to it last, and thus did not get more than a sting or two, but the rest were some hours ere they could see out of their eyes. I took a large gourd, which had long been meant to serve for a hive, and put it on a stand, We then made a straw roof to keep it from the sun and wind, and as by this time it grew dark, we left the hive there for the night.

Next day, the boys, whose wounds were now quite well, went with me to help to move the bees to the new home we had made for them. Our first work was to stop with clay all the holes in the tree but one through which the bees were wont to go in to their nest. To this I put the bowl of a pipe, and blew in the smoke of the weed as fast as I could. At first we heard a loud buzz like the noise of a storm afar off; but the more I blew my pipe the less grew the sound, till at last the bees were quite still.

We now cut out a piece of the trunk, three feet square, and this gave us a full view of the nest. Our joy was great to find such a stock of wax, for I could see the comb reached far up the tree. I took some of the comb, in which the bees lay in swarms, and put it by on the plank.

We then put the gourd on the comb that held the swarm, and took care that the queen bee was not left out. By these means we soon got a hive of fine bees, and the trunk of the tree was left free for our use.

We had now to try the length of the hole. This we did with a long pole, and found it reached as far up as the branch on which our house stood.

We now cut a square hole in that side of the trunk next the sea shore, and made one of the doors that we had brought from the ship to fit in the space. We then made the sides smooth all the way up, and with planks and the staves of some old casks, built up the stairs round a pole which we made fast in the ground. To do this we had to make a notch in the pole and one in the side of the trunk for each stair, and thus go up step by step till we came to the top. Each day we spent a part of our time at what we could now call the farm, where the beasts and fowls were kept, and did odd jobs as well, so that we should not make too great a toil of the flight of stairs, which took us some six weeks to put up.

One day Fritz caught a fine EA-GLE, which he tied by the leg to a branch of the tree, and fed with small birds. It took him a long while to tame, but in time he taught it to perch on his wrist, and to feed from his hand. He once let it go, and thought he would have lost it, but the bird knew it had a good friend, for it came back to the tree at night. From that time it was left free, though we thought that some day its love of war and wild sports would tempt it to leave us for the rocks of the sea shore, where Fritz had first found it.

Each of my boys had now some pet to take care of, and, I may say, to tease, for they all thought they had a fair right to get some fun out of the pets they could call their own; but they were kind to them, fed them well, and kept them clean.

In what I may term my spare time, which was when I left off work out of doors, I made a pair of gum shoes for each of my sons, in the way I had told Fritz it could be done. I do not know what we should have done had we not found the gum tree, for the stones soon wore out the boots we had, and we could not have gone through the woods or trod the hard rocks with bare feet.

By this time our sow had brought forth ten young pigs, and the hens had each a brood of fine chicks. Some we kept near us, but most of them went to the wood, where my wife said she could find them when she had need to use them.

I knew the time must now be near when, in this clime, the rain comes down day by day for weeks, and that it would wash us out of The Nest if we did not make a good roof to our house. Then our live stock would need some place where they could rest out of the rain. The thatch for The Nest was of course our first care; then we made a long roof of canes for our live stock, and on this we spread clay and moss, and then a thick coat of tar, so that it was rain proof from end to end. This was held up by thick canes stuck deep in the ground, with planks made fast to them to form the walls, and round the whole we put a row of cask staves to serve for rails. In this way we soon had a barn, store room, and hay loft, with stalls for the cow, the ass, and what else we kept that had need of a place to live in.



Chapter X.

FRANK one day found some long leaves, to which, from their shape, he gave the name of sword leaves. These he brought home to play with, and then, when he grew tired of them, threw them down. As they lay on the floor, Fritz took some of them in his hand, and found them so limp, that he said he could plait them, and make a whip for Frank to drive the sheep and goats with. As he split them up to do this, I could not but note their strength. This led me to try them, and I found that we had now a kind of flax plant, which was a source of great joy to my wife.

"You have not yet found a thing," she said, "that will be of more use to us than this. Go at once and search for some more of these leaves, and bring me the most you can of them. With these I can make you hose, shirts, clothes, thread, rope; in short, give me flax, and make me a loom and some frames, and I shall be at no loss for work when the rain comes."

I could not help a smile at my wife's joy when she heard the name of flax; for there was still much to do ere the leaves could take the shape of cloth. But two of the boys set off at once to try to find some more of the flax.

While they were gone, my wife, full of new life, and with some show of pride, told me how I should make the loom by means of which she was to clothe us from head to foot. In a short time they came back, and brought with them a good load of the plant, which they laid at her feet. She now said she would lay by all else till she had tried what she could make of it. The first thing to be done was to steep the flax. To do this we took the plant down to the marsh, tied up in small bales, as they pack hemp for sale. The leaves were then spread out in the pond, and kept down with stones, and left there in that state till it was time to take them out and set them in the sun to dry, when they would be so soft that we could peel them with ease. It was two weeks ere the flax was fit for us to take out of the marsh. We spread it out on the grass in the sun, where it dried so quick that we took it home to The Nest the same day. It was then put by till we could find time to make the wheels, reels, and combs which my wife said that she would want to turn our new found plant to its best use.

We now made haste to lay up a store of canes, nuts, wood, and such things as we thought we might want; and took care, while it was still fine, to sow wheat, and all the grain we had left in our bags was soon put in the ground. The fear that the rain might come and put a stop to our work led us to take our meals in haste, and to make the days as long as we could see. We knew the rain was close at hand, for the nights were cold; large clouds could be seen in the sky, and the wind blew as we had not felt it since the night our ship had struck on the rock.

The great change came at last. One night we were woke up out of our sleep with the noise made by the rush of the wind through the woods, and we could hear the loud roar of the sea far off. Then the dense storm clouds which we had seen in the sky burst on us, and the rain came down in floods. The streams, pools, and ponds on all sides were soon full, and the whole plain round us met our view as one vast lake. By good luck, the site of our house stood up out of the flood, and our group of trees had the look of a small isle in the midst of the lake.

We soon found that The Nest was not built so well as we thought, for the rain came in at the sides, and we had good cause to fear that the wind would blow the roof off. Once the storm made such a rush at it that we heard the beams creak, and the planks gave signs that there was more strain on them than they could bear. This drove us from our room to the stairs in the trunk, on which we sat in a state of fear till the worst of the storm was past. Then we went down to the shed we had built on the ground at the root of the tree, and made the best shift we could. All our stores were kept here, so that the space was too small to hold us, and the smell from the beasts made it far from a fit place for six of us to dwell in; but it was at least safe for a time, and this was of course the first thing to be thought of. To dress our food we had to make a fire in the barn, and as there was no place to let out the smoke, it got down our throats and made us cough all the day long.

It was now for the first time that my wife gave a sigh for her old Swiss home. But we all knew that it was of no use to grieve, and each set to work to do all he could to make the place look neat and clean. Some of our stores we took up the stairs out of our way, and this gave us more room. As we had cut square holes in the trunk of the tree all the way up, and put in frames of glass that we got from the ship, my wife could sit on the stairs, with Frank at her feet, and mend our clothes. Each day I drove from the barn such beasts as could bear to be out in the rain. That we might not lose them, I tied bells round their necks; and if we found that they did not come back when the sun went down, Fritz and I went out to bring them in. We oft got wet through to the skin, which gave us a chill, and might have laid us up if my wife had not made cloth capes and hoods for us to wear. To make these rain proof, I spread some of the gum on them while hot, and this, when dry, had the look of oil cloth, and kept the head, arms, chest, and back free from damp. Our gum boots came far up our legs, so that we could go out in the rain and come back quite free from cold and damp.

We made but few fires, for the air was not cold, save for an hour or two late at night, and we did not cook more than we could help, but ate the dried meat, fowls, and fish we had by us.

The care of our beasts took us a great part of the day; then we made our cakes and set them to bake in a tin plate on a slow fire. I had cut a hole in the wall to give us light, and put a pane of glass in it to keep out the wind, but the thick clouds hid the sun from the earth, and the shade of the tree threw a gloom round our barn, so that our day light was but short, and night came on far too soon. We then made use of our wax lights, and all sat round a bench. My wife had as much as she could well do to mend the rents we made in our clothes. I kept a log, In which I put down, day by day, what we did and what we had seen; and then Ernest wrote this out in a neat, clear hand, and made a book of it. Fritz and Jack drew the plants, trees, and beasts which they had found, and these were stuck in our book. Each night we took it in turns to read the Word of God, and then all knelt down to pray ere we went to bed. Ours was not a life of ease, it is true, but it was one of peace and hope; and we felt that God had been so kind to us that it would be a great sin to wish for what it did not please Him to grant us.

My wife did all she could to cheer us, and it was no strange thing for us to find that while we were out in the rain with the live stock, she had made some new dish, which we would scent as soon as we put our heads in at the door. One night it was a thrush pie, the next a roast fowl, or some wild duck soup; and once in a while she would give us a grand feast, and bring out some of all the good things we had in store.

In the course of our stay in doors we made up our minds that we would not spend the next time of storm and rain, when it should come round, in the same place. The Nest would serve us well in that time of year when it was fine and dry, but we should have to look out for some spot where we could build a house that would keep us from the rain the next time the storms came.

Fritz thought that we might find a cave, or cut one out of the rocks by the sea shore. I told him that this would be a good plan, but would take a long while to do. By this time the boys were all well used to hard work, and they thought they would much like to try their skill at some new kind of work.

"Well," said I, "we will go to the rocks round Tent House the first fine day that comes, and try to find some place that will serve to keep us from the next year's storms."



Chapter XI.

I CAN not tell how glad we all were when we at last saw a change in the sky, and felt once more the warm rays of the sun. In a few days the floods sank in the earth, and left the ground of a bright green hue; the air grew warm and dry, and there were no more dark clouds to be seen in the sky.

We found our young trees had put forth new leaves, and the seed we had sown had come up through the moist ground. The air had a fresh sweet smell, for it bore the scent of the bloom which hung like snow flakes on the boughs of the fruit trees; the songs and cries of the birds were to be heard on all sides, and we could see them fly from tree to tree in search of twigs to build their nests. This in fact was the spring of the year, when all things put forth new life; and we knew that the time was now come when we could once more range the woods and till the soil, and this made the boys leap for joy.

Some planks had been blown off the roof of The Nest, and the rain had got in here and there; so our first job was to mend our house, and make it fit to sleep in.

This done, Jack, Fritz, and I set out to Tent House. We found it in a sad state. The storm had thrown down the tent, blown off some of the sail cloth, and let in the rain on our casks, some of which held a store of food. Our boat was still safe, but the raft of tubs had broken Lip, and what there was left of it lay in splints on the shore.

Our loss in the storm had been so great that I felt we ought at once to seek for some place on the rocks where we could put what was left.

We went all round the cliffs, in the hope that we might find a cave, but in vain.

"There is no way but to hew one out of the rock", said Fritz, "we must not be beat."

"Well said, Fritz," said Jack; "we have each an axe. Why not try this cliff at once?"

I gave them leave to try, and we soon set to work at the rock. From this spot we had a good view of the whole bay, and could see both banks of the stream.

With a piece of chalk I made a mark on the side of the cliff, to show the width and height that the cave should be cut. Then each took an axe to try what kind of stuff our rock was made of. We found it a hard kind of stone; and, as we were not used to this sort of work, we had not done much when the time came for us to leave off.

We came back next day, and got on with more speed, though we thought it would not take us less than six months to make the cave, if our work were done at the same rate each day.

At the end of five or six days we had got through the face of the rock, and we found the stone soft. In a day or two more we came to what was but hard clay, which gave way at a slight blow from the axe.

"We need not fear now," said I, "for we shall soon have a hole as large as we want."

With the earth we took out we made a ridge in front of the cliff. The boys now got on so well, and dug so much out, that I had hard work to throw up the earth on the bank.

One day, as Jack stuck his pick in at the back of the cave, which was now more than eight feet from the front, a great mass of the rock fell in, and he cried out, "Look here! I have got through."

"Through what?" said I. "Not through your hand, I hope."

"No, no, but through the rock."

At this, Fritz set up a loud laugh.

"Why not say through the world at once, and push your crow bar in till you reach EU-ROPE, which, Ernest says, lies in a straight line from our feet. I should like to have a peep down, such a hole, for I might thus get a sight of our dear Swiss home."

Fritz and I went up to the wall and found that Jack was right, for he had come to a clear space. His first thought was to jump in; but as I knew that there might be foul air in the cave, I would not let him risk his life.

The boys then set fire to some dry grass, and thrust it in the hole, but it went out at once, which was a sure sign that the air was not fit to breathe.

I knew that we had brought from the wreck a box full of fire works, which were used on board to make signs to ships far out at sea. I sent Fritz to Tent House for these, though I thought that they might be too damp to make use of. When he came back, I set light to some of them, and threw them in the hole. They flew round, and threw out a stream of sparks that lit up the cave. When these were burnt out, we put in a heap of straw and threw a light on it. This was now soon in a blaze, and gave us a clear view of the cave; but it was too deep for us to see the end.

Our joy was so great that we sent Jack off home to The Nest to tell the good news, and to bring back some wax lights. I did not deem it safe for us to go in the cave in the dark, for there might be pools or deep dry pits in the ground.

Fritz and I had just thrown up on the bank the last spade full of earth that had been dug out, when we heard a loud shout. We got up on the top of the cave, and saw that Jack had brought back a tribe at his heels. The large cart, drawn by the cow and the ass, came on at a slow pace, led by Jack on a black ox, and in it were my wife, Frank, and Ernest.

By the help of a flint and steel I soon lit some of the wax lights, and gave one to each. I went in first and led the way, and the rest kept close at my back. We had not gone on more than a few steps when we came to a dead stop, struck with awe at the grand sight that met our view. The walls and roof of the cave were lit up, as it were, with star-like gems, while some hung down like glass drops from the roof, and some rose up from the ground at its sides like blocks of spar. I broke off a piece and put it on my tongue.

"What does it taste like?" said Jack.

"I find," said I, "that we are in a cave of rock salt."

"We shall not have to scrape the rocks to get our salt now," said Ernest, "for there is more here than would serve a whole town for a lifetime."

When we went back to The Nest that night we laid out a plan for our new home, for there could be no doubt that the cave was the best place for us to dwell in, though we should still sleep in The Nest when we went on that side of the stream.

The next day we all set to work; the floor of the cave was quite smooth, and the walls dry, so that we could build at once. We first cut holes in the sides of the rock to let in the light, and then brought frames and panes of glass from The Nest, and put them in. We then brought all the planks and wood we could find, and built a strong wall in the midst of the cave. On the right side of this wall we made three rooms, two of which were to be used as bed rooms, and one to take our meals in. On the left side was a room for my wife to cook in, one to work in, to which we gave the name of the shop, and a place with stalls in it for our live stock. At the back of these was a store house, where we could keep our stock of food and the whole of our spare goods.

I need not say that it took us some months to do all this, nor that we had to toil hard day by day, from morn till night, ere we got to the end of our task; but the end did come at last, and then the joy we felt that we had done all this with our own hands more than paid us for our toil.



Chapter XII.

OUR fields near Tent House had by this time brought forth good crops of wheat, maize, beans, and peas; but as the work of the Cave had for some weeks kept us on this side of the stream, we did not know in what state we should find our crops at The Nest.

One day we all set out for our old home. We found our corn fields of a rich brown hue, and saw that the wheat was, for the most part, fit to reap. This, and a large patch of rye we cut down, and, as we did so, whole flocks of birds took to wing when we got near them, while quails were seen to run off at the sight of our dogs, who had no lack of sport that day.

We laid by the seed that was quite ripe till the time should come for us to sow it, and put the rest in sacks. Some of the wheat was laid up in sheaves till we should have time to beat out the grain.

When we left The Nest for the Cave, we could not find the hand mill that we had brought from the ship. This now came to light, and we took care to pack it up to take with us, as we should want it to grind our corn.

That night we slept once more in the great tree; but I must say that we did not now sleep so sound there as we used to do, nor did we feel so safe as we did in our rooms at Rock House.

The next day we were to start a plan by means of which our live stock would not want so much of our care. They had bred so fast that we could well spare some of them, and these I thought might be left in some place to seek their own food, and yet be in reach should we want them.

My wife took from her hen roost ten young fowls, and I took four young pigs, four sheep, and two goats. These we put in our large cart, with such tools as we thought we should need, tied the black ox, the cow, and the ass to the shafts, and then set off from The Nest.

We had to cross a wide plain, and here we met with some dwarf plants on which, as Jack would have it, grew snow balls.

Fritz ran to see what they were, and brought me a twig to which clung balls of snow white down. I held it up to show my wife, for I knew the sight would please her still more than her sons.

"See," said I, "this is the COT-TON plant, which you have oft tried to find. It seems to grow here as thick as weeds, and, if I am a judge, it is of the best kind."

We got as much of this as our bags would hold, and my wife took care to pluck some of the ripe seed, that we might raise a crop in our grounds at Tent House.

At the end of the plain we came to the brow of a high hill, from which the eye fell on a view the like of which we had not yet seen. Trees of all kinds grew on the sides of the hill, and a clear stream ran through the plain at its base, and shone bright in the rays of the sun.

We said at once that this should be the site of our new farm. Close by we found a group of trees, the trunks of which, as they stood, would do for the main props of the house.

I had long had a mind to build a boat, and here I at last came on a tree that would suit. Fritz and I went for a mile or two in search of what we could find, and by the time we came back my wife had put up our tent for the night. We then all sat down to sup, and went to rest on beds made of the bags of the white down that we brought from the trees on the plain.

The next day we rose at dawn. The trees which were to form the frame of our farm house stood on a piece of land eight yards long by five wide. I made a deep cut in each of the trunks, ten feet from the ground, and put up cross beams to form a roof, on which we laid some bark in such a way that the rain would run off.

We were hard at work for some days at the Farm House. The walls we built of thin laths and long reeds, wove close for six feet from the ground, but the rest we made of thin cross bars to let in both light and air. We made racks to store bay and such like food for the live stock, and put by some grain for the fowls, for our plan was to come from time to time to feed them, till they got used to the place.

Our work took us more time than we thought; and as our store of food got low, we sent Fritz and Jack home to bring us a fresh stock, and to feed the beasts we had left at Tent House.

While they were gone, Ernest and I made a tour of the woods for some miles round the new Farm. We first took the course of the stream that ran by the foot of the hill. Some way up we came to a marsh on the edge of a small lake, and here in the swamp grew a kind of wild rice, now ripe on the stalk, round which flew flocks of birds. We shot five or six of these, and I was glad to note the skill with which Ernest now used his gun. I took some of the rice, that my wife might judge how far it was of use to us as food.

We went quite round the lake, and saw plants and trees that were not known to me, and birds that Ernest said he had not seen in any of the woods near The Nest. But we were most struck with the sight of a pair of black swans, and a troop of young ones that came in their train. Ernest would have shot at them, but I told him not to kill what we did not want for use.

We did not get back till late in the day. Jack and Fritz, whom we met just as we came round the foot of the bill, had done their task well, for they had a good stock of food in a sack that lay on the back of the ass, and they brought the good news that all was well at home.

We spent four more days at the Farm, and then left it in such a state as to be fit for our use when we chose to go back to it.

The Farm House was but a part of our plan, for we had made up our minds to build a sort of half way house, or cot, in which we could rest on our way to the Farm. This took us six days to do. The spot we chose lay by the side of a brook, and was just such a place as would tempt, one to stop and rest in the shade of the trees, that grew on the bank. While at the brook, I made a boat out of the tree we found at the Farm, and took it back with us to Tent House in the cart.

We had still two months ere the rain would set in, and this left us time to put the last touch to our cave. We laid the whole floor with clay, and spread on it some fine sand, which we beat down till it was quite smooth and firm. On this we put sail cloth, and threw down goat's hair and wool made moist with gum. This was well beat, and, when dry, made a kind of felt mat that was warm and soft to tread on, and would keep the damp from our feet.

By the time these works were done, our cave was in a fit state for us to dwell in. We did not now dread the rain, for we were safe out of its reach, and there was no need that we should go out in it. We had a warm light shop to work in by day, a snug place where we could take our meals and dry bed rooms in which we could sleep in peace. Our live stock we kept in a shed at the back of the cave, and our store room held all that we could want.

When the rain at length set in, we all had some task that kept us close at work in the cave. My wife took her wheel or her loom, both of which I had made for her, for this kind of work fell to her share from choice. By the help of the wheels of one of the ship's guns I had made a lathe, and with this I could turn legs for stools and chairs. Ernest, too, was fond of the lathe, and soon learned to do such work quite as well as I.

At dusk, when we had done our work for the day, we brought out our stock of books, and sat down to read by the light of a lamp.

At times, Jack and Prank would play a tune on their flutes, which I had made out of reeds; and my wife, who had a sweet voice, would sing some of the old Swiss songs, that brought to our minds the joys of home.

Though we were by no means dull, nor in want of work to fill up our time, we were glad when the time came for the rain to cease, and when we could gaze once more on the green fields. We went out the first fine day, and took a long walk by the base of the cliff. On the shore we found a dead whale, which the sea had no doubt thrown up in the storm. We had long felt the need of oil; for though we had a lamp, we had naught but our wax lights to put in it, and these gave a poor light to read by. The next day we cut up the whale, and put the flesh in tubs. It was far from a clean job, for the oil ran down our clothes and made them smell; but as we could change them for new ones, thanks to the hemp and my wife's skill, we did not mind that, for the oil was now worth more to us than our clothes, though at one time we should not have thought so.

One day we all set out on a tour to the Farm. Jack and Frank had gone on first, while my wife and I were as yet close to the Cave. All at once the boys came back, and Fritz said, "Look at that strange thing on its way up the path. What can it be?"

I cast my eye on the spot and cried out, "Fly all of you to the Cave! fly for your lives!" for I saw it was a huge snake, or boa, that would make a meal of one of us, if we did not get out of its way.

We all ran in doors, and put bars up to the door of the Cave. A large dove cote had been made on the roof, and to this we got up through a hole in the rock.

Ernest took aim with his gun, and shot at the snake, so did Fritz and Jack, but it gave no sign that they had hit it. I then tried my skill, but it did not seem to feel my shot any more than theirs, though I was sure I must have struck its head. Just as we took aim at it once more, we saw it turn round and glide through the reeds in the marsh.

Our fears kept us for three long days in the Cave. The snake gave no sign that could lead us to think it was still near, but the ducks and geese had left the spot where their nests were, and this we knew to be a bad sign. On the fourth day I went to the door, with a view to let out some of the beasts to graze, for we were short of food for them. The ass was just at my back, and as soon as it saw the light, made a rush to get out. Off it went, straight to the sands, with its heels in the air, but just as it got to the marsh we saw the boa glide out from the reeds, part its wide jaws and make for its prey. The ass at once saw its foe, but stood still as if struck with fear, and in less time than I take to tell it, our old friend was tight in the folds of the boa.

This was a sad sight for all of us, yet we could not take our eyes off the snake, but saw it crush the poor beast, and then gorge its prey. When it had put the whole of the ass out of sight, it lay down on the sand quite still, as if it had gone to sleep or died.

"Now is the time to seal the fate of our foe," said I to Fritz; and with that we went out with our guns. When we got near, we both took a straight aim, and each put a ball in its head. This made it move with a start, and writhe as if in pain.

"See how its eyes glare on us with rage. Now load your gun, and let us put a bit more lead in him."

Our next shot went in his eyes. It then shook as with a strong spasm, and fell dead on the sand.

A shout of joy brought my wife and the three boys to the spot. The state of fear they had been kept in for three whole days had made them quite ill, but now the joy of Jack and Frank knew no bounds, for they leaped on the snake and beat it as if they would go mad.

My wife said that the death of the boa took a great weight off her mind, for she thought it would lie in wait for us near the Cave, starve us out, and then kill us as it had done the poor ass.

We slit up the snake, and took out the flesh of the ass, which the boys laid in a grave near Tent House. The boa's skin we hung up at the door of the Cave, over which Ernest wrote the words, "No ass to be found here," which we all thought to be a good joke.

One day late in the spring I went with my three sons a long way from the Cave. My wife and Frank were left at our Half Way House, to wait till we came back, but the dogs went with us. Our route lay far up the course of a small stream, which had its source some miles north of the Farm House. The ground was new to us, but we could not well lose our way, for on the right stood a hill from which we could see the whole of the plain.


Ernest had gone with one of the dogs to a cave that he had spied at the foot of the hill, but we saw him turn round and run back with Turk at his heels. As soon as he thought his voice would reach us, he cried out, "A bear! A bear! come to my help!"

We could now see that there were two great beasts at the mouth of the cave. At a word from us both the dogs, flew to fight the bear that stood in front.

Fritz took up his post at my side, while Jack and Ernest kept in the rear. Our first shot was "a miss," as Jack said; but we took a sure aim the next time, and both shots told. We would have let fly at them once more from this spot, but as we thought we might hit our brave dogs, who were now in the heat of a hard fight with their foes, we ran up close to them.

"Now, Fritz," said I, "take a straight aim at the head of the first, while I fire on the one at his back."

We both shot at once; the bears gave a loud growl, and then, with a moan, fell dead at our feet.

As it was now time to go back, we put the bears in the cave, but took care to cut off their paws, which form a dish fit to grace the feast of a king.

We had a long walk back to the place where I had left my wife. The boys told her what a hard fight the dogs had with the bears, and how Fritz and I had shot them, and then gave her the paws. With the aid of Frank she had fed our live stock and brought in wood to make up our watch fire for the night, so we sat down to sup at once, and then went to rest.

Next day we put our beasts to the cart and drove as far as the bear's den. As we came near to the spot a flock of birds flew out of the mouth of the cave, two or three of which Fritz brought down with his gun. It took us the whole day to cut up the bears. The hams were laid by to be smoke dried; while my wife took charge of the fat and the skins.



Chapter XIII.

WE had now so much work to do, and the days and weeks came and went so quick, that I do not think we should have known the time of year had it not been for our log.

Some days were spent at the Cave, where we made our goods, ground our flour, stored our food, and kept our tame live stock. Then we had to take care of our crops in the fields near The Nest, and this took us two or three days in each month. Once in ten days at least we went to the Farm on the hill, and at the same time made a call at the Half Way House; so that there was not a day that we had not our hands quite full. Now and then we went out to hunt for sport or to add to our stock of beasts, which had grown so large that there were few we could name that had not been caught and brought home. We had birds of the air, fowls of the land, and beasts of all kinds' from the great black ox of the plain to the small wild RAB-BIT that came and made its hole close by our cave.

But there was one bird that we had not yet caught, though we had seen it two or three times in the woods. This was the OS-TRICH. Fritz found a nest with some eggs in it, and this led us to make a tour with a view to catch one of the old birds. We rose that day ere it was light, and set out at dawn, each on the back of a good steed.

As we should have to hunt through the woods, my wife was left at home; and Ernest, who did not like rough work, chose to stay with her. We made it a rule to take one of the dogs with us when we went out to hunt, but on this day we thought it wise to let them both come.

Fritz took us straight to where he had seen the nest, which was not more than a few miles up the stream. When we came in sight of the spot, we saw four great birds, as if on their way to meet us. As they drew near we kept the dogs well in, and made no noise, so that they did not stop till they came near us.

Fritz had brought his Ea-gle with him, which he now let fly. At one swoop the bird came down on the head of the Os-trich, held on with its beak, and struck out its wings with great force, as if to stun it.

We now rode up close to the scene of war. Jack first flung a cord round the legs of the bird, which made it fall to the ground. I then threw my pouch on its head, and, strange to say, it lay down as still as a lamb.

I now tied both its legs with cords, but left it just room to walk. We then made it fast to the two bulls that had brought Jack and Frank all the way from home, and put one of them on each side. They next got up on their steeds, and I took the pouch from the head of the bird. As soon as it could see, it gave a wild stare, and then fought to get free.

The boys then put spurs to the flanks of their steeds, and when the bird had made a few starts back, as if to try the strength of the cords which held it, it set off with a run, and the bulls at each side made it keep up a smart pace.

Fritz and I now went in search of the nest, which we soon found. I took the eggs from it and put them in a bag I had brought to hold them, in which I put some wool and moss, so that they should not break.

It did not take us long to get up to the two boys, who had gone on first, and we were glad to find that the poor bird had made up its mind to its fate, and kept up well with the pace of the bulls.

When we got in sight of home, my wife and Ernest, who had been on the look out for us, came forth to meet us; and the strange way in which we brought home our new prize made them laugh. I need not say that we took great care of it.

The next day we built it a house, with a space in front for it to walk up and down, round which were put rails, so that it could not get out. At first it was shy, and would not take any food, so that we had to force some balls of maize down its throat; but in a short time it took grain from the hands of my wife, and soon grew quite tame.

The boys now set to work to break it in for use. They taught it first to bear them on its back. Then they put a pair of string reins in its mouth, and made it turn which way they chose to pull, and to walk, or run, or stand still, as it was bid. Thus, in a month from the time we caught it, the boys made it take them on its back to and from the Farm or The Nest, in less than half the time an ox would go; so that it came to be the best steed we had to ride on.

The eggs we found in the nest were put in a warm dry place, and though we scarce thought our care would bring live birds out of the shells, we had the joy to hatch three of them, and this led us to hope that we should ere long have a steed for each of our sons.

My work at this time was by no means light. Our hats and caps were all worn out, and with skins of the musk cat I had to make new ones. The bears' skins were laid in the sun to dry, and of these we made fur coats, which would keep us warm when the cold wet nights came round, and there were some left to serve as quilts or rugs for our beds.

I now tried my hand at a new craft. I dug some clay out of the bed of the stream, and taught the boys to knead it up with sand, and some talc that had been ground as fine as road drift. I had made a lathe with a wheel, and by its aid the clay left my bands in the shape of plates, cups, pots, and pans. We then burnt them in a rude kiln, and though at least one half broke with the heat and our want of skill, still those that came out whole more than paid me for my toil, and kept up my wife's stock of delf. Some of the jars were set round with red and blue beads, and these were put on a shelf as works of art, and kept full of long dried grass.

The time was now at hand when we must reap our grain and store the ripe crops that were still on the ground; and, in fact, there was so much to be done, that we scarce knew what to do first. The truth must be told that our wants did not keep pace with the growth of our wealth, for the land was rich, and we had but a few mouths to fill.

We knew that we might leave the roots in the ground for some time, as the soil was dry, but that the grain would soon spoil; so we made the corn our first care. When it was all cut and brought home, our next task was to thresh it. The floor of our store room was now as hard as a rock, for the sun had dried it, and there was not a crack to be seen. On this we laid the ears of ripe corn, from which the long straw had been cut, and sent the boys to bring in such of our live stock as were fit for the work to be next done.

Jack and Fritz were soon on the backs of their steeds, and thought it fine fun to make them course round the floor and tread out the grain. Ernest and I had each a long fork, with which we threw the corn at their feet, so that all of it might be trod on. The ox on which Jack sat put down his head and took a bunch of the ears in his mouth.

"Come," said Jack, "it is not put there for you to eat, off you go!" and with that he gave it a lash with his whip.

"Nay," said I, "do you not know what God has said in his Word? We must not bind up the mouth of the ox that treads out the corn. This brings to my mind the fact that the means we now take to thresh our wheat were those used by the Jews in the days of old."

To sort the chaff from the grain we threw it up with our spades while the land or sea breeze blew strong. The draught which came in at the door took the light chaff with it to one side of the room, while the grain fell straight to the ground by its own weight.

The maize we left to dry in the sun, and then beat out the grain with long skin thongs. By this means we got a store of the soft leaves of this plant, which my wife made use of to stuff our beds.

When all the grain had been put in our store room, some in sacks and the rest in dry casks, we took a walk one day to our fields, and found that flocks of birds, most of which were quails, had come there to feed. This gave us a fine day's sport with our guns, and the next year we did not fail to look for them, so that the fields were made to yield a stock of game as well as a crop of grain.

With but slight change in our mode of life, we spent ten long years in our strange home. Yet the time did not seem long to us. Each day brought with it quite as much work as we could do, so that weeks and months and years flew past, till at last we gave up all hope that we should leave the isle or see our old Swiss home, the thought of which was still dear to us.

But the lapse of ten years had wrought a great change in our sons. Frank, who was but a mere child when we first came, had grown up to be a strong youth; and Jack was as brave a lad as one could wish to see. Fritz, of course, was now a young man, and took a large share of the work off my hands. Ernest had just come of age, and his shrewd mode of thought and great tact was as great a help to us as was the strength and skill of the rest.

To crown all, it was a rare thing for them to be ill; and they were free from those sins which too oft tempt young men to stray from the right path. My wife and I did our best to train them, so that they might know right from wrong; and it gave us great joy to find that what we told them sunk deep in their hearts, and, like ripe seed sown in rich soil, brought forth good fruit.

I need not say that in the course of ten years we had made great strides in those arts which our wants had first led us to learn. When we first came the land near Tent House was a bare waste; now it bore fine crops, and was kept as neat as a Swiss farm. At the foot of the hill by the side of Rock Cave was a large plot of ground, which we laid out in beds, and here we grew herbs and shrubs, and such plants as we used for food. Near this we dug a pond, and by means of a sluice which led from the stream, we kept our plants fresh in times of drought. Nor was this the sole use we made of the pond; for in it we kept small fish and crabs, and took them out with a rod and line when we had need of food, and time to spare for that kind of sport. In the ground round the mouth of the Cave we drove a row of strong canes, bound at the top to a piece of wood, so as to form a fence, up which grew a vine, and, at each side, plants that threw a good show of gay bloom crept up to meet it. Shells of great size and strange shapes were got from the shore, and these we built up here and there with burnt clay, so as to form clumps of rock work, on which grew ferns and rare plants. All this gave a charm to our home, and made the grounds round it a source of joy when, we laid by our work for the day. In fact, we thought there was now scarce a thing to wish for that we had not got.

Our cares were few, and our life was as full of joy and peace as we could well wish; yet I oft cast a look on the sea, in the hope that some day I should spy a sail, and once more greet a friend from the wide world from which we had been so long shut out. This hope, vague as it was, led me to store up such things as would bring a price, if we had the chance to sell them; they might prove a source of wealth to us if a ship came that way, or would at least help to pay the charge of a cruise back to the land we came from.

It is but just to say that the boys did not share my hopes, nor did they seem to wish that we should leave the place where they had been brought up. It was their world, and the cave, to which we gave the name Rock House, was more dear to them than any spot on the earth.

"Go back!" Fritz would say; "to leave our cave, that we dug with our own hands; to part with our dear kind beasts and birds; to bid good-by to our farms, and so much that is our own, and which no one in the world wants. No, no! You can not wish us to leave such a spot."

My dear wife and I both felt that age would soon creep on us, and we could not help some doubts as to the fate of our sons. Should we stay and end our days here, some one of us would out-live the rest, and this thought came oft to my mind, and brought with it a sense of dread I could not get rid of. It made me pray to God that He would save us all from so dire a fate as to die far from the sound of the voice of man, with no one to hear our last words, or lay us in the earth when He should call us to our rest.

My wife did not share this dread. "Why should we go back?" she would say. "We have here all that we can wish for. The boys lead a life of health, free from sin, and live with us, which might not be the case if we went out in the world. Let us leave our fate in the hands of God."



Chapter XIV.

As Fritz and Ernest were now men, they were of course free to go where they chose, and to come back when their will led them home. Thus, from time to time they took long trips, and went far from Rock House. They had fine boats and strong steeds, and of these they made such good use that there was scarce a spot for leagues round that was not well known to them.

At one time, Fritz had been so long from home that we had a dread lest he should have lost his way, or fallen a prey to wild beasts. When he came back he told us a long tale of what he had seen and where he had been, and how he had brought with him birds, beasts, moths, and such strange things as he thought Ernest would like to see. When he had done, he drew me out into our grounds and said he had a strange thing to tell me. It seems that he found a piece of white cloth tied to the foot of a bird which he had struck down with a stick, on which were these words: "Save a poor soul, who is on the rock from which you may see the smoke rise."

He thought that this rock could not be far off, and that he ought to set off at once in search of it.

"I have a thought," said he; "I will tie a piece of cloth, like that I found, to the leg of the bird, and on it I will write, 'Have faith in God: help is near.' If the bird goes back to the place from whence it came, our brief note may reach the eye of the lone one in the rock. At any rate, it can do no harm, and may do some good."

He at once took the bird, which was an AL-BA-TROSS, tied the strip of cloth to its foot, and let it go.

"And now," said he, "tell me what you think of this. If we should, find a new friend, what a source of joy it will be. Will you join me in the search?"

"To be sure I will," said I; "and so shall the rest; but we will not yet tell them of this."

They were all glad to take a trip in the large boat, but they could not make out why we went in such haste.

"The fact is," said Jack, "Fritz has found some queer thing on the coast that he can't bring home, and wants us to see it. But I dare say we shall know what it all means in good time."

Fritz was our guide, and went first in his bark boat, or CA-NOE. In this he could go round the rocks and shoals that girt the coast, which would not have been safe for the large boat. He went up all the small creeks we met with on the way, and kept a sharp look-out for the smoke by which he would know the rock we came out to find.

I must tell you that once when he came to these parts with Ernest he met with a TI-GER, and would have lost his life had it not been for his pet Ea-gle. The brave bird, to save Fritz from the beast, made a swoop down on its head. Fritz thus got off with a scratch or two, but the poor bird was struck dead by a blow from the paw of its foe. This was a sad loss to Fritz, for his pet had been a kind friend, and would go with him at all times when he went far from home.

There was scarce a spot we came to that did not bring to the mind of one of us some such tale as this, so that we were full of talk while the boat bore us on.

We had been out some days, but could find no trace of what we went in search. I rose from my berth at dawn, and went on deck with Fritz. I told him that as we had no clue to the place, we must now give up the search. He did not seem to like this, but no more was said. That day we spent on shore, and came back to our boat to sleep at night. Next day we were to change our course, and trace our way back, for the wind now blew from the sea.

When I went on deck next day I found a short note from Fritz, in which he told me that he could not give up the search, but had gone some way up the coast in his small boat. "Let me beg of you," he wrote, "to lie in wait for me here till I come back."

When he had been gone two days, I felt that I ought to tell my wife the cause of our trip, as it might ease her mind, and she now had some fear lest her son should not be safe. She heard me to the end, and then said that she was sure he would not fail, but soon bring back good news.

As we were all on the look-out for Fritz, we saw his boat a long way off.

"There is no one with him in the boat," said I to my wife; "that does not say much for our hopes."

"Oh, where have you been?" said the boys, all at once, as he came on board. But they scarce got a word from him. He then drew me on one side, and said, with a smile of joy, "What do you think is the news I bring?"

"Let me hear it," said I.

"Then I have found what I went forth to seek, and our search has not been in vain."

"And who is it that you have found?"

"Not a man," he said, "but a girl. The dress she wears is that of a man, and she does not wish at first that her sex should be known to more that we can help, for she would not like to meet Ernest and the rest in that state, if they knew that she was a girl. And, strange to tell," said Fritz, "she has been on shore three years."

While I went to tell the news to my wife, Fritz had gone down to his berth to change his clothes, and I must say that he took more care to look neat in his dress than was his wont at home.

He was not long, and when he came on deck he bid me say no word to the rest of whom he had found. He leaped like a frog in to his light craft, and led the way. We were soon on our course through the rocks and shoals, and an hour's sail, with the aid of a good breeze, brought us to a small tract of land, the trees of which hid the soil from our view.

Here we got close in to the shore, and made our bark safe. We all got out, and ran up the banks, led by the marks that Fritz had made in the soil with his feet. We soon found a path that led to a clump of trees, and there saw a hut, with a fire in front, from which rose a stream of smoke.

As we drew near I could see that the boys did not know what to make of it, for they gave me a stare, as if to ask what they were to see next. They did not know how to give vent to their joy when they saw Fritz come out of the hut with a strange youth, whose slight make, fair face, and grace of form, did not seem to match well with the clothes that hung upon his limbs.

It was so long since we had seen a strange face, that we were all loth to speak first. When I could gain my speech I took our new friend by the hand, and told her in words as kind as I could call to my aid, how, glad we were to have thus found her.

Fritz, when he bade Ernest and Jack shake bands with her, spoke of our new friend as James, but she could not hide her sex from my wife, for her first act was to fall on her breast and weep. The boys were not slow to see through the trick, and made Fritz tell them that "James" was not the name they should call her by.

I could not but note that our strange mode of life had made my sons rough, and that years of rude toil had worn off that grace and ease which is one of the charms of well-bred youth.

I saw that this made the girl shy of them, and that the garb she wore brought a blush to her cheek. I bade my wife take charge of her, and lead her down to the boat, while the boys and I stood a while to speak of our fair guest.

When we got on board we sat down to hear Fritz tell how he came to find Miss Jane, for that was her real name; but he had not told half his tale when he saw my wife and her new friend come up on deck. She still had a shy look, but as soon as she saw Fritz she held out her hand to him with a smile, and this made us feel more at our ease.

The next day we were to go back to our home, and on the way Fritz was to tell us what he knew of Miss Jane, for his tale had been cut short when she came on the deck with my wife. The boys did all they could to make her feel at home with them, and by the end of the day they were the best of friends.

The next day we set sail at sun rise; for we had far to go, and the boys had a strange wish to hear Fritz tell his tale.

When the boat had made a fair start, we all sat down on the deck, with Jane in our midst, while Fritz told his tale to the end.

Jane Rose was born in IN-DI-A. She was the child of one Cap-tain Rose, whose wife died when Jane was but a babe in arms. When ten years of age he sent her to a first class school, where she was taught all that was fit for the child of a rich man to know. In course of time she could ride a horse with some skill, and she then grew fond of most of the field sports of the East. As the Captain had to go from place to place with his troops, he thought that this kind of sport would train her for the mode of life she would lead when she came to live with him. But this was not to be, for one day he told Jane that he must leave the East, and take home the troops. As it was a rule that no girl should sail in a ship with troops on board, he left her to the care of a friend who was to leave near the same time. He thought fit that she should dress in the garb of a young man while at sea, as there would then be no need for her to keep in her berth, and he knew that she was strong and brave, and would like to go on deck, and see the crew at their work. It gave the Captain pain to part with his child, but there was, no help for it.

The ship had been some weeks at sea, when one day a storm broke over it, and the wind drove it for days out of its course. The crew did their best to steer clear of the rocks, but she struck on a reef and sprung a leak. The boats then put off from the wreck, but a wave broke over the one in which Jane left, and she was borne, half dead with fright, to the place where we found her. She had been thrown high up on the beach, and though faint and sick, got out of the reach of the waves. She did not know if those who were in the boat with her had lost their lives, but she had seen no trace of them since.

When she had strength to walk, she found some birds' eggs and shell fish, which she ate, and then went in search of some safe place where she could rest for the night. By good chance she had a flint and a knife; with these she set light to some dry twigs, and made a fire, which she did not once let out till the day she left. Her life was at first hard to bear, but she was full of hope that some day a ship would come near the shore, to which she could make signs for help. The wild sports of the East in which she took part had made her strong of limb, and she had been taught to make light of such things as would vex most of her sex.

She built a hut to sleep in, and made snares to catch birds. Some of them she made use of for food, and some she let go with bits of cloth tied to their legs, on which she wrote words, in the hope that they might meet the eye of some one who could help her. This, as we knew, had led Fritz to make his search, the end of which had brought as much joy to us as to the young friend who now sat in our midst.

When Fritz had told us this, and much more, we came in sight of Safe Bay. He then took Ernest with him in his small boat, and left us to go up the stream as fast as he could to Rock House, so as to make the place look neat by the time we brought home our guest. The two boys -- for to us they were still boys -- met us on the beach. Fritz, with a look of pride, gave his hand to Jane, and I could see a slight blush rise to her cheek as she gave him hers. He then led her up the path, on each side of which grew a row of young trees, and took her to a seat in our grounds. There he and Ernest had spread out a feast of our best food -- fish, fowls, and fruit, and some of my wife's choice jam -- whilst our burnt clay plate made a great show on the board, for it was set out with some taste. We had a wish to show Jane that, though the coast was a wild kind of place, still there were means to make life a joy to those who dwelt on it, if they chose to use them. As for Jane, the sight of our home, the style of our feast, and the kind words of the boys, were things so new to her, that she knew not what to say.

"I shall tell no more than the truth," she said, "when I say that what you have shown me is of far more worth than all the wealth I have seen in the East, and that I feel more joy this day than I have felt in all the days of my life. I can use no terms less strong than these to show how much I thank you."

This was just the kind of speech to please the boys, for there had been no one to praise their work till now. When the meal was done, my wife brought out some of her best wine, and we drank to the health of our guest in great state, and with loud cheers. We then made a tour of our house and grounds, that Jane might see the whole of the place that from this time she was to make her home. It would take me a long time to tell what she thought of all she saw, or the neat things she said in praise of our skill, as we took her from place to place. My wife's room, in which were kept the pots and pans to dress our food, and the plates, bowls, and cups, out of which we ate, took her some time to view; for she had long felt the want of such things as she now saw we had made for our own use out of what we could find.

The next day we all went to The Nest, and when the rainy season came round, Jane knew the place quite as well as we did. My wife found in her a true friend, for she soon took a large share of the work off her hands, and did it with so much skill, and with so strong a wish to please us, that we grew to love her as if she had been our own child.

When the time came for us to keep in doors from the rain, the boys would oft lay by their work, and sit to hear Jane talk of what she had seen in the East, and Ernest and Fritz would read to her by turns such books as she might choose. I was glad to see that this wrought a great change in my sons, whose mode of life had made them rough in their ways and loud in their speech -- faults which we did not think of so long as there was no one to see or hear them.

When the spring came, the boys went in our boat to the spot where they had found Jane, which we now knew by the name of "Jane's Isle," and brought back some beans, which were new to them. These we found to be COF-FEE. Jane told us that they were by no means scarce, but that she had not made use of them, as she knew no way to roast or grind the beans, which she found in a green state.

"Do you think," said my wife, "that the plant would grow here?"

I then thought for the first time how fond she was of it. There had been some bags on board the ship, but I had not brought them from the wreck; and my wife had once said that she would like to see the plant in our ground. Now that we knew where to get it, she told me that it was one of the few things that she felt the loss of. When the boys heard this, they set out on a trip to Jane's Isle, and while there they went to the spot where she had dwelt for so long, and sought for what things she had left when she came to live with us.

All these were brought to Rock, House, and I may tell you that Fritz set great store by them. There were all sorts of odd clothes, which she had made of the skin of the sea calf; fish lines wrought out of the hair of her head; pins made from the bones of fish; a lamp made out of a shell, with a wick of the threads which she had drawn from her hose. There were the shells she used to cook her food in; a hat made from the breast of a large bird, the tail of which she had spread out so as to shade her neck from the sun; belts, shoes, and odd things of a like kind.

My wife, who had now a friend of her own sex to talk with, did not feel dull when the boys left us for a time, so they had leave to roam where their wish led them, and to stay as long as they chose. In the course of time they knew the whole of the isle on which we dwelt. Ernest drew a map of it to scale, so that we could trace their course from place to place with ease. When they went for a long trip they took some doves with them, and these birds brought us notes tied to their wings from time to time, so that we knew where they were, and could point out the spot on the map.

I will not dwell on what took place now for some time, for I find that each year was very much like the last. We had our fields to sow, our crops to reap, our beasts to feed and train; and these cares kept our hands at work, and our minds free from the least thought of our lone mode of life.

I turn to my log as I write this, and on each page my eye falls on some thing that brings back to my mind the glad time we spent at Rock House.



Chapter XV.

IN the spring time of the year, when the rain was past, Fritz and Jack set off on a trip in their boat to Shark Isle. The day was fine, the sky clear, and there was no wind, yet the waves rose and fell as in a storm.

"See!" cried Jack, "here comes a shoal of whales. They will eat us up."

"There is no fear of that," said Fritz; "whales will do us no harm, if we do not touch them." This proved to be the case. Though any one of them might have broken up the boat with a stroke of its tail, they did not touch it, but swam by in a line, two by two, like a file of troops.

On Shark Isle, near the shore, we had thrown up a mound, and built a fort, on which were set two of the ship's guns. These the boys made a rule to fire off, with a view to let us know that they were safe, and to try if the guns were still fit for use. This time they found their charge quite dry, and the guns went off with a loud bang.

They had just put a plug in the hole of one of the guns, to keep out the wet, when they heard a sound roll through the air.

"Did you bear that?" said Jack. "I am sure that noise must have come from some ship at sea. Let us fire once more."

But Fritz thought they ought to go home at once and tell me what they had heard. They both ran to the boat with all speed, and put out their strength to reach home ere the sun went down.

The day was fine, and as the rain had kept us in doors for two months, we were glad to go down on the beach for a change. All at once I saw the boys come up the stream in their boat, at a great speed, and the way they used their sculls led me to think that all was not right.

"What have you seen, that should thus put two brave youths to flight?" said I.

Then they told me what had brought them back so soon. I had heard the sound of the two guns which they had fired off, but no more. I told them I thought their ears must be at fault, and that the sounds they had heard were no more than those of their own guns, which the hills had sent back through the air. This view of the case did not at all please them, as by this time they well knew what sounds their guns made.

"It will be a strange thing," said I, "if the hope to which I have so long clung should at last come to be a fact; but we must have a care that we do not hail a ship the crew of which may rob and kill us for the sake of our wealth. I feel that we have as much cause to dread a foe as we have grounds of hope that we may meet with friends."

Our first course was to make the cave quite safe, and then to mount guard where we could see a ship if one should come near the coast. That night the rain came down in a flood, and a storm broke over us, and we were thus kept in doors for two days and two nights.

On the third day I set out with Jack to Shark Isle, with a view to seek for the strange ship which he said he knew must be in some place not far from the coast. I went to the top of a high rock, but though my eye swept the sea for miles round, I could see no signs of a sail. I then made Jack fire three more shots, to try if they would give the same sound as the two boys had heard. You may judge how I felt, when I heard one! two! three! boom through the air.

There was now no room for doubt that, though I could not see it, there must be a ship near Shark's Isle. Jack heard me say this with great glee, and cried out, "What can we now do to find it?"

We had brought a flag with us, and I told Jack to haul this up twice to the top of the staff, by means of which sign those who saw it would know that we had good news to tell them.

I then left Jack on the fort with the guns, and told him to fire as soon as a ship hove in sight. I bent my way at once back to Rock House, to talk with my wife, Jane, and the boys, as to what steps we should now take. They all met me on the beach, and made me tell them the news while I was still in the boat.

"We know no more," said I, "than the fact that there is still a ship on the coast. You must all now keep in doors, while Fritz and I go in search of it."

We set off at noon, and went straight to the west part of the coast, where we thought the sound must have come from. We knew a cape there from which we could get a good view of the sea, and by the side of which lay a small bay.

When we got round the cape, great was our joy to find a fine ship in the bay. It was not far off from us, for we could see the ENG-LISH flag float in the breeze from one of its masts. I seek in vain to find words by means of which I can set forth in print what I then felt. Both Fritz and I fell on our knees and gave thanks to God that He had thus led the ship to our coast. If I had not held him back, Fritz would have gone into the sea with a leap and swum off to the ship.

"Stay," said I, "till we are quite sure what they are. There are bad men on the seas who put up false flags to lure ships out of their course, and then rob and kill the crew."

We could now see all that took place on board. Two tents had been set up on the shore, in front of which was a fire; and we could see that men went to and fro with planks. There were two men left on guard on the deck of the ship, and to these we made signs. When they saw us they spoke to some one who stood near, and whom we thought had charge of the ship. He then put his glass up to his eye and took a good view of us through it.

We did not at first like to go too near, but kept our boat some way off. Fritz said he could see that the faces of the men were not so dark as our own.

"If that be the case," said I, "we are safe, and we may trust their flag."

We both sang a Swiss song, and then I cried out at the top of my voice these words: "Ship ahoy! good men!" But they made no sign that they heard us. Our song, our boat, and, more than all, our dress, made them no doubt guess that we were wild men of the wood; for at last one of the crew on board held up knives and glass beads, which I knew the wild tribes of the New World were fond of. This made us laugh, but we would not as yet draw nigh to the ship, as we thought we ought to meet our new friends in our best trim.

We then gave a shout and a wave of the hand, and shot off round the cape as fast as our boat would take us. We soon got back to Rock House, where our dear ones were on the look-out for us. My wife said we had done quite right to come back, but Jane thought we should have found out who they were.

That night none of us slept well; our guest thought there might now be a chance for her to reach her home, and she dreamed she heard the well-known voice of her sire call her to come to him. The boys were half crazed with vague hopes, and lay for hours ere they went to sleep. My wife and I sat up late to think and talk of the use that might be made of this chance. We felt that we were now full of years, and should not like in our old age to leave the place where we had spent the best part of our lives; still we might do some trade with the land from which the ship came, if it were but known that we were here, and we might hear news of our dear Swiss home.

At break of day we put on board our boat a stock of fruit and fresh food of all kinds, such as we thought the crew of the ship would like to have, and Fritz and I set sail for the bay. We took with us all the arms we could find, so as not to be at a loss should the crew prove false to their flag, and turn out to be a set of thieves.

As we drew near the ship I fired a gun, and told Fritz to hoist a flag like theirs to the top of our mast, and as we did so the crew gave a loud cheer. I then went on board, and the mate of the ship led me to his chief, who soon put me at my ease by a frank shake of the hand. I then told him who we were, and how we came to dwell on the isle. I learned from him, in turn, that he was bound for New South Wales; that he knew Captain Rose, who had lost his child, and that he had made a search for her on the coast. He told me that a storm had thrown him off his course, and that the wind drove him on this coast, where he took care to fill his casks from a fresh stream that ran by the side of a hill, and to take in a stock of wood.

"It was then," he said, "that we first heard your guns; and when on the third day the same sound came to our ears, we knew that there must be some one on the coast, and this led us to put up our tents and wait till the crew should search the land round the bay."

I then made the crew a gift of what we had brought in our boat, and said to Captain Stone, for that was his name: "I hope, sir, that you will now go with me to Rock House, the place where we live, and where you will see Miss Rose, who will be glad to hear some news of home."

"To be sure I will, and thank you much," said he; "and I have no doubt that Mr. West would like to go with us." This Mr. West was on his way, with his wife and two girls, to New South Wales, where he meant to build a house and clear a piece of land.

We all three then left the ship in our boat, and as we came in sight of Shark Isle, Jack, who was on the fort, fired his guns.

When we came to the beach, my wife and the rest were there to meet us. Jane was half wild with joy when she heard that Captain Stone had brought her good news from home.

We led them round our house and through the grounds and Mr. West took note of all he saw. When we came to talk, I found that he had made up his mind to stay with us. I need not say how glad I was to hear this, for he had brought out with him a large stock of farm tools, of which we had long been in want.

The boys were of course in high glee at all this, but I did not share their joy so much as I could wish. The ship which now lay close to our shore was the first we had seen since we came to the isle, and no one could tell when the next might come. My wife and I did not wish to leave. I had a love for the kind of life we led, and we were both at an age when ease and rest should take the place of toil. But then our sons were young -- not yet in the prime of life -- and I did not think it right that we should keep them from the world. Jane, I could tell, would not stay with us, nor did she hide from us the fact that her heart drew her to the dear one at home, from whom she had been kept so long. So I told my wife that I would ask my boys to choose what they would do -- to stay with us on the isle, or leave with Captain Stone in the ship.

Fritz and Jack said they would not leave us; Ernest spoke not a word, but I saw that he had made up his mind to go. I did not grieve at this, as I felt that our isle was too small for the scope of his mind, and did not give him the means to learn all he could wish. I told him to speak out, when he said he should like to leave the place for a few years, and he knew Frank had a wish to go with him.

I thought this would give my wife pain, but she said that the boys had made a good choice, and that she knew Ernest and Frank would make their way in the world.

Captain Stone gave Jane, Ernest, and Frank leave to go with him, as there was room in the ship now that the Wests were to stay with us.

The ship was brought round to Safe Bay, and Fritz and Jack went on board to fetch Mrs. West and her two girls, who were glad to find that they were not to go back to the ship, for the storm had made them dread the sea.

I may here say, by the way, that my wife soon found that her two sons grew fond of their fair friends, and gave me a hint that some day we should see them wed, which would be a fresh source of joy to us.

I have not much more to tell. The stores I had laid up -- furs, pearls, spice, and fruits -- were put on board the ship, and left to the care of my sons, who were to sell them. And then the time came for us to part. I need not say that it was a hard trial for my wife; but she bore up well, for she had made up her mind that it was all for the best, and that her sons would some day come back to see her. I felt, too, that with the help of our new friends, we should not miss them so much as we at first thought, and this we found to be the case.

As the next day my boys were to leave me, I had a long talk with them. I told them to act well their part in the new sphere in which they were to move, and to take as their guide the Word of God. They then knelt down for me to bless them, and went to their beds in Rock House for the last time.

I got no sleep all that night, nor did the two boys, who were to start the next day.

As Ernest takes this Tale with him -- which I gave him leave to print, that all may know how good God has been to us -- I have no time to add more than a few words.

The ship that is to take from us our two sons and our fair guest will sail from this coast in a few hours, and by the close of the day three who are dear to us will have gone from our midst. I can not put down what I feel, or tell the grief of my poor wife.

I add these lines while the boat waits for my sons. May God grant them health and strength for the trials they may have to pass through; may they gain the love of those with whom they are now to dwell; and may they keep free from taint the good name of the Swiss Family Robinson.

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Mappo, The Merry Monkey: His Many Adventures

By

Richard Barnum



Chapter I

Mappo And The Cocoanut


Once upon a time, not so very many years ago, there lived in a tree, in a big woods, a little monkey boy. It was in a far-off country, where this little monkey lived, so far that you would have to travel many days in the steam cars, and in a steamship, to get there.

The name of the little monkey boy was Mappo, and he had two brothers and two sisters, and also a papa and a mamma. One sister was named Choo, and the other Chaa, and one brother was called Jacko, and the other Bumpo. They were funny names, but then, you see, monkeys are funny little creatures, anyhow, and have to be called by funny names, or things would not come out right.

Mappo was the oldest of the monkey children, and he was the smartest. Perhaps that was why he had so many adventures. And I am going to tell you some of the wonderful things that happened to Mappo, while he lived in the big woods, and afterwards, when he was caught by a hunter, and sent off to live in a circus.

But we will begin at the beginning, if you please.

Mappo, as I have said, lived in a tree in the woods. Now it might seem funny for you to live in a tree, but it came very natural to Mappo. Lots of creatures live in trees. There are birds, and squirrels, and katydids. Of course they do not stay in the trees all the time, any more than you boys and girls stay in your houses all the while. They go down on the ground to play, occasionally.

"But you will find the safest place for you is the tree," said Mappo's mother to him one day, when he had been playing down on the ground with his brothers and sisters. And, while they were down playing a game, something like your game of tag, all of a sudden along came a big striped tiger, with long teeth.

"Run! Run fast! Everybody run!" yelled Mappo, in the queer, chattering language monkeys use.

His brothers and sisters scrambled up into the tree where their house was, and Mappo scrambled up after them. He was almost too late, for the tiger nearly caught Mappo by the tail. But the little monkey boy managed to get out of the way, and then he sat down on a branch in front of the tree house where he lived.

"That wasn't very nice of that tiger to chase us!" said Mappo, when he could get his breath.

"No, indeed," said Mrs. Monkey. "Tigers are not often nice. After this you children had better stay in the tree -- until you are a little larger, at least."

"But it's more fun on the ground," said Mappo.

"That may be," said Mrs. Monkey, as she looked down through the branches to see if the tiger were still waiting to catch one of her little ones. "But, Mappo, you and your brothers and sisters can run much better and faster in a tree than on the ground," said Mrs. Monkey.

And this is so. A monkey can get over the ground pretty fast on his four legs, as you can easily tell if you have ever watched a hand-organ monkey. But they can travel much faster up in the trees. For there is a hand on the end of each monkey's four limbs, and his curly tail is as good as another hand for grasping branches. So you see a monkey really has five hands with which to help himself along in the trees, and that is why he can swing himself along so swiftly, from one branch to another.

That is why it is safer for monkeys to be up in a tree than on the ground. There are very few other animals that can catch monkeys, once the five-handed creatures are up among the leaves. And monkeys can travel a long way through the forest without ever coming down to the ground. They swing themselves along from one tree to another, for miles and miles through the forest.

"Is it safe to go down now, Mamma?" asked Mappo of his mother, in monkey talk. This was a little while after the scare.

"No, not yet," she said. "That tiger may still be down there, waiting and hiding. You and Jacko and Bumpo, and Choo and Chaa stay up here, and pretty soon I will give you a new lesson."

"Oh, a new lesson!" exclaimed Jacko. "I wonder what kind it will be. We have learned to swing by our tails, and to hang by one paw. Is there anything else we can learn?"

"Many things," said the mamma monkey, for she and her husband had been teaching the children the different things monkeys must know to get along in the woods.

So the four little monkeys sat in the tree in front of their home, and waited for their mother to teach them a new lesson.

If you had seen Mappo's house, you would not have thought it a very nice one. It was just some branches of a tree, twined together, over a sort of platform, or floor, of dried branches. About all the house was used for was to keep off some of the rain that fell very heavily in the country where Mappo lived.

But this house suited the monkeys very well. They did not need to have a warm one, for it was never winter in the land where they lived. It was always hot and warm -- sometimes too warm. There was never any snow or ice, but, instead, just rain. It rained half the year, and the other half it was dry. So, you see, Mappo's house was only needed to keep off the rain.

Mappo and the other monkeys did not stay in their houses very much. They went in them to sleep, but that was about all. The rest of the time they jumped about in the trees, looking for things to eat, and, once in a while, when there was no danger, they went down on the ground to play.

"I guess that tiger is gone now," said Jacko to Mappo. "Let's go down on the ground again, and get some of those green things that are good to eat."

The little monkeys had been eating some fruit, like green pears, which they liked very much, when the tiger came along and frightened them. Tigers would rather eat monkeys than green pears, I guess.

"Yes, I think we can go down now," said Mappo, looking through the leaves, and seeing nothing of the savage, striped tiger.

"You'd better ask mamma," said Choo, one of the little girl monkeys.

"Indeed I will not! I can see as good as she can that the tiger isn't there!" exclaimed Mappo.

You see monkey children don't want to mind, and be careful, any more than some human children do.

Mappo started to climb down the tree, holding on to the branches by his four paws and by his tail. He was almost to the ground, and Jacko and Bumpo were following him, when, all at once, there was a dreadful roar, and out sprang the tiger again.

"Oh, run! Run quick! Jump back!" screamed Mappo, and he and his brothers got back to their tree-house not a second too soon. The tiger snapped his teeth, and growled, he was so mad at being fooled the second time.

"Here! What did I tell you monkeys? You must stay up in the tree!" chattered Mrs. Monkey, as she jumped out of the house. She had been inside shaking up the piles of leaves that were the beds for her family.

"We -- we thought the tiger was gone," said Mappo, who was trembling because he was so frightened.

"But he wasn't," said Bumpo, shivering.

"No, he was right there," added Jacko, looking around.

"Yes, and he'll be there for some time," said Mrs. Monkey. "I told you to be careful. Now you just sit down, all of you, and don't you dare stir out of this tree until I tell you to. I'll let you know when the tiger is gone," and she looked down through the leaves toward the ground.

"He is still there," said Mrs. Monkey, for she caught sight of the stripes of the tiger's skin. She had very sharp eyes, and though the patches of sunlight through the jungle leaves hid the bad creature somewhat, Mrs. Monkey could tell he was there, waiting to catch one of her little children.

"Your father will be coming along, soon," said Mrs. Monkey, to her children. "The tiger may lay in wait for him. I'd better let him know he must be careful as he comes along through the woods."

So Mrs. Monkey raised up her head, and called as loudly as she could, in her chattering talk. You would not have understood what she said, even if you had heard it, though there are some men who say they can understand monkey talk.

But the other monkeys in the woods heard what the mother of Mappo was saying, and they, too, began to shout, in their language:

"Look out for the tiger! There is a tiger hiding down under the bushes! Look out for him!"

Soon the whole jungle was filled with the sound of the chattering of the monkeys, as, one after another, they began to shout. It was a warning they shouted -- a warning to Mr. Monkey to be careful when he came near his home -- to be careful of the tiger lying in wait for him.

My! what a noise those monkeys made, shouting and chattering in the jungle. You could hear them for a mile or more. It was their way of telephoning to Mappo's papa. Monkeys cannot really telephone, you know -- that is, not the way we do -- but they can shout, one after another, so as to be heard a long way off.

First one would chatter something about the tiger -- then another monkey, farther off, would take up the cry, and so on until Mr. Monkey heard it. So it was as good as a telephone, anyhow.

As soon as Mappo's papa, who had gone a long distance from the tree-house to look for some bananas for his family -- as soon as he heard the shouting about the tiger, he said to himself:

"Well, I must get home as quickly as I can, to look after my family. But I'll be careful. I hope Mappo and the others will stay in the tall trees."

For Mr. Monkey well knew that if his wife and little ones stayed up in the high trees the tiger could not very well get at them, though tigers can sometimes climb low trees.

Meanwhile Mrs. Monkey was keeping good watch over her little ones. They had no idea, now, of going down on the ground to play -- at least as long as the tiger was hiding near them in the bushes.

"But I wish we had something to do," said Mappo, who was a merry little chap, always laughing, shouting, running about or playing some trick on his brothers and sisters. Just then he thought of a little trick.

He went softly up behind Jacko, and tickled him on the ear with a long piece of a tree branch. Jacko thought it was a fly, and put up his paw to brush it away. Mappo pulled the tree branch away just in time, and while Jacko was peeling the skin off a bit of fruit, to eat it, Mappo again tickled his brother.

"Oh that fly!" chattered Jacko. "If I get hold of him!" and again he brushed with his paw at what he thought was a fly.

This made Mappo laugh. The merry little monkey laughed so hard that the next time he tried to tickle Jacko, Mappo's paw slipped, and Jacko, turning around, saw his brother.

"Oh ho! So it was you, and not a fly!" cried Jacko. He dropped his fruit, and raced after his brother. Up through the tree, nearly to the top, went the two monkeys, as fast as they could. They laughed and chattered, for it was all in fun.

Finally Jacko caught Mappo by the tail.

"Oh, let go!" begged Mappo.

"Will you stop tickling me?" asked Jacko.

"I guess so -- maybe!" laughed Mappo, trying to pull his tail out of his brother's paw.

"No, you'll have to say for sure, before I let you go!"

Jacko pulled pretty hard on Mappo's tail.

"Oh! let go! Yes, I'll be good! I won't tickle you any more!" cried Mappo.

Then Jacko let go, and started to climb down the tree to the little platform in front of the monkey house. But Mappo was not done with his jokes. He scrambled down faster than did Jacko, and finally, when Jacko was not looking, Mappo grasped the end of his brother's tail, and gave it a hard pinch.

"Ouch! Oh dear! Mamma, the tiger's got me!" cried Jacko.

"Ha! Ha! That's the time I fooled you!" laughed Mappo in his chattering way.

Then Jacko gave chase after Mappo again, and the two monkey boys were having lots of fun in the trees, when Mrs. Monkey called to them:

"Jacko! Mappo! Come down here. It is time for your new lesson. And you, too, Choo and Chaa! You'll have time to practice a little bit before your father comes home," and she looked down to see if the tiger were there.

But the bad animal had gone away. He had heard the monkeys talking about him, and sending a warning all through the jungle where they lived. A jungle, you know, is a great big woods.

"What lesson is it going to be, Mamma?" asked Mappo.

"You'll soon see," she said.

And Mrs. Monkey went into the tree-house, came out with a brown, shaggy thing, about as big as a small football. Have you ever seen one of those? Only, of course, it was not a football.

"Oh, what is it, Mamma?" asked Chaa.

"I know!" exclaimed Bumpo, as he tried to climb under a branch, and bumped his head.

"Ouch!" he cried.

That was why he was called Bumpo -- he was always bumping his head, though it did not hurt him very much, for he was covered with a heavy growth of hair.

"Well, what is it, if you know?" asked Mappo, for he was looking at the big, round, brown thing, and trying to guess what it was.

"It's -- it's a new kind of banana," said Bumpo, for he and his brothers and sisters were very fond of the soft red and yellow fruit.

"No, it isn't a banana," said Mrs. Monkey. "It's a cocoanut."

"I never saw a cocoanut as big as that," spoke Mappo, for his papa had brought some smaller, round nuts to the tree-house, and had said they were cocoanuts. The little monkeys had not been allowed to eat any of the white meat inside the cocoanut though, for they were too small for it then.

"Yes, this is a cocoanut," went on Mrs. Monkey. "You are now getting large enough to have some for your meals, and so I am going to give you a lesson in how to open a cocoanut."

"I thought cocoanut was white," said Choo.

"It is, inside," said Mrs. Monkey. "This cocoanut I now have has the outer shell still on it. That is why it is not round, like some you may have seen. Inside this soft covering is the round nut, and inside that round nut is the white meat. Now, Mappo, you are a smart little monkey, let me see if you will know how to open the cocoanut. And, when you do, you may all have some to eat."

Mappo took the cocoanut and looked at it. He turned it over and over in his paws. Then, with his fingers, he tried to pull it apart. But he could not do it. The nut was too hard for him. Next he tried to bite it open, but he could not.

"Let me try. I can open it!" exclaimed Jacko.

"No, I'll do it," said Mappo.

"If you can't, I can," spoke Bumpo, and he gave a jump over toward Mappo, and once more he hit his head on a branch, Bumpo did.

"Ouch!" he chattered, rubbing the sore place with his paw.

Mappo turned the cocoanut over and over again. He was looking for some hole in it through which he could put his paw and get out the white meat. But he saw none.

"Maybe I could open it," said Choo, gently.

"No, we must let Mappo have a good try," said Mrs. Monkey. "Then, if he cannot do it, you may all have a turn. But it is a good lesson to know how to open a cocoanut. When you get to be big monkeys, you will have to open a great many of them."

Mappo was pulling and tearing at the hard husk of the cocoanut.

"If I had something sharp, I could tear it open," he said. Then he happened to look up in the tree, and he saw where a branch had been broken off, leaving a sharp point.

"Ha! I have it!" he cried.

He broke off the branch, and with the sharp point he soon had torn a hole in the outer husk of the cocoanut. He pulled the round nut out.

"I have it!" he chattered.

"Yes, but it isn't good to eat yet," said Bumpo. "How are you going to open the rest of it?"

Mappo did not know. Once more he tried to bite a hole, but he could not. All of a sudden the nut slipped from his paws, and fell down toward the ground.

"Oh!" cried Mappo, and he started to climb down after the nut. "My cocoanut is lost!"

"Look out for the tiger!" cried Jacko. "Look out, Mappo!"




Chapter II

Mappo Plays A Trick


Mappo, who had started to climb down to the ground, to get the cocoanut he had lost, stopped short when he heard his brother Jacko cry out about the tiger.

"Don't be afraid," said Mrs. Monkey. "The tiger is not there now. He has gone, or else I shouldn't have let you try to open the cocoanut, Mappo. Go on and get it; don't be afraid."

So Mappo went on down to the ground. And, when he reached it, he saw something that was very strange to him.

"Oh, Mamma!" cried Mappo. "The cocoanut is all broken to pieces. I can pick out the white meat now. Oh, Mamma, it's all broken."

"Is it?" cried Bumpo, and he hurried down so fast that he hit his nose, and sneezed.

"Yes, it's all cracked open," said Mappo. "Oh, goodie!"

Of course Mappo didn't just say that in so many words, but he talked, in his monkey talk, just as you children would have done, had the same thing happened to you.

"Maybe the tiger broke open the cocoanut for you," said Bumpo, as he rubbed his hurt nose.

"No, the tiger is not there," said Mrs. Monkey. "You may all go down and see how Mappo opened the cocoanut."

Down trooped all the five little monkeys, Mappo was the first to reach his cocoanut.

"Why!" he cried. "It fell on a stone, and smashed open. That's what cracked the shell, Mamma."

"Yes, I thought it would," said Mrs. Monkey. "And that is the lesson you little ones are to learn. You cannot bite open a cocoanut. You must crack it on a stone. Mappo dropped his by accident, but it can also be dropped, or thrown, on purpose. So, when you get a cocoanut, the first thing to do is to get a sharp stick, and take off the outer shell. Then, go up in a tall tree, and drop the inside nut down on a stone. The fall will break it, and you can then eat the white meat."

"Oh, isn't that a nice thing to know!" cried Choo.

"Yes, indeed," said her sister Chaa. "I wish we had a cocoanut to break open."

"Come up in the tree and I'll give you each one," said Mrs. Monkey.

Up into the tree, where their house was, scrambled Mappo, and his brothers and sisters. Mappo carried in his paws the pieces of white cocoanut he had broken out of the round, brown shell. He nibbled at a piece.

"Oh, doesn't that taste good!" he cried.

"Please give me some," begged Chaa, holding out one little, brown paw.

"No, I want it all," said Mappo.

"Oh, you must not be selfish!" said Mrs. Monkey. "Give your brothers and sisters some, Mappo, and when they open their nuts, they will give you some."

Mappo was sorry he had been a little selfish. He gave each of the other monkeys some cocoanut. Mrs. Monkey went into the tree-house and came out with four other cocoanuts. She gave one each to the other monkeys, and soon they had torn off the tough, outer husk, or covering, with a sharp stick, the way Mappo did.

Then they threw the round brown nuts down on a flat stone under the tree, cracking the shell so they could pick out the white meat.

"Oh, but this is good!" exclaimed Mappo, as he chewed some of the pieces his brothers and sisters gave him.

All of a sudden, as the little monkeys were eating away, there sounded a rustling in the trees. Something was coming through the branches.

"Look out!" cried Jacko.

"Run!" shouted Mappo.

"Don't be afraid, children, it's only your papa," said a kind, chattering voice, and Mr. Monkey, with a bunch of bananas slung over his back, came scrambling up to the tree-house.

"Did you see the tiger?" asked Mrs. Monkey.

"No, but I heard the other monkeys calling out about him, so I was careful," said the papa monkey. "Are you all right here?"

"Oh, yes. We saw him in time," spoke Mrs. Monkey.

"Oh, papa, I can open a cocoanut!" cried Mappo.

"So can I!" exclaimed Bumpo. "Look!" and he was in such a hurry to show what he could do that he slipped, and bumped his head against Mappo, nearly knocking him off the branch on which the monkey boy was sitting.

In fact, Mappo did fall off, but he had his tail tightly wound around the branch, so he did not fall all the way to the ground, as he might have done.

"Look out! What are you doing?" cried Mappo to Bumpo, after having swung himself up on the branch again.

"Oh dear! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to," said Bumpo. "I just wanted to show papa how I can open a cocoanut."

"We can all open cocoanuts! We've had our lessons," said Chaa.

"Good!" cried Mr. Monkey. "To open cocoanuts is a good thing to know. And now here are some bananas I have brought you." He passed around the yellow fruit from the bunch he had brought home. Then, having eaten bananas and cocoanut, all the monkeys went to sleep.

That is about all monkeys in the jungle do -- eat and sleep. Of course some of the younger ones play tricks once in a while. Monkeys are very mischievous and fond of playing tricks. That is what makes them so funny in the circus, and with the hand-organ men.

When the monkeys awakened, they were thirsty. Mappo was going down, right away, to the ground and get a drink at a water-pool near the family tree.

"Wait!" called his father, stretching out his long, hairy arms. "I must first look to see that the tiger is not there, Mappo."

But the tiger was far away, so the monkeys scrambled down and took long drinks. Then they crawled back into their tree again.

For two or three days after this, Mappo, his brothers and sisters practiced their new lesson of opening cocoanuts, until they could do it as well as Mr. and Mrs. Monkey.

Meanwhile they had gone off together, a little way into the woods, looking for different things to eat. Mappo used to go a little ahead of the others.

"Be careful," his mother warned him. "If you get too far away from us, the tiger will catch you."

Then Mappo would come back.

One day, after the monkeys had opened some cocoanuts and eaten out the white meat, Mappo thought of a good trick to play on Bumpo or Jacko.

Down on the ground, under the family tree, were some empty cocoanut shells. One was almost whole, with only a small piece broken out.

"I'll put that piece of shell back in the hole," said Mappo, "and it will look as though it had not been opened. Then I'll give it to Jacko or Bumpo. They'll think it's a good cocoanut, and try to break it open. Then won't they feel funny when they see it's empty!"

Mappo was thinking so much about the trick he was going to play, that he did not look about, as he ought to have done, for any signs of danger. He was down on the ground, putting the piece of shell back in the hole in the empty cocoanut, to play a trick on one of his brothers, when, all of a sudden, there was a crashing in the bushes, right in front of Mappo, and out jumped the big, yellow and black striped tiger.

"Oh my!" exclaimed Mappo, and he was so frightened that he could not move.




Chapter III

Mappo In A Net


Mappo crouched down on the ground, trying to hide under a green bush of the jungle. In his paw he held the empty cocoanut shell with which he was going to play a trick on Bumpo or Jacko. The tiger was creeping, slowly, slowly along, on his soft, padded feet, just as your cat creeps after a bird. Mappo was too frightened to move.

"Ah ha!" growled the tiger, away down deep in his throat. "At last I have caught a monkey!"

Of course he had not yet really caught Mappo, but he soon would; there was very little doubt of that. Mappo shivered. He wished he had not tried to play the trick. If he had stayed safe up in the tree, the tiger could not have gotten at him.

Mappo, with his queer little eyes, almost like yours, looked up toward where he knew his tree-house was. He was looking to see if his papa or mamma were in sight.

"Ha! There is no use looking up there!" said the cunning tiger, lashing his striped sides with his long tail. "There's no one up there to help you!"

Poor Mappo saw that this was so. There was none of his brothers or sisters up in the tree-house. Nor was his papa or mamma there. The whole monkey family had gone off to look for more cocoanuts, since those they had had were all eaten up.

Just before starting out Mrs. Monkey had said:

"Where is Mappo?"

"Oh, he just went on ahead," said Bumpo, who had seen his brother scrambling down the tree toward the ground. Bumpo did not know what his brother was going to do, or that Mappo intended to play a trick with the empty cocoanut shell.

"Oh, if he's gone on ahead, then we'll catch up to him," said Mrs. Monkey. So away they all went, leaving the tree-house empty, and expecting to meet Mappo somewhere on the road through the jungle.

But they did not, and there was poor Mappo on the ground right in front of the bad tiger. The tiger knew none of the monkey family was near the tree-house except Mappo. That was what made the tiger so bold.

For, had Mr. Monkey, or Mrs. Monkey, been at home they would have seen, or smelled the tiger. Monkeys, and other creatures of the jungle, can often smell danger much better and more quickly than they can see it. And, had Mr. or Mrs. Monkey smelled the tiger, they would have kept their little ones safe in the tree, and would have shouted loudly, to warn all the other monkeys of the danger of the bad tiger.

"Well, you can't get away from me this time!" growled the tiger, speaking in his own language, which Mappo understood very well, just as the tiger understood the monkey talk.

For, though monkeys, tigers and elephants, as well as cats and dogs, cannot speak our language, they have a way of their own for talking one to another. To us it may sound only like chatter, growls, meows and barks, but it is really talk. Wouldn't it be nice if we could understand animals as well as they understand us?

For they can understand our talk, you know. Else how would a horse know when to start and stop, when the driver tells him? Or how would your dog know when to come to you, and to lie down when you tell him to, if he didn't understand you? Tell me that, if you please.

So Mappo understood the tiger, and the tiger understood Mappo.

The little monkey, still keeping tight hold of the empty cocoanut shell, looked at the crouching tiger as bravely as he could. Nearer and nearer crept the striped beast. But don't you be afraid. I have a way of saving Mappo, and I'm going to do it, too!

"Chatter! Chatter! Chip! Chip! Whew! Zur-r-r-r-r!" went Mappo in his queer monkey talk. That was his way of calling for help. All monkeys do that in the jungle, when they are in danger. They want a whole lot more monkeys to come and help them.

"There's no use in your calling that way!" growled the tiger, deep in his throat. "Nobody can hear you!"

Mappo began to believe that this was so. All the monkeys seemed to have gone away from that part of the jungle. He was all alone with the tiger.

Now Mappo was a brave little chap, but being brave is not going to do one much good, when there's a tiger in the way. So Mappo thought, besides being brave, he might be polite, and ask a favor of the tiger. For animals are often more kind to one another than we think. If you watch them sometimes, as I have done, you will see that this is so.

So Mappo made up his mind he would ask the tiger, as a favor, not to bite or eat him.

"And, if he won't be kind to me," thought Mappo, "well, then maybe something else will happen. Maybe papa will come, with a whole lot more monkeys, and drive the tiger away. Or, if he does not, well, maybe something else will happen," and Mappo looked at the empty cocoanut shell in his paw.

"Please let me go, Mr. Tiger!" begged Mappo. "I never did anything to you. Let me go!"

"No. I'll not!" growled the tiger. "I'm hungry and I want something to eat. I chased after a goat half the morning, but it got away from me. Then I tried to get a little deer, but it ran back with the rest of the deer, and, as the big deer had such sharp horns, I dared not go after it. So I haven't had anything to eat, and I'm very hungry. You haven't any horns, none of your monkey friends are near, and I'm going to eat you!"

Mappo looked to see how far it was to the nearest tree. It was some distance off, but the little monkey boy knew if he could reach it he would be safe. For, in the tree, he could run much faster, from branch to branch, than could the tiger on the ground. But in getting over the ground on his four paws the monkey was a bit slow. And the tiger, in one jump could grab Mappo if the monkey started to run.

"Well, there's no use trying to get away from him by running on the ground," thought Mappo. "He'd have me in a second. And there's no use asking a favor of him. He seems to be mad at me. I wonder how I can get away from him!"

Once more Mappo looked at the empty cocoanut shell in his paw -- the shell with which he was going to play a trick on Jacko or Bumpo.

Nearer and nearer to Mappo crept the tiger, lashing his tail from side to side. Tigers always do that, just as cats do when they are trying to catch a bird in the garden. Tigers are only big cats, you know, very much bigger and stronger than your pussy. And they always creep slowly, slowly up toward anything they are going to catch, until they are near enough to give one jump and grab it in their claws. That is what the tiger was trying to do to Mappo.

All of a sudden Mappo raised the paw that held the cocoanut shell. The little monkey chap made up his mind to be brave and save himself if he could.

"Take that, Mr. Tiger!" called Mappo, all at once.

With all his might he threw the empty cocoanut shell right at the tiger's head. Monkeys are very good throwers. They are almost as good as are baseball boys at that sort of thing.

"Bang!" went the cocoanut on the tiger's head. It cracked open -- I mean the cocoanut cracked open -- where Mappo had stuck it together. It made quite a noise.

"Oh my!" cried the tiger, jumping up suddenly, for he did not know what to make of the cocoanut shell in his face. Mappo had thrown it so suddenly.

Then, as the tiger heard the cracking of the cocoanut shell, he thought it was his own head. Tigers are sometimes silly that way, no matter if they are strong, and have sharp claws.

"Oh my head! My head!" cried the tiger. "It is broken!"

You see he really thought it was. The crack of the cocoanut shell made him think that it was his own silly, bad head.

Up in the air reared the tiger on his hind legs. This was just the chance Mappo wanted.

"Here I go!" thought the little monkey chap. "Here's where I get away."

As fast as Mappo could go he scrambled over the ground toward the tree where his house was built. By this time the tiger had seen the empty cocoanut shell fall to the ground, and the striped creature knew what had happened.

"Ha! That monkey boy! He did that!" growled the tiger. "He can't fool me that way! I'll get him! I'll fix him for playing tricks on me!"

Finding that his head was all right, and not cracked as he had feared it was, the tiger gave a big jump, and ran after Mappo. But Mappo was not waiting for him. The little monkey boy was now far across the open place on the ground, and was climbing up into a tree as fast as he could go.

"Come back here!" growled the tiger, making a spring for Mappo. But Mappo was safely out of the way. The tiger's claws stuck in the trunk of the tree, tearing loose some bits of bark, but Mappo was not hurt. He got safely away.

Then, sitting up in the tree on a high limb, Mappo, as he looked down at the tiger, chattered:

"Ha! You didn't get me after all! You didn't catch me! I fooled you! Chatter-chatter-chat! Bur-r-r-r! Wuzzzzzzz! Whir-r-r-r-r-r!"

That's the way Mappo chattered, not so much to make fun of the bad tiger, as to warn the other monkeys in the woods that the bad striped animal was near, and that there was danger in the jungle.

"Chatter-chatter-chat! Bur-r-r-r-r! Whe-e-e-e-e! Zir-r-r-r!" chattered the other monkeys, far off in the jungle, as they heard Mappo's warning. The woods were filled with the sound they made.

"Well, I might as well go away," thought the tiger. "They will all be on the lookout for me now. I'll have to wait until after dark to catch a monkey, or something else to eat. Bur-r-r-r-r-r! But I'm hungry!"

So the tiger slunk away, and I guess no one else in the woods felt sorry that he had not caught Mappo. They were all glad the monkey boy had gotten away, and Mappo was especially glad, on his own account.

"Ha! That was a good trick of yours -- to throw the empty cocoanut shell at the tiger, Mappo," said an old grandfather monkey, high in a tree. Mappo had told his friends, the other monkeys, what had happened.

"Yes, indeed it was," said an uncle monkey. "Mappo is a smart boy to think of such a trick."

This made Mappo feel pretty proud of himself.

"Do you know where my papa and mamma are?" he asked.

"They went off over toward the banana grove," said the grandfather monkey. "Be careful of the tiger if you follow them."

"I will," promised Mappo. But the tiger had slunk away now, so Mappo thought it would be safe to travel through the jungle, especially if he kept up in the trees, and did not go down on the ground.

Off Mappo started after his folks, who had gone on, thinking to catch up to him.

Mappo had not gone very far before he came to a place in the woods where he saw something very strange. It was strange and also nice, for, down on the ground, were a number of pieces of white cocoanut.

"Well, that's good!" thought Mappo. "Cocoanut already shelled to eat. I wonder who could have left that there for me. Maybe my papa or mamma did, knowing I would come this way. Yes, that must be it. They are very kind to me. I'll go down and get some of that sweet cocoanut."

Now Mappo was not a very wise little monkey. He had not lived long enough to know all the dangers of the jungle. There were dangers from tigers and other wild beasts.

Some of those dangers Mappo knew about, and he also knew how to keep out of their way. But there were other dangers from men -- from hunters -- and these Mappo did not know so well. For, as yet, he had never seen a man -- a human being. Mappo had only lived in the jungle where men very seldom came, and those men were brown or black men.

But men knew monkeys were in the woods, and men wanted the monkeys for circuses, for menageries and for hand-organs. That is the reason men try to catch monkeys.

Mappo looked all around the forest from the top of the tree where he had come to rest. He saw no signs of danger. He saw only white pieces of cocoanut on the ground.

"I'll go down and get some, and then I'll run on and find my papa and mamma and brothers and sisters," thought Mappo. "They will want some of this cocoanut."

Down he went, and began picking up the bits of cocoanut. They were rather small pieces and Mappo had to eat a great many of them before he felt he had enough. Each piece was a little way beyond the next one, and Mappo kept on walking along slowly as he picked them up.

Finally he saw a very large piece. He reached for it with his paw, and then, all at once something happened.

Something like a big spider's web seemed to fall down out of a tree right over Mappo. In an instant he was all tangled up -- his paws and tail were caught. He yelled and chattered in fright, and tried to get loose, but the more he tried, the tighter the meshes of the net fell about him.

Poor Mappo was caught. He had been caught by a hunter's net in the jungle, and the pieces of cocoanut were only bait, just as you bait a mouse trap with cheese.

"Oh!" cried Mappo, in his shrill, chattering voice. "Oh dear! I am caught!"

Tighter and tighter the net closed over him.




Chapter IV

Mappo In A Box


Poor Mappo was not a merry monkey just then. Usually he was a jolly little fellow, laughing and chattering in his own way, and playing tricks on his brothers and sisters. Now he felt very little like doing anything of that sort.

"And to think that I was going to play a trick with the empty cocoanut shell, just a little while before this happened to me," thought Mappo, as he tried very hard to get loose from the net in which he was all tangled up. "I wonder what has happened to me, anyhow," said Mappo to himself.

And, as Mappo did not find out for some little time I will tell you. He had been caught by a native hunter, in a net made from long pieces of a trailing vine, which was as strong as a rope.

In the country where Mappo lived there were many people called natives -- that is they had never lived in any country but their own, and they were a queer sort of people.

They wore very few clothes, for it was too hot to need many. They were a black, savage people, and they lived by hunting with their spears, and bows and arrows. They hunted wild animals -- lions, tigers, elephants and monkeys. Some of the wild animals they used for food, and others they sold to white men who wanted them for circuses and menageries. And monkeys were generally the easiest to catch.

Some of these black, half-clothed, savage natives had spread a vine net in the forest. The net, being made of vines, could not be seen until some animal got close to it. And to make monkeys come close to the net, so it would fall down over them, when one end was pulled loose by a native (hidden behind a tree) bits of cocoanut were sprinkled about. Monkeys are very fond of cocoanut, and the natives knew, when the little long-tailed creatures went to pick up the white pieces, that they would come nearer and nearer to the trap-net, until they were caught. That was what had happened to Mappo.

The little monkey tried and tried again to break out of the net, but he could not. It was too strong. Tighter and tighter it was pulled about him, until he could struggle no more. He lay there, a sad little lump of monkey in the net.

Then some black men, with long sharp sticks, or spears, gathered about him, and talked very fast and loud. You would not have understood what they said, if you had heard them, any more than you can understand dog and cat talk, but Mappo knew some of what they were saying, for he had lived in the jungle all his life, and these were natives, or jungle men.

"Ha! We caught only one monkey!" exclaimed one tall, black man, with a long spear.

"Well, but he is a good one," another man said. "We will take him to the coast in a box, and sell him to the white men who will take him away in a ship. We will get many things for him, lots of beads to put around our necks, some brass wire to make rings for our noses and ankles, and red cloth to wear."

The natives, you see, did not want money. They wanted beads and bits of shiny brass wire, or gay-colored cloth, to make themselves look, as they thought, very fine. They even put rings in their noses, as well as in their ears, to decorate themselves.

"Ha! So this is not the end of me!" thought Mappo, when he heard the black men thus talking. "I am to be put in a box, and taken to a ship, it seems. I wonder what a ship is like. Well, as long as I am not to be hurt, perhaps it will be fun after all. But I wish they would let my mamma and papa, and sisters and brothers come with me. It is no fun being all by yourself."

But of course Mappo's folks were, by this time, a long way off in the jungle woods, wondering where Mappo himself was. If they had seen him in the net, they might have tried to get him out, but they did not see him.

The net was now pulled so tightly about the little monkey, that he was in some pain.

"Bring up the box, and we'll put him in it," said one of the black men. Another native came up with a box made of tree branches nailed together. It was what is called a crate -- that is, there were spaces between the slats so Mappo could look out and get air.

"Look out. He may bite you!" called one native to another, as the crate was placed near the net.

"Oh, I won't give him a chance!" the other native said.

"Ha! I won't bite!" chattered Mappo, but the natives did not understand him. They knew very little of monkey talk. Mappo made up his mind that he would be good, for his mamma had often told him that was the best way to get along in this world. "But I'm sure she never thought I would be caught in a net," said Mappo to himself. "I wonder if she would mean me to be good now; and not bite. I guess she would, so I won't nip anybody."

Mappo had very sharp teeth, even if he was a monkey, and he could give some good hard bites. But now he was going to be good.

The net, with poor Mappo in it, was dragged up close to the crate, and a door in the crate was opened. Then part of the net was pulled to one side, and Mappo saw a hole where he thought he might slip out. He gave a jump, hoping he could get back into the tall trees again.

"And if I do, I'll never eat any more cocoanut, unless my mamma or papa gives it to me!" thought Mappo.

So he gave a jump out of the net, but, in a second he found himself inside the wooden crate, or box. He had gone into it when the net was open opposite the door of the crate. In another second the door was shut and fastened, and Mappo was a prisoner in a new prison. He could not get out, no matter how hard he tried.

"There he is, safe and sound!" chattered the natives, in their queer language, which was as much like monkey talk as anything else. "Now we can carry him to the coast, and sell him to the white men. Come on."

"I wonder where the coast is," thought Mappo, and I might tell you, in case you don't know, that the coast is the seashore.

The ships, in which white men come to the jungle countries, go only as far as the seashore. They cannot go on the land, or into the interior, where the wild animals live. So when the natives catch monkeys, or other creatures, they have to carry them to the coast.

"Well, this isn't very nice," thought Mappo, as he looked at the little crate, inside of which he now found himself. "I haven't much room to move around here, and I don't see anything to eat, or drink."

He was not very hungry, for he had eaten a lot of the cocoanut just before being caught in the net. But he was thirsty. However, he saw no water, and, though he chattered, and asked for it as nicely as he knew how, he got none -- at least, not right away.

Mappo's fur was all ruffled by being caught in the net, and he now began to smooth that out, until he looked more like himself. He peered through between the slats of his cage with his queer little eyes, and there was a sad look in them, if any one had noticed. But no one did. The natives were getting ready to carry Mappo to the coast.

Poor Mappo looked out on the green jungle where he had lived ever since he could remember. He did not know that he was never to see it again. He would never climb the big trees, and swing from one branch to another. He would not play tag with his brothers and sisters, nor would he open cocoanuts on a sharp stick and by dropping them on a stone. Mappo was to be taken away from his nice jungle.

Of course he did not know all this at once. All he knew now was that he was in a little crate, where he had hardly room enough to turn around, and no room at all to hang by his tail.

"Come on -- let's start with him!" called one of the black men. "We'll take him to the white people, and come back and catch some more monkeys."

"Oh, I hope they catch some of my folks!" thought Mappo. He did not wish any harm to happen to his father or mother, or sisters or brothers, you know, but he was so lonesome, that he wanted to see some of them.

The natives thrust long poles through the slats of Mappo's box, and, putting the poles over their shoulders, off through the jungle they started to march.

Poor Mappo was very thirsty by this time, but though he chattered very hard, and cried "Water!" over and over again, in his monkey language, no one paid any attention to him.

On and on went the natives, carrying the little monkey in a crate. After a while some other black men came along another path, and they, too, had boxes slung on poles, and in the boxes were other animals. In one was a big striped tiger, and when Mappo saw him, the monkey crouched down in a corner of his box and covered his eyes with his paws.

"Oh, maybe it's the same tiger that tried to catch me, and whom I hit on the head with the empty cocoanut," thought Mappo. "If it is, he'll be very angry at me, and try to get me.

"Oh dear! This is too bad. I guess this is the end of me!" Mappo cried.

The natives carrying Mappo, in his box, ran forward with him, and as he looked out, he saw that his crate was close to the one in which was the growling, striped tiger.

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" thought poor Mappo. "He'll get me sure!"




Chapter V

Mappo On The Ship


Mappo, who had taken his paws down from his eyes long enough to look at the striped tiger, now blind-folded himself, with his paws again, and shivered. All of a sudden the tiger growled, and Mappo shivered still more.

"Ha! Growl and roar as much as you like!" called one of the black natives. "You can't get out of there, Sharp-Tooth!" That was the name the jungle men had given the tiger. "You can't get out of that crate!" went on the native, and when Mappo heard that, he took down his paws once more, and looked at the tiger. He was sure it was the same one at whom he had thrown the cocoanut, and he wondered how the fierce, strong beast had been caught. Then Mappo looked at the crate in which the tiger was being carried along through the jungle.

"Ha! That is a good, strong crate!" thought Mappo. "It is much stronger than the one I am in. I guess the tiger can't get out, and I am glad of it. I mean I am sorry he is shut up, and I am sorry for myself, that I am shut up, and being taken away, but I would not like the tiger to get loose, while I am near him."

And indeed the cage holding the tiger was very strong. It had big pieces of tree branches for slats, and it took eight men to carry it, for the tiger was very heavy. Side by side, slung in their crates on the poles, over the shoulders of the black natives, Mappo and Sharp-Tooth, the tiger, were carried through the jungle.

The tiger kept walking back and forth in his cage. It was just long enough to allow him to take two steps one way, and two steps the other way. And he kept going back and forth all the while, up and down, his red tongue hanging out of his mouth, for it was very hot. His fur, too, was scratched and cut, as though he had fought very hard, before he had let the natives catch him and put him into the crate.

Mappo was not so much afraid now, and once, when his cage was close to that of the tiger, the big, striped beast spoke to the little monkey. Of course he talked in tiger language, which the natives could not understand, but Mappo could.

"Ha! So they caught you too, little monkey?" asked the tiger.

"Yes, I got caught in a net, while I was eating some cocoanut," answered Mappo.

"The cocoanut was bait," said the tiger. "I got caught eating a little goat. The goat was bait, too, and they caught me in a noose that almost choked me. Then they slipped me in this box when I was half dead. If I had had my strength, they never would have gotten me in it!" and the tiger roared and growled, and tried to break out of his crate. But it was too strong -- he could not.

"Keep quiet there, Sharp-Tooth!" cried one of the black natives who was marching along beside the tiger's cage. "Keep quiet, or I shall hit you on the nose with a stick," and the black man held up a hard stick. The tiger growled, away down deep in his throat, and kept quiet. But still he spoke to Mappo, now and then.

"Seems to me I have seen you before, somewhere, little monkey," said Sharp-Tooth.

"Yes, you -- you tried to eat me, if you please," said Mappo, who spoke politely, because he was still afraid of the tiger.

"Did I?" asked the tiger. "Well, I have to live, you know. And I have eaten so many monkeys that one, more or less, doesn't matter. So I tried to eat you, eh? I wonder why I didn't finish. I usually eat what I set out to."

"I -- I hit you on the head with an empty cocoanut shell and ran away," said Mappo.

"Oh, that's so. You did!" exclaimed the tiger. "I thought I remembered you. So you're the chap who played that trick on me, eh? Well, I thought I knew you. Ha! Yes. An empty cocoanut shell! I remember I was quite frightened. I thought my head was broken. But never mind. I forgive you. One shouldn't remember things like that when friends are in trouble. Listen, little monkey, will you do me a favor?"

"What is it?" asked Mappo, wondering how he, a little monkey, could do anything to help a big, strong tiger.

"Will you help me out of this cage?" asked the tiger.

"How can I?" inquired Mappo.

"Very easily," the tiger said. "I know what is going to become of us. We are to be taken to the big ocean-water, and put in a house that floats on the waves." That was what the tiger called a ship; a house that floats on the waves.

"How do you know this is to happen to us?" asked Mappo.

"Because I heard the black men talking of it," said Sharp-Tooth. "And, after a long while, we will land in another country, where there is no jungle, such as we love."

"That will be too bad," Mappo said. "But still, it may be nice in that other country, and we may have many adventures."

"Bah! I do not want adventures!" the tiger growled. "All I want is to be left alone in my jungle, where I can kill what I want to eat, drink from the jungle pool, and sleep in the sun. I hate these men! I hate this cage! Once before I was caught and put in one, but I broke out and got away. This time they have been too strong for me. But you can help me to escape."

"How?" asked Mappo.

"Listen!" whispered the tiger, putting his big mouth, filled with sharp teeth, close to the side of his cage, and nearest to Mappo's crate. "Listen! Your paws are like hands and fingers. To-night, when the natives set our crates down, to take their sleep, you can open your cage, slip out and come over and open mine. I have tried to open my own, but I cannot. However, you can easily do it. Then we will both be free, and we can run away to the jungle together: Come, will you do it? I am very hungry! I want to get off in the jungle and get something to eat."

Mappo thought for a minute. He was a smart little monkey, and he feared if he opened the tiger's cage for him, the big chap might be so hungry that he would eat the first thing he saw, which would be Mappo himself.

"Will you open my cage for me after dark?" asked Sharp-Tooth.

"I'll think about it," answered back Mappo.

But he had no idea of letting out that tiger.

"I'm sure he must still be angry at me for hitting him with that empty cocoanut," said Mappo, "and if he is loose he can easily crush me with one stroke of his paw. No, I think I will not let him out, though I am sorry he is caught. But I will try to get out myself, and run back to my mamma and papa, and sisters and brothers. Yes, I will do that."

After the tiger had asked Mappo to help him get out of the cage, Sharp-Tooth pretended to go to sleep. He wanted to fool the natives, you see, and make believe he was going to be good and gentle.

"Oh, but won't I roar and bite and scratch when I do get out!" thought the tiger. Perhaps he would not have hurt Mappo, had the monkey opened the cage; but I cannot be sure of that.

All day long through the jungle tramped the natives, carrying the wild animals in their crates. There were several besides Mappo and Sharp-Tooth. There were snakes, in big boxes, other monkeys, a rhinoceros, a hippopotamus, two lions, who roared dreadfully all the while, and many other beasts.

In fact, it was a small circus marching through the jungle, and all the animals had been caught, in one way or another, to be sold to circuses and menageries. But in this book I will tell you mostly about Mappo, just as in other books I have told you of Squinty, the comical pig, and Slicko, the jumping squirrel.

"Oh, I do wish I had something to eat!" thought poor Mappo. But he did not see anything for a long time. It was getting dark when the natives, carrying the crates, set them down in the jungle, and began to build fires to cook their supper. They were going to camp out in the woods all night, and they had stopped near a pool of water.

Mappo smelled the water. So did the other animals, and they began to howl for drinks. You remember I told you wild animals can often smell better than they can see.

The natives did not want to be cruel to the animals; they only wanted to sell them to the white people. And the natives knew if the animals did not get something to drink, they might die. So, pretty soon, they began to give the beasts water to drink. Mappo got some, and oh! how good it was to his little dry throat and mouth.

"Don't forget, you are going to let me loose in the night," whispered the tiger to Mappo, as it grew darker and darker in the jungle. Mappo said nothing. He pretended to be asleep. But, all the same, he made up his mind that he was not going to let the tiger loose.

When it was all dark and quiet in the camp, Mappo tried to open his own cage with his smart little fingers. But the natives were smarter than the little monkey. They knew all monkeys were very good at picking open boxes, so they had made this one, for Mappo, especially tight. Mappo tried his best, but he could not get out.

So, after all, he did not have to play any trick on the tiger, and not let Sharp-Tooth out, and he was glad of it.

"Hist! Hist!" the tiger called, from his crate, near that of Mappo. "Aren't you going to let me out?"

"I can't get out myself," answered the little monkey.

"Bur-r-r-r-r! Wow! Wuff!" roared the tiger. And then he was so angry that he growled and jumped about, trying to break out of his cage. The natives awoke, and one of them, running over to Sharp-Tooth, said:

"Quiet here, tiger, or I shall have to hit you on the nose with a stick!"

But the tiger would not be quiet, and, surely enough, the black man hit him on the nose with a stick. The tiger howled and then became quiet. All the other animals who had made different noises when they heard the racket made by Sharp-Tooth, grew quiet also.

Mappo went back to sleep, after trying once more to open his crate so he could get away in the jungle.

"I guess I shall have to let them put me on the house in the big water," he said to himself. "Never mind, I may have some fine adventures."

When morning came, the natives got their breakfast, fed the animals in the crates, and off they started once more through the forest. Mappo looked out of his cage, and he could see, swinging along in the trees on either side of the jungle path, other monkeys like himself. But they were free, and could climb to the tops of the tallest trees.

Mappo called to them, in his own language, and told them to take the news to his papa and mamma that he had been caught in a net, and was being taken away to a far country. The wild monkeys promised that they would let Mr. and Mrs. Monkey know what had become of Mappo.

In this way Mappo's folks learned what had happened to him, but they never saw him again, nor did he see them. But monkeys are not like a boy or girl. Once they leave their homes, they do not mind it very much. They are always willing to look at something new. Though, of course, they may often wish they were out of their cages, and back in the jungle again.

After some days the natives, with the wild animals, reached the big ocean. Mappo had never seen so much water before. He looked at it through the slats of his crate. A little way out from shore he saw what looked like a big house floating on the water. This was the ship.

Soon, in small boats, all the animals were taken aboard the ship, Mappo among them.

"Now my adventures are really beginning," thought Mappo, as he found himself in a cage on deck, next to some other monkeys, and a big cow with a hump on her back. She was a sacred cow.




Chapter VI

Mappo Meets Tum Tum


Mappo did not know what a ship was, nor how it floated over the ocean from one country to another, blown by the wind or pushed by steam engines. The little monkey could not see much except the other monkeys in crates on the deck near him. Finally Mappo did hear a deep growl from somewhere behind him.

"Ha!" snarled a voice. "There will be little chance to get away now! Why didn't you let me out of my cage, monkey?"

"I -- I couldn't," said Mappo, and he looked around to see the tiger close to him. Sharp-Tooth was in his own cage and could not reach Mappo. For this the monkey was very glad.

All the black men who had carried the wild animals through the jungle had gone now. In their places were white men, quite different. Mappo did not know which he liked better, but the white men seemed to be kind, for some of them brought food and water to the animals.

"Are we on the ship, or water-house, now?" asked Mappo, as he felt as though he were being moved along.

"Yes, we are on a ship, and we'll never see the jungle any more," said the tiger. "Oh wow!" and he roared very loudly.

"Quiet there!" called one of the white men, and he banged with his stick on the tiger's cage. The tiger growled, and lay down.

Now it was quiet aboard the ship, which soon started away from the shores of the hot, jungle country toward another land, where it is warm part of the time and cold part of the time. Mappo was on his way to have many new adventures.

For several days the little monkey boy did nothing but stay in his cage, crouched in one corner, looking out between the slats. He could see nothing, for, all around him, were other cages. But when he looked up, through the top of his cage, he could see a little bit of blue sky.

It was the same kind of blue sky he had looked at from his tree-house in the jungle, now so far away, and Mappo did not feel so lonesome, or homesick, when he watched the white clouds sail over the little patch of blue sky.

For you know animals do get homesick just as do boys and girls. Often, in circuses and menageries, the animals become so homesick, and long so for the land from which they have been taken, that they become ill and die. When a keeper sees one of his pet animals getting homesick, he tries to cure him.

He may put the homesick animal into another cage, or give him different things to eat -- things he had in his own country. Or the keeper may put the homesick animal in with some different and new beasts, so the homesick one may have something new to think about. Monkeys very often become homesick, but so do elephants, tigers and lions. It is a sad thing to be homesick, even for animals.

But Mappo was not very homesick. In the first place he was not a very old monkey, and he had not lived in the jungle very long, though he had been there all his life. Then, too, he was anxious to have some adventures.

So, though when he looked at the bit of blue sky, and thought of his home in the deep, green woods, he had a wish, only for a moment, to go back there. He had enough to eat on the ship, plenty of cool water to drink, and he knew he was in no danger from the tiger or other wild beasts bigger than himself. For the tiger was fastened up in a big strong cage, and could not get out.

Mappo, on board the ship, chattered and talked with the other monkeys in cages all around him. He asked how they had been caught, and they told him it was in the same way as he had been -- by picking up good things to eat on the ground, and so being tangled up in a net.

"And I don't know what is going to happen to me now," said a little girl monkey, with a very sad face.

"Oh, cheer up!" cried Mappo, in his most jolly voice. "I am sure something nice will happen to all of us. See, we are having a nice ride in the water-house, and we have all we want to eat, without having to hunt for it in the woods."

"Yes, but I want my papa and mamma!" cried the little girl monkey.

Mappo tried to make her feel happier, but it was hard work. As for Mappo, himself, he was feeling pretty jolly, but then he was always a merry monkey.

As the ship sailed on, over the ocean, it left behind the warm, jungle country where Mappo had always lived. The weather grew more cool, and though Polar Bears like cold weather, and are happy when they have a cake of ice to sit on, monkeys do not. Monkeys must be kept very warm, or they catch cold, just as boys and girls do.

So, as the ship sailed farther and farther north, on its way to a new country, Mappo felt the change. Though he was covered with thick hair, or fur, he could not help shivering, especially at night when the sun had gone down.

The man in charge of the wild animals that were to go to the circus knew how to look after them. He knew which ones had to be kept warm, and which ones cold.

"You must cover up the monkeys' cages these nights," said the man to a sailor one afternoon, as he saw Mappo and the others shivering. "Keep them warm."

"Aye, aye, sir," answered the sailor, which was his way of saying, "Yes, sir!"

Heavy coverings were spread over the monkeys' cages every night, but even then Mappo shivered, and so did the others. It was quite different from the warm jungle where he could sleep out of doors with only his own fur for a bedquilt.

"I guess we'll have to move the monkeys down below, if it gets much colder," said the animal man to the sailor. "They'll freeze up here."

"Free-e-e-e-eze! I-I-I-I -- I g-g-g-g-guess we will!" chattered Mappo, and he shivered so that he stuttered when he talked. Of course he spoke monkey language, and the men could not understand him. But they could understand his shivering, and soon they began to move the cages to a warmer place.

Mappo and the other animals who need to be kept warm were lowered through a hole down inside the ship. It was in a place called a "hold." And it was called that, I suppose, because it was made to hold the cargo of wild animals carried by the ship.

Mappo did not like it so well down in this part of the ship as he had liked it on deck. But it was warmer, and that was a great deal. Still he could not see the little patch of blue sky that had reminded him of his jungle home.

"I wonder what has become of Sharp-Tooth, the big tiger?" asked Mappo, of one of the other monkeys.

"Oh, I saw them lower his cage down into another part of the ship," said a big monkey. "I am glad of it, too, for I don't like him so near us. He might break out some night, and bite us."

"He wanted me to let him out," said Mappo.

"Gracious! I hope you didn't think of such a thing!" cried a little girl monkey.

"No, I didn't," Mappo said.

"How did you happen to know the tiger?" asked the big monkey.

"Oh, he tried to get me once," Mappo answered, "and I threw an empty cocoanut shell in his face!"

"You did!" cried all the other monkeys.

"How brave you were!" said the little girl monkey.

Mappo was beginning to feel that way himself!

For several days nothing much happened to Mappo, after he and his monkey friends had been moved to the warm part of the ship. They had things to eat, and water to drink, and they slept a good deal of the time. One day the sailor who always fed Mappo stood in front of the cage, and, looking in, said:

"I wonder if you'd bite me if I petted you a bit? You look like a nice chap, and I like monkeys. I wonder if I couldn't teach you some tricks. Then you'd be worth more to the circus. You'll have to learn tricks in the circus, anyhow, and you might as well begin now. I think I'll pet you a bit."

"Chatter! Chatter! Chat! Bur-r-r-r! Snip!" went Mappo. That meant, in his language, that he would not think of biting the kind sailor who had fed and watered him. But the sailor was careful. Very slowly he put out his hand, and, reaching through the bars, he stroked Mappo's soft fur.

"That's a good chap!" said the sailor. "I believe you are going to be nice after all."

"Bur-r-r-r! Wopp!" said Mappo. That meant: "Of course I am!"

In a few days the sailor and Mappo were good friends, and one afternoon the sailor opened the cage door and let the monkey out. Then Mappo grew quite excited. It was the first time he had been loose since he had been caught, and he was so glad to run about, and use his legs and tail, that, before he knew what he was doing, he had jumped right over the sailor's head, and had scrambled up on the ship's deck.

"Oh, a monkey's loose! One of the monkeys has gotten away!" cried the sailors.

"Never mind! I'll catch him!" said the one who had been kind to Mappo.

Mappo ran and leaped. He saw something like a tall tree, only it had no branches on it. But there were ropes and ladders fast to it, and, in an instant, Mappo had scrambled up them to the top of the tall thing. It was the mast of the ship, but Mappo did not know that.

Away up to the top he went, and, curling his tail around a rope, there he sat.

"Make him come down!" cried the captain. "I can't have a monkey on top of my ship's mast! Somebody climb up after him and bring him down."

"I'll go," said a sailor.

Now a sailor is a good climber, but not nearly so good as a monkey. Mappo waited until the sailor was almost up to him, and then, quick as a flash, Mappo swung himself out of the way by another rope, and, just as he had done in the jungle, he went over to the top of another mast.

"There he goes!" cried the sailors on deck.

"Yes, I see he does," said the sailor who had tried to catch Mappo.

"You had better come down," spoke the man who had let Mappo out of the cage. "I think he'll come down for me." In his hand he held some lumps of sugar, of which Mappo was very fond.

"Come on down, old chap," called the sailor. "No one will hurt you. Come and get the sugar."

Now whether Mappo had had enough of being loose, or whether it was too cold for him up on the mast, I can't say. Perhaps he wanted the sugar, and, again, he might not have wanted to make trouble for his kind friend, the sailor, who had let him out.

Anyhow, Mappo came slowly down, and took some of the sugar from the sailor's hand. The sailor took hold of the collar around Mappo's neck.

"Now lock up that monkey!" cried the captain. "And if he runs away again, we'll whip him."

"No, it was my fault," the sailor said. "And I'd like him to be loose. I can teach him some tricks."

"All right, do as you like," the captain spoke. "Only keep him off the mast."

"I'm not going up there again," thought Mappo to himself. "It is too cold."

"Come along," said the sailor, giving him another lump of sugar, and Mappo put one hairy little paw in the hand of the sailor, and walked along the deck with him.

"I guess you were just scared, old fellow," the man said to the monkey. "When you get quieted down, you and I shall have lots of fun. You are almost as nice as my elephant, Tum Tum."

This was the first Mappo had heard of the elephant. He knew what they were, for he had often seen the big creatures in the jungle, crashing their way through the trees, even pulling some up by the roots, in their strong trunks, to eat the tender green tops of the trees.

"I didn't know there was an elephant on this ship," thought Mappo. But he was soon to find out there was.

Two or three days after this Mappo was let out of his cage once more. This time he did not jump and run. He stayed quietly beside the sailor, and put his paw into the man's hand.

"That's the way to do it," said the sailor. "Come now, we'll go below and see Tum Tum."

Down into a deep part of the ship, near the bottom, the sailor took Mappo. Then the monkey could see a number of elephants chained to the walls. They were swaying their big bodies to and fro, and swinging their trunks. The sailor went up to the biggest elephant of them all, and, so Mappo thought, the most jolly-looking, and said:

"Tum Tum, I have brought some one to see you. Here is a little monkey."

Mappo looked up, and saw a jolly twinkle in the little eyes of Tum Tum. Mappo knew elephants were never unkind to monkeys, and, a moment later, Mappo had given a jump, up to the shoulder of the sailor, and then right on the back of Tum Tum.




Chapter VII

Mappo In The Circus


"Well, I declare!" exclaimed the sailor who had brought Mappo downstairs in the ship to see Tum Tum, the jolly elephant. "You two animals seem to get along fine together!"

And indeed Mappo and Tum Tum were the best of friends at once. Elephants and monkeys very seldom quarrel, and they live together in peace, even in the jungle, and do not fight, and bite and scratch, as some wild beasts do.

"Hello!" said Mappo to Tum Tum, as the little monkey sat on the elephant's back. "Hello!"

"Hello yourself!" answered Tum Tum, and his voice was deep and rumbling, away down in his long nose or trunk, while Mappo's was chattery and shrill, as a monkey's voice always is.

"Well, where did you come from?" asked Mappo. "I've often seen you, or some elephant friends of yours in the jungle. How did you get on this ship with the other animals? You don't mean to say that the hunter men caught you -- you, a great big strong elephant, do you?"

"That's just what they did, Mappo," said Tum Tum, and the sailor, looking at the two animals, did not know they were telling secrets to each other.

"I'll just leave 'em together a while," said the sailor. "I don't believe the monkey will run away, and, as he's getting homesick, it may make him feel better to be with the elephant a while."

Mappo was indeed getting homesick for the jungle, and for his folks, but when he saw Tum Tum, he felt much better.

"How did they catch you?" asked the monkey, as the sailor went up on deck, while Mappo and the elephant stayed down in the lower part of the ship, where it was nice and warm, talking to one another.

"Oh, the hunters made a big, strong fence in the jungle," said Tum Tum. "They left one opening in it, and then they began to drive us elephants along toward it. We did not know what was happening until it was too late, and at last we were caught fast in a sort of big trap, and could not get out."

"I should think you were so strong that you could easily have gotten out," Mappo said.

"Well, we did try -- we wild elephants," spoke Tum Tum. "We rushed at the bamboo fence, and tried to break it down with our big heads. But tame elephants, who had helped to drive us into the trap, came up, and struck us with their trunks, and stuck us with their tusks, and told us to be good, and not to break the fence, and that we would be kindly treated. So we behaved, and, after a while, we found ourselves on this ship."

"Do you like it here?" asked Mappo.

"Well, it isn't so bad," said Tum Tum. "I get all I want to eat, and I don't have to hunt for it. I am to go in a circus and menagerie, I hear. I don't quite know what that is, do you?"

"Not exactly," answered Mappo, scratching his nose.

"Well, maybe we'll be in it together," went on Tum Tum. "But how did you happen to get caught, and brought away from the jungle, little monkey?"

Then Mappo told of being caught in the net when he picked up the pieces of cocoanut.

"Were any other animals caught with you?" asked Tum Tum.

"Oh, yes, the hunters had other animals -- some monkeys, and a big tiger in a cage. He was named Sharp-Tooth, the tiger was."

"Hush!" whispered Tum Tum through his trunk, and looking around carefully, he went on: "Don't let him know I'm here!"

"Let who know?" asked Mappo.

"Sharp-Tooth, the tiger. Don't tell him I'm here," Tum Tum said.

"Why not?" the little monkey wanted to know.

"Well, because he and I aren't friends," said Tum Tum. "You know in the jungle, hunters sometimes ride on the backs of myself, and my elephant friends, to hunt tigers. That's why the tigers don't like us. So don't mention to Sharp-Tooth that I'm on board this ship."

"I won't, of course," spoke Mappo in his funny, monkey talk. "But it wouldn't matter, anyhow, as he's in a cage."

"He might break loose, and scratch me," said Tum Tum. "So don't mention it to him."

Mappo promised not to. He sat up there on the elephant's back a long time, and they talked of many things that had happened in the jungle woods.

"Well, you two seem to like each other so well that I guess I'll leave you together," said the sailor, when he came back and found Mappo asleep on Tum Tum's back. "I'll bring the monkey's cage down here," the sailor went on, "and let him stay. They might just as well get acquainted, for they'll be together in the circus, anyhow."

"That will be nice," thought Mappo, as he heard what the sailor said.

Many things happened to Mappo aboard the ship in which he journeyed from the jungle to this country. I have not room to tell you about all of them in this book.

Once there came a great storm, so that the big ship rolled and rocked like a rocking-chair, and Mappo felt ill. So did Tum Tum, and the other elephants, and they made loud noises through their trunks. Mappo and the other monkeys chattered with fear, and even Sharp-Tooth, the big striped tiger, in his cage, was afraid, and growled, while the lions roared like thunder.

But finally the storm passed, the sea grew calm and the animals felt better. Then came a day when Mappo was shut up in his cage again. Most of the time he had been loose, to run about as he pleased.

"I'm sorry to have to do it, old chap," said his sailor friend, "but all you animals are going to be taken off the ship now, and put ashore, and we don't want to lose you."

"I don't want to get lost, either," said Mappo to himself. "I wonder what is going to happen now."

Many things happened to him, and also to Tum Tum and the others. Mappo's cage, as well as the cages holding the lions and tigers, were lifted off the ship onto land. Then they were put on big wagons and carted off through a strange place. At first Mappo thought it was a new kind of jungle, for he saw some trees.

But when Mappo saw many boys and girls, and men and women, all in strange dresses, not at all like the brown natives, and when he saw many houses, he knew it could not be a jungle. No, it was a big city where Mappo had been taken. And it was the city where the circus stayed in winter, the animals living in barns, and in menageries, instead of in tents. But when the warm summer came, they would be taken out on the road, and sent from place to place with the traveling circus. Of course, Mappo knew nothing of this yet. Neither did Tum Tum.

Mappo's cage, with a number of others, was finally put into a big barn, where it was nice and warm. On the earth-floor of the barn was sawdust, and Mappo saw many men and horses, and many strange things. Finally a man came up to Mappo's cage.

"Ha! So these are some of the monkeys I am to teach to do tricks, eh?" said the man. "Well, they look like nice monkeys. And that one seems a little tame. I think I'll begin on him," and he pointed right at Mappo.

"Better look out," said another man. "Maybe he is an ugly chap, and will bite you."

"Oh, indeed I won't!" chattered Mappo. "I guess I know better than that!" But of course the circus man did not understand this monkey talk. Mappo jumped about in his cage, for he felt that he was going to be taken out, and he was tired of being shut up. He wanted to hang by his tail, and do other things, as he had done in the jungle.

"He's a lively little fellow, anyhow," said the circus man, as he opened the door of Mappo's cage. "Come on out, old chap," he went on, "and let's see what you look like."

Very gently he took Mappo out, and Mappo was very quiet. He wanted to show the man how polite and nice even a jungle monkey could be, when he tried.

"You're a nice fellow," the man said, stroking Mappo's back. "Now let's see. I guess I'll teach you first to ride a pony, or a dog, and then jump through paper hoops. After that you can turn somersaults, and sit up at the table and eat like a real child. Oh, I'll teach you many tricks."

Mappo did not understand very much of this talk. No monkey could. But Mappo did understand the word "eat," and he wondered when the man was going to feed him, for Mappo was hungry.

All around the circus barn different animals were being taught tricks, for the men were training them to be ready for the summer circus in the big tents. Horses were racing about sawdust rings, men were shouting and calling, and snapping long whips. In one corner a man was trying to make an elephant stand on his hind legs. Mappo looked a second time.

"Why, that's Tum Tum! He's learning tricks too!" said Mappo, to himself. "That's fine! I hope he and I can do tricks together."

Tum Tum did not look very happy. A long rope was fastened to him, and he was being pulled up so his head and trunk were in the air. That's how elephants are first taught to do the trick of standing on their hind legs. After a bit they learn to do it without being hoisted up by a rope.

"Now then, monkey boy, here we are!" exclaimed the man who had taken Mappo out of his cage. The man soon found that Mappo was good and gentle. "Now for your first trick," the man said. "Here, Prince!"

A great big, shaggy dog, almost as large as Sharp-Tooth, the tiger, came bounding into the circus ring. Right at Mappo rushed the dog, barking as loudly as he could:

"Bow wow! Bow wow! Bow wow!"




Chapter VIII

Mappo And His Tricks


Mappo, the merry monkey, gave one look at the big dog rushing at him, and then, with a chatter of fright, sprang right up on the shoulder of the circus man. There Mappo sat, shivering, and looking down at the dog who kept on barking.

"Oh ho! So you're afraid, are you?" asked the man, as he put up his hand and patted Mappo. "Well, you don't need to be, little chap. Prince wouldn't hurt you a bit, would you, old chap?"

"Bow wow!" barked the dog, and I think he meant that he certainly would not -- that he loved monkeys. In fact, any one would have loved Mappo, he was so kind and gentle, even though he had not had much training.

"Now, Prince, just show this monkey how you can stand on your head," went on the circus man. "Show him how it's done."

The dog kicked his hind legs up in the air, and there he was, standing up partly on his head, and partly on his forepaws.

"That'll do, Prince!" the man called. "Down!"

"Bow wow!" barked Prince, as he turned a somersault, and stood on his four feet.

"You'll soon be doing tricks like that, little monkey," went on the circus man, speaking to Mappo, as though the little chap from the jungle could understand and answer him.

And, as I have told you, Mappo could understand pretty nearly all the man said, but he could not talk back to him, except in monkey language, and that the man did not understand.

"Now, Prince," said the circus man, "Mappo is going to have a ride on your back. I want you to go slowly with him at first so he will not fall off. Later on, you may run fast, and we'll have a race, with other monkeys on the backs of other dogs. And, when Mappo has learned to ride dog-back, I'll teach him to ride pony-back."

"Bow wow!" barked Prince, just as though he understood it all.

A bright red blanket was strapped around Prince, like a saddle on a horse, and over the dog's head were put some straps like the reins of a horse. Those were for Mappo to take hold of, and pretend he was driving the dog around the ring.

"All right now. Here we go!" cried the man. "Come, Mappo!"

Mappo, who had been watching Tum Tum learn to stand on his hind legs, now looked at the man and dog. The man lifted up the monkey and set him on the dog's back. He also put the reins in Mappo's little paws.

"Now go, Prince!" said the man, and he walked along with the dog, holding Mappo on the back of Prince.

At first Mappo did not understand what was wanted of him, and when Prince started off, the little monkey grew afraid, and tried to jump down and run away. But the man spoke gently to him.

"There now, old fellow," said the circus man kindly. "No one is going to hurt you. You'll be all right. Just sit on. Prince won't run away with you."

Mappo was not so frightened now, and as the man held him on the dog's back, he did not fall off. Around and around in a ring went Prince carrying Mappo. Finally the monkey saw that he was in no danger of falling, and he sat up straighter.

"I guess you can go alone now," said the man. "Go on, Prince!"

Mappo sat up proudly, holding the reins. He was riding alone, though of course not very fast, for Prince only walked now.

For two or three days Mappo practiced this trick, and each day he did it better. Each day, too, when he had finished it, he was given something good to eat, and so was Prince.

"Now we'll try it faster to-day," said the man, after Mappo had been in the circus about a week. "Run, Prince, and give Mappo a fast ride."

Off started Prince, almost before Mappo was ready for him. And, just as you might expect, Mappo fell off and rolled over and over in the sawdust.

"Chatter-chatter-chat! Bur-r-r-r! Buz-z-z-z-z! Wur-r-r-r-r!" went Mappo, excitedly.

"Bow wow!" barked Prince, capering about.

"Hold on! That's not the way to do it! You must hold on tightly!" cried the circus man.

"Did you hurt yourself, Mappo?" asked Tum Tum, the jolly elephant, who was resting, after having stood up on his hind legs. He had seen Mappo fall.

"No," answered the monkey, "I didn't hurt myself, but I don't like to fall that way. I don't like that trick."

"Never mind," spoke Tum Tum kindly. "The next time you do it, and Prince runs fast, just wrap your tail around him, as you used to wrap it around a tree limb in the big jungle. Then you won't fall."

"That's a good idea -- I'll do it!" cried Mappo.

"Now we'll try it again," said the circus man. "Go a bit slower this time, Prince."

"Bow wow! I will!" barked the dog.

Once more Mappo took his place on the red blanket on the dog's back. He took the reins in his little paws, that were almost like your hands, and then, remembering what Tum Tum had said to him, Mappo wound his tail around the neck of Prince, but not so tightly as to hurt him.

"Bow wow! What are you doing that for?" asked the dog. He knew how to speak so Mappo would understand him.

"I am doing it so I will not fall off when you run fast, Prince," answered Mappo.

"Ha! Ha! Very good!" laughed Prince, in the only way dogs can laugh, which is by barking softly. "That's a good trick, little monkey. If other monkeys were as smart as you they would learn their lessons more quickly. Now hold on tight, for I am going to run!"

"I will!" promised Mappo.

The circus man looked at what Mappo had done.

"That is a smart little monkey," he said. "Now he will not fall."

And this time, when Prince started off, and ran very fast around the sawdust ring, Mappo did not fall off. His tail, which was as good as a hand to him, was wrapped about the neck of Prince, and kept Mappo from slipping.

Mappo could now do the dog-riding trick very well. No matter how fast Prince ran, the monkey would not fall off. A few days later more dogs and other monkeys were brought into the circus ring in the big barn, and they, too, raced around. But none of them could go as fast as Mappo and Prince, and, each time, they won the race around the sawdust ring.

"That certainly is a smart little monkey!" the circus man would say over and over again. "I shall teach him many tricks. I will now see how he can ride on the back of a pony, and, after that, I will teach him to jump through paper hoops."

Mappo did not very well understand what this meant, but he made up his mind he would do whatever was asked of him, and that he would do it as well as he could.

A few days later some little Shetland ponies were brought into the barn, and Mappo was placed on the back of one of them. The pony was a little larger than Prince, and Mappo was farther from the ground. But the little monkey had climbed tall trees in the jungle, and he was not afraid of going up even on an elephant's back. So, of course, he was not afraid on Trotter, the pony.

A blanket was strapped on Trotter's back, and as there was an iron ring in the strap, Mappo stuck his tail through that, and so held on. The other monkeys, who were also to ride ponies, saw what Mappo was doing, and they did the same thing.

"Ha! It's good to have a smart monkey in the circus," said the man. "He shows the others what to do."

Mappo was so smart, and such a good rider, that he easily took the lead in the race, and kept it. The ponies ran faster than the dogs had done, but, even then, neither Mappo nor any of the other monkeys fell off, for their tails were in the iron rings of the straps.

"Well, how are you coming on?" asked Tum Tum of Mappo one day, when they were resting after having eaten their dinners.

"Fine!" answered Mappo. "I can do many tricks now. What are you learning?"

"Oh, many things," answered Tum Tum. "I have to play ball, grind a hand-organ with my trunk and make music, I have to play soldier, march around, and stand up on my hind legs and on my head."

"Is it hard work?" asked Mappo.

"Yes, but I like it," said Tum Tum. And some day soon, in another book, I shall tell you the many adventures of Tum Tum, the jolly elephant.

"Well, now for a new trick," said the circus man to Mappo, one morning. "Soon it will be time for the circus to go out on the road, under the big tents, and I want you to do many tricks for the boys and girls."

"I'll do all I can!" chattered Mappo, in his monkey language.

This time, after he had ridden around the ring once or twice on the back of Prince, the circus man brought out some big wooden hoops, covered with paper.

"You are to jump through these, Mappo," said the man. "Come, let me see how you can do it." Mappo was riding on Prince's back. All of a sudden, as Prince went around the sawdust ring, he came near to one of the rings the man held out. Mappo did not in the least know what he was to do, but, all at once, the man caught him up off the dog's back, and fairly tossed him through the paper ring. The paper burst with a crackling noise, and Mappo felt himself falling.

"Oh dear!" thought the little monkey, "I wonder where I shall land!"




Chapter IX

Mappo Runs Away


Mappo was so surprised, as he felt himself fairly flying through the paper hoop, that he did not know exactly what was happening.

"I may land on the back of Tum Tum, for all I know," he thought.

But, just as he said that to himself, he came down on the back of Prince, as if nothing had happened.

"Hello, here we are again!" cried Prince, running on around the sawdust ring, with Mappo on his back. "You did that trick all right."

"Yes, but the man tossed me through the paper-covered hoop," spoke Mappo, wonderingly.

"That was to show you how to do it," went on Prince. "I have seen many monkeys do that trick."

"Oh, I see," said Mappo. "There's the man with another hoop. Shall I jump right through it?"

"Yes, don't wait for him to toss you," Prince said. "Though he didn't hurt you, did he?"

"Not a bit," laughed Mappo, who rather liked doing that trick.

The circus man stood up on a little box, holding the ring, all covered with red paper, ready for Mappo to jump through. And the man would have picked Mappo up, and tossed him through the ring, only the monkey did not wait for that. Instead, he gave a jump himself, and right through the ring he went, coming down on Prince's back as nicely as you please. Prince kept right on running around the sawdust ring.

"Fine! That's the way to do it!" cried the circus man, clapping his hands. "I'll have to get you to show the other monkeys how to do it, Mappo! You're the first monkey who ever learned that trick so quickly."

I guess I told you Mappo was a smart little chap.

The rest of that day he spent practicing jumping through more paper-covered hoops, doing some of his jumps from the back of Trotter, the pony. Then other monkeys were brought in, and they watched Mappo.

"Now let's see if they can do it," said the man, after Mappo had done his trick several times. Well, the other monkeys tried, and while some of them could do it pretty well, others fell off, or else were afraid of the paper hoops. No one did it as well as Mappo.

From then on, the little monkey learned many circus tricks. He did not learn all of them as easily as he had learned to ride the dog and pony, or jump through the hoops. In fact, it took him several days to learn the trick of turning a somersault. And it took him longer to learn to sit up at a table, and eat with a knife, fork and spoon, dressed up like a little boy, with real clothes on.

All this while the circus animals had remained in the big, warm barn, for it was still winter. But spring and summer were coming, and would soon be over all the land. Then the circus would start out with the tents, and the big red, green and golden wagons.

Other animals were being trained, too. Tum Tum, the jolly elephant could do many tricks, and Mappo loved to watch his big friend, with the long trunk, and the long white teeth, or tusks, sticking out of his mouth. Tum Tum's trainer would sometimes sit on these tusks, or on Tum Tum's trunk, and ride around the ring. Tum Tum liked his keeper, or trainer, very much, just as Mappo liked his own circus man.

One day, when Mappo had finished doing his tricks for the day, and had been given a whole, ripe, yellow banana for himself, as a treat for being good and smart, the little monkey wandered off to another part of the circus barn. Mappo, unlike the other monkeys, was not kept in a cage, or chained up.

As Mappo was walking along he came underneath a cage, and from over his head came a loud roar.

"A lion!" cried Mappo, springing away. "He'll get me!"

In the jungle he and his brothers and sisters had been taught to run and hide when a lion roared, and, for the moment, Mappo did just as he had been used to doing in the jungle. Then he sort of laughed to himself, in a way monkeys have, and he said:

"Ha! Ha! That lion can't get at me! He is locked in his cage. I'm not afraid."

But, just the same, Mappo ran over on the other side of the circus barn, and watched the lion from there.

The "King of Beasts," as he is called, though a lion is often no braver that any other animal, paced back and forth in his cage. He peered out between the bars, and tried to break them with his big paws. But he could not. Now and then the lion would utter a deep, loud roar, that seemed to shake the very ground. I suppose he roared as he had done in the jungle, when he wanted to let the other animals know he was coming. A lion must be very proud of his roar.

"Well, you can't get me, anyhow," thought Mappo. "You are safe in your cage, and I am glad of it."

"Well, how are you to-day, Tum Tum?" asked Mappo, of the jolly elephant.

"Tired. Very tired!" exclaimed Tum Tum.

"What makes you tired?" asked the monkey.

"Doing so many tricks," the elephant answered. "And you know I am a big, heavy chap, and it tires me to run fast around the ring. But never mind, we will soon be out of here, and on a journey."

"Where are we going?" asked Mappo.

"To travel from town to town, as all circuses do. We shall soon be living in tents," the elephant answered.

"I'll like that," said Mappo. "I am getting rather tired of staying here so long."

And, surely enough, a few days later, the circus started out "on the road," as it is called. The big red, golden and green wagons were drawn by many horses, and rumbled up hill and down. In the wagons the animals and tents and other things, all of which go to make up a circus, were carried.

One day, after a lot of traveling, part of which was by train, Mappo and the other animals came to a place where a big, white tent was set up in a wide, green field. The tent had been set up in the night, ready for the circus.

"Ah! Now our real circus work will begin!" said Tum Tum. And so it did.

The bands began to play, and when the tent was filled with boys and girls, and their papas and mammas, and grandpas and grandmas, there was a grand procession of all the performers. The elephants, of which Tum Tum was one, also marched around, as did lots of the ponies and dogs.

"I wonder when it will come my turn to do tricks?" thought Mappo. His turn soon came. The kind circus man who had taught the little monkey, came and dressed him up in a nice red suit, with a little red cap. Then Prince, the dog, was led in, wearing a fine yellow blanket.

"Now for the race!" cried the man, as Mappo jumped up on Prince's back. The other monkeys jumped up on the backs of other dogs, and, as the band played, off they ran.

Mappo liked it very much, especially when the children laughed and clapped their hands, for he was glad he had pleased them. Faster and faster went the racing dogs, and Mappo and Prince won.

Then came the jumping through the paper hoops, first from the backs of dogs, and, afterward backs of the ponies. In all of these tricks Mappo did very well.

Then Mappo did his other tricks -- turning somersaults, standing on his head, and even riding a little bicycle the man had made for him. That was Mappo's best trick, and one that ended his part of the circus. He rode around a little wooden platform on the bicycle, holding a flag over his shoulder, and my! how the children did laugh at that.

Mappo did not see all the circus. As soon as his act was over, he was taken back to his cage, but he was not chained up. His keeper knew he could trust Mappo not to run away.

Mappo wandered around the animal tent. After a while he came to where the tiger's cage stood.

"Ah ha! There you are!" snarled Sharp-Tooth, the striped tiger, as he saw Mappo. "You're the monkey who is to blame for my being here."

"I to blame! How?" asked Mappo.

"Yes, you are to blame," went on Sharp-Tooth. "You wouldn't open my cage, and let me out when we were in the jungle. Never mind! I'll fix you! When I get out of here -- and some day I'm going to break loose -- when I get out of here, I'll bite you."

"Oh dear!" thought Mappo. "I hope that never happens!" and he went off to talk to Tum Tum, the jolly elephant.

For nearly a week the circus traveled from town to town, Mappo doing his tricks very well indeed. Once again Sharp-Tooth, the tiger, said to the monkey chap:

"Oh, wait until I get hold of you. I was nearly out of my cage last night. To-night I'll be out for sure, and then I'll fix you!"

Poor Mappo was frightened. The more he thought of the tiger getting loose and biting him, the more frightened he became. And that day, as Mappo was riding along in his own cage in the circus wagon, he thought he heard the tiger getting loose from the big cage.

"Oh, he'll get me, sure!" cried Mappo. He looked up. The door of his cage was open the least little bit. Mappo pulled it open wider with his paws, and then, when none of the circus men was looking, Mappo slipped out, and dropped down to the road.

The door of his cage snapped shut after Mappo got out, keeping the other monkeys in.

"I'm going to run away," said Mappo. "I'm not going to stay, and let that bad tiger catch me." And so Mappo ran away.




Chapter X

Mappo And Squinty


Mappo, as soon as he got outside the traveling circus cage on wheels, looked all about him to see if any one were watching him. But no one seemed to be doing so.

His man friend, who had trained him to do many tricks, was riding on the seat with the driver of the big monkey-cage wagon, and this man never looked around, as Mappo slipped out. All the other circus men were too busy to look after one monkey.

Mappo slipped down to the dusty country road, along which the circus procession was then going, and quickly running across it, the merry little monkey hid in the bushes on the other side.

Slowly the big circus wagons rumbled past the place where Mappo was hiding in the bushes. When the cage, in which Sharp-Tooth, the tiger, was pacing up and down, came along, the big striped beast growled and roared, and to Mappo it sounded just as if he were saying:

"Where's that monkey? Oh, wait until I get hold of him! He wouldn't let me out of my cage, and I'll fix him!"

When the last wagon in, the procession had gone past -- and it was the steam piano which brought up at the end -- Mappo breathed a long breath.

"Now I'm all right!" he thought. "They can't find me now. I'm going over into those woods. Maybe there is a jungle where I can find cocoanuts."

Scrambling over rocks, stones and fences, Mappo made his way to the big woods. It looked cool and green there, much better than the hot, dusty road, down which the circus procession was rumbling, with the big red, green and gold wagons.

Mappo was much disappointed when he reached the woods. He could not see any cocoanuts or bananas, and those were the things he liked best of all.

"I wonder what I shall eat," said Mappo, for he was quite hungry.

He ran about, climbing trees, going away up to the top, and hanging down by his tail. He had not had a chance to do this since he had been with the circus, and, really, it was lots of fun for him.

Soon he felt hungry again, and he looked around for something to chew. He saw nothing.

"Oh dear!" he cried out loud. "I wonder what I can eat."

"Ha!" cried a grunting little voice near him, "why don't you eat acorns, as I do?"

"What's that? Who are you? Where are you?" asked Mappo, looking up and down.

"Here I am, under this bush," the voice went on, and out walked a little pig.

"What's your name?" asked Mappo.

"My name is Squinty," answered the little pig. I suppose you had guessed that before I told you -- at least those of you who have read my other book, called "Squinty, the Comical Pig."

"Squinty, eh?" remarked Mappo. "That's a queer name."

"They call me that because one of my eyes squints," said the little pig. "See!" and he looked up at Mappo in such a funny way, with one eye half shut, and the other wide open, and with one ear cocked forward and the other backward, that Mappo had to laugh.

"My name is Mappo, and I'm from the circus. I've run away, and I'm hungry," the monkey said.

"Ha! I'm running away myself," said Squinty, "and I was hungry too, but I found some acorns to eat."

"What are acorns, and where did you run from?" asked Mappo.

"Acorns are nuts, good for pigs to eat," Squinty answered, "and I ran away from my pen."

"I wish I had something to eat," said Mappo. "I am very hungry."

"Come with me, and I'll see if I can't find you something to eat," Squinty said. "Then you can tell me all about the circus, and I'll tell you all about my pen."

"All right," agreed Mappo, and the two little animal friends went off together into the woods.

"Are there any cocoanuts here?" asked Mappo, when they had gone on for some distance.

"I don't know," answered Squinty. "What are cocoanuts?"

Mappo told the little pig how cocoanuts and bananas grew in the jungle, and the little pig told about how he liked sour milk and things like that. And, after a while, they managed to find some berries for Mappo to eat, as he did not like the acorn nuts.

The two friends went on in the woods for some distance, and they were having a good time, telling each other about their adventures, when, all of a sudden, as Mappo was swinging along by his tail on a tree branch, he stopped short and cried:

"Ha! They're after me. I guess I'd better run."

"Who is after you?" asked Squinty.

"The circus men. They must have found out I ran away."

Mappo and Squinty looked through the bushes, and they saw a number of men in red coats and blue trousers coming through the woods. Squinty also saw something else.

"Oh, look!" cried the little pig. "What is that funny animal with two tails? I'm afraid of him, he's so big!"

Mappo looked and laughed.

"He hasn't two tails," he said. "One is his tail and the other is his trunk. That is Tum Tum, the circus elephant. And you needn't be afraid of him, for he is the jolliest elephant in the whole show.

"But I'm not going to be caught," went on Mappo. "I want to run away farther, and have more adventures. So I guess I'll go before Tum Tum and the men see me. Good-by, Squinty. I'm glad I met you."

"And I'm glad that I met you," said the comical little pig. Then he ran one way through the woods, for he did not want to be caught, either, and Mappo ran the other way.

On and on through the woods roamed the merry little monkey, and many things happened to him. He met Slicko, the jumping girl squirrel, and in the book about Slicko you may read all about her wonderful adventures.

At first Mappo had lots of fun, after running away from the circus. It was warm, and he managed to make himself a little house of leaves, in the woods where he slept nights, or when it rained. But, for all that, he did not have as good things to eat as he had had when he was in his cage. He missed doing his tricks, too, and he missed seeing the boys and girls and their parents, in the big tent.

One day, as Mappo was asleep in the woods, he was suddenly awakened by feeling himself caught by two hands, and a voice cried:

"Oh, I've caught a monkey. I'm going to take him home and keep him. Oh, a real, live monkey!"

Mappo opened his eyes, and he saw that a boy was holding him, and holding him so tightly that the little monkey could not get away.

"Well, I'm caught!" thought Mappo, but he was not very sorry.




Chapter XI

Mappo And The Organ-Man


Some monkeys, if they had been caught by a boy, in the woods, would have bit and scratched and fought to get away. But Mappo was both a merry monkey, and a good, kind one. So, when he saw that the boy was holding him tightly, Mappo made up his mind that it would not be nice to try to get away.

Besides, he liked boys, as well as girls, for so many of them had fed him peanuts in the circus. And I rather think that Mappo was getting tired of having run away, for he did not find these woods as nice as he thought he would.

"Oh, father, look!" the boy cried. "I've caught a monkey."

"Have you, really?" asked a man, who came up near the boy. "Why, so you have!" he exclaimed. "It must have escaped from the circus that went through here the other day."

"Oh, father, mayn't we keep it?" the boy asked, as he patted Mappo. "See, he is real tame, and maybe he does tricks."

"Of course I'm tame and do tricks!" Mappo chattered, but the boy did not understand monkey talk.

"Oh, let me keep him!" the boy begged of his father.

"Well, I don't know," spoke the man, slowly. "A monkey is a queer sort of a pet, and we haven't really any place for him."

"Oh, I'll make a place," the boy said. "Do let me keep him!"

"Well, you may try," his father said. "But if the circus men come back after him, you'll have to give up your monkey. And he may run away, no matter what sort of a cage you keep him in."

"Oh, I don't believe he will," the boy said.

So Mappo was taken home to the boy's house. It was quite different from the circus where the merry little monkey had lived so long. There were no sawdust rings, no horses or other animals, and there was no performance in the afternoon, and none in the evening.

But, for all that, Mappo liked it. For one thing he got enough to eat, and the things he liked -- cocoanuts and bananas, for the boy read in a book what monkeys liked, and got them for his new pet. The boy made a nice box cage for Mappo to sleep in, and tied him fast with a string around the collar, which Mappo wore.

"But I could easily loosen that string and get away if I wanted to," Mappo thought as he played with the knot in his odd little fingers. Monkeys can untie most knots, and a chain is about the only thing that will hold them.

The boy's mother was afraid of Mappo at first, but the little monkey was so kind and gentle, that she grew to like him. And Mappo was a very good monkey. He did not bite or scratch.

The house where the boy lived was quite different from the circus tent, or the big barn where Mappo had first learned to do tricks. There was an upstairs and downstairs to the house, and many windows. Mappo soon learned to go up and down stairs very well indeed, and he liked nothing better than to slide down the banisters. Sometimes he would climb up on the gas chandelier and hang by his tail. This always made the boy laugh.

"See, my monkey can do tricks!" he would cry.

Then, one day, something sad happened. Mappo was sitting near the dining-room window, which was open, and he was half asleep, for the sun was very warm. The little monkey was dreaming, perhaps of the days when he used to sleep in the tree-house in the jungle, or he may have been thinking of the time when he went with the circus.

Suddenly he was awakened by hearing some music. He looked out in the street, and there he saw a hand-organ man grinding away at the crank which made the nice music. Mappo liked it very much. It reminded him a little of the circus music.

And, as soon as the hand-organ man saw the monkey, he cried out:

"Ha! A monkey! Just what I need. My monkey has gone away, and I'll take this new little monkey to go around with me and get the pennies in his cap."

Then, before Mappo knew what was going to happen, the hand-organ man ran up to the open window, grabbed the little monkey off the sill, and, stuffing him under his coat, ran away down the street with him as fast as he could go.

"Let me go! Let me out!" chattered Mappo, in his own, queer language. The man paid no attention to him. Perhaps he did not understand what Mappo meant, though hand-organ men ought to know monkey talk, if any one does. At any rate, the man did not let Mappo go. Instead, he carried him on and on through the streets, until he came to the place where he lived.

"Now I'll put a chain and a long string on you, and take you around with me when I make music," said the hand-organ man. "You will have a little red cap to take the pennies the children give you."

While he was thus talking the man thrust Mappo into a box, that was not very clean, and tossed him a crust of bread.

"I wonder if that is all I am to get to eat," thought Mappo. "Oh, dear! I might better have stayed in the circus. It was nice at the boy's house, but it is not nice here."

Mappo was shut up in the box, with only a little water, and that one piece of bread crust to eat. And then the hand-organ man went to sleep.

Poor Mappo did not like this at all, but what could he do? He was shut up in a box, and try as he did, he could not get out. Some other monkey had lived in the box before. Mappo could tell that, because there were scratches and teeth marks in the wood which Mappo knew must have been made by some such little monkey as himself.

Mappo's life from then on, for some time, was rather hard. The next morning the hand-organ man fastened a chain to the collar of the monkey, and a long rope to the chain.

"Now I'll teach you to climb up on porch houses, go up the rain-water pipes, and up to windows, to get pennies," said the hand-organ man. "Come, be lively!"

He did not-have to teach Mappo very much, for the monkey could already do those things.

"Ha! I see you are a trick monkey!" the man said. "So much the better for me. I'll get many pennies from the children."

Then, every day, Mappo was made to go out with the man and his hand-organ, and when the man played tunes, Mappo would watch the windows of the houses in front of which his master stopped. The children would come to the windows when they heard the music.

"Go up and get the pennies!" the man would cry, and he would pull and jerk on the long string so that the collar around Mappo's neck choked and hurt him. Then the monkey would squeal, and hold the chain with his paw, so the pulling on it would not pain him so much. The hand-organ man was not very kind to Mappo.

But Mappo made up his mind he would do his best to please his master.

"Some day I may get loose," Mappo thought. "If I do, I'll run back to the circus, and never go away from it again. Oh that circus! And Tum Tum! I wonder if I'll ever see the jolly elephant again."

Thinking such thoughts as these, Mappo would climb up the front of the houses, to the windows, scrambling up the rain-water pipe, and he would take off his cap, and catch in it the pennies the children threw to him. Then sometimes, on the porch roof, Mappo would turn a somersault, or play soldier, doing some of his circus tricks. This made the children laugh again, and they would ask their mammas for more pennies.

"Ah, he is a fine monkey!" the hand-organ man would say. "He brings me much money."

The hand-organ man never let him loose; always was there that chain and string fast to the collar on Mappo's neck.

Mappo was made to wear a little red jacket, as well as a cap, and, as the things had been made for a smaller monkey than he, they were rather tight for him.

For many weeks Mappo was kept by the hand-organ man, and made to gather pennies. Mappo grew very tired of it.

"Oh, if I had only stayed with the circus," thought Mappo, sorrowfully.

One morning the hand-organ man got up earlier than usual.

"We make much money to-day," he said to Mappo, for he had a habit of speaking to the monkey as though he could understand. And indeed, Mappo knew a great deal of what his master said. "We will make many pennies to-day," went on the man. "Out by the big show, where everybody will be jolly."

He brushed Mappo's jacket and cap, and then, after a very little breakfast, out they started. Through street after street they went, but the man did not stop to play in front of any houses.

"I wonder why that is," thought Mappo, for his master had never done that before.

And then, all of a sudden, Mappo saw a big white tent, with gay flags flying from the poles. He saw the big red, gold and green wagons. He heard the neighing of the horses, the trumpeting of the elephants, the roaring of the lions, and the snarling of the tigers.

"Oh, it's the circus! It's my circus!" cried Mappo to himself, and so it was.

"Now we make much money!" said the hand-organ man. "The people who come to the circus have many pennies. They give them to me when I play. Come, Mappo, be lively -- do tricks and get the pennies," and he shook the string and chain, hurting Mappo's neck.

Then the organ began to play. But Mappo did not hear it. He heard only the circus band. And he smelled the sawdust ring.

"Oh, I must get back to my dear circus!" he chattered. Then, with one big, strong pull of his paws, Mappo broke the collar around his neck, and, as fast as he could run, he scampered toward the big tent -- the tent where he knew his cage was. Oh, how Mappo ran!




Chapter XII

Mappo And The Baby


"Come back here! Come back! My monkey! He is running away!" cried the hand-organ man, as he raced after Mappo. Mappo looked behind, and saw his unkind master coming, so the little monkey ran faster than ever.

"Oh, if I can only find Tum Tum, the jolly elephant, and get up on his back, that man can never get me again!" thought Mappo. "I must find Tum Tum!"

Into the big circus tent ran Mappo. The show had not yet begun, and one of the men who was at the entrance to take tickets seeing Mappo, cried out:

"Ha! One of our monkeys must have gotten loose. I will call the animal trainer."

So Mappo came back to the circus again. But his adventures were not yet over.

That afternoon, when he had been given his own circus suit, which fitted him better than the one the hand-organ man had put on him, Mappo went through his tricks in the big tent. He had not forgotten them.

He rode on the back of Prince, the big dog, and also on Trotter, the pony, coming in first in every race. Then Mappo jumped through the paper-covered hoops, he played soldier, and he sat up at the table and ate his dinner with a knife, fork and spoon, almost as nicely as you could have done it. He used his napkin, too.

The circus traveled on and on. One day it came to a big city, and some of the tents were set up in a field, near some houses. From his place near his cage Mappo could look out of the crack in the top of the tent, and see the windows of the houses near him.

"I used to climb in windows like that," said Mappo to Tum Tum. "I used to go up the rain-water pipe to get the pennies from the children."

"It must have been fun for you," said Tum Tum, "as you are such a good climber."

"Oh, it wasn't so much fun as you'd imagine," answered Mappo as he slyly tickled another monkey with a straw. Mappo was always up to some trick or other; he was a very merry monkey.

It was almost time for the circus performance to start. Mappo was thinking he had better go, and get on his pretty new red, white and blue suit, when suddenly, from outside the tent, he heard the cry of:

"Fire! Fire! Fire!"

Now Mappo knew what a fire was. There used to be a fire in the stove at the big circus barn, and once he went too close and burned his paw.

So Mappo knew what fire meant, even though it was cried in some other language than monkey talk. Then Mappo looked out of a crack in the tent, and he saw one of the houses, near the circus grounds, all ablaze. Black smoke was coming from it.

"One of those houses is burning," said Mappo to Tum Tum. The monkey had often seen the natives, in his jungle, kindle fires at night to cook their suppers, and also to keep wild beasts away. For wild beasts are afraid of fire.

"A house burning, eh?" said Tum Tum. "Well, that is nothing to us. We have to go on with the show, no matter what happens."

"I'm going out to see it," spoke Mappo. "I have a little time yet before I must do my tricks."

Mappo was not chained, so he had no trouble in slipping under the tent, and in going toward the burning house. There was great excitement. Men, boys, girls and women were running all around. Some of them were carrying things out of the blazing dwelling. Then up came the fire engines, tooting and whistling. Mappo of course did not know what fire engines were. All he cared for was the black smoke, and the bright, red fire.

Suddenly a woman in the crowd began to scream.

"My baby! Oh, my little baby is up in that room," and she pointed to one on the side of the house which was not yet burning as much as the rest. "Oh, my baby!" she cried, and she tried to run back into the blazing house, but some men stopped her.

"The firemen will get your baby," they said.

"Oh, they will never be in time!" the woman cried.

Just then Mappo's circus trainer came running up.

"Oh, here you are!" he cried to Mappo. "I was afraid you had run away again."

"No! No!" chattered Mappo, in his own language.

Mappo reached up, and put his arms around the keeper's neck. Just then the woman cried again:

"My baby! Oh, my baby is left behind in the room, and the stairs are all on fire. How can I get him?"

"What, is there a baby in the house?" cried Mappo's trainer.

"Yes. In that room where the window is," she said. "Oh, but we can't get him."

"Yes, I think we can!" said the circus man. "Mappo, my monkey is very strong, and he is a good climber. There is a rain-water pipe going up the side of the house, close to the window. I'll send my monkey up the pipe, and he can go in through the window, get the baby, and bring it down to you."

"Oh, a monkey could never do that!" sobbed the woman.

"Yes, my monkey can," the man replied. "Here, Mappo!" he called. "Up you go!" and he pointed to the rain-water pipe on the side of the house. "Go in the window and get the baby -- get the little one and bring her safely down."

"Yes, yes!" chattered Mappo, only he spoke in his language and the man talked as we talk. But Mappo understood. Many times he had been sent up rain-water pipes by the hand-organ man. Of course this was a bit different, for this house was on fire. But there were not many flames on the side where the pipe was.

Mappo sprang for the pipe, and began to climb up it. He did not know exactly what he was going after, but he knew it must be something important, or his master would not be so excited.

"Get the baby! Get the baby!" cried the circus man, for the firemen had not yet come up with their ladders. Of course they could have saved the baby, if they had been in time. But it would soon be too late.

Up and up the rain-water pipe went the nimble Mappo. In a few seconds he was on the window sill of the room. He stood there, looking down at his master.

"Go on in! Get the baby and bring her down!" called the circus man, waving his arms at Mappo.

Down into the room jumped Mappo. He knew at once it was a bedroom, for he had been in such rooms in the home of the boy who found him in the woods. And, in a little bed, close to the window, was something that Mappo at first thought was a large doll, such as the sisters of the boy used to play with.

"I wonder if this is the baby," said Mappo. "I guess it is. I'll carry it down."

The baby was asleep. Mappo took her up in one of his strong hairy arms, and, very luckily he picked her right-side up. Some monkeys would carry a baby upside down, and think nothing of it. But Mappo was different.

With the baby held closely, the monkey jumped to the window sill again, and how his master and the others yelled when they saw him!

"He has her! Oh, he has your baby!" cried the circus man.

Down the rain-pipe came Mappo carrying the little baby, which was just beginning to wake up and cry. Mappo gave the little one to his master, who put the baby in its anxious mother's arms.

"There's your child," he said.

"Oh, what a smart monkey, to save her!" sobbed the woman, but her tears were tears of joy. Then the firemen put out the fire in the house, and no one was hurt. Mappo choked a little from the smoke, but he did not mind that.

"You surely are a smart monkey!" said the circus man, as he took him back to the tent to do his tricks. The show went on after a while, and Mappo was more looked at than any animal, for every one heard how he had saved the baby.

And, after the show was over that night, the father of the baby went to the circus man and said:

"I want to buy the monkey that saved my little girl. Please sell him to me. We will give him a good home, and we will always love him, for what he did for us."

"Well, I don't like to lose such a good trick monkey," said Mappo's master, "but I will let you have him. Be kind to him, for he is a good little chap."

"Oh, we'll be very kind to him," the baby's papa promised. "We have a dog named Don, and a cat named Tabby. I am sure Mappo will like them. We will be very good to him."

And so Mappo, after having lived in the jungle, and afterward joining a circus, went to live at the home of the baby, after it was built over, for it was badly damaged by the fire. And Mappo made friends with Don and Tabby and had a lovely time.

But there are other animals of whose lives I can tell you, and the next book in this series is going to be called "Tum Tum, the Jolly Elephant: His Many Adventures."

"Weren't you afraid when you climbed up that rain-water pipe to get the baby?" asked Don the dog of Mappo, one day.

"I wasn't afraid of climbing, but I was a little afraid of the fire," said the monkey.

"I wish I were as brave as you," said Tabby, the cat. "Come on, let's have a game of tag."

And the three animal friends played a game very much like our tag; and now we will say good-by to them.

<eob>

Peterkin

By

Mrs. Molesworth



Chapter I

What Can Have Become Of Him?


WE were all at tea in the nursery. All except him. The door burst open and James put his head in.

'If you please, Mrs. Brough,' he began, -- 'Mrs. Brough' is the servants' name for nurse. Mamma calls her 'Brough' sometimes, but we always call her 'nurse,' of course, -- 'If you please, Mrs. Brough, is Master Peterkin here?'

Nurse looked up, rather vexed. She doesn't like burstings in.

'Of course not, James,' she said. 'He is out driving with his mamma. You must have seen them start.'

'It's just that,' said James, in his silly way. 'It's his mamma that wants to know.'

And then we noticed that James's face was much redder than usual. It may have been partly that he had run upstairs very fast, for he is really very good-natured, but it looked as if he was rather in a fuss, too.

Nurse sat very bolt up in her chair, and her face began to get queer, and her voice to get vexeder. Lots of people get cross when they are startled or frightened. I have noticed it.

'What do you mean, James? Please to explain,' she said.

'I can't stop,' he said, 'and I don't rightly understand, myself. His mamma sent Master Peterkin home before her, half-an-hour ago or more, but he hasn't come in, not as I've seen, nor nobody else, I'm afraid. So where he's got to, who can say?'

And James turned to go.

Nurse stopped him, getting up from her place as she spoke.

'Was he in the carriage?' she asked.

'Of course not. Beckett would have seen him in, all right, if he had been,' said James, in a very superior tone. 'He was to run home by himself a bit of a way, as I take it,' he added, as he hurried off at last.

'I must go downstairs to your mamma,' said nurse. 'Miss Blanchie, my dear, will you look after Miss Elvira, and see that she doesn't spill her tea?'

'Nursie,' said Elvira, in a very offended tone, 'you know I never spill my tea now.'

'Not since the day before yesterday,' I was beginning to say, but I didn't. For I thought to myself, if there was any real trouble about Peterkin, it wouldn't be at all a good time to tease each other. I don't think Elf -- that's Elvira's pet name -- had understood about him being lost. Indeed, I don't think I had quite taken it in myself, till I saw how grave the two eldest ones were looking.

'Clem,' I said, 'do you think there can really be anything the matter?'

Clement is the eldest of us all, and he is always the one we go to first if we are in any trouble. But he is sometimes rather slow; he is not as quick and clever as Blanche, and she often puts him down at first, though she generally comes round to his way in the end. She answered for him now, though I hadn't spoken to her.

'How can there not be something the matter?' she said sharply. 'If Peterkin has been half-an-hour or an hour, perhaps, wandering about the streets, it shows he has at least lost his way, and who knows where he's got to. I wish you wouldn't ask such silly questions, Giles.'

Then, all of a sudden, Elf burst out crying. It may have been partly Blanche's sharp tone, which had startled her, and made her take more notice of it all.

'Oh, Clem, Clem,' she wailed, 'could he have been stolened?'

'No, no, darling,' said Clement, dabbing her face with his pocket-handkerchief. 'There are kind policemen in the streets, you know. They wouldn't let a little boy like Peterkin be stolen.'

'But they does take little boys to pison,' said Elf. 'I've see'd them. It's 'cos of that I'm frightened of them for Peterkin.'

That was not quite true. She had never thought of policemen till, unluckily, Clem spoke of them in his wish to comfort her. She did not mean to say what was not true, of course, but there never was such a child as Elf for arguing, even then when she was only four years old. Indeed, she's not half as bad now that she is eight, twice as old, and I often tell her so. Perhaps that evening it wasn't a bad thing, for the talking about policemen stopped her crying, which was even worse than her arguing, once she started a good roar.

'It's just because of that, that I'm so frightened about dear sweet little Peterkin,' she repeated.

'Rubbish, Elf,' I began, but Clem looked at me and I stopped.

'You needn't be frightened that Peterkin will be taken to prison, Elfie,' he said in his kind, rather slow way. 'It's only naughty little boys that the policemen take to prison, and Peterkin isn't naughty,' and then he wiped Elf's eyes again, and she forgot to go on crying, for just then nurse came upstairs. She was not actually crying, of course, but she did look very worried, so Clem and Blanche's faces did not clear up at all. Nor did mine, I suppose. I really did not know what to think, I was waiting to see what the others thought, for we three younger ones looked up to Clement and Blanche a good deal, and we still do. They are twins, and they seem to mix together so well. Blanche is quick and clever, and Clement is awfully sensible, and they are both very kind, though Clem is the gentlest. They are nearly sixteen now, and I am thirteen past, so at the time I am writing about they were twelve and I was going to be ten my next birthday, and Peterkin was eight and Elvira five. I won't say much about what sort of a boy Peterkin was, for as my story is mostly about him and the funny things he did and thought, it will show of itself.

He was a funny child; a queer child in some ways, I mean, and he still is. Mamma says it is stupid to say 'funny' when we mean queer or odd, but I think it says it better than any other word, and I am sure other children will think so too.

Blanche was the first to speak to nurse.

'Is mamma really frightened about Peterkin, nurse?' she asked. 'Tell us what it is.'

But nurse had caught sight of her darling pet baby's red eyes.

'Miss Blanchie,' she said, 'I asked you to look after Miss Elvira, and she's been crying.'

'You asked me to see that she didn't spill her tea, and she hasn't spilt it. It's some nonsense she has got in her head about policemen taking strayed children to prison that she has been crying about,' replied Blanche, rather crossly.

'I only wish,' began nurse, but the rest of her sentence she mumbled to herself, though I heard part of it. It was wishing that the policemen had got Peterkin safely.

'Of course, your poor mamma is upset about it,' she went on, though I could see she did not want to say very much for fear of Elf's beginning to cry again. 'It was this way. Your mamma had to go round by Belton Street, and she did not want to keep Master Peterkin out so late to miss his tea, so she dropped him at the corner of Lindsay Square, and told him to run home. It's as straight as straight can be, and he's often run that far alone. So where he's got to or gone to, there's no guessing.'

'And what is mamma doing?' asked Blanche.

'She has sent Mr. Drew and James off in different directions,' said nurse, 'and she has gone herself again in the carriage to the station, as it's just time for your papa's train, and he will know what more to do.'

We did not live in London then; papa went up and down every day from the big town by the sea where our home was. Clement thinks perhaps I had better not say what town it is, as some people might remember about us, and I might say things that would vex them; so I won't call it anything, though I must explain that it is not at all a little place, but quite big enough for any one to lose their way in, if they were strangers. But Peterkin wasn't a stranger; and the way he had to come was, as nurse said, as straight as straight.

We all listened with grave faces to what nurse told us. Suddenly Clement got up -- I can't say 'jumped up,' for he was always rather slow.

'Nurse,' he said, 'mamma's out, so I can't ask her leave. But I've got an idea about Peterkin. Will you give me leave to go out for half-an-hour or so? I promise you I won't go far, but I would rather not tell you where I want to go, as it may be all nonsense.'

Nurse looked at him doubtfully. She trusted Clem the most of us all, I know, and she had good reason to do so, for he was and is very trustworthy. And it was nice of him to ask her leave, considering he was twelve years old and quite out of the nursery, except that he still liked having tea there when he came in from school every evening.

'Well, Master Clement,' said nurse, 'I don't quite know. Supposing you go out and don't get back as soon as you expect? It would be just a double fright for your poor mamma.'

'Let me go too!' I exclaimed, and I jumped up so suddenly that I made all the cups rattle and nearly threw over the table altogether. 'Then if anything stops Clem getting back quickly, I can run home and explain. Anyway you'd be more comfortable if you knew the two of us were on the hunt together. You don't mind my coming, do you, Clem?'

'No,' said Clem, 'but do let's go.'

'And you won't be long?' pleaded nurse.

Clem shook his head.

'I don't think we can be -- not if there's anything in my idea', he called out, as we ran off.

We didn't take a minute to pull on our coats, which were hanging in the hall. I daresay I should never have thought of mine at all, if Clem hadn't reminded me, even though it was late in November and a cold evening. And as soon as we were outside and had set off at a good pace, I begged Clem to tell me what his idea was, and where we were going to look for Peterkin.

'It's the parrot,' he replied; 'the parrot in Rock Terrace.'

'I don't know what you mean,' I said. 'I never heard of a parrot, and I don't know where Rock Terrace is.'

'Nonsense,' said Clem, stopping for a moment. 'You must have forgotten.'

'I haven't indeed,' I said.

'Not about the parrot that Peterkin has been dreaming of ever since we passed it on Saturday, when we were out with mamma -- next door to old Mrs. Wylie's?' Clem exclaimed.

'No,' I repeated. 'I wasn't with you that day, and --  -- '

'No more you were,' said Clem.

'And,' I went on, 'I don't know where Mrs. Wylie lives, though I've often seen her herself at our house. And you know, Clement, that's just like Peterkin. If he's got anything very much in his head, he often doesn't speak of it, except to any one who knows about it already.'

'He hasn't said very much about it, even to me,' said Clement. 'But, all the same, I know he has got it tremendously in his head.'

'How do you mean? Is he making up fairy stories about it?'

'Perhaps! You see he had never heard a parrot speaking. I'm not sure if he knew they ever did. But he wanted very much to see it again, and it just came into my mind all at once, that if he had a chance he might have run round there and lost his way. I don't suppose he meant to when mamma told him to go home. It may just have struck him when he got to the corner of Lindsay Square.'

I did not answer. We were walking so fast that it was not easy to go on speaking. But I did think it was very clever of Clement to have thought of it. It was so like Peterkin.

Clement hurried on. It was quite dark by now, but the lamps were lighted, and Clem seemed quite sure of his way. In spite of feeling rather unhappy about Peterkin, I was enjoying myself a little. I did not think it possible that he was really badly lost, and it was very exciting to rush along the streets after dark like this, and then I could not help fancying how triumphant we should feel if we actually found him.

It was not very surprising that I did not know where Rock Terrace was, or that I had never even heard of it. It was such a tiny little row of such tiny houses, opening out of one corner of Lindsay Square. The houses were rather pretty; at least, very neat-looking and old-fashioned, with a little bit of garden in front, and small iron gates. They looked as if old maids lived in them, and I daresay there were a good many.

Clement hurried along till he was close to the farther off end. Then he stopped short, and for the first time seemed at a loss.

'I don't know the number,' he said, 'but I'm sure it was almost the end house. And -- yes -- isn't that a big cage on the little balcony, Giles? Look well.'

I peeped up. The light of the lamps was not very good in Rock Terrace.

'Yes,' I said. 'It is a big cage, but I can't see if there's a bird in it.'

'Perhaps they take him in at night,' said Clement. Then he looked up again at the balconies.

'Let me see,' he went on, 'which side is Mrs. Wylie's? Mamma went in at the -- ' but before he had time to finish his sentence his doubts were set at rest -- his doubts and all our fears about Peterkin. For the door on the left of the parrot's home opened slowly, letting out what seemed, in contrast with the darkness outside, a flood of light, just within which, in the small hall or lobby of the miniature house, stood two figures -- the one, that of a short thin old lady with white hair, dressed all in black; the other, a short fat little boy in a thick coat -- our missing Peterkin!

They were speaking to each other most politely.

'So pleased to have seen you, my dear,' said Mrs. Wylie. 'Give my love to your dear mamma. I will not forget about the parrot, you may be sure. He shall have a proper invitation. And -- you are quite certain you can find your way home? Oh, dear! -- that poor child must have been bemoaning herself again! Polly always knows.'

And as we stood there, our minds scarcely made up as to what we should do, we heard a queer croaking voice, from inside the house on the right of Mrs. Wylie -- the parrot's voice, of course, calling out -- 

'I'm so tired, Nana; I'm so tired. I won't be good; no, I won't.'

Mrs. Wylie and Peterkin both stood silent for a moment, listening. So did we. Then Clement opened the gate and ran up the two or three steps, I following him.

'Peterkin!' he exclaimed, 'mamma has been so frightened about you.'

And Peterkin turned round and looked up in his face with his big blue eyes, apparently quite astonished.

'Has mamma come back?' he said. 'I've only been here for a minute or two. I just wanted to look at the parrot.'

Mrs. Wylie was a quick-witted old lady. She took it all in, in a moment.

'Dear, dear!' she said. 'I am afraid it is my fault. I saw the dear boy looking up at the parrot next door when I came in from my stroll round to the pillar-box with a letter, and he told me he was one of Mrs. Lesley's little sons, and then we got talking. But I had no idea his mamma would be alarmed. I am afraid it has been much more than a few minutes. I am sorry.'

It was impossible to say anything to trouble the poor old lady: she looked as if she were going to cry.

'It will be all right now,' said Clement. 'Mamma will be so delighted to see him safe and sound. But we had better hurry home. Come along, Peterkin.'

But nothing would make Peterkin forget his good manners. He tugged off his sailor cap again, which he had just put on, and held out his hand, for the second or third time, I daresay, as he and his old lady had evidently been hobnobbing over their leave-takings for some minutes before we made our appearance.

'Good-bye!' he said; 'and thank you very much. And I'll ask mamma to let me come whenever you fix the day for the parrot. And please tell me all he tells you about the little girl. And -- thank you very much.'

They were the funniest pair. She so tiny and thin and white, with bright dark eyes, like some bird's, and Peterkin so short and sturdy and rosy, with his big dreamy ones looking up at her. She was just a little taller than he. And suddenly I saw his rosy face grow still rosier; crimson or scarlet, really. For Mrs. Wylie made a dash at him and kissed him, and unluckily Peterkin did not like being kissed, except by mamma and Elf. His politeness, however, stood him in good stead. He did not pull away, or show that he hated it, as lots of fellows would have done. He stood quite still, and then, with another tug at his cap, ran down the steps after Clem and me.

Clement waited a moment or two before he spoke. It was his way; but just now it was a good thing, as Mrs. Wylie did not shut the door quite at once, and everything was so quiet in that little side street, in the evening especially, that very likely our voices would have carried back to her. I, for my part, was longing to shake Peterkin, though I felt very inclined to burst out laughing, too. But I knew it was best to leave the 'rowing' to Clem.

'Peterkin,' he began at last, 'I don't know what to say to you.'

Peterkin had got hold of Clem's hand and was holding it tight, and he was already rather out of breath, as Clem was walking fast -- very fast for him -- and he has always been a long-legged chap for his age, thin and wiry, too; whereas, in those days -- though, thank goodness, he is growing like a house on fire now -- Peterkin was as broad as he was long. So to keep up with Clement's strides he had to trot, and that sort of pace soon makes a kid breathless, of course.

'I -- I never thought mamma'd be flightened,' he managed to get out at last. He had been a long time of saying his 'r's' clearly, and now they still all got into 'l's' if he was bothered or startled. 'I never thought she'd be flightened.'

'Then you were a donkey,' I burst out, and Clement interrupted me.

'How could she not have been frightened?' he went on. 'She told you to run straight home, which wouldn't have taken you five minutes, and you have been at least an hour.'

'I thought it wouldn't be no farther to come this way,' replied Peterkin, 'and I only meant to look at the pallot one minute. And it would have been very lu -- rude not to speak to the old lady, and go into her house for a minute when she asked me. Mamma always says we mustn't be rude,' said Peterkin, plucking up some spirit.

'Mamma always says we must be obedient' replied Clement, severely.

Then he relapsed into silence, and his quick footsteps and Peterkin's short trotty ones were the only sounds.

'I believe,' I couldn't help murmuring, half to myself, half to Peterkin -- 'I believe you've got some rubbish in your head about the parrot being a fairy. If I were mamma I'd stop your --  -- ' but at that I stopped myself. If Clement had heard me he would have been down upon me for disrespectfulness in saying to a baby like Pete what I thought mamma should or should not do; and I didn't care to be pulled up by Clement before the little ones.

Peterkin was as sharp as needles in some ways. He guessed the end of my unfinished sentence.

'No,' he half whispered, 'mamma'd never stop me reading faily stolies -- you know she wouldn't, Gilly, and it's velly unkind of you to say so.'

'I didn't say so,' I replied.

'Be quiet, both of you,' said Clem, 'and hurry on,' for we had slackened a little.

But in spite of the breathlessness of the pace, I heard another gasp from Peterkin -- 

'It is velly like the blue-bird,' were the words I distinguished.

And 'I knew I was right,' I thought to myself triumphantly.




Chapter II

Found


THE carriage was standing waiting at our own house when we got there. And there was some bustle going on, for the front door was not shut, and we could see into the hall, which of course was brightly lighted up.

Papa was there, speaking to some one; he had his hat on, as if he was just coming out again. And -- yes -- it was Drew he was speaking to, and James too, I think -- but behind them was poor mamma, looking so dreadfully unhappy. It did make me want to shake Peterkin again.

They did not see us as quickly as we saw them, for it was dark outside and they were all talking: papa giving directions, I fancy.

So they did jump when Clem -- hurrying for once -- rushed up the steps, dragging Peterkin after him.

'We've found him -- we've found him!' he shouted. 'In with you, Pete: show yourself, quick.'

For mamma had got quite white, and looked as if she were going to faint or tumble down in some kind of a fit; but luckily before she had time for anything, there was that fat boy hugging and squeezing her so tight that she'd have been clever to move at all, though if she had tumbled down he would have made a good buffer.

'Oh, mamma, mamma -- oh, mummy,' he said, and by this time he was howling, of course, 'I never meant to flighten you. I never did. I thought I'd been only five minutes, and I thought it was nearly as quick home that way.'

And of course mamma didn't scold him! She hugged him as if he'd been lost for a year, and as if he was the prodigal son and the good brother mixed up together.

But papa looked rather stern, and I was not altogether sorry to see it.

'Where have you been, Peterkin?' he said. And then he glanced up at us two -- Clem and me -- as Peterkin seemed too busy crying to speak. 'Where has he been?' papa repeated. 'It was very clever of you to find him, I must say.'

And mamma's curiosity began to awaken, now that she had got old Pete safe in her arms again. She looked up with the same question in her face.

'Where -- ' she began.

And I couldn't help answering.

'It was all Clem's idea,' I said, for it really was only fair for Clem to get some praise. 'He thought of the parrot.'

'The parrot', mamma repeated, growing more puzzled instead of less.

'Yes,' said Clement. 'The parrot next door to Mrs. Wylie's. Perhaps you don't remember, mamma. It was the day Peterkin and I were out with you -- Giles wasn't there -- and you went in to Mrs. Wylie's and we waited outside, and the parrot was in a cage on the balcony, and we heard it talk.'

'Yes,' said Peterkin, 'he talked,' as if that was an explanation of everything.

Mamma's face cleared.

'I think I do remember something about it,' she said. 'But I have never heard you mention it since, Peterkin?'

'No,' said Peterkin, getting rather red.

'He has spoken of it a little to me,' said Clement; 'that's how I knew it was in his mind. But Peterkin often doesn't say much about what he's thinking a lot about. It's his way.'

'Yes,' said Peterkin, 'it's my way.'

'And have you been planning all these days to run off to see the parrot again?' asked mamma. I wasn't quite sure if she was vexed or not, but I was; it seemed so queer, queer as Pete often was, for him not to have confided in somebody.

But we were mistaken.

'No, no, truly, mamma,' he said, speaking in a much more determined way now, and shaking his curly head. 'I didn't ever think of it till after I'd got out of the calliage and I saw it was the corner of the big square where the little houses are at one end, and then I only meant to go for one minute. I thought it was nearly as quick that way, and I ran fast. I never meant to flighten you, mamma,' he repeated again, his voice growing plaintive. 'I wasn't planning it a bit all these days. I only kept thinking it were like the blue-bird.'

The last sentence was almost in a whisper; it was only a sort of honesty that forced him to say it. As far as Clement and I were concerned, he needn't have said it.

'I knew he'd got some fairy-story rubbish in his head,' I muttered, but I don't think Peterkin heard me, though papa and mamma did; for I saw them glance at each other, and papa said something under his breath, of which I only caught the words 'getting too fanciful,' and 'schoolboy,' which made mamma look rather unhappy again.

'I don't yet understand how old Mrs. Wylie got mixed up in it all,' said papa.

'She lives next door to the parrot,' said Clem, and we couldn't help smiling at the funny way he said it.

'And she saw me when she was coming back from the post, and she was very kind,' Peterkin went on, taking up the story again, as the smile had encouraged him. 'She 'avited me to go in, up to her drawing-room, so that I could hear him talking better. And he said lots of things.'

'Oh yes, by the bye,' I exclaimed, 'there was something about a little girl, Mrs. Wylie said. What was it, Pete?'

But Peterkin shut up at this.

'I'll tell you the next time I go there. Mummy, you will let me go to see that old lady again, won't you?' he begged. 'She was so kind, and I only thought I'd been there five minutes. Mayn't I go again to see her?'

'And the parrot,' said mamma, smiling. She was sharp enough to take in that it was a quarter for Mrs. Wylie and three quarters for the parrot that he wanted so to go back to Rock Terrace. 'Well, you must promise never to pay visits on your own account again, Peterkin, and then we shall see. Now run upstairs to the nursery as fast as you can and get some tea. And I'm sure Clem and Giles will be glad of some more. I hope poor nurse and Blanche and Elfie know he is all right,' she added, glancing round.

'Yes, ma'am. I took the liberty of going up to tell the young ladies and Mrs. Brough, when Master Peterkin first returned,' said James in his very politest and primmest tone.

'That was very thoughtful of you,' said mamma, approvingly, which made James get very red.

We three boys skurried upstairs after that. At least I did. Clement came more slowly, but as his legs were long enough to take two steps at a time, he got to the top nearly as soon as I did, and Peterkin came puffing after us. I was rather surprised that Blanche and Elf had been content to stay quietly in the nursery, considering all the excitement that had been going on downstairs, and I think it was very good of Blanche, for she told me afterwards that she had only done it to keep Elvira from getting into one of her endless crying fits. They always say Elf is such a nervous child that she can't help it, but I think it's a good bit of it cross temper too.

Still she is rather growing out of it, and, after all, that night there was something to cry about, and there might have been worse, as nurse said. She had been telling the girls stories of people who got lost, though she was sensible enough to make them turn up all right at the end. She can tell very interesting stories sometimes, but she keeps the best ones to amuse us when we are ill, or when mamma's gone away on a visit, or something horrid like that has happened.

They all three flew at Peterkin, of course, and hugged him as if he'd been shipwrecked, or putting out a fire, or something grand like that. And he took it as coolly as anything, and asked for his tea, as if he deserved all the petting and fussing.

That was another of his little 'ways,' I suppose.

Then, as we were waiting for the kettle to boil up again to make fresh tea, if you please, for his lordship -- though Clem and I were to have some too, of course, and we did deserve it -- all the story had to be told over for the third or fourth time, of the parrot, and old Mrs. Wylie meeting Pete as she came in, and his thinking he'd only been there about five minutes, and all the rest of it.

'And what did the Polly parrot talk about?' asked Elf. She had a picture of a parrot in one of her books, and some rhymes about it.

'Oh,' answered Peterkin,' he said, "How d'ye do?" and "Pretty Poll," and things like that.'

'He said queerer things than that; you know he -- ' I began. I saw Pete didn't want to tell about the parrot copying the mysterious child that Mrs. Wylie had spoken of, so I thought I'd tease him a bit by reminding him of it. I felt sure he had got some of his funny ideas out of his fairy stories in his head; that the little girl -- for Mrs. Wylie had spoken of a 'her' -- was an enchanted princess or something like that, and I wasn't far wrong, as you will see. But I didn't finish my sentence, for Peterkin, who was sitting next me, gave me a sort of little kick, not to hurt, of course, and whispered, 'I'll tell you afterwards.' So I felt it would be ill-natured to tease him, and I didn't say any more, and luckily the others hadn't noticed what I had begun. Blanchie was on her knees in front of the fire toasting for us, and Elf was putting lumps of sugar into the cups, to be ready.

Pete was as hungry as a hunter, and our sharp walk had given Clem and me a fresh appetite, so we ate all the toast and a lot of plum-cake as well, and felt none the worse for it.

And soon after that, it was time to be tidied up to go down to the drawing-room to mamma. Peterkin and Elvira only stayed half-an-hour or so, but after they had gone to bed we three big ones went into the library to finish our lessons while papa and mamma were at dinner. Sometimes we went into the dining-room to dessert, and sometimes we worked on till mamma called us into the drawing-room: it all depended on how many lessons we'd got to do, or how fast we had got on with them. Clement and Blanche were awfully good about that sort of thing, and went at it steadily, much better than I, I'm afraid, though I could learn pretty quickly if I chose. But I did not like lessons, especially the ones we had to do at home, for in these days Clem and I only went to a day-school and had to bring books and things back with us every afternoon. And besides these lessons we had to do at home for school, we had a little extra once or twice a week, as we had French conversation and reading on half-holidays with Blanche's teachers, and they sometimes gave us poetry to learn by heart or to translate. We were not exactly obliged to do it, but of course we didn't want Blanche, who was only a girl, to get ahead of us, as she would very likely have done, for she did grind at her lessons awfully. I think most girls do.

It sounds as if we were rather hard-worked, but I really don't think we were, though I must allow that we worked better in those days, and learnt more in comparison, than we do now at -- I won't give the name of the big school we are at. Clement says it is better not -- people who write books never do give the real names, he says, and I fancy he's right. It is an awfully jolly school, and we are as happy as sand-boys, whatever that means, but I can't say that we work as Blanche does, though she does it all at home with governesses.

That part of the evening -- when we went back to the drawing-room to mamma, I mean -- was one of the times I shall always like to remember about. It is very jolly now, of course, to be at home for the holidays, but there was then the sort of 'treat' feeling of having got our lessons done, and the little ones comfortably off to bed, and the grown-up-ness.

Mamma looked so pretty, as she was always nicely dressed, though I liked some of her dresses much better than others -- I don't like her in black ones at all; and the drawing-room was pretty, and then there was mamma's music. Her playing was nice, but her singing was still better, and she used to let us choose our favourite songs, each in turn. Blanche plays the violin now, very well, they say, and mamma declares she is really far cleverer at music than she herself ever was; but for all that, I shall never care for her fiddle anything like mamma's singing; if I live to be a hundred, I shall never forget it.

It is a great thing to have really jolly times like those evenings to think of when you begin to get older, and are a lot away from home, and likely to be still less and less there.

But I must not forget that this story is supposed to be principally about Peterkin and his adventures, so I'll go on again about the night after he'd been lost.

He and I had a room together, and he was nearly always fast asleep, like a fat dormouse, when I went up to bed. He had a way of curling himself round, like a ball, that really did remind you of a dormouse. I believe it kept him from growing; I really do, though I did my best to pull him out straight. He didn't like that, ungrateful chap, and used to growl at me for it, and I believe he often pretended to be asleep when he wasn't, just to stop me doing it; for one night, nurse had come in to know what the row was about, and though she agreed with me that it was much better for him to lie properly stretched at his full length, she said I wasn't to wake him up because of it.

But if he was generally fast asleep at night when I came to bed, he certainly made up for it by waking in the morning. I never knew anything like him for that. I believe he woke long before the birds, winter as well as summer, and then was his time for talking and telling me his stories and fancies. Once I myself was well awake I didn't mind, as it was generally rather interesting; but I couldn't stand the being awakened ages before the time. So we made an agreement, that if I didn't wake him up at night, he'd not bother me in the morning till I gave a sign that I was on the way to waking of myself. The sign was a sort of snort that's easy to make, even while you're still pretty drowsy, and it did very well, as I could lie quiet in a dreamy way listening to him. He didn't want me to speak, only to snort a little now and then till I got quite lively, as I generally did in a few minutes, as his stories grew more exciting, and there came something that I wanted him to alter in them.

That night, however, when I went up to bed there was no need to think of our bargain, for Peterkin was as wide awake as I was.

'Haven't you been to sleep yet?' I asked him.

'Not exactly,' he said. 'Just a sort of half. I'm glad you've come, Gilley, for I've got a lot of things in my head.'

'You generally have,' I said, 'but I'm sleepy, if you're not. That scamper in the cold after you, my good boy, was rather tiring, I can tell you.'

'I'm very sorry,' said he, in a penitent tone of voice, 'but you know, Giles, I never meant to --  -- '

'Oh, stop that!' I exclaimed; 'you've said it twenty times too often already. Better tell me a bit of the things in your head. Then you can go to sleep, and dream them out, and have an interesting story ready for me in the morning.'

'Oh, but -- ' objected Pete, sitting up in bed and clasping his hands round his knees, his face very red, and his eyes very blue and bright, 'they're not dreamy kind of things at all. There's really something very misterist -- what is the proper word, Gilley?'

'"Mysterious," I suppose you mean,' I said.

'Yes, misterous,' repeated he, 'about what the parrot said, and I'm pretty sure that old lady thinks so too.'

'Didn't she explain about it, at all?' I asked him. I began to think there was something queer, perhaps, for Peterkin's manner impressed me.

'Well, she did a little,' he replied. 'But I'd better tell you all, Gilley; just what I first heard, before she came up and spoke to me, you know, and --  -- '

Just then, however, there came an interruption.

Mamma put her head in at the door.

'Boys,' she said, 'not asleep yet? At least you should be, Peterkin. You didn't wake him, I hope, Giles?'

I had no time for an indignant 'No; of course, not,' before Pete came to my defence.

'No, no, mummy! I was awake all of myself. I wanted him to come very much, to talk a little.'

'Well, you must both be rather tired with all the excitement there has been,' mamma said. 'So go to sleep, now, and do your talking in the morning. Promise, -- both of you -- eh?'

'Yes,' we answered; 'word of honour, mamma,' and she went away, quite sure that we would keep our promise, which was sealed by a kiss from her.

Dear little mother! She did not often come up to see us in bed, for fear of rousing us out of our 'beauty' sleep, but to-night she had felt as if she must make sure we were all right after the fuss of Peterkin's being lost, you see.

And of course we were as good as our word, and only just said 'Good-night!' to each other; Pete adding, 'I'll begin at the beginning, and tell you everything, as soon as I hear your first snort in the morning, Giles.'

'You'd better wait for my second or third,' I replied. 'I'm never very clear-headed at the first, and I want to give my attention, as it's something real, and not one of your make-ups,' I said. 'So, good-night!'

It is awfully jolly to know that you are trusted, isn't it?




Chapter III

An Invitation


I SLEPT on rather later than usual next morning. I suppose I really was tired. And when I began to awake, and gradually remembered all that had happened the night before, I heartily wished I hadn't promised Peterkin to snort at all.

I took care not to open my eyes for a good bit, but I couldn't carry on humbugging that I was still asleep for very long. Something made me open my eyes, and as soon as I did so I knew what it was. There was Pete -- bolt upright -- as wide awake as if he had never been asleep, staring at me with all his might, his eyes as round and blue as could be. You know the feeling that some one is looking at you, even when you don't see them. I had not given one snort, and I could not help feeling rather cross with Peterkin, even when he exclaimed -- 

'Oh, I am so glad you're awake!'

'You've been staring me awake,' I said, very grumpily. 'I'd like to know who could go on sleeping with you wishing them awake?'

'I'm very sorry if you wanted to go on sleeping,' he replied meekly. He did not seem at all surprised at my saying he had wakened me. He used to understand rather queer things like that so quickly, though we counted him stupid in some ways.

'But as I am awake you can start talking,' I said, closing my eyes again, and preparing to listen.

Pete was quite ready to obey.

'Well,' he began, 'it was this way. Mamma didn't want me to be late for tea, so she stopped at the end of that big street -- a little farther away than Lindsay Square, you know --  -- '

'Yes, Meredith Place,' I grunted.

'And,' Pete went on, 'told me to run home. It's quite straight, if you keep to the front, of course.'

'And you did run straight home, didn't you?' I said teasingly.

'No,' he replied seriously, but not at all offended. 'When I got to the corner of the square I looked up it, and I remembered that it led to the funny little houses where Clem and I had seen the parrot. So, almost without settling it in my mind, I ran along that side of the square till I came to Rock Terrace. I ran very fast --  -- '

'I wish I'd been there to see you,' I grunted again.

'And I thought if I kept round by the back, I'd get out again to the front nearly as soon -- running all the way, you see, to make up. And I'd scarcely got to the little houses when I heard the parrot. His cage was out on the balcony, you know. And it is very quiet there -- scarcely any carts or carriages passing -- and it was getting dark, and I think you hear things plainer in the dark; don't you think so, Gilley?'

I did not answer, so he went on.

'I heard the parrot some way off. His voice is so queer, you know. And when I got nearer I could tell every word he said. He kept on every now and then talking for himself -- real talking -- "Getting cold. Polly wants to go to bed. Quick, quick." And then he'd stop for a minute, as if he was listening and heard something I couldn't. That was the strange part that makes me think perhaps he isn't really a parrot at all, Giles,' and here Pete dropped his voice and looked very mysterious. I had opened my eyes for good now; it was getting exciting.

'What did he say?' I asked.

'What you and Clement heard, and a lot more,' Peterkin replied. 'Over and over again the same -- "I'm so tired, Nana, I won't be good, no I won't."'

'Yes, that's what we heard,' I said, 'but what was the lot more?'

'Oh, perhaps there wasn't so very much more,' said he, consideringly. 'There was something about "I won't be locked up," and "I'll write a letter," and then again and again, "I won't be good, I'm so tired." That was what you and Clement heard, wasn't it?'

'Yes,' I said.

'And one funny thing about it was that his voice, the parrot's, sounded quite different when he was talking his own talking, do you see? -- like "Pretty Poll is cold, wants to go to bed" -- from when he was copying the little girl's. It was always croaky, of course, but squeakier, somehow, when he was copying her.'

Peterkin sat up still straighter and looked at me, evidently waiting for my opinion about it all. I was really very interested, but I wanted first to hear all he had in his head, so I did not at once answer.

'Isn't it very queer?' he said at last.

'What do you think about it?' I asked.

He drew a little nearer me and spoke in a lower voice, though there was no possibility of any one ever hearing what he said.

'P'raps,' he began, 'it isn't only a parrot, or p'raps some fairy makes it say these things. The little girl might be shut up, you see, like the princess in the tower, by some bad fairy, and there might be a good one who wanted to help her to get out. I wonder if they ever do invite fairies to christenings now, and forget some of them,' he went on, knitting his brows, 'or not ask them, because they are bad fairies? I can't remember about Elf's christening feast; can you, Gilley?'

'I can remember hers, and yours too, for that matter,' I replied. 'You forget how much older I am. But of course it's not like that now. There are no fairies to invite, as I've often told you, Pete. At least,' for, in spite of my love of teasing, I never liked to see the look of distress that came over his chubby face when any one talked that sort of common sense to him, 'at least, people have got out of the way of seeing them or getting into fairy-land.'

'But we might find it again,' said Peterkin, brightening up.

And I didn't like to disappoint him by saying I could not see much chance of it.

Then another idea struck me.

'How about Mrs. Wylie?' I said. 'Didn't she explain it at all? You told her what you had heard, didn't you? Yes, of course, she heard some of it herself, when we were all three standing at the door of her house.'

'Well,' said Peterkin, 'I was going to tell you the rest. I was listening to the parrot, and it was much plainer than you heard, Gilley, for when you were there you only heard him from down below, and I was up near him -- well, I was just standing there listening to him, when that old lady came up.'

'I know all about that,' I interrupted.

'No, you don't, not nearly all,' Peterkin persisted. He could be as obstinate as a little pig sometimes, so I said nothing. 'I was just standing there when she came up. She looked at me, and then she went in at her own gate, next door to the parrot's, you know, and then she looked at me again, and spoke over the railings. She said, "Are you talking to the parrot, my dear?" and I said, "No, I'm only listening to him, thank you"; and then she looked at me again, and she said, "You don't live in this terrace, I think?" And I said, "No, I live on the Esplanade, number 59." Then she pulled out her spectacles -- long things, you know, at the end of a turtle-shell stick.'

'Tortoise-shell,' I corrected.

'Tortoise-shell,' he repeated, 'and then she looked at me again. "If you live at 59," she said, "I think you must be one of dear Mrs. Lesley's little sons," and I said, "That's just what I am, thank you." And then she said, "Won't you come in for a few minutes? You can see the Polly from my balcony, and it is getting cold for standing about. Are you on your way home from school?" So I thought it wouldn't be polite not to go in. She was so kind, you see,' and here his voice grew 'cryey' again, 'I never thought about mamma being flightened, and I only meant to stay a min --  -- '

'Shut up about all that,' I interrupted. 'We've had it often enough, and I want to hear what happened.'

'Well,' he said, quite briskly again, 'she took me in, and up to her drawing-room. The window was a tiny bit open, and she made me stand just on the ledge between it and the balcony, so that I could see the parrot without his seeing me, for she said if he saw me he'd set up screeching and not talk sense any more. He knows when people are strangers. The cage was close to the old lady's end of the balcony, so that I could almost have touched it, and then I heard him say all those queer things. I didn't speak for a good while, for fear of stopping him talking. But after a bit he got fidgety; I daresay he knew there was somebody there, and then he flopped about and went back to his own talking, and said he was cold and wanted to go to bed, and all that. And somebody inside heard him and took him in. And then -- ' Pete stopped to rest his voice, I suppose. He was always rather fond of resting, whatever he was doing.

'Hurry up,' I said. 'What happened after that?'

'The old lady said I'd better come in, and she shut up the window -- I suppose she felt cold, like the parrot -- and she made me sit down; and then I asked her what made him say such queer things in his squeakiest voice; and she said he was copying what he heard, for there was a little girl in the next house -- not in his own house -- who cried sometimes and seemed very cross and unhappy, so that Mrs. Wylie often is very sorry for her, though she has never really seen her. And I said, did she think anybody was unkind to the little girl, and she said she hoped not, but she didn't know. And then she seemed as if she didn't want to talk about the little girl very much, and she began to ask me about if I went to school and things like that, and then I said I'd better go home, and she came downstairs with me and -- I think that's all, till you and Clement came and we all heard the parrot again.'

'I wonder what started him copying the little girl again, after he'd left off,' I said.

'P'raps he hears her through the wall,' said Pete. 'P'raps he hears quicker than people do. Yes,' he went on thoughtfully, 'I think he must, for the old lady has never heard exactly what the little girl said. She only heard her crying and grumbling. She told me so.'

'I daresay she's just a cross little thing,' I said. 'And I think it was rather silly of Mrs. Wylie to let you hear the parrot copying her. It's a very bad example. And you said Mrs. Wylie seemed as if she didn't want to talk much about her.'

'I think she's got some plan in her head,' said Peterkin, eagerly, 'for she said -- oh, I forgot that -- she said she was going to come to see mamma some day very soon, to ask her to let me go to have tea with her. And I daresay she'll ask you too, Gilley, if we both go down to the drawing-room when she comes.'

'I hope it'll be a half-holiday, then,' I said, 'or, anyway, that she will come when I'm here. It is very funny about the crying little girl. Has she been there a long time? Did your old lady tell you that?'

Peterkin shook his head.

'Oh no, she's only been there since Mrs. Wylie came back from the country. She told me so.'

'And when was that?' I asked, but Pete did not know. He was sometimes very stupid, in spite of his quickness and fancies. 'It's been long enough for the parrot to learn to copy her grumbling,' I added.

'That wouldn't take him long,' said Peterkin, in his whispering voice again, 'if he's some sort of a fairy, you know, Gilley.'

This time, perhaps, it was a good thing he spoke in a low voice, for at that moment nurse came in to wake us, or rather to make us get up, as we were nearly always awake already, and if she had heard the word 'fairy,' she would have begun about Peterkin's 'fancies' again.

Some days passed without our hearing anything of the parrot or the old lady or Rock Terrace. We did not exactly forget about it; indeed, it was what we talked about every morning when we awoke. But I did not think much about it during the day, although I daresay Pete did.

So it was quite a surprise to me one afternoon, about a week after the evening of all the fuss, when, the very moment I had rung the front bell, the door was opened by Pete himself, looking very important.

'She's come,' he said. 'I've been watching for you. She's in the drawing-room with mamma, and mamma told me to fetch you as soon as you came back from school. Is Clem there?'

'No,' I said, 'it's one of the days he stays later than me, you know.'

Peterkin did not seem very sorry.

'Then she's come just to invite you and me,' he said. 'Clement is too big, but she might have asked him too, out of polititude, you know.'

He was always fussing about being polite, but I don't think I answered her in that way.

'Bother,' I said, for I was cross; my books were heavier than usual, and I banged them down; 'bother your politeness. Can't you tell me what you're talking about? Who is "she" that's in the drawing-room? I don't want to go up to see her, whoever she is.'

'Giles!' said Peterkin, in a very disappointed tone. 'You can't have forgotten. It's the old lady next door to the parrot's house, of course. I told you she meant to come. And she's going to invite us, I'm sure.'

In my heart I was very anxious to go to Rock Terrace again, to see the parrot, and perhaps hear more of the mysterious little girl, but I was feeling rather tired and cross.

'I must brush my hair and wash my hands first,' I said, 'and I daresay mamma won't want me without Clement. She didn't say me alone, did she?'

'She said "your brothers,"' replied Peterkin, 'but of course you must come. And she said she hoped "they" wouldn't be long. So you must come as you are. I don't think your hands are very dirty.'

It is one of the queer things about Peterkin that he can nearly always make you do what he wants if he's really in earnest. So I had to give in, and he went puffing upstairs, with me after him, to the drawing-room, when, sure enough, the old lady was sitting talking to mamma.

Mamma looked up as we came in, and I saw that her eyes went past me.

'Hasn't Clement come in?' she asked, and it made me wish I hadn't given in about it to Pete.

'No, mamma,' I said. 'It's one of his late days, you know. And Peterkin made me come up just as I was.'

I felt very ashamed of my hair and crushed collar and altogether. I didn't mind so much about my hands; boys' hands can't be like ladies'. But Mrs. Wylie was so awfully neat -- she might have been a fairy herself, or a doll dressed to look like an old lady. I felt as clumsy and messy as could be. But she was awfully jolly; she seemed to know exactly how uncomfortable it was for me.

'Quite right, quite right,' she said. 'For I must be getting back. It looks rather stormy, I'm afraid. It was very thoughtful of you both, my dear boys, to hurry. I should have liked to see Mr. Clement again, but that must be another time. And may we fix the day now, dear Mrs. Lesley? Saturday next we were talking of. Will you come about four o'clock, or even earlier, my dears? The parrot stays out till five, generally, and indeed his mistress is very good-natured, and so is her maid. They were quite pleased when I told them I had some young friends who were very interested in the bird and wanted to see him again. So you shall make better acquaintance with him on Saturday, and perhaps -- ' but here the old lady stopped at last, without finishing her sentence.

Nevertheless, as each of us told the other afterwards, both Peterkin and I finished it for her in our own minds. We glanced at each other, and the same thought ran through us -- had Mrs. Wylie got some plan in her head about the little girl?

'It is very kind indeed of you, Mrs. Wylie,' said mamma. 'Giles and Peterkin will be delighted to go to you on Saturday, won't you, boys?'

And we both said, 'Yes, thank you. It will be very jolly,' so heartily, that the old lady trotted off, as pleased as pleased.

Of course, I ran downstairs to see her out, and Pete followed more slowly, just behind her. She had a very nice, rather stately way about her, though she was so small and thin, and it never suited Pete to hurry in those days, either up or down stairs; his legs were so short.

We were very eager for Saturday to come, and we talked a lot about it. I had a kind of idea that Mrs. Wylie had said something about the little girl to mamma, though mamma said nothing at all to us, except that we must behave very nicely and carefully at Rock Terrace, and not forget that, though she was so kind, Mrs. Wylie was an old lady, and old ladies were sometimes fussy.

We promised we would be all right, and Peterkin said to me that he didn't believe Mrs. Wylie was at all 'fussy.'

'She is too fairyish,' he said, 'to be like that.'

That was a very 'Peterkin' speech, but I did not snub him for it, as I sometimes did. I was really so interested in all about the parrot and the invisible little girl that I was almost ready to join him in making up fanciful stories -- that there was an ogre who wouldn't let her out, or that any one who tried to see her would be turned into a frog, or things like that out of the old fairy-tales.

'But Mrs. Wylie has seen her,' said Peterkin, 'and she hasn't turned into a frog!'

That was a rather tiresome 'way' of his -- if I agreed about fairies and began making up, myself, he would get quite common-sensical, and almost make fun of my ones.

'How do you know that she doesn't turn into a frog half the day?' I said. 'That's often the way in enchantments.'

And then we both went off laughing at the idea of a frog jumping down from Mrs. Wylie's drawing-room sofa, and saying, 'How do you do, my dears?' instead of the neat little old lady.

So our squabble didn't come to anything that time.

Blanchie and Elf were rather jealous of our invitation, I think, though Blanche always said she didn't care to go anywhere without Clement. But Elf made us promise that some day we would get leave to take her round by the parrot's house for her to see him.

Of course we never said anything to any one but ourselves about the shut-up little girl, and Clement had forgotten what he had heard that evening. He was very busy just then working extra for some prize he hoped to get at school -- I forget what it was, but he did get it -- and Blanche was helping him.




Chapter IV

Very Mysterious


SATURDAY came at last. Of course jolly things and times do come, however long the waiting seems. But the worst of it is that they are so soon gone again, and then you wish you were back at the looking forward; perhaps, after all, it is often the jolliest part of it.

Clement says I mustn't keep saying 'jolly'; he says 'nice' would be better in a book. He is looking it over for me, you see. I think 'nice' is a girl's word, but Clem says you shouldn't write slang in a book, so I try not to; though of course I don't really expect this story ever to be made into an actual book.

Well, Saturday came, and Peterkin and I set off to Mrs. Wylie's. She was a very nice person to go to see; she seemed so really pleased to have us. And she hadn't turned into a frog, or anything of the kind. She was standing out on the little balcony, watching for us, with a snowy-white, fluffy shawl on the top of her black dress, which made her seem more fairyish, or fairy-godmotherish, than ever. I never did see any one so beautifully neat and spotless as she always was.

As soon as the front door was opened, we heard her voice from upstairs.

'Come up, boys, come up. Polly and I have both been watching for you, and he is in great spirits to-day, and so amusing.'

We skurried up, and nearly tumbled over each other into the drawing-room. Then, of course, Peterkin's politeness came into force, and he walked forward soberly to shake hands with his old lady and give her mamma's love and all that sort of thing, which he was much better at than I. She had just stepped in from the balcony, but was quite ready to step out again at the parrot's invitation.

'Come quick,' he said, 'Polly doesn't like waiting.'

Really it did seem wonderful to me, though he wasn't the first parrot I had ever seen, and though I had heard him before -- it did seem wonderful for a bird, only a bird, to talk so sensibly, and I felt as if there might be something in Peterkin's idea that he was more than he seemed. And to this day parrots, clever ones, still give me that feeling.

They are very like children in some ways. They are so 'contrairy.' You'd scarcely believe it, but no sooner did the creature catch sight of us two with his ugly, round, painted-bead-looking eyes -- I don't like parrot's eyes -- than he shut up, and wild horses couldn't have made him utter another word, much less Mrs. Wylie.

I was quite sorry for her, she seemed so disappointed.

It was just like a tiresome baby, whose mamma and nurse want to show off and bring it down to the drawing-room all dressed up, and it won't go to anybody, or say 'Dada,' or 'Mam-ma,' or anything, and just screeches. I can remember Elvira being like that, and I daresay we all were.

'It is too bad,' said our old lady. 'He has got to know me, and I have been teaching him some new words. And his mistress and her maid are out this afternoon, so I thought we should have him all to ourselves, and it would be so amusing. But' -- just then a bright idea struck her -- 'supposing you two go back into the room, so that he can't see you, and I will say "Good-bye, my dears," very loud and plainly, to make him think you have gone. Then I will come out again, and you shall listen from behind the curtain. I believe he will talk then, just as he has been doing.'

Pete and I were most willing to try -- we were all three quite excited about it. It was really quite funny how his talking got the Polly treated as if he was a human being. We stalked back into the drawing-room, Mrs. Wylie after us, saying in a very clear tone -- 

'Good-bye, then, my dears. My love to your mamma, and the next time you come I hope Poll-parrot will be more friendly.'

And then I shut the door with a bang, to sound as if we had gone, though, of course, it was all 'acting,' to trick the parrot. Peterkin and I peeped out at him from behind the curtain, and we could scarcely help laughing out loud. He looked so queer -- his head cocked on one side, listening, his eyes blinking; he seemed rather disgusted on the whole, I thought.

Then Mrs. Wylie stepped out again.

'Polly,' she said, 'I'm ashamed of you. Why couldn't you be kind and friendly to those nice boys who came to see you?'

'Pretty Poll,' he said, in a coaxing tone.

'No,' she replied; 'not pretty Poll at all. Ugly Poll, I should say.'

'Polly's so tired; take Polly in. Polly's cold,' he said, in what we called his natural voice; and then it seemed as if the first words had reminded him of the little girl, for his tone suddenly changed, and he began again: 'I'm so tired, Nana. No, I won't be good; no, I won't. I'll write a letter, and I won't be locked up,' in the squeakier sort of voice that showed he was copying somebody else.

'Nonsense!' said Mrs. Wylie. 'You are not tired or cold, Polly, and nobody is going to lock you up.'

He was silent for a moment, and peeping out again, we saw that he was staring hard at the old lady.

Then he said very meekly -- I am not sure which voice it was in -- 

'Polly be good! Polly very sorry!'

Mrs. Wylie nodded approvingly.

'Yes,' she said, 'that's a much prettier way to talk. Now, supposing we have a little music,' and she began to sing in a very soft, very thin, old voice a few words of 'Home, Sweet Home.'

There was something very piteous about it. I think there is a better word than 'piteous' -- yes, Clement had just told it me. It is 'pathetic.' I felt as if it nearly made me cry, and so did Peterkin. We told each other so afterwards, and though we were so interested in the parrot and in hearing him, I wished he would be quiet again, and let Mrs. Wylie go on with her soft, sad little song. But of course he didn't. He started, too, a queer sort of whistle, not very musical, certainly, but yet, no doubt, there was a bit of the tune in it, and now and then sounds rather like the words 'sweet' and 'home.' I do think, altogether, it was the oddest musical performance that ever was heard.

And when it was over, there came another voice. It was the maid next door, who had stepped quietly on to the balcony -- 

'I'm afraid, ma'am, I must take him in now,' she said, very respectfully. 'It is getting cold, and it would never do for him to get a sore throat just as he's learning to sing so. You are clever with him, ma'am; you are, indeed: there's quite a tune in his voice.'

Mrs. Wylie gave a little laugh of pleasure.

'And did the young gentlemen you were speaking of never come, after all?' the maid asked, as she was turning away, the big cage in her hand.

'Oh yes,' said Mrs. Wylie, 'they are here still. But Polly was very naughty,' and she explained about it.

'He's learnt that "won't be good" from next door,' said the girl, 'and I do believe he knows what it means.'

'I very sorry; I be good,' here said the parrot.

They both started.

'Upon my word!' exclaimed the maid.

'Has he learnt that from next door?' said Mrs. Wylie, in a lower voice.

'I hope so. It's very clever of him, and it's not unlikely. The child is getting better, I believe, and there's not near so much crying and complaining.'

'So I have heard,' said the old lady, and we fancied she spoke rather mysteriously, 'and I hope,' she went on, but we could not catch her next words, as she dropped her voice, evidently not wishing us to hear.

Peterkin squeezed my hand, and I understood. There was a mystery of some kind!

Then Mrs. Wylie came in and shut the glass door. She was smiling now with pleasure and satisfaction.

'I did get him to talk, did I not?' she said. 'He is a funny bird. By degrees I hope he will grow quite friendly with you too.'

I did not feel very sure about it.

'I'm afraid,' I said, 'that he will not see us enough for that. It isn't like you, Mrs. Wylie, for I daresay you talk to him every day.'

'Yes,' she replied, 'I do now. I have felt more interested in him since -- ' here she hesitated a little, then she went on again -- 'since the evening I found Peterkin listening to him,' and she smiled very kindly at Pete. 'Before that, I had not noticed him very much; at least, I had not made friends with him. But he has a wonderful memory; really wonderful, you will see. He will not have forgotten you the next time you come, and each time he will cock his head and pretend to be shy, and gradually it will get less and less.'

This was very interesting, but what Peterkin and I were really longing for was some news of the little girl. We did not like to ask about her. It would have seemed rather forward and inquisitive, as the old lady did not mention her at all. We felt that she had some reason for it, and of course, though we could not have helped hearing what she and the parrot's maid had said to each other, we had to try to think we hadn't heard it. Clement says that's what you should do, if you overhear things not meant for you, unless, sometimes, when your having heard them might really matter. Then, he says, it's your duty -- you're in honour bound -- to tell that you've heard, and what you've heard.

'Now,' said our old lady, 'I fancy tea will be quite ready. I thought it would be more comfortable in the dining-room. So shall we go downstairs?'

We were quite ready, and we followed her very willingly. The dining-room was even smaller than the drawing-room, and that was tiny enough. But it was all so neat and pretty, and what you'd call 'old-fashioned,' I suppose. It reminded me of a doll-house belonging to one of our grandmothers -- mamma's mother, who had kept it ever since she was a little girl, and when we go to stay with her in the country she lets us play with it. Even Peterkin and I are very fond of it, or used to be so when we were smaller. There's everything you can think of in it, down to the tiniest cups and saucers.

The tea was very jolly. There were buns and cakes, and awfully good sandwiches. I remember that particular tea, you see, though we went to Mrs. Wylie's often after that, because it was the first time. The cups were rather small, but it didn't matter, for as soon as ever one was empty she offered us more. I would really be almost ashamed to say how many times mine was filled.

And Mrs. Wylie was very interesting to talk to. She had never had any children of her own, she told us, and her husband had been dead a long time. I think he had been a sailor, for she had lots of curiosities: queer shells, all beautifully arranged in a cabinet, and a book full of pressed and dried seaweed, and stuffed birds in cases. I don't care for stuffed birds: they look too alive, and it seems horrid for them not to be able to fly about and sing. Peterkin took a great fancy to some of the very tiny ones -- humming-birds, scarcely bigger than butterflies; and, long afterwards, when we went to live in London, Mrs. Wylie gave him a present of a branch with three beauties on it, inside a glass case. He has it now in his own room. And she gave me four great big shells, all coloured like a rainbow, which I still have on my mantelpiece.

Once or twice -- I'm going back now to that first time we went to have tea with her -- I tried to get the talk back to the little girl. I asked the old lady if she wouldn't like to have a parrot of her own. I thought it would be so amusing. But she said No; she didn't think she would care to have one. The one next door was almost as good, and gave her no trouble or anxiety.

And then Peterkin asked her if there were any children next door. Mrs. Wylie shook her head.

'No,' she said. 'The parrot's mistress is an old maid -- not nearly as old as I am, all the same, but she lives quite alone; and on the other side there are two brothers and a sister, quite young, unmarried people.'

'And is the -- the little girl the only little girl or boy in her house?' asked Peterkin.

He did stumble a bit over asking it, for it had been very plain that Mrs. Wylie did not want to speak about her; but I got quite hot when I heard him, and if we had been on the same side of the table, or if his legs had been as long as they are now, I'd have given him a good kick to shut him up.

Our old lady was too good-natured to mind; still, there was something in her manner when she answered that stopped any more questions from Pete.

'Yes,' she said, 'there are no other children in that house, or in the terrace, except some very tiny ones, almost babies, at the other end. I see them pass in their perambulators, dear little things.'

It was quite dark by the time we had finished tea, and the lamps were lighted upstairs in the drawing-room, where Mrs. Wylie showed us some of the curiosities and things that I have already written about.

They were rather interesting, but I think we've got to care more for collections and treasures like that, now, than we did then. Perhaps we were not quite old enough, and, I daresay, it was a good deal that the great reason we liked to go to Mrs. Wylie's was because of the parrot and the mysterious little girl. At least, Peterkin's head was full of the little girl. I myself was beginning to get rather tired of all his talk about her, and I thought the parrot very good fun of himself.

So when the clock struck six, and Mrs. Wylie asked us if mamma had fixed any time for us to be home by -- it wasn't that she wanted to get rid of us, but she was very afraid of keeping us too late -- we thought we might as well go, for mamma had said, 'soon after six.'

'Is any one coming to fetch you?' Mrs. Wylie said.

I didn't quite like her asking that: it made me seem so babyish. I was quite old enough to look after Pete, and the fun of going home by ourselves through the lighted-up streets was one of the things we had looked forward to.

But I didn't want Master Peterkin to begin at me afterwards about not being polite, so I didn't show that I was at all vexed. I just said -- 

'Oh no, Peterkin will be all right with me!'

And then we said good-bye, and 'thank you very much for inviting us.' And Pete actually said -- 

'May we come again soon, please?'

His ideas of politeness were rather original, weren't they?

But Mrs. Wylie was quite pleased.

'Certainly, my dear. I shall count on your doing so. And I am glad you spoke of it, for I wanted to tell you that I am going to London the end of this next week for a fortnight. Will you tell your dear mamma so, and say that I shall come to see her on my return, and then we must fix on another afternoon? I am very pleased to think that you care to come, and I hope you feel the same,' she went on, turning to me.

She was so kind that I felt I had been rather horrid, for I had enjoyed it all very much. And I said as nicely as I could, that I'd like to come again, only I hoped we didn't bother her. She beamed all over at that, and Peterkin evidently approved of it too, for he grinned in a queer patronising way he has sometimes, as if I was a baby compared to him.

I was just going to pull him up for it after we had got on our coats and caps, and were outside and the door shut, but before I had got farther than -- 'I say, youngster,' -- he startled me rather by saying, in a very melancholy tone -- 

'It's too bad, Giles, isn't it? Her going away, and us hearing nothing of the little girl. I really thought she'd have asked her to tea too.'

'How you muddle your "her's" and "she's"!' I said. But of course I understood him. 'I think you muddle yourself too. If there's a mystery, and you know you'd be very disappointed if there wasn't, you couldn't expect the little girl to come to tea just as if everything was quite like everybody else about her.'

'No, that's true,' said he, consideringly. 'P'raps she's invisible sometimes, or p'raps she's like the "Light Princess," that they had to tie down for fear she'd float away, or p'raps --  -- '

'She's invisible to us, anyway,' I interrupted, for, as I said, I was getting rather tired of Pete's fancies about the little girl, 'and so --  -- '

But just as I got so far, we both stopped -- we were passing the railing of the little girl's house at that moment, and voices talking rather loudly caught our ears. Peterkin touched my arm, and we stood quite still. No one could see us, it was too dark, and there was no lamp just there, though some light was streaming out from the lower windows of the house. One of them, the dining-room one, was a little open, even though it was a chilly evening.

It was so queer, our hearing the voices and almost seeing into the room, just as we had been making up our minds that we'd never know anything about the little girl; it seemed so queer, that we didn't, at first, think of anything else. It wasn't for some minutes, or moments, certainly, that it came into my head that we shouldn't stay there peeping and listening. I'm afraid it wasn't a very gentlemanly sort of thing to do. As for Peterkin, I'm pretty sure he never had the slightest idea that we were doing anything caddish.

What we heard was this -- 

'No, I don't want any more tea. I'd better go to bed. It's so dull, Nana.'

Then another voice replied -- it came from some one further back in the room, but we could not distinguish the words -- 

'There aren't any stars. You may as well shut the window. And stars aren't much good. I want some one to play with me. Other little -- ' but just then we saw the shadow of some one crossing the room, and the window -- it was a glass-door kind of window like the ones up above, which opened on to the balcony, for there was a little sort of balcony downstairs too -- was quickly closed. There was no more to be heard or seen; not even shadows, for the curtains were now drawn across.

Pete gave a deep sigh, and I felt that he was looking at me, though it was too dark to see, and there was no lamp just there. He wanted to know what I thought.

'Come along,' I said, and we walked on.

'Did you hear?' asked Peterkin at last. 'She said she wanted somebody to play with her.'

'Yes,' I said, 'it is rather queer. You'd think Mrs. Wylie might have made friends with her, and invited her to tea. But it's no good our bothering about it,' and I walked a little faster, and began to whistle. I did not want Pete to go on again talking a lot about his invisible princess, for such she seemed likely to remain.

It was far easier, however, to get anything into Peterkin's fancy than to get it out again, as I might have known by experience. We had not gone far before I felt him tugging at my arm.

'Don't walk so fast, Gilley,' he said -- poor, little chap, he was quite breathless with trying to keep up with me, so I had to slacken a bit, -- 'and do let me talk to you. When we get home I shan't have a chance -- not till to-morrow morning in bed, I daresay; for they'll all be wanting to hear about Mrs. Wylie, and what we had for tea, and everything.'

I did not so much mind about that part of it, but I did not want to be awakened before dawn the next morning to listen to all he'd got to say. So I thought I might as well let him come out with some of it.

'What do you want to talk about?' I said.

'Oh! of course, you know,' he replied. 'It's about the poor little girl. I am so dreffully sorry for her, Gilley, and I want to plan something. It's no good asking Mrs. Wylie. We'll have to do something ourselves. I'm afraid the people she's with lock her up, or something. P'raps they daren't let her go out, if there's some wicked fairy, or a witch, or something like that, that wants to run off with her.'

'Well, then, the best thing to do is to lock her up,' I said sensibly.

But that wasn't Peterkin's way of looking at things.

'It's never like that in my stories,' he said -- and I know he was shaking his curly head, -- 'and some of them are very, very old -- nearly as old as Bible stories, I believe; so they must be true, you see. There's always somebody that comes to break the -- the -- I forget the proper word.'

'The enchantment, you mean,' I said.

'No, no; a shorter word. Oh, I know -- the spell,' he replied. 'Yes, somebody comes to break the spell. And that's what we've got to do, Gilley. At least, I'm sure I've got to, and you must help me. You see, it's all been so funny. The parrot knows, I should think, for I'm sure he's partly fairy. But, very likely, he daren't say it right out, for fear of the bad fairy, and --  -- '

'Perhaps he's the bad fairy himself,' I interrupted, half joking, but rather interested, all the same, in Peterkin's ideas.

'Oh no,' he replied, 'I know he's not, and I'm sure Mrs. Wylie has nothing to do with the bad fairy.'

'Then why do you think she won't talk about the little girl, or invite her, or anything?' I asked.

Pete seemed puzzled.

'I don't know,' he said. 'There's a lot to find out. P'raps Mrs. Wylie doesn't know anything about the spell, and has just got some stupid, common reason for not wanting us to play with the little girl, or p'raps' -- and this was plainly a brilliant idea -- 'p'raps the spell's put on her without her knowing, and stops her when she begins to speak about it. Mightn't it very likely be that, Giles?'

But I had not time to answer, for we had got to our own door by now, and it was already opened, as some tradesman was giving James a parcel. So we ran in.




Chapter V

'Stratagems'


I REALLY don't quite know what made me listen to Peterkin's fancies about his invisible princess, as I got into the habit of calling her. It was partly, I suppose, because it amused me -- we had nothing much to take us up just then: there was no skating that winter, and the weather was dull and muggy -- and partly that somehow he managed to make me feel as if there might really be something in it. I suppose when anybody quite believes in a thing, it's rather catching; and Peterkin's head was so stuffed and crammed with fairy stories that at that time, I think, they were almost more real to him than common things.

He went about, dreaming of ogres and magicians, and all the rest, so much, that I scarcely think anything marvellous would have surprised him. If I had suddenly shot up to the ceiling, and called out that I had learnt how to fly, I don't believe he would have been startled; or if I had shown him a purse with a piece of gold in it, and told him that it was enchanted, and that he'd always find the money in it however often he spent it, he'd have taken it quite seriously, and been very pleased.

So the idea of an enchanted little girl did not strike us as at all out of the way.

We did not talk about her any more that night after we had been at Mrs. Wylie's, for we had to hurry up to get neat again to come down to the drawing-room to mamma. Blanche and Elf were already there when we came in, and they, and mamma too, were full of questions about how we'd enjoyed ourselves, and about the parrot, and what we'd had for tea -- just as I knew they would be; I don't mean that mamma asked what we'd had for tea, but the girls did.

And then Pete and Elf went off to bed, and when I went up he was quite fast asleep, and if he hadn't been, I could not have spoken to him because of my promise, you know.

He made up for it the next morning, however.

I suppose he had had an extra good night, for I felt him looking at me long before I was at all inclined to open my eyes, or to snort for him to know I was awake. And when at last I did -- it's really no good trying to go to sleep again when you feel there's somebody fidgeting to talk to you -- there he was, his eyes as bright and shiny as could be, sitting bolt up with his hands round his knees, as if he'd never been asleep in his life?

I couldn't help feeling rather cross, and yet I had a contradictory sort of interest and almost eagerness to hear what he had to say. I suppose it was a kind of love of adventure that made me join him in his fancies and plans. I knew that his fancies were only fancies really, but still I felt as if we might get some fun out of them.

He was too excited to mind my being grumpy.

'Oh, Gilley!' he exclaimed at my first snort, 'I am so glad you are awake at last.'

'I daresay you are,' I said, 'but I'm not. I should have slept another half-hour if you hadn't sat there staring me awake.'

'Well, you needn't talk,' he went on, in a 'smoothing-you-down' tone; 'just listen and grunt sometimes.'

I did grunt there and then. There was one comfortable thing about Peterkin even then, and it keeps on with him now that he is getting big and sensible. He always understands what you say, however you say it, or half say it. He was not the least surprised at my talking of his staring me awake, though he had not exactly meant to do so.

'It has come into my mind, Giles,' he began, very importantly, 'how queer and lucky it is that the old lady is going away for a fortnight. I should not wonder if it had been managed somehow.'

He waited for my grunt, but it turned into -- 

'What on earth do you mean?'

'I mean, perhaps it's part of the spell, without her knowing, of course, that she should have to go to London. For if she was still there, we couldn't do anything without her finding out.'

'I don't know what you mean about doing anything,' I said. 'And please don't say "we." I haven't promised to join you. Most likely I'll do my best to stop whatever it is you've got in that rummy head of yours.'

'Oh no, you won't!' he replied coolly. 'I don't know that you could if you tried, without telling the others. And you can't do that, of course, as I've trusted you. It's word of honour, you see, though I didn't exactly make you say so. And it's nothing naughty or mischievous, else I wouldn't plan it.'

'What is it, then? Hurry up and tell me, without such a lot of preparation,' I grumbled.

'I can't tell you very much,' he answered, ''cos, you see, I don't know myself. It will show as we go on -- I'm certain you'll help me, Gilley. You remember the prince in the "Sleeping Beauty" did not know exactly what he would do -- no more did the one in --  -- '

'Never mind all that,' I interrupted.

'Well, then, what we've got to do is to try to talk to her ourselves without any one hearing. That's the first thing. We will tell her what the parrot says, and then it will be easy to find out if she knows herself about the spell.'

'But what do you think the spell is?' I asked, feeling again the strange interest and half belief in his fancies that Peterkin managed to put into me. 'What do you suppose your bad fairies, or whatever they are, have done to her?'

'There are lots of things, it might be,' he replied gravely. 'They may have made her not able to walk, or very queer to look at -- p'raps turned her hair white, so that you couldn't be sure if she was a little girl or an old woman; or made her nose so long that it trails on the floor. No, I don't think it's that,' he added, after stopping to think a minute. 'Her voice sounds as if she was pretty, even if it's rather grumbly. P'raps she turns into a mouse at night, and has to run about, and that's why she's so tired. It might be that.'

'It would be easy to catch her, then, and bring her home in your pocket, if you waited till the magic time came,' I suggested, half joking again, of course.

'It might be,' agreed Pete, quite seriously, 'or it might be very, very difficult, unless we could make her understand at the mouse time that we were friends. We can't settle anything till we see her, and talk to her like a little girl, of course.'

'You certainly couldn't talk to her like anything else,' I said; 'but I'm sure I don't see how you mean to talk to her at all.'

'I do,' said Peterkin. 'I've been planning it since last night. We can go round that way once or twice to look at the parrot, and just stand about. Nobody would wonder at us if they saw we were looking at him. And very likely we'd see something, as she lives in the very next-door house. P'raps she comes to the window sometimes, and she might notice us if we were looking up at the parrot. It would be easiest if she was in the downstairs room.'

'I don't suppose she is there all day,' I said. 'The parrot would not have heard her talking so much if she were. I think she must have been out on the balcony sometimes when it was warmer.'

'Yes,' Peterkin agreed. 'I thought of that. Very likely she only comes downstairs for her dinner and tea. It's the dining-room, like Mrs. Wylie's.'

'And if she only comes down there late she wouldn't see us in the dark, and, besides, the parrot wouldn't be out by then. And besides that, except for going to tea to Mrs. Wylie's, we'd never get leave to be out by ourselves so late. At least you wouldn't. Of course, for me, it's sometimes nearly dark when I come home from school.'

I really did not see how Pete did mean to manage it. But the difficulties I spoke of only seemed to make him more determined. I could not help rather admiring him for it: he quite felt, I fancy, as if he was one of his favourite fairy-tale princes. And in the queer way I have spoken of already, he somehow made me feel with him. I did not go over all the difficulties in order to stop him trying, but because I was actually interested in seeing how he was going to overcome them.

He was silent for a moment or two after my last speech, staring before him with his round blue eyes.

Then he said quietly -- 

'Yes; I'd thought of most of those things. But you will see. We'll manage it somehow. I daresay she comes downstairs in the middle of the day, too, for she's sure to have dinner early, and the parrot will be out then, if we choose a fine day.'

'But we always have to be in for our own dinner by half-past one,' I said.

'Well, p'raps she has hers at one, or even half-past twelve, like we used to, till you began going to school,' said he hopefully. 'And a very little talking would do at the first beginning. Then we could be very polite, and say we'd come again to see the parrot, and p'raps -- ' here Peterkin looked rather shy.

'Perhaps what? Out with it!' I said.

'We might take her a few flowers,' he answered, getting red, 'if -- if we could -- could get any. They're very dear to buy, I'm afraid, and we haven't any of our own. The garden is so small; it isn't like if we lived in the country,' rather dolefully.

'You wouldn't have known anything about Rock Terrace, or the invisible princess, or the parrot, if we lived in the country,' I reminded him.

'No,' said Pete, more cheerfully, 'I hadn't thought of that.'

'And -- ' I went on, 'I daresay I could help you a bit if it really seemed any good,' for I rather liked the idea of giving the little girl some flowers. It made it all look less babyish.

Peterkin grinned with delight.

'You are kind, Gilley!' he exclaimed. 'I knew you would be. Oh, bother! here's nurse coming, and we haven't begun to settle anything properly.'

'There's no hurry,' I said; 'you've forgotten that we certainly can't go there again till Mrs. Wylie's out of the way. And she said, "the end of the week"; that means Saturday, most likely, and this is -- oh dear! I was forgetting -- it's Sunday, and we'll be late.'

Nurse echoed my words as she came in -- 

'You'll be late, Master Giles, and Master Peterkin, too,' she said. 'I really don't think you should talk so much on Sunday mornings.'

It wasn't that we had to be any earlier on Sundays than any other day, but that dressing in your best clothes takes so much longer somehow, and we had to have our hair very neat, and all like that, because we generally went down to the dining-room, while papa and mamma and Clement and Blanche were at breakfast, after we had had our own in the nursery.

There would be no good in trying to remember all our morning talks that week about Peterkin's plans. He did not get the least tired of them, and I didn't, for a wonder, get tired of listening to him, he was so very much in earnest.

He chopped and changed a good bit in little parts of them, but still he stuck to the general idea, and I helped him to polish it up. It was really more interesting than any of his fairy stories, for he managed to make both himself and me feel as if we were going to be in one of them ourselves.

So I will skip over that week, and go on to the next. By that time we knew that Mrs. Wylie was in London, because mamma said something one day about having had a letter from her. Nothing to do with the little girl, as far as we knew; I think it was only about somebody who wanted a servant, or something stupid like that.

It got on to the Monday of the next week again, and by that time Pete had got a sort of start of his plans. He had got leave to come to meet me at the corner of Lindsay Square, once or twice in the last few days. I used to get there about a quarter or twenty minutes to one. We were supposed to leave school not later than a quarter past twelve, but you know how fellows get fooling about coming out of a day-school, so, though it was really quite near, I was often later.

Mamma was pleased for Peterkin to want to come to meet me. She was not at all coddling or stupid like that about us boys, though her being in such a fuss that evening Pete was lost may have seemed so. And she was always awfully glad for us to be fond of each other. She used to say she hoped we'd grow up 'friends' as well as brothers, which always reminded me of the verse about it in the Bible about 'sticking closer than a brother.' And I like to think that dear little mummy's hopes will come true for her sons.

It wasn't exactly a fit of affection for me, of course, that made Pete want to get into the way of coming to meet me. Still, we were very good friends; especially good friends just then, as you know.

So that Monday, which luckily happened to be a very nice bright day, he had no difficulty in getting leave for it again. I had promised him to hurry over getting off from school, so we counted on having a good bit of time to spend in looking at the parrot and talking to him, and in 'spying the land' generally, including the invisible princess, if we got a chance, without risking coming in too late for our dinner. We had taken care never to be late, up till now, for fear of Peterkin's coming to meet me being put a stop to; but we hadn't pretended that we would come straight home, and once or twice we had done a little shopping together, and more than once we had spent several minutes in staring in at the flower-shop windows, settling what kind of flowers would be best, and in asking the prices of hers from a flower-woman who often sat near the corner of the square. She was very good-natured about it. We shouldn't have liked to go into a regular shop only to ask prices, so it was a good thing to know a little about them beforehand.

I remember all about that Monday morning particularly well. I did hurry off from school as fast as I could, though of course -- I think it nearly always happens so -- ever so many stupid little things turned up to keep me later than I often was.

I skurried along pretty fast, you may be sure, once I did get out, and it wasn't long before I caught sight of poor old Pete eagerly watching for me at the corner of Lindsay Square. He did not dare to come farther, because, you see, he had promised mamma he never would, and that if I were ever very late he'd go home again.

I didn't give him time to be doleful about it.

'I've been as quick as I possibly could,' I said, 'and it's not so bad after all, Pete. We shall have a quarter of an hour for Rock Terrace at least, if we hurry now. Don't speak -- it only wastes your breath,' for in those days, with being so plump and sturdy and his legs rather short, it didn't take much to make him puff or pant. He's in better training now by a long way.

He was always very sensible, so he took my advice and we got over the ground pretty fast, only pulling up when we got to the end, or beginning, of the little row of houses.

'Now,' said I, 'let's first walk right along rather slowly, and if we hear the Polly we can stop short, as if we were noticing him for the first time, the way people often do, you know.'

Peterkin nodded.

'I believe I see the corner of his cage out on the balcony,' he said, half whispering, 'already.'

He was right. The cage was out.

We walked past very slowly, though we took care not to look up as if we were expecting to see anything. The parrot was in the front of the cage, staring down, and I'm almost certain he saw us, and even remembered us, though, out of contradiction, he pretended he didn't.

'Don't speak or turn,' I whispered to Pete. It was so very quiet along Rock Terrace, except when some tradesman's cart rattled past -- and just now there was nothing of the kind in view -- that even common talking could have been heard. 'Don't speak or seem to see him. They are awfully conceited birds, and the way to make them notice you and begin talking and screeching is to pretend you don't see them.'

So we walked on silently to the farther end of the terrace, in a very matter-of-fact way, turning to come back again just as we had gone. And I could be positive that the creature saw us all the time, for the row of houses was very short, and he was well to the front of the balcony.

Our 'stratagem' -- I have always liked the word, ever since I read Tales of a Grandfather, which I thought a great take-in, as it's just a history book, neither more nor less, and the only exciting part is when you come upon stratagems -- succeeded. As we got close up to the parrot's house, next door to Mother Wylie's, you understand, and, of course, next door to the invisible princess's, we heard a sound. It was a sort of rather angry squeak or croak, but loud enough to be an excuse for our stopping short and looking up.

And then, as we still did not speak, Master Poll, his round eyes glaring at us, I felt certain, was forced to open the conversation.

'Pretty Poll,' he began, of course. 'Pretty Poll.'

'All right,' I called back. 'Good morning, Pretty Poll. A fine day.'

'Wants his dinner,' he went on. 'I say, wants his dinner.'

'Really, does he?' I said, in a mocking tone, which he understood, and beginning to get angry -- just what I wanted.

'Naughty boy! naughty boy!' he screeched, very loudly. Pete and I grinned with satisfaction!




Chapter VI

Margaret


THERE'S an old proverb that mamma has often quoted to us, for she's awfully keen on our all being 'plucky,' and, on the whole, I think we are -- 

'Fortune favours the brave.'

I have sometimes thought it would suit Peterkin to turn it into 'Fortune favours the determined.' Not that he's not 'plucky,' but there's nothing like him for sticking to a thing, once he has got it into his head. And certainly fortune favoured him at the time I am writing about. Nothing could have suited us better than the parrot's screeching out to us 'naughty boy, naughty boy.'

I suppose he had been taught to say it to errand-boys and boys like that who mocked at him. But we did not want to set up a row, so I replied gently -- 

'No, no, Polly, good boys. Polly shall have his dinner soon.'

'Good Polly, good Polly,' he repeated with satisfaction.

And then -- what do you think happened? The door-window of the drawing-room of the next house, the house, was pushed open a little bit, and out peeped a child's head, a small head with smooth short dark hair, but a little girl's head. We could tell that at once by the way it was combed, or brushed, even if we had not seen, as we did, a white muslin pinafore, with lace ruffly things that only a girl would wear. My heart really began to beat quite loudly, as if I'd been running fast -- we had been so excited about her, you see, and afterwards Pete told me his did too.

The only pity was, that she was up on the drawing-room floor. We could have seen her so much better downstairs. But we had scarcely time to feel disappointed.

When she saw us, and saw, I suppose, that we were not errand-boys or street-boys, she came out a little farther. I felt sure by her manner that she was alone in the room. She looked down at us, looked us well over for a moment or two, and then she said -- 

'Are you talking to the parrot?'

She did not call out or speak loudly at all, but her voice was very clear.

'Yes,' Peterkin replied. As he had started the whole business I thought it fair to let him speak before me. 'Yes, but he called out to us first. He called us "naughty boys."'

'I heard him,' said the little girl, 'and I thought perhaps you were naughty boys, teasing him, you know, and I was going to call to you to run away. But -- ' and she glanced at us again. I could see that she wanted to go on talking, but she did not quite know how to set about it.

So I thought I might help things on a bit.

'Thank you,' I said, taking off my cap. 'My little brother is very interested in the parrot. He seems so clever.'

At another time Pete would have been very offended at my calling him 'little,' but just now he was too eager to mind, or even, I daresay, to notice.

'So he is,' said the little girl. 'I could tell you lots about him, but it's rather tiresome talking down to you from up here. Wait a minute,' she added, 'and I'll come down to the dining-room. I may go downstairs now, and nurse is out, and I'm very dull.'

We were so pleased that we scarcely dared look at each other, for fear that somehow it should go wrong after all. We did glance along the terrace, but nobody was coming. If only her nurse would stay out for ten minutes longer, or even less.

We stood there, almost holding our breath. But it was not really -- it could not have been -- more than half a minute, before the dark head and white pinafore appeared again, this time, of course, on the ground floor; the window there was a little bit open already, to air the room perhaps.

We would have liked to go close up to the small balcony where she stood, but we dared not, for fear of the nurse coming. And the garden was very tiny, we were only two or three yards from the little girl, even outside on the pavement.

She looked at us first, looked us well over, before she began to speak again. Then she said -- 

'Have you been to see the parrot already?'

'Oh yes,' said Peterkin, in his very politest tone, 'oh yes, thank you.' I did not quite see why he said 'thank you.' I suppose he meant it in return for her coming downstairs. 'I've been here two, no, three times, and Giles,' he gave a sort of nod towards me, 'has been here two.'

'Is your name Giles?' she asked me. She had a funny, little, rather condescending manner of speaking to us, but I didn't mind it somehow.

'Yes,' I replied, 'and his,' and I touched Pete, 'is "Peterkin."'

'They are queer names; don't you think so? At least,' she added quickly, as if she was afraid she had said something rude, 'they are very uncommon. "Giles" and "Perkin."'

'Not "Perkin,"' I said, "Peterkin."'

'Oh, I thought it was like a man in my history,' she said, 'Perkin War -- something.'

'No,' said Peterkin, 'it isn't in history, but it's in poetry. About a battle. I've got it in a book.'

'I should like to see it,' she said. 'There's lots of my name in history. My name is Margaret. There are queens and princesses called Margaret.'

Pete opened his mouth as if he was going to speak, but shut it up again. I know what he had been on the point of saying, -- 'Are you a princess?' 'a shut-up princess?' he would have added very likely, but I suppose he was sensible enough to see that if she had been 'shut-up,' in the way he had been fancying to himself, she would scarcely have been able to come downstairs and talk to us as she was doing. And she was not dressed like the princesses in his stories, who had always gold crowns on and long shiny trains. Still, though she had only a pinafore on, I could see that it was rather a grand one, lots of lace about it, like one of Elf's very best, and though her hair was short and her face small and pale, there was something about her -- the way she stood and the way she spoke -- which was different from many little girls of her age.

Peterkin took advantage very cleverly of what she had said about his name.

'I'll bring you my poetry-book, if you like,' he said. 'It's a quite old one. I think it belonged to grandmamma, and she's as old as -- as old as -- ' he seemed at a loss to find anything to compare poor grandmamma to, till suddenly a bright idea struck him -- 'nearly as old as Mrs. Wylie, I should think,' he finished up.

'Oh,' said Margaret, 'do you know Mrs. Wylie? I've never seen her, but I think I've heard her talk. Her house is next door to the parrot's.'

'Yes,' said I, 'but I wonder you've never seen her. She often goes out.'

'But -- ' began the little girl again, 'I've been -- oh, I do believe that's my dinner clattering in the kitchen, and nurse will be coming in, and I've never told you about the parrot. I've lots to tell you. Will you come again? Not to-morrow, but on Wednesday nurse is going out to the dressmaker's. I heard her settling it. Please come on Wednesday, just like this.'

'We could come a little earlier, perhaps,' I said.

Margaret nodded.

'Yes, do,' she replied, 'and I'll be on the look-out for you. I shall think of lots of things to say. I want to tell you about the parrot, and -- about lots of things,' she repeated. 'Good-bye.'

We tugged at our caps, echoing 'good-bye,' and then we walked on towards the farther-off end of the terrace, and when we got there we turned and walked back again. And then we saw that we had not left the front of Margaret's house any too soon, for a short, rather stout little woman was coming along, evidently in a hurry. She just glanced at us as she passed us, but I don't think she noticed us particularly.

'That's her nurse, I'm sure,' said Peterkin, in a low voice. 'I don't think she looks unkind.'

'No, only rather fussy, I should say,' I replied.

We had scarcely spoken to each other before, since bidding Margaret good-bye. Pete had been thinking deeply, and I was waiting to hear what he had to say.

'I wonder,' he went on, after a moment or two's silence, -- 'I wonder how much she knows?'

'Why?' I exclaimed. 'What do you think there is to know?'

'It's all very misterous, still,' he answered solemnly. 'She -- the little girl -- said she had lots to tell us about the parrot and other things. And she didn't want her nurse to see us talking to her. And she said she could come downstairs now, but, I'm sure, they don't let her go out. She wouldn't be so dull if they did.'

'Who's "they"?' I asked.

'I don't quite know,' he replied, shaking his head. 'Some kind of fairies. P'raps it's bad ones, or p'raps it's good ones. No, it can't be bad ones, for then they wouldn't have planned the parrot telling us about her, so that we could help her to get free. The parrot is a sort of messenger from the good fairies, I believe.'

He looked up, his eyes very bright and blue, as they always were when he thought he had made a discovery, or was on the way to one. And I, half in earnest, half in fun, like I'd been about it all the time, let my own fancy go on with his.

'Perhaps,' I said. 'We shall find out on Wednesday, I suppose, when we talk more to Margaret. We needn't call her the invisible princess any more.'

'No, but she is a princess sort of little girl, isn't she?' he said, 'though her hair isn't as pretty as Blanche's and Elf's, and her face is very little.'

'She's all right,' I said.

And then we had to hurry and leave off talking, for we had been walking more slowly than we knew, and just then some big clock struck the quarter.

I think, perhaps, I had better explain here, that none of us -- neither Margaret, nor Peterkin, nor I -- thought we were doing anything the least wrong in keeping our making acquaintance a secret. What Margaret thought about it, so far as she did think of that part of it, you will understand as I go on; and Pete and I had our minds so filled with his fairies that we simply didn't think of anything else.

It was growing more and more interesting, for Margaret had something very jolly about her, though she wasn't exactly pretty.

I can't remember if it did come into my mind, a very little, perhaps, that we should tell somebody -- mamma, perhaps, or Clement -- about our visits to Rock Terrace even then. But if it did, I think I put it out again, by knowing that Margaret meant it to be a secret, and that, till we saw her again, and heard what she was going to tell us, it would not be fair to mention anything about it.

We were both very glad that Wednesday was only the day after to-morrow. It would have been a great nuisance to have had to wait a whole week, perhaps. And we were very anxious when Wednesday morning came, to see what sort of weather it was, for on Tuesday it rained. Not very badly, but enough for nurse to tell Peterkin that it was too showery for him to come to meet me, and it would not have been much good if he had, as we couldn't have spoken to Margaret.

Nor could we have strolled up and down the terrace or stood looking at the parrot, even if he'd been out on the terrace, which he wouldn't have been on at all on a bad day -- if it was rainy. It would have been sure to make some of the people in the houses wonder at us; just what we didn't want.

But Wednesday was fine, luckily, and this time I got off from school to the minute without any one or anything stopping me.

I ran most of the way to the corner of Lindsay Square, all the same; and I was not too early either, for before I got there I saw Master Peterkin's sturdy figure steering along towards me, not far off. And when he got up to me I saw that he had a small brown-paper parcel under his arm, neatly tied up with red string.

He was awfully pleased to see me so early, for his round face was grinning all over, and as a rule it was rather solemn.

'What's that you've got there?' I asked.

He looked surprised at my not knowing.

'Why, of course, the poetry-book,' he said. 'I promised it her, and I've marked the poetry about "Peterkin." It's the Battle of Blen -- Blen-hime -- mamma said, when I learnt it, that that's the right way to say it; but Miss Tucker' ('Miss Tucker' was Blanche's and the little ones' governess) 'called it Blennem, and I always have to think when I say it. I wish they didn't call him "little Peterkin," though,' he went on, 'it sounds so babyish.'

'I don't see that it matters, as it isn't about you yourself,' I said. 'I'd forgotten all about it; I think it's rather sharp of you to have remembered.'

'I couldn't never forget anything I'd promised her,' said Pete, and you might really have thought by his tone that he believed he was the prince going to visit the Sleeping Beauty -- after she'd come awake, I suppose.

We did not need to hurry; we were actually rather too early, so we went on talking.

'How about the flowers we meant to get for her?' I said suddenly.

'I didn't forget about them,' he answered, 'but we didn't promise them, and I thought it would be better to ask her first. She might like chocolates best, you know.'

'All right,' I said, and I thought perhaps it was better to ask her first. You see, if she didn't want her nurse to know about our coming to see her it would have been tiresome, as, of course, Margaret could not have told a story.

There she was, peeping out of the downstairs window already when we got there. And when she saw us she came farther out, a little bit on to the balcony. It was a sunny day for winter, and besides, she had a red shawl on, so she could not very well have caught cold. It was a very pretty shawl, with goldy marks or patterns on it. It was like one grandmamma had been sent a present of from India, and afterwards Margaret told me hers had come from India too. And it suited her, somehow, even though she was only a thin, pale little girl.

She smiled when she saw us, though she did not speak till we were near enough to hear what she said without her calling out. And when we stopped in front of her house, she said -- 

'I think you might come inside the garden. We could talk better.'

So we did, first glancing up at the next-door balcony, to see if the parrot was there.

Yes, he was, but not as far out as usual, and there was a cloth, or something, half-down round his cage, to keep him warmer, I suppose.

He was quite silent, but Margaret nodded her head up towards him.

'He told me you were coming,' she cried, 'though it wasn't in a very polite way. He croaked out -- "Naughty boys! naughty boys!"'

We all three laughed a little.

'And now,' Margaret went on, 'I daresay he won't talk at all, all the time you are here.'

'But will he understand what we say?' asked Peterkin, rather anxiously.

Margaret shook her head.

'I really don't know,' she replied. 'We had better talk in rather low voices. I don't think,' she went on, almost in a whisper, 'that he is fairy enough to hear if we speak very softly.'

Peterkin gave a sort of spring of delight.

'Oh!' he exclaimed, 'I am so glad you think he is fairyish, too.'

'Of course I do,' said she; 'that's partly what I wanted to tell you.'

We came closer to the window. Margaret looked at us again in her examining way, without speaking, for a minute, and before she said anything, Pete held out his brown-paper parcel.

'This is the poetry-book,' he said, 'and I've put a mark in the place where it's about my name.'

He pulled off his cap as he handed the packet to her, and stood with his curly wig looking almost red in the sunlight, though it was not very bright.

'Put it on again,' said Margaret, in her little queer way, meaning his cap. 'And thank you very much, Perkin, for remembering to bring it. I think I should like to call you "Perkin," if you don't mind. I like to have names of my own for some people, and I really thought yours was Perkin.'

I wished to myself she would have a name of her own for me, but I suppose she thought I was too big.

'I think you are very nice boys,' she went on, 'not "naughty" ones at all; and if you will promise not to tell any one what I am going to tell you, I will explain all I can. I mean you mustn't tell any one till I give you leave, and as it's only about my own affairs, of course you can promise.'

Of course we did promise.

'Listen, then,' said Margaret, glancing up first of all at the parrot, and drawing back a little into the inside of the room. 'You can hear what I say, even though I don't speak very loudly, can't you?'

'Oh yes! quite well,' we replied.

'Well, then, listen,' she repeated. 'I have no brothers or sisters, and Dads and Mummy are in India. I lived there till about three years ago, and then they came here and left me with my grandfather. That's how people always have to do who live in India.'

'Didn't you mind awfully?' I said. 'Your father and mother leaving you, I mean?'

'Of course I minded,' she replied. 'But I had always known it would have to be. And they will come home again for good some day; perhaps before very long. And I have always been quite happy till lately. Gran is very good to me, and I'm used to being a good deal alone, you see, except for big people. I've always had lots of story books, and not very many lessons. So, after a bit, it didn't seem so very different from India. Only now it's quite different. It's like being shut up in a tower, and it's very queer altogether, and I believe she's a sort of a witch,' and Margaret nodded her head mysteriously.

'Who?' we asked eagerly.

'The person I'm living with -- Miss Bogle -- isn't her name witchy?' and she smiled a little. 'No, no, not nurse,' for I had begun to say the word. 'She is only rather a goose. No, this house belongs to Miss Bogle, and she's quite old -- oh, as old as old! And she's got rheumatism, so she very seldom goes up and down stairs. And nurse does just exactly what Miss Bogle tells her. It was this way. Gran had to go away -- a good way, though not so far as India, and he is always dreadfully afraid of anything happening to me, I suppose. So he sent me here with nurse, and he told me I would be very happy. He knew Miss Bogle long ago -- I think she had a school for little boys once; perhaps that was before she got to be a witch. But I've been dreadfully unhappy, and I don't know what's going to happen to me if I go on like this much longer.'

She stopped, out of breath almost.

'Do you think she's going to enchanter you?' asked Peterkin, in a whisper. 'Do you think she wasn't asked to your christening, or anything like that?'

Margaret shook her head again.

'Something like that, I suppose,' she replied. 'She looks at me through her spectacles so queerly, you can't think. You see, I was ill at Gran's before I came here: not very badly, though he fussed a good deal about it. And he thought the sea-air would do me good. But I've often had colds, and I never was treated like this before -- never. For ever so long, she,' and Margaret nodded towards somewhere unknown, 'wouldn't let me come downstairs at all. And then I cried -- sometimes I roared, and luckily the parrot heard, and began to talk about it in his way. And you see it's through him that you got to know about me, so I'm sure he's on the other side, and knows she's a witch, but --  -- '




Chapter VII

The Great Plan


AT that moment the clock -- a clock somewhere near -- struck. Margaret started, and listened, -- 'One, two, three.' She looked pleased.

'It's only a quarter to one,' she said. 'Half-an-hour still to my dinner. What time do you need to get home by?'

'A quarter-past will do for us,' I said.

'Oh, then it's all right,' she replied. 'But I must be quick. I want to know all that the parrot told you.'

'It was more what he had said to Mrs. Wylie,' I explained, 'copying you, you know. And, at first, she called you "that poor child," and told us she was so sorry for you.'

'But now she won't say anything. She pinched up her lips about you the other day,' added Peterkin.

Margaret seemed very interested, but not very surprised.

'Oh, then, Miss Bogle is beginning to bewitch her too,' she said. 'Nurse is a goose, as I told you. She just does everything Miss Bogle wants. And if it wasn't for the parrot and you,' she went on solemnly, 'I daresay when Gran comes home he'd find me turned into a pussy-cat.'

'Or a mouse, or even a frog,' said Peterkin, his eyes gleaming; 'only then he wouldn't know it was you, unless your nurse told him.'

'She wouldn't,' said Margaret, 'the witch would take care to stop her, or to turn her into a big cat herself, or something. There'd be only the parrot, and Gran mightn't understand him. It's better not to risk it. And that's what I'm planning about. But it will take a great deal of planning, though I've been thinking about it ever since you came, and I felt sure the good fairies had sent you to rescue me. When can you come again?'

'Any day, almost,' said Pete.

'Well, then, I'll tell you what. I'll be on the look-out for you passing every fine day about this time, and the first day I'm sure of nurse going to London again -- and I know she has to go once more at least -- I'll manage to tell you, and then we'll fix for a long talk here.'

'All right,' I said, 'but we'd better go now.'

There was a sound of footsteps approaching, so with only a hurried 'good-bye' we ran off.

We did not need to stroll up and down the terrace to-day, as we knew Margaret's nurse was away; luckily so, for we only just got home in time by the skin of our teeth, running all the way, and not talking.

I wish I could quite explain about myself, here, but it is rather difficult. I went on thinking about Margaret a lot, all that day; all the more that Pete and I didn't talk much about her. We both seemed to be waiting till we saw her again and heard her 'plans.'

And I cannot now feel sure if I really was in earnest at all, as she and Peterkin certainly were, about the enchantment and the witch. I remember I laughed at it to myself sometimes, and called it 'bosh' in my own mind. And yet I did not quite think it only that. After all, I was only a little boy myself, and Margaret had such a common-sensical way, even in talking of fanciful things, that somehow you couldn't laugh at her, and Pete, of course, was quite and entirely in earnest.

I think I really had a strong belief that some risk or danger was hanging over her, and I think this was natural, considering the queer way our getting to know her had been brought about. And any boy would have been 'taken' by the idea of 'coming to the rescue,' as she called it.

There was a good deal of rather hard work at lessons just then for me. Papa and mamma wanted me to get into a higher class after Christmas, and I daresay I had been pretty idle, or at least taking things easy, for I was not as well up as I should have been, I know. So Peterkin and I had not as much time for private talking as usual. I had often lessons to look over first thing in the morning, and as mamma would not allow us to have candles in bed, and there was no gas or electric light in our room, I had to get up a bit earlier, when I had work to look over or finish. And nurse was very good about that sort of thing: there was always a jolly bright fire for me in the nursery, however early I was.

Our best time for talking was when Peterkin came to meet me. But we had two or three wet days about then. And Margaret did not expect us on rainy days, even if Pete had been allowed to come, which he wasn't.

It was, as far as I remember, not till the Monday after that Wednesday that we were able to pass along Rock Terrace. And almost before we came in real sight of her, I felt certain that the little figure was standing there on the look-out.

And so she was -- red shawl and white pinafore, and small dark head, as usual.

We made a sort of pretence of strolling past her house at first, but we found we didn't need to. She beckoned to us at once, and just at that moment the parrot, who was out in his balcony, most luckily -- or cleverly, Peterkin always declares he did it on purpose -- screeched out in quite a good-humoured tone -- 

'Good morning! good morning! Pretty Poll! Fine day, boys! Good morning!'

'Good morning, Poll,' we called out as we ran across the tiny plot of garden to Margaret.

'I'm so glad you've come,' she said, 'but you mustn't stop a minute. I've been out in a bath-chair this morning -- I've just come in; and now I'm to go every day. It's horrid, and it's all nonsense, when I can walk and run quite well. It's all that old witch. I'm going again to-morrow and Wednesday; but I'm going to manage to make it later on Wednesday, so that you can talk to me on the Parade. Nurse is going to London all day on Wednesday, but I'm to go out just the same, for the bath-chair man is somebody that Miss Bogle knows quite well. So if you watch for me on the Parade, between the street close to here,' and she nodded towards the nearest side of Lindsay Square, 'and farther on that way,' and now she pointed in the direction of our own house, 'I'll look out for you, and we can have a good talk.'

'All right,' we replied. 'On Wednesday -- day after to-morrow, if it's fine, of course.'

'Yes,' she said; 'though I'll try to go, even if it's not very fine, and you must try to come. I know now why nurse has to go to London. It's to see her sister, who's in an hospital, and Wednesday's the only day, and she's a dressmaker -- that's why I thought nurse had to go to a dressmaker's. I'm going on making up my plans. It's getting worse and worse. After I've been out in the bath-chair, Miss Bogle says I'm to lie down most of the afternoon! Just fancy -- it's so dreadfully dull, for she won't let me read. She says it's bad for your eyes, when you're lying down. Unless I do something quick, I believe she'll turn me into a -- oh! I don't know what,' and she stopped, quite out of breath.

'A frog,' said Peterkin. He had enchanted frogs on the brain just then, I believe.

'No,' said Margaret, 'that wouldn't be so bad, for I'd be able to jump about, and there's nothing I love as much as jumping about, especially in water,' and her eyes sparkled with a sort of mischief which I had seen in them once or twice before. 'No, it would be something much horrider -- a dormouse, perhaps. I should hate to be a dormouse.

'You shan't be changed into a dormouse or -- or anything,' said Peterkin, with a burst of indignation.

'Thank you, Perkins,' Margaret replied; 'but please go now and remember -- Wednesday.'

We ran off, and though we thought we had only been a minute or two at Rock Terrace, after all we were not home much too early.

'We must be careful on Wednesday,' I said. 'I'm afraid my watch is rather slow.'

'Dinner isn't always quite so pumptual on Wednesdays,' said Pete, 'with its being a half-holiday, you know.'

It turned out right enough on Wednesday.

Considering what a little girl she was then -- only eight and a bit -- Margaret was very clever with her plans and settlings, as we have often told her since. I daresay it was with her having lived so much alone, and read so many story-books, and made up stories for herself too, as she often did, though we didn't know that then.

We had no difficulty in finding her bath-chair, and the man took it quite naturally that she should have some friends, and, of course, made no objection to our walking beside her and talking to her. He was a very nice kind sort of a man, though he scarcely ever spoke. Perhaps he had children of his own, and was glad for Margaret to be amused. He took great care of the chair, over the crossing the road and the turnings, and no doubt he had been told to be extra careful, but as Miss Bogle had no idea that Margaret knew a creature in the place I don't suppose 'the witch' had ever thought of telling him that he was not to let any one speak to her.

It was a very fine day -- a sort of November summer, and when you were in the full sunshine it really felt quite hot. There were bath-chairs standing still, for the people in them to enjoy the warmth and to stare out at the sea.

Margaret did not want to stare at it, and no more did we. But it was more comfortable to talk with the chair standing still; for though to look at one going it seems to crawl along like a snail, I can tell you to keep up with it you have to step out pretty fast, faster than Peterkin could manage without a bit of running every minute or so, which is certainly not comfortable, and faster than I myself could manage as well as talking, without getting short of breath.

So we were very glad to pull up for a few minutes, though we had already got through a good deal of business, as I will tell you.

Margaret had made up her mind to run away! Fancy that -- a little girl of eight!

Pete and I were awfully startled when she burst out with it. She could stand Miss Bogle and the dreadful dulness and loneliness of Rock Terrace no longer, she declared, not to speak of what might happen to her in the way of being turned into a kitten or a mouse or something, if the witch got really too spiteful.

'And where will you go to?' we asked.

'Home,' she said, 'at least to my nursey's, and that is close to home.'

We were so puzzled at this that we could scarcely speak.

'To your nurse's!' we said at last.

'Yes, to my own nurse -- my old nurse!' said Margaret, quite surprised that we didn't understand. And then she explained what she thought she had told us.

'That stupid thing who is my nurse now,' she said, 'isn't my real nurse. I mean she has only been with me since I came here. She belongs to Miss Bogle -- I mean Miss Bogle got her. My own darling nursey had to leave me. She stayed and stayed because of that bad cold I got, you know, but as soon as I was better she had to go, because her mother was so old and ill, and hasn't nobody but nursey to take care of her. And then when Gran had to go away he settled it all with that witchy Miss Bogle, and she got this goosey nurse, and my own nursey brought me here. And she cried and cried when she went away, and she said she'd come some day to see if I was happy, but the witch said no, she mustn't, it would upset me; and so she's never dared to; and now you can fancy what my life has been,' Margaret finished up, in quite a triumphant tone.

Peterkin was nearly crying by this time. But I knew I must be very sensible. It all seemed so very serious.

'But what will your grandfather say when he knows you've run away?' I asked, while Peterkin stood listening, with his mouth wide open.

'He'd be very glad to know where I was, I should say,' Margaret replied. 'My own nursey will write to him, and I will myself. It'll be a good deal better than if I stayed to be turned into something he'd never know was me. Then, what would Dads and Mummy say to him for having lost me?'

'The parrot'd tell, p'raps,' said Pete.

'As if anybody would believe him!' exclaimed Margaret, 'except people who understand about fairies and witches and things like that, that you two and I know about.'

She was giving me credit for more believing in 'things like that' than I was feeling just then, to tell the truth. But what I did feel rather disagreeably sure of, was this queer little girl's determination. She sometimes spoke as if she was twenty. Putting it all together, I had a sort of instinct that it was best not to laugh at her ideas at all, as the next thing would be that she and her devoted 'Perkins' would be making plans without me, and really getting lost, or into dreadful troubles of some kind. So I contented myself with just saying -- 

'Why should Miss Bogle want to turn you into anything?'

'Because witches are like that,' said Peterkin, answering for his princess.

'And because she hates the bother of having me,' added Margaret. 'She has written to Gran that I am very troublesome -- nurse told me so; nurse can't hold her tongue -- and I daresay I am,' she added truly. 'And so, if I seemed to be lost, she'd say it wasn't her fault. And as I suppose I'd never be found, there'd be an end of it.'

'You couldn't but be found now,' said Peterkin, 'as, you see, we'd know.'

'If she didn't turn you into something too,' said Margaret, with the sparkle of mischief in her eyes again.

Pete looked rather startled at this new idea.

'The best thing to do is for me to go away to a safe place while I'm still myself,' she added.

'But have you got the exact address? Do you know what station to go to, and all that sort of thing?' I asked. 'And have you got money enough?'

'Plenty,' she said, nodding her head; 'plenty for all I've planned. Of course I know the station -- it's the same as for my own home, and nursey lives in the village where the railway comes. Much nearer than our house, which is two miles off. And I know nursey will have me, even if she had to sleep on the floor herself. The only bother is that I'll have to change out of the train from here, and get into another at a place that's called a Junction. Nursey and I had to do that when we came here, and I heard Gran explain it all to her, and I know it's the same going back, for the nurse I have now told me so. When she goes to London she stays in the same railway; but if you're not going to London, you have to get into another one. And nursey and I had to wait nearly half-an-hour, I should think, and that's the part I mind,' and, for the first time, her eager little face looked anxious. 'The railway people would ask me who I was, and where I was going, as, you see, I look so much littler than I am; so I've planned for you two kind boys to come with me to that changing station, and wait till I've got into the train that goes to Hill Horton; that's our station. I've plenty of money,' she went on hurriedly, for, I suppose, she saw that I was looking very grave, and Peterkin's face was pink with excitement.

'It isn't that,' I said; 'it's -- it's the whole thing. Supposing you got lost after all, it would be --  -- '

'No, no! I won't get lost,' she said, speaking again in her very grown-up voice. 'And remember, you're on your word of honour as gentlemen! -- gentlemen!' she repeated, 'not to tell any one without my leave. If you do, I'll just run away by myself, and very likely get lost or stolen, or something. And how would you feel then?'

'We are not going to break our promise,' I said. 'You needn't be afraid.'

'I'm not,' she said, and her face grew rather red. 'I always keep my word, and I expect any one I trust to keep theirs.'

And though she was such a little girl, not much older than Elvira, whom we often called a 'baby,' I felt sure she would 'keep hers.' It certainly wouldn't mend matters to risk her starting off by herself, as I believe she would have done if we had failed her.

It has taken longer to write down all our talking than the talking itself did, even though it was a little interrupted by the bath-chair man every now and then taking a turn up and down, 'just to keep Missy moving a bit,' he said.

Margaret's plans were already so very clear in her head that she had no difficulty in getting us to understand them thoroughly, and I don't think I need go on about what she said, and what we said. I will tell what we fixed to do, and what we did do.

Next Wednesday -- a full week on -- was the day she had settled for her escape from Rock Terrace. It was a long time to wait, but it was the day her nurse was pretty sure -- really quite sure, Margaret thought -- to go to London again, for she had said so. She went by a morning train, and did not come back till after dark in the evening, so there was no fear of our running up against her at the railway station. There was a train that would do for Hill Horton, after waiting a little at the Junction, at about three o'clock in the afternoon; and as it was my half-holiday, Peterkin and I could easily get leave to go out together if it was fine, and if it wasn't, we would have to come without! We trusted it would be fine; and I settled in my own mind that if we had to come without asking, I'd leave a message with James the footman, that they weren't to be frightened about us at home, for I didn't want mamma and all the others to be in a fuss again, like the evening Peterkin was lost.

Margaret said we needn't be away more than about an hour and a half. I don't quite remember how she'd got all she knew about the times of the trains. I think it was from the cook or housemaid at Miss Bogle's, for I know she said one of them came from near Hill Horton, and that she was very good-natured, and liked talking about Margaret's home and her own.

So it was settled.

Just to make it even more fixed, we promised to go round by Rock Terrace on Monday at the usual time, and Margaret was either to speak to us from the dining-room window, or, if she couldn't, she would hang out a white handkerchief somewhere that we should be sure to see, which would mean that it was all right.

We were to meet her at the corner of her row of houses nearest Lindsay Square, at half-past two on Wednesday. How she meant to do about her bath-chair drive, and all the rest of it, she didn't tell us, and, really, there wasn't time.

But I felt sure she would manage it, and Peterkin was even surer than I.

The last thing she said was -- 

'Of course, I shall have very little luggage; not more than you two boys can easily carry between you.'




Chapter VIII

A Terrible Idea


THAT was on a Wednesday, and the same day the next week was to be the day. On the Monday, as we had planned, we strolled along Rock Terrace. Luckily, it was a fine day, and we could look well about us without appearing to have any particular reason for doing so. It would have seemed rather funny if we had been holding up umbrellas, or, I should say, if I had been, for when it rained Peterkin wasn't allowed to come to meet me.

We stood still in front of the parrot's house. He was out on the balcony. I wondered if he would notice us, or if he did, if he would condescend to speak to us.

Yes, I felt that his ugly round eyes -- don't you think all parrots' eyes are ugly, however pretty their feathers are? -- were fixed on us, and in a moment or two came his squeaky, croaky voice -- 

'Good morning, boys! Good morning! Pretty Poll!'

'He didn't say "naughty boys,"' I remarked.

'No, of course not,' replied Peterkin; 'because he knows all about it now, you see.'

'We mustn't stand here long, however,' I said. 'I wond --  -- '

'I wonder why Margaret hasn't hung out a handkerchief if she couldn't get to speak to us,' I was going to have said, but just at that moment we heard a voice on the upstairs balcony -- 

'Good Polly,' it said, 'good, good Polly.'

And the parrot repeated with great pride -- 

'Good, good Polly.'

But when we looked up there was no one to be seen, only I thought one of the glass doors of Margaret's dining-room clicked a little. And I was right. In another moment there she was herself, on the dining-room balcony -- half on it, that's to say, and half just inside.

'Isn't he good?' she said, when we came as near as we dared to hear her. 'I told him to let me know as soon as he saw you, for I couldn't manage the handkerchief, and I was afraid you might have gone before I could catch you. Nurse has been after me so this morning, for the witch was angry with me yesterday for standing at the window without my shawl. But you mustn't stay,' and she nodded in her queenly little way. 'It's keeping all right -- Wednesday at half-past two, at the corner next the Square -- wet or fine. Good-bye.'

'Good-bye, all right,' we whispered, but she heard us.

So did the parrot.

'Good-bye, boys; good Polly! good, good Polly!' and something else which Peterkin declared meant, 'Wednesday at half-past two.'

I felt pretty nervous, I can tell you, that day and the next. At least I suppose it's what people call feeling very nervous. I seemed half in a dream, and, as if I couldn't settle to anything, all queer and fidgety. A little, just a very little perhaps, like what you feel when you know you are going to the dentist's, especially if you haven't got toothache; for when you have it badly, you don't mind the thought of having a tooth out, even a thumping double one.

Yet I should have felt disappointed if the whole thing had been given up, and, worse than that, horribly frightened if it had ended in Margaret's saying she'd run away by herself without us helping her, as I know -- I have said so two or three times already, I'm afraid: it's difficult to keep from repeating if you're not accustomed to writing and feel very anxious to explain things clearly -- as I know she really would have done.

And then there was the smaller worry of wondering what sort of weather there was going to be on Wednesday, which did matter a good deal.

I shall never forget how thankful I felt in the morning when it came, and I awoke, and opened my eyes, without any snorting for once, to hear Peterkin's first words -- 

'It's a very fine day, Gilley -- couldn't be better.'

'Thank goodness,' I said.

He was sitting up, as usual; but I don't think he had stared me awake this morning, for he was gazing out in the direction of the window, where up above the short blind a nice show of pale-blue sky was to be seen; a wintry sort of blue, with the early mist over it a little, but still quite cheering and 'lasting' looking.

'All the same,' I went on, speaking more to myself, perhaps, than to him, 'I wish we were well through it, and your princess safe with her old nurse.'

For I could not have felt comfortable about her, as I have several times said, even if we had not promised to help her. More than that -- I do believe she was so determined, that supposing mamma or Mrs. Wylie or any grown-up person had somehow come to know about it, Margaret would have kept to her plan, and perhaps even hurried it on and got into worse trouble.

She needed a lesson; though I still do think, and always shall think, that old Miss Bogle and her new nurse and everybody were not a bit right in the way they tried to manage her.

I hurried home from school double-quick that morning, you may be sure. And Peterkin and I were ready for dinner -- hands washed, hair brushed, and all the rest of it -- long before the gong sounded.

Mamma looked at us approvingly, I remember, when she came into the dining-room, where we were waiting before the girls and Clement had made their appearance.

'Good boys,' she said, smiling, 'that's how I like to see you. How neat you both look, and down first, too!'

I felt rather a humbug, but I don't believe Peterkin did; he was so completely taken up with the thought of Margaret's escape, and so down-to-the-ground sure that he was doing a most necessary piece of business if she was to be saved from the witch's 'enchantering,' as he would call it.

But as I was older, of course, the mixture of feelings in my mind was a mixture, and I couldn't stand being altogether a humbug.

So I said to mamma -- 

'It's mostly that we want to go out as soon as ever we've had our dinner; you know you gave us leave to go?'

'Oh yes,' said she. 'Well, it's a very nice day, and you will take good care of Peterkin, won't you, Giles? Don't tire him. Are any of your schoolfel --  -- '

But at that moment a note was brought to her, which she had to send an answer to, and when she sat down at the table again, she was evidently still thinking of it, and forgot she had not finished her question, which I was very glad of.

So we got off all right, though I had a feeling that Clement looked at us rather curiously, as we left the dining-room.

At the very last moment, I did give the message I had thought about in my own mind, with James. Just for him to say that mamma and nobody was to be frightened if we were rather late of coming back -- even if it should be after dark; that we should be all right.

And then we ran off without giving James time to say anything, though he did open his mouth and begin to stutter out some objection. He was rather a donkey, but I knew that he was to be trusted, so I just laughed in his face.

We were a little before the time at the corner of the square, but that was a good thing. It would never have done to keep her waiting, Peterkin said. He always spoke of her as if she was a kind of queen. And he was right enough. All the same, my heart did beat in rather a funny way, thinking to myself what could or should we do if she didn't come?

But we were not kept waiting long. In another minute or so, a little figure appeared round the corner, hastening towards us as fast as it could, but evidently a good deal bothered by a large parcel, which at the first glance looked nearly as big as itself.

Of course it was Margaret.

'Oh,' she exclaimed, 'I am so glad you are here already. It's this package. I had no idea it would seem so heavy.'

'It's nothing,' said Peterkin, valiantly, taking it from her as he spoke.

And it really wasn't very much -- what had made it seem so conspicuous was that the contents were all wrapped up in her red shawl, and naturally it looked a queer bundle for a little girl like her to be carrying. She was not at all strong either, even for a little girl, and afterwards I was not surprised at this, for the illness she had spoken of as a bad cold had really been much worse than that.

'Let's hurry on,' she said, 'I shan't feel safe till we've got to the station,' for which I certainly thought she had good reason.

I had meant to go by the front way, which was actually the shortest, but the scarlet bundle staggered me. Luckily I knew my way about the streets pretty well, so I chose rather less public ones. And before long, even though the package was not very heavy, Peterkin began to flag, so I had to help him a bit with it.

But for that, there would have been nothing about us at all noticeable. Margaret was quite nicely and quietly dressed in dark-blue serge, something like Blanche and Elvira, and we just looked as if we were a little sister and two schoolboy brothers.

'Couldn't you have got something less stary to tie up your things in?' I asked her when we had got to some little distance from Rock Terrace, and were in a quiet street.

She shook her head.

'No,' she said, 'it was the only thing. I have a nice black bag, as well as my trunks, of course, but the witch or nurse has hidden it away. I couldn't find it. It's just as if they had thought I might be planning to run away. I nearly took nurse's waterproof cape; she didn't take it to London to-day, because it is so fine and bright. But I didn't like to, after all. It won't matter once we are in the train, and at Hill Horton it will be a good thing, as my own nursey will see it some way off.'

We were almost at the station by now, and I told Margaret so.

'All right,' she said. 'I have the money all ready. One for me to Hill Horton, and two for you to the Junction station,' and she began to pull out her purse.

'You needn't get it out just yet,' I said. 'We shall have quite a quarter of an hour to wait. If you give me your purse once we're inside, I will tell you exactly what I take out. How much is there in it?'

'A gold half-sovereign,' she replied, 'and a half-crown, and five sixpences, and seven pennies.'

'There won't be very much over,' I said, 'though we are all three under twelve; so halves will do, and returns for Pete and me. Second-class, I suppose?'

'Second-class!' repeated Margaret, with great scorn; 'of course not. I've never travelled anything but first in my life. I don't know what Gran would say, or nursey even, if she saw me getting out of a second-class carriage.'

She made me feel a little cross, though she didn't mean it. We often travelled second, and even third, if there were a lot of us and we could get a carriage to ourselves. But, after all, it was Margaret's own affair, and as she was to be alone from the Junction to Hill Horton, perhaps it was best.

'I don't want you to travel second, I'm sure,' I said, 'if only there's enough. I'd have brought some of my own, but unluckily I'm very short just now.'

'I've -- 'began Peterkin, but Margaret interrupted him.

'As if I'd let you pay anything!' she said indignantly. 'I'd rather travel third than that. You are only coming out of kindness to me.'

After all, there was enough, even for first-class, leaving a shilling or so over. Hill Horton was not very far away.

A train was standing ready to start, for the station was a terminus. I asked a guard standing about if it was the one for Hill Horton, and he answered yes, but we must change at the Junction, which I knew already.

So we all got into a first-class carriage, and settled ourselves comfortably, feeling safe at last.

'I wish we were going all the way with you,' said Peterkin, with a sigh made up of satisfaction, as he wriggled his substantial little person into the arm-chair first-class seat, and of regret.

'I'll be all right,' said Margaret, 'once I am in the Hill Horton railway.'

For some things I wished too that we were going all the way with her, but for others I couldn't help feeling that I should be very glad to be safe home again and the adventure well over.

'By the day after to-morrow,' I thought, 'there will be no more reason for worrying, if Margaret keeps her promise of writing to us.'

I had made her promise this, and given her an envelope with our address on. For otherwise, you see, we should not have heard how she had got on, as no one but the parrot knew that she had ever seen us or spoken to us.

Then the train moved slowly out of the station, and Margaret's eyes sparkled with triumph. And we felt the infection of her high spirits. After all, we were only children, and we laughed and joked about the witch, and the fright her new nurse would be in, and how the parrot would enjoy it all, of which we felt quite sure.

We were very merry all the way to the Junction. It was only about a quarter-of-an-hour off, and just before we got there the guard looked at our tickets.

'Change at the Junction,' he said, when he caught sight of the 'Hill Horton,' on Margaret's.

'Of course, we know that, thank you,' she said, rather pertly perhaps, but it sounded so funny that Pete and I burst out laughing again. I suppose we were all really very excited, but the guard laughed too.

'How long will there be to wait for the Hill Horton train?' I had the sense to ask.

'Ten minutes, at least,' he replied, glancing at his watch, the way guards nearly always do.

I was glad he did not say longer, for the sooner Peterkin and I caught a train home again, after seeing Margaret off, the better. And I knew there were sure to be several in the course of the afternoon.

As soon as we stopped we got out -- red bundle and all. I did not see our guard again, he was somewhere at the other end; but I got hold of another, not so good-natured, however, and rather in a hurry.

'Which is the train for Hill Horton? Is it in yet?' I asked.

He must have thought, so I explained it to myself afterwards, that we had just come in to the station, and were at the beginning of our journey.

'Hill Horton,' I thought he said, but, as you will see, my ears must have deceived me, 'all right. Any carriage to the front -- further back are for --  -- .' I did not clearly hear -- I think it must have been 'Charing Cross,' but I did not care. All that concerned us was 'Hill Horton.'

'Come along,' I called to the two others, who had got a little behind me, lugging the bundle between them, and I led the way, as the man had pointed out.

It seemed a very long train, and as he had said 'to the front,' I thought it best to go pretty close up to the engine. There were two or three first-class carriages next to the guard's van, but they were all empty, and I had meant to look out for one with nice-looking people in it for Margaret to travel with. Farther back there were some ladies and children in some first-class, but I was afraid of putting her into a wrong carriage.

'I expect you will be alone all the way,' I said to her. 'I suppose there are not very many people going to Hill Horton.'

'Not first-class,' said Margaret. 'There are often lots of farmers and village people, I daresay. Nursey said it was very crowded on market days, but I don't know when it is market days. But it is rather funny, Giles, to be getting into the same train again!'

'No,' I replied, 'these carriages will be going to split off from the others that go on to London. The man said it would be all right for Hill Horton at the front. They often separate trains like that. I daresay we shall go a little way out of the station and come back again. You'll see. And he said -- the first man, I mean -- that we should have at least ten minutes to wait, and we've scarcely been two, so we may as well get in with you for a few minutes.'

'Yes, do,' said Margaret, 'but don't put my package up in the netted place, for fear I couldn't get it down again myself. The trains never stop long at our station.'

So we contented ourselves with leaving the red bundle on the seat beside her. It was lucky, I told her, that the carriage wasn't full, otherwise it would have had to go up in the rack, where it wouldn't have been very firm.

'It is so fat,' said Peterkin, solemnly.

'Something like you,' I said, at which we all laughed again, as if it was something very witty. We were still feeling rather excited, I think, and rather proud -- at least I was -- of having, so far, got on so well.

But before we had finished laughing, there came a startling surprise. The train suddenly began to move! We stared at each other. Then I remembered my own words a minute or two ago.

'It's all right,' I said, 'we'll back into the station again in a moment.'

Margaret and Peterkin laughed again, but rather nervously. At least, Margaret's laugh was not quite hearty; though, as for Peterkin, I think he was secretly delighted.

On we went -- faster and faster, instead of slower. There was certainly no sign of 'backing.' I put my head out of the window. We were quite clear of the Junction by now, getting every instant more and more into the open country. At last I had to give in.

'We're off, I do believe,' I said. 'There's been some mistake about our waiting ten minutes. We're clear on the way to Hill Horton.'

'I'm very glad,' said Pete. 'I always wanted to come all the way.'

'But perhaps it needn't be all the way,' I said. 'Do you remember, Margaret, how many stations there are between the Junction and yours?'

'Three or four, I think,' she replied.

'Oh well, then,' I said, 'it won't matter. We can get out the first time we stop, and I daresay we shall soon get a train back again, and not be late home after all.'

Margaret's face cleared. She was thoughtful enough not to want us to get into trouble through helping her.

'We shall be stopping soon, I think,' she said, 'for this seems a fast train.'

But to me her words brought no satisfaction. For it did indeed seem a fast train, and a much more horrible idea than the one of our going all the way to Hill Horton suddenly sprang into my mind -- 

Were we in the Hill Horton train at all?




Chapter IX

In A Fog


I WAITED a minute or two before I said anything to the others. They went on laughing and joking, and I kept looking out of the window. At last I turned round, and then Margaret started a little.

'What's the matter, Giles?' she said. 'You're quite white and funny looking.'

And Peterkin stared at me too.

'It's -- 'I began, and then I felt as if I really couldn't go on; but I had to. 'It's that I am dreadfully afraid,' I said, 'almost quite sure now, that we are in the wrong train. I've seen the names of two stations that we've passed without stopping already. Do you remember the names of any between the Junction and Hill Horton, Margaret?'

She shook her head.

'No,' she said, 'but I know we never pass any without stopping; at least I think so. They are quite little stations, and I've never known the train go as fast as this till after the Junction, when we were in the London train. I've been to London several times with Gran, you see.'

Then it suddenly struck her what I meant.

'Oh!' she exclaimed, with a little scream, 'is it that you are afraid of, Giles? Do you think we are in the London train? I did think it was funny that we were getting back into the same one, but you said that the man said that the carriages at the front were for Hill Horton?'

'Well, I thought he did,' I replied, 'but -- ' one's mind works quickly when you are frightened sometimes -- 'he might have said "Victoria," for the "tor" in "Victoria" and "Horton" sound rather alike.'

'But wouldn't he have said "London"?' asked Peterkin.

'No, I think they generally say the name of the station in London,' I explained. 'There are so many, you see.'

Then we all, for a minute or two, gazed at each other without speaking. Margaret had got still paler than usual, and I fancied, or feared, I heard her choke down something in her throat. Peterkin, on the contrary, was as red as a turkey-cock, and his eyes were gleaming. I think it was all a part of the fairy-tale to him.

'What shall we do?' said Margaret, at last, and I was forced to answer, 'I don't know.'

Bit by bit things began to take shape in my mind, and it was no good keeping them to myself.

'There'll be the extra money to pay for our tickets to London,' I said at last.

'How much will it be? Isn't there enough over?' asked Margaret quietly, and I could not help admiring her for it, as she took out her purse and gave it to me to count over what was left.

There were only four or five shillings. I shook my head.

'I don't know how much it will be, but I'm quite sure there's not enough. You see, though we're only halves, it's first-class.'

'And what will they do to us if we can't pay,' she went on, growing still whiter. 'Could we -- could we possibly be sent to prison?'

'Oh no, no. I don't think so,' I answered, though I was really not at all sure about it; I had so often seen notices stuck up on boards at railway stations about the punishments of passengers not paying properly, or trying to travel without tickets. 'But -- I'm afraid they would be very horrid to us somehow -- perhaps telegraph to papa or mamma.'

'Oh!' cried Margaret, growing now as red as she had been white, 'and that would mean my being shut up again at Rock Terrace -- worse than before. I don't know what the witch wouldn't do to me,' and she clasped her poor little hands in a sort of despair.

Then Peterkin burst out -- 

'I've got my gold half-pound with me,' he said, in rather a queer voice, as if he was proud of being able to help and yet half inclined to cry.

'Goodness!' I exclaimed, 'why on earth didn't you say so before?'

'I -- I -- wanted it for something else,' said he. 'I don't quite know why I brought it.'

He dived into his pocket, and dug out a very grimy little purse, out of which, sure enough, he produced a half-sovereign.

The relief of knowing that we should not get into trouble as far as our journey to London was concerned, was such a blessing, that just for the moment I forgot all the rest of it.

'Anyway we can't be put in prison now,' said Margaret, and a little colour came into her face. 'Oh, Perkins, you are a nice boy!'

I did think her praising him was rather rough on me, for I had had bother enough, goodness knows, about the whole affair, even though I had made a stupid mistake.

We whizzed on, for it was an express train, and for a little while we didn't speak. Peterkin was still looking rather upset about his money. He told me afterwards that he had been keeping it for his Christmas presents, especially one for Margaret, as we had never had a chance of getting her any flowers. But all that was put right in the end.

After a bit Margaret said to me, in a half-frightened voice -- 

'What shall we do when we get to London, Giles? Do you think perhaps the guard would help us to go back again to the Junction, when he sees it was a mistake? As we've got money to pay to London, he'd see we hadn't meant to cheat.'

'No,' I said, 'he wouldn't have time, and besides I don't think it'll be the same one. And if we said anything, he'd most likely make us give our names, or take us to some station-master or somebody, and then there'd be no chance of our keeping out of a lot of bother.'

'You mean,' said she, in a shaky voice, 'we should have to go all the way back, and I'd be sent to the witch again?'

'Something like it, I'm afraid,' I said. 'If I just explain that we got into the wrong train and pay up, they'll have no business to meddle with us.'

'But what are we to do, then?' she asked again.

'I don't know,' I replied. I'm afraid I was rather cross. I was so sick of it all, you see, and so fearfully bothered.

Margaret at last began to cry. She tried to choke it down, but it was no use.

I felt awfully sorry for her, but somehow the very feeling so bad made me crosser, and I did not try to comfort her up.

Pete, on the contrary, tugged out his pocket-handkerchief, which was quite a decently clean one, and began wiping her eyes. This made her try again to stop crying. She pulled out her own handkerchief and said -- 

'Dear little Perkins, you are so kind.'

I glanced at them, not very amiably, I daresay. And I was on the point of saying that, instead of crying and petting each other, they'd better try to think what we should do, for I knew we must be getting near London by this time, when I saw something white on the floor of the carriage.

I stooped to pick it up. It had dropped out of Margaret's pocket when she pulled out her handkerchief. It was an envelope, or what had been one, and for a moment I thought it was the one I had given her with our address on, to use when she wrote to us from Hill Horton, but that one couldn't have got so dirty and torn-looking in the time. And when I looked at it more closely, I saw that it was jagged and nibbled in a queer way, and then I saw that it had the name 'Wylie' on it, and an address in London. And when I looked still more closely, I saw that it had never been through the post or had a stamp on, and that it had a large blot in one corner. Evidently the person who had written on it had not liked to use it because of the blot, and the name on it was Miss, not Mrs. Wylie, '19 Enderby Street LONDON, S.W.'

I turned it round and round without speaking for a moment or two. I couldn't make it out. Then I said -- 

'What's this, Margaret? It must have dropped out of your pocket.'

She stopped crying -- well, really, I think she had stopped already, for whatever her faults were she wasn't a babyish child -- to look at it. She seemed puzzled, and felt in her pocket again.

'No, of course it's not the envelope you gave me,' she said. 'I've got it safe, and -- oh, I believe I know how this old one got into my pocket. I remember a day or two ago when I was trying if it would do to tie my handkerchief on to Polly's cage, he was nibbling some paper. He's very fond of nibbling paper, and it doesn't hurt him, for he doesn't eat it. But he would keep pecking at me when I was tying the handkerchief, and I was vexed with him, and so when he dropped this I picked it up and shook it at him, and told him he shouldn't have it again, and then I put it into my pocket. He was very tiresome that day, not a bit a fairy; he is like that sometimes.'

'But how did he come to have an envelope with "Miss Wylie" on?' I said. 'He doesn't live in Mrs. Wylie's house, but in the one between yours and hers, and this must have come from her.'

'I daresay she gave it him to play with, or her servant may have given it him,' said Margaret, 'You see he's sometimes at the end of the balcony nearest her, and sometimes at our end. I think his servants have put him more at our end since she's been away; perhaps they've heard me talking to him. Anyway, I'm sure this old envelope must have come out of his cage.'

I did not speak for a moment. I was gazing at the address.

'Margaret,' I exclaimed, 'look at it.'

She did so, and then stared up at me, with a puzzled expression in her eyes, still red with crying.

'I believe,' I went on, 'I believe this is going to help us.'

Peterkin, who had been listening with all his ears, could contain himself no longer.

'And the parrot must be a fairy after all,' he said, 'and he must have done it on purpose.'

But Margaret did not seem to hear what he said, she was still gazing at me and wondering what I was going to say.

'Don't you see,' I went on, touching the envelope, 'this must be the house of some of Mrs. Wylie's relations? Very likely she's staying with them there, and anyway they'd tell us where she is, as we know she's still in London. She told us she was going to be there for a fortnight. And she's very kind. We would ask her to lend us money enough to go back to the Junction, and then we'd be all right. You have got your ticket for Hill Horton, and we have our returns for home.'

'Oh,' cried Margaret, 'how clever you are to have thought of it, Giles! But,' and the bright look went out of her face, 'you don't think she'd make me go back to the witch, do you? Are you sure she wouldn't?'

'I really don't think she would,' I said. 'I know she has often been sorry for you, for she knew you weren't at all happy. And we'd tell her more about it. She is awfully kind.'

I meant what I said. Perhaps I saw it rather too favourably; the idea of finding a friend in London was such a comfort just then, that I felt as if everything else might be left for the time. I never thought about catching trains at the Junction or about its getting late and dark for Margaret to be travelling alone from there to Hill Horton, or anything, except just the hope -- the tremendous hope -- that we might find our kind old lady.

The train slackened, and very soon we pulled up. It wasn't the station yet, however, but the place where they stop to take tickets, just outside. I know it so well now, for we pass it ever so often on our way from and to school several times a year. But whenever we pass it, or stop at it, I think of that miserable day and all my fears.

The man put his head in at the window. He was a stranger.

'Tickets, please,' he said.

I was ready for him -- tickets, Peterkin's half-sovereign, and all. I held out the tickets.

'There's been a mistake,' I began. 'I shall have to pay up,' and when he heard that, he opened the door and came in.

He looked at the tickets.

'Returns -- half-returns to the Junction,' he said, 'and a half to Hill Horton. How's this?'

'We got into the wrong train at the Junction,' I replied. 'In fact, we got back into the same one we had just got out of. I expect the guard thought I said "Victoria" when I said "Hill Horton," for he told us to go to the front.'

'And didn't he tell you, you were wrong when he looked at the tickets before you started?' the man asked, still holding our tickets in his hand and examining us rather queerly.

I began to feel angry, but I didn't want to have any fuss, so instead of telling him to mind his own business, as I was ready to pay the difference, I answered again quite coolly -- 

'No one looked at the tickets at the Junction. There were two or three empty carriages at the front: perhaps no one noticed us getting in.'

I thought I heard the man murmur to himself something about 'rum go. Three kids by themselves, and first-class.'

So, though I was getting angrier every moment, I just said -- 

'I don't see that it matters. Here we are, anyway, and I'll pay if you'll tell me how much.'

He counted up.

'Eight-and-six -- no, eight-and-tenpence.'

I held out the half-sovereign. He felt in his pocket and gave me back the change -- a shilling and twopence, and walked off with the halves of Pete's and my return tickets and the half-sovereign.

We all began to breathe more freely; but, as the train slowly moved again at last -- we had been standing quite a quarter-of-an-hour -- a new trouble started.

'It's very dark,' said Margaret, 'and it can't be late yet.'

I looked out of the window. Yes, it was very dark. I put my head out. It felt awfully chilly too -- a horrid sort of chilly feeling. But that wasn't the worst of it.

'It's a fog,' I said. 'The horridest kind -- I can't see the lights almost close to us. It's getting worse every minute. I believe it'll be as dark as midnight when we get into the station. What luck, to be sure!'

The other two seemed more excited than frightened.

'I've never seen a really bad fog,' said Margaret, as if she was rather pleased to have the chance.

Pete said nothing. I expect he'd have had a fairy-tale all ready about a prince lost in a mist, if I'd given him an opening. But I was again rather taken aback. How were we to find our way to Enderby Street?

I had meant to walk, you see, in spite of the red bundle! For I was afraid of being cheated by the cabman; and I was afraid too of running quite short of money, in case we didn't find Mrs. Wylie, or that she had left, and that, if the worst came to the worst, I might have to go to a hotel with the two children, and telegraph to mamma to say where we were. Papa, unluckily, was not in London just then. He had gone away on business somewhere -- I forget where -- for a day or two, and besides, I was not at all sure of the exact address of his chambers, otherwise I might have telegraphed there. I only knew it was a long way from Victoria.

Indeed, I don't think I thought about that at all at the time, though afterwards mamma said to me I might have done so, had the worst come to the worst.




Chapter X

Beryl


YES, the fog was a fog, and no mistake. I don't think I have ever seen so bad a one since we came to live in London, or else it seemed to me terribly bad that day because I was not used to it, and because I was so anxious.

I felt half provoked and yet in a way glad that Margaret and Peterkin were not at all frightened, but rather pleased. They followed me along the platform after we got out of the carriage, lugging the bundle between them. It was not really heavy, and I had to go first, as the station was pretty full in that part, in spite of the fog. The lamps were all lighted, but till you got within a few yards of one you scarcely saw it.

I went on, staring about me for some one to ask advice from. At last, close to a book-stall, where several lights together made it a little clearer, I saw a railway man of some kind, standing, as if he was not in a hurry.

'Can you tell me where Enderby Street is, if you please?' I asked as civilly as I knew how.

'Enderby Street,' he repeated, in surprise. 'Of course; it's no distance off.'

Wasn't I thankful?

'How far?' I said.

'Well -- it depends upon which part of it you want. It's a long street. But if you're a stranger you'll never find your way in this fog. Better take a hansom.'

'Thank you,' I said. 'It's only a shilling, I suppose?'

He glanced at me again; he had been turning away. By this time the two children were close beside me. He saw that we belonged to each other.

'A shilling for two -- one-and-six for three,' he replied. 'Hansom or four-wheeler,' and then he moved off.

Just then Margaret began to cough, and a new fear struck me. She looked very delicate, and she had had a bad cold. Supposing the fog made her very ill? I was glad the man had spoken of a four-wheeler.

'Stuff your handkerchief or something into your mouth,' I said, 'so as not to get the fog down your throat. I'm going to call a four-wheeler.'

In some ways that dreadful day was not as bad as it might have been. There were scarcely any cabs about, but just then one stopped close to the end of the platform.

'Jump in,' I said, and before the driver had time to make any objection, for I know they do sometimes make a great favour of taking you anywhere in a fog, we were all inside.

I heard him growling a little, but when I put my head out of the window again, and said '19 Enderby Street,' he smoothed down.

We drove off, slowly enough, but that was to be expected. I pulled up both windows, for Margaret kept on coughing, in spite of having her handkerchief, and Peterkin's too, for all I knew, stuffed over her mouth and throat. They were both very quiet, but I think they were rather enjoying themselves. I suppose my taking the lead, as I had had to, since our troubles began, and managing things, made them feel 'safe,' as children like to do, at the bottom of their hearts, however they start by talking big.

It was a horrid fog, but the lights made it not quite so bad outside, for the shops had got all their lamps on, and we could see them now and then. There was a lot of shouting going on, and yet every sound was muffled. There were not many carts or omnibuses or anything on wheels passing, and what there were, were moving slowly like ourselves.

After a few minutes it got darker again; it must have been when we got into Enderby Street, I suppose, for there are no shops, or scarcely any, there. I've often and often passed along it since, but I never do without thinking of that evening, or afternoon, for it was really not yet four o'clock.

And then we stopped.

'Nineteen, didn't you say?' asked the driver as I jumped out.

'Yes, nineteen,' I said. 'Stop here for a moment or two, till I see if we go in.'

For it suddenly struck me that if we had the awful bad luck not to find Mrs. Wylie, we had better keep the cab, to take us to some hotel, otherwise it might be almost impossible to get another. And then we should be out in the street, with Margaret and her bundle, and worse still, her cough.

I made my way, more by feeling than seeing, up the steps, and fumbled till I found the bell. I had not actually told the others to stay in the cab, though I had taken care to keep the window shut when I got out, and I never dreamt but what they'd stay where they were till I had found out if Mrs. Wylie was there.

But just as the door opened -- the servant came in double-quick time luckily, the reason for which was explained -- I heard a rustling behind me, and lo and behold, there they both were, and the terrible red bundle too, looking huger and queerer than ever, as the light from inside fell on it.

We must have looked a funny lot, as the servant opened the door. She -- it was a parlour-maid -- did start a little, but I didn't give her time to speak, though I daresay she thought we were beggars, thanks to those silly children.

'Mrs. Wylie is staying here,' I said. I thought it best to speak decidedly. 'Is she at home?'

I suppose my way of speaking made her see we were not beggars, and perhaps she caught sight of the four-wheeler, looming faintly through the fog, for she answered quite civilly.

'She is not exactly staying here. She is in rooms a little way from here, but she comes round most afternoons. I thought it was her when you rang, but I don't think she'll be coming now -- not in this fog.'

My heart had gone down like lead at the first words -- 'she is not,' but as the servant went on I got more hopeful again.

'Can you -- ' I began -- I was going to have asked for Mrs. Wylie's address, but just then Margaret coughed; the worst cough I had heard yet from her. 'Why couldn't you have stayed in the cab?' I said sharply, and perhaps it was a good thing, to show that we had a cab waiting for us. 'Please,' I went on, 'let this little girl come inside for a minute. The fog makes her cough so.'

The parlour-maid stepped back, opening the door a little wider, but there was something doubtful in her manner, as if she was not quite sure if she was not running a risk in letting us in. I pushed Margaret forward, and not Margaret only! She was holding fast to her precious bundle, and Peterkin was holding fast to his side of it, so they tumbled in together in a way that was enough to make the servant stare, and I stayed half on the steps, half inside, but from where I was I could see into the hall quite well. It looked so nice and comfortable, compared with the horribleness outside. It was a square sort of hall. The house was not a big one, not nearly as big as ours at home, but lots bigger than the Rock Terrace ones, of course.

'Can you give me Mrs. Wylie's address?' I said. 'I think the best thing we can do is to -- ' but I was interrupted again.

A girl -- a grown-up girl, a lady, I mean -- came forward from the inner part of the hall.

'Browner,' she said, 'do shut the door. You are letting the fog get all over the house, and it is bitterly cold.'

She was blinking her eyes a little as she spoke: either the light or the fog, or both, hurt them. Perhaps she had been sitting over the fire in a darkish room. 'Blinking her eyes' doesn't sound very pretty, but it was, I found afterwards, a sort of trick of hers, and somehow it suited her. She was very pretty. I didn't often notice girls' looks, but I couldn't help noticing hers. Everything about her was pretty; her voice too, though she spoke a little crossly. She was rather tall, and her hair was wavy, almost as wavy as Elf's, and the colour of her dress, which was pinky-red, and everything about her, seemed to suit, and I just stood -- we all did -- staring at her.

And as soon as she caught sight of us -- I daresay we seemed quite a little crowd at the door -- she stared too!

Then she came forward quickly, her voice growing anxious, and almost frightened.

'What is the matter?' she exclaimed. 'Has there been an accident? Who are these -- children?'

Browner moved towards her.

'Indeed, Miss,' she began, but the girl stopped her.

'Shut the door first,' she said decidedly. 'No, no, come in, please,' this was to me; I suppose I seemed to hesitate, 'and tell me what you want, and who you are?'

Her voice grew more hesitating as she went on, and it must have been very difficult to make out what sort of beings we were. Margaret's colourless face and dark eyes and hair, and the bright red of the bundle, at the first hasty glance, might almost have made you think of a little Italian wandering musician; but the moment I spoke I think the girl saw we were not that class.

'We are friends of Mrs. Wylie's -- Mrs. Wylie who lives at Rock Terrace,' I said, 'and -- and we've come to her because -- oh! because we've got into a lot of trouble, and the fog's made it worse, and we don't know anybody else in London.'

Then, all of a sudden -- I'm almost ashamed to tell it, even though it's a good while ago now, and I really was scarcely more than a little boy myself -- something seemed to get into my throat, and I felt as if in another moment it would turn into a sob.

Margaret is awfully quick in some ways. She heard the choke in my voice and darted to me, leaving the bundle to Pete's tender mercies; so half of it dropped on to the floor and half stuck to him, as he stood there staring with his round blue eyes.

Margaret stretched up and flung her arms round my neck.

'Giles, Giles,' she cried, 'don't, oh don't!' Then she burst out -- 

'It's all my fault; at least it's all for me, and Giles and Perkins have been so good to me. Oh dear, oh dear, what shall I do?' and she began coughing again in a miserable way. I think it was partly that she was trying not to cry.

Seeing her so unhappy, made me pull myself together. I was just going to explain things a little to the girl, when she spoke first. She looked very kind and sorry.

'I'll tell you what's the first thing to do,' she said, 'and that's to get this child out of the cold,' and she opened a door a little farther back in the hall, and got us all in, the maid following.

It was a very nice, rather small dining-room; a bright fire was burning, and the girl turned on an electric lamp over the table. There were pretty ferns and things on it, ready for dinner, just like mamma has them at home.

'Now,' she began again, but there seemed nothing but interruptions, for just at that moment another door was heard to open, and as the one of the room where we were was not shut, we could hear some one calling -- 

'Beryl, Beryl, is there anything the matter? Has your aunt come?'

It was a man's voice -- quite a kind one, but rather fussy.

'Wait a moment or two, I'll be back directly,' said the girl, and as she ran out of the room we heard her calling, 'I'm coming, daddy.'

The parlour-maid drew back nearer the door, not seeming sure if she should leave us alone or not, and we drew a little nearer the fire. So that we could talk without her hearing us.

'Isn't she a kind lady?' said Margaret, glancing up at me. 'I think she looks very kind. You don't think she'll send me back to the witch, do you, Giles?'

'Bother the witch,' I was on the point of saying, for I would have given anything by this time to be back in our homes again, witch or no witch. But I thought better of it. It wouldn't have been kind, with Margaret looking up at me, with tears in her big dark eyes, so white and anxious.

'I shouldn't think so,' I replied. 'She must be Mrs. Wylie's niece, and we'll go on to Mrs. Wylie, and she will tell us what to do.'

The girl -- perhaps I'd better call her 'Beryl' now. We always do, though she is no longer Beryl Wylie. Beryl was back almost at once.

'Now,' she began again, sitting down in an arm-chair by the fire, and drawing Margaret to her, 'tell me all about it. In the first place, who are you? What are your names?'

'Lesley,' I said. 'At least ours is,' and I touched Peterkin. 'I'm Giles and he's Peterkin. We know Mrs. Wylie, and we live on the Marine Parade.'

Beryl nodded.

'Yes,' she said, 'I've heard of you. And,' she touched Margaret gently, 'this small maiden? What is her name -- she is not your sister?'

'No,' I replied. 'She is Margaret --  -- ' I stopped short. For the first time it struck me that I had never heard her last name!

'Margaret Fothergill,' she said quickly. 'I live next door but one to Mrs. Wylie, and next door to the parrot. Do you know the parrot in Rock Terrace?'

Beryl nodded again.

'I have heard of him too,' she said.

But suddenly a new idea -- I should rather say the old one -- struck Margaret again. Her voice changed, and she clasped her hands piteously.

'You won't, oh, you won't send me back to the witch? Say you won't.'

'What does she mean?' asked Beryl, turning to me, as if she thought Margaret was half out of her mind, though, all the same, she drew her still closer.

'She -- we -- ' I began, and Peterkin opened his mouth too. But I suppose I must have glanced at the servant, for Beryl turned towards her, as if to tell her not to wait. Then she changed and said instead -- 

'Bring tea in here, Browner, as quickly as you can. You can put it on the side table.'

Browner went off at once; she seemed a very good-natured girl. And then, as quickly as I could, helped here and there by Margaret and by Peterkin (though to any one less 'understanding' than Beryl, his funny way of muddling up real and fancy would certainly not have 'helped'), I told our story. It was really wonderful how Beryl took it all in. When I stopped at last, almost out of breath, she nodded her head quietly.

'We won't talk it over just yet,' she said. 'The first thing to do is to see my auntie. You three stay here while I run round to her, and try to enjoy your tea. I shall not be long. It is very near.'

The idea of tea did seem awfully tempting, but a new thought struck me.

'The cab!' I exclaimed, 'the four-wheeler! It's waiting all this time, and if we send it away, most likely we shan't be able to get another in the fog. There'll be such a lot to pay, too. Don't you think we'd better go with you in it to Mrs. Wylie, and perhaps she'd lend us money to go to the Junction by the first train? I don't think we should stay to have tea, thank you,' though, as I said it, a glance at Margaret's poor little white face made me wish I needn't say it. She was clinging to Beryl so by this time as if she felt safe.

And Peterkin looked almost as piteous as she did.

Beryl gently loosened Margaret's hold of her, and got up from the big leather arm-chair where she had been sitting.

'Never mind about the cab,' she said. 'I will go round in it to my aunt, and perhaps bring her back in it. I will settle with the man. I may be a quarter-of-an-hour or twenty minutes away. So all you three have got to do in the meantime is to have a good tea, and trust me. And don't think about witches, or bad fairies, or anything disagreeable till you see me again,' she added, nodding to the two children. 'Browner, you will see that they have everything they want.'

Browner smiled, and Beryl ran off, and in a minute or two we heard her come downstairs again, with her cloak and hat on, no doubt, and the front door shut, and I heard the cab drive away.

Talking of fairies, I can't imagine anything more like the best of good ones than Beryl Wylie seemed to us that afternoon.

Browner was very kind and sensible. For after she had poured out our tea, and handed us a plateful of bread-and-butter and another of little cakes, she left the room, showing us the bell, in case we wanted more milk or anything.

And then -- perhaps it may seem very thoughtless of us, but, as I have said before, even I, the eldest, wasn't very old -- we really enjoyed ourselves! It was so jolly to feel warm and to have a good tea, and, above all, to know that we had found kind friends, who would tell us what to do.

Margaret seemed perfectly happy, and to have got rid of all her fears of being sent back to the witch. And Peterkin, in those days, was never very surprised at anything, for nothing that could happen was as wonderful as the wonders of the fairy-land he lived in. So he was quite able to enjoy himself without any trying to do so.

I do feel, however, rather ashamed of one bit of it all. You'd scarcely believe that it never came into my head to think that mamma might be frightened about us, even though the afternoon was getting on into evening, and the darkness outside made it seem later than it really was!

I can't understand it of myself, considering that I had seen with my own eyes how frightened she had been the evening Peterkin got lost. I suppose my head had got tired and confused with all the fears and things it had been full of, but it is rather horrid to remember, all the same.




Chapter XI

Dear Mamma


BERYL must have been away longer than she had expected, for when we heard the front bell ring and a minute later she hurried in, her first words were -- 

'Did you think I was never coming back? I will explain to you what I have been doing.'

When her eyes fell on us, however, her expression changed. She looked pleased, but a little surprised, as she took in that we had not been, by any means, sitting worrying ourselves, but quite the contrary. Margaret was actually in the middle of a laugh, which did not seem as if she was feeling very bad, even though it turned into a cough. Peterkin was placidly content, and I was -- well, feeling considerably the better for the jolly good tea we had had.

'We've been awfully comfortable, thank you,' I said, getting up, 'and -- will you please tell us what you think we'd better do? And -- please -- how much was the cab?'

'Never mind about that,' she said. 'Here is my aunt,' and then I heard a little rustle at the door, and in came Mrs. Wylie, who had been taking off her wraps in the hall, looking as neat and white-lacy and like herself as if she had never come within a hundred miles of a fog in her life.

'She would come,' Beryl went on, smiling at the old lady as if she loved her very much. 'Auntie is always so kind.'

I began to feel very ashamed of all the trouble we were giving, and I'm sure my face got very red.

'I'm so sorry,' I said, as Mrs. Wylie shook hands with us, 'I never thought of you coming out in the fog.'

'It will not hurt me,' she replied; 'but I feel rather anxious about this little person,' and she laid her hand on Margaret's shoulder, for just then Margaret coughed again.

'Oh,' I exclaimed, 'you don't think it will make her cough worse, do you?' and I felt horribly frightened. 'We'll wrap her up much more, and once we are clear of London, there won't be any fog. I daresay it's quite light still, in the country. It can't be late. But hadn't we better go at once? Will you be so very good as to lend us money to go back to the Junction? I know mamma will send it you at once.'

All my fears seemed to awaken again as I hurried on, and the children's faces grew grave and anxious.

Mrs. Wylie sat down quietly.

'My dear boy,' she said, 'there can be no question of any of you, Margaret especially, going back to-night. The fog is very bad, and it is very cold besides. My niece has told me the whole story, and --  -- '

'I suppose you think we've all been dreadfully naughty,' I interrupted. 'I did not mean to be, and they didn't,' glancing at the others. 'But of course I'm older, only --  -- '

Mrs. Wylie laid her hand on my arm.

'There will be a good deal to talk over,' she said, speaking still very quietly, but rather gravely. 'And I feel that your dear mamma is the right person to -- to explain things -- your mistakes, and all about it. I believe certainly you did not mean to do wrong.'

Her mention of mamma startled me into remembering at last how frightened she and all of them would be at home.

'Oh!' I exclaimed, 'if we stay away all night, what will mamma do?'

'I was just going to tell you what we have done,' said Mrs. Wylie. 'That was what kept us -- Beryl and me. We have telegraphed to your mamma. She will not be frightened now. Indeed, I hope she may have got the telegram in time to prevent her beginning to be anxious. And we also -- ' but here she stopped, for a glance at Margaret, as she told me afterwards, reminded her of Margaret's fears lest she should be sent back to Rock Terrace and Miss Bogle. And what she had been on the point of saying was, that they had also telegraphed to 'the witch.'

'It was awfully good of you,' I said, feeling more and more ashamed of the trouble we were causing.

I would have given anything to go home that night, even if it had been to find papa and mamma more displeased with me than they had ever been in their life, and, as I was beginning to see, as they had a right to be. But in the face of all Mrs. Wylie and Beryl were doing, I could not possibly have gone against what they thought best.

'I shall also write to your mamma to-night,' Mrs. Wylie went on. 'There is plenty of time. It is not really as late as the fog makes it seem. And the first thing we now have to do,' for just then Margaret had another bad fit of coughing, 'is to put this child to bed. If you are not better in the morning, or rather if you are any worse, we must send for the doctor.'

'Oh, please don't!' said Margaret, as soon as she could speak. 'It's only the fog got into my throat. It doesn't hurt me at all, as it did when I had that very bad cold at home. I don't like strange doctors, please, Mrs. Wylie. And to-morrow nursey can send for our own doctor at home at Hill Horton, if I'm not quite well. I may go home to my nursey quite early, mayn't I? And you will tell their mamma not to be vexed with them, won't you? They only wanted to help me.'

She looked such a shrimp of a creature, with her tiny face, so pale too, that nobody could have found it in their heart to scold her. Mrs. Wylie just patted her hand and said something about putting it all right, but that she must go to bed now and have a good long sleep.

And just then Beryl, who had left us with Mrs. Wylie, came back to say that everything was ready for Margaret upstairs, and then she walked her and the red bundle off -- to put her to bed.

I really think that by this time Margaret was so tired that she scarcely knew where she was: she did not make the least objection, but was as meek as a mouse. You would never have thought her the same child as the determined little 'ordering-about' sort of child I knew she could be, and I, rather suspected, generally had been till she came under stricter management.

When she was alone with us -- with Peterkin and me -- Mrs. Wylie spoke a little more about the whole affair. But not very much. She had evidently made up her mind to leave things in mamma's hands. And she did not at all explain any of the sort of mystery there seemed about Margaret.

She rang the bell and told Browner to take us upstairs to the little room that had been got ready for us, and where we were to sleep, saying, that she herself was now going to write to mamma.

'And to Miss Bogle,' she added, 'though I thought it better not to say so to Margaret.'

She looked at us rather curiously as she spoke; I think she most likely wanted to find out what we really believed about 'the witch.' Peterkin started, and grew very red.

'You won't let her go back there?' he exclaimed. 'I'm sure she'll run away again if you do.'

It sounded rather rude, but Mrs. Wylie knew that he did not mean it for rudeness. She only looked at him gravely.

'I am very anxious to see how your little friend is to-morrow morning,' she replied. 'I earnestly hope she has not caught any serious cold.'

The way she said it frightened me a little somehow, though we children often caught cold and didn't think much about it. But then we were all strong. None of us ever coughed the way Margaret used to about that time, except when we had hooping-cough, and it wasn't that that she had got, I knew.

'You don't think she is going to be badly ill?' I said, feeling as if it would be all my fault if she was.

Mrs. Wylie only repeated that she hoped not.

We couldn't do much in the way of dressing or tidying ourselves up, as we had nothing with us, not even a red bundle. We could only wash our faces and hands, which were black with the fog, so having them clean was an improvement. And there was a very pretty brush and comb put out for us -- Beryl's own. I think it was awfully good of her to lend us her nice things like that. I don't believe Blanchie would have done it, though I daresay mamma would. So we made ourselves as decent-looking as we could, and our collars didn't look as bad that evening as in the daylight the next morning.

And then Beryl put her head in at the door and told us to come down to the drawing-room, where her father was.

'He is not able to go up and down stairs just now,' she said. 'His rheumatism is very bad. So he stays in the drawing-room, and we dine earlier than usual for his sake -- at seven.'

She went on talking, partly to make us more comfortable, for I knew we were both looking very shy. And just outside the drawing-room door she smiled and said, 'Don't be frightened of him, he is the kindest person in the world.'

So he was, I am sure. He had white hair and a thin white face, and he was sitting in a big arm-chair, and he shook hands kindly, and didn't seem to mind our being there a bit. Of course, Beryl had explained it all to him, and it was easy to see that he was most awfully fond of her, and pleased with everything she did. All the same, I was very glad, though it sounds horrid, that he couldn't come downstairs. It didn't seem half so frightening with only Mrs. Wylie and Beryl.

Peterkin got very sleepy before dinner was really over. I think he nodded once or twice at dessert, though he was very offended when I said so afterwards. I began to feel jolly tired too, and we were both very glad to go to bed. There was a fire in our room. 'Miss Wylie had ordered it because of the fog,' the servant said. Wasn't it kind of her?

We couldn't help laughing at the things they had tried to find for us instead of proper night things -- jackety sort of affairs, with lots of frills and fuss. I don't know if they belonged to mother Wylie or to Beryl. But we were too sleepy to mind, though next morning Pete was awfully offended when I said he looked like Red-Riding Hood's grandmother, as the frills had worked up all round his face, and he looked still queerer when he got out of bed, as his robe trailed on the floor, with his being so short.

He did not wake as early as usual, but I did. And for a minute or two I couldn't think where I was. And I didn't feel very happy when I did remember.

The fog had gone, but it still looked gloomy, compared with home. Still I was glad it was clear, both because I wanted so to go home, and also because of Margaret's cold. I think that was what I first thought of. If only she didn't get ill, I thought I wouldn't mind how angry they were with me. As to Peterkin, I would stand up for him, if he needed it, though I didn't think he would. They'd be sure to remind me how much older I was, and pleasant things like that. And yet when I went over and over it in my own mind, I couldn't get it clear what else I could have done. There are puzzles like that sometimes, and anyway it was better than if Margaret had run away alone, and perhaps got really lost.

And, after all, as you will hear, I hadn't much blame to bear. The name of this chapter will show thanks to whom that was.

When we were dressed -- and oh, how we longed for clean collars! -- we made our way down to the dining-room. Beryl was there already, and I saw that she looked even prettier by daylight, such as it was than the evening before. She smiled kindly, and said she hoped we had managed to sleep well.

'Oh yes, thank you,' we said, 'but -- ' and we both looked round the room. 'How is Margaret?'

'None the worse, I am glad to say,' Beryl answered, and then I thought to myself I might have guessed it, by Beryl's bright face. 'I really think it was only the fog that made her cough so last night. She looks a very delicate little girl, however, and she speaks of having had a very bad cold not long ago, which may have been something worse than a cold. So I made her stay in bed for breakfast, till --  -- '

At that moment the parlour-maid brought in a telegram. Beryl opened it, and then handed it to me. It was from mamma.

'A thousand thanks for telegram and letter. Coming myself by earliest train possible.'

'It's very good of mamma,' I said, and in my heart I was glad she was coming before we -- or I -- saw papa. For though he is very kind too, he is not quite so 'understanding,' and a good deal sharper, especially with us boys. I suppose fathers need to be, and I suppose boys need it more than girls.

'Yes,' said Beryl, and though she had been so awfully jolly about the whole affair, I could tell by her tone that she was glad that some one belonging to us was coming to look after us all. 'It is very satisfactory. My aunt said she would come round early too. I think it will be quite safe for Margaret to get up now, so I will go and tell her she may. You will find some magazines and picture-papers in my little sitting-room, behind this room, if you can amuse yourselves there till auntie comes.'

I stopped her a moment as she was leaving the room, to ask what I knew Peterkin was longing to hear.

'Mamma will take us home, of course,' I said, 'but what do you think will be done about Margaret?'

'They -- ' whom he meant by 'they' I don't know, and I don't think he knew himself -- 'they won't send her back to the witch, you don't think, do you?' he burst out, growing very red.

Beryl hesitated. Then she said quietly -- 

'No, I don't think so,' and Peterkin gave a great sigh of relief. If she had answered that she did think so, I believe he would have broken into a howl. I really do.

It seemed rather a long time that we had to wait in Beryl's room before anything else happened. Peterkin said it felt a good deal like waiting at the dentist's, and I agreed with him. It was the looking at the picture-papers that put it into his head, I think.

We heard the front-door bell ring several times, and once I was sure I caught Beryl's voice calling, 'Auntie, is it you?' but it must have been nearly twelve o'clock -- breakfast had been a good deal later than at home -- before the door of the room where we were, opened, and some one came in. I was standing staring out of the window, which looked into a very small sort of fernery or conservatory, and wishing Beryl had told me to water the plants, when I heard a voice behind me.

'Boys!' it said; 'Giles?' and turning round, I saw that it was mamma. I forgot all about being found fault with and everything else, and just flew to her, and so did poor old Pete, and then -- I am almost ashamed to tell it, though perhaps I should not be -- I broke out crying!

Mamma put her arms round me. I don't know what she had been meaning to say to us, or to me, perhaps, in the way of blame, but it ended in her hugging me, and saying 'poor old Gilley.' She hugged Peterkin too, though he wasn't crying, and had no intention of it, unless his beloved Margaret was to be sent back to Miss Bogle, and then, I have no doubt, he would have howled loudly enough. His whole mind was fixed on this point, and he had hardly patience even to be hugged, before he burst out with it.

'Mummy, mummy,' he said,'they're not going to send her back to the witch, are they?'

Mamma understood. She knew Peterkin's little ways so well, -- how he got his head full of a thing, and could take in nothing else, -- and she saw that it was best to satisfy him at once if we were to have any peace.

'No,' she said. 'The little girl is not to go back to Miss Bogle.'

Peterkin gave a great sigh of comfort. After all, he had rescued his princess, I suppose he said to himself. I thought it very extraordinary that mamma should be able to speak so decidedly about it, and I daresay she saw this, for she went on almost at once -- 

'I have a good deal to explain. Some unexpected things happened yesterday and this morning. But for this, I should have come by an earlier train.'

Here, I think, before I go on to say what these unexpected things were, is a good place for telling what mamma said to me afterwards, when we were by ourselves, about the whole affair, and my part in it. She quite allowed that I had not meant to do wrong or to be deceitful, or anything like that, and that I had been rather in a hole. But she made me see that, to start with, I should not have promised Margaret to keep it a secret, and she said she was sure that Margaret would have given in to our telling her -- mamma, I mean -- of her troubles, if I had spoken to her sensibly and seriously about it. And now that I know Margaret so well, I think so too. For she is particularly sensible for her age, especially since she has got her head clearer of fairy-tales and witches and enchantments and ogres and all the rest of it; and even then, there was a good deal of sense and reasonableness below her self-will and impatience.

Now, I can go on with what mamma told us. The first she heard of it all was the telegram from Mrs. Wylie, for she had been out till rather late and found it lying on the hall-table when she came in, before she had even heard that Pete and I had not turned up at the nursery tea. That was what Beryl had hoped -- that the news of our being all right would come before mamma had had a chance of being anxious. At first she was completely puzzled, but James, who was faithful to his promise, though rather stupid, helped to throw a little light on it by giving her my message.

And then, as she was still standing in the hall, talking to him and trying to think what in the world had made us dream of going to London to Mrs. Wylie's, all by ourselves, there came a great ring at the bell, and when James opened, a startled-looking maid-servant's voice was heard asking for Mrs. Lesley.

'I am Mrs. Wylie's parlour-maid,' she said, 'and I offered to run round, for the old lady next door to us, Miss Bogle, to ask if Mrs. Lesley would have the charity -- I was to say -- to come to see her. The little young lady, Miss Fothergill, who lives with her, has been missing all the afternoon. Miss Bogle did not know it till an hour or two ago, as she always rests in her own room till four o'clock. But I was to say she would explain it all to Mrs. Lesley, if she could possibly come to see Miss Bogle at once.'

Mamma had gone forward and heard this all herself, though the maid had begun by giving the message to James. And she said immediately that she would come. She still had her going-out things on, you see, so no time was lost.




Chapter XII

No Mystery After All


WE listened with all our ears, you may be sure, to what mamma told us; she did so, very quickly. It takes me much longer to write it.

'And did you see Miss Bogle?' I asked. 'And what is she like?'

'The witch herself,' said Peterkin, his eyes nearly starting out of his head.

'No, Peterkin,' said mamma, 'you are not to call her that any more. You must help me to explain to little Margaret, that Miss Bogle is a good old lady, who has meant nothing but kindness, though she made a great mistake in undertaking the charge of the child, for she is old and infirm and suffers sadly. Yes, of course, I saw her. She was terribly upset, the tears streaming down her poor face, though she had scarcely had time to be actually terrified about Margaret, thanks to Mrs. Wylie's telegram. She was afraid of the child having got cold, and she was altogether puzzled and miserable. And I was not able to explain very much myself, till I got Mrs. Wylie's letter this morning, fully telling all. Still, I comforted her by saying I knew Mrs. Wylie was goodness itself, and would take every care of all the three of you for the night. Miss Bogle had not missed Margaret, as she always rests in the afternoon, till about four. And, strange to say, the servants had not missed her either. The nurse was away for the day, and I suppose that the others, not being used to think about the child, had not given a thought to her, though it seems strangely careless, till it got near her tea-time, and then they ran to Miss Bogle and startled her terribly. The first thing she did was to send in to the next-door house' -- ('The parrot's house?' interrupted Pete) -- 'and to Mrs. Wylie's,' mamma went on, 'where the parlour-maid knew that you boys and Margaret had made friends, and she offered to speak to Miss Bogle, thinking that perhaps you had all gone a walk together, and would soon be coming in. And while she was telling Miss Bogle this, came the telegram, showing that indeed you had gone a walk, and more than a walk,' -- here mamma turned away for a moment, and I think it was to hide a smile that she could not help. I suppose to grown-up people there was a comical side to the story, -- 'together. And then the poor old lady sent for me.'

'And was that all that happened?' I asked.

Mamma shook her head.

'No,' she said. 'While I was still talking to Miss Bogle, came another telegram, from the little girl's nurse, her present nurse, to say that her sister was so ill that she could not leave her, and that she was writing to explain. Poor Miss Bogle! Her cup of troubles did seem full; I felt very sorry for her, and I promised to go back to see her, first thing this morning, which I did, before starting to fetch you boys. The nurse's letter had come, saying she did not know when she could return. And so -- ' mamma stopped for a moment -- 'it all ended -- papa came back last night, so he was with me, and it was his idea first of all -- in a way which I don't think you will be very sorry for,' -- and again mamma smiled, -- 'in our settling that Margaret is to come home with us, and stay with us till there is time to hear from her grandfather, General Fothergill, what he wishes. How do you like the idea?'

'I'm awfully glad of it,' I said. And so I was. Not so much for the sake of having Margaret as a companion, as because it quite took away all responsibility and fears about her. For I felt sure she would never have settled down happily or contentedly in Miss Bogle's house.

But as for Peterkin! You never saw anything like his delight. He took all the credit of it to himself, and was more certain than ever that the parrot was a fairy, Miss Bogle a witch, and himself a hero who had rescued a lovely princess. His eyes sparkled like -- I don't know what to compare them to; and his cheeks got so red and fat that I thought they'd burst.

And when I said quietly -- I thought it a good thing to sober him down a bit, but I really meant it too -- that I hoped Blanchie and Elf would like Margaret, he really looked as if he wanted to knock me down -- ungrateful little donkey, after all I'd done and gone through for him and his princess! But mamma glanced at me, and I understood that she meant that it was better to say nothing much to him. He would grow out of his fancies by degrees. And she just said, quietly too, that she was sure the little girls would get on all right together, and that Blanche and Elvira would do all they could to make Margaret happy.

'And I am so thankful,' mamma went on, 'that the poor child is none the worse for her adventures, and able to travel back with us to-day. And I can never, never be grateful enough to Mrs. Wylie and her niece for their goodness to you. Miss Wylie is perfectly sweet.'

Just as she said this the door opened and Beryl came in, leading Margaret with her. Mamma, of course, had already seen them upstairs, before she saw us.

Margaret looked pale, naturally, paler than usual, I thought, and she never was rosy in those days, though she is now. But she seemed very happy and smiling, and she was not coughing at all. And another thing that pleased me, was that she came round and stood by mamma's chair, as if she already felt quite at home with her.

Beryl drew a chair close to them and sat down.

'I was just saying,' said mamma, 'that we shall never be able to thank you enough, dear Miss Wylie, for your goodness to these three.'

'I am so glad, so very glad,' said Beryl, in her nice hearty sort of way, 'to have been of use. It was really quite a pleasant excitement last night -- when it all turned out well, and Margaret was clever enough not to get ill. But please don't call me Miss Wylie. You have known dear old auntie so long -- and she counts me almost like her own child. Do call me "Beryl."'

And from that time she has always been 'Beryl' to us all.

They, the Wylies, made us stay to luncheon. It was just about time for it by this. We did not see Mr. Wylie again, though he sent polite messages to mamma, and was very kind about it all.

And Mrs. Wylie came in to luncheon, and petted us all round, and said that we must all -- Blanche and Elvira, and Clement too, if he wasn't too big, come to have tea with her, as soon as she got back to Rock Terrace.

We thanked her, of course. At least Peterkin and I did, but I noticed that Margaret got rather red and did not say anything except 'thank you' very faintly. She was still half afraid of finding herself again where she had been so unhappy, and indeed it took a good while, and a good deal of quiet talking too, to get it quite out of her head about Miss Bogle being a witch who was trying to 'enchanter' her, as her dear 'Perkins' (she calls him 'Perkins' to this day) would persist in saying.

Mrs. Wylie noticed her manner too, I fancy. For she went on to say, with a funny sort of twinkle in her eyes -- 

'There will be a great deal to tell the parrot. And I don't expect that he will feel quite happy in his mind about you, little Margaret, till he has seen you again. He will miss you sadly, I am afraid.'

And at this, Margaret brightened up.

'Yes,' she said, 'I must come to see dear Poll. But I may talk to him from your side of the balcony, mayn't I, Mrs. Wylie?'

'Certainly,' said the kind old lady, 'and you must introduce your new friends to him. Mrs. Lesley's little girls, I mean.'

Margaret liked the idea of this, I could see. She is not at all shy, and she still is very fond of planning, or managing things, and people too, for that matter, though of course she is much more sensible now, and not so impatient and self-willed as she used to be. Still, on the whole, she gets on better with Peterkin than with any of us, though she is fond of us, I know, and so are we of her. But Peterkin is just a sort of slave to her, and does everything she asks, and I expect it will always be like that.

What a different journey it was that day to the miserable one the day before! To me, at least; for though I wasn't feeling particularly happy, as I will explain, in some ways, the horrible responsibility about the others had gone. They were as jolly as could be, but then I knew they hadn't felt half as bad as I had done. They sat in a corner, whispering, and I overheard that they were making plans for all sorts of things they would do while Margaret stayed with us. And Pete was telling her all about Blanche and Elf, especially about Elf, and about the lots of fairy story-books he had got, and how they three would act some of them together, till Margaret got quite pink with pleasure.

I saw mamma looking at me now and then, as if she was wondering what I was thinking about. I was thinking a good deal. There were some things I couldn't yet quite understand about it all -- why there should have been a sort of mystery, and why Mrs. Wylie had pinched up her lips when we had asked her about Margaret the day we went to tea with her. And besides this, I was feeling, in a kind of a way, rather ashamed of being taken home like a baby, even though mamma -- and all of them, I must say -- had been so very good, not to make a regular row and fuss, after the fright we had given them, or had nearly given them.

But I didn't say anything more to mamma just then. For one thing, I saw that she was looking very tired, and no wonder, poor dear little mamma, when you think what a day of it she had had, and all the bother with the witch the night before, too.

I never saw Miss Bogle, and I've never wanted to. I shall always consider that she was nearly as bad as if she had been a witch, and it was no thanks to her that poor little Margaret didn't get really lost, or badly ill, or something of that kind.

They were expecting us when we got home. Blanche and Elf were in the hall, looking rather excited and very shy. But there was not much fear of shyness with Margaret and Peterkin, as neither of them was ever troubled with such a thing.

I left Pete to do the honours, so to say, helped by mamma, of course. They all went off together upstairs to show Margaret her room and the nursery, and to introduce her to nurse and all the rest of it, and I went into the schoolroom -- a small sort of study behind the dining-room, and sat down by myself, feeling rather 'out of it' and 'flat,' and almost a little ashamed of myself and the whole affair somehow.

And the fire was low and the room looked dull and chilly, and I began thinking how horrid it would be to go to school the next morning without having done my lessons properly, and not knowing what to say about having missed a day, without the excuse, or good reason, of having been ill.

I had sat there some time, a quarter-of-an-hour or so, I daresay, when I heard the front-door bell ring. Then I heard James opening and the door shutting, and, a moment after, the door of the room where I was opened, and some one came in, and banged something down on to the table. By that I knew who it was. It was Clement, with his school-books.

It was nearly dark by this time, and the room was not lighted up at all. So he did not see me at first, till I moved a little, which made him start.

'Good gracious!' he exclaimed, 'is that you, Gilley? What are you doing all alone in the dark? James told me you had all come -- the kid from Rock Terrace too. By jove -- ' and he began to laugh a little to himself.

It seemed a sort of last straw. I was tired and ashamed, and all wrong somehow. I did not speak till I was at the door, for I got up to leave the room at once. Then I said -- 

'You needn't go at me like that. You might let me sit here if I want to. You don't suppose I've been enjoying myself these two days, do you?'

He seemed to understand all about it at once. He caught hold of my arm and pulled me back again.

'Poor old Gilley!' he said.

Then he took up the poker and gave a good banging to the coals. There was plenty on the fire, but it had got black for want of stirring up. In a moment or two there was a cheery blaze. Clement pushed me into a seat and sat down near me on the table, his legs dangling.

I have not said very much about Clem in this story -- if it's worth calling a story -- except just at the beginning, for it has really been meant to be about Peterkin and his princess. But I can't finish it without a little more about him -- Clem, I mean. Some day, possibly, I may write about him especially, about our real school-life and all he has been to me, and how tremendously lucky I always think it has been for me to have such a brother. He is just as good as gold, without any pretence about it, and jolly too. And I can never forget how kind he was that afternoon.

'Poor old Gilley!' he repeated. 'It must have been rather horrid for you -- much worse than for those two young imps. Mamma told me all about it, as soon as she got the letter -- she told me a good deal last night about what Miss Bogie, or whatever the old thing's name is, had told her.'

I looked up at this.

'Yes?' I said. 'I don't understand it at all, yet. But, Clem, what shall I do about school to-morrow? I've no lessons ready or anything.'

'Is it that that you are worrying about?' he said.

'Partly, and --  -- '

'Well, you can put that out of your head. It's all right. Mamma told me what to say -- that there'd been a mistake about the trains, and you'd had to stay the night in London. It wasn't necessary to say more, and you'll find it all right, I promise you.'

I was very glad of this, and I said so, and thanked Clem.

He sat still for a minute or two as if he was expecting me to speak.

'Well?' he said at last.

'Mamma's been very good, very good about it altogether,' I said at last, 'and so has papa, by what she says. But still -- ' and then I hesitated.

'Well?' said Clement again. 'What? I don't see that there's much to be down in the mouth about.'

'It's just that -- I feel rather a fool,' I said. 'Anybody would laugh so at the whole affair if they heard it. I daresay Blanche will think I've no more sense than Pete. She has a horrid superior way sometimes, you know.'

'You needn't bother about that, either,' said he. 'She and Elf have got their heads perfectly full of Margaret. I don't suppose Blanche will ever speak of your part of it, or think of it even. As long as papa and mamma are all right -- and I'm sure they are -- you may count it a case of all's well that ends well.'

I did begin to feel rather cheered up.

'You're sure I'm not going to get a talking to, after all?' I said, still doubtfully. 'I saw mamma looking at me rather funnily in the train.'

'Did you, my boy?' said another voice, and glancing round, I saw mamma, who had come into the room so quietly that neither of us had heard her.

She sat down beside us. And then it was that she explained to me what I had done wrong, and been foolish about. I have already told what she said, and I felt that it was all true and sensible. And she was so kind -- not laughing at me a bit, even for having a little believed about the witch and all that -- that I lost the horrid, mortified, ashamed feelings I had been having.

Just then the nursery tea-bell rang. I got up -- slowly -- I still felt a little funny and uncomfortable about Blanche, and even nurse. You see nurse made such a pet of Peterkin that she never scarcely could see that he should be found fault with, and of course he was a very good little chap, though not exactly an angel without wings -- and certainly rather a queer child, with all his fairy-tale fancies.

But mamma put her hand on my arm.

'No,' she said. 'Clem and you are going to have tea in the drawing-room with me. The nursery party will be better left to itself to-day, and little Margaret is not accustomed to so many.'

'I don't believe anything would make her feel shy, though,' I said. 'She is just as funny in her way as Peterkin in his. And, mamma, there are some things I don't understand still. Is there any sort of mystery? Why did Mrs. Wylie leave off talking about Margaret, and you too, I think, all of a sudden? I'm sure it was Mrs. Wylie's way of pinching up her lips about her, that made Pete surer than ever about the enchantment and the parrot and the witch and everything.'

Mamma smiled.

'No,' she said, 'there is no mystery at all. I will explain about it while we are having tea. It must be ready for us.'

And she went into the drawing-room, Clement and I following her. It looked so nice and comfortable -- I was jolly glad, I know, to be at home again!

Then mamma told us -- or me; I think Clem had heard it already -- about Margaret.

Her father and mother were in India, as I have said, have I not? And her grandfather was taking care of her. He was not a very old man, though he was a General. He had vineyards or something -- yes, I am sure it was vineyards, in the south of France, and he had had to go, suddenly, to look after some business to do with them. And just when he was starting, Margaret got ill. It was the illness she had spoken of several times, which she called a very bad cold. But it was much worse than that, though she didn't know.

Her grandfather put off going till she was getting better, and the doctors said she must have change of air. He couldn't take her with him, and he had to go, so the only thing he could think of was to ask old Miss Bogle, who had been Margaret's father's governess once -- or General Fothergill's own governess when he was a little boy; I am not sure which -- to take charge of her. He had forgotten how old, Miss Bogle was, and I think she must have forgotten it herself! She wasn't fit to look after a child, especially as Margaret's nurse had to leave just then.

So you can pretty well understand how dull and lonely Margaret was. And General Fothergill was in such a fuss about her, and so terrified of her getting any other illness, that he forbade her making friends with any one out of Miss Bogle's house, unless he was asked about it, and wrote to give leave.

And when Mrs. Wylie found out about her, she -- or Miss Bogle -- did write to ask leave for her to know us, explaining how good and sensible mamma was about children every way. But till the leave came Mrs. Wylie and mamma settled that it was better to say nothing about it to us. And in this, I think, they made a mistake.

That was all. The leave did come, while Margaret was with us. Of course, all that had happened was written to her grandfather, but she wasn't a bit scolded!

Neither was her 'Perkins'; the big people only said that they must not be given so many fairy-stories to read.

I wasn't scolded either, though, so I should not complain. And several nice things came of it: the knowing Beryl Wylie, and the going to stay at General Fothergill's country house, and the having Margaret with us sometimes.

I don't know what the parrot thought of it all. I believe he is still there, as clever and 'uncanny' as ever; at least so Mrs. Wylie said, the last time she came to see us.

<eob>

Billy's Santa Claus Experience

By

Cornelia Redmond



Of course I don't believe in any such person as Santa Claus, but Tommy does. Tommy is my little brother, aged six. Last Christmas I thought I'd make some fun for the young one by playing Santa Claus, but as always happens when I try to amuse anybody I jes' got myself into trouble.

I went to bed pretty early on Christmas Eve so as to give my parents a chance to get the presents out of the closet in mamma's room, where they had been locked up since they were bought. I kep' my clo'es on except my shoes, and put my nightgown over them so as I'd look white if any of them came near me. Then I waited, pinchin' myself to keep awake. After a while papa came into the room with a lot of things that he dumped on Tommy's bed. Then mamma came in and put some things on mine and in our two stockings that were hung up by the chimney. Then they both went out very quiet, and soon all the lights went out too.

I kep' on pinchin' myself and waitin' for a time, and then when I was sure that everybody was asleep I got up. The first thing I went into was my sister's room and got her white fur rug that mamma gave her on her birthday, and her sealskin cape that was hanging on the closet door. I tied the cape on my head with shoestrings and it made a good big cap. Then I put the fur rug around me and pinned it with big safety pins what I found on Tommy's garters. Then I got mamma's new scrap-basket, trimmed with roses, what Mrs. Simmons 'broidered for the church fair and piled all of the kid's toys into it. I fastened it to my back with papa's suspenders, and then I started for the roof.

I hurt my fingers some opening the scuttle, but kept right on. It was snowing hard and I stood and let myself get pretty well covered with flakes. Then I crawled over to the chimney that went down into our room and climbed up on top of it. I had brought my bicycle lantern with me and I lighted it so as Tommy could see me when I came down the chimney into the room.

There did not seem to be any places inside the chimney where I could hold on by my feet, but the ceiling in our room was not very high and I had often jumped most as far, so I jes' let her go, and I suppose I went down. Anyway, I did not know about anything for a long time. Then I woke up all in the dark with my head feeling queer, and when I tried to turn over in bed I found I wasn't in bed at all, and then my arms and legs began to hurt terrible, mostly one arm that was doubled up. I tried to get up but I couldn't because my bones hurt so and I was terrible cold and there was nothing to stand on. I was jes' stuck. Then I began to cry, and pretty soon I heard mamma's voice saying to papa:

"Those must be sparrers that are making that noise in the chimney. Jes' touch a match to the wood in the boys' fireplace."

I heard papa strike a light and then the wood began to crackle. Then, by jinks! it began to get hot and smoky and I screamed:

"Help! Murder! Put out that fire lest you want to burn me up!"

Then I heard papa stamping on the wood and mamma calling out:

"Where's Billy? Where is my chile?"

Next Tommy woke up and began to cry and everything was terrible, specially the pains all over me. Then papa called out very stern:

"William, if you are in that chimney come down at once!" and I answered, cryin', that I would if I could, but I was stuck and couldn't.

Then I heard papa gettin' dressed, and pretty soon he and John from the stable went up on the roof and let down ropes what I put around me and they hauled me up.

It was jes' daylight and I was all black and sooty and scratched and my arm was broken.

Everybody scolded me excep' mamma. I had spoiled my sister's white rug and broken all of Tommy's toys, and the snow what went in through the scuttle melted and marked the parlor ceiling, besides I guess it cost papa a good deal to get my arm mended. Nobody would believe that I had jes' meant to make some fun for Tommy, and my arm and all my bruised places hurt me awful for a long time. If I live to be a million I am never goin' to play Santa Claus ag'in.

<eob>

Bunny Brown And His Sister Sue And Their Shetland Pony

By

Laura Lee Hope



Chapter I

In The Ark


"Oh, Bunny! Here comes Bunker Blue!"

"Where is he? I don't see him!"

Bunny Brown and his Sister Sue were playing on the shady side porch of their house one morning, when the little girl, looking up from a cracker box which had been made into a bed -- where she was putting her doll to sleep -- saw a tall boy walking up the path.

"There's Bunker!" went on Sue to her brother, Bunny, at the same time pointing. "Maybe he's come to take us for a ride in one of daddy's fishing boats!"

"Have you, Bunker?" asked Bunny, standing up and brushing some shavings from his little jacket, for he had been using a dull kitchen knife, trying to whittle out a wooden boat from a piece of curtain stick. "Oh, Bunker, have you?"

"Have I what?" asked the tall boy, who worked on the dock where Mr. Brown, the father of Bunny and Sue, carried on a boat and fish business. "Have I what?" Bunker asked again, and he stood still and gazed at the two small children who were anxiously looking at him.

"Have you come to take us for a ride?" asked Bunny.

"In one of daddy's boats?" added Sue, who generally waited for her brother to speak first, since he was a year older than she.

"Not this time, messmates," answered Bunker Blue with a laugh, calling the children the name one sailor sometimes gives to another. "Not this time messmates. I've come up to get the ark."

"Oh, the ark!" cried Bunny. "Did you hear that, Sue? Bunker has come up to get the ark!"

"Oh! Oh!" and Sue fairly squealed in delight. "Then we'll have a nice ride in that. Wait, Bunker, till I put my doll away, and I'll come with you. Wait for me!"

"And I'll come, too," added Bunny. "I can bring my boat with me. 'Tisn't all done yet," he added, "but I can whittle on it when we ride along, and then I can sail it when we get to the dock."

"Now avast there and belay, messmates!" cried Bunker Blue with a laugh, using some more of the kind of talk he heard among the sailors that came to Mr. Brown's dock with boats of fish. "Wait a minute! I didn't say I had come to give you a ride in the ark. I just came to get it."

"But you will let us ride, won't you, Bunker?" asked Bunny, smiling at the tall boy.

"'Cause we'll sit just as still as anything," added Sue.

"And I won't touch the steering wheel -- not once!" promised Bunny.

"I guess you'd better not -- not after you once got almost run away with in the big ark," said Bunker. "I should say not!"

"Oh, please let us come with you!" begged Sue. "We want awful much to ride in the ark, Bunker!"

While the two children were talking to the tall boy another little girl had crawled under the fence from the street, and was now standing near Bunny and his sister. She was Sadie West, one of Sue's chums, and when she heard Bunny's sister begging for a ride in the "ark" Sadie said:

"Oh, Sue! is he going to take your Noah's ark away? I wouldn't let him if I were you!"

"It isn't Noah's ark at all," Sue explained. "We call the big automobile, that we had such a long ride in, the ark. It looks a little like a Noah's ark, but it's bigger, and we can all get in it," she added.

"Oh!" exclaimed Sadie. "I thought Bunker meant he was going to take your little ark, and all the wooden animals, away," she added.

"Not this time," said Bunker Blue. "Your father sent me up, Bunny, to get the big auto -- the ark, as you call it. It's got to be fixed, and I'm to drive it to the shop over at East Milford. That's why I came up. Where's your mother? I want to tell her I'm taking away the ark, so she won't think some tramps or some gypsies have run off with it."

"I'll call her," Sue said, while Bunny kept on brushing the tiny whittlings from his jacket and short trousers. And there was a queer look on the face of Bunny Brown.

"What are you making, Bunny?" asked Bunker, as he waited for Sue to go into the house and give her mother the message.

"Boat," Bunny answered.

"Pretty small one, isn't it?" inquired Bunker, who knew a lot about boats and fish, from having worked at Mr. Brown's dock a number of years. "Awful small boat."

"It's a lifeboat that I'm going to put on my big sailboat," explained Bunny, for he had a large boat, with a real sail on it that could be raised and lowered. It was not a boat large enough for him and Sue to ride on, though Sue sometimes gave one of her dolls a trip on it. "I have to have a lifeboat on my sailboat," Bunny went on, "'cause maybe a scrumbarine might sink my big ship."

"That's so," agreed Bunker. "Well, Bunny, you go in and tell your mother I'm going to take the ark, will you? I'm in a hurry, and I guess Sue forgot what she went after. You go in and tell your mother."

"Yes, I'll do that," Bunny promised. "But can't we have a ride in the ark with you, Bunker?"

"Not this time, Bunny!"

"Please, Bunker!"

"No, your father didn't say anything about taking you over to the East Milford auto shop with me, and I don't dare do it unless he says so."

"Well, we can ask him," went on Bunny eagerly.

"No, I haven't time to run down to the dock again, and your father is busy there. A big load of fish came in, and he has to see that they get iced, so they won't spoil. Hurry and tell your mother -- Oh, here she comes now!" exclaimed Bunker Blue, as Mrs. Brown came to the door. Sue and Sadie West stood behind her.

"Did you want to see me, Bunker?" asked Mrs. Brown.

"Yes'm," answered the boy. "Mr. Brown sent me up to get the ark. He wants me to drive it over to Simpson's garage, in East Milford, to have it looked over and fixed. I thought if I went into the barn and took the machine out without telling you, maybe you'd think some gypsies ran away with it."

"Why! are there any gypsies around now, Bunker?" asked Mrs. Brown.

"Yes, I heard the other day that a band of them was camping up along the creek. But I guess they won't come bothering around here."

"If they do I'll sic Splash, my dog, on 'em," said Bunny.

"Yes, I guess Splash will scare off the gypsies," agreed Bunker Blue with a laugh. Then he added: "So, now I've told you what I'm going to do, Mrs. Brown, I'll go and get the ark and drive it over."

"All right, Bunker," said Mrs. Brown. "Is my husband very busy?"

"Yes'm. A big boatload of fish just came in, and he's seeing to having 'em iced."

"Oh, then he can't come up. I was just going to telephone that I want the sideboard moved to the other end of the room, and it's too heavy for Uncle Tad to manage alone. I thought Mr. Brown might run up and help, but if he's so busy with the fish --  -- "

"I'll help," offered Bunker. "I'm not in such a hurry as all that. I'll help Uncle Tad move the sideboard, and then I'll get the auto."

"Can't we go with you?" begged Sue. "Can't we have a ride in the ark, Mother?"

"Oh, my, no!" exclaimed Mrs. Brown. "Bunker can't be bothered with you children."

"I wouldn't mind taking them, ma'am," said the fish boy. "In fact, I'd like to, but their father didn't say anything about it. Besides, I'll have to walk back from East Milford after I leave the ark there to be fixed. It'd be too far for them to walk back."

"Of course it would. Run along now, Bunny and Sue, and have some fun by yourselves. Don't bother Bunker."

Bunny Brown and his Sister Sue stood on the side porch looking at one another as Bunker went in the house to help Uncle Tad move the sideboard. Uncle Tad was an old soldier who lived with the Brown family. He was Mr. Brown's uncle, but Bunny and Sue thought they owned just as much of the dear old man as did their father. Sadie West, who had crawled in under the fence instead of going around by the gate, ran home again, leaving Bunny and Sue by themselves.

"Say, Sue," began Bunny in a low voice, looking toward the house to make sure his mother and Bunker Blue had gone inside.

"What, Bunny?" asked the little girl.

"I know what we can do," went on Bunny.

"What?"

This time Bunny whispered.

"We can go out to the barn," he said in a low voice, his lips close to his sister's ear, "an' get in the ark when Bunker doesn't see us. He can't see us 'cause he's in the house helping Uncle Tad move the sideboard. We can easy get in the ark."

"What for?" Sue wanted to know. "Bunker said he wouldn't give us a ride."

"Yes. But if we're in there he'll have to!"

"Why?" asked Sue.

"'Cause," whispered Bunny, "he won't know we're in there at all, Sue!"

"Won't he?" asked Sue, her eyes shining.

"Nope! While Bunker's in the house helping Uncle Tad move the sideboard, we'll crawl in the back end of the ark. And we'll keep awful still, and we'll have a nice ride over to East Milford, and Bunker won't know a thing about it!"

"Oh, let's do it!" cried Sue, always ready to take part in the tricks Bunny thought of. "Let's do it! I'll take my doll!"

"And I'll take my little lifeboat. 'Tisn't all made yet, but that won't hurt! Come on!"

Quietly the two children tiptoed down off the side porch. Through the open dining-room windows they could hear Bunker Blue and Uncle Tad moving the sideboard.

Out to the barn went Bunny Brown and his Sister Sue. In the barn was the ark -- the big auto -- as large as a moving van. In it the whole Brown family had made a tour the previous summer. It really was like an ark, for it had rooms in it where the children and grown-ups could sleep, and a place to cook and eat meals.

"Now don't make any noise!" whispered Bunny to his sister. "We'll just crawl inside the ark and cover up with blankets, and Bunker won't know we're here. Then he'll start off and when we get to East Milford we can --  -- "

"Oh, we can jump out and holler 'boo!' at him an' scare him!" laughed Sue, clapping her chubby hands in delight.

"Yes, we can do that. But not now!" whispered Bunny. "Hurry up an' crawl in, an' don't make any noise!"

So the two children entered the ark by the rear door, and found some blankets with which they covered themselves in two of the bunks, built on the sides of the big auto.

What would happen next?



Chapter II

The Frightened Pony


Bunker Blue came whistling out of the house. He and Uncle Tad had moved the sideboard to the other end of the room, and now Mrs. Brown and the hired girl were putting the place to rights.

"Well, I wonder where Bunny Brown and his Sister Sue have gone?" said Bunker, aloud, as he stopped whistling. "I don't see them," and he looked around. "I'd like to give them a ride in the ark," he went on, "but their father didn't say anything about it, and he might not like it. When the big auto gets fixed then I can take them for a ride."

Then Bunker went out to the barn and took his seat at the steering wheel of the ark.

"Well, here I go!" he said, still talking aloud to himself, as he often did, and he put his foot on the self-starter, which made the engine of the auto go without any one having to get out in front and turn the handle, like the crank of a hand organ. "Here I go, but I do wish I could give Bunny and Sue a ride."

And back in the auto, under some blankets in the bunks, sounded two snickering noises.

"Hello! I wonder what that is?" exclaimed Bunker, as he heard them. "Is that you, Splash?" he called, for sometimes, he knew, the big dog that Bunny and Sue so often played with, crawled into the auto to sleep. "Is that you, Splash?"

No answer came.

"I guess it was just the wind," said Bunker Blue, as he steered the auto out through the big barn doors. "It was only the wind."

And inside the ark Bunny Brown and his Sister Sue had to stuff their chubby fists into their mouths to keep from laughing. Oh, if Bunker Blue should hear them!

As Bunker steered the big auto down the driveway past the house, Mrs. Brown came running to the door, waving her hand.

"Bunker! Bunker Blue!" she cried. "Wait a minute!"

The auto was making such a noise that the fish boy could not hear what Mrs. Brown was saying, but he could see her.

"Whoa!" he called, just as if the big auto were a horse; and then he put on the brakes and brought it to a stop.

"Bunker," went on Mrs. Brown, "Mr. Brown just telephoned me to tell you to drive down to the dock and stop for him. He's going to East Milford with you. He wants to talk to the garage man about fixing the auto," for the big machine needed some repairs after its long tour.

"All right. I'll stop at the dock and get Mr. Brown," said Bunker. "I guess he must have got the fish iced and put away sooner than he expected. Now if I had Bunny and Sue I could take them with me," he went on.

"Take Bunny and Sue with you? What do you mean?" asked Mrs. Brown.

"Oh, when they heard I was going to East Milford with the ark they wanted to come along. But I said I didn't believe their father would let them, and I didn't have time to go back and ask him. But now, as long as I have to go to the dock to get him, I could take them with me, and ask him now. Maybe he'd let them go."

"Yes, it is too bad," said Mrs. Brown. "But I don't know where the children went. I guess they ran over to Sadie West's house to play. But you haven't time to stop for them if Mr. Brown is in a hurry. They can ride some other time. Drive along, Bunker."

Now if Bunny Brown and his Sister Sue had heard this talk they might, then and there, have called out that they were already in the auto. And, if they had done so, perhaps a whole lot of things that happened afterwards might not have happened.

But you never can tell what is going to take place next in this world. The reason Bunny and Sue didn't hear what their mother and Bunker said was because they had their heads covered with the blankets, so their snickers and laughter wouldn't be heard outside the ark.

And there they stayed, inside the big auto, as Bunker started off once more, driving first to the boat and fish dock to get Mr. Brown, who was going to East Milford with him.

"It's too bad the children aren't here," said Mrs. Brown as she went back into the house. "They could have a nice ride. I wonder where they ran off to?"

If Mrs. Brown could have seen Bunny and his sister then, I think she would have been surprised. But she did not see them, and, for a little while, she gave them no further thought, as she was so busy straightening the room, after Uncle Tad and Bunker Blue had moved the sideboard to its new place.

On rumbled the big auto, and Bunny and Sue lay in the bunks having a nice ride. They did not know just where they were going, and they certainly never thought they were on their way to the boat and fish dock, for they had not heard what their mother said. They kept covered with the blankets for some little time, afraid lest their occasional snickers and laughter might be heard by Bunker Blue.

"Hi, Sue!" called Bunny, after a while, during which the auto had rolled down the road some little way.

"What is it?" Sue asked.

"It's too hot to keep under the covers. If we make only a little noise now Bunker can't hear us."

"All right," Sue agreed. "But we mustn't make too much noise."

"No," said Bunny, and he threw off the covers and sat up in the bunk. His sister did the same thing, and then they went out in the main "room" of the ark. Of course, it was not a very large room, but it was pretty big for being inside an auto. It had a little table and some stools in it, and when the Browns were on their tour they often ate in that room, when it was too rainy to have their meals outside.

After a time the auto stopped, and then, to the surprise of Bunny Brown and his Sister Sue, they heard the voice of their father. He was talking to Bunker Blue.

"So you got my telephone message, did you, Bunker?" asked Mr. Brown.

"Yes, sir. Mrs. Brown told me just as I was coming out with the ark. So I came here before going over to East Milford."

"That's what I wanted you to do. I want to ride over with you. I had the men ice the fish, so they'll be all right. Is every one well up at my house -- Bunny and Sue?"

"Yes, they're all right," answered Bunker, as Mr. Brown climbed up to the seat of the big auto. "Bunny and Sue wanted to come with me," Bunker went on, "but I didn't know whether you'd want 'em to, so I didn't let 'em come."

"Well, that's too bad," said Mr. Brown. "If I had known they wanted to come, and that I was going myself, I'd have let you bring them. But it's too late now and --  -- "

"Oh, no, Daddy! It isn't too late!" cried Bunny, who had listened to what his father and Bunker were saying. "It isn't too late! Please take us with you!"

"'Cause we're here now!" added Sue.

And as her brother opened the big, rear doors of the auto, he and Sue stepped out.

"Well, I do declare!" cried Mr. Brown, running around to the back of the big car and seeing his two little children. "Where did you come from?"

"We hid in the auto!" came from Bunny.

"We wanted a ride, and we didn't let Bunker know we got in," added Sue.

"Well, I certainly didn't know you were there!" cried Bunker.

"We got in when you and Uncle Tad were moving the sideboard," explained Bunny.

"That wasn't just the right thing to do," said Mr. Brown, shaking his head. "However, as I would have taken you if I had been there, we'll forgive you this time. Open the little front window, Bunker, and the children can ride in the front part of the auto, where they can look out and where I can talk with them."

In the front part of the ark, just back of the seat, was a window cut in the end of the big car. It opened into a room near the bunks, and chairs could be placed under the window so those who sat in them could look out, just as in a regular auto.

Mr. Brown and Bunker Blue took their places on the front seat, and once more the auto started off, and this time Bunny Brown and his Sister Sue did not have to stuff their fists in their mouths to keep from snickering and giggling. It was all right for them to have a ride in the ark.

Down the road they went, toward East Milford, where the ark was to be left for repairs.

"Will we have to walk back?" asked Bunny, talking through the front window to his father.

"No, I guess we can come back by train. It's too far to walk on a warm day."

"I like to ride in a train," said Sue, as she held her doll in her lap, while Bunny put aside his little wooden boat. The auto was no place to do any whittling, he found.

As the big ark went around a bend in the road the children, looking ahead, suddenly saw something at which they cried:

"Oh, look!"

"What a dandy little pony!" added Bunny.

"And it's afraid!" said Sue.

Coming down the road toward the big ark was a small Shetland pony, hitched to a basket cart, and in the cart sat a little man. He was not as large as Bunker Blue, who wasn't a grown-up man yet.

Something certainly seemed to be the matter with the pony. He reared on his hind legs, and tried to turn around and run back. The man stood up in the cart and shouted something, but the children could not tell what it was.

"Stop the ark, Bunker!" cried Mr. Brown. "The big auto is frightening the little pony! Stop!"

But it was too late, for, a moment later, the Shetland pony broke loose from the cart, turned around and started to run back up the road.

The man, again shouting something, leaped out of the cart and ran back after the pony.

"Come on, Bunker!" cried Mr. Brown. "This was partly our fault! We must help the man catch the pony!"

"And we'll help!" said Bunny and Sue, as they, too, got out of the ark.

So, while this is happening, I'll take just a moment to tell my new readers something about the two children, whose adventures I am to relate to you in this book. This volume is the eighth one in the series. The first, called "Bunny Brown and His Sister Sue," introduced you to the two children. In that first book I told you that they lived with their father and mother, Mr. and Mrs. Walter Brown in the seaport town of Bellemere, on Sandport Bay. Mr. Brown was in the boat and fish business, and hired a number of men and boys, of whom Bunker was one.

With the family also lived Uncle Tad, of whom I have spoken, and then there was the hired girl, and Splash, the dog. The children loved them both, and they also loved Jed Winkler, an old sailor of the town, but Miss Euphemia Winkler, his sister, they did not love so well, though they liked the funny antics of Wango, a monkey, that Mr. Winkler had brought back from one of his many voyages.

Bunny Brown was about six years old, and Sue was a year younger. She had brown eyes and curly hair, and Bunny's eyes were blue, and his hair had once been curly, but now was getting straighter. Bunny and Sue were always having fun, and if you want to read about some of it just look in the second book, which tells about them on Grandpa's farm. There Bunny Brown and his Sister Sue played circus and had even better times, as related in that volume. In Aunt Lu's city home they -- well, I guess it will be best if you read that book for yourselves, instead of having me telling you partly about it here.

In Camp-Rest-a-While the two children had more good times, and also when they went to the big woods. And just before the things that I am going to tell you about in this book, Bunny and his sister, with their parents, went on an auto tour in the ark. They traveled, ate, and slept in the big moving van that Mr. Brown had had put on an automobile frame and there were no end of good times.

And now, from the same ark, which was being taken to the shop, Bunny and Sue had seen the Shetland pony so frightened that he ran away.

"Oh, Daddy! do you s'pose he'll be hurt?" asked Bunny, as he and his sister hurried after their father and Bunker Blue.

"Who, the man or the pony?" asked Mr. Brown, for both were now out of sight.

"The pony," answered Sue. "Oh, how I could love him!"

"So could I!" exclaimed Bunny. "He was a dandy!"

"I didn't think our ark could scare anything as much as it scared the little horse," said Bunker Blue. "I guess he'd never seen a big auto before."

"Perhaps not," replied Mr. Brown. "Well, we must try to help the man catch the pony."

The children, their father and Bunker passed in the road the little basket cart from which the Shetland pony had broken loose. The cart did not seem to be damaged any, but part of the broken harness was fast to it.

"He must be a strong pony to get loose that way," said Bunny.

"Maybe he was only tied with string, and he could easy break that," said Sue.

"Maybe," agreed Bunker Blue.

They went around a turn in the road, and, looking down a straight stretch, they could see that the man had caught the pony near a clump of willow trees.

"There! He's all right!" said Mr. Brown. "But we had better go and ask the man if we can help him any. He may blame us for the running away of the pony."

And as they all walked down the road Bunny whispered something to Sue. Sue looked quickly at her brother and exclaimed:

"Oh, if he only would!"

Now what did Bunny whisper to Sue?



Chapter III

Mr. Tallman


Mr. Brown, followed by Bunker Blue and the two children, went down the road toward the little, short man who was standing with the Shetland pony. For, after walking back with him a little way, the man had stopped to let the pony drink from a brook that ran beneath the willow trees.

"I'm afraid we caused you some trouble, my friend," said Mr. Brown, politely.

"Trouble?" repeated the short man. "You say you caused me trouble?"

"Yes. We were riding in the big auto which we have left just around the turn of the road. Was it our auto that frightened your pony and made him run away?" asked Mr. Brown, while Bunny and his Sister Sue looked with eager eyes at the pretty pony, which did not seem frightened now.

"Oh, yes, I guess your big moving van of an auto did scare my pony," answered the man. "I waved my hand, and tried to call to you to stop, so we could drive past, but I guess you didn't hear me."

"No," said Bunker Blue, "we didn't. The engine made so much noise, I guess."

"And then my pony ran away before I could stop him," went on the little man, who, as Bunny and Sue could now see, was not as tall as Bunker Blue. "You see, he is a trick pony, and used to be in a circus. But the men there did not treat him kindly, so I heard. I guess maybe he thought your big auto was a circus wagon, and when he remembered those wagons he thought of the unkind men and wanted to run away."

"I'm sorry for that," said Mr. Brown. "We surely would not hurt your pony. In fact, my children would love him. Did he break the harness when he turned to run away?"

"I guess he did," answered the short man. "But it was an old harness, and easily broken. In fact, part of it was tied with bits of string. I knew it was strong enough for Toby unless he should cut up a little, and that's just what he did, and broke some of the straps and strings."

"Is Toby the name of your pony?" asked Sue.

"Yes, little girl, Toby is his name. And he is a nice little Shetland pony," and he stroked the fluffy mane and rubbed the velvety nose of the little animal, that seemed to be all right now.

"Oh, Daddy! will you?" suddenly exclaimed Bunny.

"Will I what?" asked Mr. Brown, rather surprised and puzzled.

"Will you buy that pony for us?" eagerly begged Sue. "Bunny whispered to me that we could have a lot of fun with him if you would buy him."

So that was what Bunny whispered to his Sister Sue!

"Buy this pony for you?" exclaimed Mr. Brown. "Is that what you mean?"

"Yes, please," said Bunny. "We -- we'd love it!"

Bunker Blue went up to the little horse and patted its back. The Shetland pony seemed to like the fish boy.

"Is he tame?" asked Bunny.

"Very tame," answered the short man.

"Could I pat him?" Sue questioned.

"Of course you could!" said the man. "Come right up to him, Toby loves children. It's only big autos, which remind him of circus wagons, that scare him."

"We had a circus once," went on Bunny, as he and Sue approached the pony. "But we didn't have any little horses in it."

"We had our dog, Splash," added Sue.

"Well, I guess that was nice," the man said.

The children patted Toby, who rubbed his velvety nose against them.

"I'm sorry your harness broke," said Mr. Brown. "You must let me pay for having it fixed, since it was the fault of my big auto that your pony ran away, Mr. --  -- " and the children's father waited for the other man to tell his name. "I am Mr. Brown," went on the fish and boat dealer, after a moment of silence.

"Oh, yes, I have heard of you," replied the other. "Well, I guess you'll laugh when you hear my name."

"Why?" asked Mr. Brown. "Why should we laugh?"

"Because it's so different from what I am. You see, I am very short, do you not?"

"You are certainly not a very tall man," said Mr. Brown, with a smile.

"And yet I am," observed the other.

"You are what?"

"I am Vera Tallman," was the answer. "That really is my name, strange as it may sound," he went on, smiling at Mr. Brown, who was smiling at him. "Vera is the last name of my grandfather, and I am called after him. Tallman is my own last name, and I had to be called that though I am very short. It is quite a joke with my friends. I say to them I am a short Tallman or a short man who is Vera Tallman."

"Oh, I see!" laughed Mr. Brown. "Well, it's a good thing you can be so jolly about it."

"There is no good in finding fault with what can't be helped," said the man with a kind smile, as he patted the pony. "I can't make myself tall by wishing, even though I have a long name. So I let it go at that. And, when any one says to me, 'You are not very tall,' I answer, 'Oh, yes, I am Vera Tallman,' and then I have a joke on them."

"Yes, I should think you would," said Mr. Brown. "But let us get back to the broken harness. How much shall I pay you?"

"Nothing at all," answered Mr. Tallman. "It was my fault for driving Toby in a harness mended with bits of string. I should have known better, but I did not think Toby would meet with a moving van, that would make him think of the circus where he was so badly treated. You need not pay me anything."

"But perhaps the cart is broken also," said Mr. Brown.

"I hardly think so," returned Mr. Tallman, who was such a short man. "Toby just twisted around and tore himself loose out of the harness. Then he ran back along the road and I ran after him. He did not run far, as soon as he was out of sight of your big auto he stopped."

"I am glad of that," said Mr. Brown. "Now I will tell you what we had better do."

"What?" asked Mr. Tallman, still patting the pony, a thing which Bunny Brown and his Sister Sue were also doing. "What had we better do?"

"One of us had better go back and get the pony cart," went on Mr. Brown. "Bunker Blue can easily haul it here, and you can hitch Toby to it out of sight of our big auto. Then he won't be frightened any more. And perhaps you had better drive him around another road, or wait until we can take the auto another way. I wouldn't want to have Toby break loose again."

"Well, maybe that would be a good plan," agreed Mr. Tallman. "If you will let Bunker, as you call him, bring the pony cart here, I will harness Toby to it. Then I'll drive over the short-cut road and get past your auto without letting my pony see it."

Bunker ran back, and soon came trotting along the road with the basket cart, pretending he was a pony himself, which made Bunny and Sue laugh. It was found that only the string part of the harness was broken, and as Bunker had some strong fish cords in his pocket, the straps were soon mended.

"It is better than before," said Mr. Tallman, when Toby was once again hitched to the basket cart. "I don't believe Toby could break loose now."

"And won't you let me pay you for the damage?" asked the fish merchant.

"Oh, no, indeed!" cried Mr. Tallman. "You have done more than your share now."

Bunny and Sue were again whispering together. Then Bunny stepped forward and said:

"Daddy, we'll give you all the money in our banks."

"All the money in your banks, Bunny? What do you mean?" asked Mr. Brown.

"To help you buy the pony for us," went on the little boy. "Please, Daddy, buy Toby for us. Sue and I would like him awful much!"

"Well, he certainly is a nice pony," said Mr. Brown, "and I remember, once I did half promise to get you a Shetland pony. Is Toby for sale?" asked Mr. Brown.

Mr. Tallman shook his head, while Bunny and Sue looked anxiously at him.

"No," said the owner of Toby, "I don't want to sell my trick pony. I am going to take him to the fair, and I think I shall win prizes with him, and get a lot of money when I show what tricks he can do. I wouldn't sell Toby -- not for anything!"

"Oh, dear!" sighed Bunny Brown.

"Oh, dear!" sighed his Sister Sue.

And just then, along the road came driving a man in a light carriage. The man had a dark face and a very black beard. He scowled as he looked at Mr. Tallman and the Shetland pony. Then the black-bearded man said:

"Well, I've found you, have I? Now, I want you to give me that pony! Give him to me at once and have no more nonsense about it! I want that pony!"



Chapter IV

Looking For A Pony


Bunny Brown and his Sister Sue hardly knew what to make of the black-bearded man who seemed so angry about something. He jumped from his wagon and went up close to the Shetland pony. The little animal was again harnessed to the basket cart.

"Give him to me!" exclaimed the black-whiskered man.

"No, I will not!" answered Mr. Tallman. "He is not your pony, and you have no right to him."

"Well, if he isn't mine he soon will be!" said the dark man. "You owe me a lot of money, and if you don't pay pretty soon I'll take that pony away from you and sell him. Then I'll get the money in that way."

"Perhaps you will," said the pony's owner. "But before you do that I may be able to pay you what I owe you, and then I can keep my little Toby."

"Why don't you pay me now?" asked the black-whiskered man, whose name was Mr. Tang.

"Because I haven't the money," answered Mr. Tallman.

"Then give me the pony! Come, now!" went on Mr. Tang, for such was his name. "If you will let me have your trick pony I'll not bother you about the money you owe me. I'll let you have a long while in which to pay me the last part of it. Give me that pony!" and he seemed about to take Toby away.

"No, I'll not give him up!" said Mr. Tallman. "I'll try to get your money in some other way. I never can part with Toby; especially to you."

"Why won't you let me have him?" asked Tang.

"Because I'm afraid you wouldn't be kind to him."

"I'd sell him, that's what I'd do!" said the dark man. "I'd sell him, after you gave him to me, and in that way I'd get back a part of the money you owe me. I'd sell Toby, that's what I'd do!"

"That's what I'd be afraid of," went on Mr. Tallman. "I'd be afraid you'd sell him back to the cruel men in the circus. No, sir! I'll not let you have my pony. I'll get your money in some other way, and pay you back."

"Well, see that you do!" growled Mr. Tang. "If you don't pay me soon, I'll come and take Toby away from you! That's what I'll do!"

With that he got back in his wagon, and, with a last look at Toby, the Shetland pony, the unpleasant man drove away.

"Oh," said Bunny in a low voice, "I'm glad that man didn't buy the pony."

"So am I," said Sue.

"And I'm glad I didn't give him up," added Mr. Tallman. "I'd never feel happy if I knew he had my pet pony."

"He does not look like a kind man," said Mr. Brown, "and I saw him strike his horse with the whip. Still he might not hurt the pony."

"Well, if he didn't hurt him he might send him back to the circus, where Toby would be beaten," remarked Mr. Tallman. "Of course, I know that in most circuses the ponies and other animals are kindly treated. But Toby was not treated well in the circus where he was, and he'd never like to go back there. That's why I want to keep him."

"If you sold him to me, for my children, we would treat him kindly," said Mr. Brown.

"Yes, I know that," said Mr. Tallman. "But I don't want to sell Toby -- least of all to Mr. Tang."

"Do you owe him money?" asked Mr. Brown.

"Yes. More, I fear, than I can ever pay. And if I don't pay him he may come and take Toby away from me."

"That would be too bad," said Mr. Brown, and Bunny and his sister thought the same thing.

"Yes, it would," agreed Mr. Tallman. "I was on my way, just now, to see a friend, to get him to lend me some money to pay Mr. Tang," went on the pony's owner. "I'll go there now."

"And if he can't help you, perhaps I can," called Mr. Brown to Mr. Tallman, as the latter drove away in the basket cart. "Whatever happens, if you decide to sell Toby, come to me first."

"I will," Mr. Tallman promised, and then he drove along on another road, where the little horse would not see the big auto and be frightened again.

"Oh, dear!" sighed Sue, as she and Bunny walked back to the ark. "I did love that pony so!"

"I did, too," added Bunny. "Don't you s'pose we can ever get him, Daddy?"

"Well, I don't know," answered Mr. Brown. "If we can't buy that Toby pony, though, perhaps we can find another."

"Really?" cried Sue.

"Will you truly buy us another?" asked Bunny.

"If we can find one as nice as Toby," promised Mr. Brown.

Bunny and Sue sighed again.

"What's the matter?" asked their father.

"There won't ever be another pony as nice as Toby," said the little girl.

"Never!" added Bunny.

"But he ran away," said Mr. Brown, not wishing the two children to fall too deeply in love with a pet they could not have. "I might find another pony that wouldn't do such a thing."

"He didn't run away very much," stated Bunny. "And that was only 'cause he thought our auto was a circus wagon. We could keep the auto in the barn, and then Toby wouldn't be skeered."

"Yes, we might do that," said Mr. Brown, smiling. "But I'm afraid Toby isn't for sale. We'll have to look for another pony."

"And will you?" asked Sue.

"Yes; I'll ask about one when we get to East Milford," her father promised. "There aren't any Shetland ponies for sale in Bellemere; that I know. Maybe we can find one in East Milford."

Bunny, his sister, his father and Bunker Blue walked back to the ark. Getting in, once more they set off, and then, without anything much happening, they rode to East Milford. The big auto was left at a garage to be fixed, and then Mr. Brown said:

"Well, now we will go and get something to eat, for it is dinner time, and too far to wait until we get back home."

"And after that shall we go and look for a pony?" asked Bunny.

"Yes, after that I'll see if I can find a Shetland pony for you," his father promised.

They ate their lunch in a restaurant, and before coming out Sue said:

"Ask the man if he knows where we can get a pony, Daddy!"

"What man, Sue?"

"The man in the restaurant. The man that brought us such nice things to eat."

"Oh, you mean the waiter! Well, I will," said Mr. Brown with a smile.

And, as he paid the bill, the fish dealer did ask the waiter if he knew whether any one in the town of East Milford had ponies for sale.

"Well, there's a livery stable over in the next street," was the answer. "They might have some ponies."

"Oh, let's go and see!" begged Bunny.

"Let's!" said Sue, in a sort of chorus.

As Bunker Blue was needed back on the fish dock, he did not go with Bunny, Sue and their father to the stable. Instead he took a train back to Bellemere, promising to telephone to Mrs. Brown so that she would know Bunny and his sister were with their father, and were all right.

"A Shetland pony, is it?" repeated the livery stable keeper, when Mr. Brown had told what he wanted -- a pet for his children. "No, I'm sorry, but I haven't any. In fact, I don't believe you'll find one in town."

"Do you know where I could find one?" asked Mr. Brown.

The livery stable keeper thought for a few seconds, and then he said:

"Well, there's a farmer, living in the country about ten miles from here, who used to own one or two Shetland ponies which his children drove. They are getting too big for ponies now. Maybe that farmer would have some Shetlands for sale."

"Oh, Daddy! let's go and see!" begged Bunny.

"Very well, we'll try," replied Mr. Brown.

They hired an automobile in the village, and drove out to Cardiff, where the livery man said the farmer, who might have some ponies for sale, lived.

But alas for the hopes of Bunny Brown and his Sister Sue! When they reached the farm the man said:

"Well, now, I'm sorry! but I sold both my ponies last week! If I'd known you wanted them for your children, Mr. Brown, I might have kept them. But they're gone."

"Oh, dear!" sighed Bunny. "I don't believe we'll ever get a Shetland pony!"

But you just wait and see what happens.



Chapter V

The Short Tallman


Mr. Brown talked with the farmer a little while longer, asking him if he knew any other place where Shetland ponies might be bought.

"Well, I don't know that I do," answered Mr. Bascomb, the farmer. "Not many of us around here keep 'em. But if I hear of any I'll let you know."

"I wish you would," said Mr. Brown. "I didn't know my little boy and girl were so eager for a pony."

"We always liked them!" said Bunny.

"But we didn't know how really-truly nice they were until we saw Toby to-day," added Sue. "Please get us a pony, Daddy!"

"I will if I can find one," promised her father.

But, though he inquired at many places in East Milford, Mr. Brown could find no one who had ponies to sell. Finally Bunny and Sue became tired, even with riding about in an auto looking for a possible pet, and Mr. Brown said:

"Well, we'll go back home now. Your mother will be getting anxious about you. We'll try again to-morrow to find a Shetland pony."

"Maybe we'll meet Mr. Tallman on our way back," remarked Sue.

"What good would that do?" asked Bunny.

"Well, maybe he'd sell us Toby now," went on his sister. "I like Toby awful much!"

"So do I," said Bunny. "But I don't guess we'll get him."

"I'm afraid not," put in Mr. Brown. "Mr. Tallman is too fond of his pet to part with him."

Riding home in the train from East Milford to Bellemere, Bunny Brown and his Sister Sue talked of little but the pony they had seen, and the one they hoped to get. They talked so much about ponies, in fact, that Mr. Brown feared they would dream about one perhaps, so he said:

"To-night we will all go to a moving-picture show. That will take your mind off ponies and basket carts."

"Oh, it'll be fun to go to the movies!" cried Sue, clapping her hands.

"And maybe we'll see a picture of a pony!" added Bunny, eagerly.

Mr. Brown smiled and shook his head.

"I'll certainly have to get them one," he thought.

Bunny and Sue fairly rushed into the house when they reached home. They saw their mother telling Tressa, the good-natured cook, what to get for supper.

"Oh, Mother!" cried Bunny, "did Bunker Blue tell you about us?"

"Do you mean about you and Sue hiding away in the ark, when I didn't know it, and taking a ride?" asked Mrs. Brown, with a smile at the children, and a funny look at her husband. "Yes, he told me that, Bunny. And please don't do it again. I know you didn't mean to do wrong, but you did."

"Oh, I don't mean about our going away in the ark," said Bunny. "I mean, did Bunker tell you about the pony our auto scared, and how it ran away?"

"The pony ran away, not our auto," explained Sue, for fear her mother might not understand what Bunny was talking about.

"I know," said Mrs. Brown with another smile. "You saw a little pony, did you?"

"Oh, such a sweet little pony!" cried Sue.

"He was a dandy!" said her brother.

"And daddy is going to get us one!" went on Sue.

Mrs. Brown looked at her husband.

"Bunker Blue didn't tell me anything about that," she said.

"No, he didn't know about it," replied Mr. Brown. "But I think we shall have to get the children a new pet, Mother. Otherwise they'll never be happy."

Then he told about trying to buy a pony in East Milford, but there was none to be had.

"I don't believe there are any in Bellemere, either," said the children's mother. "Where did this Mr. Tallman, who is so short, live?"

"Over in Wayville," answered Mr. Brown, naming the town next to the one where he lived. "But I'm afraid he won't sell. I'll have to find some one else with a Shetland pony."

"What makes 'em call them Shetland ponies, Daddy?" asked Sue, as they sat down to the table for supper. "Are they all named Shetland?"

"They are called that," answered Mr. Brown, "because many of the little horses, for they are really that, come from the island of Shetland, which is near Scotland, many, many miles from here.

"The island of Shetland is rather cold and rugged, and the little horses that live there are small and rugged like the island. They have thick hair to keep them warm in winter, and, though the Shetland ponies are so small, they are strong. That is why Toby was able to draw Mr. Tallman in the cart, even though the pony was not much larger than a big Newfoundland dog.

"Sometimes Shetland ponies are called Shelties, which means the same thing," went on Mr. Brown.

"Well, we'd like a Shelty," said Sue, with a smile.

"And you shall have one, if I can find him for you," promised her father.

"Do all ponies come from Shetland?" asked Bunny.

"Oh, no, not all of them," answered the children's father.

For two or three days after that Mr. Brown made inquiries in and about Bellemere for Shetland ponies. But there seemed to be none for sale. Mr. Brown even wrote Mr. Tallman a letter, asking if the owner of Toby knew any one else who had ponies for sale. But the letter was not answered.

"I guess Mr. Tallman has so much trouble about the money he owes Mr. Tang that he has no time to write letters," said the children's father.

Bunny Brown and his Sister Sue often talked about the pony they hoped to have. And one day, about a week after they had seen Toby, Bunny said:

"Come on, Sue. Let's go down and see."

"Go down where?" the little girl wanted to know.

"Down to daddy's wharf."

"What for? To see the boats? I'd rather play with my doll."

"No, not to see the boats," went on Bunny. "Let's go down and see if daddy has found a Shetland pony for us yet."

"Oh, let's!" cried Sue, and, hand in hand, she and her brother went down to their father's dock.

Though the wharf was near the bay, where the water was deep, Bunny and his sister were allowed to go there if they first stopped at the office, on the land-end of the dock, and told their father they had come to see him. In that way Mrs. Brown knew they would not fall into the water, for Mr. Brown would have Bunker Blue, or some of his other helpers, stay with the children until they were ready to go home again.

Bunny and his sister always liked to go to their father's dock. There were many things to see -- the boats coming in or going out, sometimes big catches of fish being unloaded, to be afterward packed in barrels with ice, so they would keep fresh to be sent to the big city. Once a boat came in with a big shark that had been caught in the fish nets, and once Bunker Blue was pinched by a big lobster that he thought was asleep on the dock.

So down to their father's office went Bunny Brown and his Sister Sue, but when they looked in the room where Mr. Brown was usually to be found, he was not there. However, Bunker Blue was.

"Hello, messmates!" called the boy in greeting.

"Hello," answered Bunny. "Is my father here?"

"No, he just went home," said Bunker. "Didn't you meet him?"

"No," answered Sue, with a shake of her head. "We didn't see him, and we just came from home."

"Well, maybe he had to stop at a store first," said Bunker.

"Did he have our pony?" asked Bunny eagerly. "Maybe he stopped in a store to get the harness, Sue!"

"Or the cart!" added Bunny's sister.

Bunker Blue smiled and shook his head.

"No," he said slowly. "I'm sorry, but your father didn't get any pony. He had a letter from a man he wrote to about one, but this man didn't have any to sell."

"Oh, dear!" sighed Bunny. "I don't guess we're ever going to have that pony!"

"I don't guess so, too," added the little girl. "What'll we do now, Bunny?"

"Let's go home and ask daddy about it," suggested her brother. "Maybe he's heard something about a pony."

"Be sure to go straight home!" warned Bunker Blue. "Else I'll have to go with you."

"We'll go straight home," promised Bunny, as he started off, his sister's hand in his.

When they promised this Bunny and Sue were allowed to go back and forth between their father's office and their home alone. For the street was almost a straight one, and, as they knew the way and many persons living along it knew the children, Mrs. Brown felt no harm would come to them.

So, after a little look about the dock, and not seeing anything to amuse them, Bunny and his sister started back home again. They had hardly left their father's office, where Bunker Blue stayed to do some work, before the two children heard a voice saying:

"Hello there, little ones! Can you tell me where Mr. Walter Brown lives?"

Bunny and Sue turned quickly around. They saw a small man smiling at them, and they knew they had seen him before.

"Why, it's my two little friends that were in the big auto!" cried the short man in surprise. "You're Mr. Brown's children, aren't you?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," Bunny answered.

"And is your father here?" the man went on.

"No, sir," said Bunny. Then he added: "You're Mr. Shortman; aren't you?"

"Ha-ha! Not quite right," was the laughing answer. "Sometimes my friends call me that in fun. But my right name is Tallman."

"Oh, yes, now I 'member!" exclaimed Bunny. "Do you want to see my father?" he asked.

"I'd like to," replied Mr. Tallman.

"He's just gone home," said Sue. "We came down to see him ourselves, but he's gone. We came to see if he had a pony."

"But he didn't," Bunny said. "So we're going home ourselves to see him. You could come with us if you wanted to see my father," he added.

"Well, I will," returned the man who had been driving Toby the day the big auto frightened the little pony. "I'll go home with you two little tots, and see your father."

Bunny and Sue wanted very much to ask why Mr. Tallman wanted to see Mr. Brown, but they did not think that would be polite, so they did not do it.

Hand in hand Bunny and Sue started off again, Mr. Tallman following. In a little while, so fast did the children go, even with their short legs, all three were at the Brown home.

"Oh, Mother!" cried Bunny, running into the room where Mrs. Brown was sitting, "where's daddy?"

"He's out in the barn, little son," answered Mrs. Brown. "But why are you so excited, and why do you want daddy?"

"'Cause there's a short man to see him!" gasped Bunny.

"No, it's a tall man," added Sue. "I mean his name is Tallman, but he is a little, short man."

"Dear me!" exclaimed Mrs. Brown. "What is it all about? I don't understand. Does some one want to see your father?"

"Yes," answered Bunny. "A Tallman."

"And he's such a short man," went on Sue.

"Excuse me, ma'am," said Mr. Tallman himself, following the children into the room. "But I guess they get mixed up about me. You see, I am really short, though I have a tall name. I'm the one who owned the little pony which I guess your children have told you about, and I would like to see Mr. Brown. I came with the children up from the dock. Is your husband at home?"

"He is out in the barn. Won't you have a chair?"

"Thank you, I will," and Mr. Tallman sat down and looked at Bunny and Sue, while Mrs. Brown went to call her husband. At last Bunny could keep still no longer.

"Mr. Tallman," he asked, "did you come to tell daddy about a pony?"

"That's what I did, little man! That's what I did!" was the answer, and the hearts of Bunny Brown and his Sister Sue beat high with hope.

Were they going to get a pony at last?



Chapter VI

Bunny, Sue And Toby


"Well, Mr. Tallman, I see you haven't grown any shorter," said Mr. Brown with a laugh, as he came in and shook hands with the visitor.

"No, I'm thankful to say I haven't shrunk much," was the answer. "I stopped down at your dock, but you weren't there, and your two little children kindly led me here. Piloted me, would be a better word, I suppose, since we are so near the ocean where men pilot the ships."

"Yes, Bunny and Sue are good little pilots between our house and the dock," agreed Mr. Brown. "I wouldn't want them to navigate all alone much farther than that, though. I'm glad to see you, Mr. Tallman!"

Bunny and Sue could keep quiet no longer. They just couldn't wait! They must hear about that pony!

So, as soon as there was a chance, when Mr. Tallman and Mr. Brown stopped speaking for a moment, Bunny burst out with:

"Oh, Daddy! he's come about the pony!"

"The pony?" asked Mr. Brown, in some surprise, for he thought perhaps Mr. Tallman had called to see about buying some fish, or hiring a boat.

"Yes," added Sue, her eyes shining as did Bunny's. "He's come about the pony -- our pony, Daddy! Toby! Don't you 'member?"

"Oh, yes; Toby. The little pony that was frightened by our big auto!" said Mr. Brown. "Well, Mr. Tallman, what about Toby?"

"I've come to see if you want to buy him for your children."

"Oh, Daddy!" cried Bunny Brown and his Sister Sue.

"Wait a minute," said Mr. Brown with a smile. "Let me hear what Mr. Tallman has to say. You tell me," he went on, "that you want to sell me your pony, Toby, for my children?"

"Yes. I've got to sell him, and I'd rather sell him to you, who I know will be kind to him, than any one else."

"But I thought you didn't want to part with him."

"I didn't," said Mr. Tallman. "And I wouldn't sell Toby now, only I just have to. You see it's this way, Mr. Brown. I owe a lot of money I can't pay. I owe some to that Mr. Tang we met the other day, and he's a hard man. He wants every penny, and I don't blame him for that. I'd pay if I could, but I can't.

"I thought everything was going nicely, after I met you, and some friends let me take money to pay some of my debts. Then I had bad luck. That's what I had, bad luck."

"Was it about Toby?" asked Bunny eagerly. "Is he hurt?"

"No, Toby is all right," answered Mr. Tallman. "The only bad luck about him is that I have to sell him. I hope he brings you good luck.

"No, the bad luck I speak of is that I have lost a lot more money. In fact, I have been robbed," said Mr. Tallman.

"Robbed!" cried Mrs. Brown, and she looked at the doors and windows as if to make sure they were fastened, though it was broad daylight, when no burglars would come.

"Yes, burglars, or thieves of some sort, got in my house the other night," went on Mr. Tallman, "and took a box of valuable papers. They were stocks and bonds on which I could have raised money, but which I was saving to the last minute," he said. "Of course, you little tots don't know what stocks and bonds are," he added, speaking to Bunny and Sue, "so I'll just say that the thieves took away a box of papers that I owned. And the papers could have been sold for money."

"Oh, Mr. Tallman!" burst out Bunny. "I know where there's a lot of paper. It's down at the printing office, where they make the Journal daddy reads every night."

"Yes, but the kind of paper the burglars took away from my house isn't that kind," said Mr. Tallman. "Never mind about that. I want to tell you about the pony."

And it was about the pony that Bunny and Sue most wanted to hear.

"To make a long story short," went on Mr. Tallman, "the taking of my box of valuable papers has left me so poor that I've got to sell my house, and nearly everything else I own. And I've got to sell the pony, Toby. I thought you would buy him, Mr. Brown."

"Indeed, I will!" cried the children's father. "I have been trying everywhere to find a Shetland pony for Bunny and Sue." Then Mr. Brown and Mr. Tallman talked about the price to be paid for Toby. "Yes, I'll gladly buy Toby, Mr. Tallman," finished Mr. Brown.

"I thought you would. That makes me feel easier, for I know Toby will have a good home."

"We'll just love him!" cried Bunny.

"And we'll give him lots of nice things to eat!" added Sue. "And I'll let my dollie ride on his back."

"He'll like that, I'm sure," said Mr. Tallman with a smile. "Well, that's what I came to see you about, and as long as it's all settled I'll be getting back. I must see if the police have caught any of the robbers."

"But when shall we have Toby?" asked Bunny.

"Can't we go with you and get him?" asked Sue.

"What sort of box was it that your papers were in?" asked Mr. Brown. "Excuse us asking so many questions," he went on, "but I'd like to help you, if I can, and, of course, the children are eager to have the pony."

"I don't blame them," said Mr. Tallman. "So I'll answer their question first. I'll bring Toby over to-morrow. I'd do it to-day, but it's getting late now, and I have lots to do. So, little ones, you may expect Toby to-morrow. I'll drive over in the basket cart with him, and after that he's yours."

"For ever?" asked Bunny.

"Yes, for ever."

"Won't you ever want him back, even when you're rich again, and catch the burglars that took your things?" asked Sue, wishing to make sure.

"Well, I don't believe I'll ever be rich," said Mr. Tallman with a smile, "even though the police may catch the burglars and get back my papers. But I promise that I'll never take Toby away from you. When your daddy buys the pony he's yours as long as you want to keep him."

"Then we want to keep him for ever and ever!" exclaimed Bunny.

"And the next day after that!" added Sue, as if for ever and ever were not long enough.

"And now to answer your question, Mr. Brown," went on Mr. Tallman, "I'll say that I kept my stocks and bonds -- those are the valuable papers," he told the children -- "I kept them in a queer old box that used to belong to my grandfather. It was a brass box, but it was painted with red and yellow stripes. Why it was my grandfather had the box painted that way I don't know. He used to tell me, when I was a boy like Bunny here, and went out to his house, that he bought the box from an old gypsy man, and gypsies, you know, like bright colors.

"Anyhow, I kept my papers in that red-and-yellow-painted brass box. And the other day, when no one was at home at our house, some one got in and took the box. So now I'm very poor."

"Didn't a policeman see them take it?" asked Bunny.

"No, I'm sorry to say no one saw them. We don't know who it was," answered Mr. Tallman. "But never mind my troubles. I'll have to get out of them the best way I can. It makes me feel better, though, to know that Toby will have a good home. I'll bring him over in the morning."

"Oh, goodie!" cried Sue, clapping her hands.

"Now, we'll have a real pony and we can go for rides!" laughed Bunny Brown. "Oh, I'm so glad!"

Mr. Brown and Mr. Tallman talked a little longer, and Mr. Brown gave the man who had been robbed of the red-and-yellow box some money -- part payment for Toby. Then Mr. Tallman went away, Bunny and Sue waving good-bye to him.

"Oh, I'm so glad we're going to have a Shetland pony, aren't you, Bunny?" asked Sue.

"Terrible glad," he answered. "But I'm sorry Mr. Tallman lost his papers."

"So'm I," said Sue. "Oh, Bunny!" she cried, "wouldn't it be just fine if we could get Mr. Tallman's papers for him?"

"How? What you mean?" asked Bunny, for sometimes he did not think quite as fast as Sue did, even though he was quicker in running about and getting into mischief. "What do you mean, Sue?"

"I mean, maybe when we're ridin' around with Toby, in the basket cart, we could find the robbers that took his red-and-yellow box."

"Oh, yes, that would be nice," agreed Bunny. "And we could ride back home to Mr. Tallman, just like in a fairy story, and tell him we found his box and his -- and his -- oh, well, whatever there was in it," said Bunny, not able to think of "stocks and bonds."

"It would be dandy!" cried Sue, using a word of which her brother was very fond. "But, Bunny, if we found all the things Mr. Tallman lost he'd be rich again -- I mean partly rich."

"Well, wouldn't that be good?"

"Yes, but then he'd have a lot of money and he could buy back Toby from daddy."

Bunny shook his head.

"Nope!" he exclaimed. "Didn't you hear Mr. Tallman say that Toby would belongs to us for ever and for ever, amen."

"He didn't say amen!" declared Sue.

"Well, that goes with it, anyhow," was Bunny's answer. "We always say for ever and for ever, amen. So Toby's going to belongs to us that way."

"All right," agreed Sue. "Then we'll find Mr. Tallman's red-and-yellow box for him and make him rich again. And now let's go and tell Bunker Blue that we're going to have a pony."

The children were so excited about what was going to happen that they hardly knew what they did. They told all their friends about their good luck, and promised every one a ride in the pony cart.

"And you may have as many as ever you want," said Bunny to Bunker Blue. "'Cause you like ponies, don't you?"

"Oh, I just love 'em!" laughed the fish boy.

Bunny and Sue thought the next day would never come! But it did, and they were up bright and early. After breakfast they sat out on the porch, waiting for Mr. Tallman to drive over with Toby. Every now and then they would run to the gate to look down the road. At last Bunny cried:

"Here he comes, Sue!"

"Oh, has he got Toby?"

"Yep! He's driving him and the cart! Oh! Oh!"

"Oh! Oh!" shouted Sue, and then the two children ran down the street, and when they reached the pony, which Mr. Tallman brought to a stop, Bunny Brown and his Sister Sue threw their arms around Toby's neck and hugged him.

"Oh, we're so glad!" they said. "Now, we're going to ride and look for your red-and-yellow box, Mr. Tallman."

"Well, I hope you find it, but I'm afraid you won't. Anyhow, here's Toby for you, and now --  -- "

Just then there was a sound of carriage wheels, grating in a sudden stop, near the little basket cart, while a harsh voice said:

"Ha! So, I've found you; have I? Now give me that pony and don't make any more fuss about it!"

And who do you suppose it was that said that?



Chapter VII

The First Ride


Bunny Brown and his Sister Sue looked quickly up at hearing the harsh voice. They had been looking at Toby, thinking how nice he was, and how glad they were to have him, but now --  -- 

There they saw standing near the little horse Mr. Tang, the cross man who had said Mr. Tallman owed him money.

"I am just in time, I see!" went on Mr. Tang. "I went over to your house to get this pony, Mr. Tallman, but they said you had driven here with him. I see you had."

"Yes, I brought the pony over to Bunny and his sister," stated Mr. Tallman. "I have sold Toby to their father."

"You have?" cried Mr. Tang. "Why, you shouldn't have done that! You should have given that pony to me in part payment of the money you owe me. When are you going to pay me?"

"I can pay you something as soon as Mr. Brown gives me the money for Toby," was the answer.

"Then, I am too late. I can't have Toby, can I?" asked Mr. Tang.

And, oh! how anxiously Bunny and Sue waited for the answer. Suppose, after all, they could not have the pony?

But the next words of Mr. Tallman made them feel better. He said:

"Indeed, you are too late. I have sold Toby, and Bunny and Sue are going to have him after this. I will pay you as soon as I can, but I have been robbed, Mr. Tang. Some burglars took my red-and-yellow box that had in it some valuable papers, and I can't pay you all I owe you until I get that box back."

"But if you'd give me the pony you wouldn't have to pay me so much," went on Mr. Tang.

Mr. Tallman shook his head.

"It is too late," he said. "Toby goes to Bunny and Sue."

The little boy and girl were very glad, but Mr. Tang was angry.

"I've got to have my money!" he exclaimed. "If I can't get it one way I'll get it another. You watch out, Mr. Tallman!" and with that he turned his horse and drove away, giving a last look toward Toby, Bunny and Sue.

"Oh, he won't take Toby, will he?" asked Bunny.

"No, indeed," answered Mr. Tallman. "The pony is yours now."

Mr. Brown, who had not yet gone down to his fish dock, now came out of the house and paid Mr. Tallman for the Shetland pony. And when Bunny and Sue saw that done they felt sure the pet was their very own.

"For," said Bunny to Sue, as they stood patting Toby, "when you buy anything at the store, and give your pennies for it, the storekeeper can't take it back."

"Yes, I guess that's so," said Sue, as though not quite sure. "But Mr. Tallman isn't a storekeeper."

"Well, Toby's ours now; isn't he, Daddy?" asked the little boy.

"Yes, he surely is," said Mr. Brown.

Mr. Tallman told Bunny and Sue what to feed the little horse, and how to treat him.

"Bunker Blue will look after Toby in the stable," said Mr. Brown. "Bunker knows a lot about horses as well as about boats, and he'll harness the pony for the children until they get big enough to do it themselves. We have a nice little box-stall in the stable where Toby can make himself at home."

"And we'll put some soft straw in for his bed," added Bunny.

"And we'll pull grass and give it to him to eat," said Sue. "Will he like green grass, Mr. Tallman?"

"Oh, yes, very much. But he likes hay, too, and now and then a bit of apple or a lump of sugar."

"We'll give him them, too!" cried Bunny. "Oh, we'll have lots of fun with our pony, won't we, Sue?"

"Yes," answered the little girl, again patting Toby. "We'll have heaps of fun!"

"Well, good-bye, little horse," said Mr. Tallman finally, when it was time for him to go. "Good-bye! I'm sorry to have to sell you, but I need the money, and I'm sure you'll have a good home with Bunny and Sue. They will be kind to you. Good-bye!"

Toby bowed his head up and down. It may be that he was saying "Good-bye!" also, or perhaps he only happened to do that. But the two children thought it must be that he was bowing because Mr. Tallman was going away.

Bunny and Sue looked down the road to make sure the cross Mr. Tang was not in sight, and they were glad when they did not see him. For, even though they knew their father had paid for Toby, still they felt that, in some way, the gruff man might come and take him away.

"When may we have a ride, Daddy?" asked Bunny as he saw his father getting ready to go down to the dock. He was going to walk along with Mr. Tallman, who would have to take a train back to his home, since he could no longer ride in the pony cart.

"Oh, so you want to ride, do you?" asked Mr. Brown with a smile, and a wink at Mr. Tallman. "Why, I thought you wanted to have Toby just to look at."

"Oh, no, we want a ride! Don't we, Sue?" Bunny cried.

"Lots of rides!" exclaimed the little girl. "When may we have one, Daddy?"

"I'll send Bunker Blue up as soon as I get to the dock," promised Mr. Brown. "He can take you for a ride in the pony cart."

"Oh, shall we have to wait that long?" Bunny cried. "Couldn't we go for a ride by ourselves?"

"Not at first," Mr. Brown answered. "But after a while, when Bunker has shown you how to drive, then I expect you and your sister will go off on little trips by yourselves -- not too far, though. I suppose Toby will be safe for the children to drive?" Mr. Brown asked Mr. Tallman.

"Oh, yes, of course," said that gentleman. "There is one nice thing about Toby -- he is very gentle and kind and he likes children very much. In fact, he's like a big dog.

"But, Mr. Brown, if Bunny and Sue want a ride so much, why not let me drive them down to your dock? I know where it is, for I was there the other day. Then they can take Bunker Blue in with them and he can teach them how to hold the reins, and other things they need to know about the pony and cart. I'll drive them down."

"Will you?" returned Mr. Brown. "That is kind. Jump in, Bunny and Sue! Get ready for your first pony ride! Tell Bunker Blue I'll soon be there, and then you can all three go off together. Get in!"

"Oh! Oh!" exclaimed Bunny and Sue, filled with joy. "Oh! Oh!"

Mr. Tallman helped them into the basket cart, and then got in himself. Toby looked around as if to make sure that the children were safely seated before starting off, and he switched his long tail.

"Isn't his tail beautiful?" exclaimed Sue.

"Awful nice," agreed Bunny. "I guess no flies 'd better get on Toby, or they'll wish they hadn't when he switches 'em off!"

"Get along, Toby!" called Mr. Tallman to the little creature. "You are going to give Bunny and Sue their first ride. We could take you in the pony cart if you'd like it," he said to Mr. Brown. "Toby can easily pull all four of us, as the road is smooth and down hill."

"No," said Mr. Brown. "I have to stop at two or three places on my way to the dock. Besides, it seems too much for one little pony to pull two men and two children."

"Oh, Toby is strong!" replied Mr. Tallman. "He has often pulled heavier loads than that."

"Well, thank you, I'll not get in," again said Mr. Brown. "Ride along, Bunny and Sue, and wait for me at the dock. Then you and Bunker may have a good time."

Off started Toby, drawing Mr. Tallman, Bunny and Sue. The children looked with eager eyes at their new pony, whose little feet went "clap-clap!" on the hard road. And Toby went quite fast, too, trotting so rapidly that his feet seemed to "twinkle," as Sue said.

"Oh, I just love a pony!" said Sue, as she sat beside Bunny. "I just love Toby!"

"So do I!" agreed her brother. "We're going to keep him for ever and ever!"

But neither Bunny nor Sue knew what was shortly going to happen to Toby.



Chapter VIII

Sue's Handkerchief


"Well, well! What's all this?" cried Bunker Blue, as he saw Bunny and Sue sitting in the pony cart, being driven along the dock by Mr. Tallman. "What's all this?"

"We got a pony!" said Sue.

"And he's all ours! To keep for ever! Daddy bought him from Mr. Tallman," added Bunny.

"And daddy says you're going to show us how to drive him and hitch him up and all like that," went on Sue.

"Oh, I'll like that!" exclaimed Bunker Blue. He had been painting a small boat, but he wiped the paint off his hands and came over to pat Toby.

"Isn't he nice?" asked Bunny.

"Very nice, indeed," answered Bunker Blue. "Well, I think taking you children for a ride on such a fine day as this will be more fun than painting boats. Am I to start off with the children at once?" he asked Mr. Tallman.

"No, I believe Mr. Brown wants you to wait for him," answered the man who had sold the pony. "I'll get out now, as I need to hurry back home. I'll leave the pony with you."

"I'll take good care of him, and Bunny and Sue also," promised Bunker Blue.

"Good-bye!" called Mr. Tallman for the second time, and now he really started away by himself. Once more Toby seemed to bow his head up and down.

"Good-bye!" answered Bunny.

"I hope you find your red-and-yellow box," added Sue.

"And all your money in it," went on her brother.

"Oh, it wasn't exactly money in the box that was taken from me," said Mr. Tallman. "The papers could be sold for money if I had them. But they're gone!"

"If we find them, when we're riding around with Toby, we'll save 'em for you," promised Bunny.

"All right," answered Mr. Tallman with a laugh. "I hope you do find them, but I'm afraid you won't."

While Bunker went to wash himself, in readiness for taking Bunny and Sue for a ride, having first tied the pony's strap to a post on the dock, Bunny and Sue sat in the basket cart, looking at their new pet.

"Oh, look! There's a fly on him!" suddenly exclaimed Sue. "Shall I shoo it off with my handkerchief, Bunny?"

"Maybe Toby can knock it off himself," replied Bunny.

And, surely enough, while the children watched, Toby gave his tail a flicker and a twist, and the fly, which had been biting him, flew away.

"Isn't he cute?" cried Sue.

"Yes," said Bunny. "And his tail is so long that he can switch flies 'most anywhere on him."

"His tail won't reach up to his front legs," said Sue, leaning over the edge of the cart to look and make sure. "How does he get the flies off his front legs, Bunny, when he can't reach 'em with his tail?"

"I don't know," answered the little boy.

"Let's get out and watch," suggested Sue. "Daddy isn't here yet, and Bunker can't take us for a ride till daddy comes. Let's get out and see how Toby makes the flies get off his front legs."

"Oh, yes, let's!" agreed Bunny.

Out of the basket cart climbed the two children. They walked around where they could stand in front of Toby, and stooped down so they could see his legs better.

"There's a fly!" suddenly exclaimed Bunny.

"Where?" asked Sue eagerly.

"Right on his -- his elbow," Bunny answered, pointing to the middle part of Toby's leg, where it bent. "There's a fly right on his elbow."

"'Tisn't his elbow," said Sue. "That isn't!"

"What is it then?"

"It's his -- his knee!"

"Well, it would be his elbow if his front legs were arms," insisted Bunny. "And, anyhow, there's a fly!"

Surely enough, there was a fly on Toby's leg, and it was out of reach of his tail, long as that was.

"How'll he get the fly off?" asked Sue.

"Let's watch and see," suggested Bunny.

They did not have long to wait. Pretty soon the fly began to bite, as flies always do when they get on horses or ponies. But the fly did not bite very long, for Toby stretched his leg out a little way in front of him, where he could reach it more easily, and then he leaned down his head and with his nose drove the fly away.

"Oh, look!" cried Bunny. "He's scratching the itchy place with his nose!"

And that is just what Toby was doing. When he found that his tail would not reach the biting fly he drove the insect off another way.

Then, while Bunny and Sue still watched, a third fly, or perhaps it was the same one, lighted on Toby's front leg in a place where he could neither reach it with his tail nor with his nose.

"What'll he do now?" asked Sue.

"Let's watch and see," said her brother.

Again they did not have long to wait. When Toby found that the fly was biting him, he gave a queer wiggle to his skin, and the fly flew off.

"Oh, he shivered him away!" cried Sue. "He just shivered him away!"

And really it did seem as if Toby had done that very thing. Bunny and Sue were laughing at the queer way their pony had got rid of the fly when they saw their father coming along the dock.

"Well, youngsters!" called Mr. Brown, "you haven't sold Toby yet, I see!"

"And we're not going to!" cried Bunny. "We're never going to sell Toby!"

"All right," said Mr. Brown, laughing. "But where is Bunker?"

"He's washing so he can take us for a ride," answered Sue. "And, Daddy! you ought to see Toby chase flies!"

"Does he run after them?" asked her father, smiling.

"Oh, Daddy! Of course not!" cried Sue. "But when a fly gets on the back part of our pony he switches his tail and knocks him off."

"And when a fly gets on his front leg he scratches it off with his nose."

"What?" cried Mr. Brown. "Does Toby scratch his leg off?"

"No! The fly!" said Bunny, laughing at the funny way his father spoke. "He brushes the fly off, and then he scratches the itchy place with his nose."

"My! he's quite a pony!"

"And when a fly gets on the back part of his front leg, how do you s'pose he gets the fly off then, Daddy?" asked Sue.

"Does he ask you to drive the fly off for him?" Mr. Brown wanted to know.

"Oh, Daddy! Course not! Toby can't talk!" Sue said. "But he just shivers his leg and the fly goes right away! What do you think of that?"

"Well, I think your pony is smarter than we knew," said Mr. Brown. "Think of shivering off flies!"

"And sometimes he stamps his feet and shakes them off," added Bunny. "That's another way. How many does that make, Sue? How many ways can Toby drive off the flies?"

Bunny and Sue counted up on their fingers, Bunny saying:

"He can switch 'em off with his tail, he can scratch 'em off with his nose, he can stamp 'em off and he can shiver 'em off!"

"Four ways," said Sue, who was keeping track on her chubby fingers.

"My! Toby is a regular trick pony!" said Mr. Brown. "Well, here comes Bunker, and I guess he's ready to take you for a ride."

The boat and fish boy had cleaned off some of the paint that had splattered on him, and now, with freshly washed hands and face, and with his hair nicely combed, he was ready to take charge of Bunny and Sue.

"Please, could we drive a little?" asked Bunny.

"I want to hold the reins," added Sue.

"I guess it will be all right," said Mr. Brown. "When you get on a quiet road, Bunker, show the children how to drive, and let them take the reins."

"Oh, won't that be fun!" cried Sue.

"Lots of fun!" echoed Bunny.

Bunker had to go to the end of the dock to tell another boy something about a boat that had been taken out by a fishing party, and Bunny and Sue waited for their friend to come back before getting into the pony cart.

"'Member how we used to go out in the boats, Bunny?" asked Sue.

"Course I 'member. But I don't want to go out now. I'd rather go for a ride with our Shetland pony."

"Oh, so'd I," went on Sue. "I was just 'memberin'. Maybe some day we could take Toby for a ride on a boat."

"Maybe," agreed Bunny. "He wouldn't have to jiggle any flies off his skin then, if we had him in a boat."

"But maybe he wouldn't like a boat," went on Sue. "He might kick and fall overboard. Then we wouldn't have any pony."

"That's so," Bunny agreed. "Lessen we fished him out."

"We couldn't!" said Sue. "I don't guess we'd better take him out in a boat."

"Maybe not," agreed Bunny. "Course, maybe daddy or Bunker Blue could fish him out, but I guess we won't take him. I wish Bunker would hurry up and come back so we could go for a ride. Let's go and see where he is."

The two children, leaving Toby hitched to the cart and tied by a strap to a post, walked a little way down to look for Bunker. They saw him coming, and the fish and boat boy waved his hand to the children.

"I'll be with you in a minute," he said. "Tommy lost an oar off the dock and I had to get it for him."

As Bunny and Sue turned to walk back toward Toby they saw a funny sight. The little Shetland pony started to come toward them, and in his mouth was a white rag.

"Oh, look what Toby has!" cried Bunny. "It's a piece of paper!"

"No, it's my handkerchief!" exclaimed Sue, "I dropped it out of my pocket," and, on looking, surely enough, her handkerchief was gone.

"And Toby picked it up and he's bringing it to you!" said Bunny. "Oh, Sue! he's just like Splash, isn't he? He brings things back to you!"

The little pony walked as far toward the children as the strap would let him, and there he stood, holding Sue's handkerchief in his teeth.

"It's just like he was handing it to me!" cried Sue.

"I wonder if he did it on purpose," said Bunny.

"We can find out," Sue said. "I could drop it again, and we could see if he picked it up. Shall we do it, Bunny?"

"Oh, yes, let's!" said the little boy.

"What is it you're going to do?" Bunker Blue asked, as he came along just then. "I thought you were going for a ride with me."

"So we are," answered Bunny. "But look! Toby picked up Sue's handkerchief that she dropped, and he started to bring it over to her, but he couldn't go any farther on account of the strap. Do you s'pose he did it on purpose, Bunker?"

The fish boy scratched his head.

"I shouldn't wonder but what he did," he answered. "Didn't Mr. Tallman say Toby was once in a circus?"

"Yes," answered Bunny and Sue together.

"That settles it then!" cried Bunker. "Toby is a trick pony, and picking up handkerchiefs is one of his tricks."

"Honest?" asked Bunny.

"I think so," replied Bunker. "But it's easy to tell for sure."

"How?" asked Sue.

"We'll just loosen the strap, and you can drop your handkerchief again, Sue, and see if he picks it up. Here, Toby," went on Bunker, "I'll just take that handkerchief now, thank you, and we'll see if you can do the trick again -- if it is a trick. I'll loosen your strap."

And as he was doing this Bunny Brown and his Sister Sue were wondering what Toby would do. Would he pick up the handkerchief again?



Chapter IX

Toby's New Trick


"We didn't know we had a trick pony, did we, Bunny?" asked Sue, as Bunker Blue got ready to see what Toby would do next.

"Maybe we haven't," replied Bunny. "He doesn't look like a trick pony."

"But he's terrible nice!" Sue said. "And the way he picked up my handkerchief was nice, too. Maybe he'll do it again."

"Maybe," said Bunny.

By this time Bunker had loosed the strap by which the pony was fastened to the post on the dock. Toby shook his head up and down, as well as sideways, as though showing how glad he was to be free again.

"Now, little pony!" called the fish boy, "let's see if you can really do this trick."

Bunker, who still held Sue's handkerchief, walked back a little way, and dropped the bit of white cloth on the dock. Toby looked at it a moment, as if to make sure what it was, and then he walked over to it, picked it up as he had done before, and then, to the surprise and delight of the children, walked with the handkerchief straight to Bunker Blue.

"Oh, he did it! He did it!" cried Sue, clapping her hands. "He is a trick pony, Bunny!"

"Yes, but didn't he ought to bring the handkerchief to you, Sue?" asked her brother.

"He saw me drop it," explained Bunker, "so he thought it must be mine. Maybe if you were to drop it, Sue, he would bring it back to you."

"Oh, let me!" she cried.

Bunker gave the little girl her handkerchief, and after Sue had put her arms around Toby, and patted him on the head, at the same time calling him pet names, she backed away and dropped her handkerchief where the Shetland pony could see it on the dock.

For a moment or two Toby did nothing. He stood looking at the white rag and then he shook his head. But he shook it up and down, and not sideways, and, seeing this, Sue cried:

"Oh, he's saying that he'll do it! He says he'll bring me the handkerchief!"

And, whether or not Toby really meant this, or whether it was the way he always did the trick, I don't know, but, anyhow, he stepped out, walked over to the handkerchief, pulling the basket cart after him, and then he picked up the white cloth and walked straight to Sue with it, holding it out to her in his mouth.

"Oh, he did it!" cried the little girl, clapping her hands. "He brought the handkerchief to me, Bunny! Now, isn't he a trick pony?"

"Yes," said Bunny, slowly, "I guess he is. I wonder if he'd bring me my handkerchief?"

"Try him and see," suggested Bunker Blue. "But I thought you wanted to go for a ride."

"So we do," returned Bunny, "but we can ride after we see if Toby does the handkerchief trick for me."

"Yes, I guess we'll have time for that," said Bunker Blue.

So Bunny dropped his handkerchief on the dock, and, surely enough, Toby picked it up and carried it to the little boy.

"Now," said Sue, "we know for sure he's a trick pony. Maybe he did that in a circus, Bunker."

"Maybe he did," agreed the fish boy.

"I wonder if he can do any more tricks," went on Bunny.

"We'll try him after a while," went on Bunker. "If I'm going to take you for a ride, and show you how to drive your little horse, we'd better start, as I don't know when your father may want me back here on the dock. Come on, we'll go out on the road, and, later on, we can try Toby with some more tricks."

So Bunny and Sue climbed into the basket cart, taking seats on either side, and Bunker climbed up after them, to hold the reins. They drove down the wooden dock toward Mr. Brown's office, the feet of Toby, the Shetland pony, going: "Plunk! Plunk! Plunk!" on the boards.

"Well, you've started I see!" called Mr. Brown to Bunny and Sue, as he looked out of the door of his office. "But what kept you so long?"

"Oh, Toby was doing tricks," answered Bunny.

"Doing tricks?" asked Mr. Brown.

"He picked up my handkerchief," added Sue, and she told her father all about it.

"My! he certainly is a trick pony!" said Mr. Brown. "We must ask Mr. Tallman if Toby can do anything else besides the handkerchief trick."

Then, as Mr. Brown watched, Bunny Brown and his Sister Sue and their Shetland pony went off down the road, Bunker Blue driving.

"Doesn't he go nice?" cried Sue to her brother. "And doesn't his tail switch off the flies quick?"

"Terrible quick," agreed Bunny, and he added: "Oh, Bunker Blue! you ought to see how many ways Toby can wiggle the flies off his legs."

"How many?" asked the fish boy.

"Five," answered Bunny. "Course not all five flies off his legs, but some off his back he switches with his tail, and --  -- "

"You talk just like a Dutchman!" laughed Bunker.

"Well, anyhow, he can wiggle flies off lots of ways," Bunny said.

Down the road they drove, and many a person, and not a few children, turned to look after the pony cart in which Bunny and Sue were having such a good time.

As they drove past old Miss Hollyhock's cottage she came to the door and waved to them. A little farther on Bunny saw Charlie Star, with whom he sometimes played.

"Oh, Bunker!" cried Bunny, "couldn't we take Charlie for a ride?"

"Well, yes, but not just now. I want to give you children a little lesson in driving, and we don't want to be crowded. Some other time we'll take Charlie," said the fish boy.

So, as he drove past his chum, Bunny leaned out of the cart and called:

"We'll give you a ride to-morrow, Charlie!"

"All right -- thanks!" shouted the little boy in answer.

A little later Sue saw some of her girl playmates -- Mary Watson and Sadie West -- and to them she said the same thing -- that she would take them for a ride the next day.

"Don't promise too much," warned Bunker Blue. "We don't want to make Toby too tired."

But I guess the Shetland pony liked to draw children about, at least as long as the roads were level, and he did not have to haul the cart uphill.

Coming to a quiet part of the road, just outside the village, where automobiles seldom came, Bunker Blue gave the two children their first lesson in driving. He showed Bunny and Sue how to hold the reins, and how to pull gently on the left one when they wanted the pony to turn that way.

"And when you want him to go to the right just pull on the right-hand line," said the fish boy. "But be careful in turning all the way around that you don't turn too quickly, or you may upset the cart and spill out."

"I spilled off my sled once," said Bunny. "And I rolled all the way downhill. But I didn't get hurt, for I rolled into a bank of snow."

"Well, there aren't any snow banks here, now, to fall into," said Bunker, "so be careful about rolling out."

Then the fish boy showed the children how to hold the reins gently, but firmly, when Toby was trotting straight along, and he showed them how to pull in when they wanted the pony to stop.

Then, after a while, Bunker let Bunny take the reins himself, for a little while, and drive Toby. The little boy was delighted to do this. He even guided the pony first to the right and then to the left, and then brought him to a stop.

"Fine!" cried Bunker. "That's the way to do it, Bunny!"

"Can't I do it, too?" asked Sue, for she always liked to do the things her brother did.

"Yes, it's your turn now," said the fish boy, and the little girl took the reins. And Toby was so gentle, and seemed so eager to do everything he could to make it easy for Sue, that she soon learned to drive a little bit.

Then Bunker showed them how to turn around, and how to make Toby back up, in case they got to such a narrow place in the road that there was not room to turn. Bunker knew a lot about horses and ponies, and he was the best teacher Bunny and Sue could have had.

"Now, let's drive back and show mother!" said Bunny after a while. "Let's drive past the house, Bunker."

"All right," agreed the fish boy. "I'll drive until we get there, for I see some automobiles coming, and we don't want them to run into us. But when we get near the house I'll let you take the reins, Bunny."

"Couldn't I take 'em, too?" asked Sue.

"Well, we'll let Bunny do it first," suggested Bunker. "And then, when we drive down to the dock, you can show your daddy how you drive, little girl."

"Oh, I'll love that!" cried Sue, clapping her hands.

And you can imagine how surprised Mrs. Brown was when she saw the pony cart coming up the drive, with Bunny holding the reins, as though he had known for a long while how to make Toby go.

"Look, Mother! Look!" cried the little boy. "I'm driving Toby!"

"So I see, Bunny," said Mrs. Brown. "Isn't it wonderful?"

"And I can drive, too," added Sue. "I'm going to show daddy down at the dock!"

"Oh, won't that be nice!" laughed her mother. "I'm sure you two children ought to be very happy with such a fine pony and cart!"

And indeed Bunny and Sue were happy. Bunny drove all around the house and out into the road again, and then Bunker took the reins to guide the pony down to the fish and boat dock, for the children had not yet been taught enough about the pony to make it safe for them to drive him on the main street.

"Now, you take hold, Sue," said Bunker, as they turned into the yard that led to the dock. "There's your father at the window of the office, and he can see you drive."

Sue's cheeks glowed rosy in delight as she took the reins; and as she guided the pony past the little house on the end of the dock, where Daddy Brown had his office, the little girl cried:

"See what I can do! See what I can do!"

"Oh, fine!" exclaimed Mr. Brown. "Well, Toby didn't run away with you, did he?"

"Oh, no! He'll never do that!" said Bunny. "We had a dandy ride!"

The children, with Bunker Blue, took turns telling Mr. Brown about their first ride, and then, not wishing to tire them out, or make Toby too tired, either, Mr. Brown sent them home in the pony cart, with Bunker to drive.

"To-morrow you may go out again," said Bunny's father.

And so, for several days after that, Bunker Blue took the children out for rides in the pony cart. Each day he let them drive alone for longer and longer times, until at last Bunny and Sue were very good at it.

They learned how to keep to the right, out of the way of other wagons or automobiles, and as Toby did not now seem to be afraid of anything he met, one night Mr. Brown said:

"Well, I guess Bunny and Sue are good enough drivers now to go out by themselves without Bunker Blue."

"And drive all alone?" asked Bunny, eagerly.

"Yes," his father said. "But keep on the more quiet streets, and don't go too far."

The children promised they would be careful, and the next day they went for a ride by themselves. Their mother was a little anxious about them at first, and watched them go up and down the street in front of the house. Splash, the dog, ran along, too, barking and wagging his tail, as though having just as much fun as anybody. Then, after a while, Bunny and Sue went a little farther away from the house.

But they did not go too far at first, and as they were turning around to drive back, it being Bunny's turn to hold the reins, they saw, walking toward them, Mr. Tallman.

"Oh, hello!" cried Bunny. "Don't you want a ride, Mr. Tallman?"

"Why, yes, thank you," he answered. "And so you are out all by yourselves? This is fine! I didn't think you'd learn so soon how to drive Toby."

"Oh, he's easy to drive!" Bunny said.

"And he can do tricks!" added Sue. "He picked up my handkerchief and brought it back to me!"

"Yes, I knew he could do that trick," said Mr. Tallman. "And that's what I came over to tell you about. I forgot it when I was here before, for I was thinking so much about my red-and-yellow box that was stolen."

"Have you got it back yet?" asked Bunny, as the man who used to own Toby got in the cart with the children.

"No, I'm sorry to say I haven't," was the answer. "I'm afraid I shall never see it again. But how do you like Toby?"

"He's dandy!" declared Bunny.

"And we just love him!" added Sue.

"I'm glad you do," said Mr. Tallman. "But did you know he can do another trick besides the handkerchief one?"

"Oh, can he?" asked Bunny.

"Yes, indeed! I'll tell you about his new trick. It's one I taught him."

"Oh, please show us!" begged Bunny.

"Wait until we get back to his stable," said Mr. Tallman. "This trick has to be done in the stable where there's a bin of oats. There I can show you what else Toby can do."

And how Bunny and Sue wondered what it was their pony was going to do!



Chapter X

Toby Walks Away


Bunny Brown and his Sister Sue drove Mr. Tallman in the pony cart along the road, and up the driveway that led to the stable back of their house.

"Why, you two children have learned to drive quite well," said the man who used to own Toby.

"Oh, yes, Bunker Blue showed us how," answered Bunny.

Mrs. Brown looked from the window and saw the pony cart.

"Oh, you have brought back company!" she called, as she noticed Mr. Tallman.

"I came over for a little while only," he said. "I forgot to tell the children about a trick Toby can do, and I thought they might like to know of it. They told me that he picked up Sue's handkerchief."

"Yes, I thought that was very smart of him," said Mrs. Brown with a smile. "Is the other trick as nice as that?"

"I think so," answered Mr. Tallman. "But I need some lumps of sugar to make Toby do it right."

"Yes, I guess all ponies like sugar," said the children's mother, as she brought some out. Then she went to the barn with Mr. Tallman and Bunny and Sue.

Bunny knew something about unharnessing his pet, and did so with the help of Mr. Tallman. Then, as Toby stood loose in the middle of the barn floor, Mr. Tallman gave him a lump of sugar.

"Is that the trick?" asked Bunny.

"No, that is only the start of it. Now show me where your oat bin is and give me a wooden measure with which you dip out the oats you sometimes feed to Toby."

Bunny ran to the box, or bin, where the oats were kept, and from it he took a little round measure, such as grocers, at the store, use for measuring two quarts of potatoes.

"Now," said Mr. Tallman, "I'll just put another lump of sugar in this wooden measure. Then I'll put the measure under this basket," and this he did, letting Toby see all that went on.

"Now," went on the man who used to own the pony, "I'll see if he'll do as I want him to. I want him to go over to the basket, lift it off the measure, and then carry the measure over to the oat bin. Then I want him to open the top of the bin with his nose, and drop the measure inside, as though he wanted to take some oats out to eat."

"Will he do it?" asked Bunny.

"I think so," answered Mr. Tallman. "He used to do it for me, in his other stable. This one may be a bit strange to him. But we'll see what he does."

The lump of sugar had been put in the measure, and the measure was covered with a bushel basket, turned upside down. Then, stepping back, Mr. Tallman said:

"Now, Toby, go and get your oats! Go and get your oats!"

The little Shetland pony bobbed his head up and down, just as if he were saying that this is just what he would do. Then he took a few steps toward the oat bin, which had a hinged cover like the boxes in the grocery where the coffee is kept.

"No! No! Don't go to the oat bin yet," said Mr. Tallman. "First, get the wooden measure, Toby! I have to have that first, before I can dish you out any oats. Take the measure over to the box."

Whether Toby knew all that Mr. Tallman said to him, or whether the pony had learned to go for the measure because he knew there was a lump of sugar in it, I can't exactly say. Perhaps it was a little of both. At any rate, he walked over to the bushel basket that covered the wooden measure.

With a quick motion of his head Toby knocked the basket to one side. Then he reached down and took out the lump of sugar, which he chewed.

"Oh, he did it! He did it!" cried Sue, clapping her hands.

"But this isn't all," said Mr. Tallman. "This is only half the trick. Watch and see if he does the rest."

The children and Mrs. Brown waited until Toby had chewed down the lump of sugar. And then, with a little whinny, which seemed as if he tried to talk, Toby picked the two-quart measure up in his mouth.

Over to the oat bin he walked with it, and Bunny and Sue could hardly keep still, they were so excited.

Would Toby open the box, as Mr. Tallman wanted him to?

And that is just what the Shetland pony did. Dropping the wooden measure at one side of the wooden box where his oats were kept, Toby lifted the cover with his nose. Then he picked up the measure again, and dropped it in the box, on top of the oats that filled it nearly to the brim.

"Ha! that's the way to do it!" cried Mr. Tallman. "Now you have done the trick, Toby, and you shall have another lump of sugar!"

And he gave the pony a large one.

"Was that what you wanted him to do?" asked Mrs. Brown.

"Yes, that was the trick I taught him in his own stable. I was afraid perhaps he might have forgotten it here, but I see he hasn't."

"Aren't you going to give him some oats now?" asked Bunny.

"Well, I thought maybe you or Sue would like to have him do the trick over again before he had any oats. Usually I didn't let him have any until after I had made him do the trick three or four times. He has the habit of doing it like that. So you children take a turn. Here is more sugar for him."

Bunny took a lump, and put it in the measure. Then he hid it under the bushel basket, and, surely enough, Toby went over to it again, took the measure out from under and dropped it into the oat bin. Then Bunny gave him the second lump of sugar.

Toby did the trick for Sue, as well as for Mrs. Brown, and then the children's mother said:

"Well, now I am sure Toby has earned his oats."

"Yes, now we'll give him some," agreed Mr. Tallman, and the little horse seemed to like them very much.

"Did he do this trick in the circus?" asked Bunny.

"No, I taught him this after that time," answered Mr. Tallman. "In the circus, though, Toby used to stand on his hind legs with a lot of other ponies in a ring, and a monkey used to ride around on his back. We haven't any monkey now, so we can't do that trick."

"Mr. Winkler has a monkey!" exclaimed Bunny. "His name is Wango -- the monkey's name is, I mean. Maybe we could get him to ride on Toby's back."

"Not unless the monkey is taught to do it," replied Mr. Tallman. "I guess we hadn't better try that just yet."

"No, indeed!" exclaimed Mrs. Brown.

"Wango is always getting into mischief, too. I don't want him around."

"But could you make Toby stand on his hind legs?" asked Sue.

"I think so," answered the visitor. And when the pony had finished his oats Mr. Tallman stood in front of him, and, holding out a broom handle, as the ring-master in a circus holds out his whip, called:

"Up, Toby! Up!"

Then, to the surprise and delight of Bunny and Sue, Toby rose on his hind legs, and pranced around the barn floor, almost as well as Splash, the dog, could stand on his hind legs.

"Oh, that's three tricks he can do!" cried Bunny. "Our pony can do three tricks! He can stand on his hind legs, he can open his oat box, and he can bring back a handkerchief."

"And he can let a monkey ride on his back," added Mr. Tallman. "But we won't do that trick now."

Bunny and Sue rather wished they could see Wango riding on Toby's back, but they knew, as well as did their mother, that Mr. Winkler's pet sometimes did mischievous as well as funny tricks. Perhaps it was better not to have him ride Toby.

"Well, I'm glad you like my pony, or, rather, the pony that used to be mine," said Mr. Tallman, as he was leaving. "If you are kind and good to him, as I know you will be, perhaps you can teach him other tricks."

"Oh, yes! That's what I'm going to do!" cried Bunny. "And then we can take him to the circus!"

"No!" cried Sue. "You can't take my pony to the circus! I own half of Toby, don't I, Mother?"

"Well, yes, I suppose so. But I don't believe Bunny would really take him to any circus."

"Oh, no, I only meant a make-believe circus, like we played once before," said the little boy.

"Oh, yes, we can do that," agreed Sue.

Mr. Tallman told Bunny and Sue some other simple tricks they might teach Toby to do, and then he said good-bye to the pony and started back home.

"And we hope you'll find your red-and-yellow box," said Sue, as she waved her hand.

"So do I," added the man who had been robbed, so that he was made poor and had to sell Toby. "I hope so, too!"

"Every time we go out riding in our pony cart we'll look for your box," promised Bunny, and Mr. Tallman said that was very kind of them.

After the visitor had gone Bunny and Sue wanted to hitch Toby up again, and drive down to their father's dock to tell him about the new trick the pony could do. But Mrs. Brown said it would be better to let the pony rest awhile and tell Mr. Brown about him when he came home in the evening.

This Bunny and Sue did, and they took their father out to the barn and showed him how Toby could take the measure out from under the bushel basket, and drop it in the oat box.

"And maybe you can make him stand on his hind legs," added Bunny.

"I'll try," said Mr. Brown. And he did. And, surely enough, when the broomstick was held crosswise in front of him, up rose Toby on his hind legs, just as when Mr. Tallman had told him to.

It was about a week after this, and Bunny and Sue had learned to drive Toby quite well, that their mother called to them:

"Children, will you go to the store for me in your pony cart? I need some sugar for a cake."

"We'll get it, Mother!" answered Bunny, and he and Sue hurried out to the barn. With the help of the hired girl they hitched Toby to the cart, and soon they were driving down the street to the store, Splash, their dog, who was called that because he had once splashed into the water after Sue, who had fallen in, and pulled her out -- But there! you can read all about that in the first volume of this series. So to go on: Splash went with them, now running on ahead and again lagging behind, barking and wagging his tail.

Bunny and Sue went in the store together to get the sugar, and, as they did not think they would stay very long, they did not fasten Toby's strap to a hitching post, as their father had told them they must always do. But as there were quite a number of customers in the store it was some little time before Bunny got what he wanted.

Then, as he and Sue started out to ride back home in their pony cart, they heard some one say:

"Where is that Bunny Brown boy?"

"Here I am," he answered, stepping from behind one of the clerks that had asked the question. "What's the matter?" Bunny asked.

"Why, your pony has walked away from in front of the store," the clerk replied. "There he goes down the street!"



Chapter XI

Off To The Farm


At first Bunny and Sue were so surprised at what the grocery store clerk told them that they did not know what to do. Bunny almost dropped the bag of sugar he was carrying.

"What about my pony?" asked the little boy.

"I just happened to look out and noticed your pony walking away," went on the clerk. "I knew he was yours, Bunny Brown, for I saw you and Sue drive up in the little cart. It's a good thing he isn't running away. If you hurry you can catch him."

"Come on!" cried Bunny to his sister. "We've got to get Toby 'fore maybe an automobile runs into him and smashes our cart."

"Oh, yes! Get him!" begged Sue. "Oh, what made Toby walk away?"

"Maybe he got tired of waiting," said the clerk, "or perhaps something frightened him. If you can't get him I'll run after him for you as soon as I wait on Miss Winkler."

"Land sakes! what's the matter now? Has that monkey got loose again?" asked the woman who was sister to the sailor who owned the tricky monkey.

"No, it isn't your monkey that's loose -- it is our pony," said Bunny, as he and Sue hurried out of the door.

They saw going slowly down the street, their Shetland pony. Toby did not appear to be in a hurry. He was just walking.

"I guess he just got tired of waiting -- there didn't anything frighten him," announced Bunny.

"But we must get him," said Sue.

"Of course!" said her brother. "Come on!"

They started to run down the street, on which there were not many wagons or automobiles just then, and, as there were only a few persons on the sidewalk, Bunny and Sue could easily keep their pony and cart in sight.

But before they could reach it something queer happened. With a bark and a wag of his tail, their dog Splash came rushing along. Straight down the street he trotted, and up into the pony cart he jumped, for the back door had been left open, when Bunny and Sue got out.

Into the cart jumped Splash and he barked:

"Bow-wow!"

It was just as if he said:

"Whoa, now!"

I don't know whether or not Toby understood dog talk. But he did understand the next thing that happened. For Splash reached over and took hold of the reins in his teeth, pulling back on the lines.

Toby had been taught to stop whenever he felt a pull on the reins, whether any one said "whoa!" or not. And this time, feeling himself being pulled back, and not knowing it was only Splash who was doing it, Toby stopped.

"Bow-wow!" barked Splash again, sort of down in his throat, for he was still keeping his place in the cart, and holding to the reins. "Bow-wow!"

It was as if he said:

"See what I did now!"

Bunny and Sue, hurrying down the street after their pony that had walked away, saw what their dog had done.

"Oh, he stopped Toby for us!" cried Bunny, and he was so excited that he almost dropped the bag of sugar.

"That's what he did!" exclaimed Sue. "Oh, isn't he a good dog?"

"He's smart, and so's Toby!" said Bunny. "But next time we'll fasten our pony."

"Yes, that's what you'd better do," said the clerk from the store who had, after waiting on Miss Winkler, run down the street to see if the children needed help. "Even a tame pony had better be tied when he is left to stand in the street," the clerk said. "Are you all right now?"

"Yes, thank you, we're all right," answered Bunny. "Our dog Splash stopped Toby for us."

"Indeed? He's a smart dog!" said the clerk with a laugh, as he patted the shaggy head. "Here's a sweet cracker for him, and one for your pony."

Splash quickly chewed down the treat the clerk gave him, and Bunny let Toby take another cracker off the palm of his hand.

"And here are some for yourselves," went on the clerk, taking some more from his pocket.

"Oh, thank you!" said Bunny Brown and his Sister Sue.

They got into the pony cart, and they let Splash stay in, too, because he had been so smart as to catch Toby, and then the children drove back past the store. Miss Winkler was just coming out.

"Land sakes!" she cried, "what's goin' to happen next? Have you youngsters a pony cart?"

"And he's a trick pony!" exclaimed Bunny. "He can let a monkey ride on his back."

"Maybe some day we could take Wango, your monkey," added Sue.

"Land sakes, child! Don't call him my monkey!" exclaimed Miss Winkler. "I wish I'd never seen the beast! Only this morning he knocked down a jar of my strawberry preserves, and the pantry looks as if I'd spilled red ink all over it! I wish to goodness Jed Winkler would put him on some pony's back and ride him to the Land of Goshen!"

"Is that very far from here?" asked Bunny. "'Cause if it isn't too far maybe we could ride Wango away for you on Toby's back."

"Land sakes, child! No, I wouldn't want that good-for-nothing monkey Wango to have a ride on the back of such a nice pony as yours. I'll make Jed sell him to a hand-organ man -- that's what I will!"

Wango was a mischievous little chap, but Jed Winkler used to say this was so because Miss Winkler never treated him kindly. The truth was that Miss Winkler didn't like monkeys.

"Maybe some day Mr. Winkler will let us take Wango to do a circus trick on Toby's back," said Sue to her brother, as they turned Toby around and started for home.

"Maybe," agreed Bunny. "Anyhow, I'm glad Toby didn't walk away very far this time."

"So'm I," added Sue.

"And Splash is an awful good dog, isn't he?" went on Bunny, as he turned down a side street and let Sue take the reins.

"Yes, he caught Toby just as good as a policeman could," Sue said, as she guided the Shetland pony along the road. "We love you, Splash," she went on, and the dog wagged his tail so hard that he brushed all the dust off Bunny's shoes. Then he tried to "kiss" Sue, but she hid her face down in her arms, for she didn't like the wet tongue of the dog on her face, even if he only did it to show how much he liked her.

"Hi, Bunny! Hi! Give me a ride!" called a voice from the yard at the side of a house as the children passed. "Give me a ride."

"It's Charlie Star!" exclaimed Bunny, looking back. "Shall we give him a ride, Sue?"

"Yes, we promised, and we've room if Splash gets out."

"We've room anyhow," Bunny said, as Sue pulled on the reins and called: "Whoa!"

Toby stopped. Splash must have been tired of riding in the cart, for out he jumped, and Charlie got in.

"Our pony walked away, but Splash caught him," Bunny explained, telling what had happened in front of the store.

"He did!" cried Charlie. "Say, your dog's smart all right."

"An' so's our pony!" added Bunny. "You ought to see him do tricks!"

"I'd like to," said Charlie.

"You can, when we have another play circus," went on Bunny.

"And maybe we'll get Mr. Winkler's monkey, Wango, and let him ride on Toby's back -- maybe," said Sue, who now let her brother take the reins again.

"Say, that'd be great!" cried Charlie with sparkling eyes.

"But maybe Mr. Winkler won't let us take his monkey," said Bunny, who didn't want Charlie to count too much on seeing that trick. "But if he won't, we can tie one of Sue's dolls on Toby's back, and make believe that's a monkey."

"No, you can't!" exclaimed Sue. "None of my dolls is going to be a monkey!"

"Oh, I mean only make believe," said Bunny.

"Oh, well, if it's just make believe that's different," agreed Sue. "I'll let you take my old rag doll for that."

Bunny and Sue gave Charlie a ride around the block in which his house was, and then he jumped out, after thanking them. Back home they drove with the sugar, Splash running on ahead.

"After this, you must always tie your pony when you let him stand in front of a store," said Mrs. Brown, when the children told her what had happened.

Bunny and Sue had many nice rides behind their Shetland pony. Sometimes Uncle Tad went with them. They learned to manage him quite well, and Mrs. Brown was not afraid to let the children go even on rather long drives. One day she said to them:

"Do you think you could drive Toby to the farm, and bring me back some new butter?"

"Oh, yes, Mother!" cried Bunny. "We'd love to!"

The farm, of which the children's mother spoke, was a place about two miles out of town, where a man sold butter, eggs and chickens. Mrs. Brown often sent there for fresh things for the table.

"Well, if you're sure it won't be too far for you, you may go," she said to the children. "But be very careful of autos and wagons."

"We will," they promised.

"We'll keep on one side of the road all the way," Bunny added.

He and Sue knew the road to the farm quite well, or they thought they did, and they were quite delighted to start off, not knowing what was going to happen to them.

"I'll put you up a little lunch to eat on the way," said Mrs. Brown, "for it may take you some time to go and come."

"Won't Toby get hungry, too?" asked Sue.

"Yes, but he can eat the grass alongside the road while you are taking your lunch. I won't have to put up any for the pony. But you might have a lump of sugar or a sweet cracker for him."

"That's what we will," said Bunny.

Then he and Sue got ready to start for the farm.

And what do you suppose happened to them before they got home again?



Chapter XII

The Wrong Road


Toby, the Shetland pony, stamped his feet in the soft grass in front of the home of Bunny Brown and his Sister Sue. Then he "shivered" off some flies that were biting his legs, and switched some off his back with his long tail.

"And now we're ready to start!" cried Sue, as she sat on the cushion near her brother, who was to drive the first part of the way.

"And don't drop the butter when you're coming back," said Mrs. Brown, as she saw that the children's lunch was safely put in the cart, together with a few lumps of sugar and some sweet crackers for Toby.

"We won't," promised Bunny. "Gidap, Toby!" he called, and away trotted the pony.

Down the village street went Toby, and Bunny and Sue smiled and waved their hands to some of their boy and girl friends who watched them driving away, wishing they were going.

"We'll give you a ride when we come back," promised Sue.

She turned to wave her hand to Sadie West, and then Sue saw Splash, the big dog, trotting along behind the pony cart.

"Oh, Bunny!" exclaimed Sue, "do we want to take Splash along?"

"No, I don't guess we do," Bunny answered. "There's a big dog at the farm, and he might fight our dog like he did once before."

This had happened. For once, when Mr. Brown took Bunny and his sister to the place to get some fresh eggs and butter, Splash had trotted along with them. And Splash and the other dog at the farm did not seem to be friends, for they fought and bit one another, and Mr. Brown and Mr. Potter, the man who owned the farm, had hard work to make the animals stop.

"Whoa, Toby!" called Bunny to the pony, and he stopped. "Now you go on back, Splash!" ordered his little master.

But Splash did not want to go back. He sat down on the grass, thumped his tail up and down, and then sort of looked off to one side, as though to see how tall the trees were. He didn't look at Bunny or Sue at all, and when their dog didn't do this the children knew he didn't want to mind them.

"Go back home, Splash!" ordered Bunny.

"'Cause we don't want you fighting with that other dog," added Sue. "Go home like a nice doggie."

But Splash didn't seem to want to be a nice dog. He just sat thumping his tail and looking off at the trees.

"Oh, dear!" exclaimed Bunny, with a sort of sigh. "What'll we do? I guess I'll have to get out and take him back."

"If you do that," said Sue, "maybe Toby will walk away again."

"You could stay in the cart and hold the lines," said Bunny.

"I don't want to stay here if you're not going to," went on Bunny's sister.

"Then we can both get out and take Splash home," decided the little boy, after a while. "He'll go back if we go back a little way with him. He likes to be with us. And we can tie Toby to something so he can't walk away."

"What could we tie him to?" asked Sue.

Bunny looked all around. There were no hitching posts near by -- only some big trees.

"We could tie him to one of them," he said. "Or to a stone."

"Toby could pull a stone right along with him," objected Sue. "You'd better tie him to a tree."

"Maybe he could pull up a tree, too," said Bunny. "Once I saw a picture of an elephant pulling up a tree."

"Toby isn't as strong as an elephant," Sue said. Then she exclaimed: "Oh, Bunny, I know what we can do!"

"What?"

"We can throw a stick for Splash to run after. And when he goes back after the stick we can drive on with Toby and get so far away that Splash can't find us."

"That's so! We can do that!" exclaimed Bunny. "I'll do it. I'll throw a stick for Splash to go after, and you hold the reins," and he passed the pony reins to his sister.

As Bunny got down out of the pony cart Splash jumped up and ran toward his little master, wagging his tail.

"No, I'm not going to play with you!" Bunny said, trying to speak crossly, but finding it hard work, for he loved Splash. "You've got to go on back home! Next time we'll take you with us, but now we're going to the farm, and there's a bad dog there that'll bite you. You've got to go back, Splash!"

Of course, Bunny's dog did not understand all the little boy said. But Splash knew what it meant when Bunny stooped and picked up a stick. Splash was used to running after sticks and stones that the children threw, and he would bring them back, to have them thrown over again.

"Now go and get this, Splash!" ordered Bunny, as he got ready to toss the stick. At the same time the boy looked to make sure he did not have to run too far to get back to the cart and drive off with Sue. "Go get it, Splash!" cried Bunny, as he threw the stick.

"Bow-wow!" barked the dog, and away he ran as the stick sailed through the air. Then Bunny turned and raced back toward the cart, where Sue was waiting for him.

"We must hurry," said the little girl. "Splash is a terrible fast runner."

"Gidap, Toby!" cried Bunny, as he took the reins, and once more away trotted the little pony. Then Sue looked back, and she cried:

"Oh, Bunny! It's no good! Here comes Splash after us!"

And, surely enough, the dog was coming after them. He had found the stick Bunny had thrown, and then, taking it in his mouth, had started back after the pony cart.

"You didn't throw it far enough," said Sue.

"I threw it as far as I could," said Bunny.

"Well, here comes Splash. What are we going to do now?" Sue asked. "I guess we've got to drive back and take him home."

"That'll take a long time," Bunny said, "and we ought to be going after the butter. Oh, Splash! you're a bad dog!" he exclaimed.

Splash sat down on the grass, near where Toby had come to a second stop, and flopped his tail up and down on the grass. That's what Splash did. And he dropped the stick at his feet and looked down at it, every now and then, as if he were saying:

"Well, that was a pretty good throw, Bunny. But throw it again. I like to run after sticks and bring 'em back to you."

"Oh, dear!" exclaimed Sue. "What are we going to do now?"

"What's the matter?" asked a voice the children knew, and there was Bunker Blue, walking along with an axe over his shoulder. He was going to the woods to cut some stakes for the big fish nets. "What's the matter, Bunny and Sue?" asked the boat boy.

"Oh, Splash is following us, and we're going to the farm, and there's a big dog there that bites him," explained Bunny. "We can't make Splash go back home."

"And Bunny threw a stick and -- and everything," added Sue.

"Well, I'll take him with me," offered Bunker Blue. "He always likes to go to the woods. I'll take him with me and then he won't bother you. Here, Splash!" he called.

With a bark and a joyful wag of his tail, Splash sprang up and ran toward Bunker.

"Come on now! Off to the woods!" cried the fish boy.

Splash turned once to look back at Bunny and Sue in the pony cart, and then he glanced at Bunker. It was as if he said:

"Well, I like you both, and I don't know which one to go with."

"Go on with Bunker!" said Bunny to his dog. And, with a final wag of his tail and a good-bye bark, Splash did.

"I'll take care of him. He won't follow you any more," said Bunker, and then he marched off toward the woods, the big dog tagging after.

"Now we can go to the farm," said Bunny, and he and Sue drove on.

They knew the way to the farm, for they had been there many times before, though this was their first visit in the pony cart. Mr. Potter saw them coming up the drive, and called out:

"My! you certainly are coming in style this time. Are you going to buy my place?"

"No, only some butter, if you please," replied Bunny. And while it was being wrapped up he hitched Toby to a post, and then the little boy and girl went into the house, where Mrs. Potter gave them each a glass of sweet milk.

"We have some cookies and things to eat that mother gave us," said Bunny, "but we're going to have a little lunch in the woods going home. We've a lump of sugar for Toby, too."

"My! you're well off!" laughed Mrs. Potter. "Now, there's your butter. Don't spill it on the way home."

"We won't," promised the children, and soon they were driving back again.

"When are we going to eat our lunch?" asked Sue, after a bit.

"We can eat it now," said Bunny. "I was just looking for a shady place."

"There's some shade over there," went on Sue, pointing to a clump of trees a little distance away. "We can drive off on that other road and have a picnic."

"All right," Bunny agreed. And then, forgetting that his mother had told him not to get off the straight road between the farm and home, Bunny turned the pony down a lane and along another highway to the wood. There, finding a place where a little spring of water bubbled out near a green, mossy rock, the children sat down to eat their lunch. But first they tied Toby to a tree and gave him his piece of sugar and the crackers. After that he found some grass to nibble.

Bunny and Sue had a good time playing picnic in the woods. They sat under the trees and made believe they were gypsies traveling around.

"I wonder if they is any gypsies around here?" asked Sue.

"George Watson said there were some camping over near Springdale," answered Bunny.

"Let's don't go there," suggested Sue.

"No, we won't," agreed her brother. "And I guess we'd better start for home now. Mother told us not to be late."

They fed Toby some cookie crumbs left in one of the boxes, and then started to drive out of the wood. But they had not gone very far before they came to a bridge over a noisy, babbling brook.

"Why, Bunny," cried Sue, "this isn't the way we came! We didn't cross over this bridge before!"

"Whoa!" called Bunny. He looked at the bridge and at the brook. Then he said: "That's right, Sue. We didn't. I guess we're on the wrong road."

"Does that mean we -- we're lost, Bunny?" asked Sue.



Chapter XIII

Toby Finds The Way


Bunny Brown did not at once answer his Sister Sue. He sat in the pony cart, looking around. It was a pretty spot. Behind them were the woods, and, on either side, green fields. Before them ran the brook. But there were no houses in sight.

"Are we lost, Bunny?" asked Sue again.

That seemed to wake Bunny up from his daydream.

"Lost! No, of course not!" he exclaimed. "How could anybody be lost in the day time?"

"Well, Sadie West was lost once in the day time," said Sue. "She was in a big city, and she couldn't find her mamma nor her house nor anything!"

"Well, this isn't a city," said Bunny. "This is the country and I know how to get home."

"Oh, do you?" asked Sue, much relieved. "How, Bunny?"

"Why -- why, all I've got to do is turn around and go back," he said. "We came the wrong way after we drove out of the woods, that's all. Now I'll turn around and go back. Come on, Toby!" he called to the Shetland pony. "Back up and we'll go home."

But Toby did not seem to want to back up. He pulled the cart and the children in it, on toward the brook. At one side of the bridge was a little slope, leading down to the water. There were marks to show that horses and wagons had crossed there, driving through the stream.

"Whoa, Toby!" cried Bunny. "Where are you going?"

The little pony was headed straight for the brook.

"Oh, I guess he wants a drink of water," said Sue.

"Maybe he does," agreed Bunny, as he saw that the pony was not going to stop. "He pulls terrible hard on the reins," he went on. "I guess he does want a drink, Sue. We'll let him have it, and then we'll turn around and drive back."

Toby walked along until his front feet were in the water. Then, as he did not have on a cruel check-rein, which hurts horses and ponies, Toby could lean his nose right down into the water and take a drink. When horses have a check-rein on they can't lower their heads to drink or eat until the strap is loosened. So if ever you have a horse or pony, don't put a check-rein on him. Toby's neck was free to bend any way he wanted it to, which is as it should be.

"Oh, Bunny, I know what let's do!" cried Sue, as Toby raised his head, having drunk enough water.

"What'll we do?" asked Bunny.

"Let's drive right on through the water! It won't come up over our cart, and it will wash the wheels nice and clean."

"All right. We'll do it," agreed Bunny.

He remembered that once, when he and Sue were at Grandpa's farm, the old gentleman had driven his horses and the wagon, with the children in it, through a shallow brook, after letting the horses drink. This was at a place called a "ford," and Bunny and Sue were at a ford in this brook.

"Gidap, Toby!" called Bunny, and the pony waded on into the water, pulling the cart after him. He seemed to like it, as the day was warm and there had been a lot of dust in the road.

The water washed and cooled the pony's legs, and also cleaned the wheels of the basket cart. The brook was not deep, not coming up to the hubs of the wheels, and the bottom was a smooth, gravel one, so Toby did not slip.

"Oh, that was fun!" cried Sue, as Bunny drove out on the other side of the ford. "And now we can cross back over on the bridge and go home, can't we, Bunny?"

"Yep. That's what we'll do," said her brother.

There was plenty of room to turn around on the other side of the stream, and soon Toby was clattering over the bridge, under which the stream ran. Down the road he went, and along a patch of woods, Bunny and Sue talking over what a good time they had had.

But, pretty soon, the little girl said:

"Bunny, I don't see any houses."

Bunny looked around. He didn't see any either.

"Maybe we'll come to some pretty soon," he told his sister.

But, as they drove on, the trees on either side of the road became thicker. They grew more closely together, and were larger, their leafy tops meeting in an arch overhead, making the road quite dusky. The road, too, instead of being hard and smooth as it had been, was now soft sand, in which Toby could not pull the cart along very fast.

"Bunny," said Sue, and her voice sounded as though she were a little frightened, "are we lost yet?"

Bunny did not answer for a moment or two. He looked all around while the Shetland pony plodded slowly on. Then he called:

"Whoa!"

"What are you stopping for?" asked Sue.

"I guess this is the wrong road again," Bunny answered. "We didn't go right, even after we came back from the brook."

"Oh, Bunny! are we really lost?" cried Sue.

"I guess so," her brother answered. "But we're not lost very much. We can easy find our way back again."

"How?" Sue demanded.

"We can turn around."

"But we turned around once before, Bunny, and we didn't get where we wanted to! I want to go home!"

"Well, I don't guess this way is home," said the little boy. "We never came through so much sand before. Toby can hardly pull us. We've got to go back, out of this."

"But where shall we go after this?" Sue wanted to know. "Oh, dear! I wish we'd let Splash come along!"

"Why?" asked Bunny.

"'Cause then he could show us the way home. Dogs don't ever get lost, Bunny Brown!" and Sue seemed ready to cry.

"Maybe ponies don't, either," said Bunny, feeling he must do something to make his sister feel better. "I guess Toby can find his way home as easy as Splash could."

"Oh, do you really think so?" asked Sue, smiling again, and seeming much happier. "Can Toby find the way home, Bunny?"

"I guess so. Anyhow, I'm going to let him try. But first I'll turn around so we can get out of this sand."

Toby seemed glad enough of this, for it was hard pulling with the soft ground clinging to the wheels. In a little while the cart was back on the hard soil again, though still the trees met overhead in an arch and made the place dark.

"Do you know where we are, Bunny?" asked Sue.

Her brother shook his head.

"Do you know where our home is?" Sue went on.

Once more Bunny shook his head.

"Oh, dear!" sighed Sue.

"But I guess Toby knows," said the little boy. "I'm going to let him take us home. Go on home, Toby!" he called, and let the reins lie loosely on the pony's back.

The Shetland looked around at the children in the cart, which he could easily do, having no "blinders" on the sides of his head. Blinders are almost as bad as check-reins for horses and ponies. Never have them on your pets, for a pony needs to see on the sides of him as well as in front.

Toby looked back at the cart and then he gave a little whinny.

"Oh, Bunny!" cried Sue, "what do you s'pose he looked at us that way for?"

"I guess he wanted to see if we had fallen out," said Bunny. "But we haven't. We're here, Toby!" he called to the pony. "Now take us home, please!"

Whether Toby understood or not, I cannot say. Probably the little pony was hungry, and he wanted to go on to his stable where the oats and hay were. Crackers and sugar might be all right, he may have thought, but he needed hay and oats for a real meal.

And perhaps he really did know the way home. Lots of horses do, they say, even on a dark night, so why shouldn't a pony in the day time? That's what Bunny and Sue thought.

Bunny never touched the reins. He let them rest loosely on Toby's back, and on the pony went. When he came to a hard, level road Toby began to trot. And pretty soon Sue cried:

"Oh, Bunny! Toby has found the way out! We're not lost any more!"

"How do you know?" asked Bunny.

"'Cause I can see Miss Hollyhock's house, and we both know the road home from there! See it!" and Sue pointed down the road.



Chapter XIV

Toby's Other Trick


Bunny Brown stood up in the pony cart and looked to where Sue pointed. Across a little green valley he could see another road, at one point was a small cottage, nestled among the trees, and with vines growing about it.

"Yes, that's where Miss Hollyhock lives," he said.

"And then we aren't lost any more, are we?" asked Sue.

"No, I guess not," Bunny said. "But we have to get on that other road."

This the children soon did, taking a highway that cut across the valley. Toby had taken them out of the woods on a new path, but it was just as good as the one they had driven on in going to the farm, though longer.

And in a little while they were going past the cottage where lived the elderly woman, known all around as "Old Miss Hollyhock." This was because so many of those flowers blossomed near her cottage.

"Well, my dears, where have you been?" she asked.

"Oh, we went to the farm to get some butter for mother," answered Bunny, "but we got lost."

"We're found now, though," went on Sue. "Now we know the way home."

"Are you sure?" asked Miss Hollyhock.

"Oh, yes," said Bunny. "We've been on this road lots of times."

"Well, trot along home then," said Miss Hollyhock. "If you've been lost you must have been away from home quite a long while, and your mother may be worried about you. Trot along home, pony!"

And Toby trotted along home with Bunny Brown and his Sister Sue.

Mrs. Brown, standing at the gate, and looking down the road, saw them coming.

"Where have you children been?" she asked, coming out to meet them. "I have been quite worried about you! Where were you?"

"We were lost, Mother!" answered Bunny.

"Lost? Couldn't you find your way to the farm?"

"Oh, yes," he answered. "But coming home we took the wrong road. But Toby found the right one for us."

"He's as good as Splash," added Sue. "Splash wanted to come with us, but Bunker took him to the woods. Oh, we had such a good time!"

"Even with getting lost?" asked Mrs. Brown, with a smile. She felt better, now that the children were safe at home.

"Oh, we weren't lost very long," explained Sue. "It was only a little while, and then Toby brought us home, but it was on a new road," and, taking turns, she and Bunny told what had happened.

"Well, I'll feel better about having you go out for rides, if I know that Toby can always bring you back," said Mrs. Brown. "But don't try too many new roads. Stick to the old paths that you know until you get a little older. Did you bring my butter?"

"Yes, here it is," and Bunny handed it out, nicely wrapped up as Mrs. Potter had given it to him.

"Has Splash come home yet?" Sue asked.

The dog had not. He was off in the woods having a good time with Bunker. At least he looked as though he had had a good time when he did come home, for he was covered with mud and water, and there were a lot of "stickery" briars and brambles on his back and legs.

"He ran into every bush and every puddle of water he could find," said Bunker Blue. "I couldn't stop him."

"Well, he can come with us next time," said Bunny. "It's only when we go to the farm, where the cross dog lives, that we can't take Splash."

The next day Bunny Brown and his Sister Sue were "playing house" in their side yard. They made a sort of tent under the trees with an old carriage cover they found in the barn, and Sue pretended she was the housekeeper.

"And you must come to call on me," she said to Bunny.

"All right, I will," he agreed. "But there isn't any door to knock on, nor any bell to ring when I call. You ought to have a bell to your house, Sue."

"That's so -- I ought," she agreed.

"I know how I can make one," went on Bunny, after a while.

"How?" asked Sue.

"Well, there's an old bell that the milkman used to have -- the milkman who kept his horse and wagon in our barn," explained the little boy. "The bell is in the barn now."

"Oh, yes, I 'member," Sue said.

About a year before a milkman, whose barn had burned, had asked Mr. Brown for permission to stable his horse and keep his wagon in the barn back of the house where Bunny and Sue lived. And, as they then had no pony and the barn was nearly empty, Mr. Brown had said the milkman might use it.

He did, for a time, and then he gave up the milk business, and sold his horse and wagon. But he left the bell behind -- the bell he used to ring in front of people's houses to let them know he was there with milk and cream.

"We can take his bell for your house," went on Bunny.

"You mean set it outside on a box, and ring it when you come to call?" asked Sue.

Bunny thought for a moment.

"Maybe I can make it better than that," he said. "I could fasten the bell up in the tree back of your tent-house, and then tie a string to it -- to the bell, I mean. I can let the string hang down outside here, and when I come I can yank on the string, and that will jingle the bell."

"Oh, let's do it!" cried Sue.

So Bunny got the milkman's bell, and fastened it to a low limb in a tree back of the tent-house where Sue pretended she was living.

Then Bunny tied a string to the bell handle and ran the string out in front, letting it hang loose, so that a pull on it would set the bell to swaying and jingling. To make it easier to take hold of the string, Bunny fastened to it a piece of wood. Then he and Sue began the playing-house game.

They had lots of fun at it. The bell rang just like a "truly-really" one, as Sue said, and when Bunny jingled it, and came in to sit down on a box (which was a chair), Sue would give him cookies.

They were sitting like this, wondering what next to play when, all at once, there came a loud jingle on the bell that was hung in a tree back of the tent.

"Are you doing that?" asked Sue of her brother.

"No!" he answered. "How could I? The bell string is outside and I'm in here."

"I thought maybe you had hold of the string in here," went on Sue. Then the bell was rung again.

"Oh, it's some of the boys and girls come to play with us -- I mean they've come to call," said Sue, remembering that she was supposed to be a housekeeper.

"I'll let 'em in," said Bunny.

He went to the flap of the tent, which, being down, did not give a view outside. And what Bunny saw made him cry:

"Oh, Sue! It isn't anybody at all!"

"It isn't anybody?" repeated the little girl. "How could nobody ring the bell?"

"I mean it isn't George Watson, or Sadie West, or any of the boys or girls," added Bunny. "Oh, Sue, it's -- it's --  -- "

"What is it? Who is it?" asked the little girl. "Who is it if it isn't anybody to play with us? Who is it, Bunny?"

"It's Toby!" he answered.

"What, Toby? Our pony?"

"Yes, it's Toby. And, oh, Sue! He's ringing the bell!"

"Oh, how can he?" asked Sue, wonderingly.

Bunny, who was looking out of the tent, answered:

"He's got hold of the stick I tied on the end of the bell string, and he's shakin' his head up and down, and that rings the bell. Oh, come and look, Sue!"

Then Sue went out from under the carriage-cloth, which was the tent-house, to look.

Surely enough, there stood Toby, and in his mouth was the piece of wood that Bunny had tied to the string that was fast to the bell which hung in a tree back of the tent. Every time Toby raised and lowered his head -- "bowing" Bunny and Sue called it -- he pulled on the string and rang the bell.

"Oh, how do you s'pose he came to do it?" asked Sue.

"I don't know," Bunny answered. "We never told him, and we never showed him. I guess it's a new trick he's learned!"

"But how did he get out of his stable to come to do it?" Sue went on.

That was easy to answer. Bunker Blue, who came up every day from the dock to clean out the stall and brush Toby down, had left the door open, and, as the pony was not tied in his box-stall, he easily walked out. He strolled over to where the children were playing, and rang the bell.

"Just zactly like he was coming to call," Sue said afterward.

When Toby saw the children come out of the tent he went up to them and rubbed his velvety nose against them. That was his way of asking for sugar or other things that he liked.

"I haven't any sugar," said Bunny, "but I can give you a piece of cookie. Maybe you'll like that."

And Toby seemed to like it very much.

"Maybe he'll do the bell-ringing trick again, if you put a piece of cookie on the stick," said Sue.

"Maybe," agreed Bunny.

He fastened a bit of cookie on the wooden handle, and, surely enough, Toby nibbled it off, ringing the bell as he did so.

"But what made him ring it first, when there wasn't any cookie on?" asked Sue.

Bunny did not know this, but he said:

"We'll ask Mr. Tallman, the next time we see him, if he taught Toby this trick."

"Maybe he did," said Sue. "Anyhow, we love you, Toby!" and she put her arms around the pony's neck.

Bunny and Sue were wondering how Toby learned to ring the bell, and they were just going to make him do it again, when Sadie West came running into the yard.

"Oh, Sue!" exclaimed the little girl. "There's a great, big, shiny wagon out in the front of your house!"

"A shiny wagon!" exclaimed Bunny. "What do you mean?"

"I mean it's got all looking glasses on it! Come and see!"

The three children, forgetting all about Toby for the moment, hurried around the side path. What were they going to see?



Chapter XV

Red Cross Money


Surely enough, in front of the Brown house was a wagon, painted red and yellow, and, as little Sadie West had said, it had on the sides many bright pieces of looking glass, which glittered in the sun.

"I wonder what it's for?" asked Bunny.

"It makes your eyes hurt," added Sue, shading hers with her hand as she looked at the bright wagon.

"Maybe it's your grandpa or your Aunt Lu come to see you," suggested Sadie, for she had heard Bunny and Sue tell about their relations.

"They wouldn't come in a wagon like that!" Bunny exclaimed.

"But who is in it?" asked Sue.

"Maybe it's a circus!" ventured Sadie.

"Nope! 'Tisn't a circus," Bunny said. "'Cause if it was a circus there'd be an elephant or a camel, and you don't see any of them, do you?"

"No," said Sue, "I don't."

"I don't, either," agreed Sadie.

Just then a tall, dark man, whose face looked like that of Tony, the bootblack down at the cigar store, came from the wagon, the back of which opened with a little door, and from which a flight of three steps could be let down.

"Oh, I know what it is!" cried Bunny.

"What?" asked Sue.

"It's gypsies," Bunny went on, as the tall, dark man, who had a red handkerchief around his neck, walked slowly toward the Brown home. "That's a gypsy wagon!"

"How do you know?" Sadie questioned.

"'Cause I see the earrings."

"A wagon hasn't got earrings!" exclaimed Sue.

"I didn't mean the wagon, I mean the man -- that man that looks as dark as Tony the bootblack," said Bunny. "See 'em!"

Then, indeed, the two little girls noticed the shiny rings of gold in the man's ears. And when he smiled, which he did at the children, they saw his white teeth glisten in the sun.

"That wagon's red and yellow," said Sue in a whisper. "It's just like Mr. Tallman's box, isn't it, Bunny?"

"What box?" asked Sadie West.

"The one he lost with all his money in," explained Sue. "No, it wasn't money, it was -- it was -- oh, well, he lost something, anyhow," she said, "and he had to sell Toby to us."

"Yes, and I'm glad he did," said Bunny. "Yes, his box was red and yellow, I 'member he said so. Maybe it's some relation to this gypsy wagon."

"Are you sure it's a gypsy cart?" asked Sadie, as the dark man kept on walking from his gaily painted wagon toward the Brown front gate.

"Sure, it's a gypsy wagon," said Bunny. "Charlie Star, or one of the boys, I forget who, told me some gypsies were camping over by the pond at Springdale, and maybe this is some of them."

"I'm not afraid," said Sue.

"Pooh! Course not! Nobody need be skeered of gypsies," said Bunny in a low voice, so the dark man could not hear him. But perhaps it was because he was in his own yard that Bunny was so brave.

The dark man -- he really was a gypsy, as Bunny and Sue learned later -- came up to the fence, and touched his cap, almost as a soldier might salute. He smiled at the children, showing his white teeth, and asked:

"Excuse me, but has your father, maybe, some horses he wants to sell?"

"My father doesn't sell horses, he sells fish, and he rents boats," said Bunny.

"Oh, yes, I saw the fish dock," went on the gypsy. "And you must be the Brown children."

"Yes, I'm Bunny, and this is my Sister Sue," said the little boy. "And her name's Sadie West," he added, pointing to their playmate.

"How'd he know your name was Brown?" asked Sadie in a whisper of Sue.

"He saw it painted on my father's boat house," said Bunny. "Everybody knows our name -- I mean our last name," and this was true, at least of the folks in Bellemere. They all knew Bunny Brown and his Sister Sue.

"I know your father does not sell horses for a business," went on the gypsy with the gold rings in his ears; "but perhaps, maybe, he has a horse he drives, and would like to get another for it, or sell it. We gypsies, you know, buy and sell horses as your father buys and sells boats and catches fish."

"Do you ever catch any horses?" asked Sue. "And do you catch them in a net?"

"Well, no, not exactly," and the gypsy smiled at her. "We get them in different ways -- we trade for them. Perhaps your father has a horse he wants to trade."

"No, he hasn't any horse, except the one that pulls the fish wagon down to the depot," said Bunny, for Mr. Brown did own a slow, old horse, that took the iced fish to the train. "But I don't guess he'd sell him," Bunny went on.

"All right, I ask next door," said the gypsy, and he was turning away when, back in the yard, sounded the ringing of a bell. The gypsy turned quickly, and looked at the children.

"Oh, that's Toby, and he's ringing for us to come back and play with him!" cried Sue.

"Is Toby your brother?" asked the gypsy.

"No, he isn't our brother," Bunny answered, and he was laughing at the funny idea when Toby, the Shetland pony himself, came walking around the corner of the house.

"This is Toby -- he's our pony!" explained Sue, as she put her arms around her pet, who came up to her, rubbing his velvety nose against her sleeve, as though asking for a lump of sugar or a bit of sweet cracker.

"Oh, ho! So that is Toby!" cried the gypsy, and his eyes seemed to grow brighter. "Ah, he is a fine little horse. Perhaps you will want to sell him?"

"Sell Toby? I guess not!" cried Bunny.

"Not for anything!" added Sue.

"He can ring a bell," remarked Sadie, for she felt that she wanted to say something about the pet pony.

"Oh, ho! So he can ring a bell, can he?" asked the gypsy. "Well, that's nice. And did he ring the bell I just heard?"

"That's who it was," said Bunny, a bit proud of his pony. "And he can stand on his hind legs and he can pick up a handkerchief."

"Ah, he is one fine trick pony then," the gypsy said. "Of course, you do not want to sell him then. But, if you ever do, come to me and I will give you good money for him. My name is Jaki Kezar, and I have my tent over at a place called Springdale. Bring me the trick pony there if ever you sell him."

"We will never sell him," declared Bunny.

"Never!" added Sue.

"Well, good-bye!" said the gypsy, and with another touch of his cap, like a soldier saluting, he turned back to his red-and-yellow wagon, and drove off.

"Wasn't he nice?" asked Bunny. "I'd like to be a gypsy and live in a wagon like that."

"He wasn't nice to want our pony," declared Sue.

"It was funny to see a man with rings in his ears," remarked Sadie. "I thought only ladies wore them."

"Gypsies are different," said Bunny. "Anyhow, he can't have our Toby."

"Never!" cried Sue.

They watched the gypsy wagon driving down the street. Mrs. Brown saw the children in the front yard with Toby, and she came to the door of the house.

"Haven't I told you children," she began, "that you mustn't bring Toby around here? He might trample on my flower beds."

"We didn't bring him, Mother," said Bunny. "We ran out to look at the gypsy wagon, and Toby came out himself."

"Was there a gypsy wagon here?" asked Mrs. Brown quickly.

"Yes. And he wanted to buy Toby -- I mean the gypsy man did," explained Bunny. "But we wouldn't sell him."

"And he can do a new trick, Mother!" cried Sue. "I mean our pony can. He can ring a bell, and he rang it and the gypsy man heard it, and then Toby came running around to find us."

"Well, better take him around back where there aren't any flower beds," said Mrs. Brown.

By this time the red-and-yellow wagon, which was painted the same colors as was the box Mr. Tallman had lost, had been driven out of sight around the corner of the street. And, having nothing more to look at, Bunny, Sue and Sadie went back to their play-tent with Toby.

That evening, after Daddy Brown had been told about the call of the gypsy, he said to his children:

"Have you two youngsters thought anything about earning any money for the Red Cross?"

"Money for the Red Cross? What do you mean, Daddy?" asked Bunny.

"Well, you know we are going to raise a lot of money here in Bellemere for the Red Cross. It's to help our soldiers, and the men and women in charge want boys and girls, as well as grown-ups, to help. And they want boys and girls to give their own money -- not the pennies or dollars they might get from their fathers or mothers."

"But we haven't any money, 'ceptin' what's in our savings banks," said Sue.

"No, they don't want you to take that," said her father with a smile. "The Red Cross wants some money -- it needn't be much -- from every boy and girl in Bellemere, and they want the boys and girls to earn that money. Now, can you two think of a way to earn money for the Red Cross?"

Bunny looked at Sue and Sue looked at Bunny. Then the little boy exclaimed:

"Oh, Sue! I know a dandy way to earn Red Cross money!"

"How?" asked his sister.

And what do you suppose Bunny told her?



Chapter XVI

In The Woods


Mr. Brown was quite surprised when he heard his little boy Bunny say he knew how to earn money for the Red Cross.

"How are you going to do it, Bunny?" he asked.

"With Toby," Bunny answered. "And Sue can help me."

"What do you mean, Bunny?" asked the little girl. "I've some money in my bank for the Red Cross, but that's all I have."

"No, you mustn't take that money," her father said. "Let us hear what Bunny has to say. How can you and Sue earn money with your Shetland pony?" he asked.

"We can give rides," answered Bunny. "Don't you 'member once, in a park, we saw a boy giving children rides in his goat wagon, and he charged five cents a ride."

"Yes, I 'member that," Sue said.

"Well, that's how we can make money for the Red Cross," went on Bunny. "Lots of times the boys and girls around here ask us for rides, and once Georgie Watson said he'd give me a penny for a ride."

"Did you give it to him?" asked Mrs. Brown.

"Yes, I did," answered Bunny.

"Did you take the penny?" Mr. Brown inquired, smiling at his little boy.

"No," Bunny said. "I had a penny then, and I didn't need another, 'cause I want only one lollypop at a time. So I gave Georgie a ride for nothing. But if we want to make money for the Red Cross I wouldn't give anybody a ride for nothing. Me and Sue could drive Toby up and down, and let boys and girls get in the cart and make 'em give us five cents apiece!"

"And maybe ten cents!" added Sue.

"Yes, and maybe ten cents if we gave 'em a longer ride," Bunny agreed. "Couldn't we do that, Daddy, and make money for the Red Cross?"

Mr. Brown thought for a moment. Then he said:

"Well, yes, I think maybe you could. I have seen goat wagons in parks, and the children paid five and ten cents to ride in them. There are plenty of children in Bellemere, and I don't see why they wouldn't pay money, too, for pony rides. Are you really going to do it, Bunny?"

"Yep!" answered the little boy. "Me and Sue -- we'll give pony rides to the children and save the money for the Red Cross!"

"I think that's just splendid, Daddy!" said Mother Brown. "It's good of Bunny to think of it, isn't it? But don't you think you had better say 'Sue and I,' Bunny?" and she smiled at the excited little boy.

"Indeed, it is a good idea," said Mr. Brown. "I'll tell the lady who asked me what my children were going to do to raise money, that they're going to give pony rides, and all the boys and girls in Bellemere will hear about it and you'll have lots of patrons."

"When does it start?" asked Mrs. Brown. "I mean -- when do the children have to begin earning money for the Red Cross?"

"Oh, they can start to-morrow, if they like," answered Mr. Brown.

"Then we will!" cried Bunny.

"And can I drive part of the time?" asked Sue.

"We'll take turns," promised Bunny, who was hardly ever selfish with his sister.

The next day, when they had had their breakfast, Bunny Brown and his Sister Sue started out with Toby, their Shetland pony, to give rides to boys and girls to earn money for the Red Cross.

They had not ridden far down the street, sitting in the cart, the upper part of which was woven like a basket, when they met Georgie Watson. He was on his way to the store, and he called, as he often did:

"Give us a ride, Bunny?"

"Whoa!" said Bunny to the pony, and Toby stopped.

Georgie was just going to get in the pony cart when Bunny asked:

"Have you got five cents, Georgie?"

"Five cents? No, I've got two cents. That's all a yeast cake is -- two cents -- and I'm going to the store to get my mother a yeast cake."

"Well, you must pay five cents for a ride in our pony cart to-day," said Bunny. "It's five cents a ride."

"Five cents a ride!" cried Georgie in surprise. "Five cents!"

"Yes," said Bunny. "It's for the Red Cross you know. Sue and I are earning money that way."

"Oh, yes! For the Red Cross!" cried Georgie.

"I see. I'm going to earn some money for that, too. But I'm going to sell peanuts."

"That's a good way," said Bunny.

"We'll ask our mother to buy some peanuts of you," added Sue.

"Will you?" cried Georgie. "Then I'll ask my mother to give me five cents for a ride in your pony cart."

"That's dandy!" cried Bunny. "Say," he went on, "you get in our cart now, Georgie, and we'll take you down to the store to get the yeast cake."

"But I haven't five cents to pay you for the ride," Georgie replied. "I've only two cents for the yeast cake."

"That's all right," said Bunny, as he had heard his father say at the dock, when some man, wanting fish, did not have the money just ready to pay for it. "Get in, Georgie. It's all right. We'll drive you down to the store, and then we'll take you home. And you can ask your mother for five cents to pay for a Red Cross ride."

"I'll do it!" Georgie exclaimed.

Into the pony cart he scrambled, and sat down beside Bunny. They drove toward the store to get a yeast cake, and on the way they met Charlie Star.

"Hi!" cried Charlie. "Give us a ride, will you, Bunny?"

"Whoa!" said Bunny, and Toby came to a stop, switching his long tail.

"You want a ride?" Bunny asked of Charlie.

"Sure I do," answered Charlie.

"Got five cents?" Bunny went on.

"Five cents? No. What for?"

"To pay for the ride. It's for the Red Cross," went on Bunny.

Charlie shook his head.

"I've only a penny," he said, "and I was going to buy some gum with that."

"Well, give me the penny," said Bunny, "and then you can go up to your house and get four pennies more from your mother. Me and Sue -- Sue and I -- we're earning Red Cross money with our pony."

"Did Georgie pay you?" Charlie wanted to know.

"He's going to," said Bunny. "But he's only got two cents now for a yeast cake."

"A yeast cake!" cried Charlie. "You can't eat a yeast cake!"

"It's for my mother," explained Georgie. "I'm going home and get five cents for a Red Cross ride."

"All right. I won't get any gum," decided Charlie. "I'll ride up home and get four cents for a ride myself."

"Get in," said Bunny, and now, as the pony cart had four children in it, and was comfortably filled (though it would hold six) Bunny made Toby trot, and along they went to the store to get a yeast cake, not stopping again, though several other children begged for rides.

"You can ride after us!" said Charlie. "This is for the Red Cross, and it costs five cents."

Some of the other boys and girls said they'd try to get the money later and have a ride in the pony cart.

Toby stopped in front of the store, and Georgie got out and went in after his yeast cake. Then he came back and Bunny and Sue drove Toby, their Shetland pony, on again until they came to the house where Georgie lived.

"Oh, Ma!" he cried, running into the kitchen. "Here's your yeast cake, and I want five cents for a Red Cross ride!"

"A Red Cross ride?" exclaimed Mrs. Watson. "Is that anything like a hot cross bun?"

"Oh, no'm! It's a ride in a pony cart -- Bunny Brown's pony Toby. And Charlie Star has a penny and he's got to get four cents more, and please hurry up and give me five cents -- it's for the Red Cross!"

Mrs. Watson looked out of the window and saw the pony cart in front, with Bunny and his Sister Sue and Charlie Star in it. Then she began to understand, for she, too, was helping raise money for Red Cross work.

"Here's your five cents," she said to her little boy. "And wait a minute!" she cried, as Georgie was about to rush away.

"Wait? What for?" he asked.

"You can take your sister Mary with you. She's little and won't crowd you any, and that will be five cents more for Bunny's Red Cross. Come on, Mary, have a pony ride!" called Mrs. Watson, and down came a little girl, somewhat younger than Sue.

The time had been when Bunny and George were not such good friends, for George used to play tricks on Bunny and Sue. But he had gotten over that and was now very good, and the children played together and had good times.

Georgie and Mary, each with five cents, ran out to the pony cart. "Is there room for five in it?" asked Mrs. Watson.

"Oh, yes, lots of room," said Bunny.

"I'm glad you came, Mary," said Sue to the other little girl.

"Say, we'll make a lot of money!" went on Bunny, as he took the five cent pieces Georgie and Mary handed him. "When I get your five, cents, Charlie, I'll have fifteen."

"Here's my one cent now," said Charlie. "I'll get four more when I go home."

Then they drove to Mr. Star's house, and Mrs. Star gave her little boy a five-cent piece, so he got his penny back from Bunny, and could buy the gum after all.

"Now, I'll give you a long ride," said Bunny to his passengers, and he did, up and down the village streets. Several other boys and girls saw what was going on, and said they'd get five-cent pieces and have rides, too. And they did, later that day and the next day.

"We'll earn a lot of money for the Red Cross!" cried Bunny.

"It's lots of fun," said Sue.

The two Brown children with their Shetland pony took in almost a dollar during the week, and they gave it to their father to keep for the Red Cross. The boys and girls had two weeks in which to make money to help the soldiers, and they must really earn the money -- not beg it from their fathers, mothers, uncles or aunts.

Some sold cakes of chocolate, and others peanuts, while some of the larger boys ran errands or did other work to earn dimes and nickles.

One day Bunny and Sue got in the pony cart and started off.

"Where are you going?" asked their mother.

"To get more Red Cross money," Bunny answered.

"That will be nice," said Mrs. Brown.

Instead of going along the main street, as he had done before when he gave the children rides for money, Bunny soon turned Toby down a side street, that led to the woods.

"Where are we going?" asked Sue.

"I'll show you," Bunny answered.

"But this is the woods," went on Sue, when, in a little while, she saw trees all about them. "We're in the woods, Bunny."

"Yes, I know we are," he said. "And we're going to get some money here for the Red Cross."

Sue thought for a moment. Then she exclaimed:

"Oh, Bunny! You're not going to sell Toby to the gypsies, are you, and give that money to the Red Cross?"

"Course not!" exclaimed Bunny. "You just wait and see!"

I wonder what Bunny Brown was going to do?



Chapter XVII

The Dark Man


Even though Bunny had said he was not going to sell Toby to the gypsies -- who Sue knew were in the woods -- the little girl could not be sure but what her brother was going to do something strange. He had a queer look on his face -- as though he had been thinking up something to do quite different from anything he had done before, and was going to carry it through. Bunny was sometimes this way.

Sue looked around, up at the trees and down at the green moss, which was on both sides of the woodland path along which Bunny was driving Toby.

"How are you going to get any Red Cross money here, Bunny?" she asked. "There aren't any children to take five-cent rides."

"You just wait and see," said Bunny with a laugh.

Sue did not quite know what to make of it. Bunny was acting very strangely.

Suddenly, through the quiet forest, where, up to this time had only been heard the chirping of the birds, sounded another noise. It was the shouting and laughter of children.

"What's that, Bunny?" asked Sue in surprise.

"That's a Sunday-school picnic," answered her brother.

"What Sunday school?" Sue wanted to know.

"The Methodist Church," Bunny went on. "They're having their picnic to-day. Our picnic is next Saturday. Harry Bentley told me about this one -- he goes to the Methodist Church -- and he said if we came here with Toby we could maybe make a lot of money for the Red Cross, giving rides in the woods."

Then Sue knew what Bunny's plan was.

"Oh, that's fine!" she cried. "I guess we can make a lot of money. But is there a smooth place where you can drive Toby? It's kinder rough in the woods, if there's a lot of children in the cart."

"There's a smooth path around the place where you eat the picnic lunch," said Bunny. And then Sue remembered. The woods, in which she and her brother were now riding along in the pony cart, were the ones where all the Sunday-school picnics of Bellemere were held. In the middle of the woods was a little lake, and near the shore of it was a large open-sided building where there were tables and benches, and where the people ate the lunches they brought in boxes and baskets.

Around this building ran a smooth path, and it was on this path that Bunny was going to drive Toby, giving rides to the children so he could make Red Cross money.

As Bunny Brown and his Sister Sue drove along under the trees the shouting and laughter of the children sounded more plainly. Then some of them could be seen, running back and forth over the dried leaves and green moss.

Soon the pony cart was near the picnic ground, and some of the laughing, playing boys and girls saw it.

"Oh, look!" they cried.

"Give us a ride!" others shouted.

"Rides are five cents apiece!" said Bunny. "I'd give you all rides for nothing," he added, for Bunny was never stingy, "only I'm making money for the Red Cross, and so is Sue. Five cents apiece for a Red Cross ride!"

Some of the children turned away, on hearing that pony rides cost money, but others ran to find their fathers or mothers, or uncles or aunts, to beg the nickel from them.

"Well, you came, just as I told you to, didn't you, Bunny?" said Harry Bentley.

"Yep, we're here," said Bunny.

"Well, I'll take a ride with you," Harry went on. "I got five cents on purpose to have a pony ride."

He got into the basket cart, and so did another boy and a girl.

"That's all we can take now," said Bunny. "This road isn't as smooth as the one in town."

He did not want to tire his pony, you see.

"I'll get out," offered Sue. "That'll make room for one more, Bunny. I don't want a ride very much, and I see Sadie West. I can go over and play with her."

"All right," agreed Bunny. "You can get out and wait for me, Sue. That'll make room for one more."

And as Sue got out another girl got in, so there were four besides Bunny in the cart, and this meant twenty cents for the Red Cross.

Around the woodland path Bunny drove his Shetland pony, and the boys and girls, who had each paid five cents, had a good time. They laughed and shouted, and that made others inquire what was going on, so that soon quite a number were ready to take their turn riding.

Bunny Brown and his Sister Sue had done well to come to the Sunday-school picnic in the woods to make money. They made more than if they had gone up and down the streets, looking for passengers.

Toby did not seem to mind how many times he went around the pavilion where the picnic lunches were to be eaten. It was cool and shady in the woods, and though the path was not particularly smooth, it was not up hill. And Toby didn't mind anything so much as he did hills.

Bunny did not drive the pony too fast, and several times he let him rest and have a drink of water from the lake. Some of the boys and girls had bits of sweet crackers or cookies which they fed to Toby, and he liked them very much.

When noon-time came Bunny and Sue were going home to dinner, for they had not brought a lunch. But one of the Sunday-school teachers said:

"It will take you quite a while, Bunny, to go home and come back. And it will tire your pony, too. I like to see you and Sue earn money for the Red Cross, so you stay and I'll give you part of my lunch. I have more than I need. My little nephew and niece were coming, but, at the last minute, they had to stay at home."

"Is there enough for Sue to have some lunch?" asked Bunny.

"Oh, of course," answered the Sunday-school teacher. "Tie Toby in a shady place, and come and have lunch with me."

There was grass for the pony to eat, and soon he was enjoying his meal, while Bunny Brown and his Sister Sue were having a nice one with the teacher.

"After dinner you can give our boys and girls more rides," she said, "and earn more money for the soldiers."

Bunny liked this very much. At first he was afraid his mother would be worried because he and Sue did not come back home. But the man who brought the ice-cream to the picnic said he would stop when he went back, and tell Mrs. Brown where her children were, and that Miss Seaman, the teacher, was looking out for them and seeing that they were well fed. So Mrs. Brown did not worry, knowing where they were.

The lunch was almost over, and Bunny was thinking about putting the bridle back on Toby and starting his riding business again, when some boys and girls, who had gone over to a little spring in the woods, came running back, very much excited.

"Oh! Oh!" one of the girls cried. "We saw him! We saw him!"

"Whom did you see?" asked a teacher. "Be quiet and tell us what it was."

"Was it a snake?" asked one excited little girl.

"No, it wasn't a snake," said a boy somewhat older than Bunny. "It was a great big man -- awful dark-looking -- and he had a red handkerchief on his neck, and gold rings in his ears, and he was asleep by the spring."

I wonder who the man was?



Chapter XVIII

Toby Is Gone


Three or four of the Sunday-school teachers gathered around the boys and girls who had come back from the spring and were so excited about having seen a dark man asleep under a bush.

"What did he look like?" asked one teacher.

"Oh, he -- he was terrible!" said one little girl.

"He looked like an organ grinder only he was -- was -- sort of nicer," observed a little boy.

"And he had gold rings in his ears," added another.

"Maybe he was an organ grinder," suggested Miss Mason, who was the superintendent in charge of the infant class of the Sunday school.

"But he didn't have an organ or a monkey," objected a little girl.

"Maybe the monkey was up in a tree," said Bunny Brown. "That's where monkeys like to go. Mr. Winkler's monkey, named Wango, goes up in trees. Let's look and see if this monkey is climbing around while the man's asleep."

"Oh, yes, let's!" exclaimed Sue, always ready to do what her brother suggested.

"Oh, let's!" cried all the other boys and girls, who thought it a fine idea.

Miss Mason smiled at the other teachers, but, as Bunny, Sue and some of the boys and girls started toward the spring, they were called back by the superintendent.

"Better not go unless some of us are with you," she said. "You can't tell what sort of man that might be. Wait a minute, children."

The children turned back, and Bunny said:

"I guess I know who that man is."

"What makes you think so?" asked Miss Mason.

"I can't tell until I see him," went on Toby's little master.

"Well, we'll go and look," Miss Mason said. "But I think I'll call one of the men teachers. It might be better to have a man with us."

Some of the men who taught the Sunday-school classes came up at this moment, wanting to know what was going on, and Miss Mason told them:

"Some of the children saw a dark-complexioned man, with gold rings in his ears, asleep by the spring. We thought perhaps we had better see who it is. Bunny Brown, who has been giving pony rides for the Red Cross, thinks he might know who he is."

"Oh, ho!" cried Mr. Baker, a very jolly teacher, "so it's a dark man, with gold rings in his ears, is it?"

"And a red handkerchief around his neck," said a little boy who had seen the sleeping person.

"Oh, ho! once again then I say!" cried the jolly teacher. "This man must be a pirate; don't you think so, Bunny Brown? Pirates always have gold rings in their ears and red handkerchiefs on their necks, or on their heads, don't they? Do you think you know this pirate, Bunny?"

"No, sir," answered the little boy, shaking his head. "But I don't guess he's a pirate, 'cause pirates are always on ships. Anyhow, in all the pictures I ever saw of them they were always on ships."

"I believe Bunny is right," said another man. "Pirates are only on ships. And though there may be some land-pirates, they are not regular ones, and can't be counted. And surely there can't be a ship in these woods."

"There are boats on the lake," said a little girl.

"Yes, my dear, but they're not regular pirate-boats," went on Mr. Baker. "No, I don't believe we can count this sleeping man as a regular pirate. But we'll go and see who it is."

"I wish you would," said Miss Mason. "You men are laughing, I know, but we don't want the children frightened by a tramp, and probably that's what this man is."

"Perhaps," said Mr. Baker. "Well, we will go and have a look at him. Come, gentlemen, we'll go and capture the man with the gold rings in his ears."

The men Sunday-school teachers walked on ahead, and after them came the women. Then marched Bunny Brown and his Sister Sue, and a number of other boys and girls. Toby, the Shetland pony was left tied to a tree.

In a little while the party came to the spring. Mr. Baker pushed aside the bushes and looked in. At first he could see nothing, but soon the sun came out from behind a cloud, making the little glen light, and then the Sunday-school teacher could see a big man, his face very dark, as though tanned by years of living at the seashore. In his ears were gold rings, and around his neck was a red handkerchief.

"Hello, there!" suddenly exclaimed Mr. Baker.

And, just as suddenly, the man awakened and sat up. For a moment he stared at the circle of men, women and children standing about him, and then, as he caught sight of Bunny and Sue, he smiled at them, showing his white teeth.

"Hello, pony-children!" he called to them, "Have you come to sell me your little horse?"

"We're never going to sell Toby! Are we, Bunny," asked Sue.

"No;" said Bunny, "we never are."

"Oh, then you children know this -- this --  -- " and Mr. Baker did not seem to know just what to call the dark man.

"He's a gypsy," said Bunny. "But I don't know him very well. His wagon stopped in front of our house one day, and he wanted to buy our pony. He's a gypsy."

"Ah, that's what makes him look so much like a pirate," said Mr. Baker in a low voice to one of his friends.

"Yes, I am a gypsy," said the man, as he shook the leaves out of his clothes and stood up. "My name is Jaki Kezar, and my camp is over near Springdale. We have permission to camp there, and have done so for a number of years. I was walking about the country, looking for horses to buy, as that is our business, and when I reached here I felt tired. So I took a drink from the spring, sat down and must have fallen asleep before I knew it."

"Yes, you -- you were asleep an' -- an' you snored," said one little girl, who felt quite brave, now that so many Sunday-school teachers were near her.

"Oh, I snored, did I?" asked Jaki Kezar with a smile, and some of the men smiled, too. This gypsy did not seem at all cross or ugly, and his face was pleasant when he smiled.

"I hope I didn't scare any of the little ones," the gypsy went on. "I wouldn't have done that for anything. I thought this was a quiet place to rest."

"Oh, you didn't scare them very much," said Mr. Baker. "They just saw you asleep and we didn't know who you might be. This part of the woods is not the picnic ground, and you have a perfect right here."

"But I must be walking on," said Jaki Kezar. "I must try to find some horses to buy. You are sure you will not sell me your pony?" he asked Bunny again.

"We will never sell Toby!" exclaimed the little boy.

"Never!" added Sue. "He is a trick pony."

"And he was in a circus," added Bunny, "but he is never going there again because they did not treat him nice, Mr. Tallman said."

"Well, if you won't sell me your pony I must go and see if I can find another to buy," said Jaki Kezar, the gypsy. "Good-bye, boys and girls, and ladies and gentlemen," he added, as he walked away. "I hope I didn't frighten any of you. And if ever you come to our camp at Springdale we will tell your fortunes."

Then, taking off his hat and making a bow to Miss Mason and the others, the gypsy walked off through the woods.

"There! I'm glad he's gone!" exclaimed one of the older children. "He made me nervous!"

"But he was a polite gypsy," said Mr. Baker. "I think he would have made a nice pirate, too. Don't you, Bunny?"

"I guess so," agreed the little boy. "But he can't have my pony."

"I should say not!" cried Mr. Baker. "You want that pony for yourself, and to make money for the Red Cross."

This reminded Bunny that he ought to start in again giving rides to the picnic children. Toby had had his dinner and a good rest, and was once more ready to trot along the shady paths of the picnic lake.

Not so many took rides in the afternoon as did in the morning, for some of the children went home. But Bunny, who did most of the driving, though Sue did some also, took in a little over a dollar after lunch. And this, with the dollar and eighty-five cents which he had taken in during the morning, made almost three dollars for Red Cross.

"My, you did well," cried Miss Mason, when Bunny and Sue told her they were going, and showed her their money.

"I should say they did!" said Mr. Baker. "No wonder that gypsy wanted their pony. He could start in business for himself. Be careful you don't lose that money, Bunny."

"I will," promised the little boy.

Calling good-byes to their friends, the Sunday-school teachers and the children, Bunny Brown and his Sister Sue started off through the woods on their way home. They were a little tired, but happy.

"Did you think we'd make so much money for the Red Cross, Bunny?" asked Sue, as they drove along.

"No," said Bunny, "I didn't. But I knew this Sunday-school picnic was in the woods. And it was a good place for us, wasn't it?"

"Fine," agreed Sue.

And when they got home they found their father and mother waiting for them, as it was late in the afternoon.

"And you made three dollars! That's fine!" said Daddy Brown.

During the rest of the week Bunny and Sue made another dollar by giving children rides in the pony cart. And they drove on an errand for Uncle Tad who gave them a quarter, so they had a nice sum to turn over to the Red Cross Society when the time was up.

It was about a week after the picnic, when one morning, Bunny, who was up first, ran out to the barn to see Toby, as he often did before breakfast. But, to the surprise of the little boy, the pony was not in his stall, though the barn door was locked, Bunny having to open it with a key before he could get in.

Greatly excited, when he did not see his pet in the box-stall, Bunny ran back to the house.

"Oh, Mother! Mother!" he cried. "Toby's gone!"

"What?"

"Toby's gone!" cried Bunny again. "He isn't in his stable! Oh, come out and look!"

And I wonder where the Shetland pony was?



Chapter XIX

The Search


Mrs. Brown hurried out of the house after Bunny, who ran back to the stable. Sue, looking out of the window of her room upstairs, saw her brother and called:

"What's the matter, Bunny?"

"Oh, Sue," he answered, not stopping even to look back, "Toby is gone! Our nice pony isn't in his stable!"

"Oh! Oh!" cried Sue, and she could think of nothing else to say just then. But you can guess that she very quickly finished dressing in order to go down and look for herself to see what had happened to Toby.

Meanwhile Mrs. Brown and Bunny reached the stable.

"Are you sure Toby isn't here?" asked Bunny's mother.

"I -- I looked everywhere for him," answered the little boy, who was slightly out of breath from running. "I looked all over and I can't see him anywhere."

Mrs. Brown looked, but no Toby was to be seen. The barn was not a large one, and there were not many places where a horse, or even a small pony, could be hidden. Bunny and his mother looked in all the places they could think of -- in the harness room and wagon room, and they even went upstairs to the haymow.

"For Toby is a trick pony, and he might have walked upstairs," said Bunny. "I didn't look there."

"I hardly think he would climb up where the hay is, but still he might," said Mrs. Brown. But no Toby was to be seen. And, really, being a trick pony, he might have walked up the stairs, which were strong, and broad, and not very steep. I have seen a big horse, in a circus, go up a flight of steps, so why couldn't a pony go upstairs?

But, anyhow, Toby was not in the haymow.

"Was the barn door locked when you first came out to see Toby?" asked Mrs. Brown of Bunny.

"Yes, Mother, it was," he answered. "I took the key from off the nail in the kitchen, and I opened the lock and the door. But Toby wasn't there!"

"Are you sure you locked him in the stable last night?" went on Mrs. Brown.

"Oh, yes, of course, Mother!" said Bunny. "Don't you 'member Bunker Blue was up here and looked at Toby, and said he'd have to take him to the blacksmith shop to-day to have new shoes put on -- I mean new shoes on Toby."

"Oh, yes, I do remember that!" exclaimed Mrs. Brown. "And that is just what has happened, I think."

"What has happened, Mother?"

"Why, Bunker Blue came up here early, and took Toby out of the stable and down to the blacksmith shop to have the new shoes nailed on. That must be it," said Mrs. Brown. "I'll telephone down to your father's office, and ask him if he didn't send Bunker up to get Toby. Daddy went down before breakfast this morning in order to get some letters off on the early mail."

"Oh, I hope Bunker has our pony!" exclaimed Bunny with a sigh, and, though he very much wanted to believe that this was what had happened, still he could hardly think that it was so. Bunker Blue, thought Bunny, would have said something before taking Toby away, even if it was early.

"Did you find Toby?" asked Sue, as she ran out, tying her hair ribbon on the way. She was in such a hurry that she had not waited to do that in her room.

"No, he isn't in the stable," answered Bunny.

"But Bunker must have taken him to the blacksmith's shop," said Mrs. Brown. "I'm going to telephone to find out."

And just what Bunny feared would happen did happen. Mr. Brown said Bunker had not been up to the house, and he had not taken Toby away.

"And is Toby really gone?" asked Mr. Brown over the telephone wire.

"He can't be found," answered Mrs. Brown.

"I'll come right up and see what I can do," said Bunny's father. And then the only thing to do was to wait.

Bunny and Sue, with tears in their eyes, looked again in the barn and all around the house.

"But where can Toby be?" asked Sue, over and over again.

"Maybe he ran away," said Tressa, the maid.

"He couldn't run away, 'cause the barn was locked," declared Bunny.

"Well, maybe he could open the lock, being a trick pony," went on Tressa, who wanted to say something so the children would not feel so bad.

"No, he couldn't do that," said Bunny. "Toby could do lots of tricks, but there wasn't any hole in the barn door so he could reach out and open the lock. Besides, the key was hanging in your kitchen all night, Tressa."

"Yes, that's so. Well, maybe he jumped out of a window," went on the kind-hearted maid. "I see one of the barn windows is open, and it is near Toby's stall."

"Oh, maybe he did get out that way, and he's off playing in the woods!" exclaimed Sue, who felt very sad about the pet pony's being gone.

"Oh, but he couldn't," said Bunny, after thinking it over a bit. "There's a mosquito wire screen over the window, and if Toby had jumped out the screen would be broken."

"Yes, that's so," admitted Tressa. "Well, I guess you'll find him somewhere. Maybe he'll come home, wagging his tail behind him, as Bo-Peep's sheep did."

Bunny shook his head.

"I guess somebody took our pony," he said.

"But how could they when the door was locked?" asked Sue.

Bunny did not know how to answer.

Mr. Brown came up from the fish and boat dock, and with him was Bunker Blue.

"Did you find him?" asked Mr. Brown, meaning Toby, of course.

"No, he isn't to be found around here," answered Mrs. Brown. "We have looked everywhere, but there is no Toby!"

"Oh, Daddy! do you think you can find him?" asked Sue, and there were tears in her eyes.

"Of course I'll find him!" said Daddy Brown, and, somehow, it did the children good just to hear their father say that. "Now, we'll begin at the beginning," went on the fish merchant, "and have a look at the barn door. You know there's an old saying not to lock the stable door after the horse is stolen, but this time the door was locked before Toby was taken away. We are sure of that. Now, I'll have a look at the lock and key."

Mr. Brown looked carefully at these and also at the door of the stable. There was nothing to show that any one had gotten in, and yet the lock must have been opened or the door could not have been swung back to let Toby out. And Toby was surely gone.

"He couldn't have gotten out, or been taken out, any way but through the door," said Mr. Brown, as he walked around the stable. "The window is too small, even if there wasn't any wire screen over it to keep out the flies and mosquitoes."

"What do you think happened?" asked Mrs. Brown.

"Well," answered her husband, "I think some one, with another key, must have opened the lock and have taken the pony away in the night."

"But who could it be?"

"Oh, some thief. Perhaps a tramp, though I don't believe tramps would do anything like that. They are generally too lazy to go to so much work. And whoever took Toby did it very quietly. They took him out of his stable without waking any of us up, and then they carefully locked the door again."

"I never heard a sound all night," declared Mrs. Brown.

"Nor did I," added her husband. "It's funny, though, that Splash didn't bark. He sometimes sleeps in the shed near the stable, and if strange men had come around one would think the dog would be sure to make a fuss."

"Unless it was some one he knew," added Mrs. Brown, "or some one that knew how to be friendly with a dog."

"Yes, some horse thieves might be like that," admitted Mr. Brown. "They could make friends with our dog, and he wouldn't bite them or growl at them to make a noise. Then they could walk off with Toby."

"I haven't seen Splash around this morning," said Tressa. "Generally he comes early to get his breakfast, but I haven't seen him this morning."

"Oh, Daddy!" cried Bunny, "do you s'pose they stole Splash, too?"



Chapter XX

In A Storm


Mr. Brown hardly knew what to say. It was certainly strange that the dog should be missing as well as the pet pony. Certainly something out of the ordinary had been going on during the night.

"Maybe Splash has just run away for a little while, to play with some other dogs," said Mrs. Brown. "Bunny and Sue, take a look around and see. Call him, and perhaps he'll come."

So Bunny and Sue did this, walking up and down the road and calling for Splash. They went a little way into the meadow, and over toward a clump of trees where, sometimes, the dog played with others.

But there was no sign of Splash or Toby.

"Oh, dear!" sighed Sue. "I wonder where they can be?"

And then, suddenly, Bunny gave a loud cry.

"Oh, do you see him?" eagerly asked Sue. "Do you see Toby and Splash?"

"No," answered Bunny, his eyes shining with eagerness, "but I think I know who took him. Come on, we'll go and tell daddy!"

Sue did not quite understand what Bunny meant, but she trotted after him as fast as her little legs would take her. The children found their father and mother, with Bunker Blue, still looking in and around the stable, for any signs of the person who must have taken Toby away.

"Did you find Splash?" asked Mr. Brown.

"No, Daddy, we didn't," Bunny answered. "We couldn't find our dog anywhere. But I came to tell you I know where Toby is!"

"You do!" cried Mr. Brown, greatly excited. "Did you see Toby under the trees?"

"Oh, I didn't exactly see him," Bunny explained, "but I think I know who took him. I just thought of it."

"Who took him?" asked the little boy's father.

"That gypsy man!" exclaimed Bunny. "Don't you 'member -- the one with the funny name? He liked Toby terrible much, and I guess maybe he took him."

"Say!" cried Mr. Brown, "I shouldn't be surprised but what you are right, Bunny. Maybe that gypsy man did come and take Toby, when he found we wouldn't sell him the pony. Gypsies are great for horses and ponies! I must see about this right away."

"What are you going to do?" asked Mrs. Brown.

"I am going over to the gypsy camp, and see if they have Toby," answered Mr. Brown. "That would be just the very place where I'd expect to find him. I'm glad you thought of it, Bunny. How did you do it?"

"It -- it just sort of came to me," explained the little boy. "I saw a red flower and a yellow one in the woods when we went to look for Splash, and then I thought red and yellow was the color of the gypsy wagon. And then I thought of the man with the funny name."

"Jaki Kezar was the name," said Mrs. Brown. "I remember, now, hearing the children speak of it. Well, it's too bad if he took the pony, but I'd be glad to find Toby even at the gypsy camp. There's one thing sure, if he did take the pony that man would treat him kindly, for gypsies are good to their horses."

"Well, Bunny," went on Mr. Brown, "we'll see how nearly you have guessed it. I'll go to the gypsy camp."

"May I come?" asked Bunny.

"And I want to come, too," begged Sue.

"Oh, no, I'm afraid you're too little," said the little girl's father. "I'll take Bunny and Bunker Blue. We'll go in the motor boat across the bay, as it's shorter than going around by land."

"We can't bring Toby home in the boat, though, can we?" asked Bunny.

"Well, hardly," answered his father with a smile. "I'm afraid he'd kick overboard. But don't count too much on finding Toby at the gypsy camp, Bunny. He may not be there at all."

"You mean they'll take him away to some other place?" asked the little boy.

"Well, maybe not that so much, as it is that we're not sure this Mr. Jaki Kezar really has taken your pet," answered Mr. Brown. "We'll just hope Toby is at the camp, Bunny, but we mustn't be too sure about it."

"No," said Bunny, "I s'pose not."

"Though perhaps if the pony isn't exactly with the gypsies they may know where he is," said Mrs. Brown. "Will you have that dark man arrested, Daddy, for taking the children's pony?"

"I don't know just what I will do, yet," answered Mr. Brown with a smile. "First I want to find out where Toby is."

"And I'm coming with you in the boat!" cried Bunny.

Sue wanted, very much, to go with her father and brother, but her mother told the little girl there might be a long walk to take in the woods to get to the gypsy camp, and that she would get tired.

"I wouldn't be tired if I could see Toby," she said, tears still in her eyes. "And, anyhow, if I did get tired I could ride on Toby's back."

"That is if they find him," remarked Mrs. Brown. "No, Sue, dear, I think you'd better stay with me. How will you get the pony back if you go in the boat?" she asked her husband.

"Oh, Bunker can walk him back, and Bunny can ride. I'll come back in the boat," said Mr. Brown. "They didn't take the pony cart, did they?"

"No, that's in the barn all right. It will be all ready for Toby when he comes back," said Bunny.

There was nothing more that could be done at the Brown home toward finding the lost or stolen pony, so Mr. Brown, with Bunker Blue and Bunny, after eating a very hasty breakfast, got ready to take a motor boat trip across the bay to Springdale.

This was a town, somewhat smaller than Bellemere, and it could be reached by going around a road that led along the shores of Sandport Bay. But a shorter journey was by water across the bay itself. And it was in this way that Mr. Brown had decided to go this time.

The fish merchant owned a number of boats, some of which had sails, others oars, and some were moved with gasolene engines.

"We'll go in the Spray," said Bunny's father, that being the name of the boat.

"We could go faster in the Wave," said Bunker Blue, naming a smaller boat.

"Yes, but it wouldn't be quite so safe," said Mr. Brown, who was always very careful about the water, especially if any of the children were with him. "There is quite a sea on, and the wind is blowing hard."

"It looks a little like a storm," observed Bunker Blue.

"Yes, it does," agreed Mr. Brown. "And that's another reason we ought to take the Spray."

Bunny Brown did not care much in which boat they went as long as he had a ride and was on the way to find Toby. He was almost sure the Shetland pony would be at the gypsy camp, and he had no doubt but that his father could easily take the little horse away from the bad men who had stolen him.

As they went down to the dock, leaving Sue at home with her mother, Bunny said:

"As soon as I saw the red and yellow flowers, which was just the color of the gypsy wagon, I thought the dark man might have taken Toby."

"And, very likely he did," said Mr. Brown. "Only we must not be too sure."

"Red and yellow are nice colors," said Bunker Blue. "Didn't you tell me, Bunny, that the box of papers Mr. Tallman lost was painted that way?"

"Yes, it was," said the little boy. "It had red and yellow stripes on it. But Mr. Tallman isn't a gypsy."

"Oh, I know that," replied Bunker Blue.

When they reached the dock and were getting ready to go aboard the Spray, Mr. Brown looked across the bay, and, noting the rather high waters and the way the wind blew, said:

"I wonder if, after all, we hadn't better go by land?"

"Oh, no, Daddy!" cried Bunny. "Let's go in the boat! It's nicer, and we'll get to the gypsy camp quicker to find Toby."

"Yes, we'll get there more quickly," said Mr. Brown. "But that isn't saying we'll find the pony, though I hope we shall. Anyhow, I guess we can go and come before the storm breaks. Get aboard, Bunny. Have we plenty of gasolene, Bunker?"

"The tank is full," answered the fish and boat boy.

"Well, then I guess we'll be all right. Ready, Bunny?"

"Yes, Daddy!" and the little boy looked eagerly across the bay toward Springdale, where, in the gypsy camp, he hoped to find Toby.

"All aboard, then!" announced Mr. Brown, and one of his men pushed the Spray away from the dock. Bunker Blue started the gasolene motor, and the boat went out into the bay, with Mr. Brown at the steering wheel.

"Oh, I do hope we'll find Toby! I do hope we will!" said Bunny over and over again to himself.

As the motor boat went out beyond the dock the full force of the wind and waves was felt. The Spray bobbed up and down, but Mr. Brown was a good sailor, and Bunker Blue had lived most of his life on and about salt-water, so he did not mind it. Nor did Bunny, for he, too, had often been on fishing trips with his father, and he did not get seasick even in rough weather.

"Like it, Bunny?" asked his father, as the little boy stood beside him in the cabin, while Mr. Brown turned the steering wheel this way and that.

"Lots, Daddy!" was the answer. "Shall we get there pretty soon?"

"Yes, if the storm doesn't hold us back."

But that is just what the storm seemed going to do. The wind began to blow harder and harder, and the waves, even in the sheltered bay, were quite high. But the Spray was a fairly large boat, and stout; able to meet any weather except the very worst out on the open ocean.

On and on she chugged across the bay toward Springdale, and as they got farther and farther out in the middle, the storm grew much worse.

"I don't know about this, Bunker!" called Mr. Brown to the fish boy, who was looking after the motor. "I don't know whether we can get across or whether we hadn't better turn back for our dock."

"Oh, Daddy! don't go back! You're not going back before you get Toby, are you?" Bunny asked.



Chapter XXI

The Gypsy Camp


Anxiously Bunny Brown waited for his father's answer. The little boy looked out of the cabin windows at the storm which was roughing-up the waters of Sandport Bay. But Bunny was very much concerned about losing Toby, or not going on to find the pony.

"Well, I guess as long as we have come this far," said Mr. Brown, "we might as well keep on. You're not afraid, are you, Bunny?"

"Not a bit, Daddy! I like it!"

"You're a regular old sea-dog!" cried the fish merchant.

"And maybe we'll find our dog, Splash, at the gypsy camp, too," Bunny added.

"Maybe," agreed Mr. Brown. Then he asked Bunker Blue:

"What do you think of it?"

"Oh, I've seen it blow worse and rain harder," answered the boy who was attending to the motor. "I guess we can keep on."

It was raining very hard now, and the big drops, mixed with the salty spray blown up from the water of the bay, were being driven against the glass windows of the cabin.

"It's a good thing we brought the big boat," said Bunker Blue, as he put some oil on the motor.

"Yes," said Mr. Brown. "I'm glad we didn't try to come in the small one. We surely would have had to turn back."

Bunny Brown did not say anything for quite a while. He stood looking out of the cabin windows.

"What are you thinking of, Bunny?" asked his father, as he steered the Spray to one side to get out of the way of a fishing boat and was coming in, to get away from the storm.

"Oh, I was thinking of Toby," answered the little boy. "I hope he isn't out in the rain."

"Well, it won't hurt him very much," returned Mr. Brown. "The rain is warm, and Toby has a good thick coat of hair. All ponies have. But I guess the gypsies have some sort of barn for their horses -- the ones they own and the ones they take from other people."

"I don't believe they have a barn," said Bunker. "They travel around so much they don't have time to build barns. All I ever saw 'em have was some wagons that looked as if they had come from a circus and a few tents."

"Oh, well, maybe if they have Toby they'd let him stay in one of the tents," said Mr. Brown, for he did not want Bunny to feel bad about Toby being out in the storm.

"Yes, they could do that," agreed Bunny. "Toby isn't much bigger than a great big dog, and he could get in a tent. Anyhow, I hope the gypsies will be nice to him."

"I guess they will be," said Bunny's father. "Well, we'll soon know, for we'll be there shortly."

Though the storm was a hard one, the motor boat kept on making her way over, or through, the waves toward the landing on the other side of the bay, where Mr. Brown, Bunny, and Bunker were to get out and walk to the place where the gypsies were camped.

"Did you bring any umbrellas?" asked Bunny of his father.

"Yes, there are some in one of the lockers. Also rain coats and rubbers. I put them in when I saw that it was likely to rain."

Mr. Brown kept everything needed in stormy weather at his office on the dock, for often Mrs. Brown, or Bunny and Sue would go for a ride in one of the boats, and a storm would come up while they were out on the bay. Mr. Brown was always ready for all sorts of weather.

At last, after some hard work on the part of the gasolene motor, the Spray got close to the other side of the bay. Here she was somewhat sheltered from the wind, and it was easier to get along.

Mr. Brown headed for a public dock, and, a little later, the boat was made fast and the fish merchant, Bunker, and Bunny got out, ready to go to the gypsy camp. It was well that umbrellas, coats and rubbers were in the boat, or the little party would have soon been wet through. As it was, the wind blew so hard that one umbrella was turned inside out.

"I guess we'd better leave them in the boat," said Mr. Brown. "I think if we wear our coats and sou'westers we'll be dry enough."

A southwester, which is usually pronounced and sometimes spelled "sou'wester," is a hat made from yellow oilskin, waterproof, and it can be tied on under the chin so it won't blow off.

And so, with yellow caps on their heads, with yellow coats which came almost to their feet, and with rubber boots, Bunny Brown, his father and Bunker Blue set off through the rain to find the camp of the gypsies, and, if possible, to get Toby. Bunny had a special set of "oilskins," as they are called, for himself. Sue had a set also, but, of course, she was not along this time.

"And I'm glad we left her at home," said Mr. Brown. "She is a stout little girl, but this storm would have been too much for her. I'm afraid it is almost too much for you, Bunny."

"Oh, no, it isn't," said Sue's brother. "I like it!"

And I really believe he did.

The Spray was left tied to the dock, and a watchman there said he would look after her until Mr. Brown and the others came back. The boat was dry inside, though the outside, like everything else around her, was dripping wet, for the rain still came down hard.

"Hello!" exclaimed Mr. Brown, as he looked at his watch when they were walking up the dock. "It took us longer to come across the bay than I thought it would. It is almost noon. We had better stop in town and have some dinner. I don't believe the gypsies will feel like feeding us if we take Toby away from them."

"Do the gypsies eat in the rain?" asked Bunny.

"Of course," his father answered. "They have to eat then the same as a sailor does. And I suppose they know how to keep dry in their tents and wagons as well as we do in our boats. But we won't depend on them for our meal. We'll get it in the restaurant."

There was a small one on the shore, at the end of the dock, where fishermen and boatmen, many of whom Mr. Brown knew, took their meals.

There Bunny, his father and Bunker Blue had some hot clam chowder, with big crackers called "pilot biscuit," to eat with it. After they had eaten the chowder and the other good things the keeper of the restaurant set before them, they were ready to start out in the rain again.

"The gypsy camp; eh?" remarked a farmer of whom they asked how to get to the place. "Well, you go along this road about a mile, and then turn into the woods at your right. You can't miss it, for you'll see their tents and wagons. But take my advice, mister, and don't buy any horses of the gypsies. You can't trust 'em."

"I'm not going to buy any horses," said Mr. Brown with a smile. "We're only going to try to get back this little boy's pony which we think the gypsies may have taken."

"Oh, that's different. Well, I wish you luck!"

"Did you see my pony?" asked Bunny. "He was awful nice, and he could do tricks!"

"No, little man, I'm sorry to say I haven't seen your pony," answered the farmer of whom Mr. Brown inquired the way. "I haven't been to the gypsy camp, but a friend of mine bought a horse and it was no good. I don't like gypsies."

"Well, perhaps some of them are good," suggested Mr. Brown. "Did you happen to see, among them, one tall, dark man, who wears a red handkerchief around his neck, has gold rings in his ears and when he smiles he shows his white teeth."

"A lot of the men are like that, and some of the women," said the farmer.

"Is that so?" asked Mr. Brown. "I hoped you might know this particular man. He called himself Jaki Kezar, and he wanted to buy our pony."

"Only I wouldn't sell Toby to him," put in Bunny.

"And so," went on Mr. Brown, "we think this man may have come to our stable in the night and taken away the children's pet."

"Well, that's too bad," said the farmer. "I hope you get the pony back. Just go on for about a mile, and then turn into the woods. You can't miss the place, but you'll find it terribly muddy and wet."

"Well, we're ready for that sort of thing," said Mr. Brown with a smile from under his yellow hat.

Bunny's father took hold of his little boy's hand on one side, and Bunker Blue on the other, and together the three plodded along through the storm, the mud, and the rain.

It was rather hard walking for little Bunny Brown, but he was a brave, sturdy chap, and he was not going to complain or find fault, especially after he had begged to be taken. But his legs did get tired, for the rubber boots were heavy, and, at last, with a sigh, he said:

"I'm glad we didn't bring Sue along."

"Why?" asked Mr. Brown, with a smile at Bunker Blue.

"Because she'd get awful tired, and she'd have to be carried," said Bunny. "I guess you or Bunker would have to carry Sue, if she was with us, Daddy."

"Maybe we would," said Mr. Brown with another smile. "Maybe you would like to be carried yourself, Bunny?"

"Me? Oh, no. I'm a boy!" said Bunny quickly.

But, all the same, his father noticed that the little fellow's legs were moving more and more slowly, and finally Mr. Brown said:

"I'll carry you a little way, Bunny boy! It will rest you!"

And how glad Bunny Brown was to hear his father say that! Though he never, never would have asked to be carried. But, of course, if daddy offered to do it that was different; wasn't it?

Picking his little boy up in his arms, Mr. Brown carried him along the road, perhaps for five minutes, and then Bunker Blue, peering through the mist, exclaimed:

"I see some tents and wagons over in a field near some woods!"

He pointed, and Mr. Brown said:

"I guess that's the gypsy camp all right! Yes, that's what it is!"

"Then please let me walk," said Bunny quickly. "I'm not tired now."

He did not want the gypsies to see him in his father's arms.

Mr. Brown, Bunker and Bunny turned into a field, and walked toward the tents. They could be seen more plainly now, with some wagons drawn up among them. As the three walked along they saw a tall man come from one of the tents toward them.

"That's the gypsy!" exclaimed Bunny in a whisper. "That's the man that wanted to buy our pony!"

It was, indeed, Jaki Kezar, and he smiled his pleasant smile.

"Ah, ha!" he said, as he caught sight of Bunny. "It is the little boy who owns the trick pony! Have you come to sell him to me?" he asked.

Bunny Brown did not know what to say. Was Toby in the gypsy camp?



Chapter XXII

"There's Toby!"


Standing in the storm, at the edge of the gypsy camp, Bunny Brown, his father and Bunker Blue looked at the dark man with the gold rings in his ears. This man -- a gypsy with white teeth -- did not seem to mind the rain, though he had on no yellow coat, "sou'wester," cap or rubber boots. But then, perhaps, he had just come out of the tent.

"Did you come to tell me you would sell me the little trick pony?" he asked again. "If you did I am glad, for I would like to have him. But I am sorry you came in such a storm."

Bunny did not know what answer to make, and so turned to his father. Mr. Brown did not smile as did the gypsy man. Maybe Bunny's father felt a bit angry.

"Is your name Kezar?" asked Mr. Brown of the gypsy man.

"It is, yes, sir, Mr. Brown. My name is Jaki Kezar, and I am the chief of these gypsies. Sometimes they call me the gypsy king, but we have no kings. I am just a leader, that is all."

"You are, then, the man I am looking for," went on Mr. Brown. "We have come all the way through the storm to find my little boy's pony. It's name is Toby and it has been stolen from the stable -- it was taken some time in the night, and a dog, named Splash, seems to be gone also. I don't say you, or any of your gypsies, took the dog and pony, but I would like to know if you know anything about them.

"You were once at my house, asking to be allowed to buy the trick pony," went on Bunny's father, "and we have come a long way to ask if you have seen it."

Jaki Kezar seemed quite surprised. He looked first at Mr. Brown and then at Bunny and Bunker.

"Your pony stolen?" he exclaimed.

"He's gone," Bunny answered. "And I guess he was stolen. For he was locked in the barn, but when I went out to look at him, as I always do, he wasn't there."

"That's too bad!" exclaimed the gypsy. "I am sorry. And let me tell you, Mr. Brown," he went on, "that I did not steal Toby, and nobody in my camp did. I know that some gypsies are not honest, and they may take things that do not belong to them. But we do not. Come, you shall look all through our camp and see for yourself that Toby is not here, nor the dog, Splash, either. We do not steal things! Come and look for yourselves. You shall see that Toby is not here!"

"Then where is he?" asked Bunny, whose heart seemed to sink away down in his rubber boots when he heard the gypsy say this.

"I don't know where he is, little man," the gypsy replied. "But he is not here. I wish he was. That is, I wish you had sold him to me, but I would never take your pony from you if you did not want me to have him. Come and see that he is not here."

The gypsy turned to lead the way up along the path toward the wagons and tents, and, as he did so, the barking of dogs was heard.

"Maybe one of them is Splash," said Bunker Blue.

"No," answered the gypsy, "those are all our dogs. There is not a strange one among them. If there was, our dogs would fight him -- at least they would until they made friends. No, neither your pony nor dog is here, I'm sorry to say, though I would like to own that pony for myself. But come and see!"

So Bunny, his father and Bunker Blue went up to the gypsy camp. They saw the tents and wagons, in which lived the dark-skinned men, women and children who traveled about from place to place, buying and selling horses, baskets and other things, and telling fortunes; which last, of course, they don't really do, it being only make-believe.

The wagons, gay in the red, golden and yellow paint, seemed bright and fresh in the rain, and the backs of some of them were open, showing little bunks, like those in a boat, where the people slept. Some wagons were like little houses -- almost like the ark -- only not as large, and in them the gypsies could eat and sleep.

But most of the dark-skinned travelers lived in tents which were put up among the trees, alongside the wagons. Some of the tent flaps were folded back, and in one or two of the white, canvas houses oil stoves were burning, for the day was chilly. There were chairs, tables and beds in the tents, and all seemed clean and neat.

"We keep all our horses at the back of the camp," said Jaki Kezar as he led the way. "You shall see them all, and be sure that your pony is not with them."

As he walked on, followed by Bunny, Mr. Brown and Bunker Blue, gypsy men, women and children came to the entrance of the tents, or to the back doors of the wagons, and looked out. They stared at the visitors, in the shiny, yellow oilskins, but said nothing.

A little way back in the woods were a number of horses tied to the trees. They were under a sort of shed, made by cut, leafy branches of trees put over a frame-work of poles, and this kept off some of the rain. The horses seemed to like the cool and wet, for it kept the flies from biting them.

Eagerly Bunny looked for a sight of Toby, but the pony was not there. Neither was Splash among the dogs, some of which barked at the visitors until Jaki Kezar told them to be quiet. Then the dogs sneaked off into the woods.

Mr. Brown and Bunny looked carefully among the horses, thinking, perhaps, that Toby might be hidden between two of the larger steeds. But the pony was not there.

"I tell you true," said the gypsy man, earnestly, "we have not your pony!"

"But where is he?" asked Bunny, almost ready to cry.

"That I do not know, little man," answered the gypsy. "If I did I would tell you. But he is not here."

And it was evident that he was not. There was no sign of the trick pony at the gypsy camp, and, after looking about a little more, Mr. Brown and Bunny, followed by Bunker Blue, turned away.

"Perhaps there are more gypsies camped around here," said Mr. Brown to Jaki Kezar.

"Perhaps," admitted the man with the gold rings in his ears. "But I do not know of any. If I hear I will tell you. I am sorry about your little boy's pony."

"Yes, he and his Sister Sue feel bad about losing their pet," said Mr. Brown.

Then he and Bunny and Bunker tramped back through the mud and rain to the motor boat. Bunny felt so bad he did not know what to do, but his father said:

"Never mind. If we don't find Toby I'll get you another pony."

"No other would be as nice as Toby," said Bunny, half sobbing.

"Oh, yes, I think we could find one," said his father. "But we will not give up yet. I'll write to the police in several of the towns and villages around us, and ask them if any gypsies are camped near them. If there are we'll go and see if any of them have Toby."

Bunny felt better after hearing this, though he was still sad, and did not talk much on the way home across the bay. The storm was not so bad now, and, as the wind blew toward Bellemere, the Spray went home faster than she had gone away.

"Did you get Toby?" cried Sue, running to the door as she heard the steps of Bunny and her father on the porch, late that afternoon.

Mr. Brown shook his head to say "No."

"He -- he wasn't there!" said Bunny, hardly able to keep back his tears. And Sue didn't keep hers back at all. She just let them splash right down on the floor, until her mother had to pick the little girl up in her arms -- perhaps to keep her feet from getting wet.

"Never mind, Sue," said Mrs. Brown. "We'll get you another pony."

"I want Toby!" sobbed Sue.

"Maybe we can find him," said Bunny, who felt that he must be brave, when he saw how sorry his little sister felt. "Maybe there are more gypsy camps, and we'll look in some of them; won't we, Daddy?"

"That's what we will, Son! We'll find Toby yet."

It rained during the night, and all that Bunny and Sue could think of, until they fell asleep, was that Toby and Splash might be out in it, cold, wet, and hungry. They even put something in their prayers about wanting to find the lost dog and pony.

The next day, down at his office, Mr. Brown wrote a number of letters to the police in neighboring cities, asking if there were any camps of gypsies in their neighborhood, and, if there were, to let him know.

"Then we'll go there and see if we can find Toby," he said to the children.

Bunny and Sue did not know what to do. There was no school, so they took walks in the woods and fields. Without Splash and Toby they were very lonesome.

Uncle Tad said, one day, that perhaps Mr. Tang, the very cross man to whom Mr. Tallman owed money, might have taken Toby. But when asked about it Mr. Tang said:

"Indeed, I'd like to have that trick pony very much, but I'd never steal him. And, much as I wanted him from Mr. Tallman, I wouldn't take him from Bunny and Sue."

So Toby was not found in Mr. Tang's stable.

It was about three days after the pony had been taken away that, as Bunny and Sue were walking on a hill, about a mile from their house, they saw a boy coming toward them. The boy seemed to know them, but, at first, Bunny and his sister did not know him.

"Hello!" said the boy. "Where's your pony?"

"Pony?" repeated Bunny. "Do you know anything about him?"

"Know anything about him?" asked the boy in turn. "Why, I saw you giving rides with him at the Sunday-school picnic to make Red Cross money. My little brother had a ride. Don't you remember? He was red-headed, and he wanted to hold the lines himself."

"Oh, yes, I 'member him!" said Sue.

"So do I," added Bunny.

"But where's your pony now?" asked the boy. "Why aren't you riding in the cart with your pony to pull you along."

"Because he's been stolen!" exclaimed Bunny Brown.

"What! Your pony stolen?"

"Yep! And our dog Splash, too!" added Sue.

"Whew!" whistled the boy. "How'd it happen?"

Then Bunny and Sue told about what had taken place.

"We went to one gypsy camp looking for Toby," said Bunny, "but he wasn't there. Now daddy is trying to find more gypsy camps."

"Does he know about the one over near Pickerel Pond?" asked the boy, naming a place about three miles from Bellemere.

"Is there a gypsy camp at Pickerel Pond?" Bunny asked.

"Sure there is -- a big one, too. Maybe that's where your pony is, Bunny. Why don't you look there?"

"I -- I guess I will," declared the little boy. "Come on, Sue. We'll go to Pickerel Pond."

"But we don't know the way," objected Sue.

"I can show you," offered the boy. "I'm going that way myself. Not all the way, but pretty near. I can show you the camp from the top of the hill, and all you'll have to do will be to go down to it and ask if they have your pony."

"Oh, come on, Bunny! Let's go!" cried Sue.

"All right," agreed her brother. "We'll get Toby back, maybe."

"I don't know if he's there," went on the boy, "'cause I didn't see him. But I know there are gypsies there."

Then he started off, leading the way, and Bunny and Sue followed, never, for one instant, thinking they were doing wrong to go off and try to find the lost Toby pony by themselves.

It was rather a long way from the hill near their house to the one from which the boy had said the gypsy camp could be seen, but Bunny and Sue never thought of getting tired. On and on they went and, after a bit, the boy stopped and said:

"This is as far as I'm going. But you can see the gypsy tents and wagons down there in the hollow. You go down and see if Toby is there. I'll stop on my way back and help you drive him home if you find him. I have to go on an errand for my mother, but I'll stop at the camp on my way back. I'm not afraid of the gypsies."

"I'm not, either," said Bunny.

Then, as the boy turned away, Bunny Brown and his Sister Sue, hand in hand, darted down toward this other gypsy camp. And, as they came closer to the tents and wagons, Sue gave a sudden cry.

"Look, Bunny!" she exclaimed. "There's Toby!" and she pointed to a little pony that was eating grass under a clump of trees where some other horses were tied.

Was it their missing pet?



Chapter XXIII

Prisoners


Their eyes shining bright in anticipation and hope, Bunny Brown and his Sister Sue walked down the grassy hillside to the little glen, in which was the gypsy camp. The nearer they came to where they saw the pony grazing the more sure were they that it was Toby himself.

"Oh, we've found him! We've found him!" cried Sue.

"Yes, it is him!" added Bunny. "Won't daddy be s'prised when he sees us coming home with Toby?"

"And maybe Splash, too," went on Sue. "Do you see him anywhere, Bunny?"

"No," answered her brother, "I don't."

Bunny did not look around very carefully for Splash. He loved the dog, of course, but, just then, he was more interested in Toby.

At first the children did not see any of the gypsies themselves -- the men, women or boys and girls. But there were the groups of horses, and with them a pony -- their pony, they hoped.

And, when they were within a short distance of the little horse, Bunny gave a cry of delight.

"Oh, Sue!" he exclaimed. "It is Toby! It is! I can see his one white foot!"

"And I can see the white spot on his head," added the little girl. "It is our Toby!"

And then they ran up to the Shetland pony and threw their arms around its neck, and Sue even kissed Toby, while Bunny patted his glossy neck.

"Oh, Toby! we've found you! We've found you!" said Bunny in delight.

"And we're never going to let you be tooken away again!" added Sue.

As for Toby -- and it really was the children's pet -- he seemed as glad to see them as they were to see him. He rubbed his velvety nose first on Bunny and then against Sue's dress, and whinnied in delight.

"Now, we'll take you right home!" declared Bunny.

"But we'll find Splash first," added his sister.

"Oh, yes, we want our dog, too," said Bunny.

He was trying to loosen the knot in the rope by which Toby was tied to a stake in the ground, and Sue was helping, when a shadow on the grass told the children that some one was walking toward them. They looked up quickly, to see a ragged gypsy man, with a straggly black moustache, scowling at them. In his hand he held a knotted stick.

"Here! What you young'uns doin' with that pony?" he fairly growled.

"If you please," answered Bunny politely, "he's our pony, and we're taking him home. His name is Toby and he was in our stable, but some one took him away. Now we've found him, and we're going to take him home again."

"Oh, you are, are you?" asked the man, and his voice was not very pleasant. "Well, you just let that pony alone; do you hear?"

"But he's ours!" said Sue, not understanding why they could not take their own pet.

"He's my pony -- that's whose he is!" growled the gypsy man, who was not at all nice like Jaki Kezar. "Let him alone, I tell you!" and he spoke in such a fierce voice that Bunny and Sue shrank back in fright.

Just then the barking of some dogs was heard, and Bunny took heart. Perhaps Splash was coming, and might drive away the bad gypsy man as he once had driven off a tramp.

"This is our pony," said Bunny again, "and we want to take him. He isn't yours. Our father bought him from Mr. Tallman for us. Mr. Tallman's red-and-yellow box was stolen and he got poor so he had to sell the pony."

"What was stolen?" asked the gypsy quickly.

"Mr. Tallman's red-and-yellow box," repeated Bunny. "It didn't have money in it, but it had papers, like money. And it made Mr. Tallman poor. But this is our pony. His name is Toby and he can do tricks."

"And we're a dog named Splash," added Sue. "Is he here?"

"I don't know anything about your dog," growled the man. "And I don't know anything about a red-and-yellow box, either," and as he said this he looked around, as though in fear lest some one would hear what he was saying.

"But this is our Toby pony," insisted Bunny. "We want him."

"What makes you think he's your pony?" growled the gypsy, and as he turned to look back toward the tents and wagons Bunny and Sue saw a gypsy woman coming toward them.

"I know he's our pony, 'cause he's got a white spot on his head," answered Sue.

"And he's got one white foot," added Bunny. "And he can do tricks. If I had a handkerchief I'd show you how he can pick it up."

"Here's my handkerchief!" offered Sue.

Bunny took it and dropped it on the grass near Toby. At once the little Shetland pony picked it up and held it out to Bunny, as he had been taught to do.

"And here's a lump of sugar for you!" cried Bunny, as he gave Toby a piece, for the little boy had lately always carried some in his pocket, hoping Toby might be found.

"See!" went on Bunny. "He is our pony, and he can do more tricks than this. He can ring a bell."

By this time the gypsy woman had come up. She did not smile as she asked the man:

"What's the matter here?"

"Oh, these children think this is their pony," he said, and he laughed, but it was not a nice laugh.

"Their pony! Why, the very idea!" cried the woman. "This is my pony, and I'm going to keep him."

"But he's our Toby!" exclaimed Sue. "Our daddy bought him from Mr. Tallman."

The man and woman talked in a low voice. What they said Bunny and Sue could not hear, but soon the woman remarked:

"Perhaps this may look like your pony, my dears, but he can't be, because he's mine. Lots of ponies look alike, even with white feet and white marks on their heads. This one isn't yours. Now you run along home. Maybe your pony will be in your stable when you get there."

"No, this is our pony!" said Bunny in a brave voice, "and we're going to take him with us. A boy showed us where your camp was, and he's going to stop for us on his way back and help us take Toby home. This is our pony and we're going to have him."

"And we want Splash, our dog," added Bunny's Sister Sue. "And if you don't let us take Toby maybe Splash will bite you!"

Nothing could have made Bunny and Sue braver than to think they were not going to have their pony after they had found him. They did not feel at all afraid of the scowling gypsies.

And the gypsies were scowling now, and seemed angry. Again they talked together in low voices. Bunny walked close to Toby once more, and took hold of the rope that tied him.

"Here! what are you doing?" cried the gypsy.

"I'm going to take our pony," said the little boy. "He's ours, and you can't have him! Did you take him out of our stable? If you did my daddy will send the police after you. He wrote to some policemen to find our pony, but we've found him ourselves and we want him!"

Suddenly the gypsy woman smiled at the children. She said something quickly to the man -- what it was Bunny and Sue could not hear -- and then she spoke to the little boy and girl.

"Well, perhaps this is your pony," she said. "But, of course, you may be wrong. We have some other ponies back of the tents. Will you come and look at them? Maybe one of them is yours."

"No, I'm sure this is our Toby," said Bunny.

"Oh, well, come and look at the other ponies," said the woman, and her voice seemed much kinder in tone now. "This pony may look like yours, and you may find another that looks more like your Toby. Come and see," she invited.

And, though Bunny and Sue were sure this pony was theirs, still the gypsy woman spoke so nicely, and seemed so kind, they did not know just what to do.

"Come on," she invited, holding out her hands to Bunny and Sue. "I'll show you the other ponies, and the dogs, too. Maybe you can find your dog."

"Oh, I hope we can!" cried Sue. "Come on, Bunny!"

"But I'm sure this is Toby," said the little boy. "We'll go and look at the other ponies," he agreed, "but we'll come back to this one, for he's Toby."

"All right -- you can come back," said the woman, and she made a sign with her head at the gypsy man, who turned away.

"Come," urged the woman, and Bunny and Sue walked with her.

"We'll come back to you, Toby!" promised Bunny.

The pony looked after them as the children walked away, as though wondering why they left him. Through the woods, under the trees of which were tents and wagons, the gypsy woman led the children. Other gypsies came out to look at them, and none seemed very friendly.

"Where are the other ponies?" asked Bunny. "I don't see any."

"Oh, just over here," answered the woman. "Here, come through this tent with me. They're just beyond here!"

Before Bunny and Sue knew what was happening they had followed the dark-faced woman inside a tent. It was like the ones at Jaki Kezar's camp.

"There! Sit down!" said the woman, and she suddenly pushed Bunny and Sue into some chairs. "Sit down here awhile!"

"Where are the ponies?" asked Bunny. "We don't want to sit down. We want to see the other ponies, but I'm sure the first one was Toby."

"Never mind about the other ponies!" growled the woman, and her voice suddenly changed and was ugly and harsh again. "You'll just stay here for a while!"

Bunny and Sue did not know what to make of it. They had felt so sure they could take Toby and go home with their pony. And now to be all alone in a tent with a gypsy woman! It was too bad!

"I -- I don't want to stay here!" said Sue, almost ready to cry.

"Well, you've got to stay whether you want to or not!" snapped the gypsy woman. "We can't let you go to bring the police after us. You'll have to stay here! We'll just keep you prisoners awhile until we can pack up and move! Now don't be afraid, for I won't hurt you! You'll just have to stay until we can get away, that's all!"

What was going to happen to Bunny and his Sister Sue?



Chapter XXIV

The Red-And-Yellow Box


The gypsy woman sat down in a chair in front of the two children and looked at them. And Bunny and Sue, their hearts beating fast, and not knowing what was going to happen to them, looked at the woman. They did not like her at all. She did not smile as Jaki Kezar had done, and her teeth, instead of being white and shining, were black.

"If you don't cry nothing will happen to you," she said.

"We -- we're not going to cry!" said Bunny, as bravely as he could. "We -- we're not afraid and we want our pony!"

To tell the truth, Bunny had been on the point of crying, and there were tears in Sue's eyes. But when the little girl heard her brother say that, she just squeezed the tears back again where they belonged -- that is all except two, and they "leaked out," as she said afterward.

As for Bunny, the gypsy woman had hurt him a little when she shoved him down into the chair, and he had been going to cry a bit for that, but, when she told him not to, he just made up his mind that he would not.

"We -- we want to go home and take our pony," said Sue, and she gave a twist as though she was going to get up. "And we want our dog, too," she added.

"Now, you just sit still where you are!" exclaimed the woman. "If you're good maybe you can have your dog -- that is, if I can find him."

"And our pony, too? Can we have Toby?" asked Bunny eagerly.

"I don't know anything about your pony," said the woman, in a sort of growling voice. "That wasn't your pony you saw -- he belongs to me and my husband. We bought him!"

"But he is our pony!" said Bunny. "He knows us and we know him, and he's got white spots on, just like Toby."

"Lots of ponies have white spots," answered the gypsy woman. "That one isn't yours, I tell you."

"But he knows us," went on Bunny, "and he did the handkerchief trick. We want our pony and we want to go home!" and, for just a moment, Bunny felt very much like crying.

"You can go home after a bit," said the woman, as she looked out of the tent. "Now be good and don't make a fuss. If you're good you can have a dog. And then I'll let you look at some other ponies, and you can tell which is yours -- maybe. Just keep still!"

There was nothing else for Bunny and Sue to do. The gypsy woman looked so big and tall and so fierce that they were afraid of her. And she sat in front of them so they could not run past her to get out of the tent.

Something strange seemed to be going on in the gypsy camp. There was the sound of men's voices shouting, and the rattle of wagons and carts could be heard. There was also the sound of pans and dishes being packed up, for all the world, as Bunny said afterward, as though the camp was moving -- and it really was.

For perhaps an hour the woman sat in front of the children in the tent, and then she got up and looked out.

"I'm going to leave you here awhile," she said. "If you'll promise to be good, and not make a fuss, I won't tie you to your chairs. But if you act bad, I'll tie you up. Now will you be good?"

Bunny and Sue were nearly always good, and it did not take this threat to make them promise now. They just nodded their heads at the woman. She started out of the tent, but turned to shake her finger at them and say:

"Now, I'm going to tie the tent flaps shut, and don't you try to come out. If you do I'll see you, or some of us gypsies will, and if we don't the dogs will. So you'd better stay right here. You needn't be afraid, nobody is going to hurt you, and we're only going to keep you here until we can get away. We don't want the police after us. We haven't done anything, but we don't like the police. So don't you dare to run out of this tent. Remember, I'll be watching, and so will the dogs!"

With that she slipped out, and Bunny and Sue could see her shadow in front. She was tying the flaps as they had often seen their father or mother tie the tent at night in Camp-Rest-a-While.

Then Bunny and Sue were left to themselves. They looked at one another for a moment and then Bunny said:

"That is our pony Toby!"

"I know it is!" exclaimed Sue. "Oh, Bunny, how are we going to take him home?"

"I -- I'll think of a way -- maybe," said Bunny. The little boy felt that he must be brave and not let Sue know he was afraid. Really he was not as much afraid as some other boys of his age might have been, because he was thinking so much about Toby. He was so anxious to get his pony and take the pet home that he did not think about himself.

"Can we get out of here without her seeing us -- or the dogs?" asked Sue, after a while.

"I don't know," answered Bunny, and he whispered, as his sister had done. "I -- I'll take a look," he went on.

Slipping softly from his chair he peeped out through a little crack between the tent flaps.

"Is she there?" Sue asked.

"No, but that man is -- the one that wouldn't let us take Toby. He's lying on the grass right in front of the tent."

"Can you see Toby?" asked Sue.

Bunny peered out a little longer.

"No, I can't see the pony," he answered. "You come and look, Sue. The crack's big enough for both of us."

Sue stood beside her brother. She, too, saw the gypsy man stretched on the grass, and near him were some dogs.

"Splash isn't there," she said.

"No, maybe he's tied up in the woods," said Bunny. "I wish we could find him. Oh, I wish daddy knew we were here. He'd make the gypsies let us go, and he'd take Toby for us."

"Maybe he'll come and get us," suggested Sue, hopefully.

"Maybe," agreed her brother. "Oh, I wish we could see Toby!"

The children looked out as well as they could between the tent flaps. They dared not make the crack any wider for fear the man in front might see them. They saw gypsy men, women and children hurrying to and fro, and loading wagons. Some tents were being taken down.

"I guess they're moving," said Sue.

"They're afraid we'll tell the police on them -- that's what the woman said," remarked Bunny. "I guess they did steal our pony, and they're afraid they'll be arrested. Yes, they are moving the camp, Sue."

And this was just what the gypsies were doing. They were going away in a hurry, too. Every one, except the man on the grass in front of the tent where the children were held prisoners, seemed to be busy.

"Do you think they'll take us with them when they go?" asked Sue, after a bit.

"No, they wouldn't take us along," said Bunny.

"But gypsies do take children," went on Sue. "Don't you 'member that story about the little boy and girl that were tooken by the gypsies and had to live with them a long while, until they looked just like gypsies themselves?"

"That was in a book!" said Bunny. "They won't take us away. But I'd like to get out of this tent."

"Maybe we could, without the man seeing us," suggested Sue.

"If he didn't the dogs might," Bunny answered. "Oh, I wish we were in our pony cart now! We could ride away from the gypsies."

"I wish so, too!" said Sue, with a sigh.

Bunny looked out of the crack again.

"There's a dog with the man now," said the little boy. "But it isn't our Splash. We wouldn't dast go out the front of the tent, Sue. But I could untie the flap ropes; I know I could."

"Oh, maybe we could go out the back of the tent!" suddenly cried Sue. "There's nobody out there to watch us, maybe, and we could get out that way. Come on, Bunny! Let's do it!"

"Say! That's right!" Bunny quickly cried. "Come on, we'll try the back of the tent!"

As in Camp-Rest-a-While, there was a board floor in the gypsy tent, and the canvas sides, as well as the back and front, were fast to nails driven in the edges of the board floor. It was not very hard work for Bunny and Sue to slip off some of the rope loops from the nails. Then the cloth back of the tent could be raised and they could slip out.

"Come on, Sue!" whispered Bunny, when he had made a place big enough for him and his sister to get through. "Now we can get out and they won't see us!"

He went first, and Sue followed. But, to the surprise of the children, instead of finding themselves outside the tent, they saw that they were in a little wooden room which was built right against the tent. In fact, it was part of the tent, there being no wooden side against the back of the cloth house. Bunny and Sue had slipped underneath the tent and were in a little slab-sided room which had a door, and through the chinks and cracks of it the sunlight streamed.

"Why, we didn't get out at all!" said Sue in surprise.

"No," said Bunny. "We didn't. But maybe we can get out of this cabin."

"Look out of the door and see if there is a man there, or any dogs," suggested Sue in a whisper.

Bunny looked through one of the cracks.

"It's right near the woods," he said. "I guess we can get out if we can open the door."

He pushed on it, and so did Sue, but, to their disappointment, they found it was locked on the outside.

"There's a window," Sue said, pointing to one rather high up, on one side of the cabin. "Maybe we can open that and crawl out, Bunny."

"Yes, we could, if we had something to stand on," said the little boy. "Let's look for something."

He went over to a pile of blankets in one corner of the cabin and lifted one. As he did so he gave a cry of surprise.

For there, in plain view, was a small red-and-yellow-striped box, and, at the sight of it, Sue exclaimed:

"Oh, is that the one Mr. Tallman had? Oh, Bunny, maybe it is!"

"Maybe!" cried the little boy. "Maybe it is!"

As he and his sister leaned over it they heard some one at the door of the cabin. There was a rattle of a key in a lock, and a voice said:

"I'll bring the box out, and then we can hurry away!"

Who was coming into the place where Bunny and Sue were?



Chapter XXV

To The Rescue


Suddenly the door of the cabin opened, and in came the same gypsy man who had stopped Bunny from loosening the rope by which Toby was fastened to the stake.

"Hello!" cried the man, in great surprise. "What are you young'uns doing here? Trying to run off, eh? Well, we'll soon stop that! Here, Sal!" he called, and the woman come running up.

"Ha! So they crawled out of the tent, did they?" she exclaimed. "I didn't think they'd be smart enough for that."

"And look what they uncovered!" added the man, as he pointed to the red-and-yellow box.

"That -- that's Mr. Tallman's box!" said Bunny boldly. "He was looking all over for it. That's what made him poor and he had to sell his pony -- 'cause some one took his red-and-yellow box. Now we can tell him where it is."

"Oh, you can, can you?" asked the woman. "Well, maybe you can if we let you, but I guess you won't! We'll have to take 'em with us now," she said to the man. "Otherwise they'll have the police right after us."

"Yes, take 'em along, though it's going to be a bother!" growled the man. "Come on, you!" he cried to some one outside the tent. "Get this place cleared out and pack the stuff on a wagon! Then take down the last tent. Leave the shack stand.

"Here Sal, you take the young'uns!" he added. "We'll have to keep 'em out of sight for a while!"

"Now you come with me!" ordered the woman, and she roughly caught Bunny and Sue by the hands. "I told you we'd let you go if you kept still, but you didn't," she said, "and now you'll have to be kept a while longer."

"We're not going with you!" suddenly cried Bunny, pulling his hand away from the woman's. "We're not going with you! We want our Toby pony and we want to go home!"

"And we want our dog Splash!" sobbed Sue, for she was crying in earnest now. "We're not going with you!" and she, also, pulled away from the gypsy woman.

"Say, they're plucky little tykes!" said the man. "Don't be too rough with 'em, Sal. But keep 'em quiet until we can get away. Put 'em in a wagon and shut the door! Lively now!"

"Here! you carry one and I'll carry the other!" said the woman who was called "Sal."

Then she lifted Sue up in her arms, in spite of her screams, kicks and struggles, and ran with her out of the shack. The gypsy man caught Bunny up in the same way, though the little fellow tried to strike with his fists, and carried him out.

Then, as the two children were carried toward one of the gaily painted wagons, Bunny caught sight of a man running out of the wooden cabin with the red-and-yellow box under his arm.

"There! I guess you won't get out of that place in a hurry!" snapped the woman, as she thrust Sue into the wagon. Bunny was shoved in after his sister, and the door slammed shut. It was not altogether dark inside the wagon, which was fitted up something like the ark, and Bunny and Sue could dimly see chairs, tables, sleeping bunks and a little stove.

The next moment the wagon started off, and they could hear the thud-thud of the feet of the horses that were drawing it.

"Oh, Bunny!" sobbed Sue, "the gypsies are taking us away and we'll never see daddy, or mother, or Toby again! Oh, dear!"

Bunny wanted to sob as Sue was doing, but he felt that he must not. He must be brave and see if he could not get out and help his sister to get out also.

So he held back his tears, and pounded on the doors of the gypsy wagon.

"Let us get out! Let us get out of here!" he cried.

But no one answered, the doors were locked, and the wagon rumbled on faster than before.

"What are we going to do?" asked Sue.

"I don't know," answered Bunny Brown.

On and on rumbled and swayed the wagon, with the two children inside. They found some chairs to sit on, and kept close to one another. Bunny made his way to a window in the side, and tried to look out. But the window was of frosted glass, and he could not see through it. Nor could he push it back or open it. He could hear the horses' feet plainer now, and they seemed to be on a road, and not on the soft grass of the fields or the leafy mould of a forest.

"Where are they taking us?" asked Sue.

"I don't know," answered Bunny Brown again.

After what seemed like many hours to the children, they suddenly heard loud shouts and calls. Who made them they could not tell. Then Bunny, creeping close to the front of the wagon heard the driver snapping his whip, as though trying to make the horses go faster. And then, all at once, Bunny heard a voice say:

"Hold on there! Stop now! Don't try to get away, we've got you!"

A thrill of hope came to Bunny's heart.

"Oh, Sue!" he said, "maybe it's somebody arresting the gypsies!"

"Is it daddy, do you think?" asked the little girl, whose face was streaked with dirt from the tears she had shed and tried to wipe away.

"Maybe," said Bunny hopefully. "Anyhow, this wagon is stopping!"

And so it was. They could feel and hear the horses going more and more slowly, until the gypsy van at last came to a stop. Then some one pounded on the doors and cried:

"Here now, I'll break these doors open if you don't unlock 'em. I guess the children are in here!"

There was a sort of growling answer, and then the doors flew open, letting in the light of the setting sun. A kindly-faced man -- not a gypsy -- looked in at Bunny and Sue, and cheerfully cried:

"Are you the Brown children?"

"Yes -- that's who we are," said the little boy. "I'm Bunny Brown and this is my Sister Sue."

"Then you're the ones we've come to rescue!" was the man's reply. "Hold those gypsies, boys. Don't let any of 'em get away! You are all right now," he told Bunny and Sue. "Come on out of the wagon. You're with friends, and these gypsies will soon be in jail!"

"Is -- is our daddy here?" asked Sue, ready to cry again, but this time from joy.

"Well, he isn't here just this minute," said the kind-faced man, "but he'll be here pretty soon. He's on his way. He telephoned us to stop this gypsy caravan and see if you weren't in one of the wagons and, sure enough, you were!"

"And have you got our pony Toby, and our dog Splash?" asked Bunny, who was smiling now.

"Well, we've captured a lot of dogs, ponies and horses, as well as gypsies," said another man, "and I guess if any of yours are with 'em you can have 'em back. Land sakes! to think that these gypsies tried to kidnap the children!"

"No, no! We would not have taken them away far!" exclaimed a voice, and Bunny and Sue saw the woman called "Sal."

"What were you going to do with 'em?" asked one of the rescuers.

"Just going to keep them with us until we could get away."

"Well, you didn't get away, and it will be some time before you do, after this," said the kind-faced man. "You gypsies will all go to jail."

Bunny and Sue got out of the wagon and looked about them. They were on the edge of a little village, and quite a crowd had gathered. There were a number of gypsy wagons, and the dark-faced men, women and children, who had been in them, seemed to be in charge of the village police.

"Oh, there's Toby!" cried Bunny, as he saw the pet trick pony tied behind one of the wagons. "There's Toby, Sue!" and he rushed up to the Shetland pony and threw his arms around its neck.

"And here's Splash!" cried Sue, laughing now, as a dog scrambled out of another wagon and fairly leaped on her and Bunny. "We got our dog and pony back!"

And so they had.

"Take these gypsies to the jail," said the man who had first looked in on Sue and Bunny when the locked doors were opened. "Take 'em to jail -- every one of 'em -- and we'll store their wagons, horses and stuff until we see who it belongs to."

"There's a red-and-yellow box!" cried Bunny, from where he stood beside Toby. "It's Mr. Tallman's and he won't be poor if he gets it back. It's in one of the wagons. Mr. Tallman wants it!"

"Well, then we'll see that he gets it back," said the constable. "Search the wagons, boys, for a red-and-yellow box," he ordered, "and hold on to it for this Mr. Tallman, whoever he is. Then lock up the gypsies. And bring the children to my house. They can stay there until their father comes for them."

"And can we take Toby and Splash?" asked Bunny.

"Sure, you can!" cried Mr. Roscoe, the constable. "They're yours to do what you like with, now that we've got them away from the gypsies for you."

"Oh, I'm so glad!" said Sue.

"So am I," said Bunny Brown.

And, as the gypsy band was led away to jail, and when Bunny and Sue were leading Toby toward Mr. Roscoe's house, with Splash following, along came an automobile, in a cloud of dust, and, before it had quite stopped, out jumped Mr. Brown.

"Did you get my children?" he cried.

"Here we are, Daddy!" answered Bunny and Sue for themselves. "Here we are and we got back Toby and Splash!"

And then a woman's voice cried:

"Oh, I'm so glad!"

And Mrs. Brown quickly followed her husband, clasping Bunny and Sue in her arms.

"What happened to you, Bunny?" asked his mother. "Where were you? What did you do and where did you go?"

"We went to find Toby," answered the little boy. "A boy told us where the gypsy camp was, and we went there, and we found Toby. But the man and woman wouldn't let us come away, -- and we saw Mr. Tallman's red-and-yellow box and --  -- "

"Good gracious, Bunny Brown!" cried his father. "If you tell any more you won't have breath enough left to eat your supper!"

"But how did you find us, Daddy?" asked Sue. "How did you and mother know where to come for us and take us away from the gypsies?"

"The little boy who showed you the gypsy camp told us about you," said Mr. Brown. "After he showed you where the camp was, and went on the errand for his mother, he stopped back where the gypsies were camped to see if you had found your pony and were all right.

"But instead of finding you he saw the last of the gypsy wagons hurrying away, and then he thought maybe something was wrong. So he hurried and told me and I went to the gypsy camp. Then I met a farmer who said he had seen two little children walking up to the gypsy tents, but he hadn't seen them come away before the gypsies left. Then I guessed they must have taken you with them, though I didn't know they had Toby and Splash.

"I found out which way the gypsies were going, and I telephoned on ahead of them to have the constable arrest them. He did; and here you are, and mother and I came on as fast as we could in an automobile to get you. And now you're all right!"

"And so is Toby!" said Bunny, laughing now.

"And so is Splash!" added Sue, her tears also changed to laughter.

"But what's this about a red-and-yellow box?" asked Mr. Roscoe, the constable. "We did find it in one of the gypsy wagons," he added, "and it seems to have a lot of papers in it -- stocks and bonds."

"They're Mr. Tallman's," said Bunny to his father. "Don't you 'member he lost 'em, and he got poor and had to sell Toby? We found the box in the cabin when we crawled through the gypsy tent," and Bunny told all about it.

And, surely enough, when the box was opened it did have in it the papers stolen from Mr. Tallman, so he did not lose all his money after all, and could pay all he owed Mr. Tang and others. Some of the gypsies had taken the box from his house and meant to keep it. But Bunny and Sue found it just in time.

And the same gypsy band, one night, had opened the Brown stable and taken Toby, afterward locking the door. One of the gypsy men had made friends with Splash, the dog, and had taken him away also, so that's why Splash didn't bark and give the alarm.

So Bunny and Sue found their pet pony just in time, for, as some of the gypsies said afterward, they were going to move away that day, to a distant part of the country, and only that the little boy happened to tell the two children about the camp, Toby and Splash might have been taken far away and never found.

But everything came out all right you see. Bunny and Sue soon got over their fright, and went home with their father and mother in the automobile, a man driving Toby over to their house the next day. Splash rode in the auto, there being room for him.

As for the gypsies, they were punished for taking Mr. Tallman's red-and-yellow box, as well as for taking Toby and Splash. And Bunny and Sue had a great, happy time, for many days afterward, telling their playmates about having been held prisoners by the dark-faced people.

"Weren't you awful scared?" asked Sadie West.

"Oh, not so very much," said Bunny. "I kept thinking it was an adventure, like mother reads to us about from books."

"I was scared," said Sue. "But I'm glad I got Toby back."

"So'm I," said Bunny. "And we're going to teach him a lot of new tricks."

And so, while Bunny and Sue are doing this we will say good-bye to them.

<eob>

The Pilgrim's Progress In Words Of One Syllable

By

Mary Godolphin



Part I.

As I went through the wild waste of this world, I came to a place where there was a den, and I lay down in it to sleep. While I slept I had a dream, and lo! I saw a man whose clothes were in rags and he stood with his face from his own house, with a book in his hand, and a great load on his back. I saw him read from the leaves of a book, and as he read, he wept and shook with fear; and at length he broke out with a loud cry, and said, What shall I do to save my soul?

So in this plight he went home, and as long as he could he held his peace, that his wife and babes should not see his grief. But at length he told them his mind, and thus he spoke, O my dear wife, and you my babes, I, your dear friend, am full of woe, for a load lies hard on me; and more than this, I have been told that our town will be burnt with fire, in which I, you my wife, and you my sweet babes, shall be lost, if means be not found to save us.

This sad tale struck all who heard him with awe, not that they thought what he said to them was true, but that they had fears that some weight must be on his mind; so, as night now drew near, they were in hopes that sleep might soothe his brain, and with all haste they got him to bed.

When the morn broke, they sought to know how he did? He told them, Worse and worse; and he set to talk once more in the same strain as he had done; but they took no heed of it. By and by, to drive off his fit, they spoke harsh words to him; at times they would laugh, at times they would chide, and then set him at nought. So he went to his room to pray for them, as well as to nurse his own grief. He would go, too, into the woods to read and muse, and thus for some weeks he spent his time.

Now I saw, in my dream, that one day as he took his walk in the fields with his book in his hand, he gave a groan, -- for he felt as if a cloud were on his soul, -- and he burst out as he was wont to do, and said, Who will save me? I saw, too, that he gave wild looks this way and that, as if he would rush off; yet he stood still, for he could not tell which way to go. At last, a man, whose name was Evangelist, came up to him and said, Why dost thou weep?

He said, Sir, I see by this book in my hand that I am to die, and that then God will judge me. Now I dread to die.

Evangelist. -- Why do you fear to die, since this life is fraught with woe?

The man said, I fear lest a hard doom should wait me, and that this load on my back will make me sink down, till at last, I shall find I am in Tophet.

If this be your case, said Evangelist, why do you stand still?

But the man said, I know not where to go.

Then he gave him a scroll with these words on it, Fly from the wrath to come.

When the man read it he said, Which way must I fly?

Evangelist held out his hand to point to a gate in the wide field, and said, Do you see the Wicket Gate?

The man said, No.

Do you see that light?

He then said, I think I do.

Keep that light in your eye, quoth Evangelist, and go straight up to it; so shall you see the gate, at which, when you knock, it shall be told you what you are to do.

Then I saw in my dream that Christian -- for that was his name -- set off to run.

Now he had not gone far from his own door, when his wife and young ones, who saw him, gave a loud wail to beg of him to come back; but the man put his hands to his ears, and ran on with a cry of Life! Life! The friends of his wife, too, came out to see him run, and as he went, some were heard to mock him, some to use threats, and there were two who set off to fetch him back by force, the names of whom were Obstinate and Pliable. Now, by this time, the man had gone a good way off, but at last they came up to him.

Then said Christian, Friends, why are you come?

To bid you go back with us, said they.

But, quoth he, that can by no means be; you dwell in the City of Destruction, the place where I, too, was born. I know it to be so, and there you will die and sink down to a place which burns with fire; be wise, good friends, and come with me.

What! and leave our good, and all out kith and kin?

Yes, said Christian, for that all which you might leave is but a grain to that which I seek, and if you will go with me and hold it firm, you shall fare as well as I; for there, where I go, you will find all you want and to spare. Come with me, and prove my words.

Obstinate. -- What are the things you seek, since you leave all the world to find them?

Christian. -- I seek those joys that fade not, which are laid up in a place of bliss -- safe there for those who go in search of them. Read it so, if you will, in my book.

Obstinate. -- Tush! Off with your book. Will you go back with us or no?

Christian. -- No, not I, for I have laid my hand to the plough.

Obstinate. -- Come, friend Pliable, let us turn back and leave him; there is a troop of such fools who, when they take up with a whim by the end, are more wise in their own eyes than ten men who know how to think.

Pliable. -- Nay, do not scorn him; if what the good Christian says is true, the things he looks to are of more worth than ours: my heart leans to what he says.

Obstinate. -- What! more fools still! Go back, go back, and be wise.

Christian. -- Nay, but do you come with your friend Pliable; there are such things to be had as those I just spoke of, and more too. If you give no heed to me, read here in this book which comes to us from God, who could not lie.

Pliable. -- Well, friend Obstinate, I think now I have come to a point; and I mean to go with this good man, and to cast my lot in with his. Then said he to Christian, Do you know the way to the place you speak of?

Christian. -- I am told by a man whose name is Evangelist, to do my best to reach a gate that is in front of us, where I shall be told how to find the way.

So they went on side by side.

Obstinate. -- And I will go back to my place; I will not be one of such vain folk.

Now I saw in my dream, that when Obstinate was gone back, Christian and Pliable set off to cross the plain, and they spoke thus as they went: -- 

Christian. -- Well, Pliable, how do you do now? I am glad you have a mind to go with me.

Pliable. -- Come, friend Christian, since there are none but we two here, tell me more of the things of which we go in search.

Christian. -- I can find them in my heart, though I know not how to speak of them with my tongue; but yet, since you wish to know, this book tells us of a world that hast no bounds, and a life that has no end.

Pliable. -- Well said, and what else?

Christian. -- That there are crowns of light in store for us, and robes that will make us shine like the sun.

Pliable. -- This, too, is good; and what else?

Christian. -- That there shall be no more care nor grief for he that owns the place will wipe all tears from our eyes.

Pliable. -- And what friends shall we find there?

Christian. -- There we shall be with all the saints, in robes so bright that our eyes will grow dim to look on them. There shall we meet those who in this world have stood out for the faith, and have been burnt on the stake, and thrown to wild beasts, for the love they bore to the Lord. They will not harm us, but will greet us with love, for they all walk in the sight of God.

Pliable. -- But how shall we get to share all this?

Christian. -- The Lord of that land saith, if we wish to gain that world we shall be free to have it.

Pliable. -- Well, my good friend, glad am I to hear of these thing: come on, let us mend our pace.

Christian. -- I can not go so fast as I would, for this load on my back.

Then I saw in my dream that just as they had come to an end of this talk, they drew near to a slough that was in the midst of the plain, and as they took no heed, they both fell in. The name of the slough was Despond. Here they lay for a time in the mud; and the load that Christian had on his back made him sink all the more in the mire.

Pliable. -- Ah! friend Christian, where are you now?

Christian. -- In truth, I do no know.

Then Pliable said to his friend, Is this the bliss of which you have told me all this while? If we have such ill speed when we first set out, what may we look for twixt this and the end of our way? And with that he got out of the mire on that side of the slough which was next to his own house; then off he went, and Christian saw him no more.

So Christian was left to strive in the Slough of Despond as well as he could; yet his aim was to reach that side of the slough that was next The Wicket Gate, which at last he did, but he could not get out for the load that was on his back; till I saw in my dream that a man came to him whose name was Help.

What do you do here? said Help.

Christian. -- I was bid to go this way by Evangelist, who told me to pass up to yon gate, that I might flee from the wrath to come, and on my way to it I fell in here.

Help. -- But why did you not look for the steps?

Christian. -- Fear came so hard on me that I fled the next way and fell in.

Help. -- Give me your hand.

So he gave him his hand, and he drew him out, and set him on firm ground, and bade him go on his way.

Then in my dream I went up to Help and said to him, Sir, since this place is on the way from The City of Destruction to The Wicket Gate, how is it that no one mends this patch of ground, so that those who come by may not fall in the slough?

Help. -- This slough is such a place as no one can mend. It is the spot to which doth run the scum and filth that wait on sin, and that is why men call it the Slough of Despond. When the man of sin wakes up to a sense of his own lost state, doubts and fears rise up in his soul, and all of them drain down and sink in this place: and it is this that makes the ground so bad. True there are good and sound steps in the midst of the slough, but at times it is hard to see them; or if they be seen, men's heads are so dull that they step on one side, and fall in the mire. But the ground is good when they have once got in at the gate.

Now I saw in my dream that by this time Pliable had gone back to his house once more, and that his friends came to see him: some said how wise it was to come home, and some that he was a fool to have gone. Some, too, were found to mock him, who said -- Well, had I set out, I would not have been so base as to come back for a slough in the road. So Pliable was left to sneak off; but at last he got more heart, and then all were heard to turn their taunts, and laugh at poor Christian. Thus much for Pliable.

Now as Christian went on his way he saw a man come through the field to meet him, whose name was Mr. Worldly Wiseman, and he dwelt in the town of Carnal Policy, which was near that whence Christian came. He had heard some news of Christian; for his flight from The City of Destruction had made much noise, and was now the talk far and near. So he said, How now, good Sir, where do you go with such a load on your back?

Christian. -- In truth, it is a load; and if you ask me where I go, I must tell you, Sir, I must go the The Wicket Gate in front of me, for there I shall be put in a way to get quit of my load.

Worldly Wiseman. -- Have you not a wife and babes?

Christian. -- Yes, but with this load I do not seem to care for them as I did; and, in truth, I feel as if I had none.

Worldly Wiseman. -- Will you hear me if I speak my mind to you?

Christian. -- If what you say be good, I will, for I stand much in need of help.

Worldly Wiseman. -- I would urge you then, with all speed, to get rid of your load; for you will not be at rest till then.

Christian. -- That is just what I seek to do. But there is no man in our land who can take if off me.

Worldly Wiseman. -- Who bade you go this way to be rid of it?

Christian. -- One that I took to be a great and true man; his name is Evangelist.

Worldly Wiseman. -- Hark at what I say: there is no worse way in the world than that which he has sent you, and that you will find if you take him for your guide. In this short time you have met with bad luck, for I see the mud of the Slough of Despond is on your coat. Hear me, for I have seen more of the world than you; in the way you go, you will meet with pain, woe, thirst, the sword too, -- in a word, death! Take no heed of what Evangelist tells you.

Christian. -- Why, Sir, this load on my back is worse to me than all those things which you speak of; nay, I care not what I meet with in the way, if I can but get rid of my load.

Worldly Wiseman. -- How did you come by it at first?

Christian. -- Why, I read this book.

Worldly Wiseman. -- Like more weak men I know, who aim at things too high for them you have lost heart, and run in the dark at great risk, to gain you know not what.

Christian. -- I know what I would gain, it is ease for my load.

Worldly Wiseman. -- But why will you seek for ease thus, when I could put you in the way to aid it where there would be no risk; and the cure is at hand.

Christian. -- Pray, Sir, tell me what that way is.

Worldly Wiseman. -- Well, in yon town, which you can see from hence -- the name of which is Morality -- there dwells a man whose name is Legality, a wise man, and a man of some rank, who has skill to help men off with such loads as yours from their backs; I know he has done a great deal for good in that way; aye, and he has the skill to cure those who, from the loads they bear, are not quite sound in their wits. To him as I said, you may go and get help. His house in but a mile from this place, and should he not be at home, he has a son whose name is Civility, who can do it just as well as his sire. There, I say, you may go to get rid of your load. I would not have you go back to your old home, but you can send for your wife and babes, and you will find that food there is cheap and good.

Now was Christian brought to a stand; but by and by he said, Sir, which is my way to this good man's house?

Worldly Wiseman. -- Do you see that hill?

Christian. -- Yes, I do.

Worldly Wiseman. -- By that hill you must go, and the first house you come to is his.

So Christian went out of his way to find Mr. Legality's house to seek for help.

But, lo, when he had got close up to the hill, it was so steep and high that he had fear lest it should fall on his head; so he stood still, for he knew not what to do. His load, too, was of more weight to him than when he was on the right road. Then came flames of fire out of the hill, that made him quake for fear lest he should be burnt. And now it was a great grief to him that he had lent his ear to Worldly Wiseman; and it was well that he just then saw Evangelist come to meet him; though at the sight of him he felt a deep blush on his face for shame. So Evangelist drew near, and when he came up to him, he said, with a sad look; What dost thou here, Christian?

To these words Christian knew not what to say, so he stood quite mute. Then Evangelist went on thus: Art not thou the man that I heard cry in The City of Destruction?

Christian. -- Yes, dear Sir, I am the man.

Evangelist. -- Did not I point out to thee the way to the Wicket Gate?

Christian. -- Yes, you did, Sir.

Evangelist. -- How is it, then, that thou hast so soon gone out of the way?

Christian. -- When I had got out of the Slough of Despond I met a man who told me that in a town near, I might find one who could take off my load.

Evangelist. -- What was he?

Christian. -- He had fair looks, and said much to me, and got me at last to yield; so I came here. But when I saw this hill, and how steep it was, I made a stand, lest it should fall on my head.

Evangelist. -- What said the man to thee?

When Evangelist had heard from Christian all that took place, he said: Stand still a while, that I may show thee the words of God.

So Evangelist went on to read, 'Now the just shall live by faith, but if a man draw back, my soul shall have no joy in him.' Is not this the case with thee? said he: Hast not thou drawn back thy feet from the way of peace, to thine own cost; and dost thou not spurn the most high God?

Then Christian fell down at his feet as dead, and said: Woe is me! Woe is me!

At the sight of which, Evangelist caught him by the right hand, and said: Faith hopes all things.

Then did Christian find some peace, and stood up.

Evangelist. -- I pray thee give more heed to the things that I shall tell thee of. The Lord says, 'Strive to go in at the strait gate, the gate to which I send thee, for strait is the gate that leads to life, and few there be that find it.' Why didst thou set at nought the words of God, for the sake of Mr. Worldly Wiseman? That is, in truth, the right name for such as he. The Lord hath told thee that he who will save his life shall lose it.' He to whom thou wast sent for ease, Legality by name, could not set thee free; no man yet has got rid of his load through him; he could but show thee the way to woe, for by the deeds of the law no man can be rid of his load. So that Mr. Worldly Wiseman and his friend Mr. Legality are false guides; and as for his son Civility, he could not help thee.

Now Christian, in great dread, could think of nought but death, and sent forth a sad cry in grief that he had gone from the right way. Then he spoke once more to Evangelist in these words: -- Sir, what think you? Is there hope? May I now go back, and strive to reach The Wicket Gate? I grieve that I gave ear to this man's voice; but may my sin find grace?

Evangelist. -- Thy sin is great, for thou hast gone from the way that is good, to tread in false paths, yet will the man at the gate let thee through, for he has love and good will for all men; but take heed that thou turn not to the right hand or to the left.

Then did Christian make a move to go back, and Evangelist gave him a kiss and one smile, and bade him God speed.

So he went on with haste, nor did he speak on the road; and could by no means feel safe till he was in the path which he had left. In time, he got up to the gate. And as he saw by the words which he read on it, that those who would knock could go in, he gave two or three knocks, and said: May I go in here?

At last there came a great man to the gate, whose name was Good-will, and he said: Who is there; whence come you, and what would you have?

Christian. -- I come from The City of Destruction with a load of Sins on my back; but I am on my way to Mount Zion, that I may be free from the wrath to come; and as I have been told that my way is through this gate, I would know, Sir, if you will let me in?

Good-will. -- With all my heart.

So he flung back the gate. But just as Christian went in, he gave him a pull.

Then said Christian: What means that? Good-will told him that a short way from this gate there was a strong fort, of which Beelzebub was the chief, and that from thence he and the rest that dwelt there shot darts at those that came up to the gate to try if they could kill them ere they got in.

Then said Christian: I come in with joy and with fear. So when he had gone in, the man at the gate said: Who sent you here?

Christian. -- Evangelist bade me come and knock (as I did); and he said that you, Sir, would tell me what I must do.

Good-will. -- The door is thrown back wide for you to come in, and no man can shut it.

Christian. -- Now I seem to reap the good of all the risks I have met with on the way.

Good-will. -- But how is it that no one comes with you?

Christian. -- None of my friends saw that there was cause of fear, as I did.

Good-will. -- Did they know of your flight?

Christian. -- Yes, my wife and young ones saw me go, and I heard their cries as they ran out to try and stop me. Some of my friends, too, would have had me come home, but I put my hands to my ears, and so came on my way.

Good-will. -- But did none of them come out to beg of you to go back?

Christian. -- Yes, both Obstinate and Pliable came, but when they found that I would not yield, Obstinate went home, but Pliable came with me as far as the Slough of Despond.

Good-will. -- Why did he not come through it?

When Christian told him the rest, he said: Ah, poor man! Is a world of bliss such a small thing to him, that he did not think it worth while to run a few risks to gain it?

Sir, said Christian, there is not much to choose twixt him and me. Then he told Good-will how he had been led from the straight path by Mr. Worldly Wiseman.

Good-will. -- Oh, did he light on you? What! He would have had you seek for ease at the hands of Mr. Legality. They are, in truth, both of them cheats. And did you take heed of what he said?

Christian then told him all. But now that I am come, said he, I am more fit for death, than to stand and talk to my Lord. But oh, the joy it is to me to be here!

Good-will. -- We keep none out that knock at this gate, let them have done what they may ere they came here; for they are 'in no wise cast out.' So, good Christian, come with me, and I will teach you the way you must go. Look in front. That is the way which was laid down by Christ and the wise men of old, and it is as straight as a rule can make it.

Christian. -- But is there no turn or bend by which one who knows not the road might lose his way?

Good-will. -- My friend, there are not a few that lead down to it, and these paths are wide: yet by this you may judge the right from the wrong -- the right are straight and are by no means wide.

Then I saw in my dream that Christian said: Could you not help me off with this load on my back? -- for as yet he had not got rid of it. He was told: As to your load, you must bear it till you come to the place of Deliverance, for there it will fall from your back.

Then Christian would have set off on the road; but Good-will said: Stop a while and let me tell you that when you have gone through the gate you will see the house of Mr. Interpreter, at whose door you must knock, and he will show you good things. Then Christian took leave of his friend, who bade him God speed.

He now went on till he came to the house at the door of which he was to knock; this he did two or three times. At last one came to the door and said: Who is there?

Christian. -- I have come to see the good man of the house.

So in a short time Mr. Interpreter came to him and said: What would you have?

Christian. -- Sir, I am come from The City of Destruction, and am on my way to Mount Zion. I was told by the man that stands at the gate, that if I came here you would show me good things that would help me.

Then Interpreter took Christian to a room, and bade his man bring a light, and there he saw on the wall the print of one who had a grave face, whose eyes were cast up to the sky, and the best of books was in His hand, the law of truth was on His lips, and the world was at His back. He stood as if He would plead for men, and a crown of gold hung near his head.

Christian. -- What does this mean?

Interpreter. -- I have shown you this print first, for this is He who is to be your sole guide when you can not find your way to the land to which you go; so take good heed to what I have shown you, lest you meet with some who would feign to lead you right; but their way goes down to death.

Then he took him to a large room that was full of dust, for it had not been swept; and Interpreter told his man to sweep it. Now when he did so, such clouds of dust flew up, that it made Christian choke.

Then said Interpreter to a maid that stood by; Make the floor moist that the dust may not rise; and when she had done this, it was swept with ease.

Christian. -- What means this?

Interpreter. -- This room is the heart of that man who knows not the grace of God. The dust is his first sin and the vice that is in him. He that swept first is the Law, but she who made the floor moist is The Book which tells Good News to Man. Now as soon as you saw the first of these sweep, the dust did so fly that the room could not be made clean by him; this is to show you that the law as it works does not cleanse the heart from sin, but gives strength to sin, so as to rouse it up in the soul.

Then you next saw the maid come in to lay the dust; so is sin made clean and laid low by faith in The Book.

Now, said Christian, let me go hence.

Well, said Interpreter, keep all things so in thy mind that they may be a goad in thy sides; and may faith guide thee!

Then I saw in my dream that the high way which Christian was to tread, had a wall on each side, and the name of that wall was Salvation. Up this high way did Christian run, but with great toil for the load on his back. He ran thus till he drew near to a place on which stood a cross, and at the foot of it a tomb. Just as Christian came up to the cross, his load slid from his back, close to the mouth of the tomb, where it fell in, and I saw it no more.

Then was Christian glad, and said with a gay heart: He gives me rest by his grief, and life by his death.

Yet he stood still for a while, for he was struck with awe to think that the sight of the cross should thus ease him of his load. Three or four times did he look on the cross and the tomb, and the tears rose to his eyes. As he stood thus and wept, lo, three Bright Ones came to him, and one of them said: Peace be to thee! thou hast grace from thy sins. And one came up to him to strip him of his rags and put a new robe on him, while the third set a mark on his face, and gave him a roll with a seal on it, which he bade him look on as he went, and give it at The Celestial Gate; and then they left him.

Christian gave three leaps for joy, and sang as he went: Ah, what a place is this! Blest cross! Blest tomb! Nay, blest is the Lord that was put to shame for me!

He went on thus till he came to a vale where he saw three men who were in a sound sleep, with chains on their feet. The name of one was Simple, one Sloth, and the third Presumption. As Christian saw them lie in this case, he went to wake them, and said: You are like those that sleep on the top of a mast, for the Dead Sea is at your feet. Wake, rise, and come with me. Trust me, and I will help you off with your chains. With that they cast their eyes up to look at him, and Simple said: I would fain take more sleep. Presumption said: Let each man look to his own. And so they lay down to sleep once more.

Then I saw in my dream that two men leapt from the top of the wall and made great haste to come up to him. Their names were Formalist and Hypocrisy.

Christian. -- Sirs, whence come you, and where do you go?

Formalist and Hypocrisy. -- We were born in the land of Vain-glory, and are on our way to Mount Zion for praise.

Christian. -- Why came you not in at the Gate? Know you not that he that comes not in at the door, but climbs up to get in, the same is a thief?

They told him that to go through the gate was too far round; that the best way was to make a short cut of it, and climb the wall, as they had done.

Christian. -- But what will the Lord of the town to which we are bound think of it, if we go not in the way of his will?

They told Christian that he had no need for care on that score, for long use had made it law, and they could prove that it had been so for years. Christian. -- But are you quite sure that your mode will stand a suit at law?

Yes, said they, no doubt of it. And if we get in the road at all, pray what are the odds? If we are in, we are in; you are but in the way, who come in at the gate, and we too are in the way that choose to climb the wall. Is not our case as good as yours?

Christian. -- I walk by the rule of my Lord, but you walk by the rule of your own lusts. The Lord of the way will count you as thieves, and you will not be found true men in the end.

I saw then that they all went on till they came to the foot of the Hill of Difficulty, where there was a spring. There were in the same place two more ways, one on the left hand and one on the right; but the path that Christian was told to take went straight up the hill, and its name is Difficulty, and he saw that the way of life lay there.

Now when Christian got as far as the Spring of Life he drank of it, and then went up the hill. But when the two men saw that it was steep and high, and that there were three ways to choose from, one of them took the path the name of which is Danger, and lost his way in a great wood, and one of them went by the road of Destruction, which led him to a wide field full of dark rocks, where he fell, and rose no more. I then saw Christian go up the hill, where at first I could see him run, then walk, and then go on his hands and knees, so steep was it. Now half way up was a cave made by the Lord of that hill, that those who came by might rest there. So here Christian sat down, and took out the scroll and read it, till at last he fell off in a deep sleep which kept him there till it was dusk; and while he slept his scroll fell from his hand. At length a man came up to him and woke him, and said: Go to the ant, thou man of sloth, and learn of her to be wise.

At this Christian gave a start, and sped on his way, and went at a quick pace.

When he had got near to the top of the hill, two men ran up to meet him, whose names were Timorous and Mistrust, to whom Christian said, Sirs, what ails you? You run the wrong way.

Timorous said that Zion was the hill they meant to climb, but that when they had got half way they found that they met with more and more risk, so that great fear came on them, and all they could do was to turn back.

Yes, said Mistrust, for just in front of us there lay two beasts of prey in our path; we knew not if they slept or not, but we thought that they would fall on us and tear our limbs.

Christian. -- You rouse my fears. Where must I fly to be safe? If I go back to my on town (Destruction) I am sure to lose my life, but if I can get to The Celestial City, there shall I be safe. To turn back is death; to go on is fear of death, but when I come there, a life of bliss that knows no end. I will go on yet.

So Mistrust and Timorous ran down the hill and Christian went on his way. Yet he thought once more of what he had heard from the men, and then he felt in his cloak for his scroll, that he might read it and find some peace. He felt for it but found it not. Then was Christian in great grief, and knew not what to do for the want of that which was to be his pass to The Celestial City. At last, thought he: I slept in the cave by the side of the hill. So he fell down on his knees to pray that God would give him grace for this act; and then went back to look for his scroll. But as he went, what tongue can tell the grief of Christian's heart? Oh, fool that I am! said he, to sleep in the day time; so to give way to the flesh as to use for ease that rest which the Lord of the hill had made but for the help of the soul!

Thus, then, with tears and sighs, he went back, and with much care did he look on this side and on that for his scroll. At length he came near to the cave where he had sat and slept. How far, thought Christian, have I gone in vain! Such was the lot of the Jews for their sin; they were sent back by the way of the Red Sea; and I am made to tread those steps with grief which I might have trod with joy, had it not been for this sleep. How far might I have been on my way by this time! I am made to tread those steps thrice which I need not to have trod but once; yea, now too I am like to be lost in the night, for the day is well nigh spent. O that I had not slept!

Now by this time he had come to the vale once more, where for a spell he sat down and wept; but at last, as he cast a sad glance at the foot of the bench, he saw his scroll, which he caught up with haste, and put in his cloak. Words are too weak to tell the joy of Christian when he had got back his scroll. He laid it up in the breast of his coat and gave thanks to God. With what a light step did he now climb the hill! But, ere he got to the top, the sun went down on Christian, and he soon saw that two wild beast stood in his way. Ah, thought he, these beasts range in the night for their prey; and if they should meet with me in the dark, how should I fly from them? I see now the cause of all those fears that drove Mistrust and Timorous back.

Still Christian went on, and while he thought thus on this sad lot he cast up his eyes and saw a great house in front of him, the name of which was Beautiful, and it stood just by the side of the high road. So he made haste and went on in the hope that he could rest there a while. The name of the man who kept the lodge of that house was Watchful, and when he saw that Christian made a halt as if he would go back, he came out to him and said: Is thy strength so small? Fear not the two wild beasts, for they are bound by chains, and are put here to try the faith of those that have it, and to find out those that have none. Keep in the midst of the path and no harm shall come to thee.

Then I saw, in my dream, that still he went on in great dread of the wild beasts; he heard them roar, yet they did him no harm; but when he had gone by them he went on with joy, till he came and stood in front of the lodge where Watchful dwelt.

Christian. -- Sir, what house is this? May I rest here to night?

Watchful. -- This house was built by the Lord of the Hill to give aid to those who climb up it for the good cause. Tell me, whence come you?

Christian. -- I am come from the Town of Destruction, and am on my way to Mount Zion; but the day is far spent, and I would, with your leave, pass the night here.

Watchful. -- What is your name?

Christian. -- My name is now Christian, but at first it was Graceless.

Watchful. -- How is it you came so late? The sun is set.

Christian then told him why it was.

Watchful. -- Well, I will call one that lives here, who, if she like your talk, will let you come in, for these are the rules of the house.

So he rang a bell, at the sound of which there came out at the door a grave and fair maid, whose name was Discretion. When Watchful told her why Christian had come there, she said: What is your name?

It is Christian, said he, and I much wish to rest here to night, and the more so for I see this place was build by the Lord of the Hill, to screen those from harm who come to it.

So she gave a smile, but the tears stood in her eyes; and in a short time she said: I will call forth two or three more of our house, and then she ran to the door and brought in Prudence, Piety, and Charity, who met him and said: Come in, thou blest of the Lord; this house was built by the King of the Hill for such as you. Then Christian bent down his head, and went with them to the house.

Piety. -- Come, good Christian, since our love prompts us to take you in to rest, let us talk with you of all that you have seen on your way.

Christian. -- With a right good will, and I am glad that you should ask it of me.

Prudence. -- And, first, say what is it that makes you wish so much to go to Mount Zion?

Christian. -- Why there I hope to see Him that did die on the Cross; and there I hope to be rid of all those thing that to this day grieve and vex me. There, they say, is no death; and there I shall dwell with such as love the Lord.

Charity. -- Have you a wife and babes?

Christian. -- Yes, I have.

Charity. -- And why did you not bring them with you?

Christian then wept, and said: Oh, how glad should I have been to do so! but they would not come with me, nor have me leave them.

Charity. -- And did you pray to God to put it in their hearts to go with you?

Christian. -- Yes, and that with much warmth, for you may think how dear they were to me.

Thus did Christian talk with these friends till it grew dark, and then he took his rest in a large room, the name of which was Peace; there he slept till break of day, and then he sang a hymn.

They told him that he should not leave till they had shown him all the rare things that were in that place. There were to be seen the rod of Moses, the nail with which Jail slew Sisera, the lamps with which Gideon put to flight the host of Midian, and the ox goad with which Shamgar slew his foes. And they brought out the jaw bone of an ass with which Samson did such great feats, and the sling and stone with which David slew Goliath of Gath.

Then I saw in my dream that Christian rose to take his leave of Discretion, and of Prudence, Piety, and Charity, but they said that he must stay till the next day, that they might show him The Delectable Mountains; so they took him to the top of the house, and bade him look to the South, which he did, and lo, a great way off, he saw a rich land, full of hills, woods, vines, shrubs, and streams.

What is the name of this land? said Christian.

Then they told him it was Immanuel's Land. And, said they, It is as much meant for you, and the like of you, as this hill is; and when you reach the place, there you may see the gate of The Celestial City. Then they gave him a sword, and put on him a coat of mail, which was proof from head to foot, lest he should meet some foe in the way; and they went with him down the hill.

Of a truth, said Christian, it is as great a toil to come down the hill as it was to go up.

Prudence. -- So it is, for it is a hard thing for a man to go down to The Vale of Humiliation, as thou dost now, and for this cause have we come with you to the foot of the hill. So, though he went with great care, yet he caught a slip or two.

Then in my dream I saw that when they had got to the foot of the hill, these good friends of Christian's gave him a loaf of bread, a flask of wine, and a bunch of dry grapes; and then they left him to go on his way.

But now in this Vale of Humiliation poor Christian was hard put to it, for he had not gone far, ere he saw a foe come in the field to meet him, whose name was Apollyon. Then did Christian fear, and he cast in his mind if he would go back or stand his ground. But Christian thought that as he had no coat of mail on his back, to turn round might give Apollyon a chance to pierce it with his darts. So he stood his ground, For, thought he, if but to save my life were all I had in view, still the best way would be to stand.

So he went on, and Apollyon met him with looks of scorn.

Apollyon. -- Whence come you, and to what place are you bound?

Christian. -- I am come from The City of Destruction, which is a place of all sin, and I am on my way to Zion.

Apollyon. -- By this I see you are mine, for of all that land I am the Prince. How is it, then, that you have left your king? Were it not that I have a hope that you may do me more good, I would strike you to the ground with one blow.

Christian. -- I was born in your realm, it is true, but you drove us too hard, and your wage was such as no man could live on.

Apollyon. -- No prince likes to lose his men, nor will I as yet lose you; so if you will come back, what my realm yields I will give you.

Christian. -- But I am bound by vows to the King of Kings; and how can I, to be true, go back with you?

Apollyon. -- You have made a change, it seems, from bad to worse; but why not give Him the slip, and come back with me?

Christian. -- I gave Him my faith, and swore to be true to Him: how can I go back from this?

Apollyon. -- You did the same to me, and yet I will pass by all, if you will but turn and go back.

Then, when Apollyon saw that Christian was stanch to his Prince, he broke out in a great rage, and said, I hate that Prince, and I hate his laws, and I am come out to stop you.

Christian. -- Take heed what you do. I am on the King's high way to Zion.

Apollyon. -- I am void of fear, and to prove that I mean what I say, here on this spot I will put thee to death. With that he threw a dart of fire at his breast, but Christian had a shield on his arm, with which he caught it. Then did Christian draw his sword, for he saw it was time to stir; and Apollyon as fast made at him, and threw darts as thick as hail; with which, in spite of all that Christian could do, Apollyon gave him wounds in his head, hand, and foot.

This made Christian pause in the fight for a time, but Apollyon still came on, and Christian once more took heart. They fought for half a day, till Christian, weak from his wounds, was well nigh spent in strength. When Apollyon saw this, he threw him down with a great force; on which Christian's sword fell out of his hand. Then said Apollyon, I am sure of thee now.

But while he strove to make an end of Christian, that good man put out his hand in haste to feel for his sword, and caught it. Boast not, oh Apollyon! said he, and with that he struck him a blow which made his foe reel back as one that had had his last wound. Then he spread out his wings and fled, so that Christian for a time saw him no more.

Then there came to him a hand which held some of the leaves of the tree of life; some of them Christian took, and as soon as he had put them to his wounds, he saw them heal up.

Now near this place was the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and Christian must needs go through it to get to The Celestial City. It was a land of drought and full of pits, a land that none but such as Christian could pass through, and where no man dwelt. So that here he was worst put to it than in his fight with Apollyon, which by and by we shall see.

As he drew near the Shadow of Death he met with two men, to whom Christian thus spoke: To what place do you go?

Men. -- Back! Back! and we would have you do the same if you prize life and peace.

Christian. -- But why?

Men. -- We went on as far as we durst.

Christian. -- What then have you seen?

Men. -- Seen! Why the Valley of the Shadow of Death; but by dint of good luck we caught sight of what lay in front of it, ere we came up. Death doth spread out his wings there. In a word it is a place full of bad men, where no law dwells.

Christian. -- I see not yet, by what you have told me, but that this is my way to Zion.

Men. -- Be it thy way then; we will not choose it for ours.

So they took their leave, and Christian went on, but still with his drawn sword in his hand, for fear lest he should meet once more with a foe.

I saw then in my dream that so far as this vale went, there was on the right hand a deep ditch; that ditch to which the blind have led the blind as long as the world has been made. And, lo, on the left hand there was a quag. in which if a man fall, he will find no firm ground for his foot to stand on. The path way was not broad, and so good Christian was the more put to it. This went on for miles, and in the midst of that vale was a deep pit. One thing which I saw in my dream I must not leave out; it was this: -- Just as Christian had come to the mouth of the pit, one of those who dwelt in it swept up to him, and in a soft tone spoke bad things to him, and took God's name in vain, which Christian thought must have come from his own mind. This put him out more than all the rest had done; to think that he should take that name in vain for which he felt so deep a love, was a great grief to him. Yet there was no help for it. Then he thought he heard a voice which said: Though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I will fear no harm for thou art with me.

Now as Christian went on, he found there was a rise in the road, which had been thrown up that that path might be clear to those who were bound for Zion. Up this road Christian went, and saw his old friend Faithful a short way off.

Then said Christian: Ha, my friend, are you here? Stay, and I will join you.

This ere long he did, and they spoke of all that had come to pass since they had last met.

In course of time the road they took brought them to a town, the name of which is Vanity, where there is a fair kept through the whole year, and all that is bought or sold there is vain and void of worth. There, too, are to be seen at all times games, plays, fools, apes, knaves, and rogues. Yet he that will go to The Celestial City must needs pass through this fair.

As soon as Christian and Faithful came to the town, a crowd drew round them, and some said they had lost their wits, to dress and speak as they did, and to set no store by the choice goods for sale in Vanity Fair. When Christian spoke, his words brought from these folks fierce taunts and jeers, and soon the noise and stir grew to such a height that the chief man of the fair sent his friends to take up these two strange men, and he bade them tell him whence they came, and what they did there in such a garb. Christian and Faithful told them all; but those who sat to judge the case thought that they must be mad, or else that they had come to stir up strife at the fair; so they beat them with sticks, and put them in a cage, that they might be a sight for all the men at the fair. Then the worse sort of folks set to pelt them with mud out of spite, and some threw stones at them for mere sport; but Christian and Faithful gave good words for bad, and bore all in such a meek way, that not a few took their part. This led to blows and fights, and the blame was laid on Christian and Faithful, who were then made to toil up and down the fair in chains, till, faint with stripes, they were at length set with their feet in the stocks. But they bore their griefs and woes with joy, for they saw in them a pledge that all should be well in the end.

By and by a court sat to try them: the name of the judge was Lord Hate-good; and the crime laid to their charge was that they had come to Vanity Fair to spoil its trade, and stir up strife in the town; and had won not a few men to their side, in spite of the prince of the place.

Faithful said to the Judge: I am a man of peace, and did but wage war on Sin. As for the prince they speak of, since he is Beelzebub, I hold him in scorn.

Those who took Faithful's part were won by the force of plain truth and right in his words; but the judge said, Let those speak who know aught of this man.

So three men, whose names were Envy, Superstition, and Pick-thank, stood forth and swore to speak the truth, and tell what they knew of Faithful. Envy said: My lord, this man cares nought for kings or laws, but seeks to spread his own views, and to teach men what he calls faith. I heard him say but just now that the ways of our town of Vanity are vile. And does he not in that speak ill of us?

Then Superstition said: My lord, I know not much of this man, and have no wish to know more, but of this I am sure, that he is a bad man, for he says that our creeds are vain.

Pick-thank was then bid to say what he knew, and his speech ran thus: My lord, I have known this man for a long time, and have heard him say things that ought not to be said. He rails at our great Prince Beelzebub, and says that if all men were of his mind, that prince should no more hold sway here. More than this, he hath been heard to rail on you, my lord, who are now his judge.

Then said the Judge to Faithful: Thou base man! Hast though heard what these folk have said of thee?

Faithful. -- May I speak a few words in my own cause?

Judge. -- Thy just doom would be to die on the spot; still, let us hear what thou hast to say.

Faithful. -- I say, then, to Mr. Envy, that all laws and modes of life in which men heed not the Word of God are full of sin. As to the charge of Mr. Superstition, I would urge that nought can save us if we do not the will of God. To Mr. Pick-thank, I say that men should flee from the Prince of this town and his friends, as from the wrath to come and so, I pray the Lord to help me.

Then the Judge, to sum up the case, spoke thus: You see this man who has made such a stir in our town. You have heard what these good men have said of him, which he owns to be true. It rests now to you to save his life or hang him.

The twelve men who had Faithful's life in their hands spoke in a low tone thus: This man is full of schisms, said Mr. Blind-man. Out of the world with him, said Mr. No-good. I hate the mere look of him, said Mr. Malice. From the first I could not bear him, said Mr. Love-ease. Nor I, for he would be sure to blame my ways, said Mr. Live-loose. Hang him, hang him! said Mr. Heady. A low wretch! said Mr. High-mind. I long to crush him, said Mr. Enmity. He is a rogue, said Mr. Liar. Death is too good for him, said Mr. Cruelty. Let us kill him, that he may be out of the way, said Mr. Hate-light. Then said Mr. Implacable: Not to gain all the world would I make peace with him, so let us doom him to death. And so they did, and in a short time he was led back to the place from whence he came, there to be put to the worst death that could be thought of; for the scourge, the sword, and the stake brought Faithful to his end.

Now I saw that there stood near the crowd a strange car with two bright steeds, which, as soon as his foes had slain him, took Faithful up through the clouds straight to The Celestial City, with the sound of the harp and lute.

As for Christian, for this time he got free; and there came to him one Hopeful, who did so from what he had heard and seen of Christian and Faithful. Thus, while one lost his life for the truth, a new man rose from his death, to tread the same way with Christian. And Hopeful said there were more men of the fair who would take their time, and then come too.

By and by their way lay just on the bank of a pure stream, from which they drank. On each side of it were green trees that bore fruit, and in a field through which it ran they lay down to sleep. When they woke up they sat for a while in the shade of the boughs; thus they went on for three or four days, and to pass the time they sang:

He that can tell What sweet fresh fruit, yea leaves these trees do yield, Will soon sell all, that he may buy this field.

Now on the left hand of the road was By-path Meadow, a fair green field with a path through it, and a stile. Come, good Hopeful, said Christian, let us walk on the grass.

Hopeful. -- But what if this path should lead us wrong?

Christian. -- How can it? Look, doth it not go by the way side?

So they set off through the field. But they had not gone far when they saw in front of them a man, Vain-confidence by name, who told them that the path led to The Celestial Gate. So the man went first; but lo, the night came on, and it grew so dark that they lost sight of their guide, who, as he did not see the path in front of him, fell in a deep pit, and was heard of no more.

Where are we now? said Hopeful.

Then was Christian mute, as he thought he had led his friend out of the way. And now light was seen to flash from the sky, and rain came down in streams.

Hopeful (with a groan) Oh, that I had kept on my way!

Christian. -- Who could have thought that this path should lead us wrong?

Hopeful. -- I had my fears from the first, and so gave you a hint.

Christian. -- Good friend, I grieve that I have brought you out of the right path.

Hopeful. -- Say no more, no doubt it is for our good.

Christian. -- We must not stand thus; let us try to go back.

Hopeful. -- But, good Christian, let me go first.

Then they heard a voice say: Set thine heart to the high way, the way thou hast been: turn once more. But by this time the stream was deep from the rain that fell, and to go back did not seem safe; yet they went back, though it was so dark and the stream ran so high that once or twice it was like to drown them. Nor could they, with all their skill, get back that night. So they found a screen from the rain, and there they slept till break of day.

Now, not far from the place where they lay was Doubting Castle, the lord of which was Giant Despair; and it was on his ground that they now slept. There Giant Despair found them, and with a gruff voice he bade them wake. Whence are you? said he; and what brought you here? They told him that they had lost the path. Then said Giant Despair: You have no right to force your way in here; the ground on which you lie is mine.

They had not much to say, as they knew that they were in fault. So Giant Despair drove them on, and put them in a dark and foul cell in a strong hold. Here they were kept for three days, and they had no light nor food nor a drop to drink all that time, and no one to ask them how they did. Now Giant Despair had a wife, whose name was Diffidence, and he told her what he had done. Then said he, What will be the best way to treat them? Beat them well, said Diffidence. So when he rose he took a stout stick from a crab tree, and went down to the cell where poor Christian and Hopeful lay, and beat them as if they had been dogs, so that they could not turn on the floor; and they spent all that day in sighs and tears.

The next day he came once more, and found them sore from the stripes, and said that since there was no chance for them to be let out of the cell, their best way would be to put an end to their own lives: For why should you wish to live, said he, with all this woe? But they told him they did hope he would let them go. With that he sprang up with a fierce look, and no doubt would have made an end of them, but that he fell in a fit for a time, and lost the use of his hand; so he drew back, and left them to think of what he had said.

Christian. -- Friend, what shall we do? The life that we now lead is worse than death. For my part I know not which is best, to live thus, or to die at our own hand, as I feel that the grave would be less sad to me than this cell. Shall we let Giant Despair rule us?

Hopeful. -- In good truth our case is a sad one, and to die would be more sweet to me than to live here; yet let us bear in mind that the Lord of that land to which we go hath said: 'Thou shalt not kill.' And by this act we kill our souls as well. My friend Christian, you talk of ease in the grave, but can a man go to bliss who takes his own life? All the law is not in the hands of Giant Despair. Who knows but that God, who made the world, may cause him to die, or lose the use of his limbs as he did at first. I have made up my mind to pluck up the heart of a man, and to try to get out of this strait. Fool that I was not to do so when first he came to the cell. But let us not put an end to our own lives, for a good time may come yet.

By these words did Hopeful change the tone of Christian's mind.

Well, at night the Giant went down to the cell to see if life was still in them, and in good truth that life was in them was all that could be said, for from their wounds and want of food they did no more than just breathe. When Giant Despair found they were not dead, he fell in a great rage, and said that it should be worse with them if they had not been born. At this they shook with fear, and Christian fell down in a swoon; but when he came to, Hopeful said: My friend, call to mind how strong in faith you have been till now. Say, could Apollyon hurt you, or all that you heard, or saw, or felt in the Valley of the Shadow of Death? Look at the fears, the griefs, the woes that you have gone through. And now to be cast down! I, too, am in this cell, far more weak a man than you, and Giant Despair dealt his blows at me as well as you, and keeps me from food and light. Let us both (if but to shun the shame) bear up as well as we can.

When night came on, the wife of Giant Despair said to him: Well, will the two men yield?

To which he said: No; they choose to stand firm, and will not put an end to their lives.

Then said Mrs. Diffidence: At dawn of day take them to the yard, and show them the graves where all those whom you have put to death have been thrown, and make use of threats this time.

So Giant Despair took them to this place, and said: In ten days time you shall be thrown in here if you do not yield. Go; get you down to your den once more. With that he beat them all the way back, and there they lay the whole day in a sad plight.

Now, when night was come, Mrs. Diffidence said to Giant Despair: I fear much that these men live on in hopes to pick the lock of the cell and get free.

Dost thou say so, my dear? quoth Giant Despair to his wife; then at sun rise I will search them.

Now, on that night, as Christian and Hopeful lay in the den, they fell on their knees to pray, and knelt till the day broke; when Christian gave a start, and said: Fool that I am thus to lie in this dark den when I might walk at large! I have a key in my pouch, the name of which is Promise, that, I feel sure, will turn the lock of all the doors in Doubting Castle.

Then said Hopeful: That is good news; pluck it from thy breast, and let us try it.

So Christian put it in the lock, when the bolt sprang back, the door flew wide, and Christian and Hopeful both came out. When they got to the yard door the key did just as well; but the lock of the last strong gate of Doubting Castle went hard, yet it did turn at last, though the hinge gave so loud a creak that it woke up Giant Despair, who rose to seek for the two men. But just then he felt his limbs fail, for a fit came on him, so that he could by no means reach their cell. Christian and Hopeful now fled back to the high way, and were safe out of his grounds. When they sat down to rest on a stile, they said they would warn those who might chance to come on this road. So they cut these words on a post: This is the way to Doubting Castle, which is kept by Giant Despair, who loves not the King of the Celestial Country, and seeks to kill all who would go there.

Then they came to The Delectable Mountains, which the Lord of the Hill owns. Here they saw fruit trees, vines, shrubs, woods, and streams, and drank and ate of the grapes. Now there were men at the tops of these hills who kept watch on their flocks, and as they stood by the high way, Christian and Hopeful leant on their staves to rest, while thus they spoke to the men: Who owns these Delectable Mountains, and whose are the sheep that feed on them?

Men. -- These hills are Immanuel's, and the sheep are His too, and He laid down his life for them.

Christian. -- Is this the way to The Celestial City?

Men. -- You are in the right road.

Christian. -- How far is it?

Men. -- Too far for all but those that shall get there, in good truth.

Christian. -- Is the way safe?

Men. -- Safe for those for whom it is to be safe; but the men of sin shall fall there.

Christian. -- Is there a place of rest here for those that faint on the road?

Men. -- The Lord of these Hills gave us a charge to help those that came here, should they be known to us or not; so all the good things of the place are yours.

I then saw in my dream that the men said: Whence come you, and by what means have you got so far? For but few of those that set out come here to show their face on these hills.

So when Christian and Hopeful told their tale, the men cast a kind glance at them, and said: With joy we greet you on The Delectable Mountains!

Their names were Knowledge, Experience, Watchful, and Sincere, and they led Christian and Hopeful by the hand to their tents, and bade them eat of that which was there, and they soon went to their rest for the night.

When the morn broke, the men woke up Christian and Hopeful, and took them to a spot whence they saw a bright view on all sides. Then they went with them to the top of a high hill, the name of which was Error; it was steep on the far off side, and they bade them look down to the foot of it. So Christian and Hopeful cast their eyes down, and saw there some men who had lost their lives by a fall from the top; men who had been made to err, for they had put their trust in false guides.

Have you not heard of them? said the men.

Christian. -- Yes, I have.

Men. -- These are they, and to this day they have not been put in a tomb, but are left here to warn men to take good heed how they come too near the brink of this hill.

Then I saw that they had led them to the top of Mount Caution, and bade them look far off. From that stile, said they, there goes a path to Doubting Castle, which is kept by Giant Despair, and the men whom you see there came as you do now, till they got up to that stile; and, as the right way was rough to walk in, they chose to go through a field, and there Giant Despair took them, and shut them up in Doubting Castle, where they were kept in a den for a while, till he at last sent them out quite blind, and there they are still. At this Christian gave a look at Hopeful, and they both burst out with sobs and tears, but yet said not a word.

Then the four men took them up a high hill, the name of which was Clear, that they might see the gates of The Celestial City, with the aid of a glass to look through, but their hands shook, so they could not see well.

When Christian and Hopeful thought they would move on, one of the men gave them a note of the way, and the next (Experience by name) bade them take heed that they slept not on The Enchanted Ground, and the fourth bade them God Speed. Now it was that I woke from my dream.

Then I slept, and dreamt once more, and saw Christian and Hopeful go down near the foot of these hills, where lies the land of Conceit, which joins the way to Mount Zion, by a small lane. Here they met a brisk lad, whose name was Ignorance, to whom Christian said: Whence come you, and to what place do you go?

Ignorance. -- Sir, I was born in the land that lies off there on the left, and I wish to go to The Celestial City.

Christian. -- How do you think to get in at the gate?

Ignorance. -- Just as the rest of the world do.

Christian. -- But what have you to show at that gate to pass you through it?

Ignorance. -- I know my Lord's will, and I have led a good life; I pay for all that I have, I give tithes, and give alms, and have left my own land for that to which I now go.

Christian. -- But you came not in at the gate that is at the head of this way, you came in through a small lane; so that I fear, though you may think well of all you have done, that when the time shall come, you will have this laid to your charge, that you are a thief and so you will not get in.

Ignorance. -- Well, since I know you not; you keep to your own creed, and I will keep to mine, and I hope all will be well. And as for the gate that you talk of, all the world knows that it is far from our land, and I do not think that there is a man in all our parts who does so much as know the way to it, and I see not what need there is that he should, since we have, as you see, a fine green lane at the next turn that comes down from our part of the world.

Christian said in a low tone of voice to Hopeful: There is more hope of a fool than of him.

Hopeful. -- Let us pass on if you will, and talk to him by and by, when, may be, he can bear it.

So they went on, and Ignorance trod in their steps a short way from them, till they saw a road branch off from the one they were in, and they knew not which of the two to take.

As they stood to think of it, a man whose skin was black, but who was clad in a white robe, came to them and said: Why do you stand here? They told him that they were on their way to The Celestial City, but knew not which of the two roads to take.

Come with me, then, said the man, for it is there that I mean to go.

So they went with him, though it was clear that the road must have made a bend, for they found they would soon turn their backs on The Celestial City.

Ere long, Christian and Hopeful were both caught in a net, and knew not what to do; and with that the white robe fell off the black man's back.

Then they saw where they were. So there they sat down and wept.

Christian. -- Did not one of the four men who kept guard on their sheep tell us to take heed lest Flatterer should spread a net for out feet?

Hopeful. -- Those men, too, gave us a note of the way, but we have not read it, and so have not kept in the right path. Thus they lay in the net to weep and wail.

At last they saw a Bright One come up to them with a whip of fine cord in his hand, who said: What do you here? Whence come you?

They told him that their wish was to go to Zion, but that they had been led out of the way by a black man with a white cloak on, who, as he was bound for the same place, said he would show them the road.

Then said he: It is Flatterer, a false man, who has put on the garb of a Bright One for a time.

So he rent the net and let the men out. Then he bade them come with him, that he might set them on the right way once more. He said: Where were you last night?

Quoth they: With the men who kept watch of their sheep on The Delectable Mountains.

Then he said: But when you were at a stand why did you not read your note?

They told him they had not thought of it.

Now I saw in my dream that he bade them lie down, and whipt them sore, to teach them the good way in which they should walk; and he said: Those whom I love I serve thus.

So they gave him thanks for what he had taught them, and went on the right way up the hill with a song of joy.

At length they came to a land the air of which made men sleep, and here the lids of Hopeful's eyes dropped, and he said: Let us lie down here and take a nap.

Christian. -- By no means, lest if we sleep we wake no more.

Hopeful. -- Nay, friend Christian, sleep is sweet to the man who has spent the day in toil.

Christian. -- Do you not call to mind that one of the men who kept watch of the sheep bade us take care of The Enchanted Ground? He meant by that that we should take heed not to sleep; so let us not sleep, but watch.

Hopeful. -- I see I am in fault.

Christian. -- Now then, to keep sleep from our eyes I will ask you, as we go, to tell me how you came at first to do as you do now?

Hopeful. -- Do you mean how came I first to look to the good of my soul?

Christian. -- Yes.

Hopeful. -- For a long time the things that were seen and sold at Vanity Fair were a great joy to me.

Christian. -- What things do you speak of?

Hopeful. -- All the good of this life; such as lies, oaths, drink; in a word, love of self and all that tend to kill the soul. But I heard from you and Faithful that the end of these things is death.

Thus did they talk as they went on their way.

But I saw in my dream that by this time Christian and Hopeful had got through The Enchanted Ground and had come to the land of Beulah, where the air is sweet; and as their way lay through this land, they made no haste to quit it, for here they heard the birds sing all day long, and the sun shone day and night; the Valley of Death was on the left, and it was out of the reach of Giant Despair; nor could they from this place so much as see Doubting Castle.

Now were they in sight of Zion, and here some of the Bright Ones came to meet them. Here, too, they heard the voice of those who dwelt in Zion, and had a good view of this land of bliss, which was built of rare gems of all hues, and the streets were laid with gold. So that the rays of light which shone on Christian were too bright for him to bear, and he fell sick, and Hopeful had a fit of the same kind. So they lay by for a time, and wept, for their joy was too much for them.

At length, step by step, they drew near to Zion, and saw that the gates were flung back.

A man stood in the way, to whom Christian and Hopeful said: Whose vines and crops are these?

He told them they were the king's and were put there to give joy to those who should go on the road. So he bade them eat what fruit they chose, and took them to see the king's walks; where they slept.

Now I saw in my dream that they spoke more in their sleep than they had done all the rest of the way, and I could but muse at this, but the man said: Why do you muse at it? The juice from the grapes of this vine is so sweet as to cause the lips of them that sleep to speak.

I then saw that when they woke, they would fain go up to Zion; but as I said, the sun threw off such bright rays from The Celestial City, which was built of pure gold, that they could not, as yet, look on it, save through a glass made for that end.

Now as they went, they met with two men in white robes, and the face of each shone bright as the light.

These men said: Whence come you? And when they had been told they said: You have but one thing more to do, which is a hard one, and then you are in Zion.

Christian and Hopeful did then beg of the two men to go with them; which they did. But, said they, It is by your own faith that you must gain it.

Now 'twixt them and the gate was a fierce stream which was broad and deep; it had no bridge, and the mere sight of it did so stun Christian and Hopeful that they could not move.

But the men who went with them said: You can not come to the gate but through this stream.

Is there no way but this one to the gate? said poor Christian.

Yes, quoth they, but there have been but two men, to wit, Enoch and Elijah who have trod that path since the world was made.

When Christian and Hopeful cast their eyes on the stream once more, they felt their hearts sink with fear, and gave a look this way and that in much dread of the waves. Yet through it lay the way to Zion. Is the stream all of one depth? said Christian. He was told that it was not, yet that in that there was no help, for he would find the stream more or less deep, as he had faith in the King of the place. So they set foot on the stream, but Christian gave a loud cry to his good friend Hopeful, and said: The waves close round my head, and I sink. Then said Hopeful: Be of good cheer; my feet feel the bed of the stream, and it is good.

But Christian said: Ah, Hopeful, the pains of death have got hold of me; I shall not reach the land that I long for. And with that a cloud came on his sight, so that he could not see.

Hopeful had much to do to keep Christian's head out of the stream; nay, at times he had quite sunk, and then in a while he would rise up half dead.

Then said Hopeful: My friend, all this is sent to try if you will call to mind all that God has done for you, and live on Him in your heart.

At these words Hopeful saw that Christian was in deep thought; so he said to him: Be of good cheer, Christ will make thee whole.

Then Christian broke out with a loud voice: Oh, I see Him, and He speaks to me and says, When you pass through the deep streams, I will be with you.

And now they both got strength, and the stream was as still as a stone, so that Christian felt the bed of it with his feet, and he could walk through it. Thus they got to the right bank, where the two men in bright robes stood to wait for them, and their clothes were left in the stream.

Now you must bear in mind that Zion was on a steep hill, yet did Christian and Hopeful go up with ease and great speed, for they had these two men to lead them by the arms.

The hill stood in the sky, for the base of it was there. So in sweet talk they went up through the air. The Bright Ones told them of the bliss of the place, which they said was such as no tongues could tell, and that there they would see the Tree of Life, and eat of the fruit of it.

When you come there, said they, white robes will be put on you, and your talk from day to day shall be with the King for all time. There you shall not see such things as you saw on earth, to wit, care and want, and woe and death. You now go to be with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.

Christian and Hopeful. -- What must we do there?

They said: You will have rest for all your toil, and joy for all your grief. You will reap what you have sown -- the fruit of all the tears you shed for the King by the way. In that place you will wear crowns of gold, and have at all times a sight of Him who sits on the throne. There you shall serve Him with love, with shouts of joy and with songs of praise.

Now, while they thus drew up to the gate, lo, a host of saints came to meet them, to whom the two Bright Ones said: These are men who felt love for our Lord when they were in the world, and left all for His name; and He sent us to bring them far on their way, that they might go in and look on their Lord with joy.

Then the whole host with great shouts came round on all sides (as it were to guard them); so that is would seem to Christian and Hopeful as if all Zion had come down to meet them.

Now, when Christian and Hopeful went in at the gate a great change took place in them, and they were clad in robes that shone like gold. There were bright hosts that came with harps and crowns, and they said to them: Come, ye, in the joy of the Lord. And then I heard all the bells in Zion ring.

Now, just as the gates were flung back for the men to pass in, I had a sight of Zion, which shone like the sun; the ground was of gold, and those who dwelt there had love in their looks, crowns on their heads, and palms in their hands, and with one voice they sent forth shouts of praise.

But the gates were now once more shut, and I could but wish that I, too, had gone in to share this bliss. Then I woke, and, lo, it was a dream.

End Of First Part.



Part II.

Once more I had a dream, and it was this: -- Christiana, the wife of Christian, had been on her knees to pray, and as she rose, she heard a loud knock at the door. If you come in God's name, said she, come in. Then I thought in my dream that a form, clad in robes as white as snow, threw back the door, and said, Peace be to this house. At a sight so new to her, Christiana at first grew pale with fear, but in a short time took heart and told him she would fain know whence he came, and why. So he said his name was Secret, and that he dwelt with those that are on high. Then said her guest: Christiana, here is a note for thee, which I have brought from Christian. So she took it, broke the seal, and read these words, which were in gold: -- "To her who was my dear wife. The King would have you do as I have done, for that was the way to come to this land, and to dwell with Him in joy." When Christiana read this, she shed tears, and said to him who brought the note, Sir, will you take me and my sons with you, that we, too, may bow down to this king? But he said, Christiana, joy is born of grief: care must come first, then bliss. To reach the land where I dwell, thou must go through toils, as well as scorn and taunts. But take the road that leads up to the field gate which stands in the head of the way; and I wish you all good speed. I would have thee wear this note in thy breast, that it may be read by thee till thou must give it up at the last gate that leads to The Celestial City.

Then Christiana spoke to her boys, and said: My sons, I have of late been sad at the death of Christian, your dear sire. But I feel sure now that it is well with him, and that he dwells in the land of life and peace. I have, too, felt deep grief at the thoughts of my own state and yours; for we were wrong to let our hearts grow cold, and turn a deaf ear to him in the time of his woe, and hold back from him when he fled from this City of Destruction.

The thought of these things would kill me, were it not for a dream which I had last night, and for what a guest who came here at dawn has told me. So come, my dear ones, let us make our way at once to the gate that leads to The Celestial City, that we may see your sire and be there with him and his friends.

Then her first two sons burst out in tears of joy that Christiana's heart was set that way.

Now while they put all things right to go, two friends of Christiana's came up to her house, and gave a knock at the door. To them she said, If you come in God's name, come in. This mode of speech from the lips of Christiana struck them as strange. Yet they came in, and said, Pray what do you mean by this?

I mean to leave my home, said she to Mrs. Timorous -- for that was the name of one of these friends.

Timorous: -- To what end, pray tell me?

Christiana: -- To go to my dear Christian. And with that she wept.

Timorous: -- Nay, can it be so? Who or what has brought you to this state of mind?

Christiana: -- Oh, my friend, if you did but know as much as I do, I doubt not that you would be glad to go with me.

Timorous: -- Pray what new lore have you got hold of that draws your mind from your friends, and tempts you to go no one knows where?

Christiana: -- I dreamt last night that I saw Christian. Oh, that my soul were with him now! The Prince of the place has sent for me, through one who came to me at sun rise, and brought this note to bid me go there; read it, I pray you.

Timorous: -- Ah, how mad to run such risks! You have heard, I am sure, from our friend Obstinate, what Christian met with on the way, for he went with him; yea, and Pliable, too, till they, like wise men, came back through fear. You heard how he met with the beasts of prey and Apollyon, what he saw in the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and more still that makes my hair stand on end to hear of; think, too, of these four sweet boys who are your own flesh and bone; and, though you should be so rash as to wish to go, yet for their sale, I pray you keep at home.

But Christiana said: Tempt me not. I have now a chance put in my hand to get gain, and in truth I should be a fool if I had not the heart to grasp it. And these toils and snares that you tell me of shall not keep me back; no, they serve but to show me that I am in the right. Care must first be felt, then joy. So since you came not to my house in God's name, as I said, I pray you to be gone, and tempt me no more.

Then Timorous said to Mercy (who had come with her): Let us leave her in her own hands, since she scorns all that I say.

But Mercy thought that if her friend Christiana must be gone, she would go part of the way with her to help her. She took some thought, too, of her own soul, for what Christiana had said had laid hold on her mind, and she felt she must have some talk with this friend; and if she found that truth and life were in her words, she would join her with all her heart.

So Mercy said to Timorous: I came with you to see Christiana, and since on this day she takes leave of the town, I think the least I can do would be to walk a short way with her to help her on. But the rest she kept from Timorous.

Timorous: -- Well, I see you have a mind to play the fool, too; but take heed in good time, and be wise.

So Mrs. Timorous went to her own house; and Christiana, with her four boys and Mercy, went on their way.

Mercy, said Christiana, I take this as a great boon that you should set foot out of doors to start me on my way.

Then said young Mercy (for she was quite young): If I thought it would be good to join you, I would not go back at all to the town.

Christiana: -- Well, Mercy, cast your lot in with mine; I know what will be the end of our toils. Christian is where he would not fail to be for all the gold in the mines of Spain. Nor shall you be sent back, though there be no one but I to ask it for you; for the King who has sent for me and my boys is One who turns not from those who seek Him. If you like I will hire you, and you shall go as my maid, and yet shall share all things with me, so that you do but go.

Mercy: -- But how do I know that I shall be let in? If I thought I should have help from Him from whom all help comes, I would make no pause, but would go at once, let the way be as rough as it might.

Christiana: -- Well, Mercy, I will tell you what I would have you do. Go with me as far as to the field gate, and there I will ask; and if no hopes should be held out to you by Him who keeps the gate, you can but go back to your home.

Mercy: Well, I will go with you, and the Lord grant that my lot may be cast to dwell in the land for which my heart yearns.

Christiana then felt glad that she had a friend to join her, and that her friend should have so great a care for her soul.

So they went on their way; but the face of Mercy wore so sad a mien that Christiana said to her, What ails you? Why do you weep?

Mercy: -- Oh, who could but weep to think of the state of my poor friends near and dear to me, in our had town?

Christiana: -- You feel for your friends as my good Christian did for me when he left me, for it went to his heart to find that I would not see these things in the same light as he did. And now, you, I, and these dear boys, reap the fruits of all his woes. I hope, Mercy, these tears of yours will not be shed in vain, for He who could not lie, has said that they who sow in tears shall reap in joy.

Now when Christiana came up to the Slough Of Despond, she and her sons made a stand, and Christiana told them that this was the place in which her dear Christian fell. But Mercy said, Come, let us try; all we have to do is to keep the steps well in view. Yet Christiana made a slip or two in the mud; but at last they got through the slough, and then they heard a voice say to them: Blest is she who hath faith, for those things which were told her of the Lord shall come to pass.

So now they went on once more, and Mercy said, Had I as good grounds to hope to get in at the gate as you have, I think no Slough Of Despond would keep me back.

Well, said Christiana, you know your sore, and I know mine, and hard toil will it be for both of us to get to the end of the way; for how can we think that they who set out on a scheme of so much bliss, should steer clear of frights and fears on their way to that bright bourn which it is their aim to reach?

When they came to the gate, it took them some time to make out a plan of what they should say to Him who stood there; and as Mercy was not so old as her friend, she said that it must rest with Christiana to speak for all of them. So, she gave a knock, and then (like Christian) two more; but no one came.

Now they heard the fierce bark of a dog, which made them shake with fear, nor did they dare for a while to knock a third time, lest the dog should fly at them. So they were put to their wits' end to know what to do: to knock they did not dare, for fear of the dog; to go back they did not dare, lest He who kept the gate should see them as they went, and might not like it. At last they gave a knock four times as loud as the first.

Then He who stood at the gate said, Who is there? The dog was heard to bark no more, and the gate swung wide for them to come in.

Christiana sank on her knees, and said, Let not our Lord be wroth that we have made this loud noise at His gate.

At this He said: Whence come you, and what is it that you would have?

Quoth Christiana: We are come from the town whence Christian came, to beg to be let in at this gate, that we may go on our way to The Celestial City. I was once the wife of Christian, who now is in the land of bliss.

With that, He who kept the gate threw up His arms and said, What! is she on her road to The Celestial City who, but a short time since, did hate the life of that place?

Then Christiana bent her head, and said, Yes, and so are these, my dear sons. So He took her by the hand and led her in; and when her four sons had gone through, He shut the gate. This done, He said to a man hard by, Sound the horn for joy.

But now that Christiana was safe through the gate with her boys, she thought it time to speak a word for Mercy, so she said, My Lord, I have a friend who stands at the gate, who has come here with the same trust that I did; one whose heart is sad to think that she comes, it may be, when she is not sent for; while I had word from Christian's King to come.

The time did so lag with poor Mercy while she stood to be let in, that though it was but a short space, yet through fear and doubt did it seem to her like an hour at least; and Christiana could not say more for Mercy to Him who kept the gate for the knocks, which came so fast, and were at last so loud that they made Christiana start.

Then He said, Who is there?

Quoth Christiana: It is my friend.

So He threw back the gate to look out, but Mercy was in a swoon, from the fear that she should not be let in.

Then He took her by the hand and said, Fear not; stand firm on thy feet, and tell me whence thou art come, and for what end?

Mercy: -- I do not come as my friend Christiana does, for I was not sent for by the King, and I fear I am too bold. Yet if there is grace to share, I pray Thee let me share it.

Then He took her once more by the hand and led her in, and said, All may come in who put their trust in me, let the means be what they may that brought them here.

Then He told those that stood by to bring her some myrrh, and in a while she got well.

Now I saw in my dream that he spoke good words to Mercy, Christiana, and her boys, so as to make glad their hearts. And He took them up to the top of the gate, where He left them for a while, and Christiana said: Oh my dear friend, how glad am I that we have all got in!

Mercy: -- So you may well be; but most of all have I cause for joy.

Christiana: -- I thought at one time as I stood at the gate, and none came to me, that all our pains had been lost.

Mercy: -- But my worst fears came when I saw Him who kept the gate grant you your wish, and take no heed of me. And this brought to my mind the two who ground at the same mill, and how I was the one who was left; and I found it hard not to cry out, I am lost! I am lost!

Christiana: -- I thought you would have come in by rude force.

Mercy: -- Ah me! You saw that the door was shut on me, and that a fierce hound was not far off. Who, with so faint a heart as mine, would not give loud knocks with all her might? But, pray, what said my Lord at this rude noise? Was He not wroth with me?

Christiana: -- When He heard your loud thumps at the door He gave a smile; and to my mind, what you did would seem to please Him well. But it is hard to guess why He keeps such a dog. Had I known of it, I fear I should not have had the wish to come. But now we are in, we are safe; and I am glad with all my heart.

One of Christiana's boys said: Pray ask to have a chain put on the dog, for it will bite us when we go hence.

Then He who kept the gate came down to them once more, and Mercy fell with her face to the ground, and said, Oh, let me bless and praise the Lord with my lips!

So He said to her, Peace be to thee; stand up.

But she would not rise till she had heard from Him why He kept so fierce a dog in the yard. He told her He did not own the dog, but that it was shut up in the grounds of one who dwelt near. In truth, said He, it is kept from no good will to me or mine, but to cause those who come here to turn back from my gate by the sound of its voice. But hadst thou known more of me thou wouldst not have felt fear of a dog. The poor man who goes from door to door will, for the sake of alms, run the risk of a bite from a cur; and shall a dog keep thee from me?

Mercy: -- I spoke of what I knew not; but, Lord, I know that Thou dost all things well.

Then Christiana rose as if she would go on her way. So He fed them, and set them in the right path, as He had done to Christian. And as they went, Christiana sang a hymn: "We turn our tears to joy, and our fears to faith."

They had not gone far when they saw some fruit trees, the boughs of which hung from the top of a wall that was built around the grounds of him who kept the fierce hound, and at times those that came that way would eat them to their cost. So as they were ripe, Christiana's boys threw them down and ate some of them; though Christiana chid them for it, and said, That fruit is not ours. But she knew not then whose it was. Still the boys would eat of it.

Now when they had gone but a bow shot from the place, they saw two men, who with bold looks came fast down the hill to meet them. With that, Christiana and her friend Mercy, drew down their veils, and so kept on their way, and the boys went on first. Then the men came up to them, but Christiana said: Stand back, or go by in peace, as you should. Yet they took no more heed of her words than if they had been deaf.

Christiana, who did not like their looks, said, We are in haste, and can not stay; our work is a work of life and death. With that she and the rest made a fresh move to pass, but the men would not let them. So with one voice they all set up a loud cry. Now, as they were not far from the held gate, they were heard from that place, and some of those in the lodge came out in haste to catch these bad men; when they soon leapt the wall, and got safe to the grounds where the dog was kept.

Reliever: -- How was it that when you were at the gate you did not ask Him who stood there to take you on your way, and guard you from harm? Had you done so you would not have gone through these frights, for He would have been sure to grant you your wish.

Christiana: -- Ah, Sir, the joy we felt when we were let in, drove from our thoughts all fears to come. And how could we think that such had men could lurk in such a place as that? True, it would have been well for us if we had thought to ask Him; but since our Lord knew it would be for our good, how came it to pass that He did not send some one with us?

Reliever: -- You did not ask. When the want of a thing is felt, that which we wish for is worth all the more.

Christiana: -- Shall we go back to my Lord and tell Him we wish we had been more wise, and ask for a guard?

Reliever: -- Go back you need not, for in no place where you go will you find a want at all.

When he had said this he took his leave, and the rest went on their way.

Mercy: -- What a blank is here! I made sure we had been past all risk, and that we should see no more care.

Christiana: -- Your youth may plead for you, my friend, and screen you from blame; but as for me, my fault is so much the worse in so far as I knew what would take place ere I came out of my door. Mercy: -- But how could you know this ere you set out?

Christiana: -- Why, I will tell you. One night as I lay in bed, I had a dream, in which I saw the whole scene as it took place just now.

By this time Christiana, Mercy and the four boys had come to the house of Interpreter. Now when they drew near to the door they heard the sound of Christiana's name; for the news of her flight had made a great stir; but they knew not that she stood at the door. At last she gave a knock, as she had done at the gate, when there came to the door a young maid, Innocent by name.

Innocent: -- With whom would you speak in this place?

Christiana: -- As we heard that this is a place of rest for those that go by the way, we pray that we may be let in, for the day, as you see, is far spent, and we are loth to go on by night.

Innocent: -- Pray what is your name, that I may tell it to my Lord?

Christiana: -- My name is Christiana; I was the wife of Christian, who some time since came by this way, and these are his four sons.

Innocent then ran in and said to those there, Can you guess who is at the door? There are Christiana, her boys and her friend!

So they leapt for joy, and went to tell it to their Lord, who came to the door and said, Art thou that Christiana whom Christian left in the town of Destruction, when he set out for The Celestial City?

Christiana: -- I am she, and my heart was so hard as to slight his woes, and leave him to make his way as he could; and these are his four sons. But I, too, am come, for I feel sure that no way is right but this.

Interpreter: -- But why do you stand at the door? Come in; it was but just now that we spoke of you, for we heard that you were on your way. Come, my dear boys, come in; come, my sweet maid, come in. So he took them to the house, and bade them sit down and rest. All in the house wore a smile of joy to think that Christiana was on her way to The Celestial City, and they were glad to see the young ones walk in God's ways, and gave them a kind of clasp of the hand to show their good will. They said soft words, too, to Mercy, and bade them all be at their ease. To fill up the time till they could sup, Interpreter took them to see all those things that had been shown to Christian. This done, they were led to a room in which stood a man with a prong in his hand, who could look no way but down on the ground; and there stood one with a crown in his hand, which he said he would give him for his prong; yet the first man did not look up, but went on to rake the straws, dust, and stocks which lay on the floor.

Then said Christiana: I think I know what this means. It is a sketch of a man of this world, is it not, good Sir?

Interpreter: -- Thou art right, and his prong shows that his mind is of the earth, and that he thinks life in the next world is a mere song; take note that he does not so much as look up; and straws, sticks, and dust, with most, are the great things to live for.

At that Christiana and Mercy wept, and said, Ah, yes, it is too true!

Interpreter then took them to a room where were a hen and her chicks, and bade them look well at them for a while. So one of the chicks went to the trough to drink, and each time she drank would she lift up her head and her eyes to the sky.

See, said he, what this bird does, and learn of her to know whence all good comes, and to give to the Lord who dwells on high, the praise and thanks for it. Look once more, and see all the ways that the hen has with her young brood. There is her call that goes on all day long; and there is her call that comes but now and then; she has a third call to shield them with her wings; and her fourth is a loud cry, which she gives when she spies a foe. Now, said he, set her ways by the side of your King's, and the ways of these chicks by the side of those who love to do His will, and then you will see what I mean. For He has a way to walk in with His saints. By the call that comes all day He gives nought; by a call that is rare He is sure to have some good to give; then there is a call, too, for those that would come to His wings, which He spreads out to shield them; and He has a cry to warn men from those who might hurt their souls. I choose scenes from real life, as they are not too hard for you to grasp, when I fit them to your own case; and it is the love I have for your souls that prompts me to show you these things.

Christiana: -- Pray let us see some more.

Interpreter then took them to his field, which was sown with wheat and corn; but when they came to look, the ears were cut off, and there was nought but the straw left.

Interpreter: -- What shall we do with the crop?

Christiana: -- Burn some, and use the rest to dress the ground with.

Interpreter: -- Fruit, you see, is the thing you look for, and for want of that you cast off the whole crop. Take heed that in this you do not seal your own doom; for by fruit I mean works.

Now when they came back to the house the meal was not yet spread, so did Christiana beg of Interpreter to show or tell them some more things.

Interpreter: -- So much the more strong a man's health is, so much the more prone is he to sin. The more fat the sow is, the more she loves the mire. It is not so hard to sit up a night or two, as to watch for a whole year; just as it is not so hard to start well as it is to hold out to the end. One leak will sink a ship, and one sin will kill a man's soul. If a man would live well, let him keep his last day in mind.

Now when Christiana, Mercy and the boys bad all had a good night's rest, they rose with the sun, and made a move to leave; but Interpreter told them to wait a while. For, said he, you must go hence in due form, such is the rule of the house.

Then he told Innocent to take them to the bath, and there wash the dust from them. This done, they came forth fresh and strong, and as Interpreter said, Fair as the moon.

Next he told those near him to bring the seal, and when it was brought he set his mark on them that they might be known in each place where they went.

Then said Interpreter: Bring vests for them. And they were clad in robes as white as snow, so that it made each start to see the rest shine with so bright a light.

Interpreter then sent for one of his men whose name was Great-heart, and bade that he should be clad in a coat of mail, with sword and shield, and that he should take them to a house, the name of which was Beautiful, where they would rest.

Then Interpreter took his leave of them, with a good wish for each. So they went on their way, and thus they sang: -- 

"O move me, Lord, to watch and pray, From sin my heart to clear; To take my cross up day by day, And serve the Lord with fear."

They next came to the place where Christian's load had been lost in the tomb. Here they made a pause, and gave thanks to Him who laid down His life to save theirs. So now they went up the hill, which was so steep that the toil made Christiana pant for breath.

How can we doubt, said she, that they who love rest more than their souls would choose some way on which they could go with more ease than this?

Then Mercy said, Come what may, I must rest for a while.

And James, who was the least of the boys, gave way to tears.

Come, Come! said Great-heart, sit not down here; for there is a seat near us put there by the Prince. With this he took the young child by the hand, and led him to it; and they were all glad to sit down, and to be out of the heat of the sun's rays.

Then said Mercy: How sweet is rest to them that work! And how good is the Prince to place this seat here that such as we may rest! Of this spot I have heard much, but let us take heed that we sleep not, for that once cost poor Christian dear.

Then said Mr. Great-heart: Well, my brave boys, how do you do? What think you of this hill?

Sir, said James, this hill beats me out of heart! And I see now that what I have been told is true; the land of bliss is up steps; but still, Sir, it is worse to go down hill to death than up hill to life.

You are a good boy, said Great-heart.

At this Mercy could but smile, and it made James blush.

Christiana: -- Come, will you not drink of this flask, and eat some fruit, while we sit here to rest? For Mr. Interpreter put these in my hand as I came out of his door.

Now when they had sat there a while, their guide said to them: The day runs on, and if you think well of it, let us now go on our way.

So they all set out, the boys first, then the rest; but they had not gone far when Christiana found she had left the flask, so she sent James back to fetch it.

Mercy: -- I think this is the place where Christian lost his scroll. How was this, Sir?

Great-heart: -- We may trace it to two things; one is sleep, and one is that you cease to think of that which you cease to want; and when you lose sight of a boon you lose sight of Him who grants it, and the joy of it will end in tears.

By and by they came to a small mound with a post on it, where these words were cut, Let him who sees this post take heed of his heart and his tongue that they be not false. Then they went on till they came up to two large beasts of prey.

Now Great-heart was a strong man, so he had no fear; but their fierce looks made the boys start, and they all clung round Great-heart.

How now, my boys! You march on first, as brave as can be, when there is no cause for fear; but when a test of your strength comes, you shrink.

Now when Great-heart drew his sword to force a way, there came up one Giant Grim, who said in a gruff voice, What right have you to come here?

Great-heart: -- These folk are on their way to The Celestial City, and this is the road they shall go, in spite of thee and the wild beasts.

Grim: -- This is not their way, nor shall they go on it. I am come forth to stop them, and to that end will back the wild beasts.

Now, to say the truth, so fierce were these beasts, and so grim the looks of them that the road was grown with weeds and grass from want of use. And still Grim bade them turn, For, said he, you shall not pass.

But their guide came up, and struck so hard at him with his sword as to force him to fall back.

Giant Grim: -- Will you slay me on my own ground?

Great-heart: -- It is the King's high way on which we stand, and in His way it is that you have put these beasts. But these, who are in my charge, though weak, shall hold on in spite of all. And with that he dealt him a blow that brought him to the ground; so Giant Grim was slain.

Then Great-heart said, Come now with me, and you shall take no harm from the two beasts. So they went by, but shook from head to foot at the mere sight of their teeth and claws.

At length they came in sight of the lodge, to which they soon went up, but made the more haste to get there as it grew dusk. So when they were come to the gate the guide gave a knock, and the man at the lodge said in a loud voice, Who is there?

Great-heart: -- It is I

Mr. Watchful: -- How now, Mr. Great-heart? What has brought you here at so late an hour? Then Great-heart told him that he had come with some friends on their way to Zion.

Mr. Watchful: -- Will you go in and stay till the day dawns?

Great-heart: -- No, I will go back to my Lord to night.

Christiana: -- Ah, Sir, I know not how we can part with you, for it is to your stout heart that we owe our lives. You have fought for us, you have taught us what is right, and your faith and your love have known no bounds.

Mercy: -- O that we could have you for our guide all the rest of the way! For how can such weak folk as we are hold out in a path fraught with toils and snares, if we have no friends to take us?

James: -- Pray, Sir, keep with us and help us, when the way we go is so hard to find.

Great-heart: -- As my Lord wills, so must I do; if He send me to join you once more, I shall be glad to wait on you. But it was here that you were in fault at first, for when He bade me come thus far with you, if you had said, We beg of you to let him go quite through with us, He would have let me do so. But now I must go back; and so good Christiana, Mercy and my dear boys, fare ye all well.

Then did Watchful, who kept the lodge, ask Christiana whence she had come and who her friends were.

Christiana: -- I come from The City of Destruction, and I was the wife of one Christian, who is dead.

Then Watchful rang the hell, as at such times he is wont, and there came to the door a maid, to whom he said: Go, make it known that Christiana, the wife of Christian, and her four boys are come on their way to The Celestial City..

So she went in and told all this. And, oh, what shouts of joy were sent forth when those words fell from her mouth! So all came with haste to Watchful; for Christiana still stood at the door.

Some of the most grave said to her, Christiana, come in, thou wife of that good man, come in, thou blest one, come in, with all that are with thee.

So she went in, and the rest with her. They then bade them sit down in a large room, where the chief of the house came to see them and to cheer his guests. Then he gave each of them a kiss. But as it was late, and Christiana and the rest were faint with the great fright they had had, they would fain have gone to rest.

Nay, said those of the house, take first some meat; for as Watchful had heard that they were on their way, a lamb had been slain for them When the meal had come to an end, and they had sung a psalm, Christiana said, If we may be so bold as to choose, let us be in that room which was Christian's when he was here.

So they took them there, but ere she went to sleep, Christiana said, I did not think when my poor Christian set off with his load on his back that I should do the same thing.

Mercy: -- No, nor did you think then that you should rest in the same room as he had done.

Christiana: -- And less still to see his dear face once more who was dead and gone, and to praise the Lord the King with him; and yet now I think I shall.

Mercy: -- Do you not hear a noise?

Christiana: -- Hark! as far as I can make out, the sounds we hear come from the lute, the pipe, and the horn.

Mercy: -- Sweet sounds in the house, sweet sounds in the air, sweet sounds in the heart, for joy that we are here.

Thus did Christiana and Mercy chat, and they, then slept.

Now at dawn when they woke up, Christiana said to Mercy: What was it that made you laugh in your sleep last night? Were you in a dream?

Mercy: -- Yes, and a sweet dream it was. But are you sure that I did laugh?

Christiana: -- Yes, you gave a laugh as if from your heart of hearts. Do pray, Mercy, tell it to me.

Mercy: -- I dreamt that I lay in some lone wood to weep and wail, for that my heart should be so hard a one. Now I had not been there long when I thought there were some who had come to hear me speak in my sleep; but I went on with my moans. At this they said with a laugh that I was a fool. Then I saw a Bright One with wings come up to me, who said, Mercy, what ails you? And when he heard the cause Of my grief, he said, Peace be to thee. He then came up to wipe off my tears and had me clad in robes of gold, and put a chain on my neck, and a crown on my head. Then he took me by the hand and said, Mercy, come this way. So he went up with me till we came to a gate, at which he gave a knock and then he took me to a throne on which one sat. The place was as bright as the stars, nay more like the sun. And I thought that I saw Christian there. So I woke from my dream. But did I laugh?

Christiana: -- Laugh! Yes, and so you might, to see how well off you were! For you must give me leave to tell you, that as you find the first part true, so you will find true the last.

Mercy: -- Well, I am glad of my dream, for I hope ere long to see it come to pass, so as to make me laugh once more.

Christiana: -- I think it is now high time to rise, and to know what we must do.

Mercy: -- Pray, if they should ask us to stay, let us by all means do so; for I should much like to know more of these maids. I think Prudence, Piety, and Charity have, each of them, a most choice mien.

Christiana: -- We shall see what they will do.

So they came down.

Then Prudence and Piety: If you will stay, here you shall have what the house will yield.

Charity: -- Yes, and that with a good will.

So they were there some time, much to their good.

Prudence: -- Christiana, I give you all praise, for you have brought your boys up well. With James I have had a long chat; he is a good boy, and has learnt much that will bring peace to his mind, while he lives on this earth, and in the world to come it will cause him to see the face of Him who sits on the throne. For my own part, I will teach all your sons. At the same time, said she to them: You must still give heed to all that Christiana can teach you, but more than all, you must read the Book of God's Word, which sent your dear sire on his way to the land of bliss.

By the time that Christiana and the rest had been in this place a week, a man, Mr. Brisk by name, came to woo Mercy, with the wish to wed her. Now Mercy was fair to look on and her mind was at all times set on work and the care of those round her. She would knit hose for the poor, and give to all those things of which they stood in need.

She will make me a good house wife, thought Brisk.

Mercy one day said to those of the house: Will you tell me what you think of Mr. Brisk?

They then told her that the young man would seem to have a great sense of the love of God, but that they had fears it did not reach his soul, which they thought did cleave too much to this world.

Nay then, said Mercy, I will look no more on him, for I will not have a clog to my soul.

Prudence: -- If you go on as you have set out, and work so hard for the poor, he will soon cool.

So the next time he came, he found her at her work.

What, still at it? said he.

Mercy: -- Yes.

Mr. Brisk: -- How much can you earn in the day.

Mercy: -- I work at these things for the good of those for whom I do them; and more than this, to do the will of Him who was slain on the cross for me.

With that his face fell, and he came no more to see her.

Prudence: -- Did I not tell you that Mr. Brisk would soon flee from you? Yea, he may seem to love Mercy, but Mercy and he should not tread the same road of life side by side.

Now Matthew, the son of Christiana, fell sick, so they sent to Mr. Skill to cure him. Then said he: Tell me what he eats.

Christiana: -- Well, there is no food here but what is good.

Mr. Skill: -- This boy has in him a crude mass of food, which if I do not use the means to get rid of, he will die.

Samuel said to Christiana, What was it that you saw Matthew pick up and eat when we came from the gate which is at the head of this way?

Christiana: -- It was some of the fruit that grows there; I chid him for it.

Skill: -- I felt sure that it was some bad food; now that fruit hurts more than all, for it is the fruit from Beelzebub's grounds. Did no one warn you of it? Some fall down dead when they eat it.

Then Christiana wept and said, What shall I do for my son? Pray, Sir, try your best to cure him, let it cost what it may.

Then Skill gave strange drugs to him, which he would not take. So Christiana put one of them to the tip of her tongue. Oh, Matthew, said she, it is sweet, sweet as balm; if you love me, if you love Mercy, if you love your life, do take it!

So in time he did, and felt grief for his sin. He quite lost the pain, so that with a staff he could walk, and went from room to room to talk with Mercy, Prudence, Piety and Charity.

Christiana: -- Pray, Sir, what else are these Pills good for?

Skill: -- They are good for all those that go on their way to The Celestial City.

Christiana: -- I pray of you to make me up a large box full of them, for if I can get these, I will take none else.

Skill: -- I make no doubt that if a man will but use them as he should, he could not die. But good Christiana, these pills will be of no use if you do not give them as I have done, and that is, in a glass of grief for the sins of those who take them. So he gave some to Christiana and the rest of her boys, and to Mercy; he bade Matthew, too, keep a good look out that he ate no more green plums; then he gave them a kiss, and went his way.

Now, as they had spent some time here, they made a move to go. Then Joseph, who was Christiana's third, son, said to her: You were to send to the house of Mr. Interpreter to beg him to grant that Mr. Great-heart should go with us as our guide.

Good boy! said Christiana, I had not thought of it.

So she wrote a note, and Interpreter said to the man who brought it: Go, tell them that I will send him.

Great-heart soon came, and he said to Christiana and Mercy, My Lord has sent you some wine and burnt corn, and to the boys figs and dry grapes.

They then set off, and Prudence and Piety went with them. But first Christiana took leave of Watchful, who kept the gate, and put a small coin in his hand while she gave him her thanks for all that he had done for her and her dear boys. She then said to him, Have you seen men go by since we have been here?

Watchful: -- Yes, I have, and there has been a great theft on this high way; but the thieves were caught.

Then Christiana and Mercy said they felt great fear to go on that road.

Matthew: -- Fear not, as long as we have Mr. Great-heart with us to guide us.

I now saw in my dream that they went on till they came to the brow of the hill, when Piety said: O, I must go back to fetch that which I meant to give to Christiana and Mercy, and it was a list of all those things which they had seen at the house where we live. On these, said she, I beg of you to look from time to time, and call them to mind for your good.

They now went down the hill to the Vale of Humiliation. It was a steep hill, and their feet slid as they went on; but they took great care, and when they had got to the foot of it, Piety said to Christiana: This is the vale where Christian met with Apollyon and where they had that fierce fight which I know you must have heard of. But be of good cheer, as long as we have Mr. Great-heart to guide us, there is nought here that will hurt us, save those sights that spring from our own fears. And as to Apollyon, the good folk of the town, who tell us that such a thing fell out in such a place, to the hurt of such a one, think that some foul fiend haunts that place, when lo! it is from the fruit of their own ill deeds that such things do fall on them. For they that make slips must look for frights. And hence it is that this vale has so bad a name.

James: -- See, there is a post with words on it, I will go and read them.

So he went, and found that these words were cut on it: Let the slips which Christian met with ere he came here, and the fights he had in this place, warn all those who come to the Vale of Humiliation.

Mr. Great-heart: -- It is not so hard to go up as down this hill, and that can be said of but few hills in this part of the world. But we will leave the good man, he is at rest, and he had a brave fight with the foe; let Him who dwells on high grant that we fare no worse when our strength comes to be put to the test. This vale brings forth much fruit.

Now, as they went on, they met a boy who was clad in mean clothes and kept watch on some sheep. He had a fine fresh face, and as he sat on the bank he sang a song.

Hark, said Great-heart, to the words of that boy's song.

So they gave ear to it.

"He that is down need fear no fall, He that is low, no pride, He that is meek at all times shall Have God to be his guide."

Then said Great-heart: Do you hear him? I dare say this boy leads as gay a life as he that is clad in silk, and that he wears more of that plant which they call heart's ease.

Samuel: -- Ask Great-heart in what part of this vale it was that Apollyon came to fight Christian?

Great-heart: -- The fight took place at that part of the plain which has the name of Forgetful Green. And if those who go on their way, meet with a shock, it is when they lose sight of the good which they have at the hand of Him who dwells on high.

Mercy: -- I think I feel as well in this place as I have done in all the rest of our way. This vale has a sweet grace, and just suits my mind; for I love to be in such a spot as this, where there are no coach wheels to make a din. Here one may think a while what he is, whence he came, and for what the King has made him; here one may muse and pray.

Just then they thought that the ground they trod on shook. But the guide bade them be of good cheer, and look well to their feet, lest by chance they should meet with some snare.

Then James felt sick, but I think the cause of it was fear, and Christiana gave him some of the wine which Mr. Interpreter had put in her hands, and three of the pills which Mr. Skill had made up, and the boy soon got well.

They then went on a while, and Christiana said, What is that thing on the road? A thing of such a shape I have not seen in all my life!

Joseph said, What is it?

A vile thing, child, a vile thing! said she.

Joseph: -- But what is it like?

Christiana: -- It is like -- I can't tell what. Just then it was far off, now it is nigh.

Great-heart: -- Well, let them that have the most fear keep close to me.

Then it went out of sight of all of them.

But they had not gone far when Mercy cast a look back, and saw a great beast come fast up to them with a loud roar.

This noise made them all quail with fright save their guide, who fell back and put the rest in front of him. But when the brute saw that Great-heart meant to fight him, he drew back and was seen no more.

Now they had not left the spot long when a great mist fell on them, so that they could not see.

What shall we do? said they.

Their guide told them not to fear, but to stand still, and see what an end he would put to this too.

Then said Christiana to Mercy: Now I see what my poor dear Christian went through; I have heard much of this place. Poor man, he went here in the dead of the night, and no one with him; but who can tell what the Valley of the Shadow of Death should mean, till they come to see it? To be here fills my breast with awe!

Great-heart: It seems now as if the earth and its bars were round us. I would not boast, but I trust we shall still make our way. Come, let us pray for light to Him that can give it.

So did they weep and pray. And as the path was now more smooth, they went straight on.

Mercy: -- To be here is not so sweet as it was at The Gate, or at Mr. Interpreter's, or at the good house where we were last.

Oh, said one of the boys, it is not so bad to go through this place as it is to dwell here for all time; for aught I know we have to go this way that our last home may seem to us the more blest.

Great-heart: -- Well said, Samuel; thou dost now speak like a man.

Samuel: -- Why, if I do in truth get out of this place, I think I shall prize that which is light and good more than I have done all my life.

Great-heart: -- We shall be out by and by.

So on they went.

Joseph: -- Can we not see to the end of this vale yet?

Great-heart: -- Look to your feet, for you will soon be where the snares are.

So they took good heed.

Great-heart: -- Men come here and bring no guide with them; hence it is they die from the snares they meet with in the way. Poor Christian! it is strange he should have got out of this place, and been safe. But God dwelt in his soul, and he had a stout heart, of his own, or else he could not have done it.

Christiana: -- I wish that there were some inn here where we could all take rest.

I Well, said Mr. Honest -- one whom they had just met -- there is such a place not far off.

So there they went, and the host, whose name was Gaius, said: Come in, for my house was built for none but such as you.

Great-heart: -- Good Gaius, let us sup. What have you for us to eat? We have gone through great toils, and stand much in want of food.

Gaius: -- It is too late for us to go out and seek food; but of such as we have you shall eat.

The meal was then spread, and near the end of the feast all sat round the board to crack nuts, when old Honest said to Gaius, Tell me what this verse means:

A man there was, and some did count him mad; The more that this man gave the more he had.

Then all the youths gave a guess as to what Gaius would say to it; so he sat still a while, and then said:

He that gives his goods to the poor, Shall have as much and ten times more.

Joseph: -- I did not think, Sir, that you would have found it out.

Gaius: -- Ah! I have learnt of my Lord to be kind, and I find I gain by it.

Then Samuel said in a low tone to Christiana, This is a good man's house; let us make a long stay, and why should not Matthew wed Mercy here?

When Gaius heard him say this, quoth he: With all my heart. And he gave Mercy to Matthew to wife.

By this time Christiana's son James had come of age, and Gaius gave Phebe (who was his child) to be his wife. They spent ten days at the house of Gaius, and then took their leave. But on the last day he made them a feast, of which they all ate and drank.

Great-heart: -- Now, Gaius, the hour has come that we must be gone; so tell me what I owe you for this long stay at your inn, for we have been here some years.

Gaius: -- At my house no one pays; for the good Samaritan told me that I was to look to him for all the cost I was put to. They now took leave of him and went on their way, when they met with all kinds of frights and fears, till they came to a place which bore the name of Vanity Fair. There they went to the house of Mr. Mnason, who said to his guests: If there be a thing that you stand in need of, do but say so, and we will do what we can to get it for you.

Well, then, said they, we should like much to see some of the good folk in this town.

So Mnason gave a stamp with his foot, at which Grace came up, and he sent her to fetch some of his friends who were in the house, and they all sat down to a meal.

Then said Mr. Mnason, as he held out his hand to point to Christiana: My friends, I have guests here who are on their way to Zion. But who do you think this is? This is the wife of Christian whom (with his friend Faithful) the men of this town did treat so ill.

Well, said they, go who would have thought to meet Christiana at this place! May The King whom you love and serve bring you where He is, in peace!

They then told her that the blood of Faithful had lain like a load on their hearts; and that since, they had burnt him no more men had been sent to the Stake at Vanity Fair. In those days, said they, good men could not walk the streets, but now they can show their heads.

Christiana and her sons and Mercy made this place their home for some years, and in course of time Mr. Mnason, who had a wife and two girls, gave his first born, whose name was Grace, to Samuel to wife, and Martha to Joseph.

Now, one day, a huge snake came out of the woods and slew some of the folk of the town. None of these were so bold as to dare to face him, but all fled when they heard that he came near, for he took off the babes by scores.

But Great-heart and the rest of the men who were at Mr. Mnason's house, made up their minds to kill this snake, and so rid the town of him. So they went forth to meet him, and at first the snake did not seem to heed them; but as they were strong men at arms, they drove him back. Then they lay in wait for him, and fell on him, till at last they knew he must die of his wounds. By this deed Mr. Great-heart and the rest won the good will of the whole town.

The time now drew near for them to go on their way. Mr. Great-heart went first as their guide; and I saw in my dream that they came to the stream on this side of The Delectable Mountains, where fine trees grew on each bank, the leaves of which were good for the health, and the fields were green all the year round; and here they might lie down and be safe. Here, too, there were folds for sheep, and a house was built in which to rear the lambs, and there was One who kept watch on them, who would take them in His arms and lay them in His breast.

Now Christiana bade the four young wives place their babes by the side of this stream, so that they might lack nought in time to come. For, said she, if they should stray or be lost, He will bring them back; He will give strength, to the sick, and here they shall not want meat, drink, or clothes. So they left their young ones to Him.

When they went to By-Path Meadow they sat on the stile to which Christian had gone with Hopeful, when Giant Despair shut the two up in Doubting Castle. They sat down to think what would be the best thing to do, now that they were so strong a force, and had such a man as Mr. Great-heart to guide them; to wit, if it would not be well to pull down Doubting Castle, and should there be poor souls shut up there who were on their way to The Celestial City, to set them free. One said this thing and one said that; at last quoth Mr. Great-heart: We are told in the book of God's Word, that we are to fight the good fight. And, I pray, with whom should we fight if not with Giant Despair? So who will go with me?

Christiana's four sons said: We will; for they were young and strong; so they left their wives and went.

When they gave their knock at the gate, Giant Despair and his wife Diffidence, came to them.

Giant Despair: -- Who and what is he that is so bold as to come to the gate of Giant Despair?

Great-heart: -- It is I, a guide to those who are on their way to Zion. And I charge thee to throw wide thy gates and stand forth, for I am come to slay thee and pull down thy house.

Giant Despair: -- What, shall such as Great-heart make me fear? No!

So he put a cap of steel on his head, and with a breast plate of fire, and a club in his hand, he came out to fight his foes.

Then these six men made up to him, and they fought for their lives, till Despair was brought to the ground and put to death by Great-heart. Next they fell on his house, but it took six days to pull it down. They found there Mr. Despondency and one Much-afraid, his child, and set them free.

Then they all went onto The Delectable Mountains. They made friends with the men that kept watch on their flocks, who were as kind to them as they had been to Christian and Hopeful.

You have brought a good train with you, said they. Pray, where did you find them?

So their guide told them how it had come to pass.

By and by they got to The Enchanted Ground, where the air makes men sleep. Now they had not gone far, when a thick mist fell on them, so that for a while they could not see; and as they could not walk by sight, they kept near their guide by the help of words. But one fell in a bush, while one stuck fast in the mud, and some of the young ones lost their shoes in the mire. Oh, I am down! said one. Where are you? cried the next; while a third said, I am held fast in the bush!

Then they came to a bench, Slothful's Friend by name, which had shrubs and plants round it, to screen those who sat there from the sun. But Christiana and the rest gave such good heed to what their guide told them, that though they were worn out with toil, yet there was not one of them that had so much as a wish to stop there; for they knew that it would be death to sleep but for a short time on The Enchanted Ground.

Now as it was still dark, their guide struck a light that he might look at his map (the book of God's Word); and had he not done so, they would all have been lost, for just at the end of the road was a pit, full of mud, and no one can tell how deep.

Then thought I: Who is there but would have one of these maps or books in which he may look when he is in doubt, and knows not which way he should take?

They soon came to a bench, on which sat two men, Heedless and Too-bold; and Christiana and the rest shook their heads for they saw that these men were in a bad case. They knew not what they ought to do: to go on and leave them in their sleep, or to try to wake them. Now the guide spoke to them by name; but not a sound could he hear from their lips. So Great-heart at last shook them, and did all he could to wake them.

One of the two, whose name was Heedless, said, Nay: I will pay you when I get in my debts.

At this the guide shook his head.

Then Too-bold spoke out: I will fight as long as I can hold my sword.

When he had said this all who stood round gave a laugh.

Christiana: -- 'What does this mean?

Great-heart: -- They talk in their sleep. If you strike or shake them, they will still talk in the same way, for their sleep is like that of the man on the mast of a ship, when the waves of the sea beat on him.

Then did Christiana, Mercy and their train go on with fear, and they sought from their guide a light for the rest of the way.

But as the poor babes' cries were loud for want of rest, all fell on their knees to pray for help. And, by the time that they had gone but a short way, a wind sprang up which drove off the fog; so, now that the air was clear, they made their way.

Then they came to the land of Beulah, where the sun shines night and day. Here they took some rest, and ate of the fruit that hung from the boughs round them. But all the sleep that they could wish for in such a land as this was but for a short space of time; for the bells rang to such sweet tunes, and such a blaze of lights burst on their eyes, that they soon rose to walk to and fro on this bright way, where no base feet dare to tread.

And now they heard shouts rise up, for there was a noise in the town that a post was come from The Celestial City with words of great joy for Christiana, the wife of Christian. So search was made for her, and the house was found in which she was.

Then the post put a note in her hands, the words of which were: Hail, good Christiana! I bring thee word that the Lord calls for thee, to stand near His throne in robes of white, in ten days' time.

When he who brought the note had read it to her, he gave her a sign that they were words of truth and love, and said he had come to bid her make haste to be gone. The sign was a shaft with a sharp point, which was to tell her, that at the time the note spoke of, she must die.

Christiana heard with joy that her toils would so soon he at an end, and that she should once more live with her dear Christian.

She then sent for her sons and their wives to come to her. To these she gave words of good cheer. She told them how glad she was to have them near her at such a time. She sought, too, to make her own death, now close at hand, of use to them, from this time up to the hour when they should each of them have to quit this world. Her hope was that it might help guide them on their path; that the Faith which she had taught them to cling to, would have sunk deep in their hearts; and that all their works should spring from love to God. She could but pray that they would bear these words in mind, and put their whole trust in Him who had borne their sins on the Cross, and had been slain to save them.

When the day came that she must go forth to the world of love and truth, the road was full of those who would fain see her start on her way; and the last words that she was heard to say were: I come, Lord, to be with Thee.

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The Adventures Of Jerry Muskrat

By

Thornton W. Burgess



CHAPTER I: Jerry Muskrat Has A Fright

What was it Mother Muskrat had said about Farmer Brown's boy and his traps? Jerry Muskrat sat on the edge of the Big Rock and kicked his heels while he tried to remember. The fact is, Jerry had not half heeded. He had been thinking of other things. Besides, it seemed to him that Mother Muskrat was altogether foolish about a great many things.

"Pooh!" said Jerry, throwing out his chest, "I guess I can take care of myself without being tied to my mother's apron strings! What if Farmer Brown's boy is setting traps around the Smiling Pool? I guess he can't fool your Uncle Jerry. He isn't so smart as he thinks he is; I can fool him any day." Jerry chuckled. He was thinking of how he had once fooled Farmer Brown's boy into thinking a big trout was on his hook.

Slowly Jerry slid into the Smiling Pool and swam over towards his favorite log. Peter Rabbit stuck his head over the edge of the bank. "Hi, Jerry," he shouted, "last night I saw Farmer Brown's boy coming over this way with a lot of traps. Better watch out!"

"Go chase yourself, Peter Rabbit. I guess I can look out for myself," replied Jerry, just a little crossly.

Peter made a wry face and started for the sweet clover patch. Hardly was he out of sight when Billy Mink and Bobby Coon came down the Laughing Brook together. They seemed very much excited. When they saw Jerry Muskrat, they beckoned for him to come over where they were, and when he got there, they both talked at once, and it was all about Farmer Brown's boy and his traps.

"You'd better watch out, Jerry," warned Billy Mink, who is a great traveler and has had wide experience.

"Oh, I guess I'm able to take care of myself," said Jerry airily, and once more started for his favorite log. And what do you suppose he was thinking about as he swam along? He was wishing that he knew what a trap looked like, for despite his boasting he didn't even know what he was to look out for. As he drew near his favorite log, something tickled his nose. He stopped swimming to sniff and sniff. My, how good it did smell! And it seemed to come right straight from the old log. Jerry began to swim as fast as he could. In a few minutes he scrambled out on the old log. Then Jerry rubbed his eyes three times to be sure that he saw aright. There were luscious pieces of carrot lying right in front of him.

Now there is nothing that Jerry Muskrat likes better than carrot. So he didn't stop to wonder how it got there. He just reached out for the nearest piece and ate it. Then he reached for the next piece and ate it. Then he did a funny little dance just for joy. When he was quite out of breath, he sat down to rest. Snap! Something had Jerry Muskrat by the tail! Jerry squealed with fright and pain. Oh, how it did hurt! He twisted and turned, but he was held fast and could not see what had him. Then he pulled and pulled, until it seemed as if his tail would pull off. But it didn't. So he kept pulling, and pretty soon the thing let go so suddenly that Jerry tumbled head first into the water.

When he reached home, Mother Muskrat did his sore tail up for him. "What did I tell you about traps?" she asked severely.

Jerry stopped crying. "Was that a trap?" he asked. Then he remembered that in his fright he didn't even see it. "Oh, dear," he moaned, "I wouldn't know one to-day if I met it."



CHAPTER II: The Convention At The Big Rock

Jolly round, red Mr. Sun looked down on the Smiling Pool. He almost forgot to keep on climbing up in the blue sky, he was so interested in what he saw there. What do you think it was? Why, it was a convention at the Big Rock, the queerest convention he ever had seen. Your papa would say that it was a mass-meeting of angry citizens. Maybe it was, but that is a pretty long term. Anyway, Mother Muskrat said it was a convention, and she ought to know, for she is the one who had called it.

Of course Jerry Muskrat was there, and his uncles and aunts and all his cousins. Billy Mink was there, and all his relations, even old Grandfather Mink, who has lost most of his teeth and is a little hard of hearing.

Little Joe Otter was there, with his father and mother and all his relations even to his third cousins. Bobby Coon was there, and he had brought with him every Coon of his acquaintance who ever fished in the Smiling Pool or along the Laughing Brook. And everybody was looking very solemn, very solemn indeed.

When the last one had arrived, Mother Muskrat climbed up on the Big Rock and called Jerry Muskrat up beside her, where all could see him. Then she made a speech. "Friends of the Smiling Pool and Laughing Brook," began Mrs. Muskrat, "I have called you together to show you what has happened to my son Jerry and to ask your advice." She stopped and pointed to Jerry's sore tail. "What do you think did that?" she demanded.

"Probably Jerry's been in a fight and got whipped," said Bobby Coon to his neighbor, for Bobby Coon is a graceless young scamp and does not always show proper respect to his neighbors.

Mrs. Muskrat glared at him, for she had overheard the remark. Then she held up one hand to command silence. "Friends, it was a trap -- a trap set by Farmer Brown's boy! a trap to catch you and me and our children!" said she solemnly. "It is no longer safe for our little folks to play around the Smiling Pool or along the Laughing Brook. What are we going to do about it?"

Everybody looked at everybody else in dismay. Then everybody began to talk at once, and if Farmer Brown's boy could have heard all the things said about him, his cheeks certainly would have burned. Indeed, I am afraid that they would have blistered. Such excitement! Everybody had a different idea, and nobody would listen to anybody else. Old Mr. Mink lost his temper and called Grandpa Otter a meddlesome know-nothing. It looked very much as if the convention was going to break up in a sad quarrel. Then Mr. Coon climbed up on the Big Rock and with a stick pounded for silence.

"I move," said he, "that in as much as we cannot agree, we tell Great-Grandfather Frog all about the danger and ask his advice, for he is very old and very wise and remembers when the world was young. All in favor please raise their right hands."

At once the air was full of hands, and everybody was good-natured once more. So it was agreed to call in Great-Grandfather Frog.



CHAPTER III: The Oracle Of The Smiling Pool

Grandfather Frog sat on his big green lily-pad with his eyes half closed, for all the world as if he knew nothing about the meeting at the Big Rock. Of course he did know, for there isn't much going on around the Smiling Pool which he doesn't see or at least hear all about. The Merry Little Breezes, who are here, there, and everywhere, told him all that was going on, so that when he saw Jerry Muskrat and Little Joe Otter swimming towards him, he knew what they were coming for. But he pretended to be very much surprised when Jerry Muskrat very politely said: "Good morning, Grandfather Frog."

"Good morning, Jerry Muskrat. You're out early this morning," replied Grandfather Frog.

"If you please, you are wanted over at the Big Rock," said Jerry.

Grandfather Frog's eyes twinkled, but he made his voice very deep and gruff as he replied: "Chugarum! You're a scamp, Jerry Muskrat, and Little Joe Otter is another. What trick are you trying to play on me now?"

Jerry Muskrat and Little Joe Otter looked a wee bit sheepish, for it was true that they were forever trying to play tricks on Grandfather Frog. "Really and truly, Grandfather Frog, there isn't any trick this time," said Jerry. "There is a meeting at the Big Rock to try to decide what to do to keep Farmer Brown's boy from setting traps around the Smiling Pool and along the Laughing Brook, and everybody wants your advice, because you are so old and so wise. Please come."

Grandfather Frog smoothed down his white and yellow waistcoat and pretended to think the matter over very seriously, while Jerry and Little Joe fidgeted impatiently. Finally he spoke.

"I am very old, as you have said, Jerry Muskrat, and it is a long way over to the Big Rock."

"Get right on my back and I'll take you over there," said Jerry eagerly.

"I'm afraid that you'll spill me off," replied Grandfather Frog.

"No, I won't; just try me and see," begged Jerry.

So Grandfather Frog climbed on Jerry Muskrat's back, and Jerry started for the Big Rock as fast as he could go. When all the Minks and the Otters and the Coons and the Muskrats saw them coming, they gave a great shout, for Grandfather Frog is sometimes called the oracle of the Smiling Pool. You know an oracle is one who is very wise.

Bobby Coon helped Grandfather Frog up on the Big Rock, and when he had made himself comfortable, Mrs. Muskrat told him all about Farmer Brown's boy and his traps, and how Jerry had been caught in one by the tail, and she ended by asking for his advice, because they all knew that he was so wise.

When she said this, Grandfather Frog puffed himself up until it seemed as if his white and yellow waistcoat would surely burst. He sat very still for a while and gazed straight at jolly, round, red Mr. Sun without blinking once. Then he spoke in a very deep voice.

"To-morrow morning at sunrise I will tell you what to do," said he. And not another word could they get out of him.



CHAPTER IV: Grandfather Frog's Plan

Just as Old Mother West Wind and her Merry Little Breezes came down from the Purple Hills, and jolly, round, red Mr. Sun threw his nightcap off and began his daily climb up in the blue sky, Great-Grandfather Frog climbed up on the Big Rock in the Smiling Pool. Early as he was, all the little people who live along the Laughing Brook and around the Smiling Pool were waiting for him. Bobby Coon had found two traps set by Farmer Brown's boy, and Billy Mink had almost stepped in a third. No one felt safe any more, yet no one knew what to do. So they all waited for the advice of Great-Grandfather Frog, who, you know, is accounted very, very wise.

Grandfather Frog cleared his throat. "Chugarum!" said he. "You must find all the traps that Farmer Brown's boy has set."

"How are we going to do it?" asked Bobby Coon.

"By looking for them," replied Grandfather Frog tartly.

Bobby Coon looked foolish and slipped out of sight behind his mother.

"All the Coons and all the Minks must search along the banks of the Laughing Brook, and all the Muskrats and all the Otters must search along the banks of the Smiling Pool. You must use your eyes and your noses. When you find things good to eat where you have never found them before, watch out! When you get the first whiff of the man-smell, watch out! Billy Mink, you are small and quick, and your eyes are sharp. You sit here on the Big Rock until you see Farmer Brown's boy coming. Then go hide in the bulrushes where you can watch him, but where he cannot see you. Follow him everywhere he goes around the Smiling Pool or along the Laughing Brook. Without knowing it, he will show you where every trap is hidden.

"When all the traps have been found, drop a stick or a stone in each. That will spring them, and then they will be harmless. Then you can bury them deep in the mud. But don't eat any of the food until you have sprung all of the traps, for just as likely as not you will get caught. When all the traps have been sprung, why not bring all the good things to eat which you find around them to the Big Rock and have a grand feast?"

"Hurrah for Grandfather Frog! That's a great idea!" shouted Little Joe Otter, turning a somersault in the water.

Every one agreed with Little Joe Otter, and immediately they began to plan a grand hunt for the traps of Farmer Brown's boy. The Muskrats and the Otters started to search the banks of the Smiling Pool, and the Coons and the Minks, all but Billy, started for the Laughing Brook. Billy climbed up on the Big Rock to watch, and Grandfather Frog slowly swam back to his big green lily-pad to wait for some foolish green flies for his breakfast.



CHAPTER V: A Busy Day At The Smiling Pool

Everybody was excited. Yes, Sir, everybody in the Smiling Pool and along the Laughing Brook was just bubbling over with excitement. Even Spotty the Turtle, who usually takes everything so calmly that some people think him stupid, climbed up on the highest point of an old log where he could see what was going on. Only Grandfather Frog, sitting on his big green lily-pad and watching for foolish green flies for his breakfast, appeared not to know that something unusual was going on. Really, he was just as much excited as the rest, but because he is very old and accounted very, very wise, it would not do for him to show it.

What was it all about? Why, all the Minks and the Coons and the Otters and the Muskrats, who live and play around the Smiling Pool and the Laughing Brook, were hunting for traps. Yes, Sir, they were hunting for traps set by Farmer Brown's boy, just as Grandfather Frog had advised them to.

Jerry Muskrat and Little Joe Otter were hunting together. They were swimming along close to shore just where the Laughing Brook leaves the Smiling Pool, when Jerry wrinkled up his funny little nose and stopped swimming. Sniff, sniff, sniff, went Jerry Muskrat. Then little cold shivers ran down his backbone and way out to the tip of his tail.

"What is it?" asked Little Joe Otter.

"It's the man-smell," whispered Jerry.

Just then Little Joe Otter gave a long sniff. "My, I smell fish!" he cried, his eyes sparkling, and started in the direction from which the smell came. He swam faster than Jerry, and in a minute he shouted in delight.

"Hi, Jerry! Some one's left a fish on the edge of the bank: What a feast!"

Jerry hurried as fast as he could swim, his eyes popping out with fright, for the nearer he got, the stronger grew that dreadful man-smell. "Don't touch it," he panted. "Don't touch it, Joe Otter!"

Little Joe laughed. "What's the matter, Jerry? 'Fraid I'll eat it all up before you get here?" he asked, as he reached out for the fish.

"Stop!" shrieked Jerry, and gave Little Joe a push, just as the latter touched the fish.

Snap! A pair of wicked steel jaws flew together and caught Little Joe Otter by a claw of one toe. If it hadn't been for Jerry's push, he would have been caught by a foot.

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" cried Little Joe Otter.

"Next time I guess you'll remember what Grandfather Frog said about watching out when you find things to eat where they never were before," said Jerry, as he helped Little Joe pull himself free from the trap. But he left the claw behind and had a dreadfully sore toe as a result. Then they buried the trap deep down in the mud and started to look for another.

All around the Smiling Pool and along the Laughing Brook their cousins and uncles and aunts and friends were just as busy, and every once in a while some one would have just as narrow an escape as Little Joe Otter. And all the time up at the farmhouse Farmer Brown's boy was planning what he would do with the skins of the little animals he was sure he would catch in his traps.



CHAPTER VI: Farmer Brown's Boy Is Puzzled

Farmer Brown's boy was whistling merrily as he tramped down across the Green Meadows. The Merry Little Breezes saw him coming, and they raced over to the Smiling Pool to tell Billy Mink. Farmer Brown's boy was coming to visit his traps. He was very sure that he would find Billy Mink or Little Joe Otter, or Jerry Muskrat, or perhaps Bobby Coon.

Billy Mink was sitting on top of the Big Rock. He saw the Merry Little Breezes racing across the Green Meadows, and behind them he saw Farmer Brown's boy. Billy Mink dived head first into the Smiling Pool. Then he swam over to Jerry Muskrat's house and warned Jerry. Together they hunted up Little Joe Otter, and then the three little scamps in brown hid in the bulrushes, where they could watch Farmer Brown's boy.

The first place Farmer Brown's boy visited was Jerry Muskrat's old log. Very cautiously he peeped over the edge of the bank. The trap was gone!

"Hurrah!" shouted Farmer Brown's boy. He was very much excited, as he caught hold of the end of the chain, which fastened it to the old log. He was sure that at last he had caught Jerry Muskrat. When he pulled the trap up, it was empty. Between the jaws were a few hairs and a little bit of skin, which Jerry Muskrat had left there when he sprung the trap with his tail.

Farmer Brown's boy was disappointed. "Well, I'll get him to-morrow, anyway," said he to himself. Then he went on to his next trap; it was nowhere to be seen. When he pulled the chain he was so excited that he trembled. The trap did not come up at once. He pulled and pulled, and then suddenly up it came, all covered with mud. In it was one little claw from Little Joe Otter. Very carefully Farmer Brown's boy set the trap again. If he could have looked over in the bulrushes and have seen Little Joe Otter and Billy Mink and Jerry Muskrat watching him and tickling and laughing, he would not have been so sure that next time he would catch Little Joe Otter.

All around the Smiling Pool and then up and down the Laughing Brook Farmer Brown's boy tramped, and each trap he found sprung and buried in the mud. He had stopped whistling by this time, and there was a puzzled frown on his freckled face. What did it mean? Could some other boy have found all his traps and played a trick by springing all of them? The more he thought about it, the more puzzled he became. You see, he did not know anything about the busy day the Minks and the Otters and the Muskrats and the Coons had spent the day before.

Old Grandfather Frog, sitting on his big green lily-pad, smoothed down his white and yellow waistcoat and winked up at jolly, round, red Mr. Sun as Farmer Brown's boy tramped off across the Green Meadows.

"Chugarum!" said Grandfather Frog, as he snapped up a foolish green fly. "Much good it will do you to set those traps again!"

Then Grandfather Frog called to Billy Mink and sent him to tell all the other little people of the Smiling Pool and the Laughing Brook that they must hurry and spring all the traps again as they had before.

This time it was easy, because they knew just where the traps were, so all day long they dropped sticks and stones into the traps and once more sprung them. Then they prepared for a grand feast of the good things to eat which Farmer Brown's boy had left, scattered around the traps.



CHAPTER VII: Jerry Muskrat Makes A Discovery

The beautiful springtime had brought a great deal of happiness to the Smiling Pool, as it had to the Green Meadows and to the Green Forest. Great-Grandfather Frog, who had slept the long winter away in his own special bed way down in the mud, had waked up with an appetite so great that for a while it seemed as if he could think of nothing but his stomach. Jerry Muskrat had felt the spring fever in his bones and had gone up and down the Laughing Brook, poking into all kinds of places just for the fun of seeing new things. Little Joe Otter had been more full of fun than ever, if that were possible. Mr. and Mrs. Redwing had come back to the bulrushes from their winter home way down in the warm Southland. Everybody was happy, just as happy as could be.

One sunny morning Jerry Muskrat sat on the Big Rock in the middle of the Smiling Pool, just thinking of how happy everybody was and laughing at Little Joe Otter, who was cutting up all sorts of capers in the water. Suddenly Jerry's sharp eyes saw something that made him wrinkle his forehead in a puzzled frown and look and look at the opposite bank. Finally he called to Little Joe Otter.

"Hi, Little Joe! Come over here!" shouted Jerry.

"What for?" asked Little Joe, turning a somersault in the water.

"I want you to see if there is anything wrong with my eyes," replied Jerry.

Little Joe Otter stopped swimming and stared up at Jerry Muskrat. "They look all right to me," said he, as he started to climb up on the Big Rock.

"Of course they look all right," replied Jerry, "but what I want to know is if they see all right. Look over at that bank."

Little Joe Otter looked over at the bank. He stared and stared, but he didn't see anything unusual. It looked just as it always did. He told Jerry Muskrat so.

"Then it must be my eyes," sighed Jerry. "It certainly must be my eyes. It looks to me as if the water does not come as high up on the bank as it did yesterday."

Little Joe Otter looked again and his eyes opened wide. "You are right, Jerry Muskrat!" he cried. "There's nothing the matter with your eyes. The water is as low as it ever gets, even in the very middle of summer. What can it mean?"

"I don't know," replied Jerry Muskrat. "It is queer! It certainly is very queer! Let's go ask Grandfather Frog. You know he is very old and very wise, so perhaps he can tell us what it means."

Splash! Jerry Muskrat and Little Joe Otter dived into the Smiling Pool and started a race to see who could reach Grandfather Frog first. He was sitting among the bulrushes on the edge of the Smiling Pool, for the lily-pads were not yet big enough for him to sit on comfortably.

"Oh, Grandfather Frog, what's the matter with the Smiling Pool?" they shouted, as they came up quite out of breath.

"Chugarum! There's nothing the matter with the Smiling Pool; it's the best place in all the world," replied Grandfather Frog gruffly.

"But there is something the matter," insisted Jerry Muskrat, and then he told what he had discovered.

"I don't believe it," said Grandfather Frog. "I never heard of such a thing in the springtime."



CHAPTER VIII: Grandfather Frog Watches His Toes

Grandfather Frog sat among the bulrushes on the edge of the Smiling Pool. Over his head Mr. Redwing was singing as if his heart would burst with the very joy of springtime.

"Tra-la-la-lee, see me! See me! Happy am I as I can be! Happy am I the whole day long And so I sing my gladsome song."

Of course Mr. Redwing was happy. Why shouldn't he be? Here it was the beautiful springtime, the gladdest time of all the year, the time when happiness creeps into everybody's heart. Grandfather Frog listened. He nodded his head. "Chugarum! I'm happy, too," said Grandfather Frog. But even as he said it, a little worried look crept into his big goggly eyes and then down to the corners of his big mouth, which had been stretched in a smile. Little by little the smile grew smaller and smaller, until there wasn't any smile. No, Sir, there wasn't any smile. Instead of looking happy, as he said he felt, Grandfather Frog actually looked unhappy.

The fact is he couldn't forget what Jerry Muskrat and Little Joe Otter had told him -- that there was something the matter with the Smiling Pool. He didn't believe it, not a word of it. At least he tried to make himself think that he didn't believe it. They had said that the water in the Smiling Pool was growing lower and lower, just as it did in the middle of summer, in the very hottest weather. Now Grandfather Frog is very old and very wise, and he had never heard of such a thing happening in the springtime. So he wouldn't believe it now. And yet -- and yet Grandfather Frog had an uncomfortable feeling that something was wrong. Ha! he knew now what it was! He had been sitting up to his middle in water, and now he was sitting with only his toes in the water, and he couldn't remember having changed his position!

"Of course, I moved without thinking what I was doing," muttered Grandfather Frog, but still the worried look didn't leave his face. You see he just couldn't make himself believe what he wanted to believe, try as he would.

"Chugarum! I know what I'll do; I'll watch my toes!" exclaimed Grandfather Frog.

So Grandfather Frog waded out into the water until it covered his feet, and then he sat down and began to watch his toes. Mr. Redwing looked down and saw him, and Grandfather Frog looked so funny gazing at his own toes that Mr. Redwing stopped singing long enough to ask: "What are you doing, Grandfather Frog?"

"Watching my toes," replied Grandfather Frog gruffly.

"Watching your toes! Ho, ho, ho! Watching your toes! Who ever heard of such a thing? Are you afraid that they will run away, Grandfather Frog?" shouted Mr. Redwing.

Grandfather Frog didn't answer. He kept right on watching his toes. Mr. Redwing flew away to tell everybody he met how Grandfather Frog had become foolish and was watching his toes. The sun shone down warm and bright, and pretty soon Grandfather Frog's big goggly eyes began to blink. Then his head began to nod, and then -- why, then Grandfather Frog fell fast asleep.

By and by Grandfather Frog awoke with a start. He looked down at his toes. They were not in the water at all! Indeed, the water was a good long jump away.

"Chugarum! There is something wrong with the Smiling Pool!" cried Grandfather Frog, as he made a long jump into the water and started to swim out to the Big Rock.



CHAPTER IX: The Laughing Brook Stops Laughing

There was something wrong. Grandfather Frog knew it the very minute he got up that morning. At first he couldn't think what it was. He sat with just his head out of water and blinked his great goggly eyes, as he tried to think what it was that was wrong. Suddenly Grandfather Frog realized how still it was. It was a different kind of stillness from anything he could ever remember. He missed something, and he couldn't think what it was. It wasn't the song of Mr. Redwing. There were many times when he didn't hear that. It was -- Grand-father Frog gave a startled jump out on to the shore. "Chugarum! It's the Laughing Brook! The Laughing Brook has stopped laughing!" cried Grandfather Frog.

Could it be? Who ever heard of such a thing, excepting when Jack Frost bound the Laughing Brook with hard black ice? Why, in the spring and in the summer and in the fall the Laughing Brook had laughed -- such a merry, happy laugh -- ever since Grandfather Frog could remember, and you know he can remember way back in the long ago, for he is very old and very wise. Never once in all that time had the Laughing Brook failed to laugh. It couldn't be true now! Grandfather Frog put a hand behind one ear and listened and listened, but not a sound could he hear.

"Chugarum! It must be me," said Grandfather Frog. "It must be that I am growing old and deaf. I'll go over and ask Jerry Muskrat."

So Grandfather Frog dove into the water and swam out to the middle of the Smiling Pool, on his way to Jerry Muskrat's house. It was then that he first fully realized the truth of what Jerry Muskrat and Little Joe Otter had told him the day before -- that there was something very, very wrong with the Smiling Pool. He stopped swimming to look around, and it seemed as if his great goggly eyes would pop right out of his head. Yes, Sir, it seemed as if those great goggly eyes certainly would pop right out of Grandfather Frog's head. The Smiling Pool had grown so small that there wasn't enough of it left to smile!

"Where are you going, Grandfather Frog?" asked a voice over his head.

Grandfather Frog looked up. Looking down on him from over the edge of the Big Rock was Jerry Muskrat. The edge of the Big Rock was twice as high above the water as Grandfather Frog had ever seen it before.

"I -- I -- was going to swim over to your house to see you," replied Grandfather Frog.

"It's of no use," replied Jerry, "because I'm not there. Besides, you couldn't swim there, anyway."

"Why not?" demanded Grandfather Frog in great surprise.

"Because it isn't in the water any longer; it's way up on dry land," said Jerry Muskrat in the most mournful voice.

"What's that you say?" cried Grandfather Frog, as if he couldn't believe his own ears.

"It's just as true as that I'm sitting here," replied Jerry sadly.

"Listen, Jerry Muskrat, and tell me truly; is the Laughing Brook laughing?" cried Grandfather Frog sharply.

"No," replied Jerry, "the Laughing Brook has stopped laughing, and the Smiling Pool has stopped smiling, and I think the world is upside down."



CHAPTER X: Why The World Seemed Upside Down To Jerry Muskrat

Jerry Muskrat sat on the Big Rock in the Smiling Pool, which smiled no longer, and held his head in both hands, for his head ached. He had thought and thought and thought, until it seemed to him that his head would split; and with all his thinking, he didn't understand things any more now than he had in the beginning. You see, Jerry Muskrat's little world was topsy-turvy. Yes, Sir, Jerry's world was upside down! Anyway, it seemed so to him, and he couldn't understand it at all.

The Smiling Pool, the Laughing Brook, and the Green Meadows are Jerry Muskrat's little world. Now, as he sat on the Big Rock and looked about him, the Green Meadows were as lovely as ever. He could see no change in them. But the Laughing Brook had stopped laughing, and the Smiling Pool had stopped smiling. The truth is there wasn't enough of the Laughing Brook left to laugh, and there wasn't enough of the Smiling Pool left to smile.

It was dreadful! Jerry looked over to his house, of which he had once been so proud. He had built it with the doorway under water. He had felt perfectly safe there, because no one excepting Billy Mink or Little Joe Otter, who can swim under water, could reach him. Now the Smiling Pool had grown so small that Jerry's house wasn't in the water at all. Anybody who wanted to could get into it. There was the doorway plainly to be seen. Worse still, there was the secret entrance to the long tunnel leading to his castle under the roots of the Big Hickory-tree. That had been Jerry's most secret secret, and now there it was for all the world to see. And there were all the wonderful caves and holes and hiding-places under the bank which had been known only to Jerry Muskrat and Billy Mink and Little Joe Otter, because the openings had always been under water. Now anybody could find them, for they were plainly to be seen. And where had always been smiling, dimpling water, Jerry saw only mud. It was mud, mud, mud everywhere! The bulrushes, which had always grown with their feet in the water, now had them only in mud, and that was fast drying up. The lily-pads lay half curled up at the ends of their long stems, stretched out on the mud, and looked very, very sick. Jerry turned towards the Laughing Brook. There was just a little, teeny, weeny stream of water trickling down the middle of it, with here and there a tiny pool in which frightened trout and minnows were crowded. All the secrets of the Laughing Brook were exposed, just as were the secrets of the Smiling Pool. Jerry knew that if he wanted to find Billy Mink's hiding-places, all he need do would be to walk up the Laughing Brook and look.

"Yes, Sir, the world has turned upside down," said Jerry in a mournful voice.

"I believe it has," replied Grandfather Frog, looking up from the little pool of water left at the foot of the Big Rock.

"I know it has!" cried Jerry. "I wonder if it will ever turn upside up again."

"If it doesn't, what are you going to do?" asked Grandfather Frog.

"I don't know," replied Jerry Muskrat. "Here come Little Joe Otter and Billy Mink; let's find out what they are going to do."



CHAPTER XI: Five Heads Together

Something had to be done. Jerry Muskrat said so. Grandfather Frog said so. Billy Mink said so. Little Joe Otter said so. Even Spotty the Turtle said so. The Laughing Brook couldn't laugh, and the Smiling Pool couldn't smile. You see, there wasn't water enough in either of them to laugh or smile, and nobody knew if there ever would be again. Nobody had ever known anything like it before, and so nobody knew what to think or do. And yet they all felt that something must be done.

"What do you think, Billy Mink?" asked Grandfather Frog.

Billy Mink looked down from the top of the Big Rock into the little pool of water that was all there was left of the Smiling Pool. He could see a dozen fat trout in it, and he knew that he could catch them just as easily as not, because there was no place for them to swim away from him. But somehow he didn't want to catch them. He knew that they were frightened almost to death already by the running away of nearly all the water from the Laughing Brook and the Smiling Pool, and somehow he felt sorry for them.

"I think that the best thing we can do is to move down to the Big River. I've been down there, and that's all right," said Billy Mink.

"That's what I think," said Little Joe Otter. "There's no danger that the Big River will go dry."

"How do you know?" asked Jerry Muskrat. "The Laughing Brook and the Smiling Pool never went dry before."

"It's a long, long way down to the Big River," broke in Spotty the Turtle, who travels very, very slowly and carries his house with him.

"Chugarum! I, for one, don't want to leave the Smiling Pool without finding out what the trouble is.

"There's nothing happens, as you know, But has a cause to make it so.

"Now there must be some cause, some reason, for this terrible trouble with the Smiling Pool, and if we can find that out, perhaps we shall know better what to do," said Grandfather Frog.

Jerry Muskrat nodded his head. "Grandfather Frog is right," said he. "Of course there must be a cause, but where are we to look for it? I've been all over the Smiling Pool, and I'm sure it isn't there."

Grandfather Frog actually smiled. "Chugarum!" said he. "Of course the cause of all the trouble isn't in the Smiling Pool. Any one would know that!"

"Well, if you know so much, tell us where it is then!" snapped Jerry Muskrat.

"In the Laughing Brook, of course," replied Grandfather Frog.

"No such thing!" said Billy Mink. "I've been all the way down the Laughing Brook to the Big River, and I didn't find a thing."

"Have you been all the way up the Laughing Brook to the place it starts from?" asked Grandfather Frog.

"No-o," replied Billy Mink.

"Well, that's where the cause of all the trouble is," said Grandfather Frog, just as if he knew all about it. "It's the water that comes down the Laughing Brook that makes the Smiling Pool, and the Smiling Pool never could dry up if the Laughing Brook didn't first stop running."

"That's so! I never had thought of that," cried Little Joe Otter. "I tell you what, Billy Mink and I will go way up the Laughing Brook and see what we can find."

"Chugarum! Let us all go," said Grandfather Frog.

Then the five put their heads together and decided that they would go up the Laughing Brook to hunt for the trouble.



CHAPTER XII: A Hunt For Trouble

Ol' Mistah Buzzard, sailing high in the blue, blue sky, looked down on a funny sight. Yes, Sir, it certainly was a funny sight. It was a little procession of five of his friends of the Smiling Pool. First was Billy Mink, who, because he is slim and nimble, moves so quickly it sometimes is hard to follow him. Behind him was Little Joe Otter, whose legs are so short that he almost looks as if he hadn't any. Behind Little Joe was Jerry Muskrat, who is a better traveler in the water than on land. Behind Jerry was Grandfather Frog, who neither walks nor runs but travels with great jumps. Last of all was Spotty the Turtle, who travels very, very slowly because, you know, he carries his house with him. And all five were headed up the Laughing Brook, which laughed no more, because there was not water enough in it.

Now Ol' Mistah Buzzard hadn't been over near the Smiling Pool for some time, and he hadn't heard how the Smiling Pool had stopped smiling, and the Laughing Brook had stopped laughing. When he looked down and saw how the water was so nearly gone from them that the trout and the minnows had hardly enough in which to live, he was so surprised that he kept saying over and over to himself:

"Fo' the lan's sake! Fo' the lan's sake!"

Then, when he saw his five little friends marching up the Laughing Brook, he guessed right away that it must be something to do with the trouble in the Smiling Pool. Ol' Mistah Buzzard just turned his broad wings and slid down, down out of the blue, blue sky until he was right over Grandfather Frog.

"Where are yo'alls going?" asked Ol' Mistah Buzzard.

"Chugarum! To find out what is the trouble with the Laughing Brook," replied Grandfather Frog.

"I'll help you," said Ol' Mistah Buzzard, once more sailing up in the blue, blue sky.

Grandfather Frog watched him until he was nothing but a speck. "I wish I had wings," sighed Grandfather Frog, and once more began to hop along up the bed of the Laughing Brook.

The Laughing Brook came down from the Green Forest and wound through the Green Meadows for a little way before it reached the Smiling Pool. There the sun shone down into it, and Grandfather Frog didn't mind, although his legs were getting tired. But when they got into the Green Forest it was dark and gloomy. At least Grandfather Frog thought so, and so did Spotty the Turtle, for both dearly love the sunshine. But still they kept on, for they felt that they must find the trouble with the Laughing Brook. If they found this, they would also find the trouble with the Smiling Pool.

So Billy Mink jumped and skipped far ahead; Little Joe Otter ran; Jerry Muskrat walked, for he soon gets tired on land; Grandfather Frog hopped; Spotty the Turtle crawled, and way, way up in the blue, blue sky, OF Mistah Buzzard flew, all looking for the trouble which had stopped the laughing of the Laughing Brook and the smiling of the Smiling Pool.



CHAPTER XIII: Ol' Mistah Buzzard Sees Something

"Wait for me!" cried Little Joe Otter to Billy Mink, but Billy Mink was in too much of a hurry and just ran faster.

"Wait for me!" cried Jerry Muskrat to Little Joe Otter, but Little Joe was in too much of a hurry and just ran faster.

"Wait for me!" cried Grandfather Frog to Jerry Muskrat, but Jerry was in too much of a hurry and just walked faster.

"Wait for me!" cried Spotty the Turtle to Grandfather Frog, but Grandfather Frog was in too much of a hurry and just jumped faster.

So running and walking and jumping and crawling, Billy Mink, Little Joe Otter, Jerry Muskrat, Grandfather Frog, and Spotty the Turtle hurried up the Laughing Brook to try to find out why it laughed no more. And high overhead in the blue, blue sky sailed Ol' Mistah Buzzard, and he also was looking for the trouble that had taken away the laugh from the Laughing Brook and the smile from the Smiling Pool.

Now Ol' Mistah Buzzard's eyes are very sharp, and looking down from way up in the blue, blue sky he can see a great deal. Indeed, Ol' Mistah Buzzard can see all that is going on below on the Green Meadows and in the Green Forest. His wings are very broad, and he can sail through the air very swiftly when he makes up his mind to. Now, as he looked down, he saw that Billy Mink was selfish and wouldn't wait for Little Joe Otter, and Little Joe Otter was selfish and wouldn't wait for Jerry Muskrat, and Jerry Muskrat was selfish and wouldn't wait for Grandfather Frog, and Grandfather Frog was selfish and wouldn't wait for Spotty the Turtle.

"Ah reckon Ah will hurry up right smart and find out what the trouble is mahself, and then go back and tell Brer Turtle; it will save him a powerful lot of work, and it will serve Brer Mink right if Brer Turtle finds out first what is the trouble with the Laughing Brook," said Ol' Mistah Buzzard and shot far ahead over the Green Forest towards that part of it from which the Laughing Brook comes. In a few minutes he was as far ahead of Billy Mink as Billy was ahead of Spotty the Turtle.

For wings are swifter far than legs, On whatsoever purpose bent, But doubly swift and tireless Those wings on kindly deed intent.

And this is how it happened that Ol' Mistah Buzzard was the first to find out what it was that had stopped the laughing of the Laughing Brook and the smiling of the Smiling Pool, but he was so surprised when he did find out, that he forgot all about going back to tell Spotty the Turtle. He forgot everything but his own great surprise, and he blinked his eyes a great many times to make sure that he wasn't dreaming. Then he sailed around and around in circles, looking down among the trees of the Green Forest and saying over and over to himself:

"Did yo' ever? No, Ah never! Did yo' ever? No, Ah never!"



CHAPTER XIV: Spotty The Turtle Keeps Right On Going

"One step, two steps, three steps, so! Four steps, five steps, six steps go! Keep right on and do your best; Mayhap you'll win while others rest."

Spotty the Turtle said this over to himself every time he felt a little down-hearted, as he plodded along the bed of the Laughing Brook. And every time he said it, he felt better. "One step, two steps," he kept saying over and over, and each time he said it, he took a step and then another. They were very short steps, very short steps indeed, for Spotty's legs are very short. But each one carried him forward just so much, and he knew that he was just so much nearer the thing he was seeking. Anyway, he hoped he was.

You see, if the Laughing Brook would never laugh any more, and the Smiling Pool would never smile any more, there was nothing to do but to go down to the Big River to live, and no one wanted to do that, especially Grandfather Frog and Spotty the Turtle.

Now, because Billy Mink could go faster than Little Joe Otter, and Little Joe Otter could go faster than Jerry Muskrat, and Jerry could go faster than Grandfather Frog, and Grandfather Frog could go faster than Spotty the Turtle, and because each one wanted to be the first to find the trouble, no one would wait for the one behind him. So Spotty the Turtle, who has to carry his house with him, was a long, long way behind the others. But he kept right on going.

"One step, two steps, three steps, so!"

and he didn't stop for anything. He crawled over sticks and around big stones and sometimes, when he found a little pool of water, he swam. He always felt better then, because he can swim faster than he can walk.

After a long, long time, Spotty the Turtle came to a little pool where the sunshine lay warm and inviting. There, in the middle of it, on a mossy stone, sat Grandfather Frog fast asleep. He had thought that he was so far ahead of Spotty that he could safely rest his tired legs. Spotty wanted to climb right up beside him and take a nap too, but he didn't. He just grinned and kept right on going.

"One step, two steps, three steps, so!"

while Grandfather Frog slept on.

By and by, after a long, long time Spotty came to another little pool, and who should he see but Jerry Muskrat busily opening and eating some freshwater clams which he had found there. He was so busy enjoying himself that he didn't see Spotty, and Spotty didn't say a word, but kept right on going, although the sight of Jerry's feast had made him dreadfully hungry.

By and by, after a long, long time, he came to a third little pool with a high, smooth bank, and who should he see there but Little Joe Otter, who had made a slippery slide down the smooth bank and was having a glorious time sliding down into the little pool. Spotty would have liked to take just one slide, but he didn't. He didn't even let Little Joe Otter see him, but kept right on going.

"One step, two steps, three steps, so!"

By and by, after a long, long time, he came to a hollow log, and just happening to peep in, he saw some one curled up fast asleep. Who was it? Why, Billy Mink, to be sure! You see, Billy thought that he was so far ahead that he might just as well take it easy, and that was what he was doing. Spotty the Turtle didn't waken him. He just kept right on going the same slow way he had come all day, and so, just as jolly, round, red Mr. Sun was going to bed behind the Purple Hills, Spotty the Turtle found the cause of the trouble in the Laughing Brook and the Smiling Pool.



CHAPTER XV: What Spotty The Turtle Found

Spotty the Turtle stared and stared and stared, until it seemed as if his eyes surely would pop out of his funny little head. Of course he could believe his own eyes, and yet -- and yet -- well, if anybody else had seen what he was looking at and had told him about it, he wouldn't have believed it. No, Sir, he wouldn't have believed it. You see, he couldn't have believed it because -- why, because it didn't seem as if it could be really and truly so.

He wondered if the sun shining in his eyes made him think he saw more than he really did see, so he carefully changed his position. It made no difference. Then Spotty was sure that what he saw was real, and that he had found the cause of the trouble in the Laughing Brook, which had made it stop laughing and the Smiling Pool stop smiling.

Spotty the Turtle was feeling pretty good. In fact, Spotty was feeling very good indeed, because he had been the first to find out what was the matter with the Laughing Brook. At least, he thought that he was the first, and he was of all the little people who live in the Smiling Pool. Only Ol' Mistah Buzzard had been before him, and he didn't count because his wings are broad, and all he had to do was to sail over the Green Forest and look down. The ones who really counted were Billy Mink and Little Joe Otter and Jerry Muskrat and Grandfather Frog. Billy Mink had stopped for a nap. Little Joe Otter had stopped to play. Jerry Muskrat had stopped to eat. Grandfather Frog had stopped for a sun-nap. But Spotty the Turtle had kept right on going, and now here he was, the first one to find the cause of the trouble in the Laughing Brook. Do you wonder that he felt proud and very happy?

Keeping at it, that's the way Spotty won the race that day.

But now Spotty was beginning to wish that some of the others would hurry up. He wanted to know what they thought. He wanted to talk it all over. It was such a surprising thing that he could make neither head nor tail of it himself, and he wondered what the others would say. And now the long black shadows were creeping through the Green Forest, and if they didn't get there pretty soon, they would have to wait until the next day.

So Spotty the Turtle found a good place to spend the night, and then he sat down to watch and wait. Right before him was the thing which he had found and which puzzled him so. What was it? Why, it was a wall. Yes, Sir, that is just what it was -- a wall of logs and sticks and mud, and it was right across the Laughing Brook, where the banks were steep and narrow. Of course the Laughing Brook could laugh no longer; there couldn't enough water get through that wall of logs and sticks and mud to make even the beginning of a laugh. Spotty wondered what lay behind that wall, and who had built it, and what for, and a lot of other things. And he was still wondering when he fell asleep.



CHAPTER XVI: The Pond In The Green Forest

SPOTTY THE TURTLE was awake by the time the first rays of the rising sun began to creep through the Green Forest. He was far, far up the Laughing Brook, very much farther than he had ever been before, and as he yawned and stretched, he wondered if after all he hadn't dreamed about the wall of logs and sticks and mud across the Laughing Brook. When he had rubbed the last sleepy-wink out of his eyes, he looked again. There it was, just as he had seen it the night before! Then Spotty knew that it was real, and he began to wonder what was on the other side of it.

"I cannot climb it, for my legs were never made for climbing," said Spotty mournfully as he looked at his funny little black feet. "Oh, dear, I wish that I could climb like Happy Jack Squirrel!" Just then a thought popped into his head and chased away the little frown that had crept into Spotty's face. "Perhaps Happy Jack sometimes wishes that he could swim as I can, so I guess we are even. I can't climb, but he can't swim. How foolish it is to wish for things never meant for you!"

And with that, all the discontent left Spotty the Turtle, and he began to study how he could make the most of his short legs and his perseverance, of which, as you already know, he had a great deal. He looked this way, and he looked that way, and he saw that if he could climb to the top of the bank on one side of the Laughing Brook, he would be able to walk right out on the strange wall of logs and sticks and mud, and then, of course, he could see just what was on the other side.

So Spotty the Turtle wasted no more time wishing that he could do something it was never meant that he should do. Instead, he picked out what looked like the easiest place to climb the bank and started up. My, my, my, it was hard work! You see, he had to carry his house along with him, for he has to carry that wherever he goes, and it would have been hard enough to have climbed that bank without carrying anything. Every time he had climbed up three steps he slipped back two steps, but he kept at it, puffing and blowing, saying over and over to himself:

"I can if I will, and will if I can! I'm sure to get there if I follow this plan."

Half-way up the bank Spotty lost his balance, and the house he was carrying just tipped him right over backward, and down he rolled to the place he had started from.

"I needed to cool off," said Spotty to himself and slid into a little pool of water. Then he tried the bank again, and just as before he slipped back two steps for every three he went up. But he shut his mouth tight and kept at it, and by and by he was up to the place from which he had tumbled. There he stopped to get his breath.

"I can if I will, and will if I can! I'm sure to get there if I follow this plan,"

said he and started on again. Twice more he tumbled clear down to the place he had started from, but each time he laughed at himself and tried again. And at last he reached the top of the bank.

"I said I could if I would, and I would if I could, and I have!" he cried.

Then he hurried to see what was behind the strange wall. What do you think it was? Why, a pond! Yes, Sir, there was a pond right in the middle of the Green Forest! Trees were coming up right out of the middle of it, but it was a sure enough pond. Spotty found it harder work to believe his own eyes now than when he had first seen the strange wall across the Laughing Brook.

"Why, why, why, what does it mean?" exclaimed Spotty the Turtle.

"That's what I want to know!" cried Billy Mink, who came hurrying up just then.



CHAPTER XVII: Who Had Made The Strange Pond?

Who had made the strange pond? That is what Spotty the Turtle wanted to know. That is what Billy Mink wanted to know. So did Little Joe Otter and Jerry Muskrat and Grandfather Frog, when they arrived. So did Ol' Mistah Buzzard, looking down from the blue, blue sky. It was very strange, very strange indeed! Never had there been a pond in that part of the Green Forest before, not even in the days when Sister South Wind melted the snow so fast that the Laughing Brook ran over its banks and the Smiling Pool grew twice as large as it ought to be.

Of course some one had made it. Spotty the Turtle had known that as soon as he had seen the strange pond. All in a flash he had understood what that wall of logs and brush and mud across the Laughing Brook was for. It was to stop the water from running down the Laughing Brook. And of course, if the water couldn't keep on running and laughing on its way to the Smiling Pool, it would just stand still and grow and grow into a pond. Of course! There was nothing else for it to do. Spotty felt very proud when he had thought that out all by himself.

"This wall we are sitting on has made the pond," said Spotty the Turtle, after a long time in which no one had spoken.

"You don't say so!" said Billy Mink. "How ever, ever, did you guess it? Are you sure, quite sure that the pond didn't make the wall?"

Spotty knew that Billy Mink was making fun of him, but he is too good-natured to lose his temper over a little thing like that. He tried to think of something smart to say in reply, but Spotty is a slow thinker as well as a slow walker, and before he could think of anything, Billy was talking once more.

"This wall is what Farmer Brown's boy calls a dam," said Billy Mink, who is a great traveler. "Dams are usually built to keep water from running where it isn't wanted or to make it go where it is wanted. Now, what I want to know is, who under the sun wants a pond way back here in the Green Forest, and what is it for? Who do you think built this dam, Grandfather Frog?"

Grandfather Frog shook his head. His big goggly eyes seemed more goggly than ever, as he stared at the new pond in the Green Forest.

"I don't know," said Grandfather Frog. "I don't know what to think."

"Why, it must be Farmer Brown's boy or Farmer Brown himself," said Jerry Muskrat.

"Of course," said Little Joe Otter, just as if he knew all about it.

Still Grandfather Frog shook his head, as if he didn't agree. "I don't know," said Grandfather Frog, "I don't know. It doesn't look so to me."

Billy Mink ran along the top of the dam and down the back side. He looked it all over with those sharp little eyes of his.

"Grandfather Frog is right," said he, when he came back. "It doesn't look like the work of Farmer Brown or Farmer Brown's boy. But if they didn't do it, who did? Who could have done it?"

"I don't know," said Grandfather Frog again, in a dreamy sort of voice.

Spotty the Turtle looked at him, and saw that Grandfather Frog's face wore the far-away look that it always does when he tells a story of the days when the world was young. "I don't know," he repeated, "but it looks to me very much like the work of -- " Grandfather Frog stopped short off and turned to Jerry Muskrat. "Jerry Muskrat," said he, so sharply that Jerry nearly lost his balance in his surprise, "has your big cousin come down from the North?"



CHAPTER XVIII: Jerry Muskrat's Big Cousin

Fiddle, faddle, feedle, fuddle! Was there ever such a muddle? Fuddle, feedle, faddle, fiddle! Who is there will solve the riddle?

Here was the Laughing Brook laughing no longer. Here was the Smiling Pool smiling no longer. Here was a brand new pond deep in the Green Forest. Here was a wall of logs and bushes and mud called a dam, built by some one whom nobody had seen. And here was Grandfather Frog asking Jerry Muskrat if his big cousin had come down from the North, when Jerry didn't even know that he had a big cousin.

"I -- I haven't any big cousin," said Jerry, when he had quite recovered from his surprise at Grandfather Frog's question.

"Chugarum!" exclaimed Grandfather Frog, and the scornful way in which he said it made Jerry Muskrat feel very small. "Chugarum! Of course you've got a big cousin in the North. Do you mean to tell me that you don't know that, Jerry Muskrat?"

Jerry had to admit that it was true that he didn't know anything about that big cousin. If Grandfather Frog said that he had one, it must be so, for Grandfather Frog is very old and very wise, and he knows a great deal. Still, it was very hard for Jerry to believe that he had a big cousin of whom he had never heard.

"Did -- did you ever see him, Grandfather Frog?" Jerry asked.

"No!" snapped Grandfather Frog. "I never did, but I know all about him. He is a great worker, is this big cousin of yours, and he builds dams like this one we are sitting on."

"I don't believe it!" cried Billy Mink. "I don't believe any cousin of Jerry Muskrat's ever built such a dam as this. Why, just look at that great tree trunk at the bottom! No one but Farmer Brown or Farmer Brown's boy could ever have dragged that there. You're crazy, Grandfather Frog, just plain crazy." Billy Mink sometimes is very disrespectful to Grandfather Frog.

"Chugarum!" replied Grandfather Frog. "I'm pretty old, but I'm not too old to learn as some folks seem to be," and he looked very hard at Billy Mink. "Did I say that that tree trunk was dragged here?"

"No," replied Billy Mink, "but if it wasn't dragged here, how did it get here? You are so smart, Grandfather Frog, tell me that!"

Grandfather Frog blinked his great goggly eyes at Billy Mink as he said, just as if he was very, very sorry for Billy, "Your eyes are very bright and very sharp, Billy Mink, and it is a great pity that you have never learned how to use them. That tree wasn't dragged here; it was cut so that it fell right where it lies." As he spoke, Grandfather Frog pointed to the stump of the tree, and Billy Mink saw that he was right.

But Billy Mink is like a great many other people; he dearly loves to have the last word. Now he suddenly began to laugh.

"Ha, ha, ha! Ho, ho, ho!" laughed Billy Mink. "Ho, ho, ho! Ha, ha, ha!"

"What is it that is so funny?" snapped Grandfather Frog, for nothing makes him so angry as to be laughed at.

"Do you mean to say that anybody but Farmer Brown or Farmer Brown's boy could have cut down such a big tree as that?" asked Billy. "Why, that would be as hard as to drag the tree here."

"Jerry Muskrat's big cousin from the North could do it, and I believe he did," replied Grandfather Frog. "Now that we have found the cause of the trouble in the Laughing Brook and the Smiling Pool, what are we going to do about it?"



CHAPTER XIX: Jerry Muskrat Has A Busy Day

There was the strange pond in the Green Forest, and there was the dam of logs and sticks and mud which had made the strange pond, but look as they would, Billy Mink and Little Joe Otter and Jerry Muskrat and Grandfather Frog and Spotty the Turtle could see nothing of the one who had built the dam. It was very queer. The more they thought about it, the queerer it seemed. They looked this way, and they looked that way.

"There is one thing very sure, and that is that whoever built this dam had no thought for those who live in the Laughing Brook and the Smiling Pool," said Grandfather Frog. "They are selfish, just plain, every-day selfish; that's what they are! Now the Laughing Brook cannot laugh, and the Smiling Pool cannot smile, while this dam stops the water from running, and so -- " Grandfather Frog stopped and looked around at his four friends.

"And so what?" cried Billy Mink impatiently.

"And so we must spoil this dam. We must make a place for the water to run through," said Grandfather Frog very gravely.

"Of course! That's the very thing!" cried Little Joe Otter and Billy Mink and Jerry Muskrat and Spotty the Turtle. Then Little Joe Otter looked at Billy Mink, and Billy Mink looked at Jerry Muskrat, and Jerry Muskrat looked at Spotty the Turtle, and after that they all looked very hard at Grandfather Frog, and all together they asked: "How are we going to do it?"

Grandfather Frog scratched his head thoughtfully and looked a long time at the dam of logs and sticks and mud. Then his big mouth widened in a big smile.

"Why, that is very simple," said he, "Jerry Muskrat will make a big hole through the dam near the bottom, because he knows how, and the rest of us will keep watch to see that no harm comes near."

"The very thing!" cried Little Joe Otter and Billy Mink and Spotty the Turtle, but Jerry Muskrat thought it wasn't fair. You see, it gave him all of the real work to do. However, Jerry thought of his dear Smiling Pool, and how terrible it would be if it should smile no more, and so without another word he set to work.

Now Jerry Muskrat is a great worker, and he had made many long tunnels into the bank around the Smiling Pool, so he had no doubt but that he could soon make a hole through this dam. But almost right away he found trouble. Yes, Sir, Jerry had hardly begun before he found real trouble. You see, that dam was made mostly of sticks instead of mud, and so, instead of digging his way in as he would have done into the bank of the Smiling Pool, he had to stop every few minutes to gnaw off sticks that were in the way.

It was hard work, the hardest kind of hard work. But Jerry Muskrat is the kind that is the more determined to do the work the harder the work is to be done. And so, while Grandfather Frog sat on one end of the dam and pretended to keep watch, but really took a nap in the warm sunshine, and while Spotty the Turtle sat on the other end of the dam doing the same thing, and while Billy Mink and Little Joe Otter swam around in the strange pond and enjoyed themselves, Jerry Muskrat worked and worked and worked. And just as jolly, round, red Mr. Sun started down behind the Purple Hills, Jerry broke through into the strange pond, and the water began to run in the Laughing Brook once more.



CHAPTER XX: Jerry Has A Dreadful Disappointment

There's nothing in this world that's sure, No matter how we scheme and plan. We simply have to be content With doing just the best we can.

Jerry Muskrat had curled himself up for the night, so tired that he could hardly keep his eyes open long enough to find a comfortable place to sleep. But he was happy. Yes, indeed, Jerry was happy. He could hear the Laughing Brook beginning to laugh again. It was just a little low, gurgling laugh, but Jerry knew that in a little while it would grow into the full laugh that makes music through the Green Forest and puts happiness into the hearts of all who hear it.

So Jerry was happy, for was it not because of him that the Laughing Brook was beginning to laugh? He had worked all the long day to make a hole through the dam which some one had built across the Laughing Brook and so stopped its laughter. Now the water was running again, and soon the new, strange pond behind the dam there in the Green Forest would be gone, and the Laughing Brook and the Smiling Pool would be their own beautiful selves once more. It was because he had worked so hard all day that he was going to sleep now. Usually he would rather sleep a part of the day and be abroad at night.

Very pleasant dreams had Jerry Muskrat that night, dreams of the dear Smiling Pool, smiling just as it had as long as Jerry could remember, before this trouble had come. He was still dreaming when Spotty the Turtle found him and waked him, for it was broad daylight. Jerry yawned and stretched, and then he lay still for a minute to listen to the pleasant murmur of the Laughing Brook. But there wasn't any pleasant murmur. There wasn't any sound at all. Jerry began to wonder if he really was awake after all. He looked at Spotty the Turtle, and he knew then that he was, for Spotty's face had such a worried look.

"Get up, Jerry Muskrat, and come look at the hole you made yesterday in the dam. You couldn't have done your work very well, for the hole has filled up so that the water does not run any more," said Spotty.

"I did do it well!" snapped Jerry crossly. "I did it just as well as I know how. You lazy folks who just sit and take sun-naps while you pretend to keep watch had better get busy and do a little work yourselves, if you don't like the way I work."

"I -- I beg your pardon, Jerry Muskrat. I didn't mean to say just that," replied Spotty. "You see, we are all worried. We thought last night that by this morning the Laughing Brook would be full of water again, and we could go back to the Smiling Pool as soon as we felt like it, and here it is as bad as ever."

"Perhaps the trouble is just that some sticks and grass drifted down in the water and filled up the hole I made; that must be the trouble," said Jerry hopefully, as he hurried towards the dam.

First he carefully examined it from the Laughing Brook side. Then he dived down under water on the other side. He was gone a long time, and Billy Mink was just getting ready to dive to see what had become of him when he came up again.

"What is the trouble?" cried Spotty the Turtle and Grandfather Frog and Billy Mink and Little Joe Otter together. "Is the hole filled up with stuff that has drifted in?"

Jerry shook his head, as he slowly climbed out of the water. "No," said he. "No, it isn't filled with drift stuff brought down by the water. It is filled with sticks and mud that somebody has put there. Somebody has filled up the hole that I worked so hard to make yesterday, and it will take me all day to open it up again."

Then Grandfather Frog and Spotty the Turtle and Billy Mink and Little Joe Otter and Jerry Muskrat stared at one mother, and for a long time no one said a word.



CHAPTER XXI: Jerry Muskrat Keeps Watch

"The way in which to find things out, And what goes on all round about, Is just to keep my two eyes peeled And two ears all the time unsealed."

So said Jerry Muskrat, as he settled himself comfortably on one end of the new dam across the Laughing Brook deep in the Green Forest and watched the dark shadows creep farther and farther out into the strange pond made by the new dam.

"I'm going to find out who it is that built this dam, and who it is that filled the hole I made in it! I'm going to find out if I have to move up here and live all summer!" The way in which Jerry said this and snapped his teeth together showed that he meant just what he said.

You see Jerry had spent another long, weary day opening the hole in the dam once more, only to have it closed again while he slept. That had been enough for Jerry. He hadn't tried again. Instead he had made up his mind that he would find out who was playing such a trick on him. He would just watch until they came, and then if they were not bigger than he, or there were not too many of them, he would -- well, the way Jerry gritted and clashed those sharp teeth of his sounded as if he meant to do something pretty bad.

Billy Mink and Little Joe Otter had given up in disgust and started for the Big River. They are great travelers, anyway, and so didn't mind so much because there was no longer water enough in the Laughing Brook and the Smiling Pool. Grandfather Frog and Spotty the Turtle, who are such very, very slow travelers, had decided that the Big River was too far away, and so they would stay and live in the strange pond for a while, though it wasn't nearly so nice as their dear Smiling Pool. They bad gone to sleep now, each in his own secret place where he would be safe for the night.

So Jerry Muskrat sat alone and watched. The black shadows crept farther and farther across the pond and grew blacker and blacker. Jerry didn't mind this, because, as you know, his eyes are made for seeing in the dark, and he dearly loves the night. Jerry had sat there a long time without moving. He was listening and watching. By and by he saw something that made him draw in his breath and anger leap into his eyes. It was a little silver line on the water, and it was coming straight towards the dam where he sat. Jerry knew that it was made by some one swimming.

"Ha!" said Jerry. "Now we shall see!"

Nearer and nearer came the silver line. Then Jerry made out the head of the swimmer. Suddenly all the anger left Jerry. He didn't have room for anger; a great fear had crowded it out. The head was bigger than that of any Muskrat Jerry had ever seen. It was bigger than the head of any of Billy Mink's relatives. It was the head of a stranger, a stranger so big that Jerry felt very, very small and hoped with all his might that the stranger would not see him.

Jerry held his breath as the stranger swam past and then climbed out on the dam. He looked very much like Jerry himself, only ever and ever so much bigger. And his tail! Jerry had never seen such a tail. It was very broad and flat. Suddenly the big stranger turned and looked straight at Jerry.

"Hello, Jerry Muskrat!" said he. "Don't you know me?"

Jerry was too frightened to speak.

"I'm your big cousin from the North; I'm Paddy the Beaver, and if you leave my dam alone, I think we'll be good friends," continued the stranger.

"I -- I -- I hope so," said Jerry in a very faint voice, trying to be polite, but with his teeth chattering with fear.



CHAPTER XXII: Jerry Loses His Fear

"Oh, tell me, you and you and you, If it may hap you've ever heard Of all that wond'rous is and great The greatest is the spoken word?"

It's true. It's the truest thing that ever was. If you don't believe it, you just go ask Jerry Muskrat. He'll tell you it's true, and Jerry knows. You see, it's this way: Words are more than just sounds. Oh, my, yes! They are little messengers, and once they have been sent out, you can't call them back. No, Sir, you can't call them back, and sometimes that is a very sad thing, because -- well, you see these little messengers always carry something to some one else, and that something may be anger or hate or fear or an untruth, and it is these things which make most of the trouble in this world. Or that something may be love or sympathy or helpfulness or kindness, and it is these things which put an end to most of the troubles in this world.

Just take the ease of Jerry Muskrat. There he sat on the new dam, which had made the strange pond in the Green Forest, shaking with fear until his teeth chattered, as he watched a stranger very, very much bigger than he climb up on the dam. Jerry was afraid, because he had seen that the stranger could swim as well as he could, and as Jerry had no secret burrows there, he knew that he couldn't get away from the stranger if he wanted to. Somehow, Jerry knew without being told that the stranger had built the dam, and you know Jerry had twice made a hole in the dam to let the water out of the strange pond into the Laughing Brook. Jerry knew right down in his heart that if he had built that dam, he would be very, very angry with any one who tried to spoil it, and that is just what he had tried to do. So he sat with chattering teeth, too frightened to even try to run.

"I wish I had let some one else keep watch," said Jerry to himself.

Then the big stranger had spoken. He had said: "Hello, Jerry Muskrat! Don't you know me?" and his voice hadn't sounded the least bit angry. Then he had told Jerry that he was his big cousin, Paddy the Beaver, and he hoped that they would be friends.

Now everything was just as it had been before -- the strange pond, the dam, Jerry himself and the big stranger, and the black shadows of the night -- and yet somehow, everything was different, all because a few pleasant words had been spoken. A great fear had fallen away from Jerry's heart, and in its place was a great hope that after all there wasn't to be any trouble. So he replied to Paddy the Beaver as politely as he knew how. Paddy was just as polite, and the first thing Jerry knew, instead of being enemies, as Jerry had all along made up his mind would be the case when he found the builder of the dam, here they were becoming the best of friends, all because Paddy the Beaver had said the right thing in the right way.

"But you haven't told me yet what you made those holes in my dam for, Cousin Jerry," said Paddy the Beaver finally.

Jerry didn't know just what to say. He was so pleased with his big new cousin that he didn't want to hurt his feelings by telling him that he didn't think that dam had any business to be across the Laughing Brook, and at the same time he wanted Paddy to know how he had spoiled the Laughing Brook and the Smiling Pool. At last he made up his mind to tell the whole story.



CHAPTER XXIII: Paddy The Beaver Does A Kind Deed

Paddy the Beaver listened to all that his small cousin, Jerry Muskrat, had to tell him about the trouble which Paddy's dam had caused in the Laughing Brook and the Smiling Pool.

"You see, we who live in the Smiling Pool love it dearly, and we don't want to have to leave it, but if the water cannot run down the Laughing Brook, there can be no Smiling Pool, and so we will have to move off to the Big River," concluded Jerry Muskrat. "That is why I tried to spoil your dam."

There was a twinkle in the eyes of Paddy the Beaver as he replied: "Well, now that you have found out that you can't do that, because I am bigger than you and can stop you, what are you going to do about it?"

"I don't know," said Jerry Muskrat sadly. "I don't see what we can do about it. Of course you are big and strong and can do just as you please, but it doesn't seem right that we who have lived here so long should have to move and go away from all that we love so just because you, a stranger, happen to want to live here. I tell you what!" Jerry's eyes sparkled as a brand new thought came to him. "Couldn't you come down and live in the Smiling Pool with us? I'm sure there is room enough!"

Paddy the Beaver shook his head. "No," said he, and Jerry's heart sank. "No, I can't do that because down there there isn't any of the kind of food I eat. Besides, I wouldn't feel at all safe in the Smiling Pool. You see, I always live in the woods. No, I couldn't possibly come down to live in the Smiling Pool. But I'm truly sorry that I have made you so much worry, Cousin Jerry, and I'm going to prove it to you. Now you sit right here until I come back."

Before Jerry realized what he was going to do, Paddy the Beaver dived into the pond, and as he disappeared, his broad tail hit the water such a slap that it made Jerry jump. Then there began a great disturbance down under water. In a few minutes up bobbed a stick, and then another and another, and the water grew so muddy that Jerry couldn't see what was going on. Paddy was gone a long time. Jerry wondered how he could stay under water so long without air. All the time Paddy was just fooling him. He would come up to the surface, stick his nose out, nothing more, fill his lungs with fresh air, and go down again.

Suddenly Jerry Muskrat heard a sound that made him prick up his funny little short ears and whirl about so that he could look over the other side of the dam into the Laughing Brook. What do you think that sound was? Why, it was the sound of rushing water, the sweetest sound Jerry had listened to for a long time. There was a great hole in the dam, and already the brook was beginning to laugh as the water rushed down it.

"How do you like that, Cousin Jerry?" said a voice right in his ear. Paddy the Beaver had climbed up beside him, and his eyes were twinkling.

"It -- it's splendid!" cried Jerry. "But -- but you've spoiled your dam!"

"Oh, that's all right," replied Paddy. "I didn't really want it now, anyway. I don't usually build dams at this time of year, and I built this one just for fun because it seemed such a nice place to build one. You see, I was traveling through here, and it seemed such a nice place, that I thought I would stay a while. I didn't know anything about the Smiling Pool, you know. Now, I guess I'll have to move on and find a place where I can make a pond in the fall that will not trouble other people. You see, I don't like to be troubled myself, and so I don't want to trouble other people. This Green Forest is a very nice place."

"The very nicest place in all the world excepting the Green Meadows and the Smiling Pool!" replied Jerry promptly. "Won't you stay, Cousin Paddy? I'm sure we would all like to have you."

"Of course we would," said a gruff voice right beside them. It was Grandfather Frog.

Paddy the Beaver looked thoughtful. "Perhaps I will," said he, "if I can find some good hiding-places in the Laughing Brook."



CHAPTER XXIV: A Merry Home-Going

"The Laughing Brook is merry And so am I," cried Jerry. Grandfather Frog said he was too. And Spotty was, the others knew.

The trees stood with wet feet where just a little while before had been the strange pond in the Green Forest, the pond made by the dam of Paddy the Beaver. In the dam was a great hole made by Paddy himself.

Through the Green Forest rang the laughter of the Laughing Brook, for once more the water ran deep between its banks. And in the hearts of Grandfather Frog and Jerry Muskrat and Spotty the Turtle was laughter also, for now the Smiling Pool would smile once more, and they could go home in peace and happiness. And there was one more who laughed. Who was it? Why, Paddy the Beaver to be sure, and his was the best laugh of all, for it was because he had brought happiness to others.

"You beat me up here to the dam, but you won't beat me back to the Smiling Pool," cried Jerry Muskrat to Spotty the Turtle.

Spotty laughed good-naturedly. "You'd better not stop to eat or play or sleep on the way then," said he, "for I shall keep right on going all the time. I've found that is the only way to get anywhere."

"Let us all go down together" said Grandfather Frog. "We can help each other over the bad places."

Jerry Muskrat laughed until he had to hold his sides at the very thought of Grandfather Frog or Spotty the Turtle being able to help him, but he is very good-natured, and so he agreed that they should all go down together. Paddy the Beaver said that he would go, too, so off the four started, Jerry Muskrat and Paddy the Beaver swimming side by side, and behind them Grandfather Frog and Spotty the Turtle.

Now Spotty the Turtle is a very slow traveler on land, but in the water Spotty is not so slow. In fact, it was not long before Grandfather Frog found that he was the one who could not keep up. You see, while he is a great diver and can swim fast for a short distance, he is soon tired out. Pretty soon he was puffing and blowing and dropping farther and farther behind. By and by, Spotty the Turtle looked back. There was Grandfather Frog just tumbling head first over a little waterfall. He came up choking and gasping and kicking his long legs very feebly. Spotty climbed out on a rock and waited. He helped Grandfather Frog out beside him, and when Grandfather Frog had once more gotten his breath, what do you think Spotty did? Why, he took Grandfather Frog right on his back and started on again.

Now Jerry Muskrat and Paddy the Beaver, being great swimmers, were soon out of sight. All at once Jerry remembered that they had agreed to go back together, and down in his heart he felt a little bit mean when he looked for Grandfather Frog and Spotty the Turtle and could see nothing of them. So he and Paddy sat down to wait. After what seemed a long time, they saw something queer bobbing along in the water.

"It's Grandfather Frog," cried Paddy the Beaver.

"No, it's Spotty the Turtle," said Jerry Muskrat.

"It's both," replied Paddy, beginning to laugh.

Just then Spotty tumbled over another waterfall which he hadn't seen, and of course Grandfather Frog went with him and lost his hold on Spotty's back.

"I have an idea!" cried Paddy.

"What is it?" asked Jerry.

"Why, Grandfather Frog can ride on my flat tail," replied Paddy, "and then we'll go slow enough for Spotty to keep up with us."

And so it was that just as the first moonbeams kissed the Smiling Pool, out of the Laughing Brook swam the merriest party that ever was seen.

"Chugarum!" said Grandfather Frog. "It is good to be home, but I think I would travel often, if I could have the tail of Paddy the Beaver for a boat."



CHAPTER XXV: Paddy The Beaver Decides To Stay

"The fair Green Meadows spreading wide, The Smiling Pool and Laughing Brook --  They fill our hearts with joy and pride; We love their every hidden nook."

So said Jerry Muskrat, as he climbed up on the Big Rock in the middle of the Smiling Pool, with Paddy the Beaver beside him, and watched the dear Smiling Pool dimpling and smiling in the moonlight, as he had so often seen it before the great trouble had come.

"Chugarum!" said Grandfather Frog in his great deep voice from the bulrushes. "One never knows how great their blessings are until they have been lost and found again."

The bulrushes nodded, as if they too were thinking of this. You see their feet were once more in the cool water. Paddy the Beaver seemed to understand just how every one felt, and he smiled to himself as he saw how happy these new friends of his were.

"It surely is a very nice place here, and I don't wonder that you couldn't bear to leave it," said he. "I'm sorry that I made you all that trouble and worry, but you see I didn't know."

"Oh, that's all right," replied Jerry Muskrat, who was now very proud of his big cousin. "I hope that now you see how nice it is, you will stay and make your home here."

Paddy the Beaver looked back at the great black shadow which he knew was the Green Forest. Way over in the middle of it he heard the hunting-call of Hooty the Owl. Then he looked out over the Green Meadows, and from way over on the far side of them sounded the bark of Reddy Fox, and it was answered by the deep voice of Bowser the Hound up in Farmer Brown's dooryard. For some reason that last sound made Paddy the Beaver shiver a little, just as the voice of Hooty the Owl made the smaller people of the Green Forest and the Green Meadows shiver when they heard it. Paddy wasn't afraid of Hooty or of Reddy Fox, but Bowser's great voice was new to him, and somehow the very sound of it made him afraid. You see, the Green Meadows were so strange and open that he didn't feel at all at home, for he dearly loves the deepest part of the Green Forest.

"No," said Paddy the Beaver, "I can't possibly live here in the Smiling Pool. It is a very nice pool, but it wouldn't do at all for me, Cousin Jerry. I wouldn't feel safe here a minute. Besides, there is nothing to eat here."

"Oh, yes, there is," Jerry Muskrat interrupted. "There are lily-roots and the nicest fresh-water clams and -- "

"But there are no trees," said Paddy the Beaver, "and you know I have to have trees."

Jerry stared at Paddy as if he didn't understand. "Do -- do you eat trees?" he asked finally.

Paddy laughed. "Just the bark," said he, "and I have to have a great deal of it."

Jerry looked as disappointed as he felt. "Of course you can't stay then," said he, "and -- and I had thought that we would have such good times together."

Paddy's eyes twinkled. "Perhaps we may yet," said he. "You see I have about made up my mind that I will stay a while along the Laughing Brook in the Green Forest, and you can come to see me there. On our way down I saw a very nice hole in the bank that I think will make me a good house for the present, and you can come up there to see me. But if I do stay, you and Grandfather Frog and Spotty the Turtle must keep my secret. No one must know that I am there. Will you?"

"Of course we will!" cried Jerry Muskrat and Grandfather Frog and Spotty the Turtle together.

"Then I'll stay," said Paddy the Beaver, diving into the Smiling Pool with a great splash.

And so one of Jerry Muskrat's greatest adventures ended in the finding of his biggest cousin, Paddy the Beaver. Now Jerry has a lot of cousins, and one of them lives on the Green Meadows not far from the Smiling Pool. His name is Danny Meadow Mouse, and Danny is forever having adventures too. He has them every day. In the next book you will be told about some of these, if you care to read about them.

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Six Little Bunkers At Uncle Fred's

By

Laura Lee Hope



Chapter I

A Strange Rescue


"Can't I have a ride now, Russ? You said it would be my turn after Mun Bun."

"Yes, but, Margy, I haven't had enough ride yet!" declared Mun Bun.

"But when can I get in and have my ride?"

The three little children, two girls and a boy, stood in front of their older brother, Russ, watching him tying an old roller skate on the end of a board.

"Can't I have any more rides?" asked the smallest boy.

"In a minute, Mun Bun. As soon as I get this skate fastened on," answered Russ. "You rode so hard last time that you busted the scooter, and I've got to fix it. You broke the skate off!"

"I didn't mean to," and Mun Bun, who was called that because no one ever had the time to call him by his whole name, Munroe Ford Bunker -- Mun Bun looked sorry for what had happened.

"I know you didn't," answered Russ.

"I didn't break anything, did I, Russ?" asked a little girl, with dark, curling hair and dark eyes, as she leaned over in front of her older brother, the better to see what he was doing. "I rided nice, didn't I, and I didn't break anything?"

"No, Margy, you didn't break anything," answered Russ. "And I'll give you a ride on the scooter pretty soon. Just wait till I get it fixed."

"And I want a ride, too!" exclaimed another girl, with curly hair of light color, and gray eyes that opened very wide. "Don't I get a ride, Russ? And what makes the wheels make such a funny sound when they go 'round? And what makes you call it a scooter? And can you make it go backwards? And --  -- "

"Oh, I can't answer all those questions, Vi!" exclaimed Russ. "You're always asking questions, Daddy says. You wait and I'll give you a ride."

The four Bunker children -- there were six of them, and you will meet the other two soon. The four Bunker children were playing up in the attic of their home. The attic was not as large as the attic of Grandpa Ford's house on Great Hedge Estate nor were there so many nice things in it. But still it did very well on a rainy afternoon, and Russ, Margy, Violet and Mun Bun were having a good time on the "scooter" Russ had made.

The way Russ made a "scooter" was this. He found a long board, one that the carpenters had left after they had made a storeroom for Mrs. Bunker in the attic, and to the board he fastened, on each end, part of an old roller skate. This gave the scooter two wheels on either end. The wheels were not very large, nor very wide, and unless you sat right in the middle of the board of the scooter you might get tipped over. This had happened several times, and when Mun Bun was on, having a ride, he not only tipped over, but he ran into a trunk that stood in the attic, and knocked off one of the skates.

"Now I have to tie it on again!" Russ had exclaimed, and this had caused a stop in the fun.

"Can you fix it?" asked Margy, as she watched her brother. She wanted another ride, for the one she had had was a short one. Mun Bun was the youngest of the six little Bunkers, and they generally let him have more turns than any one else.

"Oh, yes, I can fix it," said Russ, who now began to whistle. And when Russ whistled, when he was making anything, you could generally tell that everything was coming out right.

Russ very often made things, but he did not always whistle over them. Often the things he made were such a puzzle that he could not think how to make them come out right and also think of a whistle-tune at the same time. But now he was all right, and so he whistled merrily as he put more string on the roller skate that he was fastening to the board of the scooter.

"Is it almost done?" asked Mun Bun, leaning over eagerly.

"Almost," answered Russ. "I want to look at the back wheels to see if they're all right, and then you can have a ride."

Russ gave the string a last turn, tied several knots in it, and then turned the board around. As he did so Margy uttered a cry.

"Ouch!" she exclaimed.

"What's the matter?" asked Russ.

"You banged me with the scooter," answered the little girl.

"Oh, I didn't mean to," said Russ. "I'm sorry! You can have an extra ride for that." Russ was very kind to his little brothers and sisters.

"It doesn't hurt very much," said Margy, rubbing the elbow that had been hit when Russ swung the board around.

Russ now bent over the other wheels on the end of the scooter. He found them a bit loose, as string will stretch and really isn't very good with which to fasten wheels on. But it was the best Russ could do.

Outside an early spring rain beat against the windows of the attic. It was cold outside, too, for the last winter snow had, only a week before, melted from the ground, which was still frozen in places. But it was nice and warm up in the attic, and there the Bunker children were having a fine time. The attic, as I have said, was not as big as Grandpa Ford's, but the children were having a good time, and even a smaller attic would have answered as well in the rain.

"Now I guess it's all ready for more rides," said Russ, as he put the scooter down on the floor.

"I'm going to get on!" cried Mun Bun.

"Wait until I put it straight," called Russ. "Then you can have a longer ride."

He took the board, with the roller skate wheels on either end, to a far corner of the attic. From there it could be pushed all the way across to the other wall.

Just as Mun Bun was about to take his place, so that Russ could push him across the attic floor, footsteps were heard coming up the stairs that led to the third story of the Bunker house.

Then a boy's voice called:

"What are you doing?"

"Riding on a scooter Russ made," answered Violet. "Oh, it's lots of fun! Come on, Laddie!"

Laddie was Violet's twin brother, and he had the same kind of curly hair and gray eyes as had his sister.

"Did you make that?" asked Laddie of Russ.

"Sure."

"Will it hold me?"

"Sure. It'll hold me. I had a ride on it."

"Say, that's great!" cried Laddie. "We can have lots of fun on that! I'm glad I came up."

"Well, come all the way up, and stand out of the way!" ordered Russ. "The train's going to start. Toot! Toot! All aboard!"

Laddie hurried up the last few steps and took his place in a corner, out of the way of the scooter with Mun Bun on it. A girl with light, fluffy hair, and bright, smiling eyes, followed him. She was a year younger than Russ, who was eight years old.

"Oh, Rose!" cried Violet, as she saw her older sister. "We're having such fun!"

"You can have a ride, too, Rose! Can't she?" asked Mun Bun of Russ. "Go on, push me!"

"Yes, we'll all take turns having rides," said Russ. "If I could find another roller skate I'd make another scooter, and then we could have races."

"If we had two we could make believe they were two trains, and have 'em bump into each other and have collisions and all that!" cried Laddie. "That'll be fun! Come on, let's do it!"

"We'll have to get another board and another skate," said Russ. "We'll look after a while. Now I'm going to give Mun Bun a ride."

He shoved the scooter across the floor of the attic. Mun Bun kept tight hold with his chubby hands of the edges of the board, in the middle of which he sat, between the two pieces of roller skate that made wheels for the scooter.

"Hi! Yi!" yelled Mun Bun. "This is fun!"

"Now it's my turn!" exclaimed Margy. "Get off, Mun Bun."

"I have to have a ride back! I've got to have a ride back!" he cried. "Russ said he'd ride me across the attic and back again! Didn't you, Russ?"

"Yes, that's what I did. Well, here we go back."

He had pushed Mun Bun to the far side of the attic, and was pushing the little fellow back again, when Laddie cried:

"Oh, I know a better way than that."

"For what?" asked Russ.

"For having rides," went on Laddie. "We can make a hill and let the scooter slide downhill. Then you won't have to push anybody."

"How can you make a hill?" asked Russ.

"Out of mother's ironing-board," was the answer. "It's down in the kitchen. I'll get it. Don't you know how we used to put it up on a chair and then slide down on the ironing-board?"

"Oh, I remember!" cried Rose.

"Then we can do that," went on Laddie. "It'll be packs of fun!"

"Well, you get the ironing-board," said Russ.

"I'll help," offered Violet. "I'll help you get the board, Laddie."

"All right, come on," he called, and the two children started down the attic stairs.

While he was waiting for them to come back Russ gave Margy and Rose each a ride on the scooter. It really went very well over the smooth floor of the attic, for the roller-skate wheels turned very easily, even if they did get crooked now and then because the strings with which they were tied on, slipped.

Up the stairs, bumpity bump, came Laddie and Vi with the ironing-board.

"Mother wasn't there, and I didn't see Norah, so I just took the board," said Laddie. "Now we'll put one end on a box and the other end on the floor, and we'll have a hill. Then we can ride the scooter downhill just like we rode our sleds at Grandpa Ford's."

"Yes, I guess we can," said Russ.

There were several boxes in the attic, and some of these were dragged to one end. On them one end of the ironing-board was raised, so that it sloped down like a hill. Of course it was not a very big one, but then the Bunkers were not very large children, nor was the scooter Russ had made very long. By squeezing them on, it would hold two children.

"Who's going down first?" asked Russ, as he and Laddie fixed the ironing-board hill in place, and wheeled the scooter over to it.

"I will!" exclaimed Mun Bun. "I like to ride."

"You'd better let us try first," said Laddie. "It might go so fast it would knock into something."

"I'll go down!" decided Russ. "It's my scooter, because I made it; and so I'll go down first."

"But I made the hill!" objected Laddie. "It's my hill."

"Then why don't both of you go down together?" asked Rose. "If it will hold you two boys it will be all right for us girls. You go three times, then Vi and I will take three turns."

"All right -- that's what we will," said Russ. "Come on, Laddie."

Some boxes had been piled back of the one on which the ironing-board rested in a slanting position, and these boxes made a level place on which to get a start. Russ and Laddie lifted the scooter up there, and got up themselves. Then they carefully sat down on the board to which were fastened the roller-skate wheels.

"All ready?" asked Russ, who was in front, holding to a rope, like a sled rope, by which he hoped to guide the scooter. "All ready, Laddie?"

"All ready," was the answer.

"Here we go!" cried Russ.

He gave a little shove with his feet, and down the ironing-board hill ran the scooter, carrying Russ and Laddie with it. The first time it ran beautifully.

"This is great!" cried Laddie.

"Fine!" exclaimed his brother.

And then, all of a sudden, something happened. The scooter ran off the hill sideways, and started over the attic floor toward Rose, Vi, Mun Bun and Margy. They squealed and screamed and tried to get out of the way. But Mun Bun fell down, and Margy fell over him, and Vi fell over Margy, and Rose fell over Violet. So there the four little Bunkers were, all in a heap, and the scooter, with Russ and Laddie on it, running toward the brother and sisters.

"Stop! Stop it!" cried Laddie.

"I can't!" shouted Russ, pulling on the guide rope. But that did no good.

"Oh, we're going to knock into 'em!" yelled Laddie.

And right into the other children ran the scooter. Russ and Laddie were thrown off, and, for a moment, there was a bumping, thumping, yelling, crying and screaming noise.

Mun Bun, trying to roll out of the way, knocked a box down off a trunk, and the box had some croquet balls in it, which rumbled over the attic floor almost like thunder.

In the midst of all this noise and confusion some one came running up the stairs. A man entered the attic, and took one look at the mass of struggling children on the floor.

"My good land!" he cried. "I wonder if I can save any of 'em! Oh, what a mix-up!"

Then the stranger started in to rescue the six little Bunkers, for they were all tangled up.



Chapter II

Uncle Fred


"Are you hurt? Are any of you hurt? What happened, anyhow? Did part of the house fall on you?"

The man who had run up the attic stairs went on picking up first one and then another of the six little Bunkers. For a time they were so excited over what had happened that they paid no attention to him.

But when the stranger picked Rose up and set her on her feet, the little girl took a good look at him, and, seeing a strange man in the attic, she cried:

"Oh, it's a burglar! It's a burglar! Oh, Mother! Norah! Jerry Simms! It's a burglar!"

"Hush, child! Don't shout like that or you'll have all the neighbors in!" said the man. "Be quiet, and I'll tell you who I am! Don't yell any more!"

Rose stopped yelling, her mouth still wide open, ready for another shout, and looked at the man. He smiled at her and picked up Mun Bun out from under the box from which the croquet balls had fallen.

"Who is you?" asked Mun Bun.

"I'll tell you in just a moment, if you don't make such a racket," said the stranger, smiling kindly.

The six little Bunkers became quiet at once, but before I tell you who the strange man is I want to say just a few words about the children in this story, and relate to you something about the other books in this series.

To begin at the beginning, there were six little Bunkers, as I have told you. There was Russ, aged eight, a great whistler and a boy very fond of making toys, such as scooters and other things.

Next to him was Rose, a year younger.

Then came Violet and Laddie. They both had curly hair and gray eyes, and were six years old each, which makes twelve in all, you see. They were twins, and each one had a funny habit. Vi asked a great many questions, some of which could be answered, some of which could not be answered, and to some of which she didn't wait for an answer.

Laddie was very fond of asking queer little riddles. Some were good, and it took quite a while to think of the answer he wanted. Others didn't seem to have any answer. And some were not really riddles at all. But he had fun asking them.

Next in order was Margy, whose real name was Margaret, just as Laddie's real name was Fillmore Bunker. But he was seldom called that. Margy was aged five. She had dark hair and eyes.

Then there was Mun Bun, or Munroe Ford Bunker, her little brother, who was four years old, and had blue eyes and golden hair.

Now you have met the six little Bunkers. Of course there was Daddy Bunker, whose name was Charles. He was in the real estate business in Pineville, Pennsylvania, and his office was almost a mile from his home, on the main street. Mother Bunker's name was Amy, and before her marriage she had been Miss Amy Bell.

Besides this there were in the Bunker family two others: Norah O'Grady, the cook, and Jerry Simms, an old soldier, who could tell fine stories of the time he was in the army. Now Jerry ran the Bunker automobile, cut the grass, sprinkled the lawn and attended to the furnace in winter.

But the Bunker family had relatives, and it was on visits to some of these that the children had had many adventures. First you may read "Six Little Bunkers at Grandma Bell's." This is the book that begins the series, and tells of the visit the family made at Grandma Bell's at Lake Sagatook in Maine. There they found an old lumberman and he had some papers which Daddy Bunker wanted to get back. And, oh, yes! Grandma Bell was Mrs. Bunker's mother.

After that the children went to visit their father's sister in Boston, and the book which tells all about that, and the strange pocketbook Rose found, is called "Six Little Bunkers at Aunt Jo's."

On leaving Aunt Jo's the family paid a visit to another relative. This was Mr. Thomas Bunker, who was the son of Mr. Ralph Bunker, and Ralph was Daddy Bunker's brother, who had died.

In "Six Little Bunkers at Cousin Tom's" I told you the story of the fun the children had at the seashore, and how a gold locket was lost and strangely found again.

The book just before this one is called "Six Little Bunkers at Grandpa Ford's," and there was quite a mystery about a ghost at Great Hedge Estate, in New York State, where Mr. Ford lived.

Grandpa Ford was Daddy Bunker's step-father, but no real father could have been more kind, nor have loved the six little Bunkers any more than he did. The children spent the winter at Great Hedge Estate, and helped find out what made the queer noises. And if you want to find out I suggest that you read the book.

Christmas and New Year's had been celebrated at Grandpa Ford's, and when winter was about to break up the Bunkers had come back home to Pineville. Daddy Bunker said he needed to look after the spring real estate business, for that was the best time of the year for selling and buying houses and lots, and renting places.

So they said good-bye to Grandpa Ford, and took the train back home. The six little Bunkers had been in their own house about a month now, and they were playing in the attic, as I have told you, with the scooter Russ had made, when the accident happened.

Then, as I have told you, up the attic stairs rushed a strange man, who pulled Mun Bun out of the tangle of arms and legs. And Rose thought the strange man was a burglar.

"But I'm not," he said, smiling at the children. "Don't you know who I am?"

Russ shook his head.

"How did you get in here?" asked Violet. As usual, she was first with a question.

"I just walked in," said the man in answer. "I was coming here anyhow, and when I got here I saw the door wide open, so I just walked in."

"Did you come to sell something?" asked Rose. "'Cause if you did I don't believe my mother wants anything. She's got everything she wants."

"Well, she's got a nice lot of children, anyhow," said the man, smiling on each and ever one of the six little Bunkers in turn. "I'll say that. She has a nice lot of children, and I'm very glad none of you is hurt.

"As I said, I was coming here anyhow, and when I got on the porch and saw the door open, I walked right in. Then I heard a terrible racket up here in the attic, and up I rushed. I thought maybe the house was falling down."

"No," said Russ as he pulled his scooter out from between two trunks, "it was this. We slid down the ironing-board hill, Laddie and I, and it went off crooked -- the scooter did."

"And it knocked into us," said Violet. "But if you didn't come to sell anything, what did you come for?"

"Well," said the strange man, and he smiled again, "you might say I came to get you children."

"You -- you came to get us?" gasped Rose.

"Yes. I'm going to take you away with me."

"Take -- take us away with you!" cried Russ. "We won't go! We want to stay with our daddy and mother."

"I'll take them, too," said the man. "I have room for all you six little Bunkers and more too, out on my ranch. I've come to take you all away with me."

What could it mean? Russ and Rose, the oldest, could not understand it. They looked at the man again. They were sure they had never seen him before.

"Yes," the stranger went on, "I saw the door open, so I walked in. I was glad to get out of the rain. It's a cold storm. I hope summer will soon come. And, as I say, I've come to take you away."

If the man had not smiled so nicely the children might have been frightened. But, as it was, they knew everything would be all right.

"And now, as long as none of you is hurt, I think I'd better go downstairs and tell your mother I have come to take you away," went on the man. "I think I hear her coming up."

And, just then, footsteps were heard on the stairs leading to the attic, and Mrs. Bunker appeared.

"Oh, Mother," gasped out Rose, "there's a man here and he says he's going to take us away and --  -- "

Before she finished Mrs. Bunker had run up to the attic. She looked at the strange man, who smiled at her. Then she hurried over to him and kissed him and said:

"Oh, Fred, I'm glad to see you! I didn't expect you until to-morrow, and I was going to surprise the children with you. Oh, but I'm glad to see you! Children," she said, laughing, "this is my brother, your Uncle Fred."



Chapter III

A Queer Story


The six little Bunkers, who had been untangled from the mix-up caused when the scooter ran sideways off the ironing-board hill, stood in a half circle and looked at the strange man. He did not seem quite so strange now, and he certainly smiled in a way the children liked.

"Is he our real uncle?" asked Violet.

"Yes, he is your very own uncle. He is my brother. Frederic is his name -- Frederic Bell," went on Mother Bunker. "But you are to call him Uncle Fred."

"Then he isn't a burglar!" stated Rose.

"Of course not!" laughed her mother.

"No, I'm not a burglar," said the visitor, laughing too. "Though I don't blame you for feeling a bit alarmed when I rushed in. I thought some of you might know me, though some of you I've never seen, and Russ and Rose were smaller than they are now the last time I saw them."

"I didn't tell them you were coming," said Mrs. Bunker. "I hardly thought you would get here so soon, and I was planning a surprise, as I say. But we're very glad to see you. How did you get into the house and up here?"

"I walked in. The front door was open and --  -- "

"I left it open to air the house."

"And as soon as I got in I heard a great racket up where I knew the attic must be, so up I rushed. I found the children all in a heap, and I pulled them apart as best I could."

"We were riding on a scooter I made from an older roller skate," explained Russ, "and it went off the ironing-board sideways and it bumped into everybody."

"I should say it did bump!" laughed Uncle Fred.

"But we're not hurt," added Laddie. "We're all right now. Can you answer riddles, Uncle Fred?"

"Well, yes, I think so, if they're not too hard."

"I know lots of riddles," said Laddie. "I have a good one about what goes through --  -- "

"Wait a minute!" cried Vi, elbowing her way to a place in the front ranks of the six little Bunkers. "I want to ask Uncle Fred a question."

"You did ask him one," suggested Rose.

"Well, I want to ask him another," went on Vi. "You said you were going to take us away," she told the visitor. "Are you? And where and when are we all going? And can we have some fun?"

"Oh, hold on! Stop! Whoa! Back up!" exclaimed Uncle Fred. "I thought you said you wanted to ask one question, not half a dozen."

"But you said you were going to take us away. Are you?"

"I am if your mother and father will let me," replied Uncle Fred. "You know I wrote you," he went on to Mother Bunker, "that I'd like to have you all come out to my ranch to stay all summer."

"What's a ranch?" asked Vi.

"I know," interrupted Russ. "It's a place where they have horses and cows and --  -- "

"Indians!" cried Laddie.

"And cowboys!" went on Russ. "That'll be great! We can have a Wild West show!"

"Oh, let's go!" shouted Laddie.

"Children! Children!" murmured Mother Bunker. "Less noise, please! What will Uncle Fred think of you?"

"Oh, I don't mind the noise," replied the Westerner. "I'm used to that. Sometimes, when the cowboys are feeling pretty good, they whoop and yell like Indians."

"Are there any Indians out there?" asked Russ eagerly. "I mean out at your ranch?"

"Yes, a few," answered Uncle Fred.

"And where is your ranch?" Laddie inquired.

All interest in the scooter was lost in Uncle Fred's arrival. And if he planned to take the six little Bunkers somewhere they wanted to hear all about that. So they crowded close around him.

"My ranch," said Uncle Fred, "is out in Montana, near a place called Moon City. The name of my place is Three Star, and --  -- "

"Is there a moon, too?" asked Violet.

"Well, the name of the town, as I said, is Moon City, and I suppose it was named that because the moon looks so beautiful over the mountains. But I am down on the plains, and the reason I call my ranch Three Star is because my cattle are marked with three stars, so I will know them if they should happen to get mixed up with the cattle of another ranch."

"When are we going?" asked Russ. "I have to make a lasso if we go out on a ranch. Maybe I'll lasso an Indian."

"So'll I," put in Laddie. "When can we go, Mother?"

"Oh, not for some little time. Uncle Fred has come to pay us a visit. Haven't you?" she went on to her brother.

"Oh, yes, I'm going to stay East a while," he said. "But I'm desirous of getting back to Three Star," he added. "There's something queer been going on there, and I want to find out what it is. That's one reason I came on East -- to try to find out what's wrong at my place. There certainly is something queer there!"

"Is it a ghost?" asked Violet.

"No, hardly a ghost," answered Uncle Fred with a laugh. "What do you know about ghosts, anyhow?"

"There was one at Grandpa Ford's," explained Rose.

"But we found out what it was," added Russ.

"But first it made terribly queer noises," said Laddie.

"Well, the only queer noises out at Three Star Ranch are made by the cowboys, and sometimes by the Indians," said Uncle Fred. "No, this is something different. But it might almost as well be a ghost for all I can find out about it. It certainly is very queer," he went on to his sister. "I have lost a great many cattle lately, and that and something strange about a spring of water on my place, are two of the reasons why I came on here. I want to talk with some men who know about springs and streams of water, and get some books about it so I can solve this puzzle, if it's possible.

"Another reason I came on," he added, "is to take you all back with me to Moon City, and let the children have fun out on my ranch."


"Do you mean to take us all out West?" asked Rose.

"Yes, every one of you six little Bunkers, and your father and mother, too," returned Uncle Fred.

"Can we go, Mother?" begged Russ.

"I'll see about it," was the answer. "But we'd all better go downstairs now. Uncle Fred must be tired from his long trip, and I want to get him a cup of tea. It is raining hard still, so you children can't go out and play."

"We don't want to," said Vi. "We want to see Uncle Fred."

"I like Uncle Fred!" exclaimed Mun Bun, going up to his mother's brother and clasping his hand. "I like him awful much!"

"And I like you, too," replied Uncle Fred, catching the little fellow up in his arms.

"I like him, too!" exclaimed Margy, who was not going to be left out.

"That's the girl! I knew you wouldn't forget me!" and with a laugh Uncle Fred caught her up also, and danced about the attic, with a child in each arm.

"Is it far out to your ranch?" asked Russ.

"Quite a way, little man," answered Uncle Fred. "It will take us about four days to get there, riding steadily on the train. But we won't start right away. I have some business to do here. But when that is over I hope the weather will be better, and then we can start."

"And stay out there all summer?" asked Laddie.

"Yes, and all winter, too, if you like. We'll be glad to have you."

"We seem to do nothing but visit around of late!" exclaimed Mother Bunker. "We have been to Grandma Bell's, to Aunt Jo's, to Cousin Tom's, to Grandpa Ford's and now maybe we're going to Uncle Fred's."

"I think it's nice," remarked Rose.

"So do I!" added Vi. "I love to go visiting!"

"Could I ask you that riddle now?" inquired Laddie, as Uncle Fred started downstairs, carrying Margy and Mun Bun.

"Yes," was the answer of the children's uncle. "Go ahead."

"What is it that goes through --  -- "

"Oh, don't ask him that one about what goes through a door but doesn't come into the room!" exclaimed Russ.

"I wasn't!" asserted Laddie. "That's an old one, and the answer is a keyhole. I was going to ask him a new one."

"Well, go ahead," said Uncle Fred.

"What is it goes through --  --  No, that isn't it. Let me see. I almost forgot. Oh, I know! What can you drive without a whip or reins? That's it. What can you drive without a whip or reins?"

"Do you mean an ox?" asked Uncle Fred. "I've seen oxen driven, and the man who drove them didn't use reins as they do on horses, though he did have a goad, which is like a whip."

"No, oxen isn't the answer," said Laddie. "Do you give up?"

"Well, I will, just to see what the answer is," replied Uncle Fred.

"What is it you can drive without a whip or reins?" asked Laddie again. "The answer is a nail. You can drive that with a hammer."

"Ha! Ha! That's a pretty good riddle!" laughed Uncle Fred. "I must try that on some of the cowboys when I get back to Three Star Ranch."

"And now don't you children bother Uncle Fred too much while I'm making him a cup of tea," said Mrs. Bunker, as they reached the first floor.

"Oh, they don't bother me," declared Uncle Fred.

"Tell us about the something queer on your ranch," begged Russ, as his uncle sat down, holding Margy and Mun Bun in his lap.

"All right, I will," promised Mr. Bell. "First I'll tell you about the ranch, and then about the queer things that happened. Now Three Star Ranch is --  -- "

Just then the doorbell rang loudly, and Uncle Fred stopped speaking.

"I wonder who it is," said Rose.



Chapter IV

Uncle Fred's Tale


The ringing of the Bunker doorbell was not unusual. It often rang during the day, but just now, when Uncle Fred was about to tell his story, it rather surprised the children to hear the tinkle.

"I'll go and see who it is," offered Russ. "And please don't tell any of the story until I come back," he begged.

"I won't," promised Uncle Fred.

Russ hurried to the door, and, as he opened it, the other children heard him cry:

"Oh, Daddy! What made you ring?"

"I forgot my key," answered Mr. Bunker. "I couldn't open the door."

"Oh, it's Daddy!" cried Mun Bun and Margy, and, slipping down from Uncle Fred's knee, they raced to the hall to get their usual kisses.

"Guess who's here!" cried Russ, for his father could not see into the room where his wife's brother sat. "Guess!"

"Grandma Bell?"

"Nope!"

"Aunt Jo?"

"Nope!"

"It's Uncle Fred!" cried Rose, hurrying out into the hall. "And he's got a secret out at his ranch like Grandpa Ford had at Great Hedge, and he's going to take us all out there and -- and --  -- "

"My! better stop and catch your breath before it runs away from you," laughed Daddy Bunker, as he lifted Rose in his arms and kissed her. "So Uncle Fred is here, is he? He came a little ahead of time."

"And he s'prised us all up in the attic," added Laddie, who had also come into the hall. "Russ and I rode down on the scooter, and we bumped, and had a mix-up, and Uncle Fred came up, and --  -- "

"And we thought he was a burglar!" finished Violet.

"You must have had quite a time," laughed Daddy Bunker. "Well, now, after I get my wet things off, I'll go in and see Uncle Fred and hear all about it," and soon Daddy Bunker and his wife's brother were shaking hands and talking, while the children sat about them, eager and listening.

"We'll have an early supper," said Mother Bunker, when she had given Uncle Fred a cup of tea, "and then we can hear all about Three Star Ranch."

Norah O'Grady soon had a nice supper on the table, and after Rose had helped with it, as she often did, for her mother was teaching her little daughter to be a housekeeper, the children took their places and began to eat. And, at the same time, they listened to the talk that went on among the grown folk. Mother and Father Bunker had many questions to ask Uncle Fred, and he also asked them a great many, for he wanted to know all about Grandma Bell, and Aunt Jo and Grandpa Ford and all the rest of the Bunkers' relatives.

"And now will you tell us about Three Star Ranch?" asked Russ eagerly, as the chairs were pushed back.

"Yes, I will," promised Uncle Fred.

"And don't leave out the Indians," begged Laddie.

"Nor the cowboys," added Russ.

"Can you tell about some ponies?" asked Rose. "I love ponies!"

"Yes, I'll tell about them, too," said her uncle. "And if you come out West with me you shall have some rides on ponies."

"Really, truly?" gasped Rose.

"Oh, won't that be fun!" cried Vi. "What color are ponies? And what makes them be called ponies? I should think they would be called pawnies, 'cause they paw the ground. And how many have you, Uncle Fred?"

"Oh, Vi! Not so many questions, my dear! Please!" exclaimed her mother, laughing. "Uncle Fred won't get a chance to tell any story if you talk so much. You are a regular chatterbox to-night."

"Wait until you get out West. It's so big there you can talk all day and night and bother no one," said Uncle Fred. "But now I'll tell you about my ranch.

"As I mentioned, it is near Moon City, in Montana. That is a good many miles from here, and around my house are big fields, where the cattle roam about and eat the grass.

"A ranch, you must know, little Bunkers, is just a big farm. But instead of raising apples and peaches and pears, hay, grain or chickens on my ranch, I raise cattle. Cows you might call them, though we speak of them as cattle. Some men raise horses on their ranches, but though I have some horses and ponies, I have more cattle than anything else.

"I have to keep a number of men to look after the cattle. These men are called cowboys, and they ride about the ranch on horses, or cow ponies, and see that the cattle are all right, that they get enough to eat and drink, and that no one takes them away."

"What do the Indians do?" asked Russ. "Tell us about them."

"Well, some of the Indians farm," said Uncle Fred. "Some of them make baskets and other things to sell to travelers who come through on the trains, but many of them just live a lazy life. They are on what is called a Reservation -- that is land which the government has set aside for them."

"Do Indians come to your ranch?" asked Laddie. "And could I lasso any of 'em with a rope lasso like I saw in some pictures?"

"Well, sometimes Indians do come to Three Star," answered Uncle Fred. "But I don't believe any of them would like to be lassoed."

"What's this I hear about your having trouble?" asked Daddy Bunker.

"Well, yes, I have been having trouble," answered Uncle Fred. "And, as usual, my trouble is like that a lot of ranchers have. Some one has been taking my cattle."

"Didn't you want them to?" asked Russ.

"No, indeed," answered his uncle. "I raise my cattle to sell, so I can make money to pay my cowboys and live on some of it myself. If bad men take my cattle away in the night, as they do, without paying me, I lose money. And that's why I came on East here."

"Surely you didn't come all the way from Moon City to find out who was taking your cattle at Three Star Ranch!" exclaimed Mother Bunker.

"Oh, no. The men who are doing that are right out there. I've left some of my cowboys to attend to them," answered Uncle Fred. "What I came on for, besides getting you to go back with me, is to get some books about springs and streams of water, and also to talk with some engineers about a queer spring on my ranch."

"What sort of queer spring?" asked Daddy Bunker. "I thought all springs were alike."

"Well, I s'pose they are, in that they have water in 'em," said Uncle Fred. "But mine isn't that kind. Sometimes it has water in it, and again it hasn't."

"What do you mean?" asked his sister. "Does the spring go dry? That used to happen to the spring where we lived when we were children. Don't you remember, Fred?"

"Yes, but that spring only went dry when there was no rain -- say in a dry, hot summer. The spring on Three Star Ranch goes dry sometimes in the middle of a rainy season."

"What makes it?" asked Daddy Bunker.

"That's what I came on to find out about," replied Uncle Fred. "None of my cowboys can tell what makes it, and the Indians are puzzled, too. It's like one of Laddie's riddles, I guess."

"That's what we thought about the ghost at Great Hedge," said Mrs. Bunker. "But we finally found out what it was, and very simple it was, too. Perhaps this spring of yours will turn out the same way."

"Well, I hope it does," said her brother. "All I know is that sometimes the spring will be full of fine water. We use it for drinking at the ranch house and for watering some of the horses. The cattle drink at a creek that runs through my place. That never goes dry.

"But sometimes there will be hardly a drop of water in the spring, and then there is trouble. Everybody is sorry then, for we have to haul water from the creek in barrels, and it isn't as good to drink as the spring water."

"Is that the only queer thing?" asked Daddy Bunker.

"No. The most remarkable thing about it," went on Uncle Fred, "is that every time the spring goes dry some of my cattle are taken away. I suppose you could call it stolen, though I don't like to think that any of my neighbors would steal. I used to think the cattle wandered away, but since none of them wander back again I feel pretty sure they must be taken on purpose."

"And every time the spring dries up the cattle are taken?" asked Mrs. Bunker, while the six little Bunkers listened eagerly to Uncle Fred's story.

"Almost every time. I don't know what causes it."

"Maybe the cows drink up all the water," said Russ.

"No, cattle don't come near the spring," said Mr. Bell. "They are on the far end of the ranch. It is a puzzle to me; about as much of a puzzle as the ghost must have been at Great Hedge, before you found out about it."

"So you came East to consult some engineers about the spring," remarked Daddy Bunker. "Do you think they can help you?"

"Well, you know there are engineers who make a study of all kinds of water; of springs, lakes, rivers, and so on," explained Uncle Fred. "They are water-engineers just as others are steam or electrical engineers. I thought I'd ask them the reasons for springs going dry. Some of them may know something about the water in Montana, and they can tell me if there are underground rivers or lakes that might do something to my spring.

"Anyhow I had some other business in New York, so while I was attending to that, and coming on here to get you folks, I thought I'd see the engineers."

"And have you seen any yet?" asked his sister.

"Not yet. I'm going to in a day or so. But I stopped at a store and ordered --  -- "

Before Uncle Fred could say what it was he had ordered the doorbell rang again. This time it could not be Daddy Bunker coming in, as he was already at home.

Norah, who went to open the door, could be heard speaking to some one.

"Oh, and it's a message you have for Mr. Bell, is it?" she said. "Well, come in and don't be standin' there in the wet rain."

"A message for me!" exclaimed Uncle Fred. "I hope it isn't any bad news from my ranch -- about more cattle being taken."



Chapter V

Packing Up


"Somebody for you, Mr. Bell," announced Norah, as she opened wider the door of the sitting room where the six little Bunkers, Uncle Fred and the others were gathered. "It's a boy, and he has a package."

"Then it can't be a telegram containing bad news," said Uncle Fred. "They don't come in packages, unless there's a lot of 'em, and I hardly would get that many. I'll see what it is."

The boy was not a telegraph messenger after all, but a special delivery lad from the post-office, and the package he had for Uncle Fred was a book.

"Oh, it's a book I sent for to New York," said the ranchman after he had given the boy ten cents, and had opened the package.

"It's a book that tells about springs, and the rocks underneath the earth where the water comes from. I thought I'd read about springs so I'd learn something about the queer one on my ranch," Uncle Fred said to Daddy Bunker. "I heard about this book, sent to New York for it, and asked them to send it to me here by special delivery. Now I can read what I want to know about water."

"Will you read us a story out of the book?" asked Margy. "I like stories."

"I don't believe there are any stories in this book," said Uncle Fred with a laugh.

"Could you tell us one?" asked Mun Bun.

"About cowboys!" exclaimed Russ.

"And Indians!" added Laddie.

"Well, I guess I could think of a story, if I tried real hard," answered Uncle Fred, laughing.

The six little Bunkers gathered about his chair, and, laying aside the book that the special delivery messenger had brought, the ranchman told the children some wonderful stories.

He told them how, once, his cattle all ran away in a mad rush called a "stampede," and how he and his cowboys had to ride after them on ponies, firing their big revolvers, to turn the steers back from a deep gully.

"And did you stop 'em?" asked Russ, his eyes wide open in wonder and excitement.

"Oh, yes. But it was hard work," answered his uncle.

Then Mr. Bell told about a big prairie fire. On the flat, level fields, where he pastured his cattle, grew long grass. When this gets dry it burns very easily, and, once started, it is hard to stop.

"And how did you stop it?" asked Rose, when her uncle had told about the blazing miles of grass.

"We got a lot of men and horses and plows," he answered, "and plowed a wide strip of land in front of the fire. When the flames got to the bare ground there was nothing for them to burn, and the wind was not strong enough to carry them over to where there was more grass. So we saved our ranch houses."

"Do you live in a house on your ranch?" asked Laddie.

"Why, of course we do!" laughed Uncle Fred. "What did you think we lived in?"

"Tents, like the Indians."

"Oh, no, we have houses. But they aren't as nice as yours here in Pineville," said the ranchman. "I have a house to myself where I live with Captain Roy, and there is another house where the cowboys live. Then there is still another house where they eat their meals. This has a lot of big windows in it that can be opened wide on a hot day."

"Who is Captain Roy?" asked Russ. "Is he an old soldier, like Jerry Simms?"

"Yes, Captain Robert Roy used to be in the United States army," answered Uncle Fred. "He is retired now, and he helps me at the ranch. He is a partner of mine, and he looks after things while I am away. You six little Bunkers will like him, for he loves children."

"I wish we could hurry up and get out there!" sighed Russ.

"Well, I think the best place for my little chickens to hurry to is -- bed!" laughed Mother Bunker. "Go to bed now, and morning will soon come, so we can talk about going to Uncle Fred's."

The children did not want to go to bed, but they always minded their mother, unless they forgot and did something she had told them not to. But this time there was no chance to forget.

"Good night, Uncle Fred!" they called, one after another, as they trooped upstairs.

Norah went with Mun Bun and Margy to see that they were properly undressed and covered up. Uncle Fred stayed downstairs to talk with Daddy and Mother Bunker.

He was telling them about the strange spring on his ranch, in which the water sometimes ran out in the night, no one knew where, and he was speaking about his cattle having been taken away, when suddenly Laddie called from upstairs:

"Mother, make Russ stop!"

"I'm not doing anything, Mother!" answered the voice of Russ, quickly enough.

"He is so!" went on Laddie. "He's playing he's a cowboy, and he says I've got to be an Indian, and he's going to lasso me with the sheet off the bed."

"Well, I didn't do it -- not yet -- did I?" asked Russ.

"No, but you're going to!"

"I am not!"

"You are so! You said you were."

"Well, I said I would if you'd let me."

"And I won't let you! I want to go to sleep so morning will come quick, and we can go to Uncle Fred's," went on Laddie. "I can think of some new riddles there."

"Boys! Boys! Be quiet and go to sleep!" called Mr. Bunker.

And, after a little more talk, Laddie and Russ settled down in bed and nothing more was heard of them until morning.

"Is Uncle Fred here?" eagerly asked Rose, when she came downstairs to breakfast.

"Of course he is," answered her mother. "What made you think he wasn't?"

"Oh, I -- I dreamed in the night he went back home, and I couldn't see him any more," answered the little girl. "Did he go?"

"Indeed I didn't, Rose!" answered Uncle Fred himself, as he came softly up behind her and caught her up in his arms. "I'm going to stay here until you all get ready to go back to Three Star Ranch with me."

Then the rest of the little Bunkers came down, each one eager to see Uncle Fred and hear more of his wonderful stories of the West. And he was glad to tell them, for he liked the children, and, knowing they had never been out on a ranch, he realized how strange it all was to them.

"If we are really going West," said Mother Bunker to Daddy Bunker, after breakfast, "I must begin to think of packing up again. It seems we do nothing but travel!"

"The children like it," said her husband.

"Yes, and they'll like it out at my place," added Uncle Fred.

"Yes, I suppose so," said Mrs. Bunker. "But now to think of packing. It's such a long journey we can't take much."

"You won't need it," her brother said. "Though we live out West among the Indians and the cowboys, there are some stores there, and you can buy what you can't take with you. Besides, you won't need much for the children. Let them rough it. Put old clothes on them and let them roll around on the grass. That's the best thing in the world for them.

"Well, I'm going now to have a talk with some water engineers about my spring, and attend to some other business. Do you think you can be ready to go back with me in about a week?"

"Oh, never so soon as that!" cried Mrs. Bunker. "I'll need at least two weeks to pack up."

"All right, then we'll call it two weeks. So, two weeks from to-day, at ten o'clock in the morning," said Uncle Fred, "we start for the West."

"Hurray!" cried Russ, who came in just in time to hear what his uncle said.

The next two weeks were busy ones. The six little Bunkers could not do much toward packing, though Rose, who went about the house singing, as she almost always did, helped her mother as much as she could. Russ went about whistling, but he did not help much. Instead he and Laddie made lassos out of clotheslines, and once Mrs. Bunker heard Norah, out in the kitchen, saying:

"Now you mustn't do that, Russ! I told you that you must not!"

"What's he doing, Norah?" asked Mrs. Bunker.

"He's taking forks from the table and tying them on his shoes," answered the cook.

"You mustn't do that, Russ!" exclaimed his mother. "Why are you doing such a thing? Forks on your shoes -- the idea!"

"I'm playing they're spurs, Mother, like those the cowboys at Uncle Fred's ranch wear on their boots," said Russ. "Spurs are sharp and so are forks, so I thought if I tied some forks on my shoes I'd have spurs like the cowboys."

His mother laughed, but told him that forks did not look much like spurs and, moreover, that she did not want to have her forks used for that purpose.

So Russ had to take off his fork-spurs, much to his sorrow. But he soon found something else to play with, and went about whistling merrily.

Two days before the two weeks were up Mrs. Bunker said that all the packing was done, and that she was ready to start for the West with the six little Bunkers. Meanwhile Uncle Fred and Daddy Bunker had been kept busy; the ranchman attending to his business matters, and talking with engineers about his mysterious spring, and Mr. Bunker working at his real estate affairs.

"They tell me to take some photographs of the spring and send them to them," said Uncle Fred. "So I'll do that. I've bought a camera, and we'll take pictures for the engineers."

"I can do that for you," remarked Daddy Bunker. "I often take pictures of the houses I buy and sell."

The last valise and trunk had been packed. Once more the Bunker house was closed for a long vacation and the family was on the porch, waiting for the big automobile that was to take them and Uncle Fred to the station.

"Are we all here?" asked Mother Bunker, "counting noses," as she did before the start of every trip. "Oh, where's Margy?" she suddenly cried, as she did not see her little girl. "Margy isn't here! Where can she be?"

For Margy, who had been there a little while before, was missing.



Chapter VI

Off For The West


"Come on! Everybody hunt for Margy!" called Mr. Bunker. "She can't be very far away, as I saw her on the porch a little while ago."

"We haven't much time if we are to catch the train," said Mother Bunker. "Oh, dear! I wish she wouldn't run off that way. Did you see her go, Rose?"

"No, Mother, I didn't. But I'll go and look, and --  -- "

"No, you stay here," said Daddy Bunker. "First we know you'll be getting lost, Rose. Uncle Fred and I will look for Margy. The rest of you stay here."

"I know where Margy goed!" suddenly exclaimed Mun Bun.

"Where?" asked Daddy and Mother Bunker and Uncle Fred. "Where did Margy go?"

"She goed to say good-bye to Carlo!"

"What! Carlo, the dog next door?" asked Mother Bunker.

"Yep!" and Mun Bun nodded his head.

"I wonder if she has," murmured Daddy Bunker. "And yet I wouldn't be surprised. The children think as much of Carlo as if he was their own dog," he said to Uncle Fred.

"Well, let's go and look," suggested the ranchman.

Back to the yard next door hurried the two men. In the rear was a nice, cosy dog-house into which Carlo went when it was cold or rainy.

"Look!" cried Uncle Fred, pointing toward the dog kennel. "There she is!"

Something pink and white was fluttering from Carlo's little house, and pink and white was the color of Margy's dress. Mr. Bunker ran down the yard.

"Margy!" he cried, as he took his little girl out from the kennel, where she was snuggled up to Carlo, her head pillowed on his shaggy coat. "Margy! what are you doing?"

"I was saying good-bye to Carlo, Daddy," the little girl answered. "I love him just bushels, and I'm going away from him, so I said good-bye!"

"Well, we might say good-bye to the train if you stayed here much longer," laughed her father, brushing the straw off the little girl's dress.

"Good-bye, Carlo! Good-bye!" called Margy, as her father carried her away.

"Bow-wow!" barked the big dog.

That was his way of saying good-bye, I suppose.

Out of the yard, into which she had gone when no one was watching her, Margy was carried by her father. Then along came the big automobile, and in that the six little Bunkers, with their daddy and mother and their Uncle Fred, rode to the station. Some of their neighbors came out on their steps to wave good-bye to the Bunkers, and Norah and Jerry Simms shook their hands and wished them the best of luck.

"Bring me back an Indian, Russ!" called Jerry.

"I'll lasso one for you," Russ answered.

"And I'll think up a lot of new riddles for you, Norah!" said Laddie.

"Sure, and I'll like that!" exclaimed the cook.

And so the six little Bunkers were off for the West.

It was a long journey from their home in Pennsylvania to Uncle Fred's ranch in Montana. It would take four days and nights of riding in railroad trains, but I am not going to tell you all that happened on the trip.

In fact nothing very much did happen. The children sat in their seats and looked out of the windows. Now and then they walked up and down the car, or asked for drinks of water. They looked at picture books, and played with games that Uncle Fred and Daddy Bunker bought for them from the train boy.

At night they all went to sleep in the car where beds were made out of what were seats in the daytime. It was not the first time the six little Bunkers had traveled in sleeping-cars, so they were not much surprised to see the colored porter make a bed out of a seat.

I will tell you about one funny thing that happened on the trip, and then I'll make the rest of the story about the things that took place on Uncle Fred's ranch, for there the children had many adventures.

"This is our last night of travel," said Mother Bunker to the children one evening, as the berths were being made up.

"Shall we be at Uncle Fred's ranch in the morning?" asked Russ, who, with Laddie, had been counting the hours when they might begin to lasso something.

"No, not exactly in the morning," said Uncle Fred himself. "But when you wake up, to-morrow morning, you can say: 'We'll be there to-night.' For by this time to-morrow night, if all goes well, we'll be at Three Star."

"Then can I see the ponies?" asked Violet.

"Yes, and have a ride on one if you want to," her uncle told her. "There are some very gentle ones that will just do for you children."

"That will be lovely!" exclaimed Rose. "I'll give my doll a ride, too."

"So will I," decided Violet.

They had taken with them their Japanese dolls, that had been found in such a funny way on the beach, as I told you in the book called "Six Little Bunkers at Cousin Tom's."

"The berths are ready, sir," said the colored porter to Daddy Bunker, and soon the children were undressed and put to sleep in the queer beds for the last time on this journey.

The grown folk stayed up a bit later, talking about different things, and the queer spring on Uncle Fred's ranch.

"I hope I can find the men who have been taking my cattle," said the Westerner, as he got ready for his berth, as the beds in the sleeping-car are called.

"We'll help you find the bad chaps," said Daddy Bunker.

"And the children will want to help, too," added Mrs. Bunker. "Especially Russ and Laddie. They think they are getting to be quite big boys now. They may find out what is the matter with your spring, Fred."

"I hope they do, but I don't see how they can," answered the ranchman. "I've tried every way I know, and so have my cowboys. Well, we'll wait until we get out to the ranch, and then see what happens."

Pretty soon every one in the big sleeping-car was in bed. The Bunkers, two by two, were sleeping in the berths. Russ and Laddie were together in one, and Rose and Violet were in another. Mun Bun slept with his father, and Margy with her mother.

On and on rushed the train through the night, carrying the people farther West. The weather was fine now, and spring would soon give place to summer. Uncle Fred had said this was the nicest time of the year out on his ranch.

It must have been about the middle of the night that Mr. Bunker awakened suddenly. Just what caused him to do so he did not know, but he found himself wide awake in a moment. He reached over to see if Mun Bun was all right, and, to his surprise, he could not find his little son.

"That's queer!" exclaimed Mr. Bunker to himself. "Where can Mun Bun be? I wonder if he got up in the night to get himself a drink?"

The little fellow had never done this, but that is not saying he might not try it for the first time.

"Or perhaps he didn't like it in bed with me, and went in with his mother and Margy," thought Mr. Bunker.

Mrs. Bunker's berth was right across the aisle from the one in which Mr. Bunker had been sleeping with Mun Bun, and, putting on a bath robe, Mr. Bunker pushed back the curtains in front of his berth, and opened those of the one where his wife was sleeping.

"Amy! Amy!" he whispered, his lips close to her ear so as not to awaken the other passengers on either side. "Amy! is Mun Bun here with you?"

"What's the matter?" asked Mrs. Bunker, waking up suddenly.

"I woke up just now and I can't find Mun Bun. Is he in here?"



Chapter VII

At Three Star Ranch


But as Mr. Bunker parted the curtains over his wife's berth, and looked inside, he saw, by the dim light that streamed in, that Mun Bun was not with her. There was Margy, quietly sleeping with her mother, but no Mun Bun.

"What could have happened to him?" asked Mrs. Bunker, sitting up in bed. She looked at her husband. "Where is Mun Bun?" she asked.

"I don't know," he answered. "He was sleeping with me, but, all of a sudden, I woke up and Mun Bun was not with me."

"He must have awakened and got up to get a drink, or something," said Mrs. Bunker. "Then when he went to go back again, he couldn't find the place where you were, and he's either crawled in with Russ and Laddie, or with Rose and Violet. We must look for him."

"I'll look," said Mr. Bunker. "You stay with Margy. If she wakes up and finds you gone, she'll cry and disturb the whole car. You stay here, and I'll go and look in the two other berths."

Going along the aisle of the car, which was swaying to and fro from the speed of the train, Mr. Bunker softly opened the curtains of the berth next to that in which his wife and Margy were. In this second compartment were Violet and Rose.

It needed only a glance to show that Mun Bun was not with his sisters, though often, at home, when he had been disturbed in the night, he had been found in their bed.

"Well, I'll try where Laddie and Russ are sleeping," said Mr. Bunker. "He surely will be there."

But Mun Bun was not in the berth with Russ and Laddie.

Rather puzzled, and not knowing exactly what to do next, Mr. Bunker went back to his wife's berth. She was sitting up waiting for him, and Margy was still asleep.

"Did you find him?" whispered Mrs. Bunker.

"No, he wasn't with Russ or Rose. What shall I do?"

Just then the colored porter came along. He had seen Mr. Bunker roving around the car, and wanted to know if there was any trouble. The porter was supposed to stay awake all night, but he often went to sleep, though he did not undress.

"Is there anything the matter, sir?" he asked Mr. Bunker.

"Well, it's a queer thing, but my little boy, who was sleeping with me, is missing," said Mr. Bunker. "I woke up to find him gone."

"Is he in the berths where any of the rest of your family are sleeping?" asked the porter, for, having traveled with the Bunkers for some time, he knew them all, at least by sight.

"No, he isn't in with his sisters or brothers," answered Mr. Bunker.

"Oh, you didn't look in Fred's berth!" exclaimed Mrs. Bunker. "That's where he is, Charles. I'm sure."

"Very likely," said Mr. Bunker, a sound of relief in his voice. "I didn't think of looking there!"

It was only a few steps to the berth where Uncle Fred was sleeping by himself, and when Daddy Bunker pulled open the curtains there, he at once awakened his wife's brother.

"What is it? What's the matter? Has there been an accident -- a smash-up?" asked the Westerner quickly.

"No, nothing has happened except that Mun Bun is lost and we can't find him," answered Mr. Bunker in a low voice, so as not to disturb the other passengers. "I thought maybe he had crawled in with you, as he isn't with Amy, nor with Russ nor Rose."

"He isn't here," said Uncle Fred. "I'd have felt him if he had come into my berth. I'll get up and help you look."

Uncle Fred quickly slipped on a bath robe and stepped out into the aisle of the car. Then he and Daddy Bunker and the porter stood there in the dim light.

"Did you find him, Charles?" asked Mrs. Bunker in a low voice from her berth.

"No, he wasn't with Fred."

"Oh, dear! What shall we do? You must find him!" she exclaimed, as she poked her head out between the curtains.

"Well, ma'am, he couldn't fall off the train," said the porter, "'cause we hasn't stopped for a long while, and the doors are tight closed at each end of the car. He's here somewhere."

"He's in some other berth," put in Uncle Fred. "He must have walked in his sleep, or something like that, and he's in with some one else he has mistaken for his father or his mother, or one of his sisters or brothers. We'll find him."

"But we can't wake up everybody in the car, to ask them if Mun Bun is sleeping with them," said Mr. Bunker.

"We've just got to!" exclaimed his wife. "We must find Mun Bun!"

The porter looked disturbed. He did not very much like to awaken all the sleeping passengers in the train, for some of them were sure to be cross. They might blame him for their loss of sleep, and then he would not get the usual tips of quarters or half dollars or dollars at the end of the ride.

"I'll tell you what we can do," said Uncle Fred.

"What?" asked Daddy Bunker.

"Since we know Mun Bun is safe in this car, as the porter says he couldn't get off, we can wait until morning. He surely is in some berth, and is, very likely, sleeping soundly. Why not let him alone until morning?" answered Uncle Fred.

"Oh, no! Never!" cried Mrs. Bunker. "I must have him found, even if we have to wake up everybody in the train. I must find Mun Bun!"

Once more the porter hesitated.

"Well, if it has to be done, it has to be," he said. "I'll start at one end, an' you two gen'mens can start at the other end of the car, and maybe we won't have to wake up quite everybody."

Just as they were going to start to make this search a voice from behind the colored porter called.

"Are you looking for a lost boy?" inquired a man who wore an old-fashioned night-cap on his head, which he stuck out from between the green curtains of his berth.

"Yes!" eagerly exclaimed Mr. Bunker.

"Have you one there?" asked Uncle Fred, turning to look at the man.

"Well, I have some sort of a youngster in my berth with me," was the low, laughing answer. "I had a dream that my pet dog had climbed in bed with me, as he sometimes does when I'm at home. In my sleep I put out my hand and I felt some soft, curly head. Then I happened to think, in my dream, that my dog is an Airedale, and they don't exactly have soft, silky hair.

"Then I woke up, reached under my pillow for my flash-light, and pressed the switch. There I saw a small boy asleep with me. Maybe he's the one you want."

"Oh, it must be Mun Bun!" exclaimed Mrs. Bunker. "Look quick, Charles!"

Mr. Bunker went down to the berth whence the man with the night-cap had spoken. There, surely enough, peacefully sleeping in the strange bed, was Mun Bun.

"Yes, that's my boy," said Daddy Bunker. "Sorry he bothered you."

"Shucks, he didn't bother me a mite!" said the good-natured man. "I used to have a little tot like him myself, but he's grown up now, and gone to war. I'm old and bald-headed -- that's why I wear this night-cap, on account of my bald head," he went on. "But I'm not too old to like children. You can let him stay here until morning if you wish. He won't bother me."

"No, thank you," said Mr. Bunker. "He might wake up and be frightened if he found himself in a strange bed. I'll carry him back with me. Thank you just the same."

Daddy Bunker picked up Mun Bun, still sleeping, and the little fellow never awakened. His father took him back to his own berth. Uncle Fred got into his and Mrs. Bunker went back to sleep beside Margy.

Mun Bun never awakened as his father carried him back, but slept on. Only he murmured something in his dreams about "pony rides."

"You shall have some when you get to Uncle Fred's ranch," whispered Daddy Bunker, as he softly kissed the little sleeping fellow. And Mun Bun was once more tucked in the bed where he belonged.

In the morning the other little Bunkers were told of the funny thing that had happened to Mun Bun in the night. The little fellow himself knew nothing about it.

"He must have walked in his sleep," said his mother, "though I never knew him to do that before."

And that is probably what happened.

Mun Bun, not used to sleeping in moving trains, had probably twisted and turned in the night, and, being restless, he had gotten out of the bed where he was with his father. If he was awake he did not remember it. He must have toddled down the aisle of the car, all by himself, and then have crawled into the berth with the strange man. The latter was not awakened until he had his queer dream about his pet dog, and then he found Mun Bun.

"And just in time, too," said Uncle Fred, as they were all laughing about it at breakfast the next morning. "I wouldn't have liked to get all the passengers awake to find a lost boy. After this, Mun Bun, we'll have to put a hobble on you."

"What's a hobble?" asked Russ.

"Is it an Indian?" Violet wanted to know. She was not going to let Russ get ahead of her with questions.

"No, a hobble is something we put on horses to keep them from straying away," said the ranchman. "It's a rope with which we tie them."

"Do horses walk in their sleep?" Violet, in wonder, asked.

"I don't believe so," answered Uncle Fred. "I never saw any, and we have a lot out at Three Star."

"Why don't they?" asked Violet, after a pause.

"Why don't they what?" her uncle queried, for he had turned aside and was talking to Daddy Bunker.

"Why don't horses walk in their sleep?" asked Violet. "Mun Bun walked in his sleep, so why don't horses?"

"Oh, I guess they do enough walking and running in the day time," said Mrs. Bunker. "They're glad enough to rest at night."

"I guess I'll make up a riddle about Mun Bun walking in his sleep, if I can think of a good answer," announced Laddie.

"Do!" exclaimed Uncle Fred. "And save it for the cowboys out at my ranch. They like riddles."

"Do they?" cried Laddie. "Then I'll ask them that one about what do the tickets do when the conductor punches them. Nobody can tell me an answer to that."

"Yes, that would be a good one for the cowboys," laughed Uncle Fred. "Well, it won't be very long before we'll be there now."

The train sped on, and late that afternoon Moon City was reached. It was a small town, but it had the name of being a city. The children did not have much time to look about, as Uncle Fred was anxious to get them out to the ranch.

So, with bags and trunks, the Bunkers were piled into a big four-seated wagon, or buckboard, and the horses started off. Through the town they went, and then out on the broad plains. In the distance were great mountains and forests.

It was a drive of about ten miles to Three Star Ranch, and it was just getting dusk when the place was reached.

"Welcome home, six little Bunkers!" cried Uncle Fred, as he jumped from the wagon and began helping down his sister and the children. "Here we are, at my ranch at last."

"Where are the Indians?" asked Russ eagerly.

And just then came wild yells and whoops, and the air resounded with the firing of what the children thought must be giant fire-crackers, bigger than any they had ever heard.

"Whoop-ee! Whoop! Bang! Bang!" sounded on all sides.



Chapter VIII

Russ Makes A Lasso


There was so much noise that, at first, no one could make his or her voice heard. Then, as the sound of the shooting died away a little, and the whoops and shouts were not so loud, Laddie cried:

"Is that the Indians, Uncle Fred? Are they trying to get us?"

"Where's my lasso?" demanded Russ. "I had one on the train! Where is it, Mother? I want to lasso an Indian for Jerry Simms."

"Can't the cowboys help fight the Indians?" demanded Laddie, capering about in his excitement.

"Oh, look!" suddenly exclaimed Rose, and she pointed to a lot of men on horses coming around the corner of the big ranch house.

And as the children looked, these men again fired their big revolvers in the air, making such a racket that Mother Bunker covered her ears with her hands.

"Oh, here come the cowboys!" yelled Russ. "Now the Indians will run!"

"Let me see the cowboys! Let me see the cowboys!" cried Mun Bun. "Has they got any cows?"

Right up to where the six little Bunkers stood rode the cowboys on their horses, or "ponies," as they are more often called. Then the men suddenly pulled back on the reins, and up in the air on their hind legs stood the horses, the men clinging to their backs, swinging their big hats and yelling as loudly as they could.

"Oh, it's just like a circus!" cried Rose.

"Indeed it is," said her father. "More like a Wild West circus, I suppose."

"Did you get this show up for us, Fred?" asked Mother Bunker, when the cowboys had quieted down, and had ridden off to the corral, or place where they kept their horses.

"No, I didn't know anything about it," answered Uncle Fred. "But the cowboys often ride wild like that when they come in from their work and find visitors. They shoot off their revolvers, 'guns,' as they call them, and make as much noise as they can."

"What for?" asked Violet.

"Oh, just because they feel good, and they want to make everybody else feel good, too, I suppose."

"Will the Indians come?" asked Laddie hopefully.

"No, there aren't any Indians," his uncle told him. "At least not any around here now. Sometimes a few come from the reservation, but there's none here now."

The six little Bunkers watched the cowboys ride away to put their horses out to grass and wash themselves for supper, or "grub," or "chuck," or "chow," as they called it, giving the meals different names used according to the place where they had worked before.

"I'm glad they weren't Indians," said Laddie to Russ, as they went in the ranch house where Uncle Fred lived.

"Pooh! I wasn't afraid!" said Russ.

"No, I wasn't either," went on Laddie. "But I don't like Indians to come at you the first thing. I was glad they were cowboys."

"If they'd've been Indians I'd've lassoed 'em!" declared Russ.

"How could you, when you didn't have a lasso?"

"I'm going to make one," declared Russ.

"I'll help you lasso," offered Laddie.

"Pooh! you don't know how," said Russ. "But I'll teach you," he added.

"Come in and wash yourselves for supper," called Mother Bunker to the two boys, who had stayed out on the porch to see if the cowboys would again ride their horses around so wildly and shoot off the guns which made so much noise. "You must be hungry, Russ and Laddie."

"I am," Laddie admitted.

"So'm I," agreed Russ.

Into Uncle Fred's ranch house went all six little Bunkers. They liked the place from the very first. It was different from their house at home.

The room they went into first extended the width of the house. It was "big enough for the whole Bunker family and part of another one to sit in, and not rock on one anothers' toes," Mother Bunker said. Back of this big apartment, called the living-room, was the dining-room. Then came the kitchen, and, off in another part of the house, were the sleeping-rooms. The ranch house was only one story high, and it was, in fact, a sort of bungalow. It was very nice.

Even though it was away out on the plains Uncle Fred's house had some of the same things in it that the Bunkers had at home. There was running water, and a bathroom, and a sink in the kitchen.

"The water comes from the mysterious spring I told you about," said Uncle Fred when Mrs. Bunker asked him about it. "We pump it up into a tank with a gasolene engine pump, and then it runs into the bathroom or wherever else we want it. Oh, we'll treat you all right out here, you'll see!"

"I'm sure you will," said Mother Bunker.

The children were washed and combed after their long journey, and then Uncle Fred led them out to the dining-room.

"Who does your cooking?" asked Mrs. Bunker.

"Bill Johnson," was the answer. "He's a fine cook, too."

"Is he a man?" asked Rose, in some surprise.

"When you see him you'll say so!" exclaimed her uncle. "Bill is about six feet tall, and as thin as a rail. But he certainly can cook."

"I didn't think a man could cook," went on Rose.

"Of course they can!" laughed her father. "You ought to see me cook when I go camping and fishing. And the cook we had in the train coming here was a man."

"Was he?" asked Rose. "How funny!"

"Here he comes now," said Uncle Fred, as a tall, thin man, wearing a white apron and a cap came into the room with a big tray balanced on his hands. "Bill, this little girl thinks you can't cook because you're a man!"

"Oh, I only said -- I only said --  -- " and Rose blushed and hung her head.

"That's all right!" laughed Bill Johnson. "If she doesn't like my cooking I'll have her come out and show me how to make a pie or a cake!" and he laughed at Rose.

But the six little Bunkers all agreed that they never had a better meal than that first one at Uncle Fred's, even if it was cooked by a man who used to be a cowboy, as he told them later.

"It was as good as Grandma Bell's," said Russ.

"And as good as Aunt Jo's," added Rose.

"I'm glad we came!" declared Laddie, as he pulled a cookie out of his pocket. He had taken it away with him from the table.

After supper the children and grown folk walked around the ranch near the house. They saw where the cowboys slept in the "bunk house," and looked in the corral where the ponies were kept when they were not being ridden.

"Where are the little ponies we are to ride?" asked Rose of her uncle.

"I'll show them to you to-morrow," he promised. "It's too far to go over to their corral to-night."

"Will the cowboys shoot any more?" Laddie wanted to know.

"No, not to-night," said his father. "I guess they want a rest as much as you children do."

Indeed the six little Bunkers were very willing to go to bed that night. They were tired with their long journey, and sleeping in a regular bed was different from curling up in a berth made from seats in a car. Even Mun Bun slept soundly, and did not walk in his sleep and get in bed with any one else.

Early in the morning the children were down to breakfast. They found that Bill Johnson could get that sort of meal just as well as he could cook a supper, and after taking plenty of milk and oatmeal, with some bread and jam, the six little Bunkers were ready to have some fun.

They had on their play clothes, for the trunks and valises had been unpacked, and as the weather was mild, though it was not quite summer yet, they could play out of doors as much as they liked.

"I'm going to look at the cowboys," announced Russ, as he got up from the table. "I want to see how they lasso."

"So do I," said Laddie.

"Then you'll have to wait a bit, boys," Uncle Fred told them. "The cowboys have ridden over to the far end of the ranch to see about some cattle. They won't be back until evening."

"Could we walk over and see 'em?" asked Russ. "I want to see how they lasso."

"Well, it's several miles to where they have gone," said Uncle Fred. "I'm afraid you couldn't walk it. But you can go almost anywhere else you like, as there's no danger around here."

"Are there any wild bulls or steers or cows that might chase them?" asked Mother Bunker.

"No," answered her brother. "There are a few little calves in a pen out near the barn, but that's all. The cattle and horses are far away."

"Let's go out and see this mysterious spring of yours," said Daddy Bunker. "I'm eager to have a look at it. I'll take the camera along and get some pictures. Come, children!"

Rose and Violet, with Margy and Mun Bun, followed their father and mother and Uncle Fred. Laddie and Russ lagged behind.

"Aren't you coming?" asked their mother.

"I'm going to make a lasso," said Russ.

"So'm I," added Laddie.

"Oh, let them play by themselves," said Uncle Fred. "They can't do any damage nor come to any harm. They can see the spring later."

So Russ and Laddie went off by themselves to make a lasso. Russ found a piece of clothesline, which Bill Johnson, the cook, said he might take, and soon Russ and his brother were tying knots and loops in the strong cord.

If you don't know what a lasso or lariat is I'll tell you. It is just a long rope with what is known as a slip-knot in one end. That end is thrown over a horse, a cow, or anything else you want to catch. The loop, or noose, slips along the long part of the string, and is pulled tight. Then the horse or cow can be held and kept from getting away.

Mother and Daddy Bunker, with the four little Bunkers and Uncle Fred, were looking at the queer spring, which I'll tell you about a little later, when Laddie came running up to them.

"What's the matter?" asked Uncle Fred, seeing that the small boy seemed excited.

"Russ made -- made a lasso," panted Laddie, for he had been running, and was out of breath.

"Yes, I know he said he was going to," said Uncle Fred. "That's all right. Have a good time with it."

"Russ made -- made a lasso, and he -- he lassoed one of the little cows with it!" went on Laddie.

"Oh, did he!" exclaimed Mr. Bell with a laugh. "Well, I guess what little lassoing Russ can do won't hurt the calf. They are all pretty well grown."

"But Russ can't -- can't get loose!" went on Laddie. "He's yelling like anything and he says I'd better come and tell you! He lassoed the calf but he can't get loose -- I mean Russ can't get loose!"

"Oh, my goodness!" exclaimed Mrs. Bunker. "I might have known something would happen!"



Chapter IX

The Queer Spring


"What's all this? What's the matter?" asked Daddy Bunker, who had been looking at the mysterious spring and had not heard all the talk that went on. "What happened?"

"Russ made a lasso," stated Laddie, while Mrs. Bunker and Uncle Fred started for the corral where the little calves were kept until they were strong enough to run with the other cattle.

"Oh, Russ made a lasso, did he?" asked his father. "Well, that boy is always making something. He'll be an inventor yet, I'm sure."

"Russ lassoed a calf," explained Mrs. Bunker, for Mr. Bunker had caught up Laddie, and they had now overtaken the others, who had started on ahead.

"Well, he had to lasso something," said Mr. Bunker with a laugh. "Any boy wants to lasso something when he makes a lariat. I did when I was a boy. I lassoed our old rooster."

"But the trouble seems to be," said Uncle Fred, "that Russ lassoed a calf, and now the calf is running away with Russ."

"Oh, that's different!" said Mr. Bunker. "We'll have to see about this!"

Then he hurried along with his wife and Uncle Fred toward the calf corral. The five little Bunkers stayed behind at the spring for Mrs. Bunker called back to them to do this, sending Laddie back, too.

"We don't want any of them to get into trouble," she said to her brother.

"Yes, I think, too, that one at a time is enough," replied Mr. Bell.

Even before they reached the corral they heard the voice of Russ yelling. They heard him calling:

"Whoa now! Stop! Stop, bossy cow! Let me get up! Stop!"

"Maybe the calf will hook him!" cried Mrs. Bunker.

"Oh, no!" answered Uncle Fred. "The calves don't have horns. Russ will be all right, though he may be mussed up a bit."

"It will teach him not to lasso calves after this," said Mr. Bunker.

"I'm not so sure of that," murmured Mrs. Bunker. "It is more apt to make the others want to try the same thing."

A moment later they turned around the corner of one of the ranch buildings and came in sight of the corral. In one end they could see some frightened calves standing huddled together. In the middle of the corral was a cloud of dust.

"That must be Russ and the calf," said Uncle Fred.

He and Daddy Bunker ran faster toward the fence, within which the calves were kept, but, before they could reach it, they saw a man run out from one of the buildings, jump over the fence without touching it and land inside the corral. Then he disappeared in the cloud of dust.

A moment later he came out, carrying Russ in his arms, and from the little boy's leg there dangled a piece of clothesline. Then, also out of the dust cloud, came a very much frightened spotted calf, and around its neck was another piece of line.

"Oh, is he -- is he hurt?" gasped Mrs. Bunker, for Russ was limp.

"Not a bit, I'm glad to say!" answered the man who had Russ in his arms. "He's pretty dusty, and scratched up a bit, and his clothes are mussed, and he's frightened, but he's not hurt; are you?" and he laughed as he set Russ down on his own feet.

"I -- I guess I'm all right," Russ answered, a bit slowly. "I -- I had a dandy time!"

"Well, I should say you did!" exclaimed his father. "What did you do?"

"Well, I was playing I was a cowboy in the Wild West and I lassoed a buffalo. I made believe the calf was a buffalo."

"And then I guess the calf made believe you were a football, by the way it pulled you about the corral," said the man who had rescued Russ.

"Yes, sir, I guess so," answered Russ.

"I'm glad you rescued him," said Mrs. Bunker to the stranger. "I can't thank you enough."

"Oh, I didn't do anything," was the answer. "I heard the little fellow yelling shortly after I had seen him in the corral with the piece of clothesline. I guessed what had happened, and I jumped in. I found the calf pulling him around, for the lasso the little boy made had gotten tangled around his legs. The other end was on the calf.

"So I just cut the rope and picked up the youngster. Here he is, not much worse for wear. But you won't do it again, will you?"

"No -- no -- I don't guess I will," answered Russ.

"Captain Roy, this is my sister, Mrs. Bunker, and this is Mr. Bunker," said Uncle Fred, introducing them. "This is Captain Robert Roy, my ranch partner about whom I spoke to you," he went on to Mr. and Mrs. Bunker. "He has been away, or you would have met him last night."

"I'm glad you are here to-day, to get my boy out of the trouble he got himself into," said Mr. Bunker, as he shook hands with the former soldier.

"I am glad, too!" exclaimed the captain. "I like children, and I don't want to see them hurt. But, as it happened, Russ wasn't."

"He might have been, only for you," said Mrs. Bunker. "We can't thank you enough. Russ, don't lasso anything more."

"Can't I lasso a fence post, Mother?" Russ asked.

"Well, maybe that, or something that isn't alive. But no more calves."

"All right," said Russ.

His clothes were brushed off, Captain Roy talked a little while with Mr. and Mrs. Bunker, and then went back to his work, and Uncle Fred remarked:

"Well, now the excitement is over, we can go back to the spring. I presume the other children will be wondering what has happened."

So back they went to where Laddie, Rose and the others were waiting.

"Did you get him?" asked Laddie eagerly, when he saw Russ.

"No, he got me," was the answer. "I guess we won't play Wild West any more. We'll be Indians and not cowboys. Indians don't have to lasso buffaloes, do they, Uncle Fred."

"No, Indians have it sort of easy out here on their reservation," said Mr. Bell with a laugh. "I guess it will be safer for you boys to be Indians."

"That'll be fun too," agreed Russ.

"But we must have some feathers for our heads," said Laddie.

"We can get them in the chicken yard," returned Russ.

"Did the calf bite you?" asked Violet, and she looked at Russ as if to make sure he was all there.

"No, he didn't bite, but he almost stepped on me. You ought to have seen me flying around the field on the end of the rope. I couldn't get it loose," and Russ explained how it had happened.

However he was well out of it, and promised never again to try such a trick.

"I could make a riddle up about it, but I'm not going to," said Laddie. "Anyhow it's hard to guess the answer, so I'll think up one that's easier."

"Now this," said Uncle Fred, as they stood about the big spring, "is what I was telling you about. You all see what a nice lot of water there is here. Sometimes it overflows, there's so much. Then, within a few hours, it will go dry."

"And where does the water go?" asked Daddy Bunker.

"That's what none of us has been able to find out. The water just seems to sink down into the ground, as if the bottom had dropped out and let it all through. Then again, in a day or so, the water comes back again."

"It is queer," said Mrs. Bunker.

"And the worst of it is," said Uncle Fred, "that I may lose most of what I put into this ranch on account of this spring."

"How?" asked Daddy Bunker.

"Well, I bought this ranch partly because it had such a fine spring of water on it. There is none better for miles around. But if I wanted to sell the ranch again, and people heard that the spring went dry every now and then, they wouldn't pay me as much as I paid. So I would lose. That's one reason why I'm so anxious to get to the bottom of the puzzle. As I said, it's like one of Laddie's riddles -- I don't know the answer."

"It looks like a regular spring," said Mother Bunker.

"And yet it isn't," went on Uncle Fred. "It's all right now, but an hour later we may find the water sinking away."

"I'll take some pictures," said Daddy Bunker, who had a camera with him, "and then maybe we can dig up the ground and find hidden pipes, or something like that."

"We'll do the digging to-morrow," said Uncle Fred. "Now I want to show you about the ranch."

So he led them about, showing the six little Bunkers and their father and mother the different buildings, telling them how he raised his cattle and sent them to market, and how he sent out his cowboys to hunt for lost calves.

"There's always something to do on a ranch like this," said Uncle Fred. "You can keep busy all the while. If one thing doesn't happen another will. What with the mysterious spring, the bad men taking my cattle now and then, the Indians running off the reservation and making trouble -- well, you can keep busy."

"Could we see the little ponies?" asked Rose. "I'd like to have a ride on one."

"So would I!" exclaimed Russ. "I'd like a pony better than a calf."

"The ponies are over this way. I'll show them to you," said Uncle Fred. "We'll go back by way of the spring. I have some Shetland ponies," he went on to Daddy Bunker. "I raised a few and may raise more. The larger children can ride on them while they're at the ranch."

"That will be fine!" exclaimed Mrs. Bunker. "Oh, I'm sure the children will love it here."

They turned back toward the spring to go to the pony corral.

"I'm thirsty!" exclaimed Russ, as they reached the water hole. "I'm going to run on ahead and get a drink."

On he ran, and the others saw him stop suddenly when he reached the spring. Then Russ shouted:

"Oh, come here! Come here quick! Look! Hurry!"



Chapter X

Some Bad News


"I wonder what the matter is," said Mrs. Bunker, when she heard Russ shout.

She did not have to wonder long. As the others drew nearer, Russ shouted again, and this time he said:

"The water's all running out of the spring! It's going dry, just like Uncle Fred said it would!"

"More mystery!" exclaimed the ranchman as he hurried on.

The five little Bunkers and the grown folk reached the edge of the big spring where Russ stood. He was looking down into the clear water, and the others did the same.

"Surely enough, it is getting lower!" exclaimed Mother Bunker.

"There isn't half as much in as there was at first," added her husband. "Is this the way it always does, Fred?"

"I never saw it run out before," answered the owner of Three Star Ranch. "Every time before, it has happened in the night when no one was near it. We'd visit the spring in the evening, and it would be all right. In the morning it would be nearly dry, and it might stay that way a day or two before the water came back into it. Very queer, I call it."

"So do I!" exclaimed Daddy Bunker. "I'll take another picture of it now. Maybe that will help us solve the mystery."

While he was getting the camera ready Mrs. Bunker said:

"The water is going out fast. You'd better get a drink now, Russ dear, if you want it, for there may not be any more for a long time."

"I will!" exclaimed Russ.

Uncle Fred kept half a cocoanut shell tied by a string near the spring to use as a cup. This Russ dipped in the fast lowering water, and got a drink for the other little Bunkers and for himself, as they all seemed to be thirsty at once.

"What will you do for water when the spring runs dry?" asked Mrs. Bunker of her brother.

"We'll have to draw some from the creek, but I have a lot of this water stored in the tank. I always keep that full lately, since I can't tell when my spring is going dry."

They stood and watched the water going out of the spring. It was just like it is when you pull the stopper out of the bathtub. The water gets lower and lower, running down the pipe. Only, of course, there was no pipe in the spring -- that is, as far as Uncle Fred knew.

"The water seems just to stop running in," said Daddy Bunker, as he knelt down and looked more closely at the little hill of rocks back of the water hole. It was from cracks in these rocks that the water bubbled out and filled a hollow, rock basin before flowing on. Now less and less was coming and, of course, as the spring water always kept running away, or it would have overflowed, the basin was slowly but surely getting dry.

"I think what is happening," said Daddy Bunker, "is that, somewhere back in the mountains or hills, where the stream comes from that feeds this spring, the water is being shut off, just as we shut off the water at the kitchen sink faucet. Where does the water come from, Fred?"

"I don't know," was the answer. "It must come from some place underground, as we've never been able to find it on top. Well, we won't go thirsty, for there is plenty of water in the tank. But I hope the spring soon fills up again."

Even as they watched the water got lower and lower, until there was hardly a pailful left in the rock basin. No more clear, sparkling water bubbled up out of the cracks in the rocks. The strange thing that Uncle Fred had told about was happening at the spring.

"Is the cows drinking up all the water?" asked Mun Bun, as he looked into the now almost emptied basin.

"No, I don't believe they are," answered his uncle.

"Maybe the Indians took it to wash in," said Margy. "The Indians wash, doesn't they, Uncle Fred?"

"Well, maybe some of 'em do, but not very often," was the answer. "They're not very fond of water, I'm sorry to say. But there! we won't worry about this any more. You six little Bunkers came here to have fun, and not bother about my spring. Daddy and I will try to find out why the water runs away, and stop the leak. Did you all get drinks? If you did we'll go back to the house. It must be almost dinner time."

They all had had enough to drink for the time being, and, leaving the spring, which was now only a damp hole in the ground, the party went back to the ranch house. Captain Roy met them.

"Spring's gone dry again," said Uncle Fred.

"Again! That's too bad! I was hoping we'd seen the last of that. Well, now, we may expect some more bad news."

"What kind?" asked Mrs. Bunker.

"Oh, the captain means about losing more cattle," answered Uncle Fred. "Almost always, when the spring goes dry, it isn't long before some of the cowboys come in to tell about our cattle being taken away. But maybe that won't happen this time."

After dinner the six little Bunkers started to have some fun. Mun Bun and Margy went to have their afternoon naps, but Rose and Violet took their Japanese dolls, which had been unpacked, and found a shady place on the porch where they could play.

"What are you going to do, Russ?" asked Laddie, as he saw his brother with some sticks.

"I'm going to make a tent," was the answer. "We can make a tent and live in it same as the Indians do. It's more fun to live in a tent than in a house when you're out West."

"Oh, yes!" cried Laddie. "I'll help you. But where can we get the cloth part?"

"Well, I got the sticks," Russ went on. "I guess Uncle Fred will let us take a sheet off the bed for the cloth part."

But the boys did not make the tent that day. Just as they were thinking about going to ask for the cloth Uncle Fred called:

"Come on, Russ and Laddie, and you, too, Rose and Vi. We're going to look at the ponies. I started to take you to them when we found the spring was going dry, and that made me forget. Now we'll go."

"Oh, what fun!" cried Russ.

"Dandy!" exclaimed Laddie.

"I love to ride a pony!" added Rose.

"So do I!" ejaculated Violet.

Uncle Fred led the children to a small corral, which they had not seen before. In it were a number of Shetland ponies, some no larger than big Newfoundland dogs. And some of the ponies came to the fence to be petted as soon as they saw Uncle Fred.

"Oh, aren't they cute!" exclaimed Rose.

"I'd like to ride that black one!" shouted Laddie.

"He's a little too wild," said Uncle Fred. "Better try one of the more gentle ones first. I'll get the men to saddle 'em for you."

In a little while the four little Bunkers were riding about on the backs of four gentle ponies. The little animals seemed to know children were on their backs, and they did not run fast, nor kick up their heels.

Rose and Russ could soon manage their ponies by themselves, but as Vi and Laddie were younger Uncle Fred and one of his cowboys led their ponies about by the bridle. The children rode in a big field, with a fence all around it.

"Now I'm going to ride fast!" cried Russ as he took a tighter hold of the reins and shook his feet in the stirrups. "Gid-dap!" he called to his pony. "Go fast!"

Maybe the pony was surprised at this. Anyhow, he started to gallop. Now Russ was not as good a horseman as he supposed, and the first he knew he had slipped from the saddle and fallen off.

"There you go!" cried Uncle Fred, as he left the pony on which Vi was riding and ran to help Russ.

Russ had fallen in a bunch of soft grass, so he was not hurt; and the pony, after trotting around in a circle, stood still and began to eat grass.

"I wouldn't try to ride fast yet a while," said Uncle Fred. "Better learn more about the ponies first. You can have just as much fun riding slowly, and then you won't tumble off."

"I won't go fast any more," said Russ, as his uncle helped him back into the saddle. The other children did not have any accidents, and rode around on the ponies for some time. Then Mun Bun and Margy awakened from their naps, and they, too, wanted rides. Their father and mother held them on the backs of two small ponies, and walked with them about the grassy field, so that all six little Bunkers had pony rides that day.

"And may we ride to-morrow?" asked Laddie when it was time to go back to the house.

"Yes," promised his uncle, "to-morrow we may all take a ride over the plain."

"Goody!" exclaimed Violet.

"Will mother come, too?" asked Rose.

"No, indeed!" laughed Mrs. Bunker. "I don't know how to ride pony-back, and I'm not going to learn now. You children can go."

"That's what we'll do then," said Uncle Fred. "Daddy and I will take Rose and Vi and Laddie and Russ for a ride over the plain. We'll go and see if we can find where our spring water comes from, and why it shuts itself off in that queer way."

The children waved good-bye to the ponies, and went back to the house. On the broad, shady porch stood Captain Roy. He was waiting for Uncle Fred, and there was a worried look on the old soldier's face.

"What's the matter?" asked the ranchman of his partner.

"More bad news," was the answer. "One of the cowboys just rode in to tell me that some more of the cattle have been taken."

"I might have known it!" cried Uncle Fred. "When the spring goes dry other bad news is sure to come in!"



Chapter XI

Violet Takes A Walk


Uncle Fred seemed tired as he sat down in a chair on the porch. He looked up at Captain Roy and asked:

"How many cattle gone this time?"

"About twenty-five. One of the cowboys, who was watching them, rode over to the far end of the field to see about a steer that had fallen into a big hole and couldn't get out, and when he got back the twenty-five steers were gone."

"Hum! More work of those bad men!" exclaimed Uncle Fred. "Well, we'll see if we can catch them. Want to come along?" he asked Daddy Bunker.

"Where are you going?"

"To see if we can find the lost cattle. Maybe we can catch the men who drove them away."

"Oh, let me come!" begged Russ. "Maybe I can lasso 'em!"

"They might lasso you!" laughed his father. "No, you had better stay here. We'll soon be back."

"Oh, Daddy, please?"

"Not this time, Sonny," answered his father.

So Uncle Fred and Daddy Bunker, with some of the cowboys, saddled their horses and started off to look for the lost cattle.

"I wish I could go!" sighed Russ, as he watched the horsemen riding off.

"So do I," echoed Laddie. "We could maybe help catch 'em. Mother, couldn't we go?"

"They'd be more likely to catch you, just as the calf did," said Mother Bunker. "Wouldn't they, Captain Roy?"

"Yes, indeed," answered the old soldier, smiling at the children. "Men who take cattle that do not belong to them are very likely to be bad men, and they would not be nice to the six little Bunkers. You stay with me, and you may come out and see the ponies again, though I won't promise you can ride on them."

"Are you going to feed them?" asked Mun Bun.

"No, they feed themselves on the grass in their field," said the captain.

"I don't like to eat grass," said Mun Bun, shaking his head.

"Neither do I," added Margy.

"Why, I do declare! I believe you're hungry," laughed Captain Roy. "And it's two hours until supper. Come on, we'll go see what Bill Johnson has in his cupboard."

"Could I come, too?" asked Russ. "I -- I guess I'm hungry."

"So'm I," put in Laddie.

"Me, too!" added Violet.

"Come on, all of you!" laughed Captain Roy. "It's almost as easy to feed six as it is two," he added to Mother Bunker.

"Oh, it's too bad to bother you," she said quickly.

"No bother at all!" exclaimed the old soldier. "I know I used to want my rations when I was in the army, and I guess there isn't much difference nowadays. Come along, little Bunkers!"

Soon the children were having bread and milk, with a dish of canned peaches in addition. There were big cases of canned peaches in Bill Johnson's kitchen, and when Russ asked him why he had so many the cook said:

"Well, the boys seem to like 'em more than anything else. It's hard to get fresh fruit out on a cattle ranch, so I keep plenty of the canned stuff on hand. Often a cowboy will eat two cans at once when he comes in from a ride very hungry."

So the six little Bunkers had something to eat, even if it was not supper time, and then they went with Captain Roy to look at the ponies again.

"Oh, look how they run to the fence to meet us!" cried Rose, as some of the ponies in the corral trotted toward the captain and the children.

"That's because they think I have a bit of bread and sugar for them," said Captain Roy.

"Have you?" asked Violet.

"Yes. I hardly ever come out without bringing them something," answered the old soldier.

He reached over the fence to pat the glossy necks and soft noses of the ponies, feeding them bits of dried bread, of which he seemed to have a lot in his pockets.

"Bill Johnson saves me all his old crusts for the ponies," Captain Roy said to Russ. "And if you bring the little horses something to eat each time you come out they'll like you all the more, and get very tame."

"I'll do it," said Russ.

They stood looking at the ponies for some little time, and then Russ decided he wanted to make a boat and sail it in the creek that was not far from the ranch house.

"I'll sail one, too," said Laddie.

"And we'll take our dolls down by the creek and let them have a bath," said Rose to Violet.

"You don't mean a real bath?"

"No, just make believe."

"All right. Only I think I'll make a boat. Su-San doesn't need a bath. She had one once when we were at home. But I'll take her along so she can see the water."

"We'll all go down to the bank of the creek and sit there in the shade until Daddy and Uncle Fred come back," said Mrs. Bunker. "That will make the time pass more quickly."

"I hope they bring back the lost cattle," said Rose.

A little later the six little Bunkers were walking with their mother down toward where a creek flowed through the Three Star Ranch. It was not a very large one, but it had enough water in it to give hundreds of cattle a drink when they were thirsty. When the spring went dry the water from the creek had to be used in the ranch house. But, as Uncle Fred had told the children, there was a tank full of spring water that might last until the dry spell had passed.

Russ and Laddie and Vi -- Vi keeping Su-San near by -- made some boats out of old pieces of wood they picked up around the ranch house. These boats they tied strings to, and let float down the creek, pulling them back from time to time and starting them off on another voyage.

Mrs. Bunker sat on the grassy bank, in the shade of a willow tree, while Mun Bun and Margy and Rose played near her.

Mun Bun had his pail and shovel that he had brought from the beach at Cousin Tom's, and the little boy began digging holes in the dirt near the edge of the creek. Margy played with her Japanese doll as did Rose.

It was rather warm, for that time of year, and Mrs. Bunker, leaning up against the tree trunk, began to feel sleepy. She closed her eyes, meaning only to rest them a minute, but, before she knew it, she was asleep. The children did not notice her as they were playing so nicely, Russ and Laddie and Vi a little way down the creek, and the other three near their mother.

After a while Margy said:

"I'm going to take a walk with my doll. She hasn't had a walk to-day."

"Where are you going?" asked Rose.

"Oh, just a little way," Margy answered. "Want to come?"

"No, my doll doesn't feel very well, and I've sent for the doctor. I've got to stay in till he comes," replied Rose.

Of course this was only make-believe, but the children often played that.

She made a bed for her doll in the soft grass, and covered her with some leaves picked near by.

"I guess I'll play my doll is sick, too," said Margy, "'stead of taking her for a walk."

"No, don't play your doll's sick," objected Rose to Margy. "She must be a trained nurse for my doll."

"Oh, yes. That'll be more fun. I wish the doctor would hurry up and come."

"So do I," murmured Rose, pretending to be anxious.

Then, after a while, they made believe the doctor had arrived in his automobile, and he left some medicine for Rose's sick doll, which the trained nurse, who was Margy's doll, had to give with a spoon. The spoon was just a little willow twig, of course.

Down by the creek Russ and Laddie and Vi were still sailing their boats.

Pretty soon Vi said she was tired playing sail-a-boat, and was going to take Su-San for a walk.

After a while Russ and Laddie grew tired of playing boats, and came up the bank to where their mother was.

"Oh, look! She's asleep!" whispered Russ.

"Don't wake her," replied Rose.

But just then Mrs. Bunker opened her eyes and smiled at the children.

"I was asleep," she said, "but I heard what you said. Did you have a nice time? Shall we go back now? It must be almost supper time. Why, where's Vi?" she suddenly asked, as she did not see the curly-haired girl. "Where's Violet?" and Mrs. Bunker stood up quickly and looked all around.



Chapter XII

Laddie Catches A Riddle


Mrs. Bunker was startled when she did not see Violet with the other little Bunkers.

"Where's Vi?" she asked the other children. "Where did she go?"

"Oh, she just took her doll for a walk," said Russ. "She went away a little while ago, over there," and he pointed to the rolling plains behind the willow trees.

The plain was not flat, like a board. It was rolling land, with hills and hollows here and there. Some of the hills were high enough to hide a man behind them.

"Where did she go?" asked Mrs. Bunker, and now her voice was anxious.

"Just to give her doll a walk," explained Russ. "She got tired of playing sail-a-boat, she said, and she went for a walk, and took her doll."

"Violet! Violet! Where are you?" loudly called Mrs. Bunker.

There was no answer.

Mrs. Bunker ran to the top of the nearest little hill, or knoll, and looked across the plain. The five little Bunkers followed her. There were only five with her, as Violet had gone for a walk with her doll.

"But where can she have gone?" asked Mrs. Bunker, as she did not see her little girl, nor hear her answer the call.

"Maybe she went home," said Russ.

"Oh, yes," agreed Rose, not wanting to think that anything had happened to her sister. "Maybe her doll got tired, and she took her home."

Sometimes the little Bunker girls were so real in their make-believe play that they did things a grown person would have done.

"Would she know the way home alone?" asked Mrs. Bunker.

"It's right over there," said Russ, pointing. "You can see the ranch houses from here."

This was true enough. When they were up on the little hill they could see the buildings on Three Star Ranch.

"If she only went that way she will be all right," said Mother Bunker. "But if she walked the other way --  -- "

"Come on! We'll find her!" called Russ to Laddie.

"All right. Wait till I go back and anchor my ship and I'll come."

"No, you mustn't go!" exclaimed Mother Bunker. "We must all keep together. I don't want any more of you getting lost."

"Is Vi lost, Mother?" asked Rose, and she moved over closer to Mrs. Bunker.

"Well, I don't know that she is lost," was the answer. "Probably not. But she isn't here with us. She has wandered away. I'll call again.

"Vi! Violet, where are you?" called Mrs. Bunker, as loudly as she could. But there was no answer. Only the wind rustled the branches of the willow tree and the tall grass near the creek.

"Maybe she fell asleep, same as you did," suggested Laddie to his mother.

"Well, perhaps she did, and if she were to lie down in the tall grass we couldn't see her," said Mrs. Bunker. "Oh, dear! I wish I hadn't gone to sleep, and that Vi hadn't wandered off."

She called again, but there was no answer.

"We'd better go for Daddy!" exclaimed Russ. Daddy Bunker was the one always wanted when anything happened.

"But we can't get him," said Mrs. Bunker. "He has gone away with Uncle Fred to look for the lost cattle."

"Then we'll go for Captain Roy!" went on Russ. "He used to be a soldier, and he'll know how to find lost people."

"Yes, I guess that's the best thing to do," said Mrs. Bunker. "Though I hate to go away and leave Violet all alone here, wherever she is. But it's the only way to find her. Come, we'll hurry back to the house and get Captain Roy."

So the five little Bunkers and their mother hurried over the plain toward the Three Star Ranch house.

And now I know you are wondering what happened to Violet, so I am going to tell you. For you know a book-writer can be in two places at the same time.

When Violet started out to give her doll a walk the little girl had no notion of going very far. If she had been at home she would have gone just down to the corner of her block and back. But there are no corners or blocks on the open plain, so Violet just walked over the green fields.

"Do you like it here, Su-San?" she asked.

"Oh, you do," she went on, pretending that her doll had spoken. "And you want to go a little farther, don't you?"

Violet made believe listen to what her doll said.

"Oh, you want to pick some flowers. Well, that will be nice," went on the little girl. "We'll pick a nice bouquet and we'll take it to Rose's doll."

There were flowers growing on the plain, and Violet began picking some, making believe her doll helped. Now, you know how it is when you go to pick blossoms. First you see a nice one, then, farther on, you see one that is a little better, and pretty soon you see one that is prettier than all, and you go for that one, and, before you know it, you are a long way from where you started.

That is what happened to Violet. She wandered on and on, down among the little hills and hollows until she was quite a distance from the willow tree and the creek. She could no longer see the tree.

And Violet forgot, or she did not know, that when one is in a big field, down among the hills and hollows, and can't see anything high and tall, like a tree or a building sticking up, that one doesn't know which way to go. All ways look alike then. So it is no wonder that Vi, after she had helped her doll gather a bouquet, went the wrong way. Instead of walking back toward the creek she walked away from it.

And she was walking away from the Three Star Ranch house also. In fact Violet was lost on the plain, and she was getting more and more lost every minute and with each step she took.

Finally she said:

"Oh, Su-San! aren't you tired? I am. I'm going to sit down and rest and let you rest, too."

Of course the doll wasn't tired, as she hadn't done any walking, for Vi had carried her all the way. But Vi pretended that the doll was as weary as was the little girl herself.

So together they sat down in the tall grass, which came over Violet's head now, and rested. Violet didn't know she was lost. But she was, all the same.

After a while she got up and started to walk again. She walked and walked, and, when she couldn't find the creek nor the willow tree nor see her mother nor any of the other little Bunkers, she became frightened and started to cry.

"Oh, Mother!" she called, "where are you? I want you!"

Of course Mrs. Bunker could not hear then, for she was on her way to get Captain Roy to help search for the little girl.

Violet wandered around and around, calling now and then, and crying real tears every once in a while, until, at last, when the sun began to get lower and lower in the west, and the little girl knew it would soon be dark, she sobbed:

"Oh, what shall I do! Oh, where is my mother!"

And just then she heard a horse come trotting along. She could hear the gallop of the hoofs on the ground.

"Oh, maybe it's an Indian!" thought Vi. "We'd better hide, Su-San!"

She clasped the Japanese toy in her arms, and crouched down in the grass. But the trotting came nearer. Then Violet knew it was more than one horse.

"Maybe it's a whole band of Indians!" she whispered. "Oh, Su-San!"

Down in the tall grass she hid, but she kept on crying. And then, suddenly, close to her, a voice said:

"I thought I heard a child crying just now, didn't you, Jim?"

"Sounded like it, but what would a child be doing out here all alone?"

"I don't know, but I sure did hear it!"

Then another voice called:

"What's the matter over there?"

"Oh, Frank thought he heard a child crying," answered some one, and Vi thought it didn't sound like an Indian.

"A child!" cried still another voice. "Oh, I wonder --  -- "

Then Violet didn't hear any more, for standing right over where she crouched in the grass was a big man on a big horse and he was looking right down on her.

"I've found her!" the man cried. "It's one of the six little Bunkers!"

"One of the six little Bunkers!" repeated a voice that Violet well knew. It was her father's.

"Oh, Daddy! Daddy!" she cried. "Here I am! I got lost, and I can't find the creek, nor the willow tree, nor Mother, nor anything. Here I am!"

Violet stood up, and a moment later, her father had ridden his horse over to where she was and, reaching down, took her and the doll up in his arms.

"Well, how in the world did you get here?" he asked in surprise. "Where have you been, Violet?"

Then Violet told, and Uncle Fred, who was with Daddy Bunker and some of the cowboys, said:

"We'd better ride back to the house as fast as we can. Amy is probably wild now about losing her. Hurry back to the house!"

Then how the horses did gallop! And Vi, sitting in front of Daddy on his saddle, had a fine ride and forgot she had been lost.

They got back to the house just as Captain Roy and some cowboys were about to ride away in search of Violet. For Mrs. Bunker and the other little Bunkers had reached the ranch house with the story of the lost one.

"How did you find her?" asked Mrs. Bunker of her husband when Violet had been hugged and kissed.

"We were riding back," said Daddy Bunker, "when one of the cowboys heard a child crying. He found Violet in the grass, and then I took her up. How did she get lost?"

Then Mrs. Bunker told about the trip to the creek and how Vi had wandered away by herself.

"But I'm never going again," said the little girl. "I thought the Indians were after me!"

"And it was only Daddy Bunker!" laughed her father.

"Did you find the lost cattle?" asked his wife, when supper was over and they had ceased talking about Vi being lost.

"No, the men who took them must have hurried away with them. We could not find them at all."

Just as the six little Bunkers were going to bed a cowboy came up to the ranch house to say that the water was coming back into the spring.

"That's good," said Uncle Fred. "But I certainly would like to know what makes it go out, and who takes our cattle."

The next day Russ and Laddie asked if they could go fishing in the creek, if they went to one place and stayed there, so they might not wander away and be lost.

"Yes, I guess so," returned Daddy Bunker. "It isn't far, and if you stay on shore you won't fall in."

"True," chuckled Uncle Fred, but he wouldn't tell Laddie what he was laughing at.

There were some small fish to be caught in the creek, and soon, with hooks, lines, poles and bait Russ and Laddie started for the creek.

"I hope they'll be all right," said their mother.

They had been gone about an hour when Russ came running back to the house, dragging his pole after him, and on the line was a fish, which he had not stopped to take off.

"Oh, Mother! Daddy!" cried Russ. "Laddie -- Laddie --  -- "

"Has he fallen in?" cried Mrs. Bunker.

"No, Mother! It isn't that!" said Russ. "But he's caught a riddle, and he doesn't know what to do with it."

"He's caught a riddle?" cried Uncle Fred. "What do you mean?"

"Well, he found it, or caught it, I don't know which," said Russ.

"How did he catch a riddle?" asked Daddy Bunker.

"On his hook. It's a funny thing, like a black stone, and it wiggles and sticks its head out, and Laddie doesn't know what it is, and when you don't know what a thing is that's a riddle, isn't it? Come and see!"

And down to the creek went Daddy and Mother Bunker to see the riddle that Laddie had caught.



Chapter XIII

On The Ponies


Mr. and Mrs. Bunker found Laddie sitting on the bank of the creek looking at something on the ground near him.

"What is it?" called Daddy Bunker, as Russ led them up to the place where he and his brother had been fishing. "What have you caught?"

"I -- I guess it's a riddle, for I don't know what else it is," answered Laddie. "Come and look."

"Better not touch it," cautioned his mother.

"I'm not going to touch it, 'cause it can bite. It's got a funny head and a mouth," said Laddie, "and it bit on my hook and it's got it yet."

Mr. and Mrs. Bunker hurried over and saw what Laddie had caught. As Russ had said, it was rough, like a stone, and as black and hard-looking as a rock. But it was alive and moved.

"Why, it's a mud turtle!" exclaimed Daddy Bunker, as he took a good look at the creature. "It's nothing but a mud turtle, Laddie! I should think you'd know what they are, for you have seen them in Rainbow River at home."

"No, this isn't a mud turtle," said Russ. "I know what a mud turtle is, and this is different. It's something like one, but not the same."

"How did you get it, Laddie?" asked Mother Bunker.

"Well, I was fishing, and I got a lot of nibbles but none of the fish stayed on my hook. Then, all of a sudden, this one stayed on, and I pulled him up, only it isn't a fish."

"I should say not!" exclaimed another voice, and they looked up to see Uncle Fred standing near them. He had followed Daddy and Mother Bunker to the place where the boys were fishing.

"What is it?" asked Russ.

"That's a snapping turtle -- not a mud turtle," went on the ranchman. "They're very hard biters, and if a big one gets hold of your finger or toe he might bite it off, or at least hurt it very much. So keep away from these fellows."

"I thought it didn't look like a mud turtle," said Russ.

"It is something like one, but different in shape," went on Uncle Fred. "We'll just cut this one off your line, Laddie."

The line was cut, and the turtle, that had the hook in its mouth, crawled down toward the creek. It had tried to crawl away before, but could not because the fishing line held it.

"They get their mouth closed tight, and don't like to open their jaws," said Uncle Fred, as the turtle disappeared under the water with a splash. "But I guess this one will open his mouth and let go the hook when he gets off by himself. This is the largest snapper I've seen around here. The Indians say they're good to eat, but I've never tried it."

"Well, I did catch something like a riddle, didn't I?" asked Laddie.

"Yes. And Uncle Fred guessed the riddle," answered Russ. "Now we'll fish some more."

"And I don't want to catch any more snappers," said Laddie, when Uncle Fred had fastened a new hook on his line.

The grown folk went back to the ranch house, leaving the boys to fish, and, somewhat to their own surprise, Laddie and Russ each caught two good-sized fish.

With shouts of delight, about an hour after having captured the snapping turtle, they ran to the house, holding up on strings the prizes they had caught.

"We'll have 'em cooked!" cried Laddie. "They're good to eat! One of the cowboys told us they were."

"Yes, those fish are good to eat," said Uncle Fred. "I'll have Bill Johnson clean and cook them for you."

"This is better than riddles!" laughed Russ. "I'm going fishing every day and catch fish."

"And I'm going, too," declared Violet.

"Good!" cried her father. "Then Uncle Fred won't have to buy so many things at the store."

The fish were cooked, and very good they were, too, though Mun Bun said they had too many bones in them, and this, perhaps, was true. But all fish have bones.

As the days went on Uncle Fred and his men, as well as Daddy Bunker, tried to find the lost cattle, or the men who, it was thought, had taken them. But they could not. The cattle seemed to have vanished, leaving no trace.

Every day some of the six little Bunkers, and, sometimes, all of them, went to the mysterious spring, to see if any of the water had run out, but it seemed to be all right, and behaving just as a spring should.

"Though there's no telling when it will go dry again," said Uncle Fred. "We'll have to keep watch of it. For nearly every time the spring goes dry I lose some cattle."

"May we go for a ride on our ponies to-day?" asked Russ of his mother one morning. "Laddie and I want a ride."

"Will you be very careful," asked his mother, "not to go outside the big field?"

"Oh, yes, we'll just stay in the big field," promised Laddie. "Come on, Russ! We'll have some fun!"

The four older Bunker children had learned to ride the little Shetland ponies very well. Uncle Fred had let them take, for their own use, four of the best animals, which were kind and gentle. He had also set aside for them a big fenced-in field, where they might ride.

Over to the corral Russ and Laddie ran, and soon they were leading out their own two special ponies. A little later they were riding them around the big fenced-in meadow, playing they were cowboys and Indians, though Russ was not allowed to have a lasso. Uncle Fred had said that if a little boy, like Russ, played with a rope while riding a pony, the cord might get tangled in the pony's legs, and throw it.

"This is lots of fun!" cried Laddie, as he trotted about.

"Most fun we ever had!" agreed Russ.

But as the six little Bunkers said this every place they went, you can take it for what it is worth. Certainly they were having good times at Uncle Fred's.

When Russ and Laddie were giving their ponies a rest in the shade of a tree that grew at one side of the field, they heard a voice calling to them:

"Give me a ride! Oh, please give me a ride!"

"It's Margy!" cried Russ, looking around. "How'd you get here, Margy?" he asked.

"I walked," stated the little girl. "Mother and Daddy have gone to the store with Violet to get her a new dress, and Mun Bun has gone, too. I stayed at home with Rose."

"Where is Rose now?" asked Laddie.

"She is out in the kitchen, making a pie. Bill Johnson said she could. So I took a walk to come over to see you, and I want a ride."

"Shall we give her a ride?" asked Laddie.

"I'd like to," Russ answered. "But how can we? Mother said we couldn't take any one on the same pony with us, 'cause we couldn't hold 'em on tight enough."

"If we only had a little cart we could give her a ride," said Laddie. "We could sit on our pony's back and one of us could pull her in the cart. But we haven't got a cart."

"Please, I want a ride!" repeated Margy.

Russ didn't say anything for a moment. Then he suddenly exclaimed:

"I know how we can give her a ride!"

"How?" asked Laddie. "Can you make a cart?"

"No, but I can make something just as good!" exclaimed Russ, and he began whistling. "You wait, Margy! I'll give you a ride!"

Russ tied his pony to the fence and hurried over toward the barn, telling Margy to crawl in under the fence and wait until he came back.

Margy was going to have a ride, and there was to be a queer ending to it.



Chapter XIV

Mun Bun's Pie


Russ Bunker came back from the barn, dragging with him some long bean poles, an old bag that had held oats for the horses, and some pieces of rope.

"Are you going to make a swing?" asked Margy.

"I'm going to make something for you to ride in," answered Russ.

"A carriage?" asked Laddie.

"An Indian carriage," Russ answered. "One of the cowboys was telling me about 'em. The Indians fasten two poles, one on each side of a horse. Then they tie the ends of the poles that drag on the ground together with some ropes, and they stick a bag or a piece of cloth between the poles, and tie it there.

"That makes a place where you can sit or lie down, or put something you want to carry. And that's where we'll put Margy."

"Oh, I'll like a ride like that!" exclaimed the little girl. "I was in the kitchen with Rose, but I came out 'cause she's making a pie. I'll go back when the pie is done, and get a piece."

"So'll I," added Laddie with a laugh. "I like pie!"

He and Russ began to make the queer carriage in which Margy was to ride. Perhaps you may have seen them in Indian pictures. A long pole is fastened on either side of a horse, being tied to the edge of the saddle. The ends drag behind the horse on the ground, and between these poles is a platform, or a piece of bagging stretched, in which the Indian squaws and their papooses, or babies, ride. It is just like a carriage or cart, except that it has no wheels.

It took Russ and Laddie longer than they thought it would to make the Indian carriage for Margy. But at last it was finished, and there, dragging behind Russ's pony, were the two long poles, and a bag was tied between them for Margy to sit on.

"All aboard!" cried Laddie, when it was finished.

"Hey! This isn't a ship! You don't say all aboard!" exclaimed Russ.

"What do you say?"

"Well, you say get in, or something like that. Not 'all aboard!' That's only for boats or maybe trains."

"Well, get in, Margy," said Laddie. "Russ will ride ahead and pull you, and I'll ride behind, just as if I was another Indian. That's what we'll play -- Indian!" he said.

"All right," agreed Russ.

"Oh, this is fun!" exclaimed Margy, when she was seated in the Indian carriage and Russ's pony was pulling her about the field. "I like it."

Indeed she was having a nice ride, though it was rather bumpy when the dragging poles went over stones or holes in the ground. But Margy did not mind that, for the bag seat in which she was cuddled was nice and soft.

Once one of the poles, which were fastened to the pony with pieces of clothesline, came loose, and the pony walked around dragging only one, so that Margy was spilled out. But the grass was soft, and she only laughed at the accident.

Russ tied the pole back again, and then he and Laddie rode around the field, Margy being dragged after them, just as, in the olden days, the real Indians used to give their squaws and papooses a ride from one part of the country to another.

"I guess the ponies are tired now," said Laddie, as he noticed his walking rather slowly. "Maybe we'd better give them a rest."

"I guess so," agreed Russ. "We'll let 'em rest in the shade of the tree."

So they rode their ponies into the shade and left them standing there, the boys themselves running around in the grass, to "stretch their legs," as their father used to call it.

"Margy's asleep," said Russ, as he got down from his pony and saw that his little sister's eyes were closed, as she lay cuddled up in the bag between the two trailing poles. "We'll let her sleep while we play tag."

And so Margy slept in the Indian carriage, while Russ and Laddie raced about the big field. Then they forgot all about Margy, for they heard Rose calling to them:

"Russ! Laddie! Do you want some of my pie? I baked it all myself in Bill Johnson's oven!"

"Oh, her pie is done!" cried Laddie.

"Come on! Let's get some!" added Russ.

Then the two boys, forgetting all about Margy sleeping in the Indian carriage, ran out of the field, leaving the ponies behind them, and leaving their little sister also.

"Is it a real pie?" asked Russ, as he reached the ranch house, in front of which stood Rose.

"Course it is," she answered.

"And has it got a crust, and things inside, like Norah makes?" Laddie wanted to know.

"Course it has," declared Rose. "Come on, I'll give you some."

They went out to the kitchen where Bill Johnson was busy. He greeted the boys with a laugh.

"That little sister of yours is some cook!" exclaimed the cook. "She can make a pie almost as good as I can, and it took me a good many years to learn."

"Let's see the pie!" demanded Russ.

"Here 'tis!" exclaimed Rose. "We set it out on the window sill to cool," and she brought in what seemed like a very nice pie, indeed.

And it was good, too, as the boys said after they had tasted it. True, it was made of canned peaches, but then you can't get fresh peaches on a Western ranch in early summer. Canned ones did very well.

"Could I have another piece?" asked Laddie, finishing his first.

"Well, a little one," said Rose. "I want to save some for Margy --  --  Oh, where is Margy?" she suddenly cried. "I forgot all about her, and Mother said I was to watch her! Oh, where is she?"

Rose started up in alarm, but Laddie said:

"Margy is all right. She came over where me and Russ -- I mean, Russ and I -- were riding our ponies, and we made an Indian carriage for her," and he explained what they had done.

"But where is she now?" Rose demanded.

"She's asleep over there," Russ said slowly, and pointed to the big field.

"Let's go and get her, and we'll take her this piece of pie," proposed Laddie. "If she doesn't want it I'll eat it."

"No, I will!" cried Russ. "You've had two pieces."

"Margy will want it all right!" declared Rose. "She likes pie. I'm going to make another some day."

Carrying Margy's piece of pie, the three little Bunkers went over to the field where the ponies had been left. On the way Russ told Rose more about the queer Indian carriage he had made.

"Will it hold me?" Rose asked.

"Yes, and I'll give you a ride after Margy wakes up," Russ promised. "I'll get some more poles for Laddie's pony and he can ride Vi and I'll ride you."

"Oh, won't that be fun!" cried Rose.

But when they reached the field where the ponies had been left a sad surprise awaited them. Neither of the two little creatures were to be seen, and there was no sign of Margy or the queer Indian carriage either.

"Oh, they -- they're gone!" gasped Russ.

"Both ponies!" added Laddie.

"And where's Margy?" asked Rose, holding the piece of pie in her hand.

"She's gone, too," said Russ. "Oh, dear!"

"Maybe the Indians came and took her," said Laddie.

"I don't see any Indians," and Russ shook his head.

"But maybe they rode off with her."

"Or maybe the bad men that took Uncle Fred's cattle came and took the ponies and Margy," said Rose. "Oh, what are we going to do?"

"We must tell Uncle Fred!" exclaimed Russ.

"He's away off at the far end of the ranch," said Rose. "He rode over with some of the cowboys when I was making my pie."

"Is Mother or Daddy back?" asked Laddie.

"No, not yet," Rose answered. "Oh, dear! Mother will say it is my fault, for she told me to watch Margy, but I forgot when I was making my pie."

The pie seemed to give Russ an idea.

"We'll tell Bill Johnson," he said. "Bill used to be a cowboy, if he is a cook now, and he'll know how to find anybody the Indians have taken. We'll go and tell Bill Johnson."

So back to the ranch house rushed the children, bursting in on Bill Johnson with an excited story about the missing ponies and Margy.

"Ponies gone out of the big field, eh?" asked Bill. "Well, I expect you left the bars down, didn't you -- the place where you made a hole in the fence to drive the ponies in from the corral? Did you leave the bars down?"

"I guess we did," admitted Russ.

"Come on with me," said Bill with a laugh. "I guess I can find the ponies for you."

"But we want Margy, too!" said Rose.

"Yes, I guess I can find her also."

Bill Johnson led the way to the corral, where the ponies were kept, and there, among their fellows, were the two missing ones. And, best of all, the sticks were still fast to the one Russ had ridden, and Margy was just awakening and was still in her place in the bag between the poles.

"Oh, Margy!" cried Rose, "I brought you some pie."

"I had a nice ride," said Margy, and she sat up, rubbing her eyes. "Russ gave me a nice ride, and we played Indian, and I went to sleep."

"Yes, and while you slept," said Bill, "the two ponies took a notion they wanted to go back with the others in the corral. So they just walked through the fence, where the bars were down, and went out, the one dragging Margy with it. It's a good thing you made the Indian carriage so good and strong, Russ, or she might have been hurt. After this don't leave ponies alone in a field with the bars down."

The boys promised they wouldn't. Margy was lifted out, the poles were taken off Russ's pony and the children went back to the ranch house.

Of course, Mrs. Bunker had to caution Russ and Laddie to be a little more careful when she heard the tale.

The six little Bunkers had lots of fun at Uncle Fred's. Each day there was something new to see or do, and as the weather became warmer they were outdoors from morning until night.

One day Margy and Mun Bun went off by themselves with the pails and shovels they had played with at the beach when they visited Cousin Tom.

"Don't go too far," called their mother after them. "Don't go out of sight of the house."

"We won't," they promised.

"I just goin' to make mud pies down by the pond," said Mun Bun.

The "pond" was a place where the creek widened out into a shallow place, only half-way to Mun Bun's knees in depth. On one shore was sand, where "pies" could be made.

It was about half an hour after Mun Bun and Margy had gone to play on the shore of the creek that Margy came running back alone.

"Where's Mun Bun?" her mother asked her.

"He's in a mud pie and he can't get out," explained the little girl. "Come on, and get Mun Bun out of the mud pie."



Chapter XV

The Wind Wagon


For a moment Mrs. Bunker did not know whether Margy was fooling or not. She could not imagine how Mun Bun could be stuck in a "mud pie," and yet that was what Margy had said.

"Is he hurt?" asked Mrs. Bunker, as she laid aside her sewing and got ready to follow Margy to the creek.

"No. He's only just stuck in the middle of his big pie, and he can't get out. And he's all mud and he looks awful funny."

"I should think he would!" exclaimed the mother of the six little Bunkers. "Hurry along, Margy, and show me where he is."

"What's the matter now?" asked Daddy Bunker, who came along just then, in time to hear what his wife said. "What has happened to Mun Bun now?"

"He is stuck in a mud pie, so Margy says," answered Mrs. Bunker. "Perhaps you had better come with me and see what it's all about."

Together Mr. and Mrs. Bunker hurried after Margy. As they came within sight of the pond they could not see Mun Bun at all.

"Where is he?" asked the little chap's mother. "Where did you leave him, Margy?"

"There he is -- right over there!" answered the little girl. She pointed to something that, at first, did not look at all like Mun Bun. But as Mr. Bunker took a second glance he saw that it was his little boy, and Mun Bun was, indeed, "stuck in a mud pie."

"Why he's in a regular bog-hole!" cried Mr. Bunker. "He must have waded out into the water for something or other, and he got stuck in the mud."

"And he has sunk down!" cried Mrs. Bunker. "Get him out right away, Daddy! He may be smothered in the mud!"

"I'll get him!" cried Mun Bun's father.

Mr. Bunker took off his shoes and socks and, rolling up his trousers so they would not get muddy, waded out to where his little boy was. Truly Mun Bun was stuck in the middle of a big mud pie -- at least that was what Margy called it. It was, however, the muddy bottom of the pond itself, which, at one end, was a regular bog, being fenced off so no cattle or horses could get in.

But Mun Bun had climbed in under the fence, and at once he found himself in soft mud. He had begun to sink down; so he called for help, and Margy ran to tell her mother.

"My, but you are a sight, Mun Bun!" cried his father, as he came to the side of the little boy and began pulling him out. And Mun Bun was stuck so fast in the mud that Mr. Bunker had to pull quite hard to loosen him. And when Mun Bun came up, his legs and feet making a funny, sucking sound as they were pulled out, he was covered with mud and water from his toes to his waist. Mud was splashed up on his face, too, and his hands -- well, they didn't look like hands at all! They were just "gobs of mud," Margy said.

"How did it happen? What made you go in the mud?" asked the little boy's mother, as Daddy Bunker waded to shore with Mun Bun.

"Well, I made some mud pies in the sand," Mun Bun explained, "and then I thought maybe if I could find a mud turkle he'd eat the pies. So I crawled under the fence and went in the deep mud to look for a mud turkle."

Mun Bun meant a "turtle," of course.

"But I didn't find any," he went on, "and I went down deeper and deeper, and then I hollered like anything."

"And I heard him," said Margy. "I was going to wade in and get him, but my feet went down deep in the mud, so I ran for you."

"It's a good thing you did," said her mother. "You mustn't come here again. You might get stuck and never get out. Never come here again!"

"Can't we make mud pies in the sand?" asked Mun Bun.

"Yes, but you mustn't hunt for mud turtles. Stay outside the bog fence."

The children promised that they would, and then came the work of washing Mun Bun and Margy. Margy was the easiest to clean, as she only had mud on her up to her knees. She waded in the creek where there was a clean, sandy bottom, and where the water was clear, and soon the mud was washed off her.

"But as for Mun Bun," said his father, "I guess I'll have to put him in the creek, clothes and all, up to his neck, and let the water wash the mud away."

"I guess you'd better," said Mrs. Bunker. "That's the only way to get off the mud."

The day was warm, and so was the water, so Mun Bun was set down in the creek at a clean place, and he and his clothes were washed at the same time. The mud was rinsed from his hands and face and, in time, it came off his feet, legs and clothes.

"It's just like I been in swimming with all my things on!" laughed Mun Bun, as his father lifted him out of the pond.

"Well, don't make any more mud pies right away," his mother told him, and Mun Bun promised not to.

The other little Bunkers laughed when they heard what had happened to Mun Bun.

"Maybe I could make up a riddle about Mun Bun in a mud pie," said Laddie.

"I don't want you to!" the little boy exclaimed. "I don't want to be in a riddle."

"All right. Then I'll make up one about something else," went on Laddie. "This is it. What is it you cannot take from the top of a house to the bottom?"

"Pooh! that isn't a riddle," said Russ.

"Say it again," begged Rose.

"What is it you can't take from the top of a house and put it on the bottom -- I mean like down cellar?" asked Laddie.

"There isn't anything," declared Violet. "If you got anything in the top of your house you can take it down cellar, if you want to; can't you, Daddy?"

"Well, I should think so, yes," answered Mr. Bunker.

"No, you can't!" declared Laddie. "Do you all give up? What is it in the top of the house that you can't take down cellar with you?"

"The chimney," answered Russ.

"Nope," said Laddie. "'Cause the chimney starts down cellar, anyhow, and goes up to the top. I mean what's in the top of a house you can't take down cellar?"

"We'll give up," said his mother. "What is it?"

"A hole in the roof!" answered Laddie with a laugh. "You can't take a hole in the roof down cellar, can you?"

"No, I guess you can't," admitted Uncle Fred. "That's a pretty good riddle, Laddie."

It was two or three days after Mun Bun had become stuck in the mud pie that the children awakened one morning to find a high wind blowing outside.

"Oh, is this a cyclone?" asked Violet, for she had heard they had such winds in the West.

"Oh, no, this wind is nothing like as strong as a cyclone," answered Uncle Fred. "It's just one of our summer winds. They're strong, but they do no damage. Look out for your hair if you go outdoors; it might blow off."

"My hair can't blow off 'cause it's fast to me -- it's growed fast!" explained Violet.

"Well, then be careful it doesn't blow you away, hair and all!" said Uncle Fred, but by the way he laughed Violet knew he was only joking.

The children went out to play, and they had to hold their hats on most of the time, as the wind blew across the plain so strongly. But the six little Bunkers did not mind.

"If we only had a boat, and the pond was big enough, we could have a fine sail!" cried Laddie, as he looked at the wind making little waves on the place where Mun Bun had been stuck in the mud.

"Oh, I know what we could make!" suddenly exclaimed Russ.

"What?" his brother wanted to know.

"A wind wagon."

"A wind wagon?"

"Yes, you know, a wagon that the wind will blow. Come on, we'll do it. Mother read me a story once about a boy who lived in the West, and he made himself a wind wagon and he had a nice ride. Come on, we'll make one!"



Chapter XVI

"Captain Russ"


Laddie knew Russ could make many play-things, for he had seen his brother at work. But a wind wagon was something new. Laddie did not see how this could be made.

"Where are you going to get your wagon?" he asked Russ, as the two boys went out to the barn.

"There's an old express wagon out here. I saw it the other day. It's broken, but maybe we can fix it. Uncle Fred said it belonged to a family that used to live on this ranch before he bought it. We'll make the wind wagon out of that."

In a corner of the barn, under a pile of trash and rubbish, was found an old, broken toy express wagon.

"The four wheels are all right, and that's the main thing," said Russ. "We can fix the other part. The wheels you must have, else you can't make a wind wagon. Come on! We'll have lots of fun."

Then began the making of the wind wagon, though Laddie, even yet, didn't know exactly what Russ meant by it. But Russ soon told his brother what he was going to do, and not only told him, but showed him.

"You see, Laddie," explained Russ, "a water ship sails on the ocean or a lake 'cause the wind blows on the sail and makes it go."

"Yes," answered Laddie, "I know that."

"Well, 'stead of a water ship, I'm going to make a wind ship that will go on land. I'll fix the old express wagon up so it will roll along on wheels."

"Do you mean to have a pony pull it?"

"No. Though we could do it that way, if we wanted to. And maybe we will if the wind wagon won't work. But I think it will. You see, we'll fasten a sail to the wagon, and then we'll get in it and the wind will blow on the sail and blow us along as fast as anything."

"It'll be lots of fun!" exclaimed Laddie.

Russ and Laddie so often made things, or, at least, tried to do so, that their father and mother never paid much attention to the boys when they heard them hammering, sawing or battering away, with Russ whistling one merry tune after another. He always whistled when he made things. And now he was going to make a wind wagon.

It was not as easy as the boys had thought it would be to get the broken express wagon so it would run. The wheels were rusty on the axles, and they squeaked when Russ tried to turn them.

"And they've got to run easy if we want to ride," he said.

However, one of the cowboys saw that the boys were making something, and when they told him the trouble with the rusty wheels he gave them some axle grease that he used on the big wagons. After that the wheels spun around easily.

"Now we'll go fast!" cried Russ.

With a hammer and some nails, which he and Laddie found in the barn, they nailed the broken express wagon together, for some of the bottom boards were loose, as well as one of the sides.

But at last, after an hour of hard work, the wagon was in pretty good shape. It could be pulled about, and it would hold the two boys.

"Now we have to make a mast for the sail," said Russ, "and we must get a piece of cloth for the sail, and we've got to have some way to guide the wagon."

"Couldn't I stick my foot out back, and steer that way, same as I do when I'm coasting downhill in winter?" asked Laddie.

"Nope," Russ answered. "We'll have to steer by the front wheels, same as an automobile steers. But I can tie a rope to the front wheels, and pull it whichever way I want to go, just like Jimmie Brackson used to steer his coaster wagon down the hill at home."

He tied a rope on the front axle, close to each front wheel, and then, by pulling on the cords, he could turn the wagon whichever way he wanted to make it go.

"The mast is going to be hard," said Russ, and he and Laddie found it so. They could not make it stand upright, and at last they had to call on Daddy Bunker.

"Oh, so you're going to make a ship to sail on dry land, are you?" asked their father, when they told him their troubles with the mast.

"Will it sail?" asked Laddie.

"Well, it may, a little way. The wind is very strong to-day. I'll help you fix it."

With Daddy Bunker's aid, the mast was soon fixed so that it stood straight up in front of the wagon, being nailed fast and braced. Then they found some pieces of old bags for sails, and these were sewed together and made fast to the mast. There was a gaff, which is the little slanting stick at the top of a sail, and a boom, which is the big stick at the bottom. Only the whole sail, gaff, boom and all, was not very large.

"If you have your sail too big," said Daddy Bunker, "it will tip your wagon over when the wind blows hard. Better have a smaller sail and go a bit slower, than have an accident."

At last the sail was finished and hoisted on the mast. Russ and Laddie took their places in the wagon, and Daddy Bunker turned it around so the wind would blow straight from the back. The wagon stood on a smooth part of the prairies, where the grass had been eaten short by the hundreds of Uncle Fred's cattle.

"All ready, boys?" called their father to them.

"All ready!" answered Russ.

"All aboard!" answered Laddie. "I can say that this time, 'cause this is really a ship, though it sails on dry land," he added.

"Yes, you can say that," agreed Russ.

"Here you go!" cried Daddy Bunker.

He gave the wind wagon a shove, and it began to move. Slowly it went at first, and then, as the wind struck the sail, it began to send the toy along faster.

"Hurray!" cried Russ. "We're sailing!"

"Fine!" shouted Laddie.

And the boys were really moving over the level prairie in the wind wagon Russ had made. They could only go straight, or nearly so, and could not sail much to one side or the other, as their land ship was not like a water one. It would not "tack," or move across the wind.

Along they sailed, rather bumpily, it is true, but Russ and Laddie did not mind that. Russ could pull on the ropes fast to the front wheels, and steer his "ship" out of the way of stones and holes.

"Well, the youngsters did pretty well!" exclaimed Uncle Fred, as he saw Russ and Laddie sailing along.

"Yes, they did better than I expected they would," said their father. "If they don't upset they'll be all right."

Laddie and Russ did not seem to be going to do this. The wind wagon appeared to be a great success.

"Oh, who made it? Where did you get it? Whose is it? Can't I have a ride?" cried Violet, when she saw the new toy.

"My, what a lot of questions!" exclaimed Daddy Bunker, laughing.

"We'll give everybody a ride," said Russ, "only I'm going to sit in the ship each time and steer. I'm the captain, and nobody knows how to steer except me."

When Laddie got out, Rose had a turn, and then Violet was given a ride. The wind wagon went very nicely. Of course, each time it was blown over the field, some distance from the ranch house, it had to be dragged back again, as the children did not want to ride too far from home.

But walking back with the land ship to the starting point was no worse than walking back uphill with a sled, as the children had to do when they went coasting in the winter.

"And we walk back on level ground, not up a hill," said Russ.

So the wind wagon was that much better than a sled.

It came the turns of Mun Bun and Margy, and they liked the rides very much. Only Mun Bun made trouble by wanting to guide the land ship, and when he was told he could not, he snatched at the ropes Russ held, and nearly made the wind wagon upset.

After that Mun Bun was not given any more rides.

"I guess he is cross because he hasn't had his sleep this afternoon," said his mother. "Come on, Margy and Mun Bun. I'll put you to bed."

So Russ, with Laddie, Violet and Rose, played with the wind wagon after the two smallest Bunkers had been put to bed.

But Russ began to feel that he had been a little selfish, and each of the older children was allowed to guide the land ship some of the time.

The wind kept blowing harder and harder, and at last the land ship went so fast before the breeze that Mr. Bunker called:

"Better shorten sail, Russ! Better take in some, or you may blow over."

"Oh, I don't guess we will," said Russ, who was again, as he was most of the time, doing the guiding.

But he did not know what was going to happen.

"The wind is blowing so strong now," said Laddie to his brother, "that three of us could ride in the wagon 'stead of only two. It will blow three of us."

"We'll try it," agreed Russ. "Come on, Vi and Rose. I'll give you two a ride at the same time."

It was rather a tight squeeze to get the three children in the wagon, but it was managed. Laddie shoved them off and away they went.

The wind blew harder and harder, and, all of a sudden, as Russ steered out of the way of a stone, there came a sudden puff, and -- over went the wind wagon, spilling out Rose, Violet and "Captain Russ" himself. The mast broke off close to where it was fastened to the toy wagon, and the sail became tangled in the arms and legs of the children.

"My goodness!" cried Captain Roy, who came along just in time to see the accident, which happened a little way from the ranch house. "Any of the six little Bunkers hurt?"

"There's only three of us in the wagon," said Russ, as he crawled out. "I'm not hurt. Are you, Rose?"

"No," she answered, laughing. "But where's Vi?"

"Here I am," answered the little girl, as she crawled out from under the wagon, which had upset. "And I don't like that way of stopping at all, Russ Bunker! I like to stop easy!"

"So do I," said Russ. "I didn't mean to do that. The wind was too strong for us. Now the wagon is busted."

It was indeed broken, and, as the wind blew harder than before, Daddy Bunker said it would not be best to use the wind wagon any more, even if it had not been smashed. So the toy was turned right side up, the broken mast and sail put in it and Russ and Laddie took it to the barn.

"We'll fix it up again to-morrow," said Russ.

The children had other fun the rest of that day, and in the evening they all had pony rides. And this time Margy was not given a ride in the Indian carriage and left asleep. She had her own pony to ride on.

The next day, when dinner was about to be served, Uncle Fred came in looking rather thoughtful.

"Has anything happened?" asked Mother Bunker.

"Yes," he answered. "Some more of my cattle have been taken. I thought this would happen after the spring started to go dry. I wish I could find out what it all means -- why the water runs out of the spring, and who is taking my cattle."

"I wish we could help," said Daddy Bunker. "But we don't seem able to. The engineers you asked about it don't seem to know what makes your spring go dry; the books tell nothing about it, and we can't find any of your lost cattle. I'm afraid we Bunkers aren't helping any."

"Well, I like to have you here!" said Uncle Fred. "Three Star Ranch would be lonesome if the six little Bunkers went away. Just stay on, and maybe we'll solve the riddle yet."

They were just going in to dinner, when a cowboy rode up on a pony that was covered with foam, from having been ridden far and fast.

"What's the matter?" asked Uncle Fred, as he went out to talk to the man -- for cowboys are men, though they are called boys. "Are any more of my cattle gone?"

"No, but they're likely to be. There's a big prairie fire started some miles south of here, and the wind is blowing it right this way. We've got to do something if we want to save the ranch houses from burning!"



Chapter XVII

A Cattle Stampede


"What's that?" cried Uncle Fred. "A prairie fire?"

"Yes, and a bad one, too," answered the man. "I saw it when I was bringing in those steers you told me to get ready to ship away on the train. I just left them, knowing they'd keep out of danger, and rode as fast as I could to tell you."

"That's right! Glad you did!" exclaimed Uncle Fred. "Now we must get to work right away to stop the fire from burning us out. Come on, boys!" he called. "Where's Captain Roy?"

"Here I am!" cried the former soldier, as he came out of the dining-room where he had been helping Margy and Mun Bun get up in their chairs, ready to eat. "What's the matter?"

"Prairie fire!" answered Uncle Fred. "We've got to stop it coming any farther this way, or it may burn all our ranch buildings down! No time for dinner now! We've got to fight the fire!"

"Can I help?" asked Russ eagerly.

"I want to just the same as him!" added Laddie.

"No, you boys must keep out of the way," answered Daddy Bunker. "I'll go and help Fred," he said to his wife. "You'll have to keep the children with you."

"I will," answered Mrs. Bunker.

"Oh, you don't need to do that," said Uncle Fred. "The fire is not near us yet, and if we can plow a wide strip of ground in time, the fire will come to the edge of that and stop. The older children can stand out of the way and watch the plowing, if they like."

"Can we see the fire, too?" asked Russ.

"Yes. Though you can't go very close," his uncle answered. "Let them have a look," he added to Daddy Bunker. "It isn't every day they see a prairie fire, and they'll never forget it. There will be no danger to them."

"All right," said Daddy Bunker. "Russ and Laddie and Violet and Rose may go to watch the plowing and see the fire. But Mun Bun and Margy must stay at home."

"I like to stay at home," said Margy. "I'm awful busy to-day."

"I like to stay at home, too," said Mun Bun, who generally did what his little sister did.

So with the two smallest Bunkers at home with their mother, the other four went with Daddy Bunker to see the fire and watch the cowboys at work.

When Uncle Fred had called the cowboys, they stopped whatever they were doing and began to get ready to fight the fire. Some of them had had their dinners, and others had not. But even those that had not eaten got ready to work. Captain Roy hurried out, also ready to help.

"Get all the horses and plows you can find," said Uncle Fred. "If we haven't enough we'll borrow some from the neighbors."

Though no other ranchmen lived within several miles of Uncle Fred, still there were a few who had plows and horses that could be used. Uncle Fred had a telephone in his house, and Captain Roy was soon calling up the nearest ranchers, asking them to hurry with their plows and horses to make a big, wide strip of bare ground, so the fire would have nothing to burn.

"They'll be here as soon as they can," said the captain. "They have already seen the fire."

"I see it, too!" exclaimed Russ. "Look at the black smoke!"

"And I can see blazes, too!" exclaimed Laddie.

"So can I," added Rose.

"Who started the fire?" asked Violet.

"That we don't know," answered Uncle Fred. "Sometimes a cowboy may drop a match and forget about it. Again some one may start a campfire and forget to put it out when he leaves. All those things start prairie fires."

Uncle Fred and Captain Roy, and as many cowboys as could be found, started toward the cloud of black smoke with plows and horses. As Russ had said, the smoke-cloud could plainly be seen. It seemed to be rolling along the ground, as white, fleecy clouds roll along in the sky. And at the bottom of the black cloud could be seen fire.

The four little Bunkers were led by their father out to where they could have a good view of the fire. The smoke was blacker now, and the flames could be seen more plainly. At times, when the wind blew with unusual strength, the children could smell the smoke and burning grass.

"Does the wind push the fire on, same as it pushed Russ's sail-wagon?" asked Vi.

"Just the same," answered her father. "The fire comes toward us just as fast as the wind blows. If the wind would only blow the other way the fire would not harm us."

But the wind was blowing right toward Uncle Fred's ranch houses, and he and the cowboys knew they must hurry to plow the safety strip of land.

And so they began. Back and forth the teams of horses pulled the plows, turning the dry grass under and leaving only bare earth on top. Then other cowboys came, and the farmers and ranchers who had been telephoned to, and soon many were fighting the prairie fire.

Nearer and nearer it came. The horses, smelling the smoke and seeing the flames, began to snort and prance around.

"Only a little more now," cried Uncle Fred, "and we'll be safe!"

Back and forth the plows hurried, turning up strip after strip of damp ground. It was so hot now, because the fire was nearer, that Daddy Bunker led the children back a way.

"Could the fire get ahead of me if I ran fast?" asked Russ, as he watched the flames and smoke.

"Yes, if the wind blows hard the fire can go faster than the fastest man can run," said Captain Roy, who came up to where Daddy Bunker stood. The captain was thirsty, and wanted a drink of water from the pail Daddy Bunker had carried from the house.

"Do you think you can stop the fire?" asked Violet.

"Oh, yes, we'll stop it now all right," the former soldier answered. "We started to plow just in time."

And so it happened. The flames and smoke in the burning tall grass rolled right up to the edge of the plowed strip, and then they stopped. There was nothing more for the fire to "eat," as Russ called it. Some little tongues of fire tried to creep around the ends of the plowed strip, but the cowboys soon beat these out by throwing shovels full of dirt on them.

"There! Now the fire is out!" cried Uncle Fred. "There is no more danger."

"And will your houses be all right?" Rose asked.

"Yes, they won't burn now."

There was still much smoke in the air, but the wind was blowing it away. And then the children could see the big field, all burned black by the fire.

"The cows can't eat that now, can they?" asked Laddie.

"No, it's spoiled for pasture," said Uncle Fred. "But it will grow up again. Still a prairie fire is a bad thing."

The little Bunkers thought so, too, and they were glad when it was over. They went back to the house, leaving some of the cowboys on guard, to see that no stray sparks started another fire.

"And now we'll have dinner," said Uncle Fred. "It's a little late, but we'll call it dinner just the same."

He invited the men from the other ranches, who had come to help him fight the fire, to stay with him, and soon Bill Johnson was serving a meal to many hungry men. The little Bunkers had theirs separately.

That afternoon Russ and Laddie and Vi went fishing again, while Mrs. Bunker took the other children for a ride in one of Uncle Fred's wagons, with Daddy Bunker to drive. She went to call on a neighbor, about five miles away; a lady who used to live near Mrs. Bunker, but whom she had not seen for a long while.

Laddie, Russ and Violet had fun fishing, and caught enough for Bill Johnson to cook for supper.

"Come on!" called Laddie to Russ that evening, after they had played for a while out near the barn. "Let's go over and get a drink out of the spring."

"All right," agreed Russ. "Maybe we can see what makes it dry up."

"Maybe a bad Indian does it," suggested Laddie. "If I saw him do it I'd lasso him."

"So would I -- only they won't let us have lassos any more."

"Well, maybe they would if they knew we could catch an Indian," went on Laddie hopefully. "Come on, anyhow." Then off they started toward the spring.

"Oh, look!" exclaimed Russ, who had run on ahead. "The water's all gone again!"

"It is?" cried Laddie. "Oh, we'd better go and tell Uncle Fred! Let me see!"

He hurried to his brother's side. Surely enough, there was hardly a pailful of water in the bottom of the spring. And the stream that trickled in through the rocks at the back had stopped.

"Do you s'pose the bad men are taking any more of Uncle Fred's cattle?" asked Laddie. "He said they did that when the spring went dry."

The two little boys managed to dip up a drink in the half a cocoanut shell, and then they looked about them. Night was coming on, and the sun had set some little time before.

"Hark! what's that?" asked Russ, listening.

"Thunder?" asked Laddie. "Is it thunder?"

"It sounds like it," said Russ, "but I don't see any lightning. I guess we'd better go home, anyhow."

They started away from the spring, and then Laddie suddenly cried:

"Oh, look! Look at Uncle Fred's cows all running away!"

Russ looked, and saw a big bunch of cattle rushing and thundering across the plain. It was the hoofs of the cattle beating on the ground that made the sound like thunder.

"Oh, what is it? What is it?" cried Laddie. "What makes 'em run like that?"

"It's a cattle stampede!" shouted a voice, almost in the ears of the boys. "Look out! Up you come!"



Chapter XVIII

An Indian


"It's a cattle stampede!"

Before Russ and Laddie had a chance to think what this meant, though Uncle Fred had told them in his stories, each little boy felt himself caught up in strong arms, and set on a horse in front of a cowboy.

What had happened was that two of Uncle Fred's cowboys had ridden along when Russ and Laddie were at the spring, and, fearing the little lads might get into danger, they had taken them up on their saddles.

"Where are we going?" asked Laddie, undecided whether or not to cry.

"We are going home -- that is, I'm going to take you home," said the cowboy, smiling down at Laddie. "Then we'll try to stop these cattle from running away."

"Are the cattle running away?" asked Russ of the cowboy who held him so firmly in front on his saddle.

"That's what they are, little man," was the answer. "Something frightened the steers, and they started to run. We've got to stop 'em, too!"

"Will they run far?" asked Russ.

"Well, sometimes they do and sometimes they don't," answered the cowboy. "It all depends. Out here on the plain, where there isn't any high land or cliffs for them to topple over, there isn't much danger. The cattle will run until they get tired out. But, of course, some of 'em get stepped on and hurt, and that's bad. And sometimes our cattle get mixed in with another herd, when they stampede this way, and it's hard to get 'em unmixed again. But we're going to take you two boys to the ranch house, and then we'll try to stop the stampede. What were you doing out here, anyhow?"

"Looking at the spring," answered Russ. "It's gone dry again."

"Has it?" asked the cowboy. "Then that means we'll lose more cattle, I reckon. Maybe the men started this stampede."

"No, I think this stampede was started by Indians," said the cowboy who had Laddie, and who had just ridden up alongside Russ in order to speak to "his cowboy" as Russ afterward called him.

"Indians!" cried Russ.

"Yes. Sometimes they come off the reservation, and start to travel to see some of their friends. A band of Indians will stampede a bunch of cattle as soon as anything else."

"Could we see the Indians?" asked Laddie.

"Well, maybe you can, if they come to the ranch. Some do to get something to eat," was the answer. "But hold tight now, we've got to ride faster, if we want to get help in time to stop the runaway cattle."

So the two little boys held tightly to the horn, which is that part of the saddle which was directly in front of them. This horn is what the cowboys fasten their lassos around when they catch a wild steer or a pony.

Behind the boys could be heard the thunder of the hoofs of the stampeding steers. They were running close together, and, even in the half-darkness of the evening, a big cloud of dust raised by the many feet could be seen.

"What's the matter?" cried Uncle Fred, as the two cowboys rode up to the ranch with Laddie and Russ.

"Stampede!" was the answer. "Big bunch of cattle running away."

"Oh, my!" exclaimed Uncle Fred. "Well, get right after 'em! Stop 'em!"

And this is what the cowboys did. The two who had seen the stampede first, and ridden in to tell the news, bringing Laddie and Russ on the way, were joined by other cowboys. They then rode toward the rushing cattle, to head them off, or turn them back.

A stampede on a ranch means that a lot of steers or horses become so frightened over something that they all run together, and don't pay any attention to where they are going. If one of their number falls, the others trample right over it. So, too, if a cowboy on his horse got too close to the stampeding cattle, he would be trampled on.

To stop a stampede the cowboys try to turn the cattle around. This they do by riding along in front of them, as close as they dare, firing their big revolvers. They try to scare the steers from keeping on. Then if they can turn the front ones back, and get them to run in a circle -- "milling," it is called -- the others will do the same thing. The cattle stop running, quiet down and can be driven back where they came from.

It is hard work. Still it has to be done.

It soon grew so dark that the children and grown folk, watching from the house, could see nothing. Mrs. Bunker wanted the six little Bunkers to go to bed, but the four older children wanted to stay up and hear what the cowboys had to say when they came back.

"Well, you may stay half an hour," their father told them. "If they aren't back then off to bed you go!"

However, the cowboys came back about fifteen minutes later, saying they had stopped the stampede and turned the cattle back where they belonged.

"That's good," said Uncle Fred. "What with the fire and a stampede these are busy times at Three Star Ranch."

"And the spring is dried up again!" said Russ. "We forgot to tell you, Uncle Fred."

"The spring dried up once more? Well, I suppose that means more trouble and more cattle missing. I do wish I could find out this puzzle. Laddie, why can't you solve that riddle for me?"

"I don't know, Uncle Fred. I wish I could," said Laddie, as he was taken off to bed.

The next day Uncle Fred and Daddy Bunker went out to look at the spring, to take some more pictures of it with the camera, and see if they could find any reason for its going dry. Laddie and Russ and Vi, who usually wanted to go where her twin did, went with them, the other children staying at home to play.

"Yes, there's hardly any water in it," said Uncle Fred, as he looked down in the rocky basin at which Laddie and Russ had taken a drink the night before. "I think we'll have to dig back of those rocks," he said to Daddy Bunker, "and see what's behind them."

"It might be a good plan," agreed the children's father. "There may be some sort of secret channel through which the water runs out under the ground. I think I would dig, if I were you."

"I will," said Uncle Fred. "I'll go back to the house now and get picks and shovels. You can wait here for me."

"I'll come with you," said Daddy Bunker. "The children will be all right here."

"I'll go with you, Daddy," said Vi. "I must look after my mud pie I left in the sun to bake."

Uncle Fred started back toward the ranch buildings with Mr. Bunker and Vi, while Laddie and Russ sat down near the spring to wait. There was just a faint trickle of water coming through the rocks.

Suddenly the boys were surprised to hear a sort of grunt behind them, and, turning quickly, they saw a figure such as they had often seen in pictures.

"An Indian!" gasped Russ. "Oh, Laddie! It's an Indian!"



Chapter XIX

What Rose Found


There was no doubt about it. Standing in front of Laddie and Russ was an Indian. He was a tall man, with dark skin.

The Indian had a blanket wrapped around him, and on his feet were what seemed to be slippers, made of soft skin. Later the boys learned that these were moccasins.

In his hair the Indian had stuck two or three brightly-colored feathers. He was not a nice-looking man, but he smiled, in what he most likely meant to be a kind way, at the boys, and, pointing to the spring, said:

"Water? Indian get drink water?"

For a moment Russ or Laddie did not know what to think. The coming of an Indian was so sudden that it surprised them. They were all alone, too, for Uncle Fred and their father had gone back to the house to get shovels and picks to dig up the rocks back of the spring.

"Water? Indian get drink water?" asked the Redman again.

"Oh, he is a real Indian!" whispered Russ to his brother. "I see the feathers."

"Yes, and he's got a blanket on, same as the Indians have in the picture Mother showed us," added Laddie.

"Indian get drink!" went on the Redman, as he opened his blanket. The boys saw that he wore a pair of old and rather dirty trousers and a red shirt without a collar. Aside from the blanket and the feathers in his hair, he was not dressed much like an Indian, so the boys decided.

"There isn't much water here," said Russ, "but I guess you can get a drink. The spring has gone dry."

"Spring gone dry? That funny -- plenty rain," said the Indian.

He stooped down and dipped the cocoanut shell in what little water was in the bottom of the spring.

However the Indian managed to get enough to drink, and then he seemed to feel better. He sat down on the ground near the two boys and pulled a package from inside his shirt. It was wrapped in paper and, opening it, the Indian took out some bread and what seemed to be pieces of dried meat. Then he began to eat, paying no attention to the boys.

Russ and Laddie watched the Indian with wide-open eyes. This was the first one they had ever seen outside of a circus or a Wild-West show, and he was not like the Indians there. They all wore gaily-colored suits, and had many more feathers on their heads than this man did. But that he was a real Indian, Russ and Laddie never doubted.

Having finished his meal, and taken another drink of water, the Indian looked at the boys again and said:

"You live here?" and he waved his hand in a circle.

"Not -- not zactly," stammered Laddie.

"We're staying with our Uncle Fred at Three Star Ranch," said Russ.

"Oh, Three Star Ranch. Huh! Me know! Good place. Bill Johnson him cook!"

"That's right!" exclaimed Laddie. "He knows Uncle Fred's cook. He must be a good Indian, Russ."

"I guess he is. Maybe he wants to see Uncle Fred."

"Here they come back," remarked Laddie, and he pointed to his father and Uncle Fred, who could now be seen coming toward the spring, carrying picks and shovels over their shoulders.

"You got papoose your house?" asked the Indian, pointing in the direction of the ranch houses. "You got little papoose?"

"What's a papoose?" asked Russ.

Laddie didn't know, and the Indian was trying to explain what he meant when Uncle Fred came along.

"Hello! You boys have company, I see," said the ranchman. "Where did the Indian come from?" and he looked at the Redman, as Indians are sometimes called.

"He just walked here," explained Russ. "He was thirsty and he ate some bread he had in his shirt, and now he asked us if we had a papoose at our house."

"He means small children," said Uncle Fred. "Papoose is the Indian word for baby -- that is, it is with some Indians. They don't all speak the same language.

"Where are you from, and what do you want?" Uncle Fred asked the Indian. "What's your name?"

"Me Red Feather," answered the Indian, at the same time touching a red feather in his black hair. "Me look for papoose. You got?"

"We haven't got any for you," said Uncle Fred with a laugh. "I guess none of the six little Bunkers would want to go to live with you, though you may be a good Indian. But where are you from, and what do you want?"

The Indian began to talk in his own language, but Uncle Fred shook his head.

"I don't know what you're saying," he said. "If you're lost, and hungry, go back there and they'll feed you."

"Bill Johnson?" asked the Indian.

"So you know my ranch cook, do you?" asked Uncle Fred quickly. "I suppose some one told you to ask for him. Well, he'll give you a meal, and maybe he can understand your talk. I can't. Go back there!" and he pointed to the ranch house.

The Indian got up, and as he walked away he was seen to limp.

"What's the matter? Hurt your foot?" asked Daddy Bunker.

"Much hurt -- yes," was the answer, but the Indian did not stop. He kept on his limping way to the ranch houses.

"Is it all right for him to wander around over your ranch this way?" asked Daddy Bunker of Uncle Fred. "Won't he take some of your horses or cattle?"

"Oh, no, the cowboys will be on the watch. I guess Red Feather is all right, though I never saw him before. The Indians often get tired of staying on the reservation and wander off. They go visiting. They stop here now and then, and Bill Johnson feeds 'em. He sort of likes the Indians. I suppose one he fed some time ago has told the others, so Bill has a good name among the Indians. Well, now we'll dig, and see what we can find out about this queer spring."

"Could we go to see the Indian eat?" asked Russ.

"I like him -- he talks so funny," said Laddie. "Maybe he knows some new riddles."

"Maybe he does," laughed Daddy Bunker. "You can try him if you like. Yes, go along to the house, if you wish, and if Bill Johnson asks you why, say Uncle Fred sent Red Feather to be fed."

"Come on!" called Russ to Laddie. "We'll go back to the house and talk some more to the Indian."

Laddie and Russ reached the house just as Red Feather arrived, for he walked slowly.

"So you're hungry, eh?" asked Bill Johnson, when the Indian had spoken to him. "Well, I guess I can feed you. Where did you come from, and where are you going?"

The Indian waved his hand toward the west, as if to say he had come from that direction, but where he was going he did not tell. Bill tried to talk to him in two or three different Indian dialects, but Red Feather shook his head.

He knew a little English, and his own talk, and that was all. But, every now and then, as he ate, he looked up at Laddie and Russ, who sat near, and said:

"You got more papoose?"

"I guess he wants to see the rest of you little Bunkers!" said Bill Johnson. "Maybe he heard there were several children here, and he wants to see all of you. Some Indians like children more than others. Yes, we have more papooses, Red Feather, though these are the biggest," and he pointed to Russ and Laddie.

"No got um so high?" asked the Indian, and he held his hand about a foot over the head of Russ. "Got papoose so big?"

"No, none of the six little Bunkers is as big as that," explained Bill Johnson. "Russ is the biggest. But what's the matter with your foot?" he asked Red Feather, for the Indian limped badly when he walked.

The Indian spoke something in his own language and pointed to his foot.

"It's swelled," said Bill. "Reckon you must have cut it on a stone. Well, you sit down in the shade, and when Hank Nelson comes in I'll have him look at it. Hank's a sort of doctor among the cowboys," Bill explained to Laddie and Russ.

While the Indian was resting in the shade, Laddie and Russ ran to tell their mother and the other little Bunkers about him.

"Is he a real, wild Indian?" asked Rose.

"He's real, but he isn't wild," Russ answered. "I like him. He likes children, too, 'cause he's always talking about a papoose. Papoose is Indian for baby," he told his sister.

The other little Bunkers gathered around Red Feather, as he sat outside the cook-house, and he smiled at the children. He seemed to want to tell them something as he looked eagerly at them, but all he could make them, or the men at the ranch, understand, was that he wanted to see a "papoose" who was larger than Russ.

"Maybe he wants a boy to go along with him and help him 'cause he's lame," suggested Laddie.

"No, it isn't that," said Uncle Fred, who, with Daddy Bunker, had come back from the spring. "He's worrying about something, but I can't make out what it is. Maybe some of the other cowboys can talk his language. We'll wait until they come in."

Hank Nelson, the cowboy who "doctored" the others, came riding in, and he agreed to look at the Indian's lame foot. Hank said it was badly cut, and he put some salve and a clean bandage on it, for which Red Feather seemed very grateful.

"No can walk good," he said, when his foot was wrapped up. "I go sleep out there!" and he pointed to the tall grass of the plain.

"Oh, no, I guess we can fix you up a place to sleep," said Uncle Fred kindly. "There are some bunks in the barn where the extra cowboys used to sleep. You can stay there until your foot gets well, and Bill Johnson can give you something to eat now and then."

"Oh, I'll feed him all right," said the cook. "He seems like a good Indian. I wish I knew what he meant by that 'papoose' he's always talking about."

But Red Feather could not tell, though he tried hard, and none of the cowboys spoke his kind of language. So he went to sleep in the barn, on a pile of clean straw, and seemed very thankful to all who had helped him.

"Did you find out anything about the queer spring?" asked Mrs. Bunker of her husband and Uncle Fred that night, when the children had gone to bed.

"No, nothing. We dug up back of the rocks, but found nothing that would show where the water runs away to."

"And did you hear of any more of your cattle being taken away?" asked Captain Roy, who had been visiting his son at the nearest army post. This son was also Captain Robert Roy, for he was named Robert for his father, and was now a captain in the regular army. Captain Roy, the father, had just come back.

"Yes, a few were driven off, as almost always happens when the spring goes dry," said the ranchman in answer to Captain Roy's question. "It is a puzzle -- beats Laddie's riddles all to pieces."

"I suppose he'll be getting up some new ones about the Indian to-morrow," said Captain Roy.

"If the Indian doesn't run off in the night with one of the ponies," said Daddy Bunker.

"Oh, he won't go," declared Uncle Fred. "He's being treated too nicely here. He'll stay until his foot gets better."

And, surely enough, Red Feather was on hand for his breakfast the next morning. The six little Bunkers ran out to see him. He looked eagerly and anxiously at them, as if seeking for the "papoose" who was a little larger than Russ.

It was that afternoon, when the children had been having fun playing different games around the house, corrals and barn, that Rose walked off by herself to gather some flowers for the table, as she often did.

"Don't go too far!" her mother called to her.

"I won't," Rose promised.

A little later Mrs. Bunker, who was washing Mun Bun and Margy, and putting clean clothes on them, heard Rose calling from the side porch.

"Oh, Mother! Come here! Look what I found!"

"What is it?" asked Mrs. Bunker. "I can't come now. Tell me what it is, Rose."

"It's the papoose Red Feather was looking for, I guess!" was the answer of Rose Bunker.



Chapter XX

Laddie Is Missing


Mrs. Bunker had Mun Bun in her lap, finishing the buttoning of his shoes, but, when Rose called out about the papoose, her mother quickly set the little fellow down on the floor, and ran to the window from where she could see her daughter on the porch.

"What did you say you had found, Rose?" she called.

"I don't know, for sure," said Rose, "but I guess it's the papoose Red Feather wants. Anyhow it's a little Indian girl, and she's bigger than Russ. Come on down!"

Mrs. Bunker hurried down to the porch, and there she saw Rose standing beside a little girl dressed in rather a ragged calico dress. The little girl was very dark, as though she had lived all her life out in the sun, getting tanned all the while, as the six little Bunkers were tanned at Cousin Tom's.

The little girl had long, straight hair, and it was very black, and, even without this, Mrs. Bunker would have known her to be an Indian.

"Where did you get her, Rose?" asked Mother Bunker.

"I found her out on the plain. She was lost, I guess. I told her to come along, 'cause we had an Indian man at Three Star Ranch. I don't guess she knew what I meant, but she came along with me, and here she is."

"Yes, so I see!" exclaimed the puzzled Mrs. Bunker. "Here she is! But what am I going to do with her?"

The Indian girl smiled, showing her white teeth.

"I'll tell Uncle Fred," said Rose.

"Yes, I guess that's what you'd better do," replied her mother. "Come up and sit down," she said to the Indian girl, but the little maiden Rose had found on the plain did not seem to understand. She looked at the chair which Mrs. Bunker pulled out from against the house, however, and then, with another shy smile, sat down in it.

"Poor thing," said Mrs. Bunker. "Maybe she belongs to Red Feather, and she may be lost. I wish she could talk to me, or that I could speak her language. I wonder --  -- "

But just then Rose came hurrying back, not only with Uncle Fred, but with Daddy Bunker and Red Feather.

"What's all this I hear, about Rose going out in the fields and finding a lost papoose?" asked Uncle Fred.

"Well, here she is!" replied Mother Bunker.

Before any one else could say or do anything, Red Feather sprang forward, as well as he could on his lame foot, and, a moment later, had clasped the Indian girl in his arms. She clung to him, and they talked very fast in their own language.

Then Red Feather turned to Uncle Fred, and, motioning to Rose, said:

"She find lost papoose. Me glad!"

"So that's what he was trying to tell us!" exclaimed Uncle Fred. "Red Feather lost his little girl (his papoose as he calls her, though she isn't a baby), and he set out to find her. Then he hurt his foot and couldn't walk very well, so he came here. And that's what he meant when he tried to ask us if we had another -- an Indian child -- larger than Russ. This girl is bigger than Russ."

"Oh, I'm so glad she's found her father!" exclaimed Mrs. Bunker.

And that is just what the Indian girl had done. Later they heard the story, and it was just as Uncle Fred had said.

Red Feather and some other Indians, with their squaws, children, and little papooses, had left their reservation and started out to see some friends. On the way Sage Flower, which was the name of the Indian girl, became lost. She wandered away from the camp.

Her father and some of the other Indians started out after her, but did not find her. Then Red Feather, wandering about alone, hurt his foot, and managed to get to the spring when Laddie and Russ were waiting at it.

Red Feather tried to tell those at Three Star Ranch about his little lost girl, but could not make himself understood. Then his foot became so bad that he could not walk and he had to stay. And, all the while, he was wondering what had happened to Sage Flower.

The little Indian girl wandered about the plains, sleeping wherever she could find a little shelter, and eating some food she found at a place where some cowboys had been camping. They had gone off and left some bread and meat behind.

Poor little Sage Flower was very tired and hungry when Rose found her on the plain. The Indian girl did not know her father was at Three Star Ranch. She only knew she might get something to eat there and a place to sleep. So when Rose told her to come along Sage Flower was very glad to do so.

And oh! how glad and surprised she was when she found her own father there waiting for her. Sage Flower cried for joy. Mrs. Bunker then took care of her, seeing that she was washed and combed, and had something to eat.

The Indian girl could not speak her thanks in the language the six little Bunkers talked, but she looked her thanks from her eyes and in her smile.

A few days later Red Feather's foot was well enough to be used, and then he and his daughter were put in one of the ranch wagons and sent to the place where the other Indians were camping. The Redmen were very glad to see Red Feather and Sage Flower come back to them.

"Well, it's a good thing you found Sage Flower," said Daddy Bunker, "or the poor thing might have wandered on and on, and been lost for good. Her father, too, would have felt very bad."

But everything came out all right, you see, and Red Feather, to show how grateful he was to Rose, brought her, a week or so later, a beautiful basket, woven of sweet grass that smelled for a long time like the woods and fields.

With this Rose was immensely pleased.

There were many happy days at Three Star Ranch. The prairies did not get on fire again, and the cattle seemed to quiet down, and not want to stampede to make work for every one.

Russ and Laddie and Rose and Vi had fine fun riding their ponies to and fro, for they were allowed to go out alone, if they did not ride too far.

One day, after breakfast, Russ and Laddie came in to ask if they could go for a long ride all alone.

Rose was helping Bill Johnson in the kitchen, and Vi was busy lining a box in which to bury a dead bird she had found. Later there was to be a formal funeral with willow whistles for a band and as many people as would go in the funeral procession.

"I want to see if I can think of a riddle," said Laddie. "I haven't made up one for a long while."

"And I want to see if I can find that Indian, Red Feather," put in Russ. "Maybe he'll make me a bow and arrow."

"I'd rather you wouldn't go now," said their mother. "Don't you want to come with us?"

"Where are you going?" asked Laddie.

"Off to the woods for a little picnic. Bill Johnson is going to put us up a little lunch, and we will stay all day and have fun in the woods."

"Oh, yes, we'll go!" cried Russ. "We can ride our ponies some other time," he added to his brother.

"All right," Laddie agreed. "Maybe I can think of a riddle in the woods."

"What makes them call it a 'woods,' Mother?" asked Vi later, when the lunch baskets were ready and the picnic party was about to set off. "Why don't they call it a 'trees' insteads of a woods? There's a lot of trees there."

"You may call it that, if you like," said Mother Bunker. "We'll go to the 'trees' and have some fun. Come on all my six little Bunkers!"

And away they went to the woods or the trees, whichever you like. There was a large clump of trees not far from the house on Three Star Ranch, and in that the children had their picnic. They played under the green boughs, had games of tag and ate their lunch. Then they rested and, after a while, Russ called:

"Come on! Let's have a game of hide-and-go-seek! I'll be it, and I'll blind and all the rest of you can hide."

"Oh, that'll be lots of fun!" said Rose.

So they played this game. Russ easily saw where Margy and Mun Bun hid themselves, behind bushes near the tree where he was "blinding," but he let them "in free." Then he caught Rose, and she had to be "it" the next time. Violet came in free, for she had picked out a good hiding-place.

"Now I have to find Laddie!" cried Russ. He hunted all over, but he could not find his little brother.

"Oh, tell him he can come in free!" exclaimed Rose. "Then we can go on with the game."

So Russ called:

"Givie up! Givie up! Come on in free, Laddie!"

But Laddie did not come. Where could he be?



Chapter XXI

Russ Digs A Hole


"What's the matter, children? Why are you shouting so?" asked Mrs. Bunker, who had walked on a little way through the woods to get some flowers. "Can't you play more quietly? You're as bad as the cowboys!"

"We're hollering for Laddie, Mother!" explained Russ. "We can't find him."

"Can't find him?"

"No. I was blinding, 'cause I was it, and he went off to hide. I found all the others, or they came in free, but I can't find Laddie, and he doesn't answer when I say I'll givie up."

"Perhaps he is hiding near here, and only laughing at you," said Mrs. Bunker. "We must take a look."

"Come on!" cried Russ to his brother and sisters. "We'll all look for Laddie. If he's doing this on purpose we won't let him play any more, either."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," said Mrs. Bunker softly. "And, after all, maybe he went so far away that he can't hear you telling him that he may come in free. So it wouldn't be fair not to let him play with you again. First find him, and then you can ask him why he hid away so long."

"All right, we will," agreed Russ.

So he and the others started through the woods, looking behind trees, under logs and back of bushes, hoping to catch sight of Laddie. But they did not see him.

Then they shouted and called.

"Givie up! Givie up!" echoed through the woods, that being the way to call when you want a person to come in from playing hide-and-go-seek. But Laddie did not answer.

"Where can he be, Mother?" asked Rose. "Is he hiding for fun, or is he lost?"

"I don't see how he can be lost, my dear," answered Mrs. Bunker. "He went to hide, and surely he wouldn't go very far away, because he would want a chance to run in free himself. No, I think Laddie must be doing a puzzle trick to make you find him. He probably is near by, but he is so well hidden that you can't find him. Try once more!"

So the children tried again, shouting and calling, but there was no Laddie.

"I think I'll go and get your father and Uncle Fred," Laddie's mother said to Rose and Russ. "They'll know how to find Laddie. You children stay here, and all keep together so none of you will be lost."

Mrs. Bunker did not have to go for help, for, just at that moment, her husband came up to them.

"Is anything the matter?" asked Daddy Bunker. "I was taking a walk over to the spring, to see if anything had happened to the water there, when I heard shouting and calling. Is anything wrong?"

"We can't find Laddie!" exclaimed Russ.

"He went to hide, but he won't come in," added Rose.

"I really am a little worried," said Mrs. Bunker. "Perhaps you had better get Fred and --  -- "

"I'll find him!" said Daddy Bunker with a laugh. "He can't be far away. Show me where you blinded, Russ, when the others went to hide."

Russ showed his father where he had stood against a tree, hiding his head in his arms, so he would not see where the others were hiding. Standing at the same tree Mr. Bunker looked all around. Then he started off, walking this way and that, looking up and down and all around in the woods, until finally he stopped before a rather high stump, and said:

"Laddie is here!"

"Where?" cried some of the little Bunkers.

"I don't see him," said others.

"What's this?" asked Daddy Bunker, reaching up on the tree stump, and lifting down a cap.

"Why -- why -- that's Laddie's!" stammered Russ. "I saw it there before, but I thought he hung it there so it wouldn't fall off when he was playing."

"Well, we'll see what's inside this stump, for it is hollow," went on Mr. Bunker with a smile. "Unless I'm much mistaken we'll find in here --  -- "

And just then, from inside the middle of the stump there stuck up a tousled head of hair, and Laddie's rather surprised face looked down at his father and mother and brothers and sisters.

"Oh, you found me!" he exclaimed. "I was going to run in free!"

"Why didn't you?" asked Russ. "I called 'givie up!' a lot of times."

"I -- I didn't hear you," said Laddie, rubbing his eyes. "I guess I must have fallen asleep."

"That's what happened," said Daddy Bunker. "When I saw your cap hanging on a splinter outside the hollow stump I thought you must have hung it there while you climbed inside. Did you?"

"Yes," answered Laddie. "I was looking for a good place to hide, and when I climbed up on a stone, outside, and saw the stump was hollow I knew I could fool Russ. So I left my cap outside, and I got in. And it was so nice and soft there that I just snuggled down and -- and I fell asleep. I was sleepy anyhow."

"Didn't you hear us calling?" asked Rose.

"Nope!"

"And didn't you hear me tell you to come in free?" Russ wanted to know.

"Nope. I guess I must have slept a lot," said Laddie.

"Well, I guess you did," agreed his mother. "We were alarmed about you. Don't do anything like that again."

Laddie promised that he wouldn't, and then he climbed out of the hollow stump. It was just high enough from the ground to prevent any one, passing along, from looking down into it. And Laddie could not have climbed up and gotten in if he had not used a stone to step on. The other children took a peep inside, Margy and Mun Bun having to be lifted up, of course.

The stump was partly filled with dried leaves, which made a soft bed on which Laddie had really gone to sleep. He had just curled up in a sort of nest and there he had stayed while the others were hunting for him.

"Are we going to play hide-and-go-seek any more?" asked Laddie, when he had climbed out of the stump and brushed the pieces of leaves off his clothes.

"I'm hungry," announced Mun Bun. "I want some bread and peaches."

"So do I!" added Margy.

Bill Johnson, the good-natured cook, did not have jam to give the children, as Grandmother Ford had done when they were at Great Hedge, so he gave them canned peaches instead. And they liked these almost as much.

"Well, I'll take Mun Bun and Margy to the house," said Mrs. Bunker. "You other children can play here in the woods, if you like. But don't any of you get lost again."

They promised that they would not, and, after Margy and Mun Bun had gone with their father and mother, Russ and Laddie, with Rose and Violet, played the hiding game some more.

But finally the two girls grew tired, and said they were going to play keep house with their dolls.

"Well, it's no fun for us two to play hide from each other," said Russ to Laddie. "What'll we do?"

"Let's guess riddles," suggested Laddie.

"No, that isn't any fun, either," said Russ. "You'd think of all the riddles and I'd have to think of all the answers. I know what let's do!"

"What?"

"Let's dig a hole."

"A hole? What for?"

"Oh, just for fun. Let's see how deep we can dig a hole."

"All right," agreed Laddie, after a while. "Maybe we can dig one deep enough for a well, and then Uncle Fred won't have to go to the creek after water when the spring goes dry. We'll dig a well!"

"We'll dig a hole, anyhow," said Russ. "Maybe there won't any water come in it and then it wouldn't be a well. But we'll dig a hole anyhow."

So Russ got some shovels at the barn, and he and Laddie began to dig a hole, starting it not far from the spring, though not close enough to get any dirt in the clear water that was so cool and sweet to drink.



Chapter XXII

At The Bridge


"Are you going to make a big hole so we both can get in at the same time?" asked Laddie of Russ, as the older boy began to shovel out the dirt.

"No, we'll take turns digging. If we made such a big hole it would take too long. First I'll dig and throw out the dirt, and you can throw it farther on, so it won't roll back in the hole. Then, when I get tired of digging in the hole, you can get in and dig."

"That'll be lots of fun!" exclaimed Laddie. "Won't Uncle Fred be s'prised when he sees a well full of water?"

"Maybe it won't be quite full," said Russ. "But we may get some."

The boys, of course, could not dig very fast. The shovels they had were rather small, and did not hold much dirt. But they were fully large enough for two such little boys.

The earth was somewhat sandy, and there were not many large stones on Uncle Fred's ranch. Of course, the digging was not as easy as it had been at the beach where Cousin Tom lived, but Russ and Laddie did not mind this. They were digging for fun, as much as for anything else, and they really did not have to do it.

So they dug away, first one and then the other getting down in the hole, until they had made it so large that, even when Laddie stood up in it, his head hardly came up to the top of the ground. Russ, being taller, stuck a little more out of the hole than did his brother.

"Do you see any water yet?" asked Laddie, when Russ had been digging, in his turn, for some little time.

"No, not yet," was the answer. "It's awful dry."

"We could get some water from the spring and pour it in," said Laddie. "Then it would look like a well."

"But all the water would run out, if we just poured it in, same as it ran out when we dug a hole at the beach and let the waves fill it," objected Russ. "We'll dig down until we come to some regular water. Then it will be a real well."

But long before they reached water Laddie and Russ became tired of digging. They got to a place where the earth was packed hard, and it was not easy to shovel it out, and finally Russ said:

"Oh, I'm not going to make a well!"

"I'm not, either," declared Laddie. "What'll we do?"

"Let's go for a ride on our ponies," suggested Russ.

"All right!" agreed Laddie. "That'll be fun."

So, dropping the shovels at the side of the hole they had dug, instead of taking them back to the barn, as they should have done, Russ and Laddie went to the house to ask their father or mother if they might go for a ride on the little ponies.

Mr. Bunker was out on the ranch with Uncle Fred, but Mother Bunker said the two boys might ride over the plain if they did not go too far.

Russ and Laddie went to the corral to get their ponies. The boys got one of the cowboys, who was working around the barn, to put the saddles on for them, as this they could not do for themselves, and then they set off, Russ on "Star," as he called his pony, for it had a white star on its forehead, while Laddie rode "Stocking." His pony had been named that because one leg, about half-way up from the hoof, was white, just as if the little horse had on one white stocking.

"Gid-dap!" cried Russ to Star.

"Gid-dap!" called Laddie to Stocking.

And off and away, over the plain, the two ponies galloped.

"They sure are two nice little boys," said Bill Johnson to Mrs. Bunker, as they watched Laddie and Russ ride away.

"Yes, they try to be good, though they do get into mischief now and then," answered the little boys' mother.

On and on rode Laddie and Russ, their ponies trotting over the grassy plain. The day was warm and sunny, and the two boys were having a grand time.

"I wish I was an Indian," said Russ, with a sigh, as he let his pony walk a way, for it seemed tired.

"I'd rather be a cowboy," said Laddie.

"But Indians can live in a tent," went on Russ. "And if they don't like it in one place they can take their tent to another place. If you're a cowboy and live in a house, like Uncle Fred's, you have to stay where the house is."

"Yes," said Laddie, after thinking it over a bit. "You have to do that. I guess maybe I'll be an Indian, too."

"Let's both make believe we're Indians now," proposed Russ.

"We'll pretend we're out hunting buffaloes," agreed Laddie.

"And if we see any of Uncle Fred's cattle we'll make believe they are buffaloes and we'll lasso them," went on Russ.

"Yes, and we'll shoot 'em, too," declared Laddie.

"Only make believe, though!" exclaimed his brother. "I wouldn't want to shoot a cow really."

"No, I wouldn't either. But do Indians have guns, Russ?"

"Course they do. Didn't you hear Bill Johnson tell about how he saw a whole lot of Indians with guns?"

"Oh, yes. Then we'll be gun-Indians, and not the bow-and-arrow kind."

"Sure!" agreed Russ. "We'll get some sticks for guns."

They stopped on the edge of the woods to get sticks that would answer for guns. Then, after resting in the shade for a while, they rode on.

"Woo! Wah! Hoo!" suddenly yelled Russ.

"What's the matter?" asked Laddie, looking around at his brother, who was riding behind him. "What did you yell that way for?"

"'Cause I'm an Indian!" answered Russ. "You have to yell that way, too. Indians always yell."

"Oh, all right. I'll yell," said Laddie. "I thought maybe you'd hurt yourself. Oh, hoo! Doodle-doodle-oo!" he shouted.

"Hey, that's no way to yell like an Indian!" objected Russ.

"Why isn't it?"

"'Cause it sounds more like a rooster crowing. Yell like this: 'Wah-hoo! Zoo! Zoop! Wah! Wah!'"

"Oh, you want me to yell that way. Well, I will," said Laddie. And he yelled as nearly as he could like his brother.

So the two boys rode on and on, crossing the plain this way and that, so as not to get too far from the house. They could see the ranch buildings each time they got on top of the little knolls that were scattered here and there over the plain.

"Let's have a race!" suggested Laddie, after a bit. "I don't guess we are going to see any of Uncle Fred's cattle over here to make believe they're buffaloes. Let's have a race!"

"All right!" agreed Russ. "And I don't have to give you any head start this time, 'cause your pony's legs are going to run, and not your legs, and your pony's legs are every bit as long as my pony's. So we can start even."

"Yes," said Laddie, "we can start even."

They rode their ponies up alongside of each other, and got them in line. Then Russ said:

"We'll ride to the bridge. The first one there wins the race."

"Yes," said Laddie, "we'll race to the bridge."

This bridge was one across the creek, at a place where the water was deeper than anywhere else on Uncle Fred's ranch. The boys were told they must not cross the bridge unless some older person was with them, and they were not allowed to ride into the creek near the bridge because of the deep water.

"All ready?" asked Russ of his brother, as they sat on their ponies.

"All ready, yes."

"Then go!"

"Gid-dap!" cried Laddie.

"Gid-dap!" yelled Russ.

The ponies began to trot. Russ and Laddie did not have whips, and they would not have used them if they had had, for they loved their ponies and were very kind to them. But they tapped the ponies with their hands or their heels and shook the reins and called to them. This made the ponies run almost as fast as if they had been whipped, and was a great deal nicer. Besides, Russ and Laddie did not want to ride too fast, for they might have fallen off.

On and on they raced. Sometimes Russ was ahead, and again Laddie would be. But, just as they came near the bridge, the pony Russ was on slowed up a bit. Laddie's pony kept on, and so he won the race.

"But I don't care," said Russ kindly. "After we rest a bit at the bridge we'll have another race and I'll win that one."

"I hope you do, then we'll be even," said Laddie.

The little boys got off their ponies and looked about them. The ponies began to eat the green grass, and Laddie and Russ were looking for a shady place in which to cool off when they suddenly heard a groan. It was quite loud, and seemed to come from near the bridge. Then a voice called:

"Water! Oh, some one get me a drink of water!"



Chapter XXIII

The Boys' Well


"Did you hear that?" asked Russ of Laddie, as they stared about them.

"Course I heard it."

"What did it sound like?"

"Like the ghost at Great Hedge," said Laddie.

"Yes," agreed Russ, "that's what it did sound like -- a sort of groan. But there can't be any ghost here."

"Course not. But what was it?"

Laddie and Russ looked across the bridge, but could see no one on the other side.

Then the groan sounded again, quite near them, and the voice again called:

"Water! Water!"

"Somebody wants a drink," said Laddie.

"But who is it?" asked Russ. "I don't see anybody."

"It sounds like a man," replied Laddie.

"Maybe it's an Indian," said Russ. "But I don't guess Indians would talk as plain as that. Maybe it's one of Uncle Fred's cowboys, and he fell off his horse and is hurt."

"Oh, maybe 'tis!" exclaimed Laddie. "But if it's a strange cowboy we must ride right home. Mother said so."

"We got to get him a drink first," decided Russ. "You always have to do that. You have to do that even to an enemy, 'cause we learned that in Sunday-school. Let's see if we can find who 'tis wants a drink."

Suddenly the voice called again, so loudly and so close to them that Russ and Laddie both jumped when they heard it.

"Whoever you are, please get me some water!" said the voice. "I'm a cowboy and I've fallen off my horse and broken my leg."

"Where -- where are you?" asked Russ, looking about.

"In the tall grass, right at the end of the bridge. I can see you boys, but you can't see me because I'm hidden in the grass. I was going to ride over the bridge, but my pony slipped and threw me and I've been here some time with a broken leg. Get me a drink if you can."

Russ and Laddie looked at each other. Then they looked toward the end of the bridge, where the voice sounded, and they saw the long grass moving.

"He must be in there," said Laddie, pointing.

"He is," answered Russ. "Here, you hold Star and I'll get him a drink," and Russ slipped off his pony, taking off the cap he wore. Russ had an idea he could carry some water to the cowboy in the cap, and in this he was right.

Going down to the edge of the creek, at one side of the bridge, Russ dented in the outside top of his cap, and filled it with water.

Then, carrying the cap as carefully as he could, Russ made his way to where the cowboy had called from. The little boy found the injured man lying in the tall grass.

"Ah! That's good!" exclaimed the cowboy, as he drank the water. "Now if you could catch my horse for me maybe I could get up on him, and ride him to where I belong. Do you see my horse anywhere?"

Russ looked all about. At first he saw nothing, but, as he gazed across the bridge he saw, on the other side of the creek, a big horse eating grass.

"I see him!" said Russ to the cowboy. "He's over the bridge."

"Is he? That's good. Then he didn't go very far away, after all. Now, look here, you seem to be a pretty smart boy," and the cowboy spoke in a stronger voice, now that he had had a drink of water. "Do you want to help me?"

"Yes," said Russ, "I'd like to help you. My mother says we must help everybody, and give them a drink of cold water, even our enemies, and I know you're not an enemy."

"I don't know about that," said the cowboy with a queer laugh, and he turned his head away and seemed to be looking at his horse, which was on the other side of the bridge, eating grass.

"No, you're not an enemy," went on Russ. "An enemy is a bad man, and you're not that."

"I wouldn't be so sure on that point, either," returned the cowboy. "But I won't hurt you, that's certain. Now look here, boy --  -- "

"My name is Russ Bunker," interrupted the lad.

"Well, Russ, do you think you could go across the bridge and get my horse for me? If I had him I could ride away, now that I feel better after having had a drink. Will you cross the bridge and get my horse for me?"

"No," said Russ slowly, "I couldn't do that."

"Why not? The horse won't hurt you. He's so tame you could walk right up to him, and get hold of the reins. He won't run the way some horses do. You know something about horses or you wouldn't be riding one. Why won't you get mine?"

"'Cause Mother said I wasn't to cross the bridge alone," answered Russ. "Me or Laddie -- we can't go across the bridge alone."

"Oh," said the cowboy. "But then your mother didn't know you were going to meet a sick man -- one that couldn't walk. She'd let you cross the bridge if she was here."

"But she isn't here," said Russ. "I know what I can do, though! I can ride back and ask her if Laddie and I can go across the bridge for your horse. I'll do it!"

"No! Wait! Hold on a minute!" cried the cowboy. "I don't want you to do that. I don't want you to ride and tell any one I'm here. I'd rather you'd get my horse for me yourself. Just ride your horse across the bridge and get mine."

"I haven't a horse. I have one of Uncle Fred's ponies," said Russ. "And my brother Laddie's got a pony, too. But I can't go across the bridge. Mother said I wasn't to. But I'll ride to Three Star Ranch --  -- "

"Are you from Three Star Ranch?" asked the cowboy quickly.

"Yes," answered Russ.

"Oh!" and the cowboy seemed much surprised. "Well, I guess I'd better get my own horse then," he said. "I guess no one from Three Star Ranch would want to help me if they knew what I'd done. Ride along, boy -- Russ you said your name was, didn't you? Ride along, and I'll see if I can't crawl over and get my own horse."

Russ did not know what to do. He wanted to help the cowboy, who seemed in much pain, but the little boy was not going to cross the bridge when his mother had told him not to.

"Hey!" called Laddie. "Come on, Russ. I'm tired of holding your pony."

"All right," said Russ. "I'm coming. We have to ride back and ask Mother if we can cross the bridge to catch that horse!" and he pointed to the cowboy's animal, still cropping grass on the other side of the creek.

"No, don't bother about me," said the man in the grass. "I'll get my own horse. Always be a good boy and mind your mother. Then you won't get into trouble. I wish I had minded mine. Maybe I wouldn't be here now. Ride on home, but don't say anything about me."

Russ turned back to join Laddie. As he did so he saw the cowboy try to rise up and walk. But the man, as soon as he put one leg to the ground, uttered a loud cry and fell back. Then he lay very still and quiet.

"What's the matter with him?" asked Laddie, in a low voice.

"I don't know," answered Russ. "But I guess we'd better ride back and tell Daddy or Uncle Fred. They'll know what to do. We can't cross the bridge, but we can go for help. Come on!"

Russ got on his pony again, and he and Laddie rode away as fast as they could, leaving the cowboy very still and quiet, lying in the long grass at the end of the bridge.

Meanwhile something was going on back at the Three Star Ranch house. Uncle Fred and Daddy Bunker, who had been out riding on the plains, came galloping back.

"Where are Russ and Laddie?" asked their father of his wife.

"They went for a ride down by the creek," she answered. "They said they'd go only as far as the bridge. But they've been gone a long while, and I wish you'd ride after them and bring them back."

"I will," said Mr. Bunker. "Want to come for a ride, Rose?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"Well, I'll get your pony out of the corral, and saddle him for you. Then we'll ride and get Russ and Laddie."

A little later Rose and her father started out on their ride. As they passed near the queer spring, which, for the last day or so had not emptied itself of water, Daddy Bunker saw quite a hole in the ground.

"What's that?" he asked Rose.

"Oh, it's where Russ and Laddie started to make a well," she answered. "But I guess they didn't find any water."

Daddy Bunker got off his horse to take a look. He bent over the well the boys had dug, and stooped close down to it. As he did so a queer look came over his face.

"I wonder if this can be the place?" he said to himself.

"What is it?" asked Rose.

"I don't know," her father answered. "But it sounds to me like running water down near where Russ and Laddie have been digging. If it is, it may mean we can find out the secret of Uncle Fred's spring. I guess I'd better go and tell him. It won't take long, and then we can all ride on and get Russ and Laddie, if they aren't back by then.

"Yes, I shouldn't be surprised but what those two boys had started to solve the riddle of the spring. I must tell Uncle Fred!"



Chapter XXIV

More Cattle Gone


Uncle Fred was out in the barn, talking over some ranch matters with Captain Roy, when Daddy Bunker and Rose came trotting back.

"What's the matter?" asked Uncle Fred. "Has Rose found some more Indian papooses?" and he laughed.

"Not this time," answered her father. "But those boys of mine, Fred, have dug quite a hole near your spring. I went past it just now, on my way to find Laddie and Russ. There is a queer sound of gurgling water seeming to come from the bottom of their 'well,' as they called it. They didn't strike water, but they came near to it. You'd better come and have a look."

"I will," said Uncle Fred. "Better come along, Captain Roy," he went on. "We may all get a good surprise. I'd be glad to have the secret of the spring discovered."

The three men and Rose rode back to the hole Laddie and Russ had dug. Then Daddy Bunker, Uncle Fred and Captain Roy got off their horses to listen more closely.

"Do you hear it?" asked Daddy Bunker of the children's uncle.

"I hear water running somewhere under ground," answered Uncle Fred.

"So do I," said Captain Roy. "I shouldn't be surprised if this was where the water either ran into or out of our spring."

"We must get shovels and dig," said Uncle Fred. "When we dug back of the rocks it wasn't in the right place, I guess. Laddie and Russ, by accident, have found the very place we were looking for. I'm sure it's a good thing I brought the six little Bunkers out to Three Star Ranch."

"Don't be too sure yet," laughed Daddy Bunker. "We haven't found the answer to the riddle, yet."

They were going to ride back to the barn, to get picks and shovels, when Mrs. Bunker came hurrying out to them.

"Oh, Fred!" she called to her brother. "Something has happened!"

"What?" he asked.

"Russ and Laddie --  -- " went on Mrs. Bunker.

"Has anything happened to them?" cried Daddy Bunker quickly.

"No, they're all right. But they just rode up to the house greatly excited, and they tell a remarkable story about a cowboy with a broken leg, and say that he's lying in the grass at the end of the bridge. They're quite worked-up over it. Maybe you'd better go to see what it is."

"Yes," said Daddy Bunker, "I presume I had better hurry on to see about Russ and Laddie."

"The spring and the well will keep until you come back," observed Uncle Fred.

"We'll wait for you," added Captain Roy.

Mr. Bunker hurried back with his wife to the ranch house.

"Russ and Laddie are there," said Mother Bunker, and she told about the little lads having seen the cowboy, just as Russ and Laddie had told her. They had ridden home from the bridge, and reached the house just after Daddy Bunker and Rose had gone away.

"Well, boys, what's this I hear?" asked Daddy Bunker. "Did you really find a cowboy? Or was it an Indian?"

"Oh, it's a cowboy all right, and I got him a drink of water in my cap," replied Russ. "He wanted me to ride over the bridge to get his horse, but Mother said I wasn't to, and I didn't."

"That's a good boy," said his father.

"And the cowboy, I guess, is hurt bad," said Laddie. "He couldn't walk on one leg, and he shut his eyes and sounded like he was sick."

"Maybe he is, poor fellow," said Mr. Bunker. "We must see about him at once. I'll go for Uncle Fred," and he hurried back where he had left the ranchman and Captain Roy.

"A cowboy hurt!" exclaimed Uncle Fred. "Well, I don't believe it can be any of mine, or I'd have heard about it. However, we'll ride over to the bridge and see about it. We'll see later about the noise of running water under the well that Laddie and Russ dug."

Rose wanted to ride with her father to the bridge, but he said as they might have to carry back the cowboy with his injured leg, she had better go to the house with her mother and the boys. So Rose did.

Together Uncle Fred, Daddy Bunker and Captain Roy rode to the bridge where Russ and Laddie had ended their race. They easily found the cowboy, who had fainted away when he tried to stand on his leg, which was broken. His eyes were open when the three men rode up, and he smiled, and seemed glad to see them.

"I guess I'm going to be laid up for a while," he said. "My pony threw me, and my leg doubled under me. I saw some boys, and tried to get them to go across the bridge for my horse, but they wouldn't -- said their mother didn't allow them."

"That's right -- they were my boys," said Daddy Bunker. "But now we'll take care of you."

"Where are you from -- what ranch?" asked Uncle Fred, looking closely at the cowboy. "I never saw you around here before."

"No, I'm a stranger. I'm looking for work. But I guess I'll have to stay in bed a while now."

"We'll take care of you at Three Star Ranch," said Uncle Fred kindly. "We've got plenty of room."

It was no easy work to move a man with a broken leg from the field near the bridge to the bunk-house of Three Star Ranch, but at last it was done, and then the doctor was sent for. He said the cowboy, who gave his name as Sam Thurston, would have to stay in bed for a while, until his leg got well.

Getting the cowboy to the bunk-house, and going for the doctor, who lived some miles away, took up so much time that it was dark before Uncle Fred, Daddy Bunker and Captain Roy had time to think about looking at the well Laddie and Russ had dug. And then it was too late.

"We'll look at it the first thing in the morning," said the ranchman.

"Didn't you want us to dig the well?" asked Russ.

"Oh, I don't mind," his uncle answered. "And maybe, by means of that well, we may find out the secret of the spring."

The six little Bunkers sat in the living-room, listening to Uncle Fred tell a story, just before they were sent to bed. This was one of their delights since coming to Three Star Ranch. Uncle Fred knew a lot of stories of the West -- stories of Indians, cowboys, of wild animals, big storms, of fires, and of cattle running in a stampede.

Mun Bun and Margy fell asleep, one in their mother's lap and the other in Daddy Bunker's; but Rose and Vi, and Laddie and Russ stayed awake, listening to the stories told by Uncle Fred.

"I know a riddle about a bear," said Laddie, when his uncle had finished a story about one.

"A riddle about a bear?" exclaimed Mr. Bell. "Well, let's hear it, Laddie."

"This is it. Why does a bear climb a tree? Why does he?"

"Lots of reasons," answered Russ.

"Well, you have to give one to answer my riddle," said Laddie. "Why does a bear climb a tree?"

"To get the hunter that climbed the tree first," said Daddy Bunker.

"Nope!" laughed Laddie.

"To get out of the way of the hunter," said Russ.

"Nope!" and Laddie laughed again.

"Does he climb it to go to sleep?" asked Rose.

"How could a bear go to sleep in a tree?" Laddie wanted to know. "I'll tell you the answer, 'cause you can't guess. A bear climbs a tree when the dogs bark at him, so he can throw bark at the dogs. Isn't that a good riddle? You know trees have bark."

"But you didn't say anything about dogs and bark at first!" objected Vi. "If you had said about the dogs I could have guessed."

"Well, I wanted to make it hard," said Laddie. "Maybe to-morrow I'll think of another riddle without any dogs in it."

"Well, you four little Bunkers that are still awake had better go to bed so you'll be able to eat breakfast as well as guess riddles to-morrow," laughed Mother Bunker. "Come on! To bed with you! Mun Bun and Margy fell asleep long ago."

So off to bed they went, not even dreaming about the strange things that were to happen the next day.

About an hour after the six little Bunkers were in Slumberland, Captain Roy, who had been over to the bunk-house to talk with some of the cowboys, came hurrying in where Uncle Fred was.

"Anything the matter?" asked the ranchman.

"Yes," answered the captain. "More of our cattle have been taken!"



Chapter XXV

The Secret Of The Spring


"More cattle taken?" cried Uncle Fred. "When did that happen?"

"Just a little while ago," answered Captain Roy. "One of the cowboys just rode in with the news."

"Well, this is too bad!" cried Uncle Fred.

"I'll tell you what let's do," said Daddy Bunker. "It isn't very late yet. Let's go out and look at the spring."

"What for?" asked his wife.

"Well," answered the father of the six little Bunkers, "I want to see if the water has run out of it this time. Perhaps it hasn't, and, if so, it would mean that the taking away of Uncle Fred's cattle didn't have anything to do with the mysterious spring."

"Well, it will do no harm to take a look," said the ranchman. "Come along, Captain Roy. We'll see what it all means."

Taking lanterns with them, they went out in the dark night to look at the spring.

"It's just the same," called Daddy Bunker, when he had taken a look. "The water is almost out of it."

"Then we must start, the first thing in the morning, digging at the place where the boys made their well," declared Uncle Fred. "I must get at the bottom of the secret of my spring."

"And I'd like to find out who it is that's taking our cattle!" exclaimed Captain Roy. "I think, in the morning, I'll take some of the cowboys and have a big hunt. This business must stop. Pretty soon we won't have any ranch left at Three Star. I'm going to find the men that are taking the cattle!"

When the six little Bunkers awoke the next morning, there was so much going on at Three Star Ranch that they did not know what to make of it. Cowboys were riding to and fro, Uncle Fred and Daddy Bunker were dressed in old clothes, Captain Roy had a gun slung over his shoulder, and many horses were standing outside the corral, saddled and bridled.

"Are we going on a picnic?" asked Vi. "Is there going to be a parade? Is the circus coming? What makes so many horses? Is there going to be a prairie fire?"

"Well, I guess you've asked enough questions for a while, little girl!" laughed her mother. "Come and get your breakfast now."

"But what's going on?" insisted Violet.

"Two things," her father told her. "Your uncle and I are going to dig deeper in the well Russ and Laddie started, to see what makes the gurgling sound of water under the earth at the bottom of it. And Captain Roy is going to try to find the men who took Uncle Fred's cattle last night."

"Oh, can't we help?" asked Laddie.

"You may come and watch us dig your well deeper," his father told him. "But it would not be safe for little boys to go hunting men who take cattle."

Just as Captain Roy and a lot of cowboys were about to ride off over the plain and Daddy Bunker and Uncle Fred were going to dig at the boys' well, Mrs. Bunker came out of the bunk-house. She had gone to see if the man with the broken leg needed anything.

"He wants to see you," she said to Uncle Fred. "He says he can tell you a secret."

"Tell me a secret!" exclaimed the ranchman. "Does he mean about the mysterious spring, or the stolen cattle?"

"He didn't say," answered Mrs. Bunker. "But he wants you to come to see him."

So Uncle Fred went. He stayed a long while in the room where Sam Thurston, the strange cowboy, had been put to bed after his broken leg was set, and when Uncle Fred came out he was much excited.

"Wait a minute, Captain Roy!" he called to his partner. "I can tell you where to look for the cattle that were taken last night."

"Where?" asked the former army man, pausing at the head of his band of cowboys.

"Over in the gully by the creek. They're hidden there."

"Who told you so?"

"Thurston, the strange cowboy. And he has also told me the secret of the spring, so we won't have to do any digging, Daddy Bunker."

"We won't? Why not?" asked the children's father in surprise.

"Because the cowboy says the reason the water stops coming in at certain times is because of something that happens back in the hills, where my spring starts, in a brook that runs under ground after its first beginning. Back in the hills the men, who have been taking the cattle, turn the water into another stream. That's why it doesn't run into mine, and that's why my spring dries up."

"But why do the men shut off our spring water?" asked Captain Roy.

"They do it to make a wet place so they can drive my cattle across it, and no hoof marks are left to tell which way the animals have gone. Then, when the cattle are safely away, the waters are let run down where they always flow, and they come into my spring again. The taking of the cattle and the drying up of my spring are all done by the same band of men. That's why, whenever any cattle were taken, the spring dried up. One went with the other."

"How did Sam Thurston know all this?" asked Daddy Bunker.

"This cowboy with the broken leg used to be one of the band of men who took my cattle," went on Uncle Fred. "He just told me. He was on his way to see about taking more of my steers when his horse threw him at the bridge. That's why he didn't want to come to Three Star Ranch -- because he had treated us so meanly.

"But when he saw how good we were to him he made up his mind not to be bad any more and to tell about the men. He knows where they hide the cattle after they steal them, and he says if we go there now we can get back the steers, and also catch the men who took them. And after this the spring won't go dry any more."

"Well, well!" exclaimed the children's father. "And to think that two of the six little Bunkers, by finding the cowboy with the broken leg, should help solve the spring mystery!"

"It is extraordinary!" exclaimed Uncle Fred. "But I knew as soon as I saw the little Bunkers in the attic that day I walked into your house, that they could do something. And they have. Now, Captain Roy, you and the cowboys ride on and see if you can get back our cattle."

Away rode Captain Roy and the cowboys, and some hours later they came back with the men, whom they had easily caught. They found the cattle hidden in a gully, or deep valley, near the creek, and the steers were driven back to their pasturage on Three Star Ranch.

Then the whole story came out. Sam Thurston and the others of the band, instead of raising cattle of their own, used to take those belonging to other ranchmen. They found it easy to take Uncle Fred's, and, by making a dam, or wall of earth, across the place where the stream started that fed his spring, they could turn it in another direction, making it flow over a path, or trail.

Along this trail, when the water covered it, the men drove the cattle they took from Uncle Fred's field, and the water covered, and washed away, any marks the cattle's feet made. So no one could see which way they had been driven.

When the stream was thus dammed it did not flow into the spring, which went dry. After the dam was taken away the spring filled again.

And so it went on. Each time cattle were taken the spring was made to go dry, and the men thus fooled Uncle Fred and his cowboys. The bad men would hide the cattle and sell them to other men who did not know they were stolen.

So the secret of the spring might never have been discovered except for Laddie and Russ making that race to the bridge where they found the cowboy with the broken leg.

Sam Thurston became good after that, his leg healed, and he worked for Uncle Fred for a number of years. The bad men were sent to prison for a long time, and had no more chance to take cattle from any one.

"But aren't you going to dig down in the well we made, and see what is at the bottom of it?" asked Russ of his father, a day or so after the cattle had been got back and the men sent away.

"Yes, I think we shall," said Uncle Fred. "I'd like to know what that gurgle of water is."

So they dug and found out. But it had nothing to do with the secret of the spring, after all. It was only an old pipe, that had been laid some years before by a man that had formerly owned the ranch, before Uncle Fred bought it. The man laid a pipe from the overflow of the spring to a chicken coop, so the hens could get a drink. Then the pipe became covered over, and the man did not think to tell Uncle Fred about it when the ranch was sold.

But the secret of the spring was found out, and never after that did it go dry, and no more of Uncle Fred's cattle were taken.

"So it's a good thing we came out to see you, isn't it, Uncle Fred?" asked Laddie.

"I should say it was!" laughed his uncle.

"I'm going to make a riddle about it!" went on Laddie. "I don't just know what it's going to be, or what the answer is. But it will be a riddle."

"All right," laughed Uncle Fred. "When you think of it tell me. And now have all the fun you can on Three Star Ranch. There are no more secrets to bother you."

"What makes 'em call it a ranch?" asked Violet. "Is it 'cause it has a branch of a tree on it? Or is it an Indian name? And where are all the Indians you said we'd see, Uncle Fred? And do the Indians and cowboys ever fight? And do the Indians have bows and arrows, and could I have a pony ride now?"

"Well, I'll answer the last question by saying you may," said Uncle Fred with a laugh. "As for the others, we'll see about them later."

"Come on!" cried Russ. "We'll all have pony rides!"

"And I'll get Bill Johnson to give us some cookies so we can play picnic!" added Laddie.

"Oh, wait for me," called Rose. "I must put my doll to bed before we start."

"I want to come!" shouted Mun Bun.

"Me, too!" added Margy.

"Bless their hearts! Let 'em have all the fun they can!" laughed Uncle Fred.

And that's just what we shall do with the six little Bunkers as we take leave of them, perhaps some time to meet them again.

<eob>

Shown To The Children Series: Flowers

By

Janet Harvey Kelman



Plate I

1. Lesser Celandine


This is one of the first flowers you will see in springtime. It covers the ground in patches in every wood, and you will find it too under the hedges and on banks by the roadside.

The flower has eight long narrow petals, which are much narrower and more pointed than those of the Buttercup.

When the Celandine is still in bud the outside of these petals is beautifully streaked with purple. But when the flower opens in the sunshine, the petals are a bright yellow colour, and are as glossy as if they were wet.

In the centre of the flower there is a ring of yellow stamens with a cluster of green seed-vessels amongst them.

Behind the coloured petals are three narrow pointed sepals. These protect the flower when it is in bud.

The green leaves of the Celandine are dark and glossy, with wavy edges, and each leaf has a stalk of its own.

If you look carefully at one of these leaves you will see that the stalk is flattened at the foot. This helps it to clasp the main stem more easily.

The root is divided into five or six hard little brown fingers. These brown fingers are called tubers, and each tuber, if planted separately, will produce a new plant.


2. Bulbous Buttercup

In spring the Bulbous Buttercup is found everywhere, filling the meadows with its sunshiny flowers.

Each flower has five glossy yellow petals which do not lie flat open as in the Celandine, but form a cup, a yellow cup or Buttercup.

At the base of each petal you find a small honey pouch, which the bees love to visit.

When the flower is still in bud, the yellow petals are almost covered by five pale-green hairy sepals. You can see only the yellow tips peeping out. But when the flower opens, these hairy green sepals fold back close round the stalk.

In the centre of the flower is a thick cluster of yellow-headed stamens with a knot of green seed-vessels in the middle.

The stalk on which the flower grows is slightly hairy, and has a narrow groove on one side.

The root is shaped like a small turnip, and has a great many white threads growing out of it.

The leaves of this Buttercup are dark green, with soft hairs all over them. They are shaped very irregularly, and are deeply cut up all round the edges.


3. Meadow Buttercup

The Meadow Buttercup is abundant all over the country. It grows beside the Daisy in every field and hedge-bank.

In this Buttercup the flower has five bright glossy yellow petals, which open out flat and are not cup-shaped as in the Bulbous Buttercup.

There is a hard green knot of seed-vessels in the centre of the flower, with a ring of yellow stamens all round it. When the yellow stamens and petals fall off, this bunch of seed-vessels grows bigger and bigger, until it looks like a small green raspberry.

Outside the yellow petals are five pale-green sepals. These remain close behind the yellow flower and do not fold back against the stalk as in the Bulbous Buttercup.

The flower-stalk is slightly hairy, but it is not grooved.

The green leaves are dark, and are covered with soft hairs. Each leaf is divided into three parts, which are very deeply cut up all round the edge.

You will easily recognise this Buttercup if you remember three things.

1. The flower-stalk has no groove.

2. The little green sepals do not fold back close to the stalk.

3. The root has no bulb.


4. Marsh Marigold

This is one of our handsomest wildflowers. It grows abundantly in springtime by the side of ponds, or on the marshy edge of a slow-running stream. It looks like a large, thick Buttercup.

The Marsh Marigold is closely related to the Buttercup family, though it differs from the Buttercups in various ways.

The five bright yellow petals of the flowers are glossy, and have little veins running up from the bottom.

In the centre of these petals there is a big bunch of yellow stamens, with a group of green seed-vessels amongst them.

If you look at the back of an open flower you will see that there are no green sepals such as there are in the Buttercups.

The flower-stalks are thick and hollow, with ridges along the sides. They snap off easily when gathered, but very soon they lose their stiffness and become soft and flabby. This means they are thirsty, and if you give them plenty of water to drink they will soon be as stiff as when they were growing.

The green leaves of the Marsh Marigold are dark above, but underneath they are much lighter. They are very glossy and smooth, and each leaf is covered with a fine network of veins.

In shape they are like a heart with crinkled edges.


Plate II: 1. Wallflower. 2 Wild Mustard. 3. Hedge Mustard.

1. Wallflower

The Wallflower, as its name tells you, likes to grow on walls. In early spring you will see it on the top of old walls or high up on the broken roof of a ruined castle. How did it get there? The wind or the birds must have carried the seed.

The flowers are a rich golden yellow, and they have a delightful scent. Each flower has four beautiful petals, which are broad above with a long strap forming the lower part.

In the centre where these four petals meet, you can just see the tips of the stamens peeping out: but the seed-vessel is hidden from sight.

The four sepals are a dark purple colour, and they form a cup in which the lower or strap-shaped part of the petal is held.

Those flowers which are nearest the foot of the stem open first. You will often find eight or ten yellow flowers blooming at the same time and a bunch of dark purple buds at the end of the stem.

The stem of the Wallflower is tough and woody near the ground, but further up it is green and smooth.

The leaves are narrow pointed straps with smooth edges. They are dark green, but sometimes they have a touch of purple at the tips.


2. Wild Mustard

This is a plant the farmers are very sorry to see. They do not want it among the corn, but in springtime the fields are often covered with its yellow flowers.

The flowers grow in a cluster near the top of the stem. There are often four or five in full bloom at once, gathered round a bunch of green buds which rises in the centre of the cluster. While the first cluster is in flower, the stem continues to grow, and by the time these flowers fall off, another cluster appears at the end of the lengthened stem, and so on.

If you pull off one of the flower-petals you will see that the lower half is strap-shaped. But the petal is much broader at the other end, and it is round, with a tiny nick in the outer edge.

In the centre there are six stamens whose tips you can just see where the four petals meet. But the seed-vessel is hidden until the petals and sepals and stamens fall off. It then grows into a thin green pod, and you will find many of these slender pods standing out from the hairy stem.

Behind the yellow petals are four thin sepals. When the flower is fully out these lie flat open. They do not form a cup.

The leaves of the Wild Mustard are dusty green. They are each in one piece and are broadly pointed, with the edges cut like the teeth of a saw.


3. Hedge Mustard

This is a very common little plant, but it is not at all attractive. You find it by the roadside and in waste places in early summer, and it always looks very dusty.

The flowers are quite small. They grow in little clusters at the end of a long spike, and there are usually four or five flowers out at the same time. These flowers have each four tiny petals of a pale yellow colour, and unless you look very closely, and pull these petals gently apart, you will not see either the stamens or the seed-vessel, which are almost hidden from sight.

The little green sepals at the back of each flower stand straight up from the stalk and form a cup. This cup has slits down the sides and it holds the flower.

The stalk is almost covered with thin, hairy, green pods pressed closely against it. These pods hold the seeds, and they look like green caterpillars creeping up each side of the stem.

The leaves of the Hedge Mustard are a dull grey-green colour and are very rough and hairy. Those nearest the ground have no stalks, they grow like a rosette, with one leaf close above another.

But the leaves further up the stem are each separate. They are very much cut up, and their edges are toothed like a saw.


Plate III: 1. Yellow Horned Poppy 2. Rock Rose 3. Opposite-Leaved Golden Saxifrage

1. Yellow Horned Poppy

The Yellow Horned Poppy grows all summer on sandy seashores or among stones. It is a showy plant, with large, orange-yellow flowers.

Each flower has four petals which open almost flat. These petals are very soft and are daintily waved round the edges.

In the centre of the petals rises a big bunch of stamens. In the middle of these stamens stands a curious green horn. This is the seed-vessel, and it is divided at the tip into three little forks.

As soon as the yellow stamens and the petals fall off, this horn grows into a long curved pod, and in this pod are the seeds.

The Horned Poppy has two green sepals which are very rough and hairy. They cover the flower so long as it is in bud, but whenever the flower begins to expand these sepals burst open, and as soon as the yellow petals have smoothed out their crinkles in the sun these little green coverings fall off.

The leaves of this Poppy are thick and leathery, and are covered with hairs which make them look grey.

These leaves have no separate stalks, but grow close to the stem as if they were clasping it.


2. Rock Rose

This is a delicate little branching plant which trails in summer-time along the ground, on grassy hills, and among rocks and gravel.

The flowers grow singly on short stalks, and each flower has five bright yellow petals which lie flat open. These petals are not stiff and glossy like those of the Buttercup, but soft and easily crinkled like the Poppy petals.

If you touch very lightly the yellow stamens in the centre of the flower, they will spread out and lie down.

The Rock Rose has five little green sepals. Three of these have their tips slightly tinged with pink, and these pink-tinged sepals are large enough to cover the flower when it is in bud. The other two are much smaller, with sharply-pointed tips, and they grow at the end of the little flower-stalk behind the pinky sepals.

The leaves of the Rock Rose are long and narrow with smooth edges, and they grow opposite each other on the stem.

These leaves are always dark green above, but underneath they are covered with fine white woolly down, and if you hold them up to the light you will see that the edges are fringed with soft hairs.


3. Opposite-Leaved Golden Saxifrage

This small plant grows in damp places by the side of ditches and on wet rocks. It is commonest in the north of Britain, but in spring you will find its soft stems creeping close to the ground in the south of England also.

The Golden Saxifrage has no petals. The yellow flowers grow at the end of the stem in small clusters, which are sunk among the leaves.

Each flower has a yellow calyx tube, which is divided at the mouth into four parts. These divisions are yellow inside, but on the outside they are green.

There is a ring of tiny stamens standing out all round the mouth of the calyx tube, and in the very centre of the flower stands a fat seed-vessel, like a beak, which splits open into halves when the seeds are ripe.

The leaves of the Golden Saxifrage grow in pairs on each side of a pale green, juicy stem.

This stem is covered with clear white hairs. The leaves are pale green and are round in shape, with crinkled edges. They are very soft, and, like the stem, they have fine white hairs all over them.

When you gather a handful of the Golden Saxifrage you find a great many slender white roots hanging from the stem wherever it has lain along the ground.


Plate IV: 1. Common Whin Or Gorse. 2. Broom. 3. Needle Whin.

1. Common Whin Or Gorse

This is a shrub children like better to look at than to gather. It is very common on heaths and banks and in dry fields, and it blooms in early summer.

The flowers are curious, because the five petals are so strangely shaped. One broad petal stands up highest and is called 'the Standard.' Then there are two narrow petals at the side; these are called 'Wings.' And in between these narrow petals there are two joined together like a tiny boat, which are called 'the Keel.'

There is a bunch of curved stamens with their slender stalks all joined together at the bottom into a green tube.

Amongst these stamens you can see the tip of the seed-vessel.

When the flower is in bud it is enclosed in a rough, yellowish-green covering which has many black hairs all over it. This covering usually opens in two pieces, and these pieces remain below the flower until it is withered.

Instead of leaves the Gorse has many sharp prickly spikes or leaf-thorns. You will notice that there are many of these sharp spikes which have little groups of two or three shorter spikes branching from them, and each branch ends in a sharp spike.


2. Broom

This is one of our most beautiful spring shrubs. It grows on heaths and by the roadside, and sometimes you will see a low hill covered with it, and glistening like gold in the sunshine.

The flowers are very like those of the Common Whin, but they are much larger, and the yellow colour is deeper and more golden.

The petals are shaped the same as in the Common Whin, and if you look at the green tube into which the stamens are joined, you will see that it has a curious green thread at the end which is twisted into a curl. The seeds are in this tube, and when the petals and stamens have all fallen off, this tube becomes a flat green pod tinged with purple. The curly green thread still remains at the end.

There are green sepals at the back of the flower which form a cup. This cup looks as if it was only in two pieces; but, as in the Common Whin, it is really made up of five sepals, and you can often see five little teeth at the mouth which show where each sepal begins.

The leaves of the Broom are very small, and they grow in groups of three. Those close to the flowers have no stalks, but the others have each a stalk with the three little leaves at the end.


3. Needle Whin

The Needle Whin is not so well known as the Common Whin or the Broom, though it belongs to the same family. It is very common, and you will find plenty of it in spring and early summer growing close to the ground among the heather.

The flowers are pale yellow, with six petals very like those of the Common Whin or the Broom, only much smaller. You find five or six flowers growing close together on a trailing woody stem.

Each flower sits in a green cup, which is made up of five sepals joined together. Round the mouth of the cup are five sharp teeth, and you can see, much more clearly than in the Common Whin or in the Broom, where each separate sepal begins.

After the petals and stamens fall off, the seed-vessels grow into large, fat pods which are commonly tinged with purple.

If you are not in the country until the petals have fallen, you will easily recognise the Needle Whin by these fat pods. Sometimes five or six or more grow near the top of each short stem.

The leaves of this tiny Whin are very small and have scarcely any stalks. Growing up the main stem are many very fine spines or leaf-thorns, as sharp as needles.

From these the plant gets its name.


Plate V: 1. St. John's Wort. 2. Common Avens. 3. Tormentil.

1. St. John's Wort

This is a tall, handsome plant, whose flowers appear late in summer among low-growing bushes or on the hedge-banks.

Each flower has five pale yellow, pointed petals, which open like a star. On these petals there are often many small black dots.

The flowers grow on short stalks, which always rise between a small green leaf and the stem. These flower-stalks are in pairs, exactly opposite each other on each side of the stem.

Inside the flower there are a great many stamens. These stamens are grouped in bunches, and do not form a ring all round the centre as in many flowers.

Seated among these bunches is a pear-shaped seed-vessel with three horns at the top.

At the back of the flower, lying flat open, are five thin green sepals, whose tips you can see appearing, as you look down into the flower, between the yellow petals.

The stalk is smooth and stiff, with two edges which look as if the sides had been joined together.

The green leaves grow in pairs opposite each other. They taper to a point and have edges that are smooth all round. If you look closely you will see that each leaf is covered with tiny black dots.

There is another St. John's Wort very like this, but its stalk is square, with four edges.


2. Common Avens

The Common Avens grows abundantly all summer in woods and on shady hedge-banks, but it is not very attractive.

The flowers are small, with five separate yellow petals which lie flat open. As you look down into the flower, you can see the tips of the five green sepals appearing between the yellow petals.

Each flower grows at the end of a short stalk, but two or three of these stalks often spring from the main stem at the same place.

Half way up this stem you will find a pair of tiny green leaves with very small buds appearing between them and the stalk. These buds will come out later, when their stalks have time to lengthen.

In the centre of the ring of stamens there is a small green bunch of seed-vessels. Each seed-vessel has a thin stiff hair at the top, and after the yellow petals fall off you will see this bristly bunch of spikes still at the end of the flower-stalk, with the tiny green sepals standing out like a frill behind.

Each leaf is divided into three or more parts. Those close to the ground are large and coarse, with the edges cut like the teeth of a saw.

But there are leaves further up the stem, and these are frequently divided quite differently from the root leaves.


3. Tormentil

This is a dainty little plant which grows all summer in open woods, and on heaths, where its masses of small yellow flowers look like gold stars among the tangle of green leaves and stems.

The flowers are small, with four pale yellow petals which lie wide open, and rising from amongst them there are yellow stamens with a bunch of green seed-vessels in the centre. Behind these yellow petals there is a green star-circle of sepals. Four of these sepals are long and green, and their tips can be seen in front between the yellow flower-petals.

There are also four much smaller green sepals which stand between each of the larger ones, so the calyx is really a beautiful green star with eight points.

Each flower has a stalk of its own, and each stalk rises from between a leaf and the stem. Sometimes they are deeply tinged with purple.

The green leaves of the Tormentil are soft and fine, with a few downy hairs on the front. They are divided into five fingers, and each of these fingers has its edges cut into large teeth all the way round.

Very often these edges turn quite yellow when the plant is just beginning to fade.

The Tormentil root is rather curious. It looks like a thick brown finger, but if you cut it, the inside is a delicate rose red.


Plate VI: 1. Bird's Foot Trefoil. 2. Hop Trefoil. 3. Lady's Fingers. 4. Meadow Vetchling.

1. Birdsfoot Trefoil

The golden Birdsfoot Trefoil grows nearly everywhere. You can gather its tufts of bright yellow flowers all summer in the fields and woods and waste places.

The flowers grow in heads at the end of a long flower-stalk, and each head may have from four to eight flowers close together in a bunch.

The five petals are golden-yellow streaked with red, and they are strangely shaped. There is one big petal which stands up behind. Then there are two long-shaped petals which lie sideways, and two small ones that are joined together in a curious point.

After the petals fall off, the seed-vessel in the centre of the stamens grows into a long, thin red pod; and when there are four or five of these narrow pods at the end of the flower-stalk, they look like the claw of a bird.

That is why this Trefoil is called Birdsfoot.

The leaves are very pretty. There is a single small green leaflet, with smooth round edges, at the end of a short stalk. Just below this little leaflet there is a pair of tiny leaflets. And further down, where the stalk joins the main stem, you will find still another little pair. So that the name Trefoil, which means 'three leaves,' is not correct, as there are really five small leaflets on each short stalk.


2. Hop Trefoil

The Hop Trefoil is a cousin of the Birdsfoot Trefoil, and is quite as plentiful. It grows all summer by the edge of the fields and in grassy pastures.

You will easily recognise it by the flowers. These cluster together in small round yellow heads like a tiny clover. In each head there are from twenty to forty little flowers closely packed together. When you pick one of these tiny flowers to pieces, you find that the petals are very much the same as those of the Birdsfoot Trefoil. But they are so small that you would require a magnifying glass to see them clearly, and to discover the stamens and seed-vessels which are hidden inside.

When the flowers begin to fade, the petals do not fall off at once, but they shrivel and become a pale-brown colour. Sometimes you find a flower of which the lower half is quite brown and withered, while the upper half remains golden yellow.

At the end of the flower-stalk you find a small oval green leaflet, and close below this single leaflet comes a pair of dainty leaflets. On each stalk there is always this triplet. The main stem is covered with fine downy hairs, and you will notice that wherever a leaf-stalk joins this stem there are two small green sheaths with points, which look as if they were meant to cover the join.


3. Lady's Fingers

This showy plant grows abundantly all summer on dry banks and pastures. You will easily recognise it by the large heads of pale yellow flowers with their woolly sepals.

The flowers are grouped in two heads at the end of a stout stalk, and there are usually ten to twenty separate flowers in each head. The petals seem very similar to those of the Trefoils, but each petal ends in a long claw, and these claws are hidden in the cup formed by the sepals.

This calyx-cup is edged round the mouth with sharp teeth, and it is covered with grey fluffy down. The grey down gives a woolly appearance to the flowers.

You also find a frill of narrow green pointed leaves without stalks underneath each head of flowers.

When the petals and stamens have fallen off, the yellow calyx-cup becomes much swollen, and inside it there remains a small pod which bears the seeds.

On the upper side the leaves are a delicate blue-green, with fine silky hairs all over them. But underneath these leaves are much paler. Each leaflet is long and narrow and is placed the one opposite the other on the leaf-stalk, at the end of which there is always a solitary leaflet.


4. Meadow Vetchling

The Meadow Vetchling is not nearly such a stout plant as the Lady's Fingers. Its stem is feeble and requires to find support by holding on to the hedges, or to some other strong plant.

The flowers are a beautiful golden yellow. They grow in loose bunches near the end of a straight, stiff flower-stalk. Notice that all the flowers face one way, and that in each flower the largest yellow petal is daintily streaked with purple.

You cannot see either the stamens or the seed-vessel, which are hidden inside the flower.

The sepals are joined so that they form a green cup which has five sharp points round the mouth.

The leaflets grow in pairs at the end of the leaf-stalk. They are long and narrow, like a lance, with fine lines running from end to end. In between each pair of leaflets you find a green twisted thread called a tendril. This tendril curls round the stem of plants that are stronger than the Meadow Vetchling, and they support it.

Wherever the leaf-stalk joins the main stem you will find another pair of green leaves. These leaves are shaped like the head of an arrow, and they have a name of their own, which you will learn when you know more about plants.


Plate VII: 1. Creeping Cinquefoil 2. Silver Weed 3. Common Agrimony

1. Creeping Cinquefoil

This pretty plant is common everywhere. You will find it all summer by the roadside, in meadows, and by the edge of the cornfields.

The flowers are bright golden yellow: they have five petals which open out like a rose, and in the centre there is a ring of yellow stamens with a knot of green seed-vessels among them.

In between each of these yellow petals you see a narrow green point appearing. These are sepals, and if you look at the back of the flower you find that the calyx is really a star made up of ten pointed green sepals.

The flowers grow on long, slender stalks. Both the flower and the leaves rise from what looks like another slender stalk creeping close to the ground. The creeping stalk comes from a root which resembles a small carrot. This root goes straight down into the ground, and it sends out three long, stalk-like creepers which lie along the surface. Wherever a bunch of leaves and flowers rises from the creeper, two or three little white roots go down into the ground. These take firm hold of the earth and help to keep the plant steady.

The leaves are beautiful. Each leaf is divided into five fingers, which are cut round the edges like the teeth of a saw. They are dark green, and have long, slender stalks like the flowers.


2. Silver Weed

The Silver Weed prefers to grow in damp meadows and on the banks of ditches. You find it in abundance all summer.

The flowers are not unlike those of the Cinquefoil. They have five golden yellow petals which are not cup-shaped, but lie flat open. These petals are larger than those of the Cinquefoil, and you can only see the smallest tip of the green sepals appearing in between each.

There are really ten sepals in the calyx. Five of these are narrow little pointed leaves, but the others are each divided at the tip. If you remove all the yellow petals, this green calyx, with its ten green points, is just like a beautiful star.

The Silver Weed sends out long creepers. These are thicker than in the Cinquefoil, and are often tinged with pink.

When the leaves are half-open they look almost entirely white, because they are covered with a fine silvery down. But when they are fully out they become dark green above, and it is only the underside which remains white and silvery.

Notice that the leaves grow in pairs, with big leaflets and very little leaflets alternately on each side of the leaf-stalk, and that their edges are deeply toothed all round.


3. Common Agrimony

This plant likes to grow in dry places, such as hedge-banks or at the side of fields, and it blooms in summer.

The flowers grow one above the other on a tall spike, and they look like small yellow stars. Those that grow lowest down on the spike come out first, and the small green buds are crowded together near the top.

In the centre of the five yellow petals there is a ring of stamens, and amongst those stands a fat, green seed-vessel with two horns at the top.

The calyx or green covering of the flower is the part you must notice most closely.

It rises from a short stalk, and is shaped like a bell. There are ten deep lines running from top to bottom of this green bell, and round its mouth there are five large points.

Below these points is a curious ring of tiny hooks like a fringe, and these cling to whatever touches them. You often find a dozen of these little green bells fastened to your skirt if you have been where the Agrimony grows.

The leaflets are dark and hairy. They grow opposite each other in pairs, on each side of the leaf-stalk: first a large pair, then a small pair, turn about, and you always find a single large leaflet at the very end.

Each leaflet is deeply cut round the edge and has teeth like the teeth of a saw.


Plate VIII: 1. Common Nipplewort 2. Autumnal Hawkbit 3. Yellow Goatsbeard

1. Common Nipplewort

The Nipplewort is very common everywhere. It grows both in waste places and in cultivated ground or by the roadside, and you find it in flower all summer and autumn.

It has a slender round stem, which branches a good many times, and at the top of each of those branches you find a tiny yellow daisy. These daisies are made up of many yellow tubes, each with a broad yellow strap at the mouth. The straps have the edges cut into sharp teeth, and they stand out in a circle all round the small yellow daisy.

The small yellow heads are held by a green cup made up of two sets of narrow pointed green leaves, and you will notice that there is always a single very tiny grey-green leaf where each branch forks from the main stem.

The leaves of the Nipplewort vary much in shape. Some are like a feather of which the lower part is cut away almost to the centre stalk. Others are regularly oval, with wavy edges all round, and these leaves end in a sharp point. They are dark green in colour, with hairs all round the edge.


2. Autumnal Hawkbit

The Hawkweeds are a very large family, and it will be a long time before you learn to recognise them all.

The Autumnal Hawkbit is the commonest, and it is found nearly everywhere, in meadows, in pastures, and in waste places. It flowers in late summer and autumn.

The leaves grow in a rosette close to the ground. They are dark green, rather smooth, and are shaped like narrow feathers, with the edges irregularly cut into deep, rounded teeth. They all spring from the centre root.

The heads of yellow flowers grow on tall, slender, wiry stalks. Very tiny scale-like green leaves grow up the stalks at intervals. Each yellow head is made up of many small yellow tubes with a strap at the mouth, and these strap tubes are crowded together all over the flower-head.

When the yellow flowers are withered, the seed-vessels remain, each with a tuft of feathery cotton down attached to it But the down ball is not a perfect one as in the Dandelion; and the down looks grey.

The top of the flower-stalk is clothed with layers of narrow pointed green leaves which are tinged with red, and are sometimes woolly. These layers are pressed tightly one above the other like the scales of a fir-cone, and they cover the yellow flower completely when it is in bud.


3. Yellow Goatsbeard

The Yellow Goatsbeard is fairly common in this country. It grows in meadows and pastures and in waste places, and it is in flower all summer and autumn.

It belongs to a large family of plants which are very difficult to distinguish the one from the other, and you will find several Goatsbeards that seem very much alike.

This Goatsbeard is a wiry, straight, slender plant. The dark green stem is round, and the leaves grow close to it without stalks. These leaves are like a broad blade of grass at the bottom where they join the stem, but near the top they get very narrow and are folded together, so that they appear almost round, and they end in a sharp point.

The flowers grow singly on round, smooth stems. They look like small Yellow Dandelions with fewer yellow rays, and like the Dandelion they are made up of many little yellow tubes grouped together, some of which have yellow straps at the edge, while others have none. When the flower is half open you will notice that it stands in a green cup made up of eight narrow leaves with long, fine points. These points are much longer than the yellow rays of the flower, and stand up beyond them when the flower is closed. The flowers of the Goatsbeard have the curious habit of closing at midday, even when the sun is shining.


Plate IX: 1. Coltsfoot 2. Common Groundsel 3. Common Ragwort

1. Coltsfoot

The Coltsfoot is a very common plant. You find it all over the country, and along with the Celandine it is one of the first flowers to appear in spring. The flowers come out before the leaves. They grow singly at the end of straight, woolly stalks which have many little pink scale-like leaves, from top to bottom. When the flowers are withering, their heads begin to droop; but when the downy seed-ball is ready to open, the flower-stalks stand straight up again.

The flowers are bright yellow, and like the Daisy and Dandelion, which belong to the same family, they are made up of a great many tiny tubes grouped close together. Those tubes round the edge have a long, narrow, yellow strap at the outside.

After the flowers are withered, the seeds remain at the end of the stalk, and each seed sends out a tuft of beautiful, straight, white down which forms a delicate ball as in the Dandelion. But the Coltsfoot down-ball is neither so starry nor so beautiful as that of the Dandelion.

The leaves of the Coltsfoot are entirely covered with cotton wool when they are small; as they grow bigger, they become glossy grey-green above, and are white only underneath.

Each leaf is nearly round, with beautiful pointed scollops at the edge, and it has a long stalk.


2. Common Groundsel

This plant is one of the very commonest we have. It is in flower all the year round, and grows everywhere. We have all gathered it to give to the canaries, who love to pick the tiny seeds.

The Groundsel flowers grow in small heads of two or three together at the end of short stalks which branch at intervals from top to bottom of the stem. These stalks are not very strong, and as the flower-heads are heavy, they make the stalks bend over.

This is another plant whose flowers are composed of a great many small tubes tightly packed together. These tubes are yellow, and some have a broad, short strap at the mouth of the tube, and in some the mouth is evenly nicked all round. They grow in a tiny green cup, which is made up of narrow strap-shaped green leaves tightly pressed together, and you can only see the tips of the yellow flowers at the mouth of this cup. After the flowers are withered, a bunch of white down is seen coming out of the mouth of the green cup.

The stem of the Groundsel is soft and juicy, and it has a good many hairs upon it.

The leaves are glossy dark green, and are shaped like a feather, with large, regular divisions up the sides. Each division is finely waved all round the edges.


3. Common Ragwort

The Ragwort is a very common plant. It grows everywhere, and is in flower in late summer and autumn.

It is a stout and rather coarse plant, with bunches of small yellow daisies growing on short forks which branch from the top of the main stem.

These daisies are rather poor looking, and they are made up of a great many little flowers crowded together inside a green cup, and a few of the flowers round the edge of the cup have yellow straps which are thin and straggling.

The yellow tube flowers in the centre are evenly nicked all round the mouth, and they have yellow stamens whose heads you can see forming a circle round the yellow tip of the seed-vessel with its two curled points.

The stems of the Ragwort are sometimes white and woolly, and they are covered all over with deep ridges.

The leaves are dark green and shiny. They are long and feather-shaped, and are deeply cut up almost to the centre rib, forming narrow green horns on each side of it.


Plate X: 1. Crosswort. 2. Biting Stonecrop. 3. Yellow Bedstraw. 4. Mugwort.

1. Crosswort

The Crosswort is common in England and in the South of Scotland, but it does not grow far North. It is in flower all spring and summer, and you find it abundantly in woods and thickets. This is rather a soft, weak plant, which you will easily recognise by the curious way the leaves are placed on the stem.

These leaves are small, and pointed, and they grow in form like a cross. The crosses appear about an inch apart all the way up the stem, and their leaves are soft and thin, and are covered all over with fine hairs.

The flowers grow in clusters on very short stalks close to the stem where the four leaves meet. They are yellow and very tiny. Each flower has four petals, and these petals are joined together and show four points standing out round the edge. You will notice four tiny stamens, one of which lies flat between each of the petals, and there are also two narrow green leaves springing from among the small groups of flowers, as well as the four which form a cross.

The stem of the Crosswort is four-sided, and, like the leaves, it is covered with fine hairs.


2. Biting Stonecrop

The Biting Stonecrop is common all over Britain. It is abundant in summer on rocks and in sandy places by the seaside, and you find it growing inland too.

The Stonecrop grows in large tufts close to the ground. It is a small plant with a great many little branches, and these branches are of two kinds. Some are thickly covered with fat, juicy leaves. These leaves are very tiny, and they are laid thickly all round the stem in the same way as the scales are laid on a fir-cone. Those leaves nearest the end of the branch are often tinged with red.

On the other branches of the Stonecrop the fat green leaves are not nearly so closely packed together, and near the end of each branch grow two or more flowers.

These flowers are golden yellow, and they have five pointed petals which resemble the rays of a star, and there are ten yellow stamens lying flat out, on and between these petals.

In the centre of the flower you see five fat little seed-vessels standing up. After the yellow petals have all fallen off, these seed-vessels lie down and show five points like a small green star.


3. Yellow Bedstraw

The Yellow Bedstraw is to be found all over the country. It grows in pastures, and on the hedge-banks, and it is in flower all summer and autumn.

There is a white bedstraw as well as a yellow, and you will often find great masses of both growing like a carpet on the grassy hedge-banks. The stems of the Yellow Bedstraw are not strong, although they grow to a great length, and the plant is usually lying in a tangled mass near the ground.

The flowers are very tiny. They grow in dense clusters. Each cluster has a short stalk which branches opposite another stalk on the main stem. The flowers have four petals and four stamens, and these stamens have almost no stalks. They look just like dots lying on the yellow petals.

The leaves of the Yellow Bedstraw are very tiny. They resemble small green straps, and they grow in circles, with eight to ten leaves in a circle round the main stem, close to where the flower clusters grow. You also find a circle of leaves growing on the short stalks which hold the clusters of flowers. These tiny leaves are hairy underneath.


4. Mugwort

The Mugwort, or Wormwood as it is often called, is common all over the country. It grows in waste places and by the borders of the fields, and it blooms in autumn.

You will easily recognise this plant by its greeny-white woolly flowers, with their yellow or red centres. These flowers grow in short clusters, and each little woolly head is made up of a number of separate flowers shaped like tubes. These yellow or red tubes are grouped together as in the Daisy.

The stem of the Mugwort is pale green, and has red ridges running from end to end. The leaves are very handsome. They are large and broad and feather-shaped, with big leaflets in pairs opposite each other on the stem, and there is always a single long leaflet at the end. Each of these leaflets is deeply cut round the edges into large teeth.

The back of the Mugwort leaves is covered with silvery white down, and often the green edges are curled back on to this white underside.


Plate XI: 1. Wild Mignonette 2. Common Dandelion 3. Tansy

1. Wild Mignonette

The Wild Mignonette does not grow close to the ground like the sweet-scented Mignonette we have in our gardens. It is a tall, spiked plant, which you find in summer-time on waste ground and among stone heaps, and it is not at all noticeable.

The flowers grow on short, thin stalks. Those flowers at the bottom open first, and the little buds are always at the top of the tall spike.

These flowers are little yellow balls, which seem to be entirely made up of stamens. But if you gently pick one of these yellow balls to pieces, you will find that there are six greenish-yellow petals.

The four largest petals are so deeply cut round the edge that they appear to be fringed. But there are two long thin ones which are each in one piece. These petals are all joined together at the bottom, with the bunch of fluffy stamens and the seed-vessel inside.

Behind this little ball there are six thin green sepals. These are very narrow and pointed, and they stand round the flower like the legs of a spider.

The leaves are dark green, and they are very much lighter underneath than above. They are very narrow, with crinkled edges, and the upper half of the leaf branches into three or four parts, like a stag's horn.


2. Common Dandelion

The Dandelion is as well known as the Buttercup and Daisy. It grows in all kinds of places, and it is in flower from early spring to late autumn. The large yellow flower-heads are made up of a great many separate little flower-tubes, which widen out at the mouth into a long yellow strap. These yellow tubes are placed on a round disc with the straps standing out in a circle, like a rosette. Each flower-head grows singly at the end of a long green stalk. The stalks are hollow, and when you break them a white milky juice oozes out. At the top of the stalk you find a cup made up of narrow pointed green leaves. Some of these leaves curve back over the top of the stalk.

When the yellow flowers are withered, the round disc is covered with the tiny seed-vessels. Each seed-vessel ends in a slender green spike which has a beautiful tuft of starry down at its tip. This ball of starry down is one of the most beautiful things in the flower world.

The leaves of the Dandelion are a smooth glossy green. They are shaped like a blunt arrow-head, and they have a white line running up the centre. The edges are cut up into huge teeth which are said to resemble the teeth of a lion. From this the plant gets its name.


3. Tansy

The Tansy is to be found in hedge-banks, and by the roadside, or on the borders of the fields in many places all over the country, though in the North it is not very common. It flowers in autumn, and is a tall, bushy plant, with large green, ferny leaves.

The Tansy has a short, green stem rising stiff and straight from the ground, and this stem branches at the top into three or four forks. Each of these forks divides again into two or three smaller forks, and there is a flower which looks like a yellow button at the end of each fork.

If you pick one of these yellow buttons to pieces you find that it is made up of a great many yellow tubes, with a swollen green part at the bottom. These yellow tubes are of two kinds. In some the mouth of the tube is cut evenly all round into small scollops, and in others there is a yellow strap at one side of the tube. These tubes stand on a round disc, and at the back of this disc there is a thick double row of small green pointed leaves, which form a green cup behind the yellow buttons.

The leaves of the Tansy are like coarse ferns. They are feather-shaped, with deeply cut divisions, and each division is toothed at the edges. The Tansy has a strong scent, especially when you crush its leaves or stalks.


Plate XII: 1. Primrose. 2. Cowslip. 3. Bog Asphodel.

1. Primrose

Is there any child who does not know the Primrose? In spring and early summer you will find its yellow blossom starring the woods and hedge-banks, and you will see it too by the seashore.

The flowers grow singly on fine stalks rising from the middle of the root. A long yellow tube is hidden in the deep calyx-cup, and the mouth of this tube opens out into five pale lemon-yellow petals. Each petal has a notch in the outer edge, and there are two orange-coloured streaks running from the base. In the centre of the petals, you can see the mouth of the tube with the heads of the stamens in its throat. The slender thread with its pinhead top, which rises from the seed-vessel, can just be seen. Yet you will also find Primroses where the heads of the stamens are hidden from sight, but where this seed-vessel thread reaches beyond the mouth of the tube.

The calyx-cup is pale-green and hairy, and has fine, sharp teeth round the edge.

The Primrose leaves grow in a rosette, rising with short, juicy stalks from the root. They are covered with a fine network of veins, which are much raised on the underside of the leaf. The leaf is crinkled all over.

Before the leaves are full grown, the edges are often rolled back so as nearly to meet on the silvery underside.


2. Cowslip

The Cowslip is the Queen of our meadow flowers. It is common in England and Ireland, and in many parts of Scotland. The spring, or early summer, is the best time to find it.

The flowers grow, a dozen or more together, in a loose cluster, at the end of a stout, round stalk. Each flower has a yellow tube which is sunk out of sight in a swollen calyx-cup. This cup is a beautiful light green colour, with five sharp teeth at the mouth, and it is covered with soft hairs. Sometimes you find it tinged with brown streaks.

Round the mouth of the yellow flower-tube stand five small lemon-coloured petals, each with a V-shaped nick in the outer edge, and a bright, reddish-orange spot at the base. If you look at the back of a cowslip, you will see that the yellow tube is swollen just below the petals.

There are five stamens, whose heads are just visible in the throat of the tube, with the tip of the seed-vessel amongst them. In some flowers this slender pillar comes a good way beyond the mouth of the tube, and the stamens are hidden out of sight.

The Cowslip leaves are crinkled all over, and have swollen veins which are much raised on the underside. In the young leaves the edges are rolled very far back.


3. Bog Asphodel

This wiry little plant is fond of marshy places and wet bogs and heaths. It grows all over the country, and is in flower in late summer and autumn.

The Bog Asphodel has a tall, wiry flower-stalk, near the top of which you find a spike of orange-yellow flowers. There are three narrow-pointed orange petals, and three orange sepals; but these are so much alike, you will not be able to distinguish between them. When the flower is in full bloom, these petals and sepals open out, like the rays of a star; then when the seeds are ripening, they close and form an orange cup.

In the centre of the star there are six stamens, with woolly yellow stalks and bright red heads. There is also a small pear-shaped green seed-vessel.

Each flower has its own short stalk. Notice the tiny green leaves which grow at intervals on the wiry flower-stalk, tightly pressed against it.

The leaves of the Bog Asphodel are like coarse grass. They have no stalks, and look as if they had been slightly folded together from end to end. Each leaf has long lines running from base to tip.


Plate XIII 1. Honeysuckle 2. Yellow Water Iris 3. Daffodil

1. Honeysuckle

The Honeysuckle grows in all parts of the country. You will find its sweet-scented flowers in thickets and woods during summer and autumn. It is a shrub with long, feeble, woody stems. These stems twist themselves round young trees and hedges, which support the plant and raise it up towards the sun.

The Honeysuckle flowers grow in loose heads at the end of the leaf-stem. They are shaped like long trumpets, and these trumpets are very narrow at the one end, and widen out at the mouth into two unequal lips. The lower lip is merely a long strap curled over at the end. But the upper lip is very much broader, and it is fringed at the edge. These beautiful flower-trumpets are yellow-pink, sometimes almost purple on the outside, and inside they are pale yellow. There are often seven to ten of these trumpets close together in one cluster, and you can see the heads of the stamens, and the long green tip of the seed-vessel coming out of the mouth of each trumpet.

After the flowers are withered, the seeds grow into clear dark crimson berries, of which the birds are very fond.

The leaves of the Honeysuckle grow opposite each other in pairs. They are blue-green in colour, are very smooth, and have a network of tiny veins all over them. Each leaf is oval, and its edges are smooth all the way round.


2. Yellow Water Iris

The Yellow Iris with its lily flowers and sword-like leaves is found in summer-time by the side of ditches, and marshes, and ponds.

In the Iris the petals and the sepals are almost the same colour. The flower has a short yellow tube which folds back at the mouth into three broad, handsome yellow sepals, beautifully marked with deep orange streaks.

Between each of these sepals stands a small pale yellow petal.

Rising from the centre of the flower are what look like other three pale yellow petals, with fringed ends which curl upward. These are really three branches of the slender column which rises from the seed-vessel, and they bend backwards over each sepal. Half hidden under each of these fringed petals, you can see the dark purple head of a stamen, closely pressed against the broad yellow sepal.

The yellow flower-tube stands above the seed-vessel. This seed-vessel becomes very large in autumn, and it bursts lengthways into three parts, showing rows of dark brown seeds tightly packed together inside.

Before the flower opens, the Iris is enclosed in a green sheath.

The leaves are sword-shaped, with long lines running from base to tip. They are smooth, and in colour they are a dim green.


3. Daffodil

The Daffodil is one of our loveliest spring flowers. It is found abundantly in woods, and in meadows and pastures in England, but in Scotland it does not grow wild, and it is doubtful whether it really does so in Ireland.

The flowers grow singly on tall stalks. Each Daffodil is enclosed in a light brown sheath, which stands erect. But when the growing flowers have burst this covering, they droop their heads.

Each flower has a short yellow tube, divided about half way down into six deep points.

These points do not fold back, they enclose a long yellow trumpet, which is beautifully scolloped round the mouth.

Inside this trumpet are six stamens with large yellow heads, and the slender stalks of these stamens cling to the sides of the yellow trumpet. There is also a short pillar rising from the fat green seed-vessel, which you can see outside the coloured petals, below the yellow tube.

In the Daffodil, the sepals and petals are the same colour.

The stalk of the Daffodil is slightly twisted, and has fine lines running up it. It rises straight from the centre of the bulb which forms the root.

The leaves are long, narrow straps with blunt points, and they are thick and juicy.


Plate XIV: 1. Sneezewort Yarrow. 2. Mountain Everlasting 3. Common Comfrey.

3. Common Comfrey

This tall, harsh-leaved plant is to be found all over the country in moist places, by the sides of streams and ditches, and by the roadside. It blooms in spring and autumn.

The flowers of the Common Comfrey are not always the same colour. Sometimes you find them pale yellow, and in other places they are a rich purple, and the buds are pink. These flowers grow in drooping clusters on short little stalks which curve in a curious serpent manner before the buds open.

The five petals joined together form a bell, which is cut into deep teeth at the edge. Within this bell, there are five stamens clinging to the sides, and from the seed-vessel, a long, slender white thread rises. You can see this white thread best after the yellow bell is withered, and the seed-vessel is left sitting in the centre of the calyx. The green calyx-cup is very shallow, with fine, sharply pointed teeth round the mouth.

The stem of the Comfrey is covered with hard, rough hairs. It has ridges running from top to bottom, and it is hollow in the middle. The leaves on the stem grow in tufts of three or four, without any stalks. They are narrow and pointed, with wavy edges, and are covered with hairs.

Many other coarse leaves rise from the root. These leaves, too, have no stalks, and they are broad and hairy.


1. Sneezewort Yarrow

This sturdy flower is the parent of the snow-white Bachelor's Buttons, which grow in our garden: it is a cousin of the Millfoil or Yarrow. It is common all over the country, where you find it in meadows and ditches, and by the roadside. It blooms in autumn.

The flowers resemble small daisies. You find about a dozen growing together on short stalks, near the top of the main stem.

Each daisy consists of a disc which is closely covered with greenish-white tube-flowers. The mouth of these tube-flowers is cut into points which bend outward, and coming out of the centre of each tube, you can see the yellow tip of the seed-vessel, round which the heads of the stamens are placed edge to edge like a deep collar.

Round the outer edge of the disc there is a small circle of tube-flowers, each of which has a broad white strap, and these straps are nicked at the ends.

Underneath these small daisies stands a circle of tiny green pointed leaves; these form a cup which protects the plant when it is in bud.

The stem of the Sneezewort is very sturdy. The leaves are sword-shaped, with long veins running from the base to the tip. They clasp the stem, and all round the edge they are cut into very fine teeth, like a saw.


2. Mountain Everlasting

This woolly little plant is common over most of the north country, on heaths and sandy pastures and in upland districts; but you do not find it in the south of England. It is in flower all summer.

The root of the Mountain Everlasting is like a thin brown worm lying on the surface of the ground, and from this root, long, slender brown threads go down into the ground and keep the flower steady.

The flowers resemble small woolly daisies. They grow in clusters of four or more, at the end of the main stem, and each cluster has a short, stiff stalk of its own.

These woolly daisies are made up of a great many tiny pink flower-tubes, each with a ring of fine white hairs round it. These tubes are surrounded by a double row of woolly, downy leaves which stand out like the strap-shaped rays of the daisy.

Underneath these woolly rays is a green cup, made up of a double row of narrow strap-shaped brown or green leaves, pressed close together.

The main stem rises straight and firm from the creeping root. It is closely covered with white down, and at intervals it is clasped by narrow, pointed green leaves. These leaves are dark green on the upper side, but underneath they are covered with white woolly down.


Plate XV: 1. Traveller's Joy 2. Wood Anemone 3. Water Crowfoot

1. Traveller's Joy

You will have no difficulty in recognising this plant. It has masses of grey-green flowers, and big bunches of feathery tufts; and you will find it growing in summer right over the tops of the hedges.

There are some unusual things about this flower. It has really no petals. There are four pretty sepals of a grey-green colour, which are covered with soft white woolly down. These woolly sepals soon fall off, and within you find a big bunch of whitish green stamens. When the seeds which grow in the centre of the bunch of stamens begin to ripen, they each send out a long feathery tail. These tails wave in the air, and look like tufts of down clinging to the hedges.

The leaves are dark green above and paler green below. They grow opposite each other on the stem. Sometimes their edges are quite smooth, and sometimes they are cut like the teeth of a big saw.

The stem of the Traveller's Joy is very tough and woody. It is easily bent, and would not be able to rise from the ground were it not that there are little curly green threads called tendrils below the small leaves. These tendrils twist themselves round the stems of the hedges, and with this support the plant can climb as high as the top of the hedge.


2. Wood Anemone

This is one of the daintiest of our wild plants. You find the woods carpeted with it in early spring.

The flower has six delicate white sepals. These are long and rather narrow, and on the outside they are often tinged with purple or pink. The buds are usually quite pink until they open. These pink sepals form the calyx. There are no petals.

Within the pink sepals are many stamens with little yellow heads set on stems as fine as a hair, and in the centre of these stamens there is a small green knot of seeds.

The Wood Anemone has two kinds of green leaves. The flower grows on a short, smooth stalk, which rises from the centre of three soft, dark green leaves. These leaves are each divided into three parts, which are deeply cut up round the edge, and their short stalks are covered with fine hairs.

The second leaves rise on slender stalks straight from the root. They are divided very much the same as the others. If you dig up the Wood Anemone root you find that it is like a rough brown bit of stick. It creeps along underneath the ground instead of going straight down into it, and you can see that the flower and the first set of three leaves rises at a different part from the stalk which bears the other leaves.


3. Water Crowfoot

The Water Crowfoot is really a white Buttercup, and it likes to grow in ponds or in rivers that run very slowly. The flowers are at their best in May and June.

These flowers have five glossy white petals, and each petal has a yellow patch at the foot. Behind these beautiful white petals there are five green sepals which fold back close round the flower-stalk.

Within the flower there are stamens with thick yellow heads, growing in a circle round a small green knot which holds the seed-vessels.

This Water Crowfoot has two kinds of leaves. Some grow underneath the water, and these leaves are divided into fine hairs, which are each forked at the end. The water runs very easily through these hairs.

But those leaves which are above the water are solid. They are dark green and glossy, and are nearly round. Each leaf is divided into three parts, and sometimes the edges are cut up, and often they are quite smooth.

You may sometimes find a leaf with one-half made up of hairy threads while the other half is solid.


Plate XVI: 1. Shepherd's Purse 2. Common Scurvy Grass 3. Hairy Rock Cress

1. Shepherd's Purse

The Shepherd's Purse is a very common plant, and it is not at all attractive. It is found all summer by the roadside and in waste places.

The flowers grow close together on short stalks near the top of a spike. They are very small, with tiny white petals, and those flowers which grow lowest on the spike always come out first. The buds are in a cluster at the very tip of the spike.

After the flower is withered, the seed-vessel, which still clings to the end of the short stalk, begins to swell. It looks like a small green heart, with a hard knot in the centre. You will easily recognise the Shepherd's Purse by these seed-vessels, which are far more noticeable than the tiny white flowers.

This plant has two kinds of leaves. Those that grow close to the ground have short stalks, and they spring from the root in the form of a rosette. Each leaf is long and narrow, and the edges are deeply cut up, nearly to the centre vein of the leaf.

But the Shepherd's Purse has other leaves which grow further up the flower-stem. These are shaped like the head of an arrow, and at the bottom they clasp the stem closely.

Both kinds of leaves are usually hairy all over, and so are the stalks, but sometimes you find plants where they are quite smooth.


2. Common Scurvy Grass

The Common Scurvy Grass likes to grow on muddy shores and on rocks by the seaside, where you will find its masses of white flowers all summer.

The flowers grow close together in a cluster on short stalks. Each flower has four white petals, which are sometimes tinged with purple. The four tiny sepals are tinged with purple too. And the buds which are crowded together at the end of the cluster are nearly all purple.

After the flowers are withered, the seed-vessels still cling to the end of the flower-stalks. In this plant the seed-vessels are round, like small berries, and they are greenish-brown in colour. You usually find eight or ten of these berries halfway up the stem; then there will be several white flowers still in full bloom, and at the top of the stem comes a cluster of purple buds.

The Common Scurvy Grass has two kinds of leaves. Those that spring directly from the root have long stalks. They are broad, with smooth edges, which are slightly waved, and they are thick and fleshy. The second kind of leaves has no stalks; they grow clasping the stem closely, and they are shaped like arrow-heads.

The stem of the plant is hollow, and four-sided.


3. Hairy Rock Cress

This dusty-looking plant grows on dry places such as rocks, or on the top of old walls or on hedge-banks.

The flowers of the Hairy Rock Cress are white and very tiny. They have four petals, which are not at all attractive, and they grow on each side of a tall spike. After the flowers are withered, the seed-vessel, which is in the middle of each flower, grows into a long thin pod like a needle. The green needle remains at the end of the flower-stalk, and you will see ever so many of these slender green pods standing straight up round the flower-spike.

You will easily recognise this plant by these green needle pods.

The leaves of the Hairy Rock Cress are very rough, and have coarse hairs all over them. Some are long and narrow, and cling closely to the stem. Others are broader, and they have short stalks and wavy edges. Those leaves which have stalks usually grow close to the ground at the foot of the main stem.


Plate XVII: 1. Common Chickweed 2. Mouse-Eared Chickweed 3. Greater Stitchwort

1. Common Chickweed

The Common Chickweed is found all over the country. It grows in fields, in waste ground, and on hedge-banks, and it is in flower from spring till autumn.

The Chickweed is a feeble, straggling plant, and it grows in an untidy mass near the ground. It is one of those plants that look very different in different places. It does not thrive well in dry, stony ground, where it looks small and dried up. But in untidy gardens where there is good soil you will find it in large bunches, with many white flowers and good-sized leaves. The canary birds like it best when there are many white flowers and seeds.

The white flowers are small, with tiny strap-shaped petals, and there are five small, green sepals with sharp points which show like the rays of a green star behind these tiny white petals.

Each flower grows at the end of a stalk which rises between the leaf and the main stem. The Chickweed leaves are oval, with smooth edges, and they grow in pairs up the stem. If you look closely at this stem you will see a line of fine hairs running down one side, and if you break this stem in two you will find that there is a green thread inside, which is more difficult to break than its soft green covering.


2. Mouse-Eared Chickweed

The Mouse-eared Chickweed is very common all over the country. It grows in dry places, on old walls or on sandy ground, and it is in flower all summer.

It is a much smaller plant than the Common Chickweed. The white flowers are very tiny, and most of them grow in clusters at the end of short stalks which branch from the main stem. But you will also find a single flower appearing between the green leaves which grow in pairs at intervals up the main stem.

These leaves are very hairy. Sometimes they are sticky, and the whole plant is usually covered with dust, and is not at all attractive.

The Mouse-eared Chickweed is not such a feeble, straggling plant as the Common Chickweed. Its stems are stronger, and they rise straight from the ground without requiring support.


3. Greater Stitchwort

You will find the Greater Stitchwort in many places. It grows in grassy meadows, in woods and in thickets, and also on rocks among the mountains; and it blooms in spring or early summer.

The Stitchwort is a tall, slender plant, and the flowers are large and very pretty. They grow singly at the end of short stalks, which usually branch in pairs again and again from the main stem, oftenest where two leaves join. These flowers have five snowy white petals, each of which has a deep notch cut in the outer edge, and there are delicate green veins all over the petals. Within the flower there are ten yellow-headed stamens. Some of these stamens are long, and some are quite short; and in the middle there is a fat green seed-vessel.

Behind these beautiful white petals grow five narrow pointed sepals, which have very little colour. These sepals are like tiny scales, slightly tinged with green, and they lie flat behind the white flower.

The stem of the Greater Stitchwort is not very strong, and it has always a line of hard, short bristles, running up each side. The leaves are like blades of grass, narrow and pointed, but they are harder than grass, and the edges curl backwards. On these edges are hard bristles, the same as those on the stems.


Plate XVIII: 1. Goutweed. 2. Wild Angelica 3. Yellow Bedstraw. 4. Hemlock Water Dropwort.

1. Goutweed

This plant grows in all parts of Britain. You find it among old ruins, and by the roadside on damp hedge-banks. It blooms in summer.

The flowers are white and very small. They grow in clusters at the end of long green spokes, like the ribs of an umbrella, and you will notice that there are no little green pointed leaves either at the back of the separate flower clusters, or at the top of the stem where all the green spokes join.

The seed-vessels are almond-shaped, with little hollows running from top to bottom, and they have two long green hairs hanging out at the top.

The stalk of the Goutweed is hollow. It is very glossy and smooth, and has many ridges.

The leaves are shaped rather like rose leaves. They are pale green and are softer than rose leaves, and there is only one other plant with umbrella spokes whose leaves are at all similar. They are quite different from the fern-like leaves of so many other umbrella plants.

Notice the broad sheath where each leaf joins the main stem.


2. Wild Angelica

This bushy plant is common all over Britain. It flowers in summer and autumn, and it likes to grow in damp places, especially beside streams. At first you might mistake the Wild Angelica for Goutweed, as the leaves are very similar, but there are several differences. The Wild Angelica flowers are small and white, sometimes they are tinged with lilac, and they grow in clusters at the end of green spokes like the ribs of an umbrella.

At the back of each cluster of flowers you will find three tiny pointed green leaves, and at the top of the stem where all the spokes join there are other three. This is the first difference.

The seeds of the Wild Angelica are quite a different shape from the Goutweed seeds. They are much broader, with rough ridges running up them, and they have no bristles standing up at the top. This is the second point to notice.

The Wild Angelica stalk is beautifully tinged with rich purple, not in spots as in the Common Hemlock, but all over; and it is smooth, with fine lines running up and down. This is a third point.

And lastly, the leaves grow from the end of a curious large round sheath. This sheath is pale green and is very smooth and silky. It clasps the stem, which seems to grow right through the middle of it.


3. Upright Hedge Parsley

In summer you will find the Upright Hedge Parsley all over the country, on hedge-banks and in waste places.

The tiny flowers are white, and are very often tinged with pink. They grow in clusters on green spokes which rise from the end of the main stem like the ribs of an umbrella. These green spokes are rough and hairy, and you will recognise this plant by these rough spokes.

There is a ring of narrow pointed green leaves at the top of the main stem where all the spokes join, and there are also little leaves at the back of each cluster of flowers.

In the Upright Hedge Parsley the seed-vessels are different from those of any of the other umbrella plants in this book. They are a dark pinky purple in colour, and are covered with short, thick bristles. At the top of each seed-vessel there are two long, thin bristles which bend over, very much like those in the Goutweed. You will always be able to recognise this plant by these bristly, purple seed-vessels.

The leaves of the Upright Hedge Parsley are dark green and hairy. They are like ferns, and have many divisions, which are cut into teeth all round the edge.


4. Hemlock Water Dropwort

This is one of the most poisonous plants that grow in Britain. A great many accidents have been caused by cattle and human beings eating its leaves and roots.

The Hemlock Water Dropwort is common all over the country, and it is in flower most of the summer.

The flowers grow in large clusters at the end of green spokes. They are white, and they have each five stamens with large pink heads, so that from a distance the clusters look pink. There are little pointed green leaves at the back of the flower clusters as well as where the spokes join the main stem.

The seed-vessels of the Hemlock Water Dropwort are a light brown colour, with slight ridges, and they have two little points standing up at the top. You will know this plant by these seed-vessels and by the curious roots.

The stems are tall and straight, with grooves running from top to bottom. They are hollow, and so tough that they are very difficult to gather. The roots are shaped like the fingers of your hand, long, fleshy fibres that grow very thick. These poisonous roots have sometimes been mistaken for Water Parsnips. The leaves are dark green and glossy. They are not fern-like, as are those of so many of the other umbrella plants.


Plate XIX: 1. Cow Parsnip 2. Wild Chervil 3. Sea Carrot 4. Common Hemlock

1. Cow Parsnip

The Cow Parsnip is a common plant which you find all over Britain in summer and autumn.

It is one of a large family of plants which have from eight to twenty stiff green spokes at the end of the stem. These spokes are all about the same length, and they stand up like the ribs of an umbrella. In late autumn, when the flowers are withered, the brown ribs still remain on the plant.

Each green rib carries a flat bouquet of flowers. In the centre of this bouquet there are green buds, and all round the buds is a ring of small white flowers.

The stem of the plant is rough and hairy, and it is deeply grooved. The inside is hollow, and when the winter comes, small insects creep into these hollow stems for shelter.

The Cow Parsnip has large, rough leaves. These are covered with coarse hairs, and they always look dusty and shabby. You will notice curious green knobs which appear close to the stem.

These knobs are covered with a thin green sheath, and the flower-bud, with all its spokes still closed, is inside.

This bud grows bigger and bigger until it bursts the sheath. Then the flowers unfold, leaving the green covering still growing from the stem, with a curious green leaf coming out of the end.


2. Wild Chervil

This is a slender plant which is very common on hedge-banks and in open woods. It blooms all spring and summer.

The flowers are white, and they grow in clusters at the end of green spokes which look like the ribs of an umbrella. Notice that there is no ring of feathery green leaves where these spokes join the main stem. Before the flowers open, these green spokes bend downward.

There is a ring of tiny pointed leaves at the back of each cluster of flowers. These tiny leaves are tinged with pink, and when the flowers are fully opened, they fold back close to the main stem.

In the centre of each flower there is a long, thin seed-vessel. After all the white petals have fallen off, these seed-vessels grow into fat green beaks, each on a short stalk, and with two green points at the end.

The Wild Chervil is easily recognised by these clusters of green beak-like seed-vessels.

The leaves of the Wild Chervil are pale green, with fern-like divisions. Wherever they join the main stem there is a broad sheath.

The Wild Chervil has a stem which is deeply grooved. This stem is not spotted, but you will find another Chervil, the Rough Chervil, which is very like this one.

In it the stem is covered with purple blotches, and the leaves are blunter and less fern-like.


3. Sea Carrot

The Sea Carrot is common in many parts of Britain, where it blooms on the seashore all summer and autumn.

It belongs to the large family of plants that carry their flowers on green spokes like the ribs of an umbrella, and as these flowers are very confusing, you must notice the differences carefully.

The flowers of the Sea Carrot are usually small and white, though sometimes they have a pinky tinge. They grow in masses at the end of the green spokes. Before the flowers are fully out, these spokes stand straight up in the air, very close together, with the clusters of flower-buds all turned inwards.

But when the buds begin to open, these green spokes fold down so as to give the flowers room to look up towards the sun.

You will always know the Sea Carrot by the curious way the spokes stand close together until the flowers open.

At the top of the main stem, where all the spokes join, there is a circle of feathery green leaves. These feathery leaves each end in three points, and they have a special name which you will learn some day.

The leaves of the Sea Carrot are like fine soft ferns. They are so pretty that people use them for decoration among flowers.


4. Common Hemlock

The Hemlock is a common plant which is found all summer in waste places by the roadside and in open woods. It is poisonous, and you should look at it carefully, so as to know and avoid it.

The flowers grow in clusters at the end of green spokes like the ribs of an umbrella, which do not droop before they are fully out.

At the back of each little cluster of flowers you find three tiny pointed green leaves which are all turned to one side. This is the first point by which to recognise the Common Hemlock.

The stem is covered with purple blotches, and there is only one other umbrella plant which has a spotted stem.

The Common Hemlock stem is not hairy. It is smooth, with green ridges running up it, and it is not swollen where the leaves branch from it. This is the second point to notice.

The third point, and a very important one, is the shape of the seed-vessels. In the Wild Chervil these are little green beaks, rather long and thin, standing up in clusters. But in the Common Hemlock the seed-vessels are short and round; they are like two small apples stuck close together, and each has a little green swelling at the top. These seed-vessels are covered all over with rough ridges.

The leaves are fern-like, and resemble many of the other umbrella plants.


Plate XX: 1. Meadow Sweet. 2. Wild Strawberry. 3. Wood Sorrel.

1. Meadow Sweet

The Meadow Sweet grows abundantly all summer by the side of streams and in damp places. Many a time its delightful scent has tempted us to gather it in handfuls.

The flowers are creamy white, and are very small, with a great many yellow stamens in the centre. They grow in large clusters on short branching stalks, and the buds look like tiny ivory balls set in small green cups. You often see two or more branched stalks which shoot high above the mass of open flowers, bearing a great many closed buds. When the flowers are withered, the five green sepals fold back against the stem.

The green leaves of the Meadow Sweet are dark and rough above, but underneath they are covered with white down. They have a central leaf-stalk, and on each side of the stalk grow a pair of big leaflets and a pair of small leaflets alternately. Sometimes two pairs of very small leaflets may come together, and at the end of the stalk you always find one big leaflet which has several points.

The stem of this plant is hard, and it has lines running from end to end. Where the flower-stalk and the leaf-stalk join this stem, you find a curious green sheath, which seems to clasp them all together, and this sheath has sharply cut edges.


2. Wild Strawberry

The Wild Strawberry is common all over Britain. In early summer you find it in woods and on shady hedge-banks. This pretty plant is related to the Wild Rose. It has dainty little flowers, with five small white petals, and behind these petals is a star of ten green pointed sepals. Five of these sepals have large points which show in between the white petals as you look down into the flowers, and the five which are smaller you can only see at the back of the flower.

The stamens grow in a ring close round the seed-vessel, and as they are joined to the sepals, they do not fall off when the white petals wither.

As the fruit ripens, the seed-vessel swells into a bright red berry, and you can see the tiny yellow seeds clinging all over this juicy berry.

The green leaves of the Wild Strawberry are beautiful. They are dark and crinkled, with soft hairs on the edges, and these edges are cut into large teeth. There are always three leaflets at the end of each stalk.

This Strawberry plant sends out long green shoots which lie close to the ground. Wherever a tuft of leaves rises from one of these shoots, a little bunch of white roots grows down into the ground, and these help to keep the plant steady.


3. Wood Sorrel

The dainty Wood Sorrel is common all over the country. It grows in damp woods and in shady places, and it blooms in spring.

The flowers grow singly at the end of slender pink stalks. They are large, and have five beautiful white petals, slightly tinged with pink. These petals are covered all over with fine veins, and when the sun shines on the plant they open out almost flat.

If you look closely at the bundle of yellow stamens in the centre of the flower, you will find that five are long and five are short.

Behind the white petals there is a tiny green cup, which is made up of five sepals joined together. The mouth of this cup is edged with five sharp points.

The leaves of the Wood Sorrel are very pretty. Each leaf has a slender pink stalk which springs straight from the root, and every leaf is divided into three delicate leaflets, which are pale green above, and a delicate pale pink below. These leaflets are heart-shaped, and before they have fully opened, they droop close to the stem.

If you taste one of the Wood Sorrel leaves, you will find it is bitter but not unpleasant.


Plate XXI: 1. Goosegrass Or Cleavers 2. Woodruff 3. Yarrow Or Millfoil

1. Goosegrass Or Cleavers

This clinging plant is common everywhere. It grows abundantly on every hedge-bank, and it is in bloom all summer and autumn.

The flowers are so small that you scarcely notice them. Each flower has four tiny white petals, and four yellow-headed stamens. Behind the flower there is a ring of narrow pointed pale green leaves.

When the white petals fall off, you see two pale olive or dull purple seeds, shaped like little balls. These balls always grow in pairs, and they are covered with sharp, prickly hooks, which cling to everything they touch. You find them clinging to your clothes, and they get caught in the hair of a dog's back, and you see them sticking to the wool of the sheep who nibble at the hedge-banks.

The square stem of the Goosegrass is rather weak. It, too, has hooks on its four sides, and these hooks catch hold of stronger plants in the hedge-bank, and so help the Goosegrass to rise well above the ground.

The leaves are long and narrow, and they have little hooks along the edge. They grow in a circle of eight round the square stem, with a short space between each circle. You will notice that the stalks which bear the tiny white flowers spring from the same part of the main stem as the leaf circles.


2. Woodruff

The sweet-smelling Woodruff is common all over the country, and when dried its perfume is like new-mown hay. It grows in woods and on shady hedge-banks, and it flowers in early summer.

The flowers are small and white, with four petals which stand round the mouth of a tiny tube. Inside this tube are four yellow-headed stamens, and there is a small green sepal-cup in which the white tube stands. The flowers grow in clusters at the end of the main stem. They do not rise from each circle of leaves as in the Goosegrass. The tiny seeds are black, and each seed is thickly covered with soft bristles, which are hooked at the end.

The ridged stem of the Woodruff is often a dull red colour. This stem is very feeble, so the Woodruff is usually found lying in a tangle along the ground. It has not so many hooks as the Goosegrass with which to catch hold of other plants, and so raise itself.

The leaves grow about an inch apart on the stem, in beautiful circles. In each circle there are eight narrow leaves which are pointed at the end. The circles nearest the foot of the stem lie flat open like a rosette, but those that are further up are usually half closed, with all their points standing upwards.


3. Yarrow Or Millfoil

The Yarrow or Millfoil is a very common plant all over Britain. It grows on waste ground and in the corners of fields, and it is in flower in late summer and autumn.

It is one of the daisy plants, and you must look at it carefully. The flowers grow in clusters, three or four together, at the end of stalks which branch from the main stem. They are white, and look like tiny daisies. You must pick one of them gently to pieces, and then you will find that each daisy is really made up of a great many small flowers crowded together on a disc. The outer flowers consist of a white tube, with one long white strap, and there is a row of these white straps standing out like a frill round the yellow centre. Inside this white border there are a great many tiny yellow tube flowers, with five points at the mouth of each tube, but these you will not see without a microscope.

Outside this mass of flowers grows a ring of small green leaves, which are closely packed together and are very woolly.

The stem of the Yarrow is stiff and smooth and is slightly tinged with red. The leaves are long and narrow, and each leaf is made up of many tiny pairs of leaflets placed opposite each other on the stem. Each leaflet is cut up into many divisions, so that the whole leaf is light and feathery like a small fern.


Plate XXII: 1. Ox-Eye Daisy 2. Daisy 3. Scentless Mayweed

1. Ox-Eye Daisy

The handsome Ox-eye Daisy is common all over Britain. You find it in flower from summer to the end of autumn.

It is a plant with a tall, stiff stem that has ridges running from top to bottom.

Notice how different its leaves are from those of the small Daisy, though both plants belong to the same family.

The flowers in the Ox-eye Daisy are very large. The yellow tube flowers in the centre are crowded together on a flat disc, and outside this disc there is a double ring of tiny white tubes, each of which has one broad white strap. These straps form the beautiful border to the flower.

At the top of the green flower-stalk there is a double ring of narrow green pointed leaves. When the flowers are in bud they look like thick green buttons, with a yellow spot in the middle, as these green leaves are tightly folded in a circle round the flat yellow centre.

The leaves are straggling and very poor-looking for such a handsome plant. They are feather-shaped, with the edges deeply cut up into many blunt points. They have no stalks of their own, but spring from the main stem.


2. Daisy

This well-known plant is to be found all over Britain. It is in flower from spring to late autumn, and I think it is the first flower little children learn to recognise.

But it is often a long time before they get to know anything more about the Daisy than its name, and yet it is an interesting flower, as well as a pretty one.

If you gather a Daisy, and then gently pick it to pieces, you find that it is made up of a great many tiny little flowers crowded together on a pear-shaped centre. These tiny flowers are of two kinds; those in the centre are yellow and are shaped like little tubes, each of which is edged with five points. But in the outer row of flowers, one of the five points has grown into a long white strap, which is tinged with pink and red at the tip.

These pretty white straps are arranged in a double frill round the yellow centre.

At the end of the flower-stalk there is a thick ring of small green pointed leaves, and these, as well as the stalks, are slightly hairy.

The Daisy leaves grow in a rosette close to the ground. They are oval, and each leaf has hairs all over it and round the edges.


3. Scentless Mayweed

This daisy plant is very common too. It grows all over Britain, and is in flower from June till October.

It is not such a stiff, handsome plant as the Ox-eye Daisy, but much more branched and bushy, and it often grows close to the ground. The stalks are tougher, and they are quite smooth, with fine ridges running up them.

The flower-heads are made up in the same way as those of the other daisy plants. You find a mass of tiny yellow tubes in the centre, and forming a border round this yellow centre is an outer ring of flowers, each with one large white strap.

When the Mayweed begins to wither, these white straps droop towards the stalk, and the yellow centre, instead of remaining nearly flat, becomes the shape of a thimble. You will find many of these yellow thimbles on the plant, after all the white straps are gone.

The tips of the green leaves, which grow in a double ring behind the flowers, are often tinged with pink.

The leaves of the Scentless Mayweed are like many leaves that grow in running water. They are divided into a tangle of fine hair-like points, which spring directly from the main stem without any stalk.


Plate XXIII: 1. Snowdrop 2. Common Star Of Bethlehem 3. Ransoms

1. Snowdrop

The modest Snowdrop, with its graceful, drooping head, grows abundantly all spring in meadows and pastures and orchards in England and Scotland. It is not so common in Ireland.

The flower is enclosed in a grey sheath, edged with bright green lines. After the flower bursts out of the sheath, it droops from the end of a slender flower-stalk. Each flower has six white petals; the three outer petals are boat-shaped towards the tips, and there are three shorter petals which are not curved. These straight petals have a notch cut in the upper edge, and there is a bright green wavy stain just below this notch.

Inside these dainty white petals are six yellow-headed stamens with scarcely any stalks. These stamens stand on the flat round top of the seed-vessel, and in the centre rises its short, pointed pillar.

Notice that the oval green seed-vessel is outside the circle of white petals, at the top of the slender flower-stalk.

A single pair of leaves rise from the Snowdrop root, with the flower-stalk between them. These leaves look like short straps with blunt points. They are bluey green in colour, and have deep grooves running from base to tip.


2. Common Star Of Bethlehem

This beautiful starry plant is found in many places in England and in a few in Scotland, but not in Ireland. It grows in meadows and pastures and orchards in early summer.

The flowers grow singly on long stalks which branch near the top of the main stem. There is always a withered-looking brown leaf at the base of each flower-stalk.

The flowers have six large white petals, which are pointed at the tips. The back of each petal is stained with bright green, except round the edge, where it remains white.

There are six yellow-headed stamens clinging to the base of the white petals. These stamens stand up in a circle round a fat green seed-vessel which sits in the centre of the white petals. This seed-vessel has a tiny pointed column in the middle.

The leaves of the Star of Bethlehem are very narrow. From the middle each leaf tapers to a long point. These leaves are deeply channelled, and they have a broad white stripe running down the centre.


3. Ransoms

This unpleasant-smelling plant is common all over the country, except in the North of Scotland. It grows in woods and copses and on hedge-banks, and it blooms in early summer.

Each flower grows on a short stalk, in a loose cluster at the end of a stout juicy stem. When in bud these flowers are all enclosed in a brown sheath, which bursts open in two pieces as soon as the flowers are ready to expand.

Each flower has six narrow white pointed petals, opening flat out like a star. There is a short yellow-headed stamen clinging to each of these white petals. In the centre of the flower, among the white petals, is a green seed-vessel, which is divided into three small oval balls. A slender pillar rises from amongst these small seed-balls.

There are no sepals in this flower.

The leaves of the starry-white Ransoms are not unlike those of the Lily of the Valley. They have long lines running from base to tip, and are a delicate pale-green in colour.


Plate XXIV: 1. Mossy Saxifrage. 2. Marsh Pennywort. 3. Intermediate Wintergreen.

1. Mossy Saxifrage

In all parts of the country this slender, graceful plant is abundant. You will find it growing on damp banks and on the mountain side, and it blooms throughout the summer.

The flowers are cup-shaped, and they grow singly on short stalks which branch from the main stem near the top. Each flower has five white petals streaked with fine veins.

Within the petal-cup there is a ring of ten stamens with yellow heads, and in the centre of the flower you can see a green seed-vessel like a small pear, with two wavy points coming out of the top.

Behind the white petals you find a tiny green calyx-cup, made up of five little sepals. These sepals are joined together at the bottom, but round the mouth of the cup the five points stand up separately.

The reddish-green stems are slender and wiry. They have single, little leaves growing up them, with a short space in between each leaf.

Only some of these stems have flowers at the top. Others end in a tuft of leaves, and never bear any flowers. These leafy stems are clothed with leaves all the way to the tip, and each leaf is very small and narrow. At the end the leaf is divided into three small fingers, and these fingers, as well as the stem, are covered with dark hairs.


2. Marsh Pennywort

This water-loving plant is very common all over the country in marshes and bogs and by the sides of ditches. It blooms in summer.

The plant is easily recognised by its round leaves. These have wavy edges, and fine green veins running from the centre of the leaf to the edge.

The stalk is fastened exactly underneath the centre of the leaf, and it is soft and juicy and covered with fine hairs.

The flowers of the Pennywort are greenish-white, tinged with red. These flowers grow in little clusters of three or four together at the end of short stalks which spring from the root, close beside the leaf-stalk. But these flower-stalks are so short, and the flowers are so small, you recognise the round leaves long before you discover that there are any flowers.

The Pennywort is one of those plants with a creeping stem, which lies along the surface of the ground. The stem is a delicate, pale pink, and wherever a bunch of flowers and leaves rises, you find a tuft of white, hair-like roots growing down into the mud.


3. Intermediate Wintergreen

It is a great delight to discover this dainty plant. It is not very common, but in summer and autumn you find it blooming on heaths in many parts of the country.

The Wintergreen flowers are not unlike Lily-of-the-Valley. They are delicate, creamy white bells, which hang from short drooping stalks near the top of a slender stem.

These bells have five ivory petals slightly tinged with pink, which form a dainty fairy cup.

Within the cup there is a ring of ten stamens with heavy yellow-heads, clustered round the tip of the green seed-vessel. This green tip rises in the centre, like a slender pillar, a good way above the stamens.

Behind the ivory cup is a green star, with five points. These points are the sepals. Notice that wherever a flower-stalk joins the main stem a tiny pointed green leaf appears.

The soft juicy stem is twisted near the top and is four-sided. It grows straight from the root.

The dark glossy leaves of the Wintergreen are spoon-shaped, with wavy edges. They spring from the ground with very short stalks, and they remain on the plant all winter.


Plate XXV: 1. Grass Of Parnassus. 2. Common Bladder Campion. 3. Sea Campion.

1. Grass Of Parnassus

This slender plant grows in bogs and damp places all over Britain and blooms in autumn.

It has large white flowers, which grow singly at the end of tall green stalks. These stalks are square and slightly twisted.

Each flower has five creamy-white petals, covered with delicate veins. Inside this ring of petals, lying at the bottom, are five curious scales, like tiny hands. The hands have each ten fingers, tipped with yellow dots, so you may count fifty dots altogether. On the scales are glands which hold honey. This, you may be sure, the bees very soon find out.

In the centre of the flower is a round pale green seed-vessel, and in between the scales with the tiny yellow dots lie five fat stamens with heavy yellow-heads.

The Grass of Parnassus has also five green sepals, whose tips you can see appearing in between each of the five white petals, as you look down into the flower.

Most of the green leaves of this plant grow from the root. They are oval, with smooth edges, and each leaf has a stalk of its own.

But often you will find a single leaf clasping the flower-stalk half way up its stem, and this leaf has no stalk of its own.


2. Common Bladder Campion

The Common Bladder Campion is to be found all summer by the edge of fields and pastures.

It is a tall, slender plant, with white flowers which grow each on a thin short stalk, two or three close together at the end of a smooth stem.

The flowers have five petals, and each petal has V-shaped notches cut in the outer edge. The lower part of the petals is hidden from sight in the calyx-cup.

The five sepals which form this calyx-cup are joined together, and they are swollen like a bladder. This bladder is covered with a fine network of reddish veins, and has five teeth round its mouth.

You will easily recognise the Common Bladder Campion by this curious calyx.

In this white Bladder Campion the stamens and the seed-vessel are found in the same flower, and you can always see the forked tip of the seed-vessel, rising among the dark green heads of the stamens.

The leaves of the Common Bladder Campion are smooth and shiny. They grow opposite each other in pairs, and wherever a pair joins the main stem, the stem is swollen like the joint of a finger.


3. Sea Campion

The Sea Campion grows by the seashore, by the side of mountain streams, or on wet rocks among the hills.

It blooms all summer, and although it is really a smaller plant than the Common White Campion, the flowers are larger.

These flowers have five white petals, each with a V-shaped notch in the outer edge. Half way down these petals there is a white-fringed scale. These scales stand up like a crown round the inside of the flower.

The calyx is swollen like a bladder, and is covered with fine veins, the same as in the Common Campion. Round the mouth it has five sharp teeth.

In this plant the flowers do not grow in groups of two or three. Each flower appears singly at the end of a slender stalk, and there are several pairs of small leaves a good way below the flower.

These leaves are slightly thick and juicy. They grow so close together on the ground that it looks as if it were covered with a green mat.


Plate XXVI: 1. Common Eyebright. 2. White Dead Nettle. 3. Spotted Orchis.

1. Common Eyebright

This humble little plant is to be found everywhere on heaths and meadows and pastures. It blooms plentifully in summer and autumn. The flowers of the Eyebright grow in clusters of four to six at the end of the main stem. They are white, or pale lilac streaked with pink, and they are small and unattractive. The petals are joined together into a tube, with two lips at the mouth. The upper lip has two divisions, and the lower lip is cut up into three. They appear to be five unequal petals standing round the mouth of the tube.

Inside the tube are four purple-headed stamens, two long and two short. You can see them appearing at the mouth of the tube, also the slender white point which rises from the seed-vessel.

The calyx is a green cup with four deeply pointed teeth at the mouth. The tube of the flower goes down into the cup, and the five unequal petals stand round its mouth.

The Eyebright stem varies much in height. Sometimes you find it only about two inches from the ground, and in other places it has straggled eighteen inches high. These stems are very hairy.

The leaves grow opposite each other in pairs up the stem. They have no stalks, and the edges are cut all round into blunt teeth. They are rather hairy leaves, and are dark green and crinkled. In shape they are oval with a blunt point at the end.


2. White Dead Nettle

The White Dead Nettle is fairly common everywhere except in the North of Scotland. You find it in waste places, by the roadside, and on ditch banks, and it blooms from spring to autumn.

This is a much more attractive plant than the Stinging Nettle we have all learned to avoid.

The flowers grow in beautiful whorls or circles round the stem. In this plant the flowers are snowy white, tinged with green, but in other Dead Nettles you find them rose pink or deep purple.

There are often as many as eighteen flowers on one whorl. The flower petals are joined together into a tube which stands in a shallow calyx-cup, edged with five very long, sharp teeth. The mouth of the white flower-tube is cut very irregularly. The upper part bends over like a hood, and underneath this hood are hidden the four long stamens. The lower part of the flower-tube hangs down like a tongue, and it is fringed and rounded at the end. Amongst the stamens you see the slender forked point which rises from the seed-vessel.

The leaves of the White Dead Nettle are very similar in shape to those of the Stinging Nettle; but they are a paler shade of green. They grow in pairs close to the stem, with a good space in between each pair, and the ring of stalkless flowers clusters round the stem beside them.


3. Spotted Orchis

This Orchis is common all over the country, where it grows in damp woods, on chalky banks, and in meadows and pastures.

You find it in summer.

The leaves are stained with purplish-black blotches as in the early Purple Orchis, but they are narrower and taper more to a point. Notice the small leaves which cling at intervals to the flower-stalk all the way up.

The flowers grow in a dense cone-shaped head at the top of the flower-stalk. The petals are pale lilac or nearly white, and are spotted or streaked with purple. They are curiously shaped. The broad petal, which folds back like a hanging lip, is deeply waved round the edge, and behind it there is a long lilac spur.

Two petals stand erect, and form a hood which covers the stamens and the slender column of the seed-vessel.

There are also three small lilac or white sepals which you will scarcely be able to distinguish from the petals.

The flower sits at the top of what looks like a swollen stalk, but is really the seed-vessel.

Where this stalk-like seed-vessel joins the main stem there is always a tiny purple or green leaflet.


Plate XXVII: 1. Red Berried Bryony 2. Chickweed Wintergreen 3. Cuckoopint Or Wake Robin

1. Red-Berried Bryony

The Red-Berried Bryony is very common in the South of England, where it climbs over the hedges and grows among the thickets. But it does not grow wild in the North. It is in flower all summer and autumn.

The stems of this plant are soft and easily broken, and they have not enough strength to keep the leaves and flowers upright. But at the bottom of each leaf-stalk, there are long curly green tendrils, and with these the Bryony catches hold of some stronger plant, which helps to support it.

The flowers are greenish-white in colour, and they grow in loose heads which spring from between the leaf-stalk and the stem.

These flowers have five separate greenish-white petals covered with a fine network of veins and with many transparent hairs.

At the back of the petals sits a green calyx-cup edged with five pointed teeth.

When the flowers are withered they are followed by groups of beautiful dark red berries.

The Red Bryony leaves are very large, and are shaped like a hand with five blunt fingers. The green colour is pale and bright, and each leaf is covered with short white hairs.


2. Chickweed Wintergreen

It is delightful to find the Chickweed Wintergreen as it is rather a rare plant. It grows in fir woods and on heaths in hilly districts, and it blooms all summer. There is no other plant at all like this Wintergreen, so you will have no difficulty in recognising it.

The stem is very delicate and wiry, and at the end it bears a spreading rosette of six long pointed leaves. These leaves are smooth and shiny: in autumn they are often tinged with purple.

You may find one or two solitary leaves lower down on the stem; if so, these leaves are quite small, and they are rounded at the ends.

The flowers look like white stars. They have five or seven long narrow petals with pointed tips. These petals lie open in a circle, and you can see five or seven thread-like stamens with tiny pink heads rising in the centre, round a small green seed-vessel.

The flower-stalks grow from the centre of the green leaf rosette. Each flower has a delicate pink stalk of its own, and you may find three or four stalks springing from the same place. But more often the flower is solitary.


3. Cuckoopint Or Wake Robin

This is one of our most curious wild plants. It is common in England and Ireland, but rare in Scotland. It grows on hedge banks and in open woods, and blooms in late spring and early summer.

The large glossy leaves are arrow-shaped, and they are covered all over with dark purple blotches.

From amongst them rises a pale green twisted sheath, which is completely closed when in bud. Like the leaves, it is spotted all over with purple blotches, and the edges are stained a pale yellow-brown.

Inside this sheath rises a tall narrow purple cone, on a stout green stalk. Fastened round this green stalk are three curious collars.

First comes a collar of tiny green pear-shaped glands, of which nobody knows the use. Then comes a purple collar made up of stamen heads without any stalks.

And a little way below these there is a deep band of round green seed-vessels like small beads. These are hidden in the lower part of the green sheath; but in autumn they grow much larger, and soon burst open the covering sheath. Then they turn into beautiful scarlet berries. These berries are very poisonous.

The root of the Cuckoopint is a rough brown knob with many white rootlets hanging from it.


Plate XXVIII: 1. COMMON MARE'S TAIL 2. COMMON BUTTERBUR 3. GREATER BURDOCK

1. Common Mare's Tail

This strange-looking plant grows in many parts of the country, and its spikes are found during summer in ponds and ditches. The flowers are so tiny that you may scarcely notice them. They grow in a circle close round the main stem where the leaves join it, and they are greenish in colour. These flowers have no petals, and all you can see is a small green ball with a yellow dot on the top of it.

The leaves of the Common Mare's Tail grow in circles up the stem at short distances apart. They are very narrow and pointed, exactly like short green straps, and you find from six to twelve of these strap-leaves in the same circle.


2. Common Butterbur

The Common Butterbur grows in wet places, especially beside streams. It is not found in the North of Scotland, but is common in the South country. The flowers appear very early in spring, before the leaves, and they are nearly withered by the time the leaves are at their best.

The flowers grow closely crowded together in cone-shaped heads, near the top of a thick fleshy stalk. These flowers are made up of tiny pink tubes with toothed edges, and there is a row of long-headed pink stamens clinging to the inside of each tiny tube. Outside the head of flowers there is a thick bundle of narrow green pointed leaves, and each little bundle of green leaves and pink tubes has a short stalk of its own.

You will notice the narrow green leaves which grow singly up this main stem. Sometimes these leaves become much broader at the tips, and when this is the case these leaf-tips are dark green and have toothed edges.

The root leaves of the Butterbur are very large. They are roughly heart-shaped with sharply cut teeth round the edge. Each leaf is dark green and smooth above, but underneath it is woolly, and the short stalk on which it grows is hollow.


3. Greater Burdock

The Greater Burdock grows in waste places by the roadside and on the borders of fields. It is fairly common all over Britain and flowers in autumn.

The Burdock is a low-growing bushy plant with strong stems. Growing close to the ground it has large coarse leaves not unlike rhubarb leaves. They are dark green, very wrinkled, and with slightly waved edges.

The leaves which grow on the flower-stems are much smaller, and are long and rather narrow.

The flowers are scarcely seen. They are made up of small rose-coloured and purple tubes, which are crowded close together at the end of stout round stalks. But these small flowers are completely surrounded by a ball of green bristles, so that you require to pull the bristles apart and look into the top of the green ball if you wish to find the flowers.

Each of the bristles on this green ball ends in a tiny hook, and with these hooks they cling to whatever they touch. You often see these prickly balls sticking to the wool on a sheep's back. If you throw one at a companion it will hang to his clothes by its sharp little hooks.


Plate XXIX: 1. Mouse Tail. 2. Ribwort Plantain. 3. Knotty Figwort.

1. Mouse-Tail

This little plant grows plentifully in the East of England, but it is not found all over Britain. It flowers in summer.

You will easily recognise it by the curious way the seed-vessels grow. You remember in the Buttercup (Plate I.) there was a little hard knot of seed-vessels like a green raspberry in the centre of the ring of stamens?

The Mouse-Tail is a cousin of the Buttercup, but the seed-vessels grow on a long pointed spike which shoots up in the middle of the flower, and is just like a mouse's tail.

Each flower has five yellowish-green petals, shaped like pale yellow tubes, with a lip at the top. There are five long, narrow, yellow-green sepals, with little spurs at the bottom. And there is also a ring of stamens with yellow heads which stand straight up round the foot of the Mouse's Tail.

The leaves are long and narrow, with a line down the centre. They are rather thick leaves, and they all grow in a tuft from the root.


2. Ribwort Plantain

Is there any child that has not played at 'Soldiers' or at 'Lords and Ladies,' with the flower-heads of the Ribwort Plantain? It is common everywhere, and flowers from spring to autumn.

The narrow pointed leaves grow in a circle straight from the root. They are dark green on one side, and silvery green on the other, and have long 'ribs' running from the bottom to the top. From these 'ribs' the plant gets its name of 'Ribwort.'

The flowers are closely crowded together in brown, cone-shaped heads. Each flower consists of a narrow white tube, with four graceful yellow points folded back at the mouth.

The large yellow heads of the stamens stand up beyond the mouth of this tube, but you can scarcely see the tip of the seed-vessel which is hidden inside.

When the flowers are fully out, you do not notice the white tubes; all you see is a big cluster of fuzzy yellow-headed stamens.

There are four small green sepals at the bottom of the flower-tube, and these sepals are often stained with brown blotches.

The stems are ribbed all the way up and are covered with short hairs. They are juicy and very easily broken.


3. Knotty Figwort

This uninteresting plant is abundant everywhere. It is found in damp, shady places by the side of ditches, and it is at its best in summer and autumn.

At first you scarcely notice the flowers. They are small, dull green bells stained with brown, and are not at all attractive. But when you examine them, you find that the mouth of each bell is prettily waved all round the edge, and inside there are two long stamens and two short ones, as well as a fat green seed-vessel, with a curly point standing up in the middle.

There is a green calyx-cup with five teeth at the mouth, and as the small green bell soon withers and falls off, you oftenest notice this calyx-cup with a green seed-vessel sitting in the centre.

The tiny flower-bells grow in loose clusters, which spring from between the leaf and the main stem.

The Knotty Figwort is a tall and stout plant, with a four-sided stem which is curiously twisted.

Be sure to pull up the root, and you will find it covered with small bulbs or knots. From these knots the plant gets its name.

The leaves near the foot of the Knotty Figwort stem are large and broadly oval, with short stalks. But those that grow further up the stem are narrower and more pointed, and they all have the edges cut like the teeth of a saw.


Plate XXX: 1. Lady's Mantle 2. Dog's Mercury. 3. Common Nettle.

1. Lady's Mantle

The Lady's Mantle is a curious little plant and is common everywhere in summer. The beautifully shaped green leaves at once attract you, but the flowers are so small that you scarcely notice them. They are crowded into clusters at the end of short stalks, which branch many times from the main stem. These flowers have no petals. If you look at them very closely, you find that they have eight green sepals, which lie flat open when the flower is in bloom. These sepals are all pointed, and vary in size. The four which are utmost are smaller than the sepals which form the inner circle.

In the middle of these green sepals there is a yellow ring, and in the centre of this ring sits the tiny seed-vessel, sunk almost out of sight. There are four stamens, each of which stands out separately from this yellow ring.

The root-leaves of the Lady's Mantle are rounded, and they are covered with a fine network of veins. Each leaf looks as if it had been folded into five or seven folds, and each fold is divided round the edge into scollops. The edge of these scollops is cut into sharp teeth. Sometimes you find a big diamond dew-drop lying in the folds of the Lady's Mantle leaf.

You will also notice a frill of tiny pointed green leaves clasping the main stem wherever it forks.


2. Dog's Mercury

The Dog's Mercury grows abundantly in England and Scotland but is rare in Ireland. You find it during early spring in woods and shady places and thickets.

This is one of our green flowers. It has no beautiful coloured petals to attract the bees or insects.

The Dog's Mercury is a bushy, upright plant, with a stout, four-sided green stem, closely covered with pretty leaves.

These leaves grow in pairs, on alternate sides of the stem: they are oval, and slightly hairy, and the edges are cut all round into sharp teeth.

Where each leaf joins the stem a flower-stalk rises, and in the Dog's Mercury there are two kinds of flowers. On one stalk you find groups of small flowers clustered at close intervals round the stalk. Each of these flowers has three broadly pointed green sepals, which curl slightly at the tips. In the centre of these sepals rises a large bunch of eight to sixteen yellow-headed stamens. In these flowers there are no petals, and no seed-vessel.

But you will find different flowers on another plant. These flowers have also three green sepals, and are without petals. But in the centre lie two hairy green seed-vessels, like small peas joined together, and on the top of these seed-vessels are two tiny green horns.


3. Common Nettle

What child does not know the Common Stinging Nettle? We have all learned to avoid it after having felt its sting.

You find this Nettle everywhere in late summer and autumn.

It has a four-sided stem, which is rough with bristly hairs. The leaves grow opposite each other in pairs with a good space between each pair. They are dark green and rather coarse, and are covered with a network of veins and with many stinging hairs.

Close to the stalk the leaves are heart-shaped, but the tips are sharply pointed and the edges are deeply toothed all round.

The flowers of the Common Nettle grow on slender stalks which rise between the leaf and the main stem. These flowers are green, and they are very small and unattractive.

On one flower you find four green sepals and four yellow-headed stamens, but there are no petals and no seed-vessel.

In another flower there is a fat green seed-vessel, with four sepals round it.


Plate XXXI: 1. Purple Sea Rocket 2. Cuckoo Flower Or Lady's Smock 3. Marsh Cinquefoil 4. Water Avens

1. Purple Sea-Rocket

The Purple Sea-Rocket grows abundantly all summer on most of our seashores. It is a bushy plant with many branches, and you will recognise it by its thick and fleshy green leaves. The flowers are a pale lilac colour, like those of the Cuckoo Flower. Some of them grow on heads at the end of the main stem, and others have short stalks which branch from each side of this stem.

In this plant there are always buds in a cluster at the end of the stem, and those flowers that come out first grow further down the stem.

Behind the lilac flowers there are four small brownish-green sepals. When these fall off, after the flower is withered, the seed-vessel which lies inside grows into a small green pod. The pod is in two pieces and looks as if it were joined in the middle. You will see a great many of these tiny pods growing on each side of the main stalk where there have been flowers.

The stem of the Sea-Rocket is very smooth and juicy. The leaves are long and feather-shaped, and they are cut very irregularly into fingers all the way round.


2. Cuckoo Flower Or Lady's Smock

The Cuckoo Flower is very common and grows all springtime in every meadow.

The flowers are a pale purple or lilac. Sometimes you find them almost white. They have four petals, each of which has a slight nick in the outer edge. There are six stamens with yellow heads, which you can just see in the centre of the flower where the petals meet; and you will notice that two of these stamens are much shorter than the others.

The flowers grow in a cluster near the end of a stout stalk. After the petals and the small green sepals fall off, the seed-vessel, which is in the middle of the stamens, shoots up into a long thin pod. This pod is slightly curved, and is pale brown.

The leaves of the Cuckoo Flower are of two kinds. Those that spring from the root, close to the ground, grow opposite each other in pairs of leaflets, on a stalk which has an odd leaflet at the end.

But the leaves which appear further up the main stem are quite different They, too, grow in opposite pairs, but they are long and narrow like pointed straps, and are not nearly so pretty as those which are closer to the ground.


3. Marsh Cinquefoil

The Marsh Cinquefoil is not so common as many plants. It likes best to grow where there are high hills, and you find it all summer in wet ground among the peat-bogs.

It has black roots, which creep a long distance among the mud, and from these roots grow beautifully shaped green leaves, and rather strange-looking flowers.

These flowers have five small petals, which are a deep purple colour. So are the stamens, so are the seed-vessels. Even the sepals, which are bigger and longer than the petals, are a rich, dark purple, except at the foot where they join the stalk, and there they are greenish.

The Marsh Cinquefoil has two rings of sepals. Those in the outermost circle are shaped like a narrow tongue. The inner sepals are much broader, and they end in sharp points.

The flowers have each a stalk which branches from the main stem. Sometimes two flower-stalks will spring from the same part of the stem, and in that case there will be a large green leaf clasping the stem where they rise.

These leaves are usually divided into three fingers, each of which is long and rather narrow, with sharp teeth all round. There are a few hairs on the upper side of the leaf, but underneath it is quite smooth.


4. Water Avens

The Water Avens loves moist places, and in summer you find it abundantly by the sides of ditches and streams.

It is a delightful plant to discover, as both the leaves and the flowers are beautiful.

The flowers grow singly at the end of slender stalks which branch from the main stem near the top. They are cup-shaped, with heads that are always drooping.

The petals are bright orange-brown, tinged with purple, and outside these brilliant petals there is a calyx of deep purple sepals. These sepals are lined with bright green and have pointed tips, and there are many hairs all over them.

In the centre of the flower are bright yellow-headed stamens, and when the flower is withered, and the seeds begin to ripen, a short green stalk rises in the middle, and on this there appears what looks like a small green strawberry. From every seed on the strawberry there grows a long spike with a curl in the middle. This spiky seed-vessel is very curious.

The leaves of the Water Avens are deep green, and sometimes they have red streaks round the edges as well as on the back. They grow in pairs on the leaf-stalk, a large pair and a small pair alternately, and they are slightly hairy, with edges which are nicked all round. Where the leaves join the main stem there is often a tiny scale.


Plate XXXII: 1. Dog Violet. 2. Heartsease. 3. Common Mallow.

1. Dog Violet

The Dog Violet begins to flower early in summer. You find it growing on banks under the hedges, a tiny plant with flowers so small and stalks so short that the flowers are of no use after you pluck them.

Every child knows what a violet is like, but you should pick one of the flowers to pieces and see how curiously each petal is shaped. There are five petals, and these petals are pale purple at the broad part, but at the narrow end they are almost pure white, and this narrow end is hidden among the green sepals. Four of these petals are nearly the same size, and on two of them there are patches of hair near the foot.

The fifth petal is much larger, and the narrow end of this broad petal is shaped like a round tube. This tube, instead of being hidden among the sepals, stands out beyond them like a spur. Inside the tube are the stamens, and all the yellow heads of the stamens are joined edge to edge in a ring round the seed-vessel.

The Dog Violet has five green sepals with very sharp points, and the lower part of each sepal is slightly swollen. The leaves are heart-shaped, with toothed edges, and they grow very close to the ground and have scarcely any stalks. This Violet has no scent.


2. Heartsease

The Heartsease is not quite so common as the Dog Violet, though in some parts of Britain it grows abundantly. It is in flower all summer.

The flowers have five petals, but these are not all the same colour. There are two deep purple petals and three which are bright orange-yellow. In the Heartsease the broadest petal has a very small tube at the narrow end, the same as in the Dog Violet. There are five pointed green sepals, which do not fall off after the flower is withered. You will often see the seed-vessel sitting among these sepals, and when this seed-vessel is ripe it splits open into three small boat-shaped cases, each with a row of seeds inside.

The stem of the Heartsease is round, with distinct lines running up the sides.

The leaves are oval, on short stalks, and they have wavy edges. Where they and the flower-stalk join the main stem you find a fringe of other green leaves, quite differently shaped. These leaves have a long name which you will learn later, but meantime you should notice how they are cut up into little green straps which stand out all round the stem.


3. Common Mallow

The Common Mallow is a handsome flower which grows by roadsides and in waste places. It is plentiful all summer and autumn. The five petals are a beautiful pale mauve streaked with purple. They are long and rather narrow, and each petal has a deep notch in the outer edge. These petals do not meet close together at the bottom; you can see part of the green calyx appearing between each petal.

In the middle of the flower stands a small purple pillar. In this pillar all the slender stems of the stamens are joined together, and their heads cluster near the top like tiny beads, with the wavy points of the seed-vessel rising among them.

This Mallow has two kinds of green sepals. Five of these are broad, with sharply-pointed tips and hairy edges. And besides these there are three long narrow sepals.

The green leaves of the Mallow are very pretty. They are shaped like a hand with five blunt points, and the edges all round are cut into delicate teeth.

Those leaves which grow close to the root have often a deep purple blotch near the centre.


Plate XXXIII: 1. Scotch Thistle 2. Marsh Plume Thistle 3. Field Scabious

1. Scotch Thistle

This Thistle is very well known, particularly in Scotland, where it is the national flower. It blooms in late summer and autumn.

The stem of the Scotch Thistle is very stiff and straight, with 'wings' at each side. These wings are pale green flaps edged with very sharp points, and they run from top to bottom of the stem. The stem itself is white and woolly.

The Thistle flowers are a dull purple colour, and grow in a dense head, forty or fifty of them closely packed together. If you pick to pieces one of these heads, you will find that it is made up of many purple tubes which are edged with five purple teeth. The foot of each tube is enclosed in a covering of dingy yellow down.

When you have a great many of these flowers growing close together in a head, the under part looks like a bundle of woolly down.

Below this down bundle you find a prickly green covering, in which there are dozens of narrow green leaves. Each leaf ends in a sharp point, and it is this prickly green covering which makes the Thistle such a difficult flower to gather.

The leaves have very sharp points at the edges. They are dark green, and are thinly covered with beautiful grey down. The young leaves are entirely white and woolly until they open.


2. Marsh Plume Thistle

The Plume Thistle is very common all over Britain. It grows during summer in bogs and in wet places by the roadside.

This tall, thin plant is not nearly so attractive as the Scotch Thistle.

The flowers grow in heads which contain a great many dull purple flowers crowded together in one bundle. These heads do not grow singly as in the Scotch Thistle. You will find three or four close together at the end of the main stem, and there is usually one head of flowers much further out than the others.

The green covering which protects the lower part of the flowers and binds them together is not hard and prickly as in the Scotch Thistle. When you pick this covering to pieces you find that it is filled with woolly down.

The stem of the Marsh Plume Thistle is stiff and straight, and it has green wings with very sharp prickles up each side.

The leaves are long and narrow, and they are edged with sharp points. Each leaf is dark green above, but underneath it is covered with white down.


3. Field Scabious

This pretty plant is common over most of Britain. You find it on dry banks and by the edge of fields, and it blooms all summer and autumn.

The flowers are very interesting. They grow in a bouquet which contains many flowers crowded together at the end of a stout stalk.

The centre flowers are a reddish pink colour, and have many tall yellow-headed stamens standing up beyond them. The petals of these flowers are joined together into a tube which is unevenly divided round the mouth. If you open the tube gently, you will find that the stamens are clinging to the inside.

Outside these pinky flowers there is a border of purply-blue tube-flowers, and these are much larger than the group in the centre. At the mouth of each tube there is a purple strap, and these straps stand out like a frill round the bouquet.

Behind these flowers there is a double row of small pointed green leaves.

The stem leaves are shaped like a feather, and they have long narrow fingers growing up each side of a centre stalk. There is always a solitary finger at the end of the stalk, and each finger is covered with soft hairs.


Plate XXXIV: 1. Common Ling Or Heather. 2. Black Knapweed. 3. Wild Thyme.

1. Common Ling Or Heather

The Heather is so well known that it scarcely requires any description. It grows on moors and commons and mountain-sides in England, Scotland and Ireland, and in autumn you will find it covering the ground like a carpet, sometimes growing in bushes as high as your knee.

The flowers of the Heather are very tiny, and they vary in colour from a pale pink to a deep purple. These flowers grow in spikes near the end of thin woody stems, and each flower has a very short stalk which droops slightly. The small flowers are bell-shaped, with the mouth of the bell deeply divided into four parts. Outside this purple bell there is a calyx made up of four purple pink sepals. These sepals are much longer than the petals, and they are very crisp and dry, like tissue paper. There is a double row of tiny green pointed leaves, clasping the bottom of the purple flowers. At first you might mistake these for sepals, but they have a different name, which you will learn some day.

The Heather leaves are very tiny. They have no stalks, and they grow tightly pressed against the tough woody stems. When you look at them closely you see that the edges are rolled back so as almost to touch each other behind. When these leaves are withering they are often a beautiful brown-red colour.


2. Black Knapweed

This hard-headed plant is common everywhere, in pastures and fields and by the roadside, and it blooms in autumn.

The Black Knapweed is a stiff, soldierly plant, not unlike a small Thistle without prickles.

The flowers grow in thickly crowded heads each at the end of a stout stem. These heads are made up of dozens of tiny purple tubes with the mouth cut into five straps round the edge. You can see the forked end of the seed-vessel coming out of the centre of each tube. The stamens cling to the sides of the purple tubes, hidden from sight inside. This cluster of purple tubes grows on the top of a hard green ball which has a circle of light brown strap-shaped leaves round the top.

This hard ball is covered with row upon row of green leaves pressed tightly one above the other, like the scales of a fir cone.

When the flowers are in bud they are completely hidden inside this hard green ball, and after the flowers are withered you see these balls, which have become dark brown, still clinging to the ends of the stalks.

The Knapweed leaves vary much in shape. Some are narrow and long, with edges that are finely toothed. Some are deeply cut up at the sides. Those that grow clasping the stem are broad, and they are smooth all round the edge.


3. Wild Thyme

This sweet-scented little evergreen grows abundantly on all sandy and chalky pastures, and is specially common in mountainous districts. It flowers in summer and early autumn.

The Wild Thyme trails along the ground in a thick tangle of wiry stems and tiny glossy leaves. From this tangled mat some of the stems stand upright, and these bear masses of small purple flowers at the top. Other stems end in a tuft of tiny leaves.

The flowers of the Wild Thyme consist of a narrow purple tube which stands in a deep green funnel-shaped calyx. The mouth of the flower-tube is cut in two, and the upper half has a small notch in the centre. The lower half is divided into three blunt points.

Inside the tube, clinging to its sides, are four stamens. After the flowers are withered you can see the tip of the seed-vessel coming out of the mouth of the calyx.

The calyx is funnel-shaped and has many sharp teeth found its mouth, and there is a fringe of white hairs just inside.

The leaves of the Wild Thyme are very small. Sometimes the edges are rolled back till they almost meet behind. They are dark green and glossy, with smooth edges, on which you can see a line of fine hairs.


Plate XXXV: 1. EARLY PURPLE ORCHIS. 2. PURPLE LOOSE-STRIFE. 3. COMMON BUTTERWORT.

1. Early Purple Orchis

At the same time of year, and in the same places as you find the Blue Hyacinth, you will discover the Early Purple Orchis.

It is a curious plant, and belongs to a family whose flowers are always strangely shaped.

The flowers grow in a cone-shaped head at the upper end of a stout, juicy stalk. Each flower consists of three purple petals and three purple sepals, and you will not be able to distinguish which are which. These petals or sepals are very irregular in shape. One is broad, and hangs open like a lip. This one has a long purple spur behind. Two smaller petals rise straight up above this lip and form a hood. And the others are shaped in varying ways.

Inside the broad lip with its hood you see a slender column, in which the one stamen as well as the point of the seed-vessel are combined.

The flower is placed at the end of what looks like a twisted purple stalk. This is really the seed-vessel, and where it joins the flower-stem there is always a narrow strip of purple leaf.

The leaves have no stalks. They are broadly strap-shaped with blunt ends, and they have long narrow lines running from base to tip. Each leaf is stained all over with purple spots.

The root of the Early Purple Orchis consists of two egg-shaped knobs, and above these knobs grow many white, worm-like rootlets.


2. Purple Loose-Strife

The Purple Loose-strife is common in all parts of England, but you do not find it so abundantly in Scotland. It is a tall, spiky plant, which likes to grow in wet places, and it blooms in late summer and autumn.

The flowers are a rich purple colour which is sometimes almost pink. They grow in circles close round the main stem, and there is always a pair of broad pointed green leaves separating each circle from the one above.

The flowers have six separate petals, which are long and narrow and rather crumpled looking. These petals are placed at the mouth of a green calyx, which is shaped like a thick tube. This tube is ribbed all over, and has six large green teeth and six smaller green teeth round its mouth. If you gently split open this green tube you find two rows of stamens clinging to its sides. These stamens have purply-pink heads, and there are six long ones which stand up in the centre of the flowers, and six which are shorter and hidden out of sight.

The leaves of the Purple Loose-strife are dark green. Usually they are covered with fine hairs, but sometimes you find leaves which are quite smooth. It is easy to recognise this plant by the rings of flowers growing close round the main stem.


3. Common Butterwort

It is always a delight to find the dainty Butterwort. It grows in heaths and bogs and marshes almost everywhere, but is most abundant in the North. The delicate flowers bloom in summer.

You will easily recognise this beautiful highland plant by the leaves. They are thick and juicy, and grow close to the ground in a pale green star-pointed rosette. Each leaf is stalkless and as smooth as satin. On the upper side these leaves are pale yellow-green, but sometimes the edges curl upwards, and then you see that the leaf underneath is so pale that it is almost white.

From the centre of the rosette rise tall, slender stalks with drooping flower-heads. These flowers are dark bluey-purple, and their petals are joined into a short tube which stands in a shallow, toothed calyx-cup.

The mouth of the tube folds back in two parts. The upper half is short, with a deep notch in the middle. The lower half is much longer, and is divided into three deep scollops.

You will find a pink horn-like spur standing up near the base of the short tube, and you can see that the back of the flower is a delicate rose pink colour. Inside the blue tube there are two stamens and a curiously shaped seed-vessel hidden from sight.


Plate XXXVI: 1. Common Bugle. 2. Ground Ivy. 3. Hairy Water Mint.

1. Common Bugle

The Common Bugle is a low-growing plant, very frequently found in open woods, banks, and pastures. It blooms in spring and early summer.

You will not think this a very attractive plant. The leaves and flowers are crowded together from top to bottom of the main stem. The stem is pale purple, and has four sides. It is hollow in the centre, and breaks off easily because it is soft and juicy.

The flowers grow without stalks in circles close to the stem wherever the leaves join it, and each circle is close to the one above it.

In every flower there is a slender tube, and one half of this tube folds over at the mouth into three lips, the centre lip having a notch in the middle. The other half of the tube stands erect.

These flowers are usually deep blue, but you may find them purple, or rose colour, or even white. They are never yellow.

Four golden-headed stamens stand up a good way beyond the mouth of the flower; two of these are short and two are much longer. The forked tip of the seed-vessel can be seen among these stamens.

The end of each tube stands in a small green calyx-cup edged with pointed teeth.

The leaves of the Common Bugle are dark green, and each pair clasps the stem closely at the bottom.


2. Ground Ivy

The Ground Ivy bears little resemblance to the ivy we all know so well. It is common everywhere, and blooms in spring and early summer.

The flowers grow without stalks in whorls or circles close to the stem where the leaves spring from it. These flowers are dark purply-blue tubes, prettily divided at the mouth into rounded lips. The lower lips are marked with white and dark purple blotches. Inside the tubes are four small stamens with yellow heads; you can just see them at its mouth, with the forked tip of the seed-vessel among them.

There are usually six or more flowers in a whorl, and each flower has a green calyx-cup which is very hairy and is edged with five long sharp teeth.

From each side of the stem, close among the flowers, grow two leaves on pink stalks. These leaves are round and are beautifully scolloped at the edge. Each leaf is covered with a network of veins and is hairy all over, both above and below, as well as round the scollops.

These circles of leaves and flowers grow at intervals all the way up the stem, with a good distance between each circle, and the flowers in the lowest circles always come out first.

The stem of the Ground Ivy is four-sided. It is tinged with pink and is very hairy.


3. Hairy Water Mint

This strong-smelling plant is common everywhere. It likes to grow in wet places, and it is in flower towards the end of summer and in autumn.

The Water Mint is not an attractive plant. It has four-sided juicy green stems stained with purple. These stems do not grow straight.

The flowers grow in pink clover-shaped heads, either at the end of the main stem or sometimes on very short stalks which spring from between the stem and the leaf.

Each pink head is made up of many tiny tubes. These tubes are prettily cut round the mouth, and you can see four stamens, with deep crimson heads, coming out of the mouth of each tube. The forked tip of the seed-vessel is so tiny you scarcely notice it.

Below the flower there is a deep funnel-shaped calyx in which each pink tube stands, and both it and the flowers are covered with fine soft hairs. There is often a pair of small oval green leaves just beneath the head of flowers.

The leaves of the Hairy Water Mint are broadly oval with widely separated teeth round the edge. They grow in pairs on short stalks on each side of the main stem, and they are hairy all over.


Plate XXXVII: 1. COMMON FUMITORY 2. RAGGED ROBIN 3. RED CAMPION

1. Common Fumitory

The Common Fumitory is abundant in all parts of Britain, and it blooms in summer. The flowers grow in loose clusters. Those that are lowest down the stem come out first, and the buds are always at the top of the stem.

The flowers are a pretty rose pink colour, but the tips are often purple, especially before the flower is fully out. The petals are curiously shaped. They are joined together into a tube which is curved at the end, and inside this tube the stamens and the seed-vessel are hidden. You will notice that there is a tiny piece of one petal which is not joined to the others. It stands out by itself and looks like a small pink tongue, which broadens at the end. You can always recognise the Fumitory by this pink tongue.

There are two tiny green sepals with edges cut like the teeth of a saw, and the pink tube lies in between these sepals. After the pink tube falls off, the seed-vessel, which is inside, grows into a little green knot. You can see many of these little green knots on the lower part of the stem where there have once been flowers.

The green leaves of the Fumitory are very delicate and pretty. They are finely cut up into many little divisions, and each division is a beautiful shade of grey-green.


2. Ragged Robin

This untidy plant likes to grow in damp places; it is very common in meadows and in marshes, and it blooms all summer.

The flowers grow in twos and threes, on short stalks which branch opposite each other near the end of a long slender stem.

The petals are a delicate pale pink, and they are very much cut up into narrow ragged pieces. You will easily know the Ragged Robin by these pink petals.

The sepals are joined together into a cup which is cut into teeth all round the mouth. They are dark green tinged with red, and have many purple veins running from top to bottom.

The leaves of the Ragged Robin are shaped like a lance. They are long and narrow with smooth edges, and they grow opposite each other in pairs, closely clasping the stem. Those leaves that grow close to the ground have sometimes short stalks.

The upper part of the sticky stem is dark red in colour, and it is usually rough.


3. Red Campion

This pretty summer plant is fond of damp places like its cousin the Ragged Robin.

It has pink flowers, which usually grow in pairs at the end of slender stalks branching from the main stem. Sometimes you may find a single flower growing on a small stalk in between two pairs on much larger stalks.

There are five petals, each with a deep nick in the centre, as if a three-cornered piece had been cut out. These petals lie flat open round the rim of the reddish-green cup formed by the sepals; and if you pull the sepals apart, you find that the petals have long strap-shaped ends which go right down into the cup.

There is a curious thing about this plant. You find one pink flower with a bunch of stamens inside the cup. You can see their tips peeping out where the pink petals all meet together. There is no seed-vessel in the middle. And in another plant, that looks just the same till you examine it, you find no stamens, but instead there is a green seed-vessel in the centre of the cup, with fine, wavy green threads at the top which stand out where the petals join.

The stem of the Red Campion is red and sticky, and the leaves grow opposite each other in pairs which clasp the stem.

If you crush the leaves and stalks they give out a strong scent which is not pleasant.


Plate XXXVIII: 1. Dove's-Foot Crane's-Bill 2. Herb-Robert 3. Stork's Bill

1. Dove's-Foot Crane's-Bill

The Dove's-foot Crane's-bill is known to us all. You will find it flowering by the roadside from May to September.

The flowers are small and pink, sometimes almost purple. They have five petals, each with a notch in the broad end and with many fine hairs near the narrow end.

The flowers open flat, like a wheel, and you can see the green tips of the sepals appearing between each of the pink petals, as you look down into the flower.

After all the pink petals have fallen off, a thin green spike shoots up in the middle of the sepals. These sepals no longer lie flat open, but half closed, they form a green cup. The spike holds the seeds, and when it is time for them to be scattered over the ground, five green threads loosen themselves from the bottom of the spike and curl up nearly to the top. At the end of each of these green threads there is a seed, and very soon the green threads crack and the seeds fall to the ground.

The leaves of the Dove's-foot Crane's-bill are very soft and downy. They are round in shape and are covered with fine hairs. Each leaf is divided into seven parts, which are toothed round the edges.

This plant has a weak stem, which lies near the ground. It is tinged with pink, and is very hairy.


2. Herb-Robert

The Herb-Robert is common everywhere in early summer. It is a cousin of the Dove's-foot Crane's-bill, but differs from it in some points which you must notice. The stems are much stronger and can stand upright.

The flowers are longer than those of the Dove's-foot Crane's-bill, and the five petals have no notch in the broad end, and no hairs at the narrow end. These petals are pale pink, streaked with white or purple, and they grow in pairs at the end of short stalks which branch near each other from the main stem.

The sepals are of two kinds. You have three outer sepals which are green and hairy, and inside these there are two others which are very thin and almost colourless.

The seeds of the Herb-Robert are scattered in the same way as those of the Dove's-foot Crane's-bill.

You will always know this plant by its beautiful red leaves. They are shaped like a hand, and are cut up into many tiny fingers. At first they are green, but very soon they become a beautiful red colour. So do the stalks.

The whole plant has a strong and rather unpleasant odour.


3. Stork's Bill

The Stork's Bill is very well known. In summer it grows plentifully on dry ground, especially near the sea coast.

The flowers grow on short stalks. You will find a bunch of five flower-stalks rising together at the end of the main stem. Each flower has five pretty pink petals with smooth edges. These pink petals soon fall off, and you then notice a long green spike coming out of the green cup formed by the sepals. Each green spike is supposed to resemble a stork's bill, and from this resemblance the flower gets its name.

When the plant is ready to scatter its seeds, many fine green threads loosen themselves from the spike, and curl round and round like a corkscrew. At the end of each green thread there is a seed. When the seed is ripe, both the seed and the corkscrew-thread separate from the spike and fall to the ground.

The green leaves of the Stork's Bill are cut up into leaflets which are arranged on each side of a centre stalk, but not always exactly opposite each other. There is always a single leaflet at the end of this centre stalk.


Plate XXXIX: 1. Rest Harrow. 2. Saintfoin. 3. Red Clover.

1. Rest Harrow

The Rest Harrow is to be found in sandy places near the sea, and blooms all summer.

It belongs to the Pea family, along with the Broom and the Whin. But in this plant the flower-petals are a beautiful rose-pink colour.

The largest petal, which is called the standard, is streaked with veins of deep red. The two side petals, or 'wings,' are pale pink, and the tip of the two 'keel' petals, which are joined together into a little boat and hide the stamens, is also a deep rose-red.

The flowers have scarcely any stalks. They grow close to the main stem, in a green calyx-cup edged with five sharp teeth, and there are small green leaves beside each flower.

These leaves are dark green in front but are much paler behind, and they have tiny teeth all round the edges.

Sometimes, close to the root, you find leaves which grow in threes, but oftenest the plant has single oval leaves, and these are always covered with fine hairs.

The Rest Harrow usually lies close to the ground, but you may find it growing upright like a small bush.

It has long, tough roots, which creep through the soil, and these are said to be so strong they will turn aside the harrow when it is drawn over the field.


2. Saintfoin

Some people tell us that this is not a British wildflower, but one which was brought from some other country to grow in our gardens. They say that the wind and the birds carried away the seeds, and the plant learned to grow among our other wildflowers. In any case, you find its handsome flowers adorning chalky banks and cliffs all summer and autumn.

Like the Rest Harrow it is a relation of the Pea family, but its flowers grow quite differently.

In colour they are not such a clear pink. The two petals which hide the stamens are almost purple, and the side wings are so tiny, at first you scarcely notice them.

The flowers grow close together in the shape of a cone; you find twelve or more open flowers with no leaves among them, crowded together near the upper end of a long flower-stalk, and at the top of this flower-stalk there is always a bunch of buds.

The calyx is a green cup with five sharp teeth round the mouth, and it is covered with woolly hairs.

The leaves of the Saintfoin are long and narrow, and the edges are quite smooth. Each leaf is made up of from eight to twelve pairs of leaflets growing opposite each other on a leaf-stalk, and there is always a solitary leaflet growing at the end of the stalk.


3. Red Clover

The Red Clover is as well known as the Buttercup. It grows all summer in every hayfield. Sometimes the flowers are large and showy, and sometimes they are quite small.

The Red Clover is a member of the Pea family, though at first you may not think that the flowers are at all like those of the Broom or the Rest Harrow. These flowers grow in a round head, thirty or forty of them close together at the end of the flower-stalk.

If you pull a single flower apart from the others and separate the petals, you will see that they are shaped in the same way as those of the other Pea plants.

You find one large standard petal which stands erect, rather a long, narrow petal in this plant. Then there are two side petals for the 'wings,' and two front petals joined together so as to form a tiny boat, and in this boat the stamens and seed-vessel are hidden.

These petals are a pale pinky-red, and each flower is set in a green calyx-cup edged with five long teeth.

The leaves of the Red Clover are 'Trefoils'; that means that they grow in groups of three. Each group has a short stalk, and there are curious yellow markings in the centre of each oval leaf. The edges are smooth, and the leaves are covered with fine downy hairs.


Plate XL: 1. Dog Rose 2. Burnet Rose 3. Lousewort Or Red Rattle

1. Dog Rose

There are a great many wild roses, pink, white, and crimson, but the pink Dog Rose is the commonest. Every one has gathered it in the sunny June days.

You must notice a curious thing about the seed-vessel of this plant. Only the top of it rises in the middle of the stamens. But if you look at the back of the flower, you see a small green swelling at the end of the stalk, and the sepals and petals and the stamens stand in a ring round the top of this swelling. This is the seed-vessel, and in autumn, after the flower is withered, it will grow into a round red berry, which is called a hip.

The sepals of the rose are very pretty. They are cut up into many points like small leaves, and after the flower is withered these points fold right back and cover the green berry. Later on they dry up and fall off, leaving the berry bare.

The rose leaves are too well known to need any description. Notice the two narrow green leaves, like wings, which grow at the foot of the leaf-stalk, clasping the main stem.

The Dog Rose is very thorny. There are large hooks all over the main stem, as well as close to the flower, and these hooks are often coloured a bright crimson.


2. Burnet Rose

The Burnet Rose is different in several ways from the Dog Rose. It grows in early summer on sandy sea shores and on heaths, but not in the hedges, and the flowers are usually white.

It is a much smaller plant than the Dog Rose. Its leaves grow closely crowded together in a small, low bush, and there are no long shoots running out from the plant.

The main stem of the Burnet Rose is a bright pink colour, and instead of having big hooks here and there it is covered from top to bottom with fine sharp prickles of all sizes.

The green sepals are pointed, but they are not cut up into leafy tips as in the Dog Rose. Neither do they fold back over the seed-vessel after the flower is withered, but remain standing straight up at the top of the berry.

The seed-vessel of this rose is rounder than the hip of the Dog Rose. When ripe it is a dark purple colour which is almost black.

The leaves are made up of leaflets which grow in pairs opposite each other on a leaf stalk, and there is always an odd leaflet at the end of the stalk. They are small, nearly oval, and the edges are cut all round into fine teeth.


3. Lousewort, Or Red Rattle

This bright plant is common all over the country. It grows in wet places, such as bogs and damp fields, and it is in flower from spring to autumn.

The Lousewort is a small plant and does not rise very far above the ground. The flowers are bright pink, and they grow singly at intervals up the main stem. The flowers are curiously shaped. The lower part is round, like a narrow pink tube, but at the mouth this pink tube becomes much wider and is divided in two. One half rises straight up and then bends over at the top like a hood.

Inside the pink hood are hidden the yellow heads of the stamens. The other half of the flower is divided at the edge into three pink scollops, which fold back so that you can look inside the tube of the flower. After the pink flowers are withered the calyx-cup swells into a small bladder, and on windy days you can hear the seeds rattling inside this bladder.

The stem of the Lousewort is hairy, and the leaves grow very close to it. These leaves are made up of small fingers with deeply toothed edges, which grow in pairs on each side of the centre leaf-stalk. There are frequently six pairs of these fingers on one stalk, and there is always a single finger at the end of the stalk.


Plate XLI: 1. Great Wild Valerian 2. Small Bindweed 3. Foxglove

1. Great Wild Valerian

You find the Great Wild Valerian in most parts of Britain. It grows in marshy meadows and in damp woods, and is in flower all summer.

The Wild Valerian is a tall, handsome plant. It has small pale pink flowers, which grow in thick clusters on long, stiff green stalks rising from the main stem.

If you pull off a single flower you find that its five pink petals are joined together at the bottom into a tube. This tube folds back at its mouth into five pink scallops, and you can see three yellow-headed stamens coming out of the mouth of the pink tube. If you gently split the tube open you will discover that these stamens are clinging to its sides.

The green sepals of the Wild Valerian are also joined into a tube which has five teeth at the top, and after the pink petals are withered, this green tube sends up a tuft of beautiful feathery down.

The stem is dark and glossy. It is ribbed all over and is hollow inside.

In the Wild Valerian each leaf is divided into fingers, which grow in pairs on each side of a slender stalk. Sometimes there will be ten pairs of these little fingers, and you will notice that each finger is not placed exactly opposite its neighbour, but that they grow alternately.


2. Small Bindweed

The Small Bindweed or Convolvulus is common everywhere. You find it in the hedge-banks, on waste places and in fields, and it blooms all summer.

This pretty plant is very well known by its pale pink or pure white flowers. These flowers have a narrow tube which fits into the small green sepal-cup. But round the mouth this tube widens out into a beautiful bell, and the edges of the bell are gracefully waved all round. Inside the flower there are curious markings like large cream-coloured rays, and you must notice how wonderfully the flower of the Bindweed is folded when it is in bud.

The stem of the Bindweed is very curious. It is twisted like a piece of rope. This stem clings to any stronger plant within reach, and it will twist itself round and round that plant till it nearly chokes it.

The leaves are dark and shiny with smooth edges, and they are shaped like the head of an arrow. Each leaf has a short stalk of its own.


3. Foxglove

This is one of the handsomest of our wildflowers. It grows abundantly in woods, on banks and in fields, and it flowers all summer and autumn.

The Foxglove is a tall plant with a very stiff stem, from one side of which hang beautiful rose-pink and purple bells.

These fairy bells are daintily scolloped round the mouth, and the pale pink lining inside is dotted all over with purple spots. When you look down the mouth of a Foxglove bell you see that two long and two short stamens with large yellow-heads are clinging to its side, and rising from the centre of the bell there is a fat green seed-vessel which sends up a slender yellow thread.

Those bells which are nearest the bottom of the stem come out first, and the buds are always found at the top. Behind each bell there are five green sepals with sharp points, and wherever the flower-stalk joins the main stem there is always a small green leaf.

The Foxglove leaves are broad and long, and they are pointed at the end. Each leaf is covered with a network of fine veins. These leaves are grey-green in colour, and the underside is hoary with soft, white woolly down.


Plate XLII: 1. Broad-Leaved Willow Herb 2. Corn Cockle 3. Cross-Leaved Pink Heath

1. Broad-Leaved Willow Herb

The Broad-leaved Willow Herb is common in most parts of Britain. You find it growing on old walls, in woods and under hedges, and it blooms all summer and autumn.

It is a tall, thin plant, and has small pink flowers with four petals, each of which has a V-shaped notch cut in the outer edge. Behind these pink petals there are four narrow pointed green sepals, and within the flower grow eight stamens with tiny yellow heads. Amongst these stamens you can see the slender pillar which rises from the seed-vessel; it is divided at the top into four yellow rays.

The flowers grow singly, each at the end of a long thin pod which is slightly red in colour. When the petals and the green calyx fall off, this pod grows larger, and as soon as the seeds inside are ripe, it splits open into four strips, and each strip is lined with a row of small brown hairy seeds.

The leaves of this Willow Herb are oval, with pointed tips, and they are cut into sharp teeth all round the edge. These leaves are dark green, and usually they are smooth all over, but you sometimes find leaves which have hairs along the veins.

The stem is quite smooth, and it is red on the side which gets most sunshine.


2. Corn Cockle

The Corn Cockle is common everywhere. It grows in the cornfields, and you find its pink flowers all summer.

The flowers are large and handsome. In shape they are like a Primrose, but the petals are pale pink and each has a tiny notch in the outer edge. On these petals there are tiny lines of dark purple dots, like rays, which run from the centre of the flower almost to the edge of the petal. The heads of the stamens can only just be seen in the centre of the flower where the five petals meet.

Behind the pink flower there is a green calyx-cup marked with ten ridges, and at the mouth of this cup there are five narrow green teeth, which are so long they look like pointed leaves. These sepals are dark green inside, but the outside is pale green and woolly. You can see their sharp points standing out beyond each of the petals of the flower.

The stem of the Corn Cockle is stiff, and it grows very straight. Like the calyx-cup, it is covered with soft white wool.

The leaves grow in pairs on each side of the stem. These leaves are long and narrow, with pointed ends. Each leaf is dark green above, but the back is always pale grey-green and woolly.


3. Cross-Leaved Pink Heath

This waxen Pink Heath is to be found all over the country. It grows best in damp places, and is in flower in late summer and autumn before the purple heather is fully out.

The flowers grow in clusters of from five to twelve at the top of the woody stem. Each cluster is made up of pale pink waxy bells, and the mouth of each small bell is edged with four pointed teeth. If you split open one of these pink bells, you will find inside a round green seed-vessel like a tiny pea.

There is a long green spike growing from the top of this seed-vessel, and you can see its point coming out of the mouth of the pink bell. There is also a ring of yellow stamens hidden inside the bell, and these grow close round the green seed-vessel.

The leaves of this Pink Heath are very small and pointed, and they have hairs along the edge. They grow in fours, and are placed crossways at short distances up the main stem. The edges are usually rolled back on to the woolly underside of the leaf.

The stem of the Cross-leaved Pink Heath is slender and wiry, and this pretty plant is never found growing in large bushes like the common heather. Sometimes the flowers are pure white.


Plate XLIII: 1. BLUE MEADOW CRANE'S-BILL 2. MILKWORT 3. CORN FLOWER OR BLUE BOTTLE 4. TUFTED VETCH

1. Blue Meadow Crane's-Bill

The Blue Meadow Crane's-bill is one of our handsomest wildflowers. It is to be found by the edge of the fields and in the meadows all over Britain in summer and autumn.

This plant is related to the beautiful geranium which grows in our gardens. The flowers have five large petals. In front these petals are bright blue and are painted with tiny pink streaks. Behind, they are a delicate pale pink.

In the centre of the flower there is a ring of stamens, and within this ring is the seed-vessel.

There is a circle of green sepals behind the pinky-blue petals.

After the blue petals are withered you can see a long spike with a small star at the end coming out from among the sepals.

This spike has five seeds clustered round the bottom, and whenever these seeds are ripe, the spike splits into five fine hairs. Each of these hairs curls up to the top, carrying a seed with it. Then the five seeds are blown by the wind away from the slender hairs.

The leaves of the Blue Meadow Crane's-bill are beautifully shaped. They are like a hand with five thin fingers, and each of these fingers is deeply cut up all round the edges.

The stem of the plant is covered with rough, hairy bristles.


2. Milkwort

The Milkwort has flowers which are not always the same colour. You may find them either pink, or blue, or white, but I think the blue Milkwort is the commonest. It blooms all summer.

The flowers grow on spikes in which the buds are always at the top, and further down the same spike there are leaves. Each flower has five sepals. Three are only small green strips, but inside these three there are two which are large and broad, and beautifully coloured. These look like petals.

When the flower is withered these two sepals change colour and become green.

The real petals are paler in colour than the sepals. The lowest one is cut up at the end into little strips like a blue fringe, and there are two small side petals as well as two upper ones, which are so tiny that they are merely scales.

The leaves resemble narrow straps. They grow alternately on the stem, and they are dark green above and pale green below.

The Milkwort lies close to the ground among the grass. You would never notice it, were it not for its beautiful spikes of blue, pink-white flowers.


3. Corn Flower

The Corn Flower or Blue Bottle is common all over Britain; you find it in the cornfields and by the roadside, and it flowers all summer and autumn.

This pretty plant belongs to the same family as the Thistles. The flower-heads are made up of a great many flowers grouped together. In the outer row you find a circle of beautiful bright blue flowers, each of which consists of a blue tube which widens out at the mouth like a trumpet, and is edged with seven sharp points.

Inside this outer circle there is a mass of darker blue flowers, slightly tinged with rose-colour. These flowers are very much smaller, and their pinky tubes are very tiny. So are the strap-shaped teeth at the mouth of the tube. Coming out of the mouth of each tube is the dark purple tip of the seed-vessel.

Underneath this bunch of flowers there is a double ring of green scales with fringed edges. These scales are tightly pressed together in the shape of a cup, but they are not prickly as in some of the Thistles.

The stems of the Corn Flower are very tough. The plant is tall and straggling, and it has narrow strap-shaped leaves with smooth edges. These leaves, as well as the stems, are often covered with white woolly down.


4. Tufted Vetch

The Tufted Vetch is a very common plant, and all summer-time you find its masses of bright blue or purple flowers growing up the hedges. It belongs to the large family of Pea-plants, along with the Broom and the Trefoils, and you will find that its bright bluish-purple petals are shaped as curiously as those of the other Pea-plants.

Do not forget to look at the stamens. You will see that there is one stamen whose slender stem is not joined with the others, but has a separate stalk of its own.

The flowers grow in clusters on a stiff stalk; the buds are at the end of the stalk, and the flowers that grow lowest on the stalk always open first. When the flower is withered, the seed-vessel grows into a small green pea-pod which has a curly tail at the end, and when the seeds are ripe, this pod turns brown.

The leaves are made up of short pointed straps, set opposite each other in pairs on each side of a thin stalk. You will often find ten pairs of little straps, and at the end of the stalk there grow curly green threads called tendrils. This Tufted Vetch is one of these climbing plants which are not strong enough to stand alone; so these tendrils curl themselves round the twigs of the hedges, and this helps the plant to rise high above the ground.


Plate XLIV: 1. Wild Succory. 2. Bluebell Or Harebell. 3. Sea Holly.

1. Wild Succory

The Wild Succory is abundant all over England, but is not so plentiful in Scotland. It grows by the borders of fields, in waste places or by the roadside, and it blooms in late summer and autumn.

The flowers are like large blue dandelions. They have no stalks, but grow from top to bottom of the main stem.

The flowers at the bottom of the stem come out first and the buds are always at the top. Each of these large blue dandelions is made up of a great many tiny tubes grouped together.

In the inner circle there are a great many blue tubes which have no strap, but in the outer circle the flowers have a broad blue strap at one side, and the end of this strap is cut into fine teeth. In the centre of each tube you see the tip of the seed-vessel standing up. It looks like a white thread with two curly points at the end.

The heads of the stamens are placed edge to edge and form a collar close round this white thread.

Behind the blue flowers there is a green calyx-cup of narrow strap-shaped leaves, with reddish-brown tips. There is always a large pointed green leaf where the flower-bud joins the main stem.

The leaves of the Wild Succory are rough and hairy all over, and are a grey-green colour.


2. Bluebell Or Harebell

The Bluebell or Harebell is one of our prettiest wildflowers. It is common all over the country on heaths and on pastures, and it blooms in late summer and autumn.

The five petals of the flower are joined together into a beautiful bell. This bell is divided round the mouth into five pointed scollops, and when you look into the mouth of the bell you can see the yellow heads of the five stamens and the three-cornered top of the seed-vessel.

The flowers grow singly, on many very slender stalks which branch from the main stem.

The green calyx-cup behind the Bluebell is curiously marked with raised lines. It is deeply divided into five sharp green points, which stand out like the rays of a star at the back of the Bluebell.

The leaves of the Harebell are of two kinds. Those that grow on the main stem, where the flower-stalks branch from it, are narrow and pointed. But the leaves that spring from the root are quite different.

They are nearly round, with edges which are cut into large teeth, and each leaf has a stalk.


3. Sea Holly

This curious plant grows on sandy seashores in England, but it is not common in Scotland, and it will not grow far North.

The flowers grow in clover-shaped heads at the ends of very stiff stems. These flowers are very small, of a whitish-blue colour, and they are not at all attractive. If you examine one closely you find that the petals stand straight up, and each petal has a pointed beak which bends forward towards the centre of the flower. The stamens also curve inwards.

Outside this cluster of flowers there is a crowded mass of small green leaves, and each leaf ends in three short points. These leaves are a yellow-green colour, but all the rest of the flower is a beautiful grey-blue.

The stems of the Sea Holly are stiff, with ridges running up them, and the leaves have no stalks of their own, but grow in a circle of three or five, tightly clasping the main stem. These leaves are very smooth and thick. They are grey-blue in colour, with yellow-green patches between the veins, and they have very hard edges which are waved all round. Each of these waves ends in a sharp point.

The Sea Holly is quite as prickly as the Christmas Holly, and as it grows low down among the sands, bare-footed children must be careful not to stand on it.


Plate XLV: 1. Germander Speedwell. 2. Brooklime Speedwell. 3. Great Water Forget-Me-Not.

1. Germander Speedwell

This bright blue flower is to be found on banks, and in woods and pastures all over the country. It blooms in spring and early summer. Many people call this the Forget-me-not, but that is not correct, and you should notice carefully the difference between the two plants. They are not really alike.

The Germander Speedwell is a slender, wiry plant, whose stem sometimes creeps along the surface of the ground before it grows upward.

The flowers have four small petals of the brightest blue, and within the flower at the foot of the petals is a small white circle, like a little white eye looking up.

Two stamens with crimson heads rise from this white circle, and in the very centre of the flower there is a tiny green seed-vessel, with a spike coming out of the top.

The four sepals are very narrow green straps with sharp points.

The dark green hairy leaves are oval, with the edges cut all round like the teeth of a saw. They have no stalks, and they grow in pairs opposite each other. The slender stems, which bear the flowers in loose heads near the top, spring from between the leaf and the main stem.


2. Brooklime Speedwell

The Brooklime Speedwell is quite as common as its cousin the blue Germander Speedwell, but it grows in damp places. You find it in ditches and beside slow-running streams, and the flowers are in bloom from spring to autumn.

The plant has a round juicy stem, which is hollow in the middle. It rises straight up from its muddy bed.

The flowers have four small petals which are a dull blue in colour, and are not very attractive.

In the centre of the flower there is a tiny blue ring, and to this ring are fastened the two red-headed stamens.

The seed-vessel is a small green dot with a spike at the top. It is so tiny that you can scarcely see it until the blue petals have fallen off.

Behind the flower there are four small green sepals.

The leaves of the Brooklime Speedwell are smooth and glossy. They are oval with blunt points, and the edges are waved. These leaves grow in pairs opposite each other, and have very short stalks which widen out at the foot so as to clasp the stem.

The flowers grow in loose heads on a long thin stalk, which springs from between the leaf and the stem.


3. Great Water Forget-Me-Not

Every child knows the pale blue Forget-me-not with its dainty flowers. It has many varieties which are found all over the country, but the Water Forget-me-not is one of the loveliest, and grows abundantly in ditches and marshes from spring to autumn.

It is a tall straggling plant, with long flower-stalks which grow singly on alternate sides of the stem. Those flowers nearest the bottom of the stalk come out first, and they soon fall off. The pink buds are always at the very top of the stem, and the full-open flowers are close below them.

Each flower has five small round blue petals which lie open like a wheel, and in the centre of the flower there is a bright yellow eye.

The stamens are hidden from sight in the small blue tube below the petals. So is the seed-vessel. There is a green calyx-cup which is hairy all over, and round the mouth it is edged with sharply pointed teeth.

The leaves of the Forget-me-not are long and narrow, with blunt points and smooth edges. They are as glossy as if they were wet, and they clasp the stem.

The lowest part of the stem is four-sided and hairy, and it creeps along the mud before it rises up to bear the leaves and flowers.


Plate XLVI: 1. COMMON BORAGE. 2. EVERGREEN ALKANET. 3. WOOD HYACINTH.

1. Common Borage

The Borage is not a very common plant, though it is widely distributed throughout the country. You find it on hedge-banks and in waste places, and it blooms in summer and autumn.

It has beautiful bright blue flowers, with five petals which are gracefully pointed at the tips. These flowers droop either singly or in clusters at the end of stout, hairy stalks.

The stamens of the Common Borage have no thread-like stalks; their purple heads are placed close together in a circle round the slender white pillar of the seed-vessel. Notice the curious purple horns that rise from the back of each stamen. There is a ring of dark purple scales with white blotches on them at the base of the petals. The calyx has five long narrow pointed sepals. These are covered with bristly hairs, and so are the leaves, stalks, and stem.

The leaves of the Borage are a dusty grey-green colour. Wherever the stem forks, you find a large stalkless leaf clasping it. These leaves are usually oval, but they are very varied in shape, and those leaves that rise from the root are frequently quite different.

The stem is light green and is round, with a hollow in the centre.


2. Evergreen Alkanet

Some people do not consider this one of our native plants, but it is widely distributed over the country. You find it in hedge-banks and by the roadside in spring and autumn.

The Alkanet is an erect, hairy plant, which is not quite so bristly as its cousin, the Common Borage.

The flowers have small blue tubes, lined inside with white, and there is a deeply waved sky-blue wheel round the mouth. When in bud the flowers are deep pink. These flowers grow either singly or two or three together, at the end of straight stalks which rise from between the leaf and the stem.

There are five purple-headed stamens clinging to the white lining of the tube, and there is also a tiny seed-vessel. These you cannot see until you pick the flower to pieces.

The mouth of the calyx-cup is edged with five blunt points, and it is covered with soft hairs.

The leaves also are covered with soft hairs and have scarcely any stalks, but grow singly on alternate sides of the stem. These leaves are oval, with smooth, regular edges. They are olive-green above and bluey-green underneath.

If you cut the stem across, near the ground, you will see that it is six-sided. It is a juicy stem, with scarcely any hollow in the centre, and it is covered with fine, soft hairs.


3. Wood Hyacinth

The graceful Wood Hyacinth is one of our prettiest flowers. You will find the woods and hedge-banks covered with its masses of pale blue flowers in late spring and early summer.

The leaves appear first, -- long, narrow green straps, with a point at the end, and each green strap looks as if it had been folded in the middle and not quite flattened out again.

These leaves spring from a bulb which lies deeply buried in the ground. Underneath this bulb are a few white thread-like roots.

The Hyacinth flowers grow, all on one side, towards the end of a tall and juicy flower-stalk. This flower-stalk droops when the flowers are in bud, and again when the flowers are faded. But it stands proudly erect when its bells are in full bloom.

Each bell is made up of six long, narrow petals. These petals are really separate, but about half way down, they touch each other and so form a bell. The tips of each petal fold back at the mouth.

There is a yellow-headed stamen clinging to the side of every petal, and in the centre of the bell sits a green pear-shaped seed-vessel, with a short pillar on the top. In the Wood Hyacinth there is no calyx.

Every blue bell hangs from a short stalk of its own, and wherever a flower-stalk joins the main stem there are two narrow pointed leaves.


Plate XLVII: 1. Field Gentian. 2. Sea Aster. 3. Viper's Bugloss.

1. Field Gentian

The Field Gentian is to be found in damp pastures all over the country, especially in Scotland, where it is very plentiful. It blooms in late summer and autumn.

It is a stout, upright plant, but not very tall. The short stalks, which fork from the main stem and bear the flowers, stand straight up very stiffly, and the main stem itself is very firm, and has ridges running from top to bottom.

The flowers grow singly, each on its own stalk. They consist of four lilac-blue petals with the lower parts joined together to form a tube.

At the top of this tube, the petals fold back in four points, and within the tube, standing close up round the mouth, there is a blue fringe.

Inside the blue tube are four stamens clinging to its sides, as well as an upright, green seed-vessel.

The four bluey-green sepals are unequal in size. The two inner ones are narrow, with pointed ends; the outer sepals are much broader, and they are blunt at the tip.

The dark green leaves grow in pairs, opposite each other, and they clasp the main stem closely. These leaves taper to a point, and have long veins running from the broad part to the tip.

There is very often a single flower-bud growing close to the stem, where the leaves meet.


2. Sea Aster

This somewhat dingy-looking plant loves to grow in muddy salt marshes close to the seashore; you find it in bloom all round our sea-coasts in autumn.

The Sea Aster is a stout, coarse plant, with straight, stiff stems which are ribbed from top to bottom. The dark green leaves are shaped like a sword, and as they have no stalks, they clasp this rough stem closely on alternate sides. These leaves are thick and fleshy, with smooth edges.

The flowers grow on short stalks, in dense heads which branch from the upper part of the main stem. These heads are made up of two kinds of flowers. In the centre you find a crowded mass of tiny yellow tube-flowers which are evenly notched all round the mouth. And outside these yellow flowers is arranged a double ring of tiny tubes, each of which has a broad, blue strap at one side. These blue straps stand out like a frill all round the centre bouquet of yellow flowers.

These flower-heads are placed in a green cup, composed of row upon row of small green pointed leaves, laid closely one above the other, like the scales of a fir-cone.

After the flowers are withered, the seeds still cling to the end of the stalk, and each seed is winged with a tuft of dingy white cotton down. When the seeds are ripe, the wind blows them away from the plant.


3. Viper's Bugloss

The first thing you will notice about the Viper's Bugloss is the way the rows of flower-buds curl like a scorpion.

The plant is common in most parts of the country, in waste places, by shingly sea beaches, and on chalky soil. It flowers in summer and autumn.

The Viper's Bugloss is a stout, upright plant, with a curious pale green hairy stem, which is dotted all over with red spots. From this thick stem others, small and thin, branch on alternate sides, and drooping from the end of each stem is a double row of bright pink buds. The pair of buds nearest the main stem open first, and when in full bloom the flowers are usually bright blue, but sometimes you will find them deep purple or white. These flowers are bell-shaped and they open wide at the mouth, which is unevenly divided into five graceful points.

Each flower sits in a green calyx-cup edged with five sharply pointed teeth.

There is a row of narrow green pointed leaves, standing up like a cockscomb behind each row of flowers. These leaves curl over at the tip, along with the buds, and they uncurl as the flowers open.

The leaves of the Viper's Bugloss are rough and hairy, with smooth edges.


Plate XLVIII: 1. Red Poppy 2. Scarlet Pimpernel 3. Common Sorrel

1. Red Poppy

The Red Poppy is known and beloved by children. You find it in all parts of the country in summer and autumn, growing among the corn, on the railway banks and under the hedges.

The flower has four bright red petals, and of these the two outer are larger than the two inner.

These petals are soft and silky, with wavy edges. When they first burst their green covering they are tightly folded and are much crinkled all over. But after a day in the sunshine they unfold, and all the crinkles disappear.

Sometimes you find a bright purple spot at the bottom of each scarlet petal.

In the centre of the flower sits a curious green cup with a lid, and this lid is covered with dark rays which look like the legs of a spider. This green cup is the seed-vessel, and as soon as the seeds are ripe, they pour out through a row of little holes which open just beneath the green lid.

There is a ring of black-headed stamens standing up all round the green seed-cup.

The Red Poppy has two green sepals. These are very thin and hairy, and they drop off almost as soon as the flower opens.

Each Poppy grows on a long slender stalk which is covered with hairs. The leaves are divided into many narrow fingers, and they are rough and hairy.


2. Scarlet Pimpernel

This fragile plant is very common. You find it in cultivated fields as well as by the roadside and in waste places. It blooms in summer and autumn.

This Scarlet Pimpernel is one of our few red flowers. It has five round scarlet petals, which are joined together like a wheel. In the centre of the wheel there is a seed-vessel, the size of a tiny green pea, and closely clustered round its thread-like pillar are five yellow-headed stamens. The slender stalks of the stamens are covered with hairs, and so are the edges of the scarlet petals.

The calyx consists of five narrow green sepals, with sharp points: these you can see appearing between the edges of the petals as you look down into the flower.

Each flower grows singly on a short, fine stalk, and these flower-stalks always rise between a leaf and the stem. The stem is four-sided, and it is very easily broken. It is a very feeble stem, and straggles along the ground.

The leaves of the Scarlet Pimpernel are small and oval, with smooth edges and blunt points. They have fine lines running from base to tip, and underneath they are a blue-green colour, with little dots all over them.


3. Common Sorrel

You find the dull crimson Sorrel everywhere. It grows in meadows and pastures and open woods, and it is abundant all spring and summer.

The flowers are small and unattractive. They grow on a spike in whorls or circles, with five to eight flowers in each circle, and these circles are separated at short distances.

Each flower droops from a tiny stalk. It has three narrow green sepals, which fold back close to the stalk when the seed is ripening. Inside these sepals are three dull crimson petals, also small and narrow. But when the flowering time is past, these three petals grow broad and oval, and become thicker, and at the base of each petal you see a tiny swelling, which is the seed.

The stem of the Common Sorrel is tinged with pink. It is ribbed all over, and is very juicy. Both it and the leaves are acid to taste and are often eaten in salads.

The leaves are quite smooth, with the edges uncut. They are dark green above, but much lighter underneath. Each leaf is shaped like an arrow-head, and those close to the root have a long stalk.

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Nero, The Circus Lion: His Many Adventures

By

Richard Barnum



Chapter I

Nero Has Some Fun


Far off in the jungle of Africa lived a family of lions.

Africa, you know, is a very hot country, and what we, in this land, would call a forest, or woods, is called a "jungle" there. In the jungle grew many trees, and the ground was covered with low vines and bushes so that animals, creeping along, could scarcely be seen. That was why the animals liked the jungle so much; they could roam about in it, play and get their meals, and the black hunters and the white huntsmen who sometimes came to the jungle, could not easily see to shoot the lions, elephants and other beasts.

There were five lions in this jungle family, and I am going to tell you the story of one of them, named Nero. Nero was a little boy lion, about two years old, but please don't think he was a baby because he was only two years old. Lions grow much faster than boys and girls, and a lion of two years is quite large and strong, with sharp claws and sharper teeth.

Nero lived with his father and mother, Mr. and Mrs. Lion, and his brother Chet and his sister Boo, in a cave in the African jungle. The cave was among the rocks, and not far from a spring of water where the lions went to drink each night. They drank only at night because that was the safest time; the hunters could not so easily see the shaggy lions with their big heads, and manes larger than those of a horse.

Nero was the largest of the three lion children, and he was called Nero because that always seems to be the right name for some one large and strong. Chet, who was Nero's brother, got his name because, when he was a little baby lion cub, he used to make that sound when he cried for his dinner.

As for Boo -- well, I must tell you in what a funny way she got her name, and then I'll go on with the story of Nero. When Boo, who was Nero's sister, was a little baby lion, she was sitting in the front of the jungle cave one day, waiting for her mother to come back. Mrs. Lion had gone out a little way into the jungle to get something to eat.

All of a sudden Boo, who up to then had no name, heard some one coming along the jungle path, stepping on twigs and tree branches and making them crack. By this sound the little girl lion cub knew some one was coming.

"That must be my mother," thought Boo. "I'll just hide behind this piece of rock, and then I'll jump out and make believe to scare her. It will be lots of fun."

So Boo hid behind the rock near the front door of the cave-house, and, when the noise came nearer, the little girl lion jumped out and cried: "Boo!" or something that sounded very much like it.

But the little girl lion had made a mistake. Instead of her mother who was coming along the jungle path, it was a big prickly hedgehog with sharp quills all over his back, and when Boo put out her paw she was stuck full of stickery quills. The quills in a hedgehog's back are loose, and come out easily.

"Boo! Boo!" roared the little lion cub girl, but this time she was crying instead of trying to make believe scare some one. The hedgehog, however, was very much frightened -- almost all the jungle animals were afraid of the lions -- and this hedgehog ran away.

But the little girl lion's paw hurt her very much, and when a little later, Mrs. Lion came back, with something to eat, and found out what had happened, she said Boo had been very foolish.

And when Mr. Lion heard the story, and Nero and Chet had been told about it, they all said that "Boo" would be a very good name for the little sister lion.

"I don't care what you call me," said Boo, speaking in lion talk of course. "I don't care what my name is, if you'll only get these hedgehog stickers out of my paw."

Then they pulled the hedgehog spines out of the little girl lion's paw, and she washed it in cool water at the spring, which made her foot feel better.

For two years the lion cubs, Nero, Chet and Boo, had lived with their father and mother in the jungle cave. They learned how to tread softly on the leaves and twigs of the jungle path, so as to make no noise. They learned how to creep quietly down to the spring at night to get a drink, so that the hunters would not hear them.

All about them, in the jungle, lived other wild animals. There were several families of lions in that same part of the forest, and very often a herd of elephants would pass by, tramping and crashing their way through the jungle. The lions never bothered the elephants.

"Where are you going, Nero?" asked his mother of the lion boy cub one day, as she saw him starting out from the jungle cave. "Where are you going?"

"Oh, just out to have some fun," he answered. "I'm going to play with Switchie."

"Switchie," was the name of another lion boy cub, who lived in the cave next to Nero's. He was about a year older than the lion chap about whom I am going to tell you in this story. Switchie was called that because he switched his tail about in such a funny way.

"So you are going to play with Switchie, are you?" asked Mrs. Lion, as she looked at a place where a sharp stone had cut her foot, though the sore was now getting better. "Well, if you go to play with that lion boy don't get into mischief."

"What's mischief, Ma?" asked Nero.

"Mischief is trouble," his mother answered, speaking in lion talk, just as your dog or your cat speaks its own kind of language. "So don't get into trouble. Don't go to the spring now to get a drink, for the hunters may be watching, and may shoot you with an arrow, or with a queer lead stone, from a thing called a gun, which is worse. So don't get into mischief."

"I won't," promised Nero, and he meant to keep his word, but then he didn't count on Switchie. That chap was a bold little lion cub, larger than Nero, and always up to some trick.

"Hello, Nero!" growled Switchie, when he saw his friend coming along the jungle path.

"Hello!" growled Nero.

Now please don't imagine, just because these lions growled, that they were cross. They weren't anything of the sort. That was just their way of talking. Your dog barks and growls, and that is his way of speaking. Your cat mews and sometimes growls or "spits," and often purrs, especially when you tickle her ears. And a lion always growls when he talks. When he is angry he roars -- that's the difference. And, I almost forgot, lions can purr, too, only it sounds like a buzz saw instead of the way your cat purrs. But then a lion's throat is very big, and so his purr has to be big also.

"Want to have some fun?" asked Switchie, as Nero lay down in the jungle shade.

"That's what I came over for," Nero answered. "Only my mother said I wasn't to get into any mischief."

"Oh, no, we won't do anything like that!" replied Switchie. "We'll just go along in the jungle and have some fun. I know where there is some soft grass, and we can roll over and over in that and scratch our backs."

"Fine!" said Nero. "We'll go there."

So Switchie led the way along another jungle path to a place where very few trees grew. In the midst of these few trees was a grassy place. That is, it had been green and grassy once when it was raining, which it does for several months at a time in the jungle. But the rains had stopped, the hot sun had come out from behind the clouds and dried the grass up, so that it was now like hay.

"And it's just fine to roll in. It scratches your back just hard enough," said Switchie, making his tail, with the tuft of hair on the end, swing about in a funny way.

"I like to have my back scratched," said Nero.

So the two boy lions went to have some fun and roll in the dried grass. It was just as if you had gone to roll and tumble on the hay in Grandpa's barn. The lion boys leaped about, jumped over one another, made believe bite one another and played tag with their paws.

As Switchie had said, the dried, curled grass tickled their backs just enough when they rolled over and over in it. But at last Switchie said:

"Say, aren't you thirsty?"

"Yes," answered Nero, "I am."

"Then let's go to the spring and get a drink," went on Switchie.

"Oh no! My mother said I wasn't to go to the spring in the daytime!" exclaimed Nero. "There may be hunters there, waiting to shoot us."

"Oh, I don't believe there are," said Switchie. "I'll tell you what we can do. My mother didn't tell me not to go to the spring, so I'll walk on ahead until we come to it. Then I can look and see if there are any hunters. If there aren't you can come out of the jungle and get a drink. Won't that be all right?"

"Yes, I guess it will," said Nero. "Mother wouldn't want me not to have a drink. All she's afraid of are the hunters."

"Then come on!" growled Switchie. "We'll go to the spring, and we'll have some fun on the way."

So the two boy lions walked along the jungle path to the spring where all the animals drank. On the way they fell down and rolled over and cuffed one another with their paws -- the way all lions do to have fun. Nero was having a very good time, and he never gave a thought about not minding his mother.

At last Switchie and Nero came close to the spring.

"Now you stay behind this bush until I look out and see if there are any hunters," said Switchie.

"All right," answered Nero.

Carefully the older lion boy peeped through the bushes. There was no one at the spring except some little monkeys, getting a drink, and as soon as they saw the lion boy away they scampered, chattering, for the monkeys were afraid of the lions.

"Everything is all right!" called Switchie to the hiding Nero. "There are no hunters! Come on and get a drink."

Nero was very thirsty, after having played and had fun in the hot jungle sun, and he very much wanted a drink. So he rushed down to the spring, which was quite a large one, and began to lap up the water, just as your dog or cat drinks milk from a dish.

"Isn't this fun?" growled Switchie, as he stopped drinking for a moment. "Aren't we having fun, Nero?"

"Lots of fun!" answered the other lion cub.

And just then something happened. There was a rattle of the dried leaves in the jungle back of the spring. Something very hard hit Nero in the side, and a voice cried:

"There! I'll teach you to drink from my edge of the spring! Take that!"

And the next moment Nero felt himself sliding down the slippery bank of the spring, and into the water he went with a big splash!




Chapter II

Nero Goes Hunting


The first thought of Nero, the little lion cub boy, as he felt himself falling into the spring of water, was that Switchie had played a joke and pushed him in.

"And when I get out I'll push him in," thought Nero. But that was all he had time to think, just then, for his head went away under the water -- as the spring was deep -- and Nero had to think of getting out. So he splashed and scrambled his way to shore, clawing and spluttering and half choking, for lions are not good swimmers. Indeed few animals of the cat family are, and lions belong to the cat family, you know, as do tigers and jaguars.

So, with his eyes and nose and mouth full of water, Nero scrambled to shore, a very wet and bedraggled lion boy indeed. On the shore he saw Switchie standing looking at him. Switchie was nice and dry.

"What did you do that for?" growled Nero to Switchie, as soon as our friend had shaken some of the water off his shaggy, tawny-yellow coat. "I'll fix you for that! Fun is all right, but you know I don't like jumping into the water, however much I like a drink from the spring. Now I'm going to push you in!" and Nero started to run toward Switchie.

"Hey! Wait a minute!" cried Switchie, raising his paw to push Nero away if the younger lion cub should come too near. "I didn't do anything to you."

"Yes, you did!" growled Nero. "You pushed me into the water!"

"No, I didn't!" answered Switchie. "I was taking my second drink, when I heard a noise, and I looked up and saw you sliding down into the water. But I didn't push you in."

"Who did, then?" asked Nero, looking around, quite fiercely for a little lion boy. "Who did? If I find out, I'll push him in! If it was one of the monkeys -- "

"Oh, it wasn't any of them," said Switchie quickly. "They won't come near the spring when we lions are drinking."

"But it was some one!" said Nero. "I heard some one say I couldn't drink on his edge of the spring, and then I was pushed in. Who did it? I want to know that!"

"I did it!" said a grumbling sort of voice, and up out of the spring came something which, at first, looked like a log of wood. It was dark, and had knobs, or warts, on it, as has the trunk of a tree.

"Who -- who are you?" asked Nero, in surprise. "Are you a log of wood that can speak?"

"Look out! Gracious no! That's a crocodile!" cried Switchie. "I forgot about their being here. Come on! Run!"

And as Nero saw what he had thought was a log of wood open a big mouth with many sharp teeth in it, the little lion boy ran after Switchie, who scampered off along the jungle path as fast as he could go.

"What's the matter? What was that thing which looked like a log floating in the water?" asked Nero, when he and Switchie stopped to rest in the shadow of a big tree.

"That's a crocodile, I told you!" said Switchie. "They are very big and strong, and if they get hold of your soft and tender nose, when you are drinking at the pool, they can pull you under water and drown you. You want to be careful about crocodiles."

"Well, I will," said Nero. "Only I didn't know about them before. Was it the crocodile who knocked me into the water?"

"Yes," answered Switchie, "it was. A crocodile has a long and very strong tail, with knobs and sharp ridges on it. They can knock you into the water with their tail, and then they bite you. I didn't know there were crocodiles at our spring, or I wouldn't have gone there in the daytime for a drink. At night it's all right, for then they can't see you so plainly."

"Well, this one saw me all right," said Nero. "My side is sore where he knocked me into the spring."

"It's lucky your nose isn't sore where he might have bitten you," growled Switchie. "That was a mean crocodile! We had just as good right to drink on that side of the spring-pool as he had!"

"Well, maybe we had," said Nero. "But he was stronger than I, and so he knocked me in. Now I'm all wet!"

And so Nero learned one of the first lessons of the jungle, that it is the strongest and fiercest animals that have the best of it.

The elephants of the jungle, which are the largest animals, crash their way through, afraid of nothing except the men hunters. And the lions, when the elephants are not near, are the real kings of the jungle. Few animals stay to drink at the spring when the lion roars, to say he is coming.

But this was in daylight and Switchie and Nero were only lion cubs, so, I suppose, the crocodile was not afraid of them. And, being big and strong, he just knocked Nero into the water, and claimed that as his side of the pool, though he had no right to.

"Come on," said Switchie to Nero, after they had gone a little way further through the jungle and back from the spring. "Come on; I know how we can have some more fun."

"No, I've had enough for to-day," said Nero. "I'm going home and lie down in the cave. My side hurts where the crocodile struck me with his tail."

"Oh, come on! Play tag!" begged Switchie.

"No," said Nero. "I'm going home."

And home he went. As soon as his mother saw him, wet and muddy as he still was, Mrs. Lion said:

"Well, Nero, what happened to you? Did you get into mischief?"

"I don't know, Ma," answered Nero. "But I got in the spring!"

"There! I told you to keep away from the water hole in the daytime!" said Mrs. Lion. "I knew something would happen if you played with that Switchie. That lion cub will get into trouble some day. He is too bold!"

"A crocodile knocked me into the water," explained Nero. "It wasn't Switchie's fault."

"It was the fault of both you lion boys for going where you ought not to," said Nero's mother. "Now you see what happened. But I'm sorry your side is hurt. Go into the cave and lie down. I'll bring you a nice piece of goat meat to eat, and get some soft grass to make you a bed. You'll be all right in a few days, but after this -- mind me!"

"I will," promised Nero.

The soft grass, which his mother pawed into a bed for him with her sharp claws, felt very comfortable to his sore side. And the goat's meat, which lions eat when they can get it, tasted very good. Nero soon became dry and then he went to sleep.

When he awakened his brother Chet and his sister Boo were in the cave looking at him.

"Mother says you got into mischief!" exclaimed Boo. "Tell us all about it, Nero."

So Nero did, and when his story was ended Chet said enviously:

"I wish I had been there. If I had, I'd have scratched that crocodile with my claws!"

"You couldn't have hurt him that way," said Mr. Lion, who came into the cave just then. "Crocodiles have a very hard, thick skin on their backs and tails, much harder and thicker than our skin, and even that of an elephant. You can't hurt a crocodile by scratching his back. The only way to hurt them is to turn them over, and while you are trying to do that they'll knock you about with the big tail. So keep away from the crocodiles, children."

"I will," said Nero, and Boo and Chet said the same thing.

"Now hurry and get well," said Nero's father to him, as the lion boy lay in the cave. "You are growing large and strong, and soon you will have to learn to go hunting."

"What's hunting?" asked Nero.

"It is learning how to get your own things to eat," said his father. "When you were little, your mother and I hunted the goats and other animals that we have to eat. But now you are getting big enough to go hunting for yourself. Only I must give you a few lessons."

"Can't I learn to hunt, too?" asked Chet.

"And I?" Boo wanted to know.

"Yes," said their father. "After I teach Nero I'll teach you. One at a time. The jungle is full of danger, and I can teach only one of you at a time how to be careful. So get good and well and strong, Nero, and soon I'll take you on a hunt."

Nero thought he would like this, so he stayed quietly in the cave for a day or two, until his side, where the crocodile had struck him with the sharp-ridged tail, felt much better.

One day, about a week after Nero had been tossed into the spring, he noticed his father sharpening his claws on the bark of a tree.

"What's he doing that for?" Nero asked his mother.

"To get ready for the jungle hunt to-night," answered Mrs. Lion. "I heard him say something about taking you, so perhaps you had better sharpen your claws, also."

"I will," answered Nero, and he did, making the bits of bark fly as he pulled it from a tree in the jungle, not far from the cave where he lived.

When it began to get dark, which it does very early in the big African forest, as the thick trees shut out the light of the sun, Nero said to his mother:

"Aren't we going to have any supper?"

"Not to-night -- that is, not right away," said Mr. Lion. "You are going to hunt for your supper, Nero."

"But I am very hungry," returned the little lion boy, who was growing bigger and stronger every day.

"Then you will hunt all the better," growled his father. "There is nothing like being hungry to make a good hunter-lion. Come, now is the time I have long waited for -- to teach you to hunt in the jungle. Your mother and Chet and Boo are going to have supper with Switchie and his folks. You and I are going to hunt for ourselves. Come, we will go into a part of the jungle where you have never yet been."

And Nero felt very much excited when he heard his father say this. The lion cub felt brave and strong, and he knew that his teeth and claws were very sharp.

Suddenly, through the jungle, which was now quite dark, there came a distant sound as if of thunder. There was a rumble and a roar, and the very ground seemed to shake.

"What's that?" asked Nero, looking at his father.




Chapter III

Nero Is Shot


Once again, as Nero stood with Mr. Lion at the front door of the jungle cave, the roaring sound echoed among the trees.

"What is that?" asked the boy lion once more.

"That is the roaring of other lions, who are also going out to hunt to-night," said Nero's father. "There will be many of us lions in the jungle; perhaps others, like you, who are going out for the first time. You must be brave and strong. Remember the lessons your mother and I have taught you. Crouch down and jump hard. Strike hard with your paws and dig deep with your sharp claws. That is what they are for -- to help you hunt so that you may get things to eat. Now we will start."

By this time the jungle around the cave where Nero lived seemed filled with the roarings of other lions. The very ground seemed to tremble. Nero was excited, but he was sure he could hunt well. He was a brave lion, and he knew he was strong and nearly full grown now, and he knew his teeth were sharp, as were his claws, and his paws were strong, both for striking and leaping, for that is how a lion hunts.

"Boom! Boom!" rolled out the lions' roars in the jungle.

"Ah, we shall have a grand hunt to-night!" said Nero's father. "I hope you are still hungry."

"Yes I am, very," answered the boy lion.

"That is good," returned the father. "Now we will start. At first stay close to me, but when you see a goat or a sheep or some other animal you think you would like to eat, spring on it and strike it with your claws."

Of course this sounds cruel, but lions must get their food this way; there is no other.

Suddenly Nero opened his mouth and gave a great roar, the loudest he had ever uttered. It shook the ground on which he stood. The trembling of the earth seemed to tickle the pads of skin and flesh of his paws, pads which were the same to him as your shoes are to you.

"Ha, that was a fine roar, Nero!" said his father. "Roar again!"

And Nero did, louder than at first.

"That's the way!" cried Mr. Lion. "That will tell the other jungle folk to keep out of our way when we are having a night-hunt."

And that, I suppose, is why lions roar. They do it to frighten away the other animals who might spoil their hunt in the jungle.

For the lion's voice, when he roars, is frightfully loud. There is no other animal who can make so much noise -- not even the elephant, which is larger than ten lions. If you have ever heard a lion roar, even in his circus cage, or in a city park, you will never forget it.

And so Nero roared, and his father roared, and the other lions, all about them in the jungle, roared until there was a regular lion chorus, and the other beasts, hearing it, slunk back to their dens or caves, or crouched under fallen trees, and one after another said to himself:

"The lions are out hunting to-night. It is best for us to stay in until they have finished. Then it will be our turn."

And so you see how it is that the strength of a lion makes the other animals afraid when the big animals hunt. Elephants do not need to fear lions, for the big animals, with trunks and tusks, do not eat the same kind of food lions eat. Elephants live on grass, hay, palm-nuts and things that grow. But the lion eats only meat, and he would eat an elephant if he could get one, though it might take him a long while.

"Now for the hunt!" said Mr. Lion, as he led Nero into the jungle. "Tread softly. Sniff with your nose until you smell something worth hunting, and then spring on it."

Though lions, like cats, can see pretty well in the dark, they have to depend a great deal in their hunting on what they can smell with their nose, just as your dog can smell a bone, and tell, in that way, where he has buried it in the garden.

So Nero and his father joined the other lions on their march through the jungle in search of something to eat. And Nero kept getting hungrier and hungrier, so that he looked eagerly around every side of him in the darkness, and sniffed so that he might know when he came near anything he could kill and eat.

The other lions were doing the same thing. They did not roar now, but went quietly, slinking through the jungle as quietly as your cat creeps through the grass when she is trying to catch a sparrow. The lions had done enough roaring to scare away other animals who might bother them in their hunt. Now they did not roar any longer, for they did not want to scare away the smaller beasts which were food for them in their hunger.

"I'm going to leave you for a while now, Nero," said Mr. Lion, after a bit. "You will have to get along by yourself. But don't forget the lessons your mother and I taught you."

"Where are you going?" asked Nero.

"I am going to the front, to march along with the older men lions," said Nero's father. "We are going to lead you young lions where there will be good hunting."

"I shall like that," growled Nero, and he sprang on a tree trunk as he passed, and dug deep into the soft bark.

"Hi! Quit that! You're scattering bark in my eyes!" said a voice behind Nero. It was not a loud voice, for one has to be quiet when hunting in the jungle.

"Who's there?" asked Nero, thinking for a moment it might be the crocodile who had tossed him into the jungle pool.

"It is I -- Switchie," was the answer.

"Oh, are you hunting, too?" asked Nero, glad to find that he knew some one among the lions besides his father. "Have you killed anything yet?"

"No, not yet. But I shall pretty soon," answered Switchie. "This isn't my first hunt. I've been out at night before."

"Isn't it great!" said Nero. "I hope I can kill a big buffalo. That would make a fine meal!"

"Yes, I should say it would!" exclaimed Switchie. "But you had better leave the buffaloes to your father and the other big men lions. They always take them. It takes a big lion to catch a buffalo, and even then sometimes the buffaloes kill a lion."

"How?" asked Nero.

"With their sharp horns," answered Switchie. "Buffaloes have terribly sharp horns. Better look out for them. Better stick to the goats and the sheep, or even a rabbit, until you learn more about hunting. As for me, I am old enough now to try for a buffalo, I think. So if you see one, tell me, and I'll kill it and give you some."

"Well, I guess I'm nearly as big and strong as you," growled Nero. "If I see a buffalo I'll jump on his back, and strike him with my paw."

"All right. But if you get hurt don't say I didn't tell you to be careful," warned Switchie. "Now come on! We must hurry or we shall be left behind. Ho for the jungle hunt!"

The two boy lions hurried on after the others. Ahead of them they could hear, faintly, the tread of the older beasts as they walked along, looking for something to strike and kill, to stop the terrible hunger. The lions only went on a hunt when they wanted something to eat. They did not kill for fun. It was their way of getting a living.

Suddenly, up in front, there sounded a crash among the tangled vines, bushes and trees of the jungle. Then came a roar, but not a very loud one.

"What's that?" asked Nero of Switchie.

"Oh, that isn't any thing. Don't be afraid," answered the other lion.

"I'm not afraid!" said Nero. "Only, I want to learn things. I never hunted in the jungle at night before, and I don't know so much about it as you do. What was that noise?"

"Oh," said Switchie, easily, "that, I suppose, was my father, or yours, killing some big animal. Maybe it was a buffalo. We'll soon find out."

And the two boy lions did. As they came to an open place in the jungle they saw Nero's father and that of Switchie crouching near something big and black lying on the ground. Off to one side was a lion, licking, with his big red tongue, a sore place on his leg.

"What happened?" asked Nero quickly, of his father.

"We killed a buffalo, Cruncher and I," said Mr. Lion, as he nodded toward Switchie's father, whose name was Cruncher. "We killed a buffalo, but my cousin, Chaw, is hurt. The buffalo stuck him with one of his horns. Then I struck down the buffalo. Here, Nero, is a bit of meat for you, and, Switchie, you may have some. But not much. This meat belongs to Cruncher and me. We will give you a little, but, if you want any more, you must hunt for yourselves. I fed you when you were a little baby lion, Nero, but now that you are big you must learn to feed and hunt for yourself."

And this, too, is the law of the jungle.

Switchie and Nero eagerly ate the bits of meat the older lions gave them, and then the hunt went on. Nero was still very hungry, and so was Switchie, and pretty soon Nero saw a small animal creeping along through the jungle.

"Ah, you are trying to get away from me!" thought Nero, who had gone to one side, and away from the others. "But I'll get you!"

Then he stalked, or crept softly after, the animal, which was a big rabbit, and, all of a sudden, Nero leaped and caught the smaller beast.

"At last I have hunted for myself!" thought Nero, as he ate his meal. "This is great! But it is not enough. I must have more!"

He went farther on in the jungle, and, all at once, he heard a goat bleating.

"Baa-a-a-a! Baa!" bleated the goat.

"Ha! There is something else I can catch for my supper!" thought Nero. "I am getting to be quite a hunter!"

By this time he was far off from his father and the other lions. But he did not mind that. He felt sure he could find his way back when he needed to.

"But first I'll catch that goat," said Nero.

Carefully he stalked through the jungle, coming nearer and nearer to where he could hear the goat bleating. At last, in an open place in the jungle, where the moon shone brightly, Nero saw the goat, a white one. It seemed caught fast in a vine, and could not move.

"Ah, I can easily get this fellow!" thought the boy lion.

He crouched for a spring, and was just going to leap through the air and on the back of the goat when, suddenly, there was a loud sound, like a small clap of thunder, and at once Nero felt a sharp pain in one paw. He rolled over and over, howling and roaring in pain and anger.

At the same time a man hidden on a platform built up in a tree, cried out:

"Oh, I have shot a lion! I have shot a lion!"




Chapter IV

Nero In A Cave


Now while the hunter, hidden on a platform in a tree in the jungle, was shouting about having shot a lion, Nero was doing some shouting of another sort. To tell the truth, he was howling and roaring, just as, sometimes, when you step on the puppy's tail, by mistake, of course, the puppy howls. Nero was howling and roaring with pain.

"Oh, what has happened? What is the matter?" cried Nero, in lion talk, of course, as he rolled over and over on the dried leaves of the jungle. "What a terrible pain in my paw! Oh, I wonder if the goat did this! If he did -- "

Nero stopped his howling long enough to try to stand up and look through the jungle trees to where he had first seen the goat.

There the bleating animal was. It had not moved.

"Surely that goat couldn't have given me the pain in my paw," said Nero, between his howls. "I wonder what the goat means by staying in one place so long, especially when it must know we lions are out on a night-hunt. And what gave me the pain in my foot, and what made the loud noise?"

As Nero roared, so the other hunting lions roared. Switchie and the smaller lions, like Nero, could not roar very loudly, but Nero's father, and the other full-grown beasts made the very ground tremble with their rumblings.

At the same time there were other jungle cries from other animals. The monkeys, who had been sleeping in the tree-tops, began to chatter and scold, as they swung to and fro.

"What's the matter? What's the matter?" asked one gray-haired monkey, who must have been very old. "What's all the noise about? It reminds me of the time a monkey named Mappo, who once visited here, had the toothache one night and howled until morning. Some of you monkeys howl just like Mappo did, though he was a merry chap most of the time."

"Where is Mappo now?" asked a small baboon, which is another kind of monkey.

"Oh," replied the gray-haired chap, "Mappo went to a far country on a trip, and had many wonderful adventures. He joined a circus, and was put in a book."

"The lions are on a night-hunt," said a middle-sized monkey, who climbed down a tree to take a look. "The lions are hunting, and one of them seems to be hurt, by the way he howls."

"Very likely," said the old monkey. "I thought I heard a gun. That means hunters are about. I saw some of them in the jungle to-day, but I kept out of sight. Well, if hunters are hunting and lions are hunting, we monkeys had better stay up in the trees."

And the monkeys did. But of course that did not make the pain in Nero's foot any better. The lion boy howled and roared by turns, and with his big, rough, red tongue, he licked the place where his paw hurt. That is the only way lions have of making well their sore places; by licking them with their tongues or letting cold water run on the hurt place. But just then there was no water where Nero could get it.

"What's the matter with you, Nero?" roared the voice of Mr. Lion through the black jungle. "What are you howling about?"

"Oh, I'm hurt!" said the lion boy. "I saw a goat and tried to jump on it. Then I heard some little thunder, and my paw hurt and the goat is still there."

"Ha! That was a trap!" cried Mr. Lion. "That goat was tied there to a tree by a rope, so he would bleat and make you come closer. Then a hunter, hidden in a tree, must have shot you."

And this is exactly what had happened. The hunter knew that a lion would come close to try to catch the tied goat, when it bleated, and the man waited.

Then, when the man, hiding on a platform built in a tree, saw Nero, as the moon shone now and then, he fired his big rifle. But he did not kill a lion, as he thought. He only made Nero lame in one paw, and as the lion boy rolled away as quickly as he could the man lost sight of him. And though he and some other hunters who were with him tried later to find Nero, they could not. He had run away; and I will tell you how he did it.

"Come, lions!" called Nero's father to the hunting band, when Nero had told what had happened to him. "Come, we must not hunt here any longer. If one hunter shot Nero, other hunters may shoot at us. We had better hunt somewhere else. Come, we will run away. The jungle is big enough for us to hide from the hunters. But, before we go, we will give a loud roar so the hunters will know we are not afraid. All ready now, my brothers. Roar! Roar! Roar!"

And how those lions roared! You could have heard them a mile away, for they all roared at once, and the ground fairly trembled. Even Nero, hurt as he was, helped in the roaring.

"Come on now, Nero! Follow us!" called Mr. Lion to the boy cub who was shot. "You will have to run on three legs, but you have done that before. You did it once when you got a big thorn in your paw. Come along, follow us and we will hunt in another part of the jungle."

So the lion band turned away from the place where the goat was tied and where the hunters were hidden, and Nero followed. But it was not easy for the cub lion, and soon he began to limp and fall behind.

"What's the matter?" asked Switchie, as he saw that his chum was not keeping up with the rest. "Can't you run along faster?"

"No, I can't," answered Nero. "And I guess you couldn't either, on only three legs."

"Well, maybe I couldn't," replied Switchie. "I'm sorry you were shot, Nero. I'll stay behind and walk with you. Then you won't be lonesome."

"Thank you," answered Nero, using lion talk, of course.

So Switchie stayed behind with Nero, going slowly, as the wounded lion had to go. But soon the others -- the big and little lions who were not hurt began to get far ahead.

"Come on, Nero! Come on!" they roared. "And you too, Switchie! Come along here! Hurry up!"

"I'll just run on ahead and see what they want," said Switchie to Nero. "I'll tell them you can't go fast, and that they must wait for us. I'll run up ahead and tell them this, and then come back here to you."

"All right, thank you, I wish you would," growled Nero, and he did not feel very happy, for his paw hurt him very much. "I'll wait here for you," he said, as he sat down on a pile of leaves.

So Switchie ran on ahead to tell the others. But while he was gone something happened that changed Nero's whole life, and really was the cause of his going to a circus.

I'll tell you about it.

As Nero sat on the pile of leaves, waiting for his friend Switchie to come back, he suddenly heard a noise in the jungle behind him. He saw some lights flashing and he heard the sound of talk. It was the voices of men -- the same sort of voice that had shouted:

"I have shot a lion!"

Nero pricked up his ears and listened as hard as he could.

"Those are hunters!" said the boy lion to himself. "They are coming after me! I must run away and hide! I can't wait for Switchie to come back! I must hide!"

As I have said, the moon now and then shone in the jungle, making it light enough for men to see to shoot. But the lights Nero saw flashing were not moonbeams. They came from lanterns carried by the hunters.

"Here is a mark where a lion has been!" cried one hunter, flashing his light. "This must be the one I shot! Come on, we'll get him yet!"

And these were the voices Nero heard. The wounded lion boy did not wait any longer. Up he sprang, and, running on three legs, and making no noise, off through the dark jungle he hurried. His only idea was to get away and hide.

Suddenly Nero saw a blacker patch in the half darkness. He knew at once what it was. It was the opening, or front door, of a cave.

"It isn't the cave where I live," thought the lion boy, "but it will do very well for me to hide in."

So Nero crawled into the cave with his sore paw, and lay down on some dried grass, as far back as he could get. And the hunters, with their guns and lanterns, came on through the jungle, looking for a lion to kill.




Chapter V

Nero In A Trap


Tramp, tramp, tramp came the hunters through the jungle, flashing their lights and looking for the lion which one of them had shot while the hunter was hidden on the platform in a tree. But Nero, cowering away back in the dark cave, kept very still and quiet, and he heard the hunters walk right past his hiding place.

"Good!" thought the boy lion. "They haven't found me! I'm all right so far; but I wonder how long I will have to stay here, and what the other lions will do."

Poor Nero felt sick and in pain, and he was lonesome. It's as bad, I think, for a jungle lion to be this way as it would be for your dog. But still Nero did not dare come out of the cave for fear of the hunters.

"I'll just have to stay here," thought Nero, "until it's safe to come out. Guess I might as well go to sleep."

So Nero curled up on the dried grass in the cave. He knew some other lion once must have used the same cave for a sleeping place, as the grass bed was made up just as Nero's was in the home cave.

"It's a good thing I found this place," thought Nero. "But I wish my father and mother and Chet and Boo were here with me. Yes, and I even wish Switchie were here. I wonder what he is doing!"

And so, wondering, Nero fell asleep in the jungle cave. How long he slept he did not know, for it was as dark as night in the cavern, no matter whether or not the sun shone outside, and Nero was far back from the front door of the cave. When Nero awakened he tried to stand up and walk.

But the moment he put his sore paw down on the stone floor of the cave, he felt such a pain that he let out a howl and then a roar. But as soon as he had done this he knew he had better keep quiet.

"For the hunters may be around the cave yet, outside, and may hear me," thought Nero. "But, oh, how my foot hurts!"

And indeed it did, for it was all swelled up because of the bullet that had gone in from the hunter's gun. Nero could not step on his paw, and he had to limp around on three legs.

"I can't go out of the cave while I'm this way," he thought. "I could not run very fast through the jungle, and if the hunters were to see me, lame as I am, they surely would catch me."

Nero knew something about the hunters in the African jungle, for he had often heard his father and the other lions talk about the men with guns. Some of the older lions had even been shot at, and one or two of them had scars on them, to show where the bullets had gone in. But the shot places had healed. And among the stories the older lions told when they came to the cave where Nero lived, were tales of lion friends who had gone out on jungle hunts and had never returned.

"What happened to them?" Nero asked one day.

"Oh, I suppose some of them were killed dead by a gun," said old Bounder, a toothless lion who could chew only soft scraps of meat. "Others must have been caught in traps and taken away."

And Nero thought of this talk as he licked his sore paw in the jungle cave. What had happened to him was exactly like what had happened to some of the lions Bounder used to know.

"But I am still here," thought Nero; "and when my father or Switchie comes to find me they will know what has happened to me. But I wish they would hurry!"

Nero hopped on three legs about the cave. He was very thirsty, as all animals are after a meal and a sleep, and, besides, he was hot and feverish from his hurt paw. He wanted a drink very much.

Now, when a wild animal wants a drink of water he does not do as you boys and girls can do -- go to a faucet or the pump and get a drink. Lions in the jungle can't get water whenever they want it, and the only way they have of telling where some may be -- that is unless they live near a spring or a pool -- is by smelling.

And so Nero began sniffing to see if he could smell water in the cave, as he knew he dared not go outside. And pretty soon, to his delight, he caught the sweet smell of a spring. He walked in the direction from which the smell came, and soon he heard the trickle of water. And, a little later, he came to a small spring in the far end of the cave. There was a little pool of water, and Nero took a big drink. Then he let some of the cool water run on his paw, and this made the hurt place feel better.

Nero's foot was so sore that he could not go out of the cave for two days, for it was all he could do to limp around in the cavern and get drinks of water. He dared not go outside. And in these two days he became very hungry, so that at last he felt that he must go out and see if he could not find some meat to eat.

Very carefully he poked his head outside the cave. The sun was shining brightly in the jungle, and it was nice and warm. Nero looked this way and that for a sign of a hunter, but he saw none. Then, a little distance off, he saw a small animal eating some leaves.

"There is my dinner if I can only get it," said Nero to himself. "I must try and see how much of a hunter I shall make on three legs."

Carefully, as he had been taught by his father and mother, and as he had done on the night of the big hunt when he had been hurt, Nero began to creep toward the small animal. And he caught it, too, in spite of his sore paw.

"Now I feel better!" said Nero, after his meal. "I think it will be all right to stay out of the cave for a while. I can get along better than at first, and the hunters do not seem to be around here. I'll go to the home cave now, and I'll have a great story to tell the others."

But Nero was not going to find it as easy to get home through the jungle as he had hoped. In the first place, he did not know his way, and, in the second place, he had to go very slowly. For his paw, though it was getting better, was not well yet, and sometimes, when he knocked it against a stone or a tree, it pained him so that he would have to sit down and rumble and roar and howl. But he did not howl very loudly, for this might have brought the hunters, who, he feared, might try to shoot him again.

As I have said, Nero did not know his way back home through the jungle. It had been dark when he started out with his father on the night-hunt, and he had not noticed the way they had slunk along. Then, too, Nero expected his father would be with him to show him the way back. But something had happened, as you know, to make everything different. And when Nero ran away from the hunters, and hid in the cave, he had gone farther and farther away from his own folks and home, though, at the time, he did not know it.

"If only I can get back to my own cave I'll be all right," thought the lion boy. "I must try as hard as I can to find my cave. And how I do wish I could see my father and mother, and Boo and Chet!"

So Nero wandered to and fro in the jungle, now and then stopping to drink from a pool or a spring, and when he was hungry he hunted small animals, that he could easily catch. He did not dare to go after big animals when his paw was so sore.

"If I should see a buffalo now, I'd have to run away from him," thought Nero. "But when I get well, and bigger and stronger, I'll jump on a buffalo's back, just as my father did!"

So Nero wandered on and on in the jungle, but he did not find the home cave for which he was looking. Here and there wandered the boy lion, always hoping that he might find some animal path that would lead him home. But he did not. Day after day passed, and Nero was no nearer home than at first.

Then he began to know what had happened.

"I am lost!" he thought. "I have lost my way. I must ask some of the jungle animals how to get home."

But this was not easy. Most of the jungle animals were afraid of the lion, though he was not yet full grown, and when he roared at them, to ask where his cave was, they thought he was trying to scare them or catch them, and they ran away.

The larger animals, like the elephants, who went about in herds, and who were not afraid of one lion who was all alone, did not bother to answer Nero, or else they said they knew nothing of his home.

"Do you know where I live?" asked poor, lost Nero of the monkeys he saw hopping about in the trees. "Where is my home cave? And where are Boo and Chet?"

"We don't know," answered the monkeys. "All we know is that we sit in the trees and eat coconuts when we can get them. We never saw your cave, and, besides, we don't like lions, anyhow."

Poor Nero did not know what to do, so he wandered on, eating when he could, and drinking when he came to a pool or a spring.

"If I could only meet some other lions one of them would take me home," he thought.

But the part of the jungle where Nero now was did not seem to have any lions in it except himself. By this time his paw was nearly well, and he could run about almost as fast as at first.

Once Nero came to a spring when he was very thirsty, and, as he was drinking, having driven away a lot of monkeys who were taking up the water in their paws and sipping it, all at once he felt himself knocked over as he had been knocked by the crocodile that time.

"Here! Who's doing that?" asked Nero, as he got up from the dust, where he had been knocked. "Who did that?"

"I did!" answered a loud voice, and, looking toward the spring, Nero saw an animal the color of an elephant, but not half as large. And on the end of his nose, or snout, the animal had two sharp horns, not as long, though, as the tusks of an elephant.

"Oh, so you knocked me away from the spring, did you?" asked Nero.

"Yes, I did," was the answer. "Don't you know better than to drink before me?"

"Who are you?" asked Nero.

"I am the two-horned rhinoceros," was the answer. "And the only jungle folk who can drink with me, or before me, are the elephants. A hippopotamus can, too, as a hippo, which is his short name, is a friend of mine. But, as they live in the water nearly all the time, they don't have to come to a jungle pool to drink. I had a friend once, named Chunky. He was a happy hippo, and he and I used to drink together."

"What became of him?" asked Nero. He was not angry with the rhinoceros for having knocked him away from the water. That was the law of the jungle, just as Nero had driven away the monkeys.

"What became of Chunky? Oh, he ran away and joined a circus, I believe," answered the rhinoceros.

"What's a circus?" Nero wanted to know.

"Oh, please don't bother me," replied the two-horned animal. "I am too thirsty to talk," and he drank a lot of water. Then, when he went away, it was Nero's turn. And after the lion had quenched his thirst he thought of asking the rhinoceros the way to the lost cave. But the rhinoceros was gone.

"I guess I'll have to find my own way home," thought poor Nero, as he wandered on and on in the jungle.

Several weeks passed, and though Nero grew bigger and stronger, he was still a lion cub. And he was very lonesome and homesick, because he could not find his cave. Then, one day, something happened -- something very important.

Nero was very hungry, not having been able to get anything to eat for a long time, when, all at once, he smelled something good. It was meat -- just what he wanted -- and, looking along a jungle path used by wild animals, he saw, lying on a pile of leaves, a chunk of goat flesh.

"Ah, there is a meal for me!" thought Nero, and then, his paw being well again, he gave a spring, and landed right on the meat.

But something very strange happened. Nero suddenly felt himself falling down. Down and down he went, into a big hole, and the meat and the pile of leaves went with him. Down into a black pit fell Nero, and, as he toppled in, a black African man shouted:

"Ha! The lion is in the trap! The lion is in my trap!"




Chapter VI

Nero In A Circus


Nero did not know what had happened to him, except that he had fallen down into a big hole dug in the earth. He did not know what the black African man said about being in a "trap," for though Nero could understand lion talk, he did not yet know much about the talk of men. Later on he was to learn a little about that. Just now he was frightened and hurt, for when he fell down the hole he had struck his paw that had the bullet in it, and, though the sore was healed, it still pained a bit at times.

"I wonder what can have happened to me," thought Nero, as he tumbled and twisted about on the bottom of the pit, which was partly filled with dried leaves. "I wonder what this is, anyhow!"

More than once, when a very little lion boy and out walking along the jungle paths with his father and mother, Nero had fallen into a mud puddle or other hole, because he had not yet learned to walk steadily and carefully. But at such times he had easily scrambled out of the hole, or his mother had helped him.

Now Mrs. Lion was not here to do this, and, try as he did, Nero could not get out of this hole. It was too deep, and the sides were too straight. Nero tried hard enough, jumping up and clawing at the dirt, some of which got into his eyes, but jump though he did, and roar though he did, he could not get out.

Up on top, at the edge of the hole, the black African man was jumping about, waving his hands, in one of which was a long, sharp spear, and the African was shouting:

"I have caught a lion! I have a lion in my hole-trap! Whoop-la!"

Of course Nero did not know what all this meant. All he knew was that a man had something to do with his trouble.

"Maybe that is the hunter man who shot me," thought Nero; "and now he has caught me because I ran away from him and hid in the cave. Well, he has caught me at last, unless I can get out of this hole."

But Nero was wrong. This was not the same man who had shot him. This was another man, a trapper of wild animals, and he had dug a deep hole along a jungle path where he knew lions and other animals would walk. Then he covered the hole with little sticks and leaves, so they would easily break if a big animal, like Nero, jumped on them.

And that is just what Nero had done. He saw the piece of meat on the ground, and jumped straight for it. But he landed in the middle of the sticks and leaves, and fell into the hole.

That is how Nero was caught, and he did not like it at all. He wanted to be loose, to roam through the jungle as he liked. He wanted to try to find his father and his mother and Chet and Boo. But they were far away.

And, while I think of it, I might tell you that for a long time after Nero was lost, that night of the hunt, Mr. Lion looked everywhere for the boy lion. But Nero could not be found, and his father and mother and the other lions thought he had been killed by the hunters. They never saw him again, and, for a time, felt very sad. But so many things happened in the jungle that Mr. and Mrs. Lion soon forgot Nero. That's the way with animals. They are not like us. And so it was that Nero's father and mother never really knew what happened to him. They might find out if they could read this book, but that, of course, can't be done.

Now we'll get back to Nero. There he was in the bottom of a big hole, and up at the top was the black African trapper looking down on him. Pretty soon other hunters and trappers came to see the lion that had been caught alive.

"He's a fine big fellow, Chaki," said one black man to the trapper who had been so pleased when Nero was caught. "What are you going to do with him?"

"Oh, I am going to sell him to a white animal man who comes from across the sea in a big boat called a ship," answered Chaki, the trapper.

"And what will the white animal man do with a live lion?"

"He buys him to sell to a circus," answered Chaki.

"And what is a circus?" asked the other black man.

"I don't know," answered Chaki, "except that far across the ocean white people like to pay money to look at wild animals such as we have in our jungle. That's all I know about a circus. The white animal man told me that."

"Ha! A circus!" laughed the other black man. "And people pay money to look at wild animals? Well, they should come to the jungle. They could see all the animals they want for nothing."

And of course we could, I suppose, only very few of us can go to jungles, and so we go to circuses instead.

Nero, down on the bottom of the hole, listened to the talk of the black men up above. He did not understand any of it, or he might have remembered that word "circus." The rhinoceros, who had knocked him away from the drinking pool, had spoken of a "circus" where Chunky, the happy hippo, went. But Nero was too frightened and in too much pain to pay any heed to what the men said.

And then began a very unhappy time for our lion friend. It was such an unhappy, sad time that I am not going to tell you very much about this part of Nero's life. I'm going to skip over it and come to the funnier, happier part.

For, after the lion had thrashed about on the bottom of the pit for some time, the black African trapper let down ropes and tangled the lion all up in them. Then Nero was hauled to the top of the pit and put into a big wooden cage. He tried to get out, by striking the bars with his paws, and biting them with his teeth, but they were too strong. Then he lay down in a corner of his cage and shut his eyes. He did not like to look out through the bars at the jungle, when he could no longer roam about as he liked. Poor Nero was a prisoner -- a caged wild animal.

For many days Nero was kept in the cage in the jungle near the hut of the black trapper. At first the lion would not eat, but at last he grew so hungry that he had to take some of the meat they thrust through the bars of the cage to him. And when he had eaten and taken some water, Nero felt better. But he was still cross and unhappy, and whenever any of the black Africans came near his cage Nero would suddenly stick out his paws and try to scratch them. But they knew enough to keep out of his way.

Then, one day, Nero felt his cage being suddenly lifted up on long poles, which the black men put across their shoulders, and so they carried the caged lion through the jungle. They wouldn't trust Nero to walk by himself. What had happened was that the white animal man, who bought wild animals for his circus, had come along, and, seeing that Nero was a fine lion, had taken him to be sent away across the ocean, from Africa to the United States of America, where there were many circuses.

Nero, still in his cage, was put on board a ship. He was stowed away down in a deep, black hole, deeper and blacker than the jungle pit into which he had fallen, and then began a sea voyage.

Nero didn't like this a bit. Sometimes he seemed to be standing on his head, and again he would be on his feet. At other times he seemed to roll over and over in a regular somersault. And these somersaults weren't at all like the ones he used to turn by accident, when he was playing tag in the jungle with his brother and sister, or with Switchie.

"Oh, dear, I don't like this at all!" grumbled Nero, in his cage in the ship. "I wish I could go back to the jungle. Oh, here I go again -- upside down!"

And over he went, cage and all. What was happening was that the ship was in a big storm, and was being tossed up and down on great ocean waves, and that Nero's cage had got loose and was being flung about.

Our lion friend was seasick, and he had a dreadful time. More than once he wished himself back in the jungle, but he could not get there.

After many days the ship stopped tossing to and fro. It had crossed to the other side, with Nero on board, and was now tied up at a dock in New York. Then Nero felt himself being hoisted up in his cage, and, for the first time in many days, he saw the sun again and smelled fresh air. And, oh, how good it was!

It was not like the air of the jungle, for it was cooler, and Nero had been used to being very hot nearly all the time. But he did not mind being a bit cool.

Nero's cage was hoisted out of the hold, the deep, black hold of the ship, and slung on a big automobile truck with some boxes and barrels. Nero was the only wild animal, and people passing along on the dock stopped to look into the big wooden cage at the tawny yellow lion who had been brought all the way from the jungle.

Away started the auto-truck, giving Nero a new kind of ride. He would much rather have walked, but of course a lion can't go about loose in the streets of New York, though they do let the elephants and camels walk in a circus parade. But Nero was not yet in a circus.

Nero looked out through the bars of his cage as he was carted through the streets of New York.

"My, this is a queer jungle!" thought the lion. "Where are the trees and the tangled vines and the snakes and monkeys and other animals? All I see are men and other queer creatures. This isn't at all like my jungle!"

And of course it was not, being a big city. There are not many places for trees in a city, you know.

So Nero cowered down in the corner of his cage until he was put in a freight car to be sent to a place called Bridgeport, Connecticut, where some circus men keep their wild animals, to train them, and have them safe during the winter when it is too cold to give shows in the big, white tents.

"Well, this is a new sort of motion," thought Nero, as the train started off. "I don't know that I like it, but still it is better than being made to turn somersaults all the while."

Indeed it was easier riding on a train than in a ship; at least for Nero. He knew nothing about railroads, nor where he was being taken. But, after a while, during which he did not get much to eat or drink, once more his cage was put on a big auto-truck.

A little later, after being lifted about, and slung here and there, Nero suddenly saw one end of his cage open. The wooden bars, which had been around him ever since he had left the jungle, seemed to drop away.

"Ha! Now, maybe, I can get loose!" thought Nero.

He sprang forward, but, to his surprise, he found himself in very much the same sort of place. But this new cage was larger, and the bars were of iron instead of wood.

Looking through them Nero could see many other just such cages. He sniffed, and he smelled the smell of many wild animals which he knew. He smelled lions, buffaloes, and elephants.

Nero looked around him. He was in a big wooden building, and over to one side were some elephants. At first Nero could not believe it. He rubbed his eyes with his paw and looked again.

Yes, surely enough, they were elephants. They were swaying slowly to and fro, as elephants always sway, and they were stuffing hay into their mouths with their curling trunks.

"Oh, am I back in the jungle?" asked Nero aloud, speaking in animal talk.

"The jungle? No, I should say not!" cried a big jolly-looking elephant. "This isn't the jungle."

"Then what is it?" asked Nero.

"It's a circus," said the elephant. "This is a circus, and we are glad to have you with us, jungle lion. My name is Tum Tum, what is yours?"

"Nero," was the answer. "And so this is a circus!" went on the lion. "Well, well! I never thought I'd be here!"




Chapter VII

Nero Learns Some Tricks


Nero thought the circus a very queer place indeed. It was as queer to him as the wild jungle would be to you if you saw it for the first time. But strange as it was, the circus, where he now found himself, seemed much nicer to Nero than being cooped up in the dark ship or in the freight car.

For there were many wild animals in the circus -- other lions, tigers, elephants, camels, giraffes, several cages of monkeys, some wolves, a bear or two, and others that Nero did not see until later. And there was also a queer, wild-animal smell, which Nero liked very much. It was almost like the smell of the jungle, and it made him homesick when he thought of the deep tangle of green vines, the thick trees and the silent pools of water.

"We are glad to have you in our circus," said the elephant, who had called himself Tum Tum, speaking to Nero. "Of course it isn't very lively now, but wait until we get out on the road, giving a show every day in a new place, and traveling about! Then you'll like it!"

"Doesn't the circus stay here every day?" asked Nero, as he looked across to another lion in a cage. Nero hoped this lion would speak to him, but the big fellow seemed to be asleep.

"The circus stay here? I should say not!" cried Tum Tum, speaking through his long trunk. "Why, this is only the winter barn, where we stay when the weather is cold. We don't have any shows in winter. The people don't come in to see us, and we don't do any of our tricks. It is only when the show goes on the road in summer, with the big white tent, all covered with gay flags, and the bands playing music, that we have the good times. Here we just rest, eat, and sometimes learn new tricks."

"Tricks!" exclaimed Nero. "Tricks? Are they something good to eat?"

"Tricks good to eat!" laughed Tum Tum in his jolly voice. "No indeed! Tricks are things you do. But often, after we do ours well, the trainer gives us good things to eat."

"I fell into a big hole in the jungle once," said Nero. "Is that a trick?"

"Not exactly," answered Tum Tum. "Here, I'll show you what a trick is. This is only one of my easy ones, though," and then suddenly the big elephant stood on his hind legs, waving his trunk in the air.

"Oh, so that's a trick," said Nero. "Well, I could do that."

But when he tried to stand up on his hind legs in his cage he could not. He had not learned how to balance himself.

"So you do tricks in a circus, do you?" went on Nero. "That reminds me. In the jungle I heard some monkeys speak of a circus, and also of a chap named Mappo. Is he here?"

"He used to be," said Tum Tum. "Mappo was one of our merriest monkeys. We all liked him, but he went to live with some people. I don't know where he is now. But he was in this circus. And to think of your meeting some of his friends in the jungle! Tell me, did you see any of mine?"

"Well, I met lots of elephants," answered Nero, "but I didn't have much time to stop and talk with them. I met a rhinoceros, though, and he said something about Chunky, a happy hippo, who used to live in the jungle near him."

"Oh, Chunky is here, in this very circus!" cried Tum Tum. "But he stays in a water-tank, so we don't very often see him. He'll be glad to know you met his rhinoceros friend. I'll tell him the first time I get a chance. But, speaking of tricks, there's a chap over there who does some fine ones," and Tum Tum pointed with his trunk to a cage in which was a shaggy, black animal.

"Who is it?" asked Nero.

"Dido, the dancing bear," answered the elephant. "He dances on a platform, which is strapped to my back out in the circus rings; he jumps through a hoop of blazing fire; and he turns somersaults."

"I turned some somersaults too, after they put me in a cage and brought me from the jungle," said Nero, as he thought of his voyage on the ship.

"Well, maybe you can learn to do them here, and that will be a trick," returned Tum Tum. "But you should see Dido, the dancing bear. He surely can dance!"

"Who is talking about me?" asked the shaggy creature in the other cage.

"We are, Dido," answered Tum Tum. "I was just telling the new lion how you dance on a platform over my back."

"Oh, yes," said the bear, opening wide his mouth and showing his red tongue. "And I wish I could soon start to doing that again. I am getting tired of the circus barn. I want to be out in the tent."

"It will soon be warm enough," said Tum Tum. "Summer will soon be here, and then we shall have hot weather."

"Does it get as hot as in the jungle?" Nero asked.

"Sometimes," answered the jolly elephant. "But here comes your keeper, I guess. He is going to give you some meat."

And, surely enough, along came a circus man with a big chunk of meat on a large, iron fork. He poked the meat in through the bars of the cage to Nero, and the lion was so hungry that he began eating at once.

The man who had fed him stood in front of the cage, looking at Nero.

"You look like a fine chap," said the man, talking partly to himself and partly to the jungle animal. "I think we shall be good friends, and I will teach you some tricks. Then the boys and girls who come to the circus will want to watch you. Yes, I'll teach you some tricks. Come, let's be friends."

Slowly and carefully the circus trainer reached his hand toward Nero's paw, which was between two bars and partly outside the cage. Nero, looking out of the corners of his eyes as he gnawed the bone and chewed the meat, did not know what the man was trying to do. Perhaps the lion thought that the man was trying to take away the meat.

Whatever he thought, Nero suddenly jumped up and struck with all his force at the man's hand. But the man was too quick. He pulled his hand out of the way, and Nero's paw hit the iron bars. And as it happened to be the paw that had been struck by the bullet, Nero felt great pain, for the bullet was still in the flesh, though healed over.

"Ouch!" cried Nero, in lion language.

"That will teach you not to strike at me when I am only trying to pat you and be kind to you," said the man with a laugh. "You are beginning to learn things, my lion friend."

The man stayed for some time in front of Nero's cage, talking kindly to the lion, but Nero paid no attention to him. He only ate the meat. Then, when it was all gone, Nero felt thirsty.

"I'll get you some water," said the man, and he did.

"Well, you are kind to me, anyhow," thought Nero, "even if you did try to take away my bone," but of course the man had not tried to do that.

For about a week Nero lived in his circus cage in the big barn, where the animals were kept warm all winter. Nothing much happened, except that the same man, every day, brought food and water to the wild jungle lion. And by this time Nero was not so wild as he had been at first. He gave up trying to break the iron bars with his paws, and no longer tried to bite them with his teeth. They were too strong for him.

Then, one day, the trainer man came again to the lion's cage, with a nice, sweet piece of meat.

"My, how good that is!" said Nero to himself, as he ate it.

As Nero was chewing away, the man slowly put out his hand toward the lion's paw, which was out between the bars. But Nero saw him, and again the old fear came back that the man was going to take away the meat, and Nero did not want that to happen.

"Look out!" roared Nero, in lion talk. "Look out or I'll scratch you!"

"Don't do that!" said another voice. A voice that Nero knew came from the other lion cage, that had recently been moved up near his. "Don't be silly, Nero!" said the other circus lion, whose name was Leo. "I used to be as wild as you are, and live in the jungle. But they caught me and brought me here to the circus; and now I like it very much. I, too, tried to scratch the man when he wanted to touch my paw, but I learned better. So must you. The man is your friend. He will feed you and give you water to drink. So don't scratch him. He only wants to pat you and rub you."

"Oh, well, if he only wants to do that, all right," said Nero. "He can do that. I thought he wanted to take my meat."

And then, when the man saw that Nero was quieting down, he reached out his hand again, and this time he touched Nero's big paw, with its sharp claws. One blow of it would have broken the man's arm, but Nero did not strike the blow. He had learned that the man would not hurt him.

And a few days after this Nero and the trainer had become such good friends that the man could open the iron door and go inside Nero's cage and the lion would only blink his big eyes, and not even growl. He had learned that the man would not hurt him.

And so Nero's circus lessons began. The first one he learned was leaping over a long stick which the man held stretched out in the cage. At the beginning Nero did not know what the stick was for, but he could see that the man did not intend to strike him with it.

The trainer kept bringing the stick nearer and nearer to Nero, who backed into the corner of the cage. At last the lion could back no farther, as he was close against the wall of the cage.

"Well, if he doesn't take that stick out of my way I'll jump right over it!" said Nero to himself. And that is just what he did, and the man clapped his hands in delight, and cried:

"There! You have learned your first trick! That's fine! Now I must teach you more!"

Nero was fast becoming a regular circus lion.




Chapter VIII

Nero Meets Don


One day when Nero awoke in his circus cage, which stood in the big winter barn, the lion saw that something very different was going on from what had happened since he had been brought there from the jungle. Men were running to and fro, and the first thing Nero noticed was that Tum Tum, the jolly elephant, and all the other big animals with the long trunks were gone.

"Why, where is Tum Tum?" asked Nero of Leo, his lion friend.

"Oh, he's out with the other elephants, pushing wagon cages about the lot," said Leo.

"Pushing cages?" repeated Nero. "Is that a circus trick?"

"No, that is part of the circus work," answered Leo. "The elephants are so big and strong that they are used instead of horses, sometimes, to push the circus cages."

"But why is Tum Tum helping push the circus cages?" asked Nero. "Has anything happened?"

"Well, something is going to happen," said Leo. "The circus is going to start out on the road -- we are going to travel from town to town. We are going to travel on the railroad and live in a tent instead of this barn. We shall see lots of people -- boys and girls -- who come to watch us eat, and do tricks, and we shall hear the band music and -- Oh, it's real jolly!"

"I'm glad of that," said Nero. "I like to be jolly. But will Tum Tum come back?" he asked, for he liked the big, jolly elephant, as, indeed, all the circus animals did.

"Oh, yes, Tum Tum will come back," answered Dido, the dancing bear. "The circus couldn't get along without him. And I couldn't do some of my best tricks if Tum Tum didn't walk around the ring with the wooden platform on his back for me to dance on. Oh, we couldn't get along without Tum Tum!"

Nero was glad to hear this. Though he liked Leo, his lion friend, and the other animals, even the queer-looking camels, Nero felt more friendly toward Tum Tum than toward any one else in the circus except his trainer. For, by this time, Nero had grown to like very much the man who fed him, and who came into the cage every day to make the lion jump over the stick.

But Nero had learned many more tricks than this first, easy one. He did not learn the other tricks as quickly, for they were harder, but the lion could sit up on a big wooden stool, he could stand up on his hind paws, and he would open his mouth very wide when his trainer told him to. In a way Nero had learned something of man-talk, too, for he knew what certain words meant.

The trainer would call:

"Jump over the stick, Nero!"

The lion knew what that meant, and he knew it was different from the words used when the trainer said:

"Sit on your stool!"

So, though of course Nero could not understand what the circus men said when they talked to one another, the lion had learned some words. So he could talk and understand animal language, and he could also understand some words of man-talk. And that is pretty good, I think, for a lion who had not been out of the jungle quite a year.

"Shall we have to push any of the cages?" asked Nero of his friend Leo, as they both watched the circus men hurrying to and fro in the big barn.

"Oh, no," answered the older lion. "They never let us out of the cages."

"And a good reason, too," declared a humpy camel, near by. "If they let you lions and tigers out of the cages, you'd run away. We wouldn't do that. We camels are well-behaved, like the horses and the elephants."

Leo, the old lion, shook his head until his mane dangled in his eyes.

"No," he said, "if they opened my cage, I wouldn't run away. I wouldn't even go out, unless it was to get something to eat and come right back again."

"I would!" growled Nero. "I'd go out in a minute, if they opened my cage door wide enough. I'd go out and run back to the jungle."

"Yes, that's what I used to think, at first," growled Leo. "But after you've been in the circus awhile you get used to it. It's home to you.

"Why, I remember, Nero, we once had in this circus a lion just about like you. He always said he'd run away if he got the chance. Well, one day his cage was left open by accident, and he ran away."

"What happened?" asked Nero.

"Well, he ran back again, the next day, and a more sorry or sick-looking lion you never saw! He was bedraggled and lame and hungry and thirsty! He said he was glad to get back to his cage, and he never left it again."

"What had happened to him?" asked the camel. "I guess that was before my time."

"Oh, no sooner was he loose in the streets," said Leo, "than he was chased by men and boys, who threw rocks and sticks at him. They were afraid of him, and tried to drive him away. But the circus men tried to catch the runaway lion, and, between both, poor Tarsus, which was his name, had a bad time. He had enough of running away."

"He should have gone back to the jungle," said Nero. "That's what I'd do if I could get loose."

"Oh, you think you would!" growled Leo. "But the jungle is far away from here. You could never reach it. No, you had much better stay here in the circus, Nero. Here you are in a cage, it is true, but you are warm, you have a good place to sleep, you have plenty to eat and drink, and boys can not throw stones at you."

But Nero only switched his tail to and fro, thought of the jungle where he had played with Boo and Chet, and said to himself:

"That's all right. But, even though my trainer is kind to me, if ever I get the chance I'll run away!"

And so the circus got ready to go out on the road. Tum Tum and the other elephants pushed the animal cages about, and one day Nero saw the big elephant come close up to the lion's cage.

"What are you going to do, Tum Tum?" asked Nero.

"It is time for your cage to be moved," said the elephant. "I am going to push you out on the lot, and there horses will be hitched to your cage and you will be given a ride."

"Well, I hope the ride will be nice," said the lion.

"You'll like it," said Tum Tum, trumpeting through his trunk.

Pretty soon Nero found himself, in his cage, out in the bright sunshine. It was a warm day, and the lion stretched, opened his mouth as wide as he could, and then lay down in his cage where the sun could warm his back.

"It feels just as good as the jungle," thought Nero. "But of course there aren't as many trees, and there are no pools of water, and I haven't Switchie or Chet or Boo to play with. A circus may be nice, but I'll run away the first chance I get."

Tum Tum pushed Nero's cage about until some horses could be hitched to it to draw it to the railroad station. For the circus was to travel on a train of cars to the city where it was first to give a show.

Nero's cage, as well as other cages, were put on a big flat car, and when the engine started puffing and pulling away, and when Nero felt the motion of the train, he called to Leo, who was on the same car:

"I remember riding like this once before."

"Yes," said Leo, "I suppose so. It was when you were brought here from the big city where the ship landed. The same thing happened to me. But I am used to riding on railroads now. I don't mind it any more. I like it."

"I guess I'll like it, too," said Nero.

For the rest of that day and all the night the circus train traveled onward, and it was nearly morning when it stopped. Peeping out between the cracks of the wooden cover of his cage, Nero could see the sun just coming up. It reminded him of the sunrise in the jungle, and he began to feel lonesome and homesick again, even though he had new friends -- Tum Tum, Dido and Leo.

There was a great deal of noise when the circus train stopped. Men shouted, horses kicked about in their wooden cars, the elephants trumpeted, the tigers growled, the lions roared, while the monkeys chattered.

Nero felt his cage being run down off the car, and then he heard Tum Tum talking in elephant animal language.

"How are you, Nero? All right?" asked Tum Tum, as he pushed the lion's cage about so the horses could be hitched to it again. "Are you ready to do your tricks in the circus?"

"Oh, yes," answered Nero. "When do we begin?"

"Pretty soon," answered Leo from his cage. "We'll go to the circus lot, then will come the parade, and then we'll be put in the big tent for the boys and girls to look at. Then the bands will play and the performance will start."

"My! that's a lot of things to happen," said Nero.

Pretty soon one side of his cage was opened, and Nero's trainer passed by.

"Hello, Nero, old boy!" called the man. "Did you stand the ride all right? Yes, I guess you did. Well, we'll soon be doing our tricks together in the tent," and he patted the paw Nero held out to him, for this was his way of shaking hands.

Soon after this Nero felt his cage being hauled along by a team of eight horses. The wooden outside covers of the cage were still down, and Nero could look out through the bars, and the people could look in. Then Nero saw that many of the other cages of wild animals were in line with his, some in front and some behind. There were many horses, elephants and camels in line also, and a band was playing music.

"What's all this about?" asked Nero of Tum Tum.

"We are going in the circus parade, through the streets of the town," answered the jolly elephant. "We always have a parade before the show. You'll like it."

And Nero liked, very much indeed, his first parade. His keeper rode in the cage with him, sitting on a chair, and now and then patting the big head of the lion. Nero liked that, for he and his keeper were friends. Through great crowds of people on the streets went the circus parade, and then the procession went back to the circus lot where the big, white tents, with their gaily colored flags, had been set up.

"Pretty soon the show will begin, Nero," said the keeper, as he got out of the lion's cage. "The parade was only the first part. The people will shortly be in here to look at you and the other animals, and, later on, you and I will do some tricks."

All at once, as the trainer walked away, Nero looked out of his cage and saw a big shaggy animal running along on the ground.

"Hello, Dido!" growled Nero, for at first he thought it was the dancing bear he saw. But as the running animal turned, Nero saw that it was not Dido. This animal was not so large as the dancing bear.

"I'm not Dido," said the new chap. "And I don't seem to know you, though I know that bear in the cage back of you."

"Why, that's who I thought you were," said Nero. "And so you know Dido?"

"Oh, yes, I know him, and Dido knows me," said the new animal.

"Well, you'd better go back into your cage before the circus men see you," said Nero. "How did you get loose? Tell me? I'd like to get out myself."

"Ho! Ho! You're making a mistake!" was the laughing answer. "I am not a circus animal. I'm Don, and I'm a runaway dog. At least I ran away once, but I ran back again. I came down to see Dido, whom I met when I was running away," and Don, the nice, big dog, wagged his tail at Dido, the dancing bear.




Chapter IX

Nero Scares A Boy


Nero, the circus lion, who was much larger now than when he had been caught in a jungle trap, was very much surprised at what Don, the runaway dog told him. At first the lion boy could hardly believe that Don was not one of the circus animals.

But as the lion, looking out through the bars of his cage, saw Don running about and none of the red-coated circus men trying to catch him, he said:

"Well, well! it must be true. He isn't a circus animal at all." And then to Don the lion said:

"How do you happen to know Dido, the dancing bear?"

"Well, that's a long story," answered Don. "You can read all about me, and how I ran away, if you want to, for it's all in a book a man wrote about me."

"Thank you," returned Nero. "But I can't read, and I don't know what a book is, anyhow."

"Well, I can't read, either," said Don. "But I know a book when I see one. The little boy in the house where I live goes to school, and he has books. Sometimes I carry them home for him in my mouth. So I know a book when I see one.

"But as long as you can't read about me I'll just tell you that in the book the man wrote about how I ran away, got locked in a freight car, how I went to a strange city and traveled about the country. It was then I met Dido, the dancing bear."

"Yes, that's right," growled Dido, licking his paws, for some one had thrown him a sugared popcorn ball, and some of the sweet, sticky stuff was still on the bear's paws. Dido wanted to get all of it off. "It was then you met me, Don," went on the dancing bear. "We certainly had some fine times together!"

"Indeed we did!" replied the runaway dog, though I should not call him that any more, as he had run back again, as you all know, and was now living in a nice home. "And when I was down at the butcher shop this morning and saw the circus wagons come from the railroad yard," went on Don, "I thought maybe I'd see you again, Dido. So I came here as soon as I could."

"I'm glad you did," said the bear. "This lion chap is named Nero. He hasn't been out of the jungle very long."

"I'm glad to meet you, Nero," barked Don. "I always like circus animals."

"I am glad you do," growled Nero, in his most jolly voice. "I think I shall like you, too, Don, though I don't know much about dogs. I never saw any in the jungle."

And this was true, for though there are some dogs in Africa, they are mostly in cities or the towns where the native black men live. There may be some wild dogs in the jungle, but Nero never saw any, and the nearest he ever came to noticing animals like a dog were the black-backed jackals. These are animals, almost like a dog, and, in fact, are something like the Azara dogs of South America, and now Nero asked Don if he was a jackal.

But the runaway dog soon told the circus lion a different story, and then they were friends. Don and Dido had a nice visit together in the circus tent before the show began. Don had simply slipped under the side of the tent to get in. If any of the circus men saw him they did not mind, for dogs often come around where circus shows are given. Perhaps they like to see the elephants and other strange animals, as much as the boys and girls do.

After awhile great crowds of people began coming into the circus tent. The band played music in another tent, next door, and it was there that the men and women performers would do their tricks -- riding on the backs of galloping horses, leaping about on trapezes, jumping over the backs of elephants and so on.

Nero paced back and forth in his cage, wondering what was going to happen, for this was his first day of real life in the circus. All the other days had been just getting ready for the summer shows.

He had liked the parade through the city streets, when the elephants, horses, and camels wore such bright and gaily colored blankets. Now something else was going to happen.

The animal tent, in which stood Nero's cage and that of the other jungle folk, was soon filled with boys and girls and their fathers and mothers, all of whom had come to the circus. They moved from cage to cage, stopping to toss popcorn balls to Dido, the dancing bear, and feed peanuts to Tum Tum, the jolly elephant, and to the friends of Mappo and some of the other merry monkeys.

Coming to the cage of the big lion, the boys and girls would stop and look in, and perhaps some one would say:

"Oh, isn't he big and fierce! I wouldn't want to go into his cage!"

And perhaps some one else would answer:

"Pooh! I guess he's a trained lion! Maybe he does tricks! When I grow up I'm going to be a lion tamer."

Of course Nero did not understand any of this talk, but he liked to look at the boys and girls, and he was not nearly as wild as he had been when he lived in the jungle. Nero was really quite tame, and he liked his trainer very much, for the man was kind to Nero.

Pretty soon all the people -- even the boys and girls -- went out of the animal tent, leaving the animals almost alone.

"Where have they gone?" asked Nero of Dido.

"Oh, into the other tent, where the music is playing and where the performance is going on. You'll soon be going in there too, and so shall I."

"What for?" asked Nero.

"To do your tricks," answered the bear. "That is why you were taught to do them, just as I was taught to dance -- so we can make fun and jolly times for the boys and girls. Wait, and you'll see."

And, surely enough, a little later Nero's cage was moved into the larger tent, next to the one where the animals were kept. And then Nero's trainer came and spoke to him.

"Well, Nero," said the man, "now we're going to see if you can do your tricks before a whole crowd, as nicely as you did them in the barn at Bridgeport. Don't grow excited. You know I'm a friend of yours. Now do your best, and the boys and girls will laugh and clap their hands."

So the keeper opened the door of the lion's cage and went inside. As soon as he did several of the boys and girls, and the big folks too, gasped, and some said:

"Oh, isn't that terrible! I wouldn't go into the cage of a real, live lion for anything!"

You see they didn't know Nero was quite tame, and that the jungle beast liked the man who fed him and was kind to him.

"Now do your tricks, Nero!" said the trainer.

And Nero did. He jumped over a stick; he stood up on his hind legs and, putting his paws on the trainer's shoulders, made believe to kiss the man, though of course he only touched the man's cheek with his cold, damp nose, just as, sometimes, your dog puts his nose against your cheek to show how much he likes you; next Nero stood up on a sort of upside-down washtub, or pedestal; and after that he jumped through a hoop covered with paper.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen," said the trainer, speaking to the circus crowd, "I will do the best trick of all. I will have Nero, my pet lion, open his mouth as wide as he can, and I will put my head inside!"

And then, all of a sudden, some little boy in the crowd piped up and cried out:

"Oh, Mister, don't do that! He might bite your head off!"

Everybody laughed at that, even Nero's trainer, who said:

"Oh, I'm not afraid. Nero is a good lion and wouldn't bite me. Come on now, old fellow, for the last and best trick of all!" cried the man, and he cracked his whip, though of course he did not strike Nero with it.

The circus lion knew just what to do, for he had been trained in this trick. I didn't say anything about it before, because I was saving it as a surprise for you.

"Open your mouth!" suddenly cried the trainer, and Nero opened his jaws as wide as he could.

"Oh! Ah! Look!" cried the people, as they saw his big, red tongue and the white, sharp teeth.

"Now!" cried the trainer, and into the lion's mouth he popped his head.

Everybody in the big circus tent was quiet for a moment, and then all the crowd cried out, and clapped their hands and stamped their shoes on the wooden steps beneath their feet.

"There, you see how tame my lion is!" cried the man, as he pulled his head from Nero's mouth, and bowed to the people, who were still clapping and whistling.

"You are a good lion!" said the trainer to Nero in a low voice. "Now you shall have a nice piece of meat, a sweet bone to gnaw, and a good drink of water. You did your first tricks very well indeed."

Nero did not quite know what it was all about, but he felt that he had done well. It did not hurt him to open his mouth and let the man put in his head, but it tickled the lion's tongue a little, so that Nero wanted to sneeze. And that wouldn't have been a good thing for the trainer. However Nero didn't do it.

"What makes the people make so much noise?" asked Nero of Dido, the dancing bear, who came into the larger tent just then.

"Oh, that's because they liked your tricks," was the answer. "They always clap and stamp their feet when anything pleases them. They do that when I dance on the platform on Tum Tum's back."

And, surely enough, the circus crowds did. They liked the tricks of Dido, the dancing bear, as much as they had those of Nero.

After a while Nero's cage was wheeled back into the tent where the wagons of the other animals were kept, and Nero was given something good to eat, and fresh water to drink. Then he felt happy and fell asleep.

So Nero began his circus life, and he kept it up all that summer. He traveled about from place to place, and soon became used to doing his tricks, having the man put his head into his mouth and seeing the crowds show their surprise.

One day, when the show was being given in a large city, there was a big crowd in the animal tent. Near Nero's cage were some boys, and I am sorry to say they were not all kind boys, though perhaps they didn't know any better. One of the boys had a rotten apple in his hand and he said to another lad:

"I'm going to give this rotten apple to one of the elephants and see what a funny face he makes when he chews it!"

"That'll be lots of fun," said the second boy.

I don't, myself, call that fun. It isn't fair to fool animals when you know so much more than they do. However we'll see what happened.

Nero saw the boys standing near his cage, and he heard them talking, though he did not, of course, know what they were saying. But he could smell the rotten apple. Often, in the jungle, he had smelled bad fruit, and he knew that the monkeys would not eat it.

"If bad fruit isn't good for monkeys it isn't good for elephants," thought Nero, as he saw the boy hold out the rotten apple toward Tum Tum, the jolly elephant.

Tum Tum reached out his trunk to take what he thought was something good, but Nero roared, in animal language, of course:

"Don't take that apple, Tum Tum! It's bad!" And then Nero sprang against the bars of his cage, and, reaching out a paw, with its long, sharp claws, made a grab for the boy's arm as he held out the rotten apple.

"Look out! The lion's going to bite you!" cried a man to the boy, and the boy was so frightened that he gave a howl and dropped the rotten apple and ran through the crowd, knocking to the right and left every one in his way.

Nero roared again and dashed against the bars of his cage, and while women and children screamed and men shouted, Nero's keeper and some of the other animal men ran up to see what the matter was. There was great excitement in the circus tent.




Chapter X

Nero Runs Away


Once more Nero roared as he looked over the heads of the crowd to see what had become of the boy who had tried to give Tum Tum the rotten apple.

"Hold on there, my lion boy! What's the matter? Don't do that!" called Nero's trainer to him in a kind voice. "What happened, anyhow? Why are you roaring so, and trying to get out of your cage? Don't you like it here in the circus?"

Nero stopped roaring at once, and no longer dashed against the bars of his cage. Perhaps he thought that, as long as his kind trainer was at hand, everything would be all right.

"Did some one try to hurt my lion friend?" asked the trainer, looking at the crowd near the cage.

"No," some one answered. "But the lion, all at once, tried to reach out and claw a boy who was going to give an apple to an elephant. I saw that. I don't know what made the lion act so."

"There must have been some good reason," said the trainer. "Nero is a good lion. He wouldn't want to claw a boy just for fun."

And then one of the other boys, who was in the crowd that had been around the lad who had the rotten apple, spoke up and said:

"Mister, Jimmie was going to play a trick on the elephant. He was going to give him a bad apple just to see what a funny face the elephant would make."

"Oh, ho! Now I understand!" said the trainer. "My lion must have smelled the rotten apple and didn't like it. He tried to scare away the boy, I guess."

"Well, the boy was scared all right," said a man. "He ran away as fast as he could go."

"He ought to!" said the trainer very sharply.

The excitement, caused by the loud roaring of Nero, was over now, though, for a time, many persons had been frightened, for Nero had sent his powerful voice rumbling through the circus tent as his father, and the other big lions, had used to make the ground tremble when they roared in the jungle.

Then, as things grew quiet and the people passed along the row of cages, looking at the animals, Tum Tum, who heard what had happened, turned to Nero and said:

"I'm much obliged to you, my dear lion friend, for scaring the boy who wanted to give me the rotten apple. Most likely, as soon as I'd have taken it in my trunk, I'd have smelled that it was bad, and I would not have eaten it. But some one might have given me a popcorn ball in my trunk at the same time, and that might have smelled so good that I wouldn't have noticed the rotten apple until too late. So you saved me from having a bad taste in my mouth, and I'm much obliged to you."

"Oh, that's all right," replied Nero. "I'm glad I could do you a favor. You have been kind to me, pushing my cage around, and I want to be kind to you."

So the two circus animals were better friends than ever, and that day in the performers' tent Nero opened his mouth very wide indeed when his trainer wanted to put in his head.

For many weeks Nero traveled about the country with the circus, living in his iron-barred cage, from which he was never taken. Nero might be a tame lion, but the circus folk did not think it would be safe to let him out, as Dido, the dancing bear, was allowed to come out of his cage.

However, later on, something happened -- 

But there, I must tell about it in the right place.

So, as I said, Nero went about from town to town with the circus, living in his cage, eating and doing his tricks whenever his trainer called on him to do so. And the people who came to the circus performances seemed to like, very much, seeing Nero do his tricks. And they always clapped loudest and longest when the trainer put his head in the lion's mouth. And Nero never bit the trainer once, nor so much as scratched him, even with the tip of one sharp tooth.

One afternoon of a long hot day, when big crowds had come to the circus, and after Nero had done his tricks, and Dido, the dancing bear, had done his, and Chunky, the happy hippo, had opened his big mouth so his keeper could toss loaves of bread into it -- one afternoon Tum Tum, the jolly elephant, swaying as he chewed his hay, spoke through his trunk and said:

"Something is going to happen!"

"What makes you think so?" asked Nero, from his cage.

"Well, I sort of feel it," answered Tum Tum. "I think we are going to have a big thunderstorm, such as we used to have in the jungle!"

"I hope we do!" growled a striped tiger in a cage next to Nero. "I like a good thunder storm, where the rain comes down and cools you off! I like to feel the squidgie mud of the jungle, too, and when it thunders I growl as loudly as I can. I like a storm. I want to get wet!"

"I like a thunder storm, too," said Tum Tum. "But you animals in your cages -- you lions and tigers -- aren't very likely to feel any rain. We elephants will get wet, and so will the camels and the horses, for we walk out in the open. But, Nero, I guess you in your cage won't feel the storm any."

"No, I don't believe we shall," agreed the lion. "But I wish we could. I am so hot and dry, sitting in this cage, that I wish I could get out and splash around in the mud and water. So the sooner the thunder storm comes the better."

"It isn't likely to do you much good," went on Tum Tum, "but it will be cooler, afterward, anyhow."

And it certainly was very hot in the circus tent that day. It did not get much cooler after dark, and when the circus was over, and the big tents taken down, it was still hot.

"We are not going to travel on the train to go to the next town where the circus is to show," said Tum Tum to Nero, as the men began hitching horses to the animal cages and the big tent wagons. "We are to go along the road, in the open."

"Then maybe I can see the lightning!" exclaimed Nero. "And, if it rains, I can stick my paws out through the bars and get them wet."

"Maybe," said Tum Tum. Then he had to go off to help push some of the heavy wagons, and it was some time before Nero saw his big elephant friend again.

Soon the circus caravan was traveling along the road in the darkness. And yet it was not dark all the time, for, every now and then, there came a flash of lightning. The thunder rumbled, too, like the distant roaring of a band of lions.

"The storm will soon be here," said the striped tiger, as he crouched down in one corner of his cage, which, like that of Nero, was being hauled along the road by eight horses.

"Well, we'll feel better when it rains," said the lion.

And then, all at once, the wind began to blow, there came a brighter flash of lightning, a loud clap of thunder, and the storm broke. Down came the rain, in "buckets full," as is sometimes said, and the horses, camels and elephants loved to feel the warm water splashing down on their backs, cooling them off and washing away the dust and dirt.

Some of the rain even dashed into the cages of Nero and the tiger, and the jungle cats liked the feel of it as much as did the other circus beasts.

But the rain did something else, too. It made the roads very soft and slippery with mud, and in the middle of the night, when Nero's cage was being pulled up a steep hill, something broke on the wagon. It got away from the horses and began to roll down the hill backward.

"Look out! Look out!" cried the driver, as he tried to put on the brake. "The lion's cage is running away downhill! Look out, everybody! Look out behind there, Bill on the tiger's cage! Look out!"

But the lion's cage did not crash into the tiger's cage, which was the next wagon behind. Instead, Nero's house on wheels rolled to one side of the road and toppled over into a ditch. There was a loud crash as the wooden sides and top cracked and broke.

All at once Nero saw the door of his broken cage swing open. He could walk right out, and, as soon as he got steady on his feet, after being tossed about by the fall, the lion gave a leap and found himself standing clear of his cage in the soft mud, with the rain beating down all about him.

"Why -- why, I'm loose!" roared Nero. "I'm out of my cage for the first time since I was caught in the jungle! Oh, and this is like the jungle, a little. I can feel the soft mud on my paws, and the rain on my back!"

Nero opened his mouth to roar, and the rain dashed in, cooling his tongue. As the lightning flashed he could see his broken cage at one side of the ditch, but he was clear of it. When the thunder roared Nero roared back in answer.

Up above him Nero could hear the circus men shouting. What they were saying he did not know, but they were telling one another that the lion's cage had rolled downhill, had broken, and that the lion was loose.

Nero looked around him. He could see quite well in the dark. Off to one side he saw some tangled bushes and a clump of trees.

"Maybe that is the jungle!" thought Nero. "I'm going to find out. I'm going to leave the circus for a while. It was very nice, but I want to be free. I want to feel the rain and the mud. Now that I am out of my cage I'll stay loose for a time!"

And so Nero ran away!




Chapter XI

Nero And Blackie


The first thing any wild animal does when it runs away is to find some dark place and hide. Even though it may be hungry, an animal, when frightened, will nearly always hide until it can look about and make up its mind what to do.

Nero, the circus lion, who got loose from his cage when it rolled downhill in the storm and broke open, did this thing. When he had stood for a moment in the rain and darkness, feeling the soft mud squdge up between his claws, and when he had roared a bit, because he felt so wild and free, Nero sneaked off in the darkness toward some trees and bushes, which he had seen in a flash of lightning.

"That may be the jungle," he had said to himself.

But of course you and I know that it wasn't the jungle. That was far, far away -- across the sea in Africa.

He stood for a moment, listening to the shouts of the circus men, who were standing about the broken cage. They could not see Nero in the darkness, nor even when the lightning flashed, for the lion crouched down behind some black bushes.

"Well, Nero got away all right," said one circus man.

"Yes, and we must get him back!" said the man who had trained Nero to do his tricks. "Folks don't like lions wandering about their farms and gardens. I must find my pet. Here, Nero! Nero! Come back!" called the trainer.

But though the lion liked the man who had been so kind to him, Nero was not yet ready to go back to the circus.

"I have just gotten out of my cage," said Nero to himself; "and it would be too bad to go back before I have had some fun. So I'll just run on and stay in the jungle awhile."

Nero felt very happy. It was a long time since he had been able to roam about as he pleased, and though he had no raincoat or umbrella, and not even rubbers, he didn't mind the storm at all. Animals like to get wet, sometimes, if the rain is not too cold. It gives them a bath, just as you have yours in a tub.

"This certainly is fun!" said Nero to himself, as he trotted along through the rain and darkness toward the trees. "I'll find a good place to hide in and stay there all night."

It did not take Nero long to find a hiding place. It was a sort of cave down in between two big rocks in the woods; and it was almost as good as the cave in which he had lived in the jungle with his father and mother and Chet and Boo.

"I wish my brother and sister were here now," thought Nero to himself, as he snuggled down on a bed of dry leaves between the rocks. The leaves were dry because one rock stretched over them, like a roof. "And if Switchie were here he and I could have some fun to-morrow, going about this new jungle," thought the lion boy.

But Switchie, the lion cub with whom Nero used to play, was far off in Africa, so our circus friend had to stay by himself. He curled up on the leaves, listened to the swish and patter of the rain, and soon he fell asleep.

Now while Nero was hiding thus in the cave he had found, the circus men were anxious to find the lion. They got ropes and lanterns, and had a new, empty cage made ready, so that, in case Nero were found, he could be given a new home. Then, while Nero's trainer and some men to help him hunt for the lion stayed behind, the rest of the circus went on to where it was to give a show the next day. No matter what happens, the circus must go on, if there is any of it left to travel. Accidents often happened like this one -- cages getting stuck in the mud and animals sometimes getting away.

But I'm not going to tell you, just now, about the circus men who stayed behind to hunt Nero. They did not find the lion very easily. This story is mostly about Nero, so we shall now see what happened to him.

All night long Nero slept in the cave. It lightened and thundered, but he did not mind that. Nor did he mind the rain, for though he had been wet, he liked it, and in the cave under the rock no more water could splash on him.

When Nero awoke the sun was shining through the leaves and branches of the trees and down in through the tangle of bushes in front of the cave where Nero had hidden. The lion rolled over, stretched out his heavy paws with their big, curved claws, and opened his mouth and yawned, just as you have often seen your dog or cat yawn after a sleep.

"Well," said Nero to himself, "I guess I'll look around this jungle and see if I can find any breakfast. I'm hungry, and that nice trainer man isn't here to give me anything to eat. I'll have to hunt for it myself, as I used to do when I was at home. We'll see what kind of jungle this is."

Nero soon found that it was quite different from the jungle in Africa. The trees were not so big, nor were there so many of them, and the vines and bushes were not so tangled. It was not quite so hot, either, though this was the middle of summer, and there were not as many birds as Nero was used to seeing in his home jungle. Nor were there any monkeys swinging by their tails from the trees. It was quite a different jungle altogether, but Nero liked it better than his circus cage.

"Now for something to eat!" said Nero, when he had finished stretching. He stepped from the little cave out into the bright sunshine, and looked around. He wanted to make sure there were no men near by who might catch him and take him back to that queer house on wheels, with iron bars all around it. Nero saw nothing to make him go back into his cave.

Up in the trees the robins and the sparrows sang and chirped, but if they saw the tawny, yellow lion moving about, like a big cat, they paid no attention. They did not seem to mind Nero at all.

And, pretty soon, Nero found something to eat in the woods. He had not forgotten how to hunt, as he had done in the jungle, though it was rather a long time ago.

Then Nero sniffed and sniffed until he found a spring of water, at which he took a good drink.

"Well, now that I have had something to eat and something to drink I feel much better," said Nero to himself. "I must have some fun."

So he looked about, wondering what he would do. It was a sort of vacation for him, you see, as he did not have to do any of his circus tricks.

"Let's see, now," thought Nero. "I wonder -- "

And then, all of a sudden, the lion heard a rustling noise over in the bushes at one side. He gave a jump, just as your cat does when something startles her. Nero wanted to be on the watch for any one who might be trying to catch him or trap him.

Then Nero saw a small black animal walk slowly out from under a big bush. The animal was something like a little tiger, except that she was plain black instead of being striped yellow and black. At first Nero was much surprised.

"Hello, there!" called the lion, in animal talk, which is the same all over the world. "Hello there! Who are you and where are you going?"

"Oh, I'm Blackie, a cat," was the answer. "Once I was a lost cat, but I'm not that way any longer. Who are you, if I may ask?"




Chapter XII

Nero And The Tramp


Nero, the circus lion, gave himself a big shake. His mane, or big fringe of hair around his neck, stood out like the fur on your cat's back when a dog chases her, and then Nero roared. Oh, such a loud roar as he gave! The ground shook.

"There! Now do you know who I am?" asked Nero.

Blackie, the cat who was once lost, seemed quite surprised at the way Nero acted. She looked at the lion and said:

"Well, I'm sure I don't know why in the world you are making so much noise. I just asked what your name was, and there you go acting as though you were a part of a thunderstorm. What's it all about, anyhow?"

"I was just telling you my name," said Nero, a little ashamed of himself for having made such a racket. "I'm a circus lion. At least I used to be in a circus, but I ran away last night, when my cage rolled downhill and broke."

"Oh, a circus lion!" mewed Blackie. "Why, I know some folks in a circus. There was Dido, a dancing bear, and -- "

"Why, I know him too!" roared Nero, in delight. "He's in the same circus I came from!"

"You don't tell me!" exclaimed Blackie. "And then I knew Tum Tum, a jolly elephant, and -- "

"Well, say now, isn't that queer?" laughed Nero -- at least he laughed as much as a lion ever laughs. "Why, Tum Tum is in my circus, too! We are great friends. And once a dog named Don came to the show, but he did not stay very long."

"Oh, I know Don, too," said Blackie. "Once he ran away, and once he chased me. But that was before we were friends. Say, Nero, I feel as if I had known you a long time, since we know so many of the same friends. Tell me, have you ever been in a book?"

"There it goes again!" cried Nero. "Book! Book! Book! Tum Tum is in one, and so is Don, and Dido. I suppose, next, you'll be telling me that you have had a book written about you."

"Yes," said Blackie, rather slowly, as she waved her tail to and fro, "a man wrote a book about me. It tells how I got lost, how I was in a basket, and how I came home to find the family all away. And maybe I wasn't glad when they came back! But were you ever in a book?"

"No," answered the circus lion, "and I never expect to be."

But that only goes to show that Nero didn't know anything about it. For he is in a book, isn't he?

"Where do you live?" asked Nero of Blackie. "Is it in a circus?"

"Gracious sakes alive, no!" exclaimed Blackie. "I wouldn't know what to do in a circus. I live in that house over there with a little boy and girl who are very kind to me. Wouldn't you like to come over and see them?"

"Thank you, no. Not just now," Nero answered. "I'm not much used to being around houses, though I like boys and girls, for I see many of them in the circus, and they like to watch me do my tricks. But I have just run away, and I want to go about by myself a bit more. The men from the circus may try to catch me, you know."

"Don't you want them to?" asked Blackie.

"Well, not right away," answered the lion. "I want to have some fun by myself first."

"Well, I must be going," said Blackie after a bit, when she had talked a little further with Nero. "If ever you're around my house, stop in and see me. It's right over there, across the hill," and she pointed to it with her paw.

"I will, thank you," said Nero, switching his tail from side to side. Then Blackie said goodbye to him, and the cat walked on through the woods, back toward the house where she lived.

For two or three days Nero wandered about in the woods, and, all this while, the circus men were hunting everywhere for him. But they could not find him, for the lion kept well hidden in the woods. And of course, though Blackie knew he was there, she could not speak man-talk to tell about him. So Nero remained free and had a good time.

But one day the circus lion felt lonesome. He had met none of his friends in the woods, and had not seen Blackie again, though he had looked for her. Nero did meet a little animal who seemed quite friendly. This was Slicko, the jumping squirrel, and Slicko had a nice talk with the lion.

"I know what I'll do," said Nero to himself one day. "I'll go over to that house where Blackie lives and see her."

So Nero started over the hill to go to the house that Blackie had pointed out as the one in which she lived. And a very strange thing happened to the circus lion there.

As it happened, when Nero slunk out of the woods, which were near Blackie's house, no one saw him. In fact none of the family was at home, having gone visiting for the day. Blackie wasn't at home, either, having gone down in the cow pasture to hunt grasshoppers, so there was no one in the house. But Nero did not know that. He went sniffing and snuffing around, thinking perhaps he could find something to eat, but nothing had been left out for lions, as Blackie's folks did not know one was roaming about so near them.

Nero walked softly up to the kitchen door of the house. The door was partly open, and this was strange, if the lion had only known it, for folks don't usually go away and leave doors open behind them. And from the open door came the smell of something good. It was the smell of meat, and, in fact, was a boiled ham, which Blackie's mistress had left in a pot on the stove.

Now the reason the door of the farmhouse was open was because it had been broken open by a tramp! This tramp, coming to the house to ask for something to eat and seeing that no one was at home, had broken open the door. He was going to get something to eat, and then take whatever else he wanted. And that's why the door was open when Nero walked up to it. The tramp was in the kitchen, cutting himself some pieces from the cold, boiled ham.

"My, that smells good!" thought Nero, as he sniffed the meat. "I guess I'll go in and see if I can't get some."

So Nero, not, of course, knowing anything about the tramp, but wanting only to get some meat and, perhaps, see his friend Blackie, pushed the kitchen door open with his nose and walked in.

And then, all of a sudden, that bad, ragged tramp, who had come in to steal, looked up from the table where he was sitting, eating ham, and saw the lion.

"Oh, my! Oh, my goodness me!" cried the tramp, and he was so surprised and frightened that he just slumped down in his chair and didn't dare move. The piece of meat he had been eating dropped from his hand to the floor, and Nero picked it up and ate it, licking his jaws for more.

"Oh, this is terrible!" gasped the tramp. "I didn't know this farmer kept a trained lion as a watchdog. I knew he had a black cat, but not a lion. Oh, what am I to do?"

Of course Nero didn't in the least know what the man was talking about. But the lion smelled the meat and he wanted some more; so he sat down in front of the kitchen door and looked at the ragged man.

"I don't know who you are," said Nero to himself, "and you are certainly not as nice as my circus trainer.

"But you have some more meat there," Nero thought on, for he could still smell the ham on the table. "I think you might give me a bit more. That little piece was hardly enough."

And so Nero sat there looking at the tramp, who was too frightened to move. He couldn't get out of the door, because the lion was in the way, and he didn't dare turn his back, to go over to open a window and jump out, for fear the lion would spring on him.

"Oh, I'm in a terrible fix!" thought the tramp. "This is the first time I was ever caught by a lion! It's worse than half a dozen dogs! Oh, what shall I do?"

There really did not seem to be anything for him to do except just sit there. And Nero sat looking at him, waiting to be fed some more meat, as he had been used to being fed in the circus.

And then something else happened. Back to the house came the farmer and his wife, and their little girl was with them. They had returned from their visit.

"Why, look, Mother!" cried the little girl, as she went up on the back porch. "The kitchen door is open!"

"It is?" cried her mother. "I'm sure we locked it when we went away."

"We did," said the farmer, who was the little girl's father. "Some one must have gone in -- a tramp, maybe. I'll see about this!"

The farmer walked quickly to the kitchen door and opened it wide. It had swung partly shut after Nero had gone in. And when the farmer saw the frightened tramp sitting in the chair at the table, too scared to move, and the lion between him and the door, on guard, it seemed, the farmer was so surprised and frightened himself that he cried:

"Oh my! There's a lion in our kitchen, and a tramp! Oh, I must get my gun! I must send for the constable!"

"The constable won't be any good for a lion," said the farmer's wife.

"No, but my gun can shoot the lion," said the farmer. "I'll go for it."

"Oh, let me see the lion!" begged the little girl. "I saw one in the circus the other day, and he was tame. Maybe this is the same one. The circus lion I saw wouldn't bite any one, even when the man put his head in the big mouth. Let me look!"

She pushed past her father and mother, and looked in the kitchen. The little girl saw the frightened tramp, who had been caught by the lion, and the little girl also saw Nero. And then she laughed and shouted:

"Why, that's the very same nice, tame lion I saw in the circus! I'm sure it's the very same one, for it looks just like him. But I can soon tell."

"Gracious goodness, child!" cried her mother. "Don't dare go near him! Besides, it may not be a tame, circus lion."

"Well, if he is he can do tricks," said the little girl. "The lion I saw in the circus sat up on a stool when the trainer told him to. We haven't any stool big enough, but maybe I can make the lion sit on his hind legs on the table. That will hold him."

And then the little girl, doing just as she had seen the trainer do in the circus, held up her hand, pointed at the lion in the kitchen, and then at the table, and cried:

"Up, Nero! Up! Sit on the table!"

And though Nero did not know the little girl, and did not remember having seen her before, the trained lion knew what the words meant. He had heard his trainer say them many, many times. So Nero slowly walked over to the table, got up on it with a jump, and then and there, right in front of the tramp and the little girl and her father and mother, Nero sat on his hind legs on the table, just as he was accustomed to sit on a stool in the circus ring.

"There! What did I tell you?" cried the little girl, clapping her hands. "I knew he was the tame, circus lion! Doesn't he sit up nice?"

"Yes," said the farmer, "he does. But there is no telling how long he may sit there. He must have escaped from the circus, and I had better telephone the men that he is here. They'll be glad to get him back."

"It's a good thing he scared the tramp," said the farmer's wife, as she looked at the ragged man. "What are you doing here, anyhow?" she asked him.

"I -- I just came in to get something to eat," he whined. "And then your lion wouldn't let me go."

"He isn't my lion," replied the farmer. "But he's done me a good turn. I'll have the constable come here and take you away."

And a little later the constable, who had been telephoned for, came and took the tramp to jail. Nero looked on, wondering what it was all about, and wishing some one would give him something to eat. And the little girl thought of this.

"The tramp has spoiled the ham for us, Mother," she said. "Can't I give the rest of it to Nero?"

"Oh, yes, I suppose so," said the farmer's wife.

So Nero got something to eat after all. And then, when he had fallen asleep in the woodshed where the farmer locked him, the circus men came to take the tame lion back with them.

"I'm very glad to get Nero again," said his trainer. "I guess he has had enough of running away."

And as they were bringing up the new cage which was to take the lion back to the circus, in came Blackie from the meadow where she had been catching grasshoppers.

"Oh, so you did come to see me, after all!" she mewed to Nero.

"Yes," answered the lion, in animal talk, which none of the people could understand, "I came to see you."

"I'm sorry I was away," said Blackie.

"So am I. But I really had a pretty good time," said Nero. "And I scared a man who wore very ragged clothes, something like the funny clowns in our circus. And now I am going back there. I'm glad to have met you, Blackie."

"And I'm glad I met you, Nero. Maybe someday I'll come to your circus."

"Yes, do," growled Nero.

"Good-bye!" called the little girl to the circus lion, as he was hauled away in his cage. "Good-bye! I'm glad you did the sitting-up trick for me!"

Late that afternoon Nero was back in the circus tent again.

"Well, where in the world have you been?" asked Tum Tum.

"Oh, off having adventures, as I suppose you'd call them," answered the lion.

"Adventures!" exclaimed the jolly elephant. "Well, if that man hears about them he'll put you in a book."

"Oh, I guess not," said Nero, as he curled up in his new cage.

But I did, just the same, and here's the book. And so we come to the end of Nero's many adventures -- at least for a time. But there are other animals to tell about.

In the circus was a striped tiger, of whom I have spoken. I think I will tell you about him. And so the next volume in this series will be called: "Tamba, the Tame Tiger: His Many Adventures."

And now we will leave Nero peacefully sleeping in his cage, and dreaming, perhaps, of the little girl and Blackie and of the tramp with the boiled ham.

<eob>

The Knights Of The Round Table

By

William Henry Frost



Chapter I

On Glastonbury Tor


It was when we were making a journey in the South of England one summer that we found ourselves in the midst of the old tales of King Arthur and of the Holy Grail.  "We" means Helen, Helen's mother, and me.  We wandered about the country, here and there and wherever our fancy led us, and everywhere the stories of King Arthur fell in our way.  In this place he was born, in that place he was crowned; here he fought a battle, there he held a tournament.  Everything could remind us, when we knew how to be reminded, of the stories of the King and the Queen and the knights of the Round Table.

It was I who told the stories and it was Helen who listened to them. Sometimes Helen's mother listened to them too, and sometimes she had other things to do that she cared about more.

One day we had been riding for many hours on the crooked railways of the Southwest, where you change cars so often that after a little while you cannot remember at all how many trains you have taken.  And late in the afternoon, or perhaps early in the evening, we saw from the window of the carriage a big hill, lifting itself high up against the sky, with a lonely tower on the top of it.  And that was Glastonbury Tor.

There was no time to try to see anything of Glastonbury that night after dinner, and we were too tired.  But that big hill looked so inviting that we decided that we would see it the next day and climb up to the top of it, before we did anything else.  I was a little disappointed with Glastonbury, as we walked through the streets on our way to the Tor. The place looked much too prosperous to please me, and not at all too neat.

I cheered up a little when we came to the Abbot's Kitchen.  It stands in the middle of a big field, with a fence around it, and we had to borrow a key from a woman who kept it to lend so that we could go in and see it.  We even spared a little time from the Tor to see it in. The Abbot's Kitchen belonged to the old abbey of Glastonbury.  It is a small, square building, with a fireplace in each corner.  It is still in such good repair that it is hardly fair to call it a ruin, but it is a part of old Glastonbury, and we carried back the key feeling glad that we had borrowed it.

It was a good, stiff climb up the side of the Tor, and we stopped more than once to look back at the town behind us and below us.  It looked prettier from here.  Down there in the streets there was the noise of a busy modern town.  The ways were muddy and there were rather frowsy women and children about some of the doors.  But up here we were out of sight and hearing of all that.  From here the town looked quiet and peaceful and beautiful -- just its roofs and chimneys and towers showing through the wide, green masses of the trees, and the sound of a church chime, that rang every quarter of an hour, came to us softened and mellow.

"Down there," I said, "we saw nothing but Glastonbury -- to-day's Glastonbury -- but here we can see Avalon.  That is Avalon down there below us, the Island of Apples, the happy country, the place where there was no sorrow, the place where fairies lived, the place where Joseph brought the Holy Grail and where he built his church.  A wonderful old place it was, and it was a wonderful abbey that grew up where Joseph first made his little chapel.  Our old friend St. Dunstan, who pinched the devil's nose, was the abbot there once.  So was St. Patrick.  When he came to Glastonbury he climbed up to the top of this hill where we are now and found, where this old tower is, the ruins of a church of St. Michael.  They used to have a way of building churches to St. Michael on the tops of high hills.  St. Patrick rebuilt this one and afterwards it was thrown down by an earthquake.  I don't know whether St. Patrick built this tower that is here now or not.

"Did I say that fairies used to live here? Another abbot of Glastonbury found that out. He was St. Collen, and he must have lived when there was no church of St. Michael here on the top of the Tor.  St. Collen was one of those men who think that they cannot serve God and live in comfort at the same time. When he had been abbot of Glastonbury for a time he thought that he was leading too easy a life, so he gave up his post and went about preaching.  But even that did not please him, so he came back here and made a cell in the rock on the side of Glastonbury Tor, and lived in it as a hermit.

"One day he heard two men outside his cell talking about Gwyn, the son of Nudd.  And one of them said: 'Gwyn, the son of Nudd, is the King of the Fairies.'

"Then Collen put his head out of the door of his cell and said to the two men: 'Do not talk of such wicked things.  There are no fairies, or if there are they are devils.  And there is no Gwyn, the son of Nudd. Hold your tongues about him.'

"'Hold your own tongue about him,' one of the men answered, 'or you will hear from him in some unpleasant way.'

"The men went away, and by and by Collen heard a knock at his door, and a voice asked if he were in his cell.  'I am here,' he answered; 'who is it that asks?'

"'I am a messenger from Gwyn, the son of Nudd, the King of the Fairies,' the voice said, 'and he has sent me to command you to come and speak with him on the top of the hill at noon.'

"Collen did not think that he ought to mind what the King of the Fairies said to him, if there really were any King of the Fairies, so he stayed in his cell all day.  The next day the messenger came again and said just what he had said before, and again St. Collen stayed in his cell all day.  But the third day the messenger came again and said to Collen that he must come and speak with Gwyn, the son of Nudd, the King of the Fairies, on the top of the hill, at noon, or it would be the worse for him.

"Then Collen took a flask and filled it with holy water and fastened it at his waist, and at noon he went up the hill.  For a long time Collen had been abbot of Glastonbury and for a long time he had been a hermit and lived in his cell on the side of this very hill, but never before had he seen the great castle that stood that day on the top of Glastonbury Tor.  It did not look heavy, as if it were built for war, but it was wonderfully high and graceful and beautiful. It had tall towers, with banners of every color hung from the tops of them and lower down, and there were battlements where ladies and squires in rich dresses stood and looked down at other ladies and squires below.  And those below were dancing and jousting and playing games, and all around there were soldiers, handsomely dressed too, guarding the place.

"When Collen came near, a dozen of the people met him and said to him: 'You must come with us to our King, Gwyn, the son of Nudd -- he is waiting for you.'

"And they led him into the castle and into the great hall.  In the middle of the hall was a table, spread with more delicious things to eat than poor St. Collen, who thought that it was wicked to eat good things, had ever dreamed of.  And at the head of the table, on a gold chair, sat a man who wore a crown.  'Collen,' he said, 'I am the King of the Fairies, Gwyn, the son of Nudd.  Do you believe in me now? Sit down and eat with me, and let us talk together.  You are a learned man, but you did not believe in me.  Perhaps I can tell you of other things that so wise a man as you ought to know.'

"But St. Collen only took the flask of holy water from his side and threw some of it upon Gwyn, the son of Nudd, and sprinkled some of it around, and in an instant there was no king there and there was no table.  The hall was gone, and the castle.  The dances and the games were done, and the squires and the ladies and the soldiers all had vanished.  The whole of the fairy palace was gone, and Collen was left standing alone on the top of Glastonbury Tor.

"But Glastonbury has forgotten St. Collen, I suppose.  The old town is prouder now of Joseph of Arimathaea than of anybody else -- prouder than it is of King Arthur, I think, though King Arthur -- but I won't tell you about that now.  You know how Joseph of Arimathaea buried the Christ in his tomb after He was taken down from the cross.  After He had risen again the Jews put Joseph in prison, because they said that he had stolen the body. But Joseph had with him the Holy Grail, the cup in which he had caught the blood of the Saviour, when He was on the cross. It was the same cup, too, from which the Saviour had drunk at the Last Supper.  It was a wonderful thing, that cup, and there are whole volumes of stories about it.  The blood that Joseph had caught in it always stayed in it afterwards, and the cup and the blood seemed to have a strange sort of life and knowledge and the power of choosing.  One of the wonderful things about the Holy Grail was that it could always give food to any one whom it chose, and those who were fed by the Holy Grail wanted no other food than what it gave them. And so Joseph wanted nothing while he was in prison.

"At last the Emperor had Joseph let out of his prison.  And some one asked him how long it had been since he was put there, and he answered: 'I have been here in this prison for nearly three days.'

"Then they all stared at one another and whispered and looked at Joseph, and then they whispered together again.  'Why do you look at one another and at me so,' said Joseph, 'is it not three days, almost, since they put me here?'

"'It is wonderful,' said one of them; 'Joseph, you have been in this prison for forty-two years.'

"'Can it be?' said Joseph; 'it seems to me like only three days, and barely that, and I have never been so happy in my life as I have been for these three days -- or these -- can it be -- forty-two years?'

"And this was because he had had the Holy Grail in the prison with him. Afterwards he came to England.  He brought the Holy Grail here to Avalon, and the King of that time gave him some ground to build his church on.  They say it was really the island of Avalon then, for it was all surrounded by marsh and water, and there was an opening, a waterway, out to the Bristol Channel.  And since it ceased to be an island the sea has twice at least broken through and made it one again for a little while.  But the last time was almost two hundred years ago.

"Well, when Joseph and those who were with him first came here, they rested on the hillside and Joseph stuck the staff that he carried into the ground.  It was not this hill where we are, but another, Wearyall Hill.  And Joseph's staff, where he had set it in the ground, began to bud, and then leaves and branches grew on it.  It struck roots into the ground and became a tree.  It was a thorn-tree, the Holy Thorn they called it, and always after that it blossomed twice a year, once in the time of other thorn-trees and again at Christmas.  The tree was gone, of course, long ago, but other trees had grown from slips of it, and they say that descendants of it are still growing in Glastonbury gardens and that they still bloom at Christmas.  I am sorry that we cannot stay here till Christmas to see if it is true.

"So, in the place that the King gave him, Joseph built his chapel of wood and woven twigs, and it was the first Christian church in England. Some of the stories say that the Holy Grail, that Joseph brought here with him, was buried at last under one of these Glastonbury hills, but that is not the story that I like the best.  One story says that it was not a cup at all that Joseph brought to Avalon, but two cruets.  It says besides that these two cruets were buried with Joseph when he died, and that when his grave is found, and the two cruets in it, there will never again be any drought in England.  But according to the story that I like best, Joseph did not die at all, as other men die, but was long kept alive by the Holy Grail, waiting for the best knight of the world, for it was foretold that he should never die till the best knight of the world should come.

"Since it was here that the Grail was brought, I think it must have been not far from here that King Pelles lived, before Balin gave him the wound that was never to heal till the best of all knights should come. And I fancy it was somewhere near here, too, that he lived after that. He was the keeper of the Grail, and he had a castle called Carbonek. When we talk of the Grail it seems to me that everything becomes mysterious and uncertain, so that it is hard to tell where this Castle of Carbonek was. At one time it seems to have been on the seashore and at another time it seems to have been inland.  But for that very reason I think that Avalon is as likely a place for it as any, for this place was inland, just as it is now, but then the waters of the sea came in around it.  Yet the land around King Pelles's old castle was all laid waste, and I have never heard that the land around Avalon was so.  But you see that it is all uncertain and strange, and we cannot be sure of anything about it.

"I think I have told you the story about King Pelles and Balin before, but I will tell you a little of it again, because it fits in so well just here.  King Pelles was descended from Joseph of Arimathaea, and, as I said, he was the keeper of the Holy Grail.  Once Balin came to his castle, seeking for Garlon, a knight who had the power of riding invisible and who killed other knights, when they could not see him. Balin found him there and killed him, and King Pelles tried to avenge his death, because he was his brother.

"Balin had broken his sword and he fled from King Pelles and ran through the castle till he came to a chamber where Joseph of Arimathaea, who was kept alive by the power of the Holy Grail, was lying in a bed.  And beside him was a spear, with drops of blood flowing from the point.  It was the spear with which the Roman soldier wounded the side of the Christ when He was on the cross.  Balin seized it and turned upon King Pelles and wounded him with it in the side.

"Then the whole castle fell down around them and all the country about it became waste and dry and desolate.  Balin lay under the ruins for three days, and then Merlin, the great magician of King Arthur's court, came and woke him and gave him a horse and a sword and sent him on his way.  Afterwards Balin met his brother Balan, and they fought, neither of them knowing who the other was, till they killed each other.  Then Merlin took the sword with which Balin had killed his brother and drove it into a great stone, up to the hilt, and set the stone floating on the river.  And he wrote on the stone that no knight should ever draw this sword out of the stone except the one to whom it should belong, the best knight of the world.

"I cannot tell you how King Pelles got out of the ruins of his castle, but afterwards he had another castle, the one that was called Carbonek. He was still the keeper of the Grail.  And it was foretold that the wound in the side that Balin had given to him with the spear would never be healed till the best knight of all the world should come.  So for many years King Pelles lived in his castle and bore the pain of a wound that always seemed new and fresh, and waited for the coming of the best knight of the world.

"This is getting to be a rather rambling sort of story, and while we are rambling perhaps I may as well tell you about the adventure that Sir Bors had at the Castle of Carbonek.  Bors was a knight of the Round Table.  He was one of the best of all of them.  He sat at the table in the next seat but one to the Siege Perilous. The Siege Perilous was the seat on the right of the King's.  Merlin had made it when he made the Round Table, and he said that no one should ever sit in it without coming to harm, except the best knight of all the world.  So for many years no one had sat in that seat.  And no one sat in the one next to it either, but Bors sat in the one next to that.  Next to him sat his cousin Lancelot.  They were the sons of two kings who were brothers, Ban and Bors, who had helped King Arthur, when he first came to his throne.

"Lancelot was counted as the best of all King Arthur's knights.  He was the strongest and the bravest of them all, people said, and the best fighter, and the King and the Queen loved him more than any of the others.  Nobody could see why he should not sit in the Siege Perilous, but whenever a knight came to the Round Table his name appeared of itself, in gold letters, in the seat that he was to have; and nobody could sit in the Siege Perilous till his name came in it.

"But I set out to tell you about Sir Bors. Once Bors came to the Castle of Carbonek.  A wandering knight, in those days, was always welcome in every castle, and so King Pelles welcomed Bors.  The King was brought into the hall and Bors was placed at the table between him and his daughter.  And there in the hall, too, Bors saw a beautiful child, a boy, with deep eyes and a bright, sweet face and golden hair. He was the son of King Pelles's daughter, and I will tell you more about him another time.

"It was a strange way of entertaining guests that they had here, Bors thought, for, though they were sitting at the table, there was nothing to eat on it.  Just as Bors noticed this he saw a white dove fly into the room.  It carried a little golden censer, by a chain which it held in its beak.  The thin smoke from the censer spread through the hall and filled it with a strange, sweet odor.  And while the dove flew about the hall a girl came in, carrying something covered with white silk, which she held high up in her hands.  Bors could not see what it was that she carried, but all who were in the hall knelt down and looked up toward it, and Bors did the same. But though the covering of silk hid the thing itself which was under it, there was something about it that it could not hide.  For the white silk was all glowing with a rosy light that came from within it, and it shone through it and shed a rosy brightness all through the hall.  The dove flew out of the room again and the girl went away too.  And this was the Holy Grail that had passed, and Bors had not seen it.

"But when it was gone and Bors looked at the table again it was covered with food, finer and more delicious than Bors had ever tasted or seen before.  'There are strange things to see in your castle, King Pelles,' said Bors.

"'There are stranger things than you have seen yet,' King Pelles answered.  'It is a place of wonders and of danger for knights, and few of them leave here without coming to harm.  Only for the best of them is it safe to stay all night in my castle.  You, Sir Knight, may stay if you will, but it will be better for you to go, and so I warn you.'

"'It is not for me to say,' Bors answered, 'that I am better than other knights, and indeed I know some who are better than I.  But I am not afraid to be in your castle for a night, and here I will stay.'

"'Do as you please,' said the King, 'but I have warned you.'

"So, when it was time to go to bed, Bors was led to a chamber and left alone in it.  Nothing that the King had said had made him afraid, but he thought that it would be better not to take off his armor.  And as soon as he had lain down in his armor a great beam of light shone upon him. He could not tell where it came from, but suddenly, along in the beam of light, came a spear, with no hand to hold it, and a little stream of blood flowed from the point of the spear. And before Bors could move the spear came upon him and went through his armor as if it had been a cobweb and made a deep wound in his side.  The spear was drawn away again, but with the pain Bors fell back upon his pillow and did not see where it went.

"Then there came a knight, all armed, with his sword drawn, and the knight said: 'Sir Bors, arise and fight with me.'

"Bors was almost fainting, because of the wound in his side, but he arose and tried to fight. And when he tried he found that he could fight better than he thought.  He fought the other knight till he gave ground before him, little by little, and at last Bors forced him out of the chamber.  Then Bors lay down again to rest, and all at once the room was full of falling arrows.  He could not see where they came from, any more than he could see where anything else came from, but they fell all around him and upon him.  They pierced his armor, just as the spear had done, as if there had been no armor, and they wounded him in many places.  And these wounds and the wound that the spear had made burned and smarted more than before, and Bors felt weaker and fainter.

"Then a lion came into the chamber and sprang upon Bors and tore off his shield.  But again Bors found that he could fight if he tried, and he struck the lion's head with his sword and killed it.

"And next there came an old man, who had a harp.  He sat down and began to play on the harp and to sing, and as he played a storm began to rise outside the castle.  At first it was only a rising of the wind that Bors heard, but it grew and grew, till it swept through the halls and the corridors of the castle and through the room where Bors lay.  It caught at the curtains and the tapestries of the chamber and almost tore them from their places, and it shook the arms that hung on the walls, till they rattled together with a dull, ghostly clatter.  Bors could hear the wind, too, rushing and roaring and screaming up over the towers.  And then the rain came, and the thunder, with noises of splitting and crashing as if the hills around were breaking and rolling down into the valleys, and the very walls shuddered and trembled, and the lightning was so fierce that it seemed to shine through the walls, as if they had been made of glass.

"But all through the dreadful noise of the storm Bors could hear the soft voice of the old man who sang, as if there had been no other sound. He sang a song of how Joseph of Arimathaea had come to England and had brought the Holy Grail.  When he had finished it he spoke to Bors, and, as he talked and as Bors answered him, the storm grew louder and more terrible.  'Bors,' said the old man, 'leave this place.  You have done nobly here.  There are few knights in the world who could bear all that you have borne to-night.  Tell your cousin Lancelot all that you have seen, and tell him that it is he who should be here and should see these things and more, but that he is not so good a knight as to be allowed to see what you have seen.  These things are only for the best of knights.'

"'It is well for you,' said Bors, 'that you are old.  I am weary with fighting and I am faint and dizzy with many wounds, but in spite of all, if you were not old and weak, I would not hear you say such things of my cousin Sir Lancelot.  Sir Lancelot is the best knight that lives, and what any good knight can do or see Lancelot can do or see.'

"'Bors, Bors,' said the old man again, 'do not think that you can frighten me with loud talk.  In the strength of his arm and the sureness of his spear and the power of his sword, Lancelot is the best knight that lives, but, for all that, he is not so good a knight as you, Sir Bors.  Bors, what did you, and what did Lancelot swear when King Arthur made you knights of his Round Table?'

"'We swore,' said Bors, 'that we would help the King to guard his people, that we would do right and justice, that in all things we would be true and loyal to God and to the King.'

"'Yes, Bors,' said the old man, 'that was what you swore, and have you kept your oath, both by your deeds and in your heart?'

"'As far as God has given me power,' Bors answered, 'I have kept it.'

"'Yes,' said the old man, 'you have kept it well.  But how has Lancelot kept it?'

"'Old man,' said Bors, 'do you dare to say to me, Lancelot's cousin and his friend, that he has not kept his oath?'

"'Bors, Bors,' said the old man again, 'do not try to frighten me.  I dare to tell you anything that it is good for you to know.  In all his deeds Lancelot has kept his oath, but how has he kept it in his heart? Go and ask him. Ask him if in his heart he has always been true and loyal to the King.  Ask him if he has never grown proud of his strength. Ask him if he has not sometimes done his deeds for the Queen's praise, and not for the King's love and the King's glory.  Ask him if he has never wished that he himself were such a king, with such a queen.  Ask him if that wish was all true and loyal to the King.  Bors, Bors, out there in the world, where you and Lancelot live, the strongest knight is the best, and Lancelot is the best knight -- out there in the world.  But this is the castle of the Holy Grail, and the Holy Grail searches the hearts of men.  Here, in this chamber, Sir Bors, Lancelot could not stay as you have stayed and see what you have seen and bear what you have borne.'

"As the old man ceased to speak it seemed to Bors that the burning of his wounds grew less.  While he was thinking of this and of what the old man had said, the old man was gone, he could not tell where.  Then, he could not tell from where, the white dove flew into the room. It was the same dove that he had seen in the hall, and it held the same little gold censer in its beak, and again there was the sweet odor through the room. And when the dove came the storm was ended.  There was no more blinding lightning and the thunder sounded only a little and far off.  The rain ceased and all the wind died down.

"Then Bors saw four children pass through the room, carrying four lighted tapers.  With the four children was a figure like an old man. It wore a long, white robe, and a hood hung low down over the face, so that all that Bors could see of it was the end of a white beard. In the right hand was that spear, with the little stream of blood flowing from the point.  There was no one to tell Bors who this was, but somehow he seemed to know that it was Joseph of Arimathaea.

"They passed through the room, but still Bors could see them in the next chamber.  The children knelt around the old man and he held high up in his hands that wonderful thing with the covering of white silk.  Again the soft, rosy brightness glowed through the silk, and Bors did not know why it was that when he saw it he felt so peaceful and glad.  Then he heard a loud voice that said: 'Sir Bors, leave this place; it is not yet time for you to be here.'

"Then all at once the door was shut and Bors could not see the children or the old man or what he carried.  The strange, bright light that had shone upon him all this time was gone. Outside the storm and the clouds were past, and a clear ray of moonlight shone through the chamber.  All the pain of his wounds was gone and he sank back upon his pillow and slept.

"When he awoke in the morning it seemed to him that he had never felt so strong and fresh.  The wounds that he had had from the spear and the arrows had left no scar.  And when King Pelles saw him he said: 'Sir Bors, you have done here what few living knights could do, and I know that you will prove one of the best knights of the world.'

"Then Bors remembered that the voice had told him that it was not time yet for him to be in this place, so he took his horse and rode away toward Camelot, to find Lancelot and to tell him what he had seen."



Chapter II

How We Discovered Camelot


One of the strangest things about this kind of travel is to find how much more you know about the country than the people do who live in it. Before we came to England at all I had read in certain books that the real Camelot was in the county of Somerset.  It was at Camelot that King Arthur lived more than anywhere else and where he had his finest castle. So of course we were anxious to see Camelot.  Our trouble did not seem to be that we could not find it; it was that we found it in too many places.  We had been to Camelford, a poor little village in Cornwall, earlier in our journey, and they had told us that that was Camelot.  We did not really believe it, but neither did I feel quite sure that my books were right about the place in Somerset.  We thought that it would be best to see all the Camelots, so that we could make up our minds which one we ought to believe in, or whether we ought to believe in any of them at all.

I had studied the books and I had studied the maps, till I almost felt that I could go straight to this Camelot, without any help.  It was still called Camelot, it seemed, and it was a fortified hill, near a place called Queen Camel, some dozen miles to the south of Glastonbury.

It was lucky that I knew all this, because when we asked the people of the hotel in Glastonbury if they could give us a carriage and a driver to take us to Camelot they said that they had never heard of any such place.  They had heard of Queen Camel.  They did not know just where even that was, but they thought that it might be found.  I felt so sure that the books and the maps and I were right about it that I told them that we would take the carriage and go to Queen Camel, and then we would see if we could find Camelot.  No doubt they thought that we were insane, but that made no difference to us, and as long as we paid for the carriage it made no difference to them.

Helen's mother is one of those dreadfully sensible people who always want you to take umbrellas and things with you.  She was not going with us to discover Camelot, but she said that we must take umbrellas and mackintoshes with us, because it was going to rain.  It is always hard to argue with these people, because they are so often right.  This time we really had no excuse for not taking them, for they would simply be put in the bottom of the carriage and they would be no trouble.  So we took them, and we were scarcely outside Glastonbury before we found that this was one of the times when Helen's mother was right.  For then it began to rain.  The driver had taken the way that he thought was toward Queen Camel, and we were riding across a great stretch of low, level land.  The wind swept across it, and the rain came at us in sheets. We didn't mind it much, with our mackintoshes on, but I did think that it was fair to ask Helen what she thought of the poet who said that this Avalon was a place "Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow."

"Maybe it is," she answered, pulling her water-proof hood down so that scarcely a bit of her could be seen, except the tip of her nose; "this rain doesn't fall; it just comes against us sideways."  So the poet's reputation was saved.

It could not rain so hard as this very long, and by and by it stopped altogether.  Then it began again, and there were showers all day. Sometimes it looked as if it were going to stop for good, but we could scarcely get our waterproofs off before it began all over.

"Isn't it curious," I said, "that a storm coming up just here should remind me of a story? It is about a time when Gawain had to go out in bad weather.  This is the right time to tell the story, too, while we are looking for this particular Camelot.  For the story begins at Camelot, and the learned man who first dug it out of its old manuscript and printed it says that Camelot was in Somerset.

"King Arthur was keeping Christmas at Camelot with his knights.  The feast lasted for many days.  On New Year's Day, as they all sat in the hall, the King and the Queen and the knights, there rode in the most wonderful-looking man whom they had ever seen.  He was dressed all in green, and the big horse that he rode was green.  And that was not all, for the hair that hung down upon his shoulders was like long, waving grass, and the beard that spread over his breast was like a green bush. He wore no helmet and he carried no shield or spear.  In one hand he held a branch of holly and in the other a battle-axe.  It was sharp and polished so that it shone like silver.  'Who is the chief here?' he cried.

"'I am the chief,' Arthur answered; 'sit down with us and help us keep our feast.'

"'I have not come to eat and drink,' said the man in green.  'I have come to see if it is true that you have brave knights in your court, King Arthur.'

"'Then sit and eat with us first,' Arthur answered, 'and afterwards you shall have as many good knights to joust with you as you can wish, and you shall see whether they are brave.'

"'It is not for jousting that I have come, either,' said the man in green.  'Do you see this axe of mine?  I will lend it to any knight in this hall who dares to strike me one blow with it, only he must promise that afterwards I may strike him one blow with it, too.  He shall strike me with the axe now, and I will strike him with it a year from this day.'

"This was such a new way of proving whether they were brave or not that for a minute none of the knights answered.  Then the King himself rose and went toward the man in green.  'Give me your axe,' he said; 'none of us here is afraid of your big talk; I will strike you with the axe myself, and you shall strike me with it whenever you like.'

"Then Gawain sprang from his seat. Gawain was the King's nephew.  And he cried: 'My lord, let me try this game with him!  You are the King, and if any harm should come to you it would be the harm of all the country, but one knight more or less will count but little.'

"Then many other knights begged the King to do as Gawain had said, and the King thought of it a moment, and then gave the axe, which he had taken from the man in green, to Gawain.

"Sir Knight,' said the man in green, 'will you tell me who you are?'

"'I am Gawain,' he said, 'the nephew of King Arthur.'

"'I have heard of you,' said the other, 'and I am glad that I shall receive my blow from so great a knight.  But will you promise that a year from now you will seek me and find me, so that I may give you your blow in return?'

"'I do not know who you are or where you live,' Gawain answered.  'If you will tell me your name and where to find you, I will come to you when the year is over.'

"'I will tell you those things,' said the man in green, 'after you have struck me.  If I cannot tell you then, you will be free of your promise and you need not seek me.'

"Then the man in green came down from his horse, knelt on the floor before Gawain, put his long, green hair aside from his neck, and told Gawain to strike.  Gawain swung the axe above his head and brought it down upon the neck of the man in green, and his head was cut cleanly off and rolled upon the floor.  Instantly the green man sprang after it and caught it in his hands, by the long, green hair.  He sprang upon his horse again and held up the head, with its face toward Gawain.  'Sir Gawain,' it said 'seek for me till you find me, a year from now, so that I may return your good blow.  Bring the axe with you, and ask, wherever you go, for the Knight of the Green Chapel.'  Then he rode out of the hall and away, still carrying the head in his hands.

"Of course Gawain and the King and all the rest thought that this was the strangest adventure that they had ever seen.  They were all sorry for Gawain and they all wondered what would become of him, but there was no danger for a year, and that always seems a long time, at the beginning of it.  So, as the time went on, they almost forgot about the Knight of the Green Chapel, and even Gawain himself seemed to have no dread of him.  And the year went past like other years.  Yet Gawain was not forgetting his promise, and, as the time came near when he must keep it, he began to wonder more and more who this Knight of the Green Chapel could be and where he must go to look for him. 'It may take me a long time to find him,' he said to the King at last, 'and so I mean to leave the court and to begin my search on All Saints' Day.'

"'Yes,' said the King,' that will be best.  And we know all the places and nearly all the knights here in the South and in the West of England, and over in the East, but we have never heard of this Knight of the Green Chapel, so it will be best for you to seek him in the North.'

"So, on All Saints' Day, King Arthur made a feast, that all the knights of the court might be together and bid Gawain good-by.  They called it a feast, but there was no happiness in it. They were all sad at the parting and with the fear that Gawain would never come back.

"And when the time came they helped Gawain to put on the finest armor that could be found for him and he mounted his horse and left them.  He rode slowly at first, and as soon as he came to places that he did not know he began to ask the people whom he met if they could tell him where to find the Green Chapel and the Knight of the Green Chapel.  But no one had ever heard of such a place or of such a person.

"He went farther and farther into the North, and as his time grew shorter he tried to travel faster, for he felt that it would be a shame to him if he did not find the Knight of the Green Chapel by New Year's Day.  Up great hills he went and down into deep valleys, across wide, lonely plains, with freezing winds sweeping over them, and through dark forests, where the wind cried up among the treetops and the trees groaned and sighed in answer.  Often he met wild beasts, wolves that barked and leaped and sprang about him and tried to pull down his horse. But he killed them or beat them and drove them away.  Then he came to plains where for many miles he saw no houses and no people.  Often he had to sleep in his armor, lying on the ground.  Often he had to go so long without food that he was faint with hunger, as well as weary.

"As the days went by the winter came on rougher and stormier and colder. Then the winds that swept across the plains were full of driving rain and sleet and snow.  They cut against his face and almost blinded him, and his horse could scarcely labor through the drifts and stand against the storm.  The wet sleet found its way into the joints of his armor and froze there, and it froze into the chains of his mail and choked them up, so that it was all rigid and hard, and it was as if all that he wore were one solid piece of iron or ice.  So terrible it was that he almost forgot why he had come, and all that he wanted was to find some place where he and his horse could rest and be warm.  But at night he must get off his horse, though he could scarcely bend his limbs, in his frozen armor, and lie down in it, with no shelter but a tree, or perhaps a high rock, and try to sleep till the light came, so that he could go on again.

"Yet wherever he saw any people he asked them if they knew of the Knight of the Green Chapel, and always they answered no.  Then he told them how the knight looked, but they all shook their heads or stared at him or laughed, and they all said that they had never seen such a knight.  Some of them thought that he must be mad, to be wandering all by himself and asking for a knight with green hair and a green beard, and sometimes Gawain himself almost thought that he must be mad.  Sometimes he thought: 'I will hunt for him only till New Year's Day.  If I have not found him then it is his fault that he did not tell me where to come, and I shall be free of my promise.'  And then at other times he thought: 'I will not count my promise as so small a thing; I will seek this knight as long as I live, if I do not find him, for the honor of King Arthur and the Round Table.'

"And the cold and the storm and the long, rough journey seemed worst of all to Gawain on Christmas Eve, for then he thought most of the King and the Queen and the knights whom he had left at Camelot.  He knew that they were all together in the great hall now, that the fires were blazing, that the minstrels were singing, and that a noble feast was spread upon the Round Table.  He thought of his own place at that table, where he had sat a year ago, empty now.  Did the others look at that seat and think of him and wonder where he was?  It was a common thing, he knew, for Arthur's knights to be away from the hall seeking adventures, and he knew that those who were left behind went on with their feasting at such times as these, just as if all were there.  No, it was a little thing to them that he was gone, he thought.  They were laughing together and eating and drinking, and perhaps some one was telling them some strange old tale, and they were warm and happy; and the light of the fires and the torches was shining on the windows of the hall, so that the people of the country miles away could see it and could say: 'King Arthur and his knights are at Camelot to-night keeping the Christmas feast.'  And here was he alone, cold, hungry, weary, riding over the rough ways and through the rough night, to find a man who was to kill him.

"Then there came another thought that made him stronger: 'The honor of the Round Table to-night is not all with those who sit about it; it is here with me too.  I am here because it was I who dared to come, for the King and for all of them.  If I never go back the King and all of them will know that, and they will not forget. And now my time is short and I must not rest any more.  I will ride all night and go as far as I can to find the Knight of the Green Chapel by New Year's Day.'

"So Gawain rode all night.  In the morning he was in a great forest, where it would have been too dark for him to ride, but for the snow that lay everywhere, so that he could dimly see the black trunks of the trees against it.  And before the first cold light of the late morning fell into the forest, he saw it touch the top of a high hill before him, and there he saw a castle.  It was one of the greatest castles he had ever seen, with strong towers and thick walls and high ramparts.  And as soon as he saw it, it seemed to him as if the last strength went out of him and his horse too, so that they could scarcely climb the hill to come to the gate and ask if they might come in.

"But they reached the gate and the porter said: 'Come in, Sir Knight; the lord of the castle will welcome you and you can stay as long as you will.'  And the lord of the castle did welcome him and Gawain let his men lead him to a chamber, where they took off his armor and gave him a rich robe to wear.  Then they led him back to the hall and placed him at the table with the lord and his wife and his daughter.

"They asked him who he was, and he told them that he was Gawain, a knight of the Round Table.  'It is a proud day for us,' said the lord, 'so far away up here in the North, when a knight comes to us from the court of King Arthur, and now you will stay with us and help us keep our Christmas.'

"'No,' said Gawain, 'I cannot stay, for I must go on and find the Knight of the Green Chapel,' and then he told them all that he knew about this knight and why he had made this journey.

"'Then you will stay with us,' said the lord, 'for the Green Chapel is only two miles from here, and on New Year's Day some one of my servants shall show you the way there.'

"So Gawain stayed, and, on the third day after he had come to the castle, the lord told him that on the next day he was going hunting and asked Gawain if he would go too. 'No,' Gawain answered, 'it is only four days now before I must go to the Knight of the Green Chapel.  I have no magic, such as he has, to guard myself against him, and he will kill me. It is not a time now for me to think of hunting or of other pleasures. I must think of more solemn things.'

"'Then shall we make a bargain?' said the lord.  'I will go to the hunt to-morrow, and you shall stay here at the castle.  When I come home I will give you all that I have got in the hunt, and you shall give me all that you have got by staying here.'

"'It shall be so, if you wish it,' said Gawain.

"The next morning the lord and his men were away early at the hunt. Gawain breakfasted with the lady of the castle and her daughter, and afterward they left him and he sat alone in the hall.  Then the lord's daughter came back, without her mother, and sat on the seat beside him. 'Sir Knight,' she said, 'will you tell me about King Arthur's court?'

"'What shall I tell you?' he asked.

"'We are so far away from all the world here!' she said.  'We never see a town or a court or any people, except those who live here with us. But sometimes we hear strange things and beautiful things about Camelot and Caerleon and London and the court of King Arthur.  They say that we cannot believe how grand it is, and they say that there are such feasts and tournaments, and that all the knights and the ladies are so happy there in King Arthur's court!  And oh! will you tell me one thing!  Is it true that every knight of King Arthur's has some lady whom he loves more than anybody else, and is it true that every lady has some knight whom she loves, who fights for her and wears something that she gave him, a sleeve or a chain or a jewel, and tells everybody that she is the most beautiful lady in the world?'

"'There are many knights,' Gawain answered, 'who have ladies whom they love and who love them, and they do all the things that you have said.'

"The girl looked at Gawain and was silent for a little while, and then she said: 'Sir Knight, is it too much that I am going to ask? I would not ask you to be my knight, for there must be many ladies in King Arthur's court more beautiful and more noble than I am. You would have to love some one of them, I suppose.  Only do not tell me so, and I will not ask you.  But after you have gone let me remember you and love you, and I will try not to think whether you love me or not.'

"'My child,' said Gawain, 'I am here in your father's castle and he trusts me, and it is not right that I should talk to you of such things without his leave.  And besides that, it is not right for me to think of such things now. You know that I am going to find the Knight of the Green Chapel.  Your father has promised that on New Year's Day he will send me to him.  Then the Knight of the Green Chapel will kill me.  I have only three days more to live, and it is no time for me to think of love.'

"'But why must you find this wicked Knight of the Green Chapel?' she asked.  'Go back to Camelot and tell the King and the knights that you fought him and that he could not hurt you. Nobody will know but us.  We never go to court and we never would tell anybody what you had done.'

"'No, no,' said Gawain, 'I promised him that I would find him.  Now I must find him or I never could go back to King Arthur's court or be one of his knights again.'

"Then the girl started to go out of the hall, but when she was at the door she turned and came back to Gawain.  'Will you let me kiss you just once?' she said.  And Gawain let her kiss him and she went away.

"At night, when the lord of the castle came home from the hunt, he brought with him a deer that he had killed.  He gave it to Gawain and said: 'This is what I got in the hunt; now give me what you got by staying behind.'

"Then Gawain gave him a kiss.  'Indeed,' said the lord, 'I think that you have done better than I.  Where did you get this?'

"'It was not in our bargain,' said Gawain, 'that I should tell you that.'

"'Very well, then,' said the lord, 'shall we make the same bargain for to-morrow?'

"'Yes,' said Gawain, 'if you wish it.'

"So the next day the lord rode to the hunt again and Gawain stayed behind, as he had done before.  And again the lord's daughter came to him as he sat in the hall.  'Sir Knight,' she said, 'is it because you have some other lady whom you love that you will not let me be your lady?  I do not ask you to love me, you know, only to let me love you.'

"'No,' Gawain answered, 'I have no lady, and if I might have any now, I could love you as well as any other, but I have only two more days to live and I must not think of such things.'

"Then the girl kissed him twice and went away.  When the lord came back that evening he brought the head and the sides of a wild boar that he had killed.  He gave these to Gawain and Gawain gave him two kisses. 'You always have better luck than I,' said the lord.

"Then they made the same bargain for the third day, and in the morning the lord rode to the hunt and Gawain stayed behind.  As he sat in the hall the lord's daughter came to him again.  'Sir Knight,' she said, 'since you will do nothing else, will you not wear something of mine, as the knights at King Arthur's court do for their ladies?  See, this is it, my girdle of green lace.  And it is good for a knight to wear, for while you have this around your body you can never be wounded.'

"Then Gawain thought that such a girdle as this would indeed be of use to him, when the time came for the Knight of the Green Chapel to strike him with his axe.  So he took the girdle and thanked her for it, and she kissed him three times and went away.

"That night the lord of the castle brought home the skin of a fox.  He gave it to Gawain and Gawain gave him three kisses.  'Your luck grows better every day,' said the lord.

"Early the next morning Gawain rose and called for his armor and his horse.  One of the lord's servants was to show him the way to the Green Chapel.  The snow was falling again and there was a fierce, cold wind. It was not daylight yet.  They rode over rough hills and through deep valleys for a long time, and at last, when it had grown as light as it would be at all on such a dull, dreary day, the servant stopped.  'You are not far now,' he said, 'from the Green Chapel.  I can go with you no farther.  Ride on into this valley. When you are at the bottom of it look to your left and you will see the chapel.'

"Then the servant turned back and left Gawain alone.  He rode to the bottom of the valley and looked about, but nothing like a chapel did he see.  But at last he saw a hole in a great rock, a cave, with vines, loaded down with snow, almost hiding its mouth.  Then it seemed to Gawain that he heard a sound inside the cave, and he called aloud: 'Is the Knight of the Green Chapel here?  Gawain has come to keep his promise to him.  He has brought his axe, so that he may pay back the blow that he received a year ago.  Is the Knight of the Green Chapel here?'

"Then a voice from the cave said: 'I am here, Sir Gawain, and I am waiting for you. You have kept your time well.'

"And then out of the cave came the Green Knight.  It seemed to Gawain that he looked stronger and fiercer than when he was at Arthur's court, and that his hair and beard were longer and of a brighter green.  'Give me my axe,' he cried, 'and take off your helmet and be ready for my stroke.  Let us not delay!'

"'I want no delay,' said Gawain, and he took off his helmet, knelt down on the snow and bent his neck, ready for the knight to strike.  The Green Knight raised his axe, and then, in spite of himself, Gawain drew a little away from him.

"'How is this?' said the Green Knight; 'are you afraid?  I did not flinch when you struck me, a year ago.'

"'I shall not flinch again,' said Gawain; 'strike quickly.'

"Then the knight raised his axe a second time and Gawain was as still as a stone.  But this time the axe did not fall.  'Now I must strike you,' said the Green Knight.

"'Strike, then, and do not talk about it,' said Gawain; 'I believe you yourself are losing heart.'

"This time the knight swung the axe quickly up over his head and brought it down with a mighty force upon Gawain's neck, and it made only a little scratch.  The girdle of green lace would not let him be wounded. Then he sprang up and drew his sword and cried: 'Now, Knight of the Green Chapel, take care of yourself.  I have kept my promise and let you strike me once, but I warn you that if you strike again I shall resist you.'

"'Put up your sword,' the Knight of the Green Chapel answered; 'I do not want to harm you.  I could have used you much worse than I have, if I had wished.  I tried only to prove you, and you are the bravest and the truest knight that I have ever found.  I am the lord of the castle where you have stayed for this last week.  I knew where you got your kisses, for I myself sent my daughter to you to try you, and you would not do what you thought would not be right toward me, and you would not let any thoughts of love turn you aside from your promise to the Knight of the Green Chapel. You were well tried and you proved most true. It was because of that and because you kept your word to me on the first two days that I went to the hunt, that I did not strike you the first or the second time that I raised my axe. But the third time I did strike you, because you were untrue to me in one little thing.  For you said that you would give me all that you got by staying in the castle, yet you did not give me the girdle of green lace.  It was I who sent that to you by my daughter, too.  But you kept it only to save your life, and so I forgive you, and to show you that I forgive you, you may keep it now always.'

"But Gawain tore off the girdle and threw it at the feet of the Knight of the Green Chapel. 'Take it back!' he cried, 'I do not deserve ever to be called an honorable knight again!  I came here for the honor of the Round Table, and then I broke my promise to you.  Tell me why you came to our court and why you brought me to this shame, and then I will go back to King Arthur and tell him that I am not worthy any longer to be one of his knights.  He will ask me why you did this, so tell me and let me go away, for now I have lied to you and I cannot look you in the face.'

"'I did it,' said the Knight of the Green Chapel, 'because the great enchantress, Queen Morgan-le-Fay, King Arthur's sister, who hates him, told me that all his knights were cowards. She said that all who praised them lied or were themselves deceived and that some good knight ought to go and prove them to be the cowards that they were.  So I went to try whether they were brave or not, and it was by the magic of Queen Morgan-le-Fay that I was not killed when you cut off my head.  But now I see that what I did was wrong.  It was Morgan-le-Fay, I see now, who hoped to bring shame on King Arthur's court, because she hated him.  And you have shown me that Arthur's knights are brave and true, for you took my challenge and came up here into the North to find me and to let me kill you.  Now come back with me to my castle and help us to keep the festival of the New Year.  Take up your girdle and come.'

"But Gawain was still filled with shame and horror at what he had done. 'I will not go back with you,' he said, 'but I will keep the girdle to remind me of this time.  If I ever feel that I am doing better things and if I ever begin to grow proud of them, I will look at this girdle and it will make me remember how I broke my word.'

"And Gawain would not listen to anything more that the knight said, but he mounted his horse and turned him toward the south and rode away. Gawain never knew what happened to him on that journey back to Camelot. Perhaps the nights were as cold and the ways as rough as they had been before.  Perhaps the wild beasts came against him again.  Perhaps the storms still drove the snow and the sleet against him, so that they cut him in the face and froze into his armor.  He cared for none of these things and he remembered none of them afterwards.  His one thought was to get back to Camelot and tell the King that he was no longer worthy to be his knight, and then to go where no one who had known him should ever see him again.

"And so he rode on, as fast as he could, for he did not know how many days, and at last, in the early winter evening, he saw the glow in the windows of the castle at Camelot.  Once more he hurried his horse till he reached the gate.  He threw himself down from the saddle and hastened to the hall, where a great shout went up: 'Gawain is alive and he has come back!' and the knights and the ladies crowded around him to ask him where he had been and what he had seen and done.  He pushed his way through them all and threw himself down upon the floor before the King. He told all of his story, how he had gone out for the honor of the Round Table and how he had broken his word and been shamed, and at the end he held up the girdle of green lace and said: 'My lord, I shall leave you now and I shall never see you again, for I am not worthy to be your knight, but I shall carry this with me, and shall always wear it, so that I never can forget my shame."

"And the King answered: 'Gawain, you are still among the best of my knights.  You failed a little at last, but it was no coward and no false knight who went up there to seek his death and to keep a promise that he need not have kept.  Wear your girdle, but it shall be no shame to you. And that it may be none all my knights shall wear girdles of green lace like it.

"So the story says that all of King Arthur's knights wore green lace girdles in honor of Gawain.  I don't know what became of the girdles afterwards, but they cannot have worn them always, or at least Gawain cannot have worn his.  For you know he could never be wounded while he had it on, and he certainly was wounded afterwards.  But I will tell you about that when I get to it."

About the time that we got to the end of this story we came to a place which the driver said was as far from Glastonbury as he had ever been in this direction.  We stopped at a little inn by the road, and the driver asked the way to Queen Camel.  We also asked the man who told him if he had ever heard of a hill or of any sort of place about here called Camelot, but he never had.  So we went on to find it for ourselves. After more riding and more asking of the way and more showers, we came to Queen Camel.  It was past luncheon-time then, and, what was more to the point, it was past the horse's luncheon-time.  So we decided that we would not go any farther till we had all had something to eat.

The Bell looked like the best hotel in the place, so we went there and astonished the proprietor and all the servants by asking for something to eat.  But we got it, and while we were at luncheon the driver put the horse in the stable and then talked with the proprietor, to find out whether he knew anything about Camelot. Now the keeper of this bit of an hotel must have been a remarkably intelligent man, for he really did know something about it.  He came in to see us and he said that he thought that it must be Cadbury Castle that we were looking for.  Then a great light shone upon me and I remembered what I ought to have remembered before, that one of my books at home had said that it was called Cadbury Castle now.  "But do they not call it Camelot too?" I asked him. I did not like to give up that name.

"Oh, yes, sir," he said, "they call it Camelot too."

"And do they say that King Arthur lived there?"

"No, sir, he didn't live there; he placed his army there."

Then the landlord went away and came back with a big book, a history of Somersetshire, or something of that sort, to show us what it had to say about Cadbury Castle.  It did not say much that I did not know before, but it said enough to prove what I wanted to know most of all.  And that was that this Cadbury Castle was without any doubt the place that we were looking for.  We finished our luncheon, the landlord showed us our way, and we went on again.

It was only a little way now.  We were to find a steep road that led up the side of the hill to Cadbury Castle.  It was too steep, we were told, to take our carriage up, and we should have to leave it at the bottom and walk.  And so it proved.  We found the hill and the steep little track up its side.  We got down from the carriage, and, while we waited for the driver to find a safe place to leave the horse, we gazed up the hill, along the rough little road, and knew that at last we were before the gates of Camelot.



Chapter III

The Boy From The Forest


We walked up the steep road, and just before we came to the top of the hill the rain began again.  There was one little house near the top and we decided to let Camelot wait for a few minutes longer and go into the house and stay till the rain stopped.

The woman of the house seemed to be glad to see us, and she asked us to write our names in her visitors' book.  The names and the dates in the book showed that Camelot had some six or eight visitors a year.  Of course we tried to get the woman to tell us something about the place, and of course we failed.  She knew that it was called Cadbury Castle and sometimes Camelot and sometimes the Camp.  She knew that the well close by her house was called King Arthur's Well, but she did not know why. The water in it was not good to drink, and in dry times they could not get water from it at all. She got drinking-water and in dry times all the water that she used from St. Anne's Wishing Well, a quarter of a mile around the hill.  She did not know what that name meant either. She used to have a book that told all about the place, but she couldn't show it to us, because it had been lent to somebody and had never been returned.  The vicar had studied a good deal about the place too, and he knew all about it. Could we find the vicar and get him to tell us about it?  Oh, no, it wasn't the present vicar, it was the old vicar, and he was dead.

So we gave up learning anything and waited for the rain to stop, and then went out to see as much as we could for ourselves.  The hilltop was broad and level.  I can't tell just how broad, because I am no judge of acres, but I believe it was several.  It had a low wall of earth around it, covered with grass, of course, like all the rest of the place.  When we stood on the top of this wall and looked down, we saw that the ground sloped away from us till it made a sort of ditch, and then rose again and made another earth wall, a little way down the hillside.  Then it did the same thing again, and yet once more.  So in its time this hilltop must have had four strong walls around it.  It really looked much more like a fort or camp than like a city.  It seemed too small for a city, though it might have been a pretty big camp.  If we had been looking for hard facts, I think we should have believed what the hotel-keeper had said, that this was not where King Arthur lived, but where he placed his army.

I remembered reading somewhere that the Britons and the Romans and the Saxons had all held this place at different times.  I had read, too, I was sure, that parts of old walls, of a dusky blue stone, and old coins had been found here.  It was a fine place for a camp or a castle. It was so high and breezy and we could see for so many miles across the country, that we could understand how useful and pleasant it must have been for either or for both.  It was pleasant enough now, this broad, grassy hilltop, with its four grassy walls and the woodland sloping away from it all around.  But nobody lived here now to enjoy it -- nobody, that is to say, but the rabbits.  For the place is theirs now, and they dig holes in the ground and make their houses where King Arthur's castle stood, where he and his knights sat in the hall about the Round Table, and where all the greatest of the world came to see all that was richest and noblest and best for kings and knights to be and to enjoy.

The rabbits scuttled across our way, as we walked about, and leaped into their holes, when we came near, and then looked timidly out again, when we had gone past, and wondered what we were doing and what right we had here in their Camelot.  There were only these holes now, where once there were palaces and churches, and no traces of old glories, but the walls of earth and turf.  Yet it seemed better to me that Camelot should be left alone and forgotten, like this, the city and the fortress of the rabbits, but still high and open and fresh and free, than that it should be a poor little town, full of poor little people, like Camelford. Helen said that she thought so too, when I asked her, and she was willing that this should be Camelot, if I thought that it really was.

"Really and truly and honestly," I said, "I think that this is as likely to have been Camelot as any place that we have seen or shall see. It is lucky for us that we know more about it than the people who live about here do.  If we did not I am afraid it would not interest us much.  I think that I have read somewhere that the King and his knights were still here on the hilltop, kept here and made invisible by some enchantment, that at certain times they could be seen, and that some people had really seen them.  I don't believe this story, but while we are here let us believe at least, with all our might, that we are really and truly in Camelot.

"Now here is a story, with Camelot in it, that you ought to hear.  You must not mind if it makes you think of a story that we saw once in the fire.  There are different ways of telling the same story, you know, and this is a different way of telling that same story.

"Once, when Arthur was first King of England, he had a good knight called Sir Percivale.  He was killed in a tournament by a knight whom no one knew.  Some who saw the fight said that it was not a fair one and that Sir Percivale was as good as murdered.  The knight who killed him wore red armor, and once, when his visor was up, Arthur saw his face. No one knew where the knight went afterward and Arthur could never find him to make him answer for the death of Sir Percivale.

"Now this Sir Percivale had seven sons and a daughter, and six of his sons were killed also, in tournaments or battles.  But the youngest of the sons was not old enough yet to be a knight, and when his mother had lost her husband and all her sons but him, she resolved that he should never be a knight.  His name was Percivale, like his father's.  It was right, she thought, for her to keep this last son that she had safe and not to let him fight and be killed, as his father and his brother's had been.  And she feared so much that when he grew up he would want to be a knight, like the others, that she resolved that he should never know anything about knights or tournaments or wars or arms.

"She took him far away from the place where they had lived, and made a home in the woods.  It was far from the towns and the tournaments and the courts, and it was even away from the roads that led through the country.  It was a lonely place that the mother chose, and she hoped that no one would ever come to it from the world that she had left. She brought her daughter with her, I suppose, though the story says nothing about her just here, and she brought nobody else but servants -- women and boys and old men.  Nobody in her house was ever allowed to speak of knights or arms or battles or anything that had to do with them.  She would not even have any big, strong horses kept about the place, because they reminded her of the war horses that knights rode.  She tried to bring up her boy so that he should know only of peaceful things. He should know the trees and the flowers of the woods, she thought; he should know the goats and the sheep and the cows that they kept, how the fruits grew in the orchard, how the birds lived in the trees and the bees in their hive; but he should never know the cruel ways of men out in the world.  He should see the axe of the woodman, not the battle-axe; the scythe, not the sword; the crook of the shepherd, not the spear.

"So the boy grew up in the forest and ran about wherever he would and climbed the trees and followed the squirrels and studied the nests of the birds and knew all the plants that grew and all the animals that lived about him. If it had not been for many things that his mother taught him he would have been almost like one of the animals of the wood himself. He could run almost as fast as the deer and he could climb almost as well as the squirrel, and he could sing as well as some of the birds.

"When he grew a little older his mother let him have a bow and arrows to play with and shoot at marks, but nobody told him that men used bows and arrows to shoot at one another or that men ever wanted to harm one another.  But he began to shoot at the birds with his arrows, and at last he hit one of them and killed it.  Then he looked at the dead bird lying at his feet and he heard the other birds singing all around him. And he thought: 'I have done a dreadful thing; a little while ago this bird was singing too, and was as happy as the rest of them, and now it can never sing any more or be happy any more, because I have killed it.' And he broke his bow and threw it away and he threw himself down on the ground beside the little dead bird and cried at what he had done.  And when his mother saw how grieved he was she said that all the birds should be driven away, so that they should not trouble him.  But Percivale begged her to let them stay.  He liked to hear them sing, and to drive them off would be a crueler thing than he had done already. And his mother thought: 'The boy is right; I brought him here to find peace and safety for both of us, and why should I not let the poor birds stay in peace and safety too?'

"But it was foolish for the poor woman to think that she could keep her boy so that he would never know anything of the world.  The world was all around him, no matter how far off, and it was sure some time to come where he was.  And so, one day, as he was wandering in the wood, he saw three horses coming, larger and stronger and finer than any horses he had ever seen before.  And on their backs, he thought, were three men, but he could not feel sure, for they did not look like any men whom he had ever seen.  They seemed to be all covered with iron, which was polished so that it glistened where the light touched it, and they wore many gay and beautiful colors besides. He stood and looked at them till they came close to him, and then one of them said: 'My boy, have you seen a knight pass this way?'

"'I do not know what a knight is,' Percivale answered.

"'We are knights,' the man on the horse said; 'have you seen anyone like us?'

"But Percivale was wondering so much at what he saw that he could not answer.  'What is this?' he asked, touching the knight's shield.

"'That?' the knight answered, 'that is my shield.'

"'And what is it for?'

"'To keep other knights from hitting me with their spears or their swords.'

"'Spears?  What are they?'

"'This is a spear,' the knight answered, showing him one.

"'And what is this?'

"'That is a saddle.'

"'And what is this?'

"'A sword.'

"And so Percivale asked the knights about everything that they wore and everything that they carried and all that was on their horses.  'And where did you get these things?' he asked.  'Did you always wear them?'

"'No,' the knight answered; 'King Arthur gave me these arms when he made me a knight.'

"'Then you were not always a knight?' Percivale asked again.

"'Why, no, I was a squire, a young man, like you, and King Arthur made me a Knight and gave me these arms.'

"'Who is King Arthur, and where is he?'

"'He is the King of the country, and he lives at Camelot.'

"Then Percivale ran home as fast as he could and said to his mother: 'Mother, I saw some knights in the forest, and one of them told me that he was not a knight always, but King Arthur made him one, and before that he was a young man like me.  And now I want to go to King Arthur, too, and ask him to make me a knight, so that I can wear bright iron things like them and ride on a big horse.'

"The instant that she heard the word 'knights' the mother knew that all her care was lost.  The boy was a man now.  He had seen what other men were like and she knew that he would never be happy again till he was like the rest of them.  Before her mind, all at once, everything came back -- the court, the field of the tournament, the men all dressed in steel, with their sharp, cruel spears, the gleaming lines charging against each other, the knights falling from their horses and rolling on the ground.  Her brain whirled around as she thought of all this, and her one last son in the midst of it, to be killed, perhaps, as the rest had been.  But she knew that he must go -- that he would go -- nothing could keep him with her now.

"'My son,' she said, 'if you will leave me and be a knight, like those that you have seen, go to King Arthur.  His are the best of knights and among them you will learn all that you ought to know.  Before you are a knight the King will make you swear that you will be always loyal and upright, that you will be faithful, gentle, and merciful, and that you will fight for the right of the poor and the weak. Percivale, some knights forget these things, after they have sworn them, but you will not forget. Remember them the more because I tell them to you now.  Be ready always to help those who need help most, the poor and the weak and the old and children and women.  Keep yourself in the company of wise men and talk with them and learn of them.  Percivale, the King will make you swear, too, that you will fear shame more than death.  And I tell you that.  I have lost your father and your brothers, but I would rather lose you, too, than not to know that you feared shame more than death.'

"Then, from the horses that his mother had, Percivale chose the one he thought the best. It was not a war horse, of course, and it was not even a good saddle horse, but it would carry him.  He put some old pieces of cloth on the horse's back, for a saddle, and with more of these, and bits of cord and woven twigs he tried to make something to look like the trappings that he had seen on the horses of the knights. Then he found a long pole and sharpened the end of it, to make it look like a spear. When he had done all that he could he got on the back of the horse, bade his mother good-by, and rode away to find the court of King Arthur.

"The King and the Queen and their knights were in the great hall of the castle at Camelot, when a strange knight, dressed in red armor, came in and walked straight to where the King and the Queen sat.  A page was just offering to the Queen a gold goblet of wine.  The red knight seized the goblet and threw the wine in the Queen's face.  Then he said: 'If there is any one here who is bold enough to avenge this insult to the Queen and to bring back this goblet, let him follow me and I will wait for him in the meadow near the castle!'  Then he left the hall, took his horse, which he had left at the door, and went to the meadow.

"In the hall all the knights jumped from their places.  But for an instant they only stood and stared at one another.  They remembered the Green Knight, and they thought that this other knight would never dare to do what he had done, unless he had some magic to guard him against them.  I am sure that in a moment some one of them would have gone after him, but just in that moment a strange-looking young man rode straight into the hall, on a poor, old, boney horse.  He looked so queer, with his simple dress and the saddle and trappings that he had made himself, and his rough pole for a spear, that the knights almost forgot the insult to the Queen in looking at him, and some of them laughed as they saw him ride through the hall toward the King, with no more thought of fear than if he had been a king himself.  He came to where Kay, King Arthur's seneschal, stood, and said to him: 'Tall man, is that King Arthur who sits there?'

"'What do you want with King Arthur?' said Kay.

"'My mother told me,' the young man answered, 'to come to King Arthur and be made a knight by him.'

"'You are not fit to be a knight,' said Kay; 'go back to your cows and your goats.'  Kay was a rough sort of fellow and he was always saying unpleasant things without waiting to find out what he was talking about.

"Then a dwarf came close to the boy and cried out: 'Percivale, you are welcome here! I know that you will be one of the best of knights, for I knew your father and your brothers, and they were all good knights!'

"And Kay was so angry with the dwarf for speaking in this way that he struck him and knocked him down.  Now when Arthur had seen the red knight come into the hall and insult the Queen and then go away again, he had been as much astonished as any of the knights, and he had thought, just as they had, that he must have some charm to protect him. But he had had another thought, and it was: 'Where have I seen the face of that knight before?'  And when the young man had come into the hall he had thought again: 'I have seen that face, too, before.' But when he heard the dwarf call him by name he remembered it all. 'Young man,' he said, 'are you the son of my old knight, Sir Percivale?  I know that you are, because you are so much like him, and the man who killed your father was here just now and insulted the Queen and all of us.'

"'Yes, yes,' Kay shouted, 'go after him, boy, and avenge your father and avenge the Queen and bring back her golden goblet!  And when you have killed him you can have his horse and his armor, and then you will look fit to be made a knight.'

"'I will do what you say,' the boy answered, and he turned his horse and rode out of the hall again.  When he came to the meadow the red knight was there, riding up and down. 'Boy,' he said, 'do you know if anyone is coming from the hall to take this gold cup from me?'

"'I have come from the hall,' Percivale answered, 'to take that gold cup from you.'

"'Go back and tell the King,' said the red knight, 'to send a man, a knight, to take it. And tell him that I will not wait much longer.'

"'I mean to take it from you myself,' said Percivale again, 'so be ready for me.'

"Then Percivale made his poor old horse go as fast as it could, and he came against the red knight with his pointed pole.  The knight tried to strike the pole aside with his spear, but Percivale hit him fairly with it and knocked him off his horse.  And in falling he managed somehow to break his neck.

"All that had passed in the hall since the red knight had appeared there had passed so quickly that the King and the knights had scarcely had time to know what was going on at all till it was all over.  But when Percivale had gone to find the red knight, Uwain, King Arthur's nephew, said: 'Kay, it was not right for you to send such a boy as that after a knight who is no doubt a hard fighter.  The knight will kill him, and then a double disgrace will fall upon the court, that of letting the boy be killed and that of sending no good man to avenge the insult to the Queen.  Now I will go and see if I am in time to save the boy and punish the knight.'

"So Uwain went to the meadow and there he found Percivale trying to take off the dead knight's armor.  He could not do it, because he knew nothing about armor and did not know how it was fastened.  So Uwain showed him how to take it off and then how to dress himself in it.  'And now,' said Uwain, 'come to King Arthur and I know that he will gladly make you a knight, for you have shown that you are worthy to be one.'

"'No, 'said Percivale, 'I will not go back now.  But tell me, what is the name of the tall man who told me to follow this knight?'

"'He is Sir Kay,' Uwain answered, 'King Arthur's seneschal.'

"Then Percivale said: 'Take this gold cup back to the Queen and tell her that I have avenged the insult to her.  Tell King Arthur that wherever I go I will be his servant and will try to do him what honor I can, but tell Sir Kay that I will never come back to King Arthur's court till I have met him and punished him for striking the dwarf who greeted me when I came into the hall.  My mother told me to fight for the poor and the weak, and I am sure that dwarf is weak and I ought to fight for him.'

"When Uwain went back to the hall with these messages Kay laughed, but I am not sure that he felt quite comfortable.  He had had bad luck before in making fun of young men who turned out well in spite of their simple looks. Perhaps you may like to know how the dwarf knew who Percivale was.  It was very simple. He used to live in Percivale's father's house, and he knew him because he was so much like his father.

"And Percivale was riding away from the court and did not know or care where he was going.  But after awhile he met a knight who asked him whence he came.  'I come from the court of King Arthur,' he answered.

"And the knight said: 'I am the enemy of King Arthur and of all his men, and when I meet any of them I kill them, if I can, and so I will kill you now, if I can.'

"So they took their places and charged against each other with their spears.  Percivale had a real spear now.  And Percivale threw the knight off his horse and he begged for mercy.  'You shall have mercy,' Percivale said, 'if you will go to the court of King Arthur and tell him that Percivale sent you and that Percivale will never come to his court again till he has punished Sir Kay for striking the dwarf.'

"The knight did as Percivale bade him, and the story says that within a week he overcame sixteen knights and made every one of them go to the court and tell King Arthur that Percivale had sent him and that Percivale would never come back till he had met Sir Kay and punished him for striking the dwarf.  Now you can imagine that, when these knights came into the hall, two or three of them a day, and brought always this same message, Kay kept getting more and more uncomfortable.  Every new one who came proved over again what a tough fighter Percivale was and every one of them told the King and the court that Percivale was waiting for a chance to fight with Kay.  And then the other knights began to blame Kay for making such a fine young man leave the court.  For it was clear, they said, that he would some time be one of the best knights among them all.  At last King Arthur said that he himself, with some of his best knights, would go to search for Percivale.  And Kay, who was really no coward, went with them.

"And Percivale kept on his way.  And one evening, when it was time for him to find a place to stay for the night, he saw a great castle before him.  He knocked on the gate and a young man with a thin, pale face put his head through an opening in the battlement and looked at him.  Then the young man came and opened the gate for Percivale and led him to the hall.  There were eighteen young men there, all thin and with pale faces, like the first.  They took off Percivale's armor and they all sat down together.  Then five young women came into the hall, and Percivale thought that one of them, who was the lady of the castle, was the most beautiful he had ever seen.  Mind, I don't say that I think so; I say that Percivale thought so.  For, as one of the beautiful, wonderful books that tells this story says, 'whiter was her skin than the bloom of crystal, and her hair and her two eyebrows were blacker than jet, and on her cheeks were two red spots, redder than whatever is reddest.'  She was dressed in satin, but it was old and faded and worn.

"Afterwards two nuns came into the hall. One of them carried a flask of wine and the other had six loaves of bread.  'Lady,' said one of the nuns, 'there is not so much bread and wine left in our convent as we have brought you here.'  Then they all sat at a table, and Percivale saw that the lady of the castle was giving more of the bread and the wine to him than to any of the others.  So he took all the bread and wine and divided them equally among all who were at the table.  And when it was time they led Percivale to his chamber.

"And the rest still sat in the hall.  Then one of the young men said to the lady of the castle: 'Sister, go to this young man and tell him that you will be his wife, if he will rescue you and the rest of us from our enemies.'

"'I cannot do that,' she answered.  'He may not want me for his wife; if he did he would ask me.'

"'Sister,' said the young man again, 'we have no more food and we cannot hold the castle any longer.  This is the only hope we have. You must do this or we will leave you, and your enemies may do what they like with you and your castle.'

"So she left them and went to the door of Percivale's chamber and opened it.  It was dark and he was asleep, but he heard her weeping and awoke. 'Who are you,' he asked, 'and why are you weeping?  Can I help you?'

"'My lord,' she answered, 'if you do not help me nothing can ever help me.  I am the lady of the castle.  My father owned this castle and all the lands around it.  There was a wicked knight, named Sir Mordred, who wanted me to be his wife, but I would not, and so, after my father died and left me the castle and the lands, Sir Mordred made war upon me.  I had not men enough to fight with him, and so he has taken everything I had except this castle.  But this castle is so strong that the few men whom you have seen were able to hold it as long as we had food.  They are my foster brothers. Mordred and his men always watch the castle to see that no one goes out from it to bring food, and so at last all that we had was gone.  Then the nuns, who are permitted to go wherever they like, brought us food, but now they have no more.  And Mordred watches us so closely that he will know that we have no more food, and he will come against us at once and take the castle, unless you can help us.  So the young men told me that I must come to you and tell you that I would be your wife if you would save us, for there was no other way.  Forgive me, Sir Knight, for doing what I must do, and help me and my brothers, if you can.'

"Then Percivale answered: 'I know that you do not say this because you want to be my wife, and so I will not ask it of you.  Marry whomever you will.  To-morrow, if this Sir Mordred comes, I will do my best to help you.'

"And so we have come to Mordred.  I am almost sorry that I have to tell you about him, but I should have to tell you, some time, and it may as well be now.  Mordred was the brother of Gawain, and so he was King Arthur's nephew.  He was a knight of the Round Table, and he was the wickedest and most treacherous man who was ever in Arthur's court. When people tell you that they do not like King Arthur because he was too good -- and somebody is sure to tell you that some time -- ask them what they think of his letting such a creature as Mordred be a knight of his Round Table.  Still, I suppose Arthur did not know how bad Mordred was. Good people are often slow to believe that there are any bad people, and Arthur was so.

"Well, in the morning, surely enough, there were Mordred's men all around the castle. There were tents set up and knights were riding up and down on horses, and banners were flying, and it all looked as if they had come to fight against a city, instead of against five women and eighteen starved young men. Breakfast did not take long that morning, because there was nothing in the castle to eat. So, as soon as he was up, Percivale put on his armor and called for his horse and rode out of the castle.  He came near to some of the knights who were riding about and seemed to be so ready to fight, and called out that he wanted to see Sir Mordred and to talk with him.

"When Sir Mordred came, Percivale said to him: 'I challenge you alone, Sir Mordred to fight with me alone for the right of the lady of this castle.  If you beat me you shall keep all that you have taken from her and you shall have the castle too.  If I beat you she shall keep the castle and you shall give her back all that she had before.  Do you agree to this?'

"And Mordred said: 'I agree.'

"It was a short battle.  They charged against each other once, and Mordred's spear was broken against Percivale's shield, but Percivale's spear went through Mordred's shield and through his shoulder.  Mordred could not fight any more after that, so he promised to give back to the lady of the castle all the lands and everything else that he had taken from her, if Percivale would not kill him.  Percivale made him promise, too, that his men should take to the castle that very day enough food and drink for a hundred men and their horses.  Then he sent Mordred himself to Camelot, to say to the King and the court that Percivale would never come back there till he had punished Sir Kay for striking the dwarf.  But when Mordred got to Camelot the King and Kay and a good many of the other knights had gone to hunt for Percivale, and there were not many left to hear the message.

"Then Percivale took his leave of the people of the castle and rode on his way.  He rode all day, and in the evening he came to the cell of a hermit, who made him welcome, and he stayed with him all night.  In the morning he left the cell to go on his way, but just in front of the door he saw something that made him stop to look at it.  There had been a fall of snow in the night, and a little way from the hermit's cell a hawk had killed a wild fowl and the snow was stained with its blood. Something had frightened the hawk away and now a raven had lighted on the snow near the wild fowl.  It was this that made Percivale stop to look, for the blackness of the raven and the whiteness of the snow and the red of the blood made him think of the black hair of the lady of the castle where he had stayed, and of her white skin, and of the red in her cheeks.  This must have been a pleasant thought, for Percivale stood there thinking it and gazing at the blood on the snow for a long time.

"Now it happened that King Arthur's tent had been pitched for the night near this very place.  And Arthur came out of his tent and saw some one leaning on a spear and looking upon the ground.  And he told one of his young men to go and see who it was.  So the young man rode to where Percivale stood and said: 'Who are you, and what are you doing here?'

"But Percivale was thinking so much of the raven and the snow and the blood and the lady of the castle that he gave no answer, and then the young man thrust at him with his spear. Then Percivale turned and struck the young man with his own spear and knocked him off his horse, and he went back to tell the King how he had fared.  And Kay said: 'I will go and make him tell me who he is.'

"So Kay came and said and did very much as the young man had done, and Percivale knocked him off his horse too, and in the fall he broke his arm.  Kay's horse galloped back alone to where the King and the knights were and Kay had to walk back.  'Now, I will go,' said Gawain.  'It is likely, Kay, that you spoke to him rudely, for you do speak rudely sometimes.  The knight may be deep in some thoughts in which he does not like to be disturbed, but I will try to bring him back.'




"It used to be said that Gawain could speak so well that nobody could ever refuse him anything that he asked.  He went to Percivale and stood still beside him for a moment and then said to him: 'If I thought that it would be pleasant to you to hear it, I would give you a message from King Arthur.  He wishes that you would come to his tent.  Two others have come here before me to speak to you.'

"'Yes,' said Percivale, 'and they spoke to me rudely and attacked me. And it annoyed me, because I was looking at the snow and the raven and the blood, and I was thinking of the face and the hair and the cheeks of the lady whom I fought for yesterday.  But tell me, is Sir Kay with King Arthur?'

"'Yes,' said Gawain, 'and he was the second of the men who came to speak to you, and the fall from his horse that you gave him broke his arm.'

"'Ah, then I am glad,' said Percivale, 'for now I have punished him for striking the dwarf.'

"'For striking the dwarf?' Gawain repeated, 'then you are Percivale! This is good news! Come back with me to the King, for he and all of us have left Camelot to seek for you.'

"'Yes,' Percivale answered, 'I can come back with you now, for I have met Sir Kay and have punished him for striking the dwarf.'

"So Gawain led Percivale back to the King, and Arthur and his knights welcomed him as one of the best among them all.  Then they all went back to Camelot together, and as soon as they were there King Arthur made Percivale a knight.  And he said to him, when he had touched his shoulders with his sword: 'Rise, Sir Percivale, and may God make you a good knight.  I know that He will, Sir Percivale, for no young man who has ever come to my court has done so soon such noble things as you have done.  For before you were a knight at all you fought many battles for right and justice, and you are worthy to be called God's own knight. And you are worthy, too, to be a knight of the Round Table.  Kneel again, Sir Percivale, and take the oath of the Round Table.'

"Then Percivale knelt before the King again and the King said to him: 'Do you swear that you will help the King to guard his people and to keep peace and justice in his land; that you will be faithful to your fellows; that you will do right to poor and rich alike?  Do you swear that in all things you will be true and loyal to God and to the King?'

"And Percivale answered: 'I swear it.'

"The King took Percivale's hand and turned toward the Round Table.  All the knights looked eagerly to see where his place would be, for they thought: 'No man of us has ever done such deeds as his while he was still so young, and who knows but he may be that best knight of all the world, who is to sit in the Siege Perilous?'

"The King thought of that too, and he paused beside the Siege Perilous, to see if there were any letters in it, but there were not.  But in the next seat to it, where no one had ever sat since Arthur had been King, he saw new letters of gold, and the letters said: 'This is the seat of Percivale, God's knight.'"



Chapter IV

The Queen's Robing-Room


When we got back to the hotel at Glastonbury that night there was a surprise awaiting us.  Helen's mother had a letter and she said: "We are going to London by the first train to-morrow morning, and then we are going straight to Paris."

Now you must know that before we started on this journey Helen's mother had said that she did not care in the least where we went, except that we must go to Paris.  So it was agreed between us that she should be allowed to go to Paris just whenever she pleased and that I should arrange everything else just as I pleased.  And so, when she said that we were going to Paris at once, she made exactly the one announcement that she had a perfect right to make, without asking me anything about it at all.  Still, just at first, I was not at all pleased.

I said that of course we should do just as she liked about it, still we had thought that we were to have plenty of time in Glastonbury, and so we had not gone to see the ruins of the abbey yet, and it seemed a pity to have to leave Glastonbury without seeing them.  Helen knew nothing about the ruins of the abbey, but she agreed with me.  That made no difference to Helen's mother.  She had a letter from somebody whom she knew, who was in Paris.  That somebody was to be there only for a week, and she must be there at the same time.  We really had no right to object, and so I gave up objecting and tried to think of the best way out of it. "Couldn't we come back here again afterwards?" Helen suggested.

Now the notion of going to a little place like Glastonbury, so far off the usual lines of travel, twice in the same journey, is one that would never come into the head of any ordinary traveller.  But Helen is not an ordinary traveller. And when I came to think of it I could not see the slightest reason in the world why we should not come back to Glastonbury after we had been to Paris.  I looked at Helen's mother and said: "May we?"

"You know very well," she said, "that you can go and come wherever you like, as long as you let me go to Paris."

Here was another notion.  "As long as I let you go to Paris," I repeated.  "That is just what I will do.  What do you want of me in Paris?  All the time that you are there you women will be running about the city, seeing things that I don't care about and doing things that I don't care about, such as shopping, and I should only be in the way. You would get on better without me, and so why should I go to Paris at all?  I will go to London with you to-morrow, and then I will wait there for you till you come back."

Helen's mother liked my plan so much that I almost felt hurt.  "I don't see," she said, "how you could be of the least use in Paris.  You will have a much better time in London, and I shall have you off my mind, and can do just what I like."

This almost took my breath away, but, as the plan was my own, of course I had to pretend that I liked it.  I said that there were several things in London that I wanted to see again, and I wanted to look up two or three places not far from London that had stories about them.  I was afraid I should not have time to go to them if I went to Paris too. When I said that Helen began to take an interest, as I had thought that perhaps she might.  "Are there more stories in London?" she asked.

"If you and I," I said, "were to stay in London and find a story every day, we should not live long enough to find half of them."

"Oh!" said Helen.

"Now do you think?" I said, "when you come to think of it a second time, that you really need Helen in Paris any more than you do me?  When she is a little older she will want to go there just as much as you do now, and then she can go.  But now, don't you think that you should like to have her off your mind as well as me, and don't you think that she could do a good deal toward cheering me up there in London, while you are gone?"

Helen looked at her mother to see what she was going to say.  She said nothing at all, but she looked at Helen in a way that meant that she might do just as she pleased about it, and Helen said: "If you don't mind very much, I think I will stay in London."

Helen's mother did not mind very much, so I said: "Very well, then; this is what we will do.  We will go all the way to Dover with you, and then we will come back to London and have as good a time as we can, till you come back from having the best time that ever was in the world, in Paris.  And when you are with us again we will come back here to Glastonbury and go to some other good places."

Nobody could make the least objection to that.  And so the next day but one Helen and I found that we were left quite to ourselves in London. We found plenty of things to amuse us.  We went to see the Tower of London, as Americans do.  We found the old armor and weapons that were there most interesting, and Helen made a discovery.  "Did King Arthur's knights wear armors like those?" she asked.

"Yes," I said, "about like those."

"With all those chains and iron things?"

"Yes, to be sure."

"Then I know what became of the green lace girdles that Gawain and the rest of them had."

"Very well; what did become of them?"

"Why, don't you see?  They all wore out. They wouldn't last a week, if they put them round their waists, with all those iron things on."

There was really no need of any better explanation than this, and so I gave up ever finding any.

"There is one curious little thing about this Tower," I said, "that is not in most of the books about it.  It was here, you know, long before King Arthur's time.  One of the old kings was called Bran the Blessed. And once he told his men that when he was dead they must cut off his head and bury it under the White Tower, in London, with the face toward France, and that as long as it stayed there England could never be harmed by any foe from abroad. Now I have never heard of any White Tower in London, except this big square one in the middle of the Tower of London, so that I have no doubt that it was here that the head of Bran the Blessed was buried, with the face toward France, to guard England from her foreign foes.  But when Arthur came to be King he had the head dug up, for he said that it would be better for England to be guarded by the strength and the courage of Englishmen than by magic.  You can look around you at the England of to-day and judge for yourself whether Arthur was right."

I had heard that there were pictures of some of the King Arthur stories in the Queen's robing-room, at the Palace of Westminster, and of course we wanted to see them.  Now anybody who looks moderately respectable can walk through the Palace of Westminster any Saturday.  The trouble is that the policemen who are posted in the rooms will not let you stay in any one of them long enough to do more than take a glance at it and pass on to the next room.  Of course this would not do for us, when there were pictures of King Arthur to be looked at.  But we were very lucky. We knew somebody who knew somebody who knew somebody else, and I rather think that this last somebody was the secretary of the Lord Great Chamberlain.  At any rate, there were some letters written about us, and we were told to go to the Palace of Westminster and ask for the inspector of police.  So we went there when Saturday came around and saw the inspector and told him that we were the ones whom the letters had been written about.  He was very glad to see us and he introduced us to somebody else.  Once more I think that it was the secretary of the Lord Great Chamberlain, but I am not sure.  Whoever he was, he was most polite, and when we told him what friends of King Arthur's we were he ordered the policemen on duty to let us stay in the Queen's robing-room as long as we liked.

Having all the time we wanted, we did not hurry, but stood for a few minutes at the windows, looking out across the Thames.  "It was somewhere over there," I said, "not very far on the other side of the river, that there used to live one of the wickedest knights that were ever in King Arthur's court.  His name was Meliagraunce.  I don't know what made him so wicked, but I suppose he was so to start with. It occurred to him once that there could be no better way for him to make trouble than by stealing the Queen and carrying her off to his castle, over there across the Thames.  King Arthur was holding his court just here at Westminster then, for it seems that there was a palace here as long ago as that.

"Meliagraunce had to watch a long time for his chance, for there were usually a good many people about the Queen, and Lancelot was likely to be among them, and somehow, wicked as he was, he did not care about doing anything to harm the Queen while Lancelot was with her.  But one day he heard that the Queen was going maying, with some knights and ladies, and that Lancelot was not going.  That, he thought, would be just his chance.  Now, as the Queen did not mean to go far from Westminster, there was no thought of any danger.  So the knights who rode with her wore swords at their sides, as they did almost everywhere, but they carried no spears or shields, and they wore no armor.  There were only ten of them, with ten ladies and a few squires and pages.  But Meliagraunce got ready twenty knights, fully armed, and a hundred archers on foot.

"Westminster and the country about it looked very different then from what they do now. Now there is nothing but city for miles around, but then there were fields, and a little farther off there were woods.  So the Queen and her knights and ladies rode to the woods and gathered flowers and green branches, and decked themselves and their horses with them and started back toward Westminster.  Then Meliagraunce and his armed men fell upon them. The Queen's knights fought for her as well as they could, but they were so few and so poorly armed that they were no match for their enemies.  In a little while they were all of them wounded, and the Queen saw that they would all be killed if the fight went on.  So she called to Meliagraunce and begged him to stop the fight and promised that she would go with him to his castle, if he would let all her knights go too, for they were wounded and she must have them with her, so that she could take care of them.

"Meliagraunce agreed to this and they all set off toward his castle. But on the way the Queen whispered to a page who was on a swift horse, and told him to ride back to Westminster and tell Lancelot that she was a prisoner in the castle of Meliagraunce.  So the page watched till nobody was looking, and then turned his horse suddenly and rode back. Of course Meliagraunce and his men saw in a moment what he was doing and what it was for, and they shot at him with arrows, but they missed him and he was soon beyond their reach.

"Now Meliagraunce and all those who were with him had to go slowly, because of the wounded knights, but the page who went to tell Lancelot rode fast.  And when Lancelot heard what the page had to tell he rode fast too, so that he came to the castle of Meliagraunce not long after the others arrived there.  And as soon as Meliagraunce heard that Lancelot had come he began to see what a silly thing he had done and to wish that he were well out of it.  So he went to the Queen and begged her not to let Lancelot kill him.  If she would promise that, he said, they would all go back to Westminster the next morning.  So the Queen sent for Lancelot and told him that it would be better to do as Meliagraunce had said, for Meliagraunce was a knight of King Arthur's and it would be better that it should not be known what he had done as it would have to be if Lancelot fought with him and killed him.  And of course Lancelot said that it should be as the Queen wished.

"But Meliagraunce had still other mischief in his mind.  Now that he had found that he must send the Queen back to Westminster, he decided that he would charge her with treason to the King.  That was as easy a charge to make against her as any, and it was as easy a way to harm her as any, since that was what he wanted to do.  You know anybody could charge anybody else with anything, as long as he was ready to fight and risk his life to prove it.  of course it did not take a minute for Lancelot to say that the charge that Meliagraunce made was a lie and that he would fight with him to prove that the Queen was not a traitor to the King, whenever and wherever Meliagraunce liked.  And Meliagraunce said that it should be eight days from that day, at Westminster, before King Arthur.

"Now you may be sure that Meliagraunce would never have said a word against the Queen if he had thought that he should really have to fight with Lancelot about it.  But he had still another trick to play, which he thought was a good one.  He pretended to be very friendly with Lancelot and asked him if he should like to see his castle.  Then he led him about from room to room and at last he led him over a trap door.  It gave way and Lancelot fell down into a dungeon and struck on a heap of straw.  And there Meliagraunce meant to keep him till after the time for the fight.  And so, as he expected, it would all be decided his way, because Lancelot would not be there to defend the Queen, or, at the worst, he would have to fight with some knight who was not so good as Lancelot.

"I suppose I ought to tell you just here that King Arthur himself could not fight for the Queen in such a case as this, because he had to sit and be the judge in all such fights.  And Arthur always did justice to rich and poor and to great and small alike, and he would do the same justice, or he would try to, to the one whom he loved best of all the world as to the meanest man or woman who could be brought before him.

"When the rest were ready to go back to Westminster they were surprised, of course, that Lancelot was not with them.  But they did not think that it was so very strange, for Lancelot often went away suddenly in search of adventures and told nobody that he was going.  So they went back and told the King that Meliagraunce had charged the Queen with treason and that Lancelot was to defend her.  And the King was not alarmed at all, for he knew that the Queen could not be guilty of such a thing, and he felt sure that Lancelot would be at hand when the time came to prove it.

"But the King felt more sure of Lancelot than Lancelot felt of himself, for all that week he was in prison.  And on the eighth day Meliagraunce came to Westminster ready for the fight and called upon the King to give judgment against the Queen, because Lancelot was not there to defend her.  Then Arthur said that he was sure that Lancelot must be dead or sick or else in prison, for he never failed to keep his promise before, and he asked if there was any other knight who would fight in his place to defend the Queen.  Then a knight of the Round Table said that he was sure, too, that it was as the King had said and he would fight for the Queen instead of Lancelot.

"But Meliagraunce, as clever people sometimes do, had made a mistake. He did not know, perhaps, that there was a woman in his castle who was in love with Lancelot.  But there were a good many such women scattered over England and he ought to have been careful about it.  On the very morning when the battle was to be she came to Lancelot and told him that she would let him out of his prison if he would give her one kiss. Lancelot thought that this was not a large price to pay and he paid it. Then the woman let him out and found his armor for him and helped him to get a horse from the stable and he set off, as fast as he could go, for Westminster.  And he arrived just as the knight who had promised to fight for him had taken his place ready to begin the battle.

"Lancelot rode straight up before the King and told him how Meliagraunce had trapped him and kept him in prison, and then he took the place of the other knight and was ready for the fight.  Nobody had any doubt how the fight would go.  Everybody felt that the right would win and that the right meant Lancelot.  The King felt so sure of it that he had the Queen come and sit in her place beside him, though she was accused of treason.  The heralds gave the signal, the knights charged together, and Meliagraunce was thrown from his horse. Lancelot dismounted then and they fought with swords, but it was only a few moments before Meliagraunce was disarmed and helpless and begging for mercy.

"Then Lancelot had a hard question to decide.  In any ordinary fight it would be unknightly to refuse mercy to any knight who asked it, but Lancelot felt that such a cowardly, lying wretch as this had no right to live and that he had no right to let him live.  He thought for a moment and then he said: 'Meliagraunce, take up your sword and let us go on with this fight to the end.'

"'I will not fight any more,' said Meliagraunce; 'you have beaten me and I ask your mercy, and you must give it, as you are a knight of the Round Table.'

"'Meliagraunce,' said Lancelot, 'I will take off my helmet and all the armor that I can from the left side of my body, and my left hand shall be tied behind me, and then I will fight with you.'

"Then Meliagraunce ran toward the King. 'My lord,' he cried, 'have you heard what he has said?  I call upon you to make him keep his promise and fight me with his head and his left side uncovered.'

"'Meliagraunce,' said Lancelot, 'come back! I am not a liar, like you, and I need no one to make me keep my promises, even to traitors and cowards.'

"Then Lancelot's armor was taken off his left side, as much of it as could be, and his helmet was taken off.  And his left hand was tied behind him, so that he could not use his shield. And in this way he stood ready for the fight again.  Meliagraunce aimed a blow at his head, but Lancelot caught it with his sword and put it aside.  Then he struck one great stroke and split Meliagraunce's helmet and laid him dead on the field.  And everybody felt that the Round Table was better by the loss of Meliagraunce than it would be by the gain of three good knights. And now I think that it is about time for us to look at these pictures that we came to see."

The pictures were painted on the walls of two sides of the room.  On the third side was a throne, with a canopy over it, and on the fourth side were the windows.  The artist had painted scenes from the stories of King Arthur and he had made them represent the virtues that he thought ought to belong to a good knight.  One of his pictures he called "Mercy," and it showed Sir Gawain kneeling before Queen Guinevere and swearing always to be merciful and never to be against ladies.  The one next to this was "Hospitality," and in it King Arthur was receiving Sir Tristram as a knight of the Round Table.  Another picture was "Courtesy," and there Tristram was playing his harp to Isolt.  For "Religion" there was "The Vision of Sir Galahad and his Company."  Then there was one of "Generosity," with King Arthur thrown from his horse in battle and his life spared by Lancelot.  "That seems a strange picture to you, no doubt," I said, "but some time I will tell you the story that it belongs to, and then it will not seem so strange."

All around under these pictures and on the side of the room where the throne was, there were carvings: "Arthur Delivered unto Merlin," "Arthur Crowned King," "How Arthur Gate His Sword Excalibur," "King Arthur Wedded to Guinevere," and many more.

"But of all these pictures," I said, "the one that reminds me of a story that I want to tell you just now is this one of 'The Admission of Sir Tristram to the Fellowship of the Round Table.'  Tristram had been known as the best knight of the world, next to Lancelot, for a long time before he was a knight of the Round Table.  King Arthur had long wished that Tristram might be one of his knights, and Lancelot had heard so much about him that he wanted to know him and to be his friend.  So at last Lancelot and some of the other knights set out to hunt for Tristram and to try to bring him to the court.

"You remember that Tristram was in love with Isolt, the Princess of Ireland.  There was another knight, Sir Palamides, who was in love with her too.  I must tell you about this Palamides, for there never was a knight who belonged more to that dear, silly old time or fitted into it better than he did.  He was a good and strong and brave knight, but Isolt did not care two straws for him and never would, and he knew it. But do you suppose that made any difference to him?  Not a bit.  He made it half of his business to love her year after year, though he knew that it would never do him or anybody else any good.  It never came into his head that there were just as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it.  No, all he cared for was to sit on the shore of the sea, never trying to catch or even thinking of any other good fish, but only wishing and wishing that he might catch the one that he knew he never could.  It was just like a good knight of those days.

"I said that he made it half of his business to love Isolt.  The other half of his business was to hunt the questing beast.  It was called the questing beast because of the questing or barking noise that came out of it.  It was a wonderful animal altogether.  It had a body like a leopard in front and like a lion behind, but its head was like a serpent's and its feet were like those of a deer.  And it did not make this barking noise with its mouth, but the noise was inside the beast, and it was not like the barking of one dog, but of sixty dogs.  I don't know why Palamides hunted it or what he was going to do with it if he ever caught it, but this again was just like a knight of those days.

"Now Palamides used often to feel very unfriendly toward Tristram, because Tristram loved Isolt.  By nature I believe that he was a good fellow, but he was hot-tempered, and, like other hot-tempered people, he sometimes did things that he was afterward sorry for.  And so, when he met Tristram, he often felt angry and wanted to fight with him.  And Tristram beat him usually, but not always, for Palamides was such a good knight that he could give Tristram, or even Lancelot, a pretty hard battle.  Then Palamides would be Tristram's friend for awhile, and then he would think more about Isolt and would grow to be his enemy again, and so would be ready for another fight.

"And once Tristram and Palamides had set a time and a place to fight together and settle everything between them.  But when the day came Palamides was held in prison by some enemy and could not come.  But Tristram was at the place, and as he waited he saw a knight riding toward him, with a closed helmet and a covered shield.  Of course he thought that this was Palamides, ready for the fight, so he put his spear in rest and faced him, and the other knight, seeing him do that, got ready to defend himself.  Now this other knight was Lancelot, and when the two had been fighting for a few minutes each began to wonder who the other could be.  Tristram knew very well that he was fighting with a better knight than Palamides, and Lancelot knew that he had never fought with so good a knight before.

"And after a long time it came into their heads to stop fighting for a moment and ask each other who they were.  And when each had told the other his name they saw what a mistake they had made in fighting at all. It was then that Lancelot made Tristram come to the court with him, and it was then that King Arthur welcomed him and gave him his seat at the Round Table, as the picture shows.

"And now, after all this bother, we have come to the story.  Tristram had not been long a knight of the Round Table when King Arthur made a great tournament in his honor.  It was at the Castle of Lonazep.  I don't know just where that was, but it was somewhere up in the other end of England.  As Tristram was on his way to the tournament he met Palamides, and they fought, as usual.  And Tristram won, as usual, and then Palamides begged him to let him ride to the tournament with him and fight for him and do him service.

"So they rode together till they came to the River Humber, and there they saw a boat, all covered with canopies of purple silk, coming up the stream.  It came to the shore close to them and lay there still.  Then Tristram and Palamides went down into the boat and saw a strange sight. In the middle of it was a couch, all covered with silk and cloth of gold, and on the couch lay a dead knight, armed all but his head.  As Tristram stood gazing and wondering at this he saw that there was a letter in the dead knight's hand.  He took the letter and opened and read it, and this is what it said: 'To the knights of King Arthur: I who bring this letter was Hermance, King of the Red City.  I was killed by two traitors, for my lands and my crown.  Now I pray that some one of King Arthur's knights will avenge my death and will take my city and my castles and my crown for his reward.'

"Then Palamides said: 'Sir Tristram, you must be at this tournament, for King Arthur has made it in your honor, and he and many others will wish to see you here.  So let me go to avenge the death of this King, and whatever I do shall be done for you and in your name.'

"'You are right,' said Tristram, 'and you may go, but come back, if you can, for the tournament.'

"'If I live,' said Palamides, 'and the work that I find to do will let me, I will be with you again at the tournament.'

"Then Tristram went ashore from the boat and Palamides stayed in it, and the men turned the boat and it went away down the river.  The men in the boat knew why Palamides stayed in it.  He did not speak to them and they did not speak to him.  He knew that they would take him where he ought to go, so he stood at the prow and watched the fields that they passed and the woods and the river, and waited to see and to know who these traitors were whom he must punish and what sort of task it was to be to avenge this dead King.  And after a time the boat came to where the river widened out toward the sea, and the men steered it toward a castle that stood on the shore.  Then they gave Palamides a horn and told him to blow it.  And the people of the castle knew the sound of the horn, and when they heard it they came down to where the boat had landed and welcomed Palamides and led him up into the hall.  There the lord of the castle met him and made him sit at the table and they brought him food and wine. And Palamides saw that the lord of the castle and all the others in it were dressed in black, and after he had eaten and drunk he asked why this was.

"'It is for the death of our King,' the lord of the castle answered. 'He was Hermance, the King of the Red City, and no truer king ever lived.  He had two foster sons, whom he had brought up since they were children.  He loved them as if they had been his own sons, but they were false and wicked.  He meant when he died to give them everything he had, but they could not wait.  So they watched their chance, and one day, when he had been hunting and had stopped to drink at a spring, they came behind him and stabbed him in the back.  There, beside the spring, I found him, not yet dead.  He made me put him in a boat and he made me write a letter and put it in his hand before he died. The boatmen were told to go up the Humber toward Lonazep, where all King Arthur's knights were soon to be, and the letter asked that some one of them would come to avenge the death of our good King.  And you, Sir Knight -- since you have come in this boat -- I suppose that you have read this letter and have come to help us.'

"'One of the best knights of the world, Sir Tristram, read that letter,' Palamides said, 'and I have come for him and in his name to avenge the death of your King.  So tell me where I shall find these men.'

"'You must take your boat again,' said the lord, 'and go to the Delectable Isle.  There is the Red City, and there you will find these two brothers, Helius and Helake.  Go and conquer them and we shall pray for you and wait to hear what you have done.'

"Then Palamides went back to his boat, and just as he came to it he met a knight who said: 'Sir Knight, tell me who you are and where you are going.'

"'By what right,' said Palamides, 'do you command me so?'

"'If you are going to the Red City,' said the knight, 'to avenge the death of King Hermance, turn back and go no farther.  It is for me, not for you, to avenge him.  I am the brother of King Hermance.'

"'That may be true,' Palamides answered, 'but when the letter was taken out of the dead King's hand we did not know that there was any knight to avenge him.  I promised then that I would do it, and I must do it now or I shall be false to my promise.'

"'That is true,' said the other knight, 'but now let us try a few strokes together, to see which of us is the better knight, and then that one shall avenge the King my brother.'

"So they drew their swords and struck a few strokes, and then the brother of the King said: 'You are the better; the adventure is yours. But I will go to the Red City too, so that I can fight with these traitors if they kill you.

"'Come with me, then,' said Palamides, 'but if they kill me go to my lord, Sir Tristram, and tell him of it, and I am sure that he or Sir Lancelot will come to avenge me and the King your brother.'

"So they both went on in the boat till they came to the Delectable Isle and the Red City. And there all the people welcomed them, for they all loved their King who was dead and hated the traitors who had killed him. And they sent messengers to the brothers to tell them that one of King Arthur's knights had come to fight with them, to avenge King Hermance. And the brothers sent back word that they would be ready for the fight the next morning.

"In the morning Palamides was ready in the lists and the people of the city came to see the battle.  And when they saw what a bold and strong-looking man Palamides was they began to hope that they should be free of their tyrants and have another King as good as Hermance. Then the brothers came and took their places at the other end of the lists, and when the people looked at them they began to fear again that the one knight from King Arthur's court could never beat them.

"It was Helake who came first against Palamides, and Palamides ran him through with his spear at the first charge and he fell dead upon the field.  But the battle with Helius was not so easy.  At the first charge Palamides was thrown from his saddle, and as he lay on the ground, before he could get up, Helius tried to drive his horse over him, to crush him.  But Palamides sprang up and caught the bridle and cried: 'Come down and fight me fairly on foot or I will kill your horse and make you do it.'

"Then Helius got off his horse and they began to fight again with their swords.  It was a fight for life and death, and it was a hard one.  It lasted for a long time, with no rest, and Helius seemed never to lose any ground or any strength, but Palamides grew weaker and fainter and he was forced back and back across the field.  The people saw it and a low, sad murmur ran through the crowd.  And Palamides heard it, and for an instant he glanced away from his enemy and saw the anxious faces of the people and the tears in the eyes of some and the fear in the looks of many.  Then he said to himself: 'Palamides, you are a knight of the Round Table.  Will you let the news go back to King Arthur that you were beaten in a fight by a traitor and a murderer?  And you are here for Tristram.  Will you lose his battle for him?'

"And with that thought he gathered all his strength and struck Helius three great blows with his sword, one upon the other, and with the third he cut through his helmet and laid him dead upon the field with his brother.

"Then a great shout went up from all the people and some of them ran away to tell those who had not seen the fight how it had gone, and they built bonfires and set all the bells of the city ringing, and others crowded around the knight and cheered and shouted: 'Long live King Palamides!'

"But when they would let him speak to them Palamides said: 'You must not call me so; all that I have done was for my lord, Sir Tristram. If he could have come he would have fought this battle better than I.  If you have any new king it is he, and now I must go back to him. But I leave here this good knight, the brother of your old King Hermance, and he shall rule you till Sir Tristram sends to tell you what else to do.'

"Then Palamides went on board his boat again and it took him away toward the Humber and toward Lonazep to find Sir Tristram."



Chapter V

"Camelot, That Is In English Winchester"


Even while we were at Camelford, and again while we were at Cadbury Castle, I had not forgotten the words of my favorite book, "Camelot, that is in English Winchester."  If we were talking about hard history, I suppose that I should have to say that, if there ever was a real Camelot at all, it was probably that pleasant hill-top that we had seen in Somerset. Yet, when a story-teller whom I love as much as I do good old Sir Thomas says that Winchester was Camelot, it shall be Camelot for me, at least while I am there.  So we went down from London to see if this third Camelot pleased us as much as the two that we had seen.

First we walked about the streets and aimed at nothing in particular. That is a good thing to do on the first day when you are in a strange city.  "If I were to try to tell you," I said, "all the interesting and useful and delightful things that there are to tell about Winchester, I should have to go first and learn the most of them for myself.  And then you would get tired of listening to them, for there would be enough of them to make a book as big as a dictionary.  We are supposing, you know, while we stay, that King Arthur lived here, and, whether he did or not, other kings of England lived here more or less for I don't know how many hundred years.  King Alfred lived here and King Canute lived here and William the Conqueror built a castle here, on the very spot, we will let ourselves believe, where King Arthur's castle stood."

If the first thing to be done in a town newly visited is to walk about the streets, the second is to go to the cathedral, if there is one.  So the next thing that we did was to go to Winchester Cathedral.  It is not much to look at from the outside, though it is pretty enough, with the trees and grass around it.  It has only the lowest of towers.  It had a higher one once, but when King William Rufus was killed, they buried him in the cathedral and seven years afterward the tower fell down.  They thought that it must be because they had buried such a wicked man in the church.  But I think that there are kings as bad as William Rufus buried under some English towers that have not fallen down.  There are kings and kings, good and bad, lying here in this cathedral. Canute is here, and it was here that he brought his crown and put it up over the cross, after he had found, down yonder at Southampton, that he could not rule the waves, as England has since been supposed to do.  To be fair to the cathedral, I ought to say that, though it is unpromising outside, it is surely very beautiful inside.  After that I think I do not need to say anything more about it at all, because there are so many people who can tell you about this cathedral and others so much better than I can.

We left it and walked up the street to find the castle.  I think I forgot to say at the proper place that the whole town of Winchester that day was in a state of breathless excitement about a cricket match.  The boys of Winchester College were playing against the boys from Eton, and pretty nearly everybody in town had gone to see the game. When we got to the castle, the man who ought to have been there to show it to us had gone to see the cricket match, like the rest.  But his wife, who was a very pleasant elderly lady, said that she would show it to us.

They hold court in the castle still.  Not the sort of court that King Arthur used to hold, but courts of justice for the County of Hants. The old woman took us into one room after another and told us about the trials that had taken place in them.  We pretended to be greatly interested, but we were not a bit.  But by and by she took us to a place where we were interested.  It was the great hall of the castle.  I should feel sorry for anybody who was not interested in the great hall of Winchester Castle.  It belonged to the old castle that William the Conqueror built, where more kings and queens lived or were born or died or did other fascinating things than I should dare to try to remember. And this was the hall of Parliament for almost four hundred years.  "And we may as well believe," I said, "that now we are standing in King Arthur's hall.  If Winchester was Camelot there is no reason to suppose that his castle was not on this very spot, and there is no reason to suppose, either, that the great hall was not on this very spot.  Henry VII. believed it, when his son was born here and he named him Arthur."

It is a beautiful room as it stands to-day.  It is long and wide and high.  It has fine arches and cluster columns and windows of stained glass.  But what we gazed at most hung high up on the wall at the west end of the hall.  The old woman told us that it was King Arthur's Round Table.  Well, there was no doubt that it was round, and she said that there was no doubt that it had been a table once, because there were places at the back of it to fasten legs.  We found a picture of the back of it afterwards in a book about Winchester, and it showed that she was right.  The table is eighteen feet across, if you insist on my being exact. The table is painted in quite an elaborate style.  There is a big rose in the middle of it, and then there is a border, and in the border are the words: "This is the round table of King Arthur and his twenty-four Knights."  This did not make us believe in the table any the more, because we knew very well that twenty-four knights would not make any show at all in King Arthur's hall.  Above the rose, as the table hangs now, and with his feet resting on it, is a picture of King Arthur himself. The rest of the table, except the outer edge, is painted with broad stripes of dark and light, which run from the border around the rose to the larger border of the whole table.  The old woman asked us to notice that the names of the knights were around the edge of the table.

We tried to make out the names and we did make out some of them.  There were Lancelot and Lionel and Tristram and Gareth and Bedivere and Palamides and Bors and Kay and Mordred and others that we could not read. The old woman said that there were some of them that nobody had ever been able to read, and we were not so proud as to try to read what we were told that nobody could.  It was King Henry VIII. who had this table painted in such a gorgeous way, and it seemed to us that the picture of King Arthur did not look quite unlike Henry.  No, we could not quite believe in the table after all.  King Arthur's Round Table had places, as we knew, for a hundred and fifty knights, and this had places for only twenty-four.  Still we could not help being uncommonly interested in anything that had even been called King Arthur's Round Table for four hundred years at the very least, and probably for six hundred.

"You see," said the old woman, "the three pictures on the windows over the Round Table are King Arthur and King Alfred and King Canute, a Briton and a Saxon and a Dane."

We looked up at the three kings on the stained glass windows, and it was then that I made a dreadful mistake.  It came into my mind that it would be a good plan to show off to this good lady who had so kindly shown us the hall, how much we knew about these three kings.  Pride does sometimes go before a fall. "Helen," I said, "tell this lady something about King Arthur, just to show her how much we have learned."

"I don't want to tell about him," Helen answered, "I would rather you would tell a story about him."

"But I am not going to tell any story now," I said, "I want you to tell one -- any one you like, just to show that you can do it."

"But I don't want to show that I can do it."

"Helen, if you do not tell us something about King Arthur at once, I will not tell you another story for a week."

And then what did this horrible child do but stand there and recite:

"When good King Arthur ruled this land He was a goodly King; He stole three pecks of barley meal To make a bag-pudding. A bag-pudding the king did make, And stuffed it well with plums; And in it put great lumps of fat, As big as my two thumbs. The King and Queen did eat thereof, And noblemen beside; And what they could not eat that night, The Queen next morning fried."

I tried to look as sorrowful as I could. "You know very well," I said, "that that is not true at all.  That was written by some enemy of King Arthur.  There are plenty of good things that you know and might have told us; and so, to punish you for telling that, you shall tell us now about King Canute and his courtiers."

Now Helen did not like this any more than she liked telling about King Arthur, but she must have seen how very determined I looked, and she gave a little gasp and said: "King Canute's courtiers told him that he was the greatest King in the world, and that the sea would obey him if he told it to do anything. So he had his chair put on the sand and he ordered the tide not to come up and wet him, and it did come up and wet him.  And he told his courtiers not to flatter him any more, and he never smiled again."

"You get worse every minute," I said. "You know very well that it was not Canute who never smiled again, and for telling that story wrong you shall tell us now about King Alfred and the cakes."

By this time Helen saw that it was getting serious and that it would not do any good to make any more mistakes, so she said: "King Alfred was hiding from his enemies, and he was in the house of a cowherd.  And the cowherd's wife was baking some cakes, and King Alfred was sitting by the fire.  And the cakes burned and he was so busy mending his bows and arrows that he didn't know it, so the cowherd's wife said: 'Can't you look at the cakes and not let them burn?  You'll be ready to eat them fast enough when the time comes.'  And she didn't know that he was the King."

"I can't say," I said, "that you have told that quite as well as you might, but it will do. And now, who was it that never smiled again?

"Henry I."

"And why?"

"Because his son William was drowned when the White Ship was lost."

"Very well.  The first class in English history could sit down, if there was anything to sit on."

The old woman was quite speechless with astonishment by this time.  I don't suppose anybody had ever come into this hall and tried to tell her so many things about the kings who used to live in Winchester before. We thanked her for her trouble and said good-by, and she just managed to get back enough of her senses to say that we were welcome and to bid us good-by in turn.  "And now," I said, "suppose we do what everybody else in town is doing and go and see the cricket match."



Chapter VI

The Boat On The River


Neither Helen nor I knew enough about cricket to tell a wicket-keeper from a maiden over.  But, whether we understood what was going on or not, the Winchester cricket-field that day was a pretty sight.  The grass all over it was fresh and green, and around it were crowds of gayly dressed people, watching the game and talking and laughing and enjoying the warm, soft air and the bright sunshine.  For a little while we walked around the edge of the field and looked at the people and the boys who were playing, running about and doing such absurd things as the players of a game you do not understand always do.  Then we found a quiet place across the field from where the most of the people were, and there we sat down on the grass to rest and to try to make something out of the game.  But that was hopeless, and we soon gave it up.

"Just suppose," I said, "that instead of these boys, with their harmless bats and balls and wickets, this field was filled with armored knights on horses, with long spears and great swords.  Suppose that they were playing their own rough game of the tournament, charging together and throwing one another off their horses and not caring any too much, sometimes, whether they killed one another or not. Suppose that the people from the town had all come out to see the tournament, just as they have come out to-day to see the game of cricket, and that we had come, too, just as we really have.  And suppose that King Arthur was sitting over there in his high seat to judge the knights.  If we can suppose all this, I think that wee shall see pretty clearly how one of King Arthur's tournaments looked when Winchester was Camelot.  There is a story, very pretty and very sad, about a tournament that was held at this very Camelot, and for all I know it may have been on this very field.

"The court was at Westminster just then but the King had given out that this tournament was to be at Camelot, so, when the time came, he and his knights set out to ride here. The Queen was sick and said that she would not come with them, and Lancelot said that a wound that he had was not yet well and so he would stay behind too and would not fight in this tournament.  Now, although Lancelot was usually honest, I am sorry to say that just now he was saying what was not quite true.  The truth was that Lancelot wanted to be at the tournament without King Arthur or any of the knights knowing that he was there.  He had won in so many tournaments and all the knights knew so well that he was sure to win if he fought, that none of them liked to fight against him, and tournaments where Lancelot was had come to be rather one-sided affairs.  So he thought that he would wait till the others were gone and then come to Camelot by himself, in armor that they did not know and carrying some strange shield, and join in the tournament and fight with whom he pleased.

"It was early morning when the others went away.  Lancelot waited till noon, so that he should not overtake them on the way, and then he mounted his horse and rode toward Camelot. Late in the day he came to a place called Astolat.  There was a castle, and Lancelot thought it best to stay there for the night.  The lord of the castle was an old knight, Sir Bernard of Astolat.  He welcomed Lancelot and asked him who he was, but Lancelot said: 'If you will pardon me, I do not wish to tell my name. I am going to the tournament at Camelot, to try what I can do against the knights who will be there, and I do not wish that any of them shall know who I am.'

"When it was time for supper Lancelot sat at the table with Sir Bernard and his two sons, and Sir Bernard's daughter served them.  Her name was Elaine.  And wherever Elaine went and whatever she did, she was always looking at Lancelot.  It seemed to her that there was something about him that was wonderful and new.  She thought that she had never seen a man who looked so noble, and, as he talked with her father, she thought that she had never heard a man who spoke so well.  They lived a quiet life there at Astolat, and this knight was telling her father about the court and about battles and tournaments.  He told things that were strange to her about many of the knights, and she listened to hear him say something about himself, but he did not say anything. 'Still,' she thought, 'when I look at him I know that he is the best of them all.' And she knew so little about knights that this was really a very good guess for her to make.

"But Lancelot scarcely saw Elaine at all. He knew that she was there, of course, and he knew that she was young and beautiful, and he knew that she was serving them, as they sat there.  But Lancelot had seen many young girls serving at many tables -- yes, and a good many of them had fallen in love with him, too, before this one, with or without his knowing it. And Lancelot asked the old man: 'Have you any plain shield here that you could lend to me for this tournament?  I have told you that I do not want to be known at Camelot, but every knight would know my shield, if I should carry my own.'  And when she heard that, Elaine thought: 'He is some famous knight, I knew he was!'

"And the old man answered: 'Here are my two sons, Torre and Lavaine; they are both new knights and their shields are plain and blank.  It may be that Lavaine will like to go and see this tournament, but Torre cannot go, for he has a wound that is not well yet.  You can have his shield.'

"'And may I leave my own shield here,' said Lancelot, 'till I come back?'

"'Surely,' said the old man, 'Elaine will take good care of it for you.'

"And when she heard that, Elaine blushed from her forehead down to her throat, and she stood still and gazed at Lancelot, and he looked up at her and said: 'If she will do that for me I shall be very grateful.'

"Lavaine had been listening to all that Lancelot said, almost as much as his sister, and now he said: 'Father, if this knight will let me, might I not ride with him to the tournament and see the knights, and perhaps try a joust with one of them?'

"'No, no," said his father, 'it would trouble the knight too much to have such a boy with him.'

"'It would not trouble me at all,' said Lancelot; 'let him come.  He shall see everything, and if he wants to joust I will advise him and help him all I can.  It would be a poor return for your kindness to me to do less than that.'

"Then Elaine, although she scarcely dared to speak to Lancelot, said: 'Sir Knight, if I am to keep your shield, could you not wear some token of mine at the tournament?'

"'My child,' said Lancelot, 'I have never done that for any lady, and it is against my rule.'  And then he thought again: 'All my friends know that I never wear a token of any lady, and, if I do it now, it will be all the harder for them to know me.' So he said: 'Very well, then, I will wear something for you; what is it?'

"And Elaine blushed again with happiness, and she went away and brought him a sleeve of red silk, all embroidered over with pearls. And Lancelot bound it on his helmet.  Then they all went to bed, and in the morning Lancelot and Lavaine rode away from Astolat together and came here to Camelot.  And Elaine took Lancelot's shield to her own chamber, and from the tower of the castle she watched Lancelot and her brother till they were out of sight.

"I don't see why I should tell you about the tournament.  I have told you about such things so many times that you know how the knights fought, and I am sure you do not care to hear it again.  But I will tell you that Lancelot came to the tournament and nobody knew him, that he did better than any other knight there, that Lavaine did well, too, for so new a knight, and that Lancelot at last got a dreadful wound.

"Then he called to Lavaine to follow him and they rode away.  Lancelot could scarcely sit on his horse, but they rode a little way from Camelot to a place that Lancelot knew, where a hermit lived.  The hermit had been a knight of the Round Table long ago, and when he saw Lancelot he knew him, and he took him into his cell and took off his armor and dressed his wound and did all that he could to help him. And Lancelot was there with the hermit for a long time, and Lavaine stayed with him.

"Now when the tournament was over the King and all the knights wondered what had become of the knight who had worn the red sleeve, with the pearls, on his helmet.  He had done better than any of them and the King wanted to find him, so that he could give him the prize.  Some of the knights had seen that he was wounded, but none of them had seen which way he went.  Then Gawain said that he would hunt for him, but he rode all around Camelot and could not find him, and then he went back to the King' and told him that he feared that the knight who wore the red sleeve was dead.

"So they all went back to Westminster.  And at night Gawain came to Astolat and to the castle of old Sir Bernard.  And as soon as he and his son and his daughter heard that Gawain had come from the tournament at Camelot, they asked him to tell them all about it and what had been done there and who had won the prize.  'The prize was won,' he said, 'by a knight whom nobody knew, and he carried a plain shield and wore a red sleeve, with pearls, on his helmet.  I never saw a knight joust better, but he went away before the tournament was over and afterwards he could not be found.'

"Elaine was trembling with happiness that her knight had proved the best of them all. 'We know him,' she cried; 'he was here with us; it was my sleeve that he wore, and he is the knight that I love.  I knew that he was the best of knights!'

"'You know him?' said Gawain.  'Then tell me who he was, so that I may tell the King.'

"Then Elaine told him that she did not know his name, and she told him all that she did know about him, how he had come there and how he had promised to wear her sleeve, and how he had taken her brother's shield and had left his own with her.

"'Will you let me see his shield, then?' Gawain asked.  'I know so many shields that I might tell who he was by that.'

"So Elaine brought the shield and showed it to Gawain, and said: 'do you know the knight by this?'

"'Yes, yes,' said Gawain, 'indeed, indeed, I know him; I have known him for many years, and he is the best knight of the world.  He is Sir Lancelot of the Lake.'

"And when she heard this, Elaine could not say anything, but could only stand before Gawain, blushing and trembling again, that the great Sir Lancelot had worn her token at the tournament.

"'But I fear,' said Gawain, 'that we must all be sad for this, for the knight who wore that red sleeve with the pearls got a dreadful wound, and now he may be dead or dying.'

"Then Elaine begged her father to let her go to find Lancelot.  And he saw that she loved him so much that it would be better for her to go and try to find him and help him, if he needed her, than to stay at home and fret about him, not knowing whether he was alive or dead. And so Elaine left Astolat to seek for Lancelot. She went first toward Camelot, and before she reached the city she met her brother, Lavaine. He did not see her at first, but she called to him, and she was in such haste that she would not wait to tell him how their father was, or why she had come, but asked him at once where Sir Lancelot was.

"'How do you know,' he said, 'that he is Sir Lancelot?'

"'It was Sir Gawain that told us,' she answered; 'he came to Astolat and saw his shield and knew it.  Where is he?'

"'In a hermitage, not far from here.'

"'Then he is not dead?'

"'No,' said Lavaine, 'he was wounded and almost killed, but the hermit is a skilful man and knows what to do with wounds, and he hopes that he will live.'

"'Take me to him, then,' said Elaine.

"So Lavaine led her to the hermit's cell. And when she saw Lancelot lying there, with his face thin and white, his eyes large and dark, and all his strength gone from him, she ran to him and fell upon her knees beside his bed and hid her face in the pillow, and for a few moments she could not see or speak or move. Then she rose and looked at him again and put her hand on his forehead, and then she went and spoke to the hermit and at last she came and sat down beside Lancelot.  And after that she scarcely left the cell till he was well, and in all the weary days that passed no one ever saw her tremble or shed a tear, and she never slept when Lancelot needed her, but she was always there to nurse him and care for him and help the hermit to cure him, and if he ever smiled at her or called her by her name or reached out his hand and touched hers she was happy.

"But Gawain had gone back to the court and had told the King and all the rest that the knight who wore the red sleeve was Lancelot. And then Bors had set off to find him too. And Lancelot knew that Bors would come to find him and he told Lavaine to watch for him in the town, and so he was soon brought to the cell.  And when he and Lancelot had talked for a little while and Lancelot had asked him about the King and the Queen and all who were at court, Bors said: 'Is this girl whom I see about you the one whom they call Elaine of Astolat?'

"'Yes,' said Lancelot, 'and I cannot make her go away.  I tell her that she keeps herself here too close, but she will not rest or leave me.'

"'Why should she leave you?' said Bors. 'She loves you, they say, and here she proves it; why can you not love her too?'

"'No,' Lancelot answered, 'I wish that it could be, but it never can.  I shall be grateful to her always, she has done so much for me, and I shall always be her knight, but I can do no more.'

"'It is for you alone to say,' said Bors, 'but I am sorry for her and for you too.'

"They had spoken low, but Elaine was near and she could not help hearing a part of what they said.  When Bors stole a glance at her he saw that her face was white, but there were no tears in her eyes, and when there was anything for her to do for Lancelot she did it just as before, and, just as before, she never wanted to sleep or to be away from him.

"So Lancelot grew slowly stronger, and after a long time he could sit upon a horse again, and at last the hermit told him that he needed no more of his care.  Then it was agreed that Lancelot and Bors and Elaine and Lavaine should ride together to Astolat.  There Lancelot was to rest and get his shield, which was still there, and then go on with Bors and Lavaine to Westminster.  So they came to Astolat and spent the night, and in the morning Lancelot, Bors, and Lavaine were ready to ride on their way.  Then Lancelot said to Elaine: 'You have done more for me than I can ever repay.  I shall never forget you and always and everywhere that I go I shall be your knight, and anything that I can ever do for you I will do gladly.'  And Elaine knew that Lancelot could never do the one thing that she wished him to do for her -- to love her.

"And after they were gone her father saw that she grew paler and thinner, day by day. Her father and her brother Torre tried to amuse her and cheer her and make her think less of Lancelot, but she thought of him all day, and when she slept she dreamed of him.  She did not sleep much.  Every morning, before the sun rose, she was up and was looking out from the tower.  Sometimes she looked away toward London, where Lancelot was, or where she thought that he was, and sometimes she would look away toward Camelot, where she had been with him.  But at last she could not get up to look out from her tower any more. She could not leave her bed, but she lay there awake all day and much of the night; she talked with her father or her brother a little, and for the rest of the time she thought and dreamed of Lancelot.  And one day she told her father that she knew that she should live for only a little while more. 'And now,' she said, 'you must write a letter, just as I shall tell you. And when I am dead, dress me the best you can and lay me on a couch and put this letter in my hand.  Then put the couch, and me upon it, into a boat, and let the boat be rowed down the river to Westminster, where Lancelot and the King and the Queen are.'

"All this she made her father promise to do.  Then she told him what to write for her in the letter, and a little while after that she died. And her father did all that he had promised.

"One day King Arthur and Queen Guinevere and Sir Lancelot stood at a window of the palace at Westminster, looking out upon the Thames.  And there they saw a little boat, all covered over with black and purple silk, and with only one man to row it.  And the boat came straight on till it touched the shore near the palace.  'It is a strange-looking boat,' said the King; 'let us go down and see what it is.'

"So they all went down and looked into the boat, and there they saw the dead Elaine, lying on a couch covered with silk and cloth of gold. Then the Queen saw the letter in her hand and took it and opened it and saw that it was to Lancelot.  But when she gave it to him Lancelot gave it to the King and asked him to read it.  And the letter said?  'To the best knight of the world, Sir Lancelot of the Lake: I who bring you this letter was Elaine of Astolat.  I have died, Sir Lancelot, because you could not love me.  Now I beg that you will pray for my soul and will bury me as I ought to be buried.'

"When the King had read this letter none of them spoke at first.  Then the Queen said: 'Lancelot, could you not do her some little kindness, to make her sorrow less, so that she might live?'

"'She would have nothing but my love,' said Lancelot.  'I could not give her that if I would, for true love, such as she should have had, must come of itself, and cannot be compelled.'

"So the next day Elaine was buried as if she had been a queen, and Lancelot and the King and the Queen and the knights of the Round Table were there to see it done.  And the boat that had brought her down the river went back up the river toward Astolat."



Chapter VII

The Giants' Dance


Instead of going from Winchester straight back to London, we took a little run across to Salisbury.  It was not so much that we wanted to see Salisbury, though it is a pretty place and has a fine cathedral, but I wanted to go to Stonehenge.  To look at Stonehenge, I think, brings one nearer to the history and the legend of ancient Britain than anything else that I have ever seen.  And if Stonehenge were nothing at all it would still be worth going to, for the ride to it from Salisbury is one of the prettiest in all England.  There is no such remarkable scenery, perhaps, as is to be found in many another place, but on that day when we rode out there the fields were fairly blazing with flowers, red and yellow and purple, and the little gardens were almost too full of them to hold them all without spilling.  It was just a free, open, country ride, with everything around looking peaceful and sweet and beautiful and happy.

And when you take that ride, if you trust to a driver who knows the way and where you ought to go, he will bring you soon to Old Sarum.  It is a hill, with a thick double wall of earth and a ditch around it, and it was a Roman town once.  Perhaps it was a British town or stronghold before that.  It reminded us a little of Cadbury Castle, but it is a good deal bigger.  It had a cathedral in it once, but for some reason or other the people began to get tired of living in it and moved down and made the town of Salisbury, and there a new cathedral was built, and Old Sarum came to be nothing at all any more but a great hilltop, with its walls and its ditch around it.

From Old Sarum we went on to Amesbury. I told the driver that I wanted to stay there for a little while.  I think he meant to make a little stay, whether I had mentioned it or not, for he got ready to do it with less explanation than it usually takes to get a driver to do anything he is not used to.  He stopped at the little hotel and gave the horse a drink, and we gave him enough to get something to drink for himself. Then we walked on toward the church and told him to follow us in a little while.

We had walked about in the churchyard for only a minute when we saw a man coming toward us.  He proved to be the vicar, who had seen us and was coming to show us the church. He did show it to us and told us a great many interesting things about it which I cannot remember well enough to repeat them here.  But I do remember that it was so old that I decided that there must have been a church here in King Arthur's time, and that perhaps some part of this very one was standing then.

"But where is the old abbey?" I asked. "Are there not some ruins of that left?"

We were outside the church now and were looking about at the fields and the trees.  "Oh, no," the vicar said, "there is nothing left of the abbey now.  It was very near where that large house is now.  That is the house of Sir Edmund Antrobus.  We can come nearer and look at it, if you like."  So we went nearer and looked at it, and it was a handsome house, and then we went and stood on a little bridge across the Avon.  It was a shady place and the water was clear, so that we could see the trout swimming in it, and we looked down the river under a green arch of trees that grew on the sides of the stream and sent their branches to meet above it.  "I should like you to remember this place," I said, "because Queen Guinevere lived here for a long time.  It is not time yet for me to tell you how or why, but I will tell you when the time comes, and till then I want you to remember how the place looks.  Remember these fields and this river and these trees.  I don't know, of course, whether they looked the same then, but they may have been not so very different. So think of Queen Guinevere sometimes standing on a bridge, just as we are now, or on the bank of the river, and looking down into just such clear water and up at just such cool, green, spreading trees.  Remember that she lived over there where Sir Edmund Antrobus lives now, and that she walked many a morning, it is likely, across these very fields, to a church that stood where the church is now. That is all.  Remember it till we come to the story about it."

By the time we came out to the road the driver was waiting for us and wondering what we had found to keep us so long.  We got into the carriage and went on again, and nothing happened till we got to Stonehenge.  Now I know that you don't want me to describe Stonehenge to you.  If you want to know a great deal more than you do about it, you can find it in a good many big and learned books.  What I wish I could do would be to make you see it, and I cannot do that.  It is not much to tell about, but it is a wonderful thing to see.  It seems to me to mean so much, standing there, so lonely, in the middle of Salisbury Plain -- that great circle of half-smoothed stones -- grand, sad, silent, older than history -- a solid, real, noble thing, left to us from a time out of which we have little else but fairy tales.  It was a huge circle of stones once, square pillars set on end and big blocks laid across them.  Now many of them are lying on the ground, where they fell so long ago that some of them are half buried in it. Some way off from the circle is another tall stone, that they say the devil once threw at a monk.  He was such a good man that the devil could not hurt him, but it struck his foot and took the print of his heel, and the print is there now, to prove the story.  In the morning of the day of the summer when the sun goes highest in the sky, people come here to see it rise.  I have never been here then, but they say that on that morning, if you stand over across the circle and look through one of the great stone gateways, you will see the sun rise exactly over the point of this stone that the devil threw at the monk.

"I am sorry," I said, "that I cannot tell you the history of Stonehenge, but I can tell you the story of it, if you care to hear it."

To be sure Helen cared to hear it.

"We shall have to go back, then," I said, "to a time long before King Arthur was born.  Lud was the King of England.  It was for him that London was named.  Perhaps the two names do not sound very much alike to you, but you know names will get a good deal twisted, the best you can do.  Lud had a brother named Levelys, who had gone over to France and married a princess and had become King of France.  And about that time King Lud and his people began to have a great deal of trouble.  There were three things that troubled them especially.  The first was a race of people called the Coranians.  I don't know where these Coranians came from or what they did to make themselves so troublesome, but there is no doubt that, for some reason or other, they did not get on well with Lud's people.  And the worst of it was that there seemed to be no way to get rid of them.  The reason was that they had such good ears.  For they could hear anything that was said anywhere on the island, no matter how softly it was spoken, if the wind was the right way.  And so no plan against them could ever be talked over without their finding out all about it.

"And the second trouble was a noise, a horrible scream, that was heard in every house in England on the eve of every May Day.  It was so loud and so fearful that it frightened people half to death, and it went through them like a knife, and it chilled their blood and filled them with horror, and some of them went mad because of it.

"And the third trouble was that the King never could keep anything to eat in the house. No matter how much provision there was at night, it was all gone the next morning, and nobody could find out what became of it.

"Now, it occurred to King Lud that his brother Levelys was a very wise man, and that it would be worth while to go to France and see him and ask him if he could tell what ought to be done about all these troubles. So he got ready a fleet, very quietly, so that the Coranians should know as little as possible about it, and sailed toward France.  And when his brother heard that he was coming he got ready a fleet too, and sailed from France to meet him. When they met they were very glad to see each other, and they got ready to talk about King Lud's troubles.  Levelys was so wise that he knew just what Lud had come for, without being told, so he tried to find a way for them to talk without the Coranians hearing them.  And he had a horn made of brass, and he thought that if they talked through that they could not be heard even by such ears as the Coranians had.

"But when they began to talk through it they found that whatever either of them said into it nothing would come out but angry and hostile words. Then Levelys knew that a demon had got into the horn.  So he poured wine through the horn and drove the demon out.  Then they found that they could hear through the horn much better.  Levelys talked through the horn and told Lud that he would give him some insects that would kill the Coranians.  He must put them in water and then he must call all the people of the island together and scatter the water over them.  It would kill all the Coranians, he said, and it would not harm Lud's own people.

"As for the second trouble, that of the dreadful noise, Levelys said that it was caused by two dragons, that were fighting.  'When you go home,' he said, 'you must measure your island and find the exact middle of it.  There you must dig a pit, and in the pit you must put a cauldron of the best mead, and you must cover the top of the cauldron with satin. Then you must watch till you see the two dragons flying in the air and fighting together.  After a time they will grow weary with fighting and they will drop down upon the satin and sink into the cauldron.  Then they will drink all the mead that there is in it and go to sleep. After that you must fold the covering of satin around them and bury them in the strongest place that you have.

"'And the third trouble,' Levelys went on, 'the disappearing of all your food, is caused by a great enchanter, who comes and carries it away. And the reason that nobody who watches ever sees him is that he casts spells over all of them and makes them sleep.  But you yourself must watch, and you must have a cauldron filled with cold water beside you, and when you feel like sleeping you must get into the cauldron and the cold water will keep you awake.'

"When he had heard all this Lud went home. And the first thing that he did was to call all the people together, as his brother had told him. Then he sprinkled the water with the insects in it over all the people and it killed all the Coranians and did no harm to his own people.

"Then he measured the island and found that the very middle of it was in Oxford.  You can measure it yourself, on the map, if you want to find out whether the middle of it is really in Oxford.  I don't say that it is, only that that was what Lud found.  But I suppose he must have been right about it, for the rest of the experiment worked perfectly.  That is to say, he dug the pit and put the cauldron in the pit and the mead in the cauldron, and the satin over the cauldron, and waited to see the fight of the dragons.  And the dragons came and fought and fell down into the cauldron and drank up the mead and slept, and Lud covered them with the satin and buried them in Snowdon, which is a great mountain in Wales.  I am sorry that we cannot go to Snowdon at present, for I know that it must be worth seeing.

"And finally Lud made such a great feast that there was sure to be a good deal of it left, and then he sat up to see what would become of it. He put on his armor and sat down and waited, and by and by he began to hear such sweet music that he could scarcely help going to sleep.  But he got into the cauldron of cold water which he had ready, and that kept him awake.  And at last there came a great man, dressed all in armor and carrying a big basket. He began to put the food into the basket and Lud began to wonder how he could do it, for it seemed to him that there was a great deal more of it than the basket could ever hold. But the man put it all in and then started to go away with it.  Then Lud stopped him and made him fight with him.  And Lud beat him and would not grant him mercy till he promised to be Lud's servant and to restore the value of all that he had ever taken from him.

"Now we come to the second part of the story.  To get to it we have to come down a good many years, to the time when Merlin, the great magician and wise man of King Arthur's court, was a boy.  We almost always think of him as an old man, with white hair and a long, white beard.  But he was a boy once, just like anybody else.  And a wonderful thing about it was that he knew just as much more than anybody else in the world when he was a boy as he did when he was an old man.

"There was a King of England named Vortigern. He had no right to be King of England, but he was.  King Constantine had died not long ago, and had left three sons.  They were Constans, Pendragon, and Uther.  Vortigern, being very powerful at that time, had had Constans made King and he himself had become his chief adviser.  Then he had contrived to get Constans killed and had been crowned as King himself.  Pendragon and Uther were too young then to rule, and those who had the care of them had fled with them to France, because they knew that Vortigern would kill them too, if they stayed in England.  And in France the princes lived and grew up to be young men.

"While they were doing that, Vortigern was having a good deal of trouble in trying to govern the kingdom that did not belong to him.  He did it so badly that the people turned against him, and he had many enemies from abroad besides.  At last he called his wise men together and they told him that there was nothing left for him to do but to build the strongest tower he could, in the safest place he could, and then stay in it and try to keep himself from his enemies.

"So Vortigern hunted all over the island to find the best place to build his tower, and he decided that the best place was Snowdon.  But when his workmen began to build there was more trouble.  No matter how much they built in a day, it all fell down in the night, and the next day they had to begin all over again. When that had gone on for awhile Vortigern called his wise men together again and asked them what was the matter.

"The wise men did not know in the least, but they tried to look wiser than they had ever looked before in their lives, and they said that in a few days they would find out.  Then they got together, away from the King, and talked it all over and tried to make up their minds why the King's tower would not stand.  I don't know all the absurd ways that they had of thinking that they found out things, but the one that they believed in the most was studying the stars. So they studied the stars as hard as ever they could, but not a thing could they find out from them about the King's tower and why it would not stand.  But they were dreadfully scared by something else that they thought they saw in the stars.  This was that every one of them would finally be brought to his death by a child who never had a father.  Then one of them, who was a little brighter than the others, said: 'If we cannot do anything for the King, perhaps we can do something for ourselves.  Let us try to kill this child who never had a father, before he kills us.  Let us tell the King that we have found out from the stars that his tower will stand, if he mixes the mortar with the blood of a child who never had a father. Then he will find the child and kill him and we shall be safe."

"They all thought that this was a good plan, so they went and told the King that he must find a child who never had a father and mix his blood into the mortar.  So the King sent out messengers in every direction to hunt for a child who never had a father.  As I told you at first, Merlin was a child then, and perhaps you remember that I told you a long time ago that nobody ever knew who Merlin's father was, unless, as some people said, he was the son of a devil.  Well, one day two of Vortigern's messengers came to the town where Merlin lived, and Merlin and some other children were playing in the street.

"Just as the messengers came along Merlin struck one of his playmates. The boy cried out and asked Merlin how he dared to strike him, when he was the son of a great man and when Merlin never had any father.  When the messengers heard that, of course they were interested at once.  They asked about Merlin and they found that the story was indeed that this boy never had any father, so they told him that the King wanted him and that he must come with them.  'I am ready to go with you,' Merlin said, 'and I am not afraid, though I know that the King means to kill me.  You could never have found me if I had not been willing that you should.  I knew that you were looking for me and I struck the other boy so that he would say just what he did, to tell you that I was the child that the King wanted.  I shall not let the King kill me and I shall tell him what makes his tower fall down.'

"Then the messengers went back to the King and took Merlin with them. When he came before the King Merlin said: 'My lord, you mean to kill me because your wise men have told you that my blood will make your tower stand.  But they know nothing about it.  Call them and let me question them and prove to you that they know nothing about it.'

"So the King called his wise men and Merlin said to them: 'What is under the place where the King wants to build his tower?'

"The wise men studied and whispered together and tried to look wiser than ever, but at last they had to say that they did not know what was under the place.  'Then I will tell you,' said Merlin; 'there is water under it; my lord, have your workmen dig down and see.

"So the workmen were set to digging and after awhile they came to the water.  'Now what is under that?' said Merlin to the wise men.

"And again they could not tell.  'There are two great stones under it,' said Merlin; 'draw the water off and see.'

"So they drew off the water and there were the stones, just as Merlin said.  'Now,' said Merlin to the wise men, 'tell the King what is under these stones.'

"And the wise men, who were getting pretty well scared by this time, could not tell.  'There are two dragons under the stones,' said Merlin; 'one of them is red and the other is white; when the stones are lifted they will fight and the red dragon will kill the white one.'

"The wise men had not another word to say and the King told the workmen to take up the stones.  They took them up and, surely enough, there were the dragons.  And, just as Merlin had said, they began to fight.  People were fond of fights in those days and there surely never was a better one of its kind than this.  But everybody who saw it felt that it could be seen better a little way off.  They were a good deal relieved when Merlin told them that the dragons would not hurt any of them and would only kill each other.  And no doubt it was a fine fight to look at.  The dragons were horrible creatures, with snaky bodies and wings like bats and long, sharp teeth and claws.  And they flew above the heads of the people and struck at each other with their claws and twisted about each other and tore with their teeth and breathed fire out of their mouths, and roared and shrieked till the air shook.  And at last the red dragon killed the white one, and then he fell down to the ground, and in a little while he died too.

"'Now,' said Merlin, 'you can build your tower and it will stand.  But what is to be done,' he went on, 'with these men who tried to make you kill me?  Is it not fair, my lord, that you should give them to me and let me do whatever I like with them?'

"'That is fair,' said the King; 'take them and do with them what you like.'

"Of course the wise men were all begging Merlin for mercy now, and telling him that all they did was only because the stars had told them that he was to cause their death.  'That is true,' said Merlin; 'I know that you really thought that you saw that in the stars, but I know too that it was only because an evil spirit was deceiving you.  He is a spirit who hates me and he made you see what you saw in the stars in the hope of destroying me.  So it was not so much your fault, and I forgive you.'

"After that Vortigern built his tower and it stood.  But he was not happy or safe in it long. The sons of the old King Constantine, Pendragon and Uther, who had been taken to France, were grown up by this time and they came over to England with an army, to get back from Vortigern the kingdom which belonged to them.  To make a short story of it, they captured Vortigern's strong tower and killed him, and then Pendragon was King of England.  But the country was not peaceful yet. The Saxons, who had come many times before, came still and tried to conquer the Britons.  Then Merlin foretold that there would be a great battle on Salisbury Plain.  There, he said, Pendragon and Uther and their army would fight with the Saxons and would beat them, but one of the brothers would be killed.  He would not say which one, but he said that the one who lived must take his brother's name, besides his own, and be King of England, and he must build a monument to his brother on Salisbury Plain that should last forever.

"So the great battle was fought on Salisbury Plain, all around where we are now, and the Saxons were beaten.  But when it was over, they found that many of the Britons had been killed, and that the King, Pendragon, was among them.  So his brother Uther was made King and took his name and was called Uther Pendragon.  Then the new King sent for Merlin and said to him: 'How shall I build the monument to my brother on Salisbury Plain, so that it shall last forever?'

"And Merlin answered: 'Send to Ireland and get the Giants' Dance, and set it up for a monument to your brother.'

"'What is the Giants' Dance?' the King asked.

"'It is a circle of great stones,' Merlin answered.  'The giants brought them long ago from Africa and set them up in Ireland.'

"'And how shall I bring them here?' the King asked.

"'Send ships and men to get them,' Merlin answered, 'and I will go to show them how.'

"So the ships were got ready and Merlin crossed over with the men into Ireland.  He knew the place to go, and there stood the Giants' Dance, a great circle of upright stones, with other great stones lying across the tops of them.  'Now see if you can take them down,' said Merlin.  And they tried.  They brought timbers and ropes and made levers and pulled and pushed and did everything that they could think of.  And they could no more move even one of the stones than they could move the mountain that they stood on.  'Now rest a little while,' said Merlin.

"Then Merlin, all alone, walked about the stones and in and out among them, and he seemed to be saying something or singing something, but nobody could understand what it was.  'Try again to move them,' he said.

"They tried again and this time it was as easy as if the stones had been bags filled with air.  They put them on board the ships and they sailed back to England, and Merlin set them up, just as they had been in Ireland, here on Salisbury Plain, where Pendragon had been killed.  And afterward, when Uther Pendragon died, he was buried here at Stonehenge, too.

"That is all of the story and here is Stonehenge to prove that it is true.  If anybody cares to say that this story is not true, let him tell me how else these stones came here.  Let him try to tell me how else they could come here.  Merlin told King Uther Pendragon that he would build a monument that should stand forever.  Forever is a long time. Many of the stones have fallen now, you see, but still many of them stand, and it is not for us to say that Merlin was wrong and that this monument will not be here always.  All that we can know is that the stones, fallen or standing, are here where Merlin put them, that they still show us the place where the battle was and where Pendragon fell, and that the sun, on the longest day of the summer, still rises over the one stone away down there and looks through the gate that Merlin built, into the wonderful, old, mysterious, magic circle, where the two kings, Pendragon and Uther, are buried.  And after all, I think that I would rather not know any more about Stonehenge than that."



Chapter VIII

On The Edge Of Lyonnesse


We had meant, when Helen's mother should come from Paris, to go back to Glastonbury and begin our journey again where we had left off.  But when she came we thought better of it.  We decided that, since we were going to the Southwest of England again, we might as well go all the way and see the Land's End. Then, we thought, we could go to Glastonbury just as well on the way back.

So it happened that when Helen's mother was with us again, we took the longest railway ride that we had taken yet, and at the end of it we found ourselves in Penzance.  Penzance is the place where the pirates were, you know. We had always supposed that that was a made-up story and that there never were really any pirates of Penzance.  But we found that the pirates were there still.  Only now they do not scuttle ships any more, if they ever did; they keep hotels.  But that is an unpleasant subject.

We set off the next morning for a long drive -- which was to be partly a walk -- to the Land's End.  There were many things that were worth seeing before we got to the Land's End, or anywhere near it.  First there was the harbor of Penzance, one of the prettiest that I ever looked out upon.  And over on the other side of it, stately and beautiful against the summer morning sky, stood St. Michael's Mount. St. Michael's Mount is a cone-shaped hill, rising high out of the water, with a castle on the top of it.  It is one of those things that are so picturesque that they surprise you when you see them in a real scene, because they look too perfect to belong outside a painted picture.

"And who do you suppose used to live on the top of that hill?" I said. "Why, the old giant Cormoran, the one whom Jack the Giant-Killer knocked on the head with his pickaxe, the very first giant whom he killed.  Of course I should not think of telling you that story, at your time of life; I only tell you that there is the place. But I might tell you about another giant, and let you try to straighten out his story, if you like, better than I can.  Over across the channel from here, in France, there is another St. Michael's Mount.  I have never seen it, but the picture of it looks as much like this one as if it were its own brother. I think that I have told you before that the people of old days used to think that high hills belonged somehow to St. Michael.  Well, over there on the other St. Michael's Mount lived another giant with whom King Arthur himself once had a little tussle. The giant's name was Ryence, and he had a mantle trimmed with kings' beards.  You remember something, perhaps, that I told you once about a King named Ryence, who had a mantle trimmed with kings' beards.  It is rather curious that there should be two of them.

"It was when King Arthur went over to France on his way to fight the Emperor of Rome that he heard of this giant.  He was a terror to the whole country, for he killed hundreds of people and spoiled crops, and his favorite food was little boys.  I don't know why he liked little boys so much better than little girls, but I suppose he knew more about which were the better to eat than I do.

"When Arthur heard about the giant he took Sir Kay and Sir Bedivere with him and went to the foot of the hill.  There he told them to wait for him, and went up the hill alone.  He found the giant sitting before a fire cooking a man for his supper.  Arthur got close to him and wounded him with his sword before the giant knew that he was there.  Then he sprang up and caught hold of Arthur, and they both fell and rolled over and over each other clear to the bottom of the hill, and Arthur managed to give the giant two or three more wounds on the way. Kay and Bedivere ran to see if the King was killed, and they found that he was scarcely hurt at all and that the giant was dead.

"I don't say that there is anything so very remarkable about that.  It is just a plain sort of every-day giant story.  But here are the strange points, I think.  Here were two hills looking wonderfully alike and with the same name, and a giant lived and was killed on each of them. And here were two giants, both named Ryence, for King Ryence was a giant, too, and they both had mantles trimmed with kings' beards, and Arthur killed one and beat the other.  It looks to me as if two stories, at least, had got a little mixed, or else one story twisted in two.  How does it look to you?"

There is no reason, that I can see, why I should try to tell you all about the way from Penzance to the Land's End.  It will not do you much good to know that it was grand and beautiful, as long as you were not there to see its grandeur and its beauty.  We stopped at St. Buryan, and a very old woman showed us the church.  It is a curious old place, and it has some fine carvings.  But the old woman, who showed us everything and explained it to us, could not understand what there was about it that we found interesting.  She had been showing this church to people, she said, for more than fifty years, and she had never been able to make out yet why they wanted to see it.

Then we went on to see the Logan Rock, and got a guide to find it for us.  We could never have found it for ourselves, because it is so mixed up with so many other rocks.  It is a huge rocking stone.  It weighs I don't know how many tons, but a strong man can move it a little, if he knows just how and where to take hold of it and push.  The guide rocked it for us, and he said that we did it ourselves when we tried, but I think he flattered us.  He helped us to climb on the top of it -- not an easy thing to do at all -- and then he rocked it with us sitting on it. As he led the way back he took us through a narrow passage between two great rocks and told us that we must each of us make a wish as we passed through and never tell what it was, and then it would come true. "But we don't need to ask what the young ladies wish," he said, "they all wish the same thing."  We wondered how many years he had been making that same joke over and over again.  No doubt he must have got some pretty tips by it, when there were young women and young men both in the party.

We were going to walk from here to the Land's End, five miles, for it was one of the places where we had been told that we must walk, so as to see the scenery.  We had already told the driver to go on to the Land's End and wait there for us.  The guide showed us how to go and offered to go with us, but we thought that we did not need him.  "You won't be able to see the Scillys to-day," he said.  "Sometimes you can see them from the Land's End, but it isn't clear enough to-day.  But you can be sure of a fine day to-morrow.  When it is clear enough to see the Scillys it almost always rains the next day."

So we felt cheered at missing a sight that we had hoped to see, and went on our way.  All the way the walk was up headlands and down ravines, with many grand and beautiful pictures -- great crags and domes and pinnacles of rock and deep valleys and gorges and caves, and the sea always crashing and roaring down below us.

And when we came to the Land's End, of course that was the best of all. For there the sea seemed rougher than anywhere else, though it was not a rough day.  It was no new thing for us to stand on a point of rock, with all the land behind us and nothing but boundless ocean before us.  We did not need to come to the Land's End or to England for that.  But there was something awful and solemn about these towers of stone that stood here to keep the sea from washing England away, and about the sea that was working at them while we looked, dashing up against them and slipping back and dashing up again, as it had been doing for thousands of years before we had come to look, and as it would do for thousands of years after we were gone.  And after all these ages of work and struggle the waves seemed to be still angry, still fierce and full of wrath that the land should resist them so long.  "Old rocks," they seemed to say, "you think that you are firm and steady and strong.  But wait -- and wait -- there is much time before both of us still. Stand against us as you will; we shall still clash and beat upon you, and at last, in spite of all your firmness, we shall wear and wash you away, and we shall cover you sometime as we covered old Lyonnesse."

Lyonnesse!  That, after all, I believe, is the wonderful thing to think of at the Land's End. "Yes, now," I said, "we are looking straight out over Lyonnesse -- Tristram's country, the country that is lost.  This is where it began, and it stretched away out there where there is nothing now but ocean, away out to the Scilly Islands, which we are not to see to-day.  For thirty miles old Lyonnesse reached out from here, and even now, they say, for all that way, the bottom of the ocean lies at an even depth, and not like the bottom in other places.  And they say, too, that when the water had covered Lyonnesse for so long that people had almost forgotten that there ever was any land there, the fishermen used to think of it again, because they sometimes drew up their hooks with pieces of doors and windows caught upon them.  And nothing more than these ever came back of a country that had its towns and its fields and its forests and its people, which were all lost under the water together.

"And I remember an old book which says that more than Lyonnesse was taken away from Cornwall by the sea.  For the old book says that St. Michael's Mount, which we saw this morning, used to have another name, that meant 'the rock in the wood.'  And from this it was thought that St. Michael's Mount stood in a forest once, and not in the sea, as it does now. And the book, which was written about three hundred years ago, says that even then, when the tides were low around St. Michael's Mount, the stumps and roots of great trees were sometimes seen half buried in the sand."

Perhaps this is all nothing but old fable, but the land of Cornwall and the sea of Cornwall look as if it were true.  How could these terrible waves and tempests tear and beat and surge upon this country, even with its walls of rock, without taking something away?  You can laugh at the old wives' tales -- if it is your way to laugh at such things -- it is not ours -- while you are at home, but when you stand at the Land's End and look out to sea, if you have a bit of the love of a story in you, you must and you will believe in Lyonnesse.



Chapter IX

The Siege Perilous


It does not matter just where we were when we told and heard these next few stories. Neither do I need to use quotation marks all through them. You will understand that we did tell them and hear them somewhere. They belong to no place.  When King Arthur's knights set out from Camelot to seek the Holy Grail everything seemed at once to grow mysterious and marvellous and magical.  Place and time were unknown and almost unthought of. Knights rode about without knowing or caring where they went.  Sometimes they found more wonderful adventures than had ever been thought of before, and sometimes they rode for days and saw no house and no living thing. Friends met friends and did not know them; fathers fought with sons, and brothers with brothers.  New knights won glory and knights who were old and tried were put to shame. Common men became prophets, and so prophets became common.  The worst of men gave counsel to the best of knights, and the knights could scarcely tell whether the things that they were told to do were the best and the wisest or the most foolish and the worst.  There were signs and omens and visions, and there were hard trials of courage and of faithfulness.

There are a hundred stories of what was seen and said and done.  They are all different, and among them all much seems confused and dim and uncertain.  But everywhere and through everything is seen, like a clear flash of fleeting flame, one perfect knight, the strongest, noblest, greatest knight who ever came to Arthur's court, the one best knight of all the world. Others wander and stray and are tempted and overcome and disheartened, and then there is a gleam of a fire-colored armor, and there is a swift stroke of a spear that never missed its aim, the wicked are overthrown, the helpless are rescued, and the knight has passed on toward his goal of the Holy Grail.

It all began on the night before the feast of Pentecost, when so many strange things happened.  The King and the Queen and the knights were in the great hall at Camelot, and a woman, whom no one knew, rode into the hall on horseback.  She dismounted and came before the King and said: "My lord, tell me which is Sir Lancelot."

"That is Sir Lancelot," said the King, pointing to where he sat.

"Sir Lancelot," she said, "I am sent to you by King Pelles.  He asks you to come with me to an abbey in a forest not far from here."

"And what am I to do there?" Lancelot asked.

"I am not to tell you that," she said; "I am only to bring you to the abbey."

"I will go with you, then," said Lancelot, "if it is to please King Pelles."

"Lancelot," said the Queen, "to-morrow is the feast of Pentecost; shall you not be with us then?"

"Madame," said the woman, "he shall be back here by dinner-time to-morrow."

So Lancelot put on his armor and rode with the woman till they came to the abbey in the forest.  There, when he was unarmed, some nuns came to him, leading a young man.  "Sir Lancelot," one of them said, "this young squire is the grandson of King Pelles.  He is strong and brave and noble.  He has learned much and it is time now for him to be made a knight. He asks you, and so does King Pelles and so do we, that you will make him a knight."

Then Lancelot looked at the young man. He was scarcely more than a boy in his years but he was tall and strong.  Lancelot thought that he had never seen so beautiful a face besides its beauty there was courage in it, and freedom and hope and all the rich flush and glow of a bright, new manhood.  And a strange feeling came to Lancelot as he looked, and a voice seemed to be saying in his ears: "He has come!  He has come!" Lancelot could not have told what it meant.  He only felt that there was something in this young man that made him different from any other he had ever seen, something without a name, by which he knew that he was greater and finer and truer than the rest.  "To-night, then," said Lancelot, "let him watch his arms in your chapel, and to-morrow I will make him a knight."

And so it was done.  The young man watched his arms in the chapel while the others slept, and in the morning Lancelot made him a knight. Then Lancelot begged the new knight to come to the court with him, but he answered: "No, it is not time for me to go to the court, but I shall be there with you soon."

"So Lancelot rode back to Camelot alone. And then began the most wonderful day of all King Arthur's reign.  When Lancelot had come and all the knights were sitting in the hall a squire ran in and went to the King and said: 'My lord, I have just come up from the river, and down there a great stone is floating on the water and there is a sword sticking in it.'

"That is a wonderful thing, truly," said the King; "we will go and see it."

So the King and the Queen and all the knights left the hall and went down to the river.  And there, truly enough, was the stone, floating on the river, and there was the sword sticking in it, as the squire had said.  And the King saw letters on the stone and he came near and read them: "No one shall ever draw this sword out of this stone except the one to whom it belongs, the best knight of the world."

"Surely," said the King, "I think that the best knights of the world are in my court; who will try to draw this sword?" and he looked toward Lancelot.

"I do not think," said Lancelot, "that the sword is mine, and I will not try to draw it."

But many of the other knights tried to draw the sword and could not, and the King looked at Lancelot again and said: "Will you not try to take this sword?  Surely there is no better knight in the world than you."

"No," said Lancelot, "it is not for me. Remember, my lord, all the wonderful things that Merlin told long ago.  The best knight of the world is not among us yet, but I believe that he is coming soon.  Let us all go back to the hall, my lord, and keep our feast and wait for him."

And back they went to the hall, and they were scarcely in their places when there came another wonder.  An old man came into the hall, leading a young man by the hand.  They saw that he was an old man only by his figure and by his step and by the end of a white beard which they could see.  For he wore a long, white robe, and a hood hung low down over his face, so that they could not see it.  The young man was dressed all in flame-colored armor, and he had no shield or sword, but an empty scabbard hung by his side.  They came and stood close to the throne and closer to the Siege Perilous.  Bors sat near them, and it seemed to him that he knew, just as it had seemed to him once before, long ago, at the Castle of Carbonek, that this old man was Joseph of Arimathaea, who would have died hundreds of years ago, but that the power of the Holy Grail kept him alive.  And he knew, too, that the young man was the beautiful child with the deep eyes and the bright, sweet face and the hair like gold, whom he had seen at the Castle of Carbonek.  Percivale sat next to Bors, and it seemed to him too that he knew the old man, though how he could not tell. Next to Bors on the other side was Lancelot, and what he knew was that the young man was the one whom he had made a knight that morning at the abbey.

"King Arthur," said the old man, "I have brought you a new knight, Sir Galahad.  You have waited for him long, for you were told of him before he was born, and his place at your Round Table was waiting for him before you yourself were born."

"He is welcome here," said the King, "and you are welcome too."  But almost before he had spoken the old man was gone from the hall and the young knight in the flame-colored armor stood before him alone.  Yes, there at last he stood, Galahad, whose name had been spoken with wonder or with hope or with doubt so many times.  Only the best knight of the world, Merlin had said, should sit in the Siege Perilous, and the best knight of the world should be Galahad.  How many times Arthur had looked at that seat and wondered why his best knight, Lancelot, could not sit there, and what the knight could be like who should be better than Lancelot.  And now here he stood -- Galahad.

But there was something else for the best knight of the world to do. The knights who filled the hall were not thinking then of the Siege Perilous.  They were thinking of the stone floating on the river, and the sword sticking in it.  The King saw them whispering together and pointing that way and he said to the young man: "If you are indeed that Galahad whom we have waited for so long, you are more welcome than any other who has come here since Lancelot, my best knight till now, the son of my old friend King Ban.  It you are that true Galahad who was promised, then you will be the best of all my knights -- better than Lancelot.  Will you come and prove to us whether you are so?"

Then the King took the young man's hand and led him down to the river and all the rest followed them to see.  And the King said: "Try if you can draw that sword, for none of my other knights can draw it."

"See, my lord," said the young man, "I have brought no sword, only this empty scabbard, for I knew that I should find my sword here."  And he took hold of the sword that stuck in the stone and drew it out and put it in his scabbard.

There was no doubt of it now; the knight whom they had waited for had come.  Yet the King's face was sad as he led the way back to the hall, for it seemed to him that now there could be little to wait for and the days of the Round Table would not be many more.  But other thoughts came to him a moment later, when the new knight knelt before him to take the oath that would make him a knight of the Round Table.  For then, just for an instant, it seemed to him that the time had gone back to the beginning of his reign.  There was a look in the young man's eyes that brought back the day when Lancelot had knelt before him like this and had sworn this oath and when he had believed that Lancelot would surely be the one perfect knight.  Yes, it was the same clear light that he had seen for an instant that day in Lancelot's eyes, the glow of something great and wonderful, he knew not what.  But there was more in the face of this new knight.  There was something which told Arthur that, though he swore that in all things he would be true and loyal to God and to the King, yet, without the oath, he could never have a thought that would not be true and loyal.

And the King scarcely knew whether it was great joy or great sorrow that made him almost tremble before this boy.  And when he took his hand again they all saw that his face was white as he turned toward the seat that was next the throne.  And there at last in that Siege Perilous were the letters, more of fire than of gold, as they seemed: "This is the seat of Galahad."

Those who could see whispered to those who could not and the word ran down the hall and then in an instant everyone was still.  After all these years of waiting, after the wonders and the prophecies, would any one, even Galahad, dare to sit in that seat?  They had feared that seat and had seen it empty so long that they could not believe it, and they all stood up in their places and strained their eyes and held their breaths in wonder and dread.  And of all who were there Galahad alone had no fear and no dread.  Only for an instant he stood there, with the eyes of all the rest upon him and his own upon the King's, and then he sat in the Siege Perilous.

Every seat at the Round Table was filled. For the first time since Merlin made that table for Uther Pendragon there were a hundred and fifty knights around it and no seat was empty. Then of a sudden the hall grew dark.  Thick clouds seemed to have come over the sun and they heard a great wind outside.  Then there was thunder that shook the castle and almost deafened them.  It was over in a moment and through an upper window there shone one broad beam of sunlight.  It slanted down from the top of the hall to near where Galahad sat, and still the rest of the hall was dark.  And then came the strangest thing of all.  They saw a soft, red glow of light, through the darkness of the hall, and it moved toward the place where the sunlight fell.  They could not see what it was clearly, for it had a covering of white silk, and the red glow shone through this and filled the room.  And the thing that shone was in the form of a goblet.  It moved, as if someone were carrying it, but they could not see anyone.  It moved till it came where the sun shone upon it, and then the hall was bright and the knights could see one another. And it seemed to each of them that the others looked greater and stronger and more beautiful than he had ever seen them look before. They knew, all of them, that this that they almost saw, but could not see, was the Holy Grail.  It passed on again, away from the sunlight and across the hall, and the red glow was gone.  The sunlight was gone too, and then the old light came slowly back and they all saw that the table had been covered with food.

At first they were all so full of wonder at the sight that none of them could speak.  Then Gawain, who sat on King Arthur's left, rose and held up the cross-shaped hilt of his sword. "My lord," he said, "we know that it was the Holy Grail that passed before us just now. But we did not see it.  So now I make this vow, my lord, that I will leave this court and seek the Holy Grail, that I may see it more openly than we have all seen it to-day.  I will seek it for a year and a day, if I do not find it sooner, and if I have not found it then I will come back, believing that God does not wish that I should see it."

Then the knight who was next to Gawain held up the cross-shaped hilt of his sword, as Gawain had done, and made the same vow, that he would seek the Holy Grail for a year and a day, unless he found it sooner.  And so it went around the table, and they all made the vow, and last of all Lancelot and Bors and Percivale and Galahad.

And Arthur had listened to them all and had spoken no word, but his face was pale and troubled.  For he knew that if his knights went away upon this quest many of them would not come back, and he should never see all the places at the Round Table full again, as he saw them now.  And when they had all made the vow he said in a low voice to Gawain: "When will you leave us to go upon this quest?"

"At once, my lord," said Gawain; "to-morrow."

"Not so soon as that," said the King.  "Let me see all my knights together for one more day.  We will have a tournament to-morrow. You shall all meet before me once more in one fine field of combat and then you may go."

And the knights all saw how sad the King was at their leaving him, and they were all glad to do as he wished.  But the King had another reason for the tournament that was to be the next day.  He did want to see all his knights together for one last time, but there was more than that. For here on his right, in the Siege Perilous, sat Galahad.  He was the best knight of all the world, or he could not sit in that seat. Arthur knew -- he could not tell how, but he knew -- that when Galahad left the court to seek the Holy Grail he would never come back.  The best knight of the Round Table, the best knight who had ever been in his court, would go away forever, and he had never seen him in one knightly combat and would never know how he could fight, how he could ride, or how he bore his arms.  And this was the reason, more than the other, why Arthur wished to see one great tournament of all his knights.

So in the morning the meadow at Camelot was thronged again with the people who came out to see the tournament, all the more eager because they had heard of the wonders of the day before and of Galahad, and because they knew that he would be there in the field.  The King sat in the highest place, with the Queen beside him, and it was with sad faces, though they were proud too, that they looked down upon their knights striving together in the tournament.  They could scarcely have told afterward what any other knight did, for it seemed to them all that day that they saw only one knight.  Wherever they looked they saw those flame-colored arms of Galahad flashing up and down the field.  His horse never faltered, his spear never failed, his arm never grew weary.  He bore no shield, but every spear that touched his armor was shattered, and when he pointed his own spear at any other knight and charged against him that knight went down.  But the King and the Queen saw that, while the others were all falling before him, he never came near to Lancelot or to Bors or to Percivale.  He would not joust with them and so they all three did nobly in the tournament too.  And the King was so filled with the wonder of all that he saw Galahad do that when it was over he could scarcely speak to him. But he held his hand and looked long at him and said, in a voice that sounded strange and uncertain: "Galahad, I have seen the best that a knight can do."

That was their last night all together in the great hall at Camelot. After it came a sad morning.  The knights were ready early and the King was ready to see them go, though he could scarcely take the hand of each and say good-by, so great was his grief at their going. The knights all mounted together and rode through the streets of Camelot, between the lines of people who had come out of their houses to see them go, and so out through the gate and away from the city.  And the King and the Queen stood on a tower of the castle to watch them as long as they could.  At first they could pick out here an armor and there a banner and know that this was Galahad, this Lancelot, and that Gawain.  But when they were farther off they could not do this any more; they could only see the big, bright spot upon the road where the morning sunlight struck upon the armors, and then their eyes were tired with looking and something came across them so that for a moment they could not see at all.  The bright spot on the road grew smaller and smaller.  It flashed and twinkled and shivered.  Was it a cloud of dust that rose now behind the knights and hid the glimmer of their arms, or was there something in the King's eyes again so that he could not see it?  Once more he saw the far-off flash, fainter now, and yet again, and then the dust rose and there was no more to see.  And so the noble fellowship of the Round Table passed away from King Arthur and out of his sight like a setting star.





Chapter X

Gawain


All that day the knights of the Round Table rode together, and in the evening they came to a city where they all lodged for the night.  The next morning they parted and rode different ways.  In the days and the weeks and the months that followed some of them had many and strange adventures and some of them had but few.  I could not possibly tell you, or even remember for myself, all the wonderful things that happened to all of them, but I can tell you a part of the things that happened to a part of them.

Gawain rode for a long time alone, till at last, at an abbey where he stopped to spend the night, he found his brother Gareth and his cousin Uwain.  The next day they went on their way together, and as they rode so they met seven knights, who called to them to stop and to tell who they were.

"We are knights of King Arthur's court," they answered, "and we are seeking for the Holy Grail."

"Then it is well that we have met you," said one of the seven knights. "We are from the Castle of Maidens.  A knight of King Arthur's court drove us out of our castle and we have sworn to kill all of King Arthur's knights whom we meet.  We will begin with you."

Then all seven of them put their spears in rest and charged against Gawain and Uwain and Gareth.  But the three knights of the Round Table fought so well that they soon beat their seven enemies and wounded them and drove them away.  The three knights parted then and rode different ways.  And in the evening Gawain came to the cell of a hermit and asked him to let him stay for the night.  They talked together and Gawain told the hermit who he was and that he was seeking the Holy Grail. The hermit knew, as everybody knew, all that Arthur's famous knights had done, and he said: "It is useless for you, Sir Gawain, to seek the Holy Grail. You will never find it.  It shows itself only to the purest and the best.  You have not been good enough and sound enough and true enough in your life ever to see the Holy Grail.  Ah, Gawain, Gawain, do not think that you did such a great thing to-day, you and your two fellows, when you beat those seven knights from the Castle of Maidens.  For one knight alone had beaten them all only a little while before.  They had taken the Castle of Maidens from the old lord who owned it, and they had killed him and had held the castle for a long time.  They were tyrants and murderers, and Galahad came and drove them all out and gave the castle to the daughter of its old lord. Galahad did it alone, and now you three are proud because you beat the seven cowards.  Knights like Galahad will see the Holy Grail, not knights like you, Gawain."

In the morning the hermit told Gawain that if he hoped ever to come near the Holy Grail he ought to do some penance for all the evils of his life.  But Gawain answered: "No; we knights make long journeys and we fight dangerous battles.  Our lives are hard enough without doing any other penance, and I will do no other."  So he rode on his way.

And after that for weeks and months Gawain rode by lonely ways and through deep woods and over barren hills, and he met with no adventure and scarcely with a living man. Then he met another knight of the Round Table, Sir Ector.  He was not the old Sir Ector, Arthur's foster father, but another, the brother of Lancelot.  "I am tired of this quest of the Holy Grail," said Gawain.  "I have ridden for months and I have found no adventure, and it seems to me that all the people of the country are dead."

"It is so with me," said Ector.  "I used to find adventures enough, wherever I went, but there are no more of them now."

The two went on together for a time and everything seemed waste and deserted, as it had seemed to each of them before.  They came at last to a chapel that stood by the road. It looked as sad and as deserted as the rest, and it was falling into ruin, but they left their horses and went into it and sat down to rest. And while they sat there they both fell asleep, and Gawain had a strange dream.  It seemed to him that he saw a pasture where a hundred and fifty bulls were feeding.  They were all black but three, and those were white.  And while he looked they all went away, and afterward some of them came back, but many did not come back.  Only one of the white ones came, and the black ones all looked lean and weak.

When he awoke he told Ector of his dream, and said: "It seems so strange to me that I believe it has some meaning, and if we can find some wise and holy man I shall tell it to him and ask him what it means."

And as they rode on they met a young squire and Gawain asked him if he knew of any man such as he wished to find.  "Nacien, the hermit," said the squire, "is a wise and holy man.  He was a knight of King Arthur's many years ago, and they say that he was one of the best of them.  His cell is not far from here."

He showed them the way, and when they found the hermit Gawain told him his dream and asked him what it meant.  And the hermit answered: "The pasture that you saw was the Round Table and the bulls were the knights of the Round Table.  They left the pasture, just as the knights went away to seek the Holy Grail.  The three that were white were three knights who are so true and pure that they will see the Holy Grail at last, but only one of them will come back.  And the other knights, the black bulls, will never see the Holy Grail, because of the evil in their lives.  Many of them will not come back, but some will come, and they will be weary and worn with the quest."

Then Gawain said: "If what you say is true we shall never find the Holy Grail, for I fear that we must be counted among those who have too much evil in their lives."

"Gawain," the hermit answered, "there are a hundred knights of the Round Table as good as you, who will never see the Holy Grail."

And Gawain and Ector rode on till they came to a castle where there was a tournament. The knights of the castle were against a great crowd of other knights, and Gawain and Ector joined in the tournament against the knights of the castle.  And Gawain and Ector fought so well that it was plain that their side was winning the day.  Then of a sudden they saw a new knight among those of the castle.  They had not seen how he came or from where.  He carried a white shield, with a red cross upon it, and the rest of his arms were of the color of fire.  Gawain charged against him first.  His spear was broken against the white shield, but the other knight used no spear.  He only raised his sword and struck Gawain so that he cut through his helmet and wounded his head and threw him from his horse.  Ector drew Gawain out of the field and took off his helmet, and the knight with the white shield charged against more of the knights who were against those of the castle.  And everywhere he overthrew them till the word was given that the knights of the castle had won the day. Then he went away again as he had come, and no one knew where.

The tournament was over and Gawain was taken into the castle and laid upon a bed. "Ector," he said, "do you know who the knight was who wounded me?"

"Yes," said Ector, "I know him.  There is only one who could do such things as I saw him do.  It was Galahad.  His arms were like Galahad's too, only when we saw him last he had no shield."

"Ector," said Gawain, "it is Galahad who will find the Holy Grail.  We are not like him, and we cannot do the things that he can do. We have gone far enough in this quest.  I shall seek the Holy Grail no more."



Chapter XI

Lancelot


When the knights of the Round Table parted, Lancelot, like the rest, rode for a time alone.  Many times before now Lancelot had sought adventures by himself.  For many years he had wandered over England and he thought that he knew the country well.  But now, before he had ridden far, he was in places that seemed strange to him, and soon he could not tell at all where he was.  He crossed rivers and rode over hills and plains and through woods where there were scarcely any paths to follow. He saw fewer people than he had been used to see, and many of the houses that he passed were deserted and ruined.  Often wild beasts crossed his track and he had to fight with them.  At night he slept where he could, sometimes in a ruined house or chapel, sometimes on the ground, with his horse tied to a tree near him.

And when he slept he had strange dreams. Often in these dreams he thought that the Holy Grail came near him.  He saw the rosy light shine through the white covering, for that covering of silk was always over it, but he could never come close to it.  He saw others who were wounded or sick come to it and touch it and go away again strong and well, but he had no strength to move or to speak.  It came near to him and passed away and he lay before it helpless.

When he awoke he would ride on, over more of the hills and plains and rivers, fight again with the wild beasts and lie down to sleep again as he had done before.  Sometimes he came to a hermit's cell.  Then he stayed all night with the hermit and talked with him of the court, of the knights, of his long journey, and of the Holy Grail.  Sometimes one of the hermits would say to him: "The Holy Grail is not for such men as you to see.  You have been counted long the best of knights, in your strength and your deeds, yet there has been evil in your life, too, and the Holy Grail will not show itself to you in the way that it will to others."

Then Lancelot would ride on his way feeling sad.  He would remember the knight in the flame-colored arms, who had done better in that last tournament that they had than he had ever done.  He would remember how that knight had sat in the Siege Perilous; how his own seat for all these years had been three places off from the Siege Perilous, and how those two other knights, Percivale and Bors, had sat nearer to it than he.  And he would think: "This quest is for such knights as those; it is not for me."

Then some other wise man would say to him: "Lancelot, the Holy Grail will show itself to few, but you shall do better in this quest than many others."  And then he rode on his way again with new hope, though he did not know of what, and with new heart.

One evening he was riding after the sun had set, and he was thinking that he must soon find a place to stay for the night.  Then he came into a wood and all at once it was darker around him than it had been out on the open plain.  And before him, then, he saw dimly the form of a knight coming toward him on a horse. "Sir Knight," he said, "I have ridden in strange paths for many days and I have met no knight, and I have almost felt that I was forgetting knightly ways.  Will you try one joust with me?"

The knight did not answer, but he put his spear in the rest, and Lancelot did so too. They spurred their horses and rode together with a crash and Lancelot's spear struck full upon the shield of the other knight and was broken into splinters.  But the other spear held, and it struck Lancelot's shield and threw him off his horse and he lay upon the ground. And so the great Lancelot, the glory of King Arthur's court, was overthrown by the first knight whom he met.  The other knight was off his horse in an instant and Lancelot was on his feet.  He drew his sword half out and then stayed his hand and let the blade slide back again into the sheath.  He bowed his head before the other, who stood before him, and said: "I know you, Sir Knight.  For these many years I have jousted with all the best knights of the world, and I know the stroke that every one of them can give.  Tristram could never strike any blow like that of yours, or Gawain or Palamides or Percivale or Bors or Gareth.  I have never felt it before, but I know that there is no other such certain spear in the world as this of yours, Galahad!  Galahad!"

And the other answered: "I know you, too, for I have heard of you so long and of your knightly deeds.  It is as if I had learned all that I know of knighthood from you.  And it was you, too, who made me a knight, and I feel toward you, for all these things, as if you were my father, Lancelot!  Lancelot!"

Then Lancelot said: "Galahad, I feel that it is such knights as you who will see the Holy Grail, and I feel that it would be better for me to be with you.  May I go with you now, wherever you go, and try to find the Holy Grail with you?"

"No, Lancelot," Galahad answered, "no one can go with me yet, but I will tell you this: since we all parted I have talked with many good and wise men, and they have told me many things.  Of all who are seeking the Holy Grail only three will see it openly, but of all the rest who seek it you will be nearer to it than any other."

Then Galahad mounted his horse again and rode away through the wood, and it seemed to Lancelot that a pale light shone back upon him for a moment from the flame-colored armor, and then he was gone.  And as soon as Lancelot was alone a little breeze rustled the tops of the trees above him.  They made only a low, sighing sound at first, and then it grew louder and clearer, and then it seemed to Lancelot that it grew into a voice, and he thought that the voice said: "Lancelot, go to the sea and go into the ship that you find there."

Then the voice and the rustling of the trees and the wind all died away, and Lancelot mounted and rode on through the wood.  And he had scarcely started when he came out of the wood and saw the sea before him.  Far out he could see great waves, with white crests that flashed in the moonlight, but close to him there was a little bay, with a rocky shore, and a ship lay close to the rocks, so that he could step on board.

Lancelot could see no one on the ship and it had no sail, but as soon as he was on board it left the rock and the bay and carried him out to sea. Then a feeling of strange rest and happiness came over him.  He never knew how long he was in the ship or whether he slept there.  But when he next saw anything clearly it was still night and the moon was still shining.  The water was calm and there was land all around.  The ship came to the shore and stopped, and before him Lancelot saw the gate of a castle.

He left the ship and went toward the gate, and there he saw two great lions guarding it. He drew his sword and kept on toward them, and when he was near the gate something struck his sword out of his hand.  Yet he felt, he could not tell why, that there was no danger from the lions, and he went on through the gate.  The lions sprang at him as he passed, but they did not touch him, and he went into the castle.  He saw no people, but he went on from room to room, through open doors, till at last he came to one that was shut.

He tried to open the door, but he could not, and then he heard music on the other side of it. It was like the singing of a great choir, and the singing or something else seemed to tell Lancelot that the Holy Grail was in that room where he could not go, and he knelt down before the door and waited.  Then the door opened of itself and a great light shone out and he could hear the music more clearly.  He looked into the chamber and in the middle of it he saw a table of gold and silver, inlaid in beautiful shapes, and on the table was the Holy Grail, still with that white covering of silk.  Yet it seemed to Lancelot that the rosy glow from the Holy Grail that shone through the silk was brighter and clearer than it had been when he had seen it in the hall at Camelot, and brighter than it had ever seemed to him in his dreams. An old man stood beside the table and Lancelot knew that he was the same who had led Galahad into the hall that day when he had sat in the Siege Perilous.

Then, while Lancelot looked, the old man lifted up the Holy Grail, and at that Lancelot started up and came into the chamber to get nearer to it.  But suddenly it seemed to him that a blast of fire struck him in the face.  The burning air seemed all about him and through him and it took away his breath and his strength and he fell to the floor.  Then he felt no more pain and he did not know where he was, but he felt hands that took him up and carried him away and put him in a bed.

The people of the Castle found that he was not dead and they took care of him, and it was twenty-four days before he awoke.  Then he looked about him and asked them where he was.  "Who are you?" they asked him.

"I am Lancelot of the Lake," he answered, "and I am seeking the Holy Grail."

"This is the Castle of Carbonek," they said, "and King Pelles, the keeper of the Grail, lives here.  You have done well and nobly, Sir Lancelot, and now you must go back to King Arthur, for you will never see more of the Holy Grail than you have seen here."



Chapter XII

Bors


Bors left his fellows of the Round Table and rode all day alone.  Toward evening he met a hermit.  These Grail-seeking knights were always meeting hermits.  The country seems to have been full of them.  And this one asked Bors to come to his cell and rest there for the night.  He had nothing to give to Bors to eat and drink except bread and water, and while they were making their supper of these the hermit asked the knight to tell him who he was and on what journey he was bound.

So Bors told him how the Holy Grail had come into the hall at Camelot, but covered, so that no one could see it.  And he told him how all the knights had vowed that they would seek for the Grail and try to see it, how they had all left Camelot together, and how they had parted now, and were all riding different ways.  Then the hermit said: "Sir Bors, do you know that this Holy Grail will not be found by any knight who is not brave and worthy in his deeds and pure and true in his life?  Do you know that it will not show itself except to those who seek for it faithfully, thinking of nothing else, except such good and noble things as they can do, and never forgetting it because of any pleasure or of any gain?"

And Bors answered: "Yes, I know it."

"Then, Sir Bors," said the hermit, "will you promise me one thing, to help you to find the Holy Grail?"

"What shall I promise you?" said Bors.

"Promise me," said the hermit, "that you will eat nothing but bread and that you will drink nothing but water, till you see the Holy Grail."

"Is it right," said Bors, "for me to promise this?  How do you know that I shall ever see the Holy Grail?"

"I know," the hermit answered, "that it is such knights as you who will see it, if they seek it in the right way."

"Then I will promise," said Bors.

In the morning Bors left the hermit and went on his way.  And after a time he saw two knights coming toward him, leading a third knight as a prisoner.  They had him bound upon a horse and they were beating him with thorns.  And when they came nearer Bors saw that the knight who was a prisoner was his brother Lionel. Then, just as he was riding forward to help his brother, he saw, on the other side of him, a woman, and some robbers pursuing her.  Bors stopped and for an instant did not know what to do.  For, as a good knight, he ought to help the woman, yet he feared that if he did that his brother would be killed or led away where he could not help him.

Yet it was only for a moment that Bors doubted.  Then he remembered that his brother was a knight and that he should be ready always to suffer whatever came to him, and that the woman needed him more.  So he turned against the robbers and fought with them and drove them away.  When he had done that some knights came up who were the woman's friends, and they thanked him for saving her and begged him to come with them to the castle of her father, who was a great lord and lived near by.  But Bors said that he must hasten now to help his brother, and he rode the way that he had seen his brother and the other two knights go.

He rode for a long time and saw nothing of them, and then he met a man dressed like a priest, riding on a black horse.  "Knight," said the man, "where are you riding so fast?"

"I am trying," he said, "to find my brother, Sir Lionel, for I saw two knights leading him away as a prisoner, and I must help him."

"You need not go any farther," said the man, "and you must be brave to bear what I have to tell you.  Your brother is dead.  The knights whom you saw have killed him.  Come with me now and I will bring you to a castle near here, where you can stay for the night, and longer if you will."

So Bors rode with him, and as they went along he asked him if he was a priest.  He said that he was, and then Bors asked him if he had done right to help the woman instead of his brother.  "No," the priest answered, "you did wrong.  Your brother has been killed because of what you did, and that woman was nothing to you."

Then Bors was sadder than before, and he said no more till they came to the castle to which the priest was leading him.  There a woman, young and beautiful, the lady of the castle, came down to meet him, followed by many others, all young and beautiful too.  They welcomed him and led him to the hall, where a feast was spread on the table, and they begged him to eat and drink, and then to stay with them and join in their games and their dances and their feasts.  But Bors answered: "I am one of the knights who are seeking the Holy Grail and I must not turn away from my quest for any pleasures, and I have promised to eat nothing but bread and to drink nothing but water till I see the Holy Grail."

"The Holy Grail?" said the priest.  "Why are you seeking it?  Do you know why, or shall I tell you?  It is because you know that few will find it.  It is because you wish for the glory of being thought better than other men.  Is this a good or a noble wish?  I tell you it is a proud and wicked one.  Forget it and stay here with us and be happy and be like other men."

And the lady of the castle said: "Sir Bors, I knew that you were coming here and it was for you that I made this feast.  Stay here with us now or I shall kill myself, and my death will be by your fault, as your brother's was.  Say that you will stay with us, or I will go up to the top of the castle tower and throw myself down."

And again Bors did not know what he ought to do.  He could not forget that the hermit had told him that he must not think of pleasures while he was seeking the Holy Grail, and he could not forget that he had promised to eat nothing but bread and drink nothing but water till he should see it.  And, as he cast down his eyes in thinking, he saw the cross-shaped hilt of his sword.  And, as if he suddenly knew that that could help him, he caught it and held it up before him and before them all.

And as he held it up he heard a great cry among the women, and the priest screamed as if an arrow had struck him.  And then, too, Bors heard a great wind sweep over the castle. It was only for an instant, and in that instant there was a crash of thunder and a blinding flash of lightning.  The next instant the castle and the priest and the women were all gone. Bors was standing alone on a broad plain, holding up the cross-shaped hilt of his sword.  The only living thing near him was his own horse. A cold wind was sweeping over the plain.  In the west there was a dull, red glow of sunset and above it there was one pale star.

Bors mounted his horse and rode away to find a place to stay for the night.  When he had ridden some way he heard a bell and came to an abbey.  He knocked at the gate and a monk came and opened it.  When the monk had let him in, Bors asked him if there was any wise man here who could tell him the meaning of all the adventures that he had had.  "Our abbot is a wise man," the monk answered. "Perhaps he can tell you."

So he led Bors to the abbot and Bors told him everything that had befallen him since he left the knights of the Round Table.  "And it has been so strange," he said, "that I do not know whether all that I have done has been right or wrong."

"You have done right, Sir Bors," the abbot answered.  "It was right for you to leave your brother and save the woman from the robbers. Your brother is a man and a knight and he must take whatever adventure comes to him. It was your duty to help the woman who needed you, before you tried to help another knight, even though he was your brother. And your brother is not dead.  Gawain met him and rescued him.  The man in the dress of a priest, who told you that he was dead, was not a priest.  He was a wicked enchanter.  He told you that you had done wrong and he took you to the castle where the feasting was, to make you forget the Holy Grail.  But you were too faithful to your promise and too firm for him, and I am sure, Sir Bors, that you will be one of those who will see the Holy Grail."

Bors went on his way again in the morning and soon he met a man who told him that there was to be a tournament at a castle not far off. So Bors went toward the castle, for he thought that at the tournament he might find his brother or some of his other friends of the Round Table.  And as he came near the castle he saw his brother sitting beside the road, and his horse standing near.  Bors had not felt so glad since he left Camelot to seek the Holy Grail as he did now to see his brother alive and well.  He got off his horse and went toward him, but Lionel only started up angrily and got on his horse and made ready his spear. "Bors," he cried, "you ran away from me to help some strange woman, and you would have let my enemies kill me.  It was the unkindest thing that ever one brother did to another.  Now get on your horse and defend yourself or I shall kill you where you stand."

But Bors would not move.  He begged his brother not to do so wicked a thing as to murder him or to make him fight with him, but Lionel would not listen.  When he saw that Bors would not defend himself he drove his horse against him and tried to throw him down and ride over him.  But Bors caught the horse's bridle, and then Lionel dismounted and drew his sword and came against him.  Then there was nothing for Bors to do but to draw his own sword and defend himself.  But as he lifted his sword he heard, or it seemed to him that he heard, a strange voice, that rang in his ears and said: "Bors, do not strike your brother, for if you do you will kill him."

And then all at once they could not see each other, for there was a cloud between them, all of fire, as it seemed, and it scorched their faces and dazzled their eyes.  And Bors heard the voice again, saying: "Bors, leave this place and go to the sea, for Percivale is there in a ship waiting for you."

So Bors turned away and took his horse and rode for a long way, and then he saw the water before him and a ship, all covered with canopies of white silk, lying beside the shore.  And he went on board the ship, and as soon as he was there it left the shore and went swiftly out into the sea.



Chapter XIII

Percivale


This was the adventure that Percivale had. When he had parted from his fellows and was riding alone he met a company of twenty knights.  They stood across his path and asked him who he was and whence he came. "I am Sir Percivale," he answered, "and I come from the court of King Arthur."

"Then we will kill you," they cried, "for we are enemies of King Arthur and of all his knights."

Then they dropped the points of their spears and rushed upon him, and he struck down the first that came with his spear.  But half a dozen of the others came upon him all at once, and some of the rest killed his horse, so that he was thrown down and was helpless among them.  Then, when he thought that his last moment was surely come, he heard the sound of a horse's hoofs and then a shout, and then he saw the flash of a bright, flame-colored armor coming toward him.  In an instant the knight who wore it was among them, and he had struck down some of them with his spear, and then he had drawn his sword and he was laying about him with it.  No one who felt one stroke of that sword stayed to feel another. Some fell and could not rise, and others turned and fled, and soon there was none left to do any harm to Percivale.  Then the knight in the flame-colored arms went away too, as fast as his horse could go, and all that Percivale saw of him was a last glimmer of his armor among the trees.

Percivale knew that this was Galahad, and he wished that he could follow him and go with him on his quest of the Holy Grail.  But he had no horse and Galahad was out of sight, and he could do no more than go as fast as he could on foot the way that Galahad had gone. And so he went on, not hoping to overtake Galahad, and scarcely knowing what he did, till night came on and it grew so dark that he could not see his way, and he was so weary and so faint that he felt that he could go no farther.  Then he sank down, just where he was, upon the ground, and slept.

When he awoke it was midnight.  The moon was shining, and by the dim light he saw a girl standing beside him.  It was she who had awakened him.  "Knight," she said, "what are you doing here?  Have you nothing better to do than to lie asleep beside the road? Where is your horse?"

"My horse was killed," he answered, "by some knights who fell upon me and nearly killed me too.  Then I came so far without him and grew so weary that I sank down and slept here where you have found me."

"I will give you a horse," the girl said, "if you will take him from me."

"There is nothing that I need," said Percivale, "so much as a horse, and if you can find me one I shall be grateful to you."

The girl went away and soon she came back leading a great, black horse, with rich trappings, and she told Percivale to take him. The instant that Percivale was in the saddle the horse was away like the wind. Percivale could not stop him or turn him.  He went where he liked, and Percivale was sure that in all his life he had never ridden so fast. No, nor a tenth part as fast, for sometimes, as this mad horse carried him along, he saw places that he knew, and within an hour he saw some that he knew were a day's journey apart. And all at once he heard a dull roar and saw the ocean before him.  The horse was going straight into it, as it seemed, and when Percivale saw that, he drew his sword and held it by the blade and struck the horse's neck with the cross-shaped hilt.  Then the horse gave a great leap and threw Percivale off his back.  He fell on the very edge of the water and the horse plunged into it.  And where he disappeared there sprang up a great flame, bright blue, and it went out and left a thick, black smoke behind it.  The wind blew the smoke away, and there was nothing more to see but the great waves rolling toward the shore and dashing against the rocks.

Then the weariness and faintness came upon Percivale once more, and he lay down there on the rough rocks of the sea-shore and slept again.  It was morning when he awoke.  As he looked around him he saw that the rocks about him were so high that they made a mountain and the water seemed to be all around it, or nearly so.  And as he was looking for a way to get back to the mainland he saw coming toward him a great serpent, carrying a young lion in its mouth.  An old lion was following, and it came up and began to fight with the serpent, but it could not make it drop the young lion.  Then Percivale thought that of the two beasts he liked the lion better, and that he would try to help it.  So he drew his sword and put his shield before him and ran to the serpent and cut off its head.

And the old lion went to the cub and found that it was not much hurt, and then it came to Percivale and licked his hand, as a dog would, and tried to thank him for saving the cub. After that it carried the cub away, but in a little while it came back and stayed with Percivale all day, and at night, when Percivale lay down to sleep, the lion watched beside him.

The next morning Percivale saw a ship coming toward the land.  It came close to the rock where he was and he could see no one in it but one old man, in the dress of a priest.  It had been so long since Percivale had had any friend but the lion that he was glad to see the priest and he told him who he was and how he had come there, and that he did not know how to get away from the place.

"Do not try to find any more adventures now," the priest answered, "but come into this ship and wait in it for the adventures that will come to you."

So Percivale went on board the ship and at once it started out into the sea.  He did not see the priest again and he could not tell where he had gone, but he could see the lion still standing on the shore and looking after him, till the ship had gone so far that he could no longer make it out.  And Percivale must have slept again in the ship, though he did not know how long.  But he awoke and saw a man bending over him, and the man was Bors.



Chapter XIV

Galahad


When Galahad left Camelot he had no shield. He had carried none in the tournament and he had done better without one than any of the other knights.  He still had none when the knights parted.  He rode alone for four days without any adventure.  It was then that he came to an abbey and went in to spend the night.  Another knight of the Round Table had come there before him, and as they sat talking together the monks told them of a shield that they had.  It had been in the abbey for many years, they said, and it had been foretold that no one except the best knight of the world should ever carry it without coming to some harm.

"I will take that shield to-morrow morning," said the knight, "and see what comes of it.  I do not think myself the best knight of the world, but I do not fear any adventure that may befall me.  And you, Sir Galahad -- if you will, you may wait here for a little while to know if I come to any harm, and then I am sure that you can bear this shield, if I cannot."

"It shall be as you say," said Galahad, "and I will wait to hear from you."

In the morning the knight asked for the shield, and the monks brought it to him.  It was white, with a red cross upon it.  The knight took it and rode away with his squire, and Galahad waited.  He did not wait long, for before noon the knight was brought back to the abbey so badly wounded that they could scarcely tell at first whether he would live or die.  The squire came with him and brought the shield.  He brought it straight to Galahad and said: "Sir Galahad, we met a knight who fought with my lord and wounded him as you see.  Then the knight told me to bring the shield to you and to say that no one but you ought to carry it."

"Then tell me," said Galahad to the monks, "what this shield is and why no one may use it but me."

"It was King Evelake's shield," one of the monks answered.  "In the time of Joseph of Arimathaea, Evelake was King of the City of Sarras.  He bore this shield in a great battle that he fought, and it was Joseph who made this red cross upon it for him.  Afterward he came to England with Joseph.  When he died the shield was left here in this abbey and Joseph foretold that it should never be borne with safety by anyone till the best knight of the world should come."

When Galahad heard that, he took the shield and made ready to go on his way.  But first he asked the monks about his fellow of the Round Table, and they told him that he had been nearly killed, but that they could cure him.

I have told you already some of the things that Galahad did.  You know how he overcame both Lancelot and Gawain, how he drove the murderers out of the Castle of Maidens, and how he saved Percivale from his enemies. It was after all these things that he was sleeping one night in the cell of a hermit, and a woman came to the door and called to him.  The hermit opened the door and she said to him: "I must speak to the knight who is here with you."

Then the hermit awoke Galahad and told him that there was a woman at the door who said that she must speak to him.  So Galahad went to the door and she told him that he must put on his armor and come with her. Galahad did not know who she was or what she wanted of him, but something made him feel sure that he ought to do what she said.  He put on his armor and rode with her for the rest of the night and all the next day, and then, as it was getting toward night again, they came to a castle.

The lady of the castle welcomed them and told Galahad that he must eat and sleep a little and then be ready to ride again.  It was still night when they came and woke him, and he put on his armor and rode again with the woman who had brought him to the castle. It was only a little way that they rode this time and then they came to the sea-side and saw a ship, all covered with canopies of white silk.  They went on board and found Percivale and Bors.  As soon as Galahad and the woman were in the ship it left the land and went straight out into the open sea.

When the three knights had greeted one another and when each had told the others something of where he had been and what he had done since they had parted last, Galahad said: "I should never have found you here if this woman had not brought me and shown me the way, and I am sure that you must thank her as much as I for bringing us together."

Then the woman said: "Percivale, do you know who I am?"

"No," said Percivale, "I do not know you."

"I am your sister," she said, "whom you have not seen since you first went to King Arthur's court."

Then they all stood together, talking and looking out upon the dim sea, till slowly they began to see it more plainly and the sky grew lighter and the stars faded away in it, and a faint and then a brighter glow rose in the east and the day came.  When it was fully light Percivale's sister said: "Come now and let me show you what there is in this ship that you have not seen."

She led them to another part of the ship and there they saw a sword in a scabbard.  The hilt of the sword was set with jewels and the scabbard seemed to be of serpent's skin.  It was all rich and beautiful except the girdle which was fastened to it, and that was of hemp and looked poor and weak.  "Galahad," said Percivale's sister, "this sword is for you, and I must tell you how long it has been waiting for you.  It was King David's sword, and his son, King Solomon, built this ship and put this sword in it and said that it should be for the best knight of the world and for no other. King Solomon was the wisest man that ever lived, yet he had a wife who in one thing was wiser than he.  For she was to make a girdle for this sword, and she made this poor one of hemp that you see.  When the King saw it he was angry and he told her that such a sword as this ought to have the best girdle in the world, not the worst. 'That is true, my lord,' she answered, 'but I had nothing that was fit for the best girdle in the world, and so I have made this one.  And this one shall stay on the sword till it is time for the best knight of the world to come and take it.  Then the sword shall have a new girdle.  It shall be made by another woman, a young maiden, and she shall make it of what she loves best and is proudest of in all the world.'  And when Solomon had built the ship and put the sword in it, and his wife had put the girdle of hemp on the sword, they saw the ship, all of itself, move out to sea, and it passed out of their sight and they never heard of it again.  And ever since King Solomon's time this ship has floated on the sea, and now I have brought you to it, Galahad, to take this sword which is yours."

"This is a wonderful story that you have told us," Galahad said.  "How have you learned these things?"

"I cannot tell you," she said.  "It seems to me that I know them without learning them. It is the Holy Grail, I think, that has given me the knowledge of them, but I cannot tell you how; only, when I have seen the Holy Grail, I have thought that all at once I knew many wonderful things that I did not know before."

"The Holy Grail?" said Galahad.  "You have seen it then?"

"Yes," she answered, "many times.  You knights go far to seek the Holy Grail, but it has come to me without my seeking it.  Now, Galahad, take your sword, for soon we must leave this ship."

"But where is the new girdle for the sword?" said Galahad.  "It seems to me that this old one of hemp will scarcely hold it.  And who is the maiden who is to make the new girdle?"

"I am she," said Percivale's sister, "and I have made the girdle and have brought it.  It is made of my own hair.  It was long and beautiful once, like fine threads of gold, and I was proud of it and loved it more than anything else in the world.  But when I had seen the Holy Grail and when I knew of this sword and knew that it was I who must make the new girdle for it, then I cut off my hair and wove it into a girdle."

Then she took the girdle out of a casket that she had brought, and it was indeed like a broad band of soft gold.  And she fastened it upon the sword and bound the sword upon Galahad's side.

They saw that the ship was coming near the land again and soon it touched the shore. They all went on shore, and, when they had gone a little way they saw a great castle before them.  When the three knights and Percivale's sister came near the castle, men came out of it and told them that they could not pass till they had done the custom of the castle.  And the custom of the castle was that the maiden must give a silver dish full of her blood to cure a sick lady.  The three knights would have fought the men of the castle and tried to pass by force, but Percivale's sister would not let them do it.  "The lady of the castle shall have my blood," she said, "and it will cure her."

"But if you lose so much blood," said Galahad, "you may die yourself."

"Yes," she answered, "I shall die, but it is no matter for that.  All that I had to live for was to give you the sword that you have, to make the girdle for it of my hair, and to cure this lady.  When I have done that I shall have done all that I had to do.  Now let me tell you what to do when I am dead.  When I am dead, do not bury me here, but put me in the ship that we have come in.  Leave me in it alone and go on your way.  You will see me again sooner than you think, but there is something still for you to do here.  You must go to the Castle of Carbonek to heal King Pelles's wound. After that you three must bring the Holy Grail to the City of Sarras.  I shall be there as soon as you and there you must bury me.  And two of you will not live long after that, and you will be buried beside me.  For you, Galahad, and you, my brother Percivale, will stay there with me, and then you, Bors, must come back to England and tell the King and the rest all that we have seen and done.  Now let us talk of it no more.  The Holy Grail has shown me all that I must do and neither you nor I must try to change it."

All this, you may be sure, made the three knights very sad, but Percivale's sister had shown them and had told them so much that was wonderful that they did not dare to disobey her.  They all stayed in the castle that night.  In the morning Percivale's sister gave the silver dish full of her blood and it cured the lady of the castle, and soon after that Percivale's sister died.

The three knights carried her to the shore and put her into the ship again, as she had told them to do.  As soon as they were on the shore again, the ship started out to sea and they stood and watched it.  It went away from them swiftly and they looked till its canopies of white silk seemed no more than the wings of a sea-bird resting on the water, and then, with a last fading flash in the morning sunlight on the edge of the ocean and the sky, it was gone. Yet still they watched and they saw a little brown spot of mist rise up where the ship had vanished.  It grew larger and came toward them and spread over the sky and shut off the water from their eyes and it wrapped them all around.  They could scarcely see the path before them as they turned to go away.  The cold, damp, sad mist cloud was over all the land and the ocean, only before them there was a pale, silvery shimmer of the sun still shining on the cloud.



Chapter XV

The City Of Sarras


The knights went to the castle and found horses, and mounted and rode toward the Castle of Carbonek.  The silvery shimmer of the sun upon the mist grew brighter.  The mist itself grew thinner and lighter and at last it all melted away into the clear air, and the sun shone warmly upon the fields and the woods, which the morning mist had left cool and fresh and dewy.  The knights did not speak much to one another.  They were thinking too much of what had passed.  And so they rode till late in the day, and then they saw the Castle of Carbonek before them.

Everything there was as if they had been expected.  The porters opened the gate for them, King Pelles's men led them to chambers, where they took off their armor, and then to the great hall, and there they found places ready for them at the table and the table laid, though with no food upon it.  When they had sat down, King Pelles was brought in and was placed at the table, too.  "Galahad," he said, "no one could be more glad to see you than I am, for I know that you have come to cure my wound.  I have suffered with it every day for all these many years; yes, since long before you were born.  And all that time I have known that no one could cure it but you, and so I have waited and waited for you to grow up and be a knight and go out in the quest of the Holy Grail, for I knew that it was not till then that you could come to cure me.  I have tried to be patient all these years, but now, Galahad, that you have come, it seems to me that I could not bear this wound another day."

When the King had said this, the dove that carried the little golden censer in its peak flew into the hall, as it had done when Bors was there before, long ago.  The thin smoke floated through the room and it was filled again with that sweet odor that Bors remembered.  Then a door of the hall opened and an old man -- the same whom Bors had seen before, the same who had brought Galahad to the Siege Perilous -- came in.  He carried the Holy Grail itself, and this time there was no covering of silk upon it.  It was not the old rosy glow that came from the cup now. The blood that was in it shone like one clear, red gem, resting in the pure crystal of the cup.  It shone brighter, the knights thought, than any light they had ever seen before, yet it did not hurt their eyes when they looked at it.  The beams that came from it made a broad halo of beautiful colors all about it, and the light that it shed through the room was like the light of day, only brighter and clearer, and everything that was seen in it looked finer and more beautiful.

The old man held the Holy Grail high up above his head for them to see it better, and then he put it on the little table of gold and silver that was in the room.  Another door of the hall was opened and four boys came in and brought the spear with the drops of blood flowing from the point.  They came and stood with it before the old man and he looked at the spear and then he looked at Galahad.  Galahad rose from the table and went to the spear and touched the blood on the point of it with his fingers.  Then he went to the King and touched the wound in his side with the blood, and at once the wound was healed.  The King stood up for a moment and felt that his strength and his health had come back to him, and then he sank down again in his place and scarcely moved, but gazed at the Holy Grail and at the spear and at Galahad.

"Galahad," said the old man, "you have done now all that you had to do here.  You have seen the Holy Grail and you have healed the King's wound.  To-morrow you must leave this land, and the Holy Grail will leave it too. Go to-morrow, with your two fellows, to the sea.  There you will find your ship.  You must go in it to the City of Sarras and you must take the Holy Grail with you.  When you are there, you will know what more you have to do."

The old man lifted the Holy Grail again and went out of the hall with it, and the boys who carried the spear followed him.  The table was covered with food and wine now and they all ate and drank, and then they all left the hall and slept till morning.

In the morning Galahad and Percivale and Bors left the Castle of Carbonek and went to the shore.  And there, as the old man had said, they found a ship.  As soon as they were on board they saw that the Holy Grail was there before them.  It stood on the table of gold and silver and the covering of white silk was over it again.

The knights did not know how long they were in that magic ship, or what way or how far they went.  They were moving swiftly always, they slept and they awoke, and they saw sunlight and moonlight and starlight.  The Holy Grail was always with them and they never felt hunger or cold or weariness.  And while they were in the ship Galahad told Percivale and Bors that he had prayed that he might leave this world whenever he wished it, and he knew that his prayer would be answered. And one morning, just as the sun was rising, they saw a low bank of white mist far before them, and above the mist they could see the pale, silvery lines of spires and towers and domes, and they knew that this was the City of Sarras.  The ship brought them quickly nearer and nearer, and as they came into the harbor they saw another ship going in before them. It was all covered with white, and they knew that it was the ship that carried Percivale's sister.

When they came to the shore they took hold of the table with the Holy Grail upon it to carry it out of the ship.  But it was too heavy for them and they looked about to find some one to help them.  The nearest man was an old cripple who sat begging.  Galahad called to him and told him to come and help them carry the table.  "I cannot help you," he said; "it is many years since I could even stand, except with crutches."

"No matter for that," said Galahad, "come and do your best."  And the old cripple came and helped them, and he was as strong and as well as any man.  They carried the table and the Holy Grail to the cathedral and left them before the altar, and then they came back to the shore and brought Percivale's sister out of the ship and up to the cathedral too, and buried her there.

When the King of Sarras heard of the strange knights who had come and of the cripple who had been healed, he sent for the knights and asked them who they were and whence they came.  Now this King was a tyrant, and when Galahad had told him all about the Holy Grail he began to be afraid of these knights, for he feared that they would have more power over the people than he had himself.  So he sent all three of them to prison. But as soon as they were in prison the Holy Grail came to them of itself, and it stayed with them and fed them, as it had fed Joseph of Arimathaea, when he was in prison.  And, like him, they scarcely knew how long they were there.  But when they had been in prison for a year the King was sick and felt that he was going to die, and then he began to have worse fears than before.

So he sent for the three knights again and told them that he had done wrong in putting them in prison and begged them to forgive him.  "We forgive you," Galahad answered; "you had no power to harm us, for the Holy Grail was always with us."

Then the King said to Galahad: "I am sure that I shall die soon and I wish that you might be King here after me, for I know that my people could have no better king than you."

So it was agreed, and soon after that the King died and Galahad was crowned in his place.  When Galahad was King the Holy Grail was put before the altar in the cathedral again and Galahad had a chest made to cover it.  And every day he and Percivale and Bors went to the cathedral to pray before it.

And one day, when Galahad had been King of Sarras for a year, he told Percivale and Bors that the time had come for him to leave this world, and they must come with him to the cathedral now for the last time.  So they went to the cathedral together and they saw an old man kneeling at the altar.  He was the same old man whom they had seen so many times before, who had been made to live so far beyond his time by the power of the Holy Grail, Joseph of Arimathaea.  On the altar before him lay the spear with the drops of blood flowing from its point.

The three knights knelt before the altar, Galahad nearer to it than the others, and they were there for a long time.  Then the old man rose and came to the chest where the Grail was and took it out and held it up before them, and the light that shone from the blood that was in it, through the crystal of the cup, was greater and stronger than ever.  The whole cathedral was bright with it.  It streamed up among the arches of the roof and lighted old pictures that were painted there.  For years before they had scarcely been seen, they were so dim with time and with dust and with the smoke of incense. Now, with the light of the Holy Grail upon it, the place was again a piece of Heaven, filled with wonderful forms.  There was Elijah, in his chariot of fire; there were saints and angels; and all about them and among them there were little stars of gold, that glowed and twinkled in the new brightness like the stars of the real Heaven.

The old man set the Grail upon the altar and came to Galahad and touched his hand and kissed him.  Then all at once the church grew dark and Percivale and Bors could see nothing but the Grail and the spear upon the altar and the old man who stood before it.  He took the Grail and the spear and then he seemed to rise and to go farther from them, though they could not see how he went.  It seemed to them, too, that Galahad was with him, and they did not see that the form of Galahad still lay before them on the steps of the altar.

In this way they watched for a long time and then Percivale said to Bors: "Do you not see, far off there in the sky, as it seems, Galahad himself, with his crown and his royal robes, holding the Holy Grail in his hands?"

"I cannot see that," Bors answered; "the window of the choir is open, but the air outside is growing darker.  I see a little cloud that the setting sun has turned all to crimson and to gold, and that is all."

After a time Percivale said again: "Bors, do you not see now?  He is farther away, but still I can see the shining of the Holy Grail."

And Bors answered: "Even the little cloud is gone now, and where it was a bright star is shining.  I can see no more."

And again Percivale said: "I hear music -- trumpets and harps and voices -- and I see Galahad still, and plainer than I saw him before, holding up the Holy Grail.  Do you hear nothing, Bors, and see nothing?"

"I heard a loud wind," Bors answered.  "It passed us and blew against the window of the choir and shut it.  I cannot see the sky any more, but in the colored glass of the window I see Joseph of Arimathaea, holding up the Holy Grail, but I cannot see him clearly, it is growing so dark outside."

And still, though they did not see it then, the form of Galahad lay before them on the steps of the altar.  And again there was no King of Sarras.  They buried him, Percivale and Bors, in the cathedral, beside Percivale's sister.  And after that Percivale found a cell outside the city and lived there as a hermit for a time, and then he died.  Bors stayed with him till then, and he buried him in the cathedral, with his sister and Galahad.  And when he had done that Bors left the City of Sarras and went on his way back toward England, to tell King Arthur the last of the story of the Holy Grail.



Chapter XVI

Stories Of Strange Stones


What I wanted to find was Dozmare Pool. I had heard about it and I had read about it, and I wanted to see it.  I studied the maps and the time-tables.  We had to go from Penzance to Exeter, and I thought that if we got off the train at Liskeard we could find a carriage to take us to Dozmare Pool and back in time to catch another train and get to Exeter before night.  Then it turned out that Helen's mother did not care about going to Dozmare Pool at all.

You may never have noticed it, but one of the best ways in the world for two people to get along together is for each of them to have his own way always.  So it took us less than a minute to settle that Helen's mother should just stay in the train till it got to Exeter and wait there for us.  Helen was young enough to feel an ambition to see and do as much as possible, instead of as little as possible, and she said that she would go to see Dozmare Pool too. And so Helen and I got off the train at Liskeard and stood on the platform and saw it go on and watched it till it was out of sight.  Then we felt that we were alone in a strange land, for we knew almost as little about Liskeard as we did about the moon, and how could we tell that we should be able to get to Dozmare Pool at all?  We left the station and began to look around.  We did not have to look far. Just across the road there was a little hotel called the Stag. We went in and the landlord did not seem quite so surprised to see us as some of the hotel keepers we had met before.  We asked him if we could have luncheon and he said we could.  Then we asked him if he knew where Dozmare Pool was.  That made him stare a little, but he said he did. Next we asked him if he could find a carriage and a driver to take us there.  "Yes," he said, "and I suppose you will want to go to the Cheesewring too."

"What is the Cheesewring?"

"It's some very curious stones, sir; visitors almost always go to see it, sir."

"Is it near Dozmare Pool?"

"Oh, it's a matter of three miles, sir."

"Shall we have time to go to both places and get back so as to catch a train for Exeter?"

"Oh, yes, sir; you'll have plenty of time, I think."

"Very well, then, we will go to the Cheesewring."

That is the way with hotel keepers in such places.  They have certain sights that they expect everybody to go to see, but they never can understand why you want to see anything else. And of course it doesn't really matter whether they understand or not.  Still I was willing to take the landlord's advice.  I had read something about the Cheesewring before and I was glad to find that we had such a good chance to see it.

When we had finished luncheon the carriage and the driver were ready, and in a few minutes Liskeard was behind us.  The country was of the same pretty sort that we had seen so many times before, with tall trees, that hung over the road, and fields and high hedges.  They were not wonderful scenes that we were riding through, but just fresh and bright and lovely scenes.

There was a place where, for a short way, we rode along beside a little brook, and even from the carriage, as we passed, we could see the trout swimming in it.  The driver told us that the boys of a school near-by often caught the trout by letting down wide-mouthed bottles, with bait in them, into the water.  The fish would go into the bottles and the boys would pull them up by the strings.  This was a way of catching trout that I had never heard of, but it seemed likely enough that it might be done, with a stream so full of them as this one was.

I tried, as usual, to get the driver to tell us stories.  "What sort of place is this Dozmare Pool, where we are going?" I said.  "I have heard that there are some very wonderful stories about it."

"I can't say, sir," he answered; "I never heard any stories about it in particular."

This was just the answer that I expected.  It is not at all easy to get people to tell you the stories about the places where they live, even when they know them.  I don't know why it is.  Perhaps they are afraid of being laughed at, if the stories happen to be a little hard to believe, and perhaps they feel that the stories belong to them and to their neighbors, and they do not like to give them to strangers.

But one of the best ways to get them to tell you a story is to tell them one.  I thought that this way was worth trying, so I said: "I am surprised at that.  I thought everybody about here must know stories about Dozmare Pool. Why, I was reading only the other day about a giant named Tregagle, who lived about the pool and had a great deal of trouble.  He was once a wicked steward, I think, who killed his master and mistress and got the property that belonged to their child, and for that he was condemned to empty Dozmare Pool with a limpet shell.  Of course he never could do it, but he had to keep working at it forever. And then, as if that was not enough, the story said that sometimes the devil used to come after him, and the only way that he could get away from the devil was to run fifteen miles to the Roche Rocks and put his head in at the window of a chapel there, and then the devil could not harm him.  And when the devil got tired of waiting and went away, poor old Tregagle had to come back and go to work again at emptying the pool with his limpet shell."

"I never heard of Tregagle," said the driver, "but the way I heard the story was that it was the devil himself who had to empty the pool with a limpet shell, and he did it.  Then he was condemned to bind the sand and mike the binds of the sime, and that he couldn't do."

So the driver did know a story after all.  I must tell you just here that this driver had a very queer way of speaking, as it seemed to us. I am not quite sure whether it was a Cornish way or not.  It was harder to understand than any other speech that we had heard in Cornwall. Liskeard is almost on the edge of Devonshire and this man's talk, too, had something that sounded like London in it.  I try to tell you the things that he said in every-day English, and not just the way he said them.  But I have tried, too, to give you a few words just as they sounded, to show you what they were like. But I feel that I have not quite done it.  When the driver told us that the devil was condemned to "bind the sand and mike the binds of the sime," Helen and I stared at each other and could not make out what he meant at first.  But we soon thought it out.  The words that he had tried to say were "bind the sand and make the binds of the same," and what he meant was, that the devil was to make the sand into bundles and make ropes out of the sand to bind them around.  Making ropes out of sand has always been counted a hard thing to do, and it is really no wonder that the devil could not do it.

After he had told us this one story the driver was much better company, and I think he tried to tell us all that he could about all that we saw. "The well of St. Keyne is not far from here," he said.  "Perhaps you may have heard of it, sir.  They tell the story about it that when a man and a woman are married, the one of them that drinks from the well of St. Keyne first will always be the ruler of the house.  And the story tells how there was a man who was married, and he wanted to be sure to drink first.  So as soon as the marriage was over he left his wife in the church and ran and drank from the well.  But his wife was before him after all, for she had brought a bottle of the water to church with her. There was a piece of poetry made about it.  I don't remember who did it."

"Southey?" I suggested.

"Yes, sir; I think so, sir."

The driver showed us two curious stones in a field that we passed and waited while we went to look at them more closely.  They stood on end and were rather higher than a man's head, as I remember.  They were square at the bottom, but smaller at the top, and one of them had somewhat the form of a chair. There was some rough carving on the sides. The driver said that he had heard that some old King of Cornwall was buried there.  Since then I have read more about these stones in a very old book about Cornwall.  The writer does not seem to know much more than we as to how they came there, but he says that they are called "the Other Half Stone."  I think that you will say that that is as curious a name as you ever heard.  The old writer seems to think so too, and he does not know anything about the one half stone of which these are "the other half."  But he says that they are just half way between Exeter and the Land's End.

The driver decided that he would take us to the Cheesewring before Dozmare Pool, and by and by he said that we were as near to it as we could go with the carriage.  He pointed it out to us, on a hill, a long way off, as it seemed. Then he drove along to a poor little village, where we left the horse and carriage at a house that called itself an hotel, and from there we walked to the Cheesewring.  The way was across a broad stretch of rough ground and it was not at all easy walking.  We had not gone far before the driver had some more stones to show us. They were not very large, but there were a good many of them, and they stood on end, as usual.  They had stood in two great circles once, as if they were little stones trying to look like Stonehenge, but now some of them had fallen down, and of course that was a part of their game of Stonehenge too.

"They call these the Hurlers," said the driver, "and they tell the story that they were men, who were turned into stone for playing quoits on Sunday."  (He pronounced it "kites.")  Then he pointed to two stones that stood by themselves, a little way from the circles, and said: "I suppose those two were men who were only looking on, and not playing."

We resolved that we would never play quoits on Sunday, or so much as look at anybody playing quoits on Sunday, and then we went on toward the Cheesewring.  We had to climb a little way up the hillside to get to it, and then we stood almost on the edge of a precipice, looking down into a great quarry, where there were men at work cutting out stone.  The Cheesewring itself was almost on the edge of the precipice too.  It was a great pile of stones -- a great pile, but few stones, for they were huge ones.  They were skilfully fitted and balanced, one upon the other, and the top one was much the largest of them all, so that the whole pile had somewhat the shape of a rude anvil. The whole pile was perhaps four times as high as our heads.  I think I have forgotten to say till now that "Cheesewring" means "cheese-press," and surely a very large and very stiff cheese might be well flattened out by having that pile of stones set upon it.

The puzzle of it, as usual, is how the stones got there.  The machinery that they are using down below there in the quarry to-day would be none too good to move such stones as these. Yet there they are, and there is no history of the time when they were put there.  "What do you think of them," I said, "and whoever do you suppose knew how to pile them up there?"

"I don't know," Helen answered, "but when there are any big stones anywhere you generally say that Merlin put them there."

"Well, I am not going to say so this time, though these stones do somehow remind me of Merlin.  Did I ever tell you what became of him at last?"

"No," said Helen, "of course you didn't."

"Why, here we are," I said, "telling stories about the very end of King Arthur's reign, and nobody had seen or heard anything of Merlin since almost the very beginning of it.  And do you mean to tell me that I have never told you what became of him?"

"Why, you know you never did; what was it?"

"Well, to be sure, if I have never told you that, we ought not to lose another minute about it.  But you must forget everything that you have heard lately and go away back, for that is where this story begins. After Merlin had taken good care of King Vortigern and of King Pendragon, King Arthur's uncle; and King Uther Pendragon, Arthur's father; and of King Arthur himself; after he had set him on his throne and had helped him to win battles and to get his sword Excalibur, what do you think Merlin did?  You would think that he was old enough to know better, only I believe nobody is ever old enough to know better.  He fell in love.

"Merlin knew everything, and so he knew that he was going to fall in love.  He knew, too, that because of his falling in love he should go away from the court and away from the King and away from all the world, and that after that he should never be of any use again to the King or to England or to the world. Merlin knew, and yet he could not help it. Merlin could rule kingdoms and set up and cast down kings, yet there was one power in the world that he could not rule and could not resist.  He could not save himself from the end that he knew was coming.  He told King Arthur that he should leave him soon and should never see him again, and King Arthur tried to reason with him and to make him use his magic against his fate.  But Merlin said that no magic could do any good; in this one thing he was helpless; when the time came he must go, and the time was coming soon.

"And who was it, do you suppose, that Merlin was in love with?  It was Nimue, the Lady of the Lake, Lancelot's Fairy Mother.  He met her in a forest over in France, where she had her home.  He taught her magic and he made a splendid palace by magic and filled it with knights and ladies for her, and there they had feasts and dances and games.  One day she asked him to show her how she could put to sleep any one whom she chose, so that he could not awake till she should let him awake.  And Merlin knew that it was himself whom she wished to put to sleep so, yet he knew that it was fate that he should tell her, and so he told her.

"They used to meet in the forest near a spring that was famous afterward, for the water of the spring used to bubble up when anything of iron or copper or brass was thrown into it, and the children who knew the spring threw pins into it and said: 'Laugh, spring, and I will give you a pin,' and then the spring would laugh for them.  Merlin sat often beside the spring with Nimue and taught her magic. He taught her so much that at last there was nobody in the world who knew so much of it as she, except himself and perhaps King Arthur's sister, Queen Morgan-le-Fay.

"Then another time Nimue begged Merlin to teach her how one man or woman could be shut up by another, so that he never could get away again, so that no one could ever come to him but the one who had worked the spell, so that he could never see any but that one, and no one could break the spell but the one who made it.  Then Merlin was sad again, for he knew that Nimue loved him so much that she wanted to keep him all to herself and never to let any one else see him or hear of him.  And he knew, too, that she must have her way in this.  'I know,' he said, 'what it is that you wish, and I love you so much that I know that I must do what you ask.'

"'If you know what it is that I wish,' she said, 'you know that I want a place where we can be together always, only we two, where nobody else can ever come to us and where I shall never see any one but you and you will never see anyone but me.  Surely, when I love you so much as you know I do, you should love me enough for that.'

"And still Merlin was sad, knowing that this was to be the end of all his work for the King and for the world, but he answered: 'I will do what you ask.  I will make a place where we two can be and no one else can ever come to us or see us or know of us.'

"But Nimue said: 'I do not wish it so; you must teach me the magic, so that I can do it myself.  Then I will make the enchantment when I please.'

"So Merlin, knowing that it was fate and that there was no other way, taught her all the charms by which she could do what she wished. He taught her how to walk about in circles and how to wave her hands and what words to say. And she learned it and remembered it all. Then they left France and came over into Cornwall and wandered together about the hills and the woods.  And one day, when they had gone a long way, they sat down to rest. And Nimue took Merlin's head in her lap and put him to sleep with the charm that he had taught her.  When he was asleep she rose and walked around him nine times and waved her hands and began to say the words that he had taught her.  And as she worked the charm Merlin slept more soundly, and then the ground opened and he sank down into it.  She sank down too, and when they were deep enough the ground closed above them.  But still she went on with the charm and great stones were moved by the magic words and piled themselves high above the place where they had sunk.

"When Merlin awoke he knew that the spell was done.  He was in a beautiful place and Nimue was with him.  She could go out and come in when she chose, and she often did so, but he could never go out till the spell was broken.  And nobody could ever break the spell but Nimue, who had made it.  Merlin himself, with all his magic, could not break it, for it was one of his own spells and the strongest of them, and it was planned so that it could never be undone by anyone, even the greatest magician of the world, except the one who had done it.  And Nimue never undid the spell.

"Now I am not sure where all this happened, and you know I would not tell you anything that I was not sure of.  Some say that it was here in Cornwall and some say that it was over in France, and that Merlin and Nimue did not come back to England at all.  Some say, too, that there was another Cornwall in France. But if they did come to England again, and if the place was in this very Cornwall, then why might not this be the very place where we are? Here is this great pile of stones and neither we nor anybody else can tell how they came here or how they could come here.  Why might they not be the very ones that Nimue piled up over Merlin by the enchantment that he taught her?  I don't say that they are, but I do say that I cannot see why they might not be, so let us believe that they are."

Helen looked over the edge of the hill, down into the quarry.  "If those men down there dig out the rock a little more over this way," she said, "they will let Merlin out, if he is still there."

"They will do nothing of the sort," I answered; "do you think that Merlin's charms were worth no more than that?  No one can ever let Merlin out of his prison but Nimue, and she never did and never will. If those men down there should dig to where Merlin was, you may be sure that he would sink again, down and down through the earth, so that no quarriers in the world could ever reach him. Merlin's charms were charms that were made to last, and Merlin will never be seen again on the earth as long as Stonehenge is on Salisbury Plain."



Chapter XVII

"And On The Mere The Wailing Died Away"


It was only a short drive from the place where we had left the carriage to Dozmare Pool.  That is, it was a short drive to the nearest place to it where we could get with the carriage.  The carriage could not go close to it, any more than it could to the Cheesewring. The driver began to remember still more about Dozmare Pool, as we got nearer to it.  The water was salt, like the sea, he had heard, and in stormy times it had great waves like the sea.

This reminded me of some things that I had heard and read about it myself.  The name "Dozmare," I had been told somewhere, meant "drop of the sea."  I had been told somewhere else that the name was made up of two Cornish words that meant "come" and "great," and that the name was given to it because it had tides, like the ocean.  Long ago it had no outlet that anybody could see, but it was said that something that was thrown onto it was found many miles off, on the seashore.  So it was believed that a passage under ground led from it to the sea.  It was said, too, that it was so deep that no plummet had ever reached its bottom.

We came at last to the foot of a steep hill and the driver said that we could not go any farther with the carriage.  He would stay here and attend to the horse, and we must go straight up this hill and we should find Dozmare Pool.  Up the hill we went, a good, long climb, and when we got to the top, though we knew what we had come to see, we were surprised to see it. For all of a sudden there it was before us, the broad lake on the top of the hill, just where we should expect to find the downward slope of the other side of the hill.  It did not look like a stormy sea to-day, but a fresh breeze was blowing over it and drove the little waves before it against the bank, where they made a plashing noise at our feet.  The pool seemed to be at the very top of everything, except that far away across it we could see a mountain, with two peaks.

There was one little house near us and no other in sight.  Near the house a man was at work piling up turf, cut in long, square strips, for winter fires.  A little boy was playing about, or trying to help the man, and a woman was driving a cart that brought the turf from somewhere down below.  We asked the man what mountain that was with the two peaks.

"Brown Gilly, sir," he said.

"Is the water of this lake salt?" we asked again.

"No, sir, it's fresh."

"Is it good to drink?"

"We don't drink it ourselves, sir, but it's good for washing and the cattle drink it."

"How big is the lake?"

"It's about a mile and a quarter round, sir."

"And is there any outlet?"

"Yes, sir, down at the other end there's one."

"It was not always there, was it?  When was it made?"

"I couldn't say, sir; it was there before my time."

We left the man to pile his turf and wonder what strange sort of people we could be who wanted to know so many useless things.  "Well, there is so much of our story spoiled," I said. "It is not salt and it probably does not have waves like the ocean, and an outlet has been made for it. Still, as you stand and look over it, do you not feel that there is something lonely and solemn and mysterious and magical about it?  When you think of its being here at the top of a hill, instead of down in a valley, like a common lake, and when you see no higher hill around it, except that one mountain over there, and when you think of the stories about it, do you not get a little of what our old friend of the Alice books calls the 'eerie' feeling?  Have you guessed that the reason why I brought you here was that this was the lake where King Arthur found his sword Excalibur? Well, it was.  And now I have another story to tell you about it.  It is rather a sad story. The most of our stories are getting to be rather sad now, but there are not many more of them."

I had told Helen long before how King Arthur got his sword Excalibur. His sword had been broken in a fight one day, and Merlin led him to the shore of a little lake -- this very lake where we stood now -- and out in the middle of it he had seen an arm rising out of the water. The arm was covered with white silk and the hand held a sword, the most beautiful that Arthur had ever seen.  Merlin and Arthur went out to it in a boat and the King took the sword and kept it.  That was the wonderful sword Excalibur.  Merlin told Arthur strange things about the sword.  No one else ever knew what they were, and it may be that we do not know, even yet, of all the wonders of that sword.

But now for the story.  "You know," I said, "that I do not often throw morals at you in these stories.  As a general thing, I hate to see morals hung up on the ends of stories as much as you do.  If the moral cannot make itself felt as the story goes along, it isn't of much use, usually, to drag it out and hold it up at the end.  But this story has such a good and sound and useful moral that I can't help pointing it out to you.  But I will put it here at the beginning, instead of at the end, and have it over with.  It is that when a lie has been told about anybody, no matter how wicked and silly it is, no matter how clearly it may have been proved to be a lie, it will always stick to him, it will never be forgotten, and there will always be people who will half believe it.

"You remember how once Meliagraunce charged Queen Guinevere with treason against King Arthur.  Everybody knew that Meliagraunce himself was a traitor and a liar and that he got killed for telling that one lie. Still it never was forgotten and there were some who never had quite the trust in the Queen again that they had had before.  And since it was Lancelot who had fought for the Queen then and at other times, they looked at him just as they did at her, and shook their heads and whispered to one another that they wondered if Lancelot was quite as true to the King as he ought to be.  There were some who said, too, that Lancelot and the Queen both cared too much about honors and glory for themselves and not enough about the honor of the King. And I am afraid that was not a lie.

"Still all this thinking and talking counted for little for a long time. And then there came a time when they counted for much.  It was after the quest of the Holy Grail.  Lancelot had come back to the court and Bors had come back from the City of Sarras, and all had come back who were ever coming.  Then, all at once, as it has always seemed to me, without any reason, half the people in King Arthur's court went mad.  The first and the worst of them was Mordred, King Arthur's nephew, Gawain's brother.  He was always all but mad with jealousy and envy and hatred of all who were greater than himself.  And now he thought that nothing less could please him than to overthrow King Arthur and to be King of England.

"There are some people who cannot think of any better way of helping themselves than by doing all the harm that they can to those who stand in their way.  Mordred was of this sort. He looked about him to see who there was whom he could harm, and he thought of this old lie about the Queen and of these new doubts about Lancelot.  Then he went to the King and told him that he had found that Lancelot and the Queen were plotting treason together and forming some plan against the King.  If the King wanted proof of it, Mordred said, let him go hunting the next day, and while he was gone, Mordred and some others would find Lancelot and the Queen together.

"Now Lancelot and the Queen had always been the best of friends and what in the world was supposed to be proved by their being seen together I am sure I don't know.  But just at this time it seems to me that it was the King who went mad, and he said that he would do as Mordred advised him.

"The next day the King went hunting.  Now Bors and some of Lancelot's other friends had heard these whispers about the court and they had told Lancelot of them.  They had decided that it might stop the chatter, about Lancelot at least, if he were to leave the court for a time. It happened that Lancelot had meant to go this very day, and so he went to say good-by to the Queen.  Bors knew what a mischief-maker Mordred was; he had seen that he dif not go to the hunt with the King, and he feared that something was wrong.  He begged Lancelot not to go to see the Queen, but Lancelot laughed at the notion that there was anything to fear and went.  And Mordred and some other knights whom he had got on his side were watching, and the minute that Lancelot and the Queen were together they were upon them.

"Lancelot had come only to see the Queen and to bid her good-by; he had not expected any fighting, and so he wore no armor.  Mordred and his knights meant to fall upon Lancelot all at once and kill him or take him prisoner.  But Lancelot was quick enough to shut the door of the room and keep them out for a few minutes. Then he drew his sword and opened the door just enough to let one of the knights come in. He struck that one with his sword and wounded him so that he fell inside the room, and then he shut the door again.  Lancelot quickly took off the armor of the wounded knight and dressed himself in it.  Then he threw the door wide open and rushed at the crowd of knights striking about him as he went and wounding more of them.

"Many as they were they could not stand against Lancelot and he escaped from them and went back to his friends.  I suppose I ought to say just here that there was scarcely ever a man in the world who had such friends as Lancelot.  There were his brother Ector, his cousins Bors and Lionel, Lavaine, and many others who were ready to give their very lives for Lancelot at any time.  And now, after this terrible thing had happened, they all left the city with him, as quickly as they could, and then they waited near to see what would be done with the Queen.

"When the King came back Mordred told him about what had happened, in his own lying way, I suppose.  And the King, it seems, had not got over his fit of madness yet, for surely nobody in his senses could think that what Mordred had to tell proved anything.  But of course we don't know just how much Mordred lied, and I wonder if the King believed him just because he was his own nephew.  Such things happen sometimes, though for my own part I don't see why any man should be believed because he is another man's nephew. Bad men have uncles, as well as good men. But it seems that the King did believe him, for some reason or other, and did believe that the Queen and Lancelot were guilty of treason. And he said that the Queen should have the punishment of treason, and so should Lancelot, if he could get him.  Now the punishment of treason in those days was burning.

"Now, mad as the King seems to have been, I no more believe that he would have the Queen burnt than I believe that he would have himself burnt.  I don't know why he pretended that he would.  Perhaps he thought that he could make her confess something, or perhaps he thought that Mordred, when he saw how far things were going, would confess that he was wrong.  But the King declared that the punishment of the Queen should be the next morning and he ordered some of his knights, and among them Gareth and his brother Gaheris, to be present and see it done. They and some of the others told the King plainly that they thought that what he was doing was wrong and that they would have nothing to do with it.  Since he commanded them to be present, they said, they would be there only to look on, and they would wear no armor.

"And now it came Lancelot's turn to go mad. For he believed that the King would really do all that he said.  So he resolved that he would save the Queen.  The King himself would have saved her, I am sure, before any harm could come to her.  But Lancelot heard what was to be done and in the morning he took some of his friends, all fully armed, and they rode to the place where the Queen was led out for her punishment.  Lancelot and his men dashed through the crowd of King Arthur's knights, the most of whom wore no armor, laying about them with their swords, killing some and wounding others, and came to where the Queen stood.  Lancelot lifted her and put her on his horse behind him, and he and his knights rode away again.  They did not stop near the city this time, but they rode straight to a castle of Lancelot's own, called Joyous Gard, and there they all shut themselves in and fortified the town.

"But in the saving of the Queen another terrible thing had happened.  As Lancelot dashed through the crowd of King Arthur's knights to come where she was, some of them struck at him, and in return he layed about him with his sword and could not see who was in his way, and so, not knowing who they were, he struck Sir Gareth and Sir Gaheris, who wore no armor, and killed them both.  And now it was Gawain who went mad.  When he heard that Lancelot had killed his brothers he would not believe that it was by accident and he swore that he would always follow Lancelot and try to find chances to fight with him, till one of them should kill the other.  He urged the King to make war at once upon Lancelot, and the King and his army marched to Joyous Gard and besieged the castle and the town.

"Lancelot had many friends, as I said before, and many of the lords and knights of the country, when they heard what had happened, thought that Lancelot was right and came to help him.  By the time that the King and his army came to Joyous Gard Lancelot had a good army of his own there. But Lancelot did not want to fight the King, and for many days he kept all his men inside the town.  He sent messages to the King and to Gawain.  He told the King that neither he nor the Queen had ever thought of doing him any wrong, and he begged him to let the Queen come back to him and to leave off this war.  He told Gawain that he had loved his brother Gareth as if he had been his own brother and that he would as soon have killed his own brother as Gareth or Gaheris, if he had known who they were.  And the King was so sad at all that had been done that he wanted to give up the whole war, but Gawain would not hear of it.  He would never forgive Lancelot for killing his brothers, he said, till one of them should kill the other.

"Then Lancelot's friends urged him to fight. Gawain would never let the King give up the war, they said, and it would be best to end it now. And Lancelot felt that they were right, and at last he yielded and said that he would go out to battle the next morning.  In the morning Lancelot's army marched out of the city and the army of the King came to meet it. Lancelot had ordered all his men that whatever they did they should do no harm to the King or to Gawain.  As for himself, he scarcely fought at all.  He rode about the field and saw others fight.  He saw many of his own men wounded and killed, but he had no heart to strike a blow against King Arthur or any knight of his.  At last he saw the King himself charging against his cousin Bors.  Bors met the charge with his spear and threw King Arthur from his horse.  When Lancelot saw that he rode to where the King was and got off his horse.  'Here, my lord,' he said, 'take this horse; you and your knights fight against me and have no mercy, but I cannot fight against my King or see him overthrown and not try to help him.'

"And the King took Lancelot's horse and rode away from the field and called all his men away too, and Lancelot's men went back to the town.

"The next day Lancelot sent messengers to King Arthur again to ask him to let the Queen come back, to promise that she should not be harmed, and to end the war.  And the King would have done everything that Lancelot asked, but again Gawain would not hear of it. 'Let the Queen come back if you like,' said Gawain; 'that is nothing to me.  But I will not forgive Lancelot for killing my brothers and I will always follow him and fight with him till I kill him or he kills me.'

"You know I told you long ago of the old story that Gawain could speak so well that nobody could ever refuse him anything that he asked.  I think that must have been why the King let him have his own way all through this war with Lancelot.  I am sure that the King himself must have got back his senses now, and I almost think, after all, that he never really believed that the Queen or Lancelot could wish to do any wrong to him.  How could he let her come back at all if he believed that?  And he did let her come back, but still Gawain was firm against Lancelot, and the King would not make peace with him till Gawain wished it.

"When Lancelot had sent the Queen back to King Arthur he thought that it was of no use to stay in England any longer, so he took all his knights and his army with him and crossed over into France.  He went to Benwick, his father's old city and his own city now, because his father was dead long ago.  And soon King Arthur and Gawain followed him with their army, for Gawain still vowed that he would go where Lancelot went and would not leave him till one of them had killed the other.  In these last dreadful days of King Arthur's reign it seems as if no one ever missed a chance of making a mistake, and now Arthur made another.  For when he went over to France he left Mordred in his place to rule England till he came back, and he left the Queen in Mordred's care too.

"So the King and Gawain and their army came to Benwick and besieged it, as they had besieged Joyous Gard.  Lancelot sent a message to them again.  He would do anything if they would end the war and not make him fight against the King and his old friend.  He would give up his city to them, if they would take it, and let all the world think that he was beaten, when he was not beaten at all, or that he was a coward and did not dare to fight.  Still Gawain would be content with nothing but that Lancelot must fight with him.  But he sent back word that if Lancelot alone would come out and fight with him alone, till one of them should kill the other, that one fight should end the war.

"When this message was brought to Lancelot his friends told him that it was of no use any longer to hope for peace.  Gawain would never yield, and it must be as he said at last. It would be better for Lancelot to fight with him now than to wait.  Lancelot knew that they were right, and he sent word that the next morning he would meet Gawain outside the city and fight with him.

"They met the next morning, in the space between the city walls and King Arthur's army. Both the knights were thrown from their horses at the first charge, and then it was the old story of a sword fight that I have told you so many times before.  But Gawain had the gift of growing stronger every day, from nine o'clock till noon, and then he had three times his natural strength.  This had been given to him by a magician long ago, and nobody knew that he had it except himself and King Arthur. Lancelot knew nothing about it, but he had not been fighting long before he knew that there was something strange about Gawain's fighting. He felt him growing so strong that he scarcely tried to strike at Gawain at all, but used all his strength in defending himself.  And so for a long time neither of them was much harmed, but when noon came, all at once Lancelot felt that Gawain had grown weaker.  Then he said: 'Gawain, I do not know with what magic you have fought till now.  But, whatever it was, I feel now that it has left you and you are like any other man. Now I must begin to fight.'

"Then he struck Gawain a great blow on the head and wounded him, so that he fell, and Lancelot stood still beside him, resting on his sword. 'Why do you stop your fight?' Gawain cried.  'You have beaten me; finish it now and kill me.'

"'You know,' said Lancelot, 'that I cannot kill any knight who is wounded and helpless, and least of all you, who have been my friend so long.  Our fight is over.'

"'Kill me and make an end to it,' Gawain said again, 'or as soon as I am cured of this wound I shall come and fight you again.'

"'If I must fight with you again," said Lancelot, 'I shall be ready; I can do no more now.'

"So Gawain was carried back to his tent and was kept there for many days, while his wound was healing.  And as soon as he was strong enough he sent word to Lancelot that he must fight him again.  There is no need of making a long story of it.  Gawain and Lancelot fought again and the fight ended exactly as the first one had done.  Lancelot wounded Gawain in the very same place where he had wounded him before, and Gawain was carried back to his tent, vowing that he would still fight with Lancelot as soon as his wound should heal.

"And what do you suppose had been going on in England all this time? You might almost guess.  You would think that Mordred could not possibly keep out of mischief so long, and you would be quite right.  King Arthur had not had much more than time to get to Benwick before Mordred began to tell people that the King was dead.  He showed some letters, which he had written himself, but he pretended that they had come from France, and they said that the King had been killed in a battle against Lancelot.  Of course the only thing to do in such a case was to crown Mordred himself as King, and Mordred took care that it should be done in a hurry.  Then, to make everything as sure as possible, he gave notice that he was going to marry Queen Guinevere.  Of course he did not trouble himself to ask Queen Guinevere whether or not it suited her to be married to him.  He had begun to have his own way and he was resolved to go on.  The Queen saw that it would not do any good to pretend that she did not want to be married to him, so she let Mordred think that there was nothing that would please her better than to be his wife.  But she said that if she was to be married she should have to go to London to get some new gowns.  Mordred saw nothing wrong about that and he let her go.  Then, as soon as she got to London, she shut herself up in the Tower and found men who were friendly to her to guard it, and waited for Mordred to come and try to get her out of it.

"He came, you may be sure, as soon as he heard where she was, and he laid siege to the Tower, but it was so strong, and Queen Guinevere's men fought so well, that he could not take it.  He kept up the siege till he heard that King Arthur and all his men were coming back from France and Lancelot and his men were coming with them.  When he heard that he drew his army away from London and marched to Dover to meet the King and to keep him from getting England away from him.

"It was true that the King and his men were coming back from France, but it was not true that Lancelot was coming.  Lancelot did not know why King Arthur and his army had so suddenly left Benwick.  It was because the King had heard of the mischief that Mordred had done and of the more mischief that he was trying to do.  Even Gawain could not ask the King to make war upon Lancelot any longer, when England itself was likely to be lost. Gawain had been acting in a mad fashion enough for a long time, but the news from England brought him back to his senses.  His wound was nearly healed and he was beginning again to want to fight with Lancelot, but now he saw all at once what harm his wild anger against Lancelot had done.  He was filled with shame and grief at the thought of it.  'It is I,' he said to the King, 'who have done all this.  I see it now.  It is Lancelot who has always been your truest and best friend, and it is I who have been your enemy.  I fear that I have done too much for you to forgive, but there is hope still, for I know that Lancelot will still be your friend. Send for him; tell him that I was wrong in everything -- that I confess it -- and ask him to go with you and help you to win back England from Mordred.'

"If the King had ever doubted Lancelot he doubted him no longer now. Gawain, who had been against him so long, was for him now. But the King looked sadly at Gawain and shook his head.  'Gawain, Gawain,' he said, 'we have gone too far.  We have wronged Lancelot too much.  We cannot ask him to help us now.  We must fight our battles and win them or lose them by ourselves.'

"So the King and Gawain and their army left Lancelot and Benwick and crossed into England.  As soon as they landed at Dover Mordred met them and there was a hard battle. Many were killed and wounded on both sides and at last Mordred was driven back.  But when the battle was over Gawain had been wounded again just where Lancelot had wounded him twice before.

"And this time he felt that he could not live. Then Gawain thought: 'If the King could not ask Lancelot to help him, yet surely I can ask him, now that I am dying.  It was I who wronged him and I who was his enemy. But when he comes I shall not be here any more, and I know that he always loved the King and that he loves him still.'

"And Gawain told those who were about him to bring him pen and paper, and he wrote a letter to Lancelot.  The letter said: 'Sir Lancelot, I am dying from a wound that I got in battle to-day, just where you wounded me twice.  I have been blind and deaf and mad all this while.  I would not see or hear the truth, and the truth is, Lancelot, that it is you who have been always the King's friend and that it is I who, in these last days, have been his enemy.  My pride and my selfishness and my anger have almost ruined the King, but it may be that your true love and your strength can save him yet.  Come and help him, Lancelot. I have given you cause to hate me, but do not stay away from the King for that, for when you come to him I shall be dead.'

"This letter Gawain gave to a messenger and ordered him to cross with it to France and to ride as fast as he could to Benwick and give it to Lancelot.  And a little while after that Gawain died.

"The next day King Arthur marched against Mordred.  Mordred, with his army, fell back before him and day after day the King pushed him farther and farther into the West, till at last the two armies were here in Cornwall. They had both been gathering strength as they marched, for many knights and many other men joined them as they passed through the country.  Some joined Mordred because they were friends to Lancelot, not knowing, they were so little and so narrow themselves, that Lancelot was great enough to be the King's friend still.

"At last Mordred and his army halted and would retreat no farther.  Then it seemed that the great battle must come the next day.  But that night King Arthur had a dream.  He dreamed that Gawain came and stood before him, and Gawain said: 'My lord, do not fight with Mordred to-morrow.  If you fight with him to-morrow you will be killed.  But put off the battle for a little while and Lancelot and all his knights and all his men will come to help you.'

"In the morning, when the King awoke, he sent messengers to Mordred to ask him to meet him between the lines of the two armies and agree upon a truce.  So it was arranged that Arthur and Mordred should each bring fourteen knights and that they should meet half-way between the two armies.  Then Arthur said to his knights whom he left behind: 'I do not trust Mordred.  I fear that he will try some treachery.  So watch us when we meet and while we talk, and if you see any sword drawn among the men on either side, do not wait for any more, but charge forward and begin the battle.'  And Mordred, before he went to meet the King, gave just the same command to his knights who stayed behind.

"All the knights who went with the King and with Mordred were told that this was to be a peaceful meeting and that no sword must be drawn.  But after the King and Mordred had met and while they were talking, a little snake came out from under a bush and stung the foot of one of the knights.  The knight forgot the order that had been given and drew his sword to kill the snake.  But the men of the armies were too far away to see the snake and to know why the sword was drawn.  They saw only the flash of the drawn sword and that was the signal of battle.  It was of no use for Arthur or for Mordred to try to stop them or to delay the battle then.  The trumpets blew, the knights charged forward, the two great waves of horses and men broke upon each other with a harsh rattle and jangle and clash of arms all along the field, and the battle was joined.

"In all his long reign, King Arthur had never fought such a battle as this before. There were thousands of men on each side and they were all men who had learned to fight in King Arthur's own battles and tournaments. They were men who had learned from him to fight and to fight and to go on fighting and never to stop till they had won.  With men like that on both sides there was only one way that the battle could end.  The battle went on all day. Slowly the knights on each side grew fewer and fewer and all who saw them knew that the fight would go on till there was none at all on one side or the other.  Arthur's men were faithful to him to their last breath, and Mordred's men felt that they should be ruined if they were beaten.  Once Arthur saw one of his old knights surrounded by enemies, and the old knight's son was close beside the King. The King and those around him had as much fighting as they could do, but Arthur said to the young knight: 'Do you not see your father there in danger?  Why do you not go to help him?'

"And the young knight answered: 'My lord, my father told me this morning to stay beside you all day and to let nothing draw me away from you.  My father is a good knight and he must fight for himself.'  And the old knight was killed, and afterward the son was killed, too.

"When the evening came there were few left to fight.  It may be that some had run away, but the most were dead or wounded. King Arthur stood with only two of his knights beside him.  They were Sir Lucan and Sir Bedivere.  The King looked all about him and saw only one other man near.  And that was Mordred.  The King spoke under his breath: 'The end is come, I fear, for all of us, but before I die that man there shall die, who has brought this end to all of us.'

"Sir Lucan and Sir Bedivere tried to hold him back.  'My lord,' said Sir Bedivere, 'do not try to fight any more with him to-day, or he may kill you.  Remember what Gawain said to you in your dream.  Mordred has no friends left now.  Leave him for to-night, and to-morrow we can do justice upon him.'

"'No,' said the King, 'that traitor shall not live any longer, and I will kill him myself.'

"Arthur had his sword Excalibur in his hand.  He rushed upon Mordred with it and struck him one blow upon the head, and Mordred fell down dead.  But Arthur had been so eager against Mordred that he had not thought to defend himself.  Mordred had struck too at the same time and had struck well and Arthur had a great wound on his head.  Lucan and Bedivere went to him and he tried to stand, but he could not.  'You must help me,' he said, 'to some place of shelter; I cannot help myself any more.'

"They tried to lift him up, but Lucan, who had been wounded in the battle, suddenly fell down beside the King and died.  Then Arthur said: 'Bedivere, you are the last one left to me and there is only a little more that you can do. Take my sword Excalibur and go up this hill here before us.  At the top of it there is a lake. Throw my sword into the lake, as far out into the middle of it as you can, and then come back and tell me what you see.'

"Bedivere took the sword and climbed the hill and came to this very spot where we are standing.  But on the way he looked at the sword and at the jewels in the hilt and he thought: 'It would be wrong to throw away this beautiful sword.  I will hide it here, instead of throwing it into the lake.  Then, if the King is cured of his wound, he will be glad to have his sword again, and if he dies, someone else can have it.'

"So he hid the sword among the reeds that grew by the side of the lake and went back to the King.  'Did you throw my sword into the lake?' the King asked.

"'Yes, my lord,' said Bedivere.

"'And what did you see or hear?' said the King.

"'Nothing,' said Bedivere, 'but the water and the wind.'

"'Then you did not throw it in,' the King answered.  'Go back now and throw it in, as I told you, and come back and tell me what you see.'

"Then Bedivere went up the hill again to the lake and took the sword out from where he had hidden it.  He held it up in the moonlight and saw the shining of the rich jewels and the gleam of the long blade and again he thought: 'It would be a sin to lose such a wonderful thing as this.  The King is wounded and weak and he is wandering in his mind, or else he would not tell me to do it.  I will tell him again that I have thrown it in.'

"He hid the sword again and went back to the King, and the King said: 'Did you throw my sword into the lake?'

"'Yes, my lord,' said Bedivere, 'I threw it in.'

"'And what did you see or hear?' said Arthur.

"'I saw nothing but the water,' said Bedivere, 'and I heard nothing but the wind and the waves.'

"'Oh, Bedivere,' said Arthur, 'you are the last of my knights and you will not obey me. Go now once more and throw my sword as far as you can out into the lake.  And if you do not obey me this time, when you come again, wounded as I am, I will rise up and kill you, if I can, with my hands.'

"Then Bedivere went as fast as he could up the hill again and found the sword and took it and swung it above his head and threw it as far as he could out over the lake.  He watched it as it whirled through the air, and when it was near the water he saw an arm, covered with white silk, come up out of the water.  The hand caught the sword as it fell and brandished it three times in a circle, and then the hand and the arm went down under the water, and Bedivere went back and told the King. 'And now, Bedivere,' said Arthur, 'help me to go to the lake too.'

"But the King could not stand at all, so Bedivere took him on his back and carried him up the hill to the side of the lake.  And there they saw a boat lying close to the shore.  It was filled with women, all dressed in black, and three, who stood in the midst of them, were queens and wore crowns.  'Put me in the boat,' said Arthur, and Bedivere carried him to the boat and the three queens received him, and all the women in the boat wept when they saw him.  The three queens laid him down and one of them took his head in her lap and said: 'My dear brother, why did you wait so long?  You should have come here to us as soon as you had this wound.'

"And this woman was King Arthur's sister, Queen Morgan-le-Fay.  I don't know when or why she had ceased to be his enemy and had become his friend, but she was his friend now and she did all that she could to help him and to cure his wound.

"Then Bedivere saw that the boat was moving from the shore, and he cried: 'My lord -- my King -- where shall I go and what shall I do without you?  Let me go with you where you go and die with you, if you are to die.'

"But Arthur answered: 'Do not be grieved for me, Bedivere, but go your own way. Perhaps you may hear of me again, but now I can do no more for you or for my people.  I am going to the Valley of Avalon, to be cured of my wound, and some time, perhaps, when my wound is well, I shall come again.'

"Then the boat moved farther and farther away along the lake.  The King did not speak again, but Bedivere could hear Queen Morgan-le-Fay speaking softly to him, and he could hear the other women weeping.  Only for a little while he could hear them, and then he strained his eyes to see the boat as long as he could.  But the light was dim and soon the dark shape of the boat mixed with the dark shadows and was lost.

"And so King Arthur floated away to Avalon.  You know that Avalon was Glastonbury, and you do not see, perhaps, how any boat could go from this mountain lake, all shut in by the land, out to the sea and inland again to that island with the marsh around it.  You must think of the magic of Queen Morgan-le-Fay. Where she wanted her boat to go I am sure that water-ways would open of themselves to let her pass.  A ship with her upon it would go as fast and as far as she would have it go. And then, one of the old stories says, they had a pilot who knew all the seas and all the stars of the heavens.

"Sir Bedivere looked after the boat till it had been gone from his sight for a long time. Then he turned away from the lake, went down the hill, and wandered away through the woods. He did not know where he was going and he did not care.  He scarcely saw what places he passed.  He was thinking of his King who had been taken away from him.  He thought of the bright old days when Arthur won his crown in the battles with the rebel Kings, when his own knights learned to love his strength and his truth and his nobleness.  He thought of the happy days when the greatest knights of the world gathered at the Round Table in Camelot.  He thought of how they had helped the King to bring peace and plenty and content to the land.  He thought of the sad later days and of these last days of all and he wished that he might have died before they came.  He could not think at all yet of what he was still to do or how he was to live without his King.

"So, deep in these sad thoughts, he went on and on, stopped now and then, where he could, to eat or drink, because he knew he must, or lay down in the forest to sleep, but never thought and never knew how long he had been on the way or how weary he was.  At last he heard a bell and saw an abbey before him.  He went into the chapel and saw a man kneeling upon a tomb.  The man rose and came to meet him.  He was the abbot. 'Sir,' said Bedivere, 'whose tomb is that where I saw you praying?'

"'I do not know,' said the abbot.  'Last night a great company of ladies came here and brought a dead man and begged me to bury him.  And I buried him in that tomb there before the altar, but they did not tell me who he was.'

"'Then I will tell you,' said Bedivere.  'If a company of ladies brought him, it was King Arthur.'

"Then Bedivere asked the hermit to let him stay there and live with him. And he stayed for a long time there in the Abbey of Glastonbury, and visited the poor and the sick, and at last he became a priest.

"And that was all that was known of how King Arthur passed away from the battle, of how he came to Avalon, and of how he was buried.  The abbot did not know who the man was whom he had buried, till Bedivere told him, and Bedivere thought that he was King Arthur only because a company of ladies had brought him.  But Arthur himself had told Bedivere that he was going to Avalon to be cured of his wound, and that some time he might come again.  And so, on a stone over the grave at Glastonbury, they put the words:


hic jacet Arthurus, Rex quondam Rexque futurus.

That is Latin and it means: 'Here lies Arthur, King that was and King that shall be.'  And so it was long believed that some time King Arthur would come back to conquer the foes of England and to save the people. Some said that he was taken away in the boat to some happy island, to be cured of his wound and to wait for the time when England should need him most.  Some said that he was sleeping down under the ground, with his knights, at Caerleon-upon-Usk, and others that he was in the enchanted castle on the hill at Camelot. Some believed that he was a raven, flying around the Cornish coast, and some that he was dead like other men, and in his grave in the Abbey of Glastonbury."



Chapter XVIII

The Abbess And The Monk


We did get back to Glastonbury at last, and this time we did not miss seeing the abbey. We spent some time in tracing it all out from its ruins.  It was a great and beautiful church in its time.  Now it has been crumbling and falling for many years.  Worse than that, the people of the country about here, when they wanted stone for building, instead of finding new stone, used to come and take some from the old abbey. But, after all that time and men could do to it, much of it still stands, and it is full of that sad, sweet beauty and stateliness that nothing but a ruin ever has.  The walls of St. Joseph's chapel still remain, all covered with ivy, there is a good deal of the choir left, and there are two of the great, tall piers that held the tower.  Then, some way off, there is the abbot's kitchen, still all but perfect.

We found the place, or thought we did, where Joseph of Arimathaea first built his little church of wood and woven twigs.  We tried to find the spot where King Arthur was buried. That is not easy, but we hit upon a place at last where we thought it must have been.  When Henry II was King a search was made for King Arthur's grave by his order.  They found it, they said, and Henry had a monument put over it.  The monument is gone now, probably carried away, like so much of the abbey, to build stables, or something else just as noble and important, and there is nothing left to show where it stood.  If we were talking of history instead of stories I might have something to say about this one of Henry II.  But, as it is, it may as well stand with the rest of them.

"There is one more story," I said, "that I must tell you while we are here among these ruins.  Then I shall have told you all that I set out to tell, and we shall have made the journey that we set out to make.

"When the letter that Gawain wrote was brought to Lancelot he lost no time in calling his knights and his army together and starting toward England to help King Arthur.  If the King could only have delayed that last great battle, as he tried to do, Lancelot would have been with him and all would have been well. But when Lancelot landed at Dover the people told him that he had come too late.  They told him of the battle that had been fought there, in which Gawain was killed, and of the greater battle that had been fought afterward far away in the West.  All that they could tell him of the King was that he was gone.  Some said that he was dead, and some that he had been carried away to Fairyland, where he would live till his people needed him.

"Then Lancelot asked: 'Where is the Queen?'

"'She shut herself up in the Tower of London,' some one answered, 'to save herself from Mordred.  Then, when Mordred left London and came here to meet the King, she left the Tower, too, and they say that she went to some abbey and is living with the nuns.'

"Then Lancelot told Bors and the other knights who were with him to wait at Dover while he went to find the Queen.  He rode alone through the country, asking at all the abbeys that he found, and at last he came to Almesbury, the place that is now called Amesbury, where we went, you know, on our way to Stonehenge.  And at the abbey there he saw the Queen walking in the cloister.  She saw him too and came to meet him.

"'I have come,' Lancelot said, 'to take you from this place.  The King is gone from us now, and we shall never see him in this world again. Come with me now to my own city. While the King was with us I did not care whether I had a city.  I thought it grander and nobler to be his knight than to be King of all the world but England.  You know, my Queen, that I am King of Benwick.  Come with me now and be my Queen still, more my Queen than ever, the Queen of Benwick.  It is a little place, but my people love me, and they will love you, too.'

"'Lancelot,' said the Queen, 'we must not think of such things -- I must not.  You must go back and rule your people well and make them happy -- yes, and be happy yourself, if you can -- but I must stay here and try to do a little good to the poor, and fast and pray, so that God will forgive me and so that he will forgive you and let us see our Arthur in another world, since we cannot in this.  For, Lancelot, do you know that it is because of us -- because of me and of you -- that our Arthur has gone from us?'

"'No, no,' said Lancelot, 'it is not true.  I will not let you say such things of yourself, even though you say them of me.  We did nothing that was wrong, you and I.  They charged us with some plot -- I do not know what it was, and they did not know themselves. Then I saved you and I saved myself, as it was right that I should do.  The King made war on me.  I made no war on him.  I only guarded my knights and my people.  I would not even have fought with Gawain, only he would have it so.  And when I heard that the King needed me here in England I came back to help him, and it was too late.  But it was the traitors who brought all this death and ruin.'

"'It was not that we did any wrong, Lancelot,' said the Queen, 'it was that we did not do all that was right.  You would rather be Arthur's knight, you said, than to be King of all the world but England.  Ah, yes, but what of England?  Did you never wish, even in your heart, that you were King of that?  Arthur had noble thoughts for the good of his country and of his people, and you swore to be faithful in everything to him and to help him.  And so your thoughts, Lancelot, should have been all for the King and for his people, and so should mine.  And were they so?  Did you never forget these things and work and fight for your own name and your own glory, instead of for the glory of the King and for the good of England?  You fought, too, many times, for my name and for my glory, and I was foolish and let you do it, when my thoughts, too, should have been all for him and for England.  But here alone, since we were all parted, I have had time to think, and I have seen more clearly than I ever saw before.  Lancelot, it is not the great sins of the wicked people that bring ruin to the world; it is the follies and the failings of those who should be most true and most faithful, and so help and save the world, but do not do it. We were the nearest to the King, I his Queen and you his greatest knight.  We should have been as strong and as firm in our faithfulness to him as he was to himself.  If we ever had selfish and vain thoughts, thoughts that were not for the King, for a single hour, it was a worse wrong in us than the wrongs that those poor, weak knights did when they let Mordred persuade them and lead them against the King. Do you not know why you could not see the Holy Grail, as Galahad and Percivale and Bors saw it?  This was why.  And they could see it because in every thought and wish they were true to what they and all of the Round Table swore to the King.  And so, Lancelot, my own best knight, as there is work for you to do among your people, go and do it, but I must stay here and do a little good, if I can, and pray for you and for myself, so that some time we may be nearer to the King than we have ever been.'

"'If you are right,' said Lancelot, 'and you must be right -- if you are right in staying here and doing what you say that you will do, then it is right for me, too.  I will not go back to France.  I will find some peaceful place and some good man, some hermit perhaps, and ask him to let me stay with him and do as you are doing.  Pray for me sometimes, my Queen, and I will pray for you always.'

"Now I can guess just what you think of all this.  You think that Lancelot had not done any wrong at all and that the Queen was a great deal too hard on him.  But I know that the Queen was right.  Think over all that she said again and you will know it too.  The Queen and Lancelot had stood next to the King for all these years.  They had been proud of him and proud that they were so near to him, and if they had been steadfast in all that they did and said and thought, nothing could ever have harmed him or his country while they all lived.  But sometimes they were weak and thoughtless, and then the King was left to work alone.  Though this was all that they had done amiss, it was enough.

"So Lancelot left the Queen and went on his way.  And Guinevere stayed there at Almesbury and lived with the nuns.  She never left the abbey except to walk a little way among the fields, in the woods, and along the river that we saw when we were at Amesbury, or, more often, to carry help or comfort to the poor or the sick.

"After she had been with the nuns for a time she became one of them, and no one among them worked more than she for the people near who needed help, and no one among them was loved more than she.  And no one, even of those who knew her best, could tell whether she was happy.  But they all knew that she was always gentle and patient, that she never said that her work was hard, that she never seemed to wish for her old life, and that the sick people watched for her and the poor people prayed for her.  And when the old abbess died they were all sure that no one could take her place so well as Guinevere.  And so, for what was left of her life, Guinevere was abbess at Almesbury.

"When Lancelot rode away from Almesbury he felt that it was nothing to him where he went.  He felt that he hated courts and tournaments and battle-fields now, and he wished only to find some place away from the busy and noisy world, where he could live as the Queen was living.  And so he wandered here to Glastonbury.  And when he found Bedivere here, when Bedivere had told him all about the great battle, and when he had shown him the grave in the chapel where he believed that King Arthur was buried, then Lancelot begged the abbot to let him stay here and be a monk with the rest of them as long as he lived.  And the abbot and Bedivere were both glad to have him stay.  So Lancelot, too, lived his life among his brother monks and among the poor and the sick, and they all learned to love him, as, long ago, all the good knights in Arthur's court had learned to love him.

"Bors and his fellows waited for Lancelot at Dover for a long time.  At last Bors sent the army back to France, with all the knights except a few who were the best friends of Lancelot.  With these he set out through England to search for him.  They searched for a long time and at last they found him.  And when they saw that he was a monk they said that they would all stay at Glastonbury and be monks too.

"When Lancelot had been at Glastonbury for a long time he had a dream one night.  He dreamed that an angel stood beside him and said to him: 'Lancelot, take all your fellows here who were knights of the Round Table to-morrow and go to Almesbury.  When you come there the abbess, Queen Guinevere, will be dead.  Bring her here and bury her in the chapel beside the King.'  And twice more that same night Lancelot had this dream.

"In the morning Lancelot told the abbot of his dream, and the abbot said that it would be best for him to take his fellows with him and go to Almesbury, as he had been told to do. So they all set out, and when they came to the abbey at Almesbury the nuns knew who they were and why they had come, without being told.  For they said: 'Our abbess died not an hour ago, and she told us that after she was dead the monk who used to be Sir Lancelot of the Lake would come for her and would bury her at Glastonbury, beside the King. She had been told of it in a dream.'

"So Lancelot and his fellows took the body of the Queen back with them to Glastonbury. There they made another grave before the altar in the chapel, beside the grave of King Arthur, and buried Queen Guinevere in it.

"And after this was done Lancelot would scarcely leave that chapel.  He was there for nearly all of every day and much of every night, kneeling over the graves of the King and the Queen and praying.  He would eat scarcely anything and he slept but little.  And so he grew thin and pale and weak.  The abbot and his friends could not comfort him or make him eat, and at last he told them that he should live only a little longer. 'When I am dead,' he said, 'take me and bury me in the chapel of my own old castle of Joyous Gard.  I would far rather lie here in your chapel, near my King and my Queen, but years ago I made a vow that I would be buried in Joyous Gard, and I must keep that vow, so take me there.'

"That night the abbot awoke some of the monks by laughing aloud in his sleep.  They went to the abbot's bed and he awoke and said: 'I have had the most beautiful dream that I have ever had in my life.'

"'What was it?' said Bors.

"'I dreamed,' the abbot said, 'that I saw Lancelot in the midst of a great company of angels.  More angels there were than I ever saw of men in an army.  Some of them lifted Lancelot up and they all rose to Heaven.  I could see Lancelot's face as they went, and it was full of peace and gladness.  They came near the gates of Heaven and the gates were opened for them and they all passed in.  And as they passed I could see the great light that shone out and I could hear voices singing, and the gates were closed and then I awoke.'

"Then they all went to Lancelot's bed.  He did not awake when they came to him, as the abbot had done.  He lay still and his face was full of peace and gladness and he was dead.

"They took him the next day, all his friends and the abbot with them, and they journeyed slowly till they came to Joyous Gard.  There they buried him and then they journeyed slowly back again to Glastonbury. They did not talk much as they went, but now and then they spoke a little, sadly, as people will at such times, of the older and happier days.  To Bors and to some of the others it seemed only a little while since a hundred and fifty knights sat at the Round Table in the hall at Camelot. Here were some of the knights of the Round Table still, but the glory of it had passed away with the King and Galahad and Gawain and Lancelot."



Chapter XIX

"Rexque Futurus"


We were at sea on our way home.  We had left Southampton, where Arthur embarked when he went to fight the Emperor of Rome, and all day we had made our swift way west through the British Channel.  When we came up on deck after dinner we had just passed the Scilly Islands.  Dark and rough and hard they stood up out of the sea behind us, and a pale mist was just beginning to wrap them around and hide them a little from sight. Before us all the air was clear.  The sun was just setting and was filling the sky with a dozen lovely hues of rose and violet and turning the water into tossing and tumbling gold.

"See," I said, "there are the Scilly Islands. They are all that is left of that lost land of Lyonnesse, Tristram's country, that used to reach from here back to the Land's End.  The rest of it is sunk deep down under the water. This is all of Lyonnesse that we can ever see."

Helen did not seem to care very greatly even for this.  She was thinking of the last of our stories.  "Was King Arthur really buried," she said, "there in the Abbey of Glastonbury?"

"It is not easy to answer that," I said.  "It seems to me that I have read enough books about King Arthur to fill this ship, yet I never could see that the writers of them had settled among themselves whether he was buried there or not.  If we care to believe that he was, I think we may as well believe it."

"But do you believe it?"

"Yes, I believe it."

"Then he never came back, the way he said he would, and the way the people believed he would?"

"No, he never came back."

"And he never will come back, the way the stories said?"

"Oh, yes, I think he will."

For a few minutes Helen watched the water that was whirling by the side of the ship and I looked at the colors of the sea and the sky, that were growing brighter still.  Then she said: "But if King Arthur really died and really was buried at Glastonbury and the three Queens didn't cure his wound at all, how can he come back?"

"I don't know whether I can make you see it quite as I do," I said, "but I will try.  You know what it was that King Arthur tried to do.  I have told you all these stories very badly, if you do not.  He tried to save his people from the harms and the wrongs that they suffered.  He tried to make all of them, the rich and the poor, the lords and the common people, good and brave and strong, true and gentle and noble.  And he did make them better and happier than they were before.  But the time had not come for all that he wished. After he passed away things got to be as bad almost, as they had been before.  Some people, here in our own time, think that the world is not growing any better.  That is because they look back only a few years, perhaps a hundred, and they do not see any change.  There has been a change, though they do not see it.  But they would see it, if they would look back to those fearful old days before Arthur came, yes, or half way back, for there were days then that were not much better.  They would see then how selfish and how cruel men were and what wicked and heartless things they would do for a little power or a little gain.

"This was what Arthur tried to change, and he did change it partly, for a little while.  But it was too soon to change it altogether.  When he was gone everything soon came to be nearly as it was before.  Yet it was never quite the same again, perhaps.  Other good men came, not with the strength of Arthur, yet with a strength of their own.  And they passed away too and left England and the world a little better than they had found them.  Slowly and slowly, yet surely and surely, men have thought more, learned more, worked more, and so, slowly and slowly, yet surely and surely, they have grown wiser and juster and stronger, and so, too, they have grown freer and better and happier.

"The men of England and of our own country and of all the world are not yet what Arthur would have had them.  They are still far from it, perhaps, yet they are nearer to it, and they are always getting nearer still.  The way is long and it seems hopeless, sometimes, but it is not hopeless.  And in some great, good time, far off, when this England and our own country and all the world come to be as just and noble and happy as Arthur tried to make his people -- then cannot men say: 'King Arthur is not dead any more; he has come back and is among us again, for it is his will that guides us and it is his law that rules us now?'  Do you see now how Arthur did not die, but only passed away, to come again?  And do you see how he may come again, even though they buried him there at Glastonbury?"

"I don't know," Helen said, after she had thought for a minute.  "I don't think I quite understand it, and any way, I would rather you would tell stories than talk like that."

But I had no more stories to tell just then, and so we only stood and watched the water and the sky, while the ship carried us along, farther and farther away from the dim, dark rocks, with the fog around them, and on toward the gold and the purple in the west.

<eob>

The Story Of A Stuffed Elephant

By

Laura Lee Hope



Chapter I

The Elephant And The Mouse


"Oh, how large he is!"

"Isn't he? And such wonderfully strong legs!"

"See his trunk, too! Isn't it cute! And he is well stuffed! This is really one of the best toys that ever came into our shop, Geraldine; don't you think so?"

"Yes, Angelina. I must call father to come and look at him. He will make a lovely present for some boy or girl -- I mean this Stuffed Elephant will make a lovely present, not our father!" and Miss Angelina Mugg smiled at her sister across the big packing box of Christmas toys they were opening in their father's store.

"Oh, no! Of course we wouldn't want father to be given away as a toy!" laughed Geraldine. "But this Stuffed Elephant -- oh, I just love him!"

Miss Geraldine Mugg caught up the rather large toy animal and hugged it tightly in her arms.

"Be careful!" called her sister. "You may break him!"

"Oh, he's just a Stuffed Elephant!" laughed Geraldine. "I mean he hasn't any works inside him to wind up. He's just full of cotton! But I am beginning to like him more than I care for some of the toys that do wind up. I almost wish I were small again, so I could have this Elephant for myself!"

"He is nice," admitted Angelina.

"Well, I'm glad they like me," thought the Stuffed Elephant to himself, for just now he was not allowed to speak out loud or move around, as the Make Believe toys could do at certain times. But these times were when no eyes of boys, girls, men or women were looking.

It was mainly at night, after the store was closed for the day, that the toys had their fun -- talking to one another, moving about, doing tricks, and the like of that. Now all that the Stuffed Elephant could do was to stand on his four sturdy legs, with his tail on one end, and his trunk, almost like a second tail, at the other end of his body.

He had two white tusks sticking out on either side of his trunk, and at first you might have thought these tusks were toothpicks. But they were not. An elephant's tusks are really teeth, grown extra long so he can dig up the roots of trees and the plants on which he feeds.

But a Stuffed Elephant doesn't dig with his tusks, of course. He never has to eat, being already stuffed, you know. And the Elephant in this story was well stuffed with cotton.

"I am sure this Elephant is going to be one of our very nicest Christmas toys," went on Miss Geraldine Mugg, as she lifted more playthings from the big box that had come from the workshop of Santa Claus at the North pole.

"Yes, I wish we had more like him," added Miss Angelina.

The two ladies helped their father, Mr. Horatio Mugg, in his toy store. It was a delightful place for children, and many a boy and girl would have been glad to stay all day in the "Mugg Toy Shop," as the big sign out in front named the place.

"Well, here are some more of those China Cats," went on Miss Geraldine, as she lifted some white pussies from the box.

"Oh, aren't they darling!" exclaimed her sister. "Do you remember the first China Cat we had?"

"Indeed I do! It was bought for a little girl named Jennie. And she told me, only the other day, that her China Cat had had ever so many adventures!"

"The dear child! The children, I believe, really think their toys are alive, and can move about!"

"Of course we can, only you don't know it, and you never see us!" whispered the Stuffed Elephant to himself.

And then he winked one eye at a China Cat -- an eye that neither Angelina nor Geraldine saw blinking. Gracious! how surprised the two ladies would have been to see a Stuffed Elephant winking one eye at a China Cat.

But stranger things than that are going to happen, I promise you!

"Be careful, Geraldine! Be careful!" suddenly cried Angelina, as her sister arose from stooping over the box, and started toward the shelves with an armful of toys.

"What's the matter?"

"Why, you nearly stepped on the Stuffed Elephant!"

"Oh, I'm glad that it didn't really happen! We have only one toy like him, and it would never do to have him crushed all out of shape before he is sold for Christmas. I forgot that we left him standing on the floor. Gracious, but he's a big fellow!" she exclaimed.

"I'll lift him up on the shelf," Angelina said.

She picked up the Stuffed Elephant. Really he was one of the largest toys that had ever come from the workshop of Santa Claus. And he was a very finely made toy, only the best cotton and cloth having been used.

"Does he squeak?" asked Geraldine, as she saw her sister set the creature with trunk and tusks on a broad shelf.

"Squeak? Goodness, of course not! What made you think that?"

"Well, some of the toy animals have a squeaker inside them, and make a noise when you press it. I was thinking perhaps the elephant had a squeaker."

"No. If he had anything he would have a sort of trumpet in him," said Angelina. "Real elephants make a trumpeting noise through their trunks, but of course a stuffed one can't!"

"Oh, ho! You just wait until it gets dark and this toy shop is closed!" whispered the Stuffed Elephant to himself. "Then I'll show you whether I can trumpet or not. Though I forgot. I can't show you nor let you hear, it isn't allowed. But after the store is closed we'll have some fun!"

Toy after toy was taken from the big packing box. There were Sawdust Dolls, Candy Rabbits, Tin Soldiers, Plush Bears and a Monkey on a Stick -- just like other toys of the same name who had had many adventures, and about whom stories like this have been written.

As the toys were taken out of the box they were placed on the shelves in Mr. Mugg's store. This was in a back room, for the toys had yet to be sorted and looked over, to make sure each one was all right, before they were put in the front part of the store to be sold.

Mr. Mugg had a larger and finer store than the one before the fire, when the China Cat had so nearly been melted by the great heat. And, having a larger store, Mr. Mugg bought larger Christmas playthings, such as the Stuffed Elephant.

Finally all the new toys were taken from the box and placed around on the shelves. While Angelina and Geraldine had been doing this, their father was in the front part of the store, waiting on customers. After a bit, when it grew dark outside, and the lights were lit inside the store, Mr. Mugg locked the front door and came back into the rear room.

"I think we have worked enough for to-day," the toy man told his daughters. "We will wait until to-morrow before looking over the new things and marking prices on them. I am tired and want to go to bed."

"Good!" thought the Stuffed Elephant. "That is, I'm not glad Mr. Mugg is tired," he went on, in his thoughts; "but I'm glad he is going to bed so I can move about and talk to some of my toy friends. It's been no fun to be shut up in that box ever since I came from the shop of Santa Claus."

A little later the store was in darkness, except for a small light burning near the safe, so the passing policeman could look and see that no burglars were breaking into it.

"Hello, everybody!" suddenly called the Stuffed Elephant, waving his trunk around in the air. "How are you all?"

"Who is that speaking?" asked a Nodding Donkey, a toy whose head kept moving all the while, as it was fastened on a pivot.

"A new chap -- a Stuffed Elephant," answered a Jumping Jack, who wore a blue and yellow cap.

"A Stuffed Elephant! Let me see him! I never heard of such a creature!" brayed the Nodding Donkey, and he slid along the shelf to get a better view.

For it was the mystic hour when the Make Believe toys could pretend to be alive -- when they could move about and talk.

"Here I am, right over here!" trumpeted the Stuffed Elephant, and if Miss Geraldine and Miss Angelina, or even Mr. Mugg, could have heard him they would have been very much surprised.

"Oh, you have two tails!" cried the Nodding Donkey.

"No, only one," said the Stuffed Elephant. "The other is my trunk. It really is a long nose, but it is called a trunk."

"Is there anything inside it?" asked a Calico Clown.

"Nothing but air -- I breathe through my trunk," the Stuffed Elephant answered. "But I, myself, am filled with the very best cotton, lots and lots of it! Have you cotton inside you?" he asked the Donkey.

"No, I'm wood clear through," was the reply. "But as long as you are a new toy, let me welcome you among us. We are glad to see you. What is the latest news from the land of Santa Claus?"

"Well, let me see. So many things happen up there that I hardly know where to start to tell you about them," replied the Stuffed Elephant. "In the first place --  -- "

"I'm stuffed, too!" suddenly interrupted a high, squeaky voice. "Only I'm stuffed with sawdust. Here I am, over here!"

"Yes, Miss Sawdust Doll, we see you," brayed the Nodding Donkey. "But please don't interrupt the Stuffed Elephant. He is going to tell us about Santa Claus, and I want to hear, as it is some time since I came from the North Pole."

"Well, I can tell you as well as that Stuffed Elephant can," went on the squeaky Sawdust Doll. "I came from Santa Claus's shop in the same box with him."

"You're not the first Sawdust Doll, though. She was bought by a little girl named Dorothy, I've heard said," remarked a rubber dog.

"Yes, that's right," said the Nodding Donkey. "And her brother Dick had a White Rocking Horse. But as long as the Stuffed Elephant kindly offered first to tell us the latest news from the North Pole, I think it would be only polite to let him finish."

"Oh, of course -- yes!" squeaked the new Sawdust Doll.

"Well," began the creature with the trunk and tusks, "I think I will tell you --  -- "

But just then there was a whirring noise at the end of the shelf, and a little voice cried:

"Oh, save me, somebody! Please save me! I'm wound up too tight, and my wheels are running away with me! I'll run to the edge of the shelf and fall off! Save me, somebody, please!"

A Rolling Mouse, that could run across the room on wheels when wound up, dashed along the toy shelf. As she had said, she was in danger of falling off. Straight toward the Stuffed Elephant ran the Rolling Mouse, squeaking in fright.

"I'll save you! I'll save you!" trumpeted the big toy. "Don't be afraid, Miss Mouse! I'll save you!"

He uncoiled his long nose of a trunk, and stretched it out toward the Rolling Mouse.



Chapter II

The Man And The Elephant


"Catch me! Save me! Catch me before I fall off the shelf and break to pieces!" squeaked the Rolling Mouse.

"Don't be afraid! I'm right here!" trumpeted the Stuffed Elephant.

On his sturdy legs, big and round and stuffed with cotton, the Elephant stepped to the edge of the shelf. As quickly as the China Cat could blink her eyes, the Elephant reached across with the tip of his trunk and caught the Rolling Mouse just as she was going to slip over the edge of the shelf.

Holding her very gently, so as not to squeeze the breath out of the Mouse, the Elephant lifted the tiny creature up in the air, keeping her there until her spring ran down. Then, in a spirit of fun, he reached around and set the Mouse down on his broad back.

"There you are!" laughed the Stuffed Elephant in his hearty voice. "There you are, Miss Mouse!"

"Yes, but where am I? Oh, so high up as I am! Oh, where am I?" squeaked the little mouse.

"You're up on my back," laughed the jolly Elephant toy. "Don't be afraid. Stay there and I'll give you a ride to where you came from. On what shelf do you belong?"

"Oh, put me down! Oh, I'm so afraid I'll fall off!" cried the tiny mouse. "It is almost as high up here, on your back, as it would be to fall to the floor from the shelf. Do please put me down, kind Mr. Elephant!"

"Don't be silly, Miss Mouse!" brayed the Nodding Donkey. "The Elephant is good and strong, and he is also careful. He will not let you fall."

"Are you sure?" asked the little Mouse, trembling.

"Of course I will not let you fall!" chuckled the Elephant. "Just stay quietly on my back, and I'll take you where you came from."

"But maybe her wheels will go around again and make her roll off," remarked the Sawdust Doll.

"No, the spring unwound as I slid across the shelf," said the Rolling Mouse. "I'm all right now. Mr. Mugg wound me up to-day to show me to a little boy. But the boy wanted a pair of skates, and not a mouse like me. So Mr. Mugg put me down on the shelf without letting my spring unwind. He stuck me up against a Tin Soldier, and the Soldier kept me from rolling around. But just now the Soldier came out to look at the new Stuffed Elephant. That left nothing to hold me back, and away I rolled."

"Oh, I'm sorry," said the Tin Soldier, touching his red cap in a salute to Miss Mouse.

"I'll forgive you, as I know you didn't mean to do it," said the Mouse toy, with a smile that made her whiskers wiggle. "But I do wish you'd put me down, Mr. Elephant. I am nervous up on your back, broad and big as it is."

"All right, Miss Rolling Mouse, I'll lift you down," trumpeted the Elephant. "And here you are at your own place on the shelf."

The big toy, stuffed as he was with cotton, reached back with his trunk, gently picked up the mouse in it, and set her down where she had started to roll from. As she had said, the wheels no longer whizzed around, as the spring which made them move had all uncoiled. It had "run down," as it is called.

"There you are!" went on the Elephant, after he had gently put down the Mouse toy. "Any time you are afraid of falling off the shelf, just call for me and I'll save you with my trunk."

"You are very kind," said the Mouse. "And so big and strong!"

"Isn't he big, though!" giggled the Sawdust Doll. "I wonder if he is strong enough to give me a ride on his back?"

"Of course he is!" brayed the Nodding Donkey.

"Do you want a ride on my back, Miss Sawdust Doll?" asked the good-natured Elephant. "All right! Up you go!"

With a swing of his trunk he set the Doll on his back as he had done with the Mouse. Then the Stuffed Elephant carefully walked around among the other toys, taking care not to step on any of them.

"I'm glad the Elephant has come to stay with us," whispered a little Celluloid Doll. "I'd love to ride on his back, but I don't like to ask him."

"I'll ask for you if you're too bashful to do it," said the Calico Clown, and he did.

"Why, of course I'll ride you, too, Miss Celluloid Doll," chuckled the Elephant. "I'll ride all of you in turn -- that is all but the very largest toys. They might make my seams come open and the cotton stuffing puff out."

For the Elephant was made of gray cloth, you know, and he was sewed together, his tusks of wood being stuck in on either side of his trunk.

"I thought Elephants were always afraid of mice," said the Celluloid Doll, when she was having her ride.

"Pooh! Me afraid of a little mouse!" laughed the big Elephant. "I guess not! What made you think that?"

"It's in some of the story books," went on the tiny Celluloid Doll. "The story says real, live elephants are afraid of mice because they fear the tiny creatures will crawl up the nose holes in their trunks."

"That may be all right for real, live elephants," laughed the big, stuffed toy. "But I am only make-believe, you know, like the rest of you toys. The Rolling Mouse couldn't get up my nose."

"And if I could I wouldn't, because you have been so kind to me," squeaked the little mouse toy. "Next time I ride on your back I shall not be so afraid."

"Would you like to ride now, Miss Mouse?" asked the Elephant, as he set down with his trunk a Fuzzy Duck who had just been given a ride around the shelf.

"Oh, no, thank you; not now," answered the Mouse. "And I think it will soon be time for us to stop our make-believe fun. It will be morning in a little while, and you know we can't talk or laugh or do anything in daylight, when Mr. Mugg and his daughters or any customers are in the store."

"I hope the Elephant will have time to tell us a little of what has happened in North Pole Land since we came away," said a Rocking Horse, who had been in the toy store a long time.

"Yes, do tell us!" begged the other playthings.

"I will," said the Elephant.

So the Elephant, swaying on his four big legs, in the same way that real elephants do, told the latest news from the workshops of Santa Claus, whence he had lately come with the box of other toys.

"Is Santa Claus as jolly as ever?" asked a Tin Horse.

"Just as jolly!" replied the Elephant. "More so, if anything. His whiskers are a little longer, and his cheeks are a little redder, but that is all. I heard him tell some of his workmen, as they packed me in the box, that he hoped I'd like it down on Earth, among the boys and girls."

"You're sure to like it," said the Nodding Donkey. "A brother of mine used to be in this store, and he was given to a boy who took very good care of him."

"And a sister of yours is owned by a little girl named Dorothy," a Cloth Rabbit said to the Sawdust Doll. "She has lovely fun, your sister has."

"You'll very likely go to some boy. It seems to me you are too big a toy for a little girl," said the Calico Clown to the Stuffed Elephant.

"What will happen then?" the Elephant asked.

But just then Mr. Mugg came in to open the shop for the day, and the toys had to stop talking and pretend to be stiff and unable to move. They always had to be this way when any one looked at them.

"Well," said Mr. Mugg, as he and his daughters began dusting the toys, ready for the day's business, "Christmas is coming, and we shall soon be losing some of our toys."

"You mean people will come in to buy them," smiled Geraldine.

"Yes," her father answered.

"Well, I hope this lovely, big Stuffed Elephant goes to some one who will take good care of him," remarked Angelina, as she moved the big toy farther front on the shelf. "Oh, my!" she exclaimed. "His back is all dusty!"

"Dusty!" cried Geraldine. "Did you let him fall on the floor?"

"Indeed I did not! He hasn't been off this shelf or moved since he was taken out of the box last night."

"Then I wonder how this dust got on his back."

"I haven't the least idea," answered Angelina. "But I'll take it off with a brush." This she did.

Of course you know how the dust got on the Elephant's back. It came from the toys who rode him along the shelf. And, though neither of the Mugg sisters knew it, the Elephant had moved from his place on the shelf. He had walked all about it.

People began to come into the store to look about for Christmas. As Santa Claus is so busy nowadays he has to let some of the toy buying be done by the grown folks, and a number of them came in to see what their little boys and girls would like.

Among those who passed by the shelf on which the Stuffed Elephant stood, was a jolly-looking man, wearing a big fur coat, for the day was cold and it was snowing outside.

"Oh, ho!" exclaimed the man, as he saw the Stuffed Elephant. "This is just what my son Archie wants -- an Elephant! I'll get this for him, as he wrote Santa Claus a letter saying he wanted a Stuffed Elephant more than anything else."

"This Elephant is just from the shop of Santa Claus," said Angelina Mugg, as she stepped up to wait on the man.

"Is he, indeed?"

"Yes, he was taken out of the box only last night. He is well made and strong, and he has heaps and heaps of cotton stuffing inside him. Even if he fell over on a little baby, this big Elephant would do no harm, as he is so soft."

"He is, indeed," said the man, feeling the toy. "I suppose he doesn't bite?" he added, looking at Miss Angelina and smiling.

"Oh, of course he doesn't bite!" laughed Miss Mugg. "Shall I have him sent to your house so your son Archie will get him for Christmas?"

"Thank you, it is so near Christmas that I think I had better take the Elephant with me," said Mr. Dunn. "I have my auto outside, and as it is a closed car the Elephant will not take cold."

"I'm glad of that," said Miss Angelina. Very often she used to make believe the toys were real, and alive, and could take cold, and become ill. Of course she did not know that the toys really could move about after dark, when no one saw them.

"Yes, I'll take the Elephant with me," went on Mr. Dunn. "I'll hide him away in the attic until Christmas, and then let Santa Claus give him to Archie. That boy of mine just loves animal toys!"

A little later the Stuffed Elephant was standing in among some other packages in the back of the auto. On the front seat Mr. Dunn was guiding the car through the storm, for it was now snowing hard.

"My! This reminds me of North Pole Land!" thought the Elephant, as he looked out of the windows of the car and saw the white flakes swirling about. "The ground is covered, too!"

It had been snowing some time before Mr. Dunn went to the toy store, and now he was having hard work to make his machine plow through the drifts on the way home.

"They took me away in such a hurry I had no time to say good-bye to any of my toy friends," thought the Elephant, as he snuggled down in the blanket in the rear of the auto. For elephants need to be kept warm, you know -- that is, real ones, and this Stuffed Elephant made believe he was real.

"But of course I shouldn't have dared say anything while people were around," thought the toy. "I hope I see some of them again, for it wasn't very polite to come away as I did."

All at once, as the auto was rolling along quite fast, it came to a sudden stop, with a bump and a jerk.

"Hello! We're stuck!" cried the man. "I must see if I can break through the snowdrift."

He backed the car and started ahead again, with the motor going full speed.

Bang! the car struck the snowdrift. There was a crash of glass.

"Oh, dear!" whispered the Elephant to himself, for he went toppling, legs over head, out through a broken window of the car. Into a deep snowdrift stuck the poor Stuffed Elephant.

"Oh, this is terrible!" sighed the toy. "Oh, I am freezing to death!"



Chapter III

Up In The Attic


Banging puffing, and grinding noises sounded all about the Stuffed Elephant. Around him swirled the white flakes of snow, but he could hardly see them, for part of his head, part of his trunk, and one eye were stuck in the drift.

Mr. Dunn's automobile had lurched to one side as Archie's father tried to send it through a big, white drift. And the noise was made by the motor, or engine, of the car, working its best to force the car ahead. The glass window of the automobile had broken as it tipped to one side, a piece of ice flying through.

And it was through the broken window that the Stuffed Elephant had been tossed, right out into a snowdrift!

"Oh, but it's so cold! So cold!" said the Elephant, shivering.

Of course it was cold up at the North Pole where Santa Claus has his workshop, and there was more snow and ice than near Archie's home. But up there the Elephant had been inside the warm shop, just as he had been kept in the warm toy store, and, until a few minutes ago, in the warm auto.

"Well, I guess I'll have to back up and go around another way," said Mr. Dunn, after a while. "I can't make my machine go through that snowdrift. No use trying! I'll upset if I do! Hello, one of the windows is broken, too! I'm sorry about that, but I can go on with a broken window, which I couldn't do if I had a broken wheel. And I guess the toys won't take cold. Yes, I must back up and go home by another road."

Starting the car slowly, Mr. Dunn backed it out of the drift. The front wheels and the radiator, where the water is, were covered with masses of white flakes, but aside from the broken window no damage had been done.

"I'd better hurry home, too," said Mr. Dunn, talking to himself, a way some jolly men have. "It's snowing worse, and I don't want to be kept out here all night. I want to get back with the Christmas presents. Archie will surely like that Stuffed Elephant."

And then, never thinking that the Elephant had been tossed out of the broken window into a bank of snow, Mr. Dunn started his car off on another road, leaving the poor Elephant stuck in the drift.

"Oh, this is dreadful! Terrible!" thought the Elephant. "I am freezing to death! Santa Claus wanted me to have adventures, but none like this, I'm sure! What shall I do?"

If the Elephant had only been allowed to come to life and call out when Mr. Dunn was around all would have been well. For, though Archie's father might have been surprised at hearing a toy speak, he never would have gone away and left it in the snow.

But the toy Elephant did not dare call out, though, now that no one could see him, he pretended to come to life and began to struggle to get out of the snow. It was getting dark, and growing colder, and even a toy Elephant does not like to be left all night in a snowdrift.

"Oh, if only I can pull my trunk out and get the snow from my left eye, maybe I can see which path Mr. Dunn took and follow him home," thought the Elephant. "I don't want to stay here alone! It is dark, and no human eyes can see me moving. I must get out!"

He struggled and wiggled, but he seemed to be sinking deeper into the snow instead of getting out. Down, down, down into the white flakes sank the poor Stuffed Elephant, farther and farther, down -- down -- down --  -- 

Knowing nothing of having lost the fine new Elephant out of his auto, Mr. Dunn went along by an easier road, where there were not so many drifts. He was driving past a garage when a man outside called:

"Hey, mister! Your car door is open!"

"I guess you mean the window is broken, don't you?" asked Archie's father. "I know about that, thank you. I ran into a drift."

"No, your door is wide open, and is swinging to and fro," the garage man went on. "It may bang against something and break off. Wait a minute and I'll close it for you."

Mr. Dunn had slowed his car as the man called to him, and now he brought it to a stop.

"So the door is open, is it?" Mr. Dunn asked. "Well, that's too bad. I didn't know about that. It must have come open after the glass was broken. And if the door is open some of the things may have fallen out. I'd better get down and take a look."

And no sooner had Mr. Dunn looked within the car than he cried:

"The Elephant is gone!"

"Elephant!" exclaimed the garage man. "Elephant?"

"Surely! An Elephant I was taking home to my boy Archie," went on Mr. Dunn. "I had the Elephant in the car and --  -- "

"Oh, my!" cried the garage man, backing away, and nearly falling into a snowdrift himself. "Do you mean to tell me you had an elephant in that machine?"

"Oh, I see what you're thinking of! You mean a real elephant, and I'm speaking of the Stuffed Elephant that I bought in the toy store. It's a toy Elephant that is lost," Mr. Dunn explained.

"Oh, that's different!" laughed the man. "I was wondering how a real elephant could get inside your car -- unless he was a baby one."

"No, this was a toy one," said Mr. Dunn. "And I think I know where he must have slipped out -- back at the big drift where I broke the glass of the door, trying to smash my way through. I'll go back there and see if I can find Archie's Christmas present."

Back through the storm drove Mr. Dunn. The snow was coming down thicker and faster, and the wind was piling it into more drifts. It was dark, too, but the headlights on the car made the road bright enough, especially on account of the white snow, for Mr. Dunn to see his way.

Soon he was back again at the same drift which had made him turn about and take another road.

"Now to find that Elephant," said Mr. Dunn.

All this while the Stuffed Elephant had been trying to wiggle out of the snowdrift. But, not being used to such work, he was not having very good luck. The snow was soft, and the more he wiggled the deeper in he sank.

"Oh, dear!" sighed the poor Elephant. "What am I going to do? The snowflakes are getting in my trunk! And they tickle me and make me want to sneeze. It's no fun to be in a snowdrift. I used to like to look at them through the window in the shop of Santa Claus, but they're prettier to look at than to be in.

"If only a lot of the Nodding Donkeys and four or five of the White Rocking Horses were here now, they could pull me out of this drift," went on the Elephant. "But they aren't, and I'll have to help myself. I wonder if I gave a trumpet or two through my trunk whether that would do any good?"

He was just about to try it when, all at once, he heard a noise.

"That sounds like an automobile," thought the Elephant. "I daren't move or trumpet if any real folks are around. I'll have to stay quiet and then -- oh, then I'll sink deeper into the snow!"

Just then a man's voice said:

"It was right here I ran into the drift. The Elephant must be somewhere about here."

Dazzling lights shone in the Elephant's one eye that was not in the drift. He saw a big auto come to a stop just the other side of the snowdrift. And Mr. Dunn, for he it was, jumped out.

"Oh, now I'll be all right, I guess!" joyfully thought the poor Elephant.

Mr. Dunn stalked through the snow, until he was close to the drift. The headlights on the car made it almost as bright as if the moon had shone.

"Ah, there he is!" cried Archie's father.

A moment later he caught hold of one of the Elephant's hind legs and pulled him from the drift.

"Here's Archie's Elephant!" exclaimed Mr. Dunn. "Not hurt a bit! Only some snow on him, but that will brush off. I'm glad that man at the garage saw my open door, or I'd never have known I had lost the Elephant. Now for home!"

A moment later the Elephant was put back into the auto with the other Christmas toys.

"I'll cover them with a blanket to keep the snow from blowing in on them through the broken window," said Mr. Dunn to himself. The Elephant was glad of this, for he felt very cold.

Then back started the auto, and it was so warm and cozy under the blanket that the Elephant almost fell asleep. He wanted to talk to the other toys, and tell them what had happened, but he did not dare do this with Mr. Dunn on the front seat.

At last the car turned into the drive of a handsome country place. Mr. Dunn tooted the horn, a door of the house opened, letting out a stream of light, and a boy's voice cried:

"You're late, Daddy!"

"Yes, I ran into a snowdrift. But now listen to me, Archie! You go inside and keep out of the way until I bring in some things."

"Oh, Daddy! What you going to bring in?" cried a small boy.

"Never mind now. They aren't for you to see -- just yet. Besides, they are covered with snow, for some came in through the broken window, and I don't want you to catch cold. Go hide yourself, Archie, until I call you to come."

Archie laughed and went into another room, away from the front hall, and then Mr. Dunn carried in many bundles, including the Stuffed Elephant, which was not closely wrapped in paper, as were some of the others.

"Oh! From Santa Claus! For Archie!" whispered Mrs. Dunn.

"Hush!" cautioned her husband. "He might hear! I'll take the things up to the attic to stay there until Santa Claus says it's time to put them under the tree at Christmas."

So the Elephant was carried up to the attic. It was a queer, old, dusty place, and when the Elephant had been put on the floor, with some other toys, Mr. Dunn went downstairs and closed the door.

At first the Elephant did not know where he was. But he soon saw the moonlight streaming in through a window, and he noticed the other toys about him.

"Hello, there! Who are you?" asked a creaking voice, and near the Elephant a big wheel of wood began slowly turning. "Anybody want a ride?" asked the Wheel. "I'm a spinner, I am, and I'm making believe I'm a Merry-Go-Round! Any one want a ride?"

"Dear me! What a strange place an attic is," thought the Stuffed Elephant. "It isn't as nice as the toy shop, but still maybe I can have some fun. I wonder if I could ride on that wheel? I'm afraid I'm too big. But I could try. I may never have another chance, and --  -- "

But before the Elephant could ask the Spinning Wheel how to get on, all at once there was a banging noise in one corner of the attic, and a voice cried:

"Make way! Stand aside! Here I come!"

"My! I wonder who this is. Not a Lion I hope," thought the Elephant.



Chapter IV

Christmas Fun


Since there were no real persons up in the attic -- no boys or girls or grown folks -- to spy around, the toys and other things in the dusty top of the house could do as they pleased. The toys could pretend to come to life, and even such a thing as a Spinning Wheel could whirl about and speak.

Thus when the Spinning Wheel had invited whoever wished to get on and have a Merry-Go-Round ride, and the harsh voice had called: "Make way! Here I come!" the Stuffed Elephant hardly knew what was going to happen.

Then, all at once, a big brown Rat -- a real, live rat and not a toy -- ran from a hole in the corner, and, with a squeal of delight, jumped up on the twirling Spinning Wheel.

"Here I go on the Merry-Go-Round! I ride this way every night!" squeaked the Rat to the Elephant and the other Christmas toys which Mr. Dunn had hidden in the attic until it was time for Santa Claus to come around.

"Do you, indeed?" asked the Elephant. "You must have lots of fun."

"I do," answered the Brown Rat. "But who are you?" and he stood up among the spokes of the Spinning Wheel and looked over toward the moonlight patch on the floor where stood the new toy.

"I am a Stuffed Elephant," was the answer. "And I have just had the most dreadful adventure! I was pitched out of the auto into a snow bank."

"I don't like snow!" squeaked the Rat. "It's too cold. But I am glad to see you, Mr. Elephant. Don't you want a ride on this Merry-Go-Round?"

"Thank you, I'm afraid I'm too big," answered the Elephant. "And I never before saw a Merry-Go-Round that spun this way, like a wheel. In Mr. Mugg's store, where I came from, there was a toy Merry-Go-Round, but it spun like a top."

"I'm not a regular Merry-Go-Round," said the Spinning Wheel. "I just make believe I'm one up here in the attic. Time was when I used to spin yarn for the grandmother of Mr. Dunn. But now all yarn is spun in factories by machinery, and spinning wheels are out of fashion. So I am up here in the dust, and it makes the time pass more quickly to pretend I am a Merry-Go-Round."

"Yes, and we Rats and Mice have good times!" cried the brown chap, as he wound his tail among the spokes of the wheel, to hold on tightly as he spun around and around.

"I believe I'd like a ride, too," said a Tin Soldier, which was another toy Mr. Dunn had brought home.

"All right! Climb up!" called out the Rat.

So the Tin Soldier, being able to pretend to come to life since no prying eyes saw him, got up on the Spinning Wheel and rode with the Rat. The Elephant wanted to have this fun, but he was too large to get on the wheel.

"Besides," he said, "something might happen to my trunk." He was very proud of his trunk and his tusks, was the Stuffed Elephant.

Several days passed, during which the toys had to remain hidden in the attic, waiting for Christmas. They did not mind it, however, as they were left to themselves and could have fun.

At last, however, Christmas eve came, and when the house was quiet and still, when Santa Claus was on his way flying over the chimneys with his sleigh and eight reindeer, the Stuffed Elephant and the other toys were carried down to the parlor and placed beneath the Christmas tree.

And when Christmas morning came Archie Dunn came racing downstairs, in his little pajamas, crying:

"Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas! What did Santa Claus leave for me?"

"Go and look," replied his mother.

When Archie saw all his toys, but especially the Stuffed Elephant, the little boy shouted and clapped his hands for joy and cried:

"Oh, what a lovely Christmas! Oh, I always wanted a Stuffed Elephant, and now I have it! Oh, what a fine, big Elephant you are!"

He threw his arms around the stuffed creature's neck and hugged him so hard that the cotton stuffing almost oozed out of the Elephant's ears.

"I hope he doesn't squeeze me any harder," thought the Elephant, though he dared not so much as give a trumpet sound, and as for saying anything or waving his trunk -- that was not to be thought of!

For Archie was there, and his sister Elsie, and Mr. and Mrs. Dunn and the servants -- a room full of people -- and of course the Elephant had to remain quiet.

"Look at my new Dollie!" called Elsie to Archie, and it is a good thing the little boy had something else to look at, or he might have kept on squeezing the Elephant until he was out of shape.

"Yes, your Dollie is nice, but I like my Elephant better," said Archie.

"Elephants is for boys an' Dollies is for girls; isn't they, Daddy?" asked Elsie.

"I guess that's right," replied Mr. Dunn. "But get dressed now, children, and have breakfast. Then you may play with your toys."

Archie and Elsie were so excited over Christmas that they did not want to stop to dress, or even eat. But they managed to get some clothes on, eat a little, and then they started again to play with the many presents Santa Claus had brought them.

About ten o'clock Elsie, looking out of the window across the snow-covered yard, gave a squeal of delight and cried:

"Oh, here comes Mirabell, and she has her Lamb on Wheels! Oh, now we can have fun, and I can show her my new Doll!"

"Is anybody else coming?" asked Archie. "I want to show somebody my Stuffed Elephant."

Elsie looked again, before running to the door to welcome her little caller.

"Yes," went on Archie's sister, "I see Joe, and he has his Nodding Donkey!"

"That's good!" laughed Archie.

Into the house came Mirabell, who carried a Lamb on Wheels, which had been given her as a present some time before.

"Course this isn't for Christmas," said the little girl. "I didn't bring out my Christmas presents 'ceptin' this," and she showed on her finger a gold ring that Santa Claus had left.

"And I got a steam engine, only I couldn't bring it over," said Joe, who used to be lame but who was better now. "So I just brought my old Nodding Donkey," he added. "He was in the hospital once, as I was, and Mr. Mugg mended his broken leg."

At the mention of the name "Mr. Mugg" the Stuffed Elephant began to listen more carefully. If he had dared he would have flapped his big ears, but that was not allowed.

"I wonder," thought the Elephant, "if he means the same Mr. Mugg of the toy store where I came from? I wish the children would go out of the room a minute until I could speak to the Nodding Donkey and the Lamb on Wheels."

But the children were having too much fun to leave the room. Mirabell with her Lamb and Joe with his Donkey looked at the presents Santa Claus had brought for Elsie and Archie. Then there came a ring at the door bell, and in came a boy named Sidney, with a Calico Clown, and a girl named Dorothy with a Sawdust Doll. These toys were not new Christmas presents, for Dorothy and Sidney had brought only their old toys, since it was snowing again.

The Stuffed Elephant was getting excited. He had heard these other toys spoken of by his friends in Mr. Mugg's store, and wanted to talk to them. But while the children were in the room he dared not say a word.

At last, however, Mrs. Dunn invited the little callers out to the dining room to have some milk and cake, and out they rushed, leaving the toys in the middle of the floor.

"Ah, at last we are alone!" said the Elephant. "Please tell me, Mr. Nodding Donkey," he said, "were you ever in Mr. Mugg's store?"

"I came from there," was the answer.

"So did I!" joyfully exclaimed the Elephant.

"I don't remember seeing you there," the Nodding Donkey said, swaying his head up and down.

"I was one of the very newest toys," went on the Elephant. "I suppose you were there last year, or the one before."

"Yes," said the Donkey, "it was some time ago, and I have had many adventures. Tell me, did you ever have a broken leg?"

"Mercy, no!" exclaimed the Elephant.

"Well, I did. And Mr. Mugg mended it for me," went on the Donkey, proudly. "This Sawdust Doll here," he went on, "has also had many adventures. Tell him about them, Sawdust Doll."

"Oh, it would take too long," replied Dorothy's plaything. "But they are all in a book. And Dorothy's brother Dick has a White Rocking Horse, and his adventures are in a book, too."

"For that matter I have had a book written about me," said the Donkey.

"So have I!" declared the Calico Clown, jumping up and down. "It tells about my trousers catching fire."

"I wonder if I'll ever have a book written about me," sighed the Elephant.

"Perhaps," answered the Lamb on Wheels. "You are much larger than I, and there is a book about me. But let's have some fun, now that the children are out of the room."

"All right," agreed the Elephant. "This is like it used to be in Mr. Mugg's store after closing time. What shall we do?"

"I know what I should like to do," said the Calico Clown, as he looked at the big stuffed toy.

"What?" asked the Nodding Donkey.

"I should like to ride on the Elephant's back," went on the Clown. "All my life I have wanted a ride on an elephant's back, and I never yet had the chance."

"You shall have it now," replied the kind Elephant. "I'll come over and get you. Can you climb up? I'm pretty tall, you see."

"I'll stand on top of this toy trolley car," said the Clown.

One of Archie's presents was a toy trolley car, and by jumping up on this the Clown managed to reach the Elephant's back.

"Now hold on tightly, and you won't fall," said the Elephant. "If I had thought, I could have lifted you up in my trunk, as I did the Rolling Mouse. But I'll lift you down again. Sit tight now."

So the Clown sat tight, and the Elephant walked around the room with him, giving the gay fellow a fine ride. The Sawdust Doll was just making up her mind that she would be brave enough to get on the Elephant's back, when, all at once, the Nodding Donkey cried:

"Quick! Quiet every one! The children are coming back!"

"Oh, let me get off your back!" whispered the Clown to the Elephant. "They must never see me up here. It isn't allowed!"

But he was too late! Before he could slide off the Stuffed Elephant, Archie, Elsie and the other children came running into the room!

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" they cried, as they saw the Calico Clown on the back of the Stuffed Elephant.



Chapter V

In The Barn


Hearing the shouts of the children as they hurried back into the room where the Christmas tree stood, Archie's mother came to see what the matter was.

"Oh, Mother!" exclaimed Archie. "Look! The Clown is riding on my Elephant's back! Isn't he funny?"

"He looks very odd!" said Mrs. Dunn. "Who put him up there? Did you lift Sidney's Calico Clown to your Stuffed Elephant's back, Archie?"

"Oh, no, Mother!" Archie answered. "It wasn't I."

"Nor I," said Elsie.

"And I didn't, either," said the other children in turn.

"Well," said Mrs. Dunn, looking from one to the other, "of course the Clown couldn't have gotten up on the Elephant's back by himself, and of course the Elephant couldn't have lifted him there with his trunk. Though I know a live clown could jump on a live elephant's back, and a live elephant could lift a live clown up in his trunk. But these are only toys. They must be moved about."

"Well, I didn't put the Clown there," said Archie again.

"Nor I!" echoed the other children.

And while this talk was going on the Elephant, the Clown, and the other Christmas toys were very much worried lest their part in the fun be found out. Of course we know how the Clown got on the Elephant's back, but Mrs. Dunn did not, nor did the children. They didn't know that the toys had the power to make believe come to life when no one was watching them.

"If they had only stayed out of the room a little longer, I would have had a chance to slip down off the Elephant's back, and all would be well," thought the Calico Clown. "But, coming in so quickly, they caught me! I hope they never find out about our having fun when they are out of the room, or they'll never leave us toys alone."

"How do you s'pose that Clown got on my Elephant?" asked Archie of his mother, a little later.

"I think some of you children must have put him there, and forgotten about it," said Mrs. Dunn.

"No! No!" the children cried.

"Well, then Nip must have been playing with the Clown and just dropped him on the Elephant's back," said Mrs. Dunn. Nip was Archie's dog, a great big fellow, but very kind and good, and especially fond of children. He was called Nip because he used to playfully nip, or pretend to bite, cats. He never really bit them, though.

"But Nip isn't here to take the Clown up in his mouth and put him on my Elephant," Archie said.

"Oh, I guess your dog ran in here while you were out in the other room, eating the cake and drinking the milk," Mrs. Dunn said. "Then Nip ran out again, after dropping the Clown. Anyhow, we don't need to worry about it. Go on with your Christmas fun."

This the children did. And having seen the Clown on the Elephant, Dorothy wanted to have her Sawdust Doll ride in the same way. So the Clown was lifted off and the Doll was lifted on.

"Oh, I'm having my wish! I'm having my wish!" joyfully thought the Sawdust Doll to herself, as she was put on the Elephant's back, and Archie pulled the big, stuffed animal about the room.

The Elephant, too, was glad to give his friend the Doll a ride on his back as he had carried the Rolling Mouse and the other toys, though of course he could not speak and tell her so, for there were children in the room. The Doll, too, would have been glad to thank Mr. Elephant, but it was not allowed.

So all the Stuffed Elephant could do was to swing his cloth trunk to and fro, as Archie pulled him over the smooth floor, and all the Sawdust Doll could do was to wave her arms a little.

The children thought it such fun to give the smaller toys rides on the back of the big, Stuffed Elephant that they shouted and laughed with glee, making a great deal of noise. And there was more noise when Dick, who owned the White Rocking Horse, came over with his friend Herbert, who had a toy Monkey on a Stick.

"Oh, my dear children! You are making so much noise!" called Mrs. Dunn, entering the Christmas tree room. "Don't you want to go out in our big barn to play?"

"Isn't it cold out in the barn?" asked Mirabell, as she looked from the window and saw the snowflakes falling. "I wouldn't want my Lamb to catch cold."

"It isn't cold in our barn," Archie answered. "It has steam heat, 'cause my father doesn't want the horses to catch cold. And he doesn't want the water in our automobile to freeze, either, so he has steam heat in our barn."

"And it's warm and cozy," added Elsie. "Oh, out there we can have a lot of fun!"

"Let's go out there then," said Joe. "My Donkey likes it in barns, I guess."

"And so will my Elephant!" called Archie.

A little later the children were running over the snow to the big barn on Mr. Dunn's country estate. The gardener had shoveled a path through the snow from the house to the barn; so the children would not get their feet wet. Each child carried some toy, and Archie had all he could do to clasp the big elephant in his arms. For Archie was a small boy and the Elephant was one of the largest toys.

Once, on the way from the house to the barn, Archie, carrying the Elephant, stumbled and nearly fell.

"Oh!" cried the little boy, as he slipped along the snowy path. "Oh!"

The Elephant wanted to cry "Oh!" also, but he dared not. He felt shivery and frightened, though, as he saw the banks of snow on either side of him.

"I don't want to be pitched into another drift, head first," he thought to himself.

But Archie did not fall, and the Elephant did not get a second bath in the snow, for which he was very glad.

Into the warm barn trooped the children with their Christmas toys, some old and some new. Jake, the man who looked after the horses, giving them oats from a big bin, and hay from the loft, opened the doors for the children, and laughed to see how happy they were.

"We're going to play here and have a lot of fun, Jake!" called Archie. "See my big Elephant! I just got him for Christmas!"

"He is a fine fellow," Jake agreed. "Shall I put him in a stall as I do the horses?"

"No, we are going to keep him here to play with," said Archie. "And I think I'll get a little hay to make believe feed him."

"Well, be careful," warned Jake. "Don't fall off the haymow."

The haymow was a big place in the barn where the dried grass (which is what hay is, you know) was stored away. While the other children were having fun with their toys, Archie climbed to the mow to get some hay for his Elephant.

Now dried hay is slippery, as you know if you have ever tried to climb up a pile of it in a barn. And no sooner was Archie at the top of the mow than down he slid, on the hill of hay.

"Oh, I'm falling!" he cried, and his sister and the other children came running to see what would happen.

Archie slid down the haymow toward the floor of the barn. And it seemed as if he would get a hard bump. But, as it happened, a lot of the hay slid along with the little boy, and it was under him when he struck the barn floor. So he fell on the hay, which was like a cushion, and Archie wasn't hurt in the least. In fact he rather liked it.

"Oh, this is fun!" he cried. "I'm going to slide down the haymow some more!"

Again he climbed to the top, and down he slid, sitting upright as though on a chair. Again he slipped over the edge of the mow and fell on the pile of hay on the barn floor.

"Hurray!" shouted Joe, who, being no longer lame, could play like other boys. "I'm going to try that!"

He did, as did the other boys and girls, and soon they had forgotten their Christmas toys for the time being, in the newer fun of sliding down the hay. Thus the Elephant, the Donkey, and the different make-believe animals were left to themselves in a distant part of the barn.

"This is our chance," said the Donkey to the Elephant. "Let's walk around. My legs are stiff, especially the one that was broken and which Mr. Mugg mended."

"Yes, a little walk will do us good," agreed the Elephant. "I am a bit stiff myself, and I want to swing my trunk."

So the Donkey and Elephant, making believe come to life, walked about the barn floor, while the children were farther off, sliding down the haymow.

There were many strange things in the barn -- at least strange to the Elephant and Donkey. There were garden tools of all sorts, rakes, hoes, shovels and picks. There were strange pieces of machinery for cutting hay, planting corn and potatoes, and the like.

In one corner was a big wheel, with a rope around it, and for a moment the Elephant thought his friend the Spinning Wheel had come out to the barn to play. But a second look showed that this wheel was larger, stronger and different in every way.

"I wonder what this wheel and rope are for?" said the Elephant to the Nodding Donkey.

"I don't know, I'm sure," brayed the nodding toy.

Just then the wheel turned slowly, and the long, dangling rope swayed to and fro.

"I wonder what that is for!" went on the Elephant. Like most animals he was curious about something he did not understand, just as your cat or dog will try to find out what causes a strange noise.

"Why don't you reach up with your trunk and feel it?" asked the Donkey. "I have heard you say your trunk was almost like a hand to you."

"It is," the Elephant answered. "I will feel the rope and wheel and see what it is like."

As the children were in another part of the barn, having fun in the haymow, and as there were no prying eyes to watch, the Elephant could do as he pleased. He raised his trunk and stretched it toward the dangling rope.

And then, all of a sudden, something happened. The rope turned and twisted like a snake, a loop of it wound around the Elephant's neck, and a moment later he felt himself being lifted off the barn floor in the hempen coils. Through the air, like the pendulum of a big clock, he swayed, and as the rope pulled tighter and tighter the poor Elephant cried:

"Oh, my dear friend Nodding Donkey! I am in a terrible state! The rope is so tight it is squeezing all the cotton stuffing out of me! Oh, what shall I do?"



Chapter VI

A Dangerous Slide


Anxious as the Nodding Donkey was to help his friend the Stuffed Elephant, nothing could be done. For the rope had suddenly been pulled up, taking the Elephant with it. And there he swung, dangling to and fro, the coil of the rope getting tighter and tighter around his neck, choking the poor toy.

"Oh, I know all the stuffing will be squeezed out of me! I just know it will!" sighed the Elephant. "Then I'll look like a balloon with all the air out of it! Oh dear!"

"Can't you get yourself loose?" asked the Donkey. "I wish I could climb up and help you, but I can't."

"And I'd help you, for I am a good climber, only I can't get off my stick. I'm fastened on tight just now," chattered Herbert's Monkey.

"Well, something will have to be done, if I am to be saved!" called the Elephant, of course not speaking loudly enough for the children, in another part of the barn, to hear.

Archie and his friends were still having fun sliding down the slippery hay, and they were making a great deal of noise. But you know how it is yourself. You often get tired of playing one game and want to go to another.

It was this way with Archie and his friends. They slid and slid and slid on the hay until they had had enough of it. Then Elsie said:

"Let's go back and get our playthings. I want to see my Christmas Dollie."

Back to where they had left the toys trooped the children, and Archie, who ran ahead, was just in time to see his Stuffed Elephant swaying on the rope that was choking him.

"Oh, look! Look at my Elephant!" cried Archie. "He's hung on a rope! Oh, he'll be killed! Oh, dear!"

"Run and grab him down! Pull him down!" shouted Joe.

Archie ran, but by this time the rope was pulled up still farther and the Elephant was so far above the barn floor that even Herbert, who was taller than Archie, could not reach the plaything.

"Oh, stop!" cried Archie. "Stop hurting my nice Elephant, Rope!"

Archie's voice was loud and clear. Suddenly the rope which had been winding up, around the big wheel, came to a stop, and a voice called:

"What's the matter down there? Are any of you children hurt?"

"Oh, that's Jake!" exclaimed Elsie. "It's our man Jake!"

"What's the trouble there, Archie?" Jake asked. He was somewhere in the loft of the barn.

"It's my Elephant!" Archie answered, trying to keep from crying. "My nice, Stuffed Christmas Elephant. He's hanging on a rope!"

"On a rope!" exclaimed Jake. "Do you mean this wheel rope that I use to hoist up bags of oats to the bin here? Is it that rope?"

"I don't know -- but it's some rope!" Archie answered. "Can't you save my Elephant?"

"Of course I can!" called Jake. "Don't worry! Your Elephant isn't alive -- choking with a rope can't hurt him!"

"Yes, it can, too!" insisted Archie. "It can choke all the stuffing out of him and make him flat like a pancake."

"Well, yes, that might happen," admitted Jake. "But I didn't know any of your toys were tangled in the hoisting rope, or I would not have pulled it. Wait a minute, now, and I'll turn the wheel the other way and let your Elephant down to you."

Slowly the big wheel turned in the other direction, and the end of the rope that was about the Elephant's neck dropped toward the barn floor. The Elephant, also, began slowly to come down.

"Thank goodness!" said the toy to himself. "I could not have stood being hanged much longer. I'm glad it's over!"

And it was over a moment later when Archie could reach up, take the loop of rope from around his plaything's neck and set the Elephant down on the barn floor.

"How did it happen?" asked Jake. He came down out of the loft, or place where he stored the bags of oats. The oats were hauled to the lower floor of the barn. There a rope was put about each bag and it was lifted to the upper floor where it was stored in a bin. The lifting rope went around a big wheel, acting like a dumbwaiter in some houses.

Jake had turned the wheel by pulling on a second rope upstairs in the barn, and as the wheel turned it wound up the longer rope. It was the end of this rope that had looped itself about the Elephant.

"How did it happen?" asked Jake again.

"I don't know," Archie replied. "I left my Elephant here when I went to slide down the hay. When I came back he was on the rope."

"Some of you children must have left the Elephant too near the end of the rope," said Jake. "When I wound it up the Elephant became tangled in a loop, and of course he was lifted up."

"Nope! We didn't any of us leave the Elephant near the rope; did we?" asked Archie of his little friends.

"Nope!" they all answered.

"Well, that's queer," said Jake. "That Elephant never got on the rope by himself, I'm sure."

But that is just what the Elephant did, as we know.

"Anyhow I'm glad he's all right now," said Archie, as he looked carefully at his new toy. "None of the stuffing came out."

But it might have, if the Elephant had been left hanging much longer on the rope.

Finding that everything was all right and that none of the children was in danger, Jake went back to the oat bin. There was a long chute, or slide, from the upper bin to a box on the first floor of the barn. And the oats came rushing down this slide when a door in the top bin was opened. This door could be opened by pulling a rope near the horse stalls, and sometimes Archie was allowed to pull the rope, open the door of the large grain bin, and let the oats slide down the chute to the smaller bin on the lower floor.

But this day Jake was putting a new supply of oats in the upper bin, and Archie was not allowed to play near it. The little boy and his friends soon began having more fun with their Christmas toys, giving the Clown and smaller dolls rides on the back of the Stuffed Elephant.

Thus Christmas passed, New Year's came, and the Elephant lived and was happy in Archie's home. The Elephant did not often think of Mr. Mugg and his daughters Geraldine and Angelina. He liked it much better, did the Elephant, in Archie's house than in the store. Of course the toy store was a jolly place, but no boys or girls were permitted to play with the toys. They were there for sale, and could only be played with after being bought and taken home.

So the Elephant was glad he belonged to Archie, who was a boy that took very good care of his playthings. Nearly every day Joe, Dick or Arnold would come over to see Archie, bringing their playthings, and in this way the Elephant met many friends whose adventures are related in the other books of this series.

And at night, when Archie and Elsie were in bed, of course the Elephant, and the other toys in the Dunn house, had their usual fun. They would make believe come to life and talk and play about in the nursery or in the closet -- wherever they happened to be left at the close of the day.

It was still winter, though Archie and Elsie wished spring would come so they might play oftener out of doors. And one rainy day, when it was too cold and stormy to be out, Archie and Elsie went to the big, warm barn to have fun. Archie carried his Elephant and Elsie had her Doll.

"Let's go upstairs to the grain bins," suggested Elsie, when they had played about in the hay for a time.

"Maybe Jake will let us open the bin door from up there, and we can watch the oats slide down the chute," said Archie. "I like to watch the oats slide."

"So do I," Elsie admitted. The grain bin was so built that the door of the chute could be opened from above or below.

Up to the upper floor of the barn went the two children, with the Elephant and the Doll.

"Are you here, Jake?" called Archie, but there was no answer.

"I don't guess he's around," said Elsie.

"I don't guess so, either," replied Archie. "But I don't guess he'd care if I let down some oats. I looked in the lower bin and there's hardly any there. I'm going to let some down the chute."

"I'll watch you," offered Elsie, as she set her Doll on top of a big oat box.

The cover to the box was open. Archie liked this because he could see the smooth oats go down the wooden chute, or slide, like so much water.

"I'll let a lot of oats down," the little boy said to his sister. He placed his Elephant on the edge of the bin, near the Doll. Then Archie pulled on the handle that opened the door. It was hard work, for the oats pressed against the door. Elsie came to help him, and at last the children managed to get it open.

"There they go!" cried Archie, as the oats began to pour down the chute.

"Yes, and there goes your Elephant!" shouted Elsie. As she spoke, the stuffed toy fell into the oat bin, and, a moment later, the poor chap was sucked into the smooth chute, with the running grain, and the oats closed over his head. Lost to the sight of the children, the Stuffed Elephant was taking a dangerous slide.



Chapter VII

The Big Dog


Archie was so surprised at what happened that, for a moment, he could do nothing but stand and look at the stream of oats gliding down the wooden chute to the bin on the floor below.

"There goes your Elephant!" cried Elsie again. "He fell right into the oats, Archie!"

"Yes -- yes -- I -- I see he did!" stammered the little boy.

"I'm glad my Doll didn't go, too!" went on Elsie. "I guess I'd better take her away 'fore she tumbles in."

Elsie reached over to take her toy from the side of the oat bin where the Christmas Doll had been put by her mistress. But Elsie's foot slipped on some hay on the floor, she tried to save herself from falling, her arm struck her Doll, and, a moment later, the Doll was sliding down the stream of smooth oats as the Elephant had done.

"Oh! Oh!" cried Archie. "Look at your Doll! She went down just like my Elephant!"

"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" wailed Elsie. "Where has she gone?"

"Down into the oat bin on the first floor," explained Archie. "The oats go from this big bin to the little bin where Jake takes them out to give to the horses. Don't cry, Elsie. We'll get your Doll back."

Archie had almost been going to cry himself when he saw his Elephant being buried in the rushing stream of oats. But when he heard his sister's sobs he made up his mind to be brave and try to help her.

Archie was so excited that he still held up the sliding door of the oat bin, and the grains kept on sliding down the chute, carrying with them the Elephant and Doll, though now the toys were not in sight.

"Come on downstairs and get my Doll!" begged Elsie, tugging at her brother's hand. "Come on and get your Elephant and my Doll."

"Yes, we'd better do that," Archie agreed.

Then he saw that he was still holding open the little door in the oat bin, so that pecks and bushels of the grains were still sliding down the chute.

"I'd better close that, or the Elephant and the Doll will be buried away down under so many oats they'll never get out," said the little boy.

He let go the handle that they had pulled to raise the door, and it dropped shut, thus preventing any more oats from sliding down the chute. Then he took Elsie's hand and hurried toward the stairs that led to the lower floor of the barn.

Meanwhile, as you have guessed, the Elephant and the Doll were not having a very good time. At first, when the Elephant felt himself fall in with the sliding oats, he did not know what had happened.

"I wonder what sort of adventure this is!" thought the Elephant. "It's almost as bad as being pitched out into a snow drift, though I'm glad it isn't cold. These oats are very scratchy, though, and they make me want to sneeze. But where am I going?"

The Elephant did not know. All he could tell was that he was being hurried along in the dark with a lot of oats, for it was dark inside the grain chute.

Down, down, down went the Elephant, just as he had gone up, up, up on the rope.

"Where shall I land?" thought the Elephant.

A moment later he found out, for he was shot from the chute into the almost empty grain bin on the lower floor. Out of the chute tumbled the Elephant, and he was very glad to be in an open space once more.

"But it is almost as dark as it was before," he said. A little light came from the top of the bin which did not close tightly, but it was only a little light.

But the Elephant's troubles were not over. For no sooner had he been slid clear of the chute, landing on his feet, very luckily, than more oats poured out, for Archie was still holding open the door of the grain bin up above. So many oats came sliding down the chute that they rose all around the Elephant like rising water around a rock. The oats rose to his knees, to his stomach, where they tickled him a little, and then began to rise over his back.

"Oh!" he trumpeted, raising his trunk as high as he could. "I am going to be covered from sight in the oats!"

And then, when the oats almost covered his eyes, he had a glimpse of the Doll coming down the chute, in a shower of oats.

"Oh, you poor child!" called the Elephant.

"Yes, isn't this terrible!" exclaimed the Doll. "Oh, how are we ever going to get out?"

The Elephant tried to answer, but now the oats rose over his mouth and he could not speak. Only the top of his head and the tip of his trunk stuck out above the oats.

The Doll, having come down a little later, was not so deeply covered by the grains. She tried to stand up, to keep her head as far above the oats as she could, but it was hard work. Around and around she slipped, from side to side.

More and more oats poured down, for Archie still held open the door, and at last the poor Doll was covered from sight, as was the Elephant.

And it was now that Archie and Elsie came racing down the stairs. Archie called:

"Jake! Jake! Come here! Where are you? Oh, my Elephant is in the oat bin, and so is Elsie's Doll, and we've got to get 'em out!"

"What's that? Elsie in the oat bin?" cried Jake, who had just come back to the barn.

"No, not Elsie, but her Doll!" shouted Archie. "And so is my Stuffed Elephant."

"Well, that isn't so bad as if one of you children were in the bin," replied Jake. "I'll help you, though. Show me which bin."

Archie told what he had done, and when Jake opened the bin on the lower floor it was brim full and running over with oats.

"You surely let down enough grain," said Jake.

"How are you going to get my Doll?" Elsie asked.

"And my Elephant?" added Archie.

"Oh, I'll shovel them out," said Jake. "Don't be afraid. I'll get the Doll and the Elephant."

"Well, you'd better hurry, 'cause they may smother," Elsie said.

"I'll hurry," promised Jake.

With a shovel he carefully took some of the oats from the bin, so that first Elsie's Doll could be seen, and then the Elephant came into view.

"There you are!" said kind Jake, as he handed the toys back to the children.

"My, wasn't that a terrible time?" said the Doll to the Elephant that night, when they were left by themselves in a closet.

"I should say so!" agreed the Elephant. "I never want anything like that to happen again! I hope I have no more adventures!"

But he was to have more.

For a time, however, nothing very exciting happened. Archie played with his Elephant and Elsie with her Doll, and their boy and girl friends brought over their toys to have fun with. Often they amused themselves in the big, warm barn, though never again did Archie go near the grain bin.

Sometimes Nip, the big dog, would go to the barn to play with the children, and once, though not meaning to, the Elephant gave the dog a scare. It was this way.

Archie had set his elephant down on the barn floor, near a big box. Nip, the dog, coming suddenly around the corner of the box, did not know the Elephant was there until a draft of wind swayed the Elephant's trunk, making it wiggle to and fro.

"Oh, my! A snake! A snake!" cried Nip, who was afraid of the crawling creatures. "It's a big snake!"

"Nonsense! I'm not a snake," said the Elephant, who could speak, since Elsie and Archie were in another part of the barn.

"What was it that looked like a snake?" howled Nip.

"It was my trunk. The wind blew it," was the answer.

"Hum!" said Nip, who, now that he took a second look, saw that there was really no snake, and nothing to frighten him. "Hum! I believe you did that on purpose, just to scare me!"

"No, really I didn't!" said the Elephant.

"Yes, you did, too!" barked Nip. "And, just for that, I'm going to play a trick on you!"

"Please don't!" begged the Elephant.

"Yes, I will!" growled Nip, who was a little angry, and not as kind as he might have been. "I'm going to carry you away off!" he barked.

Then, before the Elephant could do anything to save himself, Nip, the big dog, caught the soft Stuffed Elephant up by his back and carried him into a dark and distant part of the barn.



Chapter VIII

An Elephant Judge


"Let me go! Oh, please put me down! Where are you taking me?" called the Stuffed Elephant to Nip, the big dog.

Nip did not answer. This was not because he could not speak the toy language or the language of Stuffed Elephants. But Nip held Archie's Christmas plaything in his mouth, and you know a dog can't even bark when he has anything in his mouth. He can only growl.

Now, Nip was not a bad dog. And though he was playing a trick on the Stuffed Elephant, still Nip was not cross enough to do any growling. So he just kept still, and trotted along the barn floor, carrying the Elephant.

Nip, being a big dog, had no trouble in carrying the Stuffed Elephant, though the toy was rather large. Stuffed with cotton, as the Elephant was, he was not very heavy, you see.

"Stop! Oh, please let me go! Where are you taking me?" asked the Elephant again.

But Nip answered never a word. All the dog had said at first was:

"I am going to carry you away off!"

And he seemed to be doing this.

Through the barn he trotted with the Stuffed Elephant in his mouth. The Elephant had never been in this part of the barn before. Archie and Elsie never came here to play. It was too dark, and rather dusty and dirty, with cobwebs hanging down from the walls and ceiling.

Down the stairs trotted Nip, still carrying the Elephant. The dog trotted over to a dim and dusty corner, dropped the Christmas toy upside down on the floor and then barked:

"There you are! Now let's see you find your way back! I'll teach you to scare me by making believe your trunk is a snake!"

"Oh, but I didn't do that! Really I didn't!" exclaimed the Elephant, as he scrambled to his feet. He could move about and talk now, because no human eyes were there to watch him. "It was all an accident," he went on. "The wind blew my trunk! I didn't wave it at you to scare you by making you think it was a snake. Really I didn't!"

"Yes, you did!" said Nip, and away he ran, soon being lost to sight in the darkness of this part of the barn.

For a little while the Stuffed Elephant stood there, swaying slowly to and fro, as real elephants do. He reached out with his trunk and gently touched the wooden walls. He could dimly see things all about him, but he did not know what they were.

"Oh, dear!" sighed the poor Stuffed Elephant. "I don't like this at all! I wonder what I had better do?"

He was trying to think, and wondering if he could walk up the stairs and find his way back to the place where Archie had left him before Nip carried him away, when, suddenly, the Stuffed Elephant heard voices talking.

"Maybe he could settle it," said one voice.

"Well, I'm willing to leave it to him if you are," said a second.

"Who is he, anyhow?" asked a third voice.

"Oh, he's some sort of animal," went on the first voice. "He isn't an angleworm, I know that much, but just what sort he is I don't know. But he looks smart, and maybe he can settle this dispute for us."

"I am a Stuffed Elephant, that's who I am," said Archie's pet, speaking for himself. "And who are you, if you please? I can't see any one, but I hear you talking. Who are you?"

"I am the Garden Shovel," answered the first voice; "and I claim to be the most useful tool in all the world. Without me there never would be any garden, and things would not grow."

"Nonsense!" exclaimed the second voice. "I am the Garden Rake, and I claim to be the most useful tool the gardener ever uses. Without me the ground would never be raked nice and smooth, so the seeds could be put in. I should get the prize for being the most useful."

"How foolishly you talk!" put in the third voice. "Every one knows that I am entitled to the prize. Talk about shoveling the ground, and raking the ground! What can you two do by yourselves, or together, for that matter, if the ground is hard? Answer me that. You must send for me, you know you must!"

"And who are you?" asked the Stuffed Elephant, for this tool had not yet named himself.

"I am the Pick," was the answer. "And with my sharp points the hardest ground can be made soft, so the Rake and the Shovel can work. I am the most useful tool of all."

"No, I am!" cried the Rake.

"Indeed you are not! I am!" exclaimed the Shovel.

"Well, there we are! Just where we started!" complained the Pick. "Why not leave it to this gentleman animal here. What did you say your name was?" he asked politely, and then Archie's toy saw the Pick, the Rake and the Shovel step out from a dark corner and stand in a row before him.

"I am the Stuffed Elephant," was the answer. "This is my first visit to this part of the barn. What is it you want me to do?"

"If this is your first visit you have never seen any of us before, have you?" asked the Shovel.

"Never before did I see any of you," the Elephant replied.

"Just the proper one for a Judge!" declared the Rake. "He will be honest and fair."

"I'm willing to have him if you two are," said the Pick.

"What's it all about?" asked the Elephant. "I don't understand. What is a Judge?"

"Some one who tells the right from the wrong," answered the Rake. "Listen, Mr. Stuffed Elephant! Get up on that box, for a Judge must be above every one else, and we will tell you what the trouble is."

The Elephant got up on a strong, empty onion crate, and stood there with the Shovel, the Rake and the Pick standing in a row in front of him.

"You must say 'Ahem!' and bang on the box, like a real Judge," said the Shovel.

"Ahem!" coughed the Elephant, as loudly as he could. Then he took up a piece of wood in the end of his trunk, and banged on the side of the onion crate.

"Now this is like a real court," said the Rake, "and we shall have our quarrel settled."

"Oh, have you three been quarreling?" asked the Elephant Judge.

"Well, not exactly; and the quarrel is not an angry one," replied the Shovel. "You see," he went on, "we three tools work in the garden. Or, rather, Jake, the man, uses us when he works. Now I claim I am the most useful of the three. Jake always takes me out when there is a bit of ground to be spaded up, or turned over, when he wants to make the garden in the spring. So I think, Mr. Judge Elephant, Your Honor, that I am entitled to the prize."

"Hum! Let me see now," said the Elephant, trying to look very wise. "I suppose I must listen to what the others have to say."

"Oh, yes, indeed!" exclaimed the Rake. "We must each state our case, as in a real court, and then you shall decide who is right. Now, for myself -- Oh, by the way, had you quite finished?" he asked of the Shovel, politely.

"Yes," was the answer, "I think I said enough to have the Elephant Judge give me the prize. Go on, Mr. Rake."

"Well," said the Rake, smiling a little to show his teeth, "I claim to be more useful than the Shovel. It is true Jake uses him to turn the ground over. But before the ground can be turned Jake uses me to take away the dead leaves and sticks that are not wanted. And even after the Shovel is used to turn the ground over, no seeds can be planted, and the garden can not really be made, until I am used again to smooth things over. So I claim to be the most useful tool."

The Rake stepped back in line with the others, and they all waited for the Elephant to speak.

"Ahem!" said the animal judge very loudly. "There is one more to be heard. Proceed, Mr. Pick."

The Pick, who had at least two good points in his favor, stepped forward, made a stiff little bow with his handle, and said:

"What my friends Rake and Shovel have told you, of course is true. They are useful, each in his own way. But I do the really hard work of the garden. When the earth is packed hard and dry, so that neither the Shovel nor the Rake can be used, Jake always comes and gets me. I am larger and stronger than either the Rake or the Shovel, though of course the Rake has a longer handle. But it is a very thin handle, and if Jake struck as hard a blow with the Rake as he strikes with me, the Rake's handle would break. And no matter how hard he digs the Shovel into the hard ground, no earth can be turned over until I first loosen it. So I claim the prize."

The Pick stepped back in line with the other two, all three bowed politely and waited.

"What am I to do now?" asked the Elephant.

"You must act as Judge and tell which of us is the most useful, to decide who gets the prize," said the Rake.

"That is it," chimed in the Pick and the Shovel.

"This is very hard -- very hard indeed," sighed the Elephant. "In fact I never before knew how hard it was to decide between right and wrong. Let me think a minute."

He passed his trunk over his head, which was beginning to ache with all the talk he had listened to.

"Hum! Let me see now," the Elephant spoke slowly. "It is true, Mr. Shovel, that you are very useful. Without you the ground could not be turned."

"There! See! I told you I'd get the prize!" cried the Shovel.

"Wait a minute! Wait a minute!" trumpeted the Elephant. "I have not finished. It is also true," he went on, "that the Rake is very useful. Before the Shovel can be used the ground must be raked clean, and after the Shovel has spaded the earth, it must be raked smooth."

"There! I knew it! Oh, what a fine Judge! He is going to say I am entitled to the prize!" exclaimed the Rake, laughing.

"Not yet! Wait a minute!" cried the Elephant. "I have not finished! I want to say that the Pick used very good arguments. He is right when he says without him, in case the ground is hard, nothing can be done. And he certainly is the strongest, so I think --  -- "

"Oh, ho! What did I tell you! I get the prize!" cried the Pick.

"Wait a minute! I have not finished!" said the Elephant Judge. "What I was going to say was that before I could decide who wins I must see the prize. What is the prize? Bring it here that I may see it, and then I will decide who is to get it."

"Oh, the prize!" cried the Shovel.

"That's so, we forgot all about it!" gasped the Rake.

"What was the prize to be?" asked the Pick. "I declare we did not settle on any. How stupid!"

"Until I see the prize I cannot give judgment," said the Elephant; "so the case will have to 'go over,' as I believe they say in Court, until the prize is brought here. Stop disputing now, and get me the prize!"

"Yes! Yes! The prize! The prize!" cried the Rake, the Shovel and the Pick, and away they scurried.

"Ha! Ha! Ha!" laughed another voice in the corner whence had come the three tools.

"What silly chaps!" came in another voice.

"To forget the most important thing of all -- the prize!" added another.

"Who are you, if you please?" asked the Elephant, stepping down off the onion crate.

"I'm the Hoe," was the answer of the first. "If I had wished I could have told how useful I am. In fact, I think I will have a try for the prize."

"I'm just as much entitled to it as you are," some one else said. "You needn't think you can get ahead of me!"

"Who are you?" asked the Elephant.

"The Wheelbarrow," was the reply. "You ought to see the loads I carry. I ought to get the prize!"

"What about me?" asked a third voice.

"Who are you?" asked the Elephant.

"The Lawn Mower. Just think what an ugly place this estate would be unless I kept the grass trim and neat. It should be my prize."

"Oh, my goodness!" exclaimed the poor Elephant. "If there are to be more disputes, and more evidence in this case, I shall go mad. Stop!" he cried, as the Wheelbarrow, the Hoe, and the Lawn Mower came forward, all talking at once. "Stop! I will do nothing until I see the prize! Court is adjourned!"

And as the Elephant said this the sound of loud barking sounded through the barn.

"Oh, maybe that is Nip coming to carry me back," thought the Elephant. "I certainly hope so!"



Chapter IX

Out In The Rain


You remember that Nip, the big dog, had carried away the Stuffed Elephant when Archie set his Christmas toy down on the barn floor for a moment. And, coming back, after having gone to look for the nest of a cackling hen, Archie did not find his Elephant awaiting him as he expected to.

"Oh, Elsie!" exclaimed the little boy. "Didn't I leave my Elephant right here?" and he pointed to the place where he had set it.

"Why, yes, I think you did," Elsie answered. "I saw you put it there. I was going to leave my Doll there, too, but she isn't feeling very well, and has a little cold, so I carried her in my arms. I have her here now," she added, as she held up her Christmas toy.

"Well, my Elephant is gone!" exclaimed Archie. "And I know I left it here! Yes, you can see where his feet stood," he added, as he pointed to some marks in the dust of the barn floor.

Elsie, holding her Doll, stooped down beside her brother and looked at the dust.

"There are lots of marks," said the little girl. "Your Elephant must have been walking around. Oh, Archie!" she cried, with shining eyes, "maybe he came to life and walked away!"

"Nope! He couldn't do that!" Archie said. Of course he knew nothing of what the toys did after dark -- how they made believe come to life, talked, and had fun among themselves.

"But now I know what has happened!" Archie exclaimed. "I can tell by the marks in the dust."

"What did happen?" asked Elsie.

"Nip has been here," went on the little boy. "I can tell his paw marks in the dust. It wasn't my Elephant walking around, it was Nip! And Nip has carried off my Elephant!"

"Oh, just as he did once with my old Rag Doll!" cried Elsie.

"That's it!" her brother said. "Nip has carried away my Elephant. Come here, Nip! Where are you?" called Archie.

Now Nip was always ready to come when Archie called, for he and the little boy had many good times together, romping and playing tag in the yard. So, when he heard his name called, Nip came running into the barn to where Elsie and Archie were standing.

"Nip!" sternly said Archie, as he shook his finger at his big dog, "did you take my Elephant? Did you carry him away?"

Now Nip understood a great deal that was said to him. He knew when he was being scolded for having done wrong, and he knew he was being scolded now. He also knew that he had taken away the Elephant. So, when Archie talked this way, Nip hung his head and put his tail between his legs.

"Nip!" went on Archie, "where is my Stuffed Elephant? Go get it! Bring back my Elephant! Go on, Nip!"

Nip gave a little bark. He sprang up, barked again, louder than before, and off he ran to a dim and distant part of the barn.

"Is he going after your Elephant?" asked Elsie.

"I hope so," her brother answered. "We'll follow him and see where he goes."

But Nip ran too fast for the children to follow. Down the stairs, into the dark corner of that part of the barn where the garden tools were kept, ran Nip. He knew he had been found out, and that he must bring back Archie's Elephant.

So, just as the Shovel, the Rake and the Pick had hurried away to look for the prize, and while the Wheelbarrow, the Hoe and the Lawn Mower were fussing to see why they couldn't have a chance to win, Nip pounced down on the Elephant, lifted him up, and started back with him to Archie.

"Oh, I'm so glad you came to get me!" said the Elephant. "I was just going to try to find my way back myself, for I have had a most dreadful time trying to settle a dispute among the garden tools. Oh, I never should like to be a Judge!"

Nip did not answer, because he had the Stuffed Elephant in his mouth.

"I hope we are going to be friends, Mr. Nip," went on the Elephant. "Please don't carry me away again."

Nip wanted to say that he would not, for he felt sorry because of the trick he had played. But just then Elsie and Archie came running up, and the dog could not talk, nor could the Elephant pretend to be alive, for the eyes of the children were upon them.

"Oh, he has my Elephant!" joyfully cried Archie. "I guess you must have hidden him, Nip, for you knew where to find him! Bring my Elephant here!"

Nip put the Elephant down on the barn floor at Archie's feet, and then the dog wagged his tail.

"He's asking you to forgive him," said Elsie.

"And I will," promised Archie. "But don't do it again!" he added, shaking his finger at Nip.

"Bow wow!" barked the dog, and perhaps that meant he would not.

"Oh, I'm so glad to have my Elephant back!" said Archie, as he began playing with his toy.

"And I'm glad to be back," thought the Elephant. "That Judge business was a great trial!"

Through the spring and into the summer Archie had fun with his Christmas Elephant. Then one day something very exciting happened. Archie was playing out in the back yard, near a little brook, with his Elephant, when along the front road came a hand-organ man and a monkey. Archie and his sister ran to hear the music and see the monkey, and Archie left his Elephant in the grass.

Soon after this it began to rain very hard and the children hurried into the house. Going up the steps Archie fell and bumped his head, making his nose bleed, and there was so much excitement for a time that the Elephant was forgotten. He was left out in the storm, and the rain came down harder and harder, making little puddles and tiny brooks in the yard; brooks that flowed into the large one.

"Oh, this is dreadful!" thought the poor Elephant, as the rain pelted down on him. "Of course if I was real I wouldn't mind the rain, for real Elephants like water. But I'm getting soaking wet! It's beginning to come through my stuffing. I'm feeling like a sponge!

"Oh, why doesn't Archie come and get me, or at least give me an umbrella! I think I'll try to walk under a toadstool to keep out of the wet. If I can only find one large enough."

As no one was watching him, the Elephant had a chance to move about and make believe come to life. But he had waited too long. The rain had soaked into his cotton stuffing making him so heavy that now he could not move.

"Oh, what is going to happen?" he thought.

He tried to lift first one leg, then another, but it was hard work. The water was beginning to rise about him. His feet were in mud puddles. He struggled hard to pull them out, and then, all at once, he lurched to one side, and fell over flat -- right into a pool of water!



Chapter X

A Voyage Home


Down pelted more and more rain, harder and harder, until the back yard, where Archie had been playing with the Stuffed Elephant, was almost a little lake of water. The puddle rose higher and higher around the Stuffed Elephant as he lay on his side, unable to move because he was so soaked with water -- like a sponge.

Inside the house where Archie lived there was trouble, because the little boy was hurt worse in his fall than was at first supposed. They had to send for the doctor, and of course no one thought of the poor Elephant.

"I'm glad I'm not out in this rain with my Doll," said Elsie, as she sat at the window after the doctor had gone.

"Yes, it is a regular flood," said Mother, sadly thinking of her little boy.

And still no one thought of the Elephant out in all the storm.

If Elsie remembered anything at all, she probably thought that Archie had brought his Elephant into the house. As for Archie, the doctor had given him something to make him sleep, and the little boy was too ill even to dream of his Christmas toy.

As for the Elephant; well, he was in a sad state! The wet cotton stuffing inside him was cold and clammy. His trunk was like a wet piece of paper, and he feared his wooden tusks would come out, if the glue that held them in got too much soaked.

"Oh, dear! What am I to do?" thought the poor toy.

Now it happened that Jeff, the colored boy who had once taken the China Cat from Mr. Mugg's store after a fire, lived not far from Archie's home. Jeff and his folks had moved to the country from the city. And about this time Jeff's mother sent him to the store.

"Has Ah done gotta go in all dis rain?" asked the little colored boy.

"Yo' suah has, Honey!" replied his mother. "Yo' isn't salt or sugah, an' yo' won't melt. Put on yo' ole coat an' go to de sto'!"

So Jeff went. He took a "short cut" which led across the Dunn's back yard, and Jeff passed the place where the poor Elephant lay in a puddle of water.

"Oh, golly!" cried Jeff, his white teeth glistening against his funny black face as he laughed. "Ah'd done gone an' found annuder playtoy! Only dis one Ah done found in de rain, but de udder one was in a fiah! Ah knows whut Ah's gwine to do. I'll put dis Leffelant on a board till Ah comes back from de sto'. Den Ah'll take him home wif me!"

Jeff looked around until he found a flat board, large enough to hold the elephant. Putting the toy on this board, Jeff laid it to one side, and ran on to the store. He did not want to take the Elephant with him for fear some one would see it and ask him about it.

But Jeff was not to have that Elephant. While the colored boy was at the store the rain came down harder than ever, making so much water that the little brook in Archie's back yard rose higher and higher.

So high did the brook rise that the water reached the board on which the limp and soaking Elephant was lying on his side. And then the water lifted up the board, Elephant and all, and floated them down stream.

"Oh, my!" thought the poor Stuffed Elephant. "This is the last of me! I am going on a long voyage! I shall never see Archie again!"

Down the stream he floated on the board which was like a boat. Once a fish poked his head out of the water and called:

"Who are you and where are you going?"

Before the Elephant could answer the swift current had carried him farther downstream and away from the fish.

Once the board with the Elephant on it bumped against a big Water Rat.

"Be careful who you're bumping!" snarled the Rat.

"Excuse me," replied the Elephant. "I didn't mean to."

The Rat tried to bite the Elephant's trunk, but again the swift current carried the boat downstream.

Finally the rain stopped, after a day or so, but by that time the Elephant had been carried a long way down the brook, at last coming to a stop when the board was caught in the roots of an overhanging tree. By now the Elephant was almost glued fast to the board, so wet and soaking was he.

The rain stopped, the brook went down, the sun came out, and the Elephant dried. But he still lay on the board, on the bank of the stream, under the roots of the tree.

A man, who happened to be passing, saw the Elephant, picked him off the board, and, seeing that he was an expensive toy, took the plaything to his home.

"What a fine Elephant!" said the man's wife. "I'll put him on the mantel, over the stove, so he'll dry out more. Some child lost this. We haven't any children small enough to want to keep it. I wish I could find out who owned this Elephant."

"I wish so, myself," thought the Elephant. "Oh, shall I ever get back to Archie?"

It was a day or so after the big storm that Archie was able to be up and around, and the first thing he thought of, when he could go outdoors, was his Elephant.

"Oh, where is he?" cried the little boy. "I 'member I left him in the yard when we heard the hand-organ music and ran to see the monkey. And then it rained and I fell down and bumped my nose. Oh, where is my Elephant?"

"If you left him out here in the yard I fear the Elephant has floated away," said Mrs. Dunn. "The brook rose very high -- almost up to our back steps -- and it probably carried your Elephant away."

"Oh, shall I ever get him back?" cried Archie, feeling sad.

"I'm afraid not," his mother answered.

Archie felt so bad about his toy that his father put an advertisement in the paper, asking whoever found the Elephant to please bring him back and get a reward.

If Jeff, the colored boy, had been able to read, he might have seen the advertisement and have told what he did with the toy.

But Jeff never read the papers. And, besides, it rained so hard when the colored boy went back from the store, after putting the Elephant on the board, that Jeff had to go home another way, and he forgot all about the stuffed plaything he had set aside.

But the man who had taken the Elephant home read the paper, and he saw the advertisement Mr. Dunn put in.

"There!" called the man to his wife. "Now I know where that Elephant belongs. I'll take him back to the little boy."

"Well, he's good and dry," said his wife. "I mean the Elephant is good and dry. He's almost as good as new." And, in fact, the Elephant was, for she had brushed off all the mud, and the heat had dried out the water.

Carrying the Stuffed Elephant, the man who had found the toy took it to Archie's house.

"Oh, here he is! My Christmas Elephant! He's come back to me! Oh, how glad I am!" cried Archie, as he clasped the cotton creature in his arms. "Oh, how glad I am!"

"And I'm glad, too!" thought the Elephant. "I feared I would never see Archie and Elsie again! And I'm even glad to see Nip!" for the dog came to the door, wagging his tail.

And so, after several adventures, the Stuffed Elephant was back home again, but many more things happened to him, though I have no room for them in this book. The Elephant even acted again as Judge in the dispute of the Rake, the Shovel and the Pick, but who won the prize I cannot tell. I think each should have had a prize. Don't you?

Once again there was happiness in the Dunn house, for the lost Elephant was back, and Elsie gave her brother a pink ribbon to tie on his toy's neck.

"It may look pretty, but it tickles me," thought the Elephant, as Archie pulled him about.

<eob>

Alice's Adventures In Wonderland: Retold In Words Of One Syllable

By

Mrs. J.C. Gorham



Chapter I.

Down The Rab-Bit Hole.


Al-ice had sat on the bank by her sis-ter till she was tired. Once or twice she had looked at the book her sis-ter held in her hand, but there were no pict-ures in it, "and what is the use of a book," thought Alice, "with-out pict-ures?" She asked her-self as well as she could, for the hot day made her feel quite dull, if it would be worth while to get up and pick some dai-sies to make a chain. Just then a white rab-bit with pink eyes ran close by her.

That was not such a strange thing, nor did Alice think it so much out of the way to hear the Rab-bit say, "Oh dear! Oh, dear! I shall be late!" But when the Rab-bit took a watch out of its pock-et, and looked at it and then ran on, Al-ice start-ed to her feet, for she knew that was the first time she had seen a Rab-bit with a watch. She jumped up and ran to get a look at it, and was just in time to see it pop down a large rab-bit hole near the hedge.

As fast as she could go, Al-ice went down the hole af-ter it, and did not once stop to think how in the world she was to get out.

The hole went straight on for some way and then turned down with a sharp bend, so sharp that Al-ice had no time to think to stop till she found her-self fall-ing in what seemed a deep well.

She must not have moved fast, or the well must have been quite deep, for it took her a long time to go down, and as she went she had time to look at the strange things she passed. First she tried to look down and make out what was there, but it was too dark to see; then she looked at the sides of the well and saw that they were piled with book-shelves; here and there she saw maps hung on pegs. She took down a jar from one of the shelves as she passed. On it was the word Jam, but there was no jam in it, so she put it back on one of the shelves as she fell past it.

"Well," thought Al-ice to her-self, "af-ter such a fall as this, I shall not mind a fall down stairs at all. How brave they'll all think me at home! Why, I wouldn't say a thing if I fell off the top of the house." (Which I dare say was quite true.)

Down, down, down. Would the fall nev-er come to an end? "I should like to know," she said, "how far I have come by this time. Wouldn't it be strange if I should fall right through the earth and come out where the folks walk with their feet up and their heads down?"

Down, down, down. "Di-nah will miss me to-night," Al-ice went on. (Di-nah was the cat.) "I hope they'll think to give her her milk at tea-time. Di-nah, my dear! I wish you were down here with me! There are no mice in the air, but you might catch a bat, and that's much like a mouse, you know. But do cats eat bats?" And here Al-ice must have gone to sleep, for she dreamed that she walked hand in hand with Di-nah, and just as she asked her, "Now, Di-nah, tell me the truth, do you eat bats?" all at once, thump! thump! down she came on a heap of sticks and dry leaves, and the long fall was o-ver.

Al-ice was not a bit hurt, but at once jumped to her feet. She looked up, but all was dark there. At the end of a long hall in front of her the white rab-bit was still in sight. There was no time to be lost, so off Al-ice went like the wind, and was just in time to hear it say, "Oh, my ears, how late it is!" then it was out of sight. She found she was in a long hall with a low roof, from which hung a row of light-ed lamps.

There were doors on all sides, but when Al-ice had been all round and tried each one, she found they were all locked. She walked back and forth and tried to think how she was to get out. At last she came to a stand made all of glass. On it was a ti-ny key of gold, and Al-ice's first thought was that this might be a key to one of the doors of the hall, but when she had tried the key in each lock, she found the locks were too large or the key was too small -- it did not fit one of them. But when she went round the hall once more she came to a low cur-tain which she had not seen at first, and when she drew this back she found a small door, not much more than a foot high; she tried the key in the lock, and to her great joy it fit-ted!

Al-ice found that the door led to a hall the size of a rat hole; she knelt down and looked through it in-to a gar-den of gay flow-ers. How she longed to get out of that dark hall and near those bright blooms; but she could not so much as get her head through the door; "and if my head would go through," thought Al-ice, "it would be of no use, for the rest of me would still be too large to go through. Oh, how I wish I could shut up small! I think I could if I knew how to start."

There seemed to be no use to wait by the small door, so she went back to the stand with the hope that she might find a key to one of the large doors, or may-be a book of rules that would teach her to grow small. This time she found a small bot-tle on it ("which I am sure was not here just now," said Al-ice), and tied round the neck of the bot-tle was a tag with the words "Drink me" printed on it.

It was all right to say "Drink me," but Al-ice was too wise to do that in haste: "No, I'll look first," she said, "and see if it's marked 'poi-son' or not," for she had been taught if you drink much from a bot-tle marked 'poi-son,' it is sure to make you sick. This had no such mark on it, so she dared to taste it, and as she found it nice (it had, in fact, a taste of pie, ice-cream, roast fowl, and hot toast), she soon drank it off.

"How strange I feel," said Al-ice. "I am sure I am not so large as I was!"

And so it was; she was now not quite a foot high, and her face light-ed up at the thought that she was now the right size to go through the small door and get out to that love-ly gar-den.

Poor Al-ice! When she reached the door she found that she had left the key on the stand, and when she went back for it, she found she could by no means reach it. She could see it through the glass, and she tried her best to climb one of the legs of the stand, but it was too sleek, and when she was quite tired out, she sat down and cried.

"Come, there's no use to cry like that!" Al-ice said to her-self as stern as she could speak. "I tell you to leave off at once!"

Soon her eyes fell on a small glass box that lay on the floor. She looked in it and found a tiny cake on which were the words "Eat me," marked in grapes. "Well, I'll eat it," said Al-ice, "and if it makes me grow tall, I can reach the key, and if it makes me shrink up, I can creep un-der the door; so I'll get out some way."

So she set to work and soon ate all the cake.


Chapter II.

The Pool Of Tears.


"How strange! Oh my!" said Al-ice, "how tall I am, and all at once, too! Good-by, feet." (For when she looked down at her feet they seemed so far off, she thought they would soon be out of sight.) "Oh, my poor feet, who will put on your shoes for you now, dears? I'm sure I shan't do it. I shall be a great deal too far off to take care of you; you must get on the best way you can; but I must be kind to them," thought Al-ice, "or they won't walk the way I want to go! Let me see: I'll give them a pair of new shoes each, Christ-mas."

She stopped to think how she would send them. "They must go by the mail," she thought; "and how fun-ny it'll seem to send shoes to one's own feet. How odd the ad-dress will look!

AL-ICE'S RIGHT FOOT, ESQ., Hearth-rug, Near the Fire. (With Al-ice's love.)

Oh dear, there's no sense in all that."

Just then her head struck the roof of the hall; in fact she was now more than nine feet high, and she at once took up the small key and went back to the door.

Poor Al-ice! It was as much as she could do, when she lay down on one side, to look through to the gar-den with one eye: but to get through was not to be hoped for, so she sat down and had a good cry.

"Shame on you," said Al-ice, "a great big girl like you" (she might well say this) "to cry in this way! Stop at once, I tell you!" But she went on all the same, and shed tears till there was a large pool all round her, and which reached half way down the hall.

At last she heard the sound of feet not far off, then she dried her eyes in great haste to see who it was. It was the White Rab-bit that had come back, dressed in fine clothes, with a pair of white kid gloves in one hand, and a large fan in the oth-er. He trot-ted on in great haste, and talked to him-self as he came, "Oh! the Duch-ess, the Duch-ess! Oh! won't she be in a fine rage if I've made her wait?"

Al-ice felt so bad and so in need of help from some one, that when the Rab-bit came near, she said in a low tim-id voice, "If you please, sir -- " The Rab-bit started as if shot, dropped the white kid gloves and the fan and ran off in-to the dark as fast as his two hind feet could take him.

Al-ice took up the fan and gloves and as the hall was quite hot, she fanned her-self all the time she went on talk-ing. "Dear, dear! How queer all things are to-day! Could I have been changed in the night? Let me think: was I the same when I got up to-day? Seems to me I didn't feel quite the same. But if I'm not the same, then who in the world am I?" Then she thought of all the girls she knew that were of her age, to see if she could have been changed for one of them.

"I'm sure I'm not A-da," she said, "for her hair is in such long curls and mine doesn't curl at all; and I'm sure I can't be Ma-bel, for I know all sorts of things, and she, oh! she knows such a lit-tle! Then, she's she, and I'm I, and -- oh dear, how strange it all is! I'll try if I know all the things I used to know. Let me see: four times five is twelve, and four times six is thir-teen, and four times sev-en is -- oh dear! that is not right. I must have been changed for Ma-bel! I'll try if I know 'How doth the lit-tle -- '" and she placed her hands on her lap, as if she were at school and tried to say it, but her voice was hoarse and strange and the words did not come the same as they used to do.

"I'm sure those are not the right words," said poor Al-ice, and her eyes filled with tears as she went on, "I must be Ma-bel af-ter all, and I shall have to go and live in that po-ky house and have next to no toys to play with, and oh! such hard things to learn. No, I've made up my mind; if I'm Ma-bel, I'll stay down here! It'll be no use for them to put their heads down and say, 'Come up, dear!' I shall look up and say, 'Who am I, then? Tell me that first, and then if I like it, I'll come up; if not, I'll stay down here till I'm some one else' -- but, oh dear," cried Al-ice with a fresh burst of tears, "I do wish they would put their heads down! I am so tired of this place!"

As she said this she looked down at her hands and saw that she had put on one of the Rab-bit's white kid gloves while she was talk-ing. "How can I have done that?" she thought. "I must have grown small once more." She got up and went to the glass stand to test her height by that, and found that as well as she could guess she was now not more than two feet high, and still shrink-ing quite fast. She soon found out that the cause of this, was the fan she held and she dropped it at once, or she might have shrunk to the size of a gnat.

Al-ice was, at first, in a sad fright at the quick change, but glad that it was no worse. "Now for the gar-den," and she ran with all her speed back to the small door; but, oh dear! the door was shut, and the key lay on the glass stand, "and things are worse than ev-er," thought the poor child, "for I nev-er was so small as this, nev-er! It's too bad, that it is!"

As she said these words her foot slipped, and splash! she was up to her chin in salt wa-ter. At first she thought she must be in the sea, but she soon made out that she was in the pool of tears which she had wept when she was nine feet high.

"I wish I hadn't cried so much!" said Al-ice as she swam round and tried to find her way out. "I shall now be drowned in my own tears. That will be a queer thing, to be sure! But all things are queer to-day."

Just then she heard a splash in the pool a lit-tle way off, and she swam near to make out what it was; at first she thought it must be a whale, but when she thought how small she was now, she soon made out that it was a mouse that had slipped in the pond.

"Would it be of an-y use now to speak to this mouse? All things are so out-of-way down here, I should think may-be it can talk, at least there's no harm to try." So she said: "O Mouse, do you know the way out of this pool? I have swum here till I'm quite tired, O Mouse!" The Mouse looked at her and seemed to her to wink with one of its small eyes, but it did not speak.

"It may be a French Mouse," thought Al-ice, so she said: "Ou est ma chatte?" (Where is my cat?) which was all the French she could think of just then. The Mouse gave a quick leap out of the wa-ter, and seemed in a great fright, "Oh, I beg your par-don," cried Al-ice. "I quite for-got you didn't like cats."

"Not like cats!" cried the Mouse in a shrill, harsh voice. "Would you like cats if you were me?"

"Well, I guess not," said Al-ice, "but please don't get mad. And yet I wish I could show you our cat, Di-nah. I'm sure you'd like cats if you could see her. She is such a dear thing," Al-ice went on half to her-self as she swam round in the pool, "and she sits and purrs by the fire and licks her paws and wash-es her face -- and she is such a nice soft thing to nurse -- and she's a fine one to catch mice -- Oh, dear!" cried Al-ice, for this time the Mouse was in a great fright and each hair stood on end. "We won't talk of her if you don't like it."

"We talk!" cried the Mouse, who shook down to the end of his tail. "As if I would talk of such low, mean things as cats! All rats hate them. Don't let me hear the name a-gain!"

"I won't," said Al-ice, in great haste to change the theme. "Are you fond -- of -- of dogs?" The mouse did not speak, so Al-ice went on: "There is such a nice dog near our house, I should like to show you! A ti-ny bright-eyed dog, you know, with oh! such long cur-ly brown hair! And it'll fetch things when you throw them, and it'll sit up and beg for its meat and do all sorts of things -- I can't tell you half of them. And it kills all the rats, and m -- oh dear!" cried Al-ice in a sad tone, "I've made it mad a-gain!" For the Mouse swam off from her as fast as it could go, and made quite a stir in the pool as it went.

So she called it in a soft, kind voice, "Mouse dear! Do come back and we won't talk of cats or dogs if you don't like them!" When the Mouse heard this it turned round and swam back to her; its face was quite pale (with rage, Al-ice thought), and it said in a low, weak voice, "Let us get to the shore, and then I'll tell you why it is I hate cats and dogs."

It was high time to go, for the pool was by this time quite crowded with the birds and beasts that had slipped in-to it. Al-ice led the way and they all swam to the shore.


Chapter III.

A Race.


They were a queer look-ing crowd as they stood or sat on the bank -- the wings and tails of the birds drooped to the earth; the fur of the beasts clung close to them, and all were as wet and cross as could be.

The first thought, of course, was how to get dry. They had a long talk a-bout this, and Al-ice joined with, them as if she had known them all her life. But it was hard to tell what was best.

"What I want to say," at last spoke up the Do-do, "is that the best thing to get us dry would be a race."

"What kind of race?" asked Al-ice, not that she much want-ed to know, but the Do-do had paused as if it thought that some one ought to speak, and no one else would say a word. "Why," said the Do-do, "the best way to make it plain is to do it." (And as you might like to try the thing some cold day, I'll tell you how the Do-do did it.)

First it marked out a race-course in a sort of ring (it didn't care much for the shape), and then all the crowd were placed on the course, here and there. There was no "One, two, three, and here we go," but they ran when they liked and left off when they liked, so that no one could tell when the race was ended. When they had been running half an hour or so and were all quite dry, the Do-do called out, "The race is o-ver!" and they all crow-ded round it and and asked, "But who has won?"

This the Do-do could not, at first, tell, but sat for a long time with one claw pressed to its head while the rest wait-ed, but did not speak. At last the Do-do said, "All have won and each must have a prize."

"But who is to give them?" all asked at once.

"Why, she of course," said the Do-do, as it point-ed to Al-ice with one long claw; and the whole par-ty at once crowd-ed round her as they called out, "A prize, a prize!"

Al-ice did not know what to do, but she pulled from her pock-et a box of lit-tle cakes (by a strange, good luck they did not get wet while she was in the pool) and hand-ed them round as priz-es. There was one a-piece all round.

"But she must have a prize, you know," said the Mouse.

"Of course," the Do-do said. "What else have you got?" he went on as he turned to Al-ice.

"A thim-ble," said Al-ice looking quite sad.

"Hand it here," said the Do-do.

Then they all crowd-ed round her once more, while the Do-do hand-ed the thim-ble back to Al-ice and said, "We beg that you accept this fine thim-ble;" and when it had made this short speech they all cheered.

Al-ice thought the whole thing quite fool-ish, but they all looked so grave that she did not dare to laugh, and as she could not think what to say she bowed and took the thim-ble, while she looked as staid as she could.

The next thing was to eat the cakes: this caused some noise, as the large birds said they could not taste theirs, and the small ones choked and had to be pat-ted on the back. It was o-ver at last and they sat down in a ring and begged the Mouse to tell them a tale.

"You said you would tell us why you hate cats and dogs," said Al-ice.

"Mine is a long and a sad tale," said the Mouse, as it turned to Al-ice with a sigh.

"It is a long tail, I'm sure," said Al-ice, look-ing down at the Mouse's tail; "but why do you call it sad?"

"I shall not tell you," said the Mouse, as it got up and walked off.

"Please come back and tell us your tale," called Al-ice; and all joined in, "Yes, please do!" but the Mouse shook its head and walked on and was soon out of sight.

"I wish I had our Di-nah here, I know I do!" said Al-ice. "She'd soon fetch it back."

"And who is Di-nah, if I may dare to ask such a thing?" said one of the birds.

Al-ice was glad to talk of her pet. "Di-nah's our cat; and she's such a fine one to catch mice, you can't think. And oh, I wish you could see her chase a bird! Why she'll eat a bird as soon as look at it!"

This speech caused a great stir in the par-ty. Some of the birds rushed off at once; one old jay wrapped it-self up with care and said, "I must get home; the night air doesn't suit my throat!" and a wren called out to her brood, "come, my dears! It's high time you were all in bed."

Soon they all moved off and Al-ice was left a-lone.

"I wish I hadn't told them of Di-nah," she said to her-self. "No one seems to like her down here, and I'm sure she's the best cat in the world! Oh, my dear Di-nah! Shall I ev-er see you an-y more?" And here poor Al-ice burst in-to tears, for she felt ver-y sad and lone-ly. In a short time she heard the pat-ter of feet, and she looked up with the hope that the Mouse had changed its mind and come back to tell his "long and sad tale."


Chapter IV.

The Rab-Bit Sends In A Bill.


It was the White Rab-bit who trot-ted back a-gain. It looked from side to side as it went as if it had lost some-thing; and Al-ice heard it say to it-self, "The Duch-ess! The Duch-ess! Oh, my dear paws! She'll get my head cut off as sure as rats are rats! Where can I have lost them!" Al-ice guessed at once that he was in search of the fan and the pair of white kid gloves, and like the good girl that she was, she set out to hunt for them, but they were not to be found. All things seemed to have changed since her swim in the pool; the great hall with the glass stand and the lit-tle door -- all were gone. Soon the Rab-bit saw Al-ice and called out to her, "Why, Ann, what are you out here for? Run home at once, and fetch me a pair of gloves and a fan! Quick, now!" And Al-ice was in such a fright that she ran off and did not wait to tell it who she was.

"He took me for his house-maid," she said to her-self as she ran. "What will he think when he finds out who I am! But I must take him his fan and gloves -- that is if I can find them."

As she said this she came to a small neat house on the door of which was a bright brass plate with the name W. Rab-bit on it. She ran up-stairs in great fear lest she should meet Ann and be turned out of the house be-fore she had found the fan and gloves.

"How queer it seems that I should do things for a Rab-bit! I guess Di-nah'll send me to wait on her next!"

By this time she had made her way to a ti-dy room with a ta-ble near the wall, and on it, as she had hoped, a fan and two or three pairs of small white kid gloves. She took up the fan and a pair of gloves, and turned to leave the room, when her eye fell up-on a small bot-tle that stood near. There was no tag this time with the words "Drink me," but Al-ice put it to her lips. "I know I am sure to change in some way, if I eat or drink any-thing; so I'll just see what this does. I do hope it'll make me grow large a-gain, for I'm quite tired of this size," Al-ice said to her-self.

It did as she had wished, for in a short time her head pressed the roof so hard she couldn't stand up straight. She put the bot-tle down in haste and said, "That's as much as I need -- I hope I shan't grow an-y more -- as it is, I can't get out at the door -- I do wish I hadn't drunk so much!"

But it was too late to wish that! She grew and grew, till she had to kneel down on the floor; next there was not room for this and she had to lie down. Still she grew and grew and grew till she had to put one arm out the window and one foot up the chim-ney and said to her-self, "Now I can do no more, let come what may." There seemed no sort of chance that she could ev-er get out of the room.

"I wish I was at home," thought poor Al-ice, "where I wouldn't change so much, and where I didn't have to do things for mice and rab-bits. I wish I hadn't gone down that rab-bit hole -- and yet -- and yet -- it's queer, you know, this sort of life! When I used to read fair-y tales, I thought they were just made up by some one, and now here I am in one my-self. When I grow up I'll write a book a-bout these strange things -- but I'm grown up now," she added in a sad tone, "at least there's no room to grow an-y more here."

She heard a voice out-side and stopped to list-en.

"Ann! Ann!" said the voice, "fetch me my gloves, quick!" Then came the sound of feet on the stairs. Al-ice knew it was the Rab-bit and that it had come to look for her. She quaked with fear till she shook the house. Poor thing! She didn't think that she was now more than ten times as large as the Rab-bit, and that she had no cause to be a-fraid of it.

Soon the Rab-bit came to the door and tried to come in, but Al-ice's arm pressed it so hard the door would not move. Al-ice heard it say, "Then I'll go round and get in at the win-dow."

"That you won't!" thought Al-ice; then she wait-ed till she heard the Rab-bit quite near the win-dow, then spread out her hand and made a snatch in the air. She did not get hold of it, but she heard a shriek and a fall.

Next came an an-gry voice -- the Rab-bit's -- "Pat! Pat! Where are you?" And then a voice which was new to her, "Sure then, I'm here! Dig-ging for apples, yer hon-or!"

"Dig-ging for ap-ples, in-deed!" said the Rab-bit. "Here! Come and help me out of this! Now, tell me, Pat, what's that in the win-dow?"

"Sure it's an arm, yer hon-or"

"An arm, you goose! Who-ever saw one that size? Why, it fills the whole win-dow!"

"Sure it does, yer hon-or; but it's an arm for all that."

"Well, it has no right there; go and take it out!"

For a long time they seemed to stand still, but now and then Al-ice could hear a few words in a low voice, such as, "Sure I don't like it, yer hon-or, at all, at all!"

"Do as I tell you, you cow-ard!" and at last she spread out her hand and made a snatch in the air. This time there were two lit-tle shrieks.

"I should like to know what they'll do next! As to their threats to pull me out, I on-ly wish they could. I'm sure I don't want to stay in here."

She wait-ed for some time, but all was still; at last came the noise of small cart wheels and the sound of voi-ces, from which she made out the words, "Where's the oth-er lad-der? Why, I hadn't to bring but one; Bill's got the oth-er. Bill, fetch it here, lad! Here, put 'em up at this place. No, tie 'em first -- they don't reach half as high as they should yet -- oh, they'll do. Here, Bill! catch hold of this rope -- Will the roof bear? Mind that loose slate -- oh, here it comes! Look out. (A loud crash.) -- Now who did that? It was Bill, I guess -- Who's to go down the chim-ney? Nay, I shan't! You do it! -- That I won't then! -- Bill's got to go down -- Here, Bill, you've got to go down the chim-ney!"

"Oh, so Bill's got to come down, has he?" said Al-ice to her-self. "Why, they seem to put all the work on Bill. I wouldn't be in Bill's place for a good deal; this fire-place is small, to be sure, but I think I can kick some."

She drew her foot as far down as she could, and wait-ed till she heard a small beast (she couldn't guess of what sort it was) come scratch! scratch! down the chim-ney quite close to her; then she said to her-self: "This is Bill," gave one sharp kick and wait-ed to see what would hap-pen next.

The first thing she heard was, "There goes Bill!" then the Rab-bit's voice, "Catch him, you by the hedge!" Then all was still, then the voices -- "Hold up his head -- Wine now -- Don't choke him -- How was it, old fel-low? What sent you up so fast? Tell us all a-bout it!"

Last came a weak voice ("That's Bill," thought Al-ice), "Well, I don't know -- no more, thank'ye, I'm not so weak now -- but I'm a deal too shocked to tell you -- all I know is, a thing comes at me like a Jack-in-the-box, and up I goes like a rocket."

"So you did, old fel-low," said the oth-ers.

"We must burn the house down," said the Rab-bit's voice, and Al-ice called out as loud as she could, "If you do, I'll set Di-nah at you!"

At once all was still as death, and Al-ice thought, "What will they do next? If they had an-y sense, they'd take the roof off."

Then she heard the Rab-bit say, "One load will do to start with."

"A load of what?" thought Al-ice, but she had not long to doubt, for soon a show-er of small stones came in at the win-dow, and some of them hit her in the face. "I'll put a stop to this," she said to her-self, and shout-ed out, "You stop that, at once!" A-gain all was still as death.

Al-ice saw that the stones all changed to small cakes as they lay on the floor, and a bright thought came to her. "If I eat one of these cakes," she said, "it is sure to make some change in my size; and as it can't make me larg-er, I hope it will change me to the size I used to be."

So she ate one of the cakes and was glad to see that she shrank quite fast. She was soon so small that she could get through the door, so she ran out of the house and found quite a crowd of beasts and birds in the yard. The poor liz-ard, Bill, was in the midst of the group, held up by two guin-ea pigs, who gave it some-thing to drink out of a bot-tle. They all made a rush at Al-ice, as soon as she came out, but she ran off as hard as she could, and was soon safe in a thick wood.

"The first thing I've got to do," said Al-ice to her-self, as she walked round in the wood, "is to grow to my right size again; and the next thing is to find my way to that love-ly gar-den. I think that will be the best plan."

It was a fine scheme, no doubt, and well planned, but the hard thing was that she did not in the least know how she should start to work it out; and while she peered round through the trees, a sharp bark just o-ver her head made her look up in great haste.

A great pup-py looked down at her with large round eyes, stretched out one paw and tried to touch her. "Poor thing!" said Al-ice in a kind tone and tried hard to show it that she wished to be its friend, but she was in a sore fright, lest it should eat her up.

Al-ice could not think what to do next, so she picked up a bit of stick and held it out to the pup-py. It jumped from the tree with a yelp of joy as if to play with it; then Al-ice dodged round a large plant that stood near, but the pup-py soon found her and made a rush at the stick a-gain, but tum-bled head o-ver heels in its haste to get hold of it. Al-ice felt that it was quite like a game with a cart horse, and looked at each turn to be crushed 'neath its great feet. At last, to her joy, it seemed to grow tired of the sport and ran a good way off and sat down with its tongue out of its mouth and its big eyes half shut.

This seemed to Al-ice a good time to get out of its sight, so she set out at once and ran till she was quite tired and out of breath, and till the pup-py's bark sound-ed quite faint.

"And yet what a dear pup-py it was," said Al-ice, as she stopped to rest and fanned her-self with a leaf: "I should have liked so much to teach it tricks, if -- if I'd been the right size to do it! Oh dear! I've got to grow up a-gain! Let me see -- how am I to do it? I guess I ought to eat or drink some-thing, but I don't know what!"

Al-ice looked all round her at the blades of grass, the blooms, the leaves, but could not see a thing that looked like the right thing to eat or drink to make her grow.

There was a large mush-room near her, a-bout the same height as she was, and when she had looked all round it, she thought she might as well look and see what was on the top of it. She stretched up as tall as she could, and her eyes met those of a large blue cat-er-pil-lar that sat on the top with its arms fold-ed, smok-ing a queer pipe with a long stem that bent and curved round it like a hoop.


Chapter V.

A Cat-Er-Pil-Lar Tells Alice What To Do.


The Cat-er-pil-lar looked at Al-ice, and she stared at it, but did not speak. At last, it took the pipe from its mouth and said, "Who are you?" Al-ice said, "I'm not sure, sir, who I am just now -- I know who I was when I left home, but I think I have been changed two or three times since then."

"What do you mean by that?" asked the Cat-er-pil-lar.

"I fear I can't tell you, for I'm sure I don't know, my-self; but to change so man-y times all in one day, makes one's head swim."

"It doesn't," said the Cat-er-pil-lar.

"Well, may-be you haven't found it so yet," said Al-ice, "but when you have to change -- you will some day, you know -- I should think you'd feel it queer, won't you?"

"Not a bit," said the Cat-er-pil-lar.

"Well, you may not feel as I do," said Al-ice; "all I know is, it feels queer to me to change so much."

"You!" said the Cat-er-pil-lar with its nose in the air. "Who are you?"

Which brought them back to the point from which they start-ed. Al-ice was not pleased at this, so she said in as stern a voice as she could, "I think you ought to tell me who you are first."

"Why?" said the Cat-er-pil-lar.

As Al-ice could not think what to say to this and as it did not seem to want to talk, she turned a-way.

"Come back!" said the Cat-er-pil-lar. "I have some-thing to say to you!"

Al-ice turned and came back.

"Keep your tem-per," said the Cat-er-pil-lar.

"Is that all?" asked Al-ice, while she hid her an-ger as well as she could.

"No," said the Cat-er-pil-lar.

Al-ice wait-ed what seemed to her a long time, while it sat and smoked but did not speak. At last, it took the pipe from its mouth, and said, "So you think you're changed, do you?"

"I fear I am, sir," said Al-ice, "I don't know things as I once did -- and I don't keep the same size, but a short while at a time."

"What things is it you don't know?"

"Well, I've tried to say the things I knew at school, but the words all came wrong."

"Let me hear you say, 'You are old, Fath-er Wil-liam,'" said the Cat-er-pil-lar.

Al-ice folded her hands, and be-gan: -- 

"'You are old, Fath-er Wil-liam,' the young man said, 'And your hair has be-come ver-y white, And yet you stand all the time on your head --  Do you think, at your age, it is right?'

"'In my youth,' Fath-er Wil-liam then said to his son, 'I feared it might in-jure the brain; But now that I know full well I have none, Why, I do it a-gain and a-gain.'

"'You are old,' said the youth, 'shall I tell you once more? And are now quite as large as a tun; Yet you turned a back som-er-set in at the door --  Pray, tell me now, how was that done?'

"'In my youth,' said the sage, as he shook his gray locks. I kept all my limbs ver-y sup-ple By the use of this oint-ment -- one shil-ling the box --  Al-low me to sell you a coup-le.'

"'You are old,' said the youth, and your jaws are too weak For an-y thing tough-er than su-et; Yet you ate up the goose, with the bones and the beak: Pray, how did you man-age to do it?'

"'In my youth,' said his fath-er, 'I took to the law And ar-gued each case with my wife; And the ver-y great strength, which it gave to my jaw, Has last-ed the rest of my life.'

"'You are old,' said the youth; 'one would hard-ly sup-pose That your eye was as stead-y as ev-er; Yet you bal-ance an eel on the end of your nose --  What makes you al-ways so clev-er?'

"'I have re-plied to three ques-tions, and that is e-nough,' Said the fath-er; 'don't give your-self airs! Do you think I can lis-ten all day to such stuff? Be off, or I'll kick you down-stairs!'"

"That is not said right," said the Cat-er-pil-lar.

"Not quite right, I fear," said Al-ice, "some of the words are changed."

"It is wrong from first to last," said the Cat-er-pil-lar; then did not speak for some time. At last it said, "What size do you want to be?"

"Oh, I don't care so much as to size, but one does'nt like to change so much, you know."

"I don't know," it said.

Al-ice was too much vexed to speak, for she had nev-er, in all her life, been talked to in that rude way.

"Do you like your size now?" asked the Cat-er-pil-lar.

"Well, I'm not quite so large as I would like to be," said Al-ice; "three inch-es is such a wretch-ed height to be."

"It is a good height, in-deed!" said the Cat-er-pil-lar, and reared it-self up straight as it spoke. (It was just three inch-es high.)

"But I'm not used to it!" plead-ed poor Al-ice. And she thought, "I wish the things wouldn't be so ea-sy to get mad!"

"You'll get used to it in time," the Cat-er-pil-lar said, and put the pipe to its mouth, and Al-ice wait-ed till it should choose to speak. At last it took the pipe from its mouth, yawned once or twice, then got down from its perch and crawled off in the grass. As it went it said, "One side will make you tall, and one side will make you small.

"One side of what?" thought Al-ice to her-self.

"Of the mush-room," said the Cat-er-pil-lar, just as if it had heard her speak; soon it was out of sight.

Al-ice stood and looked at the mush-room a long time and tried to make out which were the two sides of it; as it was round she found this a hard thing to do. At last she stretched her arms round it as far as they would go, and broke off a bit of the edge with each hand.

"And now which is which?" she said to her-self, and ate a small piece of the right-hand bit, to try what it would do. The next mo-ment she felt her chin strike her foot with a hard blow.

She was in a sore fright at this quick change, but she felt that there was no time to be lost as she was shrink-ing so fast; so she set to work at once to eat some from the left hand bit.

*       *       *       *       *

"Come, my head's free at last!" said Al-ice, with great joy, which changed to fear when she found that her waist and hands were no-where to be seen. All she could see when she looked down was a vast length of neck, which seemed to rise like a stalk out of a sea of green leaves that lay far be-low her.

"What can all that green stuff be?" said Al-ice. "And where has my waist got to? And oh, my poor hands, how is it I can't see you?" She moved them as she spoke; the green leaves shook as if to let her know her hands were there, but she could not see them.

As there seemed to be no chance to get her hands up to her head, she tried to get her head down to them and was pleased to find that her neck would bend a-bout like a snake. Just as she had curved it down and meant to dive in the sea of green, which she found was the tops of the trees 'neath which she had been walk-ing, a sharp hiss made her draw back in haste. A large bird had flown in-to her face, and struck her with its wings.

"Snake! snake!" screamed the bird.

"I'm not a snake," said Al-ice. "Let me a-lone!"

"Snake, I say, Snake!" cried the bird, then add-ed with a kind of sob, "I've tried all ways, but I can-not suit them."

"I don't know what you mean," said Al-ice.

The bird seemed not to hear her, but went on, "I've tried the roots of trees, and I've tried banks, and I've tried a hedge; but those snakes! There's no way to please them. As if it were not hard work to hatch the eggs, but I must watch for snakes night and day! Why I haven't had a wink of sleep these three weeks!"

"It's too bad for you to be so much put out," said Al-ice, who be-gan to see what it meant.

"And just as I had built my nest in this high tree," the bird went on, rais-ing its voice to a shriek, "and just as I thought I should be free of them at last, they must needs fall down from the sky! Ugh! Snake!"

"But I'm not a snake, I tell you!" said Al-ice. "I'm a -- I'm a -- "

"Well! What are you?" said the bird. "I can see you will not tell me the truth!"

"I -- I'm a lit-tle girl," said Al-ice, though she was not sure what she was when she thought of all the chang-es she had gone through that day.

"I've seen girls in my time, but none with such a neck as that!" said the bird. "No! no! You're a snake; and there's no use to say you're not. I guess you'll say next that you don't eat eggs!"

"Of course I eat eggs," said Al-ice, "but girls eat eggs quite as much as snakes do, you know."

"I don't know," said the bird, "but if they do, why then they're a kind of snake, that's all I can say."

This was such a new thing to Al-ice that at first, she did not speak, which gave the bird a chance to add, "You want eggs now, I know that quite well."

"But I don't want eggs, and if I did I should-n't want yours. I don't like them raw."

"Well, be off, then!" said the bird as it sat down in its nest.

Al-ice crouched down through the trees as well as she could, for her neck would twist round the boughs, and now and then she had to stop to get it off. At last, she thought of the mush-room in her hands, and set to work with great care, to take a small bite first from the right hand, then from the left, till at length she brought her-self down to the right size.

It was so long since she had been this height, that it felt quite strange, at first, but she soon got used to it.

"Come, there's half my plan done now!" she said. "How strange all these things are! I'm not sure one hour, what I shall be the next! I'm glad I'm back to my right size: the next thing is, to get in-to that gar-den -- how is that to be done, I should like to know?" As she said this, she saw in front of her, a small house, not more than four feet high. "Who lives there?" thought Al-ice, "it'll not do at all to come up-on them this size: why I should scare them out of their wits!"

So she ate some of the right hand bit, a-gain and did not dare to go near the house till she had brought her-self down to nine inch-es high.


Chapter VI.

Pig And Pep-Per.


For a while Al-ice stood and looked at the house and tried to think what to do next, when a foot-man ran out of the wood (from the way he was dressed, she took him to be a foot-man; though if she had judged by his face she would have called him a fish) and knocked at the door with his fist. A foot-man with a round face and large eyes, came to the door. Al-ice want-ed to know what it all meant, so she crept a short way out of the wood to hear what they said.

The Fish-Foot-man took from un-der his arm a great let-ter and hand-ed it to the oth-er and said in a grave tone "For the Duch-ess; from the Queen." The Frog-Foot-man said in the same grave tone, "From the Queen, for the Duch-ess." Then they both bowed so low that their heads touched each oth-er.

All this made Al-ice laugh so much that she had to run back to the wood for fear they would hear her, and when she next peeped out the Fish-Foot-man was gone, and the oth-er sat on the ground near the door and stared up at the sky.

Al-ice went up to the door and knocked.

"There's no sort of use for you to knock," said the Foot-man, "I'm on the same side of the door that you are, and there is so much noise in the room that no one could hear you." There was, in-deed, a great noise in the house -- a howl-ing and sneez-ing, with now and then a great crash, as if a dish or a pot had been bro-ken to piec-es.

"Please, then," said Al-ice, "how am I to get in?"

"There might be some sense in your knock-ing," the Foot-man went on, "if we were not both on the same side of the door. If you were in the room, you might knock and I could let you out, you know." He looked up at the sky all the time he was speak-ing, which Al-ice thought was quite rude. "But per-haps he can't help it," she thought, "his eyes are so near the top of his head. Still he might tell me what I ask him -- How am I to get in?" she asked.

"I shall sit here," the Foot-man said, "till to-mor-row -- "

Just then the door of the house flew o-pen and a large plate skimmed out straight at his head; it just grazed his nose and broke on one of the trees near him. " -- or next day, may-be," he went on in the same tone as if he had not seen the plate.

"How am I to get in?" Al-ice asked as loud as she could speak.

"Are you to get in at all?" he said. "That's the first thing, you know."

It was, no doubt; but Al-ice didn't like to be told so.

The Foot-man seemed to think this a good time to say a-gain, "I shall sit here on and off, for days and days."

"But what am I to do?" said Al-ice.

"Do what you like," he said.

"Oh, there's no use to try to talk to him," said Al-ice; "he has no sense at all." And she o-pened the door and went in.

The door led right in-to a large room that was full of smoke from end to end: the Duch-ess sat on a stool and held a child in her arms; the cook stood near the fire and stirred a large pot which seemed to be full of soup.

"There's too much pep-per in that soup!" Al-ice said to her-self as well as she could for sneez-ing. There was too much of it in the air, for the Duch-ess sneezed now and then; and as for the child, it sneezed and howled all the time.

A large cat sat on the hearth grin-ning from ear to ear.

"Please, would you tell me," said Al-ice, not quite sure that it was right for her to speak first, "why your cat grins like that?"

"It's a Che-shire cat," said the Duch-ess, "and that's why. Pig!"

She said the last word so loud that Al-ice jumped; but she soon saw that the Duch-ess spoke to the child and not to her, so she went on:

"I didn't know that Che-shire cats grinned; in fact, I didn't know that cats could grin."

"They all can," said the Duch-ess; "and most of 'em do."

"I don't know of an-y that do," Al-ice said, quite pleased to have some one to talk with.

"You don't know much," said the Duch-ess; "and that's a fact."

Al-ice did not at all like the tone in which this was said, and thought it would be as well to speak of some-thing else. While she tried to think of what to say, the cook took the pot from the fire, and at once set to work throw-ing things at the Duch-ess and the child -- the tongs came first, then pots, pans, plates and cups flew thick and fast through the air. The Duch-ess did not seem to see them, e-ven when they hit her; and the child had howled so loud all the while, that one could not tell if the blows hurt it or not.

"Oh, please mind what you do!" cried Al-ice, as she jumped up and down in great fear, lest she should be struck.

"Hold your tongue," said the Duch-ess; then she be-gan a sort of song to the child, giv-ing it a hard shake at the end of each line.

At the end of the song she threw the child at Al-ice and said, "Here, you may nurse it a bit if you like; I must go and get read-y to play cro-quet with the Queen," and she left the room in great haste. The cook threw a pan after her as she went, but it just missed her.

Al-ice caught the child, which held out its arms and legs on all sides, "just like a star-fish," Al-ice thought. The poor thing snort-ed like a steam en-gine when she caught it, and turned a-bout so much, it was as much as she could do at first to hold it.

As soon as she found out the right way to nurse it, (which was to twist it up in a sort of knot, then keep tight hold of its right ear and left foot), she took it out in the fresh air. "If I don't take this child with me," thought Al-ice, "they're sure to kill it in a day or two; wouldn't it be wrong to leave it here?" She said the last words out loud, and the child grunt-ed (it had left off sneez-ing by this time). "Don't grunt," said Al-ice, "that is not at all the right way to do."

The child grunt-ed a-gain and Al-ice looked at its face to see what was wrong with it. There could be no doubt that it had a turn-up nose, much more like a snout than a child's nose. Its eyes were quite small too; in fact she did not like the look of the thing at all.

"Per-haps that was not a grunt, but a sob," and she looked to see if there were tears in its eyes.

No, there were no tears. "If you're go-ing to turn in-to a pig, my dear," said Al-ice, "I'll have no more to do with you. Mind now!" The poor thing sobbed once more (or grunted, Al-ice couldn't say which).

"Now, what am I to do with this thing when I get it home?" thought Al-ice. Just then it grunt-ed so loud that she looked down at its face with some fear. This time there could be no doubt a-bout it -- it was a pig!

So she set it down, and felt glad to see it trot off in-to the wood.

As she turned to walk on, she saw the Che-shire Cat on the bough of a tree a few yards off. The Cat grinned when it saw Al-ice. It looked like a good cat, she thought; still it had long claws and large teeth, so she felt she ought to be kind to it.

"Puss," said Al-ice, "would you please tell me which way I ought to walk from here?"

"That de-pends a good deal on where you want to go to," said the Cat.

"I don't much care where -- " said Al-ice.

"Then you need not care which way you walk," said the Cat.

" -- so long as I get somewhere," Al-ice add-ed.

"Oh, you're sure to do that if you don't stop," said the Cat.

Al-ice knew that this was true, so she asked: "What sort of peo-ple live near here?"

"In that way," said the Cat, with a wave of its right paw, "lives a Hat-ter; and in that way," with a wave of its left paw, "lives a March Hare. Go to see the one you like; they're both mad."

"But I don't want to go where mad folks live," said Al-ice.

"Oh, you can't help that," said the Cat, "we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad."

"How do you know I'm mad!" asked Al-ice.

"You must be," said the Cat, "or you wouldn't have come here."

Al-ice didn't think that proved it at all, but she went on; "and how do you know that you are mad?"

"First," said the Cat, "a dog's not mad. You grant that?"

"Yes."

"Well, then," the Cat went on, "you know a dog growls when it's angry, and wags its tail when it's pleased. Now I growl when I'm pleased, and wag my tail when I'm an-gry. So you see, I'm mad."

"I say the cat purrs; I do not call it a growl," said Al-ice.

"Call it what you like," said the Cat. "Do you play cro-quet with the Queen to-day?"

"I should like it, but I haven't been asked yet," said Al-ice.

"You'll see me there," said the Cat, then fa-ded out of sight.

Al-ice did not think this so queer as she was now used to strange things. While she still looked at the place where it had been, it came back a-gain, all at once.

"By-the-by, what be-came of the child?" it asked.

"It turned in-to a pig," Al-ice said.

"I thought it would," said the Cat, then once more fa-ded out of sight.

Al-ice wait-ed a while to see if it would come back, then walked on in the way in which the March Hare was said to live.

"I've seen Hat-ters," she said to her-self; "so I'll go to see the March Hare." As she said this, she looked up, and there sat the Cat on a branch of a tree.

"Did you say pig, or fig?" asked the Cat.

"I said pig; and I wish you wouldn't come and go, all at once, like you do; you make one quite gid-dy."

"All right," said the Cat; and this time it faded out in such a way that its tail went first, and the last thing Al-ice saw was the grin which stayed some time af-ter the rest of it had gone.

"Well, I've seen a cat with-out a grin," thought Al-ice; "but a grin with-out a cat! It's the strang-est thing I ev-er saw in all my life!"

She soon came in sight of the house of the March Hare; she thought it must be the right place, as the chim-neys were shaped like ears, and the roof was thatched with fur. It was so large a house, that she did not like to go too near while she was so small; so she ate a small piece from the left-hand bit of mush-room, and raised her-self to two feet high. Then she walked up to the house, though with some fear lest it should be mad as the Cat had said.


Chapter VII.

A Mad Tea-Party.


There was a ta-ble set out, in the shade of the trees in front of the house, and the March Hare and the Hat-ter were at tea; a Dor-mouse sat be-tween them, but it seemed to have gone to sleep.

The ta-ble was a long one, but the three were all crowd-ed at one cor-ner of it. "No room! No room!" they cried out as soon as they saw Al-ice. "There's plen-ty of room," she said, and sat down in a large arm-chair at one end of the table.

"Have some wine," the March Hare said in a kind tone.

Al-ice looked all round the ta-ble, but there was not a thing on it but tea. "I don't see the wine," she said.

"There isn't an-y," said the March Hare.

"Then it wasn't po-lite of you to ask me to have wine," said Al-ice.

"It wasn't po-lite of you to sit down when no one had asked you to have a seat," said the March Hare.

"I didn't know it was your ta-ble," said Al-ice; "it's laid for more than three."

"Your hair wants cut-ting," said the Hat-ter. He had looked hard at Al-ice for some time, and this was his first speech.

"You should learn not to speak to a guest like that," said Al-ice; "it is ve-ry rude."

The Hat-ter stretched his eyes quite wide at this; but all he said was, "Why is a rav-en like a desk?"

"Come, we shall have some fun now," thought Al-ice. "I think I can guess that," she added out loud.

"Do you mean that you think you can find out the an-swer to it?" asked the March Hare.

"I do," said Al-ice.

"Then you should say what you mean," the March Hare went on.

"I do," Al-ice said; "at least -- at least I mean what I say -- that's the same thing, you know."

"Not the same thing a bit!" said the Hat-ter. "Why, you might just as well say, 'I see what I eat' is the same thing as 'I eat what I see'!"

"You might just as well say," added the March Hare, that 'I like what I get' is the same thing as 'I get what I like'!"

"You might just as well say," added the Dor-mouse, who seemed to be talk-ing in his sleep, "that 'I breathe when I sleep' is the same thing as 'I sleep when I breathe'!"

"It is the same with you," said the Hat-ter.

No one spoke for some time, while Al-ice tried to think of all she knew of rav-ens and desks, which wasn't much.

The Hat-ter was the first to speak. "What day of the month is it?" he said, turn-ing to Al-ice. He had his watch in his hand, looked at it and shook it now and then while he held it to his ear.

Al-ice thought a-while, and said, "The fourth."

"Two days wrong!" sighed the Hat-ter. "I told you but-ter wouldn't suit this watch," he add-ed with a scowl as he looked at the March Hare.

"It was the best but-ter," the March Hare said.

"Yes, but some crumbs must have got in," the Hat-ter growled; "you shouldn't have put it in with the bread-knife."

The March Hare took the watch and looked at it; then dipped it in-to his cup of tea and looked at it a-gain; but all he could think to say was, "it was the best but-ter, you know."

"Oh, what a fun-ny watch!" said Al-ice. "It tells the day of the month and doesn't tell what o'clock it is!"

"Why should it?" growled the Hat-ter.

"Does your watch tell what year it is?"

"Of course not," said Al-ice, "but there's no need that it should, since it stays the same year such a long time."

"Which is just the case with mine," said the Hat-ter; which seemed to Al-ice to have no sense in it at all.

"I don't quite know what you mean," she said.

"The Dor-mouse has gone to sleep, once more," said the Hat-ter, and he poured some hot tea on the tip of its nose.

The Dor-mouse shook its head, and said with its eyes still closed, "Of course, of course; just what I want-ed to say my-self."

"Have you guessed the rid-dle yet?" the Hat-ter asked, turn-ing to Al-ice.

"No, I give it up," she said. "What's the an-swer?"

"I do not know at all," said the Hat-ter.

"Nor I," said the March Hare.

Al-ice sighed. "I think you might do bet-ter with the time than to waste it, by ask-ing rid-dles that have no an-swers."

"If you knew Time as well as I do, you wouldn't say 'waste it.' It's him."

"I don't know what you mean," Al-ice said.

"Of course you don't!" said the Hat-ter with a toss of his head. "I dare say you nev-er e-ven spoke to Time."

"May-be not," she said, "but I know I have to beat time when I learn to sing."

"Oh! that's it," said the Hat-ter. "He won't stand beat-ing. Now if you kept on good terms with him, he would do an-y-thing you liked with the clock. Say it was nine o'clock, just time to go to school; you'd have but to give a hint to Time, and round goes the clock! Half-past one, time for lunch."

"I wish it was," the March Hare said to it-self.

"That would be grand, I'm sure," said Al-ice: "but then -- I shouldn't be hun-gry for it, you know."

"Not at first, per-haps, but you could keep it to half-past one as long as you liked," said the Hat-ter.

"Is that the way you do?" asked Al-ice.

The Hat-ter shook his head and sighed. "Not I," he said. "Time and I fell out last March. It was at the great con-cert giv-en by the Queen of Hearts and I had to sing:

'Twin-kle, twin-kle, lit-tle bat! How I wonder what you're at!'

You know the song, per-haps?"

"I've heard some-thing like it," said Alice.

"It goes on, you know," the Hat-ter said, "in this way:

'Up a-bove the world you fly, Like a tea-tray in the sky, Twin-kle, twin-kle --  -- '"

Here the Dor-mouse shook it-self and sang in its sleep, "twin-kle, twin-kle, twin-kle, twin-kle --  -- " and went on so long that they had to pinch it to make it stop.

"Well, while I sang the first verse," the Hat-ter went on, "the Queen bawled out 'See how he mur-ders the time! Off with his head!' And ev-er since that, he won't do a thing I ask! It's al-ways six o'clock now."

A bright thought came in-to Al-ice's head. "Is that why so man-y tea things are put out here?" she asked.

"Yes, that's it," said the Hat-ter with a sigh: "it's al-ways tea-time, and we've no time to wash the things."

"Then you keep mov-ing round, I guess," said Al-ice.

"Just so," said the Hat-ter; "as the things get used up."

"But when you come to the place where you started, what do you do then?" Al-ice dared to ask.

"I'm tired of this," yawned the March Hare. "I vote you tell us a tale."

"I fear I don't know one," said Al-ice.

"I want a clean cup," spoke up the Hat-ter.

He moved on as he spoke, and the Dor-mouse moved in-to his place; the March Hare moved in-to the Dor-mouse's place and Al-ice, none too well pleased, took the place of the March Hare. The Hat-ter was the on-ly one to get an-y good from the change; and Al-ice was a good deal worse off, as the March Hare had up-set the milk-jug in-to his plate.

"Now, for your sto-ry," the March Hare said to Al-ice.

"I'm sure I don't know," -- Alice be-gan, "I -- I don't think -- "

"Then you shouldn't talk," said the Hat-ter.

This was more than Al-ice could stand; so she got up and walked off, and though she looked back once or twice and half hoped they would call af-ter her, they didn't seem to know that she was gone. The last time she saw them, they were trying to put the poor Dor-mouse head first in-to the tea-pot.

"Well, I'll not go there a-gain," said Al-ice as she picked her way through the wood. "It's the dull-est tea-par-ty I was ev-er at in all my life."

As Al-ice said this, she saw that one of the trees had a door that led right in-to it. "That's strange!" she thought; "but I haven't seen a thing to-day that isn't strange. I think I may as well go in at once." And in she went.

Once more she found her-self in a long hall, and close to the lit-tle glass stand. She took up the lit-tle key and un-locked the door that led to the gar-den. Then she set to work to eat some of the mush-room which she still had with her. When she was a-bout a foot high, she went through the door and walked down the lit-tle hall; then -- she found herself, at last, in the love-ly garden, where she had seen the bright blooms and the cool foun-tains.


Chapter VIII.

The Queen's Cro-Quet Ground.


A large rose tree stood near the gar-den gate. The blooms on it were white, but three men who seemed to be in great haste were paint-ing them red. Al-ice thought this a strange thing to do, so she went near-er to watch them. Just as she came up to them, she heard one of them say, "Look out now, Five! Don't splash paint on me like that!"

"I couldn't help it," said Five, "Six knocked my arm."

On which Six looked up and said, "That's right, Five! Don't fail to lay the blame on some one else."

"You needn't talk," said Five. "I heard the Queen say your head must come off."

"What for?" asked the one who spoke first.

"What is that to you, Two?" said Six.

"It is much to him and I'll tell him," said Five. "He brought the cook tu-lip roots for on-ions."

Six flung down the brush and said, "Well, of all the wrong things -- " Just then his eyes chanced to fall on Al-ice, who stood and watched them, and he checked him-self at once; Five and Two looked round al-so, and all of them bowed low.

"Would you tell me, please," said Al-ice, "why you paint those ros-es?"

Five and Six did not speak, but looked at Two, who said in a low voice, "Why, the fact is, you see, Miss, this here ought to have been a red rose tree, and by mis-take a white one was put in, and if the Queen was to find it out, we should all have our heads cut off, you know. So you see, Miss, we are hard at work to get it paint-ed, so that she may not -- " Just then Five, who had stood and watched the gate for some time, called out, "The Queen! the Queen!" and the three men at once threw them-selves flat up-on their fa-ces. Al-ice heard the tramp of feet and looked round, glad if at last she could see the Queen.

First came ten sol-diers with clubs; these were all shaped like the three men at the rose tree, long and flat like cards, with their hands and feet at the cor-ners; next came ten men who were trimmed with di-a-monds and walked two and two like the sol-diers. The ten chil-dren of the King and Queen came next; and the little dears came with a skip and a jump hand in hand by twos. They were trimmed with hearts.

Next came the guests, most of whom were Kings and Queens. Al-ice saw the White Rab-bit, with them. He did not seem at ease though he smiled at all that was said. He didn't see Al-ice as he went by. Then came the Knave of Hearts with the King's crown on a red vel-vet cush-ion; and last of all came The King and Queen of Hearts.

At first Al-ice thought it might be right for her to lie down on her face like the three men at the rose tree, "but what would be the use of such a fine show," she thought, "if all had to lie down so that they couldn't see it?" So she stood where she was and wait-ed.

When they came to where she stood, they all stopped and looked at her, and the Queen said in a stern voice, "Who is this?" She spoke to the Knave of Hearts, who bowed and smiled but did not speak.

"Fool!" said the Queen with a toss of her head; then she turned to Al-ice and asked, "What's your name, child?"

"My name is Al-ice, so please your ma-jes-ty," said Al-ice, but she thought to her-self, "Why they're a mere pack of cards. I need have no fears of them."

"And who are these?" asked the Queen, as she point-ed to the three men who still lay round the rose tree; for you see as they all lay on their faces and their backs were the same as the rest of the pack, she could not tell who they were.

"How should I know?" said Al-ice, and thought it strange that she should speak to a Queen in that way.

The Queen turned red with rage, glared at her for a mo-ment like a wild beast, then screamed, "Off with her head! Off -- "

"Non-sense!" said Al-ice, in a loud, firm voice, and the Queen said no more.

The King laid his hand on the Queen's arm and said, "Think, my dear, she is but a child!"

The Queen turned from him with a scowl and said to the Knave, "Turn them o-ver!"

The Knave did so, with one foot.

"Get up!" said the Queen in a shrill loud voice, and the three men jumped up, at once, and bowed to the King, and Queen and to the whole crowd.

"Leave off that!" screamed the Queen; "you make me gid-dy." Then she turned to the rose tree and asked, "What have you been do-ing here?"

"May it please your ma-jes-ty," said Two, and went down on one knee as he spoke, "we were try-ing -- "

"I see!" said the Queen, who in the mean time had seen that some of the ros-es were paint-ed red and some were still white. "Off with their heads!" and the crowd moved on, while three of the sol-diers stayed to cut off the heads of the poor men, who ran to Al-ice for help.

"They shan't hurt you," she said, as she hid them in a large flow-er pot that stood near. The three sol-diers walked round and looked for them a short while, then marched off.

"Are their heads off?" shout-ed the Queen.

"Their heads are gone, if it please your ma-jes-ty," the sol-diers shouted back.

"That's right!" shouted the Queen. "Can you play cro-quet?" she asked Al-ice.

"Yes," shouted Al-ice.

"Come on then!" roared the Queen, and Al-ice went on with them.

"It's -- it's a fine day!" said a weak voice at her side. It was the White Rab-bit who peeped up in-to her face.

"Yes," said Al-ice: "where's the Duch-ess?"

"Hush! Hush!" said the Rab-bit, in a low tone. He looked back as he spoke, then raised up on tip-toe, put his mouth close to her ear and whis-pered, "She's to have her head cut off."

"What for?" asked Al-ice.

"Did you say, 'What a pit-y!'?" the Rab-bit asked.

"No, I didn't," said Al-ice: "I don't think it's at all a pit-y. I said 'What for?'"

"She boxed the Queen's ears -- " the Rab-bit be-gan. Al-ice gave a lit-tle scream of joy.

"Oh, hush!" the Rab-bit whis-pered in a great fright. "The Queen will hear you! You see she came late, and the Queen said -- "

"Each one to his place!" shout-ed the Queen in a loud voice, and peo-ple ran this way and that in great haste and soon each one had found his place, and the game be-gan.

Al-ice thought she had nev-er seen such a strange cro-quet ground in all her life: it was all ridges; the balls were live hedge-hogs; the mal-lets were live birds, and the sol-diers bent down and stood on their hands and feet to make the arch-es.

At first Al-ice found it hard to use a live bird for a mal-let. It was a large bird with a long neck and long legs. She tucked it un-der her arm with its legs down, but just as she got its neck straight and thought now she could give the ball a good blow with its head, the bird would twist its neck round and give her such a queer look, that she could not help laugh-ing; and by the time she had got its head down a-gain, she found that the hedge-hog had crawled off. Then too there was al-ways a ridge or a hole in the way of where she want-ed to send her ball; and she couldn't find an arch in its place, for the men would get up and walk off when it pleased them. Al-ice soon made up her mind that it was a ve-ry hard game to play.

The Queen was soon in a great rage, and stamped a-bout, shout-ing "Off with his head!" or "Off with her head!" with each breath.

Al-ice felt quite ill at ease; to be sure, she had not as yet had cause to feel the wrath of the Queen, but she knew not how soon it might be her turn; "and then," she thought, "what shall I do?"

As she was look-ing round for some way to get off with-out be-ing seen, she saw a strange thing in the air, which she at last made out to be a grin, and she said to her-self, "It's the Cat; now I shall have some one to talk to."

"How do you do?" said the Cat as soon as its whole mouth came out.

Al-ice wait-ed till she saw the eyes, then nod-ded. "It's no use to speak to it till its ears have come, or at least one of them." In a short time the whole head came in view, then she put down her bird and told him of the game; glad that she had some one that was pleased to hear her talk.

"I don't think they are at all fair in the game," said Al-ice with a scowl; "and they all talk so loud that one can't hear one's self speak -- and they don't have rules to play by; at least if they have, they don't mind them -- and you don't know how bad it is to have to use live things to play with. The arch I have to go through next walked off just now to the far end of the ground -- and I should have struck the Queen's hedge-hog, but it ran off when it saw that mine was near!"

"How do you like the Queen?" asked the Cat in a low voice.

"Not at all," said Al-ice, "she's so -- " Just then she saw that the Queen was be-hind her and heard what she said; so she went on, "sure to win that it's not worth while to go on with the game."

The Queen smiled and passed on.

"Who are you talk-ing to?" said the King, as he came up to Al-ice and stared at the Cat's head as if it were a strange sight.

"It's a friend of mine -- a Che-shire Cat," said Al-ice.

"I don't like the look of it at all," said the King; "it may kiss my hand if it likes."

"I don't want to," said the Cat.

"Don't be rude; and don't look at me like that," said the King.

"A cat may look at a king," said Al-ice. "I've read that in some book, but I can't tell where."

"Well, it must get off from here," said the King in a firm voice, and he called to the Queen, who was near, "My dear! I wish you would see that this cat leaves here at once!"

The Queen had but one cure for all ills, great or small. "Off with his head," she said, and did not so much as look round.

"I'll fetch the sol-dier my-self," said the King, and rushed off.

Al-ice thought she might as well go back, and see how the game went on. She heard the Queen's voice in the dis-tance, as she screamed with rage, "Off with his head! He has missed his turn!" Al-ice did not like the look of things at all, for the game was so mixed she could not tell when her turn came; so she went off to find her hedge-hog.

She came up with two hedge-hogs in a fierce fight, and thought now was a good time to strike one of them, but her mal-let was gone to the oth-er side of the ground, and she saw it in a weak sort of way as it tried to fly up in-to a tree.

By the time she had caught the bird and brought it back, the fight was o-ver, and both hedge-hogs were out of sight. "I don't care much," thought Al-ice, "for there is not an arch on this side the ground." So she went back to have some more talk with her friend.

When she reached the place, she found quite a crowd round the Cat. The King and the Queen and the sol-dier who had come with the axe, to cut off the Cat's head, were all talking at once, while all the rest stood with closed lips and looked quite grave.

As soon as they saw Al-ice, they want-ed her to say which one was right, but as all three spoke at once, she found it hard to make out what they said.

The sol-dier said that you couldn't cut off a head unless there was a bod-y to cut it off from; that he had nev-er had to do such a thing, and he wouldn't be-gin it now, at his time of life.

The King said that all heads could be cut off, and that you weren't to talk non-sense.

The Queen said, if some-thing wasn't done in less than no time, heads should come off all round. (It was this last threat that had made the whole crowd look so grave as Al-ice came up.)

Al-ice could think of nothing else to say but, "Ask the Duch-ess, it is her Cat."

"Fetch her here," the Queen said to the sol-dier, and he went off like an ar-row.

The Cat's head start-ed to fade out of sight as soon as he was gone, and by the time he had come back with the Duch-ess, it could not be seen at all; so the King and the man ran up and down look-ing for it, while the rest went back to the game.


Chapter IX.

The Mock Tur-Tle.


"You can't think how glad I am to see you once more, you dear old thing!" said the Duch-ess as she took Al-ice's arm, and they walked off side by side.

Al-ice was glad to see her in such a fine mood, and thought to her-self that the Duch-ess might not be so bad as she had seemed to be when they first met.

Then Al-ice fell in-to a long train of thought as to what she would do if she were a Duch-ess.

She quite lost sight of the Duch-ess by her side, and was star-tled when she heard her voice close to her ear.

"You have some-thing on your mind, my dear, and that makes you for-get to talk. I can't tell you just now what the mor-al of that is, but I shall think of it in a bit."

"Are you sure it has one?" asked Al-ice.

"Tut, tut, child!" said the Duch-ess; "all things have a mor-al if you can but find it." And she squeezed up close to Al-ice's side as she spoke.

Al-ice did not much like to have the Duch-ess keep so close, but she didn't like to be rude, so she bore it as well as she could.

"The game is not so bad now," Al-ice said, think-ing she ought to fill in the time with talk of some kind.

"'Tis so," said the Duch-ess, "and the mor-al of that is -- 'Oh, 'tis love, 'tis love, that makes the world go round!'"

"Some one said, it's done by each one mind-ing his own work," said Al-ice.

"Ah! well, it means much the same thing," said the Duch-ess, then add-ed, "and the mor-al of that is -- 'Take care of the sense and the sounds will take care of themselves.'"

"How she likes to find mor-als in things," said Al-ice.

"Why don't you talk more and not think so long?" asked the Duch-ess.

"I've a right to think," said Al-ice in a sharp tone, for she was tired and vexed.

"Just as much right," said the Duch-ess, "as pigs have to fly; and the mor -- "

But here the voice of the Duch-ess died out in the midst of her pet word, "mor-al," and Al-ice felt the arm that was linked in hers shake as if with fright. Al-ice looked up and there stood the Queen in front of them with her arms fold-ed, and a dark frown up-on her face.

"A fine day, your ma-jes-ty!" the Duch-ess be-gan in a weak voice.

"Now, I warn you in time," shout-ed the Queen, with a stamp on the ground as she spoke; "ei-ther you or your head must be off, and that in a-bout half no time! Take your choice!"

The Duch-ess took her choice and was gone in a mo-ment.

"Let's go on with the game," the Queen said to Al-ice; and Al-ice was in too great a fright to speak, but went with her, back to the cro-quet ground.

The guests had all sat down in the shade to rest while the Queen was a-way, but as soon as they saw her they rushed back to the game; while the Queen said if they were not in their pla-ces at once, it would cost them their lives.

All the time the game went on the Queen kept shout-ing, "Off with his head!" or "Off with her head!" so that by the end of half an hour there was no one left on the grounds but the King, the Queen, and Al-ice.

Then the Queen left off, quite out of breath, and said to Al-ice, "Have you seen the Mock Tur-tle yet?"

"No," said Al-ice, "I don't know what a Mock-tur-tle is."

"It is a thing Mock Tur-tle Soup is made from," the Queen said.

"I've nev-er seen or heard of one," Alice said.

"Come on then, and he shall tell you his sto-ry," said the Queen.

As they walked off, Al-ice heard the King say in a low tone to those whom the Queen had doomed to death, "You may all go free!" "Come, that's a good thing," thought Al-ice, for she felt ver-y sad that all those men must have their heads cut off.

They soon came to where a Gry-phon lay fast a-sleep in the sun. (If you don't know what it is like, look at the pic-ture.) "Up, dull thing!" said the Queen, "and take this young la-dy to see the Mock Tur-tle. I must go back now;" and she walked a-way and left Al-ice with the Gry-phon. Al-ice was by no means pleased with its looks, but she thought she would be quite as safe with it as she would be with the Queen; so she wait-ed.

The Gry-phon sat up and rubbed its eyes; then watched the Queen till she was out of sight; then it laughed. "What fun!" it said, half to it-self, half to Alice.

"What is the fun?" she asked.

"Why, she," it said. "It's all a whim of hers; they nev-er cut off those heads, you know. Come on."

Soon they saw the Mock Tur-tle sitting sad and lone on a ledge of rock, and as they came near, Al-ice could hear him sigh as if his heart would break. "What makes him so sad?" Al-ice asked.

"It's all a whim of his," said the Gry-phon; "he hasn't got no grief, you know. Come on!"

So they went up to the Mock Tur-tle, who looked at them with large eyes full of tears, but did not speak.

"This here young la-dy," said the Gry-phon, "she wants for to know a-bout your past life, she do."

"I'll tell it to her," said the Mock Tur-tle in a deep, sad tone: "sit down both of you and don't speak a word till I get through."

So they sat down, and no one spoke for some time.

"Once," said the Mock Tur-tle at last, with a deep sigh, "I was a re-al Tur-tle. When we were young we went to school in the sea. We were taught by an old Tur-tle -- we used to call him Tor-toise -- "

"Why did you call him Tor-toise, if he wasn't one?" Al-ice asked.

"He taught us, that's why," said the Mock Tur-tle: "you are quite dull not to know that!"

"Shame on you to ask such a sim-ple thing," add-ed the Gry-phon; then they both sat and looked at poor Al-ice, who felt as if she could sink into the earth.

At last the Gry-phon said to the Mock Tur-tle, "Drive on, old fellow! Don't be all day a-bout it!" and he went on in these words:

"Yes, we went to school in the sea, though you mayn't think it's true -- "

"I didn't say I did not!" said Al-ice.

"You did," said the Mock Tur-tle.

"Hold your tongue," add-ed the Gry-phon.

The Mock Tur-tle went on:

"We were well taught -- in fact we went to school each day -- "

"I've been to a day school too," said Alice; "you needn't be so proud as all that."

"Were you taught wash-ing?" asked the Mock Tur-tle.

"Of course not," said Al-ice.

"Ah! then yours wasn't a good school," said the Mock Tur-tle. "Now at ours they had at the end of the bill, 'French, mu-sic, and wash-ing -- ex-tra.'"

"You couldn't have need-ed it much in the sea," said Al-ice.

"I didn't learn it," said the Mock Tur-tle, with a sigh. "I just took the first course."

"What was that?" asked Al-ice.

"Reel-ing and Writh-ing, of course, at first," the Mock Tur-tle said. "An old eel used to come once a week. He taught us to drawl, to stretch and to faint in coils."

"What was that like?" Al-ice asked.

"Well, I can't show you, my-self," he said: "I'm too stiff. And the Gry-phon didn't learn it."

"How man-y hours a day did you do les-sons?" asked Al-ice.

"Ten hours the first day," said the Mock Tur-tle; "nine the next and so on."

"What a strange plan!" said Al-ice.

"That's why they're called les-sons," said the Gry-phon: "they les-sen from day to day."

This was such a new thing to Al-ice that she sat still a good while and didn't speak. "Then there would be a day when you would have no school," she said.

"Of course there would," said the Mock Tur-tle.

"What did you do then?" asked Al-ice.

"I'm tired of this," said the Gry-phon: "tell her now of the games we played."


Chapter X.

The Lob-Ster Dance.


The Mock Tur-tle sighed, looked at Al-ice and tried to speak, but for a min-ute or two sobs choked his voice. "Same as if he had a bone in his throat," said the Gry-phon, and set to work to shake him and punch him in the back. At last the Mock Tur-tle found his voice and with tears run-ning down his cheeks, he went on:

"You may not have lived much in the sea" -- ("I have-n't," said Al-ice) "so you can not know what a fine thing a Lob-ster Dance is!"

"No," said Al-ice. "What sort of a dance is it?"

"Why," said the Gry-phon, "you first form in a line on the sea-shore -- "

"Two lines!" cried the Mock Tur-tle. "Seals, tur-tles, and so on; then when you've cleared all the small fish out of the way -- "

"That takes some time," put in the Gry-phon.

"You move to the front twice -- "

"Each with a lob-ster by his side!" cried the Gry-phon.

"Of course," the Mock Tur-tle said: "move to the front twice -- "

"Change and come back in same way," said the Gry-phon.

"Then, you know," the Mock Tur-tle went on, "you throw the -- "

"The lob-sters!" shout-ed the Gry-phon, with a bound in-to the air.

"As far out to sea as you can -- "

"Swim out for them," screamed the Gry-phon.

"Turn heels o-ver head in the sea!" cried the Mock Tur-tle.

"Change a-gain!" yelled the Gry-phon at the top of his voice.

"Then back to land, and -- that's all the first part," said the Mock Tur-tle.

Both the Gry-phon and the Mock Tur-tle had jumped a-bout like mad things all this time. Now they sat down quite sad and still, and looked at Al-ice.

"It must be a pret-ty dance," said Al-ice.

"Would you like to see some of it?" asked the Mock Tur-tle.

"Oh, yes," she said.

"Come, let's try the first part!" said the Mock Tur-tle to the Gry-phon. "We can do it without lob-sters, you know. Which shall sing?"

"Oh, you sing," said the Gry-phon. "I don't know the words."

So they danced round and round Al-ice, now and then tread-ing on her toes when they passed too close. They waved their fore paws to mark the time, while the Mock Tur-tle sang a queer kind of song, each verse of which end-ed with these words:

"'Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will you join the dance?

Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, won't you join the dance?'"

"Thank you, it's a fine dance to watch," said Al-ice, glad that it was o-ver at last.

"Now," said the Gry-phon, "tell us a-bout what you have seen and done in your life."

"I could tell you of the strange things I have seen to-day," said Al-ice, with some doubt as to their wish-ing to hear it.

"All right, go on," they both cried.

So Al-ice told them what she had been through that day, from the time when she first saw the White Rab-bit. They came up quite close to her, one on each side, and sat still till she got to the part where she tried to say, "You are old, Fath-er Wil-liam," and the words all came wrong. Then the Mock Tur-tle drew a long breath and said, "That's quite strange!"

"It's all as strange as it can be," said the Gry-phon.

"It all came wrong!" the Mock Tur-tle said, while he seemed to be in deep thought. "I should like to hear her try to say some-thing now. Tell her to be-gin." He looked at the Gry-phon as if he thought it had the right to make Al-ice do as it pleased.

"Stand up and say, 'Tis the voice of the Slug-gard,'" said the Gry-phon.

"How they do try to make one do things!" thought Al-ice. "I might just as well be at school at once." She stood up and tried to re-peat it, but her head was so full of the Lob-ster Dance, that she didn't know what she was say-ing, and the words all came ver-y queer, in-deed:

"'Tis the voice of the lob-ster; I heard him de-clare, 'You have baked me too brown, I must su-gar my hair.' As a duck with its eye-lids, so he with his nose Trims his belt and his but-tons, and turns out his toes."

"That's not the way I used to say it when I was a child," said the Gry-phon.

"Well, I never heard it before," said the Mock Tur-tle, "but there's no sense in it at all."

Al-ice did not speak; she sat down with her face in her hands, and thought, "Will things nev-er be as they used to an-y more?"

"I should like you to tell what it means," said the Mock Tur-tle.

"She can't do that," said the Gry-phon. "Go on with the next verse."

"But his toes?" the Mock Tur-tle went on. "How could he turn them out with his nose, you know?"

"Go on with the next verse," the Gry-phon said once more; "it begins 'I passed by his gar-den.'"

Al-ice thought she must do as she was told, though she felt sure it would all come wrong, and she went on:

"I passed by his gar-den and marked with one eye, How the owl and the oys-ter were shar-ing the pie."

"What is the use of say-ing all that stuff!" the Mock Tur-tle broke in, "if you don't tell what it means as you go on? I tell you it is all non-sense."

"Yes, I think you might as well leave off," said the Gry-phon, and Al-ice was but too glad to do so.

"Shall we try the Lob-ster dance once more?" the Gry-phon went on, "or would you like the Mock Tur-tle to sing you a song?"

"Oh, a song please, if the Mock Tur-tle would be so kind," Al-ice said with so much zest that the Gry-phon threw back his head and said, "Hm! Well, each one to his own taste. Sing her 'Tur-tle Soup,' will you, old fel-low?"

The Mock Tur-tle heaved a deep sigh, and in a voice choked with sobs, be-gan his song, but just then the cry of "The tri-al is on!" was heard a long way off.

"Come on," cried the Gry-phon. He took her by the hand, ran off, and did not wait to hear the song.

"What trial is it?" Al-ice pant-ed as she ran, but the Gry-phon on-ly said, "Come on!" and still ran as fast as he could.


Chapter XI.

Who Stole The Tarts?


The King and Queen of Hearts were seat-ed on their throne when Al-ice and the Gry-phon came up, with a great crowd a-bout them. There were all sorts of small birds and beasts, as well as the whole pack of cards. The Knave stood in front of them in chains, with a sol-dier on each side to guard him; and near the King was the White Rab-bit, with a trum-pet in one hand and a roll of pa-per in the other. In the mid-dle of the court was a ta-ble with a large dish of tarts on it. They looked so good that it made Al-ice feel as if she would like to eat some of them. "I wish they'd get the tri-al done," she thought, "and hand round the pies!" But there seemed no chance of this, so to pass the time a-way she looked round at the strange things a-bout her.

This was the first time Al-ice had been in a court of this kind, and she was quite pleased to find that she knew the names of most things she saw there. "That's the judge," she thought, "I know him by his great wig."

The judge, by the way, was the King, and as he wore his crown on top of his wig, he looked quite ill at ease.

"And that's the ju-ry box," thought Al-ice, "and those twelve things" (she had to say "things," you see, for some of them were beasts and some were birds), "I guess are the ju-rors." She said this last word two or three times as she was proud that she knew it; for she was right when she thought that few girls of her age would have known what it all meant.

The twelve ju-rors all wrote on slates.

"What can they have to write now?" Al-ice asked the Gry-phon, in a low tone. "The tri-al has not be-gun yet."

"They're put-ting down their names," the Gry-phon said, "for fear they should for-get them."

"Stu-pid things!" Al-ice said in a loud voice, but stopped at once, for the White Rab-bit cried out, "Si-lence in court!" and the King looked round to make out who spoke.

Al-ice could see quite well that the ju-rors all wrote down "stu-pid things!" on their slates, she could e-ven make out that one of them didn't know how to spell "stu-pid" and that he asked the one by his side to tell him, "A nice mud-dle their slates will be in by the time the tri-al's ended," thought Al-ice.

One of the ju-rors had a pen-cil that squeaked as he wrote. This, of course, Al-ice could not stand, so she went round near him, and soon found a chance to get it from him. This she did in such a way that the poor ju-ror (it was Bill, the Liz-ard) could not make out at all where it was, so he wrote with one fin-ger for the rest of the day. Of course, this was of no use, as it left no mark on the slate.

"Read the charge!" said the King.

On this the White Rab-bit blew three blasts on the trum-pet, and then from the pa-per in his hand read:

"The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts, All on a sum-mer day: The Knave of Hearts, he stole those tarts, And took them quite a-way!"

"The ju-ry will now take the case," said the King.

"Not yet, not yet!" the Rab-bit said in haste. "There is a great deal else to come first."

"Call the first wit-ness," said the King, and the White Rab-bit blew three blasts on the trum-pet, and called out, "First wit-ness."

The first to come was the Hat-ter. He came in with a tea cup in one hand and a piece of bread and but-ter in the oth-er.

"I beg par-don, your ma-jes-ty," he said, "but I had to bring these in, as I was not quite through with my tea when I was sent for."

"You ought to have been through," said the King. "When did you be-gin?"

The Hat-ter looked at the March Hare, who had just come in-to court, arm in arm with the Dor-mouse. "Fourth of March, I think it was," he said.

"Fifth," said the March Hare.

"Sixth," add-ed the Dor-mouse.

"Write that down," said the King to the ju-ry, and they wrote down all three dates on their slates, and then added them up and changed the sum to shil-lings and pence.

"Take off your hat," the King said to the Hat-ter.

"It isn't mine," said the Hat-ter.

"Stole it!" cried the King, as he turned to the jury, who at once wrote it down.

"I keep them to sell," the Hat-ter added. "I've none of my own. I'm a hat-ter."

Here the Queen put on her eye-glass-es and stared hard at the Hat-ter, who turned pale with fright.

"Tell what you know of this case," said the King; "and don't be nerv-ous, or I'll have your head off on the spot."

This did not seem to calm him at all, he shift-ed from one foot to the other and looked at the Queen, and in his fright he bit a large piece out of his tea-cup in place of the bread and but-ter.

Just then Al-ice felt a strange thrill, the cause of which she could not make out till she saw she had be-gun to grow a-gain.

"I wish you wouldn't squeeze so," said the Dor-mouse. "I haven't room to breathe."

"I can't help it," said Al-ice; "I'm grow-ing."

"You've no right to grow here," said the Dor-mouse.

"Don't talk such non-sense," said Al-ice. "You know you grow too."

"Yes, but not so fast as to squeeze the breath out of those who sit by me." He got up and crossed to the oth-er side of the court.

All this time the Queen had not left off star-ing at the Hat-ter, and just as the Dor-mouse crossed the court, she said to one of the men, "Bring me the list of those who sang in the last con-cert," on which the poor Hat-ter trembled so, that he shook both his shoes off.

"Tell what you know of this case," the King called out a-gain, "or I'll have your head off, if you do shake."

"I'm a poor man, your ma-jes-ty," the Hat-ter be-gan in a weak voice, "and I hadn't but just be-gun my tea, not more than a week or so, and what with the bread and but-ter so thin -- and the twink-ling of the tea -- "

"The twink-ling of what?" asked the King.

"It be-gan with the tea," the Hat-ter said.

"Of course twink-ling be-gins with a T!" said the King. "Do you take me for a dunce? Go on!"

"I'm a poor man," the Hat-ter went on, "and most things twink-led af-ter that -- but the March Hare said -- "

"I didn't," said the March Hare in great haste.

"You did," said the Hat-ter.

"I de-ny it," said the March Hare.

"He de-nies it," said the King: "leave out that part."

"Well, I'm sure the Dor-mouse said -- " the Hat-ter went on, with a look at the Dor-mouse to see if he would de-ny it too, but he was fast a-sleep.

"Then I cut some more bread and -- "

"But what did the Dor-mouse say?" asked one of the ju-ry.

"That I can't tell," said the Hat-ter.

"You must tell or I'll have your head off," said the King.

The wretch-ed Hat-ter dropped his cup and bread, and went down on one knee.

"I'm a poor man," he be-gan.

"You're a poor speak-er," said the King.

Here one of the guin-ea pigs cheered, and one of the men seized him, thrust him in-to a bag which tied up with strings, and then sat up-on it.

"If that's all you know, you may stand down," the King said.

"I'm as low as I can get now," said the Hat-ter; "I'm on the floor as it is."

"Then you may sit down," the King said.

"I'd like to get through with my tea first," said the Hat-ter with a look at the Queen who still read the list in her hand.

"You may go," said the King, and the Hat-ter left the court in such haste that he did not e-ven wait to put his shoes on.

"And just take his head off out-side," the Queen add-ed to one of the sol-diers, but the Hat-ter was out of sight be-fore the man could get to the door.

"Call the next wit-ness," said the King.

The next to come was the Duch-ess' cook, and Al-ice guessed who it was by the way the peo-ple near the door sneezed all at once.

"Tell what you know of this case," said the King.

"Shan't," said the cook.

The King looked at the White Rab-bit, who said in a low voice, "Your ma-jes-ty must make her tell."

"Well, if I must, I must," said the King with a sad look. He fold-ed his arms and frowned at the cook till his eyes were al-most out of sight, then asked in a stern voice, "What are tarts made of?"

"Pep-per, most-ly," said the cook.

"Sug-ar," said a weak voice near her.

"Catch that Dor-mouse," the Queen shrieked out. "Off with his head! Turn him out of court! Pinch him! Off with his head!"

The whole court ran here and there, get-ting the Dor-mouse turned out, and by the time this was done, the cook had gone.

"That's all right," said the King, as if he were glad to be rid of her. "Call the next," and he add-ed in a low tone to the Queen, "Now, my dear, you must take the next wit-ness in hand; it quite makes my head ache!"

Al-ice watched the White Rab-bit as he looked o-ver the list. She thought to her-self, "I want to see what the next witness will be like, for they haven't found out much yet."

Think, if you can, how she felt when the White Rab-bit read out, at the top of his shrill lit-tle voice, the name "Al-ice!"


Chapter XII.

Al-Ice On The Stand.


"Here!" cried Al-ice, but she quite for-got how large she had grown in the last few min-utes, and jumped up in such haste that the edge of her skirt tipped the ju-ry box and turned them all out on the heads of the crowd be-low; and there they lay sprawl-ing a-bout, which made her think of a globe of gold-fish which she had up-set the week be-fore.

"Oh, I beg your par-don!" she said, and picked them up and put them backed in the ju-ry box as fast as she could.

"The tri-al can not go on," said the King in a grave voice, "till all the men are back in place -- all," he said with great force and looked hard at Al-ice.

She looked at the ju-ry box and saw that in her haste she had put the Liz-ard in head first and the poor thing was wav-ing its tail in the air, but could not move. She soon got it out and put it right; "not that it mat-ters much," she thought; "I should think it would be quite as much use in the tri-al one way up as the oth-er."

As soon as their slates and pen-cils had been hand-ed back to them, the ju-ry set to work to write out an ac-count of their fall, all but the Liz-ard, who seem-ed too weak to write, but sat and gazed up in-to the roof of the court.

"What do you know of this case?" the King asked Al-ice.

"Not one thing," said Al-ice.

"Not one thing, at all?" asked the King.

"Not one thing, at all," said Al-ice.

"Write that down," the King said to the ju-ry.

The King sat for some time and wrote in his note-book, then he called out, "Si-lence!" and read from his book, "Rule For-ty-two. Each one more than a mile high to leave the court."

All looked at Al-ice.

"I'm not a mile high," said Al-ice.

"You are," said the King.

"Not far from two miles high," add-ed the Queen.

"Well, I shan't go," said Al-ice, "for I know that's a new rule you have just made."

"It's the first rule in the book," said the King.

"Then it ought to be Rule One," said Al-ice.

The King turned pale and shut his note-book at once.

"The ju-ry can now take the case," he said in a weak voice.

"There's more to come yet, please your ma-jes-ty," said the White Rab-bit, as he jumped up; "this thing has just been picked up."

"What's in it?" asked the Queen.

"I haven't read it yet," said the White Rab-bit, "but it seems to be a note from the Knave of Hearts to some one."

"Whose name is on it?" said one of the ju-rors.

"There's no name on it," said the White Rab-bit; he looked at it with more care as he spoke, and add-ed, "it isn't a note at all; it's a set of rhymes."

"Please your ma-jes-ty," said the Knave, "I didn't write it, and they can't prove that I did; there's no name signed at the end."

"If you didn't sign it," said the King, "that makes your case worse. You must have meant some harm or you'd have signed your name like an hon-est man."

All clapped their hands at this as it was the first smart thing the King had said that day.

"That proves his guilt," said the Queen.

"It does not prove a thing," said Al-ice, "Why you don't so much as know what the rhymes are."

"Read them," said the King.

"Where shall I be-gin, your ma-jes-ty?" the White Rab-bit asked.

"Why at the first verse, of course," the King said look-ing quite grave, "and go on till you come to the end; then stop."

The White Rab-bit read:

"They told me you had been to her, And spoke of me to him: She gave me a good name, in-deed, But said I could not swim.

"He sent them word that I had gone (We know it to be true): If she should push the mat-ter on What would be-come of you?

"I gave her one, they gave him two, You gave us three, or more; They all came back from him to you, Though they were mine be-fore.

"My no-tion was, she liked him best, (Be-fore she had this fit) This must be kept from all the rest But him and you and it."

"That's the best thing we've heard yet," said the King, rub-bing his hands as if much pleased; "so now let the ju-ry -- "

"If one of you can tell what it means," said Al-ice (she had grown so large by this time that she had no fear of the King) "I should be glad to hear it. I don't think there's a grain of sense in it."

The ju-ry all wrote down on their slates, "She doesn't think there's a grain of sense in it." But no one tried to tell what it meant.

"If there's no sense in it," said the King, "that saves a world of work, you know, as we needn't try to find it.  And yet I don't know," he went on, as he spread out the rhymes on his knee, and looked at them with one eye: "I seem to find some sense in them -- 'said I could not swim' -- you can't swim, can you?" he added, turn-ing to the Knave.

The Knave shook his head with a sigh. "Do I look like it?" he said. (Which it was plain he did not, as he was made of card board.)

"All right, so far," said the King, and he went on: "'We know it to be true' -- that's the ju-ry, of course -- 'I gave her one, they gave him two' -- that must be what he did with the tarts, you know -- "

"But it goes on, 'they all came back from him to you,'" said Al-ice.

"Why, there they are," said the King, point-ing to the tarts. "Isn't that as clear as can be? Then it goes on, 'before she had this fit' -- you don't have fits, my dear, I think?" he said to the Queen.

"No! no!" said the Queen in a great rage, throw-ing an ink-stand at the Liz-ard as she spoke.

"Then the words don't fit you," he said, and looked round the court with a smile. But no one spoke. "It's a pun," he added in a fierce tone, then all the court laughed.

"Let the ju-ry now bring in their verdict," the King said.

"No! no!" said the Queen. "Sen-tence first -- then the ver-dict."

"Such stuff!" said Al-ice out loud. "Of course the ju-ry must make -- "

"Hold your tongue!" screamed the Queen.

"I won't!" said Al-ice.

"Off with her head!" shout-ed the Queen at the top of her voice. No one moved.

"Who cares for you?" said Al-ice. (She had grown to her full size by this time.) "You are noth-ing but a pack of cards!"

At this the whole pack rose up in the air and flew down up-on her; she gave a lit-tle scream and tried to beat them off -- and found her-self ly-ing on the bank with her head in the lap of her sis-ter, who was brush-ing a-way some dead leaves that had fluttered down from the trees on to her face.

"Wake up, Al-ice dear," said her sis-ter; "why what a long sleep you have had!"

"Oh, I've had such a strange dream!" said Al-ice, and then she told her sis-ter as well as she could all these strange things that you have just read a-bout; and when she came to the end of it, her sis-ter kissed her and said: "It was a strange dream, dear, I'm sure; but run now in to your tea; it's get-ting late."

So Al-ice got up and ran off, think-ing while she ran, as well she might, what a won-der-ful dream it had been.

<eob>

Bunny Brown And His Sister Sue Playing Circus

By

Laura Lee Hope



Chapter I

Bunny Is Upside Down


"Grandpa, where are you going now?" asked Bunny Brown.

"And what are you going to do?" asked Bunny Brown's sister Sue.

Grandpa Brown, who was walking down the path at the side of the farmhouse, with a basket on his arm, stood and looked at the two children. He smiled at them, and Bunny and Sue smiled back, for they liked Grandpa Brown very much, and he just loved them.

"Are you going after the eggs?" asked Sue.

"That basket is too big for eggs," Bunny observed.

"It wouldn't be -- not for great, great, big eggs," the little girl said. "Would it, Grandpa?"

"No, Sue. I guess if I were going out to gather ostrich eggs I wouldn't get many of them in this basket. But I'm not going after eggs. Not this time, anyhow."

"Where are you going?" asked Bunny once more.

"What's a -- a ockstritch?" asked Sue, for that was as near as she could say the funny word.

"An ostrich," answered Grandpa Brown, "is a big bird, much bigger than the biggest Thanksgiving turkey. It has long legs, and fine feathers, and ladies wear them on their hats. I mean they wear the ostrich feathers, not the bird's legs."

"And do ockstritches lay big eggs?" Sue wanted to know.

"They do," answered Grandpa Brown. "They lay eggs in the hot sand of the desert, and they are big eggs. I guess I couldn't get more than six of them in this basket."

"Oh-o-o-o!" exclaimed Bunny and Sue together, with their eyes wide open.

"What big eggs they must be!" went on Bunny.

"And is you going to get hens' eggs or ockstritches' eggs now, Grandpa?" asked Sue.

"Neither one, little brown-eyes, I'm going out in the orchard to pick a few peaches. Grandma wants to make a peach shortcake for supper. So I have to get the peaches."

"Oh, may we come?" asked Sue, dropping the doll with which she had been playing.

"I'll help you pick the peaches," offered Bunny, and he put down some sticks, a hammer and nails. He was trying to make a house for Splash, the big dog, but it was harder work than Bunny had thought. He was glad to stop.

"Yes, come along, both of you," replied Grandpa Brown. "I don't believe you can reach up to pick any peaches, but you can eat some, I guess. You know how to eat peaches, don't you?" he asked, smiling again at Bunny Brown and his sister Sue.

"Oh, I love peaches!" said Sue.

"And I do, too -- and peach shortcake is awful good!" murmured Bunny.

"Well, come along then. It's nice and shady and cool in the peach orchard."

Grandpa Brown put the basket over his arm, and gave Bunny one hand to clasp, while Sue took the other. In this way they walked down the path, through the garden, and out toward the orchard.

"Bunny! Sue! Where are you going?" called their mother to the children. Mrs. Brown had come out on the side porch.

"With Grandpa," answered Bunny.

"I'll look after them," said Grandpa Brown.

Bunny and his sister, with their papa and mamma, were spending the summer on the farm of Grandpa Brown away out in the country. The children liked it on the farm very much, for they had good fun. A few days before they had gone to the circus, and had seen so many wonderful things that they talked about them from morning until night, and, sometimes, even after they got to bed.

But just now, for a little while, they were not talking or thinking about the circus, though up to the time when Grandpa Brown came around the house with the basket on his arm, Bunny had been telling Sue about the man who hung by his heels from a trapeze that was fast to the top of the big tent. A trapeze, you know, is something like a swing, only it has a stick for a seat instead of a board.

"I could hang by a trapeze if I wanted to," Bunny had said to Sue.

"Oh, Bunny Brown! You could not!" Sue had cried.

"I could if I had the trapeze," he had said.

Then along had come Grandpa Brown.

"How many peaches do you think you can eat, Bunny?" asked Grandpa, as he led the children toward the orchard.

"Oh, maybe seven or six."

"That's too many!" laughed Grandpa Brown. "We should have to have the doctor for you, I'm afraid. I guess if you eat two you will have enough, especially with shortcake for supper."

"I can eat three," spoke up Sue. "I like peaches."

"But don't eat too many," said Grandpa. "Now I'll see if I can find a little, low tree, with ripe peaches on it, so you children can pick some off for yourselves."

They were in the orchard now. It was cool and shady there, and the children liked it, for the sun was shining hot outside the orchard. On one edge of the place, where grew the peach trees, ran a little brook, and Bunny and Sue could hear it bubbling as it rippled over the green, mossy stones. The sound of running water made the air seem cooler.

A little farther off, across the garden, were grandpa's beehives, where the bees were making honey. Sue and her brother could hear the bees buzzing as they flew from the hives to the flowers in the field. But the children did not want to go very close to the hives, for they knew the bees could sting.

"Now here's a nice tree for you to pick peaches from," said Grandpa Brown, as he stopped under one in the orchard.

"You may pick two peaches each, and eat them," went on the childrens' grandfather.

"And don't you want us to pick some for you, like ockstritches' eggs, an' put them in the basket?" asked Sue.

"Well, after you eat your two, perhaps you can help me," answered Grandpa Brown with a smile. But I think he knew that by the time Bunny and Sue had picked their own peaches he would have his basket filled. For, though Bunny and Sue wanted to help, their hands were small and they could not do much. Besides, they liked to play, and you cannot play and work at the same time. But children need to play, so that's all right.

Leaving Bunny and Sue under the tree he had showed them, where they might pick their own peaches, Grandpa Brown walked on a little farther, looking for a place where he might fill his basket.

"Oh, there's a nice red peach I'm going to get!" exclaimed Sue, as she reached up her hand toward it. But she found she was not quite tall enough.

"I'll get it for you," offered Bunny, kindly.

He got the peach for Sue, and she began to eat it.

"Oh, Bunny!" she cried. "It's a lovely sweet one. I hope you get a nice one."

"I will," Bunny said. Then as he looked at his sister he cried: "Oh, Sue! The juice is running all down your chin on your dress."

"Oh-oh-o-o-o!" said Sue, as she looked at the peach juice on her dress. "Oh-o-o-o!"

"Never mind," remarked Bunny. "We can wash it off in the brook."

"Yes," said Sue, and she went on eating her peach. "We'll wash it."

Bunny was looking up into the tree for a peach for himself. He wanted to get the biggest and reddest one he could find.

"Oh, I see a great big one!" Bunny cried, as he walked all around the tree.

"Where is it?" asked Sue. "I want a big one, Bunny."

"I'll get you another one. I see two," and Bunny pointed to them up in the tree.

"You can't reach 'em," asserted Sue. "They're too high, Bunny."

"I -- I can climb the tree," said the little boy. "I can climb the tree and get them."

"You'll fall," Sue said.

"No, I won't, Sue. You just watch me."

The peach tree was a low one, with branches close to the ground. And, as Bunny Brown said, he did know a little bit about climbing. He found a box in the orchard, and, by standing on this he got up into the tree.

Up and up he went, higher and higher until he was almost within reach of the two peaches he wanted. Grandpa Brown was busy picking peaches at a tree farther off, and did not see the children.

"Look out, Sue. I'm going to drop a peach down to you," called Bunny from up in the tree.

"I'll look out," said Sue. "I'll hold up my dress, and you can drop the peach in that. Then it won't squash on the ground."

She stood under the tree, looking up toward her brother. Bunny reached for one of the two big, red peaches, but he did not pick it. Something else happened.

A branch on which the little boy was standing suddenly broke, and down he fell. He turned over, almost like a clown doing a somersault in the circus, and the next moment Bunny's two feet caught between two other branches, and there he hung, upside down, his head pointing to the ground.



Chapter II

Let's Have A Circus!


"Bunny! Bunny! What are you doing?" cried Sue, as she saw her brother hanging, head down, in such a funny way from the peach tree branches. "Don't do that, Bunny! You'll get hurt!"

"I -- I didn't mean to do it!" cried Bunny, and his voice sounded very strange, coming from his mouth upside down as it was. Sue did not know whether to laugh or cry.

"Oh, Bunny! Bunny, is you playing circus?" she asked.

"No -- no! I'm not playing circus!" and Bunny wiggled, and wiggled again, trying to get his feet loose. Both of them were caught between two branches of the peach tree where the limbs grew close together.

And it is a good thing that Bunny could not get his feet loose just then, or he would have wiggled himself to the ground, and he might have been badly hurt, for he would have fallen on his head.

"Oh, Bunny! Bunny! You is playing circus!" cried Sue again. She had finished her first peach, and now, dropping the stone, from which she had been sucking the last, sweet bits of pulp, she stood looking at her brother, dangling from the tree.

"No, I'm not playing circus!" and Bunny's voice sounded now as though he was just ready to cry. "Run and tell grandpa to help me down, Sue!" he begged. "I -- I'm choking -- I can't hardly breathe, Sue! Run for grandpa!"

Bunny was almost choking, and his face, tanned as it was from the sun and wind, was red now -- almost as red as the boiled lobster, the hollow claw of which Bunny once put over his nose to make himself look like Mr. Punch, of the Punch and Judy show. For when boys, or girls either, hang by their feet, with their heads upside down, all the blood seems to run there if they hang too long. And that was what was happening to Bunny Brown.

"Are you sure you isn't playin' circus?" asked Sue.

"No -- I -- I'm not playing," answered Bunny. "Hurry for grandpa! Oh, how my head hurts!"

"You look just like the circus man," said Sue. For one of the men in the circus Bunny and Sue had seen a few days before had hung by his toes from a trapeze, upside down, just as Bunny was hanging, with his head pointing toward the ground, and his feet near the top of the tent.

But of course the circus man was used to it, and it did not hurt his head as it did Bunny's.

"Hurry, Sue!" begged the little boy.

"All right. I'll get grandpa," Sue cried, as she ran off toward the tree where Grandpa Brown was picking peaches.

"Oh, Grandpa!" cried the little girl. "Come -- come hurry up. Bunny -- Bunny -- he --  -- "

Sue was so out of breath, from having run so fast, and from trying to talk so fast, that she could hardly speak. But Grandpa Brown knew something was the matter.

"What is it, Sue?" he asked. "What has happened to Bunny? Did a bee sting him?"

"No, Grandpa. But he -- he's like the circus man, only he says he isn't playin' he is a circus. He's upside down in the tree, and he's a wigglin' an' a wogglin' an' he can't get down, an' his face is all red an' he wants you, an' -- an' --  -- "

"My goodness me!" exclaimed Grandpa Brown, setting on the ground his basket, now half full of peaches. "What is that boy up to now?"

For Bunny Brown, and often his sister Sue, did get into all sorts of mischief, though they did not always mean to do so. "What has Bunny done now, I wonder?" asked grandpa.

"He -- he couldn't help it," said Sue. "He slipped when he went up the tree, and now he's swinging by his legs just like the man in the circus, only Bunny says he isn't."

"He isn't what?" asked Grandpa Brown, as he hurried along, taking hold of Sue's hand. "What isn't he, Sue? I never did see such children!" and Grandpa Brown shook his head.

"Bunny says he isn't the man in the circus," explained Sue.

"No, I shouldn't think he would be a man in the circus," said grandpa.

"He looks just like a circus man, though," insisted Sue. "But he says he isn't playin' that game."

Sue shook her head. She did not know what it all meant, nor why Bunny was hanging in such a queer way. But Grandpa Brown would make it all right. Sue was sure of that.

"There he is! There's Bunny upside down!" cried Sue, pointing to the tree in which Bunny was hanging by his feet.

"Oh, my!" cried Grandpa Brown. Then he ran forward, took Bunny in his arms, and raised him up. This lifted Bunny's feet free from the tree branches, between which they were caught, and then Grandpa Brown turned the little boy right side up, and set him down on his feet.

"There you are, Bunny!" cried grandpa. "But how did it happen? Were you trying to be a circus, all by yourself?"

"N -- n -- no," stammered Bunny, for he could hardly get his breath yet. "I -- I slipped down when I was reaching for a big, red peach for Sue. But I didn't slip all the way, for my feets caught in the tree."

"Well, it's a good thing they did, or you might have been hurt worse than you were," said Grandpa Brown. "But I guess you're not hurt much now; are you?"

Bunny looked down at his feet. Then he felt of his own arms and legs. He took a long breath. His face was not so red now.

"I -- I guess I'm all right," he answered, at last.

"Well, don't climb any more trees," said Grandpa Brown. "You are too little."

Bunny thought he was quite a big boy, but of course grandpa knew what was right.

"I -- I won't climb any more peach trees," said Bunny Brown.

"No, nor any other kind!" exclaimed his grandfather. "Just keep out of trees. Little boys and girls are safest on the ground. But now you had better come over where I can keep my eyes on you. I have my basket nearly filled. We'll very soon go back to the house."

Bunny Brown was all right now. So he and Sue went over to the tree where grandpa was picking. They helped to fill the basket, for some of the peaches grew on branches so close to the ground that the children could reach up and pick them without any trouble.

Bunny Brown and his sister Sue had been on grandpa's farm since early summer. Those of you who have read the first book in this series do not need to be told who the children are. But there are some who may want to hear a little about them.

In the first book, named "Bunny Brown and His Sister Sue," I told you how the children, with their father and mother, lived in the town of Bellemere, on Sandport bay, near the ocean. Mr. Brown was in the boat business, and many fishermen hired boats from him.

Aunt Lu came from New York to visit Mrs. Brown, the mother of Bunny and Sue, and while on her visit Aunt Lu lost her diamond ring. Bunny found it in an awfully funny way, when he was playing he was Mr. Punch, in the Punch and Judy show.

In the second book, "Bunny Brown and His Sister Sue on Grandpa's Farm," I told you how the Brown family went to the country in a big automobile, in which they lived just as Gypsies do. They even slept in the big automobile van.

And when Bunny and Sue reached grandpa's farm, after a two days' trip, what fun they had! You may read all about it in the book. And Bunny and Sue did more than just have fun.

The children helped find grandpa's horses, that had been taken away by the Gypsies. The horses were found at the circus, where Bunny and Sue went to see the elephants, tigers, lions, camels and ponies. They also saw the men swinging on the trapeze, high up in the big tent.

Bunny Brown and his sister Sue always wanted to be doing something. If it was not one thing it was another. They often got lost, though they did not mean to. Sometimes their dog Splash would find them.

Splash was a fine dog. He pulled Sue out of the water once, and she called him Splash because he "splashed" in so bravely to get her.

In Bellemere, where Bunny and Sue lived, they had many friends. Every one in town loved the children. Even Wango, the queer monkey pet of Mr. Winkler, the old sailor, liked Bunny and Sue.

But they had not seen Wango for some time now; not since coming to the farm in the country. They had seen a trained bear, which a man led around by a string. The bear climbed a telegraph pole, and did other tricks. Bunny and Sue thought he was very funny. But they did not like him as much as they did the cunning little monkey at home in Bellemere.

Carrying the basket of peaches on his arm, and leading the children, Grandpa Brown walked back to the house. Mrs. Brown, the mother of Bunny and Sue, watched them come up the walk.

"Oh, Sue!" cried her mother. "Look at your dress! What did you spill on it?"

"I -- I guess it's peach juice, Mother. It dripped all over. But Bunny hung upside down in the tree, just like the man in the circus, only he wasn't."

I guess Sue was glad to talk about something else beside the peach juice stains on her dress.

"What -- what happened?" asked Mother Brown, looking at grandpa. "Did Bunny --  -- ?"

"That's right," he said, laughing. "Bunny was hanging, upside down, in a tree. But he wasn't hurt, and I soon lifted him down."

"Oh, what will those children do next?" asked their mother.

"I -- I didn't mean to do it," said Bunny. "It -- it just -- happened. I -- I couldn't help it."

"No, I suppose not," said his mother. "But you must go and wash now. Sue, I'll put a clean dress on you, and then I'll see if I can get the peach stains off this one. You ought to have on an old apron."

A little later, Bunny and Sue, now nice and clean, were sitting on the side porch. It was almost time for supper.

"Bunny," asked Sue, "did it hurt when you were playin' you were a circus man only you weren't?"

"No, it didn't exactly hurt," he said slowly. "But it felt funny. Did I really look like a circus man, Sue?"

"Yep. Just like one. Only, of course, you didn't have any nice pink suit on, with spangles and silver and gold."

"Oh, no, of course not," agreed Bunny. "But did I swing by my feet?"

"Yes, Bunny, you did."

For a moment the little chap said nothing. Then he cried out:

"Oh, Sue! I know what let's do!"

"What?"

"Let's have a circus! It will be lots of fun! We'll get up a circus all by ourselves! Will you help me make a circus?"



Chapter III

The Poor Old Hen


Sue looked at Bunny with widely-opened eyes. Then she clapped her hands. Sue always did that when she felt happy, and she felt that way now.

"Oh, Bunny!" she cried. "A circus? A real circus?"

"Well, of course not a real, big one, with lions and tigers and all that," said the little boy. "We couldn't get elephants and camels and bears. But maybe grandpa would let us take his two horses, that he got back from the Gypsies. They have lots of horses in the circus."

"I'd be afraid to ride on a horse," objected Sue, shaking her head.

"You wouldn't if Bunker Blue held you on; would you?"

"No, maybe not then."

"Well, we'll get Bunker Blue to hold us on the horse's back," said Bunny.

Bunker Blue was a big, red-haired boy -- almost a man -- and he worked for Mr. Brown. Bunker was very fond of Bunny and Sue. Bunker had steered the big automobile in which the Brown family came to grandpa's farm, and he was still staying in the country.

"Do you think we could really get up a circus?" asked Sue, after thinking about what Bunny had said.

"Of course we can," answered the little boy. "Didn't we get up a Punch and Judy show, when I found Aunt Lu's diamond ring?"

"Yes, but that wasn't as big as a circus."

"Well, we need only have a little circus show, Sue."

"Where could we have it, Bunny?"

The little boy thought for a moment.

"In grandpa's barn," he answered. "There's lots of room. It would be just fine."

"Would you and me be all the circus, Bunny?"

"Oh, no. We'd get some of the other boys and girls. We could get Tom White, Nellie Bruce, Jimmie Kenny, Sallie Smith and Ned Johnson. They'd be glad to play circus."

"Yes, I guess they would," said Sue. "It will be lots of fun. But what can we do, Bunny? You haven't any lobster claw to play Mr. Punch now, 'cause it's broke."

"No, we don't want to give a Punch and Judy show, Sue. We want to make this just like a circus, with trapezes and wild animals and --  -- "

"But you said we couldn't have any lions or tigers, Bunny. 'Sides, I'd be afraid of them," and Sue looked over her shoulder as if, even then, an elephant might be reaching out his trunk toward her for some peanuts.

"Oh, of course we couldn't have any real wild animals," said Bunny.

"What kind, then?" Sue wanted to know.

"Make believe kind. I could put some stripes on Splash, and make believe our dog was a tiger, Sue."

"How could you put stripes on him, Bunny?"

"With paint."

"No!" cried Sue, shaking her head. "Splash is half my dog, and I don't want him all painted up. You sha'n't do it, Bunny Brown!"

"All right, then. I'll only paint my half of Splash," said the little boy. "My half can be a striped tiger, and your half can be just a plain dog."

"That would be a funny wild animal," Sue said. "A half tiger and half dog."

"Lots of folks would like to see an animal like that," Bunny said. "I'll just stripe my half of Splash, and leave your half plain, Sue."

"All right. But is you only going to have one wild make-believe animal, Bunny?"

"No, Ned Johnson has a dog. We can make a lion out of him."

"But Ned's dog hasn't any tail," said Sue. "I mean he has only a little baby tail, like a rabbit. Lions always have tails with tassels on the end."

"Well," said Bunny, slowly. "We could make believe this lion had his tail bit off by an elephant."

"Oh, yes," said Sue.

"Or else maybe I could tie a cloth tail on Ned's dog," went on Bunny.

"And lions have manes, too. That's a lot of hair on their neck, like a horse," went on Sue.

"Well, we could take some carpenter shavings and tie them on Ned's dog's neck," said Bunny. "We could make believe that was the lion's mane."

"Yes," agreed Sue, "we could do that. Oh, I think a circus is nice, Bunny. But what else can we have besides the wild animals?"

"Oh, I can make a trapeze from the clothes-line and a broom handle. I could hang by my feet from the trapeze."

"Oh, Bunny! Wouldn't you be afraid?"

"Pooh! No! Didn't I hang in the tree? And I was only a little scared then. I'll get on the trapeze all right."

"And what can I do, Bunny?"

"Oh, you can ride a horse when Bunker Blue holds you on. We'll get mother to make you a blue dress out of mosquito netting, and you can have a ribbon in your hair, like a real circus lady."

"Oh, Bunny, do you s'pose mother will let us have the circus?"

"I guess so. We'll tell her about it, anyhow. But we'll have to get some other boys and girls to help us. And we'll have to make a cage to keep Splash in. He's going to be the wild tiger, you know."

"Oh, but I don't want Splash shut up in a cage!" cried Sue. "I sha'n't let you put my half of him in a cage! And I do own half of him, right down the middle; half his tail is mine, too. You can't put my half of him in any old cage!"

Bunny did not know what to say. It was easy enough to put make-believe tiger stripes on one side, or on half a dog, but it was very hard to put half a dog in a cage, and leave the other half outside. Bunny did not see how it could be done.

"Oh, it won't hurt Splash," said the little boy. "Come on, Sue. Please let me put your half with my half of Splash in a cage."

"No, sir! Bunny Brown! I won't do it! You can't put my half of Splash in a cage. He won't like it."

"But, Sue, it's only a make-believe cage, just as he's a make-believe tiger."

"Oh, well, if it's only a make-believe cage, then, I don't care. But you mustn't hurt him, and you can't put any paint stripes on my half."

"No, I won't, Sue. Now let's go out to the barn and look to see where we can put up the trapezes and rings and things like that, and where I can hang by my feet and by my hands."

"Oh, Bunny! Are you going to do that?"

"Sure!" cried the little boy, as though it was as easy as eating a piece of strawberry shortcake. "You just watch me, Sue."

"Well, I don't want to do that," said Sue. "I'm just going to be a pretty lady and ride a white horse."

"But grandpa hasn't any white horses, Sue. They're brown."

"Well, I can sprinkle some talcum powder on a brown horse and make him white," said the little girl. "Can't I?"

"Oh, yes!" cried Bunny. "That will be fine! But it will take an awful lot of talcum powder to make a big horse all white, Sue."

"Well, I'll just make him spotted white then. I've got some talcum powder of my own, and it smells awful good. I guess a horse would like it; don't you, Bunny?"

"I guess so, Sue. But come out to the barn."

Grandpa Brown had two barns on his farm. One was where the horses and cows were kept, and the other held wagons, carriages and machinery. It was in the horse-barn where the children went -- the barn where there were big piles of sweet-smelling hay.

"I can fall on the hay, 'stead of falling in a net, like the circus men do," said Bunny.

"Anyhow, we haven't any circus net," suggested Sue.

"No," agreed Bunny. "But the hay is just as bouncy. I'm going to jump in it!"

He climbed up on the edge of the hay-mow, or place where the hay is kept, and jumped into the dried grass. For hay is just dried grass, you know.

Down into the hay bounced Bunny, and Sue bounced after him. The children jumped up and down in the hay, laughing and shouting. Then they played around the barn, trying to pretend that they were already having the circus in it.

"Oh, it will be such fun!" cried Sue.

"Jolly!" cried Bunny.

"Let's go and ask mother now," said Sue.

The children started for the house. On the way they had to pass a little pond of water. On the edge of it stood a hen, clucking and making a great fuss. She would run toward the water and then come back again, without getting her feet wet.

"Oh, the poor old hen!" cried Sue. "What's the matter? Oh, see, Bunny! All her little chickens are in the water. Oh, Bunny! We must get them out for her. Oh, you poor old hen!"



Chapter IV

A Strange Boy


Bunny Brown and his sister Sue stood on the shore of the little pond, looking at the old hen, who was fluttering up and down, very much excited, clucking and calling as loudly as she could.

And, paddling up and down in the water in front of her, where the hen dared not go, for chickens don't like to get wet you know, paddling up and down in front of the hen were some soft, fluffy little balls of downy feathers.

"Oh, her chickens will all be drowned!" cried Sue. "We must get them out, Bunny. Take off your shoes and stockings and wade in. I'll help you save the little chickens for the poor old hen."

Sue sat down on the ground, and began to take off her shoes.

Bunny began to laugh.

"Why, what -- what's the matter?" asked Sue, and she seemed rather surprised at Bunny's laughter. "Don't you want to save the little chicks for the hen?" Sue went on. "Maybe somebody threw them in the water, or maybe they fell in."

"Those aren't little chickens, Sue!" exclaimed Bunny, still laughing.

"Not chickens? They aren't? Then what are they?"

"Little ducks! That's the reason they went into the water. They know how to swim when they're just hatched out of the eggs. They won't get drowned."

Sue did not know what to say. She had never before seen any baby ducks, and, at first, they did look like newly hatched chickens. But as she watched them she saw they were swimming about, and, as one little baby duck waddled out on the shore, Sue could see the webbed feet, which were not at all like the claws of a chicken.

"But Bunny -- Bunny -- if they're little ducks and it doesn't hurt them to go in the water, what makes the old hen so afraid?" Sue asked.

"I -- I guess she thinks they are chickens. She doesn't know they are ducks and can swim," said Bunny. "I guess that's it, Sue."

"Ha! Ha! Yes, that's it!" a voice exclaimed behind Bunny and Sue. They looked around to see their Grandpa Brown looking at them and laughing.

"The old hen doesn't know what to make of her little family going in swimming," he went on. "You see, we put ducks' eggs under a hen to hatch, Bunny and Sue. A hen can hatch any kind of eggs."

"Can a hen hatch ockstritches' eggs?" Sue wanted to know.

"Well, maybe not the eggs of an ostrich," answered Grandpa Brown. "I guess a hen could only cover one of those at a time. But a hen can hatch ducks' or turkeys' eggs as well as her own kind."

"So as we don't always have a duck that wants to hatch out little ones, we put the ducks' eggs under a hen. And every time, as soon as the little ducks find water, after they are hatched, they go in for a swim, just as if they had a duck for a mother instead of a hen.

"And, of course, the mother hen thinks she has little chickens, for at first she can't tell the little ducks from chickens. And when they go into the water she thinks, just as you did, Sue, that they will be drowned. So she makes a great fuss. But she soon gets over it."

"I guess she's over it now," said Bunny.

Indeed, the old mother hen was not clucking so loudly now, nor was she rushing up and down on the shore of the pond with her wings all fluffed up. She seemed to know that the little family she had hatched out, even if they were not like any others she had taken care of, were all right, and very nice. And she seemed to think that for them to go in the water was all right, too.

As for the little ducklings, they paddled about, and quacked and whistled (as baby ducks always do) and had a perfectly lovely time. The old mother hen stood on the bank and watched them.

Pretty soon the ducks had had enough of swimming, and they came out on dry land, waddling from side to side in the funny way ducks do when they walk.

"Oh! How glad the old hen is to see them safe on shore again!" cried Sue.

And, indeed, the mother hen did seem glad to have her family with her once more. She clucked over them, and tried to hover them under her warm wings, thinking, maybe, that she would dry them after their bath.

But ducks' feathers do not get wet in the water the way the feathers of chickens do, for ducks feathers have a sort of oil in them. So the little ducks did not need to get dry. They ran about in the sun, quacking in their baby voices, and the mother hen followed them about, clucking and scratching in the gravel to dig up things for them to eat.

"They'll be all right now," said Grandpa Brown. "The next time the little ducks go into the water the old hen mother won't be at all frightened, for she will know it is all right. This always happens when we let a chicken hatch out ducks' eggs."

"And I thought the little chickens were drowning!" laughed Sue, as she put on her shoes again.

"Well, that's just what the mother hen thought," said Grandpa Brown. "But what have you children been doing?"

"Getting ready for a circus," answered Bunny Brown.

"A circus!" exclaimed grandpa, in surprise.

"Yes," explained Sue. "Bunny is going to get a trapeze, and fall down in the hay, where it doesn't hurt. And he's going to paint his half of our dog Splash, so Splash will look like a tiger, and we're going to have a horse, and Bunker Blue is going to hold me on so I can ride and -- and --  -- "

But that was all Sue could think of just then.

Grandpa Brown looked surprised and, taking off his straw hat, scratched his head, as he always did when thinking.

"Going to have a circus; eh? Well, where abouts?"

"In your barn," said Bunny. "That is, if you'll let us."

Grandpa Brown thought for a little while.

"Well," he said slowly, "I guess I don't mind. I s'pose it's only a make-believe circus; isn't it?"

"Yes," answered Bunny. "Just pretend."

"Oh, well, go ahead. Have all the fun you like, but don't get hurt. Are you two going to be the whole circus?"

"Oh, no!" exclaimed Bunny. "We're going to have Tom White and Ned Johnson --  -- "

"And Nellie Bruce and Sallie Smith," added Sue.

"All the children around here; eh?" asked grandpa. "Well, have a good time. I used to have a trained dog once. He would do finely for your circus."

"What could he do?" Bunny wanted to know.

"Oh, he could pretend to say his prayers, make believe he was dead, he could turn somersaults and climb a ladder."

"Oh, if we only had him for our circus!" cried Bunny.

"Where is that dog now, Grandpa?" asked Sue.

"Oh, he died a good many years ago. But I guess you can get your dog Splash to do some tricks. Have a good time, but don't get into mischief."

"We won't!" promised Bunny Brown and his sister Sue. And they really meant what they said. But you just wait and see what happens.

The rest of that day Bunny and Sue talked about the circus they were going to have. Grandma Brown, as well as father and Mother Brown, said she did not mind if a circus was held in the barn, but she wanted Bunny to be careful about going on the trapeze.

"Oh, if I fall I'll fall in the hay," said the little fellow with a laugh.

"And what are you going to use to put stripes on your half of Splash?" asked his mother.

"Paint, I guess," said Bunny.

"Oh, no. Paint would spoil Splash's nice, fluffy hair. I'll mix you up some starch and water, with a little bluing in, that will easily wash off," promised Mother Brown.

"Blue stripes!" cried Bunny. "A tiger doesn't have blue stripes, and my half of Splash is going to be a tiger."

"You can pretend he is a new sort of tiger," said Grandma Brown, and Bunny was satisfied with that.

That afternoon Bunny and Sue went to the homes of the neighboring children to tell them about the circus. Nearly all the children said they would come, and take part in the show in the barn.

"Oh, we'll have a fine circus!" cried Bunny Brown that night when they were all sitting on the porch to cool off, for it was quite hot.

"Yes, I guess we'll all have to come and see you act," said Daddy Brown.

"Hark! What's that?" suddenly asked Grandma Brown. They all listened, and heard some one knocking at the back door.

"I'll go and look," said grandpa. "Maybe it's a tramp. There have been some around lately."

Bunny and Sue thought of the tramps who had taken the big cocoanut-custard cake, about which I told you in the book before this one. Perhaps those tramps had gotten out of jail and had come to get more cake. Bunny and Sue sat close to mother and father while grandpa went around the corner of the house to see who was knocking at the back door.

They all heard grandpa speaking to some one. And the answers came in a boy's voice.

"What do you want?" asked grandpa.

"If -- if you please," said the strange boy's voice, "I -- I'm very hungry. I haven't had any dinner or supper. I'm willing to do any work you want, for something to eat. I -- I --  -- "

And then it sounded as though the strange boy were crying.

"That isn't a tramp!" exclaimed Grandma Brown, getting up. "It's just a hungry boy. I'm going to feed him."

They all followed Grandma Brown around to the back stoop. There was a light in the kitchen, and by it Bunny and Sue could see a boy, not quite as big as Bunker Blue, standing beside grandpa. The boy had on clothes that were dusty, and somewhat torn. But the boy's face and hands were clean, and he had bright eyes that, just now, seemed filled with tears.

"What is it?" asked Grandma Brown.

"It's a hungry boy, Mother. A strange, hungry boy!" said grandpa. "I guess we'll have to feed him, and then we'll have him tell us his story."



Chapter V

Something Queer


"Come right in and sit down!" was Grandma Brown's invitation. And she said it in such a kind, pleasant voice that the strange boy looked around as though she were speaking to some one who had come up behind him, that he could not see.

"Come right in, and get something to eat," went on the children's grandmother.

"Do you -- do you mean me?" asked the strange boy.

"Why, yes. Who else do you s'pose she meant?" asked Grandpa Brown.

"I -- I didn't know, sir. You see I -- I'm not used to being invited into places that way. I thought maybe you didn't mean it."

"Mean it? Of course I mean it!" said Grandma Brown.

"You're hungry; aren't you?" asked Grandpa Brown.

"Hungry. Oh, sir -- I -- I haven't had anything since breakfast, and then it was only a green apple and some berries I picked."

"Land sakes!" cried Grandma Brown. "Why didn't you go up to the first house you came to and ask for a meal?"

"I -- I didn't like to, ma'am. I thought maybe they'd set the dog on me, thinking I was a tramp."

By this time Splash, the big pet dog, had come around the path. The strange boy looked around as though getting ready to run.

"He won't hurt you," said Bunny quickly. "Splash is a good dog."

Splash went up to the strange boy, rubbed his cold, wet nose on the boy's legs, and then Splash began to wag his tail.

"See, he likes you," said Sue. "He's going to be in our show; Splash is. He's going to be half a blue-striped tiger when we have our circus."

"Circus!" cried the strange boy. "Is -- is there a circus around here?" and he seemed much surprised, even frightened, Bunny thought afterward.

"No, there isn't any circus," said Grandpa Brown. "It's only a make-believe one the children are getting up. But we musn't keep you standing here talking when you're half starved. Get him something to eat, Mother. The idea of being afraid to go to a house and ask for something!" said Grandpa Brown, in a low voice.

"That shows he isn't a regular tramp; doesn't it?" asked Mother Brown.

"I should say so -- yes," answered grandpa. "But there is something queer about that boy."

By this time Grandmother Brown had gone into the kitchen. She told the strange boy to follow her, and soon she had set out in front of him some bread and butter, a plate of cold meat and a big bowl of cool, rich, creamy milk.

"Now you just eat all you want," said Grandma Brown, kindly.

Bunny and Sue had come out into the kitchen, and they now stood staring at the strange boy. He had a pleasant face, though, just now, it looked pale, and all pinched up from hunger, like a rubber ball that hasn't any air in it.

The boy looked around the kitchen, as though he did not know just what to do. In his hand he held a ragged cap he had taken off his head when he came in.

"Did you want something?" asked Grandma Brown.

"I -- I was looking for a place to hang my hat. And then I'd like to wash. I'm all dust and dirt."

Grandma Brown smiled. She was pleased -- Bunny and Sue could see that -- for Grandma Brown liked clean and neat boys and girls who hung up their hats and bonnets, and washed their faces and hands, without being told to do so.

"Hang your cap over on that nail," said Grandpa Brown, pointing to one behind the stove. "And you can wash at the sink to-night. Now you two tots had better go to bed!" grandpa went on, as he saw Bunny and Sue standing with their backs against the wall, watching the strange boy.

"We -- we want to stay and see him eat," objected Sue.

The boy smiled, and Mrs. Brown laughed.

"This isn't a circus, where you watch the animals eat," she said. "You come along with me, and, when this young man has finished his supper, you can see him again."

"Oh, but -- if you please -- you're very good. But after I eat this nice meal I'll -- I'll be going on," said the boy.

"No you'll not!" said Grandpa Brown. "You'll just stay here all night. We can put you up. I think it's going to storm. You don't want to be out in the rain?"

"Oh, that's very good of you," the boy said, "But I don't want to be a trouble to you."

"It won't be any trouble," Grandpa Brown said. Then he went out of the kitchen with Mother Brown, Bunny and Sue, leaving Grandma Brown to wait on the strange boy. Splash stayed in the kitchen too. Perhaps the big dog was hungry himself.

"That boy isn't a regular tramp," said Grandpa Brown. "But there is something queer about him. He seems afraid. I must have a talk with him after he eats."

"He seems nice and neat," said Mother Brown.

"Yes, he's clean. I like him for that. Well, we'll soon find out what he has to tell me."

But the boy did not seem to want to talk much about himself, when Grandpa Brown began asking questions, after the meal.

"You have run away; haven't you?" Grandpa Brown asked.

"Yes -- yes, sir, I did run away."

"From home?"

"No, I haven't had any home, that I can remember. I didn't run away from home. I was working."

"On a farm?"

"No, sir. I didn't work on a farm."

"Where was it then?"

"I -- I'd rather not tell," the boy said, looking around him as though he thought some one might be after him.

"Look here!" said Grandpa Brown. "You haven't been a bad boy; have you?"

"No -- no, sir. I've tried to be good. But the -- the people I worked for made it hard for me. They wanted me to do things I couldn't, and they beat me and didn't give me enough to eat. So I just ran away. They may come after me -- that's why I don't want to tell you. If you don't know where I ran from, you won't know what to tell them if they come after me. But I'll go now."

The boy got up from the table, as though to go out into the night. It was raining now.

"No, I won't let you go," said Grandpa Brown. "And I won't give you up to the people who beat you. I'll look into this. You can stay here to-night. You can sleep in the room with Bunker Blue. He'll look after you. Now I hope you have been telling me the truth!"

"Oh, yes, sir. It's all true. I did work for -- for some people, and they half starved me and made me work very hard. I just had to run away, and I hope they don't catch me and take me back."

"Well, I hope so, too," Grandpa Brown said. "I can't imagine what sort of work you did. You don't look very strong."

"I'm not. But I didn't have to be so very strong."

"Not strong enough to work on a farm, I guess."

"Oh, I'm strong enough for that -- yes, sir! Feel my muscle!" and the boy bent up his arm. Grandpa Brown put his hand on it.

"Yes, you have some muscle," he said. "Well, maybe you will be all right. Anyhow you'll be better off for a good night's sleep. I'll call Bunker and have him look after you."

The strange boy, who said his name was Ben Hall, went up stairs with Bunker Blue to go to bed. Bunny and Sue were also taken off to their little beds.

"Well, what do you think of the new boy?" Bunny heard his father ask of Grandpa Brown, just before the lights were put out for the night.

"Well, I think there's something queer about him," Grandpa Brown said. "I'd like to know where he was working before he came here. But I'll ask him again to-morrow. He seems like a nice, clean boy. But he certainly is queer!"



Chapter VI

Ben Hall Helps


Early the next morning Bunny and Sue jumped out of bed, and ran down stairs in their bath robes. Out into the kitchen they hurried, where they could hear their grandmother singing.

"Where is he?" asked Bunny, eagerly.

"Did he have his breakfast?" Sue wanted to know.

"Who?" asked Grandma Brown. "What are you children talking about? And why aren't you dressed?"

"We just got up," Bunny explained, "and we came down stairs right away. Where is Ben Hall?"

"Did he go away?" asked Sue, and she looked all around the kitchen.

"Bless your hearts!" exclaimed Grandma Brown. "You mean the strange, hungry boy, who came last night? Oh, he's up long ago!"

"Did he go away?" asked Sue.

"I hope he didn't," cried Bunny. "I like him, and I hope he'll stay here and play with us. He could help us with the circus."

"Did he go away?" asked Sue again, anxiously.

"Oh, no," Grandma Brown answered. "He went out to help Bunker Blue feed the chickens and the cows and horses. He is very willing to work, Ben is."

"Is grandpa going to keep him?" Bunny asked.

"For a while, yes," said his grandmother. "The poor boy has no home, and no place to go. Where he ran away from he won't tell, but he seems badly frightened. So we are going to take care of him for a little while, and he is going to help around the farm. There are many errands and chores to do, and a good boy is always useful."

"I'm glad he's going to stay," said Bunny.

"So'm I," added Sue. "Maybe he can make boats, Bunny, and a water wheel that we can fix to turn around at a waterfall."

"Maybe," agreed Bunny. "Where is Ben, Grandma?"

"Oh, now he's out in the barn, somewhere, I expect. But you two tots must get dressed and have your breakfast. Then you can go out and play."

"We'll find Ben," said Bunny.

"Yes," agreed Sue. "We'll have two boys to play with now -- Ben and Bunker Blue."

"Oh, you two children mustn't expect the big boys to play with you all the while," said Grandma Brown. "They have to work."

"But they can play with us sometimes; can't they, Grandma?" asked Bunny.

"Oh, yes, sometimes."

A little later the two children, having had their breakfast, ran to the barn, to look for Ben and Bunker. They found them leading the horses out to the big drinking trough in front. The trough was filled from a spring, back of the barn, the water running through a pipe.

"Oh, Bunker, give me a ride on Major's back!" cried Sue, as she saw her father's red-haired helper leading the old brown horse.

"Put me on his back, Bunker!"

"All right, Sue! Come along. Whoa, there, Major!"

Major stood still, for he was very gentle. Bunker lifted Sue up on the animal's broad back, and held her there while he led the horse to the drinking trough.

"Do you want a ride, too?" asked Ben Hall of Bunny.

"Yes," answered the little boy.

"Here you go then. We'll both ride this horse to water."

Ben Hall did a strange thing. All at once he jumped up in the air, and before Bunny or Sue knew what he was doing the strange boy was sitting on the back of Prince, the other horse. He had jumped up as easily as a bouncing, rubber ball.

"Now then, come over here, and I'll lift you up in front of me!" called Ben to Bunny, and soon the little fellow was sitting on the back of Prince, while Ben guided him to the drinking trough.

"Say, that's a good way to get up on a horse's back, Ben!" called Bunker Blue, who had seen what Ben had done. "Where did you learn that trick of jumping up?"

"Oh, I -- I just sort of learned it -- that's all. It's easy when you practise it."

"Well, I'm going to practise then," said Bunker. "I'd like to learn to jump on a horse's back the way you did."

When the horses had had their water Bunker lifted Sue down from the back of Major.

"But I want to ride back to the barn," the little girl said.

"And in a minute so you shall," promised Bunker. "Only, just now, I want to see if I can jump up the way Ben did."

Bunker tried it, but he nearly fell.

"I can't do it," he said. "It looks easy, but it's hard. You must have had to practise a good while, Ben."

"Yes, I did."

"How long?"

"Oh, about five years!"

Bunker Blue whistled in surprise.

"Five years!" he cried. "I'll never be able to do that. Let me see once more how you do it."

Ben lifted Bunny down, and once more the strange boy leaped with one jump upon the back of the horse.

"Why, he does it just like the men in the circus!" exclaimed Sue. "Oh, Bunny, Ben will make a good jumper in our circus."

"Yes," agreed the little boy. "Do you think, Ben, you could show me how to get on a horse's back that way?" Bunny asked.

"Well, I'm afraid not -- not such a little boy as you," answered Ben, as he lifted Bunny up on Prince's back once more for the ride to the barn.

The horses were tied in their stalls again, after Bunny and Sue had been lifted from the backs of the animals. Then Bunny said:

"You are going to stay here and help work on the farm, Ben. My grandmother said so. And, if you are, will you come out and look at the barn where we are going to have our circus? Maybe you and Bunker can help us put up the trapeze."

"Not now, Bunny boy," said Bunker. "We have to go and pull weeds out of the garden. We'll look at the barn right after dinner."

And this Ben and Bunker did. Bunny and Sue showed Ben the mow, and the pile of hay, into which the trapeze performers were to fall, instead of into nets.

"So they won't get hurt," Bunny explained. "We haven't any nets, anyhow."

"Do you think we could have a circus here?" Sue wanted to know.

"Why, I should think so," Ben answered, looking up toward the roof of the barn. "Yes, you could have a good make-believe circus here."

"Will you help?" asked Bunny eagerly.

Ben Hall laughed, and looked at Bunny and Sue in a queer sort of way.

"What makes you think I can help you make a play-circus?" he asked.

"Oh, I guess you can, all right," spoke up Bunker Blue. "I guess you know more about a circus than you let us think. Don't you now?"

"Oh, well, I've seen 'em," said Ben, slowly.

"And the way you jumped on the horse -- why, you must have been watching pretty hard to see just how to do that," Bunker went on. "I've seen lots of circuses, but I can't jump up the way you can, Ben."

"Then he can ride a horse in our circus," said Sue.

"Can you hang on a trapeze?" asked Bunny.

"Well, maybe," the new boy answered. "But you haven't any trapeze here, have you?"

"We can make one, out of a broom stick and some clothes line," said Bunny. "I've got 'em all ready," and he showed where he had put, in a hole in the hay, the rope and stick.

"Good! That's the idea!" exclaimed Ben Hall. "Now I'll just climb up to the roof beams, and fasten the rope of the trapeze."

Up climbed Ben, and he was making fast the ropes, when, all at once Bunny, Sue and Bunker Blue, who were watching the strange boy, saw him suddenly slip off the beam on which he was standing.

"Oh, poor Ben!" sighed Sue. "He's going to get an awful hard bump, so he is!"



Chapter VII

Bunny Has A Fall


Down and down, from the big beam near the top of the barn, fell Ben Hall. And, as Bunny Brown and his sister Sue watched the new, strange boy, something queer happened.

For, instead of falling straight down, head first or feet first as you would think any one ought to fall, Ben began turning over and over. Over and over he turned, first his feet and then his head and then his back being pointed toward the pile of hay on the bottom of the barn floor.

"Oh, look! look!" cried Sue.

"What -- what makes him do that?" asked Bunny Brown.

"I guess he wants to," answered Bunker Blue. Bunny and his sister thought they were going to be frightened when they saw Ben slip and fall. But when the children saw Bunker Blue laughing they smiled too.

It was queer to see Ben turning over and over in that funny way.

"I guess he likes to do it," said Bunker.

"Whoop-la!" yelled Ben as he came somersaulting down, for that is what he was doing; turning one somersault after another, over and over in the air as he fell.

And then, in a few seconds, he landed safely on his feet in a soft pile of hay, so he wasn't hurt a bit.

"Oh!" exclaimed Sue.

"Oh my!" cried Bunny Brown.

"Say, that was fine!" shouted Bunker Blue. "How did you do it?"

"Oh, I -- I just did it," answered Ben, slowly, for he was a little out of breath. "I slipped, and when I found I was going to fall, I began to turn somersaults to make it easier coming down."

"I should think it would be harder," said Bunny Brown.

"Not when you know how," answered Ben, smiling.

"Where'd you learn how?" Bunker wanted to know.

"Oh, a man -- a man showed me how," returned Ben. "But never mind about that now. I must fasten the rope to the beam, and then we'll fix the trapeze so Bunny can do some circus acts on it."

"But not high up!" cried Sue. "You won't go on a high trapeze, will you, Bunny?"

"Not very high," he answered. "But I would like to turn somersaults in the air like you, Ben. Will you show me how?"

"Some day, when you get bigger. You're too small now."

"I wouldn't want to turn somersaults," said Sue, shaking her head.

"They aren't for girls, anyhow," flung forth Bunny.

Bunker Blue looked at Ben sharply.

"I think I can guess where you learned to turn those somersaults in the air," said the boat-boy. "It was in a -- "

"Hush! Don't tell any one!" whispered Ben quickly. "I'll tell you all about it after a while. Now help me put up the trapeze."

Bunny heard what Ben and Bunker said, but he did not think much about it then. The little boy was looking up to see from what a height Ben had fallen, and Bunny was wondering what he would ever do if he tumbled down so far.

Bunker and Ben climbed the ladder to the beam far above the hay pile, and soon they had fastened up the ropes of the trapeze. They pulled hard on them to make sure they were strong enough, so Bunny would not have a fall.

Then the piece of broom handle was tied on the two lower ends of the ropes, and the trapeze was finished.

"Now you can try it, Bunny," said Bunker, after he had swung on the trapeze for a few times to make sure it was safe.

Bunny walked across the barn floor where some hay had been spread to make a sort of cushion.

"We'll use hay, instead of a net as they do in a circus," Bunny said.

"Anyhow we haven't got any net," put in Sue.

"We can make believe the hay is a new kind," said her brother.

Bunny hung by his hands from the wooden bar of the trapeze, just as he had seen the men do in the circus. Then he began to swing slowly back and forth.

"Oh, Bunny!" cried Sue. "That's fine. Now turn yourself inside out, like the circus man did."

"No, Bunny can't do that yet," said Ben. "He must first do easy things on the trapeze. Turning yourself inside out is too hard. Bunny is not strong enough for those tricks."

To and fro swung Bunny, but soon his arms began to get tired.

"I -- I want to get down!" he called. "Stop the swing -- I mean the trapeze," for the trapeze was very much like a swing, as I have told you, only, instead of a board, it had only a stick to which the little boy was holding by his hands. "I want to get down," Bunny called. "Stop me, Bunker."

"Let go and jump," advised Ben.

"Oh, I -- I'm afraid," said Bunny.

"You won't get hurt!" exclaimed the older boy. "You must learn to jump from the trapeze into the soft hay. That's what they do in a circus. Jump while you're swinging. You won't get hurt."

"Are you sure, Ben?"

"Sure. Give a jump now, and see what happens."

Bunny wanted to do some of the things he had seen the circus men do, and one of them was jumping from the trapeze. The little boy looked down at the pile of hay below him. It seemed nice and soft, but it also looked to be a good distance off.

"Come on, Bunny, jump!" called Bunker.

"All right. Here I come!"

Bunny let go of the trapeze bar. He shot through the air, and, for a second or two, he was afraid he was going to be hurt. But, the next thing he knew, he had landed feet first on a soft pile of hay and he wasn't hurt a bit!

"Good!" cried Bunker Blue.

"You did that well!" said Ben Hall.

"Just like in a circus," added Sue.

"Did I do it good?" asked Bunny Brown.

"You surely did. For the first time it was very good for such a small boy," answered Ben. "Now try again."

"Oh, I like it!" Bunny cried. "I'm going to do it lots and lots of times, and then I'm going to turn somersaults."

"Well, not right away," advised Ben. "Try the easy part for a while yet."

Bunny swung on the trapeze some more, and dropped into the soft hay. He was not at all afraid now, and each time he did it he liked it more and more.

Sue, also, wanted to try it, and so she hung by her little hands. But Bunker Blue put his strong arms under her so, in case she slipped, she would be caught. Sue did not swing on the trapeze, nor jump, as Bunny had done.

Bunker and Ben put up more trapezes in the barn -- big ones for themselves. Ben could swing and turn somersaults and drop off into the hay from away up near the roof of the barn. Bunker could not do quite as well as this, but, for all that, he was pretty good.

"Will you two act in our circus?" asked Bunny of Bunker and Ben.

"Why, yes, I guess I will, if your grandfather lets me stay here on this nice farm," Ben answered.

"Oh, he'll let you stay," Bunny said. "I'll tell him we want you in our circus."

"All right," laughed Ben. "Bunker and I will practise some trapeze acts for your show."

For a little while longer Bunny and Sue played about in the barn. Bunny found an old strawberry crate, with a cover on.

"This will make a wild animal cage," he said. "The slats are just like the bars of a cage, and the animal can look through."

"What wild animal will you put in there?" asked Bunker.

"Oh, I guess I'll put in Splash. He is going to be half a blue striped tiger."

"No! No!" cried Sue. "That crate isn't big enough for Splash. You'll squash him all up. I'm not going to have my half of Splash all squashed up, Bunny Brown!"

"Well, then I'll get a bigger cage for Splash. We can get a little dog, and put him in here."

Two or three days after this Bunny and Sue again went out to the barn to look at the circus trapezes, and play. Bunker Blue and Ben were not with them this time, as the two older boys were weeding the garden for Grandpa Brown.

Bunny swung on his little, low trapeze, and then, after he had jumped off into the hay as Ben had taught him, the little fellow began climbing the ladder to the beam on which was fastened the big and high trapeze.

"Oh, Bunny! Where you going?" asked Sue.

"Up here. I want to see how high it looks."

"Oh, Bunny Brown! You come right down, or I'll go and tell mamma! She said you weren't to climb up high."

"I -- I'm not going very high, Sue."

Bunny was half way up the ladder. And, just as he spoke to Sue, his foot slipped, and down he fell, in between two rounds of the ladder.

"Oh! oh!" cried Sue. "Oh, Bunny! You're going to fall!"

But Bunny did not fall all the way. As he slipped, his hands caught hold of a round of the ladder, and there he clung, just as if he had hold of the bar of his swinging trapeze.



Chapter VIII

The Doll In The Well


Bunny Brown hung there on the ladder, swinging to and fro. On the barn floor below him, stood his sister Sue, watching, and almost ready to cry, for Sue was afraid Bunny would fall.

"Oh, Bunny! Bunny!" she exclaimed. "Don't fall! Don't fall!"

"I -- I can't help it," Bunny answered. "My fingers are slipping off!"

And indeed they were. He could not hold to the big round stick of the ladder as well as he could to the smaller broom-handle stick of his trapeze.

Bunny Brown looked down. And then he saw something that frightened him more than had Sue's cries.

For, underneath him was the bare floor of the barn, with no soft hay on which to fall -- on which to bounce up and down like a rubber ball.

"Oh, Sue!" cried Bunny. "I'm going to fall, and -- and -- "

He did not finish what he started to say, but he wiggled his feet and legs, pointing them at the bare floor of the barn, over which he hung.

But Sue saw and understood.

"Wait a minute, Bunny!" she cried. "Don't fall yet! Wait a minute, and I'll throw some hay down there for you to fall on!"

"All -- all right!" answered Bunny. He did not want to talk much, for it took nearly all his breath and strength to hold on to the ladder. But he was glad Sue had thought of the hay. He was going to tell her to get it, but she guessed it herself.

Putting her doll carefully in a corner, on a little wisp of hay, Sue ran to the edge of the mow, where there was a big pile of the dried grass, which the horses and cows eat.

With both her chubby hands, Sue began to pull the hay out, and scatter it on the barn floor under Bunny. Her brother hung right over her head now, clinging to the ladder.

"Haven't you got 'most enough hay there now, Sue?" asked Bunny. "I -- I can't hold on much longer."

"Wait just a minute!" called Sue, as she ran back to the mow. This time she managed to gather up a lot of hay in her two arms. This she piled on the other, and she was only just in time.

"Look out!" suddenly cried Bunny. "Here I come!"

And down he did come. Plump! Right on the pile of hay Sue had made for him. And it was a good thing the hay was there, or Bunny might have hurt his legs by his tumble. He did not try to turn a somersault as Ben did, the time he fell. Bunny was glad enough just to fall down straight.

"Oh, Bunny! Bunny! Did you hurt yourself?" cried Sue, as she saw her brother sit down in the pile of hay.

Bunny did not answer for a minute. He looked all around, as though he did not know exactly what had happened. Then he glanced up at the ladder to which he had clung.

"That -- that was a big fall," he said slowly. "I -- I'm glad the hay was there, Sue. I'm glad you put it under me."

"So'm I glad," declared Sue. "I guess you won't want to be in a circus, will you, Bunny?"

"Sure I will. Men fall in circuses, only they fall in nets. But hay is better than a net, 'cept that it tickles you," and Bunny took from his neck some pieces of dried grass that made him wiggle, and "squiggle," as Sue called it.

"Hello! What happened here?" asked a voice, and the children looked up to see, standing in the door of the barn, Grandpa Brown. "What happened?" asked the farmer. "Did you fall, Bunny?"

I think he must have guessed that, from seeing the way Bunny was sitting on the little pile of hay.

"Yes, I -- I slipped off the ladder," said the little boy. "But I didn't get hurt."

"'Cause I spread hay under him," said Sue. "I thought of it all by myself."

"That was fine!" said Grandpa Brown. "But, after this, Bunny, don't you climb up on any ladders, or any other high places. If you are going to use my barn for your circus, you must not get hurt."

"We won't!" Bunny promised.

"Then keep off ladders. Your little low trapeze is all right, for you will fall in the hay if you slip off that. But no more ladder-climbing!"

"All right, Grandpa." Bunny got up. Sue picked up her doll, and Grandpa Brown put back the hay into the mow, for he did not like his barn floor covered with the dried grass, though, of course, he was very glad Sue had put some there for Bunny to fall on.

Bunny and Sue went out of the barn, and walked around to the shady side. It was only a little while after breakfast, hardly time to go in and ask for something more to eat, which the children did every day about ten o'clock. At that hour Grandma Brown generally had some bread and jam, or jelly tarts, ready for them.

"What can we do until jam-time?" asked Sue, of her brother.

"I don't know," he answered. "It's pretty hot."

There was nothing more they could do about the circus just then. Bunker and Ben were to make some more trapezes, put other things in the barn, and make the seats. Several other boys and girls had been asked to take part in the "show," but they were not yet sure that their mothers and fathers would let them.

So, for a few days, Bunny and Sue could do no more about the circus.

"But we ought to do something," said Bunny. "It's so hot -- "

That gave Sue an idea.

"We could go paddling in the brook, and get our feet cooled off," said Bunny's sister.

"Yes, but we wouldn't be back here in time to get our bread and jam."

"That's so," Sue agreed.

It would never do to miss "jam-time."

"My doll must be hot, too," Sue went on. "I wonder if we could give her a bath?"

"How?" Bunny wanted to know.

"Why, down in the well," suddenly cried Sue. "We could tie a string around her, and let her down in the well water. That would give her a bath. She's a rubber doll, and a bath won't hurt her. It will do her good."

"We'll do it!" cried Bunny.

The well was not far from the house. A little later, with a string he had taken from his kite, Bunny was helping Sue lower her rubber doll down the big hole, at the bottom of which was the cool water that was pulled up in a bucket.

"Splash!" went the doll down in the well. By leaning over the edge of the wooden box that was built around the water-place, Bunny and Sue could see the rubber doll splashing up and down in the water far below them.

"Oh, she likes it! She likes it!" cried Sue, jumping up and down in delight. "Doesn't she just love it, Bunny?"

"I guess so," her brother answered. "But she can't talk and tell us so, of course."

"Course not!" Sue exclaimed. "My dolls can't talk, 'ceptin' my phonograph one, and she says 'Mamma' and 'Papa,' only now she's broken, inside, and she can't do nothin' but make a buzzin' sound, but I like her just the same."

"But if a doll can't talk, how do you know when she likes anything?" asked Bunny.

"Why, I -- I just know -- that's all," Sue answered.

"All right," agreed Bunny. "Now it's my turn to pull her up and down, Sue."

There was a long string tied around the doll, and the two children were taking turns raising and lowering Sue's play-baby, so the rubber doll would splash up and down in the water.

"All right. I'll let you do it once, and then it's my turn again," Sue said. "I guess she's had enough bath now. I'll have to feed her."

"And we'll get some bread and jam ourselves, Sue."

Just how it happened neither Bunny nor Sue could tell afterward, but Bunny either did not get a good hold of the string, or else it slipped through his fingers.

Anyhow, just as Sue was passing the cord to him, it slipped away, and down into the well went doll, string and all.

"Oh, Bunny! Bunny Brown!" cried Sue. "You've drowned my lovely doll! Oh, dear!"



Chapter IX

The Striped Calf


Bunny Brown was so surprised at seeing the rubber doll and string slip back with a splash into the well, that, for a moment, he did not know what to do or say. He just stood leaning over, and looking down, as though that would bring the doll back.

"Oh, dear!" sighed Sue again. "Oh, Bunny!"

"I -- I didn't mean to!" pleaded Bunny sadly enough.

"But I'll never get her back again!" went on Sue. "Oh, my lovely rubber doll!"

"Maybe -- maybe she can swim up!" said Bunny.

"She -- she can not!" Sue cried. "How can she swim up when there isn't any water 'cept away down there in the bottom of the well?"

"If she was a circus doll she could climb up the bucket-rope, Sue."

"Yes, but she isn't a circus doll. Oh, dear!"

"And if I was a circus man, I could climb down the rope and get her!" Bunny went on.

"Oh, don't you dare do that!" Sue fairly screamed. "If you do you'll fall in and be drowned. Don't do it, Bunny!" and she clung to him with all her might.

"I won't, Sue!" the little fellow promised. "But I can see your doll down there, Sue. She's floating on top of the water -- swimming, maybe, so she isn't drowned.

"Oh, I know what let's do!" Bunny cried, after another look down the well.

"What?" Sue wanted to know.

"Let's go tell grandpa. He'll get your doll up with the long-handled rake."

"With the rake?" cried Sue.

"Yes. Don't you remember grandpa told us how once the bucket of the well got loose from the rope, and fell into the water. He fished the bucket up with the rake, tied to a long pole. He can do that to your doll."

"But he might stick her with the teeth of the rake," said Sue. She knew the iron teeth of a rake were sharp, for once she had stepped on a rake when Bunny had left it in the grass, after raking the lawn at home.

"Well, maybe grandpa can tangle the rake in the string around the doll, and pull her up that way. It wouldn't hurt then."

"No," agreed Sue. "That wouldn't hurt."

"Then let's go tell grandpa," urged Bunny once more.

Leaving the doll to swim in the well as best she could, the two children ran toward the house. They saw their grandpa coming from it, and at once they began to cry:

"Oh, Grandpa, she fell in!"

"Come and get her out of the well!"

"Bring the long-handled rake, Grandpa!"

Grandpa was so surprised, at first, that he did nothing except stand still and look at the children. Then he managed to ask:

"Who is it? What is it? What happened? Who fell down the well? Did Bunny fall in? Did Sue?"

Then as he saw the two children themselves standing and looking at him, Grandpa Brown knew nothing had happened to either of them.

"But who is in the well?" he asked.

"My rubber doll," answered Sue. "Bunny let the string slip when we gave her a bath."

"But I didn't mean to," Bunny said. "I couldn't help it. But you can get her out with the rake; can't you, Grandpa. Same as you did the bucket."

"Well, I guess maybe I can," Grandpa Brown answered. "I'll try anyhow. And, after this, you children must keep away from the well."

"We will," promised Bunny.

The well bucket often came loose from the rope, and grandpa had several times fished it up with the rake, which he tied to a long clothes-line pole. In a few minutes he was ready to go to the well, with Bunny and Sue. Grandpa Brown carried the rake, and, reaching the well, he looked down in it.

"I don't see your doll, Sue," he said.

"Oh, then she's drowned! Oh, dear!"

"But I see a string," went on Grandpa Brown. "Perhaps the string is still fast to the doll. I'll wind the string around the end of the rake, and pull it up. Maybe then I'll pull up the doll too."

And that is just what grandpa did. Up and up he lifted the long-handled rake. Around the teeth was tangled the end of the string. Carefully, very carefully, Grandpa Brown took hold of the string and pulled.

"Is she coming up, Grandpa?" asked Sue anxiously.

"I think she is," said grandpa slowly. "There is something on the end of the string, anyhow. But maybe it's a fish."

Grandpa smiled, and then the children knew he was making fun.

"Oh, dear!" said Sue. "I hope my doll hasn't turned into a goldfish."

But nothing like that had happened. Up came the rubber doll, safely, on the end of the string. Water ran from the round hole in the doll's back -- the hole that was a sort of whistle, which made a funny noise when Sue squeezed her doll, as she did when "loving" her.

"There you are! Your doll's all right," said Grandpa Brown. "Now you children must not come near the well again. When you want to give your doll a bath, Sue, dangle her in the brook, where it isn't deep. And if you put a cork in the hole in her back, she won't get full of water and sink."

"That's so," said Bunny Brown. "The water leaked in through that hole. We'll stop it up next time, Sue."

"Oh, no!" Sue cried. "That hole is where she breathes. But I'll only wash her in a basin after this, so she can't get drowned."

It was now time for bread and jam, and Sue and Bunny were soon eating it on the shady back porch. Mother Brown told them, just as their grandpa had done, to keep away from the well, and they said they would.

Bunny and Sue then went wading in the brook until dinner time. And then they had a little sleep in the hammocks in the shade, under the apple tree.

"What shall we do now, Bunny!" asked Sue when she awoke from her little nap, and saw her brother looking over at her from his hammock. Sue always wanted to be doing something, and so did Bunny. "What can we do?" asked the little brown-eyed girl.

"Let's go out to the barn again," said Bunny. "Maybe Bunker Blue, or Ben, is out there now, making some more circus things."

But when Bunny and Sue reached the place where they were going to have their show in a few weeks, they saw neither of the big boys. They did see something that interested them, though.

This was the hired man who, with a big pot of green paint, was painting the wheelbarrow.

"Hello, Henry!" exclaimed Bunny to the man, who was working in the shade at one side of the barn.

"Hello, Bunny!" answered Henry. "How are you this afternoon?"

"Good. How is yourself?"

"Oh, fine."

Henry went on putting green paint on the wheelbarrow. Then Bunny said:

"I couldn't do that; could I, Henry? I mean you wouldn't let me paint; would you?"

"No, Bunny. I'm afraid not. You'd get it all over your clothes. I couldn't let you."

"I -- I thought you couldn't," returned Bunny with a sigh. "But I just asked, you know, Henry."

"Yes," said the hired man with a smile. "I know. But you'd better go off and play somewhere else."

It was more fun, though, for Bunny Brown and his sister Sue to watch Henry paint, and they stood there for some time. Finally the hired man stopped painting.

"Guess I'll go and get a drink of water," he said, putting the brush in the pot of green paint. "Now don't touch the wheelbarrow."

"We won't!" promised Bunny and Sue.

Just then, inside the barn, there sounded a loud:

"Baa-a-a-a-a!"

"What's that, Bunny?" asked Sue.

"One of the new little calves. Want to see them?"

Of course Sue did, and soon she and Bunny were petting one of the calves. They were in little pens, by themselves, near the mother cows, and the children could reach over the sides of the pens, inside the barn, and pat the little animals.

All at once Bunny cried:

"Oh, Sue. I know what we can do!"

"What?" she asked.

"We can stripe a calf green, with the green paint, and we'll have a zebra for our circus."

"What's a zebra?" Sue wanted to know.

"It's a striped horse. They have 'em in all circuses. We'll make one for ours."

"Does zebras have green stripes, Bunny?"

"I don't know. But green paint is all we have, so we'll use that. A green striped zebra would be pretty, I think."

"So do I, Bunny. But Henry told us not to touch the paint."

"No, he didn't, Sue. He only told us to keep away from the wheelbarrow, and I am. I won't go near it. But we'll get the pot of paint, and stripe the calf green."

"All right," agreed Sue. "I'll hold the paint-pot, and you can dip your brush in."

Not meaning to do anything wrong, of course, Bunny and Sue hurried to get the pot of paint. Henry had not come back. Leaning over the edge of the calf's pen, Bunny dipped the brush in the paint, and began striping the baby cow.

"Baa-a-a-a-a!" went the little animal, and the old cow went: "Moo!"



Chapter X

The Old Rooster


Again and again Bunny Brown dipped the brush in the green paint the hired man had left, and stripe after stripe did the little fellow put on the calf.

"She'll be a regular circus zebra when I'm done," said Bunny Brown to his sister Sue. Both children laughed in glee.

"Are you going to paint both sides of the calf, Bunny?"

"I am if I can reach. Maybe I can't. Anyhow, a zebra ought to be painted on both sides. Not like we're going to do our dog Splash; only on one side, to make a pretend blue-striped tiger of him."

Sue seemed to be thinking of something.

"Doesn't he look nice?" asked Bunny of his sister. "Isn't he going to be a fine zebra?"

He stood back from the box-stall where the calf was kept, so Sue could see how the little animal looked.

"Doesn't he look pretty, Sue? Just like a circus zebra, only of course they're not green. But isn't he nice?"

"Yes," said Sue, "he is pretty."

The calf, after jumping around some when Bunny first put the paint on, was now standing very still, as though he liked it. Of course the calf did not know that the paint would not wear off for a long time. Then, too, the cow mother had put her head over from the next stall, where she was tied, and she was rubbing her big red tongue on the calf's head. The calf liked its cow mother to rub it this way, and maybe that is why the little calf stood still.

"It's going to look real nice, Bunny," said Sue, as she looked at the green stripes Bunny had put on. "I -- I guess I'll let you put blue stripes on my half of Splash, too. Then he'll look all over like a tiger; won't he, Bunny?"

"Sure. I'm glad you'll let me, Sue. 'Cause a dog, only half striped, would look funny. Now I'll see if I can put some stripes on the other side of the calf."

Bunny tried to reach the side of the little animal he had not yet painted, but he could not do it from where he stood.

"I'm going over in the stall with it," Bunny said. "You hand me the pail of paint when I get there, Sue."

"Oh, Bunny! Are you going right in with the calf?"

"Yes."

"He -- he'll bite you!"

"No, he won't. Calves haven't any teeth. They only eat milk, and they don't have to chew that. They don't get teeth until they're big.

"I'm not afraid," said Bunny Brown, as he climbed over into the calf's pen. Sue stood as near as she could, so Bunny could dip his brush in the green paint. Bunny was careful not to get any on his own suit, or on Sue's dress. That is he was as careful as any small boy could be. But, even then, he did splash some of the paint on himself and on Sue. But the children did not think of this at the time. They were so busy having fun, turning a calf into a circus zebra.

Bunny had put a number of green stripes on one side of the calf, and now he was ready to put some on the other. But the calf did not stand as still with Bunny inside the stall with her, as when he had been outside. The calf seemed frightened.

"Baa-a-a-a-a!" it cried. "Baa-a-a-a-a! Baa-a-a-a-a!"

And the old mother cow cried:

"Moo! Moo! Moo!"

She did not like to see Bunny so close to her baby calf, I guess. But the old cow did not try to hook Bunny with her horns. She only looked at him with her big, brown eyes, and tried to reach her tongue over and "kiss" the calf, as Sue called it.

"Stand still!" Bunny said to the calf, but the little animal did not want to. Perhaps it thought it had had enough of the green paint. It moved about, from one side of the box to the other, and Bunny had hard work to put on any more stripes.

"Isn't that enough?" asked Sue, after a bit. "It looks real nice Bunny. You had better save some green paint for the other calf."

"Yes, but I'm only going to stripe one," answered Bunny. "It's too hard. One zebra is enough for our circus. We'll make the other calf into a lion. A lion doesn't have any stripes."

"All right," agreed Sue. "Then come on out, Bunny, 'cause I'm tired of holding this paint for you."

"In a minute, Sue. I'll be right out. I just want to put some stripes on the calf's legs. They have to be striped same as the sides and back."

And that was where Bunny Brown made one of his mistakes. He should have let the calf's legs alone. For, no sooner did the little animal feel the tickling of the paint brush on its legs than it gave a loud cry, and began to kick.

Out with its hind legs it kicked, and, as Bunny happened to be stooping down, just then, near the calf's feet, the little boy was kicked over. Right over he went, spilling some of the paint on himself, but the most of it, I am glad to say, went on the straw in the calf's box-stall.

"Oh, Bunny!" cried Sue. "Oh, Bunny Brown!"

Her brother did not answer. He had fallen down on his face, and his mouth was full of straw. And when he did get up he saw that the calf had kicked open the gate of its stall, and was running around the barnyard, all green striped and spotted.

"Moo! Moo!" cried the mother cow, when she saw her little one break out. Then the old cow pushed very hard on the gate that shut her in. Open went the gate, and out ran the cow to be with her little calf.

"Oh, Bunny! Look!" cried Sue. "Our circus zebra-cow will run away!"

Bunny jumped to his feet, and, leaving the overturned pot of paint behind him, out he ran into the barnyard.

"Whoa! Whoa there, bossy-calf!" he cried.

"You don't say whoa to cows, you say that to horses!" called Sue to her brother.

"What do you say to cows?" Bunny wanted to know.

"You call 'Co boss! Co boss! Co boss'!" answered Sue. "I know 'cause I heard grandma call them to be milked. Call 'Co boss!' Bunny."

The little boy did, but there was no need to, for the little calf, once it found that the mother cow was with it, did not run any farther. The mother cow put out her red tongue and "kissed" her little calf some more. She did not seem to mind the green paint, though perhaps if she had gotten some in her mouth she might not have liked it.

"Well, anyhow," said Bunny Brown, "we have a striped zebra for our circus. And when I get some blue paint I'll paint our dog Splash, and make a tiger of him, Sue."

"Did the calf-zebra hurt you when she kicked you over, Bunny?" Sue wanted to know.

"No, hardly any. Her feet are soft, and I fell on the straw. But all the paint is spilled."

"Maybe there's a little left so Henry can finish the wheelbarrow," suggested Sue.

"I'll go and look," offered Bunny. But he did not get the chance. For just then Henry came into the barnyard.

"Have you seen my pot of green paint," he asked. "I left it -- "

Then he saw the green striped calf. At first he laughed and then he said:

"Oh, this is too bad! That's one of your grandpa's best calves, and he won't like it a bit, painting him that way."

"He's a zebra," said Bunny.

"No matter what he is," and Henry shook his head, "it's too bad. I shouldn't have left the paint where you could get it. I'll have to tell Mr. Brown."

Bunny and Sue felt bad at this. They had not thought they were doing anything wrong, but now it seemed that they were.

"Will -- will grandpa be very sorry?" asked Sue.

"Yes, he'll be very sorry and angry," answered the hired man, "he'll not like it to see his calf all streaked with green paint."

But Grandpa Brown was not as angry at Bunny and Sue as he might have been. Of course he said they had done wrong, and he felt bad. But no one could be angry for very long at Bunny Brown and his sister Sue. They were so jolly, never meaning to be bad. They just didn't think.

But of course you know that not thinking what you are doing often makes as much trouble as though you did a thing on purpose.

"Well, I guess I'll have to forgive you youngsters this time," said Grandpa Brown. "But don't paint any more of my farm animals without asking me. Now I'll see if we can get the green paint off the calf."

"Oh, can't you leave it on, Grandpa?" asked Bunny. "It was awful hard to make him striped like a zebra, and we want him in our circus to be one of the wild animals. Let the stripes stay on."

And grandpa had to, whether he wanted to or not, for they would not come off. The hired man tried soap and water. But the calf would not stand still long enough to let him scrub her.

"I guess we'll just have to let the green paint wear off," said Grandpa Brown. "But never do such a thing again, Bunny."

"I won't," promised the little boy.

The calf and the mother cow were put back in their stalls. Bunny and Sue were cleaned of the green paint that had splattered on them, and Henry found enough paint left in the can to finish the wheelbarrow.

"Well, we've got a start for our circus, anyhow," said Bunny to Sue a few days after he had painted the calf. The green stripes had dried now, and made the calf look very funny indeed. Some of the other cows and calves seemed frightened at the strange, striped one, but the mother cow was just as fond of her little one as before.

"You'll need other animals besides a striped calf, and your dog Splash, in the circus," said Bunker Blue to Bunny one day.

"Yes, I guess we will. I'll go and ask Sue about it."

Bunny always liked to talk matters over with his sister. He found her on the side porch, making a doll's dress.

"Sue," said Bunny, "we have to have more make-believe wild animals for our show."

"Yes?" asked Sue. "What kind?"

"Well, maybe we ought to have a camel."

"Camels is too hard to make," said Sue. "Their humps might fall off. Why don't you make a ockstritch, Bunny? An ockstritch what lays big eggs, and has tail feathers for ladies' hats. Make a ockstritch."

"How?" asked Bunny.

Sue thought for a minute. Just then the old big rooster strutted past the porch.

"He would make a good ockstritch, Bunny," said Sue. "He has nice long tail feathers. Can you catch him?"

"Maybe," hesitated Bunny. "Oh, I know what I'll do!" he exclaimed. "I'll get the clothes line for a lasso, and I'll pretend to be a Wild West cowboy. Then I can lasso the rooster and make an ostrich of him."

"Oh, fine!" cried Sue, clapping her hands. The rooster, who did not in the least guess what was going to happen to him, flapped his wings and crowed loudly.



Chapter XI

Practice For The Circus


Bunny Brown took a piece of clothes line that hung down from one of the posts. He was sure his grandma or his mother would not want this end, so he could take it.

"Anyhow, it isn't wash-day," said Bunny to Sue, "and as soon as I lasso the rooster I can put the line back again. I can tie on what I cut off."

Bunny had an old knife Bunker Blue had given him. It was a knife Bunker had used to open clams and oysters, and was not very sharp. That was the reason Bunker gave it to Bunny. Bunker did not want the little boy to cut himself. With this old knife Bunny cut off a bit of clothes line. He had to saw and saw back and forth with the dull blade of the knife before he could cut the line.

But at last he had a long piece of rope.

"Now I'll make a lasso just like the cowboys have in the Wild West," said Bunny.

Bunny had once seen a show like that, so he knew something of what the cowboys did with their lassos, which are long ropes, with a loop in one end. They throw this loop around the head, or leg, of a cow or a horse, and catch it this way, so as not to hurt it.

"Now see me catch the rooster, Sue!" called Bunny.

"I'll help you," offered the little girl. "You stand here by the rose bush, I'll shoo the rooster up to you, then you can lasso him."

"All right!" cried Bunny, swinging the piece of clothes line around his head as he had seen the cowboys do in the show.

"Cock-a-doodle-do!" crowed the rooster, and then he made a funny gurgling noise, as he saw Sue running toward him. The old rooster was not used to children, as, except when Bunny Brown and his sister Sue came to their grandpa's farm, there were no little ones about the place. And when the old rooster saw Sue running toward him, he did not know what to make of the little girl.

"Shoo! Shoo!" cried Sue, waving her hands. "Shoo! Scat!"

"Cock-a-doodle-do!" crowed the rooster, and it sounded just as if he said, "I don't know what to do!"

"Shoo! Shoo!" cried the little girl, and she tried to drive the rooster over toward Bunny, so he could lasso the big crowing bird.

But the rooster was not going to be caught as easily as that. He ran to one side, around the rose bush and off toward the garden.

"Get him, Bunny! Get him!" cried Sue.

"I will!" shouted the little make-believe cowboy. After the rooster he ran, swinging his lasso. "Whoa there! Whoa!" called Bunny.

"Shoo! Shoo!" exclaimed Sue.

"No -- no! Don't do that!" begged Bunny.

"Don't do what?" Sue asked.

"Don't shoo him that way. That makes him run. I want him to stand still so I can catch him."

"But you said cowboys catched things when they were running, like this rooster is," objected Sue.

"Yes," agreed Bunny, "but I haven't been a cowboy very long you see. I want the rooster to stand still so I can lasso him. So don't shoo him -- just whoa him!"

Then Bunny called:

"Whoa! Whoa there!"

"That's what you say to a horse -- not to a rooster," said the little girl.

"I know," Bunny answered. "But I guess this rooster knows horse talk, 'cause there's horses around here. Whoa there!"

But even if the rooster did understand horse talk, he was not going to stop and let Bunny lasso him. That was sure. On and on the rooster ran, crowing and cackling. The hens and other roosters heard the noise, and crowed and cackled too, wondering what it was all about.

"Here he comes, Bunny! Here he comes!" cried Sue, as the big old rooster, having run toward a fence, until he could go no farther, had to turn around and run back again. "Get him, Bunny!"

"I will!" cried the little boy. "I'll get him this time."

But the rooster was running very fast now, for he was very much scared. Back and forth he went, from one side to the other. He did come close to Bunny, but when the little boy threw his clothes line rope lasso it fell far away from the rooster.

"Oh, you missed him!" cried Sue, much disappointed.

"But I'll get him next time," said Bunny, as he picked up his lasso and ran after the rooster.

Back and forth around the garden, under the lilac and rose bushes, ran Bunny and Sue after the old rooster. The rooster was getting tired now, and could not go so fast. Neither could Bunny nor Sue, and Bunny's arm was so tired, from having thrown his lasso so much, that he wanted to stop and rest. But still he wanted to catch the rooster.

"Here he comes now -- get him, Bunny!" cried Sue, as she went around one side of the currant bush, while Bunny came around the other side. The rooster was right between the two children, and as there was a fence on one side of him, and the bush on the other, it looked as if he would be caught this time.

"Oh, get him, Bunny!" Sue called. "Get him!"

"I -- I will!" answered her brother. "I'll just grab him in my arms. I can put the lasso on him afterward."

The rooster was running away from Sue who was right behind him, and the rooster was heading straight for Bunny. The little boy put out his arms to grab the big fowl, when the rooster, with a loud crow and cackle, flew up over Bunny's head, over the fence and into the meadow beyond.

And Bunny was running so fast, and so was Sue, that, before they could stop themselves, down they both fell, in the soft grass. For a moment they sat there, looking at one another. Then Sue smiled. She was glad to sit down and rest, even if she had fallen. And so was Bunny.

"Well, we didn't get him," said Bunny slowly, as he looked at the rooster, now safe on the other side of the fence.

"No," said Sue. "But you can climb over the fence in the meadow."

"I -- I guess I don't want to," said the little fellow.

"Hello! What's going on here? Who's been chasing my old rooster?" asked Grandpa Brown, coming up just then, and looking at the two children.

"We -- we were chasing him Grandpa," said Bunny, who always told the truth.

"We was goin' to make a ockstritch of him," Sue explained. "A ockstritch for our circus in the barn."

"Oh, an ostrich!" laughed Grandpa Brown. "Well, I'd rather you wouldn't take my best big rooster. I have some smaller, and tamer ones, you may take for your circus."

"Really?" asked Bunny. "And can we pretend they are ostriches?"

"Yes, you can put them in wooden cages and make believe they are anything you like," said Grandpa Brown. "Only, of course, you must be kind to them."

"Sure!" said Bunny Brown. "We won't hurt the roosters."

"When are you going to have your show?" asked Grandpa Brown.

"Oh, next week," Bunny answered. "Some of the boys and girls are coming over to-day, and we're going to practise in the barn."

"Well, be careful you don't get hurt," said their grandpa.

"And can we have the green-striped calf for a zebra?" Bunny wanted to know.

"Oh, I guess so; yes. The stripes haven't worn off him yet, and they won't for some time. So you might as well play with him."

"We don't want to play with him," Bunny explained. "He -- he jumps about too much. We just want to put him in a cage and make believe he is a wild animal."

"Like a ockstritch," added Sue. The ostrich seemed to be her favorite.

"An ostrich isn't an animal," carefully explained Bunny. "It's a big bird, and it hides its head in the sand, and they pull out its tail feathers for ladies' hats."

"Well, it's wild, anyhow," said Sue.

"Yes, it's wild," admitted Bunny.

Grandpa Brown showed the children two tame roosters, that would let Bunny and Sue stroke their glossy feathers.

"You may put them in a box, and make believe they are any sort of wild bird or animal you like," said the farmer.

The children promised to be kind to the roosters. They did not put them in cages that day, as it was too soon.

That afternoon Tom White, Nellie Bruce, Jimmie Kenny, Sallie Smith and Ned Johnson came over to see Bunny and Sue. They all went out to the barn, and there they got ready for the circus. Bunny and Sue, as well as the other children, were to be dressed up in funny clothes, which their mothers said they would make for them.

Bunny was to do some "acts" on the trapeze, and fall down in the hay. Then he and Sue were to do part of a little Punch and Judy show they had once given, though Bunny, this time, had no big lobster claw to put on his nose.

"All ready now!" called Bunny, when his friends were in the barn. "All ready to practise for the circus!"



Chapter XII

The Little Circus


"Bunny! Bunny Brown! What am I going to be in the circus? I want to be a clown!"

"Yes, I want to be a clown, too, and throw water over another clown, like I saw in a circus once!"

"Well, you're not going to throw any water on me!"

"Yes I can if Bunny Brown says so! It's his circus!"

Tom White, Jimmie Kenny and Ned Johnson were talking together in one corner of the barn. Ned wanted to be a clown, and throw water on some one else. Jimmie did not want to be the one to get wet, nor did Tom White.

"Bunny, can't I be a clown?" asked Ned.

"I'm going to be a wild animal trainer -- make-believe!" exclaimed Sue, "and I'm going to be near the cage where the blue-striped tiger is. I'm going to make him roar."

Sallie Smith looked a bit scared.

"Oh, it's only make-believe," Sue explained.

"Yes, I know," said Sallie. "But -- Oh, dear! a blue-striped tiger!"

"Oh, it's only our big dog Splash," went on Sue. "First I was only going to let Bunny stripe his half of Splash. But a half a blue-striped tiger would look funny, so I said he could make my half of Splash striped too. It will wash off, for it's only bluing, like mother puts on the clothes."

"And we're going to have a striped zebra, too," said Bunny.

"Oh, let's see it!" begged the three boys.

"It's only one of grandpa's calves," cried Sue, "but it really has green stripes on it. Bunny put them on, and they're green paint, and they won't come off 'till they wear off, grandpa says, and the calf ran away, and kicked Bunny over and --  -- "

"Oh, Sue, don't tell everything!" cried Bunny. "You'll spoil the show."

"Let's see the striped calf!" begged the three boys.

"No, we've got to practise for the circus," Bunny insisted. "Now I'll do my trapeze act," and he climbed up to the bar that hung by the long ropes from the beam in the barn.

"I want to do a trapeze act, too!" cried Tom White.

"Say, we can't all do the same thing!" Bunny said. "That isn't like a real circus. It's got to be different acts."

"Oh, say!" cried Ned Johnson. "I know what I can do! I can ride you in a wheelbarrow, Tom, and upset you. That will make 'em all laugh."

"It won't make me laugh, if you upset me too hard!" declared Tom.

"I'll spread some hay on the floor, like the time I did when Bunny fell," said Sue. "Then you won't be hurt. It doesn't hurt to fall on hay; does it, Bunny?"

"Nope."

"All right. Ned can upset me out of the wheelbarrow if he does it on the hay," agreed Tom.

So those two boys began to practise this part of the circus, while Bunny swung from the trapeze. Jimmie Kenny said he would climb up as high as he could and slide down a rope, like a sailor.

"I'll have some hay under me, too, so if I slip I won't be hurt," he said.

Indeed, if it had not been for the big piles of soft hay in grandpa's barn I don't know what the little circus performers would have done.

While the boys were practising the things they were going to do, Sue and her little girl friends made up a little act of their own.

Each one had a doll, and they practised a little song which they had sung in school. It was about putting the dollies to sleep in a cat's cradle, and a little mouse came in and awakened them, and then they went out to gather flowers for the honey bees.

Just a simple little song, but Sue and her friends sung it very nicely.

"And I know something else you can do, Sue, besides being a keeper of wild animals," said Bunny.

"What?" asked his sister.

"You can ride in the wheelbarrow and drive Ned and Tom for your horses -- make-believe, you know."

"But I don't want to be upset, even on the hay!" Sue said.

"No, we won't upset you," promised Ned.

Then they practised that little act with Sue.

"When we give our real circus," said Bunny, "we can cover the wheelbarrow with flowers, and nobody will know what it is you're riding in, Sue."

"That will be nice!"

As the days went on, Bunny and Sue found they would have to have more children in their little circus, so others were invited. One boy brought an old rocking horse, and another had one almost like it, so they gave a "pretend" horse race around the barn floor.

Bunker Blue made a big sea-saw for the children, and every one who came to the show was to have a free ride on this.

"We ought to have a merry-go-'round," said Bunny one day.

"I'll make you one," offered Ben Hall, the strange boy, who was still working on grandpa's farm.

"Oh, will you! How?" asked Bunny.

Ben took some planks and nailed them together, criss-cross, like an X. Then he put them on a box, and on the ends of the planks that stuck out he fastened some wagon wheels. When four children sat down on the planks, and some one pushed them, they went around and around as nicely as you please, getting a fine ride around the middle of the barn floor.

"But we ought to have music," said Sue.

"I'll play my mouth organ," offered Bunker Blue.

At last the day of the little circus came. Bunny and Sue had decided that it was to be free, as they did not want pins, and none of the country children had any money to spend. So the circus was free to old folks and young folks alike.

"You'll come; won't you, Mother?" asked Bunny the morning of the circus.

"Oh, yes, of course."

"And will you, Daddy?" Sue wanted to know.

"Yes, little girl. I want to see you ride in your chariot, as you call it." For Bunny had named the wheelbarrow that was to be covered with flowers, a chariot, which is what they use to race with in a real circus.

Splash had been most beautifully striped with blue, and, though he did not like being shut up in a box, with slats nailed in front to serve as iron bars, still the big dog knew it was all in fun, so he stayed quietly where Bunny put him.

The striped calf was in another cage, and he was given a nice pail full of milk to keep him quiet, so he would not kick his way out. Calves like milk, you know.

The two roosters, which Sue said were the wild "ockstritches," behaved very nicely, picking up the corn in their cage as though they had been in a circus many times before. Grandpa also let the children take the old turkey gobbler and put him in a box.

"What shall we call him?" asked Sue, just before the show was about to begin.

"Oh, he'll be the elephant," said Bunny. "See, he's got something hanging down in front like an elephant's trunk. And we didn't get time to dress the pig up like an elephant."

"But a elephant has four legs, Bunny, and the turkey has only two."

"Oh, well, we can pretend he was in a railroad wreck, and lost two of his legs. Circuses do get wrecked sometimes."

"All right, Bunny."

All the children who were to take part in Bunny's and Sue's show were in the barn, waiting for the curtain to be pulled back. For grandmother and Mother Brown had made a calico curtain for the children. Bunker Blue and Ben said they would stand, one on either side, to pull the curtain back when the show started.

Bunker was going to play his mouth organ, while Ben said he would make what music he could by whistling and blowing on a piece of paper folded over a comb. You can make pretty good music that way, only, as Ben said, it tickles your lips, and you have to stop every once in a while.

Many children from nearby farms came to the little circus in the barn, and some of their fathers and mothers also came. It was a fine day for the show.

"Are you all ready, Bunny?" asked Bunker, who, with Ben, stood behind the curtain.

"All ready," answered the little boy.

"Here we go!" cried Bunker. Then he played on his mouth organ, Ben tooted on the comb and the curtain slid back on the wires by which it was stretched across the stage, or platform, in the barn.

"Welcome to our show!" cried Bunny Brown, making a bow to the audience which was seated on boxes and boards out in front. "We will now begin!" he went on. "And after the show you are all invited to stay and see the wild animals. We have a blue-striped tiger, a wild zebra and an --  -- "

"An elephant, only he lost two legs in a accident," said Sue in a shrill whisper, fearing Bunny was going to forget about the turkey.



Chapter XIII

The Wild Animals


Everyone laughed when Sue said that, and Sue herself blushed as red as the ribbon on her hair, and the sash her mother had pinned around her waist.

"Does your elephant eat peanuts?" asked Daddy Brown, smiling.

"No, I don't guess so," answered Sue. "He likes corn better."

"Now the show's going to begin!" cried Bunny Brown. "Get ready everybody. The first will be a grand trapeze act! Come on, boys! Play some music, please, Bunker!"

Bunker played a new tune on his mouth organ. Then Bunny, Ned Johnson and Tom White got on the trapezes, for Bunny had decided that his one act, like this, was not enough. It would look more like a real circus with three performers.

Back and forth on the flying trapezes swung Bunny and his two friends. Of course such little fellows could not do many tricks, but they did very well, so all the grown folks said. They hung by their hands, and by their legs, and Ned Johnson, who was quite strong for his age, "turned himself inside out," as he called it, by pulling up his legs and putting them over his head, and under the trapeze bar.

Suddenly Bunny Brown gave a call.

"All ready now for our big swing!"

"I'm ready!" answered Tom.

"So am I," added Ned.

The three boys swung back and forth. All at once Bunny cried:

"Let go!"

Away they sailed through the air.

"Oh, they'll be hurt! They'll fall and be hurt!" cried Grandma Brown.

"No, this is only part of the show," said Mother Brown.

And so it was. For Bunny, Ned and Tom landed safely on a big pile of hay, having jumped into the mow when they let go of the trapeze bars.

"How was that?" cried Bunny, laughing while Bunker and Ben played the music.

"Fine!" cried Daddy Brown.

"It's almost as good a show as the one I paid real money to see," laughed grandpa.

"What's next?" asked Jimmie Kenny's mother, who had come with her neighbor, Mrs. Smith.

"It's your turn now, Sue," whispered Bunny to his sister. "Do your act."

So Sue, and her little girl chums, sang their doll song. It was very much liked, too, and the people clapped so that the little girls had to sing it over again.

The curtain was now pulled across the stage while Ned and Tom got ready for one of the clown acts. They were dressed in queer, calico suits, almost like those worn by real clowns in a circus, and the boys had whitened their faces with chalk, and stuck on red rose leaves to make red dots.

Ned came out in front, with Tom in a wheelbarrow, for they had decided this between themselves. Ned wheeled Tom about, at the same time singing a funny song, and then, out from behind a barrel, rushed Jimmie Kenny. Jimmie had a pail, and he began crying:

"Fire! Fire! Fire!"

So loudly did he shout, and so much in earnest did he seem, that some of the farmers began to look about as though they were afraid Grandpa Brown's barn was on fire.

"Don't worry! It's only in fun," said grandpa.

Ned and Tom did not seem to know what to make of Jimmie's act. He was not supposed to come out when they did.

"Now this is where I upset you, Tom," said Ned in a low voice.

"Well, as long as you turn me over on the soft hay I don't mind," answered the other boy, for they had made this up between them.

Over went the wheelbarrow, and Tom was spilled out.

"Fire! Fire! Fire!" cried Jimmie again, and then dashed a pail of water over Tom and Ned.

"Waugh! Ouch! Stop that!" spluttered Ned. "Stop it!"

"That -- that wasn't in the show!" stammered Tom, for some of the water went in his mouth.

"I know it wasn't in it," laughed Jimmie, "but I thought I'd put it in!"

At first Tom and Ned were a little angry, but when each looked at the other, and saw how funny he was, with half the white and red spots washed off his face, each one had to laugh.

The audience laughed, too. The water did no harm, for it was a hot day, and the boys had on old clothes. So they did not mind. But Tom and Ned decided to play a little trick on Jimmie. So, while he was laughing at what he had done to them, they suddenly ran at him, caught him, and put him in the wheelbarrow. Before he could get out they began wheeling him around the barn floor.

"Now dump him!" suddenly cried Tom, and out shot Jimmie on a pile of hay. Before he could get up Tom had dashed some water on him.

"Now we're even!" cried Ned. "You're wet, too!"

It was all in fun, and no one minded getting wet. Then the circus went on. Sue was ridden in the flower-covered wheelbarrow, driving Ned and Tom. The boys acted like very nice horses indeed, and went slowly or fast, just as Sue called to them. She had a wreath of daisies on her hair, and looked like a little flower queen.

After that Bunker Blue and Ben Hall played some music on the mouth organ and comb, while Bunny and Sue were getting ready to give their little Punch and Judy show, which they had played once before, back home.

"Why don't you do some of your tricks, Ben?" asked Bunker of the new boy, when Bunny and Sue were almost ready.

"Oh, I can't do any tricks," said Ben, turning away.

"Yes you can! I guess you know more about a circus than you are willing to tell; don't you?"

But Ben did not answer, and then the curtain had to be pulled back to let Bunny and Sue be seen.

I will not tell you about the Punch and Judy show here, as I have written about it in the first book. Besides, it was not as well done by Bunny and Sue as was the first one.

Bunny forgot some of the things he should have said, and so did Sue. Besides, Bunny had no big, red, hollow lobster claw to put over his nose, to make himself look like Mr. Punch. But, for all that, the show was very much enjoyed by all, especially the children.

The race on the two rocking horses was lots of fun, and toward the end one of the boys rocked his horse so much that he fell over, but there was some straw for him to fall on, so he was not hurt. Up he jumped, on to the back of his horse again, and away he rode. But the other boy won the race.

Then Bunny and Sue jumped from some carpenter horses, through hoops that were covered with paper pasted over them, just like in a real circus.

"Crack!" went the paper as Bunny and Sue jumped through.

"Oh, it's just like real; isn't it, Mother?" called a little girl in the audience. It was very still when she said this, and everyone laughed so loudly that Bunny Brown looked around. And, as he did not look where he was jumping, he tumbled and fell off the saw-horse.

But Bunny fell in a soft place, and as a saw-horse is only made of wood, like a rocking horse, it did not kick, or step on, the little boy. So everything was all right.

The performing part of the circus came to an end with a "grand concert." Bunny, Sue and all the others stood in line and sang a song, while Bunker Blue played on the mouth organ, and Ben on the paper-covered comb.

"And now you are all invited to come and see the wild animals!" called Bunny. "Senorita Mozara will show you the blue striped tiger that does tricks. Senorita Mozara is my sister Sue," he explained, "but wild animal trainers all have fancy names, so I made that one up for her."

Everyone laughed at that.

"Right this way, ladies and gentlemen, to see the wild animals!" cried Sue. Ben Hall had told her what the circus men said, and Sue tried, in her childish voice, to do it as nearly like them as possible. "Right this way!" she cried. "You will see the blue-striped tiger -- of course it's only our dog Splash, and he won't hurt you," said Sue quickly, as she saw some of the little children hanging back.

"He will eat meat from my hand, and stand up on his hind legs. He will lie down and roll over. This way, everybody!"

Splash did look funny, all striped with bluing as he was. But he did the tricks for Sue, and everyone thought it was a very nice part of the circus.

"Over this way is the striped zebra," went on Sue, as she led the way to where the green-painted calf was shut in a little pen. The men, women and children were laughing at the queer animal, when something happened.

Splash got out of his cage. Either some one opened the door, or Splash pushed it open. And as Splash bounded out he knocked over the cage where the turkey gobbler "elephant" was kept.

"Gobble-obble-obble!" went the turkey, as it flew across the barn. Children screamed, and some of them backed up against the cage of roosters, so it broke open and the crowing roosters were loose.

"Baaa-a-a-a!" went the green striped calf, and giving a big jump, out of the box it came, and began running around, upsetting both Bunny and Sue.

"Oh, the wild animals are loose! The wild animals are loose!" cried a little girl, while the big folks laughed so hard that they had to sit down on boxes, wheelbarrows, boards or whatever they could find. It was very funny.



Chapter XIV

Bunny And Sue Go Sailing


Certainly all the animals in the circus which Bunny and Sue had gotten up, were loose, though of course they were not exactly "wild" animals. The green-striped calf was wild enough when it came to running around and kicking up its heels, but then calves do that anyhow, whether they are striped like a zebra or not, so that doesn't count.

"Look out! Look out, everybody!" cried Bunny Brown. For, just then, the calf, having run to one end of the barn and finding the doors there closed, had run back again, and was heading straight for the place where they were all standing.

"Somebody catch him!" cried Ben Hall.

"It would take a cowboy to do that," spoke up Bunker Blue. "A cowboy with a lasso!"

"I'll catch him! I'll get him!" cried Bunny. "I had a lasso that I was trying to catch the old rooster with. I'll lasso the calf!"

"No, little man. You'll not do anything of the sort!" exclaimed Mr. Brown, catching his son up in his arms. "You'd better stay away from that calf. It would not mean to hurt you, perhaps, but it might knock you down and step on you."

The calf was now running back and forth, bleating and looking for some place where it could get out of the barn. For it did not like being in a circus, though, at first, it had been quiet enough.

Splash thought it was great fun. He ran here and there, barking loudly, and racing after the calf. The two roosters were crowing as loudly as they could, fluttering here, there, everywhere. One nearly perched on top of Grandma Brown's head.

The horses could be heard neighing and stamping about in their stalls. Perhaps they, too, wanted to join in the fun.

"Oh, dear!" cried Sue. "I don't like this. Let's go out, Bunny."

But with the calf running back and forth in the barn, crossing this way and that, it was not easy for Bunny, Sue and the others to keep out of its way.

"I guess I'll have to take a hand in this," said Grandpa Brown. He knew how to handle cows, horses and calves you see. But there was no need for him to do anything.

Just then the hired man, who had been milking some of the cows, opened the barn door to see what all the noise meant. He had a pail of milk in his hand, and, no sooner had the calf seen this, than the striped creature made a rush for the hired man.

"Look out!" cried Grandpa Brown.

"Come back here!" cried Sue, to the calf.

Perhaps she thought the calf would mind her, since Sue had been the make-believe wild animal trainer in the circus. But all the green-striped calf thought of just then was the pail of milk it saw.

Right at the hired man it rushed, almost knocking him down.

"Here! Here! Look out! Stop it! That milk isn't for you!" cried the hired man, trying to push the calf to one side.

But the calf was hungry, and it had made up its little mind that it was going to have that milk. And it did. Before the hired man could stop it, the calf had its nose down in the pail of nice, warm, fresh milk.

"Let him have it," said Grandpa Brown, with a laugh. "The milk will keep him quiet, and we folks can get out. The circus is over; isn't it, Bunny?"

"Oh, yes, Grandpa. But we didn't think the wild animals were going to get loose. How did you like it?"

"Do you mean how did I like the wild animals getting loose?" asked Grandpa Brown, with a laugh.

"No, the circus," answered Bunny. "Was it good?"

"It certainly was!" cried his grandfather. "I liked it very much!"

"And so did I," said grandma. "But I was afraid you would be hurt when you jumped that time, Bunny."

"Oh, that's just a circus trick," Bunny said. "You ought to see Ben jump. Go on, Ben, show 'em how you can turn over in the air."

"Not now, Bunny. I haven't time. I'm going to help Bunker clean up the barn."

There were many things to be put away after the circus, for Grandpa Brown had said if the children used his barn they must leave it neat and clean when they finished.

By this time the grown people who had come to the circus, and the boys and girls, too, began to leave. The calf was now standing still, drinking the milk from the pail. Splash had stopped barking. The two roosters had gotten out of the barn, and everything was quiet once more.

The circus was over, and everyone said he had had a good time. Some of the little folks wanted to see it all over again, but Bunny said that could not be done. The grown folks said Bunny Brown and his sister Sue were very clever to get up such a nice little show.

"But of course we didn't do it all," explained Bunny, who like to have others share in the praise. "We never could have done it if grandpa hadn't let us take his barn, or if Bunker and Ben hadn't helped us. It was as much their show as it was ours."

"Yes, Bunker and Ben were very good to help you," said Bunny's mother. "And now I think it is time for you and Sue to wash and get ready for supper."

"I'd like to have a bigger show, in a tent Some day," said Bunny.

"Yes, that would be nice," agreed Sue.

"Well, if I'd known you wanted a tent instead of my barn, I could have given you one," said Grandpa Brown.

"Oh, have you really a tent?" asked Bunny, eagerly.

"Yes, it's an old army tent. Not very big, though. When I used to go camping with some old soldier friends of mine we took it with us. It's up in the attic now, I guess. But your circus is over, so you won't want a tent now."

"Maybe we'll have another circus some day," suggested Bunny. "Then could we take your army tent?"

"Oh, I guess so."

And when Bunny, Sue and the children and the grown folks had left the barn, Bunker Blue said to Ben Hall:

"Say, it wouldn't be such a bad idea to get up a circus among us big boys; would it?"

"Yes, it might be fun."

"If Mr. Brown has a tent we could use that, and we might borrow another. Would you like to do that, Ben?"

"I might."

"Say, look here!" exclaimed Bunker, "why don't you tell us more about yourself? You know something about a real circus."

"What makes you think so?" Ben asked.

"Oh, because I do. Were you ever in one?"

Instead of answering Ben cried:

"Look out! That plank is going to fall on your foot!"

Ben and Bunker were putting away the boxes and boards that had been used for seats in the circus. And, as Ben spoke, one of the boards slipped off a box. Bunker pulled his foot away, but not in time to prevent being struck by the board.

"Ouch!" he cried, and then he forgot that he had asked Ben about that boy's having been in a circus. Ben was glad he did not have to answer that question.

When Bunker and Ben had made the barn look as neat as it was before the little circus was held, and when the blue stripes had been washed off Splash, the two big boys sat and talked until supper was ready.

"What do you think about getting up a larger circus?" asked Bunker.

"Why, I guess we could do it," said Ben.

"Are there some big boys around here?"

"Lots of 'em. I've met some since I came here with Bunny, Sue and their family. We could get the big fellows together, and give a real show, in a tent."

"Would we have any little folks in it?"

"Well, we'd have Bunny and Sue, of course, because they started this circus idea. They're real cute; don't you think?"

"They certainly are," agreed Ben. "I like 'em very much. Well, we'll think about another circus. We'll need a larger tent than the one Mr. Brown has. Can we get one?"

"I think so. The folks around here used to have a county fair in a tent, and we might get that. We could charge money, too, if we gave a good show."

"That would be nice," said Ben, with a laugh. "I'd like to earn some money."

That night after supper, when Bunny and Sue were getting ready for bed, after having talked the circus all over again, they heard their grandfather saying to Daddy Brown:

"I can't make out what sort of boy that Ben Hall is."

"Why, isn't he a good boy?" asked Bunny's father.

"Oh, yes, he's a very good boy. I wouldn't ask a better. He does his work on the farm here very well. But there is something strange about him. He has some secret, and I can't find out what it is."

That was all Bunny heard. Sue did not stop to listen to that much. But Bunny wondered, as he was falling asleep, what Ben's secret was. It was some time before he found out.

"What are we going to do to-day, Bunny?" asked Sue, as she and her brother went outdoors, after breakfast next morning.

Bunny did not answer at first. He walked slowly down to the edge of the little pond where the ducks swam, and there he saw an old barn door that had been laid down so Grandma Brown would not have to step in a wet and muddy place when it rained.

"What can we do to have some fun, Bunny?"

Still Bunny did not answer. He went closer to the old door, and then he suddenly said:

"Sue, we're going sailing!"

"Going sailing?"

"Yep. This will be our ship. All we'll have to do will be to put a sail on it and we'll sail across the duck pond. Come on."

Bunny found an old bag that had held corn for the chickens. He nailed this bag to a stick, and fastened the stick up straight in a crack in the barn door, which lay down flat on the ground. Then he and Sue managed to get the door in the duck pond, on the edge of which it had been placed over a mud puddle.

"There!" cried Bunny. "Get on the boat, Sue."

Bunny and Sue, who had taken off their shoes and stockings, stood up on the big door. It floated nicely with them. A little wind blew out the bag sail, and away they went.



Chapter XV

Splash Is Lost


"Bunny! Oh, Bunny! We're sailing! We're sailing!" joyfully cried Sue, as she felt the barn-door raft moving through the water.

"Of course we're sailing," Bunny answered, as he stood up near the mast, which is what the stick that holds the sail is called. The mast Bunny had made was only a piece of a lima bean pole, and the sail was only an old bag. But the children had just as much fun as though they were in one of their father's big sail boats.

The duck pond was not very wide, but it was quite long, and when Bunny and Sue had sailed across it to the other side, they turned around to go to the upper end.

Bunny had found a piece of board, which he had nailed to another short length of bean pole, and this made a sort of oar. This he put in the water at the back of the raft to steer with.

Bunny Brown knew something about steering a boat, for he had often been out with his father or Bunker Blue. And Bunny was quick to learn, though he was not much more than six years old.

Harder blew the wind on the bag-sail, and faster and faster went Bunny and Sue to the upper end of the pond. There were many ducks swimming on the water, or putting their heads down below, into the mud, to get the weeds that grew there. Sometimes they found snails, which some ducks like very much.

But when the ducks saw the barn-door raft sailing among them, they were afraid, and, quacking loudly, they paddled out of the way.

"Oh, Bunny!" cried Sue, as they sailed along, "there's the little ducks that were hatched out by the hen mother."

"So they are!" exclaimed the little boy. The little ducks were swimming in the water, and the hen mother was clucking along shore. She would not go in the water herself, but stayed as near to it as she dared, on shore. Perhaps she wanted to make sure the little ducks would not drown. Of course they would not, unless a big fish pulled them under water, for ducks are made on purpose to swim. And there were no big fish in the pond, only little minnows, about half as big as a lollypop stick.

"Oh, Bunny!" cried Sue, as she saw the hen mother watching the little ducks paddle about, "Oh, Bunny, I know what we can do."

"What?"

"We can give the hen mamma a ride on our boat. Poor thing! She never can go paddling or swimming with her family. Let's take her on our boat, and she can sail with her little ducks then, and not get wet."

"That's what we'll do!" Bunny cried. "I'm glad you thought of it, Sue. We'll give the old hen a sail, and the ducks can paddle around with us."

Bunny steered the raft over to the shore where the hen was clucking away, calling to her ducklings to come to dry land. Perhaps she thought they had been in bathing long enough.

"Can we catch her?" asked Sue. "You know it's hard work to catch a chicken. You couldn't catch the old rooster."

"Oh, this is easier," Bunny said. "The hen mother won't run away from her little ducks."

And, for a wonder, Bunny was right. But then, as Grandma Brown told him afterward, the old hen was a very tame one, and was used to being picked up and petted.

So when Bunny and Sue reached the shore the hen did not run away. She let Bunny pick her up, and she only clucked a little when he set her down in a dry place on the door raft.

"Now we'll go sailing again," Bunny said, as he pushed off from the shore.

The old hen clucked and fluttered her wings. She was calling to her little ducks. And they came right up on to the raft, too. Perhaps they wanted to see what sailing was like, and then, too, they may have had enough of swimming and paddling for a time. At any rate, there the old mother hen and her little ducks were on the raft, with the two children.

"Now we'll give them a fine ride!" cried Sue. "Aren't they cute, Bunny?"

"Yes," said Bunny. He steered the raft, while Sue picked up one of the little ducks and petted it in her hand.

"Oh, you dear, cute, sweet little thing!" murmured Sue. "I wish I had you for a doll!"

On and on sailed Bunny and Sue, and I think it was the first time the old hen mother ever went sailing with her family of ducks. She seemed to like it, too, Bunny and Sue thought.

Finally, when the raft was in the middle of the pond, the little ducks gave some quacks, a sort of whistle and into the water they fluttered one after the other.

"Cluck! Cluck! Cluck!" went the hen mamma, fluttering her wings. "Cluckity-cluck-cluck!"

I suppose that meant, in hen talk:

"Come back! Come back! Stay on the boat and have a nice ride!"

But the little ducks wanted to swim in the water. And they did.

"Never mind," said Sue. "We'll keep on sailing, Bunny, and we'll sail right after the little ducks, so the hen mamma can watch them."

And this the children did. The little ducks paddled around in the water at the edge of the raft, and on the middle of it, in a dry place, perched the hen mother. It was great fun, and Bunny and Sue liked it very much.

"She is just like a trained hen," said Bunny. "If we have another and bigger circus, Sue, we can have this hen in it."

"Are we going to have another circus?"

"Maybe -- a big one, in two tents. Bunker Blue and Ben are talking about it."

"Oh, that would be fun!" cried Sue, clapping her hands.

And then, all at once, as soon as Sue did this, the little ducks took fright, and hurried toward the shore. Perhaps they thought Sue was shooing them away, as her grandmother sometimes shooed the hens out of the garden.

Anyhow, the little ducks, half swimming and half flying, rushed for the shore, and no sooner had the hen mother seen them go, than with a loud cluck she raised herself up in the air, and flew to shore also. She had had enough of sailing, and she wanted to be with her little duck family.

"Oh, I didn't mean to scare them," said Sue.

"Never mind," Bunny comforted her. "I guess they had ride enough. Now we'll sail down to the other end of the pond."

But the wind was quite strong now. It blew very hard on the bag-sail, and the raft went swiftly through the water.

All at once there was a cracking sound, and the raft turned to one side.

"Oh, dear!" cried Sue. "What's the matter?"

Something flew down over her head, covering her eyes, and she could see nothing.

"Stop! Stop!" cried the little girl. "Is that you, Bunny?"

But Bunny did not answer. Sue pulled the thing off her head. When she could see she noticed that it was the bag sail. The beanpole mast had broken off close to where it was stuck in a crack in the barn door, and the sail had fallen on Sue.

But where was Bunny Brown?

Sue looked all around and then saw her brother, off the raft, standing up in the water behind her.

"What -- what's the matter, Bunny?" asked Sue. "Don't you want to sail any more? What makes you be in the water? Oh, you're all wet!" she cried, as she saw that he had fallen in, right over his head.

"I -- I couldn't help it," said Bunny. "I slipped in when the wind broke the sail. I -- I fell on my back, and a lot of water got in my nose and mouth, but -- but I got on my feet, and I'm all right now, Sue."

Bunny's father had taught him a little about swimming, and Bunny knew that the first thing to do, when you fall in water, is to hold your breath. Then, when your head bobs up, as it surely will, you can take a breath, and stand up, if the water isn't too deep.

So Bunny stood up, with the muddy water dripping from him, looking at Sue who was still on the raft, all alone.

"Oh, Bunny!" cried the little girl. "What shall I do? I -- I'm afraid!"

"You're all right," Bunny answered bravely. "I'll come and push you to shore. I'm all wet so I might as well stay wading now."

The duck pond was not very deep, and Bunny was soon wading behind the raft, pushing it, with Sue on it, toward shore. So his sister did not get more than her feet wet, and, as she had on no shoes or stockings, that did not matter.

"Oh, Bunny! What happened?" asked his mother, when she saw how wet he was, as, a little later, the two children came to the farmhouse. "What happened, Bunny?"

"Oh, Mamma. We gave the old hen a ride, so she could be with her little ducks," said Sue, "and the wind broke our sail, and it fell on me, and the ducks flew away and so did the hen mother, and Bunny fell in. That's what happened!"

"Mercy me, sakes alive! I should think that was enough!" cried Grandma Brown.

"Yes, perhaps you had better keep away from the duck pond after this," said Mother Brown. "Now I'll have to change all your clothes, Bunny."

Bunny was sorry his mother had so much work to do for him, but, as he said, he could not help it.

Washed and clean, Bunny and Sue, a little later, went down the road to the house of Nellie Bruce.

"We'll take Splash with us," said Bunny. "Where is he? Here, Splash! Splash!" he called.

"I didn't see him all to-day," said Sue. "Maybe he didn't like being a blue-striped tiger in a circus, and he's gone back to our home by the ocean."

"He wouldn't go that far," said Bunny. "Besides, he liked being in the circus. He wagged his tail 'most all the while, and when he does that he's happy. Here, Splash!" he called again.

But Splash did not come, even when Sue called, and the two children went off to play without him. For a time they did not think about their dog, as they had such fun at the home of Nellie Bruce. They played tag, and hide-and-go-seek, as well as teeter-tauter, and bean-bag.

Then Mrs. Bruce gave them some cookies and milk, and they had a little play-party. But, when it came time for Bunny and Sue to go home, they thought of Splash again.

"I wonder if he'll be there waiting for us," said Sue, as they came within sight of their Grandpa Brown's house.

"I hope so," said Bunny.

But no Splash was there, and he had not been seen since early morning, before Bunny and Sue went sailing on the duck pond.

"Oh, dear!" sighed Sue. "Splash has run away. He's lost!"

"Dogs can't get lost!" Bunny declared.

"Yes, he is too lost," and tears came into Sue's eyes.



Chapter XVI

Getting The Tents


Bunny Brown himself thought it was strange that Splash was not about to greet him and his sister as they came home from play. The big shaggy dog, that had once pulled Sue from the water, was very fond of the children, and if he did not go with them (which he did nearly every time) he was always waiting for them to come back.

But this time Splash was not to be seen. Bunny went about the yard, whistling, while Sue called:

"Splash! Here, Splash! I want you! Come here, Splash!"

But the joyful bark of Splash was not heard, nor did he come bounding around the side of the house, to play with Bunny Brown and his sister Sue, when they called.

"It is queer," said Mother Brown. "I saw him early this morning, when I gave him his breakfast, and I thought he went with you, Bunny, when you and Sue went down to the duck pond."

"No, Splash didn't go with us," said Bunny. And this was rather strange, too, for the dog loved water, and played near it whenever he could, dashing in to bring out sticks that Bunny or Sue would throw in for him.

"And didn't he go down to Nellie Bruce's with you?" asked Grandma Brown. She was as fond of Splash as anyone.

"No, he didn't follow us," Sue answered. "We wanted him, too. But we thought sure he'd be here waiting for us. But he isn't," and again the little girl's eyes filled with tears.

"Oh, we'll find him," said Bunny.

But that was easier said than done. All about the house and barns in the farmyard, down through the meadows and over the pasture they looked for Splash. Mother and Grandmother Brown helped search, but Bunny and Sue, with Bunker Blue and Ben Hall, went farther off to look. It was nearly time for supper, but Bunny and Sue did not want to wash and get clean ready for the meal until they had found Splash.

But Splash, it seemed, was not to the found.

"We'll have to ask some of the neighbors if they've seen him," said Bunker. "We'll go down the road a way and ask everyone we meet."

Splash, by this time, was pretty well known at the houses along the road where Grandpa Brown lived, for the dog made friends with everyone, and was fond of children.

But Bunker, Ben, Bunny and Sue had to ask at a number of places before they found anyone who had seen Splash.

"Your dog lost; eh?" exclaimed Mr. Black, who lived about a mile from Grandpa Brown's house. "Why, yes, I saw Splash this morning. He was running over the fields back of my house. I called to him, thinking you children might be with him, and there's an old ram, over in my back pasture, that I didn't want to get after you.

"But Splash wouldn't come when I called to him, and when I saw you two youngsters weren't with him, I didn't worry about the ram. I knew Splash could look out for himself."

"Did you see him come back?" asked Bunker.

"No. I didn't notice. I was too busy."

"Then we'll go over and look for him," said Ben. "Maybe the old ram got him after all."

"Well, maybe he did," said the farmer, "but I guess a dog like Splash can run faster than a ram. Anyhow we'll have a look."

"Are you going, Bunny?" asked Sue.

"Sure. Aren't you? Don't you want to find Splash?"

"Yes -- but -- but I don't want a old ram to hook me with his horns."

"I'll take care of you, Sue," said Farmer Black. "I'll take a big stick with me, and the ram is afraid of that. We'll find Splash for you."

They all went over the field where Mr. Black had seen Splash trotting early that morning. They saw the ram, who, at first, seemed about to run toward them. But when Mr. Black shook the stick at him the ram turned away and nibbled grass.

"No sign of Splash here," said the farmer, as he stood on the fence and looked across the field.

"Then he's just lost," said Bunny. He was glad the ram had not hurt his dog. But where could Splash be?

They went on a little farther, and Sue called:

"Splash! Splash! Where are you?"

But there was no answer. Then they went on a little farther, and Bunny called:

"Splash! Ho, Splash!"

Hark! What was that?

They all listened.

From somewhere, a good way off, the faint barking of a dog could be heard.

"There he is!" cried Bunker Blue. "That's Splash!"

"Oh, I'm so glad!" cried Sue.

"But why doesn't he come to us?" Bunny asked. "Splash always comes when you call him. Why doesn't he come?"

No one could answer this. They listened and waited. They could hear the dog barking, but the sound was as far off as ever.

"Maybe he can't come," said Ben. "Maybe he's caught, or hurt, and can't walk. We'll have to go to him."

"I guess that's right," said Farmer Black. "We'll find that dog of yours after all."

They listened in order to tell where the barking came from, and then started off toward a little grove of trees. It seemed that Splash was there. And, as they came nearer the barking sounded more plainly.

"Oh, Splash! Splash!" cried Sue.

The dog barked and whined now.

"He's hurt!" said Bunker Blue. "He must be caught in a trap!"

And it was there they found poor Splash.

He had stepped with one paw into a trap that was hidden under the leaves, and there he was, held fast. For the trap, which was a string spring one, was fastened by a chain to a heavy log. And as Splash could not pull the log and trap too, he had had to stay where he was caught.

"Oh, you poor, dear Splash!" cried Sue, putting her arms around the dog's neck. Splash licked her face with his red tongue, and whined. Bunny, too, put his arms around his pet.

"Some boy must have set that trap here to catch musk rats," said Farmer Black. "I've told 'em not to, but they won't mind. Let me see now if I can't set Splash loose."

This was soon done. The trap was not a sharp one, with teeth, as some are made, and though one of the dog's paws was pinched and bruised, no bones were broken, nor was the skin cut. But poor Splash was quite lame, and could only walk on three legs.

"Splash, what made you run away from home?" asked Bunny.

Of course the dog could not answer. But he may have found some other dog to play with, and run off to have some fun. Then he had stepped into the trap, and there he was held until his little friends came to find him.

"And it's a good thing you looked for him," said Bunker Blue, "or he might have been out here all night, caught in the trap."

"Poor Splash!" said Sue, as she hugged him again.

As Splash could not walk along very well, on three legs, Mr. Black said he would hitch up a wagon and take the dog, and everyone else, to grandpa's place. And, a little later, this was done.

Grandpa Brown put some liniment on the sore leg, and bound it up in soft cloths. Then Splash went to sleep in the kitchen.

"Oh, I'm so glad he isn't lost!" sighed Sue, as she and Bunny went to bed that night.

"So am I," echoed her brother.

For several days Splash had to go about on three legs, holding the lame one, with the cloth on, up in the air. Then the pain and bruise of the trap passed away, and he could run around the same as before, on four legs, though he limped a little. Soon he was over that, and as well as ever.

"And you must keep out of traps," said Bunny, shaking a finger at his pet.

"Bow-wow!" barked Splash, and I guess that he meant he would.

It was about a week after this that Bunny Brown and his sister Sue saw Bunker Blue and Ben Hall out in a field with a big pile of white cloth.

"Oh, maybe they're going to send up a balloon!" exclaimed Bunny, for he had once seen this done at a park.

"Let's go watch!" cried Sue.

They found the two big boys stretching out the white cloth, to which was fastened many ropes.

"Is it a balloon?" asked Bunny.

"No," answered Bunker. "It's a tent."

"A tent! What a big one!"

"It's the army tent your grandfather used to sleep in when he went to camp. He let us take it. We're going to put it up and see how many it will hold."

"What for?" Bunny wanted to know. "Are you going camping? Can Sue and I come?"

"No, we're not going camping," answered Ben. "But we want this tent, and perhaps another one, bigger, for the circus we are going to give."

"Oh, are you going to have a circus?" asked Bunny.

"Well, we big boys are thinking of it," said Bunker. "You young ones gave such a good one, that we want to see if we can't come up to you. That's why we're going to put up this tent."

"We'll help," said Bunny. Then he and Sue began pulling on ropes and hauling on the ends of the white canvas, of which the tent was made. The children thought they were helping, but I guess Bunker and Ben could have done better if left alone. Still they liked the children, and did not want to send them away.

But Bunny, who had gone away from Sue, soon grew tired of pulling on the heavy ropes.

"I guess I'll come back when you have the tent up," said the little fellow. "Come on, Sue," and he looked around for his sister.

But she was not in sight.

"Sue! Sue!" called Bunny. "Where are you?"

"Maybe she's gone home," said Ben.

"No, she wouldn't go without me," Bunny declared. "Oh, maybe she's lost; or caught in a trap, just like Splash was!" and Bunny began to cry.



Chapter XVII

Bunny And The Balloons


Bunker Blue, Ben, and some of the large boys from nearby farms, who had been invited to come over and help put up the big tent, stopped pulling on the ropes, or driving in stakes, and gathered around Bunny Brown.

"What's the matter?" asked one big boy, who had a snub nose.

"My -- my little sister is lost," Bunny explained, half crying.

"Who is your sister?" the big boy asked. He came from a farm a good way off, and was somewhat of a stranger.

"She's Sue -- that's my sister," Bunny explained. "She was here a little while ago, but now she's lost!"

"This is Bunny Brown," explained Bunker to the other boys. "He and his sister Sue are staying at Grandpa Brown's farm. Their grandfather let us take this tent," he said.

"Oh, I see!" exclaimed the big boy. "Well, we'll help you hunt for your sister, Bunny."

They began looking all around the big tent, which was spread out on the ground and not yet up on the poles, as it would be later, so the people could come in it to see the show of the big boys. But Sue was not in sight. Nor could she be seen anywhere in the field where the tent was to be put up.

"Are you sure she didn't go back to the house, Bunny?" asked Ben.

"I'm sure she didn't," said the little boy. "She was here with me a little while ago. If she'd gone she'd have told me so, and Splash would have gone with her. He goes with her more than he does with me. And see, here is Splash!"

This was true. The big dog lay in the shade, watching what Bunny and the others were doing, and wondering, I suppose, why people were so foolish as to work in hot weather, when they could just as well lie down in the shade, and stick out their tongues to keep cool -- for that is what dogs do.

"Maybe Splash can find Sue," said Bunker.

"Hi there, Splash!" he called. "Where's Sue? Find her!"

Splash jumped up with a bark, and ran to Bunny.

"You tell him what to do," said Bunker. "He'll mind you better than he will me."

"Find Sue, Splash! Find Sue!" said Bunny.

Splash barked again, looked up into Bunny's face, as if to make sure what was wanted, and then, with a bark he ran to where a big pile of the white canvas was gathered in a heap. It was a part of the tent the boys had not yet unfolded, or straightened out.

Splash stood near this and barked. Then he began poking in it with his sharp nose.

"He -- he's found something," said Ben.

"Maybe it's Sue," cried Bunker. "Come on!"

Taking hold of Bunny's hand, Bunker ran with him toward the pile of canvas. The other boys ran too. But before they got there Sue was sitting up in the middle of it, and Splash was standing near her, barking and jumping about now and then, as if he felt very happy.

"Why -- why, Sue!" Bunny cried. "Were you there all the while?"

"How long is all the while?" asked Sue, rubbing her sleepy eyes. "I was playing house here, Bunny, and I pulled a bed spread over me, and went to sleep. Splash put his cold nose on me and woke me up. What are you all lookin' at me for?" Sue asked, as she saw the circle of boys, her brother among them, staring at her.

"We -- we thought you were lost, Sue," said Bunny. "And we came to find you."

"I -- I wasn't losted at all!" Sue protested. "I was here all the while! I just went to sleep!"

And that was what had happened. When Bunny was busy helping Ben and Bunker pull on some of the tent ropes, Sue had slipped off by herself, and had lain down on the pile of canvas.

Feeling sleepy, she had pulled a part of the tent over her. She made believe it was a white spread, such as was on her bed in her Grandpa Brown's house. This covered Sue from sight, so Bunny and none of the others could see her. And there she had slept, while the others looked. And had not Splash known where to find the little girl, she might have slept a great deal longer, and Bunny and the boys might not have found her until dark.

"But I've slept long enough, now," said Sue. "Is the tent ready for the big circus?"

"Not yet," answered Bunker Blue. "We've got to use the piece of canvas you were sleeping on, so it's a good thing you woke up. But we'll soon have the tent ready, and then we'll go and get the bigger one."

"Oh, are you going to have two?" asked Sue.

"Yes," answered Ben. "Oh, we're going to give a fine show! And we want you and your sister Sue in it, too, Bunny," went on the strange boy who had come to Grandpa Brown's so hungry that night. "You'll be in the big circus; won't you?"

"To give the Punch and Judy show?" asked Sue.

"Well, maybe that, and maybe some of the things you did in your own little circus," Bunker said. "There's time enough to get up something new if you want."

"All right. That's what we'll do," said Bunny. "Come on, Sue, and we'll practise a new act for the big boys' circus."

The little circus, gotten up by Bunny and Sue, had made quite a jolly time for the people in the country where Grandpa Brown lived. It was talked of in many a farmhouse, and it was this talk of the little circus that had made Bunker, Ben and the other big boys want to give a larger show of their own.

Some of the boys were quite strong, and they could do tricks on the trapeze that Bunny and his little friends did not dare try. Then, too, one of the boys had a trained dog, that had once been in a real city theatre show, and another had some white mice that could do little tricks, and even fire a toy cannon that shot a paper cap.

"Oh, it's going to be a real circus all right, in real tents," said Bunker Blue.

As I have told you, Grandpa Brown let the boys take his old army tent, and they were to have another, and larger one, that had once been used at a county fair.

Leaving Bunker, Ben and the other big boys to put up their tent, Bunny and Sue, with Splash, their dog, went back to the farmhouse.

"What trick can we do, Bunny?" asked Sue. "What can we do in the circus?"

"Oh, we'll make up a surprise, so they'll all laugh," he said. "I wish I had another big lobster claw, so I could put it on my nose, and look funny."

"Maybe you could find something else to put on your nose," said the little girl. "Oh, Bunny, I know!" she suddenly cried. "I've just thought of something fine!"

"What?" asked Bunny.

Sue looked all around, to make sure no one was listening, and then she whispered to Bunny. And what it was she told him I'm not allowed to tell you just now, though I will when the right time comes.

Anyhow, Bunny and Sue were very busy the rest of the day. They were making something out in the barn, and they kept the doors closed so no one could see what they were doing.

It was the day after this that Bunny and Sue were asked by their grandma to go on a little errand for her. It was about half a mile down the safe country road, to a neighbor's house, and as the two children had been there before, they knew the way very well.

Hand in hand they set off, with Splash following after them. They walked slowly, for there was no hurry. Now and then they stopped to pick some pretty flowers, or get a drink at a wayside spring. Once in a while they saw a red, yellow or blue bird, and they stopped to watch the pretty creatures fly to their nests, where their little ones were waiting to be fed.

"Oh, isn't it just lovely in the country," said Sue. "Don't you just love it, Bunny?"

"Yes," he answered. "I do. And won't we have fun at our circus, Sue, when I dress up like a --  -- "

"Hush!" exclaimed the little girl. "Don't tell anyone! It's a secret you know."

"Pooh! There's nobody here to tell!" laughed Bunny.

In a little while they were at the house of the neighbor to whom Grandma Brown had sent them. They gave in the little note grandma had written, and then Mrs. Wilson, to whom it was sent, after writing an answer, gave Bunny and Sue each a cookie, and a cool glass of milk.

"Sit down in the shade, on the porch, and eat and drink," said Mrs. Wilson. "Then you will feel better when going home."

Bunny and Sue liked the cookies and milk very much. They were just eating the last crumbs of the cookies, and drinking the last drops of milk, when Bunny, looking out toward the road, saw, going past, a man with a large number of balloons, tied to strings, floating over his head. There were red balloons, and blue ones; green, yellow, purple, white and pink ones.

"Oh, look, Sue!" cried Bunny. "The balloons! That's just what we want for our circus."

"What do we want of balloons?" asked the little girl.

"I mean we ought to have somebody sell them outside the tents," Bunny went on. "It won't look like a real circus without toy balloons."

"That's so," agreed Sue. "But how can we get 'em?"

"We'll ask the balloon man," said Bunny. He was not a bit bashful about speaking to strangers.

Setting down his empty milk glass, Bunny ran down the front path toward the road, where the balloon man was walking along through the dust. Sue ran after her brother.

"Hey! Hi there!" called Bunny.

The man stopped and turned around. Seeing the two children, he smiled.

"You wanta de balloon?" he asked, for he was an Italian, just like the one who had a hand organ, and whose monkey ran away, as I have told you in the book before this one.

"We want lots of balloons," said Bunny.

"Oh, sure!" said the man, smiling more than ever.

"We want all the balloons for our circus," Bunny explained.

"Circus? Circus?" repeated the balloon man, and he did not seem to know what Bunny meant. "What is circus?" he asked.

"We're going to have a circus," Bunny explained. "My sister Sue says we must have toy balloons. You come to our circus and you can sell a lot. You know -- a show in a tent."

"Oh, sure! I know!" The Italian smiled again. He had often sold balloons at fairs and circuses. "Where your circus?" he asked.

"Come on, we'll show you," promised Bunny. Then he and Sue started back toward Grandpa Brown's house, followed by the man with the balloons floating over his head -- red balloons, green, blue, purple, yellow, white and pink ones.



Chapter XVIII

The Storm


"Bunny! Won't it be just grand!" whispered Sue to her brother, as they walked along ahead of the balloon man.

"Fine!" said Bunny. "We'll have him stand outside the tent, and sell his balloons. It'll look just like a real circus then. It wouldn't without the balloons; would it, Sue?"

"No. And, oh, Bunny! I've thought of something else."

"What is it?"

"Pink lemonade."

"Pink lemonade?"

"Yes, we'll have the balloon man sell that, and peanuts. Then it will be more than ever like a real circus."

"But how can he sell pink lemonade and peanuts and balloons?" Bunny wanted to know.

"Oh, he can do it," said Sue, who seemed to think it was very easy. "He can tie his bunch of balloons to the lemonade and peanut stand, and when anybody wants one they can take it and put down the five cents. Then the balloon man will have one hand to dish out the hot peanuts, and the other to pour out the pink lemonade."

"Yes, I guess he could do that," said Bunny. "We'll ask him, anyhow. Maybe he won't want to."

Bunny and Sue stopped and waited for the balloon man to catch up with them. The man, seeing the children waiting for him, hurried forward, and stopped to see what was wanted.

"Well?" he asked, looking at his balloons to make sure none of them would break away, and float up to the clouds.

"Can you sell pink lemonade?" asked Bunny.

"Penk leemonade," repeated the Italian, saying the words in a funny way. "Whata you calla dat? Penk leemonade?"

"You know -- what they always have at a circus," said Bunny. "This color," and he pointed to a pink balloon. "You drink it you know, out of a glass -- five cents."

"No can drinka de balloon!" the man exclaimed. "You put your teeth on heem and he go -- pop! so -- no good!"

"No, I don't mean that!" cried Bunny, laughing at the Italian, who made funny faces, and waved his hands in the air. "I mean can you sell pink lemonade -- to drink -- at our circus?"

"And peanuts?" added Sue.

"Yes, we'd want you to sell peanuts, too," went on the little boy.

"Ha! Peanuts? No! I used to pusha de peanut cart -- make de whistle blow -- hot peanuts. No more! I sella de balloon!" exclaimed the Italian. "No more makea de hot peanuts!"

"Oh, dear!" sighed Sue. "He won't do it! We'll have to get some one else, Bunny."

"Well, we can easy do that," said Bunny. "Maybe the hired man will sell peanuts and lemonade for us. I asked him if he would like to be in the big circus, and he said he would. I asked him if he could do any acts."

"What'd he say?" Sue wanted to know, while the Italian balloon peddler stood looking at the two children, as if wondering what they would do next.

"Well, the hired man said all he could do was milk a cow, and plow up the ground. He wanted to know if they were circus acts, and I said I guessed not," replied Bunny. "So maybe he'd be glad to sell lemonade and peanuts."

"I think he would," said Sue. "You needn't do anything except blow up your balloons and sell 'em," she went on to the Italian. "Never mind about the peanuts and the pink lemonade."

"Alla right," said the man, with a smile that showed what nice white teeth he had. "Me sella de balloon!"

He and the children walked on a little longer. Then the man turned to Bunny and asked:

"How much farder now -- to de circus?"

"Not far now," said Bunny. "The circus isn't quite ready yet, but you can stay at our grandpa's house until it is. You see we don't get many balloon peddlers out this way. You're the first one we've seen, so you'd better stay. It won't be more than a week, or maybe two weeks."

"Circus last all dat time?" asked the Italian. "Sella lot de balloons. Buy more in New York -- sella dem! Mucha de money!"

"We've an aunt in New York," said Sue. "Her name is Aunt Lu. If you sell all these balloons she'll buy some more for you in New York, so you won't have to go away."

"Yes," said Bunny, "that would be best. We'll get Aunt Lu to send you more balloons. And when you haven't any to sell, while you're waiting, you could help the hired man sell pink lemonade and peanuts. 'Cause, anyhow, maybe the hired man sometimes would have to go to milk the cows, and you could take his place."

The Italian shook his head. He did not quite know what Bunny and Sue were talking about. All he thought of was that he was being taken to a circus, where he might sell all his balloons, and make money enough to buy more to sell.

"There's grandpa's house now," said Sue, as they went around a turn in the road.

"Where de circus -- where de tents?" the Italian wanted to know.

"Oh, they're not all up yet," said Bunny. "The big boys are doing that. You just come with us."

And so Bunny Brown and his sister Sue walked up the front path, followed by the Italian with the many-colored balloons floating over his head.

"Mercy me! What's all this?" cried Mother Brown, when she saw the little procession. "What does this mean, Bunny -- Sue?"

"It's balloons, for the circus," explained Bunny. "We saw this man down the road, and we invited him to come with us. He's going to stay here until it's time for the circus, next week, and then he's going to sell balloons outside the tent."

"We wanted him to sell pink lemonade and peanuts," said Sue, "but he wouldn't. So the hired man can do that. Now, Grandma," went on the little girl, "maybe this balloon man is hungry. We're not, 'cause we had some cookies and milk; didn't we, Bunny?"

"Yep."

"But he didn't have any," Sue went on. "And he'll have to have a place to sleep, 'cause he's going to stay to the circus, and sell balloons. And if he sells them all Aunt Lu will send him more from New York and he can sell them. Won't it be nice, Mother?"

Mrs. Brown did not know what to say. Neither did Grandma Brown. They just looked at one another, and then at the Italian, and next at Bunny and Sue.

"Me sella de balloon!" explained the Italian, as best he could in his queer English. "Little boy -- little gal -- say circus. Me likea de circus. But me no see any tents. Where circus tents?"

"Oh these children!" cried Mrs. Brown. "What in the world are we to do with this Italian and his balloons?"

"Me sella de balloons!" said the dark-skinned man.

"Yes, I know," sighed Mrs. Brown. "But the circus is only a make-believe one, and it isn't ready yet, and -- Oh, I don't know what to do!" she cried. "Bunny -- Sue -- you shouldn't have invited the balloon man to come here!"

"But you can't have a circus without balloons," said Bunny.

"Yes, my dear, I know, but --  -- "

"What's all the trouble?" asked Papa Brown, coming out on the porch just then.

Bunny and Sue, their mother and the Italian, told the story after a while.

"Well," said Mr. Brown, to the Italian, after he had listened carefully, "I'm sorry you had your trip for nothing. But of course the children did not know any better. It is only a little circus, and you would not sell many balloons. But, as long as you came away back here, I guess we can give you something to eat, and we'll buy some balloons of you for the children."

"Thanka you. Mucha de 'bliged," said the Italian with a smile.

He seemed happy now, and after Grandma Brown had given him some bread and meat, and a big piece of pie, out on the side porch, he started off down the road again, smiling and happy. Bunny and Sue were each given a balloon by their father, who bought them from the Italian.

"And don't invite any more peddlers to your circus, children," said Mr. Brown.

"We won't," promised Bunny. "But we thought the balloons would be nice."

"We can have the hired man sell pink lemonade and peanuts; can't we?" Sue wanted to know.

"Yes, I guess so -- if he wants to," laughed Grandpa Brown.

"Well, we have some balloons ourselves, anyhow," said Bunny to his sister that night.

The children had much fun with their balloons next day. They tied long threads to them, and let them float high in the air. Once Sue's nearly got away, but Bunny ran after the thread, which was dragging on the ground, and caught it.

The big boys had not forgotten about the circus, all this while. Bunker, Ben and their friends had put up the tent Grandpa Brown let them take, and Bunny and Sue went inside.

"My! It's terrible big!" said Sue, looking about the white canvas house. It was not so very large, but it seemed so to Sue.

"Just wait until you see the other," said Bunker. "The fair tent is three times as big as this."

And so it was. When that was put up in the meadow, near the army tent of Grandpa Brown's, the place began to look like a real circus ground.

"When are you going to have the show?" asked Bunny of Ben.

"Oh, in a few days now. Have you and Sue made up what you are going to do?"

"Yes, but it's a secret," Sue answered.

"So much the better!" laughed Ben. "You'll surprise the people."

The two tents were put up, and the big boys were getting ready for the circus. One night, about four days before it was to be held, Bunker Blue and Ben came in from where they had been, down near the tents, and looked anxiously at the sky.

"What's the matter," asked Bunny.

"Well," said Bunker, "it looks as if we would have a big rain storm. And if we do, and the meadow brook gets too full of water, it may wash the tents away."

"Oh, I guess that won't happen," said Ben.

But in the night it began to rain very hard. It thundered and lightened, and Bunny and Sue woke up, frightened. Sue began to cry.

"Why, you mustn't cry just because it rains," said Mother Brown.

"But I'm afraid!" sobbed Sue. "And it will wash away our circus tents!" and she sat up in bed, and shivered every time it thundered. "Oh, Mother! It will wash away all the nice circus tents!"



Chapter XIX

Hard Work


Mrs. Brown did not quite understand what Sue said about the storm washing away the circus tents. So she asked the little girl to explain.

"Why, Bunker Blue said," Sue told her mother, "that if the storm was too hard, the brook would get full of water, and wash away our circus tents. And I don't want that, 'cause me and Bunny is going to do an act, only it's a secret and I can't tell you. Only -- Oh, dear!" cried Sue, as she saw a very bright flash of lightning. "It's going to bang again!"

"But you musn't be afraid of the storm," said Mother Brown. "See, Bunny isn't afraid!"

"Yes, I is afraid too!" cried the little boy, who slept in the next room. "I is afraid, but I wasn't goin' to tell!"

"Well, that's being brave -- not to show that you are afraid," said Mother Brown. "Come now, Sue, you be brave, like Bunny."

"But I can't, Mother! I don't want the circus to be spoiled!"

"Oh, I guess the tents are good and strong," said Mr. Brown, who had gotten up to see what Sue was crying for. "They won't blow away."

It was about eleven o'clock at night, and quite dark, except when the lightning came. Then the loud thunder would sound, "just like circus wagons rumbling over a bridge," as Bunny told Sue, to try and make his little sister feel less afraid.

But all Sue could talk of was the circus tents, that might be blown over by the strong wind, which was now rattling the shutters and windows of the farmhouse. Or else the white canvas houses might be washed away by the high water.

While Mr. and Mrs. Brown sat up, trying to comfort Sue, by telling her and Bunny a fairy story, there were sounds heard in another part of the house.

"I guess that's Grandpa Brown getting up to see if his cows and horses are all right," said mother. "The cows and horses are not afraid in a storm, Sue."

"Maybe they are, but they can't talk and tell us about it," said Sue, who was not quite so frightened now.

Grandpa Brown could be heard speaking to some one in the hall.

"Hello, Bunker Blue," he called, "is that you getting up?"

"Yes, Mr. Brown," was the answer the children heard.

"And who is that with you?"

"Ben Hall."

"What are you going to do?" Bunny Brown heard his grandpa ask.

"We're going down to see about our circus tents," said Bunker. "We're afraid they may be carried away in the storm."

"Well, perhaps they may," said Grandpa Brown. "It's a bad storm all right, but we'll be safe and comfortable in the house. Take a lantern with you, if you're going out, and be careful."

"We will," promised Bunker.

Bunny put on his slippers and bath robe and went to the bedroom door. It was open a little way, and out in the hall he could see Bunker Blue and Ben Hall. The two big boys had on rubber boots and rubber coats, for it was raining hard.

"Oh, Bunker!" called Bunny. "May I go with you?"

"What, little shaver! Are you awake?" Bunker asked. "You'd better get back to bed. It's raining cats and dogs!"

"Really?" called Sue, from her father's lap, where she was sitting all "cuddled up." "Is it really raining cats and dogs? Is it raining my dog Splash? If it is I want to see it!"

"No, I didn't exactly mean that," answered Bunker with a laugh. "I meant it was raining such big drops that they are almost as large as little baby cats and dogs. But it is storming too hard for you two youngsters to come out. Ben and I will see about the tents."

"Don't let them blow away!" begged Bunny.

"Or wash down the brook," added Sue.

"We won't!" promised the big boys.

Then they went out into the storm. The wind was blowing so hard they could not carry umbrellas, for if they had taken them the umbrellas would have been blown inside out in a minute. But with rubber hats, coats and boots Bunker and Ben could not get very wet.

Bunny and Sue, looking from their windows, saw the flicker of the lantern, as Bunker and Ben walked with it toward the circus tents.

Harder rumbled the thunder, and brighter flashed the lightning. The rain pounded on the roof as though it would punch holes in it, and come through to wet Bunny and Sue. But nothing like that happened, and soon the two children began to feel sleepy again, even though the storm still kept up.

"I -- I guess I'll go to bed," said Sue. "Will you stay by me a little while, Daddy?"

"Yes," answered her father. "I'll sit right by your little bed."

"And hold my hand until I get to sleep?"

"Yes, I'll hold your hand, Sue."

"All right. Then I won't be scared any more. You can hold Bunny's hand, Mother."

"Pooh, I'm not afraid!" said Bunny. "But I like you to hold my hand, Mother!" he added quickly, for fear his mother would go away and leave him.

"All right, I'll sit by you," she said, with a smile.

Bunny and Sue soon fell asleep again. The thunder was not quite so loud, nor the lightning so bright, but it rained harder than ever, and as Bunny felt his eyes growing heavy, so that he was almost asleep, he again thought of what might happen to the circus tents.

"If they wash away down the brook, we can't have any show," he thought. "But maybe it won't happen."

Bunny roused up a little later, when some one came into the farmhouse. The little boy thought it was Bunker and Ben, but he was too sleepy to get up and ask. He heard some one, that sounded like his grandpa, ask:

"Did they wash away?"

Then Bunker's voice answered:

"Yes, they both washed away. It's a regular flood down in the meadow. Everything is spoiled!"

"I wonder -- I wonder if he means the circus?" thought Bunny, but he was too sleepy to do anything more, just then, than wonder.

In the morning, however, when the storm had passed, Bunny Brown and his sister Sue heard some bad news. After breakfast Bunker and Ben came in and Bunker said:

"Well, little folks, I guess we can't have any circus!"

"No circus!" cried Bunny, and he was so surprised that he dropped his fork with a clatter on his plate, waking up Splash, the big dog, who was asleep in one corner of the room.

"Why can't we have a circus?" asked Sue. She and Bunny had almost forgotten about the storm the night before.

"We can't have a circus," explained Bunker, "because both our tents were washed away during the night. The brook, that is generally so small that you can wade across it, was so filled with rain water that it was almost turned into a river. It flooded the meadow, the water washed out the tent poles and pegs, and down the tents fell, flat. Then the water rose higher and washed them away."

"Where did it wash them?" asked Bunny.

"Oh, away down toward the river, I guess. I'm afraid we'll never get 'em back."

"It's too bad," said Ben. "Just when we were all ready for the nice circus. But, Bunker, we won't give up yet. We'll look for those tents, and maybe we can put them up again."

"Well, maybe we can do it," said the red-haired boy. "But I'm afraid everything is spoiled."

"We'll help you look for the tents," said Bunny. "Won't we, Sue?"

"If -- if the water isn't too deep," said Sue. She was always afraid of deep water, though she, like Bunny, was learning to swim.

"Oh, the water isn't deep now," Bunker assured her. "It was a regular flood in the night when Ben and I went out to look at it, but it has all gone down now, since the rain stopped."

"Was it deep when you were out last night?" Bunny wanted to know.

"It surely was," answered Bunker. "It was almost over our boots. We couldn't get near the tents, and we had to watch them be knocked down by the flood, and carried away on the big waves. Then we came back to the house."

"We couldn't do anything in the dark, anyhow," remarked Ben. "But now that it's daylight maybe we can find the tents."

"We'll help -- come on!" exclaimed Bunny to his sister.

They finished their breakfast, and, after promising to keep out of mischief, Bunny and Sue were allowed to go with Bunker and Ben to look for the missing tents.

First they went down to the meadow where the white canvas houses had been first put up. The brook was higher than Bunny or Sue had ever seen it before, and the bent-over, twisted and muddy grass showed how high up in the meadow the water had come. There were some wooden pegs still left in the ground, to show where the tents had stood.

"And now they're gone," said Bunny sadly.

"Yes. Carried away in the flood," remarked Bunker.

"But maybe we'll find them," said Ben hopefully.

They walked along the bank of the brook. About a mile farther on it flowed into a small river.

"And if our tents have floated down the river we may never get them back," said Bunker. "Now everybody look, and whoever first sees the white tents, caught on a stone or on a log, tell us, and we'll try to get them," said Bunker.

You may be sure Bunny and Sue kept their eyes wide open, and were very desirous to be the first to see the tents. It was Sue who had the first good look.

As she and Bunny, with Ben, Bunker and some other big boys who had come to help, went around a turn in the brook, Sue, who had run on ahead, saw something white bobbing up and down in the water.

"Oh, there's a tent -- maybe!" she cried.

The others ran to her side.

"So it is!" shouted Bunker. "That's the small tent, caught fast on a rock in the brook. We'll get that out first!"

He and the other boys took off their shoes and stockings, and waded out to the tent. It was hard work to get it to shore, but they finally managed to do it. The tent was wet and muddy, and torn in two places, but it could be dried out, mended and used.

"And now for the big tent -- see if you can find that, Bunny!" called Ben.

But Bunny was not as lucky as was his sister Sue. After they had walked on half a mile farther, it was Bunker himself who saw the big tent, caught on a sunken tree, just where the brook flowed into the river.

"Now if we get that we'll be all right," he said.

"Yes, but it isn't going to be as easy to get that as it was the little one," commented Ben Hall. "We'll have to work very hard to get that tent to shore."

"I'll help," offered Bunny Brown, and the other boys laughed. Bunny was so little to offer to help get the big tent on shore.



Chapter XX

The Missing Mice


The big tent, once used at the fair, but which the boys had now borrowed for their circus, was all tangled up in the water. The ropes and cloth were twisted and wound around among the sticks and stones, where the tent had drifted, after the flood of the night before had carried it away.

"Oh, we'll never get that out so we can use it," said Charlie Tenny, one of the boys who was helping Ben, Bunker and the others.

"Yes, we'll get it out," said Ben. "We've got Bunny Brown to help us you know."

Some of the boys laughed, and Bunny's face grew red.

"Now I mean just what I say!" cried Ben. "Bunny Brown is a brave little chap, and if it hadn't been for him and his sister Sue we big fellows wouldn't have thought of getting up a circus show. So it's a good thing to have a chap like him with us, even if he is small."

Bunny felt better after this, and he thought Ben was very kind to speak as he had done.

"Splash is here, too," said Bunny. "He can get hold of a rope and pull like anything."

"That's right," said Bunker Blue. "Maybe Splash can help us. He is a strong dog."

"It's a good thing the tent didn't go all the way down to the river," said Charlie. "Otherwise we might never have found it."

"Yes," put in Bunker. "And now let's see if we can get it to shore. It's not going to be easy."

The boys worked hard, and Bunny helped. He could wade out, where the water was not too deep, and pull on the ropes. There were a great many of these ropes to hold the tent together, but now they were all tangled.

But Ben Hall seemed to know how to untangle them, and soon the work of getting the tent to shore began to look easier. Splash did his share of work, too. He pulled on the ropes Bunker Blue handed him, shutting his strong, white teeth on them, and straining and tugging until you would have thought that Splash, all alone, would pull the tent ashore.

And, finally, with all the boys and the dog and Bunny Brown pulling and tugging, they got the tent out of the water. It was still all twisted and tangled, but now that it was on shore it was easier to make smooth.

"We'll have to get a wagon to haul it back to the meadow where we are going to set it up again," said Bunker.

"My grandpa will let us take a horse and wagon," said Bunny. "He wants to see the circus."

"I guess we'll have to give him a free ticket if he lets us take a horse and wagon to haul the tent," said Ben with a laugh. "You've a good grandpa, Bunny Brown."

"Yep. I like him, and so does Sue," said the little fellow.

Grandpa Brown very kindly said he would go down to the river himself, in his wagon, and help the boys bring up the tent. He did this, and he also helped them set it up again. This time they put the two circus tents farther back from the brook.

"Then if it rains again, and the water gets high and makes a flood, it won't wash away the tents," said Bunker Blue.

"When is the show going to be?" asked Sue. She was anxious to see it, and she and Bunny were waiting for the time when they could let their secret become known. For they had told no one yet.

"Oh, we'll have to wait a few days now, before having the circus," said Ben. "The tents are all wet, and we want them to dry out. Then we've got to make the seats all over again, because the flood carried them away. I guess we can't have the show until next week."

There was much more work to be done because the flood had come and spoiled everything. But, after all, it did not matter much, and the boys set to work with jolly laughs to get the circus ready again.

Bunny and Sue helped all they could, and the older boys were glad to have the children with them, because both Bunny and Sue were so good-natured, and said such funny things, at times, that it made the others laugh.

The seats for the circus were made of boards, laid across boxes, just as Bunny and Sue had made theirs when they gave their first Punch and Judy show in their barn at home.

There were seats all around the outer edge inside the big fair tent. It was in this one that the real "show" was to be given. Here the big boys would swing on trapezes, have foot and wheelbarrow races, ride horses and do all sorts of tricks.

"The people will sit here and watch us do our funny things," said Ben. "We're going to have clowns, and everything."

"And what's going to be in the little tent -- the army one grandpa let you take?" asked Bunny.

"Oh, that's for the wild animals," said Bunker Blue.

"Are you going to have our dog Splash striped like a blue tiger again?" asked Sue.

"No, I think we'll have some different wild animals this time," said Ben. "There'll be some surprises at our show."

"Oh, I wish it were time now!" cried Sue.

"We've got a surprise too; haven't we, Bunny?"

"Yep!" answered her brother. "Come on out to the barn, Sue and we'll practise it again."

What it was Bunny and Sue were going to do, none of the big boys could guess. And they did not try very hard, for they had too much to do themselves, getting ready for the "big" circus as they called it, for the first one, gotten up by Bunny and Sue, was only a little one.

So the smaller tent was made ready for the "wild" animals, though of course there would really be no elephants, tigers or anything like that. You couldn't have them in a boys' circus, and I guess the boys didn't really want them. "Make-believe" was as much fun to them as it was to Bunny and Sue.

There was nice, clear weather after the storm and flood, and soon the circus tents were dried out again. The boards were once more put across the boxes for seats.

One day Bunker and Ben went into the big tent. There they saw Bunny and Sue tying some pieces of old carpet on to some of the planks down near the front sawdust ring. For there was a real sawdust ring, the sawdust having come from grandpa's ice-house.

"What are you putting carpet on the planks for?" asked Ben, of the two children.

"To make preserved seats," answered Sue.

"Reserved seats, Sue. Reserved -- not preserved seats, Sue," corrected Bunny.

"Well, it's just the same, 'most," said Sue, as she went on tying her bit of carpet to a board. "We're making some nice, soft reserved seats for grandpa and grandma, and mother and daddy."

"Oh, I see!" laughed Bunker. "That's a good idea. We can make soft seats for the ladies, Ben. We'll get some more pieces of old carpet and have a lot of reserved seats."

And this the big boys did. Bunny and Sue, little as they were, had given them a good idea.

And now began the real work of getting ready for the circus. That is the boys began taking into the smaller tent queer looking boxes and crates. These boxes and crates were covered with cloth or paper, so no one could see what was in them.

"What are they?" asked Sue, as she and Bunny stood outside the smaller tent, for Bunker would not let them go inside.

"Oh, those are some of the wild animals," said the red-haired boy.

"Really?" asked Sue, her eyes opening wide.

"Well -- really-make-believe," laughed Bunker.

"And are the white mice there?" asked Bunny.

"Yes, the white mice are in the tent," said Bunker.

One of the country boys, who had a lot of white mice had promised to lend them to the circus. He had taught them to do some little tricks, and this was to be a part of the show.

"Oh, I can hardly wait!" cried Sue. "I want to see the circus."

"Well you can now, in a day or so," said Bunker. "Hi there! What have you?" he asked of a boy who came up to the tent with a box on a wheelbarrow.

"This is the wild lion," was the answer.

"Oh-o-o-o-o!" exclaimed Sue, getting closer to Bunny. "A lion!"

"Oh, I've got him well trained," said the boy. "He won't hurt you at all. He won't even roar if I tell him not to."

Certainly the lion in the cage seemed very quiet, and the boy carried him very easily.

"I guess maybe he's a baby lion," whispered Sue to Bunny.

That afternoon there was a great deal of excitement down at the "circus grounds," as Bunny and Sue called the place in the meadow where the tents stood.

One of the boys who had been helping Bunker and Ben, came running out of the tent crying:

"They're gone! They're gone!"

"What's gone?" asked Ben.

"My white mice! The cage door is open and they're all gone!"



Chapter XXI

The Big Circus


Bunny Brown and his sister Sue looked at one another. If the white mice had escaped from the circus tent, some of the other animals might also get away. And suppose that should happen to the lion, which Ben had said was in one of the boxes! Just suppose!

"I -- I guess we'd better go home, Bunny," said Sue, in a whisper.

"Yes," he answered. "I -- I guess mother wants us. Come on!"

"What's the matter?" asked Bunker Blue. "I thought you were going to stay and help us, Bunny."

"I -- I was. But if those mice got away -- "

"Oh, I see!" laughed Bunker Blue. "You're afraid some of the other animals might also get out. But don't be afraid. We haven't any of the other wild beasts in here yet."

"But that -- that lion," said Bunny, looking toward the animal tent.

"Oh, he's asleep," said Ben. "Besides he wouldn't hurt anyone even if he was out of his cage. You needn't be afraid. He's the only animal, except the mice, that we've put in the tent yet. But how did your mice get out, Sam?" he asked the boy who owned them.

"I don't know. They were all right last night, but, when I went to feed them this morning, the cage door was open, and they were all gone."

"Will -- will they bite?" asked Sue.

"No, they're very tame and gentle," answered Sam. "White mice and white rats, you know, aren't like the other kind. I guess being colored white makes them kind and nice. They run all over me, in my pockets and up my sleeves. Sometimes they go to sleep in my pockets.

"Why, even my mother isn't afraid of them, and she'll let them go to sleep in her lap, and she wouldn't do that for a black mouse or a black or gray rat. No sir!"

"No, I guess not!" exclaimed Bunker. "Other rats and mice would bite. But it's too bad your white ones are gone. We'll have to find them. We can't have a good circus without them. Everybody help hunt for Sam's lost mice!" cried Bunker.

"I -- I know how to get them," said Sue.

"How?" Sam wanted to know. He and the others, including Bunny and Sue, had gone inside the tent to look at the empty mouse cage.

"With cheese," answered Sue. "Don't you know the little verse: 'Once a trap was baited, with a piece of cheese. It tickled so a little mouse it almost made him sneeze.' And when your mices sneeze, when they smell the cheese, you could hear them, and catch them, Sam."

"Yes, maybe that would be a good plan," laughed Bunker Blue. "But do your mice like cheese, Sam?"

"Yes, they'll eat almost anything, and they'll take it right out of my hand. Oh dear! I hope they come back!"

Sam felt very bad, for he had had his white mice pets a long time, and had taught them to do many little tricks.

"We'll all help you look for them," said Ben. "Did you ever teach any of them the trick of opening the cage door?" he asked.

"No," replied Sam. "I don't believe they could do that, for the door was fastened on the outside, and white mice haven't paws like a trained monkey. Maybe I didn't fasten the cage door good last night."

"Oh, Bunny!" cried Sue. "Wouldn't it be fun if we could send and get Mr. Winkler's monkey Wango for our circus? Wouldn't it?"

"Yes, maybe it would," replied Bunny. "But I don't guess we could do it. Come on, Sue, I'm going to look for the white mice."

"All right," Sue said. Maybe some little girls would be afraid of mice, white, black or gray. But Sue was not. Perhaps it was because she knew Bunny was going to be with her. Then, too, Sue was very anxious to have the circus as good as it could be made, and if the mice were missing some of the people who came might not like it. So Sue and Bunny said they would help hunt for the lost white mice.

With the big boys, the children looked all around the animal tent. The ground had been covered with straw, and the mice might be hiding in this, or among the boxes and barrels in the tent. But, look as every one did, the mice were not to be found.

"What's in that box?" asked Sue, pointing to one covered with a horse blanket.

"That's the lion," answered Bunker Blue. "But don't be afraid," he went on, as he saw Sue step to one side. "He's asleep now. Besides he can't hurt anyone. You'll see, when we have the circus."

No one knew where the white mice had gone. Even Splash could not find them, though both Bunny and Sue told their dog to look for Sam's pets.

"I guess Splash isn't a rat dog," said Ben.

"No, and I'm glad he isn't," Sam said. "Rat dogs might think white mice were made for them to shake and kill, just as they shake and kill the other kind of rats and mice. I'd rather lose my white mice, and never see them again, than have them killed."

But, even though the white mice were missing, the circus would go on just the same. And now began a busy time for all the big boys. The show would be given in two more days, and there was much to be done before that time.

Sam and Bunker Blue had painted some signs which they tacked up on Grandpa Brown's barn, as well as on the barns of some of the other farmers. Everybody was invited to come to the circus, and those who wanted to could give a little money to help pay for the hire of the big tent. Many of the farmers and their wives said they would do this.

One by one the animal cages, which were just wooden boxes with wooden slats nailed in front, were brought into the animal tent. They were put around in a circle on the straw which covered the ground.

In the other tent the boys had made a little wooden platform, like a stage. They had put up trapezes and bars, on which they could do all sorts of tricks, such as hanging by their hands, by their heels and even by their chins.

No one except themselves knew what Bunny and his sister Sue were going to do. The children had kept their secret well. They had asked their grandma for two old bed sheets, and she had let them take the white pieces of cloth. Bunny and Sue were making something in the harness room of the barn, and they kept the door shut so no one could look in.

It was the night before the circus, and Bunny and Sue had gone to bed. They were almost asleep when, in the next room, they heard their mother call:

"Oh, Walter!" exclaimed Mrs. Brown to her husband. "There's something under my bed. I'm sure it's one of the animals from the boys' circus! Do look and see what it is!"

"Oh, it can't be anything," said Mr. Brown. "All the animals are shut up in the tent. Besides, they are only make-believe animals, anyhow."

"Well, I'm sure something is under my bed!" said Mrs. Brown. "I heard it move. Please look!"

Mr. Brown looked. Sue and Bunny wondered what it was their papa would find. They heard him say:

"Oh, it's nothing but a piece of white paper. You heard it rattle in the wind. Come and see for yourself."

Bunny and Sue heard their mother cross the room. She stooped down to look under the bed. Then she cried:

"Oh, Walter! It's alive! It isn't paper at all. It's coming out!"

"Why, so it is!" said Mr. Brown. "I wonder what -- ?"

Then Mrs. Brown screamed, and Mr. Brown laughed.

"Oh, it's a mouse! It's a rat! It's a whole lot of mice!" said Bunny's mother.

"Yes, it's a whole lot of mice, and they're white!" said Mr. Brown with a jolly laugh. "Hurrah! We've found the lost white mice from the boys' circus! You needn't be afraid of them!"

Mrs. Brown did not scream any more. She was not afraid of white mice. Bunny and Sue ran into the room where their mother and father were. There they saw their father picking up the white mice in his hands, and petting them. The mice seemed to like it.

"Oh, where did you find them?" cried Bunny.

"Under our bed," his mother said.

"Oh, how glad Sam will be!" said Sue. "Now we can have the circus all right."

And so the white mice were found. They had gotten out of their cage in the tent, and had, somehow or other, found their way to the farmhouse. There they had hid themselves away, until that night when they came out into Mr. Brown's room.

"Well, I'm glad they are found," said Mrs. Brown. "Give them something to eat, and put them in a box until morning."

This Mr. Brown did, after Bunny and Sue had held in their hands the queer pets, which had such funny pink eyes.

"I want to see them do some tricks," said Sue.

"Sam can hitch them to a little cart and drive them," said Bunny. "He told me so."

The mice were put safely away ready for the circus the next day, and soon the house was quiet, with everyone asleep.

The sun was brightly shining. There was just enough wind to make it cool, and the weather was perfectly fine for the circus. Bunny, Sue, Bunker and Ben were up early that morning, for there was still much to do.

Sam, the boy who owned the white mice, came over to ask if his pets had been found. And when told that they were safe in a box down in the cellar, he was very happy indeed.

"I must put them back in their cage, and let them practise a few of their tricks," he said. "They may have forgotten some as they have been away from me so long."

Bunny and Sue had to get their things ready. They were to have a little place in the big tent to dress and get ready for their act. They were the smallest folks in the circus, and everyone was anxious to see what they would do.

On the big, as well as on the little, tent the boys had fastened flags. Some were the regular stars and stripes of our own country, and other flags were just pieces of bright-colored cloth that the boys' mothers had given them. But the tents looked very pretty in the bright and sparkling sunshine, with the gay banners fluttering.

Just as in a real circus, the people who came were to go first into the animal tent, and from there on into the one with the seats, where they would watch the performance.

Soon after dinner the farmers and their wives, with such of their children who were not taking part in the show, began to come.

"Right this way to see the wild animals!" called Ben Hall, who was making believe he was a lion tamer. "This way for the wild animals! Come one! Come all!"

The people crowded into the small tent. All around the sides were wooden boxes, with wooden slats. These were the "cages."

"Now watch the trained white mice!" cried Ben. "The big circus is about to begin!"

"Over this way! Over this way!" cried Sam, as he stood on a box with his trained white mice in their cage in front of him. "Right this way to see the wonderful trained white mice, which escaped from their cage and were caught by brave Mr. Brown and his wife!"

Everyone clapped and laughed at that.

Then Sam made his pink-eyed pets do many tricks. They ran up his arms to his shoulders, and sat on his head. Some of them jumped over sticks, and others through paper-covered hoops, like the horse-back riders in a real circus. One big white mouse climbed a ladder, and two others drew a little wagon, in which a third mouse sat, pretending to hold the reins. One big white mouse fired a toy cannon, that shot a paper cap.

Then Sam made his mice all stand up in a line, and make a bow to the people.

"That ends the white mice act!" cried Sam. "We will now show you a wild lion. But please don't anybody be scared, for the lion can only eat bread and jam, and he won't hurt you."

"What a funny lion -- to eat bread and jam," laughed Sue.

"Hush!" exclaimed Bunny. "He's going to take the blanket off the cage."

Everyone looked to see what sort of wild lion there was in the circus.



Chapter XXII

Bunny's Brave Act


"Now, ladies and gentlemen, as well as boys and girls," began Ben Hall, who was a sort of ring-master, in the play-circus, "I am about to show you that this lion does really eat bread and jam, and that he is a very kind and gentle lion indeed, though he can roar. Roar for the people!" cried Ben, shaking the horse blanket that was hung in front of the "lion's cage."

The next second there came such a real "roar," that some of the smallest children screamed.

"Don't be afraid!" cried Ben. "He won't hurt you. I will now raise the curtain, and you can see the lion."

Slowly he pulled aside the blanket. And then everyone laughed -- that is they did after a few seconds. For at first it did look like a real lion in the box.

He had a real tail, and a big, shaggy mane, and his mouth was wide open, showing his red tongue and his white, sharp teeth. But when you looked a second time you saw that it was only the skin of a lion, which had been made into a rug for the parlor. And it was Tom White, one of the boys with whom Bunny played, who was pretending to be a lion, with the skin rug pulled over him, and the stuffed head over his head.

Underneath the open mouth of the lion peered out Tom's smiling face, and as he looked through the wooden slats of the cage Ben put in a piece of bread and jam, which Tom ate as he knelt there on his hands and knees.

"See! I told you this was a kind and gentle lion, and would eat bread and jam," announced Ben. "I will now have him roar for you again, ladies and gentlemen. Roar, lion, roar!"

But instead of roaring, Tom, for a joke, went:

"Meaou! Meaou! Meaou!" just like a pussy cat.

Of course everyone laughed at that. The idea of a big, savage lion meaouing like a kitten! Tom had to laugh and then he couldn't pucker up his lips to meaou any more.

"Ladies and gentlemen, as well as boys and girls," went on Ben. "We will now pass to the next cage. This is a real wild animal. He has sharp teeth, so do not go too close to his cage. He is the wild chicken-eater of the woods!"

"Oh, I wonder what that can be?" whispered Sue.

"We'll see in a minute," Bunny answered. The two children, as well as the other boys who were to take part in the show in the big tent later on, were now following the crowd around to see the animals.

"Behold the wild chicken-eater of the woods!" cried Ben, as he pulled aside a blanket from another wooden box-cage.

This time there was a sort of snarl and bark. It was so real that everyone knew this was a real animal, and not a boy dressed up in a skin or fur rug. Some of the little children tried to run out of the tent.

"Don't be afraid!" called Ben. "He can't get loose. There he is!"

He pulled the blanket aside and there everyone saw a small reddish animal, as big as a dog, with a large, bushy tail, a sharp pointed nose, and very bright eyes.

"What is it?" asked Sue. "Oh! what is it?"

"It's a fox," answered her brother. "I once saw one in the real circus where grandpa found his horses the Gypsies took."

"Yes, it is a fox," said Ben. "And a fox just loves to eat chickens and live in the woods."

"Where did you get him," Bunny asked.

"Oh, one of the boys caught him in a trap, and saved him for the circus. He is going to tame him, but the fox is quite wild yet."

And indeed the fox was. For he jumped about, and tried to bite and scratch his way out of the cage. But the wooden bars were too strong for him.

The people who had come to the circus gotten up by the big boys, stood for some time looking at the fox, which was a real wild animal. Some of the farmers, though they had lived in the country all their lives, had never seen a fox before.

"Now, if you will come down this way!" said Ben, as he started toward a place in the tent that had been curtained off, "I will show you our trained bear."

"Oh, is it real?" asked Sue.

"You'll see," said Ben, who seemed to know how to talk and act, just like a real ring-master in the circus.

Ben stood in front of the little corner of the tent, that was curtained off, so no one could see what was behind it.

"Are you all ready in there?" Ben called, loudly.

"Yes, yes, all ready!" was the quick answer. And the voice did not sound like that of any of the boys from the nearby farms.

"Oh, I didn't know a bear could talk," cried Sue, and everyone laughed, for the tent was very still and quiet just then, and Sue's voice was heard all over.

"That wasn't the bear talking," said Ben. "It was his trainer. The man who makes the bear do tricks you know."

"Oh, is it a trick bear?" Sue asked.

"Yes," answered Ben.

"A real truly one?" Bunny wanted to know.

"You'll see in a minute," Ben told her. "All ready now, Signore Allegretti! We are going to have you do some tricks with your trained bear!"

With that Ben pulled aside the curtain, and there stood a real, live, truly, big brown bear, and with him was a man wearing a red cap. The man had hold of a chain that was fastened to a leather muzzle on the bear's nose.

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" cried the children.

"Why, he's real!" gasped Sue.

"Of course he's real!" laughed Ben.

"He's just like the bear the man had out in front of grandpa's house last week, doing tricks," said Bunny.

A man had gone past Grandpa Brown's house with a trained bear, and he had stopped to make the big, shaggy animal do some tricks. Bunny and Sue had given the man pennies, and Grandma Brown gave him something to eat. The man gave part of his bread and cake to the bear.

"This is the same man," said Ben. "When I saw him, I thought he and his bear would be just the thing for our circus. So I asked him to come back to-day and give us a little show on his own account. And here he is. He came last night and stayed in the barn so no one would see him until it was time for the circus. I wanted him for a surprise."

"Well, he is a surprise," said Bunny. "I didn't think it was a real bear."

"Let's see him do some tricks!" called a boy.

"All right. He do tricks for you," promised the man with the red cap. "Come, Alonzo. Make fun for the children. Show dem how you laugh!"

The bear, who was named Alonzo, opened his mouth very wide, and made some funny noises. I suppose that was as near to laughing as a bear could come.

"Now turn a somersault!" cried the bear's trainer, and the big, shaggy creature did -- a slow, easy somersault. Then he did other tricks, such as marching like a soldier, with a stick for a gun, and he pretended to kiss his master. Then the bear danced -- at least his master called it dancing, though of course a big, heavy bear can not dance very fast.

"Now climb a pole!" cried the bear's master. "Climb a pole for the little children, and they will give us pennies to buy buns."

There was a big pole in the middle of the animal tent, and the bear trainer led the animal toward it.

"I make him climb dis!" he said.

"Is the pole strong enough to hold him?" asked Grandpa Brown. "The bear is pretty heavy, I think."

"Oh, dat pole hold him! I make Alonzo climb very easy," the Italian bear-trainer said. "Up you go, Alonzo!"

The bear stuck his long sharp claws in the pole. It was part of a tree trunk, for the regular tent pole had been broken when the tent was carried away in the flood.

Up and up went the bear, until he was half way to the top. The children looked on with delight and even the old folks said it was a good trick.

And then, all of a sudden, something happened. The big centre pole, half way up which was the bear, began to tip over. Some of the ropes that held it began to slip, because they were not tied tightly enough to hold the pole and the bear too.

"Look out!" called Daddy Brown. "The tent is going to fall! Run out everybody!"

"They haven't time!" said Grandpa Brown. "The tent will come down on our heads."

Bunny Brown stood right beside one of the ropes that held up the pole. Bunny saw the rope slipping, and he knew enough about ropes and sails to be sure that if the rope could be held the pole would not fall.

"I've got to hold that rope!" thought Bunny. Then, like the brave little fellow he was, he reached forward, and grasped the rope with both hands. He knew he could not hold it from slipping that way, however, so he wound the rope around his waist as he had seen his father's sailors do when pulling in a heavy boat. With the rope around his waist, brave Bunny found himself being pulled forward as the pole swayed over more and more, with the bear on it.



Chapter XXIII

Ben Does A Trick


"Look out!"

"Run, everybody!"

"Somebody help that little boy hold up the pole! He's doing it all alone!"

"Oh, Bunny! Bunny Brown! You'll be hurt!"

It was Bunny's mother who called this last. It was some of the farmers in the circus tent who had shouted before that, not seeming to know what to do. Daddy Brown and grandpa were hurrying from the other side of the tent to help Bunny hold the rope.

The pole was slowly falling, the tent seemed as if it would come down, and the Italian was calling to his bear. As for the bear, he seemed to think that he ought to climb higher up on the pole. He did not seem to mind the fall he was going to get.

Bunny Brown, small as he was, knew what he was doing. He had seen that the rope, which help up the pole, ran around a little wooden wheel, called a pulley. If he could stop the rope from running all the way through the pulley, the pole would not fall down, and the tent would stay up.

"And if I keep the rope tight around my waist, the end of it can't get over the pulley wheel," thought Bunny. He had often seen sailors do this with his father's boats, when they slid down the steep beach into the ocean.

And then, all of a sudden, Bunny found himself jerked from his feet. He struck against the bottom of the tent pole, and his side hurt him a little, but he still held to the rope about his waist.

"The pole has stopped falling! The pole has stopped falling!" some one cried.

"Yes, and Bunny stopped it!" said Sue. "Oh, Bunny, are you hurted?"

Bunny's breath was so nearly squeezed out of him that he could not answer for a moment. But his mother had reached him now. So had Daddy Brown, his grandpa and some other men. In another moment the rope that held up the big pole was unwound from Bunny's waist and made fast to a peg in the ground.

"Now the pole can't fall!" said Grandpa Brown. "We're safe now!"

"Is -- is the tent all right?" asked Bunny, as his father picked him up in his arms.

"Yes, brave little boy. The tent is all right! You stopped it from falling on the people's heads."

"And the bear -- is the bear all right?" asked Bunny. From where his father held him Bunny could not see the shaggy creature.

"Yes, the bear is all right," answered Mr. Brown. "He is coming down the pole now."

"That bear is too big and heavy to climb the tent pole," said Grandpa Brown. "He is too fat. But it's lucky Bunny grabbed that rope."

"I -- I saw it slipping," said Bunny, "and I -- I just grabbed it!"

The bear came to the ground, and made a low bow, as his master had taught him to do. The tent pole was now made tight and fast, and the circus could go on again. Some of the ladies, with their little boys and girls, who had run out of the tent when they thought it was going to fall, now came back again.

"The show in the animal tent is now over," said Ben Hall. "We invite you, one and all, into the next tent where we will do some real circus tricks."

"And there's preserved seats for grandpa and grandma, and daddy and mother!" called out Sue, so clearly that everyone heard her. "The preserved seats have carpet on," said Sue.

"Reserved seats, Sue, not preserved," said Bunny in a shrill whisper, and everyone who heard him laughed.

Into the big tent, with its rows of seats around the elevated stage and sawdust ring the people walked. They were still laughing at the funny sights they had seen, the lion, made from a parlor rug, with a boy inside it. And they were talking about Bunny's brave act, in stopping the pole of the tent from falling down.

"You and Sue go and get ready for what you are to do," whispered Bunker Blue to the two children. "I'll tell you when it's your turn to come out on the stage."

"All right," answered Bunny. "Come on, Sue. Now's the time for our secret."

He and Sue went into a little dressing room that had been made especially for them. It was a part of the big tent, curtained off with blankets.

In this little room Bunny and Sue, earlier in the day, had taken the things they needed to do their "trick." You will soon learn what it was they had kept secret so long.

It took some little time for all the people to take their places in the "preserved" seats, as Sue called them. Daddy Brown and his wife, and grandpa and grandma were given places well down in front, where they could see all that went on.

"The first act!" cried Ben Hall, "will be some fancy riding on a horse, by Ted Kennedy! Come on, Ted!" he called.

"Oh, Ben's dressed up like a real clown!" called Bunny to Sue, as they looked out between their blanket curtains, and saw what was going on. Ben had made himself a clown suit out of some calico. With a pointed cap on his head, and his face all streaked with red and white chalk, he looked just like a real clown in a real circus. Ben and some of the others had "dressed up," while the people were taking their seats in the big tent.

"Oh, look, Bunny!" cried Sue. "It's a real horse Ted is riding!"

And so it was. When Ben called for the first act, in came Ted riding on the back of one of his father's farm horses. Ted wore an old bathing suit, on which he had sewed some pieces of colored rags, and some small sleigh bells, that jingled when he danced about on the back of the horse. For the horse was such a slow one, with such a broad back, that there was no danger of Ted's falling off.

Around and around the sawdust ring rode Ted. Now he would stand on his hands, and again on his feet. Then he would sit down and ride backwards. Finally, when the horse was going a little faster Ted jumped off, jumped on again, and then turned a somersault in the air.

"Wasn't that great, Bunny?" cried Sue, who was watching.

"It sure was. But hurry up, or we'll be late."

The people clapped and laughed as Ted rode out of the ring after his act. Then came more of the circus tricks. Two of the bigger boys pretended they were an elephant. One was the hind legs and tail and the other boy was the front legs and trunk. The boys were covered with a suit of dark cloth, almost the color of an elephant, and when they walked around the ring it was very funny. Then a little boy was given a ride on the "elephant's back." He liked it very much.

Two other boys pretended they were horses, with long bunches of grass for tails. Each one took a smaller boy on his back, and then these "boy horses" raced around the sawdust ring.

Two of the girls were dressed up like real circus ladies, one in a pink, and the other in a blue dress, made from mosquito netting. They sat on sawhorses, which Bunker Blue got from the village carpenter shop. And though the sawhorses could not run, or gallop, or even trot, the girls pretended they could, and they had such a funny make-believe race that everyone laughed. The girls even jumped through paper hoops, just as the real riders do in a circus.

Then there was a wheelbarrow race between two boys, each of whom had to push another boy around the tent. All went well until one of the clowns put a pail of water in front of one of the wheelbarrows. Over this pail the boy stumbled, and he and the one he was wheeling got all wet.

But it was only in fun, and no one minded. There were several boys who did fancy tricks on the trapeze bars. They hung by their arms and legs, and "turned themselves inside out," as Bunny called it.

Other boys did some high and broad jumping, while Bunker Blue pretended he was the big strong giant man, who could lift heavy weights. But the weights were only empty pasteboard boxes, painted black to look like iron. Bunker pretended it was very hard to lift them, but of course it was easy, for they were very light.

One boy, Tommie Lutken, did a very good trick though. He walked on a tight rope stretched from one end of the tent to the other. This was a real trick, and Tommie had practised nearly two weeks before he could do it. He walked back and forth without falling. But when the people clapped, and wanted him to do it again, Tommie did not do so well. He slipped and fell, but he did not get hurt.

"Now, Bunny and Sue, it's your turn!" called Ben to them, when he came out of the ring, after having done some funny clown tricks. "Are you all ready?"

"All ready!" answered Bunny. "Come on, Sue."

Out of their dressing room the children came, and when the people saw them they laughed and clapped their hands. For Bunny was dressed like a scarecrow out of a cornfield, with a suit of such ragged and patched clothes on that it is a wonder they did not fall off him. He had a black mask, cut out of cloth, over his face, and he held his arms and legs stiff, just as the wooden and straw scarecrow does in the cornfield.

And Sue! You'd never guess how she was dressed.

She was a Jack-o'-lantern. She and Bunny had scooped the inside out of a big yellow pumpkin, and had made it thin and hollow. Then they had cut a hole in the bottom, made eyes, a nose and mouth, and Sue put the pumpkin over her head.

From her shoulders to her feet Sue was covered with an old sheet, and as she walked along it looked just as if a real, Hallowe'en Jack-o'-lantern had come to life.

Out on to the wooden platform of the circus tent went Bunny, the scarecrow boy, and Sue, the Jack-o'-lantern girl. They made little bows to each other, and then to the audience, and then they did a funny dance, while Bunker Blue played on his mouth organ.

"Say, isn't that just fine of our children?" whispered Mother Brown.

"It certainly is," said Daddy.

Up and down the platform danced Bunny and Sue. They were the smallest ones in the circus, and everyone said they were just "too cute for anything."

There were many more tricks done by the boys in the tent, and the circus was a great success. Ben and the other clowns made lots of fun. They threw water on one another, beat each other with cloth clubs, stuffed with sawdust, which didn't hurt any more than a feather.

"And now I will do my great jumping trick!" called Ben, "and then the show will be over. I am going to jump over fourteen elephants and ten camels."

At the end of the tent was a long board, which sprang up and down like a teeter tauter. It was called a spring-board, and some of the boys had made their jumps from it, turning somersaults in the air, and falling down in a pile of soft hay.

Ben asked some of the boys to stand in a line at the end of the spring board.

"I'll just pretend these boys are elephants and camels," said Ben, "as it's hard to get real camels and elephants this summer. But I will now make my big jump."

Ben went to the far end of the spring board. He gave a run down it, and then jumped off the springy end. Up in the air he went, and, as he shot forward, over the heads of the boys standing in a line, Ben turned first one, then two, and then three somersaults in the air.

"Oh, look at that!"

"Say, that's great!"

"How did he do it?"

"He must be a regular circus performer!"

"Do it again! Do it again!"

Everyone was shouting at once, it seemed. Ben landed on a pile of soft hay. He stood up, made a low bow, and kissed his hand to the audience, as performers do in the circus.

A strange man, who had come into the circus a little while before, started toward Ben Hall. Ben stood there bowing and smiling until he saw this man.

"Come here a minute, Ben. I want to talk to you," said the man.

But Ben, after one look at the stranger, gave a jump, crawled under the tent and ran away, all dressed as he was in the clown suit.

"Why -- why! What did he do that for?" asked Bunny Brown, very much surprised.



Chapter XXIV

Ben's Secret


Everyone was looking at the place where Ben Hall had slid out under the edge of the tent and run away. Why he had done it no one knew.

Then all eyes were turned toward the strange man who had come into the tent just in time to see Ben's big jump, and his three somersaults. The man was a stranger. No one seemed to know him.

This man stood for a moment, also looking at the place where Ben had slipped under the tent. Then he cried out:

"Well, he's got away again! I must catch him!"

Then the man ran out of the tent.

"What is it all about?" asked Mother Brown. "Is this a part of the circus, Bunny?"

But Bunny did not know; neither did his sister Sue. They were as much surprised as anyone at Ben's strange act. And they did not know who the man was, at the sight of whom Ben had seemed so frightened.

"I'll see what it's about," said Grandpa Brown.

He hurried out of the tent, but soon came back again.

"Ben isn't in sight," Grandpa Brown said, "and that queer man is running across the fields."

"Is he chasing after Ben?" asked Bunny.

"Well, he may be. But if I can't see Ben, I don't see how the man can, either. I don't know what it all means."

"Maybe the man was a Gypsy," said Sue, "and he wants to catch Ben, same as the Gypsies took grandpa's horses."

"Gypsies don't take boys and girls," said Mrs. Brown. "Besides, that man didn't look like a Gypsy. There is something queer about it all."

"I always said that boy, Ben, was queer," asserted Grandpa Brown. "He has acted queerly from the time he came here so hungry. But he was a good boy, and he worked well, I'll say that for him. I hope he isn't in trouble."

"Will he -- will he come back?" Sue wanted to know.

"I don't know, my dear," answered her grandfather. "I hope so."

"I hope so, too!" declared Sue. "I like Ben."

"He ran as soon as he saw that man," observed Bunker Blue.

"Did he ever tell you anything about himself?" asked Mr. Brown. "You were with Ben most of the time, Bunker."

"No, sir, he never told me anything about himself. But he seemed to know a lot about circuses. I asked him if he was ever with one, but he would never tell me."

"Well, I don't know that we can do anything," said grandpa. "If Ben comes back we'll treat him right, and if he is in trouble we will help him. But, since he is gone, there is no use trying to find him."

The circus was over. The boys who had brought their pets to the show took them home again. It was now late afternoon, and Grandpa Brown said the boys could leave the tents up until next day, as there was no sign of a storm.

"You can take them down then," he said to Bunker Blue. "My tent we'll store away in the barn, until Bunny and Sue want to give another circus. The big fair tent can also be taken down to-morrow and put away. But everyone is too tired to do all that work to-night."

That evening, in grandpa's farmhouse, after supper, nothing was talked of but the circus, and what had happened at it. Everyone said it was the best children's circus they had ever seen.

"But poor Ben!" exclaimed Bunny. "I wonder where he is?"

"Did he have his supper?" asked Sue.

No one knew, for Ben had not come back. It was dark now. The cows and horses had been fed. The chickens had had their supper, and gone to roost long ago. Bunny, Sue and all the others had had a good meal. But Ben was not around. Everyone felt sad.

"I wonder why he ran away," pondered Bunker Blue, over and over again, "I wonder why he ran away, as soon as he saw that man."

No one knew.

Early the next morning Bunny Brown and his sister Sue arose and came down stairs to breakfast.

"Did Ben come back?" was the first question they asked.

"No," said Grandma Brown. "He didn't come back."

"Oh, dear!" sighed Sue.

"It's too bad!" said Bunny. Then he crooked and wiggled one of his fat little fingers at Sue. She knew what that meant. It meant Bunny had something to whisper to her.

"What is it?" she asked, when grandma had gone out into the kitchen to get some more bread and butter.

"Hush! Don't tell anyone," whispered Bunny. "But we'll go and look for him and bring him back."

"Bring who back?"

"Ben Hall. We'll go look for him, Sue."

"But we don't know where to find him."

"We'll take Splash," announced Bunny. "Splash likes Ben, and our dog will find him. We'll go right after breakfast."

And as soon as they had brushed their teeth, which they did after each meal, Bunny Brown and his sister Sue started out to find Ben Hall, who had run away from the circus the day before.

Bunny and Sue did not want to go very far away from grandpa's house. They, themselves, had been lost a number of times, and they did not want this to happen again. But they thought there would be no harm in just walking across the meadow where Ben had last been seen. From the meadow grandpa's house was in plain sight, and if Bunny and Sue did not stray into the wood, which was at the further side of the meadow, they could not lose their way.

"I hope we can find Ben," said Sue.

"So do I," echoed Bunny. "Come on Splash, find Ben!"

The big dog barked and ran on ahead.

Bunker Blue, and some of the boys who had helped get up the circus, were now taking down the big tent. It was to be folded up, put on a wagon, and taken to the town hall where it was kept when not in use.

"I'm going to be a circus man when I grow up," said Bunny, as he looked back, and saw the white tent fluttering to the ground, as the ropes holding it up were loosened.

"I'm not," said Sue. "I -- I'd be afraid of the wild animals. I'm just going to ride in an automobile when I get big."

"You can ride in mine," offered Bunny. "I'm going to have an automobile, even if I am a circus man."

Over the meadow went the two children and Splash their dog, looking for Ben Hall. But they did not see him, nor did they see the strange man who had run after him out of the tent. Bunny and Sue went almost to the patch of woodland. Then they turned back, for they did not want to get lost.

"I guess we can't find him," said Bunny sadly.

"No," agreed Sue. "Let's go back."

When the children reached grandpa's house again, the big tent was down, and Bunker and the other boys were gone. They were taking the tent back. The smaller tent -- the one Grandpa Brown had loaned -- was still up.

"Let's go in it and rest," said Bunny. "We can make believe we are camping out."

"All right," agreed Sue.

Into the tent they went. All the wooden boxes, that had been used as cages for the make-believe wild animals, had been taken out. There was only some straw piled up in one corner.

"Watch me jump!" cried Bunny. He gave a run and landed on something in the pile of soft straw. Something in the straw grunted and yelled. Then some one sat up. Bunny Brown rolled over and over out of the way.

"Oh! Oh!" cried Sue. "What is it?"

But she did not need to ask twice. She saw a big boy, dressed in a funny clown's suit, standing up in the straw. Bunny was now sitting up, and he, too, was looking at the clown.

"Why -- why," said Sue, "It's Ben! It's our Ben!"

"So it is!" cried Bunny.

"Yes," answered Ben, rubbing his eyes, for he had been asleep in the straw when Bunny jumped on him. "Yes, I've come back. I stayed in the field, under a haystack all night, but I couldn't stand it any longer. I had to come back."

"What'd you run away for?" asked Bunny.

"Because I was afraid he'd catch me," Ben answered.

"Do you mean that -- that man," whispered Bunny.

"Yes."

"He isn't here," said Sue. "Did you stay in this tent all the while, Ben?"

"No, Sue. I ran across the field when I saw that man looking at me, after I made my big jump. I ran over to the woods and hid. Then, when it got dark, I crept back and hid under the hay stack. A little while ago, when I saw Bunker and the other boys drive away with the big tent, I came back here. I'm awfully hungry!"

"We'll get you something to eat," said Sue. "Won't we, Bunny?"

"Sure we will. But come on up to the house, Ben. That man isn't there, and we won't let him hurt you. What's it all about, anyhow?"

"I guess I'll have to tell your folks my secret," Ben answered.

"Oh, have you a secret, too?" asked Sue, clapping her hands. "How nice!"

"No, it isn't very nice," said Ben. "But I guess I will go and ask your grandmother for something to eat. I'm terribly hungry!"

Holding the hands of Bunny Brown and his sister Sue, Ben, the strange boy, who had been so queerly found under the straw in the tent, walked toward grandpa's house.

"Well land sakes! Where'd you come from?" asked Grandma Brown, as she saw him. "And such a looking sight! You look as if you'd slept in a barn all night!"

"I did -- almost," said Ben, smiling.

"Well, come in and get that clown suit off you," said Mrs. Brown. "Then tell us all about it. What made you run away?"

"I was afraid that man would get me," said Ben.

"Why should he want to get you?" asked Daddy Brown.

"Because I ran away from his circus where I used to do tricks," Ben answered. "That's my secret. I used to be a regular circus performer, but I couldn't stand it any longer, and I ran away. I didn't want you to know it, so I didn't tell you. But that man, who came into the tent when I was doing the same jump I used to do in the regular circus -- that man knew me. I thought he had come to take me back, and I didn't want to go. So I ran away."

"You poor boy!" said Grandma Brown.

There came a knock on the door, and when Mrs. Brown opened it there stood the same man from whom Ben had run away the day before.

"Oh, you're back again I see!" said the man.

Ben dropped his knife and fork on his plate, and looked around for a place to hide. Everyone was silent, waiting for what would happen next.



Chapter XXV

Back Home Again


"Now don't be afraid, Ben," said the man. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"Are you -- are you going to make me go back to the circus?" Ben asked slowly.

"Not unless you want to go, though we want you back with us very much, for we have missed you," the man replied.

"I'll not go back to be beaten the way I was!" cried Ben. "I can't stand that. That's why I ran away."

"You can just stay with us; can't he Mother?" pleaded Sue. "He can work on grandpa's farm with Bunker Blue."

"What does all this mean?" asked Grandpa Brown of the strange man who had knocked at the door. "Are you after Ben?"

"Yes, sir, I am after Ben," was the answer, and the man smiled. "I have been looking for him for a long time, and I am glad I have found him. I will take him back with me if he will come, and I will make him a promise that he will no more be whipped. I never knew anything about that until after he had run away from my circus."

"Did you really do that, Ben?" asked Bunny. "Run away?"

"Yes. That was where I came from that night I begged a meal here -- a circus. But I'll go back, for I like being in a circus, if I'm not beaten."

"Tell us all about it," said grandpa.

"I will," answered the man. "My name is James Hooper. I own a small circus, with some other men, and we travel about the country, giving performances in small towns and cities. This boy, Ben Hall, has been in our show ever since he was a baby. His father and mother were both circus people, but they died last year, and Ben, who had learned to do many tricks, and who knew something about animals, was such a bright chap that I kept him with us. I was going to make a circus performer of him."

"And I wanted very much to be one -- a clown," said Ben. "But the head clown was so mean to me, and whipped me so much, that I made up my mind to run away, and I did."

"I don't know that I blame you," said Mr. Hooper. "I never knew that you had such a hard time. I supposed you ran away just for fun, and I tried to find you. I asked about you in all the places where we stopped, but no one had seen you."

"I have been here ever since I left your show," explained Ben. "I like it here, but I like the circus better. How did you find me?"

"Well, our circus is showing in a town about three miles from here," said Mr. Hooper. "Over there, in that town, I heard about a little circus some boys and girls were getting up here, and -- "

"Bunny and I got up the circus first," said Sue, "and then the big boys made one, but we acted in it."

"I see!" laughed Mr. Hooper. "Well, I heard about your circus over here, so I came to ask if any of you had seen Ben. I walked into the tent, and there I saw him doing the jump and somersaults he used to do in our tent. I knew him right away, but before I could speak to him he ran away.

"I ran after him, hoping I could tell him how much we wanted him back, but I could not catch up to him. So I went back to my circus, and made up my mind I'd come back here again to-day. I'm glad I did, for now I've found you, Ben."

Ben told Mr. Hooper, just as he had told Bunny and Sue, about sleeping all night out in the field, under a pile of hay, and then of creeping back to sleep in the tent.

"Well, do you want to come back with me, or stay here on the farm?" asked Mr. Hooper. "I'll promise that you'll be well treated, Ben, and the head clown, who was so mean to you, isn't with us any more. You won't be whipped again, and you'll have a chance to become a head clown yourself."

"Then I'll come back with you," said the circus boy. "I'm very much obliged to you, for all you've done for me," he said to Grandpa Brown and Grandma Brown, "and I hope you won't be mad at me if I go away."

"Not if you think it best to go," said grandpa. "You have been a good boy while here, and you have more than earned your board. I don't like to lose you, but if you want to be a clown, the circus is the best place for you."

"All his folks were circus people," said Mr. Hooper. "And when that's the case the young folks nearly always stay in the same business. Ben will make a good clown when he grows up, and he will be a good jumper, too."

"I'm going to be a circus man," said Bunny. "Can I be in your show, Mr. Hooper?"

"Well, we'll see about that when you get a little older. But you and your sister can come and see our circus, any time you wish, for nothing. I watched you two do your scarecrow and pumpkin dance, and you did it very well."

Bunny Brown and his sister Sue were pleased to hear this.

"Yes, it was a pretty good circus for young folks to get up all by themselves," said Grandpa Brown. "But how soon do you have to take Ben away with you, Mr. Hooper?"

"As soon as I can, Mr. Brown. Our show is going to move on to-night, and I'd like to have Ben back in his old place if you can let him go."

"Oh, yes," said Grandpa Brown. "He can go. I hope you'll be happy, Ben."

"I'll look well after him, and he shall have no more trouble," said Mr. Hooper. Then Ben told what a hard time he had after he ran away from the circus. He had to sleep in old barns, and under hay-stacks, and he had very little to eat. And when he came to grandpa's house he did not tell that he had run away from the show, for fear some one would make him go back to the bad clown who beat him.

But everything came out all right, you see, and Ben was happy once more. Of course, Bunny and Sue felt sorry to have their friend leave them, but it could not be helped.

"But we'll be going back home ourselves pretty soon," said Daddy Brown.

Bunker Blue and Ben Hall shook hands and said they hoped they would see each other again.

"And to think," said Bunker, "that you were from a circus all the time, and never told us! But I sort of thought you were, for you knew so much about ropes, and putting up tents, making tricks and acts and pretend wild animals, and all that."

"Yes," answered Ben with a laugh, "sometimes it was pretty hard not to do some of the other tricks I had learned in the circus. I didn't want you to find out about me, but the secret came out, anyhow."

"Just like ours about the scarecrow and the pumpkin!" laughed Bunny Brown. "Wasn't ours a good secret?"

"It certainly was!" cried Mother Brown.

That night Ben Hall said good-bye to Bunny, Sue and all the others, and went back to the real circus with Mr. Hooper.

"I wonder if we'll ever see him again?" asked Bunny, a little sadly.

"Perhaps you will," said his father.

The vacation of Bunny and Sue, on grandpa's farm was at an end. In a few days they were to go back to their home, near the ocean.

"Oh, but we have had such fun here; haven't we, Bunny?" cried Sue.

"Indeed we have," he said. "Jolly good fun!"

"I wonder what we'll do next?" Sue asked.

"I don't know," answered her brother.

But, as I happen to know, I'll tell you. Bunny and Sue went on another journey, and you may read all about it in the next book in this series, which will be named: "Bunny Brown and His Sister Sue at Aunt Lu's City Home."

In that book I'll tell you all the funny things the little boy and girl saw, and did, when they were in the big city of New York. It was quite different from being on grandpa's farm in the country.

One morning, about two weeks after the play-circus had been given, and Ben Hall had gone back to the real show, to learn to be a clown, Bunker Blue brought the great big automobile up to the farmhouse.

"All aboard!" cried Bunker. "All aboard for Bellemere and Sandport Bay! Come on, Bunny and Sue!"

Into the automobile, that was like a little house on wheels, climbed Bunny and Sue. Mr. and Mrs. Brown also got in. Bunker sat on the front seat to steer. There were good things to eat in the automobile, and the little beds were all made up, with freshly ironed sheets, so when night came, everyone would have a good sleep. Splash sat up on the front seat with Bunker.

"Good-bye! Good-bye!" called Bunny and Sue, waving their hands out of a window.

"Good-bye!" answered grandma and Grandpa Brown.

"Good-bye!" called the hired man.

"Bow-wow!" barked Splash.

"Chug-chug!" went the automobile, and, after a safe and pleasant journey, Bunny Brown and his sister Sue safely reached home, ready for new fun and fresh adventures which they had in plenty. And so we will all say good-bye to them.

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The Young And Field Literary Readers - Book Two

By

Ella Flagg Young



English Fairy Tales


Childe Rowland

Once upon a time there was a little princess.

Her name was Ellen.

She lived with her mother the queen in a great house by the sea.

She had three brothers.

One day, as they were playing ball, one of her brothers threw the ball over the house.

Ellen ran to get it, but she did not come back.

The three brothers looked for her.

They looked and looked, but they could not find her.

Day after day went by.

At last the oldest brother went to a wise man and asked what to do.

"The princess is with the elves. She is in the Dark Tower," said the wise man.

"Where is the Dark Tower?" asked the oldest brother.

"It is far away," said the wise man. "You cannot find it."

"I can and I will find it. Tell me where it is," said the oldest brother.

The wise man told him, and the oldest brother set off at once.

The other brothers waited.

They waited long, but the oldest brother did not come back.

Then the next brother went to the wise man.

The wise man told him as he had told the oldest brother.

Then the next brother set out to find the Dark Tower.

The youngest brother waited.

He waited long, but no one came.

Now the youngest brother was called Childe Rowland.

At last Childe Rowland went to his mother the queen and said:

"Mother, let me go and find the Dark Tower and bring home Ellen and my brothers."

"I cannot let you go. You are all that I have, now," said the queen.

But Childe Rowland asked again and again, till at last the queen said, "Go, my boy."

Then she gave him his father's sword, and he set out.

He went to the wise man and asked the way.

The wise man told him and said:

"I will tell you two things. One thing is for you to do, and one thing is for you not to do.

"The thing to do is this: When you get to the country of the elves, take hold of your father's sword, pull it out quickly, and cut off the head of any one who speaks to you, till you find the princess Ellen.

"The thing not to do is this: Bite no bit and drink no drop till you come back. Go hungry and thirsty while you are in the country of the elves."

Childe Rowland said the two things over and over, so that he should not forget.

Then he went on his way.

He went on and on and on, till he came to some horses with eyes of fire.

Then he knew he was in the country of the elves.

A man was with the horses.

"Where is the Dark Tower?" asked Childe Rowland.

"I do not know," said the man. "Ask the man that keeps the cows."

Childe Rowland thought of what the wise man had told him.

He pulled out his father's sword, and off went the man's head.

Then Childe Rowland went on and on, till he came to some cows with eyes of fire.

The man who kept the cows looked at Childe Rowland.

"Where is the Dark Tower?" asked Childe Rowland.

"I cannot tell. Ask the woman that keeps the hens," said the man.

Childe Rowland took the sword, and off went the man's head.

Then Childe Rowland went on and on, till he came to some hens with eyes of fire.

An old woman was with them.

"Where is the Dark Tower?" asked Childe Rowland.

"Go on and look for a hill," said the old woman. "Go around the hill three times. Each time you go around say:

'Open, door! open, door! Let me come in.'

When you have gone three times around, a door will open. Go in."

Childe Rowland did not like to cut off the head of the old woman, but he thought of what the wise man had told him.

So he took hold of the sword, and off went her head.

After this he went on and on and on, till he came to a hill.

He went three times around it, and each time he said:

"Open, door! open, door! Let me come in."

When he had gone three times around, a door opened. In he went.

The door shut after him, and he was in the dark.

Soon he began to see a dim light.

It seemed to come from the walls.

He went down a long way, and at last he came to another door.

All at once it flew open, and he found himself in a great hall.

The walls were of gold and silver, and were hung with diamonds.

How the diamonds shone!

And there sat the princess Ellen in a great chair of gold, with diamonds all about her head.

When she saw Childe Rowland, she came to him and said:

"Brother, why are you here? If the king of the elves comes, it will be a sad day for you."

But this did not frighten Childe Rowland. He sat down and told her all that he had done.

She told him that the two brothers were in the tower.

The king of the elves had turned them into stone.

Soon Childe Rowland began to be very hungry, and asked for something to eat.

Ellen went out and soon came back with bread and milk in a golden bowl.

Childe Rowland took it and was about to eat.

All at once he thought of what the wise man had said.

So he threw the bowl down upon the floor, and said:

"Not a bit will I bite, Not a drop will I drink, Till Ellen is free."

Then they heard a great noise outside, and some one cried out:

"Fee-fi-fo-fum! I smell the blood Of an Englishman!"

The door of the hall flew open and the king of the elves came in.

Childe Rowland took his sword.

They fought and they fought.

At last Childe Rowland beat the king of the elves down to the ground.

"Stop!" cried the king of the elves. "I have had enough."

"I will stop when you set free the princess Ellen and my brothers," said Childe Rowland.

"I will set them free," said the king.

He went at once to a cupboard and took out a blood-red bottle.

Out of this bottle he let a drop or two fall upon the eyes of the two brothers, and up they jumped.

Childe Rowland took the hand of his sister and went out of the door, and up the long way.

The two brothers went after them and left the king of the elves alone.

Then they came out from the hill and found their way back to their own country.

How glad the queen was!


Tom Tit Tot

Once a woman made five pies.

When she had made them, she found that they were too hard.

So the woman said to her daughter:

"Put those pies into the cupboard and leave them there a little while and they'll come again."

She meant that they would get soft.

But the girl said to herself,

"Well, if they'll come again, I think I will eat them."

So she ate them all up.

At supper time the woman said,

"Daughter, get one of those pies. I think they must have come again."

The girl went to the cupboard and looked, but no pies were there.

Then she came back to her mother and said,

"No, they have not come again."

"Well, bring one," said the mother. "I want one for my supper."

"But I can't. They have not come."

"Yes, you can. Bring me one."

"But I ate them all up."

"What!" said the mother, "You bad, bad girl!"

The woman could not stop thinking about those five pies.

As she sat at the door spinning, she kept mumbling to herself:

"My daughter ate five pies to-day, My daughter ate five pies to-day."

The king was going by, and he heard the woman mumbling.

"What are you saying, woman?" asked the king.

The woman did not like to tell him about the pies, so she said:

"My daughter spun five skeins to-day, My daughter spun five skeins to-day."

"Well, well, well!" said the king, "I didn't know that any one could spin so much as that!"

"My daughter knows how to spin," said the woman.

The king thought a little while.

Then he said: "I want a wife. If your daughter can spin as much as that, I will make her my wife. She shall have fine clothes, and for eleven months in every year she may do anything she wishes. But the last month of the year she must spin five skeins each day. If she doesn't, she must have her head cut off."

"Very well," said the woman.

She thought how fine it would be if her daughter should be the queen.

The girl could have a good time for eleven months, anyway, and there would surely be some way to get the skeins spun.

So the king took the girl away and made her queen.

For eleven months she had everything she could think of.

She had gold and silver and diamonds and fine clothes and good things to eat.

But when the last month of the year came, she began to think what she should do about those five skeins.

She did not have long to think, for the king took her into a room, all by herself, and said:

"Here is a spinning wheel, and here is a chair, and here is some flax.

"Now, my dear, sit down and spin five skeins before night, or off goes your head."

Then he turned and went out.

How frightened she was!

She could not spin.

She could only sit down and cry.

All at once there was a rap at the door.

She jumped up and opened it, and what should she see but a little black thing with a long tail!

"What are you crying about?" asked the little black thing.

"It would do no good to tell you," said the queen.

"How do you know that?" asked the little black thing, and he twirled his tail.

"Well, I will tell you," she said. And she told him all that the king had said to her.

"Then," said the little black thing, "I will come here to your window every morning and take some flax, and bring it back at night all spun.

"If you can guess my name, you shall pay nothing for my work.

"You may try three times each night, when I bring back the skeins. But if you can't guess my name before the last day of the month, I will carry you off with me."

The queen thought that she could surely guess, so she said:

"Very well. Take the flax."

"Yes," said the little black thing, and my! how he twirled his tail!

That night he came back with five skeins of spun flax, but she could not guess his name.

So it went on day after day. Every night the little black thing brought five skeins, but she could not guess his name.

On the last day of the month the king came in to see her.

"You are doing well, my dear," said he.

"I think I shall not have to cut off your head, after all."

So he had a fine supper brought in, and they ate it together.

As they were eating, the king said:

"I was hunting to-day in the woods, and I heard a queer song. It came from a hole in the ground. I looked in, and there sat a little black thing with a long tail. He was spinning. He twirled his tail as he spun, and sang:

'Nimmy, nimmy, not! I'm Tom Tit Tot.'"

The queen at once jumped up and danced all around the table, but she said nothing.

The king thought she was glad because her spinning was done.

That night the little black thing brought the last five skeins of flax.

"Well," he said, "what is my name? You may guess three times more."

How he twirled his tail!

"Is it Jack?" she asked.

"No, it is not Jack," he said.

"Is it Tom?" she asked.

"No, it is not Tom."

You should have seen him laugh!

"One more guess; then I take you," said the little black thing, and he twirled his tail again.

This time the queen laughed.

She looked at him a long time and then said:

"Nimmy, nimmy, not! You're Tom Tit Tot."

At that the little black thing gave a great cry, and away he flew, out into the dark.

The queen never saw him again.



Fables From Aesop


The Lion And The Mouse

A lion was asleep in the woods.

A little mouse ran over his paw.

The lion woke up and caught him.

"You are a very little mouse, but I think I will eat you," he said.

"Do not eat me," said the mouse, "I am so little! Let me go. Some time I may be of help to you."

The lion laughed.

"What can you do?" he said.

But he let the mouse go.

Not very long after this the lion was caught by some men and made fast with a rope.

The men left him and went to get more rope, to bind him.

"Now is my time!" said the mouse.

He ran to the lion and began to gnaw the rope.

He gnawed and he gnawed.

At last he gnawed through the rope and set the lion free.

"You laughed at me," said the mouse, "but have I not helped you?"

"You have saved my life," said the lion.


The Honest Woodcutter

One day a woodcutter lost his ax in a pond.

He sat down by the water and said to himself, "What shall I do? I have lost my ax."

All at once a man stood beside him.

"What have you lost?" asked the man.

"I have lost my ax," said the woodcutter.

The man said nothing, but jumped into the pond and soon came out with a golden ax.

"Is this your ax?" he asked.

"No," said the honest woodcutter, "my ax was not a golden ax."

The man jumped in again, and soon came out with a silver ax.

"Is this your ax?" asked the man.

"No," said the woodcutter, "my ax was not a silver ax."

Again the man jumped in.

This time he came out with the ax that the woodcutter had lost.

"Is this your ax?" he asked.

"Yes," said the woodcutter, "thank you! How glad I am! But who are you, kind sir? You must be more than a man."

"I am Mercury," said the other, "and you are an honest woodcutter. I will give you the golden ax and the silver ax."

The woodcutter thanked him and went home.

Soon he met another woodcutter and told what Mercury had done.

This other woodcutter thought he should like a golden ax, too.

So he went to the pond and threw his ax into the water.

Then he sat down and began to cry,

"O, I have lost my ax! What shall I do? What shall I do?"

Mercury came again and jumped into the water.

Soon he came out with a golden ax.

"Is this your ax?" he asked.

"O, yes, yes! that is my ax," said the man.

"No, it is not," said Mercury. "You are not an honest woodcutter, and you shall have no golden ax."

"Then get my own ax for me," said the woodcutter.

"Get it yourself," said Mercury.

With that he went away and was seen no more.


The Wolf And The Crane

(Once a wolf was eating his supper.

He was hungry and he ate very fast.

He ate so fast that he swallowed a bone.

A crane was going by.

The wolf called to the crane.)

WOLF. My dear crane, come, help me. I have a bone in my throat.

CRANE. What do you want me to do?

WOLF. Put your bill down my throat and pull out the bone.

CRANE. You will bite off my head.

WOLF. O, no, I will not. I will pay you well.

(The crane came and put his head into the wolf's mouth.

Then he ran his long bill down the wolf's throat and so pulled out the bone.)

CRANE. There, Brother Wolf, there is the bone. Now give me my pay.

WOLF. You have had your pay.

CRANE. No, I have not.

WOLF. You have had your head in the mouth of a wolf, you have pulled it out, and your life is saved. What more can you ask?

CRANE. After this, I will keep away from a wolf.


The Town Mouse And The Country Mouse

Once a country mouse asked her cousin, the town mouse, to come and visit her.

The town mouse came, and the country mouse gave her the best she had to eat.

It was only a little wheat and corn.

The town mouse ate some of it.

Then she said:

"Cousin, how can you live on this poor corn and wheat? Come to town with me, and I will give you something good."

So the two mice set off and soon came to town.

The town mouse lived well and had everything she wished for.

She had cake and pie and cheese and everything good to eat.

O, it was so good!

The country mouse was hungry, and she ate and ate and ate.

"How rich my cousin is," she said, "and how poor I am!"

As she said this, there was a great barking at the door.

Then two dogs ran into the room.

They chased the mice about, barking all the time.

At last the mice ran into a hole.

"Good-by, cousin, I am going home," said the country mouse.

"What! Are you going so soon?" asked the other.

"Yes, I do not like that kind of music with my supper. It is better to have corn and wheat and be safe than to have cake and cheese and be always in fear," said the country mouse.


The Wind And The Sun

Once the wind and the sun had a quarrel.

The sun said,

"I am stronger than you."

The wind said,

"No, I am stronger than you."

"Let us see," said the sun. "Here comes a man with a big cloak. Can you make him take it off?"

"Surely I can," said the wind.

"Try," said the sun.

The sun went behind the clouds.

The wind began to blow.

How he did blow!

But the man pulled his cloak close about him.

He did not care for the wind.

At last the wind gave it up.

"Now you try," he said to the sun.

The sun came out from the clouds.

He shone down upon the man.

"How warm it is!" said the man. "I must take off my cloak."

So he took off his cloak.

"You have beaten," said the wind. "You are stronger than I."


The Ant And The Dove

A little ant once fell into a pond.

A dove was perching in a tree over the water.

The dove saw the ant fall.

She pulled off a leaf with her bill and let it drop into the water.

"There, little ant! get on that leaf, and you will be safe," she said.

The ant jumped upon the leaf, and the wind blew it to the shore of the pond.

Not long after this, a man laid a net to catch the dove.

He pulled it in and found the dove caught fast in it.

The ant saw the man with the net, and ran up his leg and bit him.

"O!" said the man, "what is that?"

He let the net drop to the ground, and the dove flew away.

Next time the dove saw the ant, she said:

"Good ant, you saved my life."

"You saved my life once, and I only tried to pay you back," said the ant.


The Lark And Her Nest

A lark had made her nest in a field of wheat.

The wheat was almost ripe.

One day the old lark said to her young ones:

"The men will soon come to cut this wheat. You must watch for them and tell me all you see or hear while I am away."

Then she left them and went to get something for them to eat.

When she came home, she asked,

"Did you see or hear anything?"

"Yes, mother," said the young ones.

"The owner of the field came and looked at the wheat. He said, 'This wheat is ripe. It must be cut at once. I will ask my neighbors to come and help me cut it.'"

"That is good," said the old lark.

"Must we not leave the nest?" asked the young ones.

"No," said the mother. "If the man waits for his neighbors to come and help him, he will wait a long time."

Next day the owner came again.

"This wheat must be cut," said he. "I cannot wait for my neighbors. I must ask my uncles and cousins."

When the old lark came home, the young ones said:

"O, mother! we must leave the nest now.

"The man said that he should ask his uncles and cousins to help him cut the wheat."

"We will not go yet," said the mother. "If he waits for his uncles and cousins, he will wait a long time."

The next day the man came again. His boy was with him.

"We can't wait any longer," he said. "We must cut the wheat ourselves."

Soon the mother lark came home.

The young ones told her what the man had said.

"Now we must be off," she cried. "When a man sets out to do his work himself, it will be done."

So the lark and her young ones left the nest and found another home.


The Dog And His Shadow

A dog once had a piece of meat.

He was going home with it.

On the way he had to go across a bridge over some water.

He looked into the water, and there he thought he saw another dog.

The dog looked like himself and had a piece of meat in his mouth, too.

It was his shadow in the water.

"That meat looks good. I want it," said the dog.

"My piece is not big enough. I will take the meat away from that other dog."

So he barked at the other dog.

As he opened his mouth to bark, his piece of meat fell into the water.

"Splash!" it went, and that was the last he ever saw of it.

"If I had let that dog keep his piece of meat, I should not have lost my own," he said.


The Fox And The Grapes

A hungry fox once saw some sweet grapes hanging over a wall.

"I want those grapes," he said to himself.

So he jumped for them.

He did not get them.

He jumped again.

Still he did not get them.

He jumped again and again.

They were too high.

At last he gave it up and went away.

"I don't want those grapes," he said.

"They are sour grapes. I know they are sour. They are not fit to eat."




Poems By Mary Mapes Dodge


Four Little Birds

Four little birds all flew from their nest --  Flew north, flew south, flew east and west;

They thought they would like a wider view, So they spread their wings and away they flew.


In The Basket

Hark! do you hear my basket Go "kippy! kippy! peek"? Maybe my funny basket Is learning how to speak.

If you want to know the secret, Go ask the speckled hen, And tell her when I've warmed them I'll bring them back again.

Cousin Jeremy

He came behind me and covered my eyes; "Who is this?" growled he, so sly. "Why, Cousin Jeremy, how can I tell, When my eyes are shut?" said I.


Little Miss Limberkin

Little Miss Limberkin, Dreadful to say, Found a mouse in the cupboard Sleeping away. Little Miss Limberkin Gave such a scream, She frightened the little mouse Out of its dream.


Snowflakes

Little white feathers, Filling the air; Little white feathers, How came you there? "We came from the cloud birds Sailing so high; They're shaking their white wings Up in the sky." Little white feathers, How swift you go! Little white snowflakes, I love you so! "We are swift because We have work to do; But hold up your face, And we'll kiss you true."


Hollyhock

Hollyhock, hollyhock, bend for me; I need a cheese for my dolly's tea. I'll put it soon on an acorn plate, And dolly and I shall feast in state.




German Fairy Tales


The Little Pine Tree

Once a little pine tree grew in a valley.

It was covered with needles that were always beautiful and green.

But it did not like the needles.

The little tree said:

"All the other trees in the woods have beautiful leaves, but I have only needles. I do not like needles. I wish I could have leaves. But I should like to be more beautiful than the other trees. I should not like green leaves. I should like gold leaves."

The little tree went to sleep.

A fairy happened to be passing and said to herself:

"This little pine tree would like gold leaves. It shall have them."

Next morning the tree woke up and found that it was covered with leaves of shining gold.

"How beautiful!" said the tree. "No other tree has gold leaves!"

Soon a man came by with a bag.

He saw the gold leaves.

He ran to the little pine tree and began to pull them off and to put them into his bag.

He pulled them all off and carried them away.

The little pine tree was bare.

"O," cried the little tree, "I don't want gold leaves any more, for men will take them away. I want something beautiful that they will not take away. I think I should like glass leaves."

The little tree went to sleep.

The fairy came by again and said:

"This little tree wants glass leaves. It shall have them."

Next morning the tree woke up and found that it was covered with leaves of shining glass.

How they shone in the sun!

"These leaves are much better than gold leaves," said the little tree. "They are very beautiful."

But a wind came down the valley.

It blew and it blew.

It blew the glass leaves together and broke them all to pieces.

The little pine tree was bare again.

"I don't want glass leaves," said the little tree. "I want leaves that will not break. Perhaps green leaves are best, after all, but I want leaves. I don't want needles."

The little tree went to sleep.

The fairy came by again and said:

"This little tree wants green leaves. It shall have them."

Next morning when the tree woke up it was covered with green leaves.

"This is fine!" said the tree. "Now I am like the other trees, but more beautiful."

Soon a goat came down the valley.

"These leaves look good," said the goat.

So he ate them all up.

The little pine tree was bare again.

"I think I don't want leaves after all," said the little pine tree. "Gold leaves are beautiful, but men carry them away. Glass leaves are beautiful, but the wind breaks them. Green leaves are beautiful, but goats eat them. My old green needles were best. I wish I could have them back."

The little pine tree went to sleep.

The fairy came by again, and said:

"This little tree has found out that needles were best for it after all. It shall have them back."

Next morning the tree woke up and had the old green needles again.

Then it was happy.


The Faithful Beasts

Once upon a time a man went out to seek his fortune.

As he walked along, he came to a town and saw some boys teasing a mouse.

"Let the poor mouse go. I will pay you if you will let it go," said the man.

He gave the boys a penny.

They let the mouse go, and it ran away.

After this the man went on till he came to another town.

There he saw some boys playing with a monkey.

They had hurt the poor beast so that he cried out with pain.

"Let the monkey go," said the man. "I will pay you to let him go."

So he gave the boys some money.

They let the monkey go, and the monkey ran away.

The man went on, and by and by he came to another town.

There he saw some boys trying to make a bear dance.

They had tied the bear with a rope and were beating him.

"Let the poor bear go," said the man. "I will pay you to let him go."

He gave the boys some money, and they let the poor beast go.

The bear, was glad to be free and walked off as fast as he could.

The man had spent all his money.

He had not a penny left.

He was hungry too, and could get nothing to eat.

Then the king's men took him and put him into a great box.

They shut and fastened the lid, and threw the box into the water.

The man floated about in the water many days and thought he should never see the light again.

At last he heard something gnaw and scratch at the lid.

Then the lid flew open.

The box was on the shore, and there stood the bear, the monkey, and the mouse beside it.

They had helped him because he had helped them.

As they stood there, a round white stone rolled down to the water.

"This has come just in time," said the bear. "It is a magic stone and will take its owner wherever he wishes to go."

The man picked up the stone and wished he were in a castle with gardens around it.

All at once the castle and the gardens were there, and he was in the castle.

It was very beautiful.

Soon some merchants came by.

"See this fine castle," said one to another. "There was never a castle here till now."

The merchants went in and asked the man how he had built the castle so quickly.

"I did not do it," said the man. "My magic stone built it."

"Let us see the stone," said the merchants.

The man showed them the stone.

Then the merchants showed him gold and silver and diamonds and other beautiful things, and said:

"We will give you all these if you will give us the stone."

The things looked very beautiful to the man, so he took them and gave the stone to the merchants.

All at once he found himself again in the dark box on the water.

As soon as the bear, the monkey, and the mouse saw what had happened, they tried to help him.

But the lid was fastened more strongly than before.

They could not open it.

"We must have that stone again," said the bear.

So the three faithful beasts went back to the castle and found the merchants there.

The mouse looked under the door and said:

"The stone is fastened with a red ribbon under the looking-glass, and beside it are two great cats with eyes of fire."

The bear and the monkey said:

"Wait till the men go to sleep. Then run quickly under the door, jump quickly up on the bed, scratch the nose of one of the men, and bite off one of his whiskers."

The mouse did as he was told.

The merchant woke up and rubbed his nose. Then he said:

"Those cats are good for nothing. They let the mice in, and the mice eat up my very whiskers."

So he drove the cats away.

The next night the mouse went in again. The merchants were asleep.

The mouse gnawed at the ribbon till it gave way, and the stone fell.

Then he rolled the stone out under the door.

The monkey took it and carried it down to the water.

"How shall we get out to the box?" asked the monkey.

"I will tell you," said the bear. "Sit on my back and hold fast. Carry the stone in your mouth. The mouse will sit in my right ear, and I will swim out to the box."

They did as the bear said, and were soon out in the water. No one said anything, and it was very still. The bear wanted to talk.

"How are you, Monkey?" he asked.

The monkey said nothing.

"Why don't you talk to me?" asked the bear.

"Silly!" said the monkey. "How do you think I can talk when I have a stone in my mouth?"

As he said this, the stone rolled out into the water.

"Never mind," said the bear. "The frogs will get it for us."

So he asked the frogs to get it, and one of them brought it to him.

"Thank you," said the bear. "That is what we need."

Then the three faithful beasts broke open the great box.

They gave the stone to the man.

He took it and wished himself in the castle again, and wished the three faithful beasts with him.

At once they were in the castle.

The merchants were gone.

So the man and his three faithful beasts lived there ever after.




Poems By Robert Louis Stevenson


Where Go The Boats?

Dark brown is the river, Golden is the sand; It flows along for ever, With trees on either hand.

Green leaves a-floating, Castles of the foam, Boats of mine a-boating --  Where will all come home?

On goes the river And out past the mill, Away down the valley, Away down the hill.

Away down the river, A hundred miles or more, Other little children Shall bring my boats ashore.


At The Seaside

When I was down beside the sea A wooden spade they gave to me To dig the sandy shore. My holes were empty like a cup; In every hole the sea came up, Till it could come no more.


Rain

The rain is raining all around; It falls on field and tree, It rains on the umbrellas here And on the ships at sea.


Autumn Fires

In the other gardens And all up the vale, From the autumn bonfires See the smoke trail!

Pleasant summer over And all the summer flowers; The red fire blazes, The gray smoke towers.

Sing a song of seasons! Something bright in all! Flowers in the summer, Fires in the fall!


The Wind

I saw you toss the kites on high And blow the birds about the sky, And all around I heard you pass Like ladies' skirts across the grass --  O wind, a-blowing all day long O wind, that sings so loud a song!

I saw the different things you did, But always you yourself you hid; I felt you push, I heard you call, I could not see yourself at all --  O wind, a-blowing all day long, O wind, that sings so loud a song!

O you that are so strong and cold, O blower, are you young or old? Are you a beast of field and tree, Or just a stronger child than me? O wind, a-blowing all day long, O wind, that sings so loud a song!




Hindu Fables


The Timid Hares

Once there was a timid little hare who was always afraid something dreadful was going to happen.

She was always saying, "What if the earth should fall in? What would happen to me then?"

One day, after she had been saying this to herself many times, a great coconut fell from a tree.

"What was that!" said the hare.

She jumped as if she had been shot.

"The earth must be falling in!" she cried.

So she ran and she ran as fast as she could run.

Soon she met another hare.

"O Brother Hare," she said, "run for your life! The earth is falling in!"

"What is that you say!" cried the other hare. "Then I will run, too."

This hare told another hare, and the other hare told other hares, and soon all the hares were running as fast as they could run, and crying:

"The earth is falling in! O, the earth is falling in!"

The big beasts heard them, and they too began to run and to cry:

"O, the earth is falling in! Run for your life!"

A wise old lion saw them running and heard them crying.

"I cannot see that the earth is falling in," he said.

Then he cried out to the poor frightened beasts to stop.

"What are you saying?" he asked.

"We said the earth is falling in," answered the elephants.

"What makes you think so?" asked the lion.

"The tigers told us," said the elephants.

"What makes the tigers think so?"

"The bears told us," said the tigers.

"What makes the bears think so?"

"The buffaloes told us," said the bears.

"Why do the buffaloes think so?"

"The deer told us," said the buffaloes.

"Why do the deer think so?"

"The monkeys told us so," said the deer.

"And how did the monkeys know?"

"The jackals said so," said the monkeys.

"And how did the jackals know?"

"The hares said it was so," said the jackals.

"And how did the hares know?"

One of the hares then said that another hare told him, and the other hare said that another told him, and so it went on until at last they came to the first little hare.

"Little hare," said the lion, "why did you say that the earth was falling in?"

"I saw it," said the little hare.

"Where?" asked the lion.

"I saw it there, under that big coconut tree," said the little hare.

"Come and show me," said the lion.

"O, no, no!" said the little hare. "I am so frightened. I couldn't go."

"Jump on my back," said the lion.

The little hare at last jumped up on the lion's back, and the lion took her back to the big tree.

Just then another coconut fell with a great noise among the leaves.

"O, run, run!" cried the timid hare. "There is that dreadful thing again!"

"Stop and look," said the lion.

As the hare could not get down from the lion's back, she had to stop and look.

"Now what do you think it is?" asked the lion.

"I think it must be a coconut," said the little hare.

"Then I think you had better go and tell the other beasts," said the lion.

So the little hare told the other beasts that the earth was not falling in, after all. It was a coconut that was falling.


The Shoe

(A man once left his shoe in the woods. The beasts found it.

They had never seen anything like it before, so they came together and began to talk about it.)

BEAR. It must be the husk or the outside of some fruit.

ALL THE BIRDS. O, just hear him!

ALL THE BEASTS. O, just hear him!

WOLF. No, that is not it. It is some kind of nest. See! Here is the hole at the top, for the bird to go into, and here is the place for the eggs and the young birds.

BIRDS. O, just hear him!

BEAR. Just hear him talk!

GOAT. No, you are both wrong. It is the root of some plant.

(He showed them the shoe string hanging at the side.)

See this long, fine root. Surely it is a root!

BIRDS. O, just hear him talk!

BEASTS. Just hear him!

BEAR. I tell you it is the husk of a fruit.

WOLF. And I tell you it is a nest.

GOAT. And I tell you it is a root. Surely it is a root!

OWL. Let me speak. I have lived among men, and I have seen many such things as this. It is a man's shoe.

BEAR. What is a man?

GOAT. What is a shoe?

OWL. A man is a thing with two legs. He can stand up like a monkey, he can walk like a bird, but he cannot fly. He can eat and talk, and he can do many things that we cannot do.

BEASTS. O, no!

BIRDS. No, no!

BEAR. How can that be? How can anything with two legs do more than we, who have four?

BIRDS. And this thing you call a man cannot be good for much if he cannot fly.

GOAT. But what does the man do with this root?

OWL. It is not a root. I tell you it is a shoe.

WOLF. And what is a shoe?

OWL. It is what the man puts on his feet. He puts one of these shoes on each of his feet.

BIRDS. Hear the owl talk!

BEASTS. Who ever heard of such a thing as a shoe?

GOAT. Hear that! The man puts them on his feet!

WOLF. It is not true!

BEAR. No, it is not true! The owl doesn't know.

WOLF. You know nothing, Owl. Get out of our woods. You are not fit to live with us.

BEAR. Yes, Owl, go away!

BEASTS. Leave us! Go away!

BIRDS. Leave us! Leave us, Owl! You surely don't know what you are talking about!

(The beasts chase the owl out of the woods.)

OWL. (Going off) But it is a shoe, anyway.


The Camel And The Jackal

Once upon a time a camel and a jackal lived together by the side of a river.

One fine morning the jackal said:

"There is a big field of sugar cane over on the other side of the river. Take me on your back, Brother Camel, and I will show you where it is. You may eat all the sugar cane, and I will find some crabs or fish on the shore."

This pleased the camel very much. So he waded through the river and carried the jackal on his back.

The jackal could not swim.

The camel found the sugar cane, and the jackal found some crabs.

The jackal ate much faster than the camel and soon had enough.

"Now, Brother Camel," he said, "take me back. I have had enough."

"But I haven't," said the camel.

So the camel went on eating.

The jackal tried to think how he could make the camel go home.

At last he thought of a way.

He began to bark and to cry and to make such a noise that all the men from the village ran out to see what was going on.

There they found the camel eating the sugar cane, and at once they beat the poor beast with sticks and so drove him out of the field.

"Brother Camel, hadn't you better go home now?" asked the jackal.

"Yes, jackal, jump on my back," said the camel.

The jackal jumped on his back, and the camel waded through the river with him.

As he went, he said to the jackal:

"Brother Jackal, I think you have not been very good to me to-day. Why did you make such a noise?"

"O, I don't know," said the jackal. "It's a way I sometimes have. I like to sing a little, after dinner."

The camel waded on.

When they got out where the water was deep, the camel stopped and said, "Jackal, I feel as if I must roll a little in the water.

"O, no, no!" said the jackal. "Why do you want to do that?"

"O, I don't know," said the camel. "It's a way I sometimes have. I like to roll a little, after dinner."

With that, he rolled over, and the jackal fell into the water.




Poems By Laura E. Richards[1]


The Bumblebee

The bumblebee, the bumblebee, He flew to the top of the tulip tree. He flew to the top, But he could not stop, For he had to get home to his early tea.

The bumblebee, the bumblebee, He flew away from the tulip tree; But he made a mistake, And flew into the lake, And he never got home to his early tea.

[1] Copyright, 1890, by Little, Brown, and Company.


Little Brown Bobby

Little Brown Bobby sat on the barn floor, Little Brown Bossy looked in at the door. Little Brown Bobby said, "Lackaday! Who'll drive me this little Brown Bossy away?"

Little Brown Bobby said, "Shoo! shoo! shoo!" Little Brown Bossy said, "Moo! moo! moo!" This frightened them so that both of them cried, And wished they were back at their mammy's side.


Jippy And Jimmy

Jippy and Jimmy were two little dogs. They went to sail on some floating logs; The logs rolled over, the dogs rolled in, And they got very wet, for their clothes were thin.

Jippy and Jimmy crept out again. They said, "The river is full of rain!" They said, "The water is far from dry! Ki-hi! ki-hi! ki-hi-yi! ki-hi!"

Jippy and Jimmy went shivering home. They said, "On the river no more we will roam; And we won't go to sail until we learn how, Bow-wow! bow-wow! bow-wow-wow! bow-wow!"


The Song Of The Corn Popper

Pip! pop! flippety flop! Here am I, all ready to pop. Girls and boys, the fire burns clear; Gather about the chimney here, Big ones, little ones, all in a row. Hop away! pop away! here we go!

Pip! pop! flippety flop! Into the bowl the kernels drop; Sharp and hard and yellow and small, Must say they don't look good at all; But wait till they burst into warm white snow! Hop away! pop away! here we go!

Pip! pop! flippety flop! Shake me steadily; do not stop! Backward and forward, not up and down; Don't let me drop, or you'll burn it brown. Never too high and never too low; Hop away! pop away! here we go!




A French Fairy Tale


The Fairy

Once on a time there was a woman who had two daughters. The older was very much like her mother, and was very ugly.

The younger was not like her, but was very good and beautiful.

The woman liked the older girl because she was like herself.

She did not like the younger; so she made her do all the hard work.

One day the younger daughter had gone to the spring to get water. It was a long way from home.

As she was standing by the spring, a poor old woman came by and asked her for a drink.

"Indeed, you shall have a drink," said the girl.

She filled her pitcher and gave the old woman some water.

The woman drank, and then said, "You are so kind and good, my dear, that I will give you a gift."

Now this old woman was a fairy, but the girl did not know it.

"I will give you a gift," she said, "and this shall be the gift: With every word that you speak, either a flower or a jewel shall fall from your mouth."

When the younger girl came home, her mother scolded her because she had been so long at the spring.

"I am very sorry indeed, mother," said the girl.

At once two roses, two pearls, and two diamonds fell from her mouth.

"What is this!" cried the mother. "I think I see pearls and diamonds falling out of your mouth! How does this happen, my child?"

This was the first time the woman had ever called her "my child."

The girl told her all that had happened, and while she spoke, many more diamonds fell from her mouth.

"Well, well, well!" said the woman, "I must surely send my dear Fanny to the spring, so that she too may have this gift."

Then she called her older daughter. "Fanny, my dear, come here! See what has happened to your sister. Should you not like to have such diamonds whenever you wish them?

"All you need to do is to go out to the spring to get some water. An old woman will ask for a drink and you will give it to her."

"I think I see myself going out there to the spring to get water!" said the older daughter.

"Go at once!" said the mother.

So the older daughter went.

She took with her the best silver pitcher in the house, and grumbled all the way.

When she had come to the spring, she saw a lady in beautiful clothes standing under a tree.

The lady came to her and asked for a drink.

It was really the fairy, but now she looked like a princess.

The older daughter did not know that it was the fairy, so she said:

"Do you think that I came to the spring to get water just for you, or that I brought this fine silver pitcher so that you could drink from it? Drink from the spring if you wish."

"You are not very polite, I think," said the fairy, "but I will give you a gift, and this shall be the gift: With every word that you speak, either a snake or a toad shall fall from your mouth."

When the older daughter went back to the house, her mother called out, "Well, daughter?"

"Well, mother," said the girl, and as she spoke, a snake and a toad fell out of her mouth.

"What!" cried the mother. "Your sister has done all this, but she shall pay for it!"

With that, the mother took a stick and ran after the younger daughter.

The poor child ran away from her and hid in the woods.

The prince of that country had been hunting and happened to pass through those woods on his way home.

He saw the young girl and asked her why she was standing there and crying, all alone in the woods.

"O sir, my mother has turned me out of the house," she said.

The prince was greatly surprised to see five or six pearls and as many diamonds fall from her mouth as she spoke.

"Tell me how all this happened," said the prince.

So she told him all about it.

The prince took her with him, and they went to the king's house, and there they were married, and were very happy.

But the older sister grew more and more ugly in her heart, until even her mother could not live with her.

So her mother turned her out, and no one ever heard of her again.




A Norse Folk Tale


East Of The Sun And West Of The Moon

Once there was a poor woodcutter who had so many children that it was hard to get enough for them to eat.

They were all pretty children, but the youngest daughter was the prettiest of them all.

One cold, dark night in the fall they were sitting around the fire, when all at once something went rap! rap! rap! on the window.

The father went out to see what it was, and there stood a big white bear.

"Good evening," said the bear.

"The same to you," said the man.

"Give me your youngest daughter, and you shall be rich," said the bear.

"You can't have her," said the man.

"Think it over," said the bear, "I will come again next week."

Then the bear went away.

They talked it over and at last the youngest daughter said that she would go away with the bear when he came back.

Next Thursday night they heard the rap! rap! rap! on the window, and there was the white bear again.

The girl went out and climbed up on his back and off they went.

When they had gone a little way, the bear turned around and asked, "Are you afraid?"

No, she was not afraid.

"Well, hold fast to me, and there will be nothing to be afraid of," said the bear.

They went a long, long way, until they came to a great hill.

The bear knocked on the ground, and a door opened. They went in.

It was a castle, with many lights, and it shone with silver and gold.

The white bear gave to the girl a silver bell, and said to her, "Ring this bell when you want anything."

Then he went away.

Every night, when all the lights had been put out, the bear came and talked with her. He slept in a bed in the great hall.

But it was so dark that she could never see him, or know how he looked, and when she took his paw, it was not like a paw. It was like a hand.

She wanted so much to see him! but he told her she must not.

At last she felt that she could not wait any longer.

So one night, when he was asleep, she lighted a candle and bent over and looked at him.

What do you think she saw?

It was not a bear, but a prince, and the most beautiful prince that was ever seen!

She was so surprised that her hand began to shake, and three drops from the candle fell upon the coat of the prince.

This woke him up.

"What have you done?" he cried. "You have brought trouble upon us. An ugly witch turned me into a bear, but every night I am myself again, and if you had waited only a year, and had not tried to find me out, I should have been free.

"Now I must go back to my other castle and marry an ugly princess with a nose three yards long."

The girl cried and cried and cried, but it did no good.

She asked if she could go with him, but he said that she could not.

"Tell me the way there," she said, "and I will find you."

"It is East of the Sun and West of the Moon, but there is no way to it," he said.

Next morning when the girl awoke, she found herself all alone in the deep woods.

She set out and walked and walked till she came to a very old woman sitting under a hill. The old woman had a golden apple in her hand.

The girl asked the woman to tell her the way to the castle of the prince who lived East of the Sun and West of the Moon.

The old woman didn't know, but she gave the girl the golden apple, and lent her a horse, and said to her:

"Ask my next neighbor. Maybe she will know. And when you find her, switch my horse under the left ear and tell him to be off home."

So the girl got on the horse and rode until she came to an old woman with a golden comb. This old woman answered her as the first had done, and lent her another horse and gave her the golden comb.

The girl got on the horse and rode till she came to another old woman spinning on a golden spinning wheel. This old woman did as the others had done, and lent her another horse and gave her the golden spinning wheel.

"You might ask the East Wind. Maybe he will know," she said.

So the girl rode on until she came to the house of the East Wind.

"I have heard of the prince and his castle, but I never went so far as that," said the East Wind.

"Get on my back, and I will carry you to my brother, the West Wind. Maybe he will know."

She got on his back, and away they went. O how fast they went!

At last they found the West Wind, but he had never been so far as the castle of the prince.

"Get on my back," said West Wind, "and I will take you to our brother, the South Wind. He will know, for he has been everywhere."

So she got on the West Wind, and away they went to the South Wind.

"It is a long way to that castle," said the South Wind, with a sigh. "I have never been so far as that, but our brother, the North Wind, is stronger than any of us. If he has not been there, you will never find the way, and you might as well give it up. So get on my back, and I will take you to him."

The girl got on the back of the South Wind, and soon they came to where the North Wind lived.

"Boo-oo-oo! What do you want?" roared the North Wind.

"Here is a girl who is looking for the prince that lives East of the Sun and West of the Moon. Do you know where that is?" asked the South Wind.

"Yes, once I blew a leaf as far as that, and I was so tired after it that I couldn't blow for a long time. But if you are sure you want to go and are not afraid, I'll take you."

Yes, she was sure she wanted to go.

North Wind blew himself out so big that he was dreadful to look at.

But she jumped on his back, and away they went.

How they did go!

The North Wind grew so tired that he almost had to stop.

His feet began to trail in the sea.

"Are you afraid?" he asked.

No, she was not afraid.

So they kept going on and on, till at last they came to the castle, and the North Wind put her down and went away and left her.

The next morning, as she sat there, Princess Long-Nose looked out of the window.

"What will you take for your big golden apple?" asked Long-Nose.

"It is not for sale," said the girl.

"I will give you anything you ask," said Long-Nose.

"Let me speak to the prince, and you may have it," said the girl.

"Very well," said Long-Nose.

She made the girl wait till night, and then let her in, but the prince was fast asleep.

He would not wake up.

Long-Nose had given him a kind of drink to make him sleep soundly.

So the girl went sadly out.

Next morning Long-Nose looked out of the window and said to her, "What will you take for the comb?"

"It is not for sale," said the girl.

Long-Nose said that the girl might see the prince again if she would give her the comb.

So she saw the prince again, but he was asleep as before.

Next morning Long-Nose looked out and saw the spinning wheel.

She wanted that too. So she said she would let the girl come in and see the prince once more if she would give her the spinning wheel.

Some one told the prince about it, and that night he did not take the drink which Long-Nose gave to him. He threw it out of the window.

When the girl came, he was awake, and she told him her story.

"You are just in time," said the prince, "for to-morrow I was to be married to Long-Nose.

"Now I will have no one but you. I will tell Long-Nose that I will marry no one who cannot wash three drops of candle grease out of my coat. She cannot do it, but I know that you can."

So the next morning the prince said that he must have three drops of grease washed out of his coat, and that he would marry no one who couldn't wash them out.

Long-Nose began to wash the coat, but she couldn't get the grease out. It turned black.

Then the old witch tried, but she had no better luck.

Then the younger witches tried.

"You cannot wash," said the prince. "I believe the poor girl out under the window can wash better than you. Let her try."

So the girl came in and tried, and as soon as she put the coat into the water it was white as snow.

"You are the girl for me!" said the prince.

At this the old witch flew into such a rage that she fell to pieces, and Princess Long-Nose fell to pieces, and the younger witches all fell to pieces. And no one could ever put them together again.

The prince married the poor girl, and they flew away as far as they could from the castle that lay East of the Sun and West of the Moon.




Poems By Abbie Farwell Brown


The Sailor

Little girl, O little girl, Where did you sail to-day? The greeny grass is all about; I cannot see the bay.

"The greeny grass is water, sir; I'm sailing on the sea, I'm tacking to the Island there Beneath the apple tree.

"You ought to come aboard my boat, Or you will soon be drowned! You're standing in the ocean, sir, That billows all around!"

Little girl, O little girl, And must I pay a fare? "A penny to the apple tree, A penny back from there.

"A penny for a passenger, But sailors voyage free; O, will you be a sailor, sir, And hold the sheet for me?"


A Music Box

I am a little music box, Wound up and made to go, And play my little living tune The best way that I know.

If I am naughty, cross, or rude, The music will go wrong, My little works be tangled up And spoil the pretty song.

I must be very sweet and good And happy all the day, And then the little music box In tune will always play.




American Indian Legends


Little Scar-Face

Among the pine trees, by a quiet lake, stood the wigwam of a great Indian whose name was Big Moose. His sister kept the wigwam for him, and took care of all that was his. Her name was White Maiden.

No one but White Maiden had ever seen Big Moose. The Indians could see the marks of his feet in the snow, and they could hear his sled as it ran over the ice, but they could not see him.

It was said that this was because they were not kind and good.

White Maiden was kind and good, and she could always see him.

One day White Maiden called all the Indian maidens and said:

"My brother, Big Moose, wishes to marry, but he will not marry any one who cannot see him, and only those who are good can see him."

All the Indian maidens were glad when they heard that Big Moose wished to marry. They had all heard how brave and strong he was, and what a great hunter he was, and how kind and good and wonderful he was, in every way.

Each wished that he would choose her for his wife, and each was very sure that she could see him.

For a long time after that the Indian maidens would go down to the wigwam of Big Moose, by the lake, and try to see him. Every evening some of them would go at sunset and sit and watch for him.

When he came they would hear him, and the door of the wigwam would be opened, and he would go in, but they could not see him.

At the other end of the village lived an old Indian with his three daughters. The two older daughters were not kind to the youngest one. They made her do all the work and gave her little to eat.

The oldest sister had a very hard heart. Once, when she was angry, she threw a pail of hot ashes at the youngest sister.

The child's face was burned, and she was called Little Scar-Face.

One day in early winter, when the first white snow lay on the ground, the oldest sister said:

"Come, Scar-Face, bring me my shell beads and help me to dress. I am going to marry Big Moose."

Little Scar-Face brought the beads and put them on the oldest sister and helped her to dress.

At sunset the oldest sister went down to the wigwam by the lake. White Maiden asked her to come in. By and by they heard Big Moose. They could hear his sled running through the snow.

White Maiden took the sister to the door of the wigwam and said, "Can you see my brother?"

"Yes, I can see him very well," answered the other.

"Then look and tell me what the string of his sled is made of," said White Maiden.

"It is made of moose skin," said the sister of Little Scar-Face.

"No, it is not made of moose skin. You have not seen my brother. You must go away," said White Maiden.

So she drove out the oldest sister. Next day the next to the oldest sister said to Little Scar-Face:

"Come, Scar-Face, bring me my shell beads and help me to dress. I am going to marry Big Moose."

Little Scar-Face brought the beads and helped her sister to dress.

In the evening, just at sunset, the sister went down through the pine trees to the lake.

"Come in," said White Maiden.

Soon they heard Big Moose coming.

"Can you see my brother?" asked White Maiden.

"Yes, I can see him very well," said the other.

"Then what is his sled string made of?" asked White Maiden.

"It is made of deerskin," said the other.

"No, it is not made of deerskin," said White Maiden.

"You have not seen my brother. You must go away."

And she drove her out.

The next morning Little Scar-Face worked very hard. She built the fire and carried out all the ashes and brought in the wood and did everything that she could.

Then she said to her two sisters, "Sisters, let me take your beads. I too should like to find out if I can see Big Moose."

Her sisters laughed loud and long. They would not let her take their beads. No, indeed!

At last one of the sisters said she had an old broken string of beads that Scar-Face might take.

So Little Scar-Face took the old broken string of beads and tied it together and put it on. Then she made a queer little dress out of birch bark, and she washed herself all fresh and clean, and brushed her hair, and put on the dress and the old string of beads. So she went down through the village and the dark pine woods to the wigwam of Big Moose.

She was not a pretty child, for her face and hair were burned, and her clothes were very queer.

But White Maiden asked her to come in and spoke kindly to her. So she went in and sat down.

Soon she heard Big Moose coming.

White Maiden took her to the door of the wigwam and said:

"Little Scar-Face, can you see my brother?"

"Yes, indeed, and I am afraid, for his face is very wonderful and very beautiful."

"What is his sled string made of?" asked White Maiden.

"How wonderful! how wonderful!" cried Little Scar-Face.

"His sled string is the rainbow!"

Big Moose heard her and said, "Sister, wash the eyes and hair of Little Scar-Face in the magic water."

White Maiden did so, and every scar faded away, and the hair of Little Scar-Face grew long and black, and her eyes were like two stars.

White Maiden put a wonderful dress of deerskin and a string of golden beads on Little Scar-Face, and she was more beautiful than any of the other maidens.

And Big Moose made her his wife.


The Hunter Who Forgot

Once there was a great hunter who was very rich. He had many strings of shell money around his neck. The Indians call these shells wampum.

In the woods near his home lived a big white elk that used to come and talk to him. The elk told him what was right and what was wrong. The Great Spirit sent the elk to him.

When he obeyed the elk, he was happy and everything went well, but when he did not obey, he was not happy, and everything went wrong.

One day the elk said to him:

"You are too hungry for wampum. Look! your neck and shoulders are covered with long strings of wampum. Some of it belongs to your wife. You took it from her. You took some of it from other Indians and gave them deer meat that was not fit to eat. You are not honest."

The hunter was much ashamed, but he would not give back the wampum. He thought too much of it to give it back.

"I will give you enough wampum to fill your heart," said the elk, "but you must do just as I tell you. Will you do it?"

"I will do it," said the hunter.

"Go to the top of the great white mountain. There you will find a black lake. Across the lake are three black rocks. One of them is like the head of a moose.

"Dig in the earth before this rock. There you will find a cave full of wampum. It is on strings of elk skin. Take all you want.

"While you dig, twelve otters will come out of the black lake. Put a string of wampum around the neck of each of the otters and upon each of the three black rocks."

The hunter went back to the village. There he got an elk-horn pick and set out. No one knew where he went.

He made his camp that night at the foot of the great white mountain. As soon as it was light, he began to climb up the mountain side. At last he stood on the top, and there before him was a great hollow. It was so great that he could not shoot an arrow across it.

The hollow was white with snow, but in the middle was a black lake, and on the other side of the lake stood the three black rocks.

The hunter walked around the lake over the snow. Then he took the elk-horn pick and struck one blow before the black rock which looked like the head of a moose.

Four great otters came up out of the black lake and sat beside him.

He struck another blow. Four more otters came and sat behind him.

He struck again. Four more otters came and sat on the other side.

At last the pick struck a rock. The hunter dug it out, and beneath it was a cave full of wampum.

The hunter put both of his hands into the wampum and played with it. It felt good. He took out great strings of it and put them around his neck and over his shoulders.

He worked fast, for the sun was now going down, and he must go home.

He put so many strings of wampum around his neck and shoulders that he could hardly walk.

But he did not put any around the necks of the twelve otters, nor on the three black rocks. He did not give them one string -- not one shell.

He forgot what the white elk had told him. He did not obey.

Soon it grew dark. He crept along by the shore of the big black lake. The otters jumped into it and swam and beat the water into white foam. A black mist came over the mountain.

Then the storm winds came, and the Great Spirit was in the storm.

It seemed as if the storm said, "You did not obey! You did not obey!"

Then the thunder roared at him, "You did not obey!"

The hunter was greatly frightened. He broke a great string of wampum and threw it to the storm winds, but the storm winds only laughed.

He broke another string and threw it to the thunder voices, but the thunder roared louder than before.

He threw away one string after another until all of them were gone. Then he fell upon the ground and went to sleep. He slept long.

When he woke up he was an old man with white hair. He did not know what had happened, but he sat there and looked at the great mountain, and his heart was full of peace.

"I have no wampum. I have given it all away. I am not hungry for it any more. I will go home," he said.

He could hardly find his way, for the trees had grown across the trail.

When at last he got home, no one but his wife knew him. She was now very old and had white hair like himself. She showed him a tall man near by, and said it was their baby.

The hunter looked at them.

"I have slept many moons," he said.

He lived among the Indians long after that and taught them much. He taught them to keep their word, and to obey the Great Spirit.


The Water Lily

One summer evening, many years ago, some Indians were sitting out under the stars, telling stories.

All at once they saw a star fall. It fell halfway down the sky.

That night one of the Indians had a dream about the star. It seemed to come and stand beside him, and it was like a young girl, dressed all in white.

She said, "I have left my home in the sky because I love the Indians and want to live among them. Call your wise men together and ask them what shape I shall take."

The Indian woke up and called all the wise men together.

Then he told them his dream.

The wise men said, "Let her choose what shape she will take. She may live in the top of a tree, or she may live in a flower, or she may live where she will."

Every night the star came down a little lower in the sky, and stood over the valley where the Indians lived, and made it very bright.

Then one night it fell down upon the side of the mountain and became a white rose.

But it was lonely on the mountain. The rose could see the Indians, but it could not hear them talk. So one day it left the mountain and came down into the plain and became a great white prairie flower.

Here it lived for a time. But the buffaloes and the other wild beasts of the prairie ran all around it and over it, and it was afraid.

One night the Indians saw a star go up from the prairie.

They knew that it was the prairie flower and they thought that it was going back into the sky.

But it floated toward them until it came over the lake that lay just beside them.

It looked down into the lake, and there it saw its shadow and the shadows of the other stars that live in the sky.

It came down lower and lower, and at last floated on the top of the water.

The next morning the lake was covered with water lilies.

"See! the stars have blossomed!" said all the children.

But the wise men answered:

"It is the white star and her sisters. They will stay with us."




Russian Fables


Fortune And The Beggar

A poor beggar, with a ragged old bag, crept along the road one day, begging his bread.

As he went he grumbled to himself because there were so many rich men in the world.

"The rich never think that they have enough," he said to himself. "They always want more than they have. Now if I had a very little money, I should be happy. I should not want too much."

A fairy named Fortune, who brought good gifts to men, heard the poor beggar grumbling to himself and came to him.

"Friend," said Fortune, "I have wanted to help you. Open your bag. I will give you all the gold that it will hold. But if any falls out upon the ground, it will turn to dust. Your bag is old. Don't try to have it too full, for if you do, it will break, and you will lose all."

The beggar was so happy that he began to dance up and down.

He opened his bag and let the gold run into it in a big, yellow stream. Soon the bag was almost full.

"Is that enough?" asked Fortune.

"No," said the beggar, "not yet."

"The bag is old. It is going to break," said Fortune.

"Never fear!" said the beggar.

"But you are now a rich man. Isn't that enough?" asked Fortune.

"A little more," said the beggar.

"Now," said Fortune, "the bag is full, but take care, or you will lose it."

"Just a little more," said the beggar.

Fortune put in just a little more. The bag broke. All the gold fell through upon the ground and turned to dust.

The beggar had nothing left but his old broken bag. He was as poor as he had been before.


The Spider And The Bee

A merchant brought some linen to a fair and opened a shop. It was good linen, and many came to buy of him.

A spider saw what was going on, and said to herself:

"I can spin. Why shouldn't I open a shop, too?"

So the spider opened a little shop in the corner of a window, and spun all night, and made a beautiful web. She hung it out where everybody could see it.

"That is fine!" said the spider. "Surely, when the morning comes, all will want to buy it."

At last the morning came.

A man saw the web in the corner and swept it away, spider and all.

"That is a pretty thing to do!" cried the spider. "I should like to ask whose work is the finer, mine or that merchant's?"

A bee happened to fly past.

"Yours is the finer," said the bee. "We all know that. But what is it good for? It will neither warm nor cover any one."


The Stone And The Worm

(A stone lay in a field. A farmer and his son were talking near by.)

FARMER. That was a fine rain we had this morning.

SON. Yes, indeed! A rain like that makes everybody glad.

FARMER. I have been wishing a long time for such a rain as that.

SON. It was better than gold.

(As they walked away, a worm crept out from under the stone. The stone called to the worm.)

STONE. Friend Worm, did you hear what those men were saying?

WORM. Yes, they were saying how good the rain was.

STONE. What has the rain done, I should like to know? It rained two hours and made me all wet.

WORM. That didn't hurt you.

STONE. Yes, it did. But it hurts me more to hear everybody saying how fine the rain was. Why don't they talk about me? I have been here for hundreds of years. I hurt nobody. I wet nobody. I stay quietly where I am put. Yet nobody ever has a kind word for me.

WORM. Stop your talk. This rain has helped the wheat and made it grow. And the wheat will help the farmer. It will give him bread. What have you ever given to anybody?


The Fox In The Ice

Very early one winter morning a fox was drinking at a hole in the ice.

While he was drinking, the end of his tail got into the water, and there it froze fast.

He could have pulled it out and left some of the hairs behind, but he would not do this.

"How can I spoil such a beautiful tail!" said the fox to himself.

"No, I will wait a little. The men are asleep and will not catch me. Perhaps when the sun comes up the ice will melt."

So he waited, and the water froze harder and harder.

At last the sun came up.

The fox could see men coming down to the pond. He pulled and pulled, but now his tail was frozen so fast that he could not pull it out.

Just then a wolf came by.

"Help me, friend," cried the fox, "or I shall be lost."

The wolf helped him, and set him free very quickly. He bit off the tail of the fox.

So the fox lost all of his fine great tail because he would not give up a little hair from it.




Poems By Frank D. Sherman


Clouds

The sky is full of clouds to-day, And idly, to and fro, Like sheep across the pasture, they Across the heavens go. I hear the wind with merry noise Around the housetops sweep, And dream it is the shepherd boys --  They're driving home their sheep.

The clouds move faster now, and see! The west is red and gold; Each sheep seems hastening to be The first within the fold. I watch them hurry on until The blue is clear and deep, And dream that far beyond the hill The shepherds fold their sheep.

Then in the sky the trembling stars Like little flowers shine out, While Night puts up the shadow bars, And darkness falls about. I hear the shepherd wind's good night, "Good night, and happy sleep!" And dream that in the east, all white, Slumber the clouds, the sheep.


Ghost Fairies

When the open fire is lit, In the evening after tea, Then I like to come and sit Where the fire can talk to me.

Fairy stories it can tell, Tales of a forgotten race --  Of the fairy ghosts that dwell In the ancient chimney place.

They are quite the strangest folk Anybody ever knew, Shapes of shadow and of smoke Living in the chimney flue.

"Once," the fire said, "long ago, With the wind they used to rove, Gypsy fairies, to and fro, Camping in the field and grove.

"Hither with the trees they came Hidden in the logs; and here, Hovering above the flame, Often some of them appear."

So I watch, and sure enough, I can see the fairies! Then Suddenly there comes a puff --  Whish! -- and they are gone again!


Daisies

At evening when I go to bed I see the stars shine overhead; They are the little daisies white That dot the meadow of the night.

And often while I'm dreaming so, Across the sky the moon will go; It is a lady, sweet and fair, Who comes to gather daisies there.

For when at morning I arise, There's not a star left in the skies; She's picked them all and dropped them down Into the meadows of the town.




Old Greek Stories


The Sun, The Moon, And The Star Giant

A great many years ago the Greeks told beautiful stories about what they saw in the earth and in the sky and in the sea.

They said the Sun drove each day across the sky in a car of fire, and gave light and heat to men.

He always had a bow and arrows with him, and his arrows were the sunbeams.

When he shot them very hard and struck men with them, the men were said to be sun-struck, but when he let the arrows fall gently on the earth, they did only good.

The Sun was called Apollo.

He was said to be a beautiful young man with golden hair, and he made wonderful music on a kind of harp called a lyre.

Men loved him, but they were a little afraid of him, too; he was so bright and strong.

His sister was the Moon. Her name was Artemis, or Diana. She rode through the sky at night in a silver car, and she, too, had a bow and arrows.

Her bow was a silver bow, and her arrows were the moonbeams.

She loved hunting, and often at night she would come down to earth and roam through the woods with her bow in her hand and her arrows at her side or on her back.

In pictures she is always seen with a little new moon in her hair.

Artemis was so beautiful that men were afraid to look at her. It was said that if any man should look full at her he would lose his mind.

So when she came to those whom she did not wish to hurt, she covered herself with clouds.

For a time the good giant Orion helped Artemis in her hunting, for he too was a great hunter. Artemis loved him as well as she loved any one, but she was very cold and did not care much for anybody.

After a time Orion left her. He wanted to marry the daughter of a king in one of the islands of the sea. The king said that he might if he would drive all the wild beasts out of the island. Orion did this, but the king did not keep his word.

Instead of that, he put out the eyes of Orion, but Orion went to Apollo, and was made to see again.

Then Orion went back to help Artemis with her hunting, but Apollo did not like that and wished to get rid of him.

He did not wish, himself, to hurt Orion, so he made Artemis do it.

"Sister," he said to her one day, "some men say that you can shoot as well as I can, but we all know that is not so."

"I should like to know why it is not so!" said Artemis.

"Well, let us try," said Apollo. "Do you see that little black speck away out there in the sea?"

"Yes, I see it," said Artemis.

"Can you hit it?" asked Apollo.

"Indeed I can," said Artemis; and with that she let an arrow fly from her bow. It went straight through the black speck.

The black speck was the head of Orion. He was swimming back to Artemis from the country of the bad king.

The speck at once went under the water and was seen no more.

When Artemis found what she had done, she was very sad indeed. She could not bring Orion back to earth, but she took him up into the sky and put him among the stars, and there he is standing to this day.

If you will look up into the sky on any clear winter night, you can see him. Just before him is his dog. We call it the Dog Star.


The Wind And The Clouds

The Sun and the Moon had a brother, the Summer Wind. His name was Hermes, but sometimes he was called Mercury.

He had shoes with wings on them, which always took him very quickly wherever he wished to go, and he had a magic cap which kept him from being seen.

He ran on errands for his father and his older brothers. He went everywhere, and he often picked up things that lay in his way, and that didn't belong to him.

One day, when he was a small child, he crept down to the seaside and there found the shell of a tortoise. He stretched some strings tightly across it, and blew upon the strings, and made wonderful music.

He called this thing a lyre.

On the same day, toward evening, he looked across the meadows and saw some beautiful white cows. His brother Apollo was looking after them.

"What fun it would be to drive those cows away!" he said.

So he crept up behind the cows while Apollo was not looking, and he drove them away. He drove them far, and at last shut them up in a cave, where he thought Apollo could not find them.

Apollo saw that the cows were gone, and went to look for them, but he had a hard time.

He thought that Hermes might have had something to do with them. So he went to Hermes.

Hermes was playing upon the lyre which he had made, and was singing gently to himself.

The music was so beautiful that Apollo forgot all about his cows.

"Where did you find that wonderful thing?" asked Apollo.

"O, I made it," said Hermes.

"Let me see it!" cried Apollo. "Show me how to play upon it."

Hermes showed him, and Apollo sat down and played until it grew dark.

"O, give me this thing! I must have it," said Apollo.

So Hermes gave it to him, and Apollo played upon it, gently at first, and then louder. He made such wild, sweet music as had never before been heard.

To pay for the lyre, Apollo gave Hermes a magic stick which would bring sleep to men and would stop all quarreling.

One day Hermes saw two snakes fighting. He touched them with the magic stick, and they stopped at once and wound themselves around it, and stayed there ever after.

In the pictures of Hermes you will see this magic stick with the snakes around it. You will see, too, the cap and the shoes, with the wings upon them.

When Hermes and Apollo had made these gifts to each other, Apollo said:

"Hermes, my dear boy, you like my white cows so well that I am going to let you take care of them. I shall not have much time to take care of cows now, for you know I am learning to play upon the lyre."

Hermes took care of the white cows after that, and on summer days he used to drive them across the blue meadows of the sky.

When the Greeks saw the white clouds running before the wind, they would say:

"It is Hermes driving his cows to pasture."


The Rainbow Bridge

Hermes was so useful that Juno, the queen of the heavens, thought she must have a messenger, too. So she took Iris, a little sky fairy.

Iris lived up among the clouds, and played with the stars, and romped with the little winds.

At night she used to sleep in the silver cradle of the Moon.

Sometimes Apollo, the Sun, took her in his golden car. Sometimes she slipped down to earth with the rain. Sometimes she went to visit her grandfather, the gray old Sea.

Her grandfather was always glad to see her, and when she came down, he would hitch up his white sea horses and drive her over the tops of the waves. What fun that was!

Old grandfather Sea loved Iris very much, and Apollo loved her, and Juno loved her.

No one who saw her could help loving her; she was so bright and beautiful and good.

When Juno sent her down to the earth on errands, the old Sea always wanted her to stay.

But Apollo, the Sun, wanted her, too, and Juno wanted her.

At last the Sun and the Sea and the Air and the Rain all said they would make a bridge for Iris, so that she might go back and forth more quickly between the earth and the sky, on the errands of Juno.

The Earth brought the colors of all her beautiful flowers -- rose, and blue, and violet, and yellow, and orange, and the green of the grass.

The Sea gave silver mist.

The Clouds gave gray and gold.

The Sun himself spun the bridge out of all these colors.

Then he fastened one end of it to the sky and hung a pot of gold on the other end, to keep it from blowing away; and it is said that the pot of gold is still there in the earth at the end of the rainbow bridge.

<eob>

Among The Pond People

By

Clara Dillingham Pierson



The Biggest Frog Awakens


The Biggest Frog stretched the four toes of his right forefoot. Then he stretched the four toes of his left forefoot. Next he stretched the five toes of his right hindfoot. And last of all he stretched the four toes of his left hindfoot. Then he stretched all seventeen toes at once. He should have had eighteen toes to stretch, like his friends and neighbors, but something had happened to the eighteenth one a great many years before. None of the pond people knew what had happened to it, but something had, and when the Tadpoles teased him to tell them what, he only stared at them with his great eyes and said, "My children, that story is too sad to tell."

After the Biggest Frog had stretched all his toes, he stretched his legs and twitched his lips. He poked his head out of the mud a very, very little way, and saw a Minnow swimming past. "Good day!" said he. "Is it time to get up?"

"Time!" exclaimed the Minnow, looking at him with her mouth open. "I should say it was. Why, the watercress is growing!"

Now every one who lives in a pond knows that when the watercress begins to grow, it is time for all the winter sleepers to awaken. The Biggest Frog crawled out of the mud and poked this way and that all around the spot where he had spent the cold weather. "Wake up!" he said. "Wake up! Wake up!" The water grew dark and cloudy because he kicked up so much mud, but when it began to clear again he saw the heads of his friends peeping up everywhere out of that part of the pond bottom. Seven of them had huddled close to him all winter. "Come out!" he cried. "The spring is here, and it is no time for Frogs to be asleep."

"Asleep! No indeed!" exclaimed his sister, an elderly and hard-working Frog, as she swam to the shore and crawled out on it. She ate every bit of food that she found on the way, for neither she nor any of the others had taken a mouthful since the fall before.

The younger Frogs followed through the warmer shallow water until they were partly out of it. There is always a Biggest Frog in every pond. All the young Frogs thought how fine it would be to become the Biggest Frog of even a very small puddle, for then they could tell the others what to do. Now they looked at their leader and each said to himself, "Perhaps some day I shall begin the concert."

The Biggest Frog found a comfortable place and sat down. He toed in with his eight front toes, as well-bred frogs do, and all his friends toed in with their eight front toes. He toed out with his nine back toes, and all his friends toed out with their ten back toes. One young Yellow Brown Frog said, "How I wish I did not have that bothersome fifth toe on my left hindfoot! It is so in the way! Besides, there is such a style about having one's hind feet different." He spoke just loud enough for the Biggest Frog to hear. Any one would know from this remark that he was young and foolish, for when people are wise they know that the most beautiful feet and ears and bodies are just the way that they were first made to be.

Now the Biggest Frog swallowed a great deal of air, filled the sacs on each side of his neck with it, opened his big mouth, and sang croakily, "Frogs! Frogs! Frogs! Frogs! Frogs! Frogs! Frogs! Frogs!" And all the others sang, "Frogs! Frogs! Frogs!" as long as he. The Gulls heard it, and the Muskrats heard it, and all were happy because spring had come.

A beautiful young Green Brown Frog, who had never felt grown-up until now, tried to sing with the others, but she had not a strong voice, and was glad enough to stop and visit with the Biggest Frog's Sister. "Don't you wish we could sing as loudly as they can?" said she.

"No," answered the Biggest Frog's Sister. "I would rather sit on the bank and think about my spring work. Work first, you know, and pleasure afterward!"

"Oh!" said the Green Brown Frog. "Then you don't want to sing until your work is done?"

"You may be very sure I don't want to sing then," answered the older Frog. "I am too tired. Besides, after the eggs are laid, there is no reason for wanting to sing."

"Why not?" asked the Green Brown Frog. "I don't see what difference that makes."

"That," said the older Frog wisely, "is because you are young and have never laid eggs. The great time for singing is before the eggs are laid. There is some singing afterward, but that is only because people expect it of us, and not because we have the same wish to sing." After she had said all this, which was a great deal for a Frog to say at once, she shut her big mouth and slid her eyelids over her eyes.

There was another question which the Green Brown Frog wanted very much to ask, but she had good manners and knew that it was impolite to speak to any Frog whose eyes were not open. So she closed her own eyes and tried to think what the answer would be. When she opened them again, the Biggest Frog's Sister had hopped away, and in her place sat the Yellow Brown Frog, the same handsome young fellow who had found one of his toes in the way. It quite startled her to find him sitting so close to her and she couldn't think of anything to say, so she just looked at him with her great beautiful eyes and toed in a little more with her front feet. That made him look at them and see how pretty they were, although of course this was not the reason why she had moved them.

The Yellow Brown Frog hopped a little nearer and sang as loudly as he could, "Frogs! Frogs! Frogs! Frogs! Frogs! Frogs! Frogs! Frogs!" Then she knew that he was singing just for her, and she was exceedingly happy. She swallowed air very fast because she seemed to be out of breath from thinking what she should answer. She had wanted to ask the Biggest Frog's Sister what she should say if any one sang to her alone. She knew that if she wanted to get away from him, all she had to do was to give a great jump and splash into the water. She didn't want to go away, yet she made believe that she did, for she hopped a little farther from him.

He knew she was only pretending, though, for she hadn't hopped more than the length of a grass-blade. So he followed her and kept on singing. Because she knew that she must say something, she just opened her mouth and sang the first words that she could think of; and what she sang was, "Eggs! Eggs! Eggs! Eggs! Eggs! Eggs! Eggs! Eggs!" As it happened, this was exactly what she should have sung, so he knew that she liked him. They stayed together for a long, long time, and he sang a great deal and very loudly, and she sang a little and very softly.

After a while she remembered that she was now a fully grown Frog and had spring work to do, and she said to him, "I really must lay some eggs. I am going into the water."

"Then I will go too," said he. And they gave two great leaps and came down with two great splashes.

The Green Brown Frog laid eggs for four days, and the Yellow Brown Frog stayed with her all that time and took care of the eggs after she had laid them. They were covered with a sort of green jelly which made them stick to each other as they floated in little heaps on the water. The Frogs thought that a good thing, for then, when the Tadpoles hatched, each would have playmates near.

One day, after the eggs were all laid and were growing finely (for Frogs' eggs grow until the Tadpoles are ready to eat their way out), the Green Brown Frog sat alone on the bank of the pond and the Biggest Frog's Sister came to her. She had a queer smile around the corners of her mouth. Frogs have excellent mouths for smiling, but it takes a very broad smile to go way across, so when they smile a little it is only at the corners. "How are your eggs growing?" she asked.

"Oh," answered the Green Brown Frog sadly, "I can't tell which ones they are."

"That's just like a young Frog," said the Biggest Frog's Sister. "Is there any reason why you should know which ones they are? It isn't as though you were a bird and had to keep them warm, or as though you were a Mink and had to feed your children. The sun will hatch them and they will feed themselves all they need."

"I think," said the Green Brown Frog, "that my eggs were a little better than the rest."

"Yes," croaked the Biggest Frog's Sister, "every Frog thinks that."

"And I wanted to have my own Tadpoles to look after," sighed the Green Brown Frog.

"Why?" asked the Biggest Frog's Sister. "Can't you take any comfort with a Tadpole unless you laid the egg from which he was hatched? I never know one of my own eggs a day after it is laid. There are such a lot floating around that they are sure to get mixed. But I just make the best of it."

"How?" asked the Green Brown Frog, looking a little more cheerful.

"Oh, I swim around and look at all the eggs, and whenever I see any Tadpoles moving in them I think, 'Those may be mine!' As they are hatched I help any one who needs it. Poor sort of Frog it would be who couldn't like other people's Tadpoles!"

"I believe I'll do that way," said the Green Brown Frog. "And then," she added, "what a comfort it will be if any of them are cross or rude, to think, 'I'm glad I don't know that they are mine.'"

"Yes," said the Biggest Frog's Sister. "I often tell my brother that I pity people who have to bring up their own children. It is much pleasanter to let them grow up as they do and then adopt the best ones. Do you know, I have almost decided that you are my daughter? My brother said this morning that he thought you looked like me."




The Dance Of The Sand-Hill Cranes


One fine day in spring, a great flock of Sand-hill Cranes came from the south. They were flying high and quietly because the weather was bright. If it had been stormy, or if they had been flying by night, as they usually did, they would have stayed nearer the ground, and their leader would have trumpeted loudly to let his followers know which way he was going. They would also have trumpeted, but more softly, to tell him that they were coming after.

They were a fine company to look upon, orderly, strong, and dignified. Their long necks were stretched out straight ahead, their long legs straight behind, and they beat the air with slow, regular strokes of the strong wings. As they came near the pond, they flew lower and lower, until all swept down to the earth and alighted, tall and stately, by the edge of the water.

They had eaten nothing for several days, and were soon hunting for food, some on land, and some in the water, for they had stopped to feed and rest. Those who hunted in the water, did so very quietly. A Crane would stand on one leg, with his head against his breast, so quietly that one might think him asleep: but as soon as anything eatable came near, he would bend his body, stretch out his neck, open his long, slender bill, and swallow it at one gulp. Then he would seem to fall asleep again.

While most of the Cranes were still feeding, some of them were stalking through the woods and looking this way and that, flying up to stand on a tree, and then flying down to stand on the ground. They were those who thought of staying there for the summer.

When the flock arose to fly on again, eight Cranes stayed behind. They watched their friends fly away, and stood on the ground with their necks and bills uplifted and mouths open, while they trumpeted or called out, "Good-bye! Stop for us in the fall!" The flying Cranes trumpeted back, "We will! Don't forget us!"

That night they slept near together, as they had done when with the large flock, and one Crane kept awake to watch for danger while the others tucked their heads under their wings. They were fine looking, even when they slept, and some people never look well unless they are awake. They were brownish-gray, with no bright markings at all, and their long legs gave them a very genteel look. The tops of their heads were covered with warty red skin, from which grew short black feathers that looked more like hairs.

One morning, when the Cranes awakened, a fine young fellow began to strut up and down before the rest, bowing low, and leaping high into the air, and every now and then whooping as loudly as he could. The Gulls, who had spent the winter by the pond, screamed to each other, "The Crane dance has begun!" Even the Frogs, who are afraid of Cranes, crept quietly near to look on.

It was not long before another young Crane began to skip and hop and circle around, drooping his wings and whooping as he went. Every Crane danced, brothers, and sisters, and all, and as they did so, they looked lovingly at each other, and admired the fine steps and enjoyed the whooping. This went on until they were so tired they could hardly stand, and had to stop to eat and rest.

When they were eating, the young fellow who had begun the dance, stalked up to the sister of one of his friends, as she stood in the edge of the pond, gracefully balanced on one leg. She did not turn her head towards him, although, having such a long and slender neck, she could have done so with very little trouble. She stood with her head on her breast and looked at the water. After a while, he trumpeted softly, as though he were just trying his voice. Then she gave a pretty little start, and said, "Oh, are you here? How you did frighten me!"

"I am sorry," he said. "I did not want to frighten you." And he looked at her admiringly.

"It was just for a minute," she answered. "Of course I am not frightened now that I know who it is."

Then they stood and fished for a long time without saying anything. When she flew away, she said, "That is a very pleasant fishing-place." He stood on the other leg for a while, and thought how sweet her voice sounded as she said it. Then he thought that, if she liked the place so well, she might come there again the next day. He wondered why he could not come too, although everybody knows that a Crane catches more if he fishes alone.

The next morning, when the Cranes danced, he bowed to her oftener than to any of the rest, and he thought she noticed it. They danced until they were almost too tired to move, and indeed he had to rest for a while before he went to feed. As she stalked off toward the pond, she passed him, and she said over her shoulder, "I should think you would be hungry. I am almost starved." After she had gone, he wondered why she had said that. If he had been an older Crane, and understood the ways of the world a little better, he would have known that she meant, "Aren't you coming to that fishing-place? I am going now." Still, although he was such a young Crane and had never danced until this year, he began to think that she liked him and enjoyed having him near. So he flew off to the fishing-place where he had seen her the day before, and he stalked along to where she was, and stood close to her while she fished. Once, when he caught something and swallowed it at one gulp, she looked admiringly at him and said, "What fine, big mouthfuls you can take!"

That pleased him, of course, because Cranes think that big mouthfuls are the best kind, so he tipped his head to one side, and watched his neck as the mouthful slid down to his stomach. He could see it from the outside, a big bunch slowly moving downward. He often did this while he was eating. He thought it very interesting. He pitied short-necked people. Then he said, "Pooh! I can take bigger mouthfuls than that. You ought to see what big mouthfuls I can take."

She changed, and stood on her other leg. "I saw you dancing this morning," she said. Now it was not at all queer that she should have seen him dancing, for all the eight Cranes had danced together, but he thought it very wonderful.

"Did you notice to whom I bowed?" he asked. He was so excited that his knees shook, and he had to stand on both legs at once to keep from falling. When a Crane is as much excited as that, it is pretty serious.

"To my sister?" she asked carelessly, as she drew one of her long tail-feathers through her beak.

"No," said he. "I bowed to her sister." He thought that was a very clever thing to say. But she suddenly raised her head, and said, "There! I have forgotten something," and flew off, as she had done the day before. He wondered what it was. Long afterward he asked her what she had forgotten and she said she couldn't remember -- that she never could remember what she had forgotten.

It made him feel very badly to have her leave him so. He wanted a chance to tell her something, yet, whenever he tried to, it seemed to stick in his bill. He began to fear that she didn't like him; and the next time the Cranes danced he didn't bow to her so much, but he strutted and leaped and whooped even more. And she strutted and leaped and whooped almost as loudly as he. When they were all tired out and had stopped dancing, she said to him, "I am so tired! Let us go off into the woods and rest."

You may be very sure he was glad to go, and as he stalked off with her, he led the way to a charming nesting-place. He didn't know just how to tell what he wanted to, but he had seen another Crane bowing to her, and was afraid she might marry him if he was not quick. Now he pointed with one wing to this nesting-place, and said, "How would you like to build a nest there?"

She looked where he had pointed, "I?" she said. "Why, it is a lovely place, but I could never have a nest alone."

"Let me help you," he said. "I want to marry and have a home."

"Why," said she, as she preened her feathers, "that is a very good plan. When did you think of it?"

So they were married, and Mrs. Sand-Hill Crane often told her friends afterward that Mr. Crane was so much in love with her that she just had to marry him. They were very, very happy, and after a while -- but that is another story.




The Young Minnow Who Would Not Eat When He Should


"When I grow up," said one young Minnow, "I am going to be a Bullhead, and scare all the little fishes."

"I'm not," said his sister. "I'm going to be a Sucker, and lie around in the mud."

"Lazy! Lazy!" cried the other young Minnows, wiggling their front fins at her.

"What is the matter?" asked a Father Minnow, swimming in among them with a few graceful sweeps of his tail, and stopping himself by spreading his front fins. He had the beautiful scarlet coloring on the under part of his body which Father Minnows wear in the summer-time. That is, most of them do, but some wear purple. "What is the matter?" he asked again, balancing himself with his top fin and his two hind ones.

Then all the little Minnows spoke at once. "He says that when he grows up he is going to be a Bullhead, and frighten all the small fishes; and she says that she is going to be a Sucker, and lie around in the mud; and we say that Suckers are lazy, and they are lazy, aren't they?"

"I am surprised at you," began the Father Minnow severely, "to think that you should talk such nonsense. You ought to know --  -- "

But just then a Mother Minnow swam up to him. "The Snapping Turtle is looking for you," she said. Father Minnow hurried away and she turned to the little ones. "I heard what you were saying," she remarked, with a twinkle in her flat, round eyes. "Which of you is going to be a Wild Duck? Won't somebody be a Frog?" She had had more experience in bringing up children than Father Minnow, and she didn't scold so much. She did make fun of them though, sometimes; and you can do almost anything with a young Minnow if you love him a great deal and make fun of him a little.

"Why-ee!" said the young Minnows. "We wouldn't think of being Wild Ducks, and we couldn't be Frogs, you know. Frogs have legs -- four of them. A fish couldn't be a Frog if he wanted to!"

"No," said Mother Minnow. "A fish cannot be anything but a fish, and a Minnow cannot be anything but a Minnow. So if you will try to be just as good Minnows as you can, we will let the little Bullheads and Suckers do their own growing up."

She looked at them all again with her flat, round eyes, which saw so much and were always open, because there was nothing to make them shut. She saw one tiny fellow hiding behind his brother. "Have you torn your fin again?" she asked.

"Yes'm, just a little," said he. "A boy caught me when he was in wading, and I tore it when I flopped away from him."

"Dreadful!" said she. "How you do look! If you are so careless, you will soon not have a whole fin to your back -- or your front either. Children, you must remember to swim away from boys. When the Cows wade in to drink, you may stay among them, if you wish. They are friendly. We pond people are afraid of boys, although some of them are said not to be dangerous."

"Pooh!" said one young Minnow. "All the pond people are not so afraid! The Bloodsuckers say they like them."

The Mother Minnow looked very severe when he said this, but she only replied, "Very well. When you are a Bloodsucker you may stay near boys. As long as you are a Minnow, you must stay away."

"Now," she added, "swim along, the whole school of you! I am tired and want a nap in the pondweed." So they all swam away, and she wriggled her silvery brown body into the soft green weeds and had a good sleep. She was careful to hide herself, for there were some people in the pond whom she did not want to have find her; and, being a fish, she could not hear very distinctly if they came near. Of course her eyes were open even when she was asleep, because she had no eyelids, but they were not working although they were open. That is an uncomfortable thing about being a fish -- one cannot hear much. One cannot taste much either, or feel much, yet when one has always been a fish and is used to it, it is not so hard.

She slept a long time, and then the whole school of young Minnows came to look for her. "We are afraid," they cried. "We feel so very queerly. We don't know how we feel, either, and that is the worst part of it. It might be in our stomachs, or it might be in our fins, and perhaps there is something wrong with our gill-covers. Wake up and tell us what is the matter."

The Mother Minnow awakened and she felt queerly too, but, being older, she knew what was the matter. "That," she said, "is the storm feeling."

"But," said the young Minnows, "there isn't any storm."

"No," she answered wisely. "Not now."

"And there hasn't been any," they said.

"No," she answered again. "The storm you feel is the storm that is going to be."

"And shall we always feel it so?" they asked.

"Always before a storm," she said.

"Why?" asked the young Minnows.

"Because," said she. "There is no answer to that question, but just 'because.' When the storm comes you cannot smell your food and find it, so you must eat all you can before then. Eat everything you can find and be quick." As she spoke she took a great mouthful of pondweed and swallowed it.

All but one of the young Minnows swam quickly away to do as she had told them to. This young Minnow wanted to know just how and why and all about it, so he stayed to ask questions. You know there are some questions which fishes cannot answer, and some which Oxen cannot answer, and some which nobody can answer; and when the Mother Minnow told the young Minnows what she did, she had nothing more to tell. But there are some young Minnows who never will be satisfied, and who tease, and tease, and tease, and tease.

"Hurry along and eat all you can," said the Mother Minnow to him again.

"I want to know," said he, opening his mouth very wide indeed and breathing in a great deal of water as he spoke, "I want to know where I feel queerly."

"I can't tell," said the Mother Minnow, between mouthfuls. "No fish can tell."

"Well, what makes me feel queerly there?"

"The storm," said she.

"How does it make me feel queerly?"

"I don't know," said the Mother Minnow.

"Who does know?" asked the young Minnow.

"Nobody," said she, swallowing some more pondweed of one kind and then beginning on another. "Do eat something or you will be very hungry by and by."

"Well, why does a storm make me feel so?" asked he.

"Because!" said she. She said it very firmly and she was quite right in saying it then, for there was a cause, yet she could not tell what it was. There are only about seven times in one's life when it is right to answer in this way, and what the other six are you must decide for yourself.

Just then there was a peal of thunder which even a Minnow could hear, and the wind blew until the slender forest trees bent far over. The rain came down in great drops which pattered on the water of the pond and started tiny circles around each drop, every circle spreading wider and wider until it touched other circles and broke. Down in the darkened water the fishes lay together on the bottom, and wondered how long it would last, and hoped it would not be a great, great while before they could smell their food again.

One little fellow was more impatient than the others. "Didn't you eat enough to last you?" they said.

"I didn't eat anything," he answered.

"Not anything!" they exclaimed. "Why not?"

"Because!" said he. And that was not right, for he did know the reason. His mother looked at him, and he looked at her, and she had a twinkle in her round, flat eyes. "Poor child!" she thought. "He must be hungry." But she said nothing.




The Stickleback Father


Nobody can truthfully say that the Sticklebacks are not good fathers. There are no other fish fathers who work so hard for their children as the Sticklebacks do. As to the Stickleback Mothers -- well, that is different.

This particular Stickleback Father had lived, ever since he had left the nest, with a little company of his friends in a quiet place near the edge of the pond. Sometimes, when they tired of staying quietly at home, they had made short journeys up a brook that emptied into the pond. It was a brook that flowed gently over an even bed, else they would never have gone there, for Sticklebacks like quiet waters. When they swam in this little stream, they met the Brook Trout, who were much larger than they, and who were the most important people there.

Now this Stickleback was a year old and knew much more than he did the summer before. When the alder tassels and pussy willows hung over the edge of the pond in the spring-time, he began to think seriously of life. He was no longer really young, and the days were past in which he was contented to just swim and eat and sleep. It was time he should build a home and raise a family if he wanted to ever be a grandfather. He had a few relatives who were great-grandfathers, and one who was a great-great-grandfather. That does not often happen, because to be a Stickleback Great-great-grandfather, one must be four years old, and few Sticklebacks live to that age.

As he began to think about these things, he left the company of his friends and went to live by himself. He chose a place near the edge of the pond to be his home; and he brushed the pond-bottom there with his tail until he had swept away all the loose sticks and broken shells. He told some Pond Snails, who were there, that they must move away because he wanted the place. At first they didn't want to go, but when they saw how fierce he looked, they thought about it again and decided that perhaps there were other places which would suit them quite as well -- indeed, they might find one that they liked even better. Besides, as one of them said to his brother, they had to remember that in ponds it is always right for the weak people to give up to the strong people.

"It will take us quite a while to move," they said to him, "for you know we cannot hurry, but we will begin at once."

All the rest of that day each Snail was lengthening and shortening his one foot, which was his only way of walking. You can see how slow that must be, for a Snail cannot lift his foot from one place and put it down in another, or he would have nothing to stand on while he was lifting it. This was a very hard day for them, yet they were cheerful and made the best of it.

"Well," said one, as he stopped to rest his foot, "I'm glad we don't have to build a home when we do find the right place. How I pity people who have to do that!"

"Yes," said his brother. "There are not many so sure of their homes as we. And what people want of so much room, I can't understand! A Muskrat told me he wanted room to turn around in his house. I don't see what use there is in turning round, do you?"

"No," answered the other Snail, beginning to walk again. "It is just one of his silly ideas. My shell is big enough to let me draw in my whole body, and that is house room enough for any person!"

The Stickleback had not meant to look fierce at the Pond Snails. He had done so because he couldn't help it. All his fins were bristling with sharp points of bone, and he had extra bone-points sticking out of his back, besides wearing a great many of his flat bones on the outside. All his family had these extra bones, and that was why they were called Sticklebacks. They were a brave family and not afraid of many things, although they were so small. There came a time when the Stickleback Father wanted to look fierce, but that was later. Now he went to work to build his nest.

First he made a little hollow in the pond-bottom, and lined it with watergrass and tiny pieces of roots. Next, he made the side-walls of the same things, and last of all, the roof. When it was done, he swam carefully into it and looked around. Under and beside and over him were soft grasses and roots. At each end was an open doorway. "It is a good nest," he said, "a very good nest for my first one. Now I must ask some of my friends to lay eggs in it for me."

Before doing this, he went to look at the homes built by his neighbors. After he left the company in the quiet pool, many others did the same, until the only Sticklebacks left there were the dull-colored ones, the egg-layers. The nest-builders had been dull-colored, too, but in the spring-time there came beautiful red and blue markings on their bodies, until now they were very handsome fellows. It is sad to tell, still it is true, that they also became very cross at this time. Perhaps it was the work and worry of nest-building that made them so, yet, whatever it was, every bright-colored Stickleback wanted to fight every other bright-colored Stickleback. That was how it happened that, when this one went to look at the nest of an old friend, with whom he had played ever since he was hatched, this same friend called out, "Don't you come near my nest!"

The visiting Stickleback replied, "I shall if I want to!" Then they swam at each other and flopped and splashed and pushed and jabbed until both were very tired and sore, and each was glad to stay by his own home. This was the time when they wanted to look fierce.

Soon the dull-colored Sticklebacks came swimming past, waving their tails gracefully, and talking to each other. Now this fine fellow, who had sent the Snails away and built his nest, who had fought his old friend and come home again, swam up to a dull-colored Stickleback, and said, "Won't you lay a few eggs in my nest? I'm sure you will find it comfortable."

She answered, "Why, yes! I wouldn't mind laying a few there." And she tried to look as though she had not expected the invitation. While she was carefully laying the eggs in the nest, he stood ready to fight anybody who disturbed her. She came out after a while and swam away. Before she went, she said, "Aren't you ashamed to fight so? We dull-colored ones never fight." She held her fins very stiff as she spoke, because she thought it her duty to scold him. The dull-colored Sticklebacks often did this. They thought that they were a little better than the others; so they swam around together and talked about things, and sometimes forgot how hard it was to be the nest-builder and stay at home and work. Then they called upon the bright-colored Sticklebacks, for they really liked them very much, and told them what they should do. That was why this one said, "We dull-colored ones never fight."

"Have you ever been red and blue?" asked the nest-builder.

"N -- no," said she. "But I don't see what difference that makes."

"Well, it does make a difference," said he. "When a fellow is red and blue, he can't help fighting. I'll be as good-natured as any of you after I stop being red and blue."

Of course she could not say anything more after that, so she swam off to her sisters. The bright-colored Stickleback looked at the eggs she had laid. They were sticky, like the eggs of all fishes, so that they stuck to the bottom of the nest. He covered them carefully, and after that he was really a Stickleback Father. It is true that he did not have any Stickleback children to swim around him and open their dear little mouths at him, but he knew that the eggs would hatch soon, and that after he had built a nest and covered the eggs in it, the tiny Sticklebacks were beginning to grow.

However, he wanted more eggs in his nest, so he watched for another dull-colored Stickleback and called her in to help him. He did this until he had almost an hundred eggs there, and all this time he had fought every bright-colored Stickleback who came near him. He became very tired indeed; but he had to fight, you know, because he was red and blue. And he had covered all the eggs and guarded them, else they would never have hatched.

The dull-colored Sticklebacks were also tired. They had been swimming from nest to nest, laying a few eggs in each. Now they went off together to a quiet pool and ate everything they could find to eat, and visited with each other, and said it was a shame that the bright-colored Sticklebacks had fought so, and told how they thought little Sticklebacks should be brought up.

And now the red and blue markings on the Stickleback Father grew paler and paler, until he did not have to fight at all, and could call upon his friends and see how their children were hatching. One fine day, his first child broke the shell, and then another and another, until he had an hundred beautiful Stickleback babies to feed. He worked hard for them, and some nights, when he could stop and rest, his fins ached as though they would drop off. But they never did.

As the Stickleback children grew stronger, they swam off to take care of themselves, and he had less to do. When the last had gone, he left the old nest and went to the pool where the dull-colored Sticklebacks were. They told him he was not looking well, and that he hadn't managed the children right, and that they thought he tried to do too much.

He was too tired to talk about it, so he just said, "Perhaps," and began to eat something. Yet, down in his fatherly heart he knew it was worth doing. He knew, too, that when spring should come once more, he would become red and blue again, and build another nest, and fight and work and love as he had done before. "There is nothing in the world better than working for one's own little Sticklebacks," said he.




The Careless Caddis Worm


When the Caddis Fly felt like laying eggs, she crawled down the stalk of one of the pond plants and laid them there. She covered them with something sticky, so that they were sure to stay where she put them. "There!" she said, as she crawled up to the air again. "My work is done." Soon after this, she lay down for a long, long rest. What with flying, and visiting, and laying eggs, she had become very tired; and it was not strange, for she had not eaten a mouthful since she got her wings.

This had puzzled the Dragon-Flies very much. They could not understand it, because they were always eating. They would have liked to ask her about it, but they went to sleep for the night soon after she got up, and whenever she saw them coming she flew away. "I do not seem to feel hungry," said she, "so why should I eat? Besides," she added, "I couldn't eat if I wanted to, my mouth is so small and weak. I ate a great deal while I was growing -- quite enough to last me -- and it saves time not to bother with hunting food now."

When her eggs hatched, the larvae were slender, soft, six-footed babies called Caddis Worms. They were white, and they showed as plainly in the water as a pond-lily does on the top of it. It is not safe to be white if one is to live in the water; certainly not unless one can swim fast and turn quickly. And there is a reason for this, as any one of the pond people will tell you. Even the fishes wear all their white on the under side of their bodies, so that if they swim near the top of the water, a hungry Fish Hawk is not so likely to see them and pounce down on them.

The Caddis Worms soon found that white was not a good color to wear, and they talked of it among themselves. They were very bright larvae. One day the biggest one was standing on a stem of pickerel-weed, when his sister came toward him. She did not come very fast, because she was neither swimming nor walking, but biting herself along. All the Caddis Worms did this at times, for their legs were weak. She reached as far forward as she could, and fastened her strong jaws in the weed, then she gave a jerk and pulled her body ahead. "It is a very good way to travel," said she, "and such a saving of one's legs." Now she was in so great a hurry that sometimes when she pulled herself ahead, she turned a half-somersault and came down on her back.

"What is the matter?" called the Biggest Caddis Worm. "Don't hurry so. There is lots of time." That was just him, for he was lazy. Everybody said so.

"I must hurry," said she, and she breathed very fast with the white breathing hairs that grew on both sides of her body. She picked herself up from her last somersault and stood beside her brother, near enough to speak quite softly. "I have been getting away from Belostoma," she said, "and I was dreadfully afraid he would catch me."

"Well, you're all right now, aren't you?" asked her brother. And that was also like him. As long as he could have enough to eat and was comfortable, he did not want to think about anything unpleasant.

"No, I'm not," she answered, "and I won't be so long as any hungry fish or water-bug can see me so plainly. I'm tired of being white."

"You are not so white as you were," said her brother. "None of us children are. Our heads and the front part of our bodies are turning brown and getting harder." That was true, and he was particularly hard-headed.

"Yes, but what about the rest of us?" said she, and surely there was some excuse for her if she was impatient. "If Belostoma can see part of me and chase that, he will find the rest of me rather near by."

"Keep quiet then, and see if you don't get hard and brown all over," said he.

"I never shall," said she. "I went to the Clams and asked them if I would, and they said 'No.' I'm going to build a house to cover the back part of my body, and you'd better do the same thing."

The Biggest Caddis Worm looked very much surprised. "Whatever made you think of that?" said he.

"I suppose because there wasn't anything else to think of," said she. "One has to think of something."

"I don't," said he.

She started away to where her other brothers and sisters were. "Where are you going?" cried he.

"Going to build my house," answered she. "You'd better come too."

"Not now," said he. "I am waiting to get the rest of my breakfast. I'll come by and by."

The Biggest Caddis Worm stood on the pickerel-weed and ate his breakfast. Then he stood there a while longer. "I do not think it is well to work right after eating," he said. Below him in the water, his brothers and sisters were busily gathering tiny sticks, stones, and bits of broken shell, with which to make their houses. Each Caddis Worm found his own, and fastened them together with a sort of silk which he pulled out of his body. They had nobody to show them how, so each planned to suit himself, and no two were exactly alike.

"I'm going to make my house big enough so I can pull in my head and legs when I want to," said one.

"So am I," cried all the other Caddis Worms.

After a while, somebody said, "I'm going to have an open door at the back of my house." Then each of his busy brothers and sisters cried, "So am I."

When the tiny houses were done, each Caddis Worm crawled inside of his own, and lay with head and legs outside the front door. The white part of their bodies did not show at all, and, if they wanted to do so, they could pull their heads in. Even Belostoma, the Giant Water-Bug, might have passed close to them then and not seen them at all.

"Let's hook ourselves in!" cried one Caddis Worm, and all the others answered, "Let's."

So each hooked himself in with the two stout hooks which grew at the end of his body, and there they were as snug and comfortable as Clams. About this time the Big Brother came slowly along the stem of pickerel-weed. "What," said he, "you haven't got your houses done already?"

"Yes," answered the rest joyfully. "See us pull in our heads." And they all pulled in their heads and poked them out again. He was the only white-bodied person in sight.

"I must have a home," said he. "I wish one of you Worms would give me yours. You could make yourself another, you know. There is lots more stuff."

"Make it yourself," they replied. "Help yourself to stuff."

"But I don't know how," he said, "and you do."

"Whose fault is that?" asked his sister. Then she was afraid that he might think her cross, and she added quickly, "We'll tell you how, if you'll begin."

The Biggest Caddis Worm got together some tiny sticks and stones and pieces of broken shell, but it wasn't very much fun working alone. Then they told him what to do, and how to fasten them to each other with silk. "Be sure you tie them strongly," they said.

"Oh, that's strong enough," he answered. "It'll do, anyhow. If it comes to pieces I can fix it." His brothers and sisters thought he should make it stouter, yet they said nothing more, for he would not have liked it if they had; and they had already said so once. When he crawled into his house and hooked himself in, there was not a Caddis Worm in sight, and they were very proud to think how they had planned and built their houses. They did not know that Caddis Worms had always done so, and they thought themselves the first to ever think of such a thing.

The Biggest Caddis Worm's house was not well fastened together, and every day he said, "I really must fix it to-morrow." But when to-morrow came, it always proved to be to-day, and, besides, he usually found something more interesting to be done. It took him a great deal of time to change his skin, and that could not be easily put off. He grew so fast that he was likely to awaken almost any morning and find his head poking through the top of his skin, and, lazy as he was, he would not have the pond people see him around with a crack in the skin of his head, right where it showed. So when this happened, he always pulled his body through the crack, and threw the old skin away. There was sure to be a whole new one underneath, you know.

When they had changed their skin many times, the Caddis Worms became more quiet and thoughtful. At last the sister who had first planned to build houses, fastened hers to a stone, and spun gratings across both its front and its back doors. "I am going to sleep," she said, "to grow my feelers and get ready to fly and breathe air. I don't want anybody to awaken me. All I want to do is to sleep and grow and breathe. The water will come in through the gratings, so I shall be all right. I couldn't sleep in a house where there was not plenty of fresh water to breathe." Then she cuddled down and dozed off, and when her brothers and sisters spoke of her, they called her "the Caddis Nymph."

They did not speak of her many times, however, for they soon fastened their houses to something solid, and spun gratings in their doorways and went to sleep.

One day a Water-Adder came around where all the Caddis houses were. "Um-hum," said he to himself. "There used to be a nice lot of Caddis Worms around here, and now I haven't seen one in ever so long. I suppose they are hidden away somewhere asleep. Well, I must go away from here and find my dinner. I am nearly starved. The front half of my stomach hasn't a thing in it." He whisked his tail and went away, but that whisk hit a tiny house of sticks, stones, and bits of broken shell, and a fat sleeping Caddis Nymph rolled out. It was the Biggest Brother.

Soon Belostoma, the Giant Water-Bug, came that way. "What is this?" he exclaimed, as he saw the sleeping Caddis Nymph. "Somebody built a poor house to sleep in. You need to be cared for, young Caddis." He picked up the sleeping Caddis Nymph in his stout forelegs and swam off. Nobody knows just what happened after that.

When the other Caddis Nymphs awakened, they bit through their gratings and had a good visit before they crawled out of the pond into their new home, the air. "Has anybody seen my biggest brother?" asked one Nymph of another, but everybody answered, "No."

Each looked all around with his two far-apart eyes, and then they decided that he must have awakened first and left the water before them. But you know that he could not have done so, because he could never be a Caddis Fly unless he finished the Nymph-sleep in his house, and he did not do that. He had stopped being a Caddis Worm when he turned into a Caddis Nymph. Nobody will ever know just what did become of him unless Belostoma tells -- and Belostoma is not likely to tell.




The Tadpole Who Wanted To Be Grown-Up


It was a bright, warm April day when the First Tadpole of the season ate his way out of the jelly-covered egg in which he had come to life. He was a very tiny, dark brown fellow. It would be hard to tell just what he did look like, for there is nothing in the world that one Tadpole looks like unless it is another Tadpole. He had a very small head with a busy little mouth opening on the front side of it: just above each end of this mouth was a shining black eye, and on the lower side of his head was a very wiggly tail. Somewhere between his head and the tip of this were his small stomach and places for legs, but one could not see all that in looking at him. It seemed as if what was not head was tail, and what was not tail was head.

When the First Tadpole found himself free in the water, he swam along by the great green floating jelly-mass of Frogs' eggs, and pressed his face up close to first one egg and then another. He saw other Tadpoles almost as large as he, and they were wriggling inside their egg homes. He couldn't talk to them through the jelly-mass -- he could only look at them, and they looked greenish because he saw them through green jelly. They were really dark brown, like him. He wanted them to come out to play with him and he tried to show them that it was more interesting where he was, so he opened and shut his hard little jaws very fast and took big Tadpole-mouthfuls of green jelly.

Perhaps it was seeing this, and perhaps it was because the warm sunshine made them restless -- but for some reason the shut-in Tadpoles nibbled busily at the egg-covering and before long were in the water with their brother. They all looked alike, and nobody except that one particular Tadpole knew who had been the first to hatch. He never forgot it, and indeed why should he? If one has ever been the First Tadpole, he is quite sure to remember the loneliness of it all his life.

Soon they dropped to the bottom of the pond and met their neighbors. They were such little fellows that nobody paid much attention to them. The older pond people often seemed to forget that the Tadpoles heard what they said, and cared too. The Minnows swam in and out among them, and hit them with their fins, and slapped them with their tails, and called them "little-big-mouths," and the Tadpoles couldn't hit back because they were so little. The Minnows didn't hurt the Tadpoles, but they made fun of them, and even the smallest Minnow would swim away if a Tadpole tried to play with him.

Then the Eels talked among themselves about them. "I shall be glad," said one old Father Eel, "when these youngsters hide their breathing-gills and go to the top of the water."

"So shall I," exclaimed a Mother Eel. "They keep their tails wiggling so that it hurts my eyes to look at them. Why can't they lie still and be good?"

Now the Tadpoles looked at each other with their shining black eyes. "What are our breathing-gills?" they asked. "They must be these little things on the sides of our heads."

"They are!" cried the First Tadpole. "The Biggest Frog said so. But I don't see where we can hide them, because they won't come off. And how could we ever breathe water without them?"

"Hear the children talk," exclaimed the Green Brown Frog, who had come down to look the Tadpoles over and decide which were hers. "Why, you won't always want to breathe water. Before long you will have to breathe air by swallowing it, and then you cannot stay long under water. I must go now. I am quite out of breath. Good-bye!"

Then the Tadpoles looked again at each other. "She didn't tell us what to do with our breathing-gills," they said. One of the Tadpoles who had hatched last, swam up to the First Tadpole. "Your breathing-gills are not so large as mine," she said.

"They surely are!" he exclaimed, for he felt very big indeed, having been the first to hatch.

"Oh, but they are not!" cried all his friends. "They don't stick out as they used to." And that was true, for his breathing-gills were sinking into his head, and they found that this was happening to all the older Tadpoles.

The next day they began going to the top to breathe air, the oldest ones first, and so on until they were all there. They thought it much pleasanter than the bottom of the pond, but it was not so safe. There were more dangers to be watched for here, and some of the careless young Tadpoles never lived to be Frogs. It is sad, yet it is always so.

Sometimes the Frogs came to see them, and once -- once, after the Tadpoles had gotten their hindlegs, the Biggest Frog sat in the marsh near by and told them stories of his Tadpolehood. He said that he was always a very good little Tadpole, and always did as the Frogs told him to do; and that he was such a promising little fellow that every Mother Frog in the pond was sure that he had been hatched from one of her eggs.

"And were you?" asked one Tadpole, who never listened carefully, and so was always asking stupid questions.

The Biggest Frog looked at him very sternly. "No," said he, "I was not. Each wanted me as her son, but I never knew to which I belonged. I never knew! Still," he added, "it does not so much matter who a Frog's mother is, if the Frog is truly great." Then he filled the sacs on each side of his neck with air, and croaked loudly. His sister afterward told the Tadpoles that he was thinking of one of the forest people, the Ground Hog, who was very proud because he could remember his grandfather.

The Green Brown Frog came often to look at them and see how they were growing. She was very fond of the First Tadpole. "Why, you have your forelegs!" she exclaimed one morning. "How you do grow!"

"What will I have next?" he asked, "more legs or another tail?"

The Green Brown Frog smiled the whole length of her mouth, and that was a very broad smile indeed. "Look at me," she said. "What change must come next to make you look like a Frog?"

"You haven't any tail," he said slowly. "Is that all the difference between us Tadpoles and Frogs?"

"That is all the difference now," she answered, "but it will take a long, long time for your tail to disappear. It will happen with that quite as it did with your breathing-gills. You will grow bigger and bigger and bigger, and it will grow smaller and smaller and smaller, until some day you will find yourself a Frog." She shut her mouth to get her breath, because, you know, Frogs can only breathe a little through their skins, and then only when they are wet. Most of their air they take in through their noses and swallow with their mouths closed. That is why they cannot make long speeches. When their mouths are open they cannot swallow air.

After a while she spoke again. "It takes as many years to make a newly hatched Tadpole into a fully grown Frog," she said, "as there are toes on one of your hindfeet."

The First Tadpole did not know what a year was, but he felt sure from the way in which she spoke that it was a long, long time, and he was in a hurry to grow up. "I want to be a Frog sooner!" he said, crossly. "It isn't any fun at all being a Tadpole." The Green Brown Frog swam away, he was becoming so disagreeable.

The First Tadpole became crosser and crosser, and was very unreasonable. He did not think of the pleasant things which happened every day, but only of the trying ones. He did not know that Frogs often wished themselves Tadpoles again, and he sulked around in the pondweed all day. Every time he looked at one of his hindfeet it reminded him of what the Green Brown Frog had said, and he even grew out of patience with his tail -- the same strong wiggly little tail of which he had been so proud.

"Horrid old thing!" he said, giving it a jerk. "Won't I be glad to get rid of you?" Then he thought of something -- foolish, vain little First Tadpole that he was. He thought and he thought and he thought and he thought, and when his playmates swam around him he wouldn't chase them, and when they asked him what was the matter, he just answered, "Oh nothing!" as carelessly as could be.

The truth was that he wanted to be a Frog right away, and he thought he knew how he could be. He didn't want to tell the other Tadpoles because he didn't want any one else to become a Frog as soon as he. After a while he swam off to see the Snapping Turtle. He was very much afraid of the Snapping Turtle, and yet he thought him the best one to see just now. "I came to see if you would snap off my tail," said he.

"Your what?" said the Snapping Turtle, in his most surprised way.

"My tail," answered the First Tadpole, who had never had a tail snapped off, and thought it could be easily done. "I want to be a Frog to-day and not wait."

"Certainly," said the Snapping Turtle. "With pleasure! No trouble at all! Anything else I can do for you?"

"No, thank you," said the First Tadpole, "only you won't snap off too much, will you?"

"Not a bit," answered the Snapping Turtle, with a queer look in his eyes. "And if any of your friends are in a hurry to grow up, I shall be glad to help them." Then he swam toward the First Tadpole and did as he had been asked to do.

The next morning all the other Tadpoles crowded around to look at the First Tadpole. "Why-ee!" they cried. "Where is your tail?"

"I don't know," he answered, "but I think the Snapping Turtle could tell you."

"What is this?" asked the Green Brown Frog, swimming up to them. "Did the Snapping Turtle try to catch you? You poor little fellow! How did it happen?" She was very fond of the First Tadpole, and had about decided that he must be one of her sons.

"Well," he said slowly, for he didn't want the other Tadpoles to do the same thing, "I met him last evening and he -- "

"Snapped at you!" exclaimed the Green Brown Frog. "It is lucky for you that he doesn't believe in eating hearty suppers, that is all I have to say! But you are a very foolish Tadpole not to keep out of his way, as you have always been told you must."

Then the First Tadpole lost his temper. "I'm not foolish, and I'm not a Tadpole," he said. "I asked him to snap it off, and now I am a Frog!"

"Oho!" said the voice of the Yellow Brown Frog behind him. "You are a Frog, are you? Let's hear you croak then. Come out on the bank and have a hopping match with me."

"I -- I don't croak yet," stammered the First Tadpole, "a -- and I don't care to hop."

"You are just a tailless Tadpole," said the Yellow Brown Frog sternly. "Don't any more of you youngsters try such a plan, or some of you will be Tadpole-less tails and a good many of you won't be anything."

The old Snapping Turtle waited all morning for some more Tadpoles who wanted to be made into Frogs, but none came. The Biggest Frog croaked hoarsely when he heard of it. "Tails! Tails! Tails! Tails! Tails! Tails! Tails! Tails!" said he. "That youngster will never be a strong Frog. Tadpoles must be Tadpoles, tails and all, for a long time, if they hope to ever be really fine Frogs like me." And that is so, as any Frog will tell you.

The Green Brown Frog sighed as she crawled out on the bank. "What a silly Tadpole," she said; "I'm glad he isn't my child!"




The Runaway Water Spiders


When the little Water Spiders first opened their eyes, and this was as soon as they were hatched, they found themselves in a cosy home of one room which their mother had built under the water. This room had no window and only one door. There was no floor at all. When Father Stickleback had asked Mrs. Spider why she did not make a floor, she had looked at him in great surprise and said, "Why, if I had built one, I should have no place to go in and out." She really thought him quite stupid not to think of that. It often happens, you know, that really clever people think each other stupid, just because they live in different ways. Afterward, Mrs. Water Spider saw Father Stickleback's nest, and understood why he asked that question.

When her home was done, it was half as large as a big acorn and a charming place for Water Spider babies. The side walls and the rounding ceiling were all of the finest Spider silk, and the bottom was just one round doorway. The house was built under the water and fastened down by tiny ropes of Spider silk which were tied to the stems of pond plants. Mrs. Water Spider looked at it with a happy smile. "Next I must fill it with air," said she, "and then it will be ready. I am out of breath now."

She crept up the stem of the nearest plant and sat in the air for a few minutes, eating her lunch and resting. Next she walked down the stem until just the end of her body was in the air. She stood so, with her head down, then gave a little jerk and dove to her home. As she jerked, she crossed her hindlegs and caught a small bubble of air between them and her body. When she reached her home, she went quickly in the open doorway and let go of her bubble. It did not fall downward to the floor, as bubbles do in most houses, and there were two reasons for this. In the first place, there was no floor. In the second place, air always falls upward in the water. This fell up until it reached the rounded ceiling and had to stop. Just as it fell, a drop of water went out through the open doorway. The home had been full of water, you know, but now that Mrs. Spider had begun to bring in air something had to be moved to make a place for it.

She brought down thirteen more bubbles of air and then the house was filled with it. On the lower side of the open doorway there was water and on the upper side was air, and each stayed where it should. When Mrs. Spider came into her house, she always had some air caught in the hairs which covered her body, even when she did not bring a bubble of it in her hindlegs. She had to have plenty of it in her home to keep her from drowning, for she could not breathe water like a fish. "Side doors may be all right for Sticklebacks," said she, "for they do not need air, but I must have bottom doors, and I will have them too!"

After she had laid her eggs, she had some days in which to rest and visit with the Water-Boatmen who lived near. They were great friends. Belostoma used to ask the Water-Boatmen, who were his cousins, why they were so neighborly with the Water Spiders. "I don't like to see you so much with eight-legged people," he said. "They are not our kind." Belostoma was very proud of his family.

"We know that they have rather too many legs to look well," said Mrs. Water-Boatman, "but they are pleasant, and we are interested in the same things. You know we both carry air about with us in the water, and so few of our neighbors seem to care anything for it." She was a sensible little person and knew that people who are really fond of their friends do not care how many legs they have. She carried her air under her wings, but there were other Water-Boatmen, near relatives, who spread theirs over their whole bodies, and looked very silvery and beautiful when they were under water.

One day, when Mrs. Water Spider was sitting on a lily-pad and talking with her friends, a Water-Boatman rose quickly from the bottom of the pond. As soon as he got right side up (and that means as soon as he got to floating on his back), he said to her, "I heard queer sounds in your house; I was feeding near there, and the noise startled me so that I let go of the stone I was holding to, and came up. I think your eggs must be hatching."

"Really?" exclaimed Mrs. Water Spider. "I shall be so glad! A house always seems lonely to me without children." She dove to her house, and found some very fine Water Spider babies there. You may be sure she did not have much time for visiting after that. She had to hunt food and carry it down to her children, and when they were restless and impatient she stayed with them and told them stories of the great world.

Sometimes they teased to go out with her, but this she never allowed. "Wait until you are older," she would say. "It will not be so very long before you can go safely." The children thought it had been a long, long time already, and one of them made a face when his mother said this. She did not see him, and it was well for him that she did not. He should have been very much ashamed of himself for doing it.

The next time Mrs. Water Spider went for food, one of the children said, "I tell you what let's do! Let's all go down to the doorway and peek out." They looked at each other and wondered if they dared. That was something their mother had forbidden them to do. There was no window to look through and they wanted very much to see the world. At last the little fellow who had made a face said, "I'm going to, anyway." After that, his brothers and sisters went, too. And this shows how, if good little Spiders listen to naughty little Spiders, they become naughty little Spiders themselves.

All the children ran down and peeked around the edge of the door, but they couldn't see much besides water, and they had seen that before. They were sadly disappointed. Somebody said, "I'm going to put two of my legs out!" Somebody else said, "I'll put four out!" A big brother said, "I'm going to put six out!" And then another brother said "I'll put eight out! Dare you to!"

You know what naughty little Spiders would be likely to do then. Well, they did it. And, as it happened, they had just pulled their last legs through the open doorway when a Stickleback Father came along. "Aren't you rather young to be out of the nest?" said he, in his most pleasant voice.

Poor little Water Spiders! They didn't know he was one of their mother's friends, and he seemed so big to them, and the bones on his cheeks made him look so queer, and the stickles on his back were so sharp, that every one of them was afraid and let go of the wall of the house -- and then!

Every one of them rose quickly to the top, into the light and the open air. They crawled upon a lily-pad and clung there, frightened, and feeling weak in all their knees. The Dragon Flies flew over them, the Wild Ducks swam past them, and on a log not far away they saw a long row of Mud Turtles sunning themselves. Why nothing dreadful happened, one cannot tell. Perhaps it was bad enough as it was, for they were so scared that they could only huddle close together and cry, "We want our mother."

Here Mrs. Water Spider found them. She came home with something for dinner, and saw her house empty. Of course she knew where to look, for, as she said, "If they stepped outside the door, they would be quite sure to tumble up into the air." She took them home, one at a time, and how she ever did it nobody knows.

When they were all safely there and had eaten the food that was waiting for them, Mrs. Spider, who had not scolded them at all, said, "Look me straight in the eye, every one of you! Will you promise never to run away again?"

Instead of saying at once, "Yes, mother," as they should have done, one of them answered, "Why, we didn't run away. We were just peeking around the edge of the doorway, and we got too far out, and somebody came along and scared us so that we let go, and then we couldn't help falling up into the air."

"Oh, no," said their mother, "you couldn't help it then, of course. But who told you that you might peep out of the door?"

The little Water Spiders hung their heads and looked very much ashamed. Their mother went on, "You needn't say that you were not to blame. You were to blame, and you began to run away as soon as you took the first step toward the door, only you didn't know that you were going so far. Tell me," she said, "whether you would ever have gone to the top of the water if you had not taken that first step?"

The little Water Spiders were more ashamed than ever, but they had to look her in the eye and promise to be good.

It is very certain that not one of those children even peeped around the edge of the doorway from that day until their mother told them that they might go into the world and build houses for themselves. "Remember just one thing," she said, as they started away. "Always take your food home to eat." And they always did, for no Water Spider who has been well brought up will ever eat away from his own home.




The Slow Little Mud Turtle


When the twenty little Mud Turtles broke their egg-shells one hot summer day, and poked their way up through the warm sand in which they had been buried, they looked almost as much alike as so many raindrops. The Mother Turtle who was sunning herself on the bank near by, said to her friends, "Why! There are my children! Did you ever see a finer family? I believe I will go over and speak to them."

Most of the young Mud Turtles crawled quickly out of the sand and broken shells, and began drying themselves in the sunshine. One slow little fellow stopped to look at the broken shells, stubbed one of his front toes on a large piece and then sat down until it should stop aching. "Wait for me!" he called out to his brothers and sisters. "I'm coming in a minute."

The other little Turtles waited, but when his toe was comfortable again and he started toward them, he met a very interesting Snail and talked a while with him. "Come on," said the Biggest Little Turtle. "Don't let's wait any longer. He can catch up."

So they sprawled along until they came to a place where they could sit in a row on an old log, and they climbed onto it and sat just close enough together and not at all too close. Then the Slow Little Turtle came hurrying over the sand with a rather cross look in his eyes and putting his feet down a little harder than he needed to -- quite as though he were out of patience about something. "Why didn't you Turtles wait for me?" he grumbled. "I was coming right along."

Just then the Mother Turtle came up. "Good morning," said she. "I believe you are my children?"

The little Mud Turtles looked at each other and didn't say a word. This was not because they were rude or bashful, but because they did not know what to say. And that, you know, was quite right, for unless one has something worth saying, it is far better to say nothing at all.

She drew a long Mud Turtle breath and answered her own question. "Yes," she said, "you certainly are, for I saw you scrambling out of the sand a little while ago, and you came from the very place where I laid my eggs and covered them during the first really warm nights this year. I was telling your father only yesterday that it was about time for you to hatch. The sun has been so hot lately that I was sure you would do well."

The Mother Turtle stretched her head this way and that until there was hardly a wrinkle left in her neck-skin, she was so eager to see them all. "Why are you not up here with your brothers and sisters?" she asked suddenly of the Slow Little Turtle, who was trying to make a place for himself on the log.

"They didn't wait for me," he said. "I was coming right along but they wouldn't wait. I think they are just as mea --  -- "

The Mother Turtle raised one of her forefeet until all five of its toes with their strong claws were pointing at him. She also raised her head as far as her upper shell would let her. "So you are the one," she said. "I thought you were when I heard you trying to make the others wait. It is too bad."

She looked so stern that the Slow Little Turtle didn't dare finish what he had begun to say, yet down in his little Turtle heart he thought, "Now they are going to catch it!" He was sure his mother was going to scold the other Turtle children for leaving him. He wanted to see what they would do, so he looked out of his right eye at the ten brothers and sisters on that side, and out of his left eye at the nine brothers and sisters on that side. He could do this very easily, because his eyes were not on the front of his head like those of some people, but one on each side.

"I have raised families of young Turtles every year," said the Mother Turtle. "The first year I had only a few children, the next year I had more, and so it has gone -- every year a few more children than the year before -- until now I never know quite how many I do have. But there is always one Slow Little Turtle who lags behind and wants the others to wait for him. That makes him miss his share of good things, and then he is quite certain to be cross and think it is somebody else's fault."

The Slow Little Turtle felt the ten brothers and sisters on his right side looking at him out of their left eyes, and the nine brothers and sisters on his left side looking at him out of their right eyes. He drew in his head and his tail and his legs, until all they could see was his rounded upper shell, his shell side-walls, and the yellow edge of his flat lower shell. He would have liked to draw them in too, but of course he couldn't do that.

"I did hope," said the Mother Turtle, "that I might have one family without such a child in it. I cannot help loving even a slow child who is cross, if he is hatched from one of my eggs, yet it makes me sad -- very, very sad."

"Try to get over this," she said to the Slow Little Turtle, "before it is too late. And you," she added, turning to his brothers and sisters, "must be patient with him. We shall not have him with us long."

"What do you mean?" asked the Slow Little Turtle, peeping out from between his shells. "I'm not going away."

"You do not want to," said his mother, "but you will not be with us long unless you learn to keep up with the rest. Something always happens to pond people who are too slow. I cannot tell you what it will be, yet it is sure to be something. I remember so well my first slow child -- and how he -- " She began to cry, and since she could not easily get her forefeet to her eyes, she sprawled to the pond and swam off with only her head and a little of her upper shell showing above the water.

The Slow Little Turtle was really frightened by what his mother had said, and for a few days he tried to keep up with the others. Nothing happened to him, and so he grew careless and made people wait for him just because he was not quite ready to go with them, or because he wanted to do this or look at that or talk to some other person. He was a very trying little Turtle, yet his mother loved him and did not like it when the rest called him a Land Tortoise. It is all right, you know, to be a Land Tortoise when your father and mother are Land Tortoises, and these cousins of the Turtles look so much like them that some people cannot tell them apart. That is because they forget that the Tortoises live on land, have higher back shells, and move very, very slowly. Turtles live more in the water and can move quickly if they will. This is why other Turtles sometimes make fun of a slow brother by calling him a Land Tortoise.

One beautiful sunshiny afternoon, when most of the twenty little Turtles were sitting on a floating log by the edge of the pond, their mother was with some of her friends on another log near by. She looked often at her children, and thought how handsome their rounded-up back shells were in the sunshine with the little red and yellow markings showing on the black. She could see their strong little pointed tails too, and their webbed feet with a stout claw on each toe. She was so proud that she could not help talking about them. "Is there any sight more beautiful," she said, "than a row of good little Turtles?"

"Yes," said a fine old fellow who was floating near her, "a row of their mothers!" He was a Turtle whom she had never liked very well, but now she began to think that he was rather agreeable after all. She was just noticing how beautifully the skin wrinkled on his neck, when she heard a splash and saw two terrible great two-legged animals wading into the pond from the shore.

"Boys!" she cried, "Boys!" And she sprawled off the end of her log and slid into the water, all her friends following her. The Biggest Little Turtle saw these great animals coming toward him. He sprawled off the end of his log and slid into the water, and all his brothers and sisters followed him except the Slow Little Turtle. "Wait for me," he said. "I'm coming in just a --  -- "

Then one of these great animals stooped over and picked him up, and held him bottom side uppermost and rapped on that side, which was flat; and on the other side, which was rounded; and stared at him with two great eyes. Next the other great animal took him and turned him over and rapped on his shells and stared at him. The poor Slow Little Turtle drew in his head and tail and legs and kept very, very still. He wished that he had side-pieces of shell all around now, instead of just one on each side between his legs. He was thinking over and over, "Something has happened! Something has happened!" And he knew that back in the pond his mother would be trying to find him and could not.

The boys carried him to the edge of the meadow and put him down on the grass. He lay perfectly still for a long, long time, and when he thought they had forgotten about him he tried to run away. Then they laughed and picked him up again, and one of them took something sharp and shiny and cut marks into his upper shell. This did not really give him pain, yet, as he said afterward, "It hurts almost as much to think you are going to be hurt, as it does to be hurt."

It was not until the sun went down that the boys let the Slow Little Turtle go. Then he was very, very tired, but he wanted so much to get back to his home in the pond that he started at once by moonlight. This was the first time he had ever seen the moon, for, except when they are laying eggs, Turtles usually sleep at night. He was not quite sure which way he should go, and if it had not been for the kindness of the Tree Frog he might never have seen his brothers and sisters again. You know the Tree Frog had been carried away when he was young, before he came to live with the meadow people, so he knew how to be sorry for the Slow Little Turtle.

The Tree Frog hopped along ahead to show the way, and the Turtle followed until they reached a place from which they could see the pond. "Good night!" said the Tree Frog. "You can find your way now."

"Good night!" said the Turtle. "I wish I might help you some time."

"Never mind me," said the Tree Frog. "Help somebody else and it will be all right." He hopped back toward his home, and for a long time afterward the Turtle heard his cheerful "Pukr-r-rup! Pukr-r-rup!" sounding over the dewy grass and through the still air. At the edge of the pond the Slow Little Turtle found his nineteen brothers and sisters sound asleep. "I'm here!" he cried joyfully, poking first one and then another of them with his head.

The Biggest Little Turtle moved without awakening. "I tell you I'm not hungry," he murmured. "I don't want to get up." And again he fell fast asleep.

So the Slow Little Turtle did not disturb him, but cuddled inside his two shells and went to sleep also. He was so tired that he did not awaken until the sun was high in the sky. When he did open his eyes, his relatives were sitting around looking at him, and he remembered all that had happened before he slept. "Does my shell look very bad?" he cried. "I wish I could see it. Oh, I am so glad to get back! I'll never be slow again, Never! Never!"

His mother came and leaned her shell lovingly against his. "If you will only learn to keep up with your brothers and sisters," she said "I shall not be sorry that the boys carried you off."

"You just wait and see," said the Slow Little Turtle. And he was as good as his word. After that he was always the first to slip from the log to the water if anything scared them; and when, one day, a strange Turtle from another pond came to visit, he said to the Turtles who had always lived there, "Why do you call that young fellow with the marked shell 'The Slow Little Turtle?' He is the quickest one in his family."

The pond people looked at each other and laughed. "That is queer!" they said. "After this we will call him 'The Quick Little Turtle.'"

This made him very happy, and when, once in a while, somebody forgot and by mistake called him "The Quick Slow Little Turtle," he said he rather liked it because it showed that a Turtle needn't keep his faults if he did have them.




The Dragon-Fly Children And The Snapping Turtle


The Dragon-Flies have always lived near the pond. Not the same ones that are there now, of course, but the great-great-great-grandfathers of these. A person would think that, after a family had lived so long in a place, all the neighbors would be fond of them, yet it is not so. The Dragon-Flies may be very good people -- and even the Snapping Turtle says that they are -- still, they are so peculiar that many of their neighbors do not like them at all. Even when they are only larvae, or babies, they are not good playmates, for they have such a bad habit of putting everything into their mouths. Indeed, the Stickleback Father once told the little Sticklebacks that they should not stir out of the nest, unless they would promise to keep away from the young Dragon-Flies.

The Stickleback Mothers said that it was all the fault of the Dragon-Fly Mothers. "What can you expect," exclaimed one of them, "when Dragon-Fly eggs are so carelessly laid? I saw a Dragon-Fly Mother laying some only yesterday, and how do you suppose she did it? Just flew around in the sunshine and visited with her friends, and once in a while flew low enough to touch the water and drop one in. It is disgraceful!"

The Minnow Mothers did not think it was so much in the way the eggs were laid, "although," said one, "I always lay mine close together, instead of scattering them over the whole pond." They thought the trouble came from bad bringing up or no bringing up at all. Each egg, you know, when it is laid, drops to the bottom of the pond, and the children are hatched and grow up there, and do not even see their fathers and mothers.

Now most of the larvae were turning into Nymphs, which are half-grown Dragon Flies. They had been short and plump, and now they were longer and more slender, and there were little bunches on their shoulders where the wings were growing under their skin. They had outgrown their old skins a great many times, and had to wriggle out of them to be at all comfortable. When a Dragon-Fly child became too big for his skin, he hooked the two sharp claws of each of his six feet firmly into something, unfastened his skin down the back, and wriggled out, leaving it to roll around in the water until it became just part of the mud.

Like most growing children, the Dragon-Fly larvae and Nymphs had to eat a great deal. Their stomachs were as long as their bodies, and they were never really happy unless their stomachs were full. They always ate plain food and plenty of it, and they never ate between meals. They had breakfast from the time they awakened in the morning until the sun was high in the sky, then they had dinner until the sun was low in the sky, and supper from that time until it grew dark and they went to sleep: but never a mouthful between meals, no matter how hungry they might be. They said this was their only rule about eating, and they would keep it.

They were always slow children. You would think that, with six legs apiece and three joints in each leg, they might walk quite fast, yet they never did. When they had to, they hurried in another way by taking a long leap through the water. Of course they breathed water like their neighbors, the fishes and the Tadpoles. They did not breathe it into their mouths, or through gills, but took it in through some openings in the back part of their bodies. When they wanted to hurry, they breathed this water out so suddenly that it sent them quickly ahead.

The Snapping Turtle had called them "bothering bugs" one day when he was cross (and that was the day after he had been cross, and just before the day when he was going to be cross again), and they didn't like him and wanted to get even. They all put their queer little three-cornered heads together, and there was an ugly look in their great staring eyes.

"Horrid old thing!" said one larva. "I wish I could sting him."

"Well, you can't," said a Nymph, turning towards him so suddenly that he leaped. "You haven't any sting, and you never will have, so you just keep still." It was not at all nice in her to speak that way, but she was not well brought up, you know, and that, perhaps, is a reason why one should excuse her for talking so to her little brother. She was often impatient, and said she could never go anywhere without one of the larvae tagging along.

"I tell you what let's do," said another Nymph. "Let's all go together to the shallow water where he suns himself, and let's all stand close to each other, and then, when he comes along, let's stick out our lips at him!"

"Both lips?" asked the larvae.

"Well, our lower lips anyway," answered the Nymph. "Our upper lips are so small they don't matter."

"We'll do it," exclaimed all the Dragon-Fly children, and they started together to walk on the pond-bottom to the shallow water. They thought it would scare the Snapping Turtle dreadfully. They knew that whenever they stuck out their lower lips at the small fishes and bugs, they swam away as fast as they could. The Giant Water-Bug (Belostoma), was the only bug who was not afraid of them when they made faces. Indeed, the lower lip of a Dragon-Fly child might well frighten people, for it is fastened on a long, jointed, arm-like thing, and has pincers on it with which it catches and holds its food. Most of the time, the Dragon-Fly child keeps the joint bent, and so holds his lip up to his face like a mask. But sometimes he straightens the joint and holds his lip out before him, and then its pincers catch hold of things. He does this when he is hungry.

When they reached the shallow water, the Dragon-Fly children stood close together, with the larvae in the middle and the Nymphs all around them. The Snapping Turtle was nowhere to be seen, so they had to wait. "Aren't you scared?" whispered one larva to another.

"Scared? Dah! Who's afraid," answered he.

"Oh, look!" cried a Nymph. "There go some grown-up Dragon-Flies over our heads. Just you wait until I change my skin once more, and then won't I have a good time! I'll dry my wings and then I'll --  -- "

"Sh-h!" said one of the larvae. "Here comes the Snapping Turtle."

Sure enough, there he came through the shallow water, his wet back-shell partly out of it and shining in the sunlight. He came straight toward the Dragon-Fly children, and they were glad to see that he did not look hungry. They thought he might be going to take a nap after his dinner. Then they all stood even closer together and stuck out their lower lips at him. They thought he might run away when they did this. They felt sure that he would at least be very badly frightened.

The Snapping Turtle did not seem to see them at all. It was queer. He just waddled on and on, coming straight toward them. "Ah-h-h!" said he. "How sleepy I do feel! I will lie down in the sunshine and rest." He took a few more steps, which brought his great body right over the crowd of Dragon-Fly children. "I think I will draw in my head," said he (the Dragon-Fly children looked at each other), "and my tail (here two of the youngest larvae began to cry) and lie down." He began to draw in his legs very, very slowly, and just as his great hard lower shell touched the mud, the last larva crawled out under his tail. The Nymphs had already gotten away.

"Oh," said the Dragon-Fly children to each other, "Wasn't it awful!"

"Humph," said the Snapping Turtle, talking to himself -- he had gotten into the way of doing that because he had so few friends -- "How dreadfully they did scare me!" Then he laughed a grim Snapping Turtle laugh, and went to sleep.




The Snappy Snapping Turtle


There was but one Snapping Turtle in the pond, and he was the only person there who had ever been heard to wish for another. He had not always lived there, and could just remember leaving his brothers and sisters when he was young. "I was carried away from my people," he said, "and kept on land for a few days. Then I was brought here and have made it my home ever since."

One could tell by looking at him that he was related to the Mud Turtles. He had upper and lower shells like them, and could draw in his head and legs and tail when he wanted to. His shells were gray, quite the color of a clay-bank, and his head was larger than those of the Mud Turtles. His tail was long and scaly and pointed, and his forelegs were large and warty. There were fine, strong webs between his toes, as there were between the toes of his relatives, the Mud Turtles.

When he first came to live in the pond, people were sorry for him, and tried to make him feel at home. He had a chance to win many friends and have all his neighbors fond of him, but he was too snappy. When the water was just warm enough, and his stomach was full, and he had slept well the night before, and everything was exactly as he wished it to be, -- ah, then he was a very agreeable Turtle, and was ready to talk in the most gracious way to his neighbors. That was all very well. Anybody can be good-natured when everything is exactly right and he can have his own way. But the really delightful people, you know, are the ones who are pleasant when things go wrong.

It was a Mud Turtle Father who first spoke to him. "I hope you'll like the pond," said he. "We think it very homelike and comfortable."

"Humph! Shallow little hole!" snapped the one who had just come. "I bump my head on the bottom every time I dive."

"That is too bad," exclaimed the Mud Turtle Father. "I hope you dive where there is a soft bottom."

"Sometimes I do and sometimes I don't," answered the Snapping Turtle. "I can't bother to swim down slowly and try it, and then go back to dive. When I want to dive, I want to dive, and that's all there is to it."

"Yes," said the Mud Turtle Father. "I know how it is when one has the diving feeling. I hope your head will not trouble you much, and that you will soon be used to our waters." He spread his toes and swam strongly away, pushing against the water with his webbed feet.

"Humph!" said the Snapping Turtle to himself. "It is all very well to talk about getting used to these waters, but I never shall. I can hardly see now for the pain in the right side of my head, where I bumped it. Or was it the left side I hit? Queer I can't remember!" Then he swam to shallow water, and drew himself into his shell, and lay there and thought how badly he felt, and how horrid the pond was, and what poor company his neighbors were, and what a disagreeable world this is for Snapping Turtles.

The Mud Turtle Father went home and told his wife all about it. "What a disagreeable fellow!" she said. "But then, he is a bachelor, and bachelors are often queer."

"I never was," said her husband.

"Oh!" said she. And, being a wise wife, she did not say anything else. She knew, however, that Mr. Mud Turtle was a much more agreeable fellow since he had married and learned to think more of somebody else than of himself. It is the people who think too much of themselves you know, who are most unhappy in this world.

The Eels also tried to be friendly, and, when he dove to the bottom, called to him to stay and visit with them. "You must excuse us from making the first call," they said. "We go out so little in the daytime."

"Humph!" said the Snapping Turtle. "Do you good to get away from home more. No wonder your eyes are weak, when you lie around in the mud of the dark pond-bottom all day. Indeed, I'll not stay. You can come to see me like other people."

Then he swam away and told the Clams what he had said, and he acted quite proud of what was really dreadful rudeness. "It'll do them good to hear the truth," said he. "I always speak right out. They are as bad as the Water-Adder. They have no backbone."

The Clams listened politely and said nothing. They never did talk much. The Snapping Turtle was mistaken though, when he said that the Eels and the Water-Adder had no backbone. They really had much more than he, but they wore theirs inside, while his was spread out in the shape of a shell for everybody to see.

He did not even try to keep his temper. He became angry one day because Belostoma, the Giant Water-Bug, ate something which he wanted for himself. His eyes glared and his horny jaws snapped, and he waved his long, pointed, scaly tail in a way which was terrible to see. "You are a good-for-nothing bug," he said. "You do no work, and you eat more than any other person of your size here. Nobody likes you, and there isn't a little fish in the pond who would be seen with you if he could help it. They all hide if they see you coming. I'll be heartily glad when you get your wings and fly away. Don't let any of your friends lay their eggs in this pond. I've seen enough of your family."

Of course this made Belostoma feel very badly. He was not a popular bug, and it is possible that if he could have had his own way, he would have chosen to be a Crayfish or a Stickleback, rather than what he was. As for his not working -- there was nothing for him to do, so how could he work? He had to eat, or he would not grow, and since the Snapping Turtle was a hearty eater himself, he should have had the sense to keep still about that. Belostoma told the Mud Turtles what the Snapping Turtle had said, and the Mud Turtle Father spoke of it to the Snapping Turtle.

By that time the Snapping Turtle was feeling better natured and was very gracious. "Belostoma shouldn't remember those things," said he, moving one warty foreleg. "When I am angry, I often say things that I do not mean; but then, I get right over it. I had almost forgotten my little talk with him. I don't see any reason for telling him I am sorry. He is very silly to think so much of it." He lifted his big head quite high, and acted as though it was really a noble thing to be ugly and then forget about it. He might just as sensibly ask people to admire him for not eating when his stomach was full, or for lying still when he was too tired to swim.

When the Mud Turtle Mother heard of this, she was quite out of patience. "All he cares for," said she, "is just Snapping Turtle, Snapping Turtle, Snapping Turtle. When he is good-natured, he thinks everybody else ought to be; and when he is bad-tempered he doesn't care how other people feel. He will never be any more agreeable until he does something kind for somebody, and I don't see any chance of that happening."

There came a day, though, when the pond people were glad that the Snapping Turtle lived there. Two boys were wading in the edge of the pond, splashing the water and scaring all the people who were near them. The Sticklebacks turned pale all over, as they do when they are badly frightened. The Yellow Brown Frog was so scared that he emptied out the water he had saved for wetting his skin in dry weather. He had a great pocket in his body filled with water, for if his skin should get dry he couldn't breathe through it, and unless he carried water with him he could not stay ashore at all.

The boys had even turned the Mud Turtle Father onto his back in the sunshine, where he lay, waving his feet in the air, but not strong enough to get right side up again. The Snapping Turtle was taking a nap in deep water, when the frightened fishes came swimming toward him as fast as their tails would take them. "What is the matter?" said he.

"Boys!" cried they. "Boys! The dreadful, splashing, Turtle-turning kind."

"Humph!" said the Snapping Turtle. "I'll have to see about that. How many are there?"

"Two!" cried the Sticklebacks and Minnows together.

"And there is only one of me," said the Snapping Turtle to himself. "I must have somebody to help me. Oh, Belostoma," he cried, as the Giant Water-Bug swam past. "Help me drive those boys away."

"With pleasure," said Belostoma, who liked nothing better than this kind of work. Off they started for the place where the boys were wading. The Snapping Turtle took long, strong strokes with his webbed feet, and Belostoma could not keep up with him. The Snapping Turtle saw this. "Jump onto my back," cried he. "You are a light fellow. Hang tight."

Belostoma jumped onto the Snapping Turtle's clay-colored shell, and when he found himself slipping off the back end of it, he stuck his claws into the Snapping Turtle's tail and held on in that way. He knew that he was not easily hurt, even if he did make a fuss when he bumped his head. As soon as they got near the boys, the Snapping Turtle spoke over his back-shell to Belostoma. "Slide off now," said he, "and drive away the smaller boy. Don't stop to talk with these Bloodsuckers."

So Belostoma slid off and swam toward the smaller boy, and he ran out his stout little sucking tube and stung him on the leg. Just then the Snapping Turtle brought his horny jaws together on one of the larger boy's feet. There was a great splashing and dashing as the boys ran to the shore, and three Bloodsuckers, who had fastened themselves to the boy's legs, did not have time to drop off, and were carried ashore and never seen again.

"There!" said the Snapping Turtle. "That's done. I don't know what the pond people would do, if you and I were not here to look after them, Belostoma."

"I'm glad I happened along," said the Giant Water-Bug quietly, "but you will have to do it all after this. I'm about ready to leave the pond. I think I'll go to-morrow."

"Going to-morrow!" exclaimed the Snapping Turtle. "I'm sorry. Of course I know you can never come back, but send your friends here to lay their eggs. We mustn't be left without some of your family."

"Thank you," said Belostoma, and he did not show that he remembered some quite different things which the Snapping Turtle had said before, about his leaving the pond. And that showed that he was a very wise bug as well as a brave one.

"Humph!" said the Snapping Turtle. "There is the Mud Turtle Father on his back." And he ran to him and pushed him over onto his feet. "Oh, thank you," cried the Mud Turtle Mother. "I was not strong enough to do that."

"Always glad to help my neighbors," said the Snapping Turtle. "Pleasant day, isn't it? I must tell the fishes that the boys are gone. The poor little fellows were almost too scared to swim." And he went away with a really happy look on his face.

"There!" said the Mud Turtle Mother to her husband. "He has begun to help people, and now he likes them, and is contented, I always told you so!"




The Clever Water-Adder


None of the pond people were alone more than the Water-Adders. The Snapping Turtle was left to himself a great deal until the day when he and Belostoma drove away the boys. After that his neighbors began to understand him better and he was less grumpy, so that those who wore shells were soon quite fond of him.

Belostoma did not have many friends among the smaller people, and only a few among the larger ones. They said that he was cruel, and that he had a bad habit of using his stout sucking tube to sting with. Still, Belostoma did not care; he said, "A Giant Water-Bug does not always live in the water. I shall have my wings soon, and leave the water and marry. After that, I shall fly away on my wedding trip. Mrs. Belostoma may go with me, if she feels like doing so after laying her eggs here. I shall go anyway. And I shall flutter and sprawl around the light, and sting people who bother me, and have a happy time." That was Belostoma's way. He would sting people who bothered him, but then he always said that they need not have bothered him. And perhaps that was so.

With the Water-Adders it was different. They were good-natured enough, yet the Mud Turtles and Snapping Turtle were the only ones who ever called upon them and found them at home. The small people without shells were afraid of them, and the Clams and Pond Snails never called upon any one. The Minnows said they could not bear the looks of the Adders -- they had such ugly mouths and such quick motions. The larger fishes kept away on account of their children, who were small and tender.

One might think that the Sand-Hill Cranes, the Fish Hawks, and the other shore families would have been good friends for them, but when they called, the Adders were always away. People said that the Adders were afraid of them.

The Yellow Brown Frog wished that the Adders could be scared, badly scared, some time: so scared that a chilly feeling would run down their backs from their heads clear to the tips of their tails. "I wish," said he, "that the chilly feeling would be big enough to go way through to their bellies. Their bellies are only the front side of their backs, anyway," he added, "because they are so thin." Of course this was a dreadful wish to make, but people said that one of the Adders had frightened the Yellow Brown Frog so that he never got over it, and this was the reason he felt so.

The Water-Adders were certainly the cleverest people in the pond, and there was one Mother Adder who was so very bright that they called her "the Clever Water-Adder." She could do almost anything, and she knew it. She talked about it, too, and that showed bad taste, and was one reason why she was not liked better. She could swim very fast, could creep, glide, catch hold of things with her tail, hang herself from the branch of a tree, lift her head far into the air, leap, dart, bound, and dive. All her family could do these things, but she could do them a little the best.

One day she was hanging over the pond in a very graceful position, with her tail twisted carelessly around a willow branch. The Snapping Turtle and a Mud Turtle Father were in the shallow water below her. Her slender forked tongue was darting in and out of her open mouth. She was using her tongue in this way most of the time. "It is useful in feeling of things," she said, "and then, I have always thought it quite becoming." She could see herself reflected in the still water below her, and she noticed how prettily the dark brown of her back shaded into the white of her belly. You see she was vain as well as clever.

The Snapping Turtle felt cross to-day, and had come to see if a talk with her would not make him feel better. The Mud Turtle was tired of having the children sprawl around him, and of Mrs. Mud Turtle telling about the trouble she had to get the right kind of food.

The Clever Water-Adder spoke first of the weather. "It must be dreadfully hot for the shore people," she said. "Think of their having to wear the same feathers all the year and fly around in the sunshine to find food for their children."

"Ah yes," said the Mud Turtle. "How they must wish for shells!"

"Humph!" said the Snapping Turtle. "What for? To fly with? Let them come in swimming with their children, if they are warm and tired."

The Water-Adder laughed in her snaky way, and showed her sharp teeth. "I have heard," she said, "that when the Wild Ducks bring their children here to swim, they do not always take so many home as they brought."

The Snapping Turtle became very much interested in his warty right foreleg, and did not seem to hear what she said. The Mud Turtle smiled. "I have heard," she went on, "that when young Ducks dive head first, they are quite sure to come up again, but that when they dive feet first, they never come up."

"What do you mean?" asked the Snapping Turtle, and he was snappy about it.

"Oh, nothing," replied the Water-Adder, swinging her head back and forth and looking at the scales on her body.

"I know what you mean," said the Snapping Turtle, "and you know what you mean, but I have to eat something, and if I am swimming under the water and a Duckling paddles along just above me and sticks his foot into my mouth, I am likely to swallow him before I think."

The Water-Adder saw that he was provoked by what she had said, so she talked about something else. "I think the Ducks spoil their children," said she. "They make such a fuss over them, and they are not nearly so bright as my children. Why, mine hatch as soon as the eggs are laid, and go hunting at once. They are no trouble at all."

"I never worry about mine," said the Mud Turtle, "although their mother thinks it is not safe for them all to sleep at once, as they do on a log in the sunshine."

"It isn't," said the Adder decidedly. "I never close my eyes. None of us Adders do. Nobody can ever say that we close our eyes to danger." They couldn't shut their eyes if they wanted to, because they had no eyelids, but she did not speak of that. "How stupid people are," she said.

"Most of them," remarked the Turtles.

"All of them," she said, "except us Adders and the Turtles. I even think that some of the Turtles are a little queer, don't you?"

"We have thought so," said the Mud Turtle.

"They certainly are," agreed the Snapping Turtle, who was beginning to feel much better natured.

"What did you say?" asked the Adder who, like all her family, was a little deaf.

"Ouch!" exclaimed the Snapping Turtle. "Ouch! Ouch!"

"What is the matter?" asked the Mud Turtle. Then he began to slap the water with his short, stout tail, and say "Ouch!"

Two naughty young Water-Boatmen had swum quietly up on their backs, and stung the Turtles on their tails. Then they swam away, pushing themselves quickly through the water with swift strokes of their hairy oar-legs.

"Ah-h-h!" exclaimed the Snapping Turtle, and he backed into the mud, knowing that fine, soft mud is the best thing in the world for stings.

"Ah-h-h!" exclaimed the Mud Turtle, "if I could only reach my tail with my head, or even with one of my hind feet!"

"Reach your tail with your head?" asked the Water-Adder in her sweetest voice. "Nothing is easier." And she wound herself around the willow branch in another graceful position, and took the tip of her tail daintily between her teeth.

"Humph!" said the Snapping Turtle, and he pulled his tail out of the mud and swam away.

"Ugh!" said the Mud Turtle, and he swam away with the Snapping Turtle.

"What a rude person she is!" they said. "Always trying to show how much more clever she is than other people. We would rather be stupid and polite."

After a while the Snapping Turtle said, "But then, you know, we are not stupid."

"Of course not," replied the Mud Turtle, "not even queer."




The Good Little Cranes Who Were Bad


When the Sand-Hill Cranes were married, they began to work for a home of their own. To be sure, they had chosen a place for it beforehand, yet there were other things to think about, and some of their friends told them it would be very foolish to build on the ground. "There are so many accidents to ground nests," these friends said. "There are Snakes, you know, and Rats, and a great many other people whom you would not want to have look in on your children. Besides, something might fall on it."

The young couple talked this all over and decided to build in a tree. "We are not afraid of Snakes and Rats," they said, "but we would fear something falling on the nest." They were talking to quite an old Crane when they said this.

"Do you mean to build in a tree?" said he. "My dear young friends, don't do that. Just think, a high wind might blow the nest down and spoil everything. Do whatever you wish, but don't build in a tree." Then he flew away.

"Dear me!" exclaimed young Mrs. Crane, "one tells me to do this and never to do that. Another tells me to do that and never to do this. I shall just please myself since I cannot please my friends."

"And which place do you choose?" asked her husband, who always liked whatever she did.

"I shall build on the ground," she said decidedly. "If the tree falls, it may hit the nest and it may not, but if we build in the tree and it falls, we are sure to hit the ground."

"How wise you are!" exclaimed her husband. "I believe people get in a way of building just so, and come to think that no other way can be right." Which shows that Mr. Sand-Hill Crane was also wise.

Both worked on the nest, bringing roots and dried grasses with which to build it up. Sometimes they went to dance with their friends, and when they did they bowed most of the time to each other. They did not really care very much about going, because they were so interested in the nest. This they had to build quite high from the ground, on account of their long legs. "If I were a Duck," said Mrs. Sand-Hill Crane, "it would do very well for me to sit on the nest, but with my legs? Never! I would as soon sit on two bare branches as to have them doubled under me." So she tried the nest until it was just as high as her legs were long.

When it was high enough, she laid in it two gray eggs with brown spots. After that she did no more dancing, but stood with a leg on either side of the nest, and her soft body just over the eggs to keep them warm. It was very tiresome work, and sometimes Mr. Crane covered the eggs while she went fishing. The Cranes are always very kind to their wives.

This, you know, was the first time that either had had a nest, and it was all new and wonderful to them. They thought that there never had been such a beautiful home. They often stood on the ground beside it, and poked it this way and that with their bills, and said to each other, "Just look at this fine root that I wove in," or, "Have you noticed how well that tuft of dried grass looks where I put it?" As it came near the time for their eggs to hatch, they could hardly bear to be away long enough to find food.

One day young Mr. Sand-Hill Crane came home much excited. "Our neighbors, the Cranes who live across the pond," said he, "had two children hatched this morning."

"Oh, how glad I am!" cried his wife. "How glad I am! Those eggs were laid just before ours, which must hatch very soon now."

"That is what I thought," said he. "I feel so sorry for them, though, for I saw their children, and they are dreadfully homely, -- not at all like their parents, who are quite good-looking."

"I must see them myself," said his wife, "and if you will cover the eggs while I go for food, I will just peep in on them. I will hurry back." She flew steadily across the pond, which was not very wide, and asked to see the babies. She had never seen any Crane children, you know, since she herself was little. She thought them very ugly to look at, and wondered how their mother could seem bright and cheerful with two such disappointing children. She said all the polite things that she honestly could, then got something to eat, and flew home. "They are very, very homely," she said to her husband, "and I think it queer. All their older children are good-looking."

She had hardly said this when she heard a faint tapping sound in the nest. She looked, and there was the tip of a tiny beak showing through the shell of one egg. She stood on one side of the nest, watching, and her husband stood on the other while their oldest child slowly made his way out. They dared not help for fear of hurting him, and besides, all the other Cranes had told them that they must not.

"Oh, look!" cried the young mother. "What a dear little bill!"

"Ah!" said the young father. "Did you ever see such a neck?"

"Look at those legs," cried she. "What a beautiful child he is!"

"He looks just like you," said the father, "and I am glad of it."

"Ah, no," said she. "He is exactly like you." And she began to clear away the broken egg-shell.

Soon the other Crane baby poked her bill out, and again the young parents stood around and admired their child. They could not decide which was the handsomer, but they were sure that both were remarkable babies. They felt more sorry than ever for their neighbors across the pond, who had such homely children. They took turns in covering their own damp little Cranes, and were very, very happy.

Before this, it had been easy to get what food they wanted, for there had been two to work for two. Now there were two to work for four, and that made it much harder. There was no time for dancing, and both father and mother worked steadily, yet they were happier than ever, and neither would have gone back to the careless old days for all the food in the pond or all the dances on the beach.

The little Cranes grew finely. They changed their down for pin-feathers, and then these grew into fine brownish gray feathers, like those which their parents wore. They were good children, too, and very well brought up. They ate whatever food was given to them, and never found fault with it. When they left the nest for the first time, they fluttered and tumbled and had trouble in learning to walk. A Mud Turtle Father who was near, told them that this was because their legs were too long and too few.

"Well," said the brother, as he picked himself up and tried to stand on one leg while he drew the other foot out of the tangled grass, "they may be too long, but I'm sure there are enough of them. When I'm thinking about one, I never can tell what the other will do."

Still, it was not long before they could walk and wade and even fly. Then they met the other pond people, and learned to tell a Stickleback from a Minnow. They did not have many playmates. The saucy little Kingfishers sat on branches over their heads, the Wild Ducks waddled or swam under their very bills, the Fish Hawks floated in air above them, and the Gulls screamed hoarsely to them as they circled over the pond, yet none of them were long-legged and stately. The things that the other birds enjoyed most, they could not do, and sometimes they did not like it very well. One night they were talking about the Gulls, when they should have been asleep, and their father told them to tuck their heads right under their wings and not let him hear another word from them. They did tuck their heads under their wings, but they peeped out between the feathers, and when they were sure their father and mother were asleep, they walked softly away and planned to do something naughty.

"I'm tired of being good," said the brother. "The Gulls never are good. They scream, and snatch, and contradict, and have lots of fun. Let's be bad just for fun."

"All right," said his sister. "What shall we do?"

"That's the trouble," said he. "I can't think of anything naughty that I really care for."

Each stood on one leg and thought for a while. "We might run away," said she.

"Where would we go?" asked he.

"We might go to the meadow," said she. So they started off in the moonlight and went to the meadow, but all the people there were asleep, except the Tree Frog, and he scrambled out of the way as soon as he saw them coming, because he thought they might want a late supper.

"This isn't any fun!" said the brother. "Let's go to the forest."

They went to the forest, and saw the Bats flitting in and out among the trees, and the Bats flew close to the Cranes and scared them. The Great Horned Owl stood on a branch near them, and stared at them with his big round eyes, and said, "Who? Who? Waugh-ho-oo!" Then the brother and sister stood closer together and answered, "If you please, sir, we are the Crane children."

But the Great Horned Owl kept on staring at them and saying "Who? Who? Waugh-ho-oo!" until they were sure he was deaf, and answered louder and louder still.

The Screech Owls came also, and looked at them, and bent their bodies over as if they were laughing, and nodded their heads, and shook themselves. Then the Crane children were sure that they were being made fun of, so they stalked away very stiffly, and when they were out of sight of the Owls, they flew over toward the farmhouse. They were not having any fun at all yet, and they meant to keep on trying, for what was the good of being naughty if they didn't?

They passed Horses and Cows asleep in the fields, and saw the Brown Hog lying in the pen with a great many little Brown Pigs and one White Pig sleeping beside her. Nobody was awake except Collie, the Shepherd Dog, who was sitting in the farmyard with his nose in the air, barking at the moon.

"Go away!" he said to the Crane children, who were walking around the yard. "Go away! I must bark at the moon, and I don't want anybody around." They did not start quite soon enough to please him, so he dashed at them, and ran around them and barked at them, instead of at the moon, until they were glad enough to fly straight home to the place where their father and mother were sleeping with their heads under their wings.

"Are you going to tell them?" asked the brother.

"I don't know," answered the sister. When morning came, they looked tired, and their father and mother seemed so worried about them that they told the whole story.

"We didn't care so very much about what we did," they said, "but we thought it would be fun to be naughty."

The father and mother looked at each other in a very knowing way. "A great many people think that," said the mother gently. "They are mistaken after all. It is really more fun to be good."

"Well, I wish the Gulls wouldn't scream, 'Goody-goody' at us," said the brother.

"What difference does that make?" asked his father. "Why should a Crane care what a Gull says?"

"Why, I -- I don't know," stammered the brother. "I guess it doesn't make any difference after all."

The next day when the Crane children were standing in the edge of the pond, a pair of young Gulls flew down near them and screamed out, "Goody-goody!"

Then the Crane brother and sister lifted their heads and necks and opened their long bills, and trumpeted back, "Baddy-baddy!"

"There!" they said to each other. "Now we are even."




The Oldest Dragon-Fly Nymph


When the Oldest Dragon-Fly Nymph felt that the wings under her skin were large enough, she said good-bye to her water friends, and crawled slowly up the stem of a tall cat-tail. All the other Dragon-Fly Nymphs crowded around her and wished that their wings were more nearly ready, and the larvae talked about the time when they should become Nymphs. The Oldest Nymph, the one who was going away, told them that if they would be good little larvae, and eat a great deal of plain food and take care not to break any of their legs, or to hurt either of their short, stiff little feelers, they would some day be fine great Nymphs like her. Then she crawled slowly up the cat-tail stem, and when she drew the tenth and last joint of her body out of the water, her friends turned to each other and said, "She is really gone." They felt so badly about it that they had to eat something at once to keep from crying.

The Oldest Nymph now stopped breathing water and began to breathe air. She waited to look at the pond before she went any farther. She had never seen it from above, and it looked very queer to her. It was beautiful and shining, and, because the sky above it was cloudless, the water was a most wonderful blue. There was no wind stirring, so there were no tiny waves to sparkle and send dancing bits of light here and there. It was one of the very hot and still summer days, which Dragon-Flies like best.

A sad look came into the Nymph's great eyes as she stood there. "The pond is beautiful," she said; "but when one looks at it from above, it does not seem at all homelike." She shook her three-cornered head sadly, and rubbed her eyes with her forelegs. She thought she should miss the happy times in the mud with the other children.

A Virgin Dragon-Fly lighted on the cat-tail next to hers. She knew it was a Virgin Dragon-Fly because he had black wings folded over his back, and there were shimmering green and blue lights all over his body and wings. He was very slender and smaller than she. "Good morning," said he. "Are you just up?"

"Yes," said she, looking bashfully down at her forefeet. She did not know how to behave in the air, it was so different from the water.

"Couldn't have a finer day," said he. "Very glad you've come. Excuse me. There is a friend to whom I must speak." Then he flew away with another Virgin Dragon-Fly.

"Hurry up and get your skin changed," said a voice above her, and there was a fine great fellow floating in the air over her head. "I'll tell you a secret when you do."

Dragon-Flies care a great deal for secrets, so she quickly hooked her twelve sharp claws into the cat-tail stem, and unfastened her old skin down the back, and wriggled and twisted and pulled until she had all her six legs and the upper part of her body out. This made her very tired and she had to rest for a while. The old skin would only open down for a little way by her shoulders, and it was hard to get out through such a small place. Next she folded her legs close to her body, and bent over backward, and swayed this way and that, until she had drawn her long, slender body from its outgrown covering.

She crawled away from the empty skin and looked it over. It kept the shape of her body, but she was surprised to find how fast she was growing slender. Even then, and she had been out only a short time, she was much longer and thinner than she had been, and her old skin looked much too short for her. "How styles do change," she said. "I remember how proud I was of that skin when I first got it, and now I wouldn't be seen in it."

Her beautiful gauzy wings with their dark veinings, were drying and growing in the sunshine. She was weak now, and had them folded over her back like those of the Virgin Dragon-Fly, but, as soon as she felt rested and strong, she meant to spread them out flat.

The fine Big Dragon-Fly lighted beside her. "How are your wings?" said he.

"Almost dry," she answered joyfully, and she quivered them a little to show him how handsome they were.

"Well," said he. "I'll tell you the secret now, and of course you will never speak of it. I saw you talking with a Virgin Dragon-Fly. He may be all right, but he isn't really in our set, you know, and you'd better not have anything to do with him."

"Thank you," she said. "I won't." She thought it very kind in him to tell her.

He soon flew away, and, as she took her first flight into the air, a second Big Dragon-Fly overtook her. "I'll tell you a secret," said he, "if you will never tell."

"I won't," said she.

"I saw you talking to a Virgin Dragon-Fly a while ago. You may have noticed that he folded his wings over his back. The Big Dragon-Flies never do this, and you must never be seen with yours so."

"Thank you," she said. "I won't. But when they were drying I had to hold them in that way."

"Of course," said he. "We all do things then that we wouldn't afterward."

Before long she began egg-laying, flying low enough to touch her body to the water now and then and drop a single egg. This egg always sank at once to the bottom, and she took no more care of it.

A third Big Dragon-Fly came up to her. "I want to tell you something," he said. "Put your head close to mine."

She put her head close to his, and he whispered, "I saw you flying with my cousin a few minutes ago. I dislike to say it, but he is not a good friend for you. Whatever you do, don't go with him again. Go with me."

"Thank you," said she, yet she began to wonder what was the matter. She saw that just as soon as she visited with anybody, somebody else told her that she must not do so again. Down in the pond they had all been friends. She wondered if it could not be so in the air. She rubbed her head with her right foreleg, and frowned as much as she could. You know she couldn't frown very much, because her eyes were so large and close together that there was only a small frowning-place left.

She turned her head to see if any one else was coming to tell her a secret. Her neck was very, very slender and did not show much, because the back side of her head was hollow and fitted over her shoulders. No other Dragon-Fly was near. Instead, she saw a Swallow swooping down on her. She sprang lightly into the air and the Swallow chased her. When he had his beak open to catch her as he flew, she would go backward or sidewise without turning around. This happened many times, and it was well for her that it was so, for the Swallow was very hungry, and if he had caught her -- well, she certainly would never have told any of the secrets she knew.

The Swallow quite lost his patience and flew away grumbling. "I won't waste any more time," he said, "on trying to catch somebody who can fly backward without turning around. Ridiculous way to fly!"

The Dragon-Fly thought it an exceedingly good way, however, and was even more proud of her wings than she had been. "Legs are all very well," she said to herself, "as far as they go, and one's feet would be of very little use without them; but I like wings better. Now that I think of it," she added, "I haven't walked a step since I began to fly. I understand better the old saying, 'Make your wings save your legs.' They certainly are very good things to stand on when one doesn't care to fly."

Night came, and she was glad to sleep on the under side of a broad leaf of pickerel-weed. She awakened feeling stupid and lazy. She could not think what was the matter, until she heard her friends talking about the weather. Then she knew that Dragon-Flies are certain to feel so on dark and wet days. "I don't see what difference that should make," she said. "I'm not afraid of rain. I've always been careless about getting my feet wet and it never hurt me any."

"Ugh!" said one of her friends. "You've never been wet in spots, or hit on one wing by a great rain-drop that has fallen clear down from a cloud. I had a rain-drop hit my second right knee once, and it has hurt me ever since. I have only five good knees left, and I have to be very careful about lighting on slippery leaves."

It was very dull. Nobody seemed to care about anybody or anything. The fine Big Dragon-Flies, who had been so polite to her the day before, hardly said "Good morning" to her now. When she asked them questions, they would say nothing but "Yes" or "No" or "I don't know," and one of them yawned in her face. "Oh dear!" she said. "How I wish myself back in the pond where the rain couldn't wet me. I'd like to see my old friends and some of the dear little larvae. I wish more of the Nymphs would come up."

She looked all around for them, and as she did so she saw the shining back-shell of the Snapping Turtle, showing above the shallow water. "I believe I'll call on him," she said. "He may tell me something about my old friends, and anyway it will cheer me up." She lighted very carefully on the middle of his back-shell and found it very comfortable. "Good morning," said she. "Have you -- "

"No," snapped he. "I haven't, and I don't mean to!"

"Dear me," said she. "That is too bad."

"I don't see why," said he. "Is there any particular reason why I should?"

"I thought you might have just happened to," said she, "and I should like to know how they are."

"What are you talking about?" snapped he.

"I was going to ask if you had seen the Dragon-Fly children lately," she said. And as she spoke she made sure that she could not slip. She felt perfectly safe where she was, because she knew that, no matter how cross he might be, he could not reach above the edges of his back-shell.

"Well, why didn't you say so in the first place," he snapped, "instead of sitting there and talking nonsense! They are all right. A lot of the Nymphs are going into the air to-day!" Now that he had said a few ugly things, he began to feel better natured. "You've changed a good deal since the last time I saw you."

"When was that?" asked she.

"It was one day when I came remarkably near sitting down on a lot of you Dragon-Fly children," he chuckled. "You were a homely young Nymph then, and you stuck out your lower lip at me."

"Oh!" said she. "Then you did see us?"

"Of course I did," answered he. "Haven't I eyes? I'd have sat down on you, too, if I hadn't wanted to see you scramble away. The larvae always are full of mischief, but then they are young. You Nymphs were old enough to know better."

"I suppose we were," she said. "I didn't think you saw us. Why didn't you tell us?"

"Oh," said the Snapping Turtle, "I thought I'd have a secret. If I can't keep a secret for myself, I know that nobody can keep it for me. Secrets can swim faster than any fish in the pond if you once let them get away from you. I thought I'd better not tell. I might want to sit on you some other time, you know."

"You'll never have the chance," said she, with a twinkle in her big eyes. "It is my turn to sit on you." And after that they were very good friends -- as long as she sat on the middle of his shell.




The Eels' Moving-Night


The Eels were as different from the Clams as people well could be. It was not alone that they looked unlike, but that they had such different ways of enjoying life. The Clams were chubby people, each comfortably settled in his own shell, which he could open or shut as he chose. They never wanted to live anywhere else, or to get beyond the edges of their own pearl-lined shells.

The Eels were long, slender, and slippery people, looking even more like snakes than they did like fishes. They were always careful to tell new acquaintances, though, that they were not even related to the snakes. "To be sure," they would say, "we do not wear our fins like most fishes, but that is only a matter of taste after all. We should find them dreadfully in the way if we did." And that was just like the Eels -- they were always so ready to explain everything to their friends.

They were great talkers. They would talk about themselves, and their friends, and the friends of their friends, and the pond, and the weather, and the state of the mud, and what everything was like yesterday, and what it would be likely to be like to-morrow, and did you really think so, and why? The Water-Adder used to say that they were the easiest people in the pond to visit with, for all one had to do was to keep still and look very much interested. Perhaps that may have been why the Clams and they were such good friends.

The Clams, you know, were a quiet family. Unless a Clam was very, very much excited, he never said more than "Yes," "No," or "Indeed?" They were excellent listeners and some of the most popular people in the pond. Those who were in trouble told the Clams, and they would say, "Indeed," or "Ah," in such a nice way that their visitor was sure to leave feeling better. Others who wanted advice would go to them, and talk over their plans and tell them what they wanted to do, and the Clams would say, "Yes," and then the visitors would go away quite decided, and say, "We really didn't know what to do until we spoke to the Clams about it, but they agree with us perfectly." The Clams were also excellent people to keep secrets, and as the Eels were forever telling secrets, that was all very well.

Mother Eel was fussy. She even said so herself. And if a thing bothered her, she would talk and talk and talk until even her own children were tired of hearing about it. Now she was worrying over the pond water.

"I do not think it nearly so clean as it was last year," she said, "and the mud is getting positively dirty. Our family are very particular about that, and I think we may have to move. I do dread the moving, though. It is so much work with a family the size of mine, and Mr. Eel is no help at all with the children."

She was talking with Mother Mud Turtle when she said this, and the little Eels were wriggling all around her as she spoke. Then they began teasing her to go, until she told them to swim away at once and play with the young Minnows. "I'm afraid I shall have to go," said she, "if only on account of the children. I want them to see something of the world. It is so dull in this pond. Were you ever out of it?" she asked, turning suddenly to Mrs. Mud Turtle.

"Oh, yes," answered she. "I go quite often, and one of my sons took a very long trip to the meadow. He went with some boys. It was most exciting."

"Is that the one with the -- peculiar back-shell?" asked Mother Eel.

"Yes," replied Mother Mud Turtle sweetly. "He is very modest and does not care to talk about it much, but I am really quite pleased. Some people travel and show no sign of it afterward. One would never know that they had left home (Mother Eel wondered if she meant her), but with him it is different. He shows marks of having been in the great world outside."

Mother Eel wriggled a little uneasily. "I think I must tell you after all," she said. "I have really made up my mind to go. Mr. Eel thinks it foolish, and would rather stay here, but I am positive that we can find a better place, and we must consider the children. He thinks he cares as much for them as I do, yet he would be willing to have them stay here forever. He was hatched here, and thinks the pond perfect. We get to talking about it sometimes, and I say to him, 'Mr. Eel, where would those children be now if it were not for me?'"

"And what does he say then?" asked the Mud Turtle Mother.

"Nothing," answered Mother Eel, with a smart little wriggle. "There is nothing for him to say. Yes, we shall certainly move. I am only waiting for the right kind of night. It must not be too light, or the land people would see us; not too dark, or we could not see them. And then the grass must be dewy. It would never do for us to get dry, you know, or we should all be sick. But please don't speak of this, dear Mrs. Turtle. I would rather leave quietly when the time comes."

So the Mud Turtle Mother remembered that it was a secret, and told nobody except the Mud Turtle Father, and he did not speak of it to anybody but the Snapping Turtle.

"Did you say that it was a secret?" asked the Snapping Turtle.

"Yes," said the Mud Turtle Father, "It is a great secret."

"Humph!" said the Snapping Turtle. "Then why did you tell me?"

That same day when the Stickleback Father came to look for nineteen or twenty of his children who were missing, Mother Eel told him about her plans. "I thought you would be interested in hearing of it," she said, "but I shall not mention it to anybody else."

"You may be sure I shall not speak of it," said he. And probably he would not have told a person, if it had not been that he forgot and talked of it with the Snails. He also forgot to say that it was a secret, and so they spoke freely of it to the Crayfishes and the Caddis Worms.

The Caddis Worms were playing with the Tadpoles soon after this, and one of them whispered to a Tadpole right before the others, although he knew perfectly well that it was rude for him to do so. "Now, don't you ever tell," said he aloud.

"Uh-uh!" answered the Tadpole, and everybody knew that he meant "No," even if they hadn't seen him wave his hindlegs sidewise. Of course, not having the right kind of neck for it, he couldn't shake his head.

Then the other Tadpoles and Caddis Worms wanted to tell secrets, and they kept whispering to each other and saying out loud, "Now don't you ever tell." When a Caddis Worm told a Tadpole anything, he said, "The Eels are going to move away." And when a Tadpole told a secret to a Caddis Worm, he just moved his lips and said, "Siss-el, siss-el, siss-el-siss. I'm only making believe, you know." But he was sure to add out loud, "Now don't you tell." And the Caddis Worm would answer, "Uh-uh!"

The Eel Mother also spoke to the Biggest Frog, asking him to watch the grass for her and tell her when it was dewy enough for moving. He was afraid he might forget it, and so told his sister and asked her to help him remember. And she was afraid that she might forget, so she spoke to her friend, the Green Brown Frog, about it. The Yellow Brown Frog afterward said that he heard it from her.

One night it was neither too dark nor too light, and the dew lay heavy on the grass. Then Mother Eel said to her children, "Now stop your wriggling and listen to me, every one of you! We shall move because the mud here is so dirty. You are going out into the great world, and I want you to remember everything you feel and see. You may never have another chance."

The little Eels were so excited that they couldn't keep still, and she had to wait for them to stop wriggling. When they were quiet, she went on. "All the Eels are going -- your uncles and aunts and cousins -- and you children must keep with the older ones. Be careful where you wriggle to, and don't get on anybody else's tail."

She led the way out of the water and wriggled gracefully up the bank, although it was quite steep at that place. "I came this way," she said, "because I felt more as though this was the way to come." She closed her mouth very firmly as she spoke. Mr. Eel had thought another way better. They had to pass through crowds of pond people to reach the shore, for everybody had kept awake and was watching. The older ones cried out, "Good-bye; we shall miss you," and waved their fins or their legs, or their tails, whichever seemed the handiest. The younger ones teased the little Eels and tried to hold them back, and told them they'd miss lots of fun, and that they guessed they'd wish themselves back in the pond again. When they got onto the shore, the Frogs and the Mud Turtles were there, and it was a long time before they could get started on their journey. One of the little Eels was missing, and his mother had to go back for him. She found that a mischievous young Stickleback had him by the tail.

When at last they were all together on the bank, the Eel Father said to his wife, "Are you sure that the Cranes and Fish Hawks don't know about our moving? Because if they did -- "

"I know," she said. "It would be dreadful if they found out; and we have been so late in getting started. We shall have to stop at the very first water we find now, whether we like it or not." She lay still and thought. "I have a feeling," said she, "that we should go this way." So that way they went, dragging their yellow bellies over the ground as carefully as they could, their dark green backs with their long fringes of back fins hardly showing in the grass. It was a good thing that their skin was so fat and thick, for sometimes they had to cross rough places that scraped it dreadfully and even rumpled the tiny scales that were in it, while their long fringes of belly fins became worn and almost ragged. "If your scales were on the outside," said their father, "like those of other fishes, you wouldn't have many left."

Mother Eel was very tired and did not say much. Her friends began to fear that she was ill. At last she spoke, "I do not see," she said, "how people found out that we were to move."

"You didn't tell anybody?" said Mr. Eel.

"No indeed!" said she; and she really believed it. That was because she had talked so much that she couldn't remember what she did say. It is always so with those that talk too much.




The Crayfish Mother


Three Stickleback Mothers and several Clams were visiting under the lily-pads in the early morning. Mother Eel was also there. "Yes," she said "I am glad to come back and be among my old friends, and the children are happier here. As I often tell Mr. Eel, there is no place like one's home. We had a hard journey, but I do not mind that. We are rested now, and travel does teach people so much. I should think you would get dreadfully tired of being in the water all the time. I want my children to see the world. Now they know grass, and trees, and air, and dry ground. There are not many children of their age who know more than they. We stayed in a brook the one day we were gone, so they have felt running water too. It was clean -- I will say that for it -- but it was no place for Eels, and so we came back."

There is no telling how long she would have kept on talking if she had not been called away. As soon as she left, the Sticklebacks began to talk about her.

"So she thinks we must be tired of staying in the water all the time," said one. "It doesn't tire me nearly so much as it would to go dragging myself over the country, wearing out my fins on the ground."

"Indeed?" said a Clam, to whom she turned as she spoke.

"Well, I'll tell you what I think," said another Stickleback Mother. "I think that if she didn't care so much for travel herself, she would not be dragging her family around to learn grass and trees. Some night they will be learning Owls or men, and that will be the end of them!"

"I do not believe in it at all," said the first speaker. "I certainly would not want my sons to learn these things, for they must grow up to be good nest-builders and baby-tenders. I have told their fathers particularly to bring them up to be careful housekeepers. With my daughters, it is different."

For a long time nobody spoke; then a Clam said, "What a difference there is in mothers!" It quite startled the Sticklebacks to hear a Clam say so much. It showed how interested he was, and well he might be. The Clam who brings up children has to do it alone, and be both father and mother to them, and of course that is hard work. It is hard, too, because when a little Clam is naughty, his parent can never say that he takes his naughtiness from any one else.

"And there is a difference in fathers too," exclaimed one fine-looking Stickleback Mother. "I say that a father's place is by the nest, and that if he does his work there well, he will not have much time to want to travel, or to loaf around by the shore." The Clams looked at each other and said nothing. Some people thought that the Stickleback Mothers were lazy.

Just then a Crayfish Mother came swimming slowly along, stopping often to rest. Her legs were almost useless, there were so many little Crayfishes clinging to them.

"Now look at her," said one Stickleback. "Just look at her. She laid her eggs at the beginning of last winter and fastened them to her legs. Said she was so afraid something would happen if she left them, and that this was a custom in her family anyway. Now they have hatched, and her children hang on to her in the same way."

The Crayfish Mother stopped with a sigh. "Isn't it dreadfully warm?" said she.

"We haven't found it so," answered the Sticklebacks, while the Clams murmured "No."

"Let me take some of your children," said one Stickleback. "Perhaps carrying them has made you warm and tired."

The Crayfish stuck her tail-paddles into the mud, and spread her pinching-claws in front of her family. "Oh no, thank you," said she. "They won't be contented with any one but me."

"That must make it hard for you," said another Stickleback politely. She was thinking how quickly she would shake off the little Crayfishes if they were her children.

"It does," answered their mother. "It is hard, for I carried the eggs on my legs all through the cold weather and until it was very warm again; and now that they are hatched, the children hang on with their pinching-claws. Still, I can't bear to shake them off, poor little things!" She held up first one leg and then another to show off her dangling babies.

"I don't know what will happen to them when I cast my shell," said she. "I shall have to soon, for I can hardly breathe in it. My sister changed hers some time ago, and her new one is getting hard already."

"Oh, they'll be all right," said a Stickleback cheerfully. "Their fathers tell me that my children learn remarkably fast how to look out for themselves."

"But my children can't walk yet," said the Crayfish Mother, "and they don't know how to swim."

"What of that?" asked a Stickleback, who was beginning to lose her patience. "They can learn, can't they? They have eight legs apiece, haven't they, besides the ones that have pincers? Isn't that enough to begin on? And haven't they tail-paddles?"

"I suppose so," said their mother, with a sigh, "but they don't seem to want to go. I must put them to sleep now and try to get a little rest myself, for the sun is well up."

The next night she awakened and remembered what the Sticklebacks had said, so she thought she would try shaking her children off. "It is for your own good," she said, and she waved first one leg and then another. When she got four of her legs free, and stood on them to shake the other four, her children scrambled back to her and took hold again with their strong little pinching-claws. Then she gave it up. "You dear tiny things!" she said. "But I do wish you would walk instead of making me carry you."

"We don't want to!" they cried; "we don't know how."

"There, there!" said their mother. "No, to be sure you don't."

The next night, though, they had to let go, for their mother was casting her shell. When it was off she lay weak and helpless on the pond-bottom, and her children lay around her. They behaved very badly indeed. "Come here and let me catch hold of you," cried one. "I can't walk," said another, "because I don't know how."

Some of them were so cross that they just lay on their backs and kicked with all their eight feet, and screamed, "I won't try!" It was dreadful!

The Crayfish Mother was too weak to move, and when the Wise Old Crayfish came along she spoke to him. "My children will not walk," said she, "even when I tell them to." He knew that it was because when she had told them to do things before, she had not made them mind.

"I will see what I can do," said he, "but you must not say a word." He walked backward to where they were, and kept his face turned toward their mother, which was polite of him. "Do you want the Eels to find you here?" he said, in his gruffest voice. "If you don't, you'd better run."

What a scrambling there was! In one way or another, every little Crayfish scampered away. Some went forward, some went sidewise, and some went backward. Some didn't keep step with themselves very well at first, but they soon found out how. Even the crossest ones, who were lying on their backs flopped over and were off.

The Wise Old Crayfish turned to their mother. "It is no trouble to teach ten-legged children to walk," said he, "if you go at it in the right way."

The little Crayfishes soon got together again, and while they were talking, one of their many aunts came along with all her children hanging to her legs. Then the little Crayfishes who had just learned to walk, pointed their pinching-claws at their cousins, and said, "Sh-h-h! 'Fore I'd let my mother carry me! Babies!"




Two Little Crayfishes Quarrel


The day after the Eels left, the pond people talked of nothing else. It was not that they were so much missed, for the Eels, you know, do not swim around in the daytime. They lie quietly in the mud and sleep or talk. It is only at night that they are really lively. Still, as the Mother Mud Turtle said, "They had known that they were there, and the mud seemed empty without them."

The larger people had been sorry to have them go, and some of them felt that without the Eels awake and stirring, the pond was hardly a safe place at night.

"I think it is a good deal safer," remarked a Minnow, who usually said what she thought. "I have always believed that the Eels knew what became of some of my brothers and sisters, although, of course, I do not know."

"Why didn't you ask them?" said a Stickleback.

"Why?" replied the Minnow. "If I had gone to the Eels and asked them that, my other brothers and sisters would soon be wondering what had become of me."

"I have heard some queer things about the Eels myself," said the Stickleback, "but I have never felt much afraid of them. I suppose I am braver because I wear so many of my bones on the outside."

Just then a Wise Old Crayfish came along walking sidewise. "What do you think about the Eels?" asked the Stickleback, turning suddenly to him.

The Crayfish stuck his tail into the mud. He often did this when he was surprised. It seemed to help him think. When he had thought for a while, he waved his big pinching-claws and said, "It would be better for me not to tell what I think. I used to live near them."

This showed that the Wise Old Crayfish had been well brought up, and knew he should not say unpleasant things about people if he could help it. When there was need of it, he could tell unpleasant truths, and indeed that very evening he did say what he thought of the Eels. That was when he was teaching some young Crayfishes, his pupils. Their mother had brought up a large family, and was not strong. She had just cast the shell which she had worn for a year, and now she was weak and helpless until the new one should harden on her. "It is such a bother," she said, "to keep changing one's shell in this way, but it is a comfort to think that the new one will last a year when I do get it."

While their mother was so weak, the Wise Old Crayfish amused the children, and taught them things which all Crayfishes should know. Every evening they gathered around him, some of them swimming to him, some walking forward, some sidewise, and some backward. It made no difference to them which way they came. They were restless pupils, and their teacher could not keep them from looking behind them. Each one had so many eyes that he could look at the teacher with a few, and at the other little Crayfishes with a few more, and still have a good many eyes left with which to watch the Tadpoles. These eyes were arranged in two big bunches, and, unless you looked very closely, you might think that they had only two eyes apiece. They had good ears, and there were also fine smelling-bristles growing from their heads. The Wise Old Crayfish sometimes said that each of his pupils should sit in a circle of six teachers, so that he might be taught on all sides at once.

"That is the way in which children should learn," he said, "all around at once. But I do the best I can, and I at least teach one side of each."

This evening the Wise Old Crayfish was very sleepy. There had been so much talking and excitement during the day that he had not slept so much as usual; and now, when he should have been wide awake, he felt exceedingly dull and stupid. When he tried to walk, his eight legs stumbled over each other, and the weak way in which he waved his pinching-claw legs showed how tired he was.

After he had told his pupils the best way to hold their food with their pinching-claws, and had explained to them how it was chewed by the teeth in their stomachs, one mischievous little fellow called out, "I want to know about the Eels. My mother would never let me go near them, and now they've moved away, and I won't ever see them, and I think it's just horrid."

"Eels, my children," said their teacher, "are long, slender, sharp-nosed, slippery people, with a fringe of fins along their backs, and another fringe along their bellies. They breathe through very small gill-openings in the backs of their heads. They have large mouths, and teeth in their mouths, and they are always sticking out their lower jaws."

"And how do -- " began the Biggest Little Crayfish.

"Ask me that to-morrow," said their teacher, stretching his eight walking legs and his two pinching-claw legs and his tail paddles, "but remember this one thing: -- if you ever see an Eel, get out of his way. Don't stop to look at him."

"We won't," said one little Crayfish, who thought it smart to be saucy. "We'll look to stop at him." All of which meant nothing at all and was only said to annoy his teacher.

They scrambled away over the pond-bottom, upsetting Snails, jiggling the young Clams, and racing with each other where the bottom was smooth. "Beat you running backward!" cried the Saucy Crayfish to the Biggest Little Crayfish, and they scampered along backward in the moonlit water. There was an old log on the bottom of the pond, and they sat on that to rest. The Biggest Little Crayfish had beaten. "I would like to see an Eel," said he.

"I'd like to see them running on the land," said the saucy one.

"Pooh!" said the biggest one. "That's all you know! They don't run on land."

"Well, I guess they do," replied the saucy one. "I know as much about it as you do!"

"Eels swim. They don't run," said the biggest one. "Guess I know!"

"Well, they don't swim in air," said the saucy one. "That's the stuff that lies on top of the water and the ground, and people can't swim in it. So there!"

"Well, I've seen the Wild Ducks swim in it! They swim with their legs in the water, and with their wings in the air," said the biggest one.

"I don't believe it," said the saucy one. "Anyhow, Eels run on land."

"Eels swim on land," said the biggest one.

"Eels run!"

"Eels swim!"

"Run!"

"Swim!"

Then the two little Crayfishes, who had been talking louder and louder and becoming more and more angry, glared at each other, and jerked their feelers, and waved their pinching-claws in a very, very ugly way.

They did not notice a great green and yellow person swimming gently toward them, and they did not know that the Eels had come back to live in the old pond again. Mother Eel opened her big mouth very wide. "On land," she said decidedly, as she swallowed the Biggest Little Crayfish, "Eels wriggle." Then she swallowed the Saucy Crayfish.

"There!" said she. "I've stopped that dreadful quarrel." And she looked around with a satisfied smile.




The Lucky Mink


During the warm weather, the Minks did not come often to the pond. Then they had to stay nearer home and care for their babies. In the winter, when food was not so plentiful and their youngest children were old enough to come with them, they visited there every day. It was not far from their home.

The Minks lived by a waterfall in the river, and had burrows in the banks, where the young Minks stayed until they were large enough to go out into the world. Then the fathers and mothers were very busy, for in each home there were four or five or six children, hungry and restless, and needing to be taught many things.

They were related to the Weasels who lived up by the farmyard, and had the same slender and elegant bodies and short legs as they. Like the Weasels, they sometimes climbed trees, but that was not often. They did most of their hunting in the river, swimming with their bodies almost all under water, and diving and turning and twisting gracefully and quickly. When they hunted on land, they could tell by smelling just which way to go for their food.

The Minks were a very dark brown, and scattered through their close, soft fur were long, shining hairs of an even darker shade, which made their coats very beautiful indeed. The fur was darker on their backs than on the under part of their bodies, and their tapering, bushy tails were almost black. Their under jaws were white, and they were very proud of them. Perhaps it was because they had so little white fur that they thought so much of it. You know that is often the way -- we think most of those things which are scarce or hard to get.

There was one old Mink by the river who had a white tip on his tail, and that is something which many people have never seen. It is even more uncommon than for Minks to have white upper lips, and that happens only once in a great while. This Mink was a bachelor, and nobody knew why. Some people said it was because he was waiting to find a wife with a white tip on her tail, yet that could not have been, for he was too wise to wait for something which might never happen. However it was he lived alone, and fished and hunted just for himself. He could dive more quickly, stay under water longer, and hunt by scent better than any other Mink round there. His fur was sleeker and more shining than that of his friends, and it is no wonder that the sisters of his friends thought that he ought to marry.

When the Minks visited together, somebody was sure to speak of the Bachelor's luck. They said that, whatever he did, he was always lucky. "It is all because of a white tip on his tail," they said. "That makes him lucky."

The young Minks heard their fathers and mothers talking, and wished that they had been born with white tips on their tails so that they could be lucky too. Once the Bachelor heard them wishing this, and he smiled and showed his beautiful teeth, and told them that it was not the tip of his tail but his whole body that made him lucky. He did not smile to show his teeth, because he was not at all vain. He just smiled and showed his teeth.

There was a family of young Minks who lived at the foot of the waterfall, where the water splashed and dashed in the way they liked best. There were four brothers and two sisters in this family, and the brothers were bigger than the sisters (as Mink Brothers always are), although they were all the same age. One was very much larger than any of the rest, and so they called him Big Brother. He thought there was never such a fine Mink as the Bachelor, and he used to follow him around, and look at the tip on his tail, and wish that he was lucky like him. He wished to be just like him in every way but one; he did not want to be a bachelor.

The other young Minks laughed at Big Brother, and asked him if he thought his tail would turn white if he followed the Bachelor long enough. Big Brother stood it very patiently for a while; then he snarled at them, and showed his teeth without smiling, and said he would fight anybody who spoke another word about it. Minks are very brave and very fierce, and never know when to stop if they have begun to fight; so, after that, nobody dared tease Big Brother by saying anything more about the Bachelor. Sometimes they did look at his tail and smile, but they never spoke, and he pretended not to know what they meant by it.

A few days after this, the Bachelor was caught in a trap -- a common, clumsy, wooden trap, put together with nails and twine. It was not near the river, and none of his friends would have found him, if Big Brother had not happened along. He could hardly believe what he saw. Was it possible that a trap had dared to catch a Mink with a white-tipped tail? Then he heard the Bachelor groan, and he knew that it was so. He hurried up to where the trap was.

"Can't you get out?" said he.

"No," said the Bachelor. "I can't. The best way to get out is not to get in -- and I've gotten in."

"Can't you do something with your lucky tail to make the trap open?" asked Big Brother.

"I could do something with my teeth," answered the Bachelor, "if they were only where the tip of my tail is. Why are Minks always walking into traps?" He was trying hard not to be cross, but his eyes showed how he felt, and that was very cross indeed.

Then Big Brother became much excited. "I have good teeth," said he, "Tell me what to do."

"If you will help me out," said the Bachelor, "I will give you my luck."

"And what shall I do with the tail I have?" asked the young Mink, who thought that the Bachelor was to give him his white-tipped tail.

"Never mind now," answered the Bachelor, and he told the young Mink just where to gnaw. For a long time there was no sound but that of the young Mink's teeth on the wood of the trap. The Bachelor was too brave to groan or make a fuss, when he knew there was anybody around to hear. Big Brother's mouth became very sore, and his stomach became very empty, but still he kept at work. He was afraid somebody would come for the trap and the Mink in it, before he finished.

"Now try it," said he, after he had gnawed for quite a while. The Bachelor backed out as far as he could, but his body stuck in the hole. "You are rumpling your beautiful fur," cried the young Mink.

"Never mind the fur," answered the Bachelor. "I can smooth that down afterward. You will have to gnaw a little on this side." And he raised one of his hind feet to show where he meant. It was a beautiful hindfoot, thickly padded, and with short partly webbed toes, and no hair at all growing between them. The claws were short, sharp, and curved.

Big Brother gnawed away. "Now try it," said he. The Bachelor backed carefully out through the opening and stood there, looking tired and hungry and very much rumpled.

"You are a fine young Mink," said he. "We will get something to eat, and then we will see about making you lucky."

They went to the river bank and had a good dinner. The Bachelor ate more than Big Brother, for his mouth was not sore. But Big Brother was very happy. He thought how handsome he would look with a white-tipped tail, and how, after he had that, he could surely marry whoever he wished. It was the custom among his people to want to marry the best looking and strongest. Indeed it is so among all the pond people, and that is one reason why they care so much about being good-looking. It is very hard for a young Mink to have the one he loves choose somebody else, just because the other fellow has the bushiest tail, or the longest fur, or the thickest pads on his feet.

"Now," said the Bachelor, "we will talk about luck. We will go to a place where nobody can hear what we say." They found such a place and lay down. The Bachelor rolled over three times and smoothed his fur; he was still so tired from being in the trap. Then he looked at the young Mink very sharply. "So you want my tail?" said he.

"You said you would give me your luck," answered Big Brother, "and everybody knows that your luck is in your tail."

The Bachelor smiled. "What will you do with the tail you have?" said he.

"I don't know," answered Big Brother.

"You wouldn't want to wear two?" asked the Bachelor.

"Oh, no," answered Big Brother. "How that would look!"

"Well, how will you put my tail in place of yours?" asked the Bachelor.

"I don't know," answered the young Mink, "but you are so wise that I thought you might know some way." He began to feel discouraged, and to think that the Bachelor's offer didn't mean very much after all.

"Don't you think?" said the Bachelor slowly, "don't you think that, if you could have my luck, you could get along pretty well with your own tail?"

"Why, yes," said the young Mink, who had begun to fear he was not going to get anything. "Yes, but how could that be?"

The Bachelor smiled again. "I always tell people," said he, "that my luck is not in my tail, and they never believe it. I will tell you the secret of my luck, and you can have luck like it, if you really care enough." He looked all around to make sure that nobody was near, and he listened very carefully with the two little round ears that were almost hidden in his head-fur. Then he whispered to Big Brother, "This is the secret: always do everything a little better than anybody else can."

"Is that all?" asked the young Mink.

"That is enough," answered the Bachelor. "Keep trying and trying and trying, until you can dive deeper, stay under water longer, run faster, and smell farther than other Minks. Then you will have good luck when theirs is poor. You will have plenty to eat when they are hungry. You can beat in every fight. You can have sleek, shining fur when theirs is dull. Luck is not a matter of white-tipped tails."

The more the young Mink thought about it, the happier he became. "I don't see that I am to have your luck after all," said he. "When I have learned to do everything in the very best way, it will be luck of my own."

"Of course," answered the Bachelor. "Then it is a kind of luck that cannot be lost. If I carried mine in the tip of my tail, somebody might bite it off and leave me unlucky."

Big Brother kept the secret, and worked until he had learned to be as lucky as the Bachelor. Then he married the person he wanted, and she was very, very handsome. It is said that one of their sons has a white-tipped tail, but that may not be so.




The Playful Muskrats


One warm day in winter, when some of the pussy-willows made a mistake and began to grow because they thought spring had come, a party of Muskrats were visiting in the marsh beside the pond. All around them were their winter houses, built of mud and coarse grasses. These homes looked like heaps of dried rushes, unless one went close to them. If one did that, he could plainly see what they were; and if one happened to be a Muskrat, and could dive and go into them through their watery doorways, he would find under the queer roof of each, a warm, dry room in which to pass the cold days.

"Fine weather!" said every Muskrat to his neighbor. "Couldn't sleep all of such a day as this." They spoke in that way, you know, because they usually sleep in the daytime and are awake at night.

"We wish it would always be warm weather," said the young Muskrats. "What's the use of winter?"

"Hard to tell," answered one Muskrat, who had lived in the marsh longer than the rest. "Hard to tell: I know it always gives me a good appetite, though." Then all the Muskrats laughed. They were a jolly, good-natured company, and easy to get along with. The other pond people liked them much better than they did their neighbors, the Minks. The Wild Ducks who nested in the sedges, were quite willing that the young Muskrats should play with their children, and the Mud Hens were not afraid of them. Mud Hens cannot bear Minks. They say that when a Mud Chicken is missing from the nest, there is quite sure to be a Mink somewhere near with a full stomach and down around the corners of his mouth.

Perhaps if the Wild Ducks and the Mud Hens were raising their families in the winter time it might be different, for then the Muskrats get hungry enough to eat almost anything. In spring and summer, when they can find fresh grasses and young rushes, or a few parsnips, carrots, and turnips from the farmers' fields, other animals are quite safe. In the winter they live mostly on roots.

"Fine day!" screamed the Gulls, as they swept through the air. "Pity the Frogs don't come out to enjoy it!"

"Yes, great pity," chuckled the old Muskrat. "How glad you would be to see them!" He smiled all around his little mouth and showed his gnawing teeth. He knew that the Frogs were better off asleep in the mud at the bottom of the pond, than they would be sitting in the sunshine with a few hungry Gulls above them. The Turtles were sleeping all winter, too, in the banks of the pond. The Eels were lying at the bottom, stupid and drowsy, and somewhere the Water-Adders were hidden away, dreaming of spring. Of all the birds who lived by the water, only the Gulls were there, and they were not popular. It is true that they helped keep the pond sweet and clean, and picked up and carried away many things which made the shore untidy, still, they were rude, and talked too loudly, and wore their feathers in such a way that they looked like fine large birds, when really they were lean and skinny and small. The other pond people said that was just like them, always pretending to be more than they really were.

Fifteen young Muskrats, all brothers and sisters, and all born the summer before, started off to look at the old home where they were children together. That is to say, they were not all there at once, but there were five born early in the season; and when they were old enough to look out for themselves, five more came to live in the old nest; and when these were old enough to leave the nest, another five were born.

It doesn't mean so much to Muskrats to be brothers and sisters as it does to some people, still they remembered that they were related, and they played more with each other than with those young Muskrats who were only their cousins or friends. Their mother was very proud of them, and loved to watch them running around on their short legs, and to hear them slap their long, scaly tails on the water when they dove. They had short, downy fur, almost black on the back, soft gray underneath, and a reddish brown everywhere else. There was very little fur on their tails or on their feet, and those parts were black.

These fifteen children had been fairly well brought up, but you can see that their mother had many cares; so it is not strange if they sometimes behaved badly. In some other families, where there were only nine or ten babies all the season, they had been brought up more strictly. Like all young Muskrats, they were full of fun, and there were few pleasanter sights than to see them frolicking on a warm moonlight evening, when they looked like brown balls rolling and bounding around on the shore or plunging into the water. If they had all been exactly the same age, it would have been even pleasanter, for the oldest five would put on airs and call the others "the children"; and the next five would call the youngest five "babies"; although they were all well grown. There was no chance for the youngest five to call other Muskrats "babies," so when they were warm and well fed and good-natured they laughed and said, "Who cares?" When they were cold and hungry, they slapped their tails on the ground or on the water and said, "Don't you think you're smart!"

When they got to talking so and their mother heard it, she would say, "Now, children!" in such a way that they had to stop. Their father sometimes slapped them with his tail. Teasing is not so very bad, you know, although it is dreadfully silly, but when people begin by teasing they sometimes get to saying things in earnest -- even really hateful, mean things. And that was what made the Muskrat father and mother stop it whenever they could.

Now the whole fifteen crowded around the old summer home, and some of them went in one way, and some of them went in another, for every Muskrat's summer house has several burrows leading to it. When they reached the old nest at the end, all of them tried to get in at once, and they pushed each other around with their broad little heads, scrambled and clutched and held on with their strong little feet. Five of them said, "It's our turn first. We're the oldest." And five more said, "Well, it's our turn next anyway, 'cause we're next oldest." The others said, "You might give up to us, because we're the youngest."

They pushed and scrambled some more, and one of the youngest children said to one of the oldest, "Well, I don't care. I'm just as big as you are" (which was so). And the older one answered back, "Well, you're not so good-looking" (which was also true).

Then part of the brothers and sisters took sides with one, and part took sides with the other. What had been a lovely frolic became an unpleasant, disgraceful quarrel, and they said such things as these:

"'Fore I'd make such a fuss!"

"Who's making any more fuss than you are, I'd like to know?"

"Oh, yes. You're big enough, but you're just as homely as you can be. So there!"

"Quit poking me!"

"You slapped your tail on my back!"

"I'm going to tell on you fellows!"

"I dare you to!"

"Won't you catch it though!"

And many more things which were even worse. Think of it. Fifteen young Muskrats who really loved each other, talking like that because they couldn't decide whether the oldest or the youngest or the half-way-between brothers and sisters should go first into the old nest. And it didn't matter a bit who was oldest or who was youngest, and it never would have happened had it not been for their dreadful habit of teasing.

Just as they had become very hot and angry, they heard their mother's voice say, "Now, children!" but they were too much excited to mind, and they did not stop until their father came and slapped them with his tail. Then they kept still and listened to their mother. She told them that they should leave the place at once, and not one of them should even set foot in the old nest. "Suppose somebody had gotten hurt," she said. This made the young Muskrats look very sober, for they knew that the Muskrat who is hurt in winter never gets well.

After she had let them think about this for a while, she said, "I shall punish you all for this." Then there was no quarrel among her children to see who should have the first turn -- not at all.

One young Muskrat said, "Aren't you going to let us play any more?"

"Yes," said she. "I shall let you play all the rest of the day, but I shall choose the games. The oldest five will play 'Mud Turtles in winter,' the next five will play 'Frogs in winter,' and the youngest five will play 'Snakes in winter.' The way to play these games is to lie perfectly still in some dark place and not say a word."

The young Muskrats looked at each other sorrowfully. They thought it sounded very much the same as being sent to bed for being naughty. They did not dare say anything, for they knew that, although their mother was gentle, as Muskrats are most of the time, she could be very severe. So they went away quietly to play what she had told them they must. But it was not much fun to play those games when all the others were having a fine time in the sunshine.

There were nine of the young Muskrats who did not tease any after that. Even the other six were more careful.

<eob>

Clematis

By

Bertha B., Ernest Cobb



Chapter I

Lost In The Big City


It was early Spring. A warm sun shone down upon the city street. On the edge of the narrow brick sidewalk a little girl was sitting.

Her gingham dress was old and shabby. The short, brown coat had lost all its buttons, and a rusty pin held it together.

A faded blue cap partly covered her brown hair, which hung in short, loose curls around her face.

She had been sitting there almost an hour when a policeman came along.

"I wonder where that girl belongs," he said, as he looked down at her. "She is a new one on Chambers Street."

He walked on, but he looked back as he walked, to see if she went away.

The child slowly raised her big, brown eyes to look after him. She watched him till he reached the corner by the meat shop; then she looked down and began to kick at the stones with her thin boots.

At this moment a bell rang. A door opened in a building across the street, and many children came out.

As they passed the little girl, some of them looked at her. One little boy bent down to see her face, but she hid it under her arm.

"What are you afraid of?" he asked. "Who's going to hurt you?"

She did not answer.

Another boy opened his lunch box as he passed, and shook out the pieces of bread, left from his lunch.

Soon the children were gone, and the street was quiet again.

The little girl kicked at the stones a few minutes; then she looked up. No one was looking at her, so she reached out one little hand and picked up a crust of bread.

In a wink the bread was in her mouth. She reached out for another, brushed off a little dirt, and ate that also.

Just then the policeman came down the street from the other corner. The child quickly bent her head and looked down.

This time he came to where she sat, and stopped.

"Are you going to sit here all day, little girl?" he asked.

She did not answer.

"Your mother will be looking for you. You'd better run home now, like a good girl. Where do you live, anyway?"

He bent down and lifted her chin, so she had to look up at him.

"Where do you live, miss? Tell us now, that's a good girl."

"I don't know." The child spoke slowly, half afraid.

"O come now, of course you know, a big girl like you ought to know. What's the name of the street?"

"I don't know."

"Ah, you're only afraid of me. Don't be afraid of Jim Cunneen now. I've a little girl at home just about your age."

He waited for her to answer, but she said nothing.

"Come miss, you must think. How can I take you home if you don't tell me where you live?"

"I don't know."

"Oh, dear me! That is all I get for an answer. Well then, I'll have to take you down to the station. May be you will find a tongue down there."

As he spoke, he took hold of her arm to help her up. Then he tried one more question.

"What is your name?"

"My name is Clematis."

As she spoke she moved her arm, and out from the coat peeped a kitten. It was white, with a black spot over one eye.

"There, that is better," answered the policeman. "Now tell me your last name."

"That is all the name I have, just Clematis."

"Well then, what is your father's name?"

"I haven't any father."

"Ah, that is too bad, dear. Then tell me your mother's name." He bent down lower to hear her reply.

"I haven't any mother, either."

"No father? No mother?" The policeman lifted her gently to her feet. "Well miss, we won't stay here any longer. It is getting late."

Just then the kitten stuck its head out from her coat and said, "Miew."

It seemed very glad to move on.

"What's that now, a cat? Where did you get that?"

"It is my kitty, my very own, so I kept it. I didn't steal it. Its name is Deborah, and it is my very own."

"Ah, now she is finding her tongue," said the policeman, smiling; while Clematis hugged the kitten.

But the little girl could tell him no more, so he led her along the street toward the police station.

Before they had gone very far, they passed a baker's shop.

In the window were rolls, and cookies, and buns, and little cakes with jam and frosting on them.

The smell of fresh bread came through the door.

"What is the matter, miss?" The man looked down, as Clematis stood still before the window.

She was looking through the glass, at the rolls, and cakes, and cookies.

The policeman smelled the fresh bread, and it made him hungry.

"Are you hungry, little girl?" he asked, looking down with a smile.

"Wouldn't you be hungry if you hadn't had anything to eat all day long?" Clematis looked up at him with tears in her big brown eyes.

"Nothing to eat all day? Why, you must be nearly starved!" As he spoke, the policeman started into the store, pulling Clematis after him.

She was so surprised that she almost dropped her kitten.

"Miew," said poor Deborah, as if she knew they were going to starve no longer. But it was really because she was squeezed so tight she couldn't help it.

"Now, Miss Clematis, do you see anything there you like?"

Jim Cunneen smiled down at Clematis, as she peeped through the glass case at the things inside.

She stood silent, with her nose right against the glass.

There were so many things to eat it almost took her breath away.

"Well, what do you say, little girl? Don't you see anything you like?"

"May I choose anything I want?"

"Yes, miss. Just pick out what you like best."

The lady behind the counter smiled, as the policeman lifted Clematis a little, so she could see better. There were cakes, and cookies, and buns, and doughnuts.

"May I have a cream cake?" asked Clematis.

"Of course you may. What else?" He lifted her a bit higher.

"Miew!" said Deborah, from under her coat.

"Oh, excuse me, cat," he said, as he set Clematis down. "I forgot you were there too."

The woman laughed, as she took out a cream cake, a cookie with nuts on it, and a doughnut.

"May I eat them now?" asked Clematis, as she took the bag.

"You start right in, and if that's not enough, you can have more. But don't forget the cat."

Jim Cunneen laughed with the baker woman, while Clematis began to eat the doughnut, as they started out.

Before long they came to a brick building that had big doors.

"Here we are," said the policeman. They turned, and went inside.

There another policeman was sitting at a desk behind a railing.

"Well, who comes here?" asked the policeman at the desk.

"That is more than I know," replied Jim Cunneen. "I guess she's lost out of the flower show. She says her name is Clematis."

Clematis said nothing. Her mouth was full of cream cake now, and a little cream was running over her fingers.

Deborah was silent also. She was eating the last crumbs of the doughnut.

"Is that all you could find out?" The other man looked at Clematis.

"She says she has no father and no mother. Her cat is named Deborah. That is all she told me."

"Oh, well, I guess you scared her, Jim. Let me ask her. I'll find out."

The new policeman smiled at Clematis. "Come on now, sister," he said. "Tell us where you live. That's a good girl."

Clematis reached up one hand and took hold of her friend's big finger. She looked at the new policeman a moment.

"If you didn't know where you lived, how could you tell anyone?" she said.

Jim Cunneen laughed. He liked to feel her little hand.

"See how scared she is of me," he said. "We are old friends now."

Again they asked the little girl all the questions they could think of. But it was of no use. She could not tell them where she lived. She would not tell them very much about herself.

At last the Captain came in. They told him about this queer little girl.

He asked her questions also. Then he said:

"We shall have to send her to the Home. If anyone claims her he can find her there."

So Clematis and Deborah were tucked into the big station wagon, and Jim Cunneen took her to the Home, where lost children are sheltered and fed.




Chapter II

The Children's Home


As they climbed the steps leading to the Home, Clematis looked up at the policeman.

"What is this place?" she asked.

"This is the Children's Home, miss. You will have a fine time here."

A young woman with a kind face opened the door.

The policeman did not go in. "Here is a child I found on Chambers Street," he said. "We can't find out where she lives."

"Oh, I see," said the woman.

"Could you take her in for a while, till we can find her parents?"

"Yes, I guess we have room for her. Come in, little girl."

At that moment there was a scratching sound, and Deborah stuck her head out.

"Miew," said Deborah, who was still hungry. Perhaps she thought it was another bakery.

"Dear me!" cried the young woman, "we can't have that cat in here."

Clematis drew back, and reached for Jim Cunneen's hand.

"It's a very nice cat, I'm sure," said the policeman.

He felt sorry for Clematis. He knew how she loved her kitten.

"But it's against the rules. The children can never have cats or dogs in here."

Clematis, with tears in her eyes, turned away.

"Come on," she said to her big friend. "Let us go."

But Jim Cunneen drew her back. He loved little girls, and was also fond of cats.

"Don't you think the cook might need it for a day or two, to catch the rats?" he asked, with his best smile.

"Oh dear me, I don't know. I don't think so. It's against the rules for children to bring in pets."

"Ah then, just wait a minute. I'll be right back."

The policeman ran down the steps and around the corner of the house, while the young woman asked Clematis questions.

"It's all right then, I'm sure," he called as he came back. "Katie says she would be very glad to have that cat to help her catch the rats."

The young woman laughed; Clematis dried her tears, and Jim Cunneen waved his hand and said goodby.

In another moment the door opened, and Clematis, with Deborah still in her arms, was in her new home.

It was supper hour at the Children's Home. In the big dining room three long tables were set.

At each place on the clean, bare table was a plate, a small yellow bowl, and a spoon.

Beside each plate was a blue gingham bib.

Jane, one of the girls in the Home, was filling the bowls on her table with milk from a big brown pitcher.

Two little girls worked at each of the tables. While one filled the bowls, the other brought the bread.

She put two thick slices of bread and a big cookie on each plate.

The young woman who had let Clematis in, came to the table near the door.

"There is a new girl at your table tonight, Jane," she said. "She will sit next to me."

"All right, Miss Rose," answered Jane, carefully filling the last yellow bowl.

"Please may I ring the bell tonight, Miss Rose?" asked Sally, who had been helping Jane.

Miss Rose looked at the table. Every slice of bread and every cookie was in place.

"Yes, dear; your work is well done. You may ring."

At the sound of the supper bell, a tramping of many feet sounded in the long hall.

The doors of the dining room were opened, and Mrs. Snow came in, followed by a double line of little girls.

Each girl knew just where to find her place, and stood waiting for the signal to sit.

A teacher stood at the head of each table, and beside Miss Rose was the little stranger.

Mrs. Snow was the housemother. She asked the blessing, while every little girl bowed her head.

Clematis stared about at the other children all this time, and wondered what they were doing.

Now they were seated, and each girl buttoned her bib in place before she tasted her supper.

Sally sat next to Clematis.

"They gave you a bath, didn't they?" she said, as she put her bread into her bowl.

Clematis nodded.

"And you got a nice clean apron like ours, didn't you?"

Clematis nodded again.

"Oh, see her hair, it's lovely!" sighed a little girl across the table, who had short, straight hair.

Clematis' soft brown curls were neatly brushed, and tied with a dark red ribbon.

She did not look much like the child who came in an hour before.

"What's her name?" asked Jane, looking at Miss Rose.

"We'll ask her tomorrow. Now stop talking please, so she can eat her supper."

At that, the little girl looked up at Miss Rose and said: "My name is Clematis, and my kitty's name is Deborah."

Just as she said this, a very strange noise was heard. Every child stopped eating. Miss Rose turned red, and Mrs. Snow looked up in surprise.

"Miew, miew, miew," came from under the table. In another minute a little head peeped over the edge of the table where Clematis sat. It was a kitten, with a black spot over one eye.

"Miew, miew," Deborah continued, and stuck her little red tongue right into the yellow bowl. She was very hungry, and could wait no longer.

Mrs. Snow rapped on the table, for every child laughed right out. What fun it was! No one had ever seen a cat in there before.

"Miss Rose, will you kindly put that cat out. Put her out the front door." Mrs. Snow was very stern. She didn't wish any cats in the Home.

Clematis looked at Mrs. Snow. Her eyes filled with tears, and she began to sob.

Miss Rose turned as red as Deborah's tongue. She had not asked Mrs. Snow if she might let the cat in. She thought it would stay in the kitchen with Katie.

"Did you hear me, Miss Rose? I wish you would please put the cat out the door. We can't have it here."

Miss Rose started to get up, when Clematis slipped out of her chair, hugging Deborah tightly to her breast.

The tears were running down her cheeks, as she started for the door.

"Where are you going, little girl?" said Mrs. Snow.

Clematis did not answer, but kept right on.

"Stop her, Miss Rose. What is the matter, anyway? Dear me, what a fuss!"

Miss Rose caught Clematis by the arm.

"Wait, dear," she said. "Don't act like that. Answer Mrs. Snow."

"I don't care," sobbed Clematis, looking back. "I don't want to stay here if you are going to throw my cat away."

"I should have asked you, Mrs. Snow," said Miss Rose. "She had the kitten with her. She cried to bring it in, and Katie said she would care for it in the kitchen."

"Oh, so that is it. Well, don't cry, child. Take it back to Katie, and tell her to keep the door shut."

"She's hungry," said Clematis, drying her eyes on her sleeve.

"Well, ask Katie to feed her then, and come right back to the table."




Chapter III

The First Night


Supper was soon finished, with many giggles from the little girls, who hoped that Deborah would get in again.

Clematis ate every crumb of her bread and cookie. Her yellow bowl looked as if Deborah had lapped it dry.

"After supper, we play games. It's great fun," said Sally, as they were folding their bibs.

The bell rang, and the long line of children formed once more.

They marched out through the long hall, up the broad stairs to the play room.

There were little tables, with low chairs to match. Some of the tables held games.

In one corner of the room was a great doll house, that a rich lady had given to the Home.

In another corner was a small wooden swing with two seats.

A rocking horse stood near the window, and a box of bean bags lay on a low shelf near by.

Soon all were playing happily, except Clematis, who stood near the window.

She was looking at the trees, which were sending out red buds. The sun had set, and the sky was rosy with the last light of day.

"Don't you want to play?" asked Miss Rose, coming across the room.

Clematis shook her head.

"What would you like to do, dear?"

Clematis thought a moment.

"I should like to help Katie in the kitchen. She must need some little girl."

Miss Rose smiled. "If Clematis can get down into the kitchen, she can see her kitten," she thought. "She is a sly little puss herself."

"I don't think you could go down tonight, but if you are a good girl I am sure Katie will want you to help her before long."

Clematis smiled.

"Come now, and I will ask Jane to show you the doll house."

So the little girls took Clematis over to the doll house that stood in the corner.

Jane opened the front door, so they could look in and see four pretty rooms.

Lace curtains hung at the tiny windows. New rugs were on the floors.

There was a tiny kitchen, with a tiny stove and tiny kettles, all just like your own house. It was enough to make any girl happy.

It was so much fun that Clematis forgot to be sad, and was not ready to leave the doll house when the bell rang once more. It was bedtime.

"That is the sleepy bell," said Jane, closing the door to the doll house, and running toward the stairs.

Clematis was at the end of the row, as the girls went out of the playroom, and Miss Rose spoke as she passed through the door.

"I will show you where you are to sleep, my dear. You go with the other children, and I'll come in a few minutes."

Clematis followed the other children up the stairs to the sleeping rooms.

Miss Rose soon came, and together they went to the room at the end of the hall.

How sweet that room looked to the tired little stranger!

A white iron bed stood against the wall, near the window. A small table held a wash basin and pitcher. There was a cup and soap dish, too.

Two clean towels hung near by.

Best of all was the little white bureau, with a mirror. The mirror had a white frame.

There was a pink rug before the bureau, and beside the bureau was a white chair.

"Oh, my!" cried Clematis, "see the flowers on the wall!" The pink wall paper was covered with white roses and their green leaves.

Miss Rose took a white nightdress from the bureau, and laid it on the bed.

"Now, Clematis, I shall give you just ten minutes to undress. When I come back I want you to be all ready for me."

Miss Rose went out, and Clematis started on her shoes.

"I guess she don't know how fast I can undress," she said to herself.

When Miss Rose came back, in ten minutes, she found Clematis already in bed, and half asleep.

"Why Clematis, this will never do!" Miss Rose pulled back the sheet and made Clematis sit up.

There, beside the bed, was a pile of clothes. There were the stockings, just as she had pulled them off.

The boots were thrown down on the clean gingham dress, and the fresh apron was sadly crushed.

"I am sorry, little girl," said Miss Rose, "but you will have to get right up."

"Why?" asked Clematis.

"No little girl can go to bed without washing her face and hands. No little girl can leave her clothes like this."

"Isn't this my room?" said Clematis, slowly getting out of bed.

"It is for tonight. We always let a new child sleep alone the first night."

"Wasn't I quick in getting into bed? Why must I get up?"

"Look, dear. Look at that pile of clothes."

"Oh, I always leave them there," replied Clematis. "Then I know just where to find them in the morning."

"We don't do so here, Clematis. Now please pick up the clothes, fold them, and put them on the chair.

"Then put your boots under the chair, and take off your pretty hair ribbon."

Clematis gathered the clothes together, but she was not happy.

"I know you are tired, dear, but I am tired too, and we must do things right, even if we are tired.

"Now I must show you how to wash, and brush your teeth, and then have you say your prayers, before I can leave you."

"Oh bother!" sighed Clematis.

"No, we mustn't say words like that. Come now, we will get washed."

Miss Rose poured some water from the pitcher, and made Clematis wash her hands, and arms, and face, carefully. Then she took a toothbrush from a box and gave it to her.

"What is this for?" asked Clematis.

"Why dear," answered Miss Rose in surprise, "that is a tooth brush."

"A tooth brush! Why, there is no hair on my teeth."

Miss Rose laughed. "No dear, perhaps not, but we must brush them carefully each night with water, or they will soon be aching."

"Will that stop teeth from aching?"

"Yes indeed, it will help very much to keep them from aching."

"All right, then." Clematis began to brush her teeth. "My teeth ached last week. I nearly died," she answered.

The teeth were cleaned, and Clematis was ready for bed.

"Now dear, let us say our prayers."

"I don't know any prayers."

Miss Rose looked at Clematis in pity. "Don't you really know any prayers at all?"

"Would you know any prayers if you had never learned any?"

Miss Rose smiled sadly.

"Well, then," she said, "we will learn the Lord's Prayer, and then you will know the most beautiful prayer of all."

They knelt down together, and Clematis said over the words after Miss Rose.

"Now good night, dear, and pleasant dreams," said Miss Rose, as she tucked her in.

"Good night," said Clematis.

The door closed, and all was dark.

The maple trees swayed gently outside the window.

They nodded to Clematis, as she watched them with sleepy eyes.

One little star peeped in at her through the maple tree.




Chapter IV

Who Is Clematis?


The bright sun was shining on the red buds of the maple tree when Clematis woke the next morning.

It was early. The rising bell had not rung. Clematis got up and looked out of the open window.

She could see nothing but houses across the street, but the buds of the maple were beautiful in the sun.

"I wish I had some of those buds to put in my room," said Clematis to herself.

She took her clothes, and began to dress. While she was dressing, she looked again at the maple buds, and wanted them more than ever.

"If I reached out a little way, I could get some of those, I just know I could," she thought.

As soon as she got her shoes on she pushed the window wide open.

She leaned out. Some beautiful buds were very near, but she could not quite reach them.

She leaned out a little farther. Then she climbed upon the window sill.

They were still out of her reach.

For a minute she stopped. Then she put one foot out in the gutter. With one hand she held the blind, and reached out to the nearest branch.

At last she had it. She drew it nearer, and broke off a piece with many buds.

As the piece broke off, the branch flew back again to its place, and Clematis almost fell back through the window to the floor.

She patted the red buds and made a little bunch of them. She filled her cup with water and put the buds in it; then she put it on the bureau.

Clematis was looking proudly at them, when the door opened, and Miss Rose came in.

She looked at Clematis, and then at the buds.

"Why, Clematis!" she said.

Then she looked out the window. There, several feet beyond the window, was the broken end. Drops of sap were running from the white wood.

"How did you get those buds?" asked Miss Rose.

"I reached out of the window," said Clematis, "why, was that stealing?"

Miss Rose gasped.

"Clematis, do you mean to tell me that you climbed out of the window and reached for that branch?"

Clematis nodded. Tears came into her eyes. She must have done something very wrong, but she did not know just what was so wicked about taking a small branch from a maple tree.

"I didn't know it was stealing," she sobbed.

"It isn't that, Clematis. It is not wrong to take a twig, but think of the danger. Don't you know you might have fallen and killed yourself?"

Clematis wiped her eyes on her sleeve.

"Oh, that's nothing," she said, "I had hold of the blind all the time. I couldn't fall."

"Now, Clematis, no child ever did such a thing before, and you must never, never, do it again. Do you understand?"

"Yes'm."

"Do you promise?"

"Yes'm."

"Well then, let's get ready for breakfast."

Clematis washed her face and hands, brushed her hair, and cleaned her teeth carefully.

Soon she was ready to go down stairs, and took one of the maple buds to put in her dress.

As they went out, Miss Rose saw that she wanted to say something.

"Do you want something?" she said.

"Can I help Katie this morning?"

"After breakfast I will ask Mrs. Snow, but breakfast is almost ready now."

Just then the breakfast bell rang, and Clematis marched in with the other children. She was thinking about Deborah, and wondering if she had caught any rats.

For breakfast they had baked apples, oatmeal with milk, and rye gems.

It did not take them long to eat this. Soon they were through, and ready for the morning work.

As they were getting up, Mrs. Snow came to speak to Miss Rose.

Clematis held her breath when she heard what was said.

"Perhaps this little girl would like to go down and play with her kitten a while. We can find some work for her by and by."

"Oh yes," said Clematis, "I would."

"Well, you can tell Katie I said you might. Be sure not to get in her way."

Off ran Clematis to the kitchen, to find her dear Deborah.

There she was, curled up like a little ball under the stove.

She looked with sleepy eyes at Clematis, and crawled down into her lap.

Then Clematis smoothed her and patted her, till she purred her very sweetest purr.

"Ah," said Katie. "It's a fine cat. It caught a big rat in the night, and brought it in, as proud as pie."

"Do you think they will let me keep her?" asked Clematis.

"Oh, I guess so. If she catches the rats, she will be welcome here. You can be sure of that. I hate rats."

While Clematis and Deborah were having such a good time in the kitchen, Mrs. Snow took Miss Rose to her room.

"Well, Miss Rose, have you found out anything about that strange little child?"

"Not very much yet. She talks very little, and has had very little care."

"What makes you think so?"

"Why, the poor child didn't know what a tooth brush was for. She said she always left her clothes in a pile by the bed, because she could find them all in the morning."

Mrs. Snow sighed.

"Dear me, she will need much care, to teach her how to do things well. But I guess her folks will come for her before long."

"I don't know who her folks can be. She has never learned any prayers."

"Poor child, she must be a sad case." Mrs. Snow sighed again.

"But she is very fearless. This morning, before I went to her room, she had climbed out of the window and broken off a piece of the maple tree with buds on it."

"What, way up there at the roof?"

"Yes, she said that was nothing, for she had hold of the blind."

"What did she want the branch for?"

"She wanted it for the red buds. She broke them off and put them in her cup, like flowers."

"Well, Miss Rose, take her out to walk this afternoon, and ask her some questions. Perhaps you can find out where she lives."




Chapter V

Clematis Begins To Learn


Clematis played with Deborah all the morning. She forgot about helping Katie, and when Katie asked her if she wanted to help her peel some potatoes, she said:

"I don't know how."

"Didn't you ever peel potatoes?" asked Katie.

"No, I never had to do any work."

"Well, you will have to be doing some work round here. It's lucky for you that Mrs. Snow is good to little girls. You would have a hard row to hoe in some homes, believe me."

Clematis was busy tying her hair ribbon round Deborah's neck, and did not answer.

The morning went fast, and the dinner was ready before Clematis was ready to leave her kitten.

For dinner they had soup, in the little yellow bowls, with a big piece of Johnny cake, and some ginger bread.

As soon as dinner was over, Miss Rose brought Clematis a brown coat.

It was not new, but it was neat and warm, much better than the one she had worn the day before.

"Come, Clematis," she said, "I am going out to walk. Don't you want to go with me?"

"Where are you going?" asked Clematis, shrinking back.

"Oh, out in the park, and down by the river. I think you will like it."

Clematis put on the coat as quickly as she could. Then she took Miss Rose by the hand.

"Come on, let's go," she said.

"You might wait till I get my coat and hat on." Miss Rose was laughing at her.

Soon they were down by the river. Miss Rose sat on the gravel, while Clematis ran along the edge of the water.

She sailed bits of wood for boats, and threw little stones in, to see the rings they made. She was very, very happy.

"Clematis," said Miss Rose, "don't you remember the street you lived on?"

Clematis thought a minute.

"How would you know the street you lived on if nobody ever told you?"

Miss Rose thought a moment.

"Don't you remember your mother's name?"

Clematis shook her head.

"I don't remember. It was a long time ago."

"Do you mean she died a long time ago?"

Miss Rose asked her some other questions. At last she said:

"Well, tell me the name of the man you lived with."

"His name was Smith."

"Oh dear, there are so many Smiths, we shall never guess the right one. Dear me, Clematis. I don't know how we shall ever find your home."

Clematis threw a big stone into the water, which made a big splash.

"I hope you never will," she said.

"Why, Clematis! Do you mean that you wish never to go back where you came from?"

"Well, how would you like to live in a place where you had to stay in an old brick yard all day, and never saw even grass?"

Miss Rose thought a while. Then she got up and started back to the Home.

Clematis followed her slowly. She was sorry to go.

That night Mrs. Snow talked with Miss Rose again.

"She must have lived in the city," said Miss Rose. "She had to stay in a yard paved with bricks all day. She doesn't remember her parents at all. She ran away, that is sure."

"I hardly know what to do," said Mrs. Snow, at last. "She can stay here for a while, and perhaps the people she lived with will find her here."

So Mrs. Snow told the policeman what they had found out, and he said they would do the best they could to find her people.

That night Clematis did not go to the little room near the maple tree to sleep. She went into the big room.

Jane slept in the bed next to hers. Miss Rose told her to see that Clematis had what help she needed in going to bed.

The day had been a busy one for Clematis. She was very sleepy.

"I guess I won't bother with teeth and things tonight," she said to herself.

So she pulled off her clothes, and got into bed.

"Oh Clematis, you can't do that. You've got to pick up your clothes, and clean your teeth, and do lots of things."

Jane came and shook her, as she snuggled under the clothes.

"Oh, I'm too tired tonight. I'll do it tomorrow night."

Clematis did not stir.

Just then Miss Rose came into the sleeping room.

She saw Jane trying to get Clematis out of bed. She also saw the pile of clothes.

"Clematis, I can't have this. Get right out of bed, and do as I told you last night."

She wanted children to obey her, and she had tried to be very kind to Clematis.

The other children giggled, as Clematis got slowly out of bed.

But Miss Rose frowned at them.

"You see that she does every single thing she ought," said Miss Rose to Jane, "and if she doesn't, you tell me."

Then Miss Rose went away, and left the girls to get ready for bed.

Poor Clematis had a hard time of it. The other girls made fun of her, because she was so clumsy and slow. At last she got her clothes folded up, and went to wash.

"She isn't washing her neck and ears," said Jane to herself, "but I guess I won't tell."

So at last Clematis got into bed again, and went to sleep.




Chapter VI

Clematis Has A Hard Row To Hoe


It was all Jane could do the next morning to make Clematis get up when the rising bell rang.

"I don't want to get up yet," grumbled Clematis. "I will get up pretty soon."

"No you won't either. You'll get up right off now. We have to be ready for breakfast in fifteen minutes."

Jane pulled down the clothes, while the other girls laughed. Poor Clematis had to get up.

At first she was cross, but when she looked out of the window, she smiled.

From this window she could see way off to a beautiful hill, golden brown in the morning sun.

Part way to the hill was a river. Its little waves shimmered and danced. Its shores were quite green already.

Now Clematis was wide awake and happy. She started to dress.

"Wash first," said Jane.

Clematis started to grumble again, but when she looked into the mirror above the wash stand, there was the river, smiling at her in the mirror.

She knew this river. She had been there. Perhaps she would go again some day.

For breakfast they had a bowl of oatmeal and milk, with two slices of bread.

Clematis looked around while they were eating.

"Don't you ever get a cup of coffee for breakfast?" she asked of Sally, who sat next to her.

"Oh, no, never, but sometimes we have cocoa, on real cold mornings."

Clematis turned up her nose a little. She did not care much for oatmeal.

"I like doughnuts and coffee a great deal better," she said.

"Huh, you won't have any doughnuts and coffee round here," said Jane. "You'd better eat what you have."

Clematis took her advice, and had just finished her bread, when the bell sounded.

"Now, Clematis," said Miss Rose, "you are going to stay here for a while anyway, so you must take your part in the daily work."

"Yes'm."

"I think you said yesterday you would like to help Katie in the kitchen."

"Oh, yes'm," said Clematis. She had been thinking of Deborah and longing to see her.

"Well, let's go down and see what Katie can find for you to do."

There was Deborah, sleeping under the edge of the stove. Clematis took her while Miss Rose was asking Katie.

"This little girl thinks she would like to have some work down here in the kitchen, Katie. Is there anything you would like her to do?"

"Ah, no thank you, Miss Rose, she wouldn't be any use at all."

Clematis looked up. She did not feel very happy.

"Why, don't you think she could help you?" Miss Rose looked surprised.

"No miss, she is no use at all. Yesterday I asked her to peel some potatoes, but she never lifted a finger. She said she didn't know how."

"Why, Clematis, I am surprised."

"Well," said Clematis, "if you never learned to peel potatoes, would you know how to do it?"

"Yes, I think I should. Katie would have shown you, if you had been willing to try."

Clematis hung her head, and buried her face in Deborah's soft fur.

"You see, miss, she's of no use to me. She don't want to work at all. Her cat, now, is a worker. She caught a big rat in the night."

"Well then, Clematis, we shall have to ask Mrs. Snow to find you something else to do."

Clematis dropped her kitten, and the tears ran down her cheeks, as she followed Miss Rose upstairs.

Katie looked after her with a sad smile.

"She'll have a hard row to hoe round here, believe me," she said to herself.

Mrs. Snow frowned when Miss Rose told her.

"I am very sorry," she said. "She may work with Jane, then, in the dormitory. Jane is a good worker and can teach her."

Poor Clematis was rather frightened when she heard that she was to work in the dormitory. She was afraid a dormitory was some dark place like a prison. She did not know that the dormitory was the big room where she had slept.

Soon Clematis was back in the big room again. There she took the place of another little girl, who was making up the beds with Jane.

"Hurry up now," said Jane. "We have got to get these beds all made up before nine o'clock. School begins then."

She showed Clematis how to tuck the sheet in, down at the foot, and pull it up smooth at the head of the bed.

Clematis was looking out of the window, way over the river, to the sunny brown hill.

"There now. Why don't you look out?" said Jane. For Clematis had given such a pull that she pulled all the clothes out at the foot of the bed.

"I was looking out, so there," said Clematis.

"Yes, looking out of the window, that's all." Jane was vexed.

"Now hurry up and get them tucked in again."

But Clematis was very clumsy, and not very willing. She had never had to make beds before. She didn't see any need of it.

"Why can't you leave the blankets till you go to bed, and then just pull them up?" she said, pouting.

"Because you can't, that's why. And you'd better try, or you'll never get a chance to go to the country."

"What do you mean? Who goes to the country?"

Clematis came round the bed and took Jane by the arm.

"Why, most of the children who do well, or try hard to do well, go to the country for two weeks in the summer."

"To the country where the flowers grow, and where there is grass all around?"

"Sure, and where they give you milk and apple pie. Oh, apple pie even for breakfast, and doughnuts between meals. I had doughnuts every day."

"Crickety!" said Clematis.

"You'd better not let Miss Rose hear you say that, and you needn't worry. You won't go to any country, when you can't even make beds."

Clematis gave Jane a frightened look, and started to work the best she knew how.

But the best Clematis knew how was very poor work, and by the time the bell rang for school, one bed still had to be done.

"Let it alone," said Jane. "I can make it up faster myself."

Her hands and feet moved fast enough to surprise little Clematis, who followed her friend down to the school room, wondering how long it would take her to learn to make beds.




Chapter VII

What Clematis Found


School began with music, and Miss Rose went to the piano. The minute she began to play, Clematis stood up, and stared at her.

"Sit down. Don't stand up now." Jane pulled her sleeve.

But Clematis paid no attention. She kept her eyes on the piano, and seemed to hear nothing else.

The song was of Spring; of birds, and brooks, and flowers. Clematis listened to every word, and when it was finished she sat down with a sigh.

After the singing, they had a class in reading.

Clematis stared at the words on the blackboard, but could not tell any of them.

"Have you learned any of your letters?" asked Miss Rose.

"No'm," said Clematis.

The other children giggled, for Clematis was as large as Jane. Jane was eight, and could read very well.

"Tomorrow you must go into the special class, and you must work hard, and catch up as fast as you can."

"Yes'm."

Clematis was angry. She didn't like to be laughed at.

At recess, all the children ran out into the yard to play. It was a large yard, with a high wooden fence around it.

Glad to be free, Jane ran off to find some chums, and left Clematis to play by herself.

So Clematis wandered round by the fence till she came to a sunny spot, near the big maple tree with the red buds.

Here she picked up a dead twig and sat down, turning over the dried leaves with the twig, and throwing them in the air.

As she picked up the leaves, she saw some blades of grass beneath them.

Then she picked up more leaves, and found many blades of grass growing beneath their warm shelter.

Clematis got up and walked near the fence, where the leaves were thicker. There she poked them away, and found longer blades of grass, and new leaves, green and shiny.

"Oh," she said to herself, "I hope I can come out here every day."

Then she stopped. She pushed away some more leaves. She looked around at the other children.

None of them were looking at her.

She stooped, and took something from under the pile of leaves.

Again she looked about, but nobody was paying attention to her. All the children were playing games.

Then a sound made her look up. It was the bell. Recess was over, and all the children were going in.

Clematis put her hand into her apron pocket quickly, and followed the other children back to school.

"How has the new girl done today?" asked Mrs. Snow, just before they sat down to dinner.

"She seems to feel more at home," replied Miss Rose. "She doesn't know her letters yet. I guess she has grown up all by herself."

"That is too bad. I will give her a test this afternoon, about three. If she would like to play with her kitten in the playroom for an hour, after dinner, she may do so."

"Oh, I am sure she would be glad to see her kitten. She is a queer child. At recess she stole away all by herself, to play by the fence."

The children were coming in now, and Mrs. Snow nodded to Miss Rose, as she went to her chair.

Little Sally had been just behind Miss Rose as she said the last words to Mrs. Snow. She heard part of the words she said, and began to whisper to her neighbor.

"She said somebody stole something. It must be that new girl. See how queer she looks."

Then of course the neighbor had to whisper to the girl next to her.

"Do you know what it was the new girl stole? See how funny she looks. She'd better not steal anything of mine."

In a minute Clematis knew they were talking about her. She didn't know what it was, but she knew it was unkind.

They were looking at her, and talking to each other. Her face turned red. She could not eat. One hand went deep into her apron pocket.

Miss Rose quickly saw that something was wrong. She knew that little girls often made fun of the strangers, and it vexed her.

"Any little girl who is not polite," she said, "may leave the table at once."

The girls stopped talking, but they poked each other with their feet under the table. They were sure Clematis had stolen something, for she looked just as if she had.

"Come, Clematis, eat your dinner now."

"Yes'm," said Clematis. But it was hard to swallow the bread.

She drank the soup, and left most of the bread by her bowl.

As soon as the bell rang, Miss Rose beckoned to her.

"Would you like to take Deborah to the playroom for a while, and play with her there?"

Clematis looked very much surprised. She had expected some new trouble.

"Oh, yes'm," she gasped, and started down to the kitchen, glad to get away from the other girls, who had been watching.

Then Miss Rose beckoned to Jane.

"Jane, what were the girls saying about Clematis at the table?"

Jane hung her head. She did not like to repeat such awful things about Clematis, for she really liked her, though it was hard to teach her to work.

"Tell me, Jane. Miss Rose wants to know."

"The girls were saying she stole something."

"Stole something? Why, what did she steal, Jane?"

"I don't know. I just heard them saying she had stolen something. She looked just as if she had."

"Very well. Thank you, Jane."

Jane went down to the school room, where all the girls were eager to know what Clematis had stolen. But Jane could tell them nothing.

"She just asked me what you said," Jane declared.

"That's just like Jane," cried Sally. "She knows all the time, only she won't tell."

While they were talking, Clematis was finding a cosy corner in the playroom, and smoothing out every hair on Deborah's smooth back.

Deborah seemed very happy, and purred all the time.

"I don't care if they do say mean things, and make noses at me. You won't ever, will you, Debby?"

"Purr, purr, purr," said Deborah. No indeed, she never would.

Time went fast, and it was three o'clock before Clematis had got Deborah settled down for sleep in a little bed she made for her beneath the window.

"Take her downstairs now, Clematis," said Miss Rose, coming in. "Then come up to Mrs. Snow's room. We want to ask you some questions."

Again Clematis turned red. She went slowly downstairs, with Deborah under one arm. The other hand deep in her apron pocket.

"She surely looks as if something were wrong," thought Miss Rose, as Clematis disappeared.

Clematis looked very unhappy when she went to Mrs. Snow's room.

"Come in, little girl," said Mrs. Snow, kindly. "There are some things I want to ask you about."

"Yes'm," replied Clematis, her lips quivering.

"First, I want to know what all this talk is about. Some of the girls were saying that you took something which did not belong to you. Can that be true?"

Clematis hung her head. The tears came into her eyes.

"Don't cry, Clematis," said Miss Rose. "Just tell Mrs. Snow what it is, and perhaps we can make it all right again."

"What was it, little girl?" asked Mrs. Snow, as she drew her nearer.

"It was mine, I found it first," sobbed Clematis.

"Yes, but you must remember that if we find a thing, that does not make it ours. We must find the true owner, and give it back. That is the only honest thing to do."

"What was it you found?" asked Miss Rose.

"I don't kn-ow."

"Where did you find it?"

"Do-wn by the fe-ence."

"Where is it now, Clematis?" Mrs. Snow spoke kindly, as she wiped the child's face with her handkerchief.

"It's in my pocket," answered Clematis.

She drew out her closed hand, held it before the two ladies, and slowly opened it.

Within lay a limp, withered dandelion blossom.




Chapter VIII

A Visitor


Mrs. Snow still tells the story of how Clematis stole the first dandelion of the springtime, out under the leaves.

People laugh when they hear the story. You see, it all came about because the children told tales on each other, and it was a good joke on them.

But as Clematis stood there, before Mrs. Snow and Miss Rose, she didn't see the joke at all. She cried, and hid her face in her arms.

"Come here, dear," said Mrs. Snow. "It is all right, and you shall have every dandelion you find in the yard."

"Wasn't it stealing?" sobbed Clematis.

"No, it was all right, if you found it first."

"And can I have all I find first?"

"Yes, indeed you can."

Clematis lifted her head, and wiped the tears from her eyes.

"Oh," she said, and seemed happy once more. She smoothed the limp little flower in her hot hand.

"And now," said Mrs. Snow, "I wonder if you can tell us some more about yourself."

"Yes'm, I'll tell you all you ask, and I won't tell any lies."

"I'm sure you won't. Perhaps you can remember, now, where you lived before you came here."

Clematis shook her head. "I told Miss Rose every single thing," she said, "except -- "

"Except what?"

"Except that I ran away."

Clematis hung her head again.

"Why did you run away?"

"Well, wouldn't you run away, if you had to stay in a yard all day that was nothing but bricks?"

Mrs. Snow smiled. "Perhaps I would," she replied.

"Didn't you ever go out at all?" asked Miss Rose, who had been listening.

"Just sometimes, to go over to the store. Just across the street and back, and that was all bricks, too."

"Do you think you could find your way home again, if Miss Rose went with you?"

Clematis shook her head. "Oh, no. It was a long, long way. I was most dead from walking."

Mrs. Snow thought a moment. Then she said, "Miss Rose tells me that you have not learned to read. Is that true?"

"Yes'm, I never learned to do anything except count the change I got. But I can learn to read, and do numbers, too."

Clematis spoke without sobbing now. She was thinking of the country, where girls went who did well.

"Do you think you could take her in a class by herself for a short time?" Mrs. Snow asked, turning to Miss Rose.

Miss Rose was about to answer, when one of the older girls came to the door.

"What is it, Ruth?"

"Please, Mrs. Snow, a man wants to see you."

"What is his name?"

"His name is Smith. He wants to see you about a little girl."

As she said this, Miss Rose looked up quickly.

Clematis also looked up. Her face turned red, and she put a finger in her mouth.

"Tell him to come in here."

In another minute a small, thin man walked in.

He was poorly dressed, and looked as if he had been ill.

"Did you wish to see me about one of the children?" asked Mrs. Snow.

"Yes, marm, about this little girl right here."

The man turned and smiled at Clematis, who was standing close by Miss Rose.

"Hello, Clematis, I thought I should find you somewhere."

Clematis smiled too, but she did not speak.

"Oh," said Mrs. Snow, "are you the one who took care of this little girl?"

"Yes, marm. I've had her ever since she was a little baby."

Mrs. Snow thought a minute.

"I suppose you want to take her home with you."

"I don't know about that. I have no home to keep a child in, and do right by her. You see, my wife is sick most of the time."

"Don't you know any of her folks who could care for her?"

"No, marm. Her mother came to our house when Clematis was a tiny baby. She said the father was dead. Then she died too, and we could never find out who she was."

"Do you know her last name?" asked Miss Rose.

"No, miss. We never knew her last name. She said it was Jones, but we never believed that was the truth. This little girl we just called Clematis."

"Didn't she have anything to help you find out who she was?" asked Mrs. Snow in surprise.

"Not a single thing, except this picture."

The man took out a small photograph.

It showed three girls standing together in front of a brick building.

"That is her mother on the left, marm, but I don't see how the picture helps very much."

"That is true. Still, the picture is better than nothing."

"That is just what we thought, marm," Mr. Smith replied. "We kept her along, hoping we should find some one to claim her, but no one came. She is too big for us to care for now."

"Then you are ready to give her up?"

"Yes, marm, if you will care for her. She is very restless, and always wanting to run off."

Mrs. Snow turned to Clematis.

"Do you think you would rather stay here, than go back with Mr. Smith?"

"Yes'm," said Clematis, quickly. She had been thinking of the visits to the country. If she went back to the yard, all made of bricks, how would she ever see the grass and flowers?

"Very well, Mr. Smith. I think you have done a good deal to keep her as long as you have. She was well fed, even if she didn't learn much."

"Thank you, marm."

Then Miss Rose took Clematis out of the office, while Mrs. Snow talked with Mr. Smith.

All the afternoon Clematis wondered what they were going to do with her.

After supper Miss Rose called to her, as the children were going to the playroom.

"Clematis," she said, "do you think that if you stayed here you could work real hard, and learn to do as the other children do?"

"Yes'm."

"Very well. Mrs. Snow finds that we can keep you here. I will try to teach you myself, so you can catch up with the other children."

"Yes'm," said Clematis.

That is all she said, but she was so glad, that she could not sleep for a long time after she went to bed.

She lay awake thinking, and thinking, of the things she would learn to do, so she might go at last to the country, the land of flowers, and grass, and birds; the land where white clouds floated always in a blue, blue sky.




Chapter IX

The Secret


The next morning Clematis did better in helping Jane with the beds, and before many mornings had passed she learned so well that Miss Rose praised her for her work.

When she wanted to stop trying, and wanted to get up without washing her face and hands, and cleaning her teeth, she would look out the window at the hill beyond the river.

It seemed to smile at her and say:

"Don't forget the beautiful country, little girl. Remember the birds and the flowers. Do the best you can."

But there were so many things to do that it seemed to poor Clematis as if she would never learn half of them.

When she tried to help in setting the table, she dropped some plates.

She said things that made the other girls cross, for she had never learned to play with other girls, and she forgot that she could no longer do just as she pleased.

Worst of all, she did not always pay attention to study, and when Miss Rose left her to do some numbers, would be looking out of the window, instead of working on her paper.

So the days went on, and spring was almost over.

The dandelions had all blossomed and grown up tall, with white caps on their heads, and there were no other flowers in the yard.

One day Clematis found something which made her almost as happy as if she had found some flowers.

At first she thought she would keep it a secret, and tell no one about it. Then she thought how good Jane had been to her, so she went up to her when she was standing alone.

"Say, Jane, if I tell you a secret will you promise not to tell anybody else?"

"Sure, I'll promise," said Jane. "What is it?"

Clematis looked around. The other children were playing games.

"Come over here," she said.

She led Jane to the big board fence which stood at the back of the yard.

Then she got down on her knees and took hold of one of the boards. It was loose, and she could pull it out.

"See, look through there," said Clematis, in a low voice.

Her face shone with pleasure as she peeped through.

Jane knelt down, and peeped through too. Beyond the fence she could see into another yard.

In this yard there was grass growing, and flower-beds, where the flowers were beginning to grow up in green shoots.

But this was not all. Not far from the fence, by a corner of the garden, stood a low bush. She could smell its sweet fragrance from where she knelt.

"Do you see it?" whispered Clematis.

"Of course I see it. I can smell it too. It's great."

Jane took in a long breath of the fragrance, and smiled at Clematis.

"Oh, I wish I had some of those blossoms." Clematis looked eagerly at the blossoms. "Do you know what they are, Jane?"

"Oh, yes; those are lilacs."

The two girls had just time to take one more deep breath, full of the fragrance from the lilac blossoms, before the bell rang.

Jane kept her promise, and while the lilacs lasted, they used to go often to their secret place and smell the fragrance of the blossoms.

The first of July, some of the girls began to start for their vacations in the country.

Now it was harder than ever for Clematis to stick to her work. She kept thinking of the beautiful fields, when she should have been thinking of numbers.

"I don't know what we are going to do with you, Clematis," said Miss Rose one day.

"You do try hard sometimes. You have learned to make beds well. You are a good girl about your clothes, morning and night. But you are dreaming of other things, I fear. What is it you dream about so much?"

Clematis thought a moment.

"Do you think I will have a chance to go to the country?"

She looked up at Miss Rose. Her face was white and anxious.

"Why Clematis. I don't know. You wouldn't be very much help I am afraid. You quarrel with the other children, and you are very slow to learn."

"Yes'm," said Clematis, and hung her head.

"Still," said Miss Rose, "you might have a chance later. If you try hard I will not forget you."

Clematis tried to feel happier then, but there were so many things to learn, and so few days to learn them in, that she hardly dared to hope very much.

She found it very hard to learn to play happily with the other children, and liked it much better just to get Deborah all by herself and play with her.

July went by, and the children began to come back again. They told stories of the wonderful things they had seen, and now Clematis was only too glad to sit near them and listen.

"Oh," said Sally, who had been to Maine, "Mr. Lane had a field almost as big as a whole city, full of long grass and daisies."

"Would he let you pick the daisies?" asked Clematis.

"Of course he would; all you wanted."

"Where is Maine?" asked Clematis, eagerly.

"Hear her talk," said another girl, named Betty, with a sniff. "She needn't worry, she'll never get a chance to pick any."

Betty was not very kind, and did not like Clematis. She often made fun of the younger children.

Clematis turned red. Her eyes flashed, and she was about to answer, when the supper bell rang.

They had just sat down at the table, when Betty said to a girl near by:

"You ought to hear Clematis. She thinks she is going to the country. Just as if anybody would have her around."

Betty sat next to Clematis, who heard every word.

She had tried to be a good girl and learn, just as Miss Rose asked her to.

Her face burned, and her eyes flashed more than ever.

Before she stopped to think, she turned and waved her spoon before Betty's face, saying:

"You can't stop me. You'd better keep quiet, you old pig!"

Betty was so startled that she moved back. Her arm struck her bowl of milk, and the milk spilled out, all over the table.

Part of it spilled down into her lap.

Then Clematis began to cry. When Miss Rose sent her away from the table, and up to her bed, she went willingly.

She was glad to get away from the other children.

Miss Rose saw how sad she was, and knew how naughty Betty had been, so she did not punish her.

"I am very sorry you have not learned to behave more politely, Clematis. Perhaps this will be a lesson to you."

That was all she said before Clematis went to bed, but Clematis cried quietly a long, long time.

She felt that she had made every one look at her, right in front of Mrs. Snow. What would Mrs. Snow think of her now?




Chapter X

Two Doctors


It was very late before Clematis fell asleep that night, and in the morning she had a headache.

When she got up she had to sit on the bed, she felt so dizzy.

Miss Rose found her sitting there.

"Why, Clematis," she said. "Are you sick?"

"Yes'm, I guess so," whispered the poor little girl.

"Lie right down again, dear, and perhaps you will feel better."

They brought her a cup of cocoa, and some toast, for breakfast, but she could not eat.

All day she lay there, pale and sick.

In the afternoon old Doctor Field came in to see her. He sat down by the bed and asked her some questions.

He looked at her tongue, and felt her pulse. Then he took out some little pills and gave them to Miss Rose.

"I guess you had better put her in a single room," he said. "Give her some of these in water, every two hours during the day."

He smiled at Clematis before he went out. "I guess she will feel better in the morning, when I come again."

But in the morning Clematis was not better. She was worse.

"How did she pass the night?" asked Doctor Field, as he felt her pulse.

"Not very well," said Miss Rose. "She did not sleep much, and had a good deal of pain."

Doctor Field looked at her chest and arms.

"It might be chicken pox, or measles," he said, "but I don't see any of the usual signs."

Little Clematis lay and looked at him steadily.

"Did you want something, dear?" he asked.

"I want a drink," she said. "I want a drink of cold, cold water."

"Yes, dear, you shall have a drink, of course you shall."

The old doctor went into the hall with Miss Rose.

"She may have a drink, but only a little at a time. And I wouldn't let it be too cold. She really gets enough water with her medicine."

Soon they brought Clematis a little water in a cup. She raised her head and drank it, but then made a face and turned her head away.

"It isn't any good," she said.

That evening old Doctor Field came again. He looked carefully at Clematis, and shook his head.

"I guess it's only a slow fever. It's nothing catching," he said. "She'll be better in a few days."

The few days passed, but Clematis was not better.

At night she was restless, and slept little. Even when she did sleep, her slumber was disturbed by bad dreams.

She talked to herself during these dreams, though people couldn't understand what she said.

Doctor Field came to see her every day or two, but he could not tell what her sickness was. He always said:

"Just give her the medicine as directed, and she will be better soon."

Miss Rose had asked Mrs. Snow if she might take care of her, for she had come to love little Clematis, and Clematis loved her in return.

The school work did not take her time very much now, so Mrs. Snow was glad to let Miss Rose care for Clematis.

If she stayed away very long, Clematis would call for her. She wanted her in the room.

"Mrs. Snow," said Miss Rose, one day, after Clematis had been ill more than two weeks, "I am very anxious about Clematis."

"Is she no better?"

"No, I feel she is worse. She keeps asking for a cold drink of water, and says she is burning up. I wish I dared give her some, and keep her cooler."

"Well, I think I should follow the doctor's directions. It wouldn't be wise to do anything that is not directed by him."

"Don't you suppose we could have another doctor to look at her, Mrs. Snow?"

"No, I fear not; not just now, anyway."

Miss Rose went back to the little room upstairs with a sad heart. She knew Clematis was very ill.

That night she prayed that something might be done for the little sick girl, and the next morning she felt as if her prayers had been answered, when Doctor Field came.

"I shall have to be away for a short time, Miss Rose," he said, after he looked at Clematis, and felt her pulse.

"A young man, Doctor Wyatt, will take my place, and I am sure he will do all that can be done."

"Can he come today?" asked Miss Rose. "I wish he could see her soon."

"I will ask him. I think he will be much interested in Clematis. I should like to see her well again myself, but I must be out of town a few weeks."

"Oh, I hope he will come today, and I hope he will take an interest in my little girl," said Miss Rose to herself.

"I know she can be cured, if we only know what is the matter."

That afternoon Doctor Wyatt came. Miss Rose was glad when she saw him, for he was so kind, and so wise, that she knew he would do the best he could.

The afternoon was hot, and Clematis was covered with hot blankets, as directed by Doctor Field.

Dr. Wyatt took the blankets, and threw them off.

"The poor child will roast under those," he said.

Then he sat beside her, and watched her.

"Is there anything you would like?" he said at last, in a pleasant voice.

"Yes, I want a cold drink of water." Her voice sounded faint and feeble now.

"What does she have to drink?" asked Doctor Wyatt.

"We give her water now and then, as directed by Dr. Field. But we do not give her very much, and not very cold."

"Have you any oranges in the house?"

"I could get some."

"Then take the white of an egg, and put with it the juice of a whole orange. Add half a glass of water, with pieces of ice.

"Have good big pieces of ice," Doctor Wyatt called after her, as he saw that Clematis had fixed her eye on him.

Clematis smiled when he said that, and turned toward him with a sigh.

Soon Miss Rose came back with the glass. Dr. Wyatt held it to the lips of the little sick girl. She drank slowly.

"Oh thanks," she whispered, when he took the glass away.

"Give her some of that whenever she asks for it," he said.

"Now tell me about the nights," the doctor went on.

"She is restless, and sleeps very little. She has bad dreams when she does sleep, and talks to herself."

"What does she talk about?"

"I don't know. We can't make out."

"Do you keep the room lighted at night?"

"Oh, no, it is kept dark."

"Well, tonight keep it lighted. People who have bad dreams are often frightened by the dark."

"Shall I give her the medicine as directed?"

"No, don't give her any more medicine at present. Give her all she wants of the orange and egg. I'll be back in the morning."

And Dr. Wyatt was gone.

"He's a good doctor," said Clematis, licking her dry lips. "I want a drink."

Miss Rose smiled, and put the glass to her lips.




Chapter XI

A Long, Anxious Night


"Well," said Doctor Wyatt, the next morning, "how is Clematis today?"

"She seems a little more comfortable," said Miss Rose.

The doctor sat by her for half an hour. He felt her pulse, and looked her all over. Then he shook his head.

That day he spent a long time studying his books.

In the evening he came again, and sat by Clematis. He shook his head, sadly.

"I must tell you, Miss Rose, that Clematis is a very sick little girl," he said, as they stood in the hall.

"Can't you do anything for her?" The tears sprang to her eyes.

"Perhaps I can. If she is no better tomorrow, I shall feel very anxious."

Again that night the doctor spent a long time over his big books. Then he went and talked with doctors in the hospital.

"I shall be here most of the time tonight," he said the next morning. "Keep her cool, and as comfortable as you can."

Miss Rose went back to the bed with aching heart.

"Oh, if we only knew what was the matter with you, Clematis," she thought, as she looked at the little white face.

In the evening Doctor Wyatt came back once more.

"Now, Miss Rose," he said, "you are very tired. You must go away for a walk, or a visit, or a rest. I will take care of her tonight."

"Don't you think I had better stay, too?"

"No, you must rest. Please have a cup of coffee sent to me about ten. I shall stay right here. You will be needed tomorrow."

Doctor Wyatt sat down to watch by Clematis.

It was a warm evening, so he gave her a drink, and fanned her, to cool her hot face.

As it grew late, she fell into a light sleep. As she slept, she began to talk in low tones.

The doctor bent his head down very near her lips, and listened carefully to everything she said.

Hour after hour he watched and listened, until he, too, fell asleep, just as the sun was coming up.

Miss Rose found him there in the morning, sleeping in his chair, close by the bed.

"Miss Rose," he asked, as he started up, "did this little girl want anything very much indeed?"

"Yes, she did. She wanted to go to the country, as the other children did, but it did not seem quite possible."

"That's it! That's just it!" exclaimed Doctor Wyatt. "She spoke of flowers, of lilacs and daisies. I couldn't tell much what she said, but I could hear those words."

At that moment, Clematis opened her eyes and stared about her.

Doctor Wyatt took one thin, frail hand in his big brown ones.

"Clematis," he said in a loud, firm tone, "I know a lovely place in the country. If you will get well, you can go there for two whole weeks."

Clematis stared at him, but did not seem to hear him.

"I want a drink," she said feebly.

He put the glass to her lips.

"You can pick daisies, and goldenrod, and all sorts of flowers in the country, if you'll just get well, can't she, Miss Rose?"

"Yes, Clematis, you can." Miss Rose tried to speak cheerfully, but it was hard. She wanted to cry.

Clematis stared at her also for a minute, and then turned away.

"I'll go get some sleep now. Keep her cool and comfortable, till I come back again this evening."

The day passed slowly. Mrs. Snow came in two or three times to look at Clematis, and feel her pulse.

Some of the other teachers came to peep in also. They went away softly, wiping their eyes.

"She is a queer little girl," said one, "but I do love her."

That is what they all felt.

At evening Doctor Wyatt returned. He looked anxious, as he took his seat beside the bed.

"I shall stay till about ten, Miss Rose, so you must rest now."

"I don't want to go," said Miss Rose.

"You must, you will be needed later. She will need great care tonight, I think."

At ten, Miss Rose returned. She had not rested much, and was glad to get back to the bedside.

"Here is my telephone number, Miss Rose. You can get me very soon by calling me up. Watch her carefully, and if you see any change at all, send for me at once."

"Do you think there may be a change tonight?" Miss Rose looked straight into his face to see just what he meant.

"Yes, Miss Rose, there may be, and I hope it will be for the better."

"You hope?" Miss Rose held her breath a minute.

"Yes, let us hope. Hope does more than all the medicine in the world."

The minutes crept along into hours, and midnight passed, while Miss Rose watched.

Clematis seemed restless, but she did not talk to herself any more.

Miss Rose held the glass to her lips now and then, but she did not drink.

When Miss Rose wiped her face with a cold, wet cloth, she smiled a faint little smile, as if she liked it. Then the look of pain would come again, as she turned restlessly.

The clock outside struck one. How slowly the minutes went.

At last it struck two, and a breeze stirred the leaves outside.

They were the leaves of the maple Clematis had broken in the early Spring. Now they seemed to whisper softly to each other.

All else was silent.

Miss Rose had watched a long time. Many days she had been by the bed. Her eyes began to droop.

"I'll rest my head just a minute," she thought, and leaned back upon the chair.

Slowly the clock struck three. As the last stroke came, Miss Rose stirred, and opened her eyes.

Then she started up.

"I must have been asleep," she said aloud. "Oh, shame on me for sleeping, when I promised to watch."

She looked down at the bed.

Clematis lay there, peaceful and quiet. Her little hand was white and still as marble. Her face seemed very happy. All pain was gone, and a smile lay upon the pale lips.

"Oh, little Clematis. To think I should have been asleep!"

Miss Rose took out her handkerchief, and bent her head down on the bed, weeping.

A slight sound seemed to come from the pillow. Miss Rose looked up.

The child's eyes were open wide. She was looking at her in wonder.

"He said I could go, didn't he?" said Clematis in a faint voice.

Miss Rose choked down her sobs.

"Yes, yes, Clematis, he did, he did."

"Well, then, what are you crying about?"

Clematis closed her eyes again and lay, still as before, with a little smile on her lips.

Miss Rose was so astonished that she sat staring at her for some minutes, until she heard a step in the hall.

It was Doctor Wyatt.

He came in softly and looked at the little figure on the bed.

He felt her pulse, and listened to her heart. Then he smiled, and led Miss Rose from the room.

"She is all right now," he whispered. "Let her sleep as long as she can."




Chapter XII

Getting Well


Clematis slept all night, and all the next day. It was evening when she woke.

Miss Rose was beside the bed, and heard her as she moved.

"Do you feel better now, dear little girl?" asked Miss Rose.

Clematis looked at her a moment with eyes wide open.

"He said I could go, didn't he?" she asked.

"Yes, surely he did, and you can go; you shall go just as soon as you are well."

Clematis smiled a happy smile.

"I want a drink of that orange juice."

Miss Rose brought a glass with ice in it, and held it, while Clematis sipped it slowly. Then she washed her face and hands in cold water.

"Thanks," the little girl whispered, as she turned on the pillow, and went off to sleep again.

There was great joy all through the Home, for every one knew that Clematis was getting well.

Doctor Wyatt came every day to look at his little sick girl, and laugh, and pat her cheeks.

"You just wait till you see the apple pies my aunt can make," he would say.

Then Clematis would smile.

"Tell me about the garden. Are there any lilacs?"

"No lilac blossoms now, little sister, but asters, and hollyhocks, and goldenrod. You just wait till you see them."

Then the doctor would go out, with another laugh.

Soon Clematis got so well that she could sit up in bed.

Miss Rose would sit by the window, sewing, and sometimes she would read a story.

One afternoon she saw that Clematis was anxious about something. She had a little wrinkle in her forehead.

"What is it you are thinking about? Is there something you want?"

Miss Rose went and stood by the bed, smoothing her forehead with her soft hand.

"I was thinking," said Clematis. "I was thinking that -- that perhaps I could have Deborah come to see me, just for a minute."

"Well, you wait a minute, and I'll see."

Miss Rose went out, and Clematis waited to hear her steps again. She had not seen Deborah for a long time.

Soon she heard Miss Rose coming back. She shut her eyes till the footsteps came up to the bed, and before she opened them, there was a little pounce beside her.

Her dear Deborah was rubbing a cold nose against her cheek, and purring how glad she was to see her.

Clematis smoothed and patted her a long time, as she lay purring close by her side.

After that, Deborah came up often, and lay there on the bed, while Miss Rose sewed by the window.

"What are you sewing?" asked Clematis one day, when she was well enough to sit up.

"What do you suppose?"

"It looks like a dress."

"That's just what it is. It's a new dress for a little girl to wear to the country."

"Oh, who is going to have it? Let me see it. Please hold it up."

Miss Rose held the dress before her. It was nearly done.

The skirt was of serge, navy blue, with two pockets. With it went a middy blouse, with white lacings at the neck, and white stars on the sleeves.

"Oh, please tell me. Who is going to have it?" The child's eyes danced as she saw the pretty dress.

"I'll give you just one guess," said Miss Rose, smiling.

Clematis gasped. Could it be for her? She had never dreamed of owning a dress like that.

The little girl sat there a moment, without speaking. Then she pointed one finger at herself.

"Right, the very first time," said Miss Rose. "This blouse is to travel in. There is another."

She reached down and lifted another blouse. This was white, with blue collar and cuffs, and a blue star on the sleeve.

All this was too much for Clematis. The tears stood in her eyes, and she breathed fast. But she did not say very much to speak her gratitude.

"Oh, thanks," was all she said. Miss Rose saw in her face how much it all meant to her.

"I am proud of this little patient," said Doctor Wyatt, the next day. "If she keeps on at this rate, we can send her up to Tilton next week."

How her eyes shone! How her heart jumped! The very next week she would be starting for the land of her dreams.

She could see great fields of grass, with daisies and clover. Already she could see them stretching out before her.

How she got through the days before she was to start, she never knew. She was well enough now to sleep in the dormitory once more; to eat with the other children, and do some of the work.

"Now dear," said Miss Rose, the day before she was to start, "I must leave you. I am going away, too, for a vacation, so I must say goodby today."

Clematis looked up in surprise. She never thought that grown people wanted to go away. She did not notice how pale and tired Miss Rose was. It had been hard work for her.

"You will try to help all you can, won't you, dear? Think every minute of what you can do to help. Then people will love you, even if you make mistakes."

"Yes'm, I will promise."

"You can wear the blue blouse, and you can put the white one in the box I gave you, if you are afraid of crushing it in the little bag."

"Oh, yes'm, I don't want to put it in the bag."

"Well, then, goodby, and have a good time. Jerry will see that you get on the right train."

Jerry was the old cab man, who had a stand near the school, and carried people to the station.

This was a new delight for Clematis. What fun to ride to the station with Jerry, in a cab!

All day the joyful thoughts of her trip filled her mind. She could think of nothing else. The other children laughed at her, but she never minded them at all.

She was going to the country, to the birds, and flowers, and fields, and that was all she cared.

But as she was going to bed, one thought seemed to disturb her. She lay there thinking, with the little anxious line across her forehead.

A long time she thought. Then she spoke half aloud.

"That's just what I'll do," she said. "I've got to, anyway. I don't care if the blouse is crushed a little."

Then she went to sleep.




Chapter XIII

Off For Tilton


The day that she had longed for came at last. The sun was bright, the breeze was cool, and Clematis was as happy as the sparrows that hopped about in the maple tree.

All the morning she ran here and there, getting her things ready.

She had a small, black bag, and the box Miss Rose left for her extra blouse. Her things were put into these.

Mrs. Snow had an early lunch for Clematis, because she was going on the one o'clock train.

"I would rather eat it down in the kitchen with Katie," she said, when they started to put a bowl on the big table.

Katie was willing, so Clematis had some bread and soup on the corner of the kitchen table.

"It will be nearer the street, so I will bring my things down here," she said.

She seemed very nervous, but Katie thought it was because of her trip.

"Don't worry, Miss Clematis," she said. "Jerry will soon be here."

"I know it." Clematis looked around. Then she slipped out of her chair and went up to Katie.

She whispered a minute in her friendly ear.

"Oh, now dearie, I wouldn't be doing that."

Katie put her hand on the little girl's cheek, and shook her head. "I don't think they would like it."

But Clematis was very serious. The tears came into her eyes as she whispered again.

"Oh, please, please! I don't know what might happen."

"Well, then," answered Katie, "what I don't see, I don't know about. I'm going upstairs a minute. Be quick now."

She went upstairs, and Clematis hurried into the small room near the kitchen, with her box.

In a minute she came out again, looking all about.

When Katie came down, she was drinking her soup. She could not swallow the bread.

"Dear child," said Katie, as the bell rang. "I hope the worry doesn't make her sick again."

Jerry was ready with the cab.

"All aboard, mum, I'll take your things."

He started to take the box, which she hugged up under one arm.

"Oh, no thank you," she cried, and held on to it tighter than ever.

Katie gave him the black bag she had in her hand, and the next minute Clematis was safe inside, and throwing a kiss to the friendly cook.

Before he got to the station, old Jerry stopped, and went into a store. He came out with a big paper bag.

"Katie told me to get this for you, miss," he said, as he passed the bag to her through the open window.

She peeped inside. There was a smaller bag, and several big peaches.

In the smaller bag were sandwiches, and cream cakes.

What a treat! Clematis often longed for peaches, but had not tasted them very often.

In the station Jerry got down, and led her to the train.

"Here is a passenger for Tilton, New Hampshire," he said to the conductor.

"All right, Jerry, I'll look after her."

The big conductor smiled at the little passenger.

"Come on, sister," he said, as he stooped to take her box.

"Oh, no, thank you," said Clematis, hugging it closer than ever.

"She must have her money in that," laughed Jerry.

So the conductor took the two bags, while Clematis carried the box. He found her a seat where she could be right by the window.

Soon the train started. They went across bridges, and through the yards, till at last they came to the open country.

There Clematis could see the fields, and the flowers, which grew close by the tracks.

As the train flew on, they came to quiet woods, with little brooks, and cows resting comfortably in the shade.

There was so much to see, that Clematis could not take her face from the window a minute.

Farmers were at work in the fields of wheat, and corn, and oats. They were mowing and raking. Some were throwing hay into the big carts.

At last they came to a big river that ran along by the track. Clematis could see people fishing along the banks, and rowing on the smooth water.

"I hope there is a river in Tilton," she thought.

It was a long time before she thought of the peaches, and sandwiches. When she did, she knew she was very hungry, so she opened the bag, and ate, while she watched the river, and fields, and forests.

One sandwich she broke in halves. She raised the cover of the box a little, and put one half inside. Then she shut the cover and tied the string.

"Tilton is the next station," said the conductor, at last.

They went along beside a small river, across a bridge, and the train stopped at Tilton.

"I guess that little girl is for me," said a tall man with a pleasant face, as Clematis came down the steps.

"Her tag says Mrs. Alder on it, is that the one?" asked the conductor.

"That's right. I told Mrs. Alder I would bring her along when I came from the train."

"Well, here's her bag. She won't let any one touch her box. She keeps her money in it. Goodby, little girl."

"Too -- too -- too-too."

The whistle blew, the wheels began to turn, and the long train drew slowly away.

"Right over here, little girl. Climb right up on the seat. I'll hold your box."

"Oh, no thank you," said Clematis. "I'll keep it."

Then she looked up at the seat. How was she to climb up there and hold her box?

Suddenly she was lifted off the ground, and found herself safe on the high seat.

"That's the way we'll fix it," said the man, with a smile. "Up you go, money, box, and all."

"Now I want to go up the street about a mile or so, before I take you to Mrs. Alder. I don't suppose you mind, do you?"

Clematis shook her head. She was happy at the thought of another ride.

So they drove up a long hill. As they reached the top, the man stopped his horse, and looked about.

"It's pretty, isn't it?" he said.

Clematis nodded, and looked all about her.

The hill sloped down again into a little valley, where the brook ran between green meadows.

Beyond that, the pastures ran up to meet the forest on another hill.

Looking past this hill, she could see the blue waters of a lake, sparkling in the evening sun.

From the lake the ground rose once more. Up and up it went, with pastures and forests, until it came to the rocky crowns of three mountains.

The mountains were a deep, misty blue. Above them rose the white August clouds, rolling on and on, into the highest heaven.

Clematis drew a long breath.

"It is lovely," she whispered.

Not far from where they stopped was a white house, with the blinds closed. Vines ran about the front, and all seemed lonely.

"Who lives there?" she asked, finding her tongue at last.

"No one lives there now. A nice old man used to live there, but he had a good deal of sadness. He shut up the house, and went to live in a little place over near Bean Hill."

He pointed over to another hill which rose in the east.

Clematis would have liked to know more about the man who could leave such a lovely place, but the horse started on again.

Soon they turned into another road, and before long were turning back toward the village.

All the way along, Clematis could see the blue mountains in the distance. She could not take her eyes from them.

"Well, there is your house," said the man, at last, pointing to a neat, white house.

Clematis looked all about. Yes, there were gardens, and flowers, and fields, and trees.

There was a cow down by a little brook.

Everything she had hoped to find was there. There was a tall maple beside the house.

"Well, this is Clematis, I guess," said a lady, coming down the path.

"Thank you very much, Mr. Ladd. I see she came right side up."

She took the bag Mr. Ladd handed down, and reached for the box that Clematis still hugged in her lap.

Clematis started to explain, but Mrs. Alder did not wait. She was nervous and quick.

She pulled the box out of her hands.

"Why Clematis, what is in this box?" Mrs. Alder looked at it in surprise.

Clematis did not answer. She gasped, and turned red as a rooster's comb.

"It's her money, Mrs. Alder," said Mr. Ladd, laughing. "She has it tied up for safe keeping. The conductor told me so."

Mrs. Alder lifted one corner of the box to peep in.

There was a scratching sound, and then out popped a little white, furry head, with sharp ears, and one black eye.

It was Deborah.




Chapter XIV

The Country


When Mr. Ladd saw the little white head peep out, he put his head back and laughed.

"I pity the rats in your barn now, Mrs. Alder," he shouted.

Mrs. Alder frowned at first, but when she looked at Clematis, and saw her anxious face, she smiled.

"What on earth made you bring that cat way up here?" she asked.

"She's my own cat. I was afraid to leave her at the Home all alone. Would you like to leave your cat alone, where people might throw it away while you were gone?"

Just then a tall man with a gray beard walked up.

"Never mind, Mary," he said. "We have plenty of milk in the dairy, and plenty of rats in the barn."

By this time Clematis had Deborah safe in her arms, and Mr. Alder led the way to the house, while Mr. Ladd drove off, laughing as he went.

"Well, you can take the cat down to the barn. I won't have it in the house," said Mrs. Alder.

"All right, we'll find a place for her," said Mr. Alder. He took Clematis by the hand, and they went down to the barn.

A gray horse poked his head from a box stall to look at the little visitor, and a little red hen called her chickens, and hastened away, clucking, as if she were very angry.

Clematis turned to look at her.

"Did you ever have any chickens?" asked Mr. Alder.

"Oh, no, I never saw any." Clematis could not take her eyes from the little chicks, as they ran after their anxious mother.

"We have lots of things to show you here. Let's put your cat up in the loft now."

They went up a set of stairs, and there was a loft, full of sweet hay.

"There now, Mrs. Tabby, you will find a good bed, and good hunting here."

"Her name isn't Tabby, it's Deborah," said Clematis, as she put her down.

"Oh, that's quite a name. It suits her very well." Mr. Alder led the way down again.

At the other end of the barn, a red and white calf came up to meet them.

It put out its wet nose to smell the little visitor, and made her start back.

"He wants to say 'how do'. He loves little girls," said Mr. Alder.

Clematis stuck one hand out timidly, and pulled it back again, when the calf tried to lick it with his rough tongue.

"He wants just a little taste," laughed Mr. Alder. "Come on now. Here is something else."

At the end of the barn, Clematis could hear strange noises. There, in the yard, were some smooth, white animals running about.

When Clematis came near the fence, they ran and put their fore feet up, and stuck their noses out.

"Uff, uff," they said. Then they squealed.

"Oh, I know! Those are pigs!" cried Clematis, clapping her hands.

Eight clean, white pigs were grunting and squealing for their supper.

"Squeal away, piggies," said Mr. Alder. "Supper will be along soon."

In a moment, he brought from the dairy a bright milk pail. Then they went down to the gate, and he called:

"Come boss, come boss. Come Betty."

A sleek, plump cow came over the hill, and hurried down to the gate. It was just the color of a mouse.

"Dear old Betty. Steady now." Betty pushed through, and walked fast to the barn, where she began to whisper to her calf, and lap it with her great rough tongue.

As Clematis came up, Betty put her head down, and shook her horns.

"Behave, Betty. You ought to be ashamed," said Mr. Alder. "You see, she won't let any strangers near her calf."

Then he took some grain and put it in Betty's box, while he tied her head, and sat down on the stool beside her.

Clematis had never seen a cow milked before, and stood watching the white streams which filled the foaming pail, as if Mr. Alder were a fairy. It seemed like magic.

When the pail was full, Mr. Alder poured some into a shiny can, and took the rest to the dairy.

There he poured it into a red machine, with a big bowl. He turned the handle, and soon two streams came out.

"What is that for?" Clematis thought this might be some new magic. Indeed it was magic, almost.

"This is the separator," answered Mr. Alder. "I pour the milk in at the top, and turn the handle. Then the cream comes out of one spout, and the skimmed milk from the other."

"Oh, I see," said Clematis, though it really was all like magic to her.

"Now I guess we are through. Let's go up and see what they have for supper."

Mr. Alder took the empty pail, and led her back to the house, where supper was ready and waiting.

The smell of hot biscuit made Clematis feel very hungry, and she was glad that supper was all ready.

With the biscuit, was golden butter, and apple sauce.

"Do you like warm milk right from the cow?" asked Mrs. Alder.

"Yes'm," replied Clematis, with a nod.

So Mrs. Alder put a little pitcher, with a glass, not much bigger than a thimble, beside her plate.

She could pour it out herself, as often as she emptied her glass.

"Better leave room for some fresh blueberry pie, and a piece of cheese," said Mr. Alder.

Blueberry pie and cheese, hot biscuit and fresh milk, and golden butter, all she wanted; surely, Sally never had any supper better than this.

The shadows were falling, and the August crickets were beginning their evening concert, when Clematis had eaten the last bit of pie on her plate.

"The Sand Man is coming, I do believe," said Mr. Alder, as he reached over to pinch her cheek.

"Well, I don't wonder, the trip was a long one for a little girl. You shall go right to bed, Clematis."

Mrs. Alder took a lamp as she spoke, and led the little visitor to the stairs.

"Good night, sleep tight, don't let the skeeters bite."

Mr. Alder called after her as she went up.

Clematis laughed. Her eyes were drooping, and her feet were heavy, as she climbed the stairs.

"There now, we'll have you tucked in before a cat can say Jack Sprat," said Mrs. Alder, as she unbuttoned her boots.

"Haven't I got to fold my clothes?" asked Clematis, as Mrs. Alder began picking them up.

"Never mind about them tonight. Here's a wet cloth. We'll just have a quick wash, and into bed you go."

The bed was soft; the pillows were softer; and the song of the evening breeze in the maple, without her open window, was softer still.

"I am in the country," sighed Clematis. "I can hear the trees, and I can smell the flowers now. Tomorrow I will -- "

I wish I could tell you what she was going to do. I can't, for just then, she fell fast asleep.




Chapter XV

Clematis Tries To Help


The birds in the maple tree woke Clematis early the next morning.

For a minute she did not know where she was. Then she hopped out of bed and ran to the window.

The sun was up. The birds were singing all about. The smell of clover and sweet grass came to her open window.

There, across the valley, lay the mountains she saw in the evening.

Now they were not blue. She could see the rocks and the bushes, in the morning light. But they were just as lovely as before.

"Oh," she thought, "some day I'll go and climb up those mountains."

Then she washed carefully at the stand by the window, for she remembered what Miss Rose had said.

When she was dressed, she started down stairs. Then she thought again.

"I must help all I can. I guess I'll make the bed."

So she drew the clothes neatly over the bed, and smoothed the pillow. Then she went down.

"Good morning, Clematis," said Mrs. Alder. "I see you get up before breakfast. Did you have a good sleep?"

"Yes'm," replied Clematis. "Would you like me to help you?"

"No, you had better run out and see what Mr. Alder is doing. You can help me after breakfast."

So Clematis ran out.

How loud the birds sounded in the clear air. How they chirped and twittered. How sweet the smell of the flowers, and how bright the sun.

"Oh, there's the little red hen!" she cried. "But she has lost her chickens. Every one is gone."

There was the little hen, sitting on the ground, near the barn door.

Just then Mr. Alder came out with a pail of milk.

"Oh, Mr. Alder, where have all the chickens gone?" cried Clematis.

He laughed. "Dear me," he said. "I don't see them anywhere, do you?"

"No, but they were all here last night."

"I wonder if the rats caught them." Mr. Alder looked very sad.

"Oh, dear, if they did, I'll tell Deborah."

Clematis looked as if she were ready to cry.

"Don't cry. I'll get a fairy to bring them back. You turn around and shut your eyes."

He turned her around. "Now, are your eyes shut?"

"Yes."

"Now you must say, 'Fairy, Fairy, bring back my chicks.'"

"Fairy, Fairy, bring back my chicks," said Clematis, laughing.

She heard the little red hen clucking behind her. Then she heard the chickens peeping.

"Turn round," said Mr. Alder.

She opened her eyes; she turned around; and there were the chicks, running about their mother.

She was just going to cry out in surprise, when the hen lifted her wings, and two more ran out from beneath them.

"Oh, I know. She had them under her feathers all the time."

Clematis laughed and danced about, while the red hen clucked to her chicks and walked off very angry indeed.

Mr. Alder laughed also, and picked up the pail.

"Do you see that patch of raspberries down there, just beyond the hen house?" he asked.

Clematis nodded.

"I think there are some big, late raspberries down there. Would you like to pick a few? You'll find them good."

"For me to eat?"

"Yes, eat all you can find. They are good for little city girls."

"Oh, thank you." Clematis started toward the patch of raspberries.

Then she stopped.

"I must see Deborah first," she said. "I wonder if she caught any rats."

"To be sure, I forgot Deborah. Give her my love."

Mr. Alder went to separate his milk, while Clematis found Deborah sound asleep on the hay, and ready to visit the raspberry patch.

Soon the bell for breakfast rang, and Clematis ran to the house. Her lips and fingers were red with raspberries, for she had found big ones.

By her plate was her tiny glass, and a pitcher of rich milk. There were corn flakes, and shredded wheat first, and then toast, and bacon, and big baked apples with cream.

Clematis had never really expected to have such things to eat. The stories other little girls had told her, all had seemed like fairy tales.

"Now you can help me a while, if you wish," said Mrs. Alder, after breakfast. "Can you wash dishes?"

"Oh, yes'm, I can do that all right."

Clematis looked after Mr. Alder with longing eyes. He was going to feed the pigs. She longed to go too, but she knew she must help all she could.

So she started in on the plates and cups.

The water was hot, and she found it hard work to hold the china. Just as she was lifting a cup, it slipped from her hand.

"Snick."

"Gracious, what was that?" asked Mrs. Alder. She thought a good deal of her china.

The cup was taken out. A piece was broken from the edge.

"Oh, dear me. I have had those cups for twenty years. I guess I'll finish the dishes."

Clematis said nothing, but turned very red. She almost cried, she was so ashamed.

"Well, don't worry too much about it," said Mrs. Alder. "You can help me with the beds. I'm sure you can make your bed without doing any harm."

"Oh, yes'm, I've made it already."

"Made it already? When?"

"Why, when I got up, before breakfast."

"Mercy! Go right up and pull the clothes back. It must always air for an hour."

Poor Clematis went up and pulled the clothes back to air.

"How can I help, if every single thing I do is wrong?" Clematis spoke crossly out the window at the robin on the edge of the roof.

Then she felt a crumb in her pocket, and pushed up the screen to throw it out.

Mr. Robin flew away, and Mrs. Alder came in at that moment.

"Dear child, what on earth have you put up that screen for? Do you want to fill the house with flies?"

"No'm, I didn't know -- "

"Oh, well, never mind. You don't know much, I guess. I promised to take you, and I'll keep my word, but it's no use trying to fit city children into real homes."

Mrs. Alder shut the screen with a bang.

"There now, you run along out doors. I guess you and Mr. Alder will get along all right, but don't touch anything."

"Hello, it looks like rain. What's the trouble, sister?"

Mr. Alder smiled and pinched her cheek, as he met Clematis at the back door.

"I tried to help," said Clematis, drying her eyes.

"Oh, I see. You didn't do things quite right, did you? Well, I wouldn't fret about that. I don't do things quite right, myself."

Clematis smiled through her tears.

"Come on now, and help me pick some late peas for dinner. You will like that, I am sure."

He took her hand, and soon she was happy again.

"There, you picked two quarts, and did it well, too. Now take these up to Mrs. Alder, and tell her you can shell them out, every one, without hurting a thing."

"Oh," said Mrs. Alder, in the kitchen. "You think you can shell peas, do you? Well, take them out under the maple tree. Then I won't have the pods all around the kitchen."

And Clematis proved that she could shell peas, after all.

Mrs. Alder gave her a cookie for her pay, and said she had done very well.

"I guess you'll get along all right, if you stay out doors," she said.

"Thanks," said Clematis, eating the cookie as she went out. She was glad enough to stay out doors.

"I'll help Mr. Alder all the time," she said to herself. "I'll feed the pigs, and the hens, and I guess he'll be glad I'm here."




Chapter XVI

Only A Few Days More


Clematis did help Mr. Alder, and tried hard, in her way, to make herself useful.

She helped Mrs. Alder too, for she went on errands to the village every time she was asked.

Every day she went to the Post Office. She took home the letters and carried home bundles from the stores.

Clematis loved this walk, because the road ran down by Knapp's saw mill, and by the river.

Near the stocking mill, the river came right up to the road, and she could even see the little fish, in the clear water.

Sometimes she stopped longer than she thought, and was late getting back, but Mrs. Alder did not scold her.

"The less we expect of her, the less we shall be disappointed," she would say.

On Sunday, they all went down to church to hear Mr. Sampson preach.

He smiled at her in his kindly way, when she went out.

"Let me see, I don't know your name, do I?" he asked, taking her hand.

"It's Clematis."

"Well, Clematis, I'm glad to see you. I hope you will come again."

"That little girl looks just like another little girl I used to know," he said to Mr. Alder.

"She is here for a week or two. Doctor Wyatt sent her up." Mr. Alder whispered to him a minute, before they went away.

"How would you like to take a long walk this afternoon, Clematis?" said Mr. Alder, while she was eating her ice cream and cake.

"Oh, yes, let's." Clematis was glad enough. She never liked Sundays very well.

"Good, we can walk up Bean Hill, if you think you can go that far."

"Oh, I can walk farther than that."

So they started out, while Mrs. Alder lay down for a nap.

They didn't go by the road, but crossed the river in a boat that Mr. Alder kept tied to the bank.

Then they walked through the trees and meadows by the path.

Clematis was full of joy. New birds sang here. New trees, and new flowers met her at each turn.

After they had walked about a mile, they came to a little cabin, set among maple trees.

"Who lives here?" asked Clematis. It looked like the cabins she had seen in her picture books.

"No one lives here now. This is where they boil down their sap in the spring. They make maple syrup, and maple sugar."

There were the big pans, turned upside down, and the pails that caught the sap.

Her mouth watered as she thought of all the maple sugar they had made in that little cabin. She wanted to stay longer, but Mr. Alder started on.

"We must get along, I want to see Mr. Brooks before we go home."

"Who is Mr. Brooks?"

"Mr. Brooks is a good man who lives over here on the side of Bean Hill. He lives all alone by himself."

"Oh," replied Clematis, "is he the man who owns the white house with the vines, and has had so much sadness?"

"Yes. How did you know about him?"

"Mr. Ladd stopped near his house. He told me."

The walk was a long one, and Clematis was glad when she saw the little cottage on the hillside.

"Here we are. There is Mr. Brooks now, working over his flowers." Mr. Alder went over to the little garden, where a man with white hair was pulling out weeds.

"Good day, Mr. Alder. Glad enough to see you. Come up and sit on the piazza."

Mr. Brooks smiled, as he wiped his hands.

"And here is a lady, too," he added. "I believe I have never met her."

He held out his hand to Clematis with a kindly smile, and led them to the piazza.

Mr. Alder told him who she was, while Clematis was looking at the neat little cottage.

A vine was growing about the door, with little white flowers, peeping out from its green leaves.

Mr. Brooks saw her looking at it.

"Do you like the flowers?" he asked.

"Yes, -- it is just the same."

"What do you mean? What is just the same?"

"Why, just the same vine as the one on the white house."

"She saw the old home place when she drove over with Mr. Ladd," said Mr. Alder. "She remembered the vine."

"I am glad you like it. You ought to like it, Clematis, because it has your own name," added Mr. Alder.

"Well, well, is her name Clematis?" Mr. Brooks took her on his knee and looked into her face.

"I wish I had a little girl like you," he said.

She sat there on his knee, while he talked with Mr. Alder.

"I hope you will come again, Clematis. You will, if you get a chance, won't you?" Mr. Brooks said, as they started to go.

He brought out a big, sweet pear, and put it into her hand.

"You can eat that on the way home," he said.

All the way home Clematis kept thinking of Mr. Brooks, and the vine, and how he had looked into her face while she sat on his knee.

She had never known any father or mother, and people didn't have time to hold her that way at the Home.

"Could we go again?" she asked, as they crossed the river.

"Well, perhaps. We'll see."

When they got home, Mrs. Alder was sitting on the back steps.

Beside her, in the grass, lay three dead chickens.

"How on earth did those chickens get killed?" asked Mr. Alder, as he took one in his hand.

"Why on earth did that child ever bring her old cat up here? That's what I'd like to know." Mrs. Alder was cross.

"Did Deborah do that? Dear me! We'll have to shut her up in the loft."

"That's where she is, and that's where she'll stay," said Mrs. Alder. "Remember now, Clematis. Don't you let her get out again."

"Yes'm," said Clematis.

She didn't know what else to say, so she went sadly to the loft. There she found Deborah, sleeping sweetly, as if she had never done a thing wrong in the world.

She sat down by the open window, and looked across the river valley, and across the lake, to the mountains.

"Oh dear!" she sighed.

She heard Mrs. Alder speaking.

"I don't care, I think the Doctor was asking a good deal of us, to keep a strange child like that."

"Well, Mary, never mind. It is only for a few days longer. I guess we can stand it. Think of the pleasure it gives Clematis."

Mr. Alder spoke kindly, but as Clematis heard the words, she turned pale.

"Only a few days more. Only a few days more." The words went through her mind again and again.

She had never thought about going back. Two weeks seems a long, long time to little girls. Only a few days more before she must leave Tilton.

Clematis put her elbows on the window sill, and rested her chin in her hands.

The sun was setting behind the maple tree. The golden rays gleamed in the white mist that had risen from the river, for it was a cold evening.

In the distance the Belmont mountains were a deep, misty blue, and the clouds above them all white and gold.

Now all the valley was filling with a golden mist. The birds were singing in the trees along the banks of the river. They filled the evening air with joyous songs.

"Only a few days more. Only a few days more."

Soon she must go back to the brick walls, and the yard with the high fence around it.

When Mr. Alder came to call Clematis for supper, her eyes were red, and her cheeks pale.

"Never mind, dear little girl," he said. "We'll keep Deborah shut up. I guess we can spare the chickens. We have plenty more."

She said nothing, but went silently in for the evening meal. She had forgotten all about the chickens. All through supper the words ran in her head, and the last thing in her mind as she fell asleep was this thought:

"Only a few days more."




Chapter XVII

Where Is Clematis?


On Monday Clematis found a big, blue envelope, with the other mail.

"I guess you have a letter for your own self this time," said Mr. Morse, as he handed her the mail.

Clematis did not stop to look at the little fishes by the shore. She hurried straight home.

It was a letter for her own self. Miss Rose sent it to her.

"Oh, I wish I had learned to read. Please read mine first, Mrs. Alder?"

"Do you think that is polite?" asked Mrs. Alder.

"No'm, but you get lots of letters."

"That is true. Well, let us see."

She opened the envelope, while Clematis got close to her side.

"Dear little Clematis:

I hope you are well, and having a good time. I am sure you must be having a splendid time, for Tilton is a lovely place. I wish I were with you.

What a naughty girl you were to take Deborah, when she was not invited. I hope Mrs. Alder has forgiven you.

I am going to ask Mrs. Alder to send you home on the afternoon train Saturday, so you will be all ready when school begins.

I shall be at the train to meet you. Don't forget Deborah.

Your true friend, Rose Thornton."

"That is a good letter for a little girl to get, I am sure. Now run out and play, while I read my letters."

Clematis went out, rather slowly. The letter made her think again of the end of her stay, and she was sad.

But the sun was bright, the breeze was cool, and the birds sang merrily.

She saw Mr. Alder down in the garden, and ran to him.

"Can I help you, Mr. Alder?"

"I think not. I am weeding late carrots, and I think you would not know them from weeds."

"I should know them, honestly. Just let me try a little bit."

"Well, then, take this little trowel. Make the earth loose around them, and then pull the weeds out with your fingers."

Clematis kneeled in the soft earth, and began to work with the trowel.

She weeded the row across from Mr. Alder, where he could see what she was doing.

"Well, I declare! You are a real gardener." Mr. Alder patted her shoulder, and praised her well when she had done several feet of her row.

The little green tops of the carrots all stood straight and clean. Every weed was gone, but no carrots were hurt.

"I told you I could do it. You did not believe me, did you?"

Clematis smiled happily.

"Well, I do now. I never saw any one do better."

So the man and the little girl worked side by side beneath the August sun.

The smell of the warm earth, and the fresh growing things all around her, made Clematis breathe deeply.

She could hear the birds singing, and see the mountains, across the lakes.

While she was hard at work, she almost forgot to be sad because she was going back on the Saturday train.

"Just look at that child," said Mrs. Alder, when they went in to wash for dinner. "Has she been weeding in her good clothes?"

"She has weeded two whole rows of carrots, I know that much. I'll get her some new clothes when those wear out. She is as much help at weeding as a man."

Clematis was as proud of that, as Deborah was with her first rat. In the afternoon Mrs. Alder found her a pair of small overalls. These covered her dress and kept her clean.

It was a happy child that came in at evening. She had worked steadily, in the hot sun and the breeze, and had finished all the carrots.

"You don't know how much help that has been, Clematis," said Mr. Alder. "It tires my back to weed carrots, and now they are all done."

"I will weed tomorrow, too," she said, happy with her praise.

There was plenty to do, as there always is on a farm, and Clematis was busy all day.

"I don't see how she learns so quickly," exclaimed Mr. Alder, when he was telling Mr. Ladd about her.

"I suppose it is because she naturally loves it," he answered. "It seems too bad that she couldn't live here in the country, she seems to love it so."

"Yes. I wish Mrs. Alder was better, and took to children more. Clematis is clumsy in the house, but out in the garden she is right at home."

So the days went on, with sunshine and clouds, and Saturday came nearer and nearer.

"Clematis, what have you been doing to the calendar in your room?" asked Mrs. Alder, at dinner on Friday.

"I was just looking to see how many days till Saturday."

"Well, you needn't muss it up that way."

Every morning Clematis had taken it down and counted the days with her fingers.

Friday evening she did not eat much supper, and was very silent.

"Longing to get back home, I guess," said Mrs. Alder. "Well, dear, you will be back with the other children tomorrow. I know what it is. I was homesick myself when I was a child."

Clematis did not answer. She didn't know how to tell what it was that troubled her, so she said nothing.

The stars were bright, and the tiny moon was low in the sky, before the weary eyes closed in sleep.

Clematis had been thinking, and thinking. Tomorrow was Saturday.

Early in the morning she was awake again, by the window.

She leaned her head on her hands, and began to think again.

"That is what he said," she repeated, half aloud.

"That is just what he said. If he didn't mean it, why did he say it?"

At the breakfast table, Mrs. Alder noticed how pale her cheeks were.

"Try to eat some toast, dear," said Mrs. Alder. "You will soon be home again. Only a few hours more now."

Clematis raised her eyes, and gave Mrs. Alder a strange look.

"That child does beat all," said Mrs. Alder, after breakfast. "She seems to be thinking a lot, but she keeps as quiet as a stone jug."

"She is thinking; you may be sure of that," Mr. Alder replied.

All the morning Clematis went about silently, except when she was in the loft with Deborah. Then she talked.

"I shan't be afraid. I am a big girl, Debby, and I shan't be a mite afraid."

Deborah could not speak, but she snuggled up close, and purred, so Clematis knew just what she meant.

"Be sure to have all your things ready, Clematis," called Mrs. Alder.

"We shall have an early dinner, for Mr. Ladd will be here about one o'clock to take you to the station."

"Yes'm," said Clematis, and she went slowly to her room.

Before long, all was ready, and dinner was on the table.

"Now, let's eat a big dinner. I roasted a chicken especially for you."

How good the roast chicken smelled! There were baked potatoes, and peas, and beans, too.

Clematis was hungry now. She ate, and ate, and ate.

"Good girl." Mr. Alder patted her on the head. "Travelers must be well fed."

"Be sure to wash all the blueberry off your mouth," added Mrs. Alder, as Clematis got down.

Clematis went to the sink and washed her face and hands. Then she went to the back door.

"Don't forget Deborah's satin dress, and velvet hat?" called Mr. Alder.

She turned and smiled back at him, as she went out.

Soon Mr. Ladd drove up.

"I came a bit early," he said. "I've got some milk for the Seminary. Is Clematis ready?"

"Yes, all ready, I guess. She just went out to get her cat."

Mrs. Alder went to the back door and called.

She waited a minute, but Clematis did not come.

She called again. No Clematis. "Please go and get her, Henry," she said to Mr. Alder. "Tell her to come right in."

After a few minutes Mr. Alder came back. He looked puzzled.

"Well, where is Clematis?" asked Mrs. Alder.

"I don't know."

"Don't know? Isn't she in the loft?"

"No."

"Well, perhaps she went to say goodby to the pigs."

"She isn't there."

"She must be around here somewhere. She has no wings; she can't fly."

"I'm not so sure of that." Mr. Alder smiled in a puzzled way at Mr. Ladd.

"That's just like you men."

Mrs. Alder went to the door and called as loudly as she could. Then she went to the barn and called again.

She looked all about. Mr. Alder looked all about. Mr. Ladd looked all about.

They all called once more.

It was of no use. Clematis was gone.




Chapter XVIII

Hunting For Clematis


Mr. Alder looked at Mr. Ladd. Mr. Ladd looked at Mrs. Alder. They all looked at each other.

What should they do?

"Well," said Mrs. Alder at last, "you drive down street with Mr. Ladd and find out if any one has seen her. I will look all about the farm."

The men had not gone far down the street when they met a boy.

"Hi, Ned! have you seen our little girl?" called Mr. Alder.

"Who, Clematis? Have you lost her?"

"No, she has lost herself. Have you seen her?"

"My gracious, no." His blue eyes opened almost as wide as butter plates.

"Well, tell any one you see that she's lost; that's a good boy."

"My gracious, I guess I will."

Off ran little Ned Atkinson, as fast as his legs would carry him.

He told every one he met, but no one had seen Clematis.

Not far down the street Mr. Knapp came rolling out of his yard.

"Have you seen that little girl of ours, Mr. Knapp?"

"Yes, yes. I saw her. She's a likely gal. Quite spry."

"Where was she?" Both men spoke at once.

"Oh, right along here, yesterday morning."

"I mean today. Have you seen her today?"

"No, no, I haven't set eyes on her today. What's the matter? Is she lost?"

"It looks as if she were lost. We can't find her."

"Well, she'll be back.

'Let 'em alone, And they'll come home, Wagging their tails behind them.'"

They heard his great voice echo down the river, as they drove on.

Nobody had seen Clematis. Nobody knew anything about her.

Mrs. Alder looked everywhere at home.

Her bag and box were neatly packed and ready, but there was no sign of the little girl who owned them.

Many people were looking for Clematis that afternoon.

Ned Atkinson ran everywhere, telling people about the lost girl.

They looked in the woods and in the fields. They looked all along the river banks.

When night came, they were still hunting, but had found no trace of Clematis.

"I can't sleep a wink tonight," said Mrs. Alder. "I think the child must be crazy, to run off like that."

"I don't feel much like sleep myself," Mr. Alder replied.

"I wonder where she can be hiding."

The next morning many people came to ask if Clematis had been found.

"No, no, no. There isn't a sign of her anywhere. I don't know what we shall do."

Mrs. Alder made the same answer to every one.

During the day people still looked about in new places.

Afternoon came again, but no Clematis came with it.

Towards evening, Mr. Brooks was sitting in his chair by his little cottage, reading a book.

The sun was sinking behind the mountains in the west.

The birds were singing their evening songs, in the trees by the brook.

All was quiet and peaceful.

As he sat there, Mr. Brooks heard steps on the path.

He looked down and saw a little girl. In her arms was a cat, with a black spot over one eye.

The child stumbled as she walked. She seemed ready to drop, she was so tired.

"Why, little girl, where did you come from?" cried Mr. Brooks.

He got up and went down to meet her.

Then she raised her pale face, and he saw that it was Clematis. Her face and hands were soiled; her hair was tangled; her dress was dusty and torn.

"Oh, little maid," he said. "Did you walk way over here to see me?"

"Yes," said Clematis, faintly. "I said I would, and I did."

"Dear child, you are worn out. Come in and rest."

He took her into the little house, and got a basin and water.

"There, dear, wash your face and hands. You will feel better.

"Now sit down, Clematis," said Mr. Brooks, when she had finished washing her face and hands, "and we will have a bite to eat."

He cut a slice of bread. On this he spread some butter, and sprinkled a little sugar.

Clematis watched him with hungry eyes.

"Dear child, you must be starved," he said, as she took a great bite.

"Wouldn't you be hungry if you hadn't had any breakfast or dinner?"

Clematis took another big bite.

"No breakfast? No dinner? Where have you been all day?"

"I stayed in the little house where they boil the sap."

The bread was nearly gone now.

"Did you run away this morning?"

Mr. Brooks was cutting another slice.

"No, I stayed there last night."

"You stayed there all last night? Child! I should think you would have frozen. There was frost last night."

"I did freeze," said Clematis, beginning on the second slice.

Mr. Brooks looked at her a moment in silence, while she ate.

"I never heard anything to beat that," he said at last, as he reached once more for the bread.

"Mrs. Alder will be very anxious."

Clematis shook her head.

"No she won't. She'll be glad I'm gone."

Mr. Brooks smiled.

"Well, Mr. Alder will, anyway. As soon as you have eaten a few loaves of bread, I'll get Mr. Giles's horse. They will be glad enough to see you again."

Clematis put down her bread. Her lips quivered, and her eyes filled with tears.

"Don't you want me?" she said.

"My dear child, what do you mean?"

"You said you wished you had a little girl."

"Did I say that?"

"Yes, you said you wished you had a little girl, and you can have me. Nobody wants me, except you.

"I can make my bed, and wash dishes, and I don't say slang words any more, and I can weed everything in your garden."

Poor Clematis, she had never said so much at one time in her life.

Then she burst into tears. She was tired, and worn, and faint.

Mr. Brooks took her into his lap. He hardly knew what to say to comfort her.

"Have you no father or mother?" he asked.

"No," she sobbed, "I haven't anybody at all."

"You see I am all alone here. I haven't any good place to keep a little girl."

"I don't care, I can sleep on the floor."

Her eyes were drooping, and she was growing quiet. Her head rested on his shoulder.

Mr. Brooks was thinking what to say, when he looked down at her face.

Her brown eyes were closed, and she was fast asleep.

He held her there a while. Then he took her into the next room, and laid her on the bed.

Covered with a warm blanket, she sighed softly, and sank into a deep slumber.

"I can't take her home tonight. She ought to have a long, quiet sleep," said Mr. Brooks to himself.

He watched her a while. Then he went out, up the mountain to Mr. Giles's house.

There he telephoned to Atkinson's store.

In another minute a little boy was racing up the street. He called to every one on his way:

"Clematis is found! Clematis is found! She's up on Bean Hill."

Ned shouted at the top of his voice.

Clematis would have been surprised, if she had seen how glad Mrs. Alder was to know that she was safe.

They sent a message to Miss Rose, and told her that Clematis was found.

Every one was glad. Every one asked how she ever got way up there on Bean Hill, but no one knew.

All this time Clematis was sleeping quietly.

When Mr. Brooks returned, she had not stirred.

He stood and looked at her a long, long time.

When he turned away there were tears in his eyes.

"Poor little elf," he whispered. "She thought I meant just what I said."

He spread some blankets on the floor, and lay down, but he did not go to sleep.

His thoughts went back to a book he had been reading.

It was about Silas Marner, a man who was sad and lonely.

Silas Marner took a little girl into his tiny house to care for, and she made his life happy again.

"Silas Marner did not have so large a home as this," he thought. "But he took good care of the little girl. How happy they were together."

The little face, all wet with tears, came before him again and again.

"I might keep her for a little while, at least," he said to himself. "I will see what Mr. Alder thinks in the morning."




Chapter XIX

New Plans


When Mr. Brooks woke in the morning, Clematis was already up. She had washed her face and hands at the spring, near the door, and was sitting on the step.

"Oho, so the little bird woke first, did she?" said Mr. Brooks.

Clematis nodded, and looked up shyly.

"I was thinking about you last night before I went to sleep. Suppose I should keep you with me for a little while. Do you think you would like that?"

"Oh, I would help like anything," she cried. "You just try me, and see."

"Well, I will talk to Mr. Alder, and perhaps you can stay for a while, at least."

So Mr. Brooks talked with Mr. Alder. Then he wrote to Mrs. Snow.

Yes, Clematis might stay a week.

How hard she tried!

"I'll wash and wipe all the dishes," she said.

The very first day she broke a cup. Then she cried.

"Dear me, don't feel bad about that. You are doing the best you can, I know."

Mr. Brooks laughed, and Clematis smiled again.

"Men don't care so much about dishes," she said to herself.

To be sure, Clematis had not learned to do much, but she had learned to do her best.

Mr. Brooks found that she could help in many ways, and she was so anxious to do her best, that he gladly forgave her mistakes.

He made her a little bed in the room upstairs.

At evening, she could hear the wind whispering in the trees, and the little brook that ran down from the spring.

In the morning, she could see the lakes and mountains across the valley, as she sat by her open window, while the birds hopped about on the twigs, and sang their sweetest songs.

Deborah slept each night in a little box close by her bed, and followed her about all day long.

The week passed very quickly. On Friday, Mr. Brooks saw that she was silent and thoughtful.

"I don't think I can spare you yet," he said at breakfast. "I must ask Mrs. Snow to let you stay another week, at least."

Clematis was never so happy. She smiled and hummed a little song all the morning. Now and then she would stop to pat Deborah, who slept by the stove.

"He is going to let me stay another week, Debby!" she would whisper. "Another week, another whole week."

This week was passing also, when Clematis had a great surprise.

It was a letter from Miss Rose.

"Oh, read it to me, read it to me!" she exclaimed, as she climbed up into Mr. Brooks's lap.

So he opened the envelope and read:

"Dear Clematis:

Mr. Brooks has asked us if he might keep you for a year. Do you think you would like to stay?

I shall go to see you in Tilton next week, so you must be thinking it over, and decide if you really want to stay?

Your true friend, Rose Thornton."

After he had finished, Clematis was silent for a moment. Then she looked up at him with a happy smile.

"Please read it again," she said.

So he read it again, while she sat still in his lap.

"Do you think you would really like to stay?" he asked, when he had finished.

Clematis patted his hand, and snuggled her face against his shoulder.

"Can Debby stay, too?" she asked.

"Of course she can. We couldn't get along without Debby."

That night Clematis looked out at the golden light, just fading from the mountains.

A star was twinkling in the sky. The brook was bubbling down among the trees, and the wind hummed a little tune in their soft branches.

She was very happy.

"I am going to be happy always now," she said.




Chapter XX

The True Fairy Story


The next week they got Mr. Giles's horse, and drove down to meet Miss Rose at the station.

How glad Clematis was to see her!

She sat in her lap all the way back to Bean Hill, and told her about the mountains, the lakes, the trees, and the birds.

"So you think you would like to stay a whole year, do you?" asked Miss Rose.

Clematis smiled and nodded.

"Deborah can stay too," she said.

When they got to the little cottage, Miss Rose went in with Mr. Brooks, and had a long talk.

She told him all she knew about Clematis.

He listened while she told him how Clematis ran away, how the policeman found her, and how she came to the Home.

"Have you any trace of her father and mother?"

"No, they said the father's name was Jones, but I am not sure that was her father's true name. Both her father and mother died when she was a baby, they say."

Mr. Brooks looked puzzled.

"Did the mother leave nothing when she died, that people might know her by?"

Miss Rose reached into her little black bag and brought out the picture. Mr. Brooks did not take it at first.

"They said the father's name was Jones; did they tell you his first name?" he asked.

"No, just Jones. I could learn no other name."

Miss Rose held out the picture, and Mr. Brooks's hand trembled as he took it.

After one look, he carried it to the window.

There he held it to the light, and gazed at it a long time.

"Do you see some one there you know?" asked Miss Rose.

"Wouldn't you know your own daughter, if you saw her?"

Miss Rose smiled. Then she saw tears in his eyes.

"Please forgive me for smiling," she said. "You reminded me so much of Clematis. She asks questions just like that."

"Well, wouldn't you expect her to be like her own grandfather?"

Then Mr. Brooks smiled too.

"Is she really your grandchild?" exclaimed Miss Rose.

"Yes, she is, she must be. This is her mother here."

He pointed to one of the girls in the picture.

"This was taken in front of the Seminary, a year before she ran away to be married."

"Oh, it seems just like a fairy story. I can hardly believe it."

Miss Rose looked again at the picture.

"Yes, it is like a fairy story," Mr. Brooks replied. "Dear, wayward girl. She needn't have run away. I would have gladly forgiven her."

"Then you will take Clematis to live with you, I suppose."

"Yes indeed. I have wondered about that name, Clematis. Her mother loved flowers. She loved the clematis vine about the door most of all."

"I suppose she named Clematis in memory of her dear old home," said Miss Rose.

Then Mr. Brooks told Miss Rose about the white house on the hill.

"I suppose we ought to move back there, now," he said. "Then Clematis can go to the Union School, and grow up like other children."

"It is wonderful. It is a fairy story, I am sure," she replied, "for the fairies must have led Clematis to your door. She will be the happiest child alive, when we tell her."

And Clematis was the happiest girl alive, when they called her in and told her the whole story.

She climbed into her grandfather's lap, and held his hand, while Miss Rose told it just like a fairy tale.

"Are we going to live in the house where all the vines are?" she asked, when Miss Rose was done.

"Yes, dear, you are."

"And I can stay there always?"

"Yes, Clematis."

"And will you be my grandpa always?"

She looked up at Mr. Brooks. He smiled and kissed her hot cheek.

"Yes, little maiden. You shall be my housekeeper, and we shall be as happy as robins in an apple tree."

So Miss Rose went back to Boston, and told them all the story.

The children made her tell it over and over again. They said it was better than any fairy tale they had ever read.

"And did she really sleep out in the woods alone?" asked Sally.

"And does her grandfather really and truly have a big white house on a hill?" asked Jane.

"Yes, yes, yes. It is all true, every word of it," answered Miss Rose.

Even Clematis could hardly believe it all, at first.

She followed her grandfather all about, wherever he went, for fear he might fly away, and never come back.

In the golden October, they moved up to the white house on the hill, grandfather, Clematis, and Deborah.

There Clematis had the room over the porch, where the vines climbed around her window. She could look out each morning, and see the river, and the lakes, with the mountains beyond.

She felt a little strange among all the new people she saw each day, and she had very much to learn. But Clematis learned the best thing of all, to do the best she could, and she soon grew into a sweet, useful girl.

Her little friends loved her, and her teachers helped her, for she tried to please them, and never complained because things were not easy to do.

When she heard that Sally and the other girls could hardly believe her story, she went and whispered to her grandfather.

"May I?" she asked.

"Of course you may," he said, "as many as you want."

Then she wrote a letter all her own self. She invited all the girls her own age, at the Home, to visit her the next summer, and see for themselves.

So if you ever go to Tilton, you must look about for a strong, happy girl, with big brown eyes, who studies her lessons, and works in the garden, and has the happiest time any girl ever had, with her grandfather, in the big white house on the hill.

<eob>

The Story Of A Bold Tin Soldier

By

Laura Lee Hope



Chapter I

A Make-Believe Fight


"Attention!"

That was the word of command heard in the toy section of a large department store one night, after all the customers and clerks had gone home.

"Attention!"

"Dear me, what is going on?" asked a Calico Clown, as he looked around the corner of a pile of gaily colored building blocks.

"Has the Sawdust Doll come back to see us?" inquired a Candy Rabbit.

"That would be good news, if it were true," said a Jumping Jack.

"But it isn't true," announced a Monkey on a Stick, as he climbed up to the top of his perch and looked over the top of a Noah's Ark. "I don't see the Sawdust Doll anywhere, nor the White Rocking Horse, nor the Lamb on Wheels. It isn't any of our former friends who have come back to visit us."

"Who is it, then?" asked the Calico Clown, reaching up to get hold of a long string, for he thought perhaps he could turn somersaults like the Monkey on a Stick or the Jumping Jack.

"Attention, Soldiers!" suddenly called again the first voice that had spoken. "Ready, now! Attention!"

"Oh, it's the Bold Tin Soldier!" said the Jack in the Box, who was the Jumping Jack's cousin. "What's the matter down there in your barracks, my Bold Tin Soldier?" went on the Box-Jack, as he was sometimes called for short.

"I want my men to get ready to march," answered the Bold Tin Soldier. "We are going to have a fancy drill to amuse you, my friends. Would you like to see me march my men around the counter?"

"Very much, indeed," answered the Candy Rabbit. "It is night now, and there are no human eyes to see what we do. So we toys may come to life and move about and make believe we are real as much as we please. We haven't had very much fun since the jolly sailor came and carried away the Lamb on Wheels."

"Has any one heard anything from her since she left us?" asked the Calico Clown.

"Oh, yes, the Lamb has a lovely home with a little girl named Mirabell," answered the Jack in the Box. "And Mirabell has a brother named Arnold, and those two children live next door to Dorothy, who has our dear friend the Sawdust Doll."

"Really?" asked the Jumping Jack.

"Really and truly," added the Box-Jack. "And Dorothy's brother, whose name is Dick, owns the White Rocking Horse who used to be here with us."

"Why, that is quite remarkable," said the Monkey on a Stick. "I hope we all get homes with such nice children when we are sold and taken away."

"You may well say that," came from the Bold Tin Soldier. "Some children are not as kind to their toys as they might be. But now, if you want to see me and my men march around in fancy drill, please take your places and keep out of the way."

"Yes, indeed, we must keep out of the way," said the Candy Rabbit. "I don't want to get pricked with a soldier's bayonet or tickled with the Captain's sword."

"And be sure to keep well back from the edge of the counter," went on the Bold Tin Soldier. "I don't want any of you falling off when the guns are fired."

"Oh dear me! has any one a bit of cotton?" asked a Rag Doll, who sat next to a picture book.

"Cotton? Why do you want cotton?" asked the Calico Clown.

"Didn't you hear what the Bold Tin Soldier said?" asked the Rag Doll. "He spoke about guns going to be shot off, and I can't bear loud noises. If I can find some cotton I am going to stuff it into my ears so I won't be made deaf."

The Box-Jack and the Jumping Jack stood side by side as cousins ought; the Candy Rabbit found a place near the Noah's Ark; the Monkey on a Stick found a place as near the parade grounds as the Bold Captain would let him come; and the Calico Clown moved over close to the Rag Doll.

"If the guns should, by accident, shoot too loudly," said the Clown. "I will hold my hands over your ears, Miss Rag Doll."

"That is very kind of you," she answered with a smile. "But please do not bang your cymbals, as they make almost as much noise as the soldiers' guns."

"I'll be careful," promised the Calico Clown, who wore a gay suit of many colors, one leg being red and the other yellow, while his shirt was spotted, speckled and striped. On the end of each arm was a round disk of brass. These were called "cymbals," and when any one pressed on the Clown's chest he moved his arms and banged his cymbals together with a clanging sound.

"Attention!" called the Bold Tin Soldier again, and at this word of command the other Tin Soldiers in the box with their Captain stood up and began to move into line, each one carrying his gun over his shoulder.

As I have told you in my other books, the toys could pretend to come to life and move about after dark, when no one was in the store to see them. The toys could also move about by themselves in the day time, if no human eyes watched them. But as there was nearly always some one -- either clerk or customer -- in the store during the day, the toys seldom had a chance to do as they pleased during daylight hours. So most of their fun took place after dark, as was happening now.

"Attention!" once more called the Captain. "Get ready, my brave men! Forward -- March!"

And then while some of the Soldiers who had fifes, drums, trumpets and horns played a lively tune, the others, led by their Captain, marched along. They went down the toy counter and paraded past the place where the Candy Rabbit sat watching them. Straight and stiff marched the Tin Soldiers, the music of the tin band becoming more and more lively.

"Left, wheel!" called the Captain, and the Tin Soldiers turned to the left.

"Right, wheel!" shouted the Captain, and the Tin Soldiers turned to the right.

Then they marched around in a circle, and they marched in a square, and they marched in a triangle, and in all sorts of fancy figures. They swung around the Rag Doll, and the Captain waved his shiny sword so fast that the Calico Clown cried:

"Oh, it is so dazzling bright that it hurts my eyes!"

And then the Bold Tin Soldier Captain led his men up a hill made of a pile of building blocks.

"Oh, I hope they do not fall off!" said the Rag Doll.

"No, they won't fall," answered the Candy Rabbit. "I guess the Captain knows what he is doing."

Straight up the building-block hill the Bold Tin Soldier led his men, and when they reached the top he cried:

"Jump!"

"Oh mercy me!" screamed the Rag Doll, "they'll all be killed!"

And those Tin Soldiers, who, like other soldiers, must always obey their officers, jumped right off the top of the building-block hill.

But they were not killed, nor was one of them hurt, I am glad to say. For at the bottom of the pile of blocks was a rubber football, and the Soldiers landed on this, bounced up and down, and then gently landed on the counter. The Captain knew the football was there, or he would not have told his men to jump.

"My, that was a fine drill!" said the Rag Doll. "How exciting!"

"Hush! They are going to do something else," said the Monkey on a Stick.

And it did seem so, for part of the Soldiers, shouldering their guns, marched to one end of the toy counter, and the others, with their Captain at their head, remained near the pile of blocks.

"Are you ready?" asked the Captain of a Sergeant who had charge of the second half of the tin soldiers.

"All ready, sir!" was the answer.

"Load! Aim! Fire!" suddenly cried the Captain.

"Oh, they are going to shoot! Oh, it's going to be war! There is going to be a battle!" cried the Rag Doll.

"Nonsense! It is only going to be a make-believe battle!" said the Calico Clown. "Our Captain told me about it. It is to be a sham battle to amuse us. See, they are aiming their guns at one another!"

And as he spoke the Rag Doll looked and saw the two companies of Tin Soldiers ready to take part in a battle.

"Oh, hold me! Hold me!" whispered the Rag Doll to the Calico Clown. "I know I am going to faint!"



Chapter II

Saving The Clown


"Ready! Take aim! Fire!" cried the Bold Tin Soldier Captain.

"Bang! Bang!" cracked the tin guns, some in the hands of one "army" and some shot off by the other "army." The Soldiers had divided themselves into two "armies," to give a make-believe fight to amuse the other toys.

"Crack! Crack! Bang! Bang!" rattled the tin guns.

But the guns were so small and there was such a little bit of the make-believe powder in each one that the noise they made would not have broken an egg, to say nothing of hurting the ears of a Rag Doll.

"Are you going to faint?" asked the Calico Clown of the Doll. He stood with his arms stretched out, ready to catch her in case she did.

"No! No, I don't believe I shall faint!" she answered. "Ha! Ha! Ha!" she suddenly laughed.

"What is so funny?" asked the Calico Clown. "I didn't tell a joke or ask a riddle, did I?" For that is what he sometimes did to make the toys in the department store laugh.

"No, you didn't do anything," answered the Rag Doll. "It is just that you look so funny, standing there ready to catch me with those brass things on your hands. Ha! Ha!"

"Those are my cymbals," said the Clown. "I can't let go of them. They are fastened on. Sometimes I get tired of them, but I cannot get rid of them."

"I know it, and it was too bad of me to laugh at you," answered the Rag Doll. "I did not mean to make fun of you, and it was very kind on your part, to be ready to catch me if I fainted. But you did look so funny!"

The Bold Tin Soldiers were doing their best to make some entertainment for the other toys.

"Ready! Aim! Fire!" cried the Captain to his men, again and again.

"Ready! Aim! Fire!" shouted the Sergeant to his men, for he had been given command of half the toy Soldiers for this sham fight.

The guns popped, the Soldiers rushed back and forth on the toy counter. Some pretended to be hit and fell down as natural as anything.

But at last the Bold Tin Soldier Captain and his men seemed to be winning. Most of the Captain's Soldiers were up on their feet, while quite a number of the Sergeant's men had fallen over.

"Surrender! Surrender! Give up!" shouted the Captain, as he rushed with his men toward the Sergeant and his men. "Surrender! Hoist the white flag!"

"All right, it is hoisted!" answered the Sergeant, and he tied his handkerchief on the end of his gun, where the stickery thing, called a bayonet, was fastened. "We surrender!" said the Sergeant.

"All right! Stop firing!" called the Captain to his men. "We have captured the enemy and the battle is over."

"I'm so glad it was only a make-believe one, and no one was hurt," sighed the Rag Doll.

"It was very jolly, all right," said the Candy Rabbit. "This is the first make-believe fight I ever saw. Are you going to have another, Captain?"

"Not to-night," was the reply. "My men are tired, but we are glad if you toys enjoyed our efforts."

"We certainly did," declared the Monkey on a Stick. "I wish I had joined the army instead of going through life on a stick, climbing to the top and climbing down again," he added, with a sigh.

"Oh, well, we cannot all be soldiers," said the Jack in the Box.

"No, indeed," agreed the Candy Rabbit. "If I had a gun I should not know what to do with it. It is only brave men, like our Bold Captain and his men, who know how to use swords and guns," he concluded.

"Thank you," said the Captain, waving his shiny sword. "We are glad you liked our drill and make-believe fight. Form in line, ready to go back to your box, my men," he went on.

Led by the Sergeant, under whom some of them had fought in the pretended battle, the Tin Soldiers formed in line, ready to march back to the box in which they were kept on the toy counter.

"I wonder what will happen to-day," remarked the Calico Clown, as he looked out through a distant window. "It will soon be morning," he went on. "I can see the sun beginning to redden the sky in the east. I wonder if any of us will be sold and taken away."

"It might happen," said the Bold Tin Soldier. "If I have to go I hope my men may come with me."

"Oh, of course they'll go with you," said the Rag Doll. "Who ever heard of a Soldier Captain without some men under him? You will all go together, for you belong in the same box."

"I'm sure I hope so," went on the Captain. "I suppose I shall be bought and given to some boy. Girls, as a rule, don't care very much for soldiers. They would rather have a Sawdust Doll or a Lamb on Wheels. And if I am given to some boy, I hope he will be like the boys we have heard about -- Dick, the brother of Dorothy, and Arnold, the brother of Mirabell."

"Yes, they are nice boys, from what I have heard," said the Calico Clown. "Well, it will soon be bright daylight, and then we shall see what happens," he added.

"Yes, we'll see," said the Captain. Then, turning to his men, he commanded:

"Ready -- March."

Off to their box marched the Tin Soldiers led by the Sergeant, who was next in command to the Captain. There ought to have been a First and Second Lieutenant, but the man who made the tin toys had forgotten them.

So the Sergeant led the Tin Soldiers back to their box after the make-believe battle. And, like good and proper soldiers, they stood themselves in straight rows. No standing around in a crowd, or lying down in hammocks, or stretching out under trees for these Tin Soldiers!

No, indeed! They stood up as straight and stiff as their own guns!

"Did you like our drill and sham battle?" asked the Bold Tin Soldier Captain of the Rag Doll, strolling over to speak to her before going back to join his men.

"Very much, indeed," she answered. "At first I thought I might faint when the guns shot off, but they were fired so gently that I did not, and the Calico Clown did not have to catch me in his arms."

"I don't let my Soldiers use too much powder in their guns," answered the Captain. "It is a sort of tooth powder we use in these make-believe fights, and then no one is hurt."

"It will be lonesome if you go away from us," said the Rag Doll, with a sigh, as she looked at the Bold Tin Soldier.

"Thank you for being so kind as to say that," said the Bold Tin Soldier. "But I have no notion of going away until I have to."

However, he little knew what was going to happen nor that he was to be taken away much sooner than he expected.

"I had better be getting over to the box with my Soldiers, I think," said the Captain, as he thrust his shiny sword back into the scabbard at his side. "Our fun for to-night is over."

"No, not quite yet," said the Calico Clown. "The sun has not yet risen, and it will be ten minutes before the watchman comes in to turn out the lights and get the store ready for the day's trade."

"But what can be done in ten minutes?" asked the Rag Doll.

"I can do a funny trick for you," said the Clown. "I have not yet done my share towards the night's fun, so I will do my trick now."

"Are you going to tell a joke or ask a riddle?" inquired the Candy Rabbit. "If you are, I wish you'd tell that one about what makes more noise than a pig under a gate."

"No, I am going to do a funny trick. Do you see that string there!" he asked the other toys, pointing upward.

"Do you mean the one hanging near the gas jet?" asked the Box Jack.

"Yes," answered the Clown. "Well, I am going to climb that string and hang by my toes."

He quickly walked over to a long string that hung down from the ceiling. At Christmas time it had held some wreaths of holly, but now nothing was fast to it.

"Up I go!" cried the Clown.

It was hard work for him to climb the string with the cymbals fast on the ends of his arms, but he managed to get up nearly as high as the flaming gas jet which lighted the store at night, so the watchman could see his way around.

"That's high enough -- don't go up any farther!" cried the Bold Tin Soldier.

"Yes, I am high enough now," said the Clown. "Watch me hang by my toes!"

He began turning over as he clung to the string, and, as he did so, he began to sway to and fro, like the pendulum of a clock.

"Look out! Look out for the blazing gas light! You'll be burned!" suddenly called the Rag Doll.

And as she spoke, the Clown on the dangling string came too near the gas flame. His baggy trousers, one leg red and the other yellow, began to smoke.

"Oh, the Calico Clown is burning! He will catch fire!" cried the Candy Rabbit. "Will no one save him?"

"Yes, I'll save the Calico Clown!" cried the Bold Tin Soldier, and he drew his shining sword. "I will save him!"



Chapter III

Bought By A Boy


The toys were very much excited when they saw the Calico Clown beginning to burn, because he had swung too near the gas jet.

"Oh, I can't bear to look at him!" cried the Rag Doll, covering her eyes with her hands.

"He'll be all right! The Bold Tin Soldier is going to save him," said the Monkey on a Stick.

"But how can he?" asked the Jumping Jack. "How can the Captain get up there and save our Clown? The string will not hold two!"

And, indeed, the Bold Tin Soldier himself was beginning to wonder how he could save his toy friend. He could not scramble up the string, as the Clown had done, and, if he did, the Bold Captain might catch fire himself.

Of course a tin soldier will not burn as quickly as a Clown with a suit of cloth, but the gas flame was very hot and dangerous.

"Come down! Come down!" cried the Rag Doll. "Come down, Mr. Calico Clown!"

And that, you would have thought, would have been the easiest way for the comical chap to save himself -- just to slide down the string to the counter. But something had happened.

"I can't get down!" the Clown exclaimed. "The string is twisted around my leg and caught on one of my cymbals! I can't get loose to come down!" And that is what had happened.

"But still I will save him!" cried the Bold Tin Soldier. He looked around the toy counter and saw a sofa cushion that belonged to a large doll's parlor set. "Quick!" shouted the Captain. "Put that cushion right under the Clown who is dangling by the string. Then when he falls he will not hurt himself. Over with the cushion!"

"But he can't fall!" said the Jack in the Box. "He's all tangled up in the string. He can't get loose!"

"I'll get him loose!" declared the Captain. "Some of you shove that soft cushion over under our Clown!"

The two Jacks, the Candy Rabbit and the Monkey on a Stick pulled and hauled until the cushion was just where the Clown would land if he let go of the string and fell. But he was still tangled in the string, and every time he swung, like the pendulum of the clock, he came close to the burning gas jet. And each time he did this his red and yellow trousers were scorched.

"Oh, will no one save me?" cried the Clown.

"Yes, I will!" shouted the Bold Tin Soldier. "I am going to cut the string with my sword. Then you will fall down, but you will not be hurt because you will fall on the sofa cushion. I'll cut the string with my shiny tin sword, and then you won't be burned."

Near the string which dangled from the ceiling was a Japanese Juggler with a long ladder, which he could climb, balancing a ball on the end of his nose. Just now the Juggler was resting at the foot of the ladder that stood upright. The Juggler did not speak English very well, and that is why he did not understand all that was going on. He had not said a word since the Clown had climbed the string and had swung too near the blazing gas jet.

"Will you allow me to use your ladder, Mr. Japanese Juggler?" called the Bold Tin Soldier to the chap with the ball on the end of his nose.

"Without waiting for an answer, which he hardly expected, the Captain sprang up the ladder, holding his sword ready. In an instant he stood near the swaying, swinging Clown who waved to and fro on the string.

"Swish! Swash!"

That was the shiny tin sword sweeping through the air. The string was sliced in two pieces.

The Clown was cut loose, and down he fell on the soft sofa cushion, not being hurt at all. He was saved from burning.

"Hurray! Hurray for our brave Captain!" cried all the toys, clapping their hands, and the China Cat clapped his paws, which were just the same as hands.

"Are you all right?" asked the Bold Tin Soldier after he had climbed down the ladder and hurried over to where the Clown was getting up off the sofa cushion.

"Yes, thank you! I am all right," was the answer. "I should not have tried to swing by that string so near the burning gas. But I did not think. Now, oh dear! Look at my trousers!"

Well might the clown say that, for his fine yellow and red trousers were scorched and burned. It was lucky the Clown himself was not burned, but it was too bad his suit was spoiled.

"Oh dear me! no one will ever buy me now," said the Clown sadly, looking at his legs. "I am damaged! I'll be thrown into the waste-paper basket!"

"Perhaps I could make you a new suit," said the Rag Doll. "I can sew a little, and if I had some cloth I might at least put a patch over the burned places if I shouldn't have time for a whole suit."

"Thank you," answered the Clown. "But I would never look the same. And thank you, Captain, for cutting me down before I was burned," he went on to the Bold Tin Soldier. "It was very brave of you."

"Oh, it was nothing," the Captain modestly said. "We soldiers are here to do just such things as that."

"Hush!" suddenly called the Monkey on a Stick. "Here come the clerks. The store is going to open!"

And so all the toys had to be quiet and go back to their places. They could not make believe be alive until night should come again.

One by one the girl clerks took their places behind the toy counters near the shelves on which the different playthings were stored. One girl picked up the Calico Clown.

"Well, I do declare!" exclaimed this girl. "Look at my fancy Clown, will you, Mabel?"

"What's the matter with him, Sallie?" asked the clerk whose name was Mabel.

"Why, his red and yellow pants are scorched," answered Sallie. "I wonder what happened to him. Some customer who was smoking must have dropped a match or some hot cigar ashes on him. I must tell the manager about this. I can't sell a damaged toy like that."

"No, you can't," agreed Mabel, after she had looked at the poor Calico Clown.

"Oh, but I know what we can do!" the girl clerk suddenly exclaimed. "What?" asked Sallie.

And "what?" wondered the Clown.

"We can make him a new pair of trousers," was the answer. "Up in my locker I have some pieces of silk I had left over when I dressed my little sister's doll for Christmas. I'll get my needle and thread and the pieces of silk, and this noon, at lunch hour, we'll make a new suit for the Clown. Then he won't be damaged, and you can sell him."

"Oh, that will be fine!" cried the other girl, and the Clown, hearing this, felt much better.

By this time customers were coming into the store to buy toys and other things, and the toy counters and shelves were busy places. The Bold Tin Soldier had gone back to his box with his men, and there he and they stood, straight and stiff as ramrods, waiting for what might happen to them.

All the toys wished to talk about the brave rescue of the Calico Clown by the Captain, but of course they had to keep still.

"But we can talk about it to-night," thought the Candy Rabbit to himself. "We'll have a grand time when the store is once more closed. But I hope the Clown does no more of his tricks. The next time his jacket might burn, as well as his trousers."

The girl who had promised to make a new pair of gay silk trousers for the Clown was kept very busy that morning waiting on customers. She had just sold a little Celluloid Doll to a small girl when a boy and a man came walking past the counter behind which she stood.

"There's what I want, right over there!" said the boy, pointing.

"What is it?" asked the man, who seemed to be his father.

"That set of soldiers," went on the boy. "I want that Bold Tin Soldier Captain, who carries a sword, and I would like a set of his tin men. Then Dick and I can play war and battle and have lots of fun."

"I'm afraid that set of toy soldiers will cost too much," replied the man. "You know I said you could have a toy, but not one that is too expensive."

"Well, let's ask how much the tin soldiers cost," suggested the boy.

"That set costs two dollars," answered the girl behind the counter.

"And I said you could have only a dollar, Arnold," said the man.

"I have a dollar of my own pocket money that I have been saving," said the boy. "If I put that with your dollar I'll have two! Then couldn't I get the Captain and his men?"

"Yes, I suppose you could," answered the man slowly.

"Then I'm going to buy them!" exclaimed the boy. "Hurray! I'm going to have a Bold Tin Soldier and his men."

"Well, now I suppose my adventures will begin," thought the Captain, for he heard all that was said. "Like the Sawdust Doll, the White Rocking Horse, and the Lamb on Wheels, I am to be sold and taken away. Yes, now my adventures will begin!"

The girl clerk went to get a piece of wrapping paper in which to do up the box of soldiers. The boy and his father stepped aside for a moment to look at some other toys. As they were out of sight of the counter for a few seconds, and as no one was watching, the Calico Clown had a chance to whisper to the Captain.

"So you are going away from us?" asked the Clown.

"Yes," answered the Captain. "But I am sorry I shall not see the new trousers the girl is going to make for you. I would like to see them."

"Perhaps you may come back and visit us," suggested the Candy Rabbit.

"Perhaps," agreed the Captain, and then he had to stop talking for the boy and his father came back.



Chapter IV

A Bean Battle


"Well, Arnold, do you think you will like your Bold Tin Soldier and his men?" asked the boy's father.

"Oh, yes, Daddy! I'm sure I shall!" was the answer. "I'll take them over to Dick's house, and we'll have a make-believe battle on the floor in the playroom."

"That is strange," thought the tin Captain, as the girl clerk was wrapping him and his men up in a large paper. "Very strange! Where have I heard those names before -- Dick and Arnold? I wonder -- I wonder --  -- "

But just then the girl turned the box upside down to tie a knot in the string she was putting around it, and the Captain and his men had all they could do to keep in their places.

"Stand fast, every one of you!" said the Captain in a low voice to his tin men. "We are perhaps going on a long trip."

The boy paid over his dollar of pocket money, his father added another dollar, and then the box of toy Tin Soldiers was taken away.

Just what happened on their trip from the store of course the Captain and his men did not know. They could feel themselves being jiggled about, and at one time they were put on the seat of an automobile, though they did not know it. And finally they were set down with a jingle and a jangle, the guns of the men rattling against the tin legs of the soldiers, and the sword of the Captain tinkling in its scabbard.

"Now I'll have some fun with my Soldiers!" cried the boy, whose name was Arnold.

The paper was taken off, the box was opened, and once more the Bold Tin Soldier and his men saw the light of day. They looked about them curiously.

The Captain and his men saw that they were in a pleasant, sunny room. The box, which might have been called their "barracks," was on a table, and, bending over it, was the boy, Arnold.

"Forward -- March!" called Arnold, and one by one he took the Tin Soldiers out of the box and set them in rows on the table, with the Captain at the head of his men. That is the proper place for a Captain, you know.

Of course if Arnold had not been there, and if no other human eyes had been looking at the Tin Soldiers, they could have marched out of the box by themselves. But, as it was, Arnold had to lift them out. He did not know, of course, that his toys, and all other toys, have the power of pretending they are alive at certain times.

As Arnold was standing his Soldiers in rows on the table, the door of the room opened and a little girl came in.

"Oh, Arnold! what did you get?" she asked. "Oh, aren't they nice!"

"These are my new Soldiers, Mirabell," said the boy. "Daddy took me to the store and I bought them with some of my pocket money. But Daddy gave me a dollar, too. Want to see my Soldiers fight?" asked Arnold, as he stood the Corporal and the Sergeant where they could help the Captain take charge of the men.

"Oh, no, Arnold! I don't want to see any soldiers fight! They might shoot me!" cried the little girl, pretending to shiver.

"Nope! They won't shoot anybody!" said Arnold. "They have only make-believe guns, and I'll only make-believe shoot 'em. I yell 'Bang! Bang!' and that's all the shooting there is. Now watch, Mirabell."

The boy divided the tin toys into two companies, just as the tin Captain himself had done with his men when he gave the fancy drill on the counter before the Calico Clown swung from the string and nearly caught fire. One of the companies was commanded by the Captain, while the Sergeant, who had red stripes on his sleeves, was in charge of the other.

"Now for the battle!" cried the boy. "Ready! Aim! Fire! Bang! Bang!" And he yelled so loudly that his sister Mirabell put her hands over her ears, just as, in the store, the Rag Doll had covered her ears.

"Mercy, don't shout so loud, Arnold!" cried Mirabell. "Oh, not so loud!"

"I have to. This is a big fight!" the boy answered. "Bang! Bang! Bang!"

Then he knocked some of the soldiers over, pretending they had fallen in battle, and he moved some forward across the table and some he moved back.

"One side is winning and the other side is losing," said the boy. "The losing side is running away. Bang! Bang! Bang!"

"This is too much for me!" said Mirabell. "There is too much bang-banging. I'm going to play with my Lamb on Wheels."

The Bold Tin Soldier Captain heard Mirabell say that, even above the noise made by Arnold.

"Ha! Now I know where I heard those names before!" thought the Captain. "The Sawdust Doll told us about these children when she came back to the store to visit that day. They live next door to Dick and Dorothy. Oh, I am in good company!"

Back and forth across the table the boy moved his two companies of Tin Soldiers. Sometimes he would make believe one side was winning the battle, and again he would let the other side seem to win.

The Captain and his men had little to say about it, for they could not move by themselves nor talk when Arnold was looking at them. And when he and his men were being moved back by the boy, and losing the pretend battle to the Sergeant and his men, the Captain sighed and said:

"Oh, if we could only do as we pleased! Then I'd show this boy how a real Tin Soldier can fight!"

But of course the Captain could not do that. He had to be content to let Arnold move him about. And the boy had fun with his company of Tin Soldiers.

He fought several battles with them, but at last, like all boys, he wanted to do something else. He was just wondering what he could do when the door opened, and Mirabell came in dragging behind her a rather large, woolly Lamb on Wheels.

"Come on out on the porch and play with me!" begged Mirabell of her brother. "It is nice out there, and you can bring your Soldiers with you."

"Yes, so I can," said Arnold. "I'll do it. Wait until I get the little wooden cannon that shoots paper bullets. I'll put that in the war."

"And I'll get my little Wooden Doll and pretend she is a Red Cross Nurse," said Mirabell.

Together the children ran from the room, leaving the Tin Soldiers on the table and the Lamb on Wheels on the floor.

"Well, of all things!" bleated the Lamb, when she saw the Bold Tin Soldier. "Just fancy seeing you again! When did you get here?"

"I just arrived," answered the Captain, for, there being no one in the room then, he and the Lamb could talk and move by themselves.

"I'm so glad you are here," went on the woolly pet "Tell me all that has happened at the store since I was taken away. Is the Candy Rabbit there yet? And the Monkey on a Stick and the Calico Clown? Are they all there?"

"Yes. But the Clown had a sad accident just before I came away," said the Captain.

"Dear me, how dreadful! Was he hurt?" eagerly asked the Lamb on Wheels, rolling over a little closer to the table on which stood the Tin Soldiers and their Captain. None of the Soldiers spoke while their Captain was talking, as that was not considered polite.

"No, the Clown wasn't exactly hurt," said the Captain, "but his trousers were scorched."

"Oh, his lovely red and yellow trousers!" bleated the Lamb. "How sad! Tell me about it, please!"

"Well, you see, the Clown was doing a few tricks to amuse us, and --  -- "

"Hush, sir! Quiet if you please, sir!" exclaimed the Sergeant, saluting his Captain. "Some one is coming, sir! I hear them, sir!"

And just then the door opened and Mirabell and Arnold came running back into the room, the boy carrying a little wooden cannon and his sister with a Wooden Doll in her hand -- the doll that was to be a Red Cross Nurse.

"Oh, Arnold! Look!" cried Mirabell.

"What's the matter?" asked her brother, as he began gathering up the Tin Soldiers.

"Why, look at my Lamb on Wheels!" went on Mirabell. "I left her over by the door, and now she has rolled over near the table."

"I guess the wind must have blown her," said Arnold.

"But the door wasn't open, nor the windows," went on Mirabell. "So how could the wind blow her? Oh, Arnold, once before my Lamb moved when I left her alone! Wouldn't it be wonderful if she could really be alive and move by herself?"

"Yes, it would," admitted Arnold. "But your Lamb can't move by herself any more than my Tin Soldiers can."

However, he little knew what went on after dark, when he and Mirabell were asleep in bed, did he?

"Now we'll go out on the porch and have some fun," said Arnold, putting his Soldiers back in their box.

It was a warm, sunny day, and soon the two children were having a good time out on the porch of their house. Arnold set his Soldiers in two rows, with the Captain at the head of one row and the Sergeant at the head of the other. Then the boy put some paper bullets in his toy, wooden cannon, and Mirabell wheeled her Lamb to a safe place.

Arnold was just going to shoot his cannon and pretend to have the tin guns of the Soldiers go bang-bang when, all at once, a shower of hard, dried beans fell on the porch. Some struck the Soldiers, some hit the Red Cross Doll, and some pattered on Mirabell and Arnold.

"Oh, some one is shooting bean bullets at us!" cried the little girl. "This is a bean battle! Are your Tin Soldiers shooting bean bullets, Arnold?"



Chapter V

The Captain And The Lamb


For a few seconds Arnold did not know what to answer. One of the hard, dried beans had struck him on the nose, and, while it did not hurt very much, it made his eyes water and he could not see what was happening.

But the beans kept on falling about the porch, and one struck a Tin Soldier and knocked him over. This Soldier was a very small chap. He was, in fact, the drummer boy.

"But who is shooting the beans at us?" cried Mirabell, as she lay down on the porch behind her Lamb on Wheels.

"I don't know who is pegging beans at us," said Arnold, looking around and out toward the street. "It isn't my Soldiers, for their tin guns can only make believe shoot."

Just then some shouts were heard and more beans came rattling across the porch, some, once more, hitting the Lamb, Arnold, and the Tin Soldiers.

"Oh, look, Arnold!" suddenly called his sister. "I see who is doing it!"

"Who?" he asked.

"A lot of rough boys! Look! They, have bean-blowers!"

As she spoke more shouts sounded and more beans came flying swiftly over the porch.

"Shoot the Tin Soldiers! Shoot the Tin Soldiers!" cried the rough boys. There were three of them, and, as Mirabell had said, they had long tin bean, or putty, blowers. They were blowing the beans at the boy and his sister on the porch.

Rattle and bang went the hard dried beans, but the Bold Tin Soldier Captain and his men stood bravely up under the shower of bean bullets. The Red Cross Nurse Doll was brave, too, and did not run away, while the Lamb on Wheels stood on her wooden platform and never so much as blinked an eye as bean after bean struck her.

"Shoot the Tin Soldiers! Shoot the woolly Lamb!" cried the bad boys, as they, blew more beans.

"Here! You stop shooting beans at us!" cried Arnold. "Do you hear me? You stop it!"

"Ho! Ho! We won't stop for you! You can't make us!" shouted the boys, and they were going to blow more beans, but just then Patrick, the gardener next door, came along with some seeds he had been down to the store to buy.

"Patrick!" called Mirabell.

Patrick saw the bad boys blowing beans at Mirabell and Arnold, and, with a shout, the gardener chased the unpleasant lads away.

"Be off out of here and let my children alone!" cried Patrick, for he considered Dorothy and Dick and Arnold and Mirabell as his special "children," and was always watching to see that no harm came to them. And once Patrick had saved the Lamb on Wheels, as you may read in the book written specially about that toy.

"Did they hurt you, Mirabell or Arnold?" asked the gardener, as he came back from chasing the boys.

"No, thank you, not much," Arnold answered. "One bean struck me on the nose, but it didn't hurt -- hardly any."

"And one bean knocked over one of your Soldiers, Arnold," said Mirabell.

"He's the drummer boy -- I guess he isn't hurt any," returned the boy, and he set the Tin Drummer on his feet again.

"Well, well! You have a fine regiment of soldiers, there!" said Patrick. "A fine regiment. What are you going to do with 'em, Arnold?"

"We're going to have a make-believe battle, now that the boys with the beans have gone away," Arnold replied.

"And my Wooden Doll is going to be a Bed Cross Nurse," added Mirabell. "And if any of the Soldiers get hurt I'll give them a ride on the back of my Lamb."

"Oh, sure and you'll have dandy times!" laughed Patrick.

Then Arnold and Mirabell had fun playing on the porch with the Tin Soldiers, the wooden cannon, the Doll and the Lamb on Wheels. Back and forth Arnold marched his two companies of Soldiers, firing the make-believe guns in regular bang-bang style.

Sometimes he would pretend a Soldier was wounded, though, of course, none of them really was, and Mirabell would make the Red Cross Nurse Doll look after the injured. And when the battle was nearly over Arnold made believe that a dozen or more of his Tin Soldiers were hurt.

"Oh, my Doll nurse can't look after so many hurt soldiers!" objected the little girl. "There's too many!"

"Put 'em on the back of your Lamb and make believe it's an ambulance," said Arnold, and Mirabell did this.

So the two children continued to play together with Arnold's new soldier toys. And then, just as the last bang-bang gun was fired, Susan, the jolly, good-natured cook, called:

"Come, children! I have a little pie I baked especially for you two. It is just out of the oven! Come and get some while it is hot!"

And you may well believe that Mirabell and Arnold did not wait -- they ran at once, leaving their toys on the porch.

"Well, now we have a chance to rest," said the Bold Tin Soldier Captain to his men. "Whew! that battle was surely as lively as the one we had in the store the other night."

"I should say so!" agreed the Sergeant. "The bayonet on my gun is bent."

"Well, that shows you have been to war," said the Captain. "And now we must thank the Red Cross Doll and the Lamb on Wheels for what they did for us during the make-believe fight."

"Oh, I didn't do much," cried the Wooden Doll, with a laugh. "None of you was really hurt, you know."

"That is true," agreed the Captain. "But if we had really been wounded you would have helped us, I am sure."

"Yes," admitted the Doll, "I surely would."

"And I was only too glad to have you ride on my back," said the Lamb on Wheels. "It is so good to meet you again, Captain," she went on. "Quite like old times. We have a few minutes now, while the children are away, getting their pie. Do tell me what happened to the Calico Clown."

"His trousers were burned," said the Captain. "And because Arnold bought me and my men I had to leave the store before I could see the new trousers the girl was going to make. But I'll tell you all about it," and the Bold Tin Soldier did.

"Did he ever tell the answer to that riddle of what it is that makes more noise than a pig under a gate?" asked the Lamb.

"No, he never did," said the Captain. "I meant to ask him, but I came away in a hurry, you see."

"Yes, we toys don't generally have much say as to what we shall or shall not do," bleated the Lamb. "I have been puzzling over that riddle myself."

"The next time I see the Calico Clown I will ask him the answer," declared the Captain. "There is no need of making such a secret about it. But, speaking of the store, it was lonesome there after you and the Sawdust Doll and the White Rocking Horse came away."

"Really? Did you miss me?" asked the Lamb.

"Indeed we did," declared the Captain. "And, in a way, I am glad I was bought and brought away. One reason is that now I may have some adventures, and another reason is that I have seen you again."

"It is very nice of you to say that," said the Lamb.

"Is there any chance of seeing the Sawdust Doll or the White Rocking Horse again?" asked the Captain.

"Yes, indeed! Every chance in the world," was the Lamb's answer. "Why, they only live next door. The Sawdust Doll belongs to a little girl named Dorothy, and the White Rocking Horse to a boy named Dick."

Then the Wooden Doll, who was a Red Cross Nurse, the Lamb on Wheels and the Bold Tin Soldier and his Tin Men talked together for some little time longer, while Arnold and Mirabell were in the kitchen eating the pie Susan had so kindly baked for them.

All of a sudden, as the Lamb was telling the Soldier some of her adventures, and how she had floated downstream on a raft, something fluttered down out of a tree near the porch, and the Lamb cried:

"Ouch!"

"What is the matter?" asked the Bold Tin Soldier. "Did a bee sting you?"

"No, that was a bird!" bleated the Lamb on Wheels. "And did you see what he did?"

"No! what?" asked the Soldier.

"Why, that bird flew right down out of a tree and grabbed a beak full of wool off my back," went on the Lamb. "Gracious, how he pulled!"

And while the Captain was getting ready to say something, down flew the bird again, and he plucked another beak full of loose, soft wool, pulling it from the Lamb's back.

"Ouch! Oh, how you pull! Please stop!" bleated the Lamb.

The Bold Tin Soldier drew his sword.

"Look here, Mr. Bird!" cried the Captain. "I do not want to hurt you, but I can not allow you to pull wool from the back of my friend, Miss Lamb. You must stop it, or I will drive you away with my shiny, tin sword, as I drove away the bad rat that wanted to nibble the ears of the Candy Rabbit! Stop it, Mr. Bird!"

"Tweet! Tweet! Tweet!" chirped the Bird. "Please let me pull some more wool from your back, Miss Lamb," and he fluttered in the air with his beak wide open, while the Bold Tin Soldier, with drawn sword, took a step forward.

What was going to happen?



Chapter VI

Saving The Sawdust Doll


The bird was just going to flutter down and pull some more wool from the back of the Lamb on Wheels, when the Bold Tin Soldier, waving his sword, happened to strike it on the iron wheels of the wooden platform on which Miss Lamb stood. The shiny sword made a clanking sound, and, hearing this, the bird, instead of fluttering to the Lamb's back, perched on the porch railing.

"Well, you'd better not come and pull any more wool from my friend, Miss Lamb!" said the Soldier Captain.

"Oh, please excuse me!" chirped the bird. "Oh, what a mistake I have made! Why, you are only a toy lamb, aren't you?" he asked the plaything.

"Of course I am a toy," answered the Lamb on Wheels. "But I can talk and move around when no human eyes watch me."

"That's just the trouble," said the bird. "I took you for a real lamb, and that is why I pulled some wool from your back. I wouldn't have done it for the world if I had known you were a toy! Please excuse me. I made a mistake."

"Do you mean to say," asked the Bold Tin Soldier, "that you could pull wool from the back of a real, live lamb?"

"Of course I could!" chirped the bird.

"What for?" asked the Wooden Doll.

"To line my nest with, of course," answered Mr. Bird. "You see I am helping my wife make a nest. She is going to lay eggs in it and hatch out baby birds. And we want the nest nice and soft for the little ones. So, when I saw the woolly Lamb here on the porch, I flew down to pick some soft stuff from her back. I never thought she was a toy."

"Don't the real lambs mind if you pull wool from their backs?" asked the Wooden Doll.

"Not at all," was the answer. "The real lambs, down in the green pasture by the brook, often have loose bits of wool on their backs. Other birds and I fly down, take off the loose pieces, and line our nests with them. Sometimes, when I can not get wool, I take the soft fluffy cotton from the milkweed plant, but I like lambs' fleece the best. It is so soft and warm for the little birds. But don't worry, Miss Lamb, I will not bother you again."

"I am sorry I can not let you have more of my wool," went on the Lamb on Wheels. "But, you see, not being real, my wool is glued fast to my back, and every time you take some off it pulls. And I can't grow any more like a real lamb."

"Yes, I know," chirped the bird. "Well, now I will fly to the green meadow and get some wool from a real lamb. Please forgive me, friends, for making trouble."

"Oh, that's all right," said the Bold Tin Soldier, putting away his shiny sword.

So, when the bird had flown away, the three toys were happy together again -- the Bold Tin Soldier Captain, the Lamb on Wheels, and the Wooden Doll. Then the children came back to have more fun, and the toys had to be very still and quiet, moving about only as Arnold or Mirabell moved them.

When supper time came Arnold put his Tin Soldiers back in their box, and set them away on a shelf in the dark closet. He also put his wooden cannon there, while Mirabell put her Doll and other toys on the floor of the closet, as she could not quite reach up to the shelf.

"Do you think you are going to like it here, Captain?" asked one of the Tin Soldiers, when the closet door was shut and the toys could do as they pleased, since no eyes could see them.

"Yes, I think this will be a nice place," was the answer. "Arnold is going to be kind to us, I can see that."

"Yes, sir, he is a fine boy."

"I shouldn't think you would like being made to fight so often," said the Wooden Doll. "Dear me, you seem to do nothing but go into battle and shoot your guns or draw your swords!"

"That is a soldier's life," said the Captain. "That is what we were made for, to fight and protect the weak. If ever you need our help, just call on us, Miss Doll."

The next morning Arnold opened the closet and took out his box of Tin Soldiers where they stood in their places straight and stiff, with their Captain at their head.

"What are you going to do, Arnold?" asked Mirabell.

"I'm going over to Dick's house to have some fun," he answered. "I will let him play with my Soldiers, and he will let me ride on his White Rocking Horse."

"Oh, then I'm going over and take my Lamb!" exclaimed Mirabell. "I'll let Dorothy play with her, and maybe she'll let me take her Sawdust Doll."

"Come on. We'll have lots of fun," said Arnold.

So the children, with their toys, went next door to the house where Dick and Dorothy lived. Mirabell and Arnold found their friends out on the lawn, and Dick had his Rocking Horse while Dorothy was playing with her Sawdust Doll.

"Oh, now we will have some dandy fun!" cried Dick. "Let me see your new Tin Soldiers, Arnold."

The grass was nice and smooth, and soon the Bold Tin Captain and his men were set up in rows, just as if they were on parade. Dick took half the Tin Soldiers and Arnold the other half, and then the little boys pretended to have a battle, only, of course, no one was hurt.

"May I ride your Rocking Horse?" asked Arnold, presently.

"Of course," answered Dick. "You take a nice, long ride, while I play with your Soldiers."

And while this was going on Mirabell and Dorothy played with the Sawdust Doll and the Lamb on Wheels. And how the toys did wish they were alone, so they could talk to one another! Of course the Sawdust Doll and the Rocking Horse, living in the same house, saw each other very often, and at night they could talk and play together. But it had been some time since either of them had seen the Bold Tin Soldier and his men, and the Doll and Horse were very anxious to hear the news from the store.

"Oh, my dear!" whispered the Lamb on Wheels to the Sawdust Doll, when they had a chance to talk together alone for a moment, which was when Dorothy and Mirabell went into the house to get some crackers for a play party, "you have no idea what an exciting story the Bold Tin Soldier has to tell you!"

"What about?" asked the Sawdust Doll.

"About how he saved the Calico Clown," was the answer. "He'll tell you about it when he has the chance."

"I shall be glad to hear it," said the Sawdust Doll. "But I hope nothing serious happened to the Clown."

"No. But it might have," answered the Lamb. "Hush! Here come the children back. We may not talk any longer."

But a little later on there was a chance for all four of the toys to talk among themselves. And there was quite an adventure, too, for the Bold Tin Soldier and the Sawdust Doll.

After they had played for some time, Dorothy and Mirabell and Dick and Arnold saw Patrick, the gardener, get out the hose.

"Oh, may we sprinkle a little?" cried Dick.

"Yes, please let us squirt some water on the flowers," begged Dorothy.

"If you'll be very careful not to get wet you may," said Patrick.

Over the lawn ran the four children, leaving their toys on the grass. And, seeing this, the Bold Tin Soldier said:

"Ah, now we have a chance to do as we please!"

"Then you must please tell me how you saved the Calico Clown," begged the Sawdust Doll.

"Shiver my sword!" cried the Soldier, laughing, "have you heard that story, also? It was nothing -- just a little happening. We soldiers must do our duty, you know."

"Yes, but tell me about it," begged the Doll, and the Captain did.

"My, how brave you are!" said the Sawdust Doll, when he had finished. "And now tell me about the Candy Rabbit, the Monkey on a Stick, the Elephant on Roller Skates, and all the others."

"Yes, do tell her," urged the Lamb.

"Yes, I want to hear about the Elephant," said the White Rocking Horse. "He tried to race with me once. Ha! Ha! That was funny!"

So the Bold Tin Soldier told of the happenings in the toy department of the store, and the toys were having a good time among themselves when, all of a sudden, into the yard ran a big dog. He was much larger than Carlo, the poodle dog that had once carried off the Sawdust Doll in his mouth.

With a wiff-wuffing bark this dog ran right among the toys who were talking together.

"Oh dear me!" cried the Sawdust Doll.

"Ha! what is the matter with you?" asked the dog, who was neither very good nor very polite. "What are you 'oh dearing' about? I guess I'll just take you home to let my puppies play with you!"

He sprang towards the Sawdust Doll and was just going to pick her up in his mouth, when the Bold Tin Soldier drew his sword.

"Keep away from my friend, the Sawdust Doll!" cried the Captain.

"Who says so?" barked the big dog.

"I do!" answered the Tin Soldier. "I will save the Sawdust Doll from being carried away!"



Chapter VII

A Sad Accident


If the big dog had not been so gruff and impolite, and if he had known how truly brave the Bold Tin Soldier was, the barking chap never would have tried to do what he said he was going to do -- carry away the Sawdust Doll.

"Yes, I am going to take the Sawdust Doll home to my kennel, so my little puppies will have something to gnaw and to play with," went on the big dog.

"Oh, just fancy!" exclaimed the poor Doll. "Oh, I don't want to be gnawed and played with by any puppies! They may bite holes in me, and all my sawdust will run out I Oh dear!"

"Don't be afraid," replied the Bold Tin Soldier. "This dog shall not take you away."

"Bow wow! You just watch me!" barked the bad dog. He ran at the Sawdust Doll with wide-open mouth, but before he could pick her up to carry her away the Bold Tin Soldier thrust his sword at the dog and pricked him on the paw.

"Ouch! Oh, dear! I must have run a thorn into my foot!" howled the dog.

"No, it was not a thorn. It was my sword that pricked you," said the Bold Tin Soldier. "I only stuck you a little bit this first time, but if you keep on teasing my friend, Miss Sawdust Doll, I shall have to do something worse. You had better run away!"

"Yes, I think I had," howled the dog. "I didn't know your sword was so sharp. Ouch, my paw hurts!"

"Well, I am sorry I had to hurt you," said the Captain. "But if you had behaved yourself it would not have happened."

"I'll put a grass poultice on it," said the Sawdust Doll. "I know something about nursing, for once in a while Dorothy pretends I am in a hospital. I'll bind some grass on your foot, Mr. Dog, if you will promise to let me alone."

"Yes, I'll do that," was the barking answer. "And I am sorry I was so unkind to you. Please forgive me!"

The Sawdust Doll said she would. Then the Bold Tin Soldier, with the same sword that had pricked the dog, cut some grass, and it was bound on the dog's paw. The sword prick was not a very deep one, and would soon heal. Then, limping on three legs, the dog ran away, and the toys were left to themselves once more.

By this time Patrick had let the children do all the hose sprinkling he thought was good for them, so back came running Dick and Dorothy, Arnold and Mirabell, to play with their toys again.

"What shall we play now?" asked Dick of Arnold. "Shall we have another battle with the Tin Soldiers?"

"Let's go to the garage and play we're going on an automobile trip," said Arnold. "We have had enough battles today."

So the Captain and his men were put back in their box and the cover was closed down.

"Oh, dear!" thought the Lamb on Wheels. "Now if anything happens, such as a big dog coming again, the Captain can not save us. He can not get out of the box."

But the Lamb need not have worried, for she was taken into the house by Mirabell, and so was the Sawdust Doll and the Rocking Horse. The little girls went down the street to play with a friend named Madeline, leaving their own toys in Dorothy's house, while Dick and Arnold went out to the garage, and from there over to Arnold's house.

But though no big dog came into the home of Dick and Dorothy to carry away the Sawdust Doll, something else happened, almost as bad, at least for the Bold Tin Soldier.

He and his men had been put in their box, and the box was put on a table in the playroom, together with the Lamb on Wheels, the Sawdust Doll and the White Rocking Horse. When Arnold and Mirabell went home they would take the Soldiers and the Lamb with them.

But before this came about something happened. A lady came to call on Dorothy's mother, bringing with her a little boy named Tad. Now Tad was not a bad little boy, but he was always looking for something to play with and he was not careful.

When Tad reached the home of Dick and Dorothy and found neither of the children was in, and when he saw his mother and Dorothy's mother talking together, Tad wandered about by himself to find something with which he could have fun. And the first thing he saw was the box of Tin Soldiers.

"Oh, now I can have some fun!" cried Tad.

He opened the box and took out the Bold Tin Captain. Then he took out the other Soldiers, the Sergeant, the Corporal and all the men.

''Ha! Now I can have a battle!'' cried Tad, and he threw all the Soldiers in a heap on the floor.

"Oh, my, this little fellow is a dreadful chap!" thought the Captain. "If he isn't careful he will break some of us."

"I'm glad we don't belong to him!" thought the Sergeant.

Still the Soldiers could do nothing, nor could they say anything, as Tad was there looking at them with his big, blue eyes. And Tad did more than look. He handled the Tin Soldiers very roughly.

The carpet was so soft that when they were thrown out of their box they were not hurt, but as Tad grew rougher and rougher as he handled the Captain and his men, the Bold Tin Soldier began to be very much worried.

"Stand up there!" cried Tad, and he jabbed the Soldiers, one after the other, down very hard on the carpet. Now the carpet, being soft and thick, was not a very good place for the Soldiers to stand on. They fell over very easily, and, seeing this, Tad cried:

"Stand up there!"

And when the Soldiers kept falling over -- since they dared not spread their legs and act as if they were alive when any human eyes were watching them -- Tad cried impatiently:

"Oh, you're no good! I'm not going to play with you! I'm going to have some other fun!"

With a sweep of his hand he sent the Soldiers in a heap together. Some fell one way and some another, and the Captain bounced out to the middle of the floor where Tad let him lay.

"I guess I'll ride on the Rocking Horse!" cried this not-very-good little boy.

"Oh, dear me! now I am in for a time," thought the White Horse. "This little lad is as rough as the one who used to dig his heels into my sides when he jumped on my back in the store. Oh, there he comes!"

And, surely enough, Tad ran across the room and climbed up on the back of the White Rocking Horse. If the Horse could have had his way he would have turned and galloped out of the room. But he could not do this, and so he just had to stand there and take what came.

"Gid-dap, there! Gid-dap!" cried Tad, banging his heels against the sides of the White Rocking Horse.

Now, as I have told you, when the Horse was made to rock back and forth he traveled along, just as sometimes a rocking chair moves across the room. And the faster Tad made the horse sway to and fro, the more the wooden toy moved along.

"Oh, I'm really having a ride!" cried Tad. "This is fun! Gid-dap, White Rocking Horse!"

Over the room on the soft carpet rocked the Horse, straight toward the Bold Tin Soldier who was lying in the middle of the room. And in a few moments, unless Tad stopped rocking the Horse, he would run over his friend, the Captain.

"Gid-dap! Gid-dap!" shouted Tad.

The Horse saw what was going to happen, and so did the Captain.

"Oh, if I can only get out of the way!" thought the Bold Tin Soldier.

"Oh, if only I do not have to rock on my bold friend!" thought the White Horse.

"Gid-dap! Gid-dap!" cried Tad again, and he made the Horse go faster and faster.

Nearer and nearer the rockers went to the Bold Tin Soldier. He wanted to shout aloud, but that was against the rules. And the Horse wanted to stop and turn about, and that, also, was against the rules, as long as Tad was there. As for the boy himself, I don't really believe he would have done it if he had seen what was going to happen.

But he was so excited at being on the back of the Horse that he did not look down at the floor where the Bold Tin Soldier lay. And a moment later the Horse rocked, with a crunching sound, right over his friend!



Chapter VIII

A Bunch Of Sweetness


The Bold Tin Soldier wanted to shout aloud and yell when he felt the rockers of the White Rocking Horse going over him. But he was a truly brave chap, and he knew it would never do to let that careless boy Tad know a Tin Soldier could pretend to be alive.

"I must not say a word!" thought the Soldier to himself.

And you can just imagine how the White Rocking Horse felt when he was made to run over his dear friend from the toy store!

"Oh, dear me," said the White Rocking Horse to himself, when he heard the crunching sound, "something dreadful has happened! But it was not my fault! It was that boy's!"

For you know, as well as I do, that if the White Rocking Horse had had his way he would have turned out, and not have gone over his friend, the Captain.

But Tad did not stop rocking, even when he heard the crunching sound. He swayed backward and forward in the saddle and cried:

"Gid-dap! Go faster!"

And he made the White Rocking Horse keep on. I don't know what else would have happened. Maybe that careless boy would have rocked over the rest of the Tin Soldiers for all I know, only he happened to see the Lamb on Wheels.

"I'll pull her around. That will be fun," said Tad, springing off the back of the horse.

As the boy leaped from the back of the White Rocking Horse he turned that wooden chap half around so the animal could look at the Bold Tin Soldier lying on the carpet.

"Oh, my poor friend!" thought the White Rocking Horse, not daring to speak out loud, of course. "I hope you are not killed."

And I am glad to say that the Tin Soldier Captain was not. He was not even hurt, for the rocker of the horse had gone over his sword, instead of over one of the legs or arms of the toy chap. The Soldier's sword had been run over and broken off, scabbard and all. And the scabbard, or case in which the sword was kept, and the sword itself were lying on the floor, not far from the Captain.

"Dear me, what a sad accident!" thought the White Rocking Horse.

And the Bold Tin Soldier was thinking to himself:

"Well, it is lucky I am not hurt, but it is dreadful to have my sword broken off. My men may think I am no longer their captain, and they may not obey me. Oh, dear, I am no good any more!"

"I wonder if the rough boy will break me?" thought the Lamb on Wheels, as Tad dragged her around the room.

But Tad seemed more gentle with the Lamb, or else perhaps he was tired of playing with the toys. For all he did was to drag the woolly plaything around the room a few times, and then he let go the string.

"I'm hungry!" said Tad out loud. "I'm going to get my mother to ask Dorothy's mother to give me something to eat!"

Out of the room ran the boy, and all the toys breathed easier when they saw him go.

"My poor, dear friend!" exclaimed the Rocking Horse, as he slowly made his way over to where the Tin Soldier lay on the carpet. "I hope you will forgive me!"

"It was not your fault at all!" said the Soldier. "It could not be helped. It is the fortune of war, as we men of the army say. My sword is broken, that is true, but it is much better to bear that than to put up with a broken arm or leg. Perhaps I can be mended."

He picked up the sword which had been broken off from his tin side where it had been soldered, or fastened. He tried to make it stick on, but it was of no use.

"Never mind, Captain," said the Corporal from the floor where he lay in a heap with the other soldiers, "we think just as much of you as before. You are still our commander, sword or no sword!"

"I am glad to have you say that," returned the Bold Tin Soldier. "Dear me, what a day it has been!"

He was still holding the broken sword in his hand when the door opened again and some one came rushing in. The Soldier had to drop back on the carpet, letting his broken sword fall where it would, and neither the Horse nor the other toys could speak again for a time.

And then a voice said:

"Oh, look at my nice Soldiers on the floor!"

"And the Captain's sword is broken!" said another voice. "Oh, who do you suppose did it?"

It was Dick and Arnold who had come into the room.

"What is the matter?" asked Dick's mother, coming up to the playroom just then. "Has anything happened?"

Then the boys showed the sword broken from the side of the brave Captain.

"Tad must have done that!" said Dick's mother. "He was up here while his mother and I were talking downstairs. Oh, I am so sorry! But I will have your Soldier mended, Arnold."

"Do you think you can?" he asked.

"Oh, yes," was the answer. "Patrick, our gardener, is very good at soldering things. Once he soldered a hole in my dishpan. I will get him to fasten on the sword which is broken from your Tin Captain."

Patrick was called in. The gardener, who did many things around the big house besides watering the lawn and looking after the flowers, took the Bold Tin Soldier and the broken sword up in his hands.

"Can he be mended?" asked Dick's mother.

"Oh, yes, I think so," answered Patrick.

"And may we watch you mend him?" asked Arnold.

"May we, Patrick?" echoed Dick.

"Yes," answered the good-natured gardener. "Come along!"

Back to the garage he went where he had been mending something that was broken on the automobile, taking the Tin Soldier with him and followed by the two boys. Patrick heated a soldering iron in a little furnace in which burned glowing charcoal. Then Patrick took some shining metal that looked like silver, but which was really soft lead.

Solder melts easily, and when some is placed on two pieces of broken tin and heated, it holds together the two pieces of tin just as glue holds together pieces of cardboard or paper.

In a little while the Bold Tin Soldier was mended, and there he stood, straight and stiff, with his sword at his side as before. And where the sword had been soldered on a tiny spot of bright lead showed.

"I can paint that spot over for you tomorrow, when I have some red paint," said Patrick to Arnold.

"Oh, I know what I can do!" cried Arnold, looking at the shiny spot of lead. "I can pretend that is a medal my Captain got in the battle when his sword was broken."

"Yes, you can do that," agreed Dick.

So the toy was mended again, and was almost as good as before, and very glad the Captain was.

"For no matter what your men may say," he thought to himself, "a Captain without a sword is like an elephant without a trunk -- he doesn't look himself."

Thanking Patrick very much for what he had done in mending the toy, Arnold went home, taking his set of Soldiers with him. A little later his sister, Mirabell, followed, bringing with her the Lamb on Wheels. And when the two toys were left alone, the children having gone to supper, they talked together -- did the Soldier and the Lamb.

"You are certainly having plenty of adventures," said the Lamb, in her bleating voice.

"Yes. And for a time, when I saw the White Rocking Horse bearing down on me, I thought all my adventures were over," replied the Bold Tin Soldier.

"I hope that careless boy never comes around where we are again," said the Lamb, and the Soldier hoped the same thing.

And now I must tell you another adventure that happened to the Bold Tin Soldier. It was about a week after the White Rocking Horse had run over him, and he was getting used to the shiny "medal," as Arnold called it, that one day when the boy was having a make-believe battle with his Tin Soldiers Mirabell called from the kitchen:

"Oh, Arnold, come on down! Susan has baked some lovely cookies!"

"I'm coming!" cried Arnold, and, as he happened to have the Bold Tin Soldier in his hand just then, he took the Captain along when he ran down to the kitchen.

"Where are the cookies?" asked Arnold, who was feeling hungry.

"Right here on the table," replied Susan. "Put your Soldier down, Arnold, and sit up and eat."

Now, as it happened, there was an open barrel of sugar in the kitchen. The cook had taken some sugar out to use in making the cookies, and had forgotten to put the cover back on. And Arnold, being in a hurry, put his Captain down on a little shelf just over this barrel.

How it happened no one seemed to know, but perhaps in eating his cookie Arnold struck the Captain with his elbow. Anyhow, down into the sugar barrel fell the Bold Tin Soldier.

"Oh my! Now I am a bunch of sweetness!" thought the Captain, as he felt the grains of sugar rolling all over him. "Oh this is certainly a strange adventure! What a sweet time I shall have!"



Chapter IX

Back To The Store


The moment he had fallen into the barrel of sugar the Bold Tin Soldier scrambled to his feet and wiggled around until he got his head sticking up above the pile of sweet, white grains.

"If I don't do that, I may drown," he thought. "It would be strange to drown in a barrel of sugar! I don't want to do that!"

So he wiggled around until he could stand upright, buried to his neck in the sugar, but with his head out so he could look around with his painted tin eyes and breathe through his tin nose. Otherwise he would have smothered.

The barrel was not full of sugar. In fact, it was only about a foot deep on the bottom, but that was enough to more than cover the Bold Tin Soldier from sight if it should get over his head. And, being low down in the barrel as he was, the sides of it hid him from the sight of Arnold and the cook.

"These are good cookies, Susan," said Arnold, as he ate the last crumbs of the dainty the cook had given him.

"I'm glad you like them," she said. "Would you care for another?"

"Thank you, yes," the boy answered. And just as Susan was giving him one, and also passing another to Mirabell, Dick, the boy from next door, cried:

"Come on out into the yard, Arnold. I have a new little kitten!"

"Oh, I want to see it!" shouted Mirabell.

"So do I," added Arnold. "And please, Susan, may I have a cookie for Dick?"

"Yes," answered the good-natured cook.

So out to the yard rushed the children, Arnold forgetting all about his Tin Captain. And as Susan was very busy, she gave no thought to the Bold Tin Soldier. In fact, if she had thought of him at all, she would have imagined that Arnold had taken his toy with him.

So while the children were out playing with Dick's new kitten, and while the cook worked in the kitchen, the Captain stayed in the barrel of sugar.

"Well, this is certainly an adventure," thought the Captain, "and, though it is a sweet one, I can not say I altogether like it. I wonder how I can get out of here? I must get back to my men, or they will think I have deserted them. That would never do for a soldier!"

He looked up toward the open top of the barrel. It seemed far above his head, but he thought if he could cut little steps in the wooden sides of the barrel with his shiny tin sword he might be able to climb out.

"But of course I'll have to wait until night, when everything is still and quiet," thought the Captain to himself. "It would never do for me to be seen cutting my way up out of a barrel of sugar. That would give away the great secret of Toy-land -- that we can move of ourselves. Yes, I must wait until after dark."

So, buried up to his neck in sugar as he was, the Bold Tin Soldier stood in the sweetness like a sentinel on guard. He was doing his duty in the barrel, as he had done it when he cut down the Calico Clown and saved that chap from burning at the gas jet.

"I should like to see the Clown now," thought the Captain. "It is lonesome here. But if the Calico Clown saw me he would make up some joke or riddle about me, very likely."

Then all of a sudden there was a loud, banging noise and it became very dark.

"Hello! what's that?" said the Bold Tin Soldier to himself. "It's as dark as night in here now, but I never knew evening to come as suddenly as that."

Truly it was as dark as night in the sugar barrel now, but it was not because night had come. It was because the cook had put the cover on the barrel, for she had finished her baking for the day.

But the Captain thought it was night, and since he was sure no one could see him now he drew his sword from the scabbard, or case, and started to get ready to cut little steps in the sides of the barrel to make a place where he might climb to the top.

While this was going on Arnold and Mirabell were out looking at Dick's pet kitten. Truly it was a little fluffy one, and so soft that the children loved to pet it. But after a while Arnold thought of his Bold Tin Soldier.

"Oh, I left the Captain on the shelf in the kitchen," said the little boy. "I must go get him and put him with the others."

Back to the kitchen he ran.

"What is it now?" asked Susan, who was getting ready to go out, for it was her afternoon off. "Do you want more cookies, Arnold?"

"No, thank you. I want my Tin Captain," he answered. "I left him here."

"Oh, you mean your Soldier," said the cook. "I haven't seen him. I don't believe you left him here."

"Oh, yes I did!" declared Arnold.

But the Bold Tin Soldier was not in sight, of course, being down in the barrel of sugar, as we know. And though Arnold and the cook looked for him they could not find him.

"Oh dear!" sighed Arnold, when he could not find the commander of his tin army, "where is he?"

"You must have taken him out into the yard and forgotten about it," said the cook.

"No I didn't," said the little boy.

"Then it is among your other playthings," the cook went on. "You had better look."

So Arnold looked, and his mother and Mirabell and Dick helped him, but the Bold Tin Soldier could not be found. He was not with the others in their box, and, look as he did, Arnold could not find his toy anywhere.

"I'll never get another like him," sighed the little boy. "He was so nice, with his shiny medal-button!"

"And he was such a good Captain!" added Dick.

And all this while the Bold Tin Soldier was in the dark barrel of sugar and was getting ready to climb up and out if he could!

No one was in the kitchen now. The cook had gone away and it was not yet time for supper. So, all unseen as he was in the barrel, the Tin Soldier could do as he pleased.

With his tin sword he began cutting little niches, or steps, in the wooden sides of the barrel. But as the wood was quite hard, and as the tin sword was not very sharp, it was not very easy work for the Captain.

As the afternoon passed, the other Soldiers in their box on a shelf in the playroom closet began to wonder what had become of their Captain.

"Some of us ought to go in search of him," said the Sergeant.

"Yes, but we can't go until after dark, when no one will see us moving about," answered the Corporal. "That's the worst of being a toy -- we can not do as we please."

"I hope the Captain has not deserted us," said a private soldier.

"Deserted! I should say not!" cried the Sergeant. "Our Captain would never desert!"

Evening came. The cook came back and began to get supper. And by this time the Captain, in the sugar barrel, had cut several little niches in the sides of the barrel. He was working away so hard that he never heard the cook come into the kitchen and start to get supper.

Then, all of a sudden, the cook, as she went to the pantry to get some flour, stopped near the barrel of sugar. She heard a queer little sound coming from it.

"I declare!" exclaimed the cook, "a mouse is trying to gnaw into the sugar barrel! The idea!"

The sound the cook heard was the Captain's tin sword as he cut steps in the side of the barrel, so he might climb up. But this noise sounded exactly like the gnawing of a mouse.

"Get away from there!" cried the cook, and she quickly lifted the cover off the sugar barrel, letting in a flood of light, for it was now night and the electric lights were glowing. "Get out!" cried the cook, thinking to scare away the mouse, as she thought it was.

Now of course as soon as the sugar barrel was opened, and the moment the cook looked in, the Captain had to stop work. Back into its scabbard went his sword, and he settled down among the grains of sugar again. He was now being looked at by human eyes, and it was against the toy rule for him to move.

"Well I do declare!" cried the cook, as she glanced at the Bold Tin Soldier lying in the sugar. "Here is Arnold's Captain he has been looking for. He is in the kitchen, after all, but how did he get in this barrel? And where is the mouse that was gnawing?"

Of course there was no mouse -- it was the Captain's sword making the noise. But the cook did not know that.

She leaned down and picked the Captain up in her fingers. So he got out of the sugar barrel after all, you see, without having to cut a ladder in the wood.

"Arnold! Arnold!" called Susan up the back stairs. "I have found your Tin Captain!"

"Where was he?" asked the little boy, who was playing with the other soldiers, and wishing he had their commander.

"He was in the barrel of sugar," was the answer. "You must have dropped him in when you were eating cookies this afternoon."

"Maybe I did!" said the boy. "Oh, I am so glad to get you back!" he went on, as he carried the Captain upstairs. "Thank you, Susan!"

Then the Bold Tin Soldier was placed at the head of his men on the table, and they were together once more.

"What happened to you? Why were you away from us so long?" whispered the Sergeant to the Captain, when Arnold went out of the room a moment.

"I was in a barrel of sugar," was the answer. "I'll tell you about it later."

And that night, when all was still and quiet in the house, the Captain told his story.

"That was a wonderful adventure!" said the Corporal.

"Yes," agreed the Captain, "it was. I wish the toys back at the store could hear it. I rather think it would surprise the Calico Clown."

Arnold was playing with his tin toys one day when his mother called to him.

"Arnold, get on your overcoat. I am going to take you and Mirabell down to the toy store. I want to get a little Easter present for your cousin Madeline."

"Oh, what fun!" cried Arnold, and before he thought what he was doing he thrust the Tin Captain into his coat pocket and took him with him when he went with his mother and sister to the store; that's what Arnold did.

"Dear me! what is going to happen now?" thought the Bold Tin Soldier, as he found himself in Arnold's pocket on his way back to the store.



Chapter X

The Soldier And The Rabbit


Arnold and Mirabell rode up in the store elevator with their mother to the floor where the toys were displayed.

"What did you say you wanted to get for Madeline?" asked Mirabell, as she walked along looking at the pretty things on the counters and shelves.

"A little Easter present," was the answer. "Perhaps I can find some pretty little bunny, or a novelty of some sort, that Madeline would like. You children may help me pick it out."

"I'm going to see if there are any more Tin Soldiers like mine," said Arnold.

The children and their mother came near the toy counter. On it were many playthings that boys and girls like. The Calico Clown was there, the Monkey on a Stick, a Jumping Jack, and others.

"Oh, I wish I had that Jumping Jack!" exclaimed Arnold.

"But you have plenty of toys," said his mother.

"Yes, I know," he answered. "But I wish -- I er -- wish -- I er -- a-ker-choo!" suddenly sneezed Arnold, and as he felt his nose tickling he took his handkerchief from his pocket with a jerk.

And with the handkerchief out came the Bold Tin Soldier which the boy had stuffed into his pocket when he hurried downstairs as his mother called him to go shopping with her and Mirabell.

Out popped the Bold Tin Soldier, and he bounced right over on to the toy counter, just the very same place where he had lived before he came to Arnold's house.

"Oh. look!" cried Mirabell. "How funny! I didn't know you had brought your Tin Soldier Captain with you, Arnold."

"I didn't know it myself! I guess I must have stuffed him into my pocket and forgotten about him," the little boy said. "But I am not going to leave him here. I like him too much."

As it happened, the Bold Tin Soldier, when he was pulled out with the handkerchief, landed on the toy counter right side up, standing on his feet. And, as it also happened, he landed near the Candy Rabbit.

"I didn't know, my dear, that you were going to bring any of your toys with you," said Arnold's mother, with a smile.

"I didn't know it either!" he answered, with a laugh. He reached out his hand to pick up his Soldier and put him back in his pocket when, down at the other end of the toy counter, one of the clerks suddenly began spinning a humming top, which showed different colors and played a little tune as it whirled around.

"Oh, I want to see that!" cried Arnold.

"So do I!" echoed Mirabell.

"Perhaps that would be an Easter toy for Madeline," thought Mother.

So all three of them moved down toward the end of the toy counter, Arnold, for the moment, forgetting about his Tin Captain, who was thus left standing among his old friends with no one to watch him or them.

"Oh, how glad we are to see you here again!" exclaimed the Calico Clown. "We have only a moment before the folks come back, but tell us all about your adventures."

"Oh, it would take too long," said the Bold Tin Soldier. "I have had some remarkable ones, but falling into a sugar barrel was the queerest. But what a fine pair of trousers you have, Clown," he said.

The funny chap looked pleased at this.

"Yes, these are the new ones the girl made for me after I scorched mine climbing the string too near the gas -- the time you saved me, you know," replied the Clown.

"My! you look gay enough for a circus," said the Soldier.

"I'd like to join one," the Clown went on. "But I don't suppose there is any chance. I've been on this toy counter so long I'm beginning to believe I shall always live here. But you -- you have been out to see the world! You have had adventures!"

"Yes, I suppose you may say I have," admitted the Bold Tin Soldier. "But though my men and I have a fine home with Arnold, still I get lonesome for you toys once in a while. I have met the Sawdust Doll, the White Rocking Horse, and the Lamb on Wheels. Now I am glad to meet you all once more. And how is my friend the Candy Rabbit?" the Captain asked, as he saw the long-eared chap standing near him.

"I am quite well, thank you," the Rabbit answered. "It will soon be Easter, and then perhaps my adventures will begin."

"It certainly is good to see you again," said the Monkey on a Stick to the Captain. "I have been wishing I could get away from here for a time, to have some adventures, but, so far, I haven't had a chance."

"Your time will come," said the Captain. "You are such a lively chap that I should think you would have many things happen to you."

"Yes, I'm not slow, whatever else you may say about me," chattered the Monkey, and, with that, he turned a somersault on his stick, but of course none of the people in the store saw him, for that was not allowed, you know.

"Hush! The people are coming back!" suddenly called the Candy Rabbit, and, surely enough, Mirabell, Arnold and their mother came back after having seen the buzzing top.

"I think that would not be just the right kind of an Easter present I want for Madeline," said Mirabell's mother. "I'll look here, among the toys."

"Why don't you get her a Candy Rabbit?" asked Mirabell.

"I believe I will," said Mother. She picked the Candy Rabbit up and looked at him. He was a fine fellow, colored just like a real rabbit, and with pink eyes and a pink nose.

"Oh, now my adventures will soon begin," thought the Candy Rabbit.

"I think this will do very nicely for Madeline," said the mother of the two children. "I will come at Easter for it," she went on to the clerk. "Come, children."

And when Arnold had picked up his Bold Tin Soldier and put him back in his pocket, the children and their mother left the store.

The Captain wished he might have had another chance to speak to his toy friends, but it was not to be just then.

"I wonder if I shall see the Candy Rabbit again," he thought as he made himself comfortable in Arnold's warm pocket.

In a little while the children were back home again after the shopping trip.

"I am going to play with my Lamb on Wheels," said Mirabell. "I am going to take her over to Dorothy's house to see the Sawdust Doll."

"And I'll take my Soldiers over and have some fun with Dick and his White Rocking Horse," said Arnold.

And when the four toys in Dick's house had a chance to talk among themselves, as the children were out of the room for a while, the Captain said:

"Oh, I have such news for you!"

"What is it?" asked the Sawdust Doll.

"I think the Candy Rabbit is going to be sent to a little girl named Madeline for an Easter present," said the Captain.

"Why, that girl -- Madeline -- lives right across the street!" exclaimed the White Rocking Horse. "She is Mirabell's cousin, and she knows Dorothy."

"Oh, then maybe we shall see the Candy Rabbit again," said the Bold Tin Soldier. "I am glad of that!"

And as for what happened next -- well, if you wish to know you may find out by reading the next book of this series, which will be called "The Story of a Candy Rabbit." In it you will again meet the Bold Tin Soldier and all his friends.

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Spirits Do Return

By

Ida Belle White



Chapter I.

The Place Of Trouble. -- The Convict's Story.


I passed by the house and within I heard a noise. I stopped and listened, and I heard screams. The voice sounded like that of a lady whom I once knew. I was puzzled to know what to do, but finally decided to enter. To my surprise, I did know the lady. I apologized for intruding, saying that I was attracted by the terrible screams and thought I recognized the voice.

The lady replied: "You are very kind, but I think I shall be able to settle my trouble without your help."

"I am very sorry, dear madam; I meant well," I said.

I took my departure, yet I felt that I should not have done so under the circumstances, for I knew that the talk the dear lady made was through fear, as the master over her was standing near.

I was greatly depressed, because of the way in which I had left the place of trouble. I had gone only a short distance when I decided to return. I did so, and, to my surprise, I found the dear lady dead, as it is called.

I was horrified. The brute had fled. What was I to do? Go also and leave the poor dead woman? I decided to do so. When at some distance from the scene, I was hailed and confronted by the real murderer and an officer, who accused me of the terrible crime.

What could I do? I knew that I was not guilty, but I failed to make the officer believe it.

I was taken to jail because of the crime committed by the one who had me arrested. But I had been seen coming from the house and I had dropped my handkerchief while wiping the tears from my eyes.

It was thought to be a plain case with convincing proof -- of circumstantial evidence. Thrown in jail, I was at a loss to know what to do. I was not guilty, but to prove it was the next thing, and the most important thing to do. I hailed the turnkey as he passed, and asked for an attorney. I was favored with the services of one. I did some good thinking as to how I should prove my innocence.

"Well, my friend," said the attorney, "I have come to see what I can do for you. I see you need help. You do not look like a very bad man or a criminal."

"I thank you, sir," I replied. "I am not either, but why am I accused of murder?"

"Murder! You a murderer? Oh, no, I hope not!"

"I am not, but how shall I make the court understand that I am innocent?"

"Well, my friend, explain your case."

I explained matters, and he remarked: "I do not see how the court could find an innocent man like you guilty. I am going to show the court without trouble that you are not guilty. Have courage; I shall get you out of here as soon as possible."

The day of the trial was at hand. I had become haggard and worn from the terrible strain, from the uncomfortable cell which I had occupied. My case was called. All ready, I was told to take my oath, and then I was sworn to tell the truth and nothing but the truth. If I could make the court understand that I was innocent, I would soon be a free man.

"Will you tell the court all about this case?" said my attorney.

I proceeded to do so, but, to my horror, I was proved guilty to the jury and sentenced by the judge.

What was I to do? I went back to jail to wait for a new trial. If that failed, it meant ten years in prison at hard work. I had been convicted on circumstantial evidence, my handkerchief being found in the house of the murdered woman. I tried to console myself with the belief that in some way I would be helped out.

I had remained in jail three months when one night I was thinking of the advice my poor old mother had given me, and that was: "When in trouble, pray, pray, pray!" I began to pray, and as I prayed I felt encouraged. After that, I prayed often, hoping that my prayers would be answered. At last I could see that I was fortunate to know within that I was not the real murderer; then I thought that I should pray for the murderer, and I did pray as I never prayed before.

Oh, what a terrible thing it is to be accused of a crime so great as that and be innocent!

A new trial was denied me. What was I to do? God knows I was innocent, but I could not make men believe so here on this earth. The day for the journey to the penitentiary was at hand, and I must go for another's crime.

As the turnkey called us from our little, dark cells he said: "Please get ready, for we will have to take the morning train to your home -- for some of you a home for some time to come."

That included me; that meant a home for ten years -- and innocent! I had no appetite that morning, for I was thinking of the injustice done to many innocent men, and I was one of them.

We were locked together -- shackled -- and started away to prison. On arrival we were listed for different crimes. A murderer, numbered 78! And the worst, I thought, was when they cut and shaved my head of hair. Then I was told to don my new suit of stripes and checks. That alone was enough to make any man falter.

"This way," I heard a gruff voice say.

I looked for someone to look and in a second I felt the strong arm.

"To you I am speaking. I want to show you your cell."

I had not recovered from the shock of my garments. I was shoved headlong into my cell, dark, and oh, so dreary! Anyone who could experience my feelings at that moment would never commit a crime.

I can not say that I rested well on my new bed that night. I thought that morning would never come. Yet I do not know why I should have longed for day, as I had so long a time to stay. At last breakfast was served -- or, rather, thrown at us. I was feverish and excited. All the time I wondered what my work would be. I did not have to wonder long. I was unlocked from my cell and told to step out and fall in line. I did so and onward we marched. A halt was called and I was told to step aside.

A very important man, called guard, said: "You are wanted here, sir!"

I stepped aside and was shown my work, which was hard, even harder than anything I had ever done. I was told to pick up the sledge and was shown in what shape to hammer the iron.

I hesitated, and finally said: "My God! man, I never did such hard work, and I don't think I can do this."

All the sympathy I received was: "You do the work or you will be thrown into a dark dungeon to decide if you can, and you will get bread and water until you do decide."

I thought that I would as soon go into a dungeon as to work myself to death. However, I changed my mind and picked up the sledge, but I had not strength to wield it.

I fell upon my knees and prayed that God would give me help. While I was praying the guard came up and with his monstrous club gave me one blow, knocking me senseless.

I cried out as I came to my senses: "Man alive, do not strike me again! Can you not see I am not strong enough to do that work?"

"Oh! you fellows all have the same old gag to tell. Not strong enough! Ha, ha! But you are strong enough to strangle a poor woman to death."

I rose to my feet, and shouted: "I am an innocent man! I will be proven so before I leave this prison."

"All who are sent here are innocent. Some of you surely get justice in trials."

"I did not, for I was sentenced on circumstantial evidence, and I know and my God knows that I am innocent! The dear woman who was murdered knows who killed her."

"Well, the woman is dead, and you can not prove by her that you did not kill her."

"My friend, she is not dead. Her body is, but her spirit is not, and she can and will come and let it be known who the real murderer is."

"Here, if you are crazy, we will put you in the mad-house. I know when you are dead you are dead."

"I hope to be able to convince you before I leave here that the body dies, but the spirit lives on and returns and will and can talk."

"Here, are you going to work? I have heard enough of your foolish talk."

"I will try, sir."

No one can realize how I suffered. I was not able to work, yet I was forced to do so. I worried through that day. I could not eat the poor food that was given us. Another morning came. During the restless night I had prayed for help from the Spirit World, and I felt that my prayers were answered.

The guard called: "You, I say, that never dies, get out here and get your breakfast and go to work."

I stood up, and said: "I am ready, sir, but this morning I am so sick."

"You eat what you get, and in a hurry too, for we want to see you at work."

I obeyed, and was soon on the road to work.

The prison laws were that we were not allowed to speak to our fellow-men. I watched my chance to speak, and when opportunity presented, I said:

"Friend, how long are you here for?"

He did not answer. I thought perhaps he was hard of hearing, and repeated the words. He finally looked up and moved his lips. I knew he had served some time, as he had learned the sight movement of the lips, and I did not and could not understand that. I saw that I was lost, not knowing how to talk in that way.

The guard said roughly: "You are not doing much. Here, are you watching for opportunity to lay down on me when I am not looking?"

"I am not, guard. I am doing all I am able to."

"I think if you had a day or two rest in the rest-room it would help you. Come along here with me."

The rest-room was a dungeon, dark as night. When I heard the heavy iron door close after me, I fell upon my knees and prayed God to take me from the place of darkness. I was hungry and cold. All the time I could hear the words:

"We know you are innocent and will help you, and you shall be out of this place of unjust punishment."

That night -- oh, so long! Cold and hungry I was -- I had no bed. The following morning I was given water and was told to drink and be merry; yes, to be merry! I wonder if the outside world could and does believe the stories of the unfortunate ones who, guilty or not guilty, have to endure tortures behind prison walls.

I remained there three days and grew weaker all the time. Why should I not grow weak, living on water and darkness and standing up to sleep?

I was put to work at the same hard labor which I had performed before. I grew faint and fell at my post. I lay there when the guard came upon me. How he did swear! He clubbed me to my feet and reached out for me. One jerk from him raised me from my feet. He had subsisted upon good, substantial food. I was weak, hungry, and sick.

I was taken to the office for a talk on "the carpet," as we called it in prison. As the Power over all men seemed to look down on me, I raised my eyes to Heaven and asked for proof to convince the official that I was an innocent man. I was hoping against hope for proof, and I heard a voice say: "Take him out. I will see what this lady wants." The official saw one whom neither the guard nor I saw. I was led away, back to the dungeon.

Some hours afterwards I was again taken to "the carpet." I was praying silently for proof of my innocence. Again I was told: "Step aside, for the ladies come first." Later I was told of a very mysterious lady who showed herself unannounced and when she was spoken to, vanished.

Who could it be? When I was a child, I often sat with my dear father and mother around the fireplace and listened with the cold chills running down my back to stories of ghosts, as they called them, and how the ghosts would come and go. No, not where I sat in my dark dungeon and wondered if that lady could talk, and, if so, why could she not come to me and talk to me, as I was all alone. And I again thought perhaps I would not care to have her come to me -- not as long as I was in the dark and all alone. But what and who could the mysterious lady be? I was so interested in our ghost woman that I forgot my own troubles.

That night, as I was wishing and praying for morning, and wondering what would be done with me on "the carpet," I felt that I could hardly wait. At last the sun shone on the prison walls once more, and I was heartily glad. One more day less of my ten years served. But there were still years to serve, and with such treatment and hard labor there was not much encouragement for a poor convict.

I heard my cell door open. A gruff voice called to me to step out. I was glad to do so, and was told to come along.


Chapter II.

Prison Life. -- Mysterious Influences.


As I was taken through the iron doors I heard a slam after me. The guard also heard the same noise. Turning, he called to me to halt, saying: "What was that?"

"I'm sure, I do not know, sir," I replied; "I only heard a noise."

"I am not sure whether I did or not. I thought I saw a lady, as I turned my head."

"Could it be a ghost?" I thought, and, if so, why was it following me?

"Guard, what is the complaint against this man?" inquired the superintendent.

"He will not work, sir."

"Not work? Oh! Well, you have had a taste of the dungeon, have you not? If that will not do, we shall have to try some other means to get you to work, and that will be to tie your hands above your head until you are willing to work. How do you think you would like that?"

"I am willing to work if I had lighter work," I said; "I have never had to do such heavy work, and I am unable to do it."

"Take him out," commanded the superintendent, "and put him on the rack, and when you feel you can do the work, we will be glad to take you to your work."

I did not know what "the rack" meant and was very willing to follow. To my horror, it was a place where my hands were tied above my head. I stood facing the wall. Imagine the punishment of one fellow-man upon another! I begged for mercy. All my pleadings were ignored. When the guard had finished tying my hands, I was told that he would be around inside of twenty-four hours, to see if I had changed my mind.

I knew that I could not stand the punishment long. I began to pray. I prayed for dear old mother to come to her helpless and innocent son. I began to feel the rack quiver. I was startled. I ceased praying for a moment. I thought I could feel the clasps move on my wrists. I was shaken with fear. Was I going mad, or did I feel the clasps move? To my great surprise, I was lowered so I could stand on the bottoms of my feet; before I could touch only the floor with my toes. I felt a terrible feeling come over me and all was dark. When I came to myself, I was released. Could the guard have knocked me senseless? How was I loosened? I did not see him near me. I did not feel hurt from any blow. What could have happened to me! I remained there in a wonderment of thought as to what could have happened. About five hours had passed when I heard footsteps and the guard entered. He was astonished when he saw that I was loosed.

"What does this mean?" he exclaimed.

"I am not able to say, sir. Did you not free my hands?"

"I? No, sir; you know that I did not, and who did?"

"I do not know. I was praying to my dear old mother, who died many years ago, to come to me and help me, as I was innocent of the crime for which I am being punished, and while I was praying I felt a dizziness come over me, and my hands were loosened and I was thrown to the floor, and when I came to my senses, I was free."

"So you think that story will go here, do you? Well, come along. We shall see if we can tie you so your prayers will not untie you."

"My God! do not punish me any more seriously. I am not deserving of this. I say to you that I am innocent."

"We would have no use for the building if all of you fellows could prove to the world that you were innocent. If you are not guilty, why have you been brought here? Surely you had some justice done you."

"Sir, I was convicted on circumstantial evidence. I was not proved guilty, for I am not guilty. The guilty one is at large, and the innocent one is here for ten years."

"You are having your own way about this argument. I only know you are here for murder, and it is my duty to see that you are working for the next ten years. Come along with me."

I was taken to "the carpet" and the look of the officer and higher official was like daggers. I trembled from head to foot.

"You here again? What is the trouble, guard?"

"I found this man standing with hands untied when I entered the rack."

"What does this mean? Who untied you?"

I saluted the superintendent, and replied: "I do not know."

"Well, we will see if we can find out. Take him back and double-tie his hands. Strap his feet also, and tip-toe him, and perhaps he will be willing to work by and by."

I began to beg. How could anyone punish his brother man so? I said:

"I am human and have feeling. I do not deserve such hard treatment. I would work willingly if you would give me work that I can do. I can not do hard labor -- I never did."

"You will do what we see fit to give you to do, and if you are not willing, you go back to the rack."

I could not stand the ordeal. On bended knees I begged for mercy, and the mercy shown me was a clubbing, and I was marched back to the rack.

"Now, sir, I will strap you, as I was ordered to do, and I will be around, perhaps, to see the other fellow untie you."

As before, I was strapped with uplifted hands, and drawn from the floor to the tips of my toes. I was exhausted with fear, and as I was being tied, both feet together, I cried out: "God, have pity! Give me help and strength to stand this, for Thou, O Heavenly Father, dost know that I am innocent."

I heard the heavy iron door close behind me, as I thought, for the last time. I could not see how I could ever withstand this punishment.

Suddenly I began to experience the peculiar feeling of dizziness that had come over me before. I felt my hands being loosened, then I knew nothing more. I lay I do not know how long. The first I remembered was when I again heard the door slam and over me stood the guard and the superintendent. I was told to get up. I obeyed, and the look on the faces of those men I shall never forget.

After I was questioned as to how I felt, the dizziness began again to come upon me. I was again taken back to "the carpet," but this time with more of the feeling of sympathy than before.

"I am at a loss, sir, to know what to do with you," said the superintendent. "I think that I shall have an investigation of your case and see if we can find why and what power you have, if any. I was an eye-witness to your being untied this time, and no one assisted. Invisible power is the only explanation I can make."

Again I was taken back, but not to the rack -- to my cell, where I was given some coffee, and kind words with it. I was wondering what this meant when I heard footsteps, then voices saying:

"Let them tie you as often as they will. I shall free you. You are innocent, and shall not be punished."

I looked for the one whose voice I heard, and, to my surprise, could not see anyone. I shuddered. I did not understand this.

I had drunk my coffee, and was feeling somewhat better from its effect and that of the kind words, when the superintendent entered with others.

As I arose to greet them I was drawn back by some invisible power. Remaining seated, I was told to arise. I could not do so, and replied that I could not.

One of the gentlemen seized my arm and told me to stand up. I tried to do so, and could not. I was taken hold of by another and told to stand, but again I could not. Then they tried to lift me up, and they could not move me.

I became alarmed. I did not feel ill -- only slightly dizzy.

They debated as to what they should do about my case. I could not understand such a mystery. I only knew that I was freed, by whom I could not tell.

The mystery was growing in my mind. As I was sent for by the doctor, whom they called in to diagnose my case, I arose without effort, to the surprise of the guard, and walked unassisted to the office. There I confronted the doctor, apparently a well man, on my feet, and feeling well anyway.

I was thoroughly examined, and pronounced physically well. Once more I was taken back to "the carpet," and was told that I would be given lighter work, and to try not to be subject to any such treatment hereafter, as disobedient prisoners have to be compelled to work.

I was taken to the library, and told to book out all literature, as called for. I became very much interested in the work and was trying to make the best of it. I thought: "I am going to see if I can find some literature in here which will comfort me and help me to pass this long time which I must spend inside of these prison walls."

I had an order for a book called "The Ghost of a Woman." Ghost of a woman! I wondered if the prisoner who ordered it had seen the ghost of this woman talked of in this place and hoped to find a book telling what her mission is here, I thought: "I too should like to know."

As I was tracing along the line of literature I was confronted with a book entitled "The Wisdom." What could that be? We all needed some of that, I especially. If I had had more, I would not be here. "As it is, I am here," I thought, "and I am willing to find wisdom."

I laid the book aside to take along with me to my cell to read when I should have the opportunity. I then continued the search for "The Ghost of a Woman."

As the guard entered he said: "Well, you are not making much headway getting out those orders."

"I have an order here for a book entitled 'The Ghost of a Woman.'"

"Here, we have a real live ghost, in here, of a woman, and that is enough ghost. Let me see who has left that crazy order. What! The superintendent wants this book. Well, look it up. I guess he has not had enough, but I have. I do not have to read of her, for I see her times enough."

I was left to continue the search for the ghost book. At last I found a similar title and laid the book aside. I would perhaps find the desired book in my search for other literature.

All orders filled, I began to deliver to each prisoner's cell. We were allowed light to read by, two hours each night. I passed these two hours much more pleasantly with my book of wisdom than I could have done otherwise. Did I find wisdom? Do we all find it when we need it most? Some of us do not. It was so in my case. I got my wisdom after I could do no good with it, only to look forward ten years.


Chapter III.

The Ghost Of A Woman.


I was told on the following morning, by the guard, that I would have to leave the library and do some printing.

"Printing! Dear sakes alive, man, I am no printer!" I exclaimed.

"Those are the orders," he replied. "Obey your orders."

"I am very willing to do so if I knew how," I said.

"I see that you have been reading a book, here, called 'Wisdom.' You should be able to do something."

"If I had all the wisdom in my head that is in that book, I should not be here."

"You are debating the question too long. Come along here, sir."

I was taken to the printing quarters and given instructions as to what to do. To my surprise, the part to which I was assigned I could very easily handle. A prisoner said:

"I am here to give you instructions how to prepare what we call 'The Daily Press' -- news, something for the prisoners to read, that they may know what goes on inside these walls that will be of benefit to them. We have some good men here. They are not all criminals because sent here. Some from misfortune, others from circumstantial evidence, which later is proven. I am always glad to see an innocent man found so. I am speaking in behalf of myself, here for another's crime. To make the best of it is all that I can do, as do many others, who are here as innocent as I am."

I could not speak. I felt as if I were choking with sympathy for that poor chap. I too was serving a sentence for another's crime. I am not sure but that his number was on the order for a book entitled "I Am Innocent of Crime," a book to be found on the shelves of the prison library.

I felt that I could work by the side of this fellow-man -- this prisoner -- more cheerfully, as he had authority to talk so as to be able to give instructions to inexperienced help.

I was told to prepare an article for The Press, on how to use power to control yourself as well as others. I was very willing to do what I could. That is all anyone can do -- the best we can.

I have been in the presence of men to whom I could not talk as freely as I should like to, and in the presence of others to whom I could talk fast enough. Those to whom one can not talk freely have a higher power over one, and those to whom one can talk freely are the persons over whom one has power. Who has not had the power experience? When we come in touch with those with whom we can not talk freely, it is power over each other. I am leading out to the power we can not resist. What is that? I am able to say that I could not resist going into that house where a crime was committed to see what the trouble was with the poor lady who was murdered -- murdered, and I accused of the crime!

I was wondering what my fellow-man under whose instructions I was placed was there for, and I became so deep in thought that I was spoken to by him:

"Well, you must have your work done for The Press, and time for the press to start is soon at hand."

"I was so deep in thought I forgot myself, sir. I beg your pardon. I will try not to let that happen again."

At that moment the guard stepped in. I was accosted in such a brutal way that my fellow-prisoner interceded for me and asked the guard to have mercy on me.

"I am quite sure that the man will do all he can," he said.

"Yes, he will when he is driven to it. He has caused us trouble from the day he landed here."

"I am sorry, guard. If I could have complied with your rules and work, I should have been glad to do so; but I was not able to do the hard labor you asked me to do."

"Was it hard work to strangle a poor woman to death? You found that a very easy job, did you not?"

"Man, I can not stand it to be accused of a crime I did not commit!" At that moment I gave way to my feelings and cried out: "O Father in Heaven, can not I prove my innocence?"

I found myself lying on my cot when revived. I knew not what had happened. I could remember the conversation and nothing more after that until the present time.

I was in a dazed condition and had the feeling that someone was near and could see me. I was taken back to the printer's shop, and must say that the instructor seemed to have a cold feeling for me. I said:

"I notice that you are not quite so friendly as before. Have I offended you?"

"I have no use for a murderer, sir, and especially for one who murders a helpless woman."

"I say to you, kind fellow-prisoner, that I am innocent."

"Yes. I have your reputation from the guard. Now, you get to hard work here, and no more of your pleading innocence."

"I am going to do all that I can, sir, and as well as I can, to please you."

I continued to prepare the press work. I wrote of the way to live and live right. We all make mistakes. Some repent, others never do. Who has not made mistakes which he would, if he could, undo? I wrote:

"O dear fellow-prisoners, we have all made mistakes. If we had not, we would not be here."

As those words were for The Press, the prisoner's daily paper, I thought them very appropriate. As I left for lunch I noticed the man who was so indifferent before. He stopped to see what my subject was. I could not help but see a change in his manner toward me; he acted in a more brotherly way.

As I was locked in for the night I was tired and sick -- heart-sick. I could not see, for the life of me, how I could stand many years of prison life. At last I closed my eyes for the night -- a long, dark, dreaming one. When a child I ofttimes sat at my mother's knee, before I was sent to bed, and was taught my prayers; to ask Our Father in Heaven to watch over me. The next day I knelt and prayed as I had long years ago for my dear old mother, and asked God to help me the following day.

Somehow I felt better after I prayed. Eight o'clock was the hour for work to begin, and I was somewhat encouraged that morning. I knew not why. Perhaps the kindness which was shown me by my fellow-prisoner the day before was what lightened my heart.

The day's work had begun when I was spoken to by a gruff voice, and told that I was wanted at the office.

My heart was crushed. I thought perhaps I was to undergo some painful ordeal, as heretofore. I could not keep up courage to get to the office. I was trembling with fear when I entered. I did not ask what I was wanted for. I felt that I should know soon enough.

Suddenly the officer looked up and smiled. I did not understand the meaning and remained silent. He then spoke as if I were a guest instead of a prisoner:

"Well, sir, I have some work for you to do. I want to find out who the lady is I see here and don't see here, although I hear her voice, and she seems to be calling your name. Do you or can you explain the mystery?"

At that moment I could not speak. After a few moments, I tried to answer in this way:

"I am not able to give any information whatever. I know not whom you see or hear."

"Well, sir, can you account for your mysterious freedom from the rack?"

"I am not able to do so."

"Neither can I, and I sat there and watched you being untied. Did you ever hear your dear old friends tell of ghosts?"

"I hear this is a ghost doing this."

"I am not able to say."

"Neither am I."

"Well, do you think you could find out if it were one?"

"I could not say."

"I am going to have you remain in this office a few days and see if you can see what I do. I am not going to have you do anything, only look and listen."

"Sir, I am not a coward, but I would prefer to work, as I am becoming used to hard labor and would like to keep busy."

"I think you will find this job hard enough, and it will keep you busy enough -- or, at least, I have been pretty busy holding myself in here. I feel I need my vacation now."

What was I to do? I was trembling from head to foot, and looking on all sides of me for the ghost. Presently the door opened. I collapsed and was deathly faint, when I found it was only a man.

"I have made arrangements for the prisoner to remain here in the office with me. His place may be filled by another," said the officer to the man.

"I am glad to stay in here with you," I said. "What shall I do?" I trembled so that my voice quivered.

"Well, sir, I am going to let you take that comfortable chair and sit there for a time, while I am busy."

I was seated presently. I felt my chair move. I moved also, and I cried out: "I am going mad!" I was being moved in my chair.

"That is nothing, sir. You perhaps will be moved as often as I have been, and that is many times."

I knew not what to do. I could not disobey orders, but felt that I could no longer remain there. While debating whether to sit down or stand up, I was confronted by the form of a woman.

I fell back and cried out: "Mother! mother! mother!"

When I became able to speak again, I told that it was my dear old mother, and I was asked to describe her, which I did.

"Well, there are two ghosts here, then," said the officer; "for that is not the description of the one I saw."

Was I to go through with another experience of seeing another ghost? I fell on my knees and begged to be sent back to the printing shop.

"You are doing more good here than any place in which I have placed you. I think you have a good, long job here -- or, at least, until we find out what the mysterious lady wants around here."

"I am glad to be with you, but you are not giving me any punishment of hard labor, as the judge said you should."

"Well, I don't know. Perhaps you have not worked at this long enough to find the hard part of it."

What should I say next to find some excuse to get away from there? I had thought of all excuses, and presently I began to feel sick, or pretended so. Oh, how I did moan! I did not create any sympathy. The officer informed me that he had to moan louder than that when they got after him.

I got well the next breath. What to try next I did not know. I could not break away from prison. Soon I heard footsteps. I looked, but could see no one. I asked the officer if he heard anything.

"Oh, yes, I hear them. You are not frightened, are you? Well, I have become used to them, and you will if you stay here a few days."

"Man, I will die if I have to remain in this office another day!"

"I have felt as you do, and I have had the same experience ever since you came to this prison. And your name is repeated many times a day. Can you explain what all this means?"

"I am an innocent man charged with murder done by another. I am not treated justly. That is all I can say or know. I do not know anything about these voices or mysterious women, but I am quite sure that I saw my dear old mother, as she was when living. I do not understand it. I am told that we never die. To explain further I am not able, but I do want to get out of this office. I feel strong enough to do any kind of hard work."

"Well, sir, I am glad that we have found a way to make you work, and you may go back to hard labor."

The guard was called and orders given to take the prisoner back to hard labor -- not the printing shop, as he was willing to do hard work.

"You may try to lift some of those anvils which we have orders to ship. It requires three or four men to get them where we can load and ship."

Could I do what required the strength of three or four men?

"You may come along here."

As I was leaving for the shipping yards I felt that I was accompanied by others beside my guard, but I could see no one. Presently we confronted the place of shipping, and I was shown what was to be done. I looked at the guard, and exclaimed:

"Man, do you expect me to load those heavy irons on the truck?"

"I do."

"Well, I do not think that your expectations will be granted. I am not a giant, and neither am I a myth. I am only a man, as you are."

"I did not bring you over here to argue that question. What you must do is do the best that you can and try to load up."

"I will not disobey orders, but I do not see or understand why I should be asked to do such hard work -- why the work of two or three men should be placed on one."

Once more I felt that I could not get courage to try. I could hear someone say:

"We will help you."

I looked for someone, as before, but no one was near.

"Well, if you are going to work, do so at once."

I bent over to make an attempt to satisfy my guard. As I did so I received help, and behold, I could feel the iron move! I was horrified, but I saw that I was moving it along toward the truck, and that without strain or great effort on my part.

As the guard saw the great load moving he called out: "You are moving it! Be careful, be careful!"

I could hear the sound of someone breathing heavily. I put the load down and turned to see if I had help. As I looked for the guard, to my surprise, he was lying on the floor near by. I stepped over and spoke to him. He did not answer. I called out to him to speak to me. No answer. The shipping space was off to itself, and at that moment there was no one near. I could not think what to do. I could see at once that I would be accused of harming or killing him, as he lay apparently dead.


Chapter IV.

Accused Of Murder.


I thought of the other wrong accusation of murder. Now, perhaps, it would happen again. I finally decided to call for help. An officer stepped up. When he saw his fellow-officer lying as I have said, apparently dead, he at once accused me.

"What have you done to this man?"

"I am innocent of any harm to that man. I did not even see him fall."

"What were you doing that you did not see him fall?"

"I, sir, was doing what he told me to do -- loading those pieces of iron on the truck. I heard deep breathing and turned to look, and found him as you see him now."

"Well, I do not believe one word you have told me, and more, no sane man would ask another to do what it would require three or four strong men to do."

"I was not only asked to do so, but I was doing it. I had moved the iron to the distance you see, from the remainder."

"Now you come along. I will send the hospital word about him."

Again I was taken to the office. I wondered what would be done now. As I had no way of proving that I did not commit the deed, I could not make them understand that I had not harmed the guard.

The officer said: "I will tell you. I found the guard lying on the floor. I do not know if he is dead or in a faint. I do know that he looks very much like a dead man."

"What! Do you mean to tell me that this man has committed another murder?"

"I am not a murderer, and I did not harm this man. I did not, I say, and God is my judge."

"We shall have to take some unusual proceedings with you. I am sure that when we find out the truth, which I hope and pray to do, and we will if this man is not dead and he tells the story of how he was harmed, we will be able to at least see what and why so much mystery surrounds you."

"I hope he may live and be able to tell the story, for I am anxious to find out how he happened to be in the condition found."

"Are you quite sure that you do not already know?"

"I do not, sir."

"I am at a loss to know what to do with you and where next to place you. Do you think that you could prove to us that you did move the iron?"

"I do not know, sir. I am quite sure that it moved, and I did not see anyone near, and that is why I stopped when I heard the moaning -- to see what was wrong, and I saw my guard lying on the floor."

"You tell a very plain story, but can we believe it? I can not, and will try you out again on the same work."

To the other guard he said: "You may take him back and see if what he has been telling is true."

"Oh! I beg you not to try my strength on what would require three times the amount of strength I have, and perhaps cause another circumstantial evidence of murder, if the guard should be found dead, after reaching the hospital."

"I shall not expect you to do so much. I want you to substantiate the story you are telling us. And now you may go back to the shipping quarters."

I was taken, this time accompanied by the officer to whom I was talking and who was giving orders to place me where I should be given the work.

I thought, on the way back, that I should fall with fear and weakness. I could not see how I could have courage to try to move the unreasonable load again.

We are shown no mercy in prison -- at least, I was not. Instead, I was bidden to do work which it was impossible for me to do, outside of prison walls. We accomplish a great many feats through fear. I am sure that I could not accomplish many which I did except through fear.

"Now, sir," said the officer, "you say that you moved that iron that distance?"

"I did, sir."

"Well, you may now show if you can move it as far, again, and I shall see that while you are moving it you do not move me too, as you did the other, to the hospital."

At that moment I could not speak. Instead I could hear someone speak to me, and the words were:

"I will help you. Take hold."

I did so. As I bent over I could see several trying to get hold of the anvils. I felt that my strength was greater than ever before, and I could see the anvils move along, apparently with ease. After I had moved them to where we wished them to be, I raised up and found that I was all alone. I looked around for the officer and guard, but they were not to be seen.

As I was standing meditating as to what I should do, a prisoner all alone with no guard in sight, I wondered if I should call for a guard, or try to move another mass of iron.

At that moment a voice called to me. Turning to look, I was confronted by a new guard, whom I had never before seen. We could readily tell the guards by their uniforms.

"How does it come," he said, "that you are outside of your rank and here doing nothing with no guard near?"

"Sir, I am here working and had a guard with me."

"Well, where is he now?"

"I do not know, sir. While I was lifting these anvils and placing them where we could load them for shipment, he disappeared."

"Go on! What are you giving me? You alone lifting these anvils?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you know that you are not strong enough to lift one end of any one of them, not even the smallest-sized one there?"

"Well, I do not understand, myself, how I did it, but I did."

"I think that I shall have to take you to 'the carpet.' You are astray from work in some part of this prison."

Dear, oh, dear! Back to "the carpet"! On the way I could hear a hearty laughing, and I felt that I was being ridiculed by my fellow-men, because I was taken so often to the so-called "carpet." As we knew, usually when an officer was taking a prisoner to the office many times, he was sent for as a punishment for disobeying. In another moment I thought I could not have heard the prisoners laugh, as that was against the rules. Then what did I hear?

We at last reached the office, only to find the superintendent gone, the door locked, and no way of getting in, as the door of the office leads inside of the prison walls. Therefore it is necessary to have locked doors at all times.

The next thing to do with me was to lock me in my cell, as I could not make the officer believe that I was working when he found me.

After some time in my cell I was again sent for, this time by a new guard, and was told to go to the office with him.

As we entered I saw several men whom I had never before seen in the office. I noticed that they were officers of the prison. They seemed to be very much excited, and I must say that I too was excited. I did not know what next they would or could do with me.


Chapter V.

Official Excitement.


I was told to be seated. As I turned to the empty chair I was not permitted to sit down. I could not do so. I tried as hard as I could, but I did not move. Again I was spoken to, and told to be seated. This time the voice that commanded me to be seated was gruff and harsh.

I replied: "I am trying to, sir, but I can not move."

"You sit down. We are going to find out what is wrong with you. I have called in all the higher officers, and we intend to have your case thoroughly investigated this day."

All this time I did not move -- I could not, and presently I heard a voice say:

"Do not sit down. We will not allow you to do so."

Suddenly I was seized by the officer, and was again told to sit down.

I said: "I would obey if I could, but I can not move."

"Well, I will move you."

I could see that the officer made an effort to compel me to move, and I could feel myself grow rigid. Presently I felt myself begin to move toward the door of the inside prison, and for a moment everything seemed dark. I felt a sickening feeling come over me. I began to lose consciousness, and found myself sitting on the chair against the prison door. All the officers were lying on the floor. I cried out for help.

"Come to my rescue!" I cried. "I have not harmed anyone here."

At that moment guards came from all directions, and shouted: "Open the door!" I could not and did not move.

Again they shouted, and I did not move. I did not look like a dead man, sitting there, but I must frankly say that I felt like one, and if wishes could have been granted, would have been one, for I was in prison for one murder, perhaps two, and from the surroundings it might be several, as these men all looked like corpses to me.

Presently "Bang!" went the door. The guards had gotten great heavy irons and were trying to force the door open. When they succeeded, I was the first one to be taken care of. As a matter of fact, the dead men, as they thought them, could be gotten away in only one way, and that is carried. I could get away, but did not have a chance. But I got something else, a good beating from the officers.

Oh, how I did beg and try to explain to them that I had not harmed anyone! but in vain. I was laid up for some time from the severe treatment.

I knew not what became of the officials, or how badly, if at all, they were hurt. Neither did I know how it happened that they were all lying so helpless on the floor.

It was unfortunate for me, as they did not know of this mysterious power nor of the "lady ghost" -- so called, nor of the unseen power which had put our friend in the hospital. He had recovered enough to take notice when the officers were brought into the hospital. He naturally inquired if there had been a prison raid, and the answer was:

"More serious than that. We would be glad to let some of our prisoners go if we could do so, as they seem to do much as they please with themselves and others too. The great mystery is causing much trouble, and we can not find out what is wrong."

"How long have I been here and why am I here? I am not hurt. I was not attacked by my prisoner. The last I remember I was cautioning him to be careful, as I saw him lifting what no three men could. That is my last recollection. I have not an ache nor a pain, and why am I here? Bring the prisoner to me."

"We can not. He is also in the hospital. He disobeyed so much that he received such treatment as to be sent to the hospital."

"He has! Tell me what has he done?"

"To the best of my knowledge, he has murdered five of the officials, all brought in here just now, as you have seen."

"Murdered! murdered! I want to get to him."

"You too have been injured by him, and you must remain quiet until pronounced out of danger."

"I am not injured, and he did not harm me. I must be taken to the office, that I may declare this man innocent of that crime."

"I shall have to have orders from your physician before I could consider taking you out of the hospital. I fear that you are not yourself, when you say that the prisoner did not harm you."

"I can swear before all, and by God in Heaven, that he did not. I must be taken to him and tell him that I will say that he did me no harm."

"You will have plenty of time to prove his innocence, and tell why you are here and how you did get hurt if he did not do it."

"I am not hurt. I am as well as I ever was in my life, and I must see the doctor and say to him that I must be out of here."

"Very well; I will go to the doctor and send him to you."


Chapter VI.

Discharged From The Hospital.


"Good morning, sir," said the doctor when he entered. "I was told that you wished to see me."

"If it is the rule of this hospital to be discharged by the doctor, then I want to see you. Outside of that I do not need you."

"Are you preparing to leave here?"

"I am. Why should I remain here? I am not sick."

"You are not able to leave. I see that you are in a very dangerous condition."

"Tell me why you say and think so."

"I am going to say to you that I have seen many such cases as yours -- delirious. They do not feel ill and know not what is wrong, and think they are in the very best of health. I will take your temperature."

"One moment, please -- "

"Temperature 104. You are a very sick man. You must remain in this ward."

"I must save the accused prisoner. He did not hurt me. I distinctly remember that I was saying to him, 'Be careful!' and he was not even looking toward me."

"Well, sir, I fear that you do not understand. I have been attending some of our officials who have been hurt very badly by the same prisoner, and we have him in the mad-house, very dangerously injured by the officer who found them a few minutes after the act had been committed, just as you were found, and he pleaded innocent, just as he did in your case."

"I will say to you, and I must say to all men, that he did not harm me. I am not ill. I must be discharged from this place."

"Very well; I will see about it."

Going to another part of the hospital, where the other patients who had fallen to the floor had been taken, the doctor, turning to the superintendent, said:

"Good morning. You are feeling much better this morning?"

"I am, sir. I do not feel ill. I am not ill, and shall leave for the office at once. Why am I here? I have not been ill. As I awakened this morning I could not for a moment realize where I was and what had happened."

"Have you no recollection of any trouble?"

"I do not remember of any. Oh, yes! The mysterious ghost is all the trouble I have had for some time. But how is the guard the prisoner hurt? Is he dead? What have they done with him? Did I not order him to be brought in, so that the superior officers might see what could be done? Oh, I do remember, now! It was not clear in my mind until now; now it has begun to clear up so that I can remember. Pray tell me why you brought me here? I do not remember of coming. Who is in charge of the office?"

"An officer is taking care of the office. It is well cared for.

"I have some mail here. Shall I leave it at the office, or here?"

"The officer is able to read."

"You are not to make me sick by saying these things. I am not sick.

"What have I here? A letter from the murderer of the mysterious woman ghost! What does this mean? Listen:

"'I want to confess. I did the murdering, and not the prisoner you have there. He is innocent.'

"Well, well! He does not give his name and I wonder how he knows of a mysterious ghost, as I have guarded very carefully about the mystery. I have avoided gossip about the matter, preferring that it should not get out. But I should be glad to free the ghost and let her out. I should be entirely willing if she would go. When I go to the office, I shall send for the prisoner whose name I hear called so much. And I shall show him this letter and notice if any change comes over him.

"Now I shall leave for the office, and you, guard, may bring the prisoner numbered 78 there."

Soon a guard appeared at my side, saying: "You are wanted at the office. Get up there."

"I am not able to go. I have been badly hurt, and I am heart-sick. I know that I can not live this life any longer."

"You will not have to, perhaps, if you knew what I know. You would make an effort to get up and come along with me," said the guard.

"The right murderer will be in your place soon, and you will be out; so collect your strength, my son, and go. I will help you. I have the strength to help you and I will do so."

"I hear someone talking, but I do not see anyone. Did you hear anyone?"

"Yes, I did. I heard the voice say, 'Son, get strength.' I heard that and more."

"'You will be out soon' -- did you hear that?"

"I did."

Once more to "the carpet" -- this time with more hope than before, that the truth would come out.

On entering I saw that the officer looked pale. He seemed to be very much worried.

"Good morning, sir. I have a very mysterious letter here. Can you tell me anything about it? You may read it."

I saw the words, "I am the real murderer of the mysterious woman ghost." I cried out:

"I prayed to God that the real murderer would come and acknowledge that he did the crime, for I knew that I did not, and I know who did."

"The name, sir?"

As he wrote it down I could hear a hearty laugh, and so did he.

"Do not laugh, sir. You are not proved innocent."

"I beg your pardon. I did not laugh."

"Who did, then?"

"I am not able to say."

"Officer, take him back. I feel that I must see if this is a letter written by some crank, or was it written as a real confession. It is a mystery. I must say that I think this man is innocent, and I propose to look into this affair thoroughly at once. If he is innocent, he must be released. If not, he must work. I shall write to the authorities at the place where this letter was posted and have them make an investigation. I am of the opinion that this man is not guilty. As I sit here I know that I am hearing the words: 'My son is innocent and you must release him from this prison.' Yet I know that the one whose voice I hear is invisible."

A week passed. There had been no answer from the ones who had been written to in regard to the prisoner. The superintendent grew weary of waiting. He felt that there should have been some reply. He had sent a copy of the anonymous letter of confession.

A guard appeared, and said: "You have a very sick man in 78. I have not been able to arouse him, and I have been working over him for some time."

Telling the story afterward, the superintendent said:

"I looked at the guard, and at that moment I saw a lady standing beside him. I arose and asked her: 'What can I do for you, madam?'

"The guard turned to look as she vanished, and said: 'You are mistaken. I brought no lady here with me.'

"I was so astonished at the remark that I spoke harshly and demanded the guard to tell me who the lady was and how she got in, if he had not admitted her.

"He replied: 'I am not able to say. I did not see anyone. I came directly to you and did not see anyone here, nor did I notice anyone near as I entered this office.'

"'Well, what is wrong, now?'

"'I came to tell you that No. 78 is a very sick man.'

"'I suppose he thinks that he will get his freedom after the reading of the mysterious letter, but I feel that there is a mystery in connection with the entire matter. There is not enough proof to entitle him to his freedom. Proof of that kind would not go in court -- at least, not in this day and age. If he needs a doctor, call one.'

"'I am at a loss to know what to do with him.'

"As the guard turned to call a doctor for the prisoner I heard a voice say:

"'He is not sick -- only resting. He will soon be out of here.'

"I once more looked to see whence came the voice. But could gain no information as to where or from whom the voice came.

"'I must get away from this place. I am losing my mind,' I thought. 'Perhaps I really have lost it, for I can not explain these strange things. I must get away for a day or so. I will leave the office. Pearson can take care of this case while I am at rest and thinking this matter over. I can think it over away from here.'

"The guard returned in a few minutes, smiling, and with the news that the prisoner was sitting up when he arrived with the doctor. He also said that the prisoner had denied that anything was the matter with him.

"'So he has been feigning, has he? Well, he shall get no more sympathy from this place. I have decided to rest a few days, and in my place Mr. Pearson will give orders. But I want you to cease at once showing mercy on prisoner No. 78. You may go for Mr. Pearson. I shall leave directions for him to find a place for the prisoner and see that he works.'

"'I am not sure, but I think that I saw Mr. Pearson talking with the man very recently.'

"'Well, bring him here. I want to talk with him.'

"I was all a-tremble -- just on the verge of nervous breakdown. All on account of this mysterious voice and seeing and not seeing.

"'Good morning, Mr. Pearson,' I said. 'I am leaving for a few days' rest, and I want you to take charge of this office and see that a convict here, No. 78, is put to work. He is very much averse to doing any work, and we have no pets in this place, so he can not be made one. The guard will report to you from time to time in regard to him.'

"As I was leaving, in an undertone I said: 'Yes, and if you do not get reports from some others, as well as the guard, I shall be very much disappointed. I hope that you will. I pray that you may, and perhaps I shall have help to find out what all this means. I hope that he will be able to explain all the mysterious actions by the time I return to work.'

"Oh, what a relief it was to know that I was away from that strain for a while, at least!"

The acting superintendent thought: "I am going to see what the trouble is with No. 78. I wonder if that is the fellow who has caused so many mysterious things to happen around here. By George! I believe it is. I will ask the guard. Here he comes."

"Guard, if that 78 prisoner hasn't any aptitude for the position he has to occupy, you may bring him in. I will try to find out what vocation he has followed, and see if we can accommodate him."

As the guard left he shook his head, as if to say: "You can not have any luck in getting that fellow to work."

But the official in his own mind decided: "My dear old dad has often told me that kind words will do far more than harsh ones or harsh treatment. I am going to treat this prisoner with kindness and gentleness."

Then the acting superintendent looked up to see if he had a hard criminal to deal with, as No. 78 entered the door with his guard. He sank into his chair, gasping:

"What do I see? My brother! Do my very eyes deceive me, or is it really he? A convict in this place!"


Chapter VII.

"My Brother A Convict!"


The official thought: "I must not let myself be known. I must not."

To the prisoner he said: "You may be seated, sir. I want to talk to you."

Then to the guard: "I will excuse you, guard. I wish to question the prisoner alone."

Turning to the prisoner: "Now, sir, I should like to hear something about yourself. Why were you sentenced, and have you registered under your real name?"

"I have, sir. I am not a criminal. I have been sentenced because of strong circumstantial evidence. I am innocent. I did not commit the crime for which I am here."

"Well, my opinion of you is good. I do not believe that you are a murderer -- at least, I hope not. What occupation did you follow before you came here?"

"I was a follower of any work I could do -- anything that my strength would permit me to do. I was not a disagreeable man. I made many friends."

"If you had many, your friends were no help to you in this case. Did not they offer any assistance?"

"No, sir; I was judged wrongly from the beginning -- that is, as soon as it was discovered that it was my handkerchief which was found by the dead lady's side. My friends were nowhere to be found. I received cold and hard looks from all."

"Well, sir, I have heard your story. I want to ask you where you were born. What is your native country?"

"My home, sir, is in England. When a very small boy, I ran away from home. I have grieved my dear old mother so much. I understand that she has since died, and after I heard that, I never cared to go home again, but I feel that many times she has spoken to me. Often, when I have been attracted to company I did not know well, I could feel that she was near me and I could hear these words: 'My son, be careful, be careful!' And I did not and would not go on after getting the warning, as I called it."

"You talk as if you had tried to live the right kind of a life, and I feel that you have, but in the position which I hold here I must not show any favors; otherwise I would do so in this case. Therefore I must give you work to fit the crime of which you have been accused. That will mean hard work."

"I am willing to work, but do not give me work that my strength will not allow me to do. I am weak. I do not get the substantial food that you do, therefore I am not able to work hard. You do not know what it means to be punished for a crime committed by another. I am being punished for a murder which I never committed, and I ask you to have mercy on me."

"You are guilty until proved innocent. I will ring for the guard, and he will place you where you belong."

As the guard approached the prisoner turned and looked in astonishment. The official also looked, and, describing the scene afterward, he said:

"I was raised from my chair. I do not know by what means. Then I began to feel dizzy and could not speak. I lost my power to see. I could feel someone near, and then I heard the voice of a woman saying: 'You would sentence your brother to hard labor, to enable you to hold your own position? You, a child of the same mother and father? Have you no mercy on him? My son, take this brother to your arms and let yourself be known to him. Look into this affair and see if he is not innocent. I will release you, and you do with your brother as you would have him do to you. These are the commands of the spirit of your mother.'

"I shall never forget the terrible strain I was in, and as I mumbled brokenly I felt a hand trembling, trying to help me to stand up, and I was given strength by the help of this hand.

"The guard asked for instructions as to where he should place this man -- my brother, and I ordered him back to his cell.

"I was at a loss to know what to do. Must I confess -- acknowledge him as my brother? or should I pretend to be ignorant of the fact which was plain to my mind? No one knew that he was my brother -- not even the man himself knew it. Why should I acknowledge a criminal and a murderer? I could not!

"I thought: 'I shall place him at once at hard labor. I shall call the guard and have him brought in. I shall try to be brave and not think of boyhood days, when he and I went hand in hand to the dear old school. And dear mother, how she caressed us as she said good-bye! I can hear those words ring in my ears yet: "Run along, children, and study hard, and some day you will be your mother's pride." Yes, to-day, if she could be near her criminal son, she would not be so proud of him. She would do as I am going to do, disown him.'

"I had been so deeply engrossed in thought that I had not called for the prisoner, so I called: 'Guard, I want you to bring No. 78 in here.'

"I felt so uneasy that I thought: 'Can it be that I have decided wrong in this matter?'

"'Here he is,' responded the guard, in a short time.

"'Come in, and I will find the work for you to do which I think you will be able and trustworthy to do. You may take this coat and hat, and you may remove your coat of stripes, and we will exchange places.'

"'What! You think that I would not do my part if I were given work which I could do? I know that I would do my part if given work I could do. I know I would do my part. Oh, please give me a chance! I only want an opportunity to live, if I can, those ten years I must stay in here -- or, at least, until I am proved innocent.'

"'Well, how do you think you can prove that you are innocent?'

"'The real murderer has written to the superintendent and confessed his guilt -- or, at least, a letter has been sent here stating that I am innocent.'

"'You received such a statement?'

"'I did not, but the officer did -- the one whose place you are filling.'

"'I will look into this matter, at once.'

"'You may take him back to his cell, guard, and I will send for him again when I have investigated this thoroughly. Take him back, and return at once.'

"I was sure that if he were innocent, he could be proved to be so, and I decided to go about it at once.

"'A great man, he is,' said the guard. 'We have had more trouble with him than with twenty-five of the other prisoners together.'

"'Do you know anything in regard to a letter written here?'

"'I do not. I think that the superintendent has taken a letter for use while he is working on the case for the poor devil.'

"'Well, I will go to the records and see if there is a record of any such letter.'

"'I hope that you will do something in a hurry, for I am getting tired of pacing back and forward with the gentleman,' said the guard. 'I feel that I have need of a pair of shoes sot to going some other direction than from 78's cell to the office and back.'

"'Well, Pat, what is your opinion of this case? Do you think the man is innocent, or not?'

"'I'm not here acting as judge, but if he is guilty, the mon should work. Setting around eating of the victuals and his toime going on just the same!'

"'The only way to prove his innocence would be for the poor woman to come back and tell how the murder was done, and I don't think there would be any of us here to do time or see others did if we would see her here telling us how she was murdered.'

"'I, for one, would be a dead Pat.'

"'Well, Pat, we are both in doubt about the prisoner's guilt. Now, as long as he is here and proved guilty, say we find work for him to do. What would there be to do where a man could work and not work?'

"'Leave him have the same job he has had -- rest in his cell when he is not on the road here and back.'

"'If you want a job of that kind, you misunderstand me, Pat. As I understand the poor man, he has never done very hard manual labor, and to place him to work of that kind, I fear, would make it necessary to soon change again. I am sorry that it had to fall to me to confine a convict to hard labor and feel that he is innocent [in an undertone] and my brother!'

"'Well, shall I bring the poor devil in? My shoes has pointed that way; every toime I start the shoes on my very feet wants to track to 78's cell.'

"'I wish we could arrange everything, Pat, so your shoes could get a rest. It matters not about our minds. Bring him along.'"


Chapter VIII.

The Brother Sentenced To Hard Labor.


The official continued: "As the man left to do my bidding I said to myself: 'He has gone to bring in my brother for me to sentence to hard labor. What shall I do? I do not feel as if I could utter the words.'

"I was completely upset. I experienced a most peculiar feeling. I thought: 'Here he comes. I must do my duty.'

"I said to the prisoner: 'Come in, sir. And how do your feel this morning?'

"Now, the devil take the mon who is two-faced! I brought the prisoner here to be put to work. Instead of that, he is having a nice visit with him. Inquiring about his health!' Pat was heard mumbling to himself.

"'Well, sir, I am going to see if you can do the work I will give you to do. I am going to have you take care of the prisoners in seeing that they have water to drink. Now, I will give you instructions. You understand the rules of the prison, and I hope that you will abide by them. Do not speak to any of your fellow-prisoners. You will be passing back and forth around each working booth. They understand how to ask for water, if they wish any.'

"'Pat, you may show him the way. And see that you do not burden him with a heavy load. Now you may go.'

"'Well, come along here, pet. I will give you a quart bucket which is light to carry, and if I happen to be going your way, I will help you carry it.'

"I hoped that at last we had found a place which the prisoner could fill. I felt somewhat at ease. I felt that I had done my duty to my brother as well as I could under the circumstances. I hoped that my arrangements would please him and also please the superior officer when he returned. And, by the way, it was time for him to return. I wondered if he had enjoyed his vacation.

"'Well, your honor.'

"'What is it, Pat?'

"'Your pet has refused to carry a full bucket of water, and stands there and looks at it as if he never saw water before. He will not speak a word. I do believe he is petrified -- turned to one of those things which looks like a man and is a dead one.'

"'Pat, I can hardly believe you. I shall have to see for myself. Close the door behind us. We can not leave it unlocked to tempt our prisoners.

"'You are falsifying, Pat. Is not that the fellow, going there with that bucket of water?'

"'To be sure it is.'

"'Then why did you come to me with such reports?'

"'I came with the truth, your honor, and if the man can be dead one minute and alive the next, then I want to deal with the live ones all the toime.'

"'You perhaps do not understand how to handle him.'

"'And faith, I think the majority of them is in the same fix. They have had the same experience themselves.'

"'Well, as long as everything is all right, we will try and rest easy.'

"'You are resting easy now. But when the superintendent comes back and finds that when he has left orders to punish a convict you favor him, I think you will have to find yourself another job.'

"When the superintendent entered, I experienced a feeling of relief. I exclaimed: 'Well, well! Back, and looking fine. I was thinking of you this morning, hoping that you were having a good rest.'

"'I did not rest much, for reasons that I will explain. I have here a letter, which I received before I left. It purports to have been written by the murderer for whom No. 78 is serving time.'

"'You have such a letter? But why do you look so excited?'

"'Have you had any trouble with the prisoner?'

"'Well, yes and no.'

"'What is the trouble? You answer me both ways.'

"'I have placed him to work, and after I had done so I was informed that he refused to work. I was anxious to see for myself, and when I went to investigate, I found him doing his duty. Therefore that is why I answered you as I did.'

"'To hard labor, as I instructed you to do?'

"'Well, yes, hard labor for him, as he explained that he had never done any hard labor. I hope that you will be pleased with the work I have given him to do.'

"'And what work has he been instructed to do?'

"'I have given -- well, I thought he could be very useful in doing such work as that, and I asked Pat to start him at once.'

"'Yes, yes; I think that is a good job. Call Pat. Push button No. 9. Pat is an Irishman who will tell the truth.'

"'You are very nervous. I have noticed your peculiar actions ever since we began to talk of this affair.'

"'Good mornin', your honor. I am very glad to see that you have returned.'

"'I am glad to be here. Pat, what has become of No. 78? Is he working? I hope to have some knowledge of him when you have finished talking. I have not been able to find out much through Mr. Pearson, here.'

"Well, sir, I am only here to do as directed, and I follow instructions to the letter, and if I am told to go out and bate a fellow to death, I would do it, so in this case I did as I was instructed to do.'

"'You are a noble officer, sir. I think you have been requested to tell me what has become of No. 78. As yet you have not followed your instructions.'

"'I will bring the rascal in here and let him tell you what he is doing.'

"'Is he running at large, doing nothing?'

"'Yes, sir, and has the privilege of carrying some water along to take a drink when he gets thirsty.'

"'Bring him here. I will try to find out from him what orders have been given him.

"'I am going to see if I can solve this mystery. Mr. Pearson, are you ill? You are looking very pale. Do you feel ill? What is the matter? Are you faint?

"'Come along, Pat, step lively. Bring your prisoner in, and call Doctor Gray. Mr. Pearson is very ill.'

"The prisoner entered, saying: 'I am so glad to see you here and see you looking so refreshed.'

"'Yes, I think I shall hold my fresh looks a long time here and have a myth, like you, to deal with.'

"'I beg your pardon, sir, I have not caused you any trouble. I am not disobeying the rules. I never have.'

"'You are doing what now?'

"'I am carrying water for my fellow-prisoners to have a drink, as they need water so often.'

"'Come in, doctor. I have a patient here for you. Mr. Pearson is very ill.'

"At that moment I lost consciousness."


Chapter IX.

The Superintendent Tries To Solve The Mystery.


"Mr. Pearson has fainted. I have just returned from my vacation. Please get some water. I think it is nothing serious."

"I don't understand the case. His pulse is normal. His temperature is not high enough to indicate extreme illness. Yet he seems to be in a very deep faint. You had better call another doctor. I am at a loss to know what to do."

"I will ring for one at once. Here is Pat. I'll send him for Doctor Simson.

"Pat, go at once and bring Doctor Simson. We are not able to bring Mr. Pearson to."

Pat was heard mumbling to himself: "Another mysterious case. I'm going to leave this prison, and I would not blame the others if they did the same, prisoners and all."

"Dr. Simson, you are wanted at once, at the main office. The officer, Mr. Pearson, is a dead man -- or, at least, he looks it."

"Well, Pat, if he is dead, there is no use in my going."

"You better go and see for yourself. There are some funny doings going on around here. Men look like dead ones, and not dead. I hope I won't be looking like a dead one and disappointing my friends. You must be coming along. They sent me for a doctor, and, faith, I would bring you at once."

"Well, Pat, I am ready. So your patient looks like a dead one, hey?"

"You may decide that for yourself when you get there."

"Well, here we are. I shall soon see.

"Good morning, Mr. Officer. What have we here? A sick man?"

"Good morning, doctor."

"Doctor, what would you do in a case like this? I am not able to tell what is wrong."

"Have you taken his temperature?"

"I have."

"And what is it?"

"Normal."

"In so dead a faint, and normal?"

"You may take his temperature and see if I am mistaken."

"You are right, doctor. The best thing to do is to let the patient rest a few moments. I see no serious danger. I do not really understand the case."

"Pat, you may bring in the stretcher and we will take him to the hospital."

"I have been set to carrying the dead to the cemetery when they could not speak any more."

"You are having some trouble with one of your prisoners here, I understand."

"We are, doctor, and here he is."

"He does not look like a sickly man, but, my dear sir, you can not always tell by looking at a man what strength he has."

The prisoner interposed: "I am not a strong man, doctor, but I am strong enough to work if I were given work that I could do."

"We have placed him in many places, and we have not been able to find out what he can do."

"I am doing all that is required of me, am I not, at the last work you have given me to do?"

"You are, as far as I know, but you were sentenced here to hard labor. I must obey the orders of the courts."

"What is the poor man here for? He talks as if he were a good sort of a fellow."

"Murder. Does that sound as if he were a good fellow? And a poor woman, at that -- strangled her to death. A horrible death."

At that moment a voice was heard saying: "You are accusing him wrongfully. He is not a murderer."

Turning to look for the speaker, they were surprised to see Mr. Pearson ready to speak.

"Well, sir, you have recovered. How do you feel?"

"I have not been ill."

"Well, we have been very busy for the last half-hour, trying to get you to speak."

"Pat, you may take the stretcher back. The patient will be able to walk to the hospital if he needs to go."

"The way these fellows have of dying and coming to life again must be a trade they have learned."

"Are you not going to let me work, sir, at what I was last given to do?"

"You are going to hard labor. No more of this playing off around here."

"Very well, sir."

"I don't think that you need my services any longer," said the doctor. "The officer seems all right, and he says that he is. I shall return to the hospital."

"Now, Mr. Pearson," said the superintendent, "please explain to me -- when orders were given to put this man to hard work, you gave him a trusty job."

"I did the best I could. I am not a heartless man. The poor fellow said he could not do hard manual labor, and I believe he told the truth, and I am willing to give him a trial, for proof of his honesty."

"You know of all the crimes he has committed while in here, do you not? Or, at least, tried to and failed."

"In what way, pray tell me?"

"Trying to murder the guards. I, for one, had a peculiar experience with him. Found myself in the hospital -- fortunately, not hurt, however, but not able to explain what had happened."

"Now you will have to work, sir, and I am going to call Pat. I can trust him to see that you do.

"Pat, take this fellow to the booth where they prepare iron for shipping, and see that he works. And I shall assign you, Pat, to take care of him, and him alone. We shall see if this mystery can be cleared up."

"Come along with me, pet 78. I will make a sure enough dead one out of you if you trifle with me. When I have instructions to do anything, I generally do it."

"Now, Mr. Pearson, I shall have to reprimand you. You are working under my instructions. I, bear in mind, hold a higher position over you, and you will have to explain to me the whys and wherefores of what you did, as you did not follow my directions."

"I followed your instructions, sir, the best I could, after Pat spoke of a letter which was received here by you, written as a confession of the crime for which this poor fellow was doing time."

"So your sympathies got such a hold over you that you use the expression 'poor fellow,' do you? My opinion is that the letter was a hoax to get sympathy for him while here. It was probably written by some friend of the man's on the outside."

A voice said: "You are accusing my son wrongfully, and you must suffer for it."

"My God! Did you hear that?"

"Did I hear that? Yes, and I have heard that and more so many times that I have become quite familiar with the voice and do not feel alarmed at hearing it. Tell me what it was -- you!"

"You, you, tell me what you think it was, and I will tell you something, then."

"Well, sir, I am not going to try to express myself, for I can not do so, but I will go back to my part of the work."

"You will remain here with me and express yourself as to what your belief is in regard to the mysterious voice we hear."

"Come, quick!"

It was Pat's voice.

"Come quick! The fellow is talking himself to death. I have bate him for half an hour and he is still talking, and devil a bit does he care for my bating."

"I will leave you and go with Pat."

"You will have to do something quick. He has disturbed the whole prison and the bating I gave him helped to excite the other prisoners' curiosity to know what the man was being baten for."

"Right this way, I think, is the nearest, Pat. Avoid excitement as much as possible."

"You will see the poor devil throwing his hands and telling that he is not the murderer. And he is mumbling something about not going to be punished for a crime he never committed."

"You in trouble again? Not satisfied without disturbing the prisoners as well as the officials?"

"I beg your pardon, sir, I have been doing all I could do, and working, sir, since you placed me here. I felt a dizziness come over me. I don't know how long I stood before I regained myself."

"Do you feel as if you had had a good beating?"

"I? No, sir, I do not."

"Then the devil take the man I will ever punish again," said Pat; "I've been working myself out of breath bating him and then he stands up there and tells that he didn't know he got a bating."

"You feel as if you could do the work, do you?"

"I will try, sir. It is awful hard and I feel I haven't strength to last the day through, but I will go as long as I can."

"Now, Pat, we will return to the office, and I want you to tell Mr. Pearson the trouble you had with this fellow, and while you are telling him, and telling how quietly he was working, you as well as I will watch Mr. Pearson's face and see how much sympathy, if any, goes out to the prisoner."

"Indade, your honor, I have noticed the sympathy shown to the prisoner by Mr. Pearson, while you were away. He even offered to exchange coat and hat with the man, and job too."

"Pat, are you telling me the truth? A man holding the position which Mr. Pearson does, making such sacrifices as that with a prisoner, and one who is here sentenced for the crime which he is? Now, before we go in, I caution you to be watchful."

"Well, Mr. Pearson, a time we have had with the 78 convict, a murderer, and the worst hypocrite I ever saw."

"You found things as Pat represented them, did you?"

"No, I did not. The fellow was working very hard when we reached the place."

"The same thing occurred with me. I once hastened to investigate and found him as you did, doing his duty. So, sometimes, we are not to judge the poor prisoner too harshly, for we are not always informed correctly."

"I am here to speak for myself. I am the one who has informed you, as well you know, and I will prove to you, your honor," said Pat, "that I gave the man a good bating."

"Yes, that would not be hard for me to believe. You did that, but it would be hard to make me believe some of the reports that have been made against the prisoner."

"You seem to take a deep interest in No. 78. What is the secret, pray tell me?"

"I have no secret, sir."

"I have a secret which I shall tell some day, and you will believe me," a voice was heard to say.


Chapter X.

Pat Allows The Prisoner To Escape.


"I am going to leave you in charge of this place and I am going to investigate. I shall don a suit of one of the guards and follow this man around from morning until night and see if I will have any trouble with him.

"Come along, Pat. Find me a club. That is about the first thing I shall have to do -- use it on goodness knows whom. But someone is going to get a punishment from me."

"If you find a job with the last fellow I had to bate, you will have a good job."

"Now, Pat, did you notice any strange actions about this mutt, Mr. Pearson? I did, and I am under the impression that some secret lies there, and the old saying is, 'Murder will out.'"

"You are not of the opinion that he is guilty of murder?"

"I see, Pat, that you do not understand me. I believe that Mr. Pearson knows this convict, in some way that he does not care to tell. There is a mystery there."

"Now, here is a club I have carried, and I know a good one. And if you want two, here is another."

"What would I do with two, Pat? One is all you can use at one time."

"Well, I'm thinking that if he had two clubs in his hands, as he was throwing them, I would never have been able to give him the bating I did."

"I hope that I shall not have to use one, Pat, much less two. Now, I am going to take charge of the prisoner, and, Pat, as I shall be close to him all of the time, you had better drop around to the office quite often and see how Mr. Pearson is getting along."

"I will do that, your honor."

"You may go -- no, I will go alone, as I will then be less liable to be noticed."

"Very well. Good luck to you and your new job."

"Now for the mystery to be solved," said the superintendent. "I shall follow that fellow until I satisfy myself who is right and who is wrong. And I shall find out if Pat is as faithful as he has been supposed to be. I feel that the accused man has someone to help him in all of this work, but who the helper is, that I should like to know."

As he approached the prisoner the superintendent said: "I thought that I would take care of you for a while -- or, at least, try to. I see that you are doing very nicely, and I am glad. I hope that you will try and live up to the rules. You may speak to me when spoken to, but do not speak without being spoken to."

"I am going to pass by and take a peep at our new officer, and see how he likes his job," said Pat. "Well, be jabers, he is not here! Where in the deuce has he gone? Say, do you hear me? Shake this door if you do. Spake, and if you don't spake, spake anyway.

"Well, I'll have to find out if he has drew his wages and quit his job, without giving the firm notice. Hello! hello! Well, the only thing I can do is to go for the other fellow. I think he has got a key. Perhaps the next fellow that gets the job will be me.

"What in the deuce do I see, away back in the corner? As sure as I am alive, it is him. Well, well, wake up! You have got a easy job, I know, but I don't think you need to lay down and go to sleep by the side of it.

"Well, I can't wake the poor devil, but I know someone who can. And I would hate to be in the poor devil's shoes if that one comes in and finds him slapin'. So here's to the office and report, as I promised to do, if I lose my job by doing so. Someone is sure going to lose his job here, and that very shortly."

"Well, Pat, what are you doing around here?" said the superintendent. "Why are you looking so excited? I am getting along fine here."

"Well, I am not getting along fine there."

"What is wrong, Pat?"

"The fellow that you left in your office has laid down and gone to sleep on the job. And he locked the door before he did so. He was very careful that no one could get in or out."

"Gone to sleep? And the door locked? Here, you watch this man and I will see what is the meaning of this."

"If he don't get his nap out before the officer gets there, it will be a pity."

"Here! What is wrong, Mr. Pearson?"

"Wrong? Nothing is wrong."

"Where have you been?"

"I have been here, sir, and very busy."

"Now, Mr. Pearson, were you not asleep with the door locked on the inside?"

"I am not guilty. Pat has been giving you some more reports -- and false ones, if he has told you that I was sleeping. I have not felt well, in the last thirty minutes. I felt a dizziness come over me, but I feel all right now."

"Do you know if you were asleep at any time, or in a faint, while you were feeling dizzy?"

"I was not, sir. I was sitting at this desk, as you see me."

"And I am being deceived by one in whom I have placed confidence. Pat is a good fellow. I can not believe that he would deceive me. Perhaps, after all, I had better watch him, as well as the other one," thought the superintendent. "I need help. I have too many to watch. I can not be here and there too, but I will stay by the prisoner until I have satisfied myself that he is right or wrong."

"Come quick! Help! help! The fellow has turned into a woman and it looks as if there were half a dozen people where he is," called Pat; "and he spakes like a woman. All he would have to do would be to put on a woman's clothes and you would let him pass out on her voice, be jabers! She might be cultivating the voice to make her get away, but when they get by Pat they will have to go when I am aslape, for I am not here to let anyone get away without their papers of freedom. You will have to come, as the prisoners are killing time, listening to the lady speaking."

"Now, office superior," said Mr. Pearson, "you have so much confidence in Pat, leave him in charge of the office, and I will go with you to see what is wrong with the prisoner -- 78."

"I will do that."

"Pat, take care of this office until we return. Come along, Pearson. Make haste, this way."

"Well, I felt all along I would be the man to fill this place, and some day this Irishman will be called the 'supperior officer' around this prison. I hope they will succeed in finding the lady still talking -- or the gentleman, whichever it is."

"Well, officer, do you see anything wrong? The fellow is working."

"I do not understand this, and no excitement among the prisoners."

"Well, I say the trouble is in the false reports made by Pat."

"We will go back to the office and I shall ask Pat to explain what he meant by causing all this excitement by false reports. Now that we are on the way back to the office, I want to talk to you about those mysterious voices. How do you account for them? Well, I was in hopes you would be able to tell me something. What have you heard, Pearson?"

"I have heard more than I care to hear again."

"You are not frightened, are you?"

"Well, I am not praying to hear any more of it."

"I am going to say to Pat that he is not fooling anyone any more; the next time he comes with such stories, he will be sent back to take care of his own trouble. What, the office door open? What does that mean? Where is Pat?"


Chapter XI.

The Mystery Deepens.


"I think Pat has left the place. After all his false reports, he will, or perhaps has, felt that he will be discharged, and will go before notice is given."

"Here he comes. Well, Pat, what do you mean? Is that the way you do when trusted with the care of this office? Did I not say to you that I had all confidence in you? And now you have given me cause to doubt you in all things."

"Your honor, would you have confidence in me at all if I would sit here and let the prisoners all walk out? Just about two minutes ago a lady came to the office and asked to come in. After I opened the door, she just walked right through the office and out of the door. I called to her to halt, and she did not stop, and I made a start for her, and in all my life I never saw a female get the space between her and me as she did."

"Do you mean to tell me that you have let some of the prisoners get away?"

"I mane to tell you that the lady that came through that door got away -- prisoner, or whatever you may call her."

"Pat, I am not going to discharge you now, for I shall have to see what convict it was and what was her sentence here. Then I shall be better able to deal with you. I am sorry, Pat, that you have proved to be such an untrustworthy guard, and I, as well as Mr. Pearson, here, have found you to be misrepresenting things all along and causing any amount of trouble. Now you may go and do what the last orders gave you to do, and I will take care of my man. If you find any more strange things around here, don't come to me. I shall not go to investigate another call from you. Now go."

"Your honor, I would like to spake a word in my own behalf. I am not as you have expressed yourself that I was, untrustworthy. I will swear to my Father in Heaven that I have been honest, honest in all my actions, and when I called for help, you were informed right. I gave the correct reports, and I want to say now that if you have that kind of opinion of me, I will lave the prisoners and you may look for another Pat. I am not a thafe. If so, I would be wearing the stripes instead of the blue, and I feel I have been misjudged. I hope that you will find out that Pat was just what you thought, true and trustworthy, and I will say to you that you had better keep an eye on your fellow-officer, Mr. Pearson. I feel that he has caused you to form the opinion you have."

"Pat, go and do your duty, and all will work out right by and by."

"I will, your honor; but whenever you want the club I carry, the same is yours for the asking. I am ready to quit when I am not the gentleman I should be."

"Pearson, have you ever had any trouble with Pat?"

"I have not."

"I believe that you and he have not the best of feeling for each other. Can you explain the condition?"

"I have no grievance against Pat. I do not understand why he should bring in such alarming reports, reports which on investigation prove to be untrue, absolutely untrue, with no base or foundation whatever, and that is why I am not particularly fond of Pat."

"It is all a very strange affair. During my absence did you have a conversation with Convict 78? And what was the object of that conversation? What was your reason for dismissing Pat, after he had brought the convict in?"

"I do not remember doing so."

"I have been informed that you did. There should be no secrets among the officials and the prisoners."

"I am going to explain. I am the mother of these two boys, and the Prisoner 78 and my son Pearson, here, are brothers. Pearson knows that his brother is an innocent man, but is ashamed to acknowledge his brother. But the prisoner is as innocent as you, who are trying to punish him for a crime he never committed."

"Do you hear that voice, Pearson?"

"I do, but from whom does it come? There is no one here that I can see."

"You will see me," the voice was heard to say.

"'I will see you.' Did I hear that? Did you get that, officer?"

"I did, and I heard more; I heard the same voice say that you and this man, Convict 78, were brothers. Did you hear that?"

"I did."

"Well -- "

"I am not sure of it. I only know that he carries my name, and his Christian name is the same as that of a brother of mine whom I have not heard from in years. He ran away from home when a small boy, and we never heard from him afterward. We thought he was dead, as he never returned or wrote. Poor mother grieved herself to her grave for that lost, wayward son. I remained home with her until she died."

"And the estate -- did you advertise for him?"

"My father died when I was a small boy and left mother in good circumstances. I and this brother who left home were the only heirs."

"And you got the bulk of the estate? Did I understand you to say that you advertised for your brother?"

"Well, you see, it was this way: not hearing from him for so many years, I decided that he was dead, and I did not think it worth while."

"You are not sure that this is not your brother, then, Mr. Pearson?"

"No, I am not sure."

"Well, I will send for him and we perhaps may be able to find out by questioning him. Ring for Pat."

Just then Pat, mumbling, "I will stroll around and see if the supperior officer has changed his mind about me being a gentleman," appeared.

"Here is Pat, now."

"Pat, bring in No. 78, at once."

"Whenever the man says 'Pat,' I know that 78 is wanted. Well, if that don't bate annything! I wonder now what he has done? I know that he has been good the last half-hour, for I have been watching him with my own very eyes, and devil take the one that has lied on him, now. Look at the poor fellow! He has the same feeling that I have. Every time he sees me coming he knows that he is wanted.

"Well, you are wanted at the office, and come along quick, and have it over with. I feel very queer -- I feel like I have ate a fly for my breakfast. Only a different feeling comes on a fellow so quick when something is going to happen, and you don't know what it is.

"Your honor, do you want him now? If so, here he is."

"If I did not want him, Pat, I should not have sent for him. You may be seated over there."

"You see, the convict is sometimes treated with poor courtesy. Then I -- I have not been asked to have a chair," Pat was mumbling to himself.

The officer turned to the prisoner:

"You are enrolled here in the name by which you were christened, are you not?"

"I am, sir."

"Clarence Pearson, is that your real name?"

"It is, sir."

"Do you remember anything about your people?"

"I do, sir."

"Tell me all you know about your family, and the number of children, brothers and sisters, and if your parents are living, and where you were born."

"I was a small boy when I left home, many years ago. My father I don't remember much about. My poor dear mother has often told me that I was quite young at the time of his death. I have no sisters. I have one brother, who was at home when I left. I have since heard that my dear mother has died. After I heard that, I never had the heart nor courage to go home again."

"Was your mother in comfortable circumstances?"

"Oh, yes, sir! My mother was a wealthy woman."

"And you will swear that that is your name?"

"I will, sir."

"Pat, you may take him back."

"You will not close the iron doors behind my child again! He is far more a free man, or should be, than the one sitting there in silence."

"Well, Pat, why don't you take him? He is ready."

"So am I, but when you tell me to do a thing, and then tell me not to, how in the name of common sense do I know what to do?"

"I have given you only one instruction, and that was to go."

"Well, then, who the devil told me not to take him?"

"Did you get such orders?"

"I did."

"When?"

"Just now, and I got more than that."

"What did you get?"

"I heard a voice -- where it came from I don't see, but my hearing is good -- and this is what it said -- I will look about me and see that I am not knocked down after I tell what I heard."

"Go on, and tell what you heard."

"Faith, and I will tell every word of it. I heard -- as you finished telling me to take him back -- I heard a voice say: 'The doors will not close behind -- '"

"I can't think what is the matter, Pat."

"I am getting them. I will be a dead man, here, soon, like some of the other ones around here has been. Anyway, I didn't take the man back, did I?"

"Pat, you are acting funny. What is the matter with you?"

"Come along here! I will lock you up if you are the guilty one."

"Pat, you are not going to take Mr. Pearson. He has not committed a crime."

"I say, come along here! You are the thief, to rob your brother of all and then sit and let him suffer."

"You are going mad, Pat. I shall have to call for help if you do not turn Officer Pearson loose."

"Call for help. All the power you have in this prison could not conquer me."

"I shall turn in a general alarm if you do not let him go."

"Turn in your alarm. I am ready to fight for my innocent son's freedom, and you too know that he is not a murderer, yet you sit there and allow him to suffer, and for another's crime. Here is the murdered woman standing here declaring his innocence -- and the real murderer is her husband, and you have not made an effort to find him. Go look for him. Place my innocent boy in a closed room, if you like, but never behind bars. I will free him, as I have done all the time here, if you dare to place him behind bars again!"

"You will fall, Pat. Sit down. Here, steady, now. Give me some water quick. Have some water, Pat. He looks so queer. Oh! you feel all right, Pat?"

"I am not ailing. Why do you ask me if I feel all right? The only thing I see, I was standing up a while ago, and now I am sitting down."

"Yes, Pat; you were acting very funny, and insisted on taking Officer Pearson to jail, instead of No. 78."

"Faith, I think he will be there soon enough."

"I don't understand you. I am going to make you suffer for that talk. I shall not allow myself to be called a thief by my inferiors. I shall have a settlement with you, sir. Either you or I will leave here, and I think that you will be the one to go."

"Don't be too sure of that. You may be wearing stripes around here yourself, and I, the common Irishman, telling you what to do and throwing the bread and water at you."

"Hey, Pat! What do you mean? Why are you doing all this talking? Are you accountable for what you are saying? I shall have to stop this talk at once. We are not in the habit of allowing our employees to talk in that manner."

"I think that Pat has served his time here. He is beginning to think that he is the boss."

"Well, I'd like to say the same thing about you in regard to serving time, but I don't think you have started in on your time yet, and when your brother who is sitting here tells all he knows, you will be wearing his clothes and he will be wearing something better, for some of that money belonging to him which you have will enable him to do unto you as you should do unto him -- and that is, help when in trouble."

"Pat, I am speaking to you for the last time, and I shall have to discharge you if you do not quiet yourself."

"You will not discharge him."

"Well, did you decide what to do? Shall I take 78 back?"

"Pat, you talk and look and act quite differently now. What was wrong? Do tell."

"I am just the same Irishman. Do you think I have changed in looks? I hope not, for who ever saw a homely Irishman?"

"You did change in looks, but look all right now. Put the prisoner in the other office -- No. 2. I may need him soon. Then you may go."

"Well, Mr. Pearson, what does all this mean? I don't understand. But I shall not cease the investigation until I find out what is wrong."

"You are paying too much attention to what Pat has been saying."

"I am not referring to Pat's sayings. I am asking you, or will do so, to explain about this man bearing the same name and having the same birth-place and the same number in his family as you have told me that you have. Your statements were identical, and do you not know that this is your brother? I believe that he is, and why do you not want to acknowledge him, or find out whether he is guilty or innocent?"

"How often, sir, do we meet men who have the same name as ourselves -- many time the surname and the Christian name are the same. I am under the impression that this is one of those times."

"And I am very sorry, Pearson, but I am thinking that, although it is very unfortunate for you, this is not an accident."

"I do not understand you, sir."

"Well, then, I will make it plainer. I think that the convict here is your brother, and you know it."

"You are judging me too harshly. I am not deserving of that opinion from you."

"You must do something to prove your innocence; otherwise I shall notify the authorities and lay the circumstances before them."

Pearson was silent.

"You have my sympathy, but we should show no partiality in our dealings with our fellow-men. They must be treated fairly. Even prisoners must receive justice. I shall leave you to think this matter over, and you may report to me, later, how you feel about the matter."

"I have nothing to think over and decide on."

"Then you will acknowledge that you are his brother?"

"I may be, and if I am, I shall only be by birth. I shall never claim a murderer for a brother."

"You are accusing him wrongfully. He is not a murderer."

"Pearson, for God's sake, where did that voice come from?"

"I can not tell."

"Then I will show myself."

"Mother, mother, mother! Help! help!"

"Well, I have stayed away long enough. I think it's about time they was doing something to the poor convict." It was Pat's voice, this time. "Perhaps I will be needed. I hear a call for help. I may find the whole bunch dead."

"Come quick, Pat!"

"What in the [?] is the matter, now?"

"I was talking to Pearson, and he threw up his hands and cried out, 'Mother!' three times, and called for help. He has fainted. You had better call a doctor, or go for one; the wires may be busy."

"Yes, I think the wires is crossed at this end, and I am belaving someone will lose his job before they get them straightened, and if it is me, I am willing to go. Many a poor devil would be glad to lose his job here. I hope I find the doctor in and not busy. The poor officer may get tired laying in a fit so long."

"Well, Pat, you have got another dead man for me to take care of, have you?"

"That is what I came for, and you had better make it lively. The superior officer don't feel very comfortable over the affair."

"You mean that I am wanted at the office?"

"And I would not be saying so if you were not wanted."

"Well, Pat, I sometimes think that you are like the Dutchman. I must take you as you mean, and not as you say."

"You had better get a move on you, for I mane it."

"You are walking so fast I can not keep up."

"Indade, he told me to go for you because I go faster than the wires, and I want to keep up my reputation with the boss."

"You are trying to make a record for yourself, are you?"


Chapter XII.

Another Dead Man.


As the two entered the office the superintendent exclaimed: "You are slow about getting here. I believe Mr. Pearson is dead."

"I hope not," replied the doctor; "but I will see in a moment." Then: "Pulsation very weak. Did he complain of feeling ill before he collapsed?"

"No, doctor; only some excitement and -- "

"He seems to have been affected very deeply from it. I am alarmed."

"Do you think that we should send for more help?"

"I am not of the opinion that they could do any more than I am doing."

"You are going to need the stretcher."

"To the 78 cell, doctor! And a stretcher to carry out the dead live ones!"

"Pat, step inside and see what is the matter with No. 78. I hear a noise."

"I am going to have the club ready. I am not feeling very good, and I don't think it would take much to get me -- bated."

"Now, doctor, I have a secret to tell you. I have been mistrusting a convict's relationship to an employee of this office, and I have asked him for a complete explanation of the affair. I understand that he has shown some favors to the convict in my absence. And I can not, for the life of me, explain what the voices are that we hear in this office, at times, pertaining to this officer. He and I were here talking the matter over, and I asked him if he did not know this man was his brother. He said that he did not. At that moment we heard a voice, 'I will show you!' and a terrible scream came from him, and as he looked up he called his mother three times for help, and fell as you see him."

"I have witnessed many fainting spells, but never did I find the pulse in such a condition."

"Officer," came the voice of Pat, "I am having a picnic, hearing the prisoner talk in his sleep, and with his eyes open. Would you mind coming in and getting some of the news?"

"You may go," said the doctor; "I will take care of the patient. There is nothing that you can do."

"Very well, I will see what is wrong.

"Well, Pat, you seem to be having a free entertainment."

"You will have to name it. I call it a treat to see a fellow talk asleep and standing, with his eyes open all the time he is sleeping."

"What is he talking about?"

"Listen, for yourself. He is going on so fast I can't run and keep up."

"I am telling you I am innocent. I did not murder, and I am not guilty, and my brother who was in a faint is all right now, and I am the spirit of the mother of those two boys -- my sons, and I have been the mysterious one whose voice you have heard here trying to tell you and help my son out of this trouble. I have to explain this by inspiring my son, as I am doing now, and I can do so, as you see. And I have brought the woman who was murdered with me, and she is here to say that she was strangled to death by her husband, not by my son. My son is not guilty of that crime, and I want you to take this name and address which she will give me, and send for the real murderer. His name is Robert Devenart, and Mrs. Devenart is here to tell you all about the crime, and I will repeat the words after her:

"'I was strangled to death, not by this man here, but by my husband. I will tell all. I was having trouble with him and as he threatened me I screamed, and the door opened, and this man, whom I knew slightly, entered and asked if he could be of any assistance. I tried to be brave, and told him that I did not need any assistance. He left, with an apology for intruding. Then my husband clutched me by the throat and choked me to death. Turn this man out and bring the real murderer in. Your officer is all right. I will go now.'"

"Very well, doctor."

"Do you feel all right, Pearson?"

"I am all right. I'll just step out for some fresh air."

"I am not satisfied to think that he was in a faint, officer. I have never come in contact with anything like it in my whole experience as a physician. You had hardly left the room until he opened his eyes and looked around."

"Had it not been for the fact that I might have missed some of the words that were being spoken, I should have called you, doctor. I stepped into the room, and there he -- the prisoner, I mean -- was standing, talking, his eyes open and apparently he was himself. I inquired of Pat what was wrong, and he -- the prisoner -- answered by saying, 'I am not guilty.' The murderer's name was given, and many more things were said, which I dare not mention now."

"Here is Pat."

"Well, give me my time. I am a brave Irishman, I can bate a fellow to death if need be, but I am not brave enough, when the dead come around and talk to me, to stick around any longer. Faith, I did not see anything, but I surely heard, and I know that I will fall dead if I ever see one of the dead ones walking around here."

"Pat, I can not give you your time. You are needed here. Go along and do your duty, and I will send for you if you are wanted."

"I hope you will never send for me if the dead want me."

"Pat is a good, trusty fellow, and, doctor, I am glad I can make a confidant of you in this matter. I am given the address of a person. I am going to write at once to the proper authorities and see if they can find the name, a very strange name. I never heard it before. I don't think they can get the wrong fellow if they find one by that name."

"I would advise you to investigate, officer. People are oftentimes innocent, although apparently proved guilty by law, and I am prejudiced against circumstantial evidence. Many poor men are serving time because of that kind of evidence."

"I am going to thank you -- "

"Did you speak? Did you?"

"No, doctor. You have heard some of that voice which we hear so often. Can you explain?"

"No, sir; and I do not intend to stay in here to hear any more of it, or to try to explain it. Good-bye."

"Good-bye, doctor."

"I am going to ask you to allow me a vacation, officer. I am not feeling very well."

"Mr. Pearson, I have some very important work to do in the next few days, and I shall need you badly."

"I should like to leave by the first of the week, if possible."

"It is more than likely that you can do so. You have nothing more to say in regard to the affair of which we were talking?"

"I have not. I do not feel that this man is any relation to me, therefore I am not going to bother anything about him."

"What was your birth-place, Pearson?"

"I have secrets of my own. I don't think that you or anyone should ask about them, and I refuse to tell you. I am not being tried for any crime. I do not have to answer your questions."

"Very well. You may go back to your old position. I shall look after the office. Say, Pearson! Here! You may take along the prisoner here. I don't care to have him in this room, keeping me alert at every noise."

To the prisoner Pearson said: "Come. I will put you in your cell."

"I am willing to go -- to do anything that you request me to do."

"Clarence -- did I understand you to say that was your name?"

"Yes, sir."

"Here is your cell. Step in. I will also go in. I want to talk to you. Clarence, do you remember anything about your old home, and your brothers and sisters, and your father and mother?"

"I have no father -- he died when I was a small boy, and sisters I have none. I have one brother."

"What was your father's name? Of course, I know it was Pearson, but what was his Christian name -- or have you forgotten it?"

"I have not forgotten anything about my home. I remember all very well. It seems only yesterday, I have such a vivid recollection of all. My brother's name was William O. Pearson."

"What was the O. for?"

"For Oliver, and I often called him by that name. You have such a strange way of looking at me, officer. Do you not believe me?"

"Yes, Clarence, I believe you. I am going to tell you why I look at you so strangely. You are my brother, and I am going to make this right with you, if you will change your story and say that you changed your name when you got into this trouble -- or, rather, that you have gone under an assumed name since you committed this crime. If you will do as I say, at the end of your term, I will give you five thousand dollars -- when you walk out of this place a free man."


Chapter XIII.

An Attempt To Bribe The Prisoner.


"I have been a wanderer, and have eaten many a back-door hand-out, but I have never stolen nor murdered. I did not commit this crime. You, my brother, are free, and have money to bribe me with, and yet you do not care enough for your own flesh and blood to look up the real murderer. I do not want your money. I have two strong arms, and can work, as I have always done."

"Then you would work all your life, a poor man, rather than accept a little bribe, would you?"

"Yes, under the circumstances, I would. I feel that in the end I will be better prepared to meet my dear mother, when called home, than you will be. Did I not have something coming to me from the estate? My mother was a wealthy woman when I left home."

"Well, we had many reverses in business affairs, and she died practically a poor woman."

"I may be spared to live my sentence here if I am not found innocent and discharged, and then I shall return to the old home and investigate affairs and see if I am not entitled to a share in my dear mother's estate."

"Why can you not believe me? I have explained. She died practically a poor woman."

"You are not a poor man, are you, brother?"

"Well, I have a comfortable home."

"Is that all you have?"

"I do not feel disposed to explain everything to you."

"Where were you to get the five thousand dollars to bribe me with? Have you got that much money besides your comfortable home?"

"I shall have ten years to get that."

"Oh! you are buying me to commit a crime and have no money to give me after I have done so?"

"As I have stated, you are here for ten years. At the time of the expiration of your term I would in all probability have that amount."

"May I ask you why you wish me to deny my name?"

"Well, Clarence, I am holding a good position here, and I could not, perhaps, if it were known that I had a brother inside of these walls. Besides, I have a family in society, and it would injure them if this should all come out."

"You are thinking of yourself and your family and society, and not once have you given your poor brother a thought of sympathy. And he is innocent of crime."

"I am trying to help you. Have I not offered you five thousand dollars at the end of your term?"

"You are not helping me. No, sir. I have registered under my own name, given me by my dear parents, and I have no cause to disown it. I did nothing to disgrace it, and I am not going to be tempted with your money."

"I am sure that you will regret this, Clarence. I would favor you in many ways while you were serving your sentence."

"Could you not do so, as you are one of the officials, without my doing as you wish me to do?"

"Well, no. I should be suspected."

"Then how could you do so if I did as you request me to do -- disown my name?"

"Well, well!"

"You are doing wrong, Oliver, to try to get me in deeper instead of helping me out. Why don't you go out and look up the real murderer and prove your brother innocent? I am quite sure I should not disgrace you if it were proved that I had been sent here an innocent man."

"You see, after one has been behind prison bars, he is always looked down upon by the public."

"But not in the eyes of God. He knows the guilty from the innocent."

"Then you feel that you would rather stay in prison and work ten years, and go out a broken man and penniless, than to receive five thousand dollars, as I have promised you?"

"If I have to lie for it, I'll take the poverty and peace of mind."

"I am sorry for you, Clarence, and I shall return and have another talk with you some day. Perhaps you will change your mind. Good-bye."

"I thank you, brother, for the word spoken just now. Yes, my brother, you have a comfortable home and a family in society, and an innocent brother in prison for ten years."

"You have the habit of talking to yourself, have you?" It was Pat who spoke.

"It helps a fellow, Pat, sometimes, when alone, to talk to himself."

"I am sure I heard two voices in here. I was after looking for a convict who occupied the next cell, 79, and I felt rather uneasy about you, and I thought I would see what you were doing, and I heard a very strange conversation in here."

"Pat, did you hear all that was said?"

"Sure I did. What was I listening for if not to hear what was said?"

"And did you see anyone leave here?"

"Sure I did. When I see a man passing this way, I looked to find if he was a broke-away."

"And will you -- "

"I will keep my mouth shut until I have to open it."

"And would you tell all you heard?"

"Indade I would. Well, I think I will be going along. I will stroll by the office and see if he looks any the better off since he could not get rid of his five thousand dollars."

"Pat, you always come just in time. Take this letter to the office. I want it to go out on the first mail. If I wait for it to be taken up, it would not get off on the first mail. Make haste, as I am quite anxious for this to go."

"You can depend on it going if I have to take the train and carry it myself."

To himself: "Well, I wonder what the rush was. I will pick up the torn pieces when I get the chance, and see what this means."

"Mr. Pearson," said the superintendent, "I am called to attend to some business affairs. I shall leave you in charge of the office. I may not return until late."

"Very well, sir."

"Well, I just made the train. The next time I would like a few minutes to think between this place and the train. I never went so fast in all my life. I would be a good messenger. I could get the bad news to them in a hurry, as all of the confounded things have bad news in them.

"There comes Pat. I will give him the order I left with Pearson.

"Pat, I am going on some business, and I want you to put all of those torn pieces of paper in the fire and burn them up. I do not want anyone to see them. I made some errors and re-wrote the letter," said the superintendent.

"Now you have gone," said Pearson, "I will take care of those torn pieces of paper. Here is an envelope addressed to the place where Clarence committed the murder, and here is all of the letter. Now I'll see what was the cause for rush."

The letter ran as follows:

"I am writing you for help in looking up the case of a convict by the name of Clarence Pearson. I have every reason to believe that he is innocent of the crime for which he is serving sentence. Wire me if you have a name in the directory of your city like this: Devenart. If there is such a man, hold him for murder."

"My God!" gasped Pearson. "What does this mean? I am lost. I feel that they will find him innocent, and I guilty of crime; and I have sworn to the death of Clarence, so that I might receive his share of the estate. Now it is all to come out."

"Well," said Pat, "I met the officer, and he told me to clean up around and destroy the papers he has written on, and I don't see any."

"I had nothing to do and I put things in order," said Pearson.

"Where did you throw the scraps?"

"I put them in the fire."

"Did you lave the office to do it?"

"No, I did not leave the office."

"Then where is the fire you put them in? I was told to burn them and I must obey orders. If you did not burn them, I will be after doing it."

"You are always meddling in someone's affairs, Pat. You go along. I am taking care of this place."

"And I'm thinking you are taking care of some things in this place -- at least, I would like to see those torn pieces of paper."

"You may go to No. 78's cell and see if he wants to come here. I would like to talk with him. Perhaps I can get some idea of the kind of work he could do."

"I will obey you. Now it is up to the poor convict to take his choice of work. And if he plases to come, he can."

To the prisoner: "Well, are you asleep? Would you like to take a walk over to the office? Now, you don't have to go if you don't want to."

"I am willing, Pat, to do anything I am asked to do."

"You are very obliging. I'm sure I would be plased if all the convicts would be as agreeable as you."

"You may bring him in, Pat, and then go to your work. I shall not need you any more at present," said Pearson.

"I'll go, but devil a bit will I work. I don't think annyone needs me now, and I'll just sit down here until someone does need me."

"Clarence, you have been thinking this over, have you -- what we were talking about? I hope you will be sensible now, and make up your mind to do as I want you to."

"You want me to swear that I am not Clarence Pearson?"

"Yes. You will be helping yourself by so doing."

"Well, then, I will."

"That will help you to look forward for something to live on ten years from now."

"Well, what can I do to help you out of your trouble?"

"My trouble? I am not in trouble."

"You are not worried over my not doing as you requested me to do?"

"No. Only for your own good."

"Then tell me, if I change my mind when the time comes to deny it, what harm could it do you?"

"I should have to -- "

"Finish what you were going to say."

"I'll tell you all, Clarence, if you will promise me that you will do as I want you to."

"Well, tell me, brother."

"I am going to make a clean breast of it all."

"I think I had better be getting up closer," whispered Pat. "I may think I'm hearing and not hear, for I am looking for the poor devil to tie a noose around his neck before he gets through with the clean breast he spoke of."

"Go on, Oliver; tell me. You are talking to your brother. You need not fear my betraying you -- never, Oliver!"

"You left home, Clarence, when a small boy. You never wrote and poor mother and I mourned you as dead. Years afterward mother died, and, not knowing where you were, I was called upon to swear that you were dead, and I did so. In that way I fell heir to all of the estate, which was numbered in the hundred thousands. And, not knowing of your whereabouts, I decided to invest it, and I lost it all, except what I have told you of."

"I do not see the point in your demanding that I deny my name."

"Do you not see that I have sworn falsely to obtain the money, and you know that places me just where you are to-day, Clarence."

"Only you are guilty, Oliver, and I am not."

"I belave I'd better not listen anny more. I am knowing too much. I may not be able to hold anny more in me head, for I have it crammed full now, and I have got to keep it there till I can let it out, a little at a time, and it takes a man a long time to tell the judge and keep from telling what he don't want to."

"I know that I am guilty, but you can save me if you will."

"Brother Oliver, I am sorry for you and I will do all I can for you. I will do as you have asked me to do."

"Thanks, dear brother. And I shall be a brother to you while you are in prison."

"Now I think they have all the secrets told, and I'll walk around and see if I can persuade the officer to tell me where the fire was. He was so obliging to do my work for me," mumbled Pat.

"Come along, Pat; you may take the fellow back," called Mr. Pearson.

Pat to himself: "Oh! he is being called a 'fellow,' is he? If I bring him here to the office many more times, he will be a gentleman, not a convict."

Aloud: "Come along here! Back to your resting-place. Indade, that is all you have done lately -- rest."

The acting superintendent mused: "Now that Clarence is going to deny his name, I can see my way out of this. I shall not take my vacation now. I must stay and see this thing through. So my superior officer has written to where the murder was committed and asked for a wire in answer. And we may look for one to-morrow, as the letter went out on the early train. It will be received in the morning, and a wire will be received some time in the evening."

"Well, 'fellow,' here is your place to rest till I come for you, and you may look for me soon, at that," remarked Pat as he placed the prisoner in his cell.


Chapter XIV.

The Convict's Prayer.


As the superintendent entered the office on his return he said to Pearson: "I am back. I have been looking up some of your history in the past."

"I do not understand you, officer."

"You will, however."

"Why are you looking up my reputation?"

"I have every cause to do so. I see that you have the same name as the convict, or he has the same name as you have. Of course that is nothing unusual, for two men often have the same family name, and even Christian name; but you are favoring this prisoner in many ways, which looks suspicious. I have never noticed that you favored other prisoners, and I do not believe that you would do so without some secret reason, in this case."

"I have only tried to treat him humanely."

"I see the humane part of it, Pearson."

"I think I will walk around and see how the fellow is looking after he has spent this five-thousand-dollar bribe and got the poor convict to deny his own name. I wonder what he will take for a name if he denies the one he has got. For the love of Mike, I hope it won't be Pat! Indade, I don't want to have a name like annyone of the prisoners in here, and, thank God! the place has no Pats. An Irishman is too slick to come here against his own free will."

Pat was approaching the office.

"Well, officer, you back?"

"I am back, Pat.

"You may go, Pearson. I will send for you when I need you."

"And if you knew all I know, you would need him now, before he went."

"Well, Pat, have you done anything with Prisoner 78?"

"I? No, sirree; he is a 'fellow' -- a pet around here, he is."

"What do you mean, Pat -- a 'fellow,' 'pet'?"

"Well, your honor, I never was a tell-tale, and I don't want to begin now."

"Do you know anything, Pat, that I should know?"

"I think if you knew all I do, you would have another prisoner in here to feed."

"I have always trusted you, Pat. Can not you now trust me?"

"Sure I can trust you, but what about the other fellow. Can I trust him?"

"I will take care of that part of it if you will tell me what you know, Pat."

"I am going to think it over myself a while. I don't like to report too many times, for fear I don't get it the same each time."

"You may not have to repeat, Pat."

"I hope not, for I feel sorry for the poor man, to think he has no feeling."

"You would just as well tell all you know. I am investigating, as it is, and I think along those lines, and 'murder will out,' you know."

"And some things will out themselves, as well as murder."

"Pat, in justice to yourself, you will have to tell me what you know. Here comes Pearson. I will hear what you have to say later. You may go."

"I am going to remain on guard to-night, officer, and I shall not be in the office. I speak of this so that you will not keep late hours for me."

"Very well, Pearson."

"I wonder what he is up to now," thought the superintendent. "I must be on guard myself to-night, and I must remain where I can watch cell No. 78. It is now ten-thirty o'clock -- a good hour to lock up the office. I'll walk quietly to cell 77 -- it is empty to-night -- and I may know more in the morning than I do to-night. Here comes Pat. I will tell him to keep watch on the office to-night, for emergency calls. He can hear the bells ringing, and if -- well, by George! I'd rather Pat would not know where I am. I'll have to take the chances of the bells ringing. I may hear them if they do. It is not a great distance to the office."

"Your honor, I'm thinking of going to my bed. I am top-heavy, and would like to lay me down for a while. I think it would do me good. Too much to carry around, and too good to let it get away."

"All right, Pat; you may go."

To himself: "Now I shall learn something for myself. I'd better disguise myself, for fear of meeting Pearson. I'll put on this slouch hat. He would not recognize me in that; a hat changes one's looks sometimes so that even close friends could not be recognized.

"Hark! I hear voices! I believe it is Pearson's voice in cell 78. I must be very quiet. Sure enough! Now I shall find out for myself."

"I will try, Clarence, to favor you in having you placed in a position where you can make your get-away, and I will give you money to go on. Would you go if that opportunity presented itself?"

"Oliver, what do you mean? Are you trying to get me here for the rest of my life? I would not be here at all if you would do for me what a brother should do."

"I am trying to help you, Clarence, and you won't let me."

"I don't want your help, if I have to get it in that way. Why don't you do unto me as you would have me do to you?"

"I have a family and they are in society, and I am not so free to go as you are, and if this comes out, I may have to remain here, but not by choice."

"Can't you see the trouble I'm in?"

"I can see if you would get out of here and they could not find you, then they would drop it all, and you would be a free man and so would I."

"If I were to do as you want me to, where could I go and what could I do? I have no money."

"Did I not say that I would help you? You can leave the city and I will send you money under an assumed name. I can take care of you."

"You are looking out for yourself, I know, Oliver. If you had not stolen all my part of the estate, you would not be here this hour of the night, talking to me. You have no brotherly love for me, or you would get me out and prove to the world that I am innocent, and take me to your comfortable home as a long-lost brother. I would not disgrace your society family. My mother was a good woman, and if I did fail to get the education I should have received, I have a good, pure heart in me, and am one that has always tried to do right and will do so as long as I live. It is not always the one, Oliver, who had the advantages, who has the best education, that is the purest. I am at fault for not having an education, I know, for I ran away from home when I was a boy, but I have never committed a crime, as you have done."

"You are not looking at this as you should. I am going to say to you that if you fail to do as you promised me you would -- if you do not deny your name -- I will murder you."

"Then you would murder me for wealth and society, would you, Oliver?"

"I would."

"Then what would you do? You could not enjoy either."

"I might say you were disobedient and that I had to kill you. You know how much trouble you have caused since you were here, and it would be no trouble for me to get out of it. So this is your warning. Now remember, I am leaving you for the last time, to think this over, and I want your answer to-day. It will soon be daylight. I must not be seen in your cell. Think this over well."

"And so my brother threatens to kill me if I do not commit a crime! And I must think this over and let him know to-day! Well, I could let him know now. I will not leave these prison walls without the proper orders, and I am afraid to say as much to him," said the prisoner aloud. "What shall I do? To tell what he has done would mean a term for him in this very prison, and not to tell means death to me. Oh! what shall I do? Pray? Yes, pray that dear mother will come to me and help me; that she will not allow her honored son to murder her dishonored son, as he threatened to do. He said that mother mourned me as dead. Oh, if I had only died before all this happened! I am going to pray for help from her now -- not for material help; I do not want any money or sympathy in poverty, I only want help from Heaven to know what to do. I shall kneel on this cold, hard floor and pray.

"Father above, I am not a murderer, as Thou knowest. I ask forgiveness for the sins that I have committed, for we all sin, though often unintentionally. O Father in Heaven, I ask that the spirit of my dear mother may be allowed to return to earth and watch over me, that her son Cain may not slay Abel. And, O dear Father, I am here for another's crime, as Thou, blessed Father, knowest. I pray that I may be helped -- not to be freed from here until it is proved to the world that I am innocent. I feel my dear mother's presence near me. Oh, how grateful I am! Now, dear Father, give me help to show the one who has given me so short a time to pray the right way. The time is near when I must decide between life and death. Thou knowest best. I trust Thee to look after me in this hour of need. And, O dear Father, help my brother, that he may know and do the right. Forgive him, Father, and lead him. Go with each of us in our humble way. May we ever feel Thy presence near us. May holy angels hover around us and help and comfort us in this time of need. May we feel their presence. I ask this from a heart filled with faith, hope, and love. Amen."

The trembling voice was silent. The heart of the superior officer went out in sympathy to the poor, abused convict who had the strength to resist temptation, and who could yet forgive his selfish, wicked brother.


Chapter XV.

"Thank God, He Is Innocent!"


"Well, I have been repaid for this night's work. I must get back to the office, before I am seen coming from this cell," said the official.

"Good morning, sir."

"Good morning, Pearson. You are looking tired. Have you had a hard night of it?"

"Yes; I am trying to unravel a mystery, and I am somewhat worried."

"So am I, Pearson. I am trying to look into the past life of this prisoner, No. 78. I want to see if he has been a bad fellow. I am under the impression that he is not guilty of the crime for which he is being punished; he seems so honest about his past, and he has even given his real name, and that is some proof that he is no crook, or murderer. He would surely deny his name if he were either, and I feel it my duty to look into this whole affair."

"Well, officer, I am under the impression that he has registered under an assumed name -- that he is holding back his real name."

"Why have you formed such an impression?"

"Well, I have a feeling that he will tell his real name if pressed to do so."

"I will send for him and we can press him for the truth."

Pat's voice was heard as he approached, saying: "I wonder what this day will bring forth. Here I am, walking to the office. I have a feeling that it is time the 'pet-fellow' had a little exercise, and I must be there in case I'm needed."

"There you are, Pat. You are always on hand when you are needed. You may bring No. 78 into the office."

"I am getting to be a fortune-teller indade. I can tell when I am wanted without being told. Here, you 'pet-fellow'! Wake up! I am going to take you for your morning's walk."

"I am very willing to go."

"I am quite sure that you will go, willing or not. When I am told to do anything, I usually do it. Here we are."

"Bring him in, Pat."

"Plase open the door. How do you expect me to do -- break in?"

"The night lock is thrown on, officer. How did that happen? We never do so unless we all go inside of the prison. Were you in the prison last night?"

"We will discuss that later. We have sent for the prisoner and he is here. Let him in."

"You may go, Pat. We have some investigations to make, and we prefer to be alone."

Pat went, out, remaining within hearing and saying: "Here is a very comfortable seat. I will sit meself down and I won't have to walk so far when I come back."

"Now, did I understand you -- No. 78 I am speaking to -- did I understand you to say that you have given your real Christian name, and surname also, to be recorded in the prison books?"

"Well, I have been thinking."

"About changing your name?"

"How do you know that, sir?"

"Mr. Pearson has told me so."

"He told you so?"

"Do you deny it -- can you, will you?"

"My God! what shall I do? You have told him all?"

"I have told him nothing."

"Pearson, why are you so excited?"

"I am astonished at your falsehood."

"And you may be more astonished before I get through with you.

"Come, did I understand you to say -- or have you answered me? Do you hear me speak to you?"

"I do, sir. Well, then, I will have to be protected if I tell the truth."

"From whom?"

"Oh, man! can not you see the danger I am in:"

"You in danger? Explain in what way. With your God, for swearing to falsehoods, or from your fellow-man?"

"I have not deceived my God."

"Then you have given your own real name?"

"I will tell you. I have."

"So you want protection, now you have told the truth? Give me the name of your enemy."

"Officer, can you not relieve me of this torture? Can you not see?"

"Yes, I think I can.

"Well, Pearson, do you think you could rest comfortably behind the bars for a few hours?"

"I? What do you mean?"

"I mean that you have been trying to bribe this man to disown his name. Now I am not in the dark. I understand it all, and I am going to make a clean breast of it. I shall send him back to his cell, and send you to another one."

"I'll just get up and stretch myself. I may have to use my muscles, and club too," commented Pat. "I hope he will like his new home."

"You must have good hearing, Pat," said the official. "I was just going to ring for you. You must hear my thoughts. You may take No. 78 back, and return at once."

"I will, your honor.

"Walk up fast, 'pet.' I am going to fill the order to a minute, and I will sure be proud to see him leaving me alone for a while. Here we are. Get in gently, 'pet.' I'll be closing the door aisy, to not shock you. Now I must be bating it back to the office to get the other man."

"Well, Pearson, 'murder will out.'"

"I have not murdered anyone, and why should you talk to me in that way?"

"I don't think that your brother has, either."

"My brother!"

"Yes, your brother. Do you not know that the convict is your brother? If you do not, I do."

"We have the same name. Is that any reason why we should be brothers?"

"Not because you have the same name, no; but in this case the two men who bear the same name are brothers."

"Tell me, why am I to be placed behind the bars?"

"So that you may not kill your brother."

"Man! I'm not going behind the bars on any such freak ideas as yours. I shall not be disgraced by a prisoner who has no cause to fear me, just because he has a name like mine and makes the statement that he fears me."

"You understand it all. Pearson, here is Pat. You may occupy cell No. 77, next to that of your brother.

"Come along, Pat. Take charge of Mr. Pearson, here.

"Give me your arms, officer."

"I will never do so, not as long as I have a drop of blood in my body. I shall not give up my arms and allow Pat, the scoundrel, to place me behind the bars."

"You will have it to do, sir. I will see that you do. Hand them over to me."

"I refuse to do so. I will die before I do."

"Well, me friend, you had better ask your God about that. Perhaps you are a little perverse about going."

"You are not acting wisely, Pearson. You had just as well be brave and await the outcome."

"Message here," called out a voice.

"Give it to me. The charges? None? Very well."

He read: "Your answer is, 'Yes; we have the man in jail. Have his confession of murder of woman.'"

"My God! Can it be? He has received it, and my brother will be free."

"I have not been deceived. Thank God, he is innocent!" exclaimed the superintendent.


Chapter XVI.

A New Prisoner In Cell 78.


"Mr. Pearson, have you decided to go quietly? I think you may now occupy your brother's cell, since he is innocent of the crime, and the real murderer has confessed. This is the telegram which brought the news."

"Perhaps if I would call him a 'pet' and 'fellow,' he would come along with me," said Pat. "The officer requested me to take you, so here, you 'pet-fellow,' you must go."

"Pat, Pat, don't kill him! Let him up! I think he will go."

"I think he will, too. Here, take his gun -- no, perhaps I had better take it along. I may need two of them. I only have six cartridges, and I have been carrying them some time. I may get a chance now to get rid of them, and I may need more."

"Pat, get some water. I'm afraid you have killed him."

"Well, he said he would die before he would go, and devil take him if he wanted to rush off in a hurry."

"I see his mouth twitch. I hope he will revive soon."

"I think he is saying to himself what he will do when he gets up, but if I have anny strength left, I think he will come along with me, as soon as he is able to walk, and nary stretcher will I carry him on, until I know he is indade a dead one. He went to fight back. I think when he comes to he will see that fighting is hard on the eyes. See the eye turn black, will you? You would think he had been dead a long while and was mortifying."

"Come, Pat, help me to get him on his feet."

"You had better let him rest easy where he is."

"I am asking you for help, and I want it."

"I'll help you, your honor. I never have refused a thing you have asked me to do."

"Come, Pearson; can you stand up? Try."

"I am not hurt. I am only dizzy."

"I am glad. I hope that you will now obey orders, and not cause any more excitement."

"What shall I do, officer?"

"Pat, show him the way."

"Come along, officer -- Mr. Pearson -- 'pet' 'fellow.' Oh, how I would like to add a few more pet names to them! Indade, when he has no gun he is willing to ask what to do. Well, I will show you. This way out. I feel that you was not so very much surprised, only in the one way."

"So the poor fellow was innocent, and the guilty one has confessed. I hope I shall never have another innocent man here while I am in charge of the place. I must send word to Pearson's family. They will be alarmed when he does not come home. It will be a great shock to the family -- to those beautiful society daughters. It will be a calamity to them. How shall I break the news? I would not dare to send Pat. He has a grievance against Pearson, and would not show any mercy on the family. I shall call the officials together and state the whole circumstances, and then we can see what steps to take to protect his family. I am anxious to see Pat back. I hope he will not have any more trouble. Here he comes now. Well, Pat, is he all right?"

"I think he is able to talk. After he was locked up, I stepped to one side and he thought I had gone, and the poor brother was getting the devil, and he promised him more than I just now gave him. I think that the poor brother will be scared to leave the place when he is turned loose."

"Pat, why are you referring to the brother? What do you know about it?"

"I guess what I know would do someone good and would bring someone harm."

"Tell me, Pat, how did you hear these things?"

"I have not got these ears on the sides of my head just for looks. They was put there to hear with, and I am going to hear when there are annything to be heard."

"When did you hear all this, Pat?"

"I am after hearing it some time ago."

"Pat, I thought I could trust you to tell me everything that went wrong inside of these prison walls."

"Faith, and you can, and I would of told you if it was wrong, your honor, but I thought it was all right if he is guilty of staling all the money, he ought to be punished, and I did not think it necessary to tell you. I expected to find out what he did with the money. Mebbe the poor fellow could get it back."

"You have a secret, Pat, and you must tell me all about it."

"Well, I have got to tell it some time, and if I tell it now, I will have to tell it over again, so what is the use of telling it twice?"

"I believe it is something I should know now, and perhaps I do know, but not exactly what you do."

"If I tell you now, I may not tell it the same way the next time, and if you only hear anything once, you will always think that is right, and if you hear it twice and not alike, then 'you have not told the truth' is the first thing you are accused of."

"Well, Pat, that is right; but can not you remember how to tell it both times the same way?"

"Yes, this 'pen' is holding three or four poor devils to-day for not remembering and telling it alike both times."

"I will let you think it over, Pat. Try to make up your mind to remember as you heard it. You may go now, and see if Mr. Pearson is all right. Report within the next half-hour."

"Now if he is all right, do you want me to report now, or wait the half-hour?"

"Pat, if anything is wrong, let me know at once."

"That I will, your honor."

"Now Pat is gone, I must let the family know, and I think I should let them know at once, for I may not be able to get the officials together as soon as I should like to. I will risk it and call them over the wires, and try to explain some minor part to them, so they will know something is wrong. I can say that he had some trouble with one of the prisoners, as he has a black eye that Pat gave him. No, that won't do. They would ask why I was holding him behind the bars if he had trouble. That has often happened and the officers are compelled to subdue the unruly prisoners, but they do not get locked up for it. I shall have to say something. When you try to fix up something, you never get it said just as you had it fixed up, so I'll get them on the wire and trust to saying the right thing.

"Central, give me Main 505, please.

"Hello! Is this Mrs. Pearson? Mrs. Pearson, I have something to say to you. I should like you to come to the office at once. No, I hardly have time to tell you over the 'phone. Very well. Good-bye.

"What did I say? I was so nervous I hardly knew. I don't like to tell the family about the head of the household. I think that he could explain better himself. I really don't know just what I did say. I think I did not tell them how bad things were. By George! I believe that is Mrs. Pearson coming -- and the beautiful daughters too. It is. Did I tell her to come? Yes, and here comes Pat with Pearson. My God! has he had trouble with him again? He is covered with blood."

"Your honor, here he is. Everything was all right when I went around, but the chap got smart and I have been bating him for a half-hour, then the time was up and you said report, and here I am with what is left of him. I hear a knock on the door.

"Come right in, ladies.

"Officer, here."

"Oh, papa, papa!"

"My dear husband! What has happened to you?"

Pat muttered: "Only a good bating, and he deserved it."

"Pat, I must censure you for speaking in that way. I did not intend that you should open the door, and I intended to place him in the second room. I had no chance to speak to you before you opened the door. Now you may go."

"I will, your honor. You always told me to open the door when you heard a knock. Now you blame me for it. How do I know what to do and do it right?"

Outside, Pat whispered to himself: "I have had quite a time and feel pretty tired. I don't think I will go, for I have a knowledge-place here where I get all my news, and I think I will get some more knowledge and sit meself down for a while. What the deuce is all of the crying for inside? I know I did not bate him to death."

"My dear madam, calm yourself. I will explain the best I can. I hardly know how to do so. I think Mr. Pearson could do better than I could."

"Mother, take papa home. Do, please, out of this horrid place, never to return."

"I am very sorry, miss, but I -- "

"You do not expect my husband to remain on duty when he is suffering, do you?

"Tell me how did you get so badly hurt," said Mrs. Pearson, turning to her husband.

"Mother, do you not see that he can not raise his head?"

Pat, listening outside, remarked: "Not because he is hurt, little miss, but because he is ashamed to raise his head, and I am afraid you will not be able to raise your head up when this is all brought out. I feel I would of done the poor fellow a favor if I had bate him to death. Ho will have to die sometime, and perhaps this would of suited him better."

"He will have to remain in the hospital, here, and we will take care of him."

"Oh! I have a doctor, my family doctor, and I want him to look after him. What did you send for me for? Wasn't it to take him home?" said Mrs. Pearson.

"No; I did not know at the time I was talking that he was injured. You know, he had this trouble -- I told Pat to call around to his cell and see how he was getting along."

"His cell! his cell!"

"Yes, my wife and dear children, I am a prisoner here. I can not go home with you."

"Papa! oh, papa!"

"You a prisoner here? What have you done to be confined in this place, a prisoner?"

"I can not tell you. Go home. I may never get the chance again."

"You a prisoner? My husband, whom I have promised to honor, a criminal? The father of my children a criminal? Oh, no! I do not believe it."

"Madam, I think you had better take your daughters home. Calm yourself, and I will explain all to you later."

"I can not leave this place without my husband."

Pat, listening, said: "Another boarder. I know she will object to the kind of service she will get here, and the linen napkin. I think she will change her mind, and I hope she will change it now and not shed anny more tears. I'm a hard-hearted Irishman, and could bate a fellow to death, but when it comes to hearing the dear ladies cry, I am finding meself dropping a tear meself."

"Oh, papa! tell us what you have done."

"Daughter, I have deceived you all these years, and I can do so no longer. I will tell you now. Be brave, and listen. I was one of the two sons my dear mother bore, and my brother, when a small boy, ran away from home. We never heard from him, and I thought he was dead, as did my dear mother. Many years afterward my poor mother died, broken-hearted over her lost son, and I had to swear to falsehood to obtain the estate. I swore that I knew he was dead, and so got all of the estate. What to do after I had received it, I did not know. I thought to invest it would be to double the amount. Instead of that, I lost all except what I had when I married your mother. Now the lost brother is found in this prison, and I am an embezzler. Now I must suffer for the rest of my days."

"You have carried that secret in your heart all these years, and I, your wife, did not know it? You deceived me, and now bring disgrace upon your daughters?"

"Oh, mother! can you not see that papa is punished enough? Do not torture him any more," said one of the daughters.

"I will disown my father if he has committed a crime like that," said the other one.

"Sister," returned the first, "he is not at fault. Do not speak to him in that way. You and I are his only children, and we must not do as those two brothers did, drift apart. We must not make the same mistake."


Chapter XVII.

Deserted.


"Gertie, I will not allow you to compare yourself and your sister with what could happen. I am like daughter Amelia. I am not going to forgive him -- no, not I. I shall return to my home and feel very uncomfortable in it, after knowing how it was obtained. Come, my daughters."

"I shall return, papa," said Gertie, "and see you. I shall always love you, for you have been a good father to me. You gave me my education and provided instruction in music. No one can take that away from me. I shall always remember you and love you and I shall do all that I can for you in times to come. Good-bye, dear papa. Do not weep. Mother and sister can never turn my love from you. If I ever can redeem your good name for you, I shall be repaid for all, and I hope and pray that I shall be able to do so."

"Gertie, you have said enough to your convict father. Come at once. We must leave this horrid place, never to return. Come, come, daughters."

Addressing her husband, the wife said: "You got in this trouble without your family's assistance, and you can get out the same way."

"Oh, mother! do not talk so cruelly to papa. I know his heart is broken. I am sure that he believed himself right when he made the statement that his brother was dead. He did not dream that his brother was alive, or that he would ever hear of him again."

"Gertie, go along with your mother. I will suffer alone."

"I will share it with you, papa. Good-bye."

"Mr. Pearson, I shall place you in the second room here, and I shall call in the officials for consultation and see what can be done. I regret very much to have to do so, but it is my duty."

"I am a prisoner here, and shall obey your rules. I will step inside. You may take me in. I shall not cause you any unnecessary trouble."

"Well, I have got a job, to turn the key on the gentleman. I'll just step in. I feel I have saved meself a good many steps by finding meself a resting-place so near." It was Pat, talking to himself.

"I was just turning to call for you, Pat."

"Well, I am here."

"You may see that water is in the room for Pearson, then lock the door."

"I will do that, your honor, with pleasure. Where is the man to occupy the room?"

"He has stepped in there, Pat."

"Very obliging, he is. I think that bating did him some good.

"Here is some water for you, sir, and if you want annything, call me. Or have I given you all you wanted me to -- faith, I mane in the way of a bating?

"The poor fellow sits there with his head down as though I had never said a word to him, so I'll lock him in and let him slape it off."

"Pat, I am going to call in the high officials to-day, and I want you to be present; I am going to call on you for some of your knowledge."

"How in the devil do you know where my knowledge-place is? You may have it all and I will find me another resting-place."

"Pat, you do not understand me. I meant that you must tell what you know about this Pearson and his brother. Explain what you mean by giving me all the place of knowledge."

"Well, your honor, you see I have been wanted here and there so manny times I found meself a resting-place outside of this office, so I could be here when you wanted me -- and when you didn't want me."

"Do you call that a 'knowledge-place'? I should call it a 'resting-place.'"

"I rested while I was getting my knowledge."

"You were reading, were you?"

"Devil a bit did I read."

"How, then, did you get your knowledge?"

"Well, if you have things that you try to keep from hearing -- and indade I tried to keep from hearing the poor family crying, I was dropping a few tears meself -- then -- "

"You heard the conversation, did you?"

"I don't know if that is what you call it, but I don't care to hear anny more of it; the last toime I felt the way I did was when the only friend I ever had died, and that was me dog. I never had a poor father or mother -- if I did, they never told me about it; but one kind lady told the good woman that raised me I was too small to know me father and mother, so I don't know anny, and if I had anny -- God bless 'em! -- their son never had to swear all the children was dead to get what the old folks left."

"Pat, you have heard all about this, have you?"

"I don't know what 'this' is. You mane have I heard something about this poor man's troubles?"

"Here are the officials, now. You may go. I shall send for you."

"I am glad I can go. I am not going to meet the high officials. They might be so high I couldn't make meself heard. I'll just sit meself down."

"Good morning, gentlemen."

"Good morning." "Good morning."

"Why have we been called?"

"Mr. McHenry, there has been trouble here in regard to one of the prisoners who is a very poor man. Strange things have happened since he has been in the prison, and the strangest part of all is that he is a brother of Officer Pearson."

"A brother of Officer Pearson?"

"The man was convicted of murder on circumstantial evidence."

"Of murder -- a brother of Officer Pearson!"

"Yes. I'll explain further. I have a telegram here, stating that the real murderer has confessed."

"Well, I am glad. I hope that his brother is not a murderer. I have a high regard for Officer Pearson."

"Gentlemen, the worst is yet to come. Mr. Pearson is himself under lock and key."

"I dare say you are telling the truth."

"I am, sir. He was heard trying to bribe his brother to swear falsely -- to deny his own name."

"Pray, what was that for?"

"I regret to say that he has swindled his brother out of his part of the estate by swearing the brother was dead. By doing this, Mr. Pearson fell heir to the entire estate, which was large, and he lost it all, except the home which his family now occupies."

"The poor man! What was the amount?"

"In the hundreds of thousands."

"Well, well! How sorry I am to hear that about Mr. Pearson!"

"You have not heard all yet about Mr. Pearson. I am going to explain it all. He threatened to kill his brother if he did not swear that he had been registered under an assumed name. In that way Pearson hoped not to be recognized as the convict's brother."

"You are relating something that can be verified, are you?"

"I am."

"Where did you get your information?"

"I have a very trustworthy guard that overheard some things."

"You are not believing all these things from hearsay, are you?"

"I have heard enough myself to be convinced that Mr. Pearson is guilty."

"Call Mr. Pearson in."

"Well, here is where I bring in the fellow with the black eye. I'll just step to the door, by accident," said Pat, outside.

"Pat, step in and show Mr. Pearson in."

"I will, your honor."

"Oh! you have him in there, have you, locked up?"

"I believe I mentioned the fact that I had him under lock and key."

"My god, man, what have you done to this poor man?"

"Mr. Pearson, I am sorry to see this."

Pat muttered in a low voice: "You would be doing a good turn if you would go to the poor wife and give some sympathy to those beautiful daughters. They have never stole annything and threatened to kill afterwards if the one they robbed hollered about it. I have given him a good bating, and I think it did him good, but I never want the ladies to come here again and do anny more crying. I had to drop a tear meself."

"Officer, what does this mean? Did you allow that Irishman to beat this poor man like this before his family?"

"No, sir; his family were not here."

"He spoke of their tears."

"They were here afterward, and -- "

"Go on and tell what happened. I am astonished."

"I have explained what he did. I do not see why, as he has violated the law, he should not be locked up as any other prisoner is."

"A man is not guilty until proved so."

"And I order this man to be turned loose. You have no authority to claim him as a prisoner. He has never been arrested, no warrant for him has been issued, and I do not believe him guilty."

"I am in a position to prove his guilt."

"I do not believe you, sir."

"I shall ask Pearson to speak for himself."

"You -- Mr. Pearson I am speaking to -- please tell the officials here what you told your wife and daughters."

"I am willing to plead guilty."

"Oh, my God! And my son to marry a daughter of this man! I can not allow him to do so. Take Pearson away -- take him away and do what you please with him. I have heard enough from his own lips -- 'I plead guilty.'"

"Come, McHenry, I have had nothing to say, and now I do not want to say anything. I have heard enough."

"This is awful. My son to marry this man's daughter! The engagement was announced last night. The marriage shall never take place."

"Come along, Mr. McHenry. We can talk that over after we leave here."

"Good morning, sir."

"Good morning, gentlemen."

"Well, Pat, you may place the prisoner in cell 77."

"Come along. You are a fine bird, you are. You are not satisfied with ruining your own reputation, but you had to bring sorrow to your daughter. Your children must suffer along with yourself. I pity the poor young man that is engaged to marry the girl. I have been there meself. I was engaged to a beautiful girl, and when the father found out some things he would never listen to me marrying her, and it was not because I stole all the money I could lay me hands on; it was because I was a Irishman.

"Well, you have got a nice place here. 'Tis a pity you had not been here all the time, then you would have had all your money yet.

"I'll drop around male times, and see if you have the same as the other gentlemen get here."

"I am not fully decided what to do," said the superintendent. "I must write at once and acknowledge the receipt of this telegram, and I must see that the proper authorities get the confession of this man Pearson, and place him where he should be. And if Clarence is proved innocent, he ought to be freed at once.

"I hear a faint knock. I hope that it is not Pearson's wife. I must open the door. They know that I am here at this hour of the day.

"Good morning, Miss Gertie."

"I have brought papa something to eat. I had such a hard time to get this for him. Mother and sister went shopping, and while they were gone I did some baking and brought it to papa. May I see him?"

"I will see that your father gets it, Miss Gertie. If you are in a hurry to return before your mother and sister get home, you had better go at once."

"Oh, no! I want to see papa. I want to tell him something. Is he not in this room where he was before?"

"Well, no -- I -- had -- to use that room, and I gave him another room. I think that he is asleep now. He had a very restless night. I feel that he should not be disturbed."

"Officer, I must see him. I want to tell him something. I have a secret to tell him -- not exactly a secret, but it is to papa, perhaps."

"I am sorry, but I shall have to deliver the message for you. I am worthy of your confidence. I do feel very sorry for you and your father. Pray trust me with the secret. I'll deliver it as it is given to me."

"Officer, I am heart-broken. I do want to see papa."

"I think I have him where I can put me hand on him, and I hope I'll never have to put me club on him again, for I feel sorry every toime I hear the daughter cry. Poor girl! I hope she won't come here again. If she does, I hope she will lave the tears at home, for every toime I hear her cry I think of me poor dog," said Pat, outside. "I'll be going along by the office and see if I'm wanted."

"Here comes Pat. I'll have him bring your father in, if he is not asleep.

"Pat, save yourself the bother of coming in, and go and see if Mr. Pearson is awake. If so, tell him I want to see him."

"Mr. Guard -- Pat, please bring papa. If he is asleep, waken him and tell him that I am here."

"I was in hopes the poor girl would not come again, but here she is, and bring him in I will. It's the furst toime in me life annyone called me by the handle to me name. It's always 'Pat,' but she called me 'Mr. Pat.' I'd do annything for the girl. I'd even treat the father nice. Poor man, maybe, after all, he really thought his brother was dead.

"Mr. Pearson, your honor, will you please come along with me, and oblige me? Your beautiful daughter is in the office and wants to tell you something."

"Pat, I do not care to see her. I know how the poor girl will feel to leave me, and if she does not see me, it will not be so hard on her nor on me."

"I wish you would come. She is waiting for you, and indade, I'd be disobeying orders to go back without you, and I don't want to take you, as I have done."

"I will go, then. Pat, you talk like a good sort of a fellow, after all, and I'll go peacefully with you."

"Thank you, sir. This is a wise man."

"Miss Gertie, we have visiting rules. I will give you this card, and you can see the days we have for company."

"Oh, Mr. Officer! could I not come any time? You know I have to watch for my chance to get away. I could not see papa often enough."

"Now, you may step in and talk with your daughter. I have some very important business to take care of."

"Pat, come around soon again. I may need you to take some mail to the train, as I am anxious to have the letters go at once."

"Well, I may as well sit meself down and get some more knowledge. I hope I will not hear anny crying. Poor girl, how she did rush to her papa and kiss him! If I had a daughter to kiss me, I would fall dead," mused Pat.

"Oh, papa, I am so glad I could come and bring you something to eat! Mother and sister were out shopping and I found the opportunity to bring this to you. And I so wanted to bring you some news. Papa, you know Amelia is going to marry Clyde McHenry? Oh, papa, you are so pale! Are you ill?"

"Daughter, I fear the marriage will never take place."

"Why, papa? The engagement was announced last night, and the date set six weeks from then. Would you object, papa?"

"No, daughter; I would not interfere with the marriage, but -- but -- "

"Well, papa, what do you want to say?"

"It will all be known soon enough, and the dear girl will suffer, I know."

"Oh, dear papa, don't cry so hard! I am trying to be brave for you, and I want you to for me -- and Amelia will be happy."

"Well, if the man isn't crying! It's not enough to hear the ladies, and when the men begin I'll have to move on, I think. I have enough knowledge for to last the rest of me life," muttered Pat.

"Pat, you may take this letter to the train. Pat, you are wanted. I wonder if he has forgot his orders."

"Oh, the devil take you! I'm coming, as soon as I get these tears all out of me eyes," mumbled Pat. Then aloud: "Yes, I'm coming. What can I do for you?"

"Mail this letter on the morning train. Do not delay getting it off.

"Miss Gertie, I shall have to ask you if you have visited long enough with your father?" said the superintendent.


Chapter XVIII.

Pat's Temptation.


"I am very thankful to you, sir. I shall visit papa soon again. I hope that I may be allowed to see him any time when I can get away. You see, sister is making arrangements for her marriage, to take place in six weeks, and she and mother will be away from home at different times. I could then hurry and come to see papa, and please, officer, could I be admitted at any time?"

"Miss Gertie, I should like to grant you the privilege, but I fear I can not do so. I am sworn to follow prison rules."

"Oh, how cruel! To know that I could not be allowed the pleasure -- the only pleasure I have -- of seeing my father!"

"I am very sorry. I would help you to do anything possible without violating the prison rules."

"Dear child, go now. You must, as you know that we are not obeying orders, and I am very thankful for the pleasure the officer has given us -- to see each other. I want you to thank him and go."

"Papa, I did thank him, and will again. Oh! if I only knew that I could return often to see you, I could go more contentedly. Good-bye, dear papa. Do not worry, papa; I shall always be your Gertie, and a dutiful daughter.

"Good-bye. I thank you, officer."

"Mr. Pearson, you have a beautiful daughter," said the superintendent as the girl passed out; "not only in looks, but she is good and loyal to her father. How proud I should be of a daughter like her!"

"I am proud of her. And I am ashamed to think that I have brought on her this disgrace. I feel that I shall never again be able to hold up my head, if I should get out of here."

"Do not talk like that. We can live down disgrace and you can show the world that you are not a bad man, after all, at heart, and I don't think you are, Pearson."

"Well, I'm glad I made the train all right," said Pat, "and I got the letter off. I feel better now -- not so ornery. I will take me toime going back. What do I see? The dear little girl that called me name with the handle on it? And I do believe she is crying. Now, I can't stand to pass her and see her shedding tears. What could I say to comfort her? Well, if I don't say anny more than 'howdy,' it will help some.

"How do you do?"

"Oh, dear! I was not looking up, and I didn't see you."

"I know you didn't see me, but I saw you, and I want to spake to you, for sympathy's sake."

"I thank you, Mr. Pat. I am so sad to think I can not see papa often. I can not get away always on the visiting days, and would have to come when I could find the opportunity."

"Well, I will see if you can not get in when you come."

"Oh, no! you are very kind, but the officer in charge said that he was sworn to do his duty, and the rules of the prison are, 'No visitors except on visiting day.' I shall have to come when I can get away on visiting days."

"Well, I hope to be able to break the rules."

"You must not do so on my account, or make any attempt to do so, Mr. Pat."

"What could I say next?" thought Pat.

"I will be looking for you if you will say when you will call to see your father again."

"I do not know that I could come when I would plan to do so -- if I could come on the days set aside for visitors."

"Well, may I ask how I could help you?"

"I do not know now. I thank you. Oh, yes! please be kind to papa, won't you, please, Mr. Pat?"

"That I will, indade! I will, and I will see that he has plenty to eat and drink. Now I must move on back to me job. Good-bye."

"He has promised to look after papa, and I shall be so grateful to him for his kindness -- shown to my dear, heart-broken father. I will beg my mother again, when she has relented toward me, to let me visit my dear papa on the right days. What pleasure I shall have, looking forward to the times when I may see him, if mother will only consent!"

"Pat, you back? I think it has taken you a long time to go to the train and back. Why the delay?"

"Well, your honor, I am back and ready to do annything you want me to."

"You may see that Mr. Pearson is locked in cell 77."

"Mr. Pearson, will you kindly come along with me? I am not doing this as a pleasure, but as my sworn duty."

"Pat, I understand your position. I know I had to do many things I did not like to do, but I understand the prison rules, and I'll obey orders."

"You will please step in here, Mr. Pearson. I am going to see that you have plenty to eat and drink. That I promised your daughter."

"You promised my daughter? When did you have the opportunity to talk to her? I have been in her presence each time and all of the time when she was here, and she has visited me only twice."

"Faith, and did you not hear the officer ask me why the delay? Well, as I was coming back from the train I met your daughter, and she was feeling bad, and I felt sorry for her and tried to comfort her the best I could, and I bade the time of day to her."

"Was that all of the conversation you had?"

"No, sir; I asked the poor, heart-broken girl if I could do annything for her, and the only thing I could do to help her I couldn't do, but I offered to try, but she shook her head and said, 'No, indade.' She don't take after you for honesty."

"Pat, what was the help you offered her?"

"You understand the same as meself that the rules here don't allow visiting only on visiting days, and the girl said she couldn't always get away on visiting days."

"What could you help her to do, Pat?"

"I thought, perhaps, I could change the rule."

"Pat, you are a good fellow, and I do not know how to thank you for all of your kindness."

"Wait a minute. I don't need anny thanking for bating you. I got me spite off you then."

"I wonder what is keeping Pat so long," thought the superintendent. "Did I tell him to return? I do not believe I did. Well, I'll throw the lock on and step around and see if I can see him near. I will just walk toward the new prisoner's cell, and perhaps I may meet Pat.

"Almost there, and I do not see him? I'll just step up and look inside cell 77.

"What do I hear? Pat's voice inside? I must find out what this means."

"Pat, you have had a hard time all your life, working, haven't you?" said the prisoner.

"Me b'y," returned Pat, "I never knew annything but work."

"Well, Pat, don't you think that a man would be foolish to work if he could live without it?"

"Indade I do."

"Pat, would you like to live without working if you had a chance?"

"I would be a gentleman if I could. They was always something about a man that did not work I rather admired, and wondered how they felt, dressed up all the time."

"Pat, if you had the chance, you would try it, wouldn't you?"

"Well, faith, and I think I would."

"Pat, you understand what I'm here for?"

"Faith, and I don't want to be here for the same purpose you are, to be a gentleman, or to be a officer as you was."

"No, that was by choice, Pat, I was here. I have plenty of money, and now it will do me no good, if I am to stay in here, and if I were out of here, I would have enough to last us both the rest of our lives. Now, Pat, can you find a way to get me away from here, so this place will never see nor hear of either of us again?"

"Well, me friend, what would be the job I would have after we got away from here?"

"Did I not tell you that you would never have to work any more?"

"And I would be a gentleman, then?"

"Yes, you would, Pat. Now, let me plan this. You are trusted, and the superintendent has confidence in you, and you can get me out of here, and walk out yourself, and then we can leave the country together."

"And what would the poor man do without me help?"

"Oh, go along! What does he care for your help? There are many others who would be glad to take your place, and you would be a gentleman then, Pat. Just think of it!"

"Well, I can't think of a gentleman in me, as I never was one."

"Of course, you always had to work, but you will never have to if you get me away from here. Come, Pat, wake up! You may never have the chance again to be a gentleman."

"I will study this over and see if I want this chance. I feel the cold chills run up and down me back. Does that belong to the appearance of a gentleman?"

"It does. You see, just talking about it, you are feeling the gentleman vibrations."

"Well, I think I have got the plot, and what I miss now I can get along without. I will hasten to the office," the superintendent whispered.

Pat continued: "I think I'll be getting along back to the office, Mr. Pearson. The superintendent will be after asking me, 'Why the delay?'"

"Come around often, Pat, and talk to me."

"That I will. Well, I am a gentleman, or can be if I want to give up me job here."

"Pat, I have been looking for you for some time. You are not so lively as you used to be. Are you feeling your age? You look worried. Pray tell me what is the trouble," said the officer as Pat entered the office.

"I have no trouble. I am wondering how a man feels that don't have to work or have anny trouble."

"I don't know, Pat. I never had such a job. I always had to work hard for my honest living."

"Then the gentleman that is called the gentleman is not honest?"

"Not all, Pat. It would not include all wealthy men, but it would close the bars around some of them.

"Yes, and after the bars is closed, it is hard to get away, isn't it? I was thinking what a [?] of a time a man would have to get out of town if he could get from behind the bars."

"Some prisoners have got away and were never found, and again, some were caught in the act of getting away."

"And the results, if caught?"

"Pat, are you thinking of helping someone away? I never before heard you talk this way."

"I am thinking of the past, if a fellow lost his job, and of the future, if he found another one better."

"Are you thinking of leaving here, Pat?"

"Not if annyone would know it, I'm not leaving here."

"You know, Pat, I have always esteemed you very highly, and I should be very much disappointed if I had to lose confidence in you."

"You would be glad to place confidence in me, wouldn't you?"

"I surely would place all the confidence in the world in you, and would trust you with all of the prisoners and feel as safe as if I were here myself."

"I would take care of them one at a time -- no other way."

"I know you would, Pat. I feel confident you would now, after this talk with you."

"I'm glad you feel that way. I may never hurt your feelings more than once."

"We can always forgive once, Pat, and sometimes twice, but you know the old adage, 'The third time is the charm.'"

"They would be only two and the third time would not be here."


Chapter XIX.

A Clear Conscience Better Than Money


"I do not understand, Pat, what made Pearson confess so meekly. He could at least have pleaded innocent until his trial. You know sometimes things look dark, and then a criminal can get out of it."

"Perhaps he thinks he can get out of here."

"Well, we will not have his trial here and now, without judge or jury; so, Pat, you may go and see if all is right among your fellow-men."

"I wonder if he understood what I meant to tell him all the time -- what I was going to do -- when he said he could forgive once and twice, and the old adage. I just as good as told him it would be twice, two of us, and the third time not here, and that was the daughter; she is not here to help get away, so there is the whole thing in a nut-shell. And the blockhead did not get it."

"I think Pat thinks he will make his get-away with his prisoner, and be a gentleman. I'm sorry for Pat. Now I have a problem to solve within myself. Shall I let him go ahead and make his plans, or shall I stop him before he gets started, and save the poor Irishman from occupying cell No. 76? I believe I can gain some knowledge by being deaf to it all. He is surely a clever Irishman, and I will see what plans he will make to escape with his prisoner, and I may be gaining knowledge, but I could not do so by sitting on Pat's seat of knowledge, so I think I will not leave this office."

"I hope that I shall receive a reply in regard to the real murderer, and that he will be brought here. That will help to open the way to a clear discovery of all this plot.

"What! A knock? I do hope that I shall not find a lady there."

"Good morning, officer."

"Good morning, Mr. McHenry." The visitor was Mr. McHenry, junior. "What can I do for you?"

"I should like to talk with you in regard to your new prisoner, Mr. Pearson. My father brought me the news, and I am not doubting him, but I truly would be better satisfied if I heard it through someone else also. Father was in such a rage that I could not calm him enough to understand the circumstances. I should appreciate your explaining it all to me."

"My boy, I am very sorry to say that I have to do my duty and the rules here we must comply with. We are not allowed to give out any information in regard to our prisoners, except to the officials."

"I ask for only enough to understand. Do you not see that I am in trouble? Can not you help me? Do tell me that he is innocent. It means so much to me."

"My young friend, I understand the circumstances. I learned them through your father. I am sorry for you and for the daughter of this man, but I am powerless to do anything."

"Could I talk with him?"

"No; I am not allowed to permit any information to be obtained inside of these prison walls."

"I am sure that it would never be known. I would never divulge the secret."

"I have confidence in you, but I should not be obeying rules here, and I could not allow you the privilege under any circumstances."

"I shall have to go, as I am unable to learn anything. Oh! could I not see him, just for one short conversation?"

"I am sorry. I must repeat that I can not allow you your wish, so please do not insist. It makes me feel bad to know, as I do, your predicament, and to hear you plead. I can not help you. There, I would not do that! The guard is coming. It is not necessary to let him see you shedding tears, and I would rather you would go before he comes in."

"I will go. I thank you for your sympathy, and I am certain you would have granted my request if it had been in your power to do so."

"I would, certainly. Good-bye."

"Good day, sir."

"Well, now I am getting in deeper. Even the poor young man's heart is broken. Engaged to the belle of the city, and not allowed to marry on account of the misdeeds of her father. Poor boy! My heart did ache for him when he broke down and cried."

"Well, I am after coming back. Do you need me?"

"I don't think I do, Pat. I am looking for some very important news. Outside of that, I would let you take charge of the office and I would take a stroll through the prison. I get very tired, sitting here from morning until night, and I like to take a walk around the inside walls, now and then, for exercise."

"You may do so. I will watch the place. I will see that no one comes in."

"Will you see that no one goes out, Pat? That is what I am here for. Very few want to break in and many would like to break out."

"You are not thinking of any one in particular, are you?"

"Oh, no! Almost any one of the prisoners would walk out if he had the chance."

"If they did, I surely would walk out with them."

"We are not looking for trouble, Pat. It probably will come soon enough. Open the door. I thought I heard a rap."

"So you did, and so did I."

It was a messenger-boy. The communication read:

"We have a prisoner here, a confessed murderer. Will leave for your place in the morning."

"All right, no answer," the superintendent called to the waiting messenger.

"I am so glad to receive this."

"Is that the looked-for message?"

"It is, and the self-confessed murderer will be here to-morrow evening. With him they will bring the papers releasing No. 78, Clarence Pearson, an innocent man. Do you know anything about this, Pat? You sit there and do not look alarmed or excited over anything I am telling you. I usually act so when I understand it all."

"Well, I have nothing to say. If I did, I would say it without you asking me to. If I am not wanted, I'll stroll around; or do you want me to keep house and you stroll around? It is nearly bed-time."

"No; I think I shall retire, as I have been somewhat worried to-day. I shall lock up at once, and try to get around early in the morning, Pat. We shall have a new man to take care of to-morrow."

"I'll do that, sir."

"Now Pat is gone, and he will no doubt go at once to 77 cell and tell Pearson all he has learned. I wanted him to know that the man is coming and the brother would be a free man. I think I had best get some more information, so I'll just drop around and rest a while in 76 cell and see what the plot will be, as Pearson must know that he will have his trial soon. I feel certain that the officials have been prolonging matters through pity for the family. Mr. McHenry was probably slow to take action because his son was engaged to Pearson's daughter. Of course he would try to avoid scandal as much as possible. I'll probably find Pat busy with his prisoner, fixing up their plot, so I'll lock up here and step around. What? I see Pat's going in now. I must hurry to get the first of the plot."

"I'm here, me friend."

"I'm glad to see you, Pat. We must decide to-night upon some way to make our get-away from here."

"Yes, and if we are not careful, the brother will bate us out."

"Have you heard anything?"

"Have I? Well, I heard it all. The real murderer will be here to-morrow, and then what will they hold him for?"

"My brother?"

"Yes, your brother."

"We must be out of here before to-morrow comes. What can we do? Now, Pat, make your wits work fast."

"I am thinking, and the main thing I'm thinking about is the money to make the gentleman out of me. Where is the money?"

"Don't let that worry you, Pat. I have plenty."

"Well, if you have plenty, if you give your brother back his money, you would be out of here as soon as he would, and save all scandal, and he a poor man freed from here, wouldn't he keep his mouth shut if he could be made a gentleman out of?"

"Pat, you do not understand."

"Well, then, explain it to me so I can understand. Can you do it?"

"I have told you that you would never have to work any more and you could be wearing fine clothes all the rest of your life, have I not?"

"That you have, but does that make it so? I'd like to see a pile of greenbacks in front of me before I explain anny further."

"You see I am here tied up and can not get away. How can I show you the money?"

"Well, me friend, what is better than a clear conscience? Do you think money and a gentleman could show you a better time?"

"Oh, yes! I would not let a conscientious mind prevent me from having a good time the rest of my life."

"Me friend, your money is not showing you a good time, and the rest of your life your conscience will hurt you, and the pity and shame you have brought on your family -- and those beautiful daughters -- their lives are ruined, all by yourself, your greediness for money. No, me friend, I think I would rather be a hard-working Irishman all the rest of me life and have a clear conscience.

"Pat, you are a coward. I thought you would help me out of here."

"I did not help you in here, and why should I help you out?"

"Do you mean to go back on all the arrangements we have talked over?"

"That is what I do. Now I'll be telling you."

"Tell me what made you change your mind and talk this way?"

"Because I heard someone talk the other way."

"You heard someone talk the other way?"

"Yes, I fully intended to be a gentleman and help you out of this prison, and I thought I would walk around and think it over and see how bad I wanted to be a gentleman, and I got tired and sit meself down in the comfortable chair in the hospital, and there I was thinking it over and I was trying to think if I wanted to be a gentleman all the rest of me life, and when I asked meself the question I heard the answer, and, faith, I never had me mind made up yet -- I was going to think about it a while -- and I listened, as if I was hearing someone talking, and behold! I did, and I looked around, and not a soul was in sight, and I asked another question, and I got the answer again, and I thought: 'If you know so much and can answer all of my questions, I'll be giving you a job.' And I had a regular conversation with them, and in the conversation I asked them how much money you had, and they told me not enough to get out of the trouble you was in, so I think you will need it all, and I had better not try to handle anny of it for you."

"Who was this you were talking with that gave you all of this information?"

"Well, me friend, I don't know. I did not see annyone, but I surely did hear someone."

"What are you going to do -- let me stay here and serve whatever time is given me?"

"Well, what have I got to do with getting you out?"

"Look here! I've got you now where you will have to get me out, or I will get you in here to occupy the next cell, 76."

"I hardly think! That is taken. The murderer that is coming to-morrow will have that."

"Well, I am going to get away from here before to-morrow. I shall report to the office, if you do not help me out, of your accepting a bribe, as you agreed to do, to assist me in getting away. And they will look at it this way: If you can be bought off, you would not be a competent man to have in here. And that means you would lose your job, and you would find it hard to get employment elsewhere, for your dishonesty would follow you wherever you went."

"Just as yours have done. And, me friend Pearson, I have not committed the crime yet, and now I know, I never shall, so you just as well keep your head shut, for I am now in a position where I might show you some favors that I will do; but I will never show you the way out of this place."

"I am doomed to die here! It will kill me to have sentence passed on me in court, and I am guilty, and it will be proved. Pat, won't you please help me out? I will do anything for you. I will give you my beautiful daughter Gertie, whom you so much admire."

"You are very kind. I am after seeing one young man in trouble because he is in love with one of your beautiful daughters, and I'll be after loving a girl whose dad is out. I won't have to come to the penitentiary to ask for his girl."

"Then you have decided to allow me to remain here, have you, Pat?"

"I'm not the court."

"You are not going to help me out?"

"I am not."

"You shall rue this day. I shall explain everything to the office to-morrow."

"I'll go, then, and let you think about it, so you will have a good story to tell. Good night, Pearson."

"So Pat has weakened! I'll see how he talks in the morning. I feel certain that to-morrow the officials will take steps to bring Pearson to trial, and I know that with what proof we have -- and he has also pleaded guilty in the presence of the officials themselves -- he will be sentenced for a number of years. I must now return to the office. I think Pat is out of sight. The crisis will come to-morrow."

"Well, me friend is mad because I do not help him out of his trouble and help meself into trouble. I wonder where I heard that voice. I'm glad I heard it when I did, and not after I did the dirty work."

"My boy, I was following you all the time, and would not have allowed you to commit the crime."

"What do I hear? Another voice, or is it the same? Well, me friend, I am a brave Irishman, and just as long as you want to talk to me you may do so. I'll sit here the rest of the night, and I won't have long to wait. It's nearly morning now. But I would of lost manny a night's sleep, perhaps, if you had not of told me. Whoever you are -- I don't know."

"And I am not going to tell you, now."

"I heard the words: 'I am not going to tell you, now.' I must be after getting out of this, for I'm hearing things, I am. I wonder if that strange voice has returned. I thought they -- whoever it was, or whatever it was -- had gone, never to return, but I do belave they have come back."

"I think Pat will be around soon, and I will pretend that I have had a restless night, and that I will not go to bed at this late hour," thought the superintendent. "He will be thinking this over and will not get it off from his mind. I shall be anxious, for I have been worried very much in the last few weeks. Yes, here he comes.

"Good morning, Pat."

"I'm not feeling anny too good, officer."

"What is wrong, Pat?"

"Well, I'm after telling you at once. I've got meself in the penitentiary."

"Of course; we're all in here, but not from force."

"And I never would be here by choice, but I'm deserving of punishment, and I wish you would give it to me unbeknown to annyone of the higher officials, and I would plead guilty."

"Pat, what is wrong? I never heard you talk so before."

"And I never did do so before."

"Have you committed a murder?"

"No, your honor. But I come near liberating a convict. You have not the confidence in me anny more you once had, or never -- "

"Well, I am sorry, for I had a friend in you -- or, at least, I felt so."

"And now I'm friendless, a lone Irishman, and I will soon be a convict."

"You don't seem to want to tell me what is wrong, and I want to talk with Pearson to-day. The telephone always rings when I am talking.

"Hello! Yes. You want me to bring Pearson to the office and read to him the warrant which I shall receive this morning? In the mail? His day for trial is set? All right, sir; I will obey orders. Good-bye.

"Pat, you may bring Pearson in. I see the mail is here, or soon will be."

"May I ask of you one favor?"

"Yes. What is it, Pat?"

"If a fellow -- scoundrel, I think, is the best name for me -- should repent of a crime before it is committed and never was committed, would you or could you forgive him? Could they send one of them things you are looking for when the postman comes in? Could they send one of them after me to -- "

"Yes, Pat, if you are self-confessed criminal of some deed you have committed, you surely would receive one of those warrants."

"Why didn't I die when I was a babe, instead of me poor mother, and she here in me shoes and I in hers?"

"You must bring Pearson in here. Here is the postman."

"I will, your honor.

"And now for the dirty work of me poor self to be found out. I could see the wrong in others, and could not see when I was tempted the wrong I was doing, and I, like those here who committed crimes, will have to pay the penalty for it. I do not like to see this man Pearson go to the office this morning, but that is the orders, and I must bring him in. Here I've been wandering along and thinking of me own case, so I 'most forgot what I was sent for. This is his cell, and he is fast asleep, but I must awake him and take him to the office at once.

"Say! you! here! wake up! I want to take you for a walk."

"I am not asleep. I was just resting."

"Very well; come along. Your presence is wanted."

"And your presence will be wanted too, some day, if you don't change your mind before we get to the office."

"I shall never change my mind, not after I was told as I was and given such good advice from some unseen force."

"I've been thinking how to tell the whole story, and you will regret the day you changed your mind."

"I may do so. Here we are. The office is waiting for us, so come along."

"I say, Pat, are you going to change your mind before we enter the office?"

"Well, Pat, what are you debating about? Come along here. Time is flying," said the superintendent.

To the prisoner he said: "You are under arrest. You have been here accused of obtaining money under false affidavit, and I shall have to say -- Pearson, I regret very much to have to read this to you, but I am sworn to do my duty, and I have done so in this case, as I would do in all others. Your trial is set for one week from to-day.

"You may take him back, Pat."

"Your honor, I have something to say."

"What have you to say, Pearson?"

"I will ask you if you have ever noticed Pat acting strangely, as if he was in a deep study?"

"I don't know as I have noticed it. I have had so many things to think of in the last three or four months. I do not really know if I have been noticing Pat very much, as he is one of the guards whom I can trust among all of the prisoners. I think Pat is very reliable -- a very reliable man to have here."

"If I ever get out of this. I will never do anny more dishonest work, or even talk or think about it. I pray me poor mother may help me. Now, you never did annything for me here on earth, mother, come down from Heaven, if you are there, and help me, plase do help me keep me reputation up in this Pearson case, in the eyes of the whole world. I now realize what it means for a boy to make his first mistake. He is ruined for life, and if all of the young men knew what I do now, they would never start to commit anny crime."

"What are you doing, Pat? Mumbling to yourself? No one can understand those sounds."

"I understand what he is doing. He has himself just where I will be soon, locked up in this place."

"Oh, Mr. Pearson! you always had a grievance against Pat. I have never seen any cause for it -- none at all, I say."

"You will have, after I have explained all."

"You may take him back, Pat. It will soon be time for the Southwest Limited to arrive. Due in a half-hour. Make haste."

He mused: "Pearson is one of those men who, after he has been caught, wants to catch everyone else, and he will tell all on poor old Pat. I am so sorry for him. His first mistake, and a bad one at that, but I hope Pearson will be enough of a gentleman not to make him suffer for it. His conscience will hurt him enough for his part. I always placed so much confidence in Pat. I am heartily sick of the whole affair. One man can commit a crime and drag others down with him. Here comes Pat. He looks tired and worried."

"Well, your honor, I am back after a hard time I had getting the officer into his cell."

"Pat, why should he say what he did? Have you had some trouble with him, that you did not tell me about?"

"Your question shall be answered, but not to-day, not to-day."


Chapter XX.

The Murderer Arrives.


"Here is our new prisoner, the self-confessed murderer, and Clarence Pearson will be released.

"Open the door, Pat."

"Good morning, sir. I have a prisoner for you."

"Very well. Please register, here."

"You will have to, for me. My wrists hurt so I am not able to hold a pen in my hand, to say nothing of writing."

"Your name is -- "

"William Devenart."

"A very odd name you have, Mr. Devenart.

"Pat, you may take care of him. Give him his bath and shave and new suit, then return to the office with Clarence Pearson."

"You poor, unfortunate fellow, you come along with me. Tell me all about yourself. I'm a guard here, and will trate you nice if you trate yourself so; but I want to give you a tip: Do not disobey rules. It will be better for you. How long are you sentenced here for?"

"Life."

"My man! A life sentence, indade! You will eat manny a meal with us, and I am not sure but what I will ate some off the same table."

"Do the guards and prisoners all eat together?"

"No, not always; but sometimes the guards turns into prisoners."

"I do not understand you."

"I do not know what I did mane, to do what I did. Here is the place. Clane yourself up and don the new suit, and very seldom do the styles change -- I belave once in ten years, from stripes to checks. You will feel cool after you have been shaved and have a hair-cut. One advantage, you'll not be needing a comb very soon."

"Don't they allow you to comb your hair?"

"Oh, yes; but you don't have anny to comb."

"Going to cut my hair off?"

"Sure, Mike -- do all of 'em. And won't I be a peach if I have to get me own hair cut?

"The poor boy don't look like a criminal. I will be kind to him. I could see tears in his eyes when he was talking. If all of the young men could see some of these heart-rending cases, I do feel we would have less crime."

"What! A lady coming here? I do believe it is."

"Mrs. Pearson, come in," said the superintendent. "How do you do, Mrs. Pearson?"

"Good morning. I should like to see Mr. Pearson."

"Your husband?"

"No, sir; I have disowned him, but I want to talk with him. I have some papers I want him to sign. I also have an order from Mr. McHenry allowing me to see him, as your rules could not be broken to accommodate anyone."

"No, madam, I could not break the rules, but with this order I can let you see him. I'll ring for a guard to bring him."

"I am to have a private conversation with him."

"I can not allow that, madam. You must say what you have to say in my presence, in this office."

"You are one of the most accommodating men, I must say, that I ever saw."

"I am sorry, very. I have heard you express your opinion of me, but I am here to do my duty, and will at all events. Here comes the guard. I will have your husband brought in at once.

"Bring the prisoner from cell 77."

"Oh dear! You have him locked up, and call for him by his number, do you? And he has not had a trial, nor has he been convicted of any crime."

"We have a warrant for his arrest. His trial will be this week. I hope that he will be able to prove his innocence. I am very sorry for him. I have grieved over the matter considerably."

"Well, I have not grieved at all. I am going to disown him after I get his signature. Then I shall have all the property in my own name, and I shall try to forget that I ever had a husband -- a criminal. My daughter Amelia will be married one week from to-day, and we can not be disgraced by coming here after the marriage takes place, and that is why I am here to-day. Is that he coming?"

"No; I have a prisoner who is to receive his freedom, and that is Pat, bringing him in. By the way, that is your brother-in-law."

"How dare you insult me in that way? I acknowledge a criminal as a relative? No, never!"

"Well, here is your 'fellow,' No. 78. I can't say 'prisoner' anny longer. He gets his freedom to-day, and me old shoes will have to go with him, for I don't think I can get them to track anny other direction after the prisoner 78 is gone out. Have you sent for the officer convict? Here he comes."

"Yes, Pat. Don't you see Mrs. Pearson sitting there?"

"I beg your pardon, madam. I very seldom see a lady."

"All brutes of men are alike."

"Pearson, you may come in. Your wife is here to see you, and you may be seated over there. I will look after your brother, here. He gets his freedom to-day. The real murderer is in his new suit, and will be given his occupation in the morning."

"Did I hear that I am a free man?"

"You are, Clarence. Here are the papers."

"And my brother? Oh! what will you do with him? Turn him loose?"

"No; not until we hear from the court. He will have his trial this week, and I hope we will then be able to turn him loose."

Mrs. Pearson addressed her husband as he approached her: "I want you to sign over all of your part and interest in this home we, your daughters and I, occupy. I will not live under a roof owned by a criminal, and you shall be disowned at once. I have already made application -- before my daughter is married, I shall have all ties broken with you."

"I am not going to sign over any of the property. It is not mine at all. It belongs to my brother here. I spent and lost all of my estate, and that is why I am here to-day. I swore that he was dead and in that way got his share, and what we now have is his. He is alive and free, and he is innocent, and here am I, a criminal and guilty, and bound down here for no one knows how long."

"Oh, dear brother! is this your wife? And she spoke of your daughters. You have not told me anything about them. I can not see you separated from them all for the loss of my money. What would I do with it, now, to know that I would cause so much misery to obtain it. I could not be happy. Oh, if I could only step in your shoes and you in mine! I would gladly do so. And you, my dear sister-in-law, how sorry I am to know that this has happened!"

"If you had never committed a murder -- you, I say -- feigning mercy for your brother, we would not have to suffer."

"I am not a murderer. Here are my papers of freedom, and the real murderer is here in my place -- self-confessed, and he will be punished for the crime. If my dear brother could only be found as innocent as I am, you would have your beautiful home always. As it is, I shall claim what is due me, and what was left me by the will of my dear mother."

"You may have a hard time to get it."

"I am willing to turn all over to my brother. He is entitled to it, and it belongs to him," said the husband.

"Get some water, Pat. Mrs. Pearson has fainted."

As she revived Mrs. Pearson asked that a carriage be called.

The superintendent replied: "You may step into this room. I will call one.

"Mr. Pearson, you may return to your cell. Pat, take him back to 77."

"Oh, brother! what can I do for you?"

"Pray for me. You got me here. Except for you, I would be a free man."

"Clarence, you may sign here. Here are the papers of freedom. I want to shake hands with you. I hope that you will never again be placed in such a position," said the superintendent.

"I thank you, sir. I am under obligations to you for many favors, and I hope that you will always be as just to all the other prisoners as you have been to me."

"I shall try to be. Good-bye."

"Good-bye, sir."

"Your carriage is here, Mrs. Pearson."

"Good-bye, officer."

"Good-bye, madam."

"Drive to 1715 North Twenty-third Street," said Mrs. Pearson.


Chapter XXI.

Remorse.


"Now, Clarence has his freedom and has left the prison. Next comes the trial of the officer, and poor Pat, what a predicament he is in! I must have him for a witness in this case. I must try to find out all he knows, and if it will not assist any in the Pearson case, I will try to get along without him. Well, I thought Pat just stepped out to avoid the Pearson scene. I hope that he will return soon. I shall have to notify the officials of the new prisoner's arrival. Here comes Pat.

"Well, Pat, I thought you had walked away with Clarence Pearson. The poor fellow was a happy man when he left this place."

"They will have the same thing to say when someone else walks away from here."

"Pat, I did not say 'they'; I said 'I.' To whom are you alluding as 'they,' and when who walks away?"

"Well, your honor, I am the next to give the papers to, and please give me my papers of resignment. I don't believe I want the job anny longer. I am not after looking for a long job here."

"It is bed-time now, Pat. To-morrow will bring forth something new. Pearson's trial will take place, and probably you may have to fill his office, as assistant, here with me. We shall have to have another man in his place. I think you could do it."

"Yes, I could probably fill the place he is now about to fill. I am not looking for the job, indade I am not."

"Pat, you are worried to-night. So much excitement the last three or four months has upset you. It will have to be settled -- all will be settled after Pearson gets located, and now it is late, and we must retire. Good night."

"Good night, officer."

Pat muttered: "As I hear the big iron door slam after me it makes me blood run cold. I am in a fix. What is money for? To make criminals, I belave. I belave every convict under this blooming roof is here for or on account of money. The vile stuff! We get a living, and have to work, or should if we don't, and it only keeps us out of mischief -- and then it don't. I am in it now, and I have been working too, but there it leads up to money, for the fine clothes and the gentleman, and the good times that would go with it. I would be able to go and lay me head down on me pillow to-night and slape if it wasn't for money. Instead of that, I have to pace around this place all the night. Yes, here it is nearly morning, and not a wink of slape. I'd just as soon be guilty, as so near and not, for I am taking on the same guilty condition. I belave I'll walk around and see if me friend is worrying over me as much as I am meself. What? I hear him talking to the new prisoner. I'll see if he is telling him how to behave himself. I don't belave they placed the new man in 78 -- yes, indade, they did. I remember, he said the real murderer would be occupying Clarence's cell and Clarence would have his freedom. Well, he is talking very nice to the new man. I will see what the conversation is about."

"Tell me about it," said Pearson. "How did you come to confess that you were the real murderer of this woman? They had a man serving time for the crime."

"Yes; that is why I confessed, and for other reasons."

"What were the other reasons? Would you mind telling me?"

"I am trying to forget it. I will tell you, and then I shall never repeat it again. It is too horrid; I can not stand it to talk about it. I was married only a short time, and a difference arose, one day, between my dear wife and myself. I became angry, and was talking loudly, when the door opened and this fellow who was serving time here for the crime came rushing in unannounced, and asked my wife if he could assist her. She was afraid of me, but she declined to accept his help. He left with apologies for intruding. I grew more excited, and in a fit of uncontrollable temper I choked her to death. I came to myself and found her lying at my feet dead. Oh, man! can you picture the agony I was in? I thought of that man, and how I could lay the murder on him. I ran from the house and met an officer. I told him my wife was just murdered by a man whom I had just seen leave the house. The officer rushed up the street, and I recognized the man as the same who had offered to help my poor wife, and I shouted, 'There he is!' and to jail the officer took him. At the trial I swore that he was the murderer, knowing that I myself was the guilty one, and he was the man who was given his freedom to-day. I will tell you all, as I have started. I know that all the time he was here I suffered more than he ever could."

"In what way, Devenart? -- is that your name?"

"Yes; but just call me 'Will.' I do not want to disgrace my father and mother by causing their name to be spoken.

"I can not tell you in what way. I can tell you the mysterious way I was punished. I never lay down and closed my eyes that I did not see my poor dead wife, and presently another woman would come up to me and point her finger at me with scorn. After many terrible nights, I began to hear noises. I could not at first understand, and one night I was touched by some unknown hand, and I was frightened beyond words. I thought, 'If I could only die and get away from it all!' I am so excited now I can not talk longer."

"I should like to have you finish. We may not get a chance again, as you know the rules are, 'No talking among the prisoners.'"

"I am glad that I have rested to-night without seeing her face, and I will never tell the story again. As I am here for life, I know that I never shall, if we can not talk.

"One night, as I was sitting on the side of my bed, I could not lie down and close my eyes, and I saw my wife walk up to me, and by her side came an elderly lady, and I tried to close my eyes so I could not see them, but I could see them as plainly with my eyes closed as with them open. I stood up and begged them to go away and let me rest for the remainder of the night. Then, for the first time, I heard a voice, and it was the motherly lady who spoke, and these were her words -- oh! I am telling the terrible story under a dreadful strain; I am living it all over again. I thought I saw the same lady standing by your side, as I am looking through these bars."

"You will have strength, I hope, to tell me all. Please finish the story."

"I will finish now, if I am -- oh, she spoke to me! Was that where I left off? I believe it was. The elderly lady came closer than my poor wife did, and as she spoke I can never explain the feelings I had. I called for help. I prayed and fell down on my knees and asked for mercy and help. The voice answered:

"'So did your wife pray for her life, and it was not spared -- by the hands of a brute, and that was you. Now you suffer as you have caused her to suffer -- I say suffer!'

"My friend, can you think of a punishment like that? I could bear punishment from the hands of my fellow-men, but when I know not from whence it comes or what it is, it is terrible. I am suffering for all the sins I ever committed.

"My man, I see, I do see, the same lady by your side, and my wife!

"O Father, come to me in this hour of need. I am being punished for the terrible crime I have committed. May I not be shown mercy? I am guilty, and have pleaded so, and will plead guilty, even in my prayers to Thee. Help and forgive me. How I have suffered! Thou knowest, and Thou alone. From this on I shall live as I should -- pray every day for the forgiveness of my sins. Each day will I pray for guidance and help in all my undertakings. Help me to live the way I should live. Turn not a deaf ear to me, O Father. I am in sorrow and need Thy help. I am here that the one who has received his freedom may go forth with Thy blessing; that the whole world may look on him as an innocent man, and not as a murderer, as I swore that he was. I ask also for help for him. May he forgive me. I may never have the opportunity to meet him on this earth, but I hope to meet him in Heaven, as innocent of all crime as he was of that of which I accused him. O blessed Father, I do feel that Thou wilt answer my prayers. Amen!"

"Well, well, you can pray as well as murder," said Pearson. "I was wondering if you ever prayed before."

"No, my friend, and if you would experience the heavy burden lifted from your shoulders as I did from that prayer, you would pray, or try to, as I did."

"I think I had better get away from here, if they are going to have prayer-meeting," muttered Pat. "I wonder if a bit of a prayer would do me good. The first chance I get, I belave I will do a little of it. Well, here is another day, and nearly time for the trial. I had better step in the office a bit."

"Pat, your absence this morning makes me think you had a good night's rest."

"I will call it rest when I get it. Indade, I never closed me eyes."

"Was anything wrong with the prisoners? I was going to ask you to go by cell 78 and see our new prisoner, and it passed from my mind."

"I did the very thing that passed from your mind. I guess it came to my mind."

"Is everything all right?"

"Yes. We had some prayers, and I think it helped the fellow that prayed, and I am thinking of doing a little of it meself, when I get a chance."

"The poor man! Remorse always sets in after they get in behind the bars, Pat. Do you know that this is a hard place to be -- to work for a livelihood? You have no trouble of your own, but you worry about the other fellow's trouble."

"Faith, and if I had no troubles of me own, I would let the other fellow worry about his own."

"You have no troubles to worry over. See how long you have been here, and you could not get into trouble here, could you?"

"No, I couldn't, but I have."

"You have? Tell me, Pat, what is wrong."

"We had better put that off."

"It will soon be time for Pearson's trial, and you will be one of the witnesses. As he has confessed that he is guilty, I think it will go hard with him."

"Now, me friend, your honor, I'm not going to kape the secret anny longer. I just as well have it out with, and you may cut down expenses and have two trials at once. I have a secret to tell you. Every bit of it is the truth, and I too am going to confess, and then, when I get the chance, I'll pray, and perhaps I too will feel better."

"Go ahead, Pat."

"I am after listening, and I heard the man to be tried to-day trying to spend five thousand dollars easy, and I thought: 'If you have it to give away, I meself would take a little of it.' And I in a way as much as told him so, and then I changed me mind. I thought I would like this job the best. Now he insists I spend his money, and I don't want it at all, and I told him so. Now he has threatened to turn me over to the officials here if I don't be a gentleman, and I never was one, and now I know I couldn't be one, so there is the secret."

"Well, we must now attend court. You will have to tell all you know, Pat. You may go for Pearson and take him to court. I will be there presently."

"Here is me punishment beginning now. I am after getting a taste of it meself. I may be the next poor devil to court. For the love of Mike! what will I do? Pray? I haven't the time now. I will after I get through with this trial, and then I may have something to pray for. Here I am at the cell, and I belave he's aslape. Now, I wonder if he was awake all night. I'm not aslape, and I was up too, all night. I will get him out of here."

"Come, Officer Pearson! Your trial is at hand, and I have come for you."

"I'm willing to go, Pat -- and say, Pat, are you for me, or against me?"

"I am neither, if I don't have to be."

"If you are called to the stand, what will you say -- anything about our plot to get away?"

"Will you say anything about it if I am not called to the stand?"

"I'm not quite sure if I will or not, Pat. I must be out of here, and if you will get me out, I will not mention anything about your offering to liberate me."

"If you think you can get away without my help, you may do so -- if I don't see you; but if I see you, you won't get away. Here we are at the court."


Chapter XXII.

Pat's Testimony.


"You are taking your time, Pat. We are waiting for you."

When court had been opened and the preliminaries had been gone through, Mr. Pearson was examined.

"You are registered under your correct name, are you not?"

"I am."

"Mr. Pearson, how long has your mother been dead?"

"Twenty-one years."

"Did she leave a will?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did you know that you were the only heir?"

"No, sir -- well, I thought so."

"But you did not know for sure?"

"No, sir."

"Mr. Pearson, did you take oath that you knew your brother was dead?"

"I did; yes, sir. I thought he was. We had never heard from him."

"Did you look for him, or try to find him?"

"Well, no."

"Did you acknowledge him as a brother when you did find him?"

"I did."

"Not until you had to."

"Well, I tried to do for him after I found him."

"In what way?"

"I told him I would help him."

"Out of prison, or financially?"

"Well, I don't know,"

"You don't know what you were going to do, but you were going to do something for him?"

"I felt that I should."

"Will you tell the court what you were going to do, or thought of doing? Now, Mr. Pearson, you have been holding a position of authority, have you not?"

"Yes, sir."

"Have you done an officer's duty?"

"I have tried to."

"You tried to, but did you?"

"I don't know."

"You are excused."

Pat was called to the stand.

"Your name?"

"Me name is Pat Dugan."

"Well, Pat, what do you know about this Officer Pearson?"

"Your honor, I wish I had never seen the man."

"That is not answering my question."

"Well, I don't know what he did all the time, but I know I wish I did not know what he did anny of the time."

"Answer the question."

"Plase repeat it, I am after forgetting the question."

"Tell what you know in regard to this case. Did Officer Pearson fill his position as an officer should?"

"Now, me friend, I don't think that is the same question at all."

"Well, answer it, if you do or don't think the question was worded just the same."

"I did not hear the last question. I was thinking of how to answer the first one. Now, me friend, I will ask you to repate the last once more, and I might answer them both."

"I suppose we must have patience with you, for I don't think you were ever in court before, and I know it is hard for you. Now, once more, I ask you about Officer Pearson's conduct as an officer. That is a short question and you should be able to answer it without hesitation."

"I will say that I think the job is a hard one for me, and I will give you my club and quit at once."

"Sit down, Pat! Sit down there and answer these questions the attorney is asking you, or I shall fine you for contempt of court."

"Could I get off -- out of that fine for contempt of court -- as aisy if I told the truth?"

"I am asking you a question now, and I wish you would answer."

"Faith, and you have been asking me some questions I didn't know how to answer, and I am only a ignorant Irishman, and you are one of the know-alls, or should be. I've always thought that if annything ever came up with a business consideration, 'I will ask me lowyer about that.' This is the first time I have ever been smart enough to talk to one of them lowyers."

"Well, you are taking your time to talk. You must like our company."

"I like to hear a smart man talk, indade I do."

"Well, the court would like to know if this is a trial, or a complimentary case."

"Your honor, I am trying to get the witness to answer my questions."

"Put the question to him again."

"Now pay attention, Pat, and we will soon be through with you."

"Couldn't you turn me loose now? I am feeling sick, me man. I am sick."

"Get him a drink.

"Here is water. Take this, Pat. Drink some water. You are all right now."

"You know everything in the books, but you don't know how a fellow feels inside, and plase don't talk to me -- plase don't. I wonder, if I would pray, would I feel better? I am going to pray, gentlemen. I belave me toime has come right now.

"O Father in Heaven, if You ever send blessings to the Irish, send this one Irishman some now. I need it. O me God, I did not do annything. I changed me mind before I let him go, and he is here, and You can do as You plase with him. I am through with him. I think You will know what he needs, and give it to him. Have mercy on me, and him too, if he is deserving of it. I don't think he is, but Your judgment is best, and use it, and be sure You use good judgment in my case, and help me out of this terrible perdicament, and if I never get in another, I won't pray anny more. You will see I am in earnest and don't delay the job. I am awfully sick, but I think I feel better now, and if the court will have mercy on me, and You do likewise, I know I will be well in a few minutes. Help Your wandering one all alone in this country. Me poor mother has been with You a long time, and if I was there too, I would not be here, in this fix. And now I have prayed for the first time in all me life, and if You don't answer, I shall say my prayers were all in vain; but if You will let me know that they were heard, I will let you hear them again, if I get in trouble. Amen."

"The judge spoke: 'Stand up, Pat. You are good on praying, and you have a nice way of doing it, if you did convict yourself. Go. I don't think your crime is punishable, and I want to give you some orders. You had better learn to pray now, and do some of it. Don't wait until you are in trouble and then ask the Lord to help you. Serve Him all the time, and you will then be guided, so you will not have to ask for help in time of trouble. Too many wayward boys like you, Pat, get in trouble before they ever think of praying. I hope that the Father to whom you prayed has heard your prayers. I feel that He did, and that is why I am going to turn you loose; so you may say your prayers were not in vain, but go from this court-room with prayers on your lips, and pray often. It will do you good. Now you may go, and may God bless you.'

"Well, if I ever get me another job, I will never get it in a prison -- I may not get out so aisy next time; but the poor man, he is there yet, and I never told a word of his trying to give me all his money and fine clothes.

"Well, I'll be willing to work, now, for all I get. And I'll say to meself: 'Didn't the man who was boss of the job make a fine spache to me?' He must know nearly as much as the lowyer did, and I felt sorry for him when he felt sorry for me and told me to pray. Faith, and I will pray, and I will kape it up as long as I live, and after I am dead I will come back and scare some of the poor devils and make them pray like the new man. Oh, how he did pray when he thought he saw the dead woman! And it was that very thing got me started to praying, and only for that I belave they would of hanged me this very day of me life."

"Well, here I am back to the office, and I have me clothes all here, and I want to bid me old friend good-bye before I go. I can't kape the tears back. I guess I am feeling pretty bad again. I belave I'll just step in here and pray to meself now, while I'm waiting for me old friend that thought so much of me."

In the court-room the trial proceeded. At length the judge arose, saying:

"I am not of the opinion that a crime of as long standing as this one is punishable in the eyes of the law. Twenty-one years would outlaw it. If the prisoner will give his penniless brother a home for life, I will set him free.

"What have you to say to that, Pearson? Are you willing to share your home with your brother?"

"I thank your honor. I am more than willing, and I will see that he shares my home as a brother should, without feeling under obligations."

"Pearson, I feel that you mean all right, and I will ask you to let me hear from you as soon as you find your unfortunate brother who was freed several days ago. I want you to help him to live down the disgrace of his long imprisonment, and live as brothers should. We have all learned to pray through this unfortunate affair, or we should have learned, and that not waiting until we are in trouble, and then expect our prayers to be heard, but we have learned to pray at all times -- not as Pat did, if we get help, say we won't pray any more until the next time we are in trouble."

Later, when Pearson appeared at the office, he said: "Officer, I am discharged from all, including my position, am I?"

"Well, Pearson, we have been holding consultation in the side room -- the officials and I, and we have decided to reinstate you, and Pat also. We have decided that this lesson will make honest men out of you and Pat, and trusty. You did not betray Pat and he did not betray you. It was a good principle that you both showed this morning, and we feel that you will work hand in hand together in the future. I wonder if Pat has gone. We will step over to his room and see."

"I hope that Pat will feel kindly toward me. I have forgotten all, and will always remember that trial -- how poor Pat feigned sickness to avoid answering those questions. Poor old Pat! He is a good Irishman."

"I do believe that he is gone. This is his room, is it not?"

"Yes. Here he has left a note. He has written: 'Good-bye to all the poor fellows in here. I have served me term and am ready to go, but with tears. I am thinking I am all alone, save God. He is ever near me. Good-bye to all fellow-men!'"


Chapter XXIII.

Prayer-Meeting In Prison.


"That is the first time I have seen you break down."

"Yes, Pearson, I am heart-broken. I shall never forget Pat, not for the sickness he feigned, but for the feeling that came over me when he was praying. I have never prayed, but I am going to this day. And the very next Sabbath I am going to start a prayer-meeting in this prison. If it helps all as much as it did Pat, I will feel repaid for all these mysterious voices and visions which we have heard and seen here. Besides, it may lift up many a sad heart inside these walls, that could get no help except through prayer."

"You locked the door as you left the office, did you?"

"Only the outside door."

"I see bundles in there. They belong to Pat. He has not gone."

"Take a look into the room next the office, Pearson."

"Oh, my God!"

"What? suicide?"

"No; praying."

"Pearson, close the door."

"I am after being through and I feel better. I have been praying to me Father to help me find another job, or to get this one back for me."

"Pat, your prayer is answered, once again. You may remain and do as you have done. Outside of this little trouble, you have been a good, faithful man, and I feel that you and Officer Pearson will from this day on be faithful to the trust which is imposed in you, and that you will show brotherly love and kindness toward each other and all your fellow-men. I want you to be sure to be at prayer-meeting Sunday morning, and open the meeting with prayer.

"I shall expect you, Pearson, to close the meeting with prayer. I will take a hand at it myself, and I hope that we may hear the voices of all in this prison, asking for help and guidance and peace.

"Now, Pat, see that all is right.

"Well, Pearson, I am glad to see you sitting there under different circumstances, and I hope this will be a lesson for us all. Honesty is always the best policy. If you follow that precept, you will never get into trouble," said the superintendent, addressing Mr. Pearson.

"Well, here is one good Irishman the rest of me life, and I will be after being a Sunday-school teacher; I think that would bate being a gentleman anny time. And now I'll see if the officer has not forgot to put the poor man that was brought in to work. Forgot? I know he did. I'll be after going and asking where will I take the poor fellow to work, and I'll ask mercy for him, for it means a job for life with him, poor fellow. I am after passing the knowledge-seat. I will walk in and tell me business at once. I got enough knowledge to do me at that resting-place.

"What do I see? The poor fellow that was turned out of here sitting in the office? I will pretend not to know him, and make my business be known and lave at once.

"Officer!"

"Yes. What is it, Pat?"

"You have been after forgetting to give the poor man his life job."

"So I have, Pat. I will find a place in a trade where he will not have to toil so hard, for it means a long time for him. I will take care of that Monday morning, Pat. Don't bother him. Let him get used to his new clothes and room. You may go, Pat. I'll take care of him Monday."

"So you have come back to see us, have you, Clarence?"

"Yes, officer. I could not rest and know that my brother was here in prison, all on my account. I am the cause of it all. I should have written home after I left. I should have written to my dear mother. Then I could have been notified when she died, and poor Oliver would not be in this trouble. That is why I am taking all this disgrace upon myself.

"Brother, I am going to help you, but not in the way I asked you to be helped at first. I am going to take you home now, and introduce you to my family, and try to have a family reunion, in honor of the prodigal son's return -- in honor of poor mother."

"You may go now, Mr. Pearson. I can spare you for a few hours."

"Come along, brother. Clasp my hand and we will walk hand in hand to my home -- or, rather, yours, and we will spend the rest of our days together."

"Oh, how beautiful your voice sounds to me, Oliver! As I walk along by your side I feel as if we were indeed beginning a new life."

"By the way, we shall have a wedding soon. My daughter Amelia is to be married to-night, at ten o'clock -- yes. And we shall be there on time, I see. The place is all aglow. I wonder -- "

"Yes, and I wonder how I will be received."

"You must be treated as my brother, and the family will do so. Music? Yes, Gertie, playing 'Home, Sweet Home.' There is no place like home. Oh, how true! We will surprise them. Just step in, Clarence."

"Oh, papa, papa!"

"Yes, Gertie; I heard you playing just as I feel, that there is no place like home."

"Mother, see who is here."

"My dear wife, I want you to meet my brother, as a gentleman -- which he is, and has been proved to be.

"And, Clarence, this is Gertie, my pet now, as I must soon give Amelia to someone else.

"I hope that he will be as kind to you, Amelia, as your father has always been."

"Father, you have been good and kind to me. You gave me all I ever asked for, and I want you to forgive me for the way I treated you when you were in trouble, I am truly sorry."

"Yes; and, dear husband, I shall always look on that time as the mistake of my life. For doing as I did I will ask you in the presence of your brother, and mine also, to forgive me."

"My dear family, you are all forgiven. Now I ask that you show love and kindness to my dear brother and share our home with him -- or, rather, thank him for sharing his home with us."

"We shall always treat you as one of the family, brother."

"Oh, Uncle Clarence, we are going to have a wedding to-night! Sister Amelia is going to get married to Mr. McHenry."

"And, Uncle Clarence, I want you to stand up with us."

"Gertie, go to the piano and play 'We'll Sin and Sorrow No More.'"

<eob>

Uncle Wiggily In The Woods

By

Howard R. Garis



Story I

Uncle Wiggily And The Willow Tree

"Well, it's all settled!" exclaimed Uncle Wiggily Longears, the rabbit gentleman, one day, as he hopped up the steps of his hollow stump bungalow where Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, his muskrat lady housekeeper, was fanning herself with a cabbage leaf tied to her tail. "It's all settled."

"What is?" asked Miss Fuzzy Wuzzy. "You don't mean to tell me anything has happened to you?" and she looked quite anxious.

"No, I'm all right," laughed Uncle Wiggily, "and I hope you are the same. What I meant was that it's all settled where we are going to spend our vacation this Summer."

"Oh, tell me where!" exclaimed the muskrat lady clapping her paws, anxious like.

"In a hollow stump bungalow, just like this, but in the woods instead of in the country," answered Uncle Wiggily.

"Oh, that will be fine!" cried Miss Fuzzy Wuzzy. "I love the woods. When are we to go?"

"Very soon now," answered the bunny gentleman uncle. "You may begin to pack up as quickly as you please."

And Nurse Jane and Uncle Wiggily moved to the woods very next day and his adventures began.

I guess most of you know about the rabbit gentleman and his muskrat lady housekeeper who nursed him when he was ill with the rheumatism. Uncle Wiggily had lots and lots of adventures, about which I have told you in the books before this one.

He had traveled about seeking his fortune, he had even gone sailing in his airship, and once he met Mother Goose and all her friends from Old King Cole down to Little Jack Horner.

Uncle Wiggily had many friends among the animal boys and girls. There was Sammie and Susie Littletail, the rabbits, who have a book all to themselves; just as have Jackie and Peetie Bow Wow, the puppy dog boys, and Jollie and Jillie Longtail, the mice children.

"And I s'pose we'll meet all your friends in the woods, won't we, Uncle Wiggily?" asked Nurse Jane, as they moved from the old hollow stump bungalow to the new one.

"Oh, yes, I s'pose so, of course," he laughed in answer, as he pulled his tall silk hat more tightly down on his head, fastened on his glasses and took his red, white and blue striped barber pole rheumatism crutch that Nurse Jane had gnawed for him out of a cornstalk.

So, once upon a time, not very many years ago, as all good stories should begin, Uncle Wiggily and Nurse Jane found themselves in the woods. It was lovely among the trees, and as soon as the rabbit gentleman had helped Miss Fuzzy Wuzzy put the hollow stump bungalow to rights he started out for a walk.

"I want to see what sort of adventures I shall have in the woods," said Mr. Longears as he hopped along.

Now in these woods lived, among many other creatures good and bad, two skillery-scalery alligators who were not exactly friends of the bunny uncle. But don't let that worry you, for though the alligators, and other unpleasant animals, may, once in a while, make trouble for Uncle Wiggily, I'll never really let them hurt him. I'll fix that part all right!

So, one day, the skillery-scalery alligator with the humps on his tail, and his brother, another skillery-scalery chap, whose tail was double jointed, were taking a walk through the woods together just as Uncle Wiggily was doing.

"Brother," began the hump-tailed 'gator (which I call him for short), "brother, wouldn't you like a nice rabbit?"

"Indeed I would," answered the double-jointed tail 'gator, who could wobble his flippers both ways. "And I know of no nicer rabbit than Uncle Wiggily Longears."

"The very same one about whom I was thinking!" exclaimed the other alligator. "Let's catch him!"

"That's what we'll do!" said the double-jointed chap. "We'll hide in the woods until he comes along, as he does every day, and the we'll jump out and grab him. Oh, you yum-yum!"

"Fine!" grunted his brother. "Come on!"

Off they crawled through the woods, and pretty soon they came to a willow tree, where the branches grew so low down that they looked like a curtain that had unwound itself off the roller, when the cat hangs on it.

"This is the place for us to hide -- by the weeping willow tree," said the skillery-scalery alligator with bumps on his tail.

"The very place," agreed his brother.

So they hid behind the thick branches of the tree, which had leafed out for early spring, and there the two bad creatures waited.

Just before this Uncle Wiggily himself had started out from his hollow stump bungalow to walk in the woods and across the fields, as he did every day.

"I wonder what sort of an adventure I shall have this time?" he said to himself. "I hope it will be a real nice one."

Oh! If Uncle Wiggily had known what was in store for him, I think he would have stayed in his hollow stump bungalow. But never mind, I'll make it all come out right in the end, you see if I don't. I don't know just how I'm going to do it, yet, but I'll find a way, never fear.

Uncle Wiggily hopped on and on, now and then swinging his red-white-and-blue-striped rheumatism crutch like a cane, because he felt so young and spry and spring-like. Pretty soon he came to the willow tree. He was sort of looking up at it, wondering if a nibble of some of the green leaves would not do him good, when, all of a sudden, out jumped the two bad alligators and grabbed the bunny gentleman.

"Now we have you!" cried the humped-tail 'gator.

"And you can't get away from us," said the other chap -- the double-jointed tail one.

"Oh, please let me go!" begged Uncle Wiggily, but they hooked their claws in his fur, and pulled him back under the tree, which held its branches so low. I told you it was a weeping willow tree, and just now it was weeping, I think, because Uncle Wiggily was in such trouble.

"Let's see now," said the double-jointed tail alligator. "I'll carry this rabbit home, and then -- "

"You'll do nothing of the sort!" interrupted the other, and not very politely, either. "I'll carry him myself. Why, I caught him as much as you did!"

"Well, maybe you did, but I saw him first."

"I don't care! It was my idea. I first thought of this way of catching him!"

And then those two alligators disputed, and talked very unpleasantly, indeed, to one another.

But, all the while, they kept tight hold of the bunny uncle, so he could not get away.

"Well," said the double-jointed tail alligator after a while, "we must settle this one way or the other. Am I to carry him to our den, or you?"

"Me! I'll do it. If you took him you'd keep him all for yourself. I know you!"

"No, I wouldn't! But that's just what you'd do. I know you only too well. No, if I can't carry this rabbit home myself, you shan't!"

"I say the same thing. I'm going to have my rights."

Now, while the two bad alligators were talking this way they did not pay much attention to Uncle Wiggily. They held him so tightly in their claws that he could not get away, but he could use his own paws, and, when the two bad creatures were talking right in each other's face, and using big words, Uncle Wiggily reached up and cut off a piece of willow wood with the bark on.

And then, still when the 'gators were disputing, and not looking, the bunny uncle made himself a whistle out of the willow tree stick. He loosened the bark, which came off like a kid glove, and then he cut a place to blow his breath in, and another place to let the air out and so on, until he had a very fine whistle indeed, almost as loud-blowing as those the policemen have to stop the automobiles from splashing mud on you so a trolley car can bump into you.

"I'll tell you what we'll do," said the hump-tail alligator at last. "Since you won't let me carry him home, and I won't let you, let's both carry him together. You take hold of him on one side, and I'll take the other."

"Good!" cried the second alligator.

"Oh, ho! I guess not!" cried the bunny uncle suddenly. "I guess you won't either, or both of you take me off to your den. No, indeed!"

"Why not?" asked the hump-tailed 'gator, sort of impolite like and sarcastic.

"Because I'm going to blow my whistle and call the police!" went on the bunny uncle. "Toot! Toot! Tootity-ti-toot-toot!"

And then and there he blew such a loud, shrill blast on his willow tree whistle that the alligators had to put their paws over their ears. And when they did that they had to let go of bunny uncle. He had his tall silk hat down over his ears, so it didn't matter how loudly he blew the whistle. He couldn't hear it.

"Toot! Toot! Tootity-toot-toot!" he blew on the willow whistle.

"Oh, stop! Stop!" cried the hump-tailed 'gator.

"Come on, run away before the police come!" said his brother. And out from under the willow tree they both ran, leaving Uncle Wiggily safely behind.

"Well," said the bunny gentleman as he hopped along home to his bungalow, "it is a good thing I learned, when a boy rabbit, how to make whistles." And I think so myself.

So if the vinegar jug doesn't jump into the molasses barrel and turn its face sour like a lemon pudding, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the winter green.



Story II

Uncle Wiggily And The Wintergreen

Uncle Wiggily Longears, the nice old gentleman rabbit, knocked on the door of the hollow tree in the woods where Johnnie and Billie Bushytail, the two little squirrel boys, lived.

"Come in!" invited Mrs. Bushytail. So Uncle Wiggily went in.

"I thought I'd come around and see you," he said to the squirrel lady. "I'm living in the woods this Summer and just now I am out taking a walk, as I do every day, and I hoped I might meet with an adventure. But, so far, I haven't. Do you know where I could find an adventure, Mrs. Bushytail?"

"No, I'm sorry to say I don't, Uncle Wiggily," answered the squirrel lady. "But I wish you could find something to make my little boy Billie feel better."

"Why, is he ill?" asked the bunny uncle, surprised like, and he looked across the room where Billy Bushytail was curled up in a big rocking chair, with his tail held over his head like an umbrella, though it was not raining.

"No, Billie isn't ill," said Mrs. Bushytail. "But he says he doesn't know what to do to have any fun, and I am afraid he is a little peevish."

"Oh, that isn't right," said Mr. Longears. "Little boys, whether they are squirrels, rabbits or real children, should try to be jolly and happy, and not peevish."

"How can a fellow be happy when there's no fun?" asked Billie, sort of cross-like. "My brother Johnnie got out of school early, and he and the other animal boys have gone off to play where I can't find them. I had to stay in, because I didn't know my nut-cracking lesson, and now I can't have any fun. Oh, dear! I don't care!"

Billie meant, I suppose, that he didn't care what he said or did, and that isn't right. But Uncle Wiggily only pinkled his twink nose. No, wait just a moment if you please. He just twinkled his pink nose behind the squirrel boy's back, and then the bunny uncle said:

"How would you like to come for a walk in the woods with me, Billie?"

"Oh, that will be nice!" exclaimed the squirrel lady. "Do go, Billie."

"No, I don't want to!" chattered the boy squirrel, most impolitely.

"Oh, that isn't at all nice," said Mrs. Bushy-tail. "At least thank Uncle Wiggily for asking you."

"Oh, excuse me, Uncle Wiggily," said Billie, sorrylike. "I do thank you. But I want very much to have some fun, and there's no fun in the woods. I know all about them. I know every tree and bush and stump. I want to go to a new place."

"Well, new places are nice," said the bunny uncle, "but old ones are nice, too, if you know where to look for the niceness. Now come along with me, and we'll see if we can't have some fun. It is lovely in the woods now."

"I won't have any fun there," said Billie, crossly. "The woods are no good. Nothing good to eat grows there."

"Oh, yes there does -- lots!" laughed Uncle Wiggily. "Why the nuts you squirrels eat grow in the woods."

"Yes, but there are no nuts now," spoke the squirrel boy. "They only come in the Fall."

"Well, come, scamper along, anyhow," invited Uncle Wiggily. "Who knows what may happen? It may even be an adventure. Come along, Billie."

So, though he did not care much about it, Billie went. Uncle Wiggily showed the squirrel boy where the early spring flowers were coming up, and how the Jacks, in their pulpits, were getting ready to preach sermons to the trees and bushes.

"Hark! What's that?" asked Billie, suddenly, hearing a noise.

"What does it sound like?" asked Uncle Wiggily.

"Like bells ringing."

"Oh, it's the bluebells -- the bluebell flowers," answered the bunny uncle.

"Why do they ring?" asked the little boy squirrel.

"To call the little ants and lightning bugs to school," spoke Uncle Wiggily, and Billy smiled. He was beginning to see that there were more things in the woods than he had dreamed of, even if he had scampered here and there among the trees ever since he was a little squirrel chap.

On and on through the woods went the bunny uncle and Billie. They picked big, leafy ferns to fan themselves with, and then they drank with green leaf-cups from a spring of cool water.

But no sooner had Billie taken the cold water than he suddenly cried:

"Ouch! Oh, dear! Oh, my, how it hurts!"

"What is it?" asked Uncle Wiggily. "Did you bite your tongue or step on a thorn?"

"It's my tooth," chattered Billie. "The cold water made it ache again. I need to go to Mr. Stubtail, the bear dentist, who will pull it out with his long claws. But I've been putting it off, and putting it off, and now -- Oh, dear, how it aches! Wow!"

"I'll cure it for you!" said Uncle Wiggily. "Just walk along through the woods with me and I'll soon stop your aching tooth."

"How can you?" asked Billie, holding his paw to his jaw to warm the aching tooth, for heat will often stop pain. "There isn't anything here in the woods to cure toothache; is there?"

"I think we shall find something," spoke the bunny uncle.

"Well, I wish we could find it soon!" cried Billie, "for my tooth hurts very much. Ouch!" and he hopped up and down, for the toothache was of the jumping kind.

"Ah, ha! Here we have it!" cried Uncle Wiggily, as he stooped over some shiny green leaves, growing close to the ground, and he pulled some of them up. "Just chew these leaves a little and let them rest inside your mouth near the aching tooth," said Mr. Longears. "I think they will help you, Billie."

So Billie chewed the green leaves. They smarted and burned a little, but when he put them near his tooth they made it nice and warm and soon the ache all stopped.

"What was that you gave me, Uncle Wiggily?" Billie asked.

"Wintergreen," answered Uncle Wiggily. "It grows in the woods, and is good for flavoring candy, as well as for stopping toothache."

"I am glad to know that," said Billie. "The woods are a nicer place than I thought, and there is ever so much more in them than I dreamed. Thank you, Uncle Wiggily."

So, as his toothache was all better, Billie had good fun in the woods with the bunny uncle, until it was time to go home. And in the next story, if the top doesn't fly off the coffee pot and let the baked potato hide away from the egg-beater, when they play tag, I'll tell you about Uncle Wiggily and the slippery elm.



Story III

Uncle Wiggily And The Slippery Elm

"Where are you going, Uncle Wiggily?" asked Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper, as she saw the rabbit gentleman standing on the front steps of his hollow stump bungalow in the woods one morning. "Where are you going?"

"Oh, just for a walk through the forest," spoke the bunny uncle. "It is so nice in the woods, with the flowers coming up, and the leaves getting larger and greener every day, that I just love to walk there."

"Well," said Nurse Jane with a laugh, "if you happen to see a bread-tree in the woods, bring home a loaf for supper."

"I will," promised Uncle Wiggily. "You know, Nurse Jane, there really are trees on which bread fruit grows, though not in this country. But I can get you a loaf of bread at the five and ten cent store, I dare say."

"Do, please," asked the muskrat lady. "And if you see a cocoanut tree you might bring home a cocoanut cake for supper."

"Oh, my!" laughed the rabbit gentleman. "I'm afraid there are no cocoanut trees in my woods. I could bring you home a hickory nut cake, perhaps."

"Well, whatever you like," spoke Nurse Jane. "But don't get lost, whatever you do, and if you meet with an adventure I hope it will be a nice one."

"So do I," Uncle Wiggily said, as he hopped off, leaning on his red, white and blue stripped [Transcriber's note: striped?] rheumatism crutch which Nurse Jane had gnawed for him out of a cornstalk.

The old rabbit gentleman had not gone very far before he met Dr. Possum walking along in the woods, with his satchel of medicine on his tail, for Dr. Possum cured all the ill animals, you know.

"What in the world are you doing, Dr. Possum?" asked Uncle Wiggily, as he saw the animal doctor pulling some bark off a tree. "Are you going to make a canoe, as the Indians used to do?"

"Oh, no," answered Dr. Possum. "This is a slippery elm tree. The underside of the bark, next to the tree, and the tree itself, is very slippery when it is wet. Very slippery indeed."

"Well, I hope you don't slip," said Uncle Wiggily, kindly.

"I hope so, too," Dr. Possum said. "But I am taking this slippery elm bark to mix with some of the bitter medicine I have to give Billie Wagtail, the goat boy. When I put some bark from the slippery elm tree in Billie's medicine it will slip down his throat so quickly that he will never know he took it."

"Good!" cried Uncle Wiggily, laughing. Then the bunny uncle went close to the tree, off which Dr. Possum was taking some bark, and felt of it with his paw. The tree was indeed as slippery as an icy sidewalk slide on Christmas eve.

"My!" exclaimed Mr. Longears. "If I tried to climb up that tree I'd do nothing but slip down."

"That's right," said Dr. Possum. "But I must hurry on now to give Billie Wagtail his medicine."

So Dr. Possum went on his way and Uncle Wiggily hopped along until, pretty soon, he heard a rustling in the bushes, and a voice said:

"But, Squeaky-Eeky dear, I can't find any snow hill for you to ride down on your sled. The snow is all gone, you see. It is Spring now."

"Oh, dear!" cried another voice. "Such a lot of trouble. Oh, dear! Oh, dear!"

"Ha! Trouble!" said Uncle Wiggily to himself. "This is where I come in. I must see if I cannot help them."

He looked through the bushes, and there he saw Jillie Longtail, the little girl mouse, and with her was Squeaky-Eeky, the cousin mouse. And Squeaky-Eeky had a small sled with her.

"Why, what's the matter?" asked Uncle Wiggily, for he saw that Squeaky-Eeky had been crying. "What is the matter, little mice?"

"Oh, hello. Uncle Wiggily!" cried Jillie. "I don't know what to do with my little cousin mouse. You see she wants to slide down hill on her Christmas sled, but there isn't any snow on any of the hills now."

"No, that's true, there isn't," said the bunny uncle. "But, Squeaky, why didn't you slide down hill in the Winter, when there was snow?"

"Because, I had the mouse-trap fever, then," answered Squeaky-Eeky, "and I couldn't go out. But now I am all better and I can be out, and oh, dear! I do so much want a ride down hill on my sled. Boo, hoo!"

"Don't cry, Squeaky, dear," said Jillie. "If there is no snow you can't slide down hill, you know."

"But I want to," said the little cousin mouse, unreasonable like.

"But you can't; so please be nice," begged Jillie.

"Oh, dear!" cried Squeaky. "I do so much want to slide down hill on my sled."

"And you shall!" suddenly exclaimed Uncle Wiggily. "Come with me, Squeaky."

"Why, Uncle Wiggily!" cried Jillie. "How can you give Squeaky a slide down hill when there is no snow? You need a slippery snow hill for sleigh-riding."

"I am not so sure of that," spoke Uncle Wiggily, with a smile. "Let us see."

Off through the woods he hopped, with Jillie and Squeaky following. Pretty soon Uncle Wiggily came to a big tree that had fallen down, one end being raised up higher than the other, like a hill, slanting.

With his strong paws and his sharp teeth, the rabbit gentleman began peeling the bark off the tree, showing the white wood underneath.

"What are you doing, Uncle Wiggily?" asked Jillie.

"This is a slippery elm tree, and I am making a hill so Squeaky-Eeky can slide down," answered the bunny uncle. "Underneath the bark the trunk of the elm tree is very slippery. Dr. Possum told me so. See how my paw slips!" And indeed it did, sliding down the sloping tree almost as fast as you can eat a lollypop.

Uncle Wiggily took off a lot of bark from the elm tree, making a long, sliding, slippery place.

"Now, try that with your sled, Squeaky-Eeky," said the bunny uncle. And the little cousin mouse did. She put her sled on the slanting tree, sat down and Jillie gave her a little push. Down the slippery elm tree went Squeaky as fast as anything, coming to a stop in a pile of soft leaves.

"Oh, what a lovely slide!" cried Squeaky. "You try it, Jillie." And the little mouse girl did.

"Who would think," she said, "that you could slide down a slippery elm tree? But you can."

Then she and Squeaky took turns sliding down hill, even though there was no snow, and the slippery elm tree didn't mind it a bit, but rather liked it.

And if the coal man doesn't take away our gas shovel to shoot some tooth powder into the wax doll's pop gun, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the sassafras.



Story IV

Uncle Wiggily And The Sassafras

"Uncle Wiggily! Uncle Wiggily! Get up!" called Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper, as she stood at the foot of the stairs of the hollow stump bungalow and called up to the rabbit gentleman one morning.

"Hurry down, Mr. Longears," she went on. "This is the last day I am going to bake buckwheat cakes, and if you want some nice hot ones, with maple sugar sauce on, you'd better hurry."

No answer came from the bunny uncle.

"Why, this is strange," said Nurse Jane to herself. "I wonder if anything can have happened to him? Did he have an adventure in the night? Did the bad skillery-scalery alligator, with humps on its tail, carry him off?"

Then she called again:

"Uncle Wiggily! Uncle Wiggily! Aren't you going to get up? Come down to breakfast. Aren't you going to get up and come down?"

"No, Miss Fuzzy Wuzzy," replied the bunny uncle, "not to give you a short answer, I am not going to get up, or come down or eat breakfast or do anything," and Mr. Longears spoke as though his head was hidden under the bed clothes, which it was.

"Oh, Uncle Wiggily, whatever is the matter?" asked Nurse Jane, surprised like and anxious.

"I don't feel at all well," was the answer. "I think I have the epizootic, and I don't want any breakfast."

"Oh, dear!" cried Nurse Jane. "And all the nice cakes I have baked. I know what I'll do," she said to herself. "I'll call in Dr. Possum. Perhaps Uncle Wiggily needs some of the roots and herbs that grow in the woods -- wintergreen, slippery elm or something like that. I'll call Dr. Possum."

And when the animal doctor came he looked at the bunny uncle's tongue, felt of his ears, and said:

"Ha! Hum! You have the Spring fever, Uncle Wiggily. What you need is sassafras."

"Nurse Jane has some in the bungalow," spoke Mr. Longears. "Tell her to make me some tea from that."

"No, what is needed is fresh sassafras," said Dr. Possum. "And, what is more, you must go out in the woods and dig it yourself. That will be almost as good for your Spring fever as the sassafras itself. So hop out, and dig some of the roots."

"Oh, dear!" cried Uncle Wiggily, fussy like. "I don't want to. I'd rather stay here in bed."

"But you can't!" cried Dr. Possum in his jolly voice. "Out with you!" and he pulled the bed clothes off the bunny uncle so he had to get up to keep warm.

"Well, I'll just go out and dig a little sassafras root to please him," thought Uncle Wiggily to himself, "and then I'll come back and stay in bed as long as I please. It's all nonsense thinking I have to have fresh root -- the old is good enough."

"I do feel quite wretched and lazy like," said Uncle Wiggily to himself, as he limped along on his red, white and blue-striped barber-pole rheumatism crutch, that Nurse Jane had gnawed for him out of a cornstalk. "As soon as I find some sassafras I'll pull up a bit of the root and hurry back home and to bed."

Pretty soon the bunny uncle saw where some of the sassafras roots were growing, with their queer three-pointed leaves, like a mitten, with a place for your finger and thumb.

"Now to pull up the root," said the bunny uncle, as he dug down in the ground a little way with his paws, to get a better hold.

But pulling up sassafras roots is not as easy as it sounds, as you know if you have ever tried it. The roots go away down in the earth, and they are very strong.

Uncle Wiggily pulled and tugged and twisted and turned, but he could break off only little bits of the underground stalk.

"This won't do!" he said to himself. "If I don't get a big root Dr. Possum will, perhaps, send me hack for more. I'll try again."

He got his paws under a nice, big root, and he was straining his back to pull it up, when, all of a sudden, he heard a voice saying:

"How do you do?"

"Oh, hello!" exclaimed the bunny, looking up quickly, and expecting to see some friend of his, like Grandpa Goosey Gander, or Sammie Littletail, the rabbit boy. But, instead, he saw the bad old fox, who had, so many times, tried to catch the rabbit gentleman.

"Oh!" said Uncle Wiggily, astonished like. And again he said: "Oh!"

"Surprised, are you?" asked the fox, sort of curling his whiskers around his tongue, sarcastic fashion.

"A little -- yes," answered Uncle Wiggily. "I didn't expect to see you."

"But I've been expecting you a long time," said the fox, grinning most impolitely. "In fact, I've been waiting for you. Just as soon as you have pulled up that sassafras root you may come with me. I'll take you off to my den, to my dear little foxes Eight, Nine and Ten. Those are their numbers. It's easier to number them than name them."

"Oh, indeed?" asked Uncle Wiggily, as politely as he could, considering everything. "And so you won't take me until I pull this sassafras root?"

"No, I'll wait until you have finished," spoke the fox. "I like you better, anyhow, flavored with sassafras. So pull away."

Uncle Wiggily tried to pull up the root, but he did not pull very hard.

"For," he thought, "as soon as I pull it up then the fox will take me, but if I don't pull it he may not."

"What's the matter? Can't you get that root up?" asked the fox, after a while. "I can't wait all day."

"Then perhaps you will kindly pull it up for me," said the bunny uncle. "I can't seem to do it."

"All right, I will," the fox said. Uncle Wiggily hopped to one side. The fox put his paws under the sassafras root. And he pulled and he pulled and he pulled, and finally, with a double extra strong pull, he pulled up the root. But it came up so suddenly, just as when you break the point off your pencil, that the fox keeled over backward in a peppersault and somersault also.

"Oh, wow!" cried the fox, as he bumped his nose. "What happened?" But Uncle Wiggily did not stay to tell. Away ran the bunny through the woods, as fast as he could go, forgetting all about his Spring fever. He was all over it.

"I thought the sassafras would cure you," said Dr. Possum, when Uncle Wiggily was safely home once more.

"The fox helped some," said the bunny uncle, with a laugh.

And if the black cat doesn't cover himself with talcum powder and make believe he's a white kid glove going to a dance, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and Jack-in-the-Pulpit.



Story V

Uncle Wiggily And The Pulpit-Jack

"Well, how are you feeling today, Uncle Wiggily?" asked Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper, as she saw the rabbit gentleman taking his tall silk hat down off the china closet, getting ready to go for a walk in the woods one morning.

"Why, I'm feeling pretty fine, Nurse Jane," answered the bunny uncle. "Since I ran home to get away from the fox, after he turned a peppersault from pulling too strong to get up the sassafras root, I feel much better, thank you."

"Good!" cried Nurse Jane. "Then perhaps you would not mind going to the store for me."

"Certainly not," spoke Uncle Wiggily. "What do you wish?"

"A loaf of bread," replied Miss Fuzzy Wuzzy, "also a box of matches and some sugar and crackers.  But don't forget the matches whatever you do."

"I won't," promised the bunny uncle, and soon he was hopping along through the woods wondering what sort of an adventure he would have this day.

As he was going along keeping a sharp look-out for the bad fox, or the skillery-scalery alligator with the double jointed tail. Uncle Wiggily heard a voice saying:

"Oh, dear! I'll never be able to get out from under the stone and grow tall as I ought. I've pushed and pushed on it, but I can't raise it. Oh, dear; what a heavy stone!"

"Ha! Some one under a stone!" said Uncle Wiggily to himself. "That certainly is bad trouble. I wonder if I cannot help?"

The bunny uncle looked all around and down on the ground he saw a flat stone. Underneath it something green and brown was peeping out.

"Was that you who called?" asked Mr. Longears.

"It was," came the answer. "I am a Jack-in-the-Pulpit plant, you see, and I started to grow up, as all plants and flowers do when summer comes. But when I had raised my head out of the earth I found a big stone over me, and now I can grow no more. I've pushed and pushed until my back aches, and I can't lift the stone."

"I'll do it for you," said Uncle Wiggily kindly, and he did, taking it off the Pulpit-Jack.

Then the Jack began growing up, and he had been held down so long that he grew quite quickly, so that even while Uncle Wiggily was watching, the Jack and his pulpit were almost regular size.

A Jack-in-the-Pulpit, you know, is a queer flower that grows in our woods. Sometimes it is called an Indian turnip, but don't eat it, for it is very biting. The Jack is a tall green chap, who stands in the middle of his pulpit, which is like a little pitcher, with a curved top to it. A pulpit, you know, is where some one preaches on Sunday.

"Thank you very much for lifting the stone off me so I could grow," said the Jack to Uncle Wiggily. "If ever I can do you a favor I will."

"Oh, pray don't mention it," replied the rabbit gentleman, with a low bow. "It was a mere pleasure, I assure you."

Then the rabbit gentleman hopped on to the store, to get the matches, the crackers, the bread and other things for Nurse Jane.

"And I must be sure not to forget the matches," Uncle Wiggily said to himself. "If I did Nurse Jane could not make a fire to cook supper."

There was an April shower while Uncle Wiggily was in the store, and he waited for the rain to stop falling before he started back to his hollow stump bungalow. Then the sun came out very hot and strong and shone down through the wet leaves of the trees in the woods.

Along hopped the bunny uncle, and he was wondering what he would have for supper that night.

"I hope it's something good," he said, "to make up for not having an adventure."

"Don't you call that an adventure -- lifting the stone off the Jack-in-the-Pulpit so he could grow?" asked a bird, sitting up in a tree.

"Well, that was a little adventure." said Uncle Wiggily. "But I want one more exciting; a big one."

And he is going to have one in about a minute. Just you wait and you'll hear all about it.

The sun was shining hotter and hotter, and Uncle Wiggily was thinking that it was about time to get out his extra-thin fur coat when, all of a sudden, he felt something very hot behind him.

"Why, that sun is really burning!" cried the bunny. Then he heard a little ant boy, who was crawling on the ground, cry out:

"Fire! Fire! Fire! Uncle Wiggily's bundle of groceries is on fire! Fire! Fire!"

"Oh, my!" cried the bunny uncle, as he felt hotter and hotter, "The sun must have set fire to the box of matches. Oh, what shall I do?" He dropped his bundle of groceries, and looking around at them he saw, surely enough, the matches were on fire. They were all blazing.

"Call the fire department! Get out the water bugs!" cried the little ant boy. "Fire! Water! Water! Fire!"

"That's what I want -- water," cried the bunny uncle. "Oh, if I could find a spring of water. I could put the blazing matches, save some of them, perhaps, and surely save the bread and crackers. Oh, for some water!"

Uncle Wiggily and the ant boy ran here and there in the woods looking for a spring of water. But they could find none, and the bread and crackers were just beginning to burn when a voice cried:

"Here is water, Uncle Wiggily!"

"Where? Where?" asked the rabbit gentleman, all excited like. "Where?"

"Inside my pulpit," was the answer, and Uncle Wiggily saw, not far away, the Jack-plant he had helped from under the stone.

"When it rained a while ago, my pitcher-pulpit became filled with water," went on Jack. "If you will just tip me over, sideways, I'll splash the water on the blazing matches and put them out."

"I'll do it!" cried Uncle Wiggily, and he quickly did. The pulpit held water as good as a milk pitcher could, and when the water splashed on the fire that fire gave one hiss, like a goose, and went out.

"Oh, you certainly did me a favor, Mr. Pulpit-Jack," said Uncle Wiggily. "Though the matches are burned, the bread and crackers are saved, and I can get more matches." Which he did, so Nurse Jane could make a fire in the stove.

So you see Uncle Wiggily had an adventure after all, and quite an exciting one, too, and if the lemon drop doesn't fall on the stick of peppermint candy and make it sneeze when it goes to the moving pictures, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the violets.



Story VI

Uncle Wiggily And The Violets

Down in the kitchen of the hollow stump bungalow there was a great clattering of pots and pans. Uncle Wiggily Longears, the rabbit gentleman who lived in the bungalow, sat up in bed, having been awakened by the noise, and he said:

"Well, I wonder what Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy is doing now? She certainly is busy at something, and it can't be making the breakfast buckwheat cakes, either, for she has stopped baking them."

"I say, Miss Fuzzy Wuzzy, what's going on down in your kitchen?" called the rabbit gentleman out loud.

"I'm washing," answered the muskrat lady.

"Washing what; the dishes?" the bunny uncle wanted to know. "If you wash them as hard as it sounds, there won't be any of them left for dinner, and I haven't had my breakfast yet."

"No, I'm getting ready to wash the clothes, and I wish you'd come down and eat, so I can clear away the table things!" called the muskrat lady.

"Oh, dear! Clothes-washing!" cried Uncle Wiggily, making his pink nose twinkle in a funny way. "I don't like to be around the bungalow when that is being done. I guess I'll get my breakfast and go for a walk. Clothes have to be washed, I suppose," went on the rabbit gentleman, "and when Nurse Jane has been ill I have washed them myself, but I do not like it. I'll go off in the woods."

And so, having had his breakfast of carrot pudding, with turnip sauce sprinkled over the top, Uncle Wiggily took his red, white and blue striped rheumatism crutch, and hopped along.

The woods were getting more and more beautiful every day as the weather grew warmer. The leaves on the trees were larger, and here and there, down in the green moss, that was like a carpet on the ground, could be seen wild flowers growing up.

"I wonder what sort of an adventure I will have today?" thought the bunny uncle as he went on and on. "A nice one, I hope."

And, as he said this, Uncle Wiggily heard some voices speaking.

"Oh, dear!" exclaimed a sad little voice, "no one will ever see us here! Of what use are we in the world? We are so small that we cannot be noticed. We are not brightly colored, like the red rose, and all that will happen to us will be that a cow will come along and eat us, or step on us with her big foot."

"Hush! You musn't talk that way," said another voice. "You were put here to grow, and do the best you know how. Don't be finding fault."

"I wonder who can be talking?" said Uncle Wiggily. "I must look around." So he looked up in the air, but though he heard the leaves whispering he knew they had not spoken. Then he looked to the right, to the left, in front and behind, but he saw no one. Then he looked down, and right at his feet was a clump of blue violet flowers.

"Did you speak?" asked Uncle Wiggily of the violets.

"Yes," answered one who had been finding fault. "I was telling my sisters and brothers that we are of no use in the world. We just grow up here in the woods, where no one sees us, and we never can have any fun. I want to be a big, red rose and grow in a garden."

"Oh, my!" cried Uncle Wiggily. "I never heard of a violet turning into a rose." Then the mother violet spoke and said:

"I tell my little girl-flower that she ought to be happy to grow here in the nice woods, in the green moss, where it is so cool and moist. But she does not seem to be happy, nor are some of the other violets."

"Well, that isn't right," Uncle Wiggily said, kindly. "I am sure you violets can do some good in this world. You are pretty to look at, and nice to smell, and that is more than can be said of some things."

"Oh, I want to do something big!" said the fault-finding violet. "I want to go out in the world and see things."

"So do I! And I! And I!" cried other violets.

Uncle Wiggily thought for a minute, and then he said:

"I'll do this. I'll dig up a bunch of you violets, who want a change, and take you with me for a walk. I will leave some earth on your roots so you won't die, and we shall see what happens."

"Oh, goodie!" cried the violets. So Uncle Wiggily dug them up with his paws, putting some cool moss around their roots, and when they had said good-by to the mother violet away they went traveling with the bunny uncle.

"Oh, this is fine!" cried the first violet, nodding her head in the breeze. "It is very kind of you, Uncle Wiggily to take us with you. I wish we could do you a kindness."

And then a bad old fox jumped out from behind a stump, and started to grab the rabbit gentleman. But when the fox saw the pretty violets and smelled their sweetness, the fox felt sorry at having been bad and said:

"Excuse me, Uncle Wiggily. I'm sorry I tried to bite you. The sight of those pretty violets makes me feel happier than I did. I am going to try to be good."

"I am glad of it," said Mr. Longears, as he hopped on through the woods. "You see, you have already done some good in this world, even if you are only tiny flowers," he said to the violets.

Then Uncle Wiggily went on to his hollow stump bungalow, and, reaching there, he heard Nurse Jane saying:

"Oh, dear! This is terrible. Here I have the clothes almost washed, and not a bit of bluing to rinse them in. Oh, why didn't I tell Wiggy to bring me some blueing from the store? Oh, dear!"

"Ha! Perhaps these will do to make blue water," said the bunny uncle, holding out the bunch of violets. "Would you like to help Nurse Jane?" he asked the flowers.

"Oh, yes, very much!" cried the violets.

Then Uncle Wiggily dipped their blue heads in the clean rinsing water -- just a little dip so as not to make them catch cold -- and enough color came out of the violets to make the water properly blue for Nurse Jane's clothes, so she could finish the washing.

"So you see you have done more good in the world," said Uncle Wiggily to the flowers. Then he took them back and planted them in the woods where they lived, and very glad they were to return, too.

"We have seen enough of the world," they said, and thereafter they were glad enough to live down in the moss with the mother violet. And if the umbrella doesn't turn inside out so the handle tickles its ribs and makes it laugh in school, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the high tree.



Story VII

Uncle Wiggily And The High Tree

Uncle Wiggily Longears, the nice rabbit gentleman, stood in front of the looking glass trying on a new tall silk hat he had just bought ready for Easter Sunday, which would happen in about a week or two.

"Do you think it looks well on me, Nurse Jane?" asked the bunny uncle, of the muskrat lady housekeeper, who came in from the kitchen of the hollow stump bungalow, having just finished washing the dishes.

"Why, yes, I think your new hat is very nice," she said.

"Do you think I ought to have the holes for my ears cut a little larger?" asked the bunny uncle. "I mean the holes cut, not my ears."

"Well, just a little larger wouldn't hurt any," replied Miss Fuzzy Wuzzy. "I'll cut them for you," and she did, with her scissors. For Uncle Wiggily had to wear his tall silk hat with his ears sticking up through holes cut in it. His ears were too large to go under the hat, and he could not very well fold them down.

"There, now I guess I'm all right to go for a walk in the woods," said the rabbit gentleman, taking another look at himself in the glass. It was not a proud look, you understand. Uncle Wiggily just wanted to look right and proper, and he wasn't at all stuck up, even if his ears were, but he couldn't help that.

So off he started, wondering what sort of an adventure he would have that day. He passed the place where the blue violets were growing in the green moss -- the same violets he had used to make Nurse Jane's blueing water for her clothes the other day, as I told you. And the violets were glad to see the bunny uncle.

Then Uncle Wiggily met Grandfather Goosey Gander, the nice old goose gentleman, and the two friends walked on together, talking about how much cornmeal you could buy with a lollypop, and all about the best way to eat fried ice cream carrots.

"That's a very nice hat you have on, Uncle Wiggily," said Grandpa Goosey, after a bit.

"Glad you like it," answered the bunny uncle. "It's for Easter."

"I think I'll get one for myself," went on Mr. Gander. "Do you think I would look well in it?"

"Try on mine and see," offered Uncle Wiggily most kindly. So he took his new, tall silk hat off his head, pulling his ears out of the holes Nurse Jane had cut for them, and handed it to Grandfather Goosey Gander -- handed the hat, I mean, not his ears, though of course the holes went with the hat.

"There, how do I look?" asked the goose gentleman.

"Quite stylish and proper," replied Mr. Longears.

"I'd like to see myself before I buy a hat like this," went on Grandpa Goosey. "I hope it doesn't make me look too tall."

"Here's a spring of water over by this old stump," spoke Uncle Wiggily. "You can see yourself in that, for it is just like a looking glass."

Grandpa Goosey leaned over to see how Uncle Wiggily's tall, silk hat looked, when, all of a sudden, along came a puff of wind, caught the hat under the brim, and as Grandpa Goosey had no ears to hold it on his head (as the bunny uncle had) away sailed the hat up in the air, and it landed right in the top of a big, high tree.

"Oh, dear!" cried Uncle Wiggily.

"Oh, dear!" said Grandpa Goosey. "I'm very sorry that happened. Oh, dear!"

"It wasn't your fault at all," spoke Uncle Wiggily kindly. "It was the wind."

"But with your nice, new tall silk hat up in that high tree, how are we ever going to get it down," asked the goose gentleman.

"I don't know," answered Uncle Wiggily. "Let me think."

So he thought for a minute or two, and then he said:

"There are three ways by which we may get the hat down. One is to ask the wind to blow it back to us, another is to climb up the tree and get the hat ourselves, and the third is to ask the tree to shake it down to us. We'll try the wind first."

So Uncle Wiggily and Grandpa Goosey asked the wind that had blown the hat up in the top of the high tree to kindly blow it back again. But the wind had gone far out to sea, and would not be back for a week. So that way of getting the hat was of no use.

"Mr. High Tree, will you kindly shake my hat down to me?" begged Uncle Wiggily next.

"I would like to, very much," the tree answered politely, "but I cannot shake when there is no wind to blow me. We trees cannot shake ourselves, you know. We can only shake when the wind blows us, and until the wind comes back I cannot shake."

"Too bad!" said Uncle Wiggily. "Then the only way left for us to do, Grandpa Goosey, is to climb the tree."

But this was easier said than done, for neither a rabbit nor a goose gentleman is made for climbing up trees, though when he was a young chap Grandpa Goosey had flown up into little trees, and Uncle Wiggily had jumped over them. But that was long, long ago.

Try as they did, neither the rabbit gentleman nor the goose gentleman could climb up after the tall silk hat.

"What are we going to do?" asked Grandpa Goosey.

"I don't know," replied Mr. Longears. "I guess I'll have to go get Billie or Johnnie Bushytail, the squirrel boys, to climb the tree for us. Yes, that's what I'll do; and then I can get my hat."

Uncle Wiggily started off through the woods to look for one of the Bushytail chaps, while Grandpa Goosey stayed near the tree, to catch the hat in case it should happen to fall by itself.

All of a sudden Uncle Wiggily heard some one coming along whistling, and then he heard a loud pounding sound, and next he saw Toodle Flat-tail, the beaver boy, walking in the woods.

"Oh, Toodle! You're the very one I want!" cried Uncle Wiggily. "My hat is in a high tree and I can't get it. With your strong teeth, just made for cutting down trees, will you kindly cut down this one, and get my hat for me?"

"I will," said the little beaver chap. But when he began to gnaw the tree, to make it fall, the tree cried:

"Oh, Mr. Wind, please come and blow on me so I can shake Uncle Wiggily's hat to him, and then I won't have to be gnawed down. Please blow, Mr. Wind."

So the wind hurried back and blew the tree this way and that. Down toppled Uncle Wiggily's hat, not in the least hurt, and so everything was all right again, and Uncle Wiggily and Grandpa Goosey and Toodle Flat-tail were happy. And the tree was extra glad as it did not have to be gnawed down.

Down toppled Uncle Wiggily's hat, not in the least hurt.

And if the little mouse doesn't go to sleep in the cat's cradle and scare poor pussy so her tail swells up like a balloon, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the peppermint.



Story VIII

Uncle Wiggily And The Peppermint

"Uncle Wiggily, would you mind going to the store for me?" asked Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper, one morning, as she came in from the kitchen of the hollow stump bungalow, where she had been getting ready the breakfast for the rabbit gentleman.

"Go to the store? Why of course I'll go, Miss Fuzzy Wuzzy," answered the bunny uncle. "Which store?"

"The drug store."

"The drug store? What do you want; talcum powder or court plaster?"

"Neither one," answered Nurse Jane. "I want some peppermint."

"Peppermint candy?" Uncle Wiggily wanted to know.

"Not exactly," went on Nurse Jane. "But I want a little of the peppermint juice with which some kind of candy is flavored. I want to take some peppermint juice myself, for I have indigestion. Dr. Possum says peppermint is good for it. I must have eaten a little too much cheese pudding last night."

"I'll get you the peppermint with pleasure," said the bunny uncle, starting off with his tall silk hat and his red, white and blue striped rheumatism barber pole crutch.

"Better get it in a bottle," spoke Nurse Jane, with a laugh. "You can't carry peppermint in your pocket, unless it's peppermint candy, and I don't want that kind."

"All right," Uncle Wiggily said, and then, with the bottle, which Nurse Jane gave him, he hopped on, over the fields and through the woods to the drug store.

But when he got there the cupboard was bare -- . No! I mustn't say that. It doesn't belong here. I mean when Uncle Wiggily reached the drug store it was closed, and there was a sign in the door which said the monkey-doodle gentleman who kept the drug store had gone to a baseball-moving-picture show, and wouldn't be back for a long while.

"Then I wonder where I am going to get Nurse Jane's peppermint?" asked Uncle Wiggily of himself. "I'd better go see if Dr. Possum has any."

But while Uncle Wiggily was going on through the woods once more, he gave a sniff and a whiff, and, all of a sudden, he smelled a peppermint smell.

The rabbit gentleman stood still, looking around and making his pink nose twinkle like a pair of roller skates. While he was doing this along came a cow lady chewing some grass for her complexion.

"What are you doing here, Uncle Wiggily?" asked the cow lady.

Uncle Wiggily told her how he had gone to the drug store for peppermint for Nurse Jane, and how he had found the store closed, so he could not get any.

"But I smell peppermint here in the woods," went on the bunny uncle. "Can it be that the drug store monkey doodle has left some here for me?"

"No, what you smell is -- that," said the cow lady, pointing her horns toward some green plants growing near a little babbling brook of water. The plants had dark red stems that were square instead of round.

"It does smell like peppermint," said Uncle Wiggily, going closer and sniffing and snuffing.

"It is peppermint," said the cow lady. "That is the peppermint plant you see."

"Oh, now I remember," Uncle Wiggily exclaimed. "They squeeze the juice out of the leaves, and that's peppermint flavor for candy or for indigestion."

"Exactly," spoke the cow lady, "and I'll help you squeeze out some of this juice in the bottle for Nurse Jane."

Then Uncle Wiggily and the cow lady pulled up some of the peppermint plants and squeezed out the juice between two clean, flat stones, the cow lady stepping on them while Uncle Wiggily caught the juice in the empty bottle as it ran out.

"My! But that is strong!" cried the bunny uncle, as he smelled of the bottle of peppermint. It was so sharp that it made tears come into his eyes. "I should think that would cure indigestion and everything else," he said to the cow lady.

"Tell Nurse Jane to take only a little of it in sweet water," said the cow lady. "It is very strong. So be careful of it."

"I will," promised Uncle Wiggily. "And thank you for getting the peppermint for me. I don't know what I would have done without you, as the drug store was closed."

Then he hopped on through the woods to the hollow stump bungalow. He had not quite reached it when, all of a sudden, there was a rustling in the hushes, and out from behind a bramble bush jumped a big black bear. Not a nice good bear, like Neddie or Beckie Stubtail, but a bear who cried:

"Ah, ha! Oh, ho! Here is some one whom I can bite and scratch! A nice tender rabbit chap! Ah, ha! Oh, ho!"

"Are -- are you going to scratch and bite me?" asked Uncle Wiggily.

"I am," said the bear, snappish like. "Get ready. Here I come!" and he started toward Uncle Wiggily, who was so frightened that he could not hop away.

"I'm going to hug you, too," said the bear. Bears always hug, you know.

"Well, this is, indeed, a sorry day for me," said Uncle Wiggily, sadly. "Still, if you are going to hug, bite and scratch me, I suppose it can't be helped."

"Not the least in the world can it be helped," said the bear, cross-like and unpleasant. "So don't try!"

"Well, if you are going to hug me I had better take this bottle out of my pocket, so when you squeeze me the glass won't break," Uncle Wiggily said. "Here, when you are through being so mean to me perhaps you will be good enough to take this to Nurse Jane for her indigestion, but don't hug her."

"I won't," promised the bear, taking the bottle which Uncle Wiggily handed him. "What's in it?"

Before Uncle Wiggily could answer, the bear opened the bottle, and, seeing something in it, cried:

"I guess I'll taste this. Maybe it's good to eat." Down his big, red throat he poured the strong peppermint juice, and then -- well, I guess you know what happened.

"Oh, wow! Oh, me! Oh, my! Wow! Ouch! Ouchie! Itchie!" roared the bear. "My throat is on fire! I must have some water!" And, dropping the bottle, away he ran to the spring, leaving Uncle Wiggily safe, and not hurt a bit.

Then the rabbit gentleman hurried back and squeezed out more peppermint juice for Nurse Jane, whose indigestion was soon cured. And as for the bear, he had a sore throat for a week and a day.

So this teaches us that peppermint is good for scaring bears, as well as for putting in candy. And if the snow man doesn't come in our house and sit by the gas stove until he melts into a puddle of molasses, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the birch tree.



Story IX

Uncle Wiggily And The Birch Tree

Uncle Wiggily Longears, the nice old rabbit gentleman, was walking along through the woods one afternoon, when he came to the hollow stump school, where the lady mouse teacher taught the animal boys and girls how to jump, crack nuts, dig homes under ground, and do all manner of things that animal folk have to do.

And just as the rabbit gentleman was wondering whether or not school was out, he heard a voice inside the hollow stump, saying:

"Oh, dear! I wish I had some one to help me. I'll never get them clean all by myself. Oh, dear!"

"Ha! That sounds like trouble!" thought Mr. Longears to himself. "I wonder who it is, and if I can help? I guess I'd better see."

He looked in through a window, and there he saw the lady mouse teacher cleaning off the school black-boards. The boards were all covered with white chalk marks, you see.

"What's the matter, lady mouse teacher?" asked Uncle Wiggily, making a polite, low bow.

"Oh, I told Johnnie and Billy Bushytail, the two squirrel boys, to stay in and clean off the black-boards, so they would be all ready for tomorrow's lesson," said the lady mouse. "But they forgot, and ran off to play ball with Jackie and Peetie Bow Wow, the puppy dog boys. So I have to clean the boards myself. And I really ought to be home now, for I am very tired."

"Then you trot right along," said Uncle Wiggily, kindly. "Tie a knot in your tail, so you won't step on it, and hurry along."

"But what about the black-boards?" asked the lady mouse. "They must be cleaned off."

"I'll attend to that," promised the bunny uncle. "I will clean them myself. Run along, Miss Mouse."

So Miss Mouse thanked the bunny uncle, and ran along, and the rabbit gentleman began brushing the chalk marks off the black-boards, at the same time humming a little tune that went this way:

"I'd love to be a teacher, Within a hollow stump. I'd teach the children how to fall, And never get a bump.

I'd let them out at recess, A game of tag to play; I'd give them all fresh lollypops 'Most every other day!"


"Oh, my! Wouldn't we just love to come to school to you!" cried a voice at the window, and, looking up. Uncle Wiggily saw Billie Bushytail, the boy squirrel, and brother Johnnie with him.

"Ha! What happened you two chaps?" asked the bunny uncle. "Why did you run off without cleaning the black-boards for the lady mouse teacher?"

"We forgot," said Johnnie, sort of ashamed-like and sorry. "That's what we came back to do -- clean the boards."

"Well, that was good of you," spoke Uncle Wiggily.  "But I have the boards nearly cleaned now."

"Then we will give them a dusting with our tails, and that will finish them," said Billie, and the squirrel boys did, so the black-boards were very clean.

"Now it's time to go home," said Uncle Wiggily. So he locked the school, putting the key under the doormat, where the lady mouse could find it in the morning, and, with the Bushytail squirrel boys, he started off through the woods.

"You and Billie can go back to your play, now, Johnnie," said the bunny uncle. "It was good of you to leave it to come back to do what you were told."

The three animal friends hopped and scrambled on together, until, all of a sudden, the bad old fox, who so often had made trouble for Uncle Wiggily, jumped out from behind a bush, crying:

"Ah, ha! Now I have you, Mr. Longears -- and two squirrels besides. Good luck!"

"Bad luck!" whispered Billie.

The fox made a grab for the rabbit gentleman, but, all of a sudden, the paw of the bad creature slipped in some mud and down he went, head first, into a puddle of water, coughing and sneezing.

"Come on, Uncle Wiggily!" quickly cried Billie and Johnnie. "This is our chance. We'll run away before the fox gets the water out of his eyes. He can't see us now."

So away ran the rabbit gentleman and the squirrel boys, but soon the fox had dried his eyes on his big brush of a tail, and on he came after them.

"Oh, I'll get you! I'll get you!" he cried, running very fast. But Uncle Wiggily and Billie and Johnnie ran fast, too. The fox was coming closer, however, and Billie, looking back, said:

"Oh, I know what let's do, Uncle Wiggily. Let's take the path that leads over the duck pond ocean. That's shorter, and we can get to your bungalow before the fox can catch us. He won't dare come across the bridge over the duck pond, for Old Dog Percival will come out and bite him if he does."

"Very well," said Uncle Wiggily, "over the bridge we will go."

But alas! Also sorrowfulness and sadness! When the three friends got to the bridge it wasn't there. The wind had blown the bridge down, and there was no way of getting across the duck pond ocean, for neither Uncle Wiggily nor the squirrel boys could swim very well.

"Oh, what are we going to do?" cried Billie, sadly.

"We must get across somehow!" chattered Johnnie, "for here comes the fox!"

And, surely enough the fox was coming, having by this time gotten all the water out of his eyes, so he could see very well.

"Oh, if we only had a boat!" exclaimed Uncle Wiggily, looking along the shore of the pond, but there was no boat to be seen.

Nearer and nearer came the fox! Uncle Wiggily and the squirrel boys were just going to jump in the water, whether or not they could swim, when, all at once, a big white birch tree on the edge of the woods near the pond, said:

"Listen, Uncle Wiggily and I will save you. Strip off some of my bark. It will not hurt me, and you can make a little canoe boat of it, as the Indians used to do. Then, in the birch bark boat you can sail across the water and the fox can't get you."

"Good! Thank you!" cried the bunny uncle. With their sharp teeth he, Billie and Johnnie peeled off long strips of birch bark. They quickly bent them in the shape of a boat and sewed up the ends with long thorns for needles and ribbon grass for thread.

"Quick! Into the birch bark boat!" cried Uncle Wiggily, and they all jumped in, just as the fox came along. Billie and Johnnie held up their bushy tails, and Uncle Wiggily held up his tall silk hat for sails, and soon they were safe on the other shore and the fox, not being able to swim, could not get them.

So that's how the birch tree of the woods saved the bunny uncle and the squirrels, for which, I am very glad, as I want to write more stories about them. And if the gold fish doesn't tickle the wax doll's nose with his tail when she looks in the tank to see what he has for breakfast, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the butternut tree.



Story X

Uncle Wiggily And The Butternut Tree

"Well, I declare!" exclaimed Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper of Uncle Wiggily Longears, the rabbit, as she looked in the pantry of the hollow stump bungalow one day. "Well, I do declare!"

"What's the matter?" asked Mr. Longears, peeping over the top of his spectacles. "I hope that the chimney hasn't fallen down, or the egg beater run away with the potato masher."

"No, nothing like that," Nurse Jane said. "But we haven't any butter!"

"No butter?" spoke Uncle Wiggily, sort of puzzled like, and abstracted.

"Not a bit of butter for supper," went on Nurse Jane, sadly.

"Ha! That sounds like something from Mother Goose. Not a bit of butter for supper," laughed Uncle Wiggily. "Not a bit of batter-butter for the pitter-patter supper. If Peter Piper picked a pit of peckled pippers -- "

"Oh, don't start that!" begged Nurse Jane. "All I need is some supper for butter -- no some bupper for batter -- oh, dear! I'll never get it straight!" she cried.

"I'll say it for you," said Uncle Wiggily, kindly. "I know what you want -- some butter for supper. I'll go get it for you."

"Thank you," Nurse Jane exclaimed, and so the old rabbit gentleman started off over the fields and through the woods for the butter store.

The monkey-doodle gentleman waited on him, and soon Uncle Wiggily was on his way back to the hollow stump bungalow with the butter for supper, and he was thinking how nice the carrot muffins would taste, for Nurse Jane had promised to make some, and Uncle Wiggily was sort of smacking his whiskers and twinkling his nose, when, all at once, he heard some one in the woods calling:

"Uncle Wiggily! Oh, I say, Uncle Wiggily! Can't you stop for a moment and say how-d'-do?"

"Why, of course, I can," answered the bunny, and, looking around the corner of an old log, he saw Grandpa Whackum, the old beaver gentleman, who lived with Toodle and Noodle Flat-tail, the beaver boys.

"Come in and sit down for a minute and rest yourself," invited Grandpa Whackum.

"I will," said Uncle Wiggily. "And I'll leave my butter outside where it will be cool," for Grandpa Whackum lived down in an underground house, where it was so warm, in summer, that butter would melt.

Grandpa Whackum was a beaver, and he was called Whackum because he used to whack his broad, flat tail on the ground, like beating a drum, to warn the other beavers of danger. Beavers, you know, are something like big muskrats, and they like water. Their tails are flat, like a pancake or egg turner.

"Well, how are things with you, and how is Nurse Jane?" asked Grandpa Whackum.

"Oh, everything is fine," said Uncle Wiggily. "Nurse Jane is well. I've just been to the store to get her some butter."

"That's just like you; always doing something for some one," said Grandpa Whackum, pleased like.

Then the two friends talked for some little while longer, until it was almost 6 o'clock, and time for Uncle Wiggily to go.

"I'll take my butter and travel along," he said. But when he went outside, where he had left the pound of butter on a flat stump, it wasn't there.

"Why, this is queer," said the bunny uncle. "I wonder if Nurse Jane could have come along and taken it to the hollow stump bungalow herself?"

"More likely a bad fox took the butter," spoke the old gentleman beaver. "But we can soon tell. I'll look in the dirt around the stump and see whose footprints are there. A fox makes different tracks from a muskrat."

So Grandpa Whackum looked and he said:

"Why, this is queer. I can only see beaver tracks and rabbit tracks near the stump. Only you and I were here and we didn't take anything."

"But where is my butter?" asked Uncle Wiggily.

Just then, off in the woods, near the beaver house, came the sound of laughter and voices cailed:

"Oh, it's my turn now, Toodle."

"Yes, Noodle, and then it's mine. Oh, what fun we are having, aren't we?"

"It's Toodle and Noodle -- my two beaver grandsons," said Grandpa Whackum. "I wonder if they could have taken your butter? Come; we'll find out."

They went softly over behind a clump of bushes and there they saw Toodle and Noodle sliding down the slanting log of a tree, that was like a little hill, only there was no snow on it.

"Why, they're coasting!" cried Grandpa Whackum. "And how they can do it without snow I don't see."

"But I see!" said Uncle Wiggily. "Those two little beaver boys have taken my butter that I left outside of your house and with the butter they have greased the slanting log until it is slippery as ice. That's how they slide down -- on Nurse Jane's butter."

"Oh, the little rascals!" cried Grandpa Whackum.

"Well, they didn't mean anything wrong," Uncle Wiggily kindly said. Then he called; "Toodle! Noodle! Is any of my butter left?"

"Your butter?" cried Noodle, surprised like.

"Was that your butter?" asked Toodle. "Oh, please forgive us! We thought no one wanted it, and we took it to grease the log so we could slide down. It was as good as sliding down a muddy, slippery bank of mud into the lake."

"We used all your butter," spoke Noodle. "Every bit."

"Oh, dear! That's too bad!" Uncle Wiggily said. "It is now after 6 o'clock and all the stores will be closed. How can I get more?" And he looked at the butter the beaver boys had spread on the tree. It could not be used for bread, as it was all full of bark.

"Oh, how can I get some good butter for Nurse Jane?" asked the bunny uncle sadly.

"Ha! I will give you some," spoke a voice high in the air.

"Who are you?" asked Uncle Wiggily, startled.

"I am the butternut tree," was the answer. "I'll drop some nuts down and all you will have to do will be to crack them, pick out the meats and squeeze out the butter. It is almost as good as that which you buy in the store."

"Good!" cried Uncle Wiggily, "and thank you."

Then the butter tree rattled down some butternuts, which Uncle Wiggily took home, and Nurse Jane said the butter squeezed from them was very good. And Toodle and Noodle were sorry for having taken Uncle Wiggily's other butter to make a slippery tree slide, but they meant no harm.

So if the pussy cat doesn't take the lollypop stick to make a mud pie, and not give any ice cream cones to the rag doll, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and Lulu's hat.



Story XI

Uncle Wiggily And Lulu's Hat

"Uncle Wiggily, do you want to do something for me?" asked Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper, of the rabbit gentleman one day as he started out from his hollow stump bungalow to take a walk in the woods.

"Do something for you, Nurse Jane? Why, of course, I want to," spoke Mr. Longears. "What is it?"

"Just take this piece of pie over to Mrs. Wibblewobble, the duck lady," went on Miss Fuzzy Wuzzy. "I promised to let her taste how I made apple pie out of cabbage leaves."

"And very cleverly you do it, too," said Uncle Wiggily, with a polite bow. "I know, for I have eaten some myself. I will gladly take this pie to Mrs. Wibblewobble," and off through the woods Uncle Wiggily started with it.

He soon reached the duck lady's house, and Mrs. Wibblewobble was very glad indeed to get the piece of Nurse Jane's pie.

"I'll save a bit for Lulu and Alice, my two little duck girls," said Mrs. Wibblewobble.

"Why, aren't they home?" asked Uncle Wiggily.

"No, Lulu has gone over to a little afternoon party which Nannie Wagtail, the goat girl, is having, and Alice has gone to see Grandfather Goosey Gander. Jiminie is off playing ball with Jackie and Peetie Bow Wow, the puppy dog boys, so I am home alone."

"I hope you are not lonesome," said Uncle Wiggily.

"Oh, no, thank you," answered the duck lady. "I have too much to do. Thank Nurse Jane for her pie."

"I shall," Uncle Wiggily promised, as he started off through the woods again. He had not gone far before, all of a sudden, he did not stoop low enough as he was hopping under a tree and, the first thing he knew, his tall silk hat was knocked off his head and into a puddle of water.

"Oh, dear!" cried Uncle Wiggily, as he picked up his hat. "I shall never be able to wear it again until it is cleaned and ironed. And how I can have that done out here in the woods is more than I know."

"Ah, but I know," said a voice in a tree overhead.

"Who are you, and what do you know?" asked the bunny uncle, surprised like and hopeful.

"I know where you can have your silk hat cleaned and ironed smooth," said the voice. "I am the tailor bird, and I do those things. Let me have your hat, Uncle Wiggily, and I'll fix it for you."

Down flew the kind bird, and Uncle Wiggily gave him the hat.

"But what shall I wear while I'm waiting?" asked the bunny uncle. "It is too soon for me to be going about without my hat. I'll need something on my head while you are fixing my silk stovepipe, dear Tailor Bird."

"Oh, that is easy," said the bird. "Just pick some of those thick, green leafy ferns and make yourself a hat of them."

"The very thing!" cried Uncle Wiggily. Then he fastened some woodland ferns together and easily made himself a hat that would keep off the sun, if it would not keep off the rain. But then it wasn't raining.

"There you are, Uncle Wiggily!" called the tailor bird at last. "Your silk hat is ready to wear again."

"Thank you," spoke the bunny uncle, as he laid aside the ferns, also thanking them. "Now I am like myself again," and he hopped on through the woods, wondering whether or not he was to have any more adventures that day.

Mr. Longears had not gone on very much farther before he heard a rustling in the bushes, and then a sad little voice said:

"Oh, dear! How sad! I don't believe I'll go to the party now! All the others would make fun of me! Oh, dear! Oh, dear!"

"Ha! That sounds like trouble!" said the bunny uncle. "I must see what it means."

He looked through the bushes and there, sitting on a log, he saw Lulu Wibblewobble, the little duck girl, who was crying very hard, the tears rolling down her yellow bill.

"Why, Lulu! What's the matter?" asked Uncle Wiggily.

"Oh, dear!" answered the little quack-quack child. "I can't go to the party; that's what's the matter."

"Why can't you go?" Uncle Wiggily wanted to know. "I saw your mother a little while ago, and she said you were going."

"I know I was going," spoke Lulu, "but I'm not now, for the wind blew my nice new hat into the puddle of muddy water, and now look at it!" and she held up a very much beraggled and debraggled hat of lace and straw and ribbons and flowers.

"Oh, dear! That hat is in a bad state, to be sure," said Uncle Wiggily. "But don't cry, Lulu. Almost the same thing happened to me and the tailor bird made my hat as good as ever. Mine was all mud, too, like yours. Come, I'll take you to the tailor bird."

"You are very kind, Uncle Wiggily," spoke Lulu, "but if I go there I may not get back in time for the party, and I want to wear my new hat to it, very much."

"Ha! I see!" cried the bunny uncle. "You want to look nice at the party. Well, that's right, of course. And I don't believe the tailor bird could clean your hat in time, for it is so fancy he would have to be very careful of it.

"But you can do as I did, make a hat out of ferns, and wear that to Nannie Wagtail's party. I'll help you."

"Oh, how kind you are!" cried the little duck girl.

So she went along with Uncle Wiggily to where the ferns grew in the wood, leaving her regular hat at the tailor bird's nest to be cleaned and pressed.

Uncle Wiggily made Lulu the cutest hat out of fern leaves. Oh, I wish you could have seen it. There wasn't one like it even in the five and ten-cent store.

"Wear that to Nannie's party, Lulu," said the rabbit gentleman, and Lulu did, the hat being fastened to her feathers with a long pin made from the stem of a fern. And when Lulu reached the party all the animal girls cried out:

"Oh, what a sweet, lovely, cute, dear, cunning, swell and stylish hat! Where did you get it?"

"Uncle Wiggily made it," answered Lulu, and all the girls said they were going to get one just like it. And they did, so that fern hats became very fashionable and stylish in Woodland, and Lulu had a fine time at the party.

So this teaches us that even a mud puddle is of some use, and if the rubber plant doesn't stretch too far, and tickle the gold fish under the chin making it sneeze, the next story will be about Uncle Wiggily and the snow drops.



Story XII

Uncle Wiggily And The Snow Drops

"Uncle Wiggily! Uncle Wiggily! Will you come with me?" called a voice under the window of the hollow stump bungalow, where the old gentleman rabbit was sitting, half asleep, one nice, warm afternoon.

"Ha! Come with you? Who is it wants me to come with them?" asked the bunny gentleman. "I hope it isn't the bad fox, or the skillery-scalery alligator with humps on his tail that is calling. They're always wanting me to go with them."

The rabbit looked out of the window and he heard some one laughing.

"That doesn't sound like a bad fox, nor yet an unpleasant alligator," said Mr. Longears. "Who is it wants me to come with them?"

"It is I -- Susie Littletail, the rabbit girl," was the answer.

"And where do you want me to come?" asked Uncle Wiggily.

"To the woods, to pick some flowers," answered Susie. "The lady mouse teacher wants me to see how many kinds I can find. You know so much about the woods, Uncle Wiggily, that I wish you'd come with me."

"I will," said the nice rabbit gentleman. "Wait until I get my tall silk hat and my red, white and blue striped barber pole rheumatism crutch."

And, when he had them, off he started, holding Susie's paw in his, and limping along under the green trees and over the carpet of green moss.

Uncle Wiggily and the little rabbit girl found many kinds of flowers in the woods.  There were violets, some white, some yellow and some purple, with others blue, like the ones Uncle Wiggily used to make blueing water for Nurse Jane's clothes. And there were red flowers and yellow ones, and some Jacks-in-their-pulpits, which are very queer flowers indeed.

"Here, Susie, is a new kind of blossom. Maybe you would like some of these," said Uncle Wiggily, pointing to a bush that was covered with little round, white balls.

"Oh, I didn't know the snow had lasted this long!" Susie cried. "I thought it had melted long ago."

"I don't see any snow," said Uncle Wiggily, looking around.

"On that bush," said Susie, pointing to the white one.

"Oh!" laughed the bunny uncle. "That does look like snow, to be sure. But it isn't, though the name of the flowers is snowdrop."

"Flowers! I don't call them flowers!" said Susie. "They are only white balls."

"Don't you want to pick any?" asked the rabbit.

"Thank you, no," Susie said. "I like prettier colored flowers than those, which are just plain white."

"Well, I like them, and I'll take some to Nurse Jane," spoke the bunny uncle. So he picked a bunch of the snowdrops and carried them in his paws, while Susie gathered the brighter flowers.

"I think those will be all teacher will want," said the little rabbit girl at last.

"Yes, we had better be getting home," spoke Uncle Wiggily. "Nurse Jane will soon have supper ready. Won't you come and eat with me, Susie?"

"Thank you, I will, Uncle Wiggily," and the little bunny girl clapped her paws; that is, as well as she could, on account of holding her flowers, for she loved to eat at Uncle Wiggily's hollow stump bungalow, as did all the animal children.

Well, Uncle Wiggily and Susie were going along and along through the woods, when, all of a sudden, as they passed a high rock, out from behind it jumped the bad old tail-pulling monkey.

As they passed a high rock, out from behind it jumped the bad old tail-pulling monkey.

"Ah, ha!" chattered the monkey chap. "I am just in time, I see."

"Time for what?" asked Uncle Wiggily, suspicious like.

"To pull your tails," answered the monkey. "I haven't had any tails to pull in a long while, and I must pull some. So, though you rabbits haven't very good tails, for pulling, I must do the best I can. Now come to me and have your tails pulled. Come on!"

"Oh, dear!" cried Susie. "I don't want my tail pulled, even if it is very short."

"Nor I mine," Uncle Wiggily said.

"That makes no manner of difference to me," chattered the monkey. "I'm a tail-pulling chap, and tails I must pull. So you might as well have it over with, now as later." And he spoke just like a dentist who wants to take your lolly-pop away from you.

"Pull our tails! Well, I guess you won't!" cried Uncle Wiggily suddenly. "Come on, Susie! Let's run away!"

Before the monkey could grab them Uncle Wiggily and Susie started to run. But soon the monkey was running after them, crying:

"Stop! Stop! I must pull your tails!"

"But we don't want you to," answered Susie.

"Oh, but you must let me!" cried the monkey. Then he gave a great big, long, strong and double-jointed jump, like a circus clown going over the backs of fourteen elephants, and part of another one, and the monkey grabbed Uncle Wiggily by his ears.

"Oh, let go of me, if you please!" begged the bunny. "I thought you said you pulled tails and not ears."

"I do pull tails when I can get hold of them," said the malicious monkey. "But as I can't easily get hold of your tail, and as your ears are so large that I can easily grab them, I'll pull them instead. All ready now, a long pull, a strong pull and a pull altogether!"

"Stop!" cried the bunny uncle, just as the monkey was going to give the three kinds of pull at once. "Stop!"

"No!" answered the monkey. "No! No!"

"Yes! Yes!" cried the bunny uncle. "If you don't stop pulling my ears you'll freeze!" and with that the bunny uncle pulled out from behind him, where he had kept them hidden, the bunch of white snowdrops.

"Ah, ha!" cried Mr. Longears to the monkey. "You come from a warm country, where there is no snow or snowdrops. Now when you see these snow drops, shiver and shake -- see how cold it is! Shiver and shake! Shake and shiver! Burr-r-r-r-r!"

Uncle Wiggily made believe the flowers were real snow, sort of shivering himself (pretend like) and the tail-pulling chap, who was very much afraid of cold and snow and ice, chattered and said:

"Oh, dear! Oh, how cold I am! Oh, I'm freezing. I am going back to my warm nest in the tree and not pull any tails until next summer!"

And then the monkey ran away, thinking the snowdrops Uncle Wiggily had picked were bits of real snow.

"I'm sorry I said the snowdrops weren't nice," spoke Susie, as she and Uncle Wiggily went safely home. "They are very nice. Only for them the monkey would have pulled our tails."

But he didn't, you see, and if the hookworm doesn't go to the moving pictures with the gold fish and forget to come back to play tag with the toy piano, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the horse chestnut tree.



Story XIII

Uncle Wiggily And The Horse Chestnut

"Bang! Bango! Bunko! Bunk! Slam!"

Something made a big noise on the front porch of the hollow stump bungalow, where, in the woods, lived Uncle Wiggily Longears, the rabbit gentleman.

"My goodness!" cried Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper. "I hope nothing has happened!"

"Well, from what I heard I should say it is quite certain that SOMETHING has happened," spoke the bunny uncle, sort of twisting his ears very anxious like.

"I only hope the chimney hasn't turned a somersault, and that the roof is not trying to play tag with the back steps," went on Miss Fuzzy Wuzzy, a bit scared like.

"I'll go see what it is," offered Uncle Wiggily, and as he went to the front door there, on the piazza, he saw Billie Wagtail, the little goat boy.

"Oh, good morning, Uncle Wiggily," spoke Billie, politely. "Here's a note for you. I just brought it."

"And did you bring all that noise with you?" Mr. Longears wanted to know.

"Well, yes, I guess I did," Billie said, sort of bashful like and shy as he wiggled his horns. "I was seeing how fast I could run, and I ran down hill and got going so lickity-split like that I couldn't stop. I fell right up your front steps, rattle-te-bang!"

"I should say it was rattle-te-bang!" laughed Uncle Wiggily. "But please don't do it again, Billie."

"I won't," promised the goat boy. "Grandpa Goosey Gander gave me that note to leave for you on my way to the store for my mother. And now I must hurry on," and Billie jumped off the porch and skipped along through the Woodland trees as happy as a huckleberry pie and a piece of cheese.

"What was it all about?" asked Nurse Jane, when Uncle Wiggily came in.

"Oh, just Billie Wagtail," answered the bunny uncle. "He brought a note from Grandpa Goosey, who wants me to come over and see him. I'll go. He has the epizootic, and can't get out, so he wants some one to talk to and to play checkers with him."

Off through the woods went Uncle Wiggily and he was almost at Grandpa Goosey's house when he heard some voices talking. One voice said:

"Oh, dear! How thirsty I am!"

"And so am I!" said another.

"Well, children, I am sorry," spoke a third voice, "but I cannot give you any water. I am thirsty myself, but we cannot drink until it rains, and it has not rained in a long, long time."

"Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" cried the other voices again. "How thirsty we are!"

"That's too bad," thought Uncle Wiggily. "I would not wish even the bad fox to be thirsty. I must see if I can not be of some help."

So he peeked through the bushes and saw some trees.

"Was it you who were talking about being thirsty?" asked the rabbit gentleman, curious like.

"Yes," answered the big voice. "I am a horse chestnut tree, and these are my children," and the large tree waved some branches, like fingers, at some small trees growing under her.

"And they, I suppose, are pony chestnut trees," said Uncle Wiggily.

"That's what we are!" cried the little trees, "and we are very thirsty."

"Indeed they are," said the mother tree. "You see we are not like you animals. We cannot walk to a spring or well to get a drink when we are thirsty. We have to stay, rooted in one place, and wait for the rain, or until some one waters us."

"Well, some one is going to water you right away!" cried Uncle Wiggily in his jolly voice. "I'll bring you some water from the duck pond, which is near by."

Then, borrowing a pail from Mrs. Wibblewobble, the duck lady, Uncle Wiggily poured water all around the dry earth, in which grew the horse chestnut tree and the little pony trees.

"Oh! How fine that is!" cried the thirsty trees. "It is almost as nice as rain. You are very good, Uncle Wiggily," said the mother tree, "and if ever we can do you a favor we will."

"Thank you," spoke Uncle Wiggily, making a low bow with his tall silk hat. Then he went on to Grandpa Goosey's where he visited with his epizootic friend and played checkers.

On his way home through the woods, Uncle Wiggily was unpleasantly surprised when, all of a sudden out from behind a stone jumped a bad bear. He wasn't at all a good, nice bear like Beckie or Neddie Stubtail.

"Bur-r-r-r-r!" growled the bear at Uncle Wiggily. "I guess I'll scratch you."

"Oh, please don't," begged the bunny uncle.

"Yes, I shall!" grumbled the bear. "And I'll hug you, too!"

"Oh, no! I'd rather you wouldn't!" said the bunny uncle. For well he knew that a bear doesn't hug for love. It's more of a hard, rib-cracking squeeze than a hug. If ever a bear wants to hug you, just don't you let him. Of course if daddy or mother wants to hug, why, that's all right.

"Yes, I'm going to scratch you and hug you," went on the bad bear, "and after that -- well, after that I guess I'll take you off to my den."

"Oh, please don't!" begged Uncle Wiggily, twinkling his nose and thinking that he might make the bear laugh. For if ever you can get a bear to laugh he won't hurt you a bit. Just remember that. Tickle him, or do anything to get him to laugh. But this bear wouldn't even smile. He just growled again and said:

"Well, here I come, Uncle Wiggily, to hug you!"

"Oh, no you don't!" all of a sudden cried a voice in the air.

"Ha! Who says I don't?" grumbled the bear, impolite like.

"I do," went on the voice. And the bear saw some trees waving their branches at him.

"Pooh! I'm not afraid of you!" growled the bear, and he made a rush for the bunny. "I'm not afraid of trees."

"Not afraid of us, eh? Well, you'd better be!" said the mother tree. "I'm a strong horse chestnut and these are my strong little ponies. Come on, children, we won't let the bear get Uncle Wiggily." Then the strong horse chestnut tree and the pony trees reached down with their powerful branches and, catching hold of the bear, they tossed him up in the air, far away over in the woods, at the same time pelting him with green, prickly horse chestnuts, and the bear came down ker-bunko in a bramble brier bush.

"Oh, wow!" cried the bear, as he felt his soft and tender nose being scratched. "I'll be good! I'll be good!"

And he was, for a little while, anyhow. So this shows you how a horse chestnut tree saved the bunny gentleman, and if the postman doesn't stick a stamp on our cat's nose so it can't eat molasses cake when it goes to the puppy dog's party, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the pine tree.



Story XIV

Uncle Wiggily And The Pine Tree

Uncle Wiggily Longears, the nice old gentleman rabbit, put on his tall silk hat, polished his glasses with the tip of his tail, to make them shiny so he could see better through them, and then, taking his red, white and blue striped rheumatism crutch down off the mantel, he started out of his hollow stump bungalow one day.

"Better take an umbrella, hadn't you?" asked Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper. "It looks as though we might have an April shower."

"An umbrella? Yes, I think I will take one," spoke the bunny uncle, as he saw some dark clouds in the sky. "They look as though they might have rain in them."

"Are you going anywhere in particular?" asked the muskrat lady, as she tied her tail in a soft knot.

"No, not special," Uncle Wiggily answered. "May I have the pleasure of doing something for you?" he asked with a polite bow, like a little girl speaking a piece in school on Friday afternoon.

"Well," said Nurse Jane, "I have baked some apple dumplings with oranges inside, and I thought perhaps you might like to take one to Grandfather Goosey Gander to cheer him up."

"The very thing!" cried Uncle Wiggily, jolly-like. "I'll do it, Nurse Jane."

So with an apple dumpling carefully wrapped up in a napkin and put in a basket, Uncle Wiggily started off through the woods and over the fields to Grandpa Goosey's house.

"I wonder if I shall have an adventure today?" thought the rabbit gentleman as he waved his ears to and fro like the pendulum of a clock. "I think I would like one to give me an appetite for supper. I must watch for something to happen."

He looked all around the woods, but all he could see were some trees.

"I can't have any adventures with them," said the bunny uncle, "though the horse chestnut tree did help me the other day by tossing the bad bear over into the briar bush. But these trees are not like that."

Still Uncle Wiggily was to have an adventure with one of the trees very soon. Just you wait, now, and you shall hear about it.

Uncle Wiggily walked on a little farther and he heard a funny tapping noise in the woods.

"Tap! Tap! Tap! Tappity-tap-tap!" it sounded.

"My! Some one is knocking on a door trying to get in," thought the bunny. "I wonder who it can be?"

Just then he saw a big bird perched on the side of a pine tree, tapping with his bill.

"Tap! Tap! Tap!" went the bird.

"Excuse me," said the bunny uncle, "but you are making a mistake. No one lives in that tree."

"Oh, thank you, Uncle Wiggily. I know that no one lives here," said the bird. "But you see I am a woodpecker, and I am pecking holes in the tree to get some of the sweet juice, or sap. The sap is running in the trees now, for it is Spring. Later on I will tap holes in the bark to get at bugs and worms, when there is no more sap for me to eat."

And the woodpecker went on tapping, tapping, tapping.

"My! That is a funny way to get something to eat," said the bunny gentleman to himself. He watched the bird until it flew away, and then Uncle Wiggily was about to hop on to Grandpa Goosey's house when, all of a sudden, before he could run away, out popped the bad old bear once more.

"Ah, ha! We meet again, I see," growled the bear. "I was not looking for you, Mr. Longears, but all the same I am glad to meet you, for I want to eat you."

"Well," said Uncle Wiggily, sort of scratching his pink, twinkling nose with his ear, surprised like. "I can't exactly say I'm glad to see you, good Mr. Bear."

"No, I s'pose not," agreed the fuzzy creature. "But you are mistaken. I am the Bad Mr. Bear, not the Good."

"Oh, excuse me," said Uncle Wiggily. All the while he knew the bear was bad, but he hoped by calling him good, to make him so.

"I'm very bad!" growled the bear, "and I'm going to take you off to my den with me. Come along!"

"Oh, I don't want to," said the bunny uncle, shivering his tail.

"But you must!" growled the bear. "Come on, now!"

"Oh, dear!" cried Uncle Wiggily. "Will you let me go if I give you what's in my basket?" he asked, and he held up the basket with the nice orange apple turnover in it. "Let me go if I give you this," begged the bunny uncle.

"Maybe I will, and maybe I won't," said the bear, cunning like. "Let me see what it is."

He took the basket from Uncle Wiggily, and looking in, said:

"Ah, ha! An apple turnover-dumpling with oranges in it! I just love them! Ah, ha!"

"Oh," thought Uncle Wiggily. "I hope he eats it, for then maybe I can get away when he doesn't notice me. I hope he eats it!"

And the bear, leaning his back against the pine tree in which the woodpecker had been boring holes, began to take bites out of the apple dumpling which Nurse Jane had baked for Grandpa Goosey.

"Now's my chance to get away!" thought the bunny gentleman. But when he tried to hop softly off, as the bear was eating the sweet stuff, the bad creature saw him and cried:

"Ah, ha! No you don't! Come hack here!" and with his claws he pulled Uncle Wiggily close to him again.

Then the bunny uncle noticed that some sweet, sticky juice or gum, like that on fly paper, was running down the trunk of the tree from the holes the woodpecker had drilled in it.

"Oh, if the bear only leans back hard enough and long enough against that sticky pine tree," thought Mr. Longears, "he'll be stuck fast by his furry hair and he can't get me. I hope he sticks!"

And that is just what happened. The bear enjoyed eating the apple dumpling so much that he leaned back harder and harder against the sticky tree. His fur stuck fast in the gum that ran out. Finally the bear ate the last crumb of the dumpling.

"And now I'll get you!" he cried to the bunny uncle; "I'll get you!"

But did the bear get Uncle Wiggily? He did not. The bear tried to jump toward the rabbit, but could not. He was stuck fast to the sticky pine tree and Uncle Wiggily could now run safely back to his hollow stump bungalow to get another dumpling for Grandpa Goosey.

So the bear had no rabbit, after all, and all he did was to stay stuck fast to the pine tree until a big fox came along and helped him to get loose, and the bear cried "Wouch!" because his fur was pulled.

So Uncle Wiggily was all right, you see, after all, and very thankful he was to the pine tree for holding fast to the bear.

And in the next story, if our cat doesn't go hunting for the poll parrot's cracker in the gold fish bowl and get his whiskers all wet, I'll tell you about Uncle Wiggily and the green rushes.



Story XV

Uncle Wiggily And The Green Rushes

Once upon a time Uncle Wiggily Longears, the nice rabbit gentleman, was taking a walk in the woods, looking for an adventure, as he often did, when, as he happened to go past the hollow tree, where Billie and Johnnie Bushytail, the two squirrel boys lived, he saw them just poking their noses out of the front door, which was a knot-hole.

"Hello, boys!" called Uncle Wiggily. "Why haven't you gone to school today? It is time, I'm sure."

"Oh, we don't have to go today," answered Billie, as he looked at his tail to see if any chestnut burrs were sticking in it. But none was, I am glad to say.

"Don't have to go to school? Why not?" Uncle Wiggily wanted to know. "This isn't Saturday, is it?"

"No," spoke Johnnie. "But you see, Sister Sallie, our little squirrel sister, has the measles, and we can't go to school until she gets over them."

"And we don't know what to do to have some fun," went on Billie, "for lots of the animal children are home from school with the measles, and they can't be out to play with us. We've had the measles, so we can't get them the second time, but the animal boys and girls, who haven't broken out, don't want us to come and see them for fear we'll bring the red spots to them."

"I see," said Uncle Wiggily, laughing until his pink nose twinkled like a jelly roll. "So you can't have any fun? Well, suppose you come with me for a walk in the woods."

"Fine!" cried Billie and Johnnie and soon they were walking in the woods with the rabbit gentleman. They had not gone very far before, all of a sudden, they came to a place where a mud turtle gentleman had fallen on his back, and he could not turn over, right-side up again. He tried and tried, but he could not right himself.

"Oh, that is too bad!" cried Uncle Wiggily, when he saw what had happened. "I must help him to get right-side up again," which he did.

"Oh, thank you for putting me on my legs once more, Uncle Wiggily," said the mud turtle. "I would like to do you a favor for helping me, but all I have to give you are these," and in one claw he picked some green stalks growing near him, and handed them to the bunny uncle, afterward crawling away.

"Pooh! Those are no good!" cried Billie, the boy squirrel.

"I should say not!" laughed Johnnie, "They are only green rushes that grow all about in the woods, and we could give Uncle Wiggily all he wanted."

"Hush, boys! Don't talk that way," said the bunny uncle. "The mud turtle tried to do the best he could for me, and I am sure the green rushes are very nice. I'll take them with me. I may find use for them."

Billie and Johnnie wanted to laugh, for they thought green rushes were of no use at all. But Uncle Wiggily said to the squirrel boys:

"Billie and Johnnie, though green rushes, which grow in the woods and swamps are very common, still they are a wonderful plant. See how smooth they are when you rub them up and down. But if you rub them sideways they are as rough as a stiff brush or a nutmeg grater."

Well, Billie and Johnnie thought more of the rushes after that, but, as they walked on with Uncle Wiggily, when he had put them in his pocket, they could think of no way in which he could use them.

In a little while they came to where Mother Goose lived, and the dear old lady herself was out in front of her house, looking up and down the woodland path, anxious like.

"What is the matter?" asked Uncle Wiggily. "Are you looking for some of your lost ones -- Little Bopeep or Tommy Tucker, who sings for his supper?"

"Well, no, not exactly," answered Mother Goose. "I sent Simple Simon to the store to get me a scrubbing brush, so I could clean the kitchen floor. But he hasn't come back, and I am afraid he has gone fishing in his mother's pail, to try to catch a whale. Oh, dear! My kitchen is so dirty that it needs scrubbing right away. But I cannot do it without a scrubbing brush."

"Ha! Say no more!" cried Uncle Wiggily in his jolly voice. "I have no scrubbing brush, but I have a lot of green rushes the mud turtle gave me for turning him right-side up. The rushes are as rough as a scrubbing brush, and will do just as nicely to clean your kitchen."

"Oh, thank you! I'm sure they will," said Mother Goose. So she took the green rushes from Uncle Wiggily and by using them with soap and water soon her kitchen floor was scrubbed as clean as an eggshell, for the green, rough stems scraped off all the dirt.

Then Mother Goose thanked Uncle Wiggily very much, and Billie and Johnnie sort of looked at one another with blinking eyes, for they saw that green rushes are of some use in this world after all.

And if the strawberry jam doesn't go to the moving pictures with the bread and butter and forget to come home for supper, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the bee tree.



Story XVI

Uncle Wiggily And The Bee Tree

"Well, you're off again, I see!" spoke Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper, one morning, as she saw Uncle Wiggily Longears, the rabbit gentleman, starting away from his hollow stump bungalow. He was limping on his red, white and blue striped barber pole rheumatism crutch, that Miss Fuzzy Wuzzy had gnawed for him out of a cornstalk. "Off again!" she cried.

"Yes, off again," said Uncle Wiggily. "I must have my adventure, you know."

"I hope it will be a pleasant one today," went on Nurse Jane.

"So do I," said Uncle Wiggily, and away he went hopping over the fields and through the woods. He had not gone very far before he heard a queer buzzing sound, and a sort of splashing in the water and a tiny voice cried:

"Help! Help! Save me! I am drowning!"

"My goodness me sakes alive and some horse radish lollypops!" cried the bunny uncle. "Some one drowning? I don't see any water around here, though I do hear some splashing. Who are you?" he cried. "And where are you, so that I may save you?"

"Here I am, right down by your foot!" was the answer. "I am a honey bee, and I have fallen into this Jack-in-the pulpit flower, which is full of water. Please get me out!"

"To be sure I will!" cried Mr. Longears, and then, stooping down he carefully lifted the poor bee out of the water in the Jack-in-the-pulpit.

The Jack is a plant that looks like a little pitcher and it holds water. In the middle is a green stem, that is called Jack, because he looks like a minister preaching in the pulpit. The Jack happened to be out when the bee fell in the water that had rained in the plant-pitcher, or Jack himself would have saved the honey chap. But Uncle Wiggily did it just as well.

"Oh, thank you so much for not letting me drown," said the bee, as she dried her wings in the sun on a big green leaf. "I was on my way to the hive tree with a load of honey when I stopped for a drink. But I leaned over too far and fell in. I can not thank you enough!"

"Oh, once is enough!" cried Uncle Wiggily in his most jolly voice. "But did I understand you to say you lived in a hive-tree?"

"Yes, a lot of us bees have our hive in a hollow tree in the woods, not far away. It is there we store the honey we gather from Summer flowers, so we will have something to eat in the Winter when there are no blossoms. Would you like to see the bee tree?"

"Indeed, I would," Uncle Wiggily said.

"Follow me, then," buzzed the bee. "I will fly on ahead, very slowly, and you can follow me through the woods."

Uncle Wiggily did so, and soon he heard a great buzzing sound, and he saw hundreds of bees flying in and out of a hollow tree. At first some of the bees were going to sting the bunny uncle, but his little friend cried:

"Hold on, sisters! Don't sting this rabbit gentleman. He is Uncle Wiggily and he saved me from being drowned."

So the bees did not sting the bunny uncle, but, instead, gave him a lot of honey, in a little box made of birch bark, which he took home to Nurse Jane.

"Oh, I had the sweetest adventure!" he said to her, and he told her about the bee tree and the honey, which he and the muskrat lady ate on their carrot cake for dinner.

It was about a week after this, and Uncle Wiggily was once more in the woods, looking for an adventure, when, all at once a big bear jumped out from behind a tree and grabbed him.

"Oh, dear!" cried Uncle Wiggily. "Why did you do that? Why have you caught me, Mr. Bear?"

"Because I am going to carry you off to my den," answered the bear. "I am hungry, and I have been looking for something to eat. You came along just in time. Come on!"

The hear was leading Uncle Wiggily away when the bunny uncle happened to think of something, and it was this -- that bears are very fond of sweet things.

"Would you not rather eat some honey than me?" Uncle Wiggily asked of the bear.

"Much rather," answered the shaggy creature, "but where is the honey?" he asked, cautious like and foxy.

"Come with me and I will show you where it is," went on the bunny uncle, for he felt sure that his friends the bees, would give the bear honey so the bad animal would let the rabbit gentleman go.

Uncle Wiggily led the way through the wood to the bee tree, the bear keeping hold of him all the while. Pretty soon a loud buzzing was heard, and when they came to where the honey was stored in the hollow tree, all of a sudden out flew hundreds of bees, and they stung the bear so hard all over, especially on his soft and tender nose, that the bear cried:

"Wow! Wouch! Oh, dear!" and, letting go of the rabbit, ran away to jump in the ice water to cool off.

But the bees did not sting Uncle Wiggily, for they liked him, and he thanked them for driving away the bear. So everything came out all right, you see, and if the foot-stool gets up to the head of the class and writes its name on the blackboard, with pink chalk, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the dogwood tree.



Story XVII

Uncle Wiggily And The Dogwood

"Where are you going, Uncle Wiggily?" asked Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper, as the nice old rabbit gentleman started out from his hollow stump bungalow one afternoon.

"Oh, just for a walk in the woods," he answered. "Neddie Stubtail, the little bear boy, told me last night that there were many adventures in the forest, and I want to see if I can find one."

"My goodness! You seem very fond of adventures!" said Miss Fuzzy Wuzzy.

"I am," went on Uncle Wiggily, with a smile that made his pink nose twinkle and his whiskers sort of chase themselves around the back of his neck, as though they were playing tag with his collar button. "I just love to have adventures."

"Well, while you are out walking among the trees would you mind doing me a favor?" asked Nurse Jane.

"I wouldn't mind in the least," spoke the bunny uncle. "What would you like me to do?"

"Just leave this thimble at Mrs. Bow Wow's house. I borrowed the dog lady's thimble to use when I couldn't find mine, but now that I have my own back again I'll return hers."

"Where was yours?" Uncle Wiggily wanted to know.

"Jimmie Caw-Caw, the crow boy, had picked it up to hide under the pump," answered Nurse Jane. "Crows, you know, like to pick up bright and shining things."

"Yes, I remember," said Uncle Wiggily. "Very well, I'll give Mrs. Bow Wow her thimble," and off the old gentleman rabbit started, limping along on his red, white and blue striped rheumatism crutch, that Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy had gnawed for him out of a bean-pole. Excuse me, I mean corn stalk.

When Uncle Wiggily came to the place where Jackie and Peetie Bow Wow, the little puppy dog boys lived, he saw Mrs. Bow Wow, the dog lady, out in front of the kennel house looking up and down the path that led through the woods.

"Were you looking for me?" asked Uncle Wiggily, making a low and polite bow with his tall silk hat.

"Looking for you? Why, no, not specially," said Mrs. Bow Wow, "though I am always glad to see you."

"I thought perhaps you might be looking for your thimble," went on the bunny uncle. "Nurse Jane has sent it back to you."

"Oh, thank you!" said the mother of the puppy dog boys. "I'm glad to get my thimble back, but I was really looking for Peetie and Jackie."

"You don't mean to say they have run away, do you?" asked Uncle Wiggily, in surprise.

"No, not exactly run away. But they have not come home from school, though the lady mouse, who teaches in the hollow stump, must have let the animal children out long ago."

"She did," Uncle Wiggily said. "I came past the hollow stump school on my way here, and every one was gone."

"Then where can Jackie and Peetie be keeping themselves?" asked Mrs. Bow Wow. "Oh, I'm so worried about them!"

"Don't be worried or frightened," said Uncle Wiggily, kindly. "I'll go look for them for you."

"Oh, if you will I'll be so glad!" cried Mrs. Bow Wow. "And if you find them please tell them to come home at once."

"I will," promised the bunny uncle.

Giving the dog lady her thimble, Uncle Wiggily set off through the woods to look for Jackie and Peetie Bow Wow. On every side of the woodland path he peered, under trees and bushes and around the corners of moss-covered rocks and big stumps.

But no little puppy dog chaps could he find.

All at once, as Mr. Longears was going past an old log he heard a rustling in the bushes, and a voice said:

"Well, we nearly caught them, didn't we?"

"We surely did," said another voice. "And I think if we race after them once more we'll certainly have them. Let's rest here a bit, and then chase those puppy dogs some more. That Jackie is a good runner."

"I think Peetie is better," said the other voice. "Anyhow, they both got away from us."

"Ha! This must be Peetie and Jackie Bow Wow they are talking about," said Uncle Wiggily to himself. "This sounds like trouble. So the puppy dogs were chased, were they? I must see by whom."

He peeked through the bushes, and there he saw two big, bad foxes, whose tongues were hanging out over their white teeth, for the foxes had run far and they were tired.

"I see how it is," Uncle Wiggily thought. "The foxes chased the little puppy dogs as they were coming from school and Jackie and Peetie have run somewhere and hidden. I must find them."

Just then one of the foxes cried:

"Come on. Now we'll chase after those puppies, and get them. Come on!"

"Ha! I must go, too!" thought Uncle Wiggily. "Maybe I can scare away the foxes, and save Jackie and Peetie."

So the foxes ran and Uncle Wiggily also ran, and pretty soon the rabbit gentleman came to a place in the woods where grew a tree with big white blossoms on it, and in the center the blossoms were colored a dark red.

"Ha! There are the puppy boys under that tree!" cried one fox, and, surely enough, there, right under the tree, Jackie and Peetie were crouched, trembling and much frightened.

"We'll get them!" cried the other fox. "Come on!"

And then, all of a sudden, as the foxes leaped toward the poor little puppy dog boys, that tree began to hark and growl and it cried out loud:

"Get away from here, you bad foxes! Leave Jackie and Peetie alone! Wow! Bow-wow! Gurr-r-r-r!" and the tree barked and roared so like a lion that the foxes were frightened and were glad enough to run away, taking their tails with them. Then Jackie and Peetie came safely out, and thanked the tree for taking care of them.

The tree barked and roared so like a lion that the foxes were frightened and were glad enough to run away.

"Oh, you are welcome," said the tree. "I am the dogwood tree, you know, so why should I not bark and growl to scare foxes, and take care of you little puppy chaps? Come to me again whenever any bad foxes chase you." And Peetie and Jackie said they would.

So Uncle Wiggily, after also thanking the tree, took the doggie boys home, and they told him how the foxes had chased them soon after they came from school, so they had to run.

But everything came out all right, you see, and if the black cat doesn't dip his tail in the ink, and make chalk marks all over the piano, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the hazel nuts.



Story XVIII

Uncle Wiggily And The Hazel Nuts

"Going out again, Uncle Wiggily?" asked Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, one morning, as she saw the rabbit gentleman taking his red, white and blue-striped rheumatism crutch down off the clock shelf.

"Well, yes, Janie, I did think of going out for a little stroll in the forest," answered the bunny uncle, talking like a phonograph. What he meant was that he was going for a walk in the woods, but he thought he'd be polite about it, and stylish, just for once.

"Don't forget your umbrella," went on Nurse Jane. "It looks to me very much as though there would be a storm."

"I think you're right," Uncle Wiggily said. "Our April showers are not yet over. I shall take my umbrella."

So, with his umbrella, and the rheumatism crutch which Nurse Jane had gnawed for him out of a cornstalk, off started the bunny uncle, hopping along over the fields and through the woods.

Pretty soon Uncle Wiggily met Johnnie Bushytail, the squirrel boy.

"Where are you going, Johnnie?" asked the rabbit gentleman. "Are you here in the woods, looking for an adventure? That's what I'm doing."

"No, Uncle Wiggily," answered the squirrel boy. "I'm not looking for an adventure. I'm looking for hazel nuts."

"Hazel nuts?" cried the bunny uncle in surprise.

"Yes," went on Johnnie. "You know they're something like chestnuts, only without the prickly burrs, and they're very good to eat. They grow on bushes, instead of trees. I'm looking for some to eat. They are nice, brown, shiny nuts."

"Good!" cried the rabbit gentleman. "We'll go together looking for hazel nuts, and perhaps we may also find an adventure. I'll take the adventure and you can take the hazel nuts."

"All right!" laughed Johnnie, and off they started.

On and over the fields and through the woods went the bunny uncle and Johnnie, until, just as they were close to the place where some extra early new kind of Spring hazel nuts grew on bushes, there was a noise behind a big black stump -- and suddenly out pounced a bear!

"Oh, hello, Neddie Stubtail!" called Johnnie. And he was just going up and shake paws when Uncle Wiggily cried:

"Look out, Johnnie! Wait a minute! That isn't your friend Neddie!"

"Isn't it?" asked Johnnie, surprised-like, and he drew back.

"No, it's a bad old bear -- not our nice Neddie, at all! And I think he is going to chase us! Get ready to run!"

So Johnnie Bushytail and Uncle Wiggily got ready to run. And it was a good thing they did, for just then the bear gave a growl, like a lollypop when it falls off the stick, and the bear said:

"Ah, ha! And oh, ho! A rabbit and a squirrel! Fine for me! Tag -- your it!" he cried, and he made a jump for Uncle Wiggily and Johnnie.

But do you s'pose the bunny uncle and the squirrel boy stayed there to be caught? Indeed, they did not!

"Over this way! Quick!" cried Johnnie. "Here is a hazel nut bush, Uncle Wiggily. We can hide under that and the bear can't get us!"

"Good!" said the bunny uncle. And he and Johnnie quickly ran and hid under the hazel nut bush, which was nearby.

The bear looked all around as he heard Uncle Wiggily and Johnnie running away, and when he saw where they had gone he laughed until his whiskers twinkled, almost like the rabbit gentleman's pink nose, and then the bear said:

"Ha, ha! and Ho, ho! So you thought you could get away from me that way, did you? Well, you can't. I can see you hiding under that bush almost as plainly as I can see the sun shining. Here I come after you."

"Oh, dear!" cried Uncle Wiggily. "What shall we do, Johnnie? I don't want the bear to get you or me."

"And I don't either," spoke the little squirrel boy.

"I wonder if I could scare him away with my umbrella, Johnnie?" went on Uncle Wiggily. "I might if I could make believe it was a gun. Have you any talcum powder to shoot?"

"No," said Johnnie, sadly, "I have not, I am sorry to say."

"Have you any bullets?" asked the bunny uncle.

"No bullets, either," answered Johnnie, more sadly.

"Then I don't see anything for us to do but let the bear get us," sorrowfully said Mr. Longears. "Here he comes, Johnnie."

"But he sha'n't get us!" quickly cried the squirrel boy, as the bear made a jump for the bush under which the bunny and Johnnie were hiding. "He sha'n't get us!"

"Why not?" asked Uncle Wiggily.

"Because," said Johnnie, "I have just thought of something. You asked me for bullets a while ago. I have none, but the hazel nut bush has. Come, good Mr. Hazel Bush, will you save us from the bear?" asked Johnnie.

"Right gladly will I do that," the kind bush said.

"Then, when he comes for us!" cried Johnnie, "just rattle down, all over on him, all the hard nuts you can let fall. They will hit him on his ears, and on his soft and tender nose, and that will make him run away and leave us alone."

"Good!" whispered the hazel nut bush, rustling its leaves. "But what about you and Uncle Wiggily? If I rattle the nuts on the bear they will also fall on you two, as long as you are hiding under me."

"Have no fear of that!" said the bunny uncle. "I have my umbrella, and I will raise that and keep off the falling nuts."

Then the bear, with a growl, made a dash to get Uncle Wiggily and Johnnie. But the hazel bush shivered and shook himself and "Rattle-te-bang! Bung-bung! Bang!" down came the hazel nuts all over the bear.

"Oh, wow!" he cried, as they hit him on his soft and tender nose. "Oh, wow! I guess I'd better run away. It's hailing!"

And he did run. And because of Uncle Wiggily's umbrella held over his head, the nuts did not hurt him or Johnnie at all. And when the bear had run far away the squirrel boy gathered all the nuts he wanted, and he and Uncle Wiggily went safely home. And the bear's nose was sore for a week.

So if the hickory nut cake doesn't try to sit in the same seat with the apple pie and get all squeezed like a lemon pudding, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and Susie's dress.



Story XIX

Uncle Wiggily And Susie's Dress

Uncle Wiggily Longears, the nice old gentleman rabbit, was reading the paper in his hollow stump bungalow, in the woods, while Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady house-keeper, was out in the kitchen washing the dinner dishes one afternoon.

All of a sudden Uncle Wiggily fell asleep because he was reading a bed-time story in the paper, and while he slept he heard a noise at the front door, which sounded like:

"Rat-a-tat-tat! Rat-a-tat-tat!"

"My goodness!" suddenly exclaimed Uncle Wiggily, awakening out of his sleep. "That sounds like the forest woodpecker bird making holes in a tree."

"No, it isn't that," spoke Nurse Jane. "It's some one tapping at our front door. I can't answer because my paws are all covered with soapy-suds dishwater."

"Oh, I'll go," said Uncle Wiggily, and laying aside the paper over which he had fallen asleep, he opened the door. On the porch stood Susie Littletail, the rabbit girl.

"Why, hello Susie!" exclaimed the bunny uncle. "Where are you going with your nice new dress?" for Susie did have on a fine new waist and skirt, or maybe it was made in one piece for all I know. And her new dress had on it ruffles and thing-a-ma-bobs and curley-cues and insertions and Georgette crepe and all sorts of things like that.

"Where are you going, Susie?" asked Uncle Wiggily.

"I am going to a party," answered the little rabbit girl. "Lulu and Alice Wibblewobble, the duck girls, are going to have a party, and they asked me to come. So I came for you."

"But I'm not going to the party!" exclaimed Uncle Wiggily. "I haven't been invited."

"That doesn't make any difference," spoke Susie with a laugh. "You know they'll be glad to see you, anyhow. And I know Lulu meant to ask you, only she must have forgotten about it, because there is so much to do when you have a party."

"I know there is," Uncle Wiggily said, "and I don't blame Lulu and Alice a bit for not asking me. Anyhow I couldn't go, for I promised to come over this afternoon and play checkers with Grandfather Goosey Gander."

"Oh, but won't you walk with me to the party?" asked Susie, sort of teasing like. "I'm afraid to go through the woods alone, because Johnnie Bushytail, the squirrel boy, said you and he met a bear there yesterday."

"We did!" laughed Uncle Wiggily. "But the hazel bush drove him away by showering nuts on his nose."

"Well, I might not be so lucky as to have a hazelnut bush to help me," spoke Susie. "So I'd be very glad if you would walk through the woods with me. You can scare away the bear if we meet him."

"How?" asked Uncle Wiggily. "With my red, white and blue crutch or my umbrella?"

"With this popgun, which shoots toothpowder," said Susie. "It belongs to Sammie, my brother, but he let me take it. We'll bring the popgun with us, Uncle Wiggily, and scare the bear."

"All right," said the bunny uncle. "That's what we'll do. I'll go as far as the Wibblewobble duck house with you and leave you there at the party."

This made Susie very glad and happy, and soon she and Uncle Wiggily were going through the woods together. Susie's new dress was very fine and she kept looking at it as she hopped along.

All of a sudden, as the little rabbit girl and the bunny uncle were going along through the woods, they came to a mud puddle.

"Look out, now!" said Uncle Wiggily. "Don't fall in that, Susie."

"I won't," said the little rabbit girl. "I can easily jump across it."

But when she tried to, alas! Likewise unhappiness. Her hind paws slipped and into the mud puddle she fell with her new dress. "Splash!" she went.

"Oh, dear!" cried Susie.

"Oh, my!" exclaimed Uncle Wiggily.

"Look at my nice, new dress," went on Susie. "It isn't at all nice and new now. It's all mud and water and all splashed up, and -- oh, dear! Isn't it too bad!"

"Yes, besides two it is even six, seven and eight bad," said Uncle Wiggily sadly. "Oh, dear!"

"I can't go to the Wibblewobble party this way," cried Susie. "I'll have to go back home to get another dress, and it won't be my new one -- and oh, dear!"

"Perhaps I can wipe off the mud with some leaves and moss," Uncle Wiggily spoke. "I'll try."

But the more he rubbed at the mud spots on Susie's dress the worse they looked.

"Oh, you can't do it, Uncle Wiggily!" sighed the little rabbit girl.

"No, I don't believe I can," Uncle Wiggily admitted, sadly-like and sorry.

"Oh, dear!" cried Susie. "Whatever shall I do? I can't go to a party looking like this! I just must have a new dress."

Uncle Wiggily thought for a minute. Then, through the woods, he spied a tree with white, shiny bark on, just like satin.

"Ha! I know what to do!" he cried. "That is a white birch tree. Indians make boats of the bark, and from it I can also make a new dress for you, Susie. Or, at least, a sort of dress, or apron, to go over the dress you have on, and so cover the mud spots."

"Please do!" begged Susie.

"I will!" promised Uncle Wiggily, and he did.

He stripped off some bark from the birch tree and he sewed the pieces together with ribbon grass, and some needles from the pine tree. And when Susie put on the bark dress over her party one, not a mud spot showed!

"Oh, that's fine, Uncle Wiggily!" she cried. "Now I can go to the Wibblewobbles!"

And so she went, and the bad bear never came out to so much as growl, nor did the fox, so the popgun was not needed. And all the girls at the party thought Susie's dress that Uncle Wiggily had made was just fine.

So if the rain drop doesn't fall out of bed, and stub its toe on the rocking chair, which might make it so lame that it couldn't dance, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and Tommie's kite.



Story XX

Uncle Wiggily And Tommie's Kite

"Uncle Wiggily, have you anything special to do today?" asked Tommie Kat, the little kitten boy, one morning as he knocked on the door of the hollow stump bungalow, where Mr. Longears, the rabbit gentleman, lived.

"Anything special to do? Why, no, I guess not," answered the bunny uncle. "I just have to go walking to look for an adventure to happen to me, and then -- "

"Didn't you promise to go to the five and ten cent store for me, and buy me a pair of diamond earrings?" asked Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper.

"Oh, so I did!" cried Uncle Wiggily. "I had forgotten about that. But I'll go. What was it you wanted of me?" he asked Tommie Kat, who was making a fishpole of his tail by standing it straight up in the air.

"Oh, I wanted you to come and help me build a kite, and then come with me and fly it," said the kitten boy. "Could you do that, Uncle Wiggily?"

"Well, perhaps I could," said the bunny uncle. "I will first go to the store and get Nurse Jane's diamond earrings. Then, on the way back, I'll stop and help you with your kite. And after that is done I'll go along and see if I can find an adventure."

"That will be fun!" cried Tommie. "I have everything all ready to make the kite -- paper, sticks, paste and string. We'll make a big one and fly it away up in the air."

So off through the woods started Uncle Wiggily and Tommie to the five and ten cent store. There they bought the diamond earrings for Nurse Jane, who wanted to wear them to a party Mrs. Cluck-Cluck, the hen lady, was going to have next week.

"And now to make the kite!" cried Tommie, as he and Uncle Wiggily reached the house where the Kat family lived.

The bunny uncle and the little kitten boy cut out some red paper in the shape of a kite. Then they pasted it on the crossed sticks, which were tied together with string.

"The kite is almost done," said Uncle Wiggily, as he held it up. "And can you tell me, Tommie, why your kite is like Buddy, the guinea pig boy?"

"Can I tell you why my kite is like Buddy, the guinea pig boy?" repeated Tommie, like a man in a minstrel show. "No, Uncle Wiggily, I can not. Why is my kite like Buddy, the guinea pig boy?"

"Because," laughed the old rabbit gentleman, "this kite has no tail and neither has Buddy."

"Ha, ha!" exclaimed Tommie. "That's right!"

For guinea pigs have no tails, you know, though if you ask me why I can't tell you. Some kites do have tails, though, and others do not.

Anyhow, Tommie's kite, without a tail, was soon finished, and then he and Uncle Wiggily went to a clear, open place in the fields, near the woods, to fly it.

There was a good wind blowing, and when Uncle Wiggily raised the kite up off the ground, Tommie ran, holding the string that was fast to the kite and up and up and up it went in the air. Soon it was sailing quite near the clouds, almost like Uncle Wiggily's airship, only, of course, no one rode on the kite.

"Have you any more string, Uncle Wiggily?" asked the kitten boy, after a bit.

"String, Tommie? What for?"

"Well, I want to make my kite string longer so it will go up higher. But if you have none I'll run home and get some myself. Will you hold the kite while I'm gone?"

"To be sure I will," said Uncle Wiggily. So he took hold of the string of Tommie's kite, which was now quite high in the air. And, sitting down on the ground, Uncle Wiggily held the kite from running away while Tommie went for more string.

It was a nice, warm, summer day, and so pleasant in the woods, with the little flies buzzing about, that, before he knew it Uncle Wiggily had fallen asleep. His pink nose stopped twinkling, his ears folded themselves down like a slice of bread and jam, and Uncle Wiggily's eyes closed.

All of a sudden he was awakened by feeling himself being pulled. At first he thought it was the skillery-scalery alligator, or the bad fox trying to drag him off to his den, and Uncle Wiggily, opening his eyes, cried:

"Here! Stop that if you please! Don't pull me so!"

But when he looked around he could see no one, and then he knew it was Tommie's kite, flying up in the air, that was doing the pulling.

The wind was blowing hard now, and as Uncle Wiggily had the kite string wound around his paws, of course he was pulled almost off his feet.

"Ha! That kite is a great puller!" said the bunny uncle. "I must look out or it might pull me up to the clouds. I had better fasten the string to this old stump. The kite can't pull that up."

So the rabbit gentleman fastened the kite cord to the stout old stump, winding it around two or three times, and he kept the loose end of the string in his paw.

Uncle Wiggily was just going to sleep again, and he was wondering why it took Tommie so long to find more string for the kite, when, all of a sudden, there was a rustling in the bushes, and out jumped the bad old babboon, who had, once before, made trouble for the bunny uncle.

"Ah, ha!" jabbered the babboon. "This time I have caught you. You can't get away from me now. I am going to take you off to my den."

"Oh, please don't!" begged Uncle Wiggily.

"Yes, I shall, too!" blabbered the babboon. "Off to my den you shall go -- you shall go -- you shall go. Off to my den. Oh, hold on!" cried the bad creature. "That isn't the song I wanted to sing. That's the London Bridge song. I want the one about the dinner bell is ringing in the bread box this fine day. And the dinner bell is ringing for to take you far away, Uncle Wiggily."

"Ah, then I had better go to my dinner," said the bunny uncle, sadly.

"No! You will go with me!" cried the babboon. "Come along now. I'm going to take you away."

"Well, if I must go, I suppose I must," Uncle Wiggily said, looking at the kite string, which was pulling at the stump very hard now. "But before you take me away would you mind pulling down Tommie's kite?" asked the bunny uncle. "I'll leave it for him."

"Yes, I'll pull the kite down," said the babboon.

"Maybe you will," thought Uncle Wiggily, laughing to himself. "And maybe you won't."

The bad babboon monkey chap unwound the string from the stump, but no sooner had he started to pull in the kite than there came a very strong puff of wind.

Up, up and up into the air blew the kite and, as the string was tangled around the babboon's paws, it took him up with it, and though he cried out: "Stop! Stop! Stop!" the kite could not stop, nor the babboon either.

Up, up and up into the air blew the kite and, as the string was tangled around the babboon's paws, it took him up with it.

"Well, I guess you won't bother me any more," said Uncle Wiggily, as he looked at the babboon, who was only a speck in the sky now; a very little speck, being carried away by the kite.

And the babboon did not come back to bother Uncle Wiggily, at least for a long time. Tommie felt badly when he found his kite blown away. But he was glad Uncle Wiggily had been saved, and he and the bunny uncle soon made a new kite, better than the first. They had lots of fun flying it.

And in the story after this, if the chocolate pudding doesn't hide in the coal bin, where the cook can't find it to put the whipped cream on, I'll tell you about Uncle Wiggily and Johnnie's marbles.



Story XXI

Uncle Wiggily And Johnnie's Marbles

It was a nice, warm spring day, when the ground in the woods where the animal boys and girls lived was soft, for all the frost had melted out of it; and, though it was a little too early to go barefoot, it was not too early to play marbles.

Johnnie and Billie Bushytail, the squirrels; Sammie Littletail, the rabbit, and Jimmie Wibblewobble, the duck, were having a game under the trees, not far from the hollow stump bungalow which was the house of Uncle Wiggily Longears, the bunny gentleman.

"First shot agates!" cried Johnnie.

"No, I'm going to shoot first!" chattered his brother Billie.

"Huh! I hollered it before either of you," quacked Jimmie, the duck boy, and he tossed some red, white and blue striped marbles on the ground in the ring. The marbles were just the color of Uncle Wiggily's rheumatism crutch.

The animal boys began playing, but they made so much noise, crying "Fen!" and "Ebbs!" and "Knuckle down!" that Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper, went to the bungalow door and called:

"Boys! Boys! Will you please be a little quiet? Uncle Wiggily is lying down taking a nap, and I don't want you to wake him up with your marbles."

"Oh, I don't mind!" cried the bunny uncle, unfolding his ears from his vest pockets, where he always tucked them when he went to sleep, so the flies would not tickle him. "It's about time I got up," he said.

"So the boys are playing marbles, eh? Well, I'll go out and watch them. It will make me think of the days when I was a spry young bunny chap, hopping about, spinning my kites and flying my tops."

"I guess you are a little bit twisted; are you not?" asked Nurse Jane, politely.

"Oh, so I am," said Uncle Wiggily. "I mean flying my kite and spinning my top."

Then he pinkled his twink nose -- Ah! you see that's the time I was twisted -- I mean he twinkled his pink nose, Uncle Wiggily did, and out he went to watch the animal boys play marbles.

Billie, Johnnie and Jimmie, as well as Sammie, wanted the bunny uncle to play also, but he said his rheumatism hurt too much to bend over. So he just watched the marble game, until it was time for the boys to go home. And then Johnnie cried:

"Oh, I forgot! I have to go to the store for a loaf of bread for supper. Come on, fellows, with me, will you?"

But neither Jimmie, nor Sammie nor Billie wanted to go with Johnnie, so he started off through the woods to the store alone, when Uncle Wiggily cried:

"Wait a minute, Johnnie, and I'll go with you. I haven't had my walk this day, and I have had no adventure at all. I'll go along and see what happens."

"Oh, that will be nice!" chattered Johnnie, who did not like to go to the store alone. So, putting his marbles in the bag in which he carried them, he ran along beside Uncle Wiggily.

They had not gone far when, all of a sudden, there came a strong puff of wind, and, before Uncle Wiggily could hold his hat down over his ears, it was blown off his head. I mean his hat was -- not his ears.

Away through the trees the tall silk hat was blown.

"Oh, dear!" cried the bunny uncle. "I guess I am not going to have a nice adventure today."

"I'll get your hat for you, Uncle Wiggily!" said Johnnie kindly. "You hold my bag of marbles so I can run faster, and I'll get the hat for you."

Tossing the rabbit gentleman the marbles, away scampered Johnnie after the hat. But the wind kept on blowing it, and the squirrel boy had to run a long way.

"Well, I hope he gets it and brings it back to me," thought Uncle Wiggily, as he sat down on a green, moss-covered stone to wait for the squirrel boy. And, while he was waiting the bunny uncle opened the bag and looked at Johnnie's marbles. There were green ones, and blue and red and pink -- very pretty, all of them.

"I wonder if I have forgotten how to play the games I used to enjoy when I was a boy rabbit?" thought the bunny gentleman. "Just now, when no one is here in tile woods to laugh at me, I think I'll try and see how well I can shoot marbles."

So he marked out a ring on the ground, and putting some marbles in the center began shooting at them with another marble, just the way you boys do.

"Ha! A good shot!" cried the bunny uncle, as he knocked two marbles out of the ring at once. "I am not so old as I thought I was, even if I have the rheumatism."

He was just going to shoot again when a growling voice over behind a bush said:

"Well, you will not have it much longer."

"Have what much longer?" asked Uncle Wiggily, and glancing up, there he saw a big bear, not at all polite looking.

"You won't have the rheumatism much longer," the bear said.

"Why not?" Uncle Wiggily wanted to know.

"Because," answered the bear, "I am going to eat you up and the rheumatism, too. Here I come!" and he made a jump for the bunny uncle. But did he catch him?

That bear did not, for he stepped on one of the round marbles, which rolled under his paw and he fell down ker-punko! on his nose-o!

Uncle Wiggily started to run away, but he did not like to go and leave Johnnie's marbles on the ground, so he stayed to pick them up, and by then the bear stood up on his hind legs again, and grabbed the bunny uncle in his sharp claws.

"Ah ha! Now I have you!" said the bear, grillery and growlery like.

"Yes, I see you have," sadly spoke Uncle Wiggily. "But before you take me off to your den, which I suppose you will do, will you grant me one favor?"

"Yes, and only one," growled the bear. "Be quick about it! What is it?"

"Will you let me have one more shot?" asked the bunny uncle. "I want to see if I can knock the other marbles out of the ring."

"Well, I see no harm in that," slowly grumbled the bear. "Go ahead. Shoot!"

Uncle Wiggily picked out the biggest shooter in Johnnie's bag. Then he took careful aim, but, instead of aiming at the marbles in the ring he aimed at the soft and tender nose of the bear.

"Bing!" went the marble which Uncle Wiggily shot, right on the bear's nose. "Bing!" And the bear was so surprised and kerslostrated that he cried:

"Wow! Ouch! Oh, lollypops! Oh, sweet spirits of nitre!" And away he ran through the woods to hold his nose in a soft bank of mud, for he thought a bee had stung him. And so he didn't bite Uncle Wiggily after all.

"Well, I guess I can play marbles nearly as well as I used to," laughed the bunny uncle when Johnnie came back with the tall silk hat.

And when Mr. Longears told the boy squirrel about shooting the bear on the nose, Johnnie laughed and said he could have done no better himself.

So everything came out all right, you see, and if the butterfly doesn't try to stand on its head and tickle the June bug under the chin, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and Billie's top.



Story XXII

Uncle Wiggily And Billie's Top

Uncle Wiggily Longears, the nice rabbit gentleman, was sitting on the front porch of his hollow stump bungalow one day, when along came Billie Bushytail, the little squirrel boy.

"Hello, Billie!" called the bunny gentleman, cheerful-like and happy, for his rheumatism did not hurt him much that day. "Hello, Billie."

"Hello, Uncle Wiggily," answered the chattery squirrel chap. Then he came up and sat down on the porch, but he seemed so quiet and thoughtful that Uncle Wiggily asked:

"Is anything the matter, Billie?"

"No -- well -- that is, nothing much," said the squirrel boy slowly, "but I'd like to ask you what you'd buy if you had five cents, Uncle Wiggily."

"What would I buy if I had five cents, Billie? Well now, let me see. I think I'd buy two postage stamps and a funny postcard and write some letters to my friends. What would you buy, Billie?"

"I'd buy a spinning top, Uncle Wiggily," said the little squirrel boy, very quickly. "Only, you see, I haven't any five cents. You have, though, haven't you Uncle Wiggily? Eh?"

"Why, yes, Billie, I think so," and the old gentleman rabbit put his paw in his pocket to make sure.

"This is a funny world," said Billie with a long, sorrowful sigh. "Here you are with five cents and you don't want a top, and here I am without five cents and I do want a spinning top. Oh, dear!"

"Ha! Ha! Ha!" laughed Uncle Wiggily in his most jolly fashion. "I see what you mean, Billie. Now you just come along with me," and Uncle Wiggily picked up off the porch his red, white and blue striped barber-pole rheumatism crutch that Nurse Jane had gnawed for him out of a cornstalk.

"Where are we going?" asked Billie, sort of hopeful-like and expectant.

"I'm going to the top store to buy a spinning top," answered bunny uncle. "If you think I ought to have one, why I'll get it."

"Oh, all right," said Billie, sort of funny-like. "Do you know how to spin a top, Uncle Wiggily?"

"Well, I used to when I was a young rabbit, and I guess I can remember a little about it. Come along and help me pick out a nice one."

So the bunny uncle and the squirrel boy went on and on through the woods to the top store kept by Mrs. Spin Spider, who had a little toy shop in which she worked when she was not spinning silk for the animal ladies' dresses.

"One of your best tops for myself, if you please," said Uncle Wiggily, as he and Billie went into the toy store. Mrs. Spin Spider put a number of tops on the counter.

"That's the kind you want!" cried Billie, as he saw a big red one, and pointed his paw at it.

"Try it and see how it spins," said the bunny man.

Billie wound the string on the top, and then, giving it a throw, while he kept hold of one end of the cord, he made the top spin as fast as anything on the floor of the store. Around and around whizzed the red top, like the electric fan on Uncle Wiggily's airship.

"Is that a good top for me, Billie?" asked Mr. Longears.

"A very good top," said the squirrel boy. "Fine!"

"Then I'll take it," said Uncle Wiggily, and he paid for it and walked out, Billie following.

If the little chattery squirrel chap was disappointed at not getting a top for himself, he said nothing about it, which was very brave and good, I think. He just walked along until they came to a nice, smooth-dirt place in the woods, and then Uncle Wiggily said:

"Let me see you spin my top, Billie. I want to watch you and see how it's done -- how you wind the string on, how you throw it down to the ground and all that. You just give me some lessons in top-spinning, please."

"I will," said Billie. So he wound the string on the top again and soon it was spinning as fast as anything on the hard ground in the woods.

"Do you want me to show you how to pick up a top, and let it spin on your paw?" asked Billie, of Uncle Wiggily.

"Yes, show me all the tricks there are," said the bunny gentleman.

So, while the top was spinning very fast, Billie picked it up, and, holding it on his paw, quickly put it over on Uncle Wiggily's paw.

"Ouch! It tickles!" cried the bunny uncle, sort of giggling like.

"Yes, a little," laughed Billie, "but I don't mind that. Now I'll show you how to pick it up."

Once more he spun the top, and he was just going to pick it up when, all of a sudden, a growling voice cried:

"Ah, ha! Again I am in luck! A rabbit and a squirrel! Let me see; which shall I take first?" And out from behind a stump popped a big bear. It was the same one that Uncle Wiggily had hit on the nose with Johnnie's marble, about a week before.

"Oh, my!" said the bunny man.

"Oh, dear!" chattered Billie.

"Surprised to see me, aren't you?" asked the bear sticking out his tongue.

"A little," answered Uncle Wiggily, "but I guess we'd better be getting along Billie. Pick up my top and come along."

"Oh, oh! Not so fast!" growled the bear. "I shall want you to stay with me. You'll be going off with me to my den, pretty soon. Don't be in a hurry," and, putting out his claws, he grabbed hold of Uncle Wiggily and Billie. They tried to get away, but could not, and the bear was just going to carry them off, when he saw the spinning top whizzing on the ground.

"What's that red thing?" he asked.

"A top Billie just picked out for me," said Uncle Wiggily.

"Would you like to have it spin on your paw?" asked Billie, blinking his eyes at Uncle Wiggily, funny-like.

"Oh, I might as well, before I carry you off to my den," said the bear, sort of careless-like and indifferent. "Spin the top on my paw."

So Billie picked up the spinning top and put it on the bear's broad, flat paw. And, no sooner was it there, whizzing around, than the bear cried:

"Ouch! Oh, dear! How it tickles. Ha! Ha! Ha! Ho! Ho! Ho! It makes me laugh. It makes me laugh. It makes me giggle! Ouch! Oh, dear!"

And then he laughed so hard that he dropped the top and turned a somersault, and away he ran through the woods, leaving Billie and Uncle Wiggily safe there alone.

"We came out of that very well," said the bunny uncle as the bear ran far away.

"Yes, indeed, and here is your top," spoke Billie, picking it up off the ground where the bear had dropped it.

"My top? No that's yours," said the bunny gentleman. "I meant it for you all the while."

"Oh, did you? Thank you so much!" cried happy Billie, and then he ran off to spin his red top, while Mr. Longears went back to his bungalow.

And if the sofa pillow doesn't leak its feathers all over, and make the room look like a bird's nest at a moving picture picnic, I'll tell you in the next story about Uncle Wiggily and the sunbeam.



Story XXIII

Uncle Wiggily And The Sunbeam

Uncle Wiggily Longears, the nice rabbit gentleman, was walking along in the woods one day, sort of hopping and leaning on his red, white and blue striped rheumatism crutch, and he was wondering whether or not he would have an adventure, when, all at once, he heard a little voice crying:

"Oh, dear! I never can get up! I never can get up! Oh, dear!"

"Ha! that sounds like some one who can't get out of bed," exclaimed the bunny uncle. "I wonder who it can be? Perhaps I can help them."

So he looked carefully around, but he saw no one, and he was just about to hop along, thinking perhaps he had made a mistake, and had not heard anything after all, when, suddenly, the voice sounded again, and called out:

"Oh, I can't get up! I can't get up! Can't you shine on me this way?"

"No, I am sorry to say I cannot," answered another voice. "But try to push your way through, and then I can shine on you, and make you grow."

There was silence for a minute, and then the first voice said again:

"Oh, it's no use! I can't push the stone from over my head. Oh, such trouble as I have!"

"Trouble, eh?" cried Uncle Wiggily. "Here is where I come in. Who are you, and what is the trouble?" he asked, looking all around, and seeing nothing but the shining sun.

"Here I am, down in the ground near your left hind leg," was the answer. "I am a woodland flower and I have just started to grow. But when I tried to put my head up out of the ground, to get air, and drink the rain water, I find I cannot do it. A big stone is in the way, right over my head, and I cannot push it aside to get up. Oh, dear!" sighed the Woodland flower.

"Oh, don't worry about that!" cried Uncle Wiggily, in his jolly voice. "I'll lift the stone off your head for you," and he did, just as he once had helped a Jack-in-the-pulpit flower to grow up, as I have told you in another story. Under the stone were two little pale green leaves on a stem that was just cracking its way up through the brown earth.

"There you are!" cried the bunny uncle. "But you don't look much like a flower."

"Oh! I have only just begun to grow," was the answer. "And I never would have been a flower if you had not taken the stone from me. You see, when I was a baby flower, or seed, I was covered up in my warm bed of earth. Then came the cold winter, and I went to sleep. When spring came I awakened and began to grow, but in the meanwhile this stone was put over me. I don't know by whom. But it held me down.

"But now I am free, and my pale green leaves will turn to dark green, and soon I will blossom out into a flower."

"How will all that happen?" Uncle Wiggily asked.

"When the sunbeam shines on me," answered the blossom. "That is why I wanted to get above the stone -- so the sunbeam could shine on me and warm me."

"And I will begin to do it right now!" exclaimed the sunbeam, who had been playing about on the leaves of the trees, waiting for a chance to shine on the green plant and turn it into a beautiful flower. "Thank you, Uncle Wiggily, for taking the stone off the leaves so I could shine on them," went on the sunbeam, who had known Uncle Wiggily for some time. "Though I am strong I am not strong enough to lift stones, nor was the flower. But now I can do my work. I thank you, and I hope I may do you a favor some time."

"Thank you," Uncle Wiggily said, with a low bow, raising his tall silk hat. "I suppose you sunbeams are kept very busy shining on, and warming, all the plants and trees in the woods?"

"Yes, indeed!" answered the yellow sunbeam, who was a long, straight chap. "We have lots of work to do, but we are never too busy to shine for our friends."

Then the sunbeam played about the little green plant, turning the pale leaves a darker color and swelling out the tiny buds. Uncle Wiggily walked on through the woods, glad that he had had even this little adventure.

It was a day or so after this that the bunny uncle went to the store for Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady, who kept his hollow stump bungalow so nice and tidy.

"I want a loaf of bread, a yeast cake and three pounds of sugar," said Nurse Jane.

"It will give me great pleasure to get them for you," answered the rabbit gentleman politely. On his way home from the store with the sugar, bread and yeast cake, Uncle Wiggily thought he would hop past the place where he had lifted the stone off the head of the plant, to see how it was growing. And, as he stood there, looking at the flower, which was much taller than when the bunny uncle had last seen it, all of a sudden there was a rustling in the bushes, and out jumped a bad old fox.

"Ah, ha!" barked the fox, like a dog. "You are just the one I want to see!"

"You want to see me?" exclaimed Uncle Wiggily. "I think you must be mistaken," he went on politely.

"Oh, no, not at all!" barked the fox. "You have there some sugar, some bread and a yeast cake; have you not?"

"I have," answered Uncle Wiggily.

"Well, then, you may give me the bread and sugar and after I eat them I will start in on you. I will take you off to my den, to my dear little foxes. Eight, Nine and Ten. They have numbers instead of names, you see."

"But I don't want to give you Nurse Jane's sugar and bread, and go with you to your den," said the rabbit gentleman. "I don't want to! I don't like it!"

"You can't always do as you like," barked the fox. "Quick now -- the sugar and bread!"

"What about the yeast cake?" asked Uncle Wiggily, as he held it out, all wrapped in shiny tinfoil, like a looking-glass. "What about the yeast cake?"

"Oh, throw it away!" growled the fox.

"No, don't you do it!" whispered a voice in Uncle Wiggily's ear, and there was the sunbeam he had met the other day. "Hold out the yeast cake and I will shine on it very brightly, and then I'll slant, or bounce off from it, into the eyes of the fox," said the sunbeam. "And when I shine in his eyes I'll tickle him, and he'll sneeze, and you can run away."

So Uncle Wiggily held out the bright yeast cake. Quick as a flash the sunbeam glittered on it, and then reflected itself into the eyes of the fox.

"Ker-chool!" he sneezed. "Ker-chooaker-choo!" and tears came into the fox's eyes, so he could not see Uncle Wiggily, who, after thanking the sunbeam, hurried safely back to his bungalow with the things for Nurse Jane.

So the fox got nothing at all but a sneeze, you see, and when he had cleared the tears out of his eyes Uncle Wiggily was gone. So the sunbeam did the bunny gentleman a favor after all, and if the coal man doesn't put oranges in our cellar, in mistake for apples when he brings a barrel of wood, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the puff ball.



Story XXIV

Uncle Wiggily And The Puff Ball

"Are you going for a walk to-day, as you nearly always do, Uncle Wiggily?" asked Nurse Jane Fuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper, of the rabbit gentleman, as he got up from the breakfast table in the hollow stump bungalow one morning.

"Why, yes, Janie, I am going for a walk in the woods very soon," answered Uncle Wiggily. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"There is," said the muskrat lady. "Something for yourself, also."

"What is it?" Uncle Wiggily wanted to know, sort of making his pink nose turn orange color by looking up at the sun and sneezing. "What is it that I can do for myself as well as for you, Janie?"

"Cream puffs," answered Miss Fuzzy Wuzzy.

"Cream puffs?" cried the bunny uncle, hardly knowing whether his housekeeper was fooling or in earnest.

"Yes, I want some cream puffs for supper, and if you stop at the baker's and get them you will be doing yourself a favor as well as me, for we will both eat them."

"Right gladly will I do it," Uncle Wiggily made answer. "Cream puffs I shall bring from the baker's," and then, whistling a funny little tune, away he hopped to the woods.

It did not take him long to get to the place where the baker had his shop. And in a few minutes Uncle Wiggily was on his way back with some delicious cream puffs in a basket.

"I'll take them home to Nurse Jane for supper," thought the bunny uncle, "and then I can keep on with my walk, looking for an adventure."

You know what cream puffs are, I dare say. They are little, round, puffy balls made of something like piecrust, and they are hollow. The inside is filled with something like corn-starch pudding, only nicer.

Uncle Wiggily was going along with the cream puffs in his basket when, coming to a nice place in the woods, where the sun shone on a green, mossy log, the bunny uncle said:

"I will sit down here a minute and rest."

So he did, but he rested longer than he meant to, for, before he knew it, he fell asleep. And while he slept, along came a bad old weasel, who is as sly as a fox. And the weasel, smelling the cream puffs in the basket, slyly lifted the cover and took every one out, eating them one after the other.

"Now to play a trick on Uncle Wiggily," said the weasel in a whisper, for the bunny uncle was still sleeping. So the bad creature found a lot of puff balls in the woods, and put them in the basket in place of the cream puffs.

Puff balls grow on little plants. They are brown and round and hollow, and, so far, they are like cream puffs, except that inside they have a brown, fluffy powder that flies all over when you break the puff ball. And, if you are not careful, it gets in your eyes and nose and makes you sneeze.

"I should like to see what Uncle Wiggily and Nurse Jane do when they open the basket, and find puff balls instead of cream puffs," snickered the weasel as he went off, licking his chops, where the cornstarch pudding stuff was stuck on his whiskers. "It will be a great joke on them!"

But let us see what happens.

Uncle Wiggily awakened from his sleep in the woods, and started off toward his hollow stump bungalow.

"I declare!" he cried. "That sleep made me hungry. I shall be glad to eat some of the cream puffs I have in my basket."

"What's that?" asked a sharp voice in the bushes. "What did you say you had in the basket?"

"Cream puffs," answered Uncle Wiggily, without thinking, and then, all of a sudden, out jumped the bad old skillery-scalery alligator with the humps on his tail.

"Ha! Cream puffs!" cried the 'gator, as I call him for short, though he was rather long. "Cream puffs! If there is one thing I like more than another it is cream puffs! It is lucky you brought them with you, or I would have nothing for dessert when I have you for supper."

"Are you -- are you going to have me for supper?" asked Uncle Wiggily, sort of anxious like.

"I am!" cried the alligator, positively. "But I will eat the dessert first. Give me those cream puffs!" he cried and he made a grab for the bunny's basket, and, reaching in, scooped out the puff balls, thinking they were cream puffs. The 'gator, without looking, took one bite and a chew and then --  -- 

"Oh, my! Ker-sneezio! Ker-snitzio! Ker-choo!" he sneezed as the powder from the puff balls went up his nose and into his eyes. "Oh, what funny cream puffs! Wow!" And, not stopping to so much as nibble at Uncle Wiggily, away ran the alligator to get a drink of lemonade.

"Ker-sneezio! Ker-snitzio! Ker-choo!" he sneezed as the powder from the puff balls went up his nose and into his eyes.

So you see, after all, the weasel's trick saved Uncle Wiggily, who soon went back to the store for more cream puffs -- real ones this time, and he got safely home with them.

And nothing else happened that day. But if the trolley car stops running down the street to play with the jitney bus, so the pussy cat can have a ride when it wants to go shopping in the three and four-cent store, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the May flowers.



Story XXV

Uncle Wiggily And The May Flowers

"Rat-a-tat!" came a knock on the door of the hollow stump bungalow, where Uncle Wiggily Longears, the rabbit gentleman, lived in the woods with Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, his muskrat lady housekeeper.

"My! Some one is calling early to-day!" said the bunny uncle.

"Sit still and eat your breakfast," spoke Nurse Jane. "I'll see who it is."

When she opened the door there stood Jimmie Wibblewobble, the boy duck.

"Why where are you going so early this morning, Jimmie?" asked Uncle Wiggily.

"I'm going to school," answered the Wibblewobble chap, who was named that because his tail did wibble and wobble from side to side when he walked.

"Aren't you a bit early?" asked Mr. Longears.

"I came early to get you," said Jimmie. "Will you come for a walk with me, Uncle Wiggily? We can walk toward the hollow stump school, where the lady mouse teaches us our lessons."

"Why, it's so very early," Uncle Wiggily went on. "I have hardly had my breakfast. Why so early, Jimmie?"

The duck boy whispered in Uncle Wiggily's ear:

"I want to go early so I can gather some May flowers for the teacher. This is the first day of May, you know, and the flowers that have been wet by the April showers ought to be blossoming now."

"So they had!" cried Uncle Wiggily. "I'll hurry with my breakfast, Jimmie, and we'll go gathering May flowers in the woods."

Soon the bunny uncle and the boy duck were walking along where the green trees grew up out of the carpet of soft green moss.

"Oh, here are some yellow violets!" cried Jimmie, as he saw some near an old stump.

"Yes, and I see some white ones!" cried the bunny uncle, as he picked them, while Jimmie plucked the yellow violets with his strong bill, which was also yellow in color.

Then they went on a little farther and saw some bluebells growing, and the bluebell flowers were tinkling a pretty little tinkle tune.

The bluebells even kept on tinkling after Jimmie had picked them for his bouquet. The boy duck waddled on a little farther and all of a sudden, he cried:

"Oh, what a funny flower this is, Uncle Wiggily. It's just like the little ice cream cones that come on Christmas trees, only it's covered with a flap, like a leaf, and under the flap is a little green thing, standing up. What is it?"

"That is a Jack-in-the-pulpit," answered the bunny uncle, "and the Jack is the funny green thing. Jack preaches sermons to the other flowers, telling them how to be beautiful and make sweet perfume."

"I'm going to put a Jack in the bouquet for the lady mouse teacher," said Jimmie, and he did.

Then he and Uncle Wiggily went farther and farther on in the woods, picking May flowers, and they were almost at the hollow stump school when, all at once, from behind a big stone popped the bad ear-scratching cat.

"Ah, ha!" howled the cat. "I am just in time I see. I haven't scratched any ears in ever and ever so long. And you have such nice, big ears, Uncle Wiggily, that it is a real pleasure to scratch them!"

"Do you mean it is a pleasure for me, or for you?" asked the bunny uncle, softly like.

"For me, of course!" meaouwed the cat. "Get ready now for the ear-scratching! Here I come!"

"Oh, please don't scratch my ears!" begged Uncle Wiggily. "Please don't!"

"Yes, I shall!" said the bad cat, stretching out his claws.

"Would you mind scratching my ears, instead of Uncle Wiggily's?" asked Jimmie. "I'll let you scratch mine all you want to."

"I don't want to," spoke the cat. "Your ears are so small that it is no pleasure for me to scratch them -- none at all."

"It was very kind of you to offer your ears in place of mine," said Uncle Wiggily to the duck boy. "But I can't let you do that. Go on, bad cat, if you are going to scratch my ears, please do it and have it over with."

"All right!" snarled the cat. "I'll scratch your ears!" She was just going to do it, when Jimmie suddenly picked up a new flower, and holding it toward the cat cried:

"No, you can't scratch Uncle Wiggily's ears! This is a dog-tooth violet I have just picked, and if you harm Uncle Wiggily I'll make the dog-tooth violet bite you!"

And then the big violet went: "Bow! Wow! Wow!" just like a dog, and the cat thinking a dog was after him, meaouwed:

"Oh, my! Oh, dear! This is no place for me!" and away he ran, not scratching Uncle Wiggily at all.

Then Jimmie put the dog-tooth violet (which did not bark any more) in his bouquet and the lady mouse teacher liked the May flowers very much. Uncle Wiggily took his flowers to Nurse Jane.

And if the umbrella doesn't turn inside out, so its ribs get all wet and sneeze the handle off, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the beech tree.



Story XXVI

Uncle Wiggily And The Beech Tree

"Will you go to the store for me, Uncle Wiggily?" asked Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper, of the rabbit gentleman one day, as he sat out on the porch of his hollow stump bungalow in the woods.

"Indeed I will, Miss Fuzzy Wuzzy," said Mr. Longears, most politely. "What is it you want?"

"A loaf of bread and a pound of sugar," she answered, and Uncle Wiggily started off.

"Better take your umbrella," Nurse Jane called after him. "All the April showers are not yet over, even if it is May."

So the rabbit gentleman took his umbrella.

On his way to the store through the woods, the bunny uncle came to a big beech tree, which had nice, shiny white bark on it, and, to his surprise the rabbit gentleman saw a big black bear, standing up on his hind legs and scratching at the tree bark as hard as he could.

"Ha! That is not the right thing to do," said Uncle Wiggily to himself. "If that bear scratches too much of the bark from the tree the tree will die, for the bark of a tree is just like my skin is to me. I must drive the bear away."

The bear, scratching the bark with his sharp claws, stood with his back to Uncle Wiggily, and the rabbit gentleman thought he could scare the big creature away.

So Uncle Wiggily picked up a stone, and throwing it at the bear, hit him on the back, where the skin was so thick it hurt hardly at all.

And as soon as he had thrown the stone Uncle Wiggily in his loudest voice shouted:

"Bang! Bang! Bungity-bang-bung!"

"Oh, my goodness!" cried the bear, not turning around. "The hunter man with his gun must be after me. He has shot me once, but the bullet did not hurt. I had better run away before he shoots me again!"

And the bear ran away, never once looking around, for he thought the stone Mr. Longears threw was a bullet from a gun, you see, and he thought when Uncle Wiggily said "Bang!" that it was a gun going off. So the bunny gentleman scared the bear away.

"Thank you, Uncle Wiggily," said the beech tree. "You saved my life by not letting the bear scratch off all my bark."

"I am glad I did," spoke the rabbit, making a polite bow with his tall silk hat, for Mr. Longears was polite, even to a tree.

"The bear would not stop scratching my bark when I asked him to," went on the beech tree, "so I am glad you came along, and scared him. You did me a great favor and I will do you one if I ever can."

"Thank you," spoke Uncle Wiggily, and then he hopped on to the store to get the loaf of bread and the pound of sugar for Nurse Jane.

It was on the way back from the store that an adventure happened to Uncle Wiggily. He came to the place where his friend the beech tree was standing up in the woods, and a balsam tree, next door to it, was putting some salve, or balsam, on the places where the bear had scratched off the bark, to make the cuts heal.

Then, all of a sudden, out from behind a bush jumped the same bad bear that had done the scratching.

"Ah, ha!" growled the bear, as soon as he saw Uncle Wiggily, "you can't fool me again, making believe a stone is a bullet, and that your 'Bang!' is a gun! You can't fool me! I know all about the trick you played on me. A little bird, sitting up in a tree, saw it and told me!"

"Well," said Uncle Wiggily slowly, "I'm sorry I had to fool you, but it was all for the best. I wanted to save the beech tree."

"Oh, I don't care!" cried the bear, saucy like and impolitely. "I'm going to scratch as much as I like!"

"My goodness! You're almost as bad as the ear-scratching cat!" said Uncle Wiggily. "I guess I'd better run home to my hollow stump bungalow."

"No, you don't!" cried the bear, and, reaching out his claws, he caught hold of Uncle Wiggily, who, with his umbrella, and the bread and sugar, was standing under the beech tree. "You can't get away from me like that," and the bear held tightly to the bunny uncle.

"Oh, dear! What are you going to do to me?" asked the rabbit gentleman.

"First, I'll bite you," said the bear. "No, I guess I'll first scratch you. No, I won't either. I'll scrite you; that's what I'll do. I'll scrite you!"

"What's scrite?" asked Uncle Wiggily, curious like.

"It's a scratch and a bite made into one," said the bear, "and now I'm going to do it."

"Oh, ho! No, you aren't!" suddenly cried the beech tree, who had been thinking of a way to save Uncle Wiggily. "No, you don't scrite my friend!" And with that the brave tree gave itself a shiver and shake, and shook down on the bear a lot of sharp, three-cornered beech nuts. They fell on the bear's soft and tender nose and the sharp edges hurt him so that he cried:

"Wow! Ouch! I guess I made a mistake! I must run away!"

And away he ran from the shower of sharp beech nuts which didn't hurt Uncle Wiggily at all because he raised his umbrella and kept them off. Then he thanked the tree for having saved him from the bear and went safely home. And if the cow bell doesn't moo in its sleep, and wake up the milkman before it's time to bring the molasses for breakfast, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the bitter medicine.



Story XXVII

Uncle Wiggily And The Bitter Medicine

"How is Jackie this morning, Mrs. Bow Wow?" asked Uncle Wiggily Longears, the rabbit gentleman, one day, as he stopped at the kennel where the dog lady lived with her two little boys, Jackie and Peetie Bow Wow, the puppies. "How is Jackie?"

"Jackie is not so well, I'm sorry to say," answered Mrs. Bow Wow, as she looked carefully along the back fence to see if there were any bad cats there who might meaouw, and try to scratch the puppies.

"Not so well? I am sorry to hear that," spoke the bunny uncle. "What's seems to be the matter?"

"Oh, you know Jackie and Peetie both had the measles," went on Mrs. Bow Wow. "They seemed to get over them nicely, at least Peetie did, but then Jackie caught the epizootic, and he has to stay in bed a week longer, and take bitter medicine."

"Bitter medicine, eh?" exclaimed Uncle Wiggily. "I am sorry to hear that, for I don't like bitter medicine myself."

"Neither does Jackie," continued Mrs. Bow Wow. "In fact, he really doesn't know whether he likes this bitter medicine or not."

"Why, not?" asked the rabbit gentleman.

"Because we can't get him to take a drop," said the puppy dog boy's mother. "Not a drop will he take, though I have fixed it up for him with orange juice and sugar and even put it in a lollypop. But he won't take it, and Dr. Possum says he won't get well unless he takes the bitter medicine."

"Well, Dr. Possum ought to know," said Uncle Wiggily. "But why don't you ask him a good way to give the medicine to Jackie?"

"That's what I'm waiting out here for now," said Mrs. Bow Wow. "I want to catch Dr. Possum when he comes past, and ask him to come in and give Jackie the medicine. The poor boy really needs it to make him well."

"Of course he does," agreed Uncle Wiggily. "And while you are waiting for Dr. Possum I'll see what I can do."

"What are you going to do?" asked Mrs. Bow Wow, as the bunny uncle started for the dog kennel.

"I'm going to try to make Jackie take his bitter medicine. You just stay out here a little while."

"Well, I hope you do it, but I'm afraid you won't," spoke Mrs. Bow Wow with a sigh. "I've tried all the ways I know. I was just going, as you came along, to get a toy balloon, blow it up, and put the medicine inside. Then I was going to let Jackie burst it by sticking a pin in it. And I thought when the balloon exploded the medicine might be blown down his throat."

"Oh, well, I think I have a better way than that," said Uncle Wiggily with a laugh. He went in where Jackie, who had the measles-epizootic, was in bed. "Good morning, Jackie," said the bunny uncle. "How are you?"

"Not very well," answered Jackie, the puppy dog boy. "But I'm glad to see you. I'm not going to take the bitter medicine even for you, though, Uncle Wiggily."

"Ho! Ho! Ho! Just you wait until you're asked!" cried Mr. Longears in his most jolly voice. "Now let me have a look at that bitter medicine which is making so much trouble. Where is it?"

"In that cup on the chair," and Jackie pointed to it near his bed.

"I see," said Uncle Wiggily, looking at it. "Now, Jackie, I'm a good friend of yours, and you wouldn't mind just holding this cup of bitter medicine in your paw, would you, to please me?"

"Oh, I'll do that for you, Uncle Wiggily, but I'll not take it," Jackie said.

"Never mind about that," laughed the bunny uncle. "Just hold the medicine in your paw, so," and Jackie did as he was told. "Now, would you mind holding it up to your lips, as if you were going to make believe take it?" asked Uncle Wiggily. "Mind you, don't you dare take a drop of it. Just hold the cup to your lips, but don't swallow any."

"Why do you want me to do that?" asked Jackie, as he did what Uncle Wiggily asked.

"Because I want to draw a picture of you making believe take bitter medicine," said the bunny, as he took out pencil and paper. "I'll show it to any other of my little animal friends, who may not like their medicine, and I'll say to them: 'See how brave Jackie is to take his bitter medicine.' Of course, I won't tell them you really were afraid to take it," and without saying any more Uncle Wiggily began to draw the puppy dog boy's picture on the paper.

"Hold the cup a little nearer to your lips, and tip it up a bit, Jackie," said the bunny man. "But, mind you, don't swallow a drop. That's it, higher up! Tip it more. I want the picture to look natural."

Jackie tipped the cup higher, holding it close to his mouth, and threw back his head, and then Uncle Wiggily suddenly cried: "Ouch!" And Jackie was so surprised that he opened his mouth and before he knew it he had swallowed the bitter medicine!

Jackie was so surprised that he opened his mouth.

"Oh, why I took it!" he cried. "It went down my throat! And it wasn't so bad, after all."

"I thought it wouldn't be," spoke Uncle Wiggily, as he finished the picture of Jackie, and now he could really say it showed the doggie boy actually taking the medicine, for Jackie did take it.

So Dr. Possum didn't have to come in to see Jackie after all to make him swallow the bitter stuff, and the little chap was soon all well again. And if the clothesline doesn't try to jump rope with the Jack in the Box, and upset the washtub, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the pine cones.



Story XXVIII

Uncle Wiggily And The Pine Cones

Uncle Wiggily Longears, the nice rabbit gentleman, was out walking in the woods one day when he felt rather tired. He had been looking all around for an adventure, which was something he liked to have happen to him, but he had seen nothing like one so far.

"And I don't want to go back to my hollow stump bungalow without having had an adventure to tell Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy about," said Mr. Longears.

But, as I said, the rabbit gentleman was feeling rather tired, and, seeing a nice log covered with a cushion of green moss, he sat down on that to rest.

"Perhaps an adventure will happen to me here," thought the bunny uncle as he leaned back against a pine tree to rest.

It was nice and warm in the woods, and, with the sun shining down upon him, Uncle Wiggily soon dozed off in a little sleep. But when he awakened still no adventure had happened to him.

"Well, I guess I must travel on," he said, and he started to get up, but he could not. He could not move his back away from the pine tree against which he had leaned to rest.

"Oh, dear! what has happened," cried the bunny uncle. "I am stuck fast! I can't get away! Oh, dear!"

At first he thought perhaps the skillery-scalery alligator with the humps on his tail had come softly up behind him as he slept and had him in his claws. But, by sort of looking around backward, Mr. Longears could see no one -- not even a fox.

"But what is it holding me?" he cried, as he tried again and again to get loose, but could not.

"I am sorry to say I am holding you!" spoke a voice up over Uncle Wiggily's head. "I am holding you fast!"

"Who are you, if you please?" asked the rabbit gentleman.

"I am the pine tree against which you leaned your back. And on my bark was a lot of sticky pine gum. It is that which is holding you fast," the tree answered.

"Why -- why, it's just like sticky flypaper, isn't it?" asked Uncle Wiggily, trying again to get loose, but not doing so. "And it is just like the time you held the bear fast for me."

"Yes, it is; and flypaper is made from my sticky pine gum," said the tree. "I am so sorry you are stuck, but I did not see you lean back against me until it was too late. And now I can't get you loose, for my limbs are so high over your head that I can not reach them down to you. Try to get loose yourself."

"I will," said Uncle Wiggily, and he did, but he could not get loose, though he almost pulled out all his fur. So he cried:

"Help! Help! Help!"

Then, all of a sudden, along through the woods came Neddie Stubtail, the little bear-boy, and Neddie had some butter, which he had just bought at the store for his mother.

"Oh!" cried the pine tree. "If you will rub some butter on my sticky gum, it will loosen and melt it, so Uncle Wiggily will not be stuck any more."

Neddie did so, and soon the bunny uncle was free.

"Oh, I can't tell you how sorry I am," said the pine tree. "I am a horrid creature, of no use in this world, Uncle Wiggily! Other trees have nice fruit or nuts or flowers on them, but all I have is sticky gum, or brown, rough ugly pine cones. Oh, dear! I am of no use in the world!"

"Oh, yes you are!" said Uncle Wiggily, kindly. "As for having stuck me fast, that was my own fault. I should have looked before I leaned back. And, as for your pine cones, I dare say they are very useful."

"No, they are not!" said the tree sadly. "If they were only ice cream cones they might be some good. Oh, I wish I were a peach tree, or a rose bush!"

"Never mind," spoke Uncle Wiggily, "I like your pine cones, and I am going to take some home with me, and, when I next see you, I shall tell you how useful they were. Don't feel so badly."

So Uncle Wiggily gathered a number of the pine cones, which are really the big, dried seeds of the pine tree, and the bunny uncle took them to his bungalow with him.

A few days later he was in the woods again and stopped near the pine tree, which was sighing and wishing it were an umbrella plant or a gold fish.

"Hush!" cried Uncle Wiggily. "You must try to do the best you can for what you are! And I have come to tell you how useful your pine cones were."

"Really?" asked the tree, in great surprise. "Really?"

"Really and truly," answered Uncle Wiggily. "With some of your cones Nurse Jane started her kitchen fire when all the wood was wet. With others I built a little play house, and amused Lulu Wibblewobble, the duck girl, when she had the toothache. And other cones I threw at a big bear that was chasing me. I hit him on the nose with them, and he was glad enough to run away. So you see how useful you are, pine tree!"

"Oh, I am so glad," said the tree. "I guess it is better to be just what you are, and do the best you can," and Uncle Wiggily said it was.

And, if the roof of our house doesn't come down stairs to play with the kitchen floor and let the rain in on the gold fish, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and his torn coat.



Story XXIX

Uncle Wiggily And His Torn Coat

"Do you think I look all right?" asked Uncle Wiggily Longears, the rabbit gentleman, of Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, his muskrat lady housekeeper. He was standing in front of her, turning slowly about, and he had on a new coat. For now that Summer was near the bunny uncle had laid aside his heavy fur coat and was wearing a lighter one.

"Yes, you do look very nice," Nurse Jane said, tying her tail in a knot so Uncle Wiggily would not step on it as he turned around.

"Nice enough to go to Grandfather Goosey Gander's party?" asked the rabbit gentleman.

"Oh, yes, indeed!" exclaimed Nurse Jane. "I didn't know Grandpa Goosey was to give a party, but, if he is, you certainly look well enough to go with your new coat. Of course, it might be better if it had some lace insertion around the button holes, or a bit of ruching, with oyster shell trimming sewed down the back, but -- "

"Oh, no, indeed!" laughed the bunny uncle. "If it had those things on it would be a coat for a lady. I like mine plainer."

"Well, take care of yourself," called Nurse Jane after him as he hopped off over the fields and through the woods to the house where Grandfather Goosey Gander lived.

"Now, I must be very careful not to get my new coat dirty, or I won't look nice at the party," the old rabbit gentleman was saying to himself as he hopped along. "I must be very careful indeed."

He went along as carefully as he could, but, just as he was going down a little hill, under the trees, he came to a place which was so slippery that, before he knew it, all of a sudden Uncle Wiggily fell down and slid to the bottom of the hill.

"My goodness!" he cried, as he stood up after his slide. "I did not know there was snow or ice on that hill."

And when he looked there was not, but it was covered with long, thin pine needles, which are almost as slippery as glass. It was on these that the rabbit gentleman had slipped down hill.

"Well, there is no great harm done," said Uncle Wiggily to himself, as he found no bones broken. "I had a little slide, that's all. I must bring Sammie and Susie Littletail here some day, and let them slide on pine needle hill. Johnnie and Billie Bushytail, the two squirrels, would also like it, and so would Nannie and Billie Wagtail, my two goat friends."

Uncle Wiggily was about to go on to the party when, as he looked at his new coat he saw that it was all torn. In sliding down the slippery pine needle hill the coat had caught on sticks and stones and it had many holes torn in it, and it was also ripped here and there.

"Oh, dear me!" cried Uncle Wiggily. "Oh, sorrow! Oh, unhappiness! Now I'll have to go back to my hollow stump bungalow and put on my old coat that isn't torn. For I never can wear my new one to the party. That would never do! But the trouble is, if I go back home I'll be late! Oh, dear, what trouble I am in!"

Now was the time for some of Uncle Wiggily's friends to help him in his trouble, as he had often helped them. But, as he looked through the woods, he could not see even a little mouse, or so much as a grasshopper.

"The tailor bird would be just the one I'd like to see now," said the rabbit uncle. "She could mend my torn coat nicely." For tailor birds, yon know, can take a piece of grass, with their bill for a needle, and sew leaves together to make a nest, almost as well as your mother can mend a hole in your stocking.

But there was no tailor bird in the woods, and Uncle Wiggily did not know what to do.

"I certainly do not want to be late to Grandpa Goosey's party," said the bunny uncle, "nor do I want to go to it in a torn coat. Oh, dear!"

Just then he heard down on the ground near him, a little voice saying:

"Perhaps we could mend your coat for you, Uncle Wiggily."

"You. Who are you, and how can you mend my torn coat?" the bunny gentleman wanted to know.

"We are some little black ants," was the answer, "and with the pine needles lying on the ground -- some of the same needles on which you slipped -- we can sew up your coat, with long grass for thread."

"Oh, that will be fine, if you can do it," spoke the bunny uncle. "Can you?"

"We'll try," the ants said. Then, about fourteen thousand six hundred and twenty-two black ants took each a long, sharp pine needle, and threading it with grass, they began to sew up the rips and tears in Uncle Wiggily's coat. And in places where they could not easily sew they stuck the cloth together with sticky gum from the pine tree. So, though the pine tree was to blame, in a way, for Uncle Wiggily's fall, it also helped in the mending of his coat.

Soon the coat was almost as good as new and you could hardly tell where it was torn. And Uncle Wiggily, kindly thanking the ants, went on to Grandpa Goosey's party and had a fine time and also some ice cream.

And if the egg beater doesn't take all the raisins out of the rice pudding, so it looks like a cup of custard going to the moving pictures, the next story will be about Uncle Wiggily and the sycamore tree.



Story XXX

Uncle Wiggily And The Sycamore Tree

"Oh, Uncle Wiggily, I'm going to a party! I'm going to a party!" cried Nannie Wagtail, the little goat girl, as she pranced up in front of the hollow stump bungalow where Mr. Longears, the rabbit gentleman, lived with Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper.

"Going to a party? Say, that's just fine!" said the bunny gentleman. "I wish I were going to one."

"Why, you can come, too!" cried Nannie. "Jillie Longtail, the little mouse girl, is giving the party, and I know she will be glad to have you."

"Well, perhaps, I may stop in for a little while," said Mr. Longears, with a smile that made his pink nose twinkle like the frosting on a sponge cake. "But when is the party going to take place, Nannie?"

"Right away -- I'm going there now; but I just stopped at your bungalow to show you my new shoes that Uncle Butter, the circus poster goat, bought for me. Aren't they nice?" And she stuck out her feet.

"Indeed, they are!" cried Uncle Wiggily, as he looked at the shiny black shoes which went on over Nannie's hoofs. "So the party is to-day, is it?",

"Right now," said Nannie. "Come on, Uncle Wiggily. Walk along with me and go in! They'll all be glad to see you!"

"Oh, but my dear child!" cried the bunny gentleman. "I haven't shaved my whiskers, my ears need brushing, and I would have to do lots of things to make myself look nice and ready for a party!"

"Oh, dear!" bleated Nannie Wagtail. "I did so want you to come with me!"

"Well, I'll walk as far as the Longtail mouse home,"' said the bunny uncle, "but I won't go in.

"Oh, maybe you will when you get there!" And Nannie laughed, for she knew Uncle Wiggily always did whatever the animal children wanted him to do.

So the bunny uncle and Nannie started off through the woods together, Nannie looking down at her new shoes every now and then.

"I'm going to dance at the party, Uncle Wiggily!" she said.

"I should think you would, Nannie, with those nice new shoes," spoke Mr. Longears. "What dance are you going to do?"

"Oh, the four-step and the fish hornpipe, I guess," answered Nannie, and then she suddenly cried:

"Oh, dear!"

"What's the matter now?" asked Uncle Wiggily. "Did you lose one of your new shoes?"

"No, but I splashed some mud on it," the little goat girl said. "I stepped in a mud puddle."

"Never mind, I'll wipe it off with a bit of soft green moss," answered Uncle Wiggily; and he did. So Nannie's shoes were all clean again.

On and on went the rabbit gentleman and the little goat girl, and they talked of what games the animal children would play at the Longtail mouse party, and what good things they would eat, and all like that.

All of a sudden, as Nannie was jumping over another little puddle of water, she cried out again:

"Oh, dear!"

"What's the matter now?" asked Uncle Wiggily. "Did some more mud splash on your new shoes, Nannie?"

"No, Uncle Wiggily, but a lot of the buttons came off. I guess they don't fasten buttons on new shoes very tight."

"I guess they don't," Uncle Wiggily said. "But still you have enough buttons left to keep the shoes on your feet. I guess you will be all right."

So Nannie walked on a little farther, with Uncle Wiggily resting his rheumatism, now and then, on the red, white and blue striped barber pole crutch that Nurse Jane had gnawed for him out of a cornstalk.

All of a sudden Nannie cried out again:

"Oh, dear! Oh, this is too bad!"

"What is?" asked Uncle Wiggily.

"Now all the buttons have come off my shoes!" said the little goat girl, sadly. "I don't see how I can go on to the party and dance, with no buttons on my shoes. They'll be slipping off all the while."

"So they will," spoke Uncle Wiggily. "Shoes without buttons are like lollypops without sticks, you can't do anything with them."

"But what am I going to do?" asked Nannie, while tears came into her eyes and splashed up on her horns. "I do want so much to go to that party."

"And I want you to," said Uncle Wiggily. "Let me think a minute."

So he thought and thought, and then he looked off through the woods and he saw a queer tree not far away. It was a sycamore tree, with broad white patches on the smooth bark, and hanging down from the branches were lots of round balls, just like shoe buttons, only they were a sort of brown instead of black. The balls were the seeds of the tree.

"Ha! The very thing!" cried the bunny uncle.

"What is?" asked Nannie.

"That sycamore, or button-ball tree," answered the rabbit gentleman. "I can get you some new shoe buttons off that, Nannie, and sew them on your shoes."

"Oh, if you can, that will be just fine!" cried the little goat girl. "For when the buttons came off my new shoes they flew every which way -- I mean the buttons did -- and I couldn't find a single one."

"Never mind," Uncle Wiggily kindly said. "I'll sew on some of the buttons from the sycamore tree, and everything will be all right."

With a thorn for a needle, and some long grasses for thread, Uncle Wiggily soon sewed the buttons from the sycamore, or button-ball, tree on Nannie's new shoes, using the very smallest ones, of course. Then Nannie put on her shoes again, having rested her feet on a velvet carpet of moss, while Uncle Wiggily was sewing, and together they went on to the Longtail mouse party.

"Oh, what nice shoes you have, Nannie!" cried Susie Littletail, the rabbit girl.

"And what lovely stylish buttons!" exclaimed Lulu Wibblewobble, the duck.

"Yes, Uncle Wiggily sewed them on for me," said Nannie.

"Oh, is Uncle Wiggily outside!" cried the little mousie girl.  "He must come in to our party!"

"Of course!" cried all the other animal children. And so Uncle Wiggily, who had walked on past the house after leaving Nannie, had to come in anyhow, without his whiskers being trimmed, or his ears curled. And he was so jolly that every one had a good time and lots of ice cream cheese to eat, and they all thought Nannie's shoes, and the button-ball buttons, were just fine.

And if the ham sandwich doesn't tickle the cream puff under the chin and make it laugh so all the chocolate drops off the cocoanut pudding, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the red spots.



Story XXXI

Uncle Wiggily And The Red Spots

Uncle Wiggily Longears, the rabbit gentleman, was hopping along through the woods one fine day when he heard a little voice calling to him:

"Oh, Uncle Wiggily! Will you have a game of tag with me?"

At first the bunny uncle thought the voice might belong to a bad fox or a harum-scarum bear, but when he had peeked through the bushes he saw that it was Lulu Wibblewobble, the duck girl, who had called to him.

"Have a game of tag with you? Why, of course, I will!" laughed Uncle Wiggily. "That is, if you will kindly excuse my rheumatism, and the red, white and blue crutch which Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, my muskrat lady housekeeper, gnawed for me out of a cornstalk."

"Of course, I'll excuse it, Uncle Wiggily," said Lulu. "Only please don't tag me with the end of your crutch, for it tickles me, and when I'm tickled I have to laugh, and when I laugh I can't play tag."

"I won't tag you with my crutch," spoke Uncle Wiggily with a laugh. "Now we're ready to begin."

So the little duck girl and the rabbit gentleman played tag there in the woods, jumping and springing about on the soft mossy green carpet under the trees.

Sometimes Lulu was "it" and sometimes Uncle Wiggily would be tagged by the foot or wing of the duck girl, who was a sister to Alice and Jimmie Wibblewobble.

"Now for a last tag!" cried Uncle Wiggily when it was getting dark in the woods. "I'll tag you this time, Lulu, and then we must go home."

"All right," agreed Lulu, and she ran and flew so fast that Uncle Wiggily could hardly catch her to make her "it." And finally when Uncle Wiggily almost had his paw on the duck girl she flew right over a bush, and, before Uncle Wiggily could stop himself he had run into the bush until he was half way through it.

Before Uncle Wiggily could stop himself he had run into the bush.

But, very luckily, it was not a scratchy briar bush, so no great harm was done, except that Uncle Wiggily's fur was a bit ruffled up, and he was tickled.

"I guess I can't tag you this time, Lulu!" laughed the bunny uncle. "We'll give up the game now, and I'll be 'it' next time when we play."

"Ail right, Uncle Wiggily," said Lulu. "I'll meet you here in the woods at this time tomorrow night, and I'll bring Alice and Jimmie with me, and we'll have lots of fun. We'll have a grand game of tag!"

"Fine!" cried the bunny uncle, as he squirmed his way out of the bush.

Then he went on to his hollow stump bungalow, and Lulu went on to her duck pen house to have her supper of corn meal sauce with watercress salad sprinkled over the sides.

As Uncle Wiggily was sitting down to his supper of carrot ice cream with lettuce sandwiches all puckered around the edges, Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy looked at him across the table, and exclaimed:

"Why, Wiggy! What's the matter with you?"

"Matter with me? Nothing, Janie! I feel just fine!" he said. "I'm hungry, that's all!"

"Why, you're all covered with red spots!" went on the muskrat lady. "You are breaking out with the measles. I must send for Dr. Possum at once."

"Measles? Nonsense!" exclaimed Uncle Wiggily. "I can't have 'em again. I've had 'em once."

"Well, maybe these are the French or German mustard measles," said the muskrat lady. "You are certainly all covered with red spots, and red spots are always measles."

"Well, what are you going to do about it?" asked Uncle Wiggily.

"You must go to bed at once," said Nurse Jane, "and when Dr. Possum comes he'll tell you what else to do. Oh, my! Look at the red spots!"

Uncle Wiggily was certainly as red-spotted as a polka-dot shirt waist. He looked at himself in a glass to make sure.

"Well, I guess I have the measles all right," he said. "But I don't see how I can have them twice. This must be a different style, like the new dances."

It was dark when Dr. Possum came, and when he saw the red spots on Uncle Wiggily, he said:

"Yes, I guess they're the measles all right. Lots of the animal children are down with them. But don't worry. Keep nice and warm and quiet, and you'll be all right in a few days."

So Uncle Wiggily went to bed, red spots and all, and Nurse Jane made him hot carrot and sassafras tea, with whipped cream and chocolate in it. The cream was not whipped because it was bad, you know, but only just in fun, to make it stand up straight.

All the next day the bunny uncle stayed in bed with his red spots, though he wanted very much to go out in the woods looking for an adventure. And when evening came and Nurse Jane was sitting out on the front porch of the hollow stump bungalow, she suddenly heard a quacking sound, and along came Lulu, Alice and Jimmie Wibblewobble, the duck children.

"Where is Uncle Wiggily?" asked Lulu.

"He is in bed," answered Nurse Jane.

"Why is he in bed?" asked Jimmie. "Was he bad?"

"No, indeed," laughed Nurse Jane. "But your Uncle Wiggily is in bed because he has the red-spotted measles. What did you want of him?"

"He promised to meet us in the woods, where the green moss grows," answered Lulu, "and play tag with us. We waited and waited, and played tag all by ourselves tonight, even jumping in the bush, as Uncle Wiggily accidentally did when he was chasing me, but he did not come along. So we came here to see what is the matter."

The three duck children came up on the porch, where the bright light shone on them from inside the bungalow.

"Oh, my goodness me sakes alive and some paregoric lollypops!" cried Nurse Jane, as she looked at the three. "You ducks are all covered with red spots, too! You all have the measles! Oh, my!"

"Measles!" cried Jimmie, the boy duck.

"Measles? These aren't measles, Nurse Jane! These are sticky, red berries from the bushes we jumped in as Uncle Wiggily did. The red berries are sticky, like burdock burrs, and they stuck to us."

"Oh, my goodness!" cried Nurse Jane. "Wait a minute, children!" Then she ran to where Uncle Wiggily was lying in bed. She leaned over and picked off some of the red spots from his fur.

"Why!" cried the muskrat lady. "You haven't the measles at all, Wiggy! It's just sticky, red berries in your fur, just as they are in the ducks' feathers. You're all right! Get up and have a good time!"

And Uncle Wiggily did, after Nurse Jane had combed the red, sticky burr-berries out of his fur. He didn't have the measles at all, for which he was very glad, because he could now be up and play tag.

"My goodness! That certainly was a funny mistake for all of us," said Dr. Possum next day. "But the red spots surely did look like the measles." Which shows us that things are not always what they seem.

And if the -- Oh, excuse me, if you please. There is not going to be a next story in this book. It is already as full as it can be, so the story after this will have to be put in the following book, which also means next.

Let me see, now. Oh, I know. Next I'm going to tell you some stories about the old gentleman growing cabbages, lettuce and things like that out of the ground, and the book will be called "Uncle Wiggily on The Farm." It will be ready for you by Christmas, I think, and I hope you will like it.

And now I will say good-bye for a little while, and if the lollypop doesn't take its sharp stick to make the baby carriage roll down the hill and into the trolley car, I'll soon begin to make the new book.

<eob>

Bow-Wow And Mew-Mew

By

Georgiana M. Craik



I

Bow-Wow And Mew-Mew


"Get out of the way," said a little fat dog, as he came near the fire.

"I shall not get out of your way," said the white puss, who had got the best place first. "Do you keep out of my way!"

"You are as bad a cat as ever I saw," cried the dog, in a rage.

The dog's name was Bow-Wow.

"I am not half so bad a cat as you are a dog," said Mew-Mew.

Bow-Wow and Mew-Mew were a very young dog and cat.

They did not know how to be good. No one had told them.

They did not use kind words the one to the other.

They led a sad life, and were cross all day long.

Bow-Wow said that Mew-Mew was idle, vain, and cross, and of no use to any one.

And Mew-Mew said of Bow-Wow, that he was only fit to bark, that he was all for himself and ever in the way.

Thus they used to go on all day.

It was quite a treat when they fell asleep. That was the only time that there was peace with them.




II

Bow-Wow And Mew-Mew Are Not Happy


Bow-Wow and Mew-Mew did not love each other. But you must know that they did not find good in any thing.

All was bad alike to them.

They did not like the house they lived in; they did not like the lady they lived with; nor the food they had to eat.

They said they did not have what was good for them to eat or to drink.

Bow-Wow wanted other little dogs about the place, so that he could have a good game of play.

Mew-Mew sat with her eyes half shut for hours, to think what a shame it was no other cat ever came to see her.

"Now if I had a real home," Mew-Mew would say, "I would have a lot of young cats in it.

I would have a fire in every room, a cup of warm milk on each floor, and all the meat in the house should be cut up into little bits.

And I would kill Bow-Wow and all the dogs that came near my house."




III

Mew-Mew Falls Asleep


Mew-Mew would think of such a life till she grew quite glad.

She would begin to purr, and so sing herself off to sleep.

"Did ever any one see such a cat?" Bow-Wow said, when Mew-Mew acted in this way.

"She sings as if she were out of her wits.

I have seen much in my life" (he was quite young), "but I have never seen so silly a cat as Mew-Mew is."

Then he would go to Mew-Mew and give her a blow on the side of her head to wake her up.

Mew-Mew would spring up like a shot.

And if Bow-Wow did not take to his heels with all his might, which he very often did, Mew-Mew would use her paws in such a way as to make him wish he had left her to have her sleep out.

Bow-Wow and Mew-Mew lived in a farm-house.

You shall hear how this dog and cat were often put out, and how much they had to bear.




IV

The Chicks, The Pigs, The Ducks


First, there were the chicks.

"They eat all day long," said Mew-Mew.

"I cannot bear them; I wish I might eat them."

Then there were the pigs.

Bow-Wow did not like the pigs.

For one day he had gone into their sty to bark at them. But they did not fear him and did not try to get away.

In fact, they trod on him till he was well-nigh dead.

He kept away from the pigs after that; at any rate, he did not go into their sty again.

Then the ducks.

If there was one thing Mew-Mew did not like, it was the ducks.

The ducks made a great deal too much noise, they did not even know how to walk, and they had a very bad way of going into the water.

The horse and the cow were much too big.

It was not safe to go near them.

They had a way of using their feet, which Bow-Wow and Mew-Mew did not like at all.

The dog and cat had not one thing which they did like.

The lady was not quite so bad as the rest. Still she was to blame that there were not fires in every room, cups of warm milk on every floor, and bits of good meat in the dish.




V

Bow-Wow Is Hurt


It came about one day that Bow-Wow was badly hurt.

He had gone into the barn-yard "for no harm at all," he said, but to bark at the chicks, and put them in fear of their lives.

He had great fun with one chick, which ran away from him, and flew up to its perch.

Bow-Wow went after it and made leaps into the air to get it, and was just as glad as he could be.

But all at once he could jump no more.

A large log of wood fell on him. He felt great pain.

This made him cry, so that one could hear him half a mile away.

The lady ran out to see why Bow-Wow cried so loud. She took the wood off him.

Then she found that the bone of one leg was hurt.

A man was sent for to dress the leg, and Bow-Wow was put to bed.




VI

Bow-Wow In Bed


As soon as Bow-Wow was in bed, Mew-Mew came into the room.

She was as glad as she could be to see poor Bow-Wow in pain.

"Well, you are a fine sort of dog, you are," she said; "why could you not leave the chicks alone?

It is a pity you did not break all your legs.

I wish you had done so.

Anyhow, it will be a long time before you get about again.

I shall have the nice warm fire all to myself now."

"Oh -- h -- h!" cried Bow-Wow, for the poor little dog felt very ill.

Then the bad Mew-Mew put up her paw and gave Bow-Wow such a blow that it made him cry loud again with pain.

The lady came into the room to find out why the dog had called out.

Then Mew-Mew, who, to tell the truth, knew that she had not done what was right, crept out by the open door. (See picture on page 2.)

She took care to keep out of the way for the rest of the day.

It was only when it was quite dark, and the lady had gone to bed, that she dared to come into the room again, and take her place before the fire.




VII

Mew-Mew By The Fire


Bow-Wow was in his little bed. Great care had been taken of him.

He had not gone to sleep, for his leg hurt him so much that he could not get to sleep at all.

When he saw Mew-Mew come into the room he was in such fear that he did not know what to do.

She had been such a bad cat in the day, that Bow-Wow did not feel at all sure but that now, when the lady was in bed, Mew-Mew might kill him.

It was a sad case for Bow-Wow. He shut his eyes, all but the least bit.

He kept them just far enough open, to see what Mew-Mew was doing, and then he lay quite still.

Mew-Mew gave one look at Bow-Wow's bed.

"Bow-Wow is asleep," she said. "I will not be unkind to him again."

Then she went to the fire, and sat with her back to Bow-Wow, that he might not see her; and she began to wash her coat.

This was such a long task that she soon forgot all about Bow-Wow.

She sat for a long time in the same place, even after the fire had gone out.




VIII

Bow-Wow In Great Pain


Mew-Mew had a nice coat, white as milk.

She kept it very clean, for she washed it for a good many hours each day.

Bow-Wow used to say, "Why, you will wash it all away."

Mew-Mew did not mind that a bit, for she knew that Bow-Wow only said this when he felt vexed that he had not a nice white coat.

Bow-Wow's coat was black as coal.

Mew-Mew sat by the fire and washed her coat.

Bow-Wow did not dare to go to sleep, for fear of what the cat might do.

At last he was quite worn out.

His leg was very painful, too.

After the cat had washed and washed for an hour and a half, Bow-Wow could bear it no longer.

He turned himself in bed and gave a great groan.

Mew-Mew left off washing at once.

"I will groan again," said Bow-Wow; "I may as well, as I have done so once."

He did groan again, and over and over again.

If he were to be killed, he could not help it, and the pain did not seem so bad while he groaned.

"Oh! you are awake, are you?" said Mew-Mew.

"Oh -- h -- h! yes, I am awake," and Bow-Wow gave another great groan.




IX

Mew-Mew A Nurse


"Do you mean to make that noise all night?" said the cat, in a very sharp way.

"I do not know. I hope not. I wish I could lose this bad pain."

"You are a bad dog," said Mew-Mew.

"You have a nice warm bed to lie on; great care has been taken of you; you have had good food to eat; what more can you want?

"Yet you lie there and groan.

"As for poor me, all I have to lie on is an old bit of rug.

I think it is I that ought to groan."

"I wish you had my leg," said Bow-Wow.

"Oh, we shall never hear the last of that leg now." Then, as she had no more to say, she went to her rug to sleep.

But she had only slept for a little while, and had fallen into a nice dream about a mouse, when Bow-Wow gave a great cry.

"Why do you call out in that way?" said Mew-Mew, in a rage.

"I am so hot," cried Bow-Wow, "that I think I shall die."

"I wish you were dead," said the cat.

"Why did you wake me from my first sleep and let that fat mouse get away from me?

Am I to be kept awake all night to nurse you?"

"I only want you to take the rug off me," said Bow-Wow.

"Oh, dear! dear!" cried Mew-Mew.

But she took off the rug, and put it near the fire.

It would make her a nice soft bed. The rug she had was not so good and soft as this.




X

Bow-Wow Feels Very Ill


"Well, will that do?" said Mew-Mew.

"Oh, I do not know; I am very ill."

"I dare say you are not a bit worse than I am; you have not a bad cold as I have."

"A bad cold! What is a bad cold to a leg as full of pain as mine is?"

"Oh! there you are! all about the leg again!"

Mew-Mew went off to her rug, and was soon fast asleep.

She slept this time for a good long while, and Bow-Wow slept too; but as break of day came, Bow-Wow made a very loud cry.

"Dear me! dear me! what is it now?" said Mew-Mew.

"I cannot bear this great pain any longer. You must come and help me with my bad leg."

"Anything for peace," said Mew-Mew, and up she came and bit through what was on the leg and took it off.

"Well, are you all right now?"

"I am better," said Bow-Wow. But he lay back, for he could not hold up his head.

"You do not look to me as if you would live," said the cat, after she had had a long look at him.

"Not look as if I should live?" said Bow-Wow.

"No, I do not think you will live;" and with that, she sat down before the dog, with her eyes fixed on his face, as if she meant to wait there and see the end of him.




XI

Will Bow-Wow Die?


"Is there anything I can do?" asked the dog.

"Oh! I do not know of anything. You must just wait."

Then Mew-Mew shut her eyes for a little more sleep.

"But Mew-Mew! Mew-Mew!" cried poor Bow-Wow, "you must not go to sleep.

Oh, Mew-Mew! I have no one to speak to but you."

"It will not help you to speak," said Mew-Mew.

"You are much too fond of your own voice; I have told you that over and over again."

"Yes, Mew-Mew, so you have. But you would not have me die, would you?

I have so many things I should like to say to you.

What will you do without me when I am gone?"

The poor little dog gave such a sad look into Mew-Mew's face, as he spoke these words, that Mew-Mew did not quite know what to say.

To tell the truth, though she tried to think that she was very glad at getting rid of Bow-Wow for good and all, yet she was not quite sure about it.

After all, she did not know what she should do without him.

But she did not wish to show that she was so weak as to care for him; so when he asked "What will you do when I am gone?" she said:

"Oh! I shall do much as I do now."

And she began to wash a speck off one of her white paws.




XII

Bow-Wow And Mew-Mew Become Friends


But poor little Bow-Wow could not bear this.

"What!" he said, "you will go on as you do now when I am gone?

You will go on just the same, when you will never have me to look at -- or to speak to -- or to fight with?"

Bow-Wow's voice quite broke down. "Oh, Mew-Mew! you are not kind to me."

"Me not kind! If it comes to that, you are much more unkind than I am.

You do not care a bit for me; not a bit more than if I was a chick or a pig.

You would not sit up with me, as I am doing with you now -- no, not if I had hurt ten legs," said Mew-Mew.

"Oh, Mew-Mew! how can you say such things?" cried Bow-Wow. "Oh, Mew-Mew! how can you, and with me dying!"

"You would not care if I were dying ten times over," said the cat. And she put her paw over her face, and began to cry.

"I -- I -- I should," said Bow-Wow; "I am sure I should care very much."

"Well, well," said Mew-Mew, "I do not wish to be cross with you, now that you are about to die."

"Let us be friends then," said Bow-Wow.

"We will," said Mew-Mew.

Then they were quite still for some time. They did not know what to make of being friends.

They did not speak, for they did not know what to say.




XIII

Mew-Mew Seeks Some Food


Mew-Mew was the first to speak.

"How are you now, Bow-Wow?" she said.

"How do I look?" said the dog.

"Ah! not very well. There is a look in your eyes I do not like."

"Oh, if it is only my eyes," said Bow-Wow, "I can change that.... Look at me now, Mew-Mew."

"That is not the same look at all," said the cat. "Your eyes are as bright as mine now, Bow-Wow."

"No, no -- not so bright as yours. No other eyes could be as bright as yours, Mew-Mew.

But I do feel a good deal better now, and I think, dear Mew-Mew, that if I could get a long sleep and some nice food -- "

"Should you like a mouse?" cried Mew-Mew.

"Ah! I fear a mouse would get away from me.

I do not know how to deal with a mouse as you do, Mew-Mew, even when I am well.

I should like some cold meat."

"Well, I will see what I can do," said Mew-Mew.

Away she went; but the only food that she could find was some cold pork.

She had two or three bites at this, to make sure it was good, and then went back to Bow-Wow with her prize.

"What is it, Mew-Mew?"

"Cold pork: very nice." And she put it before him.

"Please have some too, Mew-Mew."

"Well, I do not care if I do," said the cat.




XIV

Bow-Wow Does Not Die


They both set to work with a good will. In a very short time the cold pork was all gone.

"It was very good," said Bow-Wow, with a sigh.

"It has done me a great deal of good. Is there any more of it?"

"Not a bit more," said Mew-Mew.

"Well, it cannot be helped. Shall I try now to go to sleep?"

"Yes, do, and I will make up your bed for you."

This she did, and the dog lay down and shut his eyes.

"I will just give my coat a wash, and then try to go to sleep too," said Mew-Mew.

"Be sure you call me if you feel worse, dear Bow-Wow."

The little boys and girls who read this book will be glad to know that in spite of all the fright which Bow-Wow and Mew-Mew had, the dog was in no danger of dying at all.

He had to stay in bed for a whole week, and for ten days more was very weak, and had to take care what he ate, and where he went.

Yet by the end of a month he was as strong as ever, and would bark at the pigs and hunt the chicks just as he had done before.




XV

Bow-Wow And Mew-Mew Are Very Great Friends


Bow-Wow and Mew-Mew were now great friends.

Mew-Mew said that she had saved Bow-Wow's life when he was ill.

She said this so often, that Bow-Wow came to think it was true, and looked upon her as the best friend he had in the world.

As for Mew-Mew, she grew very fond of Bow-Wow; she did not like to have him out of her sight.

They loved each other so much that if you had told them they were once cross and unkind they would have said:

"Oh, no! that must have been some other dog and cat, it could not have been we."

But though they were now such good friends, they did not like the rest of the world a bit more than they had done before.

One night, after the lady had gone to bed, Bow-Wow and Mew-Mew met to have a talk before the fire.

Bow-Wow was very sad.

"Why are you so sad, Bow-Wow?" said Mew-Mew.

"It is the pigs!"

"What have they been doing?"

"I heard them grunt as I came past the sty!"

"But they did you no harm, did they?"

"They would have done if they could."




XVI

Bow-Wow And Mew-Mew Will Go Away


"Well, pigs are no good anywhere, I own," said Mew-Mew, "but do you know, when I come to think of it, I am not sure but that chicks are worse."

"Chicks are bad, if you like, but not so bad as pigs.

You may be right, yet I do not know but that out of the whole set, ducks are the very worst of all," said Bow-Wow.

And then he began to groan.

As soon as he gave a groan Mew-Mew gave one too, and they kept on for some time.

"I have a good mind not to bear it," said Bow-Wow at last.

"Dear me! you must bear it, how can you help it?"

"I can go away."

"Where to?"

"Anywhere."

Mew-Mew was so put out with the thought of Bow-Wow going away, that for a time she could not speak.

At last she said, "Oh, Bow-Wow, you would not leave me, would you?"

"Would you not come with me?" he asked.

"Yes, that I would, anywhere, to the end of the world."

"Then we will go," said Bow-Wow. "It must be a good change, that is clear; in no place can we be as badly off as we are here."

"Yes, that is quite clear," said the cat. "When shall we set off?"

"Now, at once," said Bow-Wow.




XVII

Shall They Start So Soon?


"But we cannot get out yet; the doors are not open."

To tell the truth, Mew-Mew did not care about getting away, as Bow-Wow did.

She liked to stay at home.

And on this night she felt that she must have a long sleep.

So she said, "We must not start yet, for I have not given my coat a good wash."

"Cannot you live one night without giving your coat a wash?" said Bow-Wow, in a rage.

"I should think not. Would you have me to go out into the world with dust and dirt on my coat?

And before we set out, I should like to get a thing or two that we may want to take with us.

Let us have a sound sleep to-night. We may hope then to start in good time."

"Well, well, as you please," said Bow-Wow, who now felt glad, too, that they had not to leave their warm place by the fire just then.

They lay down side by side on the rug, and went to sleep.




XVIII

Saying "Good-By"


Next day Bow-Wow went for a walk round the farm.

First he had a look at the pigs; he did not go into their sty, but he barked at them and said:

"I am sad for you, that you can never get out for a walk, but must be ever in that sty. Do you not wish you had been born dogs?"

And the pigs, with a grunt, said: "Go away, you little dog; we do not wish to talk to you. Our home is a very nice one; we do not want to make any change."

He gave a bark at the chicks, not so much to harm them as to bid them good-by.

He went to the pond to get a drink and to say as his last words to the ducks:

"Why do you not be wise and stay on the land? You can come to no harm here, but I am sure you will take cold by being so much in the water, and that may be the death of you!"

But the ducks said: "Quack! quack! run off, you bad dog. You do not at all know what is good for us."




XIX

Bow-Wow And Mew-Mew Set Off


In the night Mew-Mew had made her coat quite white.

She stole a roast chick out of the house, and hid it in the dust-bin.

And she took one or two other things which they might want.

They did not start till the lady had given them two meals that day.

At the set time they met at the dust-bin.

"But who was to carry the chick?"

Bow-Wow said he could not, Mew-Mew said the same.

Then said Bow-Wow: "Had we better not eat it now? It is no use to leave it here."

They set to work, and ate the chick to the very last bone.

Then they did not feel quite so fit to take a long walk as they had hoped.

Still they made their way to the gate of the farm and out into the road.

"Now we have done it," said Bow-Wow.

"Yes, we have done it," said Mew-Mew who did not feel at all gay.

"We must step out as fast as we can," said Bow-Wow, "for I dare say they will be after us in half an hour."

"Oh! as fast as you please," said Mew-Mew; but she wished all the time that she was back on her rug before the fire.

So they set off at full speed.




XX

Running Away


They left the farm by the gate and got on the road.

Bow-Wow wished to run very fast, for "I dare say they will be after us in half an hour," he said.

He did not think but that they would soon be missed, though he said, "No one has ever given us much care."

"Our loss," he said, "will make the lady sad and she will send out the men to find us."

Bow-Wow and Mew-Mew ran fast, so fast that the cat was soon out of breath.

Mew-Mew could run fast for a little way, but she was not used to long races.

She had not gone half a mile before she began to feel quite ill.




XXI

Is It Good Fun?


"It is fine fun, is it not, Mew-Mew?" Bow-Wow called out in great joy.

He had often run a long race and did not mind this run a bit.

"Yes, it is fine fun," said Mew-Mew, two or three times.

But at last, when for about the tenth time Bow-Wow said, "Is it not fine fun?" Mew-Mew could only gasp out: -- 

"Yes -- yes -- it is -- good fun -- but -- can we not -- just -- rest a little?"

"What! rest so soon?" said Bow-Wow.

"Yes -- just -- for -- a little time."

"Oh, well, if you wish it," and Bow-Wow stood still.

"But what is the matter with you? Have you hurt one of your paws?"

"Oh no -- not that," said Mew-Mew. "We have run so fast that I have lost my breath."

"That is sad," said Bow-Wow. "I do not know how you will be able to move about much in the world, if you so soon lose your breath."

"But we are not to be ever on the run, are we?" said Mew-Mew, with a wild look in her eyes.

"Well, no, not ever on the run.

But there will be a good deal of it. We must do the best we can."




XXII

In The Fields


"Have you had a rest now, Mew-Mew?" said Bow-Wow.

"Oh yes," said the cat, as she got on her legs again. "We will not go quite so fast now, will we?"

"As you please. If the men from the farm come after us, and take us back, it will not be I that am to blame."

They set off once more.

They did not keep to the road, for fear of those who might be on the lookout for them.

Some fields were much more easy to cross than others. The best of all were those of nice soft short grass.

The fields in which the corn had been cut, were very hard to get over. The short stems of the corn were sharp to their paws.

The field of large green leaves was not so bad to cross.

Still it was not nice to be out of sight the whole time, and only to know where the other was by calling out every now and then.

They could not run so fast as on the road, and though they did stop many times to rest, it was hard work for Mew-Mew.

She was short of breath, as you know. But, worse than that, her paws had become so large that she could only just get along.

"Oh, dear me!" she said, "what can have made my paws swell in this way, and what makes them so full of pain?"




XXIII

Puss Falls Lame


Mew-Mew went on but a little way. She then could not even limp along any more.

"Well, I did think you could run better than this," said Bow-Wow, not in a very sweet temper, when he saw her lie down.

"Oh, I shall be well soon," the cat said, "it is only my paws. Oh, Bow-Wow, do your paws never hurt?"

"I should think not," said Bow-Wow.

"Well, but just look at mine."

And they did look odd, for they were as big again as they ought to be, and quite black.

"Have you some thorns in them?" asked Bow-Wow. "You must put them into water and wash them."

"Put my paws in water! I would not do such a thing for the world."

"What will you do with them, then?"

"I mean to lick them."

"It will take you a long time to lick those paws white. But if you mean to do it you had better begin, for we shall not walk any more to-night.

Let us creep under this corn in the field. You will not mind if I go to sleep, will you, Mew-Mew?"

"Oh dear, no," said the cat.




XXIV

In The Corn-Field


"I should like some food before I go to sleep," Bow-Wow said to himself. "I do not at all know where to get any.

I must go without my supper for once."

This he did, and was soon fast asleep.

As for poor Mew-Mew, she had two hours' good work, before she could get rid of the pain in her paws, and make them look white, as they did before she set out.

Then she made herself into a ball, and slept well till the sun was up.

I dare say she would have slept half the next day, had not Bow-Wow called, -- 

"Up! up! wake up, Mew-Mew!"

Mew-Mew did her best to get up, and to keep her eyes open.

She had never had such a day as the last.

"No time to lose!" said Bow-Wow. "We must have some food!"

"Oh, yes," said Mew-Mew, "we will have some birds. Wait till I have washed -- ".

"Till I have washed my coat," she was going to say, but before she had got the last words out, she heard such a noise, all at once, in the trees near, that it quite put them out of her head.

She looked up to see the cause of it, and then cried: -- 

"Oh! look at the birds! Oh! dear me! Bow-Wow! look at the birds!

Oh! look at them! look at them!"




XXV

The First Meal


She had never seen so many birds, at one time, in her life before.

"Well, I see them," said Bow-Wow. "Why do you not go and get some, and not talk so much about them?"

The truth was that Bow-Wow did not much care to hear about birds.

Mew-Mew had but to lie in wait for them and she could get nice tid-bits for herself.

But Bow-Wow might look and wait, and as soon as he made a jump, the bird was sure to fly away.

The sight of Mew-Mew's little feasts had of old been more than Bow-Wow was able to bear.

"Why do you not get some?" said Bow-Wow.

"Oh! I will get them," said Mew-Mew, "all alive."

And she lost no time about it, for she had two poor little birds in no time.

Bow-Wow ate one, she ate the other.

"Will you have one more?" said Mew-Mew.

"Yes, if you please," said the dog.

Mew-Mew could get these birds with great ease.

They had three birds each, and then as they could eat no more, they lay down again for a time.

"It is very warm," said Mew-Mew. "I wish I had a little milk."




XXVI

The Work Of Each Runaway


"Milk! Oh, you will get no milk here," said Bow-Wow.

"Get no milk!" said the cat.

"There is no milk," said the dog, "but you can have water."

"I would not take a drop of water to save my life," said Mew-Mew.

"Well, well," said Bow-Wow, seeing that all the hair on her back was on end, "we will hope to find some milk as we go along.

But I want to speak to you. I think, dear Mew-Mew, that as you can get birds so well, -- you know how they fly away from me, -- I cannot do better than leave you to find our food each day."

"I am sure, if I can please you," said Mew-Mew, "I shall only be too glad to do so."

"Very well," said Bow-Wow. "I will pick out our road and say when we shall rest, and where we shall sleep; and you can come to me at any time that you want help."

"I will," said Mew-Mew.

"And now let us set off," said Bow-Wow.

"Yes," said Mew-Mew. "I hope we shall find some milk as we go on."

They went on for a long way, through the fields and woods, and kept out of the way of men and boys.




XXVII

The Big Sheep-Dog


At last, at a time when they had not looked well ahead, they heard a loud bark, and saw a great sheep-dog racing after them, as if he would break his neck.

"Oh!" cried Bow-Wow.

"Oh -- h!" cried Mew-Mew.

They did not know what to do.

"We must run up a tree," said the cat.

"But I cannot run up a tree," said the dog.

"I am sure I cannot help you," cried Mew-Mew, and she ran with all her might.

There was a large tree close by; Mew-Mew flew up it, and was quite safe.

What would poor Bow-Wow do?

The great dog came up. He did not give Bow-Wow time to speak, but fell on him, and began to roll him over and over on the hard ground.

"Oh, Mew-Mew! Mew-Mew!" cried he, calling upon the only friend he had.

"What do you mean by 'Mew-Mew'?" said the big dog.

And he laid hold of Bow-Wow's neck, and gave him such a shake, as if he would shake his life out of him.

Mew-Mew, up in the tree, you may be sure, sat as still as a mouse.

"Oh! let me go! and I will never -- never -- " cried Bow-Wow, with his voice getting fainter at each word.

The big dog had such a hold of Bow-Wow, that he was not able to say what it was that he would never do.

"It is all over with me," he said to himself; and he shut his eyes and gave himself up for lost.




XXVIII

Bow-Wow Is Badly Hurt


Just then a loud call was heard.

"Come off, Rex! Do you hear? Come off, lad!"

The big dog just lifted his head at the sound, and so gave Bow-Wow time to get his breath, but he kept him fast on the ground.

"Come off, you bad dog!" said the man again.

It was not till he had called a good many times, that the big dog gave poor Bow-Wow a last shake, and then ran off to the man.

As soon as he was quite gone, Bow-Wow, who had not dared open his lips before, began to groan with all his might.

"Oh!" he said. "Oh! oh!"

They were such sad groans, that they made Mew-Mew's heart, as she sat in the tree, quite come into her mouth.

"What shall I do? Shall I come down, Bow-Wow?" she said.

But Bow-Wow would not hear her, and only groaned more and more.

"Oh, dear! dear! I do think he is dying," cried Mew-Mew; and she came down from the tree, though she could but just stand for fear.

"Bow-Wow! can you speak?" she called out, as soon as she was down.

"Do not come near me," said the little dog, in a low voice.




XXIX

Puss Turns Nurse


Mew-Mew gave a look all round, and as the sheep-dog was nowhere in sight, she came to where Bow-Wow lay.

"Go away! leave me!" said Bow-Wow.

"Leave you! Never!" cried the cat. "Oh! my poor dear, dear Bow-Wow! Why, you are badly hurt!"

"If I am badly hurt you are quite safe, at any rate," said Bow-Wow.

"You run away, and leave your friend to get badly hurt, do you not?"

"Ah! but is it not a good thing that I did run away?

Who would nurse you now if I were hurt too?"

There was something in that, so Bow-Wow said no more about it.

Mew-Mew began to run over the things she could do for Bow-Wow: how she would put him to bed, get him some drink, and kill a bird for him.

Bow-Wow said he would like some food, and that if he had a very fine bird, he would try to eat some of it.

Mew-Mew went off to find a fine bird.

But go where she would, up and down, not a bird could she get.

The land just there had few trees. There did not seem to be a bird in the place.




XXX

Cross Words


She ran up the trees, she hid in the wheat, yet she saw but six birds in an hour, and these all got away.

She went back to Bow-Wow with a sad face.

"You have come back at last," Bow-Wow said as soon as he saw her. "Come! make haste. Where are the birds?"

"Oh, Bow-Wow, I cannot find any."

"You cannot find any birds?"

"Not one! It is the worst place I ever was in," and she began to sob as if her heart would break.

"You ought to have done better," said Bow-Wow.

"It is your work to find food. I told you so."

"And it is your part to take care of us on the way, and you have done that well, have you not?" said Mew-Mew.

"You have not much to talk about, anyhow," said Bow-Wow.

"If I have not, I might have had, for all your good lookout," said the cat.

Thus they grew very cross.

I dare say they might even have come to blows, if it had not been that Bow-Wow was not able to stand.

After a while they made up their cross words.

As poor Bow-Wow felt ill, they could not go on.

No food was to be had.

They lay down just in that place, each rolled into a tight ball, and soon fell asleep.




XXXI

How The Runaways Fared


They slept the rest of that day.

In the night rain began to fall. This made them wake up.

Bow-Wow was just able to walk to a tree, the same tree that Mew-Mew had used to hide in. The rain did not come so hard, close up to the trunk of the tree.

It would take too long to tell you of all this little dog and cat had to bear, for many days.

Often without food, in the wind and the rain, and on the cold ground at night, what a change after the good home they had left!

Day by day they grew more thin and weak.

Bow-Wow's black coat was all rusty and dusty; his bones looked as if they must come through his skin.

As for Mew-Mew's fur, you would not think it ever could have been white at all, it was in such a sad state.

She used to wash her paws, and her face, two or three times a day; she would have done more if she could.

Once they went near a house, in the hope that some food might be given them, but some bad boys cast stones at them, and drove them away.

They had to run for their lives.




XXXII

Kind Friends


One night, after they had had no food all day, they saw a little boy and girl on the road, and the boy and girl saw them.

They did not run away at the sight of a dog, as some boys and girls would have done.

When they saw how thin and poor the dog and cat were, they took out of their bag some bread, which they had left from dinner, and fed them.

Bow-Wow and Mew-Mew were very glad to have the food, and would have gone home with their young friends.

But the boy said, "No, you must not come home with us. We do not know you.

We have a big dog in the yard at home. Rex would kill you, if you came to our house."




XXXIII

Bad Blows


The one thing in their minds now was, how to get home once more.

They could never agree who was most to blame that they had run away.

Mew-Mew said that all the blame lay with Bow-Wow; and Bow-Wow said that Mew-Mew was quite as much to blame as he was, and more so.

Mew-Mew could not bear this.

Weak as she was, she made a spring at Bow-Wow, and gave him such a box on the ears, that he, being very weak too, fell right down.

When he got on his legs again, he flew at Mew-Mew.

One might think they would have killed each other on the spot; but they were not so strong as they had been, and could not fight long.

After they could fight no more, they would not speak a word for half an hour.

Then Mew-Mew, with her kind heart, said, "I am sure I did not mean to hurt you, Bow-Wow!"

And Bow-Wow said, "Let us not think or say any more about it.

It is very sad that we cannot live without cross words and bad blows.

But what are we to do? How are we to live?"

"I wish we were dead," said Mew-Mew.

"We soon shall be," said Bow-Wow.

"But why did we ever, ever run away?" asked Mew-Mew.




XXXIV

Thoughts Of Home


Mew-Mew had asked this a good many times before and Bow-Wow had said, "We did it for the best."

To-day he only gave a great groan.

"We had such a good home!" said Mew-Mew.

"We had!" said Bow-Wow.

"There was food for us at all times."

"There was!"

"We had a fire all the year round to keep us warm."

"It got too warm sometimes."

"It never was too warm for me."

"There were the chicks in the yard, that we did not like."

"Yes, and the pigs."

"And the ducks, and the horse, and the cow. Yet they did us no harm."

"Well, no! I cannot say they did; that is, if we left them alone."

Bow-Wow did not forget how the pigs trod on him in the sty.

Mew-Mew went on: "But we gave up our good home, we left the lady who was so kind to us, and here we are with no food, cold, and wet, and nearly dead. Oh! Bow-Wow."

"Oh! Mew-Mew!"

They each had as sad a face as you ever saw in your life.

"We may get home yet," said the dog.

"Ah, if we could!" said the cat.




XXXV

Where Was Home?


In what way did home lie? They had gone now to the right hand, now to the left hand, now to the north, now to the south.

How to find the way by which they had come first, they could not tell.

They could but walk on, and on, and on; and their poor little weak legs felt many a pain.

"We can but go on till we die, Bow-Wow," said Mew-Mew.

They went on, and never knew the least bit in the world where they were going.

Sometimes when the sun rose, they had not the heart to get up at all.

They would lie still, with their eyes shut, and try to sleep as long as they could, that they might not think of their pains.

When they had gone long with no food, they could not sleep, but would creep close to each other, or would sit and look at each other in a kind of fear.




XXXVI

Puss Falls Ill


At last one night came, when poor little Mew-Mew lay quite flat on the ground, and put out her four paws.

She said in a very quiet way, "I can walk no more.

When the day comes, you must say good-by to me and go on alone."

"Oh! Mew-Mew," cried Bow-Wow, and he went to her side and sat down.

The tears came into his eyes so fast that he could not see.

"I will stay here if you must stay, Mew-Mew," said Bow-Wow. "I will stay here and die too."

"Oh, no, dear Bow-Wow; you may get home yet."

"What good would it do me to get home alone?"

"You could tell the lady how hard we tried to get home.

I should like to have her know how hard we tried, and how sorry we were."

"But she will never know it," said Bow-Wow. "I shall never find her. I cannot go on alone. I will not leave you."




XXXVII

The Old Farm-House


They lay down to sleep. It was a dark cold night. They crept close, that they might not feel the cold so much.

Bow-Wow could not sleep: he thought every hour would be Mew-Mew's last.

But the hours passed on, and she still drew her breath in the same short way.

She was alive when the sun rose.

It had been night when they had come to this place -- quite dark.

When the light came, what do you think Bow-Wow saw?

As soon as his eyes were open, and this was just as the birds began to sing, he saw, not far off, the farm-house at home.

There it was; and the sun shone on the warm tile roof, and on the old stone walls.

There it was, with the barn-yard and the stacks of hay.

Bow-Wow knew them every one.

He gave one long look, and then such a bark, that even made poor sick Mew-Mew wake.




XXXVIII

Home


"Oh, Bow-Wow, what is it?" she said.

But Bow-Wow could not tell.

Not a word would come from him save one.

He ran round and round as if he were wild.

"HOME! HOME! HOME!" he cried.

Yes, it was home at last.

Mew-Mew could see it. There it was, the red house lit up by the sun.

But poor Mew-Mew could not walk to it.

Bow-Wow ran off to the house, and in some way or other, as dogs often will, made one of the men come to the place where Mew-Mew lay.

He took Mew-Mew in his arms, to her long-lost home.




XXXIX

Tell Us More


But some little boy or girl will say, "Tell us more.

Tell me, -- did Mew-Mew die?

Did the lady take Bow-Wow and Mew-Mew into the house again?

What did she do for them, if she took them in?

Did puss ever get her white coat again?

And if they both got quite well again, were they good or bad afterward?"

I will tell you.

The lady was very glad to see her pets home once more.

They were in such a sad way that she did not whip them.

She gave Mew-Mew a cup of warm milk before the fire.

Bow-Wow had a great lump of meat with no bone.

Then each of them had a warm bath, and Mew-Mew was put to bed.

As to Mew-Mew's coat, she washed it so often, and took such care of it, that in a few weeks it grew long and was quite white again.

And I am glad to be able to add, that Bow-Wow and Mew-Mew were as good a little dog and cat ever after, as you and I could wish them to be.

<eob>

You Know Me Al

By

Ring W. Lardner



Chapter I

A Busher's Letters Home


Terre Haute, Indiana, September 6.

FRIEND AL: Well, Al old pal I suppose you seen in the paper where I been sold to the White Sox. Believe me Al it comes as a surprise to me and I bet it did to all you good old pals down home. You could of knocked me over with a feather when the old man come up to me and says Jack I've sold you to the Chicago Americans.

I didn't have no idea that anything like that was coming off. For five minutes I was just dum and couldn't say a word.

He says We aren't getting what you are worth but I want you to go up to that big league and show those birds that there is a Central League on the map. He says Go and pitch the ball you been pitching down here and there won't be nothing to it. He says All you need is the nerve and Walsh or no one else won't have nothing on you.

So I says I would do the best I could and I thanked him for the treatment I got in Terre Haute. They always was good to me here and though I did more than my share I always felt that my work was appresiated. We are finishing second and I done most of it. I can't help but be proud of my first year's record in professional baseball and you know I am not boasting when I say that Al.

Well Al it will seem funny to be up there in the big show when I never was really in a big city before. But I guess I seen enough of life not to be scared of the high buildings eh Al?

I will just give them what I got and if they don't like it they can send me back to the old Central and I will be perfectly satisfied.

I didn't know anybody was looking me over, but one of the boys told me that Jack Doyle the White Sox scout was down here looking at me when Grand Rapids was here. I beat them twice in that serious. You know Grand Rapids never had a chance with me when I was right. I shut them out in the first game and they got one run in the second on account of Flynn misjuging that fly ball. Anyway Doyle liked my work and he wired Comiskey to buy me. Comiskey come back with an offer and they excepted it. I don't know how much they got but anyway I am sold to the big league and believe me Al I will make good.

Well Al I will be home in a few days and we will have some of the good old times. Regards to all the boys and tell them I am still their pal and not all swelled up over this big league business.

Your pal,      JACK.


Chicago, Illinois, December 14.

Old Pal: Well Al I have not got much to tell you. As you know Comiskey wrote me that if I was up in Chi this month to drop in and see him. So I got here Thursday morning and went to his office in the afternoon. His office is out to the ball park and believe me its some park and some office.

I went in and asked for Comiskey and a young fellow says He is not here now but can I do anything for you? I told him who I am and says I had an engagement to see Comiskey. He says The boss is out of town hunting and did I have to see him personally?

I says I wanted to see about signing a contract. He told me I could sign as well with him as Comiskey and he took me into another office. He says What salary did you think you ought to get? and I says I wouldn't think of playing ball in the big league for less than three thousand dollars per annum. He laughed and says You don't want much. You better stick round town till the boss comes back. So here I am and it is costing me a dollar a day to stay at the hotel on Cottage Grove Avenue and that don't include my meals.

I generally eat at some of the cafes round the hotel but I had supper downtown last night and it cost me fifty-five cents. If Comiskey don't come back soon I won't have no more money left.

Speaking of money I won't sign no contract unless I get the salary you and I talked of, three thousand dollars. You know what I was getting in Terre Haute, a hundred and fifty a month, and I know it's going to cost me a lot more to live here. I made inquiries round here and find I can get board and room for eight dollars a week but I will be out of town half the time and will have to pay for my room when I am away or look up a new one when I come back. Then I will have to buy cloths to wear on the road in places like New York. When Comiskey comes back I will name him three thousand dollars as my lowest figure and I guess he will come through when he sees I am in ernest. I heard that Walsh was getting twice as much as that.

The papers says Comiskey will be back here sometime to-morrow. He has been hunting with the president of the league so he ought to feel pretty good. But I don't care how he feels. I am going to get a contract for three thousand and if he don't want to give it to me he can do the other thing. You know me Al.

Yours truly,      JACK.


Chicago, Illinois, December 16.

DEAR FRIEND AL: Well I will be home in a couple of days now but I wanted to write you and let you know how I come out with Comiskey. I signed my contract yesterday afternoon. He is a great old fellow Al and no wonder everybody likes him. He says Young man will you have a drink? But I was to smart and wouldn't take nothing. He says You was with Terre Haute? I says Yes I was. He says Doyle tells me you were pretty wild. I says Oh no I got good control. He says Well do you want to sign? I says Yes if I get my figure. He asks What is my figure and I says three thousand dollars per annum. He says Don't you want the office furniture too? Then he says I thought you was a young ball-player and I didn't know you wanted to buy my park.

We kidded each other back and forth like that a while and then he says You better go out and get the air and come back when you feel better. I says I feel O.K. now and I want to sign a contract because I have got to get back to Bedford. Then he calls the secretary and tells him to make out my contract. He give it to me and it calls for two hundred and fifty a month. He says You know we always have a city serious here in the fall where a fellow picks up a good bunch of money. I hadn't thought of that so I signed up. My yearly salary will be fifteen hundred dollars besides what the city serious brings me. And that is only for the first year. I will demand three thousand or four thousand dollars next year.

I would of started home on the evening train but I ordered a suit of cloths from a tailor over on Cottage Grove and it won't be done till to-morrow. It's going to cost me twenty bucks but it ought to last a long time. Regards to Frank and the bunch.

Your Pal,      JACK.


Paso Robles, California, March 2.

OLD PAL AL: Well Al we been in this little berg now a couple of days and its bright and warm all the time just like June. Seems funny to have it so warm this early in March but I guess this California climate is all they said about it and then some.

It would take me a week to tell you about our trip out here. We came on a Special Train De Lukes and it was some train. Every place we stopped there was crowds down to the station to see us go through and all the people looked me over like I was a actor or something. I guess my hight and shoulders attracted their attention. Well Al we finally got to Oakland which is across part of the ocean from Frisco. We will be back there later on for practice games.

We stayed in Oakland a few hours and then took a train for here. It was another night in a sleeper and believe me I was tired of sleepers before we got here. I have road one night at a time but this was four straight nights. You know Al I am not built right for a sleeping car birth.

The hotel here is a great big place and got good eats. We got in at breakfast time and I made a B line for the dining room. Kid Gleason who is a kind of asst. manager to Callahan come in and sat down with me. He says Leave something for the rest of the boys because they will be just as hungry as you. He says Ain't you afraid you will cut your throat with that knife. He says There ain't no extra charge for using the forks. He says You shouldn't ought to eat so much because you're overweight now. I says You may think I am fat, but it's all solid bone and muscle. He says Yes I suppose it's all solid bone from the neck up. I guess he thought I would get sore but I will let them kid me now because they will take off their hats to me when they see me work.

Manager Callahan called us all to his room after breakfast and give us a lecture. He says there would be no work for us the first day but that we must all take a long walk over the hills. He also says we must not take the training trip as a joke. Then the colored trainer give us our suits and I went to my room and tried mine on. I ain't a bad looking guy in the White Sox uniform Al. I will have my picture taken and send you boys some.

My roommate is Allen a lefthander from the Coast League. He don't look nothing like a pitcher but you can't never tell about them dam left handers. Well I didn't go on the long walk because I was tired out. Walsh stayed at the hotel too and when he seen me he says Why didn't you go with the bunch? I says I was too tired. He says Well when Callahan comes back you better keep out of sight or tell him you are sick. I says I don't care nothing for Callahan. He says No but Callahan is crazy about you. He says You better obey orders and you will git along better. I guess Walsh thinks I am some rube.

When the bunch come back Callahan never said a word to me but Gleason come up and says Where was you? I told him I was too tired to go walking. He says Well I will borrow a wheelbarrow some place and push you round. He says Do you sit down when you pitch? I let him kid me because he has not saw my stuff yet.

Next morning half the bunch mostly vetrans went to the ball park which isn't no better than the one we got at home. Most of them was vetrans as I say but I was in the bunch. That makes things look pretty good for me don't it Al? We tossed the ball round and hit fungos and run round and then Callahan asks Scott and Russell and I to warm up easy and pitch a few to the batters. It was warm and I felt pretty good so I warmed up pretty good. Scott pitched to them first and kept laying them right over with nothing on them. I don't believe a man gets any batting practice that way. So I went in and after I lobbed a few over I cut loose my fast one. Lord was to bat and he ducked out of the way and then throwed his bat to the bench. Callahan says What's the matter Harry? Lord says I forgot to pay up my life insurance. He says I ain't ready for Walter Johnson's July stuff.

Well Al I will make them think I am Walter Johnson before I get through with them. But Callahan come out to me and says What are you trying to do kill somebody? He says Save your smoke because you're going to need it later on. He says Go easy with the boys at first or I won't have no batters. But he was laughing and I guess he was pleased to see the stuff I had.

There is a dance in the hotel to-night and I am up in my room writing this in my underwear while I get my suit pressed. I got it all mussed up coming out here. I don't know what shoes to wear. I asked Gleason and he says Wear your baseball shoes and if any of the girls gets fresh with you spike them. I guess he was kidding me.

Write and tell me all the news about home.

Yours truly,      JACK.


Paso Robles, California, March 7.

FRIEND AL: I showed them something out there to-day Al. We had a game between two teams. One team was made up of most of the regulars and the other was made up of recruts. I pitched three innings for the recruts and shut the old birds out. I held them to one hit and that was a ground ball that the recrut shortstop Johnson ought to of ate up. I struck Collins out and he is one of the best batters in the bunch. I used my fast ball most of the while but showed them a few spitters and they missed them a foot. I guess I must of got Walsh's goat with my spitter because him and I walked back to the hotel together and he talked like he was kind of jealous. He says You will have to learn to cover up your spitter. He says I could stand a mile away and tell when you was going to throw it. He says Some of these days I will learn you how to cover it up. I guess Al I know how to cover it up all right without Walsh learning me.

I always sit at the same table in the dining room along with Gleason and Collins and Bodie and Fournier and Allen the young lefthander I told you about. I feel sorry for him because he never says a word. To-night at supper Bodie says How did I look to-day Kid? Gleason says Just like you always do in the spring. You looked like a cow. Gleason seems to have the whole bunch scared of him and they let him say anything he wants to. I let him kid me to but I ain't scared of him. Collins then says to me You got some fast ball there boy. I says I was not as fast to-day as I am when I am right. He says Well then I don't want to hit against you when you are right. Then Gleason says to Collins Cut that stuff out. Then he says to me Don't believe what he tells you boy. If the pitchers in this league weren't no faster than you I would still be playing ball and I would be the best hitter in the country.

After supper Gleason went out on the porch with me. He says Boy you have got a little stuff but you have got a lot to learn. He says You field your position like a wash woman and you don't hold the runners up. He says When Chase was on second base to-day he got such a lead on you that the little catcher couldn't of shot him out at third with a rifle. I says They all thought I fielded my position all right in the Central League. He says Well if you think you do it all right you better go back to the Central League where you are appresiated. I says You can't send me back there because you could not get waivers. He says Who would claim you? I says St. Louis and Boston and New York.

You know Al what Smith told me this winter. Gleason says Well if you're not willing to learn St. Louis and Boston and New York can have you and the first time you pitch against us we will steal fifty bases. Then he quit kidding and asked me to go to the field with him early to-morrow morning and he would learn me some things. I don't think he can learn me nothing but I promised I would go with him.

There is a little blonde kid in the hotel here who took a shine to me at the dance the other night but I am going to leave the skirts alone. She is real society and a swell dresser and she wants my picture. Regards to all the boys.

Your friend,      JACK.

P.S. The boys thought they would be smart to-night and put something over on me. A boy brought me a telegram and I opened it and it said You are sold to Jackson in the Cotton States League. For just a minute they had me going but then I happened to think that Jackson is in Michigan and there's no Cotton States League round there.


Paso Robles, California, March 9.

DEAR FRIEND AL: You have no doubt read the good news in the papers before this reaches you. I have been picked to go to Frisco with the first team. We play practice games up there about two weeks while the second club plays in Los Angeles. Poor Allen had to go with the second club. There's two other recrut pitchers with our part of the team but my name was first on the list so it looks like I had made good. I knowed they would like my stuff when they seen it. We leave here to-night. You got the first team's address so you will know where to send my mail. Callahan goes with us and Gleason goes with the second club. Him and I have got to be pretty good pals and I wish he was going with us even if he don't let me eat like I want to. He told me this morning to remember all he had learned me and to keep working hard. He didn't learn me nothing I didn't know before but I let him think so.

The little blonde don't like to see me leave here. She lives in Detroit and I may see her when I go there. She wants me to write but I guess I better not give her no encouragement.

Well Al I will write you a long letter from Frisco.

Yours truly,      JACK.


Oakland, California, March 19.

DEAR OLD PAL: They have gave me plenty of work here all right. I have pitched four times but have not went over five innings yet. I worked against Oakland two times and against Frisco two times and only three runs have been scored off me. They should only ought to of had one but Bodie misjuged a easy fly ball in Frisco and Weaver made a wild peg in Oakland that let in a run. I am not using much but my fast ball but I have got a world of speed and they can't foul me when I am right. I whiffed eight men in five innings in Frisco yesterday and could of did better than that if I had of cut loose.

Manager Callahan is a funny guy and I don't understand him sometimes. I can't figure out if he is kidding or in ernest. We road back to Oakland on the ferry together after yesterday's game and he says Don't you never throw a slow ball? I says I don't need no slow ball with my spitter and my fast one. He says No of course you don't need it but if I was you I would get one of the boys to learn it to me. He says And you better watch the way the boys fields their positions and holds up the runners. He says To see you work a man might think they had a rule in the Central League forbidding a pitcher from leaving the box or looking toward first base.

I told him the Central didn't have no rule like that. He says And I noticed you taking your wind up when What's His Name was on second base there to-day. I says Yes I got more stuff when I wind up. He says Of course you have but if you wind up like that with Cobb on base he will steal your watch and chain. I says Maybe Cobb can't get on base when I work against him. He says That's right and maybe San Francisco Bay is made of grapejuice. Then he walks away from me.

He give one of the youngsters a awful bawling out for something he done in the game at supper last night. If he ever talks to me like he done to him I will take a punch at him. You know me Al.

I come over to Frisco last night with some of the boys and we took in the sights. Frisco is some live town Al. We went all through China Town and the Barbers' Coast. Seen lots of swell dames but they was all painted up. They have beer out here that they call steam beer. I had a few glasses of it and it made me logey. A glass of that Terre Haute beer would go pretty good right now.

We leave here for Los Angeles in a few days and I will write you from there. This is some country Al and I would love to play ball round here.

Your Pal,      JACK.

P.S. -- I got a letter from the little blonde and I suppose I got to answer it.


Los Angeles, California, March 26.

FRIEND AL: Only four more days of sunny California and then we start back East. We got exhibition games in Yuma and El Paso, Texas, and Oklahoma City and then we stop over in St. Joe, Missouri, for three days before we go home. You know Al we open the season in Cleveland and we won't be in Chi no more than just passing through. We don't play there till April eighteenth and I guess I will work in that serious all right against Detroit. Then I will be glad to have you and the boys come up and watch me as you suggested in your last letter.

I got another letter from the little blonde. She has went back to Detroit but she give me her address and telephone number and believe me Al I am going to look her up when we get there the twenty-ninth of April.

She is a stenographer and was out here with her uncle and aunt.

I had a run in with Kelly last night and it looked like I would have to take a wallop at him but the other boys seperated us. He is a bush outfielder from the New England League. We was playing poker. You know the boys plays poker a good deal but this was the first time I got in. I was having pretty good luck and was about four bucks to the good and I was thinking of quitting because I was tired and sleepy. Then Kelly opened the pot for fifty cents and I stayed. I had three sevens. No one else stayed. Kelly stood pat and I drawed two cards. And I catched my fourth seven. He bet fifty cents but I felt pretty safe even if he did have a pat hand. So I called him. I took the money and told them I was through.

Lord and some of the boys laughed but Kelly got nasty and begun to pan me for quitting and for the way I played. I says Well I won the pot didn't I? He says Yes and he called me something. I says I got a notion to take a punch at you.

He says Oh you have have you? And I come back at him. I says Yes I have have I? I would of busted his jaw if they hadn't stopped me. You know me Al.

I worked here two times once against Los Angeles and once against Venice. I went the full nine innings both times and Venice beat me four to two. I could of beat them easy with any kind of support. I walked a couple of guys in the forth and Chase drops a throw and Collins lets a fly ball get away from him. At that I would of shut them out if I had wanted to cut loose. After the game Callahan says You didn't look so good in there to-day. I says I didn't cut loose. He says Well you been working pretty near three weeks now and you ought to be in shape to cut loose. I says Oh I am in shape all right. He says Well don't work no harder than you have to or you might get hurt and then the league would blow up. I don't know if he was kidding me or not but I guess he thinks pretty well of me because he works me lots oftener than Walsh or Scott or Benz.

I will try to write you from Yuma, Texas, but we don't stay there only a day and I may not have time for a long letter.

Yours truly,      JACK.


Yuma, Arizona, April 1.

DEAR OLD AL: Just a line to let you know we are on our way back East. This place is in Arizona and it sure is sandy. They haven't got no regular ball club here and we play a pick-up team this afternoon. Callahan told me I would have to work. He says I am using you because we want to get through early and I know you can beat them quick. That is the first time he has said anything like that and I guess he is wiseing up that I got the goods.

We was talking about the Athaletics this morning and Callahan says None of you fellows pitch right to Baker. I was talking to Lord and Scott afterward and I say to Scott How do you pitch to Baker? He says I use my fadeaway. I says How do you throw it? He says Just like you throw a fast ball to anybody else. I says Why do you call it a fadeaway then? He says Because when I throw it to Baker it fades away over the fence.

This place is full of Indians and I wish you could see them Al. They don't look nothing like the Indians we seen in that show last summer.

Your old pal,      JACK.


Oklahoma City, April 4.

FRIEND AL: Coming out of Amarillo last night I and Lord and Weaver was sitting at a table in the dining car with a old lady. None of us were talking to her but she looked me over pretty careful and seemed to kind of like my looks. Finally she says Are you boys with some football club? Lord nor Weaver didn't say nothing so I thought it was up to me and I says No mam this is the Chicago White Sox Ball Club. She says I knew you were athaletes. I says Yes I guess you could spot us for athaletes. She says Yes indeed and specially you. You certainly look healthy. I says You ought to see me stripped. I didn't see nothing funny about that but I thought Lord and Weaver would die laughing. Lord had to get up and leave the table and he told everybody what I said.

All the boys wanted me to play poker on the way here but I told them I didn't feel good. I know enough to quit when I am ahead Al. Callahan and I sat down to breakfast all alone this morning. He says Boy why don't you get to work? I says What do you mean? Ain't I working? He says You ain't improving none. You have got the stuff to make a good pitcher but you don't go after bunts and you don't cover first base and you don't watch the baserunners. He made me kind of sore talking that way and I says Oh I guess I can get along all right.

He says Well I am going to put it up to you. I am going to start you over in St. Joe day after to-morrow and I want you to show me something. I want you to cut loose with all you've got and I want you to get round the infield a little and show them you aren't tied in that box. I says Oh I can field my position if I want to. He says Well you better want to or I will have to ship you back to the sticks. Then he got up and left. He didn't scare me none Al. They won't ship me to no sticks after the way I showed on this trip and even if they did they couldn't get no waivers on me.

Some of the boys have begun to call me Four Sevens but it don't bother me none.

Yours truly,      JACK.


St. Joe, Missouri, April 7.

FRIEND AL: It rained yesterday so I worked to-day instead and St. Joe done well to get three hits. They couldn't of scored if we had played all week. I give a couple of passes but I catched a guy flatfooted off of first base and I come up with a couple of bunts and throwed guys out. When the game was over Callahan says That's the way I like to see you work. You looked better to-day than you looked on the whole trip. Just once you wound up with a man on but otherwise you was all O.K. So I guess my job is cinched Al and I won't have to go to New York or St. Louis. I would rather be in Chi anyway because it is near home. I wouldn't care though if they traded me to Detroit. I hear from Violet right along and she says she can't hardly wait till I come to Detroit. She says she is strong for the Tigers but she will pull for me when I work against them. She is nuts over me and I guess she has saw lots of guys to.

I sent her a stickpin from Oklahoma City but I can't spend no more dough on her till after our first payday the fifteenth of the month. I had thirty bucks on me when I left home and I only got about ten left including the five spot I won in the poker game. I have to tip the waiters about thirty cents a day and I seen about twenty picture shows on the coast besides getting my cloths pressed a couple of times.

We leave here to-morrow night and arrive in Chi the next morning. The second club joins us there and then that night we go to Cleveland to open up. I asked one of the reporters if he knowed who was going to pitch the opening game and he says it would be Scott or Walsh but I guess he don't know much about it.

These reporters travel all round the country with the team all season and send in telegrams about the game every night. I ain't seen no Chi papers so I don't know what they been saying about me. But I should worry eh Al? Some of them are pretty nice fellows and some of them got the swell head. They hang round with the old fellows and play poker most of the time.

Will write you from Cleveland. You will see in the paper if I pitch the opening game.

Your old pal,      JACK.


Cleveland, Ohio, April 10.

OLD FRIEND AL: Well Al we are all set to open the season this afternoon. I have just ate breakfast and I am sitting in the lobby of the hotel. I eat at a little lunch counter about a block from here and I saved seventy cents on breakfast. You see Al they give us a dollar a meal and if we don't want to spend that much all right. Our rooms at the hotel are paid for.

The Cleveland papers says Walsh or Scott will work for us this afternoon. I asked Callahan if there was any chance of me getting into the first game and he says I hope not. I don't know what he meant but he may surprise these reporters and let me pitch. I will beat them Al. Lajoie and Jackson is supposed to be great batters but the bigger they are the harder they fall.

The second team joined us yesterday in Chi and we practiced a little. Poor Allen was left in Chi last night with four others of the recrut pitchers. Looks pretty good for me eh Al? I only seen Gleason for a few minutes on the train last night. He says, Well you ain't took off much weight. You're hog fat. I says Oh I ain't fat. I didn't need to take off no weight. He says One good thing about it the club don't have to engage no birth for you because you spend all your time in the dining car. We kidded along like that a while and then the trainer rubbed my arm and I went to bed. Well Al I just got time to have my suit pressed before noon.

Yours truly,      JACK.


Cleveland, Ohio, April 11.

FRIEND AL: Well Al I suppose you know by this time that I did not pitch and that we got licked. Scott was in there and he didn't have nothing. When they had us beat four to one in the eight inning Callahan told me to go out and warm up and he put a batter in for Scott in our ninth. But Cleveland didn't have to play their ninth so I got no chance to work. But it looks like he means to start me in one of the games here. We got three more to play. Maybe I will pitch this afternoon. I got a postcard from Violet. She says Beat them Naps. I will give them a battle Al if I get a chance.

Glad to hear you boys have fixed it up to come to Chi during the Detroit serious. I will ask Callahan when he is going to pitch me and let you know. Thanks Al for the papers.

Your friend,      JACK.


St. Louis, Missouri, April 15.

FRIEND AL: Well Al I guess I showed them. I only worked one inning but I guess them Browns is glad I wasn't in there no longer than that. They had us beat seven to one in the sixth and Callahan pulls Benz out. I honestly felt sorry for him but he didn't have nothing, not a thing. They was hitting him so hard I thought they would score a hundred runs. A righthander name Bumgardner was pitching for them and he didn't look to have nothing either but we ain't got much of a batting team Al. I could hit better than some of them regulars. Anyway Callahan called Benz to the bench and sent for me. I was down in the corner warming up with Kuhn. I wasn't warmed up good but you know I got the nerve Al and I run right out there like I meant business. There was a man on second and nobody out when I come in. I didn't know who was up there but I found out afterward it was Shotten. He's the center-fielder. I was cold and I walked him. Then I got warmed up good and I made Johnston look like a boob. I give him three fast balls and he let two of them go by and missed the other one. I would of handed him a spitter but Schalk kept signing for fast ones and he knows more about them batters than me. Anyway I whiffed Johnston. Then up come Williams and I tried to make him hit at a couple of bad ones. I was in the hole with two balls and nothing and come right across the heart with my fast one. I wish you could of saw the hop on it. Williams hit it right straight up and Lord was camped under it. Then up come Pratt the best hitter on their club. You know what I done to him don't you Al? I give him one spitter and another he didn't strike at that was a ball. Then I come back with two fast ones and Mister Pratt was a dead baby. And you notice they didn't steal no bases neither.

In our half of the seventh inning Weaver and Schalk got on and I was going up there with a stick when Callahan calls me back and sends Easterly up. I don't know what kind of managing you call that. I hit good on the training trip and he must of knew they had no chance to score off me in the innings they had left while they were liable to murder his other pitchers. I come back to the bench pretty hot and I says You're making a mistake. He says If Comiskey had wanted you to manage this team he would of hired you.

Then Easterly pops out and I says Now I guess you're sorry you didn't let me hit. That sent him right up in the air and he bawled me awful. Honest Al I would of cracked him right in the jaw if we hadn't been right out where everybody could of saw us. Well he sent Cicotte in to finish and they didn't score no more and we didn't neither.

I road down in the car with Gleason. He says Boy you shouldn't ought to talk like that to Cal. Some day he will lose his temper and bust you one. I says He won't never bust me. I says He didn't have no right to talk like that to me. Gleason says I suppose you think he's going to laugh and smile when we lost four out of the first five games. He says Wait till to-night and then go up to him and let him know you are sorry you sassed him. I says I didn't sass him and I ain't sorry.

So after supper I seen Callahan sitting in the lobby and I went over and sit down by him. I says When are you going to let me work? He says I wouldn't never let you work only my pitchers are all shot to pieces. Then I told him about you boys coming up from Bedford to watch me during the Detroit serious and he says Well I will start you in the second game against Detroit. He says But I wouldn't if I had any pitchers. He says A girl could get out there and pitch better than some of them have been doing.

So you see Al I am going to pitch on the nineteenth. I hope you guys can be up there and I will show you something. I know I can beat them Tigers and I will have to do it even if they are Violet's team.

I notice that New York and Boston got trimmed to-day so I suppose they wish Comiskey would ask for waivers on me. No chance Al.

Your old pal,      JACK.

P.S. -- We play eleven games in Chi and then go to Detroit. So I will see the little girl on the twenty-ninth.

Oh you Violet.


Chicago, Illinois, April 19.

DEAR OLD PAL: Well Al it's just as well you couldn't come. They beat me and I am writing you this so as you will know the truth about the game and not get a bum steer from what you read in the papers.

I had a sore arm when I was warming up and Callahan should never ought to of sent me in there. And Schalk kept signing for my fast ball and I kept giving it to him because I thought he ought to know something about the batters. Weaver and Lord and all of them kept kicking them round the infield and Collins and Bodie couldn't catch nothing.

Callahan ought never to of left me in there when he seen how sore my arm was. Why, I couldn't of threw hard enough to break a pain of glass my arm was so sore.

They sure did run wild on the bases. Cobb stole four and Bush and Crawford and Veach about two apiece. Schalk didn't even make a peg half the time. I guess he was trying to throw me down.

The score was sixteen to two when Callahan finally took me out in the eighth and I don't know how many more they got. I kept telling him to take me out when I seen how bad I was but he wouldn't do it. They started bunting in the fifth and Lord and Chase just stood there and didn't give me no help at all.

I was all O.K. till I had the first two men out in the first inning. Then Crawford come up. I wanted to give him a spitter but Schalk signs me for the fast one and I give it to him. The ball didn't hop much and Crawford happened to catch it just right. At that Collins ought to of catched the ball. Crawford made three bases and up come Cobb. It was the first time I ever seen him. He hollered at me right off the reel. He says You better walk me you busher. I says I will walk you back to the bench. Schalk signs for a spitter and I gives it to him and Cobb misses it.

Then instead of signing for another one Schalk asks for a fast one and I shook my head no but he signed for it again and yells Put something on it. So I throwed a fast one and Cobb hits it right over second base. I don't know what Weaver was doing but he never made a move for the ball. Crawford scored and Cobb was on first base. First thing I knowed he had stole second while I held the ball. Callahan yells Wake up out there and I says Why don't your catcher tell me when they are going to steal. Schalk says Get in there and pitch and shut your mouth. Then I got mad and walked Veach and Moriarty but before I walked Moriarty Cobb and Veach pulled a double steal on Schalk. Gainor lifts a fly and Lord drops it and two more come in. Then Stanage walks and I whiffs their pitcher.

I come in to the bench and Callahan says Are your friends from Bedford up here? I was pretty sore and I says Why don't you get a catcher? He says We don't need no catcher when you're pitching because you can't get nothing past their bats. Then he says You better leave your uniform in here when you go out next inning or Cobb will steal it off your back. I says My arm is sore. He says Use your other one and you'll do just as good.

Gleason says Who do you want to warm up? Callahan says Nobody. He says Cobb is going to lead the league in batting and basestealing anyway so we might as well give him a good start. I was mad enough to punch his jaw but the boys winked at me not to do nothing.

Well I got some support in the next inning and nobody got on. Between innings I says Well I guess I look better now don't I? Callahan says Yes but you wouldn't look so good if Collins hadn't jumped up on the fence and catched that one off Crawford. That's all the encouragement I got Al.

Cobb come up again to start the third and when Schalk signs me for a fast one I shakes my head. Then Schalk says All right pitch anything you want to. I pitched a spitter and Cobb bunts it right at me. I would of threw him out a block but I stubbed my toe in a rough place and fell down. This is the roughest ground I ever seen Al. Veach bunts and for a wonder Lord throws him out. Cobb goes to second and honest Al I forgot all about him being there and first thing I knowed he had stole third. Then Moriarty hits a fly ball to Bodie and Cobb scores though Bodie ought to of threw him out twenty feet.

They batted all round in the forth inning and scored four or five more. Crawford got the luckiest three-base hit I ever see. He popped one way up in the air and the wind blowed it against the fence. The wind is something fierce here Al. At that Collins ought to of got under it.

I was looking at the bench all the time expecting Callahan to call me in but he kept hollering Go on and pitch. Your friends wants to see you pitch.

Well Al I don't know how they got the rest of their runs but they had more luck than any team I ever seen. And all the time Jennings was on the coaching line yelling like a Indian. Some day Al I'm going to punch his jaw.

After Veach had hit one in the eight Callahan calls me to the bench and says You're through for the day. I says It's about time you found out my arm was sore. He says I ain't worrying about your arm but I'm afraid some of our outfielders will run their legs off and some of them poor infielders will get killed. He says The reporters just sent me a message saying they had run out of paper. Then he says I wish some of the other clubs had pitchers like you so we could hit once in a while. He says Go in the clubhouse and get your arm rubbed off. That's the only way I can get Jennings sore he says.

Well Al that's about all there was to it. It will take two or three stamps to send this but I want you to know the truth about it. The way my arm was I ought never to of went in there.

Yours truly,      JACK.


Chicago, Illinois, April 25.

FRIEND AL: Just a line to let you know I am still on earth. My arm feels pretty good again and I guess maybe I will work at Detroit. Violet writes that she can't hardly wait to see me. Looks like I got a regular girl now Al. We go up there the twenty-ninth and maybe I won't be glad to see her. I hope she will be out to the game the day I pitch. I will pitch the way I want to next time and them Tigers won't have such a picnic.

I suppose you seen what the Chicago reporters said about that game. I will punch a couple of their jaws when I see them.

Your pal,      JACK.


Chicago, Illinois, April 29.

DEAR OLD AL: Well Al it's all over. The club went to Detroit last night and I didn't go along. Callahan told me to report to Comiskey this morning and I went up to the office at ten o'clock. He give me my pay to date and broke the news. I am sold to Frisco.

I asked him how they got waivers on me and he says Oh there was no trouble about that because they all heard how you tamed the Tigers. Then he patted me on the back and says Go out there and work hard boy and maybe you'll get another chance some day. I was kind of choked up so I walked out of the office.

I ain't had no fair deal Al and I ain't going to no Frisco. I will quit the game first and take that job Charley offered me at the billiard hall.

I expect to be in Bedford in a couple of days. I have got to pack up first and settle with my landlady about my room here which I engaged for all season thinking I would be treated square. I am going to rest and lay round home a while and try to forget this rotten game. Tell the boys about it Al and tell them I never would of got let out if I hadn't worked with a sore arm.

I feel sorry for that little girl up in Detroit Al. She expected me there to-day.

Your old pal,      JACK.

P.S. I suppose you seen where that lucky lefthander Allen shut out Cleveland with two hits yesterday. The lucky stiff.




Chapter II

The Busher Comes Back.


San Francisco, California, May 13.

FRIEND AL: I suppose you and the rest of the boys in Bedford will be supprised to learn that I am out here, because I remember telling you when I was sold to San Francisco by the White Sox that not under no circumstances would I report here. I was pretty mad when Comiskey give me my release, because I didn't think I had been given a fair show by Callahan. I don't think so yet Al and I never will but Bill Sullivan the old White Sox catcher talked to me and told me not to pull no boner by refuseing to go where they sent me. He says You're only hurting yourself. He says You must remember that this was your first time up in the big show and very few men no matter how much stuff they got can expect to make good right off the reel. He says All you need is experience and pitching out in the Coast League will be just the thing for you.

So I went in and asked Comiskey for my transportation and he says That's right Boy go out there and work hard and maybe I will want you back. I told him I hoped so but I don't hope nothing of the kind Al. I am going to see if I can't get Detroit to buy me, because I would rather live in Detroit than anywheres else. The little girl who got stuck on me this spring lives there. I guess I told you about her Al. Her name is Violet and she is some queen. And then if I got with the Tigers I wouldn't never have to pitch against Cobb and Crawford, though I believe I could show both of them up if I was right. They ain't got much of a ball club here and hardly any good pitchers outside of me. But I don't care.

I will win some games if they give me any support and I will get back in the big league and show them birds something. You know me, Al.

Your pal,      JACK.


Los Angeles, California, May 20.

AL: Well old pal I don't suppose you can find much news of this league in the papers at home so you may not know that I have been standing this league on their heads. I pitched against Oakland up home and shut them out with two hits. I made them look like suckers Al. They hadn't never saw no speed like mine and they was scared to death the minute I cut loose. I could of pitched the last six innings with my foot and trimmed them they was so scared.

Well we come down here for a serious and I worked the second game. They got four hits and one run, and I just give them the one run. Their shortstop Johnson was on the training trip with the White Sox and of course I knowed him pretty well. So I eased up in the last inning and let him hit one. If I had of wanted to let myself out he couldn't of hit me with a board. So I am going along good and Howard our manager says he is going to use me regular. He's a pretty nice manager and not a bit sarkastic like some of them big leaguers. I am fielding my position good and watching the baserunners to. Thank goodness Al they ain't no Cobbs in this league and a man ain't scared of haveing his uniform stole off his back.

But listen Al I don't want to be bought by Detroit no more. It is all off between Violet and I. She wasn't the sort of girl I suspected. She is just like them all Al. No heart. I wrote her a letter from Chicago telling her I was sold to San Francisco and she wrote back a postcard saying something about not haveing no time to waste on bushers. What do you know about that Al? Calling me a busher. I will show them. She wasn't no good Al and I figure I am well rid of her. Good riddance is rubbish as they say.

I will let you know how I get along and if I hear anything about being sold or drafted.

Yours truly,      JACK.


San Francisco, California, July 20.

FRIEND AL: You will forgive me for not writeing to you oftener when you hear the news I got for you. Old pal I am engaged to be married. Her name is Hazel Carney and she is some queen, Al -- a great big stropping girl that must weigh one hundred and sixty lbs. She is out to every game and she got stuck on me from watching me work.

Then she writes a note to me and makes a date and I meet her down on Market Street one night. We go to a nickel show together and have some time. Since then we been together pretty near every evening except when I was away on the road.

Night before last she asked me if I was married and I tells her No and she says a big handsome man like I ought not to have no trouble finding a wife. I tells her I ain't never looked for one and she says Well you wouldn't have to look very far. I asked her if she was married and she said No but she wouldn't mind it. She likes her beer pretty well and her and I had several and I guess I was feeling pretty good. Anyway I guess I asked her if she wouldn't marry me and she says it was O.K. I ain't a bit sorry Al because she is some doll and will make them all sit up back home. She wanted to get married right away but I said No wait till the season is over and maybe I will have more dough. She asked me what I was getting and I told her two hundred dollars a month. She says she didn't think I was getting enough and I don't neither but I will get the money when I get up in the big show again.

Anyway we are going to get married this fall and then I will bring her home and show her to you. She wants to live in Chi or New York but I guess she will like Bedford O.K. when she gets acquainted.

I have made good here all right Al. Up to a week ago Sunday I had won eleven straight. I have lost a couple since then, but one day I wasn't feeling good and the other time they kicked it away behind me.

I had a run in with Howard after Portland had beat me. He says Keep on running round with that skirt and you won't never win another game.

He says Go to bed nights and keep in shape or I will take your money. I told him to mind his own business and then he walked away from me. I guess he was scared I was going to smash him. No manager ain't going to bluff me Al.

So I went to bed early last night and didn't keep my date with the kid. She was pretty sore about it but business before plesure Al. Don't tell the boys nothing about me being engaged. I want to surprise them.

Your pal,      JACK.


Sacramento, California, August 16.

FRIEND AL: Well Al I got the supprise of my life last night. Howard called me up after I got to my room and tells me I am going back to the White Sox. Come to find out, when they sold me out here they kept a option on me and yesterday they exercised it. He told me I would have to report at once. So I packed up as quick as I could and then went down to say good-by to the kid. She was all broke up and wanted to go along with me but I told her I didn't have enough dough to get married. She said she would come anyway and we could get married in Chi but I told her she better wait. She cried all over my sleeve. She sure is gone on me Al and I couldn't help feeling sorry for her but I promised to send for her in October and then everything will be all O.K. She asked me how much I was going to get in the big league and I told her I would get a lot more money than out here because I wouldn't play if I didn't. You know me Al.

I come over here to Sacramento with the club this morning and I am leaveing to-night for Chi. I will get there next Tuesday and I guess Callahan will work me right away because he must of seen his mistake in letting me go by now. I will show them Al.

I looked up the skedule and I seen where we play in Detroit the fifth and sixth of September. I hope they will let me pitch there Al. Violet goes to the games and I will make her sorry she give me that kind of treatment. And I will make them Tigers sorry they kidded me last spring. I ain't afraid of Cobb or none of them now, Al.

Your pal,      JACK.


Chicago, Illinois, August 27.

AL: Well old pal I guess I busted in right. Did you notice what I done to them Athaletics, the best ball club in the country? I bet Violet wishes she hadn't called me no busher.

I got here last Tuesday and set up in the stand and watched the game that afternoon. Washington was playing here and Johnson pitched. I was anxious to watch him because I had heard so much about him. Honest Al he ain't as fast as me. He shut them out, but they never was much of a hitting club. I went to the clubhouse after the game and shook hands with the bunch. Kid Gleason the assistant manager seemed pretty glad to see me and he says Well have you learned something? I says Yes I guess I have. He says Did you see the game this afternoon? I says I had and he asked me what I thought of Johnson. I says I don't think so much of him. He says Well I guess you ain't learned nothing then. He says What was the matter with Johnson's work? I says He ain't got nothing but a fast ball. Then he says Yes and Rockefeller ain't got nothing but a hundred million bucks.

Well I asked Callahan if he was going to give me a chance to work and he says he was. But I sat on the bench a couple of days and he didn't ask me to do nothing. Finally I asked him why not and he says I am saving you to work against a good club, the Athaletics. Well the Athaletics come and I guess you know by this time what I done to them. And I had to work against Bender at that but I ain't afraid of none of them now Al.

Baker didn't hit one hard all afternoon and I didn't have no trouble with Collins neither. I let them down with five blows all though the papers give them seven. Them reporters here don't no more about scoreing than some old woman. They give Barry a hit on a fly ball that Bodie ought to of eat up, only he stumbled or something and they handed Oldring a two base hit on a ball that Weaver had to duck to get out of the way from. But I don't care nothing about reporters. I beat them Athaletics and beat them good, five to one. Gleason slapped me on the back after the game and says Well you learned something after all. Rub some arnicky on your head to keep the swelling down and you may be a real pitcher yet. I says I ain't got no swell head. He says No. If I hated myself like you do I would be a moveing picture actor.

Well I asked Callahan would he let me pitch up to Detroit and he says Sure. He says Do you want to get revenge on them? I says, Yes I did. He says Well you have certainly got some comeing. He says I never seen no man get worse treatment than them Tigers give you last spring. I says Well they won't do it this time because I will know how to pitch to them. He says How are you going to pitch to Cobb? I says I am going to feed him on my slow one. He says Well Cobb had ought to make a good meal off of that. Then we quit jokeing and he says You have improved a hole lot and I am going to work you right along regular and if you can stand the gaff I may be able to use you in the city serious. You know Al the White Sox plays a city serious every fall with the Cubs and the players makes quite a lot of money. The winners gets about eight hundred dollars a peace and the losers about five hundred. We will be the winners if I have anything to say about it.

I am tickled to death at the chance of working in Detroit and I can't hardly wait till we get there. Watch my smoke Al.

Your pal,      JACK.

P.S. I am going over to Allen's flat to play cards a while to-night. Allen is the lefthander that was on the training trip with us. He ain't got a thing, Al, and I don't see how he gets by. He is married and his wife's sister is visiting them. She wants to meet me but it won't do her much good. I seen her out to the game to-day and she ain't much for looks.


Detroit, Mich., September 6.

FRIEND AL: I got a hole lot to write but I ain't got much time because we are going over to Cleveland on the boat at ten P.M. I made them Tigers like it Al just like I said I would. And what do you think, Al, Violet called me up after the game and wanted to see me but I will tell you about the game first.

They got one hit off of me and Cobb made it a scratch single that he beat out. If he hadn't of been so dam fast I would of had a no hit game. At that Weaver could of threw him out if he had of started after the ball in time. Crawford didn't get nothing like a hit and I whiffed him once. I give two walks both of them to Bush but he is such a little guy that you can't pitch to him.

When I was warming up before the game Callahan was standing beside me and pretty soon Jennings come over. Jennings says You ain't going to pitch that bird are you? And Callahan said Yes he was. Then Jennings says I wish you wouldn't because my boys is all tired out and can't run the bases. Callahan says They won't get no chance to-day. No, says Jennings I suppose not. I suppose he will walk them all and they won't have to run. Callahan says He won't give no bases on balls, he says. But you better tell your gang that he is liable to bean them and they better stay away from the plate. Jennings says He won't never hurt my boys by beaning them. Then I cut in. Nor you neither, I says. Callahan laughs at that so I guess I must of pulled a pretty good one. Jennings didn't have no comeback so he walks away.

Then Cobb come over and asked if I was going to work. Callahan told him Yes. Cobb says How many innings? Callahan says All the way. Then Cobb says Be a good fellow Cal and take him out early. I am lame and can't run. I butts in then and said Don't worry, Cobb. You won't have to run because we have got a catcher who can hold them third strikes. Callahan laughed again and says to me You sure did learn something out on that Coast.

Well I walked Bush right off the real and they all begun to holler on the Detroit bench There he goes again. Vitt come up and Jennings yells Leave your bat in the bag Osker. He can't get them over. But I got them over for that bird all O.K. and he pops out trying to bunt. And then I whiffed Crawford. He starts off with a foul that had me scared for a minute because it was pretty close to the foul line and it went clear out of the park. But he missed a spitter a foot and then I supprised them Al. I give him a slow ball and I honestly had to laugh to see him lunge for it. I bet he must of strained himself. He throwed his bat way like he was mad and I guess he was. Cobb came pranceing up like he always does and yells Give me that slow one Boy. So I says All right. But I fooled him. Instead of giveing him a slow one like I said I was going I handed him a spitter. He hit it all right but it was a line drive right in Chase's hands. He says Pretty lucky Boy but I will get you next time. I come right back at him. I says Yes you will.

Well Al I had them going like that all through. About the sixth inning Callahan yells from the bench to Jennings What do you think of him now? And Jennings didn't say nothing. What could he of said?

Cobb makes their one hit in the eighth. He never would of made it if Schalk had of let me throw him spitters instead of fast ones. At that Weaver ought to of threw him out. Anyway they didn't score and we made a monkey out of Dubuque, or whatever his name is.

Well Al I got back to the hotel and snuck down the street a ways and had a couple of beers before supper. So I come to the supper table late and Walsh tells me they had been several phone calls for me. I go down to the desk and they tell me to call up a certain number. So I called up and they charged me a nickel for it. A girl's voice answers the phone and I says Was they some one there that wanted to talk to Jack Keefe? She says You bet they is. She says Don't you know me, Jack? This is Violet. Well, you could of knocked me down with a peace of bread. I says What do you want? She says Why I want to see you. I says Well you can't see me. She says Why what's the matter, Jack? What have I did that you should be sore at me? I says I guess you know all right. You called me a busher. She says Why I didn't do nothing of the kind. I says Yes you did on that postcard. She says I didn't write you no postcard.

Then we argued along for a while and she swore up and down that she didn't write me no postcard or call me no busher. I says Well then why didn't you write me a letter when I was in Frisco? She says she had lost my address. Well Al I don't know if she was telling me the truth or not but may be she didn't write that postcard after all. She was crying over the telephone so I says Well it is too late for I and you to get together because I am engaged to be married. Then she screamed and I hang up the receiver. She must of called back two or three times because they was calling my name round the hotel but I wouldn't go near the phone. You know me Al.

Well when I hang up and went back to finish my supper the dining room was locked. So I had to go out and buy myself a sandwich. They soaked me fifteen cents for a sandwich and a cup of coffee so with the nickel for the phone I am out twenty cents altogether for nothing. But then I would of had to tip the waiter in the hotel a dime.

Well Al I must close and catch the boat. I expect a letter from Hazel in Cleveland and maybe Violet will write to me too. She is stuck on me all right Al. I can see that. And I don't believe she could of wrote that postcard after all.

Yours truly,      JACK.


Boston, Massachusetts, September 12.

OLD PAL: Well Al I got a letter from Hazel in Cleveland and she is comeing to Chi in October for the city serious. She asked me to send her a hundred dollars for her fare and to buy some cloths with. I sent her thirty dollars for the fare and told her she could wait till she got to Chi to buy her cloths. She said she would give me the money back as soon as she seen me but she is a little short now because one of her girl friends borrowed fifty off of her. I guess she must be pretty soft-hearted Al. I hope you and Bertha can come up for the wedding because I would like to have you stand up with me.

I all so got a letter from Violet and they was blots all over it like she had been crying. She swore she did not write that postcard and said she would die if I didn't believe her. She wants to know who the lucky girl is who I am engaged to be married to. I believe her Al when she says she did not write that postcard but it is too late now. I will let you know the date of my wedding as soon as I find out.

I guess you seen what I done in Cleveland and here. Allen was going awful bad in Cleveland and I relieved him in the eighth when we had a lead of two runs. I put them out in one-two-three order in the eighth but had hard work in the ninth due to rotten support. I walked Johnston and Chapman and Turner sacrificed them ahead. Jackson come up then and I had two strikes on him. I could of whiffed him but Schalk makes me give him a fast one when I wanted to give him a slow one. He hit it to Berger and Johnston ought to of been threw out at the plate but Berger fumbles and then has to make the play at first base. He got Jackson all O.K. but they was only one run behind then and Chapman was on third base. Lajoie was up next and Callahan sends out word for me to walk him. I thought that was rotten manageing because Lajoie or no one else can hit me when I want to cut loose. So after I give him two bad balls I tried to slip over a strike on him but the lucky stiff hit it on a line to Weaver. Anyway the game was over and I felt pretty good. But Callahan don't appresiate good work Al. He give me a call in the clubhouse and said if I ever disobeyed his orders again he would suspend me without no pay and lick me too. Honest Al it was all I could do to keep from wrapping his jaw but Gleason winks at me not to do nothing.

I worked the second game here and give them three hits two of which was bunts that Lord ought to of eat up. I got better support in Frisco than I been getting here Al. But I don't care. The Boston bunch couldn't of hit me with a shovvel and we beat them two to nothing. I worked against Wood at that. They call him Smoky Joe and they say he has got a lot of speed.

Boston is some town, Al, and I wish you and Bertha could come here sometime. I went down to the wharf this morning and seen them unload the fish. They must of been a million of them but I didn't have time to count them. Every one of them was five or six times as big as a blue gill.

Violet asked me what would be my address in New York City so I am dropping her a postcard to let her know all though I don't know what good it will do her. I certainly won't start no correspondents with her now that I am engaged to be married.

Yours truly,      JACK.


New York, New York, September 16.

FRIEND AL: I opened the serious here and beat them easy but I know you must of saw about it in the Chi papers. At that they don't give me no fair show in the Chi papers. One of the boys bought one here and I seen in it where I was lucky to win that game in Cleveland. If I knowed which one of them reporters wrote that I would punch his jaw.

Al I told you Boston was some town but this is the real one. I never seen nothing like it and I been going some since we got here. I walked down Broadway the Main Street last night and I run into a couple of the ball players and they took me to what they call the Garden but it ain't like the gardens at home because this one is indoors. We sat down to a table and had several drinks. Pretty soon one of the boys asked me if I was broke and I says No, why? He says You better get some lubricateing oil and loosen up. I don't know what he meant but pretty soon when we had had a lot of drinks the waiter brings a check and hands it to me. It was for one dollar. I says Oh I ain't paying for all of them. The waiter says This is just for that last drink.

I thought the other boys would make a holler but they didn't say nothing. So I give him a dollar bill and even then he didn't act satisfied so I asked him what he was waiting for and he said Oh nothing, kind of sassy. I was going to bust him but the boys give me the sign to shut up and not to say nothing. I excused myself pretty soon because I wanted to get some air. I give my check for my hat to a boy and he brought my hat and I started going and he says Haven't you forgot something? I guess he must of thought I was wearing a overcoat.

Then I went down the Main Street again and some man stopped me and asked me did I want to go to the show. He said he had a ticket. I asked him what show and he said the Follies. I never heard of it but I told him I would go if he had a ticket to spare. He says I will spare you this one for three dollars. I says You must take me for some boob. He says No I wouldn't insult no boob. So I walks on but if he had of insulted me I would of busted him.

I went back to the hotel then and run into Kid Gleason. He asked me to take a walk with him so out I go again. We went to the corner and he bought me a beer. He don't drink nothing but pop himself. The two drinks was only ten cents so I says This is the place for me. He says Where have you been? and I told him about paying one dollar for three drinks. He says I see I will have to take charge of you. Don't go round with them ball players no more. When you want to go out and see the sights come to me and I will stear you. So to-night he is going to stear me. I will write to you from Philadelphia.

Your pal,      JACK.


Philadelphia, Pa., September 19.

FRIEND AL: They won't be no game here to-day because it is raining. We all been loafing round the hotel all day and I am glad of it because I got all tired out over in New York City. I and Kid Gleason went round together the last couple of nights over there and he wouldn't let me spend no money. I seen a lot of girls that I would of liked to of got acquainted with but he wouldn't even let me answer them when they spoke to me. We run in to a couple of peaches last night and they had us spotted too. One of them says I'll bet you're a couple of ball players. But Kid says You lose your bet. I am a bellhop and the big rube with me is nothing but a pitcher.

One of them says What are you trying to do kid somebody? He says Go home and get some soap and remove your disguise from your face. I didn't think he ought to talk like that to them and I called him about it and said maybe they was lonesome and it wouldn't hurt none if we treated them to a soda or something. But he says Lonesome. If I don't get you away from here they will steal everything you got. They won't even leave you your fast ball. So we left them and he took me to a picture show. It was some California pictures and they made me think of Hazel so when I got back to the hotel I sent her three postcards.

Gleason made me go to my room at ten o'clock both nights but I was pretty tired anyway because he had walked me all over town. I guess we must of saw twenty shows. He says I would take you to the grand opera only it would be throwing money away because we can hear Ed Walsh for nothing. Walsh has got some voice Al a loud high tenor.

To-morrow is Sunday and we have a double header Monday on account of the rain to-day. I thought sure I would get another chance to beat the Athaletics and I asked Callahan if he was going to pitch me here but he said he thought he would save me to work against Johnson in Washington. So you see Al he must figure I am about the best he has got. I'll beat him Al if they get a couple of runs behind me.

Yours truly,      JACK.

P.S. They was a letter here from Violet and it pretty near made me feel like crying. I wish they was two of me so both them girls could be happy.


Washington, D.C., September 22.

DEAR OLD AL: Well Al here I am in the capital of the old United States. We got in last night and I been walking round town all morning. But I didn't tire myself out because I am going to pitch against Johnson this afternoon.

This is the prettiest town I ever seen but I believe they is more colored people here than they is in Evansville or Chi. I seen the White House and the Monumunt. They say that Bill Sullivan and Gabby St. once catched a baseball that was threw off of the top of the Monumunt but I bet they couldn't catch it if I throwed it.

I was in to breakfast this morning with Gleason and Bodie and Weaver and Fournier. Gleason says I'm supprised that you ain't sick in bed to-day. I says Why?

He says Most of our pitchers gets sick when Cal tells them they are going to work against Johnson. He says Here's these other fellows all feeling pretty sick this morning and they ain't even pitchers. All they have to do is hit against him but it looks like as if Cal would have to send substitutes in for them. Bodie is complaining of a sore arm which he must of strained drawing to two card flushes. Fournier and Weaver have strained their legs doing the tango dance. Nothing could cure them except to hear that big Walter had got throwed out of his machine and wouldn't be able to pitch against us in this serious.

I says I feel O.K. and I ain't afraid to pitch against Johnson and I ain't afraid to hit against him neither. Then Weaver says Have you ever saw him work? Yes, I says, I seen him in Chi. Then Weaver says Well if you have saw him work and ain't afraid to hit against him I'll bet you would go down to Wall Street and holler Hurrah for Roosevelt. I says No I wouldn't do that but I ain't afraid of no pitcher and what is more if you get me a couple of runs I'll beat him. Then Fournier says Oh we will get you a couple of runs all right. He says That's just as easy as catching whales with a angleworm.

Well Al I must close and go in and get some lunch. My arm feels great and they will have to go some to beat me Johnson or no Johnson.

Your pal,      JACK.


Washington, D.C., September 22.

FRIEND AL: Well I guess you know by this time that they didn't get no two runs for me, only one, but I beat him just the same. I beat him one to nothing and Callahan was so pleased that he give me a ticket to the theater. I just got back from there and it is pretty late and I already have wrote you one letter to-day but I am going to sit up and tell you about it.

It was cloudy before the game started and when I was warming up I made the remark to Callahan that the dark day ought to make my speed good. He says Yes and of course it will handicap Johnson.

While Washington was takeing their practice their two coachers Schaefer and Altrock got out on the infield and cut up and I pretty near busted laughing at them. They certainly is funny Al. Callahan asked me what was I laughing at and I told him and he says That's the first time I ever seen a pitcher laugh when he was going to work against Johnson. He says Griffith is a pretty good fellow to give us something to laugh at before he shoots that guy at us.

I warmed up good and told Schalk not to ask me for my spitter much because my fast one looked faster than I ever seen it. He says it won't make much difference what you pitch to-day. I says Oh, yes, it will because Callahan thinks enough of me to work me against Johnson and I want to show him he didn't make no mistake. Then Gleason says No he didn't make no mistake. Wasteing Cicotte or Scotty would of been a mistake in this game.

Well, Johnson whiffs Weaver and Chase and makes Lord pop out in the first inning. I walked their first guy but I didn't give Milan nothing to bunt and finally he flied out. And then I whiffed the next two. On the bench Callahan says That's the way, boy. Keep that up and we got a chance.

Johnson had fanned four of us when I come up with two out in the third inning and he whiffed me to. I fouled one though that if I had ever got a good hold of I would of knocked out of the park. In the first seven innings we didn't have a hit off of him. They had got five or six lucky ones off of me and I had walked two or three, but I cut loose with all I had when they was men on and they couldn't do nothing with me. The only reason I walked so many was because my fast one was jumping so. Honest Al it was so fast that Evans the umpire couldn't see it half the time and he called a lot of balls that was right over the heart.

Well I come up in the eighth with two out and the score still nothing and nothing. I had whiffed the second time as well as the first but it was account of Evans missing one on me. The eighth started with Shanks muffing a fly ball off of Bodie. It was way out by the fence so he got two bases on it and he went to third while they was throwing Berger out. Then Schalk whiffed.

Callahan says Go up and try to meet one Jack. It might as well be you as anybody else. But your old pal didn't whiff this time Al. He gets two strikes on me with fast ones and then I passed up two bad ones. I took my healthy at the next one and slapped it over first base. I guess I could of made two bases on it but I didn't want to tire myself out. Anyway Bodie scored and I had them beat. And my hit was the only one we got off of him so I guess he is a pretty good pitcher after all Al.

They filled up the bases on me with one out in the ninth but it was pretty dark then and I made McBride and their catcher look like suckers with my speed.

I felt so good after the game that I drunk one of them pink cocktails. I don't know what their name is. And then I sent a postcard to poor little Violet. I don't care nothing about her but it don't hurt me none to try and cheer her up once in a while. We leave here Thursday night for home and they had ought to be two or three letters there for me from Hazel because I haven't heard from her lately. She must of lost my road addresses.

Your pal,      JACK.

P.S. I forgot to tell you what Callahan said after the game. He said I was a real pitcher now and he is going to use me in the city serious. If he does Al we will beat them Cubs sure.


Chicago, Illinois, September 27.

FRIEND AL: They wasn't no letter here at all from Hazel and I guess she must of been sick. Or maybe she didn't think it was worth while writeing as long as she is comeing next week.

I want to ask you to do me a favor Al and that is to see if you can find me a house down there. I will want to move in with Mrs. Keefe, don't that sound funny Al? sometime in the week of October twelfth. Old man Cutting's house or that yellow house across from you would be O.K. I would rather have the yellow one so as to be near you. Find out how much rent they want Al and if it is not no more than twelve dollars a month get it for me. We will buy our furniture here in Chi when Hazel comes.

We have a couple of days off now Al and then we play St. Louis two games here. Then Detroit comes to finish the season the third and fourth of October.

Your pal,      JACK.


Chicago, Illinois, October 3.

DEAR OLD AL: Thanks Al for getting the house. The one-year lease is O.K. You and Bertha and me and Hazel can have all sorts of good times together. I guess the walk needs repairs but I can fix that up when I come. We can stay at the hotel when we first get there.

I wish you could of came up for the city serious Al but anyway I want you and Bertha to be sure and come up for our wedding. I will let you know the date as soon as Hazel gets here.

The serious starts Tuesday and this town is wild over it. The Cubs finished second in their league and we was fifth in ours but that don't scare me none. We would of finished right on top if I had of been here all season.

Callahan pitched one of the bushers against Detroit this afternoon and they beat him bad. Callahan is saveing up Scott and Allen and Russell and Cicotte and I for the big show. Walsh isn't in no shape and neither is Benz. It looks like I would have a good deal to do because most of them others can't work no more than once in four days and Allen ain't no good at all.

We have a day to rest after to-morrow's game with the Tigers and then we go at them Cubs.

Your pal,      JACK.

P.S. I have got it figured that Hazel is fixing to surprise me by dropping in on me because I haven't heard nothing yet.


Chicago, Illinois, October 7.

FRIEND AL: Well Al you know by this time that they beat me to-day and tied up the serious. But I have still got plenty of time Al and I will get them before it is over. My arm wasn't feeling good Al and my fast ball didn't hop like it had ought to. But it was the rotten support I got that beat me. That lucky stiff Zimmerman was the only guy that got a real hit off of me and he must of shut his eyes and throwed his bat because the ball he hit was a foot over his head. And if they hadn't been makeing all them errors behind me they wouldn't of been nobody on bases when Zimmerman got that lucky scratch. The serious now stands one and one Al and it is a cinch we will beat them even if they are a bunch of lucky stiffs. They has been great big crowds at both games and it looks like as if we should ought to get over eight hundred dollars a peace if we win and we will win sure because I will beat them three straight if necessary.

But Al I have got bigger news than that for you and I am the happyest man in the world. I told you I had not heard from Hazel for a long time. To-night when I got back to my room they was a letter waiting for me from her.

Al she is married. Maybe you don't know why that makes me happy but I will tell you. She is married to Kid Levy the middle weight. I guess my thirty dollars is gone because in her letter she called me a cheap skate and she inclosed one one-cent stamp and two twos and said she was paying me for the glass of beer I once bought her. I bought her more than that Al but I won't make no holler. She all so said not for me to never come near her or her husband would bust my jaw. I ain't afraid of him or no one else Al but they ain't no danger of me ever bothering them. She was no good and I was sorry the minute I agreed to marry her.

But I was going to tell you why I am happy or maybe you can guess. Now I can make Violet my wife and she's got Hazel beat forty ways. She ain't nowheres near as big as Hazel but she's classier Al and she will make me a good wife. She ain't never asked me for no money.

I wrote her a letter the minute I got the good news and told her to come on over here at once at my expense. We will be married right after the serious is over and I want you and Bertha to be sure and stand up with us. I will wire you at my own expence the exact date.

It all seems like a dream now about Violet and I haveing our misunderstanding Al and I don't see how I ever could of accused her of sending me that postcard. You and Bertha will be just as crazy about her as I am when you see her Al. Just think Al I will be married inside of a week and to the only girl I ever could of been happy with instead of the woman I never really cared for except as a passing fancy. My happyness would be complete Al if I had not of let that woman steal thirty dollars off of me.

Your happy pal,      JACK.

P.S. Hazel probibly would of insisted on us takeing a trip to Niagara falls or somewheres but I know Violet will be perfectly satisfied if I take her right down to Bedford. Oh you little yellow house.


Chicago, Illinois, October 9.

FRIEND AL: Well Al we have got them beat three games to one now and will wind up the serious to-morrow sure. Callahan sent me in to save poor Allen yesterday and I stopped them dead. But I don't care now Al. I have lost all interest in the game and I don't care if Callahan pitches me to-morrow or not. My heart is just about broke Al and I wouldn't be able to do myself justice feeling the way I do.

I have lost Violet Al and just when I was figureing on being the happyest man in the world. We will get the big money but it won't do me no good. They can keep my share because I won't have no little girl to spend it on.

Her answer to my letter was waiting for me at home to-night. She is engaged to be married to Joe Hill the big lefthander Jennings got from Providence. Honest Al I don't see how he gets by. He ain't got no more curve ball than a rabbit and his fast one floats up there like a big balloon. He beat us the last game of the regular season here but it was because Callahan had a lot of bushers in the game.

I wish I had knew then that he was stealing my girl and I would of made Callahan pitch me against him. And when he come up to bat I would of beaned him. But I don't suppose you could hurt him by hitting him in the head. The big stiff. Their wedding ain't going to come off till next summer and by that time he will be pitching in the Southwestern Texas League for about fifty dollars a month.

Violet wrote that she wished me all the luck and happyness in the world but it is too late for me to be happy Al and I don't care what kind of luck I have now.

Al you will have to get rid of that lease for me. Fix it up the best way you can. Tell the old man I have changed my plans. I don't know just yet what I will do but maybe I will go to Australia with Mike Donlin's team. If I do I won't care if the boat goes down or not. I don't believe I will even come back to Bedford this winter. It would drive me wild to go past that little house every day and think how happy I might of been.

Maybe I will pitch to-morrow Al and if I do the serious will be over to-morrow night. I can beat them Cubs if I get any kind of decent support. But I don't care now Al.

Yours truly,      JACK.


Chicago, Illinois, October 12.

AL: Your letter received. If the old man won't call it off I guess I will have to try and rent the house to some one else. Do you know of any couple that wants one Al? It looks like I would have to come down there myself and fix things up someway. He is just mean enough to stick me with the house on my hands when I won't have no use for it.

They beat us the day before yesterday as you probibly know and it rained yesterday and to-day. The papers says it will be all O.K. to-morrow and Callahan tells me I am going to work. The Cub pitchers was all shot to peaces and the bad weather is just nuts for them because it will give Cheney a good rest. But I will beat him Al if they don't kick it away behind me.

I must close because I promised Allen the little lefthander that I would come over to his flat and play cards a while to-night and I must wash up and change my collar. Allen's wife's sister is visiting them again and I would give anything not to have to go over there. I am through with girls and don't want nothing to do with them.

I guess it is maybe a good thing it rained to-day because I dreamt about Violet last night and went out and got a couple of high balls before breakfast this morning. I hadn't never drank nothing before breakfast before and it made me kind of sick. But I am all O.K. now.

Your pal,      JACK.


Chicago, Illinois, October 13.

DEAR OLD AL: The serious is all over Al. We are the champions and I done it. I may be home the day after to-morrow or I may not come for a couple of days. I want to see Comiskey before I leave and fix up about my contract for next year. I won't sign for no less than five thousand and if he hands me a contract for less than that I will leave the White Sox flat on their back. I have got over fourteen hundred dollars now Al with the city serious money which was $814.30 and I don't have to worry.

Them reporters will have to give me a square deal this time Al. I had everything and the Cubs done well to score a run. I whiffed Zimmerman three times. Some of the boys say he ain't no hitter but he is a hitter and a good one Al only he could not touch the stuff I got. The umps give them their run because in the fourth inning I had Leach flatfooted off of second base and Weaver tagged him O.K. but the umps wouldn't call it. Then Schulte the lucky stiff happened to get a hold of one and pulled it past first base. I guess Chase must of been asleep. Anyway they scored but I don't care because we piled up six runs on Cheney and I drove in one of them myself with one of the prettiest singles you ever see. It was a spitter and I hit it like a shot. If I had hit it square it would of went out of the park.

Comiskey ought to feel pretty good about me winning and I guess he will give me a contract for anything I want. He will have to or I will go to the Federal League.

We are all invited to a show to-night and I am going with Allen and his wife and her sister Florence. She is O.K. Al and I guess she thinks the same about me. She must because she was out to the game to-day and seen me hand it to them. She maybe ain't as pretty as Violet and Hazel but as they say beauty isn't only so deep.

Well Al tell the boys I will be with them soon. I have gave up the idea of going to Australia because I would have to buy a evening full-dress suit and they tell me they cost pretty near fifty dollars.

Yours truly,      JACK.


Chicago, Illinois, October 14.

FRIEND AL: Never mind about that lease. I want the house after all Al and I have got the supprise of your life for you.

When I come home to Bedford I will bring my wife with me. I and Florence fixed things all up after the show last night and we are going to be married to-morrow morning. I am a busy man to-day Al because I have got to get the license and look round for furniture. And I have also got to buy some new cloths but they are haveing a sale on Cottage Grove Avenue at Clark's store and I know one of the clerks there.

I am the happyest man in the world Al. You and Bertha and I and Florence will have all kinds of good times together this winter because I know Bertha and Florence will like each other. Florence looks something like Bertha at that. I am glad I didn't get tied up with Violet or Hazel even if they was a little bit prettier than Florence.

Florence knows a lot about baseball for a girl and you would be supprised to hear her talk. She says I am the best pitcher in the league and she has saw them all. She all so says I am the best looking ball player she ever seen but you know how girls will kid a guy Al. You will like her O.K. I fell for her the first time I seen her.

Your old pal,      JACK.

P.S. I signed up for next year. Comiskey slapped me on the back when I went in to see him and told me I would be a star next year if I took good care of myself. I guess I am a star without waiting for next year Al. My contract calls for twenty-eight hundred a year which is a thousand more than I was getting. And it is pretty near a cinch that I will be in on the World Serious money next season.

P.S. I certainly am relieved about that lease. It would of been fierce to of had that place on my hands all winter and not getting any use out of it. Everything is all O.K. now. Oh you little yellow house.




Chapter III

The Busher's Honeymoon


Chicago, Illinois, October 17.

FRIEND AL: Well Al it looks as if I would not be writeing so much to you now that I am a married man. Yes Al I and Florrie was married the day before yesterday just like I told you we was going to be and Al I am the happyest man in the world though I have spent $30 in the last 3 days incluseive. You was wise Al to get married in Bedford where not nothing is nearly half so dear. My expenses was as follows:

License              $ 2.00 Preist                 3.50 Haircut and shave       .35 Shine                   .05 Carfair                 .45 New suit              14.50 Show tickets           3.00 Flowers                 .50 Candy                   .30 Hotel                  4.50 Tobacco both kinds      .25

You see Al it costs a hole lot of money to get married here. The sum of what I have wrote down is $29.40 but as I told you I have spent $30 and I do not know what I have did with that other $0.60. My new brother-in-law Allen told me I should ought to give the preist $5 and I thought it should be about $2 the same as the license so I split the difference and give him $3.50. I never seen him before and probily won't never see him again so why should I give him anything at all when it is his business to marry couples? But I like to do the right thing. You know me Al.

I thought we would be in Bedford by this time but Florrie wants to say here a few more days because she says she wants to be with her sister. Allen and his wife is thinking about takeing a flat for the winter instead of going down to Waco Texas where they live. I don't see no sense in that when it costs so much to live here but it is none of my business if they want to throw their money away. But I am glad I got a wife with some sense though she kicked because I did not get no room with a bath which would cost me $2 a day instead of $1.50. I says I guess the clubhouse is still open yet and if I want a bath I can go over there and take the shower. She says Yes and I suppose I can go and jump in the lake. But she would not do that Al because the lake here is cold at this time of the year.

When I told you about my expenses I did not include in it the meals because we would be eating them if I was getting married or not getting married only I have to pay for six meals a day now instead of three and I didn't used to eat no lunch in the playing season except once in a while when I knowed I was not going to work that afternoon. I had a meal ticket which had not quite ran out over to a resturunt on Indiana Ave and we eat there for the first day except at night when I took Allen and his wife to the show with us and then he took us to a chop suye resturunt. I guess you have not never had no chop suye Al and I am here to tell you you have not missed nothing but when Allen was going to buy the supper what could I say? I could not say nothing.

Well yesterday and to-day we been eating at a resturunt on Cottage Grove Ave near the hotel and at the resturunt on Indiana that I had the meal ticket at only I do not like to buy no new meal ticket when I am not going to be round here no more than a few days. Well Al I guess the meals has cost me all together about $1.50 and I have eat very little myself. Florrie always wants desert ice cream or something and that runs up into money faster than regular stuff like stake and ham and eggs.

Well Al Florrie says it is time for me to keep my promise and take her to the moveing pictures which is $0.20 more because the one she likes round here costs a dime apeace. So I must close for this time and will see you soon.

Your pal,      JACK.


Chicago, Illinois, October 22.

AL: Just a note Al to tell you why I have not yet came to Bedford yet where I expected I would be long before this time. Allen and his wife have took a furnished flat for the winter and Allen's wife wants Florrie to stay here untill they get settled. Meentime it is costing me a hole lot of money at the hotel and for meals besides I am paying $10 a month rent for the house you got for me and what good am I getting out of it? But Florrie wants to help her sister and what can I say? Though I did make her promise she would not stay no longer than next Saturday at least. So I guess Al we will be home on the evening train Saturday and then may be I can save some money.

I know Al that you and Bertha will like Florrie when you get acquainted with her spesially Bertha though Florrie dresses pretty swell and spends a hole lot of time fusing with her face and her hair.

She says to me to-night Who are you writeing to and I told her Al Blanchard who I have told you about a good many times. She says I bet you are writeing to some girl and acted like as though she was kind of jealous. So I thought I would tease her a little and I says I don't know no girls except you and Violet and Hazel. Who is Violet and Hazel? she says. I kind of laughed and says Oh I guess I better not tell you and then she says I guess you will tell me. That made me kind of mad because no girl can't tell me what to do. She says Are you going to tell me? and I says No.

Then she says If you don't tell me I will go over to Marie's that is her sister Allen's wife and stay all night. I says Go on and she went downstairs but I guess she probily went to get a soda because she has some money of her own that I give her. This was about two hours ago and she is probily down in the hotel lobby now trying to scare me by makeing me believe she has went to her sister's. But she can't fool me Al and I am now going out to mail this letter and get a beer. I won't never tell her about Violet and Hazel if she is going to act like that.

Yours truly,      JACK.


Chicago, Illinois, October 24.

FRIEND AL: I guess I told you Al that we would be home Saturday evening. I have changed my mind. Allen and his wife has a spair bedroom and wants us to come there and stay a week or two. It won't cost nothing except they will probily want to go out to the moveing pictures nights and we will probily have to go along with them and I am a man Al that wants to pay his share and not be cheap.

I and Florrie had our first quarrle the other night. I guess I told you the start of it but I don't remember. I made some crack about Violet and Hazel just to tease Florrie and she wanted to know who they was and I would not tell her. So she gets sore and goes over to Marie's to stay all night. I was just kidding Al and was willing to tell her about them two poor girls whatever she wanted to know except that I don't like to brag about girls being stuck on me. So I goes over to Marie's after her and tells her all about them except that I turned them down cold at the last minute to marry her because I did not want her to get all swelled up. She made me sware that I did not never care nothing about them and that was easy because it was the truth. So she come back to the hotel with me just like I knowed she would when I ordered her to.

They must not be no mistake about who is the boss in my house. Some men lets their wife run all over them but I am not that kind. You know me Al.

I must get busy and pack my suitcase if I am going to move over to Allen's. I sent three collars and a shirt to the laundrey this morning so even if we go over there to-night I will have to take another trip back this way in a day or two. I won't mind Al because they sell my kind of beer down to the corner and I never seen it sold nowheres else in Chi. You know the kind it is, eh Al? I wish I was lifting a few with you to-night.

Your pal,     JACK.


Chicago, Illinois, October 28.

DEAR OLD AL: Florrie and Marie has went downtown shopping because Florrie thinks she has got to have a new dress though she has got two changes of cloths now and I don't know what she can do with another one. I hope she don't find none to suit her though it would not hurt none if she got something for next spring at a reduckshon. I guess she must think I am Charles A. Comiskey or somebody. Allen has went to a colledge football game. One of the reporters give him a pass. I don't see nothing in football except a lot of scrapping between little slobs that I could lick the whole bunch of them so I did not care to go. The reporter is one of the guys that travled round with our club all summer. He called up and said he hadn't only the one pass but he was not hurting my feelings none because I would not go to no rotten football game if they payed me.

The flat across the hall from this here one is for rent furnished. They want $40 a month for it and I guess they think they must be lots of suckers running round loose. Marie was talking about it and says Why don't you and Florrie take it and then we can be right together all winter long and have some big times? Florrie says It would be all right with me. What about it Jack? I says What do you think I am? I don't have to live in no high price flat when I got a home in Bedford where they ain't no people trying to hold everybody up all the time. So they did not say no more about it when they seen I was in ernest. Nobody cannot tell me where I am going to live sister-in-law or no sister-in-law. If I was to rent the rotten old flat I would be paying $50 a month rent includeing the house down in Bedford. Fine chance Al.

Well Al I am lonesome and thirsty so more later.

Your pal,      JACK.


Chicago, Illinois, November 2.

FRIEND AL: Well Al I got some big news for you. I am not comeing to Bedford this winter after all except to make a visit which I guess will be round Xmas. I changed my mind about that flat across the hall from the Allens and decided to take it after all. The people who was in it and owns the furniture says they would let us have it till the 1 of May if we would pay $42.50 a month which is only $2.50 a month more than they would of let us have it for for a short time. So you see we got a bargain because it is all furnished and everything and we won't have to blow no money on furniture besides the club goes to California the middle of Febuery so Florrie would not have no place to stay while I am away.

The Allens only subleased their flat from some other people till the 2 of Febuery and when I and Allen goes West Marie can come over and stay with Florrie so you see it is best all round. If we should of boughten furniture it would cost us in the neighborhood of $100 even without no piano and they is a piano in this here flat which makes it nice because Florrie plays pretty good with one hand and we can have lots of good times at home without it costing us nothing except just the bear liveing expenses. I consider myself lucky to of found out about this before it was too late and somebody else had of gotten the tip.

Now Al old pal I want to ask a great favor of you Al. I all ready have payed one month rent $10 on the house in Bedford and I want you to see the old man and see if he won't call off that lease. Why should I be paying $10 a month rent down there and $42.50 up here when the house down there is not no good to me because I am liveing up here all winter? See Al? Tell him I will gladly give him another month rent to call off the lease but don't tell him that if you don't have to. I want to be fare with him.

If you will do this favor for me, Al, I won't never forget it. Give my kindest to Bertha and tell her I am sorry I and Florrie won't see her right away but you see how it is Al.

Yours,      JACK.


Chicago, Illinois, November 30.

FRIEND AL: I have not wrote for a long time have I Al but I have been very busy. They was not enough furniture in the flat and we have been buying some more. They was enough for some people maybe but I and Florrie is the kind that won't have nothing but the best. The furniture them people had in the liveing room was oak but they had a bookcase bilt in in the flat that was mohoggeny and Florrie would not stand for no joke combination like that so she moved the oak chairs and table in to the spair bedroom and we went downtown to buy some mohoggeny. But it costs too much Al and we was feeling pretty bad about it when we seen some Sir Cashion walnut that was prettier even than the mohoggeny and not near so expensive. It is not no real Sir Cashion walnut but it is just as good and we got it reasonable. Then we got some mission chairs for the dining room because the old ones was just straw and was no good and we got a big lether couch for $9 that somebody can sleep on if we get to much company.

I hope you and Bertha can come up for the holidays and see how comfertible we are fixed. That is all the new furniture we have boughten but Florrie set her heart on some old Rose drapes and a red table lamp that is the biggest you ever seen Al and I did not have the heart to say no. The hole thing cost me in the neighborhood of $110 which is very little for what we got and then it will always be ourn even when we move away from this flat though we will have to leave the furniture that belongs to the other people but their part of it is not no good anyway.

I guess I told you Al how much money I had when the season ended. It was $1400 all told includeing the city serious money. Well Al I got in the neighborhood of $800 left because I give $200 to Florrie to send down to Texas to her other sister who had a bad egg for a husband that managed a club in the Texas Oklahoma League and this was the money she had to pay to get the divorce. I am glad Al that I was lucky enough to marry happy and get a good girl for my wife that has got some sense and besides if I have got $800 left I should not worry as they say.

Your pal,      JACK.


Chicago, Illinois, December 7.

DEAR OLD AL: No I was in ernest Al when I says that I wanted you and Bertha to come up here for the holidays. I know I told you that I might come to Bedford for the holidays but that is all off. I have gave up the idea of comeing to Bedford for the holidays and I want you to be sure and come up here for the holidays and I will show you a good time. I would love to have Bertha come to and she can come if she wants to only Florrie don't know if she would have a good time or not and thinks maybe she would rather stay in Bedford and you come alone. But be sure and have Bertha come if she wants to come but maybe she would not injoy it. You know best Al.

I don't think the old man give me no square deal on that lease but if he wants to stick me all right. I am grateful to you Al for trying to fix it up but maybe you could of did better if you had of went at it in a different way. I am not finding no fault with my old pal though. Don't think that. When I have a pal I am the man to stick to him threw thick and thin. If the old man is going to hold me to that lease I guess I will have to stand it and I guess I won't starv to death for no $10 a month because I am going to get $2800 next year besides the city serious money and maybe we will get into the World Serious too. I know we will if Callahan will pitch me every 3d day like I wanted him to last season. But if you had of approached the old man in a different way maybe you could of fixed it up. I wish you would try it again Al if it is not no trouble.

We had Allen and his wife here for thanksgiveing dinner and the dinner cost me better than $5. I thought we had enough to eat to last a week but about six o'clock at night Florrie and Marie said they was hungry and we went downtown and had dinner all over again and I payed for it and it cost me $5 more. Allen was all ready to pay for it when Florrie said No this day's treat is on us so I had to pay for it but I don't see why she did not wait and let me do the talking. I was going to pay for it any way.

Be sure and come and visit us for the holidays Al and of coarse if Bertha wants to come bring her along. We will be glad to see you both. I won't never go back on a friend and pal. You know me Al.

Your old pal,      JACK.


Chicago, Illinois, December 20.

FRIEND AL: I don't see what can be the matter with Bertha because you know Al we would not care how she dressed and would not make no kick if she come up here in a night gown. She did not have no license to say we was to swell for her because we did not never think of nothing like that. I wish you would talk to her again Al and tell her she need not get sore on me and that both her and you is welcome at my house any time I ask you to come. See if you can't make her change her mind Al because I feel like as if she must of took offense at something I may of wrote you. I am sorry you and her are not comeing but I suppose you know best. Only we was getting all ready for you and Florrie said only the other day that she wished the holidays was over but that was before she knowed you was not comeing. I hope you can come Al.

Well Al I guess there is not no use talking to the old man no more. You have did the best you could but I wish I could of came down there and talked to him. I will pay him his rotten old $10 a month and the next time I come to Bedford and meet him on the street I will bust his jaw. I know he is a old man Al but I don't like to see nobody get the best of me and I am sorry I ever asked him to let me off. Some of them old skinflints has no heart Al but why should I fight with a old man over chicken feed like $10? Florrie says a star pitcher like I should not ought never to scrap about little things and I guess she is right Al so I will pay the old man his $10 a month if I have to.

Florrie says she is jealous of me writeing to you so much and she says she would like to meet this great old pal of mine. I would like to have her meet you to Al and I would like to have you change your mind and come and visit us and I am sorry you can't come Al.

Yours truly,      JACK.


Chicago, Illinois, December 27.

OLD PAL: I guess all these lefthanders is alike though I thought this Allen had some sense. I thought he was different from the most and was not no rummy but they are all alike Al and they are all lucky that somebody don't hit them over the head with a ax and kill them but I guess at that you could not hurt no lefthanders by hitting them over the head. We was all down on State St. the day before Xmas and the girls was all tired out and ready to go home but Allen says No I guess we better stick down a while because now the crowds is out and it will be fun to watch them. So we walked up and down State St. about a hour longer and finally we come in front of a big jewlry store window and in it was a swell dimond ring that was marked $100. It was a ladies' ring so Marie says to Allen Why don't you buy that for me? And Allen says Do you really want it? And she says she did.

So we tells the girls to wait and we goes over to a salloon where Allen has got a friend and gets a check cashed and we come back and he bought the ring. Then Florrie looks like as though she was getting all ready to cry and I asked her what was the matter and she says I had not boughten her no ring not even when we was engaged. So I and Allen goes back to the salloon and I gets a check cashed and we come back and bought another ring but I did not think the ring Allen had boughten was worth no $100 so I gets one for $75. Now Al you know I am not makeing no kick on spending a little money for a present for my own wife but I had allready boughten her a rist watch for $15 and a rist watch was just what she had wanted. I was willing to give her the ring if she had not of wanted the rist watch more than the ring but when I give her the ring I kept the rist watch and did not tell her nothing about it.

Well I come downtown alone the day after Xmas and they would not take the rist watch back in the store where I got it. So I am going to give it to her for a New Year's present and I guess that will make Allen feel like a dirty doose. But I guess you cannot hurt no lefthander's feelings at that. They are all alike. But Allen has not got nothing but a dinky curve ball and a fast ball that looks like my slow one. If Comiskey was not good hearted he would of sold him long ago.

I sent you and Bertha a cut glass dish Al which was the best I could get for the money and it was pretty high pricet at that. We was glad to get the pretty pincushions from you and Bertha and Florrie says to tell you that we are well supplied with pincushions now because the ones you sent makes a even half dozen. Thanks Al for remembering us and thank Bertha too though I guess you paid for them.

Your pal,      JACK.


Chicago, Illinois, Januery 3.

OLD PAL: Al I been pretty sick ever since New Year's eve. We had a table at 1 of the swell resturunts downtown and I never seen so much wine drank in my life. I would rather of had beer but they would not sell us none so I found out that they was a certain kind that you can get for $1 a bottle and it is just as good as the kind that has got all them fancy names but this lefthander starts ordering some other kind about 11 oclock and it was $5 a bottle and the girls both says they liked it better. I could not see a hole lot of difference myself and I would of gave $0.20 for a big stine of my kind of beer. You know me Al. Well Al you know they is not nobody that can drink more than your old pal and I was all O.K. at one oclock but I seen the girls was getting kind of sleepy so I says we better go home.

Then Marie says Oh, shut up and don't be no quiter. I says You better shut up yourself and not be telling me to shut up, and she says What will you do if I don't shut up? And I says I would bust her in the jaw. But you know Al I would not think of busting no girl. Then Florrie says You better not start nothing because you had to much to drink or you would not be talking about busting girls in the jaw. Then I says I don't care if it is a girl I bust or a lefthander. I did not mean nothing at all Al but Marie says I had insulted Allen and he gets up and slaps my face. Well Al I am not going to stand that from nobody not even if he is my brother-in-law and a lefthander that has not got enough speed to brake a pain of glass.

So I give him a good beating and the waiters butts in and puts us all out for fighting and I and Florrie comes home in a taxi and Allen and his wife don't get in till about 5 oclock so I guess she must of had to of took him to a doctor to get fixed up. I been in bed ever since till just this morning kind of sick to my stumach. I guess I must of eat something that did not agree with me. Allen come over after breakfast this morning and asked me was I all right so I guess he is not sore over the beating I give him or else he wants to make friends because he has saw that I am a bad guy to monkey with.

Florrie tells me a little while ago that she paid the hole bill at the resturunt with my money because Allen was broke so you see what kind of a cheap skate he is Al and some day I am going to bust his jaw. She won't tell me how much the bill was and I won't ask her to no more because we had a good time outside of the fight and what do I care if we spent a little money?

Yours truly,      JACK.


Chicago, Illinois, Januery 20.

FRIEND AL: Allen and his wife have gave up the flat across the hall from us and come over to live with us because we got a spair bedroom and why should they not have the bennifit of it? But it is pretty hard for the girls to have to cook and do the work when they is four of us so I have a hired girl who does it all for $7 a week. It is great stuff Al because now we can go round as we please and don't have to wait for no dishes to be washed or nothing. We generally almost always has dinner downtown in the evening so it is pretty soft for the girl too. She don't generally have no more than one meal to get because we generally run round downtown till late and don't get up till about noon.

That sounds funny don't it Al, when I used to get up at 5 every morning down home. Well Al I can tell you something else that may sound funny and that is that I lost my taste for beer. I don't seem to care for it no more and I found I can stand allmost as many drinks of other stuff as I could of beer. I guess Al they is not nobody ever lived can drink more and stand up better under it than me. I make the girls and Allen quit every night.

I only got just time to write you this short note because Florrie and Marie is giving a big party to-night and I and Allen have got to beat it out of the house and stay out of the way till they get things ready. It is Marie's berthday and she says she is 22 but say Al if she is 22 Kid Gleason is 30. Well Al the girls says we must blow so I will run out and mail this letter.

Yours truly,      JACK.


Chicago, Illinois, Januery 31.

AL: Allen is going to take Marie with him on the training trip to California and of course Florrie has been at me to take her along. I told her postivly that she can't go. I can't afford no stunt like that but still I am up against it to know what to do with her while we are on the trip because Marie won't be here to stay with her. I don't like to leave her here all alone but they is nothing to it Al I can't afford to take her along. She says I don't see why you can't take me if Allen takes Marie. And I says That stuff is all O.K. for Allen because him and Marie has been grafting off of us all winter. And then she gets mad and tells me I should not ought to say her sister was no grafter. I did not mean nothing like that Al but you don't never know when a woman is going to take offense.

If our furniture was down in Bedford everything would be all O.K. because I could leave her there and I would feel all O.K. because I would know that you and Bertha would see that she was getting along O.K. But they would not be no sense in sending her down to a house that has not no furniture in it. I wish I knowed somewheres where she could visit Al. I would be willing to pay her bord even.

Well Al enough for this time.

Your old pal,      JACK.


Chicago, Illinois, Febuery 4.

FRIEND AL: You are a real old pal Al and I certainly am greatful to you for the invatation. I have not told Florrie about it yet but I am sure she will be tickled to death and it is certainly kind of you old pal. I did not never dream of nothing like that. I note what you say Al about not excepting no bord but I think it would be better and I would feel better if you would take something say about $2 a week.

I know Bertha will like Florrie and that they will get along O.K. together because Florrie can learn her how to make her cloths look good and fix her hair and fix up her face. I feel like as if you had took a big load off of me Al and I won't never forget it.

If you don't think I should pay no bord for Florrie all right. Suit yourself about that old pal.

We are leaveing here the 20 of Febuery and if you don't mind I will bring Florrie down to you about the 18. I would like to see the old bunch again and spesially you and Bertha.

Yours,      JACK.

P.S. We will only be away till April 14 and that is just a nice visit. I wish we did not have no flat on our hands.


Chicago, Illinois, Febuery 9.

OLD PAL: I want to thank you for asking Florrie to come down there and visit you Al but I find she can't get away. I did not know she had no engagements but she says she may go down to her folks in Texas and she don't want to say that she will come to visit you when it is so indefanate. So thank you just the same Al and thank Bertha too.

Florrie is still at me to take her along to California but honest Al I can't do it. I am right down to my last $50 and I have not payed no rent for this month. I owe the hired girl 2 weeks' salery and both I and Florrie needs some new cloths.

Florrie has just came in since I started writeing this letter and we have been talking some more about California and she says maybe if I would ask Comiskey he would take her along as the club's guest. I had not never thought of that Al and maybe he would because he is a pretty good scout and I guess I will go and see him about it. The league has its skedule meeting here to-morrow and may be I can see him down to the hotel where they meet at. I am so worried Al that I can't write no more but I will tell you how I come out with Comiskey.

Your pal,      JACK.


Chicago, Illinois, Febuery 11.

FRIEND AL: I am up against it right Al and I don't know where I am going to head in at. I went down to the hotel where the league was holding its skedule meeting at and I seen Comiskey and got some money off of the club but I owe all the money I got off of them and I am still wondering what to do about Florrie.

Comiskey was busy in the meeting when I went down there and they was not no chance to see him for a while so I and Allen and some of the boys hung round and had a few drinks and fanned. This here Joe Hill the busher that Detroit has got that Violet is hooked up to was round the hotel. I don't know what for but I felt like busting his jaw only the boys told me I had better not do nothing because I might kill him and any way he probily won't be in the league much longer. Well finally Comiskey got threw the meeting and I seen him and he says Hello young man what can I do for you? And I says I would like to get $100 advance money. He says Have you been takeing care of yourself down in Bedford? And I told him I had been liveing here all winter and it did not seem to make no hit with him though I don't see what business it is of hisn where I live.

So I says I had been takeing good care of myself. And I have Al. You know that. So he says I should come to the ball park the next day which is to-day and he would have the secretary take care of me but I says I could not wait and so he give me $100 out of his pocket and says he would have it charged against my salery. I was just going to brace him about the California trip when he got away and went back to the meeting.

Well Al I hung round with the bunch waiting for him to get threw again and we had some more drinks and finally Comiskey was threw again and I braced him in the lobby and asked him if it was all right to take my wife along to California. He says Sure they would be glad to have her along. And then I says Would the club pay her fair? He says I guess you must of spent that $100 buying some nerve. He says Have you not got no sisters that would like to go along to? He says Does your wife insist on the drawing room or will she take a lower birth? He says Is my special train good enough for her?

Then he turns away from me and I guess some of the boys must of heard the stuff he pulled because they was laughing when he went away but I did not see nothing to laugh at. But I guess he ment that I would have to pay her fair if she goes along and that is out of the question Al. I am up against it and I don't know where I am going to head in at.

Your pal,      JACK.


Chicago, Illinois, Febuery 12.

DEAR OLD AL: I guess everything will be all O.K. now at least I am hopeing it will. When I told Florrie about how I come out with Comiskey she bawled her head off and I thought for a while I was going to have to call a doctor or something but pretty soon she cut it out and we sat there a while without saying nothing. Then she says If you could get your salery razed a couple of hundred dollars a year would you borrow the money ahead somewheres and take me along to California? I says Yes I would if I could get a couple hundred dollars more salery but how could I do that when I had signed a contract for $2800 last fall allready? She says Don't you think you are worth more than $2800? And I says Yes of coarse I was worth more than $2800. She says Well if you will go and talk the right way to Comiskey I believe he will give you $3000 but you must be sure you go at it the right way and don't go and ball it all up.

Well we argude about it a while because I don't want to hold nobody up Al but finally I says I would. It would not be holding nobody up anyway because I am worth $3000 to the club if I am worth a nichol. The papers is all saying that the club has got a good chance to win the pennant this year and talking about the pitching staff and I guess they would not be no pitching staff much if it was not for I and one or two others -- about one other I guess.

So it looks like as if everything will be all O.K. now Al. I am going to the office over to the park to see him the first thing in the morning and I am pretty sure that I will get what I am after because if I do not he will see that I am going to quit and then he will see what he is up against and not let me get away.

I will let you know how I come out.

Your pal,      JACK.


Chicago, Illinois, Febuery 14.

FRIEND AL: Al old pal I have got a big supprise for you. I am going to the Federal League. I had a run in with Comiskey yesterday and I guess I told him a thing or 2. I guess he would of been glad to sign me at my own figure before I got threw but I was so mad I would not give him no chance to offer me another contract.

I got out to the park at 9 oclock yesterday morning and it was a hour before he showed up and then he kept me waiting another hour so I was pretty sore when I finally went in to see him. He says Well young man what can I do for you? I says I come to see about my contract. He says Do you want to sign up for next year all ready? I says No I am talking about this year. He says I thought I and you talked business last fall. And I says Yes but now I think I am worth more money and I want to sign a contract for $3000. He says If you behave yourself and work good this year I will see that you are took care of. But I says That won't do because I have got to be sure I am going to get $3000.

Then he says I am not sure you are going to get anything. I says What do you mean? And he says I have gave you a very fare contract and if you don't want to live up to it that is your own business. So I give him a awful call Al and told him I would jump to the Federal League. He says Oh, I would not do that if I was you. They are haveing a hard enough time as it is. So I says something back to him and he did not say nothing to me and I beat it out of the office.

I have not told Florrie about the Federal League business yet as I am going to give her a big supprise. I bet they will take her along with me on the training trip and pay her fair but even if they don't I should not worry because I will make them give me a contract for $4000 a year and then I can afford to take her with me on all the trips.

I will go down and see Tinker to-morrow morning and I will write you to-morrow night Al how much salery they are going to give me. But I won't sign for no less than $4000. You know me Al.

Yours,      JACK.


Chicago, Illinois, Febuery 15.

OLD PAL: It is pretty near midnight Al but I been to bed a couple of times and I can't get no sleep. I am worried to death Al and I don't know where I am going to head in at. Maybe I will go out and buy a gun Al and end it all and I guess it would be better for everybody. But I cannot do that Al because I have not got the money to buy a gun with.

I went down to see Tinker about signing up with the Federal League and he was busy in the office when I come in. Pretty soon Buck Perry the pitcher that was with Boston last year come out and seen me and as Tinker was still busy we went out and had a drink together. Buck shows me a contract for $5000 a year and Tinker had allso gave him a $500 bonus. So pretty soon I went up to the office and pretty soon Tinker seen me and called me into his private office and asked what did I want. I says I was ready to jump for $4000 and a bonus. He says I thought you was signed up with the White Sox. I says Yes I was but I was not satisfied. He says That does not make no difference to me if you are satisfied or not. You ought to of came to me before you signed a contract. I says I did not know enough but I know better now. He says Well it is to late now. We cannot have nothing to do with you because you have went and signed a contract with the White Sox. I argude with him a while and asked him to come out and have a drink so we could talk it over but he said he was busy so they was nothing for me to do but blow.

So I am not going to the Federal League Al and I will not go with the White Sox because I have got a raw deal. Comiskey will be sorry for what he done when his team starts the season and is up against it for good pitchers and then he will probily be willing to give me anything I ask for but that don't do me no good now Al. I am way in debt and no chance to get no money from nobody. I wish I had of stayed with Terre Haute Al and never saw this league.

Your pal,      JACK.


Chicago, Illinois, Febuery 17.

FRIEND AL: Al don't never let nobody tell you that these here lefthanders is right. This Allen my own brother-in-law who married sisters has been grafting and spongeing on me all winter Al. Look what he done to me now Al. You know how hard I been up against it for money and I know he has got plenty of it because I seen it on him. Well Al I was scared to tell Florrie I was cleaned out and so I went to Allen yesterday and says I had to have $100 right away because I owed the rent and owed the hired girl's salery and could not even pay no grocery bill. And he says No he could not let me have none because he has got to save all his money to take his wife on the trip to California. And here he has been liveing on me all winter and maybe I could of took my wife to California if I had not of spent all my money takeing care of this no good lefthander and his wife. And Al honest he has not got a thing and ought not to be in the league. He gets by with a dinky curve ball and has not got no more smoke than a rabbit or something.

Well Al I felt like busting him in the jaw but then I thought No I might kill him and then I would have Marie and Florrie both to take care of and God knows one of them is enough besides paying his funeral expenses. So I walked away from him without takeing a crack at him and went into the other room where Florrie and Marie was at. I says to Marie I says Marie I wish you would go in the other room a minute because I want to talk to Florrie. So Marie beats it into the other room and then I tells Florrie all about what Comiskey and the Federal League done to me. She bawled something awful and then she says I was no good and she wished she had not never married me. I says I wisht it too and then she says Do you mean that and starts to cry.

I told her I was sorry I says that because they is not no use fusing with girls Al specially when they is your wife. She says No California trip for me and then she says What are you going to do? And I says I did not know. She says Well if I was a man I would do something. So then I got mad and I says I will do something. So I went down to the corner salloon and started in to get good and drunk but I could not do it Al because I did not have the money.

Well old pal I am going to ask you a big favor and it is this I want you to send me $100 Al for just a few days till I can get on my feet. I do not know when I can pay it back Al but I guess you know the money is good and I know you have got it. Who would not have it when they live in Bedford? And besides I let you take $20 in June 4 years ago Al and you give it back but I would not have said nothing to you if you had of kept it. Let me hear from you right away old pal.

Yours truly,      JACK.


Chicago, Illinois, Febuery 19.

AL: I am certainly greatful to you Al for the $100 which come just a little while ago. I will pay the rent with it and part of the grocery bill and I guess the hired girl will have to wait a while for hern but she is sure to get it because I don't never forget my debts. I have changed my mind about the White Sox and I am going to go on the trip and take Florrie along because I don't think it would not be right to leave her here alone in Chi when her sister and all of us is going.

I am going over to the ball park and up in the office pretty soon to see about it. I will tell Comiskey I changed my mind and he will be glad to get me back because the club has not got no chance to finish nowheres without me. But I won't go on no trip or give the club my services without them giveing me some more advance money so as I can take Florrie along with me because Al I would not go without her.

Maybe Comiskey will make my salery $3000 like I wanted him to when he sees I am willing to be a good fellow and go along with him and when he knows that the Federal League would of gladly gave me $4000 if I had not of signed no contract with the White Sox.

I think I will ask him for $200 advance money Al and if I get it may be I can send part of your $100 back to you but I know you cannot be in no hurry Al though you says you wanted it back as soon as possible. You could not be very hard up Al because it don't cost near so much to live in Bedford as it does up here.

Anyway I will let you know how I come out with Comiskey and I will write you as soon as I get out to Paso Robles if I don't get no time to write you before I leave.

Your pal,      JACK.

P.S. I have took good care of myself all winter Al and I guess I ought to have a great season.

P.S. Florrie is tickled to death about going along and her and I will have some time together out there on the Coast if I can get some money somewheres.


Chicago, Illinois, Febuery 21.

FRIEND AL: I have not got the heart to write this letter to you Al. I am up here in my $42.50 a month flat and the club has went to California and Florrie has went too. I am flat broke Al and all I am asking you is to send me enough money to pay my fair to Bedford and they and all their leagues can go to hell Al.

I was out to the ball park early yesterday morning and some of the boys was there all ready fanning and kidding each other. They tried to kid me to when I come in but I guess I give them as good as they give me. I was not in no mind for kidding Al because I was there on business and I wanted to see Comiskey and get it done with.

Well the secretary come in finally and I went up to him and says I wanted to see Comiskey right away. He says The boss was busy and what did I want to see him about and I says I wanted to get some advance money because I was going to take my wife on the trip. He says This would be a fine time to be telling us about it even if you was going on the trip.

And I says What do you mean? And he says You are not going on no trip with us because we have got wavers on you and you are sold to Milwaukee.

Honest Al I thought he was kidding at first and I was waiting for him to laugh but he did not laugh and finally I says What do you mean? And he says Cannot you understand no English? You are sold to Milwaukee. Then I says I want to see the boss. He says It won't do you no good to see the boss and he is to busy to see you. I says I want to get some money. And he says You cannot get no money from this club and all you get is your fair to Milwaukee. I says I am not going to no Milwaukee anyway and he says I should not worry about that. Suit yourself.

Well Al I told some of the boys about it and they was pretty sore and says I ought to bust the secretary in the jaw and I was going to do it when I thought No I better not because he is a little guy and I might kill him.

I looked all over for Kid Gleason but he was not nowheres round and they told me he would not get into town till late in the afternoon. If I could of saw him Al he would of fixed me all up. I asked 3 or 4 of the boys for some money but they says they was all broke.

But I have not told you the worst of it yet Al. When I come back to the flat Allen and Marie and Florrie was busy packing up and they asked me how I come out. I told them and Allen just stood there stareing like a big rummy but Marie and Florrie both begin to cry and I almost felt like as if I would like to cry to only I am not no baby Al.

Well Al I told Florrie she might just is well quit packing and make up her mind that she was not going nowheres till I got money enough to go to Bedford where I belong. She kept right on crying and it got so I could not stand it no more so I went out to get a drink because I still had just about a dollar left yet.

It was about 2 oclock when I left the flat and pretty near 5 when I come back because I had ran in to some fans that knowed who I was and would not let me get away and besides I did not want to see no more of Allen and Marie till they was out of the house and on their way.

But when I come in Al they was nobody there. They was not nothing there except the furniture and a few of my things scattered round. I sit down for a few minutes because I guess I must of had to much to drink but finally I seen a note on the table addressed to me and I seen it was Florrie's writeing.

I do not remember just what was there in the note Al because I tore it up the minute I read it but it was something about I could not support no wife and Allen had gave her enough money to go back to Texas and she was going on the 6 oclock train and it would not do me no good to try and stop her.

Well Al they was not no danger of me trying to stop her. She was not no good Al and I wisht I had not of never saw either she or her sister or my brother-in-law.

For a minute I thought I would follow Allen and his wife down to the deepo where the special train was to pull out of and wait till I see him and punch his jaw but I seen that would not get me nothing.

So here I am all alone Al and I will have to stay here till you send me the money to come home. You better send me $25 because I have got a few little debts I should ought to pay before I leave town. I am not going to Milwaukee Al because I did not get no decent deal and nobody cannot make no sucker out of me.

Please hurry up with the $25 Al old friend because I am sick and tired of Chi and want to get back there with my old pal.

Yours,      JACK.

P.S. Al I wish I had of took poor little Violet when she was so stuck on me.




Chapter IV

A New Busher Breaks In


Chicago, Illinois, March 2.

FRIEND AL: Al that peace in the paper was all O.K. and the right dope just like you said. I seen president Johnson the president of the league to-day and he told me the peace in the papers was the right dope and Comiskey did not have no right to sell me to Milwaukee because the Detroit Club had never gave no wavers on me. He says the Detroit Club was late in fileing their claim and Comiskey must of tooken it for granted that they was going to wave but president Johnson was pretty sore about it at that and says Comiskey did not have no right to sell me till he was positive that they was not no team that wanted me.

It will probily cost Comiskey some money for acting like he done and not paying no attention to the rules and I would not be supprised if president Johnson had him throwed out of the league.

Well I asked president Johnson should I report at once to the Detroit Club down south and he says No you better wait till you hear from Comiskey and I says What has Comiskey got to do with it now? And he says Comiskey will own you till he sells you to Detroit or somewheres else. So I will have to go out to the ball park to-morrow and see is they any mail for me there because I probily will get a letter from Comiskey telling me I am sold to Detroit.

If I had of thought at the time I would of knew that Detroit never would give no wavers on me after the way I showed Cobb and Crawford up last fall and I might of knew too that Detroit is in the market for good pitchers because they got a rotten pitching staff but they won't have no rotten staff when I get with them.

If necessary I will pitch every other day for Jennings and if I do we will win the pennant sure because Detroit has got a club that can get 2 or 3 runs every day and all as I need to win most of my games is 1 run. I can't hardly wait till Jennings works me against the White Sox and what I will do to them will be a plenty. It don't take no pitching to beat them anyway and when they get up against a pitcher like I they might as well leave their bats in the bag for all the good their bats will do them.

I guess Cobb and Crawford will be glad to have me on the Detroit Club because then they won't never have to hit against me except in practice and I won't pitch my best in practice because they will be teammates of mine and I don't never like to show none of my teammates up. At that though I don't suppose Jennings will let me do much pitching in practice because when he gets a hold of a good pitcher he won't want me to take no chances of throwing my arm away in practice.

Al just think how funny it will be to have me pitching for the Tigers in the same town where Violet lives and pitching on the same club with her husband. It will not be so funny for Violet and her husband though because when she has a chance to see me work regular she will find out what a mistake she made takeing that lefthander instead of a man that has got some future and soon will be makeing 5 or $6000 a year because I won't sign with Detroit for no less than $5000 at most. Of coarse I could of had her if I had of wanted to but still and all it will make her feel pretty sick to see me winning games for Detroit while her husband is batting fungos and getting splinters in his unie from slideing up and down the bench.

As for her husband the first time he opens his clam to me I will haul off and bust him one in the jaw but I guess he will know more than to start trouble with a man of my size and who is going to be one of their stars while he is just holding down a job because they feel sorry for him. I wish he could of got the girl I married instead of the one he got and I bet she would of drove him crazy. But I guess you can't drive a lefthander crazyer than he is to begin with.

I have not heard nothing from Florrie Al and I don't want to hear nothing. I and her is better apart and I wish she would sew me for a bill of divorce so she could not go round claiming she is my wife and disgraceing my name. If she would consent to sew me for a bill of divorce I would gladly pay all the expenses and settle with her for any sum of money she wants say about $75.00 or $100.00 and they is no reason I should give her a nichol after the way her and her sister Marie and her brother-in-law Allen grafted off of me. Probily I could sew her for a bill of divorce but they tell me it costs money to sew and if you just lay low and let the other side do the sewing it don't cost you a nichol.

It is pretty late Al and I have got to get up early to-morrow and go to the ball park and see is they any mail for me. I will let you know what I hear old pal.

Your old pal,      JACK.


Chicago, Illinois, March 4.

AL: I am up against it again. I went out to the ball park office yesterday and they was nobody there except John somebody who is asst secretary and all the rest of them is out on the Coast with the team. Maybe this here John was trying to kid me but this is what he told me. First I says Is they a letter here for me? And he says No. And I says I was expecting word from Comiskey that I should join the Detroit Club and he says What makes you think you are going to Detroit? I says Comiskey asked wavers on me and Detroit did not give no wavers. He says Well that is not no sign that you are going to Detroit. If Comiskey can't get you out of the league he will probily keep you himself and it is a cinch he is not going to give no pitcher to Detroit no matter how rotten he is.

I says What do you mean? And he says You just stick round town till you hear from Comiskey and I guess you will hear pretty soon because he is comeing back from the Coast next Saturday. I says Well the only thing he can tell me is to report to Detroit because I won't never pitch again for the White Sox. Then John gets fresh and says I suppose you will quit the game and live on your saveings and then I blowed out of the office because I was scared I would loose my temper and break something.

So you see Al what I am up against. I won't never pitch for the White Sox again and I want to get with the Detroit Club but how can I if Comiskey won't let me go? All I can do is stick round till next Saturday and then I will see Comiskey and I guess when I tell him what I think of him he will be glad to let me go to Detroit or anywheres else. I will have something on him this time because I know that he did not pay no attention to the rules when he told me I was sold to Milwaukee and if he tries to slip something over on me I will tell president Johnson of the league all about it and then you will see where Comiskey heads in at.

Al old pal that $25.00 you give me at the station the other day is all shot to peaces and I must ask you to let me have $25.00 more which will make $75.00 all together includeing the $25.00 you sent me before I come home. I hate to ask you this favor old pal but I know you have got the money. If I am sold to Detroit I will get some advance money and pay up all my dedts incluseive.

If he don't let me go to Detroit I will make him come across with part of my salery for this year even if I don't pitch for him because I signed a contract and was ready to do my end of it and would of if he had not of been nasty and tried to slip something over on me. If he refuses to come across I will hire a attorney at law and he will get it all. So Al you see you have got a cinch on getting back what you lone me but I guess you know that Al without all this talk because you have been my old pal for a good many years and I have allways treated you square and tried to make you feel that I and you was equals and that my success was not going to make me forget my old friends.

Wherever I pitch this year I will insist on a salery of 5 or $6000 a year. So you see on my first pay day I will have enough to pay you up and settle the rest of my dedts but I am not going to pay no more rent for this rotten flat because they tell me if a man don't pay no rent for a while they will put him out. Let them put me out. I should not worry but will go and rent my old room that I had before I met Florrie and got into all this trouble.

The sooner you can send me that $35.00 the better and then I will owe you $85.00 incluseive and I will write and let you know how I come out with Comiskey.

Your pal,      JACK.


Chicago, Illinois, March 12.

FRIEND AL: I got another big supprise for you and this is it I am going to pitch for the White Sox after all. If Comiskey was not a old man I guess I would of lost my temper and beat him up but I am glad now that I kept my temper and did not loose it because I forced him to make a lot of consessions and now it looks like as though I would have a big year both pitching and money.

He got back to town yesterday morning and showed up to his office in the afternoon and I was there waiting for him. He would not see me for a while but finally I acted like as though I was getting tired of waiting and I guess the secretary got scared that I would beat it out of the office and leave them all in the lerch. Anyway he went in and spoke to Comiskey and then come out and says the boss was ready to see me. When I went into the office where he was at he says Well young man what can I do for you? And I says I want you to give me my release so as I can join the Detroit Club down South and get in shape. Then he says What makes you think you are going to join the Detroit Club? Because we need you here. I says Then why did you try to sell me to Milwaukee? But you could not because you could not get no wavers.

Then he says I thought I was doing you a favor by sending you to Milwaukee because they make a lot of beer up there. I says What do you mean? He says You been keeping in shape all this winter by trying to drink this town dry and besides that you tried to hold me up for more money when you allready had signed a contract allready and so I was going to send you to Milwaukee and learn you something and besides you tried to go with the Federal League but they would not take you because they was scared to.

I don't know where he found out all that stuff at Al and besides he was wrong when he says I was drinking to much because they is not nobody that can drink more than me and not be effected. But I did not say nothing because I was scared I would forget myself and call him some name and he is a old man. Yes I did say something. I says Well I guess you found out that you could not get me out of the league and then he says Don't never think I could not get you out of the league. If you think I can't send you to Milwaukee I will prove it to you that I can. I says You can't because Detroit won't give no wavers on me. He says Detroit will give wavers on you quick enough if I ask them.

Then he says Now you can take your choice you can stay here and pitch for me at the salery you signed up for and you can cut out the monkey business and drink water when you are thirsty or else you can go up to Milwaukee and drownd yourself in one of them brewrys. Which shall it be? I says How can you keep me or send me to Milwaukee when Detroit has allready claimed my services? He says Detroit has claimed a lot of things and they have even claimed the pennant but that is not no sign they will win it. He says And besides you would not want to pitch for Detroit because then you would not never have no chance to pitch against Cobb and show him up.

Well Al when he says that I knowed he appresiated what a pitcher I am even if he did try to sell me to Milwaukee or he would not of made that remark about the way I can show Cobb and Crawford up. So I says Well if you need me that bad I will pitch for you but I must have a new contract. He says Oh I guess we can fix that up O.K. and he steps out in the next room a while and then he comes back with a new contract. And what do you think it was Al? It was a contract for 3 years so you see I am sure of my job here for 3 years and everything is all O.K.

The contract calls for the same salery a year for 3 years that I was going to get before for only 1 year which is $2800.00 a year and then I will get in on the city serious money too and the Detroit Club don't have no city serious and have no chance to get into the World's Serious with the rotten pitching staff they got. So you see Al he fixed me up good and that shows that he must think a hole lot of me or he would of sent me to Detroit or maybe to Milwaukee but I don't see how he could of did that without no wavers.

Well Al I allmost forgot to tell you that he has gave me a ticket to Los Angeles where the 2d team are practicing at now but where the 1st team will be at in about a week. I am leaveing to-night and I guess before I go I will go down to president Johnson and tell him that I am fixed up all O.K. and have not got no kick comeing so that president Johnson will not fine Comiskey for not paying no attention to the rules or get him fired out of the league because I guess Comiskey must be all O.K. and good hearted after all.

I won't pay no attention to what he says about me drinking this town dry because he is all wrong in regards to that. He must of been jokeing I guess because nobody but some boob would think he could drink this town dry but at that I guess I can hold more than anybody and not be effected. But I guess I will cut it out for a while at that because I don't want to get them sore at me after the contract they give me.

I will write to you from Los Angeles Al and let you know what the boys says when they see me and I will bet that they will be tickled to death. The rent man was round to-day but I seen him comeing and he did not find me. I am going to leave the furniture that belongs in the flat in the flat and allso the furniture I bought which don't amount to much because it was not no real Sir Cashion walnut and besides I don't want nothing round me to remind me of Florrie because the sooner her and I forget each other the better.

Tell the boys about my good luck Al but it is not no luck neither because it was comeing to me.

Yours truly,      JACK.


Los Angeles, California, March 16.

AL: Here I am back with the White Sox again and it seems to good to be true because just like I told you they are all tickled to death to see me. Kid Gleason is here in charge of the 2d team and when he seen me come into the hotel he jumped up and hit me in the stumach but he acts like that whenever he feels good so I could not get sore at him though he had no right to hit me in the stumach. If he had of did it in ernest I would of walloped him in the jaw.

He says Well if here ain't the old lady killer. He ment Al that I am strong with the girls but I am all threw with them now but he don't know nothing about the troubles I had. He says Are you in shape? And I told him Yes I am. He says Yes you look in shape like a barrel. I says They is not no fat on me and if I am a little bit bigger than last year it is because my mussels is bigger. He says Yes your stumach mussels is emense and you must of gave them plenty of exercise. Wait till Bodie sees you and he will want to stick round you all the time because you make him look like a broom straw or something. I let him kid me along because what is the use of getting mad at him? And besides he is all O.K. even if he is a little rough.

I says to him A little work will fix me up all O.K. and he says You bet you are going to get some work because I am going to see to it myself. I says You will have to hurry because you will be going up to Frisco in a few days and I am going to stay here and join the 1st club. Then he says You are not going to do no such a thing. You are going right along with me. I knowed he was kidding me then because Callahan would not never leave me with the 2d team no more after what I done for him last year and besides most of the stars generally allways goes with the 1st team on the training trip.

Well I seen all the rest of the boys that is here with the 2d team and they all acted like as if they was glad to see me and why should not they be when they know that me being here with the White Sox and not with Detroit means that Callahan won't have to do no worrying about his pitching staff? But they is four or 5 young recrut pitchers with the team here and I bet they is not so glad to see me because what chance have they got?

If I was Comiskey and Callahan I would not spend no money on new pitchers because with me and 1 or 2 of the other boys we got the best pitching staff in the league. And instead of spending the money for new pitching recruts I would put it all in a lump and buy Ty Cobb or Sam Crawford off of Detroit or somebody else who can hit and Cobb and Crawford is both real hitters Al even if I did make them look like suckers. Who wouldn't?

Well Al to-morrow A.M. I am going out and work a little and in the P.M. I will watch the game between we and the Venice Club but I won't pitch none because Gleason would not dare take no chances of me hurting my arm. I will write to you in a few days from here because no matter what Gleason says I am going to stick here with the 1st team because I know Callahan will want me along with him for a attraction.

Your pal,      JACK.


San Francisco, California, March 20.

FRIEND AL: Well Al here I am back in old Frisco with the 2d team but I will tell you how it happened Al. Yesterday Gleason told me to pack up and get ready to leave Los Angeles with him and I says No I am going to stick here and wait for the 1st team and then he says I guess I must of overlooked something in the papers because I did not see nothing about you being appointed manager of the club. I says No I am not manager but Callahan is manager and he will want to keep me with him. He says I got a wire from Callahan telling me to keep you with my club but of coarse if you know what Callahan wants better than he knows it himself why then go ahead and stay here or go jump in the Pacific Ocean.

Then he says I know why you don't want to go with me and I says Why? And he says Because you know I will make you work and won't let you eat everything on the bill of fair includeing the name of the hotel at which we are stopping at. That made me sore and I was just going to call him when he says Did not you marry Mrs. Allen's sister? And I says Yes but that is not none of your business. Then he says Well I don't want to butt into your business but I heard you and your wife had some kind of a argument and she beat it. I says Yes she give me a rotten deal. He says Well then I don't see where it is going to be very pleasant for you traveling round with the 1st club because Allen and his wife is both with that club and what do you want to be mixed up with them for? I says I am not scared of Allen or his wife or no other old hen.

So here I am Al with the 2d team but it is only for a while till Callahan gets sick of some of them pitchers he has got and sends for me so as he can see some real pitching. And besides I am glad to be here in Frisco where I made so many friends when I was pitching here for a short time till Callahan heard about my work and called me back to the big show where I belong at and nowheres else.

Yours truly,      JACK.


San Francisco, California, March 25.

OLD PAL: Al I got a supprise for you. Who do you think I seen last night? Nobody but Hazel. Her name now is Hazel Levy because you know Al she married Kid Levy the middle-weight and I wish he was champion of the world Al because then it would not take me more than about a minute to be champion of the world myself. I have not got nothing against him though because he married her and if he had not of I probily would of married her myself but at that she could not of treated me no worse than Florrie. Well they was setting at a table in the cafe where her and I use to go pretty near every night. She spotted me when I first come in and sends a waiter over to ask me to come and have a drink with them. I went over because they was no use being nasty and let bygones be bygones.

She interduced me to her husband and he asked me what was I drinking. Then she butts in and says Oh you must let Mr. Keefe buy the drinks because it hurts his feelings to have somebody else buy the drinks. Then Levy says Oh he is one of these here spendrifts is he? and she says Yes he don't care no more about a nichol than his right eye does. I says I guess you have got no holler comeing on the way I spend my money. I don't steal no money anyway. She says What do you mean? and I says I guess you know what I mean. How about that $30.00 that you borrowed off of me and never give it back? Then her husband cuts in and says You cut that line of talk out or I will bust you. I says Yes you will. And he says Yes I will.

Well Al what was the use of me starting trouble with him when he has got enough trouble right to home and besides as I say I have not got nothing against him. So I got up and blowed away from the table and I bet he was relieved when he seen I was not going to start nothing. I beat it out of there a while afterward because I was not drinking nothing and I don't have no fun setting round a place and lapping up ginger ail or something. And besides the music was rotten.

Al I am certainly glad I throwed Hazel over because she has grew to be as big as a horse and is all painted up. I don't care nothing about them big dolls no more or about no other kind neither. I am off of them all. They can all of them die and I should not worry.

Well Al I done my first pitching of the year this P.M. and I guess I showed them that I was in just as good a shape as some of them birds that has been working a month. I worked 4 innings against my old team the San Francisco Club and I give them nothing but fast ones but they sure was fast ones and you could hear them zip. Charlie O'Leary was trying to get out of the way of one of them and it hit his bat and went over first base for a base hit but at that Fournier would of eat it up if it had of been Chase playing first base instead of Fournier.

That was the only hit they got off of me and they ought to of been ashamed to of tooken that one. But Gleason don't appresiate my work and him and I allmost come to blows at supper. I was pretty hungry and I ordered some stake and some eggs and some pie and some ice cream and some coffee and a glass of milk but Gleason would not let me have the pie or the milk and would not let me eat more than 1/2 the stake. And it is a wonder I did not bust him and tell him to mind his own business. I says What right have you got to tell me what to eat? And he says You don't need nobody to tell you what to eat you need somebody to keep you from floundering yourself. I says Why can't I eat what I want to when I have worked good?

He says Who told you you worked good and I says I did not need nobody to tell me. I know I worked good because they could not do nothing with me. He says Well it is a good thing for you that they did not start bunting because if you had of went to stoop over and pick up the ball you would of busted wide open. I says Why? and he says because you are hog fat and if you don't let up on the stable and fancy groceries we will have to pay 2 fairs to get you back to Chi. I don't remember now what I says to him but I says something you can bet on that. You know me Al.

I wish Al that Callahan would hurry up and order me to join the 1st team. If he don't Al I believe Gleason will starve me to death. A little slob like him don't realize that a big man like I needs good food and plenty of it.

Your pal,      JACK.


Salt Lake City, Utah, April 1.

AL: Well Al we are on our way East and I am still with the 2d team and I don't understand why Callahan don't order me to join the 1st team but maybe it is because he knows that I am all right and have got the stuff and he wants to keep them other guys round where he can see if they have got anything.

The recrut pitchers that is along with our club have not got nothing and the scout that reckommended them must of been full of hops or something. It is not no common thing for a club to pick up a man that has got the stuff to make him a star up here and the White Sox was pretty lucky to land me but I don't understand why they throw their money away on new pitchers when none of them is no good and besides who would want a better pitching staff than we got right now without no raw recruts and bushers.

I worked in Oakland the day before yesterday but he only let me go the 1st 4 innings. I bet them Oakland birds was glad when he took me out. When I was in that league I use to just throw my glove in the box and them Oakland birds was licked and honest Al some of them turned white when they seen I was going to pitch the other day.

I felt kind of sorry for them and I did not give them all I had so they got 5 or 6 hits and scored a couple of runs. I was not feeling very good at that and besides we got some awful excuses for a ball player on this club and the support they give me was the rottenest I ever seen gave anybody. But some of them won't be in this league more than about 10 minutes more so I should not fret as they say.

We play here this afternoon and I don't believe I will work because the team they got here is not worth wasteing nobody on. They must be a lot of boobs in this town Al because they tell me that some of them has got 1/2 a dozen wives or so. And what a man wants with 1 wife is a misery to me let alone a 1/2 dozen.

I will probily work against Denver because they got a good club and was champions of the Western League last year. I will make them think they are champions of the Epworth League or something.

Yours truly,      JACK.


Des Moines, Iowa, April 10.

FRIEND AL: We got here this A.M. and this is our last stop and we will be in old Chi to-morrow to open the season. The 1st team gets home to-day and I would be there with them if Callahan was a real manager who knowed something about manageing because if I am going to open the season I should ought to have 1 day of rest at home so I would have all my strenth to open the season. The Cleveland Club will be there to open against us and Callahan must know that I have got them licked any time I start against them.

As soon as my name is announced to pitch the Cleveland Club is licked or any other club when I am right and they don't kick the game away behind me.

Gleason told me on the train last night that I was going to pitch here to-day but I bet by this time he has got orders from Callahan to let me rest and to not give me no more work because suppose even if I did not start the game to-morrow I probily will have to finish it.

Gleason has been sticking round me like as if I had a million bucks or something. I can't even sit down and smoke a cigar but what he is there to knock the ashes off of it. He is O.K. and good-hearted if he is a little rough and keeps hitting me in the stumach but I wish he would leave me alone sometimes espesially at meals. He was in to breakfast with me this A.M. and after I got threw I snuck off down the street and got something to eat. That is not right because it costs me money when I have to go away from the hotel and eat and what right has he got to try and help me order my meals? Because he don't know what I want and what my stumach wants.

My stumach don't want to have him punching it all the time but he keeps on doing it. So that shows he don't know what is good for me. But is a old man Al otherwise I would not stand for the stuff he pulls. The 1st thing I am going to do when we get to Chi is I am going to a resturunt somewheres and get a good meal where Gleason or no one else can't get at me. I know allready what I am going to eat and that is a big stake and a apple pie and that is not all.

Well Al watch the papers and you will see what I done to that Cleveland Club and I hope Lajoie and Jackson is both in good shape because I don't want to pick on no cripples.

Your pal,      JACK.


Chicago, Illinois, April 16.

OLD PAL: Yesterday was the 1st pay day old pal and I know I promised to pay you what I owe you and it is $75.00 because when I asked you for $35.00 before I went West you only sent me $25.00 which makes the hole sum $75.00. Well Al I can't pay you now because the pay we drawed was only for 4 days and did not amount to nothing and I had to buy a meal ticket and fix up about my room rent.

And then they is another thing Al which I will tell you about. I come into the clubhouse the day the season opened and the 1st guy I seen was Allen. I was going up to bust him but he come up and held his hand out and what was they for me to do but shake hands with him if he is going to be yellow like that? He says Well Jack I am glad they did not send you to Milwaukee and I bet you will have a big year. I says Yes I will have a big year O.K. if you don't sick another 1 of your sister-in-laws on to me. He says Oh don't let they be no hard feelings about that. You know it was not no fault of mine and I bet if you was to write to Florrie everything could be fixed up O.K.

I says I don't want to write to no Florrie but I will get a attorney at law to write to her. He says You don't even know where she is at and I says I don't care where she is at. Where is she? He says She is down to her home in Waco, Texas, and if I was you I would write to her myself and not let no attorney at law write to her because that would get her mad and besides what do you want a attorney at law to write to her about? I says I am going to sew her for a bill of divorce.

Then he says On what grounds? and I says Dessertion. He says You better not do no such thing or she will sew you for a bill of divorce for none support and then you will look like a cheap guy. I says I don't care what I look like. So you see Al I had to send Florrie $10.00 or maybe she would be mean enough to sew me for a bill of divorce on the ground of none support and that would make me look bad.

Well Al, Allen told me his wife wanted to talk to me and try and fix things up between I and Florrie but I give him to understand that I would not stand for no meeting with his wife and he says Well suit yourself about that but they is no reason you and I should quarrel.

You see Al he don't want no mix-up with me because he knows he could not get nothing but the worst of it. I will be friends with him but I won't have nothing to do with Marie because if it had not of been for she and Florrie I would have money in the bank besides not being in no danger of getting sewed for none support.

I guess you must of read about Joe Benz getting married and I guess he must of got a good wife and 1 that don't bother him all the time because he pitched the opening game and shut Cleveland out with 2 hits. He was pretty good Al, better than I ever seen him and they was a couple of times when his fast ball was pretty near as fast as mine.

I have not worked yet Al and I asked Callahan to-day what was the matter and he says I was waiting for you to get in shape. I says I am in shape now and I notice that when I was pitching in practice this A.M. they did not hit nothing out of the infield. He says That was because you are so spread out that they could not get nothing past you. He says The way you are now you cover more ground than the grand stand. I says Is that so? And he walked away.

We go out on a trip to Cleveland and Detroit and St. Louis in a few days and maybe I will take my regular turn then because the other pitchers has been getting away lucky because most of the hitters has not got their batting eye as yet but wait till they begin hitting and then it will take a man like I to stop them.

The 1st of May is our next pay day Al and then I will have enough money so as I can send you the $75.00.

Your pal,      JACK.


Detroit, Michigan, April 28.

FRIEND AL: What do you think of a rotten manager that bawls me out and fines me $50.00 for loosing a 1 to 0 game in 10 innings when it was my 1st start this season? And no wonder I was a little wild in the 10th when I had not had no chance to work and get control. I got a good notion to quit this rotten club and jump to the Federals where a man gets some kind of treatment. Callahan says I throwed the game away on purpose but I did not do no such a thing Al because when I throwed that ball at Joe Hill's head I forgot that the bases was full and besides if Gleason had not of starved me to death the ball that hit him in the head would of killed him.

And how could a man go to 1st base and the winning run be forced in if he was dead which he should ought to of been the lucky left handed stiff if I had of had my full strenth to put on my fast one instead of being 1/2 starved to death and weak. But I guess I better tell you how it come off. The papers will get it all wrong like they generally allways does.

Callahan asked me this A.M. if I thought I was hard enough to work and I was tickled to death, because I seen he was going to give me a chance. I told him Sure I was in good shape and if them Tigers scored a run off me he could keep me setting on the bench the rest of the summer. So he says All right I am going to start you and if you go good maybe Gleason will let you eat some supper.

Well Al when I begin warming up I happened to look up in the grand stand and who do you think I seen? Nobody but Violet. She smiled when she seen me but I bet she felt more like crying. Well I smiled back at her because she probily would of broke down and made a seen or something if I had not of. They was not nobody warming up for Detroit when I begin warming up but pretty soon I looked over to their bench and Joe Hill Violet's husband was warming up. I says to myself Well here is where I show that bird up if they got nerve enough to start him against me but probily Jennings don't want to waste no real pitcher on this game which he knows we got cinched and we would of had it cinched Al if they had of got a couple of runs or even 1 run for me.

Well, Jennings come passed our bench just like he allways does and tried to pull some of his funny stuff. He says Hello are you still in the league? I says Yes but I come pretty near not being. I came pretty near being with Detroit. I wish you could of heard Gleason and Callahan laugh when I pulled that one on him. He says something back but it was not no hot comeback like mine.

Well Al if I had of had any work and my regular control I guess I would of pitched a 0 hit game because the only time they could touch me was when I had to ease up to get them over. Cobb was out of the game and they told me he was sick but I guess the truth is that he knowed I was going to pitch. Crawford got a couple of lucky scratch hits off of me because I got in the hole to him and had to let up. But the way that lucky left handed Hill got by was something awful and if I was as lucky as him I would quit pitching and shoot craps or something.

Our club can't hit nothing anyway. But batting against this bird was just like hitting fungos. His curve ball broke about 1/2 a inch and you could of wrote your name and address on his fast one while it was comeing up there. He had good control but who would not when they put nothing on the ball?

Well Al we could not get started against the lucky stiff and they could not do nothing with me even if my suport was rotten and I give a couple or 3 or 4 bases on balls but when they was men waiting to score I zipped them threw there so as they could not see them let alone hit them. Every time I come to the bench between innings I looked up to where Violet was setting and give her a smile and she smiled back and once I seen her clapping her hands at me after I had made Moriarty pop up in the pinch.

Well we come along to the 10th inning, 0 and 0, and all of a sudden we got after him. Bodie hits one and Schalk gets 2 strikes and 2 balls and then singles. Callahan tells Alcock to bunt and he does it but Hill sprawls all over himself like the big boob he is and the bases is full with nobody down. Well Gleason and Callahan argude about should they send somebody up for me or let me go up there and I says Let me go up there because I can murder this bird and Callahan says Well they is nobody out so go up and take a wallop.

Honest Al if this guy had of had anything at all I would of hit 1 out of the park, but he did not have even a glove. And how can a man hit pitching which is not no pitching at all but just slopping them up? When I went up there I hollered to him and says Stick 1 over here now you yellow stiff. And he says Yes I can stick them over allright and that is where I got something on you.

Well Al I hit a foul off of him that would of been a fare ball and broke up the game if the wind had not of been against it. Then I swung and missed a curve that I don't see how I missed it. The next 1 was a yard outside and this Evans calls it a strike. He has had it in for me ever since last year when he tried to get funny with me and I says something back to him that stung him. So he calls this 3d strike on me and I felt like murdering him. But what is the use?

I throwed down my bat and come back to the bench and I was glad Callahan and Gleason was out on the coaching line or they probily would of said something to me and I would of cut loose and beat them up. Well Al Weaver and Blackburne looked like a couple of rums up there and we don't score where we ought to of had 3 or 4 runs with any kind of hitting.

I would of been all O.K. in spite of that peace of rotten luck if this big Hill had of walked to the bench and not said nothing like a real pitcher. But what does he do but wait out there till I start for the box and I says Get on to the bench you lucky stiff or do you want me to hand you something? He says I don't want nothing more of yourn. I allready got your girl and your goat.

Well Al what do you think of a man that would say a thing like that? And nobody but a left hander could of. If I had of had a gun I would of killed him deader than a doornail or something. He starts for the bench and I hollered at him Wait till you get up to that plate and then I am going to bean you.

Honest Al I was so mad I could not see the plate or nothing. I don't even know who it was come up to bat 1st but whoever it was I hit him in the arm and he walks to first base. The next guy bunts and Chase tries to pull off 1 of them plays of hisn instead of playing safe and he don't get nobody. Well I kept getting madder and madder and I walks Stanage who if I had of been myself would not foul me.

Callahan has Scotty warming up and Gleason runs out from the bench and tells me I am threw but Callahan says Wait a minute he is going to let Hill hit and this big stiff ought to be able to get him out of the way and that will give Scotty a chance to get warm. Gleason says You better not take a chance because the big busher is hogwild, and they kept argueing till I got sick of listening to them and I went back to the box and got ready to pitch. But when I seen this Hill up there I forgot all about the ball game and I cut loose at his bean.

Well Al my control was all O.K. this time and I catched him square on the fourhead and he dropped like as if he had been shot. But pretty soon he gets up and gives me the laugh and runs to first base. I did not know the game was over till Weaver come up and pulled me off the field. But if I had not of been 1/2 starved to death and weak so as I could not put all my stuff on the ball you can bet that Hill never would of ran to first base and Violet would of been a widow and probily a lot better off than she is now. At that I never should ought to of tried to kill a lefthander by hitting him in the head.

Well Al they jumped all over me in the clubhouse and I had to hold myself back or I would of gave somebody the beating of their life. Callahan tells me I am fined $50.00 and suspended without no pay. I asked him What for and he says They would not be no use in telling you because you have not got no brains. I says Yes I have to got some brains and he says Yes but they is in your stumach. And then he says I wish we had of sent you to Milwaukee and I come back at him. I says I wish you had of.

Well Al I guess they is no chance of getting square treatment on this club and you won't be supprised if you hear of me jumping to the Federals where a man is treated like a man and not like no white slave.

Yours truly,      JACK.


Chicago, Illinois, May 2.

AL: I have got to disappoint you again Al. When I got up to get my pay yesterday they held out $150.00 on me. $50.00 of it is what I was fined for loosing a 1 to 0 10-inning game in Detroit when I was so weak that I should ought never to of been sent in there and the $100.00 is the advance money that I drawed last winter and which I had forgot all about and the club would of forgot about it to if they was not so tight fisted.

So you see all I get for 2 weeks' pay is about $80.00 and I sent $25.00 to Florrie so she can't come no none support business on me.

I am still suspended Al and not drawing no pay now and I got a notion to hire a attorney at law and force them to pay my salery or else jump to the Federals where a man gets good treatment.

Allen is still after me to come over to his flat some night and see his wife and let her talk to me about Florrie but what do I want to talk about Florrie for or talk about nothing to a nut left hander's wife?

The Detroit Club is here and Cobb is playing because he knows I am suspended but I wish Callahan would call it off and let me work against them and I would certainly love to work against this Joe Hill again and I bet they would be a different story this time because I been getting something to eat since we been home and I got back most of my strenth.

Your old pal,      JACK.


Chicago, Illinois, May 5.

FRIEND AL: Well Al if you been reading the papers you will know before this letter is received what I done. Before the Detroit Club come here Joe Hill had win 4 strate but he has not win no 5 strate or won't neither Al because I put a crimp in his winning streek just like I knowed I would do if I got a chance when I was feeling good and had all my strenth. Callahan asked me yesterday A.M. if I thought I had enough rest and I says Sure because I did not need no rest in the 1st place. Well, he says, I thought maybe if I layed you off a few days you would do some thinking and if you done some thinking once in a while you would be a better pitcher.

Well anyway I worked and I wish you could of saw them Tigers trying to hit me Cobb and Crawford incluseive. The 1st time Cobb come up Weaver catched a lucky line drive off of him and the next time I eased up a little and Collins run back and took a fly ball off of the fence. But the other times he come up he looked like a sucker except when he come up in the 8th and then he beat out a bunt but allmost anybody is liable to do that once in a while.

Crawford got a scratch hit between Chase and Blackburne in the 2d inning and in the 4th he was gave a three-base hit by this Evans who should ought to be writeing for the papers instead of trying to umpire. The ball was 2 feet foul and I bet Crawford will tell you the same thing if you ask him. But what I done to this Hill was awful. I give him my curve twice when he was up there in the 3d and he missed it a foot. Then I come with my fast ball right past his nose and I bet if he had not of ducked it would of drove that big horn of hisn clear up in the press box where them rotten reporters sits and smokes their hops. Then when he was looking for another fast one I slopped up my slow one and he is still swinging at it yet.

But the best of it was that I practally won my own game. Bodie and Schalk was on when I come up in the 5th and Hill hollers to me and says I guess this is where I shoot one of them bean balls. I says Go ahead and shoot and if you hit me in the head and I ever find it out I will write and tell your wife what happened to you. You see what I was getting at Al. I was insinuateing that if he beaned me with his fast one I would not never know nothing about it if somebody did not tell me because his fast one is not fast enough to hurt nobody even if it should hit them in the head. So I says to him Go ahead and shoot and if you hit me in the head and I ever find it out I will write and tell your wife what happened to you. See, Al?

Of coarse you could not hire me to write to Violet but I did not mean that part of it in ernest. Well sure enough he shot at my bean and I ducked out of the way though if it had of hit me it could not of did no more than tickle. He takes 2 more shots and misses me and then Jennings hollers from the bench What are you doing pitching or trying to win a cigar? So then Hill sees what a monkey he is makeing out of himself and tries to get one over, but I have him 3 balls and nothing and what I done to that groover was a plenty. She went over Bush's head like a bullet and got between Cobb and Veach and goes clear to the fence. Bodie and Schalk scores and I would of scored to if anybody else besides Cobb had of been chaseing the ball. I got 2 bases and Weaver scores me with another wallop.

Say, I wish I could of heard what they said to that baby on the bench. Callahan was tickled to death and he says Maybe I will give you back that $50.00 if you keep that stuff up. I guess I will get that $50.00 back next pay day and if I do Al I will pay you the hole $75.00.

Well Al I beat them 5 to 4 and with good support I would of held them to 1 run but what do I care as long as I beat them? I wish though that Violet could of been there and saw it.

Yours truly,      JACK.


Chicago, Illinois, May 29.

OLD PAL: Well Al I have not wrote to you for a long while but it is not because I have forgot you and to show I have not forgot you I am incloseing the $75.00 which I owe you. It is a money order Al and you can get it cashed by takeing it to Joe Higgins at the P.O.

Since I wrote to you Al I been East with the club and I guess you know what I done in the East. The Athaletics did not have no right to win that 1 game off of me and I will get them when they come here the week after next. I beat Boston and just as good as beat New York twice because I beat them 1 game all alone and then saved the other for Eddie Cicotte in the 9th inning and shut out the Washington Club and would of did the same thing if Johnson had of been working against me instead of this left handed stiff Boehling.

Speaking of left handers Allen has been going rotten and I would not be supprised if they sent him to Milwaukee or Frisco or somewheres.

But I got bigger news than that for you Al. Florrie is back and we are liveing together in the spair room at Allen's flat so I hope they don't send him to Milwaukee or nowheres else because it is not costing us nothing for room rent and this is no more than right after the way the Allens grafted off of us all last winter.

I bet you will be supprised to know that I and Florrie has made it up and they is a secret about it Al which I can't tell you now but maybe next month I will tell you and then you will be more supprised than ever. It is about I and Florrie and somebody else. But that is all I can tell you now.

We got in this A.M. Al and when I got to my room they was a slip of paper there telling me to call up a phone number so I called it up and it was Allen's flat and Marie answered the phone. And when I reckonized her voice I was going to hang up the phone but she says Wait a minute somebody wants to talk with you. And then Florrie come to the phone and I was going to hang up the phone again when she pulled this secret on me that I was telling you about.

So it is all fixed up between us Al and I wish I could tell you the secret but that will come later. I have tooken my baggage over to Allen's and I am there now writeing to you while Florrie is asleep. And after a while I am going out and mail this letter and get a glass of beer because I think I have got 1 comeing now on account of this secret. Florrie says she is sorry for the way she treated me and she cried when she seen me. So what is the use of me being nasty Al? And let bygones be bygones.

Your pal,      JACK.


Chicago, Illinois, June 16.

FRIEND AL: Al I beat the Athaletics 2 to 1 to-day but I am writeing to you to give you the supprise of your life. Old pal I got a baby and he is a boy and we are going to name him Allen which Florrie thinks is after his uncle and aunt Allen but which is after you old pal. And she can call him Allen but I will call him Al because I don't never go back on my old pals. The baby was born over to the hospital and it is going to cost me a bunch of money but I should not worry. This is the secret I was going to tell you Al and I am the happyest man in the world and I bet you are most as tickled to death to hear about it as I am.

The baby was born just about the time I was makeing McInnis look like a sucker in the pinch but they did not tell me nothing about it till after the game and then they give me a phone messige in the clubhouse. I went right over there and everything was all O.K. Little Al is a homely little skate but I guess all babys is homely and don't have no looks till they get older and maybe he will look like Florrie or I then I won't have no kick comeing.

Be sure and tell Bertha the good news and tell her everything has came out all right except that the rent man is still after me about that flat I had last winter. And I am still paying the old man $10.00 a month for that house you got for me and which has not never done me no good. But I should not worry about money when I got a real family. Do you get that Al, a real family?

Well Al I am to happy to do no more writeing to-night but I wanted you to be the 1st to get the news and I would of sent you a telegram only I did not want to scare you.

Your pal,      JACK.


Chicago, Illinois, July 2.

OLD PAL: Well old pal I just come back from St. Louis this A.M. and found things in pretty fare shape. Florrie and the baby is out to Allen's and we will stay there till I can find another place. The Dr. was out to look at the baby this A.M. and the baby was waveing his arm round in the air. And Florrie asked was they something the matter with him that he kept waveing his arm. And the Dr. says No he was just getting his exercise.

Well Al I noticed that he never waved his right arm but kept waveing his left arm and I asked the Dr. why was that. Then the Dr. says I guess he must be left handed. That made me sore and I says I guess you doctors don't know it all. And then I turned round and beat it out of the room.

Well Al it would be just my luck to have him left handed and Florrie should ought to of knew better than to name him after Allen. I am going to hire another Dr. and see what he has to say because they must be some way of fixing babys so as they won't be left handed. And if nessary I will cut his left arm off of him. Of coarse I would not do that Al. But how would I feel if a boy of mine turned out like Allen and Joe Hill and some of them other nuts?

We have a game with St. Louis to-morrow and a double header on the 4th of July. I guess probily Callahan will work me in one of the 4th of July games on account of the holiday crowd.

Your pal,      JACK.

P.S. Maybe I should ought to leave the kid left handed so as he can have some of their luck. The lucky stiffs.




Chapter V

The Busher's Kid


Chicago, Illinois, July 31.

FRIEND AL: Well Al what do you think of little Al now? But I guess I better tell you first what he done. Maybe you won't believe what I am telling you but did you ever catch me telling you a lie? I guess you know you did not Al. Well we got back from the East this A.M. and I don't have to tell you we had a rotten trip and if it had not of been for me beating Boston once and the Athaletics two times we would of been ashamed to come home.

I guess these here other pitchers thought we was haveing a vacation and when they go up in the office to-morrow to get there checks they should ought to be arrested if they take them. I would not go nowheres near Comiskey if I had not of did better than them others but I can go and get my pay and feel all O.K. about it because I done something to ern it.

Me loseing that game in Washington was a crime and Callahan says so himself. This here Weaver throwed it away for me and I would not be surprised if he done it from spitework because him and Scott is pals and probily he did not want to see me winning all them games when Scott was getting knocked out of the box. And no wonder when he has not got no stuff. I wish I knowed for sure that Weaver was throwing me down and if I knowed for sure I would put him in a hospital or somewheres.

But I was going to tell you what the kid done Al. So here goes. We are still liveing at Allen's and his wife. So I and him come home together from the train. Well Florrie and Marie was both up and the baby was up too -- that is he was not up but he was woke up. I beat it right into the room where he was at and Florrie come in with me. I says Hello Al and what do you suppose he done. Well Al he did not say Hello pa or nothing like that because he is not only one month old. But he smiled at me just like as if he was glad to see me and I guess maybe he was at that.

I was tickled to death and I says to Florrie Did you see that. And she says See what. I says The baby smiled at me. Then she says They is something the matter with his stumach. I says I suppose because a baby smiles that is a sign they is something the matter with his stumach and if he had the toothacke he would laugh. She says You think your smart but I am telling you that he was not smileing at all but he was makeing a face because they is something the matter with his stumach. I says I guess I know the difference if somebody is smileing or makeing a face. And she says I guess you don't know nothing about babys because you never had none before. I says How many have you had. And then she got sore and beat it out of the room.

I did not care because I wanted to be in there alone with him and see would he smile at me again. And sure enough Al he did. Then I called Allen in and when the baby seen him he begin to cry. So you see I was right and Florrie was wrong. It don't take a man no time at all to get wise to these babys and it don't take them long to know if a man is there father or there uncle.

When he begin to cry I chased Allen out of the room and called Florrie because she should ought to know by this time how to make him stop crying. But she was still sore and she says Let him cry or if you know so much about babys make him stop yourself. I says Maybe he is sick. And she says I was just telling you that he had a pane in his stumach or he would not of made that face that you said was smileing at you.

I says Do you think we should ought to call the doctor but she says No if you call the doctor every time he has the stumach acke you might just as well tell him he should bring his trunk along and stay here. She says All babys have collect and they is not no use fusing about it but come and get your breakfast.

Well Al I did not injoy my breakfast because the baby was crying all the time and I knowed he probily wanted I should come in and visit with him. So I just eat the prunes and drunk a little coffee and did not wait for the rest of it and sure enough when I went back in our room and started talking to him he started smileing again and pretty soon he went to sleep so you see Al he was smileing and not makeing no face and that was a hole lot of bunk about him haveing the collect. But I don't suppose I should ought to find fault with Florrie for not knowing no better because she has not never had no babys before but still and all I should think she should ought to of learned something about them by this time or ask somebody.

Well Al little Al is woke up again and is crying and I just about got time to fix him up and get him asleep again and then I will have to go to the ball park because we got a poseponed game to play with Detroit and Callahan will probily want me to work though I pitched the next to the last game in New York and would of gave them a good beating except for Schalk dropping that ball at the plate but I got it on these Detroit babys and when my name is announced to pitch they feel like forfiting the game. I won't try for no strike out record because I want them to hit the first ball and get the game over with quick so as I can get back here and take care of little Al.

Your pal,      JACK.

P.S. Babys is great stuff Al and if I was you I would not wait no longer but would hurry up and adopt 1 somewheres.


Chicago, Illinois, August 15.

OLD PAL: What do you think Al. Kid Gleason is comeing over to the flat and look at the baby the day after to-morrow when we don't have no game skeduled but we have to practice in the A.M. because we been going so rotten. I had a hard time makeing him promise to come but he is comeing and I bet he will be glad he come when he has came. I says to him in the clubhouse Do you want to see a real baby? And he says You're real enough for me Boy.

I says No I am talking about babys. He says Oh I thought you was talking about ice cream soda or something. I says No I want you to come over to the flat to-morrow and take a look at my kid and tell me what you think of him. He says I can tell you what I think of him without takeing no look at him. I think he is out of luck. I says What do you mean out of luck. But he just laughed and would not say no more.

I asked him again would he come over to the flat and look at the baby and he says he had troubles enough without that and kidded along for a while but finally he seen I was in ernest and then he says he would come if I would keep the missus out of the room while he was there because he says if she seen him she would probily be sorry she married me.

He was just jokeing and I did not take no excepshun to his remarks because Florrie could not never fall for him after seeing me because he is not no big stropping man like I am but a little runt and look at how old he is. But I am glad he is comeing because he will think more of me when he sees what a fine baby I got though he thinks a hole lot of me now because look what I done for the club and where would they be at if I had jumped to the Federal like I once thought I would. I will tell you what he says about little Al and I bet he will say he never seen no prettyer baby but even if he don't say nothing at all I will know he is kidding.

The Boston Club comes here to-morrow and plays 4 days includeing the day after to-morrow when they is not no game. So on account of the off day maybe I will work twice against them and if I do they will wish the grounds had of burned down.

Yours truly,      JACK.


Chicago, Illinois, August 17.

AL: Well old pal what did I tell you about what I would do to that Boston Club? And now Al I have beat every club in the league this year because yesterday was the first time I beat the Boston Club this year but now I have beat all of them and most of them severel times.

This should ought to of gave me a record of 16 wins and 0 defeats because the only games I lost was throwed away behind me but instead of that my record is 10 games win and 6 defeats and that don't include the games I finished up and helped the other boys win which is about 6 more alltogether but what do I care about my record Al? because I am not the kind of man that is allways thinking about there record and playing for there record while I am satisfied if I give the club the best I got and if I win all O.K. And if I lose who's fault is it. Not mine Al.

I asked Callahan would he let me work against the Boston Club again before they go away and he says I guess I will have to because you are going better than anybody else on the club. So you see Al he is beginning to appresiate my work and from now on I will pitch in my regular turn and a hole lot offtener then that and probily Comiskey will see the stuff I am made from and will raise my salery next year even if he has got me signed for 3 years and for the same salery I am getting now.

But all that is not what I was going to tell you Al and what I was going to tell you was about Gleason comeing to see the baby and what he thought about him. I sent Florrie and Marie downtown and says I would take care of little Al and they was glad to go because Florrie says she should ought to buy some new shoes though I don't see what she wants of no new shoes when she is going to be tied up in the flat for a long time yet on account of the baby and nobody cares if she wears shoes in the flat or goes round in her bear feet. But I was glad to get rid of the both of them for a while because little Al acts better when they is not no women round and you can't blame him.

The baby was woke up when Gleason come in and I and him went right in the room where he was laying. Gleason takes a look at him and says Well that is a mighty fine baby and you must of boughten him. I says What do you mean? And he says I don't believe he is your own baby because he looks humaner than most babys. And I says Why should not he look human. And he says Why should he.

Then he goes to work and picks the baby right up and I was a-scared he would drop him because even I have not never picked him up though I am his father and would be a-scared of hurting him. I says Here, don't pick him up and he says Why not? He says Are you going to leave him on that there bed the rest of his life? I says No but you don't know how to handle him. He says I have handled a hole lot bigger babys than him or else Callahan would not keep me.

Then he starts patting the baby's head and I says Here, don't do that because he has got a soft spot in his head and you might hit it. He says I thought he was your baby and I says Well he is my baby and he says Well then they can't be no soft spot in his head. Then he lays little Al down because he seen I was in ernest and as soon as he lays him down the baby begins to cry. Then Gleason says See he don't want me to lay him down and I says Maybe he has got a pane in his stumach and he says I would not be supprised because he just took a good look at his father.

But little Al did not act like as if he had a pane in his stumach and he kept sticking his finger in his mouth and crying. And Gleason says He acts like as if he had a toothacke. I says How could he have a toothacke when he has not got no teeth? He says That is easy. I have saw a lot of pitchers complane that there arm was sore when they did not have no arm.

Then he asked me what was the baby's name and I told him Allen but that he was not named after my brother-in-law Allen. And Gleason says I should hope not. I should hope you would have better sense then to name him after a left hander. So you see Al he don't like them no better then I do even if he does jolly Allen and Russell along and make them think they can pitch.

Pretty soon he says What are you going to make out of him, a ball player? I says Yes I am going to make a hitter out of him so as he can join the White Sox and then maybe they will get a couple of runs once in a while. He says If I was you I would let him pitch and then you won't have to give him no educasion. Besides, he says, he looks now like he would divellop into a grate spitter.

Well I happened to look out of the window and seen Florrie and Marie comeing acrost Indiana Avenue and I told Gleason about it. And you ought to of seen him run. I asked him what was his hurry and he says it was in his contract that he was not to talk to no women but I knowed he was kidding because I allready seen him talking to severel of the players' wifes when they was on trips with us and they acted like as if they thought he was a regular comeedion though they really is not nothing funny about what he says only it is easy to make women laugh when they have not got no grouch on about something.

Well Al I am glad Gleason has saw the baby and maybe he will fix it with Callahan so as I won't have to go to morning practice every A.M. because I should ought to be home takeing care of little Al when Florrie is washing the dishs or helping Marie round the house. And besides why should I wear myself all out in practice because I don't need to practice pitching and I could hit as well as the rest of the men on our club if I never seen no practice.

After we get threw with Boston, Washington comes here and then we go to St. Louis and Cleveland and then come home and then go East again. And after that we are pretty near threw except the city serious. Callahan is not going to work me no more after I beat Boston again till it is this here Johnson's turn to pitch for Washington. And I hope it is not his turn to work the 1st game of the serious because then I would not have no rest between the last game against Boston and the 1st game against Washington.

But rest or no rest I will work against this here Johnson and show him up for giveing me that trimming in Washington, the lucky stiff. I wish I had a team like the Athaletics behind me and I would loose about 1 game every 6 years and then they would have to get all the best of it from these rotten umpires.

Your pal,      JACK.


New York, New York, September 16.

FRIEND AL: Al it is not no fun running round the country no more and I wish this dam trip was over so as I could go home and see how little Al is getting along because Florrie has not wrote since we was in Philly which was the first stop on this trip. I am a-scared they is something the matter with the little fellow or else she would of wrote but then if they was something the matter with him she would of sent me a telegram or something and let me know.

So I guess they can't be nothing the matter with him. Still and all I don't see why she has not wrote when she knows or should ought to know that I would be worrying about the baby. If I don't get no letter to-morrow I am going to send her a telegram and ask her what is the matter with him because I am positive she would of wrote if they was not something the matter with him.

The boys has been trying to get me to go out nights and see a show or something but I have not got no heart to go to shows. And besides Callahan has not gave us no pass to no show on this trip. I guess probily he is sore on account of the rotten way the club has been going but still he should ought not to be sore on me because I have win 3 out of my last 4 games and would of win the other if he had not of started me against them with only 1 day's rest and the Athaletics at that, who a man should ought not to pitch against if he don't feel good.

I asked Allen if he had heard from Marie and he says Yes he did but she did not say nothing about little Al except that he was keeping her awake nights balling. So maybe Al if little Al is balling they is something wrong with him. I am going to send Florrie a telegram to-morrow -- that is if I don't get no letter.

If they is something the matter with him I will ask Callahan to send me home and he won't want to do it neither because who else has he got that is a regular winner. But if little Al is sick and Callahan won't let me go home I will go home anyway. You know me Al.

Yours truly,      JACK.


Boston, Massachusetts, September 24.

AL: I bet if Florrie was a man she would be a left hander. What do you think she done now Al? I sent her a telegram from New York when I did not get no letter from her and she did not pay no atension to the telegram. Then when we got up here I sent her another telegram and it was not more then five minutes after I sent the 2d telegram till I got a letter from her. And it said the baby was all O.K. but she had been so busy takeing care of him that she had not had no time to write.

Well when I got the letter I chased out to see if I could catch the boy who had took my telegram but he had went allready so I was spending $.60 for nothing. Then what does Florrie do but send me a telegram after she got my second telegram and tell me that little Al is all O.K., which I knowed all about then because I had just got her letter. And she sent her telegram c. o. d. and I had to pay for it at this end because she had not paid for it and that was $.60 more but I bet if I had of knew what was in the telegram before I read it I would of told the boy to keep it and would not of gave him no $.60 but how did I know if little Al might not of tooken sick after Florrie had wrote the letter?

I am going to write and ask her if she is trying to send us both to the Poor House or somewheres with her telegrams. I don't care nothing about the $.60 but I like to see a woman use a little judgement though I guess that is impossable.

It is my turn to work to-day and to-night we start West but we have got to stop off at Cleveland on the way. I have got a nosion to ask Callahan to let me go right on threw to Chi if I win to-day and not stop off at no Cleveland but I guess they would not be no use because I have got that Cleveland Club licked the minute I put on my glove. So probily Callahan will want me with him though it don't make no difference if we win or lose now because we have not got no chance for the pennant. One man can't win no pennant Al I don't care who he is.

Your pal,      JACK.


Chicago, Illinois, October 2.

FRIEND AL: Well old pal I am all threw till the city serious and it is all fixed up that I am going to open the serious and pitch 3 of the games if nessary. The club has went to Detroit to wind up the season and Callahan did not take me along but left me here with a couple other pitchers and Billy Sullivan and told me all as I would have to do was go over to the park the next 3 days and warm up a little so as to keep in shape. But I don't need to be in no shape to beat them Cubs Al. But it is a good thing Al that Allen was tooken on the trip to Detroit or I guess I would of killed him. He has not been going good and he has been acting and talking nasty to everybody because he can't win no games.

Well the 1st night we was home after the trip little Al was haveing a bad night and was balling pretty hard and they could not nobody in the flat get no sleep. Florrie says he was haveing the collect and I says Why should he have the collect all the time when he did not drink nothing but milk? She says she guessed the milk did not agree with him and upsetted his stumach. I says Well he must take after his mother if his stumach gets upsetted every time he takes a drink because if he took after his father he could drink a hole lot and not never be effected. She says You should ought to remember he has only got a little stumach and not a great big resservoire. I says Well if the milk don't agree with him why don't you give him something else? She says Yes I suppose I should ought to give him weeny worst or something.

Allen must of heard us talking because he hollered something and I did not hear what it was so I told him to say it over and he says Give the little X-eyed brat poison and we would all be better off. I says You better take poison yourself because maybe a rotten pitcher like you could get by in the league where you're going when you die. Then I says Besides I would rather my baby was X-eyed then to have him left handed. He says It is better for him that he is X-eyed or else he might get a good look at you and then he would shoot himself. I says Is that so? and he shut up. Little Al is not no more X-eyed than you or I are Al and that was what made me sore because what right did Allen have to talk like that when he knowed he was lying?

Well the next morning Allen nor I did not speak to each other and I seen he was sorry for the way he had talked and I was willing to fix things up because what is the use of staying sore at a man that don't know no better.

But all of a sudden he says When are you going to pay me what you owe me? I says What do you mean? And he says You been liveing here all summer and I been paying all the bills. I says Did not you and Marie ask us to come here and stay with you and it would not cost us nothing. He says Yes but we did not mean it was a life sentence. You are getting more money than me and you don't never spend a nichol. All I have to do is pay the rent and buy your food and it would take a millionare or something to feed you.

Then he says I would not make no holler about you grafting off of me if that brat would shut up nights and give somebody a chance to sleep. I says You should ought to get all the sleep you need on the bench. Besides, I says, who done the grafting all last winter and without no invatation? If he had of said another word I was going to bust him but just then Marie come in and he shut up.

The more I thought about what he said and him a rotten left hander that should ought to be hussling freiht the more madder I got and if he had of opened his head to me the last day or 2 before he went to Detroit I guess I would of finished him. But Marie stuck pretty close to the both of us when we was together and I guess she knowed they was something in the air and did not want to see her husband get the worst of it though if he was my husband and I was a woman I would push him under a st. car.

But Al I won't even stand for him saying that I am grafting off of him and I and Florrie will get away from here and get a flat of our own as soon as the city serious is over. I would like to bring her and the kid down to Bedford for the winter but she wont listen to that.

I allmost forgot Al to tell you to be sure and thank Bertha for the little dress she made for little Al. I don't know if it will fit him or not because Florrie has not yet tried it on him yet and she says she is going to use it for a dishrag but I guess she is just kidding.

I suppose you seen where Callahan took me out of that game down to Cleveland but it was not because I was not going good Al but it was because Callahan seen he was makeing a mistake wasteing me on that bunch who allmost any pitcher could beat. They beat us that game at that but only by one run and it was not no fault of mine because I was tooken out before they got the run that give them the game.

Your old pal,      JACK.


Chicago, Illinois, October 4.

FRIEND AL: Well Al the club winds up the season at Detroit to-morrow and the serious starts the day after to-morrow and I will be in there giveing them a battle. I wish I did not have nobody but the Cubs to pitch against all season and you bet I would have a record that would make Johnson and Mathewson and some of them other swell heads look like a dirty doose.

I and Florrie and Marie has been haveing a argument about how could Florrie go and see the city serious games when they is not nobody here that can take care of the baby because Marie wants to go and see the games to even though they is not no more chance of Callahan starting Allen than a rabbit or something.

Florrie and Marie says I should ought to hire a nurse to take care of little Al and Florrie got pretty sore when I told her nothing doing because in the first place I can't afford to pay no nurse a salery and in the second place I would not trust no nurse to take care of the baby because how do I know the nurse is not nothing but a grafter or a dope fiend maybe and should ought not to be left with the baby?

Of coarse Florrie wants to see me pitch and a man can't blame her for that but I won't leave my baby with no nurse Al and Florrie will have to stay home and I will tell her what I done when I get there. I might of gave my consent to haveing a nurse at that if it had not of been for the baby getting so sick last night when I was takeing care of him while Florrie and Marie and Allen was out to a show and if I had not of been home they is no telling what would of happened. It is a cinch that none of them bonehead nurses would of knew what to do.

Allen must of been out of his head because right after supper he says he would take the 2 girls to a show. I says All right go on and I will take care of the baby. Then Florrie says Do you think you can take care of him all O.K.? And I says Have not I tooken care of him before allready? Well, she says, I will leave him with you only don't run in to him every time he cries. I says Why not? And she says Because it is good for him to cry. I says You have not got no heart or you would not talk that way.

They all give me the laugh but I let them get away with it because I am not picking no fights with girls and why should I bust this Allen when he don't know no better and has not got no baby himself. And I did not want to do nothing that would stop him takeing the girls to a show because it is time he spent a peace of money on somebody.

Well they all went out and I went in on the bed and played with the baby. I wish you could of saw him Al because he is old enough now to do stunts and he smiled up at me and waved his arms and legs round and made a noise like as if he was trying to say Pa. I did not think Florrie had gave him enough covers so I rapped him up in some more and took a blanket off of the big bed and stuck it round him so as he could not kick his feet out and catch cold.

I thought once or twice he was going off to sleep but all of a sudden he begin to cry and I seen they was something wrong with him. I gave him some hot water but that made him cry again and I thought maybe he was to cold yet so I took another blanket off of Allen's bed and wrapped that round him but he kept on crying and trying to kick inside the blankets. And I seen then that he must have collect or something.

So pretty soon I went to the phone and called up our regular Dr. and it took him pretty near a hour to get there and the baby balling all the time. And when he come he says they was nothing the matter except that the baby was to hot and told me to take all them blankets off of him and then soaked me 2 dollars. I had a nosion to bust his jaw. Well pretty soon he beat it and then little Al begin crying again and kept getting worse and worse so finally I got a-scared and run down to the corner where another Dr. is at and I brung him up to see what was the matter but he said he could not see nothing the matter but he did not charge me a cent so I thought he was not no robber like our regular doctor even if he was just as much of a boob.

The baby did not cry none while he was there but the minute he had went he started crying and balling again and I seen they was not no use of fooling no longer so I looked around the house and found the medicine the doctor left for Allen when he had a stumach acke once and I give the baby a little of it in a spoon but I guess he did not like the taste because he hollered like a Indian and finally I could not stand it no longer so I called that second Dr. back again and this time he seen that the baby was sick and asked me what I had gave it and I told him some stumach medicine and he says I was a fool and should ought not to of gave the baby nothing. But while he was talking the baby stopped crying and went off to sleep so you see what I done for him was the right thing to do and them doctors was both off of there nut.

This second Dr. soaked me 2 dollars the 2d time though he had not did no more than when he was there the 1st time and charged me nothing but they is all a bunch of robbers Al and I would just as leave trust a policeman.

Right after the baby went to sleep Florrie and Marie and Allen come home and I told Florrie what had came off but instead of giveing me credit she says If you want to kill him why don't you take a ax? Then Allen butts in and says Why don't you take a ball and throw it at him? Then I got sore and I says Well if I did hit him with a ball I would kill him while if you was to throw that fast ball of yours at him and hit him in the head he would think the musketoes was biteing him and brush them off. But at that, I says, you could not hit him with a ball except you was aiming at something else.

I guess they was no comeback to that so him and Marie went to there room. Allen should ought to know better than to try and get the best of me by this time and I would shut up anyway if I was him after getting sent home from Detroit with some of the rest of them when he only worked 3 innings up there and they had to take him out or play the rest of the game by electrick lights.

I wish you could be here for the serious Al but you would have to stay at a hotel because we have not got no spair room and it would cost you a hole lot of money. But you can watch the papers and you will see what I done.

Yours truly,      JACK.


Chicago, Illinois, October 6.

DEAR OLD PAL: Probily before you get this letter you will of saw by the paper that we was licked in the first game and that I was tooken out but the papers don't know what really come off so I am going to tell you and you can see for yourself if it was my fault.

I did not never have no more stuff in my life then when I was warming up and I seen the Cubs looking over to our bench and shakeing there heads like they knowed they did not have no chance. O'Day was going to start Cheney who is there best bet and had him warming up but when he seen the smoke I had when I and Schalk was warming up he changed his mind because what was the use of useing his best pitcher when I had all that stuff and it was a cinch that no club in the world could score a run off of me when I had all that stuff?

So he told a couple others to warm up to and when my name was announced to pitch Cheney went and set on the bench and this here lefthander Pierce was announced for them.

Well Al you will see by the paper where I sent there 1st 3 batters back to the bench to get a drink of water and all 3 of them good hitters Leach and Good and this here Saier that hits a hole lot of home runs but would not never hit one off of me if I was O.K. Well we scored a couple in our half and the boys on the bench all says Now you got enough to win easy because they won't never score none off of you.

And they was right to because what chance did they have if this thing that I am going to tell you about had not of happened? We goes along seven innings and only 2 of there men had got to 1st base one of them on a bad peg of Weaver's and the other one I walked because this blind Evans don't know a ball from a strike. We had not did no more scoreing off of Pierce not because he had no stuff but because our club could not take a ball in there hands and hit it out of the infield.

Well Al I did not tell you that before I come out to the park I kissed little Al and Florrie good by and Marie says she was going to stay home to and keep Florrie Co. and they was not no reason for Marie to come to the game anyway because they was not a chance in the world for Allen to do nothing but hit fungos. Well while I was doing all this here swell pitching and makeing them Cubs look like a lot of rummys I was thinking about little Al and Florrie and how glad they would be when I come home and told them what I done though of coarse little Al is not only a little over 3 months of age and how could he appresiate what I done? But Florrie would.

Well Al when I come in to the bench after there 1/2 of the 7th I happened to look up to the press box to see if the reporters had gave Schulte a hit on that one Weaver throwed away and who do you think I seen in a box right alongside of the press box? It was Florrie and Marie and both of them claping there hands and hollering with the rest of the bugs.

Well old pal I was never so supprised in my life and it just took all the heart out of me. What was they doing there and what had they did with the baby? How did I know that little Al was not sick or maybe dead and balling his head off and nobody round to hear him?

I tried to catch Florrie's eyes but she would not look at me. I hollered her name and the bugs looked at me like as if I was crazy and I was to Al. Well I seen they was not no use of standing out there in front of the stand so I come into the bench and Allen was setting there and I says Did you know your wife and Florrie was up there in the stand? He says No and I says What are they doing here? And he says What would they be doing here -- mending there stockings? I felt like busting him and I guess he seen I was mad because he got up off of the bench and beat it down to the corner of the field where some of the others was getting warmed up though why should they have anybody warming up when I was going so good?

Well Al I made up my mind that ball game or no ball game I was not going to have little Al left alone no longer and I seen they was not no use of sending word to Florrie to go home because they was a big crowd and it would take maybe 15 or 20 minutes for somebody to get up to where she was at. So I says to Callahan You have got to take me out. He says What is the matter? Is your arm gone? I says No my arm is not gone but my baby is sick and home all alone. He says Where is your wife? And I says She is setting up there in the stand.

Then he says How do you know your baby is sick? And I says I don't know if he is sick or not but he is left home all alone. He says Why don't you send your wife home? And I says I could not get word to her in time. He says Well you have only got two innings to go and the way your going the game will be over in 10 minutes. I says Yes and before 10 minutes is up my baby might die and are you going to take me out or not? He says Get in there and pitch you yellow dog and if you don't I will take your share of the serious money away from you.

By this time our part of the inning was over and I had to go out there and pitch some more because he would not take me out and he has not got no heart Al. Well Al how could I pitch when I kept thinking maybe the baby was dying right now and maybe if I was home I could do something? And instead of paying attension to what I was doing I was thinking about little Al and looking up there to where Florrie and Marie was setting and before I knowed what come off they had the bases full and Callahan took me out.

Well Al I run to the clubhouse and changed my cloths and beat it for home and I did not even hear what Callahan and Gleason says to me when I went by them but I found out after the game that Scott went in and finished up and they batted him pretty hard and we was licked 3 and 2.

When I got home the baby was crying but he was not all alone after all Al because they was a little girl about 14 years of age there watching him and Florrie had hired her to take care of him so as her and Marie could go and see the game. But just think Al of leaveing little Al with a girl 14 years of age that did not never have no babys of her own! And what did she know about takeing care of him? Nothing Al.

You should ought to of heard me ball Florrie out when she got home and I bet she cried pretty near enough to flood the basemunt. We had it hot and heavy and the Allens butted in but I soon showed them where they was at and made them shut there mouth.

I had a good nosion to go out and get a hole lot of drinks and was just going to put on my hat when the doorbell rung and there was Kid Gleason. I thought he would be sore and probily try to ball me out and I was not going to stand for nothing but instead of balling me out he come and shook hands with me and interduced himself to Florrie and asked how was little Al.

Well we all set down and Gleason says the club was depending on me to win the serious because I was in the best shape of all the pitchers. And besides the Cubs could not never hit me when I was right and he was telling the truth to.

So he asked me if I would stand for the club hireing a train nurse to stay with the baby the rest of the serious so as Florrie could go and see her husband win the serious but I says No I would not stand for that and Florrie's place was with the baby.

So Gleason and Florrie goes out in the other room and talks a while and I guess he was persuadeing her to stay home because pretty soon they come back in the room and says it was all fixed up and I would not have to worry about little Al the rest of the serious but could give the club the best I got. Gleason just left here a little while ago and I won't work to-morrow Al but I will work the day after and you will see what I can do when I don't have nothing to worry me.

Your pal,      JACK.


Chicago, Illinois, October 8.

OLD PAL: Well old pal we got them 2 games to one now and the serious is sure to be over in three more days because I can pitch 2 games in that time if nessary. I shut them out to-day and they should ought not to of had four hits but should ought to of had only 2 but Bodie don't cover no ground and 2 fly balls that he should ought to of eat up fell safe.

But I beat them anyway and Benz beat them yesterday but why should he not beat them when the club made 6 runs for him? All they made for me was three but all I needed was one because they could not hit me with a shuvvel. When I come to the bench after the 5th inning they was a note there for me from the boy that answers the phone at the ball park and it says that somebody just called up from the flat and says the baby was asleep and getting along fine. So I felt good Al and I was better then ever in the 6th.

When I got home Florrie and Marie was both there and asked me how did the game come out because I beat Allen home and I told them all about what I done and I bet Florrie was proud of me but I supose Marie is a little jellus because how could she help it when Callahan is depending on me to win the serious and her husband is wearing out the wood on the bench? But why should she be sore when it is me that is winning the serious for them? And if it was not for me Allen and all the rest of them would get about $500.00 apeace instead of the winners' share which is about $750.00 apeace.

Cicotte is going to work to-morrow and if he is lucky maybe he can get away with the game and that will leave me to finish up the day after to-morrow but if nessary I can go in to-morrow when they get to hitting Cicotte and stop them and then come back the following day and beat them again. Where would this club be at Al if I had of jumped to the Federal?

Yours truly,      JACK.


Chicago, Illinois, October 11.

FRIEND AL: We done it again Al and I guess the Cubs won't never want to play us again not so long as I am with the club. Before you get this letter you will know what we done and who done it but probily you could of guessed that Al without seeing no paper.

I got 2 more of them phone messiges about the baby dureing the game and I guess that was what made me so good because I knowed then that Florrie was takeing care of him but I could not help feeling sorry for Florrie because she is a bug herself and it must of been pretty hard for her to stay away from the game espesially when she knowed I was going to pitch and she has been pretty good to sacrifice her own plesure for little Al.

Cicotte was knocked out of the box the day before yesterday and then they give this here Faber a good beating but I wish you could of saw what they done to Allen when Callahan sent him in after the game was gone allready. Honest Al if he had not of been my brother in law I would of felt like laughing at him because it looked like as if they would have to call the fire department to put the side out. They had Bodie and Collins hollering for help and with there tongue hanging out from running back to the fence.

Anyway the serious is all over and I won't have nothing to do but stay home and play with little Al but I don't know yet where my home is going to be at because it is a cinch I won't stay with Allen no longer. He has not came home since the game and I suppose he is out somewheres lapping up some beer and spending some of the winner's share of the money which he would not of had no chance to get in on if it had not of been for me.

I will write and let you know my plans for the winter and I wish Florrie would agree to come to Bedford but nothing doing Al and after her staying home and takeing care of the baby instead of watching me pitch I can't be too hard on her but must leave her have her own way about something.

Your pal,      JACK.


Chicago, Illinois, October 13.

AL: I am all threw with Florrie Al and I bet when you hear about it you won't say it was not no fault of mine but no man liveing who is any kind of a man would act different from how I am acting if he had of been decieved like I been.

Al Florrie and Marie was out to all them games and was not home takeing care of the baby at all and it is not her fault that little Al is not dead and that he was not killed by the nurse they hired to take care of him while they went to the games when I thought they was home takeing care of the baby. And all them phone messiges was just fakes and maybe the baby was sick all the time I was winning them games and balling his head off instead of being asleep like they said he was.

Allen did not never come home at all the night before last and when he come in yesterday he was a sight and I says to him Where have you been? And he says I have been down to the Y.M.C.A. but that is not none of your business. I says Yes you look like as if you had been to the Y.M.C.A. and I know where you have been and you have been out lushing beer. And he says Suppose I have and what are you going to do about it? And I says Nothing but you should ought to be ashamed of yourself and leaveing Marie here while you was out lapping up beer.

Then he says Did you not leave Florrie home while you was getting away with them games, you lucky stiff? And I says Yes but Florrie had to stay home and take care of the baby but Marie don't never have to stay home because where is your baby? You have not got no baby. He says I would not want no X-eyed baby like yourn. Then he says So you think Florrie stayed to home and took care of the baby do you? And I says What do you mean? And he says You better ask her.

So when Florrie come in and heard us talking she busted out crying and then I found out what they put over on me. It is a wonder Al that I did not take some of that cheap furniture them Allens got and bust it over there heads, Allen and Florrie. This is what they done Al. The club give Florrie $50.00 to stay home and take care of the baby and she said she would and she was to call up every so often and tell me the baby was all O.K. But this here Marie told her she was a sucker so she hired a nurse for part of the $50.00 and then her and Marie went to the games and beat it out quick after the games was over and come home in a taxicab and chased the nurse out before I got home.

Well Al when I found out what they done I grabbed my hat and goes out and got some drinks and I was so mad I did not know where I was at or what come off and I did not get home till this A.M. And they was all asleep and I been asleep all day and when I woke up Marie and Allen was out but Florrie and I have not spoke to each other and I won't never speak to her again.

But I know now what I am going to do Al and I am going to take little Al and beat it out of here and she can sew me for a bill of divorce and I should not worry because I will have little Al and I will see that he is tooken care of because I guess I can hire a nurse as well as they can and I will pick out a train nurse that knows something. Maybe I and him and the nurse will come to Bedford Al but I don't know yet and I will write and tell you as soon as I make up my mind. Did you ever hear of a man getting a rottener deal Al? And after what I done in the serious too.

Your pal,      JACK.


Chicago, Illinois, October 17.

OLD PAL: I and Florrie has made it up Al but we are threw with Marie and Allen and I and Florrie and the baby is staying at a hotel here on Cottage Grove Avenue the same hotel we was at when we got married only of coarse they was only the 2 of us then.

And now Al I want to ask you a favor and that is for you to go and see old man Cutting and tell him I want to ree-new the lease on that house for another year because I and Florrie has decided to spend the winter in Bedford and she will want to stay there and take care of little Al while I am away on trips next summer and not stay in no high-price flat up here. And may be you and Bertha can help her round the house when I am not there.

I will tell you how we come to fix things up Al and you will see that I made her apollojize to me and after this she will do what I tell her to and won't never try to put nothing over. We was eating breakfast -- I and Florrie and Marie. Allen was still asleep yet because I guess he must of had a bad night and he was snoreing so as you could hear him in the next st. I was not saying nothing to nobody but pretty soon Florrie says to Marie I don't think you and Allen should ought to kick on the baby crying when Allen's snoreing makes more noise than a hole wagonlode of babys. And Marie got sore and says I guess a man has got a right to snore in his own house and you and Jack has been grafting off of us long enough.

Then Florrie says What did Allen do to help win the serious and get that $750.00? Nothing but set on the bench except when they was makeing him look like a sucker the 1 inning he pitched. The trouble with you and Allen is you are jellous of what Jack has did and you know he will be a star up here in the big league when Allen is tending bar which is what he should ought to be doing because then he could get stewed for nothing.

Marie says Take your brat and get out of the house. And Florrie says Don't you worry because we would not stay here no longer if you hired us. So Florrie went in her room and I followed her in and she says Let's pack up and get out.

Then I says Yes but we won't go nowheres together after what you done to me but you can go where you dam please and I and little Al will go to Bedford. Then she says You can't take the baby because he is mine and if you was to take him I would have you arrested for kidnaping. Besides, she says, what would you feed him and who would take care of him?

I says I would find somebody to take care of him and I would get him food from a resturunt. She says He can't eat nothing but milk and I says Well he has the collect all the time when he is eating milk and he would not be no worse off if he was eating watermelon. Well, she says, if you take him I will have you arrested and sew you for a bill of divorce for dessertion.

Then she says Jack you should not ought to find no fault with me for going to them games because when a woman has a husband that can pitch like you can do you think she wants to stay home and not see her husband pitch when a lot of other women is cheering him and makeing her feel proud because she is his wife?

Well Al as I said right along it was pretty hard on Florrie to have to stay home and I could not hardly blame her for wanting to be out there where she could see what I done so what was the use of argueing?

So I told her I would think it over and then I went out and I went and seen a attorney at law and asked him could I take little Al away and he says No I did not have no right to take him away from his mother and besides it would probily kill him to be tooken away from her and then he soaked me $10.00 the robber.

Then I went back and told Florrie I would give her another chance and then her and I packed up and took little Al in a taxicab over to this hotel. We are threw with the Allens Al and let me know right away if I can get that lease for another year because Florrie has gave up and will go to Bedford or anywheres else with me now.

Yours truly,      JACK.


Chicago, Illinois, October 20.

FRIEND AL: Old pal I won't never forget your kindnus and this is to tell you that I and Florrie except your kind invatation to come and stay with you till we can find a house and I guess you won't regret it none because Florrie will livun things up for Bertha and Bertha will be crazy about the baby because you should ought to see how cute he is now Al and not yet four months old. But I bet he will be talking before we know it.

We are comeing on the train that leaves here at noon Saturday Al and the train leaves here about 12 o'clock and I don't know what time it gets to Bedford but it leaves here at noon so we shall be there probily in time for supper.

I wish you would ask Ben Smith will he have a hack down to the deepo to meet us but I won't pay no more than $.25 and I should think he should ought to be glad to take us from the deepo to your house for nothing.

Your pal,      JACK.

P.S. The train we are comeing on leaves here at noon Al and will probily get us there in time for a late supper and I wonder if Bertha would have spair ribs and crout for supper. You know me Al.




Chapter VI

The Busher Beats It Hence


Chicago, Ill., Oct. 18.

FRIEND AL: I guess may be you will begin to think I dont never do what I am going to do and that I change my mind a hole lot because I wrote and told you that I and Florrie and little Al would be in Bedford to-day and here we are in Chi yet on the day when I told you we would get to Bedford and I bet Bertha and you and the rest of the boys will be dissapointed but Al I dont feel like as if I should ought to leave the White Sox in a hole and that is why I am here yet and I will tell you how it come off but in the 1st place I want to tell you that it wont make a diffrence of more then 5 or 6 or may be 7 days at least and we will be down there and see you and Bertha and the rest of the boys just as soon as the N.Y. giants and the White Sox leaves here and starts a round the world. All so I remember I told you to fix it up so as a hack would be down to the deepo to meet us to-night and you wont get this letter in time to tell them not to send no hack so I supose the hack will be there but may be they will be some body else that gets off of the train that will want the hack and then every thing will be all O.K. but if they is not nobody else that wants the hack I will pay them 1/2 of what they was going to charge me if I had of came and road in the hack though I dont have to pay them nothing because I am not going to ride in the hack but I want to do the right thing and besides I will want a hack at the deepo when I do come so they will get a peace of money out of me any way so I dont see where they got no kick comeing even if I dont give them a nichol now.

I will tell you why I am still here and you will see where I am trying to do the right thing. You knowed of coarse that the White Sox and the N. Y. giants was going to make a trip a round the world and they been after me for a long time to go a long with them but I says No I would not leave Florrie and the kid because that would not be fare and besides I would be paying rent and grocerys for them some wheres and me not getting nothing out of it and besides I would probily be spending a hole lot of money on the trip because though the clubs pays all of our regular expences they would be a hole lot of times when I felt like blowing my self and buying some thing to send home to the Mrs and to good old friends of mine like you and Bertha so I turned them down and Callahan acted like he was sore at me but I dont care nothing for that because I got other people to think a bout and not Callahan and besides if I was to go a long the fans in the towns where we play at would want to see me work and I would have to do a hole lot of pitching which I would not be getting nothing for it and it would not count in no standing because the games is to be just for fun and what good would it do me and besides Florrie says I was not under no circumstance to go and of coarse I would go if I wanted to go no matter what ever she says but all and all I turned them down and says I would stay here all winter or rather I would not stay here but in Bedford. Then Callahan says All right but you know before we start on the trip the giants and us is going to play a game right here in Chi next Sunday and after what you done in the city serious the fans would be sore if they did not get no more chance to look at you so will you stay and pitch part of the game here and I says I would think it over and I come home to the hotel where we are staying at and asked Florrie did she care if we did not go to Bedford for an other week and she says No she did not care if we dont go for 6 years so I called Callahan up and says I would stay and he says Thats the boy and now the fans will have an other treat so you see Al he appresiates what I done and wants to give the fans fare treatment because this town is nuts over me after what I done to them Cubs but I could do it just the same to the Athaletics or any body else if it would of been them in stead of the Cubs. May be we will leave here the A.M. after the game that is Monday and I will let you know so as you can order an other hack and tell Bertha I hope she did not go to no extra trouble a bout getting ready for us and did not order no spair ribs and crout but you can eat them up if she all ready got them and may be she can order some more for us when we come but tell her it dont make no diffrence and not to go to no trouble because most anything she has is O.K. for I and Florrie accept of coarse we would not want to make no meal off of sardeens or something.

Well Al I bet them N.Y. giants will wish I would of went home before they come for this here exibishun game because my arm feels grate and I will show them where they would be at if they had to play ball in our league all the time though I supose they is some pitchers in our league that they would hit good against them if they can hit at all but not me. You will see in the papers how I come out and I will write and tell you a bout it.

Your pal,      JACK.


Chicago, Ill., Oct. 25.

OLD PAL: I have not only got a little time but I have got some news for you and I knowed you would want to hear all a bout it so I am writeing this letter and then I am going to catch the train. I would be saying good by to little Al instead of writeing this letter only Florrie wont let me wake him up and he is a sleep but may be by the time I get this letter wrote he will be a wake again and I can say good by to him. I am going with the White Sox and giants as far as San Francisco or may be Van Coover where they take the boat at but I am not going a round the world with them but only just out to the coast to help them out because they is a couple of men going to join them out there and untill them men join them they will be short of men and they got a hole lot of exibishun games to play before they get out there so I am going to help them out. It all come off in the club house after the game to-day and I will tell you how it come off but 1st I want to tell you a bout the game and honest Al them giants is the luckyest team in the world and it is not no wonder they keep wining the penant in that league because a club that has got there luck could win ball games with out sending no team on the field at all but staying down to the hotel.

They was a big crowd out to the park so Callahan says to me I did not know if I was going to pitch you or not but the crowd is out here to see you so I will have to let you work so I warmed up but I knowed the minute I throwed the 1st ball warming up that I was not right and I says to Callahan I did not feel good but he says You wont need to feel good to beat this bunch because they heard a hole lot a bout you and you would have them beat if you just throwed your glove out there in the box. So I went in and tried to pitch but my arm was so lame it pretty near killed me every ball I throwed and I bet if I was some other pitchers they would not never of tried to work with my arm so sore but I am not like some of them yellow dogs and quit because I would not dissapoint the crowd or throw Callahan down when he wanted me to pitch and was depending on me. You know me Al. So I went in there but I did not have nothing and if them giants could of hit at all in stead of like a lot of girls they would of knock down the fence because I was not my self. At that they should not ought to of had only the 1 run off of me if Weaver and them had not of begin kicking the ball a round like it was a foot ball or something. Well Al what with dropping fly balls and booting them a round and this in that the giants was gave 5 runs in the 1st 3 innings and they should ought to of had just the 1 run or may be not that and that ball Merkle hit in to the seats I was trying to waist it and a man that is a good hitter would not never of hit at it and if I was right this here Merkle could not foul me in 9 years. When I was comeing into the bench after the 3th inning this here smart alex Mcgraw come passed me from the 3 base coaching line and he says Are you going on the trip and I says No I am not going on no trip and he says That is to bad because if you was going we would win a hole lot of games and I give him a hot come back and he did not say nothing so I went in to the bench and Callahan says Them giants is not such rotten hitters is they and I says No they hit pretty good when a man has got a sore arm against them and he says Why did not you tell me your arm was sore and I says I did not want to dissapoint no crowd that come out here to see me and he says Well I guess you need not pitch no more because if I left you in there the crowd might begin to get tired of watching you a bout 10 oclock to-night and I says What do you mean and he did not say nothing more so I set there a while and then went to the club house. Well Al after the game Callahan come in to the club house and I was still in there yet talking to the trainer and getting my arm rubbed and Callahan says Are you getting your arm in shape for next year and I says No but it give me so much pane I could not stand it and he says I bet if you was feeling good you could make them giants look like a sucker and I says You know I could make them look like a sucker and he says Well why dont you come a long with us and you will get an other chance at them when you feel good and I says I would like to get an other crack at them but I could not go a way on no trip and leave the Mrs and the baby and then he says he would not ask me to make the hole trip a round the world but he wisht I would go out to the coast with them because they was hard up for pitchers and he says Mathewson of the giants was not only going as far as the coast so if the giants had there star pitcher that far the White Sox should ought to have theren and then some of the other boys coaxed me would I go so finely I says I would think it over and I went home and seen Florrie and she says How long would it be for and I says a bout 3 or 4 weeks and she says If you dont go will we start for Bedford right a way and I says Yes and then she says All right go a head and go but if they was any thing should happen to the baby while I was gone what would they do if I was not a round to tell them what to do and I says Call a Dr. in but dont call no Dr. if you dont have to and besides you should ought to know by this time what to do for the baby when he got sick and she says Of coarse I know a little but not as much as you do because you know it all. Then I says No I dont know it all but I will tell you some things before I go and you should not ought to have no trouble so we fixed it up and her and little Al is to stay here in the hotel untill I come back which will be a bout the 20 of Nov. and then we will come down home and tell Bertha not to get to in patient and we will get there some time. It is going to cost me $6.00 a week at the hotel for a room for she and the baby besides there meals but the babys meals dont cost nothing yet and Florrie should not ought to be very hungry because we been liveing good and besides she will get all she can eat when we come to Bedford and it wont cost me nothing for meals on the trip out to the coast because Comiskey and Mcgraw pays for that.

I have not even had no time to look up where we play at but we stop off at a hole lot of places on the way and I will get a chance to make them giants look like a sucker before I get threw and Mcgraw wont be so sorry I am not going to make the hole trip. You will see by the papers what I done to them before we get threw and I will write as soon as we stop some wheres long enough so as I can write and now I am going to say good by to little Al if he is a wake or not a wake and wake him up and say good by to him because even if he is not only 5 months old he is old enough to think a hole lot of me and why not. I all so got to say good by to Florrie and fix it up with the hotel clerk a bout she and the baby staying here a while and catch the train. You will hear from me soon old pal.

Your pal,      JACK.


St. Joe, Miss., Oct. 29.

FRIEND AL: Well Al we are on our way to the coast and they is quite a party of us though it is not no real White Sox and giants at all but some players from off of both clubs and then some others that is from other clubs a round the 2 leagues to fill up. We got Speaker from the Boston club and Crawford from the Detroit club and if we had them with us all the time Al I would not never loose a game because one or the other of them 2 is good for a couple of runs every game and that is all I need to win my games is a couple of runs or only 1 run and I would win all my games and would not never loose a game.

I did not pitch to-day and I guess the giants was glad of it because no matter what Mcgraw says he must of saw from watching me Sunday that I was a real pitcher though my arm was so sore I could not hardly raze it over my sholder so no wonder I did not have no stuff but at that I could of beat his gang with out no stuff if I had of had some kind of decent suport. I will pitch against them may be to-morrow or may be some day soon and my arm is all O.K. again now so I will show them up and make them wish Callahan had of left me to home. Some of the men has brung there wife a long and besides that there is some other men and there wife that is not no ball players but are going a long for the trip and some more will join the party out the coast before they get a bord the boat but of coarse I and Mathewson will drop out of the party then because why should I or him go a round the world and throw our arms out pitching games that dont count in no standing and that we dont get no money for pitching them out side of just our bare expences. The people in the towns we played at so far has all wanted to shake hands with Mathewson and I so I guess they know who is the real pitchers on these here 2 clubs no matter what them reporters says and the stars is all ways the men that the people wants to shake there hands with and make friends with them but Al this here Mathewson pitched to-day and honest Al I dont see how he gets by and either the batters in the National league dont know nothing a bout hitting or else he is such a old man that they feel sorry for him and may be when he was a bout 10 years younger then he is may be then he had some thing and was a pretty fare pitcher but all as he does now is stick the 1st ball right over with 0 on it and pray that they dont hit it out of the park. If a pitcher like he can get by in the National league and fool them batters they is not nothing I would like better then to pitch in the National league and I bet I would not get scored on in 2 to 3 years. I heard a hole lot a bout this here fade a way that he is suposed to pitch and it is a ball that is throwed out between 2 fingers and falls in at a right hand batter and they is not no body cant hit it but if he throwed 1 of them things to-day he done it while I was a sleep and they was not no time when I was not wide a wake and looking right at him and after the game was over I says to him Where is that there fade a way I heard so much a bout and he says O I did not have to use none of my regular stuff against your club and I says Well you would have to use all you got if I was working against you and he says Yes if you worked like you done Sunday I would have to do some pitching or they would not never finish the game. Then I says a bout me haveing a sore arm Sunday and he says I wisht I had a sore arm like yourn and a little sence with it and was your age and I would not never loose a game so you see Al he has heard a bout me and is jellus because he has not got my stuff but they cant every body expect to have the stuff that I got or 1/2 as much stuff. This smart alex Mcgraw was trying to kid me to-day and says Why did not I make friends with Mathewson and let him learn me some thing a bout pitching and I says Mathewson could not learn me nothing and he says I guess thats right and I guess they is not nobody could learn you nothing a bout nothing and if you was to stay in the league 20 years probily you would not be no better then you are now so you see he had to add mit that I am good Al even if he has not saw me work when my arm was O.K.

Mcgraw says to me to-night he says I wisht you was going all the way and I says Yes you do. I says Your club would look like a sucker after I had worked against them a few times and he says May be thats right to because they would not know how to hit against a regular pitcher after that. Then he says But I dont care nothing a bout that but I wisht you was going to make the hole trip so as we could have a good time. He says We got Steve Evans and Dutch Schaefer going a long and they is both of them funny but I like to be a round with boys that is funny and dont know nothing a bout it. I says Well I would go a long only for my wife and baby and he says Yes it would be pretty tough on your wife to have you a way that long but still and all think how glad she would be to see you when you come back again and besides them dolls acrost the ocean will be pretty sore at I and Callahan if we tell them we left you to home. I says Do you supose the people over there has heard a bout me and he says Sure because they have wrote a lot of letters asking me to be sure and bring you and Mathewson a long. Then he says I guess Mathewson is not going so if you was to go and him left here to home they would not be nothing to it. You could have things all your own way and probily could marry the Queen of europe if you was not all ready married. He was giveing me the strate dope this time Al because he did not crack a smile and I wisht I could go a long but it would not be fare to Florrie but still and all did not she leave me and beat it for Texas last winter and why should not I do the same thing to her only I am not that kind of a man. You know me Al.

We play in Kansas city to-morrow and may be I will work there because it is a big town and I have got to close now and write to Florrie.

Your old pal,      JACK.


Abilene, Texas, Nov. 4.

AL: Well Al I guess you know by this time that I have worked against them 2 times since I wrote to you last time and I beat them both times and Mcgraw knows now what kind of a pitcher I am and I will tell you how I know because after the game yesterday he road down to the place we dressed at a long with me and all the way in the automobile he was after me to say I would go all the way a round the world and finely it come out that he wants I should go a long and pitch for his club and not pitch for the White Sox. He says his club is up against it for pitchers because Mathewson is not going and all they got left is a man named Hern that is a young man and not got no experiense and Wiltse that is a left hander. So he says I have talked it over with Callahan and he says if I could get you to go a long it was all O.K. with him and you could pitch for us only I must not work you to hard because he is depending on you to win the penant for him next year. I says Did not none of the other White Sox make no holler because may be they might have to bat against me and he says Yes Crawford and Speaker says they would not make the trip if you was a long and pitching against them but Callahan showed them where it would be good for them next year because if they hit against you all winter the pitchers they hit against next year will look easy to them. He was crazy to have me go a long on the hole trip but of coarse Al they is not no chance of me going on acct. of Florrie and little Al but you see Mcgraw has cut out his trying to kid me and is treating me now like a man should ought to be treated that has did what I done.

They was not no game here to-day on acct. of it raining and the people here was sore because they did not see no game but they all come a round to look at us and says they must have some speechs from the most prommerent men in the party so I and Comiskey and Mcgraw and Callahan and Mathewson and Ted Sullivan that I guess is putting up the money for the trip made speechs and they clapped there hands harder when I was makeing my speech then when any 1 of the others was makeing there speech. You did not know I was a speech maker did you Al and I did not know it neither untill to-day but I guess they is not nothing I can do if I make up my mind and 1 of the boys says that I done just as well as Dummy Taylor could of.

I have not heard nothing from Florrie but I guess may be she is to busy takeing care of little Al to write no letters and I am not worring none because she give me her word she would let me know was they some thing the matter.

Yours truly,      JACK.


San Dago, Cal., Nov. 9.

FRIEND AL: Al some times I wisht I was not married at all and if it was not for Florrie and little Al I would go a round the world on this here trip and I guess the boys in Bedford would not be jellus if I was to go a round the world and see every thing they is to be saw and some of the boys down home has not never been no futher a way then Terre Haute and I dont mean you Al but some of the other boys. But of coarse Al when a man has got a wife and a baby they is not no chance for him to go a way on 1 of these here trips and leave them a lone so they is not no use I should even think a bout it but I cant help thinking a bout it because the boys keeps after me all the time to go. Callahan was talking a bout it to me to-day and he says he knowed that if I was to pitch for the giants on the trip his club would not have no chance of wining the most of the games on the trip but still and all he wisht I would go a long because he was a scared the people over in Rome and Paris and Africa and them other countrys would be awful sore if the 2 clubs come over there with out bringing none of there star pitchers along. He says We got Speaker and Crawford and Doyle and Thorp and some of them other real stars in all the positions accept pitcher and it will make us look bad if you and Mathewson dont neither 1 of you come a long. I says What is the matter with Scott and Benz and this here left hander Wiltse and he says They is not nothing the matter with none of them accept they is not no real stars like you and Mathewson and if we cant show them forreners 1 of you 2 we will feel like as if we was cheating them. I says You would not want me to pitch my best against your club would you and he says O no I would not want you to pitch your best or get your self all wore out for next year but I would want you to let up enough so as we could make a run oncet in a while so the games would not be to 1 sided. I says Well they is not no use talking a bout it because I could not leave my wife and baby and he says Why dont you write and ask your wife and tell her how it is and can you go. I says No because she would make a big holler and besides of coarse I would go any way if I wanted to go with out no I yes or no from her only I am not the kind of a man that runs off and leaves his family and besides they is not nobody to leave her with because her and her sister Allens wife has had a quarrle. Then Callahan says Where is Allen at now is he still in Chi. I says I dont know where is he at and I dont care where he is at because I am threw with him. Then Callahan says I asked him would he go on the trip before the season was over but he says he could not and if I knowed where was he I would wire a telegram to him and ask him again. I says What would you want him a long for and he says Because Mcgraw is shy of pitchers and I says I would try and help him find 1. I says Well you should ought not to have no trouble finding a man like Allen to go along because his wife probily would be glad to get rid of him. Then Callahan says Well I wisht you would get a hold of where Allen is at and let me know so as I can wire him a telegram. Well Al I know where Allen is at all O.K. but I am not going to give his adress to Callahan because Mcgraw has treated me all O.K. and why should I wish a man like Allen on to him and besides I am not going to give Allen no chance to go a round the world or no wheres else after the way he acted a bout I and Florrie haveing a room in his flat and asking me to pay for it when he give me a invatation to come there and stay. Well Al it is to late now to cry in the sour milk but I wisht I had not never saw Florrie untill next year and then I and her could get married just like we done last year only I dont know would I do it again or not but I guess I would on acct. of little Al.

Your pal, JACK.


San Francisco, Cal., Nov. 14.

OLD PAL: Well old pal what do you know a bout me being back here in San Francisco where I give the fans such a treat 2 years ago and then I was not nothing but a busher and now I am with a team that is going a round the world and are crazy to have me go a long only I cant because of my wife and baby. Callahan wired a telegram to the reporters here from Los Angeles telling them I would pitch here and I guess they is going to be 20 or 25000 out to the park and I will give them the best I got.

But what do you think Florrie has did Al. Her and the Allens has made it up there quarrle and is friends again and Marie told Florrie to write and tell me she was sorry we had that there argument and let by gones be by gones. Well Al it is all O.K. with me because I cant help not feeling sorry for Allen because I dont beleive he will be in the league next year and I feel sorry for Marie to because it must be pretty tough on her to see how well her sister done and what a misstake she made when she went and fell for a left hander that could not fool a blind man with his curve ball and if he was to hit a man in the head with his fast ball they would think there nose iched. In Florries letter she says she thinks us and the Allens could find an other flat like the 1 we had last winter and all live in it to gether in stead of going to Bedford but I have wrote to her before I started writeing this letter all ready and told her that her and I is going to Bedford and the Allens can go where they feel like and they can go and stay on a boat on Michigan lake all winter if they want to but I and Florrie is comeing to Bedford. Down to the bottom of her letter she says Allen wants to know if Callahan or Mcgraw is shy of pitchers and may be he would change his mind and go a long on the trip. Well Al I did not ask either Callahan nor Mcgraw nothing a bout it because I knowed they was looking for a star and not for no left hander that could not brake a pane of glass with his fast 1 so I wrote and told Florrie to tell Allen they was all filled up and would not have no room for no more men.

It is pretty near time to go out to the ball park and I wisht you could be here Al and hear them San Francisco fans go crazy when they hear my name anounced to pitch. I bet they wish they had of had me here this last year.

Yours truly,      JACK.


Medford, Organ, Nov. 16.

FRIEND AL: Well Al you know by this time that I did not pitch the hole game in San Francisco but I was not tooken out because they was hitting me Al but because my arm went back on me all of a sudden and it was the change in the clime it that done it to me and they could not hire me to try and pitch another game in San Francisco. They was the biggest crowd there that I ever seen in San Francisco and I guess they must of been 40000 people there and I wisht you could of heard them yell when my name was anounced to pitch. But Al I would not never of went in there but for the crowd. My arm felt like a wet rag or some thing and I knowed I would not have nothing and besides the people was packed in a round the field and they had to have ground rules so when a man hit a pop fly it went in to the crowd some wheres and was a 2 bagger and all them giants could do against me was pop my fast ball up in the air and then the wind took a hold of it and dropped it in to the crowd the lucky stiffs. Doyle hit 3 of them pop ups in to the crowd so when you see them 3 2 base hits oposit his name in the score you will know they was not no real 2 base hits and the infielders would of catched them had it not of been for the wind. This here Doyle takes a awful wallop at a ball but if I was right and he swang at a ball the way he done in San Francisco the catcher would all ready be throwing me back the ball a bout the time this here Doyle was swinging at it. I can make him look like a sucker and I done it both in Kansas city and Bonham and if he will get up there and bat against me when I feel good and when they is not no wind blowing I will bet him a $25.00 suit of cloths that he cant foul 1 off of me. Well when Callahan seen how bad my arm was he says I guess I should ought to take you out and not run no chance of you getting killed in there and so I quit and Faber went in to finnish it up because it dont make no diffrence if he hurts his arm or dont. But I guess Mcgraw knowed my arm was sore to because he did not try and kid me like he done that day in Chi because he has saw enough of me since then to know I can make his club look rotten when I am O.K. and my arm is good. On the train that night he come up and says to me Well Jack we catched you off your strid to-day or you would of gave us a beating and then he says What your arm needs is more work and you should ought to make the hole trip with us and then you would be in fine shape for next year but I says You cant get me to make no trip so you might is well not do no more talking a bout it and then he says Well I am sorry and the girls over to Paris will be sorry to but I guess he was just jokeing a bout the last part of it.

Well Al we go to 1 more town in Organ and then to Washington but of coarse it is not the same Washington we play at in the summer but this is the state Washington and have not got no big league club and the boys gets there boat in 4 more days and I will quit them and then I will come strate back to Chi and from there to Bedford.

Your pal,      JACK.


Portland, Organ, Nov. 17.

FRIEND AL: I have just wrote a long letter to Florrie but I feel like as if I should ought to write to you because I wont have no more chance for a long while that is I wont have no more chance to male a letter because I will be on the pacific Ocean and un less we should run passed a boat that was comeing the other way they would not be no chance of getting no letter maled. Old pal I am going to make the hole trip clear a round the world and back and so I wont see you this winter after all but when I do see you Al I will have a lot to tell you a bout my trip and besides I will write you a letter a bout it from every place we head in at.

I guess you will be surprised a bout me changeing my mind and makeing the hole trip but they was not no way for me to get out of it and I will tell you how it all come off. While we was still in that there Medford yesterday Mcgraw and Callahan come up to me and says was they not no chance of me changeing my mind a bout makeing the hole trip. I says No they was not. Then Callahan says Well I dont know what we are going to do then and I says Why and he says Comiskey just got a letter from president Wilson the President of the united states and in the letter president Wilson says he had got an other letter from the king of Japan who says that they would not stand for the White Sox and giants comeing to Japan un less they brought all there stars a long and president Wilson says they would have to take there stars a long because he was a scared if they did not take there stars a long Japan would get mad at the united states and start a war and then where would we be at. So Comiskey wired a telegram to president Wilson and says Mathewson could not make the trip because he was so old but would everything be all O.K. if I was to go a long and president Wilson wired a telegram back and says Yes he had been talking to the priest from Japan and he says Yes it would be all O.K. I asked them would they show me the letter from president Wilson because I thought may be they might be kiding me and they says they could not show me no letter because when Comiskey got the letter he got so mad that he tore it up. Well Al I finely says I did not want to brake up there trip but I knowed Florrie would not stand for letting me go so Callahan says All right I will wire a telegram to a friend of mine in Chi and have him get a hold of Allen and send him out here and we will take him a long and I says It is to late for Allen to get here in time and Mcgraw says No they was a train that only took 2 days from Chi to where ever it was the boat is going to sale from because the train come a round threw canada and it was down hill all the way. Then I says Well if you will wire a telegram to my wife and fix things up with her I will go a long with you but if she is going to make a holler it is all off. So we all 3 went to the telegram office to gether and we wired Florrie a telegram that must of cost $2.00 but Callahan and Mcgraw payed for it out of there own pocket and then we waited a round a long time and the anser come back and the anser was longer than the telegram we wired and it says it would not make no diffrence to her but she did not know if the baby would make a holler but he was hollering most of the time any way so that would not make no diffrence but if she let me go it was on condishon that her and the Allens could get a flat to gether and stay in Chi all winter and not go to no Bedford and hire a nurse to take care of the baby and if I would send her a check for the money I had in the bank so as she could put it in her name and draw it out when she need it. Well I says at 1st I would not stand for nothing like that but Callahan and Mcgraw showed me where I was makeing a mistake not going when I could see all them diffrent countrys and tell Florrie all a bout the trip when I come back and then in a year or 2 when the baby was a little older I could make an other trip and take little Al and Florrie a long so I finely says O.K. I would go and we wires still an other telegram to Florrie and told her O.K. and then I set down and wrote her a check for 1/2 the money I got in the bank and I got $500.00 all together there so I wrote the check for 1/2 of that or $250.00 and maled it to her and if she cant get a long on that she would be a awfull spendrift because I am not only going to be a way untill March. You should ought to of heard the boys cheer when Callahan tells them I am going to make the hole trip but when he tells them I am going to pitch for the giants and not for the White Sox I bet Crawford and Speaker and them wisht I was going to stay to home but it is just like Callahan says if they bat against me all winter the pitchers they bat against next season will look easy to them and you wont be supprised Al if Crawford and Speaker hits a bout 500 next year and if they hit good you will know why it is. Steve Evans asked me was I all fixed up with cloths and I says No but I was going out and buy some cloths includeing a full dress suit of evening cloths and he says You dont need no full dress suit of evening cloths because you look funny enough with out them. This Evans is a great kidder Al and no body never gets sore at the stuff he pulls some thing like Kid Gleason. I wisht Kid Gleason was going on the trip Al but I will tell him all a bout it when I come back.

Well Al old pal I wisht you was going a long to and I bet we could have the time of our life but I will write to you right a long Al and I will send Bertha some post cards from the diffrent places we head in at. I will try and write you a letter on the boat and male it as soon as we get to the 1st station which is either Japan or Yokohama I forgot which. Good by Al and say good by to Bertha for me and tell her how sorry I and Florrie is that we cant come to Bedford this winter but we will spend all the rest of the winters there and her and Florrie will have a plenty of time to get acquainted. Good by old pal.

Your pal,      JACK.


Seattle, Wash., Nov. 18.

AL: Well Al it is all off and I am not going on no trip a round the world and back and I been looking for Callahan or Mcgraw for the last 1/2 hour to tell them I have changed my mind and am not going to make no trip because it would not be fare to Florrie and besides that I think I should ought to stay home and take care of little Al and not leave him to be tooken care of by no train nurse because how do I know what would she do to him and I am not going to tell Florrie nothing a bout it but I am going to take the train to-morrow night right back to Chi and supprise her when I get there and I bet both her and little Al will be tickled to death to see me. I supose Mcgraw and Callahan will be sore at me for a while but when I tell them I want to do the right thing and not give my famly no raw deal I guess they will see where I am right.

We was to play 2 games here and was to play 1 of them in Tacoma and the other here but it rained and so we did not play neither 1 and the people was pretty mad a bout it because I was announced to pitch and they figured probily this would be there only chance to see me in axion and they made a awful holler but Comiskey says No they would not be no game because the field neither here or in Tacoma was in no shape for a game and he would not take no chance of me pitching and may be slipping in the mud and straneing myself and then where would the White Sox be at next season. So we been laying a round all the P.M. and I and Dutch Schaefer had a long talk to gether while some of the rest of the boys was out buying some cloths to take on the trip and Al I bought a full dress suit of evening cloths at Portland yesterday and now I owe Callahan the money for them and am not going on no trip so probily I wont never get to ware them and it is just $45.00 throwed a way but I would rather throw $45.00 a way then go on a trip a round the world and leave my famly all winter.

Well Al I and Schaefer was talking to gether and he says Well may be this is the last time we will ever see the good old US and I says What do you mean and he says People that gos acrost the pacific Ocean most generally all ways has there ship recked and then they is not no more never heard from them. Then he asked me was I a good swimmer and I says Yes I had swam a good deal in the river and he says Yes you have swam in the river but that is not nothing like swimming in the pacific Ocean because when you swim in the pacific Ocean you cant move your feet because if you move your feet the sharks comes up to the top of the water and bites at them and even if they did not bite your feet clean off there bite is poison and gives you the hiderofobeya and when you get that you start barking like a dog and the water runs in to your mouth and chokes you to death. Then he says Of coarse if you can swim with out useing your feet you are all O.K. but they is very few can do that and especially in the pacific Ocean because they got to keep useing there hands all the time to scare the sord fish a way so when you dont dare use your feet and your hands is busy you got nothing left to swim with but your stumach mussles. Then he says You should ought to get a long all O.K. because your stumach mussles should ought to be strong from the exercise they get so I guess they is not no danger from a man like you but men like Wiltse and Mike Donlin that is not hog fat like you has not got no chance. Then he says Of coarse they have been times when the boats got acrost all O.K. and only a few lives lost but it dont offten happen and the time the old Minneapolis club made the trip the boat went down and the only thing that was saved was the catchers protector that was full of air and could not do nothing else but flote. Then he says May be you would flote to if you did not say nothing for a few days.

I asked him how far would a man got to swim if some thing went wrong with the boat and he says O not far because they is a hole lot of ilands a long the way that a man could swim to but it would not do a man no good to swim to these here ilands because they dont have nothing to eat on them and a man would probily starve to death un less he happened to swim to the sandwich ilands. Then he says But by the time you been out on the pacific Ocean a few months you wont care if you get any thing to eat or not. I says Why not and he says the pacific Ocean is so ruff that not nothing can set still not even the stuff you eat. I asked him how long did it take to make the trip acrost if they was not no ship reck and he says they should ought to get acrost a long in febuery if the weather was good. I says Well if we dont get there until febuery we wont have no time to train for next season and he says You wont need to do no training because this trip will take all the weight off of you and every thing else you got. Then he says But you should not ought to be scared of getting sea sick because they is 1 way you can get a way from it and that is to not eat nothing at all while you are on the boat and they tell me you dont eat hardly nothing any way so you wont miss it. Then he says Of coarse if we should have good luck and not get in to no ship reck and not get shot by 1 of them war ships we will have a grate time when we get acrost because all the girls in europe and them places is nuts over ball players and especially stars. I asked what did he mean saying we might get shot by 1 of them war ships and he says we would have to pass by Swittserland and the Swittserland war ships was all the time shooting all over the ocean and of coarse they was not trying to hit no body but they was as wild as most of them left handers and how could you tell what was they going to do next.

Well Al after I got threw talking to Schaefer I run in to Jack Sheridan the umpire and I says I did not think I would go on no trip and I told him some of the things Schaefer was telling me and Sheridan says Schaefer was kidding me and they was not no danger at all and of coarse Al I did not believe 1/2 of what Schaefer was telling me and that has not got nothing to do with me changeing my mind but I don't think it is not hardly fare for me to go a way on a trip like that and leave Florrie and the baby and suppose some of them things really did happen like Schaefer said though of coarse he was kidding me but if 1 of them was to happen they would not be no body left to take care of Florrie and little Al and I got a $1000.00 insurence policy but how do I know after I am dead if the insurence co. comes acrost and gives my famly the money.

Well Al I will male this letter and then try again and find Mcgraw and Callahan and then I will look up a time table and see what train can I get to Chi. I dont know yet when I will be in Bedford and may be Florrie has hired a flat all ready but the Allens can live in it by them self and if Allen says any thing a bout I paying for 1/2 of the rent I will bust his jaw.

Your pal,      JACK.


Victoria, Can., Nov. 19.

DEAR OLD AL: Well old pal the boat gos to-night I am going a long and I would not be takeing no time to write this letter only I wrote to you yesterday and says I was not going and you probily would be expecting to see me blow in to Bedford in a few days and besides Al I got a hole lot of things to ask you to do for me if any thing happens and I want to tell you how it come a bout that I changed my mind and am going on the trip. I am glad now that I did not write Florrie no letter yesterday and tell her I was not going because now I would have to write her an other letter and tell her I was going and she would be expecting to see me the day after she got the 1st letter and in stead of seeing me she would get this 2nd. letter and not me at all. I have all ready wrote her a good by letter to-day though and while I was writeing it Al I all most broke down and cried and espesially when I thought a bout leaveing little Al so long and may be when I see him again he wont be no baby no more or may be some thing will of happened to him or that train nurse did some thing to him or may be I wont never see him again no more because it is pretty near a cinch that some thing will either happen to I or him. I would give all most any thing I got Al to be back in Chi with little Al and Florrie and I wisht she had not of never wired that telegram telling me I could make the trip and if some thing happens to me think how she will feel when ever she thinks a bout wireing me that telegram and she will feel all most like as if she was a murder.

Well Al after I had wrote you that letter yesterday I found Callahan and Mcgraw and I tell them I have changed my mind and am not going on no trip. Callahan says Whats the matter and I says I dont think it would be fare to my wife and baby and Callahan says Your wife says it would be all O.K. because I seen the telegram my self. I says Yes but she dont know how dangerus the trip is and he says Whos been kiding you and I says They has not no body been kiding me. I says Dutch Schaefer told me a hole lot of stuff but I did not believe none of it and that has not got nothing to do with it. I says I am not a scared of nothing but supose some thing should happen and then where would my wife and my baby be at. Then Callahan says Schaefer has been giveing you a lot of hot air and they is not no more danger on this trip then they is in bed. You been in a hole lot more danger when you was pitching some of them days when you had a sore arm and you would be takeing more chances of getting killed in Chi by 1 of them taxi cabs or the dog catcher then on the Ocean. This here boat we are going on is the Umpires of Japan and it has went acrost the Ocean a million times with out nothing happening and they could not nothing happen to a boat that the N.Y. giants was rideing on because they is to lucky. Then I says Well I have made up my mind to not go on no trip and he says All right then I guess we might is well call the trip off and I says Why and he says You know what president Wilson says a bout Japan and they wont stand for us comeing over there with out you a long and then Mcgraw says Yes it looks like as if the trip was off because we dont want to take no chance of starting no war between Japan and the united states. Then Callahan says You will be in fine with Comiskey if he has to call the trip off because you are a scared of getting hit by a fish. Well Al we talked and argude for a hour or a hour and 1/2 and some of the rest of the boys come a round and took Callahan and Mcgraw side and finely Callahan says it looked like as if they would have to posepone the trip a few days un till he could get a hold of Allen or some body and get them to take my place so finely I says I would go because I would not want to brake up no trip after they had made all there plans and some of the players wifes was all ready to go and would be dissapointed if they was not no trip. So Mcgraw and Callahan says Thats the way to talk and so I am going Al and we are leaveing to-night and may be this is the last letter you will ever get from me but if they does not nothing happen Al I will write to you a lot of letters and tell you all a bout the trip but you must not be looking for no more letters for a while untill we get to Japan where I can male a letter and may be its likely as not we wont never get to Japan.

Here is the things I want to ask you to try and do Al and I am not asking you to do nothing if we get threw the trip all right but if some thing happens and I should be drowned here is what I am asking you to do for me and that is to see that the insurence co. dont skin Florrie out of that $1000.00 policy and see that she all so gets that other $250.00 out of the bank and find her some place down in Bedford to live if she is willing to live down there because she can live there a hole lot cheaper then she can live in Chi and besides I know Bertha would treat her right and help her out all she could. All so Al I want you and Bertha to help take care of little Al untill he grows up big enough to take care of him self and if he looks like as if he was going to be left handed dont let him Al but make him use his right hand for every thing. Well Al they is 1 good thing and that is if I get drowned Florrie wont have to buy no lot in no cemetary and hire no herse.

Well Al old pal you all ways been a good friend of mine and I all ways tried to be a good friend of yourn and if they was ever any thing I done to you that was not O.K. remember by gones is by gones. I want you to all ways think of me as your best old pal. Good by old pal.

Your old pal,      JACK.

P.S. Al if they should not nothing happen and if we was to get acrost the Ocean all O.K. I am going to ask Mcgraw to let me work the 1st game against the White Sox in Japan because I should certainly ought to be right after giveing my arm a rest and not doing nothing at all on the trip acrost and I bet if Mcgraw lets me work Crawford and Speaker will wisht the boat had of sank. You know me Al.

<eob>

Six Little Bunkers At Cousin Tom's

By

Laura Lee Hope



Chapter I

Sammie's Story


They were playing on the lawn of Aunt Jo's house -- the little Bunkers, six of them. You could count them, if you wanted to, but it was rather hard work, as they ran about so -- like chickens, Mrs. Bunker was wont to say -- that it was hard to keep track of them. So you might take my word for it, now, that there were six of them, and count them afterward, if you care to.

"Come on!" cried the eldest Bunker -- Russ, who was eight years old. "Come on, Rose, let's have some fun."

"What'll we do?" asked Rose, Russ' sister, who was about a year younger. "I'm not going to roll on the grass, 'cause I've got a clean dress on, and mother said I wasn't to spoil it."

"Pooh! Clean grass like Aunt Jo's won't spoil any dress," said Russ. "Anyhow, I'm not going to roll much more. Let's get the pipes and see who can blow the biggest soap bubbles."

"Oh, I want to do that!" cried Vi, or Violet, who was, you might say, the third little Bunker, being the third oldest, except Laddie, of course. "What makes so many colors come in soap bubbles when you blow them?" she asked.

"The soap," answered Russ, getting up after a roll on the grass, and brushing his clothes. "It's the soap that does it."

"But soap isn't that color when we wash ourselves with it," went on Vi. "And what makes bubbles burst when you blow 'em too big?"

"I don't know," answered Russ. Like many an older person, he did not try to answer all Vi's questions. She asked too many of them.

"Let's blow the bubbles," suggested Rose. "Then maybe we can see what makes 'em burst!"

"Come on, Margy and Mun Bun!" called Vi to two other and smaller Bunkers, a little boy and girl who were digging little holes in a sandy place in the yard of Aunt Jo's home. "Come on; we're going to blow bubbles!"

These two little Bunkers left their play and hastened to join the others. At the same time a boy with curly hair and gray eyes, who was Violet's twin, dropped some pieces of wood, which he had been trying to make into some sort of toy, and came running along the path.

"I want to blow some bubbles, too!" he said.

"We'll all blow them!" called Rose, who had a sort of "little mother" air about her when the smaller children were with her. "We'll have a soap-bubble party!"

"Shall we have things to eat?" asked Mun Bun.

"'Course we will," cried Margy, the little girl who had been playing with him in the sand. "We always has good things to eat at parties; don't we, Rose?"

"Well, maybe we can get some cookies from Aunt Jo," said Rose. "You can run and ask her."

Off started Margy, eager to get the good things to eat. It would not seem like a party, even with soap bubbles, unless there were things to eat! All the six little Bunkers felt this.

While Margy was running along the walk that led to the kitchen, where Aunt Jo's good-natured cook might be expected to hand out cookies and cakes, another little Bunker, who was walking beside Violet, the one who had been trying to make something out of pieces of wood, called out:

"Nobody can guess what I have in my mouth!"

"Is that a riddle, Laddie?" asked Russ. For Laddie was the name of the gray-eyed and curly-haired boy, and he was very fond of asking puzzle-questions. "Is it a riddle?" Russ repeated.

"Sort of," admitted Laddie. "Who can guess what I have in my mouth?"

"Oh, it's candy!" cried Violet, as she saw one of her brother's cheeks puffed out. "It's candy! Give me some, Laddie!"

"Nope. 'Tisn't candy!" he cried. "You must guess again!"

Nothing pleased Laddie more than to make his brothers and sisters guess his riddles.

"Is it a piece of cake?" asked Mun Bun.

"Nope!"

"Then 'tis so candy!" insisted Violet. And then, seeing her mother coming down the side porch, she cried: "Mother, make Laddie give me some of his candy! He's got a big piece in his mouth, and he won't give me any!"

"I haven't any candy!" declared Laddie. "I only asked her if she could guess what I had."

"'Tis so candy!" insisted Violet again.

"No, 'tisn't!" disputed Laddie.

"Children! Children!" said Mrs. Bunker softly. "I don't like my six little toadikins to talk this way. Where's Margy?" she asked as she "counted noses," which she called looking about to see if all six of the children were present.

"Margy's gone to get some cakes, 'cause we're going to have a soap-bubble party," explained Russ.

"What makes so many pretty colors come in the bubbles, Mother?" asked Violet.

"It is the light shining through, just as the sun shines through the water in the sky after the rain, making the rainbow."

"Oh," said Violet. She didn't understand very well about it, but her question had been answered, anyhow. "And now what's Laddie got in his mouth?" she went on. "Make him give me some, Mother!"

"I can't, 'cause it's only my tongue, and I can't take it out!" laughed Laddie, and he showed how he had thrust his tongue to one side, bulging out his cheek, so it really did look as though he had a piece of candy in his mouth.

"That's the time I fooled you with a riddle!" he said to Violet. "It was only my tongue!"

"I don't care! When I get some real candy I won't give you any!" cried Violet.

"Here comes Margy with the cakes!" exclaimed Rose. "Now we'll have the soap-bubble party."

"But don't get any soap on your cake, or it won't taste nice," warned Mother Bunker. "Now play nicely. Has the postman been past yet?"

"Not yet, Mother," answered Russ. "Do you think he is going to bring you a letter?"

"He may, yes."

"Will it be a letter asking us to come some other place to have a good time for the rest of the summer?" Rose wanted to know. For the six little Bunkers were paying a visit to Aunt Jo in Boston, and expected to leave shortly.

"I don't know just what kind of letter I shall get," said Mrs. Bunker with a smile, "but I hope it will be a nice one. Now have your party, and see who can blow the largest bubbles."

"Let's eat our cake and cookies first," said Russ. "Then we can't get any soap on 'em."

"Why not?" asked Violet, who seemed especially fond of asking questions this day.

"'Cause they'll be inside us -- I mean the cookies will," explained Russ.

"Oh, that would make a good riddle!" exclaimed Laddie. "I'm going to make up one about that."

The children went out to the garage, where there was a room in which they often played. There they ate their cookies and cakes, and then Russ and Rose made some bowls of soapy water, and with clay pipes, which the little Bunkers had bought for their play, they began to blow bubbles. They made large and small ones, and nearly all of them had the pretty colors that Violet had asked about.

They took one of the robes from Aunt Jo's automobile, and, spreading this out on the grass, they blew bubbles and let them fall on the cloth. The bubbles bounced up, sometimes making several bounds before they burst.

"Oh, this is lots of fun!" cried Laddie. "It's more fun than making riddles."

"I wondered why you hadn't asked one," said Russ with a laugh. "Oh!" he suddenly exclaimed, for he had happened to laugh just as he was blowing a big bubble, and it burst, scattering a little fine spray of soapy water in his face.

Margy giggled delightedly.

"I like this!" said Mun Bun, as he put his pipe down into the bowl of water and blew a big string of little bubbles.

Just then a voice called:

"Hey, Russ! Where are you?"

"Back here! Come on!" answered Russ, laying aside his pipe.

"Who is it?" asked Rose.

"It's Sammie Brown, the boy we met the other day when we went to Nantasket Beach," Russ explained. "He lives about two blocks from here, and I told him to come over and see us. Here he is now!" and he pointed to a boy, about his own age, who was coming up the walk.

"Hello, Sammie!" greeted Russ. "Want to blow bubbles?"

"Yes," was the answer, and a pipe was found for Sammie. He seemed to know how to use it, for he blew bubbles bigger than any one else.

"What's inside the bubbles?" asked Violet, who simply had to ask another question. "Is it water?"

"No, it's air," said Sammie. "If you could blow a bubble big enough to get inside of you could breathe the air, just like outside. Only when it was all breathed up you'd have to get more."

"Would you, really?" asked Rose.

"Sure," Sammie answered.

"How do you know?" Violet questioned.

"'Cause my father's a sea captain, and he takes divers out on his boat and they go down after things that sink. The divers have air pumped to them, and they wear a big thing on their heads like a soap bubble, only it's called a helmet. This is pumped full of air for the diver to breathe."

"Oh, tell us about it!" begged Laddie, laying aside his pipe.

"Did your father ever go down like a diver?" asked Russ.

"Yes, once or twice. But now he just helps the other men go down. He's been a sea captain all his life, and once he was shipwrecked."

"What's shipwrecked?" asked Margy.

"It's when your ship hits a rock, or runs on a desert island and sinks," said Sammie. "Then you have to get off if you don't want to be drowned. And once my father was shipwrecked on a desert island that way, and they found a lot of gold."

"They did?" cried Russ.

"Sure! I've heard him tell about it lots of times."

"Oh, is it a story?" asked Rose.

"No, it's real," said Sammie.

"Tell us about it," demanded Laddie.

"Well, I don't 'member much about it," Sammie said. "But if you come over to my house, my father'll tell you about it. Only he isn't home now 'cause he's got some divers down in the harbor and they're going to raise up a ship that's sunk."

"Couldn't you tell us a little about it?" asked Russ. "Did your father dig gold on the desert island?"

"Yes, he dug a lot of it," said Sammie. "He's got one piece at home now. It's yellow, just like a five-dollar gold piece."

"Where was the island?" asked Violet.

"Maybe we can go there," suggested Laddie. "That is, if it isn't too far."

"Oh, it's terrible far," said Sammie. "It's half-way around the world."

"That's too far," said Russ with a sigh.

"Maybe we could dig for gold here," suggested Rose. "There's nice sand in one part of Aunt Jo's garden, and I guess she'd let us dig for gold. We could give her some if we found any."

"I don't guess there's any gold here," said Sammie, looking the place over. "This isn't a desert island."

"We could pretend it was," said Laddie. "Let's do that! I'll go for a shovel."

He ran to where the garden tools were kept, but, on the way, he heard the postman's whistle and stopped to get the mail. This he carried to his mother, and, when she saw one letter, she cried:

"Oh, this is from Cousin Tom! I hope it has good news in it!"

Quickly she read it, while Laddie wondered what the good news was about. Then Mrs. Bunker said:

"Oh, Laddie! We're going on another nice trip! Cousin Tom has invited us all down to his seashore cottage! Won't that be fine? We must soon get ready to leave Aunt Jo's and go to Cousin Tom's!"



Chapter II

Treasure Hopes


Laddie Bunker looked up at his mother as she finished reading the letter. Then he shook his head and said:

"We can't go to Cousin Tom's!"

"Can't go to Cousin Tom's!" repeated his mother. "Why not, Laddie, my boy?"

"'Cause we're going to dig for gold here. Sammie Brown's father is a sea captain, and he has divers. He knows a lot about digging gold on desert islands, Sammie's father does, and we're going to make believe Aunt Jo's back yard is a desert island, and we're going to dig for gold there."

"But there isn't any," replied Mrs. Bunker, wanting to laugh, but not doing it, as she did not want to hurt Laddie's feelings.

"Well, we're going to dig, just the same," insisted Laddie. "We can go to Cousin Tom's after we find the gold."

"Oh, I see," said Mrs. Bunker with a smile. "Well, don't you think it would be nice to go to the seashore? There is plenty of sand there, and perhaps there may be a desert island, or something like that, near Cousin Tom's. Couldn't you dig for gold and treasure at the seashore?"

"Oh, maybe we could!" cried Laddie. "I guess that would be nice, Mother. I'll go and tell the others. We're going to Cousin Tom's! We're going to Cousin Tom's!" he sang joyously, as he raced back to where he had left Sammie Brown telling his story, and the other little Bunkers who wanted to dig for gold.

"I think it will be just lovely for the children at Cousin Tom's," said Mrs. Bunker to her husband, who came out to see if there were any letters for him. "They can play in the sand and never get a bit dirty."

"Yes, they can do that," said Mr. Bunker. "So Cousin Tom wrote, did he? Well, I suppose that means we will soon be leaving Aunt Jo's."

"I shall be sorry to see you go," said Aunt Jo herself -- Miss Josephine Bunker, to give her complete name and title. She was Daddy Bunker's sister, and had never married, but she had a fine home in the Back Bay section of Boston, and the six little Bunkers, with their father and mother, had been spending some weeks there.

While Mr. and Mrs. Bunker are talking about the coming trip to the seashore, and while Laddie is hurrying back to tell his brothers and sisters the good news, there will be a chance for me to let my new readers hear something about the children who are to have the largest part in this story.

This book is complete in itself, but it forms one of a series about the six children, and the first volume is called "Six Little Bunkers at Grandma Bell's." In that I introduced the boys and girls.

First there was Russ, aged eight years. He had dark hair and eyes, and was very fond of whistling and making things to play with, such as an automobile out of a soap box or a steamboat out of a broken chair. Rose, who was next in size, was seven years old. She often helped her mother about the house and looked after the younger children. And that she was happy when she worked you could tell because she nearly always sang. Rose had light hair and blue eyes.

Vi, or Violet, was six years old. As you have noticed, she was very fond of asking questions, and she looked at you with her gray eyes until you answered. Laddie, her twin brother, was as persistent in making up queer little riddles as Vi was with her questions, and between the two they kept their father and mother busy.

Margy, or Margaret, was five years old, and almost as dark as a little Gypsy girl. Margy and Mun Bun usually played together, and they had a great deal of fun. Lest you might think "Mun Bun" was some kind of candy, I will say that it was the pet name of Munroe Ford Bunker, and it was shortened to Mun Bun as the other was too long to say. Mun Bun was rather small, even for his age of four years. He had blue eyes and golden hair and looked almost as I have an idea fairies look, if there are any real ones.

So there you have the six little Bunkers. When they were at home, they lived in the town of Pineville, on the Rainbow River. Mr. Bunker was a real estate dealer, whose office was about a mile from his home.

In the first book of the series I told you of a trip the Bunkers took to Grandma Bell's at Lake Sagatook, in Maine. Grandma Bell was Mrs. Bunker's mother, and in the Maine woods the children had so many good times that it was years before they forgot them. They had quite an adventure, too, with a tramp lumberman, who had a ragged coat, but I will not spoil that story by telling it to you here.

Before the Bunkers left Grandma Bell's they received an invitation to visit Aunt Jo in Boston, and they were at her Back Bay home when the present story opens.

There had been adventures in Boston, too, and the pocketbook which Rose found, with sixty-five dollars in it, was quite a mystery for a time. But, finally, the real owner was discovered, and very glad she was to get the money back.

"Well, we have had good times here at Aunt Jo's," said Mrs. Bunker to her husband, when they had read all the letters that had come in the mail. "And now it is time for us to go. I think we shall enjoy our stay at Cousin Tom's."

"It will be fine for the children," said their father.

"Yes, they are already counting on digging gold out of the sand," said Mrs. Bunker with a laugh. "Sammie Brown has been telling them some story about buried treasure his father found."

"Well, I believe that is a true story," said Mr. Bunker. "I heard my sister say something about Mr. Brown having been shipwrecked on an island once, and coming back with gold. But if we go to Cousin Tom's we shall have to begin packing soon, shall we not?" he went on.

"Yes," agreed his wife. "We are to leave about the middle of next week."

"We have been doing a great deal of traveling so far this summer," went on Mr. Bunker. "Here it is about the middle of August, and we have been at Grandma Bell's, at Aunt Jo's and we are now going to Cousin Tom's. I had a letter from Grandpa Ford, saying that he wished we'd come there."

"And my brother Fred is anxious to have us come out to his western ranch," said Mrs. Bunker. "If we accept all the invitations we shall be very busy."

So Mr. and Mrs. Bunker talked over the time of leaving, what they would need to take, and the best way of going. Meanwhile Laddie had run back to tell his brothers and sisters the good news.

"We're going to the real seashore!" he exclaimed. "It's down to Seaview where Cousin Tom lives, and we can dig for treasure there!"

"Can we really?" asked Violet. "What's treasure, Russ? Is any of it good to eat? And look at that robin! What makes him waggle his tail that way? And look at the cat! What's she lashing her tail so for?"

"Wait a minute, Vi!" cried Russ with a laugh. "You mustn't ask so many questions all to once."

"Treasure isn't good to eat!" said Laddie. "But if you find a lot of gold you can buy ice-cream sodas with it."

"Maybe the robin is flitting its tail to scare the cat," suggested Rose, who remembered Violet's second question.

"Well, I know why the cat is lashing her tail," said Russ. "Cats always do that when they think they're going to catch a bird. This cat thinks she's going to catch the robin. But she won't!"

"Why not?" asked Rose.

"'Cause I'm going to throw a stone at it -- at the cat, I mean," explained Russ. He tossed a pebble at the cat, not hitting it, and the furry creature slunk away. The robin flew off, also, so it was not caught, at least not just then.

"I know a riddle about a robin!" said Laddie. "Only I can't think of it now," he added. "Maybe I shall after a while. Then I'll tell it to you. Go on, Sammie. Tell us more about how your father got the gold on the desert island."

"He dug for it," Sammie answered. "He and the other sailors just dug in the sand for it."

"With shovels?"

"No, they used big shells. It's easy to dig in the sand."

"Is sand the best place to dig for gold?" Rose wanted to know.

"I guess so," answered Sammie. "Anyhow there's always sand on a desert island, like that one where my father was."

"There's sand down at Cousin Tom's," put in Laddie. "I heard my mother say so. I'm going to dig for gold, and if I get a lot, Sammie, I'll send you some."

"I hope you find a big lot!" exclaimed the visiting boy with a laugh.

They talked over their hopes of finding treasure in the seashore sand, forgetting all about the soap bubbles they had been blowing.

"I'll be lonesome when you go away," said Sammie to Russ. "I like you Bunkers."

"And we like you," said Russ. "Maybe if we dig for gold down at Cousin Tom's, and can't find any, you'll come down and help us."

"Sure I will!" exclaimed Sammie, as if that would be the easiest thing in the world. "I'll ask my father the best way, and then I'll come down."

"Could you bring a diving suit?" asked Laddie. "Maybe the gold would be down on the bottom of the ocean, and we'd have to dive for it. Would your father let you take a diving suit?"

"No, I don't guess he would," said Sammie, shaking his head. "They are only for big men, and you have to have air pumped down to you all the while. It makes bubbles come up, and as long as the bubbles come up the diver is all right."

"Did a shark ever bite your father?" asked Rose.

"No, I guess not," Sammie answered. "Anyhow he never told me about it. But I must go now, 'cause it's time for my lunch. I'll come over after lunch and we can have some more fun."

Sammie said good-bye to the six little Bunkers and started down the side path toward the front gate of Aunt Jo's home. Hardly had he reached the sidewalk when Russ and the others heard him yelling:

"Oh, come here! Come here quick, and look! Hurry!"



Chapter III

On The Boat


"What is it? What's the matter?" cried Rose, as she hurried after her brother, who started to run toward Sammie Brown.

"I don't know," Russ answered. "But something has happened!"

"Maybe Sammie found the treasure," suggested Laddie. "Oh, wouldn't that be great? Then we wouldn't have to dig for it down in the sand at Cousin Tom's!"

"Pooh! there couldn't be no treasure out in front of Aunt Jo's house," exclaimed Violet, not being quite so careful of her words as she should have been.

By this time Russ and Rose were in the front yard, but they could not see Sammie, because between the yard and the street were some high bushes, and the shrubbery hid Sammie from sight.

"What's the matter?" asked Rose.

"What happened?" Russ wanted to know.

"A policeman has arrested a big bear!" cried Sammie. "Come on and see it! The policeman has the bear, an' there's a man with gold rings in his ears, and he's got a red handkerchief on his neck, or maybe that's where the bear scratched him, and there's a big crowd and -- and -- everything!"

Words failed Sammie. He had to stop then.

"Oh -- a -- a bear!" gasped Rose.

She and Russ, followed by the rest of the six little Bunkers, hurried out to Aunt Jo's front gate. There they saw just what Sammie had said they would -- a policeman had hold of a long cord which was fastened about the neck of a bear. And there was an excited man with a red handkerchief tied about his throat, and he had gold rings in his ears. He was talking to the policeman, and there was a crowd of men and children and a few women about the bear, the policeman, and the other man, who seemed to be the bear's owner.

"What happened?" asked Russ of a boy whom he knew, and who lived a few doors from Aunt Jo's house.

"I don't know," was the answer. "I guess the bear bit somebody though, and the policeman arrested it."

"No, that wasn't it," said another boy. "The bear broke into a bake shop and ate a lot of pies. That's why the policeman is going to take it to the station house."

"Here comes the patrol wagon!" some one else cried, and up the street dashed the automobile from the precinct station house, its bell clanging loudly.

"Get in!" the six little Bunkers heard the policeman say to the man with the red handkerchief around his neck. "Get in, you and the bear! I'll teach you to come around here!"

"Oh, maybe the bear bit the policeman," half whispered Rose.

"No, my dears," said Aunt Jo, who, with Mother Bunker, had come out to see what the excitement was about and why the six little Bunkers had run so fast around the side of the house. "Nothing much at all happened, my dears," said Aunt Jo. "But in this part of Boston, at least, they don't allow performing bears in the streets. That is why the policeman is taking this one away. The man, who is an Italian, led his tame bear along the street and started to have the animal do tricks. But we don't allow that in this Back Bay section."

"Will he shoot the bear?" asked Mun Bun breathlessly.

"Oh, no," said Aunt Jo with a laugh. "The poor bear has done nothing, and his master did not know any better than to bring him here. They will just make them go to another part of the city, where, perhaps, performing bears are not objected to. Whether they allow them anywhere in Boston or not, I can't say. But he will be taken away from here."

The automobile patrol, with the bear and man in charge of the policeman, rumbled away. The crowd waited a little while, and then, as nothing more seemed likely to happen, it began to scatter.

"I'm glad we saw it," said Russ, as he turned back into the yard.

"So'm I," added Laddie. "It's 'most as much fun as digging for gold. Say, Russ, I hope we find some, don't you?"

"I sure do! I wish we were at Cousin Tom's right now. I want to start digging for that treasure."

"Don't be too sure of finding any," said Mother Bunker, who heard what her two little boys were saying. "Many persons dig for gold but never get any."

"Oh, we'll get some," declared Russ, and if you read this book through you will find out that what Russ said came true.

After supper that evening, when they had finished talking about the bear that had been arrested, Laddie and Vi wanted to go out into the yard and start digging.

"Oh, no," said their mother. "You have been washed and dressed, and digging will get you dirty again. Better wait until to-morrow."

"I thought we were going to start to pack to-morrow to go to Cousin Tom's," remarked Rose.

"So we are, but I guess you'll have time to dig for a little gold," returned Mother Bunker with a laugh. "Though that doesn't mean you will find any," she went on with another laugh.

The next day Laddie and Vi did start to dig in a place where Aunt Jo said it would do no harm to turn over the ground.

"Though if there is a golden treasure in my yard I never knew it," she said. "But dig as much as you like."

"I -- I just thought of a riddle," said Laddie, as he and Vi started out.

"Let me hear it," suggested Aunt Jo.

"What is it that's so big you can't put it in anything?" he asked. "That's the riddle. What is it that's so big you can't put it in anything in this world?"

"The ocean," answered Rose, who came along just then.

"Nope!" and Laddie shook his head.

"Well, the ocean is terrible big," Violet stated.

"Yes, it is," agreed Laddie. "But that isn't the answer to my riddle."

"Do you mean the sky?" asked Russ. "That's big, too."

"That isn't the answer," said Laddie. "I'll tell you, 'cause you never could guess it. It's a hole that you dig. You can dig one so big that you couldn't put it in anything. Not even the biggest box that ever was. Isn't that a good riddle?"

"Yes, it's pretty good," agreed Russ; and he commenced to whistle a merry tune. "But you could fill a small box with some dirt, and dig a little hole in that, and you'd have a hole in a box," he added, after a moment.

"Yes, but the answer to my riddle is a big hole," said Laddie. "Now come on out and dig!"

"How big a hole are you going to dig?" Vi wanted to know.

"Oh, not the kind in my riddle," replied her brother. "We'll just dig a little one and make believe we're after treasure."

Of course I need not tell you that Laddie and Violet did not find any. Treasure doesn't usually grow in Boston back yards. But the children had fun, and that was best of all.

During the next few days there was much packing of trunks and valises to do, for the six little Bunkers were getting ready to go to Cousin Tom's at Seaview. This was a place on the New Jersey coast, and none of the Bunkers had ever been there. For Cousin Tom had been only recently married to a very pretty girl, named Ruth Robinson. Cousin Tom and his bride had stopped to pay a visit to Daddy and Mother Bunker when the young couple were on their honeymoon trip, and then Cousin Tom and his wife had said that as soon as they were settled in their new seashore home the Bunkers must come to see them.

"And now we are going," said Mother Bunker, on the morning of the day they were to leave Aunt Jo's. The last trunk had been locked and sent away, and the family of travelers was soon to take the train from Boston to Fall River. There they would get on a boat that would take them to New York, and from New York they could go on another boat to Atlantic Highlands, in New Jersey. Then they would take a train down the coast to Seaview.

"Well, I certainly shall miss you!" said Aunt Jo, as she kissed the big and little Bunkers good-bye. "And I hope, children, that you find lots of treasure in the sand."

"We'll dig deep for it," said Laddie. "Did you hear my riddle, Aunt Jo, about what's so big you can't put it in anything?"

"Yes, dear, I heard it."

"The answer is a big hole," went on Laddie, lest his aunt might have forgotten.

"I remember," she said with a laugh.

The trip to Fall River was not a very long one, and the six little Bunkers, who looked out of the windows at the sights they saw, hardly realized it when they were told it was time to get off the train.

"Where do we go now?" asked Rose, as she helped her mother by carrying a package in one hand and holding to Margy with the other. Rose was a real "mother's helper" that day.

"We go on the boat now," said Daddy Bunker. "And I want you children to be very careful. We are going to ride on the boat all night, and we shall be in New York in the morning."

"Shall we sleep on the boat?" asked Laddie.

"Yes, we'll have cute little beds to sleep in," said Mother Bunker.

A half hour later they were on one of the big Fall River boats that make nightly trips between New York and the Massachusetts city. The Bunkers were shown to their state-rooms. They had three large apartments, with several bunks, or beds, in each one, so there would be plenty of room.

They had their supper on the boat, and then they went out on deck in the evening. There were many sights new and strange to the children, and they looked eagerly at each one. Then it grew dark, and it was decided that the time had come for little folks to "turn in," and go to sleep.

Laddie, who with Russ and his father shared a room together, was looking from the window of the stateroom, out into the dark night, when he suddenly cried out:

"Oh, there's going to be a big thunder storm! I just saw the flash of lightning!"

"Are you sure it was lightning?" asked Mr. Bunker with a smile. "I didn't hear any thunder."

"There it is again!" cried Laddie, and this time a ray of bright, white light shone in the window, full in Laddie's face.



Chapter IV

A Mix-Up


"That isn't lightning," said Russ, who had come to the window of the stateroom to stand beside his brother and look out.

"'Tis, too!" insisted Laddie, as another flash came. "It's lightning, and maybe it'll set our boat on fire, and then we can't go to Cousin Tom's an' dig for gold! So there!"

Mr. Bunker, who was opening a valise in one corner of the room, getting out the boys' pajamas for the night, had not seen the light shining in the window, but had seen the glare of it on the wall.

"'Tisn't lightning at all!" declared Russ again.

"How do you know it isn't?" asked Laddie.

"'Cause lightning flashes are a different color," said Russ. "And, besides, they don't stay still so long. Look, Daddy, this one is peeping right in our window like a light from Aunt Jo's automobile!"

Mr. Bunker turned in time to see the bright flash of light come in through the window, and then it seemed to stay in the room, making it much brighter than the light from the electric lamps on the wall.

"Of course that isn't lightning!" said Mr. Bunker. "That's a search-light from some ship. Come on out on deck, boys, and we'll see it."

The bright glare was still in the room, but it did not flare up as lightning would have done, and there were no loud claps of thunder.

"Well, if it isn't a storm I'll come out on deck and look," Laddie said. "But if it rains I'm coming in!"

"It won't," said Daddy Bunker with a laugh. "We'll go out for a few minutes, and then we'll come in and go to bed. To-morrow we'll be at Cousin Tom's."

Out on the deck of the big Fall River boat they went, and, surely enough, the light did come from the search-lantern of a big ship not far away. It was a United States warship, the boys' father told them, and it was probably kept near Newport, where there is a station at which young sailors are trained. The warship flashed the light all about the water, lighting up other boats.

"I thought it was lightning," said Laddie.

"It is a kind of lightning," said Daddy Bunker. "For the light is made by electricity, and lightning and electricity are the same thing, though no one has yet been able to use lightning to read by."

Mrs. Bunker, who had left Rose in charge of Margy and Mun Bun, came out on deck with Violet, and met her husband and the two boys. She was told about Laddie's thinking the light was from a storm, and laughed with him over it.

"I'm going to make up a riddle about the search-light to-morrow," said the little fellow eagerly.

They stayed out on deck a while longer, while the boat steamed ahead, watching the various lights on shore and on other vessels, and occasionally seeing the glare of the search-beam from the warship. Then, as it was getting late and the children were tired, Mother Bunker said they had better go to their beds.

This they did, and they slept soundly all night.

The morning was bright and fair, and the day promised to be a fine one for the rest of the trip to Cousin Tom's. As I have mentioned, they were to take a boat from New York City to Atlantic Highlands, and from there a train would take them down the New Jersey coast to Seaview, and to Mr. Thomas Bunker's house on the beach.

"Are we going to have breakfast on the boat?" asked Russ, as he helped his father gather up the baggage, whistling meanwhile a merry tune.

"No, I think we will go to a restaurant on shore," said Mr. Bunker. "I want to telegraph to Cousin Tom, and let him know we are coming, and I think we shall all enjoy a meal on shore more than on the boat after it has tied up at the dock."

So on shore they all went, and Daddy Bunker, after leaving the hand baggage at the dock where they were to take the Atlantic Highlands boat later in the day, took them to a restaurant.

"Shall we have good things to eat?" asked Violet, as she walked along by her mother's side.

"Of course, my dear," was the answer. "That is what restaurants are for."

"Will they have as good things as we had at Aunt Jo's?"

"Well, yes, I think so."

"Will they have strawberry shortcake?"

"You don't want that for breakfast!" laughed Daddy Bunker, turning around, for he was walking ahead with Russ.

"I like strawberry shortcake," went on Violet. "It's good and mother said they had good things in a rest'ant. I want strawberry shortcake."

"Well, you shall have some if we can get it," promised Mother Bunker, for Violet was talking quite loudly, and several persons on the street, hearing her, looked down at the little girl and smiled.

"All right," said Vi. "I'm glad I'm going to get strawberry shortcake in the rest'ant. What makes 'em call it a rest'ant, Daddy? Does an ant rest there? And why doesn't Aunt Jo come to one an' rest?"

"I'll tell you about it when we get there," said her father.

The restaurant was not far from where they were to take the boat for Atlantic Highlands, and, though it was rather early in the morning, quite a number of persons were at breakfast.

There was a smell of many things being cooked, and the rattle of dishes, and of knives, forks and spoons made such a clatter that it sounded as though every one was in a great hurry.

"Are all these people going down to the seashore like us?" asked Violet, who seemed to have many questions to ask that day.

"Oh, no," answered her father. "They are just hungry, and they want their breakfast. Perhaps some of them have been traveling all night, as we were. But come, we must find a table large enough for all of us. I don't believe they often have a whole family, the size of ours, at breakfast here."

A waiter, who had seen the Bunkers come in, motioned them to follow him, and he led them to a quiet corner where there was a table with just eight chairs about it.

"Ho! I guess this was made specially for us," said Russ with a laugh, as he slid into his seat.

"Yes, it just seems to fit," agreed Mr. Bunker. "Now, Mother," and he looked over at his wife, "you order for some of the children, and I'll order for the others. In that way we'll be through sooner."

"Have they got any strawberry shortcake?" asked Vi. "I want some."

"I don't see it down on the bill of fare for breakfast," replied her father, "but I'll ask the waiter."

One of the men, of whom there were many hurrying to and fro with big trays heaped high with dishes of food, came over to the Bunkers' table.

"No, the strawberry shortcake isn't ready until lunch," he said. "But you can have hot waffles and maple syrup."

"Oh, I like them!" and Violet clapped her hands. "I like them better than strawberry shortcake."

"Then you may bring some," said Mr. Bunker. It took a little time to get just what each child wanted, and sometimes, after the order was given, one or the other of the youngsters would change. But finally the waiter had gone back to the kitchen, to get the different things for the six little Bunkers and their father and mother.

"And now we can sit back and draw our breaths," said Mrs. Bunker. "My, I never saw such a hungry lot of children! Now sit still, all of you, until I 'count noses.' I want to see if you're really all here."

She began at Russ, and went to Rose, to Violet, to Laddie, and to Margy, and then Mrs. Bunker suddenly cried:

"Why, you're not Mun Bun! Where is Mun Bun? You are not my little boy!"

And, surely enough, there was a mix-up. For in the seat where Mun Bun had been sitting was a strange little boy. He was about as big as Mun Bun, but he was not one of the six little Bunkers.

Where was Mun Bun?



Chapter V

Margy's Crawl


Mother Bunker looked at the strange little boy. And the strange little boy looked at Mother Bunker.

"Where did you come from?" asked Mr. Bunker.

"Over there, and I'm hungry!" said the little fellow. "I'm terrible hungry, 'cause I didn't have no breakfast yet. Has you got any breakfast?" and he looked at each plate in turn, for the waiter had put plates in front of each of the Bunkers. "No, you hasn't anything to eat, either. I guess I'll go back," and he started to slip down from his chair. He was sitting between Violet and Margy.

"Wait a minute, my little man," said Daddy Bunker with a smile. "Don't run away so fast. You might get lost. Who are you and where do you live?"

"I live away far off," answered the strange boy. "My name is Tommie, and I come in a ship and I'm going out West, and I'm hungry!"

"Oh, maybe he's lost!" exclaimed Russ.

"I'm sure Mun Bun is!" said Mrs. Bunker. "Oh, where can he be? He was in his chair a minute ago, and then I looked to see what else I wanted to order to eat, but when I looked up there was this strange boy, and Mun Bun was gone. Oh, I hope he hasn't gone into the street!" and she looked toward the door of the restaurant.

Mun Bun was not in sight, and Mr. Bunker got up from his chair to make a search. The strange boy who had said his name was Tommie, looked about hungrily.

Just as Mrs. Bunker was going to call a waiter, and ask about Mun Bun, there came a cry from another table at the far end of the restaurant. It was the voice of a woman, and she said:

"Oh, that isn't Tommie! Where is he? Where is Tommie?"

"I guess that explains the mystery," said Mr. Bunker with a smile. "The two boys are mixed up. We have Tommie -- whatever his other name is -- at our table, and Mun Bun must have gone down there," and he pointed to the table where the woman had called for Tommie. There were five children at this table, waiting for breakfast as the six little Bunkers were waiting, and one of them was Mun Bun, as his mother could see. She ran down the long room.

"Oh, Mun Bun!" cried Mrs. Bunker. "What made you go away? Why did you come over here?" And she hurried to his chair and took him in her arms.

At the same time the boy who had called himself Tommie, slipped out of his chair and hurried with Mrs. Bunker back to the table where the woman who had called him sat.

"Now I guess the mix-up is straightened out," said Daddy Bunker with a laugh. "Mun Bun slipped away, when we were not looking, and went to the wrong table. At the same time a little boy from that table came to ours. They just traded places."

"Like puss-in-the-corner," said Rose, who had followed her mother and father to the other end of the room.

"That's it," agreed Daddy Bunker. "I'm sorry you were frightened about your little boy," he went on to Tommie's mother. "We didn't know we had him."

"And I didn't know I had yours," she said with a smile. "I have five children, all girls but this one, and when I didn't see Tommie in his place, but saw, instead, this strange little chap, I didn't know what had happened."

"That's just the way I felt," said Mrs. Bunker. "I have six, and when we travel it keeps me and their father busy looking after them."

"My husband isn't with me now," said the woman, who gave her name as Mrs. Wilson. "But I expect to meet him at the station. We are going to Asbury Park for the rest of the summer."

"We are going to Seaview," said Mrs. Bunker. "Perhaps we may meet you at the shore."

"I hope so," said Mrs. Wilson, as Tommie slipped into the seat out of which Mun Bun slid. "Now here comes your breakfast, children."

"Yes, and the waiter is bringing ours," said Mr. Bunker with a look over toward his own table. "Come, Mother, and Mun Bun. You, too, Rose."

They said good-bye to Mrs. Wilson, and soon the six little Bunkers at one table were eating waffles and maple syrup, and at the other table the five little Wilsons were enjoying their meal.

"What made you go away, Mun Bun?" asked his mother, as she buttered another waffle for him.

"I wanted to see if they had any shortcake down there," he explained. "I wanted some like Vi did, and I went to another table to see. But there wasn't have any," he added, getting rather mixed up in his talk. "And when I wanted to come back I didn't know the way and I sat down and you weren't there, Mother, and I was afraid and --  -- "

"But you're all right now," said Mrs. Bunker, as she saw Mun Bun's chin begin to quiver as it always did just before he cried. "You're all right now, and not lost any more. Finish your waffle, and we'll soon be ready to go on the boat to Cousin Tom's."

The children were eating heartily, for they were hungry after their night trip from Fall River. Laddie, who had had several helpings of waffles, at last seemed satisfied. He leaned back in his chair and said:

"I know another riddle. When is Mun Bun not Mun Bun?"

"He's always Mun Bun, 'ceptin' when Mother calls him Munroe Ford Bunker, when he's got himself all dirt," said Vi. "I don't call that a riddle."

"It is a riddle," insisted Laddie. "When is Mun Bun not Mun Bun?"

"Is it when he's asleep?" asked Russ, taking a guess just to please his small brother.

"Nope! That isn't it," went on the small boy. "It's awful hard, and you'd never guess it, so I'll tell you. Mun Bun isn't Mun Bun when he's Tommie Wilson. Isn't that a good riddle?" he asked. "Mun Bun isn't Mun Bun when he's Tommie Wilson."

"Yes, that is pretty good," said Mr. Bunker. "But now we had better hurry, or we may be late for the Atlantic Highlands boat. Are you all through?"

They were; all but Mun Bun, who saw a little pool of maple syrup on his plate, and wanted to get that up with a spoon before he left the table. Then once more the six little Bunkers were on their way.

The Atlantic Highlands boat left from a pier near one of the New Jersey Central Railroad ferry slips on West street in New York City, and it was quite a long walk from the shore end of the pier to the end that was out in the Hudson River. It was at the river end that the boat stopped, coming down from a pier farther up the stream.

"Now are we all here?" asked Mother Bunker, as she and her husband started down West street. "I don't want Mun Bun to change into some one else after we get started on the boat, for then it will be too late to change him back. Are we all here?"

They were, it seemed, and down West street they hurried. The way was lined with out-door stands, where it seemed that nearly everything from bananas and oranges to pocketbooks and shoes, were sold. West street is along the river front, where many boats land, and there are sailors, and other persons, who have no time to go shopping for things up town, or farther inland in the city of New York. So the stands on West street are very useful. You can buy things to eat, as well as things to wear, without going into a store. A big shed over the top keeps off the rain.

As the Bunker family hastened on, Margy, who had been walking with Rose, let go of her sister's hand and cried:

"Oh, look at the little kittie! I want to rub the little kittie!"

A small cat had crawled out from under one stand and was walking along the street. Margy saw it, and, being very fond of animals, she wanted to pet it.

But the cat, young as it was, seemed to be afraid. As Margy ran from Rose's side and trotted after the furry animal, it gave a sudden scamper under another stand.

But Margy had chased kittens before, and she knew that once they got under something they generally stayed near the front edge, hoping they would not be seen. By stooping down, and reaching, she had often pulled her own kitten out from under her mother's dresser.

"I can get you! I can get you!" laughed the little girl.

Paying no attention to her clean, white stockings, which her mother had put on her only that morning, Margy knelt down on the sidewalk, and stretched her arms under the fruit stand, beneath which the half-frightened kitten had crawled.

If the little cat had known that Margy only wanted to stroke it softly and pet it I am sure it would not have run away. But that is what it did, and that is what caused all the trouble. For there was trouble. I'll tell you about it.

"Come on out, kittie!" called Margy. "Come on out! I won't hurt you! I like kitties, I do! Come on out and let me rub you!"

She stooped lower down to see under the edge of the fruit stand. By this time Mrs. Bunker had seen what had happened, and she called:

"Margaret Bunker, get right up off your knees this instant. You'll spoil your clean white stockings! Get up! We'll miss the boat!"

But Margy paid no heed. She could see the kitten now, back in a dark corner under the stand, and she wanted to get it out.

"Come on, kittie!" called the little girl. "Come on out, and I'll take you to Cousin Tom's with us and you can play in the sand! Come on, I'll rub you nice and soft!"

"Mew! Mew!" said the kitten, but it did not come out.

And then Margy did a very queer thing.

With a sudden wiggle and a twist she crawled all the way under the fruit stand, her little legs, in the white stockings, being the last to disappear.

"Oh, catch her! Quick! Catch her!" cried Mrs. Bunker. But it was too late. Margy was out of sight under the fruit stand after the little kitten.



Chapter VI

At Cousin Tom's


When Mr. Bunker heard his wife calling as she did, he stopped and looked back, for he was walking on ahead with Russ and Laddie. Then all the other Bunkers stopped, too, and gathered around the fruit stand. All except Mr. Bunker and the two boys knew what had happened, for they had seen Margy crawl under.

The man who owned the stand, who had gone away from it a moment to talk to the man who kept a socks-and-suspender stand next to him, had not seen the kitten crawl under his pile of fruit, nor had he seen Margy go after it. But when he saw the seven Bunkers gathered in a group he at once thought they wanted to buy some apples, pears, or oranges.

"Nice fruit! Nice fruit!" said the man, who was an Italian. "Very nice good fruit and cheap."

"No, we don't want any fruit now," said Mrs. Bunker. "I want my little girl."

"Lil' girl? Lil' girl!" exclaimed the Italian.

"No got lil' girls. Only got fruit, banan', orange, apple! You want to buy? Good nice fruit cheap!"

"No, I want Margy!" cried Mrs. Bunker.

"Where is she?" asked Mr. Bunker, who, as I have told you, had not seen where Margy went.

"She's under the stand," explained his wife.

"She went to get a kitten," added Rose.

"No got kittens nor cats needer," said the Italian. "Only got fruit. Nice fruit, cheap!"

Mr. Bunker stooped down to look under the stand.

"No fruit there!" the owner said. "All fruit on top. Nice fruit, cheap!"

"I am looking for my little girl," explained Mr. Bunker. "She crawled under there -- under your stand -- after a kitten."

And just then could be heard a loud:

"Mew! Mew! Mew!"

"Oh, she's caught it! Margy's caught the kittie," cried Mun Bun. "I can hear him holler."

Certainly something seemed to have happened to the kitten, for it was mewing very loudly. Mr. Bunker reached in under the fruit stand, and made a grab for something. He gave a pull and out came -- Margy!

And as Margy came into view, being pulled by one leg by her father, who found that was the only way he could reach her, it was seen that the little girl held, clasped in her arms, the kitten after which she had crawled.

"I got it! I got it!" cried Margy, as she sat down on the sidewalk in front of the fruit stand.

The kitten was a soft, furry one, but it was rather mussed and bedraggled now, from the way Margy had mauled it. And the little Bunker girl was rather tousled herself, for there was not much room underneath the stand where she had crawled.

"Oh, my dear Margy!" cried Mrs. Bunker. "You are such a sight!"

"But I got my kittie!" said the little girl.

By this time quite a crowd had gathered around the six little Bunkers and their father and mother. Margy still sat on the sidewalk, with the kitten in her lap, petting and rubbing it.

"Come! We must hurry!" exclaimed Mr. Bunker. "We may miss the boat. Get up, Margy. Rose, you help your mother dust Margy off, and then we must hurry."

"Can't I take the kittie?" asked the little girl.

"No, dear," answered her mother. "It isn't yours. And besides, we never could take it to Cousin Tom's with us. Put it down, Margy, my dear!"

"Oh, oh, I don't want to!" cried the little girl, and real tears came into her eyes. "I got this kittie out of a dark corner, and it loves me and I love it! I want it."

"But you can't take it," said Daddy Bunker. "The kittie must stay here. It belongs to the fruit stand. It's your cat, isn't it?" he asked the Italian.

"My keeten? No. I have no keeten. I sell banan', orange, apple! You buy some I give you keetie. Me no want!"

"No, and we don't want it, either," said Mrs. Bunker. "I was hoping it was yours so you could say you had to keep it here to drive the mice away. If Margy thought it was yours she wouldn't want to take it away."

"Ah, I see!" exclaimed the Italian with a smile. "All right, I keep the keeten," and he said the name in a funny way.

"There, Margy!" exclaimed her father. "You see you'll have to leave the kitten here to keep the mice away from the oranges."

"Can't I take it to Cousin Tom's with me?"

"No. And you must put it down quickly, and hurry, or we shall miss the boat."

Margy started to cry, but the Italian, who seemed to understand children, quickly offered her a big, yellow orange. Then Margy let go of the kitten, and the fruit man quickly picked it up and put it down in a little box out of sight.

"She no see -- she no want," he whispered to Mrs. Bunker.

"I want an orange!" exclaimed Mun Bun, seeing Margy beginning to eat hers. "I likes oranges!"

"All right, we'll all have some," said Mr. Bunker. It seemed like disappointing the stand-owner to go away without buying some, after all that had gone on at his place of business.

So Mr. Bunker bought a large bag of oranges, telling his wife they could eat them on the boat. Margy forgot about the kitten, and, being dusted, for she was dirty from her crawl under the stand, the six little Bunkers once more started off. This time their father and mother watched each one of the boys and girls to see that none of them did anything to cause further delays. Russ and Rose and Laddie and Violet were not so venturesome this way as were Margy and Mun Bun.

"Now here we are at the dock, and all we have to do is to walk straight out to the end of the pier and get on the boat when it comes," said Mr. Bunker. "It is nearly time for it. I don't believe anything more can happen."

And nothing did. There was a long walk, or platform, elevated at one side of the covered pier, and along this the children hurried with their father and mother. A whistle sounded out on the Hudson River, which flowed past the far end of the dock.

"Is that our boat?" asked Russ.

"I hope not," his father answered. "If it is, we may miss it yet. But I do not think it is. There are many boats on the river, and they all have whistles."

A little later they were in the waiting-room at the end of the dock, where there were a number of other passengers, and soon a big white boat, with the name "Asbury Park" painted on one side, was seen steering toward the dock.

"Here she is!" cried Mr. Bunker, and, a little later, they were all on board and steaming down New York Bay.

They steamed on down past the Statue of Liberty, that gift from the French, past the forts at the Narrows, and so on down the bay. Off to the left, Daddy Bunker told the children, was Coney Island, where so many persons from New York go on hot days and nights to get cooled off near the ocean.

"Is Seaview like Coney Island?" asked Vi.

"Well, it may be a little like it," her father answered; "though there will not be so many merry-go-rounds there or other things to make fun for you. But I think you will have a good time all the same."

"We're going to dig for gold, like Sammie Brown's father," declared Laddie. "If we find a lot of it we can buy a ticket for Coney Island."

"What makes them call it Coney Island?" asked Vi. "Did they find some coneys there?"

"I don't know," her father replied.

"What's a coney, anyhow?" went on the little girl.

"I don't know the answer to that question, either," said Mr. Bunker. "You'll have to ask me something else, Vi."

"Maybe it's an ice-cream cone they meant," said Russ, "and they changed it to coney."

"Did they, Daddy?" Vi wanted to know.

"Well, you have a questioning streak on to-day," laughed her father. "I'm sorry I can't tell you how Coney Island got its name."

So the children looked, first on one side of the boat and then on the other as they steamed along. Now and then Vi asked questions. Russ whistled and thought of many things he would make when he reached Cousin Tom's. Laddie tried to think up a riddle about why the smoke from the steamer did not stack up in a pile, instead of blowing away, but he couldn't seem to think of a good answer. And, as he said:

"A riddle without an answer isn't any fun, 'cause you don't know when people guess it wrong or right."

Finally the boat turned toward land and, a little later, Daddy Bunker said they were near Atlantic Highlands. Then the steamer slowly swung up to a big pier, the gangplank was run out, and the six little Bunkers, with their father and mother and the other passengers, got off, their tickets being taken up as they left the boat.

A train was waiting at the pier, and soon, with the Bunkers in one of the coaches, it was puffing down the track, along the edge of the water. Above the train towered the high hills which gave Atlantic Highlands its name.

On the heights, at a station called "Highlands," are two big lighthouses.

The Highland light is as bright as ninety-five million candles, and on a clear night can be seen flashing for many miles.

"Could we come down and see the light some night?" asked Russ, as his father told him about it.

"Yes, I think so," was the answer. "But get ready now. We shall soon be at Cousin Tom's place."

The train rumbled over a bridge across the Shrewsbury river, which flows into Sandy Hook Bay, and then, after passing a few more stations, the brakeman cried:

"Seaview! Seaview! All out for Seaview!"

"Oh, now we're at Cousin Tom's!" cried Rose. "Won't we have fun?"

"Lots!" agreed Russ.

"And don't forget about digging for gold!" added Laddie.

They got off the train, and Cousin Tom, who was waiting for them, hurried up, all smiles. Behind him came his pretty wife.

"Oh, I'm so glad to see you!" said Cousin Ruth.

"Are all the six little Bunkers here?" Cousin Tom wanted to know, with a grin.

"Every one!" answered Mother Bunker. "But we nearly lost Margy. She crawled under a fruit stand after a kitten. Where is she now? Margy, come back!" she called, for she saw the little girl running toward the train. "Don't get on the cars!" cried Mrs. Bunker. The train was beginning to move. "Come back, Margy! Oh, get her, some one!"

But Margy was not going near the train. Suddenly she stooped over and caught up in her arms a little, white, woolly poodle dog.

"Look what I found!" she cried. "If I can't have a kittie cat, I can have a dog. He is a nice dog and he jumped off the train 'cause he likes me!"

And, just as Margy picked up the dog in her arms, a woman thrust her head out of one of the windows of the moving train and screamed.



Chapter VII

Digging For Gold


The dog began to bark, the engine of the train whistled, the woman with her head out of the car window kept on screaming, and the conductor, standing out on the platform, shouted something, though no one could tell what it was.

"It sounded," said Daddy Bunker, afterward, "like that Mother Goose story, where the fire begins to burn the stick, the stick begins to beat the dog, the dog begins to chase the pig and the old lady got home before midnight."

"What is the matter?" asked Cousin Tom, who had stopped greeting the six little Bunkers to look at Margy and the dog, and listen to the screaming of the woman on the train.

No one seemed to know, but, suddenly, the engine whistled loudly once, and then the train came to a stop. Out of the car rushed the woman, down the steps and toward Margy.

"My dog!" she cried. "Oh, my pet dog! I thought he was killed!"

"No'm, I picked him up," explained Margy, as the woman took her pet animal. "I saw him, and he came to me, 'cause he liked me. I almost got a little kitten, but it went under a stand and when I pulled it out Mother wouldn't let me keep it. Now I can't have the doggie, either," and Margy acted as if she were going to cry.

"I'm sorry, little girl," said the woman, "but I couldn't give up my pet Carlo. He is all I have!" and she cuddled the dog in her arms as she would a baby.

"Did you stop my train, lady?" asked the conductor, and he seemed rather angry.

"Yes," was the answer. "My Carlo ran off, just as it started, and I saw the little girl pick him up. Then I pulled the whistle-cord, and stopped the train. I just had to jump off and get my Carlo!"

"Well, now that you have him, please get back on again," said the conductor. "We are late now, and must hurry."

"I'm sorry I can't leave Carlo with you, for I'm sure you would love him," said the woman to Margy. "But I could not get along without him."

Margy did not have time to answer, as the woman had to hurry back to the train. The conductor was waiting, watch in hand, for the train had stopped after it had started away from the station, and would be a few minutes late. And on a railroad a few minutes mean a great deal.

"Oh, dear!" sighed Margy. "I had a little kittie and then I didn't have it. Then I had a little dog and now I haven't that, either! Oh, dear!"

"Never mind," said Cousin Tom, as he patted the little girl on the head. "You can come down to the bungalow and play in the sand, and maybe you can find a starfish or something like that."

"Oh, are there fish down in your ocean?" asked Russ.

"Lots of 'em, if you can catch 'em," said Cousin Tom, laughing.

"And is there any gold?" Laddie asked.

"I never found any, if there is," was the answer. "But then I never had much time to dig for it. You may, if you like. But now are you all ready?"

"All ready, I think," said Mother Bunker. "Don't pick up any more stray dogs or cats, Margy, my dear."

"This one came to me," said the little girl. "I loved him, I did, but now he is gone."

However there was so much new to see and talk about down at the seashore that Margy soon forgot about her little troubles. There were some carriages and automobiles at the station, and, dividing themselves between two of these, the Bunkers and Cousin Tom and his wife were soon driving down toward the ocean, for Cousin Tom lived on a street not far from the beach. He was the son of Mr. Ralph Bunker, who had been dead some years, and Mr. Ralph Bunker was Daddy Bunker's brother. So the children's father was Cousin Tom's uncle, you see.

"Did you have a nice trip?" asked Cousin Ruth, of Mrs. Bunker, as she rode beside her in the automobile.

"Yes, very. Laddie thought a search-light was a thunderstorm, when we were coming down on the Fall River boat, Margy crawled under a fruit stand in New York to get a stray kitten, and Mun Bun got mixed up with another little boy. But we are used to such things happening, and we don't mind. I hope you will not be driven wild by the children."

"Oh, no, I love them!" said Cousin Ruth with a smile, as she looked over at the six little Bunkers.

"That's good," said their mother with a smile. "Of course they get into mischief once in a while, but they are usually pretty good and don't give much trouble. They play very nicely together."

"I'm sure they must. I shall love them all -- every one! I wonder if they are hungry."

"They generally are ready to eat," said Mrs. Bunker. "But don't fuss too much over them. They can wait until meal time."

But the six little Bunkers did not have to do this, for when they reached the bungalow, not far from the beach, where Cousin Tom and his wife lived, there was plenty of bread and jam for the hungry children -- and hungry they were, you would have believed, if you could have seen them eat. Cousin Ruth seemed to think it was fun.

"Welcome to Seaview!" cried Cousin Tom, when the children were eating and Mr. and Mrs. Bunker had laid aside their things and the baggage had been carried to the different rooms. "Now I want you all to have a good time while you're here. Make yourselves right at home."

"They seem to be doing that," said Daddy Bunker, for the children just then finished their bread and butter and jam, and began to run all around the house.

Cousin Tom's bungalow was about a block from the ocean, and on a new street in Seaview, so there were no other houses very near it. Not far away was what is called an "inlet." That is, the waters of the ocean came into the land for quite a distance, making a place where boats could get in and out without going through the surf, or heavy waves. This inlet was called Clam River, for toward the upper end, a mile or so from the sea, it was shallow and sandy, and many clams were found there.

Clam River was a harbor for fishing and lobster boats, and they could run into it and be safe from storms at sea.

"I'm going out and dig in the sand!" cried Mun Bun.

"I'll come, too," said Margy.

"Well, don't pick up any stray dogs or cats," warned her mother. "Perhaps you had better go with them, Rose," she said to the oldest girl.

"All right, Mother. I'll look after them," was the answer, and Rose became her mother's little helper again.

Vi and Laddie seemed to be looking for something. They wandered about the big porch of the bungalow, and out in front, up and down.

"What do you want?" asked Cousin Ruth, who saw them.

"Something we can use to dig for gold," answered Laddie.

"Dig for gold!" exclaimed Cousin Ruth. "Is that a riddle?" for she had heard that Laddie was very fond of asking riddles.

"No, this is real," answered the little fellow. "'Tisn't a riddle at all. Sammie Brown's father dug for gold, and we're going to. There is always gold in sand."

"Oh, I'm glad to know that," answered Cousin Ruth. "We have so much sand around us that if it all has gold in it I'm sure we shall soon be rich. But I wouldn't be too sure about it, Laddie. Some sand may not have any gold in it. But you may dig all you like. You'll find some shovels and pails on the side porch. I put them there on purpose for you children."

Vi and Laddie found what they wanted, and hurried down to the beach to dig. Margy and Mun Bun went also, with Rose, while Russ, having found some bits of driftwood, began to whittle out a boat which he said he was going to sail on Clam River, where the water was smooth.

Mr. and Mrs. Bunker sat in the bungalow talking to Cousin Tom and his wife, telling them about their trip and the visit to Aunt Jo's, from whose house they had just come.

"I hope you can stay the rest of the summer with us," said Cousin Tom.

"It is a lovely place," said Mrs. Bunker, "And we shall stay as long as you like to have us, for I think the children will like it here. And we are more than glad to be with you and Cousin Tom. But we have half promised to visit Grandpa Ford."

"Yes, and he surely expects us," added her husband. "Is it all right for the children to play on the beach?" he asked his nephew.

"Oh, yes, surely. Did you think anything could hurt them?"

"Well, I didn't know. It's so near the water --  -- "

"The beach is a very safe one, and the water is shallow, even at high tide," said Cousin Tom. "At low tide you can wade quite a distance out. The children will be all right. But do they really expect to find gold by digging?"

"I believe they do. It's a story they heard," said Mr. Bunker with a laugh. "Near Aunt Jo's lived a boy whose father was a sea captain, and who, I believe, did once find gold on an island. It set Laddie and Vi to thinking they might do the same. But, of course, there isn't any gold here."

"Of course not," said Cousin Tom.

So Mr. and Mrs. Bunker talked with Cousin Tom and his wife, while the children played outside. The sun was going down, and it would soon be time for supper, when Mrs. Bunker, who had gone upstairs to change her dress, heard Rose calling:

"Come back, Laddie! Come back! You mustn't get into that boat!"

"Into a boat? Oh, I should say not!" cried Mrs. Bunker, who could not see from her window what was going on. "What are you doing, Laddie?" she called, as she hurried down.

She heard her little boy's voice in answer:

"I'm going off in the boat and dig for gold. No, I won't come back, Rose. I'm going to dig for gold. Come on, Vi!"

Fearing that something was going to happen, Mrs. Bunker ran out on the porch, from where she could see the beach.



Chapter VIII

Rose's Locket


Mrs. Bunker gave a quick glance about to see what was happening. She noticed Margy and Mun Bun, well up on the beach, digging holes and making little piles of sand. But down near the inlet, where a boat was tied, Rose was having trouble with Laddie.

The little boy who was so fond of asking riddles, and his sister Violet, who liked to ask questions, had left the place where they first had begun to "dig for gold," as they called it, and Laddie was about to get into the boat, calling to his sister Vi to follow.

"No, you mustn't go!" declared Rose. "You mustn't get into the boat. Mother told me to stay and watch you, and you've got to keep here on the beach and dig for gold!"

"There isn't any gold here!" declared Laddie. "I've dug all over, and we can't find any; can we, Vi?"

"Nope, not a bit," and Vi shook her curly hair.

"So we're going out in the boat, like real sailors. That's what Sammie Brown's father did," went on Laddie. "Then we'll find gold."

"But you mustn't get into the boat, Laddie, unless Daddy or Cousin Tom is with you!" said Mother Bunker. "Do as Rose tells you, and come away."

Laddie did not want to, but he always minded his mother, except when he was very bad, and this was not one of those times. So he went slowly away from the boat, which was tied to a little pier.

"I was going after gold," he said. "We can't find any here," and he pointed to the holes he and his little sister had dug.

"But if you went out in the boat alone, or with Vi, you might fall into the water," said his mother. "Never get into the boat unless some big person is with you, Laddie. And I mean you, too, Vi."

"All right," said the two children. "We won't."

"Come on!" called Rose to them, now that the dispute was over. "We will go farther down the shore and dig. And if we don't find any gold maybe we'll find some pretty shells, or a starfish."

"Does a starfish twinkle, Mother?" asked Vi.

"No, I don't believe it does, my dear."

"Then what makes 'em call it a starfish?" the little girl wanted to know.

"Because it has five arms, or perhaps they are legs, and as a star, such as you see in our flag, has five points, they call the fish that name. It is shaped like a star, you see. It doesn't twinkle, and it eats oysters, so I have read."

"How does it crack the oyster shells?" asked Vi.

"Oh, now you are asking too many questions for a little girl, and some that I can't answer," said Mrs. Bunker with a laugh. "Run along and play in the sand with Rose. But don't go too far, for it will be time for supper soon. And don't forget about the boat!"

"I hope we find a starfish," said Laddie, glad he had something new to think about.

"Could I make up a riddle about one, Mother?"

"I guess so, if you tried hard."

"I know a riddle about the sand," went on the little chap. "Why is the sand like a boy?"

"It isn't," said Rose. "Sand isn't at all like a boy."

"Yes, it is," went on Laddie. "A boy runs and so does sand."

"Sand doesn't run," declared Rose.

"Yes, it does," insisted her little brother. "I heard you say that some sand ran down into your shoe. So sand runs and a boy runs and that's a riddle."

"Yes, I guess it is," laughed Mother Bunker. "Well, you run along and play."

And Rose and Laddie and Violet did. They went to where Margy and Mun Bun were digging holes in the sand.

"Did you find any gold?" asked Laddie.

Mun Bun shook his head until his hair was in his eyes.

"We found a lot of funny little white bugs that jump," he said.

"They were awful nice little bugs, and they wiggled and wiggled in the sand," added Margy.

"Oh, I want to see some!" cried Vi, and then Margy and Mun Bun dug until they found some "sand hoppers," for the other children. They are a sort of shore shrimp, I think, and very lively, jumping about, digging themselves holes in the sand in which they hide.

Margy and Mun Bun and Laddie and Vi became so interested in looking for the sand hoppers that they forgot about digging for gold, and it was almost time for supper when Russ came whistling down the beach calling:

"Who wants to come and see me sail my boat?"

"I do! I do!" cried Mun Bun and Laddie, and the girls, Rose also, said they would go.

"I haven't got all the sails on yet," explained Russ, "but I guess it will sail a little this way, and I can put some more sails on to-morrow."

From an old shingle and some sticks Russ had made a nice little boat, fastening to the mast a bit of cloth, which looked like a sail. Followed by his smaller brothers and sisters Russ took his boat to a place in the inlet where the water was not deep, and there he let the wind blow it about, to the delight of all.

Then came a call from the bungalow.

"Supper, children! Come on in and get washed!"

"Oh, I'm so hungry!" cried Rose.

"So'm I," agreed Russ.

Margy and Mun Bun didn't say anything, but they looked as if they could eat.

"I thought of another riddle," said Laddie, as he went along with Russ. "It's about why does the sand run."

"No! That isn't it!" laughed Rose. "You've started it backward, Laddie, and spoiled it."

"Oh, yes, now I know. Why is sand like a boy?"

"Because they both run," answered Russ. It was easy to guess the riddle after Laddie had partly told it to him.

"Cousin Tom said lobsters run backwards," put in Violet, having heard Rose say that Laddie started his riddle backwards. "What makes lobsters go that way, Russ?"

"I don't know. I s'pose 'cause they like it."

"Do fish go backwards?" the little girl went on.

"I never saw any," Russ answered.

"And can they stand on their heads?" went on the little girl.

But no one could answer this question, and there was no time to do so, anyhow, as they were now at Cousin Tom's bungalow, and from it came the smell of many good things that had been cooked for supper.

"My! you have a houseful with all of us Bunkers," said the children's mother, as they gathered about the table.

"Yes. There wouldn't be room for many more," said Cousin Tom's pretty wife. "But I like company."

"Even if they eat so much it will keep you busy buying more?" asked Daddy Bunker.

"Oh, I guess they won't do that," replied Cousin Tom, laughing.

"We're going to dig gold in the sand, and then we can buy our own things to eat," declared Laddie.

"Well, until you do that I'll see that you get enough to eat," said his cousin.

After supper they went for a ride on the inlet in Cousin Tom's big rowboat.

"I think we had better go back," said Mother Bunker, after they had ridden about a bit. "It is getting late, and I see two of my little tots are getting sleepy."

This was true, for Margy and Mun Bun were nidding and nodding, hardly able to keep their eyes open, though it was hardly dark yet. But they had been up early and they had traveled far that day.

Back to the bungalow they went, and soon the four smaller children were in bed.

"And it will be time for you, Russ and Rose, in a little while," said Mrs. Bunker. They were allowed to stay up a half hour longer than the others.

While Daddy Bunker and Cousin Tom and the two Mrs. Bunkers were talking on the side porch, and watching the moon rise, as though it came right from the ocean, Russ and Rose sat down on the beach. They were within call from the bungalow, though about a block away from it, Cousin Tom's place being the first one up from the water.

Russ picked up a shell, and started to dig.

"What are you looking for?" asked Rose.

"I was just wondering if there was any gold here," said her brother. "Sammie Brown said there was gold in sand, and there's lots of sand here; isn't there, Rose?"

"Yes, but Laddie and Violet dug in a lot of places to-day, and so did Margy and Mun Bun, and they didn't find any gold."

"They didn't know how to look for it," declared Russ. "You have to dig deep for gold."

"I'll help," offered Rose. "I like to dig in the sand."

She found a clam shell, as large as the one Russ had, and with those for shovels, the children began digging on the beach in the moonlight. They could look back and see the bungalow, and Mr. and Mrs. Bunker could see the children from where they sat.

The ocean surf made a loud noise.

"Doesn't it sound nice and scary-like?" asked Rose, as she reached her arm down into the hole she was digging, and scooped up some damp sand.

"Yes. It's like the desert island Sammie told about," agreed Russ, listening to the boom and hiss of the waves as they broke on the beach. "Have you found any gold yet, Rose?"

"No. Have you?"

Russ shook his head.

"I guess we've got to go deeper," he said.

It grew later. The moon rose higher, and it became a little more "scary-like." Presently Mrs. Bunker called:

"Come, Rose! Russ! Time to go to bed!"

"All right!" they answered. They were tired enough to want to go to sleep.

They dropped their clam shells near the holes they had dug, and started up the beach. Suddenly Rose gave a cry.

"What's the matter?" asked Russ.

"My locket! My gold locket that Grandma gave me! It's gone! Oh, I have lost my lovely gold locket!"



Chapter IX

The Sand House


"What's the matter?" called Mr. Bunker from the bungalow porch. He had heard the sobbing voice of Rose. "Has anything happened?" he went on. "Tell Daddy what it is."

"I have lost my lovely gold locket!" sobbed Rose. "The one Grandma gave me! I dropped it in the sand, I guess, when I was digging the holes for gold. I wish I hadn't dug!"

"Stand right where you are!" called Daddy Bunker. "I'll bring my electric flashlight and look around for your locket. It may have dropped on the sand right where you are. So don't move until I get there and can see the place. I'll find your gold locket, Rose."

The moon was bright, and, shining on the ocean and on the white sand, made the beach very light. But still, as Rose looked about her and over to where Russ stood, she could not see her gold locket. And she wanted very much to get it back, as it was a present from Grandma Bell, and Rose liked it more than any of her other gifts. She did not often wear it, but on this occasion, coming on the trip from Aunt Jo's, Rose had begged to be allowed to hang the ornament on its gold chain about her neck, and her mother had allowed her to do so.

Rose had promised to be careful, and she had been. She had noticed the locket after supper and when she came out in the evening to dig in the sand with Russ. But now it was gone, and just where she had dropped it Rose did not know.

"And now my lovely locket is gone!" she sobbed.

"Never mind! I'll get it for you," said Daddy Bunker.

Russ and Rose stood still as he had told them to do, and now they saw their father coming toward them waving his pocket electric light. He usually carried it with him to peer into dark corners. It would be just the thing with which to look for the lost locket.

"Did you remember where you had it on you last?" asked Daddy Bunker, as he came close to Rose.

"Just before Russ and I started to dig with the clam shells to find the gold," she answered.

"Where was that?" her father asked.

Russ and his sister pointed to where two little piles of sand near some holes could be seen in the moonlight.

"That is where we dug for gold," said Rose.

"But we didn't find any," added Russ.

"You may now, if you dig -- or to-morrow," said their father.

"Really?" inquired Russ.

"You may dig up Rose's gold locket," went on Mr. Bunker. "I don't believe there is any other gold in these sands, even if Sammie Brown's father did find some on a desert island. But if Rose dropped her locket here, there is surely gold, for the locket was made of that. Now don't walk about, or you may step on the locket and bend it. I will flash my light as I go along, and look."

Daddy Bunker did this, while Rose, standing near her brother, looked on anxiously. Would her father find the piece of jewelry she liked so much? It was hard to find things, once they were buried in the sand, Rose knew, for that afternoon Cousin Ruth had told about once dropping a piece of money on the beach, and never finding it again.

"And maybe my locket slipped off my neck when I was digging the deep hole," thought Rose; "and then I piled up the sand and covered it all over."

Daddy Bunker must have thought the same thing, for he flashed his light about the sand piles made by Russ and his sister. He did not dig in them, however.

"We won't do any digging until morning," he said. "We can see better, then, what we are doing. I thought perhaps the locket might lie on top of the sand, and that I could pick it up. But it doesn't seem to. You had better come in to bed, Russ and Rose."

"But I want my locket," sighed the little girl.

"And I thought I could find it for you," said Mr. Bunker. "I think I can, in the morning, when the sun shines. Just now there are so many shadows that it is hard to see such a little thing as a locket."

"Will it be all right out here all alone in the night?" asked Rose.

"Oh, yes, I think so," her father said. "As it is gold it will not tarnish. And as no one knows where it is it will probably not be picked up, for no one will be able to see it any more than I. And I don't believe many persons come down here after dark. It is rather a lonely part of the shore. I think your locket will be all right until we can take a look for it in the morning."

"Maybe a starfish might get it," said the little girl.

"Oh, no!" laughed Daddy Bunker. "Starfish like oysters, but they do not care for gold lockets. I'll find yours for you in the morning, Rose."

This made Rose feel better, and she went inside the bungalow with Russ and her father. Mrs. Bunker, as well as Cousin Tom and his wife, felt sorry on hearing of Rose's loss, but they, too, felt sure that the ornament would be found on the sand in the morning.

I do not know whether or not Rose dreamed about her lost locket. Certainly she thought about it the last thing before she fell asleep. But she slumbered very soundly, and, if she dreamed at all, she did not remember what her visions of the night were.

But she thought of her locket as soon as she awoke, however, and, dressing quickly, she ran down on the sand. Her father was ahead of her, though, and, with a rake in his hand, he was going over the beach near the place where Russ and Rose had dug the holes.

"Is this the only place you children hunted for gold?" asked Mr. Bunker, as he saw Rose coming along.

"Yes, Daddy," she answered. "And we were right there when I didn't have my locket any more. Can't you find it?"

"I haven't yet," he answered. "I've raked over the sand as carefully as I could, but I didn't see the locket."

"Did you look down into the holes we dug, Daddy?"

"Yes, and all around them. It's queer, but the locket seems to have disappeared."

"Maybe a starfish came up and took it down into the ocean with him."

"No, Rose. If the locket was dropped on the beach it is here yet. But it is rather a large place, and perhaps I am not looking just where I ought to. However I will not give up."

Daddy Bunker looked for some little time longer, pulling the sand about with the rake, but no locket showed. Then others looked, including the children, Cousin Tom, his wife and Mother Bunker. But they had no better luck.

"Well, we know one thing," said Daddy Bunker. "There is gold in this sand now if there was not before. Rose's gold locket is here."

"And I don't guess I'll ever find it," said the little girl with a sigh. "Oh, dear!"

"Maybe it slipped off your neck in the house," suggested Cousin Ruth. "I'll look carefully, and you may help me."

But this did no good either, and though the search was a careful one, and though the sand was gone over again, the lost locket was not picked up.

"I'm going to dig every day until I find it!" said Rose.

"And I'll help!" added Russ.

"So will I!" said Laddie; and the other children, when they knew what a loss had come to Rose, said they, also, would help.

If it had not been for this accident the visit of the six little Bunkers to Seaview would have been without a flaw. Even as it was, it turned out to be most delightful. Seaview was a fine place to spend the end of the summer, and Cousin Tom and his wife made the children feel so at home, and did so much for them, that Russ and the others said they never had been in a nicer place.

"If I only had my locket!" sighed Rose, as the days passed.

But it seemed it would never be found, and after a time, the thought of it passed, in a measure, from the little girl's mind. She did not speak of it often, though sometimes when she went down on the beach, near the holes she and Russ had dug in the moonlight, Rose looked about and scraped the sand to and fro with a shell or a bit of driftwood.

But as the beach looks pretty much alike in many places, it is hard to know whether, after the first few times, Rose dug in the right place.

Cousin Ruth looked again all through the bungalow for the gold locket, and, whenever any one thought of it, he or she poked about in the sand. But the locket seemed gone forever.

There was plenty to do at Seaview to have fun. The children could go in wading and swimming, they could play in the sand, they could sail toy boats in the inlet and they could go out in a real boat with their father or Cousin Tom.

More than once they were taken out on the quiet waters, and they sat in the boat while their father or his nephew fished. Once Russ held the pole and he caught a funny, flat fish, that seemed as if it had been put through the wringer which squeezed the water out of the clothes on wash day.

"What kind of fish is that?" asked Violet, when she saw it flapping about in the bottom of the boat.

"It's a flounder," answered Cousin Tom.

"Is it good to eat?"

"Yes, very good."

"Maybe it swallowed Rose's locket. Do you think so, Daddy?" asked the little girl.

"Oh, no, Vi. Now don't ask so many questions, please."

"Could I ask a riddle?" Laddie wanted to know.

"Oh, I suppose so," laughed his father. "What is it?"

"I haven't made it up yet," went on Laddie. "It's going to be about a flounder and a wringer, but I got to think. When I get it ready I'll tell you."

"Don't forget!" laughed Cousin Tom.

It was about a week after Rose had lost her locket and it had not been found, that one day Russ called to Rose:

"Come on down to the beach. I know how we can have some fun."

"What can we do?" asked his sister.

"We'll build a house and have a play party," answered Russ.

"Where?"

"On the beach. We can build a house in the sand."

So the children started off, with their shovels and sand pails. Their mother watched them, thinking how nice it was that they could be at the shore in hot weather.

It was about an hour after Rose and Russ had started down the beach together to make a sand house that Mrs. Bunker, who was just thinking of taking a walk and having another look for the lost locket, heard cries.

"Mother! Mother! Come quick!" she heard Russ calling.

"What's the matter?" cried Mrs. Bunker.

"Oh, come quick!" went on Russ. "Rose is in the sand house! Rose is in the sand house!"

Not knowing what had happened, Mrs. Bunker set off on a run down the beach.



Chapter X

The Pirate Bungalow


The mother of the six little Bunkers was used to having things happen to them. She did not have half a dozen children without knowing that, nearly every day, some one of them would fall down and bump a nose, cut a finger, get caught in a fence, or have something like that happen to make trouble. So, in a way, Mrs. Bunker was used to calls for help.

"But this seems different," she said to herself, as she ran along. "I'm afraid something has happened to Rose."

And something had. As Mrs. Bunker came within sight of Russ and his sister, where they had gone to dig their sand house, their mother saw her oldest boy dancing about on the beach.

"Where is Rose?" called Mrs. Bunker. "What have you done with Rose?"

"I didn't do anything to her, Mother!" answered Russ. "But she's in the sand house and she can't get out!"

Mrs. Bunker kept on running toward the children; at least toward Russ. Rose she could not see.

"She can't get out of the sand house 'cause it fell down on her," explained Russ. "I tried to pull her out, but I couldn't, so I hollered for you, Mother!"

"Something dreadful must have happened! I wish I had stopped for Daddy!" thought Mrs. Bunker.

By this time she was close beside Russ, who was capering about like an Indian doing a war dance. But Russ was not doing it for fun. He was just excited, and couldn't keep still.

"Where is your sister?" asked Mrs. Bunker.

"There!" answered Russ, pointing.

Then Mrs. Bunker understood why she had not seen Rose before. It was because the little girl was hidden behind a pile of sand. But there was more than this the matter. For Rose was down in a hole, and the sand had caved in on her feet and legs, covering her up almost to her waist. Rose was held fast in a heap of sand, and, wiggle and twist though she did, she could not get out.

"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" sobbed the little girl, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I'm all fast and I can't get out!"

"I'll get you out! There! Don't cry any more," said Mrs. Bunker. "I'll soon have you out. Get a shovel, and help me dig Rose loose," she called to Russ.

"All right," answered the little boy. He had stopped jumping about now.

"Where are your shovels, Russ?" asked his mother, looking about for something with which to dig.

"We didn't have any. We used big clam shells," he answered. "Here's one, and I'll get another."

The large clam shells were pretty good to use as shovels, though Mrs. Bunker felt that she could have worked faster with a regular one. However, she had to do the best she could, and really the shell scooped the sand out very well. Russ helped, and they both set to work to dig Rose out of the hole in which she was partly buried.

"It's a good thing the sand didn't slide in on you and cover your head," said Mrs. Bunker. "How did it happen, Russ?"

"Well, we were digging a sand house -- it was just a hole in the sand, you know," the little boy explained. "We were going to put some sticks across the top, when we got it deep enough to stand up in, and put some seaweed over the sticks for a roof. I saw some boys on the beach make a sand house like that yesterday.

"But after we dug down a way," he went on, "Rose got down in the hole so she could dig better. She scooped the sand up to me and I put it in a heap on the beach. And then, all of a sudden, a lot of the sand slid in on Rose and she was held fast and -- and --  -- "

"And I couldn't get out, but I tried like anything!" added Rose, as her brother stopped for breath. "And then Russ screamed for you and -- and -- Oh, I'm so glad you came!" and Rose leaned her head against her mother, who was busy digging out the sand with the clam shell.

"I'm glad I came, too, my dear," said Mrs. Bunker. "After this don't dig such deep sand holes, or, if you do, don't get into them. Sand, you know, is not like other dirt. It doesn't stay in one place, but slips and slides about."

"But we want to have something to play in!" exclaimed Russ.

"Well, we want you to have fun while you are here at Cousin Tom's, but we don't want you to get hurt," said Mrs. Bunker. "Can't you make a little playhouse of the driftwood on the beach? That would be nicer to play in than a damp hole."

"Oh, yes, we could do that!" cried Rose. "Let's make a wooden house on the beach, Russ! There's lots of wood!"

"And then we can play pirates!" added the little boy.

A little later Rose had been dug out of the sand, and though her dress was a little damp, for the sand, as one dug down into it, was rather wet, she was not hurt.

All along the sands at Seaview, after high tide, were bits of planks and boards and chips, and after Rose had been dug out of the sand house she and Russ began gathering all the wood they could pick up to make what Russ said would be a "pirate bungalow."

Mrs. Bunker, after telling the children once more not to dig deep holes, left them on the beach to play, herself going back to Cousin Tom's bungalow.

Margy and Mun Bun, who had been gathering shells and stones down on the sand, had come up to play in front of the house, on a bit of green lawn. Laddie and Vi, who had walked up and down the beach, looking for some starfish, which they did not find, came to where Russ and Rose were getting ready to play.

"What are you making?" asked Laddie.

"A pirate bungalow," answered Russ. "Want to help?"

"Yep," answered Laddie.

"And I will, too," said Vi. "What are you going to put in it? Will it be big enough for all of us, and what makes so much wood here, Russ?"

"Now if you're going to ask a lot of questions you can't play!" said Rose. "You just help pick up the wood, Vi."

"Can't I ask just one more question?"

"What is it?" asked Russ, smiling.

"What makes the ocean so salty?" Vi asked this time. "I got some water on my hands and then I put my finger in my mouth and it tasted just like I'd put too much salt on my potatoes. What makes the ocean so salty?"

"I don't know," said Russ. "We'll ask Daddy when we go up. But come on, and let's build the bungalow. I'll be a pirate, and we'll play shipwreck and everything."

"I'll be a pirate, too," added Laddie. "I know a good riddle about a pirate, but I can't think of it now. Maybe I will after I've been a pirate for a while."

"We'll be pirates, too," said Vi.

"No, girls can't be," said Russ. "You can be our prisoners. Pirates always have prisoners."

"Prisoners? What's them?" asked Vi.

"They're what pirates have," explained Laddie. "I know, 'cause I saw some pictures of 'em in a book. Pirates always keep their prisoners shut up in a cave."

"I'm not going to be in a cave," said Rose. "I was in the sand house when it caved in, and I don't like it."

"But you get good things to eat," explained Russ. "Pirates always have to feed their prisoners good things to eat."

"Then I'll be one, 'cause I'm hungry," said Vi.

"So'll I," added Laddie. "I'll be a prisoner. I guess I'd rather be a prisoner than a pirate, Russ. You can be the pirate and get us all good things to eat."

"All right, I will. Now come on, we've got to get a lot more wood to make this pirate bungalow. Get all the wood you can."

"Why don't you get some?" asked Laddie, as he saw his brother sitting down on a pile of drift pieces that had already been gathered.



Chapter XI

Going Crabbing


Russ Bunker looked up at his brother Laddie and smiled. Still he made no move toward helping gather the driftwood for the bungalow they were going to make.

"Well, why don't you help get wood?" asked Laddie again. "Think we're going to do all the work and have you sit there?"

"Say, I'm a pirate, ain't I?" asked Russ, not getting his words just right, though his brother and sisters understood what he meant. "Didn't you say I was to be the pirate?"

"Yes, 'cause we don't want to be," retorted Rose.

"Well, all right then, I'm going to be the pirate," went on Russ.

"But you've got to get us good things to eat," said Vi. "We're the prisoners, an' you said they had good things to eat."

"I'll get good things to eat if Cousin Ruth'll give 'em to me," promised Russ. "But I'm the pirate, and pirates don't ever work. They just boss the prisoners. Now come on, prisoners, and build me the bungalow!" and Russ leaned back on a pile of sea weed and looked very lazy and comfortable.

"Don't pirates ever work?" asked Laddie.

"Nope! Not the kind I ever heard Mother read about in books," went on Russ. "They just tell the prisoners what to do, 'ceptin', of course, when there's any fighting. Pirates are 'most always fighting, but we won't play that part, 'cause Mother doesn't like that. I'll be a good pirate, and I'll let you prisoners build the bungalow."

"But you've got to get us something to eat," said Vi again.

"I'll do that," promised Russ. "I'll go up now and ask Cousin Ruth for some, and you prisoners can be getting a lot of wood."

The plans Russ made came out all right. Cousin Tom's pretty young wife was very glad to give the children some crackers and cookies to take down on the beach to eat, and when Russ got back with the bag of good things he found that Rose, Laddie and Violet had collected a large pile of driftwood.

"Now we'll make the bungalow," decided Russ. "I'll help work at that, 'cause the pirates want it made just so. But you prisoners have got to help."

"Can't we eat first, 'fore we make the bungalow?" asked Violet. "I'm as hungry as anything!"

"Yes, I guess we could eat first. I'm hungry, too," returned the "pirate."

Then the "pirate" and his "prisoners" sat down on the sand together, as nicely as you please, leaning against bits of driftwood covered with seaweed, and ate the lunch Cousin Ruth had given them. It did not take very long. Probably you know what a very short time cookies last among four hungry children.

"Well, now we'll start to build," said Russ, when the last cookie and cracker had been eaten. "First we'll stick up four posts in the sand, one for each corner of the bungalow."

The children had made playhouses before, not only at their home in Pineville, but while they were at Grandma Bell's house, near Lake Sagatook, Maine; so they knew something of what they wanted to do.

Of course the bungalow was rather rough. It could not be otherwise with only rough driftwood with which to make it. But then it was just what the children wanted.

When the four posts were set deep in the sand, in holes dug with clam shells, the children placed boards from one to the other, sometimes making them fast, by driving in, with stones for hammers, the rusty nails which were found in some pieces of the wood. Other boards or planks they tied together with bits of string. Over the top they placed sticks, and on top of the sticks they spread seaweed.

"We don't want the roof very heavy," said Russ, "'cause then if it falls in on us, as our snow house roof did once, it won't hurt us. All we want is something to keep off the sun."

"Won't it keep the rain out, too?" asked Rose.

"No, I don't guess it will," answered Russ, as he looked up and saw several holes in the roof. "Anyhow we won't play out here when it rains. Mother wouldn't let us."

The pirate bungalow was soon finished; that is, finished as much as the children wanted it, and then they began playing in it. Russ pretended that he was the pirate, and that the others were his prisoners. He made them dig little holes in the sand, and bring in shells and stones as well as seaweed. This last he made believe was hay for a make-believe elephant.

"Do pirates have elephants?" asked Violet.

"Sometimes maybe they do," her brother said. "Anyhow I can make believe that just for fun."

"Are we going to eat any more?" asked Laddie. "Or is that only make-believe, too?"

"I'll see if I can get some more from Cousin Ruth," promised Russ. Once more he made a trip up to the real bungalow, and Cousin Ruth, with laughter, filled another bag with cookies. This time Margy and Mun Bun, tired of playing with the shells and pebbles, went down on the beach to the driftwood pirate bungalow.

It was rather a tight squeeze to get all six of the little Bunkers inside, and not have the place burst and fall apart. But they managed it, and then they sat under the seaweed roof and ate the cookies, having a fine time.

"My, this is cozy!" cried Cousin Tom, as, with Daddy Bunker, he came down to see what the children were doing. "And you've had something to eat, too!" he went on, as he saw some crumbs scattered about.

"Yes, we had some," said Russ, "but it's all gone now. But if you are hungry I can get some more," and he started from the bungalow.

"Oh, no!" laughed Daddy Bunker, who had been told by his wife of Russ' two visits to Cousin Ruth's kitchen. "I guess we don't feel hungry now. Anyhow dinner will soon be ready."

The children played in the pirate bungalow all the remainder of the day, stopping only for dinner and supper. The seaweed roof kept off the hot August sun, and, as it did not rain, the holes in the covering did not matter.

Rose and Violet took their dolls down and played with them there. Russ, after a while, gave up being a pirate, and said his "prisoners" could all go, but they seemed to like staying around the driftwood house.

"If we had a door on it we could stay in it all night," said Vi. "Why didn't you make a door, Russ?"

"Too hard work," he answered. "Anyhow we don't want to stay down here all night."

"The waves might come up and wash us away," said Rose.

Laddie, who had been smoothing the sand in one corner of the pirate bungalow, now stopped and seemed to be thinking hard.

"What's the matter?" asked Russ.

"I have a new riddle," was the answer. "It's about a door."

"Is it why does a door swing?" asked Violet. "'Cause if it is, I can answer that one. I've heard it before. A door swings because it isn't a hammock."

"Nope! 'Tisn't that," said Laddie. "This is my new riddle. What goes through a door, but never comes into the room?"

"Say it again," begged Russ, who had not been listening carefully.

"What goes through the door, but never comes into the room?" asked Laddie again. "It's a good riddle, and I made it up all myself."

"Does it go out of the room if it doesn't come in?" asked Rose.

"Nope," answered Laddie, shaking his head. "It doesn't do anything. It just goes through the door, but it doesn't come in or go out."

"Nothing can do that," declared Russ. "If a thing goes through the door it's got to come in or go out, else it doesn't go through."

"Oh, yes, it does," said Laddie. "Do you give up?"

"Is it a cat?" asked Vi.

"Nope."

"A dog?"

"Nope."

"A turtle?" guessed Mun Bun, who didn't quite know what it was all about, but who wanted to guess something.

"Nope!" said Laddie, laughing. "I'll tell you. It's the keyhole!"

"The keyhole?" cried Russ. "No!"

"To be sure!" answered his small brother. "Doesn't a keyhole go all the way through the door? If it didn't you couldn't get the key in. The keyhole goes through the door, but it doesn't come into the room nor go out. It just stays in the door. Isn't that a good riddle?"

"Yes, it is," answered Rose. "I'd never have guessed it."

"I thought it up all myself while you were talking about a door to this bungalow," said Laddie. "What goes through the door but doesn't come in the room? A keyhole," and he laughed at his own riddle.

The next day Cousin Tom went down to the beach, where once more Russ, Rose and the others were playing in the driftwood bungalow, and called:

"How many of you would like to go crabbing?"

"I would!" cried Russ.

"So would I," said Rose.

"What is it like?" asked Vi, who, you might know, would ask a question the first thing.

"Well, it's like fishing, only it isn't quite so hard for little folk," said Cousin Tom. "Come along, if you're through playing, and I'll show you how to go crabbing."

"Are Daddy and Mother going?" asked Rose.

"Yes, we'll all go. Come along."

The six little Bunkers followed Cousin Tom up the beach to the inlet. There, tied to a pier not far from Cousin Tom's bungalow, was a large boat. Near it stood Mother and Father Bunker and Cousin Ruth. Cousin Ruth had some peach baskets, two long-handled nets and some strings to the ends of which were tied chunks of meat.

"Are we going to feed a dog?" asked Russ.

"No, that is bait for the crabs," said Cousin Tom. "Come, now, get into the boat, and we'll go for a new kind of fishing."



Chapter XII

"They're Loose!"


"All aboard!" cried Russ as he stood on the edge of the little wharf in the inlet, at which the boat was tied. "All aboard."

"Does he mean we must all get a piece of board?" asked Violet.

"No," answered her mother with a smile. "Russ is saying what the sailors say when they want every one to get on the ship, take their places, and be ready for the start."

The rowboat was a large one, and would hold the six little Bunkers, as well as their daddy and mother and Cousin Tom.

Cousin Ruth had intended to go, but, at the last minute, the woman living in the next bungalow asked her to help with some sewing; so Cousin Ruth stayed at home.

"I'll get all ready to cook the crabs if you catch any," she said with a smile, as Cousin Tom and Daddy Bunker rowed the boat out into the inlet.

"Oh, we'll get some!" cried Russ.

"Crabs bite, don't they?" asked Violet, who seemed started on her questioning tricks.

"Well, they don't exactly bite; it's more of a pinch," said Cousin Tom. "But it hurts, I can tell you."

"Then I'm not going to catch any," declared Violet. "I'll just watch you."

"Oh, a crab won't pinch you if you catch him in a net; and that's what I'll do," said her cousin. "We'll soon be at the place where there are lots of them, I hope."

As Cousin Tom rowed along, he told the six little Bunkers that the crabs swam up the inlet from the sea to get things to eat, and also for the mother crab to lay eggs, so little crabs would hatch out.

"And when the big crabs swim up, which they do whenever the tide runs into the inlet, twice a day," said Cousin Tom, "we go out and catch them. Of course you can catch them at other times, but the crabbing is best when the tide is coming in."

"But I don't see any hooks on the lines," remarked Laddie, who was looking at the strings in the bottom of the boat. On one end of each string was a short piece of wood, and on the other end a piece of meat, while on a few were some fish heads.

"You don't need hooks to catch crabs," explained Cousin Tom. "All you need to do is to tie a piece of meat on the string."

"And does the crab bite that?" asked Russ.

"No, but he takes it in his strong claws, to hold it so he can tear off little pieces with his smaller claws and put them into his mouth," said Cousin Tom. "A crab's mouth is small, and he has to tear his food into little bits before he can swallow it. He uses his big front claws for grabbing hold of what he wants to eat and holding on to it, and he likes old meat or fish heads best of all.

"So, when we get to the place where I think some crabs are, we'll let down the pieces of meat. The crabs, swimming along, or crawling sideways on the bottom of the inlet, as they more often do, will smell the chunk of meat. They will take hold of it in their claws, and then one of us can reach down the net and scoop it under Mr. Crab. That's how we catch them."

"But how do you know when one has hold of the piece of meat on the string?" asked Rose.

"You can feel him giving it little jerks and tugs," said Cousin Tom. "Or, if the water is clear, you can see him as he takes hold of the chunk of meat. Then you want to pull up on your string, very, very gently, so as not to scare the crab and make him let go. If you know how to do it you can lift your string up with one hand, and scoop the net under the crab with the other. But when you children have a bite, your Daddy or I will use the net for you."

"Oh, it's going to be lots of fun," cried Violet. "I like this kind of fishing."

"And there aren't any sharp hooks to hurt the crab," added Rose.

"No, it doesn't hurt a crab to catch him this way," said Daddy Bunker. "And crabs are very good to eat after they are cooked. I like them better than fish."

"Is a crab a fish?" asked Laddie, who was holding a little stick down in the water, watching the ripples it made as the boat was rowed along.

"A crab is a sort of fish," said Cousin Tom. "Why did you ask?"

"Oh, I am trying to make up a riddle about a crab and a fish," said Laddie. "But I don't guess I can if they are pretty near the same. I guess I'll make up a riddle about a boat. I have one 'most thought up. It goes like this: When a boat goes in the water why doesn't the water go in the boat?"

"It does, sometimes, if the boat leaks," replied Cousin Tom with a laugh. "I hope your riddle doesn't come true this trip, Laddie!"

"Oh, well, I haven't got the riddle all made up yet," was the answer. "I can't think of a good answer. Maybe I can after I catch some crabs."

"Why doesn't our boat sink?" asked Violet.

"'Cause it's wood, and that floats," said Russ.

"Well, once you made a little wooden boat, and it sunk when we put a lot of stones on it," said Vi. "And my doll -- a little one -- was on the boat, and she got all wet."

"Well, if a boat is made of wood, an' it's big enough, it won't sink, will it, Daddy?" asked Russ.

"No, I don't believe it will, if it doesn't get a hole through it so the water can get in. But sit still now, children. I think we are at the place where Cousin Tom is going to let us catch crabs. Aren't we, Tom?" asked Mr. Bunker of his nephew.

"Yes," said Cousin Tom, "this is a good place. There is plenty of seaweed on the bottom of the inlet here, and the crabs like to hide in that -- especially the soft-shelled crabs."

"Are there two kinds?" Russ inquired.

"Yes, hard and soft," was his cousin's answer.

"Like eggs," said Russ with a laugh. "There are hard and soft boiled eggs. Isn't that so, Cousin Tom?

"Yes," said Cousin Tom with a smile. "But the funny part of it is that sometimes the same crab is soft-shelled, and again it is hard-shelled. An egg can't be that way. Once it is boiled hard it never can be boiled soft again."

"What makes soft crabs?" Rose wanted to know.

"A soft-shelled crab is a hard-shelled crab with its old, hard shell off, and it is only soft while it is waiting for its new shell to harden in the salty sea water," explained Cousin Tom. "You see a crab grows, but its shell, or its house that it lives in, doesn't grow. So it has to shed that, or wiggle out of it, to let a larger one grow in its place. When it does that it is a soft-shelled crab for a time, and very good to eat. But you can't catch soft-shelled crabs on a string and a chunk of meat. You have to go along and scoop them out of the seaweed with a net. But now we will fish for hard-shelled crabs."

Cousin Tom and Daddy Bunker had rowed the boat about a mile up the inlet, and now the anchor was tossed over the side, to keep the craft from drifting with the tide.

"Now each one of you take a string, and toss the meat-end of it over the side," said Cousin Tom. "Keep hold of the stick-end, or tie that end to the boat. If you lose that you can't pull in your crab. Each one of you keep watch of his or her string. When you see it beginning to be pulled, or when you feel a little tug or jerk on it, as if a fish were nibbling, then pull up very slowly and carefully. And look as you pull. Don't pull it all the way to the top, or the crab, if there is one on it, will see you, let go, and swim away."

The six little Bunkers did as they were told. Of course Margy and Mun Bun were too little to know how to catch crabs, but they each had a line, and Mother Bunker said she would catch them for the small tots.

"Oh, I think I have one!" suddenly exclaimed Russ in a whisper. "Look at my line move!"

"Yes, you may have a crab on there," returned Cousin Tom. "Pull up very gently."

Russ did so, while his cousin reached forward with the long-handled net ready to scoop it under the crab, if it should happen to be one.

Up and up Russ pulled his line. Every one was eagerly watching, for they wanted to see the first crab caught. And then, as the chunk of meat on Russ's string came near the top of the water, Rose, from the other end of the boat, cried:

"Oh, it's only a piece of seaweed!"

And so it was! How disappointed Russ was! The bit of green seaweed, catching on his line, had wiggled and tugged, as the tide swayed it, just as a crab would have done.

"Oh, I have one! I have one!" suddenly called Laddie, from his end of the boat. "He's a big one! He's pulling like anything!"

"Well, don't get excited and fall overboard," said Daddy Bunker. "Keep still, pull up slowly, and I'll get him in the net for you."

Slowly Laddie pulled up. Every one was watching. Would his "bite," too, prove to be only seaweed?

"Yes, you have one!" said Mother Bunker in a low voice, so as not to frighten the crab. I don't really know whether loud noises frighten crabs or not, but generally every one keeps quiet when fishing.

"Yes, Laddie has a crab," said Daddy Bunker. "Wait, now, I'll get it in the net!"

THE CRAB HAD HOLD OF LADDIE'S BAIT IN BOTH CLAWS. Six Little Bunkers at Cousin Tom's. -- Page 120

Laddie's father dipped the net down into the water, shoved it under the crab, chunk of meat and all, and lifted it suddenly out of the water. The crab had hold of Laddie's bait in both claws, and before the creature could let go it had been caught.

"Oh, look at him wriggle!" cried Rose.

"Now I'll dump him into the basket," said Daddy Bunker. He turned the net upside down over the peach basket. Out dropped Mr. Crab, letting go of the chunk of meat, which Laddie pulled out by the string. The crab crawled about sideways on the bottom of the basket, raising its claws into the air and clashing them together, at the same time opening and shutting the pinching part.

"That's the way a crab fights," said Cousin Tom. "And sometimes two big crabs will fight so hard that one pulls a claw off the other. You have caught a fine, big one, Laddie."

"A dandy," agreed Laddie.

"And I've got one, too!" cried Vi. "Oh, he's pulling like anything!"

She really had a crab on her line. Cousin Tom netted it for her, and it turned out to be larger than Laddie's.

"I think the crab fishing will be good to-day," said Daddy Bunker.

And so it turned out. From then on each one began to catch the pinching creatures, the older folks using the net when the children had bites. Once Russ tried to use the net himself, but he was not quick enough with it, and the crab let go of the chunk of meat and swam quickly away.

"He was a dandy big one, too!" said Russ regretfully.

Mun Bun and Margy each one caught a crab, with the help of their mother, and Rose, Violet and Laddie had good luck, also. Cousin Tom and Daddy Bunker, of course, caught the most. Mother Bunker helped the children land theirs in the net. And, after about an hour of fishing, the peach basket was full of the big-clawed crabs.

"I think we have enough," said Cousin Tom. "We will take them home and cook them. Then we can eat them cold-boiled with lemon juice on them, or they can be made into a salad."

"Catching crabs is lots of fun," said Russ.

"Eating them is good, too," said his father.

They rowed back home, and found Cousin Ruth waiting for them at the bungalow.

"Oh, you did have good luck," said Cousin Tom's wife. "A whole basketful! Well, I'll soon have the water boiling and we'll cook them."

The basket full of live crabs was set in the kitchen, and the six little Bunkers and the others went out on the porch to rest and wait for the water to boil. Russ, a little later, wanted a drink, and, going into the kitchen, he turned to go to the sink. He was barefooted, and suddenly he felt a sharp pain on one toe.

"Oh, I'm bit! I'm bit!" he cried. "Something pinched me!"

And then, as he looked at the kitchen floor, he cried:

"Oh, come quick! Come quick! They're loose! They're all loose!"



Chapter XIII

In The Boat


Every one out on the porch of the bungalow jumped up on hearing Russ's cries.

"What's the matter?" asked Mother Bunker.

"What happened?" Daddy Bunker wanted to know.

"Oh, they're all loose, and one of 'em bit me," wailed Russ, and now came sounds which seemed to indicate that he was hopping about on one foot, and holding the other in his hands. And he really was doing this, as they found out afterward.

"Loose? They're all loose? What does he mean?" asked Rose.

"It's the crabs!" exclaimed Cousin Tom, as he made a run for the kitchen. "I guess some of them got out of the basket. They will do that once in a while."

Daddy and Mother Bunker, with Cousin Ruth, followed Cousin Tom to the kitchen, where Russ was still hopping about and yelling:

"Oh, they're all loose! They're all loose, and one of 'em pinched me! Oh, dear!"

"Don't cry, silly little boy!" called his mother. "A pinch by a crab can't hurt as much as that."

"Oh, but it hurts like anything!" yelled Russ. "He 'most bit off my big toe!"

By this time they were all in the kitchen. The rest of the six little Bunkers had followed their father and mother. They saw a queer sight.

Crabs were crawling all over the floor. They had managed to wiggle out of the peach basket in which they had been put as they were caught from the boat. Cousin Tom had spread wet seaweed over the top of the basket, but this had not been enough to keep the crabs in.

"Look, they're chasing us!" cried Rose, as a crab came sliding sideways over the oil-cloth, clashing its big claws.

"They are only trying to get into the dark corners to hide," said Cousin Tom. "I'll pick them up."

"Will they pinch you?" asked Laddie.

"No, not if I pick them up by one of their back flippers," said his cousin. "There is a certain way to pick up a crab so he can't reach you with his claws."

Just then a crab came toward Cousin Tom. He put out his foot, and held it tightly on the hard shell of the crab's back. Then, reaching behind the crab, and taking hold of one of the broad, flat swimming flippers, he lifted the crab up that way. The crab wiggled and tried to reach Cousin Tom with the pinching claws, but could not.

"That's the way to do it," called out Cousin Tom, as he tossed the crab into the basket.

"I can do it!" said Laddie, who liked to try new things.

"You'd better not," advised his mother. "Look how the crab pinched Russ."

"My toe's bleeding," said the little fellow, and so it was. A big crab can easily pinch hard enough to draw blood.

"I'll tie it up for you," said his mother. "Perhaps you children had better not try to pick up Crabs the way Cousin Tom did," she went on. "You might make a mistake and get badly pinched."

"Yes, let the children keep out of the way," agreed Daddy Bunker. "Cousin Tom and I will catch the crabs."

Russ was led away, hopping on one foot, though if he had tried, he could easily have stepped on his sore foot. He was more frightened than hurt, I think. And then the other children followed him, though the twins would rather have staid.

It was not easy to catch the crabs, for there were so many of them, and they scurried around so fast. But Cousin Tom picked them up in his fingers, and Daddy Bunker soon learned the trick of this. As for Cousin Ruth, she took the crab tongs, which were two pieces of wood fastened together on one end, like a pair of fire tongs. In these the crabs could be picked up either front or back, or even by one claw, and they could only pinch the wood, which they often did.

"There, I think we have them all," said Cousin Tom at last. "And now, as the water is boiling, we can cook them."

So the crabs were cooked, and set aside to cool until morning, when the white meat would be picked out of the red shells, and made into salad.

"What makes the crabs red?" asked Violet the next morning as she saw the pile of cold, boiled creatures. "They were a sort of brown and green color when we caught them yesterday."

"Yes," said her father, "crabs, lobsters and shrimps, when they are boiled, turn red. Just why this is I don't know. I suppose there is something in their shells that the hot water changes."

"Can they pinch my toe now?" asked Mun Bun, as he stood near his mother, looking at the basket full of cooked crabs.

"Nope! They can't hurt you now; they're cooked," Laddie replied. "I'm not 'fraid!" and he picked up a big crab, holding it by one of the claws.

Vi then did the same thing.

"Go ahead and take one, Mun Bun," urged Laddie.

"No! I don't guess I want to," said the little fellow.

"I know a riddle you could make up about a crab," said Rose, who had come to the kitchen to watch Cousin Ruth clean the shellfish.

"What is it?" Laddie demanded instantly.

"What color is a crab when it can't pinch?" sing-songed Rose. "And the answer is it's red when it can't pinch."

"Yes, that is a pretty good riddle," said Laddie, as, with his head on one side, he thought it over. "But I know how to make it better," he went on.

"How?" asked his mother.

"Let me think a minute," he begged. "Oh, I have it! Why is a crab like a newspaper?"

"'Tisn't!" exclaimed Russ who came along just then. He was limping a bit, for his toe was sore where the crab had pinched him.

"Yes, 'tis!" declared Laddie. "That's the riddle. It's something like the one Rose told. Why is a crab like a newspaper?"

"'Cause it folds its claws when it doesn't want to bite you?" asked Violet.

"Nope!"

"Tell us," suggested Russ.

"Well, a crab is like a newspaper, 'cause when it's red it can't bite or pinch," Laddie said. "See?"

"Huh! Yes, I see," murmured Russ. "A crab is like a newspaper because when it's red. Oh, I know! You mean when a newspaper is r-e-a-d. That's a different red from reading. But it's a good riddle all right, Laddie."

"I didn't think of it all," said the little boy. "Rose helped."

"Oh, well, you made a riddle out of it," his sister told him. "Here comes Cousin Ruth. I'm going to watch her clean the crabs."

It was quite a lot of work to take the sweet, white meat out of the crab-shells, but Cousin Ruth knew the best way to do it.

In about an hour she had a large bowl full of the picked-out meat, and the children -- all except Mun Bun and Margy, who were too little to be allowed to eat any -- said the crabs were better than fish. Daddy and Mother Bunker liked them, too.

"Some of the crabs have awful big claws," remarked Russ after dinner, as he looked at a pile of the legs and claws. "I guess they could dig in the sand with 'em, the crabs could. They could dig deep holes."

"I wish one would dig down and find my lost locket," said Rose with a sorrowful sigh.

For, though they had all searched the sand near the bungalow beach over and over, there was no sign of the missing gold locket.

"I guess we'll never find it," Rose went on with another sigh. "Not even if a crab could dig down deep."

"Well, I'll dig some more," promised Laddie. "Vi and I are going to make some holes in the sand to play a new game, and maybe we'll find your locket that way."

But they did not, and Rose, though she herself searched and dug in many places, could not find the ornament.

There were many happy August days for the six little Bunkers at Cousin Tom's. They played in the sand, went crabbing and fishing, wading and swimming.

One hot afternoon, when it was too warm to do more than sit in the shade, Mrs. Bunker, who had been lying on the porch in a hammock reading, laid aside her book and looked up.

"Where has Mun Bun gone?" she asked Rose, who was playing jackstones near by. "And did Margy go with him?"

"I don't know, Mother," Rose answered. "They were here a minute ago. I'll go and look for them."

Just as Rose got up and as Mrs. Bunker arose from the hammock, a voice down near the shore of the inlet called:

"Come back. Get out of that boat! Mother, Margy and Mun Bun are in the boat, and it's loose, and they're riding down the inlet and the tide's going out! Oh, Mother, hurry!"



Chapter XIV

Violet's Doll


You can easily believe that Mrs. Bunker did hurry on hearing what Russ was calling about Mun Bun and Margy. She almost fell out of the hammock, did Mrs. Bunker, she was in such haste.

"Daddy! Daddy! Come quick!" she called to her husband, who was in the bungalow, talking to Cousin Tom. "Margy and Mun Bun are in a boat on the inlet and are being carried out to sea. Hurry!"

Daddy Bunker also hurried.

Mother Bunker was the first to get down to the shore, where she could see what had happened.

At first all she noticed was Russ jumping up and down in his excitement, and, at the same time, pointing to something on the water. Mrs. Bunker looked at what Russ was pointing to and saw that it was Cousin Tom's smaller rowboat, and, also, that in it were her two little children, Mun Bun and Margy!

And the boat was being carried by the tide down the inlet toward the sea. The inlet, when the tide was flowing in or out, was like a powerful river, more powerful in its current than Rainbow River at home in Pineville, where the six little Bunkers lived.

"Oh, Margy! Mun Bun!" cried Mrs. Bunker, holding out her hands to the children.

"Oh, what will happen to them?" went on Mother Bunker, as she reached Russ standing near the edge of the inlet. She could see the boat, with Margy and Mun Bun in it, drifting farther and farther away. "Oh, I must get them!"

Mrs. Bunker was just about to rush into the water, all dressed as she was. She had an idea she might wade out and get hold of the boat to bring it back. But the inlet was too deep for that.

"Wait a minute! Don't go into the water, Mother! We'll get the children back all right!" cried Daddy Bunker, as he ran up beside his wife and caught her by the arm.

"How?" asked Mrs. Bunker, clinging to her husband.

"We'll go after them in another boat," said Mr. Bunker. "Here comes Cousin Tom. He and I will go after the children in the other boat. You sit down and wait for us. We'll soon have them back!"

Cousin Tom had two boats tied at the pier in the inlet. One was the large one in which they had gone crabbing a few days before, and the other was the small one in which Margy and Mun Bun had gone drifting away.

Daddy Bunker, left his wife sitting on the sand and ran to loosen the large boat. But Cousin Tom cried:

"Don't take that. It will be too slow and too heavy to row."

"What shall we take?" asked the children's father.

"Here comes a motor-boat. I'll hail the man in that and ask him to go after the drifting boat for us," Cousin Tom answered.

"All right," agreed Mr. Bunker, as he looked up and saw coming down the inlet, or Clam River, a speedy motor-boat, in which sat a man. This would be much faster than a rowboat.

Just then Mrs. Bunker, who had jumped up from the sand where she had been sitting for a moment, and who was running toward her husband, cried:

"Oh, see! The children are standing up! Oh, if they should fall overboard!"

Margy and Mun Bun, who, at first, had been sitting down in the drifting boat, were now seen to be standing up. And it is always dangerous to stand up in a small boat.

Daddy Bunker put his hands to his mouth, to make a sort of megaphone, and called:

"Sit down, Margy! Sit down, Mun Bun! Sit down and keep quiet and Daddy will soon come for you. Sit down and keep still!"

Mun Bun and his little sister did as their father told them, and sat down in the middle of the boat.

"Now we'll get them all right," said Mr. Bunker to his wife. "Don't worry -- they will be all right."

Cousin Tom ran out on the end of his pier. He waved his hands to the man in the motor-boat, who was a lobster fisherman, going out to "lift" his pots.

"Wait a minute!" called Cousin Tom. "Two children are adrift in that boat. We want to go after them!"

The lobster fisherman waved his hand to show that he understood. The motor of his boat was making such a noise that he could not make his voice heard, nor could he tell what Cousin Tom was saying. But he knew what was meant, for he saw the drifting boat.

With another wave of his hand to show that he knew what was wanted of him, the lobsterman steered his boat toward Cousin Tom's wharf. A few minutes later Daddy Bunker and Cousin Tom were in it, and were speeding down Clam River after the drifting craft in which sat Margy and Mun Bun.

"How did it happen?" asked Mr. Oscar Burnett, the lobster fisherman, as he steered his boat down stream.

"I don't know," answered Daddy Bunker "All I know is my wife called to me to come out, and I saw the two tots drifting off in the boat."

"They must have climbed in to play when the boat was tied to the wharf," said Cousin Tom. "Then either they or some one else must have loosened the rope."

"Maybe it came loose of itself," suggested Daddy Bunker.

"It couldn't," said Cousin Tom. "I tied it myself, and I am a good enough sailor to know how to tie a boat so it won't work loose."

"Yes, I guess you are," said Mr. Burnett. "The youngsters must have loosened the rope themselves. Or some older children did it, for those two are pretty small," and he looked at Margy and Mun Bun, for the motor-boat was now quite near the drifting rowboat.

"All right, Margy! All right, Mun Bun! We'll soon have you back safe!" called Daddy Bunker to them, waving his hands. Both children were crying.

Up alongside the drifting rowboat went the lobster craft. Cousin Tom caught hold of the boat in which the children sat, and held it while Daddy Bunker lifted out Margy and her brother.

Then the rowboat was tied fast to the stern of the other boat, which was steered around by Mr. Burnett, and headed up the inlet.

"I've got time to take you back to your pier," he said to Cousin Tom. "I started out a bit early this morning, so I don't have to hurry. Besides, the tide is running pretty strong, and you'd have it a bit hard rowing back."

"It's a good thing you came along," said Daddy Bunker, as he thanked the lobsterman. "The children might have been carried out to sea."

"Oh, the life guard at the station on the beach would have seen them in time," returned Mr. Burnett. "But I'm just as glad we got them when we did."

"What made you go off in the boat?" asked Daddy Bunker of Margy.

"We didn't mean to," answered Mun Bun. "We got in to play sail, and the boat went off by itself."

And this was about all the two children could say as to what had happened. They had got into the boat, which was tied to the pier, and had been playing in it for some time. Then, before they knew it, the boat became loose, and drifted off. Russ, who had been playing on the beach not far away, had seen them, but not in time to help them.

He had, indeed, called to them to "come out of the boat," but then it was too late for Margy and Mun Bun to do this. There was already some water between their boat and the pier. Then Russ did the next best thing; he called his mother.

It did not take long for the lobster motor-boat to make the run back to Cousin Tom's pier, pulling the empty rowboat behind. Mrs. Bunker rushed down and hugged Margy and Mun Bun in her arms.

"Oh, I thought I should never see you again!" she cried, and there were tears in her eyes.

"We didn't mean to go away in the boat," said Margy.

"We didn't mean to," repeated Mun Bun.

And of course the children did not. They had been playing in the boat as it was tied to the wharf, and they never thought it would get loose. Just how this happened was never found out. Perhaps Mun Bun or Margy might have pulled at the knot in the rope until they loosened it, and the tug of the tide did the rest.

But the children were soon safe on the beach again, playing in the sand, and the alarm was over.

"What makes the water in the inlet run up sometimes and down other times?" asked Violet.

"It's the tide," said Russ, who had heard some fishermen talking about high and low water.

"What's the tide?" went on the little girl.

"The moon," added Russ. "I heard Mother read a story, and it said the moon makes the tides."

"Does it, Daddy?" persisted Violet. She certainly had her questioning cap on that evening.

"Yes, the moon causes the tides," said Daddy Bunker. "But just how, it is a bit hard to tell to such little children. The moon pulls on the water in the oceans, just as a magnet pulls on a piece of iron or steel. When the moon is on one side of the earth it pulls the water into a sort of bunch, or hill, there, and that makes it lower in the opposite part of the earth. That is low tide. Then, as the moon changes, it pulls the water up in the place where it was low before, and that makes high tide. And when the tide is high in our ocean here it pushes a lot of water up Clam River. And when the water is low in our ocean here the water runs out of Clam River. That is what makes high tide and low tide here."

"Oh," said Violet, though I am not sure she understood all about it.

But after that Margy and Mun Bun were careful about getting into the boat, even when they felt sure it was tightly tied to the pier. They always waited until some older folks were with them, and this was the best way.

The happy days passed at Cousin Tom's. The six little Bunkers played on the beach, and, now and then, they looked and dug holes to try to find Rose's locket.

"I guess it's gone forever," said the little girl as the days passed and no locket appeared. And she never even dreamed of the strange way good luck was to come to her once more.

One warm day, when all the children were playing down on the sandy shore of the inlet, Violet came running back to the house.

"Mother, make Russ stop!" she cried.

"What is he doing?" asked Mrs. Bunker.

"He's taking my doll. He's going to take her out on the ocean in a boat. Make him stop."

"Oh, Russ mustn't do that!" exclaimed Mrs. Bunker. "Of course I'll make him stop!"

She went down to the beach with Violet, and, just as they came within sight of the group of children, they heard Rose say:

"Oh, Russ! Now you've done it! You have drowned Vi's doll!"



Chapter XV

The Box On The Beach


"Dear me!" exclaimed the children's mother, as she hurried along beside Violet to help settle whatever trouble Russ had caused.

"Oh! did you hear what Rose said?" asked Vi. "Did you hear?"

"Yes, my dear, I did."

"Oh, my lovely doll is drowned!" cried the little girl, and there were real tears in her eyes, and some even ran down her nose and splashed to the ground. "I just knew Russ would be mean and tease me, and he did, and now my doll is drowned and --  -- "

"Well, it might better be a doll that is drowned and not one of my six little Bunkers," said the mother. "Though, of course, I am sorry if any of your playthings are lost. Russ, did you drown Vi's doll?" she called to her oldest son.

"I didn't mean to, Mother," was the answer. "I was giving the doll a ride in a boat I made, and the boat got blown by the wind, and the wind upset the boat, and the boat went under water, 'cause I had a cargo of stones on it, and --  -- "

"What happened to Vi's doll?" asked Mother Bunker. "Why don't you get to that part of it, Russ?"

"I was going to," he said. "The doll fell off when the boat upset and sank, and the doll sank, too, I guess."

"Is my doll really, really, drowned?" cried Violet.

"I -- I'm afraid I guess so," stammered Russ. "But maybe I can fish her up again when the tide is low," he added hopefully.

"Do it now," sobbed the little girl.

"The water's too deep now."

"Where did she get drowned?" asked Violet, gazing through her tears at the waters of the inlet.

"The boat upset out there in the middle," said Russ, pointing.

"Oh, dear!" sighed Violet. "If she was my rubber doll maybe she wouldn't be drowned. But she's my china doll, and they won't float, will they, Mother?"

"No, my dear, I'm afraid not. How did it happen, Russ? Why did you take Violet's doll?"

"'Cause I wanted to give her a ride, and I didn't think she would care -- I mean Vi. Course the doll didn't care."

"She did so!" exclaimed the little girl, stamping her foot on the sand. "My dolls have got feelings, same as you have, Russ Bunker, so there!"

"Now children, don't get excited," said Mrs. Bunker gently. "Russ, you shouldn't have taken Vi's doll."

"Well, I wanted to see how much my boat would hold, and I was playing the doll was a passenger. I'll get it back for her. Cousin Tom will take me out in his boat to the middle, and I can scoop the doll up with a crab net."

Mrs. Bunker went with Russ and Violet to find Cousin Tom, leaving Laddie, Rose, Margy and Mun Bun playing with pebbles and shells in the sand.

Russ told Cousin Tom what had happened. The little boy had made a boat out of a piece of board, with a mast and a bit of cloth for a sail. He had loaded his boat with stones he had picked up on the beach of the inlet, and had started his craft off on a voyage.

Violet had been playing near by with her doll, and when she put it down for a moment Russ had taken the doll and put it on his toy boat.

Then he gave it a shove out into the Clam River, the wind blowing on the sail and sending his toy well out toward the middle of the inlet. There the accident happened. The boat turned over and sank. Perhaps if Russ had only laid the stones on, instead of tying one or two large ones fast, as he had, the boat might have floated, even though upset.

For if the stones had not been tied on they would have rolled off and the boat would have righted herself and floated, being made of wood. But, as it was, she sank.

"And my doll went down with it," said Vi sadly. "Please, Cousin Tom, can you get her back?"

"I don't know, Violet. I'll see," was the answer. "The tide is running out now, for it was high water a little while ago. If the boat sank down to the bottom, and stayed there, we may be able to get it when the water is low if we can see it."

"The sail is white, and you can see white cloth even under water," said Russ.

"But I'm afraid the cloth won't stay white very long. The mud and sand of the inlet will cover it," remarked Cousin Tom. "Did you tie the doll on the boat, too, Russ?"

"No, I just laid the doll down on top of the stones."

"Then when the boat upset the doll rolled off, and she probably sank in another place," said Mr. Bunker. "I don't believe we can ever find her, Vi, I'm sorry to say, but I'll try at low tide."

"Would she be carried out to sea, like Mun Bun and Margy 'most was?" the little girl wanted to know.

"She might, if the tide current was strong enough," said Cousin Tom. "What kind of doll was she?"

"China," answered Vi. "She was hollow, 'cause she made a hollow sound when you tapped her. And she had a hole in her back, and sometimes I used to pour milk in there, and make believe feed her."

"Well, if your doll was hollow, and had a hole in her back, she probably filled with water when she sank," said Cousin Tom.

"Oh, dear!" sighed Violet.

That evening, when the tide was low, so there was not so much water in the inlet, Cousin Tom and Daddy Bunker, taking Russ with them to show where his boat had upset, rowed out to the middle of Clam River. It took them a little while to find the place where Russ had last seen his toy boat, but finally they found it. Then, looking down into the water, they peered about for a sight of the white sail.

"There it is!" suddenly cried Russ, as he leaned over the side of the boat. "I see something white."

"Yes, I see it, too," said Daddy Bunker. "Perhaps that is the sail of the sunken toy boat, and perhaps the doll is near here."

But when Cousin Tom put down the long-handled crab net and scooped up the white object, it was found to be a bit of paper.

"Oh, dear!" sighed Russ. "I wish it was Vi's doll!" He felt bad about the sorrow he had caused his little sister.

"We'll try again," said his father, and, after rowing about a bit and peering down into the water, they saw something else white, and this time it really was Russ's boat. Cousin Tom scooped it up in his crab net, and when the stones which were tied on deck, were loosed, the boat floated as well as ever, and the wind and sun soon dried the wet sail.

But, though they scooped with crab nets all about the place where they had found the boat, they could not bring up Vi's doll.

"Oh, didn't you find her?" asked the little girl, when her father, Cousin Tom, and Russ came back in the rowboat.

"No, dear, we couldn't find her," said Daddy Bunker.

"Oh, dear!" and Vi cried very hard.

"Never mind, I'll get you another doll," said her mother.

"They won't ever a doll be as nice as she was," sobbed Vi. "I -- I just lo-lo-loved her!"

They all felt sorry for Violet, and Russ said she could have his new knife, if she wanted it. But she said she didn't; all she wanted was her doll.

"Never mind," said Rose, trying to comfort her sister. "Maybe when I find my gold locket, if I ever do, you'll find your lost doll. We've got two things to hunt for now -- your doll and my locket."

"But your locket is lost on land, and, maybe, if you dig in the sand enough, you can find it," sobbed Violet. "But you can't dig in the water!"

"Maybe she'll be washed up on the beach with the tide, same as the driftwood and the shells and the seaweed are washed up," put in Russ. "I'll look along the beach every day, Vi, and maybe I'll find your doll for you."

This comforted Vi some, and she dried her tears. Then Laddie made them all laugh by saying:

"I have a new riddle!"

"Is it about a doll?" asked Rose.

"No. It's about a cow."

"How can you make a riddle about a cow?" Russ demanded.

"Well, I didn't make this one up," said Laddie; "and it isn't like the riddles I like to ask, 'cause there isn't any answer to it."

"There must be some answer," declared Violet. "All riddles have answers."

"Well, I'll tell you this one, and you can see if it has," went on Laddie. "Now listen, everybody."

Then he slowly said:

"How is it that a red cow can eat green grass and give white milk that makes yellow butter?"

No one answered for a moment, and then Daddy Bunker laughed.

"That is pretty good," he said, "and I don't believe there is any answer to it. Of course we all know a red cow, or one that is a sort of brownish red, does eat green grass. And the milk a cow gives is white and the butter made from the white milk is yellow. Of course that isn't exactly a riddle, but it's pretty good, Laddie."

"And is there an answer to it?" the little boy asked.

"I don't believe there is," answered his father. "It's just one of those things that happen. Did you make that up, Laddie?"

"No. Cousin Tom told it to me out of a book. But I like it."

Vi still sorrowed for her doll, and, in the days that followed, she often walked along the beach hoping "Sarah Janet," as she called her, might be cast up by the tide or the waves. Russ looked also, as did the others, but no doll was found. Nor did Rose find her gold locket, though many holes were dug in the sand searching for it.

One morning, after breakfast, when he had gone down on the beach to watch the fishing boats come in, which he often did, Russ came running back to the house, very much excited.

"What's the matter?" asked his mother. "Did one of the boats upset and spill out the fishermen?"

"No'm, Mother. But a box washed up on shore, and it's nailed shut, and it's heavy, and maybe Vi's doll is in it! Oh, please come down and see the box on the beach!"



Chapter XVI

Caught By The Tide


Ever since they had come to Cousin Tom's, at Seaview, the six little Bunkers had hoped to find some treasure-trove on the beach. That is, Russ and Rose and Vi and Laddie did. Margy and Mun Bun were almost too little to understand what the others meant by "treasure," but they liked to go along the sand looking for things.

At first, when the children came to the shore, they had hoped to dig up gold, as Sammie Brown had said his father had when shipwrecked. But a week or so of making holes in the sand, and finding nothing more than pretty shells or pebbles, had about cured the older children of hoping to find a fortune.

"Instead of finding any gold we lost some," said Rose, as she thought of her pretty locket, which, she feared, was gone forever.

But now, when Russ came running in, telling about a big box being cast up on the beach, his mother did not know what to think. The children had heard her read stories about shipwrecked persons, who found things to eat, and things of value, cast up on the sands, and she knew Russ must imagine this was something like that.

"Hurry, Mother, and we'll see what it is!" cried the little boy, and taking hold of her hand he fairly dragged Mrs. Bunker along the path toward the beach.

"What sort of box is it?" the little boy's mother asked.

"Oh, it's a wooden box," Russ answered eagerly.

"Well, I didn't suppose it was tin or pasteboard," said Mrs. Bunker with a laugh. "A tin box would sink, and a pasteboard box would melt away in the water. Of course I know it must be of wood. But is it closed or open, and what is in it?"

"That's what we don't know, Mother," Russ answered. "The box has a cover nailed on it, and it isn't so very big -- about so high," and Russ measured with his hands.

"Did you open the box?" asked Mrs. Bunker.

"No'm," Russ answered. "We were all playing on the sand when I saw something bobbing up and down on the waves. We threw stones at it, and then it washed up on the beach, and I ran down into the water and grabbed it.

"Maybe it's gold in it, Laddie says," went on Russ. "But I told him it wasn't heavy enough for gold."

"No, I hardly think it will be gold," said his mother with a smile.

"And Vi thinks maybe it's her doll," went on the little boy.

"Oh, it hardly could be that. Her doll is probably at the bottom of the ocean by this time. It could hardly have been got up and put in a box. I'm afraid you will find nothing more than straw or shavings in your treasure-trove, Russ. Don't count too much on it."

"Oh, no, but we're just hoping it's something nice," Russ said. "You go on down where the box is and I'll go get a hammer from Cousin Tom so we can open the box."

He led his mother to a little hummock of sand, from the top of which she could look down and see the children gathered on the beach about a square wooden box that had been cast up by the sea. Then Russ ran back to get the hammer.

Mrs. Bunker looked at the box. There seemed to have been some writing on a piece of paper that was tacked on the box, but the writing was blurred by the sea water and could not be read.

"Oh, Mother! what you s'pose is in it?" asked Vi. "My doll, maybe!"

"No, I hardly think so, little girl."

"Maybe gold," added Laddie, his eyes big with excitement.

"No, and not gold," said Mrs. Bunker.

"Candy?" asked Margy, who had not one sweet tooth, it seemed, but several.

"Pop-corn balls!" said Mun Bun.

"Huh! candy and pop-corn balls would all be wet in the ocean," exclaimed Laddie.

By this time Russ came running back with the hammer. Behind him came Cousin Tom, Cousin Ruth and Daddy Bunker.

"What's all this I hear about a million dollars being found in a box on the beach?" asked Daddy Bunker with a laugh.

"Well, there's the box," said Russ, pointing. "Please open it."

"I wonder what can be in it," said Cousin Ruth.

"Oh, maybe nothing," replied her husband, who did not want the children to be too much disappointed if the box should be opened and found to hold nothing more than some straw or shavings for packing.

"Lots of boxes that are cast up on the beach have nothing in them," said Cousin Tom, as Daddy Bunker got ready to use the hammer on the one Russ and the others had found.

"There is something in this box, all right," said Daddy Bunker, as he lifted one end. "I don't believe this box is empty, though what is in it may turn out to be of no use. But we will open it and see."

The six little Bunkers crowded around to look. So did Mother Bunker and Cousin Tom and his wife. And then a very disappointing thing happened. All of a sudden a wave, bigger than any of the others that had been rolling up on the beach, broke right in front of the box resting on the sand. Up the shore rushed the salty, green water.

"Look out!" cried Mother Bunker. "We'll all be wet!"

Daddy Bunker, not wishing to have his shoes soiled with the brine, jumped back. So did the others. And, in jumping back, Mr. Bunker let go his hold on the box, which he was just going to open with Cousin Tom's hammer. And the big wave, which was part of the rising tide, just lifted the box up, and the next moment carried it out into the ocean, far from shore, as the wave itself ran back down the hill of sand.

"Oh! Oh, dear!" cried Rose.

"Grab it!" yelled Russ.

"I'll get it!" exclaimed Laddie.

He made a rush to get hold of the box again before it should be washed too far out from shore, but he stumbled over a pile of sand and fell. He was not hurt, but when he got up the box was farther out than ever.

Daddy Bunker looked at the water between him and the box, and said:

"It's too deep to wade and spoil a pair of shoes. And, after all, maybe there is only a lot of old trash in the box."

"Oh, I thought maybe my doll was in it," sighed Violet.

"Can't you take your boat, Tom, and row out and get the box?" asked Cousin Ruth.

"Yes, I could do that," he said. "I will, too! The water is calm, though I can't tell how long it will stay so."

But before Cousin Tom could go back to the pier in the inlet, where the boat was tied, the box was washed quite a distance out from shore. Then the wind sprang up and the sea became rough, and it was decided that he had better not try it.

"Let the box go," said Daddy Bunker. "I guess there was nothing very much in it."

But the children thought differently. They stood looking out at the unopened box, now drifting to sea, and thought of the different things that might be in it. Each one had an idea of some toy he or she liked best.

"Well, we waited too long about opening it," said Mr. Bunker. "We should have pulled the box farther up on the beach, Russ."

"That's right," said Cousin Tom. "The tides are getting high now, as fall is coming on, and the tides are always highest in the spring and the autumn. But maybe we can get the box back, after all."

"How?" asked Russ eagerly.

"Well, it may come ashore again, farther up the beach," replied Cousin Tom.

"Then somebody else may find it and open it," Russ remarked.

"Yes, that may happen," said his father. "Well, we won't worry over it. We didn't lose anything, for we never really had it."

But, just the same, the six little Bunkers could not help feeling sorry for themselves at not having seen what was in the box. They kept wondering and wondering what it could have been.

But a day or so later they had nearly forgotten about what might have been a treasure, for they found many other things to do.

One afternoon Margy and Mun Bun, who had been freshly washed and combed, went down to the wharf where Cousin Tom kept his boat.

"Don't get in it, though," warned their mother. "You were carried away in a boat once, and I don't want it to happen again. Keep away from the boats."

"We will!" promised Mun Bun and Margy.

When they reached the shore of the inlet Mun Bun said:

"Oh, Margy, look how low the water is! We can wade over to that little island!"

"Yes," agreed Margy, "we can. We can take off our shoes an' stockin's, an' carry 'em. Mother didn't tell us not to go wadin'."

And Mrs. Bunker had not, for she did not think the children would do this. So Margy and Mun Bun sat down on the wharf and made themselves barefooted. Then they started to wade across a shallow place in the inlet to where a little island of sand showed in the middle. And Margy and Mun Bun did not know what was going to happen to them, or they never would have done this.



Chapter XVII

Marooned


"That's a nice little island over there," said Mun Bun to Margy as they waded along.

"Yes, it's a terrible nice little island," agreed his sister.

"An' we can camp out there an' have lots of fun."

"Oh, Mun Bun, catch me! I'm sinking down in a hole!"

"All right, I'll get you!" cried the little boy, and he grasped hold of his sister's arm. She had stepped into a little sandy hole, and the water came up half way to her knees. Of course that was not very deep, and when Margy saw she was not going to sink down very far she was no longer frightened.

"But I was scared till you grabbed hold of me," she said to Mun Bun. "Is it very deep any more?"

"No, it isn't deep at all," the little boy answered. "I can see down to the bottom all the way to the little island, and it isn't hardly over your toenails."

The tide was very low that day, and in some parts of the inlet there was no water at all, the sandy bottom showing quite dry in the sun.

As Cousin Tom had said, toward the fall of the year the tides are both extra high and extra low. Of course not at the same time, you understand, but twice a day. Sometimes the waters of the ocean came up into the inlet until they nearly flowed over the small pier. Then, some hours later, they would be very low. This was one of the low times for the tide, and it had made several small islands of sand in the middle of Clam River.

It was toward one of these islands that Margy and Mun Bun were wading. They had seen it from the shore and it looked to be a good place to play. There was a big, almost round, spot of white sand, and all about it was shallow water, sparkling in the sun. The deepest water between the shore and the island was half way up to Margy's knees, and that, as I think you will admit, was not deep at all.

"We'll have some fun there," said Mun Bun.

"Maybe we can dig clams," went on the little girl.

Clam River was so called because so many soft and hard clams were dug there by the fishermen, who sold them to people who liked to make chowder of them.

There are two kinds of clams that are good to eat, the hard and the soft. One has a very hard shell, and this is the kind of clam you most often see in the stores.

But there is another sort of clam, with a thin shell, and out of one end of it the clam sticks a long thing, like a rubber tube. And when the clam digs a hole for himself down in the sand or the mud he thrusts this tube up to the top, and through it he sucks down things to eat.

The six little Bunkers had often seen the fishermen on Clam River dig down after these soft-shelled fellows. The men used a short-handled hoe, and when they had dug away the sand there they found the clams in something that looked like little pockets, or burrows.

"Maybe we can dig clams," said Margy.

"We hasn't got any shovel or hoe," returned Mun Bun.

"Maybe we can dig with some big clam shells, if we can find some," his sister said.

By this time they had reached the little island. Just like the islands in your geography, it was "entirely surrounded by water," and it made a nice place to play, except that it was rather sunny. But Mun Bun and Margy did not mind the sun very much.

They were used to playing out in it, and they were now as brown as berries, or Indians, or nuts, whichever you like best. They were well tanned, and did not get sunburned as many little boys and girls do when they go to the seashore for the first time.

"We can take the clams to Cousin Ruth and she can make chowder and she'll give us some cookies, maybe," said Mun Bun.

"I like clams better than cookies," remarked Margy. "I mean I like to eat cookies, but I like to dig clams."

"You can't dig cookies," said Mun Bun.

"You could dig one if you dropped yours in the sand," returned his sister.

"Yes, you could do that," agreed the little boy. "But it would be all sand, and it wouldn't be good to eat."

"I don't guess it would. We'll just dig clams. Anyhow, we hasn't any cookies to dig or to eat."

This was very true. And now the two little children began to hunt for clam shells to use for shovels in digging. They wanted the large shells of the hard clam, and soon each had one. Then they began to dig, as they had seen their father and Cousin Tom do. For Daddy Bunker had once taken Margy and Mun Bun with him and the other Mr. Bunker, when they went to dig soft clams.

Whether Margy and Mun Bun did not know how to dig, or whether there were no clams in the sand of the island I do not know. But I do know that the two little Bunkers did not find any, though they dug holes until their backs ached.

Then Margy said:

"Let's don't play this any more."

"What shall we play?" asked Mun Bun.

"Oh, let's see if we can find some wood and make little boats."

So they walked about the island looking for bits of wood. But none was to be found. For wood floats; that is, unless it is so soaked with water as to be too heavy, and all the pieces of wood that had ever been on the island had floated away.

"I don't guess we can build any boats," said Margy. "Let's go back to shore and get some wood, and then we can come back and sail boats."

"That'll be fun," said Mun Bun. "We'll go."

But when he and his sister started to wade back, they had not gone very far before Margy cried:

"Oh, the water's terrible deep! Look how deep down my foot goes!"

Mun Bun looked. Indeed the water was almost up to Margy's knees now, and she had gone only a few steps away from the shore of the island.

"Let me try it," said her brother. "I'm bigger than you."

He wasn't, though he liked to think so, for Margy was a year older. But I guess Mun Bun was like most boys; he liked to think himself larger than he was.

However, when he stepped out from the island, ahead of Margy, he, too, found that the water was deeper than it had been when they started to wade from the shore near Cousin Tom's pier.

"What makes it?" asked Margy.

"I -- I don't know," answered Mun Bun. "I guess somebody must have poured more water in the river."

"Lessen maybe it rained," suggested Margy. "Don't you know how Rainbow River gets bigger when it rains?"

"It didn't rain," said Mun Bun, "or we'd be wet on our backs."

"No, I guess it didn't rain," agreed Margy. Then she cried: "Oh, look, Mun Bun! Our island's getting awful little! It only sticks out of the water hardly any now! Look!"

Mun Bun turned and looked behind him. As his sister had said, the island was very much smaller.

"What -- what makes it?" asked Margy.

"I -- I don't know," answered Mun Bun. "But it is getting littler, just like when you keep on sucking a lollypop."

And that is just what the island was doing. What Margy and Mun Bun did not know was that the tide had turned, that it was rising, and that it would soon not only make their island much smaller, but would cover it from sight, leaving no island at all!

"Oh, the water's getting deeper," said Margy, as she took another step and found it coming over her little knees. "What are we going to do, Mun Bun?"

"I -- I guess we must go back to the middle of the island and stay there," said her brother.

"Oh, shall we ever get off?" Margy asked, and her voice sounded as though she might cry before long. "I can't ever wade to shore when the water is so deep. What are we going to do?"

"We'll call for Daddy!" said Mun Bun.



Chapter XVIII

The Marshmallow Roast


When anything happened to Mun Bun or his sister Margy they always called for Daddy or Mother Bunker. The other children did the same thing, though of course Margy and Mun Bun, being the youngest, naturally called the most, just as they were the ones who were most often in trouble that needed a father or a mother to straighten out.

"Our island's getting terrible small," said Margy; "and the water's gettin' deeper all around us."

"Yes," agreed Mun Bun, as he got in the middle of what was left of the circle of sand and looked about. "The water is deep. I guess I'd better call!"

"I'll help you," said Margy.

The two children stood in the center of the sandy island that was all the while getting smaller because the tide was rising and covering it, and they called:

"Daddy! Mother! Daddy Bunker! Come and get us!"

They called this way several times, and then waited for some one to come and get them.

If you want to imagine how Margy and Mun Bun looked, marooned as they were on an island in the middle of Clam River, with the tide rising, just get a big, clean stone and put it down in the middle of your bathtub. If you try this you had better put a piece of paper under the stone, so it will not scratch the clean, white tub.

Then on the stone put two other little stones to stand for Margy and Mun Bun. Now put the stopper in the tub and turn on the water. You will see it begin to rise around the stone, and soon only a little of it will be left sticking out of the water.

"Daddy! Mother! Daddy Bunker! Come and get us!"

Now Margy and Mun Bun did not have very strong voices, and, besides, though they were not far from one part of the shore, it was quite a distance to Cousin Tom's house, where their father and mother were at that moment. Also, the wind was blowing their voices away, and over toward the other shore of Clam River, where at this time no one lived.

But the two little Bunkers did not know this, and they kept on calling for their mother or father to come to get them. But neither Daddy nor Mother Bunker answered.

And the water kept on rising, for the tide was coming in fast, and it was going to be high.

Now it happened, just about this time, that Mr. Oscar Burnett, the lobster fisherman, was coming up the inlet in his motor-boat. He had been out to sea to lift his lobster-pots and he had been waiting at the entrance of Clam River for the tide to make the water deep enough for him to come up. On days when the tide was not so low he could come up all right, even at "slack water." But this time the channel was not deep enough for his motor-boat and he had to wait.

And as he puffed up, steering this way and that so as not to run on sand bars, he heard, faintly, the cries of Margy and Mun Bun.

Having good ears, and knowing the cries must be near him, Mr. Burnett looked about.

He saw the place where the island was now almost hidden from sight because of the rising waters, and he saw the two children, Margy and Mun Bun, standing there, their arms around each other, crying for help, and also crying real tears. For they were very much frightened.

"Well, I swan to goodness!" exclaimed the lobster fisherman. "There's those two children again, and this time they're marooned 'stead of being adrift! Yes, sir! They're marooned!"

I used that word once before and I forgot to tell you what it means, so I'll do so now. It means, in sailor talk, being left alone on an island without any way of getting off. Sometimes pirates used to capture ships, take off the passengers and set them on an island without leaving a boat. And the poor passengers were marooned. They could no more get off than could Margy and Mun Bun.

"Marooned! That's what they are!" said Mr. Burnett. "I'll have to go over and get 'em, just as I got 'em when they drifted down the inlet in the boat. I never saw such children for getting into trouble!"

Not that Mr. Burnett thought it was too much trouble to go and get Margy and Mun Bun off the island where they were marooned. Instead, he was very glad to do it, for he loved children. So he steered his motor-boat over toward what was left of the island -- which was very little now, as the tide was still rising. Then the lobster fisherman called:

"Don't be afraid, Mun Bun and Margy! I'll soon get you! Don't be afraid. Just stand still and don't wade off into the deep water."

"DON'T BE AFRAID! I'LL SOON GET YOU!" SAID MR. BURNETT. Six Little Bunkers at Cousin Tom's. -- Page 174

The island was shaped like a little hill, high in the middle, and Margy and Mun Bun had kept stepping back until they now stood on the highest part in the middle.

All about them was the water, deeper in some places than in others. And you may be sure that the little boy and his sister did not try to get off the high spot. There the water was only over their feet, but if they stayed there much longer it might cover their heads.

However no such dreadful thing happened, for Mr. Burnett steered his boat up to them until it grounded in the sand of the island that was now under water.

"Now you're all right!" said the kind man. He shut off his motor and jumped over the side of the boat. Right into the water he stepped, but as he had on high rubber boots he did not get his feet wet.

Mr. Burnett picked up Margy and set her down in his boat.

"Oh, look at the big lobsters!" cried the little girl. "Will they pinch me?"

Well might she ask that question, for the bottom of the boat was filled with lobsters with big claws, some of which were moving about, the pinching parts opening and shutting.

"They won't hurt you," said Mr. Burnett with a laugh. "Just keep up on the seat, Margy, and you won't get pinched."

The seats in the lobster boat were broad and high, and on one of them Margy and Mun Bun, who was soon lifted off the island to her side, were safe from the lobsters, which Mr. Burnett had taken from his pots, some miles out at sea.

"How did you come to go on the island when the tide was rising?" asked the fisherman, as he started his boat once more.

"The water was low, and we waded out barefoot," explained Margy.

"We were goin' to dig clams," added Mun Bun.

"But we couldn't find any," continued Margy. "And then when we went to wade back home the water got deep and we were afraid."

"I should think you would be!" replied the lobster fisherman. "Well, I'm glad I heard you call. It wouldn't be very nice on your island now."

The children looked back. Their island was out of sight. It was "submerged," as a sailor would say, meaning that it was under the water. For the tide had risen and covered it.

"Will you take us home?" asked Margy.

"That's what I will," said the lobster fisherman. "I'll take you right up to Mr. Bunker's pier. I guess your folks don't know where you are, nor what trouble you might have been in if I hadn't come along just when I did."

And this was true, for neither Daddy nor Mother Bunker, nor Cousin Tom nor his wife, nor any of the other little Bunkers had heard the cries of Mun Bun and Margy.

But as the motor-boat went puffing up to the little wharf the noise it made was heard by Mr. and Mrs. Bunker, who ran down from the cottage to see it, as they wanted to buy a fresh lobster and they had been told that Mr. Burnett might soon come back from having gone to lift his pots.

"Well, I had pretty good luck to-day," said the old fisherman, as he stopped his boat at the pier, and pointed to Margy and Mun Bun. "See what I caught!"

"Margy!" cried her mother, in great surprise.

"Mun Bun!" exclaimed the little boy's father.

"Did you go out in a boat again?" asked Mrs. Bunker.

"Oh, no'm, we didn't do that!" said Mun Bun quickly.

"We just waded over to the little island," said Margy. "But somebody poured water in the river, and it got high and we couldn't wade back again."

"They were marooned in the middle of Clam River for a fact! That's what they were!" said Mr. Burnett. "But I heard 'em yell, and I took 'em off. Here they are."

"You must never wade out like that again," said the father of Mun Bun and Margy. "This river isn't like ours at home. An island there is always an island, unless floods come, and you know about them. There is a tide here twice a day and what may seem a safe bit of sand on which to play at one time may be covered with water at another. So don't go wading unless you ask your mother or me first."

"We won't," promised Mun Bun and Margy.

Then Mr. Bunker thanked Mr. Burnett and after the lobster had been bought the fisherman puffed away in his boat, waving a good-bye to the children he had saved from being marooned on the island.

Mun Bun and Margy had to tell their story over again several times and they had to answer many questions from their brothers and sisters, about how they felt when they saw the water coming up.

Of course the two smallest of the six little Bunkers had been in some danger, though if Mr. Burnett had not seen them and rescued them, some one else might have done so. But it taught all the little Bunkers a lesson about the dangers of the rising tide, and if any of you ever go to the seashore I hope you will be careful. If you live at the shore, of course you know about the tides.

As the August days went on, the children played in the sand and had many good times. Often they would pretend to be digging for gold, as they had heard Sammie Brown tell of his father having done, but they had given up hoping to find any.

"But we might find my locket," said Rose.

"And we might find that queer box the tide washed away before we could see what was in it," said Russ. "I wish we could find that."

Often he would walk along the beach looking at the driftwood and other things cast up by the waves and hope for a sight of the mysterious box.

"If we'd only seen what was in it we wouldn't feel so bad," said Rose. "But it's like a puzzle you never can guess."

One evening Daddy Bunker came home from the village with some round tin boxes.

"What's in 'em?" cried Violet, always the first to ask a question.

"Let's guess!" proposed Laddie. "Maybe I can make up a riddle about 'em."

"I know what's in them," said Russ. "I can read it on the box. It's marshmallow candies."

"Oh, are we going to have a marshmallow roast on the beach?" cried Rose.

"Yes, that's what we are going to have," her father said.

"Oh, hurray! Hurray! Hurray!" cried the six little Bunkers.



Chapter XIX

The Sallie Growler


Have you ever toasted marshmallow candies at the seashore beach? If you have you need not stop to read this part of the story. But if you have not, from this and the next page you may learn how to do it.

In the first place you need three things to have a marshmallow roast, and you can easily guess what the first thing is. It's a box of the white candies. Then you need a fire, and, if you are a little boy or girl, it will be best to have your father or mother or some big person make the fire for you, as you might get burned.

Then you need some long, pointed sticks on which to hold the marshmallow candies as you toast them. If the sticks are too short you will toast your fingers or your face instead of the candies.

"Have you got lots of marshmallows, Daddy?" asked Rose, as she and the other children gathered about their father.

"Plenty, I think," he answered. "We don't want so many that you will be made ill, you know."

"I can eat a lot of 'em without getting sick," declared Laddie.

"I like 'em, too," said Vi. "Where do the marshmallow candies come from, Daddy?" she asked.

"From the store, of course!" exclaimed Laddie.

"No, I mean before they get to the store," went on the little girl. "Does a hen lay the marshmallows, same as chickens lay eggs?"

"Oh, no!" laughed Daddy Bunker. "Marshmallow candy is made from sugar and other things, just as most candies are."

As the six little Bunkers, with their father and mother and Cousin Tom and his wife, walked down to the shore of the sea, which was light from the beams of a silvery moon, Laddie said:

"I have a new riddle!"

"Is it about marshmallows?" asked Vi.

"No. But the candies made me think of it," replied her brother. "It's about a fire."

"What is your riddle about a fire?" asked Cousin Ruth, who always liked to hear Laddie ask his funny questions.

"Where does the fire go when it goes out?" Laddie asked. "That's my riddle. Where does the fire go when it goes out?"

"It doesn't go anywhere," declared Russ. "It just stays where it is."

"Part of it goes away," declared Laddie. "Where does it go? Where does the hot part go when the fire goes out?"

"Up in the air," said Rose.

"Off in the ocean!" exclaimed Mun Bun, who really did not know what they were talking about.

"Does it, Daddy?" asked Laddie.

"Why, I don't know," said Mr. Bunker. "It's your riddle; you ought to know what the answer is."

"But I don't," admitted Laddie. "I made up the riddle, but I don't know what the answer is. If some of you could think of a good answer it would be a good riddle."

"Yes, I guess it would," agreed Mrs. Bunker. "This is the time you didn't think of a good one, Laddie. A riddle isn't much good unless some one knows the answer."

Perhaps some of you who are reading this story can tell the answer.

Down on the beach went the six little Bunkers. There was a bright moon shining and here and there were other parties of children and young people, some going to have marshmallow roasts also, and some who only came down to look at the ocean shining under the silver moon.

Mun Bun and Margy, with Violet and Laddie, raced about in the sand, while Russ and Rose helped their father and Cousin Tom gather driftwood for the fire. There was plenty of it, and it was dry, for it had been in the hot sun all day.

"What makes the sand so sandy?" asked Vi, as she sat down beside her mother and Cousin Ruth and let some of the "beach dust," as Daddy Bunker sometimes called it, run through her fingers.

"That's a hard question to answer," laughed Mother Bunker. "You might as well ask what makes the moon so shiny."

"Or what makes the water so wet," added Cousin Ruth. "Oh, you are such a funny little girl, Violet!"

"What makes me?" asked Vi.

"I suppose one reason is that you ask so many funny questions," said Cousin Ruth. "But there, Daddy has lighted the fire, and we can soon begin to roast the marshmallows."

On the beach, near Russ and Rose, where they were standing with their father and Cousin Tom, a cheerful blaze sprang up. It looked very pretty in the moonlight night, with the sparkling sea out beyond.

"Can we roast 'em now?" asked Laddie, as he got ready one of the long, pointed sticks.

"Not quite yet," said his father. "Better to wait until the fire makes a lot of red-hot coals, or embers of wood. Then we can hold our candies over them and they will not get burned or blackened by the blaze. Wait a bit."

So they sat about the fire, while Daddy Bunker and Cousin Tom piled on more wood. The boxes of the candies had been opened, so they would be all ready, and each of the ten Bunkers had a long, sharp-pointed stick to use as a toasting-fork.

"I guess we are ready now," said Daddy Bunker, after they had listened to a jolly song sung by another party of marshmallow roasters farther down the beach. "There are plenty of hot embers now."

Cousin Tom poked aside the blazing pieces of driftwood and underneath were the hot, glowing embers.

"Now each one put a candy on a stick and hold the marshmallow over the embers," said Daddy Bunker. "Don't hold it still, but turn it around. This is just the same as shaking corn when you pop it, or turning bread over when you toast it. By turning the marshmallow it will not burn so quickly."

So, kneeling in a circle about the fire, the six little Bunkers, and the others, began to roast the candies. But Margy and Mun Bun did not have very good luck. They forgot to turn their marshmallows and they held them so close to the fire that they had accidents.

"Oh, Mun Bun's candy is burning!" cried Rose.

"And Margy's is on fire, too!" added Russ.

"Oh, that's too bad!" cried Mother Bunker. "Never mind," she said, as she saw that the two little tots felt sorry. "I'll toast your candies for you. It's rather hard for you to do it."

Mrs. Bunker's own candy was toasted a nice brown and all puffed up, for this is what happens when you toast marshmallows. So she gave Mun Bun and Margy some of hers, and then began to brown more.

The other children did very well, and soon they were all eating the toasted candies. Now and then one would catch fire, for sugar, you know, burns faster than wood or coal. But it was easy to blow out the flaming candies, and, if they were not too badly burned, they were good to eat.

"Oh, look at the little dog!" cried Rose, as she put a fresh marshmallow on her stick. "He smells our candy! May I give him one, Daddy?"

"Yes, but give him one that isn't toasted. He might burn himself on a hot one. Whose dog is he?"

"He just ran over to me from down there," and Rose pointed to some boys and girls about another fire farther down the beach, who were also roasting marshmallows. The dog seemed glad to be with Rose and his new friends, and let each of the six little Bunkers pat him. He ate several candies and then ran back where he belonged.

"Oh, he was awful cute!" exclaimed Vi. "I wish we could keep him. Couldn't we have a dog some time?"

"Maybe, when we get back home again," promised Mother Bunker.

The marshmallow roast was fun, and even after the candies had all been eaten the party sat on the beach a little longer, looking at the waves in the moonlight.

"Now it's time to go to bed!" called Mother Bunker. "Margy and Mun Bun are so sleepy they can't keep their eyes open. Come on! We'll have more fun to-morrow!"

"I'm going crabbing off the pier," declared Russ. "There's lots of crabs now, Mr. Burnett says."

"Yes, August is a good month to catch crabs," returned Cousin Tom.

"I'm going fishing," said Laddie. "Can you catch fish off your pier, Cousin Tom?"

"Oh, yes, sometimes. But don't catch any Sallie Growlers."

"What's a Sallie Growler?" asked Vi, before any one else could speak.

"Oh, you'll know as soon as you catch one," laughed her cousin. Then he picked up Mun Bun, who was really asleep by this time, and carried him up to the house, while Daddy Bunker took Margy, whose eyes were also closed.

True to their promises Russ and Laddie went down to the little boat wharf the next morning after breakfast. Russ had the crab net and a chunk of meat tied to a string. Laddie had a short pole and line and a hook baited with a piece of clam, for that was what fishermen often used, Cousin Tom said.

"Now we'll see who catches the first fish!" exclaimed Laddie, as he sat down on the pier.

"I'm not fishing for fish, I'm fishing for crabs," said Russ.

"Well, in this race we'll count a crab and a fish as the same thing," returned Laddie. "We'll see who gets the first one."

The boys waited some time. Now and then Russ would feel a little tug at his line, as if the crabs were tasting his bait, but had not quite made up their minds to take a good hold so he could pull them up and catch them in the net. And the cork float on Laddie's line would bob up and down a little as though he, too, had nibbles. But neither of them had caught anything yet.

Suddenly Laddie felt a hard tug, and he yelled:

"Oh, I got one! I got one! I got the first bite!"

He yanked on his pole. Something brown and wiggling came up out of the water and flopped down on the wharf. At the same time a little dog that had run up behind the two boys and was sniffing around, gave a sudden yelp.

"What's the matter?" cried Russ.

"He's bit by a Sallie Growler! The Sallie Growler you caught bit my dog on the nose!" exclaimed another boy and he began striking at the brown thing Laddie had caught, which was now fast to the nose of the dog that had been eating marshmallows the night before.



Chapter XX

The Walking Fish


Laddie dropped his fishing-pole. Russ let go of his crab-line, and they both stood looking at the dog and at the strange boy. The dog was howling, and trying to paw off from his nose a queer and ugly-looking fish that had hold of it. It was the fish Laddie had caught and which the boy had called a "Sallie Growler."

"Cousin Tom told us about them last night," thought Russ. "I wonder why they have such a funny name, and what makes 'em bite so."

But he did not ask the questions aloud just then. There was too much going on to let him do this.

The dog was howling, and the new boy was yelling, at the same time striking at the fish on the end of his dog's nose.

"Take him off! Take off that Sallie Growler!" yelled the boy.

But the brown fish Laddie had caught looked too ugly and savage. Neither of the little Bunkers was going to touch it and the new boy did not seem to want to any more than did Russ or Laddie.

As for the dog, he could not help himself. The fish had hold of him; he didn't have hold of the fish.

Finally, after much howling and pawing, the dog either knocked the fish off his nose, or the Sallie Growler let go of its own accord and lay on the pier.

"Poor Teddy!" said the boy as he bent over his pet to pat him. "Did he hurt you a lot?" The dog whimpered and wagged his tail. He did not seem to be badly hurt, though there were some spots of blood on his nose.

"I guess he'll be all right if the Sallie Growler doesn't poison him," said the boy. "How'd you come to catch it?" he asked, looking from Laddie to Russ.

"I didn't want to catch it," said Laddie. "I was fishing for good fish and I got a bite and pulled that up!" and he pointed to the ugly brown fish that lay gasping on the boards.

"Is it a Sallie Growler?" asked Russ.

"It is," said the new boy. "And they can bite like anything. Look how that one held on to my dog's nose."

"I hope he isn't hurt much," put in Laddie. "I didn't mean to do it."

"No, I guess you didn't," said the other boy. "Nobody ever tries to catch a Sallie Growler. They're too nasty and hard to get off the hook. 'Most always they swallow it, but this one didn't. He dropped off just as you landed him and then my dog came along and smelled him -- Teddy's always smelling something -- and the fish bit him."

"Do you live around here?" asked Russ.

"Yes, we're here for the summer. I guess I saw you down on the beach last night roasting marshmallows, didn't I?"

"Yes, and we gave your dog some," returned Laddie. "What's your name?"

"George Carr. What's yours?"

"Laddie Bunker."

"Mine's Russ," said Laddie's brother. "Oh, look! I guess I've got a crab!"

He ran to where he had tied the end of his string to a post of the pier, and began to pull in. Surely enough, on the end was a big blue-clawed crab, and, with the help of Laddie, who used the net, the creature was soon landed on the pier.

"Here! You keep away from that crab!" called George Carr to his dog Teddy. "Do you want your nose bit again?"

And from the way the crab raised its claws in the air, snapping them shut, it would seem that the shellfish would have been very glad indeed to pinch the dog's nose. But Teddy had learned a lesson. He kept well away from the gasping Sallie Growler, too.

"What makes 'em be called Sallie Growler?" asked Laddie, as he and Russ looked at the fish. It was very ugly, with a head shaped like a toad, and a very big mouth.

"I don't know why they call 'em Sallie," said George; "but they call 'em Growler 'cause they do growl. Sometimes you can hear 'em grunting under the water. There goes this one now!"

Just as he spoke the fish did give a sort of groan or growl. It opened its mouth, gasping for breath.

"They're no good -- worse than a toad fish!" exclaimed George, as he kicked the one Laddie had caught into the water.

"Are there many around here?" asked Russ.

"Yes, quite a lot in the inlet," answered George. "They don't bite on crab-meat bait, but if you're fishing for fish they often swallow your hook, bait and all. I don't like 'em, and I guess Teddy won't either after to-day."

"Was he ever bit before?" Laddie wanted to know as the dog lay down on the pier and began to lick his bitten nose with his tongue.

"Not that I know of," answered George, who was a little older than Russ. "Once is enough. I wouldn't want one to bite me."

"Me, neither," added Russ. "Want to help catch crabs?" he asked George. "I have two lines and you can have one."

"Thanks, I will. I was out walking with my dog and I saw you two down on this pier. I came to see if you were the same boys that gave my dog marshmallows last night."

"Yes, we're the same," answered Russ. "Did he like the candy we fed him?"

"Oh, sure! He always eats candy, but he doesn't get too much at our house. Teddy's always smelling things. That's how he came to go up to the Sallie Growler. I guess he'll let the next one alone."

"I hope I don't catch any more," said Laddie. "I don't like 'em."

"Nobody else does," said George. "We come to the seashore every year, and I never saw anybody yet that liked a Sallie Growler."

Laddie, Russ and their new chum stayed on the pier for some time. Russ and George caught quite a number of crabs, and Laddie had fine luck with his fish-pole and line, landing three good-sized fish on the pier. He caught no more Sallie Growlers, for which he was thankful. I guess Teddy was, too, for his nose was quite sore.

For several days after that George came over each morning to play with the two older Bunker boys. He brought his dog with him and Teddy made friends over again with Rose and Violet and Margy and Mun Bun, as well as with Russ and Laddie.

"I guess he 'members we gave him candy," said Margy, as she patted the dog's shaggy head.

There were many happy days at Seaview. The six little Bunkers played in the sand, they went wading and bathing and had picnics, more marshmallow roasts and even popcorn parties on the beach.

"I don't ever want to go home," said Laddie one night after a day of fun on the beach. "This is such a nice place. It's so good to think up riddles."

"Have you a new one?" asked his father. "Have you thought up an answer yet to where the fire goes when it goes out?"

"Not yet," Laddie answered. "But I have one about what is the sleepiest letter of the alphabet."

"What is the sleepiest letter of the alphabet?" repeated Russ. "Do you mean the letter I? That ought to be sleepy 'cause it's got an eye to shut."

"No, I don't mean I," said Laddie. "But that's a good riddle, too, isn't it? What's the sleepiest letter of the alphabet?"

"Do you know the answer?" Rose wanted to know. "This isn't like the fire riddle, is it?"

"No, I know an answer to this," Laddie said. "Can anybody else answer it?"

They all made different guesses, and Vi, as usual, asked all sort of questions, but finally no one could guess, or, if Mother and Daddy Bunker could, they didn't say so, and Laddie exclaimed:

"The sleepiest letter of the alphabet is E 'cause it's always in bed; B-E-D, bed!" and he laughed at his riddle.

"That is a pretty good one," said his mother.

"You ought to say what are the three sleepiest letters in the alphabet," declared Russ, "'cause there are three letters in bed."

"Oh, well, one is enough for a riddle," said Laddie, and I think so myself.

One day the children saw Daddy Bunker and Cousin Tom putting on long rubber boots, and taking down heavy fishing-poles and some baskets.

"Where are you going?" asked Russ.

"Down to fish in the surf," answered his father. "Want to come?"

Russ and Laddie did. Rose and Violet were already trying to catch crabs further up the inlet. Margy and Mun Bun had gone to take their afternoon nap.

Laddie and Russ played about on the beach while their father and Cousin Tom began to fish, throwing the heavy sinkers and big hooks far out in the surf, trying to catch a bass. The men had to stand where the waves broke, and that is why they wore rubber boots.

Suddenly Laddie, who had run down the beach to watch a big piece of driftwood come floating in, called:

"Oh, Russ! Come here, quick! Here is a fish that's got legs! It's a fish that can walk! It's worse than a Sallie Growler! Come and look at it!"



Chapter XXI

The Queer Box Again


Russ at first thought his smaller brother was playing a joke.

"You can't fool me," cried Russ. "I don't want to guess any of your riddles!"

"This isn't a riddle!" declared Laddie. "It's a real fish, and it's got real legs. Come and look at it!"

He was pointing to something on the beach, which seemed to have been washed in by the tide.

"Come on!" cried Laddie again. "It isn't a riddle -- honest! It's a fish with legs. I didn't see him walk, but it sort of -- sort of stands up!"

Still Russ was afraid of being fooled. So he called over to his father and Cousin Tom, who were fishing in the surf not far away.

"Daddy, is there a fish with legs? Laddie says he's found one on the beach."

"Well, you might call 'em legs," answered Cousin Tom, as he flung his hook and sinker as far as he could out into the ocean. "I guess what Laddie has found is a skate."

"But he says it's a fish!" exclaimed Russ. "Now you call it a skate! I guess you're both trying to make up riddles."

"No, Russ," said his father, as he reeled in his line. "The fish Laddie sees, and I can see it from where I stand, really has some long, thin fins, which are like legs. And the name of the fish is 'skate,' so you see they are both right. Come, we'll go and look at it."

And when Russ got to where Laddie was standing over the queer creature on the beach he had to laugh, for surely the fish was a very queer one.

"Isn't it funny?" asked Laddie.

"I should say so!" cried Russ. "It's as funny as some of your riddles."

And if any of you have ever seen a skate at the seashore I think you will agree with Russ. Imagine, if you have never seen one, a fish as flat as a flounder, with a flat, pointed nose sticking out in front. Away back, under this nose, and out of sight from the top, or the back of the fish, is its mouth. And the mouth is rather large and has sharp teeth.

Fastened to the back of the skate is a long, slender tail, like that of a rat, only larger, and between the tail and the round, flat body on the under side, are two things that really look like legs. Perhaps the skate may use them to walk around on the bottom of the ocean, as a horseshoe crab uses his legs for walking. But a skate can also swim, and in that way it comes up off the bottom, and often bites on the hooks of fishermen who do not at all want to catch such an unpleasant fish.

The skate swims, using the things like legs as a fish uses its fins, and sometimes, when landed on the shore, the fish really seems to be standing up on these legs, so Laddie was not so far wrong. On each side of the skate were thin, flat fins, which were something like wings. The skate had a humpy head and big, bulging eyes.

"What's a skate for?" asked Russ, as he looked at the queer creature.

"And who gave it that name?" Laddie wanted to know.

"My! You two are getting as bad at asking questions as Violet!" laughed Mr. Bunker. "Well, I'll answer as well as I can. I don't know how the fish came to be called a skate unless it sort of skates around on the bottom of the ocean. Though when a skate is dead its tail curls up and around like the old-fashioned skates once used in Holland. It may get its name from that."

"Are they good to eat?" asked Russ.

"Some kinds are said to be," answered Cousin Tom, "though I never tasted one myself. I have heard of fishermen eating certain parts of the skates caught along here. But I never saw any one do it. Whenever I catch a skate I throw it back into the water. I can't see that they are good for anything."

The skate which Laddie and Russ were watching, and which seemed to have been cast up on the beach by the waves, was flopping about, now and then raising itself on its queer legs, until, finally, the tide came up higher and washed it out into the sea again.

"I guess it's glad to get back in the ocean," said Russ.

"Yes," agreed his brother. "I'd have put it back in only I was afraid it might bite me."

"No, I don't believe it would," said Cousin Tom.

"There's heaps of funny things down at the seashore," said Laddie, as he watched to see if the skate would swim back, but it did not.

"Lots of funny things," agreed Russ.

"The shore is a good place to make riddles," went on Laddie.

"And it's a bad place to lose things," said his brother. "Look how Rose lost her locket."

"Yes, that was too bad," said Daddy Bunker. "I'm afraid we shall never find that now. There is so much sand here."

"We've dug holes and looked all over," said Russ, "but we can't find it."

"I wish we could find that box we had up on shore and that the waves came up and washed away," remarked Laddie. "Don't you 'member the box you were going to open, Daddy?"

"Yes, I remember," answered Mr. Bunker. "I would like to know what was in that. But I don't suppose we ever shall."

"And I guess we'll never get back Vi's doll that I lost," said Russ. "But when I get back home I'm going to save up and buy her another."

"That will be a nice thing to do," replied Mr. Bunker. "Of course Violet has, in a way, forgotten about her doll, but I'm sure she would like to have you get her another."

"And I will!" exclaimed Russ. He did not even dream how soon he was to do this.

"Well," said Cousin Tom, after the skate had been washed out to sea, "I don't believe, Daddy Bunker, that we are going to have any luck fishing to-day. I think we might as well go back to the bungalow and see what they have to eat."

"I hope they didn't count on us bringing some fish," said the father of the six little Bunkers with a laugh. "If they did we'll all go hungry."

"I don't want to be hungry," murmured Laddie, with a queer look at his father.

"Oh, he's only joking," whispered Russ. "I can tell by the way he laughs around his eyes."

"Yes, I'm only joking," said Laddie's father. "I guess Cousin Ruth will have plenty to eat. We'll walk along the beach a little way and then go home."

The two men reeled in their fish lines and, with the two little boys, strolled along the sand. Laddie and Russ were wondering what they could do to have some fun, and they were thinking of different things when Cousin Tom, who was a little way ahead, cried:

"Look! Isn't that a box being washed up on the beach?"

They all looked and saw something white and square being rolled over and over in the waves nearest the shore. It was quite a distance ahead of them, but Cousin Tom, handing his pole and basket to Daddy Bunker, ran and, wading into the surf with his high rubber boots, caught hold of the box.

"It shan't get away from us this time!" he called to Daddy Bunker, Russ and Laddie as they hastened toward him. "I'll keep it safe this time, all right!" and he carried the box well up among the sand dunes, or little hills, well out of reach of the highest tide.

"Why do you say 'this time'?" asked Daddy Bunker. "Did you ever pull in this box before?"

"Indeed I did, or, rather, one of us did. This is the same box the children found once before; don't you remember? This time we'll find out what is in this box for sure. And we won't wait for a hammer, either. I'll use a piece of driftwood."

As Daddy Bunker and the two boys gathered around the box they saw that indeed it was the same one that had been cast up before by the waves.

What could be in it?



Chapter XXII

The Upset Boat


Cousin Tom had said he was not going to wait for a hammer to open the box, and he was as good as his word. When he had carried the box well up on the beach, out of reach of even the highest waves, he looked about for a piece of driftwood that he could use in knocking the cover off the case. And while he was thus searching, Daddy Bunker, Russ and Laddie examined the box.

"It looks just like the same one," said Russ.

"I'm positive it is," added his father. "I remember the size and shape of the other box and this is just the same. And there were two funny marks in the wood on top, and this has the same marks."

"There was a piece of paper tacked on the other box," said Russ. "That isn't here now."

"That was soaked off in the water and washed away," said his father. "But you can still see the four tacks, one for each corner of the card. I suppose that had some address on but it was washed off by the salt water."

"What made the box come back to us?" asked Laddie, as Cousin Tom came walking along with a heavy stick he was going to use as a hammer to open the case.

"Well, no one knows what the sea is going to do," replied Daddy Bunker. "It washes up queer things and takes them away again. I suppose this has been floating around for some time -- ever since it was washed away from us the time we thought we so surely had it."

"It may have been washed up on the beach in some lonely spot a little while after we last saw it," said Cousin Tom. "And it may have been there ever since until the last high tide, when it was washed away again and then I happened to spy it just now. But it will not get away again until we open it."

Using the piece of heavy driftwood he had picked up as a hammer, Cousin Tom soon broke the top of the box that had drifted ashore. He pulled back the splintered pieces and eagerly they all looked inside. The box was about two feet long and the same in height and width, and all Laddie and Russ could see at first was what seemed to be some heavy paper.

COUSIN TOM BROKE OPEN THE BOX WITH A PIECE OF DRIFTWOOD Six Little Bunkers at Cousin Tom's. -- Page 210

"Is that all that's in it?" cried Russ.

"Wait and see," advised his father. "There may be something under the paper."

Cousin Tom put his hand in and raised the covering. Some bright colors were seen and then what appeared to be a lot of pieces of cloth.

"A lot of dresses!" exclaimed Russ in disappointed tones. "That's all!"

"But here is something inside the dresses," said his father with a smile.

"Something in the dresses?"

"Yes. Unless I am very much mistaken there are Japanese dolls in this box -- maybe half a dozen of them -- and it is their gaily colored dresses which you see. Isn't that it, Cousin Tom?"

"You are right, Daddy Bunker! There they are! Japanese dolls!" and Cousin Tom pulled out one about two feet long and held it up in front of the two boys.

"Dolls!" gasped Laddie.

"Japanese dolls!" added his brother.

"A little spoiled by the salt water, but still pretty good," said Cousin Tom, as he pulled another doll out of the box. "They were wrapped in oiled silk and the box is lined with a sort of water-proof cloth, so they didn't get as wet as they might otherwise. Some of the dresses are a bit stained, and I see that the black-haired wig of one of the dolls has melted off. But we can glue that on again. Well, that's quite a find -- six nice, large Japanese dolls," laughed Cousin Tom.

"They aren't any good for us!" exclaimed Russ. "I was thinking maybe there'd be a toy steam engine in the box."

"If there had been it would have been spoiled by the sea water," said Cousin Tom with a smile. "Dolls are about the best thing that could be in the box. They are light and wouldn't sink. And, being so well wrapped up, they didn't get very wet. We can take them home to Rose and Mun Bun and Margy and --  -- "

"Oh, there'll be one for Violet!" cried Russ. "Now I can give her back a doll for the one that sunk when my boat upset! Save the nicest doll for Violet!"

"Yes, I think that would be no more than fair," said Daddy Bunker. "The sea took Violet's doll and the sea gives her back another. How many dolls did you say there were, Cousin Tom?"

"Six. One for each of the six little Bunkers."

"Pooh! I don't want a doll!" exclaimed Russ. "I'm too big!"

"So'm I!" added Laddie.

"Very well. And as there are six dolls and only four who will want them, that will leave two over, so if Rose or Violet or Mun Bun loses a doll we'll have two extra ones. Only I hope they won't lose anything more while we're here," and Daddy Bunker smiled.

"Where do you suppose the dolls came from?" asked Russ as Cousin Tom packed them back in the box so the case could be carried to the bungalow.

"It's hard to say," was the answer. "As the tag on the box has been washed off we don't know to whom the dolls belonged. They may have gotten in a load of refuse from New York by mistake, from one of the big stores, and been dumped into the sea, or they may have been lost off some vessel in a storm. Or there may even have been a wreck.

"Anyhow the box of dolls, well wrapped up from the water, has been floating around for some time, I should say. It came to us once but we lost it. Then we had another chance at it and we didn't lose it. Now we'll take the dolls home and see what Rose, Violet and the others have to say about them."

It was a jolly home-going, even though no fish had been caught. Long before they were at the bungalow but within sight of it Laddie and Russ cried:

"Look what we got!"

"We found the box again!"

Rose, Violet, Margy and Mun Bun came running out to see what it all meant.

"Did you find my gold locket?" asked Rose eagerly.

"No, my dear, we didn't find that," her father answered.

"Did you get my doll back from the bottom of the ocean?" Violet called.

"Well, we pretty nearly did," answered Russ. "Anyhow, we got you one I guess maybe you'll like as well."

Cousin Tom gave Russ one of the Japanese dolls from the box and, with it in his arms, Russ ran toward his little sister.

"Look! Here it is!" he cried.

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" gasped Violet, hardly able to believe her eyes. "Oh, what a lovely, lovely doll!"

A disappointed look came over the face of Rose, but it changed to one of joy when her father took out another doll and gave it to her. Then Mun Bun set up a cry:

"I want one!"

"So do I!" echoed Margy.

"There is one for each of you," laughed Cousin Tom, as he took out two more dolls.

"And two left over!" added Russ.

"Oh, where did you get them?" asked Rose. "Oh, I just love mine!" and she hugged it to her closely.

"My doll's wet!" exclaimed Mun Bun, as he saw the damp dress on his plaything.

"Mine is, too," said Violet. "But all dolls have to be wet when they come out of the ocean, don't they, Daddy?"

"Yes, I suppose so. And that is where these dolls came from -- right out of the ocean."

Then the children were told how the queer box had been found again floating near the beach and how Cousin Tom had waded out in his high rubber boots and brought it to shore.

Mother Bunker and Cousin Ruth came out to see the find and they, too, thought the dolls were wonderful.

"And we saw a fish that could walk," added Laddie when the dolls had been looked at again and again.

Then he and Russ told about the queer-looking skate.

The doll with the wig of black hair that had been soaked off was laid aside to be mended, as was the one the dress of which was badly stained by sea water. But the other dolls were almost as good as new. And, in fact, Rose and Violet would rather have had them than new dolls right out of the store, because there was such a queer story connected with them.

"I wonder if they came right from Japan," mused Rose as she made believe put her doll to sleep.

"We can pretend so, anyhow," said Violet. "I'm not going to cry about my other doll that was drowned now, 'cause I got this one. She's the nicest one I ever had."

"Mine, too," added Rose.

I might say that the six little Bunkers never found out where the dolls came from. But most likely they had fallen off some ship and the oiled silk and other wrappings kept them in good shape until the box was washed up on the beach the second time.

"Well, if the seashore is a bad place to lose things on account of so much sand it is also a good place to find things," said Mother Bunker that night when the six little Bunkers had been put to bed and the dolls were also "asleep."

"I'm glad you like it here," said Cousin Ruth. "But I am sorry that Rose lost her locket."

"Well, it couldn't be helped," said the little girl's mother. "I did have hopes that we would find it soon after she lost it. But now I have given up."

"Yes," agreed her husband. "The locket is gone forever."

But I have still a secret to tell you about that.

A few days after the finding of the dolls all six of the little Bunkers were playing down on the beach. Four of them had the Japanese dolls, but Russ and Laddie did not.

Laddie was digging a hole in the sand and trying to think of a new riddle, and Violet had just finished asking Russ a lot of questions when, all of a sudden, George Carr, the little boy whose dog had been bitten by the Sallie Growler, came running around a group of sand dunes, crying:

"Oh, the boat's upset! The boat's upset, and all the men are spilled out! And the fish, too! Come and see the upset boat!"



Chapter XXIII

The Sand Fort


"What do you mean -- the boat upset?" asked Russ, looking up from the sand fort he was making on the beach. "Do you mean one of your toy boats and is it make-believe men that are spilled out?"

"No, I mean real ones!" exclaimed George. "It's one of the fishing boats, and it was just coming in from having been out to the nets. It was full of fish and they're all over, and you can pick up a lot of 'em and they're good to eat. And maybe one of the men is drowned. Anyhow, there's a lot of 'em in the water. Come on and look!"

"Where is it?" asked Laddie.

"Right down the beach!" and George pointed. "'Tisn't far."

"Come on, Mun Bun and Margy!" called Rose as she saw Russ and Laddie start down the beach with George and his dog. "We'll go and see what it is. Vi, you take Mun Bun's hand and I'll look after Margy."

"Shall we leave our dolls here?" asked Vi.

"Yes. There's nobody here now and we can go faster if we don't carry them," answered Rose. "Here, Mun Bun and Margy, leave your dolls with Vi's and mine. They'll be all right."

Rose laid her doll down on the sand and the others did the same, so that there were four Japanese dolls in a row.

"Won't the waves come up and get 'em?" asked Margy as she looked back on the dolls.

"No, the waves don't come up as high as the place where we left them," said Rose, who had taken care to put the dolls to "sleep" well above what is called "high-water mark," that is, the highest place on the beach where the tide ever comes.

"Come on! Hurry if you want to see the men from the upset boat!" George called back to Rose and the others.

"Let's wait for 'em," proposed Laddie. "Maybe they'll be lonesome. I'm going to wait."

"Well, we'll all wait," said George, who was a kind-hearted boy. "If you can't see the men swim out you can see the lot of fish that went overboard."

As the children came out from behind the little hills of sand they saw, down on the beach, a crowd of men and boys. And out in the surf and the waves, which were high and rough, was a large white boat, turned bottom up, and about it were men swimming.

"Oh, will they drown?" asked Russ, much excited.

"No, I guess not," answered George. "They're fishermen and they 'most all can swim. Anyhow the water isn't very deep where they are. They're trying to get their boat right side up so they can pull it up on the beach."

"What made 'em upset?" asked Laddie.

"Rough water. There's going to be a storm and the ocean gets rough just before that," George explained.

The children watched the men swimming about the overturned boat, and noticed that the water all about them was filled with floating, dead fish.

"Did the men kill the fish when they upset?" asked Violet.

"No, the men got the fish out of their nets," explained George, who had been at the seashore every summer that he could remember. "There are the nets out where you see those poles," and he pointed to a place about a half mile off shore. "The men go out there in a big motor-boat," he went on, "and pull up the net. They empty the fish into the bottom of the boat and then they come ashore. They put the fish in barrels with a lot of ice and send them to New York.

"But sometimes when the boat tries to come up on the beach with the men and a load of fish in it the waves in the surf are so big that the boat upsets. That's what this one did. I was watching it and I saw it. Then I came to tell you, 'cause I saw you playing on the sand."

"I'm glad you did," said Russ. "I'm sorry the men got upset, but I like to see 'em."

"So am I. Will they lose all their fish?" demanded Laddie.

"Most of 'em," said George. "They can scoop up some in nets, I guess, but a lot that wasn't quite dead swam away and the waves took the others out to sea. The fish hawks will get 'em and lots of boys and men are taking fish home. The fishermen can't save 'em all and when a boat upsets anybody that wants to, keeps the fish."

After hard work the men who had been tossed into the water when the boat went over managed to get it right side up again. Then a rope was made fast to it and horses on shore, pulling on the cable, hauled the boat up out of reach of the waves, where it would stay until it was time to make another trip to the nets.

"Could we take some of the fish?" asked Russ of George.

"Oh, yes, as many as you like," said his friend. "The fishermen can never pick them all up."

So the six little Bunkers each picked up a fish and took it home to Cousin Ruth. They were nice and fresh and she cooked them for dinner.

"Well, you youngsters had better luck than Cousin Tom and I had," said Daddy Bunker with a laugh as he saw what Russ and the others had picked up. "I guess, after this, we'll take you fishing with us."

The promise of the storm brought by the big waves that upset the fishing-boat, came true. That night the wind began to rise and to blow with a howling and mournful sound about the bungalow. But inside it was cosy and light.

In the morning, when the children awakened, it was raining hard, the drops dashing against the windows as though they wanted to break the glass and get inside.

"Is the sea very rough now, Daddy?" asked Russ after breakfast.

"Yes, I think it is," was the answer. "Would you like to see it?"

Russ thought he would, and Laddie wanted to go also, but his mother said he was too small to go out in the storm.

"It is a bad storm," said Cousin Tom. "I saw a fisherman as I was coming back from the village this morning early and he said he never felt a worse blow. The sea is very high."

Daddy Bunker and Cousin Tom put on "oilskins," that is, suits of cloth covered with a sort of yellow rubber, through which the water could not come.

A small suit with a hat of the same kind, called a "sou'wester," was found for Russ, and then the three started down for the beach. It was hard work walking against the wind, which came out of the northeast, and the rain stung Russ in the face so that he had to walk with his head down most of the time and let his father and Cousin Tom lead him.

"Oh, what big waves!" cried Russ as he got within sight of the beach. And indeed the surf was very high. The tide was in and this, with the force of the wind, sent the big billows crashing up on the beach with a noise like thunder.

"I guess no fishermen could go out in that, could they, Daddy?" asked the little boy.

"No, indeed, Son! This weather is bad for the fishermen and all who are at sea," said Mr. Bunker.

They remained looking at the heavy waves for some time and then went back to the house. Russ was glad to be indoors again, away from the blow and noise of the storm.

"Do you often have such blows here?" asked Mother Bunker of Cousin Ruth.

"Well, I haven't been here, at this beach, very long, but almost always toward the end of August and the beginning of September there are hard storms at the shore."

It rained so hard that the six little Bunkers could not go out to play and Cousin Ruth and their mother had to make some amusement for them in the bungalow.

"Have you ever been up in the attic?" asked Cousin Ruth.

"No!" cried the six little Bunkers.

"Well, you may play up there," said Cousin Ruth. "It isn't very big, but you can pretend it is a playhouse and do as you please."

With shouts of joy the children hurried up to the attic. Indeed it was a small place. But the six little Bunkers liked it. There were so many little holes into which they could crawl away and hide.

The four who liked to play with dolls brought up their Japanese toys, and Russ and Laddie found some of their playthings, so they had lots of fun in the bungalow attic. Cousin Ruth gave them something to eat and they played they were shipwrecked sailors part of the time. With the wind howling outside and the rain beating down on the roof, it was very easy to pretend this.

The storm lasted three days, and toward the end the grown folks in Cousin Tom's bungalow began to wish it would stop, not only because they were tired of the wind and rain, but because the children were fretting to be out.

At last the wind died down, the rain ceased and the sun shone. Out rushed the six little Bunkers with gladsome shouts. Laddie and Russ had some large toy shovels which their mother had bought them.

"What are you going to do?" Rose asked her two older brothers as she saw them hurrying down to the beach when the sun was out.

"We're going to make a sand fort and have a battle," answered Russ. "The sand will pack fine now 'cause it's so wet. We're going to make a big sand fort."

And he and Laddie began this play. Something very strange was to come from it, too.



Chapter XXIV

A Mysterious Enemy


"Here's a good place to make the fort," said Russ as he and Laddie reached the beach not far from Cousin Tom's bungalow and looked about them. "We'll build the fort right here, Laddie, near this hill of sand."

"What's the hill for?"

"That's where we can put our flag. They always put a flag on a hill where everybody can see it."

"But we haven't a flag. Where are we going to get one?"

"Say, you ask almost as many questions as Vi," exclaimed Russ. "We'll make a flag!"

"How?"

"Out of a handkerchief. You've a handkerchief and so have I. One is enough for both of us and we can take the other and make a flag of it."

"But that'll be a white flag, Russ, and soldiers don't ever have a white flag lessen they give up and surrender. We didn't surrender, 'cause we haven't even got our fort built. We don't want a white flag."

"Oh, well, I didn't mean to have a white flag. That's just the start. We'll take a white handkerchief for a flag and we can make it red and blue."

"How?" Laddie certainly was asking questions.

"Well, Cousin Tom has some red and blue pencils. I saw 'em on his desk the other night. He marks his papers with 'em. You go and ask Cousin Ruth if we can't take a red and a blue pencil and then I'll show you how to make a red, white and blue flag out of a handkerchief."

"You won't make the fort till I come back, will you?"

"No, I'll only start it. Now you go and get the pencils."

Laddie ran back to the bungalow and Cousin Ruth let him have what he wanted. He promised not to lose the pencils, and soon he was helping Russ mark red stripes and blue stars on Laddie's white handkerchief. They did make something that looked like our flag, and then, finding a long piece of driftwood to use as a flag-pole they planted it on top of the hill.

Making a fort in the damp sand at the seashore is very easy. It is even easier than making one of snow, for you don't have to wait for the snow to fall and often after it has snowed the flakes are so cold and dry that they will not pack and hold together. But you can always find damp sand at the seashore. Even though it is dry on top if you dig down a little way you will find it moist. Now, on account of the rain, the sand was wet all over and was just fine for making forts.

Russ and Laddie had some toy shovels their mother had bought for them. The shovels had long handles and were larger than the kind children usually play with at the shore, so the boys could dig faster with them.

"How do you make a fort?" asked Laddie.

"Well," explained Russ, "you dig a sort of hole and you pile the sand up in front of you in a sort of half ring and then you can lie down behind it and if anybody throws bullets at you they won't hit you."

"Do you have a roof to your fort?"

"No! Course forts don't ever have a roof."

"Then you get wet when it rains."

"Yes, but a soldier doesn't ever mind rain. All he minds is bullets, and they can't hit him in the fort."

"Supposin' they come over the top where there isn't a roof?"

"I don't guess they'll come that way," said Russ. "Anyhow, you mustn't throw any that way."

"Oh! am I going to throw the bullets?"

"Yes," Russ replied, "We'll take turns being in the fort. After we get it made I'll be captain of it and you must come up and try to take it away. You must shoot bullets at me."

"Real ones?"

"No, course not! Make 'em of paper. Then they won't hurt. After a while I'll take down the flag -- that means I surrender -- and you can be in the fort and I'll fire bullets at you."

"That'll be fun!" exclaimed Laddie.

"Lots of fun!" agreed Russ.

So they dug in the sand with their shovels, piling it up in front of them in a long ridge shaped like a half circle. The ridge of sand which was to be the outer wall of the fort was in front of the hill over which floated the red, white and blue handkerchief flag. Between the hill and the outer wall of the fort was a hole which was made as Laddie and Russ tossed out the sand.

"I'll sit down in this hole," Russ explained, "and then it will be all the harder for you to hit me with the paper bullets."

The boys fairly made the sand fly as they dug with their shovels, and soon they had quite a high ridge of it half way around the little hill with the flag on top. There was also quite a hole for Russ to stand in and throw paper bullets back at Laddie.

"Now I guess we can have the battle," said Russ. "You get a lot of paper, Laddie, and roll it up into bullets."

"And I'll make some big ones!" exclaimed the little fellow.

"We can call the big bullets cannon balls," said Russ, and Laddie agreed to this. "I'll help you make the bullets," Russ offered.

There were plenty of old papers at the bungalow, and soon Russ and Laddie were tearing them up on the beach near their fort and wadding and rolling them up into "bullets" and "cannon balls."

"I guess we have enough," said Russ at last. "Come on now, we'll have a battle."

"Are Rose and Vi going to play?" asked Laddie.

"Nope! Girls never can be in a battle. They can be Red Cross nurses if they want to. But we won't call 'em until after the fight. They'd only holler like anything."

Rose and Violet were up in the bungalow playing jackstones, while Margy and Mun Bun had gone for a walk with their mother. So Russ and Laddie had the beach to themselves to play on.

Russ got inside the fort and crouched down in the hole he had dug. Laddie took up his position not far away, a little distance down the beach, having with him a pile of paper wads that he was to throw at his brother.

"Are you ready?" asked Laddie.

"All ready!" answered Russ. "Go ahead and fire!"

"Bang! Bang!" shouted Laddie, making believe he was shooting off a gun. The boys often played this game so they knew just how to do it. "Bang! Bang!"

Then Laddie began throwing large and small wads of paper at the sand fort behind which crouched Russ. And Russ threw wads of paper at his smaller brother.

The sand walls of the fort kept Russ from being "shot" in the battle. Laddie's "bullets" and "cannon balls" hit the sand walls of the fort more often than they struck his brother and Russ only laughed at them, at the same time he was pelting Laddie.

"Oh, say! this is no fun," complained the smaller boy after a bit. "I'm getting hit all the while and you don't get any at all."

"I do so! I got hit twice!"

"Well, that was when I threw cannon balls up in the air and they came down on your head like rain."

"Well, you shoot me a few more times and then I'll let you come into the fort," agreed Russ. "I'll pull down the flag and surrender. Go on, shoot me some more!"

So Laddie got together more paper "bullets" and "cannon balls" and threw them at his brother. But hardly any of them hit Russ. The fort was a good protection and with the flag floating from the top of the hill made a fine place for him to stay.

"This is the last time I'm going to shoot!" cried Laddie, and he took good aim with a large wad of paper which he called a "double cannon ball."

He threw it at Russ and then, from some point back of the fort another "cannon ball" came sailing into it, flying off and hitting Laddie's brother.

"Ouch! Quit that!" cried Russ. "'Tisn't fair throwing sand! A lot of it went down my neck."

"I didn't throw sand!" said Laddie.

"Yes, you did, too! That last cannon ball you threw had a lot of sand wrapped up in it."

"No, I didn't," cried Laddie.

"Don't you think I know!" shouted Russ, scrambling up out of the hole behind his fort. "Can't I feel it?"

Just then another paper "cannon ball" sailed into the fort from a sand hill back of it and it fell at the feet of Russ and burst, letting out a pile of sand.

"There!" cried Russ. "What'd I tell you?"

"But I didn't throw it!" said Laddie. "You looked right at me and I didn't throw it."

"No, you didn't," admitted Russ. "It came from in back of me. I wonder who's throwing sand cannon balls at us."

And then came another which hit Laddie, sending a shower of the gritty grains down his back.

"Hi! Quit that!" cried Russ. He and Laddie looked all around, but they could see no one. A mysterious enemy was shooting at them.



Chapter XXV

The Treasure


Once more there came sailing through the air a paper "cannon ball." It fell on the ground between Laddie and Russ and burst open, a lot of dry, soft sand spilling out.

"There!" cried Laddie. "See! I didn't throw 'em!"

"No, I don't guess you did," admitted Russ. "But who did?"

Just then a jolly laugh sounded, and out from behind a ridge of sand -- one of the dunes made by the wind -- came George Carr.

"Did I scare you?" asked George.

"A -- a little," admitted Russ, wiggling to get rid of the sand down his back.

"We didn't know who it was," said Laddie. And he, too, squirmed about, for there was sand inside his blouse.

"I thought you wouldn't," said George, laughing again. "I saw you playing soldiers and I thought I'd make believe I was another enemy coming up behind. You didn't make any fort in back of you," he said to Russ, "and so I could easily fire at you."

"But we don't put sand in our paper bullets," complained Laddie.

"Don't you?" asked George. "Then I'm sorry I did. I hope I didn't hurt you, or get any in your eyes."

"No," answered Russ, sort of shaking himself to let the sand sift down through the legs of his knickerbockers. "But it tickles a lot."

"Well, I won't throw any more," promised George. "But lots of times we play soldier down on the beach and we throw sand bullets. Only we don't ever throw 'em at each others' eyes. Sand in your eyes hurts like anything."

"I know it does," agreed Russ. "Mun Bun got some in his the other day and he cried a lot."

"Well, come on, let's play soldier some more," suggested George. "I'll be on Laddie's side. You go in the fort, Russ, and we'll stand against you. Two to one is fair when the one is inside a fort."

"And won't you throw any more sand bullets or cannon balls?"

"No, only paper ones."

"All right, then I'll play."

Russ went back in his fort, and Laddie and George, outside the wall of sand, began pelting him with wads of paper. But now the battle went differently. The attacking force could shoot twice as many paper bullets and balls as could Russ and they soon ran up on him, pelting him so that he had to put his hands over his head.

"All right -- I surrender! I give up!" he cried.

"Wait till I haul down the flag!" laughed George.

Then he took down the red and blue penciled handkerchief and he and Laddie took possession of the fort. Russ was beaten, but he did not mind, for it was all in fun. Then he took a turn outside the fort, with Laddie and George inside. However, as this was two against one, Russ could not win, though the three boys had jolly times.

They were pelting away at one another, using paper "bullets" and "cannon balls," shouting and laughing, when, as they became quiet for a moment, they heard a voice asking:

"What is all this?"

They looked up to see Mrs. Bunker with Mun Bun and Margy.

"How-do?" called George, grinning.

"Oh, we're having such fun!" cried Laddie. "We're soldiers and we got a fort, and we had a flag --  -- "

"It's made out of a handkerchief and red and blue pencils," added Russ.

"I want to play soldier!" exclaimed Mun Bun.

"No, it's too rough for you," explained Russ.

"I want to play, too!" insisted Margy.

"We're done playing fort and soldier," said Russ. "We'll play something else."

"Let's see who can dig the deepest hole," suggested George. "I'll go and get a shovel, and you have yours, Russ and Laddie. Let's see who can dig the deepest hole!"

The two older Bunker boys thought this would be fun, and George ran over to his cottage to get his shovel.

"Can we play that game, Mother?" asked Margy.

"Yes, you and Mun Bun can do that," said Mrs. Bunker.

The warm sun was drying out the beach, and when George came back with his shovel he and Laddie and Russ began three holes in a row, each one trying to make his the deepest. Mun Bun and Margy, each of whom had a small shovel, also began to dig, though, of course, they could not expect to dig as fast as the boys, nor make as deep holes.

"I'll sit on the sand and watch you," said Mrs. Bunker.

"Maybe we'll find a treasure," suggested Russ.

"What treasure?" asked George.

"Oh, before we came down here, when we were at our Aunt Jo's in Boston," Russ explained, "we knew a boy named Sammie Brown. His father dug up some treasure on a desert island once. We thought maybe we could dig up some here."

"But we didn't -- not yet," added Laddie.

"And I don't guess we ever will," said Russ. "Only we make believe, lots of times, that we're going to."

The three boys dug away and Mun Bun and Margy did the same, only more slowly. Then along came Rose and Violet.

"What are you doing?" Violet asked, getting in her question first, as usual.

"Digging holes," answered Russ.

"Seeing who can make the biggest," added George. "Mine's deeper than yours!" he said to Russ.

"Yes, but mine's going to be bigger. I'm going to make a hole big enough so I can stand down in it and dig. I'm going to make a regular well."

"I guess I will, too," decided George.

"So'll I," said Laddie.

"Well, if you come to water, don't fall in," advised Mrs. Bunker with a laugh.

"You go get a shovel and dig, too," called Russ to Rose.

"No, I don't want to," said his sister. "I'll watch you."

My, how the sand was flying on the beach now! Russ, Laddie and George were all digging as fast as they could with their shovels, each one trying to make the biggest hole. Mun Bun and Margy dug also, but, though they made a lot of sand fly, they did not always dig in the same place. Instead of keeping to one hole they made three or four. But they had just as much fun.

Suddenly Laddie, who had made a hole in which he could stand, it being so deep that he was half hidden from sight in it, uttered a cry.

"What's the matter?" asked his mother. "Did you hurt yourself?"

"Did you dig up a Sallie Growler?" asked Vi.

"Maybe it's a crab," said Mun Bun, and he dropped his shovel and started for his mother.

"No, nothing like that," said Laddie. "Only -- oh, goody -- I guess I've found the treasure!" he shouted.

"Treasure!" cried Russ. "What do you mean?"

"I guess I've found some gold in my hole!" went on Laddie. "Come and look! It shines like anything!"

Russ and George leaped out of the holes they were digging and ran toward Laddie. Mrs. Bunker got up and hurried down the beach. Mun Bun and Margy followed. Rose and Violet went too.

"Where is it?" asked Russ, stooping over the edge of his brother's hole. "Where's the treasure?"

"There," answered Laddie, pointing to something shining in the sand. It did glitter brightly and it was not buried very deeply, being near the top of the hole, but on the far edge, where Laddie had not done much digging.

"It is gold!" cried George. "Whoop! Maybe that boy you knew was right, and there is pirate's treasure here!"

Mrs. Bunker bent down and looked at what Laddie had uncovered. Then she took a stick and began carefully to dig around it.

"Here, take my shovel," offered Laddie.

"No, I don't want to scratch it, if it is what I think," said his mother. "I had better dig with the stick."

She went on scratching away the sand. As she did so the piece of shiny thing became larger. It sparkled more brightly in the sun.

"Is it treasure?" asked Laddie eagerly. "Did I find some gold treasure?"

"Yes, I think you did, Son," said Mrs. Bunker. "It is gold and it is a treasure."

"Did the pirates hide it?" demanded Russ.

"No, I think not," said Mrs. Bunker with a smile. "I think Rose lost it."

"Rose lost it!" cried the two Bunker boys. "What?"

"Yes, it is her locket that she dropped when we first came here and never could find," went on Mrs. Bunker. "Laddie, you have found it. You have discovered the golden treasure -- Rose's locket!"

Having dug away the sand in which it was imbedded, Mrs. Bunker lifted up a dangling gold chain to which was fastened the gold locket.

"Oh, it is mine!" cried Rose. "Oh, how glad I am to get it back again! Oh, Laddie, how glad I am!"

Her mother handed the little girl her long-lost locket. It was not a bit hurt from having been buried in the sand, for true gold does not tarnish in clean sand. And the ornament was as good as ever. Rose clasped it about her neck and looked very happy.

"How did it get in my hole?" asked Laddie.

"It didn't," said his mother. "You happened to dig in just the place where Rose dropped her locket and you uncovered it. Or this may not have been the exact place where it fell. Perhaps the sands shifted and carried the locket with them. That is why we could not find it before. But now we have it back."

"It was like finding real treasure," said Russ.

"I wish we'd find some more," said George. "I'm going to dig a big hole."

But, though he scooped out more sand, he found no more gold, nor did Russ, though they found some pretty shells.

Daddy Bunker, Cousin Tom and Cousin Ruth came down to the beach to see what all the joyful laughter was about and they were told of the finding of the lost locket Rose had dropped in the sand.

"I never thought I'd get it back," she said, "but I did."

"And I never thought I'd get my doll back," said Vi, "and I didn't. But I got a nicer one out of the sea."

"Well, that was very good luck," said Daddy Bunker. "For once digging in the sand had some results."

They all walked up to Cousin Tom's bungalow.

On the way Laddie seemed rather quiet.

"What's the matter?" asked his father. "Aren't you glad you found your sister's gold locket?"

"Oh, yes, very glad," answered Laddie. "Only I was trying to think up a riddle about it and I can't. But I have one about why is the ocean like a garden?"

"'Tisn't like a garden," declared Russ. "It's all water, the ocean is."

"It's like a garden in my riddle," insisted Laddie.

"Why?" his mother asked.

"The ocean is like a garden 'cause it's full of seaweed," answered Laddie.

"I don't think that's a very good riddle," remarked Russ.

"It wouldn't be a very good garden that had weeds in it," said Mr. Bunker with a laugh. "Anyhow we ought to be happy because Rose has her locket back."

And they all were, I'm sure.

"What makes gold so bright?" asked Vi, as she saw the locket sparkling in the sun.

"Because it is polished," her mother answered.

"What makes it polished?" went on Vi.

"Oh, my dear, if you keep on asking questions I'll get in such a tangle that I'll never be able to find my way out," laughed her mother. "Come, we'll get ready to go crabbing this afternoon and that will keep you so busy you won't want to talk."

"We never came to any nicer place than this, did we?" asked Russ of Rose as they sat on the pier that afternoon catching crabs by the dozen.

"No, we never had any better fun than we've had here. I wonder where we'll go next."

"I don't know," answered Russ. "Home, maybe."

But the children did not stay at home very long, and if you want to hear more about their adventures I invite you to read the next book in this series. It will be called: "Six Little Bunkers at Grandpa Ford's," and in it is told all about what happened that winter and how the ghost --  -- 

But there. I guess you'd better read the book.

"Daddy! Daddy! Come quick!" called Mun Bun, as he felt a tug at his line. "I got a terrible big crab!"

"Well, I should say you had!" exclaimed his father, as he caught it in the net. "It's a wonder it didn't pull you off the pier!"

The crab was a large one, the largest caught that day, and Mun Bun was very glad and happy. But he was no more glad than was Rose over her locket that had been lost and found.

And so we will leave them, the six little Bunkers, enjoying the last days of their visit at Cousin Tom's.

<eob>

The First Little Pet Book, With Ten Short Tales, In Words Of Three And Four Letters

By

Aunt Fanny



The Bad Old Ape.


One day Ned got a pie to eat. It was too hot, so he put it out in the air, on the lid of a big tin pot.

And now he ran off to see his dog who had a pup, and his cat who had a kit.

The pup lay in a box. Ned had got hay to put in the box for a bed; the pup lay on the hay, and the kit lay on a bit of rug.

Ned did pat the pup on his ear, and say: "O you pet! let me hug you." By and by, he did pat the kit too, and say: "Kit, kit, kit, can you eat pie -- can you? Let me go and get you a bit." So he ran to his pie -- but, O my! it was not on the lid of the big tin pot.

"Why, who can it be who has got my pie?" Ned did say. "Did it fly up in the air?"

"Why, Hal! did you get my pie?"

"No, not I. It is a tom-tit you see -- not a pie."

"O yes! so it is, a wee tom-tit. If I can get my pie, the tom-tit, and you and I can eat it."

He got up on top of the tin pot to see far off, and he did cry out: "O my! I see it now! I see my pie! The sly old ape has got it, and he has eat a big bit out of it, too! Oh! oh! he will eat it all up! How can I get at him?"

And now the sly old ape, who had the pie in his paw, saw Ned, and Ned did say: "Now for a run!" So he did run, and the sly old ape did run, and the dog did run, and the cat did run, and the pup did run, and the kit did run, and all did run, and it was fun.

The ape did say, "Che! che!" and ate the pie as he ran. Ned did say: "O you bad old ape! O you bad old ape!" The dog did say: "Bow wow! Bow wow!" The cat did say: "Mew, mew!" The pup did say: "Yap! yap!" and the kit did cry: "Eee, eee!" Was it not a big run?

And now, was it not too bad in the sly old ape? for you see he ate the pie all up. Ned did not get one bit, and the kit did not get one bit. O my!

Let me say to you, if you get a pie, and it is too hot to eat, do not put it on the top of a big tin pot, in the air, and go off to see a cat or a dog, for if you do, may be a sly old ape may get at the pie, and eat it all up.



Sam, The Bad Boy.


A boy was out one day. It was Sam. He had his new hum top. He did say to his mam-ma: "Oh! see my top! Can I go out and try my new hum top?"

"Yes, my son, but do not go into the old hut."

"Oh! no, mam-ma," Sam did say; and out he ran in the air.

By and by, a big boy did run up to him and say: "Sam, let me try the top? oh! do."

Sam let the big boy try, and, O my! how the top did go! and did hum, hum, hum so, Sam did say it was a big bee.

But, oh! sad to say, the big boy did let the top fly off in-to the hut; and Sam did not do as he was bid, for he ran in to get it.

He saw an ax in the hut.

"Oh! see the ax," Sam did say, "I can try it on the old log, out in the lot; yes, I can see if it can cut."

Was he not a bad boy to say so? for his mam-ma did say to him one day: "You are but a bit of a boy; so you can not do as a big man can do. Do not get the ax; if you do, you may cut off a leg or an arm, and you may die; so do not go to the hut at all, and to-day, too, she did say: "Do not go to the hut."

But the bad boy got the ax, and ran out to the old log.

And now, oh! oh! I am sad to say the ax did not cut the log. No! it cut off Sam's big toe!

How he did cry and hop! His mam-ma ran out, and saw her boy out by the log; the ax was by him, and his big toe was off.

It is no fun at all to get a big toe cut off, for Sam had to lie in bed, and cry all day; and the pig ate up his big toe.

He can not buy a new toe. He has but one big toe now. So you see how bad it is not to do as you are bid.




Ben And Sue,

And The See-Saw.


"Can you go out to the see-saw to-day?" Sue did say to Ben.

"O yes, yes! Let me see if mam-ma will let us. Yes, we can go: so you put on a hat, and let me get my cap, and we can run all the way."

Ben got his cap off of the peg, and Sue got her hat out of a box; and the two ran off. Tip, the big dog, ran too.

On the top of the see-saw sat an old cat; she sat on it, to try to spy out a rat, who had hid. The cat did not see Tip; and, I am sad to say, he was now a bad dog; for he ran at her, and bit her in the leg.

The cat put up her paw to hit Tip, and Tip bit her in her ear; and the cat had to run off with a m-e-w! O my! was not Tip a bad dog?

And now Sue and Ben got on the see-saw. Sue did go up, up, up, and Ben did go up, up, up. And it was fun! Was it not?

Tip had his fun too, for he saw the rat. It had hid in a box by the see-saw, and the cat did not see it; but Tip did; and oh! how he did fly at it! He got it in his paw and bit it, so it did die. The rat did not say it was fun to be out at the see-saw, as Ben and Sue did. O no! It was no fun at all to be bit, and to die. Was it?

And now the sun was hot, and Ben and Sue got off the see-saw and ran up to the old red cow, to see her eat hay, and out to the pig sty to see the old fat pig, who ate all day.

"O my!" Sue did say, "see how fat the pig is! All she can do is to eat all day. I can not eat all day; can you Ben?"

"Why, no," Ben did say, "but I can eat one big pie in a day."

"Oh! so can I! Let us go in and ask mam-ma for a pie to eat now."

So the two ran, and Tip ran. And mam-ma had a pie; she cut it up for Sue and Ben to eat, and they did hop for joy and eat it all up.

"Did they? No! I can not say so, for Ben gave Tip, the dog, a big bit; and Sue did too. Ben was not a pig, and Sue was not a pig. So, you see, the two did not eat as the pig did; no! for Tip had his bit too.

Out on the log The sly old cat Did sit all day, To get a rat.

But Tip, the dog, Did run at her, And in his paw He got her fur.

She had to fly, The sly old cat; And now the dog Has got the rat.




The Hen And Fox.


My own fat hen Did go one day Out in the lot, An egg to lay.

The day was hot; A cow sat by, And in her ear Was a big fly.

"Buz, buz, buz, buz," The fly did go, In the cow's ear, And bit it so.

The cow did say, "O moo! O moo! Do go a-way, O do! O do!

"Go to the pig, You bad old fly, Get out! get out! O moo! O my!"

It did not go, The bad old fly; And now it lit In the cow's eye.

Up she did hop! And ran a-way; And now my hen Her egg did lay.

But oh! oh! oh! A sly red fox, Who was all hid In an old box,

Did get my hen And get her egg, Tho' she did cry, And she did beg.

But the red fox, O me! O my! He bit and bit, So she did die.

He ate her up In his old den: He ate her up, My own fat hen.

And I so sad All day, did spy To see the bad Red fox go by.

I set a net, And oh! I saw The bad red fox Put in his paw.

Now he did cry, And he did beg, But no! I had Him by the leg.

To let him go Was not to be, And our old Dan Did say to me:

"O the bad fox! As I say 'one,' I'll hit him -- pop! Out of my gun."

The fox did die, And my new hen Can lay an egg, Or two, or ten.

For now no fox Can eat my hen, Or get her egg, Or two, or ten.




Ben And Bob.


One day Ben did go up to his pa-pa, and say: "O pa-pa! my cap is so old, it is not fit to be put on; do buy me a new one!"

His pa-pa did say: "If you are not bad all day, I can say 'yes' to you, but if you are bad, the old cap will do for a bad boy."

But Ben was not bad; so his pa-pa got him the cap. It had fur on it. Ben put it on; and as it fit him, he ran out in the air, and did cry as he ran: "See my new cap! see my new cap!"

Far off, by an old log, he saw a fat hen. She was by her nest. In it was an egg. Ben ran up to her, and he did cry, "Sho! sho! sho!" till she did fly off. So he got the old hen's egg, and put it in the top of his cap. As he did so a boy ran up to him. It was Bob. "Hal-lo," Bob did say. "How do you do, Ben?" and he hit him a tap on the top of his cap. He did not see Ben put the egg in his cap; and, O my! the egg did go pop!! and it ran in his ear and his eye, and all on him from top to toe. His new cap was all egg too.

So you see how bad it was in him not to let the old fat hen and her egg be.

But he did not care a bit; for he and Bob ran off to see the men mow the hay. It lay in the hot sun to dry.

Bob lay on the hay, and the sun was so hot, that the end of his nose got red, and a big dog who was by the men saw the end of his nose, and ran and made a snap at it to eat it. But Ben did hop up, and he and Bob ran off.

Ben did go in to his mam-ma and say: "O mam-ma! we are so hot and so dry! do let us get a pie to eat and a big tin mug of wa-ter; and oh! may we put a big bit of ice in the tin mug?"

His mam-ma did say, Yes; and so Ben and Bob did eat the pie and had a lot of fun; for Ben bit his pie to look like a cat who had one leg, and Bob bit his pie in-to a dog who had one ear. He ate it all up; and Bob did say he had a dog-pie, and Ben had a cat-pie. Was it not fun?

But his pa-pa did say to him: "Why, Ben, how did you get all the egg on you?"

O how red Ben was! But he did not say a lie. O no! He did say: "Pa-pa, I got an egg and put it in the top of my new cap, but Bob did not see it, and he did tap the top of my cap, and the egg did go pop! all on me, and the top of my new cap is all egg. How can I get it off?"

His pa-pa was full of joy, as his son did not say a lie, and he did try to get all the egg off of the new cap. And now Ben and Bob ran off, and Ben had a lot of fun, for he was not bad; O no! he was a boy who did not say a lie, and so he had joy and fun all day. If you are not bad, you can have joy and fun too. You are my pet, so I get all the wee wee w-o-r-d-s I can, to put in-to this book for you; and if I can see you one day and kiss you, I can have joy

Too, too, too; If I can see you, you, you: [A]Will you come? Oh! do, do, do!

I will let you hop, hop, hop, Run or spin your top, top, top, Get a gun and pop, pop, pop.

Go out in the sun, sun, sun, With my kit to run, run, run: Will we not have fun, fun, fun?

You can see my cat, cat, cat, And her soft fur pat, pat, pat --  She is on the mat, mat, mat.

Out on the old rug, rug, rug, Is my pet dog Pug, Pug, Pug --  Give him a good hug, hug, hug.

If you stub your toe, toe, toe, When to him you go, go, go, You will come to woe, woe, woe.

It will hurt you so, so, so, You will cry: "Oh oh! oh oh! Is my toe off?" "No, no, no;

"For I see it yet, yet, yet; Here it is, my pet, pet, pet; But your face is wet, wet, wet.

"O my dear! don't cry, cry, cry; Kiss me now, and try, try, try To be good as pie, pie, pie.

"I will wipe your eye, eye, eye, Make it nice and dry, dry, dry, Just like the blue sky, sky, sky.

"Do not look so shy, shy, shy, As your hat I tie, tie, tie; O dear me! oh! why, why, why

"Must you go? O my! my! I Want you till I die, die, die. Mam-ma, let me buy, buy, buy

"My dear pet." "O fie! fie! fie! How you talk! Can I, I, I Give her up, and hie, hie, hie

"To my home, to sigh, sigh, sigh, With no dear pet nigh, nigh, nigh, In my arms to lie, lie, lie?

"No; come, pet, be spry, spry, spry; Give a jump up high, high, high; Kiss, and say, Good-by, by, by."

[Footnote A: Some of the words in rhyme have four letters.]




The

Old Gray Rat And His Wife,

And His Nine Boy-Rats.


Once on a time an old gray rat did live in a hole in the wall, with his wife and his nine wee rats, all boys. It was a hole by the side of the fire; and as snug and nice and warm as you like.

You may be sure that the pa-pa and mam-ma rats got the wee ones lots to eat, for they were all so fat, and full of fun and play.

But one sad day, all the bits of pie and cake were gone. Not as much as a bit the size of a pin's head was left in the hole.

So the wee rats all got in a row, and held up two paws each, and in a sad tone did cry: "O pa-pa! O mam-ma!

"We want some cake, We want some tea, We want some pie, Eee! eee! eee! eee!"

Then a tear came out of each eye, and ran down each nose, and made the hole as damp as a bath-tub.

"O my poor dear boys!" said the old rat, "do stop! You will make me cry too;" and he put his paw to his eye. "I will go and see what I can get you for your tea e-e-e-e. Come, give me a hug, and kiss me for good-by, for that big cat I told you of may get hold of me, and bite my head off. If she does so, this is the last you will see of your poor pa-pa."

At this all the nine boy-rats set up a cry, and gave him such hard hugs, that the old rat had to slap one or two to make them stop. Then, with a hop, skip, and jump, he was up at the top of the hole.

"No one here," he said; so he gave one hop more, and was out in the room.

It was a big room, but nice and warm. The sun had set, and it was dark; but the old rat saw by the fire that no one was in it. The cook had gone out in the yard to get more wood to put on the fire, and the cat had gone out in the yard too, to have a talk, on the top of the wall, with the gray cat who came from next door. And now the old rat did hear the two cats say:

"M-e-w! m-i-a-u! M-i-a-u! m-e-w! Ffts! ffts! ffts! How are you!"

"Bless me!" said the old rat, "why, how they talk! how they snap and spit! Why! the gray cat next door will bite off our cat's nose in no time at all, if they go on this way! I hope he will bite it off, for, you see, if she has no nose she can not find me out."

The old rat gave a wink of his eye, and a slap of his tail, as he said this; and then it was high time to poke his nose in and out of the pots and pans, to see what was in them.

By and by, that nose of his took off the lid of a box. "Now for a peep to see what is in-side," said the old gray rat. "Now let us see what I can put my paw on this time."

My! what eyes he made when he saw ten new laid eggs in the box.

"Why! here is one for each of my nine boys, and one more," he said. "What fun to suck them! But I must get them into my hole as soon as you can say 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, or the cook will come in, and the cat too."

And now he had a hard time; for when the rat did try to take an egg up in one paw, it was so big that, pop! it went with a roll back in the box.

Then he did try to take it in two paws, and hop on his hind legs; but he soon had to stop that. Then he did try to roll it to his hole, but the egg went all to one side, as much as to say: "How dare you try to roll me into your hole? I am not your egg. Let me be, you bad old rat!"

Yes, he was a bad old rat, for he took what was not his. Mind you do not do so, my dear pet. Do not take a pin, or a bit of cake, or pie, but ask your mam-ma if you can have it; then you can eat it with joy.

But the old gray rat did not know it was so bad. You know, but the rat had no one to tell him as you have.

"E-e-e-e!" said the ten wee rats in the hole:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What fun it was!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




Poor Will,

Who Was Shot In The War.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, miss."

"Did you lose your arm in the war?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How old was he?" said Lou.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




Ann, The Good Girl;

Or,

Is It Best To Mind Or Not To Mind?


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not a bit."

"Will you do some more work for me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




Joe, Who Did Not Mind.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Squinty The Comical Pig: His Many Adventures

By

Richard Barnum



Chapter I


Squinty And The Dog

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wuff! Wuff!" grunted Squinty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She, too, looked down into the pen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




Chapter II


Squinty Runs Away

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Bow wow!" barked Don.

"Squee! Squee!" cried Squinty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




Chapter III


Squinty Is Lost

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

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

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

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

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

But you just wait and see what happens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh dear! I guess I am lost!"




Chapter IV


Squinty Gets Home

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then this gave him an idea.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just then Squealer cried:

"Why, where's Squinty?"

His brothers and sisters looked around.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Has anything happened?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Bow wow!" was the barking answer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




Chapter V.


Squinty And The Boy.

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

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

"Oh, Squinty, where were you?"

"Where did you go?"

"What did you do?"

"Weren't you awfully scared?"

"Where did the dog find you?"

"Did he bite you very hard?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But just then Mrs. Pig grunted out:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




Chapter VI


Squinty On A Journey

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But that was not what it was this time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Be a brave pig," said his papa.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Squinty had started on his journey.




Chapter VII


Squinty Learns A Trick

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Whee! Whee! Whee-whee!"

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

So Squinty went:

"Squee! Squee! Squee!"

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

"Whee! Whee! Toot! Toot!"

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

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

"Whee! Whee! Toot! Toot!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well, now I must feed the pigs."

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

And he guessed right, too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




Chapter VIII


Squinty In The Woods

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And they were both right, you see.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Just you watch!" exclaimed the boy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"There, he has them!" exclaimed Sallie.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Jump over the rope, Squinty!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Now, Squinty!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so Squinty ran away to the woods.




Chapter IX

Squinty's Balloon Ride


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But something else happened in the morning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Squinty was off on a trip in a balloon.




Chapter X


Squinty And The Squirrel

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

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

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

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

"Oh, about a mile, I guess."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"There is a good place to land!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Squinty felt very happy then.




Chapter XI


Squinty And The Merry Monkey

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Chat! Chat! Chatter! Whir-r-r-r-r-r!" "My, what's that?" cried Squinty, turning quickly around.

"That is my mamma calling me," said Slicko, the jumping squirrel. "I shall have to go home to my nest now. Good-by, Squinty. I like you very much, and I hope I shall soon see you again."

"I hope so, too," spoke Squinty, and while he went on eating the acorns, Slicko ran along the tree branches to her nest. And in another book I shall tell you some more stories about "Slicko, the Jumping Squirrel," but in this book I have room to write only about Squinty.

The little comical pig was rather lonesome after Slicko had left him, but he was no longer hungry, thanks to the acorns.

So he walked on and on, and pretty soon he came to a road. And down the road he saw coming the strangest sight.

There were a lot of big wagons, all painted red and green and gold. Many horses drew each wagon, the big wheels of which rattled like thunder, and beside the wagons there were many strange animals walking along -- animals which Squinty had never seen before.

"Oh my!" cried Squinty. "This is worse than the balloon! I must run away!"

But, just as he turned to run, he saw a little animal jump out of one of the big wagons, and come toward him. This animal was something like a little boy, only, instead of clothes, he was covered with hairy fur. And the animal had a long tail, which Squinty knew no boy ever had.

Squinty was so surprised at seeing the strange animal that the little pig stood still. The hairy animal, with the long tail, came straight for the bush behind which Squinty was hiding, and crawled through. Then the two stood looking at one another, while the big wagons rumbled past on the road.

"Hello!" Squinty finally exclaimed. "Who are you?"

"Why, I am Mappo, the merry monkey," was the answer, as he curled his long tail around a stick of wood. "But I don't need to ask who you are. You are a pig, I can see that, for we have one in our circus, and the clown rides him around the ring, and it is too funny for anything."

"Ha, so you are a monkey?" asked Squinty. "But what do you mean by a circus?"

"That's a circus," answered Mappo, pointing with one paw through a hole in the bush, at the queer animals, and the red, gold and green wagons. "That is, it will be a circus when they put up the big tent, and all the people come. Didn't you ever see a circus?"

"Never," answered Squinty. "Did you ever ride in a balloon?"

"Never," answered Mappo.

"Well, then we are even," said Squinty. "Now you tell me about a circus, and I'll tell you about the balloon."

"Well," said the monkey, "a circus is a big show in a tent, to make people laugh. There are clowns, and animals to look at. I am one of the animals, but I ran out of my cage when the door flew open."

"Why did you run away?" asked Squinty.

"Oh, I got tired of staying in a cage. And I was afraid the big tiger might bite me. I'll run back again pretty soon, before they miss me. Now you tell me about your balloon ride."

So Squinty told the merry monkey all about running away, and learning tricks, and having a ride in the queer basket.

"I can do tricks, too," said Mappo. "But just now I am hungry. I wonder if any cocoanut trees are in these woods?"

"I don't know what a cocoanut is," answered Squinty, "but I'll give you some of my acorns."

The comical little pig and the merry monkey hid under the bush and ate acorns as they watched the circus procession go past. It was not a regular parade, as the show was going only from one town to-another. Squinty looked at the beautiful wagons, and at the strange animals, some with big humps on their backs. At last he saw some very big creatures, and he cried out:

"Oh, Mappo! What are those animals? They have a tail at each end!"

"Those are elephants," said Mappo, "and they do not have two tails. One is a tail, and the other is their trunk, or long nose, by which they pick up peanuts, and other things to eat, and they can drink water through it, too."

"Oh, elephants, eh!" exclaimed Squinty. "But who is that big, fierce-looking one, with two long teeth sticking out. I would be afraid of him."

"Ha! Ha! You wouldn't need to be," said Mappo, with a merry laugh. "That is Tum-Tum, the jolliest elephant in the whole circus. Why, he is so kind he wouldn't hurt a fly, and he is so happy that every one loves him. He is always playing jokes."

"Well, I'm glad he is so jolly," spoke Squinty, as he watched Tum-Tum and the other elephants march slowly along the road on their big feet, like wash tubs, swinging their long trunks.

Then Mappo the monkey, and Squinty, the comical pig, started off through the woods.




Chapter XII


Squinty Gets Home Again

"Squinty, I don't believe we're going to find any cocoanut trees in this woods," said Mappo, the monkey, after he and the little pig had wandered on for some time.

"It doesn't seem so, does it?" spoke Squinty, looking all around, first with his wide-open eye, and then with his queer, droopy one.

The monkey ran along, now on the ground, and now and then swinging himself up in the branches of trees, by his long legs, each one of which had a sort of hand on the end. Sometimes he hung by his tail, for monkeys are made to do that.

"My, I wish I could get up in the trees the way you do," said Squinty. "Do you think I could hang by my tail, Mappo?"

"I don't know," answered the monkey, scratching his head. "Your tail has a nice little curl in it, almost like mine. Did you ever try to hang by your tail?"

"No, I never did."

"Well, you don't know what you can do until you try," said Mappo.

The two animal friends soon came to where some of the acorn nuts had fallen off a tree, and they ate as many as they wanted. Mappo said they were not as good as cocoanuts, but he liked them pretty well, because he was hungry. And Squinty thought acorns were just the best things he had ever tasted, except apples, and potatoes or perhaps sour milk.

By this time it was getting dark, and Squinty said:

"Oh dear, I wonder where we can sleep tonight?"

"Oh, do not let that worry you," said Mappo. "I am used to living in the woods. When I was little, before I was caught and put in the circus, I lived in the woods all the while. See, here is a nice hollow stump, filled with leaves, for you to sleep in, and I will climb a tree, and sleep in that."

"Couldn't you sleep down in the stump with me?" asked Squinty. "It's sort of lonesome, all by yourself in the dark."

"Yes, I'll sleep with you," said Mappo. "Now we'll make up a nice bed."

But, just as they were piling some more leaves in the hollow stump, they heard many voices of men shouting in the woods.

"Here he is! Here is that runaway monkey! I see him! Come and catch him!" cried the men.

"Oh, they're from the circus! They're after me!" cried Mappo. "I must run and hide. Good-by, Squinty. I'll see you again sometime, maybe. You had better run, also, or the circus men may catch you."

Squinty looked through the trees, and saw a number of men coming toward him and the monkey. Then Mappo climbed up in a tall tree, and Squinty ran away as fast as his little short legs would take him.

"Never mind the pig! Get the monkey!" Squinty heard one man cry, and then the comical little pig dodged under a bush, and kept on running.

When Squinty stopped running it was quite dark. He could hardly see, and he had run into several trees, and bumped his nose a number of times. It hurt him very much.

"Well, I guess I'm lost again," thought Squinty. "And I am all alone. Oh, what a lot of things has happened to me since I was in the pen with my mamma and papa and sisters and brothers! I wish I were back with them again."

Squinty felt very sad and lonesome. He wondered if the circus men had caught Mappo. Then he felt that he had better find a place where he could cover himself up with the dry leaves, and go to sleep.

He walked about in the dark until, all of a sudden, he stumbled into a hole that was filled with dried grass.

"I guess I had better stay here," thought Squinty. So he pulled some of the grass over him, and went to sleep.

When he awoke the sun was shining.

"I must get my breakfast," thought Squinty. He hunted about until he had found some acorns, and then, coming to a little brook of water he took a long drink. Something about the brook made Squinty look at it carefully.

"Why -- why!" he exclaimed to himself: "It seems to me I have been here before! Yes, I am sure I have. This is the place where I first came to get a drink, when first I ran away. It is near the pen where I used to live! Oh, I wonder if I can find that?"

The heart of Squinty was beating fast as he looked around at the scenes he had seen when he was a very little pig, some weeks before. Yes, it was the same brook. He was sure of it. And there was the garden of potatoes, and the cornfield where he had first lost his way.

Hark! What was that?

Off in the rows of corn he heard a dog barking. Somehow he knew that dog's bark.

"If that could be Don!" thought Squinty, hopefully.

The barking sounded nearer. Squinty turned around, standing on the edge of the little brook, and waited, his heart beating faster and faster.

All at once there came running through the potato field a black and white dog. Squinty knew him at once.

It was Don!

"Bow wow! Bow wow!" barked Don. "Well, if there isn't that comical little pig, Squinty! Where in the world did you come from? You've been running away, I'll be bound! Now I'm going to take you back to the pen!"

"Oh, Don! I am so glad to see you!" squealed Squinty. "I -- I did run away, but I never will any more. I am lost. Oh, Don, don't take me by the ear. I'll go with you."

"All right," barked Don, kindly. "Come along. Your pen isn't far off," and he ran along beside the little pig, who, after many adventures had wandered back home. Squinty and Don came to the edge of the potato field.

"Well, I never!" exclaimed the farmer man, who was there hoeing the potatoes. "If there isn't that comical little pig I sold to that boy Bob. I wonder where he came from?"

"Bow wow! Bow wow! I found him," barked Don, but of course the farmer did not understand.

"Well, I'll put you back in the pen again until that boy sends for you," said the farmer, as he lifted Squinty over into the pen where his mamma and papa and brothers and sisters were.

"Why -- why, it's Squinty!" cried Mrs. Pig.

"He's come back!" grunted Mr. Pig.

"Oh, I'm so glad!" said Wuff-Wuff.

"And so am I," added Twisty Tail, as she rubbed her nose against Squinty's. "Where have you been, and what happened to you?" she asked her brother.

"Oh, many things," he said. "I have learned some tricks, I have been up in a balloon, I met Slicko the jumping squirrel, Mappo, the merry monkey, and I saw Tum-Tum, the jolly circus elephant. Now I am home again."

"And which did you like best of all?" asked Mrs. Pig, when they had finished asking him questions.

"Getting back home," answered Squinty, as he took a big drink of sour milk.

And that is the story of Squinty, the comical pig. The farmer sent word to the boy that his pet was back in the pen, but the boy said he thought he did not want a pet pig any more, so Squinty, for the time being, stayed with his family.

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Snubby Nose And Tippy Toes

By

Laura Rountree Smith



Chapter I


Bunny and Susan Cotton-Tail sat by the fire one winter evening warming their paws.

"What's that?" asked Bunny.

"What's that?" asked Susan.

They went to the window and saw a very little Bunny stuck fast in a snowdrift.

"Help, help," cried Bunny, "I will get the snow-shovel."

"Help, help," cried Susan, "I will get the wheelbarrow."

Bunny and Susan went out to shovel the little Bunny out of the snowdrift. Bunny said, "You dear little fellow, how did you get stuck fast in the snowdrift?"

Susan looked hard over her spectacles and said, "Why, it is our own dear grandchild, Snubby Nose."

Then Snubby Nose cried and he screamed and he howled! Bunny Cotton-Tail shoveled as fast as he could, and in sixteen minutes he had Snubby Nose out of the snowdrift. Susan put him in the wheelbarrow and wheeled him to the house. All the time Snubby Nose cried and he screamed and he howled!

Susan said, "Go and get the big tub and we will give Snubby Nose a hot bath."

Bunny got the tub and some warm water and he and Susan gave Snubby Nose a hot bath. They rubbed him dry with a soft towel, and all the time Snubby Nose cried and he screamed and he howled!

Just at this very minute Grandpa Grumbles came in shaking the snow off his fur and whiskers. He shook his green cotton umbrella. He came in grumbling,

"It's noisy here, I do declare, I just came out to take the air."

Snubby Nose stopped his noise and stared at Grandpa Grumbles. Bunny and Susan said, "Sit down by the fire, Grandpa, and warm your paws." Grandpa Grumbles sat down.

Snubby Nose cried, "Grandpa Grumbles, tell us a story, please tell us a story."

Bunny Cotton-Tail said, in a whisper, "Please don't mention noses."

Susan Cotton-Tail said, "Please don't mention snowdrifts."

Grandpa Grumbles was wet and cold, so he grumbled right out loud, "I will tell about as many noses and snowdrifts as I please in this story!" Then Snubby Nose cried and he screamed and he howled!

Susan took him up in her arms. She carried him to bed and sang him a nonsense song. By and by Snubby Nose fell asleep. Susan went back downstairs and found Grandpa Grumbles asleep by the fire.

Bunny said, "I wonder what makes him grumble so much?"

Susan said, "T wonder what happened to Snubby Nose. He has such a funny little nose!"

Then the most surprising thing happened!

As they sat talking, "thump, bump" was heard, and Snubby Nose fell down stairs! He fell right on his ugly little nose and broke it!

"Get the camphor! Get the smelling salts! Help, help!" cried Bunny and Susan.

Grandpa Grumbles woke, up and cried,

"Someone has a sad mishap, Just when I try to take a nap."

I do not know what in the world they would have done if Doctor Cotton-Tail had not come in that very minute. He came in to dry his fur and whiskers!

He set Snubby Nose's little ugly nose and said, "It will not look very pretty, but perhaps it did not look pretty before. You must wear a pink wrapper, and drink tea out of a pink cup, and eat pink wintergreen candy!"

Snubby Nose liked the idea of wintergreen candy. He hugged Doctor Cotton-Tail and stopped crying at once.

Susan got a pink wrapper and got a pink china cup for his tea. Grandpa Grumbles felt in his overcoat pocket and took out sixteen pieces of Wintergreen candy. It was pink wintergreen candy of course!

Susan said to Doctor Cotton-Tail, "How did you happen to come out in this big snowstorm?"

Doctor Cotton-Tail said, "I had a call to make, I was going to visit -- "

Just then Susan began to sneeze. She sneezed so hard she nearly sneezed her head off!

Doctor Cotton-Tail said,

"Susan that is quite absurd, Such sneezing I have never heard."

Susan said by and by, "I beg your pardon, what were you saying when I started to sneeze?"

Doctor Cotton-Tail said, "I had a call, I was going to visit -- "

At this very minute Snubby Nose set up a shout, for dear Bunny Cotton-Tail leaned too near the candle and burned one of his whiskers!

Then Grandpa Grumbles shook his green cotton umbrella fiercely and said,

"Such a noise I never heard, I cannot hear a single word."

Grandpa Grumbles had been sitting very still in a corner and Doctor Cotton-Tail had not seen him up to this minute. He got up and shook hands with him and said, "How do you do, sir, How do you do, sir!"

Grandpa Grumbles was pleased as pleased could be. He had not seen Doctor Cotton-Tail for two hundred and six years! He cried out, "How do you do, sir! How do you do, sir!"

All this time Snubby Nose sat up in his pink wrapper drinking tea out of a pink cup and eating pink wintergreen candy. By and by Susan said, "Doctor Cotton-Tail you were going to tell us where you were going to call when you came here!"

Doctor Cotton-Tail said, "I was on my way to call on little Tippy Toes!"

"My fur and whiskers," said Bunny, "I never had a grandchild named Tippy Toes!"

"Bless my buttons," said Susan, "What a cute little name."

Then Grandpa Grumbles got up waving his green cotton umbrella and shouted,

"Though the stormy north wind blows, I'll go with you to Tippy Toes."

Then he and Doctor Cotton-Tail made a low bow and went out into the snowstorm.

Doctor Cotton-Tail called back, "Don't forget to eat wintergreen candy."

By this time Bunny and Susan and Snubby Nose were tired and sleepy, and they all went to bed. Bunny began to snore and Susan began to snore, but Snubby Nose was still wide awake.

What do you suppose Snubby Nose did? You can give three guesses and you will not guess what he did!

He got out of bed and lit a candle. He said, "I believe I am the ugliest little Bunny with the ugliest little nose of any Bunny alive."

He began to dance before the mirror. He danced this way and that way before the mirror. He danced very prettily on the tips of his toes. Then he made a low bow and said,

"Who is so ugly? Nobody knows." The mirror answered, "Tippy Toes."


Then Snubby Nose went back to bed. He said, "To-morrow I will go and find Tippy Toes."



Chapter II


Where do you suppose Tippy Toes was, and what do you suppose he was doing? He woke up in his warm little bed at home and said, "Oh, Ma! Oh, Pa! I want to go and visit Bunny and Susan Cotton-Tail."

Mother Cotton-Tail laughed and said, "You have read about Bunny Cotton-Tail burning his paw by candle-light."

Papa Cotton-Tail said, "You have read about Susan's cookies!"

Tippy Toes said, "Please, may I go and visit Bunny and Susan?"

Tippy Toes was a homely little Bunny. He had a very ugly little nose, but he was polite. He always said, "Thank you," and, "If you please."

Mother Cotton-Tail said, "You may go and pay a visit to Bunny and Susan. Go and pack your traveling bag at once."

Tippy Toes was so pleased he hugged Mother Cotton-Tail and said, "Thank you, Mother Cotton-Tail, I will go and pack my traveling bag."

Papa Cotton-Tail said, "I will go with you to the turn of the road."

Soon they started merrily down the road and Mother Cotton-Tail called, "Good-bye, good-bye."

They had only gone a few steps when Mother Cotton-Tail called, "Come back, come back, you have forgotten your umbrella. What if it should rain?"

Tippy Toes went dancing merrily back and Papa Cotton-Tail waited for him. They started on again and this time Mother Cotton-Tail called, "Come back, come back, you have forgotten your overshoes. What if there should be a thunder storm?"

So Tippy Toes went dancing merrily back and Papa Cotton-Tail waited for him again. When they started the third time Tippy Toes said, "We have nothing to go back for this time," but the wind whistled in his ears.

Mother Cotton-Tail called again, "Come back, come back, Tippy Toes, you have forgotten your red silk pocket handkerchief."

This time Papa Cotton-Tail went back with Tippy Toes and he said, "Dear Mother Cotton-Tail, do put on your thinking-cap and see if we have forgotten anything else, or we shall never get off."

Then they looked high and low, but they could not find Mother Cotton-Tail's thinking-cap!

Papa Cotton-Tail said, "Never mind, I will put on my thinking-cap instead." So he put on his red silk thinking-cap and said, "Oh, I know what we have forgotten; we have forgotten to send Bunny and Susan a present!"

"To be sure," said Mother Cotton-Tail, "Now what shall the present be?"

Little Tippy Toes did not get started on his journey that day, for it took four days and fourteen hours for them to decide what to send Bunny and Susan. All this time Tippy Toes was as merry as you please. He danced about on the tips of his toes and sang,

"A present, a present, if all things go well, What shall be the present? No one can tell."

Suddenly, at breakfast next morning Mother Cotton-Tail said, "I will go to town and buy Bunny and Susan a big parlor lamp."

"A lamp with a pink shade," said Tippy Toes.

Papa Cotton-Tail said, "A lamp with a tall chimney."

Mother Cotton-Tail said, "I will buy a lamp with a pink shade and a tall chimney for Bunny, because he burns his paw in the candle."

Then Tippy Toes danced this way, and he danced that way, and said, "Oh, Ma, may I go with you to town to help buy the lamp?"

Mother Cotton-Tail said, "Papa Cotton-Tail has to go to work. If I go to town and you go, too, who will tend the fire? Who will wash the dishes?"

Tippy Toes wanted to go to town, but he was a good little Bunny, so he said,

"Who will tend the fire? Whom do you suppose? Who will wash the dishes? Little Tippy Toes."

So Mother Cotton-Tail put on her best sunbonnet and took her purse and shopping basket with her, and went off with Papa Cotton-Tail calling, "Good-bye, I will be home to supper at five o'clock sharp."

Then Tippy Toes danced a little fairylike dance before the mirror and sang,

"Who is so ugly? Nobody knows." The mirror answered, "Snubby Nose."

Tippy Toes said, "I have danced that dance before, and I sing that song very often, but the mirror always gives me the same answer. Who is Snubby Nose? I wonder if he has a real ugly little nose like I have?"

Then Tippy Toes made up the fire and washed the dishes and began to get things ready to cook for supper. He said, "I do wish I could go and find Snubby Nose; I wonder if Bunny and Susan can tell me about him."

Tippy Toes sat down in front of the clock and began to count the hours until Mother Cotton-Tail would come home. He fell asleep and dreamed that he saw a little Bunny exactly like himself stuck fast in a snowdrift. When he woke up it was five o'clock and Papa Cotton-Tail had just come home.

They got supper and waited, and waited, for Mother Cotton-Tail. At exactly six o'clock she came in. She was an hour late.

She came on the stroke of the clock. She said, "I have been shopping all day."

Mother Cotton-Tail took a wonderful lamp from her basket. It had a pink shade and a tall chimney.

Papa Cotton-Tail said, "If you send the lamp to Bunny I must send something to Susan. I will go to town to-morrow and get Susan a pair of spectacles."

Tippy Toes said, "Oh Pa, may I go with you to town to-morrow?"

Papa Cotton-Tail said, "Who will roll out the cookies for Mother Cotton-Tail? Who will run her little errands all day?"

Then Tippy Toes danced this way, and he danced that way, and sang,

"Who will do errands? Whom do you suppose? Who will roll cookies? Little Tippy Toes."

So, they had a merry time at supper that evening and lighted the new lamp, and Papa Cotton-Tail read fairy tales.

Tippy Toes did not tell what the mirror had answered him. He kept that as a secret. He said to himself, "I do wonder who Snubby Nose is!"



Chapter III


Next day Tippy Toes woke up early and cried out, "Oh, Mother Cotton-Tail, it is time to wake up! Oh, Papa Cotton-Tail, it is time to wake up!"

Sure enough it was time for Bunnies to wake up because it was sunrise.

Tippy Toes helped to get breakfast. He went to the well to draw water. He began to sing a little fairy song,

"Ding, dong bell, Pussy's in the well."

"Poor Pussy, I wonder if she is still in the well," he said. He peeped down to look into the well.

Papa Cotton-Tail called, "Hurry, hurry, it is time for breakfast."

Then Tippy Toes drew a bucket full of water and said, "Is poor Pussy still in the well?"

Papa Cotton-Tail said, "If you ever read your Mother Goose you would know she is not in the well."

"Who pulled her out?" asked Tippy Toes.

Mother Cotton-Tail said, "Hush, be still, you ask too many questions!"

Tippy Toes wondered all day who pulled poor Pussy out. He danced this way, and he danced that way, and he set the table for breakfast.

He said, "If you are home by dinner time Papa Cotton-Tail, may I go and visit Bunny and Susan?"

Papa Cotton-Tail said, "If I get home in time with Susan's spectacles you may go to-day."

Papa Cotton-Tail put on his big fur coat and went merrily down the road. Mother Cotton-Tail began to make cookies and Tippy Toes rolled them out for her. Now, will you believe it? before they had a single pan of cookies baked, Papa Cotton-Tail was back home again.

Mother Cotton-Tail said, "Why are you back so soon?"

Tippy Toes said, "Did you get the spectacles already?"

Papa Cotton-Tail said, "I met a peddler and he had a pair of black spectacles in his pack."

Papa Cotton-Tail put on the black spectacles and he looked so funny that Mother Cotton-Tail said, "Let me try them on," and Tippy Toes cried, "Please let me try them on!"

Mother Cotton-Tail said, "I will pack Bunny's lamp and Susan's spectacles and you may start on your long journey at once."

Tippy Toes put on his best coat and cap and kissed his mother good-bye. Papa Cotton-Tail went with him again to the bend of the road. Suddenly Tippy Toes stopped still. He stopped stock-still in the road. He said, "Oh, Pa, I must go back, I forgot something!"

What do you suppose Tippy Toes forgot?

He always danced up and down before the mirror before he went out. So, he went back home, hoppity, skippity, hop; and Papa Cotton-Tail waited for him at the bend of the road.

Tippy Toes stood before the mirror and he danced this way and he danced that way and said,

"Who is so ugly? Nobody knows." The mirror answered, "Snubby Nose."

Then Tippy Toes laughed and laughed.

"I will go and find Snubby Nose," he said, "for he must be as ugly as I am with my little turned-up nose."

He went running down the road and was soon off and away. The wind whistled in his ears.

At that very minute he heard Papa Cotton-Tail crying, "Hello, hello! Come back to the bend in the road, Tippy Toes."

Tippy Toes said to himself, "What can Papa Cotton-Tail want? Shall I never get started?"

Papa Cotton-Tail said, "How will you know the house when you come to it?"

Tippy Toes said, "I will ask any one I meet."

Papa Cotton-Tail said, "That is right, and be sure to bow when you meet Grandpa Grumbles."

Then they said "Good-bye" again, and Tippy Toes went merrily along. He met Bushy-Tail, the sly old Fox. Bushy-Tail asked, "Where are you going in such a hurry, Snubby Nose?"

Then Tippy Toes danced this way and he danced that way, and he said,

"That is a matter I do not disclose, But, sir, my name is not Snubby Nose."

Bushy-Tail was surprised you may be sure. He said, "Well, you and Snubby Nose are as much alike as two peas."

Tippy Toes bowed and said, "Will you please tell me how I may know when I have passed by the house Bunny and Susan Cotton-Tail live in?"

Tippy Toes did not say he was going to stop and see Bunny and Susan.

Bushy-Tail looked cross-eyed. He said, "If you will tell me your name little fellow, I will take you straight to Bunny Cotton-Tail's house in the woods."

I do not know what would have happened next if Grandpa Grumbles and Doctor Cotton-Tail had not come along.

Grandpa Grumbles thought it was Snubby Nose, of course, and he shouted,

"You're a careless Bunny, it is not funny, The Doctor costs us a lot of money."

Then whisk! Before Tippy Toes or Doctor Cotton-Tail could say a word, Grandpa Grumbles opened his green cotton umbrella and set Tippy Toes inside and carried him through the woods. The wind whistled in their ears as they went. Grandpa Grumbles kept saying over and over to himself,

"You were ill, and it is not funny, To call the Doctor and pay out money."

Tippy Toes shouted at last so loud he could be heard,

"Grandpa, I have a funny nose, But my real name is Tippy Toes."

Grandpa Grumbles answered him,

"Snubby Nose, you can't fool me, Though I'm foolish as can be."

Then Tippy Toes stuffed his furry little paw into his mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

"I wonder if Bunny and Susan will think I am Snubby Nose, too," he said. "What fun that will be. I will visit them until Snubby Nose comes home."

By and by they came to Bunny Cotton-Tail's house. Grandpa Grumbles set Tippy Toes down on the doorstep and shouted,

"The house is dark, as you can see, You'll have to come and visit me."

So, they went on through the woods to Grandpa Grumble's house; for, sure enough, Bunny and Susan had gone to bed and turned out all the lights.

When they got to Grandpa Grumble's house a fire was burning merrily on the hearth, and they went up and warmed their paws. Tippy Toes danced up and down before the mirror and cried,

"Who is so ugly? Nobody knows." The mirror answered, "Snubby Nose."

Grandpa Grumbles looked at Tippy Toes over his spectacles and said, "I have not heard you cry or scream or howl for thirty minutes."

Tippy Toes did not know what this meant, for he had never cried or screamed or howled in all his life.

He went up to Grandpa Grumbles and made a low bow and said, "Dear Grandpa Grumbles, I want to thank you for the ride in your green cotton umbrella."

Grandpa Grumbles could hardly believe his ears. He grumbled,

"You might be fooling me I suppose, Except for your ugly little nose."



Chapter IV


What do you suppose Snubby Nose was doing all this time? He woke early one morning and danced before the mirror and asked,

"Who is so ugly? Nobody knows." The mirror answered, "Tippy Toes."

Snubby Nose cried, "That settles it, broken nose, or no broken nose, I will go out and find Tippy Toes to-day. Perhaps he will be a fine playmate for me."

Snubby Nose crept down stairs. He ran down the road and was soon out of sight.

Bunny and Susan woke up and they looked in Snubby Nose's little bed, but he was not there. They expected to hear him cry and scream and howl any minute. They looked in the big chair. There was the pink flannel wrapper but Snubby Nose was gone.

Bunny cried, "My fur and whiskers, he has gone out with his broken nose."

Susan cried, "Bless my buttons, I expect to see him back any minute."

At that very minute Tippy Toes came tripping along, swinging his basket to and fro and singing a nonsense song.

"My fur and whiskers, here he comes," cried Bunny, "and he is not crying, but he is singing a song."

"Bless my buttons," said Susan, "he is not crying this time."

Tippy Toes came in and said, "Good morning Bunny and Susan, I have brought you a present this fine winter morning."

Bunny and Susan could scarcely believe their ears, but Tippy Toes opened his basket and took out the lamp and spectacles, and Bunny and Susan were pleased, you may be sure.

Bunny lighted the lamp, saying, "How can I ever thank you, Snubby Nose? Now I shall not burn my paw, as I read by candle-light."

Tippy Toes tried not to laugh when he was called "Snubby Nose." He said, "Please tell me how you burned your paw, I am never tired hearing about it."

Bunny Cotton-Tail began, "Once when I was young -- "

"Rap-a-tap" was heard on the door, and Tippy Toes was so polite he went to the door and brought the milk in.

Tippy Toes curled up then at Bunny Cotton-Tail's feet and begged, "Do tell me now why you liked to read by candlelight."

Bunny Cotton-Tail began again, "Once when I was young -- "

"Rap-a-tap" sounded on the door.

Tippy Toes went and let in the Grocer boy. He curled up again at Bunny Cotton-Tail's feet and said, "Now Bunny, please tell me the story."

Bunny Cotton-Tail began again, "Once, when I was young -- "

Then the most surprising thing happened!

Soot began to pour down the chimney. It flew all over the room. It covered the carpet and furniture and pictures.

Bunny shouted, "My fur and whiskers, what can be the matter?"

Susan said, "Bless my buttons, there is soot all over the room." Tippy Toes danced on this foot, and danced on that foot, and said,

"Let me go up the chimney because, I think it may be Santa Claus."

Then Bunny and Susan laughed, but soon Bunny Cotton-Tail coughed, and Susan sneezed, so Tippy Toes knew something must be done at once. He ran outdoors and looked up at the chimney.

There was Bushy-Tail, the sly old Fox acting as a chimney-sweep. He was sweeping the chimney with his long, beautiful tail.

Tippy Toes cried, "Please come down and I will show you how to dance." Bushy-Tail was surprised you may be sure. He thought it was Snubby Nose, and Snubby Nose never said, "Please."

He jumped off the roof with a bound and howled, "Oh, ho! So you will show me how to dance, will you?"

Then Bushy-Tail chased Tippy Toes away and away and away in the woods.

Tippy Toes said to himself,

"I'm in a corner without a doubt, But if I keep cheerful I will get out."

At that very minute they met old Grandpa Grumbles. He said,

"It is getting cold I've heard it said, Bushy-Tail where are your mittens, red?"

Then the most surprising thing happened!

Bushy-Tail gave a howl and ran away as fast as his legs could carry him.

"What does it all mean?" asked Tippy Toes.

Grandpa Grumbles replied, "Why, Snubby Nose, you have a poor memory if you have forgotten about the red mittens. Don't you remember that Santa Claus gave Bushy-Tail a pair of magic mittens?"

Tippy Toes said, politely, "Please tell me about it."

Grandpa Grumbles said, "Bushy-Tail put on the red magic mittens and they pinched his paws."

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Tippy Toes, "How long did he have to wear those mittens?" Grandpa Grumbles answered,

"Really, now, I cannot say, But I guess it was a year and a day."

Then Tippy Toes laughed so hard that he doubled right up in a little ball and rolled over and over.

"Come, come," said Grandpa Grumbles, "You had better go back to see Bunny and Susan, they may think Bushy-Tail has eaten you up."

So they traveled back together to see Bunny and Susan. When they came to the house there was soot on everything. There was soot on the carpet and furniture and pictures. There was soot on the new lamp, and on Susan's spectacles.

Grandpa Grumbles shouted,

"You are careless folks, I do declare, To let the soot blow everywhere."

Bunny Cotton-Tail coughed, and Susan sneezed, and Grandpa Grumbles said,

"Into the kitchen, one, seven, three, You are as careless as can be."

He made Bunny and Susan go into the kitchen; then he said to Tippy Toes,

"Come, get a broom and an apron or two, We'll clean this room, that's what we'll do."

Soon Grandpa Grumbles and Tippy Toes had everything out of the room. It did not take long to make it as clean as a pin.

Grandpa Grumbles looked hard at Tippy Toes.

"How does your nose feel?" he asked. "Come, sir, why don't you cry any more?"

Tippy Toes danced this way, and danced that way, and sang to the big mirror that hung on the wall,

"Who is so ugly? Nobody knows." The mirror answered, "Snubby Nose."



Chapter V


"My fur and whiskers, the room is all clean!" Bunny Cotton-Tail cried.

Susan Cotton-Tail cried, "Bless my buttons, everything is in order."

Grandpa Grumbles said,

"There is a mystery in the air, There is something strange, I do declare."

Tippy Toes cried, "Good night Bunny and Susan, good night dear Grandpa Grumbles," and he danced this way, and danced that way, and he danced himself right up to bed.

"How polite he is," said Bunny Cotton-Tail. Susan said, "He does not seem to mind when we speak of noses!"

Grandpa Grumbles said, "He does not cry any more."

They all sat by the fire warming their paws. Grandpa Grumbles was thinking. At last he said to Bunny and Susan, "One day I heard Snubby Nose talking as he stood before a mirror, and he said,"

"Who is so ugly? Nobody knows." The mirror answered, "Tippy Toes."

Now this Little Cotton-Tail dances before the mirror, and he says,

"Who is so ugly? Nobody knows." The mirror answers, "Snubby Nose."

"Snubby Nose, Tippy Toes," repeated Bunny and Susan over and over as they warmed their paws by the fire.

By and by Grandpa Grumbles said, talking very fast, "Suppose there were two little Cotton-Tails, one named Snubby Nose, and one named Tippy Toes, suppose -- just suppose they looked as much alike as two peas."

Bunny Cotton-Tail said, "My fur and whiskers, it seems like a fairy tale, but Snubby Nose always cried, and this little Cotton-Tail is so polite."

Susan cried, "Hark! I hear a rap-a-tap, who can be coming at this hour of the night?"

The door opened; in fell Snubby Nose in a heap, and he cried and he screamed and he howled!

Bunny and Susan and Grandpa Grumbles cried, "Hush, be still, stop crying, and tell us what is the matter."

Grandpa Grumbles asked, "Did you hurt your ugly little nose?"

Then Snubby Nose cried and he screamed and he howled louder than ever.

Bunny asked, "Did you get stuck fast in another snowdrift?"

Snubby Nose cried so loudly that they did not hear the "patter, patter, patter" of little feet. They did not know that Tippy Toes was coming down the staircase. Tippy Toes came dancing into the room, singing at the top of his lungs,

"Who is so ugly? Nobody knows." The mirror answers, "Snubby Nose?"

Then for one single minute Snubby Nose was still. He looked at Tippy Toes. He looked him up and down.

Tippy Toes kissed him on both cheeks and nearly hugged the life out of him.

Bunny and Susan and Grandpa Grumbles said, "They are as much alike as two peas. They both have ugly noses!"

When Snubby Nose heard them speak of noses he cried and he screamed and he howled!

Tippy Toes said, "Don't care about your nose. People know you wherever you go."

Snubby Nose pricked up his ears and asked, "Don't you mind about your ugly nose at all."

Tippy Toes danced this way and he danced that way and answered,

"I don't mind noses, for you see, I am polite as I can be."

Then Snubby Nose stopped crying and hugged Tippy Toes and said, "I am so glad to find you, Tippy Toes. How do you make up those funny little rhymes. They tickle my eardrums."

All this time Grandpa Grumbles was thumping on the floor with his umbrella. He made such a noise that Bunny said, "Hush, listen, Grandpa Grumbles has something to say."

Susan said, "Hush, be still, Grandpa Grumbles wants to speak."

At last Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes stopped talking and dancing, and they all listened to Grandpa Grumbles. He said,

"I want you both to come and stay, With Grandpa Grumbles a year and a day."

Tippy Toes answered, "Thank you, Grandpa Grumbles, I will come and visit you for a year and a day," but Snubby Nose cried and he screamed and he howled.

I don't know what would have happened next, but Grandpa Grumbles went outside, and opened wide his green cotton umbrella, and invited Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes to step inside.

They did so, and in less time than it takes to tell it they were sailing away with Grandpa Grumbles in his green cotton umbrella!

Bunny and Susan said, "How will he ever get along with Snubby Nose for a year and a day? We wish Tippy Toes was back. He was such a good little fellow."

Susan picked up the pink wrapper and Bunny picked up the pink cup and saucer. Bunny Cotton-Tail said, "We will have a long quiet evening alone."

"Don't be too sure of that," sang the wind as it whistled down the chimney.

Susan said, "I will put on my new spectacles and we will read by the new lamp."

Then the most surprising thing happened!

The Seventeen Little Bears came tumbling in the doors and windows! They came in laughing and shouting,

"The Circus Cotton-Tails you see Are just as funny as can be."

They got out their seventeen little stools and sat by the fire.

Bunny and Susan said, "What do you know about the Circus Cotton-Tails?"

The Seventeen Little Bears said,

"You only see them now at Fairs, But we've become the Circus Bears."

"Have you got a Circus tent? Have you got a merry-go-round?" asked Bunny and Susan. "Do tell us how long you have been Circus Bears."

The Seventeen Little Bears got on top of their seventeen little stools and shouted, "We have just become Circus Bears today, that is the reason we came tumbling in the door and windows."



Chapter VI


The Seventeen Little Bears woke up early next morning. They all whispered together so they would not wake Bunny and Susan.

The Seventeen Little Bears tiptoed very softly out of bed, and "pitter-patter, pitter-patter" went their little feet down the stairs.

"We can stew, we can bake, If we make no mistake."

They made the fire and began to stew and bake. They made coffee and fried sausages and cakes. By and by Bunny and Susan woke up.

"My fur and whiskers, I smell something cooking," said Bunny.

Susan said, "Bless my buttons, I smell something cooking, too."

The Seventeen Little Bears said, "Ha, ha, ha! Bunny is talking about his fur and whiskers. Ha, ha, ha! Susan is talking about her buttons. We will give old Bunny and Susan something new to talk about!"

The Seventeen Little Bears shouted at the top of their lungs,

"We are Circus Bears, as all can see, The merry-go-round waits you and me."

Susan called, "Hurry, hurry, hurry! Bunny do get dressed! Let us see what the Seventeen Little Bears mean. How I do love to ride in a merry-go-round!"

When Bunny and Susan got downstairs they were surprised to see a fine breakfast ready for them all on the table. They all sat down and had a very merry time.

After breakfast the Seventeen Little Bears began to practice their tricks. They slid on the banister and came downstairs head first.

Soon they were all crying, "Oh," and "Ah, how I hurt my head;" and "Oh," and "Ah, how I hurt my toes!"

Bunny cried, "Bring the camphor! Bring the smelling salts, while they are practicing their tricks!"

Susan Cotton-Tail sat down in the corner. She wiped her eyes.

Bunny said, "Have you lost your spectacles?"

Susan Cotton-Tail said, "Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!"

The Seventeen Little Bears all came crowding around Susan to see what was the matter.

Susan still rocked to and fro and said, "Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!"

Bunny said, "Will you never tell us what is the matter?" Susan said finally,

"I have some pride, but thought to ride, In the merry-go-round, above the ground."

Then the Seventeen Little Bears all turned somersaults at once, and Susan cried, "Stop them, stop them, or they will break their little bones."

Then the most surprising thing happened!

The Seventeen Little Bears made a low bow and said,

"In the merry-go-round we'll go, Laughing gayly, ha, ha, ho, ho!"

They ran out the back door and Bunny and Susan went after them. There stood a neat little merry-go-round, as fine as you please.

"Where?" and "How?" and "Why?" and "Please tell us about it," said Bunny and Susan.

The Seventeen Little Bears replied,

"Get inside, and have a ride, Bunny and Susan, side by side."

They all jumped into the merry-go-round and rode in seats side by side. Round and round and round they went.

Bunny waved his hat and Susan waved her red sunbonnet! The Seventeen Little Bears shouted, "Hurrah, hurrah!"

They went faster and faster. Bunny said, "I am afraid the wind will blow off my fur and whiskers."

Susan said, "The wind will blow off my spectacles."

Faster, faster, faster they went! Would they never stop?

The Seventeen Little Bears said,

"This is a very funny business, It gives us all a little dizziness."

Faster, faster, faster they went! It began to rain. First the rain fell with a few drops, then it came down in sheets. My! how wet they were!

Faster, faster, faster went the merry-go-round.

Suddenly Bushy-Tail ran and jumped right into the merry-go-round and said, "What will you give me if I stop the merry-go-round?"

Bunny said, "I will give you a warm seat by the fire, sir."

Susan said, "I will give you a basket of cookies."

The Seventeen Little Bears said, "We will give you seventeen pieces of peppermint candy."

"Help, help, help!" they all cried, "Do stop the merry-go-round!"

Bushy-Tail looked as saucy as you please.

"I can ride faster than this," he said, "I was brought up in a merry-go-round. I want Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes to come and pay me a visit."

Bushy-Tail said no more, and Bunny saw there was no use to mince matters, and the rain was coming down harder and harder.

Bunny said, "If Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes want to pay you a visit I have no objection."

Then the merry-go-round went slower and slower, and slower, and finally stopped.

Bushy-Tail said, "Go get Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes for me or I will eat you all up!"

They all went into the house. They pretended to look for Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes, though they knew they had gone away. They looked in every nook and corner, but knew well enough that Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes had gone sailing away with Grandpa Grumbles.

Bushy-Tail was angry. He went down the road calling, "Woo, woo, woo!" He would not even stop for his basket of cookies.

Bushy-Tail called back,

"Where they have gone to nobody knows, I'll find Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes."

Bunny and Susan said, "We are glad to get out of the merry-go-round, but we must send word to Grandpa Grumbles not to let Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes out. Who will carry the message?"

The First Little Bear said, "It is so far to go."

The Second Little Bear said, "I am all out of breath."

The Third Little Bear said, "Oh wait 'till to-morrow."

Now, will you believe it? The Seventeen Little Bears sat on their seventeen little stools as though, nothing had happened!

Bunny and Susan got ready to go out in the rain. They took their raincoats and caps and umbrellas. They went to Grandpa Grumbles' house.

The Seventeen Little Bears said in a sing-song way,

"We really are not quite polite, We're selfish as can be, We sit on stools around the fire, Just singing merrily!"



Chapter VII


When Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes rode home with Grandpa Grumbles in his green cotton umbrella they sang a merry song,

"Oh, ho! It is fun to go riding along, Singing and whistling a right merry song."

The umbrella came to the chimney of Grandpa Grumbles' house. It began to close up a little.

"Help, help!" cried Snubby Nose, "we shall be squeezed to death!"

Tippy Toes sat very still. He made himself as small as possible.

Grandpa Grumbles said,

"Down my chimney every one goes, How we shall travel the umbrella knows!"

Then whisk! Before they could wink an eyelash they were safely down the chimney.

Snubby Nose cried and he screamed and he howled!

Tippy Toes danced this way, and he danced that way, and said, "Oh, Grandpa Grumbles, how I enjoyed the ride!"

Grandpa Grumbles said,

"Off to bed when the merry winds blow, So back up the chimney old Grandpa can go."

Snubby Nose said, "You are not going to leave us alone in this house are you?" Then he cried and he screamed and he howled!

Tippy Toes danced this way, and danced that way, and before they could say another word, whisk! up the chimney old Grandpa Grumbles was off and away. He went off to ride in his green cotton umbrella.

Tippy Toes kissed Snubby Nose and led him before the mirror, singing,

"Who will visit us to-day?"

The mirror answered,

"Bushy-Tail is on his way."

Snubby Nose said, "What fun it is to have the mirror talk. Come, let us bolt the doors and windows. We will not let Bushy-Tail in."

They danced again before the mirror and sang,

"We're locked in safely, that we know,"

The mirror said,

"Down the chimney he can go."

Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes said, "Oh" and "Ah," and "Oh" and "Ah." "We never thought of the chimney! What shall we do with the chimney?"

They built a roaring fire, and none too soon, for they could hear the "patter, patter, patter" of feet upon the roof.

Bushy-Tail climbed down from the roof. He looked in at the window and said, "Please let me in, please let me in."

Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes sat as still as they could in their little chairs by the fire and never winked an eyelash.

Bushy-Tail said, "Let me in or I will come down the chimney, fire or no fire."

Then Snubby Nose coughed and Tippy Toes sneezed.

Bushy-Tail climbed the roof once more. Out came the smoke in great puffs. He gave it up and then went away down the path growling every step of the way.

All this time Bunny and Susan were coming nearer every minute. They said, "What if we should meet Bushy-Tail?"

In less time than it takes to tell it, Bushy-Tail came down the bend of the road scolding and waving his beautiful tail to and fro.

He howled, "Bring out Snubby Nose, bring out Tippy Toes or I will eat you up."

I do not know what in the world would have happened if Grandpa Grumbles had not come sailing along just then. He came sailing down in his green cotton umbrella and said, looking hard at Bushy-Tail,

"Jump inside and have a ride, There's room for you and me beside."

Bushy-Tail jumped into the umbrella. He was pleased you may be sure. They rode away, and away, and away, over houses, over tree-tops, and over a big blue lake. Then they began to sail slowly down, down, down.

Bushy-Tail said, "Oh, Grandpa Grumbles, don't land us in the lake! Oh, Grandpa Grumbles, look out what you are doing!"

Grandpa Grumbles then said loudly,

"Speak into my better ear, I am so deaf I cannot hear."

Bushy-Tail cried out as loud as he could, "Oh, Grandpa Grumbles, we are going down into the lake! Look out, look out! We shall be drowned!"

Grandpa Grumbles shouted,

"Speak a little louder, please, Shall we sail above the trees?"

Bushy-Tail got so excited he did not know what he was doing. He got right out of the umbrella and went splash, dash, into the lake.

Grandpa Grumbles, as he sailed homeward, said,

"Sink or swim, just as you please, For I have no desire to tease."

He left poor Bushy-Tail to swim to shore.

When Grandpa Grumbles got home he saw smoke coming out of his chimney. He grumbled,

"It seems to me quite like a bore, To have to enter by the door."

He was so used to sailing down the chimney!

The door opened for him and there stood Bunny and Susan. Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes danced up to him and told him how Bushy-Tail had tried to get in.

Grandpa Grumbles shook his green umbrella fiercely and said,

"He will not come this way again, Either in sunshine or in rain."

Then Bunny and Susan and Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes begged Grandpa Grumbles to tell what had become of Bushy-Tail, but Grandpa Grumbles would only say,

"I am so deaf 'tis hard to hear, Come, speak a little louder, dear."

Then Bunny spoke into his right ear, and Susan spoke into his left ear, and asked him to tell where he had left Bushy-Tail.

Grandpa Grumbles shook his head and said,

"Bunny and Susan, what do you say? I am so old and deaf to-day."

Then Snubby Nose cried into his right ear, and Tippy Toes cried into his left ear, but Grandpa Grumbles only said,

"I can't hear, my deafness grows; Ask the umbrella, for it knows."

Then the Cotton-Tails asked the umbrella what had become of Bushy-Tail and the umbrella said,

"Bushy-Tail went swimming away, But he'll come back in a year and a day."

"Oh" and "Ah" and "Oh" and "Ah," cried all the little Cotton-Tails, "Bushy-Tail is swimming away is he?"

They all went merrily to bed.



Chapter VIII


The next morning Grandpa Grumbles called out,

"The Cotton-Tails are all in bed, Every one is a sleepy-head."

"My fur and whiskers, we have overslept," said Bunny Cotton-Tail. "It is nine o'clock by my little silver watch."

"Bless my buttons," cried Susan, "I meant to get up and get breakfast."

Tippy Toes was the first down stairs after Grandpa Grumbles. He danced this way and he danced that way, and set the table for breakfast.

Grandpa Grumbles had a fine breakfast ready. They all sat down except Snubby Nose. Grandpa Grumbles said,

"Where is Snubby Nose? 'tis plain, He must have gone to sleep again."

Now, what do you suppose happened next? Grandpa Grumbles went upstairs and took Snubby Nose by the feet and dragged him out of bed. He made him dress in a hurry and come down to breakfast! All the time Snubby Nose cried and he screamed and he howled!

Bunny and Susan and Grandpa Grumbles soon finished their breakfast. They went for a walk but Tippy Toes sat at the table and said, "Oh, Snubby Nose, why do you cry so much? I have just as ugly a nose as you have."

Then Snubby Nose stopped crying. He stared at Tippy Toes. Sure enough, Tippy Toes had a very ugly nose.

Snubby Nose shouted, "Pass me the cream! Pass me the butter! Pass me the bread! Can't you see I am starving?"

The mirror spoke up suddenly,

"Snubby Nose it's no use to tease, You might say, 'Thank you,' and 'if you please.'"

Tippy Toes slipped down from his chair and ran out after Bunny and Susan.

Snubby Nose cried and he screamed and he howled! He reached for the sugar bowl and it sailed away in the air! He reached for the bread and butter but they went farther out of his reach. He was very hungry and he cried and he screamed and he howled, but there was no one to answer him. By and by he danced before the mirror and said,

"Mirror, mirror, I'll be good, And speak politely as I should."

The mirror said,

"If you say, 'Thank you' I suppose, You'll be loved like Tippy Toes."

Then the most surprising thing happened!

Snubby Nose said, "Thank you for a bowl of milk." The milk stood at his plate. Then he said, "Thank you for cookies and sugar and pie." The cookies and sugar and pie stood by his plate. He had never had so much fun before in all his life. He kept on ordering things and they came before him.

By and by Snubby Nose cleared off the table and washed the dishes, saying over and over,

"I must forget to try to tease, I will say, 'Thank you' and 'If you Please.'"

At this very minute in came the Seventeen Little Bears. They cried,

"Hurrah, hurrah, old Snubby Nose! What has happened, do you suppose?"

Snubby Nose made a low bow and said, "If you please I should like to know what has happened."

The Seventeen Little Bears stared at Snubby Nose. They had never seen him so polite before.

They said, "We met Bunny and Susan and Grandpa Grumbles and they said we could go up in the garret and get skates and go skating."

No sooner said than done. Up to the garret danced the Seventeen Little Bears. They found seventeen pairs of skates and danced out again.

Snubby Nose was left alone in the house. He forgot to be polite. He cried and he screamed and he howled!

The mirror said,

"If you're polite, as you should be, Perhaps a pair of skates you'll see."

Snubby Nose looked about the house. He looked high and low, but he could not find any skates. He rubbed his eyes and he rubbed his little red nose. He put on his cap and mittens and went to the pond. Tippy Toes came to meet him. He had two pairs of skates and cried,

"Where were you so long, goodness knows, Here are your skates. Come Snubby Nose."

He kissed Snubby Nose on both cheeks.

The Seventeen Little Bears sat on the bank trying to fasten their skates. Their little paws got colder and colder every minute. Snubby Nose helped them fasten their skates and Tippy Toes helped them too. Then they put on their own skates and went skating away, and away, and away.

By and by Bunny and Susan said,

"'Tis rather sad now to relate, We are too old and stiff to skate.'"

Grandpa Grumbles said,

"Chilly business this sport I think, Let's go roller-skating in a rink."

Bunny and Susan said they must really go home and Grandpa Grumbles said he, too, would go to his own home.

He shouted to the Seventeen Little Bears,

"Don't skate where the ice is thin, You'll make a hole and tumble in."

The Seventeen Little Bears skated on and on, the wind whistling in their ears.

Snubby Nose said to Tippy Toes, "What if the Seventeen Little Bears should fall into the water, what would we do?"

Tippy Toes said, "The wind blows so hard they cannot hear. I hope they know where the ice is thin."

The Seventeen Little Bears formed a circle and skated round. Suddenly the ice gave way. Splash, dash, they all fell into the water!

Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes danced this way, and they danced that way, and shouted, "Help, help, help! The Seventeen Little Bears have fallen into the water!"

Doctor Cotton-Tail was riding by in his sleigh. He said, "Come, we will pull them out of the water." So they all helped pull the Seventeen Little Bears out of the water.

Doctor Cotton-Tail said, "I will tuck them in my sleigh and take them to Bunny and Susan. They will tuck them up warm in bed."

Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes hung on to the back of the sleigh and they went whizzing merrily homeward, the wind whistling in their ears. The Seventeen Little Bears sneezed all the way.

Did Bunny and Susan tuck them up warm in bed? Well, I guess they did, and Doctor Cotton-Tail gave them hoarhound candy.

Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes smacked their lips and said, "If we had fallen in the water we could have had candy too."

Doctor Cotton-Tail said, "You cunning little things, you look as much alike as two peas. You shall each have a stick of lemon candy."

Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes danced this way, and danced that way, and said,

"Lemon candy is good to eat, We always think it quite a treat."

Susan said, "Hush; be still. Don't wake the Seventeen Little Bears; they are all asleep."



Chapter IX


The Seventeen Little Bears took cold when they fell through the ice into the water, so they had to stay in bed all day. They cried, "Tell us a story, please tell us a story."

Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes danced this way, and that way, before the mirror and cried out together,

"Who is so ugly? Nobody knows."

The mirror answered,

"Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes."

The Seventeen Little Bears clapped their little paws and cried, "Tell it again, tell it again!"

Then Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes danced this way, and that way, before the mirror and asked,

"Who took cold when they fell through the ice?"

The mirror would not answer this time.

The Seventeen Little Bears wept and wailed. Bunny and Susan came upstairs to see what was the matter.

Bunny said, "Never mind, I will tell you a story about my reading by candle-light."

Then the Seventeen Little Bears cried, "Oh, Bunny, tell us a new story, please."

Now, Bunny could not think of a new story to tell to save his life, so Susan said, "I will tell you about the Circus cookies that came alive."

Then, the Seventeen Little Bears shouted, "We know that story by heart, we know every word of it."

They took out their seventeen little red pocket handkerchiefs and cried and cried.

All this time Grandpa Grumbles was sitting in an easy chair by the fire. He grumbled,

"'Tis silly to make such a dreadful noise, You are worse than seventeen girls and boys."

Then he took his green cotton umbrella and went upstairs.

As soon as the Seventeen Little Bears caught sight of Grandpa Grumbles they set up a shout, "A story, a story, do tell us a story."

Grandpa Grumbles shook his green cotton umbrella fiercely and shouted,

"Every one must keep as still as a mouse, So you can hear a pin drop in the house."

Then, will you believe it? The Seventeen Little Bears were so still you could hear a pin drop.

Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes were so still they did not wink an eyelash. They sat on two little stools in the corner.

Grandpa Grumbles said, "You can guess all day and you can guess all night, but you cannot one of you guess what kind of a shop I am going to open."

Then the Seventeen Little Bears begged for Bunny Cotton-Tail's thinking-cap. They put it on in turn and guessed and guessed what kind of a shop Grandpa Grumbles would open.

Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes said, "Will it be a candy-shop?"

Grandpa Grumbles shook his green cotton umbrella fiercely and grumbled, "I told you, you could not guess. I am going to open a Toy Shop!"

"A Toy Shop!" shouted the Seventeen Little Bears at the top of their lungs. "A Toy Shop!"

"Who is telling this story?" asked Grandpa Grumbles. He began to tell the story in real earnest. He said, "I am going to open a Toy Shop in the woods."

"Not a real Toy Shop," said Snubby Nose. "You don't mean a real Toy Shop," said Tippy Toes.

Grandpa Grumbles shook his green cotton umbrella and grumbled, "Now, I shall have to start all over again."

So he began once more, "I am going to open a Toy Shop in the woods."

"Will you make a rocking-horse?" asked the First Little Bear.

"Will you make drums?" asked the Second Little Bear.

"Will you make horns? Toot, toot, toot!" said the Third Little Bear.

Now, will you believe it? All the Seventeen Little Bears put their paws to their mouths as though they had horns and cried, "Toot, toot, toot!"

Grandpa Grumbles shook his umbrella fiercely and shouted,

"I will not tell the story to-day, I will take my umbrella and go away."

Then the most surprising thing happened!

Grandpa Grumbles held fast to the handle of the umbrella and sailed out through the open window!

"Oh," and "Ah," said Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes, "that was rather sudden!"

"Oh," and "Ah," said the Seventeen Little Bears, "how fast he went!"

Then they were as merry as you please. Whenever any one would cough or sneeze the other ones would say, "Let us talk about Grandpa Grumbles' Toy Shop! Can you hear him hammer away? Can you hear him saw?"

Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes put on their hats and coats and danced this way, and that way, and said, "We will go and, visit Grandpa Grumbles' Toy Shop."

At this very minute, to the surprise of all, Grandpa Grumbles came sailing in through the window. He said,

"If I were little and young and gay, I'd sail away for a year and a day."

The Seventeen Little Bears shouted, "Please tell us about the Toy Shop!"

Grandpa Grumbles shook his umbrella. Out fell a little rocking horse. He shook it again. Out fell a horn. He shook it again. Out fell a drum.

The Seventeen Little Bears shouted, "Hurrah, hurrah! It is really true, Grandpa Grumbles, you are going to open a Toy Shop."

Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes and the Seventeen Little Bears did not know whether Grandpa Grumbles was teasing or not. They did not know if he meant to open a real Toy Shop.

The Seventeen Little Bears said, "Will you tell us the whole story to-morrow?"



Chapter X


The Seventeen Little Bears still had to stay in bed next day. Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes danced about the room and cried, "Grandpa Grumbles, do tell us the story of the Toy Shop!"

Grandpa Grumbles came upstairs leaning on his green cotton umbrella. He coughed six times and then he sat down in the rocking-chair by the Window. He said, "The story of the Toy Shop begins with a question."

The Seventeen Little Bears clapped their paws and shouted, "Hear, hear, the story is going to begin!"

Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes danced this way, and danced that way, and cried, "Hear, hear, the story is going to begin!"

Then the most surprising thing happened!

Grandpa Grumbles pointed his green cotton umbrella at Snubby Nose and asked, "Which of your toys did you break first at Christmas?"

Snubby Nose could not remember, so he cried and he screamed and he howled!

Grandpa Grumbles said, "I cannot begin this story until I have nineteen questions answered."

Tippy Toes said, "Grandpa Grumbles, I can tell you which toy I broke first, I broke my little rocking-horse."

Then Snubby Nose shouted, "I broke my rocking-horse too."

Grandpa Grumbles pointed to the First Little Bear and said, "Which toy did you break first?"

The First Little Bear said, "I broke my little red drum."

Then the Seventeen Little Bears all held up their paws and said, "Let me tell, let me tell next which toy I broke at Christmas!"

Now, will you believe it? They all made such a noise that Grandpa Grumbles could not sit still another minute. He went downstairs shaking his green cotton umbrella, fiercely, and grumbling to himself as he went.

The Seventeen Little Bears cried, "Oh, come back and tell the story! We will be good."

Then Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes danced downstairs and said. "We will, be good, indeed we will be good."

Grandpa Grumbles still looked very cross. He grumbled,

"Speak into my other ear, 'Tis very hard indeed to hear."

Then Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes shouted into his other ear, "Please come back upstairs and tell us about the Toy Shop. We will be good, indeed we will."

Grandpa Grumbles said,

"Speak a little louder, please, If you do not want to tease."

Bunny and Susan saw that something must be done to make Grandpa Grumbles happy again, so Susan made a bowl of fine soup for him, and Grandpa Grumbles drew up to the table. He said,

"In cooking you can never fail, Thank you, dear Susan Cotton-Tail."

Then Bunny went upstairs and said to the Seventeen Little Bears, "You may get up and put on your little red wrappers and sit by the fire downstairs."

So the Seventeen Little Bears got up and put on their little red wrappers and crept downstairs. They crept down so softly that Grandpa Grumbles never heard a sound.

By and by when Grandpa Grumbles went back into the sitting-room there sat the Seventeen Little Bears on their seventeen little stools by the fire. Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes sat on the arm of Grandpa Grumbles' chair. He was surprised you may be sure.

He began to tell his story quite as if nothing had happened. He said, "Last Christmas I went about and picked up all the broken toys I could find and I said I would open a Toy Shop and mend them so you could not tell them from new toys!"

"Hear, hear!" cried the Seventeen Little Bears softly.

"Hush, hush!" said Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes, "Grandpa Grumbles is talking."

Grandpa Grumbles went on, "On long winter evenings I sat and mended and glued and pasted the toys and soon they looked as good as new."

"Rap-a-tap," sounded on the door, "Rap-a-tap."

Bunny took the candle and went to the door. There stood Doctor Cotton-Tail.

He said, "Good evening, how are the Seventeen Little Bears? I heard they fell in the water!"

The Seventeen Little Bears stuffed their little paws into their mouths to keep from laughing, for they felt as well as ever, sitting before the fire in their little red wrappers.

Doctor Cotton-Tail took a seat by the fire and began to warm his paws, first one paw and then the other.

"Chilly spring weather, but most time to make garden," he said.

"Chilly weather," said Bunny Cotton-Tail.

"Chilly weather," said Susan.

Then the most surprising thing happened!

Grandpa Grumbles shook his green cotton umbrella and out came flower seeds falling everywhere. The Seventeen Little Bears scrambled to pick them up.

"Who will make your garden?" asked Doctor Cotton-Tail, looking at Bunny and Susan.

Bunny and Susan said, "We do not know, we are too old and stiff to make a garden."

"You will miss the turnips and cabbages," said Doctor Cotton-Tail. Then he added,

"I came in a wagon, and as the Seventeen Little Bears are quite well, I can take them home."

Then the Seventeen Little Bears began to weep loud and long. They wept into their seventeen little pocket handkerchiefs.

Bunny and Susan said, "Never mind, dears, you can come to visit us again."

Soon the Seventeen Little Bears were tucked safely into the wagon and Doctor Cotton-Tail took them home.

"Bless my buttons," said Susan, "you did not finish your story Grandpa Grumbles."

"My fur and whiskers," said Bunny, "I should like to visit your Toy Shop!"

Grandpa Grumbles said,

"At night I always shake my head, 'Tis time for all to go to bed."

The Cotton-Tail family knew that it was no use to tease, so they went merrily to bed.

Snubby Nose set his little alarm clock. He set it at four o'clock in the morning. He said, kissing Tippy Toes good night, "We must get up early in the morning and make a garden for Bunny and Susan."



Chapter XI


"Tinkle, tinkle" went the alarm clock next morning. Snubby Nose put his paw on it so it would not ring too loudly. He whispered to Tippy Toes, "Get up, it is time to make the garden."

They took the seeds Grandpa Grumbles had thrown from his umbrella. They planted the seeds in even rows. They worked so fast, they had the garden planted and were back in bed by eight o'clock.

Grandpa Grumbles woke up next. He went downstairs and out of doors. He saw a little garden all planted in even rows. He shook his green cotton umbrella and said,

"Radishes it is time to grow, For spring has come again you know."

Then the most surprising thing happened!

The radishes began to peep up and show their little green heads.

Grandpa Grumbles shook his green cotton umbrella again and said,

"Young cabbage heads, all in a row, Wake up, wake up, it's time to grow."

The cabbages came up as big and round as you please. Then Grandpa Grumbles shook his green cotton umbrella again and said,

"Turnips come, wake up, 'tis clear Merry, merry spring is here."

The turnips came up nodding in the sunshine, and Grandpa Grumbles said,

"Open green umbrella and sail away, They were magic seeds, good day, good day."

He opened the green cotton umbrella and sailed away, and away, and away.

Bunny Cotton-Tail woke up and looked out of the window. "My fur and whiskers, look at the garden," he shouted.

Susan woke and looked out the window and said, "Bless my buttons there is a real little garden."

Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes woke up again and said, "Hurrah, hurrah, how fast the seeds grow! We must ask Grandpa Grumbles if they were magic seeds that he gave us."

But Grandpa Grumbles had sailed away, and away, and away!

At that very minute the Postman brought two letters. The letters were for Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes. They were from their Mothers asking them to come home.

When Snubby Nose read his letter he cried and he screamed and he howled!

When Tippy Toes read his letter he said, "Never mind, Snubby Nose, we can go together to the bend of the road."

Before they had breakfast, Susan got out her rolling-pin and flour and sugar and said, "I will make you some cookies to take with you."

Bunny said, "My fur and whiskers, I have two neat little baskets. I will pack them with your lunch."

So Susan made cookies and Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes packed their little traveling bags and Bunny packed their lunches in the little baskets.

Bunny said, "I will take you in my wheelbarrow to the bend in the road, then Snubby Nose goes east and Tippy Toes goes west."

Snubby Nose cried and he screamed and he howled! He did not want to go home. Tippy Toes did not want to go home either, but he said, "Thank you Bunny for the ride."

Soon Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes were ready to go. They stood before the mirror and danced this way and that way and sang,

"Tell us, good mirror, whom shall we meet?"

The mirror answered,

"Circus Cotton-Tails in the street."

Then Snubby Nose held his breath and Tippy Toes held his breath.

Snubby Nose said, "I was one of the Circus Cotton-Tails once myself."

They went downstairs and kissed Susan good-bye.

Then they jumped into the wheelbarrow and Bunny wheeled them to the turn in the road. He kissed them good-bye and Snubby Nose cried and he screamed and he howled! Tippy Toes said, "Never mind, we shall meet again some day and my nose is as ugly as yours is!"

Snubby Nose said, "I beg you not to talk about noses," and he cried and he screamed and he howled, louder than ever.

Tippy Toes saw something must be done, so he said, "Oh, never mind, I will go home with you. It will be a long walk around then to my house."

They both went east.

Snubby Nose said, "Listen, what is that? It sounds like a band!"

Tippy Toes said, "What is that? It sounds like the roar of a Lion."

They did not know whether to go east any longer or not. They hid behind some bushes by the roadside, and all the while the sound of the band came nearer and nearer. All the while the lion roared louder and louder. They peeped through the branches. Soon the Circus Cotton-Tails came in view.

Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes danced out of their hiding places and cried, "Hurrah for the Circus Cotton-Tails! They have formed a real little Circus!"

There was the band wagon. There were the elephants and camels. There were the animals in cages.

The Circus Cotton-Tails cried, "Hurrah, hurrah! Here are Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes. Come and join the Big Parade."

Bunny Bright Eyes said, "Can you walk a tight rope?"

Tippy Toes said he did not know, but Snubby Nose said he had walked a tight rope off and on all his life!

Tippy Toes drew a little mirror out of his pocket and said,

"Who will walk the tight rope? Whom do you suppose?"

The mirror answered,

"Two cunning little Bunnies, Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes!"



Chapter XII


Bunny and Susan sat quietly by the cheerful fire warming their paws.

Bunny said, "My fur and whiskers, I hope Snubby Nose got home safely."

Susan said, "Bless my buttons, I was thinking of Tippy Toes this very minute. Those two cunning little Bunnies are as much alike as two peas! We could not tell them apart if Snubby Nose did not cry so much."

Bunny said, "I suppose we shall have no visitors for some time now."

"Don't be too sure of that," said a gruff old voice, "Here I am standing now." There stood Grandpa Grumbles in the doorway. He had never looked so happy in all his life. He struck the floor fiercely with his green cotton umbrella and said,

"The Circus Cotton-Tails will come, A-rat-a-tat, just hear the drum."

Bunny and Susan listened. Sure enough, they heard the "rat-a-tat," of a drum. Soon they heard the Lion roar in his cage. They all went out as fast as they could.

There came the Circus Cotton-Tails on parade!

Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes danced in front beating a drum.

Bunny and Susan and Grandpa Grumbles cried, "Hurrah, hurrah, for the Big Parade!"

Grandpa Grumbles waved his green cotton umbrella and shouted, "Have you a merry-go-round?"

The Circus Cotton-Tails stood still. They cried "Hurrah, Bunny! Hurrah, Susan! Of course we have a merry-go-round."

Then the real little Circus Parade stopped. The Circus Cotton-Tails cried, "Hurry, hurry! Help us unpack."

They went to one of the wagons and began to unpack the merry-go-round. Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes helped and Bunny and Susan helped too. Grandpa Grumbles cried,

"One for the money, ten for the show, Put up the tent, and away we go."

He forgot to grumble. He had never been so happy before in all big life.

It took the Circus Cotton-Tails and Bunny and Susan just exactly one hour and sixteen minutes to put up the merry-go-round, and Grandpa Grumbles bossed the job.

"Will it go?" asked Bunny and Susan under their breath.

Grandpa Grumbles was the first to get in. He cried,

"I'm the first to get inside, Come one and all and have a ride."

Susan said, "Oh, dear! I have lost my spectacles."

It took the Circus Cotton-Tails one hour and sixteen minutes to find Susan's spectacles. There they were safe and sound upon her forehead all the time! Then Bunny went in-doors and burned his paw again by candle-light and it took one hour and sixteen minutes to get his paw well.

Grandpa Grumbles did not grumble a bit. He only sat patiently in the merry-go-round and said to Susan,

"Now, the spectacles are found, All jump in the merry-go-round."

Then he called good-naturedly to Bunny,

"If you'll use a lamp dear Bunny, It will save you time and money."

Bunny and Susan got into the merry-go-round, and the Circus Cotton-Tails got in too.

They were all ready for a ride when Grandpa Grumbles said,

"Some are absent, whom do you suppose?"

The Circus Cotton-Tails shouted in one breath,

"Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes!"

Snubby Nose was so little he could not climb up into the merry-go-round without help. He cried and he screamed and he howled! Tippy Toes was so little he could not climb in either but he waited patiently below.

Grandpa Grumbles saw what was the matter. He lowered his green cotton umbrella and helped Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes up into the merry-go-round. Now they were ready to start. They all cried,

"Give three cheers, away we go, The Circus Cotton-Tails, ho, ho!"

The merry-go-round would not start. They all got out to see what was the matter.

Then the most surprising thing happened!

Doctor Cotton-Tail jumped out from under the merry-go-round and said,

"A-riding, too, I'd like to go, Though I may take a nap or so."

Grandpa Grumbles said cheerfully,

"You'll take no nap when with us you go, We may ride too fast, but never slow!"

Doctor Cotton-Tail took a seat in the merry-go-round.

The music began to play and they went round, and round, and round, faster and faster. Bunny began to talk about his fur and whiskers. Susan began to talk about her buttons. Grandpa Grumbles shouted,

"I'm just as happy as I can be, The Circus life is the life for me."

Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes jumped down from the merry-go-round and danced this way and danced that way, and for all I know they are dancing yet!





More Cotton Tail Stories



Chapter I


Bunny Cotton-Tail and Susan were sitting by the fire, warming their paws.

"The evenings are growing cold," said Bunny Cotton-Tail. "It feels like snow to-night."

"Oh, joy!" cried Bunny Boy, "how I do love snow!" Then he began to jump around the room so fast that Susan was afraid he would upset the table.

"I am going to play that the sofa is a hill, and slide down!" he cried.

Then Susan said if Bunny Boy did not sit down in his little red rocking chair and be good, she would put him in a bag!

So Bunny Boy sat down, but he began to cry. There is no telling what would have happened just then if a soft "tap, tap," had not been heard on the window.

Susan looked out. There stood Bushy Tail with his traveling bag in his hand!

Susan was a little afraid to let him in, but there was nothing else to do, so she opened the door, and whisk! bound! Bushy Tail was in, hugging Bunny Cotton-Tail!

"Who is the youngster!" asked Bushy Tail, pointing to Bunny Boy.

Then Bunny Boy made himself as small as possible. He did not care for Bushy Tail.

Bushy Tail said he must tell about his trip. Besides, he had something for Bunny and Susan in his bag.

It had begun to snow, and Bushy Tail was very wet. He stood by the fire and warmed his paws. Susan whispered to Bunny that she had never seen so handsome a fox in her life.

All the time Bushy Tail had a cunning look in his eyes. After his fur was dry, and he had had a bowl of soup, he opened his bag, and my! what fine things he took out!

There was dried fruit for Susan. There was fresh cabbage for Bunny. And there were oranges, and peaches, and pears! They had a fine feast, but the greatest fun of all was just before they went to bed, when Bushy Tail took from his bag a little telephone. He hung it on the wall and fooled the rabbits with it for nearly an hour.

It had a little bell and a receiver, and one could call "hello" into it.

Perhaps Bunny and Susan would never have known the joke about the telephone if it had not been for Bunny Boy. Bunny Boy crept out from under the sofa, where he had been hiding, and climbed up in a chair and pulled the receiver hard. Then, bang! the top of the telephone came off, and showed that it was only a candy box!

Bushy Tail did not like this, but Bunny Cotton-Tail said he would rather have it a candy-box, after all, as he was a little afraid of telephones!

Then they shook one another's paws, and went to bed.

Bushy Tail slept on a sofa in the parlor. About eleven o'clock he got up and began, to stir around. There was the same cunning look in his eyes.

First he went and looked at Susan Cotton-Tail, and thought, "I have half a mind to eat you up." Then he went and looked at Bunny Cotton-Tail and thought, "I have half a mind to eat you up." Then he saw Bunny Boy out in the kitchen, wide awake, eating mince pie! Bushy said, "I have you, and I will eat you up!"

But Bunny Boy was too quick for him. He ran down the stairs, into the cellar, and had hopped through the cellar window in less than no time.

Then Bushy Tail took a mince pie and put it in his right-hand coat pocket. He took a currant pie and put it in his left-hand coat pocket. He hid an apple pie in his hat, and he went slyly out of the door with a piece of blueberry pie in his mouth!

Next morning, when Bunny and Susan awoke, they saw that their pies were gone, and they saw that Bushy Tail and Bunny Boy were gone too!

Susan Cotton-Tail cried, and Bunny Cotton-Tail whistled.



Chapter II


Why do you suppose Susan Cotton-Tail had made so many pies? There was going to be a fair, and Susan had been asked to make pies for it. All the animals were going to the fair.

"We cannot go when we have no pies to sell," said Susan.

"All the animals will come to find out why we are not there," said Bunny.

Now Bunny Cotton-Tail was a very clever rabbit, even though he was getting old. He put on his overcoat and took a card and a hammer, and went out.

He was out a long time, tacking something up on the front door.

When he had finished, he asked Susan to come out and get a breath of air.

They walked up and down in front of the house. Then Susan began to laugh, and then she began to sneeze, and then she laughed and sneezed together, and what do you suppose was the matter?

Bunny Cotton-Tail had put up this sign on the house,

Scarlet Fever Here

"Well," said Bunny, "if you don't want to go anywhere or have any one come to see you, just put up a sign like that, and see how well it will work!"

Bunny and Susan went back into the house and peeped out their front window to see how the animals would act when they saw the sign.

First came Bushy Tail, big as life, trotting along. When he saw the sign he waved his beautiful tail in the air and ran down the road as fast as his legs could carry him!

Next came Mr. Owl. He read the sign aloud, and flew away.

So all day long, animals came to ask why Bunny and Susan did not come to the fair, and all were frightened and ran away.

Early in the evening old Grizzly came. He had followed Bushy Tail from California.

"What a beautiful bear!" said Susan.

"He looks kind," said Bunny.

Old Grizzly read the sign. He did not pass by as the other animals had done. He went straight up to the front door and knocked.

"Perhaps he can't read," said Bunny, so he shouted, "Scarlet Fever here!"

Old Grizzly nodded his head. He said he had had scarlet fever three times, and he was not afraid to have it again.

So they opened the door and let old Grizzly in. Then they all had a jolly time, and Bunny told why he put up the sign on the house.

"You may have a new kind of scarlet fever," said Old Grizzly, "maybe I shall catch it!" and they all laughed.

Old Grizzly had been in a circus, and had traveled in the East and in the West. He could tell lovely stories, so he stayed a long time and told stories, and Susan Cotton-Tail went out in the kitchen and came back with a mince pie in each hand. (These pies had been hidden away in a tin.)

They all enjoyed the pies, and then Bunny asked old Grizzly to spend the night with them. Old Grizzly said, "No, thank you." The house next door was vacant and he was going to live there.

Susan held the candle at the door and old Grizzly went to his new home.

"I like him, but I am glad he went out for the night," said Bunny. "Just think!" Susan said, "he has promised to come in every night and tell us a story!"



Chapter III


When old Grizzly came next evening he had a book tucked under his arm.

"What have you there?" asked Bunny and Susan together.

It was some time before old Grizzly would tell. Then he coughed and said he had one story that every one liked so well that he had written it down, and drawn pictures for it.

The two rabbits begged so hard to see the pictures that old Grizzly opened the book and showed them all the pictures before he began to read. And this is the story he read:

Once there was a gentleman who wrote stories. He had a fine large cat called Whiskers.

One day Whiskers thought he would see the man write his story, so he sat up on the desk beside him.

The man started to write a story about an elephant. It was to be a long story with big words in it.

Whiskers wanted to be petted just then, and as the man did not notice him, he gave the pen a little slap, and it made a funny mark down the page.

"Never mind," said the man, "that will do for the path along which the elephant walked."

The man's pen was a lovely thing to play with, but Whiskers had a nicer plaything himself. He began to go round and round after his own tail. Round and round he went, until he upset the ink. Then he was so scared that he ran and hid.

The man only laughed, and said he would draw funny little figures where the blots of ink were.

He called Whiskers back and went on with his story. He was just wondering how he would draw the seats inside the circus tent, when Whiskers put his paw down on the wet page, and the man said:

"Why, Whiskers, you certainly are an artist."

Then he began to wonder how he could show what a big space the elephant covered when he walked, and just then the cat walked over the paper, to show him!

The man was so pleased then, that he laid down his pen and gave Whiskers a big hug.

"Pooh!" said Whiskers, "that was nothing. I could write a better story than you can, any day!"

You see, Whiskers was not a polite cat.

"Did Whiskers write the story?" asked Bunny.

Susan winked at Bunny and said:

"Old Grizzly, that is the best story of all, and I believe you made it up yourself!"

Then old Grizzly blushed under the fur on his cheeks, and Bunny ran and got a big bouquet and stuck it in his paw!

Old Grizzly went home feeling very happy indeed.



Chapter IV


The next evening Susan begged old Grizzly to tell her another story about Whiskers. Grizzly said he knew one, but he kept it in the back of his head and he could not find it. So he told them the story of Carlo, instead.

Carlo was a fine dog. He had but one fault. He liked to suck eggs.

Day after day the cook went out into the hen-house to get eggs, and day after day there were no eggs to be found.

At first she thought it must be a rat that stole her eggs, and she set a trap. A clever old rat came and ate the cheese, but he never got caught.

One day the cook saw Carlo sucking an egg. Whisk! she was after him with a broom, and gave him a sound beating! But this did not cure Carlo of his bad habit. He went into the hen-house and stole eggs whenever he pleased.

The cook said she was not going to allow this, so one day she called the dog to her in a most friendly way, and held out half an egg in her hand.

Carlo thought that the cook had made up her mind to let him eat all the eggs he wanted, so he took the egg in his mouth, and swallowed it quickly.

Then he began to behave very strangely. He yelped with pain, and ran out into the yard and rolled over and over in the snow.

"Good! Now you will steal no more eggs," said the cook.

What do you suppose was the matter with Carlo? The egg the cook had given him was full of red pepper, and his mouth burned as though on fire. There is no telling what the poor dog would have done if a little girl had not come along just then.

The little girl had found out what the cook had done. She crept out of the house and said:

"Poor Carlo, poor doggie, come to me!" and then she took snow and washed out Carlo's mouth and patted him on the head until he felt all right again.

Carlo never forgot the little girl's kindness, and he never stole eggs any more.

Just as old Grizzly stopped speaking, "Tap, tap," was heard on the window. They looked up and saw Bushy Tail outside.

"Let him in. I'll see that he does no harm," said old Grizzly. They opened-the door, and Bushy Tail jumped in.

Now, Bushy Tail would not have come if he had not had something to say, for he felt a little ashamed about the pies.

What do you suppose Bushy Tail had come to say? He had heard of a big gold mine in the West, and he wanted Grizzly Bear and the Cotton-Tail family to go west with him to buy the gold mine.

Old Grizzly was delighted with the idea, but Bunny and Susan said they would rather stay at home. As they were talking, "Tap, tap," was heard on the window again, and there stood Bunny Boy. He had come home from his travels!

Bunny Boy's head was tied up and he looked as though he had had a hard time. Susan asked if he would like to go west and look for gold, but Bunny Boy only shook his head.

<eob>

The Sandman: His Farm Stories

By

William J. Hopkins



I.

The Oxen Story


Once upon a time there was a farm-house, and it was painted white and had green blinds, and it stood not far from the road. And in the fence was a wide gate to let the wagons through to the barn. And the wagons, going through, had made a track that led up past the kitchen door and past the shed and past the barn and past the orchard to the wheat-field.


Not far from the kitchen door was a well, with a bucket tied by a rope to the end of a great long pole. And when they wanted water, they let the bucket down into the well and pulled it up full of water. They used this water to drink, and to wash their faces and hands, and to wash the dishes: but it wasn't good to wash clothes, because it wouldn't make good soap-suds. To get water to wash the clothes, they had a great enormous hogshead at the corner of the house. And when it rained, the rain fell on the roof, and ran down the roof to the gutter, and ran down the gutter to the spout, and ran down the spout to the hogshead. And when they wanted water to wash the clothes, they took some of the water out of the hogshead.


But when it had not rained for a long time, there was no water in the hogshead. Then they got out the drag and put a barrel on it, and the old oxen came out from the barn, and put their heads down low; and Uncle John put the yoke over their necks, and put the bows under and fastened them, and hooked the chain of the drag to the yoke. There wasn't any harness, and there weren't any reins. Then he said "Gee up there, Buck; gee up there, Star." And the old oxen started walking slowly along, dragging the drag, with the barrel on it, along the ground. And Uncle John walked along beside them, carrying a long whip or a long stick with a sharp end; and little John walked along by the drag.


And they walked slowly out of the yard into the road and along the road until they came to a big field with a stone wall around it, and a big gate in the stone wall. It wasn't a regular gate, but at each side of the open place in the wall there was a post with holes in it. And long bars went across and rested in the holes. And the old oxen stopped, and Uncle John took the bars down and laid them on the ground. Then the oxen started and walked through the gate and across the field until they came to the river. And when they came to the river, they stopped.

The little river and the field are not there now, because the people put a great enormous heap of dirt across, and the river couldn't get through. The water ran in and couldn't get out, and spread out all over the field and made a big pond. And they had some great pipes under the ground, all the way to Boston. And the water runs through the pipes to Boston, and the people use it there to drink, and wash faces and hands, and wash dishes, and wash clothes.

Well, when the old oxen stopped at the river, Uncle John took his bucket and dipped it in the river, and poured the water into the barrel until the barrel was full. Then he said "Gee up there," and the old oxen started slowly walking across the field. And the drag tilted around on the rough ground, and the water splashed about in the barrel, and slopped over the top of the barrel on to the drag, and on to the ground. And the oxen walked out of the gate into the road and stopped. And Uncle John put the bars back into the holes, and the old oxen started again and walked slowly along the road, until they came to the farm-house, and in at the big gate, and up to the kitchen door, and there they stopped. And Uncle John unhooked the chain from the yoke, and took out the bows, and took off the yoke, and the old oxen walked into the barn and went to sleep. And they left the drag with the barrel of water by the kitchen door.

And the next morning, when they wanted water to wash the clothes, there was the barrel of water, all ready.

And that's all.




II.

The Fine-Hominy Story


Once upon a time there was a farm-house, and it was painted white and had green blinds, and it stood not far from the road. And in the fence was a wide gate to let the wagons through to the barn. And the wagons, going through, had made a track that led up past the kitchen door and past the shed and past the barn and past the orchard to the wheat-field.

Not far from the house there was a field where corn grew; and when the winter was over and the snow was gone and it was beginning to get warm, Uncle John got the old oxen out of the barn. And the oxen put their heads down, and Uncle John put the yoke over and the bows under, and he put the plough on the drag and hooked the drag chain to the yoke. Then he said: "Gee up there, Buck; gee up there, Star."

So the old oxen started walking slowly along the wagon track and out of the gate into the road. Uncle Solomon and Uncle John walked along beside them, and little John walked behind; and they walked along until they came to the corn-field. Then the oxen stopped and Uncle John took the bars down out of the holes in the posts, and the oxen geed up again through the gate into the corn-field.

Then Uncle John unhooked the chain from the drag and hooked it to the plough and said "Gee up" again, and the oxen started walking along across the field, dragging the plough. Uncle Solomon held the handles, and the plough dug into the ground and turned up the dirt into a great heap on one side and left a deep furrow -- a kind of a long hollow -- all across the field where it had gone. And the old oxen walked across the field, around and around, making the furrow and turning up the dirt, until they had been all over the field.

Then Uncle John unhooked the chain from the plough and hooked it on to the harrow. The harrow is a big kind of a frame that has diggers like little ploughs sticking down all over the under side of it. And the oxen dragged the harrow over the field and the little teeth broke up the lumps of dirt and smoothed it over and made it soft, so that the seeds could grow.

Then Uncle John unhooked the chain from the harrow and hooked it to the drag and put the plough on the drag and said "Gee up," and the oxen walked along through the gateway and along the road until they came to the farm-house. And they went in at the wide gate and up the wagon track until they came to the shed, and there they stopped. Then Uncle John unhooked the chain and took off the yoke, and the old oxen went into the barn and went to sleep; and Uncle John put the drag in the shed.


The next day Uncle John took a great bag full of corn, and put it over his shoulder and started walking along to the corn-field; and little John walked behind. And when they got to the corn-field, Uncle John put the great bag of corn on the ground and put some in a little bag and gave it to little John. Then Uncle John began walking across the field and little John walked behind. And at every step Uncle John stopped and made five little holes in the ground; and then he took another step and made five other little holes. And little John came after and he put one grain of corn in each hole and brushed the dirt over. And they went all over the field, putting the corn in the ground, and when it was all covered over, they went away and left it.

Then the rain came and fell on the field and sank into the ground, and the sun shone and warmed it, and the corn began to grow. And soon the little green blades pushed through the ground like grass, and got bigger and bigger and taller and taller until when the summer was almost over they were great corn-stalks as high as Uncle John's head; and on each stalk were the ears of corn, wrapped up tight in green leaves, and at the top was the tassel that waved about. Then, when the tassel got yellow and brown and the leaves began to dry up, Uncle John knew it was time to gather the corn, for it was ripe.


Then Uncle Solomon and Uncle John came out with great heavy, sharp knives and cut down all the corn-stalks and pulled the ears of corn off the stalks. And little John came and helped pull off the leaves from around the ears. Then the old oxen came out of the barn and Uncle John put the yoke over their necks and the bows up under and hooked the tongue of the ox-cart to the yoke. And he said "Gee up there," and the old oxen began walking slowly along, dragging the cart; and they went out the wide gate and along the road to the corn-field.

Then Uncle John and Uncle Solomon tossed the ears of corn into the cart; and when it was full, the old oxen started again, walking slowly along, back to the farm-house, in through the wide gate and up the wagon track and in at the wide door of the barn. And Uncle John put all the ears of corn into a kind of pen in the barn and the old oxen dragged the cart back to the corn-field to get it filled again; and so they did until all the ears of corn were in the pen.

And then Uncle John unhooked the tongue of the cart and put the cart in the shed, and he took off the yoke, and the oxen went into the barn and went to sleep.

The next morning Uncle Solomon and Uncle John and little John all went out to the barn and sat on little stools -- low stools with three legs, that they sit on when they milk the cows -- and rubbed the kernels of corn off the cobs. Then Uncle John put all the corn into bags and put it away; and he put the cobs in the shed, to use in making fires.

Then, one morning, Uncle John got out the oxen, and they put their heads down, and he put the yoke over their necks and the bows up under, and he hooked the tongue of the ox-cart to the yoke; and he said "Gee up there," and they walked into the barn. Then Uncle John put all the bags of corn into the cart, and he put little John up on the cart, and the old oxen started again and walked slowly along, down the wagon track, out the wide gate, and into the road.

Then they turned along the road, not the way to the field where they got the water, but the other way. And they walked a long way until they came to a place where there was a building beside a little river. And on the outside of the building was a great enormous wheel, so big that it reached down and dipped into the water. And when the water in the little river flowed along, it made the great wheel turn around; and this made a great heavy stone inside the building turn around on top of another stone. Now the building is called a Mill, and the big wheel outside is called a Mill-Wheel, and the stones are called Mill-Stones; and the man that takes care of the mill is called the Miller.


Now the miller was sitting in the doorway of the mill; and when he saw Uncle John and little John and the ox-cart filled with bags, he got up and came out, and called to Uncle John: "Good morning. What can I do for you this morning?"

And Uncle John said: "I've got some corn to grind."


So the oxen stopped, and little John got down, and the miller and Uncle John took all the bags of corn into the mill, and the oxen lay down and went to sleep. Then Uncle John and little John sat down on some logs in the mill, and the miller asked Uncle John how he wanted the corn ground. So Uncle John said he wanted some of it just cracked, and some of it ground into fine hominy, and some of it into meal.

Then the miller fixed the stones so they would just crack the corn, and he poured the corn in at a place where it would run down between the stones, and he started the stone turning. When the corn was cracked, he put it into the bags again, and tied them up.

Then he fixed the stones so they would grind the corn into fine hominy, and he poured the corn in, and it came out ground into fine hominy. Then he put the fine hominy into the bags again and tied them up.

Then he fixed the stones so they would grind the corn into meal, and he poured the corn in, and it came out ground into meal. Then he put the meal into the bags again and tied them up. And the miller kept two bags of each kind to pay for grinding the corn; but the other bags he put into the ox-cart.

Then the oxen got up and little John was lifted up and the old oxen started walking slowly along home again. And they walked a long time until they came to the wide gate, and they turned in at the gate and up the wagon track to the kitchen door, and there they stopped. And Uncle John took one of the bags of meal into the kitchen and gave it to Aunt Deborah.

And he said: "Here's your meal, Deborah."

And Aunt Deborah said: "All right. I'll make some Johnny-cake for breakfast to-morrow."

And the rest of the meal was put away in the store-room until they wanted it; for they had enough to last them all winter and some to take to market besides. Then Uncle John unhooked the tongue of the cart from the yoke and put the cart in the shed. And he took off the yoke and the old oxen went into the barn and went to sleep.

And that's all.




III.

The Apple Story


Once upon a time there was a farm-house, and it was painted white and had green blinds, and it stood not far from the road. In the fence was a wide gate to let the wagons through to the barn. And the wagons, going through, had made a track that went up past the kitchen door and past the shed and past the barn and past the orchard to the wheat-field.

In the orchard grew many apple-trees. Some had yellow apples and some had green apples and some had red apples and some had brown apples. And the yellow apples got ripe before the summer was over; but the green apples and the red apples and the brown apples were not ripe until the summer was over and it was beginning to get cold.

So, one day, after the summer was over and it was beginning to get cold, Uncle John saw that the apples on one of the trees were ready to be picked. And they were red apples. So he got out the old oxen, and they put their heads down and he put the yoke over and the bows under and hooked the tongue of the ox-cart to the yoke. Then he said: "Gee up there, Buck; gee up there, Star." And the old oxen began walking slowly along, past the barn to the orchard. And they turned in through the wide gate into the orchard and went along until they came to the right tree.


Then they stopped and Uncle John took a basket and climbed up into the tree. And he picked the apples very carefully and put them into the basket. And when the basket was full, he climbed down from the tree and emptied the basket carefully into the cart. Then he climbed up again and filled the basket again; and so he did until the cart was full. Then Uncle John said: "Gee up there;" and the old oxen started and turned around and walked slowly back to the barn and in at the big door. Then Uncle John took all the apples out of the cart and put them in a kind of pen, and the old oxen started again and walked slowly back to the orchard.

So Uncle John gathered all the apples from that tree and put them in the pen in the barn. Then he unhooked the tongue of the cart and took off the yoke, and the old oxen went to their places and went to sleep.

The next morning, Uncle Solomon and Uncle John and little John all went out to the barn, and they took little three-legged stools that had one end higher than the other, -- the kind they used when they milked the cows, -- and they sat on these stools and looked over all the apples, one by one. The apples that were very nice indeed they put in some barrels that were there; and the apples that were good, but not quite so nice and big, they put in a pile on the floor; and the apples that had specks on them or holes in them, or that were twisted, they put in another pile. And this last pile they gave to the horses and cows and oxen and pigs, and the apples in the barrels were to go to market, or for the people to eat.

Then Uncle John got out the old oxen and they put their heads down low, and he put the yoke over and the bows under and hooked the tongue of the ox-cart to the yoke. And he put into the cart all the apples that were in the first pile, those that were good but not quite big enough to put in the barrels, and he put two empty kegs -- little barrels -- on the top of the load. Then the old oxen started walking slowly along, out of the barn and along the wagon track past the shed and past the kitchen door and through the gate into the road. And they turned along the road, not the way to the field where they went to get water, but the other way. And Uncle John walked beside, and little John ran ahead, and they went along until they came to a little house by the side of the road, and there they stopped. Then Uncle John opened the door of the little house and they went in. And inside there was nothing but a log against the wall, to sit on, and in the middle of the room a kind of a thing they called a cider-press. It had a place to put the apples in, and a flat cover that came down on top, and a screw and a long handle above. Besides the cider-press, there was a chopper to chop the apples into little pieces.


Then little John sat down on the log and Uncle John put the apples in the chopper and chopped them up fine. Then he put some chopped apples, with some straw over them, in the place that was meant for apples, and then he took hold of the long handle, and walked around and around. That made the screw turn and the cover squeeze down on the apples so that the juice ran out below into the keg that was put there. And when the juice was all squeezed out of those apples, he walked around the other way, holding the handle, and that made the cover lift up. Then he took out the squeezed apples and put in some other apples and squeezed them the same way. And when all the apples in the cart had been squeezed, both kegs were full of juice. And they call the juice cider.

So Uncle John put the great stoppers that they call bungs into the bung-holes in the kegs, so that the cider would not run out. Then he put the kegs in the cart, and little John came out of the little house and Uncle John shut the door, and the old oxen turned around and walked slowly along until they came to the gate, and they walked up the track to the kitchen door, and there they stopped. Then Uncle John and Uncle Solomon took the kegs down into the cellar, and they took out a little bung near the bottom of one of the kegs, and put in a wooden spigot -- a kind of a faucet. Then they set that keg on a shelf, so that a pitcher or a mug could go under the spigot.

Then Uncle John took the yoke off the oxen and they went into the barn and went to sleep.

After supper that evening, Uncle Solomon and Uncle John were sitting in the sitting-room and Uncle John spoke to little John, and said: "John, I think I would like a drink of cider."


So little John took a pitcher and went down into the cellar, and his mother held a light while he put the pitcher under the spigot and turned the spigot; and the cider ran into the pitcher, and when enough had run in he turned the spigot the other way and the cider stopped running. Then he carried the cider up to his father, and his father drank it.

And when Uncle John had drunk the cider, he said to Uncle Solomon: "Father, that's pretty good cider; you'd better have some."

And Uncle Solomon said: "Don't care if I do." So little John had to go down cellar again and get another pitcher of cider.

Those two kegs of cider lasted for a while and then more apples were ripe and they made enough cider to last all winter and some to send to market besides.

And that's all.




IV.

The Whole Wheat Story


Once upon a time there was a farm-house, and it was painted white and had green blinds, and it stood not far from the road. And in the fence was a wide gate to let the wagons through to the barn. And the wagons, going through, had made a little track that went up past the kitchen door and past the shed and past the barn and past the orchard to a gate in a stone wall, where the bars were across; and through that field and another gate where the bars were across, into the maple-sugar woods. And in that field wheat grew.

When the summer was nearly over and the corn and most of the other things had got ripe and had been gathered, Uncle John got out the old oxen and put the yoke over their necks and the bows up under; and he hooked the drag chain to the yoke and put the plough on the drag and said: "Gee up there, Buck; gee up there, Star." And the old oxen started slowly along past the barn and past the orchard to the wheat-field.

Then Uncle John took the plough off the drag and unhooked the chain from the drag and hooked it to the plough. Uncle Solomon held the handles of the plough and the old oxen started walking slowly across the field dragging the plough; and the plough dug into the ground and turned the earth up at one side and made a deep furrow where it had gone. So they went all around the field and around until it was all ploughed.


Then Uncle John unhooked the chain from the plough and hooked it to the harrow; and the old oxen started and walked slowly back and forth across the field, and the teeth of the harrow broke up the lumps of dirt and made it all soft. And when the field was all harrowed, Uncle John unhooked the chain from the harrow and hooked it to the drag and put the plough on the drag, and the old oxen walked slowly back to the barn. And Uncle John unhooked the chain and took off the yoke; and the oxen went to their places in the barn and went to sleep, and the drag was in the shed.


The next morning, Uncle John put some whole wheat in a big bag and put the bag over his shoulder and walked along past the orchard to the wheat-field. And when he got to the wheat-field, he put the bag down on the ground and put some of the wheat in a little bag that he had hanging from his shoulder. And then he began walking across the field, and as he walked along he took up a handful of wheat and threw it far out so that it scattered over the ground. And that way he scattered all the wheat so that it lay in the soft ground, and then he went away and left it.

And the rain fell and the sun shone on the field and the wheat began to grow. And soon the little green blades pushed up through the ground like grass; and the wheat grew higher and higher until it was as high as little John's knees. And then the summer was all over and it was beginning to get cold; so the wheat stopped growing and stayed just as high as that all winter and the snow covered it.

And when the winter was over and it began to get warm, the snow melted away and the wheat began to grow again; and it got taller and taller until it was as tall as Uncle John's waist. And then the little tassels at the top of each stem got yellow and brown and the wheat was ripe. This was in the beginning of the summer.

Then Uncle John and Uncle Solomon got their scythes and their whetstones and started very early in the morning to the wheat-field. And they sharpened their scythes with the whetstones and swung the scythes back and forth and began to cut down the wheat. Every time the scythe swung, it cut through the stalks of wheat and they fell down on the ground. And they walked along over the field, swinging the scythes and cutting down the wheat, until all the wheat was cut. Then they went home and left it lying there in the sun.

The next morning Uncle John got out the oxen and they put their heads down low, and he put the yoke over and the bows under and hooked the tongue of the cart to the yoke and said "Gee up there." And the old oxen walked slowly along, past the barn and past the orchard to the wheat-field.

And the sun had dried the stalks of wheat and the tassels. The tassels are a lot of little cases, on a fine stem; and in each little case is a grain of whole wheat. When the tassels are dry, the little cases are all ready to break open.

Then Uncle Solomon and Uncle John took their long forks and put the wheat in the cart, and when the cart was full the old oxen walked slowly back to the barn and in at the great doors.

There were great enormous doors in the side of the barn, big enough for a wagon to go through when it was piled up high with a load of hay or of wheat. And in the other side of the barn were other great enormous doors, so that the wagon could go right through the barn; and between the doors was only the great open floor with nothing on it. On one side of this open place were the cows, and on the other side were the horses and the oxen, and the cart went in between, with the wheat in it.

Then Uncle Solomon and Uncle John took the wheat out of the cart and put it on the floor of the barn; and the old oxen started again and walked out the other door and back to the wheat-field. Then Uncle Solomon and Uncle John filled the cart again and the oxen dragged that wheat to the barn; and they did the same way until all the wheat was on the barn floor. Then Uncle John took off the yoke and the old oxen went to their places and went to sleep.

The next morning Uncle Solomon and Uncle John went to the barn, and each took down from a nail a long smooth stick that had another smooth stick fastened to its end by a piece of leather so that it flapped about. This was to beat the wheat with, and they called it a flail.


And so Uncle Solomon and Uncle John stood in amidst the wheat on the barn floor and whacked it with the flails so that they made a great noise -- whack! whack! -- on the floor. And the little cases broke open and the grains of whole wheat fell out and dropped between the stalks to the barn floor. And the pieces of the broken cases blew out from the great barn doors; for the doors were open at both sides and the wind blew through. These broken pieces that blow away, they call chaff.

Then when Uncle Solomon and Uncle John had whacked for a long time, and they thought that all the whole wheat had come out of the cases, they hung up the flails and took their long forks and lifted up the stalks of the wheat and shook them so that all the grains of wheat might drop through; and they put the dried stalks of the wheat in a corner of the hay-loft above where the cows slept. These dried stalks they call straw, and they put it for the horses and the cows and the oxen to sleep on.

And when the straw was all put away, there was all the wheat on the floor; and they gathered it up and put it into bags. And they had enough to make whole wheat flour to last all winter, and to feed the chickens and every kind of a thing that they wanted to use wheat for, and there was enough to take some to market besides.

And that's all.




V.

The Stump Story


Once upon a time there was a farm-house, and it was painted white and had green blinds. And when this farm-house was just built, before it was Uncle Solomon's, the man that lived there wanted some fields where he could plant his corn and his potatoes and his wheat. But the places where the fields would be were all covered with trees.

So in the winter when the snow was on the ground, he went out and cut down the trees with his axe. And the great big trees he carried to the mill, and they were sawed up into boards; that is another story. And the branches and the small trees he chopped up with his axe to burn in the fireplaces. Then the field was all covered with the stumps of the trees and with great rocks.


Then, when it began to get warm, after the winter was over, the man got out the old oxen. There were two pairs of oxen, and they came out of the barn and put down their heads, and the man put the yokes over their necks and the bows up under, and he hooked great chains to the yokes. And he hooked one chain to the drag, and took his whip and said: "Gee up there, Buck; gee up there, Star." And the old oxen began walking slowly along to the field.

Then the man unhooked the drag, and fastened one of the chains to a stump, and hooked the other chain to that chain, and said: "Gee up there." And all the oxen began to pull as hard as they could, and all of a sudden out came the stump with a lot of dirt. And he pulled out all the stumps the same way, and stood them up at the back of the field, where they made a kind of a fence with the roots sticking slanting up into the air.


Then there were the big rocks all over the field. And the man fastened the chains to a rock and the old oxen pulled as hard as they could, and out came the rock and they put it on the drag. And then the man saw where he wanted his fence; and they dug a trench and put flat rocks on the bottom and then the biggest rocks they had on the flat rocks. And they pulled all the rocks out of the ground with the chains, and put them on the drag, and the old oxen pulled them over to the trench, and the man piled them up and built a wall.

Building the wall took a long time -- a good many days. And when the oxen had pulled all the rocks out of the ground and dragged them over to the wall, the field was all soft and ready to be ploughed. So the oxen started walking along, out of the field, along the road, dragging the drag. And they went in at the big gate and up past the kitchen door to the barn. Then the man unhooked the chains and took off the yokes and the oxen went into the barn and went to sleep.

And that's all.




VI.

The Horsie Story


Once upon a time there was a farm-house, and it was painted white and had green blinds; and it stood not far from the road. In the fence was a wide gate to let the wagons through to the barn. And the wagons, going through, had made a little track that went up past the kitchen door and past the shed and past the barn and past the orchard to the wheat-field. Not very far from that farm-house there was a field where the horses and cows used to go to eat the grass. That was the same field where they went to get water from the river; and in the wall that was between that field and the next, there was a wide gateway. At each side of the gateway there was a post with holes in it, and long bars went across and rested in the holes. And when the bars were across, the horses and cows couldn't go through to the other field. But when the bars were taken out of the holes, then the horses and cows could go through as much as they wanted to and eat the grass in either field.

One day little John was going across the field because it was the short way; and there was a horse in the field, eating the grass, and the bars were down. It was a kind, pleasant horse, but he liked to have fun. And when he saw the little boy going across the field, he thought he would have fun, so he ran after him.


Little John saw the horse coming and he was frightened. He was near the wall that was between the two fields, and he ran as hard as he could and got to the wall before the horse caught him. Then he began to climb over the wall into the next field.

And the horse saw what he was doing and ran down the field, beside the wall, and through the gate and back on the other side; and he got there just as the little boy was getting down. And little John heard the horse's feet on the ground -- ca-tha-lump -- ca-tha-lump -- ca-tha-lump; and he looked around and he saw the horse galloping up by the wall. Then he was frightened and he began to climb back again over the wall as fast as he could.

And the horse saw what he was doing and ran down the field, beside the wall, and through the gate and back on the other side; and he got there just as the little boy was getting down. And little John heard the horse's feet on the ground -- ca-tha-lump -- ca-tha-lump -- ca-tha-lump; and he looked around and he saw the horse galloping up by the wall. Then he was frightened and he began to climb back again over the wall as fast as he could.

And the horse saw what he was doing and ran down the field, beside the wall, and through the gate and back on the other side; and he got there just as the little boy was getting down. And little John heard the horse's feet on the ground -- ca-tha-lump -- ca-tha-lump -- ca-tha-lump; and he looked around and saw the horse galloping up by the wall. Then he was frightened and he began to climb back again over the wall as fast as he could.

And the horse saw what he was doing and ran down the field, beside the wall, and through the gate and back on the other side; and he got there just as the little boy was getting down. And little John heard the horse's feet on the ground -- ca-tha-lump -- ca-tha-lump -- ca-tha-lump; and he looked around and saw the horse galloping up by the wall. Then he was frightened and he began to climb over the wall again. But every time he had climbed over the wall between the fields, he had gone a little nearer to the road, until he was near enough to the wall between the field and the road to reach that. And this time, instead of climbing back into the other field, he climbed over into the road.


And poor little John was very much frightened and ran along the road crying, and got home, and his father saw him and asked him: "What's the matter, John?" And then little John told his father about the horse. And his father laughed and said that the horse was a kind horse but he liked to have fun; and little John better not go there any more. And so the little boy did not go through that field again, but went around by the road.

And that's all.




VII.

The Log Story


Once upon a time there was a farm-house, and it was painted white and had green blinds; and it stood not far from the road. In the fence was a wide gate to let the wagons through to the barn. And the wagons, going through, had made a little track that went up past the kitchen door and past the shed and past the barn and past the orchard to the wheat-field. But when this farm-house was just built, there wasn't any wheat-field or any other field, and the places where the fields would be were all covered with trees. And that was a long time before Uncle Solomon had the farm.

So the man that built the farm-house took his axe, one day, when the snow was on the ground, and he went to the place where he wanted the fields and he began to cut down the trees. There were big trees and little trees, and it took him a long time to cut down all the trees on the place where the field would be. He cut off all the branches, and the branches and the little trees he cut up with his axe to burn in the fireplaces; and he piled all that wood near the kitchen door. But the big logs -- the trunks of the big trees after the branches were cut off -- he was going to take to the mill, to have them sawed into boards.

So, one morning, after that was all done, the man got out the oxen. There were two yoke of oxen -- two oxen they call a "yoke" of oxen, because two are yoked together -- and they came out of the barn and put their heads down and he put the yokes over and the bows under and he hooked the tongue of a great sled to each yoke. And on each sled was a great chain.

Then he said: "Gee up there," and the oxen all started walking slowly along, and they walked out of the wide gate and along the road until they came to the place where the trees were all cut down, and there they stopped. And the sleds were beside one of the big logs, one sled at each end.


Then they unhooked the tongues of the sleds from the yokes and led the oxen out of the way. And the man and two other men that were helping him put some little logs sloping from the ground up to the sleds, and with poles that had hooks on the ends they rolled the great log up the little logs on to the sleds, so that it rested on them. And there was one sled under each end, but under the middle there was nothing. Then they fastened that log to the sleds, so that it couldn't roll off, and they rolled another log up on the other side and fastened that; and they rolled another log up on top of the first two. Then they fastened the tongue of each sled to the logs, and the logs were held on with the great chains, so they couldn't roll off. Then they hooked a chain to the first sled and to one of the yokes, and another chain from that yoke to the other yoke. And the man said: "Gee up there," and all the oxen pulled as hard as they could, and the sleds started sliding along the ground on the snow and into the road. And the oxen walked slowly along the road, pulling the sleds with the logs on them, for a long way.

When they had gone along the road for a long way, they came to a place where there was a building beside a little river. And on the side of the building was a wheel so large that it reached down into the water. And when the water ran along, it made the wheel turn around and that made a big saw go, inside the building.

And the oxen pulled the sleds with the logs up beside the building and there was a strong carriage that ran on wheels on a track. And the men unfastened the chains and rolled a log off on to the carriage and fastened it there. Then they pushed on the carriage and it rolled along toward the saw, and the saw was going And the end of the log came against the saw and the saw made a great screeching noise and began to cut into the log, and it kept on cutting and the men pushed, and the saw cut all the way through the log, to the other end, and that piece fell off. That piece was round on one side and flat on the other.


Then they rolled the carriage back and fastened the log farther over and pushed it up against the saw again, and the saw cut off another piece that was flat on both sides. That piece was a board. And that way they cut the log all up into boards, and then they cut up the other logs the same way.

When the logs were all cut into boards, the men put the boards on the sleds and fastened them on just the same way the logs had been fastened, and the oxen started and turned around and walked along the road until they came to the farm-house; and they turned in at the gate and went up past the kitchen door to the place where the shed was going to be, and there they stopped. And the men took the boards off and put them on the ground in a pile, so that the man would have them there to build the shed. For the shed wasn't built then. The barn was built first and then the house.

And the other big logs they took to the saw-mill on other days and sawed them up into boards, so that the man had all the boards he needed to build the shed and the chicken house and all the other things and some to give to the men for helping him.

And when that was done, the man took off the yokes and the old oxen went into the barn and went to sleep.

And that's all.




VIII.

The Uncle Sam Story


Once upon a time there was a farm-house, and it was painted white and had green blinds; and it stood not far from the road. In the fence was a wide gate to let the wagons through to the barn. And the wagons, going through, had made a track that led up past the kitchen door and past the shed and past the barn and past the orchard to the wheat-field.

In that farm-house lived Uncle Solomon and Uncle John; and little Charles and little John and their mother Aunt Deborah; and little Sam and his mother Aunt Phyllis. Uncle Solomon was Uncle John's father and Uncle John was little John's father, so that Uncle Solomon was little John's grandfather. And little Sam was Uncle Solomon's little boy, so that little Sam was little John's uncle. But little Sam was a littler boy than little John.

Little John and Uncle Sam used to play together; and one day when little John was wheeling Uncle Sam in the wheelbarrow, he thought it would be fun to tip him out. So he tipped Uncle Sam right out into some bushes, and Uncle Sam scratched his face and began to cry. And Uncle Solomon heard his little boy crying, and he came running out of the house. Then he saw little John and the wheelbarrow, and little Sam in the bushes, crying, and he knew that little John had tipped little Sam out of the wheelbarrow.


So Uncle Solomon was angry, and he grabbed little John by the back of his collar and the back of his trousers, and he lifted him up and gave him a great swing, and he tossed little John right over the wall. And little John came down in some bushes and got his face scratched a little, but he didn't cry. He just got up and ran around the wall and went into the house another way, and kept out of Uncle Solomon's way. But he didn't tip Uncle Sam into the bushes any more.

And that's all.




IX.

The Market Story


Once upon a time there was a farm-house, and it was painted white and had green blinds; and it stood not far from the road. In the fence was a wide gate to let the wagons through to the barn. And the wagons, going through, had made a track that led up past the kitchen door and past the shed and past the barn and past the orchard to the wheat-field.

One morning, after the summer was over and all the different things had got ripe and had been gathered, Uncle John woke up when the old rooster crowed, very early, long before it was light. And he got up and put on his clothes, and Aunt Deborah got up too, and they went down-stairs.


Then, while Aunt Deborah fixed the fire and got breakfast ready, Uncle John went out to the barn. He gave the horses their breakfast, and when they had eaten it he took them out of their stalls and put the harness on and led them out to the shed. Then he hitched them to the big wagon and he made them back the wagon up to the place where all the things were put that were to go to market.

Then Uncle Solomon came out and helped, and they put into the wagon all the barrels of apples that they could get in, and they put in a lot of squashes and turnips and some kegs of cider and some bags of meal and fine hominy and some butter that Aunt Deborah and Aunt Phyllis had made and some other things. And when these things were all in the wagon, breakfast was ready, and Uncle John fastened the horses to a post and went in to breakfast. And all this they had to do by the light of a lantern, because it wasn't daylight yet.


Then, when Uncle John and little John had had their breakfast, they came out of the house, and Uncle John put little John up on the high seat and he unhitched the horses and climbed up on the high seat beside him. And then Aunt Deborah came out of the house and handed Uncle John a little bundle, and he put the bundle under the seat. In the bundle was some luncheon for Uncle John and little John; and for the horses there was some luncheon too, oats in a pail that hung under the wagon, one pail for each horse. And a lantern hung beside the seat, for it wasn't daylight yet.

When they were all ready, Uncle John said: "Get up," and the horses started walking down the little track into the road and along the road. The horses wanted to trot, but Uncle John wouldn't let them because it isn't good for horses to trot when they have just had their breakfast; and he held on to the reins tight and they had to walk. So they walked along for awhile and it was very dark; and pretty soon Uncle John let the horses trot. And they trotted along the road for a long time and at last it began to get light, and little John was very glad, for he was cold. Then Uncle John blew out the lantern and after awhile the sun came up and shone on them and made them warm. And the horses trotted along for a long time and at last they began to come to the city, and it was very early.

So the horses dragged the wagon through the city streets, and there were not many people in the streets, for they had not had their breakfasts. And by and by they came to the shops and little John saw the boys opening the doors of the shops and sweeping the shops and the sidewalks; and so they went along until they came to a great open place. And in the middle of the open place was a big building, and all about it were wagons, some standing in the middle of the street and some backed up to the curbstone. All these wagons had come in from the country, bringing the things to eat; and the building was a market, and the men in the market bought the things from the men that drove the wagons, and the people that lived in the houses came down afterward and bought the things from the market-men.

Then Uncle John drove the horses up to the sidewalk and he got out and hitched the horses to a post and told little John not to get off the seat; and Uncle John went into the market. When he had been gone some time, he came back and a market-man came with him. The market-man had a long white apron on and no coat; and he looked at the barrels of apples and the squashes and the turnips and the kegs of cider and the bags of meal and the butter and the other things, and he thought about it for a few minutes and then he said: "Well, I'll give you twenty dollars for the lot."

And Uncle John thought for a few minutes and then he said: "Well, I ought to get more for all that. It's all first-class. But I suppose I'd better let it go and get back."

So Uncle John unhitched the horses and backed the wagon up to the sidewalk. Then he took the bridles off the horses' heads and took the buckets of oats from under the wagon; and he put the pails on boxes at the horses' heads, one for each horse, and the horses began to eat the oats.


Then a man came out of the market, wheeling a truck -- a kind of a little cart with iron wheels -- and he helped the market-man take the barrels out of the wagon, and the squashes and turnips and the kegs of cider and the bags of meal and the butter and the other things. And they put them on the truck, a part at a time, and he wheeled them into the market. Then, when that was all done, the market-man took some money from his pocket and counted twenty dollars and handed it to Uncle John. And then the horses had finished eating the oats, and Uncle John took the pails and hung them under the wagon again and put the bridles on the horses' heads.

Then Uncle John climbed up on the high seat beside little John and took the reins in his hands and said "Get up"; and the horses started and went across the open place to a great stone that was hollowed out and was full of water. And the horses each took a great drink of water and then they lifted up their heads and started along the streets.

And pretty soon Uncle John stopped them at a shop, and he went in and bought some things that Aunt Deborah wanted, and he paid the shop-man some of the money the market-man had given him. Then they went to another shop and Uncle John bought some more things. And after that they didn't stop at any shops, but the horses trotted along through the streets until they were out of the city and going along the road in the country that led to the farm-house.

By and by they came to a steep hill and the horses stopped trotting and walked, for they were tired. And Uncle John fastened the reins and took the bundle from under the seat and undid it, and in it were bread and butter and hard eggs and gingerbread and a bottle of nice milk. And Uncle John and little John ate the nice things and liked them, for they were both very hungry.

Then they got to the top of the hill and Uncle John took up the reins again and said "Get up," and the horses trotted along for a long time until they came to the farm-house; and they turned in at the wide gate and went up to the kitchen door and there they stopped. And Uncle John got down and took little John down. Little John was glad to get off the high seat, for he had been there a long time and he was very tired.

So he went into the house and Uncle John unhitched the horses from the wagon and put the wagon in the shed. And he took the horses to the barn and took off their harness and put them in their stalls, and they went to sleep.

And that's all.




X.

The Maple-Sugar Story


Once upon a time there was a farm-house, and it was painted white and had green blinds; and it stood not far from the road. In the fence was a wide gate to let the wagons through to the barn. And the wagons, going through, had made a track that led up past the kitchen door and past the shed and past the barn and past the orchard to the wheat-field; and through the wheat-field to the maple-sugar woods.

One day, when the winter was almost over and it was beginning to get warmer, Uncle John got out the old oxen. And they came out and put their heads down and he put the yoke over and the bows under, and he hooked the tongue of the sled to the yoke; for the snow was not all melted, and enough was on the ground for the sled to go on.

Then he put on the sled his axe and Uncle Solomon's, and a lot of buckets and a lot of wooden spouts he had made, and the big saw. Then he put little John on the sled and said "Gee up there," and Uncle Solomon came too, and they walked along beside the sled. And the old oxen walked slowly along the track past the barn and past the orchard to the wide gate that led into the wheat-field, and there they stopped. And Uncle John took down the bars and the oxen went through the gate and across the wheat-field, and stopped at the wide gate on the other side of the field. Then Uncle John took down those bars and the old oxen started and walked through and along the little road in the maple-sugar woods until they came to a little house beside the road, and there they stopped.

Then Uncle John opened the door of the little house; and inside, it was about as big as a little room that a little boy sleeps in. And in one corner was a chimney, and in front of the chimney was a great enormous iron kettle, set up on a little low brick wall that was just like a part of the chimney turned along the ground. In the front was a hole in the low wall, so that wood could be put in, and at the back, under the kettle, there was a hole into the chimney, so that the smoke would go up the chimney and out at the top. And in one corner of the little house were some square iron pans.

Then Uncle John put two of the buckets down in the house, and the big saw; and he shut the door and the oxen started and walked along until they came where were some maple-sugar trees, and there they stopped. Then Uncle John and Uncle Solomon took their axes and went to the trees and they made little notches in the trees, low down, so that there was room to put a bucket under. And they drove a spout in each notch and put a bucket under each spout. And then they went to other trees and made a notch in each tree and drove in a spout and put a bucket under and so they did until they had used up all their buckets.


Then the old oxen walked along until they came to a pile of wood that was cut up all ready to burn; and there they stopped and Uncle Solomon and Uncle John put the wood on the sled. Then they said: "Gee up," and the oxen walked back to the little house, and they took the wood off the sled. And the wood was in great long sticks, too long to put in the place under the kettle. So Uncle John got the big saw from the little house and he and Uncle Solomon sawed the wood into small sticks and piled it up nicely.

Then they put the saw on the sled and shut the door of the little house and the old oxen started walking back along the little road, dragging the sled, with the saw and the axes and little John. And they went through the gate into the wheat-field and Uncle John put the bars back; and they went across the wheat-field and through the gate at the other side, and Uncle John put those bars back. And they walked along past the orchard and past the barn to the shed.

And Uncle John unhooked the tongue of the sled and took off the yoke, and the old oxen went into the barn and went to sleep.

The next morning, Uncle John and little John started along the little road, past the shed and past the barn and past the orchard; and they climbed over the bars into the wheat-field, and went through the wheat-field and climbed over the bars into the maple-sugar woods. Then they walked along until they came to the little house, and Uncle John opened the door of the house and took out the two buckets he had left there.

Then they went to some of the maple-sugar trees where they had put buckets the day before, and the sap was dripping slowly into the buckets -- drip -- drop -- drip -- drop -- and the buckets were nearly half full. So Uncle John poured the sap from those buckets into the empty buckets and went along to some other trees and poured the sap from those buckets in with the other, and the buckets he carried were full. So he took them back to the little house and emptied them into the big kettle.

Then he went to other trees and filled the two buckets again with the sap that had dripped, and emptied that into the kettle. And so he did until he had taken all the sap that had dripped.


Then he put wood under the big kettle and lighted it, and the fire burned and the sap got hot and after a while it began to boil. And while it was boiling, Uncle John stirred the sap once in a while with a wooden stirring thing he had made. And when it had boiled a long time, he dipped out a little with the stirrer and went to the door and dropped it in the snow, so that when it got cool he could see whether it was boiled enough. But it wasn't done enough, and he let it boil longer, and then he dropped some more in the snow; and this time he thought it was about right for maple-syrup.

So he dipped sap out of the kettle into a keg that was in the little house, until the keg was full. And then he put the bung into the bung-hole and set the keg in the corner.

Then Uncle John put more wood on the fire and the sap boiled a long time. And at last he thought it was done enough for maple-sugar; and he dipped some out with the stirrer and went to the door and dropped it in the snow. And when it got cold, he saw that it was hard, and was just right for maple-sugar. So he took the little square pans that were in the corner of the house and he dipped the boiled sap from the kettle into the pans and set them in the snow outside. Then he let the fire go out, and when the sugar in the pans was hard, he brought it into the house, and shut the door and started along the little road, and little John after. They walked along through the maple-sugar woods and climbed the bars into the wheat-field, and walked across the wheat-field and climbed the bars at the other side, and walked along past the orchard and past the barn and past the shed to the kitchen door, and there they went in.

The next morning, Uncle John and little John went to the maple-sugar woods again, and Uncle John got some more sap and boiled it and made maple-syrup and maple-sugar. And so they did every day until they had taken all the sap that the trees ought to give.

Then Uncle John got out the old oxen and they put their heads down and he put the yoke over and the bows under, and he hooked the tongue of the sled to the yoke. Then he said "Gee up there," and the oxen started walking along past the barn and past the orchard, and Uncle John took down the bars at the wheat-field and they went through and across the field, and he took down the bars at the other side and they walked through and along the road in the maple-sugar woods until they came to the little house.

There they stopped, and Uncle John opened the door and put the kegs on the sled, and all the little squares of maple-sugar and all the buckets and all the spouts that he had pulled out of the trees. And he shut the door of the little house, and the oxen started and walked back along the road through the maple-sugar woods into the wheat-field, and Uncle John put up the bars. And they walked across the wheat-field and through the gate at the other side, and Uncle John put up those bars; and they walked along past the orchard and past the barn, and little John came after.

Then the old oxen dragged the sled to the place where they kept the things that were to go to market, and Uncle John took off the maple-syrup and the maple-sugar and put them in that place. But some of the maple-syrup and some of the maple-sugar he put in the cellar for themselves to use; for little Charles and little John and little Sam liked maple-sugar and they liked maple-syrup on bread. And there was enough maple-syrup and maple-sugar to last them a long time and a lot to go to market besides.

Then Uncle John unhooked the tongue of the sled from the yoke and put the sled in the shed; and he took off the yoke and the old oxen went into the barn and went to sleep.

And that's all.




XI.

The Rail Fence Story


Once upon a time there was a farm-house, and it was painted white and had green blinds; and it stood not far from the road. In the fence was a wide gate to let the wagons through to the barn. And the wagons, going through, had made a track that led up past the kitchen door and past the shed and past the barn and past the orchard to the wheat-field; and through the wheat-field to the maple-sugar woods.

All about were other fields; and one of them was a great enormous field where Uncle John used to let the horses and cows go to eat the grass, after he had got the hay in. This field was so big that Uncle John thought it would be better if it was made into two fields. He couldn't put a stone wall across it, because all the stones in the field had been made into the wall that went around the outside. So he thought an easy way would be to put a rail fence across.

So, one day, when it was winter and snow was on the ground, Uncle John and Uncle Solomon took their axes and walked along the little track, past the barn and past the orchard, and climbed over the bars into the wheat-field. Then they walked across the wheat-field and climbed over the bars into the maple-sugar woods; and they walked along the road in the woods until they came to a place where were some trees that were just the right size to make rails and posts. They were not maple-sugar trees, but a different kind.


Then they cut down enough of these trees to make all the rails and all the posts they wanted; and they cut off all the branches and they cut some of the trees into logs that were just long enough for rails, and they cut the other trees into logs that were just long enough for posts. Then they took the rail logs and with their axes they split each one all along from one end to the other, until it was in six pieces. Each piece was a rail. But the post logs they didn't split.

Then they left the logs and the rails lying there and walked back, and climbed over into the wheat-field, and went across the wheat-field and climbed over at the other side, and walked past the orchard and past the barn and past the shed and went in at the kitchen door.

The next morning, Uncle John got out the old oxen, and they put their heads down low, and he put the yoke over and the bows under, and hooked the tongue of the sled to the yoke. Then he said: "Gee up there," and they started walking slowly along, past the barn and past the orchard to the wheat-field; and Uncle John took down the bars and they walked across the wheat-field, and he took down the bars at the other side. Then the old oxen walked through the gate and along the road to the place where the post logs and the rails were; and Uncle Solomon had come too, and little John. But they didn't let little John come when they cut the trees down, because they were afraid he might get hurt.

Then Uncle Solomon and Uncle John piled the rails on the sled, and the post logs on top, and the old oxen started and walked along the road and through into the wheat-field and across the field, and Uncle John put the bars up after the oxen had gone through the gates. Then they dragged the sled along past the orchard and past the barn to the shed. There they stopped and Uncle John and Uncle Solomon took off the logs and the rails. The rails were piled up under the shed, to dry; but the logs they had to make square, and holes had to be bored in them before they would be posts. Then Uncle John unhooked the tongue of the sled from the yoke and took off the yoke, and the old oxen went into the barn.

The next day, Uncle John took an axe that was a queer shape, and he made the post logs square. Then he bored the holes in the logs for the rails to go in, and piled the posts up under the shed. They were all ready to set into the ground, but the ground was frozen hard, and they couldn't be set until the winter was over and the ground was soft.

After the winter was over and it was getting warm, the ground melted out and got soft. Then Uncle John and Uncle Solomon took a crowbar -- a great, heavy iron bar with a sharp end -- and a shovel, and they went to the great enormous field. Then they saw where they wanted the fence to be, and they dug a lot of holes in the ground, all in a row, to put the posts in.


Then they went back and Uncle John got out the oxen and put the yoke over and the bows under and hooked the tongue of the cart to the yoke. On the cart they piled the posts, and there were so many they had to come back for another load. Then the oxen started and walked down the little track and out through the wide gate into the road, and along the road to the great enormous field where the holes were all dug for the posts. Then Uncle Solomon and Uncle John put the posts in the holes and pounded the dirt down hard.

Then the oxen walked back along the road to the farm-house and in at the gate and up to the shed. And Uncle John put the rails on the cart and the oxen walked back to the field again and in beside the row of posts. And Uncle John took the rails off the cart and put them in the holes in the posts, so that they went across from one post to the next. And in each post were four holes, and four rails went across.

Then the oxen went a little farther and the rails were put in between the next posts, and so on until the rails reached all the way across the field, and the fence was done. And when Uncle John wanted the cows or the horses to go through, he could take down the rails at any part of the fence.

Then the old oxen started walking back out of the field into the road and along the road to the farm-house. And they went in at the wide gate and up the track past the kitchen door to the shed, and there they stopped.

And Uncle John unhooked the tongue of the cart from the yoke and put the cart in the shed. And he took off the yoke and the old oxen went into the barn and went to sleep.

And that's all.




XII.

The Cow Story


Once upon a time there was a farm-house, and it was painted white and had green blinds; and it stood not far from the road. In the fence was a wide gate to let the wagons through to the barn. And the wagons, going through, had made a track that led up past the kitchen door and past the shed and past the barn and past the orchard to the wheat-field.


One morning, the old rooster crowed very early, as soon as it began to be light. And that waked Uncle John and Aunt Deborah, and Uncle Solomon and Aunt Phyllis. And they all got up and put on their clothes and came down-stairs. Then Aunt Deborah and Aunt Phyllis went about their work in the kitchen, getting things for breakfast and fixing the fire; and Uncle Solomon and Uncle John went out to the barn. Uncle Solomon looked after the horses and gave them their breakfast, and Uncle John looked after the cows.

Between the two great doors of the barn there was a great open place so that the wagons could go right through; and that was where they threshed the wheat. And on one side were the stalls for the horses and the places for the oxen, and on the other side were the places for the cows. In the corner of the barn next to the horses was the harness-room, and in the corner next to the cows was the milk-room.

There were two big horses and two big oxen and six cows. The horses were in stalls, but the cows didn't have stalls. They stood in a row on a kind of a low platform, with their heads toward the open place in the middle of the barn. Each cow had her head through a kind of frame made of two boards that went up from the floor, so that when the boards were fastened at the top she couldn't get her head out, but she could move it up and down all she wanted to. And when they wanted to let the cows out, they unfastened one of the boards and let it down. But Uncle John didn't like the frames for the cows, so he never fastened the boards at all, but he put a chain around the neck of each cow and hooked the other end to a post.

In front of each cow was a little low wall, about as high as her neck, and just behind the wall was a trough that they call a manger, where they could put hay or meal or other things for the cow to eat, so that she could reach it. Just over the manger of each cow was a hole in the floor of the loft where the hay was, so that they could put hay through and it would fall right into the manger, in front of the cow. In winter the cows had hay, but in summer they didn't have hay, because they could eat the grass, and that was better.

So, when Uncle John went to look after the cows, he didn't climb up to the loft and pitch some hay down through the holes, as he would do in winter, but he took a wooden measure and went to a big box that they call a bin. It stood in the corner next to the milk-room, and it was full of meal that was ground up from corn at the mill. And he gave each cow a measureful of meal and put it in the manger so that she could eat it.

Then he went to the milk-room and got the big milk pails and his milking-stool. The milking-stool was a little stool that had three legs, and one of the legs was shorter than the other two, so that it sloped.

Then Uncle John put the milking-stool down by a cow, and the pail was between his knees, resting on the end of the stool. And he milked the cow and the milk spurted into the pail. And when she had given all the milk she had, the pail was about half full.

Then Uncle John went to the next cow and milked her, and when that pail was full, he took the other pail. And so he milked all the cows, one after the other, and when both the pails were full, he took them to the milk-room and poured the milk through a strainer into a big can. And the cows were eating their meal all the time they were being milked.

At the side of the barn, behind the cows, was a door that opened into the cow-yard. A sloping place led down from the barn to the ground, so that the cows could walk down into the yard. In the winter, the cows stayed in the cow-yard while they were out of the barn, because it was sunny and warm, and there was no grass in the field for them to eat. A high fence was all around the yard, and in one corner was a tub made of a hogshead cut in two, and a pump was beside it. And the tub was always full of water, so that the cows could drink whenever they were thirsty. So, when Uncle John had milked all the cows, he opened the door into the cow-yard, and he unhooked the chains from the necks of the cows, one after another. And the cows turned around and walked through the door and down the sloping place into the cow-yard, the leader first, and every cow took a drink from the tub in the corner of the yard. Then they stood by the gate, waiting for little John to come.

When a lot of cows are together, one of the cows is always the leader, and she always goes first, wherever they go. If any other cow tries to go first, the leader butts that one and makes her go behind. Or if the other cow doesn't want to go behind, they put their horns together and push, and the one that pushes harder is the leader.


So the cows waited at the gate, and little John had come down-stairs and Aunt Deborah had given him a piece of johnny-cake, because breakfast wasn't ready and little boys are always hungry. Then little John came to the gate to the cow-yard, and opened the gate, and the cows hurried to go through the gate, the leader first, and the others following after. And they went along the little track and through the gate into the road, and along the road to the great enormous field. And there they stopped, for the bars were up and they had to wait for little John to come along and let them down, so that they could go through.

And little John came running along, eating his piece of johnny-cake, and kicking up the dirt with his bare feet, for in the summer-time he didn't wear any shoes or stockings. And he came to the gate and he let the bars down at one end, and the cows stepped over the bars carefully, the leader first, and went into the field. And little John put the bars up again, so that the cows couldn't get out, and he turned around and ran back to the farm-house to get his breakfast.

When the cows were all in the field, they began to eat the grass; and they walked slowly about, eating the grass, until they had had all they wanted. Then they went over to the corner of the field, where there was a stream of water running along, and each cow took a drink of water. In the middle of the field was a big tree with long branches and a great many leaves, so that under the tree it was shady and cool. By the time the cows had eaten all the grass they wanted, it was hot out in the sun, and they all walked over to the big tree and got in the cool shade.

Some of them lay down and some of them stood still, and they switched their tails about to keep the flies off, and they chewed their cuds. For a cow has two kinds of stomach. When she bites off the grass, she swallows it down quickly, and it goes into the first stomach; and after awhile, when she has eaten all the grass she wants, she goes and lies down, or stands still and some of the grass comes back into her mouth in a bunch and she chews it all up fine and swallows it again, so that it goes down into her real stomach. Then another bunch comes up and she chews that and swallows it, and so she does until all the grass is chewed up fine. That is what they call chewing the cud.

So the cows stayed in the shade of the big tree until they were hungry again, and then they walked about and ate some more of the grass and drank some more water out of the little stream. And by that time it was in the afternoon and almost time for little John to come to drive them home.

So they all stood looking at the gate and waiting for little John. And by and by little John came running along, and he let down the bars at one end, and he called "Co-o-ow! Co-o-ow!" and the cows all started hurrying along to the gate. And they stepped over the bars carefully, the leader first, and walked along the road, for they knew the way to go. And little John came running after.

When the cows came to the farm-house, they turned in at the gate and went up the little track to the cow-yard. And they went in at the gate of the cow-yard, and up the sloping place into the barn. And each cow knew where she ought to go, and she went there, and Uncle John fastened the chains around their necks; and little John shut the gate of the cow-yard and went into the house.

Then Uncle John put a measureful of meal in the manger in front of each cow, and he got his milking-stool and the milk pails and he milked all the cows. And while the cows were being milked, they ate the meal and chewed their cuds.

When the cows were all milked, Uncle John poured the milk through the strainer into the big cans and took it out to the spring-house to set it, so that the cream would come on it. But some of the milk he took into the house for their supper.

Then he shut the big doors of the barn and fastened them, and the cows lay down and went to sleep.

And that's all.




XIII.

The Hay Story


Once upon a time there was a farm-house, and it was painted white and had green blinds; and it stood not far from the road. In the fence was a wide gate to let the wagons through to the barn. And the wagons, going through, had made a little track that led up past the kitchen door and past the shed and past the barn and past the orchard to the wheat-field.

All about were other fields. One of them was a great enormous field, and in this field was growing grass that would be made into hay.

One day, when the summer was nearly half over, Uncle John saw that the little tassels at the tops of the stems of the grass were getting yellow, and he knew that the grass was ripe enough to cut for hay; and the grass was as high as little John's head. So, very early the next morning, Uncle Solomon and Uncle John took their scythes and their whetstones and went over to the great enormous field, and two other men came to help. When the grass that these other men had was ready to cut, then Uncle Solomon and Uncle John would go and help them cut it.

And they had a jug, and in it was water, with some molasses and a little vinegar mixed with it. This was for them to drink when they got very hot and thirsty, mowing, and they put it down by the stone wall, where it was cool.


Then the men all took their whetstones and sharpened their scythes, and Uncle Solomon started first, at the corner of the field, and he swung his scythe back and forth, and every time he swung the scythe it cut down some grass and made a noise, "Swish." And then he took a little step ahead and swung the scythe again, and he walked very slowly along, cutting the grass. And when Uncle Solomon had got a little way along, so that the next scythe wouldn't cut him, Uncle John began next to the place where Uncle Solomon had begun, and he swung his scythe and walked slowly along, cutting the grass. Then one of the other men began at the next place, when Uncle John had got a little way along, and then the last man. So all the men were walking slowly along, swinging their scythes together, and cutting the grass, and the grass fell down in four long rows. And they mowed this way all the morning, and cut down all the grass in the field.


And just when they had finished, and all the grass was cut down, they heard the horn that Aunt Deborah was blowing. That meant that dinner was ready. They had a horn to blow for dinner because the men had to work in fields that were far from the house, where they couldn't hear a dinner-bell. But they could hear the horn. So the horn hung on a hook beside the kitchen door; and when dinner was ready, Aunt Deborah took the horn from the hook and blew it.

When the men heard the horn, they took their coats and their scythes and their whetstones and the jug, and they went back along the road to the farm-house and left the grass lying there, just as it fell down. And the sun shone on the grass and dried it, so that it was changing to hay.

Then, the next morning, Uncle Solomon and Uncle John took their pitchforks and went over to the field and spread the grass out evenly, so that it would dry better; and they left it until the afternoon.

In the afternoon, Uncle John and Uncle Solomon took two great wide wooden rakes, and little John took a little rake, and they went to the field. Then Uncle Solomon and Uncle John each held one of the great wide rakes so that it trailed behind, and they walked along and the rakes rolled the grass up into long rows. Then they walked along the other way, trailing the rakes, and the grass rolled up into piles, and little John raked after. They call the piles of hay haycocks, and they were as high as little John's head. Then they went away and left the hay there all night.

In the morning, when the sun had shone on the haycocks long enough to dry off the dew, Uncle John got out the old oxen. And they put their heads down, and he put the yoke over and the bows under, and he hooked the tongue of the hay-cart to the yoke. Then he put little John up in the cart and took the pitchforks, and gave little John his little rake. And the old oxen started walking slowly along, out into the road and along the road to the great enormous field, and in at the gate. And they walked along beside one of the haycocks, and there they stopped.

Then Uncle John lifted little John out of the cart, and Uncle Solomon and Uncle John both stuck their pitchforks into the haycock and lifted it right up and pitched it over the side of the cart, so that it fell into the cart. Then they went along to the next haycock and pitched that in the same way, and little John raked after, raking up the hay that had dropped from the pitchforks. So they went along to the other haycocks and pitched them into the cart, and when the hay was nearly up to the top of the side of the cart, Uncle John climbed in, and he made the hay even in the cart, with his fork. Uncle Solomon pitched the hay up into the cart, and Uncle John made it even in the cart, so it couldn't fall out, and they piled the hay up in the cart until it was a great enormous load, higher than the room. And little John raked after.


When they had made the load as high as they could, the old oxen started and turned around, and walked back through the gate and along the road to the farm house, and in at the gate and up the track past the kitchen door and past the shed, and in at the big door of the barn. And they went along in the open place in the barn and stopped in the middle, so that the load of hay was beside the floor of the loft where the hay was kept, and the top of the load was higher than the floor of the loft.

Then Uncle Solomon climbed up the ladder to the loft, and Uncle John pitched the hay from the cart to the loft. And Uncle Solomon took his fork and pitched the hay back against the wall and packed it tight, so that they could get more in when they brought it, and fill the loft as full as it would hold.

When all the hay was out of the cart, Uncle Solomon came down from the loft, and the oxen started walking along, out of the other big door and around the barn and back to the hay-field. Then they filled the cart again, the same way that they did the first time, and put that hay in the barn. And they had to go back three times after the first time before they had all the hay that was in the field. And when it was all in the barn, there was hay enough for the horses and the oxen and the cows to eat all winter.

Then the old oxen walked out through the other door of the barn, and around the barn to the shed. And Uncle John unhooked the tongue of the cart and put the cart in the shed, and he took off the yoke and the oxen went into the barn and went to sleep.

And that's all.




XIV.

The Fireplace Story


Once upon a time there was a farm-house, and it was painted white and had green blinds; and it stood not far from the road. In the fence was a wide gate to let the wagons through to the barn. And the wagons, going through, had made a track that led up past the kitchen door and past the shed and past the barn and past the orchard to the wheat-field.

In the kitchen there wasn't any stove, because they didn't have stoves then, but there was a great enormous fireplace, so big that great long sticks of wood could be put in it to burn. And Uncle John or Uncle Solomon had to cut the wood that was to be burned in the fireplace, and pile it up in a great pile near the kitchen door.


In the fireplace was a long iron stick that went along near the top, and at the side of the fireplace it bent down like an elbow and went into some hinges that were in the wall of the fireplace. And at the end of this long iron stick was a hook, so that a kettle would hang on it over the fire. This iron stick they call a crane; and it would swing out on the hinges, away from the fire, so that they could hang something on without burning their hands, and then they could swing it back again.

And every night, before she went to bed, Aunt Deborah took the shovel and put ashes all over the fire, so that it wouldn't blaze and burn the wood all up, but wouldn't go out, either. For there wasn't any furnace, and if the fire went out, the house would get very cold, and there weren't any matches then, so that it was hard to light the fire.

At that farm-house were a great many chickens, and in the summer-time they liked to fly up into the trees, and sit on the branches to sleep. And in the morning, as soon as it began to get light, the old rooster would wake up and flap his wings and crow very loud. So, one morning, the old rooster crowed very early and waked Uncle John and Aunt Deborah, and Uncle Solomon and Aunt Phyllis.

And they all got up and put on their clothes and went down-stairs. Uncle Solomon and Uncle John went to the barn to look after the horses and the cows and the oxen, and Aunt Deborah and Aunt Phyllis began to fix the fire and get breakfast ready.

Aunt Phyllis went to the spring-house for the milk and the butter, and to the buttery for some other things. Then she went to the hen-house to find some eggs.


Aunt Deborah raked all the ashes off the fire and put on some sticks of wood that Uncle John had brought in, and then she took the blower and blew the fire with it until it began to blaze. Then she took the iron kettle and filled it with water at the well, and she pulled the crane out away from the fire, with an iron hook, and hung the kettle on the hook of the crane, and swung it back over the fire. And the fire blazed, and the water in the kettle got hot, and after a while it began to boil.

While the water in the kettle was getting hot, Aunt Deborah took some corn-meal and some flour and some salt and some sugar, and mixed them together in a big yellow bowl, and she mixed in some soda and some cream-o'-tartar. They are fine white powders that would make the johnny-cake light and nice when it was baked; for she was making johnny-cake. Then she took the milk that Aunt Phyllis had brought from the spring-house, and she poured some of it into the bowl and stirred it all in. And when she had poured in all the milk that she wanted, she took some of the eggs that Aunt Phyllis had brought, and she broke the shells and let the inside of the eggs drop into a littler bowl, and then she beat them all up together until they were all foamy. Then she poured them into the big yellow bowl and stirred them all in. When all the things were stirred up together, Aunt Deborah took a pan that had a cover, and she put butter all over the pan, and poured in the things from the yellow bowl. Then she put on the cover, and she took a kind of rake and she raked some of the blazing fire away, and with a long iron fork she put the pan down on the hot coals. Then she raked the fire on top of the pan again and left it.

When the johnny-cake was in the fire, getting baked, Aunt Deborah got some tea out of the jar that they called a caddy, and she put it in the teapot. Then she pulled the crane away from the fire, with the hook, and she poured some boiling water in on the tea and set the teapot down in front of the fire. Then she put some eggs in the kettle and swung it back over the fire.

While Aunt Deborah was making the johnny-cake and the tea, Aunt Phyllis had put the plates on the table, and the mugs, and the cups and saucers, and the knives and forks, and all the other things, and she had put some butter on the table, on a plate, and some milk in a white pitcher. Then she went to the buttery and took down a ham that hung on a hook, and she cut some thin slices and put them on a plate and put that plate on the table. And by that time the johnny-cake was done and the eggs, and the tea. And Aunt Deborah swung the crane off the fire and took the eggs out with a ladle that had little holes in it for the water to go through. Then she poured cold water on the eggs, so that they wouldn't cook any more, and she put them in a bowl and put them on the table. Then she raked the fire off the top of the pan, and took the pan out with the long iron fork. And she took the cover off, and the johnny-cake was nice and brown, and just right and smoking hot. And she cut it into little squares and put it in a dish, and Aunt Phyllis put all the rest of the things on the table while Aunt Deborah went to the door and took down the horn and blew it.

Then Uncle Solomon and Uncle John came in from the barn, and little Charles and little John came in from driving the cows, and little Sam came down-stairs. And they all sat down at the table and ate their breakfast, and it was very nice.

And that's all.




XV.

The Baking Story


Once upon a time there was a farm-house, and it was painted white and had green blinds; and it stood not far from the road. In the fence was a wide gate to let the wagons through to the barn. And the wagons, going through, had made a little track that led up past the kitchen door and past the shed and past the barn and past the orchard to the wheat-field.

One morning the old rooster had crowed very early, and Uncle Solomon and Uncle John and Aunt Phyllis and Aunt Deborah had come down-stairs and done their work. It was Saturday morning, and that was baking day; so, when they had all finished breakfast, and Aunt Deborah and Aunt Phyllis had cleared up the things and washed the dishes, they got ready for the baking.

The chimney was a great enormous chimney that went all across the end of the kitchen. And beside the big fireplace was an iron door that opened into the oven. For the oven was a big hole in the chimney, beside the fireplace; and right in the middle of the chimney, behind the fireplace, was a great big hole, as big as a closet, and at the back was a little door that was just big enough for people to go in. In this closet in the chimney they used to build a fire sometimes, and hang hams and fish over it in the smoke.

When they were ready to begin, Aunt Deborah opened the door to the oven, and she took some wood that Uncle John had brought in, and she built a fire right in the oven. Then she took up some coals from the fireplace and lighted the fire in the oven and shut the door. And the fire burned and the oven got hot. And once in awhile Aunt Deborah opened the door and put in some more wood.

Then, while the fire was burning in the oven and getting the oven hot, Aunt Deborah and Aunt Phyllis took flour and butter and lard and water, and they mixed them together just the right way, and made some dough. And they rolled the dough out thin, with a long wooden roller, and they folded it over and rolled it out again, and did that over and over until they thought it was right. Then they spread the thin dough out on the bottom of some plates that were middle-sized deep.

And Aunt Deborah had some apples all ready, with the skin cut off and the cores cut out, and the nice part of the apples cut up into slices. And some of the apples she had stewed in water until they were all soft, and some she hadn't.

First she put some of the stewed apples in the plates on top of the thin dough, and put in a little sugar and some cinnamon and some nutmeg on top of some; and on some she didn't put any cinnamon or any nutmeg. Then she laid another thin piece of dough over the top of the apples, and she made little marks with a fork all around the edge, and she cut holes in the top with a knife.

Then, in other plates she put the apples that were not stewed, and a lot of sugar, and thin dough on top, the same way. Those were apple pies, and they were three kinds.


Then Aunt Deborah made some squash pies, and put in on the dough that was on the bottom of the plates some of the inside of squashes that she had cooked over the fire. The very inside of squashes is soft and full of seeds, and that part isn't good to eat; but just next to the seeds is the part that is good. And spices and a lot of things were mixed with the squash to make it taste better. There wasn't any thin dough put over the top of the squash pies, but just a thin strip around the edge. And there were other kinds of pies besides the apple and the squash, and when they were made, there were so many that they covered the tops of both the tables, for Uncle Solomon and Uncle John liked pies.

Then Aunt Deborah thought the oven was hot enough, and she opened the door of the oven, and with a long rake she pulled the fire out into a big pan and put it into the fireplace. Then she put into the oven all the pies it would hold, and she shut the door; and the pies were baking in the oven, it was so hot, though there wasn't any fire in it. And when those pies had been in the oven for awhile, they were all done, and Aunt Deborah pulled them out with a kind of shovel and set them down in front of the fire, and she put other pies in; and so she did until all the pies were baked.


Then she put coals in the oven again, and a little wood, to get the oven hotter, for it had cooled, baking so many pies.

When she first came down that morning, Aunt Deborah had mixed some bread, and had set it in a big pan near the fire, to rise; and now it had risen enough, and she took it out of the big pan. And while the oven was getting hot again, she put the bread on a smooth board and rolled it around and pushed it with her hands. That is what they call kneading.

Then she took some square pans that were deep, and she put some of the bread in each pan and set them down by the fire again. And pretty soon the oven was hot enough, and the fire was raked out, and the bread was put in. By that time it was time to get dinner ready, and Aunt Deborah left the bread in the oven while she got dinner. For the oven was getting cooler all the time, and the bread would not get burned.

So, when the bread was done, Aunt Deborah took it out and wrapped it in a cloth until it was cool. And Aunt Phyllis put all the pies in the buttery. Then they had enough pies and enough bread to last them all a whole week, and they would not bake any more until the next Saturday.

And that's all.




XVI.

The Swimming Story


Once upon a time there was a farm-house, and it was painted white and had green blinds; and it stood not far from the road. In the fence was a wide gate to let the wagons through to the barn. And the wagons, going through, had made a track that led up past the kitchen door and past the shed and past the barn and past the orchard to the wheat-field.

In that farm-house lived Uncle Solomon and Uncle John, and little John and little Charles and their mother, Aunt Deborah, and little Sam and his mother, Aunt Phyllis.

One day in summer it was very hot. Little Charles was about nine years old, and little John was about seven, and little Charles said to little John: "John, let's go in swimming."

And little John said: "All right."

So they went very quietly away from the kitchen door, where they were playing, and went toward the barn, as though they were going to look for eggs. But they sneaked around the barn and down close to the house on the other side, where Aunt Deborah wouldn't see them, and over the fence into the road. And they went along the road until they came to the field that they used to go through to get water from the river. Then they turned into that field and went down to the river, and along the bank of the river until they came to a great big tree that grew close by the edge of the river, at the end of a stone wall.


When they came to that big tree, they stopped and took off all their clothes and went into the water. And they stayed in the water a long time and swam around and chased each other, and they ran along in the water where it wasn't very deep, and splashed and had a fine time. And when they had been in long enough and were all cool, they went back to the place where they had left their clothes, and they took their shirts and got themselves dry with their shirts as well as they could. Then they spread their shirts out in the sunshine to dry, and they ran about on the bank. And when their shirts were dry, they put their clothes on. Then they went back along the road and over the fence and around the barn, the way they had come, and began to play near the shed as though they hadn't been away at all.

Pretty soon Aunt Deborah came to the kitchen door and she called to little Charles. "Charles, I want you to get me some eggs."

And when Charles turned around to go, Aunt Deborah looked at him very hard, and she called: "Charles, come here to me." But Charles didn't want to come very near, so he came only a little way.

And Aunt Deborah said: "Charles, I want you to come right here to me."

So Charles came slowly beside his mother, and she took off his hat and looked at his hair. His hair was a little wet, for he couldn't get it quite dry with his shirt.

And Aunt Deborah said: "Charles, you've been in swimming."

And Charles dug up the dirt with his bare feet and said, "Yes'm." For little Charles and little John never said things that were not true, although they sometimes did things they ought not to do.

Then Aunt Deborah said: "Charles, if you do that again I'll tell your father."

And Charles said, "Yes'm." Then he ran away quickly to find the eggs.

Then Aunt Deborah said: "John, come here to me."

So little John came beside his mother, and she took off his hat and saw that his hair was wet.

And she said: "John, you've been swimming, too." And little John looked at his mother and grinned and said, "Yes'm."

And Aunt Deborah said, "You mustn't do that, John. You're too little. Don't do it again, and I'll ask Uncle Solomon to take you and Charles in his boat." So little John ran off after little Charles.

The next morning Uncle Solomon called to all the little boys: "Who wants to go out in the boat with me?"

And little Charles and little John and little Sam all said at the same time, "I do."

So Uncle Solomon said, "Come on, boys."

Then he walked along the track and into the road and along the road, and the little boys ran ahead; for they knew where he was going. And by and by they came to the pond. It was a great big pond, and Uncle Solomon's boat was on the bank under some trees. Uncle Solomon had built that boat himself, for he had been a sailor, and knew all about boats. So he pushed the boat off into the water, and the little boys all got in and sat still. For Uncle Solomon wouldn't let them jump around in the boat because that might tip it over.

So Uncle Solomon rowed the little boys over to a nice place where it was shady, and where the water was not very deep; and he rowed cross-handed, because he thought that was easier. When they had got to the place, the little boys all took off their clothes, and Uncle Solomon took up each boy and threw him over into the water. They were not afraid, because he had taught them how to swim, and he was right there, to see that nothing happened to harm them. And they swam around and had a fine time.


And when Uncle Solomon thought they had been in the water long enough, he made them swim near the boat, and he reached over and pulled them into the boat, one at a time. Then they dried themselves with a towel he had brought, and they put on their clothes, and Uncle Solomon rowed the boat back to the place where he kept it.

Then the little boys got out and he pulled the boat up on the shore, and they all went back along the road to the farm-house. And they went in at the wide gate and up to the kitchen door. And there was Aunt Deborah, with four pieces of gingerbread. One piece she gave to little Charles and one to little John and one to little Sam, and the biggest piece of all she gave to Uncle Solomon.

And they all ate their gingerbread, and thought it was very good indeed.

And that's all.




XVII.

The Chicken Story

Once upon a time there was a farm-house, and it was painted white and had green blinds; and it stood not far from the road. In the fence was a wide gate to let the wagons through to the barn. And the wagons, going through, had made a track that led up past the kitchen door and past the shed and past the barn and past the orchard to the wheat-field.

Behind the barn was the hen-house, and inside the hen-house there were long poles that went all the way across, for the hens to sit on to sleep. Those poles they call roosts. In winter the hens all sleep on the roosts in the hen-house, because it is warmer there; but in the summer they like to get up in the trees and sleep out-of-doors.

Along the side of the hen-house were some boxes with hay in them, and a board along the top. These were the nests, and in each nest was a pretend egg, made of china. The hens would see the pretend egg and think it was real, and they would lay the real eggs in the nests. For they like to lay eggs in places where eggs are already.

There was a little door, low down, for the hens to go through, and outside was a yard, with a fence around made of strips of wood. In this fence was a door that was kept shut in winter, but was open in summer so that the hens and chickens could go out and eat the bugs and worms. Bugs and worms sometimes eat the growing things that the farmers have planted, so the farmers like to have the chickens eat the bugs and worms. And in the side of the hen-house was a big door for people to go through.

When the summer was beginning, there were a good many hens and some chickens that were half grown up, and a very old rooster, and some that were not so old. Sometimes the roosters would fight, but they didn't fight very hard, for they were not the kind that fight hard.

All the roosters and the hens and the chickens that were half grown up flew up into the trees when it was beginning to be dark, and they sat on the branches in long rows, and put their heads under their wings and went to sleep. The very old rooster and most of the hens roosted in the apple-trees in the orchard, but some of the hens roosted in other trees.


And in the middle of the night the old rooster waked a little and crowed, but it wasn't a very loud crow. But when it began to be light in the morning, the old rooster waked and flapped his wings and crowed very loud. And that waked the other roosters and they flapped their wings and crowed, and the hens waked, and all the roosters and the hens flapped their wings and flew down to the ground, and began to look about for their breakfast.

Some of the hens stayed in the orchard and looked about on the ground and scratched up the dirt and picked up the bugs and worms that they found. Some of them went over to the cow-yard and flew over the fence and scratched around there, and they drank water out of the big tub in the corner. And some of the hens went to the kitchen door to see what things Aunt Deborah had thrown down there for them to eat. The chickens that were half grown up went over to the fields where the potatoes and the beans and the peas were growing, and they ran about among the vines and picked the bugs and worms off the vines.

After awhile, when all the hens and chickens had finished their breakfasts, some of the hens went into the hen-house to lay eggs. Each of these hens laid one egg in one of the nests, and when she had laid the egg, she came out of the hen-house and cackled and made a great noise. For that is the way hens do. But there were two of the hens that did not like to lay eggs in the hen-house.


One of these hens walked along the little road and across the wheat-field into the maple-sugar woods. She had made a nest there, out of dried grass and leaves, and it was hidden away under some bushes, where nobody could find it. That hen laid an egg in that nest every day, until she had laid nine. Then she sat on the eggs and kept them warm, and she came over to the farm-house every day to get something to eat and then she went back to her nest again. And when she had sat on those eggs for three weeks, the little chickens came out of the shells and ran about. And then she walked over to the farm-house and the little chickens ran along with her.


The other hen that wouldn't lay eggs in the hen-house made a nest in the wheat-field; but little John found that nest and took the eggs away, so she didn't have any chickens.

When the hens had laid their eggs, they went out into the road and sat down in the dust and scratched the dust up all over themselves, for they liked the warm dust in among their feathers. And they stayed there until they were hungry again. Then they scratched around in the dirt, and ate some more bugs and worms, and the things that Aunt Deborah threw out for them to eat. And so they did until it began to get dark.

Then they all walked along to the orchard or to some other trees, and they stood under the trees, and looked up and gave queer little jumps and flapped their wings, and they flew up into the trees and sat on the branches. And they went along the branches sideways until they had found the places they liked. Then they squatted down and put their heads under their wings and went to sleep.

And that's all.




XVIII.

The Shawl Story


Once upon a time there was a farm-house, and it was painted white and had green blinds; and it stood not far from the road. This farm was Uncle Solomon's. But before he had the farm, he was a sailor, and he sailed in great ships, over the great enormous ocean. A great many ships used to sail from Boston, over the big ocean, carrying different things to far countries, and one of these ships was the brig Industry. Uncle Solomon was the captain of the brig Industry, but that was when he was a young man, and a long time before he had the farm.

One day the brig Industry was lying beside the wharf at Boston, and she was tied to the wharf with great ropes. And all the things had been put in the ship, the things they were to sell in the far country where they were going, and the things to eat, and the water they would drink. For the ocean water is salt and bitter, so that people can't drink it, and they had to carry all the water that they would need to drink and almost all the things they would need to eat. The water was in big hogsheads, down near the bottom of the ship. The sailors were all on the ship, and everything was all ready to start. Then Captain Solomon walked down the wharf, and he got on the ship, and the great ropes were untied, and the sailors hoisted the sails, and the ship sailed away from the wharf. She sailed down the harbour and past the islands and out into the great ocean.

So the wind kept blowing, and the Industry kept sailing along over the ocean for a great many days. She sailed along, through parts of the ocean where it is always hot and where it rains a great deal, and past the country where the monkeys live, and around the end of that country. And after awhile Captain Solomon saw some land, and he knew it was an island where no people lived, but where beautiful clear water ran out of a crack in the rock. So he made the ship go near that island, and then the sailors fixed the sails so that the ship wouldn't go ahead. And the sailors let down one of the rowboats into the water. For every big ship has some rowboats that are hung up over the deck. And they took all the hogsheads of water and emptied out what water was left. Then they put in the bungs and tied all the hogsheads together with ropes that went between them, and they threw them over the side of the ship into the water. Then the sailors in the rowboat caught the end of the rope and rowed, and they went to the island, dragging the hogsheads that floated on the top of the water. And they filled the hogsheads with nice fresh water that came out of the rock, and then they rowed back to the ship, dragging the hogsheads. And they were hoisted up into the ship, and the rowboat was hoisted up, and the sailors fixed the sails again so that the ship would sail ahead.


So they sailed along for a great many days, and at last they came to the far country. That country is called India. And the Industry sailed into a wide river, and the sailors took down the sails and let down the great anchor to the bottom of the river. For the water by the shore was not deep enough for the ship to go there, so they had to keep the ship in the middle of the river. On the shore was a city, and a lot of men came out from the shore in little rowboats and took the things out of the Industry and carried them to the city. And the boats were so little, and there were so many things, they had to go back and forth a great many times.

When the things were all taken out of the ship, Captain Solomon had his rowboat let down into the water, and he got in, and two sailors rowed him to the land. Then he went to the man who had bought all the things he had brought, and the man paid Captain Solomon the money for the things. Then Captain Solomon started to look about to see what he could buy to take back to Boston.

First he bought a lot of tea, and a lot of spices, like cinnamon and cloves and nutmegs, and a lot of china dishes that had houses and trees and birds painted on them in blue. Then he bought a lot of pretty tables and such things that were made of teak-wood and ebony and ivory. And he bought a lot of little images that were carved out of ivory, and some trays that were shiny black, with birds and flowers painted on them in red and silver and gold. Then he bought a great many logs of teak-wood to carry back to Boston, to make into chairs and mantels and doors for the inside of houses. And when all these things were carried to the ship and put in, Captain Solomon had some money left, and he looked about to see what he could buy that was very nice.

In India they have cloth that is made of the hair of goats, and shawls that are made of the hair of camels. The people made these things and brought them to the city to sell. The cloth was very nice and the shawls were very fine and beautiful.

So Captain Solomon went to the place where they had the cloth of goat's hair and the camel's-hair shawls, and he bought a great many shawls and some of the cloth. Some of the shawls were white, with a pattern of curly shapes in the middle, in red and blue and yellow, and some had a border of the same kind all around the edge. Some were red, with a pattern all over them of blue and brown and yellow and white. And besides the shawls, there were narrow pieces made of camel's hair, that were meant to be worn around ladies' necks. And they were all very beautiful.

So Captain Solomon had all the shawls and the pieces of cloth put in two great chests made of cedar, and he had the chests carried on the ship and put in his cabin. His cabin was the room where he did all his work, looking at the charts and maps, to see where the ship was, and writing down in a book what happened every day. The beautiful shawls would be taken care of in his cabin better than in the bottom of the ship, with the teak-wood and the other things.

When Captain Solomon had bought the shawls and got them put on the ship, he bought a lot of things for the sailors to eat while the ship was sailing back to Boston. There were flour and meal and very hard crackers and salt and sugar and fine hominy and peas and beans and a lot of other things, and great hogsheads of meat that was in salt water. And there was a cow that they kept in a kind of pen on the deck of the ship, and four sheep and a lot of chickens. So they could have milk and eggs, and sometimes roast chicken for dinner, or roast mutton. Then they filled all the water barrels with fresh water, and the sailors pulled up the great anchor and hoisted the sails.

So the Industry sailed out of the river and into the big ocean, and they sailed away for a great many days. And when they came to the island where the nice water ran out of the rock, Captain Solomon had all the water barrels filled with fresh water again. Then they sailed along, around the end of the country where the monkeys lived, and over another big ocean. And after a long time they came to Boston, and the Industry sailed in past the islands and into the harbour, and up to the wharf. And the sailors took down the sails and fastened the ship to the wharf with great ropes.

Then Captain Solomon went on shore and got a big wagon. The horses dragged the wagon down on the wharf, and the men took the two chests out of the cabin and put them on the wagon. Then Captain Solomon got on the wagon with the men, and they drove the horses through the streets until they came to the place where the men stayed that owned the Industry. That place they call an office.
So Captain Solomon got down from the wagon, and the men took the chests and carried them into the office. In the office were Captain Jonathan and Captain Jacob. They had been sailors, too, and they owned the Industry. And Captain Solomon opened the chests and showed the cloth and the shawls to Captain Jonathan and Captain Jacob, and they thought the cloth and the shawls were very beautiful. And while Captain Jonathan was looking at the shawls he found one that was white, with a pattern in the middle of red and yellow and brown and blue. He thought that shawl was the prettiest shawl he had ever seen. So he said: "Jacob, I am going to give this shawl to my daughter Lois."

And Captain Jacob said, "All right." For Captain Jonathan's daughter Lois was Captain Jacob's wife.

So Captain Jonathan gave the shawl to his daughter Lois. And after a great many years she gave the shawl to her daughter Lois. And after a great many years more, when that Lois was an old lady, she gave the shawl to her niece, who was named Lois. And when that Lois was an old lady she used to wear the shawl almost all the time. But one day she forgot and hung the shawl over the balusters near the door just when the cook was going away. And the cook saw the shawl and took it away and never brought it back.

And that's all.




XIX.

The Buying-Farm Story


Once upon a time there was a farm-house, and it was painted white and had green blinds; and it stood not far from the road. And in the fence was a wide gate to let the wagons through to the barn. The farm wasn't Uncle Solomon's then, but it belonged to the man that had built the farm-house, and that man had built the barn first and then the house. And he had cut down the trees and made the fields smooth and nice where the different things were to grow. And when he had lived there a good many years, he was tired of being there, and he wanted to go somewhere else.

Captain Solomon had sailed on the great ocean a great many years, and he was tired of being a sailor, and thought he would like to have a farm; and besides, he was afraid that if he kept on being a sailor, his little boys would want to be sailors, too, and he didn't want them to be. There were three boys, Uncle John and his two brothers; and when they got big enough, Uncle John's brothers ran away and were sailors. For they didn't like to be on a farm. But Uncle John stayed on the farm after Uncle Solomon bought it.

So one day Captain Solomon came to the farm and he found the man that had got it all ready and had built the house. And the man showed Captain Solomon all the fields where the things were growing, and the orchard and the maple-sugar woods and the barn and the house. And Captain Solomon liked the farm. So he paid the man some money, and the man gave the farm to Uncle Solomon. For after he had bought the farm, the people all called Captain Solomon Uncle Solomon. Then the man took all his beds and chairs and tables and the other things from the house, and he moved them away to another place.


Then Uncle Solomon put all his things in great wagons, and it took a long time to move them to the farm, for Uncle Solomon had lived in Wellfleet, a town that is on the shore of the great ocean, and the farm was a long way from that town, and it was not on the shore of the ocean. They didn't have railroads then, and all the things had to be dragged in the wagons. But at last the wagons came to the farm, and Uncle Solomon took all the things out of the wagons and put them in the house. He put the wagons in the shed and the horses in the barn. That was a very long time ago, more than one hundred years.

When all the things were put in the house, Uncle Solomon bought some cows and the things he needed to do farm work with. Then he began to do all the things that have to be done on a farm, the things that the other stories tell about.

And that's all.




XX.

The Butter Story


Once upon a time there was a farm-house, and it was painted white and had green blinds; and it stood not far from the road. In the fence was a wide gate to let the wagons through to the barn. And the wagons, going through, had made a track that led up past the kitchen door and past the shed and past the barn and past the orchard to the wheat-field.

In the morning, when Uncle John had milked all the cows, he took all the milk, in the big pails, to the milk-room that was in the corner of the barn, and he poured it through a cloth into some cans. Then he carried the pails to the kitchen door, and Aunt Deborah washed them out with cold water. Then she poured some very hot water into them and rinsed them out, and set them in the sunshine. And Uncle John went back to the milk-room and took the cans of milk and carried them out to the spring-house.

The spring-house was a little low house that was in the orchard, and a stream of water ran right through the middle of it. It was the same stream of water that ran on through the big field where the cows went to eat the grass, and then it ran on, under the road and through another field and into the river. They didn't have ice then, in the summer time, but the water of the little stream was cool, and they used that to keep the milk and the butter from getting too hot. They had made a trench for the water to run through, and in the bottom of the trench they had put great flat stones, so that the water ran over the stones. And on top of the stones the water wasn't deep at all.

So Uncle John took the milk to the spring-house and poured it into big flat pans, and set the pans in the water on the flat stones, so that the water would keep the milk cool while the cream came to the top. The cream is the yellow, fat part of milk, and when the milk stands still, the cream comes to the top.

Every time Uncle John had finished milking the cows, he took the milk to the spring-house and put it in flat pans and left the pans in the cool water. And when the milk had stood so for as long as all day or all night, Aunt Deborah went out to the spring-house and took a kind of big spoon and skimmed the cream off the top of the milk, and put the cream into a stone jar. And she left the cream in the jar for two or three days until it was just right to make into butter.


When the cream in the jar was just right, Aunt Deborah and Aunt Phyllis took it to the buttery and put it in the churn, a kind of box that had a long handle. And on the end of the handle was a big piece of wood with holes all through it. Then Aunt Phyllis took hold of the long handle and made it go up and down, and Aunt Deborah held on to the churn, so that it wouldn't tip over. And when Aunt Phyllis was tired, Aunt Deborah made the handle go up and down, and Aunt Phyllis held on to the churn. And the cream splashed all about, and at last it began to turn into butter, in little lumps.


When it was done enough, Aunt Deborah poured off the watery stuff that they called buttermilk, and she washed the butter with water, and she put in a lot of salt. The buttermilk she saved, because sometimes people like to drink it. Then she took the butter that was all in little lumps, and she worked it together, so that the water came out of it, and it was all in big lumps. And she worked that all together until it was worked enough, and was in one big lump.

Then she got a little mould, a kind of cup with a cover. And in the inside of the cover was a picture, cut into the wood, of an ear of corn and some marks all about. Then Aunt Deborah put some of the butter into the mould, and she put the cover over, and pushed hard, and the butter was squeezed into a little round cake, with the picture of the ear of corn on the top. Then she took out that piece and put in some more, and she made a little cake of that. And so she did with all the butter, until it was all in little cakes; and those cakes of butter they call pats.

When all the butter was made into pats, Aunt Deborah put the pats into a great round wooden box and carried the box out to the spring-house to get cold, and keep until it was wanted. Every week she made enough butter to fill the big round box. That was enough for them to eat, and some to take to market besides.

And that's all.




XXI.

The Bean-Pole Story


Once upon a time there was a farm-house, and it was painted white and had green blinds; and it stood not far from the road. In the fence was a wide gate to let the wagons through to the barn. And the wagons, going through, had made a track that led up past the kitchen door and past the shed and past the barn and past the orchard to the wheat-field.

All about were other fields where different things grew. There were squashes and turnips and melons and corn and oats and potatoes and cabbages and onions and peas and beans. Some of the bean plants grew like little short trees, but the others wanted to climb on something. So Uncle John had to get some bean-poles for the bean plants to climb up. So, one morning, when summer was just beginning, the bean plants had come up through the ground, and were tall enough to begin to climb.

Uncle John took his axe and a big sharp knife and he got out the old oxen. They put their heads down and he put the yoke over and the bows under, and hooked the tongue of the cart to the yoke. Then he said "Gee up there;" and the old oxen started walking slowly along, past the barn and past the orchard to the wheat-field, and little John came after.

And Uncle John took down the bars, and the oxen went through the wheat-field, and he took down the bars at the other side of the field, and they walked through into the maple-sugar woods. Then they went along the road in the woods past the little maple-sugar house, and they kept on until they came to a place where there weren't any big trees, but there were a great many little slim trees very close together. The little slim trees were about as big as little John's wrist at the bottom, and they were about twice as tall as Uncle John.


Then Uncle John stopped the oxen, and he took his axe and cut down a great many of the little slim trees. They were so little that he cut down each tree with one whack of the axe. And when the trees were cut down, as many as he wanted, he took the big sharp knife and he cut off all the branches of each tree. The trees grew so close together that there weren't many branches, and what there were, were very small. Then Uncle John put all the branches in a pile away from the trees, and he piled the trees all on the cart. The trees, after the branches were cut off, were straight and almost smooth. At the bottom they were about as big as little John's wrist, and at the top they were only as big as his thumb. These smooth trees without any branches they called poles.

Then Uncle John said, "Gee up there," and the oxen started and turned around, and walked slowly along, through the maple-sugar woods, and through the wheat-field, and Uncle John put up the bars after they had gone through. Then they walked along past the orchard and past the barn and past the shed and past the kitchen door, and through the wide gate into the road. And they went along the road until they came to the field where the beans were growing; and they turned in at the gate into that field, and went along to the bean plants, and there they stopped.

Then Uncle John took the poles out of the cart, one at a time, and he stuck a pole into the ground near each bean plant, so that the vine, when it was feeling around for something to climb on, would find the pole. The poles, after they were stuck into the ground, went up in the air just a little higher than Uncle John's head. And Uncle John said, "Gee up" again, and the old oxen turned around and went back along the road and in at the wide gate and up past the kitchen door to the shed. And Uncle John unhooked the tongue of the cart and took off the yoke, and the oxen went into the barn.


Then the bean vines kept on growing, and they got higher and higher, and they twisted around and found the poles, and they held on to the poles and kept on twisting and climbing until they had reached the tops of the poles. Then the flowers came on the vines, and afterward the pods with beans in them grew where the flowers had been. For the beans are only the seeds that the flowers change into after they wither away. And at the end of the summer, when the beans had stopped growing and were ripe, Uncle John gathered them and took them in to Aunt Deborah.

And that's all.

<eob>

Baartock

By

Lewis Roth



Chapter 1


Baartock was sitting by the side of the old two lane country road, crying.  Seven years old and all alone for hours, but that wasn't why he was sobbing, tears running down his cheeks.  He had grown up in the forest, he was used to being alone, except for his parents.  He wasn't lost and he hadn't run away from home, though he felt so ashamed he didn't want to go home.  It had been a bad day, a terrible day. Baartock had been waiting all day to scare someone, but there hadn't been anyone to scare.  It was such a bad thing to happen to a troll on his first day.

Today was such an important day.  Today was the very first day that Baartock was to go out scaring all by himself.  He had stayed up late the night before and had gotten up early, so he would be all tired and cranky.  He had gone out of the cave where he lived and rolled in the smelliest, nastiest mud he could find, so he would look his scariest. And he had practiced his screams and shrieks, until both his parents yelled at him to shut-up and to go scare somebody.  He had set out, going down the old dry stream-bed, just like his father had told him. On the way, he fell down and cut his knee, which made him really angry. He threw a rock at a bird that was singing in the trees, trying to make fun of him.  He missed and that made him even angrier.  When he got to the road and looked both ways, he crossed it and hid in the culvert. Then he waited and listened.

The culvert wasn't much of a bridge. It was just a big, old concrete pipe that went under the road for rain-water to go through. He wished that it was a bridge, any kind of bridge at all.  Even a wooden bridge, but a real bridge that he could hide under and come rushing out to scare people. He crouched down to wait and listen.

He knew what he was listening for.  The sound of someone walking down the road.  Baartock had practiced at home, just the way his father had shown him.  He would stand waiting, just out of sight. Then, when he heard something, he would run up the hill, roaring and screaming.  The practice had all gone so well.  When he did it at home, he never had to wait long to hear something.  He had scared lots of squirrels, a deer, two opossum, and a skunk. Baartock didn't like to remember the skunk.  They had scared each other.

To help pass the time, Baartock remembered of some of the stories that his father told.  Stories about the famous trolls in his family, and how they had scared people.  How his Great-great-uncle Sssssgnaarll had chased a whole village.  He had come running down the side of the mountain and right into the village, yelling and screaming his loudest, and everybody had run away.  And how wonderfully ugly his mother's grandfather Munchch-Crunchch had been. So ugly, that just as soon as he looked up over the side of a bridge, people would faint right where they were standing. It was fun to think about things like that, while he was waiting.

He thought about the name he was going to earn for himself. Something really scary and wonderful.  Baartock wasn't his real name. That was just what his mother called him.  His father would just yell 'kid', and Baartock knew that meant him.  That's the way it is with trolls.  But he wouldn't get a name, a real troll name until he was twelve years old, and had scared lots of people.  He wanted to earn a really scary name like Arrrggrr-Munch Slinurp, which was his father's name.

He waited for a long time, but no one came. After a while, when he got tired, he ate his sandwiches.  They were really good.  His mother had put extra sand in them.  Just as he finished his lunch, a bee stung him.  That got him angry again, and he felt that he could scare anybody who came along.  He settled down again to wait and listen.  But he didn't hear anything.  He kept waiting.  When he got tired of waiting down under the road in the culvert, he climbed up and hid in a bush by the side of the road. Baartock waited some more, but still nobody came walking down the road.  The sun was right overhead.  He was hot and tired and hungry and lots of things, but mostly unhappy. The longer he waited, the unhappier he got.

He was sitting by the side of the road, crying, when the car drove up and stopped near him.  He was sobbing so hard that he didn't hear it. It wouldn't have mattered if he had heard it.  His father hadn't shown him how to scare a car.  He did hear the car door slam, when Mr. Fennis got out.

"What's the matter?"  Mr. Fennis didn't know anything about trolls, but he knew about children.  And what he saw was a very dirty little child sitting by the side of the road, crying.  Mr. Fennis taught third grade and would have been at school, but this morning he had to go to the dentist.  He was hurrying to get back to school.  He didn't want to miss more than half the day.  The substitute teacher had been sick and Mrs. Jackson, the principal, was teaching his class.  That was almost as bad as the pain in his mouth.

As soon as Baartock saw Mr. Fennis, he knew what he was supposed to do. If he hadn't been sobbing so hard, he might have been able to scare him.

"Ahgrr," Baartock started to yell, but it got all mixed up with his crying and didn't come out scary at all.

"What's the matter?"  Mr. Fennis asked again.  "Are you hurt?"

Baartock could only shake his head.

"Are you lost?  What's wrong?"

Baartock tried to say, "I'm trying to scare you," but all that came out was "scare."

"You don't have to be scared.  I'll try to help you. Do you know how to get home?"

Baartock nodded his head and sobbed some more.  He hadn't been able to scare this person.  Now they were even talking. Oh, this was awful.

"Let me take you home," said Mr. Fennis.  "Which way do you live?"

Baartock pointed up the hill.   "I don't think anyone lives up there. You must live in the old Howard place."  Mr. Fennis seemed to be talking mostly to himself.  Then he asked "How old are you?"

"Seven," answered Baartock.

"You should be in school today."

"No school."  Baartock didn't know what school was, but he didn't think he should be there.  "Father said 'wait here'.  I came early today, but nobody came."

"You've been waiting for a school bus all this time?" Mr. Fennis knew what the trouble was now.  The poor kid. Missed the bus, and he's been sitting here ever since.  No wonder he was crying. Though he could have gone back home and gotten cleaned up.  I'd better take him home and explain things to his mother.

"What's your name?"

"Don't have name,"  Baartock was feeling a little better. Just sobbing every now and then.

"Well then, what can I call you?"  asked Mr. Fennis. After all, he was a teacher and he knew how to get an answer.

"Baartock.  Mother calls me Baartock."

"All right, Baartock.  You can call me, Mr. Fennis.  I teach third grade at the school where you should be today. I'm going to take you home."  Then he had a thought.  No point in driving back to the old Howard house if no one would be there.  So many mothers had jobs. Besides, he was in a hurry to get back to school.  "Is your mother home now?" he asked.

"No."  Baartock knew that his mother would be out gathering poison ivy and catching lizards for dinner.

"Well, Baartock.  You should be in school and I'm going there.  You can ride there with me and come home on the school bus." Taking Baartock's hand, they walked to the car.

For some trollish reason, Baartock's mother hadn't told him not to talk with strangers, or not to go anywhere  with them.  Maybe it was because she didn't think that he would ever get the chance. But, Baartock knew that he was supposed to be scaring someone, not talking to them.  Or going in a car with them.

Because he had stayed up in the woods until today, Baartock had never seen a car.  He didn't know a car was, or what it looked like.  He certainly had never ridden in one, but he liked this thing they got into.  Mr. Fennis was neat about most things, but his car was a mess. The paint was scratched, one of the fenders was dented, and on the floor were some paper coffee cups and soda cans.  On the back seat were seven over-due library books, an overflowing litter bag, a couple of cans of oil, which should have been in the trunk, and some plastic tubing for a science project.  To Baartock, it looked just like home. He was busy looking around when Mr. Fennis started the engine and began to drive off.  Then Baartock went wild and really did scare Mr. Fennis.




Chapter 2


It was only a short drive, though it felt very long to both Baartock and Mr. Fennis.  When Mr. Fennis finally parked the car at Marvis T. Johnson Elementary School, he got out and helped Baartock out of the back seat.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you, Baartock," apologized  Mr. Fennis, helping him out.  "You almost made us crash when you grabbed the steering wheel.  You don't do that in your folks car, do you?"

"Don't like!" said Baartock angrily, as he kicked at the side of the car.

"Don't do that!  It's my car.  It may not look pretty, but it's paid for and takes me where I want to go."

"Go home," said Baartock and he started to walk off the way they had come.  Like all trolls, he had an almost perfect sense of direction and couldn't get lost. This place wasn't at all like the woods and he didn't like it.  It was all new and frightening to him. Since he was a troll, he wasn't going to be scared, or not much anyway. He was supposed to do the scaring.

"Come on, Baartock.  Let's go on into school."  Mr. Fennis grabbed Baartock's hand.

"Don't want school!  Want to go home!"

So, with Mr. Fennis pulling one way and Baartock pulling the other, they went into school.  As soon as they got inside, Baartock stopped wanting to go home and started looking at this new kind of cave he was in.  There were big boards fastened to the walls, covered with lots of colored papers.  There were cases with glass frames with more colored papers behind them.  The walls were a bright yellow, and there were lights overhead.  Even the floor was smooth and shiny. There were a lot of new things for him to see. He was still looking around when they got to the school office.

"Ms. Laurence, Baartock seems to have missed the bus this morning," said Mr. Fennis to the woman sitting at a desk, behind the counter. Ms. Laurence was the school secretary.  "I found him still waiting by the road."

"Baartock? I don't know any Baartock."

"Well, he's seven, so he must be in Mrs. Stogbuchner's class.  Could you get him down there?  I've really got to get back to my class. Good-by, Baartock."  With that, Mr. Fennis hurried out of the office and down the hall, leaving Baartock in the office.

Baartock looked at Ms. Laurence.  Then he looked all around the room. When he had seen enough he said,  "Not Mississtog-Buchnersklass.  Go home!  Now!"  Baartock thought it might be fun to meet someone with a wonderfully scary name like Mississtog-Buchnersklass, but he was tired and wanted to go home.  He was just out the door, leaving Ms. Laurence calling "Baartock! Stop!" when he crashed right into Mrs. Jackson, the principal.

Mr. Fennis told Mrs. Jackson about Baartock just as soon as he had gotten into his classroom and she came running to the office. Mrs. Jackson had been a school teacher for many years and principal for a few more, but she wasn't sure that she had ever seen a child quite like the dirty, wild, little one, who was trying to pull away from her. "Stop right now!"  Mrs. Jackson's voice echoed up and down the hall. Baartock stopped squirming and stood, wide-eyed, staring at her.  He didn't know humans could sound like that.  Down the hall, classroom doors opened and several teachers looked out.  Mrs. Jackson ignored them as she pushed Baartock back into the office and closed the door.

"Please tell me your name."  Before he could say that he wasn't old enough to have a name, Ms. Laurence answered "Baartock."

"Baartock," said Mrs. Jackson as she brought him over to a bench, "sit down.  Tell me how you got so dirty."

"Rolled in mud.  Want to go home."

"You certainly must have rolled in the mud.  I understand you missed your bus this morning."

"Mrs. Jackson," said Ms. Laurence, who had stopped watching them and was busily looking through some papers, "We don't have any student named Baartock."  School had just started the week before, but Ms. Laurence was sure that she knew the names of all the new students.  And where to find their records.

"Is today your first day?" asked Mrs. Jackson.  "Yes!  First day! First day!" Baartock answered right away.  Finally he had found someone who understood that today was his first day to go scare people by all himself.

"But, Mrs. Jackson, I don't have his registration forms, medical records, or anything."  Ms. Laurence was now going through file drawers.

"I'm sure you'll find them.  Baartock and I will just go down to Mrs. Stogbuchner's class, then I'll be back to help you look," said Mrs. Jackson as she opened the door. "Baartock, let's go meet your teacher. I'm sure you'll be very happy in her class."

"Want to go home!" repeated Baartock rather loudly as they walked down the hall.

"Please don't shout, Baartock.  We don't want to disturb the other classes.  I'm sure you would like to go home.  I would like to go home, too, but we're  supposed to be here.  And we'll get everything straightened out about your bus schedule, so you won't miss your bus tomorrow. I'll make sure that you get home after school is over. Just behave yourself and do what Mrs. Stogbuchner tells you."




Chapter 3


"Now, let's get you into class," said Mrs. Jackson. They went to the last door on the right side of the hall, and Mrs. Jackson looked through a little window in the door.

"Is it recess time already?  The class must be outside." She opened the door and they went into the classroom.  It was a bright cheerful room, with windows all along one wall and chairs pulled up around low tables.

"This will be your classroom," Mrs. Jackson said.  They walked to a door in the back of the classroom and went outside.

"Let's see if we can find them.  They should be on the playground. That's around this way."  Hand in hand, they went around to the back of the school building.

There was the playground.  And the class.  So many humans. Baartock had never seen that many humans.  They were swinging, racing around, climbing, playing, and just standing.  They were laughing and yelling and screaming. They were all having fun.  Baartock was so interested, that he didn't see the woman coming over to them.

"Baartock, this is your teacher, Mrs. Stogbuchner," said Mrs. Jackson. "Mrs. Stogbuchner, this is Baartock. This is his first day, isn't it Baartock?"

"First day," said Baartock, still looking at the children.

"Nice to have you in my class, Baartock," said Mrs. Stogbuchner.  "I'm sure you will enjoy it here."

"I'll come see that you get on the right bus to get home, Baartock," said Mrs. Jackson.  "Why don't you go play. But, please behave yourself.  I want to talk to Mrs. Stogbuchner for a moment."

Baartock started walking over to where the children were playing.  He was thinking so many different things. It was his first day and he should be scaring people, and here were humans to scare. But there were just so many of them, all running and laughing and playing.  Nobody was paying any attention to him.  They weren't even looking at him. Baartock couldn't think of any way to scare anybody. This was all so new, and not the way it was supposed to be. He was suddenly scared.  He didn't know what to do.

Baartock had been slowly walking by the fence that went around the playground.  When he got to the jungle gym, he stopped and watched the three boys who were climbing on it. He wasn't quite sure why they were climbing and chasing each other, but they seemed to be having fun. Suddenly, Baartock jumped up on the bars and climbed up to the top.  It was like climbing a tree, but it was different, too. He was just sitting there, looking around, when one of the boys, the one with red hair, climbed up beside him.

"Hi.  I'm Jason.  Are you new?"

"No, I'm Baartock," he said.  He wouldn't want a dumb name like 'New'.

All the other children were about the same size as Baartock, but Jason was even bigger.  He was trying to think what to say to this red haired boy.

Then Jason started to climb down again.  When he was just a little way down, he called, "Try to catch me, Baartock!"

Baartock knew what to do.  He started climbing down, chasing Jason as fast as he could.  By now, Jason was on the ground, running past the swings.  When Baartock got down, he started running.  He ran past the swings, past the slide. He was catching up to Jason, he had almost caught him, when a there was a whistle and Jason stopped. Baartock crashed into him and they both fell down.  Jason got on his feet right away.

"We've got to go in now," he said as he pulled Baartock to his feet. "We have to go line up.  Come on."

Baartock didn't understand what they were going to do, but he walked along with Jason.  As they walked over to where Mrs. Stogbuchner was standing, Baartock said, "I caught you."

"I can run faster," answered Jason.  "Next time you won't."

Mrs. Stogbuchner again blew her whistle.  "Recess is over. Time to go inside," she called.  Then she saw Baartock and Jason. "Making friends already, Baartock? Jason, please let Baartock sit next to you and help him along today."

"Yes, Mrs. Stogbuchner," said Jason.

"Everybody settle down," called Mrs. Stogbuchner as she walked past the children, who were lining up.

"I'm supposed to be first today, right, Mrs. Stogbuchner?" called a boy from the front of the line.

"All right, Jimmy," she answered.

"There.  I told you so," Jimmy said loudly to the girl standing next to him.

"Don't start a fight about it, Jimmy," said Mrs. Stogbuchner, who was now at the back of the line.  "Let's walk inside quietly.  No running!" she called, as Jimmy started rushing off.

In just a few minutes, Baartock found himself sitting right next to Jason, at one of the low tables in the classroom.  Mrs. Stogbuchner, standing in front of the classroom was saying, "We have someone new in class." Everybody was looking around.  "Baartock, please stand up. This is his first day."

Baartock stood up, but he was embarrassed.  Now everybody knew this was his first day, he'd never be able to scare anybody.  He was still standing, when Mrs. Stogbuchner said, "You may sit down now, Baartock."

Jason reached up and pulled Baartock back onto his chair.  A couple of children at the next table were giggling, and several others were whispering something and pointing at him.  Baartock felt uncomfortable. He wasn't really too interested in the papers that were passed around. But he got interested in making the marks on the paper, when Jason helped him color the worksheet.  There were so many bright colors.  He got so interested in coloring that he didn't pay any attention to anything else.  It didn't seem very long before Mrs. Stogbuchner said, "It's time to get everything put away now."

Jason whispered to him, "Where do you live?"

"That way," said Baartock, pointing.  That was the way a troll would give directions.  Just point in the direction you were supposed to go, and then walk until you got there. In spite of everything that had happened today, he knew just exactly where his home was.  He had been so busy, he hadn't thought about it until now. "Want to go home," he said.

"We all get to go home in just a few minutes, Baartock," said Mrs. Stogbuchner, who had been walking around making sure that everything was put away.  "Everybody sits down quietly and waits for the bell."

Baartock started to ask Jason, "What's bell?"  But he only got to say "What's . . .."

Mrs. Stogbuchner was still standing behind him. "Baartock, in this classroom, 'wait quietly' means 'no talking'."

Mrs. Jackson came into the classroom and walked over to them.  "Mrs. Stogbuchner, if you're finished with Baartock for today, I'd like him to come to the office now."

"Yes.  We're all through.  Baartock, please go with Mrs. Jackson, and we'll see you tomorrow."

When they got into the hall, Mrs. Jackson said, "Baartock, we couldn't find your file, and I do need to talk to your mother. Instead of riding on the school bus, I'm going to drive you home."

"Go home now?" asked Baartock quietly.  He remembered how angry this person could sound.

"Yes.  I'm going to drive you home."    Just then the bell rang, and Baartock jumped three feet in the air.




Chapter 4


When Baartock and Mrs. Jackson walked out to the parking lot, Mr. Fennis was waiting beside his car.

"Ready to go home, Baartock?" asked Mr. Fennis.

"Go home now," answered Baartock, and he started to walk away.

"Baartock!  Come back here!"  Mrs. Jackson's voice stopped him and he turned around.

"Not go home now?" asked Baartock.

"We're going to take you home, but we're not going to walk. We are going to drive in the car."

Walking home was exactly what Baartock had planned to do. Then he had an idea.  "Don't like car.  You drive.  I walk," he said.

"No.  Now please get in."

"You'd think he'd never ridden in car until today," commented Mr. Fennis as he got in and closed the door.  "He became positively wild when I drove him to school."

"Well, he'll behave this time, won't you Baartock.  You just sit quietly while we take you home."

"Sit," said Baartock unhappily.

Mr. Fennis started the car, and Baartock started to jump, but he saw Mrs. Jackson watching him.  So he just sat and looked even unhappier.

The ride this time seemed much quicker for Mr. Fennis, since Baartock wasn't jumping around in the car.

"They must live in Donald and Phyllis Howard's old house," he said as they drove down the country road.  "I found him just down the road from their driveway."

"I didn't know anyone had moved in there," said Mrs. Jackson.

Just then Baartock exclaimed "Home!" pointing up the hill.

"Can we use the driveway instead, Baartock?" said Mr. Fennis.  "I don't want to walk up the hill, even if you do have a shortcut."  He drove on down the road a little further, then slowed even more as they came to a mailbox and a dirt driveway.

"That's funny.  The 'For Sale' sign's still there," said Mrs. Jackson. Out in the middle of the corn-stalk stubbled field was a weathered sign, 'Farm For Sale - Crow Real Estate'.    "This is the only house up here.  They must have just not taken the sign down yet."

Baartock sat in the back seat and didn't say anything. Mr. Fennis turned the car onto the driveway and started up the hill. This dirt road did go near his family's cave, but he never used it. Trolls almost never use roads unless there are bridges, and the bridges are to live under or hide under.

The driveway went up the hill, between the field and the woods.  It didn't look as though a car had been on it for a long time.  The grass growing in the middle was quite tall, and the bushes growing next to the road needed to be cut back.  They scraped the side of the car as they went up the driveway.  And there were a lot of holes that needed filling.  Mr. Fennis was driving slowly, but the car still raised a cloud of dust behind them.

Up near the top of the hill, the road turned away from the woods, toward a grove of trees and the old frame house almost hidden in the trees.

"Home over there," said Baartock, pointing back into the woods, as Mr. Fennis was about to turn toward the house.

"But there aren't any houses in the woods," said Mrs. Jackson.

"Can we look at the house first, Baartock?" asked Mr. Fennis.

"Home over there!" said Baartock again, still pointing toward the woods, but he sat quietly as they drove up to the house. There was a smaller sign on the porch by the front door, 'House & Farm For Sale - Crow Real Estate' with a phone number to call.

"It certainly doesn't look like anyone lives here," said Mr. Fennis, as he turned the car around in the driveway.  "All right, Baartock.  Which way is your home?"

"Home that way," said Baartock, still pointing into the woods.

"Mr. Fennis, do you think he's lost?" asked Mrs. Jackson quietly.

"Not lost.  Never get lost.  Home over there!" said Baartock firmly. Trolls can also hear very well.

Mr. Fennis drove the car back to where the driveway turned down hill and stopped it.  "Baartock, just how far is your home?"

"Home over there.  Not far.  Easy walk," said Baartock. If these humans weren't with him, he could easily run home.

"Mrs. Jackson, if we are going to meet Baartock's parents, I guess we have to walk through the woods. Baartock, will your mother or father be home now?" asked Mr. Fennis.

"Mother home now," answered Baartock.  He was suddenly hungry, thinking about the lizard and poison ivy dinner she said she would fix.

Mr. Fennis got out and went around and opened the door for Mrs. Jackson and Baartock.  "Baartock, will you please show us the way to your home?"

They walked into the woods, Baartock in front, walking easily and quietly between trees and bushes.  Next came Mr. Fennis, pushing his way through, and holding branches out of the way for Mrs. Jackson.  She came last, carrying her briefcase full of important school papers.

"Slow down, Baartock," called Mr. Fennis, when Baartock got too far ahead of them.  "We can't go that fast.  How much further is it?"

"Home soon," answered Baartock.

"I really don't believe this," said Mrs. Jackson, more to herself than to Mr. Fennis.  "Could he live out here in the woods?"

"He acts like he knows where he's going," was Mr. Fennis' reply.

Baartock was waiting for them at the dry stream bed. When they caught up with him, he pointed up the hill.  "Home there," he said, starting again.

This was easier walking, without all of the branches. But there were a lot of loose rocks underfoot, and a few pools of muddy water from the last rain.  A little way further, Baartock turned into the woods and stopped in a clearing by the mouth of a cave.

"Home!" he yelled, and went inside.

"But he can't live in a cave," said Mr. Fennis, panting.  It had been more of a hike in the woods than he had been expecting.

Just then, Baartock came back out of the cave, followed by his mother.

"Oh!" gasped Mrs. Jackson.

Baartock's mother, Whinnurf Slinurp, was an adult troll. She was almost seven feet tall, with a slightly gray-green skin, which is very attractive for a troll.  She was dressed in something like a robe, made of odd bits of cloth sewn patchwork fashion.  She was a gentle troll, not mean or nasty like some trolls.  Of course, neither Mrs. Jackson nor Mr. Fennis knew that she was a gentle troll. She had a basket of acorns and toadstools in her hand, which she had been fixing for dinner.

"Who you?" she asked in a booming voice.

Trolls, being larger than most humans, have louder, deeper voices. Compared to the way trolls normally are, she was being very polite. These must be humans from the nearby village.  She hadn't seen humans in quite a long time.  She had almost forgotten how little and ugly humans were.

Mr. Fennis and Mrs. Jackson looked at Baartock's mother and then at each other.  Mr. Fennis was ready to run away right now and forget the whole thing.  He was wondering if Mrs. Jackson could run fast enough to keep up.   For just a moment, Mrs. Jackson was wondering the same thing.  Then something made her change her mind. She had come to meet Baartock's mother or father and that was what she was going to do.  So, while Mr. Fennis watched wide-eyed, she said, "I'm Mrs. Jackson, the principal of the Marvis T. Johnson Elementary School.  This is Mr. Fennis, who teaches third grade there."

"So," said Whinnurf Slinurp.  That was like saying 'okay', only no troll, even a very polite troll, would say 'okay'.

"Are you Baartock's mother?" asked Mrs. Jackson.

"Yes," said Whinnurf Slinurp.  Proudly she added, "He good troll."




Chapter 5


"A troll!  I've been driving around all day with a troll!" thought Mr. Fennis.  "I didn't even think there were trolls.  Aren't they supposed to be mean?  Aren't they supposed to eat people?"  Mr. Fennis tried to remember everything that he had ever read about trolls in stories and fairy tales.  The only things he could remember were scary.

But, somehow, if Mrs. Jackson was having the same thoughts, they didn't seem to bother her.  All she saw was a seven-year-old child who should be in school.

"Have you enrolled Baartock in school?" she asked.

"What?  What school?" asked Whinnurf Slinurp.

Mrs. Jackson had it all figured out now.  Troll or not, this was another parent who had to be told about the importance of education, the state laws requiring school attendance, and all the other things about school.  "All children are supposed to go to school," she said. "Baartock is supposed to go to school."

"Go school today," Baartock told his mother.

"Baartock," said Mrs. Jackson, "why don't you show Mr. Fennis around? I need to talk to your mother for a few minutes." Both Baartock and Mr. Fennis started to say something, but she cut them both off.

"We'll only be a few minutes," she said again.  "We'll call you.

"Come on, Baartock.  Why don't you show me around?" Mr. Fennis decided that one young troll was probably better than two trolls and a school principal.

Baartock led the way back toward the dry stream bed. He wasn't sure what he would be able to show.  All the noise this human, Mr. Fennis, was making was scaring everything away.  Even the squirrels and mice were all hiding.  He pointed through the trees at a head-knocking bird.

"It's a red-headed woodpecker," said Mr. Fennis, when he finally saw it.

Then Baartock got an idea.  He knew just what to show. He started up the hill along the stream bed.

"We shouldn't go too far.  We have to be able to hear when they call."

"Can hear.  Not far," said Baartock as he kept scrambling up the hill. This was something that no amount of noise could scare away.

"Please slow down," asked Mr. Fennis after a few minutes. He wasn't used to racing up hills, and he was getting hot.

"Not far," repeated Baartock, but he did slow down to let Mr. Fennis catch up.

At one time there must have been a lot of water coming down from a spring, because the stream bed was wide in some places and deep in others as it cut a path down the hill. But now it was dry most of the time, except when it rained, when the water would come churning down the hill, bubbling past the rocks and washing the leaves down hill. Then after the rain ended, it would stop flowing, just leaving pools to dry up in the sunlight.

Mr. Fennis caught up with Baartock at a bend in the stream bed, just where it went around a clump of trees. Baartock just pointed up the hill.

"Mine," he said.

Mr. Fennis stopped to see what he was pointing at. Just a little way up the hill was a stone bridge over the stream bed.  Mr. Fennis stared at it.

The bridge looked just like a picture out of a story book. It was a low, wide, stone arch crossing over the stream.  Big, heavy stones made up the pillars on each end and the curved bottom of the bridge.  Lots of smaller flat stones filled in the walls, and some bigger ones topped off the walls.  There were trees and bushes going up to the bridge on either side.  Under the arch, there was the glitter of sunlight on a pool on the other side.  It was a very pretty sight, but Mr. Fennis couldn't think why anyone would build a bridge here, so far away from everything.

Baartock ran to the bridge and stood under it, and looked back at Mr. Fennis with a big grin.  "Mine," he said again.

Mr. Fennis hurried to the bridge too.  He had never seen a real stone bridge like this before.  "Baartock," he said, "you shouldn't stand under there.  It might not be safe."

"Not safe?" asked Baartock.

"One of those stones might fall down."

"Not fall down," said Baartock, not grinning any more. "I make.  Good bridge.  Trolls make good bridge.  I show you good bridge."

He came out from under the bridge, and went scrambling up the side of the stream bed.  Mr. Fennis looked for a better place to climb up, but finally climbed where Baartock had.  When he got up to the end of the bridge, Baartock was in the middle.  And he wasn't just standing there. He was jumping up and down.

"I make good bridge," he said again.  "Not fall down.

"Yes.  It's a good bridge," agreed Mr. Fennis.  He stopped watching Baartock and examined the bridge.  It did seem safe.  It really did look like someone had just built it.  The path on each side only went about ten feet into the woods and stopped.  There didn't seem to be any reason for anyone to build a bridge in the middle of the woods.  He didn't even consider what Baartock had said, that he had built it.

Baartock stood watching Mr. Fennis for a minute, then he had an idea. He went over and took his hand.  "Come," he said, leading him to the end of the path.  "I call.  You come cross bridge." Baartock ran back across the bridge and into the woods on the other side.

Mr. Fennis stood waiting for a minute, then he faintly heard Baartock call "Now!"  It sounded like he had run way off in the woods.  Not sure what the game was, Mr. Fennis walked back to the bridge and started to cross it.

Just then there was the most awful noise he had ever heard. He stopped to look around.  And Baartock came running and screaming up from under the bridge.  Mr. Fennis stood there for a moment with his mouth wide open, then he found himself running off the bridge, and running away into the woods.  He was quite a long way into the woods when he realized that the noise had been made by Baartock.  It had been terrifying.  He stopped beside a big tree and leaned on it while he caught his breath.  He wasn't used to running, or to being scared like that.  He was still standing there panting, when Baartock came walking up to him.  Mr. Fennis didn't know what to say.

"Good bridge," was what Baartock said, with a huge grin on his face. He had done it.  On his first day.  He really had scared someone.

Mr. Fennis stood, leaning up against the tree, and thought of some things he could say, but "Shouldn't we go back now?" was what he said.

With Baartock leading the way, they walked back toward the stream bed. Not far below the bridge there was a place where they could get down easily.  They were starting down when Baartock suddenly stopped.

"Mother call," he said and raced off down the hill.

Mr. Fennis hadn't heard anything, but he was too out of breath to call for Baartock to wait.  When he could have called, Baartock was out of sight, so he just slowly walked down the hill after him.  When he got to the clearing in front of the cave, Mrs. Jackson and Baartock's mother were coming out of the cave.

"We were starting to wonder where you were," said Mrs. Jackson.

"Baartock was showing me his bridge," said Mr. Fennis. "Though he told me he built it."

"Baartock good troll.  Build good bridge," said his mother.

"You mean he really did build it?"

"I'm sure he did," said Mrs. Jackson.  "I've been learning some amazing things about trolls, but we must be going now. It was very nice talking with you, Mrs. Slinurp. I'll see you both in the morning," she said, seeing Baartock come back out of the cave.  With Mr. Fennis following, she led the way back down the hill.

Baartock watched them leave and listened to them talk, or at least Mrs. Jackson.  "I could hear that scream all the way down here," she said. Then, "Well, he is a troll, you know."  He didn't hear anything else after that, and went in the cave to help his mother fix dinner.  He was very hungry.

When his father got home, Baartock had told him all about what had happen to him, including riding in the car and about the school.  His father hadn't said anything about that, but he didn't look too pleased. Then Baartock told about showing Mr. Fennis his bridge and about how he had scared him.  That had made his father laugh long and loud, and he'd patted Baartock on the head and told him what a good troll he was. After dinner, Baartock went to bed. Later, he heard his mother and father talking quietly, or at least quietly for trolls who were quite loud sometimes, but he was tired and happy and went back to sleep.




Chapter 6


The next morning, after his father had gone off, Baartock and his mother left the cave.  They went through the woods toward the old empty house, the one Mr. Fennis had called the 'old Howard house'.

They were crossing the stream bed when Baartock saw a muddy pool he could splash in.  He was just about to dive into it when his mother said "No!"  When he caught up with her all she said was "Not today." It was puzzling to him. She always let him get muddy.

When they got to the empty house, there was a car in the driveway, and Mrs. Jackson was standing beside it.

"Good morning," she said.  "Are you ready to go to school, Baartock?"

Baartock wasn't sure about that, so he didn't say anything. He had almost forgotten about school.  That was part of his first day, but not the important part.  He had forgotten about Mrs. Jackson saying she would see them in the morning.

Mrs. Jackson opened the car doors, and when Baartock and his mother got in, she showed them how to fasten their seat belts.  Mrs. Jackson explained that while she was a good driver, some other drivers weren't, and that they were probably safer wearing the seat belts.  His mother listened carefully to what Mrs. Jackson was saying.  She didn't seem to mind being in a car, until Mrs. Jackson started the engine.  Whinnurf Slinurp was a troll, so she wasn't about to get scared, but she did grip the edge of the seat very firmly.  When Mrs. Jackson asked if she was all right, she just closed her eyes tightly and said "Go."  But as they drove toward town, Baartock's mother finally opened her eyes to see where they were going.

This time Baartock watched out the window as they drove into town. There were lots of buildings like the old empty house that he knew. There were humans walking and lots of cars, and some big cars called trucks.  Some of them came right at them, but they always just missed Mrs. Jackson's car.

He was learning a lot about humans.  Mrs. Jackson had been talking almost all the time while she had been driving. He learned about streets, and blocks, which were between streets, and about houses and stores.  Only he hadn't seen a single bridge.  Suddenly he said, "School that way," and pointed.

"Yes, you're right, Baartock.  The school is that way. You certainly do know just where you are.  But we've got to go some place else first. We're almost there."

In just a few blocks, Mrs. Jackson turned the car into a driveway and parked in a space in front of a brick building.  She showed them how to unbuckle the seat belts.  Baartock practiced putting his on and taking it off, while she walked around to open the doors.  There was a sign on the front of the building, 'Public Health Services', but that didn't mean much to Baartock.  As they walked to the house, he asked about it.

"I'll tell you about it in just a minute," Mrs. Jackson said.

Baartock didn't know what a minute was, but he decided to wait and see what this house was.  And if there were any children here.  He had been thinking about Jason, and wanted to race him again.  He was sure that he could run faster, even though Jason was a little bigger.

Inside there was a woman at a desk, who looked up as they came in.  She seemed surprised when she looked up at Baartock's mother, but she didn't look scared.  "Nurse Dodge is expecting you, Mrs. Jackson," she said.  "You can go right in."

"Thank you," said Mrs. Jackson, and she led them down a hallway.  There were several doors, and she knocked on one and was opening it when a voice said, "Come in."

There were chairs and a desk in this room, as well as a woman dressed all in white clothes, who stood up and came around her desk as they went in. "Norma, thank you for seeing us so early," said Mrs. Jackson. "Mrs. Slinurp, this is Nurse Norma Dodge.  And this is Baartock."

"I'm glad to meet you," said Nurse Dodge in a cheerful voice.  "Please come in and sit down."  After she shut the door and went back behind her desk, she said, "I understand Baartock is to start going to our school."

Baartock didn't know anything about that, but his mother said, "Yes."

"Let me tell you about what I do here," said Nurse Dodge.

"I explained about medical records and shots," said Mrs. Jackson.

"I'm sure that you did, but I would like telling about it anyway," said Nurse Dodge.  To Baartock's mother she said, "I see most of the school children here and many of the adults too, and I try to keep them healthy.  I give the shots that will keep them from getting sick.  But I understand that Baartock has never been sick." "Yes," said his mother proudly.  "Baartock never sick. Little trolls never get sick.  Big trolls not get sick, too."

That wasn't really quite true.  Many young trolls get sore throats when they first start to practice their screaming.  That was because they would shriek instead of yelling or screaming.  Their mothers would make them gargle with warm salty water and that would usually make them better right away.  But other than that, young trolls never got colds or fevers or were ever sick.

"But if you never get sick," asked the nurse, "how do you know about being sick?"

"I see humans sick before," answered his mother.  "Not same for trolls. Maybe break arm, break leg same as humans. There are troll ways to fix trolls.  Trolls never get human sick."

Baartock didn't like to remember about breaking things. During the summer, when he was building his bridge, an arch stone had fallen on his hand and it broke two of his fingers.  It had really hurt.  His mother had put some salve on his fingers so they wouldn't hurt and would heal faster, then she had straightened them and wrapped them. When she unwrapped them two days later, they weren't broken any more, and he went back and finished his bridge.  But he remembered how much it hurt, and he was more careful after that.

He stopped listening to what the adults were saying. He was getting tired of just sitting.  There wasn't anything in the room to interest him, but there was an open door to another room, so he got up to look at it.

There wasn't much in that room either.  Just a little bed and a lot of little doors under a counter.  They were too small for an adult to go through, but he thought that he might fit through some of them.  He was just about to go look behind those doors when his mother said, "Baartock sit!"

Baartock went back and sat down and waited some more. He waited for what he thought was quite a long time.  The adults just kept talking. Talking about him.  He knew that they would keep on talking and then either he would have to do something now, or else he couldn't do something until he was bigger.  And he was right.  After all the talking, they agreed that he had to have a shot.  Nurse Dodge went in the other room and came back with a tiny bottle and something she called a 'needle'.  Baartock's mother did a lot of sewing, but this wasn't like any needle that Baartock had ever seen before.  She put something from the bottle into the needle, then came over to Baartock. He was watching her carefully.

"This may hurt a little, Baartock," she said.  "You might want to look over at your mother."  Then she wiped his arm with something that smelled awful and made his arm wet, and she stuck the needle in his arm.  It did hurt, a little like getting stuck by a thorn on a bush in the woods.  Then she pulled the needle out and said, "That wasn't too bad, was it?"

"Not hurt," said Baartock, though it did hurt some.

Nurse Dodge put the needle in a metal trash can and put the little bottle back in the other room.  Then she went back behind her desk and wrote something on a piece of paper.  "The school needs this to show that Baartock has had his required shots," she said, "and I'll keep a copy here."

"Well, Baartock," said Mrs. Jackson, "shall we go to school now?"

"Go see Mississtog-Buchnersklass?  Go see Jason?" asked Baartock.

"Yes.  We should hurry, so we'll be there before lunch."

They left the house and got back in the car.  Mrs. Jackson let Baartock put on his seat belt himself, but she checked to make sure it was fastened.




Chapter 7


They got out of the car after the short drive to the school.

"Go home now," Baartock's mother announced, and started walking down the sidewalk, leaving Baartock and Mrs. Jackson standing by the car.

"But," Mrs. Jackson called hurriedly, "I'll drive you home."

"No,"  was Whinnurf Slinurp's answer.  She didn't look back or even slow down, but walked off quickly toward home. She had had enough of humans and their strange ways for one day.

"How strange," Mrs. Jackson thought also.  "I certainly hope it wasn't something that I said.  I wonder if that's just the way trolls are?" They watched as Baartock's mother walking quickly down the sidewalk and around the corner of the school building and out of sight.

She said, "All right, Baartock, let's get into school. Before you go to your class, we have to stop by the office." The went in the front door and down the hall to the office. Baartock knew this room now.  It was near the front door and it was the only door with a big glass window in it.  All the doors either had no window at all or only a little one, up high, that he wasn't tall enough to look through.

"Mrs. Jackson, I'm glad you're here," Ms. Laurence said all in a rush. "There were some wasps in Mrs. Breckenridge's class and they couldn't get them out.  Some of the children got frightened.  She took her class out to the playground and Mr. Blevis is trying to get rid of the wasps."

"Good.  For a moment I thought that I was supposed to catch the wasps," Mrs. Jackson said laughing.  "I'm sure that Mr. Blevis can take care of it.  Would you get a new student kit for Baartock? There should still be some left in the supply room."

Ms. Laurence came out from behind her desk and went out the door.  Mrs. Jackson said, "She's getting some things you'll need for school; tablets of paper, scissors, crayons, and pencils.  When they're used up you can buy more from the school store.  Mrs. Stogbuchner can tell you about it."

Baartock was about to ask what Mrs. Jackson was talking about, because there were so many words she used that he didn't know. She had talked about stores when he was in her car. Mississtog-Buchnersklass had let him have some crayons to use, those little sticks that made wonderful, colorful marks on the paper.  He wanted to know if some of the other things were just as great as crayons, when Ms. Laurence came back in the office and gave him a box and some pads of paper.

"These are for you, Baartock," she said.

"You give me?" he asked.  He hadn't expected someone to give him anything.  He was embarrassed, because he didn't have anything to give her.

"Yes, I'm giving them to you.  These are yours."

"We usually say "thank you" when someone gives us something," said Mrs. Jackson.

"Thank you," said Baartock.  He thought about it and then decided that it was just the human way of giving things.

"You're welcome, Baartock," said Ms. Laurence, as she went back to her desk.

He opened the box and looked inside.  There were a lot of things in it. Most of them he didn't understand, but there was a box full of crayons, just like the ones he had used the day before.

"There's a place on the box for your name," said Mrs. Jackson.  "Why don't I write Baartock on this one, so that we'll know that it's yours. All the new students have a pencil box just like this.  We have to be able to tell them apart."  She got a pen from the counter and wrote 'BAARTOCK' in big letters on the top of the box.

Baartock looked at the marks she had made on it.  "This say my box?" he asked.

"Yes," said Mrs. Jackson.  "This word is 'Baartock'."

He looked at the marks some more, then got the pen from the counter. On one end of the box, he made another mark. It was a mark his mother had shown him how to make, his special mark.  He had practiced making it and put it on all his things.  He even had cut it into one of the stones of his bridge, working carefully, the way his father had shown him.

"This say my box, too," he said, holding it up for Mrs. Jackson to see. "Now I know my box."

What Mrs. Jackson saw was not a scribbled mark that she might have expected, but carefully printed letters.  They were letters of an alphabet she didn't recognize, but still clearly letters. It was just one more new thing that she now knew about trolls.  She already knew more about trolls than anyone else in town.  There were only three people who even knew that there were trolls.

"Good.  We all know that it's Baartock's pencil box. Now, it's almost lunch time," she said, looking up at the clock high up on the wall. "We'd better be getting you to your class, before they go to lunch without you.  Aren't you getting hungry?"

Baartock hadn't thought about food, until Mrs. Jackson mentioned it. Suddenly he was hungry, very hungry.  It had been a long time since his breakfast bowl of porridge and some left-over acorns and toadstools from dinner.

"Yes.  Hungry," he said.




Chapter 8


It wasn't quite time for lunch, when Mrs. Jackson and Baartock got to his classroom.  Mrs. Stogbuchner was in the back of the room, reading to the class from a big storybook. The children had gathered their chairs in a circle around her, and had been listening to the story, until Baartock came in.  Then there was a flurry of activity.  Jason jumped up and brought a chair over, right next to his, for Baartock to sit on.  Several of the children started talking and some more had to move their chairs around.  Jason had to ask Baartock where he had been and then started to tell him about the story they were listening to. It was a few minutes before the class was all settled again and ready to get back to the story.

The rest of the story didn't make much sense to Baartock, and he was tired of listening to grown-ups talk. He'd been listening to talking all morning.  He was hungry and wanted something to eat. Finally the story was over and Mrs. Stogbuchner had them put their chairs back at the tables and then line up to go to lunch.  As soon as they were waiting quietly, she opened the door and led her class down the hall to the cafeteria.  This was a big room that Baartock hadn't seen before. There were lots of tables and chairs and all along one side there were humans fixing food. The smell of food made him even hungrier.  Baartock wanted to rush over and get something, but he had to stay in line. He had time to look around.  He saw Mrs. Jackson talking to some other adults sitting at a table in the back of the room.

"All right, dear, here's your tray."

One of the women handed him a big flat thing.  Then Baartock saw that all the children in front of him were sliding their trays along, and adults were putting plates of food on the trays.  So he slid his along too.  One woman handed him a plate of food.  Another gave him a little dish with some yellow pieces that smelled a little like fruit. Jason stopped him and gave him a funny shaped box with something cold inside.

"If you don't want your milk, I'll drink it," he said grinning.

As they got to the end of the line, Baartock was just about to take his tray to a table just as everyone else had.

"Where's your lunch money, dear?" asked the woman at the end of the line.

"What's money?"

"Come on Baartock, give her your lunch money."  Jason reached over and gave the woman some metal pieces. Then Baartock remembered.  His mother had given him some metal pieces, telling him that humans used them.  He reached in his pocket and gave some of them to the woman.  He picked up his tray and followed Jason to a table.

"You're supposed to get a fork and spoon when you get your tray," Jason said, looking at Baartock's tray as he opened his milk carton.  "You can use my spoon."

He took the spoon from Jason, and started to eat.  The food was awful.

"What's this?" he asked Jason with his mouth full.  He pointed at the brown stuff on his plate.

"Meatloaf," Jason answered, putting another forkful in his mouth.

Baartock tried the white lumpy stuff that had something brown poured over it.  It tasted so bad that he wanted to spit it out, but he was so hungry that he swallowed it instead.  The slice of bread he recognized, and it wasn't too bad.  At least he could eat it, anyway.  He tried a little bit of the yellow fruit.  It tasted as though it had been soaking in honey, it was that sweet.  It didn't even really taste like fruit.  Baartock looked over across the table. Jason's plate was empty already.  He looked around the cafeteria. All the children were eating the food.  The others at their table were eating it.

"Don't you like it?" Jason asked.

Baartock couldn't think of anything to say.  It was that awful.  He just shook his head 'no'.  Didn't humans eat anything that he could eat?  He was still very hungry.

"If you're not going to eat it, can I have it?"  Jason was just about to take Baartock's plate, when he saw Mrs. Jackson walking right toward their table.  Instead, he said, "I'll meet you out on the playground," and picked up his tray and got up.  Baartock saw the empty trays were being taken over to a window in the wall, and were left there.  He was about to get up and follow Jason, when Mrs. Jackson called to him. "Baartock, did you give these to the cashier?"  She was holding the metal pieces he had given the woman.

He nodded.  "Mother give me."

"Well, you can't pay for your lunch with them," she told him.  "They're much too valuable.  These are gold coins."  She held out the smallest yellow metal one.  "This is worth more than the price of a whole year of school lunches.  Do your mother give you any other coins?"

He reached into his pocket and got out the rest of the coins and handed them to Mrs. Jackson.

"These are all old coins," she said, examining them. "Most of these coins are made of silver.  There isn't a new coin here." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a coin to show him.

"These are the new coins," she said, showing him the ones she had. "Yours might look the same, but they're much older and worth much more. I'll have to talk to your mother about these.  You really shouldn't bring something so valuable to school.  You might lose them."

Baartock didn't know what 'valuable' was, and was going to tell her that his mother had a jar full of these coins, but Mrs. Jackson noticed his plate still full of food.

"I thought you were hungry."    "Am hungry," he said, then pointed at the plate.  He remembered the word that meant just how awful the food was. "Terrible," he said.

"You don't like it?  I thought our lunch was pretty good today."

"Terrible," he said again.  "Can't eat."

Mrs. Jackson thought for a moment.  "There's no reason you can't bring your lunch to school, instead of buying it," she said. "and I want to talk to your mother about these coins.  I'll drive you home after school, so I can talk to her.  May I keep these coins to give back to her?"

"Yes," Baartock said

Mrs. Jackson walked away, thinking about how little she really knew about trolls.

Baartock got up from the table and took his tray over to the window in the wall.  Looking inside, he saw that there was someone to take the trays and wash the plates and forks and spoons.  Leaving his tray, he went out the door to the playground to find Jason.




Chapter 9


By the time Mrs. Stogbuchner came out to the playground to call her class, Baartock had almost forgotten how hungry he was. He had found Jason and they had raced four times, and Baartock had won three times. Then several other boys had joined in, and they'd played tag.  That was a whole new game for Baartock.  He liked being 'it', then he could do the chasing.  When he was 'not it', he could run faster than any of the other boys, so they didn't try to chase him at all.

They went back into the classroom, and all the children went to their seats and got out their pencil boxes. Baartock was horrified to discover that his pencil box was missing.  It wasn't on the table where he'd left it.  It wasn't in the drawer at his place at the table.  It was his brand-new pencil box and he hadn't even used the crayons yet, and now it was gone.  He didn't see it anywhere.

"Hello.  You must be Baartock."

He looked around to see an adult standing right behind him.

"I'm Mrs. Pangle, Timmy's mother."  She pointed at one of the boys at the next table.  "I come in two afternoons a week.  I'm the aide for this class."

Baartock might have asked what an 'aide' was, but he was worried about his pencil box.  "If you're looking for your box, I put it in your cubby."

"Where cubby?"  He didn't know that he had a cubby, but if that was where his box was, he wanted to find it.

"It's right over here."  Mrs. Pangle led him to the back of the room, and stopped near the door going outside. "Here you are," she said pointing.  "This is your cubby."

There, just as she had said, was his missing pencil box.  He picked it up and held it, almost afraid that he might lose it again.

"My cubby?" he asked.

"That's right.  See, right here, 'Baartock'."  At the top of his cubby was a little card with marks on it.  He thought they looked like the marks Mrs. Jackson had made on his pencil box.  He looked at his box. The marks were just the same.  "I fixed it for you while you were at lunch."

He remembered what Mrs. Jackson said that humans say when only one gives something.  "Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome, Baartock.  You shouldn't leave your things on the table, unless Mrs. Stogbuchner tells you to. It makes the room messy and you might lose something. Either put them in here, or in your drawer in the table."

He didn't to tell her that he wasn't going to lose his box again.  He held on to it tightly.    "And over here is where you can hang a coat," Mrs. Pangle said, pointing to some hooks in the wall. "This one is yours."

There were cards over each hook, and there was a mark on one that he recognized.  That must be his hook.

"You'd better get back to your seat now.  But I'll be here if you need help."

He went back to the table and found that someone had given him some sheets of paper with marks all over them. They didn't look like the ones he and Jason had used the crayons on before.  And they weren't.

"It's a writing worksheet," Jason said.  "You're supposed to make letters on the lines that look just like the ones they've made."

Baartock looked at the papers, then opened his box and got out his crayons.

"No, you're supposed to use your pencil," Jason said, seeing what Baartock was holding.

Baartock looked around and saw than none of them were using crayons. He had wanted to make colored marks, but they were all using long yellow sticks instead.  He hadn't used one of those before.  He put away his box of crayons, and got out his yellow stick.  He tried to use his the way all the children were, but it wouldn't make any marks on the paper.  The girl sitting across the table started giggling. She had been watching him.

"You have to sharpen it," she said.  "The pencil sharpener is on Mrs. Stogbuchner's desk."

Baartock got up and walked up to the desk.  He looked all over the desk, but he didn't see anything to sharpen the stick with. There wasn't a knife, or any kind of blade. Mississtog-Buchner was helping a girl at one table and Mississpangel was helping a boy in the back of the classroom.  He just stood there looking at the desk and waited.

"Yes, Baartock, what do you need?"  Mrs. Stogbuchner had finished with the girl and saw him just standing at her desk. Baartock wasn't sure just what to say, so he held up the pencil instead.

"Do you need some help with the pencil sharpener?" she asked.  Several children in the front of the class started snickering.  "All right, get back to your work," she said to them as she came over to help him.

"This is the pencil sharpener," she said, and taking the pencil from his hand, "and this is how to use it."  She put the pencil in a hole in a little box and started working the little crank on the side.  She pulled the pencil out of the box, and it had a point.  "That's how you do it.  You don't want to sharpen it too much, or you'd grind it all away.  Is that all you need?"

Baartock nodded and took the pencil from her and went back to his seat. The pencil now made marks on the paper, but they weren't pretty, like the marks the crayons made. Just little black lines.  He looked over at Jason.  He had already done two pages and was just starting on the third. The girl across the table was still working on the second page. Baartock hurried to catch up.  The marks weren't hard to make.  Some of them were very like the ones his mother had shown him.

He was working hard, and had just finished the first page, when the bell rang.  He started to jump up, but the table was in the way, and he fell over backwards.  The bell just went on ringing.

"Boys and girls.  Line up at the back door," Mrs. Stogbuchner called to the laughing children.  Mrs. Pangle rushed over to help Baartock up off the floor.  He wasn't hurt, only surprised. And the bell just kept on ringing.

"Children!" Mrs. Stogbuchner had to shout.  "Pay attention. This is a fire drill.  Just leave everything and line up.  Now!  Mrs. Pangle, is he all right?  Good.  Then will you lead the class out onto the playground?  Over by the fence.  I'll be right along."  She went over to turn off the lights and make sure that the door and windows were closed.

The children were still laughing as they went out the door. Baartock and Mrs. Stogbuchner were the last ones out.

"Are you all right, Baartock?  You didn't hurt yourself?" she asked.

"Not hurt," he said.  The bell was still ringing, even though all the children in the school seemed to be lined up in the playground.  "What you call this?"

"When the bell rings like that it is a fire alarm.  If someone discovers a fire, they sound that bell.  Then you are supposed to get out of the building as quickly and safely as possible.  You aren't supposed to run or fall down.  Then the firemen would come to put out the fire. It's called a fire drill."

It didn't seem like a fire drill to him.  "Where fire?" he asked. Right then the school bell finally stopped ringing.

"There wasn't a real fire," she answered.  "It's so you would know what to do if there were a real fire."

The whole thing seemed a little silly to Baartock.  He knew all about fire.  His mother cooked over a fire.  He had to help bring in kindling and small logs for the fire. There wasn't very much in the school to burn.  It wasn't much of a fire drill.  There wasn't any fire.

Mrs. Stogbuchner had walked over to the middle of the class and held up her hand.  When they were quiet she started talking.

"Children.  I'm very unhappy about what you did in there. What happened to Baartock could have been very serious.  He could have been hurt badly.  It wasn't funny. A fire alarm is very serious. Because you were laughing, you couldn't hear me, and I had to shout. When there's a fire alarm, I shouldn't have to shout, just as you shouldn't run.  We are going to have to practice this again."




Chapter 10


When the 'all clear' bell sounded, which was just one very short ring of the bell, Mrs. Pangle led the class back inside.  But they didn't stay inside for long.  As soon as they had finished the worksheets, Mrs. Stogbuchner stood at the front of the room and announced, "This is a fire drill. Everyone line up quickly at the back door."

They all lined up and practiced the fire drill, and because Bobby Miller was talking, they had to practice it another time.

This time, except for the noise the chairs made, scraping the floor as the children got up, there wasn't a sound in the classroom.  Mrs. Stogbuchner was finally satisfied.

"Now that's the way I want you to behave the next time we have a fire drill," she said.

The class had a very short recess, because they had taken so long practicing the fire drill.  They didn't get to play dodge ball, and they mostly sat around talking.  Except no-one would talk to Bobby Miller, and he sat by himself on a swing, not even swinging.

"What's dodge ball?" asked Baartock.  He wanted to know, even if they weren't going to do it.

"You've never played dodge ball?" Jason exclaimed. "It's sort-of like tag, except it takes a lot of kids.  Some kids make a circle and throw the ball at the kids in the middle.  And if they hit you, you're out. You're fast, so you should be good at it."

Jason's saying that made Baartock feel really good.  He had been unhappy ever since he had fallen over when the fire drill bell sounded. When he fell in the woods, there were always rocks or sharp sticks to land on and that hurt.  He hadn't hurt himself, but the floor was hard. He decided that he didn't like the school bell.  It always surprised him and made him jump.

When recess was over, they all went back into the classroom and Baartock finally got to use his crayons on the new worksheets. It didn't seem very long before Mrs. Jackson was at the door.

"Mrs. Stogbuchner, can I have Baartock now?" she asked.

"Baartock, would you please put away your things and go with Mrs. Jackson."

Jason helped him put his papers in the drawer of the table. But Baartock didn't put his pencil box in with them. He held on to it tightly as he and Mrs. Jackson walked out of the classroom.

"You're taking your pencil box home?" she asked.

"Show mother," was his answer.

"Just remember to bring it back tomorrow.  You'll be riding the school bus tomorrow, so I want you to meet your school bus driver."

They went out to the parking lot and there were a lot of yellow school busses waiting in a line.

"You'll be riding bus number 62," she said as they went down the sidewalk.  They stopped at one of the busses. "This is the bus you'll be riding.  See, number 62.  Mr. Barnes is the driver, and when you're on his bus, you have to sit quietly and do just what he tells you."

They walked over to the door of the bus and the man sitting inside pulled on a lever and the door opened.

"Hi," he said with a big grin.  "What can I do for you, Mrs. Jackson?"

"Mr. Barnes, this is Baartock."

"Hi Baartock.  Are you going to be on my bus?"

"Yes," Mrs. Jackson answered, before Baartock could say anything.  "I'm taking him home today, because I need to talk to his mother.  He'll be riding with you, starting tomorrow morning.  He'll be just down from where the Howards used to live."

"OK.  That would put you between Bobby Gill and Laura Robinson.  No problem."

"Thank you," said Mrs. Jackson.  Baartock hadn't seen Mr. Barnes give her anything, and he wondered why she said 'thank you'.

"I have to gather up a few things before I take you home," said Mrs. Jackson.  "Let's go back to the office."

"See you tomorrow," called Mr. Barnes, as they walked away. Baartock had wanted to stay and look at the school bus, but he followed her back inside the school.

"Please wait here," she said, when they were in the office, and she went behind the counter and into another room.  Ms. Laurence was busy at her desk.  He heard her say something, but she wasn't looking at him.

"What?" he asked.

"I'll be with you in a minute, Baartock," she said, looking over at him.  "I'm talking on the phone."

He watched her carefully.  She was sitting in a chair and she kept looking at some papers on the desk, and it seemed as though she was talking to the thing she was holding in her hand.

Baartock walked over to the door and looked out.  There wasn't anyone in the hall, and he could look out the open front doors at the line of school busses.

"Now, what can I do for you?" asked Ms. Laurence.

Baartock turned around.  Ms. Laurence was standing at the counter.  He was about to ask what a phone was, when the bell went off and Baartock jumped.  Ms. Laurence smiled at him.  "I used to hate that bell," she said, "but you do get used to it."

Suddenly, there was a lot of noise in the hall, and cries of 'No running!'  The hall was rapidly filling with talking, pushing, hurrying children.  Lots of them were bigger than Baartock.  Some were carrying books.  And all of them were trying to get out the front doors.

Mrs. Jackson came rushing out of the other room.  "I'll be right with you Baartock," she said as she hurried out of the office and down the hall to the front of the building. He could hear her voice calling, "No running, Carlos!" and "The bus won't leave without you, Helen."

Baartock watched some of the kids from his class go out the door.  Then there was Jason, going right past the office door.

"Hey Baartock!  You'll miss the bus!" he said as he kept hurrying down the hall.

"Bus tomorrow," Baartock said.  "Mrs. Jackson drive today."

"OK.  See you tomorrow," he yelled as he turned and ran out the door.

"Slow down, Jason," he heard Mrs. Jackson call.  Then he had to get out of the doorway, because several teachers were pushing past him to get into the office.  He went over to the bench and sat down to wait.

"Hello Baartock."  Mr. Fennis was standing just inside the doorway, with an arm-load of books and papers.  "How do you like school?"  He didn't wait for an answer, but went behind the counter, and started getting more papers out of a cubby.

In a little while, Mrs. Jackson came back into the office. "We'll be going in just a minute," she said, as she went back into the other room.  Baartock sat and watched the teachers and Mrs. Jackson wasn't gone very long this time. She came out with her briefcase in her hand.

"I'm ready to go now," she said.  They went out to the parking lot and got into her car.  She checked to make sure he had fastened his seat-belt properly, and then started the engine.

"Is there anything you'd like to see?" she asked, as she backed the car out of the parking place.

Baartock didn't have to think about it.  "Bridge," he said.

"Of course you'd want to see a bridge."  She had almost forgotten that he was a troll.  "We were almost there this morning."

"Where bridge?" Baartock asked excitedly.  He had decided there just weren't any bridges near-by.

"There's one right her in the middle of town.  It's a little ways past the clinic, on Main Street.  It's not too far.  Would you like to look at it?"

"Yes."  Then he remembered.  "Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome, Baartock."

They drove along Main Street, and he recognized the little house where they had been that morning and pointed to it.

"Yes," said Mrs. Jackson, "that's the clinic.  We're almost to the bridge now."

After a few more blocks, she turned a corner onto a side street and stopped the car.  "Well, we're here."

"Where bridge?" Baartock asked as he looked all around.

"It's right over there," she said pointing.  "Let's get out so you can look at it."

They got out of the car and walked across at the corner. Then Baartock saw the bridge.  It was a simple span going over a wide stream bed, but there wasn't very much water in the stream bed below. And the bridge was built of concrete, just like the culvert he'd hidden in on his first day.  Part of the town was on one side of the bridge, and there was more of the town on the other side.  The road crossed the bridge for cars and trucks, and busses.  And there was a sidewalk on the bridge for people to go across. He didn't know just what to say.  He was happy because there was a bridge, but it was a human-made bridge and nothing like as good as a troll-built bridge. He looked at it carefully.  After a while, he said, "Go home now." He'd found a bridge.




Chapter 11


Mrs. Jackson had a lot to talk about with his mother, when they got to his home.  They had talked all morning and now they were talking some more.  He had wanted to tell his father about the bridge, but he wasn't home yet.  So he had to sit and listen to Mrs. Jackson and his mother. When they started talking about lunch money, he remembered how very hungry he was, and went to get something to eat.  They were still talking about money when he finished eating. They agreed on a price and Mrs. Jackson got one of the small silver coins with some of her 'new' coins, and he could use some of those 'new' coins to buy milk and fruit at lunch time.  And he could bring his own lunch.  He was glad of that, because he didn't like the humans' food.  Then they talked about the school bus.  He wasn't very sure that he was going to like being on the school bus.  Mrs. Jackson had explained the 'Rules for Riding the School Bus', which was the name on a piece of paper she gave to his mother.  There were so many things he couldn't do on the bus.  One of the rules was 'No whistling'.  When he asked her what whistling was, she puckered up her mouth and made a strange sound. 'No bird noises', Baartock decided.

"Just behave like you did in my car today," she said, "and you won't have any problem.  You'll like Mr. Barnes."

Very early next morning, Baartock was standing by the side of the road when the yellow school bus drove up.  He was holding his pencil box and a bag with his lunch.  Mrs. Jackson had shown him a place that she thought would be a safe spot to stand and wait for the bus.  It wasn't right by the driveway to the 'old Howard house', but it wasn't right by the stream bed and the path he used to come down to the road, either.

The bus made a screeching noise as it came to a stop right in front of him.

"OK.  Come on up.  Thought I'd you'd be closer to the house," Mr. Barnes said in a loud voice, when he opened the bus door.  Then he shouted, "OK. New customer today.  Which seat can I sell him.  I think this one," he said, pointing at a seat for just one person right in the front of the bus. There was one very big boy sitting in the seat. "Gabe, you've been pretty good this week.  Find yourself a new seat."

"Aw, Mr. Barnes, do I have to?"

"Go on now.  Find a seat, before we're late getting to school."  Gabe gathered up his books and moved back to the middle of the bus and sat next to another big boy, and Baartock sat on the empty front seat. He looked around for the seat belt, as he started driving down the road.

"What's the matter?  Got ants in your pants?"  Mr. Barnes asked, when he saw Baartock squirming.

"No," Baartock said.  He didn't have ants anywhere.  He asked, "No seat belt?"  Mr. Barnes was using one.

"No," was the answer.  "They say that they're going to put seat belts in the all the busses.  Maybe by the time you're in high school.  You just stay in your seat, and I'll drive carefully."

The bus went on down the road, stopping to pick up children waiting by the road.  Soon there were a lot of kids on the bus.  Mr. Barnes kept talking to Baartock all the time he was driving.  In fact, he was talking to everyone on the bus, he was talking so loudly.  Much of what he said didn't make any sense to Baartock, but the kids laughed at some of the things he said.  Soon, Mr. Barnes turned the bus onto another road.

"School that way," Baartock said loudly, pointing down the other road. "Nice try, kid.  I know you're in a hurry to get to school, but we've got to go to the high school first."

"We can go to the grade school first!" came a shout from the back of the bus.

"The mall!  A field trip to the mall," someone else shouted.

"Some other day," Mr. Barnes shouted back.  They went on down this road for quite a while.  They went right past some children standing by the side of the road.

"They're waiting for a different bus," Mr. Barnes explained to Baartock.  "It'll be along soon."

Very soon after that, the bus pulled off the road into a parking lot, in front of a building much larger than the school Baartock was going to.  The parking lot was filled with cars, and humans were walking to the building.  There were six or seven big yellow school busses lined up in front of the building and lots of big kids were getting off.

"OK, high school, you students of higher education. Off!" called Mr. Barnes, as he pulled up really closely behind the last bus.  All the big kids got out of their seats and came up to the front of the bus to get off.  There were more busses lining up behind Mr. Barnes' bus, but they weren't letting anyone off.

There were still a lot of smaller children on the bus, when Mr. Barnes closed the door.

"Next stop, Marvis T. Johnson Elementary School," announced Mr. Barnes. But they didn't go anywhere.  They had to wait for the bus in front of them to pull off. Baartock could see inside the bus in front of them. The big kids were getting off very slowly.  The woman driving that bus seemed to be talking to each of them as they got off.

"She must have had some trouble with them," Mr. Barnes said. "We never have any trouble on this bus, do we?" he said very loudly.

"No!" several kids shouted back.

Most of the busses in the front of the school building had driven off.  Several more busses from behind them pulled around, and parked up ahead.  They waited a little longer, then finally the bus in front drove off.  And they drove off too.

They didn't go back the way they had come.  They turned onto another road, and drove for a long way, past a lot of houses, until they finally turned toward the school. Baartock asked Mr. Barnes why they were going such a long way.

"It's shorter this way," was his reply.  "I've been coming this way for years."

"No," said Baartock.  "Other way shorter.  We be school, go this far."

They drove for a little while longer, then they finally got to school. There were other busses lined up in front when Mr. Barnes stopped the bus and they got off.

"See you all this afternoon," Mr. Barnes said, as they were getting off.

This was the first time Baartock had gotten to school in the morning before it started.  No-one seemed to be going inside.  Jerry, a black-haired kid who had played tag, was getting off the next bus in front.  He saw Baartock and came running over.

"Want to go to the playground?" he asked.

They went around the building to the playground.  Jason was already there, and they raced a couple of times, then they went over and climbed on the jungle gym.  They were just sitting at the top when the bell rang.  A lot of the children ran to the building and went inside.

"That's only the first bell," said Jerry.  "We've got lots of time." So they sat for a while longer, until Jason started to get down.

"I'm going in," he said.  And all three of them went into the classroom, just as the bell rang again.




Chapter 12


School in the morning wasn't very different from school in the afternoon, Baartock decided.  There were some of the work-sheets that had to be colored, but these were of shapes of things and numbers. They got to work with a lot of pieces of paper with numbers on both sides that Jason said were called flash-cards.  He said that you were to add the numbers on the front of a flash card, and your answer was the same as the one on the back of the card.  The morning went by very quickly for Baartock.

Then, right before lunch time, Mrs. Stogbuchner read another story. This time, he understood most of the story. It was about a boy taking care of sheep, and when he got lonely, he would yell 'Wolf!' and all the villagers would come.  They got angry at the boy, when they didn't find a wolf.  But the boy got lonely and did it again, and the villagers got angry again.  Finally, when the wolf did come, and the boy yelled 'Wolf!' the villagers didn't come.

When Mrs. Stogbuchner finished reading the story, Baartock asked, "Why boy not scare wolf?"

"Well, wolves are big mean, animals," she said, "and the boy was probably scared of this wolf."

"Wolf scare easy," said Baartock.

"You'd just yell at it and it would run away," said one of the girls.

"Wolf scare easy," said Baartock again.  He'd never seen a wolf, because there weren't any around there.  But his father had talked about them.  They were just like foxes, only bigger.  Most of the animals in the woods were very scared of humans and of trolls, and would usually run way.  There were two foxes that lived near Baartock's home, and it had been very hard to watch them.  At first, they were very scared of him.  It had taken a lot of food, and many nights of quiet waiting, before the foxes would come near him.  Even now that they were used to him, if he made any sudden movement or loud noise, they would still run away.  Anyway, Baartock was sure that he could scare a wolf.

"You couldn't scare anything," said the girl.

Baartock was really insulted.  He was just about ready to do some scaring right then, when Mrs. Stogbuchner said, "All right, that's enough.  It's time to get ready for lunch."

Most of the children went to line up at the door and Baartock and a few children went over to their cubbies to get their lunches.  Then they went to line up also.  The girl was right in front of Baartock in the line.  She looked back at him and said, "You couldn't scare anything."

Baartock could see Mrs. Stogbuchner looking right at them, but he said very quietly, "Can scare you."

"Janice, Baartock, stop it right now.  That's enough," Mrs. Stogbuchner said, and the girl turned around.

The class went down the hall to the cafeteria and Baartock waited in lunch line to get a container of milk and an apple.  When he got to the end of the line, he held out some of the coins his mother had gotten from Mrs. Jackson, and the woman took two of them. He went over to the table where Jason was and sat down and started getting his lunch out. Janice had been waiting to see where he would sit, and she came over and sat at the same table.

"Baartock, you couldn't scare anything," she said. Baartock started to say something, but Mrs. Stogbuchner was standing near the table and she said something first.

"Janice.  I told you to stop it," she said.

"But he said," Janice started to say.

"He didn't say anything.  I've been standing right here. Now, just eat your lunch quietly, or I'll move you to another table."

"Yes, Mrs. Stogbuchner," Janice said, and Mrs. Stogbuchner walked off to another part of the cafeteria. Baartock had been listening, but he was hungry and had started eating his lunch.  His mother had packed a good lunch.

"Oh yuch!  What's that you're eating?" Janice shrieked. All the talking in the cafeteria stopped and Mrs. Jackson and Mrs. Stogbuchner came hurrying over to the table. Baartock looked over and saw she was pointing right at him.

"What are you eating?" she shrilled again.  Everybody in the cafeteria was looking at their table.

Baartock kept on chewing, but he opened up his sandwich to show her.

"Snake," he said, "very good."  On the slice of bread was a row of little green snakes.  Some were a little bigger than others and the heads and tails were hanging down over the edge of the bread. It had been a good summer and there were lots of snakes and lizards.

"That looks really good," said Jason.  "Can I have a bite?" Jason didn't really think it looked good, but he was enjoying teasing Janice.

"Oh!  Mrs. Stogbuchner, can I move?" Janice asked looking up at the teacher.

"I think you should," she answered, "and let Baartock eat his lunch in peace."  She picked up Janice's lunch tray and she and Janice went over to the other side of the cafeteria.  Mrs. Jackson walked off too, and everyone started eating their lunches and talking again.

After they were gone, Jason asked, "You really eat that?"

"Good," said Baartock.  "You try."  He held out his sandwich to Jason.

Jason took the sandwich, and looked at it as if it were going to eat him.  Then, carefully avoiding the snake heads, took a tiny bite and started chewing.  "It's ok," he said as he handed it back to Baartock, then he quickly took a drink of milk.

After finishing his lunch, Baartock took his lunch bag, which still had some acorns left in it, and he and Jason went out to the playground. They were standing near the door when Janice came out.

"You should have had some of Baartock's sandwich," Jason yelled to her. "It was really yummy."

Janice hurried off toward the swings and Jason and Baartock went over to the jungle gym and climbed to the top.

Soon, Mrs. Stogbuchner came out to get the class back inside.  The rest of the afternoon went by quickly.  There weren't any fire drills, and they got to play dodge ball at recess.  Baartock thought it was a fun game.  He liked being in the middle.  The children in the circle had to throw a big ball, and it was easy to keep away from it.  Even though Baartock wasn't the last one left inside the circle any of the times, he still had fun.

They went back to the classroom and did some more worksheets.  Baartock was surprised when Mrs. Stogbuchner said that it was time to put everything away.  "Now don't forget about show-and-tell on Monday," she said.

Baartock raised his hand, like he had seen the children do when they wanted to ask something.

"Yes, Baartock?"

"What showandtell?" he asked.

"You can bring in something to show the rest of the class and tell about it.  Something you like or you think is unusual.  I'm sure that you have something you would like to share with the class."

Baartock had an idea right away about something to bring, but he didn't say what it was.

"Now leave your tables straight and put your chairs in their places, then line up at the door."

There was a lot of rushing around and putting things away, and soon they were all lined up.

"All right.  I want you to have a nice weekend.  I'll see you on Monday,"  Mrs. Stogbuchner said just as the bell rang. Baartock didn't jump this time.  He had guessed that the bell was about to ring.  They hurried down the hall to get to the school busses.

"See you Monday," Jason called as he ran off to his bus. Baartock walked along the sidewalk until he came to bus 62.

"You were right," Mr. Barnes said as Baartock go on the bus. "The other road is shorter."  He kept on talking all the way to the high school.  He kept talking all the time until he stopped to let Baartock off the bus.  Baartock wasn't listening to him.  He was thinking about showandtell.




Chapter 13


Monday morning, Baartock was down by the side of the road, waiting anxiously for the school bus to arrive.  When he had asked his mother what 'weekend' and 'Monday' were, she had explained that many people didn't work everyday, and took two days every week to do other things. While trolls like to work everyday until the job is done and then rest; humans like to take little rests every week, she told him. He would have to wait two extra days, until Monday, for school and showandtell. She decided that he would need to know, so she taught him the human names for the days of the week.

There were dark clouds overhead when Baartock went down the hill to wait for the bus, but it wasn't raining yet.  It had gotten really cloudy the day before.  Baartock remembered the human name for that day was Sunday.  His father had said that they were going to have a lot of rain. Baartock liked it when there was a lot of rain, like there had been during the summer.  Then there were lots of pools and mud to go splashing in, and there was water running down hill under his bridge. He liked to hide under it then, because it was even more like a real troll bridge.

He was happy to see the school bus drive up.  He wanted to get to school for showandtell.  He climbed into the school bus and sat on the front seat.

"Hey, Baartock.  Do you know where the high school is? From right here?" Mr. Barnes asked, looking at him.

Baartock just pointed and said "That way."

Mr. Barnes stopped to think about it, then he said, "You're right.  How about to your school?"

Baartock pointed again, in a different direction. "You know, you're a regular little compass," Mr. Barnes said as he started to drive off.

Baartock didn't know what a compass was, but any troll could give directions.  It was easy.

They got to school earlier than they had on Friday, and Baartock went around to the playground.  Jason wasn't there, so Baartock went over to the swings to wait for him.  Soon both Jason and Jerry were coming around the corner of the school to the playground. They were talking about what they had done over the weekend.  Jerry said that he had been to see a movie.  That didn't sound very exciting to Baartock, though he wasn't sure what a 'movie' was. Jason seemed interested though and asked all about it.

Soon the first bell rang and Baartock went into the classroom.  He wanted to get ready for showandtell.  Mrs. Stogbuchner was at her desk and she called him over.

"I had a talk with Mrs. Jackson, and I think I should go talk to your mother," she said.  "Maybe you could bring something a little less trollish for lunch."

Baartock didn't understand what she wanted to talk to his mother about, but he said, "Mother home now."

"I can't go right now," said Mrs. Stogbuchner, "but maybe sometime later this week.  Did you bring something for show-and-tell?"

"Yes," said Baartock.

"Will you tell me what you brought?"

Baartock had wanted it to be a surprise, but he told her. Mrs. Stogbuchner listened carefully as Baartock explained.  Finally she asked, "Do you know how to use it?"

Baartock nodded.

Then she said, "I'll have to ask Mrs. Jackson if it's all right.  You put your things away and I'll go talk to her about it now."  She got up from her desk and went out the door.

All the children had come in when the second bell rang. Mrs. Stogbuchner came hurrying into the classroom.

"All right.  Take your seats and settle down," she said to the class. She came over to Baartock.  "Mrs. Jackson said that you could show it to the class, but it has to be outside on the playground. And she wants to be there."

The morning went by so slowly for Baartock.  He couldn't keep his thoughts on what they were doing.  He wanted it to be time for showandtell.  Finally, Mrs. Jackson came into the classroom.

"Class," Mrs. Stogbuchner said, "It's time for show-and-tell.  Baartock has brought something that I think you'll all want to see, but he will have to show you outside.  Since it looks like rain, I think he should be first.  Everybody please line up by the door and we'll go out and see what Baartock brought."

Mrs. Jackson came over to Baartock and said, "I've never seen this. Can you really make it work?"

Baartock nodded, and went over to his cubby to get his bag with his surprise for showandtell.

When they were all outside gathered around Mrs. Stogbuchner on part of the playground where there wasn't any grass, she said, "Baartock, show the class what you brought and tell them about it."

He came into the middle of the class.  "You show me fire drill," he said.  "But no fire.  I show you fire drill that make fire."  He held out a little bow, a straight stick, and two small blocks of wood.

"Will you show the class how it works?" asked Mrs. Jackson.

Baartock knelt down and put one of the blocks on the ground and put some tree bark next to it.  Then he put the straight stick in a small hole in that block, wrapped the bowstring around the stick, and holding the second block in his hand put it on top of the stick. Then he started to work the bow back and forth.

"This fire drill make fire," he said again.

"Does this really work?" somebody asked.

"We were supposed to learn how to use these in scouts," said Mrs. Stogbuchner, as Baartock worked the bow back and forth.  "But none of us could make them work."

Before she could say anything else, the bark that Baartock had put next to the block was starting to smoke. Then it was smoking a lot, and Baartock dropped the fire drill and picked up the bark and started to blow on it.  And it burst into flame.

He dropped the burning bark on the ground, and picked up the bow and stick.  "Fire drill," he said.

"But how does it work?" somebody wanted to know.

"Wood get hot.  Make fire," Baartock explained.  He held out the bottom wood block, which was still hot.  The class gathered in closely to feel how hot it was.  Mrs. Jackson was making sure that the burning bark was all put out.

Just then it started to rain, big heavy drops.

"Everybody back inside," called Mrs. Stogbuchner. "Don't line up.  Just get inside quickly."

Everybody ran for the classroom door.  Baartock quickly gathered up his fire drill and he and Mrs. Jackson hurried after the class.

When they were all settled in the classroom again, Mrs. Stogbuchner said, "Thank you Baartock, for showing us another kind of fire drill. Now, does anyone else have anything for show-and-tell?"




Chapter 14


It was raining harder than ever when they went to lunch. Looking out the classroom windows, Baartock couldn't see the trees or the houses across the wide grass strip next to the school.  He couldn't see the street.  He could just barely see the grass outside the window.  It was a blowing, dark gray rainstorm.  At times, the wind would blow the raindrops right at the windows.  Just a little while later, the rain was pouring straight down.  Everybody seemed to be thinking of other things.  Even Mrs. Stogbuchner kept losing her place in the story she was reading, whenever the rain would come crashing against the windows. Finally it was lunchtime.

Baartock bought milk in the lunch line, but the fruit they had were some long yellow things that he hadn't seen before, so he didn't get any.  When he sat at the table across from Jason, the red-haired boy asked, "Why do you call that a fire drill?" "Drill.  Make holes same way," Baartock answered, and made a back and forth motion with his hand.

"I guess you could get through wood.  But it must take a long time."

"Wood.  Stone too," replied Baartock.

"You can drill through stone like that?"

"Use many shafts," said Baartock, making an up and down motion, meaning the straight stick he had used.  "Make hole."

Jason was about to say something when there was a sudden flash of light and a tremendous thunderblast right outside the cafeteria.  The people sitting by the windows jumped up, and someone knocked a lunch tray onto the floor. One of the women who worked in the cafeteria brought over a mop to clean up the spilled food, and everybody who had been sitting next to the windows moved to different seats.  The rain was now squirting against the windows, and some water was coming in under the door to the playground.  The woman with the mop went over to clean that up too.

Everybody ate very quietly, as if they were waiting for the next thunderbolt to strike.  While they were eating a man came in with a mop and a bucket and some tools to try to stop the leak around the door. Baartock was watching the man working, when Jason said, "Let's go back to the classroom."

"Not go outside?" asked Baartock.

"They wouldn't let us.  Not in this much rain.  Who'd want to go out in this anyway?"

Baartock had been thinking about going out.  It was only rain. Instead, when he finished his lunch, he went with Jason back to the classroom.

Some others were already back in the classroom, in groups talking, or just staring out the windows at the rain. Mrs. Stogbuchner was sitting at her desk, with a lunch tray from the cafeteria, eating, when they got there.

"Mrs. Stogbuchner, can we get out the games?" asked Jason.

"All right.  But you'll have to put them away when lunch time is over."

"All right!" Jason whooped.  "Come on, Baartock."

"And please be quiet," she said, as she went back to her lunch.

"Yes, Mrs. Stogbuchner," Jason said.

They went into the back of the classroom, and near the cubbies was a shelf with some large flat boxes and some smaller ones.

"You want to play checkers?" asked Jason.

"Don't know checkers.  Show me," said Baartock.

They sat in the back of the classroom, and Jason taught him how to play checkers.  When some other children saw them playing, they got out other games, and soon there were lots of people playing all kinds of games.

It kept on raining very hard, and there were occasional lightning flashes and crashes of thunder.

Lunch time seemed to be going on longer than usual. Baartock had just lost another game of checkers, and he let Jerry play.  He didn't like checkers very much.  None of the other games seemed too interesting either, so he walked over and looked out the window at the rain.  He saw Ms. Laurence hurry in and go over to talk to Mrs. Stogbuchner.

"Children."  Ms. Laurence had hurried out again and Mrs. Stogbuchner was walking to the middle of the classroom. "Quiet please."

There was a lot of stirring around by the children to listen to her.

"They are going to close school early today, because of all this rain." She held up her hand for quiet.  Some children had started to cheer and talk as soon as they heard the news.

"They say that this could be a bad storm, and there could be some flooding.  Since so many of you live on small roads, they decided you should go home very soon.  They're trying to reach the bus drivers now. If it keeps raining like this, there might not be school tomorrow."

The children were still quiet, but they were all smiling and poking at each other.

"You may go on with your recess now, and I'll have you straighten up the games just before the busses get here. Now please be very quiet, while I go to the office."  She turned and went out the door.

Suddenly, none of the children were interested in the games. They all wanted to talk about getting out of school early, and no school tomorrow, and what they were going to do.  They started talking quietly, but soon the talk got louder.  Then, one of the boys threw a ball of paper at another boy.  There was a lot of loud talking, and throwing things, and running around, when Mrs. Stogbuchner came back into the room.

"Get in your seats!  Right now!"  She was standing just inside the door, glaring at the class.

The children hurried to their chairs and sat down.

"I told you to be quiet while I went to the office."

The children looked at each other, as if to find out who had been making all the noise. "Barbara, Norma, Robert, and Jason, go back and straighten up the games and put them away.  Do it quietly and quickly. Timmy, hand out these worksheets.  Since you don't want recess now, I have some other work you can do, until the busses get here."

Timmy walked around the room with the stack of papers she gave him, putting four worksheets on each table.

Mrs. Stogbuchner walked to the back of the classroom to watch the straightening up.  The room was very quiet, except for the noises from the back of the room.

Baartock started working, and soon Jason sat down and started working too.

Mrs. Stogbuchner walked around the room for a while, then she went over and stood in the doorway, looking down the hall.  Soon she said, "Put your things away now.  If you brought raincoats, or have anything else to take home, get it, then line up."

Baartock hadn't brought a raincoat, but he went to his cubby to get the fire drill and his lunchbag.  He decided to take his pencil box home, too.

The class was all lined up, waiting for the bell.  Mrs. Stogbuchner said, "If it keeps raining like this, watch the news on TV to see if we're having school tomorrow." Then the bell did ring, and they were all hurrying to get to the school busses.

"See you," called Jason, as they went down the hall. They got to the front door and the wind was blowing the rain right in at them.  The floor was wet and someone had put down rubber mats so they wouldn't slip or fall.

When they went outside, everybody ran to the busses. Baartock was soaked as he got on Mr. Barnes's bus, from just that short run.  There were lights on the front of each bus, and there were sticks wiping back and forth to get the rain off the front windows.  But Mr. Barnes still drove very slowly to the high school. He wasn't talking all the time, this afternoon.

When Baartock got off the bus, he ran to his path to get home.  The creekbed was filled with water rushing and splashing down hill.  There was a lot of water going through the culvert.  Baartock hurried up the hill, next to the stream.  He wanted to see what it was like at his bridge.




Chapter 15


It had rained all the rest of the day.  Baartock had a great time up at his bridge.  The water was racing under the bridge, making a wonderful gurgling sound.  It made hiding under the arch like being in one of the stories his father told.  The only thing missing was someone walking over the bridge.  He would come out from under the bridge screaming his loudest and run up the side of the stream bed. He could just see them running away.

Right then it really didn't matter that there wasn't anyone crossing his bridge.  Baartock now knew so many humans and so much about them, that was easy to pretend who was walking up to cross the bridge.  There was Mr. Fennis, of course.  He had run away so wonderfully.  Then there was Ms. Laurence.  Baartock could scare her easily.  He didn't pretend to scare Mrs. Jackson or Mrs. Stogbuchner. Somehow they didn't seem like people to scare.  But that girl in his class, Janice, Baartock scared her again and again.  And some of the other children in the class.  They were all so easy to scare.  He was having a great time.

He even pretended that Jason was helping him scare people. Not that Jason was anything like a troll, but Baartock liked him and he thought Jason would have fun scaring people.

After a while, when it started to get dark, Baartock went back home in the rain.  He was glad that his father had known it was going to rain. They had gathered in extra firewood.  Even though it wasn't cold, the fire warmed the cave and helped him to dry off.

Though it had been raining all day, his mother had fixed an extra good meal.  Baartock really liked the cricket and green bean salad.  Later they all sat around the fire and his mother patched his pants and sewed on the new winter coat she was making, and his father told stories.  He stayed up late, and it was still raining hard when he finally went to bed.

The next morning it was still raining, and his mother told him to go wait for the bus, but if it didn't come when it should, to come back home.  And his father surprised him by saying he would be staying home if it kept on raining. The room he was working on in the cavern would probably be flooded, and he wouldn't be able to work.

So, while it was still raining quite hard, Baartock went down to stand by the side of the road and wait for the school bus. Actually, he wasn't waiting right beside the road in the rain, but back a little way, under some trees that still had lots of leaves. He thought he could see the bus in time to come out and catch it.  He waited and waited, but he didn't see a bus or a car or anything coming down the road.  He went over to look at the culvert.  Rain water was coming roaring down the stream bed right at the culvert, but there was so much that it couldn't all get through.  There were branches and rocks that had come down with the water that were blocking the opening.  It was beginning to make a pool on that side of the road.  On the other side, it was shooting out of the culvert, but it was beginning to make a pool there too.

When Baartock felt he had waited long enough, he went back home.  His father was carving out some extra shelves in the kitchen. He went to watch his father work, and started handing him tools. They worked most of the morning.  His mother came back home and saw the mess they were making, and started making some sandwiches.  They all finished about the same time, and his mother chased them both out of the cave so she could clean up.  There were rock chips all over the kitchen.

Then Baartock and his father went up and sat under his bridge and ate their sandwiches.  For a while, his father told stories, about when he had been a young troll, before he'd earned his name.  Then they looked at some places that Baartock had had trouble with building his bridge. They stood in the stream and the pouring rain, and his father showed him some better ways to do the stone-work.  They even took a few of the stones out, and his father worked on them, then they put them back. Baartock was much happier about the way the bridge looked now.  Then his father showed him places where the water might weaken the bridge if they weren't fixed, not today, but later when the rain stopped and the water went down.

While they were working the rain eased up as if it were going to stop, then it started coming down again as hard as before. They had quite a busy afternoon, and his father said that it was time to go home, even if there was still a mess in the kitchen for them to clean up.

It rained all the next day, too.  Not as hard as before, just a steady rain that went on and on.  Baartock went down in the morning to see if the bus would come, but it didn't.  He waited a long time, playing beside the stream, but nothing came along the road.

The culvert that he had hidden in was completely blocked now, with branches and rocks.  The water had made a big pool, and it was flowing over the road.  He went up the hill a little way and sat there, dropping small branches into the stream, and watching them float down, across the pool and across the road.

After a while, he went back home.  It was such fun to splash his way up the stream.  He got thoroughly soaked. When he got home and dry, he helped his father make one of the closets larger.  His father chipped and dug at the rock wall, and Baartock swept and picked-up, and carried all of the trash outside in a bucket.  They worked most of the afternoon.  Dinner was a simple meal.  It had been too wet to go get anything, so it was mostly left-overs.

The rain stopped just after dinnertime, and Baartock went out to look around.  It was getting dark, but he walked up to his bridge.  He was worried about the spots his father had pointed out. When he got there, his bridge was all right.  An opossum was hiding under the arch, trying to stay dry, and it growled at him.  It wanted to be left alone and Baartock was able to see what he wanted to, without chasing it off.

Going home in the dark, he slipped and fell into the stream a couple of times.  He was glad to sit by the fire and get dry, now that he knew that his bridge was safe.

The nest morning it wasn't raining, though there were still a lot of clouds overhead.  But they were blowing away, and it might be sunny later.  Baartock walked down to wait for the bus.  He went down the path beside the stream.  Even though the rain had stopped the night before, the stream was just as full as it had been when it was raining. It was still rushing and splashing its way down the hill.

Baartock couldn't get all the way to the road.  The water had risen even higher.  It wasn't a pool, it was a lake.  The road was completely under water.  It was almost as deep as he was tall. During the night, two of the trees beside the stream had fallen over, and were lying across the road.  The holes, where the roots had been were filled with water.  And there was still more water coming down the stream.  He walked along the edge of water for a long way. Finally, near the driveway to the 'old Howard house', there was no more water covering the road.

Baartock played by the side of this new lake for a while, skipping stones.  When he grew tired of that, he went up the driveway, and home. He left his lunch bag, and went up to check on his bridge again.  The opossum was gone, but there was still too much water for him to work on his bridge, and he went back home.

His father had decided that he couldn't go to work again, so he was sleeping late.  His mother was busy in the kitchen, so Baartock got out his pencil box and some worksheets he had brought home from school and sat near the mouth of the cave and did them again.




Chapter 16


The sun started to come through the clouds, and Baartock moved his stool outside the cave.  He was just about to get back to work, when he heard someone coming up the hill.  He put his pencil box and worksheets on the stool and went inside to tell his mother. They were just coming out of the cave when Mrs. Jackson and Mrs. Stogbuchner came into the clearing.

"Hello, Mrs. Slinurp.  Hello, Baartock," called Mrs. Jackson.  To Baartock's mother, she said, "This is Baartock's teacher, Mrs. Stogbuchner."

"I'm pleased to meet you," said Mrs. Stogbuchner.  "I told Baartock that I wanted to meet you this week."

No-one asked if Baartock had remembered to tell his mother, but the way she looked at him said that he had forgotten.

"I hope we're not coming at a bad time," Mrs. Jackson said. "No," said his mother.  "You want to talk?"

"Baartock, I see you've been doing some school work.  I think that's a very good," said Mrs. Stogbuchner, looking at the worksheets.  Then she followed his mother and Mrs. Jackson into the cave.

Baartock thought about checking his bridge again, but it was nearly lunch time, and after lunch maybe his father could help him work on it. So he sat back down in the sun, and kept working on the papers.  He could hear the adults' voices, but he couldn't hear what they were saying.

After a while he decided he was hungry and went to look for his lunch bag.  He remembered putting it in the kitchen, so he went to get it. The adults were still talking, and he didn't think they had even noticed him, until Mrs. Jackson said, "Baartock, something happened to the bridge we looked at."

Suddenly, there was a booming voice, coming from the back of the cave. "What happen bridge?"  Baartock's father was awake, and coming out of the bedroom.  The word 'bridge' would wake most trolls from a sound sleep.

Meeting just one adult troll for the first time had been a surprise for Mrs. Stogbuchner, and even Mrs. Jackson hadn't met his father.  And Baartock's father was bigger and angrier looking than most trolls, even though he wasn't any meaner than Baartock's mother. But they didn't know whether to stay or run.  Before they could decide, Baartock's father was in the living room saying, "What happen bridge?" again.

His mother saw just how scared the humans were, and said, "Wait.  She tell."

"There was just too much water," began Mrs. Jackson, not sure what he wanted to know.  "It collapsed.  It fell down.  There's no more bridge in town."

Baartock had told his father about the bridge, of course. And what he had thought of a human-built bridge. He wasn't really surprised that it had fallen down.

"Where bridge?" asked his father.

Baartock was just about to tell him, when Mrs. Jackson asked, "You want to see the bridge?"

"You show me bridge," replied his father.  "You show me bridge now?"

Just as suddenly as his father had appeared, they were going out of the cave.  Baartock grabbed his lunch bag and followed them out.  They went down the hill toward the 'old Howard house'.

"We'll have to go the long way around," said Mrs. Jackson. "Your road is flooded too."

That didn't matter to his father and they kept walking down the hill. When they got to the car, there was a problem trying to figure out where they were all to sit. Mrs. Jackson had to slide the front seat up, so the three trolls could sit in the back.  If they hadn't been trolls, they wouldn't have been able to squeeze in.  But trolls can bend to fit into tight places.  Soon they were all inside and Mrs. Jackson was driving.

Baartock opened his lunch bag to get something to eat. His father had some too, but his mother said she wasn't hungry.  Neither Mrs. Jackson or Mrs. Stogbuchner wanted any either.

Riding in a car for the first time didn't seem to bother Baartock's father.  Maybe it was because he was going to see the bridge, or maybe it just didn't bother him.

They did have to go the long way around, but eventually they got to where the bridge had been.  There were lots of kids standing around and some adults too.  There were big orange painted barrels blocking the road, so people wouldn't drive their cars too close. Mrs. Jackson had to park her car down the block.  They got out of the car and went over to look.  Baartock thought he saw Jason, but he wasn't sure. Besides, seeing the bridge was more important, right then.

The water hadn't really gotten that high, though the stream was moving very quickly.  It was easy to see what had happened.  The water had washed away the dirt around the supports, and then the supports had started to move, and the span had fallen down.  It was lying, broken and twisted, in the rushing water.

Baartock's mother was interested, but she could see what she wanted from where she was standing.  Baartock and his father walked right to the edge to examine the wreckage.

"Don't get so close to the edge!" a man in uniform shouted at them.  He started to come over to tell them to move back.

"I look at bridge," Baartock's father growled at the man.

"Yes sir," said the man, backing away.  Most of the other humans nearby backed away also.

His father looked at the way the bridge had been built from where he was standing, then suddenly, he jumped into the stream.

"Hey!  Help him!  Get a rope, somebody!" the man in uniform was shouting.  He came rushing to the edge to find Baartock's father standing, quite calmly, waist deep in the rushing water, examining where the supports had been.

"Hey! Catch this," the man shouted, starting to throw the rope.

"Stop!"  Baartock's mother had come over.  "He working. You stop or he get angry."

"But he's going to . . ." the man started to say, looking up at her.

"You stop," his mother said again.

"Yes ma'am," the man said, and he took the rope and went back where he had been standing.  He just stood there watching, and not knowing what to do.

Mrs. Jackson went over to talk to him.  Soon the man walked over to his car and got out a blanket and gave it to Mrs. Jackson.

When he had seen enough, Baartock's father climbed up on the broken bridge span and calmly stepped up onto the road.  Several people in the crowd cheered when he came up, but he didn't seem to notice.

"Where she?" he asked.

Baartock pointed out Mrs. Jackson, still standing next to the man in uniform.  They all walked over to her.  Mrs. Jackson handed him the blanket, and he used it to dry off.

"Can fix," his father said.  "Build right this time. Not fall down again."

"You can build a new bridge?" asked Mrs. Jackson.

Baartock thought that was a silly question.  He had been sure that he could have built a better bridge, and he wasn't even old enough to have a name.   "Hey!  Baartock!" came a shout from the crowd.  Jason was standing there waving at him.

Baartock waved back.  The adults were talking about things that didn't seem to have anything to do with building bridges, so he went over to talk to Jason.

"Isn't this really something.  Are those your folks? Everybody was sure surprised when your dad jumped in like that," Jason just went on in a rush.  "Your dad knows about bridges?"

"Can build better bridge," Baartock answered.

Soon, Baartock's mother called him over and they got back in the car and went home.




Chapter 17


The next day was Friday, but there wasn't any school. Mrs. Stogbuchner had said that a lot of the roads were under water, just like the road near Baartock's home.  But even though there wasn't any school, the next morning Baartock was going to town.

Early in the morning, his father got him up, and they had something to eat.  Baartock got the big lunch bag and his father picked up his bag of tools and they left and walked down to the 'old Howard house' and waited.  The sun wasn't up very high when Mrs. Jackson came driving up the hill.

"Good morning," she called, as she stopped the car.

"Go bridge now," said his father.

Mrs. Jackson had decided that was just the way trolls were. With bridges, they were all business.

"Good morning," said Baartock.  He thought any morning he could go help work on a bridge was a good morning.

They got into the car.  Baartock sat in the front and put on the seat belt.  His father stretched out along the back seat.  He wasn't squeezed into the back, like he had been the day before.  They still had to drive the long way around, but it wasn't too long before Mrs. Jackson was parking the car.

There wasn't a crowd at the bridge, it was too early in the morning. The man in uniform was there again.  He didn't say anything to Baartock's father, but he did wave to Mrs. Jackson, and she waved back.

His father didn't want to waste any time getting started replacing the old bridge.  As soon as they got there, he climbed out of the car and carrying his bag of tools, went to the edge of the road.  He jumped down into the water, and Baartock started handing him hammers and chisels, as he called for them.  He would dry and put away the ones that his father was finished with and threw back to him.

While they were working, people came to watch, but the man in uniform kept them back.  Jason came down too, but the man wouldn't let him come over.

At lunch time, his father climbed back up and dried himself off with the blanket, and they sat under a tree to eat.  Baartock was hungry, but his father ate four sandwiches to his one.  Lunch was quickly over, and they were ready to go back to work.

This time, after his father jumped down, he told Baartock to hand him the bag of tools.  Then he walked carefully through the rushing stream, across the wrecked bridge to the other side and tossed the bag up on the road. Then he came back and told Baartock to climb onto his shoulders.  He crossed the stream again, and Baartock scrambled up the other side.  Then just as before, he handed down tools or put them away.

During the afternoon, a man came to talk to Baartock's father. He was on the other side, and Baartock couldn't hear what they were talking about.  After a while, the man left and his father came back to work.

"Stone," his father said.  That was enough. Baartock knew they had been talking about how much stone would be needed to rebuild the bridge. His father was going to rebuild the bridge the right way, the troll way, with stone and not concrete.

It wasn't dark when Baartock was carried back across the stream.  They were finished for the day.

The next day, Mrs. Jackson couldn't come to get them. When they got down to the house, Mr. Fennis was waiting for them.  He didn't say a word, but he stared at Baartock's father.  He looked as if his eyes were going to pop out.

There were a few people already there, when they got to the bridge. And the man in uniform was there too.

The water had gone down a lot, and they worked on something new.  This time, they didn't work where the supports had been, but spent the day breaking up the old bridge.  Some pieces his father piled up, to keep the stream from washing away his new supports.  The rest of the pieces he tossed up to Baartock, who piled them beside the road. It was a long hard day, and Baartock fell asleep in the car on the way home.

The next day, both of Baartock's parents went off with Mrs. Jackson to look at the stone they were going to build with.  Baartock didn't go along.  He wanted to work on his bridge.  Now that the stream had gone down, he could fix it the way he wanted to.  It was fun, but now that he was working on a real bridge, his own seemed very small.

He went to school the next morning, but after school, instead of riding home on Mr. Barnes' bus, he went to help his parents work on the new bridge.  He spent the rest of the afternoon helping pile up the broken pieces of the old bridge.

For the rest of that week and for several weeks after, Baartock spent his days in school and his afternoons and weekends working on the bridge.  For a while, trucks came, bringing blocks of stone, and big timbers they would use for supports, building the bridge.  They brought enough stone to make a hill of stone, until his father said that was enough.

In those weeks, the crowd that came to watch the bridge being built grew bigger, and there were more men in uniform to keep them back.  The pile of stone got smaller and the bridge got closer to being finished. Somehow, word had gotten out that trolls were building a bridge.  A lot of people didn't believe it, and others didn't care.  Other people heard that a man, a woman, and a boy were building a bridge by themselves, and came to watch.  A few people tried to push their way past the men in uniform to talk to Baartock's parents while they were working.

Then one afternoon, right after lunch, Mrs. Jackson came to get Baartock from class.  He was surprised when she said that they were going to the bridge.  He usually didn't go until school was over.  As they went out to the parking lot, they went past several school busses parked in front of the school.  He thought one of the busses was Mr. Barnes's, but they didn't go to it.  They went to her car and drove to the bridge.

When they got there, there was a big crowd just standing around one end of the bridge.  Baartock's parents were standing in the middle of the bridge, but they weren't working.  Baartock looked at the bridge.  It looked finished, but as he walked over, he saw that there was one block missing from one side, and that block was lying on the sidewalk.

He walked over to his parents to find out why they hadn't finished the bridge.  His mother just said, "wait," and kept watching Mrs. Jackson. Soon the school busses drove up and a lot of kids got out. There was all of Mrs. Stogbuchner's class, and a lot of other kids besides. They came over to the bridge, but they didn't come across it, they just stood there with the rest of the crowd.  They were all talking quietly, and watching Baartock and his parents.  After a while a man got up on a little wooden platform and started talking.  He talked for a long time, but Baartock wasn't listening to him.  He had gotten an idea.  A wonderful idea.

Baartock's mother had been watching the man on the platform.  When he finished taking, she said, "Put stone in."

Baartock went over and picked up the last stone to put in the wall.  He slid it into place, and the crowd started to cheer.  When he stepped back, he saw the writing on the block.  It was his special mark, and the letters 'BAARTOCK'S BRIDGE'.

The crowd kept on cheering, and Baartock felt embarrassed. Then he looked at his father.  And his father looked at him.  His father must have had the same idea, for suddenly they both started yelling at the top of their lungs, screaming, bellowing as loud as they could, as they ran at the crowd standing at the end of the bridge.

At the first sound, the crowd was frozen in place, and as Baartock and his father kept yelling and running at them, the crowd turned and ran away from the bridge as fast as they could.  All the humans kept on running until they were out of sight. Baartock and his father stopped at the end of the bridge and they turned and walked back, laughing, to his mother in the middle of the bridge.  She looked at them.

"Good bridge," she said.  "Good troll bridge."

<eob>

Somebody's Little Girl

By

Martha Young



If I were just to tell the things that Bessie Bell remembered I should tell you some very strange things.  Bessie Bell did not know whether she remembered them, or just knew them, or whether they just grew, those strange things in some strange country that never was anywhere in the world; for when Bessie Bell tried to tell about those strange things great grown wise people said: "No, no, Bessie Bell, there is nothing in the world like that."

So Bessie Bell just remembered and wondered.

She remembered how somewhere, sometime, there was a window where you could look out and see everything green, little and green, and always changing and moving, away, away -- beyond everything little, and green, and moving all the time.  But great grown wise folks said: "No, there is no window in all the world like that."

And once when some one gave Bessie Bell a little round red apple she caught her breath very quickly and her little heart jumped and then thumped very loudly (that is the way it seemed to her) and she remembered: Little apple trees all just alike, and little apple trees in rows all just alike on top of those and again on top of those until they came to a great row of big round red apples on top of all.

Rut great grown people said: "No, no, Bessie Bell, there are no apple trees in all the world like that."

And one time Bessie Bell was at a pretty house and somebody sat her on a little low chair and said: "Keep still, Bessie Bell."

She kept still so long that at last she began to be afraid to move at all, and she got afraid even to crook up her little finger for fear it would pop off loud, -- she had kept still so long that all her round little fingers and her round little legs felt so stiff.

Then one, great grown person said: "She seems a very quiet child." And the other said: "She is a very quiet child -- sometimes."

But just then Bessie Bell turned her head, and though her round little neck felt stiff it did not pop! -- and she saw -- something in a corner that was blue, green, and brown, and soft, and she forgot how afraid to move she was, and she forgot how stiff she thought she was, and she forgot how still she was told to be, and she jumped up and ran to the corner and cried out: "Pretty! Pretty! Pretty!"

One grown person took up the Thing that was blue, and green, and brown, and soft, and waved it to and fro, to and fro in front of Bessie Bell.

And Bessie Bell clapped her hands, and jumped for joy, and laughed, and cried: "Boo! boo! boo!"

And Bessie Bell ran right into the Thing that was blue, and green, and brown, and soft, and she threw out her round little arms and clasped them about the Thing that was blue, and green, and brown, and soft!

And she pulled it over her face, and she laughed and cried for joy -- because she remembered -- 

But the great grown person who had brought Bessie Bell to the pretty house said: "Oh, Bessie Bell! Why, Bessie Bell!  For shame, Bessie Bell!  How could you do so to the beautiful peacock-feather-fly-brush!"

So Bessie Bell could only cry -- and that very softly -- and feel ashamed as she was bid, and forget what it was that she remembered.

Bessie Bell might have remembered one time when a great house was all desolate, and when nobody or nothing at all breathed in the whole great big house, but one little tiny girl and one great big white cat, with just one black spot on its tail.

The nurse that always had played so nicely with the tiny little girl was lying with her cheek in her hand over yonder.

The Grandmother who had always talked so much to the tiny little girl was not talking any more.

The tiny little girl was so sick that she only just could breathe quickly, just so -- and just so -- .

If Bessie Bell could remember that, it was only that she remembered the big white cat like a big soft dream.  And she might have remembered how, now and then, the big cat put out a paw and touched the little girl's cheek, like a soft white dream-touch.

And that little girl had on a night-gown that was long, and soft, and white, and on that little white night-gown was worked, oh so carefully, in linen thread: "Bessie Bell."

Then the few people who walked about the world in Fever-time came in to that big house, and they took up that little tiny girl that breathed so softly and so quickly -- just so!

And they read on her little white night-gown the words written with the linen thread: "Bessie Bell."

And they said: "Let us take this little girl with us."

They put a big soft white blanket around the little girl and walked out of the big house with her, someone carrying her in strong arms.

And the big white cat got down off the big white bed and rubbed himself against the bedpost, and went round and round the bed-post, and rubbed himself round and round the bed-post.

And the tiny little girl never saw the big house, or the big soft white cat any more.

And now when it happened that she remembered something, great grown people said: "No, no, Bessie Bell, there is nothing in the world like that."

So she just wondered and remembered, and almost forgot what it was that she did remember.

* * * * * *


Sister Mary Felice had all the little tiny girls playing in the sand: that was the place that was meant for the little girls to play in.

All the little girls had on blue checked aprons.  All the aprons had straps and buttons behind.

For just one hour every day all the little tiny girls played in the sand, and while they played Sister Mary Felice sat on a willow-wrought bench and watched them play.

Then when that hour was exactly passed Sister Angela always came with a basket of netted canes, an Indian basket, on her arm.  In the Indian basket were little cakes -- such nice little cakes -- always they had caraway seeds in them.

One day Sister Mary Felice said: "Sister Angela, did Sister Ignatius put too many caraway seeds in the cakes this time?"

Sister Angela said: "I think not, Sister Mary Felice.  Will you try one?"

Sister Mary Felice said: "I thank you, Sister Angela."

Then Sister Mary Felice took one to try.

Then always Sister Angela, with the Indian basket on her arm, took all the little girls to the long back gallery that was latticed in.

On a low shelf close against the lattice sat a row of white basins.

Then all the little tiny girls washed their little tiny hands in the white basins.  And while they washed their little tiny hands by twos and by threes together, two little girls washing their hands in one basin together, three little girls washing their hands together, they all oftentimes laughed together and said:

"Wash together! And be friends forever! Wash together! And be friends forever!"

Then Sister Angela held a long pink checked towel in her hands while the little tiny girls came as their tiny hands were washed and wiped them on the pink checked towel.

Then if two little girls took hold of the pink checked towel at once they both laughed and sang:

"Don't wipe together, Or we'll fight Before night."

And the other little girls that were still washing their hands in the white basins on the low shelf by the back-gallery lattice sang over and over again:

"Wash together! We'll wash together! And we'll be happy forever!"

When all the pink clean tiny hands were wiped dry, or as nearly dry as little girls do wipe tiny pink hands, on the pink checked towel held for them by Sister Angela, then Sister Angela hung the pink checked towel on the lowest limb of the arbor-vita tree.  Then the little girls all ran to sit down in a row on the lowest step of the back gallery, with their little feet on the gravel below.  Sister Angela walked the length of the row, and gave to each little girl in the row a sweet tiny cake, or maybe Sister Angela walked twice down the row and gave to each little girl two cakes, or sometimes maybe she walked three times down the row, and then each little girl had three cakes; but no one little girl ever had more than every other little girl.

Always Sister Angela sat a little way off from the row of the little girls.  She always sat on a bench under the great magnolia-tree and watched the tiny girls as they ate their tiny cakes.

And always the pink checked towel waved itself ever so softly to and fro on the lowest limb of the arbor-vitae-tree, for that was the way that pink checked towels did to help to dry themselves after helping to dry so many little pink fingers.  Often, so often, little brown sparrows came hopping to the gravel to pick up any tiny crumbs of cake that the little girls dropped, but you may be sure that they did not drop so very many, many little brown crumbs for little brown birds to find.

But if they were dropped, even if by rare chance were the crumbs so large as to be nearly as large as half of a cake -- why then, that crumb had to stay for those little birds.  It was the law! The law that the little girls had made for themselves, and nobody but themselves knew about that law -- for the good of the birds.  But no little girl cared to disobey that law of their own that nobody but themselves knew about, for if one had -- how dreadful it would have been -- no little girl would have played with her until -- oh, so long, so long -- until she might at last have been forgiven!

So all the little brown crumbs that the tiny little girls did drop, why the tiny little brown birds did pick up, -- and they never said whether they liked caraway seeds or not!

* * * * * *


One day when the tiny little girls were all in a row eating cakes, Sister Angela, sitting on a bench under the magnolia, said quite suddenly: "Good morning!"

She rose up from her seat under the great magnolia.

Then the little brown birds fluttered up from the gravel.

Then all the little girls looked up.

There stood two pretty grown-up people.

And these two grown-up people had no soft white around their faces like the soft white around the face that Sister Angela wore, and they had no black veils, soft and long like the black veil that Sister Angela wore. And they had no little white crosses like the small white cross that Sister Angela wore on the breast of her soft black dress.

One of the pretty-grown up folks looked at one of the little tiny girls and said: "And what is her name?"

Sister Angela said: "Bessie Bell was written on her little white night-gown, done in linen thread."

And Sister Angela said: "Yes, we have always kept the little white night-gown."

And one of the pretty grown-up people said: "Yes, that was right. Always to keep the little white night-gown."

And the other grown-up person said: "And how comes that to be all that you know?"

Sister Angela said: "Because of the fever."

And the pretty one said: "The dreadful fever!"

Sister Angela said: "Yes.  The dreadful fever.  It often leaves none in a house, and even sometimes none in a whole neighborhood to tell the story."

If, as Sister Angela and the pretty grown person talked, there came to Bessie Bell any thought of a great silent house, and a big white cat, with just one bit of black spot on its tail, why if such a thought came to Bessie Bell it came only to float away, away like white thistle seed -- drifting away as dreams drift.

When the two pretty grown ones had gone away, then Sister Angela had nodded her head at the row of little girls, so that they might know that they might go on eating their cakes, for of course the little girls knew that they must hold their cakes in their hands and wait, and not eat, when Sister Angela had shaken her head gently at them while she talked to the two pretty ones.  The little brown birds seemed to know, too, that they could come back to the gravel to look for crumbs again.

Then, as the little girls were again eating their cakes, one little girl said: "Sister Angela, were they Sisters?"

Sister Angela said: "No, they are not Sisters."

Then another little girl asked: "Sister Angela, what were they, then?"

Sister Angela said: "They are only just ladies."

Then always after that Bessie Bell and the other little girls were glad when Only-Just-Ladies came to see them.

The sun shone nearly always, or it seemed to the little girls that it nearly always shone, out in that large garden where they could play the hour in the sand, and where they could spend one hour eating their cakes with their feet on the gravel, and where they could walk behind Sister Justina on all the shell-bordered walks around the beds (but they must not step on the beds) -- just one hour.  If a rain came it always did surprise them: those little girls were always surprised when it rained!  and they did not know exactly what to do when it rained, though they knew almost always what to do when the sun shone.  One day when it rained it happened that the little girls were all left over the one hour in the long room where all the rows and rows of the little arm-chairs sat, and where all the little girls learned to Count, and to say Their Prayers, and to Tell the Time, and to sing "Angels Bright," and to know the A B C blocks.  Sister Theckla, who always stayed the one hour in that room, had gone to say to the Sisters that the one hour was over, and that it was raining, and what must the little girls do now?

While Sister Theckla was gone, all the little girls went to the windows, and all the tiny girls looked at the rain coming down, coming down in drops, so many drops; and so fast the drops came that they seemed to come in long strings of drops straight from the sky.

Then one little girl laughed and began to beat on the window by which she stood, to beat all over it as far as her little damp pink fingers could reach, and to say:

"Rain! Rain! Go to Spain! Rain! Rain! Go to Spain! Rain! Rain! Go to Spain!"

And all the little girls thought that was so beautiful that they began to beat all over the windows, too, just as high and just as far as their little damp pink fingers could reach, and to sing as loud and as gaily as they could sing:

"Rain! Rain! Go to Spain!"

Sister Theckla and Sister Angela came to the door of the room, -- and they were so astonished that they could only look at one another and say to one another: "What do they mean?  Where did they learn that?"

And the little girl who had taught the other little girls that much of the song remembered some more; and so she beat louder than ever on the window pane and said:

"Rain, rain, rain, Go away! And come another day!"

All the little girls laughed more than ever and sang louder than ever:

"Rain, rain, rain, Go away! Come again another day!"

Then Sister Angela looked at Sister Theckla and said: "Where did the child learn that, do you suppose?"

And Sister Theckla said: "She is older than the others.  She must have learned it at home!"

And Sister Angela and Sister Theckla came into the room and they said: "See, now, what you have done to the windows!"

Sure enough, when the little girls looked at the windows the glass was all dim and blurred with little damp finger-prints!

* * * * * *


It was one day as the sun shone as it did shine most days, that the same little girl who knew how to sing that song when it rained was running on the shell-bordered walk, holding Bessie Bell's hand and running, when her little foot tripped up against Bessie Bell's foot, -- and over Bessie Bell rolled on the walk with the shell border.

Then Bessie Bell cried and cried.

And Sister Mary Felice said: "Bessie Bell, where are you hurt?"

Bessie Bell did not know where she was hurt: she only knew that she was so sorry to have been so happy to be running, and then to roll so suddenly on the walk.

Then the little girl said: "She isn't hurt at all.  She is just crying."

Sister Mary Felice said: "But you threw her down.  You must tell her you are sorry."

Then the little girl said: "But I didn't mean to throw her down."

"But," Sister Mary Felice said, "you did trip her up, and you must beg her pardon."

Then Sister Theckla came to take all the little girls to the room where so many chairs sat in so many rows, and she too said: "Yes, you must beg her pardon."

Bessie Bell was listening so that she had almost stopped crying, but now when Sister Story Felice and Sister Theckla both said to the little girl, "Yes, you must beg pardon," then the little girl began to cry, too.

Then Bessie Bell grew so sorry again, she hardly knew why, or for what, that she began to cry again.

So then both Sisters said again: "Yes, you should beg pardon."

But the little girl still cried, and said, "But I didn't mean to trip her."  Then she shook her head at Bessie Bell and said -- because she just had to say it:

"I beg your pardon! Grant me grace! I hope the cat will scratch your face!"

Oh! Sister Mary Felice looked at Sister Theckla, and Sister Theckla looked at Sister Mary Felice -- and they both said: "Where did she learn that?"

But Bessie Bell knew that the little girl did not mean to throw her down, so she said, "No, you didn't mean to do it."

She had thought she ought to say that, and she had been getting ready to say that before the little girl had been made to beg her pardon, and now that she had gotten ready she said: "No, you didn't mean to do it."

Then the little girl stopped crying, too, and ran and caught Bessie Bell's hand again and said to her again:

"I beg your pardon! Grant me grace! I hope the cat won't scratch your face!"

So they went skipping down the walk together just as they had gone before.  Then Sister Mary Felice and Sister Theckla both said: "Well! Well!"

* * * * * *


One time it came about that Bessie Bell lay a long time in her little white crib-bed, and she did not know why, and she did not care much why.  She did not get up and play in the sand while Sister Mary Felice looked one hour at the little girls playing in the sand.

She scarcely wondered why she did not leave the crib-bed to sit on the long gallery-step in a row with all the other little girls, all with their feet on the gravel, and all eating the tiny cakes that Sister Ignatius made, while Sister Angela sat on the bench under the magnolia-tree and looked at the row of little girls.

If sometimes just at waking from fitful sleep in her crib-bed there came to her just a thought, or a remembrance, of a great big soft white cat that reached its paw out and softly touched her cheek, it came to her only like the touch of fancy in a big soft white dream.

Often Only-Just-Ladies came and talked over her little white crib with Sister Helen Vincula.

Bessie Bell's little fingers were no longer pink and round now; they lay just white, so white and small, on the white spread.  And Bessie Bell did not mind how quiet she was told to be, for she was too tired to want to make any noise at all.

One day it happened that an Only-Just-Lady came and said: "Sister Helen Vincula, I want to give you a ticket to carry you away to the high mountain, and I want you to go to stay a month in my house on the mountain, and I want you to carry this little sick girl with you.  And when you are there, Sister Helen Vincula, my bread-man will bring you bread, and my milk-man will bring you milk, and my market-man from the cove will bring you apples and eggs, and all the rest of the good things that come up the mountain from the warm caves."

"For," the Only-Just-Lady said, "I want this little sick girl to grow well again, and I want her little arms and legs and fingers to get round and pink again."

Bessie Bell thought that that was a very pretty tale that the Lady was telling, but she did not know or understand that that tale was about her.  Then the Only-Just-Lady said, "Sister Helen Vincula, it will do you good, too, as well as this little girl to stay in the high mountains."

Not until all of Bessie Bell's little blue checked aprons, and all of her little blue dresses, and all of her little white petticoats, and all of her little white night-gowns, and even the tiny old night-gown with the linen thread name worked on it, had been put with all the rest of her small belongings into the old trunk with brass tacks in the leather, the old, old trunk that had belonged to Sister Helen Vincula, did Bessie Bell know that it was herself, little Bessie Bell, who was going away Somewhere.

* * * * * *


It was a very strange new world to Bessie Bell, that new world up on the High Mountain.

She did not think the grand views off the edge of the high mountain so strange.  But she loved to look out on those views as she stood by Sister Helen Vincula on the gray cliff; Sister Helen Vincula holding her hand very fast while they both looked down into the valleys and coves.  As the shadows of evening crept up to the cliff whereon they stood, and as those shadows folded round and round the points and coves, those points and caves lying below and beyond fold over fold, everything grew purple and violet.

Everything grew so purple, and so violet, and so great, and so wide that it seemed sometimes to the little girl, standing on the cliff by Sister Helen Vincula, that she was looking right down into the heart of a violet as great, as wide -- as great, as wide -- as the whole world.

But this did not seem so strange to Bessie Bell, for she yet remembered that window out of which one could see just small, green, moving things, and of which great grown people had told her, "No, Bessie Bell, there is no such window in all the world."

So in her own way she thought that maybe after awhile that the big, big violet might drift away, away, and great grown people might say, "No, Bessie Bell, there never was a violet in all the world like that."

It was the people -- and all the people -- of that new world that seemed so strange to Bessie Bell.

There were children, and children in all the summer cabins on that high mountain.

And those children did not walk in rows.

And those children did not do things by one hours.

And those children did not wash their hands in little white basins sitting in rows on long back gallery benches.

It was strange to Bessie Bell that those children did not sit in rows to eat tiny cakes with caraway seeds in them while Sister Angela sat on the bench under the great magnolia-tree and looked at the row of little girls.

It was so very strange to Bessie Bell that these children wore all sorts of clothes -- all sorts! Not just blue dresses, and blue checked aprons.

And Bessie Bell knew, too, that those little girls in all sorts of clothes could not float away into that strange country of No-where and Never-was, where, too, the things that she remembered seemed to drift away -- and to so nearly get lost, living only in dimming memory.

These little girls in all sorts of clothes were real, and sure-enough, and nobody could ever say of them, "There are no such little girls in the world," because sometimes when Bessie Bell would get to thinking, and thinking about the strangeness of them, she would almost wonder if she did not just remember them.  When she would give one just a little pinch to see if that one was a real sure-enough little girl, why that little girl would say, "Don't." She would say "Don't!" just the same as a little girl in the row of little girls all with blue checked aprons would say "Don't," if you pinched one of them ever so little.

There were no Sisters on that high mountain.  Sister Helen Vincula was the only Sister there.  That seemed very strange to Bessie Bell.

One day the strangest thing of all so far happened.

One little girl called another little girl with whom she was playing, "Sister."

Bessie Bell laughed at that.

"Oh, she is not a Sister!" said Bessie Bell.

"Yes, she is; she is my sister!" said the little girl.

"No," said Bessie Bell, just as great grown people said to her when she remembered strange things, "No, there never was in the world a Sister like that!"

Then the smaller of the little girls who were playing together ran to the larger one, and caught hold of her hand, and they stood together in front of Bessie Bell -- they both had long black curls, but Bessie Bell had short golden curls -- and the smaller girl said: "Yes, she is my sister!"

And the larger girl said: "Yes, she is, too.  She is my-own-dear-sister!"

The smaller little girl shook her black curls and said: "She is my own-dear-owny-downy-dear-sister!"

In all of her life Bessie Bell had never heard anything like that.

And all the other little girls who were playing joined in and said: "Bessie Bell doesn't know what she is talking about.  Of course you are sisters.  Everybody knows you are sisters!"

Bessie Bell was distressed to be told that she did not know what she was talking about -- and she knew so much about Sisters.

So she began to cry, very softly.

Then she stopped crying long enough to say: "But I never saw Sisters like that before!"

Then she took up her crying again right where she left off.

Then a little boy -- but he seemed a very large boy to Bessie Bell with his long-striped-stocking-legs -- said to Bessie Bell: "No, Bessie Bell, they are not Sisters like Sister Helen Vincula and the Sisters that you know, but they are just what they say they are -- just own dear sisters."

Then came to Bessie Bell that knowledge that we are often times slow in getting: she knew all of a sudden -- that she did not know everything. She did not know all, even about Sisters.

Because, in all that she knew or remembered or wondered about, there was nothing at all about that strange thing that all the little children, but herself, knew so well about -- "Own-dear-sisters."

Another strange thing came into her mind, brought into her mind partly by her ears, but mostly by her eyes: There were not in this new world on the high mountain -- perhaps there were not after all so many anywhere as she had thought -- there were not so many Sisters like Sister Helen Vincula (for was not Sister Helen Vincula the only Sister she had seen on the mountain?).  There were not after all so many Sisters like Sister Angela; and Sister Mary Felice, who watched the little blue-checked-apron girls playing in the sand; and Sister Ignatius, who cooked the cakes with the caraway seeds in them; and Sister Theckla, who taught the little girls to Count and to Sing.

Why, the whole world, surely the up-on-the mountain-world, seemed full of Only-Just-Ladies.

Not just a Lady here and there, coming to visit with hats on, to talk a little to the Sisters, to look at the little girls with blue checked aprons on.  But here they were coming and going all the time, moving about, and living in the cabins, walking everywhere with or without hats on, standing on the gray cliffs, and looking down -- maybe into the heart of a worldwide violet there, off the edge of the cliff, such as Bessie Bell saw or fancied she saw.

So many Ladies.

Bessie Bell leaned against the little fluted post of the gallery to the cabin that she and Sister Helen Vincula lived in, and decided to herself that, strange as it was, yet was it true that the whole world was full of -- Ladies.

There were yet stranger things for Bessie Bell to learn.

She had not for long played with those many little girls in all sorts of clothes, and with larger girls, and with boys, -- some with short-striped-stocking-legs and some with long-striped-stocking-legs, -- before she heard one child say: "Mama says she will take me to Sweet Fern Cave to-morrow."

Or perhaps it was another child who said: "Mama won't let me wade in the branch."

Or another child said: "Mama says I can have a party for all the little girls and boys on the mountain next Friday!"

Then another little child said: "My Mama has made me a beautiful pink dress, and I will wear that to your party."

Mama?  My Mama?

Bessie Bell leaned against the little fluted post of the gallery to the cabin where she and Sister Helen Vincula lived, and thought a great deal about that.

And Bessie Bell wondered a great deal what that could mean: Mama?  My Mama?

There were strange new things in this world.

Bessie Bell almost forgot to remember now, because every day was so full of such strange new things to know.

Mama?  My Mama?

Bessie Bell did a great deal of thinking about that.

One day the little children were playing at building rock chimneys.

There was not much sand there for little children to play in, so that the children often built rock chimneys, and rock tables, and rock fences.

As they were playing one little girl suddenly left the playground and ran, calling: "Mama! Mama! Come here; come this way, and see the chimney we have built!"

Bessie Bell turned quickly from play and looked after the little girl who was running across the playground to where three ladies were standing.

The little girl caught the dress of one of the ladies, and came pulling at her dress and bringing her across the ground to see the stone chimney, and the little girl kept saying:

"Look, Mama! See, Mama! Isn't it a grand chimney? Won't it 'most hold smoke?"

Bessie Bell stood still with her little hands -- they were beginning to be round pink little hands again, now -- clasped in front of her and wondered.

"See, Mama! Look, Mama!" cried the little girl.

"Why does she say: Mama?" asked Bessie Bell, because she just wondered, and wondered -- and she did not know.

"Because it is her Mama," said a child who had just brought two more rocks to put on the chimney.

"Oh," said Bessie Bell.

That lady who was the little girl's Mama looked much as all the ladies looked.

"Are all Ladies Mamas?" asked Bessie Bell.

She hoped the child who had brought the two rocks would not laugh, for Bessie Bell knew she would cry if she did.

The little girl did not laugh at all.  She was trying so carefully to put the last rock on top of the stone chimney, she said: "No, Bessie Bell: some are Mamas, and some are only just Ladies."

There.  There it was again: Only-Just-Ladies.

Bessie Bell wondered how to tell which were Mamas, and which were Ladies -- just Ladies.

Very often after that day she watched those who passed the cabin where she and Sister Helen Vincula lived, and wondered which were Mamas -- 

And which were Ladies.

There was no rule of old or young by which Bessie Bell could tell.

Nor was it as one could tell Sisters from Just-Ladies by a way of dress.  For Sisters, like Sister Helen Vincula, wore a soft white around the face, and soft long black veils, and a small cross on the breast of the dress: so that even had any not known the difference one could easily have guessed.

But for Ladies and Mamas there were none of these differences.

But Bessie Bell looked and looked and wondered, but her eyes brought to her no way of knowing.

Bessie Bell could at length think of only one way to find out the difference, and that was to ask -- to let her ears help her eyes to bring to her some way of knowing.

One day, a dear old lady with white curls all around under her bonnet stopped near the playground and called Bessie Bell to her and gave her some chocolate candy, every piece of candy folded up in its own white paper.

Bessie Bell said: "Thank you, ma'am."

Then as the lady still stood by the playground Bessie Bell asked her: "Are you a Lady, ma'am?"

"I have been called so," said the lady, smiling down at Bessie Bell.

"Or are you a Mama?" asked Bessie Bell.

"Ah," said the lady; "I am a Mama, too, but all my little girls have grown up and left me."

Bessie Bell wondered how they could have done that, those little girls. But she saw, and was so glad to see, that this lady was very wise, and that she understood all the things that little girls wonder about.

But though there was a difference, a very great difference, between Mamas and Ladies it was very hard to tell -- unless you asked.

One day a large fat lady took Bessie Bell on her lap.  That was very strange to Bessie Bell -- to sit on top of anybody.

And the lady made a rabbit, and a pony, and a preacher, all out of a handkerchief and her nice fat fingers.  And then she made with the same handkerchief and fingers a Mama holding a Baby.

Then Bessie Bell looked up at her with her wondering eyes and asked: "Are you a Lady -- "

"Bless my soul!" cried the lady. "Do you hear this child?  And now, come to think of it, I don't know whether I am a lady or not -- "

And the lady laughed until Bessie Bell felt quite shaken up.

"Or are you a Mama?" asked Bessie Bell, when it seemed that the lady was about to stop laughing.

"So that is it?" asked the lady, and she seemed about to begin laughing again.

"Yes, I am a Mama, and I have three little girls about as funny as you are."

Another time a lady passed by the cabin where Bessie Bell stood leaning against the little fluted white post of the gallery, and said:

"Good morning, Bessie Bell.  I am Alice's Mama."

That made things so simple, thought Bessie Bell.  This lady was a Mama. And she was Alice's Mama.

Bessie Bell wished that all would tell in that nice way at once whether they were Mamas or Just-Ladies.

The next lady who passed by the cabin also stopped to talk to Bessie Bell.

And Bessie Bell asked: "Are you a Mama or Only-Just-A-Lady?"

"I am only just a lady," the lady said, patting Bessie Bell's little tiny hand.  And it was easy to see that, in Bessie Bell's mind, though Only-Just-Ladies were kind and sweet, Mamas were far greater and more important beings.

One night, when Sister Helen Vincula had put Bessie Bell to bed in the small bed that was not a crib-bed, though like that she had slept in before she had come to the high mountain, Bessie Bell still lay wide awake.

Her blue eyes were wide open and both of her pink little hands were above her head on the pillow.  She was thinking, and thinking, and she forgot that she was thinking her thinking aloud, and she said:

"Alice has a mama.  Robbie has a mama.  Katie has a mama.  Where is Bessie Bell's mama?  Never mind: Bessie Bell will find a mama."

Then Sister Helen Vincula, who was wide awake, too, said:

"Ah me, ah me."

Bessie Bell said: "Sister Helen Vincula, did you call me?"

Sister Helen Vincula said:

"No, child: go to sleep."

* * * * * *


The next day was the day for Sister Helen Vincula and Bessie Bell to leave the high, cool mountain.  They were to leave the little cabin where the lady had told them to live until they had gotten well again.

So when their leaving day came Sister Helen Vincula put a clean stiff-starched blue-checked apron on Bessie Bell, and they walked together to the Mall where the band was playing.

Bessie Bell was always so glad when Sister Helen Vincula took her to the Mall in the afternoon when the band played.

All the little children went every afternoon in their prettiest dresses to the Mall where the band played.

Because in the afternoon the band played just the sort of music that little girls liked to hear.

Every afternoon all the nurses came to the Mall and brought all the babies, and the nurses rolled the babies up and down the sawdust walks in the pretty baby-carriages, with nice white, and pink, and blue parasols over the babies' heads.

That afternoon Sister Helen Vincula stayed a long time with Bessie Bell, on the Mall, sitting by her on the stone bench and listening to the gay music, and looking at the children in their prettiest clothes, and at the nurses rolling the babies in the pretty carriages with the beautiful pink, and white, and blue parasols over the babies' heads.

Then Sister Helen Vincula said: "Bessie Bell, I am going across the long bridge to see some ladies and to tell them Good-bye, because we are going away tomorrow."

And Sister Helen Vincula said: "Now, will you stay right here on this stone bench till I come back for you?"

Bessie Bell said, "Yes, Sister Helen Vincula."

So Sister Helen Vincula went away across the long bridge to see the ladies and to tell them Good-bye.

Bessie Bell did not know much about going away, and she did not understand about it at all, so she did not care at all about it.

She just sat on the stone bench with her little pink hands folded on her blue checked apron, and looked at the children in their prettiest clothes, and at the babies, and at the parasols.

She loved so to look, and she loved so to listen to the pretty gay music that she did not notice that a lady had come to the stone bench, and had seated herself just where Sister Helen Vincula had sat before she went to see the ladies and to tell them Good-bye.

There were many other ladies on the Mall, and many ladies passed in their walk by the stone bench where Bessie Bell and the lady sat.

Everybody loved to come to the Mall in the afternoon when the band played. Everybody loved to hear the gay music.  Everybody loved to see the children in their prettiest clothes, and to see all the nurses rolling the babies in the carriages with the pretty parasols.

And one of the ladies passing by looked over to the stone bench where Bessie Bell sat with her hands folded on her blue checked apron, and where the lady had seated herself just as Sister Helen Vincula had sat before she went across the long bridge.

And the lady said, as she passed by and looked: "Striking likeness."

Another lady with her said: "Wonderful!"

And another one with them said: "Impossible! But strange indeed -- "

Bessie Bell did not notice what the ladies said, but because they looked so attentively to where she sat on the stone bench her attention was turned the way their eyes turned as they talked in low tones and looked attentively passing by.

So when they had passed by, Bessie Bell turned and looked to the other end of the bench where the lady sat.

Bessie Bell was so surprised at the first look that she hardly knew what to think.

The lady did not look like Sister Helen Vincula, oh, not at all; but the veil that she wore was soft and black like that that Sister Helen Vincula wore.  The dress that the lady wore was black also, but it looked as if it were stiff and very crisp, and not soft like the dress that Sister Helen Vincula wore.  Bessie Bell did not mean to be rude, but she reached out one tiny hand and took hold of the lady's dress, just a tiny pinch of it.

Yes, it was very crisp.

Then the lady turned and looked at Bessie Bell.

Then Bessie Bell was still more surprised, for there was something white under her veil.  Not white all round the face like that Sister Helen Vincula wore, but soft crinkly white just over the lady's soft yellow hair.

Also on the breast of her black dress was a cross, but not white like the cross that Sister Helen Vincula wore.  No, this cross was shining very brightly, and it was very golden in the sunlight, -- and -- somehow, somehow, -- Bessie Bell knew just how that cross felt, -- she knew without feeling it.  She did not have to feel it as she had felt the dress.

Bessie Bell looked and thought.  She thought this lady looked like a Sister -- and yet there was a difference.  She looked also like Just-A-Lady, and she also looked grand and important enough for a Mama.

Bessie Bell looked and thought, but she could not tell just exactly what this lady was.

It was best that she should ask, and then she would surely know.

So she asked: "Are you a Lady, ma'am?"

"I hope so, little girl," the lady said.

"I thought, maybe, you were a Sister," said Bessie Bell.

"No," said the lady.

"Like Sister Mary Felice, and Sister Angela, and Sister Helen Vincula," said Bessie Bell.

"No," said the lady.

"Are you a Mama, then?" asked Bessie Bell.

The lady looked as if she were going to cry.

But Bessie Bell could see nothing to cry about.  The band was still playing ever so gaily, and all the little children looked so beautiful and so happy, all playing and running hither and thither on the sawdust walks, that it was good just to look at them.

But on the instant Bessie Bell remembered how sorrowful it was to cry when you could not understand things, so she quickly reached out her little pink hand and laid it on the lady's hand -- just because she knew how sorrowful it felt to feel like crying and not to know.

"You see," said Bessie Bell gently, as she softly patted the lady's hand, "you see, you do look something like a Sister, -- but," said Bessie Bell, "I believe you do look more like a Mama."

"Little girl," said the lady, "what do you mean?"

And she still looked as if she might cry.

"Yes," said Bessie Bell, for she had begun to think very hard, "Alice has a mama.  Robbie has a mama.  Lucy has a mama.  Everybody has a mama.  Never mind, Bessie Bell will find a mama -- "

"Little girl," said the lady, "why do you say, Bessie Bell -- ?"

When the lady said that it seemed to Bessie Bell that she heard something sweet -- something away off beyond what the band was playing, so she just clapped her hands and laughed out loud, and said over and over as if it were a little song:

"Bessie Bell! Bessie, Bessie, Bessie Bell!"

But the lady at her side looked down at the child as if she were afraid.  Bessie Bell knew how sorrowful it was to be afraid, so she stopped patting her hands and laughing, -- for she didn't know why she had begun to do it -- and she laid her hand again on the lady's hand, just because she knew how sorrowful it was to be afraid.

But Bessie Bell could not see anything to be afraid of: the band was playing just as gaily as ever, and the children, and the nurses, and the babies, and the parasols were as gay as ever.

"Where is your mama?" asked the lady, taking fast hold of the little hand that patted her hand.

"Everybody has a mama -- never mind -- "

"But where is your mama?" asked the lady again.

Bessie Bell had begun to wonder and so had forgotten to answer.

"Child, where is your mama?" said the lady again, still holding fast to Bessie Bell's hand.

"But -- I don't know," said Bessie Bell.

Then the lady looked as if she had begun to wonder, too, and she seemed to be looking away off; away off, but how closely she held Bessie Bell's hand -- closer than Sister Angela, or Sister Theckla, or even Sister Helen Vincula, or Sister Justina -- 

Then Bessie Bell began to wonder still more, and to remember, as the lady held fast to her little fingers.  She began to talk her thinking out loud, and she said: "Yes, there was a window -- where everything was green, and, small, and moving -- but Sister Justina said there was not any window like that in the whole world -- "

The lady held Bessie Bell's hand very hard, and she said -- softly, as if she, too, was talking her thinking aloud:

"Yes, there was a window like that in the world, for just outside the nursery-window there grew a Pride of China Tree, and it filled all the window with small, green, moving leaves -- "

Then Bessie Bell just let the lady draw her up close, and she leaned up against the lady.

She felt so happy now, for she knew she had found the Wisest Woman in the world, for this lady knew the things that little girls only could remember.  If she had thought about it she would have told the lady about the tiny apple-trees with the very, very small apples on them, and other rows of apple-trees over those, and other rows on top of those, and on top of all a row of big round red apples.

Then the lady might have said: Yes, there were apple-trees like that in the world, for all the nursery walls were papered like that, with a row of big round red apples at the top.

But Bessie Bell did not think of or remember that then; she just leaned up against the lady and swung one of her little feet up and down, back and forth, as she sat on the stone bench: she was so happy to have met the Wisest Woman in the world.

The people who passed by looked, and turned to look again, at the little girl in the stiff-starched, faded blue checked apron leaning up against the lady in the crisp, dull silk.

But Bessie Bell did not look at anybody who passed.

And the lady did not look at anybody who passed.

And the band kept on playing gay music.

It was not very long before Sister Helen Vincula came back from seeing the ladies across the long bridge, and from telling them Good-bye.  As soon as she saw Bessie Bell leaning up against the lady she cried:

"Why, Bessie Bell!"

Bessie Bell said, "Sister Helen Vincula," and she knew she had done something wrong, but she could only wonder what.

But the lady said very quickly, -- and she held Bessie Bell's hand even harder than before, -- she said:

"Sister Helen Vincula, I must ask you something -- "

Sister Helen Vincula and the lady talked a long time.

Bessie Bell did not listen very much to what they said.

She did not lean up against the lady now, but she sat close.  Sister Helen Vincula did not seem to mind that.

She did not swing her foot to and fro now, but she still felt very contented and happy to have met the very Wisest Woman.

When she did listen a little she heard the lady say:

"There came news that my husband was ill in Mobile, and I feared that it was of the Dreadful Fever, and I hurried there so that I could get to him before the Dreadful Quarantines were put on.  I felt all safe about the baby, for I left her with my mother and the faithful nurse who had been my nurse, too.  But when the worst had come and was over, -- and it was the Dreadful Fever, -- then I tried to get back to my home; but I could not for many, many days, because the Dreadful Quarantines were on.  Then at last I did get there -- I slipped up secretly by water.  All were gone. I could find no one who could tell me anything.  I could find no one who knew anything.  The house was wide open.  There was no sign of life, but that the cat came and rubbed up against me, and walked round and round me.  The Dreadful Fever was everywhere, and nobody could tell me anything; and I searched everywhere, always and always alone -- there was no one to help me: everyone was trying to save from the Dreadful Fever -- "

Bessie Bell did not know what all that was about, but she felt so sorry for the lady that she squeezed down ever so softly on her hand that held her own still so tightly.

Sister Helen Vincula wiped her eyes.

The lady kept looking away off, but still held Bessie Bell's hand in hers.

Then Sister Helen Vincula said: "We are going away to-morrow."

But the lady held fast to Bessie Bell's hand and said: "Not this little girl."

"Oh," said Sister Helen Vincula, "but she is in my charge, and so what can I do!"

And the lady said: "I cannot let her leave me -- not ever."

But Sister Helen Vincula said: "Oh, madam, you do not know.  No matter what we hope, we do not know -- "

But the lady held still faster to Bessie Bell's hand.

"Oh," said Sister Helen Vincula, "I have a thought! Come to our cabin with me."

So they went.

And Bessie Bell walked between Sister Helen Vincula and the lady.

And they each held one of her little pink hands.

When they were at the cabin Sister Helen Vincula opened the old trunk with the brass tacks on it, and she went down to the very bottom of it, unpacking as she went.  For the old trunk was almost entirely packed for the going away to-morrow.  Then Sister Helen Vincula took out, from almost the bottom of the trunk, the little white night-gown that had "Bessie Bell" written on it with linen thread.

And Sister Helen Vincula laid the little white night-gown across the lady's lap.

Then the lady read the name written with the linen thread.

The lady said: "I worked this name with my own hands."

She drew Bessie Bell closer to her, and she said: "Sister Helen Vincula, can you doubt?"

Bessie Bell stood contentedly where the lady held her, and she looked first at the night-gown and then at the lady, then at Sister Helen Vincula.  She did not know or care what it was all about -- she scarcely wondered.

"Sister Helen Vincula," said the lady, "I know past all doubting that I worked this name.  You believe that.  Much more past all doubting do you not know -- You must know -- "

"Ah," said Sister Helen Vincula, "I hope with you." She reached for the little night-gown, and she smoothed it in her fingers.  "Ah," she said, "the child has grown since she has been with us, so much, but the little gown -- it looks -- really smaller to me -- "

But the lady was not listening to Sister Helen Vincula.  She had her arms about Bessie Bell's shoulders and was looking into her face.

"I am glad I brought the little gown," Sister Helen Vincula was saying; "the child was so ill, so fearfully thin, I feared -- it was only a fancy -- I feared -- "

"No, no, no," cried the lady, drawing Bessie Bell closer.

"Now nearly two years she has been with us," said Sister Helen Vincula.

"She was just old enough to be put to the table in a high chair," said the lady.  "Ah, how she did laugh and crow and jump when her father took the peacock-feather-fly-brush from the maid, and waved it in front of her!  She would seize the ends of the feathers, and laugh and crow louder than ever, and hide her laughing little face deep into the feathers -- Ah me -- "

But Bessie Bell said nothing, nor remembered anything.  For she did not know that the lady was talking of something green, and blue, and soft, and brown.

And it was Sister Justina, and not Sister Helen Vincula, who had told her to be ashamed when she had cried: Pretty! Pretty! Pretty!  as the something green, and blue, and soft, and brown was waved to and fro in front of her until she seized it and buried her little face in it for the joy -- of remembering -- 

So Sister Helen Vincula did not know, and Bessie Bell did not remember, while the lady talked.

Only long after, when Bessie Bell grew much larger, it happened that whenever she saw an old-fashioned peacock-feather-fly-brush -- at first, just for a second, she felt very glad; and then, just for a second, she felt very sorry; and she never knew or could remember why.  She forgot after awhile how she had been so full of sorrow when Sister Justina said, Be Ashamed, and she could no longer remember why she was glad; only a feeling of both was left -- and she could not tell how or why.

But the lady would not let Bessie Bell get far from her, and Bessie did not care to go far from her.  She stood with her little pink hands folded, and looked up at the lady who held to her so closely.

Sister Helen Vincula said: "It was Sister Theckla who spent that summer with the sick, and it was Sister Theckla who brought the child to us. Can you not go home with us?  Or I could write to you at once -- "

"No," said the lady. "I will go.  The child shall not leave me -- '

"And we will talk to Sister Theckla, and she will tell us all that she knows, and then -- God willing -- we shall know all."

The lady said: "Yes, we will all go together.  We will go at once."

And so it was that when Sister Theckla had told all that she knew, then the lady knew (as she always had said she had known), past all doubting, that Bessie Bell had really found what she most wished for.

But we do not know how long it was before Bessie Bell really understood that the Wisest Woman in the world, who knew what little girls had almost forgotten how to remember, was her own Mother.

* * * * * *

When all the people on the high, cool mountains heard about all that the lady knew, and all that Sister Theckla told, and all that Bessie Bell had found, they were all as glad as they could be.

And when the boy with the long-striped-stocking-legs heard all about it he said: "That is fine!  Bessie Bell said that she would find a Mama -- and she has!"

<eob>

The Bird-Woman Of The Lewis And Clark Expedition

By

Katherine Chandler



The Bird-Woman.

The Bird-Woman was an Indian. She showed the white men the way into the West. There were no roads to the West then. That was one hundred years ago. This Indian woman took the white men across streams. She took them over hills. She took them through bushes. She seemed to find her way as a bird does. The white men said, "She goes like a bird. We will call her the Bird-Woman." Her Indian name was Sacajawea.



Who The White Men Were.

The white men Sacajawea went with were soldiers. There were twenty-nine soldiers. There were two captains. The name of one captain was Lewis. The name of the other captain was Clark. They were American soldiers.

They carried the American flag into the West. No white men knew about that part of the West then. The captains wished to learn all about the West. They wished to tell the people in the East about it. They had been going West a long time before they met Sacajawea. They had rowed up the Missouri River. They had come to many little streams. They did not know what the Indians called these streams. So they gave them new names for the white men.


On Fourth of July they named one stream Fourth of July Creek. They named another Independence Creek. We still call this stream by that name. You can find it on the map of Kansas. On Fourth of July the men rested. The soldier who woke first fired a gun. Then they all woke up and cheered for the Fourth of July. At night they fired another gun. Then the soldiers danced around the camp fire. After a time the ice and snow would not let them go on. They made a winter camp near the Mandan Indians. Here they met Sacajawea and her husband. Her husband was a Frenchman who knew a little about the West. Sacajawea was the only one there who had been to the far West. Lewis and Clark told the Frenchman they would pay him to go with them. He said he would go. Then he and Sacajawea came to live at the soldiers' camp.



Why Sacajawea Went West.

Sacajawea belonged in the West. Her tribe was called the Snake Indians. They lived in the Rocky Mountains. Sacajawea lived in the Mountains until she was twelve years old. Then her tribe went to war with the Mandans from the East. One day Sacajawea and some other girls were getting roots. They were down by a stream. Some Mandans came upon them. The girls ran fast to get away.

Sacajawea ran into the stream. An Indian caught her. He took her up on his horse. He carried her away to the East, to the country of the Mandans. There she married the Frenchman. There the Americans found her. She was glad when her husband said he would go West with Lewis and Clark. She thought she would see her own tribe again.



At Fort Mandan.

The soldiers called their winter camp Fort Mandan.  They had a hard winter there. It was so cold that many men were ill. They had no time to be ill. They had to work to be ready to go West when Spring opened. The captains wrote in their books about the Indians and animals and plants they had seen. They made maps of the country they had come through. They had long talks with the Indian chiefs. They made friends with the Indians by giving them medicine. An Indian boy had his feet frozen near the soldiers' camp. The captains kept him until his feet were well again. His people all came and thanked the captains.

The Indians told each other about the white men's medicine. They said, "The white men's medicine is better than our sweat-house." So they came for miles to the white camp to get the medicine. They gave the captains food. They wanted to be friends with them.

The soldiers hunted animals for food and for their skins. One soldier cut an old stove into pieces. The Indians wanted these pieces to make arrows and knives. They would give eight gallons of corn for one piece. The Indians did not know what money was. The captains did not carry money with them. They took flags and medals, knives and blankets, looking-glasses and beads, and many other things. With these they could get food from the Indians. On Christmas Day, 1804, the soldiers put the American flag up over the fort. They told the Indians not to come to see them on that day. They said it was the best day of their year. It was a cold day, with much ice and snow. They had a good dinner and after dinner the soldiers danced. On New Year's Day, 1805, they fired off all their guns. The captains let the soldiers go to the Mandan camp. They took their fiddle and danced for the Indians. One soldier danced on his hands with his head down. The Indians liked this dancing very much. They gave the soldiers some corn and some skins.



The Black Man.

Captain Clark had his black man, York, with him. The Indians were always surprised to see the black man. They thought he was stranger than the white men. One Mandan chief said, "This is a white man painted black." He wet his finger and tried to wash the black off York's skin. The black would not come off. Then York took off his hat. The chief had not seen such hair before. Then the chief said, "You are not like a white man. You are a black man." The Indians told each other of this black man. They came from far to see him. York helped make them friends with the whites. The captains named a river for York. The river had only a little water in it. They named it York's Dry River.



Sacajawea's Baby.

At Fort Mandan, Sacajawea's baby boy was born. He was only eight weeks old when the white men began to go to the far West. Sacajawea made a basket of skins for her baby. She put it on her back. The baby could sleep in the basket as Sacajawea walked. The soldiers liked the baby. They gave it sugar. They made it playthings of wood. They danced to make it laugh. Indian babies do not laugh much and they do not cry much. Once in the West the baby was ill. Then the soldiers camped for some days. They were very still. Captain Lewis gave the baby medicine. This made the baby well again. Then the men laughed. They said, "Let us sing and dance for the baby." The baby laughed as it looked at the men.

The warm April sun broke up the ice in the Missouri River. Then the party got into their boats and rowed on up the river. From this time on, Sacajawea and her baby were a help to the soldiers. When the Indians saw a woman and a baby with the men, they knew it was not a war party. Indians would not take a woman and baby to war. Only men go to war. The Indians did not shoot at the men. They came up to see what they wanted. If Sacajawea had not been there, they would have shot the white men. The Indians thought that all strangers wanted war. They thought this until the strangers showed that they were friends.



Making Friends With The Indians.

Sacajawea showed the captains how to make friends with the Indians. The Indians on the upper Missouri River and in the Rocky Mountains showed that they wanted to be friends in the same way. When they saw strangers, they stood still and talked to each other. If they wished to be friends, the chief walked out ahead of his people. He took off his blanket. He took hold of it by two corners. He threw it up high. Then he put it on the ground. This showed that he was putting down a skin for a friend to sit on. He did this three times. Then the strangers came up to him. They sat down together. They took off their moccasins. This showed that they wished to be true friends. If they were not true friends, they would go barefooted all their days. They thought it hard to go barefooted. The ground was covered with prickly pears. The prickly pears would hurt their feet.

When the strangers had their moccasins off, they smoked some pipes together. Then they gave each other presents. Then they told each other why they had come together. Captain Lewis and Captain Clark always told the Indians:

"We have come from the Great Father in Washington. He sends you these presents. He wants you to be friends with the white men. He wants you to be friends with the other Indians. When you all are friends, the men can get many animals and the women can get many roots. The Great Father will send you out the white men's goods when you are all friends."

The Indians always said to Lewis and Clark:

"We are glad to hear from the Great Father in Washington. We like his presents. We shall be glad to get the white men's goods. We will be friends with all men with Indians and with white men."



Sacajawea Saves The Captains' Goods.

Going up the Missouri, the compass, the books, and the maps were in one canoe. The captains had the compass to find the West. One day a big wind hit this canoe and turned it nearly over. Sacajawea's husband was at the rudder. He was afraid and let go. The water came into the canoe. The maps and books came up to the top of the water. Sacajawea saw them going out into the river. She took the compass into her lap. She caught the books. She called to her husband. He took the rudder again. He straightened the boat again. Then Sacajawea caught the maps that were on top of the river.



Sacajawea's River.

As the maps and books were wet, the soldiers had to camp two days. They put the maps and the books and the compass in the sun. When these were dry, they went on again. Ten days after, they came to a river that no white man had seen before. Captain Lewis wrote in his book, "It is a handsome river about 50 yards wide." They did not know the Indian name for it. The captains were so glad Sacajawea had saved their things that they named it for her. They said, "We will call it the Sacajawea or Bird-Woman's River." This river is still running. Look on a map of Montana. Do you see a stream named "Crooked Creek?" That is the stream Lewis and Clark named Sacajawea's River. Which do you think is the prettier name? Which do you think we should call it?



The First Sight Of The Rocky Mountains.

Going up the Missouri, the party had to drink the river water. It was not good and it made them ill. The sand blew in their eyes. The mosquitoes bit them all the time. But still the soldiers were happy. They carried their goods in boats. They walked when they wished to. They hunted buffalo and elk on the plains near the river. They had all they wanted to eat. One day in May, Captain Lewis was out hunting. He went up a little hill. Then far off to the West he saw the Rocky Mountains high and steep. Captain Lewis was the first white man to see these mountains. He wrote in his book that he felt a great pleasure on first seeing them. He knew they would be very hard to cross. They were all white with snow. But he was ready to go on so as to get to the West. He went back to the boats and told the others about the mountains. The men were happy and worked harder to get near them.



Sacajawea Is Ill.

Going up the Missouri, Sacajawea fell ill. She could not eat. She grew worse each day. Captain Clark gave her some medicine. It did not make her well. The soldiers had to camp until she could go on. They could not go on without her. They wanted her with them to make friends with her tribe. One day the soldiers found a hot sulphur spring. They carried Sacajawea to this spring. The water made her well. In a week she could go on.



How The Indians Hunted Buffalo.

On the plains of the Missouri there were many buffaloes. Sacajawea told the soldiers how the Indians hunted them. An Indian put on a buffalo skin. The buffalo's head was over his head. He walked out to where the buffaloes were eating. He stood between them and a high bank of the river. The other Indians went behind the buffaloes. The buffaloes ran toward the man in the buffalo skin. He ran fast toward the river. Then the buffaloes ran fast toward the river. At the high bank the man ran down and hid in a hole. The buffaloes came so fast that they could not stop at the bank. They fell over the bank on to the rocks near the river. Many were killed. Then the Indians came around the bank. They skinned the buffaloes. They dried the meat. They dried the skins to make blankets and houses.



The Falls Of The Missouri.

One June day Captain Lewis was walking ahead of the boats. He heard a great noise up the River. He pushed on fast. After walking seven miles, he came to the great Falls of the Missouri. He was the first white man to see these Falls. He sat down on a rock and watched the water dash and spray. He tried to draw a picture of the Falls. He tried to write about it in his book. But he said it was so wonderful that he could not draw it well nor picture it in words. When the men came up, they could not take their boats near the Falls. The Falls are very, very high. The highest fall is eighty-seven feet high, and the water comes down with a great rush. So the soldiers had to go around the Falls. That was a long, long way. It would be hard to carry all their things around the Falls. The captains said, "We will make a cache here. "We will put in the skins and plants and maps. "We can get them all again when we are coming home." The soldiers made two caches. In these they hid all the things they could do without. Without so much to carry, it would not be so hard to go around the Falls.



The Cache Near The Falls Of The Missouri.

To make a cache, the soldiers made a ring on the ground. They took up the sod inside the ring. They dug straight down for a foot. They put dried branches on the bottom and at the sides of this hole. They put dried skins over the branches. Then they put their goods into the hole, or cache. They put dried skins over the goods. Then they put the earth in. Then they put the sod on. The ring did not look as if it had been dug up. The Indians would not think to look there for goods.



How Sacajawea Cured Rattlesnake Bites.

Near the Falls of the Missouri, the party met many rattlesnakes. The snakes liked to lie in the sun on the river banks. Some times they went up trees and lay on the branches. One night Captain Lewis was sleeping under a tree. In the morning he looked up through the tree. He saw a big rattlesnake on a branch. It was going to spring at him. He caught his gun and killed it. It had seventeen rattles. Sometimes the soldiers had to go barefooted. The snakes bit their bare feet. Sacajawea knew how to cure the bite. She took a root she called the rattlesnake root. She beat it hard. She opened the snake bite. She tied the root on it. She put fresh root on two times a day. It cured the snake bite. The root would kill a man if he should eat it, but it will cure a snake bite.



Going Around The Falls.

The party had to go up a high hill to get around the Falls. It would take too long to carry the canoes on their backs. They could see only one big tree on the plains. It was a cottonwood. The soldiers cut it down. They cut wheels and tongues from it. The cottonwood is not hard enough for axles. The soldiers cut up the mast of their big boat for axles. They began to go up the hill. In a little time the axles broke. They put in willow axles. Then the cottonwood tongues broke. Then the men had to carry the goods on their backs. It was very hot. The mosquitoes and blow-flies bit them all the time. The prickly pear hurt their feet. It hurt them even through their moccasins. If they drank water, they were ill. One day it hailed hard. The hail knocked some of the men down. At night the grizzly bears took their food.



Grizzly Bears.

After many hard days, they got all the goods to the top of the Falls. The party saw many grizzly bears near the Falls. They were the first white men to see the grizzly bear. They found it a very large and very fierce bear. One day Captain Lewis was out hunting. He had killed a buffalo for dinner. He turned around to load his gun again. He saw a big bear coming after him. It was only twenty feet away. He did not have time to load his gun. There was no tree near. There was no rock near. The river bank was not high. Captain Lewis ran to the river. The bear ran after him with open mouth. It nearly caught him. Captain Lewis ran into the river. He turned around when the water was up to his waist. He pointed his gun at the bear. It stopped still. Then it roared and ran away. Captain Lewis did not know why the bear roared and ran, but he was glad to be safe.

One day six of the soldiers saw a big bear lying on a little hill near the river. The six soldiers came near him. They were all good shots. Four shot at him. Four balls went into his body. He jumped up. He ran at them with open mouth. Then the two other men fired. Their balls went into his body, too. One ball broke his shoulder. Still he ran at them. The men ran to the river. Two jumped into their canoe. The others hid in the willows. They loaded their guns as fast as they could. They shot him again. The shots only made him angry. He came very near two of the men. They threw away their guns and jumped down twenty feet into the river. The bear jumped in after them. He nearly caught the last one. Then one soldier in the willows shot the bear in the head. This shot killed him. The soldiers pulled the bear out of the river. They found eight balls in him. They took his skin to show the captains. They said he was a brave old bear. They named a creek near-by for him. They called it "The Brown-Bear-Defeated Creek."

One day a grizzly bear ran after a soldier. The soldier tried to shoot the bear. His gun would not go off. The gun was wet because he had been in the river all day. He ran to a tree. He got to the tree just in time. As the soldier climbed, he kicked the bear. The grizzly bear can not climb a tree. This grizzly sat at the foot of the tree to wait until the soldier would come down. The soldier called out loud. Two other soldiers heard him. They came running to help him. They saw the man in the tree. They saw the bear at the foot of the tree. They shot off their guns and made a big noise. The grizzly grew frightened. It ran away. Then the soldier came down from the tree. He was glad that his friends had come to his help.



At The Top Of The Falls.

After the men had carried all the goods to the top of the Falls, they made canoes to take them up the river. They were camping at the top of the Falls on the Fourth of July, 1805. Captain Lewis wrote that they had a good dinner that day. He said they had as good as if they were at home. They had "bacon, beans, buffalo meat, and suet dumplings." After dinner a soldier played the fiddle. Captain Lewis wrote: "Such as were able to shake a foot amused themselves in dancing on the green."



The Cloud-Burst.

One day Captain Clark took Sacajawea and her husband with him to look over the top of the Falls. Sacajawea's baby was in his basket on her back. Captain Clark saw a black cloud. He said, "It will rain soon. Let us go into that ravine." They sat under some big rocks. Sacajawea took off the baby's basket and put it at her feet. All the baby's clothes were in the basket. Sacajawea took the baby in her lap. It began to rain a little. The rain did not get to them. It rained harder. Then the cloud burst just over the ravine. The rain and hail made a big wave in the little ravine. Captain Clark saw the wave coming. He jumped up and caught his gun in his left hand. With his right hand he pushed Sacajawea up the bank. The wave was up to their waists. They ran faster and got to the top of the bank. Then the wave was fifteen feet high. It made a big noise as it ran down the ravine. Soon it would have caught them and carried them over the Falls. It did carry away the baby's basket and his clothes, and Captain Clark's compass. The next day a soldier found the compass in the mud.



At The Source Of The Missouri.

When the canoes were ready, the party started up the river above the Falls. As they reached the mountains, the river grew narrow. It was not deep, but it was rapid. The soldiers had to pull the canoes with ropes. The river did not run straight. One day the men dragged the canoes twelve miles. Then they were only four miles from where they had started. They had to walk in the river all day. Their feet were cut by the rocks. They were ill from being wet so much. It was hot in the day and cold at night. They had no wood but willow. They could not make a good fire. But they had enough to eat. Then the river grew very narrow. The canoes could not go up it. The soldiers put the canoes under water with rocks in them. They made another cache. In it they put skins, plants, seeds, minerals, maps, and some medicines. Captain Lewis and some men went ahead. They were looking for Indians. They wanted to buy some horses. After a time the river grew so narrow that a soldier put one foot on one bank and his other foot on the other bank. Then he said, "Thank God, I am alive to bestride the mighty Missouri." Before this, people did not know where the Missouri began. A little way off was the beginning of the mighty Columbia River. The soldiers reached this place in August. Captain Lewis was very happy as he drank some cold water from the beginnings of these two rivers. Captain Clark and the other men were coming behind. Sacajawea was with them. They had all the goods and walked slowly.



Sacajawea Finds Roots And Seeds.

Far up on the Missouri, Sacajawea knew the plants that were good to eat. The captains and soldiers were glad that she did. They had only a little corn left, and there were not many animals near. Sacajawea told Captain Clark all about the yamp plant, as her tribe knew it. It grew in wet ground. It had one stem and deeply cut leaves. Its stem and leaves were dark green. It had an umbrella of white flowers at the top of the stem. The Indian women watched the yamp until the stem dried up. Then they dug for the roots. The yamp root is white and hard. The Indians eat it fresh or dried. When it is dry, they pound it into a fine white powder. The Indian women make the yamp powder into a mush. Indian children like yamp mush as much as white children like candy. It tastes like our anise seed. The soldiers liked the yamp mush that Sacajawea made. Sacajawea also made a sunflower mush. She roasted sunflower seeds. Then she pounded them into a powder and made a mush with hot water. She made a good drink of the sunflower powder and cold water. She mixed the sunflower powder with bear grease and roasted it on hot rocks. This made a bread the soldiers liked very much. Without Sacajawea the soldiers would have been hungry. They did not know the plants. Some plants would kill them. But Sacajawea knew those good to eat.



Sacajawea's People.

One day near the head of the Missouri, Sacajawea stopped short as she walked. She looked hard to the West. She saw far away some Indians on horseback. She began to dance and jump. She waved her arms. She laughed and called out. She turned to Captain Clark and sucked her fingers. This showed that these Indians were her own people. She ran ahead to meet them. After a time a woman from the Indians ran out to meet Sacajawea. When they came together, they put their arms around each other. They danced together. They cried together. This woman had been Sacajawea's friend from the time when they were babies. She had been taken East by the same Indians that took Sacajawea. On the way East she got away from these Indians. She found her way home. She had been afraid she would never see Sacajawea again. Now they were happy to meet. They danced and sang and cried and laughed with their arms around each other.



Sacajawea's Brother.

The party went with Sacajawea's people to their camp. Captain Clark was taken to the chief's house. The house was made of a ring of willows. The chief put his arms about Captain Clark. He made him sit on a white skin. He tied in his hair six shells. Each one then took off his moccasins. Then they smoked without talking. When they wanted to talk, they sent for Sacajawea. She came into the house and sat down. She looked at the chief. She saw that he was her brother. She jumped up and ran to him. She threw her blanket over his head. She cried aloud in joy. He was glad to see her. He did not cry nor jump. He did not like to show that he was glad. Sacajawea told him about the white men. She said they wanted to go across the Rocky Mountains to the Big Water in the West. She did not know the way across the mountains. The Indians could help them. They could sell them horses and show them the way across the steep mountain tops.

Sacajawea said the white men had many things the Indians would like. If they found a good way over the mountains, the white men would send these things to the Indians each summer. Sacajawea said the white men were kind to her and her baby. If they had not taken care of her when she was ill, she would not have seen her brother again. Her brother said he was glad that the white men had been kind to her. He would help them over the mountains. He would talk to his men about it. He said to Captain Clark: "You have been kind to Sacajawea. I am your friend until my days are over. You shall own my house. You shall sit on my blanket. You shall have what I kill. You shall bear my name. My name belonged to me only, but now it is yours. You are Cameahwait." After that, all this tribe called Captain Clark "Cameahwait."



Sacajawea's People Will Show The Way.

Cameahwait told his people how good the white men were. He told them what good things they had. He said, "If we sell them horses and take them over the mountains, they can get back soon. No goods will come to us until they go back to their home. If we do not help them, they cannot cross the mountains. They do not know the way. They cannot carry food enough. They will meet death in the mountains. Then we shall never get their goods. Shall we help them, my brothers?"

And the people said, "Ah hi e! Ah hi e!" That means, "We are pleased." They got horses to carry the goods. They could not get enough horses to give the men to ride. The captains bought a horse for Sacajawea  to ride. The soldiers made saddles from the oars tied together with pieces of skins. Then they started up the steep mountain.



The Indians Try To Leave The Whites.

When they were in the mountain tops, Sacajawea overheard some Indians talking. They said: "We do not want to go across the mountains with the whites. We want to go down to the plains and hunt buffalo. We are hungry here. On the plains are many buffalo. We must hunt them now for our winter food. We do not care for the white men's goods. Our fathers lived without their goods. We can live without them. We will go off to-night and leave them. They will meet death in the mountains. In the Spring we can come back and get their goods."

Sacajawea went to Captain Lewis. She told him what she had heard. He called the chiefs together. They smoked a pipe together. Sacajawea slipped a piece of sugar into Cameahwait's hand. As he sucked it, she said, "You will get this good thing from the white men if you are friends with them."

Then Captain Lewis said, "Are you men of your word?"

The Indians said, "Yes."

He said, "Did you not promise to carry our goods over the mountains?"

The Indians said, "Yes."

"Then," he said, "why are you going to leave us now? If you had not promised, we would have gone back down the Missouri. Then no other white man would come to your land. You wish the whites to be your friends. You want them to give you goods. You should keep you promise to them. I will keep my promise to you. You seem afraid to keep your promise."

The chiefs said, "We are not afraid. We will keep our promise."

They sent out word to all their men to keep their promise. Captain Lewis thanked Sacajawea. If she had not told him, the Indians would have gone off in the night. The whites would have been left in the steep Rocky Mountains with no horses and no way of getting food.



Crossing The Rocky Mountains.

The trip across the mountains was very hard. The mountain tops were steep. There was no road. The ground was made of sharp rocks. The horses slipped and fell down. The men's feet were cut and black and blue. It rained many days and snowed nights. They had no houses. Before they could start on each day, they had to melt the snow off their goods. The men grew stiff from the wet and the cold. The only way they could get warm was to keep on walking. They had little food. They had only a little corn when they started across the mountains. This was soon gone. There were no animals, no fish, and no roots on the way. They had to kill their horses. They had only horsemeat to eat. The soldiers grew sick. Some could hardly stand. But they did not want to turn back. They knew the Indians could find the way down to the Columbia River. Then they could get to the Pacific Ocean without the Indians. So they went on.



At The Columbia River.

At last they got across the mountains and down on the Columbia River. The Indians who had showed them the way went home again. There were other Indians near the Columbia. These Indians gave the men salmon and roots. They ate so much that they were ill. The captains and all the soldiers were ill. But they started to make canoes to ride down the Columbia. They did not get well. So they bought some dogs. They cooked the dogs and ate them. For days they could eat only dog. The Indians laughed at them for eating dog. They said, "Dogs are good to watch the camp. They are not good to eat. We do not eat them. What poor men these must be to eat dog!" Suddenly the captains fired off their guns and a soldier played the fiddle. Then the Indians stopped laughing. They had never heard a gun before. They had never before heard a fiddle. They thought the white men must be wonderful people to have guns and fiddles. They wished to be friends with such wonderful people. So they did not make fun of them any more.



How The Indians Dried Salmon.

The soldiers left their horses here on the Columbia River. They asked the Indians to keep them until they should come back from the West. Then they started down the river in canoes. On the Columbia, the party saw some Indians drying salmon. They opened the fish. Then they put it in the sun. When it was well dried, they pounded it to powder between two stones. Then they put it into a basket. The basket was made of grass. It had dried salmon skin inside. The Indians pounded the powdered salmon down hard into the basket. When a basket was full, they put dried salmon skin on the top. Then the basket was put where it would keep dry. The salmon powder would keep for years. Only one tribe of Indians knew how to make it well. The other tribes bought it from them. All the tribes liked it. The white men, too, liked it.



The Wappato.

The party found a root new to them on the lower Columbia. The Indians called it wappato. Captain Clark called it arrowhead. The wappato grew all the year. The Indian women gathered it. A woman carried a light canoe to a pond. She waded into the pond. She put the canoe on the water. With her toes she pulled up the wappato from the bottom of the pond. The woman caught it and put it in the canoe. She was in the water many hours, summer and winter. When her canoe was full, she put it on her head and carried it home. She roasted the wappato on hot stones. It tasted very good. The soldiers said it was the best root they had tasted. The Indian women used to put some wappato in grass baskets and sell it to the tribes up the river.



To The Pacific Ocean.

The party went down the Columbia River in canoes. It was a hard trip. It rained all the time. Each day the men were wet to the skin. They had to carry their goods around some rapids. They could not be very cheerful. One day it stopped raining for a little time. The low clouds went away. The party saw that the river was very wide. They rowed on. Then they saw the great ocean lying in the sun. They became very happy. They cheered and laughed and sang. They rowed on very fast. Captain Lewis wrote in his book: "Ocean in view! O! the joy! We are in VIEW of the Ocean, this great Pacific Ocean, which we have been so long anxious to see. The noise made by the waves breaking on the rocky shores may be heard distinctly."



The Pacific Ocean.

The party saw that they had come to the end of their journey. They had come 4,134 miles from the mouth of the Missouri River. It had taken them a year and a half to come. But now they forgot their troubles. They forgot the times they had been hungry. They forgot their cut feet and their black and blue backs. They forgot the bears and the snakes and the mosquitoes. They saw the Pacific Ocean before them. They sang because they were the first white men to make this journey. They did not care for the troubles going back. They knew that they could go home faster than they had come. And they sang together, "The Ocean! The Ocean! O joy! O joy!"



Sacajawea On The Ocean Beach.

The party made a winter camp at the mouth of the Columbia River. They called it Fort Clatsop. The Indians near-by were the Clatsop tribe. These Indians gave the whites some whale blubber. They said that a whale was on the ocean beach. Captain Clark and some men got ready to go to see it. Sacajawea came to Captain Clark and said, "May I go, too? I have come over the mountains with you to find the Great Water and I have not been to it yet. Now I would see the Big Animal and the Great Water, too." Captain Clark was glad to have her go. He wrote in his book that this was the only time she asked for anything. She took her baby on her back and walked with Captain Clark. When she got near the ocean, she was afraid. The noise seemed to her like thunder. She always had been afraid of thunder. When she saw the waves, she was afraid they would come over the earth. She had never before seen any big body of water. She had seen only rivers and ponds. The ocean looked very big. She would not go near the waves. Then Captain Clark showed her the high water line. He told her that the waves would not go over that line. She sat down on the sand with her baby in her lap. She watched the waves a long time. Then she was not afraid. She walked out to the waves. When they came to shore, she ran before them. She let them come over her feet. She took some ocean water in her hand and tasted it. She did not like its salt taste. But she did like to run after the waves.



The Whale.

Captain Clark and his party walked all day before they came to where the whale lay. The waves had carried it up on the shore. It was a very big animal. It was longer than most houses. It was eighty feet long. The Indians were cutting it up. They put the meat into a large wooden trough. Then they put hot stones into the trough. The hot stones melted out the oil. The Indians put the oil into skin bags. They used it to eat with roots and mush. They did not wish to sell the oil. But after a time, they did sell some oil to Captain Clark. They sold him some blubber, too. The blubber was white and looked like pork fat. The soldiers cooked some and ate it. They liked it very much. Sacajawea was happy to see the whale. She walked all around it. She made her baby to look well at it. She told him he might never see one again. The baby did not care for the whale, but he laughed because Sacajawea laughed.



Sacajawea's Belt.

The Clatsop chief came to Fort Clatsop to see the captains. He had on a robe made of two sea-otter skins. The skins were the most beautiful the captains had yet seen. They wanted the chief to sell the robe. He did not want to sell it, as sea-otters are hard to get. They said they would give him anything they had for it. Still he would not sell it. Sacajawea saw him looking at her blue bead belt. She had made this belt from beads Captain Clark had given her. She used to wear it all the time. She said to the Clatsop chief, "Will you sell the robe for my belt?" He said, "Yes, I will sell it for the chief beads." The Indians called blue beads "chief beads." Sacajawea thought a little time. Then she gave her belt to him. He put it around his neck. He gave her his sea-otter robe. She gave it to Captain Clark for a present. She was sorry to give up her belt. The captains had no more blue beads to give her to make another. But she was glad to give Captain Clark the beautiful sea-otter skins.



At Fort Clatsop.

At Fort Clatsop, the captains wrote in their books. They wrote about all they had seen coming to the Pacific. They wrote about things near Fort Clatsop. They made maps of the land near the Missouri River, in the Rocky Mountains, and on the banks of the Columbia. Some of the men hunted. They made the skins of animals into clothes and moccasins. They made between three and four hundred pairs of moccasins. They saved these to wear on the way home. Five soldiers were sent down to the ocean beach to make salt. Each had a big kettle. They filled the kettles with ocean water. They burned a fire under the kettles day and night. In time, the water all boiled away. A crust of salt was left on the inside of the kettles. The soldiers gathered this salt into wooden kegs. It took seven weeks to make enough salt for their journey home. Captain Lewis wrote, "This salt was a great treat to many of the party." He liked salt very much. Captain Clark wrote that he did not care if he had salt or not.

On Christmas Day, 1805, the soldiers got up without making any noise. They fired their guns all at one time to waken the captains. Then they sang an old Christmas song. Then they wished the captains "Merry Christmas." They gave each other presents. Captain Clark wrote that he had twelve weasel tails, some underwear, some moccasins, and an Indian blanket for his Christmas presents. He gave a handkerchief or some little present to each man. There was no snow and no ice, but there was much rain. The soldiers had to stay in their log fort all day. They had only poor elk, poor roots, and some bad dried salmon for dinner. But they were cheerful. They danced and sang into the night. On New Year's Day, they fired their guns to welcome in the New Year. They had more to eat than on Christmas Day. The captains wrote, "Our greatest pleasure to-day is thinking about New Year's, 1807. Then we shall be home."



The Start Home.

In March, the elk left the woods near Fort Clatsop. The soldiers could not get enough to eat. The captains said, "It is time to start home." They bought a canoe with a soldier-coat and some little things. They took another canoe from the Clatsops for some elk meat that the Indians had stolen. They had not many things left to get food and horses with on the way home. But their guns were in good order. They had good powder and balls. They could kill game on the way. They cut up their big flag into five robes. They could sell them robes for food. The captains gave the Clatsops letters to give to any white men who should come there. These letters told about the party's trip out West. They told how they were going back East. The Clatsops promised to give these letters to the first white men who should come. Then the party said good-bye to the Clatsops. This was in the month of March. They started up the Columbia River, singing. They were happy because they were going home.



At Camp Chopunnish.

On the way up the Columbia, the soldiers killed game. They gave some to the Indians for roots. They came to the foot of the mountains in May. There was too much snow then for them to cross They made a camp near the Chopunnish Indians. They called it Camp Chopunnish. They sent out to get the horses they had left when camping there before. They tried to get enough food to last them over the mountains. Many of the Indians were ill. Captain Clark gave them medicine. They gave him food and horses for the medicine. Captain Lewis talked with the Indian chiefs all day. They promised to let some young Indians show the way over the mountains. The captains gave each soldier some of their goods and sent him out to get food. Captain Lewis wrote that each man had "only one awl and one knitting- pin, half an ounce of vermilion, two needles, a few skeins of thread, and a yard of ribbon." Two of the men took their goods with them in a canoe. The canoe turned over. They lost all their goods. They just saved their lives.

Two other men went up the river with their goods on a horse. The horse slipped down a steep bank into the river. He got safe to the bank across the river. An Indian made him swim back to the two soldiers. On the way, most of the goods were lost. The paint melted, and the horse's back was all red. The Indians on the bank across the river saw what the soldiers wanted. They loaded some roots and bread on a raft. They tried to cross to the soldiers. A high wind sent the raft on a rock. The raft turned over. The roots and bread were lost. Then the captains and men felt unhappy. They cut the buttons from their clothes. They gathered up all the bottles and medicine boxes they had. With these things, two soldiers went out to get food. They got three bushels of roots and some bread. The other men hunted. They dried some meat, and gave some to the Indians for roots. They became good friends with the Chopunnish Indians. They used to run fast races together. Both soldiers and Indians could run fast. The soldiers took sides and played prisoners' base.



Over The Rocky Mountains Going Home.

The party wanted to start over the mountains in early June. The Indians were not ready to go with them then. The party started to go without the Indians. They could not find food for the horses. There was snow all over the ground. They had to turn back and camp where there was grass. A week later the Indians were ready to go with them. They started a second time. The Indians showed them the way. They found food for the horses each night. The trip across the mountains was not so hard as it had been the year before. Now the snow covered all the sharp rocks. The snow was so hard that the horses could walk on it. Now they had enough food. All the men had horses. They went many miles each day. All were happy. One of the Indians liked Captain Lewis so much that he gave him his name, "Yomekollick."

This means "White Bear-skin Folded." The Indians thought their names were the best thing they could give to any one.



East Of The Rocky Mountains Again.

Before they left the mountains, the captains said:

"We will divide our party. Then we can go different ways. Then we shall see more of the country east of the Rocky Mountains."

So Captain Lewis and nine men started in a straight line to the Falls of the Missouri. Captain Clark and the others went more to the South. Sacajawea went with Captain Clark. The two parties promised to meet again down on the Missouri. They said good-bye to each other on July third. On the next day, Captain Clark wrote that they had a good Fourth of July dinner. They had fat deer and roots. Then they went on until time to sleep. They had no time to dance now. They were going home. Captain Lewis and his men pushed on all day. He did not write that they thought of the Fourth of July. Captain Clark sent ten men down the Missouri River the way they had come West. He went with Sacajawea and ten other men across to the Yellowstone River. Sacajawea found the way for him. She also found roots good to eat. Captain Clark wrote that she was of "great service" to him. Captain Clark's party went down the Yellowstone River to the Missouri River. Here they met two white men. These were the first white men besides themselves that they had seen for a year and four months. They were glad to hear news from the East. Soon after they met these white men, Captain Lewis and the other soldiers came down to them. This was in August. Captain Lewis had been shot by one of his best men. The man thought that Captain Lewis was an elk, because his clothes were brown. The man was very sorry for having shot him. Captain Lewis soon got well. The soldiers were happy to be together again. They forgot their troubles. They went down the Missouri, singing.

They were glad they had gone West. They had taken the country for the Americans. They had made friends with the Indians. They knew where food could be found. They knew about the animals and plants. Now other people could find the way from the maps the captains had made.



Sacajawea Says Good-Bye To The Soldiers.

Sacajawea's husband would not go to the captains' home. He wanted to live with the Mandans.

So Sacajawea had to say good-bye to the soldiers. The captains gave her husband five hundred dollars. They did not give Sacajawea any money. In those days, people did not think of paying women. All the party were sorry to leave Sacajawea and the baby. Sacajawea was sorry to stay behind. She stood on the bank of the river watching the soldiers as long as she could see them. The soldiers went down the Missouri to its mouth. When they saw the village there, they fired off all their guns. The people came out to see them and cheered that they were home again.



The Centennial.

The American people have always been glad that Lewis and Clark made this long, hard journey. That was just one hundred years ago. In this year of 1905, the American people are holding a centennial fair in honor of the Lewis and Clark journey. The Fair is at Portland, Oregon, because Lewis and Clark reached the Pacific Ocean in Oregon. At the Fair, there is a statue of Sacajawea and her baby. This statue is put there because Lewis and Clark wrote in their books: "The wonderful Bird-Woman did a full man's share to make the trip a success, besides taking care of her baby. She was one of the best of mothers." Some day, you can read these books for yourself, and learn more about Sacajawea and Captains Lewis and Clark.

The forestry building is made from the large trees for which Oregon is noted. Fort Clatsop was built from the large trees of Oregon, too, but the soldiers did not know how to make such a fine building as this one hundred years ago.

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More Russian Picture Tales

By

Valery Carrick



The Cock And The Bean.


A cock was scratching one day in the earth under the wall of a cottage when he found a bean.

He tried to swallow it, and choked himself. He choked himself and stretched himself out, and there he lay, and couldn't even breathe.

And his mistress saw him, ran up to him, and asked: "Mr. Cock, what makes you lie there like that, so that you can't breathe?"

"I've choked myself with a bean," he answered. "Go and ask the cow for some butter."

And his mistress came to the cow and said: "Mrs. Cow, give me some butter! My cock is lying there and can't even breathe, he has choked himself with a bean."

And the cow answered: "Go and ask the hay-makers for some hay."

And she came to the hay-makers and said: "Hay-makers, give me some hay! The hay's for the cow who will give me some butter, and the butter's for my cock who is lying there and can't breathe, he's choked himself with a bean." And the hay-makers answered: "Go and ask the oven to give you some loaves."

And she came to the oven and said: "Oven, oven, give me some loaves! The loaves are for the hay-makers, who will give me some hay, the hay's for the cow, who will give me some butter, and the butter's for my cock who is lying there and can't breathe, he's choked himself with a bean."

And the oven answered: "Go and ask the wood-cutters for some wood."

And she came to the wood cutters and said: "Give me some wood! The wood's for the oven, who will give me some loaves, the loaves are for the hay-cutters, who will give me some hay, the hay's for the cow, who will give me some butter, the butter's for my cock who is lying there and can't breathe, he's choked himself with a bean."

And they answered: "Go and ask the smith for an axe, we've nothing to cut the wood with."

So she came to the smith and said: "Smith, smith, give me an axe! The axe is for the wood-cutters, who will give me some wood, the wood's for the oven, who will give me some loaves, the loaves are for the hay-makers, who will give me some hay, the hay's for the cow, who will give me some butter, and the butter's for my cock who is lying there and can't breathe, he's choked himself with a bean." And he answered: "Go into the forest and burn me some charcoal."

So she went into the forest, gathered a bundle of sticks, and burned some charcoal. Then she took the charcoal to the smith, and he gave her an axe. She went with the axe to the wood-cutters, and the wood-cutters gave her some wood. The wood she took to the oven, and the oven gave her some loaves.

She took the loaves to the hay-makers, and the hay-makers gave her some hay. The hay she took to the cow, who gave her some butter. She brought the butter to the cock, and the cock gulped it down and swallowed the bean.

Then he jumped up merrily and started singing "Cock-a-doodle-doo! I was sitting under the wall, plaiting shoes, when I lost my awl, but I found a little coin, and I bought a little scarf, and gave it to a pretty girl."

And that's all about it.




The Goat And The Ram.


Once upon a time there lived a man and his wife, and they had a goat and a ram.

And one day the man said to his wife: "Look here, let's get rid of the ram and the goat; why, they only keep eating our corn, and don't help to feed us at all!"

So he told them: "Be off, goat and ram, and don't dare to show yourselves at my gate ever again."

So the goat and the ram made themselves a bag, and went off. And they went on and on, when suddenly they saw a wolf's head lying in the middle of the field.

And they picked up the head, put it in their bag, and went on again. And they went on and on, when suddenly they saw a fire burning, and they said: "Let's go and spend the night there, lest the wolves should eat us." But when they got there, lo and behold! it was the wolves themselves who were cooking their porridge, and so they said: "Good evening, young fellows, and good appetite to you!" And the wolves answered: "Good evening, Mr. Goat and Mr. Ram! We're just boiling our porridge, come and have some, and then we'll eat you both up." At this the goat took fright, while as for the ram, his legs had been shaking with fear for some time. Then the goat began to think, and he thought and thought and at last he said: "Come now, Mr. Ram, let's have a look at that wolf's head you've got in your sack!" And the ram took out the wolf's head, when the goat said: "No, not that one. Let's have the other bigger one!" And again the ram gave him the same head, but he said: "No, not that one either! let's have the largest of all!"

And the wolves looked, and thought the ram had a whole sackful of wolves' heads, and each one of them said to himself: "Well, these are nice guests to have! I'd better hop off!" And first one said aloud to the others: "I like your company all right, brothers, but somehow, the porridge doesn't seem to be boiling very well. I'll just run and fetch some sticks to throw on the fire." And as he went off, he thought to himself: "You and your company be bothered!" -- and never came back.

Then the second wolf kept thinking how he could get away, and he said: "It seems very funny, our brother went to fetch the wood, but he hasn't brought the wood, and hasn't come back himself. I'll just go and help him!" So off he went too, and never came back. And the third wolf was left sitting there, and at last he said: "I must really go and hurry them up. What are they dawdling all this time for!" And as soon as he was gone, he set off running and never so much as looked back.

And at that the ram and the goat were delighted. They ate up all the porridge and then ran away themselves.

Meanwhile the wolves had all three met, and they said: "Look here, why were we three frightened of the goat and the ram? They're no stronger than we, after all! Let's go and do them in!"

But when they came back to the fire, there was not so much as a trace of them left. Then the wolves set off in pursuit, and at last they saw them, where they had climbed up a tree, the goat on an upper and the ram on a lower branch. So the eldest wolf lay down under the tree, and began to show his teeth, looking up at them, and waiting for them to climb down. And the ram, who was trembling all over from fright, suddenly fell down right on top of the wolf, and at the same minute the goat shouted out from up above: "There, that's the one! get me the largest of all!" And the wolf was terrified, because he thought the ram had jumped down after him, and you should just have seen him run! And the other two followed after.

What a lucky boy is Pat, He's got a dog and a cat!




The Hungry Wolf.


There was once a wolf, and he got very hungry, and so he went to have a look to see what he could find for dinner. After a bit he saw a ram feeding in a meadow, so he went up to him and said: "Mr. Ram, Mr. Ram, I'm going to eat you!" But the ram answered: "Who are you, I should like to know, that you mean to eat me?" "I'm a wolf, and I'm looking for a good dinner," said the wolf. "What sort of a wolf do you fancy you are?" answered the ram, "you're not, you're a dog!" "No, I'm not a dog," said he, "I'm a wolf." "Well then," answered the ram, "if you're a wolf, stand at the bottom of the hill and open your jaws wide. Then I'll run down the hill and jump straight into your mouth." "All right," said the wolf.

So he stood at the bottom of the hill and opened his mouth wide, while the ram climbed to the top of the hill. Then he ran down the hill very fast, and hit the wolf with his horns as hard as he could.

The wolf rolled over, knocked senseless with the blow, while the ram ran off home. And there lay the wolf, till at last he came to himself again, with all his bones aching.

"Well, what a fool I must have been!" thought he. "Who ever saw a ram jump into one's mouth of his own free will?"

Then he went on further, just as hungry as ever, and after a bit he saw a horse walking in a meadow nibbling the grass.

So he went up to him and said: "Mr. Horse, Mr. Horse, I'm going to eat you!" But the horse answered: "Who are you, I should like to know, that you mean to eat me?" "I'm a wolf!" "You think again," answered the horse, "You're only a dog!" "No, I'm not a dog," said he, "I'm a wolf." "Oh, if you are sure you're a wolf, it's all right. Only I'm not very fat yet, so you'd better begin on my tail, and meanwhile I'll be munching some more grass and get a little fuller."

So the wolf went up to him from behind, and was just going to get to work on his tail, when the horse let out at him as hard as he could! And the wolf rolled over, while the horse ran off.

And there sat the wolf, and he thought: "Well, wasn't I a fool! wasn't I a noodle! Who ever heard of anyone starting to eat a horse by the tail?"

And so he wandered on further, when after a bit he saw a pig coming towards him, so when he got to him he said: "Mr. Pig, Mr. Pig, I'm going to eat you!" But the pig answered: "Who are you, I should like to know, that you mean to eat me?" "I'm a wolf." "You're a queer sort of wolf," answered the pig, "you're only a dog!" "No, I'm not a dog," said he, "I'm a wolf!" "Oh, that's all right then," answered the pig, "you just sit down on my back. I'll give you a ride, and then you can eat me."

So the wolf sat down on the pig's back, when lo and behold! the pig carried him straight into the village.

And all the dogs ran out, made a dash for the wolf, and began to tease him. And they teased him so much, it was all he could do to tear himself away and run off back into the forest.




The Peasant And The Bear.


Once upon a time a certain peasant lost his wife, then he lost his other relations, and then he was left alone with no one to help him in his home or his fields. So he went to Bruin and said: "Look here, Bruin, let's keep house and plant our garden and sow our corn together." And Bruin asked: "But how shall we divide it afterwards?" "How shall we divide it?" said the peasant, "Well, you take all the tops and let me have all the roots." "All right," answered Bruin. So they sowed some turnips, and they grew beautifully. And Bruin worked hard, and gathered in all the turnips, and then they began to divide them. And the peasant said: "The tops are yours, aren't they, Bruin?" "Yes," he answered. So the peasant cut off all the turnip tops and gave them to Bruin, and then sat down to count the roots. And Bruin saw that the peasant had done him down.

And he got huffy, lay down in his den, and started sucking his paws.

The next spring the peasant again came to see him, and said: "Look here, Bruin, let's work together again, shall we?" And Bruin answered: "Right-ho! only this time mind! you can have the tops, but I'm going to have the roots!" "Very well," said the peasant. And they sowed some wheat, and when the ears grew up and ripened, you never saw such a sight. Then they began to divide it, and the peasant took all the tops with the grain, and gave Bruin the straw and the roots. So he didn't get anything that time either.

And Bruin said to the peasant: "Well, good-bye! I'm not going to work with you any more, you're too crafty!" And with that he went off into the forest.




The Dog And The Cock


One summer a certain peasant's crops failed him, and so he had no food to give to his animals, which were a cock and a dog. And the dog said to the cock: "Well, brother Peeter, I think we should get more to eat if we went and lived in the forest than here at our master's, don't you?" "That's a fact," answered the cock, "let's be off, there's no help for it."

So they said good-bye to their master and mistress and went off to see what they could find. And they went on and on, and couldn't find a nice place to stop. Then it began to grow dark, and the cock said: "Let's spend the night on a tree. I'll fly up on to a branch, and you take shelter in the hollow. We'll get through the night somehow."

So the cock made his way on to a branch, tucked in his toes, and went to sleep, while the dog made himself a bed in the hollow of the tree. And they slept soundly the whole night through, and towards morning, when it began to get light, the cock woke up and, as was his custom, crew as loud as he could: "Cock-a-doodle-doo! cock-a-doodle-do! all wake up! all get up! the sun will soon be rising, and the day will soon begin!"

And he crew so loud, that a fox in a hole near by was up in an instant thinking: "What a funny thing for a cock to be crowing in the forest! I expect he's lost his way and can't get out again!"

And he began to look for the cock, and after a bit he saw him sitting upon the branch of the tree. "Oho!" thought the fox, "he'd make a fine meal! How can I get him to come down from there?"

So he went up to the tree and said to the cock: "What a splendid cock you are! I've never seen such a fine one all my days! What lovely feathers, just as if they were covered with gold! And your tail! nobody could describe it in words or on paper, it's so beautiful! And what a sweet voice you've got! I could listen to it all day and all night. Do fly down a little closer and let's get to know each other a little better. That reminds me, I've got a christening on at my place to-day, and I shall have plenty of food and drink to offer such a welcome guest. Let's go along to my home."

"Right you are," answered the cock, "I'll certainly come, only you must ask my companion too. We always go about together." "And where is your companion?" asked the fox. "Down below in the tree hollow," answered the cock. And the fox poked his head into the hole, thinking there was another cock there, when the dog popped his head out and caught Mr. Fox by the nose!




King Frost.


Once upon a time there lived an old man and his wife. She had one daughter of her own, and he had one of his own. And the old woman took a dislike to her step-daughter. Whatever her own daughter did, she praised her for everything and stroked her head, but whatever her step-daughter did, she grumbled at her and scolded her for everything; it was simply dreadful. And the old woman began to want to drive her step-daughter off the face of the earth, and she said to her husband: "Take her away into the dark forest, and let the frost freeze her to death." So there was nothing for the old man to do but harness his horse to the sledge, put his daughter in it, and drive her off into the forest. And he brought her right into the middle of the forest, set her down on the snow, and drove off home.

And there the little girl sat in the forest all alone, shivering with the cold. When lo and behold! there was old King Frost coming towards her, and he said: "Hullo, little girl, are you warm?" And she answered: "Yes, King Frost." Then he blew a cold breath on to her and again asked: "Are you warm, little girl?" And she answered: "Yes, King Frost!" Then he began to make it still colder; he made the branches crack, and covered them with hoar-frost, and let loose such cold, that you could hear the air creaking.

Then he asked her again: "Well, little girl, are you warm now?" And she answered: "Yes, King Frost!" And when he saw that she was a good girl, he felt sorry for her. So he put on her a fur coat, with trimmings of beaver, and made her warm, and said to her: "You're a good girl, and so I'll stop. Here's a little present for you from King Frost."

And he brought her a trunk full of all sorts of things, silver and gold, and bright-coloured stones.

Meanwhile her step-mother was saying to the old man at home: "I expect your daughter's frozen by now. Go into the forest and bring her back." So he harnessed his horse to the sledge, and set out to fetch his daughter.

Then his wife began to watch at the window, and at last she saw her husband driving towards home, and she said to herself: "That's all right, there come the old man's daughter's bones back in the sledge."

But the doggie outside said: "Bow, wow, bow-wow-wow! The old man's bringing his daughter home. She's blooming like the poppy-bloom, and she's got a fine present, and a new coat with a beaver collar!" And lo and behold! it was true; the old man drove up with his daughter alive and well, in her fine clothes and with her presents. "Well," thought her step-mother, "if King Frost has given all those things to the old man's daughter, he'll give my pretty girl ever so much more." And she said to her husband: "Take my daughter to the same place as quick as you can, and let King Frost give her a share too!"

So the old man took her daughter, left her in the forest, and then drove off home. And there the girl sat, with her teeth chattering with the cold, when lo and behold! there was King Frost coming along, and he said: "Hullo, little girl, are you warm?" And she answered: "What's that got to do with you? Go away to where you came from!" And King Frost grew angry and blew a cold breath on to the girl, and then asked her: "Are you warm, little girl?" And she answered: "Fancy asking! You can see I'm frozen! Be quick and give me the presents, and then get away to your home." Then King Frost began to make the girl still colder. And he kept making it colder and colder till he had frozen her through and through.

Meanwhile her mother was saying to the old man at home: "Go into the forest now, and bring back my daughter. And mind, don't forget to take the trunk and the fine clothes as well." So the old man started off, and his wife began to watch at the window.

She waited and waited, and at last she saw her husband driving towards home, and said to herself: "That's all right, there comes the old man bringing back my daughter all in silver and in gold."

But the doggie outside said: "Bow, wow, bow-wow-wow, the old man's bringing back bones in his sledge!" The old man drove up, and it was too true, instead of the bad old woman's daughter there was only an icicle!




The Bear's Paw.


One day a peasant saw a bear asleep in the forest, so he crept up to him and cut off one of his hind paws with an axe. And he brought the paw home, and said to his wife: "Boil some soup from the flesh, and knit some warm gloves out of the wool." So she took off the skin, threw the flesh into the pot to boil, and sat down to spin the wool.

And when Bruin woke up, he found his paw gone. There was no help for it, so he cut a bit of wood off a tree, hewed it, tied it on instead of his leg, and set out for the village. As he went along he sang:

"Hobble, hobble, hobble, On my lime-tree leg, On my birchen crutch! The water's asleep, And the earth's asleep, The whole village is asleep, Only one woman's awake, And she's boiling my flesh, Sitting on my skin, And spinning my wool!"

And the peasant's wife got very frightened, and hid as quick as she could in the cellar under the floor. And Bruin went into the house, and saw there was no one there. So he took his bit of skin, got his flesh out of the pot and made off.




The Bear And The Old Man's Daughters.


There was once an old man and he had three little daughters, and one day he said to them: "I am going out into the fields to plough, and you, my little daughters, bake me a loaf and bring it to me." "But how are we to find you, daddy?" they said.

"As I go along," he said, "I shall drop shavings in a row along the path, and that will help you to find me." And as the old man rode along he threw down the shavings one after the other, and a bear came and drew them all aside on to the path that led to his den.

Then the eldest daughter said to the youngest: "Go and take the bread to daddy." And the youngest said: "But how am I to find daddy, and where am I to take the bread to?" Then the eldest answered: "He kept dropping shavings in a row along the path as he went." Then she took the loaf, and started off to follow the shavings, when lo and behold! she came to the bear's den.

And the bear saw her and said: "O-ho! What a nice little girl has come to see me!"

The next day the old man went off to sow, and he said to his daughters: "My dear little daughters, my clever little ones, bake me a loaf and bring it to me in the field." "But how are we to find you, daddy?" they said. And he answered: "Yesterday I threw one row of shavings down, to-day I will throw two." And he set off, throwing the shavings down in two rows, and the bear came and drew them all aside on to the path that led to his den. Then the second daughter started out with the loaf, following the shavings, and went straight to the bear's den. And the bear saw her and said: "O-ho! here's another little girl come to see me!"

The next day the old man went off to the field to harrow, and he said to his daughter: "My dear little daughter, bake me a loaf and bring it to me in the field. I will throw three rows of shavings." And the old man went off, throwing the shavings down in three rows, and the bear came and drew them all aside on to the path that led to his den. And the eldest daughter set out, and she, too, came to the bear's den. And the bear saw her and said: "O-ho! here's a third little girl come to see me in my den!" And there they went on living, when one day the eldest sister said: "Bruin, Bruin, I'll bake some pies, and you take them and give them to my daddy to eat." "All right," answered the bear, "I'll take them." And so she popped her youngest sister into a sack, and said: "Here, Bruin, take this to my daddy, and mind, don't you eat it yourself on the way!" And the bear took the sack and set off with it to the old man. And as he went along, he kept saying to himself: "Suppose I sit down on a stump, and suppose I just eat one little pie!" And the youngest daughter in the sack heard him and said: "Don't sit down on a stump, don't! Don't eat a pie, don't!" And the bear thought that this was the eldest sister, and said to himself: "There now, fancy that! I've come a long way, and yet she can still hear me!" And he brought the sack right up to the old man's courtyard, when the dogs all rushed out and began to bark at him! So he flung down the sack and ran off home. And the eldest sister asked him: "Did they make you welcome, Bruin, and give you nice things to eat?" "They didn't give me anything to eat," he answered, "but their welcome was loud enough."

The next day the eldest sister said: "Bruin, take my daddy some more pies to eat!" And she tied up her other sister in the sack, and the bear put it on his back and carried it off into the village. And as he went through the forest he kept saying to himself: "Suppose I sit down on a stump, and suppose I just eat one little pie!" And the second daughter said to him from out of the sack: "Don't sit down on a stump, don't! Don't eat a pie, don't!" And the bear thought: "There now, fancy that! I've come a long way, and yet she can still hear me, and tells me not to eat a pie!" And so he reached the old man's courtyard, and when the dogs went for him that time, they all but worried him to death! So he flung down the sack and ran off home. And the eldest sister asked him: "Did they welcome you warmly, Bruin, and give you plenty to eat?" "It was such a warm welcome, and they gave me so much to eat, that I shan't forget it in a hurry!" he answered.

And the next day the eldest girl said: "I'll bake some more pies, and you take them to my daddy for him to eat." And so she herself sat down in the sack, and the bear carried her off. And as he carried her along he kept saying to himself: "Oh, I should so like to sit down on a stump, and I should so like to eat one little pie!" And the eldest daughter said to him from out of the sack: "Don't sit down on a stump, don't! Don't eat a pie, don't!" And the bear thought: "There now, fancy that! Look at the long way I've come, and yet she can still see and hear me!" And so he brought the sack to the old man, and then the dogs came upon him and all but tore him in bits. And he ran off into the forest without as much as looking round, and the old man began once more to live with his three little daughters.




The Straw Ox.


Once upon a time there lived an old man and his wife, and one day she said to him: "Make me a straw ox and smear him over with pitch." And he asked: "What for?" And she answered: "Do what I tell you! Never mind what it's for -- that's my business!" So the old man made a straw ox and smeared him over with pitch. Then his wife got ready in the early morning and drove the ox to pasture. She sat down under a tree, and began spinning flax and saying to herself: "Feed, feed, ox, on the fresh green grass. Feed, feed, ox, on the fresh green grass!" And she went on spinning and spinning, and fell asleep. Suddenly from out of the thick wood, from out of the dark forest, a bear came running, and ran right up against the ox. "Who in the world are you?" he asked. And the ox answered: "I'm the three-year-old ox, all made of straw and smeared over with pitch." Then the bear said: "Well, if you're smeared over with pitch, give me some to put on my poor torn side." And the ox answered: "Take some!" So the bear seized hold of the ox, when lo and behold! his paw stuck in the pitch. And when he tried to free it with the other paw, that one stuck too. Then he started gnawing with his teeth, and they stuck too. He couldn't tear himself away anyhow. And the old woman woke up and saw the bear stuck fast to the ox. So she ran home and shouted to her husband: "Come along quick, a bear has stuck fast to our ox, hurry up and catch him!" And he came along, took the bear, led him home, and shut him up in the lumber room.

The next day, as soon as the sun rose, the old woman again drove the ox to pasture, and she herself sat down under a tree, and began spinning flax and saying to herself: "Feed, feed, ox, on the fresh green grass of the field! Feed, feed, ox, on the fresh green grass of the field!" And she went on spinning and spinning, and fell asleep. Suddenly from out of the thick wood, from out of the dark forest, a wolf came running, and ran right up against the ox. "Who in the world are you?" he asked. And the ox answered: "I'm the three-year-old ox, all made of straw and smeared over with pitch." Then the wolf said: "Well, if that's so, give me some pitch to put on my poor torn side." And the ox answered: "By all means!" So the wolf tried to take some pitch, when lo and behold! his paw stuck in it. And when he tried to free it, it stuck all the faster. And the old woman woke up and saw the wolf sticking to the ox. So she ran to fetch her husband and said: "Come as quick as you can, there's a wolf stuck to the ox!" And he came and caught the wolf and put him in the cellar.

The next day, before even the sun had risen, the old woman again drove the ox to pasture, and she herself sat down under a tree, and began spinning flax and saying to herself: "Feed, feed, ox, on the fresh green grass! Feed, feed, ox, on the fresh green grass!" And she went on spinning and spinning, and fell asleep.

Suddenly from out of the thick wood, from out of the dark forest, a fox came running, and ran right up against the ox. "What sort of a beast are you?" he asked. And the ox answered: "I'm the three-year-old ox, all made of straw and smeared over with pitch." Then the fox said: "Well then, give me some pitch to rub on my side." And the fox was just going to take some pitch, when he stuck fast and couldn't free himself. And the old woman woke up and saw the fox sticking to the ox. So she ran to fetch her husband, and he came and took the fox and put him in the cellar as well.

The next day the old woman again sat down under the tree to spin her flax while the ox fed, and she began spinning and saying to herself: "Feed, feed, ox, on the fresh green grass! Feed, feed, ox, on the fresh green grass!" And she went on spinning and spinning and fell asleep. Suddenly from out of the thick wood, from out of the dark forest, a grey hare came running and ran right up against the ox. "What sort of beast are you?" he asked. "I'm the three-year-old ox, all made of straw and smeared over with pitch." Then the hare said: "Well then, give me some pitch to rub on my side." "Take some!" answered the ox. And the hare caught hold of him with his teeth, when lo and behold! his teeth stuck fast. He tore and tore, but couldn't tear them free. And the old woman woke up, and ran to fetch her husband, and said: "Come as quick as you can, there's a hare stuck to the ox!" And the old man came, took the hare and flung him into the cellar. Then the old man began to grind his knife, and the bear heard him and asked: "What are you grinding your knife for?" And he answered: "I'm grinding my knife to take the skin off your back and make myself a fur coat out of it." But the bear said: "Oh! don't take the skin off my back! Better let me go free, and I'll repay you handsomely." "Well, mind you do!" answered the old man, and so he let the bear go free, and he ran off into the forest.

The next day the old man again began to grind his knife outside the cellar, and the wolf asked him: "What are you grinding your knife for?" And he answered: "I'm grinding my knife to take the skin off your back and make myself a fur coat out of it." But the wolf said: "Oh! don't take the skin off my back! Better let me go free, and I'll repay you handsomely." "Well, mind you do!" answered the old man, and so he let the wolf too go free. And again he began to grind his knife outside the cellar, and the fox asked him: "What are you grinding your knife for?" And he answered: "I'm grinding my knife to take the skin off your back, and make myself out of it a collar for my fur coat." But the fox said: "Oh! don't take the skin off my back! Better let me go free, and I'll repay you handsomely." "Well, mind you do!" answered he.

Then the hare was left all alone.
  
And again the old man began to grind his knife, and the hare asked him: "What are you grinding your knife for?" And he answered: "I'm grinding my knife to take the skin off your back, and make myself some fur gloves out of it." But the hare said: "Oh! don't take the skin off my back! Better let me go free, and I'll repay you handsomely." "Well, mind you do!" he answered, and let the hare too go free.

Early the next morning the old man heard someone knocking at the gate, so he asked: "Who's there?" And the answer came: "It's I, the bear, come to pay you my debt." And the old man opened the gate, and there was the bear with a hive of honey he had brought. So the old man took the honey, when again he heard knock-knock at the gate! "Who's there?" he asked, and the answer came: "It's I, the wolf, come to pay you my debt." And there was the wolf with a whole flock of sheep he had driven up. So the old man let the sheep into the yard, when again he heard knock-knock at the gate. "Who's there?" he asked, and the answer came: "It's I, the fox, come to pay you my debt." And there was the fox with a whole farm-yardful of cocks and hens, and ducks and geese. Suddenly there came another knock-knock at the gate. "Who's there?" asked the old man, and the answer came: "It's I, the hare, come to pay you my debt." And he had brought with him a whole heap of cabbages. And the old man and his wife began to live happily together, and always spoke well and kindly of those beasts.




The Fox And The Blackbird.


A fox was walking through the forest when he fell into a deep hole. And there he sat and sat, till all at once he began to feel hungry. He started looking round, but could see nothing. Then he looked up, and there he saw a blackbird in the tree above weaving its nest, and he said: "Mr. Blackbird, Mr. Blackbird, what are you doing?" And the blackbird answered: "I'm weaving my nest." "What are you weaving your nest for?" asked the fox. "To bring up my children in," answered the blackbird. "But I'm going to eat your children," said the fox. "Don't eat my children," answered the blackbird. "Well then, feed me, I'm hungry," said the fox. At that the blackbird began to fret and to worry: how should he feed the fox? Then he flew off into the village, and brought back a chicken for the fox.

And the fox ate the chicken, and after a little he said: "Mr. Blackbird, Mr. Blackbird, you fed me, didn't you?" And the blackbird answered: "Yes." "Well then," said the fox, "give me a drink!" At that the blackbird began to fret and to worry: how was he to get the fox a drink? Then he flew off into the village, and brought back a little pailful of water for the fox.

And the fox had a good drink, and after a little he said: "Mr. Blackbird, Mr. Blackbird, you fed me, didn't you?" And the blackbird answered: "Yes." "And you got me a drink?" "Yes." "Well then," said the fox, "come and pull me out of the hole!" At that the blackbird began to fret and to worry: how could he pull the fox out of the hole? Then he began to gather sticks in the forest and started throwing them into the hole. And he kept throwing them in and throwing them in, till he filled the hole. And the fox climbed up on to the sticks and out of the hole. And when he had climbed out, he lay down right under the tree. And there he lay and lay, and he said to the blackbird: "Look here, you fed me, didn't you, Mr. Blackbird?" And the blackbird answered. "Yes." "And you got me a drink?" "Yes." "And you pulled me out of the hole?" "Yes." "Well then," said the fox, "now make me laugh!" At that the blackbird began to fret and to worry: how should he make the fox laugh? At last he said: "Very well, I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll fly into the village, and you run after me." So they agreed to do that, and the blackbird flew off into the village and perched on the gate of a rich peasant's house, while the fox lay down under the gateway. Then the blackbird began to sing: "Mistress, Mistress, bring a lump of fat! Mistress, Mistress, bring a lump of fat!" And the fox said: "That's fine, let's have it again!" So the blackbird began once more: "Mistress, Mistress, bring a lump of fat! Mistress, Mistress, bring a lump of fat!"

Suddenly from under the gate a dog said angrily: "Wow-wow!" and the fox took to his heels and hopped it into the forest as quick as he could!

And that's all about it.

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Umboo, The Elephant

By

Howard R. Garis



Chapter I

Baby Umboo


"Oh, my! But it's hot! It is just too hot for anything!" cried Chako, one of the monkeys in the circus cage. "It is hotter under this tent than ever it was in the jungle! Whew!" and he hung by his tail and swung to and fro from a wooden bar.

"In the jungle we could find a pool of water where we could keep cool," said another monkey, who was poking around the floor of the cage, hoping he could find a peanut. But there were only shells. "I wish I could go back to the jungle," he chattered.

"What did you come away from the jungle for, if you don't like it in this circus?" asked Woo-Uff, the big yellow lion, who lay on his back in his cage, his legs stuck up in the air, for he was cooler that way. "Why did you come from the jungle, Chako?"

"I didn't want to come," answered the swinging monkey. "But some white and black hunters caught me, and a lot more of us chattering chaps, and took us away from the jungle."

"That's right, my boy!" exclaimed the deep, rumbly voice of Umboo, the biggest elephant in the circus. "None of us animals would have come away from the jungle if we could have had our way. But, now that we are here, we must make the best of it."

"How can one make the best of it when it is so hot?" asked Chako. "The sun shines down on this circus tent hotter than ever it did in the jungle. And there is no pool of water where we can splash and be cool."

"Oh, if water is all you want, I can give you some of that," spoke Umboo. "Wait a minute!"

Near the elephants, of whom Umboo was one on a long line, chained to stakes driven in the ground, was a big tub of water, put there for them to drink when they wanted to. Umboo put his long, rubbery hose of a trunk down into this tub of water, and sucked up a lot, just as you fill your rubber ball at the bathroom basin.

"Look out now, monkeys!" cried the elephant. "It's going to rain!" and he sort of laughed away down in his throat. He couldn't laugh through his nose, as his nose was his trunk, and that was full of water. "Look out for a shower!" he cried.

With that the elephant went:

"Woof-umph!"

Out from his trunk, as if from a hose, sprinkled a shower of water. Over the cage of monkeys it sprayed, wetting them as might a fall of rain.

"Here comes some more!" cried Umboo, and again he dipped his trunk in the tub of water, sucked up some in the two hollow places, and again squirted it over the monkeys' cage.

"Oh, that's good! That's fine!" cried Chako. "That was like being in a jungle rain. I'm cooler now. Squirt some more, Umboo!"

"No, hold on, if you please!" rumbled another elephant. "It is all right for Umboo to splatter some water on you poor monkeys, but if he quirts away all in the tub we will have none to drink."

"That's so," said Umboo. "I can't squirt away all the water, Chako. We big elephants have to drink a lot more than you little monkeys. But when the circus men fill our tub again, I'll squirt some more on you."

"Thank you!" chattered Chako. "I feel cooler, anyhow. And we monkeys can't stand too much water. This felt fine!"

The monkeys in the cage were quite damp, and some began combing out their long hair with their queer little fingers, that look almost like yours, except that their thumb isn't quite the same.

"If Umboo can't squirt any more water on us, maybe he can do something else to help us forget that it is so hot," said Gink, a funny little monkey, who had a very long tail.

"What can he do, except squirt water on us?" asked Chako. "And I wish he'd do that again. It's the only thing to make us cooler."

"No, I wasn't thinking of that, though I do like a little water," spoke Gink. "But don't you remember, Umboo, you promised to tell us a story of how you lived in a jungle when you were a baby elephant?"

"Oh, yes, so he did!" exclaimed Chako. "I had forgotten about that. It will make us cooler, I think, to hear you tell a story, Umboo. Please do!"

"Well, all right, I will," said the big elephant, as he swung to and fro; because elephants are very seldom still, but always moving as they stand. And they sleep standing up -- did you know that?

"I'll tell you a story about my jungle," went on Umboo. "But perhaps you will not like it as well as you did the story Snarlie the tiger told you."

"Oh, yes we will," said Snarlie himself, a big, handsome striped tiger in a cage not far from where the monkeys lived. "You can tell us a good story, Umboo."

"And make it as long as the story Woo-Uff, the lion, told us," begged Humpo, the camel. "I liked his story."

"Thank you," spoke Woo-Uff, as he rolled over near the edge of his cage where he could hear better. "I'm glad you liked my story, Humpo, but I'm sure Umboo's will be better than mine. And don't forget the funny part, my big elephant friend."

"What funny part is that?" asked Horni, the rhinoceros.

"Oh, I guess he means where I once filled my trunk with water and squirted some on a man, as I did on the monkeys just now," said the swaying elephant.

"Why did you do that?" Chako wanted to know.

"Well, I'll tell you when I get to that part of my story," said the elephant. "Now do you all want to hear me talk?"

"Oh, yes! yes!" cried the animals in the circus tent. "Tell us your story, Umboo! Tell us about when you were a baby in the far-off jungle of Africa."

"I did not come from Africa; I came from an Indian jungle," said Umboo. "My friends, the African elephants, are much larger than I am, and they are wilder and fiercer, and so they are hardly every caught for the circus."

"I remember a great big elephant in a circus I was once with -- not this one, though," said Humpo, the camel. "His name was Jug -- no it was not Jug, and it wasn't Jig, but it began with a J."

"Maybe it was Jumbo," suggested Umboo.

"That was it -- Jumbo!" cried Humpo. "He was a very big elephant."

"Yes, I guess he was," said Umboo. "I have heard of him, but I never saw him. He was an African elephant, and they are all large. Poor Jumbo!"

"Why do you say that?" asked Chako the monkey. "Poor Jumbo?"

"Because he is dead," said Umboo. "Poor Jumbo was struck by one of those big puffing animals, of steam and steel and iron, that pull our circus train over the shiny rails."

"You mean a choo-choo-locomotive-steam-engine," said Woo-Uff, the lion.

"I suppose that is the name," said Umboo. "Anyhow, Jumbo was hit by an engine, and, big as he was, it killed him. His bones, or skeleton, are in a museum in New York now."

"Is New York a jungle?" asked Gink, who had not been with the circus very long.

"New York a jungle? Of course not!" laughed Snarlie, the tiger. "New York is a big city, and sometimes we circus animals are taken there to help with the show. I've been in New York lots of times."

"Well, don't let it make you proud," said Chako, the other monkey. "I have been there myself, and I'd much rather be in the jungle."

"Say, are we going to listen to you animals talk or hear the story Umboo is going to tell us?" asked Humpo, the camel. "I thought he was going to make us forget the heat."

"So I am," said Umboo, in a kind voice, "Only I wanted to speak about old Jumbo, There used to be a song about him, many years ago. It went something like this, and I heard a little English boy sing it:

"Alice said to Jumbo: 'I love you!' Jumbo said to Alice: 'I don't believe you do; 'Cause if you love me truly, As you say you do, Come over to America To Barnum's show!'"

"That's the song they used to sing about Jumbo, more than twenty years ago," said Umboo.

"My! How can you remember so far back?" asked Chako.

"Oh, we elephants live to a good old age," said Umboo. "Why, I am fifty years old now, and yet I am young! Some of the elephants in the jungle lived to be a hundred and twenty years old!"

"Oh, my!" cried Chako. "Did they have circuses as long ago as that?"

"Yes, but not the kind that traveled about, and showed in white tents," said Umboo. "But I have heard my father and mother say that we elephants live to be very old."

"And can you remember so far back, when you were a baby in the jungle?" asked Humpo.

"Oh, yes, very easily," answered Umboo. "I am going to tell you a story about how first I was a little elephant in the great, green forest, or jungle, and then I'll tell you how I was caught, and worked in a lumber yard in India, and how I was then sold to a circus."

"Well, then, please begin!" begged Chako. "It is getting hot again in this monkey cage, and if you haven't any water to squirt on us tell us your story."

"I will!" promised the elephant. And then, as the afternoon show was over, and it was not yet time for the night one to begin, the animals had a little quiet time to themselves. And, as they had done once before, they got ready to listen to a story.

In the book before this I have written for you the story of Woo-Uff, the lion. And before that I gave you the story of Snarlie, the tiger. And now we come to Umboo.

"The first thing I remember," began the elephant, "was when I was a little baby in the jungle."

"Were you very little?" asked Snarlie the tiger.

"Well, I have heard my mother say I weighed about two hundred pounds the first day I came into the world," answered Umboo. "So, though I was little for an elephant, I would have made a very big monkey, I suppose. And for a time I just stayed near my mother, between her two, big front legs, so the other elephants would not step on me, and I drank the milk my mother gave me, for my teeth were not yet ready for me to chew roots, leaves and grass."

"Tell us something that happened!" begged Chako, "and make it exciting, so we will forget about the heat!"

"Well," said Umboo, "I'll tell you of a terrible fright we had, and how -- "

But just then something else happened. Into the tent came running one of the circus men, and he cried to another, who was asleep on some hay near the elephants.

"Come! Loosen Umboo! We need him to help us get one of the wagons out of the mud! Bring Umboo, the strongest of all elephants!"




Chapter II

On The March


Umboo, the big circus elephant, was unchained from the stake in the circus tent to which he was made fast, and led out by one of the men.

"Oh, where are you going?" asked Horni, the rhinoceros, who had been taking a little doze, and who woke up, just as the men came in. "I thought I heard some one say you were going to tell a story, Umboo," spoke the rhinoceros.

"I was going to, and I started it," the elephant answered, "but now I must go out and help push a wagon loose from where it is stuck in the mud. I'll be back pretty soon, for it is no trouble at all for me to push even a big circus wagon."

"Yes, you are very strong," said Chako, the monkey. "Well, don't forget to come back and tell us about the jungle. That will make us forget the heat."

"Come, Umboo!" called one of the men, as he loosed the heavy elephant chains. "You must help us with the wagon."

Out of the circus tent walked the big elephant. He could understand some of the things the circus men said to him, just as your dog can understand you, when you call:

"Come here, Jack!" Then he runs to you, wagging his tail. But if you say:

"Go on home, Jack!"

How his tail droops, and how sadly your dog looks at you, even though you know it is best for him to go back, and not, perhaps, go to school with you, like Mary's little lamb.

So, in much the same way, Umboo knew what the men wanted of him. He was led across the circus lot, outside the big, white tent, that was gay with many-colored flags, and as Umboo swayed along, some boys, who were watching for what they might see, caught sight of the great elephant.

"Hey, Jim! Here's one of the big ones!" shouted one boy.

"Maybe he's going to take a drink out of the canal," said another.

"Maybe they're going to give him a swim," spoke a third boy.

But the men had something else for Umboo to do just then. They led him to where one of the big wagons, covered with red and gold paint, and shiny with pieces of looking glass, was stuck fast in the mud on a hill. For it had rained the day before the circus came to show in the town, and the ground was soft.

"Now, Umboo!" called the circus man, who was really one of the elephant keepers, and who gave them food and water, "now, Umboo, let us see if you can get this wagon out of the mud, as you did once before. The horses can not pull it, but you are stronger than many horses."

The horses, with red plumes on their heads, were still hitched to the wagon. There were eight of them, but they had pulled and pulled, and still the wagon was stuck in the mud.

"Are you going to help us, Umboo?" asked one of the horses who knew the elephant, for the circus animals can talk among themselves, just as you boys and girls do. "Are you going to help us?"

"I am going to try," Umboo answered. "You look tired, horsies! Take a little rest now, while I look and see which is the best way to push. Then, when I blow through my nose like a trumpet horn, you pull and I'll push, and we'll have the wagon out of the mud very soon!"

Umboo was led up to the back of the wagon. He looked at where the wheels were sunk away down in the soft ground, and then, being the strongest and most wise of all the beasts of the world, the elephant put his big, broad head against the wagon.

"Now, then, horsies! Pull!" he cried, trumpeting through his trunk, which was hollow like a hose. "Pull, horsies!"

The horses pulled and Umboo, the elephant, pushed, and soon the wagon was out on firm, hard ground.

"That's good!" cried the circus man. "I knew Umboo could do it!"

Then he gave the elephant a sweet bun, which he had saved for him, and back to the tent went Umboo.

"Now, please go on with your story!" begged Chako. "Tell us what happened in the jungle."

"I will," said Umboo, and this is the story he told. Umboo was only one of a number of baby elephants that lived with their fathers and mothers in the deep, green jungles of India. Not like the other jungle beasts were the elephants, for the big animals had no regular home. They did not live in caves as did the lions and tigers, for no cave was large enough for a herd of elephants.

And, except in the case of solitary, or lonely elephants, which are often savage beasts, or "rogues," all elephants live in herds -- a number of them always keeping together, just like a herd of cows.

Another reason why elephants do not live in one place, like a lion's cave, or in a nest or lair under the thick grass where a tiger brings up her striped babies, is that elephants eat so much that they have to keep moving from place to place to get more food.

They will eat all there is in one part of the jungle, and then travel many miles to a new place, not coming back to the first one until there are more green leaves, fresh grass, or new bark on the trees which they have partly stripped.

So Umboo, the two-hundred-pound baby elephant, lived with his mother in the jungle, drinking nothing but milk for the first six months, as he had no teeth to chew even the most tender grass.

"Well, are you strong enough to walk along now?" Umboo's mother asked him one day in the jungle, and this was when he was about half a week old.

"Oh, yes, I can walk now," said the baby elephant, as he swayed to and fro between his mother's front legs, while she stood over him to keep the other big elephants, and some of the half-grown elephant boys and girls, from bumping into him, and knocking him over. "I can walk all right. But why do you ask me that?" Umboo wanted to know.

"Because the herd is going to march away," said Mrs. Stumptail, which was the name of Umboo's mother. "They are going to march to another part of the jungle, and your father and I will march with them, as we do not want to be left behind. There is not much more left here to eat. We have taken all the palm nuts and leaves from the trees. We have only been waiting until you grew strong enough to march."

"Oh, I can march all right," said Umboo, telling his story to the circus animals in the tent. "Look how fast I can go!"

Out he started from under his mother's body, striding across a grassy place in the jungle. But Umboo was not as good at walking as he had thought. Even though he weighed two hundred pounds his legs were not very strong, and soon he began to totter.

"Look out!" cried his mother. "You are going to fall!" and she reached out her trunk and wound it around Umboo, holding him up.

"Hello!" trumpeted Mr. Stumptail, coming up just then with a big green branch in his trunk. "What's the matter here?"

"Umboo was just showing me how well he could walk," said his mother, speaking elephant talk, of course. "I told him the herd would soon be on the march, and that he must come along."

"But we won't go until he is strong enough," said Umboo's father. "Here," he said to Mrs. Stumptail, "eat this branch of palm nuts. They are good and sweet. Eat them while I go and see Old Tusker. I'll tell him not to start to lead the herd to another part of the jungle until Umboo is stronger."

Then, giving the mother elephant a branch of palm nuts, which food the big jungle animals like best of all, Mr. Stumptail went to see Tusker, the oldest and largest elephant of the jungle -- he who always led the herd on the march.

"My new little boy elephant is not quite strong enough to march, yet," said Mr. Stumptail to Tusker. "Can we wait here another day or two?"

"Oh, yes, of course, Mr. Stumptail," said the kind, old head elephant. "You know the herd will never go faster than the mothers and baby elephants can travel."

And this is true, as any old elephant hunter will tell you.

"Thank you," said Mr. Stumptail, to Tusker; for elephants are polite to each other, even though, in the jungle, they sometimes may be a bit rough toward lions and tigers, of whom they are afraid.

Back to the mother elephant and Baby Umboo went Mr. Stumptail, to tell them there was no hurry about the herd marching away. And two or three days later Umboo had grown stronger and was not so wobbly on his legs. He could run about a little, and once he even tried to bump his head against another elephant boy, quite older than he was.

"Here! You mustn't do that!" cried his mother. "What trick are you up to now?"

"Well, this elephant laughed at your tail," said Umboo. "He said it was a little short one, and not long like his mother's!"

"Don't mind that!" said Mrs. Stumptail, with a sort of laugh away down in her trunk. "All our family have short, or stumpy tails. That is how we get our name. The Stumptail elephants are very stylish, let me tell you."

"Oh, then it's all right," said Umboo, who was called by that name because he had made that sort of noise or sound through his nose, when he was a day old. And elephants and jungle folk are named for the sort of noises they make, or for something they do, or look like, just as Indians are named.

So Umboo played in the deep jungle forest with the other little elephant boys and girls until his mother and father saw that he was strong enough to walk well by himself.

"Now we will start on a long march!" called Tusker one day. "The jungle here is well eaten, and, besides, it is no longer safe for us here. So we will march."

"Why isn't the jungle safe here any more?" asked Umboo of his mother.

"I'll tell you," answered Tusker, who heard what the little elephant asked. "The other day," went on the big chap, "I went to the top of the hill over there," and he pointed with his trunk. "I heard up there a noise like thunder, but it was not thunder."

"What was it?" asked Umboo, who liked to listen to the talk of the old herd-leader. The other little elephants also gathered around to listen.

"It was the noise of the guns of the hunters," said Tusker. "They are coming to our jungle, and where the hunters come is no place for us. So we must march away and hide. Also there is not much food left here. We must go to a new jungle-place."

Raising his trunk in the air Tusker gave a loud call. All the other elephants gathered around him, and off he started, leading the way through the green forest.

"Now if I go too fast for any of you baby elephants, just squeak and I'll stop," said the big, kind elephant. "We will go only as fast as you little chaps can walk."

"You are very kind," said Mrs. Stumptail, helping Umboo, with her trunk, to get over a rough bit of ground.

On and on marched the elephants to find a new place in the jungle, where they would be safe from the hunters, and where they could find more sweet bark, leaves and palm nuts to eat. Umboo walked near his mother, as the other small elephant boys and girls walked near their mothers, and the bigger elephants helped the smaller and weaker ones over the rough places.

Pretty soon, in the jungle, the herd of elephants came to what seemed a big silver ribbon, shining in the sun. It sparkled like a looking glass on a circus wagon, though, as yet, neither Umboo, nor any of the other big animals had ever seen a show.

"What is that?" asked Umboo of his mother.

"That is a river of water," she answered. "It is water to drink and wash in."

"Oh, I never could drink all that water," said the baby elephant.

"No one expects you to!" said his mother, with an elephant laugh. "But we are going to swim across it to get on the other side."

"What is swimming?" asked Umboo.

"It means going in the water, and wiggling your legs so that you will float across and not sink," said Mrs. Stumptail. "See, we are at the jungle river now, and we will go across."

"Oh, but I'm afraid!" cried Umboo, holding back. "I don't want to go in all that water."

Mrs. Stumptail reached out her trunk and caught her little boy around the middle of his stomach.

"You must do as I tell you!" she said. "Up you go!" and she lifted him high in the air.

"Oh, did she let you fall?" suddenly asked Chako, who, with the other animals in the circus tent, was eagerly listening to the story Umboo was telling. "Did she let you fall?"




Chapter III

Sliding Down Hill


"Look here!" cried Snarlie, the tiger, when Chako, the monkey, had asked his question. "Look here, Chako! You mustn't interrupt like that when Umboo is talking! Let him tell his story, just as you let me tell mine. And maybe Umboo's jungle story will go in a book, as mine did."

"Is yours in a book?" asked Humpo, the camel.

"It is," answered Snarlie, and he did not speak at all proudly as some tigers might. "My story is in a book, and there are pictures of me, and also Toto, the little Indian princess. For I came from India, just as Umboo did."

"Now who is talking?" asked Woo-Uff, the lion. "I thought we were to listen to Umboo's story."

"That's right -- we were," said Snarlie. "I'm sorry I talked so much. But I was telling Chako about the books we are in, Woo-Uff."

"Yes, books are all well enough," said the lion, "but give me a good piece of meat. Now go on, Umboo. What was it Chako asked?"

"I wanted to know if Umboo's mother let him fall when she lifted him high up in her trunk when they came to the jungle river," said the monkey in the circus cage.

"No," answered Umboo, "she did not drop me. My mother was very strong, and her trunk had a good hold of me. She didn't drop me at all."

"Then what did she lift you up for?" asked Chako. "Once, in the jungle where I came from, I saw a big elephant lift up a tiger in his trunk, and the elephant threw the tiger down on the ground as hard as he could, and hurt him."

"That was because the tiger was going to bite the elephant if he could," answered Umboo. "Elephants only have their tusks, and trunk and big feet to fight with. They can't bite as you monkeys can, nor as lions and tigers can. But my mother lifted me up in her trunk to put me on her back."

"What did she want to do that for?" asked Humpo, the camel. "Was a hunter coming with a gun?"

"No, but she was going to swim across the river with the rest of the herd," answered Umboo, "and she knew I was too little to know how to swim yet. I learned how later, though, and I liked the water. But this time my mother took me across the river on her back."

"It's a good thing your mother didn't have a camel-back like Humpo," said Woo-Uff, with a sort of chuckling laugh.

"Why?" asked Horni, the rhinoceros.

"Because, if Mrs. Stumptail had a back, with humps in, as the camels have, Umboo would have fallen off into the water," said the lion, as he opened his big mouth in a sleepy yawn, showing his big, white, sharp teeth.

"My mother's back was big and strong," said Umboo. "It was flat, and not humpy, like a camel's, though their backs are all right on the desert. My mother lifted me up on her back with her trunk, and there I sat while she and the other elephants waded into the river."

And then the circus elephant went on telling his story.

Into the jungle river walked the elephants, the littlest ones on their mothers' backs, and some, very small ones, held in their mothers' trunks, which were lifted high in the air. These were the babies of the herd who were too small to ride safely on the backs of the big creatures.

"Pooh! I'm bigger than you! I can swim like the other elephants!" said Keedah; a large elephant boy, as he looked up and saw Umboo on his mother's back. "I don't have to be carried across a river! I can swim by myself."

"And so will my little boy, soon," said Mrs. Stumptail. "Swim on your own side, Keedah, and don't splash water on Umboo."

But Keedah was a little elephant chap full of mischief, and he did not do as he was told. Instead he filled his trunk with water and sprayed it all over Umboo.

"Ouch!" cried the little elephant baby, for the water felt cold, at first. "Stop it, Keedah!"

"Ha! Ha! I made you get wet, whether you swim or not!" laughed Keedah. "I'll put some more water on you!"

"No you don't! Now you swim along!" suddenly cried Mrs. Stumptail. "Get away!"

With that she tapped Keedah on his head with her trunk two or three times, and, when an elephant wants to, it can strike very hard with its long nose, even though it seems soft.

"Ouch! Ouch!" trumpeted Keedah as he swam out of reach of Mrs. Stumptail. "Ouch! Let me alone!"

"Learn to behave yourself then," said Umboo's mother.

"I'm going to tell my father on you!" cried the mischievous little elephant.

"Well, it won't do you any good," said a heavy voice behind him, and there was Keedah's father himself swimming along. "I saw what you did to Umboo," went on the old gentleman elephant, "and Mrs. Stumptail did just right to tap you with her trunk. Now be a good boy, and don't shower any more water on the baby elephants."

So Keedah promised that he wouldn't, and Umboo clung as tightly as he could, with his sprawly legs, to his mother's broad back as she swam across the river.

The water was wide, at this part of the jungle, but elephants are good swimmers. They can go in very deep water, and as long as they can keep the tip end of their trunk out, so they can breathe, the rest of their body can sink away down below the surface. And when the elephants are in the water the flies, mosquitoes and other biting bugs of the jungle can not harm them.

For, though the skin of elephants, rhinoceros beasts, and even the hippopotami, is very thick, some bugs can bite through it enough to give pain, and the animals don't like that. But in the water nothing can bite them, unless it's a crocodile, and none of those big fellows would come near a whole herd of elephants.

"What are we going to do when we get on the other side of the river?" asked Umboo of his mother, as he reached his trunk down in the water and took a little drink.

"Oh, we will rest a while, eat something, perhaps, and then we will keep on marching to a better part of the jungle," she answered.

"I know what I'm going to do when I get on the other shore," spoke Keedah, as once more he swam up along side of Umboo and his mother.

"What?" asked the little elephant who was having such a nice ride across the river. "What are you going to do?"

"I am going to have a slide down hill," went on Keedah, who did not seem to be going to make any more trouble.

"What's sliding down hill?" asked Umboo, and of course, you understand, all this talk was in animal language.

"Sliding down hill is fun," went on Keedah. "You know Old Tusker went up to the top of a place, called a hill, to look and see about the hunters in the jungle. Well, there is a hill on the other side of this river, and when we get across I'm going to the top of it and slide down.

"It's hard work going up hill," went on the larger elephant boy, "but it's easy coming down. You just sit on your hind legs, hold your trunk up in the air and down you come as fast as anything!"

"And be careful you don't bump into anything," said Mrs. Stumptail. "Sliding down hill is all right if you don't bump into anything. You must be careful, Umboo. Don't slide down any hills unless you ask me first."

"I won't," promised the baby elephant. "But tell me more about it, Keedah. Did you ever slide down hill?"

"Many a time. I was with the herd last year when we swam this same river. I could swim then, too, and when we came to the hill I climbed up. Then I came down lots faster than I walked up, and I went splash into the river. That didn't hurt at all," he said to Umboo's mother.

"No, it doesn't hurt to slide into the water," said the old elephant lady. "If you do any sliding, Umboo, see that you splash into the water, and not on the hard ground."

"I will, after I learn to swim," spoke Umboo.

A little later the herd of elephants were safely across the jungle river. Some rested in the shade of trees, pulling off the low branches and the palm nuts. Others rolled in the mud, to make a sort of coating over their skins, to keep off the flies. Others went to the top of the hill to slide down, and Keedah went with them.

"Oh, mother! I wish I could slide!" said Umboo, when he saw what fun the other elephants were having. They really did slide down hill, just as otters do, only the otter, or beaver, likes to have water on his slide, and the elephants did not care whether their slide was wet or dry. Down they came, over sticks and stones, and their skin was so tough that they never got hurt. And yet a fly could bite through that same hide! But that is because a fly has a very fine, sharp bill, which can go through the tiny pores, or holes, in the elephant's skin.

"Oh, I want to slide!" said Umboo to his mother. "I'm big enough, and if I can't swim when I splash in the water, you can be near to pull me out. Please let me slide down hill!"

"And did she let you?" asked Snarlie, the tiger, as the elephant stopped in the telling his story long enough to take a bite of hay. "Did she let you, Umboo?"




Chapter IV

Umboo Learns Something


Umboo, the big circus elephant, swallowed the sweet hay he had been chewing, and was about to keep on with the telling of his story about the things that happened to him when he was a little chap in the Indian jungle, when a lot of men came in the tent where the animals were standing about, or resting in their cages.

"Oh, now we can't hear any more of the story," said Chako, the big monkey, to Gink the little, long-tailed chap.

"Why can't we?" Gink wanted to know.

"Because the circus is going to move on. Our cage will be put on the steam cars, and away we will go, and Umboo, and the rest of the elephants, will be put in big box-cars."

"Won't we ever see him again, or hear more of his story?" asked Gink, who had not been with the circus very long, and so did not know much about it.

"Oh, yes, of course we'll hear more later on," answered Chako, "but not until tomorrow. Now the circus is going to move."

And that is just what happened. The men closed the sides of the cages, shutting the animals up in them. The tent was taken down, horses were hitched to the wagons, and away went the whole, big circus on a train to the next town where the show was to be given.

"It's too bad!" exclaimed Horni, the rhinoceros, who had a big horn on the end of his nose. "It's too bad, Umboo! I wanted to hear you tell about sliding down hill."

"I'll tell you tomorrow," said the elephant. "Now I have to go and help the horses, by pushing on some of the heavy wagons with my head. I'll finish the sliding-down-hill part of my story tomorrow."

"All right, don't forget!" called Chako, just before the men closed down the sides of the monkey cage.

"I won't," promised Umboo.

"It was the same way when I was telling my story," said Snarlie, the tiger. "Every now and then I had to stop when the circus moved from one place to another."

All through the night the trains of cars, with the circus wagons, tents, horses and performers, rolled along. In the morning the cars stopped just outside a big city, where the show was to be given for three days.

"And now I'll have a chance to tell you a lot more about what we elephants did in the jungle," said Umboo, when, once more, all the animal friends were in the tent together. "That is I'll tell you more, if you aren't tired of hearing it," he added.

"Tired? I should say not!" chattered Gink. "Go on, Umboo, if you please. Tell us a lot more!"

"And don't forget about sliding down hill," added Woo-Uff, the lion. "Did your mother let you?"

"Oh, yes, she let me," answered Umboo. "At first she did not want to, for a lot of the big elephants were having this fun. But, after a while, when they went away from the hill, having slid down enough, and when Keedah, and some of the other elephant boys and girls, took their turn, I went with them.

"At first I was a little afraid, when I got to the top of the hill, and saw how steep it was, and how far it seemed down to the bottom where the river ran. But I stuck my front feet out in front of me, and I sat down on the back part of my hind legs, where my skin is very thick, and then, all of a sudden Keedah came up behind me and gave me a push." "Did you go down?" asked Snarlie, laughing so that his sharp, white teeth showed in his red mouth.

"Did I go down? I should say I did!" cried Umboo. "I went down so fast I almost turned over in a somersault, the way the trick dogs do in our circus. And, at first, I was scared.

"But the hill of dirt was smooth, without any big stones in it, and away I slid. When I got to the water, in I went with a big splash; though of course I didn't make as much of a splatter as some of the larger elephants did."

"Was it fun?" asked Humpo, the camel.

"At first I didn't like it," answered Umboo. "The water got up my trunk, and choked me a little, and took my breath away. But my mother stood on the bank of the river and soon pulled me out; and when I went down next time I curled my trunk up, so then I was all right."

The other circus animals liked so much to hear Umboo's story of sliding down hill, that they kept asking him questions about it until nearly dinner time. But when the men came in the tent, bringing hay for the horses, elephants and camels, big chunks of meat for the lions and tigers, and dried bread for the monkeys, then all the animals were quiet for a time -- at least they made no noise except chewing.

And after their meal they all went to sleep for a little while, those in cages curling up in a corner, and the horses lying down on straw, but the elephants took their sleep standing up, for an elephant, even in the jungle, never lies down except perhaps to roll in water, or a mud-puddle. And the only time they lie down in a circus is when they are doing some trick.

"Now I guess you have slid down hill enough, Umboo," said the elephant's mother to him. "It is all right to have some fun, but there are other things to do in the jungle besides that. You must learn a few things."

"I had to learn things too," said Woo-Uff. "I had to learn how to creep up on fat goats, and knock them over with my big paws. There was an old lion named Boom-Boom, and he and I -- "

"Wait a minute! Wait a minute!" called Humpo, the camel, as he was chewing some hay in the circus tent after his dinner. "Is this your story, or Umboo's?"

"Oh, I forgot. I beg your pardon, Umboo!" said the big lion. "Please go on."

So Umboo went on telling his story, speaking of how his mother told him there were other things to do in the jungle besides sliding down hill to splash into the river.

It was some time after this, when Umboo had grown larger and stronger, and two of his tusks or teeth, had grown out of his jaw, sticking far beyond his lips, that his mother said to him:

"Now, Umboo, it is time you learned how to get something to eat for yourself. Up to now I have given you milk, or you have eaten the sweet palm nuts or the tree branches I pulled down for you, or those the other elephants left. Now it is time you learned to do things for yourself. Come with me, Umboo."

"Where are we going?" asked the small elephant. That is he was smaller than his mother, though he was very large along side of a dog or a cat. "Where are we going?"

"Far into the jungle," answered Mrs. Stumptail.

Umboo followed after her, brushing his way through the bushes, pushing aside even those that had thorns on them, for he never felt the sharp pricks through his thick skin, though, as I have told you, some kinds of bugs can bite their way through even this.

Suddenly, as Umboo walked along behind his mother, he began to sniff the air through his trunk.

"What is that good smell?" he asked, in elephant talk, of course. "It smells just like those nice, sweet roots you gave me to eat the other day."

"And that is just what you do smell, Umboo," said his mother. "Near here, in the jungle, grow trees with those sweet roots. If you want to eat some now see if you can find any. In that way you will learn when I am not with you. Hunt around now, and see if you can't smell where the sweet roots grow."

Umboo was hungry and he wanted, very much, to get the roots. So he began sniffing with his trunk close to the ground. When he moved one way the smell was not so strong.

"That means you are moving away from the roots," his mother told him. "Come over this way."

So Umboo moved the other way, and the smell of the sweet roots grew stronger, just as when you come nearer to a bakery or candy shop.

"Ah! Here they are! Right down under the ground, here!" suddenly cried Umboo, tapping with his trunk on a certain place under a big tree. "The roots are here, mother," he said. "But how am I going to get them out? I can't eat them if they are under the dirt!"

"How would you think you might get them out?" asked Mrs. Stumptail. "Come, be a smart elephant, Umboo. Use your brains. Elephants are the smartest animals in the world. Think a little and then see what you will do."

So Umboo thought, and then he remembered seeing what the other elephants did when they were hungry, and wanted to dig up tree roots.

"I guess I'll poke away the dirt with my feet," he said.

"Yes, that's a good way to begin," said Mrs. Stumptail.

So Umboo, with his big, broad fore feet, loosened the dirt over the tree roots. They were not down very deep, being the top roots, and not the big heavy ones, buried far down in the earth.

"Ha! Now I can see the roots!" cried the little boy elephant. "They are uncovered, but still I can't lift them up with my trunk, mother. What shall I do next?"

"What are your tusks for?" asked Mrs. Stumptail. "Don't be so silly! Pry up the roots with your tusks!"

So Umboo knelt down and put one of his big long teeth under a root. Then with a twist of his head he pried the root up from the ground.

"There! See how easy it is!" said his mother.

Then Umboo chewed the sweet root, but he did not swallow the hard, woody part. That would not have been good for him.

"Oh, but this is sweet!" he cried, shutting his eyes as he chewed away. "This is the sweetest root I ever ate."

"And you dug it up yourself! That is best part of it," said his mother. "You have learned to do something for yourself. Now, when you find yourself alone in the jungle, if you should stray away from the rest of the herd, you will know how to get something to eat. You have learned something."

"Is this all I have to learn?" Umboo wanted to know.

"Indeed not!" cried his mother. "There are many more things that you must know. But one thing at a time. A little later I will show you how to pull down a big tree, when there are palm nuts, or sweet branches, growing near the top, which you cannot reach, no matter how you try. Pulling trees down will be the next lesson. But dig up some more roots."

"I will dig some for you," said Umboo.

"Excuse me for not giving you some of the first ones I dug."

"Oh, that's all right," said Mrs. Stumptail. "I wanted you to learn, but you may give me some of the next ones you pry up."

Umboo uncovered more roots, and gave his mother some, and then, as he was moving to another part of the jungle, there suddenly sounded through the forest a loud, shrill cry.

"Quick, Umboo, come with me!" cried his mother. "That is Tusker calling us!"

"What does he want?" asked Umboo.

"He wants to tell us there is danger!" said Umboo's mother. "Hurry! Come with me back to the rest of the herd!"




Chapter V

Picking Nuts


Not stopping to dig up any more roots, Umboo rushed off through the jungle after his mother, who hurried on ahead. As they crashed along, breaking their way through bushes and knocking down small trees, they heard again the shrill trumpet of Tusker, the oldest and largest elephant of the jungle.

"What is he saying?" asked Umboo of his mother, as he hurried along, now close to her. "What is Tusker saying?"

"He is telling of some kind of danger," said the older elephant. "Just what it is I don't know. But the herd will be moving away very soon, to hide in a dark part of the jungle, and we must go with them."

As Umboo and his mother came out into an open part of the forest, where they had left the other elephants, when Umboo had been led away to be given his root-digging lesson, there was great excitement. Tusker stood on top of a little hill, his trunk high in the air, making all sorts of queer, trumpeting noises.

"We were waiting for you," said Mr. Stumptail to Umboo's mother. "We are going to run away and hide. Tusker is calling you."

"Well, tell him we are here now," said Mrs. Stumptail. "I had to give Umboo his lesson."

"And I dug up some sweet roots," said the little elephant, "but I didn't have time to bring you any," he told his father.

"Some other time will do," spoke Mr. Stumptail. "Hello, Tusker!" he called through his trunk to the old, big elephant. "Here they are now! Umboo and his mother have come back. We can all go hide in the jungle."

"Why must we hide?" asked Umboo.

"Because Tusker smelled danger," answered Keedah, who was with the other small elephants where they were gathered together, the older ones about them. "He smelled white and black hunters, with guns, and they are coming to shoot us, Tusker says. So he called a warning to all of us."

"I heard it away off where I was digging up roots," said Umboo. "But did Tusker see the hunters with their guns?"

"No, I didn't see them," said Tusker himself, coming down from the hill just then. "But I smelled them, and that is the same thing. The wind was blowing from them to me, and I could smell them very plainly. Come now, elephants! Into the deep, dark part of the jungle, where the hunters can not find us, we will go -- far into the jungle."

Then the herd moved off, and Umboo's mother told him, as they hurried along, that an elephant's eyes can not see very far.

"We have not a very sharp sight, like the hawks or the vultures," said Mrs. Stumptail, "so we have to depend on our noses. We can smell things a long way off, and when you are older you will get to know the difference between the sweet roots, under the ground, and the man-smell, which means danger.

"Tusker smelled the man-smell, even though he could not see the white and black hunters, and then he trumpeted through his trunk to tell us all to run away," said Mrs. Stumptail.

Through the jungle crashed the herd of elephants, not going any faster, though, than Umboo and the other small ones could trot along. Though an elephant is very big and heavy he can move swiftly through the forest, and go in places where no horse could travel, for the way would be too rough, and great vines and trees would be strung across the path. Indeed there is no path, the elephants making one for themselves, and when once a herd starts off it can hardly ever be caught by a hunter on foot.

"Do you think any of us will be shot?" asked Umboo, as he shuffled along beside his mother. "How does it feel to be shot?"

"My! But you ask a lot of questions," said Mrs. Stumptail; and I think Umboo was like a lot of boys and girls I know. But then if you don't ask questions how are you ever going to find out anything?

"I can tell you how it feels to be shot," said a middle-aged elephant, who was hurrying along, next to Mr. Stumptail. "It hurts very much, Umboo! It hurts very much, and worse than a whole lot of big bugs biting you at once."

"Were you ever shot?" asked Umboo.

"Indeed I was," answered the elephant, whose name was Bango, called so because he used to bang big trees down with his head. "I was shot twice."

"Tell me about it," said Umboo.

"It was some years ago," went on Bango. "I was with another herd, and we were eating away in the jungle. All at once I heard a noise like a little clap of thunder, and I felt a sharp pain in my head. One of the hard things the hunters shoot in their guns had hit me. Then another struck me in the leg."

"Didn't any of you smell the hunter coming?" asked Mr. Stumptail. "Didn't you smell him and get out of the way?"

"No," answered Bango, "none of us did. The wind was blowing the wrong way, I guess. But as soon as we heard the gun, and when I gave a blast through my trunk, as I felt myself hurt, then all the herd knew what had happened, and away we rushed, just as we are rushing now. We went very fast."

"Did the hunter get any of you?" asked Umboo.

"Not that time. I was the only one hit," said Bango. "But another time five or six of the herd I was with were killed by hunters."

"What for?" asked Keedah, who was now more friendly with Umboo. "Why did the hunters kill the elephants, Bango?"

"To get their big teeth, or tusks. Our tusks are ivory, you know, and the hunter men, so I have been told, take our teeth to make into round balls, with which they play games, or they use them to put on machines that make tinkle-tinkle sounds."

By this Bango meant pianos, the keys of which used to be made from ivory, though now they are mostly celluloid. And the game men play, with balls made from elephants' tusks, is called billiards.

On and on through the jungle hurried the elephants, until at last Tusker, who led the way, came to a stop.

"This is far enough," he said. "I do not believe the hunters will find us here. We will rest now."

Indeed it was time to stop, for some of the smaller elephants were quite tired out. Big elephants can hurry through the jungle very fast for as long as twenty hours at a time, stopping, perhaps, only during the very hottest part of the day. And when an elephant is very tired it begins to perspire, or "sweat," over each eye, and two little hollow places there look as though they had been wet with a sponge.

In the cooler part of the shady jungle the elephants rested, some of them pulling down branches from the trees to get at the leaves or tender bark. Umboo began sniffing along the ground with his trunk.

"What are you doing?" asked Keedah.

"I am smelling for sweet roots," was the answer. "My mother showed me how to do it. Do you want me to show you?"

"I learned that long ago," said Keedah.

"Why I can even get palm nuts off a high tree by knocking the tree down. Can you do that? Smelling out earth-roots is nothing!"

"I think it is something," spoke Umboo. "And, when I get a little bigger my mother is going to show me how to pull over, or knock down, a whole tree. But now I am hungry for roots."

So Umboo kept on sniffing at the ground with his trunk. He was feeling quite hungry. Suddenly Keedah cried:

"Ha! I have found some sweet roots! I am going to dig them up!"

"And I have found some, too!" exclaimed Umboo, as through his long nose of a trunk he sniffed the good smell.

Then the two elephant boys dug up the earth with their feet, sort of pawing aside the soft dirt, and with their tusks they pried up the roots, chewing the soft part.

At first the older elephants were uneasy, or worried, for fear that, even though they were in a deep part of the jungle, the hunters might come after them. Tusker and some of the big father-elephants went about, with their trunks high in the air, sniffing, sniffing and sniffing for any smell of danger.

But there seemed to be none. The hunters were left many miles away, and the elephants could rest and eat in peace. For many months after this they roamed about, going from place to place in the jungle as they ate one spot bare of roots and leaves. Sometimes the place where they drank water would dry up, and they would have to move to another river or spring. For an elephant must have plenty of water.

All this while Umboo kept on digging up sweet roots when ever he felt he wanted some, until he could do it almost as well as his mother or father could.

One day, when the elephant boy was traveling through the jungle he looked up and saw, growing on top of a tree, some palm nuts. Elephants are very fond of these, and will go a great way to get them. There are many kinds of palm trees, and on some grow cocoanuts, and on others dates; but the palm nuts the elephants eat are different.

Umboo looked up at the palm nuts growing on the tree in the jungle, and said:

"Oh, how I wish I had some of those."

"Well," said Mrs. Stumptail, "how do you think you can get them?"

"If I were a monkey," said the elephant boy, "I could climb up the tree and pick them off." Umboo had often, in the jungle, seen the monkeys do this.

"But you are not a monkey," said his mother. "Can you reach up with your trunk and pull down the nuts?"

Umboo tried, but his trunk was not long enough.

"I guess the only way to get the nuts is to break down the tree; but how can I do that?" he asked.

"Your head is the strongest part of you," said Mrs. Stumptail. "See if you can knock the tree over."

"Bang!" went Umboo's head against the tree. The tree shook and shivered, and a few nuts were knocked down, but not enough.

"Well," said the elephant boy, as he banged the tree again, "I don't mind doing this for fun, as it doesn't hurt, but the tree doesn't seem to be coming down very fast. And I can't get the nuts until it does. What shall I do, mother?"

"Just think a little harder," said Mrs. Stumptail. "I want you to grow up to be a smart elephant boy, and to do that you must think for yourself. I shall not always be with you. Try and think now how to get the tree down."

"I know!" cried Umboo. "I can pull it over with my trunk!"

He wrapped his long trunk around the tree and began to pull. He had often pulled up small trees and bushes this way, but the palm nut tree was stronger. Though Umboo pulled and pulled, digging his feet hard down into the ground, the tree did not come up.

"Oh, dear!" said the elephant boy. "I don't believe anyone can get this tree down, Mother!"

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Mrs. Stumptail. "Don't be such a baby. Think hard, Umboo! You can easily uproot that tree and get all the nuts you want. Let me see you do it!"




Chapter VI

Umboo Is Lost


Umboo wanted to grow up to be a big, strong smart elephant. He wanted to be like Tusker, the leader of the herd, and he thought if he were as tall, and strong as that mighty fellow he would have no trouble at all in uprooting the tree.

"There must be some way of doing it," said Umboo to himself as he looked up at the palm nuts on top of the tree, and then he glanced at his mother who was watching him. Of course Mrs. Stumptail herself could easily have pulled the tree for Umboo, as it was not very large, but she did not want to do this. Just as your mother wants you to learn to lace your own shoes, or button them, and tie your hair ribbons.

As he stood thinking of what best to do, Umboo scraped with his feet in the dirt around the roots of the tree. Soon he uncovered some of the roots. They were not a kind he liked to eat, but, as he saw the roots laid bare, a new idea came into the head of the elephant boy.

"Ha! I know what I can do!" he said. "I can make the roots loose with my long tusks, and then it will be easy to push the tree over with my head. The roots won't hold it up any more!"

"That's it!" exclaimed his mother. "I was wondering how long it would take you to think of that. And it is better that you should think of it for yourself than that I should tell you. Now you will never forget. So loosen the dirt around the roots, Umboo, and then see what happens."

Kneeling down, Umboo put his tusks under the roots and pried them up, as he used to pry the sweet ones up which he liked to eat. In a little while he had broken many of the big roots. Then he stood up, backed away from the tree, and rushed at it to strike it with his big head which was like a battering-ram.

Once, twice, three times Umboo hit the tree. It shivered and shook, and then, because the roots no longer held it up, over it went with a crash.

"Hurray!" cried Umboo, or what meant the same thing in elephant talk. "Now I can get the palm nuts!"

"Yes," said his mother. "You have learned something else."

With the tree lying flat on the ground, it was easy for Umboo to reach the palm nuts with his trunk. He pulled them off and ate them, first, though, giving his mother some. For elephants, and other animals, know how to be kind and polite, though of course, they are not so good at it as are you boys and girls.

As Umboo and his mother were eating the palm nuts, along came Keedah.

"Hello!" cried the other elephant boy. "How did you get the palm tree down, Mrs. Stumptail?"

"I did it," said Umboo.

"You?" cried Keedah. "No! You are not strong enough for that!"

"No, I wasn't strong enough to knock this tree over with my head, or pull it down with my trunk, until I loosened the dirt at the roots," said Umboo. "After that it was easy."

"Well, you are getting to be like us bigger boys," said Keedah. "May I have some of the palm nuts, Umboo?"

"Yes," was the answer, for Umboo felt a little proud at what he had done, and, like a real person, he wanted others to know it.

"Did you ever knock down a palm tree?" asked Umboo of Keedah.

"Often," was the answer. "I learned to dig at the roots just as you did. But when it rains you don't have to do that."

"Why not?" Umboo wanted to know.

"Because the rain water makes the dirt soft around the roots, and we don't have to dig it loose with our tusks. Wait until some day when it rains, and you'll see how easy it is to knock over bigger trees than this."

And Umboo found that this was so. About a week after that it rained hard, and to the hot, tired and dusty elephants in the jungle the cooling showers were a delight. The rain soaked into the ground, until it was wet and soft, like a sponge.

Umboo, splashing in a mud puddle, walked away from where he had been standing near his mother.

"Where are you going?" asked Mrs. Stumptail.

"I am going to see if I can do as Keedah said he could do, and knock over a tree without digging at the roots," answered the elephant boy. "The ground is rain-soaked now, and soft."

"Very well," spoke his mother. "You may try it. But don't go too far away. The herd may move on through the jungle, and then you would be lost."

"I'll be careful," promised Umboo.

Off started the elephant boy, splashing through the mud and water. He did not need to wear rubber boots, or take an umbrella. In fact he would not have known what to do with either, though once, in a circus, I saw an elephant with an umbrella. But then I saw one with a hand organ, too, and you'd never see that in the jungle.

But Umboo's big feet were made for walking in mud and water, and his thick skin, though bugs could bite through it at times, did not let any rain leak through to wet him. There was plenty on the outside, however, just as there is outside your rubber coat.

"I'll just go off by myself and knock a great big tree over with my head," thought Umboo. "Then the other elephants will see what I can do. I wonder if it will be easy, on account of the ground being soft from the rain?"

On and on through the jungle wandered Umboo. He was big enough to travel by himself now, though of course he did not want to leave his mother, nor the herd, which was like home to him. He was one of a big family of elephants, some being his sisters, his brothers or his cousins.

All around him, through the forest, Umboo could hear the other elephants crashing about in the wet. They were looking for good things to eat, and none of them went very far away from the others. They wanted to be near where they could hear Tusker sound his trumpet call of danger, if he had to do so.

But Umboo being young, and perhaps rather foolish, thought he could go off as far as he pleased into the jungle.

"I can find my way back again, after I have knocked over a big tree," he thought to himself. "It will be easy."

The elephant boy saw several trees with bunches of palm nuts on them, but none was large enough for him. He wanted to pick out an extra large one; not as big, of course, as his mother or father or Tusker could have butted over, but still one bigger than the other trees he had been used to knocking down.

At last, when he had tramped on quite a distance through the mud and water of the jungle, Umboo saw before him a fine, large palm tree. Growing in the top, so far up that he could not reach any except the very lowest, and littlest, ones, were a number of clusters of palm nuts.

"Ah! That's the tree I'll knock down!" thought Umboo.

He went up to it, and looked at the ground around the roots. It was soft and spongy as he stepped on it, and water oozed out.

"This ought to be easy," said the elephant to himself. "Very easy!"

He put his head against the trunk of the tree and pushed. At first the tree only swayed a little, as though blown by the wind. Then the elephant boy, who was quite strong now, pushed harder and harder. Then he drew back his head and struck the palm tree a hard blow.

And then, all of a sudden, over it went, the roots pulling loose from the soft, wet ground. Over the tree went, falling with a crash!

"Ah ha!" laughed Umboo. "That's the way to do it! Keedah was right! It is very easy to knock over a tree when the ground is soft and muddy. Now for some good nuts to eat."

With his trunk Umboo pulled the palm nuts off the tree and stuffed them into his mouth. An elephant's trunk is to him what your hands are to you children.

After he had eaten as many of the nuts as he wanted (and you may be sure that was quite a number, for elephants have big appetites) Umboo tore off a large branch, with nuts clinging to it and started off through the jungle with it.

"I'll take this back to the herd with me," he thought. "My mother or father may like it. And I can show it to Keedah. He can tell by the size of this branch that the tree I knocked over must be a big one. Then I'll bring him here and show him the tree. I'm almost as big and strong as he is."

So thinking, Umboo went on through the forest. Each tree, leaf and vine was dripping water, for it was still raining hard. Steam arose from the ground, for the earth was hot and the water was warm, as it always is in the jungle.

Perhaps it was this steam, which was like a fog, rising all around him, that puzzled Umboo. And most certainly he was puzzled, for, when he had been walking quite a distance, he suddenly stopped and listened.

"This is strange," he said to himself. "I don't hear any of the other elephants. And I ought to be back with the herd now."

He listened more carefully, flapping his ears which were, by this time, about as large as a baby's bath tub. They were still growing. To and fro Umboo moved his ears, listening first one way and then the other. He could hear the patter of the rain, and the chatter of a monkey now and then, also the fluttering of the big jungle birds, with, every little while, the rustle of a snake. But the elephant boy could not hear the noise made by the other elephants.

"I guess I haven't walked far enough," he said to himself. "I must go along through the jungle some more. But I did not think I came as far as this when I was looking for a tree to knock over."

So, taking a tighter hold of the branch of palm nuts in his trunk, off started Umboo again, splashing through the muddy puddles. He looked this way and that, and he listened every now and then, stopping to do this, for he made so much noise himself, as he hurried along, that he could hear nothing else.

"Well, this is certainly funny!" thought Umboo, when he had stopped and listened about ten times. "I can't hear any other elephants at all. I wonder if they could have gone away and left me?"

Then he knew, that, though the other animals might have gone away and left him, his father and mother would not do this.

"And," thought Umboo, "if there had been any danger from hunters and their guns, Tusker would have sounded his call, and I would have heard that. I guess I haven't gone back far enough."

Then he hurried on again, but, after awhile, when he had listened and could hear nothing of the herd of elephants, and could not see them through the trees, Umboo began to be afraid.

"I guess I must be lost!" he said. "That's it! My mother said it might happen to me, and it has. I'm lost!"

And so he was! Poor Umboo was lost in the jungle, and the rain was coming down harder than ever!




Chapter VII

Umboo And The Snake


"Weren't you terribly frightened?" asked Chako, the lively monkey, as he swung by his tail from a bar in the top of his circus cage. "Weren't you dreadfully scared, Umboo, when you found out you were lost in the jungle?"

"Indeed I was," answered the elephant boy, who was telling his story to his friends in the big, white tent.

"I was lost once, in the jungle like that," went on the monkey chap, "and all I had to eat was a cocoanut. And I -- "

"Wait a minute! Wait a minute!" cried Humpo the camel. "Are we listening to your story, Chako, or to Umboo's?"

"Oh, that's so! I forgot!" exclaimed Chako. "Go on, Umboo. I won't talk any more."

"Well, I won't either -- at least for a while," said Umboo. "For here come the keepers with our dinners. Let's eat instead of talking."

And surely enough, into the circus tent came the men with the food for the animals -- hay for the elephants, meat for the lions and tigers, and dried bread and peanuts for the monkeys.

Then after a sleep, which most animals take about as soon as they have eaten, it was time for the circus to begin. Into the tent where the jungle folk were kept, came the boys and girls, with their fathers and mothers, or uncles, aunts and cousins.

"Oh, look at the big elephant!" cried one boy. "I'm going to give him some peanuts!" and he stopped in front of Umboo.

"No, don't!" cried a little girl who was with the boy. "He might bite you."

"Pooh! He can't!" said the boy. "He can only reach me with his long nose of a trunk, and there aren't any teeth in that. His teeth are in his mouth, farther up."

"Well, he's got a pinching thing on the end of his trunk," spoke the little girl, "and he can nip you."

"I don't guess he will," went on the boy. "Anyhow I'd like to give him some peanuts."

"And I'd like to have them," said Umboo, in elephant talk, of course, which the other animals could understand, but which was not known to the little boy and girl, nor to the other children in the circus tent.

Then the little boy grew brave, and held out a bag, partly filled with peanuts, to Umboo, who took them in his trunk, and chewed them up, first, though, taking them out of the bag, for he did not like to chew paper.

"I wish I could ride on the elephant's back!" said the little boy.

"Children do ride on the backs of elephants in India, the country where you and I came from, don't they, Umboo?" asked Snarlie, the tiger, when the children had passed on to the tent where the performers were to do their circus tricks.

"Oh, yes, many a ride I have given children in India," said Umboo. "But that was after I was caught in the jungle trap and tamed."

"Tell us about that!" begged Chako.

"All in good time! All in good time," said the big elephant, in a sort of drowsy voice, for he had hardly slept through all his nap that day, before the circus crowds came in. "I have yet to tell you how I was lost, and how I got back to the rest of the herd. But seeing the children remind me of the days in India," added Umboo.

"And it reminded me also," spoke Snarlie. "Well do I recall how little Princess Toto rode on the back of a great elephant like yourself, Umboo, and how it was then I first saw her. Afterward I went to live with her, and there was a palace, with a fountain in it where the water sparkled in the sun."

"What's a palace?" asked Chako, the monkey. "Is it something good to eat, like a cocoanut?"

"Indeed it is not," said Snarlie. "A palace is a big house, like this circus tent, only it is made of stone. Princess Toto and I lived there, but now I live in a circus, and I shall never see Toto again! I liked her very much."

"I like children, too," said Woo-Uff, the lion, in his deep, rumbly voice. "Once a little African boy named Gur was kind to me, and gave me a drink of water when I was caught in the net. He was a good boy."

"Did he ride on an elephant's back?" asked Snarlie.

"I never saw him do that," answered the lion, "though he may have. But the elephants of Africa, where I came from, are wilder, larger and more fierce than those of India, where our friend Umboo used to live. People hardly ever ride on an African elephant's back."

"Well, let us hear more of Umboo's story," suggested Humpo, the camel. "It seems to me everyone is talking but him."

"That's so," spoke Horni, the rhinoceros. "Please go on, Umboo. Tell us about how you were lost in the jungle."

So the big circus elephant, slowly swaying to and fro, and gently clanking his chains, told more of his jungle story.

When he looked all around among the trees, which were dripping water from the heavy rain, and when he could not see any of the other elephants, Umboo felt very badly indeed. For animals, even those who live in the jungle, get lonesome, the same as you boys and girls do when you go away from home.

"Well, if I am lost," thought Umboo to himself, as he held the branch of palm nuts, "I must see if I can not find the way home." For though elephants have no real home, traveling as they do to and fro in the jungle so much, Umboo called "home" the place where he had last seen his mother and the rest of the herd.

Since Umboo could not see a long way through the trees, as he might have done if he had eyes as sharp and bright as a big vulture bird, he had to do what most elephants do -- smell. So he raised his trunk in the air, dropping the palm branch to the ground, and sniffed as hard as he could. He wanted to smell the elephant smell -- the odor that would come from the herd of the big animals who were somewhere in the jungle eating leaves and bark.

But Umboo could not smell them. Nor could he smell any danger, and he was glad of that.

All the smells that came to him were those of the jungle -- the soft mud smell, the odor of wet, green leaves and the smell of the falling rain. All those smells Umboo knew and loved. But he could not smell the other elephants, and if he could have done so he would have known which way to walk to get to them.

Slowly he turned himself around, so as to smell each way the wind blew, toward him and from him. But it was of no use. No elephant smell came to him.

"I guess I am too far away," thought the elephant boy to himself. "I must walk on farther. Then I'll come to where my mother is. I wish I had not gone away from her."

Picking up the palm branch again, with the sweet nuts still fast to it, Umboo started off once more through the mud and water. The rain came down harder than ever, but he did not mind that. It washed his skin of the dried mud and dust that had been on it some time, and when it rained the bugs did not bite so much. Also the rain was not cold, for it was pleasant and warm in the jungle. Only it was lonesome to the elephant boy, who, never before, had been so long away from his mother.

On he tramped, splashing this way and that through the puddles, wading through little brooks and, once, even swimming over a small river, for, by this time Umboo was as good a swimmer as the other elephants.

"But I don't remember swimming that river before," said Umboo to himself, as he crawled out on the farther bank, with the branch of palm nuts held high in his trunk. "Surely I must have come the wrong way. I am worse lost than ever!"

And so Umboo was. But there was no help for it. He must keep on, and he hoped, before it grew dark, that he would find the herd, and his mother with it.

After he had swum across the river Umboo pushed on through the jungle for a mile or more. All at once he heard, off to one side, something crashing through the bushes much as he was doing.

"Ha! Perhaps that is another elephant!" thought Umboo. "Maybe it is my mother or my father, or perhaps Old Tusker coming to look for me. I shall be glad of that!

"Hello there!" cried Umboo in elephant talk. "Is that you, Mother? Here I am, over here!"

The crashing of the bushes stopped, and a loud voice said:

"No, I am not your mother. What is the matter with you, elephant boy?" and out of the jungle came stalking a big rhinoceros. On his head, close to the end of his nose, grew a long, sharp horn. At first Umboo was afraid of this horn, but the rhinoceros did not seem to be cross, and the elephant boy went closer to him.

"The matter with me," said Umboo, "is that I am lost. I went out in the jungle, away from where our herd of elephants was feeding, and now I can't find my way back again. Can you tell me where my mother is, Mr. Rhino?"

"I am sorry to say that I can not," answered the rhinoceros, scratching his leg with his horn. "But why did you go away from the herd?"

"I wanted to go out in the jungle and knock over a big tree," said Umboo. "Keedah, one of the boys in the herd, said it was easy to do when the ground was soft from the rain."

"And did you do it?" asked the rhinoceros.

"Yes," answered Umboo, "I did. This branch of palm nuts is from the tree I knocked over with my head. I'd give you some, only I am saving them for my mother."

"Oh, that's all right; thank you," said the other jungle beast. "I don't care much for palm nuts anyhow, and I'd rather you would save them for your mother."

"Do you know where my mother is?" asked Umboo eagerly.

"I am sorry to say I do not," was the reply. "I have been wandering about the jungle myself, looking for a rhinoceros friend of mine, but I haven't found him."

"Did you see a herd of elephants?" asked Umboo eagerly.

"No, I didn't exactly see them," answered Mr. Rhino, "but about two showers ago I heard a big noise in the jungle back of me, and perhaps that was the elephant herd."

Mr. Rhino said "two showers ago," instead of "two hours," you see, because the jungle animals have no clocks or watches, and they tell time by the sun, or by the number of rain-showers in a day. And Umboo knew that very well, so he knew about how long ago it was that the rhinoceros had heard the loud sounds of which he spoke.

"Oh, so you heard the elephants, did you?" exclaimed Umboo. "I am glad of that. Now I'll hurry off and find them. Thank you for telling me."

"Oh, that's all right," politely answered the rhinoceros. "I hope you find your mother and other friends. Good-bye!"

He wiggled his horn at Umboo, who waved his trunk with the palm tree branch in it, and once more, off through the jungle started the elephant boy.

On and on he went. But either he did not go the right way, or two showers ago was longer than either he or the rhinoceros thought, for Umboo did not even smell the other elephants, much less see them or hear them.

"Oh, dear!" thought Umboo again. "I'm surely lost as bad as before! What shall I do?"

He stood and looked about him in the dripping wet jungle. He felt hungry, but he did not like to eat the palm nuts he was saving for his mother, so he chewed some leaves from a tree, and nibbled a bit of bark. But neither was as good as the palm nuts would have been.

Then, as Umboo stood there, he suddenly heard a loud, hissing noise. It seemed to come from right under his feet, and, looking down, he saw a large snake.

Now all jungle animals are afraid of snakes for the serpents can bite and poison at the same time. So though a snake may not be very strong, he can kill by poison some of the strongest beasts. Thus it was that Umboo, who would have fought even a tiger, was afraid of the snake.

"Ah, ha! You would nip me, would you?" cried the elephant, as he raised his big foot to crush the snake before it had a chance to bite and poison him.




Chapter VIII

Umboo Finds His Mother


"Did the snake bite you?" asked Chako, the funny monkey chap, who was hanging by his tail, upside down, listening to the story told by Umboo. "Did the snake bite you?"

"Oh, can't you keep quiet?" asked Woo-Uff, the lion, in his deep, rumbly voice. "Let Umboo alone! He'll tell us what happened."

"Oh, I beg your pardon," said Chako. "I was so anxious that I could hardly wait to hear. We monkeys are very much afraid of snakes, you know."

"So I have heard," said Woo-Uff. "Please go on, Umboo."

So Umboo told the rest of his story.

In the jungle he stood, with one foot raised, ready to crush the big snake.

"Please do not step on me!" hissed the snake, for that was his way of talking. "Please do not put your big foot on me, elephant boy!"

"But I am afraid you will bite me," said Umboo.

"No, I'll not do that," answered the snake. "I do sometimes bite, when I am hungry, but I am not hungry now. Besides, you are quite too big to bite."

"Oh, ho, if you feel that way about it, all right," said Umboo, and he put his foot down, but not on the snake. "There are much larger elephants though, than I am. I wish I could see some of them now. Tell me," he asked the hissing serpent, "did you see anything of the elephant herd on your travels through the jungle?"

"No, not exactly," the snake made answer. "But, as you were kind enough not to step on me, I will do you a favor. I will show you the way through the jungle to where the other elephants are.

"Can you do it?" asked Umboo.

"Surely," replied the snake. "We serpents are the wisest of all creatures, not even excepting you big elephants. For we have to stay so low down on the ground that we would easily be stepped on and killed by other beasts, if we were not wise enough to keep out of the way. So, though I have not seen your mother, or the elephant herd, I can find them for you."

"How did you know I was looking for my mother?" asked Umboo. "I did not tell you that."

"No, but you told the rhinoceros," said the snake.

"Ha! Then you must have very good ears, Mrs. Snake, to have heard that, for it was a long way from here," said Umboo. "You must have very good ears indeed, though they are not as large as mine. In fact I can not see them at all."

"Never mind about my ears," said the snake. "I told you we serpents were very wise. We know many things. And now, if you please, follow me and I will show you the way through the jungle to where your mother is, and the rest of the herd. But as I have to crawl along on the ground, please be careful not to step on me. We snakes do not like to be stepped on."

"I'll be careful," promised Umboo.

Then the snake glided, or crawled, along through the jungle, and Umboo, watching which way she went, followed, carrying in his trunk the branch of palm nuts for his mother.

On and on went the snake, now and then stopping to coil and raise her head above the ground so she might listen. The water drops glistened on her shiny scales, and she was very beautiful in color, though she was so dangerous and deadly.

"What are you stopping for?" asked Umboo at one time.

"I am trying to listen to hear the tramp of the herd of elephants," the snake answered. "Do not make any noise."

So Umboo stood still, and was very quiet, but he could hear nothing. However, the snake must have heard, for she uncoiled herself and started off another way, saying:

"Follow me, Umboo."

"How did you know my name was Umboo?" asked the elephant boy. "I did not tell you that."

"We serpents are wise, and know many things," was the answer, and Umboo began to believe that.

"It is a good thing I met her," he said to himself, as he followed the glistening snake through the jungle. "I am glad I did not step on her as I was first going to do."

On and on through the jungle went Umboo, following the guiding snake, whose glistening scales and bright colors he could easily see amid the green leaves and bushes. At last the snake came to a stop and once more coiled and reared up her head.

"Make no noise, big elephant boy!" she hissed.

Umboo stood still and was very quiet.

"Ha! I thought so!" said the snake. "Go over that way," and she pointed with her head. "Walk about a mile, straight along, and you will come to your mother and the herd of elephants."

"How do you know?" asked Umboo.

"Because I can hear them," answered the snake. "I can hear the tramping of their big feet. I can hear them trumpeting through their long noses of trunks, and I can hear them tearing down the tree branches and stripping off the bark. That is how I know.

"I would go closer, and take you nearer to them, but some of them might step on me, without finding out first, that I would do them no harm. But you can easily find your way from here. Keep straight on," said the snake.

"Thank you, I will," answered Umboo. "I would give you some of these palm nuts, only I am saving them for my mother."

"Thank you," said the snake. "But I do not eat palm nuts. Take them on to your mother, elephant boy."

Then the snake glided away through the jungle, and, watching the end of her tail vanish under a bush, Umboo started off by himself. He had not heard the sounds spoken of by the serpent, but he knew the noises were such as a herd of elephants would make.

"She must have good ears, to hear what she heard," thought the elephant boy. "And yet her ears were not as large as mine."

So, flapping his own big ears, and wishing he could hear with them as well as the snake could with her small ones, Umboo stalked on through the jungle in the way she had told him to go.

It was not very long before he heard a crashing sound. Then he lifted his trunk, still holding the palm branch, and he sniffed and snuffed. And then, to the long, rubbery nose of the elephant boy, came the wild smell of other jungle animals.

"Ah! Now I smell the herd!" he cried. "Now I am not lost any more! Hurray!"

Of course when an elephant says "Hurray" it is different than the way you boys and girls say it. But it means the same thing.

On hurried Umboo. The crashing noises sounded more plainly now, and the elephant smell became stronger. Then, as he burst his way through the bushes, Umboo saw the other elephants standing together in a little clearing in the jungle, and Umboo's mother seemed to be talking to them.

"Ha!" suddenly cried Keedah, the larger elephant boy, as he saw the lost one. "Here he comes now! Here is Umboo!"

Mrs. Stumptail swung around and started toward him.

"Where in the world have you been?" she asked. "Why, Umboo! I have been so worried about you, and so has your father! We were just going out into the jungle to look for you."

"That's what we were," said Tusker. "And hard work it would have been with night coming on. We want to travel to a new place, too, and looking for you would have held us back. What do you mean by going off by yourself this way?"

"I went to see if I could knock over a big palm tree when the ground was soft from rain," said Umboo.

"And did you do it?" asked Mr. Stumptail.

"I did," answered Umboo. "I knocked over a big tree. It was easy, and here is a branch of it for you, and it has some nuts on," and he handed his mother the one he had brought with him all the way through the jungle.

"Oh, thank you!" said Mrs. Stumptail. "You are a very good boy, Umboo, and I shall like these nuts very much. But why did you stay away so long?"

"I was lost," answered the elephant chap. "I could not find my way back after I knocked over the tree. I met a rhinoceros, but he could not tell me where you were. Then I met a kind snake, and she showed me how to find you."

"Well, don't get lost again," said Umboo's mother. "We are glad you have come back, for, as Tusker says, we are about to travel on, and we did not want to leave you behind. So get ready now, we are going to a new part of the jungle."

A little later the herd started off, and Umboo walked with some of the other young elephants, or calves, as they are called. He told them the different things that happened to him when he was lost in the jungle.

On and on went the herd of elephants. They traveled nearly all night, and the next day they stopped to rest, for the sun was too hot for even such big, strong beasts.

Umboo and the others were feeding in a quiet part of the forest, when suddenly Tusker, who was always on the watch, no matter whether he was eating or not, gave a loud trumpet call.

"Ha! That means danger!" thought Umboo, who, by this time knew the meaning of the different calls. "I wonder what it can be?"




Chapter IX

To The Salt Spring


Quickly, as the other elephants in the jungle heard the trumpet call of Tusker, they ran in from the different trees, where they were pulling off leaves or stripping bark, and gathered around the big leader. Tusker stood with upraised trunk, his eyes flashing in the sun.

"What is it?" asked Mr. Stumptail, and some of the others. "What is the matter now?"

"I smell danger," cried Tusker. "I smell the man-smell, and that always means danger to us. There are hunters coming -- either black or white -- and they will have guns or bows and arrows to shoot us. We are near danger and we must go far away. Come, elephants -- away!"

Tusker raised his trunk again, and took a long breath through it. He was smelling to see in which direction the danger of the man-smell lay, and he would turn aside from that.

"The smell comes from the South," he said to the other elephants. "We must march to the North! Come!"

So he led the way through the jungle, Umboo and the other elephants following. As yet only a few of the others had smelled the danger-smell, and none of them heard any noise made by the hunters, if they were coming to shoot their guns or bows and arrows. But they all knew that Tusker was a wise elephant, and would lead them out of trouble. So they followed him.

On and on through the jungle crashed the big animals. They did not stop when trees and bushes got in their way, but broke them down, and stepped on them. A rush of elephants through the jungle to get away from danger is almost as hard to stop as a runaway locomotive and train of cars.

"Can you keep up with us?" asked Umboo's mother of him as he trotted along beside her. "Are we going too fast for you?"

"Oh, no. I can go quite fast now," said the elephant boy, and he really could, for he had grown much in the last few months. Plenty of palm nuts and the bark and leaves of the jungle trees had made him taller and stronger, and his legs were better fitted for running.

Still Tusker was a wise old elephant, and he knew, even in running from danger, that it was not well to go so fast that the smaller animals in the herd could not keep up. If he did that they would fall behind, and be caught or killed. So, every now and then the old elephant leader stopped a bit, and looked back. If he saw any of the boys or girls lagging, or going slow, he would stop for them to rest a little.

Still, even with rests now and then, the herd went on very fast, crashing through the jungle, to get away from the danger. At last Tusker stopped, and said:

"Well, I think we have come far enough. We are beyond the reach of the hunters now. We can stop and eat and sleep in peace."

So the elephants stopped. You see, now, why it was they had no regular homes. They have to move so often, either to go to new places in the jungle to find food, or to run from danger, so that a cave, such as lions or tigers have, or a nest, such as birds live in, would be of no use to elephants. They must live in the open, ready to hurry on for many miles at a moment's notice.

Tusker, and some of the older and wiser beasts, listened as well as they could, flapping their big ears slowly to and fro. They also smelled the air with their trunks. And, as there was no sign of danger, they felt that it would be safe to take a long rest.

They were hungry; for running, or exercise, gives elephants appetites just as it does you boys and girls. And some of the smaller elephants were sleepy. For, though they do not lie down to rest, elephants must sleep, as do other beasts, although they do it standing up. That night the herd remained quietly in the new spot in the jungle whither Tusker had led them. Some of them ate and some of them slept, and when morning came they went to a river of water; and each one took a long drink. Some of them swam about, and it was now that Umboo and the young elephants had some fun.

For you know that jungle beasts -- even the largest of them -- like to play and have fun. You have seen kittens at play, and puppy dogs; and little lions and tigers, as well as the smaller elephants, like to do the same thing -- have fun.

Umboo was standing on the bank of the river, having just been in for a swim, when Batu, another elephant boy, came up to him.

"Do you want to have some fun?" asked Batu.

"Yes," answered Umboo. "What doing?"

"Do you see Keedah over there, scraping his toe nails on a big stone?" asked Batu, for sometimes the toe nails of elephants grow too long and too rough, and have to be worn down. Keedah was doing this to his.

"Yes, I see him," answered Umboo. "What about him?"

"This," answered Batu, with a chuckling laugh that made him shake all over, for he was quite fat. "We will go up to him, as he stands with his back to the water, and while I am talking to him, and asking if his toe nails hurt, you can give him a push and knock him into the river."

"Oh, yes, we'll do that. It will be fun!" laughed Umboo.

For he knew that it would not hurt Keedah to splash into the water, and the elephant boys and girls used often to play that trick on one another, just as you children, perhaps, do at the seashore.

So up to the elephant boy, who was scraping his toe nails on a stone, slyly went Umboo and Batu. And Batu said:

"Ah, Keedah! Do your toes hurt you very much?"

"Oh, no, not so very much," was the answer. "I am getting to be a big elephant now, and I do not mind a little hurt."

"Ha! Then maybe you won't mind this!" suddenly cried Umboo with a laugh, as he quietly went up close to Keedah, and, butting him with his head, as a goat butts, knocked him down the bank into the river.

"Oh! Ugh! Blurg! Splub!" cried Keedah, as he splattered about in the water. "What are you doing that for?"

"Oh, just to have some fun," answered Umboo and Batu, laughing as they ran off.

"Well, I'll show you some more fun!" cried Keedah, as he scrambled up the river bank, and ran after the other two elephant boys, his trunk raised high in the air.

Umboo and Batu ran as fast as they could, of course, and Keedah raced after them. Finally he caught them, and struck them with his trunk. But it was all in fun, and no one minded it. Then, a little later, when Umboo was standing near the river, Keedah came up behind him and knocked him into the water.

"Now we are even!" laughed Keedah as he ran away.

"I don't mind!" said Umboo. "I was going in for another swim, anyhow. I like to be wet."

So he splashed about in the water and had fun, as did the other elephant boys and girls, and the larger elephants watched them, and let the water soak into their own tough hides.

For about a week the herd of elephants stayed near the jungle river. It was a good place for them. Many palm trees grew about, and there were plenty of other things to eat. There was water to drink and bathe in, and shade to rest in when the sun beat down too hot on the jungle. So the elephants liked it there.

But one day when Umboo and Batu were thinking up another fun-trick to play on Keedah, suddenly the trumpet call of Tusker was heard again.

"More danger!" exclaimed Umboo. "I wonder what it is this time?"

"Let us go ask," suggested Batu. "The others are getting ready to leave. They are closing in. Perhaps we have to run away again."

And that is just what the elephants had to do.

"It is the hunters once more!" cried Tusker. "I smell the man-smell! The danger-smell comes down to me on the wind. We must hurry on. Once more the hunters are after us!" and he trumpeted loudly on his trunk, to call in from the farthest parts of the forest the elephants who might have wandered away for food.

Soon the herd was on the march again. Swiftly they went through the jungle, breaking down small trees and big bushes. They stopped not for thorns, nor anything else in the path. On and on they went, crashing along -- anywhere to get away from the hunters with their guns and arrows.

"Are these the same hunters from whom we ran before?" asked Umboo of his mother, as he trotted along beside her.

"I do not know," she answered. "It may be that they are."

For many miles Tusker led his elephant friends through the jungle. Then suddenly he stopped and gave a loud trumpet call.

"Does that mean it is all right, and that we can stop to rest?" asked Umboo.

"I do not think so," said Mr. Stumptail. "That still is Tusker's danger call. Perhaps there are hunters ahead of us, as well as behind."

Tusker stopped, and around him gathered the other elephants.

"What is the matter?" asked Umboo.

"See, boy," answered the old elephant. "There is a fence of big trees ahead. We can not get through that. It is right across our path," and with his trunk he pointed to where there was, indeed, a high fence made of trees, cut down and set closely in the earth and so strong that even the biggest elephant would have had hard work to knock them down.

"Well, if we can't go that way we can go another," said Tusker.

So he turned about, and walked off another way, the other elephants following him.

"Who put the fence there, Mother?" asked Umboo.

"I do not know," answered Mrs. Stumptail. "Perhaps the hunters did, so we could not get into their gardens and eat the corn and other things that grow there. Very good things grow in the gardens which the white and black men plant, and, more than once in the night, I have broken in and eaten them. But it is dangerous, and Tusker does not want to lead us into danger. We will keep away from the fence."

Now, though the elephants did not know it, this fence was not built to keep elephants out of a garden. There were no gardens in that part of the jungle. The fence was put up by hunters on purpose to turn the elephants back, and soon you shall hear why this was done.

"Are we in danger now?" asked Umboo of his father as they hurried along, close beside Tusker.

"No, I think we are all right now," said the oldest, wisest and largest elephant of the herd. "I am going to lead you to the salt springs, where we can taste the salt of the earth. One way is as good as another, and if the fence stops us on one path we will go a new way. We are going to the salt springs."

Every year the herds of elephants in India come down to eat salt, for they need it to keep them well, as horses and cows do on the farm. And the elephant hunters know this too, and so they get ready to capture the wild elephants when they come down each season to get the salt.

The herd was not going so fast now. Tusker felt that they were well away from the hunters, and, though seeing the fence at first scared him a little, he now thought everything was all right.

"We will have good times when we get to the salt springs," said Tusker to the other elephants. "There we can rest, and the hunters will not shoot us."

"Yes, I am hungry for some salt," said Mrs. Stumptail, for she had been to the springs before, and so had many of the older animals.

Along marched Tusker at the head of the herd, and after him came the others. They, too, were hungry for salt, and Umboo was quite anxious to taste some, for he had had very little, as yet. But he liked it very much, and was anxious for more.

But an hour or so later, when traveling along toward where the salt springs bubbled up in the jungle, Tusker suddenly stopped again. Once more he gave the danger signal through his trunk.

"What is the matter now?" asked Mr. Stumptail. "More trouble?"

"Another fence!" cried the old elephant. "The jungle is full of strong fences! We can not go this way, either!"

"What can we do?" asked Umboo. "There is a fence behind us, and now one in front of us. What can we do?"

"Let me think a minute," said Tusker. "I fear there is danger on both sides of us."




Chapter X

In A Trap


All the other elephants waited while Tusker stood there, swaying to and fro in the jungle thinking. Some people say animals do not think, but I believe they do. At least it is thinking to them, though it may not seem so to us.

"Well, are we going to stay here all day?" asked a young elephant, who was crowded in among the others at the back of the herd. "I want to get to some place where I can have palm nuts to eat. I am hungry. Let's go on!"

"Be quiet!" called Umboo's father to this elephant. "Don't you see that Tusker is trying to think, and find the best way out of danger for us. Wait a bit."

So the elephants waited, and finally Tusker with a shake of his big ears, said:

"I never knew anything like this before. Always when we have come to the salt springs the way has been clear. There have been no man-made fences to stop us. But, since they are here it must be that it is not meant for us to go where the fences are. Very well. I know how to get to the salt springs without going near these things across our paths. We can go straight ahead, between the two fences!"

And that was just what the hunters, who had put up the fences in the jungle wanted. They wanted the elephants to go along between them, for, at the places where the fences came to an end, was a strong stockade, or trap, to catch the wild elephants.

Umboo, and none of the other elephants knew this at the time, but they learned it later, to their sorrow, some of them. When hunters in the Indian jungle wish to capture a lot of wild elephants, to work for them, or to be turned into trick elephants for the circus, the hunters do this.

First they find the place where, each year, the wild elephants come down from the hills, or out of the jungle, to taste the salt. For, as I told you, elephants must have salt once in a while, just as horses, cows and sheep on the farm need it. The elephants will travel a long way, and brave many dangers, to get salt.

Knowing this the hunters build long fences on each side of the road leading down from the hills to the salt spring. When the elephants crash their way through the jungle, on their way to the salt, they come to one of the fences. This turns them aside, and they go along until they come to another.

Then, just as did Tusker, and his friend Umboo and the other elephants, being between two strong fences, there is only one other thing to do. They can go between them toward the salt spring, or away from it. But, as they want salt very much, the big animals tramp along the two miles of fence toward the salty place, and, knowing the elephants will do this, the hunters are ready for them. Now I shall tell you what happened.

For a few minutes longer Tusker stood swaying in the jungle. He was trying to think what was the best thing for him to do, for he was the leader of the herd, and they would all do as he did, just as a flock of sheep will follow the old ram, even on the dangerous railroad track sometimes.

"Come!" trumpeted Tusker through his trunk, "we will go between the two fences to the salt springs."

"Is the salt good, Mother?" asked Umboo, for he had only had a little in his life, and as I told you, hardly remembered it.

"Very good, indeed," said Mrs. Stumptail. "You shall soon see and taste for yourself."

So along through the jungle, half way between the two lines of fence, went the elephants, little and big. They had not gone very far before, all of a sudden, Tusker stopped and raised his trunk in the air.

"Be careful!" he cried. "I smell danger! I smell the man smell! Oh, elephants, I fear something is going to happen."

And something did happen.

From behind the herd of elephants, and from both sides of them, came a terrible noise. It was as though a hundred thunderbolts had been shot off at once, and a terrible clapping sound was heard, as if the wings of great birds were flapping.

These noises were made by hunters up in the trees on each side of, and behind, the elephants. The hunters fired their guns, making the noise like small thunder bolts and other black men banged pieces of dry wood together, making the clapping sound.

The elephants were very much frightened. Never before had they heard anything like this.

"Oh, what is it?" cried Umboo, keeping close to his mother. "What is it all about. Does the salt spring make that noise?"

"No, it isn't that," said Mrs. Stumptail. "That must be the danger of which Tusker spoke. Be quiet and listen to what he is saying."

The old elephant leader had to trumpet through his trunk as loudly as he could to be heard above the noise of the guns and clappers.

"There is danger, O Elephants!" cried Tusker. "The man-smell is all around us, and the terrible noises are behind, and on both sides of us. There is only one place that is quiet, and that is straight ahead. We must go that way! Forward!"

And straight ahead rushed the elephants, toward the place where there was no noise. As they went on Mr. Stumptail looked to either side and saw where the two lines of fence came together into a place like a big ring, and the ring also had a fence around it.

"Look, Tusker!" cried Umboo's father. "Is it all right to go there where the fence is?"

"It is the only place to go to get away from the hunters," said Tusker. "They are behind us and on both sides. Only ahead of us is there none. We must go that way!"

And this is just what the hunters wanted. They made no noise in front of the elephants on purpose so they would rush that way. For, in that direction, was the strongly fenced-in stockade, or trap, with long barriers on each side leading to it.

To the elephants, who were frightened by the shooting and clapping noises behind, and on both sides of them, the silence in front of them seemed just what they wanted. Toward it they ran, not knowing that the trap was waiting for them.

Into it they rushed, the noise behind them sounding louder and louder now, with more guns shooting and more clappers clapping. Into the quiet of the stockade rushed Tusker, Mr. and Mrs. Stumptail, Umboo, Keedah and all the others.

And then, when they were safely in the trap, a great big door of logs, as strong as the fence of trees of which the stockade was built, fell with a bang behind them, shutting the elephants in. Then the shooting and clapping stopped.

For a moment it was quiet in the jungle, the only sound being the wind blowing in the trees, or the rubbing of the rough-skinned elephants' bodies, one against the other, making a queer, shuffling noise. The big animals crowded together in the middle of the stockade trap, and waited for what would happen next.

"Is this the salt spring, Mother?" asked Umboo.

"No," she sadly answered. "It is not. This is dreadful!"

"What has happened?" asked Umboo. "And why do Tusker and the other big elephants look so scared?"

"Because we are caught in a trap," answered the boy elephant's mother. "I have heard tell of these places, but I was never in one before."

"Can't we get out?" Umboo wanted to know.

"Tusker will try, and so will your father," said Mrs. Stumptail. "All the strong elephants will try to break out. Perhaps it will be all right yet. Listen, Tusker is going to speak."

Tusker, the big bull, raised his trunk and said:

"O, Elephants! I am sorry, but I seem to have led you into a trap. I did not know it was here. I tried to lead you away from the man-smell and away from the danger, but I have led you into worse. Now I will try to get you out. I see what has happened. The hunters made their fences in the jungle so we could only come this way -- this way into the trap. But we shall break out!

"Come over here by me, Mr. Stumptail, and you too, Mr. One Tusk, and you also, Bumper Head. Come, we will rush at the fence of this trap and batter it down. In that way we can get out. We shall fool these hunters yet. Come, we will batter down the fence and once more we will be in our jungle!"

"Yes, we will knock down the fence!" cried the other big elephants through their trunks. And they made such a rumble, and struck the ground so heavily with their great feet, that the earth trembled.




Chapter XI

Umboo Goes To School


"What is going to happen now?" asked Umboo the big elephant boy of his mother, as the great creatures stood huddled together in the middle of the stockade, or trap. "What is going to happen now?"

"Wait and see," advised Mrs. Stumptail, and she was much worried.

I have called Umboo a "big" elephant boy, for he was small no longer. He had grown fast since I began telling you about him as a baby drinking milk, and now, though of course he was not as large as his mother or father, nor as strong as Tusker, I must not call him "little" any more.

"Come, Elephant brothers!" cried Tusker. "We will break down the trap fence, and then we shall be free to go out into our jungle again."

But it was not so easy to do this as it was to say it. The men who had built the fences and trap well know that the elephants would try to get out, and the stockade had been made very strong.

Besides this there had been dug, inside the trap, and close to where the heavy tree-stakes had been driven into the ground, a ditch, or trench. There was no water in this ditch but on account of the trench the elephants could not get near enough the inside of the fence to strike it with their heads. If they had done so they would have gotten their front feet into the dug-out place, and, perhaps, would have fallen over and hurt themselves.

So when Tusker and the others hoped to knock the fence down by hitting, or butting, it with their heads, they found they could not, as the ditch stopped them. They could only just reach the fence by stretching out their trunks; they could not bang it with their big heads as they wanted to.

"Can't we ever get out of the trap?" asked Umboo of his mother when Tusker and the others had found they could not knock down the stockade fence. "Can't we ever get out?"

"And did you ever get out?" eagerly asked Snarlie, the tiger, who, with the other circus animals, listened to Umboo's story. "Did you ever get out of the trap, Umboo?"

"Tell us about that part!" begged Woo-Uff, the lion. "Once I was caught in a trap, but it was made of a net, with ropes of bark. It was then that Gur, the kind boy, gave me a drink of water."

"And I was in a trap also," spoke Snarlie, the striped tiger. "I fell into a deep pit. It was almost like your trap, Umboo, except that the sides were of dirt, and the pit was very deep. I could not jump out. But after a while I did not mind being caught, for I was taken care of by Princess Toto."

"Let us hear how Umboo got out of the trap," said Chako, the monkey.

"How do you know he got out?" asked Humpo, the camel.

"Isn't he here with us now?" asked Chako, who was a very smart monkey. "And if he hadn't got out of the trap he wouldn't be here. Anybody knows that!"

"Oh, yes; that's so," said Humpo, who did not think much, being quite content to eat hay, and let others do most of the talking. "But, all the same," went on the humpy creature, "I should like to hear how Umboo did get out of the trap."

"I'll tell you," said the elephant boy, and he went on with his story.

When the big elephants found, because of the ditch, that they could not get near enough the stockade fence to knock it down with their big heads, they became very wild. They raised their trunks and made loud trumpet sounds through them. They beat the earth with their feet until the ground trembled, and some of them rushed at the gate, which had fallen shut behind them, as they hurried into the trap to get away from the noise.

But the gate, which had no ditch in front of it, was the strongest part of the trap, and the elephants could not batter it down, try as they did. Tusker and the others banged into it, but the gate held firmly.

"Well, if we can't get out, what are we going to do?" asked Umboo of his mother.

"We shall have to stay here until the hunter-men come, I suppose," answered Mrs. Stumptail.

"Will they shoot us?" asked Umboo.

"I hope not," his mother said.

But Umboo need not have been afraid of that. Elephants in India are worth too much to shoot. They can be sold to circuses and park menageries.

But, better than this, the elephants in India do much work. They pull great wagons, that many horses could not move, and they work in lumber yards, piling up the big, heavy logs of teakwood, from which those queer, Chinese carved tables and chairs are made, and which wood is also used in ships. The Indians teach the elephants how to pile up big logs very carefully, and so straight that a big pile may be made without one falling off. Besides this the rich men of India, the Princes, own many elephants, which they ride on in little houses, called howdahs which are strapped to the backs of the big animals.

But before the wild elephants can be used thus they must go to school, to learn to be gentle, and to do as their drivers, or mahouts, tell them to do. And so Umboo went to school and I shall tell you about that.

Of course it was not such a school as you boys go to, and the big elephant boy did not have to learn to read and write. But he had to learn the meaning of Indian words, so that when he heard them he would know which meant go to the right or which to the left, and which meant to stand still, to kneel down or to go forward.

But I am getting a little ahead of my story. Umboo was still in the stockade trap with the other elephants. And there they were kept two or three days, without anything to eat or anything to drink. Fast they were kept in the stockade, where they could not get out, and as the days passed, and they felt very badly at not having anything to eat, or anything to drink, the elephants grew more quiet. No longer did they rush at the fence, and fall into the ditch. They huddled together in the middle part, and rubbed their trunks against one another, as men, in trouble, might shake hands.

"Oh, will we ever get out of this, and have sweet bark and palm nuts to eat again?" asked Umboo. "It was almost better to be lost in the jungle, as I was, than it is to be here, for then I had enough to eat. But of course I was lonesome without you," he said to his mother. "But I am hungry now."

"Perhaps they will let us out, or feed us soon," she said.

And, a little while after this, a noise was heard at the strong gate of the trap. It was slowly opened, but the elephants that were caught did not rush out. They feared more danger.

And then, to the surprise of Umboo and the others, in through the gate came great big elephants, and on the tops of their heads sat men, dressed in black clothing. And the men had strong ropes in their hands.

As soon as Tusker saw these men, and smelled them, he cried through his trunk:

"Ho, Brothers! Here is danger indeed! I smell the man-smell, even though it comes with other elephants like ourselves. We must get away from the danger!"

Tusker rushed at the gate, but before he could reach it two of the new elephants, who were tame, hurried toward him. The men on their heads threw the big ropes about Tusker, and he was pulled by the two elephants over toward a tree in the stockade, where he was made fast.

Tusker tried, with all his strength to break the ropes, but they only slipped easily around the tree, from which the bark had been taken to make it smooth and slippery for this very purpose.

"Be quiet, big, wild elephant," said one of the tame ones with a man on his head. "Be quiet and tell your friends to be quiet also. No one will hurt them. They will have food to eat, and sweet water to drink, if they are quiet."

Tusker heard this, and so did some of the other wild elephants. They were hungry and thirsty.

"Will you give us water to drink?" asked Tusker, for his trunk and mouth were very dry.

"You shall have water enough to swim in," answered one of the keonkies, or tame elephants.

"And may we eat?"

"You shall have all the palm nuts you want. That is if you are quiet."

"Then," said Tusker to Umboo, and the other wild elephants, "we may as well take it easy and be quiet. Raging about will do us no good, and we must eat and drink."

So most of the wild elephants became quiet. Some of them still tore around, trumpeting, but the big tame elephants pulled them with ropes to the trees where they were made fast. Mrs. Stumptail, and the other mother elephants, soon calmed down, and the boys and girls, like Umboo and Keedah, did as their mothers did.

In a short time the wild elephants were all either tied fast to trees, or were led away between two of the tame ones. Umboo was taken away from his mother.

"Oh, where am I going?" he cried to the tame elephants, one on either side of him. "I want to stay with you, Mother! Where are you taking me?"

"Do not make such a fuss, elephant boy," spoke one of the tame ones. "You will come to no harm, and you will see your mother again. You are going to go to school. You are young, and you will learn much more easily than some of the big elephants. Also you will have good things to eat and water to drink. Be nice now, and come with us."

Umboo had to go along whether he wanted to or not, for the big, tame elephants would pull him by the ropes. They led him to a sort of stable, and there he found some green fodder, some palm nuts and a tub of water. And Umboo drank the water first, for he was very thirsty. Then he ate and he felt better, though he wondered what had become of his mother.

But he did not wonder long, for elephants, and other animals, are not like boys and girls. They grow up more quickly, and get ready to go about for themselves, getting their own food, and living their own lives. And Umboo was big enough, now, to get along without his mother.

"Were you once living in the jungle, as I was?" asked Umboo of Chang, which was the name of one of the tame elephants.

"Surely," answered Chang, "I was as wild as Tusker, your big herd-leader. But when I was caught in the trap, as you were, and sent to school, I found the life here was much easier than in the jungle. It is true I have to do as the mahouts tell me, but they treat me kindly, they feed me and I never have to go thirsty, and when my toe nails get too long they smooth them down for me with a rough brick. Also they scrub my skin to keep away the biting bugs. You will like it here, Umboo, and soon you will go to school and learn how to pile the teakwood logs."

"And will I ride men on my head?" asked Umboo.

"Yes, you will learn to do that, and many things more," said Chang. But even he did not know all the wonderful things that were to happen to Umboo, nor how he was to go in the circus.




Chapter XII

Umboo Is Sold


Umboo, the big elephant boy, did not at once begin to learn the teakwood log-piling lesson. Just as in school you do not learn to read the first day, so it was with Umboo. He had to be trained by his keeper and the keonkies, or tame elephants.

And, after the first feeling of being sorry at having been taken away from his mother, Umboo grew to like the new life. His mother was sent to another big stable, farther away, though Umboo saw her once in a while. With him, however, were many of the wild elephants he had known when the herd was in the jungle. Keedah was one of these elephants.

"I don't like it here at all!" snarled Keedah, when he had been led up beside Umboo, a few days after they had all been caught in the trap. "I don't like it, and I'm not going to stay!"

"What are you going to do?" asked Umboo.

"I am going to run away," said the elephant boy, whom Umboo had once, in fun, knocked into the river. "I am going to run away, and go out in the jungle."

"Oh, no. I wouldn't do that if I were you," quietly said one of the tame elephants, coming up behind Keedah just then, and the half-wild elephant was so surprised that he nearly dropped a wisp of hay he was eating.

"If you ran away we should have to run into the jungle after you," went on the tame elephant. "And when we brought you back you would not have a nice time. It is better to do as you are told, and to learn to do what the black and white men tell you. For then you will be kindly treated, and have plenty to eat. And the work you will learn to do, after you go to school, as you and Umboo will go, will not be hard. Take my advice and stay where you are."

"Well, I guess I'll have to," said Keedah, with a funny look at Umboo. "I didn't know he heard me," he whispered, as if the tame elephant were a teacher in school, which, in a way, he was.

And then began long days and months of lessons for Umboo and the other wild elephants. They were not wild any longer, for the first thing they learned was that the tame elephants would help them, and next that the white and black men would be kind to them and feed them. So the jungle elephants, who used to roam about with Tusker for their leader, lost most of their wildness, quieted down, and were sent to different places in India to work in the lumber yards, or to carry Princes on their backs.

Umboo and his mother had to say good-bye, but they hoped to meet again, and though for a time Umboo felt sad, he soon forgot it as he had many things to learn.

One of the first was to let a man come near him to pat his trunk, and to feed him. In the beginning Umboo was very much afraid, because he smelled the man-smell, which Tusker had so often said meant danger. But Umboo grew to know that not all men were dangerous. For, though some might be hunters, with guns and sharp arrows, those who had caught the wild elephants were kind to the big animals.

"I wonder why I am afraid of the man?" thought Umboo. "He is much smaller than I am. His head hardly comes up to my tusks, and some of the tame elephants are even larger than I. Why are we so afraid of the men as to do just as they tell us?"

Of course Umboo did not know, but it is because man, who is also an animal, is put in charge of all the beasts of the jungle, the woods and fields. Animals are given to help man, and to feed him. And as a man has more brains -- that is he is smarter than animals -- he rules over them. Thus it is that even great elephants, and savage lions and tigers, as well as horses, know that man is their master, and must do as he wants them to.

So, though he could see that he was larger than a man, Umboo did not think much farther than this, and so he never made up his mind that, if he wanted to, he could run away, and that no one man could hold him. But perhaps it was just as well as it was, and that the elephant remained gentle and did as he was told, not trying to use his great strength against his friends.

One of the first things Umboo learned was to walk along, when he was told to do so in the Indian language.

At first Umboo did not know what this word meant. But his keeper gently pricked him with a sharp hook, called an "ankus," and to get away from the prick, which was like the bite of a big fly, Umboo stepped out and walked away.

"Ha! That is what I wanted you to do, little one," said the Indian, speaking to Umboo as he might to a child. And indeed the Indian mahouts consider their elephants almost like children.

When Umboo had learned that a certain word meant that he was to walk along, he was taught two others, one of which meant to go to the left, and the other to go to the right. Then, in a few weeks, he learned a fourth word, which meant to stand still, and then a fifth one, which meant to kneel down.

And though, at first, the elephant boy did not like doing the things he was told to do, as well as he had liked playing about in the jungle, he soon grew to see that his life was easier than it had been with Tusker and the others.

He never had to hunt for food, as it was brought to him by the keepers. Nor was he ever thirsty. And, best of all, he never had to drop what he was eating and run away, crashing through the jungle, because Tusker, or some other elephant had trumpeted the call of:

"Danger! I smell the man-smell!"

Umboo was used to the man-smell now, and knew that no harm would come to him. He knew the men were his friends.

And so he who had once been a wild baby elephant, grew to be a tame, big strong beast, who could carry heavy teakwood logs on his tusks, and pile them in great heaps near the river, where they were loaded upon great ships. Umboo did not know the boats were ships, but they were, and soon he was to have a ride in one. But I have not reached that part of his story yet.

Sometimes, instead of being made to pile the logs in the lumber yard, Umboo would be taken into the forest, where the Indians cut the trees down. The forest was something like the jungle where the boy elephant had once lived with Tusker and the others, and where he had played, and once been lost.

In the forest were great trees of teakwood and these the elephant workers had to drag out so they could be loaded upon carts, with great wooden wheels, and brought to the river. One day Umboo and Keedah were taken together to the teak forest.

"Now is our chance, Umboo," said the other elephant after a while as they went farther and farther into the woods. "Now is our chance!"

"Our chance for what?" asked Umboo, speaking in elephant talk, of course, and which the Indian keepers did not always understand.

"This is our chance to run away and go back to the jungle," went on Keedah. "When the men are not looking, after we have hauled out a few big logs, we will go away and hide. At night we can run off to the jungle."

"No," said Umboo, shaking his trunk, "I am not going to do it. If we run away they will find us and bring us back. Besides, I like it in the lumber yard. It is fun to pile up the big logs, and lay them straight."

"Pooh! I don't think so," said Keedah, who had not given up all his wild ways. "I am going to run!"

And so, watching his chance, when the Indian men were not looking, Keedah sneaked off into the dark part of the woods. In a little while he was missed, and the keepers, with shouts, started after him. They tied Umboo to a tree with chains, leaving him there while they went to hunt Keedah.

"They need not have chained me," thought Umboo. "I would not run away. I like my men friends too much, for they are good to me."

The keepers got other elephants and hunted Keedah in the forest. For three days they searched for him, and at last they found him and brought him back. For Keedah had forgotten some of his wildness, and did not know so well how to keep away from the men who were after him, as he had known when he lived in the herd, with Tusker to lead the way.

So Keedah, tired and dirty, and hungry too, it must be said -- for he had not found good things to eat in the woods -- Keedah was brought back. And he was kept chained up for a week, and given only water and not much food. This was to tame him down, and make him learn that it did not pay to run off when he was taken to the teakwood forest.

"I wish I had done as you did, and stayed," said Keedah sorrowfully to Umboo. "I am not going to run away any more."

So Umboo and the other wild elephants who were caught at the same time as he was, stayed around the lumber camp, and did work for their white and black masters. Sometimes a few of the elephants were sold, and taken away by Indian Princes, to live in stables near the palaces, to have gold and silver cloths fastened on their backs, and then the howdahs, in which rode the rich Indians, would be strapped on.

Sometimes other wild elephants were brought in, having been caught as Umboo had been. And once Umboo helped to tame one of these little wild ones, telling him to be nice, as he would be kindly treated and have food and water.

And one day new adventures came to Umboo.

By this time he was a big, strong elephant, nearly fully grown, for it was now many years since he had been a baby in the jungle. And one day, as he was standing near a pile of lumber, that he had helped to build, one of the white men, whom he knew, and who had been kind to Umboo, took a handkerchief from his white, linen coat pocket, and wiped his face, for the day was hot.

Then a little spirit of mischief seemed to enter Umboo. And this little spirit, or fairy, seemed to whisper:

"Take his handkerchief out of his pocket with your trunk, Umboo, and make believe wipe your own face with it. That will be a funny little trick, and will make the men laugh, and maybe they will give you some soft, brown sugar." This the elephants like very much.

Umboo saw the edge of the handkerchief sticking out of the man's pocket. Very softly the elephant reached put his trunk and took it. Then Umboo flourished the piece of white linen in the air, as the man had done, and pretended to use it, though Umboo's face was much larger than the man's, and really needed no handkerchief.

The man turned around, as he heard his friends laughing, and when he saw what Umboo had done the man smiled and said:

"Ha! That elephant is too smart to be piling lumber. I heard the other day where I could sell one to go in a circus. I'll sell Umboo! He will make a good circus elephant, to do tricks."

And so Umboo was sold, though at first he did not know what that was, nor where he was to be taken. He only thought of how the men laughed when he took out the handkerchief from the pocket.




Chapter XIII

Umboo On The Ship


The man who bought Umboo was one who owned part of a circus. He traveled about in India, and other far-off countries, looking for strange animals that he could send to America, across the ocean, where they would be put in cages and tents and shown to boys and girls, and also grown-up folk. You may think a circus is all fun and peanuts and pink lemonade, but it also teaches us something. Without a circus many boys and girls would never know what an elephant looks like; or a lion, or tiger or camel, except, perhaps, by pictures.

"And I'll send this trick elephant over to a circus," said the man who had bought Umboo from the lumber yard. "I think he will be a smart elephant, and make the boys and girls laugh." He knew Umboo liked boys and girls, for many of them had ridden on his back as he worked in the lumber yard.

"I thought Umboo was smart as soon as I saw him take the handkerchief from my pocket," said the lumber man to the circus man. "That is why I sent for you to let you buy him. For I knew you wanted a smart, young elephant for your circus."

"Yes, I am glad to get Umboo," spoke the circus man. "I wonder if he will do that handkerchief trick again? I'll try him."

So the circus man stood near our elephant friend, and let the end of his handkerchief stick a little way out of his pocket.

Umboo knew at once what was wanted of him.

"I'll just pull that white rag out and hear the men laugh," thought the elephant boy to himself. "I don't know why they think it is so funny, but I'll do it. I guess they would think it more funny if they could have seen me knock Keedah into the river."

Umboo reached out his trunk, when the man's back was turned toward him, and gently took out the handkerchief. Then the big elephant boy pretended to wipe his face with it.

"Ha! Ha!" laughed the circus man. "That is a good trick! I must give the elephant a big lump of sugar."

He did so, and Umboo liked it very much, letting the sweet juice trickle down his throat.

"I wish they would give me sugar every time I take out the white rag," thought Umboo. "It's fun!"

After this Umboo did not pile lumber any more. He was taken out of the yard, and kept by himself in a small stable, and given nice things to eat until one day the circus man opened the door and called:

"Well, Umboo, I guess we are ready to start now. You are going to say good-bye to India and to the jungle. You are going where Jumbo went -- off to America to be in a circus show!"

Of course Umboo did not understand all that the circus man said to him, but the elephant boy thought to himself:

"Well, he is kind to me. He gives me sugar. I'll go with him, and pull that white rag out of his pocket as often as he lets me. I wonder what he was saying about Jumbo?"

For Umboo remembered hearing the other elephants talking about Jumbo, who, however, came from Africa and not from India.

"Come, Umboo!" called the circus man. "You are going on a big ship, and take a long ride. I hope you will not be seasick."

Umboo did not know exactly what a ship was. He had seen big boats come up the river, near where he worked, to get lumber, and some of the elephants, who had been down near the ocean shore, said those boats were ships. And of course Umboo did not know what it meant to be seasick.

However he liked the circus man, and when the elephant boy came out of the stable he felt around with his trunk in the man's pocket.

"For," thought Umboo, "if I pull that white rag out of his coat again, maybe he'll give me some more sweet sugar."

So, with the tip of his trunk, which could pick up little things, even as you can with your fingers, Umboo felt about for the handkerchief. He did not find it, however.

"Ha! Ha!" laughed the circus man, "You did not forget, did you? You are going to be a good trick elephant, I'm sure. Here is my handkerchief, in my other pocket. I put it there to fool you!" and he turned about so that the white cloth could be seen hanging down on the other side of his coat.

"Ha! That's funny!" thought Umboo. "I did not know the man had two pockets!"

Then the elephant pulled out the handkerchief again, and the man laughed and gave him a extra large lump of sugar.

"Now come with me, Umboo," said the man, and he led him away, out of the lumber yard.

"Where are you going?" called Keedah, and some of the other boys.

"I don't know," answered Umboo, in elephant talk, of course. "But I heard the man say something about making me do tricks in a circus."

"Oh, then you are going to have a fine, time," said one of the keonkies, or tame elephants, that help train the wild ones. "If you go to the circus you will have fun. A friend of mine was once in one, and then, in his old age, he came back to India to live. And he said he never enjoyed himself so much as in a circus. And how he did used to talk about the peanuts!"

"What are peanuts?" asked Umboo.

"I don't know," answered the keonkie, "but Zoop -- that the was the name of my friend -- said they were almost as good as the sweet sugar and palm nuts."

"Then they must be very good," said Umboo, "and I shall like them. Good-bye, friends!" he called. "Maybe some day I'll come back from the circus."

"But you never did; did you?" asked Snarlie the tiger, who, with the other animals in the tent, was listening to Umboo's story. "You never did go back, for you are here yet."

"No, I haven't gone back to India, and I don't believe I ever shall," spoke Umboo. "Sometimes I wish I could go back in the jungle for a little while, and get a few palm nuts, but the peanuts here are just as good, and there is never any danger."

"Please go on with your story," begged Horni, the rhinoceros. "I want to hear how you got over here, and joined the circus."

"I came on a ship, just as you did," answered Umboo, and then he went on to tell how he was led away from the lumber yard.

To get from the place where he had, for a year or more, been piling up teakwood logs, to the great, salt ocean which the ships crossed, Umboo had to take a ride on the railroad. He might have walked, but this would have taken too long.

Umboo had never before seen a railroad, a railroad car or a locomotive, and when he first noticed the big, black engine, puffing out smoke and steam, the elephant boy was as frightened as when he had seen the snake in the jungle. Umboo raised his trunk in the air, and made a loud trumpet sound of danger.

"Don't be afraid," said a tame elephant near by. "There is nothing to hurt you."

"Nothing to hurt me!" cried Umboo. "What do you call that big, black thing, whose breath steams out of the top of his head, as mine sometimes comes out of my trunk on a cold morning? Nothing to be afraid of? Why, that is worse than a big rhino! Much worse!"

"That is the engine, and it will give you a nice ride," said the tame elephant. "It will pull you along the shiny rails, and you will never have to lift your foot. Go close up to it, and see that it will not hurt you. Don't be afraid!"

Umboo trembled, but the circus man spoke kind words to him, and then the elephant walked slowly up to the engine, or locomotive. It snorted and puffed and tooted its whistle, and at each new sound Umboo started back, and would have run away. But the man spoke to him, and the tame elephant talked to him, and finally Umboo saw that the engine did not get off the shiny rails.

"Well, if it stays on them it can't chase after me," thought Umboo. "I can run to one side, but that big, black animal, that puffs steam out of the top of its head, can't. I guess I'll be all right."

Then Umboo was led past the engine, (which, of course, did him no harm) up a sort of little bridge of wood -- a runway -- that went from the ground into a big freight, or box car. At first Umboo feared this bridge might break with him, as he was so heavy, and an elephant doesn't like to step on anything that will give way and let him fall.

So Umboo first tried it with one foot, and then with another, and, finding it would not break, he stepped on it and walked into the car. There was plenty of straw in it, so Umboo would not be hurt if the car jolted as it rumbled along over the railroad tracks, and inside his new stable the elephant boy found some sweet roots and palm nuts.

He was so interested in eating these that, at first, he did not notice when the train started, and before he knew it Umboo found himself being pulled along without having to take a step.

"Ha!" thought the elephant. "It's just as the keonkie told me, I can move without lifting a foot! I am having a fine ride!"

Two days later Umboo reached the seashore and was led from the railroad car, and over to a big ship that was waiting in the harbor. To Umboo it looked more like a big house than a ship, and when they took him to the gang-plank, or another run-way, as they had taken him to the one that led into the freight car, he was again afraid something would break and let him fall. But when he tried it with his fore-feet, and found it firm, up it he walked and soon he was in a sort of stable, on board the big ship.

To his surprise, Umboo found other elephants there also, and from various parts of the ship came the smell of many different wild animals -- camels, sacred cows from India, a rhinoceros, a buffalo and many strange beasts.

For this was a circus ship, and was bringing to America many strange birds and animals from the jungle.

"Now, Umboo, we are off!" said the circus man, as he came down to see the elephants and other creatures. "You are all going to start across the ocean in this big ship, and I hope none of you will be seasick."

Of course Umboo and the other elephants did not understand exactly what the man said, but they knew he was kind to them, for he gave them some food to eat and water to drink.

Pretty soon the ship began to pitch and toss and roll. It was out on the big ocean. The elephants did not so much mind the rolling motion, as they never stopped swaying themselves, and they were used to it, but some of the other animals had a bad time.

I wish I could tell you all that happened on board the ship, that was taking Umboo to the circus, but I have not room in this book. I'll tell you one thing that happened, though, and Umboo often used to laugh about it later.

One day, when the ship had been sailing about a week, a man came down in the hold, or stable where the elephants were. This man was a sort of joker. He liked to play tricks on animals and sometimes on his friends, and this time he thought he would play a trick on Umboo.

The man took a sour lemon, and plastered it all on the outside with some sticky brown sugar. This he held out to Umboo, saying:

"Here; have a nice, sweet lump!"

Of course Umboo thought it was all sugar, but when he chewed it, and found inside a sour lemon, it made tears come into his eyes, and he curled his trunk, and made such a funny, wrinkled face, that the man laughed and exclaimed:

"Oh, see how the elephant likes a lemon! Isn't that a funny trick!"

But I don't think it was a funny trick at all, and neither did Umboo. As soon as he could do so, he let the sour lemon drop out of his mouth into the straw on which he stood.

"Ha!" said the elephant next to Umboo. "If I could reach that man I'd tickle him with my trunk, and maybe pinch him, too."

"So would I," said Umboo. "But I can't reach him," and he could not, for the elephant was chained fast to the wall of the ship.

"But I'll know him when I see him again," exclaimed Umboo, "and the next time he comes near me maybe I can play a trick on him."

"I hope you can," said the other elephant.

And now you wait and see what happened.

The ship sailed on and on over the sea, each day coming nearer and nearer to America, which is the land of the circus. And Umboo and the other animals grew tired of being kept below decks, in the darkness. They wanted to get out into the sunshine.

Each day Umboo kept watch for the man who had given him the lemon in the lump of sugar, but the trick-player did not again come down where the elephants were.

And finally, one day, the circus man came down. He quietly rubbed the trunk of Umboo, patted him, and spoke kind words to him, feeding him good sugar.

"Now, my trick elephant," he said, "we will soon be going ashore, and we will see how you like a circus."




Chapter XIV

Umboo In The Circus


Many things happened to Umboo after he was taken out of the ship in which he had crossed the ocean. And there were so many of them that he could not remember all of them to tell his circus friends who were listening to his story.

"But did you get seasick?" asked Humpo, the camel. "That's what I want to know. Did you get seasick?"

"No, I did not," answered Umboo. "But I was tired of staying in the dark part of the ship so long. I wanted to get out in the sun. And I wanted to see if I could do that trick again, of taking the white rag from the man's pocket."

"And did you?" asked Snarlie, the tiger.

"I did, the first chance I had," answered Umboo. "But that was not until I had been off the ship for a day or so."

Umboo and the other animals were taken from the ship, and again put in railroad cars to be taken to a sort of training place. Wild animals, fresh from the jungle, are not taken at once to the circus. If they were the lions would roar, the tigers would snarl and the elephants would try to break loose and run away, and this would so scare the boys and girls who went to the circus that they would never come again.

So circus men first send the animals to a sort of training camp. There is one in Bridgeport, Conn., and another in New Jersey, on the Hackensack meadows. There the wild beasts are taken in charge, by men who know how to train them.

And it was to a place like this that Umboo was taken. It was not at all like a circus, except for the number of wild animals about. There was no big white tent; nothing but a sort of large barn, and there were no gay flags fluttering, and no bands playing music. All that would come later.

Umboo was chained in the middle of the barn, with the other elephants, and some hay was given him to eat. At first the elephant, who, not long before, had been wild in the jungle, and later piling teakwood logs, was uneasy and a bit frightened. So were his companions.

"But don't be afraid, Umboo," said the kind man who had come all the way from India with the elephant. "You will soon like it here, though you may not like being taught tricks. But you will like it when you can do funny things, and make the boys and girls laugh. Also, when you do your tricks well, you shall have lumps of sugar."

"Well, I hope there will be no lemons inside the lumps," said Umboo to Char, another big beast next to him.

"What is that about lemons in sugar?" asked Char.

"Oh, a man on the ship played a trick on me," answered Umboo. "I haven't seen him since, but I am on the lookout for him, and when I do see him, if I get near enough -- well, I'll make him wish he hadn't fooled me."

"It was a mean trick," said Char. "I hope you find that man."

For a few days the elephants, and other wild jungle animals, who were to be tamed and taught to do things in the circus, were left to themselves. This was to get them quiet after their long trip, and to make them feel at home.

Umboo did not have to be tamed, for he was already kind and gentle. But some of the lions and tigers were fierce and wild, and they had to get to know that the circus men would not harm them. Most of the elephants, like Umboo, were no longer wild, but they knew nothing about being trained to do tricks. None of them could even so much as take a handkerchief out of a man's pocket, so really Umboo was one class ahead of them. But that did not make him proud.

One day, about a week after he had come to the circus-barn, Umboo saw some men coming toward him with ropes and other things. Among the men was the one from India, and this man Umboo liked.

"Now, Umboo" said this man, "you are going to learn a harder trick than that of taking a handkerchief from my pocket. You are going to learn to stand on your hind legs. It may seem hard to you at first, but it is easy when you know how, and you will like it. The boys and girls who come to the circus to see you, will like it, too, and you will get sugar if you do the trick well."

Of course Umboo did not know all that the man said to him, but he understood that something new was going on, and he reached out his trunk to touch his friend.

"I haven't any sugar for you now," said the man with a laugh, "but I may have some later. Let me see how you behave."

The men began putting ropes around Umboo's big neck. He did not mind this, for it had been done before, in India, when he was to pull a heavy wagon of teakwood logs. But this time it was different.

All of a sudden Umboo felt his front legs being lifted from the ground. His head and trunk went up in the air, and all his weight came on his hind legs. They were strong enough to bear it, but the elephant did not know what was going on.

"It's all right, my elephant friend!" said the man from India. "Up! Up! Stand up! Stand on your hind legs, Umboo!"

And Umboo had to do this whether he wanted to or not. The rope, on which the men were pulling, and which was fast to a hook in the ceiling of the barn over head, was lifting Umboo's front feet from the ground. This left him only his hind legs, and he had to stand on them whether he wanted to or not.

If you have ever tried to teach your dog to stand on his hind legs, you will know what was being done to Umboo. When you try to teach your dog this trick, you generally take him where he can stand up in a corner, so he can lean against the wall and will not fall over backwards or sideways; for that is what he feels like doing when you lift up his front legs.

But an elephant is so big, you see, that it would take a very large corner for him to back into. And he is so big and heavy that not even ten men could lift up his front legs. So they just hitch a rope around his head, and then men, hauling on the rope and pulleys, lift the front of the elephant, as men hoist up a piano.

"Ugh!" grunted Umboo through his trunk, as he felt his head and front legs going up. "What in the world is this?"

"Don't be afraid, my jungle friend," said an old big, tame elephant, who was kept in the circus barn just to make the others feel more at home. "Don't be afraid. You are only being taught the first of your tricks. I was taught the same way. It won't hurt you. Here, throw your weight on your back legs, and stand on them -- this way."

And, to the surprise of Umboo, the other elephant, without the help of any ropes, reared himself up in the air and stood on his hind legs just as your dog can do.

"That's the way to do it!" said the trick elephant.

"I wonder if I can?" said Umboo.

"Try it," urged his new friend.

And when the man loosed the ropes, and let Umboo's front legs down, after they had hoisted them up once, he suddenly gave a little spring, and up he went, standing on his hind legs all by himself, and almost as good as the trick beast could do it.

"Well, I declare!" cried one of the men. "That elephant is the smartest one we ever trained. He does the trick after being shown just once!"

"Oh, yes, I knew he was smart when he did that handkerchief trick," said the man from India. "Umboo will be ready to join the circus before any of the others."

Once more Umboo was hoisted up by the ropes, but there was really no need for it. He knew what was wanted of him, and he did it.

"That's fine!" said the big elephant. "If you learn the other things as easily as you learned this trick, you will have no trouble."

"Are there other tricks to learn." asked Umboo.

"Oh, many of them," answered Wang, the best trick elephant in the circus. "You have only just begun."

And Umboo found that this was so. In the ten days that followed he was taught many more tricks. Some of them he did not learn so easily as he had the one of standing on his hind legs, and the ropes had to be used many times. But the other trick elephants, of whom there was more than one, showed the untrained ones what to do, and, in time, Umboo and his friends could go through many "stunts," as the circus men called them.

Umboo learned to lie down and "play dead," he learned to stand on a little stool, like an over-turned washtub, he learned to kneel down over a man stretched on the ground, and not crush him with the great body, weighing more than two tons of coal.

Other tricks, which Umboo learned, were to take pennies in his trunk, lift up a lid of a "bank," which was a big box, drop the pennies in and ring a bell, as if he had put money in a cash drawer. He also learned to turn the handle of a hand organ with his trunk, to ring a dinner bell, and do many other tricks, such as you have seen elephants do in a circus.

Then, one day, the man from India came where Umboo was, and giving him some peanuts, which our friend had learned to like very much, said:

"Well, now it is time you joined the circus. You know enough tricks to make a start, and your circus-trainer will teach you more. So off to the circus you go, Umboo! Off to the circus!"

And the next day Umboo went.




Chapter XV

Umboo Remembers


Brightly in the sun gleamed the white tents. In the wind the gay flags fluttered. Here and there were men selling pink lemonade and peanuts. Around the green grass were the big wagons -- wagons that needed eight or ten horses to pull, wagons shining with gold and silver mirrors -- heavy, rumbling wagons, which Umboo and the other elephants had to push out of the mud when the horses could not pull them.

"And so this is the circus, is it?" asked Umboo, as his friend, Wang, and he were led up to the tents.

"This is the circus," spoke Wang. "But I forgot. This is your first one; isn't it?"

"The very first," answered Umboo. "My! It's lots different from the barn where I learned my tricks, isn't it?"

"Oh, yes, heaps different. It's more jolly," said Wang.

"And it's different from the jungle," went on Umboo.

"Oh, yes indeed! It isn't at all like the jungle," said Wang. "I remember the jungle very well. I always had to be sniffing here and there for danger, and often I had to drink muddy water, or else I went hungry. Here that never happens. All we have to do here is to perform our tricks, push a wagon out of the mud now and then, and eat and sleep. You'll like it here, Umboo."

"I'm sure I shall," he answered. "But what is that funny noise?"

"That is the music playing," answered Wang. "In the circus we do our tricks to band music. It's more fun that way."

Umboo liked the music, and there was one man who played a big horn -- larger than himself, and the horn went: "Umph-umph!" just as Tusker used to trumpet through his trunk.

Umboo and the other elephants were taken into the animal tent, and placed around the outer ring, their legs chained to stakes driven in the ground. In cages were monkeys, lions, tigers and other beasts of the wood or jungle.

"Was it this circus of ours which you were first taken to, Umboo?" asked Humpo. "I came here about a year ago."

"No, it was not this one, but it was one like it," said the elephant. "I came here about a year ago."

"I remember that time," said Snarlie. "I liked you as soon as I saw you, Umboo."

"So did I," spoke Woo-Uff, the lion, stretching out his big paws.

"Let us hear the rest of Umboo's story," suggested Chako, the monkey. "Did you like the circus?"

"Indeed I did, very much," Umboo answered.

Then he told how he stood in the ring, and watched the boys and girls, and the men and women, come in to look at the animals before they went in the main tent, to sit down and watch the performers and animals do their tricks and "stunts."

Boys and girls, and some grown-folk, too, gave the elephants peanuts and bits of popcorn balls which the big fellows liked very much, indeed.

While Umboo was standing in line, with the other elephants, waiting until it was time for them to go in the big tent, and perform their tricks, such as standing on their hind legs and getting up on small barrels, our jungle friend saw a man coming toward him with a bag in his hand.

And, all at once Umboo remembered something. He looked sharply at the man and thought:

"Ha! There is the fellow who gave me the sour lemon inside the lump of sugar. Now is my chance to play a trick on him."

The man, with the bag in his hand, walked toward Umboo. To that man all elephants looked alike. He did not know he had ever seen this one before, and had played a mean trick on him. And the man said to another man who was with him:

"Watch me fool this elephant. I have an empty bag. I have blown it up full of wind, so that it looks like a bag of peanuts. I'll give it to this elephant and fool him."

"Maybe he'll bite you," said the other man, and the first one answered:

"Pooh! I'm not afraid. Watch me! I fooled an elephant once before. I gave him a lemon in some candy, and you should see the funny face he made. Ha! ha!"

"Ah, ha!" thought Umboo to himself. "He laughs, does he? Wait until I see what a funny face he is going to make."

The man held out the bag of wind to Umboo. But, instead of taking it, and getting fooled, the wise elephant suddenly dipped his trunk into a tub of water that stood near. Umboo sucked his trunk full of water and then, all at once, before the man knew what was going to happen, Umboo blew the water all over him.

"Whewiff!" went the water in the man's face, and all over his new suit, that he had put on to wear to the circus.

"Oh, my!" cried the man. "What happened?" and he spluttered and stuttered and gurgled. "What happened?" he asked, as he backed away and wiped the water from his face.

"I guess what happened," said the man who was with him, but who did not get wet, "was that the elephant played a trick on you, instead of you playing one on him. That's what happened!"

"I guess it did," said the man, whose windblown bag was all wet and flabby now. "But I don't see why he did it. I never fooled him before!"

"Maybe this is the same elephant you fooled with the lemon," said the second man.

"It couldn't be," spoke the wet one. "That was a long while ago, on a ship, and an elephant can't remember."

"But I did remember," said Umboo, as he told his story to his circus friends. "I could remember that man even now, if I saw him. And so I got even with him for giving me a lemon," and the big elephant laughed, until he shook all over like a bath-tub full of jelly.

"What happened after that?" asked Umboo.

"Oh, after that the man went out of the circus tent," said the elephant. "Everybody was laughing at him and the funny faces he made. But the water didn't hurt him much, and he soon dried for it was a hot day."

"And did you do your tricks in the circus?" asked Chako.

"Oh, yes, I went in the ring, and heard the music play. Then all us elephants stood on our hind legs, and I played the hand organ, rang a bell, put pennies in my bank and did many tricks. And one I did I liked best of all."

"What was that?" asked Horni, the rhinoceros.

"It was firing a little brass cannon," answered Umboo. "Some other elephants and myself played soldiers at war, and toward the end I had to pull a string with my trunk. In some way, I don't just know how, the string fired the cannon. None of the other elephants would do it. They were afraid, but I wasn't. I saw that the cannon wouldn't hurt me if I didn't get in front where its black mouth was, so I pulled the string. And when I did the cannon went 'Bang!' And the band played, and the big drum went 'Boom!' and the big horn went 'Umph-umph!' and the boys and girls yelled like anything. It was lots of fun!

"I liked that circus very much. I hope, someday, they'll let me shoot a cannon here."

"Maybe they will," said Woo-Uff, the lion. "I should like to hear it. But is that all your story, Umboo?"

"That is all, yes. I stayed with that circus for some time, and then was sold again, and as you all know, brought here. And I like it here very much, because you are all so kind to me. And I enjoyed listening to the story you told, Woo-Uff, and to Snarlie's story also."

"Well, we liked yours," said Chako, the monkey, as he hung by his tail and ate a peanut.

"Is there any one else who can tell a story?" asked Snarlie. "We will soon be traveling on again, but after that, when we settle down to rest, I should like to hear another tale."

"I can tell about my jungle," said Chako.

"We have had enough of jungles," said Woo-Uff. "Does any circus animal know any other kind of stories?"

"How would you like to hear one about the hot, sandy desert?" asked Humpo, the camel.

"That would be fine!" cried Umboo. "Tell us your story, Humpo!"

"I will," promised the camel. And, if all goes well, that story will be in the next Circus Animal Book; if you think you would like to read it. It will be called "Humpo, the Camel."

The elephants swayed to and fro, their leg-chains clanking in the tent. The monkeys chattered among themselves. Snarlie, the big, striped tiger yawned and stretched. Woo-Uff, the lion, laughed.

"Ha! I wonder what makes that lion so jolly?" said one of the circus keepers.

"Perhaps the elephant tickled him," suggested a second man.

"Maybe he had a funny dream," spoke another.

"Both wrong!" said Woo-Uff, in animal language that the other circus beasts could understand. "I was laughing at the way Umboo squirted water on the lemon-man."

"Yes, that was funny," said Umboo. "Very funny!" And he, too, laughed as he chewed his hay.

And, now that his story is finished, we will say good-bye to him and his friends for a while.

<eob>

Myths And Folk Tales Of Ireland

By

Jeremiah Curtin




The Son Of The King Of Erin And The Giant Of Loch Lein.[1]

[1] Loch LA(C)in, former name of one of the Lakes of Killarney.


On a time there lived a king and a queen in Erin, and they had an only son. They were very careful and fond of this son; whatever he asked for was granted, and what he wanted he had.

When grown to be almost a young man the son went away one day to the hills to hunt. He could find no game, -- saw nothing all day. Towards evening he sat down on a hillside to rest, but soon stood up again and started to go home empty-handed. Then he heard a whistle behind him, and turning, saw a giant hurrying down the hill.

The giant came to him, took his hand, and said: "Can you play cards?"

"I can indeed," said the king's son.

"Well, if you can," said the giant, "we'll have a game here on this hillside."

So the two sat down, and the giant had out a pack of cards in a twinkling. "What shall we play for?" asked the giant.

"For two estates," answered the king's son.

They played: the young man won, and went home the better for two estates. He was very glad, and hurried to tell his father the luck he had.

Next day he went to the same place, and didn't wait long till the giant came again.

"Welcome, king's son," said the giant. "What shall we play for to-day?" "I'll leave that to yourself," answered the young man.

"Well," said the giant, "I have five hundred bullocks with golden horns and silver hoofs, and I'll play them against as many cattle belonging to you."

"Agreed," said the king's son.

They played. The giant lost again. He had the cattle brought to the place; and the king's son went home with the five hundred bullocks. The king his father was outside watching, and was more delighted than the day before when he saw the drove of beautiful cattle with horns of gold and hoofs of silver.

When the bullocks were driven in, the king sent for the old blind sage (Sean dall Glic), to know what he would say of the young man's luck.

"My advice," said the old blind sage, "is not to let your son go the way of the giant again, for if he plays with him a third time he'll rue it."

But nothing could keep the king's son from playing the third time. Away he went, in spite of every advice and warning, and sat on the same hillside.

He waited long, but no one came. At last he rose to go home. That moment he heard a whistle behind him, and turning, saw the giant coming.

"Well, will you play with me to-day?" asked the giant.

"I would," said the king's son, "but I have nothing to bet."

"You have indeed."

"I have not," said the king's son.

"Haven't you your head?" asked the giant of Loch LA(C)in, for it was he that was in it.

"I have," answered the king's son.

"So have I my head," said the giant; "and we'll play for each other's heads."

This third time the giant won the game; and the king's son was to give himself up in a year and a day to the giant in his castle.

The young man went home sad and weary. The king and queen were outside watching, and when they saw him approaching, they knew great trouble was on him. When he came to where they were, he wouldn't speak, but went straight into the castle, and wouldn't eat or drink.

He was sad and lamenting for a good while, till at last he disappeared one day, the king and queen knew not whither. After that they didn't hear of him, -- didn't know was he dead or alive.

The young man after he left home was walking along over the kingdom for a long time. One day he saw no house, big or little, till after dark he came in front of a hill, and at the foot of the hill saw a small light. He went to the light, found a small house, and inside an old woman sitting at a warm fire, and every tooth in her head as long as a staff.

She stood up when he entered, took him by the hand, and said, "You are welcome to my house, son of the king of Erin." Then she brought warm water, washed his feet and legs from the knees down, gave him supper, and put him to bed.

When he rose next morning he found breakfast ready before him. The old woman said: "You were with me last night; you'll be with my sister to-night, and what she tells you to do, do, or your head'll be in danger. Now take the gift I give you. Here is a ball of thread: do you throw it in front of you before you start, and all day the ball will be rolling ahead of you, and you'll be following behind winding the thread into another ball."

He obeyed the old woman, threw the ball down, and followed. All the day he was going up hill and down, across valleys and open places, keeping the ball in sight and winding the thread as he went, till evening, when he saw a hill in front, and a small light at the foot of it.

He went to the light and found a house, which he entered. There was no one inside but an old woman with teeth as long as a crutch.

"Oh! then you are welcome to my house, king's son of Erin," said she. "You were with my sister last night; you are with me to-night; and it's glad I am to see you."

She gave him meat and drink and a good bed to lie on.

When he rose next morning breakfast was there before him, and when he had eaten and was ready for the journey, the old woman gave him a ball of thread, saying: "You were with my younger sister the night before last; you were with me last night; and you'll be with my elder sister to-night. You must do what she tells you, or you'll lose your head. You must throw this ball before you, and follow the clew till evening."

He threw down the ball: it rolled on, showing the way up and down mountains and hills, across valleys and braes. All day he wound the ball; unceasingly it went till nightfall, when he came to a light, found a little house, and went in. Inside was an old woman, the eldest sister, who said: "You are welcome, and glad am I to see you, king's son."

She treated him as well as the other two had done. After he had eaten breakfast next morning, she said: -- 

"I know well the journey you are on. You have lost your head to the Giant of Loch LA(C)in, and you are going to give yourself up. This giant has a great castle. Around the castle are seven hundred iron spikes, and on every spike of them but one is the head of a king, a queen, or a king's son. The seven hundredth spike is empty, and nothing can save your head from that spike if you don't take my advice.

"Here is a ball for you: walk behind it till you come to a lake near the giant's castle. When you come to that lake at midday the ball will be unwound.

"The giant has three young daughters, and they come at noon every day of the year to bathe in the lake. You must watch them well, for each will have a lily on her breast, -- one a blue, another a white, and the third a yellow lily. You mustn't let your eyes off the one with the yellow lily. Watch her well: when she undresses to go into the water, see where she puts her clothes; when the three are out in the lake swimming, do you slip away with the clothes of Yellow Lily.

"When the sisters come out from bathing, and find that the one with the yellow lily has lost her clothes, the other two will laugh and make game of her, and she will crouch down crying on the shore, with nothing to cover her, and say, 'How can I go home now, and everybody making sport of me? Whoever took my clothes, if he'll give them back to me, I'll save him from the danger he is in, if I have the power.'"

The king's son followed the ball till nearly noon, when it stopped at a lake not far from the giant's castle. Then he hid behind a rock at the water's edge, and waited.

At midday the three sisters came to the lake, and, leaving their clothes on the strand, went into the water. When all three were in the lake swimming and playing with great pleasure and sport, the king's son slipped out and took the clothes of the sister with the yellow lily.

After they had bathed in the lake to their hearts' content, the three sisters came out. When the two with the blue and the white lilies saw their sister on the shore and her clothes gone, they began to laugh and make sport of her. Then, cowering and crouching down, she began to cry and lament, saying: "How can I go home now, with my own sisters laughing at me? If I stir from this, everybody will see me and make sport of me."

The sisters went home and left her there. When they were gone, and she was alone at the water crying and sobbing, all at once she came to herself and called out: "Whoever took my clothes, I'll forgive him if he brings them to me now, and I'll save him from the danger he is in if I can."

When he heard this, the king's son put the clothes out to her, and stayed behind himself till she told him to come forth.

Then she said: "I know well where you are going. My father, the Giant of Loch LA(C)in, has a soft bed waiting for you, -- a deep tank of water for your death. But don't be uneasy; go into the water, and wait till I come to save you. Be at that castle above before my father. When he comes home to-night and asks for you, take no meat from him, but go to rest in the tank when he tells you."

The giant's daughter left the king's son, who went his way to the castle alone at a fair and easy gait, for he had time enough on his hands and to spare.

When the Giant of Loch LA(C)in came home that night, the first question he asked was, "Is the son of the king of Erin here?"

"I am," said the king's son.

"Come," said the giant, "and get your evening's meat."

"I'll take no meat now, for I don't need it," said the king's son.

"Well, come with me then, and I'll show you your bed." He went, and the giant put the king's son into the deep tank of water to drown, and being tired himself from hunting all day over the mountains and hills of Erin, he went to sleep.

That minute his youngest daughter came, took the king's son out of the tank, placed plenty to eat and to drink before him, and gave him a good bed to sleep on that night.

The giant's daughter watched till she heard her father stirring before daybreak; then she roused the king's son, and put him in the tank again.

Soon the giant came to the tank and called out: "Are you here, son of the king of Erin?"

"I am," said the king's son.

"Well, come out now. There is a great work for you to-day. I have a stable outside, in which I keep five hundred horses, and that stable has not been cleaned these seven hundred years. My great-grandmother when a girl lost a slumber-pin (bar an suan) somewhere in that stable, and never could find it. You must have that pin for me when I come home to-night; if you don't, your head will be on the seven hundredth spike to-morrow."

Then two shovels were brought for him to choose from to clean out the stable, an old and a new one. He chose the new shovel, and went to work.

For every shovelful he threw out, two came in; and soon the door of the stable was closed on him. When the stable-door was closed, the giant's daughter called from outside: "How are you thriving now, king's son?"

"I'm not thriving at all," said the king's son; "for as much as I throw out, twice as much comes in, and the door is closed against me."

"You must make a way for me to come in, and I'll help you," said she.

"How can I do that?" asked the king's son.

However, she did it. The giant's daughter made her way into the stable, and she wasn't long inside till the stable was cleared, and she saw the bar an suan.

"There is the pin over there in the corner," said she to the king's son, who put it in his bosom to give to the giant.

Now he was happy, and the giant's daughter had good meat and drink put before him.

When the giant himself came home, he asked: "How did you do your work to-day?"

"I did it well; I thought nothing of it."

"Did you find the bar an suan?"

"I did indeed; here 'tis for you."

"Oh! then," said the giant, "it is either the devil or my daughter that helped you to do that work, for I know you never did it alone."

"It's neither the devil nor your daughter, but my own strength that did the work," said the son of the king of Erin.

"You have done the work; now you must have your meat." "I want no meat to-day; I am well satisfied as I am," said the king's son.

"Well," said the giant, "since you'll have no meat, you must go to sleep in the tank."

He went into the tank. The giant himself was soon snoring, for he was tired from hunting over Erin all day.

The moment her father was away, Yellow Lily came, took the king's son out of the tank, gave him a good supper and bed, and watched till the giant was stirring before daybreak. Then she roused the king's son and put him in the tank.

"Are you alive in the tank?" asked the giant at daybreak.

"I am," said the king's son.

"Well, you have a great work before you to-day. That stable you cleaned yesterday hasn't been thatched these seven hundred years, and if you don't have it thatched for me when I come home to-night, with birds' feathers, and not two feathers of one color or kind, I'll have your head on the seven hundredth spike to-morrow."

"Here are two whistles, -- an old, and a new one; take your choice of them to call the birds."

The king's son took the new whistle, and set out over the hills and valleys, whistling as he went. But no matter how he whistled, not a bird came near him. At last, tired and worn out with travelling and whistling, he sat down on a hillock and began to cry.

That moment Yellow Lily was at his side with a cloth, which she spread out, and there was a grand meal before him. He hadn't finished eating and drinking, before the stable was thatched with birds' feathers, and no two of them of one color or kind.

When he came home that evening the giant called out: "Have you the stable thatched for me to-night?"

"I have indeed," said the king's son; "and small trouble I had with it."

"If that's true," said the giant, "either the devil or my daughter helped you."

"It was my own strength, and not the devil or your daughter that helped me," said the king's son.

He spent that night as he had the two nights before.

Next morning, when the giant found him alive in the tank, he said: "There is great work before you to-day, which you must do, or your head'll be on the spike to-morrow. Below here, under my castle, is a tree nine hundred feet high, and there isn't a limb on that tree, from the roots up, except one small limb at the very top, where there is a crow's nest. The tree is covered with glass from the ground to the crow's nest. In the nest is one egg: you must have that egg before me here for my supper to-night, or I'll have your head on the seven hundredth spike to-morrow."

The giant went hunting, and the king's son went down to the tree, tried to shake it, but could not make it stir. Then he tried to climb; but no use, it was all slippery glass. Then he thought, "Sure I'm done for now; I must lose my head this time."

He stood there in sadness, when Yellow Lily came, and said: "How are you thriving in your work?"

"I can do nothing," said the king's son.

"Well, all that we have done up to this time is nothing to climbing this tree. But first of all let us sit down together and eat, and then we'll talk," said Yellow Lily.

They sat down, she spread the cloth again, and they had a splendid feast. When the feast was over she took out a knife from her pocket and said: -- 

"Now you must kill me, strip the flesh from my bones, take all the bones apart, and use them as steps for climbing the tree. When you are climbing the tree, they will stick to the glass as if they had grown out of it; but when you are coming down, and have put your foot on each one, they will drop into your hand when you touch them. Be sure and stand on each bone, leave none untouched; if you do, it will stay behind. Put all my flesh into this clean cloth by the side of the spring at the roots of the tree. When you come to the earth, arrange my bones together, put the flesh over them, sprinkle it with water from the spring, and I shall be alive and well before you. But don't forget a bone of me on the tree."

"How could I kill you," asked the king's son, "after what you have done for me?"

"If you won't obey, you and I are done for," said Yellow Lily. "You must climb the tree, or we are lost; and to climb the tree you must do as I say."

The king's son obeyed. He killed Yellow Lily, cut the flesh from her body, and unjointed the bones, as she had told him.

As he went up, the king's son put the bones of Yellow Lily's body against the side of the tree, using them as steps, till he came under the nest and stood on the last bone.

Then he took the crow's egg; and coming down, put his foot on every bone, then took it with him, till he came to the last bone, which was so near the ground that he failed to touch it with his foot.

He now placed all the bones of Yellow Lily in order again at the side of the spring, put the flesh on them, sprinkled it with water from the spring. She rose up before him, and said: "Didn't I tell you not to leave a bone of my body without stepping on it? Now I am lame for life! You left my little toe on the tree without touching it, and I have but nine toes."

When the giant came home that night, the first words he had were, "Have you the crow's egg for my supper?"

"I have," said the king's son.

"If you have, then either the devil or my daughter is helping you."

"It is my own strength that's helping me," said the king's son.

"Well, whoever it is, I must forgive you now, and your head is your own."

So the king's son was free to go his own road, and away he went, and never stopped till he came home to his own father and mother, who had a great welcome before him; and why not? For they thought he was dead.

When the son was at home a time, the king called up the old blind sage, and asked, "What must I do with my son now?"

"If you follow my advice," said the old blind sage, "you'll find a wife for him; and then he'll not go roaming away again, and leave you as he did before."

The king was pleased with the advice, and he sent a message to the king of Lochlin[2] to ask his daughter in marriage.

[2] Lochlin, -- Denmark.

The king of Lochlin came with the daughter and a ship full of attendants, and there was to be a grand wedding at the castle of the king of Erin. Now, the king's son asked his father to invite the Giant of Loch LA(C)in and Yellow Lily to the wedding. The king sent messages for them to come.

The day before the marriage there was a great feast at the castle. As the feast went on, and all were merry, the Giant of Loch LA(C)in said: "I never was at a place like this but one man sang a song, a second told a story, and the third played a trick."

Then the king of Erin sang a song, the king of Lochlin told a story, and when the turn came to the giant, he asked Yellow Lily to take his place.

She threw two grains of wheat in the air, and there came down on the table two pigeons. The cock pigeon pecked at the hen and pushed her off the table. Then the hen called out to him in a human voice, "You wouldn't do that to me the day I cleaned the stable for you."

Next time Yellow Lily put two grains of wheat on the table. The cock ate the wheat, pecked the hen, and pushed her off the table to the floor. The hen said: "You would not do that to me the day I thatched the stable for you with birds' feathers, and not two of one color or kind."

The third time Yellow Lily put two more grains of wheat on the table. The cock ate both, and pushed the hen off to the floor. Then the hen called out: "You wouldn't do that to me the day you killed me and took my bones to make steps up the glass tree nine hundred feet high to get the crow's egg for the supper of the Giant of Loch LA(C)in, and forget my little toe when you were coming down, and left me lame for life."

"Well," said the king's son to the guests at the feast, "when I was a little younger than I am now, I used to be everywhere in the world sporting and gaming; and once when I was away, I lost the key of a casket that I had. I had a new key made, and after it was brought to me I found the old one. Now, I'll leave it to any one here to tell what am I to do, -- which of the keys should I keep?"

"My advice to you," said the king of Lochlin, "is to keep the old key, for it fits the lock better, and you're more used to it."

Then the king's son stood up and said: "I thank you, king of Lochlin, for a wise advice and an honest word. This is my bride, the daughter of the Giant of Loch LA(C)in. I'll have her, and no other woman. Your daughter is my father's guest, and no worse, but better, for having come to a wedding in Erin."

The king's son married Yellow Lily, daughter of the Giant of Loch LA(C)in, the wedding lasted long, and all were happy.




The Three Daughters Of King O'hara.


There was a king in Desmond whose name was Coluath O'Hara, and he had three daughters. On a time when the king was away from home, the eldest daughter took a thought that she'd like to be married. So she went up in the castle, put on the cloak of darkness which her father had, and wished for the most beautiful man under the sun as a husband for herself.

She got her wish; for scarcely had she put off the cloak of darkness, when there came, in a golden coach with four horses, two black and two white, the finest man she had ever laid eyes on, and took her away.

When the second daughter saw what had happened to her sister, she put on the cloak of darkness, and wished for the next best man in the world as a husband.

She put off the cloak; and straightway there came, in a golden coach with four black horses, a man nearly as good as the first, and took her away.

The third sister put on the cloak, and wished for the best white dog in the world.

Presently he came, with one man attending, in a golden coach and four snow-white horses, and took the youngest sister away.

When the king came home, the stable-boy told him what had happened while he was gone. He was enraged beyond measure when he heard that his youngest daughter had wished for a white dog, and gone off with him.

When the first man brought his wife home he asked: "In what form will you have me in the daytime, -- as I am now in the daytime, or as I am now at night?"

"As you are now in the daytime."

So the first sister had her husband as a man in the daytime; but at night he was a seal.

The second man put the same question to the middle sister, and got the same answer; so the second sister had her husband in the same form as the first.

When the third sister came to where the white dog lived, he asked her: "How will you have me to be in the daytime, -- as I am now in the day, or as I am now at night?"

"As you are now in the day."

So the white dog was a dog in the daytime, but the most beautiful of men at night.

After a time the third sister had a son; and one day, when her husband was going out to hunt, he warned her that if anything should happen the child, not to shed a tear on that account.

While he was gone, a great gray crow that used to haunt the place came and carried the child away when it was a week old.

Remembering the warning, she shed not a tear for the loss.

All went on as before till another son was born. The husband used to go hunting every day, and again he said she must not shed a tear if anything happened.

When the child was a week old a great gray crow came and bore him away; but the mother did not cry or drop a tear.

All went well till a daughter was born. When she was a week old a great gray crow came and swept her away. This time the mother dropped one tear on a handkerchief, which she took out of her pocket, and then put back again.

When the husband came home from hunting and heard what the crow had done, he asked the wife, "Have you shed tears this time?"

"I have dropped one tear," said she.

Then he was very angry; for he knew what harm she had done by dropping that one tear.

Soon after their father invited the three sisters to visit him and be present at a great feast in their honor. They sent messages, each from her own place, that they would come.

The king was very glad at the prospect of seeing his children; but the queen was grieved, and thought it a great disgrace that her youngest daughter had no one to come home with her but a white dog.

The white dog was in dread that the king wouldn't leave him inside with the company, but would drive him from the castle to the yard, and that the dogs outside wouldn't leave a patch of skin on his back, but would tear the life out of him.

The youngest daughter comforted him. "There is no danger to you," said she, "for wherever I am, you'll be, and wherever you go, I'll follow and take care of you."

When all was ready for the feast at the castle, and the company were assembled, the king was for banishing the white dog; but the youngest daughter would not listen to her father, -- would not let the white dog out of her sight, but kept him near her at the feast, and divided with him the food that came to herself.

When the feast was over, and all the guests had gone, the three sisters went to their own rooms in the castle.

Late in the evening the queen took the cook with her, and stole in to see what was in her daughters' rooms. They were all asleep at the time. What should she see by the side of her youngest daughter but the most beautiful man she had ever laid eyes on.

Then she went to where the other two daughters were sleeping; and there, instead of the two men who brought them to the feast, were two seals, fast asleep.

The queen was greatly troubled at the sight of the seals. When she and the cook were returning, they came upon the skin of the white dog. She caught it up as she went, and threw it into the kitchen fire.

The skin was not five minutes in the fire when it gave a crack that woke not only all in the castle, but all in the country for miles around.

The husband of the youngest daughter sprang up. He was very angry and very sorry, and said: "If I had been able to spend three nights with you under your father's roof, I should have got back my own form again for good, and could have been a man both in the day and the night; but now I must go."

He rose from the bed, ran out of the castle, and away he went as fast as ever his two legs could carry him, overtaking the one before him, and leaving the one behind. He was this way all that night and the next day; but he couldn't leave the wife, for she followed from the castle, was after him in the night and the day too, and never lost sight of him. In the afternoon he turned, and told her to go back to her father; but she would not listen to him. At nightfall they came to the first house they had seen since leaving the castle. He turned and said: "Do you go inside and stay in this house till morning; I'll pass the night outside where I am."

The wife went in. The woman of the house rose up, gave her a pleasant welcome, and put a good supper before her. She was not long in the house when a little boy came to her knee and called her "Mother."

The woman of the house told the child to go back to his place, and not to come out again.

"Here are a pair of scissors," said the woman of the house to the king's daughter, "and they will serve you well. Whatever ragged people you see, if you cut a piece off their rags, that moment they will have new clothes of cloth of gold."

She stayed that night, for she had good welcome. Next morning when she went out, her husband said: "You'd better go home now to your father."

"I'll not go to my father if I have to leave you," said she.

So he went on, and she followed. It was that way all the day till night came; and at nightfall they saw another house at the foot of a hill, and again the husband stopped and said: "You go in; I'll stop outside till morning."

The woman of the house gave her a good welcome. After she had eaten and drunk, a little boy came out of another room, ran to her knee, and said, "Mother." The woman of the house sent the boy back to where he had come from, and told him to stay there.

Next morning, when the princess was going out to her husband, the woman of the house gave her a comb, and said: "If you meet any person with a diseased and a sore head, and draw this comb over it three times, the head will be well, and covered with the most beautiful golden hair ever seen."

She took the comb, and went out to her husband.

"Leave me now," said he, "and go back to your own father."

"I will not," said she, "but I will follow you while I have the power." So they went forward that day, as on the other two.

At nightfall they came to a third house, at the foot of a hill, where the princess received a good welcome. After she had eaten supper, a little girl with only one eye came to her knee and said, "Mother."

The princess began to cry at sight of the child, thinking that she herself was the cause that it had but one eye. Then she put her hand into her pocket where she kept the handkerchief on which she had dropped the tear when the gray crow carried her infant away. She had never used the handkerchief since that day, for there was an eye on it.

She opened the handkerchief, and put the eye in the girl's head. It grew into the socket that minute, and the child saw out of it as well as out of the other eye; and then the woman of the house sent the little one to bed.

Next morning, as the king's daughter was going out, the woman of the house gave her a whistle, and said: "Whenever you put this whistle to your mouth and blow on it, all the birds of the air will come to you from every quarter under the sun. Be careful of the whistle, as it may serve you greatly."

"Go back to your father's castle," said the husband when she came to him, "for I must leave you to-day."

They went on together a few hundred yards, and then sat on a green hillock, and he told the wife: "Your mother has come between us; but for her we might have lived together all our days. If I had been allowed to pass three nights with you in your father's house, I should have got back my form of a man both in the daytime and the night. The Queen of Tir na n-Og [the land of youth] enchanted and put on me a spell, that unless I could spend three nights with a wife under her father's roof in Erin, I should bear the form of a white dog one half of my time; but if the skin of the dog should be burned before the three nights were over, I must go down to her kingdom and marry the queen herself. And 'tis to her I am going to-day. I have no power to stay, and I must leave you; so farewell, you'll never see me again on the upper earth."

He left her sitting on the mound, went a few steps forward to some bulrushes, pulled up one, and disappeared in the opening where the rush had been.

She stopped there, sitting on the mound lamenting, till evening, not knowing what to do. At last she bethought herself, and going to the rushes, pulled up a stalk, went down, followed her husband, and never stopped till she came to the lower land.

After a while she reached a small house near a splendid castle. She went into the house and asked, could she stay there till morning. "You can," said the woman of the house, "and welcome."

Next day the woman of the house was washing clothes, for that was how she made a living. The princess fell to and helped her with the work. In the course of that day the Queen of Tir na n-Og and the husband of the princess were married.

Near the castle, and not far from the washerwoman's, lived a henwife with two ragged little daughters. One of them came around the washerwoman's house to play. The child looked so poor and her clothes were so torn and dirty that the princess took pity on her, and cut the clothes with the scissors which she had.

That moment the most beautiful dress of cloth of gold ever seen on woman or child in that kingdom was on the henwife's daughter.

When she saw what she had on, the child ran home to her mother as fast as ever she could go.

"Who gave you that dress?" asked the henwife.

"A strange woman that is in that house beyond," said the little girl, pointing to the washerwoman's house.

The henwife went straight to the Queen of Tir na n-Og and said: "There is a strange woman in the place, who will be likely to take your husband from you, unless you banish her away or do something to her; for she has a pair of scissors different from anything ever seen or heard of in this country."

When the queen heard this she sent word to the princess that, unless the scissors were given up to her without delay, she would have the head off her.

The princess said she would give up the scissors if the queen would let her pass one night with her husband.

The queen answered that she was willing to give her the one night. The princess came and gave up the scissors, and went to her own husband; but the queen had given him a drink, and he fell asleep, and never woke till after the princess had gone in the morning.

Next day another daughter of the henwife went to the washerwoman's house to play. She was wretched-looking, her head being covered with scabs and sores.

The princess drew the comb three times over the child's head, cured it, and covered it with beautiful golden hair. The little girl ran home and told her mother how the strange woman had drawn the comb over her head, cured it, and given her beautiful golden hair.

The henwife hurried off to the queen and said: "That strange woman has a comb with wonderful power to cure, and give golden hair; and she'll take your husband from you unless you banish her or take her life."

The queen sent word to the princess that unless she gave up the comb, she would have her life.

The princess returned as answer that she would give up the comb if she might pass one night with the queen's husband.

The queen was willing, and gave her husband a draught as before. When the princess came, he was fast asleep, and did not waken till after she had gone in the morning.

On the third day the washerwoman and the princess went out to walk, and the first daughter of the henwife with them. When they were outside the town, the princess put the whistle to her mouth and blew. That moment the birds of the air flew to her from every direction in flocks. Among them was a bird of song and new tales. The princess went to one side with the bird. "What means can I take," asked she, "against the queen to get back my husband? Is it best to kill her, and can I do it?"

"It is very hard," said the bird, "to kill her. There is no one in all Tir na n-Og who is able to take her life but her own husband. Inside a holly-tree in front of the castle is a wether, in the wether a duck, in the duck an egg, and in that egg is her heart and life. No man in Tir na n-Og can cut that holly-tree but her husband."

The princess blew the whistle again. A fox and a hawk came to her. She caught and put them into two boxes, which the washerwoman had with her, and took them to her new home.

When the henwife's daughter went home, she told her mother about the whistle. Away ran the henwife to the queen, and said: "That strange woman has a whistle that brings together all the birds of the air, and she'll have your husband yet, unless you take her head."

"I'll take the whistle from her, anyhow," said the queen. So she sent for the whistle.

The princess gave answer that she would give up the whistle if she might pass one night with the queen's husband.

The queen agreed, and gave him a draught as on the other nights. He was asleep when the princess came and when she went away.

Before going, the princess left a letter with his servant for the queen's husband, in which she told how she had followed him to Tir na n-Og, and had given the scissors, the comb, and the whistle, to pass three nights in his company, but had not spoken to him because the queen had given him sleeping draughts; that the life of the queen was in an egg, the egg in a duck, the duck in a wether, the wether in a holly-tree in front of the castle, and that no man could split the tree but himself.

As soon as he got the letter the husband took an axe, and went to the holly-tree. When he came to the tree he found the princess there before him, having the two boxes with the fox and the hawk in them.

He struck the tree a few blows; it split open, and out sprang the wether. He ran scarce twenty perches before the fox caught him. The fox tore him open; then the duck flew out. The duck had not flown fifteen perches when the hawk caught and killed her, smashing the egg. That instant the Queen of Tir na n-Og died.

The husband kissed and embraced his faithful wife. He gave a great feast; and when the feast was over, he burned the henwife with her house, built a palace for the washerwoman, and made his servant secretary.

They never left Tir na n-Og, and are living there happily now; and so may we live here.




The Weaver's Son And The Giant Of The White Hill.


There was once a weaver in Erin who lived at the edge of a wood; and on a time when he had nothing to burn, he went out with his daughter to get fagots for the fire.

They gathered two bundles, and were ready to carry them home, when who should come along but a splendid-looking stranger on horseback. And he said to the weaver: "My good man, will you give me that girl of yours?"

"Indeed then I will not," said the weaver.

"I'll give you her weight in gold," said the stranger, and he put out the gold there on the ground.

So the weaver went home with the gold and without the daughter. He buried the gold in the garden, without letting his wife know what he had done. When she asked, "Where is our daughter?" the weaver said: "I sent her on an errand to a neighbor's house for things that I want."

Night came, but no sight of the girl. The next time he went for fagots, the weaver took his second daughter to the wood; and when they had two bundles gathered, and were ready to go home, a second stranger came on horseback, much finer than the first, and asked the weaver would he give him his daughter.

"I will not," said the weaver.

"Well," said the stranger, "I'll give you her weight in silver if you'll let her go with me;" and he put the silver down before him.

The weaver carried home the silver and buried it in the garden with the gold, and the daughter went away with the man on horseback.

When he went again to the wood, the weaver took his third daughter with him; and when they were ready to go home, a third man came on horseback, gave the weight of the third daughter in copper, and took her away. The weaver buried the copper with the gold and silver.

Now, the wife was lamenting and moaning night and day for her three daughters, and gave the weaver no rest till he told the whole story.

Now, a son was born to them; and when the boy grew up and was going to school, he heard how his three sisters had been carried away for their weight in gold and silver and copper; and every day when he came home he saw how his mother was lamenting and wandering outside in grief through the fields and pits and ditches, so he asked her what trouble was on her; but she wouldn't tell him a word.

At last he came home crying from school one day, and said: "I'll not sleep three nights in one house till I find my three sisters." Then he said to his mother: "Make me three loaves of bread, mother, for I am going on a journey."

Next day he asked had she the bread ready. She said she had, and she was crying bitterly all the time. "I'm going to leave you now, mother," said he; "and I'll come back when I have found my three sisters."

He went away, and walked on till he was tired and hungry; and then he sat down to eat the bread that his mother had given him, when a red-haired man came up and asked him for something to eat. "Sit down here," said the boy. He sat down, and the two ate till there was not a crumb of the bread left.

The boy told of the journey he was on; then the red-haired man said: "There may not be much use in your going, but here are three things that'll serve you, -- the sword of sharpness, the cloth of plenty, and the cloak of darkness. No man can kill you while that sword is in your hand; and whenever you are hungry or dry, all you have to do is to spread the cloth and ask for what you'd like to eat or drink, and it will be there before you. When you put on the cloak, there won't be a man or a woman or a living thing in the world that'll see you, and you'll go to whatever place you have set your mind on quicker than any wind."

The red-haired man went his way, and the boy travelled on. Before evening a great shower came, and he ran for shelter to a large oak-tree. When he got near the tree his foot slipped, the ground opened, and down he went through the earth till he came to another country. When he was in the other country he put on the cloak of darkness and went ahead like a blast of wind, and never stopped till he saw a castle in the distance; and soon he was there. But he found nine gates closed before him, and no way to go through. It was written inside the cloak of darkness that his eldest sister lived in that castle.

He was not long at the gate looking in when a girl came to him and said, "Go on out of that; if you don't, you'll be killed."

"Do you go in," said he to the girl, "and tell my sister, the woman of this castle, to come out to me." The girl ran in; out came the sister, and asked: "Why are you here, and what did you come for?"

"I have come to this country to find my three sisters, who were given away by my father for their weight in gold, silver, and copper; and you are my eldest sister."

She knew from what he said that he was her brother, so she opened the gates and brought him in, saying: "Don't wonder at anything you see in this castle. My husband is enchanted. I see him only at night. He goes off every morning, stays away all day, and comes home in the evening."

The sun went down; and while they were talking, the husband rushed in, and the noise of him was terrible. He came in the form of a ram, ran up stairs, and soon after came down a man.

"Who is this that's with you?" asked he of the wife.

"Oh! that's my brother, who has come from Erin to see me," said she.

Next morning, when the man of the castle was going off in the form of a ram, he turned to the boy and asked, "Will you stay a few days in my castle? You are welcome."

"Nothing would please me better," said the boy; "but I have made a vow never to sleep three nights in one house till I have found my three sisters."

"Well," said the ram, "since you must go, here is something for you." And pulling out a bit of his own wool, he gave it to the boy, saying: "Keep this; and whenever a trouble is on you, take it out, and call on what rams are in the world to help you." Away went the ram. The boy took farewell of his sister, put on the cloak of darkness, and disappeared. He travelled till hungry and tired, then he sat down, took off the cloak of darkness, spread the cloth of plenty, and asked for meat and drink. After he had eaten and drunk his fill, he took up the cloth, put on the cloak of darkness, and went ahead, passing every wind that was before him, and leaving every wind that was behind.

About an hour before sunset he saw the castle in which his second sister lived. When he reached the gate, a girl came out to him and said: "Go away from that gate, or you'll be killed."

"I'll not leave this till my sister who lives in the castle comes out and speaks to me."

The girl ran in, and out came the sister. When she heard his story and his father's name, she knew that he was her brother, and said: "Come into the castle, but think nothing of what you'll see or hear. I don't see my husband from morning till night. He goes and comes in a strange form, but he is a man at night."

About sunset there was a terrible noise, and in rushed the man of the castle in the form of a tremendous salmon. He went flapping upstairs; but he wasn't long there till he came down a fine-looking man.

"Who is that with you?" asked he of the wife. "I thought you would let no one into the castle while I was gone."

"Oh! this is my brother, who has come to see me," said she.

"If he's your brother, he's welcome," said the man.

They supped, and then slept till morning. When the man of the castle was going out again, in the form of a great salmon, he turned to the boy and said: "You'd better stay here with us a while."

"I cannot," said the boy. "I made a vow never to sleep three nights in one house till I had seen my three sisters. I must go on now and find my third sister."

The salmon then took off a piece of his fin and gave it to the boy, saying: "If any difficulty meets you, or trouble comes on you, call on what salmons are in the sea to come and help you."

They parted. The boy put on his cloak of darkness, and away he went, more swiftly than any wind. He never stopped till he was hungry and thirsty. Then he sat down, took off his cloak of darkness, spread the cloth of plenty, and ate his fill; when he had eaten, he went on again till near sundown, when he saw the castle where his third sister lived. All three castles were near the sea. Neither sister knew what place she was in, and neither knew where the other two were living.

The third sister took her brother in just as the first and second had done, telling him not to wonder at anything he saw.

They were not long inside when a roaring noise was heard, and in came the greatest eagle that ever was seen. The eagle hurried upstairs, and soon came down a man.

"Who is that stranger there with you?" asked he of the wife. (He, as well as the ram and salmon, knew the boy; he only wanted to try his wife.)

"This is my brother, who has come to see me."

They all took supper and slept that night. When the eagle was going away in the morning, he pulled a feather out of his wing, and said to the boy: "Keep this; it may serve you. If you are ever in straits and want help, call on what eagles are in the world, and they'll come to you."

There was no hurry now, for the third sister was found; and the boy went upstairs with her to examine the country all around, and to look at the sea. Soon he saw a great white hill, and on the top of the hill a castle.

"In that castle on the white hill beyond," said the sister, "lives a giant, who stole from her home the most beautiful young woman in the world. From all parts the greatest heroes and champions and kings' sons are coming to take her away from the giant and marry her. There is not a man of them all who is able to conquer the giant and free the young woman; but the giant conquers them, cuts their heads off, and then eats their flesh. When he has picked the bones clean, he throws them out; and the whole place around the castle is white with the bones of the men that the giant has eaten."

"I must go," said the boy, "to that castle to know can I kill the giant and bring away the young woman."

So he took leave of his sister, put on the cloak of darkness, took his sword with him, and was soon inside the castle. The giant was fighting with champions outside. When the boy saw the young woman he took off the cloak of darkness and spoke to her.

"Oh!" said she, "what can you do against the giant? No man has ever come to this castle without losing his life. The giant kills every man; and no one has ever come here so big that the giant did not eat him at one meal."

"And is there no way to kill him?" asked the boy.

"I think not," said she.

"Well, if you'll give me something to eat, I'll stay here; and when the giant comes in, I'll do my best to kill him. But don't let on that I am here."

Then he put on the cloak of darkness, and no one could see him. When the giant came in, he had the bodies of two men on his back. He threw down the bodies and told the young woman to get them ready for his dinner. Then he snuffed around, and said: "There's some one here; I smell the blood of an Erineach."

"I don't think you do," said the young woman; "I can't see any one."

"Neither can I," said the giant; "but I smell a man."

With that the boy drew his sword; and when the giant was struck, he ran in the direction of the blow to give one back; then he was struck on the other side.

They were at one another this way, the giant and the boy with the cloak of darkness on him, till the giant had fifty wounds, and was covered with blood. Every minute he was getting a slash of a sword, but never could give one back. At last he called out: "Whoever you are, wait till to-morrow, and I'll face you then."

So the fighting stopped; and the young woman began to cry and lament as if her heart would break when she saw the state the giant was in. "Oh! you'll be with me no longer; you'll be killed now: what can I do alone without you?" and she tried to please him, and washed his wounds.

"Don't be afraid," said the giant; "this one, whoever he is, will not kill me, for there is no man in the world that can kill me." Then the giant went to bed, and was well in the morning.

Next day the giant and the boy began in the middle of the forenoon, and fought till the middle of the afternoon. The giant was covered with wounds, and he had not given one blow to the boy, and could not see him, for he was always in his cloak of darkness. So the giant had to ask for rest till next morning.

While the young woman was washing and dressing the wounds of the giant she cried and lamented all the time, saying: "What'll become of me now? I'm afraid you'll be killed this time; and how can I live here without you?"

"Have no fear for me," said the giant; "I'll put your mind at rest. In the bottom of the sea is a chest locked and bound, in that chest is a duck, in the duck an egg; and I never can be killed unless some one gets the egg from the duck in the chest at the bottom of the sea, and rubs it on the mole that is under my right breast."

While the giant was telling this to the woman to put her mind at rest, who should be listening to the story but the boy in the cloak of darkness. The minute he heard of the chest in the sea, he thought of the salmons. So off he hurried to the seashore, which was not far away. Then he took out the fin that his eldest sister's husband had given him, and called on what salmons were in the sea to bring up the chest with the duck inside, and put it out on the beach before him.

He had not long to wait till he saw nothing but salmon, -- the whole sea was covered with them, moving to land; and they put the chest out on the beach before him.

But the chest was locked and strong; how could he open it? He thought of the rams; and taking out the lock of wool, said: "I want what rams are in the world to come and break open this chest!"

That minute the rams of the world were running to the seashore, each with a terrible pair of horns on him; and soon they battered the chest to splinters. Out flew the duck, and away she went over the sea.

The boy took out the feather, and said: "I want what eagles are in the world to get me the egg from that duck."

That minute the duck was surrounded by the eagles of the world, and the egg was soon brought to the boy. He put the feather, the wool, and the fin in his pocket, put on the cloak of darkness, and went to the castle on the white hill, and told the young woman, when she was dressing the wounds of the giant again, to raise up his arm.

Next day they fought till the middle of the afternoon. The giant was almost cut to pieces, and called for a cessation.

The young woman hurried to dress the wounds, and he said: "I see you would help me if you could: you are not able. But never fear, I shall not be killed." Then she raised his arm to wash away the blood, and the boy, who was there in his cloak of darkness, struck the mole with the egg. The giant died that minute.

The boy took the young woman to the castle of his third sister. Next day he went back for the treasures of the giant, and there was more gold in the castle than one horse could draw.

They spent nine days in the castle of the eagle with the third sister. Then the boy gave back the feather, and the two went on till they came to the castle of the salmon, where they spent nine more days with the second sister; and he gave back the fin.

When they came to the castle of the ram, they spent fifteen days with the first sister, and had great feasting and enjoyment. Then the boy gave back the lock of wool to the ram, and taking farewell of his sister and her husband, set out for home with the young woman of the white castle, who was now his wife, bringing presents from the three daughters to their father and mother.

At last they reached the opening near the tree, came up through the ground, and went on to where he met the red-haired man. Then he spread the cloth of plenty, asked for every good meat and drink, and called the red-haired man. He came. The three sat down, ate and drank with enjoyment.

When they had finished, the boy gave back to the red-haired man the cloak of darkness, the sword of sharpness, and the cloth of plenty, and thanked him.

"You were kind to me," said the red-haired man; "you gave me of your bread when I asked for it, and told me where you were going. I took pity on you; for I knew you never could get what you wanted unless I helped you. I am the brother of the eagle, the salmon, and the ram."

They parted. The boy went home, built a castle with the treasure of the giant, and lived happily with his parents and wife.




Fair, Brown, And Trembling.


King Aedh Curucha lived in Tir Conal, and he had three daughters, whose names were Fair, Brown, and Trembling.

Fair and Brown had new dresses, and went to church every Sunday. Trembling was kept at home to do the cooking and work. They would not let her go out of the house at all; for she was more beautiful than the other two, and they were in dread she might marry before themselves.

They carried on in this way for seven years. At the end of seven years the son of the king of Omanya[3] fell in love with the eldest sister.

[3] The ancient Emania in Ulster.

One Sunday morning, after the other two had gone to church, the old henwife came into the kitchen to Trembling, and said: "It's at church you ought to be this day, instead of working here at home."

"How could I go?" said Trembling. "I have no clothes good enough to wear at church; and if my sisters were to see me there, they'd kill me for going out of the house."

"I'll give you," said the henwife, "a finer dress than either of them has ever seen. And now tell me what dress will you have?"

"I'll have," said Trembling, "a dress as white as snow, and green shoes for my feet."

Then the henwife put on the cloak of darkness, clipped a piece from the old clothes the young woman had on, and asked for the whitest robes in the world and the most beautiful that could be found, and a pair of green shoes.

That moment she had the robe and the shoes, and she brought them to Trembling, who put them on. When Trembling was dressed and ready, the henwife said: "I have a honey-bird here to sit on your right shoulder, and a honey-finger to put on your left. At the door stands a milk-white mare, with a golden saddle for you to sit on, and a golden bridle to hold in your hand."

Trembling sat on the golden saddle; and when she was ready to start, the henwife said: "You must not go inside the door of the church, and the minute the people rise up at the end of Mass, do you make off, and ride home as fast as the mare will carry you."

When Trembling came to the door of the church there was no one inside who could get a glimpse of her but was striving to know who she was; and when they saw her hurrying away at the end of Mass, they ran out to overtake her. But no use in their running; she was away before any man could come near her. From the minute she left the church till she got home, she overtook the wind before her, and outstripped the wind behind.

She came down at the door, went in, and found the henwife had dinner ready. She put off the white robes, and had on her old dress in a twinkling.

When the two sisters came home the henwife asked: "Have you any news to-day from the church?"

"We have great news," said they. "We saw a wonderful, grand lady at the church-door. The like of the robes she had we have never seen on woman before. It's little that was thought of our dresses beside what she had on; and there wasn't a man at the church, from the king to the beggar, but was trying to look at her and know who she was."

The sisters would give no peace till they had two dresses like the robes of the strange lady; but honey-birds and honey-fingers were not to be found.

Next Sunday the two sisters went to church again, and left the youngest at home to cook the dinner.

After they had gone, the henwife came in and asked: "Will you go to church to-day?"

"I would go," said Trembling, "if I could get the going."

"What robe will you wear?" asked the henwife.

"The finest black satin that can be found, and red shoes for my feet."

"What color do you want the mare to be?"

"I want her to be so black and so glossy that I can see myself in her body."

The henwife put on the cloak of darkness, and asked for the robes and the mare. That moment she had them. When Trembling was dressed, the henwife put the honey-bird on her right shoulder and the honey-finger on her left. The saddle on the mare was silver, and so was the bridle.

When Trembling sat in the saddle and was going away, the henwife ordered her strictly not to go inside the door of the church, but to rush away as soon as the people rose at the end of Mass, and hurry home on the mare before any man could stop her.

That Sunday the people were more astonished than ever, and gazed at her more than the first time; and all they were thinking of was to know who she was. But they had no chance; for the moment the people rose at the end of Mass she slipped from the church, was in the silver saddle, and home before a man could stop her or talk to her.

The henwife had the dinner ready. Trembling took off her satin robe, and had on her old clothes before her sisters got home.

"What news have you to-day?" asked the henwife of the sisters when they came from the church.

"Oh, we saw the grand strange lady again! And it's little that any man could think of our dresses after looking at the robes of satin that she had on! And all at church, from high to low, had their mouths open, gazing at her, and no man was looking at us."

The two sisters gave neither rest nor peace till they got dresses as nearly like the strange lady's robes as they could find. Of course they were not so good; for the like of those robes could not be found in Erin.

When the third Sunday came, Fair and Brown went to church dressed in black satin. They left Trembling at home to work in the kitchen, and told her to be sure and have dinner ready when they came back.

After they had gone and were out of sight, the henwife came to the kitchen and said: "Well, my dear, are you for church to-day?"

"I would go if I had a new dress to wear."

"I'll get you any dress you ask for. What dress would you like?" asked the henwife.

"A dress red as a rose from the waist down, and white as snow from the waist up; a cape of green on my shoulders; and a hat on my head with a red, a white, and a green feather in it; and shoes for my feet with the toes red, the middle white, and the backs and heels green."

The henwife put on the cloak of darkness, wished for all these things, and had them. When Trembling was dressed, the henwife put the honey-bird on her right shoulder and the honey-finger on her left, and placing the hat on her head, clipped a few hairs from one lock and a few from another with her scissors, and that moment the most beautiful golden hair was flowing down over the girl's shoulders. Then the henwife asked what kind of a mare she would ride. She said white, with blue and gold-colored diamond-shaped spots all over her body, on her back a saddle of gold, and on her head a golden bridle.

The mare stood there before the door, and a bird sitting between her ears, which began to sing as soon as Trembling was in the saddle, and never stopped till she came home from the church.

The fame of the beautiful strange lady had gone out through the world, and all the princes and great men that were in it came to church that Sunday, each one hoping that it was himself would have her home with him after Mass.

The son of the king of Omanya forgot all about the eldest sister, and remained outside the church, so as to catch the strange lady before she could hurry away.

The church was more crowded than ever before, and there were three times as many outside. There was such a throng before the church that Trembling could only come inside the gate.

As soon as the people were rising at the end of Mass, the lady slipped out through the gate, was in the golden saddle in an instant, and sweeping away ahead of the wind. But if she was, the prince of Omanya was at her side, and, seizing her by the foot, he ran with the mare for thirty perches, and never let go of the beautiful lady till the shoe was pulled from her foot, and he was left behind with it in his hand. She came home as fast as the mare could carry her, and was thinking all the time that the henwife would kill her for losing the shoe.

Seeing her so vexed and so changed in the face, the old woman asked: "What's the trouble that's on you now?"

"Oh! I've lost one of the shoes off my feet," said Trembling.

"Don't mind that; don't be vexed," said the henwife; "maybe it's the best thing that ever happened to you."

Then Trembling gave up all the things she had to the henwife, put on her old clothes, and went to work in the kitchen. When the sisters came home, the henwife asked: "Have you any news from the church?"

"We have indeed," said they; "for we saw the grandest sight to-day. The strange lady came again, in grander array than before. On herself and the horse she rode were the finest colors of the world, and between the ears of the horse was a bird which never stopped singing from the time she came till she went away. The lady herself is the most beautiful woman ever seen by man in Erin."

After Trembling had disappeared from the church, the son of the king of Omanya said to the other kings' sons: "I will have that lady for my own."

They all said: "You didn't win her just by taking the shoe off her foot, you'll have to win her by the point of the sword; you'll have to fight for her with us before you can call her your own."

"Well," said the son of the king of Omanya, "when I find the lady that shoe will fit, I'll fight for her, never fear, before I leave her to any of you."

Then all the kings' sons were uneasy, and anxious to know who was she that lost the shoe; and they began to travel all over Erin to know could they find her. The prince of Omanya and all the others went in a great company together, and made the round of Erin; they went everywhere, -- north, south, east, and west. They visited every place where a woman was to be found, and left not a house in the kingdom they did not search, to know could they find the woman the shoe would fit, not caring whether she was rich or poor, of high or low degree.

The prince of Omanya always kept the shoe; and when the young women saw it, they had great hopes, for it was of proper size, neither large nor small, and it would beat any man to know of what material it was made. One thought it would fit her if she cut a little from her great toe; and another, with too short a foot, put something in the tip of her stocking. But no use, they only spoiled their feet, and were curing them for months afterwards.

The two sisters, Fair and Brown, heard that the princes of the world were looking all over Erin for the woman that could wear the shoe, and every day they were talking of trying it on; and one day Trembling spoke up and said: "Maybe it's my foot that the shoe will fit."

"Oh, the breaking of the dog's foot on you! Why say so when you were at home every Sunday?" They were that way waiting, and scolding the younger sister, till the princes were near the place. The day they were to come, the sisters put Trembling in a closet, and locked the door on her. When the company came to the house, the prince of Omanya gave the shoe to the sisters. But though they tried and tried, it would fit neither of them.

"Is there any other young woman in the house?" asked the prince.

"There is," said Trembling, speaking up in the closet; "I'm here."

"Oh! we have her for nothing but to put out the ashes," said the sisters.

But the prince and the others wouldn't leave the house till they had seen her; so the two sisters had to open the door. When Trembling came out, the shoe was given to her, and it fitted exactly.

The prince of Omanya looked at her and said: "You are the woman the shoe fits, and you are the woman I took the shoe from."

Then Trembling spoke up, and said: "Do you stay here till I return."

Then she went to the henwife's house. The old woman put on the cloak of darkness, got everything for her she had the first Sunday at church, and put her on the white mare in the same fashion. Then Trembling rode along the highway to the front of the house. All who saw her the first time said: "This is the lady we saw at church."

Then she went away a second time, and a second time came back on the black mare in the second dress which the henwife gave her. All who saw her the second Sunday said: "That is the lady we saw at church." A third time she asked for a short absence, and soon came back on the third mare and in the third dress. All who saw her the third time said: "That is the lady we saw at church." Every man was satisfied, and knew that she was the woman.

Then all the princes and great men spoke up, and said to the son of the king of Omanya: "You'll have to fight now for her before we let her go with you."

"I'm here before you, ready for combat," answered the prince.

Then the son of the king of Lochlin stepped forth. The struggle began, and a terrible struggle it was. They fought for nine hours; and then the son of the king of Lochlin stopped, gave up his claim, and left the field. Next day the son of the king of Spain fought six hours, and yielded his claim. On the third day the son of the king of NyerfA cubedi fought eight hours, and stopped. The fourth day the son of the king of Greece fought six hours, and stopped. On the fifth day no more strange princes wanted to fight; and all the sons of kings in Erin said they would not fight with a man of their own land, that the strangers had had their chance, and as no others came to claim the woman, she belonged of right to the son of the king of Omanya.

The marriage-day was fixed, and the invitations were sent out. The wedding lasted for a year and a day. When the wedding was over, the king's son brought home the bride, and when the time came a son was born. The young woman sent for her eldest sister, Fair, to be with her and care for her. One day, when Trembling was well, and when her husband was away hunting, the two sisters went out to walk; and when they came to the sea-side, the eldest pushed the youngest sister in. A great whale came and swallowed her.

The eldest sister came home alone, and the husband asked, "Where is your sister?"

"She has gone home to her father in Ballyshannon; now that I am well, I don't need her."

"Well," said the husband, looking at her, "I'm in dread, it's my wife that has gone."

"Oh! no," said she; "it's my sister Fair that's gone."

Since the sisters were very much alike, the prince was in doubt. That night he put his sword between them, and said: "If you are my wife, this sword will get warm; if not, it will stay cold."

In the morning when he rose up, the sword was as cold as when he put it there.

It happened when the two sisters were walking by the seashore, that a little cowboy was down by the water minding cattle, and saw Fair push Trembling into the sea; and next day, when the tide came in, he saw the whale swim up and throw her out on the sand. When she was on the sand she said to the cowboy: "When you go home in the evening with the cows, tell the master that my sister Fair pushed me into the sea yesterday; that a whale swallowed me, and then threw me out, but will come again and swallow me with the coming of the next tide; then he'll go out with the tide, and come again with to-morrow's tide, and throw me again on the strand. The whale will cast me out three times. I'm under the enchantment of this whale, and cannot leave the beach or escape myself. Unless my husband saves me before I'm swallowed the fourth time, I shall be lost. He must come and shoot the whale with a silver bullet when he turns on the broad of his back. Under the breast-fin of the whale is a reddish-brown spot. My husband must hit him in that spot, for it is the only place in which he can be killed."

When the cowboy got home, the eldest sister gave him a draught of oblivion, and he did not tell.

Next day he went again to the sea. The whale came and cast Trembling on shore again. She asked the boy: "Did you tell the master what I told you to tell him?"

"I did not," said he; "I forgot."

"How did you forget?" asked she.

"The woman of the house gave me a drink that made me forget."

"Well, don't forget telling him this night; and if she gives you a drink, don't take it from her."

As soon as the cowboy came home, the eldest sister offered him a drink. He refused to take it till he had delivered his message and told all to the master. The third day the prince went down with his gun and a silver bullet in it. He was not long down when the whale came and threw Trembling upon the beach as the two days before. She had no power to speak to her husband till he had killed the whale. Then the whale went out, turned over once on the broad of his back, and showed the spot for a moment only. That moment the prince fired. He had but the one chance, and a short one at that; but he took it, and hit the spot, and the whale, mad with pain, made the sea all around red with blood, and died.

That minute Trembling was able to speak, and went home with her husband, who sent word to her father what the eldest sister had done. The father came, and told him any death he chose to give her to give it. The prince told the father he would leave her life and death with himself. The father had her put out then on the sea in a barrel, with provisions in it for seven years.

In time Trembling had a second child, a daughter. The prince and she sent the cowboy to school, and trained him up as one of their own children, and said: "If the little girl that is born to us now lives, no other man in the world will get her but him."

The cowboy and the prince's daughter lived on till they were married. The mother said to her husband: "You could not have saved me from the whale but for the little cowboy; on that account I don't grudge him my daughter."

The son of the king of Omanya and Trembling had fourteen children, and they lived happily till the two died of old age.




The King Of Erin And The Queen Of The Lonesome Island.


There was a king in Erin long ago, and this king went out hunting one day, but saw nothing till near sunset, when what should come across him but a black pig.

"Since I've seen nothing all day but this black pig, I'll be at her now," said the king; so he put spurs to his horse and raced after the pig.

When the pig was on a hill he was in the valley behind her; when he was on a hill, the pig was in the valley before him. At last they came to the sea-side, and the pig rushed out into the deep water straight from the shore. The king spurred on his horse and followed the black pig through the sea till his horse failed under him and was drowned.

Then the king swam on himself till he was growing weak, and said: "It was for the death of me that the black pig came in my way."

But he swam on some distance yet, till at last he saw land. The pig went up on an island; the king too went on shore, and said to himself: "Oh! it is for no good that I came here; there is neither house nor shelter to be seen." But he cheered up after a while, walked around, and said: "I'm a useless man if I can't find shelter in some place."

After going on a short space he saw a great castle in a valley before him. When he came to the front of the castle he saw that it had a low door with a broad threshold all covered with sharp-edged razors, and a low lintel of long-pointed needles. The path to the castle was covered with gravel of gold. The king came up, and went in with a jump over the razors and under the needles. When inside he saw a great fire on a broad hearth, and said to himself, "I'll sit down here, dry my clothes, and warm my body at this fire."

As he sat and warmed himself, a table came out before him with every sort of food and drink, without his seeing any one bring it.

"Upon my honor and power," said the king of Erin, "there is nothing bad in this! I'll eat and drink my fill."

Then he fell to, and ate and drank his fill. When he had grown tired, he looked behind him, and if he did he saw a fine room, and in it a bed covered with gold. "Well," said he, "I'll go back and sleep in that bed a while, I'm so tired."

He stretched himself on the bed and fell asleep. In the night he woke up, and felt the presence of a woman in the room. He reached out his hand towards her and spoke, but got no answer; she was silent.

When morning came, and he made his way out of the castle, she spread a beautiful garden with her Druidic spells over the island, -- so great that though he travelled through it all day he could not escape from it. At sunset he was back at the door of the castle; and in he went over the razors and under the needles, sat at the fire, and the table came out before him as on the previous evening. He ate, drank, and slept on the bed; and when he woke in the night, there was the woman in the room; but she was silent and unseen as before.

When he went out on the second morning the king of Erin saw a garden three times more beautiful than the one of the day before. He travelled all day, but could not escape, -- could not get out of the garden. At sunset he was back at the door of the castle; in he went over the razors and under the needles, ate, drank, and slept, as before.

In the middle of the night he woke up, and felt the presence of the woman in the room. "Well," said he, "it is a wonderful thing for me to pass three nights in a room with a woman, and not see her nor know who she is!"

"You won't have that to say again, king of Erin," answered a voice. And that moment the room was filled with a bright light, and the king looked upon the finest woman he had ever seen. "Well, king of Erin, you are on Lonesome Island. I am the black pig that enticed you over the land and through the sea to this place, and I am queen of Lonesome Island. My two sisters and I are under a Druidic spell, and we cannot escape from this spell till your son and mine shall free us. Now, king of Erin, I will give you a boat to-morrow morning, and do you sail away to your own kingdom."

In the morning she went with him to the seashore to the boat. The king gave the prow of the boat to the sea, and its stern to the land; then he raised the sails, and went his way. The music he had was the roaring of the wind with the whistling of eels, and he broke neither oar nor mast till he landed under his own castle in Erin.

Three quarters of a year after, the queen of Lonesome Island gave birth to a son. She reared him with care from day to day and year to year till he was a splendid youth. She taught him the learning of wise men one half of the day, and warlike exercises with Druidic spells the other half. One time the young man, the prince of Lonesome Island, came in from hunting, and found his mother sobbing and crying.

"Oh! what has happened to you, mother?" he asked.

"My son, great grief has come on me. A friend of mine is going to be killed to-morrow."

"Who is he?"

"The king of Erin. The king of Spain has come against him with a great army. He wishes to sweep him and his men from the face of the earth, and take the kingdom himself."

"Well, what can we do? If I were there, I'd help the king of Erin."

"Since you say that, my son, I'll send you this very evening. With the power of my Druidic spells, you'll be in Erin in the morning."

The prince of Lonesome Island went away that night, and next morning at the rising of the sun he drew up his boat under the king's castle in Erin. He went ashore, and saw the whole land black with the forces of the king of Spain, who was getting ready to attack the king of Erin and sweep him and his men from the face of the earth.

The prince went straight to the king of Spain, and said, "I ask one day's truce."

"You shall have it, my champion," answered the king of Spain.

The prince then went to the castle of the king of Erin, and stayed there that day as a guest. Next morning early he dressed himself in his champion's array, and, taking his nine-edged sword, he went down alone to the king of Spain, and, standing before him, bade him guard himself.

They closed in conflict, the king of Spain with all his forces on one side, and the prince of Lonesome Island on the other. They fought an awful battle that day from sunrise till sunset. They made soft places hard, and hard places soft; they made high places low, and low places high; they brought water out of the centre of hard gray rocks, and made dry rushes soft in the most distant parts of Erin till sunset; and when the sun went down, the king of Spain and his last man were dead on the field.

Neither the king of Erin nor his forces took part in the battle. They had no need, and they had no chance.

Now the king of Erin had two sons, who were such cowards that they hid themselves from fright during the battle; but their mother told the king of Erin that her elder son was the man who had destroyed the king of Spain and all his men.

There was great rejoicing and a feast at the castle of the king of Erin. At the end of the feast the queen said: "I wish to give the last cup to this stranger who is here as a guest;" and taking him to an adjoining chamber which had a window right over the sea, she seated him in the open window and gave him a cup of drowsiness to drink. When he had emptied the cup and closed his eyes, she pushed him out into the darkness.

The prince of Lonesome Island swam on the water for four days and nights, till he came to a rock in the ocean, and there he lived for three months, eating the seaweeds of the rock, till one foggy day a vessel came near and the captain cried out: "We shall be wrecked on this rock!" Then he said, "There is some one on the rock; go and see who it is."

They landed, and found the prince, his clothes all gone, his body black from the seaweed, which was growing all over it.

"Who are you?" asked the captain.

"Give me first to eat and drink, and then I'll talk," said he.

They brought him food and drink; and when he had eaten and drunk, the prince said to the captain: "What part of the world have you come from?"

"I have just sailed from Lonesome Island," said the captain. "I was obliged to sail away, for fire was coming from every side to burn my ship."

"Would you like to go back?"

"I should indeed."

"Well, turn around; you'll have no trouble if I am with you."

The captain returned. The queen of Lonesome Island was standing on the shore as the ship came in.

"Oh, my child!" cried she, "why have you been away so long?"

"The queen of Erin threw me into the sea after I had kept the head of the king of Erin on him, and saved her life too."

"Well, my son, that will come up against the queen of Erin on another day."

Now, the prince lived on Lonesome Island three years longer, till one time he came home from hunting, and found his mother wringing her hands and shedding bitter tears.

"Oh! what has happened?" asked he.

"I am weeping because the king of Spain has gone to take vengeance on the king of Erin for the death of his father, whom you killed."

"Well, mother, I'll go to help the king of Erin, if you give me leave." "Since you have said it, you shall go this very night."

He went to the shore. Putting the prow of his bark to the sea and her stern to land, he raised high the sails, and heard no sound as he went but the pleasant wind and the whistling of eels, till he pulled up his boat next morning under the castle of the king of Erin and went on shore.

The whole country was black with the troops of the king of Spain, who was just ready to attack, when the prince stood before him, and asked a truce till next morning.

"That you shall have, my champion," answered the king. So there was peace for that day.

Next morning at sunrise, the prince faced the king of Spain and his army, and there followed a struggle more terrible than that with his father; but at sunset neither the king of Spain nor one of his men was left alive.

The two sons of the king of Erin were frightened almost to death, and hid during the battle, so that no one saw them or knew where they were. But when the king of Spain and his army were destroyed, the queen said to the king: "My elder son has saved us." Then she went to bed, and taking the blood of a chicken in her mouth, spat it out, saying: "This is my heart's blood; and nothing can cure me now but three bottles of water from Tubber Tintye, the flaming well."

When the prince was told of the sickness of the queen of Erin, he came to her and said: "I'll go for the water if your two sons will go with me."

"They shall go," said the queen; and away went the three young men towards the East, in search of the flaming well.

In the morning they came to a house on the roadside; and going in, they saw a woman who had washed herself in a golden basin which stood before her. She was then wetting her head with the water in the basin, and combing her hair with a golden comb. She threw back her hair, and looking at the prince, said: "You are welcome, sister's son. What is on you? Is it the misfortune of the world that has brought you here?"

"It is not; I am going to Tubber Tintye for three bottles of water."

"That is what you'll never do; no man can cross the fiery river or go through the enchantments around Tubber Tintye. Stay here with me, and I'll give you all I have."

"No, I cannot stay, I must go on."

"Well, you'll be in your other aunt's house to-morrow night, and she will tell you all."

Next morning, when they were getting ready to take the road, the elder son of the queen of Erin was frightened at what he had heard, and said: "I am sick; I cannot go farther."

"Stop here where you are till I come back," said the prince. Then he went on with the younger brother, till at sunset they came to a house where they saw a woman wetting her head from a golden basin, and combing her hair with a golden comb. She threw back her hair, looked at the prince, and said: "You are welcome, sister's son! What brought you to this place? Was it the misfortune of the world that brought you to live under Druidic spells like me and my sisters?" This was the elder sister of the queen of the Lonesome Island.

"No," said the prince; "I am going to Tubber Tintye for three bottles of water from the flaming well."

"Oh, sister's son, it's a hard journey you're on! But stay here to-night; to-morrow morning I'll tell you all."

In the morning the prince's aunt said: "The queen of the Island of Tubber Tintye has an enormous castle, in which she lives. She has a countless army of giants, beasts, and monsters to guard the castle and the flaming well. There are thousands upon thousands of them, of every form and size. When they get drowsy, and sleep comes on them, they sleep for seven years without waking. The queen has twelve attendant maidens, who live in twelve chambers. She is in the thirteenth and innermost chamber herself. The queen and the maidens sleep during the same seven years as the giants and beasts. When the seven years are over, they all wake up, and none of them sleep again for seven other years. If any man could enter the castle during the seven years of sleep, he could do what he liked. But the island on which the castle stands is girt by a river of fire and surrounded by a belt of poison-trees."

The aunt now blew on a horn, and all the birds of the air gathered around her from every place under the heavens, and she asked each in turn where it dwelt, and each told her; but none knew of the flaming well, till an old eagle said: "I left Tubber Tintye to-day."

"How are all the people there?" asked the aunt.

"They are all asleep since yesterday morning," answered the old eagle.

The aunt dismissed the birds; and turning to the prince, said, "Here is a bridle for you. Go to the stables, shake the bridle, and put it on whatever horse runs out to meet you."

Now the second son of the queen of Erin said: "I am too sick to go farther."

"Well, stay here till I come back," said the prince, who took the bridle and went out.

The prince of the Lonesome Island stood in front of his aunt's stables, shook the bridle, and out came a dirty, lean little shaggy horse.

"Sit on my back, son of the king of Erin and the queen of Lonesome Island," said the little shaggy horse.

This was the first the prince had heard of his father. He had often wondered who he might be, but had never heard who he was before.

He mounted the horse, which said: "Keep a firm grip now, for I shall clear the river of fire at a single bound, and pass the poison-trees; but if you touch any part of the trees, even with a thread of the clothing that's on you, you'll never eat another bite; and as I rush by the end of the castle of Tubber Tintye with the speed of the wind, you must spring from my back through an open window that is there; and if you don't get in at the window, you're done for. I'll wait for you outside till you are ready to go back to Erin."

The prince did as the little horse told him. They crossed the river of fire, escaped the touch of the poison-trees, and as the horse shot past the castle, the prince sprang through the open window, and came down safe and sound inside.

The whole place, enormous in extent, was filled with sleeping giants and monsters of sea and land, -- great whales, long slippery eels, bears, and beasts of every form and kind. The prince passed through them and over them till he came to a great stairway. At the head of the stairway he went into a chamber, where he found the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, stretched on a couch asleep. "I'll have nothing to say to you," thought he, and went on to the next; and so he looked into twelve chambers. In each was a woman more beautiful than the one before. But when he reached the thirteenth chamber and opened the door, the flash of gold took the sight from his eyes. He stood a while till the sight came back, and then entered. In the great bright chamber was a golden couch, resting on wheels of gold. The wheels turned continually; the couch went round and round, never stopping night or day. On the couch lay the queen of Tubber Tintye; and if her twelve maidens were beautiful, they would not be beautiful if seen near her. At the foot of the couch was Tubber Tintye itself, -- the well of fire. There was a golden cover upon the well, and it went around continually with the couch of the queen.

"Upon my word," said the prince, "I'll rest here a while." And he went up on the couch, and never left it for six days and nights.

On the seventh morning he said, "It is time for me now to leave this place." So he came down and filled the three bottles with water from the flaming well. In the golden chamber was a table of gold, and on the table a leg of mutton with a loaf of bread; and if all the men in Erin were to eat for a twelvemonth from the table, the mutton and the bread would be in the same form after the eating as before.

The prince sat down, ate his fill of the loaf and the leg of mutton, and left them as he had found them. Then he rose up, took his three bottles, put them in his wallet, and was leaving the chamber, when he said to himself: "It would be a shame to go away without leaving something by which the queen may know who was here while she slept." So he wrote a letter, saying that the son of the king of Erin and the queen of the Lonesome Island had spent six days and nights in the golden chamber of Tubber Tintye, had taken away three bottles of water from the flaming well, and had eaten from the table of gold. Putting this letter under the pillow of the queen, he went out, stood in the open window, sprang on the back of the lean and shaggy little horse, and passed the trees and the river unharmed.

When they were near his aunt's house, the horse stopped, and said: "Put your hand into my ear, and draw out of it a Druidic rod; then cut me into four quarters, and strike each quarter with the rod. Each one of them will become the son of a king, for four princes were enchanted and turned into the lean little shaggy horse that carried you to Tubber Tintye. When you have freed the four princes from this form you can free your two aunts from the spell that is on them, and take them with you to Lonesome Island."

The prince did as the horse desired; and straightway four princes stood before him, and thanking him for what he had done, they departed at once, each to his own kingdom.

The prince removed the spell from his aunts, and, travelling with them and the two sons of the queen of Erin, all soon appeared at the castle of the king.

When they were near the door of their mother's chamber, the elder of the two sons of the queen of Erin stepped up to the prince of Lonesome Island, snatched the three bottles from the wallet that he had at his side, and running up to his mother's bed, said: "Here, mother, are the three bottles of water which I brought you from Tubber Tintye."

"Thank you, my son; you have saved my life," said she.

The prince went on his bark and sailed away with his aunts to Lonesome Island, where he lived with his mother seven years.

When seven years were over, the queen of Tubber Tintye awoke from her sleep in the golden chamber; and with her the twelve maidens and all the giants, beasts, and monsters that slept in the great castle.

When the queen opened her eyes, she saw a boy about six years old playing by himself on the floor. He was very beautiful and bright, and he had gold on his forehead and silver on his poll. When she saw the child, she began to cry and wring her hands, and said: "Some man has been here while I slept."

Straightway she sent for her Seandallglic (old blind sage), told him about the child, and asked: "What am I to do now?"

The old blind sage thought a while, and then said: "Whoever was here must be a hero; for the child has gold on his forehead and silver on his poll, and he never went from this place without leaving his name behind him. Let search be made, and we shall know who he was."

Search was made, and at last they found the letter of the prince under the pillow of the couch. The queen was now glad, and proud of the child.

Next day she assembled all her forces, her giants and guards; and when she had them drawn up in line, the army was seven miles long from van to rear. The queen opened through the river of fire a safe way for the host, and led it on till she came to the castle of the king of Erin. She held all the land near the castle, so the king had the sea on one side, and the army of the queen of Tubber Tintye on the other, ready to destroy him and all that he had. The queen sent a herald for the king to come down.

"What are you going to do?" asked the king when he came to her tent. "I have had trouble enough in my life already, without having more of it now."

"Find for me," said the queen, "the man who came to my castle and entered the golden chamber of Tubber Tintye while I slept, or I'll sweep you and all you have from the face of the earth."

The king of Erin called down his elder son, and asked: "Did you enter the chamber of the queen of Tubber Tintye?"

"I did."

"Go, then, and tell her so, and save us."

He went; and when he told the queen, she said: "If you entered my chamber, then mount my gray steed."

He mounted the steed; and if he did, the steed rose in the air with a bound, hurled him off his back, in a moment, threw him on a rock, and dashed the brains out of his head.

The king called down his second son, who said that he had been in the golden chamber. Then he mounted the gray steed, which killed him as it had his brother.

Now the queen called the king again, and said: "Unless you bring the man who entered my golden chamber while I slept, I'll not leave a sign of you or anything you have upon the face of the earth." Straightway the king sent a message to the queen of Lonesome Island, saying: "Come to me with your son and your two sisters!"

The queen set out next morning, and at sunset she drew up her boat under the castle of the king of Erin. Glad were they to see her at the castle, for great dread was on all.

Next morning the king went down to the queen of Tubber Tintye, who said: "Bring me the man who entered my castle, or I'll destroy you and all you have in Erin this day."

The king went up to the castle; immediately the prince of Lonesome Island went to the queen.

"Are you the man who entered my castle?" asked she.

"I don't know," said the prince.

"Go up now on my gray steed!" said the queen.

He sat on the gray steed, which rose under him into the sky. The prince stood on the back of the horse, and cut three times with his sword as he went up under the sun. When he came to the earth again, the queen of Tubber Tintye ran over to him, put his head on her bosom, and said: "You are the man."

Now she called the queen of Erin to her tent, and drawing from her own pocket a belt of silk, slender as a cord, she said: "Put this on."

The queen of Erin put it on, and then the queen of Tubber Tintye said: "Tighten, belt!" The belt tightened till the queen of Erin screamed with pain. "Now tell me," said the queen of Tubber Tintye, "who was the father of your elder son."

"The gardener," said the queen of Erin.

Again the queen of Tubber Tintye said; "Tighten, belt!" The queen of Erin screamed worse than before; and she had good reason, for she was cut nearly in two. "Now tell me who was the father of your second son."

"The big brewer," said the queen of Erin.

Said the queen of Tubber Tintye to the king of Erin: "Get this woman dead."

The king put down a big fire then, and when it was blazing high, he threw the wife in, and she was destroyed at once.

"Now do you marry the queen of Lonesome Island, and my child will be grandchild to you and to her," said the queen of Tubber Tintye.

This was done, and the queen of Lonesome Island became queen of Erin and lived in the castle by the sea. And the queen of Tubber Tintye married the prince of Lonesome Island, the champion who entered the golden chamber while she slept.

Now the king of Erin sent ten ships with messages to all the kings of the world, inviting them to come to the wedding of the queen of Tubber Tintye and his son, and to his own wedding with the queen of Lonesome Island.

The queen removed the Druidic spells from her giants, beasts, and monsters; then went home, and made the prince of Lonesome Island king of Tubber Tintye and lord of the golden chamber.




The Shee An Gannon And The Gruagach Gaire.


The Shee an Gannon[4] was born in the morning, named at noon, and went in the evening to ask his daughter of the king of Erin.

[4] Shee an Gannon, in Gaelic "Sighe an Gannon," the fairy of the Gannon.

"I will give you my daughter in marriage," said the king of Erin; "you won't get her, though, unless you go and bring me back the tidings that I want, and tell me what it is that put a stop to the laughing of the Gruagach Gaire,[5] who before this laughed always, and laughed so loud that the whole world heard him. There are twelve iron spikes out here in the garden behind my castle. On eleven of the spikes are the heads of kings' sons who came seeking my daughter in marriage, and all of them went away to get the knowledge I wanted. Not one was able to get it and tell me what stopped the Gruagach Gaire from laughing. I took the heads off them all when they came back without the tidings for which they went, and I'm greatly in dread that your head'll be on the twelfth spike, for I'll do the same to you that I did to the eleven kings' sons unless you tell what put a stop to the laughing of the Gruagach."

[5] The laughing Gruagach.

The Shee an Gannon made no answer, but left the king and pushed away to know could he find why the Gruagach was silent.

He took a glen at a step, a hill at a leap, and travelled all day till evening. Then he came to a house. The master of the house asked him what sort was he, and he said: "A young man looking for hire."

"Well," said the master of the house, "I was going to-morrow to look for a man to mind my cows. If you'll work for me, you'll have a good place, the best food a man could have to eat in this world, and a soft bed to lie on."

The Shee an Gannon took service, and ate his supper. Then the master of the house said: "I am the Gruagach Gaire; now that you are my man and have eaten your supper, you'll have a bed of silk to sleep on."

Next morning after breakfast the Gruagach said to the Shee an Gannon: "Go out now and loosen my five golden cows and my bull without horns, and drive them to pasture; but when you have them out on the grass, be careful you don't let them go near the land of the giant."

The new cowboy drove the cattle to pasture, and when near the land of the giant, he saw it was covered with woods and surrounded by a high wall. He went up, put his back against the wall, and threw in a great stretch of it; then he went inside and threw out another great stretch of the wall, and put the five golden cows and the bull without horns on the land of the giant.

Then he climbed a tree, ate the sweet apples himself, and threw the sour ones down to the cattle of the Gruagach Gaire.

Soon a great crashing was heard in the woods, -- the noise of young trees bending, and old trees breaking. The cowboy looked around, and saw a five-headed giant pushing through the trees; and soon he was before him. "Poor miserable creature!" said the giant; "but weren't you impudent to come to my land and trouble me in this way? You're too big for one bite, and too small for two. I don't know what to do but tear you to pieces."

"You nasty brute," said the cowboy, coming down to him from the tree, "'tis little I care for you;" and then they went at each other. So great was the noise between them that there was nothing in the world but what was looking on and listening to the combat.

They fought till late in the afternoon, when the giant was getting the upper hand; and then the cowboy thought that if the giant should kill him, his father and mother would never find him or set eyes on him again, and he would never get the daughter of the king of Erin. The heart in his body grew strong at this thought. He sprang on the giant, and with the first squeeze and thrust he put him to his knees in the hard ground, with the second thrust to his waist, and with the third to his shoulders.

"I have you at last; you're done for now!" said the cowboy. Then he took out his knife, cut the five heads off the giant, and when he had them off he cut out the tongues and threw the heads over the wall.

Then he put the tongues in his pocket and drove home the cattle. That evening the Gruagach couldn't find vessels enough in all his place to hold the milk of the five golden cows.

After supper the cowboy would give no talk to his master, but kept his mind to himself, and went to the bed of silk to sleep.

Next morning after breakfast the cowboy drove out his cattle, and going on farther than the day before, stopped at a high wall. He put his back to the wall, threw in a long stretch of it, then went in and threw out another long stretch of it.

After that he put the five golden cows and the bull without horns on the land, and going up on a tree, ate sweet apples himself, and threw down the sour ones to the cattle.

Now the son of the king of Tisean set out from the king of Erin on the same errand, after asking for his daughter; and as soon as the cowboy drove in his cattle on the second day, he came along by the giant's land, found the five heads of the giant thrown out by the cowboy the day before, and picking them up, ran off to the king of Erin and put them down before him.

"Oh, you have done good work!" said the king. "You have won one third of my daughter."

Soon after the cowboy had begun to eat sweet apples, and the son of the king of Tisean had run off with the five heads, there came a great noise of young trees bending, and old trees breaking, and presently the cowboy saw a giant larger than the one he had killed the day before.

"You miserable little wretch!" cried the giant; "what brings you here on my land?"

"You wicked brute!" said the cowboy, "I don't care for you;" and slipping down from the tree, he fell upon the giant.

The fight was fiercer than his first one; but towards evening, when he was growing faint, the cowboy remembered that if he should fall, neither his father nor mother would see him again, and he would never get the daughter of the king of Erin.

This thought gave him strength; and jumping up, he caught the giant, put him with one thrust to his knees in the hard earth, with a second to his waist, with a third to his shoulders, and then swept the five heads off him and threw them over the wall, after he had cut out the tongues and put them in his pocket.

Leaving the body of the giant, the cowboy drove home the cattle, and the Gruagach had still greater trouble in finding vessels for the milk of the five golden cows.

After supper the cowboy said not a word, but went to sleep.

Next morning he drove the cattle still farther, and came to green woods and a strong wall. Putting his back to the wall, he threw in a great piece of it, and going in, threw out another piece. Then he drove the five golden cows and the bull without horns to the land inside, ate sweet apples himself, and threw down sour ones to the cattle.

The son of the king of Tisean came and carried off the heads as on the day before.

Presently a third giant came crashing through the woods, and a battle followed more terrible than the other two.

Towards evening the giant was gaining the upper hand, and the cowboy, growing weak, would have been killed; but the thought of his parents and the daughter of the king of Erin gave him strength, and he swept the five heads off the giant, and threw them over the wall after he had put the tongues in his pocket.

Then the cowboy drove home his cattle; and the Gruagach didn't know what to do with the milk of the five golden cows, there was so much of it.

But when the cowboy was on the way home with the cattle, the son of the king of Tisean came, took the five heads of the giant, and hurried to the king of Erin.

"You have won my daughter now," said the king of Erin when he saw the heads; "but you'll not get her unless you tell me what stops the Gruagach Gaire from laughing."

On the fourth morning the cowboy rose before his master, and the first words he said to the Gruagach were:

"What keeps you from laughing, you who used to laugh so loud that the whole world heard you?"

"I'm sorry," said the Gruagach, "that the daughter of the king of Erin sent you here."

"If you don't tell me of your own will, I'll make you tell me," said the cowboy; and he put a face on himself that was terrible to look at, and running through the house like a madman, could find nothing that would give pain enough to the Gruagach but some ropes made of untanned sheepskin hanging on the wall.

He took these down, caught the Gruagach, fastened his two hands behind him, and tied his feet so that his little toes were whispering to his ears. When he was in this state the Gruagach said: "I'll tell you what stopped my laughing if you set me free."

So the cowboy unbound him, the two sat down together, and the Gruagach said: -- 

"I lived in this castle here with my twelve sons. We ate, drank, played cards, and enjoyed ourselves, till one day when my sons and I were playing, a wizard hare came rushing in, jumped on our table, defiled it, and ran away.

"On another day he came again; but if he did, we were ready for him, my twelve sons and myself. As soon as he defiled our table and ran off, we made after him, and followed him till nightfall, when he went into a glen. We saw a light before us. I ran on, and came to a house with a great apartment, where there was a man with twelve daughters, and the hare was tied to the side of the room near the women.

"There was a large pot over the fire in the room, and a great stork boiling in the pot. The man of the house said to me: 'There are bundles of rushes at the end of the room, go there and sit down with your men!'

"He went into the next room and brought out two pikes, one of wood, the other of iron, and asked me which of the pikes would I take. I said, 'I'll take the iron one;' for I thought in my heart that if an attack should come on me, I could defend myself better with the iron than the wooden pike.

"The man of the house gave me the iron pike, and the first chance of taking what I could out of the pot on the point of the pike. I got but a small piece of the stork, and the man of the house took all the rest on his wooden pike. We had to fast that night; and when the man and his twelve daughters ate the flesh of the stork, they hurled the bare bones in the faces of my sons and myself.

"We had to stop all night that way, beaten on the faces by the bones of the stork.

"Next morning, when we were going away, the man of the house asked me to stay a while; and going into the next room, he brought out twelve loops of iron and one of wood, and said to me: 'Put the heads of your twelve sons into the iron loops, or your own head into the wooden one;' and I said: 'I'll put the twelve heads of my sons in the iron loops, and keep my own out of the wooden one.'

"He put the iron loops on the necks of my twelve sons, and put the wooden one on his own neck. Then he snapped the loops one after another, till he took the heads off my twelve sons and threw the heads and bodies out of the house; but he did nothing to hurt his own neck.

"When he had killed my sons he took hold of me and stripped the skin and flesh from the small of my back down, and when he had done that he took the skin of a black sheep that had been hanging on the wall for seven years and clapped it on my body in place of my own flesh and skin; and the sheepskin grew on me, and every year since then I shear myself, and every bit of wool I use for the stockings that I wear I clip off my own back."

When he had said this, the Gruagach showed the cowboy his back covered with thick black wool.

After what he had seen and heard, the cowboy said: "I know now why you don't laugh, and small blame to you. But does that hare come here still to spoil your table?"

"He does indeed," said the Gruagach.

Both went to the table to play, and they were not long playing cards when the hare ran in; and before they could stop him he was on the table, and had put it in such a state that they could not play on it longer if they had wanted to.

But the cowboy made after the hare, and the Gruagach after the cowboy, and they ran as fast as ever their legs could carry them till nightfall; and when the hare was entering the castle where the twelve sons of the Gruagach were killed, the cowboy caught him by the two hind legs and dashed out his brains against the wall; and the skull of the hare was knocked into the chief room of the castle, and fell at the feet of the master of the place.

"Who has dared to interfere with my fighting pet?" screamed he.

"I," said the cowboy; "and if your pet had had manners, he might be alive now."

The cowboy and the Gruagach stood by the fire. A stork was boiling in the pot, as when the Gruagach came the first time. The master of the house went into the next room and brought out an iron and a wooden pike, and asked the cowboy which would he choose.

"I'll take the wooden one," said the cowboy; "and you may keep the iron one for yourself."

So he took the wooden one; and going to the pot, brought out on the pike all the stork except a small bite, and he and the Gruagach fell to eating, and they were eating the flesh of the stork all night. The cowboy and the Gruagach were at home in the place that time.

In the morning the master of the house went into the next room, took down the twelve iron loops with a wooden one, brought them out, and asked the cowboy which would he take, the twelve iron or the one wooden loop.

"What could I do with the twelve iron ones for myself or my master? I'll take the wooden one."

He put it on, and taking the twelve iron loops, put them on the necks of the twelve daughters of the house, then snapped the twelve heads off them, and turning to their father, said: "I'll do the same thing to you unless you bring the twelve sons of my master to life, and make them as well and strong as when you took their heads."

The master of the house went out and brought the twelve to life again; and when the Gruagach saw all his sons alive and as well as ever, he let a laugh out of himself, and all the Eastern world heard the laugh.

Then the cowboy said to the Gruagach: "It's a bad thing you have done to me, for the daughter of the king of Erin will be married the day after your laugh is heard."

"Oh! then we must be there in time," said the Gruagach; and they all made away from the place as fast as ever they could, the cowboy, the Gruagach, and his twelve sons.

On the road they came to a woman who was crying very hard.

"What is your trouble?" asked the cowboy.

"You need have no care," said she, "for I will not tell you."

"You must tell me," said he, "for I'll help you out of it."

"Well," said the woman, "I have three sons, and they used to play hurley with the three sons of the king of the Sasenach,[6] and they were more than a match for the king's sons. And it was the rule that the winning side should give three wallops of their hurleys to the other side; and my sons were winning every game, and gave such a beating to the king's sons that they complained to their father, and the king carried away my sons to London, and he is going to hang them there to-day."

[6] Sasenach, English.

"I'll bring them here this minute," said the cowboy. "You have no time," said the Gruagach.

"Have you tobacco and a pipe?" asked the cowboy of the Gruagach.

"I have not," said he.

"Well, I have," said the cowboy; and putting his hand in his pocket, he took out tobacco and a pipe, gave them to the Gruagach, and said: "I'll be in London and back before you can put tobacco in this pipe and light it."

He disappeared, was back from London with the three boys all safe and well, and gave them to their mother before the Gruagach could get a taste of smoke out of the pipe.

"Now come with us," said the cowboy to the woman and her sons, "to the wedding of the daughter of the king of Erin."

They hurried on; and when within three miles of the king's castle there was such a throng of people that no one could go a step ahead. "We must clear a road through this," said the cowboy.

"We must indeed," said the Gruagach; and at it they went, threw the people some on one side and some on the other, and soon they had an opening for themselves to the king's castle.

As they went in, the daughter of the king of Erin and the son of the king of Tisean were on their knees just going to be married. The cowboy drew his hand on the bridegroom, and gave a blow that sent him spinning till he stopped under a table at the other side of the room.

"What scoundrel struck that blow?" asked the king of Erin.

"It was I," said the cowboy.

"What reason had you to strike the man who won my daughter?"

"It was I who won your daughter, not he; and if you don't believe me, the Gruagach Gaire is here himself. He'll tell you the whole story from beginning to end, and show you the tongues of the giants."

So the Gruagach came up and told the king the whole story, how the Shee an Gannon had become his cowboy, had guarded the five golden cows and the bull without horns, cut off the heads of the five-headed giants, killed the wizard hare, and brought his own twelve sons to life. "And then," said the Gruagach, "he is the only man in the whole world I have ever told why I stopped laughing, and the only one who has ever seen my fleece of wool."

When the king of Erin heard what the Gruagach said, and saw the tongues of the giants fitted into the heads, he made the Shee an Gannon kneel down by his daughter, and they were married on the spot.

Then the son of the king of Tisean was thrown into prison, and the next day they put down a great fire, and the deceiver was burned to ashes.

The wedding lasted nine days, and the last day was better than the first.




The Three Daughters Of The King Of The East, And The Son Of A King In Erin.


There was once a king in Erin, and he had an only son. While this son was a little child his mother died.

After a time the king married and had a second son.

The two boys grew up together; and as the elder was far handsomer and better than the younger, the queen became jealous, and was for banishing him out of her sight.

The king's castle stood near the shore of Loch Erne, and three swans came every day to be in the water and swim in the lake. The elder brother used to go fishing; and once when he sat at the side of the water, the three swans made young women of themselves, came to where he sat, and talked to the king's son.

The queen had a boy minding cows in the place, and when he went home that night he told about what he had seen, -- that there were three young women at the lake, and the king's son was talking to the three that day. Next morning the queen called the cowboy to her, and said: "Here is a pin of slumber; and do you stick it in the clothes of the king's son before the young women come, and when they go away, take out the pin and bring it back to me."

That day when the cowboy saw the three young women coming, he went near and threw the pin, which stuck in the clothes of the king's son. That instant he fell asleep on the ground.

When the young women came, one of them took a towel, dipped it in the cold water of the lake, and rubbed his face; but she could not rouse him. When their time came to go, they were crying and lamenting because the young man was asleep; and one of the three put a gold pin in his bosom, so that when he woke up he would find it and keep her in mind.

After they had gone a couple of hours, the cowboy came up, took out the sleeping-pin, and hurried off. The king's son woke up without delay; and finding the gold pin in his bosom, he knew the young woman had come to see him.

Next day he fished and waited again. When the cowboy saw the young women coming out of the lake, he stole up a second time, and threw the pin, which stuck in his clothes, and that moment he was drowsy and fell asleep. When the young women came he was lying on the ground asleep. One of them rubbed him with a towel dipped in the water of the lake; but no matter what she did, he slept on, and when they had to go, she put a gold ring in his bosom. When the sisters were leaving the lake, and had put on their swan-skins and become swans, they all flew around him and flapped their wings in his face to know could they rouse him; but there was no use in trying.

After they had gone, the cowboy came and took out the sleeping-pin. When the king's son was awake he put his hand in his bosom, found the keepsake, and knew that the sisters had come to him.

When he went fishing the third day, he called up the cowboy and said: "I fall asleep every day. I know something is done to me. Now do you tell me all. In time I'll reward you well. I know my stepmother sends something by you that takes my senses away."

"I would tell," said the cowboy, "but I'm in dread my mistress might kill or banish me."

"She will not, for I'll put you in the way she'll not harm you. You see my fishing-bag here? Now throw the pin, which I know you have, towards me, and hit the bag."

The cowboy did as he was told, and threw the pin into the fishing-bag, where it remained without harm to any one. The cowboy went back to his cattle, and the prince fished on as before. The three swans were out in the middle of the lake swimming around for themselves in the water, and the prince moved on, fishing, till he came to a bend in the shore. On one side of him a tongue of land ran out into the lake. The swans came to the shore, leaving the piece of land between themselves and the prince. Then they took off their swan-skins, were young women, and bathed in the lake.

After that they came out, put on the dress of young women, and went to where the king's son was fishing.

He spoke to them, and asked where were they from, in what place were they born, and why were they swans.

They said: "We are three sisters, daughters of the king of the East, and we have two brothers. Our mother died, and our father married again, and had two other daughters; and these two are not so good looking nor so well favored as we, and their mother was in dread they wouldn't get such fine husbands as we, so she enchanted us, and now we are going about the world from lake to lake in the form of swans."

Then the eldest of the three sisters said to the king's son: "What kind are you, and where were you born?"

"I was born in Erin," said he; "and when I was a little boy my mother died, my father married again and had a second son, and that son wasn't to the eye what I was, and my stepmother was for banishing me from my father's house because she thought her own son was not so good as I was, and I am fishing here every day by the lake to keep out of her sight."

"Well," said the eldest sister, "I thought you were a king's son, and so I came to you in my own form to know could we go on in the world together."

"I don't know yet what to do," said the king's son.

"Well, be sure of your mind to-morrow, for that will be the last day for me here."

When the cowboy was going home, the king's son gave him the sleeping-pin for the stepmother. When he had driven in the cattle, the cowboy told the queen that the young man had fallen asleep as on the two other days.

But there was an old witch in the place who was wandering about the lake that day. She saw everything, went to the queen, and told her how the three swans had made young women of themselves, and talked with her stepson.

When the queen heard the old witch, she fell into a terrible rage at the cowboy for telling her a lie, and banished him out of her sight forever. Then she got another cowboy, and sent him off with the sleeping-pin next day. When he came near the lake, the king's son tried to drive him off; but the cowboy threw the sleeping-pin into his clothes, and he fell down near the edge of the water without sight or sense.

The three sisters came, and found him sleeping. They rubbed him, and threw water on his face, but they could not wake him. And the three were lamenting sorely, for they had brought a swan's skin with them that day, so the king's son might make a swan of himself and fly away with them, for this was their last day at that place; but they could do nothing now, for he lay there dead asleep on the ground before them.

The eldest sister pulled out her handkerchief, and the falling tears dropped on it. Then she took a knife, and cut one of the nipples from her breast. The second sister wrote on the handkerchief: "Keep this in mind till you get more account from us." They put it in his bosom and went away.

As soon as the sisters had gone, the cowboy came, drew out the pin, and hurried away. The stepmother was always trying to banish the king's son, hoping that something might happen to him, and her own son be the heir. So now he went off and wandered away through Erin, always inquiring for the eldest sister, but never could find her.

At the end of seven years he came home, and was fishing at the side of Loch Erne again, when a swan flew up to him and said: "Your love is lying on her death-bed, unless you go to save her. She is bleeding from the breast, and you must go to her now. Go straight to the East!"

The king's son went straight to the East, and on the way there rose up storm and fog against him; but they did not stop him. He was going on always, and when he was three weeks' journey from his father's castle he stumbled one dark, misty day and fell over a ditch. When he rose up there stood on the other side of the ditch before him a little horse, all bridled and saddled, with a whip on the saddle. The horse spoke up and said: "If you are the king's son, I was sent here to meet you, and carry you to the castle of the king of the East. There is a young woman at the castle who thinks it long till she sees you. Now ask me no questions, for I'm not at liberty to talk to you till I bring you to the East."

"I suppose we are to be a long time going?" said the king's son.

"Don't trouble yourself about the going; I'll take you safely. Sit on my back now, and be sure you're a good rider, and you'll not be long on the road. This is my last word."

They went on, and were going always; and as he travelled, the prince met the wind that was before him, and the wind that blew behind could not come up with him. When he was hungry the pommel of the saddle opened, and he found the best of eating inside.

They went on sweeping over the world for two weeks, and when they were near the East the horse said: "Get down from my back now, for it's tired I am."

"How far are we from the castle?" asked the king's son.

"Five days' journey," answered the horse. "When you come to the castle, don't stop a moment till you ask where the young woman is lying; and tell them to be sure to give good stabling and food to the horse. Come and see me yourself every day. If you don't, there will be nothing for me but fasting; and that's what I don't like."

When the king's son came to the castle it was evening. The two younger sisters welcomed him. (These were two of the swans at the lake in Erin, and now at home by the enchantment of their stepmother. They were swans in the daytime, and women only at night, so as not to be under the eye of young men when these came to see the stepmother's own daughters.) They said: "Our sister is on an island, and we'll go to her." They got a boat for the young man, and went with him to where their sister was lying. They said to her: "The son of the king of Erin is here."

"Let him come in, that I may look at him," said she.

The king's son went in, and when she saw him she was glad. "Have you anything that belongs to me?" asked she.

"I have."

"Then throw it on my breast."

He threw the handkerchief on her breast and went away. Next day she rose from the bed as well as ever. On the third day after his arrival, the son of the king of Erin married the eldest daughter of the king of the East, and the stepmother's enchantment was destroyed; and there was the grandest wedding that ever was seen in that kingdom.

The king's son, thinking only of his bride, forgot all about the horse that had brought him over the long road. When at last he went to see him, the stable was empty; the horse had gone. And neither his father in Erin nor the stepmother came to his mind, he was living so pleasantly in the East. But after he had been there a long time, and a son and a daughter had been born to him, he remembered his father. Then he made up his mind not to let the stepmother's son be heir to the kingdom in place of himself. So taking his wife and children, he left the East and travelled to Erin. He stopped on the road, and sent word to the father that he was coming.

When the stepmother heard the news, a great weakness came on her. She fell into a fit and died.

The king's son waited in a convenient place till the funeral was over, and then he came to the castle and lived with his father. He was not long in the place when he sent messengers to know could they find the cowboy that the stepmother banished for telling about the sleeping-pin. They brought the cowboy to the castle, and the king made him his coachman.

The cowboy was not twelve months in his new place before he married. Then the king's son gave him a fine piece of land to live on, with six cows and four horses. There was not a happier man in the kingdom than the cowboy. When the father died, the king's son became king in Erin himself.




The Fisherman's Son And The Gruagach Of Tricks.


There was an old fisherman once in Erin who had a wife and one son.

The old fisherman used to go about with a fishing-rod and tackle to the rivers and lochs and every place where fish resort, and he was killing salmon and other fish to keep the life in himself and his wife and son.

The son was not so keen nor so wise as another, and the father was instructing him every day in fishing, so that if himself should be taken from the world, the son would be able to support the old mother and get his own living.

One day when the father and son were fishing in a river near the sea, they looked out over the water and saw a small dark speck on the waves. It grew larger and larger, till they saw a boat, and when the boat drew near they saw a man sitting in the stern of it.

There was a nice beach near the place where they were fishing. The man brought the boat straight to the beach, and stepping out drew it up on the sand.

They saw then that the stranger was a man of high degree (duine uasal).

After he had put the boat high on the sand, he came to where the two were at work, and said: "Old fisherman, you'd better let this son of yours with me for a year and a day, and I will make a very wise man of him. I am the Gruagach na g-cleasan[7] (Gruagach of tricks), and I'll bind myself to be here with your son this day year."

[7] Pronounced nAi glAissan.

"I can't let him go," said the old fisherman, "till he gets his mother's advice."

"Whatever goes as far as women I'll have nothing to do with," said the Gruagach. "You had better give him to me now, and let the mother alone."

They talked till at last the fisherman promised to let his son go for the year and a day. Then the Gruagach gave his word to have the boy there at the seashore that day year.

The Gruagach and the boy went into the boat and sailed away.

When the year and a day were over, the old fisherman went to the same place where he had parted with his son and the Gruagach, and stood looking over the sea, thinking would he see his son that day.

At last he saw a black spot on the water, then a boat. When it was near he saw two men sitting in the stern of the boat. When it touched land, the two, who were duine uasal in appearance, jumped out, and one of them pulled the boat to the top of the strand. Then that one, followed by the other, came to where the old fisherman was waiting, and asked: "What trouble is on you now, my good man?"

"I had a son that wasn't so keen nor so wise as another, and myself and this son were here fishing, and a stranger came, like yourself to-day, and asked would I let my son with him for a year and a day. I let the son go, and the man promised to be here with him to-day, and that's why I am waiting at this place now." "Well," said the Gruagach, "am I your son?"

"You are not," said the fisherman.

"Is this man here your son?"

"I don't know him," said the fisherman.

"Well, then, he is all you will have in place of your son," said the Gruagach.

The old man looked again, and knew his son. He caught hold of him and welcomed him home.

"Now," said the Gruagach, "isn't he a better man than he was a year ago?"

"Oh, he's nearly a smart man now!" said the old fisherman.

"Well," said the Gruagach, "will you let him with me for another year and a day?"

"I will not," said the old man; "I want him myself."

The Gruagach then begged and craved till the fisherman promised to let the son with him for a year and a day again. But the old man forgot to take his word of the Gruagach to bring back the son at the end of the time; and when the Gruagach and the boy were in the boat, and had pushed out to sea, the Gruagach shouted to the old man: "I kept my promise to bring back your son to-day. I haven't given you my word at all now. I'll not bring him back, and you'll never see him again."

The fisherman went home with a heavy and sorrowful heart, and the old woman scolded him all that night till next morning for letting her son go with the Gruagach a second time.

Then himself and the old woman were lamenting a quarter of a year; and when another quarter had passed, he said to her: "I'll leave you here now, and I'll be walking on myself till I wear my legs off up to my knees, and from my knees to my waist, till I find where is my son." So away went the old man walking, and he used to spend but one night in a house, and not two nights in any house, till his feet were all in blisters. One evening late he came to a hut where there was an old woman sitting at a fire.

"Poor man!" said she, when she laid eyes on him, "it's a great distress you are in, to be so disfigured with wounds and sores. What is the trouble that's on you?"

"I had a son," said the old man, "and the Gruagach na g-cleasan came on a day and took him from me."

"Oh, poor man!" said she. "I have a son with that same Gruagach these twelve years, and I have never been able to get him back or get sight of him, and I'm in dread you'll not be able to get your son either. But to-morrow, in the morning, I'll tell you all I know, and show you the road you must go to find the house of the Gruagach na g-cleasan."

Next morning she showed the old fisherman the road. He was to come to the place by evening.

When he came and entered the house, the Gruagach shook hands with him, and said: "You are welcome, old fisherman. It was I that put this journey on you, and made you come here looking for your son."

"It was no one else but you," said the fisherman.

"Well," said the Gruagach, "you won't see your son to-day. At noon to-morrow I'll put a whistle in my mouth and call together all the birds in my place, and they'll come. Among others will be twelve doves. I'll put my hand in my pocket, this way, and take out wheat and throw it before them on the ground. The doves will eat the wheat, and you must pick your son out of the twelve. If you find him, you'll have him; if you don't, you'll never get him again."

After the Gruagach had said these words the old man ate his supper and went to bed.

In the dead of night the old fisherman's son came. "Oh, father!" said he, "it would be hard for you to pick me out among the twelve doves, if you had to do it alone; but I'll tell you. When the Gruagach calls us in, and we go to pick up the wheat, I'll make a ring around the others, walking for myself; and as I go I'll give some of them a tip of my bill, and I'll lift my wings when I'm striking them. There was a spot under one of my arms when I left home, and you'll see that spot under my wing when I raise it to-morrow. Don't miss the bird that I'll be, and don't let your eyes off it; if you do, you'll lose me forever."

Next morning the old man rose, had his breakfast, and kept thinking of what his son had told him.

At midday the Gruagach took his whistle and blew. Birds came to him from every part, and among others the twelve doves.

He took wheat from his pocket, threw it to the doves, and said to the father: "Now pick out your son from the twelve."

The old man was watching, and soon he saw one of the doves walking around the other eleven and hitting some of them a clip of its bill, and then it raised its wings, and the old man saw the spot. The bird let its wings down again, and went to eating with the rest.

The father never let his eyes off the bird. After a while he said to the Gruagach: "I'll have that bird there for my son." "Well," said the Gruagach, "that is your son. I can't blame you for having him; but I blame your instructor for the information he gave you, and I give him my curse."

So the old fisherman got his son back in his proper shape, and away they went, father and son, from the house of the Gruagach. The old man felt stronger now, and they never stopped travelling a day till they came home.

The old mother was very glad to see her son, and see him such a wise, smart man.

After coming home they had no means but the fishing; they were as poor as ever before.

At this time it was given out at every crossroad in Erin, and in all public places in the kingdom, that there were to be great horse-races. Now, when the day came, the old fisherman's son said:

"Come away with me, father, to the races."

The old man went with him, and when they were near the race-course, the son said:

"Stop here till I tell you this: I'll make myself into the best horse that's here to-day, and do you take me to the place where the races are to be, and when you take me in, I'll open my mouth, trying to kill and eat every man that'll be near me, I'll have such life and swiftness; and do you find a rider for me that'll ride me, and don't let me go till the other horses are far ahead on the course. Then let me go. I'll come up to them, and I'll run ahead of them and win the race. After that every rich man there will want to buy me of you; but don't you sell me to any man for less than five hundred pounds; and be sure you get that price for me. And when you have the gold, and you are giving me up, take the bit out of my mouth, and don't sell the bridle for any money. Then come to this spot, shake the bridle, and I'll be here in my own form before you."

The son made himself a horse, and the old fisherman took him to the race. He reared and snorted, trying to take the head off every man that came near him.

The old man shouted for a rider. A rider came; he mounted the horse and held him in. The old man didn't let him start till the other horses were well ahead on the course; then he let him go.

The new horse caught up with the others and shot past them. So they had not gone half way when he was in at the winning-post.

When the race was ended, there was a great noise over the strange horse. Men crowded around the old fisherman from every corner of the field, asking what would he take for the horse.

"Five hundred pounds," said he.

"Here 'tis for you," said the next man to him.

In a moment the horse was sold, and the money in the old man's pocket. Then he pulled the bridle off the horse's head, and made his way out of the place as fast as ever he could.

It was not long till he was at the spot where the son had told him what to do. The minute he came, he shook the bridle, and the son was there before him in his own shape and features.

Oh, but the old fisherman was glad when he had his son with him again, and the money in his pocket!

The two went home together. They had money enough now to live, and quit the fishing. They had plenty to eat and drink, and they spent their lives in ease and comfort till the next year, when it was given out at all the cross-roads in Erin, and every public place in the kingdom, that there was to be a great hunting with hounds, in the same place where the races had been the year before.

When the day came, the fisherman's son said: "Come, father, let us go away to this hunting."

"Ah!" said the old man, "what do we want to go for? Haven't we plenty to eat at home, with money enough and to spare? What do we care for hunting with hounds?"

"Oh! they'll give us more money," said the son, "if we go."

The fisherman listened to his son, and away they went. When the two came to the spot where the son had made a horse of himself the year before, he stopped, and said to the father: "I'll make a hound of myself to-day, and when you bring me in sight of the game, you'll see me wild with jumping and trying to get away; but do you hold me fast till the right time comes, then let go. I'll sweep ahead of every hound in the field, catch the game, and win the prize for you.

"When the hunt is over, so many men will come to buy me that they'll put you in a maze; but be sure you get three hundred pounds for me, and when you have the money, and are giving me up, don't forget to keep my rope. Come to this place, shake the rope, and I'll be here before you, as I am now. If you don't keep the rope, you'll go home without me."

The son made a hound of himself, and the old father took him to the hunting-ground.

When the hunt began, the hound was springing and jumping like mad; but the father held him till the others were far out in the field. Then he let him loose, and away went the son.

Soon he was up with the pack, then in front of the pack, and never stopped till he caught the game and won the prize.

When the hunt was over, and the dogs and game brought in, all the people crowded around the old fisherman, saying: "What do you want of that hound? Better sell him; he's no good to you."

They put the old man in a maze, there were so many of them, and they pressed him so hard.

He said at last: "I'll sell the hound; and three hundred pounds is the price I want for him."

"Here 'tis for you," said a stranger, putting the money into his hand.

The old man took the money and gave up the dog, without taking off the rope. He forgot his son's warning.

That minute the Gruagach na g-cleasan called out: "I'll take the worth of my money out of your son now;" and away he went with the hound.

The old man walked home alone that night, and it is a heavy heart he had in him when he came to the old woman without the son. And the two were lamenting their lot till morning.

Still and all, they were better off than the first time they lost their son, as they had plenty of everything, and could live at their ease.

The Gruagach went away home, and put the fisherman's son in a cave of concealment that he had, bound him hand and foot, and tied hard knots on his neck up to the chin. From above there fell on him drops of poison, and every drop that fell went from the skin to the flesh, from the flesh to the bone, from the bone to the marrow, and he sat there under the poison drops, without meat, drink, or rest.

In the Gruagach's house was a servant-maid, and the fisherman's son had been kind to her the time he was in the place before.

On a day when the Gruagach and his eleven sons were out hunting, the maid was going with a tub of dirty water to throw it into the river that ran by the side of the house. She went through the cave of concealment where the fisherman's son was bound, and he asked of her the wetting of his mouth from the tub.

"Oh! the Gruagach would take the life of me," said she, "when he comes home, if I gave you as much as one drop."

"Well," said he, "when I was in this house before, and when I had power in my hands, it's good and kind I was to you; and when I get out of this confinement I'll do you a turn, if you give me the wetting of my mouth now."

The maid put the tub near his lips.

"Oh! I can't stoop to drink unless you untie one knot from my throat," said he.

Then she put the tub down, stooped to him, and loosed one knot from his throat. When she loosed the one knot he made an eel of himself, and dropped into the tub. There he began shaking the water, till he put some of it on the ground, and when he had the place about him wet, he sprang from the tub, and slipped along out under the door. The maid caught him; but could not hold him, he was so slippery. He made his way from the door to the river, which ran near the side of the house.

When the Gruagach na g-cleasan came home in the evening with his eleven sons, they went to take a look at the fisherman's son; but he was not to be seen. Then the Gruagach called the maid, and taking his sword, said: "I'll take the head off you if you don't tell me this minute what happened while I was gone."

"Oh!" said the maid, "he begged so hard for a drop of dirty water to wet his mouth that I hadn't the heart to refuse, for 'tis good he was to me and kind each time he saw me when he was here in the house before. When the water touched his mouth, he made an eel of himself, spilled water out of the tub, and slipped along over the wet place to the river outside. I caught him to bring him back, but I couldn't hold him; in spite of all I could do, he made away."

The Gruagach dropped his sword, and went to the water side with his sons.

The sons made eleven eels of themselves, and the Gruagach their father was the twelfth. They went around in the water, searching in every place, and there was not a stone in the river that they passed without looking under and around it for the old fisherman's son.

And when he knew that they were after him, he made himself into a salmon; and when they knew he was a salmon, the sons made eleven otters of themselves, and the Gruagach made himself the twelfth.

When the fisherman's son found that twelve otters were after him, he was weak with hunger, and when they had come near, he made himself a whale. But the eleven brothers and their father made twelve cannon whales of themselves, for they had all gone out of the river, and were in the sea now.

When they were coming near him, the fisherman's son was weak from pursuit and hunger, so he jumped up out of the water, and made a swallow of himself; but the Gruagach and his sons became twelve hawks, and chased the swallow through the air; and as they whirled round and darted, they pressed him hard, till all of them came near the castle of the king of Erin.

Now the king had made a summer-house for his daughter; and where should she be at this time but sitting on the top of the summer-house.

The old fisherman's son dropped down till he was near her; then he fell into her lap in the form of a ring. The daughter of the king of Erin took up the ring, looked at it, and put it on her finger. The ring took her fancy, and she was glad.

When the Gruagach and his sons saw this, they let themselves down at the king's castle, having the form of the finest men that could be seen in the kingdom.

When the king's daughter had the ring on her finger she looked at it and liked it. Then the ring spoke, and said: "My life is in your hands now; don't part from the ring, and don't let it go to any man, and you'll give me a long life."

The Gruagach na g-cleasan and his eleven sons went into the king's castle and played on every instrument known to man, and they showed every sport that could be shown before a king. This they did for three days and three nights. When that time was over, and they were going away, the king spoke up and asked:

"What is the reward that you would like, and what would be pleasing to you from me?"

"We want neither gold nor silver," said the Gruagach; "all the reward we ask of you is the ring that I lost on a time, and which is now on your daughter's finger." "If my daughter has the ring that you lost, it shall be given to you," said the king.

Now the ring spoke to the king's daughter and said: "Don't part with me for anything till you send your trusted man for three gallons of strong spirits and a gallon of wheat; put the spirits and the wheat together in an open barrel before the fire. When your father says you must give up the ring, do you answer back that you have never left the summer-house, that you have nothing on your hand but what is your own and paid for. Your father will say then that you must part with me, and give me up to the stranger. When he forces you in this way, and you can keep me no longer, then throw me into the fire; and you'll see great sport and strange things."

The king's daughter sent for the spirits and the wheat, had them mixed together, and put in an open barrel before the fire.

The king called the daughter in, and asked: "Have you the ring which this stranger lost?"

"I have a ring," said she, "but it's my own, and I'll not part with it. I'll not give it to him nor to any man."

"You must," said the king, "for my word is pledged, and you must part with the ring!"

When she heard this, she slipped the ring from her finger and threw it into the fire.

That moment the eleven brothers made eleven pairs of tongs of themselves; their father, the old Gruagach, was the twelfth pair.

The twelve jumped into the fire to know in what spark of it would they find the old fisherman's son; and they were a long time working and searching through the fire, when out flew a spark, and into the barrel. The twelve made themselves men, turned over the barrel, and spilled the wheat on the floor. Then in a twinkling they were twelve cocks strutting around.

They fell to and picked away at the wheat to know which one would find the fisherman's son. Soon one dropped on one side, and a second on the opposite side, until all twelve were lying drunk from the wheat.

Then the old fisherman's son made a fox of himself, and the first cock he came to was the old Gruagach na g-cleasan himself. He took the head off the Gruagach with one bite, and the heads off the eleven brothers with eleven other bites.

When the twelve were dead, the old fisherman's son made himself the finest-looking man in Erin, and began to give music and sport to the king; and he entertained him five times better than had the Gruagach and his eleven sons.

Then the king's daughter fell in love with him, and she set her mind on him to that degree that there was no life for her without him.

When the king saw the straits that his daughter was in, he ordered the marriage without delay.

The wedding lasted for nine days and nine nights, and the ninth night was the best of all.

When the wedding was over, the king felt he was losing his strength, so he took the crown off his own head, and put it on the head of the old fisherman's son, and made him king of Erin in place of himself.

The young couple were the luck, and we the stepping-stones. The presents we got at the marriage were stockings of buttermilk and shoes of paper, and these were worn to the soles of our feet when we got home from the wedding.




The Thirteenth Son Of The King Of Erin.


There was a king in Erin long ago who had thirteen sons, and as they grew up he taught them good learning and every exercise and art befitting their rank.

One day the king went hunting, and saw a swan swimming in a lake with thirteen little ones. She kept driving away the thirteenth, and would not let it come near the others.

The king wondered greatly at this, and when he came home he summoned his Sean dall Glic (old blind sage), and said: "I saw a great wonder to-day while out hunting, -- a swan with thirteen cygnets, and she driving away the thirteenth continually, and keeping the twelve with her. Tell me the cause and reason of this. Why should a mother hate her thirteenth little one, and guard the other twelve?"

"I will tell you," said the old blind sage: "all creatures on earth, whether beast or human, which have thirteen young, should put the thirteenth away, and let it wander for itself through the world and find its fate, so that the will of Heaven may work upon it, and not come down on the others. Now you have thirteen sons, and you must give the thirteenth to the Diachbha."[8]

[8] Diachbha, "divinity," "fate."

"Then that is the meaning of the swan on the lake, -- I must give up my thirteenth son to the Diachbha?"

"It is," said the old blind sage; "you must give up one of your thirteen sons."

"But how can I give one of them away when I am so fond of all; and which one shall it be?"

"I'll tell you what to do. When the thirteen come home to-night, shut the door against the last that comes."

Now one of the sons was slow, not so keen nor so sharp as another; but the eldest, who was called Sean Ruadh, was the best, the hero of them all. And it happened that night that he came home last, and when he came his father shut the door against him. The boy raised his hands and said: "Father, what are you going to do with me; what do you wish?"

"It is my duty," said the father, "to give one of my sons to the Diachbha; and as you are the thirteenth, you must go."

"Well, give me my outfit for the road."

The outfit was brought, Sean Ruadh put it on; then the father gave him a black-haired steed that could overtake the wind before him, and outstrip the wind behind.

Sean Ruadh mounted the steed and hurried away. He went on each day without rest, and slept in the woods at night.

One morning he put on some old clothes which he had in a pack on the saddle, and leaving his horse in the woods, went aside to an opening. He was not long there when a king rode up and stopped before him.

"Who are you, and where are you going?" asked the king. "Oh!" said Sean Ruadh, "I am astray. I do not know where to go, nor what I am to do."

"If that is how you are, I'll tell you what to do, -- come with me."

"Why should I go with you?" asked Sean Ruadh.

"Well, I have a great many cows, and I have no one to go with them, no one to mind them. I am in great trouble also. My daughter will die a terrible death very soon."

"How will she die?" asked Sean Ruadh.

"There is an urfeist,[9] a great serpent of the sea, a monster which must get a king's daughter to devour every seven years. Once in seven years this thing comes up out of the sea for its meat. The turn has now come to my daughter, and we don't know what day will the urfeist appear. The whole castle and all of us are in mourning for my wretched child."

[9] Urfeist, "great serpent."

"Perhaps some one will come to save her," said Sean Ruadh.

"Oh! there is a whole army of kings' sons who have come, and they all promise to save her; but I'm in dread none of them will meet the urfeist."

Sean Ruadh agreed with the king to serve for seven years, and went home with him.

Next morning Sean Ruadh drove out the king's cows to pasture.

Now there were three giants not far from the king's place. They lived in three castles in sight of each other, and every night each of these giants shouted just before going to bed. So loud was the shout that each let out of himself that the people heard it in all the country around.

Sean Ruadh drove the cattle up to the giant's land, pushed down the wall, and let them in. The grass was very high, -- three times better than any on the king's pastures.

As Sean Ruadh sat watching the cattle, a giant came running towards him and called out: "I don't know whether to put a pinch of you in my nose, or a bite of you in my mouth!"

"Bad luck to me," said Sean Ruadh, "if I came here but to take the life out of you!"

"How would you like to fight, -- on the gray stones, or with sharp swords?" asked the giant.

"I'll fight you," said Sean Ruadh, "on the gray stones, where your great legs will be going down, and mine standing high."

They faced one another then, and began to fight. At the first encounter Sean Ruadh put the giant down to his knees among the hard gray stones, at the second he put him to his waist, and at the third to his shoulders.

"Come, take me out of this," cried the giant, "and I'll give you my castle and all I've got. I'll give you my sword of light that never fails to kill at a blow. I'll give you my black horse that can overtake the wind before, and outstrip the wind behind. These are all up there in my castle."

Sean Ruadh killed the giant and went up to the castle, where the housekeeper said to him: "Oh! it is you that are welcome. You have killed the dirty giant that was here. Come with me now till I show you all the riches and treasures."

She opened the door of the giant's store-room and said: "All these are yours. Here are the keys of the castle."

"Keep them till I come again, and wake me in the evening," said Sean Ruadh, lying down on the giant's bed.

He slept till evening; then the housekeeper roused him, and he drove the king's cattle home. The cows never gave so much milk as that night. They gave as much as in a whole week before.

Sean Ruadh met the king, and asked: "What news from your daughter?"

"The great serpent did not come to-day," said the king; "but he may come to-morrow."

"Well, to-morrow he may not come till another day," said Sean Ruadh.

Now the king knew nothing of the strength of Sean Ruadh, who was bare-footed, ragged, and shabby.

The second morning Sean Ruadh put the king's cows in the second giant's land. Out came the second giant with the same questions and threats as the first, and the cowboy spoke as on the day before.

They fell to fighting; and when the giant was to his shoulders in the hard gray rocks, he said: "I'll give you my sword of light and my brown-haired horse if you'll spare my life."

"Where is your sword of light?" asked Sean Ruadh.

"It is hung up over my bed."

Sean Ruadh ran to the giant's castle, and took the sword, which screamed out when he seized it; but he held it fast, hurried back to the giant, and asked, "How shall I try the edge of this sword?"

"Against a stick," was the reply.

"I see no stick better than your own head," said Sean Ruadh; and with that he swept the head off the giant.

The cowboy now went back to the castle and hung up the sword. "Blessing to you," said the housekeeper; "you have killed the giant! Come, now, and I'll show you his riches and treasures, which are yours forever."

Sean Ruadh found more treasure in this castle than in the first one. When he had seen all, he gave the keys to the housekeeper till he should need them. He slept as on the day before, then drove the cows home in the evening.

The king said: "I have the luck since you came to me. My cows give three times as much milk to-day as they did yesterday."

"Well," said Sean Ruadh, "have you any account of the urfeist?"

"He didn't come to-day," said the king; "but he may come to-morrow."

Sean Ruadh went out with the king's cows on the third day, and drove them to the third giant's land, who came out and fought a more desperate battle than either of the other two; but the cowboy pushed him down among the gray rocks to his shoulders and killed him.

At the castle of the third giant he was received with gladness by the housekeeper, who showed him the treasures and gave him the keys; but he left the keys with her till he should need them. That evening the king's cows had more milk than ever before.

On the fourth day Sean Ruadh went out with the cows, but stopped at the first giant's castle. The housekeeper at his command brought out the dress of the giant, which was all black. He put on the giant's apparel, black as night, and girded on his sword of light. Then he mounted the black-haired steed, which overtook the wind before, and outstripped the wind behind; and rushing on between earth and sky, he never stopped till he came to the beach, where he saw hundreds upon hundreds of kings' sons, and champions, who were anxious to save the king's daughter, but were so frightened at the terrible urfeist that they would not go near her.

When he had seen the princess and the trembling champions, Sean Ruadh turned his black steed to the castle. Presently the king saw, riding between earth and sky, a splendid stranger, who stopped before him.

"What is that I see on the shore?" asked the stranger. "Is it a fair, or some great meeting?"

"Haven't you heard," asked the king, "that a monster is coming to destroy my daughter to-day?"

"No, I haven't heard anything," answered the stranger, who turned away and disappeared.

Soon the black horseman was before the princess, who was sitting alone on a rock near the sea. As she looked at the stranger, she thought he was the finest man on earth, and her heart was cheered.

"Have you no one to save you?" he asked.

"No one."

"Will you let me lay my head on your lap till the urfeist comes? Then rouse me."

He put his head on her lap and fell asleep. While he slept, the princess took three hairs from his head and hid them in her bosom. As soon as she had hidden the hairs, she saw the urfeist coming on the sea, great as an island, and throwing up water to the sky as he moved. She roused the stranger, who sprang up to defend her.

The urfeist came upon shore, and was advancing on the princess with mouth open and wide as a bridge, when the stranger stood before him and said: "This woman is mine, not yours!"

Then drawing his sword of light, he swept off the monster's head with a blow; but the head rushed back to its place, and grew on again.

In a twinkle the urfeist turned and went back to the sea; but as he went, he said: "I'll be here again to-morrow, and swallow the whole world before me as I come."

"Well," answered the stranger, "maybe another will come to meet you."

Sean Ruadh mounted his black steed, and was gone before the princess could stop him. Sad was her heart when she saw him rush off between the earth and sky more swiftly than any wind.

Sean Ruadh went to the first giant's castle and put away his horse, clothes, and sword. Then he slept on the giant's bed till evening, when the housekeeper woke him, and he drove home the cows. Meeting the king, he asked: "Well, how has your daughter fared to-day?"

"Oh! the urfeist came out of the sea to carry her away; but a wonderful black champion came riding between earth and sky and saved her."

"Who was he?"

"Oh! there is many a man who says he did it. But my daughter isn't saved yet, for the urfeist said he'd come to-morrow."

"Well, never fear; perhaps another champion will come to-morrow."

Next morning Sean Ruadh drove the king's cows to the land of the second giant, where he left them feeding, and then went to the castle, where the housekeeper met him and said: "You are welcome. I'm here before you, and all is well." "Let the brown horse be brought; let the giant's apparel and sword be ready for me," said Sean Ruadh.

The apparel was brought, the beautiful blue dress of the second giant, and his sword of light. Sean Ruadh put on the apparel, took the sword, mounted the brown steed, and sped away between earth and air three times more swiftly than the day before.

He rode first to the seashore, saw the king's daughter sitting on the rock alone, and the princes and champions far away, trembling in dread of the urfeist. Then he rode to the king, enquired about the crowd on the seashore, and received the same answer as before. "But is there no man to save her?" asked Sean Ruadh.

"Oh! there are men enough," said the king, "who promise to save her, and say they are brave; but there is no man of them who will stand to his word and face the urfeist when he rises from the sea."

Sean Ruadh was away before the king knew it, and rode to the princess in his suit of blue, bearing his sword of light. "Is there no one to save you?" asked he.

"No one."

"Let me lay my head on your lap, and when the urfeist comes, rouse me."

He put his head on her lap, and while he slept she took out the three hairs, compared them with his hair, and said to herself: "You are the man who was here yesterday."

When the urfeist appeared, coming over the sea, the princess roused the stranger, who sprang up and hurried to the beach.

The monster, moving at a greater speed, and raising more water than on the day before, came with open mouth to land. Again Sean Ruadh stood in his way, and with one blow of the giant's sword made two halves of the urfeist. But the two halves rushed together, and were one as before.

Then the urfeist turned to the sea again, and said as he went: "All the champions on earth won't save her from me to-morrow!"

Sean Ruadh sprang to his steed and back to the castle. He went, leaving the princess in despair at his going. She tore her hair and wept for the loss of the blue champion, -- the one man who had dared to save her.

Sean Ruadh put on his old clothes, and drove home the cows as usual. The king said: "A strange champion, all dressed in blue, saved my daughter to-day; but she is grieving her life away because he is gone."

"Well, that is a small matter, since her life is safe," said Sean Ruadh.

There was a feast for the whole world that night at the king's castle, and gladness was on every face that the king's daughter was safe again.

Next day Sean Ruadh drove the cows to the third giant's pasture, went to the castle, and told the housekeeper to bring the giant's sword and apparel, and have the red steed led to the door. The third giant's dress had as many colors as there are in the sky, and his boots were of blue glass.

Sean Ruadh, dressed and mounted on his red steed, was the most beautiful man in the world. When ready to start, the housekeeper said to him: "The beast will be so enraged this time that no arms can stop him; he will rise from the sea with three great swords coming out of his mouth, and he could cut to pieces and swallow the whole world if it stood before him in battle. There is only one way to conquer the urfeist, and I will show it to you. Take this brown apple, put it in your bosom, and when he comes rushing from the sea with open mouth, do you throw the apple down his throat, and the great urfeist will melt away and die on the strand."

Sean Ruadh went on the red steed between earth and sky, with thrice the speed of the day before. He saw the maiden sitting on the rock alone, saw the trembling kings' sons in the distance watching to know what would happen, and saw the king hoping for some one to save his daughter; then he went to the princess, and put his head on her lap; when he had fallen asleep, she took the three hairs from her bosom, and looking at them, said: "You are the man who saved me yesterday."

The urfeist was not long in coming. The princess roused Sean Ruadh, who sprang to his feet and went to the sea. The urfeist came up enormous, terrible to look at, with a mouth big enough to swallow the world, and three sharp swords coming out of it. When he saw Sean Ruadh, he sprang at him with a roar; but Sean Ruadh threw the apple into his mouth, and the beast fell helpless on the strand, flattened out and melted away to a dirty jelly on the shore.

Then Sean Ruadh went towards the princess and said: "That urfeist will never trouble man or woman again."

The princess ran and tried to cling to him; but he was on the red steed, rushing away between earth and sky, before she could stop him. She held, however, so firmly to one of the blue glass boots that Sean Ruadh had to leave it in her hands.

When he drove home the cows that night, the king came out, and Sean Ruadh asked: "What news from the urfeist?"

"Oh!" said the king, "I've had the luck since you came to me. A champion wearing all the colors of the sky, and riding a red steed between earth and air, destroyed the urfeist to-day. My daughter is safe forever; but she is ready to kill herself because she hasn't the man that saved her."

That night there was a feast in the king's castle such as no one had ever seen before. The halls were filled with princes and champions, and each one said: "I am the man that saved the princess!"

The king sent for the old blind sage, and asked, what should he do to find the man who saved his daughter. The old blind sage said, -- 

"Send out word to all the world that the man whose foot the blue glass boot will fit is the champion who killed the urfeist, and you'll give him your daughter in marriage."

The king sent out word to the world to come to try on the boot. It was too large for some, too small for others. When all had failed, the old sage said, -- 

"All have tried the boot but the cowboy."

"Oh! he is always out with the cows; what use in his trying," said the king.

"No matter," answered the old blind sage; "let twenty men go and bring down the cowboy."

The king sent up twenty men, who found the cowboy sleeping in the shadow of a stone wall. They began to make a hay rope to bind him; but he woke up, and had twenty ropes ready before they had one. Then he jumped at them, tied the twenty in a bundle, and fastened the bundle to the wall. They waited and waited at the castle for the twenty men and the cowboy, till at last the king sent twenty men more, with swords, to know what was the delay.

When they came, this twenty began to make a hay rope to tie the cowboy; but he had twenty ropes made before their one, and no matter how they fought, the cowboy tied the twenty in a bundle, and the bundle to the other twenty men.

When neither party came back, the old blind sage said to the king: "Go up now, and throw yourself down before the cowboy, for he has tied the forty men in two bundles, and the bundles to each other."

The king went and threw himself down before the cowboy, who raised him up and said: "What is this for?"

"Come down now and try on the glass boot," said the king.

"How can I go, when I have work to do here?"

"Oh! never mind; you'll come back soon enough to do the work."

The cowboy untied the forty men and went down with the king. When he stood in front of the castle, he saw the princess sitting in her upper chamber, and the glass boot on the window-sill before her.

That moment the boot sprang from the window through the air to him, and went on his foot of itself. The princess was downstairs in a twinkle, and in the arms of Sean Ruadh.

The whole place was crowded with kings' sons and champions, who claimed that they had saved the princess.

"What are these men here for?" asked Sean Ruadh. "Oh! they have been trying to put on the boot," said the king.

With that Sean Ruadh drew his sword of light, swept the heads off every man of them, and threw heads and bodies on the dirt-heap behind the castle.

Then the king sent ships with messengers to all the kings and queens of the world, -- to the kings of Spain, France, Greece, and Lochlin, and to Diarmuid, son of the monarch of light, -- to come to the wedding of his daughter and Sean Ruadh.

Sean Ruadh, after the wedding, went with his wife to live in the kingdom of the giants, and left his father-in-law on his own land.




Kil Arthur.


There was a time long ago, and if we had lived then, we shouldn't be living now.

In that time there was a law in the world that if a young man came to woo a young woman, and her people wouldn't give her to him, the young woman should get her death by the law.

There was a king in Erin at that time who had a daughter, and he had a son too, who was called Kil Arthur, son of the monarch of Erin.

Now, not far from the castle of the king there was a tinker; and one morning he said to his mother: "Put down my breakfast for me, mother."

"Where are you going?" asked the mother.

"I'm going for a wife."

"Where?"

"I am going for the daughter of the king of Erin."

"Oh! my son, bad luck is upon you. It is death to ask for the king's daughter, and you a tinker."

"I don't care for that," said he.

So the tinker went to the king's castle. They were at dinner when he came, and the king trembled as he saw him.

Though they were at table, the tinker went into the room.

The king asked: "What did you come for at this time?"

"I came to marry your daughter."

"That life and strength may leave me if ever you get my daughter in marriage! I'd give her to death before I would to a tinker."

Now Kil Arthur, the king's son, came in, caught the tinker and hanged him, facing the front of the castle. When he was dead, they made seven parts of his body, and flung them into the sea.

Then the king had a box made so close and tight that no water could enter, and inside the box they fixed a coffin; and when they had put a bed with meat and drink into the coffin, they brought the king's daughter, laid her on the bed, closed the box, and pushed it into the open sea. The box went out with the tide and moved on the water for a long time; where it was one day it was not the next, -- carried along by the waves day and night, till at last it came to another land.

Now, in the other land was a man who had spent his time in going to sea, till at length he got very poor, and said: "I'll stay at home now, since God has let me live this long. I heard my father say once that if a man would always rise early and walk along the strand, he would get his fortune from the tide at last."

One morning early, as this man was going along the strand, he saw the box, and brought it up to the shore, where he opened it and took out the coffin. When the lid was off the coffin, he found a woman inside alive.

"Oh!" said he, "I'd rather have you there than the full of the box of gold."

"I think the gold would be better for you," said the woman.

He took the stranger to his house, and gave her food and drink. Then he made a great cross on the ground, and clasping hands with the woman, jumped over the arms of the cross, going in the same direction as the sun. This was the form of marriage in that land. They lived together pleasantly. She was a fine woman, worked well for her husband, and brought him great wealth, so that he became richer than any man; and one day, when out walking alone, he said to himself: "I am able to give a grand dinner now to Ri Fohin, Sladaire Mor [king under the wave, the great robber], who owns men, women, and every kind of beast."

Then he went home and invited Ri Fohin to dinner. He came with all the men, women, and beasts he had, and they covered the country for six miles.

The beasts were fed outside by themselves, but the people in the house. When dinner was over, he asked Ri Fohin: "Have you ever seen a house so fine and rich, or a dinner so good, as mine to-night?"

"I have not," said Ri Fohin.

Then the man went to each person present. Each gave the same answer, and said, "I have never seen such a house nor such a dinner."

He asked his wife, and she said: "My praise is no praise here; but what is this to the house and the feasting of my father, the king of Erin?"

"Why did you say that?" asked the man, and he went a second and a third time to the guests and to his wife. All had the same answers for him. Then he gave his wife a flip of the thumb on her ear, in a friendly way, and said: "Why don't you give good luck to my house; why do you give it a bad name?"

Then all the guests said: "It is a shame to strike your wife on the night of a feast."

Now the man was angry and went out of his house. It was growing dark, but he saw a champion coming on a black steed between earth and air; and the champion, who was no other than Kil Arthur, his brother-in-law, took him up and bore him away to the castle of the king of Erin.

When Kil Arthur arrived they were just sitting down to dinner in the castle, and the man dined with his father-in-law. After dinner the king of Erin had cards brought and asked his son-in-law: "Do you ever play with these?"

"No, I have never played with the like of them."

"Well, shuffle them now," said the king. He shuffled; and as they were enchanted cards and whoever held them could never lose a game he was the best player in the world, though he had never played a game before in his life.

The king said, "Put them in your pocket, they may do you good." Then the king gave him a fiddle, and asked:

"Have you ever played on the like of this?"

"Indeed I have not," said the man.

"Well, play on it now," said the king.

He played, and never in his life had he heard such music.

"Keep it," said the king; "as long as you don't let it from you, you're the first musician on earth. Now I'll give you something else. Here is a cup which will always give you every kind of drink you can wish for; and if all the men in the world were to drink out of it they could never empty it. Keep these three things; but never raise hand on your wife again."

The king of Erin gave him his blessing; then Kil Arthur took him up on the steed, and going between earth and sky he was soon back at his own home.

Now Ri Fohin had carried off the man's wife and all that he had while he was at dinner with the King of Erin. Going out on the road the king's son-in-law began to cry: "Oh, what shall I do; what shall I do!" and as he cried, who should come but Kil Arthur on his steed, who said, "Be quiet, I'll go for your wife and goods."

Kil Arthur went, and killed Ri Fohin and all his people and beasts, -- didn't leave one alive. Then he brought back his sister to her husband, and stayed with them for three years.

One day he said to his sister: "I am going to leave you. I don't know what strength I have; I'll walk the world now till I know is there a man in it as good as myself."

Next morning he bade good-bye to his sister, and rode away on his black-haired steed, which overtook the wind before and outstripped the wind behind. He travelled swiftly till evening, spent the night in a forest, and the second day hurried on as he had the first.

The second night he spent in a forest; and next morning as he rose from the ground he saw before him a man covered with blood from fighting, and the clothes nearly torn from his body.

"What have you been doing?" asked Kil Arthur.

"I have been playing cards all night. And where are you going?" inquired the stranger of Kil Arthur.

"I am going around the world to know can I find a man as good as myself."

"Come with me," said the stranger, "and I'll show you a man who couldn't find his match till he went to fight the main ocean."

Kil Arthur went with the ragged stranger till they came to a place from which they saw a giant out on the ocean beating the waves with a club.

Kil Arthur went up to the giant's castle, and struck the pole of combat such a blow that the giant in the ocean heard it above the noise of his club as he pounded the waves.

"What do you want?" asked the giant in the ocean, as he stopped from the pounding.

"I want you to come in here to land," said Kil Arthur, "and fight with a better man than yourself."

The giant came to land, and standing near his castle said to Kil Arthur: "Which would you rather fight with, -- gray stones or sharp weapons?"

"Gray stones," said Kil Arthur.

They went at each other, and fought the most terrible battle that either of them had ever seen till that day. At last Kil Arthur pushed the giant to his shoulders through solid earth.

"Take me out of this," cried the giant, "and I'll give you my sword of light that never missed a blow, my Druidic rod of most powerful enchantment, and my healing draught which cures every sickness and wound."

"Well," said Kil Arthur, "I'll go for your sword and try it."

He went to the giant's castle for the sword, the rod, and the healing draught. When he returned the giant said: "Try the sword on that tree out there."

"Oh," said Kil Arthur, "there is no tree so good as your own neck," and with that he swept off the head of the giant; took it, and went on his way till he came to a house. He went in and put the head on a table; but that instant it disappeared, -- went away of itself. Food and drink of every kind came on the table. When Kil Arthur had eaten and the table was cleared by some invisible power, the giant's head bounded on to the table, and with it a pack of cards. "Perhaps this head wants to play with me," thought Kil Arthur, and he cut his own cards and shuffled them.

The head took up the cards and played with its mouth as well as any man could with his hands. It won all the time, -- wasn't playing fairly. Then Kil Arthur thought: "I'll settle this;" and he took the cards and showed how the head had taken five points in the game that didn't belong to it. Then the head sprang at him, struck and beat him till he seized and hurled it into the fire.

As soon as he had the head in the fire a beautiful woman stood before him, and said: "You have killed nine of my brothers, and this was the best of the nine. I have eight more brothers who go out to fight with four hundred men each day, and they kill them all; but next morning the four hundred are alive again and my brothers have to do battle anew. Now my mother and these eight brothers will be here soon; and they'll go down on their bended knees and curse you who killed my nine brothers, and I'm afraid your blood will rise within you when you hear the curses, and you'll kill my eight remaining brothers."

"Oh," said Kil Arthur, "I'll be deaf when the curses are spoken; I'll not hear them." Then he went to a couch and lay down. Presently the mother and eight brothers came, and cursed Kil Arthur with all the curses they knew. He heard them to the end, but gave no word from himself.

Next morning he rose early, girded on his nine-edged sword, went forth to where the eight brothers were going to fight the four hundred, and said to the eight: "Sit down, and I'll fight in your place."

Kil Arthur faced the four hundred, and fought with them alone; and exactly at midday he had them all dead. "Now some one," said he, "brings these to life again. I'll lie down among them and see who it is."

Soon he saw an old hag coming with a brush in her hand, and an open vessel hanging from her neck by a string. When she came to the four hundred she dipped the brush into the vessel and sprinkled the liquid which was in it over the bodies of the men. They rose up behind her as she passed along.

"Bad luck to you," said Kil Arthur, "you are the one that keeps them alive;" then he seized her. Putting one of his feet on her two ankles, and grasping her by the head and shoulders, he twisted her body till he put the life out of her.

When dying she said: "I put you under a curse, to keep on this road till you come to the 'ram of the five rocks,' and tell him you have killed the hag of the heights and all her care."

He went to the place where the ram of the five rocks lived and struck the pole of combat before his castle. Out came the ram, and they fought till Kil Arthur seized his enemy and dashed the brains out of him against the rocks.

Then he went to the castle of the beautiful woman whose nine brothers he had killed, and for whose eight brothers he had slain the four hundred. When he appeared the mother rejoiced; the eight brothers blessed him and gave him their sister in marriage; and Kil Arthur took the beautiful woman to his father's castle in Erin, where they both lived happily and well.




Shaking-Head.


There was once a king of a province in Erin who had an only son. The king was very careful of this son, and sent him to school for good instruction.

The other three kings of provinces in Erin had three sons at the same school; and the three sent word by this one to his father, that if he didn't put his son to death they would put both father and son to death themselves.

When the young man came home with this word to his father and mother, they were grieved when they heard it. But the king's son said that he would go out into the world to seek his fortune, and settle the trouble in that way. So away he went, taking with him only five pounds in money for his support.

The young man travelled on till he came to a grave-yard, where he saw four men fighting over a coffin. Then he went up to the four, and saw that two of them were trying to put the coffin down into a grave, and the other two preventing them and keeping the coffin above ground. When the king's son came near the men, he asked: "Why do you fight in such a place as this, and why do you keep the coffin above ground?"

Two of the men answered, and said: "The body of our brother is in this coffin, and these two men won't let us bury it."

The other two then said: "We have a debt of five pounds on the dead man, and we won't let his body be buried till the debt is paid." The king's son said: "Do you let these men bury their brother, and I will pay what you ask."

Then the two let the brothers of the dead man bury him. The king's son paid the five pounds, and went away empty-handed, and, except the clothes on his back, he had no more than on the day he was born. After he had gone on his way awhile and the grave-yard was out of sight he turned and saw a sprightly red-haired man (fear ruadh) hurrying after him. When he came up, the stranger asked: "Don't you want a serving man?"

"I do not," answered the king's son, "I have nothing to support myself with, let alone a serving man."

"Well, never mind that," said the red-haired man; "I'll be with you wherever you go, whether you have anything or not."

"What is your name?" asked the king's son.

"Shaking-head," answered the red man.

When they had gone on a piece of the way together the king's son stopped and asked: "Where shall we be to-night?"

"We shall be in a giant's castle where there will be small welcome for us," said Shaking-head.

When evening came they found themselves in front of a castle. In they went and saw no one inside, only a tall old hag. But they were not long in the place till they heard a loud, rushing noise outside, and a blow on the castle. The giant came; and the first words he let out of his mouth were: "I'm glad to have an Erinach on my supper-table to eat to-night." Then turning to the two he said: "What brought you here this evening; what do you want in my castle?"

"All the champions and heroes of Erin are going to take your property from you and destroy yourself; we have come to warn you, and there is nobody to save you from them but us," said Shaking-head.

When the giant heard these words he changed his treatment entirely. He gave the king's son and Shaking-head a hearty welcome and a kindly greeting. When he understood the news they brought, he washed them with the tears of his eyes, dried them with kisses, and gave them a good supper and a soft bed that night.

Next morning the giant was up at an early hour, and he went to the bedside of each man and told him to rise and have breakfast. Shaking-head asked his reward of the giant for telling him of the champions of Erin and the danger he was in.

"Well," said the giant, "there's a pot of gold over there under my bed; take as much out of it as ever you wish, and welcome."

"It isn't gold I want for my service," said Shaking-head; "you have a gift which suits me better."

"What gift is that?" asked the giant.

"The light black steed in your stable."

"That's a gift I won't give you," said the giant, "for when any one comes to trouble or attack me, all I have to do is to throw my leg over that steed, and away he carries me out of sight of every enemy."

"Well," said Shaking-head, "if you don't give me that steed I'll bring all the kingdom of Erin against you, and you'll be destroyed with all you have."

The giant stopped a moment, and said: "I believe you'd do that thing, so you may take the steed." Then Shaking-head took the steed of the giant, gave him to the king's son, and away they went.

At sunset Shaking-head said: "We are near the castle of another giant, the next brother to the one who entertained us last night. He hasn't much welcome for us either; but he will treat us well when he is threatened."

The second giant was going to eat the king's son for supper, but when Shaking-head told him about the forces of Erin he changed his manner and entertained them well.

Next morning after breakfast, Shaking-head said: "You must give me a present for my services in warning you."

"There is a pot of gold under my bed," said the giant; "take all you want of it."

"I don't want your gold," said Shaking-head, "but you have a gift which suits me well."

"What is that?" asked the giant.

"The two-handed black sword that never fails a blow."

"You won't get that gift from me," said the giant; "and I can't spare it; for if a whole army were to come against me, as soon as I'd have my two hands on the hilt of that sword, I'd let no man near me without sweeping the head off him."

"Well," said Shaking-head, "I have been keeping back your enemies this long time; but I'll let them at you now, and I'll raise up more. I'll put the whole kingdom of Erin against you."

The giant stopped a moment, and said: "I believe you'd do that if it served you." So he took the sword off his belt and handed it to his guest. Shaking-head gave it to the king's son, who mounted his steed, and they both went away.

When they had gone some distance from the giant's castle Shaking-head said to the king's son, "Where shall we be to-night? -- you have more knowledge than I." "Indeed then I have not," said the king's son; "I have no knowledge at all of where we are going; it is you who have the knowledge."

"Well," said Shaking-head, "we'll be at the third and youngest giant's castle to-night, and at first he'll treat us far worse and more harshly, but still we'll take this night's lodging of him, and a good gift in the morning."

Soon after sunset they came to the castle where they met the worst reception and the harshest they had found on the road. The giant was going to eat them both for supper; but when Shaking-head told him of the champions of Erin, he became as kind as his two brothers, and gave good entertainment to both.

Next morning after breakfast, Shaking-head asked for a present in return for his services.

"Do you see the pot of gold in the corner there under my bed? -- take all you want and welcome," said the giant.

"It's not gold I want," said Shaking-head, "but the cloak of darkness."

"Oh," said the giant, "you'll not get that cloak of me, for I want it myself. If any man were to come against me, all I'd have to do would be to put that cloak on my shoulders, and no one in the world could see me, or know where I'd be."

"Well," said Shaking-head, "it's long enough that I am keeping your enemies away; and if you don't give me that cloak now I'll raise all the kingdom of Erin and still more forces to destroy you, and it's not long you'll last after they come."

The giant thought a moment, and then said: "I believe you'd do what you say. There's the black cloak hanging on the wall before you; take it."

Shaking-head took the cloak, and the two went away together, the king's son riding on the light black steed, and having the double-handed sword at his back. When out of sight of the giant, Shaking-head put on the cloak, and wasn't to be seen, and no other man could have been seen in his place. Then the king's son looked around, and began to call and search for his man, -- he was lonely without him and grieved not to see him. Shaking-head, glad to see the affection of the king's son, took off the cloak and was at his side again.

"Where are we going now?" asked the king's son.

"We are going on a long journey to (Ri Chuil an Or) King Behind the Gold, to ask his daughter of him."

The two travelled on, till they came to the castle of King Behind the Gold. Then Shaking-head said: "Go in you, and ask his daughter of the king, and I'll stay here outside with the cloak on me." So he went in and spoke to the king, and the answer he got was this: -- 

"I am willing to give you my daughter, but you won't get her unless you do what she will ask of you. And I must tell you now that three hundred kings' sons, lacking one, have come to ask for my daughter, and in the garden behind my castle are three hundred iron spikes, and every spike of them but one is covered with the head of a king's son who couldn't do what my daughter wanted of him, and I'm greatly in dread that your own head will be put on the one spike that is left uncovered."

"Well," said the king's son, "I'll do my best to keep my head where it is at present."

"Stay here in my castle," said the king, "and you'll have good entertainment till we know can you do what will be asked of you." At night when the king's son was going to bed, the princess gave him a thimble, and said: "Have this for me in the morning."

He put the thimble on his finger; and she thought it could be easily taken away, if he would sleep. So she came to him in the night, with a drink, and said: "I give you this in hopes I'll gain more drink by you." He swallowed the liquor, and the princess went away with the empty cup. Then the king's son put the thimble in his mouth between his cheek and his teeth for safe keeping, and was soon asleep.

When the princess came to her own chamber, she struck her maid with a slat an draoichta (a rod of enchantment) and turned her into a rat; then she made such music of fifes and trumpets to sound throughout the castle, that every soul in it fell asleep. That minute, she sent the rat to where the king's son was sleeping, and the rat put her tail into the nostrils of the young man, tickled his nose so that he sneezed and blew the thimble out of his mouth. The rat caught it and ran away to the princess, who struck her with the rod of enchantment and turned her into a maid again.

Then the princess and the maid set out for the eastern world, taking the thimble with them. Shaking-head, who was watching with his cloak on, unseen by all, had seen everything, and now followed at their heels. In the eastern world, at the sea-side was a rock. The princess tapped it with her finger, and the rock opened; there was a great house inside, and in the house a giant. The princess greeted him and gave him the thimble, saying: "You're to keep this so no man can get it."

"Oh," said the giant, taking the thimble and throwing it aside, "you need have no fear; no man can find me in this place."

Shaking-head caught the thimble from the ground and put it in his pocket. When she had finished conversation with the giant, the princess kissed him, and hurried away. Shaking-head followed her step for step, till they came at break of day to the castle of King Behind the Gold. Shaking-head went to the king's son and asked: "Was anything given you to keep last night?"

"Yes, before I came to this chamber the princess gave me her thimble, and told me to have it for her in the morning."

"Have you it now?" asked Shaking-head.

"It is not in my mouth where I put it last night, it is not in the bed; I'm afraid my head is lost," said the king's son.

"Well, look at this," said Shaking-head, taking the thimble out of his pocket and giving it to him. "The whole kingdom is moving to-day to see your death. All the people have heard that you are here asking for the princess, and they think your head'll be put on the last spike in the garden, with the heads of the other kings' sons. Rise up now, mount your light black steed, ride to the summer-house of the princess and her father, and give her the thimble."

The king's son did as Shaking-head told him. When he gave up the thimble, the king said, "You have won one third of my daughter." But the princess was bitterly angry and vexed to the heart, that any man on earth should know that she had dealings with the giant; she cared more for that than anything else.

When the second day had passed, and the king's son was going to bed, the princess gave him a comb to keep, and said: "If you don't have this for me in the morning, your head will be put on the spike that's left in my father's garden."

The king's son took the comb with him, wrapped it in a handkerchief, and tied it to his head.

In the night the princess came with a draught which she gave him, and soon he was asleep. Going back to her own chamber, she struck the maid with her rod of enchantment, and made a great yellow cat of her. Then she caused such music of fifes and trumpets to sound throughout the castle that every soul was in a deep sleep before the music was over, and that moment she sent the cat to the chamber of the king's son. The cat worked the handkerchief off his head, took out the comb and ran with it to the princess, who turned her into a maid again.

The two set out for the eastern world straightway; but as they did, Shaking-head followed them in his cloak of darkness, till they came to the house of the giant in the great rock at the end of the road, at the sea. The princess gave the giant the comb, and said: "The thimble that I gave you to keep last night was taken from you, for the king's son in Erin brought it back to me this morning, and has done one third of the work of winning me, and I didn't expect you'd serve me in this way."

When the giant heard this, he was raging, and threw the comb into the sea behind him. Then with Druidic spells he raised thunder and lightning and wind. The sea was roaring with storm and rain; but the comb had not touched the water when Shaking-head caught it.

When her talk was over the princess gave the giant a kiss, and home she went with the maid; but Shaking-head followed them step by step.

In the morning Shaking-head went to the king's son, roused him, and asked: "What was your task last night?"

"The princess gave me a comb to have for her this morning," answered the king's son.

"Where is it now?" asked Shaking-head.

"Here on my head," said the king's son, putting up his hand to get it; but the comb was gone. "I'm done for now," said the king's son; "my head will be on the last spike to-day unless I have the comb for the princess."

"Here it is for you," said Shaking-head, taking the comb out of his pocket. "And now," said he, "the whole kingdom is coming to this castle to-day to see your head put on the last spike in the garden of King Behind the Gold, for all men think the same will happen to you that has happened to every king's son before you. Go up on your steed and ride to the summer-house where the king and his daughter are sitting, and give her the comb."

The king's son did as Shaking-head bade him. When he saw the comb the king said, "Now you have my daughter two-thirds won." But her face went from the princess entirely, she was so vexed that any man should know of her dealings with the giant.

The third night when he was going to bed the princess said to the king's son, "If you will not have at my father's castle to-morrow morning the head I will kiss to-night, you'll die to-morrow, and your own head will be put on the last spike in my father's garden." Later in the night she came to the bedside of the king's son with a draught, which he drank, and before she was back in her chamber, he slept. Then she made such music all over the castle that not a soul was awake when the music had ceased. That moment she hurried away with her maid to the eastern world; but Shaking-head followed her in his cloak of darkness. This time he carried with him the two-handed sword that never failed a blow.

When she came to the rock in the eastern world and entered the house of the giant, the princess said, "You let my two gifts go with the son of the king in Erin, and he'll have me won to-morrow if he'll have your head at my father's castle in the morning."

"Never fear," said the giant, "there is nothing in the world to take the head off me but the double-handed sword of darkness that never fails a blow, and that sword belongs to my brother in the western world."

The princess gave the giant a kiss at parting; and as she hurried away with her maid the giant turned to look at her. His head was covered with an iron cap; but as he looked he laid bare a thin strip of his neck. Shaking-head was there near him, and said in his mind: "Your brother's sword has never been so close to your neck before;" and with one blow he swept the head off him. Then began the greatest struggle that Shaking-head ever had, to keep the head from the body of the giant. The head fought to put itself on again, and never stopped till the body was dead; then it fell to the ground. Shaking-head seized, but couldn't stir the head, -- couldn't move it from its place. Then he searched all around it and found a (bar an suan) pin of slumber near the ear. When he took the pin away he had no trouble in carrying the head; and he made no delay but came to the castle at daybreak, and threw the head to a herd of pigs that belonged to the king. Then he went to the king's son, and asked:

"What happened to you last night?"

"The princess came to me, and said that if I wouldn't bring to her father's castle this morning the head she was to kiss last night, my own head would be on the last spike to-day."

"Come out with me now to the pigs," said Shaking-head.

The two went out, and Shaking-head said: "Go in among the pigs, and take the head with you to the king; and a strange head it is to put before a king."

So the king's son went on his steed to the summer-house, and gave the head to the king and his daughter, and turning to the princess, said:

"This is the head you kissed last night, and it's not a nice looking head either."

"You have my daughter won now entirely," said the king, "and she is yours. And do you take that head to the great dark hole that is out there on one side of my castle grounds, and throw it down."

The king's son mounted his steed, and rode off with the head till he came to the hole going deep into the earth. When he let down the head it went to the bottom with such a roaring and such a noise that every mare and cow and every beast in the whole kingdom cast its young, such was the terror that was caused by the noise of the head in going to the bottom of the hole.

When the head was put away the king's son went back to the castle, and married the daughter of King Behind the Gold. The wedding lasted nine days and nights, and the last night was better than the first.

When the wedding was over Shaking-head went to the king, and said: "You have provided no fortune for your daughter, and it is but right that you should remember her."

"I have plenty of gold and silver to give her," said the king.

"It isn't gold and silver that your son-in-law wants, but men to stand against his enemies, when they come on him."

"I have more treasures than men," said King Behind the Gold; "but I won't see my daughter conquered for want of an army."

They were satisfied with the king's word, and next day took the road to Erin, and kept on their way till they came opposite the grave-yard. Then Shaking-head said to the king's son: "You are no good, you have never told me a story since the first day I saw you."

"I have but one story to tell you, except what happened since we met."

"Well, tell me what happened before we met."

"I was passing this place before I saw you," said the king's son, "and four men were fighting over a coffin. I spoke to them, and two of them said they were burying the body of their brother which was in the coffin, and the others said the dead man owed them five pounds, and they wouldn't let the coffin into the ground until they got the money. I paid five pounds and the body was buried."

"It was my body was in the coffin," said Shaking-head, "and I came back into this world to do you a good turn; and now I am going, and you'll never see me again unless trouble is on you."

Shaking-head disappeared, and the king's son went home. He wasn't with his father long till the other three kings' sons heard he had come back to Erin with the daughter of King Behind the Gold. They sent word, saying: "We'll take the head off you now, and put an end to your father and yourself."

The king's son went out to walk alone, and as he was lamenting the fate he had brought on his father, who should come along to meet him but Shaking-head.

"What trouble is on you now?" asked he.

"Oh, three kings' sons are coming with their fleets and armies to destroy my father and myself, and what can we do with our one fleet and one army?"

"Well," said Shaking-head, "I'll settle that for you without delay." Then he sent a message straight to King Behind the Gold, who gave a fleet and an army, and they came to Erin so quickly that they were at the castle before the forces of the three kings' sons. And when the three came the battle began on sea and land at both sides of the castle.

The three fleets of the three kings' sons were sunk, their armies destroyed, and the three heads taken off themselves. When the battle was over and the country safe the king resigned the castle and power to his son, and the son of a king in a province became king over all the land of Erin.




Birth Of Fin Maccumhail.[10]

[10] Cumhail, genitive of Cumhal, after Mac = son; pronounced Cool.


Cumhal Macart was a great champion in the west of Erin, and it was prophesied of him that if ever he married he would meet death in the next battle he fought.

For this reason he had no wife, and knew no woman for a long time; till one day he saw the king's daughter, who was so beautiful that he forgot all fear and married her in secret.

Next day after the marriage, news came that a battle had to be fought.

Now a Druid had told the king that his daughter's son would take the kingdom from him; so he made up his mind to look after the daughter, and not let any man come near her.

Before he went to the battle, Cumhal told his mother everything, -- told her of his relations with the king's daughter.

He said, "I shall be killed in battle to-day, according to the prophecy of the Druid, and I'm afraid if his daughter has a son the king will kill the child, for the prophecy is that he will lose the kingdom by the son of his own daughter. Now, if the king's daughter has a son do you hide and rear him, if you can; you will be his only hope and stay."

Cumhal was killed in the battle, and within that year the king's daughter had a son. By command of his grandfather, the boy was thrown out of the castle window into a loch, to be drowned, on the day of his birth.

The boy sank from sight; but after remaining a while under the water, he rose again to the surface, and came to land holding a live salmon in his hand.

The grandmother of the boy, Cumhal's mother, stood watching on the shore, and said to herself as she saw this: "He is my grandson, the true son of my own child," and seizing the boy, she rushed away with him, and vanished, before the king's people could stop her.

When the king heard that the old woman had escaped with his daughter's son, he fell into a terrible rage, and ordered all the male children born that day in the kingdom to be put to death, hoping in this way to kill his own grandson, and save the crown for himself.

After she had disappeared from the bank of the loch, the old woman, Cumhal's mother, made her way to a thick forest, where she spent that night as best she could. Next day she came to a great oak tree. Then she hired a man to cut out a chamber in the tree.

When all was finished, and there was a nice room in the oak for herself and her grandson, and a whelp of the same age as the boy, and which she had brought with her from the castle, she said to the man: "Give me the axe which you have in your hand, there is something here that I want to fix."

The man gave the axe into her hand, and that minute she swept the head off him, saying: "You'll never tell any man about this place now." One day the whelp ate some of the fine chippings (bran) left cut by the carpenter from the inside of the tree. The old woman said: "You'll be called Bran from this out."

All three lived in the tree together, and the old woman did not take her grandson out till the end of five years; and then he couldn't walk, he had been sitting so long inside.

When the old grandmother had taught the boy to walk, she brought him one day to the brow of a hill from which there was a long slope. She took a switch and said: "Now, run down this place. I will follow and strike you with this switch, and coming up I will run ahead, and you strike me as often as you can."

The first time they ran down, his grandmother struck him many times. In coming up the first time, he did not strike her at all. Every time they ran down she struck him less, and every time they ran up he struck her more.

They ran up and down for three days; and at the end of that time she could not strike him once, and he struck her at every step she took. He had now become a great runner.

When he was fifteen years of age, the old woman went with him to a hurling match between the forces of his grandfather and those of a neighboring king. Both sides were equal in skill; and neither was able to win, till the youth opposed his grandfather's people. Then, he won every game. When the ball was thrown in the air, he struck it coming down, and so again and again, -- never letting the ball touch the ground till he had driven it through the barrier.

The old king, who was very angry, and greatly mortified, at the defeat of his people, exclaimed, as he saw the youth, who was very fair and had white hair: "Who is that fin cumhal[11] [white cap]?"

[11] Cumhal, the name of Fin's father. Denotes also a cap or head-covering, fin = white. The punning resemblance suggested to the old woman the full name, Fin MacCumhail.

"Ah, that is it; Fin will be his name, and Fin MacCumhail he is," said the old woman.

The king ordered his people to seize and put the young man to death, on the spot. The old woman hurried to the side of her grandson. They slipped from the crowd and away they went, a hill at a leap, a glen at a step, and thirty-two miles at a running-leap. They ran a long distance, till Fin grew tired; then the old grandmother took him on her back, putting his feet into two pockets which were in her dress, one on each side, and ran on with the same swiftness as before, a hill at a leap, a glen at a step, and thirty-two miles at a running-leap.

After a time, the old woman felt the approach of pursuit, and said to Fin: "Look behind, and tell me what you see."

"I see," said he, "a white horse with a champion on his back."

"Oh, no fear," said she; "a white horse has no endurance; he can never catch us, we are safe from him." And on they sped. A second time she felt the approach of pursuit, and again she said: "Look back, and see who is coming."

Fin looked back, and said: "I see a warrior riding on a brown horse."

"Never fear," said the old woman; "there is never a brown horse but is giddy, he cannot overtake us." She rushed on as before. A third time she said: "Look around, and see who is coming now." Fin looked, and said: "I see a black warrior on a black horse, following fast."

"There is no horse so tough as a black horse," said the grandmother. "There is no escape from this one. My grandson, one or both of us must die. I am old, my time has nearly come. I will die, and you and Bran save yourselves. (Bran had been with them all the time.) Right here ahead is a deep bog; you jump off my back, and escape as best you can. I'll jump into the bog up to my neck; and when the king's men come, I'll say that you are in the bog before me, sunk out of sight, and I'm trying to find you. As my hair and yours are the same color, they will think my head good enough to carry back. They will cut it off, and take it in place of yours, and show it to the king; that will satisfy his anger."

Fin slipped down, took farewell of his grandmother, and hurried on with Bran. The old woman came to the bog, jumped in, and sank to her neck. The king's men were soon at the edge of the bog, and the black rider called out to the old woman: "Where is Fin?"

"He is here in the bog before me, and I'm trying can I find him."

As the horsemen could not find Fin, and thought the old woman's head would do to carry back, they cut it off, and took it with them, saying: "This will satisfy the king."

Fin and Bran went on till they came to a great cave, in which they found a herd of goats. At the further end of the cave was a smouldering fire. The two lay down to rest.

A couple of hours later, in came a giant with a salmon in his hand. This giant was of awful height, he had but one eye, and that in the middle of his forehead, as large as the sun in heaven.

When he saw Fin, he called out: "Here, take this salmon and roast it; but be careful, for if you raise a single blister on it I'll cut the head off you. I've followed this salmon for three days and three nights without stopping, and I never let it out of my sight, for it is the most wonderful salmon in the world."

The giant lay down to sleep in the middle of the cave. Fin spitted the salmon, and held it over the fire.

The minute the giant closed the one eye in his head, he began to snore. Every time he drew breath into his body, he dragged Fin, the spit, the salmon, Bran, and all the goats to his mouth; and every time he drove a breath out of himself, he threw them back to the places they were in before. Fin was drawn time after time to the mouth of the giant with such force, that he was in dread of going down his throat.

When partly cooked, a blister rose on the salmon. Fin pressed the place with his thumb, to know could he break the blister, and hide from the giant the harm that was done. But he burned his thumb, and, to ease the pain, put it between his teeth, and gnawed the skin to the flesh, the flesh to the bone, the bone to the marrow; and when he had tasted the marrow, he received the knowledge of all things. Next moment, he was drawn by the breath of the giant right up to his face, and, knowing from his thumb what to do, he plunged the hot spit into the sleeping eye of the giant and destroyed it.

That instant the giant with a single bound was at the low entrance of the cave, and, standing with his back to the wall and a foot on each side of the opening, roared out: "You'll not leave this place alive."

Now Fin killed the largest goat, skinned him as quickly as he could, then putting the skin on himself he drove the herd to where the giant stood; the goats passed out one by one between his legs. When the great goat came the giant took him by the horns. Fin slipped from the skin, and ran out.

"Oh, you've escaped," said the giant, "but before we part let me make you a present."

"I'm afraid to go near you," said Fin; "if you wish to give me a present, put it out this way, and then go back."

The giant placed a ring on the ground, then went back. Fin took up the ring and put it on the end of his little finger above the first joint. It clung so firmly that no man in the world could have taken it off.

The giant then called out, "Where are you?"

"On Fin's finger," cried the ring. That instant the giant sprang at Fin and almost came down on his head, thinking in this way to crush him to bits. Fin sprang to a distance. Again the giant asked, "Where are you?"

"On Fin's finger," answered the ring.

Again the giant made a leap, coming down just in front of Fin. Many times he called and many times almost caught Fin, who could not escape with the ring on his finger. While in this terrible struggle, not knowing how to escape, Bran ran up and asked:

"Why don't you chew your thumb?" Fin bit his thumb to the marrow, and then knew what to do. He took the knife with which he had skinned the goat, cut off his finger at the first joint, and threw it, with the ring still on, into a deep bog near by.

Again the giant called out, "Where are you?" and the ring answered, "On Fin's finger."

Straightway the giant sprang towards the voice, sank to his shoulders in the bog, and stayed there.

Fin with Bran now went on his way, and travelled till he reached a deep and thick wood, where a thousand horses were drawing timber, and men felling and preparing it.

"What is this?" asked Fin of the overseer of the workmen.

"Oh, we are building a dun (a castle) for the king; we build one every day, and every night it is burned to the ground. Our king has an only daughter; he will give her to any man who will save the dun, and he'll leave him the kingdom at his death. If any man undertakes to save the dun and fails, his life must pay for it; the king will cut his head off. The best champions in Erin have tried and failed; they are now in the king's dungeons, a whole army of them, waiting the king's pleasure. He's going to cut the heads off them all in one day."

"Why don't you chew your thumb?" asked Bran.

Fin chewed his thumb to the marrow, and then knew that on the eastern side of the world there lived an old hag with her three sons, and every evening at nightfall she sent the youngest of these to burn the king's dun.

"I will save the king's dun," said Fin.

"Well," said the overseer, "better men than you have tried and lost their lives." "Oh," said Fin, "I'm not afraid; I'll try for the sake of the king's daughter."

Now Fin, followed by Bran, went with the overseer to the king. "I hear you will give your daughter to the man who saves your dun," said Fin.

"I will," said the king; "but if he fails I must have his head."

"Well," said Fin, "I'll risk my head for the sake of your daughter. If I fail I'm satisfied." The king gave Fin food and drink; he supped, and after supper went to the dun.

"Why don't you chew your thumb?" said Bran; "then you'll know what to do." He did. Then Bran took her place on the roof, waiting for the old woman's son. Now the old woman in the east told her youngest son to hurry on with his torches, burn the dun, and come back without delay; for the stirabout was boiling and he must not be too late for supper.

He took the torches, and shot off through the air with a wonderful speed. Soon he was in sight of the king's dun, threw the torches upon the thatched roof to set it on fire as usual.

That moment Bran gave the torches such a push with her shoulders, that they fell into the stream which ran around the dun, and were put out. "Who is this," cried the youngest son of the old hag, "who has dared to put out my lights, and interfere with my hereditary right?"

"I," said Fin, who stood in front of him. Then began a terrible battle between Fin and the old woman's son. Bran came down from the dun to help Fin; she bit and tore his enemy's back, stripping the skin and flesh from his head to his heels.

After a terrible struggle such as had not been in the world before that night, Fin cut the head off his enemy. But for Bran, Fin could never have conquered.

The time for the return of her son had passed; supper was ready. The old woman, impatient and angry, said to the second son: "You take torches and hurry on, see why your brother loiters. I'll pay him for this when he comes home! But be careful and don't do like him, or you'll have your pay too. Hurry back, for the stirabout is boiling and ready for supper."

He started off, was met and killed exactly as his brother, except that he was stronger and the battle fiercer. But for Bran, Fin would have lost his life that night.

The old woman was raging at the delay, and said to her eldest son, who had not been out of the house for years: (It was only in case of the greatest need that she sent him. He had a cat's head, and was called Pus an Chuine, "Puss of the Corner;" he was the eldest and strongest of all the brothers.) "Now take torches, go and see what delays your brothers; I'll pay them for this when they come home."

The eldest brother shot off through the air, came to the king's dun, and threw his torches upon the roof. They had just singed the straw a little, when Bran pushed them off with such force that they fell into the stream and were quenched.

"Who is this," screamed Cat-head, "who dares to interfere with my ancestral right?"

"I," shouted Fin. Then the struggle began fiercer than with the second brother. Bran helped from behind, tearing the flesh from his head to his heels; but at length Cat-head fastened his teeth into Fin's breast, biting and gnawing till Fin cut the head off. The body fell to the ground, but the head lived, gnawing as terribly as before. Do what they could it was impossible to kill it. Fin hacked and cut, but could neither kill nor pull it off. When nearly exhausted, Bran said:

"Why don't you chew your thumb?"

Fin chewed his thumb, and reaching the marrow knew that the old woman in the east was ready to start with torches to find her sons, and burn the dun herself, and that she had a vial of liquid with which she could bring the sons to life; and that nothing could free him from Cat-head but the old woman's blood.

After midnight the old hag, enraged at the delay of her sons, started and shot through the air like lightning, more swiftly than her sons. She threw her torches from afar upon the roof of the dun; but Bran as before hurled them into the stream.

Now the old woman circled around in the air looking for her sons. Fin was getting very weak from pain and loss of blood, for Cat-head was biting at his breast all the time.

Bran called out: "Rouse yourself, oh, Fin; use all your power or we are lost! If the old hag gets a drop from the vial upon the bodies of her sons, they will come to life, and then we're done for."

Thus roused, Fin with one spring reached the old woman in the air, and swept the bottle from her grasp; which falling upon the ground was emptied.

The old hag gave a scream which was heard all over the world, came to the ground and closed with Fin. Then followed a battle greater than the world had ever known before that night, or has ever seen since. Water sprang out of gray rocks, cows cast their calves even when they had none, and hard rushes grew soft in the remotest corner of Erin, so desperate was the fighting and so awful, between Fin and the old hag. Fin would have died that night but for Bran.

Just as daylight was coming Fin swept the head off the old woman, caught some of her blood, and rubbed it around Cat-head, who fell off dead.

He rubbed his own wounds with the blood and was cured; then rubbed some on Bran, who had been singed with the torches, and she was as well as ever. Fin, exhausted with fighting, dropped down and fell asleep.

While he was sleeping the chief steward of the king came to the dun, found it standing safe and sound, and seeing Fin lying there asleep knew that he had saved it. Bran tried to waken Fin, pulled and tugged, but could not rouse him.

The steward went to the king, and said: "I have saved the dun, and I claim the reward."

"It shall be given you," answered the king; and straightway the steward was recognized as the king's son-in-law, and orders were given to make ready for the wedding.

Bran had listened to what was going on, and when her master woke, exactly at midday, she told him of all that was taking place in the castle of the king.

Fin went to the king, and said: "I have saved your dun, and I claim the reward."

"Oh," said the king, "my steward claimed the reward, and it has been given to him."

"He had nothing to do with saving the dun; I saved it," said Fin.

"Well," answered the king, "he is the first man who told me of its safety and claimed the reward." "Bring him here: let me look at him," said Fin.

He was sent for, and came. "Did you save the king's dun?" asked Fin. "I did," said the steward.

"You did not, and take that for your lies," said Fin; and striking him with the edge of his open hand he swept the head off his body, dashing it against the other side of the room, flattening it like paste on the wall.

"You are the man," said the king to Fin, "who saved the dun; yours is the reward. All the champions, and there is many a man of them, who have failed to save it are in the dungeons of my fortress; their heads must be cut off before the wedding takes place."

"Will you let me see them?" asked Fin.

"I will," said the king.

Fin went down to the men, and found the first champions of Erin in the dungeons. "Will you obey me in all things if I save you from death?" said Fin. "We will," said they. Then he went back to the king and asked:

"Will you give me the lives of these champions of Erin, in place of your daughter's hand?"

"I will," said the king.

All the champions were liberated, and left the king's castle that day. Ever after they followed the orders of Fin, and these were the beginning of his forces and the first of the Fenians of Erin.




Fin Maccumhail And The Fenians Of Erin In The Castle Of Fear Dubh.


It was the custom with Fin MacCumhail and the Fenians of Erin, when a stranger from any part of the world came to their castle, not to ask him a question for a year and a day.

On a time, a champion came to Fin and his men, and remained with them. He was not at all pleasant or agreeable.

At last Fin and his men took counsel together; they were much annoyed because their guest was so dull and morose, never saying a word, always silent.

While discussing what kind of man he was, Diarmuid Duivne offered to try him; so one evening when they were eating together, Diarmuid came and snatched from his mouth the hind-quarter of a bullock, which he was picking.

Diarmuid pulled at one part of the quarter, -- pulled with all his strength, but only took the part that he seized, while the other kept the part he held. All laughed; the stranger laughed too, as heartily as any. It was the first laugh they had heard from him.

The strange champion saw all their feats of arms and practised with them, till the year and a day were over. Then he said to Fin and his men:

"I have spent a pleasant year in your company; you gave me good treatment, and the least I can do now is to give you a feast at my own castle."

No one had asked what his name was up to that time. Fin now asked his name. He answered: "My name is Fear Dubh, of Alba."

Fin accepted the invitation; and they appointed the day for the feast, which was to be in Erin, since Fear Dubh did not wish to trouble them to go to Alban. He took leave of his host and started for home.

When the day for the feast came, Fin and the chief men of the Fenians of Erin set out for the castle of Fear Dubh.

They went, a glen at a step, a hill at a leap, and thirty-two miles at a running leap, till they came to the grand castle where the feast was to be given.

They went in; everything was ready, seats at the table, and every man's name at his seat in the same order as at Fin's castle. Diarmuid, who was always very sportive, -- fond of hunting, and paying court to women, was not with them; he had gone to the mountains with his dogs.

All sat down, except Conan Maol MacMorna (never a man spoke well of him); no seat was ready for him, for he used to lie on the flat of his back on the floor, at Fin's castle.

When all were seated the door of the castle closed of itself. Fin then asked the man nearest the door, to rise and open it. The man tried to rise; he pulled this way and that, over and hither, but he couldn't get up. Then the next man tried, and the next, and so on, till the turn came to Fin himself, who tried in vain.

Now, whenever Fin and his men were in trouble and great danger it was their custom to raise a cry of distress (a voice of howling), heard all over Erin. Then all men knew that they were in peril of death; for they never raised this cry except in the last extremity.

Fin's son, Fialan, who was three years old and in the cradle, heard the cry, was roused, and jumped up.

"Get me a sword!" said he to the nurse. "My father and his men are in distress; I must go to aid them."

"What could you do, poor little child."

Fialan looked around, saw an old rusty sword-blade laid aside for ages. He took it down, gave it a snap; it sprang up so as to hit his arm, and all the rust dropped off; the blade was pure as shining silver.

"This will do," said he; and then he set out towards the place where he heard the cry, going a glen at a step, a hill at a leap, and thirty-two miles at a running leap, till he came to the door of the castle, and cried out.

Fin answered from inside, "Is that you, my child?"

"It is," said Fialan.

"Why did you come?"

"I heard your cry, and how could I stay at home, hearing the cry of my father and the Fenians of Erin!"

"Oh, my child, you cannot help us much."

Fialan struck the door powerfully with his sword, but no use. Then, one of the men inside asked Fin to chew his thumb, to know what was keeping them in, and why they were bound.

Fin chewed his thumb, from skin to blood, from blood to bone, from bone to marrow, and discovered that Fear Dubh had built the castle by magic, and that he was coming himself with a great force to cut the head off each one of them. (These men from Alba had always a grudge against the champions of Erin.)

Said Fin to Fialan: "Do you go now, and stand at the ford near the castle, and meet Fear Dubh."

Fialan went and stood in the middle of the ford. He wasn't long there when he saw Fear Dubh coming with a great army.

"Leave the ford, my child," said Fear Dubh, who knew him at once. "I have not come to harm your father. I spent a pleasant year at his castle. I've only come to show him honor."

"I know why you have come," answered Fialan. "You've come to destroy my father and all his men, and I'll not leave this ford while I can hold it."

"Leave the ford; I don't want to harm your father, I want to do him honor. If you don't let us pass my men will kill you," said Fear Dubh.

"I will not let you pass so long as I'm alive before you," said Fialan.

The men faced him; and if they did Fialan kept his place, and a battle commenced, the like of which was never seen before that day. Fialan went through the army as a hawk through a flock of sparrows on a March morning, till he killed every man except Fear Dubh. Fear Dubh told him again to leave the ford, he didn't want to harm his father.

"Oh!" said Fialan, "I know well what you want."

"If you don't leave that place I'll make you leave it!" said Fear Dubh. Then they closed in combat; and such a combat was never seen before between any two warriors. They made springs to rise through the centre of hard gray rocks, cows to cast their calves whether they had them or not. All the horses of the country were racing about and neighing in dread and fear, and all created things were terrified at the sound and clamor of the fight, till the weapons of Fear Dubh went to pieces in the struggle, and Fialan made two halves of his own sword.

Now they closed in wrestling. In the first round Fialan put Fear Dubh to his knees in the hard bottom of the river; the second round he put him to his hips, and the third, to his shoulders.

"Now," said he, "I have you," giving him a stroke of the half of his sword, which cut the head off him.

Then Fialan went to the door of the castle and told his father what he had done.

Fin chewed his thumb again, and knew what other danger was coming. "My son," said he to Fialan, "Fear Dubh has a younger brother more powerful than he was; that brother is coming against us now with greater forces than those which you have destroyed."

As soon as Fialan heard these words he hurried to the ford, and waited till the second army came up. He destroyed this army as he had the other, and closed with the second brother in a fight fiercer and more terrible than the first; but at last he thrust him to his armpits in the hard bottom of the river and cut off his head.

Then he went to the castle, and told his father what he had done. A third time Fin chewed his thumb, and said: "My son, a third army more to be dreaded than the other two is coming now to destroy us, and at the head of it is the youngest brother of Fear Dubh, the most desperate and powerful of the three."

Again Fialan rushed off to the ford; and, though the work was greater than before, he left not a man of the army alive. Then he closed with the youngest brother of Fear Dubh, and if the first and second battles were terrible this was more terrible by far; but at last he planted the youngest brother up to his armpits in the hard bottom of the river, and swept the head off him.

Now, after the heat and struggle of combat Fialan was in such a rage that he lost his mind from fury, not having any one to fight against; and if the whole world had been there before him he would have gone through it and conquered it all.

But having no one to face him he rushed along the river-bank, tearing the flesh from his own body. Never had such madness been seen in any created being before that day.

Diarmuid came now and knocked at the door of the castle, having the dog Bran with him, and asked Fin what had caused him to raise the cry of distress.

"Oh, Diarmuid," said Fin, "we are all fastened in here to be killed. Fialan has destroyed three armies, and Fear Dubh with his two brothers. He is raging now along the bank of the river; you must not go near him, for he would tear you limb from limb. At this moment he wouldn't spare me, his own father; but after a while he will cease from raging and die down; then you can go. The mother of Fear Dubh is coming, and will soon be at the ford. She is more violent, more venomous, more to be dreaded, a greater warrior than her sons. The chief weapon she has are the nails on her fingers; each nail is seven perches long, of the hardest steel on earth. She is coming in the air at this moment with the speed of a hawk, and she has a k??an (a small vessel), with liquor in it, which has such power that if she puts three drops of it on the mouths of her sons they will rise up as well as ever; and if she brings them to life there is nothing to save us.

"Go to the ford; she will be hovering over the corpses of the three armies to know can she find her sons, and as soon as she sees them she will dart down and give them the liquor. You must rise with a mighty bound upon her, dash the k??an out of her hand and spill the liquor.

"If you can kill her save her blood, for nothing in the world can free us from this place and open the door of the castle but the blood of the old hag. I'm in dread you'll not succeed, for she is far more terrible than all her sons together. Go now; Fialan is dying away, and the old woman is coming; make no delay."

Diarmuid hurried to the ford, stood watching a while; then he saw high in the air something no larger than a hawk. As it came nearer and nearer he saw it was the old woman. She hovered high in the air over the ford. At last she saw her sons, and was swooping down, when Diarmuid rose with a bound into the air and struck the vial a league out of her hand.

The old hag gave a shriek that was heard to the eastern world, and screamed: "Who has dared to interfere with me or my sons?"

"I," answered Diarmuid; "and you'll not go further till I do to you what has been done to your sons."

The fight began; and if there ever was a fight, before or since, it could not be more terrible than this one; but great as was the power of Diarmuid he never could have conquered but for Bran the dog.

The old woman with her nails stripped the skin and flesh from Diarmuid almost to the vitals. But Bran tore the skin and flesh off the old woman's back from her head to her heels.

From the dint of blood-loss and fighting, Diarmuid was growing faint. Despair came on him, and he was on the point of giving way, when a little robin flew near to him, and sitting on a bush, spoke, saying:

"Oh, Diarmuid, take strength; rise and sweep the head off the old hag, or Fin and the Fenians of Erin are no more."

Diarmuid took courage, and with his last strength made one great effort, swept the head off the old hag and caught her blood in a vessel. He rubbed some on his own wounds, -- they were cured; then he cured Bran.

Straightway he took the blood to the castle, rubbed drops of it on the door, which opened, and he went in.

All laughed with joy at the rescue. He freed Fin and his men by rubbing the blood on the chairs; but when he came as far as Conan Maol the blood gave out.

All were going away. "Why should you leave me here after you;" cried Conan Maol, "I would rather die at once than stay here for a lingering death. Why don't you, Oscar, and you, Gol MacMorna, come and tear me out of this place; anyhow you'll be able to drag the arms out of me and kill me at once; better that than leave me to die alone."

Oscar and Gol took each a hand, braced their feet against his feet, put forth all their strength and brought him standing; but if they did, he left all the skin and much of the flesh from the back of his head to his heels on the floor behind him. He was covered with blood, and by all accounts was in a terrible condition, bleeding and wounded.

Now there were sheep grazing near the castle. The Fenians ran out, killed and skinned the largest and best of the flock, and clapped the fresh skin on Conan's back; and such was the healing power in the sheep, and the wound very fresh, that Conan's back healed, and he marched home with the rest of the men, and soon got well; and if he did, they sheared off his back wool enough every year to make a pair of stockings for each one of the Fenians of Erin, and for Fin himself.

And that was a great thing to do and useful, for wool was scarce in Erin in those days. Fin and his men lived pleasantly and joyously for some time; and if they didn't, may we.




Fin Maccumhail And The Knight Of The Full Axe.


There was a day when Fin went on an expedition by himself. He walked out to his currochAin on the seashore, gave it a kick that sent it out nine leagues from land, then with a spring he jumped into the boat and rowed over the sea.

After he had gone some distance he saw a giant coming towards him, walking through the water, which did not reach his knees. Looking up, Fin could see nothing between the head of the giant and the sky.

With one step the giant was in front of Fin, and it seemed that he and his boat would be lost in a moment between the legs of the terrible monster.

"Poor, little helpless creature! what brings you here in my way?" asked the giant. He was just going to lay hold of the boat and toss it far off to one side, when Fin called out:

"Won't you give fair play; just let me put foot on solid land, and see what will happen. Don't attack me here; I'm not afraid to meet you once I have earth for my two feet to stand on."

"If that is all you want I can take you to land very soon." And seizing the boat as he would a grass-blade, the giant drew it to the shore of the sea opposite to that from which Fin started, and in front of his own castle. "What will you do now?" asked the giant.

"I'll fight with you," said Fin.

The giant brought out his battle-axe, which had a blade seven acres in size. Fin was ready with his sword, and now began a most terrible battle.

Fin faced the giant, slashing at him with his sword, and when the giant made an offer of the axe at him, Fin would dart to one side; and when the axe missing him struck the ground, it went into the handle. The giant was a long time striving to know could he draw out the axe; and while at this Fin ran behind and cut steps with his sword into the leg of his enemy; and by the time the giant had the axe out of the ground, Fin was ready for him again and in front of him, striking and vexing him with his sword. It was another long while till a blow came down; and when the axe went into the ground again, Fin ran behind a second time, cut more steps in the leg and body of the giant, so as to reach his neck and cut the head off him.

When the axe was coming to the ground the third time, Fin slipped and fell under one corner of it, and between the feet of the giant, who closed his legs with a clap that was heard to the end of the Western World. He thought to catch Fin; but Fin was too quick for him, and though badly hurt he was able to cut more steps and climb to the neck of the giant. With one blow he swept the head off him, -- and a big head it was; by all accounts as broad as the moon.

The battle was fought in front of the giant's castle. Fin was terribly wounded; the axe had cut that deep that his bowels were to be seen. He dropped at the side of the giant, and lay helpless on the ground. After the fall of the giant twelve women came out of his castle, and when they drew near and saw him dead they laughed from joy; but seeing Fin with his wound they began to mourn.

"Oh, then," said Fin, "is it making sport of me you are after the evil day that I've had?"

"Indeed it is not. We are twelve daughters of kings, stolen from our fathers. We saw the giant fall, and came here to look at him dead; we grieve for you and mourn for the sorrow that is on you, but we are so glad the giant is killed that we cannot help laughing."

"Well," said Fin, "if you mourn for me and are glad that I have killed the giant, will you carry me to my currochAin, lay me in it, and push it out to sea? The waves may bear me home, and I care for nothing else if only one day my bones may come to land in Erin."

The twelve women took him up carefully and put him in the boat, and when the tide came they pushed it out to sea.

Fin lay in the bottom of the boat barely alive. It floated along, and he was borne over the waves. Hither and thither went the boat, till at last one day a blackbird came down on the body of Fin MacCumhail, and began to pick at his entrails. The blackbird said:

"Many a long day have I watched and waited for this chance, and glad am I to have it now."

That moment the blackbird turned into a little man not more than three feet high. Then he said: "I was under a Druidic spell, to be a blackbird till I should get three bites of fat from the entrails of Fin MacCumhail. I have followed you everywhere; have watched you in battle and hunt, on sea and land, but never have I been able to get the chance till this day. Now I have it, I have also the power to make you well again."

He put Fin's entrails into their proper place, rubbed him with an ointment that he had, and Fin was well as ever.

The little man, who said his name was Ridiri na lan tur (Knight of the Full Axe) had a small axe, his only weapon. As they floated along he said to Fin: "I wish to show you some strange things, such as you have never seen in Erin. We are near a country where the king's daughter is to be married to-night. We will prevent the ceremony."

"Oh no," said Fin, "I would rather go to my own home."

"Never mind," said the little man, "nothing can harm you in my company; come with me. This is a wonderful king, and he has a wonderful daughter. It's a strange country, and I want to show you the place. We'll tell him that you are Fin MacCumhail, monarch of Erin; that we have been shipwrecked, and ask for a night's shelter."

Fin consented at last, and with the Knight of the Full Axe landed, drew the boat on shore, and went to the king's castle. There was noise and tumult; great crowds of people had come to do honor to the king's daughter. Never before had such preparations been made in that kingdom.

The Knight of the Full Axe knocked at the door, and asked admission for himself and Fin MacCumhail, monarch of Erin, shipwrecked on that shore. (The country was north of Erin, far out in the sea.)

The attendants said: "No strangers may enter here, but there is a great house further on; go there and welcome."

The house to which they were directed was twenty-one miles long, ten miles wide, and about five miles distant from the castle; inhabited by the strangest men in the world, body-guards of the king, fed from the king's house, and a terrible feeding it was, -- human flesh. All strangers who came to the king's castle were sent to that house, where the guards tore them to pieces and ate them up.

These guards had to be fed well; if not they would devour the whole country.

With Fin and the Knight of the Full Axe there went a messenger, who was careful not to go near the house; he pointed it out from a distance, and ran home.

Fin and the knight knocked at the door. When it was opened all inside laughed; as they laughed, Fin could see their hearts and livers they were so glad. The Knight of the Full Axe asked, "Why do you laugh in this way?"

"Oh," answered they, "we laugh because you are so small you'll not make a mouthful for one of us."

The guards barred the door and put a prop against it. Now the knight put a second prop against the door; the guards asked, "Why do you do that?"

"I do it so none of you may escape me," answered the knight. Then seizing two of the largest of the guards, one in each hand, he used them as clubs and killed the others with them. He ran the length of the house, striking right and left, till he walloped the life out of all that was in it, but the two. To them he said: "I spare you to clean out the house, and make the place fit for the monarch of Erin to spend the night in. Bring rushes, and make ready to receive Fin MacCumhail."

And from wherever they got them, they brought two baskets of rushes, each basket as big as a mountain, and spread litter on the ground two feet deep through the whole house; and then at the knight's command they brought a pile of turf, and made a grand fire.

Late in the evening the king's attendants brought food, which they left near the house of the guards; these monsters were fed twice a day, morning and evening. To their great surprise the attendants saw the bodies of the dead giants piled up outside the house; they ran off quickly to tell the news.

Now the Knight of the Full Axe sat by the fire. The two guards that he had spared tried to chat and be agreeable; but the knight snapped at them and said: "What company are you for the monarch of Erin?" Then he caught the two, squeezed the life out of them, and threw them on the pile outside.

"Now," said the knight to Fin, "there is no suitable food for you; I must get you something good to eat from the castle."

So off he started, reached the castle quickly, knocked at the door, and demanded the best of food, saying, "'Tis fine treatment you are giving the monarch of Erin to-night!"

They trembled at the voice of the little man, and without words or delay gave him the best they had in the castle. He carried it back and placed it before Fin. "Now," said he, "they have given us no wine; we must have wine, and that of the best."

"Oh, we have no need of wine!" said Fin; but off went the knight.

Again he demanded supplies at the castle. He took a hogshead of the best wine, threw it over his shoulder, and, as he hurried out, he struck a jamb off the door and swept it along with the hogshead.

"Now," said the knight, after they had eaten and drunk, "'tis too bad for the monarch of Erin to sleep on rushes; he should have the best bed in the land."

"Oh, trouble yourself no further," said Fin; "better sleep on rushes than all this noise."

But the knight would listen to nothing; away he went to the castle, and shouted: "Give me the best bed in this place! I want it for Fin MacCumhail, the monarch of Erin."

They gave him the bed in a moment. With hurried steps he was back, and said to Fin: "Rest on this bed. Now I'll stop the wedding of the princess; you may take her to Erin if you like."

"Oh, that would not be right! I am well as I am," said Fin, who was getting in dread of the knight himself.

"No, you'd better have the princess," and off rushed the knight. He entered the castle. All were in terror; hither and thither they hurried, not knowing what to do. The Knight of the Full Axe seized the princess. "The monarch of Erin is a better man than your bridegroom," said he; and clapping her under his arm, away he went. Not a man had the courage to stir.

All was confusion and fear in the king's castle. The princess was gone and no one could save her. All were in terrible dread, knowing what had been done at the long house.

At last an old hag, one of the queen's waiting-women, said: "I'll go and see what has become of the princess. I'll go on the chimney and look down."

Off ran the hag, and never rested till she was on the top of the chimney, sticking down her head to know what could she see. The chimney was wide, for the king's guards had cooked all their food below on the fire. The Knight of the Full Axe was looking up at the time and saw the two eyes staring down at him.

"Go on out of that," cried he, flinging his axe; which stuck in the old woman's forehead. Off she rushed to the castle. She had seen nothing of the princess; all she knew was that a little man was sitting by the fire warming himself, that he had thrown his axe at her, and it had stuck in her forehead.

At daylight the knight spoke to Fin, who rose at once. "Now," said he, "I have no strength left; all my strength is in the axe. While I had that I could do anything, now I can do nothing. We are in great danger; but there is such dread of us on the people here that we may mend matters yet. Do you put on the dress of a leech, get herbs and vials, and pretend you have great skill in healing. Go to the castle, and say you can take the axe out of the old hag's head. No man there can do that without killing her; she will die the minute it is drawn. Get at her, seize the axe, pull it out, and with it you will have the greatest power on earth."

Fin went to the castle, and said: "I am a great doctor. I can take the axe out of the old woman's head without trouble."

They took him to the hag, who was sitting upright in bed; her head was so sore she couldn't lie down. He felt her head around the axe, sent the people away; when they were gone he took hold of the handle. With one snap he made two halves of the old woman's head. Fin ran out with the axe, leaving the old hag dead behind him. He never stopped till he came where he had left the knight.

Fin MacCumhail was now the strongest man on earth, and the knight the weakest. "You may keep the axe," said the little man; "I shall not envy you, but will go with you and you will protect me."

"No," said Fin, "it shall never be said that I took the axe from you, though I know its value and feel its power."

The knight was glad to get back his axe, and now the two set out for Erin. Fin kicked the boat three leagues from land, and with a bound they both came down in it, and floated on till they saw the coast of Erin. Then the little man said:

"I must leave you now. Though of your kin, I cannot land in Erin. But if you need me at any time you have only to look over your right shoulder, call my name, and you will see me before you."

Now Fin sprang ashore; he had been absent a year and more, and no man knew where he was while gone. All thought him lost. Great was the gladness when Fin came home, and told the Fenians of Erin of what he had seen and what he had done.




Gilla Na Grakin And Fin Maccumhail.


There was a blacksmith in Dun Kinealy beyond Killybegs, and he had two young men serving him whose names were CA(C)sa MacRi na Tulach and Lun Dubh MacSmola.

When their time was up the young men settled with the blacksmith and took their pay of him. After they had eaten breakfast in the morning they went away together.

When they had gone some distance from the house they changed their gait, so that when they took one step forward they took two backwards; and when evening came they were not five perches away from the house where they had eaten breakfast in the morning.

Then one said to the other: "I suppose what is on one of us is on the other."

"What's that?" asked the first.

"We are both in love with ScA(C)hide ni WAinanan."

"That is true," said the other, "we are both in love with the blacksmith's maid."

When this was said they turned and went back to the house. The blacksmith welcomed them, and was glad.

"You need not welcome us," said they; "we have not come back to you to seek hire; but we are both in love with ScA(C)hide ni WAinanan, and you'll have to settle the matter for us."

"Well," said the blacksmith, "I can do that. We'll open the two doors of the forge, and let you and the maiden go in and stand in the middle of the place. Then do you two go out, one at each door, and the man she'll follow will have her."

The three came in, -- one man went out at each door of the forge; ScA(C)hide followed Lun Dubh.

When he saw this CA(C)sa spoke up, and said: "I'm willing to leave her with you; but turn back a moment here to me, for the word that'll be between us."

Lun Dubh turned back into the forge, and CA(C)sa said: "Put your finger on this anvil."

Lun Dubh put his finger on the anvil. CA(C)sa, catching up a good spike, which the old blacksmith had made, and a hammer drove the spike through the finger of Lun Dubh, fastening him to the anvil.

"Now," said Lun Dubh to CA(C)sa; "let me go free, and do you take ScA(C)hide; but I must have the first blow on you in battle or war, or wherever else I meet you in the world."

"I will give you that," said CA(C)sa. So he freed his comrade from the anvil. The young men parted from each other, -- Lun Dubh went one way alone, and CA(C)sa another with ScA(C)hide ni WAinanan.

As CA(C)sa went along he bought a skin at every house where he could find one, until he had enough to make clothes in which to disguise himself; for he was in dread of Lun Dubh, on account of the first blow which he had the right to strike when they met.

He put on the skin clothes, and changed his name to Gilla na Grakin (the fellow of the skins).

Gilla and his wife held on their way till they came to the castle of Fin MacCumhail; and the time they came there was no one in the place but women.

"Where is Fin MacCumhail with his men to-day?" asked Gilla na Grakin.

"They are all out hunting," said the women.

Now Gilla saw that the castle stood with open door facing the wind, and turning again to the women he asked: "Why do you have the door of the castle to the wind?"

"When Fin and his men are at home and the wind comes in at the door, they all go out, take hold of the castle and turn it around till the door is on the sheltered side."

When Gilla na Grakin heard this he went out, put his hands to the castle, and turned it around till the door was on the sheltered side.

In the evening when Fin and the Fenians of Erin were coming from the hunt, they saw the castle turned around, and Fin said to the men: "I'm afraid we haven't half enough of game for the supper of the strangers who have come to visit us to-day, there are so many of them that they have turned the castle around."

When they came home they saw there was no man there but Gilla na Grakin, and they wondered at the work he had done.

Gilla stood before Fin, and said: "Do you want a serving man?"

"I do indeed," said Fin.

"What wages will you give me for a year and a day?" asked Gilla.

"What yourself will ask," replied Fin.

"I won't ask much," said Gilla; "five pounds for myself, and a room in the castle for my wife."

"You shall have both," said Fin.

"I'm your man now," said Gilla. The whole company spent the first part of that night in ease, the second in sport, and the third in a short sleep.

The next morning all the Fenians of Erin were going to hunt, as the day before, and Fin said to Gilla na Grakin: "Will you take any man to help you?"

"I'll take no man with me but myself; and do you let me go in one part of the country alone, and go yourself with all your men in another part."

"Well," said Fin, "will you find dry glens of ridges, or go in deep boggy places where there is danger of drowning?"

"I will go in deep boggy places."

All left the castle to hunt. Fin and the Fenians of Erin went in one direction, and Gilla na Grakin in another, and hunted all day.

When they came home in the evening Gilla na Grakin had a thousand times more game than Fin and all his men together.

When Fin saw this he was glad to have such a good man, and was pleased beyond measure with Gilla na Grakin. The whole company spent that night as they had the night before, -- in ease and sport and sleep.

Next day Conan Maol was outside with Fin, and he said: "Gilla na Grakin will destroy the Fenians of Erin and put you and all of us to death, unless you banish him in some way from this castle."

"Well;" said Fin to Conan Maol, "I've never had a good man but you wanted me to put him away. And how could I banish such a man as this if I tried?"

"The way to banish him," said Conan Maol, "is to send him to the king of Lochlin to take from him the pot of plenty that's never without meat, but has always enough in it to feed the whole world, and bring that pot to this castle."

Fin called Gilla na Grakin, and said: "You'll have to go for me now to the king of Lochlin, and get from him the pot of plenty that is never without meat, and bring it here to me."

"Well," said Gilla, "as long as I'm in your service I can't refuse to do your work."

So away went Gilla. He took a glen at a step and a hill at a leap till he came to the shore of the sea, where he caught up two sticks, put one across the other, then gave them a tip of the hand, and a fine vessel rose out of the two pieces of wood.

Gilla na Grakin went on board the vessel, hoisted the sails, and off he went in a straight line. The music he heard on his way was the whistling of eels in the sea and the calling of gulls in the air, till he came under the king's castle in Lochlin. When he came, there were hundreds of ships standing near the shore, and he had to anchor outside them all; then he stepped from ship to ship till he stood on land.

What should there be at the time he landed but a great feast in the castle of the king. So Gilla went to the front of the castle and stood outside at the door; but he could go no further for the crowd, and no one looked at him. At last he shouted: "This is a very hospitable feast, and you are a people of fine manners not to ask a stranger is he hungry or thirsty."

"You are right," said the king, who turned to the people and said: "Give the pot of plenty to the stranger till he eats his fill."

The people obeyed the king, and when Gilla na Grakin got hold of the pot he made for the ship, and never stopped till he was on board. He put the pot in a safe place below. Then standing on deck he said to himself: "It is no use to take the pot by my swiftness unless I take it by my strength."

So he turned and went to land again. All the heroes and champions of the king of Lochlin and his whole army were ready to fight, but if they were so was Gilla na Grakin.

When he came up to the army he began and went through it as a hawk goes through a flock of swallows, till he made one heap of their heads and another heap of their weapons. Then he went to the castle, caught the king in one hand and the queen in the other, and putting them under his two arms brought them out in front of the castle and killed each with the other.

All was quiet and still at the castle. There wasn't a man alive to stand up against Gilla na Grakin, who went to his ship, raised the sails, and started for Erin. All he heard was the spouting of whales, the whistling of eels, the calling of gulls, and the roar of the wind, as the ship rushed back to the place where he had made it in Erin. When he reached that place he gave the ship a tip of his hand, and there before him was the pot of plenty, and with it the two sticks which he had found on the shore of the sea when he was going to the castle of the king of Lochlin.

He left the sticks where he found them, put the pot on his back, and hurried away to the castle of Fin MacCumhail.

Fin and all the Fenians of Erin were glad to see Gilla na Grakin, and Fin thanked him for the work he had done.

The first part of that night they spent in ease, the second in sport, the third in a hurried sleep.

Next morning they rose and had breakfast from the pot. From that day out they hunted for pleasure alone. They had enough and to spare from the pot of plenty.

Another day Conan Maol was outside the castle with Fin, and he said: "Gilla na Grakin will destroy you and me and all of us unless we find some way of putting him to death."

"What do you want him to do now?" asked Fin.

"Let him go," said Conan Maol, to the king of the Flood, "and bring back the cup that is never drained."

Fin went to the castle and called up Gilla na Grakin. "I want you to go now," said he, "to the king of the Flood, and bring me his cup that is never dry."

When he heard Fin's words, Gilla went off without delay; he took a glen at a step, and a hill at a leap, till he came to the sea. There he took up two sticks of wood, threw one across the other, and they became a fine large ship.

Away he sailed in a straight line, listening as he went to the spouting of whales, the whistling of eels and the calling of gulls, and never stopped till he anchored outside the castle of the king of the Flood. There was many a ship at land before him, so he stopped outside them all, and stepped from ship to ship till he reached the shore.

The king of the Flood was giving a great feast that day. Gilla na Grakin went to the castle, but could not enter, so great was the throng. He stood at the door a while, and then called out, "You are an ill-mannered people, not to ask a stranger is he hungry or dry!"

The king heard these words, and said, "You are right;" and turning to his people said, "Give this stranger the cup till he drinks his fill."

As soon as ever Gilla got the cup in his hands, he made for the ship and never stopped till he put the cup in the hold of the vessel. Then he came on deck, and thought, "It's no use to take the cup with my swiftness, unless I take it with my strength."

So back he turned to the castle, and when he reached land, the whole army and all the champions of the king of the Flood stood ready to oppose him. When he came up, he went through them as a hawk through a flock of swallows. He made a heap of their heads in one place, and a heap of their weapons in another, and then went back to the ship without thinking of the king and the queen of the Flood -- forgot them.

He raised his sails and went away, listening to music on the sea till he touched land in Erin. Then he took the cup in one hand, struck the ship with the other, turned it into the two sticks which he had found on the shore, and travelled on till he came to the castle of Fin MacCumhail and gave up the cup.

"You're the best man I have ever had," said Fin; "and I give you my thanks and praise for the work you have done."

In the castle they spent the first part of that night in ease, the second in sport, and the third in a hurried sleep.

Next morning said Fin to the Fenians of Erin, "We needn't leave the house now unless we like. We have the best of eating from the pot, and the best of drinking from the cup. The one is never empty, and the other is never dry, and we'll go hunting in future only to pass the time for ourselves."

One day Conan Maol was out with Fin a third time, and said he: "If we don't find some way to kill Gilla na Grakin, he'll destroy you and me, and all the Fenians of Erin."

"Well," asked Fin, "where do you want to send him this time?"

"I want him to go to the eastern world, and find out what was it that left the Gruagach with but the one hair on his head."

Fin went to the castle, called up Gilla na Grakin, and said:

"You must go for me now to the eastern world, to know what was it that left the Gruagach with the one hair on his head."

"Well," said Gilla, "I never knew that you wanted to put me to death till this minute; I know it now. But still so long as I'm in your service I can't refuse to do your work."

Then Gilla na Grakin stepped out of the castle door, and away he went to the eastern world. He took a glen at a step, a hill at a leap, and lochs and seas at a bound till he entered the Gruagach's house in the eastern world.

"What is your errand to me," asked the Gruagach, "and why have you come to my house?"

"I have come," said Gilla, "to know what was it that left you with the one hair on your head."

"Sit down here and rest yourself to-night, and if you are a good man, I'll tell you to-morrow," said the Gruagach.

When bedtime came the Gruagach said: "There is an iron harrow there beyond, with teeth on both sides of it; go now and stretch yourself on that harrow, and sleep till morning."

When daylight came, the Gruagach was on his feet, and asked Gilla was he up.

"I am," said he. After they had eaten breakfast, the Gruagach went to another room and brought out two iron loops. One of these he put on Gilla's neck, and the other on his own, and then they began to jerk the loops and pull one another and they fought till late in the afternoon; neither had the upper hand, but if one man was weaker than the other, that man was Gilla na Grakin.

"And now," thought he to himself, "the Gruagach will take my life, and my wife will never know what became of me." The thought gave him strength and power, so up he sprang, and with the first pull he gave he put the Gruagach to his knees in the ground, with the second he put him to his waist, with the third to his shoulders.

"Indeed," said Gilla, "it would be easier for me to strike the head off you now, than to let you go; but if I took your head I shouldn't have my master's work done."

"If you let me go," said the Gruagach, "I'll tell you what happened to me, and why I have but the one hair on my head."

Gilla set him free, then the two sat down together, and the Gruagach began: -- 

"I was living here, without trouble or annoyance from any man, till one day a hare ran in, made an unseemly noise under that table there, and insulted us. I was here myself at the time with my wife and my son and my daughter; and we had a hound, a beagle, and a black horse.

"The hare ran out from under the table, and I made after the hare, and my wife and son and daughter, with the horse and the two dogs, followed me.

"When the hare was on the top of a hill, I had almost hold of his hind legs, but I never caught him.

"When night was near, the hare came to the walls of a great castle, and as he was jumping over, I hit him a blow on the hind leg with a stick, but in he went to the castle.

"Out came an old hag, and screamed, 'Who is it that worried the pet of this castle!'

"I said it was myself that did it. Then she faced me, and made at me and the fight began between us. We fought all that night, and the next day till near evening. Then she turned around and pulled a Druidic rod out of herself, ran from me and struck my wife and son and daughter and the two hounds and the horse with the Druidic rod and made stones of them.

"Then she turned on me again and there wasn't but the one hair left on my head from the desperate fighting, and she looked at me, and said:

"'I'll let you go this time but I'll give you a good payment before you leave.' She caught hold of me then in the grip of her one hand and with the other she took a sharp knife and stripped all the skin and flesh off my back, from my waist to my heels. Then, taking the skin of a rough shaggy goat, she clapped it on to me in place of my own skin and flesh, and told me to go my way.

"I left the old hag and the castle behind, but the skin grew to me and I wear it to this day." And here the Gruagach turned to Gilla na Grakin and showed him the goatskin growing on his body in place of his own skin and flesh.

"Well," said Gilla, when he saw the shaggy back of the Gruagach, "does that hare come here to insult you yet?"

"He does, indeed," said the Gruagach, "but I haven't taken a bite nor a sup off that table since his first visit." "Let us sit down there now," said Gilla na Grakin.

They sat down at the table, but they were not sitting long till the hare came, repeated the insult, and ran out.

Gilla na Grakin made after the hare, and the Gruagach after Gilla.

Gilla ran as fast as ever his legs could carry him, and he was often that near that he used to stretch his arm out after the hare, and almost catch him; but he never touched him till near night, when he was clearing the wall. Then Gilla caught him by the two hind legs, and, swinging him over his own shoulder, dashed him against the wall, tore the head from the body, and sent it bounding across the courtyard of the castle.

Out rushed an old hag that minute. She had but one tooth and that in her upper jaw, and she used this tooth for a crutch.

"Who has killed the pet of this castle!" shrieked she.

"It was I that killed him," said Gilla na Grakin. Then the two made at one another, -- the hag and Gilla. They fought all that night and next day. With their fighting they made the hard rocks soft, and water to spring out through the middle of them. All the land of the eastern world was trembling as the evening drew near, and if one of the two was getting weak from the struggle and tired, that one was Gilla na Grakin. When he saw this he thought to himself, "Isn't it a pity if an old hag puts me to death, me, who has put to death many a strong hero."

At this thought he sprang up and seized the hag. With the first thrust which he gave her into the ground he put her to the knees, with the second to her waist, with the third to her shoulders.

"Now," said the old hag to Gilla, "don't kill me, and I'll give you the rod of druidism (enchantment), which I have between my skin and flesh."

"Oh, you wicked old wretch! I'll have that after your death, and no thanks to you," said Gilla. With that he swept the head off of her with a single blow.

Then the head jumped at the body, and tried to get its place again, but Gilla stood between them, and kept the head off till the body was cold. Then he took out the rod of enchantment from between the skin and the flesh, and threw the body and the head of the old hag aside.

The Gruagach came up, and Gilla said, "Show me now the stones which were once your wife and children, your dogs and your horse."

The Gruagach went with him to the stones. Gilla struck each with the rod, and the wife, the son, the daughter, the hounds and the horse of the Gruagach were alive again.

When this was done, Gilla turned to the Gruagach, struck the goatskin from his body, and gave him his own skin and flesh back again with the power of the rod.

When all were restored, they started for the Gruagach's house, and when there the Gruagach said to Gilla na Grakin, -- 

"Stay here with me till you get your rest. We won't leave this place for a year and a day, and then I'll go with you to the castle of Fin MacCumhail and give witness to Fin of all that has happened to me and all you have done."

"Oh," said Gilla na Grakin, "I can't stay to rest, I must go now!"

The Gruagach was so glad that he had got back all his family and his own flesh that he followed Gilla, and they set out for the castle of Fin MacCumhail in Erin.

They took a glen at a step, a hill at a leap, and the sea at a bound.

Conan Maol, who was outside the castle when they came in sight, ran in and said to Fin, "Gilla na Grakin and the Gruagach are coming, and they'll destroy all that's about the castle, and all that's inside as well!"

"If they do," said Fin, "it's your own fault, and you have no one to blame but yourself."

"Well," said Conan Maol, "I'll lie down here in the cradle, and put a steel cap on my head."

Conan lay down in the cradle. Gilla and the Gruagach came into the castle. The Gruagach sat down near the cradle. Then he said to Fin, "I came here with Gilla na Grakin to bear witness to you of all that has happened to me, and of all he has done."

Then he told Fin the whole story of what they had gone through and what they had done.

With that the Gruagach put his hand behind him and asked: "How old is this child lying here in the cradle?"

"Only three years," said Fin's wife.

Then the Gruagach took the steel cap between his thumb and fingers, thinking it was the head of the child, and squeezed till the steel cracked with a loud snap, but the child didn't cry.

"Oh, there's the making of a man in him. If he gets age he'll be a champion," said the Gruagach.

Next day the Gruagach left Fin's castle and went to his own place and family.

Gilla na Grakin's time was now up, for he had served a year and a day.

Fin went out to wash himself in a spring near the castle, and when he looked into the spring a spirit spoke up out of the water to him and said:

"You must give back his cup to the king of the Flood, or you must give him battle in its place."

Fin went back to the castle, lamenting the state he was in.

Conan Maol said, "You look like a sorrowful man."

"Why shouldn't I be?" said Fin. "A spirit spoke to me from the spring outside, and told me I must give back the cup to the king of the Flood, or give him battle in place of it. Now Gilla's time is up, and I don't know what to do."

"Well," said Conan Maol, "do you go now and speak to him, and maybe he'll do you a good turn."

Fin went to Gilla na Grakin, and told him what happened at the spring.

"My time is up, as you know," said Gilla, "and I cannot serve on time that is past; but if you want me to go, you must watch my wife ScA(C)hide ni WAinanan on Friday night; and in the middle of the night, when she is combing her hair, any request you'll make of her she can't refuse. The request you'll make is that she'll let me go with you to the king of the Flood, to take the cup to his castle and bring it back again."

Fin watched the time closely, and when the middle of Friday night came, he looked through a hole in the door and saw ScA(C)hide combing her hair. Then he asked his request of her.

"Well," answered she, "I can't refuse, but you must promise me to bring back Gilla, dead or alive."

Fin promised her that.

Next morning Fin MacCumhail and Gilla na Grakin set out for the castle of the king of the Flood, taking the cup with them.

They walked over Erin till they came to the shore of the sea. There Gilla caught up two pieces of wood, and putting one across the other, struck them a tip of his fingers, and out of them rose a fine ship. He and Fin went on board, sailed away, and never stopped till they cast anchor outside all the ships, under the castle of the king of the Flood. The two walked on from deck to deck till they stood on shore.

They went a short distance from the castle of the king and pitched a tent.

Said Gilla to Fin, "Now we are hungry, and I must find food for you and myself."

So Gilla na Grakin went to the castle and asked food of the king of the Flood.

"You'll get nothing to eat from me. I have no food in this place to give you or the like of you; but there is a wild bull in the wood outside. Find him: if you kill him, you'll have something to eat; if not you'll go fasting," said the king of the Flood to Gilla na Grakin.

Gilla went out to the wood, and when the wild bull saw a man coming towards him he drove his horns into the ground, and put an acre of land over his own back. Then he threw up an oak-tree, roots and all, till it nearly reached the sky, and made at Gilla na Grakin. But if he did, Gilla was ready for him and faced him, and when the bull came up, he caught him by the horns and threw him to the ground; then putting a foot on one horn, he took the other in his two hands, split the bull from muzzle to tail, and made two halves of him.

Gilla carried the carcass to the tent, and when he had taken off the skin he said to Fin, "We have no pot to boil the meat in. Well, I'll go to the king again."

So off he went and knocked at the castle door.

"What do you want now?" asked the king.

"I want a pot," said Gilla, "to boil the wild bull."

"Well," said the king, "I have no pot for you but that big pot back in the yard, in which we boil stuff for the pigs. I'll give you the loan of that if you are able to carry it."

"It's good to get that itself from a bad person," said Gilla na Grakin, and away he went to look for the pot behind the castle.

At last he found it, and when he put it down at the tent he said to Fin, "We have nothing now to boil the pot with, nothing to make a fire."

Then he went a third time to the castle, knocked at the door, and out came the king. "What do you want now?" asked he.

"Fire to boil the bull."

"Go to the wood and get firewood for yourself, or do without it. You'll get no firewood from me," said the king of the Flood.

Gilla went out, got plenty of wood and boiled the whole bull.

"We are well off now," said he to Fin; "we have plenty to eat."

Next morning Gilla na Grakin went to the castle and knocked.

"Who is that?" asked the king, without opening the door.

"I want no chat nor questions from you," said Gilla, "but get me a breakfast." "I have no breakfast now," said the king; "but wait a minute and you'll get a hot breakfast from me."

That moment the signal was sounded for the armies of the king of the Flood to take Gilla na Grakin and his master.

When the armies stood ready Gilla began and went through them as a hawk through sparrows. He made one heap of their heads and another of their weapons, -- didn't leave a man living. Then he went into the castle and taking the king of the Flood in one hand and the queen in the other, he killed each of them against the other.

Now all was quiet at the castle. Gilla na Grakin struck the tent and went to the ship with Fin MacCumhail, who had the cup that was never dry.

They raised the sails and went over the sea toward Erin, till they saw a large ship on one side of them.

"If it's going to help us that ship is," said Fin, "'tis all the better for us, but if 'tis going against us she is, that's the bad part of it."

As the ship came near, Gilla na Grakin looked at her sharply, and said to Fin, "I think it's Lun Dubh that's on that ship."

"Well," said Fin, "maybe he'll not know you in a strange dress."

When Lun Dubh came alongside, he called out: "I know you well, and it's not by your dress that I know you, CA(C)sa MacRi na Tulach." Then Lun Dubh sprang on deck, raised his hand, struck Gilla, and stretched him dead.

Fin sailed away with the body of Gilla na Grakin, and when he came in sight of the shore of Erin he raised a black flag; for he had promised Gilla's wife to raise a white flag if her husband was well, but a black one if he was dead.

When he came to the shore, ScA(C)hide ni WAinanan was there before him, and she had a large, roomy box. When she saw Fin she said, "You have him dead with you?"

"I have," said Fin.

"What will you do with him now?" asked she.

"I will bury him decently," said Fin.

"You will not," said she; "you will put him in this box."

Then Fin put him in the box. She went aside and got some fresh shamrock and went into the box with Gilla. Then she told Fin to push the box out to sea, and putting down the cover fastened it inside.

Fin pushed the box out into the sea, and away it went driven by wind and waves, till one day ScA(C)hide looked out through a hole and saw two sparrows flying and a dead one between them. The two living sparrows let the dead one down on an island. Soon they rose up again, and the dead one was living.

Said ScA(C)hide to herself, "There might be something on that island that would cure my husband as it cured the dead bird."

Now the sea put the box in on the island. ScA(C)hide unfastened the cover, came out, and walked around the island. Nothing could she find but a small spring of water in a rock. "It's in this the cure may be," thought she, as she looked at the water. Then taking off one of her shoes she put it full of the water, took it to the box, and poured it on Gilla na Grakin. That moment he stood up alive and well. Gilla walked along the shore till he found two pieces of wood. He threw one across the other, gave them a tip of his hand, a fine large ship stood there at the shore, and in it he sailed with ScA(C)hide back to Erin.

When they landed he turned the vessel into two sticks again with a tip of the hand, and set out with his wife for the castle of Fin MacCumhail in TirConal.

They came to the castle of Fin at midnight. Gilla knocked and said, "Put my wages out to me."

"Well," said Fin inside, "there is no man, alive or dead, that has wages on me but Gilla na Grakin, and I would rather see that fellow here than the wages of three men."

"Well, rise up now and you'll see him," said Gilla.

Fin rose up, saw his man, gave him his wages with thanks and Gilla departed.

At the break of day they saw a great house before them. A man walked out with a kerchief bound on his head.

When Gilla na Grakin came up, he knew the man, and raising his hand, struck him dead with a blow.

"I have satisfaction on Lun Dubh, now," said Gilla to the wife. The two went into the house and stayed there, and may be there yet for anything we know. We are the luck and they are the winners.




Fin Maccumhail, The Seven Brothers And The King Of France.


When Fin MacCumhail with seven companies of the Fenians of Erin was living at Tara of the Kings, he went hunting one day with the seven companies; and while out on the mountains seven young men came towards him and when they came up and stood before him he asked their names of them.

Each gave his name in turn, beginning with the eldest, and their names were Strong, son of Strength; Wise, son of Wisdom; Builder, son of Builder; Whistler, son of Whistler; Guide, son of Guide; Climber, son of Climber; Thief, son of Thief.

The seven young men pleased Fin; they were looking for service, so he hired them for a year and a day.

When Fin and the Fenians of Erin went home that night from the hunt there was a message at the castle before them from the king of France to Fin MacCumhail and the Fenians of Erin, asking them to come over to him on a most important affair.

Fin held a council straightway and said, "France is a thousand miles from this and the sea between it and Erin; how can we go to the king of France?"

Then Strong, son of Strength, spoke up and said: "What is the use of hiring us if we can't do this work and the like of it? If you'll make a ship here, or in any place, I'll pull it in the sea."

"And I," said Builder, "will make a ship fit for you or any king on earth with one blow of this axe in my hand."

"That's what I want," said Fin, "and now do you make that ship for me."

"I will," said Builder.

"Well," said Strong, "I'll put your ship in the sea."

Builder made the ship there at Tara of the Kings and then Strong brought it to the seashore and put it in the water. Fin and the Fenians of Erin went on board, and Guide took the ship from Erin to France.

When Fin and his men went to the king of France he was glad to see them and said:

"I'll tell you the reason now I asked you here, and the business I have with you. This time three years ago my wife had a son, two years ago a second, one year ago a third, and the neighbors' wives are thinking she'll have another child soon. Immediately they were born the three were taken away, and I want you to save the fourth; for we all think it will be taken from us like the other three. When each one of the others was sleeping, a hand came down the chimney to the cradle and took the child away with it up the chimney. There is meat and drink in plenty in that room for you and the Fenians of Erin. My only request is that you'll watch the child."

"We'll do that," said Fin, and he went into the chamber with men enough to watch and the seven brothers with him. Then the seven said: "Do you and the men go to sleep for yourselves, and we'll do the watching." So Fin and the men went to sleep. The child was born early in the evening and put in the cradle. At the dead of night Wise said to Strong: "Now is your time; the hand is near; keep your eye on it."

Soon he saw the hand coming lower and lower and moving towards the child; and when it was going into the cradle, Strong caught the hand and it drew him up nearly to the top of the chimney. Then he pulled it down to the ashes; again it drew him up.

They were that way all night, -- the hand drawing Strong almost to the top of the chimney and out of the house and Strong dragging the hand down to the hearth. They were up and down the chimney till break of day; and every stone in the castle of the king of France was trembling in its place from the struggle.

But at break of day Strong tore from its shoulder the arm with the hand, and there was peace. Now all rose up at the castle. The king came and was glad when he saw the child.

Then Fin spoke up and said: "We have done no good thing yet till we bring back the other three to you."

Wise spoke up and said: "I know very well where the other three are, and I'll show you the place."

So all set out and they followed him to the castle of Mal MacMulcan and there they saw the three sons of the King of France carrying water to MacMulcan to cool the shoulder from which the arm had been torn by Strong.

Then Wise said to Climber: "Now is your time to take the children away; for we can do it without being seen; but if Mal MacMulcan were to see the children going from him, he'd destroy the whole world. But as it is when he finds the children are gone, he has a sister there near himself, and he'll break her head against the wall of the castle."

Then Climber took a clew from his pocket and threw it over the walls of the castle, and the walls were so high that no bird of the air could fly over them. Then they fixed a rope ladder on the castle. Wise, Guide, and Climber went up the ladder and at break of day they brought away the three children and gave them to the king of France that morning. And the king of France was so glad when he saw his three sons that he said to Fin: "I will give you your ship full of the most precious stuffs in my kingdom."

"I will take nothing for myself," said Fin; "but do you give what you like to my seven young men who have done the work;" and the seven said they wouldn't take anything while they were serving with him. So Fin took the present from the king of France and set sail for Erin with the Fenians and the seven young men.

While they were on the way to Erin they saw the sea raging after them. Wise, son of Wisdom, said: "That is Mal MacMulcan coming to get satisfaction out of us."

Then MacMulcan caught hold of the ship by the stern and pulled it down till the masts touched the sea. Strong caught him by the left remaining hand, and the two began to fight, and at last Strong pulled him on to the deck of the ship.

"Our ship will be sunk," said Wise, "and Fin with the Fenians of Erin and the seven of us will be drowned unless you make a flail out of MacMulcan and thrash the head off his body on the deck of the ship."

Strong made a flail out of MacMulcan and killed him, and the sea was filled with blood in a minute of time. Then the ship moved on without harm till they came to the same spot in Erin from which they had sailed.

When Fin came to the place where he had hired the seven young men the year and a day were over. He paid them their hire and they left him. Then he came to his own castle at Tara of the Kings.

One day Fin went out walking alone, and he met an old hag by the way. She spoke up to him and asked: "Would you play a game of cards with me?"

"I would," said Fin, "if I had the means of playing."

The old hag pulled out a pack of cards and said: "Here you have the means of playing as many games as you like."

They sat down and played; Fin got the first game on the old woman. Then she said, "Put the sentence on me now."

"I will not," said Fin; "I'll do nothing till we play another game."

They played again and she won the second game. Then she said to Fin, "You will have to go and bring here for me the head of Curucha na Gras and the sword that guards his castle; and I won't give you leave to take away any of your men with you but one, and he is the worst of them all, -- 'Iron back without action,' and the time for your journey is a year and a day. Now what is your sentence on me?" said the old hag.

"You'll put one foot," said Fin, "on the top of my castle in Tara of the Kings, and the other on a hill in Mayo, and you'll stand with your back to the wind and your face to the storm, a sheaf of wheat on the ground before the gate will be all you'll have to eat, and any grain that will be blown out of it, if you catch that you'll have it, and you'll be that way till I come back."

So Fin went away with himself and "Iron back without action." And when they had gone as far as a large wood that was by the roadside, a thick fog came on them, and rain, and they sat down at the edge of the wood and waited. Soon they saw a red-haired boy with a bow and arrows shooting birds, and whenever he hit a bird he used to put the arrow through its two eyes and not put a drop of blood on its feathers.

And when the red boy came near Fin, he drew his bow, sent an arrow through "Iron back without action," and put the life out of him.

When he did that Fin said, "You have left me without any man, though this was the worst of all I have."

"You'd better hire me," said the red boy; "you've lost nothing, for you were without a man when you had that fellow the same as you are now."

So Fin hired the red boy and asked him his name. "I won't tell you that," said he, "but do you put the name on me that'll please yourself."

"Well," said Fin, "since I met you in the rain and the mist I'll call you Misty."

"That'll be my name while I'm with you," said the red boy, "and now we'll cast lots to see which of us will carry the other;" and the lot fell upon Misty. He raised Fin on his back to carry him, and the first leap he took was six miles, and every step a mile, and he went on without stopping till he was in the Western World. When they came to the castle of Curucha na Gras, Fin and Misty put up a tent for themselves and they were hungry enough after the long road, and Misty said, "I will go and ask Curucha for something to eat." He went to the castle and put a fighting blow on the door. Curucha came out and Misty asked him for bread.

"I wouldn't give you the leavings of my pigs," said Curucha.

Misty turned and left him, but on the way he met the bakers bringing bread from the bake house and he caught all their loaves from them and ran home to Fin. "We have plenty to eat now," said Misty, "but nothing at all to drink. I must go to Curucha to know will he give us something to drink."

He went a second time to the castle, put a fighting blow on the door, and out came Curucha.

"What do you want this time?" asked he.

"I want drink for myself and my master, Fin MacCumhail."

"You'll get no drink from me. I wouldn't give you the dirty ditch-water that's outside my castle."

Misty turned to go home, but on the way he met twelve boys each carrying the full of his arms of bottles of wine. He took every bottle from them, and it wasn't long till he was in the tent.

"Now we can eat and drink our fill."

"We can indeed," said Fin. Next morning Misty put another fighting blow on the door of the castle. Out flew Curucha with his guardian sword in his hand, and he made at Misty. With the first blow he gave him, he took an ear off his head.

Misty sprang back, drew his bow, and sent an arrow into Curucha's breast. It flew out through his head and he fell lifeless on the ground. Then Misty drew his knife, cut off the head, and carried the head and the sword to Fin MacCumhail, and Fin was glad to get them both.

"Take the head," said Misty, "and put it on top of the holly bush that's out here above us." Fin put the head on the holly bush, and the minute he put it there the head burnt the bush to the earth, and the earth to the clay.

Then they took the best horse that could be found about Curucha's castle. Fin sat on the horse, with the sword and head in front of him; and Misty followed behind.

They went their way and never stopped till they came to the place where Misty sent the arrow through "Iron back without action" and killed him. When they came to that spot, Misty asked Fin would he tell him a story, and Fin answered, "I have no story to tell except that we are in the place now where you killed my man."

"Oh, then," said Misty, "I'm glad you put that in my mind for I'll give him back to you now." So they went and took "Iron back without action" out of the ground; then Misty struck him with a rod of enchantment which he had, and brought life into him again.

Then Misty turned to Fin and said: "I am a brother of the seven boys who went with you to save the children of the king of France. I was too young for action at that time, but my mother sent me here now as a gift to help you and tell you what to do. When you go to the hag she'll ask you for the sword, but you'll not give it, you'll only show it to her. And when she has seen the sword she'll ask for the head. And you'll not give the head to her either, you'll only show it; and when she sees the head, she'll open her mouth with joy at seeing the head of her brother; and when you see her open her mouth be sure to strike her on the breast with the head; and if you don't do that, the whole world wouldn't be able to kill her."

Then Fin left Misty where he met him and with "Iron back without action" he made for Tara of the Kings.

When he came in front of the old hag she asked him had he the gifts. Fin said he had. She asked for the sword but she didn't get it, Fin only showed it to her. Then she asked for the head, and when she saw the head, she opened her mouth with delight at seeing the head of her brother.

While she stood there with open mouth gazing, Fin picked out the mark and struck her on the breast with the head. She fell to the ground; they left her there dead and went into the castle.




Black, Brown, And Gray.


On a day Fin MacCumhail was near Tara of the Kings, south of Ballyshannon, hunting with seven companies of the Fenians of Erin.

During the day they saw three strange men coming towards them, and Fin said to the Fenians: "Let none of you speak to them, and if they have good manners they'll not speak to you nor to any man till they come to me."

When the three men came up, they said nothing till they stood before Fin himself. Then he asked what their names were and what they wanted. They answered: -- 

"Our names are Dubh, Dun, and GlasAin [Black, Brown, and Gray]. We have come to find Fin MacCumhail, chief of the Fenians of Erin, and take service with him."

Fin was so well pleased with their looks that he brought them home with him that evening and called them his sons. Then he said, "Every man who comes to this castle must watch the first night for me, and since three of you have come together, each will watch one third of the night. You'll cast lots to see who'll watch first and second."

Fin had the trunk of a tree brought, three equal parts made of it, and one given to each of the men.

Then he said, "When each of you begins his watch he will set fire to his own piece of wood, and so long as the wood burns he will watch."

The lot fell to Dubh to go on the first watch. Dubh set fire to his log, then went out around the castle, the dog Bran with him. He wandered on, going further and further from the castle, and Bran after him. At last he saw a bright light and went towards it. When he came to the place where the light was burning, he saw a large house. He entered the house and when inside saw a great company of most strange looking men, drinking out of a single cup.

The chief of the party, who was sitting on a high place, gave the cup to the man nearest him; and when he had drunk his fill out of it, he passed it to his neighbor, and so on to the last.

While the cup was going the round of the company, the chief said, "This is the great cup that was taken from Fin MacCumhail a hundred years ago; and as much as each man wishes to drink he always gets from it, and no matter how many men there may be, or what they wish for, they always have their fill."

Dubh sat near the door on the edge of the crowd, and when the cup came to him he drank a little, then slipped out and hurried away in the dark; when he came to the fountain at the castle of Fin MacCumhail, his log was burned.

As the second lot had fallen on Dun, it was now his turn to watch, so he set fire to his log and went out, in the place of Dubh, with the dog Bran after him.

Dun walked on through the night till he saw a fire. He went towards it, and when he had come near he saw a large house, which he entered; and when inside he saw a crowd of strange looking men, fighting. They were ferocious, wonderful to look at, and fighting wildly.

The chief, who had climbed on the crossbeams of the house to escape the uproar and struggle, called out to the crowd below: "Stop fighting now; for I have a better gift than the one you have lost this night." And putting his hand behind his belt, he drew out a knife and held it before them, saying: "Here is the wonderful knife, the small knife of division, that was stolen from Fin MacCumhail a hundred years ago, and if you cut on a bone with the knife, you'll get the finest meat in the world, and as much of it as ever your hearts can wish for."

Then he passed down the knife and a bare bone to the man next him, and the man began to cut; and off came slices of the sweetest and best meat in the world.

The knife and the bone passed from man to man till they came to Dun, who cut a slice off the bone, slipped out unseen, and made for Fin's castle as fast as his two legs could carry him through the darkness and over the ground.

When he was by the fountain at the castle, his part of the log was burned and his watch at an end.

Now GlasAin set fire to his stick of wood and went out on his watch and walked forward till he saw the light and came to the same house that Dubh and Dun had visited. Looking in he saw the place full of dead bodies, and thought, "There must be some great wonder here. If I lie down in the midst of these and put some of them over me to hide myself, I shall be able to see what is going on."

He lay down and pulled some of the bodies over himself. He wasn't there long when he saw an old hag coming into the house. She had but one leg, one arm, and one upper tooth, which was as long as her leg and served her in place of a crutch. When inside the door she took up the first corpse she met and threw it aside; it was lean. As she went on she took two bites out of every fat corpse she met, and threw every lean one aside.

She had her fill of flesh and blood before she came to GlasAin; and as soon as she had that, she dropped down on the floor, lay on her back, and went to sleep.

Every breath she drew, GlasAin was afraid she'd drag the roof down on top of his head, and every time she let a breath out of her he thought she'd sweep the roof off the house.

Then he rose up, looked at her, and wondered at the bulk of her body. At last he drew his sword, hit her a slash, and if he did, three young giants sprang forth.

GlasAin killed the first giant, the dog Bran killed the second, and the third ran away.

GlasAin now hurried back, and when he reached the fountain at Fin's castle, his log of wood was burned, and day was dawning.

When all had risen in the morning, and the Fenians of Erin came out, Fin said to Dubh, "Have you anything new or wonderful to tell me after the night's watching?"

"I have," said Dubh; "for I brought back the drinking-cup that you lost a hundred years ago. I was out in the darkness watching. I walked on, and the dog Bran with me till I saw a light. When I came to the light I found a house, and in the house a company feasting. The chief was a very old man, and sat on a high place above the rest. He took out the cup and said: 'This is the cup that was stolen from Fin MacCumhail a hundred years ago, and it is always full of the best drink in the world; and when one of you has drunk from the cup pass it on to the next.'

"They drank and passed the cup till it came to me. I took it and hurried back. When I came here, my log was burned and my watch was finished. Here now is the cup for you," said Dubh to Fin MacCumhail.

Fin praised him greatly for what he had done, and turning to Dun said: "Now tell us what happened in your watch."

"When my turn came I set fire to the log which you gave me, and walked on; the dog Bran following, till I saw a light. When I came to the light, I found a house in which was a crowd of people, all fighting except one very old man on a high place above the rest. He called to them for peace, and told them to be quiet. 'For,' said he, 'I have a better gift for you than the one you lost this night,' and he took out the small knife of division with a bare bone, and said: 'This is the knife that was stolen from Fin MacCumhail, a hundred years ago, and whenever you cut on the bone with the knife, you'll get your fill of the best meat on earth.'

"Then he handed the knife and the bone to the man nearest him, who cut from it all the meat he wanted, and then passed it to his neighbor. The knife went from hand to hand till it came to me, then I took it, slipped out, and hurried away. When I came to the fountain, my log was burned, and here are the knife and bone for you."

"You have done a great work, and deserve my best praise," said Fin. "We are sure of the best eating and drinking as long as we keep the cup and the knife."

"Now what have you seen in your part of the night?" said Fin to GlasAin.

"I went out," said GlasAin, "with the dog Bran, and walked on till I saw a light, and when I came to the light I saw a house, which I entered. Inside were heaps of dead men, killed in fighting, and I wondered greatly when I saw them. At last I lay down in the midst of the corpses, put some of them over me and waited to see what would happen.

"Soon an old hag came in at the door, she had but one arm, one leg, and the one tooth out of her upper jaw, and that tooth as long as her leg, and she used it for a crutch as she hobbled along. She threw aside the first corpse she met and took two bites out of the second, -- for she threw every lean corpse away and took two bites out of every fat one. When she had eaten her fill, she lay down on her back in the middle of the floor and went to sleep. I rose up then to look at her, and every time she drew a breath I was in dread she would bring down the roof of the house on the top of my head, and every time she let a breath out of her, I thought she'd sweep the roof from the building, so strong was the breath of the old hag.

"Then I drew my sword and cut her with a blow, but if I did three young giants sprang up before me. I killed the first, Bran killed the second, but the third escaped. I walked away then, and when I was at the fountain outside, daylight had come and my log was burned."

"Between you and me," said Fin, "it would have been as well if you had let the old hag alone. I am greatly in dread the third young giant will bring trouble on us all."

For twenty-one years Fin MacCumhail and the Fenians of Erin hunted for sport alone. They had the best of eating from the small knife of division, and the best of drinking from the cup that was never dry. At the end of twenty-one years Dubh, Dun, and GlasAin went away, and one day, as Fin and the Fenians of Erin were hunting on the hills and mountains, they saw a Fear Ruadh (a red haired man) coming toward them.

"There is a bright looking man coming this way," said Fin, "and don't you speak to him."

"Oh, what do we care for him?" asked Conan Maol.

"Don't be rude to a stranger," said Fin.

The Fear Ruadh came forward and spoke to no man till he stood before Fin.

"What have you come for?" asked Fin.

"To find a master for twenty-one years."

"What wages do you ask?" inquired Fin.

"No wages but this, -- that if I die before the twenty-one years have passed, I shall be buried on Inis Caol (Light Island)."

"I'll give you those wages," said Fin, and he hired the Fear Ruadh for twenty-one years.

He served Fin for twenty years to his satisfaction; but toward the end of the twenty-first year he fell into a decline, became an old man, and died.

When the Fear Ruadh was dead, the Fenians of Erin said that not a step would they go to bury him; but Fin declared that he wouldn't break his word for any man, and must take the corpse to Inis Caol.

Fin had an old white horse which he had turned out to find a living for himself as he could on the hillsides and in the woods. And now he looked for the horse and found that he had become younger than older in looks since he had put him out. So he took the old white horse and tied a coffin, with the body of the Fear Ruadh in it, on his back. Then they started him on ahead and away he went followed by Fin and twelve men of the Fenians of Erin.

When they came to the temple on Inis Caol there were no signs of the white horse and the coffin; but the temple was open and in went Fin and the twelve.

There were seats for each man inside. They sat down and rested awhile and then Fin tried to rise but couldn't. He told the men to rise, but the twelve were fastened to the seats, and the seats to the ground, so that not a man of them could come to his feet.

"Oh," said Fin, "I'm in dread there is some evil trick played on us."

At that moment the Fear Ruadh stood before them in all his former strength and youth and said: "Now is the time for me to take satisfaction out of you for my mother and brothers," Then one of the men said to Fin, "Chew your thumb to know is there any way out of this."

Fin chewed his thumb to know what should he do. When he knew, he blew the great whistle with his two hands; which was heard by Donogh Kamcosa and Diarmuid O'Duivne.

The Fear Ruadh fell to and killed three of the men; but before he could touch the fourth Donogh and Diarmuid were there, and put an end to him. Now all were free, and Fin with the nine men went back to their castle south of Ballyshannon.




Fin Maccumhail And The Son Of The King Of Alba.


On a day Fin went out hunting with his dog Bran, on Knock an Ar; and he killed so much game that he didn't know what to do with it or how to bring it home. As he stood looking and thinking, all at once he saw a man running towards him, with a rope around his waist so long that half his body was covered with it; and the man was of such size that, as he ran, Fin could see the whole world between his legs and nothing between his head and the sky. When he came up, the man saluted Fin, who answered him most kindly. "Where are you going?" asked Fin. "I am out looking for a master." "Well," said Fin, "I am in sore need of a man; what can you do?" "Do you see this rope on my body? Whatever this rope will bind I can carry." "If that is true," said Fin, "you are the man I want. Do you see the game on this hillside?" "I do," said the man. "Well, put that into the rope and carry it to my castle."

The man put all the game into the rope, made a great bundle, and threw it on his back.

"Show me the way to the castle now," said he. Fin started on ahead, and though he ran with all his might, he could not gain one step on the man who followed with the game. The sentry on guard at the castle saw the man running while yet far off. He stepped inside the gate and said: "There is a man coming with a load on his back as big as a mountain." Before he could come out again to his place the man was there and the load off his back. When the game came to the ground, it shook the castle to its foundations. Next day the man was sent to herd cows for a time, and while he was gone, ConAin Maol said to Fin: "If you don't put this cowherd to death, he will destroy all the Fenians of Erin." "How could I put such a good man to death?" asked Fin. "Send him," said ConAin, "to sow corn on the brink of a lake in the north of Erin. Now, in that lake lives a serpent that never lets a person pass, but swallows every man that goes that way." Fin agreed to this, and the next morning after breakfast he called the man, gave him seven bullocks, a plough, and a sack of grain, and sent him to the lake in the north of Erin to sow corn. When he came to the lake, the man started to plough, drew one furrow. The lake began to boil up, and as he was coming back, making the second furrow, the serpent was on the field before him and swallowed the seven bullocks and the plough up to the handles. But the man held fast to what he had in his two hands, gave a pull, and dragged the plough and six of the bullocks out of the belly of the serpent. The seventh one remained inside. The serpent went at him and they fought for seven days and nights. At the end of that time the serpent was as tame as a cat, and the man drove him and the six bullocks home before him.

When he was in sight of Fin's castle, the sentry at the gate ran in and cried: "That cowherd is coming with the size of a mountain before him!" "Run out," said ConAin Maol, "and tell him to tie the serpent to that oak out there."

They ran out, and the man tied the serpent to the oak-tree, then came in and had a good supper.

Next morning the man went out to herd cows as before. "Well," said ConAin Maol to Fin, "if you don't put this man to death, he'll destroy you and me and all the Fenians of Erin."

"How could I put such a man to death?"

"There is," said ConAin, "a bullock in the north of Erin, and he drives fog out of himself for seven days and then he draws it in for seven other days. To-morrow is the last day for drawing it in. If any one man comes near, he'll swallow him alive."

When the cowherd came to supper in the evening, Fin said to him: "I am going to have a feast and need fresh beef. Now there is a bullock in that same valley by the lake in the north of Erin where you punished the serpent; and if you go there and bring the bullock to me, you'll have my thanks."

"I'll go," said the man, "the first thing after breakfast in the morning."

So off he went next morning; and when he came near the valley, he found the bullock asleep and drawing in the last of the fog; and soon he found himself going in with it. So he caught hold of a great oak-tree for safety. The bullock woke up then and saw him, and letting a roar out of himself, faced him, and gave him a pitch with his horn which sent him seven miles over the top of a wood. And when he fell to the ground, the bullock was on him again before he had time to rise, and gave him another pitch which sent him back and broke three ribs in his body.

"This will never do," said the man, as he rose, and pulling up an oak-tree by the roots for a club, he faced the bullock. And there they were at one another for five days and nights, till the bullock was as tame as a cat and the man drove him home to Fin's castle. The sentry saw them coming and ran inside the gate with word. "Tell the man to tie the bullock to that oak-tree beyond," said ConAin. "We don't want him near this place." The cowherd tied the bullock, and told Fin to send four of the best butchers in Erin to kill him with an axe; and the four of them struck him one after another and any of them couldn't knock him.

"Give me an axe," said the man to the butchers. They gave him the axe, and the first stroke he gave, he knocked the bullock. Then they began to skin him; but the man didn't like the way they were doing the work, so he took his sword and had three quarters of the bullock skinned before they could skin one.

Next morning the cowherd went out with the cows; but he wasn't long gone when ConAin Maol came to Fin and said: "If you don't put an end to that man, he'll soon put an end to you and to me and to all of us, so there won't be a man of the Fenians of Erin left alive."

"How could I put an end to a man like him?" asked Fin.

"There is in the north of Erin," said ConAin, "a wild sow who has two great pigs of her own; and she and her two pigs have bags of poison in their tails; and when they see any man, they run at him and shake their poison bags; and if the smallest drop of the poison touches him, it is death to him that minute. And, if by any chance he should escape the wild sow and the pigs, there is a fox-man called the Gruagach, who has but one eye and that in the middle of his forehead. The Gruagach carries a club of a ton weight, and if the cowherd gets one welt of that club, he'll never trouble the Fenians of Erin again."

Next morning Fin called up the cowherd and said, "I am going to have a feast in this castle, and I would like to have some fresh pork. There is a wild sow in the north of Erin with two pigs, and if you bring her to me before the feast, you'll have my thanks."

"I'll go and bring her to you," said the cowherd. So after breakfast he took his sword, went to the north of Erin, and stole up to the sow and two pigs, and whipped the tails off the three of them, before they knew he was in it. Then he faced the wild sow and fought with her for four days and five nights, and on the morning of the fifth day he knocked her dead. At the last blow, his sword stuck in her backbone and he couldn't draw it out. But with one pull he broke the blade, and stood there over her with only the hilt in his hand. Then he put his foot on one of her jaws, took the other in his hands, and splitting her evenly from the nose to the tail, made two halves of her.

He threw one half on his shoulder; and that minute the big Gruagach with one eye in his head came along and made an offer of his club at him to kill him. But the cowherd jumped aside, and catching the Gruagach by one of his legs, threw him up on to the half of the wild sow on his shoulder, and taking the other half of her from the ground, clapped that on the top of the Gruagach, and ran away to Fin's castle as fast as his legs could carry him.

The sentry at the castle gate ran in and said: "The cowherd is running to the castle, and the size of a mountain on his back." "Go out now," said ConAin Maol, "and stop him where he is, or he'll throw down the castle if he comes here with the load that's on him." But before the sentry was back at his place, the cowherd was at the gate shaking the load off his back and the castle to its foundations, so that every dish and vessel in it was broken to bits.

The Gruagach jumped from the ground, rubbed his legs and every part of him that was sore from the treatment he got. He was so much in dread of the cowherd that he ran with all the strength that was in him, and never stopped to look back till he was in the north of Erin.

Next morning the cowherd went out with the cows, drove them back in the evening, and while picking the thigh-bone of a bullock for his supper, Oscar, son of Oisin, the strongest man of the Fenians of Erin, came up to him and took hold of the bone to pull it from his hand. The cowherd held one end and Oscar the other, and pulled till they made two halves of the bone. "What did you carry away?" asked the cowherd. "What I have in my hand," said Oscar. "And I kept what I held in my fist," said the cowherd. "There is that for you now," said Oscar, and he hit him a slap.

The cowherd said no word in answer, but next morning he asked his wages of Fin. "Oh, then," said Fin, "I'll pay you and welcome, for you are the best man I have ever had or met with."

Then the cowherd went away to Cahirciveen in Kerry where he had an enchanted castle. But before he went he invited Fin MacCumhail and the Fenians of Erin to have a great feast with him. "For," said he to Fin, "I'm not a cowherd at all, but the son of the king of Alba, and I'll give you good cheer."

When the Fenians came to the place, they found the finest castle that could be seen. There were three fires in each room and seven spits at every fire. When they had gone and sat down in their places, there was but one fire in each room. "Rise up, every man of you," said Fin, "or we are lost; for this is an enchanted place."

They tried to rise, but each man was fastened to his seat, and the seat to the floor; and not one of them could stir. Then the last fire went out and they were in darkness.

"Chew your thumb," said ConAin to Fin, "and try is there any way out of here." Fin chewed his thumb and knew what trouble they were in. Then he put his two hands into his mouth and blew the old-time whistle. And this whistle was heard by PogAin and CeolAin, two sons of Fin who were in the North at that time, one fishing and the other hurling.

When they heard the whistle, they said: "Our father and the Fenians of Erin are in trouble." And they faced towards the sound and never stopped till they knocked at the door of the enchanted castle of the son of Alba at Cahirciveen.

"Who is there?" asked Fin.

"Your two sons," said one of them.

"Well," said Fin, "we are in danger of death to-night. That cowherd I had in my service was no cowherd at all, but the son of the king of Alba; and his father has said that he will not eat three meals off one table without having my head. There is an army now on the road to kill us to-night. There is no way in or out of this castle but by one ford, and to that ford the army of the king of Alba is coming."

The two sons of Fin went out at nightfall and stood in the ford before the army. The son of the king of Alba knew them well, and calling each by name, said: "Won't you let us pass?" "We will not," said they; and then the fight began. The two sons of Fin MacCumhail, PogAin and CeolAin, destroyed the whole army and killed every man except the son of the king of Alba.

After the battle the two went back to their father. "We have destroyed the whole army at the ford," said they.

"There is a greater danger ahead," said Fin. "There is an old hag coming with a little pot. She will dip her finger in the pot, touch the lips of the dead men, and bring the whole army to life. But first of all there will be music at the ford, and if you hear the music, you'll fall asleep. Now go, but if you do not overpower the old hag, we are lost."

"We'll do the best we can," said the two sons of Fin.

They were not long at the ford when one said, "I am falling asleep from that music." "So am I," said the other. "Knock your foot down on mine," said the first. The other kicked his foot and struck him, but no use. Then each took his spear and drove it through the foot of the other, but both fell asleep in spite of the spears.

The old hag went on touching the lips of the dead men, who stood up alive; and she was crossing the ford at the head of the army when she stumbled over the two sleeping brothers and spilt what was in the pot over their bodies.

They sprang up fresh and well, and picking up two stones of a ton weight each that were there in the ford, they made for the champions of Alban and never stopped till they killed the last man of them; and then they killed the old hag herself.

PogAin and CeolAin then knocked at the door of the castle.

"Who's there?" asked Fin.

"Your two sons," said they; "and we have killed all the champions of Alban and the old hag as well." "You have more to do yet," said Fin. "There are three kings in the north of Erin who have three silver goblets. These kings are holding a feast in a fort to-day. You must go and cut the heads off the three, put their blood in the goblets and bring them here. When you come, rub the blood on the keyhole of the door and it will open before you. When you come in, rub the seats and we shall all be free."

The three goblets of blood were brought to Cahirciveen, the door of the castle flew open, and light came into every room. The brothers rubbed blood on the chairs of all the Fenians of Erin and freed them all, except ConAin Maol, who had no chair, but sat on the floor with his back to the wall. When they came to him the last drop of blood was gone.

All the Fenians of Erin were hurrying past, anxious to escape, and paid no heed to ConAin, who had never a good word in his mouth for any man. Then ConAin turned to Diarmuid, and said: "If a woman were here in place of me, you wouldn't leave her to die this way." Then Diarmuid turned, took him by one hand, and Goll MacMorna by the other, and pulling with all their might, tore him from the wall and the floor. But if they did, he left all the skin of his back from his head to his heels on the floor and the wall behind him. But when they were going home through the hills of Tralee, they found a sheep on the way, killed it, and clapped the skin on ConAin. The sheepskin grew to his body; and he was so well and strong that they sheared him every year, and got wool enough from his back to make flannel and frieze for the Fenians of Erin ever after.




Cuculin.


There was a king in a land not far from Greece who had two daughters, and the younger was fairer than the elder daughter.

This old king made a match between the king of Greece and his own elder daughter; but he kept the younger one hidden away till after the marriage. Then the younger daughter came forth to view; and when the king of Greece saw her, he wouldn't look at his own wife. Nothing would do him but to get the younger sister and leave the elder at home with her father.

The king wouldn't listen to this, wouldn't agree to the change, so the king of Greece left his wife where she was, went home alone in a terrible rage and collected all his forces to march against the kingdom of his father-in-law.

He soon conquered the king and his army and, so far as he was able, he vexed and tormented him. To do this the more completely, he took from him a rod of Druidic spells, enchantment, and ring of youth which he had, and, striking the elder sister with the rod, he said: "You will be a serpent of the sea and live outside there in the bay by the castle."

Then turning to the younger sister, whose name was Gil an Og, he struck her, and said: "You'll be a cat while inside this castle, and have your own form only when you are outside the walls."

After he had done this, the king of Greece went home to his own country, taking with him the rod of enchantment and the ring of youth. The king died in misery and grief, leaving his two daughters spellbound.

Now there was a Druid in that kingdom, and the younger sister went to consult him, and asked: "Shall I ever be released from the enchantment that's on me now?"

"You will not, unless you find the man to release you; and there is no man in the world to do that but a champion who is now with Fin MacCumhail in Erin."

"Well, how can I find that man?" asked she.

"I will tell you," said the Druid. "Do you make a shirt out of your own hair, take it with you, and never stop till you land in Erin and find Fin and his men; the man that the shirt will fit is the man who will release you."

She began to make the shirt and worked without stopping till it was finished. Then she went on her journey and never rested till she came to Erin in a ship. She went on shore and inquired where Fin and his men were to be found at that time of the year.

"You will find them at Knock an Ar," was the answer she got.

She went to Knock an Ar carrying the shirt with her. The first man she met was Conan Maol, and she said to him: "I have come to find the man this shirt will fit. From the time one man tries it all must try till I see the man it fits."

The shirt went from hand to hand till Cuculin put it on. "Well," said she, "it fits as your own skin."

Now Gil an Og told Cuculin all that had happened, -- how her father had forced her sister to marry the king of Greece, how this king had made war on her father, enchanted her sister and herself, and carried off the rod of enchantment with the ring of youth, and how the old Druid said the man this shirt would fit was the only man in the world who could release them.

Now Gil an Og and Cuculin went to the ship and sailed across the seas to her country and went to her castle.

"You'll have no one but a cat for company to-night," said Gil an Og. "I have the form of a cat inside this castle, but outside I have my own appearance. Your dinner is ready, go in."

After the dinner Cuculin went to another room apart, and lay down to rest after the journey. The cat came to his pillow, sat there and purred till he fell asleep and slept soundly till morning.

When he rose up, a basin of water, and everything he needed was before him, and his breakfast ready. He walked out after breakfast; Gil an Og was on the green outside before him and said:

"If you are not willing to free my sister and myself, I shall not urge you; but if you do free us, I shall be glad and thankful. Many king's sons and champions before you have gone to recover the ring and the rod; but they have never come back."

"Well, whether I thrive or not, I'll venture," said Cuculin.

"I will give you," said Gil an Og, "a present such as I have never given before to any man who ventured out on my behalf; I will give you the speckled boat."

Cuculin took leave of Gil an Og and sailed away in the speckled boat to Greece, where he went to the king's court, and challenged him to combat.

The king of Greece gathered his forces and sent them out to chastise Cuculin. He killed them all to the last man. Then Cuculin challenged the king a second time.

"I have no one now to fight but myself," said the king; "and I don't think it becomes me to go out and meet the like of you."

"If you don't come out to me," said Cuculin, "I'll go in to you and cut the head off you in your own castle."

"That's enough of impudence from you, you scoundrel," said the king of Greece. "I won't have you come into my castle, but I'll meet you on the open plain."

The king went out, and they fought till Cuculin got the better of him, bound him head and heels, and said: "I'll cut the head off you now unless you give me the ring of youth and the rod of enchantment that you took from the father of Gil an Og."

"Well, I did carry them away," said the king, "but it wouldn't be easy for me now to give them to you or to her; for there was a man who came and carried them away, who could take them from you and from me, and from as many more of us, if they were here."

"Who was that man?" asked Cuculin.

"His name," said the king, "is Lug[12] Longhand. And if I had known what you wanted, there would have been no difference between us. I'll tell you how I lost the ring and rod and I'll go with you and show you where Lug Longhand lives. But do you come to my castle. We'll have a good time together."

[12] Pronounced "Loog."

They set out next day, and never stopped till they came opposite Lug Longhand castle, and Cuculin challenged his forces to combat.

"I have no forces," said Lug, "but I'll fight you myself." So the combat began, and they spent the whole day at one another, and neither gained the victory.

The king of Greece himself put up a tent on the green in front of the castle, and prepared everything necessary to eat and drink (there was no one else to do it). After breakfast next day, Cuculin and Lug began fighting again. The king of Greece looked on as the day before.

They fought the whole day till near evening, when Cuculin got the upper hand of Lug Longhand and bound him head and heels, saying: "I'll cut the head off you now unless you give me the rod and the ring that you carried away from the king of Greece."

"Oh, then," said Lug, "it would be hard for me to give them to you or to him; for forces came and took them from me; and they would have taken them from you and from him, if you had been here."

"Who in the world took them from you?" asked the king of Greece.

"Release me from this bond, and come to my castle, and I'll tell you the whole story," said Lug Longhand.

Cuculin released him, and they went to the castle. They got good reception and entertainment from Lug that night, and the following morning as well. He said: "The ring and the rod were taken from me by the knight of the island of the Flood. This island is surrounded by a chain, and there is a ring of fire seven miles wide between the chain and the castle. No man can come near the island without breaking the chain, and the moment the chain is broken the fire stops burning at that place; and the instant the fire goes down the knight rushes out and attacks and slays every man that's before him." The king of Greece, Cuculin, and Lug Longhand now sailed on in the speckled boat towards the island of the Flood. On the following morning when the speckled boat struck the chain, she was thrown back three days' sail, and was near being sunk, and would have gone to the bottom of the sea but for her own goodness and strength.

As soon as Cuculin saw what had happened, he took the oars, rowed on again, and drove the vessel forward with such venom that she cut through the chain and went one third of her length on to dry land. That moment the fire was quenched where the vessel struck, and when the knight of the Island saw the fire go out, he rushed to the shore and met Cuculin, the king of Greece, and Lug Longhand.

When Cuculin saw him, he threw aside his weapons, caught him, raised him above his head, hurled him down on the flat of his back, bound him head and heels, and said: "I'll cut the head off you unless you give me the ring and the rod that you carried away from Lug Longhand."

"I took them from him, it's true," said the knight; "but it would be hard for me to give them to you now; for a man came and took them from me, who would have taken them from you and all that are with you, and as many more if they had been here before him."

"Who in the world could that man be?" asked Cuculin.

"The Dark Gruagach of the Northern Island. Release me, and come to my castle. I'll tell you all and entertain you well."

He took them to his castle, gave them good cheer, and told them all about the Gruagach and his island. Next morning all sailed away in Cuculin's vessel, which they had left at the shore of the island, and never stopped till they came to the Gruagach's castle, and pitched their tents in front of it.

Then Cuculin challenged the Gruagach. The others followed after to know would he thrive. The Gruagach came out and faced Cuculin, and they began and spent the whole day at one another and neither of them gained the upper hand. When evening came, they stopped and prepared for supper and the night.

Next day after breakfast Cuculin challenged the Gruagach again, and they fought till evening; when Cuculin got the better in the struggle, disarmed the Gruagach, bound him, and said: "Unless you give up the rod of enchantment and the ring of youth that you took from the knight of the island of the Flood, I'll cut the head off you now."

"I took them from him, 'tis true; but there was a man named Thin-in-Iron, who took them from me, and he would have taken them from you and from me, and all that are here, if there were twice as many. He is such a man that sword cannot cut him, fire cannot burn him, water cannot drown him, and 'tis no easy thing to get the better of him. But if you'll free me now and come to my castle, I'll treat you well and tell you all about him." Cuculin agreed to this.

Next morning they would not stop nor be satisfied till they went their way. They found the castle of Thin-in-Iron, and Cuculin challenged him to combat. They fought; and he was cutting the flesh from Cuculin, but Cuculin's sword cut no flesh from him. They fought till Cuculin said: "It is time now to stop till to-morrow."

Cuculin was scarcely able to reach the tent. They had to support him and put him to bed. Now, who should come to Cuculin that night but Gil an Og, and she said: "You have gone further than any man before you, and I'll cure you now, and you need go no further for the rod of enchantment and the ring of youth."

"Well," said Cuculin, "I'll never give over till I knock another day's trial out of Thin-in-Iron."

When it was time for rest, Gil an Og went away, and Cuculin fell asleep for himself. On the following morning all his comrades were up and facing his tent. They thought to see him dead, but he was in as good health as ever.

They prepared breakfast, and after breakfast Cuculin went before the door of the castle to challenge his enemy.

Thin-in-Iron thrust his head out and said: "That man I fought yesterday has come again to-day. It would have been a good deed if I had cut the head off him last night. Then he wouldn't be here to trouble me this morning. I won't come home this day till I bring his head with me. Then I'll have peace."

They met in combat and fought till the night was coming. Then Thin-in-Iron cried out for a cessation, and if he did, Cuculin was glad to give it; for his sword had no effect upon Thin-in-Iron except to tire and nearly kill him (he was enchanted and no arms could cut him). When Thin-in-Iron went to his castle, he threw up three sups of blood, and said to his housekeeper: "Though his sword could not penetrate me, he has nearly broken my heart."

Cuculin had to be carried to his tent. His comrades laid him on his bed and said: "Whoever came and healed him yesterday, may be the same will be here to-night." They went away and were not long gone when Gil an Og came and said: "Cuculin, if you had done my bidding, you wouldn't be as you are to-night. But if you neglect my words now, you'll never see my face again. I'll cure you this time and make you as well as ever;" and whatever virtue she had she healed him so he was as strong as before.

"Oh, then," said Cuculin, "whatever comes on me I'll never turn back till I knock another day's trial out of Thin-in-Iron."

"Well," said she, "you are a stronger man than he, but there is no good in working at him with a sword. Throw your sword aside to-morrow, and you'll get the better of him and bind him. You'll not see me again."

She went away and he fell asleep. His comrades came in the morning and found him sleeping. They got breakfast, and, after eating, Cuculin went out and called a challenge.

"Oh, 'tis the same man as yesterday," said Thin-in-Iron, "and if I had cut the head off him then, it wouldn't be he that would trouble me to-day. If I live for it, I'll bring his head in my hand to-night, and he'll never disturb me again."

When Cuculin saw Thin-in-Iron coming, he threw his sword aside, and facing him, caught him by the body, raised him up, then dashed him to the ground, and said, "If you don't give me what I want, I'll cut the head off you."

"What do you want of me?" asked Thin-in-Iron.

"I want the rod of enchantment and the ring of youth you carried from the Gruagach."

"I did indeed carry them from him, but it would be no easy thing for me to give them to you or any other man; for a force came which took them from me."

"What could take them from you?" asked Cuculin.

"The queen of the Wilderness, an old hag that has them now. But release me from this bondage and I'll take you to my castle and entertain you well, and I'll go with you and the rest of the company to see how will you thrive."

So he took Cuculin and his friends to the castle and entertained them joyously, and he said: "The old hag, the queen of the Wilderness, lives in a round tower, which is always turning on wheels. There is but one entrance to the tower, and that high above the ground, and in the one chamber in which she lives, keeping the ring and the rod, is a chair, and she has but to sit on the chair and wish herself in any part of the world, and that moment she is there. She has six lines of guards protecting her tower, and if you pass all of these, you'll do what no man before you has done to this day. The first guards are two lions that rush out to know which of them will get the first bite out of the throat of any one that tries to pass. The second are seven men with iron hurlies and an iron ball, and with their hurlies they wallop the life out of any man that goes their way. The third is Hung-up-Naked, who hangs on a tree with his toes to the earth, his head cut from his shoulders and lying on the ground, and who kills every man who comes near him. The fourth is the bull of the Mist that darkens the woods for seven miles around, and destroys everything that enters the Mist. The fifth are seven cats with poison tails; and one drop of their poison would kill the strongest man."

Next morning all went with Cuculin as far as the lions who guarded the queen of the Wilderness, an old hag made young by the ring of youth. The two lions ran at Cuculin to see which would have the first bite out of him.

Cuculin wore a red silk scarf around his neck and had a fine head of hair. He cut the hair off his head and wound it around one hand, took his scarf and wrapped it around the other. Then rushing at the lions, he thrust a hand down the throat of each lion (for lions can bite neither silk nor hair). He pulled the livers and lights out of the two and they fell dead before him. His comrades looking on, said: "You'll thrive now since you have done this deed;" and they left him and went home, each to his own country.

Cuculin went further. The next people he met were the seven men with the iron hurlies (ball clubs), and they said; "'Tis long since any man walked this way to us; we'll have sport now."

The first one said: "Give him a touch of the hurly and let the others do the same; and we'll wallop him till he is dead."

Now Cuculin drew his sword and cut the head off the first man before he could make an offer of the hurly at him; and then he did the same to the other six.

He went on his way till he came to Hung-up-Naked, who was hanging from a tree, his head on the ground near him. The queen of the Wilderness had fastened him to the tree because he wouldn't marry her; and she said: "If any man comes who will put your head on you, you'll be free." And she laid the injunction on him to kill every man who tried to pass his way without putting the head on him.

Cuculin went up, looked at him, and saw heaps of bones around the tree. The body said: "You can't go by here. I fight with every man who tries to pass."

"Well, I'm not going to fight with a man unless he has a head on him. Take your head." And Cuculin, picking up the head, clapped it on the body, and said, "Now I'll fight with you!"

The man said: "I'm all right now. I know where you are going. I'll stay here till you come; if you conquer you'll not forget me. Take the head off me now; put it where you found it; and if you succeed, remember that I shall be here before you on your way home."

Cuculin went on, but soon met the bull of the Mist that covered seven miles of the wood with thick mist. When the bull saw him, he made at him and stuck a horn in his ribs and threw him three miles into the wood, against a great oak tree and broke three ribs in his side.

"Well," said Cuculin, when he recovered, "if I get another throw like that, I'll not be good for much exercise." He was barely on his feet when the bull was at him again; but when he came up he caught the bull by both horns and away they went wrestling and struggling. For three days and nights Cuculin kept the bull in play, till the morning of the fourth day, when he put him on the flat of his back. Then he turned him on the side, and putting a foot on one horn and taking the other in his two hands, he said: "'Tis well I earned you; there is not a stitch on me that isn't torn to rags from wrestling with you." He pulled the bull asunder from his horns to his tail, into two equal parts, and said: "Now that I have you in two, it's in quarters I'll put you." He took his sword, and when he struck the backbone of the bull, the sword remained in the bone and he couldn't pull it out.

He walked away and stood awhile and looked. "'Tis hard to say," said he, "that any good champion would leave his sword behind him." So he went back and made another pull and took the hilt off his sword, leaving the blade in the back of the bull. Then he went away tattered and torn, the hilt in his hand, and he turned up towards the forge of the Strong Smith. One of the Smith's boys was out for coal at the time: he saw Cuculin coming with the hilt in his hand, and ran in, saying: "There is a man coming up and he looks like a fool; we'll have fun!"

"Hold your tongue!" said the master. "Have you heard any account of the bull of the Mist these three days?"

"We have not," said the boys.

"Perhaps," said the Strong Smith, "that's a good champion that's coming, and do you mind yourselves."

At that moment Cuculin walked in to the forge where twelve boys and the master were working. He saluted them and asked, "Can you put a blade in this hilt?"

"We can," said the master. They put in the blade. Cuculin raised the sword and took a shake out of it and broke it to bits.

"This is a rotten blade," said he. "Go at it again."

They made a second blade. The boys were in dread of him now. He broke the second blade in the same way as the first. They made six blades, one stronger than the other. He did the same to them all. "There is no use in talking," said the Strong Smith; "we have no stuff that would make a right blade for you. Go down now," said he to two of the boys, "and bring up an old sword that's down in the stable full of rust."

They went and brought up the sword on two hand-spikes between them; it was so heavy that one couldn't carry it. They gave it to Cuculin, and with one blow on his heel he knocked the dust from it and went out at the door and took a shake out of it; and if he did, he darkened the whole place with the rust from the blade.

"This is my sword, whoever made it," said he.

"It is," said the master; "it's yours and welcome. I know who you are now, and where you are going. Remember that I'm in bondage here." The Strong Smith took Cuculin then to his house, gave him refreshment and clothes for the journey. When he was ready, the Smith said: "I hope you'll thrive. You have done a deal more than any man that ever walked this way before. There is nothing now to stand in your way till you come to the seven cats outside the turning tower. If they shake their tails and a drop of poison comes on you, it will penetrate to your heart. You must sweep off their tails with your sword. 'Tis equal to you what their bodies will do after that."

Cuculin soon came to them and there wasn't one of the seven cats he didn't strip of her tail before she knew he was in it. He cared nothing for the bodies so he had the tails. The cats ran away.

Now he faced the tower turning on wheels. The queen of the Wilderness was in it. He had been told by Thin-in-Iron that he must cut the axle. He found the axle, cut it, and the tower stopped that instant. Cuculin made a spring and went in through the single passage.

The old hag was preparing to sit on the chair as she saw him coming. He sprang forward, pushed the chair away with one hand, and, catching her by the back of the neck with the other, said: "You are to lose your head now, old woman!"

"Spare me, and what you want you'll get," said she. "I have the ring of youth and the rod of enchantment," and she gave them to him. He put the ring on his finger, and saying, "You'll never do mischief again to man!" he turned her face to the entrance, and gave her a kick. Out she flew through the opening and down to the ground, where she broke her neck and died on the spot.

Cuculin made the Strong Smith king over all the dominions of the queen of the Wilderness, and proclaimed that any person in the country who refused to obey the new king would be put to death.

Cuculin turned back at once, and travelled till he came to Hung-up-Naked. He took him down, and putting the head on his body, struck him a blow of the rod and made the finest looking man of him that could be found. The man went back to his own home happy and well.

Cuculin never stopped till he came to the castle of Gil an Og. She was outside with a fine welcome before him; and why not, to be sure, for he had the rod of enchantment and the ring of youth!

When she entered the castle and took the form of a cat, he struck her a blow of the rod and she gained the same form and face she had before the king of Greece struck her. Then he asked, "Where is your sister?" "In the lake there outside," answered Gil an Og, "in the form of a sea-serpent." She went out with him, and the moment they came to the edge of the lake the sister rose up near them. Then Cuculin struck her with the rod and she came to land in her own shape and countenance.

Next day they saw a deal of vessels facing the harbor, and what should they be but a fleet of ships, and on the ships were the king of Greece, Lug Longhand, the knight of the island of the Flood, the Dark Gruagach of the Northern Island and Thin-in-Iron: and they came each in his own vessel to know was there any account of Cuculin. There was good welcome for them all, and when they had feasted and rejoiced together Cuculin married Gil an Og. The king of Greece took Gil an Og's sister, who was his own wife at first, and went home.

Cuculin went away himself with his wife Gil an Og, never stopping till he came to Erin; and when he came, Fin MacCumhail and his men were at KilConaly, near the river Shannon.

When Cuculin went from Erin he left a son whose mother was called the Virago of Alba: she was still alive and the son was eighteen years old. When she heard that Cuculin had brought Gil an Og to Erin, she was enraged with jealousy and madness. She had reared the son, whose name was ConlAin, like any king's son, and now giving him his arms of a champion she told him to go to his father.

"I would," said he, "if I knew who my father is."

"His name is Cuculin, and he is with Fin MacCumhail. I bind you not to yield to any man," said she to her son, "nor tell your name to any man till you fight him out."

ConlAin started from Ulster where his mother was, and never stopped till he was facing Fin and his men, who were hunting that day along the cliffs of KilConaly.

When the young man came up Fin said, "There is a single man facing us."

Conan Maol said, "Let some one go against him, ask who he is and what he wants."

"I never give an account of myself to any man," said ConlAin, "till I get an account from him."

"There is no man among us," said Conan, "bound in that way but Cuculin." They called on Cuculin; he came up and the two fought. ConlAin knew by the description his mother had given that Cuculin was his father, but Cuculin did not know his son. Every time ConlAin aimed his spear he threw it so as to strike the ground in front of Cuculin's toe, but Cuculin aimed straight at him.

They were at one another three days and three nights. The son always sparing the father, the father never sparing the son.

Conan Maol came to them the fourth morning. "Cuculin," said he, "I didn't expect to see any man standing against you three days, and you such a champion."

When ConlAin heard Conan Maol urging the father to kill him, he gave a bitter look at Conan, and forgot his guard. Cuculin's spear went through his head that minute, and he fell. "I die of that blow from my father," said he.

"Are you my son?" said Cuculin.

"I am," said ConlAin.

Cuculin took his sword and cut the head off him sooner than leave him in the punishment and pain he was in. Then he faced all the people, and Fin was looking on.

"There's trouble on Cuculin," said Fin. "Chew your thumb," said Conan Maol, "to know what's on him."

Fin chewed his thumb, and said, "Cuculin is after killing his own son, and if I and all my men were to face him before his passion cools, at the end of seven days, he'd destroy every man of us."

"Go now," said Conan, "and bind him to go down to Bale strand and give seven days' fighting against the waves of the sea, rather than kill us all."

So Fin bound him to go down. When he went to Bale strand Cuculin found a great white stone. He grasped his sword in his right hand and cried out: "If I had the head of the woman who sent her son into peril of death at my hand, I'd split it as I split this stone," and he made four quarters of the stone. Then he strove with the waves seven days and nights till he fell from hunger and weakness, and the waves went over him.




Oisin In Tir Na N-Og.


There was a king in Tir na n-Og (the land of Youth) who held the throne and crown for many a year against all comers; and the law of the kingdom was that every seventh year the champions and best men of the country should run for the office of king.

Once in seven years they all met at the front of the palace and ran to the top of a hill two miles distant. On the top of that hill was a chair and the man that sat first in the chair was king of Tir na n-Og for the next seven years. After he had ruled for ages, the king became anxious; he was afraid that some one might sit in the chair before him, and take the crown off his head. So he called up his Druid one day and asked: "How long shall I keep the chair to rule this land, and will any man sit in it before me and take the crown off my head?"

"You will keep the chair and the crown forever," said the Druid, "unless your own son-in-law takes them from you."

The king had no sons and but one daughter, the finest woman in Tir na n-Og; and the like of her could not be found in Erin or any kingdom in the world. When the king heard the words of the Druid, he said, "I'll have no son-in-law, for I'll put the daughter in a way no man will marry her."

Then he took a rod of Druidic spells, and calling the daughter up before him, he struck her with the rod, and put a pig's head on her in place of her own. Then he sent the daughter away to her own place in the castle, and turning to the Druid said: "There is no man that will marry her now."

When the Druid saw the face that was on the princess with the pig's head that the father gave her, he grew very sorry that he had given such information to the king; and some time after he went to see the princess.

"Must I be in this way forever?" asked she of the Druid.

"You must," said he, "till you marry one of the sons of Fin MacCumhail in Erin. If you marry one of Fin's sons, you'll be freed from the blot that is on you now, and get back your own head and countenance."

When she heard this she was impatient in her mind, and could never rest till she left Tir na n-Og and came to Erin. When she had inquired she heard that Fin and the Fenians of Erin were at that time living on Knock an Ar, and she made her way to the place without delay and lived there a while; and when she saw Oisin, he pleased her; and when she found out that he was a son of Fin MacCumhail, she was always making up to him and coming towards him. And it was usual for the Fenians in those days to go out hunting on the hills and mountains and in the woods of Erin, and when one of them went he always took five or six men with him to bring home the game.

On a day Oisin set out with his men and dogs to the woods; and he went so far and killed so much game that when it was brought together, the men were so tired, weak, and hungry that they couldn't carry it, but went away home and left him with the three dogs, Bran, SciolAin, and BuglA(C)n,[13] to shift for himself.

[13] Celebrated dogs of Fin MacCumhail.

Now the daughter of the king of Tir na n-Og, who was herself the queen of Youth, followed closely in the hunt all that day, and when the men left Oisin she came up to him; and as he stood looking at the great pile of game and said, "I am very sorry to leave behind anything that I've had the trouble of killing," she looked at him and said, "Tie up a bundle for me, and I'll carry it to lighten the load off you."

Oisin gave her a bundle of the game to carry, and took the remainder himself. The evening was very warm and the game heavy, and after they had gone some distance, Oisin said, "Let us rest a while." Both threw down their burdens, and put their backs against a great stone that was by the roadside. The woman was heated and out of breath, and opened her dress to cool herself. Then Oisin looked at her and saw her beautiful form and her white bosom.

"Oh, then," said he, "it's a pity you have the pig's head on you; for I have never seen such an appearance on a woman in all my life before."

"Well," said she, "my father is the king of Tir na n-Og, and I was the finest woman in his kingdom and the most beautiful of all, till he put me under a Druidic spell and gave me the pig's head that's on me now in place of my own. And the Druid of Tir na n-Og came to me afterwards, and told me that if one of the sons of Fin MacCumhail would marry me, the pig's head would vanish, and I should get back my face in the same form as it was before my father struck me with the Druid's wand. When I heard this I never stopped till I came to Erin, where I found your father and picked you out among the sons of Fin MacCumhail, and followed you to see would you marry me and set me free."

"If that is the state you are in, and if marriage with me will free you from the spell, I'll not leave the pig's head on you long."

So they got married without delay, not waiting to take home the game or to lift it from the ground. That moment the pig's head was gone, and the king's daughter had the same face and beauty that she had before her father struck her with the Druidic wand.

"Now," said the queen of Youth to Oisin, "I cannot stay here long, and unless you come with me to Tir na n-Og we must part."

"Oh," said Oisin, "wherever you go I'll go, and wherever you turn I'll follow."

Then she turned and Oisin went with her, not going back to Knock an Ar to see his father or his son. That very day they set out for Tir na n-Og and never stopped till they came to her father's castle; and when they came, there was a welcome before them, for the king thought his daughter was lost. That same year there was to be a choice of a king, and when the appointed day came at the end of the seventh year all the great men and the champions, and the king himself, met together at the front of the castle to run and see who should be first in the chair on the hill; but before a man of them was halfway to the hill, Oisin was sitting above in the chair before them. After that time no one stood up to run for the office against Oisin, and he spent many a happy year as king in Tir na n-Og. At last he said to his wife: "I wish I could be in Erin to-day to see my father and his men."

"If you go," said his wife, "and set foot on the land of Erin, you'll never come back here to me, and you'll become a blind old man. How long do you think it is since you came here?"

"About three years," said Oisin. "It is three hundred years," said she, "since you came to this kingdom with me. If you must go to Erin, I'll give you this white steed to carry you; but if you come down from the steed or touch the soil of Erin with your foot, the steed will come back that minute, and you'll be where he left you, a poor old man."

"I'll come back, never fear," said Oisin. "Have I not good reason to come back? But I must see my father and my son and my friends in Erin once more; I must have even one look at them."

She prepared the steed for Oisin and said, "This steed will carry you wherever you wish to go."

Oisin never stopped till the steed touched the soil of Erin; and he went on till he came to Knock Patrick in Munster, where he saw a man herding cows. In the field, where the cows were grazing there was a broad flat stone.

"Will you come here," said Oisin to the herdsman, "and turn over this stone?"

"Indeed, then, I will not," said the herdsman; "for I could not lift it, nor twenty men more like me."

Oisin rode up to the stone, and, reaching down, caught it with his hand and turned it over. Underneath the stone was the great horn of the Fenians (borabu), which circled round like a seashell, and it was the rule that when any of the Fenians of Erin blew the borabu, the others would assemble at once from whatever part of the country they might be in at the time.

"Will you bring this horn to me!" asked Oisin of the herdsman.

"I will not," said the herdsman; "for neither I nor many more like me could raise it from the ground." With that Oisin moved near the horn, and reaching down took it in his hand; but so eager was he to blow it, that he forgot everything, and slipped in reaching till one foot touched the earth. In an instant the steed was gone, and Oisin lay on the ground a blind old man. The herdsman went to Saint Patrick, who lived near by, and told him what had happened.

Saint Patrick sent a man and a horse for Oisin, brought him to his own house, gave him a room by himself, and sent a boy to stay with him to serve and take care of him. And Saint Patrick commanded his cook to send Oisin plenty of meat and drink, to give him bread and beef and butter every day.

Now Oisin lived a while in this way. The cook sent him provisions each day, and Saint Patrick himself asked him all kinds of questions about the old times of the Fenians of Erin. Oisin told him about his father, Fin MacCumhail, about himself, his son Osgar, Goll MacMorna, Conan Maol, Diarmuid, and all the Fenian heroes; how they fought, feasted, and hunted, how they came under Druidic spells, and how they were freed from them.

At the same time, Saint Patrick was putting up a great building; but what his men used to put up in the daytime was levelled at night, and Saint Patrick lamented over his losses in the hearing of Oisin. Then Oisin said in the hearing of Saint Patrick, "If I had my strength and my sight, I'd put a stop to the power that is levelling your work."

"Do you think you'd be able to do that," said Saint Patrick, "and let my building go on?"

"I do, indeed," said Oisin. So Saint Patrick prayed to the Lord, and the sight and strength came back to Oisin. He went to the woods and got a great club and stood at the building on guard.

What should come in the night but a great beast in the form of a bull, which began to uproot and destroy the work. But if he did Oisin faced him, and the battle began hot and heavy between the two; but in the course of the night Oisin got the upper hand of the bull and left him dead before the building. Then he stretched out on the ground himself and fell asleep.

Now Saint Patrick was waiting at home to know how would the battle come out, and thinking Oisin too long away he sent a messenger to the building; and when the messenger came he saw the ground torn up, a hill in one place and a hollow in the next. The bull was dead and Oisin sleeping after the desperate battle. He went back and told what he saw.

"Oh," said Saint Patrick, "it's better to knock the strength out of him again; for he'll kill us all if he gets vexed."

Saint Patrick took the strength out of him, and when Oisin woke up he was a blind old man and the messenger went out and brought him home.

Oisin lived on for a time as before. The cook sent him his food, the boy served him, and Saint Patrick listened to the stories of the Fenians of Erin.

Saint Patrick had a neighbor, a Jew, a very rich man but the greatest miser in the kingdom, and he had the finest haggart of corn in Erin. Well, the Jew and Saint Patrick got very intimate with one another and so great became the friendship of the Jew for Saint Patrick at last, that he said he'd give him, for the support of his house, as much corn as one man could thrash out of the haggart[14] in a day.

[14] Haggart, hay-yard.

When Saint Patrick went home after getting the promise of the corn, he told in the hearing of Oisin about what the Jew had said.

"Oh, then," said Oisin, "if I had my sight and strength, I'd thrash as much corn in one day as would do your whole house for a twelvemonth and more."

"Will you do that for me?" said Saint Patrick.

"I will," said Oisin.

Saint Patrick prayed again to the Lord, and the sight and strength came back to Oisin. He went to the woods next morning at daybreak, Oisin did, pulled up two fine ash-trees and made a flail of them. After eating his breakfast he left the house and never stopped till he faced the haggart of the Jew. Standing before one of the stacks of wheat he hit it a wallop of his flail and broke it asunder. He kept on in this way till he slashed the whole haggart to and fro, -- and the Jew running like mad up and down the highroad in front of the haggart, tearing the hair from his head when he saw what was doing to his wheat, and the face gone from him entirely he was so in dread of Oisin.

When the haggart was thrashed clean, Oisin went to Saint Patrick and told him to send his men for the wheat; for he had thrashed out the whole haggart. When Saint Patrick saw the countenance that was on Oisin, and heard what he had done he was greatly in dread of him, and knocked the strength out of him again, and Oisin became an old, blind man as before.

Saint Patrick's men went to the haggart and there was so much wheat they didn't bring the half of it away with them and they didn't want it.

Oisin again lived for a while as before and then he was vexed because the cook didn't give him what he wanted. He told Saint Patrick that he wasn't getting enough to eat. Then Saint Patrick called up the cook before himself and Oisin and asked her what she was giving Oisin to eat. She said: "I give him at every meal what bread is baked on a large griddle and all the butter I make in one churn, and a quarter of beef besides."

"That ought to be enough for you," said Saint Patrick.

"Oh, then," said Oisin, turning to the cook, "I have often seen the leg of a blackbird bigger than the quarter of beef you give me, I have often seen an ivy leaf bigger than the griddle on which you bake the bread for me, and I have often seen a single rowan berry [the mountain ash berry] bigger than the bit of butter you give me to eat."

"You lie!" said the cook, "you never did."

Oisin said not a word in answer.

Now there was a hound in the place that was going to have her first whelps, and Oisin said to the boy who was tending him: "Do you mind and get the first whelp she'll have and drown the others."

Next morning the boy found three whelps, and coming back to Oisin, said: "There are three whelps and 'tis unknown which of them is the first."

At Saint Patrick's house they had slaughtered an ox the day before, and Oisin said: "Go now and bring the hide of the ox and hang it up in this room." When the hide was hung up Oisin said, "Bring here the three whelps and throw them up against the hide." The boy threw up one of the whelps against the oxhide. "What did he do?" asked Oisin.

"What did he do," said the boy, "but fall to the ground."

"Throw up another," said Oisin. The boy threw another. "What did he do?" asked Oisin.

"What did he do but to fall the same as the first."

The third whelp was thrown and he held fast to the hide, -- didn't fall. "What did he do?" asked Oisin.

"Oh," said the boy, "he kept his hold."

"Take him down," said Oisin; "give him to the mother: bring both in here; feed the mother well and drown the other two."

The boy did as he was commanded, and fed the two well, and when the whelp grew up the mother was banished, the whelp chained up and fed for a year and a day. And when the year and a day were spent, Oisin said, "We'll go hunting to-morrow, and we'll take the dog with us."

They went next day, the boy guiding Oisin, holding the dog by a chain. They went first to the place where Oisin had touched earth and lost the magic steed from Tir na n-Og. The borabu of the Fenians of Erin was lying on the ground there still. Oisin took it up and they went on to Glen na Smuil (Thrush's Glen). When at the edge of the glen Oisin began to sound the borabu. Birds and beasts of every kind came hurrying forward. He blew the horn till the glen was full of them from end to end.

"What do you see now?" asked he of the boy.

"The glen is full of living things."

"What is the dog doing?" "He is looking ahead and his hair is on end."

"Do you see anything else?"

"I see a great bird all black settling down on the north side of the glen."

"That's what I want," said Oisin; "what is the dog doing now?"

"Oh, the eyes are coming out of his head, and there isn't a rib of hair on his body that isn't standing up."

"Let him go now," said Oisin. The boy let slip the chain and the dog rushed through the glen killing everything before him. When all the others were dead he turned to the great blackbird and killed that. Then he faced Oisin and the boy and came bounding toward them with venom and fierceness. Oisin drew out of his bosom a brass ball and said: "If you don't throw this into the dog's mouth he'll destroy us both; knock the dog with the ball or he'll tear us to pieces."

"Oh," said the boy, "I'll never be able to throw the ball, I'm so in dread of the dog."

"Come here at my back, then," said Oisin, "and straighten my hand towards the dog." The boy directed the hand and Oisin threw the ball into the dog's mouth and killed him on the spot.

"What have we done?" asked Oisin.

"Oh, the dog is knocked," said the boy.

"We are all right then," said Oisin, "and do you lead me now to the blackbird of the carn, I don't care for the others."

They went to the great bird, kindled a fire and cooked all except one of its legs. Then Oisin ate as much as he wanted and said; "I've had a good meal of my own hunting and it's many and many a day since I have had one. Now let us go on farther." They went into the woods, and soon Oisin asked the boy; "Do you see anything wonderful?"

"I see an ivy with the largest leaves I have ever set eyes on."

"Take one leaf of that ivy," said Oisin.

The boy took the leaf. Near the ivy they found a rowan berry, and then went home taking the three things with them, -- the blackbird's leg, the ivy leaf, and the rowan berry. When they reached the house Oisin called for the cook, and Saint Patrick made her come to the fore. When she came Oisin pointed to the blackbird's leg and asked, "Which is larger, that leg or the quarter of beef you give me?"

"Oh, that is a deal larger," said the cook.

"You were right in that case," said Saint Patrick to Oisin.

Then Oisin drew out the ivy leaf and asked, "Which is larger, this or the griddle on which you made bread for me?"

"That is larger than the griddle and the bread together," said the cook.

"Right again," said Saint Patrick.

Oisin now took out the rowan berry and asked: "Which is larger, this berry or the butter of one churning which you give me?"

"Oh, that is bigger," said the cook, "than both the churn and the butter."

"Right, every time," said Saint Patrick.

Then Oisin raised his arm and swept the head off the cook with a stroke from the edge of his hand, saying, "You'll never give the lie to an honest man again."

<eob>

Doctor Rabbit And Brushtail The Fox

By

Thomas Clark Hinkle



Brushtail The Fox Comes To The Big Green Woods


Doctor Rabbit and Cheepy Chipmunk were sitting in Doctor Rabbit's front yard talking. They laughed a good deal as they talked, for it was a lovely morning in the beautiful Big Green Woods, and everyone felt happy.

Finally jolly Doctor Rabbit said he believed he would run over to the big sycamore tree to eat some more of the tender blue grass that grew there. It seemed as if he could eat there all day and all night, he said, because that grass was so good. Cheepy Chipmunk said he was getting hungry again too, and he guessed he would be going home to eat the fresh ear of corn he had found that morning.

Cheepy Chipmunk got up and was starting away, when Doctor Rabbit seized him and said in a low, frightened whisper that scared Cheepy half to death, "Come back and sit down and keep as still as anything. Look out there, will you!"

Very badly startled, Cheepy Chipmunk came back and sat down, and his eyes followed Doctor Rabbit's eyes. Cheepy saw an animal such as he had never seen before. This animal looked somewhat like a dog, but Cheepy knew right away he was no dog. He was not quite so large as Ki-yi Coyote, and was of a reddish-brown color, with a large, bushy tail. The animal was walking along under the trees not far away, and did not even look in the direction of Doctor Rabbit and little Cheepy Chipmunk.

But, although he could not tell why, Cheepy knew at once that that reddish-brown animal walking along out there under the trees was very dangerous to chipmunks and rabbits and any number of other little animals. Yes, sir, Cheepy Chipmunk was dreadfully frightened at once, for he was certain his life and the lives of Stubby Woodchuck, Chatty Red Squirrel and all his other friends were in great danger. But he had never seen such an animal before, so of course he did not know what it was.

While Doctor Rabbit and Cheepy Chipmunk looked, the strange animal walked along just as if he were not interested in anything. He did not even look toward Doctor Rabbit and Cheepy Chipmunk. This fooled innocent Cheepy, and he whispered to Doctor Rabbit, "He has not seen us; let's slip into your house! I don't want him to catch sight of us."

"Keep right still!" Doctor Rabbit whispered in reply. "Just sit still. Yes, he has seen us -- don't you fool yourself about that. But he knows well enough he can't catch us now. He's made up his mind he'll wait until he gets a better chance. But we won't let him know we see him. We'll have to try to deceive him at every turn. Yes, sir, Cheepy, we've got to watch out every minute now; we certainly have. He's one of the most cunning animals there is. I'm sorry he's come into our woods."

Cheepy Chipmunk was so frightened that his teeth were chattering as he asked, "Who is he?"

"He's Brushtail the Fox," Doctor Rabbit said. "I saw him a number of times in the woods up along the Deep River where I used to live. We'll see more of him -- we can count on that. And now, Friend Cheepy, you must stay right here at my house until we are sure Brushtail has stopped watching us out of the corner of his eye."




Chatty Red Squirrel Is Heard Scolding Loudly


Doctor Rabbit was right. Brushtail the Fox had seen exactly who was in Doctor Rabbit's front yard, but he did not act as if he knew there was any one within a mile of him. No, he just kept right on walking slowly under the trees. And then all of a sudden Chatty Red Squirrel almost made him look up. Chatty was high up in a big hackberry tree, and from this safe perch he scolded Brushtail as loudly as he could.

"Get out of these woods!" Chatty Squirrel shouted angrily. "You have no right in here. You are just sneaking around trying to catch somebody. But you can't. I won't let you. I'll tell on you. Look here, everybody. Here is old Brushtail the Fox. I know you, Mr. Brushtail. I've seen you before in the woods up along the Deep River. Look out, everybody! Brushtail is around. He's right under this tree, right this minute. I can see him. Look out for Mr. Brushtail! Here he is!"

Well, Doctor Rabbit and Cheepy Chipmunk watched and listened while Chatty Squirrel scolded Brushtail the Fox so loudly. But Brushtail paid no attention whatever to Chatty. The fact was that he did hear every word Chatty Squirrel said and he was pretty angry about it, too, because you see he did not want all the little creatures of the Big Green Woods to know he was around. He wanted to get one or two of them for breakfast before they even dreamed he was anywhere near.

But even if he was angry, Brushtail knew, of course, that he could not climb that tree after Chatty Squirrel, so he just ground his teeth and walked on. He decided that he would make Chatty pay for this, indeed he would. He would catch him the very first of all. And so as Doctor Rabbit and Cheepy Chipmunk looked and listened, Brushtail, without saying a word, walked on and finally slipped out of sight among some leafy bushes.

"I'm going home this minute!" Cheepy Chipmunk exclaimed, his voice trembling with fear; and away he went for his stump as fast as he could run.

After Cheepy had gone, Doctor Rabbit said to himself, "Well, I do declare! So Brushtail the Fox has found the Big Green Woods, and likely enough intends to live here. If he does we'll certainly all have to watch out every minute. Indeed we will. I'm glad Chatty Squirrel is scolding so loudly. Perhaps our friends will all hear and be on the lookout."

Chatty Squirrel, who had followed along in the branches of the trees and kept sight of slinky Brushtail, was now heard quite a distance away, scolding louder than ever.

"I wonder what Chatty is scolding about out there now," Doctor Rabbit said. "It sounds as if he were still talking to Brushtail. Perhaps Brushtail has stopped out there, and possibly he has caught something and is eating it. I'm going to slip out that way and see. I'll take the path that leads past several briar patches, and if Mr. Fox runs for me I'll just slip into a briar patch. If he tries to follow me in there he knows what he'll get. He'll get his eyes scratched out with the briars. My, how Chatty is scolding! He's scolding Brushtail, too. Brushtail must be doing something unusual or Chatty would not talk so excitedly."




Brushtail The Fox Plays "Possum"


Doctor Rabbit hurried away from his home toward the place where he heard Chatty Squirrel scolding Brushtail the Fox. Doctor Rabbit, to tell the truth, was afraid to venture out there so close to Brushtail, but then, he reasoned, he would have to go sooner or later and get something to eat, so he might as well venture out now and see what the old villain was doing.

Doctor Rabbit kept in the path that led past several briar patches, and this made him feel pretty safe. The nearer Doctor Rabbit came to the place where Chatty Squirrel was scolding, the louder sounded Chatty's angry voice. Doctor Rabbit crept close, and slipped into a briar patch. Not more than twenty feet away, lying on the ground as still as if he were dead, was Brushtail the Fox. But he did not fool Doctor Rabbit in the least. Doctor Rabbit knew instantly what Brushtail wanted: he wanted Chatty Squirrel.

Because Brushtail lay so still and paid not the least attention to his scolding, Chatty Squirrel became really puzzled. He stopped scolding and said to himself, "Now I wonder if that old scamp is dead. He certainly lies there very still, anyway. I believe I'll just slip down on the ground for a minute and see. If he's just playing dead, he'll come after me when I get on the ground. Then I'll know for sure, and I'll go back up the tree in a hurry."

Chatty Squirrel scrambled down the tree, and as soon as he reached the ground he began scolding Brushtail the Fox. He thought, of course, that this would make Brushtail jump up if he were only playing dead; but Brushtail paid no attention to Chatty. He lay as still as a dead fox. Chatty Squirrel ran a little way toward him, but was afraid to venture far. Just then he happened to see Doctor Rabbit hiding under the briar patch, motioning for him to come over, and looking as though he knew something very funny.

There happened to be another tree by the briar patch, so Chatty Squirrel sprang right over to see what Doctor Rabbit wanted. Doctor Rabbit whispered something in Chatty's ear, and then they chuckled softly to themselves. The more Chatty thought about what Doctor Rabbit had said, the more he laughed -- not very loudly, of course, because he did not want Brushtail the Fox to hear.

"Hurry along now before he gets up!" Doctor Rabbit whispered, and away ran Chatty Squirrel back to the tree he had left. Chatty scrambled back up the tree in a hurry, and began scolding Brushtail louder than ever. He did not say a word about Doctor Rabbit, of course; he just went right on scolding as if nothing had happened.

Now Brushtail the Fox was not dead, and as he lay there very still he thought every minute Chatty Squirrel's curiosity would get the better of him and Chatty would come down the tree and close enough so that he could pounce upon him. But Chatty did just exactly what Doctor Rabbit had told him to do.

"I wish," he said aloud, "that I knew whether Mr. Fox is really dead. He lies so still I believe he is, and if he lies there much longer I shall have to go down and see. Yes, I'll have to go down and poke him and see!"

Brushtail the Fox could scarcely keep from smacking his lips when Chatty said this, but he did not move, of course. He lay perfectly still, not even winking an eye, for he was very hungry, and he hoped Chatty Squirrel would decide to hurry and come down.

And all the time that Chatty Squirrel up in the tree was scolding, Doctor Rabbit was working at something in the near-by thicket. Chatty, you see, was going to keep Brushtail's attention until Doctor Rabbit played a good joke on old Brushtail.




Brushtail Gets A Scare


Now, this was what Doctor Rabbit was doing in the near-by thicket. He gathered some moss, and rolled it into a big ball. Then he took a bottle of medicine from his medicine case. The bottle had ammonia in it -- spirits of ammonia, it was -- and Doctor Rabbit poured the medicine all over and through the big ball of moss.

My, but that ammonia smelled strong! I should say it did smell strong. It was so strong, in fact, that Doctor Rabbit had to turn his head partly away from the moss while he poured the medicine on it. Now Doctor Rabbit had to be very, very careful. He picked up the ball of moss in his front paws and walked toward Brushtail the Fox, who lay on the ground with his eyes shut tight.

Chatty Squirrel kept up a very loud scolding as Doctor Rabbit slipped up to Brushtail. Then when he was very near, Doctor Rabbit threw that moss with all the terribly strong ammonia right on Brushtail's head and over his nose. Brushtail got such a big whiff of the medicine that he almost strangled. My, how he did jump and yell! He was terribly scared, because he did not know for a minute what had happened.

Then he heard Chatty up on the limb laughing and shouting for joy. Doctor Rabbit ran back to the edge of the thicket, and he was laughing too. It certainly did look funny to see Brushtail the Fox standing and staring at that moss as if he thought it was something alive.

When Brushtail saw that a joke had been played on him he was terribly angry. He knew, of course, he could not get Chatty, so he made a rush for Doctor Rabbit.

But Doctor Rabbit skipped into the thicket, picked up his medicine case and shouted, "Good day, Mr. Fox! I guess you won't have Chatty for breakfast! You'd better eat the moss ball."

And away Doctor Rabbit ran. In a twinkling he was out of sight in the leafy woods.

Brushtail the Fox ran after Doctor Rabbit as fast as he could go, but it was no use. He could not find him. Now it happened that Doctor Rabbit had not gone far at all. He was not far from home, so he just hid behind a big log. And he was watching Brushtail the Fox all the time.

My! How he did jump and yell!

After a time Brushtail sat down and kept still. His sharp eyes, however, were looking in every direction. He thought he might see Doctor Rabbit by keeping quiet and looking about him.

Doctor Rabbit, as I have said, was so close to his home that he knew he was safe, so he walked quietly from behind the log, holding his medicine case and acting just as though he did not know that Brushtail the Fox was anywhere about.

Brushtail quickly lay down and was as quiet as possible.

Then Doctor Rabbit stopped, looked back, and said pleasantly, "It's a nice morning, Brushy."

That surely surprised Brushtail, but when he saw Doctor Rabbit's home tree not far away, he knew he could not catch him. So he smiled and said, "I've just been playing with you all the time. Do come on over to my home, Neighbor Rabbit. I have something very fine there to show you. We'll have some good times together."

"Ha! ha! ha!" wise Doctor Rabbit laughed, as he started toward his big tree. "Yes," he continued, "I suppose you have some very cruel teeth to show me, Mr. Brushtail, but I can see them quite as well as I care to. Ha! ha! ha!" And Doctor Rabbit ran for his tree.

Brushtail ran after him, too, but Doctor Rabbit ran fast and reached his home in safety. There he peeked out and saw Brushtail steal into some bushes.




Doctor Rabbit Sees Something Interesting


Now when Doctor Rabbit ran into the big hollow tree that was his home, Brushtail the Fox slunk into some leafy bushes near by, and lay down without making a sound.

"I'll just wait here," Brushtail whispered to himself, "and that smart old rabbit will be coming out pretty soon. He won't know that I'm anywhere about."

But old Brushtail was very much mistaken, for Doctor Rabbit had peeked out of his front door just as soon as he was inside his house, and you remember he saw Brushtail steal into the bushes. No, sir, he wasn't to be fooled this time.

For a long time Brushtail lay in the bushes. He lay so quietly that not a leaf on the branches about him stirred. His glittering eyes were turned toward Doctor Rabbit's tree, and every little while he showed his long, sharp teeth as he smiled at the thought of the good meal that big fat rabbit would make.

But all the while Doctor Rabbit watched from an upstairs window where Brushtail could not see him, although Doctor Rabbit could plainly see the pointed nose and sharp, gleaming eyes of his enemy.

Presently Doctor Rabbit heard the rustle of leaves and the gay chatter, chatter, chatter of Chatty Red Squirrel as he bounded into the branches of a tree overlooking the bushes that hid Brushtail.

Doctor Rabbit drew a long breath of relief. He wasn't afraid of Brushtail the Fox when he was safe in his big hollow tree -- oh no, you mustn't think that, not for a moment. But you see Doctor Rabbit was getting pretty tired and stiff from watching so cautiously from his upstairs window, and yet he couldn't quite bring himself to the point of going downstairs and forgetting Brushtail. No indeed, he couldn't quite do that.

So Doctor Rabbit was glad to see Chatty Red Squirrel, for he knew just what would happen. And sure enough, in a few minutes Chatty Squirrel saw Brushtail lying low in the bushes, and then how he did scold!

"Aha, old Brushtail, I see you hiding in the bushes. Thought I wouldn't see you, didn't you? Thought I wouldn't see you! But I see you, all right. You can't fool Chatty, no siree. Oh, I know you're looking for Doctor Rabbit," and Chatty's tone became angrier at the thought of Brushtail waiting to pounce upon his good friend, Doctor Rabbit. "You're just waiting for Doctor Rabbit to come home and then spring out at him. Get out of here, get out, get out of here!" screamed Chatty.

Brushtail the Fox was angry. Well, I should say he was. He knew that Doctor Rabbit would hear Chatty Red Squirrel's scolding, and would know that he was hiding ready to eat him if he came out of the tree. Brushtail was so angry that he snarled. But he slunk away through the bushes without saying a word to Chatty Red. Brushtail is wise enough to know that there is no use arguing with Chatty Squirrel, for Chatty is altogether too noisy a talker. I should say he is.

When Brushtail slunk away through the bushes, Doctor Rabbit called to Chatty Red Squirrel, but Chatty did not hear him. He had scampered away to another tree, still talking loudly.

Then Doctor Rabbit turned quickly and leaned out of his window to watch Brushtail the Fox. Brushtail was trotting off through the Big Green Woods in a direction in which Doctor Rabbit seldom went. And Doctor Rabbit noticed that he seemed to be afraid someone would see him. He looked on each side of him as he went along, and every now and then he took a big jump sidewise. Doctor Rabbit was certainly interested now, for he believed Brushtail the Fox was going to hide somewhere. Probably he was going to hide in a place where he hid every day.

Yes, sir, Brushtail certainly was cautious now, and he must have jumped to one side as many as five times while Doctor Rabbit was watching him. Then in a little while he reached a part of the woods where the brush and leaves were so thick that Doctor Rabbit could just barely see him as he slipped along.




Two Hunters Come To The Big Green Woods


When Brushtail the Fox slipped into the place where there were so many leafy bushes, it was very hard for Doctor Rabbit to see him from his big tree. Sometimes he lost sight of Brushtail altogether, and then for an instant he would see his long, sharp nose, or his reddish-brown coat, or his big bushy tail. And all the time Brushtail became more and more cautious. He moved so slowly and so quietly among the bushes that Doctor Rabbit had to strain his eyes to see him. Then suddenly Brushtail jumped high up onto the dead limb of a big fallen tree. He walked out on this limb, then jumped far out into a dense thicket and disappeared.

Yes, sir, Brushtail the Fox was gone! Doctor Rabbit stood by his window in the tree and looked and looked. He thought he would presently see a sharp nose or a bushy tail, but he did not. Brushtail was hiding somewhere in that thicket.

"Well! well! well!" Doctor Rabbit exclaimed. "I certainly should like to know what old Brushtail is doing in there. I am positive he is in that thicket. He never could have slipped out without my seeing him. Yes, sir, he's in there. And that's probably where he always hides. Likely enough he has a den in there. I shouldn't be surprised if there are a lot of rocks in there and Brushtail the Fox has a big hole away back under them."

"Well," Doctor Rabbit continued, talking softly to himself, "I'm going to slip out there as near as possible and keep watch and see if I can discover anything more about Brushtail. I must not tell anyone as yet what I have seen. No, if I want to get a lot of information I must just keep still and do the finding out myself. It isn't safe to trust too many people."

Doctor Rabbit ran downstairs and was starting out into the woods to try to get nearer Brushtail's hiding place when he saw something that made him keep still and watch. Farmer Roe and his boy were coming through the woods toward Doctor Rabbit's tree. Just as they went past, Doctor Rabbit heard Farmer Roe say, "Yes, I'm certain that there is a fox in these woods. That was a fox's track we saw in the yard this morning, and that was a fox, I am sure, that took the old white hen last night. Our chickens will be in danger until we get rid of him."

"Do you suppose he hides in these woods in the daytime?" asked Farmer Roe's boy.

"I shouldn't be surprised," replied Farmer Roe. "In fact, I'm pretty sure he hides close by. There is one thing that puzzles me, however, and that is that although Yappy trailed that fox directly from the chicken yard, he lost the trail right in the woods and could not pick it up again. The fox has played some trick, of course," said Farmer Roe, "and we must try and find out what it is. I really shouldn't be surprised," he went on, "if that fox is lying around close enough to see us this minute. We'll just keep watch until we discover his hiding place."




Doctor Rabbit Informs His Friends


Doctor Rabbit did not find out anything more about Brushtail the Fox that day, nor for several days. But it was only a very short time until all the little creatures of the Big Green Woods knew that Brushtail the Fox was around, and they were afraid to poke their noses out of their homes.

Stubby Woodchuck had seen Brushtail three times, and he said Brushtail certainly did look fierce.

"He looked so fierce he took my appetite away for several hours each time I saw him," said Stubby Woodchuck, "and I am sure he looks fully as terrible as Ki-yi Coyote or Tom Wildcat. Yes, sir, we have a very mean and dangerous enemy in Mr. Brushtail, and we must keep watch every minute."

"I wish he'd go away and stay away," said Cheepy Chipmunk, who was always easily frightened.

"But he doesn't expect to leave at all," Doctor Rabbit informed his friends. "He expects to live here in these woods, right along."

"He does!" exclaimed poor Cheepy Chipmunk, his voice trembling with fear. "How do you know he expects to live here?"

"Well," explained Doctor Rabbit, "I have seen quite enough to convince me that Brushtail expects to make his home in the Big Green Woods. In fact, I am in position to know that he has a home here right now. It's all fixed up, and he's living in it. He spends his time there except when he's out hunting us or after one of Farmer Roe's nice fat hens."

"Where is old Brushtail's home?" Stubby Woodchuck and Cheepy Chipmunk demanded in the same breath.

"Sh!" Doctor Rabbit warned his friends. "Don't talk so loud! Brushtail might be hiding so near he could hear every word you say. The fact is, I can't tell you any more at present. It would not help if I told you more, and it might get out so Brushtail would hear of it. Just keep still about what I've said and watch for Brushtail every minute you are out in the woods. In the meantime whenever I get a chance I will hide in a certain place, where I can see him often enough, I think, to discover what his plans are. Then when I find out all I can, I will slip around quietly and tell you."

"I saw Farmer Roe and his boy passing through our woods this morning," Stubby Woodchuck said. "I wonder what they were after?"

"They were after Brushtail," Doctor Rabbit explained. "I heard them talking and I heard them say they were trying to find out where he lives."

"Dear me! I hope they'll run him away so he'll never come back!" said Cheepy Chipmunk, with a troubled look.

"They'll probably have to find out first where he lives," said Doctor Rabbit, "and I believe that is going to be pretty hard for them to do. But still, Yappy has a very sharp nose, and in time he may find Brushtail's den."

It was dinner time, so Doctor Rabbit and Stubby Woodchuck and Cheepy Chipmunk separated, each slipping home as quietly as he could.




What Doctor Rabbit Saw


Doctor Rabbit did not see Brushtail the Fox again for several days. Then one morning when the sun came up warm and bright and all the little creatures of the Big Green Woods were feeling very happy, Doctor Rabbit decided that he would try again. He made up his mind to slip over to that thicket where he had last seen Brushtail, and see what he could discover with his sharp eyes.

There were a good many briar patches along the way, and Doctor Rabbit kept as near these as possible, so he was safe, even though the way was a little longer. You can be very sure, too, that Doctor Rabbit kept his eyes wide open all the time. But he did not see the least sign of Brushtail the Fox, and decided that he was probably somewhere in that dense thicket.

"Perhaps," thought Doctor Rabbit, "old Brushtail is in there right now eating a chicken he has stolen from Farmer Roe."

Now the very thought of getting any nearer that thicket made Doctor Rabbit tremble with fear. Still, there was a fine big briar patch close to the thicket, and Doctor Rabbit decided he would run for this. He had hidden in that briar patch several times from various enemies, and was familiar with every inch of it. He knew he would be safe from Brushtail in the briar patch, and all Brushtail could do if he saw Doctor Rabbit hiding there would be just to wait outside. But he would have to give up in the end, because Doctor Rabbit never would come out of a briar patch so long as an enemy was waiting for him.

Doctor Rabbit got all ready, and then he ran for that briar patch. He ran as hard as he could and dived into the briar patch just as if Brushtail were very close behind him, because, you see, it might be that Brushtail was very close. Then Doctor Rabbit crept to the center of the briar patch and sat down. He decided that if necessary he would stay in the briar patch all day and watch. He knew Brushtail the Fox had some kind of a secret in that thicket -- a den or something -- else he never would have been so careful about getting into it.

Doctor Rabbit waited for about two hours, and he was already getting tired when all of a sudden he sat as still as a stone. In fact, he sat so perfectly still that I doubt if you could have seen him even if you had been looking right at him.

The reason why Doctor Rabbit sat still so quickly was that he saw a movement in the leafy thicket. Presently the bushes parted, and who do you suppose came out? No, it was not Brushtail -- it was Mrs. Brushtail! And now Doctor Rabbit knew exactly why Brushtail had been so careful about getting into that thicket. It was Mr. and Mrs. Brushtail's home. And it was here, of course, that Farmer Roe's hens were disappearing, and this was where Doctor Rabbit and Stubby Woodchuck and all their friends would go if they didn't watch out! Yes, sir! This was where a great many of the little creatures of the Big Green Woods would disappear if Mr. and Mrs. Brushtail did not leave. While Doctor Rabbit was looking at Mrs. Brushtail she yawned, showing all of her long, sharp teeth. Although he was safe in the briar patch, Doctor Rabbit trembled. He was a little too close to old Mrs. Brushtail to feel quite comfortable.




Mrs. Brushtail Gets A Hen


Of course Doctor Rabbit was greatly surprised to see Mrs. Brushtail in the thicket. And still, after he thought about it, he was not so surprised either. You see, it was spring and just the time of year for Mr. and Mrs. Brushtail to find themselves a new home if they needed one.

Mrs. Brushtail stood there looking about in every direction with her sharp eyes. Then she gave a great spring and landed on the limb of the fallen tree. She walked along the limb until she came to the end of it, and then jumped, as Brushtail had done, as far out as she could, only Mrs. Brushtail did not jump toward the thicket, she jumped away from it. She stood again looking all around and listening for a minute, then trotted away through the woods toward Farmer Roe's, and was soon out of sight.

Doctor Rabbit thought to himself, "Mrs. Brushtail is going over to the edge of the woods nearest to Farmer Roe's. She's going to hide there and see if some foolish hen doesn't come out into the woods to hunt bugs and grasshoppers."

And he made up his mind that as long as he was safe he would just wait where he was and see if Mrs. Brushtail would come back.

Well, he did not have to wait very long. As he sat in the briar patch listening, he heard a terrible cackling over toward the edge of the woods nearest Farmer Roe's. It sounded as if chickens were very much frightened and were running in every direction. In a short time Doctor Rabbit saw Mrs. Brushtail coming through the woods. And sure enough, she had one of Farmer Roe's big white hens in her mouth.

Mrs. Brushtail held the hen by the neck, and after making a wide circle and jumping to one side as far as she could she came to the fallen tree. When she looked up at the high limb she seemed puzzled. You see, she could not jump so high with the hen. But she was pretty wise. She laid the hen upon the trunk of the tree, then jumped upon the limb above, and reaching down, picked up the hen and walked out along the limb toward the leafy thicket. Then she sprang into the thicket and disappeared.

How Doctor Rabbit did want to see the inside of that thicket! And what made him all the more curious was that he was certain he heard a number of growls after Mrs. Brushtail disappeared in there. And the growls did not sound like Mrs. Brushtail's voice, or like Brushtail's either.

Yes, sir, there was something very interesting going on in that thicket, and Doctor Rabbit made up his mind he must see what it was, if possible. He wondered where Brushtail was. Doctor Rabbit disliked to go any nearer the thicket unless he knew where that sly old fox was.

"But," he said to himself, "likely enough Mr. Brushtail is in the thicket with Mrs. Brushtail and is helping her eat that chicken. Anyway, it's only a little distance to that tree with a hole in the base and a lot of prickly vines around it. I'm going to run for it! The distance is so short that Brushtail would not have time to get me even if he saw me. I'll get to the tree, and if Brushtail should come after me I'll run into the hole at the base of the tree. I'll find out about old Brushy before he knows it. And the first thing they know they will be going out of these woods in a hurry. But I must be very, very careful. I should say I must! I must watch every second. My, how those animals in that thicket do growl! It sounds almost as if they were quarreling."




Brushtail The Fox Finds Some Pieces Of Cheese


Doctor Rabbit was just ready to run to the tree with the prickly vines around it when he crouched low and sat very still again. He heard somebody coming through the woods. Pretty soon he saw that it was Farmer Roe.

The farmer stopped when he got close to the briar patch and muttered to himself, "Every spring I have to rid these woods of a fox or two. I guess I'll just put out a little bait for them and see how that will work."

As soon as Doctor Rabbit heard Farmer Roe coming through the woods he noticed that everything in the thicket grew very quiet. I should say it did! There was not the least sound in there -- not a single growl. And there Farmer Roe stood within twenty feet of the home of Mr. and Mrs. Brushtail without ever dreaming of it.

Farmer Roe had gloves on, and he held a number of pieces of cheese on one hand. He put several of these pieces of cheese under the fallen tree. Right near the thicket he placed some more cheese, partly under some dead leaves. Then Farmer Roe went around placing the cheese here and there where he thought the fox would be most likely to find it. After a time he put the last piece of cheese under an old log.

Then he straightened up and said, "There, now! That ought to fix him, or both of them, if there are two instead of one. I'm glad Yappy has been trained not to eat anything he finds out in the woods," he added, "for this bait would be the end of him, too! And that would never do."

And Farmer Roe walked back through the woods toward his house. After a while the sound of his heavy footsteps died away.

Everything in the thicket was perfectly still. There was not a sound. Doctor Rabbit waited and listened. Then he heard a movement inside the thicket. Presently Mrs. Brushtail came out, sat down, and looked in the direction Farmer Roe had taken. While she sat there Mr. Brushtail came trotting up from somewhere out in the woods. Doctor Rabbit heard the two talking very rapidly and excitedly, but they talked so low he could not understand what they said. He wanted very much to know what they said, but what interested him still more was that he again heard those growls in the thicket. He wondered who it could be, since neither Brushtail nor Mrs. Brushtail was in there now.

Well, after Mr. and Mrs. Brushtail had talked for a while, Brushtail went right up to the old dead log where Farmer Roe had placed some of the cheese. Doctor Rabbit was delighted, for he thought this would be the end of Brushtail the Fox. And we can't blame Doctor Rabbit or think him cruel, either, for hoping so. You see, Doctor Rabbit, being a doctor, knew at once that Farmer Roe had poisoned that cheese. Yes, sir, he had put poison in it for Mr. Fox. And if Mr. and Mrs. Brushtail should eat just one of those pieces of cheese it would certainly cause their death.

But Doctor Rabbit was certainly surprised at what happened. Brushtail took the piece of cheese carefully in his mouth and carried it to a small hole a little distance away. Then he hunted around until he found every piece of poisoned cheese Farmer Roe had put out. And each time he found a piece of cheese he did just what he did with the first piece: he carried it to that hole and dropped it in. When he had finished he stood and looked down at all those pieces of cheese. Then he began scratching leaves and dirt into the hole. Once in a while he would turn around and look down into the hole and laugh. Then he would turn his back again, and just make the leaves and dirt fly into that hole.

Well, he scratched and scratched and scratched until there was not a bit of cheese anywhere to be seen. The hole was full of leaves and dirt, so you never could have found it. Mrs. Brushtail came out and smiled at Brushtail, and both of them looked at Farmer Roe's house and laughed and laughed.

But Doctor Rabbit was not pleased. I should say he wasn't pleased, and he wondered how these two terrible creatures would ever be driven away from the woods. And he wondered more than ever who it was that kept growling in the thicket.




The Growlers Come Out Of The Thicket


After Mr. and Mrs. Brushtail had gone back into the thicket, Doctor Rabbit wanted to run home. He surely was uncomfortable so near to Brushtail and Mrs. Brushtail.

"And still," he thought to himself, "since I am here, I'll just stay a little longer and discover all I can."

Well, the growling went on for a while in the thicket, and then something happened that certainly surprised Doctor Rabbit. Mrs. Brushtail came out into the open with Farmer Roe's chicken, partly eaten, and she was followed by four little foxes!

Mrs. Brushtail dropped the chicken on the ground for the little foxes, and then she sprang upon a log and just lay there and watched them. Mr. Fox trotted off into the woods again.

"He's probably going after another hen," thought Doctor Rabbit, "or after Stubby Woodchuck or Chatty Red Squirrel or any of us he can catch." And Doctor Rabbit hoped all his little friends would be on the lookout.

While Mrs. Brushtail lay up on the log and looked on proudly, how the little foxes did pull at that dead chicken and growl!

"And so there are the growlers I heard in the thicket!" Doctor Rabbit thought to himself.

Those little foxes might have looked pretty to some people, they were so young and so playful and so funny; but they did not look pretty to Doctor Rabbit. Indeed they did not. They looked like four terrible monsters. Their little eyes snapped like the eyes of terrible little savages, and their tiny teeth, sharp as needles, pulled feathers and sank into the chicken.

It was certainly true that Mrs. Brushtail was teaching her very small children how to eat chicken, and as she lay on the log and watched them, she seemed perfectly satisfied with them.

After the little foxes had growled and pulled at the chicken for a good while, Brushtail was seen coming through the woods with something in his mouth. Then suddenly Doctor Rabbit became almost sick with fear. He thought for a second that Brushtail had caught Stubby Woodchuck, but it proved to be no one but a large and ugly old woodrat that had lately grown so cross and savage that all the little creatures of the Big Green Woods were afraid of him.

Doctor Rabbit was very glad indeed that it was that particular old woodrat, because he had really become dangerous.

Brushtail dropped the woodrat down before the little foxes, and how they did did begin pulling and biting him! Mrs. Brushtail up on the log smiled ever so broadly at this. But it was not a pleasing smile to Doctor Rabbit, hiding in the briar patch. I should say not! It was a terrible smile.

The next instant Yappy came tearing through the woods, right toward the thicket, and Doctor Rabbit had a moment of hope. But Mrs. Brushtail just uttered one quick, low growl, and every little fox scurried into the thicket. That time Doctor Rabbit had a good view of the inside of the thicket, and he saw what became of the foxes. They went into a hole under some rocks by a large papaw bush. "So that," said Doctor Rabbit to himself, "is where Mr. and Mrs. Brushtail and their little Brushies have their den."

Brushtail did not run into the thicket with Mrs. Brushtail and the little foxes. When he saw Yappy coming toward the thicket he ran right toward the excited dog and then hid behind another thicket. When Yappy came near, Brushtail sprang right out, and away he ran. Yappy bayed loudly, and away he went through the woods after Brushtail. You see now what Brushtail was doing -- he was leading Yappy away from that den of little foxes!




Jack Rabbit Sprains His Foot


When Mrs. Brushtail and the four little Brushies ran into the hole in the thicket and Father Brushtail ran away through the woods with Yappy in hot pursuit, Doctor Rabbit decided he had better be going. He had discovered a great deal anyway, and now he wanted to find some of his friends and tell them about it.

Doctor Rabbit decided first to go over to the Wide Prairie and see his friend Jack Rabbit. Doctor Rabbit was not much afraid to cross the Wide Prairie, now that Ki-yi Coyote was gone and Brushtail the Fox was busy, for the time at least.

Doctor Rabbit had not been over to see Jack Rabbit's family for a long time, and he was considerably surprised to find Jack Rabbit laid up with a sprained foot. Jack Rabbit said he had sprained his foot the day before while running from some terrible creature that looked somewhat like Ki-yi Coyote and just a little like a dog, but not exactly like either of them.

"He had a large, bushy tail," Jack Rabbit explained, "and his coat was a reddish-brown color. He jumped out from behind some bunch grass and came at me so swiftly that I jumped and turned quickly. And that was how I sprained my foot. He certainly is a fierce and dangerous creature, and I wondered if any of the rest of you had seen him," Jack Rabbit concluded.

"Indeed we have," Doctor Rabbit replied. "I'll bandage your foot now," he continued, "and then we can talk about this new enemy. Mrs. Jack Rabbit," Doctor Rabbit said looking at her over his gold glasses, "I'll thank you for that bottle of chloroform liniment I left here some time ago."

Mrs. Jack Rabbit brought out the bottle of liniment, and after Doctor Rabbit had bathed Jack Rabbit's foot with some of the liniment he bandaged it quite snugly.

"That feels fine!" said Jack Rabbit, getting right up and standing on all four feet. "I'm so glad you came over, Doctor. That foot feels so good I know I can dance a little jig!"

And Jack Rabbit started to dance a little, but he said, "Ouch!" right away, and everybody laughed, even Jack Rabbit. His foot was not quite well enough for dancing.

Then Doctor Rabbit said, "I told you some of the rest of us had seen that same animal that chased you, Jack Rabbit. I am sure it was the same animal, from the way you describe him. It is Brushtail the Fox. He has just lately moved into the Big Green Woods, and intends to make his home there right along. What makes the matter worse for all of us is that not only has Mr. Brushtail come, but he has brought his whole family!"

"Oh, dear me!" exclaimed Mrs. Jack Rabbit. "I thought one of them was enough. But all of them -- well, that makes it pretty serious for us."

"But it might be worse," said Doctor Rabbit, who always sees the bright side of everything. "You see," he continued, "four of those foxes are so small that they are harmless. Besides, Farmer Roe and his boy are on the lookout for that whole Fox family, and they may get rid of them in a very short time. I thought once," Doctor Rabbit continued, "of letting Yappy run me right to that thicket where the Fox family lives. But if I did, Brushtail or Mrs. Brushtail would surely be right there to lead Yappy away off into the woods. No, if Farmer Roe or his boy doesn't stumble onto their den, I'll have to think up some way myself to get rid of that Fox family. I'll bring my imagination into play," said Doctor Rabbit smilingly, and somewhat proudly, too.

"What does 'magination' mean, sir?" little Billy Rabbit asked wonderingly.

"It means," said Doctor Rabbit, "that you must think and think and think until you think out something quite new."

Then Doctor Rabbit patted all the little rabbits on the head, except Billy Rabbit whom he chucked under the chin, as he bade them all a very pleasant good morning.

"Keep a sharp lookout, and don't worry," Doctor Rabbit said with a smile as he left. "If Farmer Roe does not get rid of that Fox family, I'll think out some way myself."

And he ran like a gray streak back across the Wide Prairie toward the Big Green Woods.




Doctoring Little Thomas Woodchuck


The next morning quite early Doctor Rabbit received a call to visit a new Woodchuck family that had recently moved into the north part of the Big Green Woods. Doctor Rabbit told Father Woodchuck, who came over after him, that he would be along in a very few moments. Then he shut the door and began to get ready.

Doctor Rabbit always dressed with especial care when he was called to a new family. He got out his silk hat and brushed it carefully. He curled his mustache until it looked just right. Then he put on his finest pair of gold glasses, which he kept laid away for such occasions.

He looked very handsome, I can tell you, in his new blue coat, his bright red trousers, and his finest pair of soft white shoes. He surely did.

Doctor Rabbit was ready. He picked up his best medicine case, filled with the finest of medicines, and started toward the home of the new family of Woodchucks.

When Doctor Rabbit reached the place he found it was one of the youngsters who was sick. In fact, it was Thomas Woodchuck, the pet of the family. His name was not just Tommy; it was Thomas, and everybody called him that. Doctor Rabbit sat down by the bed and said, "Let me see your tongue, Thomas." You see, Doctor Rabbit had asked what Thomas' name was. He always did this. It helped the children not to feel afraid of him.

Little Thomas Woodchuck put out his tongue.

"I see! I see! That will do, Thomas," said Doctor Rabbit cheerfully. "Your tongue is badly coated. Your pulse is pretty rapid, too."

Then Doctor Rabbit thumped all around over little Thomas Woodchuck, just as the men doctors thump around over little boys and girls when they are sick. Only Doctor Rabbit did not have to thump so long. He could always find out in a hurry what was the trouble.

Doctor Rabbit looked very wisely over his fine gold glasses at all the rest of the family who were standing about and said, "Mr. and Mrs. Woodchuck, your son has some stomach trouble from eating too many of those raw peanuts Farmer Roe has stored in his cob house!"

Well, sir, that was exactly the truth. They all wondered how Doctor Rabbit knew what Thomas had eaten. But Doctor Rabbit just had his eyes open, and put two and two together. He knew the peanuts were in Farmer Roe's cob house because he had taken a few of them himself now and then. And then he saw a lot of peanut hulls right under the cover of the bed where little Thomas Woodchuck lay.

"Thomas," said Doctor Rabbit, laughing, "you must not eat so many of those peanuts. Why, there will be none left for me!"

Then little Thomas Woodchuck and the whole family laughed, and they all felt better. But Doctor Rabbit gave Thomas three big black pills and told him to swallow them all at once. Thomas did, and they were so bitter he tried to spit them out after he had swallowed them, but he could not do it, of course, and so they went right to work curing him.

"You will be quite well tomorrow, Thomas," Doctor Rabbit said cheerfully, and the whole Woodchuck family breathed easier.

Then Mrs. Woodchuck said, "Doctor, I hear two terrible foxes have come into our woods."

Doctor Rabbit frowned at Mrs. Woodchuck to make her keep still about the foxes near Thomas, for fear he might be frightened. He was always very careful about this when visiting his patients. "Well, I must be going. Goodbye, Thomas," Doctor Rabbit said, just as if he had not heard Mrs. Woodchuck.

Then when he was out in the kitchen he whispered very low to Father and Mother Woodchuck: "Yes, two terrible foxes have come into the Big Green Woods, but I did not want Thomas to hear. But don't you worry, Mrs. Woodchuck," Doctor Rabbit went on, because he saw how troubled she looked, "don't you worry a bit, I thought of a scheme to get rid of Ki-yi Coyote and also of Tom Wildcat, and if Farmer Roe does not get rid of Mr. and Mrs. Brushtail, I will. Good morning!" And Doctor Rabbit slipped out of the door and was gone.




Listening To The Brushtails


It was a mighty good thing that Doctor Rabbit kept a sharp lookout on his way home from the Woodchuck house. If he had not been watching he might have run right into Mr. and Mrs. Brushtail, who stood talking behind a large elm tree.

Doctor Rabbit heard them and saw them at the same time. He was so close that he was afraid even to run. So he crept noiselessly under a dense leafy thicket near at hand. Doctor Rabbit was pretty badly scared, because there was not a briar patch anywhere near. So he did the safest thing. He crouched down on the ground, kept still, and listened.

Mr. and Mrs. Brushtail, talking behind the tree, never dreamed, of course, that there was anybody close by listening. They talked pretty softly, but Doctor Rabbit was so near that he could hear every word they said. Brushtail was talking. "Yes," he said, "that dog has a very sharp nose, and he is bound to find our den sooner or later. So I think, Mrs. Fox, we had better move you and the children clear out of these woods. I'll take you to a new den in the woods away off up the river. There is not much in the way of rabbits and woodchucks and chickens up there, but I'll keep on spending most of my time down here. You see, I can catch the rabbits and woodchucks and chickens, and carry them up to you."

"Very well, dear," said Mrs. Brushtail, "I think that is an excellent plan. When shall we move?"

"This very day," Brushtail said. "We'll get the young foxes right away and start off with them. The sooner we get them out of here, the better it will be for all of us."

Mr. and Mrs. Brushtail trotted off toward the thicket in which they had their den. Doctor Rabbit was still a little scared, but he believed he would follow at a distance and see for himself whether Mr. and Mrs. Brushtail actually did move the little foxes.

Mr. and Mrs. Brushtail went into the thicket, and in a very short time came out again. And sure enough, each of them carried a little fox by the back of its neck.

They walked across the shallow Murmuring Brook and laid the two little Brushies down on the other side in a thicket. Then they came back and carried the other two little Brushies over in the same way.

As they went past him this last time Doctor Rabbit heard Brushtail say to Mrs. Brushtail, "You can just wait with them in the thicket on the other side of Murmuring Brook until I carry two of them up the river to the new den. When I come back we can carry the other two."

You see, foxes can carry their baby Foxes by the back of the neck and not hurt them at all.

Well, Doctor Rabbit was glad and hungry at the same time. He now hurried right over to the nice, tender blue grass under the big sycamore tree. There he found Chatty Red Squirrel, Cheepy Chipmunk, and quite a number of his other friends, who all wanted to know at once if Doctor Rabbit had found out anything more about Mr. Fox. Doctor Rabbit did know a great deal, as you know, and he told his friends he would tell them. But he added that he was so hungry he would have to eat while he talked. Doctor Rabbit is a great person to eat grass, anyway.

"It seems as though I never can get enough!" he said every now and then.




Doctor Rabbit Tells Some Good News


Chatty Red Squirrel, Cheepy Chipmunk, and all the rest of Doctor Rabbit's friends who were gathered under the big sycamore tree were certainly very happy when Doctor Rabbit told them that Mrs. Brushtail and all the little Brushies were leaving the Big Green Woods for good.

"As the matter stands now," Doctor Rabbit said, "we've nobody but Brushtail to look out for. But he's surely enough! I should say he is! And if Farmer Roe does not get him soon, I'm going to keep right on thinking of some plan to get him out of here. We can't scare him as we did Tom Wildcat. Brushtail is too cunning for that. He'd just laugh at us if we painted signs and put them up on our doors, no matter what was painted on the signs. I heard Brushtail tell Mrs. Brushtail that he would not live in that thicket any more. He said he would get himself a new den not far off and probably a little nearer to the Murmuring Brook. So you see we could not lead Yappy to Brushtail now if we wanted to. And I am afraid Yappy will be a good while in finding Brushtail's new den. I may find it," Doctor Rabbit continued, "but I'd never risk trying to lead Yappy to it, and Jack Rabbit has a sprained foot, so he can't. But from the way he talked to me, I don't think he'd be willing to try it even if his foot weren't sprained."

Brushtail the Fox seized her by the neck

"Possibly," suggested Chatty Red Squirrel, "Brushtail will not have a fallen tree near his new den, nor any other way of making Yappy lose the trail. And possibly Yappy will smell along old Brushtail's trail and find him right in his den."

"Don't you ever think Brushtail will be foolish enough to walk straight along the ground to his den," said Doctor Rabbit. "He's far too wise for that, no matter where his den is. No, sir, he will make big jumps sidewise and walk back on his trail and walk in big circles, and better still, walk for a distance in the Murmuring Brook. Ah! he'll do a whole lot of things before he goes into his den. Of course," Doctor Rabbit said softly, "it is possible Farmer Roe may trap old Brushtail. I saw him working with a trap only this morning."




A Foolish Old Hen


Several days after Doctor Rabbit had talked to his friends under the big sycamore tree he was hopping along near the edge of the Big Green Woods when he saw Brushtail the Fox hiding behind a tree and looking toward Farmer Roe's house.

Doctor Rabbit crept under a big brush pile and looked in the same direction. What do you suppose Brushtail was watching? Well, he was looking at a big Plymouth Rock hen coming across the field right toward the place where he lay hidden.

Now, if Doctor Rabbit had had something better than a brush pile to hide under, he might have made some sort of noise and warned the hen. But if he had made the least sound, Brushtail would have come diving under that brush pile in a second, for he isn't afraid of brush piles as he is of briar patches.

Pretty soon the hen reached the woods. She stretched up her neck and looked around, but not seeing anything she started into the woods for some crickets. She had gone only a few steps when Brushtail the Fox bounded out, seized her by the neck, and ran off through the Big Green Woods.

Doctor Rabbit followed along behind, going hoppity, hoppity, hoppity, and presently he saw Brushtail splashing along in the Murmuring Brook. He was trotting along in the brook for a distance, for, you see, a hound cannot smell a fox's tracks in the water; and so Yappy could not track him.

Doctor Rabbit stopped and looked.

He saw Brushtail finally cross to the other side of the Murmuring Brook. Brushtail then turned and looked back to see if anybody was following him. He did not see anyone, so, still holding the dead hen in his mouth, he trotted out of sight among the trees.

Of course Doctor Rabbit knew what Brushtail was going to do. He was going to take that hen up the river to Mrs. Brushtail and the little Brushies.

When Brushtail had passed out of sight, Doctor Rabbit did not go home at once. No, he sat down to think. He was trying to think out a way to drive old Brushtail out of the Big Green Woods. He sat there and thought ever and ever so long. Sometimes he thought so hard he scratched his head without knowing it. At other times he curled his mustache.

So he thought and thought, but after a long time he said he would have to give it up for this time. He was not discouraged, for he could tell from the various things he had thought of that something would turn up after a while to help him work out a plan that would get rid of Brushtail the Fox. That was one fine thing about Doctor Rabbit -- he would not give up. He kept right on trying.

Well, for the next two days Doctor Rabbit was busy doctoring the little Chipmunk children. They had got into Farmer Roe's apple orchard and had eaten a lot of green apples, in spite of the fact that Mother Chipmunk had told Jimmy Chipmunk, her oldest, that he and the rest of the children should not eat green apples.




Doctor Rabbit Lays A Trap


The day after Doctor Rabbit cured the little Chipmunk children, he thought of a new plan for catching Brushtail the Fox, and he decided to try it at once.

Doctor Rabbit knew very well that somehow he must drive Brushtail out of the Big Green Woods. None of the little creatures would be safe for a moment until this was done. Yes, cruel, sly old Brushtail must be driven away, and everything depended on our clever Doctor Rabbit.

As Doctor Rabbit started hopping along through the woods he said quietly to himself, "Of course this scheme I have in mind may not work. But it is worth trying anyway. I won't tell any of my friends about it, and then if I don't catch Brushtail they won't be disappointed. But if I do catch him!"

Right here Doctor Rabbit stopped and laughed and laughed. "My," he continued, "if I do catch him, won't Stubby Woodchuck and Cheepy Chipmunk and all the others be surprised! Well, I should say they will be surprised!"

And Doctor Rabbit went hopping along, chuckling to himself and feeling mighty fine. He is always happy when he has thought of a plan to get rid of some big, cruel animal.

Doctor Rabbit kept going until he came to a part of the Big Green Woods where the Murmuring Brook was widest and deepest. He knew just what he was looking for, too. You see, Farmer Roe's boy had been setting his fishing lines here every night. Each morning he would pull his lines out of the water, take the fish off, and then leave one or two of the lines lying on the bank until evening.

Doctor Rabbit wanted one of these fishing lines, and when he reached the place, sure enough, there was a long, stout fishing line lying right on the ground. There were some hooks on the end of the line, but Doctor Rabbit did not want these, so with his sharp teeth he cut them off. Then he picked up the line and took it some distance away to a big thicket. Here Doctor Rabbit began making a loop in one end of that fishing line and chuckling as he worked.

Well, in just a little while he had that loop all fixed. Then he spread out the loop, which was made so it would slip, on a nice patch of open ground near the thicket. The other end of the line he hid in the thicket. Then he went over to the edge of the Murmuring Brook. He moved along the edge of the brook and watched ever so carefully. Now what do you suppose Doctor Rabbit was looking for this time? Well, sir, he was looking for a live fish. He saw several and made a grab for them, but they all got away. But Doctor Rabbit is very patient, and presently he seized a nice one and carried it, wiggling in his mouth, back to the loop he had made in that line. He dropped the small fish in the center of the loop. The fish didn't jump much now; it only wiggled and flapped its tail a little, and that was just what Doctor Rabbit wanted it to do.

He ran into the thicket where the other end of the line was and waited for Brushtail the Fox to come along.

As Doctor Rabbit waited and listened he heard footsteps approaching. He peeped out to see who it was. It wasn't Brushtail at all; it was Ray Coon. And my, you should have seen Mr. Coon run for that fish when he saw it!

"Hurrah!" Ray Coon shouted. "Some one has lost a fish. Here's my breakfast right here!"

And he was just about to pounce upon the fish when he was almost scared out of his wits by Doctor Rabbit calling out, "Boo! Let that fish alone, Neighbor! I put it there to catch Brushtail the Fox! Come here, into the thicket."

And so Ray Coon, looking rather foolish, went into the thicket where Doctor Rabbit was hiding.

"Keep right still!" Doctor Rabbit whispered to his friend. "I was going to try to catch old Brushtail all by myself," he continued, "but now that you have happened along you'd better stay, for I may need some help."

"How are you going to catch him, Doctor Rabbit?" Ray Coon asked. And Doctor Rabbit just pointed one foot out toward the loop and the squirming fish. Then Ray Coon understood, and how he did chuckle! He was just as much amused as was Doctor Rabbit and they both laughed and laughed, but they had to be very quiet, of course, because at any minute Brushtail might come along.

Suddenly Doctor Rabbit peeked out and whispered, "Sh! sh! Keep as still as anything! There comes old Brushy now. And yes, he's coming this way!"




Brushtail The Fox Is Almost Caught


Doctor Rabbit and Ray Coon kept perfectly quiet in the thicket and watched Brushtail the Fox as he came creeping along. When he saw the fish lying in that loop, my, how wide Brushtail's eyes did open! The fish jumped and squirmed just enough to make Brushtail want it very badly. He was so delighted that he stood up on his hind legs and danced toward the fish.

"Ha! ha!" he laughed. "It was probably old Bald Eagle who flew over the woods and dropped his fish! Ha! ha! ha! That's luck for me -- a fine fish for breakfast. And I did not have to get my feet wet to catch it." Then Brushtail began to sing:

"Great flying Bald Eagle caught a fish, And flew away to eat him; But down it fell through green treetops, And Brushy Fox will cheat him!"

Brushtail finished his song and jumped for the fish. He jumped, of course, right into that loop Doctor Rabbit had made in the stout fishing cord. Well, sir, just as soon as Brushtail's feet touched the ground inside that loop, Doctor Rabbit and Ray Coon jerked the line as quickly and as firmly as they could. The loop slipped up and caught Brushtail around the body. My, but he was surprised and scared! I should say he was! He forgot the fish instantly, and he yelled ever so loud, "Let me go," although he did not know, of course, just what it was that had caught him.

The way he yelled and started pulling to get away was so funny that Doctor Rabbit and Ray Coon laughed until they could scarcely hold the line.

They wrapped the line around their paws and held on as hard as ever they could. And my, how Brushtail did dig his claws into the ground and pull!

When he found he couldn't free himself he was more frightened than ever and shouted (because, you see, he could not see what held him), "You let go of me, you old ghost, or goblin man! You let go of me or I'll claw you to pieces! Let go of me or I'll come back there and pull all your hair out, and I'll throw you in the briars so far you'll never get out and they will stick you forever!"

And all the time Brushtail was talking this he was digging his claws into the ground and pulling with all his might.

Doctor Rabbit could not have held him alone, but Ray Coon is pretty plump and stout, and he helped a great deal. But Brushtail pulled so hard that he pulled them right out of the thicket before they knew it!

Doctor Rabbit was so anxious to hold Brushtail that he cried right out, "Hold him, Ray Coon! Hold on to him! Hold on to him!"

Then Doctor Rabbit saw his mistake, for when Brushtail the Fox heard that voice he stopped pulling and turned around quickly. When he turned toward them, Ray Coon seized the fish, and he and Doctor Rabbit ran for their lives. And Brushtail was close behind them.

Doctor Rabbit skipped away as easily as could be, and Ray Coon, with the fish in his mouth, started up a tree. Brushtail ran for Ray Coon and gave a big spring for him. He almost got him, too, for he bit him on the hind foot. But Ray Coon managed to get up on a limb just out of reach. Brushtail was so angry at losing the fish and being completely fooled that he jumped several times as high as he could, but he could not jump quite high enough. So Ray Coon just sat there and ate that fish right before Brushtail's eyes.

"This is an extra good fish," Ray Coon called down, as he gobbled it up. "It's extra good, Brushy. But you didn't want it anyway, did you? Ha! ha! ha!"

Then old Brushtail was angrier than before. He pulled the loop off of his body with his teeth and snarled, "All right for this time -- you and that big fat rabbit fooled me. He's pretty clever, but he'll not fool me again. And the next time I'll get both of you. I'll eat rabbit and coon both at one meal. In about three days I'll get both of you!" And with an angry growl old Brushtail the Fox went off into the woods.

After a while Doctor Rabbit ventured out of his hiding place and hopped over to the tree which Ray Coon had climbed.

"Brushtail has gone off toward the Murmuring Brook," Doctor Rabbit said. "Come on down and let me doctor your foot where he bit you. I see it's bleeding a little."

Ray Coon came right down and laughed as he said, "My foot isn't hurt much, Doctor, and it will soon be well if you put some of your yellow salve on it."

"Of course it will," Doctor Rabbit agreed, as he took some salve from his medicine case.

He bandaged Ray's foot in a few minutes. But all the time that he was bandaging it, he kept a sharp lookout for Brushtail.

"He's very sly," Doctor Rabbit said, "and I am certain that right this minute he is planning some scheme to catch us or some of our friends."

"That's so," Ray Coon replied, looking at the bushes around him somewhat nervously. "I do wish," he continued, "that we could think of some plan to get rid of him for good. Then we could live happily and have our fun as we used to do."

"Don't you worry, Neighbor Coon," Doctor Rabbit chuckled as he picked up his medicine case and looked at Ray Coon over his big glasses. "Don't you worry," he repeated, "I'll have a plan all in good time, and right now I'm going in the direction he went, to see what he is up to!"

Ray Coon seemed a little nervous again as he said, "Well, do be careful, whatever you do, Doctor, because he looked terribly cruel, you remember."

"Ha! ha! ha!" jolly Doctor Rabbit laughed as he started away, waving a paw at Ray Coon, "I'll take care of myself -- never fear. And I'll take care of old Brushy Fox, too! Ha! ha! ha! Yes, I'll see what he's doing now. Perhaps I shall catch him right away." And Doctor Rabbit slipped away in the direction in which Brushtail had gone.




An Exciting Chase


You remember that Doctor Rabbit started out to find Brushtail the Fox and watch him. Well, it was not long before Brushtail was found, and it certainly was exciting for Doctor Rabbit to watch what happened. This is the way it happened. It was Yappy who found Brushtail. Doctor Rabbit was hopping along, looking for Brushtail, when Yappy came tearing through the woods and almost ran into Brushtail.

You see, Brushtail saw Yappy coming, but he thought Yappy would pass by because he had not as yet smelled the trail. These things Brushtail always knows. But Yappy passed so close he smelled fox, and then Brushtail certainly did have to jump and run.

Doctor Rabbit just sprang up on the trunk of a fallen tree to watch the race. All of a sudden he saw Farmer Roe and his boy running toward Yappy, and with them was another big dog which joined in the chase after Brushtail.

"It's a fox! a fox! It's that old fox!" shouted Farmer Roe's boy. "Catch him, Yappy! Catch him! catch him!" The second big hound turned Brushtail back so that he almost ran into Farmer Roe before he saw him.

Farmer Roe threw a stick at Brushtail but missed him.

"Catch him, Yappy, catch him!" shouted Farmer Roe. "He'll steal all my hens if you don't."

Away they all ran after Brushtail the Fox -- Farmer Roe and his boy yelling, and both hounds barking.

"My!" exclaimed Doctor Rabbit as he sat on the fallen tree, "I certainly do hope they'll catch him!"

And just at that moment it looked as if they would catch Brushtail. He was in such a great hurry that in trying to jump across a wide ditch in the woods he fell right into it. And Yappy was almost upon him.

"Yappy's got him!" shouted Farmer Roe's boy. "Yappy's got him!"

But Brushtail was not to be caught so easily. He sprang out of that hole in a flash, and away he ran like the wind.

As Doctor Rabbit watched, Brushtail ran out of sight in the woods, and the barking of the hounds and the voices of Farmer Roe and his boy sounded farther and farther away. Doctor Rabbit sat and waited, for he thought they might turn Brushtail back and run him past the fallen tree. But after a while they seemed farther away than ever, and he could just barely hear Yappy barking on the trail. Doctor Rabbit just sat still and waited. He knew that Brushtail the Fox was one of the slyest creatures in the woods, and he was pretty sure now that he would get away for this time at least.

"I should not be surprised if he came sneaking back right around here. And still," Doctor Rabbit said hopefully, "Yappy may get him. I'll just wait for a time and see what does happen."

Several times as Doctor Rabbit sat there he heard a noise in the bushes near by and each time he looked quickly in that direction. But it must have been the wind blowing the leaves, for he did not see anything.

Once, however, Doctor Rabbit was really startled. A big woodrat ran through some dead leaves and made a good deal of noise. He stopped and looked at Doctor Rabbit and asked, "Are you waiting for some one?"

"Yes," Doctor Rabbit replied, "I'm waiting for Brushtail the Fox; I'm expecting him any time."

"Brushtail the Fox!" exclaimed the Woodrat. "Well, I'm not going to wait for him!" And he hurried away as fast as he could.

Then Doctor Rabbit heard another noise. Some creature was creeping through the bushes not far off. He was coming nearer, too.




The Big Gray Goose Gets Away


Doctor Rabbit sat on the trunk of the fallen tree and never moved a muscle as he listened to the animal creeping through the thicket. Every now and then it would stop, and there was not a sound; then it would move again, and all the time it kept coming nearer and nearer.

Doctor Rabbit has a way of twitching his nose most of the time, but as he sat there he did not even move his nose. No, sir! He was as still as the tree trunk on which he sat. He kept his eyes right on the place from which the sounds of the creeping animal came.

And then his heart gave a thump and beat very fast -- for out of the thicket came old Brushtail himself! He looked all about carefully, and then sat down panting, tired out from his long run.

But after he was somewhat rested, Brushtail got up and grinned. He looked out in the woods in the direction where Yappy and the other hound were still running and barking.

"Ha! ha! ha!" Brushtail chuckled softly. "They've lost my trail. I knew they would when I walked down the Murmuring Brook. Well," he continued, "I'll just look around a bit for something to eat. Perhaps I can find that big fat rabbit."

It happened that Brushtail started right for the fallen tree where Doctor Rabbit sat, and Doctor Rabbit was just about to spring off and run when something else happened. Farmer Roe's big gray goose came near. She was eating some tender green grass blades and never dreamed that a fox was near. But Brushtail saw her and started creeping toward her.

Doctor Rabbit could not bear to see that big gray goose gobbled up, so he shouted as loud as he could, "Look out, Gray Goose! Brushtail the Fox is going to get you! He's coming! He's coming!"

Now, as you may know, a tame goose cannot fly very far, but many of them can fly a short distance, and fly fairly high too. The gray goose was terribly frightened, and instantly began flapping her great wings. She flew just high enough in the air so that Brushtail missed him when he sprang. If the Murmuring Brook had not been near, that gray goose would surely have been caught, because, as I have said, she cannot fly very far; but as it was she managed to fly across the brook. Then she came to the ground again and ran screaming and flapping her wings toward Farmer Roe's. She got out of the woods in a few moments and Brushtail the Fox did not catch her.

Now when Doctor Rabbit shouted, Brushtail turned quickly and saw him, but knowing that he could not catch both of them, he sprang for the gray goose. But Brushtail did not swim across Murmuring Brook. He knew it would take him too long, and he saw that he could not catch the gray goose after all. So he turned from the edge of the brook and started back after Doctor Rabbit.

My, but Brushtail was angry at Doctor Rabbit!

"It was that big fat rabbit that made me miss my dinner!" snarled Brushtail.

"I saw him sitting on that fallen tree. It was he who warned that silly goose!"

And Brushtail ran swiftly to the fallen tree, and darted quickly all around it. He sprang into the near-by thickets and charged under some small brush piles. In fact, he raced around and hunted in every spot where he thought Doctor Rabbit might be hiding, and all the time he kept up an angry growl.

"I'll get him; I'll get him," Brushtail kept snarling. "I'll get that big fat rabbit if it takes me a week!"




Brushtail The Fox Finds The Traps


A few days after Doctor Rabbit had helped Farmer Roe's big gray goose to escape from Brushtail the Fox, Doctor Rabbit saw something that interested him greatly. Farmer Roe was working at something out in the woods. There was a briar patch near by, so Doctor Rabbit crept into this and watched.

Yes, sir! Farmer Roe was actually setting a trap, or rather, he was setting four traps. And he was surely arranging things so that if Brushtail could ever be fooled at all he could be fooled here, or so it seemed, at least. Farmer Roe had chosen a low place in the woods, full of the finest white sand. He staked the traps and set them in the sand, and covered them all over with sand so that they could not be seen. Then he dragged an old cow's head right in the center of the four traps.

Now, you see, it looked just as if some animal had been eating the cow's head and had left it right in that nice fine white sand. And if Mr. Fox should happen along, it looked as if he might try to go right up to that head. Then he would be sure to step into one of those traps!

Well, all the rest of that day and most of the night Doctor Rabbit watched those traps and that cow's head. At last, far along in the night, he heard a noise in the bushes close by. The moon shone very brightly through the trees, and on that patch of white sand and the cow's head. A dark form came slipping out of the shadows and kept coming nearer. Pretty soon Doctor Rabbit saw who it was. It was Brushtail the Fox.

Brushtail sniffed toward the cow's head and said, "Well, well, fresh beef! This is pretty fine!" And he began walking around and around that cow's head. But he seemed a little suspicious, for he did not walk right up to the head. Still, he kept getting closer and closer. And then, all of a sudden, he stumbled over something.

"Hello! What's this!" Brushtail exclaimed. He dug around a little in the sand, then said, "Oho, I see! It's a stake I stumbled over, and here is a chain and -- why sure enough! There's a trap fastened to the chain. Ha! ha! ha! No beef to-night, thank you! I'll just wait. Perhaps some foolish animal will drag that head away and hide it. Then I'll just help myself. Sooner or later I'll get that head!" And Brushtail trotted away.

It was a queer procession!

But he did not go far until he stopped and sniffed again in the direction of the cow's head.

"My!" exclaimed Brushtail, "That meat certainly does smell good, so good that I am almost tempted to go back and try to get it. But I'm afraid. I'll just wait as I said. And I'll get that cow's head as sure as anything."

And laughing to himself because he believed he was so clever, Brushtail stole softly away into the woods.

Well, Brushtail is clever, but some one else was just a bit cleverer, and that was Doctor Rabbit.




Getting Together


Of course Doctor Rabbit was greatly disappointed when Brushtail the Fox discovered that there was a trap set in the sand, because he had thought surely Brushtail would be caught. Then, after Brushtail had gone away, Doctor Rabbit suddenly thought of something. Yes, sir! It came to him in an instant -- a plan to get rid of Brushtail the Fox! And the plan was suggested to Doctor Rabbit by Brushtail's remark, "Perhaps some foolish animal will drag that head away and hide it. Then I'll just help myself."

Well, as soon as it was daylight, Doctor Rabbit hurried right over to Jack Rabbit's, told him what his plan was, and brought Jack Rabbit back with him. Then Doctor Rabbit hurried around through the Big Green Woods telling his friends. He told Stubby Woodchuck, Cheepy Chipmunk, Chatty Red Squirrel, Frisky Grey Squirrel, Robin-the-Red, O. Possum, busy Blue Jay, Jim Crow, and quite a number of others. He asked them all to come about the middle of the forenoon to the place where Farmer Roe had placed the cow's head, as he would need every one of them at about that time.

Immediately Doctor Rabbit and Jack Rabbit hurried away toward Farmer Roe's back lot. They squeezed under a board fence and began looking for something.

"Here it is!" Doctor Rabbit said, picking up a stout piece of rope that had been part of a clothes-line.

"I knew it was in here somewhere," Jack Rabbit said, "for I saw it just yesterday."

"Now," said Doctor Rabbit, "let's go back to the woods and find that slim hickory tree that has a grapevine hanging from the top."

They ran into the woods, and after a little search found the hickory. They hid the rope they had found and hurried over to the cow's head in the sand. There they found all the other little creatures. After a great deal of very careful work, Doctor Rabbit, Jack Rabbit, and O. Possum managed to get the cow's head outside the circle of traps. Then every one of Doctor Rabbit's friends helped to pull and push the cow's head. It was a queer procession!

After quite a while they succeeded in pushing and pulling the cow's head to the slim hickory tree. Doctor Rabbit told them now to push it into a near-by thicket, and they did.

Fat O. Possum exclaimed, "Whew, I'm tired. Now let's eat the head!"

Everybody but O. Possum laughed at that, and Doctor Rabbit said, "No, Brother Possum, not just yet, but you are helping wonderfully, and tomorrow morning I think you can have this head all to yourself. I think we'll be rid of Brushtail the Fox by that time."

Doctor Rabbit now grabbed hold of the grapevine that hung from the top of the hickory, and he and all his friends pulled and pulled until they bent the top of the hickory down to the thicket. Then, while his friends held the tree-top down, Doctor Rabbit made a snare or loop of the rope he had found, and arranged it in the thicket so that if Brushtail got to the cow's head he would have to step through the snare, or slip noose. Finally, Doctor Rabbit tied the tree rather loosely to a small twig of the thicket and told his friends to step back carefully, because the least thing would make the tree fly up as it was before and take that snare with it.




Brushtail The Fox Discovers The Cow's Head


Doctor Rabbit and all his friends stood back and watched to see whether the tree would fly back, but it did not. It held as firm and quiet as could be.

"Now," said Doctor Rabbit, "old Brushy will come back to where that head was, and, seeing it gone, he will naturally think that O. Possum or somebody has dragged it away. So Brushtail will smell along the ground where we have dragged the head, and he will finally find it right here. I have hidden the noose in the thicket so that Mister Fox will not notice it, and he'll walk right in to get that head. In doing so, he'll put his head through that noose and pull on it, trying to get to the head. Well, when Mr. Brushtail pulls, he'll break that slender twig that holds the tree down, because that twig is about ready to break as it is. Then we'll see what'll happen!"

"Let's hurry away now," Doctor Rabbit added. "If foxy Brushtail happened to see all of us here at once he might become suspicious. I'll come back soon and watch, and if anything happens I'll let all of you know at once."

So away went Stubby Woodchuck and O. Possum and all the others, talking quietly yet excitedly, and now and then laughing a little. They said they hoped Brushtail would come soon, and they also said that something just told them away down deep in their hearts that Brushtail was surely going to be caught this time. And all that day they could scarcely eat, they were so eager to know whether Brushtail would get caught in that noose in the thicket.

Doctor Rabbit hid not far from the cow's head and waited all day. Then he went to supper and came quickly back. Pretty soon night came, and the big round moon came up. Along about midnight Doctor Rabbit heard a sound. Pit-a-pat! pit-a-pat! pit-a-pat! Some one was coming along slowly through the woods! Then, as the form came nearer, Doctor Rabbit saw Brushtail the Fox trotting along with his sharp nose to the ground, smelling the trail where that cow's head had been dragged.

Well, sir, Brushtail went right up to the thicket where the noose was. Then he laughed and laughed and laughed.

"Well, well, well!" said Brushtail. "I guess I'm just a little too smart for anybody around these woods. Ha! ha! ha! It's just as I thought. That silly old fat possum or somebody has been foolish enough to walk right in among those traps that Farmer Roe set and drag that head up here. Well, I'll just go on into this thicket and bring that head out and take charge of it myself. There's enough meat to last me several days." And Brushtail started into the thicket.




What Happened To Brushtail The Fox


When Brushtail the Fox started into the thicket to get the cow's head he never dreamed, of course, that there was anything there to catch him. So he plunged right into the thicket. Swish! Up went that tall, slim hickory tree, and Brushtail with it! You never heard such a yell as Brushtail gave. He yelled so loudly that all the little creatures of the Big Green Woods were awakened, and Doctor Rabbit did not have to call them. They all came running toward the place where the snare had been set.

Even Jack Rabbit, away out in the Wide Prairie, heard Brushtail yell, and here came Jack Rabbit running as fast as he could.

In a little time all the little creatures of the Big Green Woods were there. Now, you see, Brushtail had put his front legs through that noose, so that it held him around the body just behind his fore legs. The rope did not hurt him much, although it pulled considerably. So he dangled up there and howled, while all the little creatures below shouted and danced for joy.

Of course, when Brushtail saw all the little creatures come so quickly, he knew a trick had been played upon him, but he was too badly scared to be angry. I should say he was! He was about scared out of his wits when that tree jerked him up into the air, and he was about as badly scared now as ever, because he could not see how he was ever going to get down from there.

"Let me down! Let me down! Let me down!" Brushtail shouted, clawing wildly at the air.

"Oh yes!" said Doctor Rabbit. "I suppose we'll let you down, foxy Brushy. I suppose we know what you would do to us mighty quick if you caught us. Yes, it's likely we'll let you down. Ha! ha! ha!" And Doctor Rabbit and all his friends danced around under the tree and laughed and laughed.

"I'll go out of these woods and never, never, never come back if you'll just let me down!" Brushtail promised; and he really meant it. This was just what Doctor Rabbit was waiting to hear Brushtail say.

But Doctor Rabbit said, "We'll go over to my house for a little while and talk the matter over."

And, with Brushtail begging them to come back and let him down, they all hurried over to Doctor Rabbit's house in the big tree. When they were inside Doctor Rabbit seated them all in his best chairs.

Then he stood up and said, "My friends, I just wanted to have you all come over here and stay until morning. The fact is, that while Brushtail is pretty badly scared, he is not hurt much yet, and we must hurt him, at least a little, or he may forget his promise and come back to our woods. By morning, however, I think he will have learned a lesson he never will forget, and I think he'll keep out."

So they talked and had a good time at Doctor Rabbit's until morning. It was just daylight when they went back to the slim hickory. Brushtail was still hanging there, and when he saw them how he did yell to be let down!

"Very well, Brother Brushy," Doctor Rabbit said, "we'll let you down, and if you ever come back into our woods again -- "

"Oh," yelled Brushtail before Doctor Rabbit could say another word, "I'll never, never, never come back if I can get down. I'd rather live on crickets and bugs all my life than to take chances." But Brushtail did not say any more, because he wanted to get down right away.

"O. Possum," said Doctor Rabbit, "if you'll go up and gnaw that rope in two so that old Brushtail can drop to the ground, you may have that cow's head all for yourself."

"I'll do that," O. Possum said, and he began climbing the tree. Presently O. Possum was above Brushtail, and began gnawing the rope.

"Oh, dear me!" shouted Brushtail after O. Possum had gnawed for a time. "It's an awfully long way to the ground, I'm afraid!"

And then O. Possum got the rope gnawed right in two. Plunk! Brushtail struck the ground. Well, sir, he got right up and started to run. He was so stiff he could not run well at first, but the farther he went the faster he ran. After he got across the Murmuring Brook he went away through the woods on the other side like a streak. I don't know of anything that could have scared Brushtail and made him stay scared as that snare did.

Brushtail the Fox never came around the Big Green Woods after that. Doctor Rabbit and his friends were certainly glad and happy.

<eob>

The Doers

By

William John Hopkins



I

The Digging-Men Story


Once upon a time there was a little boy who was almost five years old. And his mother used to let him wander about the garden and in the road near the house, for there weren't many horses going by, and the men who drove the horses that did go by knew the little boy and they were careful.

So this boy wandered about and played happily by himself.

He had his cat and his cart and his shovel and his hoe, and he always wore his overalls. And wherever he went his cat went too.

One morning he saw some men come with a big cart and two horses, and they stopped in a field near his house where there were some queer boards nailed on sticks that were stuck in the ground; and the boards turned corners, and there were strings across from one board to another.

And the men got out of the big cart and unhitched the horses from the cart, and the little boy thought he had better go there and see what they were going to do.

So he went, dragging his cart behind him, with his shovel and his hoe rattling in the bottom of it.

And his cat saw him going, and she ran on ahead with her bushy tail sticking straight up in the air.

And the little boy came to the men and the horses and he stopped and stood still.

And his cat stopped too, but she didn't stand still; she rolled over on her back on the ground and wanted to play, but nobody would pay any attention to her.

Pretty soon one of the men looked down and saw the little boy.

"Hello!" he said.

"Hello," said the little boy. "What are you going to do?"

"Why," said the man, "we're going to dig dirt."

"Are you going to dig a hole?" the little boy asked.

"Yes," said the man; "a great big hole."

"And what is the hole for?" the little boy asked. "Is it to plant something in?"

"No," said the man, "it's going to be the cellar of a house."

"Oh," said the little boy, "is it? And do you think I could help you dig? I've got my shovel and my cart."

"I'm afraid," said the man, "that it wouldn't do. You see that great scoop?"

He pointed to a big iron scoop that was in the cart.

The little boy looked and nodded.

"Is that a scoop? What is it for?"

"The horses drag it, and a man takes hold of those two handles like plough-handles, and it scoops the dirt right up."

The little boy nodded again.

"You can watch us if you want to," the man said then. "But you must be careful not to get in the way of the horses."

"And can my kitty watch too?"

The man laughed and said his kitty could watch if she wanted to.

And the other men took pickaxes out of the cart, the handles of the pickaxes and their iron heads, and each man slipped the head of his pickaxe over the handle and gave it a tap on the ground to drive the head on.

And they walked slowly in under the strings between the boards and they got in a line.

And the little boy sat down on a stone that was just the right size and watched them. His cat came and got right between his feet.

Then the man at the end of the line raised his pickaxe high above his head, and the next man did the same, and then the third man, and so on to the other end of the line.

And the first man struck his pickaxe down hard into the ground, and it made the ground grunt, Mnh!

And the second man did the same, and the ground gave another grunt, Mnh!

And then the third man did the same thing, and so on to the other end of the line.

Then the first man was ready again, so that the sound of the pickaxes was as regular as the ticking of the tall clock.

When the pickaxe was in the ground, each man gave a kind of a pry that loosened the dirt.

And when they had picked, the men went ahead a little short step and picked a new place and left the loosened dirt behind, so that, pretty soon, they were walking on the dirt that they had loosened.

The cat had got tired of lying between the little boy's feet and having no attention paid to her, so she got up and ran off a little way, and stopped and looked back, but the little boy wouldn't look.

So she walked back, with her bushy tail straight up in the air, and rubbed against the little boy's legs.

Still the little boy didn't notice her. And the reason why he didn't notice her was that the horses were being hitched to the big iron scoop.

As soon as the horses were hitched to the scoop, they started walking along; and the scoop turned right over on its face, upside down, because the man didn't have hold of the handles.

And the horses dragged the scoop, upside down, and it bumped over the stones and made a ringing kind of noise, and they dragged it in between the boards and over the dirt that had been loosened by the pickaxes, and when they got to the end of the loosened dirt, they stopped.

Then the man turned the horses around, and he took hold of the handles of the scoop and turned it over; and he kept hold of the handles, and the horses started, and the scoop dug into the loose dirt and scooped it right up and carried it along.

Now the field, where they were digging the cellar, sloped down behind where the cellar was to be, so that, when the horses came to that part, they were walking down-hill.

And the man let go of the handles of the scoop, and it turned over and dumped its load of dirt.

And when the horses heard the scoop bumping and banging on the ground, they turned around of their own accord and walked back to get a new load.

And so they did until they had scooped out all the dirt that had been loosened.

Then the pickaxe men went back and began again on the part that had been scooped, but the horses had to wait for the dirt to be loosened, and they stood outside of the cellar.

It was beginning to look a little bit like a cellar now, but a very shallow one.

And the little boy was getting tired of watching the pickaxes rise and fall and of listening to the noise the ground made. So he got up.

And his cat saw him getting up, and she ran to him, and she saw that he was going to the man with the horses, so she ran ahead, with her bushy tail sticking straight up in the air.

The man saw them coming, and he looked at the little boy and smiled.

"I've got to go now," the little boy said, when he had come to the man.

"So soon?" asked the man. "I hope you aren't tired."

"I think I'd better go home," the little boy said. "P'r'aps my mother would like to see me."

"I shouldn't wonder if she'd like to see you pretty often," the man said. "You tell her that you'll be safe here. I'll keep my eye on you."

"How will you get your eye on me?" the little boy asked.

The man laughed. "Will you come again?"

"I'll come to-morrow," the little boy said. "P'r'aps I'll come this afternoon. Good-bye."

"Good-bye," said the man.

And he watched the little boy as he trudged away, dragging his cart, with his hoe and his shovel rattling in the bottom of it, and with his cat walking beside him and looking up into his face.

And that's all of this story.




II

The Mason Story


Once upon a time there was a little boy and he was almost five years old. And there weren't any other children near for him to play with, so he used to play happily all by himself.

He had his cat and his cart and his shovel and his hoe, and he always wore his overalls.

One morning he was sitting right down in the gravel of his front walk, the walk that led to the front door of the house that he lived in, and he had been digging in the gravel. The hole that he was digging was square.

And he had picked the dirt all over with a big nail, and pried it loose, and then he had pretended that his shovel was a big iron scoop that could scoop the dirt out just the way the big scoop did when it was dragged by the horses.

For he had been watching the men dig a cellar in the field next to his house.

And his cat was there, rolling in the gravel and playing with the air.

Pretty soon his mother looked out of a window, and then she came running out.

"My dear little boy," she said, "what are you digging?"

The little boy got up, and the cat scampered away a few feet, with her bushy tail straight up in the air.

"I'm digging a cellar for a house," said the little boy.

"Oh," said his mother. "Well, don't you think you'd better build the house over near the sand-pile? People coming in might not see this house, and they might kick it over and walk on it. But the masons have come to work on the real cellar."

"The masons?" the little boy asked.

"The men to build the cellar wall. You may go and watch them if you like."

The little boy nodded again. Then he put his shovel into his cart, and took hold of the handle of the cart. Then he looked back.

"Good-bye," he said.

"Good-bye, my dear little son," his mother said.

And she watched him trudging away, dragging his cart, with his shovel and his hoe rattling in the bottom of it.

And his cat ran on ahead, with her bushy tail sticking straight up in the air.

The little boy saw a man hoeing slowly at something in a big shallow wooden box.

And the something that he was hoeing at was all white and it slopped here and there; and the hoe was all white, and the outside of the box was all covered with slops of the same white stuff, and the man's shoes were white, too, and the bottoms of his overalls.

And there was a pile of new sand that looked all moist and just right to play in.

There was another man standing at the edge of the cellar and looking down into it.

The cellar itself was so deep now that the little boy could just see the tops of the hats of the men who were working in it.

The man who had been looking down into the cellar heard the shovel and the hoe rattling in the cart and looked up.

"Hello!" he called.

"Hello," said the little boy. "What are you doing?"

"I'm just looking to see if the men do their work right. Come over here and I'll show you."

So the little boy left his cart beside the pile of sand and walked over to where the man was.

And the man met him and took hold of his hand; and they walked together to the edge of the cellar and looked down into it, and the man stooped down and kneeled on one knee, with his arm half around the little boy so that he wouldn't fall in.

In the cellar the little boy saw a great many big stones that lay all about the middle, where they had been dumped; and there were six men working around the edge of the cellar building the wall.

In part of the cellar the wall had been begun and was about two feet high; but in another part there was nothing but the smooth dirt at the bottom, and the smooth sides of the cellar that went straight up.

And two of the men were digging a trench in the smooth bottom of the cellar where the wall would be.

When they had the shallow trench dug for a few feet, one of the men put down his shovel and went to the pile of stones.

And he found some stones that were the size he wanted, each of them just about as big as he could carry in one hand. And he took two of these and went to the trench and put them in.

Then he went to the pile and got two more, and he put them in the trench, too. And so he did until the bottom of the trench was all covered.

Then he got smaller stones and threw them in on top of the bigger ones; and, on top of those, still smaller stones that were flattish.

The flat stones filled the trench up nearly to the top, and he didn't put in any more but took up his shovel again and helped the other man dig.

Then two of the other men came, and they looked at the trench to see if it was all right.

Then they went to the pile of big stones and they picked out one of the biggest, and they took their big iron crowbars and put the points of the bars under the stone, to move it.

The little boy wondered.

"What are they going to do?" he asked. "Are they going to move it? Can they move it?"

The man nodded.

"Easy enough," he said. "You watch."

And the men pried with their crowbars, and the big stone started from its place and rolled down from the pile. And the men got it over to the trench, sometimes prying it with their crowbars and sometimes rolling it with their hands, and they set it in its place on top of the small flat stones.

Then one of the men shut one of his eyes and squinted along the wall that was done to see if the stone was just in the right place; and the other man moved the stone with his crowbar just a little until it was in exactly the right place.

Then they went to the pile again and got another big stone in the same way, and they got it over to the trench and set it in its place beside the first.

Then the men went to the pile again, and they picked out a stone that was nearly as big as the bottom stones, and they hammered it with great hammers and split off some thin, flat pieces.

That was to make it fit better in the place where it was to go. The ground all about the wall was covered with thin, flat pieces that had been hammered off other stones.

And they got a great thick board, and they put one end of the board on top of the bottom stones which they had just put in the trench, and they put the other end of the board on the ground in front of the stone which they had been hammering, and they rolled the stone slowly up the board until it came to the end.

And they rolled it off the end upon the bottom stones, and got it into its place with their crowbars.

And where it did not fit well enough, they put in thin, flat pieces that they picked up from the ground.

The man who knelt on one knee at the edge of the cellar told the little boy about it as the men worked.

And, when the men had put in the little flat pieces of stone, one of them looked up and smiled at the little boy and said that they called the thin, flat pieces "chocks."

"Not woodchucks," he said, "but just chocks."

The little boy smiled and nodded. He had never seen a woodchuck, but there was a picture of one in his animal-book. It wasn't a very good picture.

"I guess," he said, "that they are stone-chucks."

All the men who heard him laughed. And they went to work again, and the little boy turned to the man who was holding him.

"I've got to go now," he said, "and play in that pile of sand."

"All right," said the man. "You play there just as long as you want to."

So the little boy went over to the man who was hoeing the white stuff. It wasn't so white as it had been and it was thicker, just about like nice mud.

And his cat came up from somewhere. The little boy didn't know where she had been, but he didn't pay any attention to her. He just stood and watched the man.

"What are you making?" he asked at last.

"I'm making mortar," the man said. "They put it in the cracks of the wall, to hold it together."

"Oh," said the little boy. "Well, would you like to have me help you?"

"You might bring me a load of sand," said the man, "if you want to. I shall have to put in more sand."

So the little boy went to his cart, and he threw out his hoe. He wasn't careful where he threw it, and the handle of the hoe hit the cat.

And the cat ran home as fast as she could go. But the little boy didn't know it, he was so busy.

And he backed the cart up to the sand-pile, and he took his shovel and shoveled sand into the cart until the man said that was enough.

Then he took hold of the handle and pulled. It was heavier than he thought it would be, but he pulled it over to the box of mortar. It was only a few steps.

Then the man told him to shovel it in, a little at a time.

And the little boy shoveled it in slowly, and he felt very proud, for he was helping to make real mortar.

And he kept on shoveling until the man said that was enough.

The man hoed the mortar for a few minutes, and then he took up a queer-looking thing that he said was his hod.

It was made of two boards that were put together like a V with the point down; and another board was nailed across one end, but the other end was left open.

It was a kind of a trough; and a stick like a broom-handle stuck down from the middle of it.

And the man filled this hod with mortar, and he turned around and put the hod across one shoulder with the bottom of the trough resting on his shoulder.

And he took hold of the stick, and he walked off, down a ladder into the cellar.

And he dumped the mortar out of the hod on to a board near the men who were building the wall. Then he came up again.

The little boy watched him until he had come up out of the cellar. And he asked the man whether he would want any more sand, but the man said that he wouldn't for some time.

So the little boy went and played in the sand-pile for a long time, and, while he was playing, his cat came and rubbed against him. Then the little boy got up.

"I've got to go now," he said to the mortar man. "Good-bye."

"Good-bye," said the man. "Come again."

"Yes," said the little boy, "I will."

And he put his shovel and his hoe into his cart, and he took hold of the handle of the cart, and he walked off, with his shovel and his hoe rattling behind him.

And his cat ran on ahead, with her bushy tail sticking straight up in the air.

And that's all of this story.




III

The Dinner-Time And Jonah Story


Once upon a time there was a little boy and he was almost five years old. And there weren't any other children near for him to play with, so he used to play happily all by himself.

He had his cat and his cart and his shovel and hoe, and he always wore his overalls when he was playing.

They were building a house in the field next to that little boy's house, and he used to go there almost every day to watch the men and to help.

One day it was late when he went, because his mother had taken him with her down to the Square to do an errand, and when he came back he had to change his clothes and put on his overalls. His mother wouldn't let him wear his overalls down to the Square.

And when he had his overalls on, he hurried and got his cart and his shovel and his hoe, and he called his cat, and she came running, with her bushy tail sticking straight up in the air.

And he hurried to the new house, dragging his cart; and his shovel and his hoe rattled in the bottom of it.

The mortar man saw him.

"Hello," he said.

"Hello," said the little boy. "Did you wonder where I was?"

"I did that," said the mortar man.

"Well, I had to go on an errand with my mother," the little boy said, "but I hurried and came as soon as I could, and here I am. Do you want some sand?"

But the mortar man didn't want any more sand then. He filled his hod with mortar, and he stooped down and took the hod of mortar on his shoulder, and he went trotting to the ladder, and he went down the ladder.

Then the little boy couldn't see him, because the cellar walls were done and the carpenters had come, and they had put on the great square beams that lie on top of the cellar walls, and they had put in the beams that go across from one side to the other and hold up the floors.

But there were some men in the cellar, for the little boy could hear them laughing and talking.

And the mortar man had told him that they were the bricklayers who were building the chimneys and two of the masons who were smearing mortar over all the cracks of the wall, so that the water wouldn't leak through from the ground into the cellar.

The little boy wished that he could see those men, but he was afraid that it wouldn't be being careful to go down that ladder, and he didn't think he could do it, anyway, for the steps were too far apart.

So he looked about and he saw the man who had held the handles of the scoop, and who had held him that other day, while he looked down into the cellar and saw the masons building the wall. He was called the foreman.

The foreman was glad to see the little boy, and beckoned to him.

And the little boy went, and the foreman took hold of his hand, and they went together right up on the floor beams; but the foreman carried him when they got up there, because there weren't any boards on the beams yet, and the little boy might have fallen through between the beams.

And when they got to the right place, they both stooped over and looked down between the beams, through a great big square hole. A chimney would come up through the hole, and the bricklayers were building it.

The little boy was surprised to see how enormous a chimney had to be at the bottom.

There were four men laying bricks as fast as ever they could, but it was all the little boy could do to watch one of the men.

First, he took up a brick from the pile, with his left hand, and he generally tossed the brick up a little way in the air, and it turned over before he caught it again, so that he saw all sides of it; and, with the flat trowel which he held in his right hand, he scooped up some mortar.

And he slapped the trowelful of mortar down on the bricks where he wanted to put that other brick, and he gave a little wipe with the trowel around the edges, and he pressed the brick that he was holding in his left hand down into place, and he tapped the brick with the handle of the trowel, and the mortar squeezed out all around, and, with his trowel, he scooped off the mortar that had squeezed out, and he slapped that down in a new place.

Then he began again, and reached down for another brick.

The little boy was so busy watching the bricklayer that he forgot all about the masons who were putting mortar on the wall.

But, pretty soon, all the men said something to all the other men, and they stopped laying bricks, and they began to take off their overalls.

"What are they going to do now?" the little boy asked.

"They are going to eat their dinner," said the foreman. "Come on."

So the foreman and the little boy got down on the ground again, and the foreman set the little boy down, and he took his hand, and they went back, near the pile of sand, where there were some nice boards to sit on.

And the men all came trooping out of the cellar, and each man went and got his dinner from the place where he had put it when he came there in the morning.

Some of the men had their dinner in pails and some had theirs in baskets and one man had his in a newspaper, so that he wouldn't have anything to carry home at night.

And the men came where the nice boards were, and they sat around anywhere, and they opened their pails and their baskets and the newspaper bundle, and they began to eat their dinners.

The little boy had sat down, too, but he didn't feel very comfortable.

He thought that, perhaps, he ought to have brought his dinner, but he didn't know about it, so how could he have brought it?

And he got up and started home, but the foreman called after him and asked him why he was going.

And the little boy said that he was going to bring his dinner, too, and eat it with them.

And the foreman said that they would give him some of their dinner, and that there were all sorts of nice things that their wives had cooked.

And the little boy said that he would ask his mother, and he would hurry as fast as he could.

In a few minutes, the little boy came back to the place where the men were sitting.

He walked very carefully, because he was carrying a cup of milk; and his cat walked beside him and looked up at the cup of milk all the time, and, every few steps, she stood on her hind legs and tried to reach the milk.

But she couldn't, and the little boy didn't pay any attention to her.

When he got to the men, the foreman asked him what his mother said.

And the little boy told him that his mother said he could have some of their things if they didn't give him any cake or any pie, and that any of the men could have their tea or coffee warmed for them if they would take it to his house.

The men who had tea or coffee were glad to hear that, and they went to the little boy's house and took their tea and their coffee.

Some had it in bottles and some had it in the covers of their dinner-pails, with the cup to drink out of fitting over the top.

The foreman didn't go, and the little boy sat down close to him and began to drink his milk; but his cat bothered him by trying to get it.

So the little boy gave her a push with his foot.

"Get away, kitty," he said. "You can't have any."

Then the foreman laughed, and he broke off a piece of white bread and gave it to the little boy. And the little boy took a great enormous bite.

"Is it good?" the foreman asked.

The little boy nodded. "M -- m -- m!" he said. He couldn't really say anything because he had his mouth full of bread.

"My wife made it," said the foreman. "I think she's a very fine cook."

The little boy put his mouthful of bread in his cheek so that he could speak.

"Yes," he said, "I think so too."

The foreman laughed again, and then the men began to come back.

They all wanted to give the little boy something; and some of them gave him other little pieces of white bread, and some of them gave him little corners of their sandwiches, and some gave him little pieces of dark-colored bread.

And he ate his pieces of bread and drank his milk, and the foreman gave him two of some little thin molasses cookies that were all crackly and crumbly; for little crackly cookies like those aren't much like cake.

When all the men had finished their dinner and had drunk their tea and their coffee, they went and put their pails and their baskets away and then came back and sat down again, and some of them got out their pipes and filled them.

The little boy was very happy, and he sat on the board with his hands in his lap, and he smiled.

"Now," said the foreman, "there's time for a story before you go to work again. Do any of you know a story?"

He looked all about and, last of all, he looked at the little boy. "Do you know any story?"

"Well," the little boy said, "I know about Jonah."

"Will you tell us about Jonah?" the foreman asked. "I should like to hear that story."

"Yes," said the little boy, "I will tell it. Well, once upon a time there was a man named Jonah. And he had to go to Nineveh to tell the people how bad they were. But he didn't want to go; so he didn't. He ran away in a ship.

"And when he got into the ship, he lay down and went to sleep. And the ship started, and pretty soon the wind began to blow terribly hard, and there were 'normous great waves, and the ship got all tippy. And the sailors were afraid, and they threw out the things that were in the ship.

"So the captain went to the place where Jonah was. 'Wake up, Jonah!' he said. 'Why don't you get up and pray?'

"Then the sailors talked together, and said that it must be Jonah's fault. 'Who is this Jonah, anyway?' they said. 'Where did he come from, and what is he doing here? Let's ask him.'

"So they did. And Jonah told them, and said: 'I guess you'll have to throw me out of the ship.' So they threw Jonah over into the water, and there wasn't any more storm.

"And Jonah, he went down and down and down in the water, and I guess he thought he was going to be drowned. Then a great, big whale came along and saw Jonah, and he opened his mouth wide and went at Jonah and swallowed him. But he didn't bite him or chew him or anything.

"But Jonah was terribly scared, 'cause he couldn't hardly guess where he was. The insides of the whale were all wet, and it was all pitchy dark in there.

"There wasn't anything for Jonah to do but to think, and after he had thought for a long, long time, the whale up-swallowed him and spitted him out on to the beach. And I s'pose Jonah went and washed his clothes, because they were all whaley.

"And then he went to Nineveh and told them to be more better, and they did be."

And that's all of Jonah.




IV

The Carpenter Story


Once upon a time there was a little boy and he was almost five years old. And there weren't any other children near for him to play with, so he used to play happily all by himself.

He had his cat and his cart and his shovel and his hoe, and he always wore his overalls when he was playing.

They were building a house in a field near that little boy's house; and, one morning, he had heard the sounds of hammers and of mallets all the time he was at breakfast.

So he hurried to get through, and he slipped down from his chair and took off his napkin and he wiped his mouth and he turned to his mother.

She was sitting still, smiling because he was in such a hurry.

"You seem to be in a good deal of a hurry," she said.

"Yes," he said, nodding, "I am. I think I had better go over to the new house."

"To see whether the men are doing their work right?" she asked.

"You see, I have to help the mortar man," he explained. "Good-bye."

"Good-bye, dear," she said. Then she kissed him. "Be very careful."

"Yes, I will."

Then he went out, and he got his cart, and he put his shovel and his hoe in it, and he called his cat; but no cat came. And he called her again, but she didn't come then.

So he took up the handle of his cart, and he walked over to the new house, dragging his cart behind him, with his shovel and his hoe rattling in the bottom of it.

The mortar man was still there, hoeing mortar for the bricklayers to use, for the chimneys weren't done yet.

"Hello," said the mortar man.

"Hello," the little boy said. "I came as soon as I could."

"Where's your kitty?" the mortar man asked. "You couldn't find her, could you? Well, look around behind you."

The little boy looked around behind him.

He was standing with his back to the house, so that, when he looked behind him he saw the new house and the carpenters who were working at great beams which were on wooden horses that stood on the ground.

And he saw his cat, too. She was walking toward him, with her bushy tail sticking straight up in the air.

But the little boy was too much interested in what the carpenters were doing to pay much attention to his cat.

"What are those men doing?" he asked of the mortar man.

"The carpenters? They are cutting mortises in those girts. That is, little holes in those big beams. The ends of other beams will be made small enough to go in those holes, and they will hold the floor up."

"Mor -- tar!" shouted one of the men who were building the chimney.

The mortar man hurried off with his hod of mortar, and the little boy wandered over to where the carpenters were.

His cat went, too, but he left his cart by the pile of sand.

There were two carpenters there, and they both looked up and smiled.

They had great thick chisels and heavy wooden mallets in their hands, and there was a big bit, or "borer," as the little boy called it, lying on the ground between them. And I don't know why "borer" isn't a better name for it.

There were some round holes in the beams which had been made by the borer, and the men were making those round holes square with the chisels.

One of the men had just finished a hole when the little boy came, and he went ahead to the next round hole, and he put the edge of the chisel carefully against the wood, and he struck it with the mallet.

Plack! Plack! Plack! shrieked the mallet on the chisel.

Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! the wood grunted, and it seemed to shiver when the mallet struck.

Then there was a splintering noise and a part of the wood broke away.

Plack! Plack! Plack! screamed the mallet again.

The wood grunted again, but it was of no use, and another piece broke away.

And then the man hit the chisel again and another piece broke off, and the chisel came through on the other side of the beam.

And the carpenter drove the chisel through at the other side of the hole, in the same way; and what had been a round hole was a square one.

Then he laid the mallet down and took the chisel in both hands, and he leaned over the square hole and made the sides all smooth with the chisel.

Then he made a sort of sloping hole, a kind of a little square trench, and it went from the side of the beam into the square hole.

Then he put his tools down and looked at the little boy again and smiled.

"There!" he said. "That's done."

The little boy smiled back at him.

"Is it?" he said. "What goes in that hole? I could put my hand in it."

"It's not for little boys' hands," answered the carpenter. "The end of a short beam goes in there. I'll show you. We have to make places for the chimneys to come through and so people can go upstairs without knocking their heads. Did you ever think of that?"

The little boy shook his head, and he came nearer. "Show me."

So the carpenter went to a little pile of short beams; and he took one and brought it back.

And he turned the big beam on edge, and fitted the end of the little beam into the hole.

The end of the little beam had already been made small, so that it would go in.

"There," he said. "Now here, where I stand, will be the stairs for people to go up, and there will be that other big beam on the other side. We have to leave this big hole in the floor so that a man can go on the stairs without hitting his head, you know. Everywhere else will be a floor, except where the chimneys come through. Do you understand?"

The little boy nodded. He thought that he understood, although it was not very easy to understand.

And while he was trying to understand better, there came a voice behind him.

"Hello! I wondered where you were."

And he looked around and there was his friend the foreman, and the cat had gone to meet him and was coming back beside him, and she was looking up into the foreman's face, and her bushy tail was sticking straight up into the air.

"Hello," said the little boy; and he leaned back against the horse that the beam rested on.

"Your kitty," said the foreman, "came up here all by herself, and she followed me about."

The little boy laughed.

"She's a funny kitty," he said.

The foreman stooped down.

"I think you'd better tell me your name," he said. "I like to know the names of my friends."

"My name is David," the little boy answered.

"And mine is Jonathan," said the foreman quickly. "Think of that! Now, Davie, come with me and let's see how the other men are getting on."

So David put his little hand into the foreman's big one, and they started; and David saw some men putting up a great, tall beam on one of the corners.

Two men were holding it, and another man reached up as high as he could and nailed a board to it, and the other end of the board was fastened down low, so that the tall beam shouldn't fall over when the men let go.

"What are those men doing?" David asked. "That sticks up like my kitty's tail, doesn't it?"

"So it does," the foreman said. "There'll be more of them presently, sticking up all along every side."

"Will there? How many of those sticks will there be?"

"Oh, I don't know; more than fifty, I should think."

"A cat with fifty tails." And the little boy laughed. "Did you ever see a kitty with fifty tails?"

"All sticking straight up in the air!" said the foreman. "That would be funny. She'd look like a porcupine."

"What is a porcupine?" David asked. "Did I ever see one?"

"I guess not," the foreman answered. "Anyway, I never did. It's a little animal all covered with sharp things. It's just as if your kitty's fur was about three or four times as long as it is, and every hair was stiff and sharp. There's a great rattling as they walk, I'm told. The Indians used to sew the quills -- the sharp things -- on their soft leather slippers, because they looked pretty."

"Tell me some more about them," said David.

"I don't know any more. See, Davie, the men are putting up another stick."

So David watched the men put up that stick, and he forgot about the porcupine, which was what the foreman wanted.

And then he watched them put up another, and then another.

"They look as if they were the bones of the house," he said.

"So they do, Davie," the foreman said, "and so they are. And the whole frame, before it's boarded in -- before any boards are nailed on -- looks like the skeleton of a house, and so it is. They'll have pretty near the whole frame up by the time you eat your supper; or to-morrow morning, at any rate. Then you look and see. It's much the same way that your body's made: your ribs and the other bones are the frame, and inside you there are a lot of rooms, and it's all covered with soft skin instead of boards."

"Am I? What are my ribs?"

"These bones." And the foreman stooped and ran his finger quickly down David's ribs, and David shrieked with laughter.

"Tickles," said David. "Show me my ribs again."

"It isn't good for little boys to be tickled too much," said the foreman. "Now we'll go over to the sand-pile for a while. I don't want to take you into the house until they get the frame all up and some floors down. It isn't safe."

So they turned around and went to the sand-pile, and the foreman stayed there a little while and played in the sand.

Then he had to go away; and the mortar man had gone away, and nobody was there but David and his cat.

And David thought that he would help the mortar man, so he filled his cart with sand and dragged it over to the mortar box and shoveled it in.

Then he took up the handle of his cart, and he called his cat, and he walked along to his house, dragging his cart.

And his shovel rattled in the bottom of it, and his cat ran on before him.

But he had forgotten his hoe. It was in the pile of sand.

And that's all of this story.




V

The Water-Men Story


Once upon a time there was a little boy and he was almost five years old. And there weren't any other children near for him to play with, so he used to play happily all by himself.

He had his cat and his cart and his shovel and his hoe, and he always wore his overalls when he was playing. And his name was David.

They were building a house in a field near David's house; and, one morning, he heard a curious sound, and he wondered what they were doing, and he asked his mother.

"Mother," he said, "what are they doing? What are they? It sounds as if they were pickaxing the dirt."

His mother laughed. "Well," she answered, "perhaps they are. I don't know what they are doing. I think you'll have to go and see."

"Think I'll have to go and see," David repeated; "but I'll have my breakfast first."

So he had his breakfast first, and he hurried a little because he wanted to know what the noise was.

And when he was through his breakfast he took off his napkin and slipped down from his chair and went around to kiss his mother.

His father had gone off to town in the early train.

"Good-bye," said David.

"Good-bye, dear," said his mother. "Be very careful."

He nodded. "Yes, I will." He was going out, but he stopped. "I don't hear it now, mother. I don't hear the noise. Do you suppose they've stopped doing it?"

"If you go right along over there, I think you'll find out about it."

So the little boy went out, and he picked up his shovel, but he couldn't find his hoe.

And he put his shovel into his cart, and took up the handle of the cart, and his cat came running, and he went toward the new house, dragging his cart behind him with his shovel rattling in the bottom of it. His cat ran on ahead.

Long before he got as far as the house, he saw some men's heads bob up in the middle of the road; heads without any bodies to them.

And he went nearer, and he saw that the men were in a trench that they had dug in the road, as far as the new house.

Some long iron pipes were in the gutter. The pipes were big enough for his kitty to crawl through.

He wanted to ask somebody about them, but there was nobody there except the two men in the trench, so he walked along until he came to the mortar box.

The mortar man wasn't there. He had gone into the house with a hod of mortar.

So David looked all about for somebody.

He saw the pile of sand with his hoe sticking out of it, but he didn't pay any attention to it, for he wasn't thinking about hoes then.

And he saw the bones of the house almost all up, so that they made a pretty good skeleton, and the carpenters were putting up the rafters: the beams that hold up the roof.

And other carpenters had just begun nailing boards on to the outside of the up-and-down beams, and there was a great noise of hammering.

At last he saw the foreman.

"Hello!" David called.

There was such a noise, with the carpenters all hammering, that the foreman didn't hear him.

"Hello!" called David again, louder.

Still the foreman didn't hear.

"Hello!" David shouted as loud as he could shout. "Hello, Jonathan!"

The foreman heard, that time, and he looked around and laughed.

"Ho, Davie!" he said in a big round voice. "Just wait a minute and I'll be down there."

So David waited a minute, then two, then five minutes, and the foreman came. Then David asked his question.

"What are the men doing in the road?"

"They're digging a trench. When they get it done, they'll lay water pipes in it. And the water will come all the way from the reservoir on the hill, and it will go through pipes that are already laid under the streets, and it will come to this street, and it will turn into this street and go along, and some will go into your house, and some will keep on to this house and go in through a pipe that will be under the ground just the other side of the sand-pile.

"That pipe will go through the cellar wall, and to all the faucets in the house, so that when the little boy who will live here wants to wash his hands or take a bath, he will turn a faucet and the water will come running. There, now."

"Oh," said David, "will a little boy live here?"

"I don't know who will live here, Davie," the foreman answered. "There most generally is a little boy or so in any family that lives in this town."

"Oh," said David; and he nodded his head, and he saw a faucet that was nailed to a board.

And the faucet was on the end of a pipe which stuck up from the ground near the mortar box.

"Why," he said, "there's a faucet, and water will come. I've seen the mortar man get it there."

"Yes," said the foreman. "We had to have water to use. It comes through this pipe that lies on top of the ground all the way to your house. See?"

And the foreman showed David the pipe. It was hidden by the long grass.

"They're going to lay the pipes now, Davie. Do you want to see them do it?"

So David put his little hand into the foreman's big one, and they went together to where the men were.

The men had got up out of the trench, and they were going to take up one of the iron pipes that lay in the gutter.

Just as they began to lift it, out of one end of it popped David's kitty. She scurried around and popped into the end of another pipe, and all the men laughed.

"Funny kitty," said David.

Then the men took hold of the pipe that the cat had been in at first, and they lifted it, one at each end, and they carried it and put it down beside the trench.

Then they got into the trench again, and they took hold of the pipe and lowered it to the bottom.

David couldn't see what the men were doing then, and he went to the edge of the trench and squatted there and watched.

He saw the end of a pipe sticking out of the ground into the trench. It looked as if it had been in the ground a long time.

"What is that?" he asked the foreman.

The foreman said it was the end of the old pipe, and there was a place near his house where they could put a long iron thing into the ground, down as far as the pipes, and turn it and let the water into this pipe. The long iron thing was like a clock-key.

"And Davie," he said, "you see that one end of each pipe flares out bigger than the other end. The men put the small end of one pipe into the flaring end of the next. You'll see."

So David looked and the men fitted the small end of the new pipe into the flaring end of the old one, and they blocked the new pipe up with dirt and stones until it was just right.

Then one of the men took some things that were in the trench. All that David saw was what looked like some old frazzled-out rope, and he laid the things he had taken up around the new pipe in the joint, and he hammered them in tight with a kind of a dull chisel. That was so that the water shouldn't leak through.

When the men had the old frazzled-out rope all hammered in tight, the other man came and brought him something that looked all snaky, and it was shiny like the lead of a pencil, and it waved about as if it were heavy and it seemed to be all moist like mud.

And the man took this snaky, wavy thing, and he wrapped it around the pipe, and he drove it into the joint until it looked like a part of the pipe.

Then he felt it all over carefully, and he stood up and looked at it.

And he made up his mind that it was all right, and the other man began to shovel dirt down into the trench, and they punched the dirt until it was all hard under the pipe and at the sides.

Then they went to the gutter and picked up another pipe.

The foreman couldn't wait any longer.

"I've got to go now, Davie."

"Where have you got to go?" David asked. "Can I go with you?"

"I've got to go into the house. I can't take you in there yet. I'm afraid you'd get hurt. In a day or two you can go in."

David nodded. He was thinking about those pipes.

"Will the men keep on putting those pipes together until they come to the house?" he asked. "And how will they get the pipe into the house? They'll have to put it through a window."

"No," the foreman answered, "they won't have to put it through a window. They'll lay the pipes straight past the house, and they'll plug up the end until there are some more houses built on this road.

"Then they'll fit a little pipe into the side of the big pipe and run it through a hole in the cellar wall.

"The little pipe is not much bigger than that pipe that the faucet is on, over by the mortar box. What'll you do now, Davie? -- play in the sand?"

David nodded again. "Good-bye," he said.

"Good-bye." And the foreman went into the house.

And David dug in the sand for a while, and then he looked for his cat, but he didn't see her; so he put his shovel and his hoe into the cart, and walked off, dragging the cart, with the shovel and the hoe rattling in the bottom of it.

And when he got to the pipes, the cat popped out of the end of one of them, and she ran ahead of David, with her bushy tail sticking straight up in the air, and David walked along to his house.

And that's all.




VI

The Shingle And Clapboard Story


Once upon a time there was a little boy, and he was almost five years old, and his name was David. And there weren't any other children near for him to play with, so he used to play happily all by himself.

He had his cat and his cart and his shovel and his hoe, and he always wore his overalls when he was playing.

One day he wandered up to the corner of the road that he lived on.

He wasn't allowed to go beyond that corner, and his mother didn't like to have him go so far as the corner.

But he was pretending, and he didn't know how far he had come.

He played in the gravel of the gutter for a long time, and he was talking nearly all the time.

His cat was there, taking little runs away, with her bushy tail sticking straight up in the air. Then she would lie down on her back and play with the air, and then she always jumped up in a great hurry and ran back to David and rubbed against him.

But David wasn't talking to his cat, and he wasn't talking to himself.

He was talking to the pretend child who was his playmate and who had come there holding to the other handle of his cart and helping him drag it.

And he was so busy that he didn't notice the great wagon that was just about to turn the corner.

The driver called to him.

"Hey, little boy! Don't get run over."

David scrambled up on the sidewalk before he even looked, for he remembered to be careful.

Then he looked, and he saw a big wagon that was drawn by two horses, and the wagon was loaded with short, shiny boards, tied together in bundles, and on top of the bundles of short, shiny boards were bundles of shingles, a great many of them.

David knew what shingles looked like when they came in bundles, but he wondered what the shiny, short boards were.

But he didn't ask, because the horses were almost trotting, they were walking so fast, and the driver seemed to be pretty busy.

He supposed that the shingles and things were going to the new house, and he watched the wagon until it stopped there.

Then he took up the handle of his cart, and he walked off with it as fast as he could walk, and then he began to run, and his shovel and his hoe rattled so that you would have thought they would rattle out.

The pretend child didn't go with David, for he had forgotten all about her.

Sometimes the child was a girl and sometimes it was a boy; but it was a girl that morning. She was left in the gutter at the corner.

And David didn't call his cat, and the cat stayed at the corner for a while, and first she looked at the pretend little girl and then she looked after David, and she didn't know which to go with.

But at last she went running after David, and she caught up with him, and she ran on ahead, with her bushy tail sticking straight up in the air.

When David got to the house, he found the wagon there, and the horses were standing still, and the driver was throwing off the bundles of shingles and another man was piling them up.

They had got almost to the shiny, short boards.

And the foreman was there, and he was putting something down with a very short pencil in a little old book.

"Hello," said David. "What are -- "

But the foreman interrupted him.

"Just wait a minute, Davie, until I get these checked up."

So David waited a long time, but the wagon was unloaded at last, and the little book put in the foreman's pocket.

"Now, Davie," the foreman said, "what was it that you were asking me?"

"I was asking what are these," said David, putting his hand on a bundle of the shiny boards.

"Those are clapboards, Davie."

The foreman stooped down and pointed to the house.

"You see they have begun to put them on the outside of the walls of the house, but we had to have some more. You see that one edge of a clapboard is thin and the other edge is thick."

He pulled one of the clapboards from a bundle and showed David.

"The thick edges go over the thin edges, very much like shingles, and they keep the rain and the wind out. You know about shingles?"

David nodded doubtfully.

"I don't know whether I do or not."

"Well," the foreman said, "you ought to know about them. Those two men have just begun to shingle the piazza roof. If you can wait a few minutes, I'll take you up there. You aren't very busy this morning, are you?"

David smiled and shook his head.

The foreman smiled too.

"You wait right here, and I'll come and get you pretty soon."

So David waited, and while he was waiting he watched the men putting on clapboards.

They had begun at the top and had got about halfway down that side.

The side of the house was all covered with red stuff which looked something like cloth and something like thick paper. It was paper, and it rippled and waved in the wind.

The men were putting the clapboards on outside of that red paper.

A man had a pile of clapboards beside him, and he took one up and he lifted the edge of the one above, and he tucked the thin edge of the clapboard that he held in his hand under the edge that he had lifted; and he gave it little taps with his hammer until it was in the right place, and then he drove fine nails through the thick edge that he had lifted, and through the thin edge of the clapboard beneath, and into the wall of the house.

Then he took up another clapboard and put it close up to the one that he had just fastened, with its thin edge tucked under the thick edge of the one above.

The men put on clapboards very fast, and David was so interested in seeing them do it that he forgot that the foreman had not come back for him.

He had gone up nearer, so as to see just how the clapboards went on, when he heard the foreman's voice behind him.

"Well, Davie," said the foreman, "do you think you could put on clapboards as fast as that?"

David shook his head.

"No, I couldn't."

"Perhaps not. But come on, and we'll see what you can do with shingles."

And the foreman took David's small hand in his big one, and they went to where a ladder stood leaning against the edge of the piazza roof.

A little way below the edge of the roof there was a rough sort of a platform, made of two boards laid on some other boards that were nailed to the posts of the piazza and to long sticks which went up and down and had their ends resting on the ground.

This was what the carpenters called a staging or scaffolding, and when they got through their work, they would take it down.

"Now, Davie," said the foreman, "you take hold of the rungs and climb up. It's a pretty long stretch for little legs, but I'll hold you, and I won't let you fall. Don't look down. Look up."

So David took hold of a rung and stretched his leg as high as it would go, and he managed to get his foot on the first rung.

Then he pulled himself up and reached up with one hand and took hold of the next rung; and then he put his other hand up, and he stretched his leg up as high as it would go, and he stepped up another rung.

The rungs of a ladder are the little round sticks that go across that you put your feet on.

David climbed very slowly, and he was rather scared at first; but he felt the foreman's arm around him, and the foreman kept just behind him, so that he stopped being scared.

And he climbed a little faster, and he came to the platform.

"Now, what shall I do?" he asked.

"Now you hold your breath," the foreman said, "and I'll put you over on to the staging."

So Davie held his breath and one of the shingle men came and held him by the arms when the foreman had set him down upon the boards.

Then the foreman stepped upon the staging and put his arm around David again.

"There!" said the foreman. "You've climbed your first ladder. Now we'll see about the shingling."

There was a whole bundle of shingles on the staging, and another bundle that had been opened, and the shingle men had thrown a good many of these shingles up on the roof, so that they would be handy.

And David saw that there were three rows of shingles on already, and that a string was stretched tight across the last row; and the string was chalky-looking, and blue.

"They're just going to mark another row," the foreman said. "You watch."

Then one of the shingle men lifted the stretched string between his thumb and his forefinger, and he let it go, and it snapped down hard upon the shingles.

And they took the string away, and there was a blue line all along the row of shingles.

"What is that?" David asked.

"Chalk, Davie. They put chalk on the string by rubbing a lump of chalk on it. That line shows where the edge of the next row of shingles goes.

"And they lay the shingles on so that each crack in the row beneath is covered. The shingles are different widths, you see, and they can always find one that fits up close to the next one and covers a crack.

"If the cracks were not covered, the rain would get through and the roof would leak.

"Now let's see if you can lay shingles. Pick out one that you think will be right to cover the crack in the row beneath, and lay it down close up to the last one and with its thick edge to that blue line."

David was rather excited at the thought that he was to lay the shingles.

"Shall I?" he asked.

The foreman nodded, and he pointed to a shingle.

"Try that one."

So David took the one that the foreman pointed at, and he laid it down as well as he could, close up to the last one which the shingle man had put on, and with its thick edge at the blue line.

It took him some time, because he had never laid shingles before; but the shingle man had only to change it a tiny bit, and then he drove in two nails about halfway up toward the thin edge.

And David took another shingle which the foreman pointed at, and he fitted it in its place a little more quickly, and the shingle man didn't have to change that one at all, but drove the nails with hardly more than two blows of his hammer.

So David kept on laying shingles, and the shingle man nailed them.

At first the foreman pointed to the right shingles; but, after a while, he didn't point, but David chose them himself.

And they finished that row, and they began the next.

"I'm afraid, Davie," the foreman said, "that we'll have to go down now. Aren't you ready to go?"

David was getting a little bit tired, for the shingle man nailed his shingles before he could wink, and he felt hurried all the time.

So he said that he was ready, and the foreman took him under his arm and carried him down the ladder that way.

"Good-bye," he called to the shingle men as he was going down.

"Good-bye," the shingle men called to David. "We're much obliged."

"You're welcome," David called back to the shingle men.

Then he was set down on the ground, and he was rather glad to feel the ground again.

And his cat came running, with her bushy tail straight up in the air, and David started off.

"Where are you going so fast?" the foreman asked.

David stopped for a moment.

"I've got to go home now."

"To tell your mother that you've been shingling?"

David nodded, and he smiled shyly.

"Well, good-bye, Davie," the foreman said.

"Good-bye," said David.

And he turned again and ran to his cart, and he took up the handle.

And he started walking as fast as he could, dragging his cart, with his shovel and his hoe rattling in the bottom, and his cat ran on ahead; and she ran right up the front steps and in at the door, and David came after.

But he left his cart in the path.

And that's all of the shingle story.




VII

The Plumber Story


Once upon a time there was a little boy, and he was almost five years old, and his name was David. And there weren't any other children near for him to play with, so he used to play happily all by himself.

He had his cat and his cart and his shovel and his hoe, and he always wore his overalls when he was playing.

They were building a new house in the field next to David's house, and it was all done on the outside, but it wasn't painted.

And the men were working inside, for David could hear the hammering, and sometimes he could hear them sawing.

One morning, after breakfast, David went to his mother and said that the foreman wanted him to come to the new house that morning, for the plumbers would be there.

He didn't know what plumbers were.

"What are plumbers, mother?"

"They are men who mend the pipes, dear," his mother answered.

"What pipes?" he asked. "Are the pipes broken?"

His mother laughed. "Well, I suppose they put in the water pipes, and the bathtubs and the basins and the hot-water boiler and all those things."

David nodded, and let his mother kiss him, and then he went out.

And his cat was there, waiting for him, and his cart was there, with his shovel and his hoe in the bottom of it. And he stooped down and took hold of the handle of his cart, and he trudged to the new house, dragging his cart.

The mortar man had gone some time before, and there wasn't any sand-pile, but the foreman saw him coming.

"Hello, Davie," he called.

"Hello," David called back.

"You're just in time to go into the house with me," the foreman said.

So David dropped the handle of his cart and the foreman took hold of his hand, and they went up the steps and into the house.

The partition walls between the rooms weren't all done, and David could see right through them in some places into the next room.

And the foreman and David went through the place that would be the front hall when it was done, with the front stairs going up out of it; and some carpenters were working there now and there was a great mess.

"What are the carpenters doing?" David asked.

"They're nailing on laths, Davie," the foreman answered. "Laths, you see, are the little thin sticks that go on the up-and-down sticks of the walls, and the plaster goes on them and squeezes between them. Then, when it hardens, the part that is between the laths holds the rest of the plaster up and against the wall."

David nodded, but they were in the back hall now, with the back stairs going up out of it, and he forgot the carpenters and the laths.

Under the back stairs were some stairs that went down to the cellar, and the foreman started down.

"Be careful of the steps, Davie," said the foreman. "They have to have these rough boards on them now, while the workmen are here, so that the real steps won't get all dirty and worn. When the men are almost through, about the last thing they do is to lay floors and put nice boards on the stairs."

David couldn't see very well, but he could feel that the boards of the stairs were uneven and rough, and some of them were small; but he was careful, and he went slowly, and at last he was on the cellar floor.

Far off in the very end of the cellar he saw a lantern lighted, and a flickering light which moved about, high up.

Then, as he got used to the darkness, he saw the legs of two men; and they had great wrenches and were doing something to long pipes, and they had a candle which they held close up to the pipes, so that they could see.

And the pipes went along close to the beams overhead, so that the men were all the time bumping their heads and knocking their elbows on the beams, and they didn't have room enough to work.

That was the reason why David had seen only their legs when he first came down.

It wasn't a very convenient way to work, but the men didn't seem to mind. Perhaps they were used to it.

"Are those the pipes that the water goes through?" David asked.

"Yes, Davie," the foreman said. "It comes in through the wall there, close down to the floor, from that pipe that you saw the men laying in the street.

"Then it goes up and through these pipes to the back of the cellar, and then up again to the kitchen and the pantry and the bathrooms.

"It isn't much fun being down here, is it?"

"No," David said, "it isn't."

The foreman laughed.

"Well, you wait a half a jiffy and we'll go up."

So David waited while the foreman took a paper out of his pocket.

And first he looked at the paper and then he looked at the pipes, and then he looked at the paper again.

Then he folded the paper and put it into his pocket, and he took David's hand and they went up the cellar stairs, and through a door into the kitchen.

There David saw the legs of two other men who were lying down under the sink.

They had a stump of a candle, too, for David could see its flickering light.

And there was a kind of a lamp out on the floor beyond, and it burned with a sputtering and a hissing and a roaring, and it threw a big bluish kind of a flame straight out, like water out of a hose.

David watched the men for nearly a minute without saying anything, but he couldn't guess what they were up to.

"What are they doing?" he asked at last.

"They're putting in the waste pipe and the trap," said the foreman; "but you don't know what that is, of course. They're putting in the pipe that the water runs through when it runs out of the sink."

"Oh, I know," David cried. "It's for the dirty water that the pots and pans have been washed in; the soapy water."

"That's just right, Davie."

"Well," David said, "why do they have to be lying down to do it? I should think they'd rather do it standing up or sitting down."

At that, one of the men poked his head out and smiled at David.

"You got that just right, too," he said; "but here's where it has to go, and there's no other way that I know of."

"The pipe has to be under the sink, Davie, for the water to run into it," the foreman said. "Now come on, and we'll go upstairs again."

So the foreman and David went up the back stairs very slowly and carefully, for there were rough boards on those stairs, too; and they went through a door and through the upstairs hall, and through another door into a small square room.

The foreman said that that room would be the bathroom. No plaster was on the walls yet, but the laths were all on. And there wasn't any bathtub yet, nor any basin; only some pipes sticking up out of the floor.

And David saw the bodies and the legs of two more men.

These men had their heads and shoulders through a great square hole in the floor, and their bodies and their legs were lying on the floor and sticking out straight.

David laughed. "Water-pipe men are funny men," he said.

One of the men lifted his head out of the hole in the floor and smiled at David, but he didn't say anything.

"They're putting in the waste pipe and the trap," the foreman said; "that is, the pipe that the water will run through when it runs out of the bathtub. A tub will be here Davie, after the floor is laid."

David nodded.

"Would you like to be a plumber, Davie?" the foreman asked, smiling.

David shook his head.

"I think I'd better go now," he said. "My kitty won't know where I am."

So the foreman laughed, and he tucked David under his arm and carried him downstairs and out of the front door, and he set him down on the ground.

"Good-bye, Davie," said the foreman.

"Good-bye," said David.

And he took hold of the handle of his cart, and walked home as fast as he could, dragging his cart, and his shovel and his hoe rattled in the bottom of it.

When he got home, there was his cat waiting for him.

David dropped the handle of his cart, and ran around to the back of the house and got an old grocery box that he used to play with.

He kept all his things at the back of the house: old broken grocery boxes and old tin cans and rows of bottles, some of them filled with water and some filled with thin mud and some empty, and nails and pieces of iron and sticks; but not his toys.

And David dragged the old grocery box around to the front, and put it opposite the end of a step.

Not all of the boards which had been nailed on for a cover were taken off, so that the inside of the box was hard to get at, and it was rather dark.

Then he picked up two short sticks and put them on the step.

David hurried to do all these things, and when he had them done, he hurried into the house and into the dining-room, and he climbed up in a chair and took a short candle out of one of the candlesticks which they used on the table.

Then he pushed the chair over near where the matches were, and he climbed up again and got three matches. And then he hurried out again.

He scratched one of the matches on the piazza floor and managed to get the candle lighted with that first match.

So he dropped the other two matches, he didn't know where, and he carried his candle to the grocery box, very carefully, so that it shouldn't blow out, and he reached in and put it in a corner.

Then he lay down on the step and put his head and shoulders and his arms inside the box, and he took the two short sticks in his hands.

David's mother had heard the chair scraping on the dining-room floor, when he pushed it over to get the matches, and she thought that, as likely as not, that was David, and she thought that she had better see what he was doing.

She didn't think there was any great hurry about it, and so she came downstairs in a few minutes, and she went out upon the piazza.

There she saw David's body and his fat little legs sticking out straight on the step, but his head and his arms were in the box, so she couldn't see them.

And there was a light flickering inside the box, and there was a noise of scraping and knocking, once in a while.

But she wasn't surprised.

"What in the world are you doing, dear?" she asked.

David drew his head out of the box so that he could see his mother and answer her. His face was pretty red.

"I'm a plumber, mother," he said, "and I'm doing the work in the bathroom. Plumbers always do it this way."

David's mother laughed.

"So they do, dear, pretty nearly," she said. "Be very careful of the candle, and don't burn yourself or set the box afire, and be sure to blow it out when you are through."

And David nodded and put his head back in the box, and his mother went in, smiling.

And his cat came and stood on the cover boards that had been left on, and she put her head down and peered into the box, but she didn't get in.

And that's all of the plumber story.




VIII

The Painter Story


Once upon a time there was a little boy, and he was almost five years old, and his name was David. And there weren't any other children near for him to play with, so he used to play happily all by himself.

He had his cat and his cart and his shovel and his hoe, and he always wore his overalls when he was playing.

They were building a new house in the field next to David's house, and the masons were through their work, and the bricklayers were through, and the water men were through, and the plumbers were through, and the gas men were through, and the plasterers were through, and the carpenters were almost through, for they were laying nice clean boards on the floors, and they had the floors almost done.

David had watched them do it, and had seen how they put one board down after another, and gave the last board whacks with a hammer, to drive it close up against the next board, and nailed it through the edge, so that the nails shouldn't show.

But they always put a piece of a board against the floor board, and whacked the hammer on that, because they wanted the floor to be all smooth and shiny and not to show any marks of a hammer.

And now the house had to be painted.

So, one morning, a great big wagon came to the new house.

And on the wagon were ladders, some of them very tall, and they stuck out far beyond the ends of the wagon; and there were great enormous hooks, and boards that were all painty; and a great many pots of paint, some dark green for the blinds, and some a lemon-yellow for the corners of the house and what the painters call the trimmings.

But most of the paint was white.

There were two kinds of white paint, one kind for the outside of the house and another for the inside.

And there were all the kinds of brushes that the painters would need, and there were great bundles of cloth, which the painters would spread over the floors, so that the nice clean floors shouldn't get all spattered with paint; and there were some odds and ends besides.

And the painters came, and they took the things all off the wagon.

Of course, the carpenters had some ladders that would reach, but those were the carpenters' ladders, not the painters'; and the carpenters had some boards, but those were the carpenters' boards, not the painters'.

That is why the painters had brought boards and ladders.

David had gone on the train with his father and his mother, that morning, but the painters didn't know about him, so they kept right on with their work.

The foreman was there, and he was sorry that David wasn't there to see what the painters were doing, but he knew that David would see them before they were through with their work.

The wagon was unloaded, and some of the painters went inside the house, to paint the parts that had to be painted in there; and some of the painters got ready to paint the outside of the house.

And they took thick pieces of board, and bored a hole in the middle, and they nailed those pieces of board on the roof, near the edge.

And they put the great enormous hooks up there, with the pointed ends in the holes in the boards, and the other ends hanging over the edge of the roof, over the gutter and the eaves.

The ends of the hooks which hung over had pulleys in them, and through the pulleys ran long ropes which hung down to the ground.

And the painters fastened the end of one of the ropes to one end of a ladder, and the end of another rope to the other end of the ladder.

Then they put some of the painty boards along over the rungs, so that the men shouldn't fall through or drop their pots of paint through, and they had made a sort of a staging which could be highered or lowered by the ropes.

And they tried the ropes, to see that it was all right, and two painters got on it, with their pots of paint and their brushes and everything they needed.

And one man sat at each end, and they pulled on the ropes, and hoisted the staging, with themselves sitting on it, up off the ground.

And the staging, with the two men on it, and their pots of paint, went slowly higher and higher, until it was as high as it could go, and the men could reach the highest board that they had to paint.

Then they fastened the ropes carefully, and they stirred up the paint, and they took up the brushes and they dipped the brushes in the paint, and they knocked them gently against the side of the paint-pot, plop, plop, plop, and they began to move them quickly over the boards, swish, swish, swish, first one side of the brush, and then back again on the other side.

And the first thing you knew they had all those boards painted, and they had to lower the staging so that they could reach the boards lower down.

"Hello!" called a little clear voice, and the painters looked down.

The foreman was standing there, watching the painters; and he looked, and there was David, all dressed in his go-to-town clothes.

And the foreman looked again, and there was David's mother, standing by her gate and waiting for David.

And she had on her go-to-town clothes, too.

"Hello, Davie," the foreman called. "You're all dressed up, aren't you? You'd better go and get into your overalls, quick, and then come back."

David's mother had heard what the foreman said, and she nodded and smiled to thank him, because she would have to call very loud, indeed, to make him hear, and she didn't like to.

And David nodded, and he ran back to his mother.

"Mother," he said, "the foreman said to get into my overalls. What did he mean, mother? Does that mean to put them on?"

"Yes, dear," his mother said, smiling.

So David paid no attention to his cat, who was coming to meet him and to rub against him, but he hurried to change his clothes and to put on his overalls.

And when he had his clothes changed and his overalls on, he ran out, and there was his cat waiting for him.

And he took up the handle of his cart, and he walked off as fast as he could, dragging his cart, and his shovel and his hoe rattled in the bottom of it; and his cat ran on ahead, with her bushy tail sticking up in the air.

I don't know why David took his cart that time, for there wasn't any mortar man, and there wasn't any sand-pile. He almost always took his cart.

When David got to the house, there was the foreman standing in almost the same place, but the painters had lowered the staging some more.

And David didn't say anything, but he dropped the handle of his cart, and he went to the foreman and reached up for the foreman's hand.

And the foreman's big hand closed over David's little one, and the foreman smiled, but he didn't say anything, either. He waited for David to speak.

David watched the painters for some time.

"What color are they painting it?" he asked at last. "It looks like white on the brushes, but sort of watery when they put it on, just as my paints look when I put a great deal of water with them. Have they got a great deal of water with their paint?"

"Not water, Davie," the foreman answered, "but oil. This is the first coat of paint, you see, put right on the bare wood, and the wood soaks the oil out of the paint at a great rate. They won't put so much oil in the second and third coats."

"Oh," said David, "will they paint it three times?"

"Three times for new wood," the foreman said.

He didn't say any more then, but he watched and so did David while the painters dipped their brushes and patted them against the sides of their paint-pots and brushed them quickly back and forth over the new clapboards.

"Come with me, Davie," the foreman said at last, "and let's see if we can't scare up something else that's interesting."

And so David went with the foreman, and they went around by the cellar door.

And there they saw a great pile of shutters or blinds which were to go on the outside of all the windows of the house.

These blinds were leaning, one against another, and they had already been painted a kind of bluish gray, and each one had whole rows of little slats that you could turn back and forth.

And beyond the pile of bluish gray blinds was a smaller pile of dark green blinds, and the dark green blinds glistened with fresh paint, and they were leaning, one against another.

And between the pile of bluish gray blinds and the pile of dark green blinds were two painters, painting for dear life, and they were painting the bluish gray blinds dark green.

David watched them for a few minutes. It seemed to be a good deal of trouble to get the slats well painted.

"These," said the foreman, putting his hand on the bluish gray blinds, "are just as they come from the mill -- the factory where they are made. This first coat of paint is put on there. Then our painters paint them whatever color is wanted."

David nodded, but he didn't say anything, for he didn't understand why the carpenters didn't make the blinds.

Pretty soon he pulled at the foreman's hand.

"I want to go back," he said.

So they went back to the painters who were painting the side of the house.

They had lowered the staging so low that the foreman could reach it.

"I'll tell you what, Davie," the foreman said. "Do you suppose you could paint a clapboard?"

"Oh," cried David, "will they let me?"

"I guess so," the foreman answered. "You ask them."

David looked up at the painters, and the painters looked down at David, and they were smiling.

David started to speak, but he couldn't ask what he wanted to. And the painters saw what was the matter, and one of them spoke.

"Want to paint a board?" he asked. "Well, come on up here."

So the foreman put his hands under David's arms, and he lifted David right up, over the staging, and set him down with his feet hanging over. And the painter dipped his brush into the paint, and patted it gently against the side of the paint-pot, plop, plop, plop, and he handed the brush to David.

"Oh," David said, "it's heavy!"

"So it is," the painter said. "The paint is mostly lead, that's why. Now, you move the brush away from you as if you were sweeping the floor or dusting the board. Then, when it has gone as far as you can reach, you bring it back on the other side."

David tried, but he didn't do it very well and the paint squeezed out of the brush and ran down and dripped from the edge of the clapboard.

"Not that way," the painter said. "I'll show you."

Then he took hold of David's wrist, but he left the brush in David's hand, and he moved it the way it ought to go, and he swept up all the little rivers of paint and all the little drips, and spread it smoothly over the clapboard.

"There!" said the painter. "Now, do you see?"

David nodded, and he tried again.

This time he did better, but the paint was all gone from the brush, and he held it out to the painter for more.

So the painter dipped it again, and David took it, and painted some more.

And each time he did better than he had done the last time, and he hitched along on the staging, and that clapboard was all painted before he knew it.

And David sighed and started to get up on his feet.

But the other painter called to him.

"Hey, David!" he called. "Aren't you going to do any painting for me? That isn't fair. You come over and do a board for me."

David smiled with pleasure. "Yes, I will," he said.

So he crawled on his hands and knees along the staging, and the foreman walked along on the ground beside him.

And he painted a clapboard for that other painter, but a great drop of the paint got on the leg of his overalls.

"Oh," he said, "I got some paint on my overalls."

"Gracious!" said the painter. "That's nothing. Look at my overalls."

The painter's overalls were made of strong white cloth, and they were all splashed up with paint, all colors. But he had painted a great deal more than David had.

So David finished the clapboard, and then he got up on his feet, and the foreman took him and lifted him down to the ground.

"Thank you," said the painter.

"Thank you," said the other painter.

"You're welcome," David said. "Good-bye."

"Good-bye," said both the painters.

And David began to run to his cart.

"Good-bye, Davie," the foreman said.

David stopped a moment and looked around.

"Good-bye," he said.

Then his cat came running to meet him, and he grabbed up the handle of his cart, and he kept on running, dragging his cart, and his shovel and his hoe rattled away like everything in the bottom of it.

And when he got to his house, he didn't stop running, but just dropped the handle of the cart, and he climbed up the steps as fast as he could and ran into the house.

"Mother," he called, "I painted two boards and I got some paint on my overalls. But you ought to see the painter's overalls. They're awful painty."

And that's all.




IX

The Tree-Men Story


Once upon a time there was a little boy, and he was almost five years old, and his name was David. And there weren't any other children near for him to play with, so he used to play happily all by himself.

He had his cat and his cart and his shovel and his hoe, and he always wore his overalls when he was playing.

Behind David's house were some thin woods. And in those woods were oak trees, several kinds, but he didn't know the difference between the kinds.

And there were cedar trees and chestnut trees and birch trees of three kinds; and there were white pine trees and pitch pine trees, and the pitch pine trees were sticky all over.

David knew the pitch pine trees, because he had got his clothes all covered with their stickiness.

And there were a few great sycamore trees, and some ash trees, and some beech trees, and a lot of other kinds that I can't remember the names of.

All summer there were lots of birds in these woods and about the edge of them; and in the winter, when all those summer birds had gone away, other birds came.

And four blue jays stayed there all the year, and the crows stayed, of course, but they didn't live in those woods especially.

And there were chickadees and juncos, which are one kind of snowbird; and there were a lot of little birds which looked like sparrows, and there were red-polled linnets, and occasionally a flock of cedar-birds would cover the cedars like gray snowflakes, and once David's mother called him to come quick and see the pine grosbeaks.

And when David came, he saw a great flock of birds which looked gray, but three of them had the most beautiful rose-colored feathers on their breasts and shoulders and heads, making them look as if they had tied rose-colored aprons about their necks. David watched them until they flew away.

All these birds were very busy feeding on the seeds of weeds or the berries of the trees, and some of them dug insects out of the bark.

And there were gray squirrels which raced along the branches of the trees, and jumped from one branch to another, and poked about on the ground and opened the chestnut-burs which had just fallen from the trees, and ate the chestnuts, or scampered over the roof just above David's head, and made a great racket.

They were great fat fellows with warm, thick fur, not much like the squirrels on Boston Common, but they got almost as tame with David, although he never could get quite near enough to one to pat it. That was better, for the squirrel might have bitten David.

David used to try to get near them, but he always told his cat to stay at home when he was going after them, for the squirrels were afraid of his cat.

One morning in the fall David had gone after the squirrels. There were a great many squirrels about, for the chestnuts had begun to fall, and the squirrels were very busy.

And David had got farther and farther from his house, but he was where he could see the road.

And he heard the rattle of a wagon, and he looked and saw a very spick-and-span new wagon, painted red, with yellow and black stripes on it, and the wheels were flashing in the sun as they turned.

On the wagon were ladders and long slender poles, and four men were riding on it.

The wagon stopped, and the men got off. One of the men took a halter out of the wagon and tied the horse to a tree, while the others took off the ladders.

Then each man took one of the long, slender poles, and a big can and a little can. And they took the ladders on their shoulders and held them with one hand, and the poles in the other hand, and the handles of the cans in that other hand, too, and they began to walk right to where David was.

And all the squirrels heard them coming, and they stopped eating chestnuts, and each squirrel scurried to a tree, with his chestnut in his mouth, and he scrambled up the tree, on the opposite side of the trunk from the men, so that the men couldn't see him.

They scrambled up the trunks very fast, until they came to a branch; and each squirrel sat on his branch, next to the trunk, and made a sort of a scolding, barking noise, and every time he made the noise his tail gave a queer little jerk.

David was watching them, and he heard their noises, and he couldn't help laughing to see their tails jerk.

And then the men were there, and they saw David laughing.

"Hello," said one of the men. "What's so funny?"

"I was laughing at the squirrels," David said; "they make their tails go."

"Yes," said the man, "I hear them, and I see some of them. How they do scold! But we wouldn't hurt them."

He put his cans down, and he leaned his pole against a tree, and he stood the ladder against the tree.

David looked in the cans. There wasn't anything in the little can, but the big can was full of something that was about as thick as molasses and almost as black as ink, only it was brownish black.

"What is it?" he asked. "Is it molasses? It smells horrid."

The man laughed.

"No," he answered, "it isn't molasses or anything good to eat. It's creosote. That's a poisonous kind of stuff. We put it on these things."

He pointed to a place on a tree. It looked as if somebody had daubed dirt on the trunk, and the place was about the size of David's thumb, and it was rounded out a little at the middle.

"I guess you never noticed those places," the man said. "Inside of that are the eggs of a moth that eats things up and does a great deal of harm. Those eggs would hatch when it gets warm enough, and little worms would come out, and they would begin to eat, and the worms would change into moths later on, and the moths would lay more eggs. We are trying to get rid of them, so we paint some creosote on every bunch of eggs we can find, and that kills them.

"If you look carefully you can see a good many places just like this, all over the trunks of the trees and on the under sides of branches. Some trees have a good many on them, and some don't have any. There's a lot on this tree."

David looked and saw the little mud spots farther up the trunk, and then he looked higher and he saw some of the spots on the under sides of the branches, as the man had said.

He nodded.

"You paint some now," he said, going nearer, "with that stuff."

The man laughed.

"You want to see me do it right off, do you?" he asked.

So he took a stubby paint brush from his belt, and he dipped it into the big can, and he wiped it over as many of the spots as he could reach. The spots looked as if they had been painted with tar.

"Now," he said, "I am going to walk right up that tree."

He pointed to his legs, and David saw that a long iron thing was strapped to each leg, and the iron thing had a sharp point which stuck down about as far as the soles of his shoes.

"Those are climbers, or spurs. We can walk right up any tree that isn't too large around, and you see that those points are bent in a little so that they will stick into the trunk of the tree on each side. You watch."

So the man poured some of the stuff from the big can into the little can, and he hung the little can from his belt, and he stuck the stubby paint brush in his belt.

Then he went to the tree, and he put his hands half-around the trunk, and he lifted up one foot and jabbed it down, so that he jabbed the spur into the tree. Then he lifted the other foot and jabbed that spur in; and he walked right up the tree.

And when he had got to other spots that had been too high for him to reach, he stopped and held on with one hand, while he took the paint brush and painted those egg bunches with stuff from the little can.

But there were some egg bunches left on branches that were too little for the man to go on.

So the man put one leg over a branch, and he took his pole, which was leaning against a twig just beside him, and he fixed the paint brush in the end of the pole, in a place that was meant for it, and he reached out with the pole and painted all those egg bunches on the small branches.

Then he put the pole back, leaning against the twig, and he came slowly down to the ground.

"There!" he said. "Did you see how I did it? Do you think that you could paint some?"

David's eyes glistened.

"Oh, could I? But I couldn't walk up the tree."

The man smiled.

"I'm afraid you couldn't, but you can paint as far as you can reach with the pole."

The other men were busy on trees near, and they watched while David painted the mud spots on another tree which the man found for him.

He wasn't very tall and there were only two spots which he could reach while he stood on the ground.

But the man held him up in his arms as high as he could, and when he had painted all those spots, the man fixed the paint brush in the end of the pole.

It was pretty heavy for such a little boy to manage, and the end would wave around so that he couldn't make the brush paint where he wanted it to.

So the man helped David to hold the pole steady and paint as far as it could reach.

Just then David heard his mother calling him.

"I've got to go now," he said to the man. "I think my mother wants me."

"Well, good-bye," the man said. "We're much obliged."

"You're welcome," David said. "Good-bye."

And he turned around and went galloping through the woods to his house.

And his cat met him, and then his mother met him.

"Where were you, dear?" his mother asked.

"I was helping the tree-men paint egg-spots. How big are moth-eggs, mother?"

But his mother didn't know.

And that's all.




X

The Clearing-Up Story


Once upon a time there was a little boy, and he was almost five years old, and his name was David. And there weren't any other children near for him to play with, so he used to play happily all by himself.

He had his cat and his cart and his shovel and his hoe, and he always wore his overalls when he was playing.

They had been building a new house in the field next to David's house, and it was all done. Even the last coat of paint was dry.

David knew, because he had tried it with his finger to see. He had tried it three times, and the first two times it wasn't dry, but the last time it was.

And the carpenters had gone, and the painters had gone, but they had left great messes and piles of stuff that had been swept out of the house, and heaps of the sawed-off ends of boards, and some good boards, and piles of broken laths and plaster and the little pieces that they had sawed off the laths, and some broken saw-horses, and a lot of other rubbish.

One morning David heard the rattle of a wagon; and he looked and saw a wagon stop at the new house, and he saw the nice foreman that he knew, and there were two other men.

And the men jumped out, and the foreman jumped out, and David hurried to go over there. He hurried so fast that he forgot to take his cart, and he forgot to call his cat, but his cat came just the same, and she ran on ahead, with her bushy tail sticking straight up in the air.

And when the foreman saw the cat, he knew that David couldn't be far off, and he looked up and he saw him.

"Hello, Davie," he said. "I'm glad to see you."

"Hello," David said. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to sort of clear up the place, Davie. Don't you think it needs it? And I'm going to have all this rubbish carried off or burned up."

David nodded, but he didn't say anything; and he reached up, and he put his little hand into the foreman's big one.

Then the two men who had come with the foreman began to pick out the boards that were good.

There were some great heavy planks which were covered with plaster and spattered with paint, but they were good planks and could be used again.

The men took these planks, one man at each end, and they brought them to the wagon and they put them in.

When they had brought all the planks, they separated the long boards from the little short ends of boards, and they brought the long boards to the wagon and they put them on top of the planks.

Then they piled the little short ends of boards near the cellar door. It was a great pile of wood that the people who moved into the house could have to burn.

Then they found a couple of saw-horses that were pretty good, and they put them on top of the boards in the wagon, and the wagon was loaded with as much as one horse ought to pull.

So the foreman told one of them to go along with that load, and to hurry back, and he would stay there and help the other man do a little clearing up.

And the man climbed into the seat, and drove off.

"Now, Davie," the foreman said, "I've got to help my man, and I can't stay here with you and do nothing, although I should like to."

"What are you going to do?" David asked.

"Oh, we're going to put all the rubbish that will burn over there on the bare spot, where it can't set anything afire. All the stuff that we can't burn we'll rake up into piles, and when the wagon comes back, we'll take it away. And there's a little gravel over there that is hardly worth taking, and we'll leave it for the graders to use."

"What are the graders?" asked David. "What do they do?"

"Oh, the graders are sort of rough gardeners. They spread the dirt around where it is wanted, and they make it the right height all along the foundation, and smooth it off, and they make the walks up to the front door and the back door, and they spread gravel on the walks. Sometimes they make terraces or banks, but they won't do that here. It will be a nice slope from the house down to the field, all around."

David looked at the house, which stood high on its foundation, and he saw that there was a great hole between the ground and the front steps. He supposed that the graders would fill up that hole.

He nodded.

"I'll get my cart," he said, "and then I'll help you."

So he ran all the way home, and his cat saw him running and she ran too, faster than David ran, and she ran right up on to the piazza.

But David didn't go there. He took up the handle of his cart, and he ran back again.

And his cat saw that she had made a mistake, and she ran faster than ever; and she passed David, and she was running so fast that her bushy tail didn't stick up in the air at all, but straight out behind.

And David came where the foreman was standing, waiting for him, and the foreman showed him where he wanted the rubbish piled to be burned, far from the house.

And the foreman and David worked together, and they piled the rubbish into the cart; and when it was full, they dragged the cart over to the place, and they emptied the rubbish out of it.

Then the foreman took a match out of his pocket, and he scratched the match on his trousers-leg, and he lighted the pile of rubbish.

And a little thin column of smoke went up, and then it blazed, and then it crackled, and the foreman and David went back for another load.

The foreman and David worked for a long time, getting loads of rubbish, and dragging them over to the fire.

Then the foreman would take up the cart, all filled with little odds and ends of sticks and with shavings and with twigs and the ends of laths, and he would turn the cart upside down over the fire, and empty all that stuff out.

Then David would drag the cart back.

The other man was working with a rake all this long time, raking over the places where the foreman and David had been, and he raked the pieces of plaster and the other stuff that wouldn't burn into little heaps.

Suddenly they heard the rattle of the wagon, and they all looked up. And the wagon stopped, and the man who had been driving jumped off, and the horse just stood where he had stopped, and he breathed hard and looked after the man, and he pricked his ears forward.

Then the foreman told the men to get all that stuff into the wagon, and he waved his hand toward the heaps of rubbish that had been raked up.

So the man held out his hand toward the horse, and he whistled, and the horse came, and he followed the men to the farthest pile of rubbish.

And the men took shovels and shoveled the stuff into the wagon in no time. Then they walked along to the next heap, and the horse came after.

And they shoveled that stuff into the wagon, and they walked along to the next heap, and the horse came after.

And so they did until they had shoveled in the last heap; and the horse walked into the road, dragging the wagon after him, and there he stopped.

The foreman and David had picked up all the little odds and ends of things which would burn, and had put them on the fire.

The fire had been blazing up high, but now it wasn't blazing so high, and it was almost burned out.

And the two men stood still, leaning on their shovels, and looked all about.

And the foreman stood still, and he looked all about.

And David stood still, leaning on the handle of his cart, and he looked all about, because he saw the others looking; but he didn't see anything in particular.

The foreman turned to David and sighed.

"Well, Davie," he said, "I guess that'll be about all."

David nodded and looked over to the fire, which was not much more than a heap of red coals and white ashes.

The foreman saw where he was looking.

"The fire'll be all right," he said. "It's about out. Now I'll take just one more look around."

So the foreman walked all around the house, slowly, and he looked carefully to make sure that he had not forgotten anything.

And he looked at the cellar door and at the places where the heaps of rubbish had been, and all around the foundations of the house, and at the great hole under the front steps where the steps didn't come down to the ground, and at the fire last of all.

The fire had all burned out to white ashes, and every swirl of the wind made the ashes fly about.

Then the foreman came where David was.

"Now we're going, Davie," he said. "We'll come back some day to build another house next to this one. Will you help us then?"

"Yes," said David, "I'll help you as much as I can. When are you going to build it?"

"Oh, I don't know," the foreman said, "but I should think it would be before long. Somebody's going to move into this house in a few days. We're much obliged to you for helping us build this."

"You're welcome," said David.

Then the foreman shook David's hand.

"Good-bye, Davie," he said. "Don't forget us."

"Good-bye," said David.

Then the foreman climbed up to the seat of the wagon. The other men were up there already.

And all the men waved their hands, and the horse started.

David stood and watched them until they turned the corner.

Then he picked up his shovel and his hoe and threw them into his cart, and began to walk home, dragging his cart, with his shovel and his hoe rattling in the bottom of it.

And his cat came running, and she ran ahead, with her bushy tail sticking straight up in the air.

And that's all of this story.




XI

The Setting-Out Story


Once upon a time there was a little boy, and he was almost five years old, and his name was David. And there weren't any other children near for him to play with, so he used to play happily all by himself.

He had his cat and his cart and his shovel and his hoe, and he always wore his overalls when he was playing.

One morning he was playing in the thin woods behind his house.

He had his cart and his shovel and his hoe, and he was walking slowly along, kicking the dead leaves and looking up at the leaves on the trees.

Not nearly all the leaves had fallen from the trees yet, but those leaves that were still on the trees had turned to all kinds of pretty colors: red and yellow and a great many pretty browns which looked alive. And some leaves were red and yellow together, and some were still green with red and yellow spots on them, and some leaves had not changed their color at all, but were green all over.

And the squirrels were very busy hunting chestnuts and they didn't pay much attention to David.

Suddenly there was a great scurrying, and every squirrel went racing up the nearest tree, and David's cat came running, with her bushy tail sticking straight up in the air, and she ran a little way ahead of David, and she flopped over on her back in a little pile of leaves, and she began playing with the leaves.

David laughed at her. "Funny kitty!" he said.

Then he turned and went on talking, but he wasn't talking to his cat and he wasn't talking to himself.

His pretend playmate had come, and it was the boy, this time, and he had brought the cat.

So David and that pretend little boy played together for a long time.

Sometimes they dragged the cart together, and sometimes they stopped and hunted for chestnuts, and they put into the cart the chestnuts that they found.

And after a while they came into that part of the woods which was behind the new house.

And David heard some men talking together up at the new house, and he looked and saw them squatting down beside the house, and two of the men had shovels.

So David and the pretend little boy hurried to go to the new house, to see what the men were doing, and they dragged the cart, and the shovel and the hoe and the chestnuts all rattled about together in the bottom of it; and the cat went running on ahead.

But, when David got there, the pretend little boy had gone, for David had forgotten about him.

And David stopped a little way from the men, and looked about.

The grading men must have got their work all finished, for the ground all about didn't look at all as it had when the foreman and David had left it.

There weren't any signs of the rubbish, and the dirt was up higher on the foundation in a nice straight line, and it sloped down to the field all around, and it had been made all smooth.

David wondered about the great hole that was under the front steps, and he went around there and looked, and the hole wasn't there any more, but the ground came up to the steps, and a man was raking gravel smooth, to make a front walk like the one that went into David's house.

David didn't say anything, and the man didn't say anything either, but kept on raking.

So David went back to the place where the men were, with the shovels.

Those men were digging a round hole in the ground, about big enough for David to sit in and stretch his legs out straight.

And when they had the hole dug, another man came, carrying a little tree.

There were a whole pile of little trees out near the road, and they all had their roots tied up in bagging, or a kind of coarse cloth.

The tree which the man was carrying was a little Christmas tree. He had taken the cloth off of the roots, and he was cutting off, with his knife, some of the ends of roots.

Then he put it in the hole, carefully, and the men spread the roots out all around in the bottom of the hole, and they sifted some dark-colored dirt all about them, and they worked it in between the fine roots with their fingers, and they pressed it down hard.

The man who had put the tree in was holding on to it all the time, so that it should grow up straight.

And when the roots were all right and the dirt was pressed down hard, he let go of the tree and took up the end of a hose that was lying on the ground, right behind him.

David hadn't noticed the hose before. It came from a shiny hose-faucet, and the hose-faucet stuck out of the house just above the foundation, halfway along the side.

The man let water run from the hose into the dirt that had just been put around the roots of the tree, and he let it run for a long time.

And when the top of the hole was just a puddle of mud, he stopped the water and dropped the hose, and the men scattered a little dark-colored dirt that was dry over the top of it.

That dark-colored dirt is called loam, and it is the best kind of dirt to make things grow.

David saw that from the house down to where the path would be to the back door was already covered with the same dark-colored dirt.

The other side of the path was nice and smooth, but it looked sort of raw and the dirt was a yellow color.

Just beside the road was a great pile of dark-colored dirt, and there was a two-wheeled cart backed up to the pile, and a man was shoveling the dirt into the cart.

When the cart was filled, the man tossed his shovel on top of the dirt and started walking along.

"Come along, Jack," he said.

The horse had had his ears pricked forward, and when the man said that, he started and followed the man to the end of the yellow dirt.

There he stopped, and the man took his shovel off the cart and threw it on the ground. And he took the backboard out of the cart, and he put his knee on the cart, and the top tipped back and slid all that dirt out in a heap on the ground.

Then the horse walked along two steps, and the man took his shovel and scraped out what was left in the cart, and he tipped the top of the cart back again and he put the backboard in.

And he got up into the cart, and the horse turned around and walked back to the pile to get another load.

David wanted to ask somebody some questions about the dirt, but he didn't know any of the men, and they all seemed to be very busy.

So he just watched; and he saw another man come, and he had a shovel, and he spread around the dirt in the heap that the cart had just dumped until it was pretty even and smooth.

And the horse came, bringing another load, and that was dumped, and the man spread that around with his shovel.

David went nearer, and the man saw him.

"Are you going to plant some little trees?" David asked.

"We're going to sow grass seed here," the man answered, "when this is all covered with loam."

Then another load of loam came, and he was busy with his shovel, and David went back to watch the other men plant trees.

They were planting more little Christmas trees near that first one, five trees in a kind of a clump, and David watched them dig the holes and put the trees in, and spread the roots about, and put dirt on them, and stamp the dirt down hard, and put the water in.

And when the Christmas trees were all planted, they put another kind at the back corner of the house.

Then they went to the front corner of the house, and one of them said that there was the place for the lilac bushes.

And he got the lilac bushes and cut off a part of the roots while the other men were digging the holes, and they planted the lilac bushes in the holes, but they didn't do it so carefully as they had with the other kinds of trees.

And when they had the holes filled up and the water turned off, and the planting of lilac bushes all finished, they stopped and leaned on their shovels and looked around, to see what else they had to do.

The loam was all over the yellow dirt, and the last load was just being spread around.

So some of the men went to get the grass seed. That grass seed was in green bags.

And they took up bags of grass seed and began walking slowly along over the ground, and they took up handfuls of the grass seed and scattered it in the air so that it fell evenly over the ground.

And they sowed the seed all among the trees they had just planted, and all over the smooth dirt, and wherever they wanted the grass to grow; but they didn't sow it in the paths.

Then two other men came, and they were dragging a great heavy stone roller behind them.

It was so heavy that the two men had to walk very slowly, each dragging it by one handle.

And they went to and fro over the ground where the grass seed had been sown, and they rolled it down smooth and hard and shiny.

Before the roller men had got through, the others had gone and put on their coats and gathered up their tools; and David knew that they were through their work.

So he went where he had left his cart, and he looked for the pretend little boy, but he had gone away, and David couldn't find him. And he looked for his cat, and he couldn't see her either.

So he took up the handle of his cart, and he walked along to his house, dragging his cart, with his shovel and his hoe and the chestnuts all rattling together in the bottom of it.

And that's all.




XII

The Pole-Men Story


Once upon a time there was a little boy, and he was almost five years old, and his name was David. And there weren't any other children near for him to play with, so he used to play happily all by himself.

He had his cat and his cart and his shovel and his hoe, and he always wore his overalls when he was playing.

One morning he had just started to wander along the road toward the corner of the next street.

He wasn't allowed to go beyond that corner, but he could look and see what was coming, and perhaps he could see the postman and the black dog.

His cat was walking along beside him, looking up into his face, and he was dragging his cart, with his shovel and his hoe rattling in the bottom of it, for he might want to play in the sand of the gutter.

But before he got more than halfway to the corner, he heard a great rattling and shouting, and two horses came around the corner.

They made a very wide turn, because they were dragging a wagon, and behind that came two great logs which looked like trees, except that they were all smoothed off.

And David wondered where the other ends of the logs were, for he couldn't see anything but logs coming around the corner.

Then came a pair of strong wheels that the logs rested upon, and presently there were the other ends of the logs, and David knew that the logs were either telephone poles or electric light poles, for he had seen a great many of both kinds.

There was a man driving, and two other men, and they had some other smaller poles and some shovels in the wagon.

David stopped short, and his cat stopped, and they watched the wagon, with the poles behind it, go slowly down the road until it had got a little way beyond his house.

Then it stopped, and the men jumped out, and they began to look up in the air.

David wondered why they were doing that. He wondered so much that he walked along, with his cat walking beside him and his cart coming after, to ask the men.

But before he got near enough to them to ask, they had stopped looking up in the air, and they talked to each other, and David knew by what they said that they had been looking to see where the telephone line to his house stopped.

Then they started the horses, and the men walked beside them, and they walked about as far as a big boy could throw a stone, and there they stopped.

And the men undid the ropes from the long logs, and they rolled one of them to one side and tipped it so that its big end was on the ground, and they tied the ropes on to the other log again.

Then they got two of the smaller poles from the wagon, and they held up the small end of the log with the small poles; and the wagon started and the wheels went out from under the log and left it.

Then the men took away the small poles and the log fell upon the ground, and it made a big booming noise as it fell.

The other log was unloaded in the same way not far from the corner of the new house, and they led the horses to a tree and tied them; and they took the shovels and all the little poles and the other things out of the wagon.

The shovels were strange-looking things, with long, straight handles and queer blades, more like long mustard-spoons than shovels; and the little poles had sharp spikes in the ends, and some of the poles were not much longer than clothes-poles, and some were a great deal longer; and there were two sharp-pointed iron bars.

The men took all their things to the place where the first pole lay on the ground, and two of them took bars and the other took one of the shovels.

And the men with the bars stuck them into the ground and loosened the dirt, and the other man scooped out the dirt with his big mustard-spoon. Then some more dirt was loosened and that was scooped out with the shovel.

The hole that they were digging was not much bigger around than the end of the pole which would go into it.

The hole kept getting deeper, so that a common shovel wouldn't have got up any dirt at all; but the man with the mustard-spoon shovel just gave it a little twist, and lifted it out with dirt in it.

Pretty soon they had the hole dug deep enough.

It was so deep that, if a man could have stood on the bottom of it, he could have just seen out, if he stood on his tiptoes.

But only a slim man could have got into the hole. A fat man would have stuck fast as soon as his legs were in.

Then the men put down their bars and the shovel, and got the little poles, and went where the long log lay.

And they rolled it over with bars which were something like tongs, except that they had only one handle; and they rolled it until the big end of the log was just over the hole.

Then they took the shortest small poles with spikes in the ends, and they put them where they could reach them quickly.

And they all took hold of the end of the log and lifted it as high as they could reach; and one of the men reached out quickly for his spike pole, while the other two men held the log, and he jabbed the spike hard into the log and held it while another man got his spike pole and jabbed the spike hard into the log.

Then the third man jabbed the spike of his pole in, and they all lifted together, and the butt end of the log slipped a little way into the hole.

It couldn't go all the way to the bottom, because the big pole wasn't up far enough yet, and the butt end struck the side of the hole.

Then they got longer spike poles, one man at a time, and they lifted again, and the big pole slipped a little farther down into the hole.

And one of the men jabbed his spike pole in at another place, and then the other men did, and they lifted again, and the big pole went thump! on the bottom of the hole.

And the men left their spike poles sticking in, all around, and jammed the other ends into the ground to hold the big pole up straight while they filled in the dirt around it.

David had been watching the men all the time, but he was careful not to get near, because he had seen how the big pole bounced around when it was unloaded.

His cat was not so careful, and she was almost hit by one of the spike poles when the man threw it down, and she scampered home as fast as she could go.

But David didn't pay any attention to her, and the men were too busy to notice.

When the dirt was pounded hard around the pole, the men took up their things, and walked along to the place where they had unloaded the other pole; and David walked along, too, dragging his cart.

He would have liked to take some of the things in his cart, but they were all too big, for he asked one of the men.

And the man looked at his cart, and he looked at David, and he laughed and shook his head.

"But you be very careful not to get too near," he said. "If the pole should get away from us, there's no knowing what it would do."

"Yes," said David. "I was careful."

"So you were," the man said. "You do the same way while we set this pole."

So the men set the other pole, and David stood a long way off.

He stood so far off that he couldn't see very well, and when the men had the pole straight up in the air, he wandered over to the wagon and tried to see if anything else was in it.

The backboard was up and he couldn't see inside at all, but he saw the wheels that the poles had come on, and he thought he would try to shin up on them and look in.

So he put his arms around the axle and tried to get one leg over; but as soon as he took his foot off the ground, the wheels began to go. He put his foot down again and made the wheels go faster, hanging on to the axle with his arms and paddling on the ground with his feet, for the ground sloped a little.

And when the wheels had rolled gently down to the lowest part of the road, they stopped and David couldn't make them go any more, even when he pushed as hard as he could.

But the men had got through setting the pole, and they were going over to the wagon when David rolled down the road and couldn't get back.

And they all went where he was, and one of them pushed on the axle, and David pushed, and the wheels rolled back again to the wagon.

And the men let down the backboard, and they put in all their things: all their poles and the bars and the shovel.

Then they took out a big coil of something that looked like rubber tubing which was wound on a great wooden spool.

The spool was as big around as David's body, and the stuff that looked like rubber tubing looked all twisty, as if there were two pieces twisted together.

David wanted very much to know what it was. He didn't like to ask, but the man who had it saw that he was looking at it very hard.

"Do you know what that is?" he asked, smiling at David.

David shook his head.

"Is it a little hose?"

"No, it's wire, and the wire is covered with that black rubbery stuff. See, here are the ends."

He found the ends of the wire and showed them to David. There were two bright ends of copper wire, and they peeped out of the black rubber covering.

"There are two of them, you see, and they are twisted together."

David nodded, but he didn't say anything.

The other men were buckling on to their legs some iron spurs, or climbers, just like those the tree men had.

And when they had their climbers buckled on, they took a little coil of rope and some queer little wooden things and a big hammer, and they went to the nearest pole.

One of the men walked right up this pole, and when he got nearly to the top, he put a big strap around his waist and around the pole, and buckled it, so that it held him to the pole, not tight up against it, but loosely so that he could use his hands.

Then he took one of the wooden things that was sticking out of his pocket, and he took his hammer from his belt, and he nailed the wooden thing to the pole. And the coil of rope was hanging at his belt; and he took it off, and he undid it, and let one end drop down to the ground.

The man who was standing there tied on a big lump of glass, and the man on the pole pulled it up, and untied it, and screwed it on the top of the wooden pin that he had just nailed on. Then he dropped his rope and came down the pole.

And he walked along until he came to the pole in front of David's house, and he walked right up that pole.

Then he let down one end of his rope, and the man on the ground tied it to the end of the twisted wires, and the man on the pole pulled them up, and the spool turned over and the wires unwound as the ends went up the pole.

David couldn't see what the man on the pole did with the ends of the wires, but he fastened them somehow to the wires that were there already, and then he came down.

And the man on the ground put a short stick through the hole in the middle of the spool, and he took hold of one end of the stick and the man who had just come down from the pole took hold of the other end, and they walked along, and the hanging wire began to get tight, and the spool began to turn around as they walked, and the wire lay on the ground behind them.

And they walked past the two new poles and to the corner of the new house; and they put the spool down on the ground.

Almost all the wire had unwound from the spool.

The other man had been doing what had to be done at the second pole: nailing on the wooden thing and putting the glass on.

Then he had taken a ladder to the corner of the house, and he had fastened some things for the wire to go through, up the corner of the house to the eaves.

Then he came down the ladder, and all the men walked back together.

The first man walked up his pole again and waited.

And the second man walked up his pole, and let down the end of the rope.

And the man on the ground tied it to the wire, and the man on the pole pulled it up, and the wire hung in the air between him and David's house.

Then the man on the ground walked along to the next pole, and he tied the man's rope to the wire and he pulled it up.

And the man on the ground walked along to the corner of the new house, and he took hold of the wire there, and went up the ladder with it, and the wire was hanging in the air all the way from the new house to David's house, but it rested on the two poles between.

Then the men all pulled the wire as tight as it ought to be, and they fastened it to the poles and to the house, just the way it belonged, and they made it go down the corner of the house, and they cut it off at the bottom and left the ends sticking out.

Some other men would come and put wires inside the house, and those other men would put the telephone in so that people could talk with each other when they were far apart.

Then the pole men came down from their poles and the ladder, and they gathered up all their things and put them into the wagon.

And they took off their climbers and put them into the wagon, and they tied the wheels on behind, so that they would drag after the wagon.

And they untied the horses and they all got in, and they drove away, with all their six wheels rattling, and they left David looking after them.

But before they had got far one of the men turned and saw David looking after them, and he saw his cat; and he waved his hand to David, and he waved it to his cat.

Of course, the cat couldn't wave her hand, but David could, and he did, and then the wagon turned the corner, and the wheels rattled after.

And David looked to see where his cart was, for he had forgotten it; and he went to the cart, and took up the handle and walked slowly home.

And that's all.




XIII

The Moving-Men Story


Once upon a time there was a little boy, and he was almost five years old, and his name was David. And there weren't any other children near for him to play with, so he used to play happily all by himself.

He had his cat and his cart and his shovel and his hoe, and he always wore his overalls when he was playing.

They had been building a new house in the field next to David's house, and it was all done, and all ready to be lived in.

It had electric lights and a range which would burn either coal or gas; and in cold weather they would burn coal in the range, and in warm weather they would use the gas part.

And the telephone was all in, for the inside-telephone-men had come and put it in.

David hadn't seen them do their work, because they had been inside the house all the time, and there wasn't any nice foreman, like Jonathan, who knew him, and who took pains to show him everything there was to show.

But he had seen them go in, carrying the telephone, and he had seen them come out without it, and he had asked them if they had it all fixed so that people could talk, and they had said that they had fixed it, and that it was all right.

Then six great wagons had come. Three of the wagons brought furnace coal and two of them brought range coal, and one brought a load of wood to burn in the fireplaces.

And the furnace coal went in at one cellar window, and the range coal went in at another cellar window, and the wood went in at the cellar door, in a man's arms.

All these different things were being done at once, and there was a tremendous racket with all the coal going down through iron chutes, and all the men had been very busy.

Then the racket had stopped, and the men had taken their chutes and thrown them into the wagons, and they had climbed up into their seats, and they had rattled off, in a procession, but they had left the cellar windows flapping.

Coal men never do fasten the cellar windows unless there is somebody right there to remind them of it. And, in a few minutes, David saw a man come out of the house and lock the door, and walk up the road and turn the corner.

The next day, David watched the new house for a long time, but nothing happened, and he couldn't see that there was anybody there, so he wandered into the thin woods behind his house.

His cat started with him, but two crows came and flew at the cat, and she was frightened and ran home as fast as she could go, with her bushy tail sticking straight out behind her.

David laughed to see her running away from the crows, and he walked along slowly, and he came where were some crusts of bread and other things which the maid at his house had taken out there for the birds.

David's mother had the maid throw out crusts of bread and tie lumps of fat on the trees all winter, because when the snow is on the ground it is sometimes hard for the birds to find things enough to eat.

There was a plenty of things for the birds to eat now, and they were easy enough to get, but some birds were picking at the scraps.

Suddenly the birds flew up into a tree and two gray squirrels came and gnawed at the bread crusts, when the two crows that had chased David's cat came flapping down and tried to get at the scraps.

But the squirrels stopped eating and chased the crows savagely; and the crows didn't fight back, but they just flew up a little bit of a way and hovered there until the squirrels began to eat again.

Then they flapped down on the ground and began to sneak up toward the scraps; and the squirrels darted at them and chased them again.

David wasn't very near, and he had watched the squirrels and the crows for some time.

Then he just happened to look up, and he saw a maid come out of the cellar door of the new house and get some wood from the pile that the carpenters had left.

And she picked out the little pieces and put them in her apron and went in; and, almost as soon as she was in, smoke began to come out of the chimney, and David thought he had better go there and see what was going on.

He walked up past his house, and stopped and got his cart and called his cat. And his cat came running, and he walked along, dragging his cart, with his shovel and his hoe rattling in the bottom of it.

But when he got to the road he looked up to the corner to see if there was anything coming, and he saw what he thought must be the circus just turning the corner.

First there came three great horses, harnessed abreast, and their harness was glittering with chains and little brass things and with ivory rings; and the horses were dragging a great big shiny van which seemed almost as big as a house.

The driver's seat was up high, and the top of the van stuck over and made a little roof for it; and on the side of the van was a picture of two lions, and the lions in the picture were about as big as real lions.

And behind that van came another three-horse van like the first, with lions painted on the side.

And behind that came a smaller van drawn by two horses, and that had lions painted on the side, and a little dog trotted under the two-horse van, and his tongue was hanging out because he had trotted a long way and he was thirsty.

When these three vans had turned the corner, no more came, although David watched for as much as half a minute.

By that time the first van was past him and his cat had caught sight of the little dog and the little dog had caught sight of the cat.

But the cat didn't do anything, and the little dog was too tired to chase her. So he pretended that he didn't see her, and he trotted along under the van as far as the new house.

All the vans stopped at the new house, and the horses backed them up side by side in the gutter. There wasn't any curbstone, and the sidewalk was a new one of gravel, and there would be a border of grass when the grass had time to grow.

As soon as the vans had stopped, the little dog trotted out from under the two-horse one, and went around the house looking for some water.

And he came to the faucet where they screw on the hose, and he saw that there was a drop of water hanging on the bottom of the faucet. So he licked that up and waited until another drop came, and he licked that up.

Then one of the moving-men saw him.

"Poor little Dick!" said the moving-man.

And he went to the faucet and the little dog wagged his stump of a tail and backed away a step and waited.

Then the moving-man turned the handle of the faucet so that a little thin stream of water ran out, and the little dog came up and lapped out of the little thin stream, wagging his stump of a tail very fast. He wagged and he lapped until he had had enough.

And the moving-man turned the handle of the faucet the other way, and the water stopped running.

Then the little dog licked the man's hand, and he trotted back to the van, and he went under and curled up and slumped down, and he put his head on his paws, and he drew two or three long breaths, and he went to sleep.

There were three men with each three-horse van and two men with the two-horse van; and they had all got down and taken off their coats, and they had unlocked the great tall doors at the back of each van, and they had opened the doors, and had taken some of the things out.

The things were covered with a great many old soft cloths: old coarse burlaps, and old quilts and comforters. These soft cloths belonged to the moving-men, and they kept them to use in that way, so that the things which they moved shouldn't get scratched or broken.

When they took anything out of a van, they took off the cloths and threw them in a pile on the sidewalk, and they put the things in a sort of a clump, along the front walk of the new house.

David had come up close, dragging his cart, but his cat had run off into the field.

Then the moving-men noticed David standing there.

"Hello," said one of the men. He seemed to be a kind of a foreman. "Do you live around here?"

David pointed to his house.

"I live in that house. Do you know whether there are any little boys coming to live in this house?"

"I think likely," said the moving-man, "but I don't know for certain."

"Well, are you going to take all these things into the house?" David asked again, pointing at the things.

There were a hat-rack, and two waste-baskets filled with little things done up in newspaper, and a little table, and a paste-board box filled with hats, and two mirrors about as tall as David, and a maid's wash-stand, and a bundle of pictures tied up in newspapers, and a wooden box full of rubbers, and some crockery things, and a barrel of kitchen things, and a great enormous paste-board box tied up with tape, and another great paste-board box with the side broken in, and three kitchen chairs, and a chamber chair, and a bundle of magazines, and some other things; and they were all spread out on the walk.

These things were all the things that had been left over and put in last in packing the vans, or little things which filled up chinks.

"We are going to take them in as soon as somebody comes to tell us where to put them," the moving-man answered. "And we want to take in some of the big things first, such as beds and dining-room table and heavy things like those. They are all packed in the bottom of the vans."

David nodded his head.

Just then one of the men took out of a van a little upholstered armchair.

"Hello!" said the moving-man. "That looks as if there was a youngster of some kind coming, either a boy or a girl."

Then another man came with a box of toys, and set it down beside the armchair.

David saw it and smiled.

"That looks so, too, doesn't it now?" said the moving-man. He looked up. "And here he is, I guess."

David turned around, and he saw a very pleasant-looking man coming along, and, holding by his hand, there was a little boy who looked as if he might be almost five years old.

They came near, and David looked at the little boy, but he didn't say anything, and the little boy looked at David, and he didn't say anything either, but he held to his father's hand tighter than ever.

"Well, here we are. You have not been waiting long, I judge. Now I'll go in and you can come along with the things as fast as you like. What will you do, Dick?"

At the sound of his name, the little dog raised his head and wagged his stump of a tail and was all ready to get up; but nobody saw him, for the little boy was whispering to his father, who turned to David.

"I guess that your name is David," he said; and David nodded. "I know your father, David. How would you like it if Dick stayed out here with you? You two can play anywhere that you are used to, David, or you can stay and watch as long as you like."

David thought that that would be nice, and he turned his cart around and took out the backboard, and he told Dick that he might sit in it if he wanted to, or he could sit in the little armchair.

Dick chose the cart to sit in, and David sat in the armchair, and they watched the men, who were beginning to carry in the things.

They had taken some more things out of one of the vans, and they had come to the heavy things.

One man was in the van, unpacking the things and pushing them to the back, where the other men could reach them.

And a man would take as much as he could carry under his arms, and march into the house with it; and another man would come and get his load, and he would march in with it.

There was a procession of men going in with their loads and coming out without any, and Dick's father stood just inside the front door and told each man where to leave his load, and the man went to that room and left it, and came out again.

But when they had all the parts of a bed in the room where the bed was to be, they put the bed together, so that it was all ready to be made up.

Two men carried in the dining-table, and the library table, and the ice-chest, and each bureau, and each dressing-table, and each bookcase, and the tall clock, and each sofa, and each of the washstands, and everything that was either too big or too heavy for one man.

They had come to a lot of boxes, all just alike, each box just about a load for one man. The men were taking them up as fast as they could, and going in, and piling them up in the hall, and they joked about them, they were so heavy.

David was curious about the boxes, and he asked Dick what was in them; and Dick said that books were in them, and his mother and his father packed them, and it took them a long time, for they had to wrap every book in newspaper and stuff newspapers in all the cracks. Then his father had screwed the tops on with a screwer.

And David said it was funny how heavy books were, because they were made of paper, and paper was one of the lightest things there was, and his kitty liked to play with pieces of newspaper, out of doors, where the wind blew them.

Then he got up and called his cat, but she didn't come.

"I'll tell you," David said; "let's go and find her."

So Dick and David each took hold of one handle of the cart, and walked along to David's house, and David called his cat again, but she didn't come.

Then he thought that she must be in the woods, and they would go there and find her.

But first he went into his house and asked the maid to give him and Dick some cookies, and the maid gave him three for Dick and three for himself.

And he gave Dick his three, and the two little boys wandered on into the woods, eating their cookies and dragging the cart behind them, and David thought how much better a real little boy was than a pretend little boy.

And David told Dick about the squirrels and the crows and the other birds that were there, and he showed him where there were some chestnuts; and they picked up some chestnuts and got them out of the burs and put them into the cart.

Then suddenly there was David's cat walking along, with her bushy tail sticking straight up in the air; and she went to David and rubbed against him, and she went to Dick and rubbed against him, and she went to the cart and rubbed against that.

Then she ran on ahead, and they came after, and they went to the place where the squirrels and the crows had been.

But no squirrels were there.

So the two little boys wandered on through the thin woods, looking for squirrels, and sometimes the cat was with them and sometimes she wasn't, and at last they were just behind Dickie's house, for the new house was his house now.

And they looked up and saw the vans just starting away, and the horses were trotting.

They watched until they couldn't see the vans any longer, and they heard them turn the corner.

"I guess I've got to go," said Dickie then.

"Why have you got to go?" David asked. "Aren't you going to live in that house?"

"Yes," Dick said, "I am, but we're going back for to-night. To-morrow the maids will have it all ready, and we'll come and bring my mother and my baby sister."

"Oh," said David.

That was the first time Dick had told him that he had a baby sister.

Dick had already started up to his house, but he stopped and turned around.

"Good-bye, David," he said.

"Good-bye, Dick," said David.

And Dick turned again and hurried to the new house, but David stood, holding the handle of his cart and looking after him.

And he saw Dick's father come around the corner of the house and take Dick by the hand.

Then Dick's father stood for a minute looking at the house, as if he was afraid that he had forgotten something.

But he couldn't think of anything, and he and Dick began to walk away, and Dick was talking to his father and his father was smiling.

David stood still, watching them, until he couldn't see them any longer.

Then he began to gallop along toward his house, dragging his cart, and his shovel and his hoe rattled like everything in the bottom of it; and his cat ran on ahead, with her bushy tail sticking straight up in the air.

And that's the end of this book.

<eob>

Robinson Crusoe In Words Of One Syllable

By

Mary Godolphin



I was born at York on the first of March in the sixth year of the reign of King Charles the First. From the time when I was quite a young child, I had felt a great wish to spend my life at sea, and as I grew, so did this taste grow more and more strong; till at last I broke loose from my school and home, and found my way on foot to Hull, where I soon got a place on board a ship.

When we had set sail but a few days, a squall of wind came on, and on the fifth night we sprang a leak. All hands were sent to the pumps, but we felt the ship groan in all her planks, and her beams quake from stem to stern; so that it was soon quite clear there was no hope for her, and that all we could do was to save our lives.

The first thing was to fire off guns, to show that we were in need of help, and at length a ship, which lay not far from us, sent a boat to our aid. But the sea was too rough for it to lie near our ship's side, so we threw out a rope, which the men in the boat caught, and made fast, and by this means we all got in. Still in so wild a sea it was in vain to try to get on board the ship which had sent out the men, or to use our oars in the boat, and all we could do was to let it drive to shore.

In the space of half an hour our own ship struck on a rock and went down, and we saw her no more. We made but slow way to the land, which we caught sight of now and then when the boat rose to the top of some high wave, and there we saw men who ran in crowds, to and fro, all bent on one thing, and that was to save us.

At last to our great joy we got on shore, where we had the luck to meet with friends who gave us the means to get back to Hull; and if I had now had the good sense to go home, it would have been well for me.

The man whose ship had gone down said with a grave look, "Young lad, you ought to go to sea no more, it is not the kind, of life for you." "Why Sir, will you go to sea no more then?" "That is not the same kind of thing; I was bred to the sea, but you were not, and came on board my ship just to find out what a life at sea was like, and you may guess what you will come to if you do not go back to your home. God will not bless you, and it may be that you have brought all this woe on us."

I spoke not a word more to him; which way he went I knew not, nor did I care to know, for I was hurt at this rude speech. Shall I go home thought I, or shall I go to sea? Shame kept me from home, and I could not make up my mind what course of life to take.

As it has been my fate through life to choose for the worst, so I did now. I had gold in my purse, and good clothes on my back, and to sea I went once more.

But I had worse luck this time than the last, for when we were far out at sea, some Turks in a small ship came on our track in full chase. We set as much sail as our yards would bear, so as to get clear from them. But in spite of this, we saw our foes gain on us, and we felt sure that they would come up with our ship in a few hours' time.

At last they caught us, but we brought our guns to bear on them, which made them shear off for a time, yet they kept up a fire at us as long as they were in range. The next time the Turks came up, some of their men got on board our ship, and set to work to cut the sails, and do us all kinds of harm. So, as ten of our men lay dead, and most of the rest had wounds, we gave in.

The chief of the Turks took me as his prize to a port which was held by the Moors. He did not use me so ill as at first I thought he would have done, but he set me to work with the rest of his slaves. This was a change in my life which I did not think had been in store for me. How my heart sank with grief at the thought of those whom I had left at home, nay, to whom I had not had the grace so much as to say "Good bye" when I went to sea, nor to give a hint of what I meant to do!

Yet all that I went through at this time was but a taste of the toils and cares which it has since been my lot to bear.

I thought at first that the Turk might take me with him when next he went to sea, and so I should find some way to get free; but the hope did not last long, for at such times he left me on shore to see to his crops. This kind of life I led for two years, and as the Turk knew and saw more of me, he made me more and more free. He went out in his boat once or twice a week to catch a kind of flat fish, and now and then he took me and a boy with him, for we were quick at this kind of sport, and he grew quite fond of me.

One day the Turk sent me in the boat to catch some fish, with no one else but a man and a boy. While we were out so thick a fog came on that though we were out not half a mile from the shore, we quite lost sight of it for twelve hours; and when the sun rose the next day, our boat was at least ten miles out at sea. The wind blew fresh, and we were all much in want of food, but at last, with the help of our oars and sail, we got back safe to land.

When the Turk heard how we had lost our way, he said that the next time he went out, he would take a boat that would hold all we could want if we were kept out at sea. So he had quite a state room built in the long boat of his ship, as well as a room for us slaves. One day he sent me to trim the boat, as he had two friends who would go in it to fish with him. But when the time came they did not go, so he sent me with the man and the boy -- whose name was Xury -- to catch some fish for the guests that were to sup with him.

Now the thought struck me all at once that this would be a good chance to set off with the boat, and get free. So in the first place, I took all the food that I could lay my hands on, and I told the man that it would be too bold of us to eat of the bread that had been put in the boat for the Turk. He said he thought so too, and he brought down a small sack of rice and some rusks.

While the man was on shore I put up some wine, a large lump of wax, a saw, an axe, a spade, some rope, and all sorts of things that might be of use to us. I knew where the Turk's case of wine was, and I put that in the boat while the man was on shore. By one more trick I got all that I had need of. I said to the boy, "the Turk's guns are in the boat, but there is no shot. Do you think you could get some? You know where it is kept, and we may want to shoot a fowl or two." So he brought a case and a pouch which held all that we could want for the guns. These I put in the boat, and then set sail out of the port to fish.

The wind blew, from the North, or North West, which was a bad wind for me; for had it been South I could have made for the coast of Spain. But, blow which way it might, my mind was made up to get off, and to leave the rest to fate. I then let down my lines to fish, but I took care to have bad sport; and when the fish bit, I would not pull them up, for the Moor was not to see them. I said to him, "This will not do, we shall catch no fish here, we ought to sail on a bit." Well, the Moor thought there was no harm in this. He set the sails, and, as the helm was in my hands, I ran the boat out a mile or more, and then brought her to, as if I meant to fish.

Now, thought I, the time has come for me to get free! I gave the helm to the boy, and then took the Moor round the waist, and threw him out of the boat.

Down he went! but soon rose up, for he swam like a duck. He said he would go all round the world with me, if I would but take him in.

I had some fear lest he should climb up the boat's side, and force his way back; so I brought my gun to point at him, and said, "You can swim to land with ease if you choose, make haste then to get there; but if you come near the boat you shall have a shot through the head, for I mean to be a free man from this hour."

He then swam for the shore, and no doubt got safe there, as the sea was so calm.

At first I thought I would take the Moor with me, and let Xury swim to land; but the Moor was not a man that I could trust. When he was gone I said to Xury, "If you will swear to be true to me, you shall be a great man in time; if not, I must throw you out of the boat too."

The poor boy gave me such a sweet smile as he swore to be true to me, that I could not find it in my heart to doubt him.

While the man was still in view (for he was on his way to the land), we stood out to sea with the boat, so that he and those that saw us from the shore might think we had gone to the straits' mouth, for no one went to the South coast, as a tribe of men dwelt there who were known to kill and eat their foes.

We then bent our course to the East, so as to keep in with the shore; and as we had a fair wind and a smooth sea, by the next day at noon, we were not less than 150 miles out of the reach of the Turk.

I had still some fear lest I should be caught by the Moors, so I would not go on shore in the day time. But when it grew dark we made our way to the coast, and came to the mouth of a stream, from which we thought we could swim to land, and then look round us. But as soon as it was quite dark we heard strange sounds -- barks, roars, grunts, and howls. The poor lad said he could not go on shore till dawn. "Well," said I, "then we must give it up, but it may be that in the day time we shall be seen by men, who for all we know would do us more harm than wild beasts." "Then we give them the shoot gun," said Xury with a laugh, "and make them run away." I was glad to see so much mirth in the boy, and gave him some bread and rice.

We lay still at night, but did not sleep long, for in a few hours' time some huge beasts came down to the sea to bathe. The poor boy shook from head to foot at the sight. One of these beasts came near our boat, and though it was too dark to see him well, we heard him puff and blow, and knew that he must be a large one by the noise he made. At last the brute came as near to the boat as two oars' length, so I shot at him, and he swam to the shore.

The roar and cries set up by beasts and birds at the noise of my gun would seem to show that we had made a bad choice of a place to land on; but be that as it would, to shore we had to go to find some fresh spring, so that we might fill our casks. Xury said if I would let him go with one of the jars, he would find out if the springs were fit to drink; and, if they were sweet, he would bring the jar back full. "Why should you go?" said I; "Why should not I go, and you stay in the boat?" At this Xury said, "if wild mans come they eat me, you go way." I could not but love the lad for this kind speech. "Well," said I, "we will both go, and if the wild men come we must kill them, they shall not eat you or me."

I gave Xury some rum from the Turk's case to cheer him up, and we went on shore. The boy went off with his gun, full a mile from the spot where we stood, and came back with a hare that he had shot, which we were glad to cook and eat; but the good news which he brought was that he had found a spring, and had seen no wild men.

I made a guess that the Cape de Verd Isles were not far off, for I saw the top of the Great Peak, which I knew was near them. My one hope was that if I kept near the coast, I should find some ship that would take us on board; and then, and not till then, should I feel a free man. In a word, I put the whole of my fate on this chance, that I must meet with some ship, or die.

On the coast we saw some men who stood to look at us. They were black, and wore no clothes. I would have gone on shore to them, but Xury -- who knew best -- said, "Not you go! Not you go!" So I brought the boat as near the land as I could, that I might talk to them, and they kept up with me a long way. I saw that one of them had a lance in his hand.

I made signs that they should bring me some food, and they on their part made signs for me to stop my boat. So I let down the top of my sail, and lay by, while two of them ran off; and in less than half an hour they came back with some dry meat and a sort of corn which is grown in this part of the world. This we should have been glad to get, but knew not how to do so; for we durst not go on shore to them, nor did they dare to come to us. At last they took a safe way for us all, for they brought the food to the shore, where they set it, down, and then went a long way off while we took it in. We made signs to show our thanks, for we had not a thing that we could spare to give them.

But as good luck would have it, we were at hand to take a great prize for them; for two wild beasts, of the same kind as the first I spoke of, came in, full chase from the hills down to the sea.

They swam as if they had come for sport. The men flew from them in fear, all but the one who held the lance. One of these beasts came near our boat; so I lay in wait for him with my gun; and as soon as the brute was in range, I shot him through the head. Twice he sank down in the sea, and twice he came up; and then just swam to the land, where he fell down dead. The men were in as much fear at the sound of my gun, as they had been at the sight of the beasts. But when I made signs for them to come to the shore, they took heart, and came.

They at once made for their prize; and by the help of a rope, which they slung round him, they brought him safe on the beach.

We now left our wild men, and went on and on, for twelve days more. The land in front of us ran out four or five miles, like a bill; and we had to keep some way from the coast, to make this point, so that we lost sight of the shore.

I gave the helm to Xury and sat down to think what would be my best course to take: when all at once I heard the lad cry out "A ship with a sail! A ship with a sail!" He did not show much joy at the sight, for he thought that this ship had been sent out to take him back: but I knew well, from the look of her, that she was not one of the Turk's.

I made all the sail I could to come in the ship's way, and told Xury to fire a gun, in the hope that if those on deck could not hear the sound, they might see the smoke. This they did see, and then let down their sails so that we might come up to them, and in three hours time we were at the ship's side. The men spoke to us in French, but I could not make out what they meant. At last a Scot on board said in my own tongue, "Who are you? Whence do you come?" I told him in a few words how I had got free from the Moors.

Then the man who had charge of the ship bade me come on board, and took me in with Xury and all my goods. I told him that he might take all I had, but he said "You shall have your goods back when we come to land, for I have but done for you what you would have done for me, had I been in the same plight."

He gave me a good round sum for my boat, and said that I should have the same sum for Xury, if I would part with him. But I told him that as it was by the boy's help that I had got free, I was loath to sell him. He said it was just and right in me to feel thus, but at the same time, if I could make up my mind to part with him, he should be set free in two years' time. So, as the poor slave had a wish to go with him, I did not say "no." I got to All Saints' Bay in three weeks, and was now a free man.

I had made a good sum by all my store, and with this I went on land. But I did not at all know what to do next. At length I met with a man whose case was much the same as my own, and we both took some land to farm. My stock, like his, was low, but we made our farms serve to keep us in food, though not more than that. We both stood in need of help, and I saw now that I had done wrong to part with my boy.

I did not at all like this kind of life. What! thought I, have I come all this way to do that which I could have done as well at home with my friends round me! And to add to my grief, the kind friend, who had brought me here in his ship, now meant to leave these shores.

On my first start to sea when a boy, I had put a small sum in the hands of an aunt, and this my friend said I should do well to spend on my farm. So when he got home he sent some of it in cash, and laid out the rest in cloth, stuffs, baize, and such like goods. My aunt had put a few pounds in my friend's hands as a gift to him, to show her thanks for all that he had done for me, and with this sum he was so kind as to buy me a slave. In the mean time I had bought a slave, so now I had two, and all went on well for the next year.

But soon my plans grew too large for my means. One day some men came to ask me to take charge of a slave ship to be sent out by them. They said they would give me a share in the slaves, and pay the cost of the stock. This would have been a good thing for me if I had not had farms and land; but it was wild and rash to think of it now, for I had made a large sum, and ought to have gone on in the same way for three or four years more. Well, I told these men that I would go with all my heart, if they would look to my farm in the mean time, which they said they would do.

So I made my will, and went on board this ship on the same day on which, eight years since, I had left Hull. She had six guns, twelve men, and a boy. We took with us saws, chains, toys, beads, bits of glass, and such like ware, to suit the taste of those with whom we had to trade.

We were not more than twelve days from the Line, when a high wind took us off we knew not where. All at once there was a cry of "Land!" and the ship struck on a bank of sand, in which she sank so deep that we could not get her off. At last we found that we must make up our minds to leave her, and get to shore as well as we could. There had been a boat at her stern, but we found it had been torn off by the force of the waves. One small boat was still left on the ship's side, so we got in it.

There we were all of us on the wild sea. The heart of each now grew faint, our cheeks were pale, and our eyes were dim, for there was but one hope, and that was to find some bay, and so get in the lee of the land. We now gave up our whole souls to God.

The sea grew more and more rough, and its white foam would curl and boil. At last the waves, in their wild sport, burst on the boat's side, and we were all thrown out.

I could swim well, but the force of the waves made me lose my breath too much to do so. At length one large wave took me to the shore, and left me high and dry, though half dead with fear. I got on my feet and made the best of my way for the land; but just then the curve of a huge wave rose up as high as a hill, and this I had no strength to keep from, so it took me back to the sea. I did my best to float on the top, and held my breath to do so. The next wave was quite as high, and shut me up in its bulk. I held my hands down tight to my side, and then my head shot out at the top of the waves. This gave me heart and breath too, and soon my feet felt the ground.

I stood quite still for a short time, to let the sea run back from me, and then I set off with all my might to the shore, but yet the waves caught me, and twice more did they take me back, and twice more land me on the shore. I thought the last wave would have been the death of me, for it drove me on a piece of rock, and with such force, as to leave me in a kind of swoon, which, thank God, did not last long. At length, to my great joy, I got up to the cliffs close to the shore, where I found some grass, out of the reach of the sea. There, I sat down, safe on land at last.

I could but cry out in the words of the Psalm, "They that go down to the sea in ships, these men see the works of the Lord in the deep. For at His word the storms rise, the winds blow, and lift up the waves; then do they mount to the sky, and from thence go down to the deep. My soul faints, I reel to and fro, and am at my wit's end: then the Lord brings me out of all my fears."

I felt so wrapt in joy, that all I could do was to walk up and down the coast, now lift up my hands, now fold them on my breast, and thank God for all that He had done for me, when the rest of the men were lost. All lost but I, and I was safe! I now cast my eyes round me, to find out what kind of a place it was that I had been thus thrown in, like a bird in a storm. Then all the glee I felt at first left me; for I was wet and cold, and had no dry clothes to put on, no food to eat and not a friend to help me.

There were wild beasts here, but I had no gun to shoot them with, or to keep me from their jaws. I had but a knife and a pipe. It now grew dark; and where was I to go for the night? I thought the top of some high tree would be a good place to keep me out of harm's way; and that there I might sit and think of death, for, as yet, I had no hopes of life. Well, I went to my tree, and made a kind of nest to sleep in. Then I cut a stick to keep off the beasts of prey, in case they should come, and fell to sleep just as if the branch I lay on had been a bed of down.

When I woke up it was broad day; the sky too was clear and the sea calm. But I saw from the top of the tree that in the night the ship had left the bank of sand, and lay but a mile from me; while the boat was on the beach, two miles on my right. I went some way down by the shore, to get to the boat; but an arm of the sea, half a mile broad, kept me from it. At noon, the tide went a long way out, so that I could get near the ship; and here I found that if we had but made up our minds to stay on board, we should all have been safe.

I shed tears at the thought, for I could not help it; yet, as there was no use in that, it struck me that the best thing for me to do was to swim to the ship. I soon threw off my clothes, took to the sea, and swam up to the wreck. But how was I to get on deck? I had swam twice round the ship, when a piece of rope, caught my eye, which hung down from her side so low, that at first the waves hid it. By the help of this rope I got on board. I found that there was a bulge in the ship, and that she had sprung a leak. You may be sure that my first thought was to look round for some food, and I soon made my way to the bin, where the bread was kept, and ate some of it as I went to and fro, for there was no time to lose. There was, too, some rum, of which I took a good draught, and this gave me heart. What I stood most in need of, was a boat to take the goods to shore. But it was vain to wish for that which could not be had; and as there were some spare yards in the ship, two or three large planks of wood, and a spare mast or two, I fell to work with these, to make a raft.

I put four spars side by side, and laid short bits of plank on them, cross ways, to make my raft strong. Though these planks would bear my own weight, they were too slight to bear much of my freight. So I took a saw which was on board, and cut a mast in three lengths, and these gave great strength to the raft. I found some bread and rice, a Dutch cheese, and some dry goat's flesh. There had been some wheat, but the rats had got at it, and it was all gone.

My next task was to screen my goods from the spray of the sea; and it did not take me long to do this, for there were three large chests on board which held all, and these I put on the raft. When the high tide came up it took off my coat and shirt, which I had left on the shore; but there were some fresh clothes in the ship.

"See here is a prize!" said I, out loud, (though there were none to hear me), "now I shall not starve." For I found four large guns. But how was my raft to be got to land? I had no sail, no oars; and a gust of wind would make all my store slide off. Yet there were three things which I was glad of; a calm sea, a tide which set in to the shore, and a slight breeze to blow me there.

I had the good luck to find some oars in a part of the ship, in which I had made no search till now. With these I put to sea, and for half a mile my raft went well; but soon I found it drove to one side. At length I saw a creek, to which, with some toil, I took my raft; and now the beach was so near, that I felt my oar touch the ground.

Here I had well nigh lost my freight, for the shore lay on a slope, so that there was no place to land on, save where one end of the raft would lie so high, and one end so low, that all my goods would fall off. To wait till the tide came up was all that could be done. So when the sea was a foot deep, I thrust the raft on a flat piece of ground, to moor her there, and stuck my two oars in the sand, one on each side of the raft. Thus I let her lie till the ebb of the tide, and when it went down, she was left safe on land with all her freight.

I saw that there were birds on the isle, and I shot one of them. Mine must have been the first gun that had been heard there since the world was made; for at the sound of it, whole flocks of birds flew up, with loud cries, from all parts of the wood. The shape of the beak of the one I shot was like that of a hawk, but the claws were not so large.

I now went back to my raft to land my stores, and this took up the rest of the day. What to do at night I knew not, nor where to find a safe place to land my stores on. I did not like to lie down on the ground, for fear of beasts of prey, as well as snakes, but there was no cause for these fears, as I have since found. I put the chests and boards round me as well as I could, and made a kind of hut for the night.

As there was still a great store of things left in the ship, which would be of use to me, I thought that I ought to bring them to land at once; for I knew that the first storm would break up the ship. So I went on board, and took good care this time not to load my raft too much.

The first thing, I sought for was the tool chest; and in it were some bags of nails, spikes, saws, knives, and such things: but best of all I found a stone to grind my tools on. There were two or three flasks, some large bags of shot, and a roll of lead; but this last I had not the strength to hoist up to the ship's side, so as to get it on my raft. There were some spare sails too which I brought to shore.

I had some fear lest my stores might be run off with by beasts of prey, if not by men; but I found all safe and sound when I went back, and no one had come there but a wild cat, which sat on one of the chests. When I came up I held my gun at her, but as she did not know what a gun was, this did not rouse her. She ate a piece of dry goat's flesh, and then took her leave.

Now that I had two freights of goods at hand, I made a tent with the ship's sails, to stow them in, and cut the poles for it from the wood. I now took all the things out of the casks and chests, and put the casks in piles round the tent, to give it strength; and when this was done, I shut up the door with the boards, spread one of the beds (which I had brought from the ship) on the ground, laid two guns close to my head, and went to bed for the first time. I slept all night, for I was much in need of rest.

The next day I was sad and sick at heart, for I felt how dull it was to be thus cut off from all the rest of the world. I had no great wish for work: but there was too much to be done for me to dwell long on my sad lot. Each day as it came, I went off to the wreck to fetch more things; and I brought back as much as the raft would hold. One day I had put too great a load on the raft, which made it sink down on one side, so that the goods were lost in the sea; but at this I did not fret, as the chief part of the freight was some rope, which would not have been of much use to me.

The twelve days that I had been in the isle were spent in this way, and I had brought to land all that one pair of hands could lift; though if the sea had been still calm, I might have brought the whole ship, piece by piece.

The last time I swam to the wreck, the wind blew so hard, that I made up my mind to go on board next time at low tide. I found some tea and some gold coin; but as to the gold, it made me laugh to look at it. "O drug!" said I, "Thou art of no use to me! I care not to save thee. Stay where thou art, till the ship go down, then go thou with it!"

Still, I thought I might as well just take it; so I put it in a piece of the sail, and threw it on deck that I might place it on the raft. Bye-and-bye, the wind blew from the shore, so I had to swim back with all speed; for I knew that at the turn of the tide, I should find it hard work to get to land at all. But in spite of the high wind, I came to my home all safe. At dawn of day I put my head out, and cast my eyes on the sea. When lo! no ship was there!

This change in the face of things, and the loss of such a friend, quite struck me down. Yet I was glad to think that I had brought to shore all that could be of use to me. I had now to look out for some spot where I could make my home. Half way up a hill there was a small plain, four or five score feet long, and twice as broad; and as it had a full view of the sea, I thought that it would be a good place for my house.

I first dug a trench round a space which took in twelve yards; and in this I drove two rows of stakes, till they stood firm like piles, five and a half feet from the ground. I made the stakes close and tight with bits of rope; and put small sticks on the top of them in the shape of spikes. This made so strong a fence that no man or beast could get in.

The door of my house was on the top, and I had to climb up to it by steps, which I took in with me, so that no one else might come up by the same way. Close to the back of the house stood a high rock, in which I made a cave, and laid all the earth that I had dug out of it round my house, to the height of a foot and a half. I had to go out once a day in search of food. The first time, I saw some goats, but they were too shy and swift of foot, to let me get near them.

At last I lay in wait for them close to their own haunts. If they saw me in the vale, though they might be on high ground, they would run off, wild with fear; but if they were in the vale, and I on high ground, they took no heed of me. The first goat I shot had a kid by her side, and when the old one fell, the kid stood near her, till I took her off on my back, and then the young one ran by my side. I put down the goat, and brought the kid home to tame it; but as it was too young to feed, I had to kill it.

At first I thought that, for the lack of pen and ink, I should lose all note of time; so I made a large post, in the shape of a cross, on which I cut these words, "I came on these shores on the 8th day of June, in the year 1659" On the side of this post I made a notch each day as it came, and this I kept up till the last.

I have not yet said a word of my four pets, which were two cats, a dog, and a bird. You may guess how fond I was of them, for they were all the friends left to me. I brought the dog and two cats from the ship. The dog would fetch things for me at all times, and by his bark, his whine, his growl, and his tricks, he would all but talk to me; yet he could not give me thought for thought.

If I could but have had some one near me to find fault with, or to find fault with me, what a treat it would have been! Now that I had brought ink from the ship, I wrote down a sketch of each day as it came; not so much to leave to those who might read it, when I was dead and gone, as to get rid of my own thoughts, and draw me from the fears which all day long dwelt on my mind, till my head would ache with the weight of them.

I was a long way out of the course of ships: and oh, how dull it was to be cast on this lone spot with no one to love, no one to make me laugh, no one to make me weep, no one to make me think. It was dull to roam, day by day, from the wood to the shore; and from the shore back to the wood, and feed on my own thoughts all the while.

So much for the sad view of my case; but like most things it had a bright side as well as a dark one. For here was I safe on land, while all the rest of the ship's crew were lost. Well, thought I, God who shapes our ways, and led me by the hand then, can save me from this state now, or send some one to be with me; true, I am cast on a rough and rude part of the globe, but there are no beasts of prey on it to kill or hurt me. God has sent the ship so near to me, that I have got from it all things to meet my wants for the rest of my days. Let life be what it may, there is sure to be much to thank God for; and I soon gave up all dull thoughts, and did not so much as look out for a sail.

My goods from the wreck had been in the cave for more than ten months; and it was time now to put them right, as they took up all the space, and left me no room to turn in: so I made my small cave a large one, and dug it out a long way back in the sand rock. Then I brought the mouth of it up to the fence, and so made a back way to my house. This done, I put shelves on each side, to hold my goods, which made my cave look like a shop full of stores. To make these shelves I cut down a tree, and with the help of a saw, an axe, a plane, and some more tools, I made boards.

A chair, and a desk to write on, came next. I rose in good time, and set to work till noon, then I ate my meal, then I went out with my gun, and to work once more till the sun had set; and then to bed. It took me more than a week to change the shape and size of my cave, but I had made it far too large; for in course of time the earth fell in from the roof; and had I been in it, when this took place, I should have lost my life. I had now to set up posts in my cave, with planks on the top of them, so as to make a roof of wood.

One day, when out with my gun, I shot a wild cat, the skin of which made me a cap; and I found some birds of the dove tribe, which built their nests in the holes of rocks.

I had to go to bed at dusk, till I made a lamp of goat's fat, which I put in a clay dish; and this, with a piece of hemp for a wick, made a good light. As I had found a use for the bag which had held the fowl's food on board ship, I shook out from it the husks of corn. This was just at the time when the great rains fell, and in the course of a month, blades of rice, corn, and rye, sprang up. As time went by, and the grain was ripe, I kept it, and took care to sow it each year; but I could not boast of a crop of wheat, as will be shown bye-and-bye, for three years.

A thing now took place on the isle, which no one could have dreamt of, and which struck me down with fear. It was this -- the ground shook with great force, which threw down earth from the rock with a loud crash -- once more there was a shock -- and now the earth fell from the roof of my cave. The sea did not look the same as it had done, for the shocks were just as strong there as on land. The sway of the earth made me feel sick; and there was a noise and a roar all around me. The same kind of shock came a third time; and when it had gone off, I sat quite still on the ground, for I knew not what to do. Then the clouds grew dark, the wind rose, trees were torn up by the roots, the sea was a mass of foam and froth, and a great part of the isle was laid waste with the storm. I thought that the world had come to an end. In three hours' time all was calm; but rain fell all that night, and a great part of the next day. Now, though quite worn out, I had to move my goods which were in the cave, to some safe place.

I knew that tools would be my first want, and that I should have to grind mine on the stone, as they were blunt and worn with use. But as it took both hands to hold the tool, I could not turn the stone; so I made a wheel by which I could move it with my foot. This was no small task, but I took great pains with it, and at length it was done.

The rain fell for some days and a cold chill came on me; in short I was ill. I had pains in my head, and could get no sleep at night, and my thoughts were wild and strange. At one time I shook with cold, and then a hot fit came on, with faint sweats, which would last six hours at a time. Ill as I was, I had to go out with my gun to get food. I shot a goat, but it was a great toil to bring it home, and still more to cook it.

I spent the next day in bed, and felt half dead from thirst, yet too weak to stand up to get some drink. I lay and wept like a child. "Lord look on me! Lord look on me!" would I cry for hours.

At last the fit left me, and I slept, and did not wake till dawn. I dreamt that I lay on the ground, and saw a man come down from a great black cloud in a flame of light. When he stood on the earth, it shook as it had done a few days since; and all the world to me was full of fire. He came up and said "As I see that all these things have not brought thee to pray, now thou shalt die." Then I woke, and found it was a dream. Weak and faint, I was in dread all day lest my fit should come on.

Too ill to get out with my gun, I sat on the shore to think, and thus ran my thoughts: "What is this sea which is all round me? and whence is it? There can be no doubt that the hand that made it, made the air, the earth, the sky. And who is that? It is God who hath made all things. Well then, if God hath made all things, it must be He who guides them; and if so, no one thing in the whole range of His works can take place, and He not know it. Then God must know how sick and sad I am, and He wills me to be here. O, why hath God done this to me!"

Then some voice would seem to say, "Dost thou ask why God hath done this to thee? Ask why thou wert not shot by the Moors, who came on board the ship, and took the lives of thy mates. Ask why thou wert not torn by the beasts of prey on the coasts. Ask why thou didst not go down in the deep sea with the rest of the crew, but didst come to this isle, and art safe."

A sound sleep then fell on me, and when I woke it must have been three o'clock the next day, by the rays of the sun: nay, it may have been more than that; for I think that this must have been the day that I did not mark on my post, as I have since found that there was one notch too few.

I now took from my store the Book of God's Word, which I had brought from the wreck, not one page, of which I had yet read. My eyes fell on five words, that would seem to have been put there for my good at this time; so well did they cheer my faint hopes, and touch the true source of my fears. They were these: "I will not leave thee." And they have dwelt in my heart to this day. I laid down the book, to pray. My cry was "O, Lord, help me to love and learn thy ways."

This was the first time in all my life that I had felt a sense that God was near, and heard me. As for my dull life here, it was not worth a thought; for now a new strength had come to me; and there was a change in my griefs, as well as in my joys.

I had now been in the isle twelve months, and I thought it was time to go all round it, in search of its woods, springs, and creeks. So I set off, and brought back with me limes and grapes in their prime, large and ripe. I had hung the grapes in the sun to dry, and in a few days' time went to fetch them, that I might lay up a store. The vale, on the banks of which they grew, was fresh and green, and a clear, bright stream ran through it, which gave so great a charm to the spot, as to make me wish to live there.

But there was no view of the sea from this vale, while from my house, no ships could come on my side of the isle, and not be seen by me; yet the cool, soft banks were so sweet and new to me that much of my time was spent there.

In the first of the three years in which I had grown corn, I had sown it too late; in the next, it was spoilt by the drought; but the third years' crop had sprung up well.

I found that the hares would lie in it night and day, for which there was no cure but to plant a thick hedge all round it; and this took me more than three weeks to do. I shot the hares in the day time; and when it grew dark, I made fast the dog's chain to the gate, and there he stood to bark all night.

In a short time the corn grew strong, and at last ripe but, just as the hares had hurt it in the blade, so now the birds ate it in the ear. At the noise of my gun, whole flocks of them would fly up; and at this rate I saw that there would be no corn left; so I made up my mind to keep a look out night and day. I hid by the side of a hedge, and could see the birds sit on the trees and watch, and then come down, one by one, at first. Now each grain of wheat was, as it were, a small loaf of bread to me. So the great thing was to get rid of these birds. My plan was this, I shot three, and hung them up, like thieves, to scare all that came to the corn; and from this time, as long as the dead ones hung there, not a bird came near. When the corn was ripe, I made a scythe out of the swords from the ship, and got in my crop.

Few of us think of the cost at which a loaf of bread is made. Of course, there was no plough here to turn up the earth, and no spade to dig it with, so I made one with wood; but this was soon worn out, and for want of a rake, I made use of the bough of a tree. When I had got the corn home, I had to thrash it, part the grain from the chaff, and store it up. Then came the want of a mill to grind it, of sieves to clean it, and of yeast to make bread of it.

Still, my bread was made, though I had no tools; and no one could say that I did not earn it, by the sweat of my brow. When the rain kept me in doors, it was good fun to teach my pet bird Poll to talk; but so mute were all things round me, that the sound of my own voice made me start.

My chief wants now were jars, pots, cups, and plates, but I knew not how I could make them. At last I went in search of some clay, and found some a mile from my house; but it was quite a joke to see the queer shapes and forms that I made out of it. For some of my pots and jars were too weak to bear their own weight; and they would fall out here, and in there, in all sorts of ways; while some, when they were put in the sun to bake, would crack with the heat of its rays. You may guess what my joy was when at last a pot was made which would stand the heat of the fire, so that I could boil the meat for broth.

The next thing to be made was a sieve, to part the grain from the husks. Goat's hair was of no use to me, as I could not weave or spin; so I made a shift for two years with a thin kind of stuff, which I had brought from the ship. But to grind the corn with the stones was the worst of all, such hard work did I find it. To bake the bread I burnt some wood down to an ash, which I threw on the hearth to heat it, and then set my loaves on the hearth, and in this way my bread was made.

The next thing to turn my thoughts to was the ship's boat, which lay on the high ridge of sand, where it had been thrust by the storm which had cast me on these shores. But it lay with the keel to the sky, so I had to dig the sand from it, and turn it up with the help of a pole. When I had done this I found it was all in vain, for I had not the strength to launch it. So all I could do now, was to make a boat of less size out of a tree; and I found one that was just fit for it, which grew not far from the shore, but I could no more stir this than I could the ship's boat. What was to be done? I first dug the ground flat and smooth all the way from the boat to the sea, so as to let it slide down; but this plan did not turn out well, so I thought I would try a new way, which was to make a trench, so as to bring the sea up to the boat, as the boat could not be brought to the sea. But to do this, I must have dug down to a great depth, which would take one man some years to do. And when too late, I found it was not wise to work out a scheme, till I had first thought of the cost and toil.

"Well," thought I, "I must give up the boat, and with it all my hopes to leave the isle. But I have this to think of: I am lord of the whole isle; in fact, a king. I have wood with which I might build a fleet, and grapes, if not corn, to freight it with, though all my wealth is but a few gold coins." For these I had no sort of use, and could have found it in my heart to give them all for a peck of peas and some ink, which last I stood much in need of. But it was best to dwell more on what I had, than on what I had not.

I now must needs try once more to build a boat, but this time it was to have a mast, for which the ship's sails would be of great use. I made a deck at each end, to keep out the spray of the sea, a bin for my food, and a rest for my gun, with a flap to screen it from the wet. More than all, the boat was one of such a size that I could launch it.

My first cruise was up and down the creek, but soon I got bold, and made the whole round of my isle. I took with me bread, cakes, and a pot full of rice, some rum, half a goat, two great coats, one of which was to lie on, and one to put on at night. I set sail in the sixth year of my reign. On the East side of the isle, there was a large ridge of rocks, which lay two miles from the shore; and a shoal of sand lay for half a mile from the rocks to the beach. To get round to this point, I had to sail a great way out to sea; and here I all but lost my life.

But I got back to my home at last. On my way there, quite worn out with the toils of the boat, I lay down in the shade to rest my limbs, and slept. But judge, if you can, what a start I gave, when a voice woke me out of my sleep, and spoke my name three times! A voice in this wild place! To call me by name, too! Then the voice said, "Where are you? Where have you been? How came you here?" But now I saw it all; for at the top of the hedge sat Poll, who did but say the words she had been taught by me.

I now went in search of some goats, and laid snares for them, with rice for a bait I had set the traps in the night, and found they had all stood, though the bait was gone. So I thought of a new way to take them, which was to make a pit and lay sticks and grass on it, so as to hide it; and in this way I caught an old goat and some kids. But the old goat was much too fierce for me, so I let him go. I brought all the young ones home, and let them fast a long time, till at last they fed from my hand, and were quite tame. I kept them in a kind of park, in which there were trees to screen them from the sun. At first my park was three miles round; but it struck me that, in so great a space, the kids would soon get as wild as if they had the range of the whole vale, and that it would be as well to give them less room; so I had to make a hedge which took me three months to plant. My park held a flock of twelve goats, and in two years more there were more than two score.

My dog sat at meals with me, and one cat on each side of me, on stools, and we had Poll to talk to us. Now for a word or two as to the dress in which I made a tour round the isle. I could but think how droll it would look in the streets of the town in which I was born. I wore a high cap of goat's skin, with a flap that hung, down, to keep the sun and rain from my neck, a coat made from the skin of a goat too, the skirts of which came down to my hips, and the same on my legs, with no shoes, but flaps of the fur round my shins. I had a broad belt of the same round my waist, which drew on with two thongs; and from it, on my right side, hung a saw and an axe; and on my left side a pouch for the shot. My beard had not been cut since I came here. But no more need be said of my looks, for there were few to see me. A strange sight was now in store for me, which was to change the whole course of my life in the isle.

One day at noon, while on a stroll down to a part of the shore that was new to me, what should I see on the sand but the print of a man's foot! I felt as if I was bound by a spell, and could not stir from, the spot.

Bye-and-bye, I stole a look round me, but no one was in sight, What could this mean? I went three or four times to look at it. There it was -- the print of a man's foot; toes, heel, and all the parts of a foot. How could it have come there?

My head swam with fear; and as I left the spot, I made two or three steps, and then took a look round me; then two steps more, and did the same thing. I took fright at the stump of an old tree, and ran to my house, as if for my life. How could aught in the shape of a man come to that shore, and I not know it? Where was the ship that brought him? Then a vague dread took hold of my mind, that some man, or set of men, had found me out; and it might be, that they meant to kill me, or rob me of all I had.

How strange a thing is the life of man! One day we love that which the next day we hate. One day we seek what the next day we shun. One day we long for the thing which the next day we fear; and so we go on. Now, from the time that I was cast on this isle, my great source of grief was that I should be thus cut off from the rest of my race. Why, then, should the thought that a man might be near give me all this pain? Nay, why should the mere sight of the print of a man's foot, make me quake with fear? It seems most strange; yet not more strange than true.

Once it struck me that it might be the print of my own foot, when first the storm cast me on these shores. Could I have come this way from the boat? Should it in truth turn out to be the print of my own foot, I should be like a boy who tells of a ghost, and feels more fright at his own tale, than those do whom he meant to scare.

Fear kept me in-doors for three days, till the want of food drove me out. At last I was so bold as to go down to the coast to look once more at the print of the foot, to see if it was the same shape as my own. I found it was not so large by a great deal; so it was clear there were men in the isle. Just at this time my good watch dog fell down dead at my feet. He was old and worn out, and in him I lost my best guard and friend.

One day as I went from the hill to the coast, a scene lay in front of me which made me sick at heart. The spot was spread with the bones of men. There was a round place dug in the earth, where a fire had been made, and here some men had come to feast. Now that I had seen this sight, I knew not how to act; I kept close to my home, and would scarce stir from it, save to milk my flock of goats.

To feel safe was now more to me than to be well fed; and I did not care to drive a nail, or chop a stick of wood, lest the sound of it should be heard, much less would I fire a gun. As to my bread and meat, I had to bake it at night when the smoke could not be seen. But I soon found the way to burn wood with turf at the top of it, which made it like chark, or dry coal; and this I could use by day, as it had no smoke.

I found in the wood where I went to get the sticks for my fire, a cave so large that I could stand in it; but I made more haste to get out, than in; for two large eyes, as bright as stars, shone out from it with a fierce glare. I took a torch, and went to see what they could be, and found that there was no cause for fear; for the eyes were those of an old gray goat, which had gone there to die of old age. I gave him a push, to try to get him out of the cave, but he could not rise from the ground where he lay; so I left him there to die, as I could not save his life.

I found the width of the cave was twelve feet; but part of it, near the end, was so low that I had to creep on my hands and feet to go in. What the length of it was I could not tell, for my light went out, and I had to give up my search. The next day, I went to the cave with large lights made of goat's fat; and when I got to the end, I found that the roof rose to two score feet or more.

As my lights shone on the walls and roof of the cave, a sight burst on my view, the charms of which no tongue could tell; for the walls shone like stars. What was in the rock to cause this it was hard to say; they might be gems, or bright stones, or gold. But let them be what they may, this cave was a mine of wealth to me; for at such time as I felt dull or sad, the bright scene would flash on my mind's eye, and fill it with joy.

A score of years had gone by, with no new sight to rest my eyes on, till this scene burst on them. I felt as if I should like to spend the rest of my life here; and at its close, lie down to die in this cave, like the old goat.

As I went home I was struck by the sight of some smoke, which came from a fire no more than two miles off. From this time I lost all my peace of mind. Day and night a dread would haunt me, that the men who had made this fire would find me out. I went home and drew up my steps, but first I made all things round me look wild and rude. To load my gun was the next thing to do, and I thought it would be best to stay at home and hide.

But this was not to be borne long. I had no spy to send out and all I could do was to get to the top of the hill, and keep a good look out. At last, through my glass, I could see a group of wild men join in a dance round their fire. As soon a they had left, I took two guns, and slung a sword on my side; then with all speed, I set off to the top of the hill, once more to have a good view.

This time I made up my mind to go up to the men, but not with a view to kill them, for I felt that it would be wrong to do so. With such a load of arms, it took me two hours to reach the spot where the fire was; and by the time I got there, the men had all gone; but I saw them in four boats out at sea.

Down on the shore, there was a proof of what the work of these men had been. The signs of their feast made me sick at heart, and I shut my eyes. I durst not fire my gun when I went out for food on that side the isle, lest there should be some of the men left, who might hear it, and so find me out. This state of things went on for a year and three months, and for all that time I saw no more men.

On the twelfth of May, a great storm of wind blew all day and night. As it was dark, I sat in my house; and in the midst of the gale, I heard a gun fire! My guess was that it must have been from some ship cast on shore by the storm. So I set a light to some wood on top of the hill, that those in the ship, if ship it should be, might know that some one was there to aid them. I then heard two more guns fire. When it was light, I went to the South side of the isle, and there lay the wreck of a ship, cast on the rocks in the night by the storm. She was too far off for me to see if there were men on board.

Words could not tell how much I did long to bring but one of the ship's crew to the shore! So strong was my wish to save the life of those on board, that I could have laid down my own life to do so. There are some springs in the heart which, when hope stirs them, drive the soul on with such a force, that to lose all chance of the thing one hopes for, would seem to make one mad; and thus was it with me.

Now, I thought, was the time to use my boat; so I set to work at once to fit it out. I took on board some rum (of which I still had a good deal left), some dry grapes, a bag of rice, some goat's milk, and cheese, and then put out to sea. A dread came on me at the thought of the risk I had run on the same rocks; but my heart did not quite fail me, though I knew that, as my boat was small, if a gale of wind should spring up, all would be lost. Then I found that I must go back to the shore till the tide should turn, and the ebb come on.

I made up my mind to go out the next day with the high tide, so I slept that night in my boat. At dawn I set out to sea, and in less than two hours I came up to the wreck. What a scene was there! The ship had struck on two rocks. The stern was torn by the force of the waves, the masts were swept off, ropes and chains lay strewn on the deck, and all was wrapt in gloom. As I came up to the wreck, a dog swam to me with a yelp and a whine. I took him on board my boat, and when I gave him some bread he ate it like a wolf, and as to drink, he would have burst, if I had let him take his fill of it.

I went to the cook's room, where I found two men, but they were both dead. The tongue was mute, the ear was deaf, the eye was shut, and the lip was stiff; still the sad tale was told, for each had his arm round his friend's neck, and so they must have sat to wait for death. What a change had come on the scene, once so wild with the lash of the waves and the roar of the wind! All was calm now -- death had done its work, and all had felt its stroke, save the dog, and he was the one thing that still had life.

I thought the ship must have come from Spain, and there was much gold on board. I took some of the chests and put them in my boat, but did not wait to see what they held, and with this spoil, and three casks of rum, I came back.

I found all things at home just as I had left them, my goats, my cats, and my bird. The scene in the cook's room was in my mind day and night, and to cheer me up I drank some of the rum. I then set to work to bring my freight from the shore, where I had left it. In the chests were two great bags of gold, and some bars of the same, and near these lay three small flasks and three bags of shot which were a great prize.

From this time, all went well with me for two years; but it was not to last. One day, as I stood on the hill, I saw six boats on the shore! What could this mean?

Where were the men who had brought them? And what had they come for? I saw through my glass that there were a score and a half, at least, on the east side of the isle. They had meat on the fire, round which I could see them dance. They then took a man from one of the boats, who was bound hand and foot; but when they came to loose his bonds, he set off as fast as his feet would take him, and in a straight line to my house.

To tell the truth, when I saw all the rest of the men run to catch him, my hair stood on end with fright. In the creek, he swam like a fish, and the plunge which he took brought him through it in a few strokes. All the men now gave up the chase but two, and they swam through the creek, but by no means so fast as the slave had done. Now, I thought, was the time for me to help the poor man, and my heart told me it would be right to do so. I ran down my steps with my two guns, and went with all speed up the hill, and then down by a short cut to meet them.

I gave a sign to the poor slave to come to me, and at the same time went up to meet the two men, who were in chase of him. I made a rush at the first of these, to knock him down with the stock of my gun, and he fell. I saw the one who was left, aim at me with his bow, so, to save my life, I shot him dead.

The smoke and noise from my gun, gave the poor slave who had been bound, such a shock, that he stood still on the spot, as if he had been in a trance. I gave a loud shout for him to come to me, and I took care to show him that I was a friend, and made all the signs I could think of to coax him up to me. At length he came, knelt down to kiss the ground, and then took hold of my foot, and set it on his head. All this meant that he was my slave; and I bade him rise, and made much of him.

But there was more work to be done yet; for the man who had had the blow from my gun was not dead. I made a sign for my slave (as I shall now call him) to look at him. At this he spoke to me, and though I could not make out what he said, yet it gave me a shock of joy; for it was the first sound of a man's voice that I had heard, for all the years I had been on the isle.

The man whom I had struck with the stock of my gun, sat up; and my slave, who was in great fear of him, made signs for me to lend him my sword, which hung in a belt at my side. With this he ran up to the man, and with one stroke cut off his head. When he had done this, he brought me back my sword with a laugh, and put it down in front of me. I did not like to see the glee with which he did it, and I did not feel that my own life was quite safe with such a man.

He, in his turn, could but lift up his large brown hands with awe, to think that I had put his foe to death, while I stood so far from him. But as to the sword, he and the rest of his tribe made use of swords of wood, and this was why he knew so well how to wield mine. He made signs to me to let him go and see the man who had been shot; and he gave him a turn round, first on this side, then on that; and when he saw the wound made in his breast by the shot, he stood quite, still once more, as if he had lost his wits. I made signs for him to come back, for my fears told me that the rest of the men might come in search of their friends.

I did not like to take my slave to my house, nor to my cave; so I threw down some straw from the rice plant for him to sleep on, and gave him some bread and a bunch of dry grapes to eat. He was a fine man, with straight strong limbs, tall, and young. His hair was thick, like wool, and black. His head was large and high; and he had bright black eyes. He was of a dark brown hue; his face was round, and his nose small, but not flat; he had a good mouth with thin lips, with which he could give a soft smile; and his teeth were as white as snow.

I had been to milk my goats in the field close by, and when he saw me, he ran to me, and lay down on the ground to show me his thanks. He then put his head on the ground, and set my foot on his head, as he had done at first. He took all the means he could think of, to let me know that he would serve me all his life; and I gave a sign to show that I thought well of him. The next thing was to think of some name to call him by. I chose that of the sixth day of the week (Friday), as he came to me on that day. I took care not to lose sight of him all that night, and when the sun rose, I made signs for him to come to me, that I might give him some clothes, for he wore none. We then went up to the top of the hill, to look out for the men; but as we could not see them, or their boats, it was clear that they had left the isle.

My slave has since told me that they had had a great fight with the tribe that dwelt next to them; and that all those men whom each side took in war were their own by right. My slave's foes had four who fell to their share, of whom he was one.

I now set to work to make my man a cap of hare's skin, and gave him a goat's skin to wear round his waist. It was a great source of pride to him, to find that his clothes were as good as my own.

At night, I kept my guns, sword, and bow close to my side; but there was no need for this, as my slave was, in sooth, most true to me. He did all that he was set to do, with his whole heart in the work; and I knew that he would lay down his life to save mine. What could a man do more than that? And oh, the joy to have him here to cheer me in this lone isle!

I did my best to teach him, so like a child as he was, to do and feel all that was right, I found him apt, and full of fun; and he took great pains to learn all that I could tell him. Our lives ran on in a calm, smooth way; and, but for the vile feasts which were held on the shores, I felt no wish to leave the isle.

As my slave had by no means lost his zest for these meals, it struck me that the best way to cure him, was to let him taste the flesh of beasts; so I took him with me one day to the wood for some sport. I saw a she-goat, in the shade, with her two kids. I caught Friday by the arm, and made signs to him not to stir, and then shot one of the kids; but the noise of the gun gave the poor man a great shock. He did not see the kid, nor did he know that it was dead. He tore his dress off his breast to feel if there was a wound there; then he knelt down to me, and took hold of my knees to pray of me not to kill him.

To show poor Friday that his life was quite safe, I led him by the hand, and told him to fetch the kid. By and by, I saw a hawk in a tree, so I bade him look at the gun, the hawk, and the ground; and then I shot the bird. But my poor slave gave still more signs of fear this time, than he did at first: for he shook from head to foot. He must have thought that some fiend of death dwelt in the gun, and I think that he would have knelt down to it, as well as to me; but he would not so much as touch the gun for some time, though he would speak to it when he thought I was not near. Once he told me that what he said to it was to ask it not to kill him.

I brought home the bird, and made broth of it. Friday was much struck to see me eat salt with it, and made a wry face; but I, in my turn, took some that had no salt with it, and I made a wry face at that. The next day I gave him a piece of kid's flesh, which I had hung by a string in front of the fire to roast. My plan was to put two poles, one on each side of the fire, and a stick, on the top of them to hold the string. When my slave came to taste the flesh, he took the best means to let me know how good he thought it.

The next day I set him to beat out and sift some corn. I let him see me make the bread, and he soon did all the work. I felt quite a love for his true, warm heart, and he soon learnt to talk to me. One day I said, "Do the men of your tribe win in fight?" He told me, with a smile, that they did. "Well, then," said I, "How came they to let their foes take you?"

"They run one, two, three, and make go in the boat that time."

"Well, and what do the men do with those they take?"

"Eat them all up."

This was not good news for me, but I went on, and said, "Where do they take them?"

"Go to next place where they think."

"Do they come here?"

"Yes, yes, they come here, come else place too."

"Have you been here with them twice?"

"Yes, come there."

He meant the North West side of the isle, so to this spot I took him the next day. He knew the place, and told me he was there once with a score of men. To let me know this, he put a score of stones all of a row, and made me count them.

"Are not the boats lost on your shore now and then?" He said that there was no fear, and that no boats were lost. He told me that up a great way by the moon -- that is where the moon then came up -- there dwelt a tribe of white men like me, with beards. I felt sure that they must have come from Spain, to work the gold mines. I put this to him: "Could I go from this isle and join those men?"

"Yes, yes, you may go in two boats."

It was hard to see how one man could go in two boats, but what he meant was, a boat twice as large as my own.

One day I said to my slave, "Do you know who made you?"

But he could not tell at all what these words meant. So I said, "Do you know who made the sea, the ground we tread on, the hills, and woods?" He said it was Beek, whose home was a great way off, and that he was so old that the sea and the land were not so old as he.

"If this old man has made all things, why do not all things bow down to him?"

My slave gave a grave look, and said, "All things say 'O' to him."

"Where do the men in your land go when they die?"

"All go to Beek."

I then held my hand up to the sky to point to it, and said, "God dwells there. He made the world, and all things in it. The moon and the stars are the work of his hand. God sends the wind and the rain on the earth, and the streams that flow: He hides the face of the sky with clouds, makes the grass to grow for the beasts of the field, and herbs for the use of man. God's love knows no end. When we pray, He draws near to us and hears us."

It was a real joy to my poor slave to hear me talk of these things. He sat still for a long time, then gave a sigh, and told me that he would say "O" to Beek no more, for he was but a short way off, and yet could not hear, till men went up the hill to speak to him.

"Did you go up the hill to speak to him?" said I.

"No, Okes go up to Beek, not young mans."

"What do Okes say to him?"

"They say 'O.'"

Now that I brought my man Friday to know that Beek was not the true God, such was the sense he had of my worth, that I had fears lest I should stand in the place of Beek. I did my best to call forth his faith in Christ, and make it strong and clear, till at last -- thanks be to the Lord -- I brought him to the love of Him, with the whole grasp of his soul.

To please my poor slave, I gave him a sketch of my whole life; I told him where I was born, and where I spent my days when a child. He was glad to hear tales of the land of my birth, and of the trade which we keep up, in ships, with all parts of the known world. I gave him a knife and a belt, which made him dance with joy.

One day as we stood on the top of the hill at the east side of the isle, I saw him fix his eyes on the main land, and stand for a long time to, gaze at it; then jump and sing, and call out to me.

"What do you see?" said I.

"Oh joy!" said he, with a fierce glee in his eyes, "Oh glad! There see my land!"

Why did he strain his eyes to stare at this land, as if he had a wish to be there? It put fears in my mind which made me feel far, less at my ease with him. Thought I, if he should go back to his home, he will think no more of what I have taught him, and done for him. He will be sure to tell the rest of his tribe all my ways, and come back with, it may be, scores of them, and kill me, and then dance round me, as they did round the men, the last time they came on my isle.

But these were all false fears, though they found a place in my mind a long while; and I was not so kind to him now as I had been. From this time I made it a rule, day by day, to find out if there were grounds for my fears or not. I said, "Do you not wish to be once more in your own land?"

"Yes! I be much O glad to be at my own land."

"What would you do there? Would you turn wild, and be as you were?"

"No, no, I would tell them to be good, tell them eat bread, corn, milk, no eat man more!"

"Why, they would kill you!"

"No, no, they no kill; they love learn."

He then told me that some white men, who had come on their shores in a boat, had taught them a great deal.

"Then will you go back to your land with me?"

He said he could not swim so far, so I told him he should help me to build a boat to go in. Then he said, "If you go, I go."

"I go? why they would eat me!"

"No, me make them much love you."

Then he told me as well as he could, how kind they had been to some white men. I brought out the large boat to hear what he thought of it, but he said it was too small. We then went to look at the old ship's boat, which, as it had been in the sun for years, was not at all in a sound state. The poor man made sure that it would do. But how were we to know this? I told him we should build a boat as large as that, and that he should go home in it. He spoke not a word, but was grave and sad.

"What ails you?" said I.

"Why, you grieve mad with your man?"

"What do you mean? I am not cross with you."

"No cross? no cross with me? Why send your man home to his own land, then?"

"Did you not tell me you would like to go back?"

"Yes, yes, we both there; no wish self there, if you not there!"

"And what should I do there?"

"You do great deal much good! you teach wild men be good men; you tell them know God, pray God, and lead new life."

We soon set to work to make a boat that would take us both. The first thing was to look out for some large trees that grew near the shore, so that we could launch our boat when it was made. My slave's plan was to burn the wood to make it the right shape; but as mine was to hew it, I set him to work with my tools; and in two months' time we had made a good strong boat; but it took a long while to get her down to the shore.

Friday had the whole charge of her; and, large as she was, he made her move with ease, and said, "he thought she go there well, though great blow wind!" He did not know that I meant to make a mast and sail. I cut down a young fir tree for the mast, and then I set to work at the sail. It made me laugh to see my man stand and stare, when he came to watch me sail the boat. But he soon gave a jump, a laugh, and a clap of the hands when he saw the sail jibe and fall, first on this side, then on that.

The next thing to do was to stow our boat up in the creek, where we dug a small dock; and when the tide was low, we made a dam, to keep out the sea. The time of year had now come for us to set sail, so we got out all our stores, to put them in the boat.

One day I sent Friday to the shore, to get a sort of herb that grew there. I soon heard him cry out to me, "O grief! O bad! O bad! O out there boats, one, two, three!" "Keep a stout heart," said I, to cheer him. The poor man shook with fear; for he thought that the men who brought him here, had now come back to kill him.

"Can you fight?" said I.

"Me shoot; but me saw three boats; one, two, three!"

"Have no fear; those that we do not kill, will be sure to take fright at the sound of our guns. Now will you stand by me, and do just as you are bid?"

"Me die when you bid die."

I gave him a good draught of rum; and when he had drunk this, he took up an axe and two guns, each of which had a charge of swan shot. I took two guns as well, and put large shot in them, and then hung my great sword by my side. From the top of the bill, I saw with the help of my glass, that the boats had each brought eight men, and one slave. They had come on shore near the creek, where a grove of young trees grew close down to the sea.

They had with them three slaves, bound hand and foot, and you who read this, may guess what they were brought here for. I felt that I must try and save them from so hard a fate, and that to do this, I should have to put some of their foes to death. So we set forth on our way. I gave Friday strict charge to keep close to me, and not to fire till I told him to do so.

We went full a mile out of our way, that we might get round to the wood to bide there. But we had not gone far, when my old qualms came back to me, and I thought, "Is it for me to dip my hands in man's blood? Why should I kill those who have done me no harm, and mean not to hurt me? Nay, who do not so much as know that they are in the wrong, when they hold these feasts. Are not their ways a sign that God has left them (with the rest of their tribe) to their own dull hearts? God did not call me to be a judge for Him. He who said, 'Thou shalt not kill,' said it for me, as well as the rest of the world."

A throng of thoughts like these would rush on my mind, as if to warn me to pause, till I felt sure that there was more to call me to the work than I then knew of. I took my stand in the wood, to watch the men at their feast, and then crept on, with Friday close at my heels. Thus we went till we came to the skirts of the wood. Then I said to. Friday, "Go up to the top of that tree, and bring me word if you can see the men."

He went, and quick as thought, came back to say that they were all round the fire, and that the man who was bound on the sand would be the next they would kill. But when he told me that it was a white man, one of my own race, I felt the blood boil in my veins. Two of the gang had gone to loose the white man from his bonds; so now was the time to fire.

At the sound of our guns, we saw all the men jump up from the ground where they sat. It must have been the first gun the I had heard in their lives. They knew not which way to look. I now threw down my piece, and took up a small gun; Friday did the same; and I gave him the word to fire! The men ran right and left, with yells and screams.

I now made a rush out of the wood, that they might see me, with my man Friday at my heels, of course. We gave a loud shout, and ran up to the white man as fast as we could. There he lay on the hot sand. I cut the flag, or rush, by which he was bound, but he was too weak to stand or speak, so I gave him some rum. He let me know by all the signs that he could think of, how much he stood in my debt for all that I had done for him.

I said, "We will talk of that bye and bye; but now we must do what we can to save our lives." Friday, who was free to go where he chose, flew here and there, and put all the men to the rout. They fled in full haste to their boats, and were soon out at sea; and so we got rid of our foes at last.

The man whom we had found on the sand told us that his name was Carl, and that he came from Spain. But there was one more man to claim our care; for the black men had left a small boat on the sands, and in this I saw a poor wretch who lay half dead. He could not so much as look up, so tight was he bound, neck and heels. When I cut the bonds from him he gave a deep groan, for he thought that all this was but to lead him out to die.

Friday then came up, and I bade him speak to the old man in his own tongue, and tell him that he was free. This good news gave him strength, and he sat up in the boat. But when Friday came to hear him talk, and to look him in the face, it brought the tears to my eyes to see him kiss and hug the poor old man, and dance round him with joy, then weep, wring his hands, and beat his own face and head, and then laugh once more, sing, and leap. For a long time he could not speak to me, so as to, let me know what all this meant. But at length he told me that he was the son of this poor old man, and that his name was Jaf.

It would be a hard task for me to tell of all the quaint, signs Friday made to show his joy. He went in and out of the boat five or six times, sat down by old Jaf, and held the poor old man's head close to his breast to warm it; then he set to work to rub his arms and feet, which were cold and stiff from the bonds. I told Friday to give him some rum and bread; but he said, "None! Bad dog eat all up self." He then ran off straight to the house, and took no heed of my calls, but went as swift as a deer.

In an hour's time, he came back with a jug in his hand. The good soul had gone all the way to the house, that Jaf might have a fresh draught from my well; and with it he brought two cakes, one of which I bade him take to Carl, who lay in the shade of a tree. His limbs were stiff and cold, and he was too weak to say a word.

I set my man to rub his feet with rum, and while he did so, I saw Friday turn his head round from time to time, to steal a look at the old man. Then we brought Carl and Jaf home from the boat on our backs, as they could not walk. The door of my house was at the top, and the poor sick men could not climb the steps by which I got in, so we made for them a tent of old sails.

I was now a king of these three men, as well as Lord of the isle; and I felt proud to say, "They all owe their lives to their king, and would lay them down for him if he bade them do so." But I did not think that my reign was so soon to come to an end. The next thing for us to do was to give Carl and Jaf some food, and to kill and roast a kid, to which we all four sat down, and I did my best to cheer them.

Carl in a few days grew quite strong, and I set him to work to dig some land for seed; for it was clear we should want more corn now that we had two more mouths to fill. So we put in the ground all the stock of grain I had, and thus we all four had as much work as we could do for some time. When the crop grew, and was ripe, we found we had a good store of grain.

We made a plan that Carl and Jaf should go back to the main land, to try if they could get some of the white men who had been cast on shore there, to come and live with us; so they got out the boat, and took with them two guns and food for eight days. They were to come back in a week's time, and I bade them hang out a sign when they came in sight, so that we might know who they were.

One day, Friday ran up to me in great glee, and said, "They are back! They are back!" A mile from shore, there was a boat with a sail, which stood in for the land; but I knew it could not be the one which our two friends had gone out in, for it was on the wrong side of the isle for that. I saw too, through my glass, a ship out at sea. There were twelve men in the boat, three of whom were bound in chains, and four had fire arms.

Bye and bye, I saw one of the men raise his sword to those who were in chains, and I felt sure that all was not right. Then I saw that the three men who had been bound were set free; and when they had come on shore they lay on the ground, in the shade of a tree. I was soon at their side, for their looks, so sad and worn, brought to my mind the first few hours I had spent in this wild spot, where all to me was wrapt in gloom.

I went up to these men, and said:

"Who are you, Sirs?"

They gave a start at my voice and at my strange dress, and made a move as if they would fly from me. I said, "Do not fear me, for it may be that you have a friend at hand, though you do not think it." "He must be sent from the sky then," said one of them with a grave look; and he took off his hat to me at the same time. "All help is from thence, Sir," I said; "but what can I do to aid you? You look as if you had some load of grief on your breast. I saw one of the men lift his sword as if to kill you."

The tears ran down the poor man's face, as he said,

"Is this a god, or is it but a man?" "Have no doubt on that score, Sir," said I, "for a god would not have come with a dress like this. No, do not fear -- nor raise your hopes too high; for you see but a man, yet one who will do all he can to help you. Your speech shows me that you come from the same land as I do. I will do all I can to serve you. Tell me your case." "Our case, Sir, is too long to you while they who would kill us are so near. My name is Paul. To be short, Sir, my crew have thrust me out of my ship, which you see out there, and have left me here to die. It was as much as I could do to make them sheath their swords, which you saw were drawn to slay me. They have set me down in this isle with these two men, my friend here, and the ship's mate."

"Where have they gone?" said I.

"There, in the wood, close by. I fear they may have seen and heard us. If they have, they will be sure to kill us all."

"Have they fire-arms?"

"They have four guns, one of which is in the boat."

"Well then, leave all to me!"

"There are two of the men," said he, "who are worse than the rest. All but these I feel sure would go back to work the ship."

I thought it was best to speak out to Paul at once, and I said, "Now if I save your life, there are two things which you must do." But he read my thoughts, and said, "If you save my life, you shall do as you like with me and my ship, and take her where you please."

I saw that the two men, in whose charge the boat had been left, had come on shore; so the first thing I did was to send Friday to fetch from it the oars, the sail, and the gun. And now the ship might be said to be in our hands. When the time came for the men to go back to the ship, they were in a great rage; for, as the boat had now no sail nor oars, they knew not how to get out to their ship.

We heard them say that it was a strange sort of isle, for that sprites had come to the boat, to take off the sails and oars. We could see them run to and fro, with great rage; then go and sit in the boat to rest, and then come on shore once more. When they drew near to us, Paul and Friday would fain have had me fall on them at once. But my wish was to spare them, and kill as few as I could. I told two of my men to creep on their hands and feet close to the ground, so that they might not be seen, and when they got up to the men, not to fire till I gave the word.

They had not stood thus long, when three of the crew came up to us. Till now, we had but heard their voice, but when they came so near as to be seen, Paul and Friday stood up and shot at them. Two of the men fell dead, and they were the worst of the crew, and the third ran off. At the sound of the guns I came up, but it was so dark that the men could not tell if there were three of us or three score.

It fell out just as I could wish, for I heard the men ask, "To whom must we yield, and where are they?" Friday told them that Paul was there with the king of the isle, who had brought with him a crowd of men! At this one of the crew said, "If Paul will spare our lives, we will yield." "Then," said Friday, "you shall know the king's will." Then Paul said to them, "You know my voice; if you lay down your arms the king will spare your lives!"

They fell on their knees to beg the same of me. I took good care that they did not see me, but I gave them my word that they should all live, that I should take four of them to work the ship, and that the rest would be bound hand and foot, for the good faith of the four. This was to show them what a stern king I was.

Of course I soon set them free, and I put them in a way to take my place on the isle. I told them of all my ways, taught them how to mind the goats, how to work the farm, and make the bread. I gave them a house to live in, fire arms, tools, and my two tame cats, in fact, all but Poll and my gold.

As I sat on the top of the hill, Paul came up to me. He held out his hand to point to the ship, and with much warmth took me to his arms, and said, "My dear friend, there is your ship! For she is all yours, and so are we, and all that is in her."

I cast my eyes to the ship, which rode half a mile off the shore, at the mouth of the creek, and near the place where I had brought my rafts to the land. Yes, there she stood, the ship that was to set me free, and to take me where I might choose to go. She set her sails to the wind, and her flags threw out their gay stripes in the breeze. Such a sight was too much for me, and I fell down faint with joy. Paul then took out a flask which he had brought for me, and gave me a dram, which I drank, but for a good while I could not speak to him.

Friday and Paul then went on board the ship, and Paul took charge of her once more. We did not start that night, but at noon the next day I left the isle!

That lone isle, where I had spent so great a part of my life -- not much less than thrice ten long years.

When I came back to the dear land of my birth, all was strange and new to me. I went to my old home at York, but none of my friends were there, and to my great grief I saw, on the stone at their grave, the sad tale of their death.

As they had thought, of course, that I was dead, they had not left me their wealth and lands, so that I stood much in want of means, for it was but a small sum that I had brought with me from the isle. But in this time of need, I had the luck to find my good friend who once took me up at sea. He was now grown too old for work, and had put his son in the ship in his place. He did not know me at first, but I was soon brought to his mind when I told him who I was. I found from him that the land which I had bought on my way to the isle was now worth much.

As it was a long way off, I felt no wish to go and live there so I made up my mind to sell it, and in the course of a few months, I got for it a sum so large as to make me a rich man all at once.

Weeks, months, and years went by; I had a farm, a wife, and two sons, and was by no means young; but still I could not get rid of a strong wish which dwelt in my thoughts by day and my dreams by night, and that was to set foot once more in my old isle.

I had now no need to work for food, or for means of life; all I had to do was to teach my boys to be wise and good, to live at my ease, and see my wealth grow day by day. Yet the wish to go back to my wild haunts clung round me like a cloud, and I could in no way drive it from me, so true is it that "what is bred in the bone will not come out of the flesh."

At length I lost my wife, which was a great blow to me, and my home was now so sad, that I made up my mind to launch out once more on the broad sea, and go with my man Friday to that lone isle where dwelt all my hopes.

I took with me as large a store of tools, clothes, and such like goods as I had room for, and men of skill in all kinds of trades, to live in the isle. When we set sail, we had a fair wind for some time, but one night the mate, who was at the watch, told me he saw a flash of fire, and heard a gun go off. At this we all ran on deck, from whence we saw a great light, and as there was no land that way, we knew that it must be some ship on fire at sea, which could not be far off, for we heard the sound of the gun.

The wind was still fair, so we made our way for the point where we saw the light, and in half an hour, it was but too plain that a large ship was on fire in the midst of the broad sea. I gave the word to fire off five guns, and we then lay by, to wait till break of day. But in the dead of the night, the ship blew up in the air, the flames shot forth, and what there was left of the ship sank. We hung out lights, and our guns kept up a fire all night long, to let the crew know that there was help at hand.

At eight o'clock the next day we found, by the aid of the glass, that two of the ship's boats were out at sea, quite full of men. They had seen us, and had done their best to make us see them, and in half an hour we came up with them.

It would be a hard task for me to set forth in words the scene which took place in my ship, when the poor French folk (for such they were) came on board. As to grief and fear, these are soon told -- sighs, tears, and groans make up the sum of them -- but such a cause of joy as this was, in sooth, too much for them to bear, weak and all but dead as they were.

Some would send up shouts of joy that rent the sky; some would cry and wring their hands as if in the depths of grief; some would dance, laugh, and sing; not a few were dumb, sick, faint, in a swoon, or half mad; and two or three were seen to give thanks to God.

In this strange group, there was a young French priest who did his best to soothe those round him, and I saw him go up to some of the crew, and say to them, "Why do you scream, and tear your hair, and wring your hands, my men? Let your joy be free and full, give it full range and scope, but leave off this trick of the hands, and lift them up in praise; let your voice swell out, not in screams, but in hymns of thanks to God, who has brought you out of so great a strait, for this will add peace to your joy."

The next day, they were all in a right frame of mind, so I gave them what stores I could spare, and put them on board a ship that we met with on her way to France, all save five who, with the priest, had a wish to join me.

But we had not set sail long, when we fell in with a ship that had been blown out to sea by a storm, and had lost her masts; and, worse than all, her crew had not had an ounce of meat or bread for ten days. I gave them all some food, which they ate like wolves in the snow, but I thought it best to check them, as I had fears that so much all at once would cause the death of some of them.

There were a youth and a young girl in the ship who the mate said he thought must be dead, but he had not had the heart to go near them, for the food was all gone. I found that they were faint for the want of it, and as it were in the jaws of death; but in a short time they both got well, and as they had no wish to go back to their ship, I took them with me. So now I had eight more on board my ship, than I had when I first set out.

In three months from the time when I left home, I came in sight of my isle, and I brought the ship safe up, by the side of the creek, which was near my old house.

I went up to Friday, to ask if he knew where he was. He took a look round him, and soon, with a clap of the hands, said "O yes! O there! O yes! O there!" Bye and bye, he set up a dance with such wild glee, that it was as much as I could do to keep him on deck. "Well, what think you, Friday?" said I; "shall we find those whom we left still here? -- Shall we see poor old Jaf?" He stood quite mute for a while, but when I spoke of old Jaf (whose son Friday was), the tears ran down his face, and the poor soul was as sad as could be. "No, no," said he, "no more, no, no more."

As we caught sight of some men at the top of the hill, I gave word to fire three guns, to show that we were friends, and soon we saw smoke rise from the side of the creek. I then went on shore in a boat, with the priest and Friday, and hung out a white flag of peace. The first man I cast my eyes on at the creek, was my old friend Carl, who, when I was last on the isle, had been brought here in bonds.

I gave strict charge to the men in the boat not to go on shore, but Friday could not be kept back, for with his quick eye he had caught sight of old Jaf. It brought the tears to our eyes to see his joy when he met the old man. He gave him a kiss, took him up in his arms, set him down in the shade, then stood a short way off to look at him, as one would look at a work of art, then felt him with his hand, and all this time he was in full talk, and told him, one by one, all the strange tales of what he had seen since they had last met.

As to my friend Carl, he came up to me, and with much warmth shook my hands, and then took me to my old house, which he now gave up to me. I could no more have found the place, than if I had not been there at all. The rows of trees stood so thick and close, that the house could not be got at, save by such blind ways as none but those who made them could find out. "Why have you built all these forts?" said I. Carl told me that he felt sure I should say there was much need of them, when I heard how they had spent their time since they had come to the isle.

He brought twelve men to the spot where I stood, and said, "Sir, all these men owe their lives to you." Then, one by one, they came up to me, not as if they had been the mere crew of a ship, but like men of rank who had come to kiss the hand of their king.

The first thing was to bear all that had been done in the isle since I had left it. But I must first state that, when we were on the point to set sail from the isle, a feud sprang up on board our ship, which we could not put down, till we had laid two of the men in chains. The next day, these two men stole each of them a gun and some small arms, and took the ship's boat, and ran off with it to join the three bad men on shore.

As soon as I found this out, I sent the long-boat on shore, with twelve men and the mate, and off they went to seek the two who had left the ship. But their search was in vain, nor could they find one of the rest, for they had all fled to the woods when they saw the boat. We had now lost five of the crew, but the three first were so much worse than the last two, that in a few days they sent them out of doors, and would have no more to do with them, nor would they for a long while give them food to eat.

So the two poor men had to live as well as they could by hard work, and they set up their tents on the north shore of the isle, to be out of the way of the wild men, who were wont to land on the east side. Here they built them two huts, one to lodge in, and one to lay up their stores in; and the men from Spain gave them some corn for seed, as well as some peas which I had left them. They soon learned to dig, and plant, and hedge in their land, in the mode which I had set for them, and in short, to lead good lives, so that I shall now call them the "two good men."

But when the three bad men saw, this, they were full of spite, and came one day to tease and vex them. They told them that the isle was their own, and that no one else had a right to build on it, if they did not pay rent. The two good men thought at first that they were in jest, and told them to come and sit down, and see what fine homes they had built, and say what rent they would ask.

But one of the three said they should soon see that they were not in jest, and took a torch in his hand, and put it to the roof of the but, and would have set it on fire, had not one of the two good men trod the fire out with his feet. The bad man was in such a rage at this, that he ran at him with a pole he had in his hand, and this brought on a fight, the end of which was that the three men had to stand off. But in a short time they came back, and trod down the corn, and shot the goats and young kids, which the poor men had got to bring up tame for their store.

One day when the two men were out, they came to their home, and said, "Ha! there's the nest, but the birds are flown." They then set to work to pull down both the huts, and left not a stick, nor scarce a sign on the ground to show where the tents had stood. They tore up, too, all the goods and stock that they could find, and when they had done this, they told it all to the men of Spain, and said, "You, sirs, shall have the same sauce, if you do not mend your ways."

They then fell to blows and hard words, but Carl had them bound in cords, and took their arms from them. The men of Spain then said they would do them no harm, and if they would live at peace they would help them, and that they should live with them as they had done till that time, but they could not give them back their arms for three or four months.

One night Carl -- whom I shall call "the chief," as he took the lead of all the rest -- felt a great weight on his mind, and could get no sleep, though he was quite well in health. He lay still for some time, but as he, did not feel at case, he got up, and took a look out. But as it was too dark to see far, and he heard no noise, he went back to his bed. Still it was all one, he could not sleep; and though he knew not why, his thoughts would give him no rest.

He then woke up one of his friends, and told him how it had been with him. "Say you so?" said he "What if there should be some bad plot at work near us!" They then set off to the top of the hill, where I was wont to go, and from thence they saw the light of a fire, quite a short way from them, and heard the sounds of men, not of one or two, but of a great crowd. We need not doubt that the chief and the man with him now ran back at once, to tell all the rest what they had seen; and when they heard the news, they could not be kept close where they were, but must all run out to see how things stood.

At last they thought that the best thing to do would be, while it was dark, to send old Jaf out as a spy, to learn who they were, and what they meant to do. When the old man had been gone an hour or two, he brought word back that he had been in the midst of the foes, though they had not seen him, and that they were in two sets or tribes who were at war, and had come there to fight. And so it was, for in a short time they heard the noise of the fight, which went on for two hours, and at the end, with three loud shouts or screams, they left the isle in their boats. Thus my friends were set free from all their fears, and saw no more of their wild foes for some time.

One day a whim took the three bad men that they would go to the main land, from whence the wild men came, and try if they could not seize some of them, and bring them home as slaves, so as to make them do the hard part of their work for them. The chief gave them all the arms and stores that they could want, and a large boat to go in, but when they bade them "God speed," no one thought that they would find their way back to the isle. But lo! in three weeks and a day, they did in truth come back. One of the two good men was the first to catch sight of them, and tell the news to his friends.

The men said that they had found the land in two days, and that the wild men gave them roots and fish to eat, and were so kind as to bring down eight slaves to take back with them, three of whom were men and five were girls. So they gave their good hosts an axe, an old key, and a knife, and brought off the slaves in their boat to the isle. As the chief and his friends did not care to wed the young girls, the five men who had been the crew of Paul's ship drew lots for choice, so that each had a wife, and the three men slaves were set to work for the two good men, though there was not much for them to do.

But one of them ran off to the woods, and they could not hear of him more. They had good cause to think that he found his way home, as in three or four weeks some wild men came to the isle, and when they had had their feast and dance, they went off in two days' time. So my friends might well fear that if this slave got safe home, he would be sure to tell the wild men that they were in the isle, and in what part of it they might be found. And so it came to pass, for in less than two months, six boats of wild men, with eight or ten men in each boat, came to the north side of the isle, where they had not been known to come up to that time.

The foe had brought their boats to land, not more than a mile from the tent of the two good men, and it was there that the slave who had run off had been kept. These men had the good luck to see the boats when they were a long way off, so that it took them quite an hour from that time to reach the shore.

My friends now had to think how that hour was to be spent. The first thing they did was to bind the two slaves that were left, and to take their wives, and as much of their stores as they could, to some dark place in the woods. They then sent a third slave to the chief and his men, to tell them the news, and to ask for help.

They had not gone far in the woods, when they saw, to their great grief and rage, that their huts were in flames, and that the wild men ran to and fro, like beasts in search of prey. But still our men went on, and did not halt, till they came to a thick part of the wood, where the large trunk of an old tree stood, and in this tree they both took their post. But they had not been there long, when two of the wild men ran that way, and they saw three more, and then five more, who all ran the same way, as if they knew where they were.

Our two poor men made up their minds to let the first two pass, and then take the three and the five in line, as they came up, but to fire at one at a time, as the first shot might chance to hit all three.

So the man who was to fire put three or four balls in his gun, and from a hole in the tree, took a sure aim, and stood still till the three wild men came so near that he could not miss them. They soon saw that one of these three was the slave that had fled from them, as they both knew him well, and they made up their minds that they would kill him, though they should both fire.

At the first shot two of the wild men fell dead, and the third had a graze on his arm, and though not much hurt, sat down on the ground with loud screams and yells. When the five men who came next, heard the sound of the gun and the slave's cries, they stood still at first, as if they were struck dumb with fright. So our two men both shot off their guns in the midst of them, and then ran up and bound them safe with cords.

They then went to the thick part of the wood, where they had put their wives and slaves, to see if all were safe there, and to their joy they found that though the wild men had been quite near them, they had not found them out. While they were here, the chief and his men came up, and told them that the rest had gone to take care of my old house and grove, in case the troop of wild men should spread so far that way.

They then went back to the burnt huts, and when they came in sight of the shore, they found that their foes had all gone out to sea. So they set to work to build up their huts, and as all the men in the isle lent them their aid, they were soon in a way to thrive once more. For five or six months they saw no more of the wild men. But one day a large fleet of more than a score of boats came in sight, full of men who had bows, darts, clubs, swords, and such like arms of war, and our friends were all in great fear.

As they came at dusk, and at the East side of the isle, our men had the whole night to think of what they should do. And as they knew that the most safe way was to hide and lie in wait, they first of all took down the huts which were built for the two good men, and drove their goats to the cave, for they thought the wild men would go straight there as soon as it was day, and play the old game.

The next day they took up their post with all their force at the wood, near the home of the two men, to wait for the foe. They gave no guns to the slaves, but each of them had a long staff with a spike at the end of it, and by his side an axe. There were two of the wives who could not be kept back, but would go out and fight with bows and darts.

The wild men came on with a bold and fierce mien, not in a line, but all in crowds here and there, to the point were our men lay in wait for them. When they were so near as to be in range of the guns, our men shot at them right and left with five or six balls in each charge. As the foe came up in close crowds, they fell dead on all sides, and most of those that they did not kill were much hurt, so that great fear and dread came on them all.

Our men then fell on them from three points with the butt end of their guns, swords, and staves, and did their work so well that the wild men set up a loud shriek, and flew for their lives to the woods and hills, with all the speed that fear and swift feet could help them to do. As our men did not care to chase them, they got to the shore where they had come to land and where the boats lay.

But their rout was not yet at an end, for it blew a great storm that day from the sea, so that they could not put off. And as the storm went on all that night, when the tide came up, the surge of the sea drove most of their boats so high on the shore, that they could not be got off save with great toil, and the force of the waves on the beach broke some of them to bits.

At break of day, our men went forth to find them, and when they saw the state of things, they got some dry wood from a dead tree, and set their boats on fire. When the foe saw this, they ran all through the isle with loud cries, as if they were mad, so that our men did not know at first what to do with them, for they trod all the corn down with their feet, and tore up the vines just as the grapes were ripe, and did a great deal of harm.

At last they brought old Jaf to them, to tell them how kind they would be to them, that they would save their lives, and give them part of the isle to live in, if they would keep in their own bounds, and that they should have corn to plant, and should make it grow for their bread. They were but too glad to have such good terms of peace, and they soon learnt to make all kinds of work with canes, wood, and sticks, such as chairs, stools, and beds, and this they did with great skill when they were once taught.

From this time till I came back to the isle my friends saw no more wild men. I now told the chief that I had not come to take off his men, but to bring more, and to give them all such things as they would want to guard their homes from foes, and cheer up their hearts.

The next day I made a grand feast for them all, and the ship's cook and mate came on shore to dress it. We brought out our rounds of salt beef and pork, a bowl of punch, some beer, and French wines; and Carl gave the cooks five whole kids to roast, three of which were sent to the crew on board ship, that they, on their part, might feast on fresh meat from shore.

I gave each of the men a shirt, a coat, a hat, and a pair of shoes, and I need not say how glad they were to meet with gifts so new to them. Then I brought out the tools, of which each man had a spade, a rake, an axe, a crow, a saw, a knife and such like things as well as arms, and all that they could want for the use of them.

As I saw there was a kind will on all sides, I now took on shore the youth and the maid whom we had brought from the ship that we met on her way to France. The girl had been well brought up, and all the crew had a good word for her. As they both had a wish to be left on the isle, I gave them each a plot of ground, on which they had tents and barns built.

I had brought out with me five men to live here, one of whom could turn his hand to all sorts of things, so I gave him the name of "Jack of all Trades."

One day the French priest came to ask if I would leave my man Friday here, for through him, he said, he could talk to the black men in their own tongue, and teach them the things of God. "Need I add," said he, "that it was for this cause that I came here?" I felt that I could not part with my man Friday for the whole world, so I told the priest that if I could have made up my mind to leave him here, I was quite sure that Friday would not part from me.

When I had seen that all things were in a good state on the isle, I set to work to put my ship to rights, to go home once more. One day, as I was on my way to it, the youth whom I had brought from the ship that was burnt, came up to me, and said, "Sir, you have brought a priest with you, and while you are here, we want him to wed two of us."

I made a guess that one of these must be the maid that I had brought to the isle, and that it was the wish of the young man to make her his wife. I spoke to him with some warmth in my tone, and bade him turn it well in his mind first, as the girl was not in the same rank of life as he had been brought up in. But he said, with a smile, that I had made a wrong guess, for it was "Jack of all Trades" that he had come to plead for. It gave me great joy to hear this, as the maid was as good a girl as could be, and I thought well of Jack; so on that day I gave her to him. They were to have a large piece of ground to grow their crops on, with a house to live in, and sheds for their goats.

The isle was now set out in this way: all the west end was left waste, so that if the wild men should land on it, they might come and go, and hurt no one. My old house I gave to the chief, with all its woods, which now spread out as far as the creek, and the south end was for the white men and their wives.

It struck me that there was one gift which I had not thought of, and that was the book of God's Word, which I knew would give to those who could feel the words in it, fresh strength for their work, and grace to bear the ills of life.

Now that I had been in the isle quite a month, I once more set sail on the fifth day of May; and all my friends told me that they should stay there till I came to fetch them.

When we had been out three days, though the sea was smooth and calm, we saw that it was quite black on the land side; and as we knew not what to make of it, I sent the chief mate up the main mast to find out with his glass what it could be. He said it was a fleet of scores and scores of small boats, full of wild men who came fast at us with fierce looks.

As soon as we got near them, I gave word to furl all sails and stop the ship, and as there was nought to fear from them but fire, to get the boats out and man them both well, and so wait for them to come up.

In this way we lay by for them, and in a short time they came up with us; but as I thought they would try to row round and so close us in, I told the men in the boats not to let them come too near. This, though we did not mean it, brought us to a fight with them, and they shot a cloud of darts at our boats. We did not fire at them, yet in half an hour they went back out to sea, and then came straight to us, till we were so near that they could hear us speak.

I bade my men keep close, so as to be safe from their darts if they should shoot, and get out the guns. I then sent Friday on deck, to call out to them in their own tongue and ask what they meant. It may be that they did not know what he said, but as soon as he spoke to them I heard him cry out that they would shoot. This was too true, for they let fly a thick cloud of darts, and to my great grief poor Friday fell dead, for there was no one else in their sight. He was shot with three darts, and three more fell quite near him, so good was their aim.

I was so mad with rage at the loss of my dear Friday, that I bade the men load five guns with small shot, and four with large, and we gave them such a fierce fire that in all their lives they could not have seen one like it. Then a rare scene met our eyes: dread and fear came on them all, for their boats, which were small, were split and sunk -- three or four by one shot. The men who were not dead had to swim, and those who had wounds were left to sink, for all the rest got off as fast as they could. Our boat took up one poor man who had to swim for his life, when the rest had fled for the space of half an hour. In three hours' time, we could not see more than three or four of their boats, and as a breeze sprang up we set sail.

At first the man whom we took on board would not eat or speak, and we all had fears lest he should pine to death. But when we had taught him to say a few words, he told us that his friends -- the wild men-had come out with their kin to have a great fight, and that all they meant was to make us look at the grand sight. So it was for this that poor Friday fell! He who had been as good and true to me as man could be! And now in deep grief I must take my leave of him.

We went on with a fair wind to All Saints' Bay, and here I found a sloop that I had brought with me from home, that I might send men and stores for the use of my friends in the isle. I taught the mate how to find the place, and when he came back, I found that he had done so with ease.

One of our crew had a great wish to go with the sloop, and live on the isle, if the chief would give him land to plant. So I told him he should go by all means, and gave him the wild man for his slave. I found, too, that a man who had come with his wife and child and three slaves, to hide from the king of Spain, would like to go, if he could have some land there, though he had but a small stock to take with him; so I put them all on board the sloop, and saw them safe out of the bay, on their way to the isle. With them I sent three milch cows, five calves, a horse and a colt, all of which, as I heard, went safe and sound.

I have now no more to say of my isle, as I had left it for the last time, but my life in lands no less far from home was not yet at an end. From the Bay of All Saints we went straight to the Cape of Good Hope. Here I made up my mind to part from the ship in which I had come from the Isle, and with two of the crew to stay on land, and leave the rest to go on their way. I soon made friends with some men from France, as well as from my own land, and two Jews, who had come out to the Cape to trade.

As I found that some goods which I had brought with me from home were worth a great deal, I made a large sum by the sale of them. When we had been at the Cape of Good Hope for nine months, we thought that the best thing we could do would be to hire a ship, and sail to the Spice Isles, to buy cloves, so we got a ship, and men to work her, and set out. When we had bought and sold our goods in the course of trade, we came back, and then set out once more; so that, in short, as we went from port to port, to and fro, I spent, from first to last, six years in this part of the world.

At length we thought we would go and seek new scenes where we could get fresh gains. And a strange set of men we at last fell in with, as you who read this tale will say when you look at the print in front of this page.

When we had put on shore, we made friends with a man who got us a large house, built with canes, and a small kind of hut of the same near it. It had a high fence of canes round it to keep out thieves, of whom, it seems, there are not a few in that land. The name of the town was Ching, and we found that the fair or mart which was kept there would not be held for three or four months. So we sent our ship back to the Cape, as we meant to stay in this part of the world for some time, and go from place to place to see what sort of a land it was, and then come back to the fair at Ching.

We first went to a town which it was well worth our while to see, and which must have been, as near as I can guess, quite in the heart of this land. It was built with straight streets which ran in cross lines.

But I must own, when I came home to the place of my birth, I was much struck to hear my friends say such fine things of the wealth and trade of these parts of the world, for I saw and knew that the men were a mere herd or crowd of mean slaves. What is their trade to ours, or to that of France and Spain? What are their ports, with a few junks and barks, to our grand fleets? One of our large ships of war would sink all their ships, one line of French troops would beat all their horse, and the same may be said of their ports, which would not stand for one month such a siege as we could bring to bear on them.

In three weeks more we came to their chief town. When we had laid in a large stock of tea, shawls, fans, raw silks, and such like goods, we set out for the north. As we knew we should run all kinds of risks on our way, we took with us a strong force to act as a guard, and to keep us from the wild hordes who rove from place to place all through the land. Some of our men were Scots, who had come out to trade here, and had great wealth, and I was glad to join them, as it was by no means the first time that they had been here.

We took five guides with us, and we all put our coin in one purse, to buy food on the way, and to pay the men who took charge of us. One of us we chose out for our chief, to take the lead in case we should have to fight for our lives; and when the time came, we had no small need of him. On the sides of all the roads, we saw men who made pots, cups, pans, and such like ware, out of a kind of earth, which is, in fact, the chief trade in this part of the world.

One thing, the guide said he would show me, that was not to be seen in all the world else (and this, in good sooth, I could not sneer at, as I had done at most of the things I had seen here), and this was a house that was built of a kind of ware, such as most plates and cups are made of. "How big is it?" said I, "can we take it on the back of a horse?" "On a horse!" said the guide, "why, two score of men live in it." He then took us to it, and I found that it was in truth a large house, built with lath and the best ware that can be made out of earth. The sun shone hot on the walls, which were quite white, hard, and smooth as glass, with forms on them in blue paint. On the walls of the rooms were small square tiles of the best ware, with red, blue, and green paint of all shades and hues, in rare forms, done in good taste; and as they use the same kind of earth to join the tiles with, you could not see where the tiles met. The floors of the rooms were made of the same ware, and as strong as those we have at home; and the same may be said of the roofs, but they were of a dark shade. If we had had more time to spare, I should have been glad to have seen more of this house, for there were the ponds for the fish, the walks, the yards, and courts, which were all made in the same way. This odd sight kept me from my friends for two hours, and when I had come up to them, I had to pay a fine to our chief, as they had to wait so long.

In two days more we came to the Great Wall, which was made as a fort to keep the whole land safe, -- and a great work it is. It goes in a long track for miles and miles, where the rocks are so high and steep that no foe could climb them; or, if they did, no wall could stop them. The Great Wall is as thick as it is high, and it turns and winds in all sorts of ways.

We now saw, for the first time, some troops of the hordes I spoke of, who rove from place to place, to rob and kill all whom they meet with. They know no real mode of war, or skill in fight. Each has a poor lean horse, which is not fit to do good work. Our chief gave some of us leave to go out and hunt as they call it, and what was it but to hunt sheep! These sheep are wild and swift of foot, but they will not run far, and you are sure of sport when you start in the chase. They go in flocks of a score, or two, and like true sheep, keep close when they fly. In this sort of chase it was our hap to meet with some two score of the wild hordes, but what sort of prey they had come to hunt I know not. As soon as they saw us, one of them blew some loud notes on a kind of horn, with a sound that was quite new to me. We all thought this was to call their friends round them, and so it was, for in a short time a fresh troop of the same size came to join them; and they were all, as far as we could judge, a mile off. One of the Scots was with us, and as soon as he heard the horn, he told us that we must lose no time, but draw up in line, and charge them at once. We told him we would, if he would take the lead.

They stood still, and cast a wild gaze at us, like a mere crowd, drawn up in no line; but as soon as they saw us come at them, they let fly their darts, which did not hit us, for though their aim was true, they fell short of us. We now came to a halt to fire at them, and then went at full speed to fall on them sword in hand, for so the bold Scot that led us, told us to do.

As soon as we came up to them, they fled right and left. The sole stand made was by three of them, who had a kind of short sword in their hands, and bows on their backs, and who did all they could to call all the rest back to them. The brave Scot rode close up to them, and with his gun threw one off his horse, shot the next, and the third ran off, and this was the end of our fight. All the bad luck we met with, was that the sheep that we had in chase got off. We had not a man hurt, but as for the foe, five of them were dead, and not a few had wounds, while the rest fled at the mere noise of our guns.

Thus we went on our way from town to town, and now and then met some of these wild hordes, whom we had to fight and I need not add that each time we had the best of the fray. At last we made our way to the chief town of the North Seas at the end of a year, five months and three days, from the time when we left Ching. When I had been there six weeks, and had bought some more goods; I took ship and set sail for the land of my birth, which I had left, this time, for ten years, nine months and three days.

And now I must bring this tale of my life to a close, while at the age of three score years and twelve, I feel that the day is at hand, when I shall go forth on that sea of peace and love, which has no waves or shores but those of bliss that knows no end.

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Pretty Tales For The Nursery

By

Isabel Thompson



Fanny's Birthday.


Here is a nice new book! It is mine. Papa has just given it to me, for this is my birth-day, and I am five years old. Oh, how pretty it is! Here are boys and girls at play, like Willie and me; and here is nurse, with baby on her knee.

They will call me a dunce if I do not learn to read well, so I will try my very best; for what is the use of a nice book like this, if I cannot read it? It is not of a bit more use than my wax doll would be to puss.

What, Miss Puss, you hear your own name, do you? and think we are going to have a game of play. On no, puss, no such thing. It will not do for me to mind only play, for mamma says that, if I live, I shall be a woman in time, and there are many things that I must learn before then.

Look, puss, here is my new book. Ah, I see you do not care for books. You like to lie on the warm rug before the fire, and there you sleep away half your time. That may do very well for a puss, but it will not do for me. If I am as idle as you, I shall grow up a dunce, and what would papa say then? No, no, pussy, you may do as you like, but for my part I am not going to be a dunce.

Sometimes I sit upon mamma's knee, and she tells me the story about a young king, who lived many years ago, and who loved the Bible better than any other book in the world, and how God took him to wear a crown of gold in heaven. Or else she talks to me about Jesus, who came down from his glory above to die for us upon the cross. I love to hear about him when he was a baby, and his mother laid him in a manger, for there was no room for him in the inn. Oh! how glad I shall be when I can read these things in books.

Mamma says that when I can read, I shall have books that will teach me about many things which are to be seen in places a long way off, far, far over the sea. About lions and tigers, that live in the woods, and about black boys and girls, like the poor man who came to beg at the door. Willie and I ran away from him, but nurse called us back, and said he would not hurt us; and mamma told us to pity him and be kind to him, if we saw him again. I should like to see the little black boys and girls. Some of them go to school, I am told, but others are never taught anything that is good: I am very sorry for them.

Let me look again at my new book. Papa was very kind to buy it for me, and I will take care of it, that not a leaf may be torn. But I shall lend it to Willie if he asks me, for mamma says we must be kind to each other. I will tell him to take care of it when I lend it to him. Now I will go and show it to nurse, and ask her to put on it a white paper cover to keep it clean. Good bye, pussy, I will leave you to finish your nap, and when I come back again I will have some play with you.




The Dog That Had No Home.


One day little James stood upon a chair, and looked out at the window, and he saw a dog lying on a bank on the other side of the road. Then a bad boy came that way and hit it with a stick. James could see the poor dog shiver with cold as he lay on the wet bank. James felt very sorry for him, and he said, "Why does not the dog go home, and lie down by the fire, and get warm?"

Then James's mother said, "I do not think the poor dog has any home to go to. I have seen him out there before; and one day I saw Jane Rose keep a bad boy from hurting the dog."

Now James was very sorry that this poor dog should have no home. He talked a great deal about him, and when it began to grow dark, he got upon the chair again to see if he was still lying there.

The dog was there still, but he was not lying down this time. He stood upon the bank, and looked this way and that way, as if he did not know where to go. He looked more cold and wet than before, for the rain was coming down fast. Then James said to his mother, "May I tell Jane to let that poor dog come in? See how cold and hungry he looks. I should like to give him my bread and butter, for I have had some dinner, but the poor dog has not had a bit."

His mother said, "We cannot have him in the house, but you may ask Jane to let him come into the yard, and there is some straw in one corner of the shed where he may lie and get dry."

James was very glad to hear this, and he ran in a great hurry to tell Jane. So Jane went to the gate to call the dog, and James went back to the window to see him come in. But the dog would not come at first, and James's mother said that he looked afraid of being beat. At last he came very slowly across the road, and when he heard Jane call him, "Poor fellow! poor fellow!" he ran into the yard.

James's mother told Jane to give the dog some water to drink, and something to eat. So James stood by and saw him fed, and then the dog lay down on the straw, and curled himself round. James gave him one little pat on the head, and the dog wagged his tail, which was the only way he had to say, Thank you. Then James and Jane came away from the shed, and the dog went to sleep.

The last thing before James went to bed, he begged of Jane to go and see if the dog was still lying in the shed. Yes, he was snug asleep in the straw. James's mother said she would give him leave to stay there all night if he liked.

The next day, as soon as James awoke, he began to talk about the dog to Jane, who came to dress him. Jane said that he was not gone away, and the rain was over, and he was come out of the shed. So James made haste down stairs, and he went into the yard to see how he was after his good night's rest.

The dog was lying in the sun, and when he saw James he jumped up and ran to him; for a dog always knows those who are kind to him, and treat him well. If James had not been kind to this dog the night before, he would not have been so glad to see him come into the yard.

Then James patted him, and said, "Doggy, what is your name?" But the dog only looked in James's face. He was a very pretty dog, but he was very thin, like a dog that has no home. And James said, "Oh, I wish I might keep you for my own! I would feed you, and take care of you, and you should never lie out in the rain and the cold any more."

Then James's father came out of the house, and he said, "If I were to let you keep this dog, are you sure that you would be always kind to him, and use him well?" And James said, "Yes, father, indeed I would," Then his father said, "We must try to find out his proper master, if he has one, and send him to his own home; but if he has not a proper master, nor a home, he shall be your dog, my boy, and we will have a kennel made for him; and as he has been such a roving dog, Rover shall be his name."

So James's father asked a great many people about the dog, to try to find out his master and his home. But no one knew anything about him, and no one could tell where he came from. And some kind people said they were glad that he had found a good home, and he was a wise dog not to go away from it.

So James kept him for his own, and there was a kennel made for him, and it was set up in a corner of the yard. And he was called by the name of Rover, as he had been such a roving dog all the time that he had no home.




Annie Grove's Shoe.


One warm summer day, when little Annie Grove was coming home from school, some of her school-fellows said, "Let us go into the fields and get some flowers to take home." So they got over the stile into the field by the side of the road. Annie could not get over the stile at first, for it was a high one; but her brother John and Jane Gray told her to put her foot upon the step, and then they lifted her over into the field. Her brother was older than the rest, so he was tall and strong. It is right that the older boys and girls should be kind to the little ones, but they should not help them to do wrong; and John knew that they were both doing wrong when he helped to lift Annie over into the field.

They all ran about the fields a long time, for it was a fine sun-shiny day. When they grew hot and tired, they sat down under some trees beside a narrow brook. After a while, Jane Gray said, "How nice it would be to wade over the brook this warm day!" And one said, "I will do it," and some one else said, "I will do it," and so they all jumped up and got ready to wade over the brook. Little Annie Grove jumped up too, and took off her shoes and her little white socks, and she held up her frock round her, and put the shoes and socks into her frock to keep them safe. Then she put her little bare feet into the water to wade across the brook. She would not have done it if any grown-up person had been by, for she knew that it was wrong.

There were some sharp stones lying at the bottom of the brook, and when Annie was about half-way over, she trod upon one of them, and hurt her foot. Poor Annie stood still, and began to cry, for she was afraid to go on, and afraid to turn back, and the sharp stone had hurt her foot very much. She held up her frock with one hand, and a school-fellow who was close by took pity on her, and led her by the other hand back again to the grassy bank under the trees.

Then Jane Gray wiped Annie's foot dry with some of the long grass, and then they began to put on her socks and shoes. But only one shoe could be found. They looked among the grass, and they looked on the bank, but there was only one shoe to be seen. She had let the other slip away when she hurt her foot, and all the time since it had been going down the brook; and the brook was deeper and wider at the other end of the field, so there was little hope that poor Annie's shoe would ever be seen again.

What Annie was to do not even Jane Gray could tell. How was she to walk home with only one shoe? It was now very late, and there was not much time to talk about it, for every one of the girls ought to have been at home at least an hour before. So she had to go along with them as well as she could, the little white sock coming to the ground at every other step, so that people turned to look after her, and smiled, as she walked down the street. Poor Annie will not soon forget that day of sorrow and shame.

Her mother was angry when she got home, for though Annie was a little girl, she was quite old enough to have known better; and if other people do wrong that is no good reason why we should do the same.




The Little Boy's Bedtime.


One night little Albert sat at play with his box of bricks till bedtime. He sat at the foot of his mamma's work-table, and he built a house with walls round it, and steps up to the door, and a well in the middle of the yard. His mamma said it was very nicely done. Then Albert began to take the house to pieces, and put away the bricks; and before he had put all the bricks into the box, the clock struck eight.

When the clock struck, Susan came to the door and said, "Come, master Albert, it is time to go to bed." His mamma said, "Please to come again by and by, for the little boy is not quite ready. He has not said his prayer. He will be ready soon." But Albert cried out, "Go away, Susan. I do not want to go to bed. I want to sit up a little longer."

Mamma. My dear, it is bedtime, and you must go.

Albert. It is not your bedtime, mamma. I do not think any one goes to sleep so soon but baby and me.

Mamma. Oh yes, I can tell you of many more. The little birds' bedtime comes before yours. It comes when the sun goes down, so they went to sleep long ago.

Albert. Where do the birds sleep, mamma?

Mamma. Some are hid in the long grass in the fields, and some are among the leaves on the tall trees. There they are, if you could see them now, each with its little head under its wing.

Albert. I dare say they are tired with flying about all day.

Mamma. Yes, they were tired, and glad to go to rest. Then there are the doves in the dove-cot. If you were to go out and listen now, you would not hear their soft coo, for they are all asleep. And the white hen is asleep, with her seven little chicks safe under her wings.

Albert. But Keeper is not asleep. I heard him bark just now.

Mamma. No, for it is Keeper's duty to keep watch, and take care of the house.

Albert. Mamma, do you think that poor old woman and little girl are asleep, whom papa met to-day, and who begged for a bit of bread?

Mamma. I cannot tell, my dear boy. Only think, if they are now out in the dark, with cold and tired feet, what thanks they would give to any one for a soft warm bed like yours!

Albert. Must I thank Susan for my nice warm bed?

Mamma. Susan is very kind to you, my love, and you must thank her for all she does for you, and speak kindly to her in return. But it is God who gives you a home, and food to eat, and a bed to rest in. You must thank God for all the good things you have.

Albert. I do thank him, mamma, when I say my little verse. May I say it now?

Mamma. Yes, let me hear it before you kneel down to say your prayer.

Albert. I thank God for the soft warm bed On which I lay my little head; I thank him for the sweet repose When my weary eyelids close; But more then all I praise his name Who once for me a child became, And left his glory in the sky, For me to suffer and to die.

Mamma. Now come and kneel down by me to say your prayer.

Then little Albert knelt down, and when he had ended his prayer, his mamma took him upon her knee for some more talk, as Susan did not come. She told him that he was a sinful child, and had done many bad things. But she also told him that God was full of love, and had sent his only Son Jesus Christ into the world to die for our sins. And God will hear our prayers for the sake of his dear Son; and if we ask him, he will pardon our sins, and give us his Holy Spirit to make us holy.

When their talk was nearly over, Susan came again, and Albert kissed his mamma, and jumped off her knee, and bade her good night. And as he went up-stairs he said,

"I thank God for the soft warm bed On which I lay my little head; I thank him for the sweet repose When my weary eyelids close."




The Thief In The Dolls' House.


Lucy and Kate had a kind aunt; and one very cold day, when the snow was on the ground, she sent them a New Year's Gift. It was a little house for dolls to live in, and there were four rooms in it, and tables and chairs. Two of the rooms were below, and two of them were above. In each of the two rooms that were above, there was a little wooden frame for a bed to lie on, but there was no bed on it, and no pillow, and there were no sheets, nor anything else of the kind. Their aunt sent word that Lucy and Kate must make the things that were wanted, and it would help them to learn to sew.

Their aunt also sent two little wax dolls to be in the house. One of the dolls had on a pink silk frock, and the other had on a blue frock.

So their mother gave them some linen to make the sheets, and to make a case for each of the beds, and for the pillows. Lucy and Kate said to each other, "What shall we put into the beds, to make them soft, like the bed in baby's cot?" And Lucy said, "Nurse has got some bran in a bag; I will ask her to give us some to put into the beds." Then Kate said that bran would do very well.

They went to ask nurse, and she was very kind, and she said, "I think it would be better to stuff the beds with wool." The little girls said, "Yes, give us some bran, if you please, nurse. We have not any wool, and we do not want to wait till we can get some, for we do not like our dolls to sit up all night."

For a long time after this, Lucy and Kate played with their dolls, and the pretty house, and every night they took off the silk frocks, and put on the white caps and the night-gowns, and laid each doll in its own little bed. And then they shut the door of the house. But one night they were in a hurry, for their aunt was come to see them, and they did not shut the door quite fast.

The next day, when play-time came, the little girls went into the room where all their toys were kept. Kate went up to the corner where the dolls' house stood, for they had a place for everything, and tried to keep everything in its place. But the door of the house stood open, and as soon as Kate looked in, she called for Lucy in great haste. "O Lucy! come, quick! quick! There has been a thief in our dolls' house, and here are our poor dolls lying on the floor!"

Lucy ran to look, and she saw the two dolls, each lying on the floor in its own room, and the rooms in a litter with bits of bran. Lucy and Kate lifted up the dolls with great care, but they were not hurt, for the beds were not far from the floor, and so they had not had a very bad fall. It was plain that some thief had been in the house, for the chairs and tables were not in their right places, and nearly all the bran that had been in the beds was gone away. As for the bed-rooms, they were in such a litter that they were not fit to be seen. Then Lucy and Kate said, "Who could the thief have been? And how did he get in?"

Now nurse had begun to dress the baby in the nest room, but when she heard Lucy and Kate call to each other, she laid the baby in his cot, and came to see what was the matter. The little girls each laid hold of her hand, and cried out, "O nurse! there has been a thief in our dolls' house!" So nurse looked in, and when she saw the rooms in a litter, and the bran lying about on the floor, she began to laugh. And she said, "Yes, there has been a thief. I can see that some poor little hungry mouse has been in your house, and has ate up the bran that was in the beds."

The little girls then began to laugh too, and Lucy said, "How could the mouse get in?" And nurse told them that the door could not have been shut close the night before, and so the mouse pushed it quite open, and went in.

Then Lucy and Kate ran to tell their mother, and she came to look at the dolls' house, and to see the litter that the thief had made with the bran upon the floor. So she gave them some more linen to make new cases for the beds, and they set to work again that same day. But they took care this time to stuff the beds and the pillows with nice soft wool, that the hungry mouse might not eat them up when next he wanted a supper.




Harry.


Harry was a little boy who lived in a town, and went to school. He went with some boys who were older than he was, and they took care of him in the street. Little boys should not run about the street alone, or they may be hurt.

Harry was a good boy at school. He tried to learn; and one day he got to the top of his class. This was good news to carry home to his mamma, and it made Harry feel proud, which was very wrong. Pride is a sin; and when we give way to sin, it is sure to end in sorrow.

Harry said to his mamma, "I like you to praise me, mamma, and to call me a good boy. I mean to be always good. I will keep at the top of my class as long as I can, and I will never do any thing wrong."

His mamma said, "You must not say that you will never do wrong, but you must ask God to help you to be good, for the sake of Jesus Christ his Son; for that is the way to be kept from sin."

But Harry did not know that he had a sinful heart.

Now his mamma had told him that when he came from school, he must not stop to play by the way. The very day after he had this talk with her about being good, as he was coming home, with his book-bag on his arm, some of the boys began to play in the street. And Harry put down his book-bag, to play with them, and they played so long that at last it grew dusk, and then Harry set off home as fast as he could run. But he forgot that he had left his book-bag lying in the street.

When he got to the door, he rang the bell, and Susan, the maid, let him in. So Susan said, "Why, master Harry, where have you been till now?" But Harry looked down, and rubbed his shoes very hard upon the mat, as if he did not hear her.

His mamma had put away her work, and the tea-things were ready, and the urn was on the table, and toast, and bread and butter, and cake. It was very late indeed. His mamma said, "How is it you are so late, my dear? I hope you did not stop to play in the street."

Then Harry told a lie; for he said that he had not stopped to play.

His mamma saw that he did not speak the truth, for his face was very red, and he looked like a boy that was telling a lie. I cannot tell you how sad she felt to think that her little Harry should be such a wicked child.

But before she had time to say a word, all at once Harry missed his book-bag off his arm, and he knew that he had left it lying in the street. He could no longer hide his fault from his mamma, so he began to cry, and said, "May I go back and look for my book-bag? I have left it on a step at some one's door."

Then his mamma asked, "How came you to put your book-bag on the step?" And Harry cried more than before, and told her that he had stayed to play with the other boys.

His mamma said, "You have been a very wicked boy, and there are two things that I must punish you for. I must punish you for not coming home as you were bid, and then for trying to hide your fault by telling a lie."

So she called Susan, and asked her to go up the street with Harry to look for his book-bag. By this time it was nearly dark, and Harry took hold of Susan's hand, and went crying along the street. One or two people who passed him said, "I wonder what is the matter with that little boy." When they came to the corner of the street where he had stayed to play, he said, "This is the place, and I laid my book-bag on that step." Then Susan looked, and Harry looked; but the book-bag was not there. Susan said that some one must have stolen it.

Harry was afraid that his mamma would be very angry when she knew that his bag and all his school-books were quite gone. But no, that which gave her most pain and grief was to know that her little boy had not spoken the truth. It is a sad thing to tell a lie. God has said that all liars shall have their part in the lake of fire that burns for ever and ever.

So Harry's mamma had to punish him, very soon after he had told her that he would be always good. He had now found out that he had a sinful heart. You also are a sinner, young reader. You often do what is wrong. Do not forget this story about Harry; and if ever you feel proud when you have tried to do well, go and say this little prayer to your Father who is in heaven: "O Lord, I am a poor sinful child. I cannot do right of myself. Pardon my sins, and give me a meek and humble heart, for the sake of Jesus Christ my Saviour. Amen."




The Pond In The Field.


Mary lived with her mother in a little house. She often sat by the door on a long seat, and then would run about the field on the other side of the road. There was a narrow path in the field, and people used to walk along it when they came that way from the town. Down at the corner of the field, near the stile, there were some tall trees, and under the trees there was a pond. The water in the pond was not very deep, but it was deep enough to drown a little girl like Mary, so her mother told her she must never play near the pond, for fear she should slip in.

While Mary was at play, her mother was at work in the house. For her mother was poor, and had to work to find them food, and things to wear to keep them warm. So she could not spare time to look after her little girl when she was at play.

Mary's mother came home from market one day, and in her basket she had a little tin can, with a handle, and she gave it to Mary for her own. So she always drank her milk and her tea out of this can. Now Mary had seen her mother go down to the pond to fetch a pail of water, and it came into her head that she would fetch the water in her own little can, to fill the kettle for tea. So when her mother was busy at work, she got on a chair, and took her can off the shelf, and away she ran down to the pond, not saying a word.

Mary went close to the pond with her little can in her hand, to stoop down and dip it into the water. But the can fell into the water. The grass at the edge of the pond was muddy and wet, and so, just as she was going to stoop down, Mary's foot went slip -- slip, and she fell into the water. Poor Mary! she gave one loud scream, and that was all that she could do.

Now not far from the spot where Mary fell into the pond, a kind girl named Jane, who lived close by, was reading a book as she sat under a tree. She heard a splash in the water, and saw Mary fall into the pond. She soon threw down her book on the grass, and ran to help the poor little girl out of the water. She took hold of Mary's frock, and pulled her out of the pond. Then she took her up in her arms, and ran with her along the narrow path to the house, for she well knew that the house by the side of the field was little Mary's home.

Mary's mother met them at the door, and when she saw her little girl, she began to cry. But kind Jane said, "Do not cry. Your little girl is not hurt." So they took off Mary's wet frock, and put on her a nice dry nightgown, and laid her in bed. And her mother made her some warm tea, and then she went to sleep. When she woke up again, she was quite well.

Jane went back to the field to pick up her book, but Mary's little can was nowhere to be seen. It was never heard of again; and Mary had to drink her milk and her tea out of a tea cup, for the little tin can was quite gone. I do not think she went near the pond again. It was a lesson to her ever after, to mind and do as her mother told her.




Mamma's Doll.


Ellen. Oh! mamma, I am so sorry! Look at my poor doll. I let baby play with it, and she has thrown it upon the floor, and broken its nose.

Mamma. Poor doll! You do look a sad figure, indeed.

Ellen. I did not like to be unkind to baby, you know, mamma, and so I gave it to her for a little while, when she held out her hands to take it. But I did not think she would throw it upon the floor.

Mamma. Do not cry, my dear. Come and sit upon my knee, and I will tell you a story. I hope you were not very angry with baby. She is too young to know that a doll is not to be thrown upon the floor.

Ellen. No, mamma, I was not angry. Baby did not know any better. But I cannot help crying for my pretty doll.

Mamma. Let me wipe away that tear. Now hear my story. I am going to tell you about my doll, when I was a little girl.

Ellen. Oh! mamma, had you a doll, once? And was it as large as mine? Was it a wax doll, mamma?

Mamma. It was a large wax doll much larger than yours; and it had blue eyes and dark brown hair. When I was a little older than you are, I went with my mamma and my aunt to spend some weeks in a fine old city; and one day while we were there, my mamma took me into a shop, and bought this doll for me. She said I must dress it myself, and my aunt showed me the proper way to make its frocks. With this help I was able to dress it very nicely. And my mamma said to me, "This is the last doll that I intend to buy for you; for, if you take care of it, it will not spoil like your other dolls."

Ellen. And did you take care of it, mamma?

Mamma. Yes, for my mamma taught me to be neat, and to keep everything in order, as I try to teach you. So at the end of a year, my doll looked just as good as new. I used to play with it very often, and I called it by the name of Jessie. I had a little sister, as you have, whom I loved very much, and when she was a baby I used to nurse her, and kiss her little soft cheeks. But when she was two or three years old, she was taken very ill, and could no longer play about the nursery. She grew pale and thin, and used to lie all day in the nurse's arms, or in her little cot. She was too ill to play with any of the toys that she had been fond of before. But one day I took my doll to the side of her little cot, where she was lying, and then she gave a very faint smile; so I laid it by her side, and that seemed to please her. After that, when she was lying in her cot, the doll always lay there too, for it was the only thing which seemed to please her, all the time that she was ill.

One day, when I wanted to go into her room as I had been used to do, they told me she was dead. I saw her when she was laid in her little coffin. She was pale, and so very cold. There were some flowers lying on her pillow, and a rose-bud in each little hand. The soul of the dear baby was gone to God; and her body was laid in a grave, under the yew tree in the churchyard.

Ellen. Oh! dear mamma, how sad you must have felt! What should I do if our dear baby were to die?

Mamma. I did indeed feel sad, and after that time I could never bear to play with my pretty doll, for the sight of it seemed to bring back my grief again. So my mamma put it by with great care, and all the frocks and other things that I had made. But only think, Ellen, what pain I should have felt, if I had been unkind to my little sister when she wished to have my doll. Should not all little girls try to be kind to each other?

Ellen. I will try, mamma; and I am glad that I was not cross with baby when she threw my doll upon the floor.

Mamma. I have not yet done with the story about my doll. It was put by safe in a drawer, and lay there a great many years, and when I was grown up, I used to look at it now and then. My mamma never gave it away. Can you guess where it is now? And should you not like to see my pretty Jessie?

Ellen. Yes, mamma, I should like to see her, indeed.

Mamma. Then after dinner we will take a walk, and pay a visit to grandmamma, and we will ask her to show us the doll that came from the fine old city so many long years ago.

Ellen. Thank you, mamma, that will be very nice. And may I play with Jessie a little while, and walk with her round grandmamma's garden?

Mamma. You may, my love. And since baby, who did not know any better, has broken your doll's face, it shall be put among her toys for her to play with. And we will ask grandmamma to let Jessie come home with us. You have been a kind little girl; and so, as I like to see you happy, you shall have her for your own.




The Short Text.


Have you ever seen a book of Short Texts in Short Words? It is a book for a little child, and there is in it a very short and easy text for every day in the year. A text means some words taken from the Bible, which is God's own book, that he has given to teach us the way to heaven. The Bible tells us about our sins, and about the Lord Jesus Christ, who came to seek and to save us. And it also tells us how we may become holy, by the help of the Holy Spirit.

But I was going to tell you about the book of texts. Little Arthur had one of these books, and he used to learn the text for every day, and repeat it to his mamma before he began school. Arthur did not go to school to any one but his mamma. She taught him his lesson each day, and heard him say it.

One day, the text was very short indeed. It was only four words. It was, "Thou GOD seest me." When Arthur had said it to his mamma, she began to talk to him; and Arthur stood quietly at the work-table, and looked in her face.

She said to him, "My little boy, when you are left in the room alone, you may think that no one can see you; but God can see you at all times. When you think you are quite alone, God is near you. When you wake up in the dark night, God is with you. He loves you, and is your best Friend. You have other friends who are good and kind, but God is better to you than all. Then try to please him by doing what is right. When you are alone, and a bad wish comes into your heart, think of this text, 'Thou GOD seest me,' and put away the bad wish from your heart."

Soon after this, Arthur's mamma told him that he might put on his cap and gloves, and go with her to call at the house of a friend who was ill. So they had a nice walk; and when they got to the house, Arthur was shown into a large room, where he was told to sit down and wait, while his mamma went up-stairs to see her friend. The little boy was left alone in the room; and at first he sat quite still, and only looked at the pretty things that were lying on the table just before him. But after a while, he got up from the stool, and began to walk softly about the room. There were many pretty things that he liked to look at. There were some birds under a large glass, and Arthur had never in all his life seen any birds so gay and bright in colour. But he saw they were not alive, for not one of them moved when he put his finger upon the glass. He was very sorry to think that the birds were not alive.

But the thing that Arthur liked best of all, better even than the birds, was a very small china dog which he found on a low table in one corner of the room. It was a white dog, with a curly tail and long ears; and it sat up on its hind legs, just as their live dog Carlo did at home. Arthur took it up and looked at it again and again, and he said in his own mind, "Oh, how I wish I might keep this little dog for my own!"

Now this was a bad wish that came into his mind. But he did not think of his text, as his mamma had told him, and he did not try to put it away. No; he looked all round the room and out at the window, and then he came back to the table in the corner; and he felt quite sure that no one could see him, and so he took up the china dog and put it into the little pocket at the side of his coat.

Arthur then went and sat down again upon the stool. He did not feel happy, though the little china dog was safe in his pocket and no one knew. He felt afraid -- afraid to hear his mamma's footsteps coming down the stairs, and yet afraid to stay in the room alone. How was this, when he had felt so happy, and not in the least afraid, only a little time before?

A thief is always afraid of being found out, and Arthur was now a thief. He could not be happy, for God has put something in our hearts which will not let us be happy when we have given way to sin. So there Arthur sat, quite still; and the clock on the mantel-piece, which he had not heard before, went tick -- tick; and Arthur grew more and more afraid, but still his mamma did not come.

He put his hand into his pocket to feel if the little china dog was there quite safe. Yes, it was there, but Arthur did not want to take it out and look at it. He did not seem to care about it now. All at once, while his hand was in his pocket, the short text came into his mind. He said it out, but with a very low voice, "Thou GOD seest me." Then he began to think about God, who could see him at all times, even when he was quite alone; and he felt sorry for the wicked thing that he had done. His hand was still in his pocket, when he heard his mamma's voice as she came down-stairs; but he ran across the room, and took the little dog out of his pocket, and put it back upon the table before she came in. Oh, how glad was Arthur when this was done! His heart felt light, and all his fear went away.

He told his mamma about the little china dog as they went home, and how the short text came into his mind. His mamma shed tears of joy to think that God had caused her little boy to be sorry for his sin, and to put back what he had stolen. And when they were at home, she made him kneel down to thank God, and to ask him to pardon the wicked wish that he had felt, and the wicked thing that he had done, for the sake of Jesus Christ his Son.




The Grey Rabbit.


"Look at papa," said Frank to little George, one day, as he stood at the window of their play-room up stairs. "I cannot think what he is going to do with that wooden box. I saw John lift it out of the stable just now, and put it into that corner. What have they got in the box? See, papa stoops down to look inside. What can it be, I wonder?"

George came when he was called, and looked out of the window as well as he could; but, being rather short, he had to go back for a stool to mount upon before he could see into the yard. When this was done, he saw all three quite plain, -- his papa, and old John, and the large wooden box, with a black handle on the lid.

"I know, Frank," said George, with a wise look. "They are going to put away some flower-seeds in the box. I heard John tell papa that he had saved a great many seeds this year; and papa said they must be put away in a dry place till spring."

"Oh! you silly child," said Frank, who was six years old, and of course knew a great deal more than little George, who was only four. "Do you think they would want such a large box, just to hold a few flower-seeds? No, no; it is something that papa wants to hide. I saw him look round, as much as to say, I do not wish to be seen. Should not you like to know what it is?"

"Yes, I should like to know," said little George; "but I cannot see, the box is so far off."

"Wait a little while, and we will have a peep, when papa and John are gone away." So said Frank, who always liked to pry into every thing. "We will creep softly down stairs, and into the yard, and then lift up the lid of the box. Papa will be in the house, and John will be in the stable; so nobody will know."

The little boys stayed to watch at the window; and very soon, as Frank had said, their papa came into the house, and John went to his work in the stable, and so the box was left alone. Puss, indeed, walked slowly across the yard, and gave a sniff at the key-hole, as if she too wanted to see what there was inside; and then she lay down in the sunshine close by, with her head on her fore-paws: but Frank and George both knew that puss could tell no tales, and so they did not mind her at all. Hand in hand they crept down stairs. All was quiet in the house. Their papa was in his study, and their mamma was in the nursery, and the maids were busy about their work.

Both of these little boys knew that they were doing wrong. They had been told, often and often, not to meddle with things that did not belong to them. As Frank was so much older than George, he was the more to blame; but George was old enough to know better, or why did he put his little foot so gently on the stairs, and go out on tiptoe into the yard?

The two boys went up close to the box, and then looked round to make sure that there was no one to see them. Not a step was to be heard, and only puss lay there, with her eyes fixed upon the box. It was long and low, and the lid was held down by a hasp. Frank and George had both to stoop down, and then Frank took hold of the hasp and lifted up the lid. Oh! sad to tell! out popped a little grey rabbit. Puss darted upon it in a moment; she caught it in her mouth, and, not caring in the least for the cries of Frank and George, away she went over the wall, and the rabbit was seen no more.

Old John ran out of the stable, with his fork in his hand, and at sight of him both Frank and George were still. But both papa and mamma had heard their cries, and came out of the house; and the maids ran down stairs in a fright, to see what was the matter. There was no need for any one to speak a word. The empty box, with its open lid, and the red faces of Frank and George, with their look of shame, told what they had been about.

Their kind papa had bought the little rabbit for Frank and George; and John was going that very day to make a rabbit hutch, and fix it up in the yard, for he was very clever in making such things. Before night, if they had been wise enough to wait, they would have seen the little grey rabbit in its hutch, and might have given it green leaves and clover to nibble. But this was all over now; and it was owing to their fault that they had lost the young rabbit.

But when Frank and George grew to be a little older, their papa gave them a hutch and four young rabbits. They had learned not to meddle with things that did not belong to them, and so they had a reward for their better conduct.




The Lost Boy.


I will tell you of a boy who did not mind what was said to him. He used to do what he was told must not be done, and that was very sad. I hope you are not like him.

The boy's name was John. He had a dog that he used to play with; and he had a kite, and he used to fly it in a field by the side of the house. He had many other toys, more than I can tell you of. But he was too fond of play, and did not love his book; and when he was more than five, he did not know how to read the most easy lesson. Was he not an idle boy?

One day, John was by the gate at the end of the lawn. No one was with him, for Ann the maid was just gone away, and she had told him to wait till she came back. The gate was half open, so he went to peep into the lane. He saw a bird hop on the path, and its wing hung down on one side as if it had been hurt. John did not mind what Ann had said, that he must wait for her at the gate, and he ran to take hold of the bird. Then it flew away, but not far, and John ran after it down the road. He put out his hand to catch it; but the bird rose again, and at last it flew to a bank high up the lane, and John did not see it any more.

Then he said, "I will go back to Ann at the gate." But he did not know that he had run so far, and a turn was in the lane, so that he could not see the gate. Then John was in great fear, for he did not know which way to go to get home. He cried out for Ann as loud as he could; but Ann was far off, and he was not able to make her hear. Oh! what fear he was in!

John ran very fast down the lane, but he did not see any one to show him the way home. When he was too much tired to ran any more, he sat down on the bank and cried. A bird sang in a tree over his head, and the sun was up high in the blue sky. It was a fine day, and if John had done as he was bid, he would have had a nice long walk with Ann. But now he was very sad, and he sat on the bank and cried. Boys are sure to be made sad, if they will not mind, and do as they are told.

When Ann came back to the gate, and saw that John was not there, she ran into the lane to look for him, and to call him. But John could not hear her call him, for you know he was a long way off. Then Ann ran back into the house, and told John's papa and mamma that he was lost. As soon as his papa heard this, he laid down his book, and put on his hat to go and seek him. The man also went to seek him. And his mamma said, "Pray make haste and bring my dear boy home again." As for Ann, she took the dog with her down the lane to help to find him, for he was very fond of John. Dash was the dog's name, and a good dog he was.

It was not long till Ann and Dash came to the turn of the lane, and then they both saw John, who sat upon the bank, very sad. The dog gave a bark, as if he had said, "There he is! I am glad we have found him!" Then Dash ran up to him as fast as he could, and John was very glad to see him come along the lane; and he said, "Good Dash! dear Dash! you are come to take me home."

So John and Dash went to meet Ann, for she did not run as fast as the dog had done. John told her that he had been a bad boy and was very sorry. When Ann saw that he was sorry, she gave him a kiss, and said that he must not do so any more. Then they went back home, and John soon saw his papa in the lane. But he did not run to him, and look glad, as he did at other times. Why did not John run to his papa? Can you guess? Yes, it was that he had not done as he was bid, and he knew his papa did not like to hear that he had been a bad boy.

His papa stood still; and when John, and Ann, and Dash came up to him, John said, "Papa, I have not been good. I am very sorry, I will try to be good next time." So his papa said, "I hope you will;" and he took hold of his hand, and led him back to the house. And his mamma was very glad to see him, safe and well.

John said that it was his wish to be good, and his papa told him that he must pray to God to help him. I hope you will pray to God. No one can make you good but God. I cannot make you good. Your papa cannot make you good. No one can do this for you, but God. Then pray to him. Say, "Lord, help me to be good, for the sake of Jesus, thy dear Son, who died upon the cross to take away my sins." God can see you now; and if you pray to him, he will hear you.

<eob>

History Of The United States In Words Of One Syllable

By

Helen W. Pierson



Chapter I.

How This Land Was Found.


For a long time, in past years, it was not known that the world was round. If the men in those days had been told that a ship could start from a port and sail straight on for months and come round to the same place, it would have made them laugh as at a good joke. They did not know the real shape of the earth, but thought it was a flat plane.

In those days our land was the home of the In-di-ans, or red men, as we call them, from their dark skins. The red man does not live in a house, but in a sort of tent or hut. The tribes of red men had all this land for their own when Co-lum-bus was born. The great woods, the green plains, the bright streams, were all theirs. They made their wars in a strange and fierce style, and wore at their belts locks of hair, cut from the heads of those slain by their hands. These locks, cut from the head with part of the skin, they call a scalp. It was the pride of an In-di-an to have scalps hung at his belt. No one had taught him that this was wrong, and he did not have the Word of God to show him the right way.

When Co-lum-bus was a mere boy he was fond of the sea and ships. He would go and watch the waves, and think about how ships were made, and the best way to sail them. He was born in Gen-oa, which is by the blue sea; so when he was a small boy he could watch the white sails come in. Such queer ships they had there, with strange high prows! As time went on, and he grew of age, he made trips in these ships, and was in sea-fights, and once or twice he was in a wreck. So you see he had a chance to grow strong and brave for the work he had to do.

What he read in books taught him that the world was round, and not flat, as was thought in those times. So he knew that if he could sail west he would come to a new land. He thought of this a long time, and at last he grew more sure of it, but he could get no one else to think as he did. He spent ten years in this way. He was full of plans; but he could get no help and no gold. He was too poor to do all with no aid from his friends. At last he went to Spain.

There were a King and Queen there who were kind to Co-lum-bus; but at first they would not give their gold to help him. They thought this was a wild dream. At last, with a sad heart, he made up his mind to turn his back on the court of Spain.

While on his way, a man came to him from Queen Is-a-bel-la. She had sent him word that she would help him; "that she would pledge her own gems to give him aid." But she did not have to do this, as means were found when Co-lum-bus went back to the court. His heart was made glad; for they gave him a small fleet of three ships, and on the 3d of August, 1492, the sun rose on the fleet as it went forth on its way to the new land. All was strange to the new crew, and they had all sorts of queer thoughts and fears of the sea. They had not been out of sight of land in all their lives; and when they saw the deep, dark sea on all sides, they were full of fear that they would not see their homes again. The trade-wind which took them west so fast, would keep them, they thought, from their land when they had the wish to go back. At last they grew so full of fear, they swore they would not go on, and Co-lum-bus had hard work to make them. But soon there were signs of land, and some land birds flew by the ship; and one of the crew found a branch of a tree on the waves, which had some fresh red fruit on it.

Oh, how glad they were! Co-lum-bus felt so sure that he was near land, he gave word for the ships to lie by that night. No man thought of sleep. They all kept watch on deck to see this strange new coast for which they had borne so much.

In the night a cry of joy was heard. Co-lum-bus had seen a light far off, and a shout of "Land! land!" soon came from all sides.

When the sun rose they all saw a green strip of shore some five miles long. The men fell at the feet of Co-lum-bus and shed tears of joy. Then they sang a hymn of praise to God, who had kept them and brought them safe and sound to this new place. They got out the small boats and put men and arms in them, with flags, and a band to play a march of joy, and the crews made their way to the shore. Co-lum-bus, in a rich dress with his drawn sword in his hand, sprang on the beach, and then the crew came next. They set up a cross, and all knelt at its foot and gave thanks for their safe trip. Then Co-lum-bus set up the flag of Cas-tile and Le-on, and took the new land for the crown of Spain.

While they stood there with shouts of joy and songs, some strange dark shapes stole up with soft steps to their side. The crew thought these men must have come from a new world, as they saw their dark skins and the gay paint and plumes they wore. Co-lum-bus gave them the name of In-di-ans, for he thought the new coast was part of In-dia. He did not know that he had found a new land. These men with red skins were glad to kiss the feet of the Span-iards, and change their gold chains and rude rings for the beads and pins the crew gave to them.

Co-lum-bus spent some time in the new land he had found, and then he set sail for home to take his friends and the Queen the great news. A wild storm came on the way home, and Co-lum-bus thought that all was lost, so he wrote his tale on a cake of wax and put the cake in a cask and threw it in the sea; so that if he had gone down in the storm, all that he had found would not be lost to the world.

But God took care of Co-lum-bus and his crew. They got back to their homes once more and had a grand time. The King and Queen gave them a new and fine fleet; and in time they came back and saw new points of land on which to build homes, and they found, too, South A-mer-i-ca.

There were some in Spain who did not like Co-lum-bus, for he had won gold and fame, while they had none. So they told false tales of him; and when his friend, Queen Is-a-bel-la, died, he was once brought back from the land he had found in chains. How sad that was! -- was it not? At last he had to die old and poor, and this land did not have his name. It had no name for some time; but at last an I-tal-ian, who made a few trips there, and wrote of what he saw, gave his name to the new world. His name was A-mer-i-cus Ves-pu-ci-us. That is a hard name for you to say, but you can all say A-mer-i-ca, and that is the name of our land.



Chapter II.

The New World.

When the news of this land of gold spread over the world, Eng-land and France and Spain all sent ships to see what they could find. They each thought they would like to have a slice. The Eng-lish thought they had some rights, as one of their men, named Ca-bot, had, in truth, been the first to touch this new shore. The next time he came, he made his way down the coast to what we call Vir-gin-ia, and set up a claim for Eng-land.

Then the King of France sent a man to plant his flag here, and he gave the name of New France to part of our coast. But though Eng-land and France both set claim to the land, they did not send men here to live for a long time.

At last Queen E-liz-a-beth gave one of the great men at court, called Sir Wal-ter Ral-eigh, a claim to a large tract of land in A-mer-i-ca. He came with two ships, and found the red skins kind. They brought him gifts, and he went back to tell of all the strange things he had seen, and some came to live on the new shores. But the red skins were hard to live with, and the small group of white men could get no food, and were near death, when a brave man, named Sir Fran-cis Drake, came with a ship and took them off to their homes. The next band that came met a sad fate, for they all fell by the hand of the red men.

There were some in Eng-land who had a great wish to see this new world. They thought they would like to live in a land with no King, and have a church where they could pray to God in their own way. They were called "Pil-grims," for they went from place to place and would sing psalms and pray, and they were full of joy at the thought of their new home.

Do you know the name of the ship they came in? It is a sweet name, and you must keep it in your mind -- The May-flow-er. They did not have a smooth trip, and a storm blew them on to the coast of Mass-a-chu-setts. It was bare and cold, but it was nice to see land at all. There were all sorts of fowl there, and they saw a whale; but when they went to shoot it the gun burst. They made their way to a vale where there was a spring, and there they took their first drink in the new land.

There was a rock called Plym-outh Rock, and here they made their homes and built the first house. It was in 1620, in a cold time of the year, that the May-flow-er brought her crew to Plym-outh Rock. There was not much food, and they had from the first a foe whom they could not trust or make a friend. These were a new race of men. They had brown skins; were tall and straight, with long, coarse black hair. They had no books, and got their food in the hunt, or caught fish in the streams. They made boats of birch bark -- queer, long things, with a point at each end. They could make bows, and would pound their corn with two stones for their bread. They took the skins of beasts for their clothes, for they knew how to dress them. Each tribe had its head man, called a chief, and their great joy was in war. When their foes took them, they would not pray for their lives. They were brave in their own way, and would show no fear at the sight of the fire that was to burn their flesh.

Their wives, the squaws, would dress the food and do all the hard work at home. They were the ones who dug each small patch of ground and put in the beans and corn. The men had a scorn for work. They were made to fight, they thought. They would say, "The Great Chief gave the white man a plow and the red man a bow, and sent them in the world to gain food, each in his own way."

In this new land there was not a horse, cow, sheep, cat, dog, or hen to be found. You would not like such a place, would you? What did the young people do for pets in those days? No chicks to feed, no puss with her soft, warm fur, for small hands to stroke.

But the new homes were not left in peace. The red men saw that their doom was near. They felt that they would have to move on and on, to give place to these men who knew so much; who read books and had schools, and taught their young ones to pray. So they took the guns that they had bought from the white men and went to war with them. When they took them they would tie them fast to stakes, burn them to death, and all the time the flames were at work, these fierce red men would dance a war dance of joy. They bought rum from the white men, and it made them like brutes.

They knew that the white men had come to take their land, and that was cause for their hate. And so the white men, in their turn, felt no love for the red skin, and thought they did well to push him back more and more, and take all they could from him. The white men were to blame, for they first gave the vile rum to the red men, and that made them wild. They would burn down the white man's house at night, and kill his wife and babes. Think how sad it must be to wake up in the night and find the hot blaze of a fire in your face, and the wild war-whoop of an In-di-an in your ears. But you can lie down in your bed in peace, for there is no one to harm you -- you live in good times.

But those who were brave enough to come and live in this new land, had a hard life at first. There were no snug farms as now, with fields of green corn and wheat. At times the poor men could not get much to eat, and one wrote home: "The crumbs that fall from your meals would be sweet to me. When I can get a cup of meal and boil It with a pinch of salt, I give thanks as for a great feast. The In-di-ans at times bring corn and trade it for clothes or knives. One day they gave me a peck of corn for a small dog. It would be a strange thing to see a piece of roast beef or veal here."

It will not seem strange, then, that, in such hard times, death came to these small bands and took some away. But those who were left kept up brave hearts, and would not go back to their old homes; and though all were so poor, there was not a case of theft in four years. They grew to like the land, and one said, "A sup of New Eng-land air is worth more than a draught of Old Eng-land ale."

For one of the first bands of men who came here, made their homes in a place to which they gave the name of New Eng-land, after their old home. As time went on each place grew to be a town, and soon had a church and a school of its own. If we had gone in one of those towns on the Lord's day, we would have seen some strange sights. As the clocks struck nine, there would come out a man who would beat a drum or blow a conch shell, or ring a bell to call all the folks to church. As we drew near to this church, we would have seen that it was built of logs, with a small flag to wave on it. There would be a fence of stakes round it, and a man with a gun on guard near it. Those who went in left all their guns in his care.

If you look at this church you will see that it has no glass panes like ours, but small and dull and thick ones set in lead. It is the style now to like that old thick glass, and to use it once more. You might see on the front of this church, near the door, the heads of wolves that had been slain in the hunt in the past year.

In this church the old men sat on one side, and the young men were not with them. They had their own place. So, too, the boys did not sit by the girls. Most of the boys sat on the stairs, and there was a man there as a sort of guard to see that they did not talk. He had a long rod or wand in his hand, with a hare's foot on one end, and a hare's tail on the other. He would let no one go to sleep. If he saw a girl nod, he would touch her on the face with the soft brush of the hare's tail; but if it were a boy who was caught in a nap, he got a sharp rap from the hare's foot. So you see in those times one could not make such a snug nest in the pew and take a long sleep as one does now; and they had to stay three or four hours in church. It must have been hard for small folks not to nod at times.

When they sung, it was out of a book by the name of "The Bay Psalm Book," and they did not know more than ten tunes. In those days no one could stay from church but for a good cause, or else they had to pay a fine. And if a man staid from church a month, he was put in the stocks, or in a cage of wood, where all could see him and laugh and jeer at him.

You do not know what stocks are in these times, but if you had stood in a New Eng-land town then, you would have seen a strange thing made of wood, by the road near the church. This queer frame of wood would hold a man fast so that he could not move, and you may think a day in the stocks would be hard to bear, and would make one's bones ache.

A house in such a town, in those days, was all built on the ground floor; so there were no stairs. It was made of earth or logs, and had a steep roof of thatch. The place for the fire was built of rough stones. It was large enough to burn logs four feet long, and had so much room in it that a man and his wife and boys and girls could sit in it and look up at the sky.

The dress in those days was not the same as it is now. The men wore small clothes, which came to the knee like a small boy's in these times, and they had stiff ruffs round their necks and caps of rich stuff on their heads. The young men wore fine belts, and great high boots which were made with a roll at the top. The girls wore silk hoods in the streets, and stiff rich gowns, with long waists, and lace caps on feast-days. But folks could not wear gay clothes if the law did not think they had means to spend for such fine things.

They had some queer laws in those days. Those who had done wrong had to stand in the stocks, which held them by the feet and neck, so they could not get away, or they had to mount stools in church. If a man had a wife who had the name of a bad scold, a cleft stick was put on her tongue, or she was made to take a cold dip in a stream. I dare say you think those were hard laws, and you are glad to live in these days. But that was a race who had the fear of God in their hearts; their aim was to do just right and to rule the land in the best way.

Chapter III.

The Red Men And Their Wars.

At first, before they had time to plant the fields, the men could but hunt and fish for food; but as years went by, they had farms, and made glass and things for trade; they wove cloth of wool, and some from a plant that grows in the south, of which you may know the name. It is white and soft.

They had not much coin, and so they had to do the best they could with skins and corn, or what they could get for trade. The first mint to make coin was set up in Mass-a-chu-setts in 1652. This coin had a pine tree on one side, and the name of the State. One side had a date and N. E. for New Eng-land. All this coin was known as "pine-tree coin." In time the land at Plym-outh Bay and those near took one name, "Mass-a-chu-setts."

In the meanwhile the small band who had made homes in Vir-gin-ia had come to grief. They had been men of good birth in their own land, and did not know much of hard work. They had come in search of wealth. Great tales had been told of the gold here. It had been said one could pick up great lumps of gold, as large as a hen's egg, in the streams. They found that all this was not true, and that a man had to work hard to live. They grew sick, and death came in their midst to make things more sad; so that they lost more than half of their small band.

One man, John Smith by name, did great things for them. He had been brave from his birth. He had been in wars oft, and once he built him a lodge of boughs in a forest and took his books with him, that he might learn the art of war. Once he went to fight the Turks. He is said to have been sold as a slave. It may be all these tales are not true; but it is true he taught his own friends in Vir-gin-ia how to live. He got them to build a fort and log huts for the cold times. He made friends as far as he could of the In-di-ans, so that he could get boat loads of food from them. He said that "he who would not work might not eat;" so no man could be a drone in the hive. Each one must learn to swing the axe in the woods or to hunt and to fish.

Once the In-di-ans took him and they told him that he must die. Their great chief Pow-ha-tan had said the word; so his head was laid upon a stone, and a huge war club raised to strike the blow. But a young girl was seen to spring to his side, throw her arms round his neck, and pray that he might be set free. She was the pet of the tribe, for she was the child of their chief; and so Cap-tain Smith was set free. You may be sure he was full of thanks to his kind young friend, and it is said she might have been seen on her way to James-town more than once, as time went on, with small stores of corn for the white men. And when she grew up a white man made her his wife.

But at last a bad wound made Cap-tain Smith go back to Eng-land, and things grew worse and worse in Vir-gin-ia. Food was more and more scarce, and a sad time came, which was long known as "Starving Time." It was in 1609. At last they all made up their minds to go back to their old home. None shed a tear as the sun rose on that day; they had known bad times in the new land, and did not grieve to go. But as their ship made its way down the bay, they met Lord Del-a-ware, with a great stock of food, and new men to swell the ranks. So they were glad to turn back and try the place once more; and in the course of time they throve and built and spread, and that part of the land made a new State, which we know as Vir-gin-ia. In that State was first grown a weed which you have seen men smoke and chew.

The folks in Mass-a-chu-setts went by the name of "Pu-ri-tans." They had left their old home that they might pray to God in their own way, and they thought that their own way was the right one. When men came in their midst who did not think as they did, they were sent out of the place. There was a class called Quak-ers, or Friends, who were mild, and did all they could for peace; but they thought they had their rights as well as the rest, and might serve God in their own way. They did not believe in wars, and would not bear arms. They would not hire a man to preach for them; but when they met, each one spoke as he felt the thought come in his heart. They kept the laws, and did to all men as they wished them to do to them. They said "thee and thou" for "you," and "yea and nay" for "yes and no;" but this could hurt no one, and it seems strange to us that they were not let stay in the place. They had to fly for their lives, and four were put to death. In these days all men are free to serve God in their own way.

And in that time there was one man to raise his voice for the poor Quak-ers, and all who were like them. This man was Rog-er Will-iams. He held that the State had no right to say what men should think and feel. You may be sure those who were high in place did not like to hear that; so he had to fly from his home one cold day, and for a time he hid in the woods. But the In-di-ans gave him a home, and one chief made him a gift of a piece of land, which he called "Prov-i-dence," as it was to him like a gift from God. And so the State of Rhode Isl-and, where this town was built, was known as a place where thought was free. The Quak-ers were glad to find a home in that State, where they could dwell in peace.

In 1675, a war, known as King Phil-ip's war, broke out in Mass-a-chu-setts. King Phil-ip was an In-di-an chief who saw that the white man would soon own all the land, and he knew that meant death to his race. He made a plan to kill all the white men. The first blow fell on the Lord's day, as the folks were on their way home from church. The men flew to arms, and did not dare to lay them down when they were in the field at work, or at their homes. When they went to church they would stack them at the door.

King Phil-ip and his men made their camp in a great swamp, where it was hard for the white men to reach them. Here they laid up a store of food, and had great tribes of red men. They would not fight in the wide fields, but would skulk in nooks, and rush out and hold all the land in fear, for the foe would seem to be on all sides. At last they were made to leave their strong hold, and could find no place to hide. There was a fight, and the In-di-ans fell thick and fast. Phil-ip ran, but one of his own tribe, who had a grudge, shot him dead. He had done all he could for his own folk, but fell by the hand of one of them at last.

All this time the King of Eng-land was at the head of this land as well, and the men he sent were wont to rule things with a high hand. They would not grant what our men thought to be their rights. Dutch ships had come in to trade for furs with the In-di-ans. Some of the crews stayed here and made their homes in a place they called New Am-ster-dam. It is now known by the name of New York. These first Dutch men bought the land from the In-di-ans, and it was to go to their heirs through all time.

A band of Swedes made their home in Del-a-ware. A Quak-er by the name of Will-iam Penn bought a grant of land from the King. He thought to make a home for all his sect, who had as hard a time in Eng-land as they did here. He sent a band of these men here, and the next year he came too. He met the In-di-ans by a great elm tree. He was a kind and good man, and would not take their land from them. He bought it and made them his friends. "We will live in love with Will-iam Penn and his heirs," said they, "as long as the sun and moon shall shine." And it is said that to this day a red man is loathe to shed Quak-er blood.

In 1683, Penn bought land from the Swedes and laid out a town, to which he gave the name of Phil-a-del-phia. It stood in the midst of a wood, and the wild deer ran by the men who came to take a look at their new home. When Penn came, he sent out a call for all the men to meet in one place, and there he met with them, and they laid out the code or kind of laws they were to have. This code was known as "The Great Law." No one could vote that did not believe in Christ; and all might pray to God in their own way. So you see the Quak-ers did not wish to force men to believe as they did. They felt that was not right or just.

Penn did all he could for his sect, and was mild and good to the red men. He said to them, "We meet on the broad path of good faith and good will. I will deal with you in love. We are one flesh and blood."

So our land grew, and State by State was laid out, and towns were built, and all this time the King of Eng-land was at the head of the whole. There were more In-di-an wars; for the red men gave the new folk no peace. They would come down from the depths of the woods of Can-a-da on their snow shoes, and drag men and their wives from their beds and scalp them and set their homes on fire. Many a child, too, had to fly with the rest in the cold night, with bare feet and few clothes on, to seek a place to hide from this fierce foe.

In 1754, a war broke out which we call the "French and In-di-an War." The Eng-lish had at this time a great strip of land on our coast which they held as their own. It was like a string to the great bow of French land, which went from Que-bec to New Or-leans. Both French and Eng-lish laid claim to part of the land; and those who had the wish to live in peace could not but look on in fear.

The French built three forts, and that made all feel that they meant to hold the land. A young man by the name of George Wash-ing-ton, was sent to ask that they should pull down these forts. You have heard of George Wash-ing-ton, I know. You have been told that he was "first in peace, first in war, and first in the hearts of all." You have, I am sure, heard the tale of the fruit tree that he cut, and how he could not tell a lie to save him. He was a boy then, and some one had made his heart glad with the gift of a small axe. What should a boy do with such a thing, if he could not cut with it? So George went round to try the sharp edge of his axe, and, as bad luck would have it, he came on a young fruit tree. It may be that the fruit was of a rare kind, and so when it was found that the bark of the tree had been cut in such a way that one could hope for no more fruit, the cry rang out on all sides, "Who has done this deed?"

Our small boy was not at peace in his own mind. He did not know in what shape the wrath might fall on him; but he came forth in a brave way and said, "I did it, Father, I can not tell a lie. I cut it." We are glad there has been one boy who could not tell a lie, and we hope there are some in our own times.

So this George Wash-ing-ton, then a young man, was sent to the French man who was at the head of the forts, to say that he must take them down at once. He had a hard time to get there, for it was cold, and the streams were big with the rains. The snow fell and froze as it fell. His horse gave out, and he had to go on foot. He had one man with him, and they struck out in to the woods. They had to cross a stream on a rude raft, and they were caught in the ice. It bore them on with great speed, and when Wash-ing-ton threw out his pole to check the speed, he fell in the stream. But he knew how to swim, and so he got to land. When day came, it grew still more cold, and the stream froze in such a way that he could walk on it to the place where he would be.

The men at the French forts would not say that they would give them up. In fact, they made boasts that they could hold them in spite of all, and so the war went on. The French would dart out and seize Eng-lish ships, and then the Eng-lish would march on the French, and do them all the harm they could. Wash-ing-ton fought on the side of the Eng-lish in this war. Once the In-di-ans laid in wait for them in the wood, and as the men were on the march with their flags and beat of drum, they heard the fierce war whoop on all sides. The Brit-ish troops did not know how to deal with such a foe; but our men sprang down and fought them in their own way.

One chief made a vow that he would kill Wash-ing-ton. Four balls were sent through his clothes. Twice his horse was shot. Gen-er-al Brad-dock, who was at the head of the Eng-lish troops, was shot and borne from the field to die. There was a great fright, and the men fled on all sides. Wash-ing-ton did what he could to save them from the foe, like a brave man. But the French went on and built more forts, and our men were at their wits' end to hold their own with foes on all sides.

There were six tribes of the red men who were their friends, and I would tell you their names if they were not too long and hard.

But you will find in the State of New York lakes and streams which bear the same names. We ought to bear them in mind, as they were of great use in those times. So it was thought best for all our men to meet in a town by the name of Al-ba-ny, to fix on a way to keep these six tribes our friends, and to join with them to fight the French. Al-ba-ny was then a small town with few in it; but it had a stone fort. Here our men met the chiefs and had a talk with them. The chiefs told our clan they were not so wise and brave as the French, or they would build forts like them.

But there was one wise man in our midst, Ben-ja-min Frank-lin. He had been a poor boy, so poor that when he went in to the great town of Phil-a-del-phia, he had but a few cents. But he knew how to print; and more than that he was fond of books, and so could learn all sorts of things. He brought with him a small print on which was shown a snake cut in parts. Each part had on it the name of one of the States. He said they must be made one or die, and that to be one was the way to be great. But our men did not see their way clear to do this yet. We know they made the States one in time.

The death of Gen-er-al Brad-dock was a great blow to their hopes. They saw that all the red-coats, as we call the Eng-lish, were not brave; but could run as fast as the rest. Still they took some forts, with long names, from the French in this war. They made a move on them at Que-bec, with Gen-er-al Wolfe at the head of our troops.

Quebec was one of the strong forts of the world. At first Gen-er-al Wolfe lost at all points. But he found at last a way to go in boats. With no noise they made their way to land, and up a steep hill, and at dawn the French woke to see red-coats on all sides. Their Gen-er-al Mont-calm led them out of the fort to fight. If he had not, he might have won the day, for the fort was strong. But he chose to fight in the wide field, and so we won.

At the time of the fight, Gen-er-al Wolfe, who had been struck by a death shot, heard shouts of joy, "They fly -- they fly!" "Who fly!" came from his white lips. "The French." "Then praise God, I die at peace," he said, with his last breath.

Gen-er-al Mont-calm, too, on the French side, had a wound, and was told he could not live. "I am glad of it," he said, "for then I shall not live to see my town yield to the foe." So you see they were two brave men who fell that day. In five days a peace was made with France; for she gave up most of the land to which she had laid claim.

But there were some of the red men who did not want this peace with the Eng-lish. They had seen the red-coats run away from them, and they thought they might now strike a blow for their own homes and land. The French made them think they would help them. "The King of France has but slept for a time," they said, "but he will soon wake up, and then he will drive the foe from the homes of the red men, and give them back their land."

There was one brave chief, Pon-ti-ac, who heard all this with a glad heart. "I will live and die a French man," he said, and he sent men to each town to bear a belt with red or black beads on it, and a knife with a red stain on it; these meant war. The knife was of the kind with which they were wont to scalp the foe, and the red stain told that deeds of blood were at hand. When this belt and knife were kept, Pon-ti-ac knew that the chiefs there would join the war. Their first move was on a fort at De-troit.

This was Pon-ti-ac's plan. He would go some day to the fort with some men and ask leave to come in and show them a war dance. While some were in the dance, a few would stroll through the fort and see all that could be seen. Then they would go once more as if for a call, with arms hid in their clothes, and strike down the white men when they did not look for it. The first part of this plan went on all right; but one of the squaws, who was a friend to the head man of the fort, told him what the red men meant to do. So when Pon-ti-ac and his men went in the fort, each with his gun hid in his clothes, they found ranks of men with arms to meet them, and they were glad to get out with their lives.

But Pon-ti-ac would not give up, for he made more friends, and laid siege to De-troit in 1763. It was a long siege for the red man, but it held out, though food was scarce, and the men in it felt that they must soon starve. Pon-ti-ac at last had to make peace, and met his own death at the hands of a red man, who was mad with drink; and so the French and In-di-an war came to an end.



Chapter IV.

The War That Made Us Free.


For a time all were at peace; but at last a war broke out that took more time, and cost more men, than all the wars of the past. You have heard of it, it may be, by the name of the Rev-o-lu-tion.

There are some old men who fought in that war, who are alive this day. You see the cause of this war came out of what our men thought to be their wrongs. They thought the rule of Eng-land too hard, and that they should have their own men to rule them. They would have gone on as they were, if they had thought that Eng-land was just to them; but she put a tax on the things they had to use. She had a large debt to pay, and so she thought it fair our men should help to pay it; and our men held that they ought to have a voice as to what the tax should be, and fix what they knew to be right.

Do you know what a tax means? It meant, in this case, that when our men bought a thing, they had to pay a few cents more than its real price, and these few cents were to go to Eng-land. Of course these few cents from all sides grew to be a good sum, and was quite a help. Eng-land, at this time, made a law which we know by the name of the "Stamp Act." This law, which gave to Eng-land a tax on all deeds, was one great cause of the wrath of our men. One man made a speech on it that was put in print, and the boys in the schools spoke it. In all the States men took the same view; so that the Stamp Act may be said to have lit the fire which in time made such a blaze.

In all the States men stood up for what they thought their rights, and they made up their mind that they would not pay this tax on Eng-lish things, but would learn to make them of their own. Men and their wives took a vow that the fine clothes from their old home should not tempt them, but they would spin and weave, and wear what they made, though it might be poor and coarse. One brave dame wrote to her friends, "I hope there are none of us but would wrap up in the skins of sheep and goats to keep us warm, if we must else pay a tax which is not just on the goods of Eng-land."

The wrath at the Stamp Act grew more fierce each day, and the men who were sent to put it in force did not dare to do so. One was caught and made to say that he would give the thing up. He was made to fling up his hat and cry as they told him, three times, in words which meant that they were right and the King was wrong. No one was found so bold as to put the Stamp Act in force; and the news went to the King and set him in a great rage. Some of their own great men were on our side, and were glad we did not yield.

At last the King gave up the Stamp Act, but said he had a right to tax us as he chose. There was great joy here at the news that the Stamp Act was to be heard from no more. The bells were rung, and flags were flung out on the breeze, and all who were held for debt were made free. For a year there was no more heard of a tax; but then a new act came. This tax was made on tea and glass, and such things, which were in use all the time. This woke new wrath, and troops had to come out to keep the peace, which our men said they would not bear. The boys from the schools felt the wrong, and would call the "red-coats" in scorn by that name; and the young men made a vow that they would drive them from the town.

There were street fights each day; and the men were more and more set to have their rights. The folk wore the rough clothes which they spun and wove, and would not buy a yard of Eng-lish cloth. Then they sought to find some plant that they might use for tea, so that they would not have to buy tea and pay the tax on it. They must have had some queer drinks at that time. When the King found they were so set in their way, he gave up all but the tax on tea. Then he sent three large ship loads of it here, in the hope that our folk would want it so much when they saw it, that they would be glad to pay the tax.

But our men had made up their minds that this tea should not land. So when the tea ships came in, a guard was set on them by our men as they lay at the wharf, so that the tea should not be brought to shore. A large crowd of men met in a Hall in Bos-ton, to say what should be done with the tea; and at last they gave out, that if the tea were sent back where it came from, all would be well. But the head man, who was sent here to rule us by the King, would not do this, and said so. When this was told to the crowd, a war-whoop was heard at the porch, and some men in the dress of In-di-ans made a rush down to the wharf, and went on board of the three tea ships, and cast all the chests of tea in the bay. Then they went home in peace and did no one harm. This was the "Bos-ton Tea Par-ty," and is so known at this day.

At New York and Bos-ton they did not try to land the tea when they heard of this, but took it back. At one time the tea was set on fire. All this made our men more and more set on their own way; and the King grew in a rage with them. He made some strong laws, sent troops to Bos-ton, and put in force a bill called a Port Bill, which would not let a boat go in or out the port, save that it brought food or wood. One of their own men stood up and said this was a "bill to make us slaves." And the wood and food had to be brought in a new route, and not straight in the bay. Not a stick of wood or a pound of flour could be brought in a row boat, or straight in from a near point; it must all go round to the place where the Eng-lish saw fit, where they could stop it and see just what was there.

Of course this was hard for the good folk of Bos-ton, and they did not bear their wrongs in peace. They had gifts sent them by land -- of grain and salt fish and sheep. From the South came flour and rice, and some times gold for the poor. So that the Port Bill made all feel to them like friends, for all towns took up the cause of Bos-ton as their own.

This was just what the wise men at the court of King George had said would be the case. They knew it would make our folk more strong to drive them with hard laws to fight. And so it came to pass, as the two great men, Burke and Fox, had said, King George was set in his way, and would not change, but did his best to push the laws through. The Bos-ton Port Bill was one of the things that made the States one. For they had but one mind on these harsh laws, and stood as one man for the right. The day when this Port Bill was first put in force, the Town Hall in one of the towns was hung with black, as for a death; the Bill was on it, and the toll of bells was heard all day.

If we could have stood in Bos-ton in those days, we would have seen that there was not much work, and no ships at the wharves but those of Eng-land. There were guns in view, and men with red-coats in the streets. There were tents on the green, and clubs that met each night, to talk of this strange turn in things, and what was best to do. They did not want war, but saw no way to get out of it. Great men spoke of it here and there, and each speech was read at the clubs.

"We must fight," grew to be the cry. But there were some, of course, who felt sad at all this, who thought it wrong not to do the will of the King in all things. They said this land would come to grief, for we were the ones who had the most to lose by war. These men had the name of "To-ries," and the rest did not look on them as friends, but held them as foes. Some of these men went back to their old homes, and came here in the troops of the King to fight their old friends. Some stayed and came round to new views, and took part in the wars that came to pass in time. All knew that the ranks of the King would be made of men who had fought in wars, and were known to be brave; while on our side they would be raw men, who did not know the art of war. But still our men were brave, and they said, with strong hearts, "The strife may be long, but the end is sure. We will fight for our homes, for our lands, for the right. We will be free!"



Chapter V.

Three Great Fights.


In each town, at this time, men thought but of war, and how to train for it; so that in case of need each one could spring to arms at once. Guns were put in a safe place, and stores of food were bought. The Brit-ish in their turn kept watch on all, and more troops were brought in.

Our men made a plan, that when it should be known that a large force of the Brit-ish were to move out of Bos-ton at night, a light should be hung out of the North Church by way of a sign. One night the watch by the Charles saw the light gleam high on the church, and they knew some move was on hand. At once all was stir and noise. Men rode here and there to find out what it meant. One went in a boat, and then took a fleet horse to seek out two of the wise and great men, and see what was best to do. The man who took this ride, and went from house to house with a call to those who slept, was Paul Re-vere. There is a song this day on that ride.

You may be sure there was no more sleep in a house that night. When he rode by -- "Do not make so much noise," said one on guard.

"Noise," said Paul Re-vere, "there will be noise ere long; the foe is on us!"

All this time the Eng-lish troops had made a swift, still march. They thought no one had seen or known their move; but all at once the bells in each church rang out a wild peal. In each town the church bell sent a call to each home. So it was plain that all was known. Paul Re-vere and the scouts had done the work well. The Brit-ish sent back for more troops. They came, and they were told to hold the bridge at Con-cord. But when Ma-jor Pit-cairn, who was at the head of the Brit-ish, came to Lex-ing-ton at dawn, he found a great crowd of men with arms.

"What do ye here?" he said, in wrath, "go to your homes! Why don't ye lay down your arms?" But as they made no move to go, his troops sent forth a fire on them, which they gave back with a will. Eight of our men got their death wounds that day, and this was the first blood shed in the war.

The Brit-ish then gave three cheers and set out on a march to Con-cord. The people of that town made haste to move their stores of food and arms to a safe place in the woods. Their scouts took the North bridge, and could see that the Brit-ish were in the streets of the town; that they had set the court house on fire, and cut down the pole, and laid waste the stores they found. So the men on the bridge made up their minds they would try to drive this foe out. There were but few of them, but they had strong hearts.

One of their head men said, "I have not a man who fears to go." He was the first who was shot, and fell dead. Still they went on and made a brave fire, so that the Brit-ish set out to run. But they could not go back as they came; for by this time our men for miles round, came in on all sides. Some were in their shirt sleeves, they had come in such haste; but each one had a gun in his hand, and took his place back of a tree or stone wall, where he could get good aim. One of the Brit-ish wrote home that the men came so fast, they would seem to drop from the sky.

At each step the Brit-ish troops took, a shot would come from some side, and a man would fall dead. At last such a fear came on our foe, that they broke into a run. They did not know what to do. They had no more shot, and could not give back the fire. One of them wrote, "They had to lie down for rest on the ground, and their tongues hung out of their mouths like dogs spent by the chase." All the way to Bos-ton they felt the fire of our men, and they were glad to get back to their great ships, the men of war, and rest where they could be safe. They had lost three times more men than the A-mer-i-cans.

There was a great stir in the court of the King when the news was brought that their troops had run from a hand full of raw men, who had no skill in the art of war. Poor Lord Per-cy, who had been at the head of the Eng-lish, came in for hard names, though he was a brave man. They were mad, and had to give vent to their wrath on some one. In A-mer-i-ca it was felt that this was the first blow struck; and Sam-u-el Ad-ams, when he heard the news at Lex-ing-ton, said, "Oh, what a grand day this is!" for he knew this strife would not end till all the States were free.

There were some hills near Bos-ton, and our men knew that there was a plan to gain them, and make a place for Eng-lish troops on them. You see, if the foe had such high ground, they could have a grand chance to fire down on those in the town. So our men stole out by night and threw up earth works, and took all the troops they could get from all parts, and put them in charge there. In the mean while they sent their wives and young ones out of the town, so that none but Brit-ish troop were left there. They made no noise in their march that night; no one heard them, and the bells in the church struck twelve ere they dug a sod. But they were soon at work, and could hear the guard on the man-of-war cry out each hour, "All's well."

When the day came, and the sun rose, the earth works were seen from the ships, and at once they sent out a fire on them. So in Bos-ton the troops woke to see the true state of things, and were not slow to do their best. But our men went on with their work, spite of the shots. One of the foe had a glass through which he could see each move of our men round the works. "Will they fight?" said he. "To the last drop of their blood," said one who stood near.

So they made up their minds to lose no time, but to make a raid on the works that day. It was a hot day in June. Part of our men stood by a rail fence, on the edge of a hill, by the name of Bun-ker Hill; part were back of the mounds which were but half made. Then the rail fence was made to screen the men back of it, by a lot of new mown hay, put in to fill up the gaps.

The Brit-ish troops went in boats, and took their stand on the bank of the Charles. They had two men to our one, and were full of skill in the use of arms. Our men had come in from the farm or the shop. They did not know what a drill meant; but their place was more safe back of the earth works, while the troops of the foe were out in full sight in the field. It is a grand sight; the long lines, the red coats and white pants of the Brit-ish; the white cross belts, the beat of drums, the play of fifes. The sky is clear and hot. Great white clouds sail on the blue. The folks crowd on the roof of each house in the town.

So our men laid in wait, as the troops took up a slow march on them. The Eng-lish found the day hot, and they had their arms and food to weigh them down. But they had no doubts, and their march was sure. They would fire now and then, and few shots fell on them. On they came, till they got ten rods from the earth works. Then the word rang out on our side, "Fire!" When the smoke was gone it was seen that the dead lay on the ground here and there; and those who were left had set off to run.

A great shout went up from the forts; a cheer came back from those at the rail fence. They, too, had held back their fire to the last, and then three fourths of those who had set out to chase them fell in the ranks, and the rest ran. Gen-er-al Put-nam was one of our great men in this fight. When the foe came on, he had said to his men, "Aim low; wait till you can see the whites of their eyes," and their aim was sure. When they saw the Brit-ish troops in flight, they thought they would give them chase; but they had no more shot, and so could not make good what they had won. They fell back with sad hearts, one by one, and lost more as they did so than they had done in the fight.

This was the fight of Bunk-er Hill, and though the A-mer-i-cans did not win the day, they made plain to all men that they had stout hearts, and could deal a blow for their rights. In this fight Gener-al War-ren lost his life.



Chapter VI.

First In War -- First In Peace.


The first thing George Wash-ing-ton was heard to ask when news came of this fight was, "Did our men stand fire?" And when he was told that they did, he said, "Then the rights of our land are safe." From this day our men took heart and were of good cheer. The Brit-ish lost one in four of their men in that fight; and on our side we did not lose half as much. In Eng-land men did not know what to make of so great a loss to their troops from so small a force as ours.

In this land there was a call for more troops, and George Wash-ing-ton was put at their head. He had shown that he was a brave and true man. He came from Vir-gin-ia, his home, and met the rest 'neath a great elm tree in Cam-bridge. This tree is known as the "Wash-ing-ton Elm" to this day. All felt a wish to see this brave man, who had no small fame; they came from all sides to greet him, and saw a man more than six feet tall, with a broad chest, large hands and feet, a fine face, a clear eye, and the air of one born to rule. He wore a blue coat, with buff small clothes, and a black plume in his hat.

Wash-ing-ton saw, in his turn, a crowd of men of all sorts and kinds, rude and rough in their looks, and with odd kinds of arms, no two of which were alike, in their hands. Some were in old coats, some in their shirt sleeves. No state suits or gold bands or fine plumes were there. And when Gen-er-al Wash-ing-ton went round to the camp, he found things were in a bad state. Some had straight lines of tents, neat and nice, but most were in small huts made of boards or stones or turf. The food was rough and scarce, and the men had not the first means for war; not as much as would load their guns more than a few times.

It would not have been strange if Wash-ing-ton had felt his heart sink at such a sight. But he went to work in a brave way to do the best he could. Some store ships of food fell, by good luck, in the hands of our men, who had been sent out to get what they could; so that food was not so scarce. But still they had no food for their guns, and could not march on the foe.

The Brit-ish troops still held Bos-ton; but could not get food and wood for fires. The small-pox, too, broke out in their midst. They had to pull down an old house now and then and burn it to keep warm; and they sent crowds out of the town to be fed. They put troops in each church, and made a play house of the Town Hall. At times they would send out play bills to Wash-ing-ton and his men. They did not want them to know that things were so hard with them.

Once in this hall they had a play on the times. It was meant to show how they were shut in by the foe, and of course to make fun at the same time. In one part, a man in a dress like Wash-ing-ton, with a great wig, and a long sword all rust, came on the stage. By his side was a green lad, with an old gun. This was done to cast a slur on our men. But just then there was a cry, "The Yan-kees are on Bunk-er Hill." At first this was thought to be a part of the play; but when Gen-er-al Howe said, in a loud voice, "Men, to your posts!" there was great fright. Men ran, their wives fell in a faint, and all felt there was no fun in such a scare. In a short time the Eng-lish left Bos-ton; for they could not be safe from the fire that came down on them from all the hills round.

But they did not give up the fight. When the King and his court heard of Bunk-er Hill, they made up their minds they would rule this land, let it cost what it would. So they cut off our trade as far as they could, and they brought in all the men they could find from all lands which would give them help. So you may be sure they had a great crowd to come on us and try to bend us to their will. But our folk kept up a stout heart in the face of all. They felt they had gone too far to go back.

There were some wise men who were known as the "Con-gress," who had met in Phil-a-del-phia. They gave it as their mind that "These States are and of right ought to be free;" and they stuck to this text. The troops had to fight, and it was the part of Con-gress to raise the men, the pay, and the arms. It would seem that they had the worst part to do. To be sure, when they thought of the past, they might take heart. In the face of such a foe, it must be said, our men had done well. Doc-tor Frank-lin felt that way; but there were some rich men who thought it would be death to the States to make war.

So Con-gress met to see if it were best that they should strike the blow at once that would make them free. They had more than one talk on this, and at first the time did not seem ripe. They were to break all ties with Eng-land, to pay no more tax, and to try to find help if they could, in their fight to be free. Some great men wrote out the plan, and you can still see it in the Hall in Phil-a-del-phia. This sheet is called the "Dec-la-ra-tion of In-de-pend-ence." It meant that they were bound to be free, and so they wrote it down. It was made Ju-ly 4th, 1776, and that is why you hear the noise of fire works and see signs of joy on each Fourth of Ju-ly since that day.

When the men came to sign this Dec-la-ra-tion, the one who wrote his name first, said, "We must be one; we must all pull the same way; we must hang side by side." "Or we shall hang with none at our side," said Frank-lin. But no doubt there were sad hearts that day, though these words did raise a laugh.

They did not change this dec-la-ra-tion much from the way they wrote it first. There was one clause on the slave trade which the men from the South did not like; so it was struck out. There were twelve States -- though they did not call them States in those days -- that gave their vote for it. New York would not vote at all. The bell of the State House was to ring if the "Dec-la-ra-tion" should pass. This bell had been put up years since, and one might read on it, though these are not just the words, "Let all the land be free." So the old man who was wont to ring this bell, put his boy at the door of the hall where the men met.

When at last the Dec-la-ra-tion should pass, the man who kept the door was to make a sign to the boy. You may think how all hearts beat when this boy ran out with a cry of "Ring, ring;" and what a peal of joy rang out from the bell! Then the Dec-la-ra-tion was read to each of the troops, and there were loud cheers on cheers from all sides. That night the form of George the Third, on horse-back, which had been wrought in stone, and stood in one of the squares, was laid low in the dust by the crowd.

Yet for all this brave show, the men were sad at heart. They knew how poor they were, and how few, and the true state of the troops, and all that could be brought to put them down. They set out to make a flag of their own; for they had all sorts of flags at this time. One had a pine tree on a white ground, and was known as the "pine tree flag." On this flag were words which meant, "Call to God for help."

When Wash-ing-ton came to take the head of the troops, he had a new flag made with stripes of red and white, as now; but on one end was a red and white cross, like that which marks the Brit-ish flag. This flag went with our troops in Bos-ton, when the Brit-ish took up their march out of that place. But, by vote of Con-gress, a change was made, and it was said that our flag must have red and white stripes, and white stars on a blue ground -- a star and a stripe for each State. Now when they make a new State, they put a new star on our flag. Count them and see how strong we are.

The first man to hoist the new flag was Cap-tain Paul Jones. He was at the head of a man-of-war, and from that ship it was first flung out on the breeze. This is the flag that now waves in town and camp, and on our ships to all the ports of the land. We have more stars now, but the stripes stay the same.



Chapter VII.

The Rest Of The War.


Up to this time, most of the fights had been round Bos-ton. But Wash-ing-ton now saw that there would be a move made on New York; so he sent Gen-er-al Lee to help keep the town, and he soon went there too. Some men came to their aid from the South, and Lord Howe, with a great mass of Eng-lish troops, were there to meet them. Lord Howe had word from King George first to speak of peace, but he did not know to whom he should speak. He wrote a note to "George Wash-ing-ton;" but our chief would not read it, as he said his true name, as head of the troops,  should be on it. So Lord Howe wrote no more. He saw that the  hour to fight had come.

At first the A-mer-i-can troops came to grief, and Wash-ing-ton and his men had to make their way back for a time. The Brit-ish took heart from this, and our men were sad. They were poor, and had few clothes, and some had no shoes for that long, hard march; so that one could track their steps by the blood on the ground.

Wash-ing-ton saw there was no time to lose, and he must strike a swift blow. He knew there were troops of Ger-mans at Tren-ton, and that they still held to the ways of their land. Do you know the name of that day when you have a tree with nice gifts and lights hung on it? It is the day when Christ was born, and which we keep to this time for His sake. Well, Wash-ing-ton knew these folk would cling to the ways of their old homes. That they would keep the feast and be off their guard. So on the eve of that day he set out to march on them with his men. A storm of sleet came up in the night, but they went on, and when the dawn rose, these brave men, who had come through the snow and ice, stood in ranks for the fight. Some one wrote a note, and a man ran all the way to Tren-ton to warn the Ger-mans. But they were at cards. The Gen-er-al had his cards in his hands, and it was his turn to play. He must look at his cards first.

Yes, his life is at stake, but he does not know it. In the dim gray of the dawn our men march in on them. There is the sound of wheels and a shout. Co-lon-el Kall hears the drums beat, and the cards drop from his hands -- too late! He got his death in that fight, and all his men were held and bound. These things put our troops in heart once more, and it was the wish of all to go on; but they had a hard, sad time through the days of storm and cold at Val-ley Forge.

If we could see that camp at Val-ley Forge, in our mind's eye, we would know how much those poor men had to bear in this war to make us free. They had lost some by death, and more were ill. They had so few clothes to put on when they slept, that some sat up all night by the fires to keep warm. At one time there were few who had shoes, and the sick had to lie on the bare ground, for want of straw. The head men had to wear old quilts or bed spreads round in the camp, to keep them warm, for want of the right kind of clothes.

The troops were not paid; or the sort of pay they got would not buy them food. Food was so scarce that, at last, the pass word was, "No food -- no man." There were men in this camp who had been at the court of kings; who had fed on rich food, and had wine to drink, and now they were like to starve.

All this time Wash-ing-ton did his best to keep up the heart of his troops. He did not tell Con-gress how few and worn they were; and there were those who gave him blame that he did not do great things with these few worn out men. All this time the Brit-ish troops in Phil-a-del-phia had what they chose of good fare, and led a gay life. Some of them, with Gen-er-al Bur-goyne at their head, in the mean time, had two or three fights with our men, but found they did not gain much. At last they were glad to go back. Just as they made a move to do so, our men had the luck to hem them in on all sides in one place and won the day. This was at Sar-a-to-ga. This was good news to those in Val-ley Forge. It brought cheer to them, and they felt brave to go on.

In Eng-land men did not know what to make of our luck. It made a stir in France, where we had friends; and some of their young men came here to join our troops. We had some great French men with us at that time. One whose name is still held in love by all -- the great La-fa-yette.

At this time France made a vow to us that she would stand our friend, and give us aid. When this was known in Eng-land, fears rose on all sides; for they knew how much help France could give, and how strong it would make us. They sent men over to talk to us of peace, but it was too late. The A-mer-i-cans had no thought but to be free, and they would take no less than that. But these men still came, and thought they would see what bribes could do. A large sum of gold was held out to Gen-er-al Reed, if he would aid their cause. He said, "I am not worth so much; but such as I am, the King of Eng-land has not so much gold as would buy me!"

But the aid from France was less than they thought it would be. Fleets were sent, but they gave small help to the cause. And so the war went on for three years more. At times our men would make a good fight, and then there would be dark days when the foe had things all his own way. The Eng-lish had paid some tribes of In-di-ans to fight on their side; and once there was a sad scene, where men and their wives and babes were put to death by these fierce wild men. This was not war, of course. We give it a much worse name.

Then there were sea-fights. In one of these, the men on the ships fought three hours, and the ships took fire more than once; but at last the Brit-ish gave up. In that ship the man who took the lead on our side was Paul Jones.

There is a tale told of what the brave wife of one of those men, to whom we give the name of Friends, did for our cause at this time. Gen-er-al Howe made his home in her house, a long low brick one, at Tren-ton. He said to her one day, "I want to have some friends here to night, and I would like to have the spare back room to meet them in."

"It shall be as thee says," said Friend Ruth.

"See that all the folks in the house are in bed at a good hour," said Gen-er-al Howe.

"I will move that they go," said Friend Ruth.

So when the men came to see Gen-er-al Howe that night, it was all still in the house. Friend Ruth let them in.

"You may go to bed and stay till I call," said Gen-er-al Howe.

Ruth went to her room and lay down awhile; but did not take off her clothes. She must know what these men meant to do. At last she took off her shoes and went to the door of the room, and put her ear to the key hole. This is what she heard. Some one reads, "Our troops will make a move by stealth on the foe, and we will take them ere they know we are on them!"

There was no more sleep for Friend Ruth that night. She lay in her bed till dawn; but all her aim was to think of a plan to help our troops, and not to let them fall in the snare. At last she hit on a plan to get out of the lines. She was in need of some flour; and to get flour, she must go to a grist mill, for they did not sell it at stores in those days. Gen-er-al Howe could not say he would not let her get flour, as he ate at her house; so he gave her a pass. While they ground the grist for her at the mill, she rode on as fast as she could, till she came to one of our guards. She said some words to him in a low voice, and rode back, got her flour, and was home in no time.

When Gen-er-al Howe came on our troops the next day, he found them all drawn up in rank and file in good trim to meet him. He thought it best not to have a fight at all; and it was a strange thing to him how they could have known of his move.

Down in the South there were brave men at the head of our troops. One was Ma-ri-on, who led his men through the woods by paths that were known to few. They gave him the name of the "Swamp Fox," and the Brit-ish cast slurs on him, and said he would not come out for a fight in a bold way, but took their posts at night, and when they were off guard. But he gave them a proof of what he could do, when he and Greene fought them and won the day in a fair field. Greene made such a name in this fight that he took rank next to Wash-ing-ton from that time.

We have to tell a sad tale now of one of our own men -- a man, too, who had won fame in the war. He had shown that he was brave; but men did not like him much, for he thought more of his own gain than of his land, and he had the wish for a high place, which he did not get. His name was Ben-e-dict Ar-nold, and his bad act was, that he made a plan to sell his own land to the Eng-lish. He wrote to the foe all he could of the moves our troops were to make, and their state, but he did not sign his own name. Once he had his camp at the head of some men at West Point, and he made up his mind to give this place, which was strong with forts, to the Brit-ish. This he would have done, and the whole land would have come to grief, but for a chance that brought the vile plan to light.

One day a young man rides down the path by the stream. There is a wood of oak near. On the ground, by the trees, there are three young men. They have a game of cards. They have been out all night, and have sat down to rest.

They hear the sound of hoofs.

"Some one on his way to New York for trade," says one.

His friend peers out. "No; his clothes are too good for that," he says.

All three spring to their feet, and cry, "Halt!"

The man on the horse stops, and says, "I hope you are on our side."

"Which side is that?" cry the men.

"The side of the King."

"All right," they say; for they wish to find out more.

"Thank God, I am once more with friends!" he says, as he takes out his gold watch. "I must get on. I am in great haste."

"We can not let you go," say the men.

"But I have a pass."

"Whose?"

"Gen-er-al Ar-nold's."

"You must get off your horse."

"But, I tell you, you will get in a scrape if you stop me. Read this pass."

"No good. You said you were Brit-ish; we must search you."

"I have naught."

"We will see. Take off your coat."

The coat is laid off, and the boots. Ah, what is this? The hand of Ar-nold in this; and "West Point" the date. A shout went up, "He is a spy!"

He was a young Eng-lish man by the name of An-dre. He took his watch and purse, and said he would give them all, if they would let him go free. They would not, but took him to the near A-mer-i-can Post to try him. Of course, what Ar-nold had done all came out. He had known this would be the case, for as soon as the news was brought that An-dre was in the hands of our men, he took leave of his wife, gave a kiss to his boy, and sped on his way to an Eng-lish ship. He got to Eng-land, and was paid a large sum of gold; and they gave him a fine place at the head of some troops; but no man would make a friend of him. The Eng-lish had been glad to use him, but they would not take him by the hand.

You may think what a life he had. His own land had cast him out, but he came back to fight her at the head of the foe. But the new land where he had made his home had no real place for him. Once in the great house in Eng-land, where the wise men meet to talk of their laws, one rose to make a speech. But when he saw Ar-nold in a seat near him, he said, "I will not speak while that man is in the house." Long years after, when one of the great men of France had it in his mind to come to this land, he went to Ar-nold for some notes to his friends. Ar-nold said, "I was born in A-mer-i-ca. I spent my youth there; but Ah! I can call no man in A-mer-i-ca my friend."

In the mean time An-dre, the young Eng-lish man, who had met Ar-nold, and got the plans which were to give us up in to the hands of the foe, was shown to be a spy. There was but one doom for a spy. He must be hung. All felt for his fate. He was young, and had a fine face, and the air of good birth; but his hour had come. Tears were shed at his death; though he was our foe. All knew he was a brave man, who had not been slow to risk his life in the cause of his land. He thought he was right, and took all means to serve his own ends. For Ar-nold, who would have sold his own, there was but hate, and they gave him a name which would serve to show what his crime had been to all time -- Ar-nold the Trai-tor!

All this while the French had been our friends; but they had not met with a chance to show what they could do, till a great fight came which made an end of this war. This was at a place by the name of York-town, in Vir-gin-ia. Wash-ing-ton was there with his troops, and the French Gen-er-al, who had a hard name, which you may learn one of these days, was with him at the head of his men. They took the best works of the Brit-ish, and made such a brave stand, that Lord Corn-wal-lis thought it would be wise to leave by night, with all his troops. But a storm came, and they could not get off, so they all had to give up to Wash-ing-ton.

There was a grand scene that day, in the fall of 1781, when Wash-ing-ton and his French friends stood in two ranks, and their old foes took up a slow march by them, and laid down their arms as they went. Great was the joy in all the land when the news was known. Those who woke that night in Phil-a-del-phia, heard the watch cry, "Past two o'clock and Corn-wal-lis is ours!" When the news came to Con-gress, they sent out word for a day to be set, in all the States, to give thanks to God, and all who were held for debt, or for crime, or what cause it might be, were set free, that they might share the great joy.

Well might they all be glad, for this meant the end of the war. It had cost them dear in gold as well as lives; but it had been worse for Eng-land than for them. The sums she had spent were vast, and one could not count the lives she had lost. Add to this the fact that she had lost this great land, which had once been all her own, and now was made free. Our land now took a new name. You can read it, I know, though it is not in short words, "The U-nit-ed States of A-mer-i-ca."



Chapter VIII.

In Times Of Peace.


When peace came, the men who had been in camp went to their own homes. They were all poor, and did not know what to do. There was no gold in the land, but a kind of cash which was so bad that it took more than you could count to buy a pair of shoes. Gen-er-al Wash-ing-ton found his task more hard to keep all in good cheer, now there were no fights on hand, than when they were at war. There had to be a tax on some things to keep all right, and they did not want to pay the tax, or their debts at this time. Wash-ing-ton felt that things were at loose ends, and he must make them more strong.

Each State had a wish to be first; and it would seem that, with no foe to fight, they were on the point of war with their own selves. There was need of a strong hand to rule the whole land. So men were sent out of each State to meet in Phil-a-del-phia and talk of the best plan. They had a long talk, and at last wrote what we call the "Con-sti-tu-tion." Ten of the States gave it their vote at once; but three held back for a while.

There were grand times in our land when it was known that the Con-sti-tu-tion was to be our guide; that we were to be in truth, "The U-nit-ed States of A-mer-i-ca," with one will, one aim, one soul as it were, while time should last.

A great crowd came out in Phil-a-del-phia to show their joy. Each trade had its men there, with the tools of the trade in their hands. There was a grand car, made in the shape of that bird which we chose as the sign of our land. It was drawn by six steeds, and in it sat those who were to judge the folk in our great courts. They held a staff, and on it was our "Con-sti-tu-tion," in a frame, and on the top of the staff a cap, which we might call the cap of the free -- a kind they were fond of in France at that time. There were ten ships on the river, gay with flags and gilt, to show forth the ten States that had cast their vote in the right way.

George Wash-ing-ton was made the first Pres-i-dent, and as he took his way to New York, which was then the seat of rule, he met joy and kind words on all the route.

At Tren-ton, where he had fought, there was an arch thrown out on a bridge, where he must pass. This was hung with wreaths, and young girls stood with hands full of sweet buds and bloom, which they flung in his path, as they sung a song to greet him, and thank him for all he had done.

As he drew near New York, a barge came out to meet him. It had a crew all in white, and was meant to show the States -- a man for each State. Then more boats came to join them, with our flag on each. Wash-ing-ton was led in great state to his new home. When the time came for him first to meet with the folk and take the oath to be true to the Con-sti-tu-tion, there was such a rush to the place that some one said, "One might walk on the heads of the crowd." When Wash-ing-ton came out where all could see him, and the oath was read to him, and he took it, a great cheer rent the air, and a cry rang out, "Long live George Wash-ing-ton, Pres-i-dent of the U-nit-ed States." There was a flag flung out from that Hall, a peal of bells rang, and a blast was sent out from the guns, to show the joy and the love with which they took him for their chief. This was on April 30, 1789.

War is bad for all folks; for it is hard, when it is past, for men to learn the arts of peace. Wash-ing-ton found the whole land in debt. They did not want a tax, and the red men were still their foes. But in a few years he made a great change. The In-di-ans were put down, and France and Spain and Eng-land were brought to deal with us as friends. It was a man by the name of John Jay, who wrote out the terms with Eng-land, and so we had peace for a time.

Just then there was a great fight in France, not with a foe, but in their own midst. The men there had seen how our land had won the day, and they had a mind to be free and have no King. They did not go at it in the same way that we did; but shed much blood of their own folk, and cut off the heads of their King and Queen, and did things which made good men sad. But they said they did it all to be free. There was a reign of fright for a time. But at last, the mob could rule no more, and they were glad to take a King.

Wash-ing-ton kept up great state, for those times, in his own home, and when he drove out he had a state coach, cream white in hue, and drawn by six steeds on state days. He took but one horse on the Lord's day, when he rode to church. This coach was of the shape of a half sphere, and had wreaths, and the forms of small fat boys with wings, drawn on it in gay tints. He set days for all to come and see him in his home. Those who came would see Wash-ing-ton in front of the fire place, and near him the band of great men who gave him help with their wise words. He would be, seen in a coat of black, with a vest of white or pearl, and buff gloves. His hair was made white with a kind of dust they had in use in those days; and it was put in a sort of silk bag at the back of his head. That was a queue.

He would have his hat in his hand, and he wore a long sword. He did not shake hands with his guests, but made them a bow, and had some word for each. His wife, too, had times for her friends to come; and all must be in full dress -- the dames in low necks and short sleeves. On the birth day of Wash-ing-ton, men would meet to dine in all the large towns; and those who made rhymes would write odes to the great man. There were some who did not like all this state and form and show. They thought it was too much like the style of kings in the old land, and they would have been glad to have a new mode here. They did not wish to see a Judge in a robe of red, or the man who was to preach in the church in a wig, with gown and bands. They were for plain dress and plain ways.

You may see now bits of the stiff, rich silks of those days, or it may be a quaint old gown, rich in lace, which has been kept from that time. You may see in your mind the dame who wore it, as she waves her fan, sent from France, with the head of Wash-ing-ton on it. The hair of this dame would be drawn high on her head, and made white with the dust of which I spoke, and put in great puffs. The men whose trade it was to dress hair in those days had such a crowd of folks to fix, that they had to get up at four to do the work. I have heard of great dames who sat up all night to keep their hair in good style for some ball, or the play. The men, too, thought quite as much of dress as their wives, and in those days they did not wear plain cloth suits as now. Then a man put on a wig, and a white stiff stock, that held up his chin; a vest of white silk, it may be with rose-buds on it, and all the rest of his clothes were rich.

It was the mode to have a snuff box in those days; it might be of gold, or some dear stuff, with much work on it, and when one met a friend they would be as sure to stop and take a pinch of snuff as to lift the hat in our time.

They gave Balls in those days, which were quite grand, but they did not dance in the same way as now. They had all sorts of slow steps and bows. There was a kind of stiff grace in their style, and some would like it more now, than the rush and whirl of our mode of to-day. The dames were borne in a sort of chair through the streets to these Balls.

All this was the way of life with the rich. The poor still wore the clothes they spun and wove, and they made their own lights, and struck fire with two flints. They had not seen a match then, and did not dream of gas, or of the strange new light which has been found in our time. They went to bed with the chicks, and rose when the cock crew. The towns at the North throve the best. At the South towns were few, and in the far West the foot of man had not yet found its way.

Those brave men who had first come to this land, had seen here and there in the South a strange plant. It had a sort of bulb full of a fine white down, and those who had seen it in hot lands knew it could be spun, and cloth made from it. It was not hard to make it grow; but the white fluff was so full of seeds that it took a whole day to get a pound free from them. Wise men saw in this plant a great fund of wealth for the States. So they set to work to find a quick way to take the seed out.

There was a man in the East who heard of this, and set his brain to work. He was a young man by the name of E-li Whit-ney; and he had not seen the plant when he took it in his head that he could find a way to "gin" it; for that is the name of the work. He had to walk all the way to one of the towns at the South, to get the seed, and as he had no tools or wire, he had to make them. You may think that was slow work, but he had a strong will, and when he had made a rude "gin," he bade his friends come and see how it would do. All saw that it would work well; but some thieves broke in his house at night and stole it. So there was a long time that the man who made the "gin" got nought for it. For those who stole it made gins like it and sold them. These gins did the work well and fast, and so there grew up a great trade for us in this soft white fluff.

It is made in cloth for you to wear, and is spread on your beds, and will take all sorts of bright dyes. We sell it to all the world, and wealth flows in on all sides. This would not have been the case had not the young man, E-li Whit-ney, made the "gin."

The death of one of the great men of the land came to pass at this time. We have told you of Ben-ja-min Frank-lin. He was born in Bos-ton, and he was the son of a poor man. But he knew how to print, and he set up a press in a room where he could print each morn the news of the day. He did not scorn to sell all sorts of wares as well, such as rags, ink, soap, and such things. He had read a great deal, and found out more than those round him knew. You have seen the sharp light play in the dark clouds in a storm. You know that it strikes at times; it may be a house or a barn or a man, and that the one who is struck is apt to die.

Well, Frank-lin thought that this light could be drawn down from the skies, and when he heard a laugh at this, he set to work to prove it. He sent his son out one day in a storm, with a kite in his hand. As a low black cloud went by, they saw the fierce light tear through it; it would seem that the light ran down the string of the kite. Frank-lin had put a key on this string, and when he made his friends touch that key, they drew sparks from it. So they saw that he had found out a great thing; and from that has come the plan of the rods that are now put on a house to keep it safe in a storm. This gave him fame here and in the rest of the world. He was sent to France and made strong friends for us there. He is said to have done more good works for his land than all the rest of the men of his time. So it is not strange that all felt sad when death took him from us.

The French, too, met in their great hall to mourn his loss; and one of their chiefs said, "The sage whom two worlds claim as their own is dead;" and they wore crape on their arms for three days, for his sake.

While Wash-ing-ton had the rule of the land, more new States came in. The first of these was Ver-mont. This State was full of green hills and strong brave men, who had cut down the trees and made homes there. Once New York laid claim to this land, but they could not drive these brave men out. They thought they had a right to the soil, and they sent a man, by name E-than Al-len, to talk with the men of New York. He was met with gibes and sneers, but he would not yield. He said to them in words from the good Book, "Our gods are gods of the hills, so they are more strong than yours."

So when the men from New York came to drive out those who had made homes in the midst of these hills, they found a stout foe. The Vermont boys would take those who came and tie them to trees and whip them with rods from the beech trees. To this they gave the name of "the beech seal;" and those from New York did not care to have the "beech seal" put on them more than once. They grew mad, of course, and they sent out bills in which they set forth that they would give a good price for the head of E-than Al-len. But in time peace was made in these two States, when they had fought side by side in the great war. And so Ver-mont was brought in and took that name, which means "Green Hills."

The next State that came in was Ken-tuck-y. This land was next to Vir-gin-ia, and for a time held to be a part of that State. The first man who made his way through its wild woods and hills was Dan-iel Boone, who had won a name for the way he could go in to the nooks and glens and trap wild beasts for their fur. He took a small band of men with him, and they had no fear, but went far in where man had not yet trod, to hunt or fish, or make salt at the "Salt Licks" or springs. He built forts and held them with his few friends for quite a time, spite of the red men. But once they took him and bound him, and thought they could make him one of them; so much did they like his strength and pluck, but he got free. When men heard of his brave deeds, more came to help him. The most of them were from Vir-gin-ia, and brought their slaves with them.

The In-di-ans were in a rage at all this new force, and made the best fight they could to drive them from the soil; so that whole land came to be known as the "Dark Land of Blood." In time, peace was made, and the land grew to a State by the name of Ken-tuck-y.

Wash-ing-ton held his post for two terms, or eight years, and he did not wish to serve more. So John Ad-ams was the choice of all, for the next chief of our land.



Chapter IX.

New Men And New Laws.


John Ad-ams was one of the men who gave his help to write out the "Dec-la-ra-tion of In-de-pend-ence," of which you have been told. That was, as you know, the first step to make us free. In it we had made known that we would make our own laws, and no one should rule us but those in our own land. John Ad-ams had gone to France at the end of the great war, and had been one to help make the French our friends. In his time. Wash-ing-ton was made the home of the Pres-i-dents.

This town took its name from our great chief, and he was the one to pick out a place for the new site. This home we call the White House. At this time France did not seem to hold to the old ties that had made us friends. When our men were sent to her courts, she would not hear them, and there were some sea fights with our ships. It would seem that a new war must come out of this, and Wash-ing-ton had a call from his home to take the head of the troops. But there was no war, for Na-po-le-on, a young man, who had shown great tact and strength, got things in his own hands in France, and we made peace through him with the French.

There were some who did not like John Ad-ams, for the laws that he made. One of these laws gave him the right to seize and send out of our States those who came here from strange lands, though none could prove they had done wrong. So, though he was a great man, he did not get votes for a new term.

And now the hour had come when Wash-ing-ton must die. All felt how much they were in debt to him, for the way he had led them in the war, and his wise rule in time of peace. He had made all men his friends in the end, and in the great hall at Wash-ing-ton, it was then said -- the words live to this day, that he was "First in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of all." He was sick a long time; and his last words were: "I die hard, but I do not fear to go!"

No new States came in while Ad-ams had the rule; but the land grew in worth, and more homes were made here. But there was a great stretch of wild land still, where the bears and the wolves could prowl in the woods at will, and no smoke from the fire on a home hearth was seen in the air.

Jef-fer-son was the third man whom the land chose to be their chief. He was well known as one of the first to frame the Dec-la-ra-tion. At this time there was a war of France with Eng-land, and we had hard work to keep clear of both. For France had made a law that we should not help her foe; and Eng-land had done the same. And both sides would take our ships at sea, if they thought they made trade with the foe. So our ships had hard times, and did not know what way to steer, lest one should seize them and take all they had on board. More than this, Eng-land said she had a right to search our ships and see if we had her men on board of them, and to take such if found. And once or twice it came to pass, that they took the whole crew of a ship, so that there was not a man left in it to sail it.

One day a man-of-war went to search one of our ships for men, they said, who had run from them. They were in sight of one of our forts; but when our men would not let the search be made, a fire was made on our ship, and they took four of the men, and hung one of them. This was bad for our trade, and made a great stir in our midst, and woke up the old wrath at Eng-land.

So Con-gress, with a wish to give Eng-land tit for tat, as you would say, made a law that we should not trade with her, and our ships should not go out of our own ports. But this, you know, hurt us more than it hurt Eng-land; and, for a time, Jef-fer-son came in for a share of the hard thoughts, as though it were all his fault. Those whose trade had been hurt by the law felt as if he had been to blame, and the cause of loss to them. There were, too, on the sea a band of sea thieves, as we might call them. They were men who came from a wild race, far off, who would seize ships when they could, and take all the crew and hold them for slaves, till their friends would pay a good price for them. It was no strange thing in those days to hear read out in church the names of those who were slaves to such men. Great sums of gold were sent to set our men free. At last we made some terms with these thieves of the sea, but they would not keep the peace.

Then John Ad-ams sent out four ships to fight these men. We did not own but six war ships in those days. One of these had the bad luck to run on the shore in that strange land, so the foe took it, and the crew were made slaves. There was a brave young man in one of our ships, who made a plan to get back the lost boat, which had the same name as the town of "Phil-a-del-phia." He thought if we could not get her from the foe it would be best to burn her, so that they could not use her for their own ends. So he took a small boat which had been won from the foe in a fight, and put some of our own men in her, and stole up to the side of the "Phil-a-del-phia" by night. If he was seen -- it was thought to be a boat load of friends -- but they soon went to work, and when they got on board, the fight was short and fierce. The "Phil-a-del-phia" was theirs in no time; but they found they could not move her, so they set her on fire, and set sail once more, and did not lose a man. All this won a name and fame for the young man, whose name was De-ca-tur, and in time there grew up such a fear of him in those wild States that they were glad to make peace and take no more slaves.

Jef-fer-son's mode of life was not like Wash-ing-ton's had been. He did not care for fine things or a state-coach, but was plain in all his ways. He did not go to the House in a coach and six, but rode on a horse which he would tie to a post while he went in to read his speech. In time he did not go at all, but sent the speech to be read by some one, and so it is done in our day. He had no state times for the folk to come and see him; but on New Year's day and the Fourth of July his doors were flung wide, and all might call who had the wish to do so. He did not let men know when his birth day came, so that no feasts should be kept, and odes made on it. He made the debt of the land less in his time. He thought that all men had a right to vote, and at that time there were those who did not hold such views.

There was one great law that came to pass in Jef-fer-son's time. This was to keep out the slave trade. This trade tore the black man from his home, and sold him to those who would pay the most. He must leave his wife, his boys and girls, and see them no more, and be brought in the dark hold of a ship to a strange land, where he did not know their speech. Here he must work at his strange tasks, with no hope and no joy in his life. Jef-fer-son felt that the slave trade was wrong, and he had the wish to see it brought to an end. He thought it gave us a bad name. But there were those in Con-gress who did not feel in that way. They said if it was right to hold slaves at all, it could not be wrong to bring them here. So the talk grew fierce, some on this side and some on that; but, in the end, the law was made. Spite of this law, the trade went on by stealth for years, though the ships of more lands than one came to the aid of the slaves to break up this bad trade. In the States there was no law to say that slaves should not be bought and sold, and so this went on till the last war.

One grand thing that came to be made in the time of Jef-fer-son was the steam boat. There were ships with sails, and boats that went by oars, but none that went by steam. The first one that was made would go four miles an hour; but it was not on the same plan as those we have now. The first made like those now in use, was built by Rob-ert Ful-ton, in 1807. Men then had not much faith in it, and would laugh at it as they do at most new things. Ful-ton said no one spoke a kind word of it; but when they came to see the launch, and took note of its speed, those who came to mock were glad to cheer.

The first steam boat made on his plan was the "Cler-mont," and went at the rate of five miles an hour, spite of wind and tide. As it went on its way, it sent such a great mass of sparks up in the air, and the noise of its wheels was so loud that when the crews of the ships that came in its way saw it, they would drop on their knees in fright, and pray to be kept safe from this strange thing. But, in time, more were made, and men saw that there was naught to fear in these great steam boats, though they did seem to breathe out fire and smoke. Still, at first, they did not dare to cross the sea in them.

There was a great tract of land in the west, which Jef-fer-son bought for the U-nit-ed States from the French. Part of it is now known as the State of Lou-i-si-ana, and took its name from the French King. One of the great streams of the world runs through it. Do you know its name?

Jef-fer-son sent men to find out all they could of this land he had bought; what kind of tribes of red men were in it, what wild beasts were in the wood, and what sort of plants grew there. These men took with them food, fire arms, and gifts for the chiefs of the red men. They were gone two or three years; and made their camps in the woods, when the cold and storm were so great they could not go on. They went up the great stream to the falls where no white man had been, and then they went on and found the source of the stream. They wrote of all they saw, and men read it in their homes. They read of new tribes of red men; of herds of wild beasts, so large that one herd would take up a stream a mile wide. They said some of tribes were poor, but some had good homes and fine steeds, which they would sell for a few beads. They found, too, they could make a great trade for furs with these tribes. There was one man who made a post for this trade. It is said he bought furs by the weight, and would put his hand or foot in the scale, and call it a pound. You may think how much fur it would take to weigh them down.

The next chief of our land was James Mad-i-son. When he came in, he found that men were once more in a state of wrath with Eng-land. You see they felt it hard that our ships should have to let Eng-land stop them and search them as she chose. So at last it came to war, and at first we did not win at all. The red men took part with our foe; and one chief, by name of Te-cum-seh, made a plan to join all the tribes of In-di-ans in war on the whites. He took part in all the fights, and made a brave stand, but he fell at last.

Though we did not win much on land, we had good luck on the sea. We took one of Eng-land's ships; but then they in turn took one of ours, and a brave man, who fought with his crew at the head of it, fell, shot with his death wound. "Don't give up the ship!" was his cry with his last breath.

These words, "Don't give up the ship," were put on a flag, which was held in a great fight that took place at that time. There were nine ships on our side, and six on the side of the foe.

This flag was put on our flag ship, and a brave man fought for it. His name was Per-ry. The flag ship was lost; but Per-ry flew to a small boat with his flag, and got to the next ship. He fought so well that he won the day, and the Brit-ish lost all their six ships. Such a thing had not been known till that time. When the Brit-ish gave up, Per-ry wrote, "We have met the foe, and they are ours!"

There was war for three years; and in the last year the Brit-ish took some of our towns on the coast south, and set fire to the State Hall and Pres-i-dent's house at Wash-ing-ton. They made a raid on New Or-leans, but we had a man there who built up miles of bales for a sort of breast works, and fought back of them with our troops, so they did not get that town; and this was the last fight of the war.

Peace was made, and both sides were glad to sign it. From this time the Eng-lish laid claim to no right of search in our ships. This was known for a time as the "Late War," but since then we have had more wars, so it would not do to call it by that name now. But from that day we have had peace with Eng-land, and may it long last.

Now came a time of peace when the land grew, and men went west and made homes, and built flour mills, and cut down trees, so that in a short time a wild place would change in to a town; and you would see a church spire point up to the sky, and a school with its crowd of young ones at their tasks.



Chapter X.

The Slave Trade.


Mad-i-son had two terms of rule, and then Mon-roe was the next choice of the land. He had fought in the great war, and had a high place in the States. He had shown that he was a brave man, and was the one sent to France when our land bought Lou-i-si-ana.

When he was made Pres-i-dent, he made a tour of all the posts north and east, to see what strength they would have in case of war. He wore a blue coat that was home-spun, and was plain in all his dress. He won the hearts of all by his frank ways. He met all men as friends, and had no pride and pomp to keep them far off; he was as one of them. He thought more of the good of his land than his own. One said of him, "If we could turn his soul in side out, not a spot could be found on it." When he came to die, he was poor in purse but rich in a good name.

The red men were not at peace in his time, and there was one more cause of strife, and that was the slaves. Since the first ship load of slaves had been brought in, the trade had grown more and more at the South. The men at the North had grown to like this trade less and less. It had been thought at first it would soon die out, but they saw this would not be the case. At last there was a strife each time that a State, that held slaves, would want to come in. The free States would cry out that it was wrong to have more slave States.

Those at the South said that when a free State was brought in, there ought to be a slave State too, or else the North would grow too strong, and have things all their own way. And so there was a fight when the time came for the State of Mis-sou-ri to come in. I do not mean that they went to war with shot and shell. This was a war of words. The North said that it was wrong to buy and sell men, and to break up homes; that it was bad for the men who held slaves, and for those in bonds, and that the first men of the land had the wish to get rid of it. The South said that if the great men of the land had the wish to get rid of it, they still kept their own slaves; that it was the best state for the black men; that they could learn more than in their own wild land; that white men could not work out of doors in the hot time, and so the crops could not be grown if the black man was made free.

At last Con-gress let Mis-sou-ri come in as a slave State, but made a law that a line should be drawn in the land. North of this line there could be no slaves. South of it men could keep slaves or not, just as they chose; men look on this now as a weak move. At that time the slaves were few, and the trade not great, so it might have been put down with more ease. But with time it grew so strong that it took long years and a great war to crush it out. Five new States came in while Mon-roe was at the head of the land.

John Quin-cy Ad-ams came next. He was the son of the Pres-i-dent of the same name, and had been nine years old when he heard the Dec-la-ra-tion read from the State House in Bos-ton. Since then the land had grown to a vast size, and was at peace. Much was done in his time to make our land thrive and grow. The red men were made to move west, and their lands were bought.

In his time, the first rail road was built. It was but three miles long, and it was a horse that drew the car and not steam. The first use of steam came in more late from Eng-land. The first steam car did not make much speed; but it was thought to be a great thing. Still there were those who said it would not be worth much; that it could not draw its own weight, but that its wheels would spin round and round on the rail. Some thought that if it were made to go, it would be bad for the farms; would scare off the cows and sheep, and the smoke would make the sheep's wool black. But their fears were laid at rest in time by the sight of these cars as they ran on in peace, and brought none of these ills to pass.

In the same year the land had to mourn the death of two great men. Strange to say, they went on the same day, and that was the Fourth of July. Both these men had put their names on the great Dec-la-ra-tion, and they had grown to be strong friends. Jef-fer-son heard the fire of a gun, just as he went. His last words were, "Is this the Fourth?"

Ad-ams, who lay near to death, saw the sun set and heard the shouts from those who kept the day in his town. He sent them word to hold fast the rights that day had brought them; and the old man could hear the cheer that they gave at his words.

At this time there was a great talk of a sort of tax to be put on all goods brought here from far lands. This we call a tar-iff, and we hear a great deal of it in this day. There are those who think a high tax should be put on all goods made out of our own land, so as to keep them out and give those made here a chance. There are some who think that all trade should be free; and that ships should sail here with what they choose and land it, with no one to see what it is, and put a tax on it.

Ad-ams, in his time, was for a high tax, and for this cause he did not have but one term as our chief. Those who did not want the tax had the most votes, and they chose An-drew Jack-son for the next man. He had been well known in the war, and had built up those breast works in New Or-leans of which we have told you, from which our men beat the Brit-ish.

While he was chief, there were some in the South who felt that the North had more than its share of the wealth of the land. You see there were more great mills and more goods made in the North, and the tax on strange goods was too much help to those at home. At least this was so thought by the South, and they had a plan to cut loose and set up a new band of States. They had drills of their young men, and got arms, and had made choice of a man to lead them. His name was John C. Cal-houn, and he was to be their first chief. But Jack-son said that "if a State could go out of the band of States when it chose, we would come to naught;" and he sent troops and ships of war to the South, and put a stop to all the stir in a short time.

Tribes of the red men had gone out to the far West, but there were those who would not move. There was a tribe in Flor-i-da who fought for a long time in the swamps of that land. Some slaves who had run away from their homes were with them. One of the chiefs of the red men had a slave for a wife, and when she went with him to one of our forts, she was held and kept as a slave, and the chief was put in chains. When he got free, he made a vow to pay up the white man for all he had borne, and for the loss of his wife. So he led the red men in this war. His name was Os-ce-o-la. He was caught at last, and kept in one of our forts till he died. But the war went on for years, at a great cost of life, till few of that tribe were left in the land. And this war cost three times as much as had been paid for the whole of the State of Flor-i-da.

This war had so much to do with slaves, that all the talk on the slave trade came up once more. There was a man of that class of which we have told you -- one of the Friends, or Quak-ers, who put in print his views, that some plan should be made by which all slaves should be freed in time.

Then a young man, by name of Gar-ri-son, wrote that the best way was to set all free at once. This made a great stir, and some said he should be brought to court and made to take back his words. But he said, "I will speak out what I feel. I will not go back an inch, and I will be heard." And just at this time, to make things worse, and stir up great fear in the land, a slave in Vir-gin-ia, got a mob of black men, and they went from house to house and put all to death who came in their way.

Gar-ri-son did not like war, and he would not have blood shed; but there were those who laid all the fault of this at his door. They said he taught the slave he had a right to be free, and so this black man rose and took his rights. The slave who had done so much harm was at last caught, and put in jail and then hung.

Jack-son thought it would be well for Con-gress to pass a bill, that no thing on the slave trade should go through the mails; but that bill did not pass. Some were made friends to Jack-son by this strong course, when the South had a plan to break up our States, and leave the North; but, of course, there were those who did not like him for the same cause. He had both strong friends and foes; but made so good a rule, that he put the land out of debt, and had a sum left to share with the States. Much new land was bought in his time.

Jack-son was a great man. He had come from poor folks, and as a boy he was more fond of sports than of books. His life had its ups and downs. Once he was in the hands of the foe, and told he must clean some boots for them. It was too much for a free born A-mer-i-can to clean Brit-ish boots. It made his blood boil, and he said with scorn that he would not do such work. He was not mild or meek, you know, but had a strong will of his own. And he kept his word spite of blows, and was sent to jail. There the poor boy had small pox. He knew not where to turn when he got out of jail, for he was poor, and had no one left to help him. He had more than one fight in his time, and scars that he did not gain in war. He was brave through and through, and won fame where he went. He was in his old home when he drew his last breath in peace.

When Mar-tin Van Bu-ren came in, the talk on the slave trade grew worse. A slave child by the name of Med, who had been brought to Bos-ton by a man, was said to be free by the Court of that State, as she had trod on free soil. But at the same time some of the dames who met to take the slaves' part, were set on by a mob, and Gar-ri-son, who stood up to make them a speech, was bound with ropes. Then this fierce mob set to work to drag him through the streets; but some friends got hold of him, and had to lodge him in jail to save his life. Two schools for the blacks were set on fire; and one man in the West, who was a great friend of the slave, met his death at the hands of a mob.

Just at this time there was a plan to bring in Tex-as as a slave State, and this shook the land from North to South. Long pleas with the names of a great mass of folks were sent to Con-gress, to beg them not to let Tex-as come in as a slave State. John Quin-cy Ad-ams, it is said, spoke an hour a day for twelve days, on the side of those who would make Tex-as a free State. They put off the strife at that time, and did not bring Tex-as in at all. Con-gress made a rule, that no bills that spoke of slaves should be brought in, and this was in force for ten years.

In Van Bu-ren's time there was a great crash in trade, and hard times in the land. He did not make the hard times, still he had but one term for that cause. Men felt a hope that a new man might bring in a new state of things. They chose Har-ri-son, who had fought in a brave way in the wars with the red men.

He came from the far West, where his home had once been in a log house. So he had the name of the Log Cabin man, and the poor men in the land all felt proud that one of their own kind was their chief; one who had made his way out of the ranks. There was a print of that log cabin on all sorts of things, and toys were made in that form, and songs were made on it, and sung when men met.

The new Pres-i-dent did not live but one month, and so for the rest of the four years, John Ty-ler took the rule; but he did not please those who had cast their votes for him. He would not let their bills pass: one of which was to form a States Bank, on which the Whigs had all set their hearts. The State of Tex-as was brought in at this time.

You have all seen the wires which stretch from pole to pole in the streets of our great towns, and in lone roads by field and wood. You know what they are for, and how by means of them you can send word to a friend in time of need, or hear from those you love in a flash. It may be a death that is told, or some news of joy that they can not wait to send by the slow way of the post.

Well, when James K. Polk was thought of as a good man to make chief of the land, the news was the first that had been sent on these wires. The first lines built were made here, and went from Bal-ti-more to Wash-ing-ton. Morse was the name of the man who found out how to send news on wires in this way.

At this time there were two great men of whom you should hear, for their names are on the list of fame, which has stood the test of time. One was Hen-ry Clay. He was born in the West, and was poor, but he made his way from the small log school house, where he went to learn his first task, to rank with the great men of our land. He could win men to be his friends, when they had made up their minds to hate him. He had a strong will, and kept true to his own aims. He spoke with such grace and force that he could sway men's minds and thrill their hearts. He has said, "I owe all I have won in life to one fact, that when I was a boy, and for some years, as I grew up, I would learn and speak what I read in books. More than one off hand speech did I make in a corn field or in the woods, or in a barn, with but an ox or horse to hear me. It is to this I owe much that has gone to shape and mould my course in life."

One man, who was not his friend, said at his death, "If I were to write on the stone that marks his place of rest, I would place there these words: 'Here lies one who led men by his own force for long years; but did not swerve from the truth, or call in lies to help him.'"

One more great man died on the same day as Clay. His name was Web-ster. He was a great states man. He went to school but a few weeks in all his life. He was then so shy that he could not pluck up heart to speak a piece in the school. He did not think that in time to come his words would stir the land. He says, "I was brave in my own room, and would learn the piece and speak it there; but when the day came, and I would see all eyes turn to me, and they would call out my name, I could not rise from my seat."

In all things but this he stood well at school, and he had a great wish to learn. But he knew they were all poor at home, and he felt that he must go to work and help them, fond as he was of his books. When he heard that he was to go on; that he should have a chance to make his dream true, he was full of joy. "I see yet," he said, "the great hill up which we went that day in the snow. When I heard the news, I could not speak for joy. There were such a crowd of young ones in our home, I did not see how they could spare the funds. A warm glow ran through me; I had to weep."

When he was through school, he at once rose to a high place. He was at the head of all who spoke in the House. He was grand and great, but he had a sense of fun in him. Once some one came to him with one of those books where the names of friends or great men are kept, with the wish that he would write his name by the side of John Ad-ams. He wrote:

"If by his name I write my own, 'Twill take me where I am not known; And the cold words will meet my ear, Why, friend, and how did you come here?"

When his death was known, there was grief in the length and breadth of the land. No death since that of Wash-ing-ton was made such a theme for speech.



Chapter XI.

A New War.


In the time of James K. Polk, a war rose in which our States were not of one mind. Our folk in Tex-as laid claim to a large tract of land which those in Mex-i-co said was theirs. The States at the North did not wish to go in to this war; but those at the South did. This was in 1846. Gen-er-al Tay-lor went with his troops at once in to the land of the foe, and built a fort on a stream there. He gave it the name of Fort Brown. On his way he met the troops of the foe drawn up in the road. They had three to one of his small band; but he had the good luck to rout them, with loss of but nine men on our side.

Then he took up his march on their great town, which had the name of Mon-te-rey. This town had high hills and deep gulfs round it, and strong forts. Its streets were full of men with arms. Gen-er-al Tay-lor made a grand move on the town. To get out of the fire that would seem to pour on them from the roofs, the troops went in and dug their way through stone walls from house to house, or they would pass from roof to roof. Ere they came to the grand place of the town, it was in their hands, the foe gave up the fight.

At this time San-ta An-na, who was chief of the Mex-i-can troops, heard that most of our men had been drawn off to help Gen-er-al Scott; so he thought it would be a good time to crush us. They laid in wait with all their best troops, and the fight went on from the rise of the sun till dark. It grew hard to hold our ground, and the day would have been lost but for the guns of Cap-tain Bragg, who came to our help. He made a dash up to a few yards from the foe, and let fire. Their ranks were seen to shake. "Some more grape. Cap-tain Bragg," said Gen-er-al Tay-lor. One more round, and then a third came, and the Mex-i-cans broke and fled. In the night San-ta An-na drew all his troops off.

Gen-er-al Scott, at the head of our troops, made a march through the land of Mex-i-co, and took all that came in his way. He drew siege lines round the town of Ve-ra Cruz, and sent bombs in to it, and in four days the town, with its strong hold, gave up the fight. A week from that time our troops took up their march for the chief town. At one pass in the hills, the foe had a strong hold. Gen-er-al Scott had a road cut round the base of those hills and through the woods; and then he was in a place to pour out fire on the rear of the foe, while more troops took him in front. The foe fled in such haste that San-ta An-na, who was lame, left his leg of wood on the ground, and got off on his wheel mule.

The town of Mex-i-co is in the midst of a grand plain, with green fields and cloud capt mounts round it. The foe had made a strong stand here, with forts and men. Our men made a move in the night. It was so dark they had to feel their way; but they took their stand on a height from which they could storm the strong points of the foe. At last they took some of the guns, and the roads were laid bare to the gates of the town.

There was some talk of a peace then, but Gen-er-al Scott found that it was not in good faith. The foe did it to gain time, to make things strong once more. So the next day, he took up his march on the great town of Mex-i-co. A strong fort, on a high rock by the town, was made ours; each out work fell one by one, and at last our troops took the great Ci-ty of Mex-i-co, and the next morn our flag with its stripes and stars was seen to float in the light from those grand old piles, which had been the home of more than one prince of Mex-i-co. So the war came to an end in just two years.

Till this time, Cal-i-for-nia had been known as a far off land, to which men went by sea, round Cape Horn, to buy hides and fur. But in 1848, came news to the East-ern States that there were gold mines in that place. It was said that a Swiss had found, as he dug in the sand, a bright sort of dust, and it was thought to be gold. All at once, on this news, there was a great rush from all parts of the land to the gold mines of Cal-i-for-nia, and there was a great sum won the first year. In two years the town of San Fran-cis-co had grown to quite a large place. The name of Cal-i-for-nia is said to have been found in an old book in Spain, and means an isle full of gold.

Three more States were brought in while Polk was our chief, and two of them were free States. It was shown that those who came to us from the old world, chose the free States for their homes, and those at the South felt sure that the North would grow too fast if they did not gain more ground. There was a great piece of land which both North and South laid claim to, and there were high words on both sides. At last a band of men by the name of Free Soil men, took a stand that slaves should be kept out of all new land which the U-nit-ed States might gain in all time to come.

The next man who was the choice of the land was Tay-lor, the one who led part of our troops in the war with Mex-i-co. He was put in by the Whigs. The Free Soil men did not vote for him. He did not live but one year, and then Fill-more took his place.



Chapter XII.

The War Of North And South.


Once more the talk on free States and slave States was heard on all sides, and Hen-ry Clay had made more than one great speech to try and keep the peace. Cal-i-for-nia came in as a free State; but a bill went in force which made it a crime to help or keep a slave who had run off from his home. A man could go in to a free State and take back his slave by force, and no court or Judge in the land could stop him. In fact, they were bound to help him. This was thought harsh and wrong by most of the men at the North; but it was made a law. This law made more stir than aught else had done till this time. Men would help the slaves, spite of the law; and in some States they made laws of their own, that no one could claim a slave if he did not bring the case in to court, that they might see if he had a just claim.

When Pierce was made Pres-i-dent, the strife still went on; and this was made worse by a wish on the part of those who held slaves to bring them North of the line, in to a great tract of land -- so large that two States could be made out of it -- Kan-sas and Ne-bras-ka.

The South said all they would ask, would be that those who had their homes on the soil should say how they would like things to be, and put it to vote. Con-gress did at last pass a bill to give them their own choice, to be free or slave States. But this did not bring peace; for they had fights when they went to vote. At last they were all at war, and would burn a town or sack a house, or steal the cows and goods of those they thought foes. The whole land was a scene of blood, but in the end Kan-sas was brought in as a free State.

In the time of Pierce a great tract of land was bought from Mexico. It is now known as New Mex-i-co. In his time, too, trade with Japan was first made free to our ships.

When Bu-chan-an came to take the place of chief in our land, the talk on the slaves was by no means at rest. In the great Court of our land, the "Dred Scott" case was brought up in the first year of his rule, and it was said that those who held slaves had the right to take them with them where they chose, through all the free States. Then came John Brown's raid, which was like a fire brand in all the slave States.

John Brown was a man who had fought on the side of the Free Soil men in Kan-sas, and now all was at peace there. He had a plan to go in to the slave States and free the slaves. He had been in Vir-gin-ia when he was a boy, and knew there were strong holds in the hills, where he thought the slaves could make a stand and fight till they were free. He got a small band of men and went to a place by the name of Har-per's Fer-ry, and took the town. Those who had their homes there fled in fright; so he took the great place where arms were made for our troops. He thought he would give these arms to the black men, whom he had no doubt would flock to his side. He had a small force, but fear made all think it was a great one. The news of the raid went like a flash on the wires to all parts of the States, and men were sent to fight him and take him. His small force were brave, and did not give up till death or wounds made them do so.

It is said by those who held him as their foe, that John Brown was cool and firm in the face of death. With one son dead by his side, and one shot through, he felt the pulse of the son so near to death with one hand, but held fast to his gun, and spoke words of cheer to his men. He fell at last with six wounds, but did not die of them. He was brought in to Court, and they set to work to try him. The head man of Vir-gin-ia, by the name of Wise, said, "Those who think John Brown is a mad man, do not know him. He is a man of clear head and a brave heart. I would trust him to be a man of truth."

But he was led out to be hung. On his way there, his last act was to kiss a slave child. Six of his friends were hung on the same spot. Some few of the band got off to the free States. All this made the talk of North and South on the slave trade more and more fierce; and when a new man was to be made Pres-i-dent, those who went for free soil, that is, no slaves, chose their own man, and he got the most votes. These Free Soil men had grown to be a large throng, and they had a new name. The man they chose was A-bra-ham Lin-coln. He was a man who would have been glad to have kept the peace; but the South would not have it so. They were in a rage, and said they would go out of the band of States. They thought a State had the right to go out if it chose to do so. This was "States Rights" to their mind.

"States Rights" had long been held as the creed of the South; so there were six States that put it to vote, and said they would go out of the U-nion. South Car-o-li-na was the one to lead the way. They said they would make a new band of States, where it would be right to hold slaves; and they took one of our forts.

Troops were sent in a boat, by name, "The Star of the West," but they were met by a fire from the fort. Then they took their stand on the shore by Fort Sum-ter, which was held by a few men. For two days the fire went on, and at last the brave man who held the fort had to give it up. His men were worn out, the place was on fire, and they had no more food for their guns. So they went out with the beat of drums and their flags flung out on the air.

The sound of the first gun at Fort Sum-ter was a shock to all the land. Most of those at the North, who had not felt the slave trade to be wrong, now took sides with those who had been its foes from the first. All the States at the South took one side, but the slaves were for those who had the wish to make them free.

In the first of this storm the end came of Bu-chan-an's term. Three States came in at this time. Or-e-gon, Min-ne-so-ta, and Kan-sas. The last two bear the name the red men gave two streams that flow through them. The name Or-e-gon is said to mean "wild rice."

Up to the time of the first gun fired at Fort Sum-ter, men had felt that the South could be brought back. Few at the North thought there would be war; but at the South it had been thought of for a long time. The young men had met for drill, and arms had been hid where they could be found. Lin-coln found but a small band of troops, but he sent out a call for more. As these men were on their march through the streets of Bal-ti-more, the mob threw stones at them, and three of them fell dead. Then the troops let fire on the mob, and nine men fell. This made a great stir at the North, for they thought it went to show the hate in the hearts of the men at the South.

The next time the troops were sent, they did not march through Bal-ti-more. They found the rails torn up by the way, and had to mend them as they went on. Once when they saw a car that was a wreck by the way side, some one was heard to ask if one could be found in the ranks who could mend it. "I can," said a man who stood by it, "for I built it."

So you see the troops were made up of men from all trades, who had left their work to fight for their land. In the course of time, troops went in peace through the streets of Bal-ti-more.

Men came in to the ranks on all sides when they heard the call; but they found that arms were scarce, most had been sent South. So the North had to buy or make these in as short a time as they could. There had to be clothes made, too, for the troops, and food found for stores, and carts to draw it, and drugs for the sick. All must be done at once, and all in such a way that there must be no waste or want. Lin-coln at this time made a law that no ships should go in or out of the ports of the South.

The war soon made a stand in both East and West Vir-gin-ia. In the west of this State there were men who did not wish to fight on the side of the South; but they had to do so or leave the State. There was a move made to march on Rich-mond; but the troops had to go back, and lost the day at the fight of Bull Run. It was a sad rout for the troops of the North, as they made haste back to Wash-ing-ton, with a fear that the foe might come and take that place.

At the end of this year Gen-er-al Scott gave up his place at the head of all the troops to Gen-er-al Mc-Clel-lan.

When this war broke out, we had but four ships in a good state to take part in it. Yet we were in need of a force that could block up the ports of the South. Eng-land and France gave help to the South, for they let them fit out ships in their ports, and all through the war the South was kept up by the hope of aid from these lands.

A great fight took place at An-tie-tam, where the troops of Gen-er-al Mc-Clel-lan met those of Lee. This was one of the worst fights of the war, and there was great loss of life on both sides. The North won the day, and Lee drew off his troops. It was thought by some that a move in the right way would have cut short this flight, and they said Mc-Clel-lan ought to have made such a move. So Gen-er-al Burn-side took his place at the head of the troops, and he took the town of Fred-er-icks-burg. In the mean time there was a ship fight, in which the South for a time did good work. She had a ship which she had made strong with iron plates and hard wood, and a bow of steel. This ship set sail in the bay to fight the whole U-nion fleet. The ships of wood could make no stand. In vain did they pour out fire and balls. It was said the balls would strike and glance off, and did no more harm than peas from a pop gun. At nine that night two of our ships had gone down in fire and smoke, and one was run on the ground.

All at once a small queer thing came in sight. Some one said it was like a cheese box on a raft. This was the Mon-i-tor. When dawn came it bore down on the Mer-ri-mac and sent out a fire. The ram gave the fire back. For two hours the fire was kept up; till at last the Mon-i-tor sent a shel through the port hole of the foe. This fell right in the midst of her crew. So those in the Mer-ri-mac thought it would be wise to get out of the way of more such shells, and it left the coast clear. There was great joy felt at the North when the news came that they had won this fight; for all had felt that if this ship, with its hard sides and bow of steel, had been left free to sail in to New York bay, all the ships of wood in our port would have gone down in her path. From the time of this fight, a great change has been made in the way they have built ships.

Gen-er-al Grant fought in this war, and led our troops to win the day in more than one fight. One of the great moves of the war was made on New Or-leans by Far-ra-gut in ships, and Gen-er-al But-ler with a land force.

This town had two strong forts, and there was a long chain with earth works at each end. There were fire rafts full of stuff that they could set on fire, and gun boats, and one of the kind we know as a ram.

Far-ra-gut sent fire in to the forts in vain. His boats took fire from the rafts, and he had to put out each as it went by. At last, he thought he would try and run by the forts with his fleet, and he did so. The forts, the steam boats, and the ram, kept up a hot fire, but in the midst of shot and ball, he made his way up the stream. The next day at dawn, he was in New Or-leans, and in a day more the fleets and forts were in his hands, and Gen-er-al But-ler, with a land force, came in to the town.

In this year, 1862, Lin-coln sent out a bill that said "the slaves should be free then, and for all time."

And it was then thought that it would be a good thing for the black man to help in this war that had made him free. So there came to be black troops made up of the free slaves. By this time the cost of the war had grown great, and the U-nion side felt that it was time to bring things to a close.

The South took heart and came with their troops in to a free State; and a great fight took place near a town by the name of Get-tys-burg. There was great loss on both sides. But Lee had to fly with his men, and this fight put an end to the hopes of the South. At the time of the last shot in fight, Gen-er-al Grant, far off in Vicks-burg, brought the foe to terms. Vicks-burg was a place on high bluffs, and it had guns on all sides to stop our ships on their way up the stream. It stood a long siege of more than a month, but at last it fell.

But as time went on, it grew more and more hard to get men for the war. There had to be a draft, and the folks did not like that. In a draft, one has to draw a lot, and no one knew on whom the lot would fall. In New York there were some who felt a sort of spite at the black folks, as they held them to be the cause of the war, and there was a mob that set on them in the streets. It went on for three days, and some black men fell struck by stones from the mob. But at last it was brought to an end.

The next year Grant made some good moves, and, on the whole, the sky grew more clear. Lin-coln said, "Peace does not seem so far off as it did. I hope it will come soon and come to stay, and come so that it will be worth all we have done for it."

In 1864, Gen-er-al Grant was put at the head of all the troops. He had shown that he knew a great deal of war, and he had done good work. He soon made a plan of two great moves that should go on at the same time. One of these was to march on Rich-mond with one branch of the troops, while Gen-er-al Sher-man should take one branch through the States of the South, from mount to sea.

Gen-er-al Grant did not swerve from the course he had laid out. He said, "I will fight it out on this line," and he did, spite of all loss. He laid siege to Rich-mond, but for a time they held out. At sea the ships of the South at first won on all sides. They drove our ships out, and got off with no harm, till the time that the Al-a-ba-ma was sunk. One more grand fight with ships took place in Mo-bile Bay.

This bay was a great place for boats to run in with food and stores to the foe. Our ships could not make their way there, for there were two forts, a ram of great strength, and shells that would blow them up set in the way. Far-ra-gut put false bows on his ships, so that they might charge the ram, and at last it was sunk.

Sher-man had a hard work to do; for he must take his troops through the land of the foe, by their strong forts, through hill and dale and pass. He meant to cut off their chance to get food, and to break up the rail roads. He first took the town of At-lan-ta, and from that point set out on the "March to the Sea," which has won him so much fame. He had to feed his troops for the most part on what he could find in the land he went through. He took Sa-van-nah and wrote to Lin-coln, "I beg to give you the gift of the town of Sa-van-nah, with all its guns and stores."

Then he took up his march once more through swamp and bog, or up the high steep hills and rocks. The cold days had come, but on they went, through storms of sleet and snow, or in the face of floods of rain, with a foe on all sides. Such a march had not been known in all the wars of the past. Long will the fame of that March to the Sea live in our land. He had found, as he said, that all the men in the South had been drawn out to aid the troops, and that there were no more left, and the land was a "mere shell."

Charles-ton gave up at the end of a long siege; but it was set on fire in all parts by its own folk, so that it might not be worth much when it fell in our hands.

The last move was made by Grant on Rich-mond. He felt that one more blow would bring the war to a close. He sent out word to Sher-i-dan, "When day dawns push round the foe, and get to his rear." Two days more our troops were in the streets of Rich-mond. When Lee found he could not hold his place, he sent word by the wires to Jef-fer-son Da-vis at Rich-mond. Da-vis was the man the South had made their chief, and he was in church when the news came to him. He read these words: "My lines are cut at three points. Rich-mond must be left to night."

Da-vis left the church, and the news spread at once that the town was lost. There was fright on all sides, and the streets were soon full of men who knew not what to do. The means for flight were small, and a poor cart and horse would have brought a large sum of gold. The ships were set on fire or blown up, and some of the stores of the town were in a blaze. Oh, what a night! All sought to fly, but few had means to go.

The next day some black troops were the first to march in the town. This was the real end of the war. Gen-er-al Lee did all he could to save his men; but they were so faint with want of food that they could not march, and so weak they could not hold their guns. So he gave up all at last to Gen-er-al Grant, and the whole South had to yield.

This war had cost the land more than you could count in gold and lives. But it had made the slave free; and we know that we shall have the curse of the slave trade in our land no more. And it had shown that the creed of States Rights was not the best one, for if we were cut up in parts we would be weak, while if we stay as one, we will be strong. Our true strength, then, is to hold fast the bond that binds all the States, North and South, East and West, in one.

There was great joy, and all gave thanks at the North when the news that the war had come to an end was borne on the wires. Lin-coln had held his course in a firm, brave way. He had said in a speech in New York, when he was on his way to take his place, "When the time comes for me to speak, I shall then take the ground that I think is right -- right for the North, for the South, for the East, for the West, for all our land."

And so he had done. The war was a grief to him. He said, "We did not think this war would last so long. Both sides read the same Word of God, and both pray to Him to aid in a war on those who are bound to them by near ties. We hope, we pray, that this scourge of war may soon pass. But if God wills it should stay till each drop of blood drawn by the lash shall be paid with one drawn with the sword, it must be said, 'Shall not the Judge of all the world do right?'"

Five days from the time that the news of joy came in a flash on the wires, Lin-coln was dead. He had been shot while he sat in his box, at the play, by a man of the name of Wilkes Booth. This man had by some means got in the box and made the door fast. When he had shot Lin-coln, he sprang from the box to the stage, but caught his foot in one of our flags, and broke his leg. He had a horse at the door, and got off; but was at last found in a barn, where he stood at bay. They set the barn on fire to drive him out; but he still stood his ground, and fought till the last, when he fell, shot by one of our men.

Those who stood by the bed side of Lin-coln saw that there was no hope. All the land was full of gloom, when the sad news came. As his corpse was borne in a train to his old home, the towns were hung with black on the whole route, and most men wore the badge of grief. Those who had not been warm friends of Lin-coln in his life, felt a shock at his death, for they knew a brave, true man had gone.



Chapter XIII.

Peace Once More.


At the time of Lin-coln's death, there had been a sort of plot to kill more of the head men of the land. Sew-ard had been shot in his own house, and there was a great fear in Wash-ing-ton; for no one knew how far this plot might reach.

When An-drew John-son took the place at the head of the land, there was some fear that those who had spent so long a time in the war would not know how to live in time of peace. But they soon made their way to their old homes, and were glad to lay down their arms and take up the old trades once more. There was a vast debt, and all sorts of loans to be got. Then there were those who thought that the States, which were the cause of the war, should not have the right to come back on their own terms; and some thought they could come back when they would, and in their own way.

But John-son brought out a Bill which gave back all their rights to most of those who had made the war. The States could come back if they would say that they would have no more slaves, and that they would be true to the U-nit-ed States in all time to come. John-son did not act in a way to suit those who had cast their votes for him, and Con-gress made a move that he should give up his place. When they came to try him, they found there was one vote short. That one vote kept him in his place; but he did not get a new term.

The next man who was the choice of the land was U-lys-ses S. Grant, whose work in the war had won him such fame. In his time all the States of the South came back in to the U-nion. Great tracts of land were made ours; the debt was made less; and there was a law made which said that men of all races and hues should have a right to vote. In his last term a grand show took place in Phil-a-del-phia. All the lands in the world sent things to be shown there, and all the trades of the world had place in those great halls.

When Hayes came in there was talk that there had not been a fair vote for him; but in time he won his way. He was fair to both North and South, and his rule was mild but firm. He drew all troops out of the South, that those States might put their own laws in force, with no help from Wash-ing-ton; so that if their own folks had wrongs, their own courts must set the thing right.

Time has shown that this course was wise. The States at the South have grown in peace and good will to us since that time, and the white men there now seem quite glad to have the black men vote. Rail ways have been built so fast that it is thought in a few years there will be four or five of these great lines through the whole length and breadth of the land. Our debt has been paid off at such a quick rate that if we go on it will be gone ere long, and the tax on all things can be made less. We have shown, too, that we have not stood still.

In old times each watch in use here came from the old lands, but now a watch is made here that might win the prize from those on that side of the sea. So, too, in glass, tools, knives, soap, combs, and all sorts of things, we have made a name. The beef and grain we send out bring in vast wealth.

James A. Gar-field was our choice in 1881. A great shock was felt in the land, just two months from the time he came to the White House, when we heard he had been shot while on his way to take a train for the North. A man by the name of Gui-teau, who had some sort of strange craze, was the one who did the black deed.

They bore Gar-field at once to his home in the White House, and for a long time he lay there in great pain. Day by day the news would flash on the wires that told his state, how his pulse beat, how he had slept, and what hope there was for his life. All would seize the news and read it each day, with the wish that he might yet live. They took him to Long Branch in the hope that the sea breeze might help him; but though his life held out for near the space of three months, it came to an end, and his last breath was drawn in that sweet home by the sea, Sep-tem-ber 19, 1881. Great grief was felt at his death, and all lands strove to say a kind word. The Court of Eng-land put on black for him, and the Queen sent a wreath for his grave. Gui-teau was hung for his crime.

Ches-ter A. Ar-thur is now our Pres-i-dent. We are at peace with all the world. The same flag, with the old stars and stripes, floats now in the South as in the North. Long may it wave, "On the land of the free and the home of the brave."

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The Story Of A Calico Clown

By

Laura Lee Hope



Chapter I

The Giant's Swing


"To-night we shall have a most wonderful time," said the Elephant from the Noah's Ark to a Double Humped Camel who lived in the stall next to him.

"What kind of a time?" asked the Camel. He stood on the toy counter of a big department store, looking across the top of a drum toward a Jack in the Box who was swaying to and fro on his long spring. "What do you call a wonderful time, Mr. Elephant?"

"Oh, having fun," replied the big toy animal, slowly swinging his trunk to and fro. "And to-night the Calico Clown is going to give a special exhibition."

"Oh, is he?" suddenly asked a funny little Wooden Donkey with a head that wagged up and down. "Is he going to climb a string again and burn his red and yellow trousers as he once did?"

"Indeed I am not!" exclaimed the Calico Clown himself. The Clown was leaning against his friend Mr. Jumping Jack, who was a cousin of Jack in the Box. "I'm not going to give any special exhibition like that," went on the Clown. "I'm just going to do a few funny tricks, such as standing on my head and banging my cymbals together. And, I am not sure, but I may ask a riddle."

"Will it be that one about what makes more noise than a pig under a gate?" inquired a Celluloid Doll. "Well, yes, it will be that riddle," replied the Clown, trying to look very stern.

"That's the only riddle he knows," whispered the Elephant.

"What I should like to know," said the Camel, "is why a pig should want to get under a gate, anyhow. Why didn't he stay in his pen?"

"Oh, there's no use trying to make you understand," sighed the Clown. "I'll just have to dance around, do a few jigs, bang my cymbals together, and do things like that to amuse you."

"Well, we'll have a good time to-night, anyhow," said the Celluloid Doll. "We really haven't had much fun since the Candy Rabbit and the Monkey on a Stick went away. I wish -- "

"Hush!" suddenly called the Calico Clown. "Here come the clerks. The store will soon be filled with customers."

The toys became very still and quiet. This talk among them had taken place in the early morning hours, after a night of jolly good times. But when daylight came, and when clerks and customers filled the store, the toys were no longer allowed to do as they pleased. They could not move about or talk as they could on other occasions.

The Calico Clown was a jolly chap, and he seemed to stand out among all the other toys on the counter. He wore calico trousers of which one leg was red and the other yellow. He had a calico shirt that was spotted, speckled and striped in gay colors, and on each of his hands was a round piece of brass. These pieces of brass were called "cymbals," and the Calico Clown could bang them together as the drummer bangs his cymbals in the band.

I say the Calico Clown could bang his cymbals together, and by that I mean he could do it when no boys or girls or grown folk were looking at him. This was the rule for all the toys. They could move about and talk only when no human eyes were looking. As soon as you glanced at them they became as still and as quiet as potatoes.

But any one who picked up the Calico Clown could make him bang his cymbals together by pressing on his chest. There was a little spring, and also a sort of squeaker, such as you have heard in toy bears or sheep.

Besides being able to clap his cymbals together, the Calico Clown could also move his arms and legs when you pulled certain strings, like those on some Jumping Jacks. The Calico Clown was a lively fellow, as well as being very gaily dressed.

But now all the toys were still and quiet. They sat or stood or were lying down on the counter, waiting for what would happen next. And what generally did happen was that some customers came to the store and bought them.

Already a number of the toys had been sold and taken away. There was the Sawdust Doll. She was the first to go. Then the White Rocking Horse had been bought for a boy named Dick, a brother of Dorothy, who now owned the Sawdust Doll. The Lamb on Wheels had been purchased by a jolly sailor, and when the Lamb saw him she feared she would be taken on an ocean trip and made seasick. But the sailor gave the Lamb to a little girl named Mirabell. And, in the course of time, her brother Arnold was given a Bold Tin Soldier and some soldier men.

The Candy Rabbit -- about whom I have told you in a book, as I have told you of these other toys -- the Candy Rabbit was given as an Easter present to a little girl named Madeline, and her brother Herbert had, later, been given the Monkey on a Stick.

The Calico Clown was looking over at the Celluloid Doll, thinking how pretty she was, and he was also thinking of the Sawdust Doll, whom he had liked very much, when, all of a sudden, it seemed as if a whirlwind had blown into the toy department.

A boy with a very loud voice and feet that tramped and stamped on the floor rushed up to the counter.

"I want a toy! I want something to play with!" cried this boy. "I want a Jumping Jack and I want a Noah's Ark! You said you'd get me something if I let the dentist pull that tooth, and now you've got to! I want a lot of toys!" he cried to the lady who was with him.

"Yes, Archibald. But please be quiet!" begged his mother. "I will get you a toy. Which one do you want?"

"I want this Elephant!" cried the boy who, I am afraid, was rather rude. He caught the Elephant up by his trunk, and twisted the poor animal around.

"Goodness me, sakes alive! I'm getting dizzy," thought the Elephant. "I hope this boy is not to be my master!"

And this, it would seem, was not going to happen. Suddenly the boy dropped the Elephant.

"I don't want this toy! He can't do anything!" the boy shouted. "I want something that jiggles and joggles and does things! Oh, I want this one!" and, as true as I'm telling you, that boy caught up the Calico Clown.

"Well, I guess this is the last of me!" thought the Calico Clown. "I will not last very long in the hands of this rude chap."

The boy had grabbed up the Calico Clown and had thrown the Elephant down so hard that the Celluloid Doll was knocked over.

"Be careful, little boy, if you please," gently said the girl clerk.

"Oh, I've got to have this Clown!" went on the rude boy. "I don't care for other toys. Does this fellow do anything?" he asked of the clerk, while his mother looked on, hardly knowing what to say. Archibald had just been to the dentist's to have a tooth pulled, so perhaps we should forgive him for being a little rough.

"The Clown plays his cymbals when you touch him here," and the clerk pointed to the spring hidden in the chest of the gay fellow, under his speckled, striped and spotted calico jacket.

"Oh, I'll touch him all right! I'll punch him!" cried the boy, and he jabbed the Calico Clown so hard in the chest that the cymbals rattled together like marbles in a boy's pocket.

"He's dandy! I want him!" cried the boy. "What else does he do?" he asked.

"He moves his arms and legs when you pull these strings," was the answer, and the clerk showed the boy how to do it.

"Oh, he's a jolly toy!" cried Archibald. "I'll have some fun with him when I show him to the other fellows. Hi! Look at him jig!" and he pulled the strings so fast that it seemed as if the poor Clown would turn somersaults.

"I can see what will happen to me," thought the Clown. "I shall come to pieces in about a week, and be thrown in the ash can. Why can't he be nice and quiet?"

But Archibald was not that kind of boy. He seemed to want to make a noise or do something all the while. Most of his toys at home were broken, and that is why his mother had to promise to get him another before he would let her take him to the dentist's to have an aching tooth pulled.

"I want this Clown!" cried Archibald, making the cymbals bang together again and again.

"Very well, you may have it," his mother replied.

"I'll wrap it up for you," said the clerk, and the poor Clown was quickly smothered in a wrapping of paper around which a string was tied.

"Here is your toy, Archibald," said his mother, when the plaything came back ready to be taken out of the store. The mother had taken it from the clerk, and now she handed it to her little boy.

And so he carried the Calico Clown away, without giving the poor, jolly fellow a chance to say good-bye to the Elephant, the Camel or the Celluloid Doll.

"Now our good time for to-night is spoiled," sadly thought the Elephant. "Our jolly comrade is gone!"

All the way home in the automobile Archibald kept punching the red and yellow Clown in the chest and banging the cymbals together until the boy's mother said:

"Oh, Archibald, please be quiet! My head aches!"

"All right, I'll make my Clown jiggle!" said the boy, who really loved his mother, though sometimes he was rude.

Then he pulled the strings until the poor Clown thought his arms and legs would come off, so fast were they jerked about.

When Archibald reached home with his new toy he ran out into the street to find some of his playmates. He saw a boy named Pete and another named Sam.

"Look what I've got!" cried Archibald.

"A Jumping Jack!" exclaimed Sam.

"It's a Calico Clown, and he can do everything," said Archibald. "He's like one in a circus, and he can do funny tricks. He can jiggle his arms and legs and play the cymbals. I'll show you!"

He worked the Clown so fast that the red and yellow chap grew dizzy again.

"That's fine!" said Sam. "I wish I had a Clown like that."

"Can he do the giant's swing?" asked Pete.

"What's the giant's swing?" Archibald wanted to know.

"It's something the men do in a circus," was the answer. "Here, I have some string in my pocket. We'll make a trapeze in your back yard and we'll have the Calico Clown do the giant's swing."

"Oh, that'll be fun!" cried Archibald.

"Yes, it may be fun for you," thought the Calico Clown, "but what about me? What is the giant's swing, anyhow? Oh, I wish I were back on the toy counter!"




Chapter II

A Broken Leg


Sam and Pete hurried with Archibald to his back yard. Archibald carried the red and yellow Calico Clown in his hands. Now and then the boy would punch the gay fellow in the chest, making the cymbals clang together with a bang. Again Archibald would pull the strings, causing the Calico Clown to jiggle his arms and legs.

"You're a nice toy, all right," said Archibald. "I like my Clown!"

"But wait until I make him do the giant's swing!" exclaimed Pete. "That will be worth seeing!"

When the boys reached a tree in Archibald's yard, Pete found a piece of broken broom handle for the bar of the trapeze. From his pocket he took some strong pieces of string. With these the broomstick was tied to the limb of a tree, so that it hung down and swung to and fro like a swing.

"Now well put the Clown on," Pete called to Archibald, when the trapeze was finished.

"How are you going to make him stay on?" asked Sam.

"Oh, I can tie him on with another piece of string," Pete answered.

"That's easy!" yelled Archibald.

It did not take Pete long to tie the Calico Clown on the swinging trapeze. It was quite high from the ground, and as the little toy man looked down and saw how far below him the green grass was, his knees seemed to shake and his cymbals to tremble.

"Oh, if I should fall now I would be broken to pieces!" said the Calico Clown to himself, for of course he dared not speak aloud now, and he dared not move by himself. "This is much higher than when I climbed the string in the toy store and caught fire at the gas jet. This is much higher than I ever was up before," sighed the Clown.

"Is he ready to do the giant's swing now?" asked Sam.

"In a minute," answered Pete.

Once the Clown was tied on, Pete began to swing the trapeze to and fro. Farther and farther swung the Calico Clown, and, as he moved to and fro, his cymbals clanged together. His arms and legs also jiggled and jumped, as they had done when Archibald pulled the strings.

Pete stood behind the trapeze and gave it little pushes with his hands every now and then. This made it swing farther and farther.

"Oh, it almost turned all the way over!" suddenly cried Archibald.

"That's what I want it to do," said Pete. "When the trapeze goes all the way over and around and around, that's the giant's swing I was telling you about. Watch!"

Archibald and Sam watched, and in another moment the trapeze swung up and over so hard that it turned around and around in a regular circle.

"Hurray! There she goes!" cried Pete.

"Oh, look!" exclaimed Sam.

"Say, that's great!" yelled Archibald. "I didn't know my Calico Clown could do that!"

As for the Calico Clown himself, he did not know it either, and he felt very bad that he was made to do the giant's swing.

"Oh, how dizzy it makes me feel!" he said to himself. "I know I'm going to fall!"

He could feel the strings that tied him to the broomstick bar beginning to loosen. The Calico Clown shut his eyes, thinking that if he did not see the green grass whirling around beneath him he would not feel so dizzy. Around and around he went in the giant's swing.

And then, all of a sudden, something broke. It was the string holding the Calico Clown to the broomstick. And when the string broke off flew the Clown!

He flew off just when the trapeze was at the highest point, and away through the air sailed the red and yellow toy, as if he had been shot from a cannon.

"Oh, look at that!" cried Archibald, "Now you've gone and done it, Pete!"

"He busted loose!" shouted Sam.

"If he falls and breaks, you've got to get me another," cried Archibald.

"I'm going to fall, all right," thought the poor Clown to himself, "and I shouldn't be a bit surprised if I broke into bits!"

One can not go sailing through the air forever, even if one is a Calico Clown. And, after being flung off the trapeze and shooting along high above the green grass, the Calico Clown felt himself falling down.

Once more he shut his eyes, as he could do this without the boys seeing him. His arms and legs jiggled and joggled about, and his cymbals clanged with a tinkling sound.

"Oh, dear!" sighed the Calico Clown.

There came a soft, dull thud on the grass. That was the Calico Clown falling down. He felt a sudden, sharp pain go through him, and then he seemed to faint away.

For a time the Calico Clown knew nothing of what happened. Archibald, Sam and Pete ran over to where the toy had fallen. Archibald was the first to pick it up. The cymbals were still fast to the Clown's hands, and so were the jiggling strings attached to his arms and legs. But something was wrong.

"Oh, one of his legs is broken!" cried Archibald. "My Calico Clown is spoiled! Pete, you've broken one of his legs!"

And that was what had happened. In his fall from the trapeze the poor red and yellow toy had cracked one of his wooden legs. It was the one on which he wore the red half of his trousers.

"I -- I didn't mean to do that," said Pete.

"Well, you did it; and now you have to get me another toy!" exclaimed Archibald. "If you don't I'll tell my mother on you."

"Oh, Arch!" exclaimed Sam.

"Oh, all right. I'll get you another," said Pete quickly. "You can come over to my house now, and I'll give you anything I have in place of your Calico Clown. I didn't think his leg would break so easily."

The three boys, with Archibald carrying the poor, broken-legged Clown, hurried out of the yard. As they were going to Pete's house they met a boy named Sidney, who was a brother of Herbert and Madeline. Madeline owned the Candy Rabbit, and Herbert had a Monkey on a Stick -- both of them toys that had once lived in the same store with the Calico Clown.

"What have you?" asked Sidney of Archibald.

"A Calico Clown," was the answer. "He was new a little while ago, but Pete put him on a trapeze and made him do the giant's swing and now he's done for -- he's got a broken leg."

"What are you going to do with him?" asked Sidney.

"He's going to make me give him one of my toys in place of the Clown," answered Pete. "Of course it was my fault he broke -- I guess I didn't tie him on tight enough. And I'm willing to give Archie another toy for him, but -- "

Sidney suddenly thrust his hand into his pocket and pulled out a gaily painted top that hummed and made music when you spun it.

"I'll trade you that for your Calico Clown," said Sidney to Archibald.

"But the Clown has a broken leg," explained Pete.

"I don't care. Maybe I can mend it," Sidney answered. "Once I fixed a Jumping Jack that had lost his head."

"Well, if you did that, you can fix a Clown that has only a broken leg," said Sam. "Go on and trade with him, Archie."

"All right, I will," decided Archibald. He held out the broken Clown and in trade took the musical top.

"Now I don't have to give you any of my toys, do I, Archie?" asked Pete.

"Nope," Archibald answered. "I'd rather have this top than a broken Calico Clown."

While he was being traded for the top the Calico Clown came out of his faint. His broken leg did not hurt so much now. He felt more like himself.

"Oh, ho!" he thought. "I am to have a new master, it seems. Well, I hope it will not be one who makes me do the giant's swing. Once is enough for that!"

Archibald went off with Sam and Pete to try the musical top. Sidney carried the Calico Clown toward the house where Madeline and Herbert lived.

"I'll fix you as good as new," said Sidney, looking at the dangling, broken leg.

And, as Sidney walked along, all of a sudden he heard his sister calling.

"Oh, quick, somebody! Somebody come quick! He's fallen into the water!"




Chapter III

The Clown's Dance


Sidney stuffed the Calico Clown into his pocket and ran as fast as he could toward his sister. He saw her standing near a little fountain in the side yard of their home.

"What's the matter, Madeline?" asked Sidney, making sure the Calico Clown was not falling out of his pocket as he ran along.

"Oh, he's in the water!" said the little girl.

"Who is?" her brother wanted to know. "Who's in?"

"My Candy Rabbit. I set him on the edge of the fountain so he could watch the birds having a bath, and he fell right in."

Sidney looked toward the fountain. He saw nothing of the Candy Rabbit.

"You can't see him 'cause he's over the edge, down inside," went on Madeline. "I can't reach and get him, or I'd fish him out myself. And if he stays there very long he'll melt, as he almost did once when he fell into the bathtub. Oh, please get him out for me."

"I will!" promised Sidney.

"Oh, is it possible I am to see my dear old friend, the Candy Rabbit, again?" thought the Calico Clown, who, though stuffed into Sidney's pocket, had heard all that was said. The toys could hear and understand talk at all times, except when they were asleep. The broken leg of the gay red and yellow chap did not hurt him very much just now. "I shall certainly be glad to see the Candy Rabbit again," the Clown thought. "And Sidney had better hurry and get him out of the water, or he surely will melt, and that would be dreadful."

The fountain in the yard of the house where Herbert, Madeline and Sidney lived was rather a high one. The little girl could just reach up to the rim of the basin to set her Rabbit there, but, once he had toppled over and was down inside, she could neither see nor reach him.

"You'll have to stand on something or you can't get him," Madeline said to Sidney. "Shall I get you a box?"

"No, I'll stand on my tiptoes," he answered. And he did, thus making himself tall enough to reach over into the water and fish out the Candy Rabbit.

Out that sweet fellow came, dripping wet, but not much harmed.

"Oh, he didn't melt, did he?" asked Madeline. "I'm so glad!"

"He hasn't melted yet," answered Sidney, as he handed the Easter toy to his sister. "But you'd better put him in the sun to dry, or he may crumble away."

"I will," Madeline promised.

As Sidney turned to walk away, the Calico Clown fell out of his pocket.

"What's that? Where'd you get him?" cried Madeline. At the same time the Candy Rabbit saw the gay red and yellow chap from the toy store.

"Oh, there's my dear old Clown friend!" thought the Rabbit, all wet as he was. "How in the wide world did he get here?"

But of course he could not ask, any more than the Calico Clown could answer.

And when the Clown, lying on the grass where he had fallen from Sidney's pocket, saw the Candy Rabbit, the Clown said to himself:

"Yes, there he is! The same one I knew before. Oh, if we could only get together by ourselves and talk! How much we could say!"

Sidney picked the Calico Clown up off the grass.

"Where did you get him?" asked Madeline again. "He's awfully cute. I saw one like that in the store where Aunt Emma got my Candy Rabbit."

"Maybe this is the same one," Sidney answered. "I traded off my musical top to Archibald for the Clown. His leg is broken."

"Whose -- Archibald's?" asked Madeline, in surprise.

"No, the Clown's," answered Sidney, with a laugh. "I'm going to fix it. Course a Calico Clown is worth more than a musical top, for the Clown is new and my top was old. But a Clown with a broken leg isn't worth so much."

"Is it worth anything?" asked Madeline. "I mean can you fix him?"

"Oh, yes," her brother answered. "He can still bang his cymbals, and he can jiggle both his arms and the leg that isn't broken."

Sidney punched the Clown in the chest, and the red and yellow fellow clapped his hands together and made the cymbals tinkle. Then Sidney pulled the strings and the two arms of the Clown went up and down, and one leg kicked out as nicely as you please. But the other leg did not move.

"That's the leg that's broken," Sidney explained. "He got broken when Pete made him do the giant's swing."

"He looks as though he was trying to dance on one leg!" laughed Madeline. "He's awfully cute, but he's funny!"

"I'll soon fix him, and he'll be as good as ever," declared her brother. "You'd better go and put your Rabbit in the sun to dry."

So Madeline did this, and very glad the sweet chap was to feel the warm sun on his back, for he had been made quite drippy and sticky by having fallen into the fountain.

Sidney, as I have told you, was a boy who could mend things. Once he had fixed Herbert's toy boat that was broken, and, another time, he had glued a head back on Madeline's Celluloid Doll.

"And I think I can glue my Clown's broken leg," thought Sidney, as he went toward the kitchen. There, he remembered, the cook always kept a tube of sticky glue.

"What are you going to mend now?" asked the cook.

"A broken leg," Sidney answered.

"Oh, you can't mend a broken leg with glue!" cried the cook. "You had much better call in the doctor. Whose leg is it?"

"I'm going to be the toy doctor," the little boy went on. "It's the wooden leg of a Calico Clown I'm going to mend."

"Oh, that's different," said the cook. "Well, here's the glue."

She handed Sidney the tube. He took it and his Clown over to a table. Pushing up the red trouser Sidney saw where the Clown's leg was broken. The wood was cracked and splintered, but the two pieces were there.

"I'll just glue them together," said the boy. And this he did. Then, as he knew that glue must set, or get hard, he put his Calico Clown away on a shelf in a closet, where the toy chap saw something that made him wonder.

At first, in the darkness, the Clown could not make out what or who it was on the shelf in the closet with him. Then, as his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, he noticed that it was a Cat.

"Oh, are you a toy, too?" asked the Calico Clown politely, for he wanted company and some one to talk to.

"No, I am not exactly a toy," answered the Cat.

"You look like one," the Clown said. "There was one just like you in our store, only that cat's head wobbled."

"Well, my head doesn't wobble -- it comes off," said the Cat.

"Your head comes off!" cried the Clown in great surprise. "I should think that would hurt!"

"No, it's made to do that," the Cat explained. "You see I'm a match safe, and I also have a place inside me where burned matches may be put. To put them in me you have to lift off my head. It doesn't hurt at all -- I'm used to it."

"Oh, that's different," said the Calico Clown. "Well, I am very glad to meet you. Do you know the Candy Rabbit?"

The Cat said she did, and very well, too.

"He sleeps here on the closet shelf with me every night," she added. "You'll see him, pretty soon!"

"I shall be very glad to," remarked the Clown. "Excuse me for not sitting up as I talk," he said, for Sidney had laid him down flat on his back. "The truth of the matter," went on the Clown, "is that my leg was broken a while ago, and the boy just glued it together."

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" mewed the Match-Safe Cat.

"I'm not -- I'm glad," said the Clown. "If it wasn't glued I'd be a slimpsy lopsy sort of chap."

"Oh, I didn't mean I was sorry your leg was GLUED, I meant that I was sorry it was BROKEN," went on the Cat. "Now let's tell each other our adventures."

So they did, talking until late in the evening when, suddenly, the closet door was opened by Madeline. Of course, then the Cat and the Calico Clown had to be very still and quiet.

"There, I guess you'll be best in the closet for the rest of the night," said Madeline to her Candy Rabbit Easter toy. "You'll be all dry in the morning, I hope," and she thrust the Rabbit back on the shelf and shut the door.

"Oh, my dear Calico Clown friend!" cried the Candy Rabbit, as soon as it was safe for the toys to speak, "how glad I am to see you again."

"And I am glad to see you," said the Clown. "I rather like it here with the Cat."

"But why are you lying flat on your back?" asked the Candy Rabbit. "You used to be such a lively, jolly fellow. Come, get up and give us one of your old-time jigs or dances."

"I'm very sorry, but I can't," answered the Clown. Then he told about his glued, broken leg, and how he would have to lie very stiff and straight and keep quiet.

"But maybe, toward morning, I'll be well again, and then I can dance for you," he promised.

"I hope so," mewed the Cat. "I have never seen a Calico Clown do a dance."

"You should see him -- he is quite wonderful," whispered the Candy Rabbit behind his paw.

"Well, if I can't dance for you, I can ask a riddle," said the Clown, after a bit. "What makes more noise than a pig under -- "

"Oh, PLEASE don't start that over again," begged the Candy Rabbit. "You used to ask it in the store, and none of us could think of the answer. Don't tell riddles! Let's just talk!"

So the toys talked together and told one another their different adventures. The night passed. Madeline, Herbert and Sidney slept, and Sidney dreamed of the fun he would have with his Calico Clown when the broken leg was firmly glued together again.

And as the night passed the glue dried and set, and the Clown, feeling his leg growing better, grew happier.

"I say!" he called out just before morning to the Rabbit and the Cat. "Are you asleep?"

"I was, but I am awake now," the sugar Bunny answered.

"And I am awake too," added the Cat.

"Then I will dance for you," went on the Clown. "My leg is better."

He stood up and he cut such funny antics by clapping his cymbals together, standing first on one leg and then on the other, jiggling his hands and feet, that the Cat went into mews of laughter and the Rabbit chuckled until his pink nose seemed to wrinkle all up like an accordion.




Chapter IV

Up In A Tree


Faster and faster danced the Calico Clown. No one needed to pull his strings now, for he could dance by himself, no eyes of children or grown folk being in the closet to watch him.

Up and down, first to this side and then to the other, now on his left foot and now on his right, tapping his cymbals softly together, and wagging his head, the Calico Clown amused the Match-Safe Cat and the sugar Bunny in the closet.

"Oh, don't dance any more! Please stop!" begged the Candy Rabbit, holding one paw to his side.

"Don't you like it?" asked the Calico Clown, rather surprised.

"Oh, yes!" was the answer. "But your dance is so funny that it makes me laugh so hard that my ears ache! Do please stop!"

"Yes, please do," begged the Cat. "If you don't, I'm afraid I'll laugh so hard my head may come off and roll to the floor."

"Oh, I wouldn't want THAT to happen!" exclaimed the Clown, as he brought his queer, jerky dance to an end. "If you'd rather, I could tell a riddle."

"Not the one about what makes more noise than a pig under a gate!" exclaimed the Candy Rabbit. "Don't ask that one!"

"Well, it's the only one I know," said the Clown. "I'll try to think of another. But, anyhow, I'll stop my dancing. However, I'm glad for one reason that I did it. It shows that my broken leg is almost as good as the other. A bit stiff, perhaps, but almost as good."

"Yes, you danced as well as I ever saw you jig back in the toy store," said the Rabbit. "You have made the night pass very pleasantly for us."

"You have indeed," added the Cat. "We appreciate your dancing and your fun very much."

"Thank you, both," replied the Calico Clown. "It is a pleasure to do things for fellows such as you."

Then they rested quietly.

A little later Sidney opened the door of the closet to see if his Calico Clown was all right. There lay the yellow and red chap on his back, with one leg stuck straight up in the air, as if he had just kicked a football and then had fallen down.

"Why! Why!" exclaimed Sidney in surprise. "I didn't leave my Clown like THAT!"

"What has happened to him?" asked Madeline, who came to see if her Candy Rabbit was dry.

"He has one leg stuck up in the air," went on her brother. "I left him lying flat on his back, so the broken leg I mended would get good and hard and stiff again. Now look at him!"

"It IS funny," agreed Madeline. "Didn't you move him?"

"I didn't touch him, and I don't believe anybody has come to this closet since I put him here, except you. Wouldn't it be funny, Madeline, if the Clown got up by himself to see if he could walk on his glued leg?"

"Yes, it would be very funny," agreed the little girl. "But maybe my Rabbit helped him, or this Match-Safe Cat. Maybe they moved the Clown!"

"How could they?" Sidney wanted to know.

"They couldn't, unless they came to life," went on Madeline in a whisper. "And sometimes," she went on, looking around to make sure no one else heard her, "sometimes I think that our toys CAN do things by themselves when we can't see them."

"Oh, ho! Course they can't do anything!" laughed Sidney.

But if he could have seen the Calico Clown dancing on the closet shelf, and if he could have heard the Cat and the Candy Rabbit laughing until one's head nearly came off and the other had pains in his ears, then Sidney would have thought differently, wouldn't he?

"Well, anyhow, I'm going to take my Calico Clown out and see how he jumps around this morning," said Sidney, after a while.

Sidney found that the Calico Clown was almost as good an acrobat, or jumper, as ever. When punched in the chest, the Clown would bang his cymbals together. And when the strings were pulled, out shot the arms and legs like those of a Jumping Jack, only in different fashion.

The red and yellow trousers of the Clown had not been soiled by his giant's swing accident, and Sidney had been careful not to get any spots of glue on his toy when he mended him.

"The only thing wrong is that the broken leg is a little stiffer than the other," Sidney said, as he made his Clown do all sorts of funny tricks. "I suppose that leg is a little shorter, or maybe the glue made it stiff. But he is just what I want, and I'd rather have him than the musical top I traded for him. Maybe Herbert and I can get up a little circus, as Herbert once had a show with his Monkey on a Stick. A clown belongs in a circus, and so do monkeys. Maybe we'll have one."

The Calico Clown, who heard Sidney say this, thought it would be very jolly to be in a circus.

Sidney certainly liked the Calico Clown. He made him do many funny tricks for the boys and girls -- Dick, Dorothy, Mirabell, Arnold, and for Madeline and Herbert, who were Sidney's brother and sister.

"With my Monkey on a Stick and your Calico Clown we surely can have a fine circus some day," said Herbert, as he and Sidney were playing out on the porch one warm, summer day.

The Monkey and Clown had been glad to see each other when they met again after having been separated at the store. Each one had different adventures to tell.

All of a sudden, as Herbert and Sidney, with their Monkey and Clown toys, were making each other laugh by the funny antics of the two playthings, a voice called:

"Boys, do you want some bread and jam?"

"Oh, I should say we did!" cried Herbert.

"We're coming," answered Sidney, for it was the jolly, good-natured cook who had called to them from her kitchen where she had just made some fresh raspberry jam.

Leaving the Monkey and the Clown on the porch, the boys ran around to the side door for their jam and bread.

"Now we have a chance to talk," said the Monkey to the Clown.

"Yes, but it will not be for very long," was the answer. "Those boys will soon be back here. They'll not eat forever. I was just wondering -- "

"What?" asked the Monkey, for the Calico Clown suddenly stopped speaking and looked down the street. "What were you wondering?"

"Well, just NOW I am wondering if that is your brother," went on the Clown, pointing toward the gate with one hand on which was fastened a clanging cymbal. "Look, here comes a chap who looks just like you, except that he has no stick, and his cap is blue, while yours is red. And hark! I hear music!"

"Oh, it's a hand organ, and that's a real, live monkey you see!" exclaimed the Monkey on a Stick. "It is true he looks like me, but we are no relation. He is a live monkey and I am a toy."

"Here he comes now!" cried the Calico Clown, and, as he spoke, the hand-organ man, making music, came along, and the live monkey ran into the yard and up on the steps. And then a dreadful thing happened!

For the live monkey quickly caught up the Calico Clown, and, holding the red and yellow chap in his hands, the long-tailed creature climbed up into a tree. Yes, indeed, as true as I'm telling you, the live monkey carried the Calico Clown up into a tree!




Chapter V

Taken Down Town


The Calico Clown was so surprised at the quick action of the monkey in catching him by one leg and carrying him up into the tree, that, for a moment or two, the toy said nothing. But as the hand-organ monkey climbed higher and higher the Clown finally cried:

"Here! Hold on if you please! What are you going to do?"

"Oh, just have some fun!" answered the monkey in a laughing voice. You see, he could understand and speak toy talk, just as the Calico Clown knew how to talk and understand animal language.

"Well, it may be fun for you," went on the Clown, "but I don't like it! This is no fun for me! Ouch! Look out for my leg!" the Clown suddenly cried, as the monkey banged him against a branch of the tree.

"What about your leg?" asked the monkey, sitting down on a branch and winding his tail around it so he wouldn't fall off. "I don't see anything the matter."

"I mean look out and don't hurt my broken leg," went on the Clown. "Sidney, the little boy who owns me, glued it, but if you bang it too hard it may break all over again and then I'll be in a mighty bad fix."

"Oh, excuse me. I'll be careful," said the monkey.

"Well, I wish you'd take me down out of this tree," begged the Calico Clown. "I don't see why you brought me up here, anyhow."

"Oh, I just grabbed hold of you and brought you up here for fun," said the monkey. "I felt like playing. And I had to do it quickly, or my master would have stopped me. Every time I grab up anything he doesn't want me to take, I have to climb a tree. He can't chase me up there, though he'd like to lots of times, I guess."

"I thought hand-organ monkeys had collars around their necks, and a long rope fast to that which their masters held," said the Clown.

"Well, I had that, too, but I took the rope off a little while ago, so I could run loose," explained the live monkey. "I want to have some fun. Can you do anything to amuse me?" and he looked at the cymbals on the Calico Clown's hands and at the strings which were fast to his legs and arms.

"I can ask you a riddle about what makes more noise than a pig under a gate," said the Clown. "Shall I?"

"Please don't do that," begged the monkey. "I never was any good at guessing riddles. Can't you do anything else?"

"Yes, a few things," the Clown said. Then he banged his cymbals together and began to jiggle his arms and legs in such a funny way that the monkey who was holding him laughed and laughed and laughed.

"Oh, you are too funny for anything!" cried the monkey. "I'm glad I picked you up. Oh, excuse me while I laugh a little harder!"

The monkey set the Clown down astraddle the limb of a tree near the trunk, and quite a distance up from the ground. Then the monkey laughed so hard that, if he had not been holding on by his tail, he surely would have fallen. For the Clown kept on doing his funny antics and tricks, and the monkey kept on laughing until he had to hold his sides with feet and hands, they ached so.

"Oh, I'm so glad I met you!" said the monkey, when he had a chance between his fits of laughter. "I hope my master comes through this street every day with his hand organ. I'll be looking for you."

"And I'll be looking for you -- to keep out of your way, if I can," thought the Clown, though he did not say it out loud.

The monkey finally grew a little quiet, and he was just going to ask the Clown to do some more jiggling when, all at once, the music of the hand organ stopped, and the Italian man cried:

"Ah, Jacko! I see you! Up-a in de tree. Bad monk! Come down right away to your Tony! Come, Jacko!"

"Oh, goodness me! I've got to go. My fun is over! Now I've got to go to work gathering pennies in my cap!" said the monkey. "Good-bye!" he called to the Calico Clown, and down out of the tree the monkey began to climb, swinging from limb to limb by his tail, as he used to do in the cocoanut groves of the forest where he had once lived.

"Here! Come back and get me! Don't leave me up in a tree like this!" begged the Calico Clown, who had sat down astride the limb after he had done his last funny trick. "Come and get me!"

"Sorry, but I haven't time! My master is calling me! I must go!" answered the monkey, hurrying more than ever. Down the tree he swung.

"Oh take me down! Don't leave me like this!" begged the Clown. But it was of no use. There he was, left all alone, high up in a tree, sitting on a branch.

Of course neither Tony, the music man, nor Sidney nor Herbert had heard this talk between the toy and the animal, for they spoke in a language that only a few can understand. The organ grinder was anxious for his monkey to come back, and he watched him scrambling down the tree. The two boys, who had gone to get bread and jam, came back to the front yard. They saw the organ grinder and his monkey, and, for the moment, they forgot all about their Clown and the Monkey on a Stick. They did not look toward the porch, or they would have noticed that the Clown was gone, though the toy Monkey was still there. The live monkey was dancing toward the boys, holding out his cap for pennies.

And the Calico Clown was up in the tree, not knowing how in the world he was ever going to get down.

"Oh, look at the monkey!" cried Herbert, as he saw the music man's long-tailed animal.

"He's nice," said Sidney. "He's like your Monkey on a Stick, only bigger, Herb. I'm going in and ask mother for a penny."

"So'm I!" said Herbert.

Still thinking that their own toys were safe on the porch, the little boys ran back into the house, where each one got a penny for the hand-organ monkey. And the monkey took off his blue cap to gather the pennies for his master.

"Good boys!" said the Italian with a smile, and he played another tune for them. And then it was time for him to travel on.

"Come along, Jacko!" he called to his monkey, and then he fastened the rope back on his monkey's collar and made him jump up on the organ. Then the two of them went down the street.

"Oh, there he goes!" thought the poor Calico Clown, still up in the tree. "Oh, he's going to leave me here! Oh, what shall I do?"

Well might he ask that. What could he do? How was he going to get down?

Herbert and Sidney, standing at the gate, saw the music man turn around the corner of the street.

"Now we'll go back and play with my Monkey and your Clown," said Herbert. "We'll practice for the circus we're going to have."

"That'll be fun!" laughed Sidney.

But when the two boys went back to the porch -- well, you know, as well as I, what happened. They saw the Monkey on a Stick, but no Clown!

"Why -- why, where is he?" asked Sidney, looking around. "Did you take him, Herb? Did you take my Calico Clown?"

"No, of course not," answered Herbert. "They were both here when we went to get our bread and jam. Oh, Sid! I know what happened!" he suddenly exclaimed.

"What?" asked his brother.

"The hand-organ monkey took your Clown away with him!" went on Herbert.

At first Sidney thought that this might be so, but, after thinking over the matter for a moment, he shook his head and answered:

"No, the live monkey didn't take my Clown. Don't you remember? He came up here with his cap in his hand to get our pennies. Then, when he went away, he was sitting on top of the organ and he had his cap off and so did the music man, and they didn't either of them have my Clown."

"Yes, I guess that's right," Herbert said. "But he's gone."

"We've got to find my Clown," said Sidney. "I want him back, and we can't have a circus without him. We've GOT to find him."

"Yes, we have," agreed Herbert. "Maybe Carlo, the dog, came and carried him away."

"Maybe," said Sidney. They blamed lots of things on poor Carlo, and sometimes he did do tricks. But this was not one of those times. So the two boys began searching for the Calico Clown.

As for that jolly chap himself he was still up in the tree. And he was not so very jolly just then, either. He did not once think of asking his pig riddle.

"I wonder if I can wiggle down?" he asked himself. "There is no one to see me now, and I can move about. I'm going to try to get down."

He wiggled and he woggled, whatever that is, and managed to get one leg over the limb, so both were on the same side. The Clown was just going to try to swing to the next lowest branch, as he had seen the live monkey do, when, all of a sudden, he slipped and fell.

"Oh, dear! Another accident! This is going to be a bad one -- worse than the giant's swing!" he cried.

Down, down, down, he fell. What was going to happen?

Now, just about this time, it chanced that a man was passing under the tree. This man had on a large, loose coat with large pockets on the sides, and he was so used to carrying things in his pockets that each nearly always stood wide open, like a hungry mouth, waiting for some one to fill it.

And, as luck would have it, the man came under the tree just as the Calico Clown slipped and fell. And so, instead of falling to the ground, the Clown fell into one of the wide open side pockets of the man's coat. And the man never knew about it -- at least for a time.

"Oh, my goodness me, what a narrow escape!" exclaimed the Clown as he landed safely in the soft pocket. "This is better than falling on the hard ground. But I wonder what will happen to me now."

And well might he ask that, for the man, not knowing the Clown was in his pocket, hurried on down town to his office.




Chapter VI

In The Office


The Man, into whose pocket the Calico Clown had fallen from the tree, hurried along the street, not knowing a thing of what had happened. He was anxious to get to his office to look after his business, for he was a very busy Man. He kept other folks busy, too -- clerks and office boy and a girl to write letters on the typewriter.

Now, as it happened, the Man was a little late that morning, and when he reached his office he was in such haste that he did not take time to do anything before he sat down in his big chair to look over his mail.

"Please write some letters for me on the typewriter," he said to Miss Jones, who worked the machine.

Miss Jones sat down and became very busy. The Man told her what to write and she banged away on the machine. Every once in a while she would look at the Man when he paused to think of something else to say. And once, as she did this, a queer look came over the face of Miss Jones. Then she smiled and next she burst right out into a loud laugh.

And the funny part of it was that just then the Man was telling her to put in a letter something like this:

"I am very, very sorry to tell you that I can not do as you want me to."

And, just as he said the word "sorry," Miss Jones laughed her very hardest.

"Eh! What's the matter? What is so very funny about my saying I am sorry?" asked the Man. The girl typewriter and the office boy called him "the Boss" behind his back, and they liked him very much, for he was kind and good to them.

"Oh, dear! I MUST laugh!" said Miss Jones.

Miss Jones pointed to something sticking out of his side coat pocket. The Man put his hand there and pulled out -- the Calico Clown!

You should have seen the strange look come over the Man's face. Then he laughed as hard as Miss Jones, and the office boy in the next room, hearing them, laughed also.

"Well, how in the world did that Calico Clown come to be in my pocket?" exclaimed the man. He took the toy out, turned it over and looked at it from all sides. As he did so he happened to punch the Clown in the chest, and of course the Clown banged his cymbals together, as he had been taught to do in the workshop of Santa Claus, where he had been made.

And as the cymbals tinkled and clanged the typewriter girl laughed harder than ever. Then the man happened to pull one of the strings, and the Clown kicked up his legs. The office boy was looking into the room just then, and, seeing this antic of the jolly red and yellow chap, the office boy laughed out loud.

"Dear me! I'm glad every one in this office is so good-natured," thought the Clown to himself. "And I certainly am glad to get out of that Man's pocket. I was nearly smothered there, but of course it was better than being in the tree. I'll do some more tricks for them if the Man pulls more strings."

And the Man did. He pulled the strings fastened to the Clown's arms, and they jiggled and joggled in a merry fashion, so the girl and the office boy laughed harder than ever.

"Well, how in the world did that Clown toy come to be in my pocket? That's what I want to know," said the Man, very much puzzled.

"Maybe one of the children put it in," suggested the girl. She knew the Man had children at home.

"No, I hardly think it was any of MY children," said the Man. "Arnold has no toy like this. He has a Bold Tin Soldier, as he calls him, and some soldier men. And my little girl, Mirabell, has a Lamb on Wheels. But neither of them has a Calico Clown."

"Perhaps some of their playmates called at your house, to have fun with Arnold or Mirabell," said the typewriter girl, "and they may have dropped the Clown into your pocket as your coat hung on the rack."

"Yes, that could have happened," said the Man. "But I remember I put my hand in my pocket as I left the house, to make sure I had some letters I was to mail. The Clown was not in my pocket then. He must have got in after I left my house. And how could that happen, I should like to know! I didn't go in any place. How could it have happened?"

Of course neither the office boy nor the typewriter girl could tell. They had not seen the Calico Clown fall from the tree into the pocket of the Man as he passed underneath. And even the Man himself had not seen this.

"It's very queer," said the father of Mirabell and Arnold. "The only way it could have happened that I can think of is that some children I passed on the street may have tossed the Clown into my pocket. I have very large ones in this coat, and sometimes they stand wide open."

The Calico Clown stayed in the office all that day. It was the first time he had ever been to business, and he rather liked it as a change. Very few toys ever have the chance he had. He sat up on the Man's desk and watched the girl click at the typewriter, and he watched the office boy come in and out. The office boy looked at the Clown, too.

"I'm going to have some fun with him when the Boss goes out to lunch," said the office boy to himself.

Now the Clown felt rather strange in the office. His part in life was to make joy and laughter, and he could not do it sitting up straight and stiff on a desk. He looked around, and he saw, not far from him, a jolly little man, like a dwarf.

"I wish I could speak to him," thought the Clown. "He looks as if he belonged to the toy family."

And you can imagine how surprised the Clown was when, all of a sudden, the Man lifted the head right off the queer-looking little dwarf and dipped his pen down inside him!

"Why, he's an ink well!" thought the Clown. "That's what he is! An ink well! And his head comes off the same as the Porcelain Cat's head lifts off for matches to be put inside her. How very odd! I'd like to talk to that chap."

When the Man went out to lunch, into the office hurried the office boy with a grin on his face.

"What do you want?" asked the typewriter girl. "I want to make that Clown jiggle," was the answer. "I'm going to have some fun with him."

"No, you mustn't!" exclaimed the girl. "The Boss won't like it if you touch him. If you break him -- "

"Aw, I won't break him!" cried the boy. "Let me have him!"

He made a grab for the Calico Clown, and the girl tried to stop the boy. As a result the Clown was knocked off the desk to the floor.

"Oh, dear! I hope my glued leg is not broken!" thought the Clown.




Chapter VII

In The Wash-Basket


"There, now look what you did!" cried the girl.

"I didn't do it! You did!" said the boy. "If you hadn't jiggled it out of my hand when I was taking it down it wouldn't have fallen."

I don't know how long they might have gone on disputing in this fashion if the office boy from next door had not poked his head in and called:

"What's the matter?"

Then he saw the Calico Clown lying on the floor and he added:

"Has Santa Claus been here?" and he laughed.

"It came out of the pocket of the Boss," explained the first office boy. "He put it on his desk. I was going to look at it and pull the strings, 'cause the Boss is out to lunch, but she jiggled my hand and made me drop it. Now it's busted."

"Maybe it isn't," said the second office boy. "I'll see."

He picked the Calico Clown up off the floor, punched him in the chest, and the gay red and yellow chap banged his cymbals together.

"He's all right so far," said the second office boy. "Now we'll pull the strings."

"And there's where trouble may come in," thought the Calico Clown himself, for he heard and saw and felt all that went on. "I'm almost sure my glued leg is broken," said the Clown to himself.

But when the strings were pulled, one after another, and the arms and legs and head of the funny fellow twisted and turned and jerked, the two office boys and the typewriter girl laughed. And the Clown himself was glad, for he felt that he was not broken.

"If the Boss comes in and finds you playing with that Clown you'll catch it," said the girl to the first office boy, after a while.

"I guess I'd better put him back on the desk. I'm going out to get my dinner pretty soon," the boy said.

And a little later, while the girl was in an outer office looking over some papers and while the Man was still at his lunch and while the office boy was out getting something to eat, the Calico Clown was left alone with the Ink-Well Dwarf.

"How do you do?" politely asked the Clown.

"Very well, thank you," answered the Dwarf. "And how are you? Where did you come from? Are you going to work here?"

"I never work!" exclaimed the Clown. "I am only to make jolly fun and laughter."

"Then this is no place for you," went on the Dwarf. "This is an office, and we must all work, though I must admit that those boys seem to get as much fun out of it as any one. They're always skylarking, cutting up, and playing jokes. But I work myself. I hold ink for the Boss."

"I see you do," answered the Clown. "I suppose I don't really belong here, made only for fun, as I am. And I did not want to come here. It was quite accidental. I was brought."

"How!" asked the Ink-Well Dwarf.

"In the pocket of the Man they call the Boss," was the reply. And then the Clown told of how he had fallen out of the tree.

All the remainder of the day the Calico Clown sat on the desk of the Man, wondering what would happen to him. At last he found out.

At the close of the afternoon, when no more business was to be done, the Man arose and closed his desk. He put papers in his different pockets to take home with him, and then he saw the Calico Clown.

"Oh, I mustn't forget you!" he said, speaking out loud as he sometimes did when alone. And he was alone in the office now, for the boy and the typewriter girl had gone. "I'll take you home and ask Arnold or Mirabell to whom you belong," went on the man. "You are some child's toy, I'm sure of that, and one of my children may know where you live."

The Calico Clown knew this to be so, and he knew that either Arnold or Mirabell would at once be able to say that the Clown belonged to Sidney, for they had seen Sidney playing with this toy.

"Back into my pocket you go!" said the Man, and he took the Clown down off the top of the desk. "There are a lot of handkerchiefs in that pocket," the man went on. "They'll make a good, soft bed for you to lie on."

And, surely enough, there was a soft bed of handkerchiefs for the Calico Clown. They were handkerchiefs the man had been carrying in his pocket for some time, and he had forgotten to put them in the wash, as his wife, over and over again, had told him to do.

A little later, with the Calico Clown nestled down in among a pile of handkerchiefs in his pocket, the Man started for home from his office.

"Well, I am certainly doing some traveling this day," thought the Clown, as he reposed in the Man's pocket. "First I am carried up a tree, and then I fall down. Next I am taken to an office, just as if I were in business like the Ink-Well Dwarf, and now I am being taken to the home of Mirabell and Arnold. I wonder what will happen next."

He did not have to wait long to find out.

Down the street walked the Man, and soon he was within sight of his home, where Mirabell and Arnold lived. The two children were out in front, waiting for their father. As soon as they saw him coming they stopped swinging on the gate and cried:

"Here comes Daddy!"

He waved his hand to them.

Down the street they raced to meet him, and taking hold of his hands, one on either side, they led him toward the house.

Just then out of the side gate came Mandy, the jolly fat colored washer-woman. She had a basket full of clothes on a small express wagon.

"Oh, that reminds me!" exclaimed Mirabell's father. "I'll put these handkerchiefs from my pocket in your basket of wash, Mandy! You can take them home with you, wash them clean and iron them and bring them back to me."

"'Deed an' dat's just what I can do!" exclaimed Mandy, smiling broadly. "Put 'em right down yeah in mah basket!"

She turned back the sheet she had spread over the soiled clothes and made a little place down in one corner for the Man to put his handkerchiefs.

There was quite a bundle of them, all wadded together.

"There, you can tell Mother I didn't forget my handkerchiefs this time," said Daddy to his two children. "You saw me put them in the wash, didn't you?"

"Yes, Daddy, we did!" exclaimed Mirabell. "And, oh, you ought to see what happened to my Lamb on Wheels to-day!"

"What happened?" asked Daddy, as he straightened up after having stooped down to thrust the handkerchiefs into the basket.

"Why, Arnold's Bold Tin Soldier got caught in the curly wool on my Lamb's back," explained Mirabell, "and they both fell into the flour barrel!"

"That WAS funny!" laughed Daddy. And he was thinking so much about this and laughing so with Arnold and Mirabell that he never stopped to think of the Calico Clown in among the handkerchiefs he had put in the wash-basket.

But that is what he had done. He had thrust the Clown, with the handkerchiefs, down in Mandy's basket of soiled clothes.

"Oh, my! Oh, dear me! Oh, what is going to happen now?" thought the Calico Clown as he felt himself covered up and taken away. "Oh, if I could only tell Mirabell or Arnold I am here. Oh, this is dreadful."

But he could do nothing! Away he was taken in the wash-basket.




Chapter VIII

Down In A Deep Hole


Daddy hurried into the house with Mirabell and Arnold. The children were eager to show their father into what a funny pickle the Bold Tin Soldier and the Lamb on Wheels had got. Of course, it wasn't exactly a "pickle." I only call it that for fun. It was really the flour barrel into which the two toys had fallen.

"How did it happen?" asked Daddy, as the children brought out their playthings, the Soldier still entangled in the Lamb's wool, and both of them white with flour.

"It happened when we were in the kitchen watching the cook make a cake," explained Mirabell. "I was playing with my Lamb on the floor and I lifted her up to let her see how nice the cake looked."

"But what about your Soldier, Arnold?" asked Daddy.

"Oh, I had set my Soldier Captain on the back of Mirabell's Lamb to give him a ride," explained the little boy.

"I said he could," remarked Mirabell.

"And when she lifted her Lamb up she lifted my Soldier up, too," added Arnold.

"And then!" burst out Mirabell, laughing, "my foot slipped and I let go of my Lamb on Wheels, and she fell into the flour barrel, and so did Arnold's Bold Tin Soldier."

"And they were a sight, all white and covered with flour!" exclaimed the little boy.

But now we must see what happened to the Calico Clown.

At first he was very uncomfortable, stuck down in among the soiled clothes. He feared he would smother; but really he did not need much air, and he soon found he was getting all he needed. The clothes were so soft that they did not crush him, and -- he was not near any of Mirabell's or Arnold's play clothes -- he soon found that they were not badly soiled. So, after getting over his first distaste, he began rather to like the ride in the little express wagon.

"It isn't as smooth as an automobile," thought the Calico Clown, "but it is jolly for a change. The only thing that's worrying me is what is going to happen next; and to know whether or not I shall ever see Sidney again."

And at this time, which was early in the evening, Sidney was still looking everywhere for his Calico Clown. The little boy told his mother and sister how he and Herbert had left the Clown and the Monkey on a Stick on the porch while they went to get bread and jam.

"And when we came back my Monkey was there," said Herbert, "but Sid's Clown was gone."

"It is very strange where your toy has got to," said Mother. She helped Sidney and Herbert look, but the Clown seemed gone forever, and Sidney felt sorry.

"Now we can never have that circus," he said to his brother.

"Oh, maybe he'll be found some day," was the answer. But Sidney sadly shook his head.

Trundling the little express wagon with her basket of clothes along the streets, Mandy finally reached her home where she did the washing and ironing. Her children were waiting for her to come to supper. Liza Ann, the oldest girl, had set the table, and Jim, the next oldest boy, was out on the steps watching for his mother, just as Arnold and Mirabell watched for their daddy.

"Is de table all set, honey?" asked Mandy of Liza Ann. "I hopes it is, 'cause I wants to put dese yeah clothes in to soak after I eats."

"De table is all sot," explained Liza Ann. "An' de meat an' taters is all ready to hotten up."

"Dass good," sighed Mandy, for she was rather tired. "I'll jest leave these yeah clothes till after supper," she went on, putting the basket down in a corner of the room.

"Dear me! I wonder how much longer I shall have to stay here," thought the Calico Clown, tucked away under the sheet and in the pile of handkerchiefs. "Aren't they ever going to let me out? This is worse than being in jail!"

But at last Mandy's supper was finished, and, with Liza Ann and Jim to help her sort the clothes, she filled a tub with water and began. The big sheet was taken off the top of the basket, and then Liza Ann reached in and took up the bundle of handkerchiefs.

"You wants to be keerful o' dem, honey," said her mother. "Dem's de bestest an' most special hankowitches o' Mirabell's pa, an' he's very 'tickler how dey is washed. Better let me have dem, honey."

Mandy reached over to take the handkerchiefs from Liza Ann, and at that moment the little colored girl saw something red and yellow among them.

"Oh, what a funny handkowitch!" she called, and the next moment they all saw the Calico Clown. Mandy took him out of the bundle.

"Oh, Mammy! I want him!" cried Jim.

"Nope! He's mine! I saw him, fustest!" exclaimed Liza Ann, and she reached for the Calico Clown.

"Wait a minute, now, chilluns. Wait a minute!" said Mandy, and she held the toy close to her breast. "Dish yeah don't belongs to us."

"But it come in de basket of wash, Mammy!" said Jim. "Why can't we keep it?"

"'Cause tain't belongin' to us," answered his mother. "I can jest guess how it come in. Mirabell or Arnold, dey done drop it in dere Daddy's pocket, an' he didn't know nothin' about its bein' in. He took it out wif his hankowitches, and put it in mah basket of wash. An' I brung it home. My! My! It suah is funny how it happened!"

She held the Calico Clown up and looked at him.

"Oh, ain't he jest grand!" cried Jim, his eyes shining with delight.

"He suah is a gay fellow all right," said Mandy.

Liza Ann reached up and pulled one of the Clown's strings. Quickly his legs jiggled and he cut some funny capers.

"Oh, my! Dat suah is scrumptious!" laughed the little colored girl.

"Oh, Mammy, jest let us play with him a little while!" begged Jim. "Den I'll take him back to where he belongs."

"All right," agreed Mandy. "But be mighty keerful of him! If dat Calico Clown should get busted Mirabell or Arnold is gwine to feel mighty bad!"

You see she didn't know the Clown belonged to Sidney, and not to either Mirabell or Arnold.

"Come on, we'll have some fun wif him!" said Liza Ann to her brother.

And then, while their mother put the clothes to soak, the children played with the Calico Clown. They were good and gentle children, and the gay toy did not in the least mind clanging his cymbals for them or doing his funny dance. He jiggled and joggled his arms and legs, and went through such funny antics that Jim and Liza Ann laughed again and again.

"Po' li'l honey lambs!" said Mandy with a sigh, as she bent over the wash tub. "I wish dey had some toys of dere own. But den I'se got good clean and soft watah to wash wif, an' dat's a blessin'! Lots of folks hasn't got only hard watah, what won't make no suds."

After the clothes had been put to soak in a tub Mandy dried her hands and sat and looked at Liza Ann and Jim playing with the Calico Clown.

"Come now, you'd better get ready to take him back," she said to Jim, after a while.

"Does you mean to take him back where you got de basket of wash, Mammy?" asked the colored boy.

"Yes," his mother answered. "You know de big green house. You's been dere befo', honey. You go dere now, Jim -- tisn't late yet -- an' you take back dis Clown. Tell Mirabell or Arnold dat it got in de wash wif dere daddy's pocket hankowitches."

"All right," said Jim, with a sigh. "I will. But I suah does wish we could keep him!"

"So do I," sighed Liza Ann in a low voice.

"Well, maybe some day I can make money enough to git you somethin' to play wif," said their mother.

As she had said, it was not late, though the sun had set. It was a warm, summer night, and the moon was shining brightly. Jim knew the way to the house where Mirabell and Arnold lived, for he had often gone there both with his mother and alone, either to get or bring back the clothes.

With the Calico Clown wrapped in a piece of paper, Jim set off on his trip. He hurried along, thinking how nice it would be if he had a toy like that. He was wondering how long it would be before his mother could earn enough money to buy one when, just as he turned into the yard of the house where Arnold and Mirabell lived, Jim stumbled and fell.

The Calico Clown shot out of his hands, and the poor toy, as he flew along, thought to himself:

"Oh, what is happening now!"

The next moment he fell into a deep hole, and only that he grasped the long grass at the edge of it, Jim would have fallen in himself.

"Fo' de lan' sakes!" exclaimed the little colored boy as he picked himself up. "What have done gone an' happened now?"

You see, he felt about it just as the Calico Clown did.




Chapter IX

Back Home


The door of the house in which Arnold and Mirabell lived opened, and their daddy looked out toward the front yard. He had heard the grunt made by Jim when the little colored boy fell down and dropped the Calico Clown into a hole.

"Is anybody there?" asked Mirabell's father.

"I'se heah!" exclaimed Jim, as he slowly arose. "I was bringin' back de Calico Clown, an' I 'mos' fell into a big hole."

"There, Father! I told you that hole ought to be covered up!" exclaimed Mirabell's mother, who had also come to the door.

"Oh, no'm! I didn't fall in!" answered Jim, who heard what was said. "But I almos' did, an' I guess de Clown he fell in complete an' altogether."

"The Clown? What do you mean?" asked Daddy.

"De Clown what got in Mammy's basket of wash," explained the little colored boy.

By this time he had picked himself up, and in the light that streamed out from the open door of the house he saw the hole into which he had so nearly fallen. It was a hole dug by a man who had come to fix the sewer pipes that day, and when night came he had not finished. He left a deep, wide, gaping hole just beside the front walk.

Arnold, Mirabell and the others in the house knew of the hole, and kept away from it. In the daylight, when Mandy had taken away the wash, she had seen it and had not fallen in. But poor Jim, coming after dark, had stumbled in the thick grass and had nearly plumped himself in.

As for the Clown -- well, there he was down in the dirt at the bottom of the hole!

"I wonder what is the matter with me!" thought the gay red and yellow fellow as he came to a stop in some soft dirt. "I seem to be very unlucky!"

"What does Jim mean about a Clown falling in the hole?" asked Arnold curiously.

"And a Clown being in the basket with the wash?" added Mirabell.

"I think I can tell you," their father answered, suddenly remembering what he had put in his pocket to bring home from the office. "But first I will put some boards over the hole the plumber left so no one else will fall in, or nearly fall in."

"You'll get the Clown up, won't you, Daddy?" asked Mirabell. "Maybe it's like the one Sidney had."

"Did Sidney have a Calico Clown with one leg red and the other leg yellow?" asked Daddy.

"Yes, and it did all sorts of funny tricks when you pulled the strings; and he clapped his cymbals when you punched him in the chest," said Arnold.

"Well, then this must be Sidney's Clown. But how it came in my pocket is more than I can guess," said Daddy. "Yes, I'll get the Clown up out of the hole, and then I'll put some boards over it."

A lantern was brought out and flashed down into the hole. There, on the bottom, lay the Calico Clown.

"I'll bring him up!" offered Jim, and quickly he climbed down, caught hold of the gay toy, and climbed out again.

"Thank you, Jim," said Daddy.

"Yes, that's Sidney's Clown," declared Arnold, when he had looked at the red and yellow chap. "But how did he get in the basket of clothes?"

"That's quite a long story," said Daddy. "Come into the house and I'll tell you. Did your mother send you back with the Clown, Jim?" he asked of the little colored boy.

"Yes'm -- I mean yes, sah!" Jim answered. "He was in de basket all done wrapped up in hankowitches."

"Those were the handkerchiefs I took from my pocket and put in Mandy's basket when I met her at the gate," said Mirabell's daddy. "And so you found him, Jim!"

"Yes'm -- I mean yes, sah! Me an' Liza Ann found him. He's a jolly good Clown; but Mammy, she wouldn't let us keep him 'cause as how she said he belonged to Mirabell or Arnold."

"No, he doesn't live here," said Arnold. "Oh, Sid will be so glad to get him back!"

"I suppose you and your sister felt bad about losing the Clown," said Daddy to Jim. "Didn't you?"

"I suahly did!" exclaimed the little colored boy. "So did Liza Ann."

Daddy and Mother talked softly together a moment, and then Mother hurried away to come back with something that made Jim's eyes sparkle and open wide.

For she had a little toy engine, which could be wound up with a key and sent whizzing along. And there was a fine Jumping Jack, which jiggled almost as nicely as did the Calico Clown.

"Here are two toys that Arnold and Mirabell are through with," said Mother, with a smile at Jim. "They are not broken, and they will each go. Perhaps you will like them almost as much as you did the Calico Clown."

"Oh, golly!" cried Jim. "We'll like 'em better! 'Cause dere's two of 'em -- one fo' each of us! Oh, we's eber so much obligedness."

Clasping the two toys in his little brown hands, away Jim raced in the darkness to tell his sister the good news. The Jumping Jack was for her and the toy engine for him. And I may as well tell you now that the two children were made perfectly happy with their toys -- just as happy as they would have been with the Calico Clown.

"Well, thank goodness, I think my adventures are over for the night," thought the Clown, as he was taken into Mirabell's house and the dirt brushed off his red and yellow trousers. "This has been such a day! Oh, SUCH a day!"

And indeed it had been from the time he fell out of the tree into the Man's coat pocket until Jim stumbled with him and he fell into the hole.

"Sidney will be glad to get his Clown back," went on Arnold, when the toy had been set on the table where Daddy took his place to tell the evening story.

"I wish we could take it to him now," said Mirabell.

"Mayn't we?" asked her brother.

"It is getting late," said their mother. "You may take the toy over the first thing in the morning."

"But all the while Sidney will be wondering where his Clown is," objected the little girl.

"I know what we can do!" exclaimed Arnold. "We can telephone and tell him it's here."

"Yes, we can do that," said Daddy.

So, a little later, Sidney was told, over the telephone, that his lost Calico Clown had been found. The story was briefly told of how it had got into the wash-basket after having been found in Daddy's pocket and taken to the office.

"Oh, I'm so glad!" cried Sidney. "I'll be over the first thing in the morning to get him."

"But what I'm wondering about is how the Clown got in my pocket," said Daddy, with a puzzled look on his face. "If you children didn't put it there, who did?" and he looked at Mirabell and Arnold.

And I might say that this was always a mystery, as much so as the Clown's riddle about what made more noise than a pig under a gate.

Daddy told Mirabell and Arnold their usual good-night story. Then the children went to bed and Mother put the Calico Clown on the mantelpiece where he would be safe for the night.

"Whoever sees Sidney first in the morning," said Mother, as she, too, got ready to go to bed, "may be the one to give him his toy."

Then the lights were put out and the house was still and quiet. Ordinarily, when this time came, the Calico Clown, like the other toys, would have been at his liveliest. But now he was so tired, with all his adventures of the day, that he just gave a long sigh and said:

"I am not going to stir! I am just going to lie down here and sleep until morning! Enough has happened for one day."

So he stretched out, with a pen wiper for a cushion, and went to sleep.

Bright and early the next morning Sidney ran over to the house of his cousins.

"Is my Calico Clown here?" he cried.

"Yes," answered Arnold, who was also up. "I'll get him for you."

"Oh, thank you!" said Sidney, when he had his toy once more. And a little later the Calico Clown was back home. But his adventures were not over.




Chapter X

The Toy Party


"Oh, Sidney! aren't you glad you have your Calico Clown back?" cried his sister Madeline when she saw her brother coming toward the house with his toy which he had got at Arnold's home. "I just guess I am!" said the little boy. "I thought I'd never see him again."

"And I'm glad, too," cried Herbert, as he made his Monkey go up and down the Stick. "Now we can get ready for our circus."

"Are you going to have a show?" asked Madeline.

"Yes," answered Sidney. "We have a Clown and a Monkey, and they're always the funniest things in a circus. Don't you remember when we had the show with my Monkey in it?"

"Yes. And that was lots of fun," said Madeline. "But I know something better than a show."

"What?" Sidney asked.

"A party," went on Madeline. "Let's have a Toy Party. That will be better than a show, even a circus show."

Sidney wanted to know how it would be better, and Madeline said:

"'Cause you can have things to eat at a Toy Party, and you can't always have things at a circus, lessen you buy 'em; and maybe not then, 'cepting peanuts and lemonade. Let's have a Toy Party and we can get mother to give us real things to eat."

"Oh, that will be fun!" cried Sidney. "I should say so!" agreed Herbert.

"And we'll ask Dorothy to bring her Sawdust Doll," said Madeline, "Arnold can bring his Bold Tin Soldier, and Mirabell her Lamb on Wheels. And I'll bring my Candy Rabbit."

"You did have a party for him," said Herbert.

"Well, this one can be for Sid's Calico Clown," explained Madeline. "And you can bring your Monkey on a Stick, Herb."

The idea of a Toy Party seemed to please the two boys, and Madeline was glad she had thought of it. She lost no time in getting ready for it.

"I'll go and put a new ribbon on the neck of my Candy Rabbit," she said to her brothers. "You get your Monkey and Clown all nice and clean, and then I'll ask Mother if Cook can make a special cake."

"My Monkey is clean enough," said Herbert. "Dirt doesn't show on him, anyhow. He's colored brown."

"And my Clown's pretty good, even if he did fall in a dirt hole," went on Sidney. "A Clown has to be a little dirty, for he falls all over the circus ring, you know."

"There isn't going to be any circus ring at our Toy Party," laughed Madeline. "Now I'll go and see about the cake."

"And we'll go and tell Dick, Arnold and the girls," said Sidney. "Here, Madeline, please keep my Calico Clown for me until I come back."

Away he ran with his brother, who carried the Monkey on a Stick. The Calico Clown rather hoped the long-tailed chap would be left to keep him company, but it was not to be just yet.

"But perhaps I can talk to the Candy Rabbit while Madeline is getting ready for the party," thought the Clown. "He and I are old friends."

But even this was not to be. Madeline probably did not think that the Clown would have liked to be with some of the other toys for a while. She just kept hold of the gay red and yellow fellow after her brother had handed him to her, and took him with her to the kitchen, where she knew her mother was.

"Oh, Mother! may Cook bake us a cake for the Toy Party?" cried Madeline, and, not thinking what she was doing, she laid the Calico Clown down in a large basket of oranges which the fruit man had just set on the kitchen table.

"A cake for a Toy Party?" repeated Mother. "Yes, I think so. Tell me more about it."

So Madeline told about the Toy Party that was going to be held, and how the Sawdust Doll, the White Rocking Horse, and all the other jolly creatures were to come.

"Course they won't EAT the cake -- only make believe," explained Madeline. "We'll eat the cake -- we children."

"Yes, I supposed you would," said Mother, with a laugh as she looked at Cook.

"And, please, may I help?" asked Madeline.

"Yes," promised Cook, and then, not thinking what she was doing and not seeing the Calico Clown, who had slipped away down in among the oranges, she took the basket of fruit from the table.

"I'll just set the oranges in the ice box," she said. "They need to be well chilled for the orangeade, and it's a hot day."

And that is how it was that the Clown, a little later, found himself beginning to feel freezing cold. He had not minded being laid for a time in with the golden, yellow fruit. It smelled so nice that he shut his eyes and breathed deep of the perfume. He even took a little sleep. And then, the next thing he knew, he felt a breath of cold air after a door was slammed shut.

"Dear me! what can have happened now?" said the Calico Clown, suddenly awakening. "Am I back again at the North Pole workshop of Santa Claus? It feels like it, but it doesn't look like it. For his shop was nice and light, though it was sometimes cold. Here it is dark."

"Well, I simply am freezing!" went on the Clown. "I've got to keep warm, somehow!"

So what did he do but stand up and begin to dance around among the oranges. Up and down, first to this side and then to the other danced the jolly fellow, jerking his arms and swinging his legs. He clapped his hands together to warm them, and his cymbals clanged in the cold, frosty air of the ice box.

After a while the Clown began to feel warmer. But as soon as he stopped jumping around he felt cold again.

"I've got to keep moving, that's all there is to it!" he said to himself, and he had to dance again.

Really he must have looked funny, doing a jig on a basket of oranges, but it was not so funny for the poor Clown himself. He was beginning to get tired, and he was wondering how long he would have to keep up his exercise, when the ice-box door suddenly opened and Cook lifted out a bowl of cream.

"Oh, for the love of trading stamps!" she cried, as she saw the Clown in among the oranges. "How did you ever get there? You must be almost frozen!"

And the poor fellow would have been, if he had not danced.

"I certainly didn't see you there when I put the fruit in the ice box," went on the cook. "Madeline must have put you among the oranges."

And, of course, this was just what had happened. Naturally you may say that the reason the cook saw the Clown the second time, after she opened the ice-box door, was because some of the oranges rolled to one side, allowing the Clown to be seen. But that isn't how it happened at all. The Clown simply climbed out from among the fruit to dance and keep himself warm, and that's how he happened to be seen.

"Oh, dear me! To think I should do a thing like that!" cried Madeline, when the cook handed her the Calico Clown. "Sidney might have thought his toy was lost again if you hadn't found him. Now we'll bake the cake, and I'll put the Clown by the stove to get warm."

After a while everything was ready for the party. The cake was baked and covered with icing. There were also some crullers and some cookies.

Herbert, Sidney and Mirabell put on their party clothes, and with the Monkey on a Stick nicely brushed, the Candy Rabbit with a new ribbon on his neck, and with the last specks of dirt shaken off the red and yellow trousers of the Clown, they all waited for the others to come.

"Here's Dorothy with her Sawdust Doll!" cried Madeline, running to the window.

"Yes, and Arnold is helping Dick carry over the White Rocking Horse," added Sidney. "Oh, what fun we'll have!"

"I hope Arnold brought his Bold Tin Soldier Captain and all the others," said Herbert.

Arnold brought them, and his sister Mirabell came with her Lamb on Wheels.

Then such fun as there was at the Toy Party! I really don't know whether the children or the toys enjoyed it most. But I do know that the children ate the cakes and cookies, which was something the toys could not do.

While Dick, Dorothy and the other boys and girls were in the room, the toys could not speak to one another. But when, in playing some game the lads and lassies went out into the yard, the toys had their chance.

"Oh, I have so many things to tell you!" said the Calico Clown. "I have had so many adventures!"

Then he related how the monkey had taken him up into the tree and how finally he had got back home.

"Quite remarkable," said the Lamb on Wheels. "You certainly have --  Ouch! Oh, dear!" said the Lamb, suddenly switching one of her legs.

"What's the matter?" asked the Bold Tin Soldier. "If anybody is teasing you I'll make him stop!" and he drew his sword and looked very fierce -- as all tin soldiers look.

"It was nothing," said the Lamb on Wheels. "Just a pang of rheumatism. The remains of the cold I caught in one of my wheels the time I made the voyage down the brook on the raft the boys built."

Then the Sawdust Doll told of a little adventure she had had recently, when she was left in the wrong doll carriage by mistake and was taken home to the wrong house.

"Nothing as remarkable as jumping downstairs and scaring the burglars has happened to me," said the White Rocking Horse. "But Dick was riding me in the kitchen the other day and he ran me over an egg."

"Did it hurt you?" asked the Monkey.

"No; but it spoiled the egg," said the Horse, laughing.

"Well, I must say it is very nice of the children to get up a party for us like this," said the Calico Clown. "And I, for one -- "

"Hush! Here they come! We must be very still and quiet!" whispered the Candy Rabbit.

And back into the room trooped the merry children, and they played more games and ate more cake until none was left, and then the party was over.

"Well, I certainly have come to a happy home," thought the Calico Clown, when he was put to bed that night on a closet shelf. "This is just as jolly as being in the store!" And he snuggled up close to the Candy Rabbit and the Monkey on a Stick. Then they all went to sleep.

<eob>

Bunny Brown And His Sister Sue Giving A Show

By

Laura Lee Hope



Chapter I

"Look At The Skylight!"


With a joyful laugh, her curls dancing about her head, while her brown eyes sparkled with fun, a little girl danced through the hall and into the dining room where her brother was eating a rather late breakfast of buckwheat cakes and syrup.

"Oh, Bunny, it's doing it! It's come! Oh, won't we have fun!" cried the little girl.

Bunny Brown looked up at his sister Sue, holding a bit of syrup-covered cake on his fork.

"What's come?" he asked. "Has Aunt Lu come to visit us, or did Wango, the monkey, come up on our front steps?"

"No, it isn't Mr. Jed Winkler's monkey and Aunt Lu didn't come, but I wish she had," answered Sue. "But it's come -- a lot of it, and I'm so glad! Hurray!"

Bunny Brown put down his fork and looked more carefully at his sister.

"What are you playing?" he asked, thinking perhaps it was some new game.

"I'm not playing anything!" declared Sue. "I'm so glad it's come! Now we can have some fun! Just look out the window, Bunny Brown!"

"But what has come?" asked the little boy, who was a year older than his sister Sue. He was a bright chap, with merry blue eyes and they opened wide now, trying to see what Sue was so excited about.

"What is it?" asked Bunny Brown once more.

"It's snow!" cried Sue. "It's the first snow, and it's soon going to be Thanksgiving and Christmas and all like that! And we can get out our sleds, and we can go skating and make snow men and -- and -- and --  -- "

But she just had to stop. She was all out of breath, and she didn't seem to have any words left with which to talk to Bunny.

"Oh! Snow!" exclaimed Bunny, and he said; it in such a funny way that Sue laughed.

Just then in came her mother from the kitchen where she had been baking more cakes for her little boy.

"Oh, it's you, is it, Sue?" asked Mrs. Brown. "Do you want some more breakfast?"

"No, thank you, Mother. I had mine. I just came in to tell Bunny it's snowing. And we can have a lot of fun, can't we?"

"Well, you children do manage to have a lot of fun, one way or another," said Mrs. Brown, with a smile.

"Is it snowing, Mother?" asked Bunny, too excited now to want to finish his breakfast.

"Yes, it really is," answered Mrs. Brown. "I was so busy getting enough cakes baked for you that I didn't notice the snow much. But, as Sue says, it is coming down quite fast."

"Hurray!" cried Bunny, even as Sue had done. "Do you think there will be lots of the snow?"

"Well, it looks as though there might be quite a storm for the first snow of the season," replied the mother of Bunny Brown and his sister Sue. "It's a bit early this year, too. It's almost two weeks until Thanksgiving and here it is snowing. I'm afraid we're going to have a hard winter."

"With lots of snow and ice, Mother?" asked Bunny.

"Yes. And with cold weather that isn't good for poor folks."

"Oh, I'm glad!" cried Bunny. "Not about the poor folks, though," he added quickly, as he saw his mother look at him in surprise. "But I'm glad there'll be lots of ice. Sue and I can go skating."

"And there'll be lots of ice for ice-cream next summer," added Sue.

Mrs. Brown laughed. Then, as she saw Bunny racing to the window with Sue, to push aside the curtains and look out at the falling white flakes, she said:

"Come back and finish your breakfast, Bunny. I want to clear off the table."

"I want to see the snow, first," replied the little boy. "Anyhow, I guess I've had enough cakes."

"Oh, and I just brought in some nice, hot, brown ones!" exclaimed Mrs. Brown.

"I'll help eat 'em!" offered Sue, and though she had had her breakfast a little while before, she now ate part of a second one, helping her brother.

It was Saturday, and, as there was no school, Mrs. Brown had allowed both children to sleep a little later than usual. Sue had been up first, and, after eating her breakfast and playing around the house, she had gone to the window to look out and wish that Bunny would get up to play and have fun with her.

Then she had seen the first snow of the season and had run into the dining room to find her brother there eating his late meal.

"May we go out in the snow and play?" asked Bunny, when he had finished the last of the brown cakes and the sweet syrup.

"Yes, if you put on your boots and your warm coats. You don't want to get cold, you know, or you can't go to the play in the Opera House this afternoon."

"Oh, we've got to see that!" cried Bunny. "I 'most forgot; didn't you, Sue?"

"Yes," replied the little girl, "I did. Maybe it will snow so hard that they can't have the show, like once it rained so hard we couldn't play circus in the tent Grandpa put up for us in the lot."

"Yes, it did rain hard," agreed Bunny. "And it's snowing hard," he added, as he squirmed into his coat and again looked out of the window. "Will it snow so hard they can't give the show, Mother?" he asked.

"Oh, I think not," answered Mrs. Brown. "This play isn't going to be in a tent, you know. It's in the Opera House, and they give shows there whether it rains or snows. I think you may both count on going to the show this afternoon."

"Oh, what fun!" cried Bunny.

"Lots of fun!" echoed Sue.

Then out they ran to play amid the swirling, white flakes; and it is hard to say whether they had more fun in the first snow or in thinking about the play they were to see in the Opera House that afternoon.

At any rate Bunny Brown and his sister Sue certainly had fun playing out in the yard of their house and in the street in front. At first there was not snow enough to do more than make slides on the sidewalk, and the little boy and girl did this for a time. They made two long slides, and men and women coming along smiled to see the brother and sister at play. But these same men and women were careful not to step on the slippery slides made by Bunny Brown and his sister Sue, for they did not want to slip and fall.

As for Bunny and Sue, they did not mind whether they fell or not. Half the time they were tumbling down and the other half getting up again. But they managed to do some sliding, too.

"Come on!" cried Bunny, after a bit. "There's enough now to make snowballs!"

"Could we make a snow house, too?" asked his sister.

"No, there isn't enough for that. But we can make snowballs and throw 'em!"

"Don't throw any at me!" begged Sue. "'Cause if you did, an' the snow went down my neck, it would melt and I'd get wet an' then I couldn't go to the show an' you'd be sorry!"

This was rather a long sentence for Sue, and she was a bit out of breath when she had finished.

"No, I won't throw any snowballs at you," promised Bunny.

"Oh, here come Harry Bentley and Charlie Star!" exclaimed Sue.

"I'll throw snowballs at them!" decided Bunny. "Hi!" he called to two of his boy chums. "Let's throw snowballs!"

"We're with you!" answered Charlie.

"I'm not going to play snowball fight," decided Sue. "I see Mary Watson and Sadie West. I'm going to play with them."

So she trotted off to make little snow dolls with her girl friends, while Bunny, with Charlie and Harry, threw soft snowballs at one another. The children were having such fun that it seemed only a few minutes since breakfast when Mrs. Brown called:

"Bunny! Sue! Come in and get washed for lunch. And you have to get dressed if you're going to the play!"

"Oh, we're going, sure!" exclaimed Bunny. "Are you?" he asked Charlie and Harry.

"Yes," they replied, and when Sue ran toward her house with Bunny she told her brother that Sadie and Mary were also going to the play that afternoon in the town Opera House.

"Oh, we'll have a lot of fun!" cried Bunny. "Will it be a funny play?" he asked Uncle Tad, who had promised to take the two children.

"Well, I guess it'll be funny for you two youngsters," was the answer of the old soldier. "But I guess it isn't much of a theatrical company that would come to Bellemere to give a show so near the beginning of winter. But it will be all right for boys and girls."

"It's a show for the benefit of our Red Cross Chapter," said Mrs. Brown. "That's why I asked you to take the children, Uncle Tad. I have to be with the other ladies of the committee, to help take tickets and look after things."

"Oh, I'll look after Bunny and Sue!" exclaimed Uncle Tad. "I'll see that they have a good time!"

Bunny Brown and his sister Sue were so excited because of the first snow storm and because of thinking of the play they were to see, that they could hardly dress. But at last they were ready, and they set off in the family automobile, which Uncle Tad drove. Mrs. Brown went along also, but Mr. Brown had to stay at the office. The office was at the dock where he owned a fish and boat business.

It was still snowing, and the ground was now quite white, when the automobile drew up at the Opera House, which was where all sorts of shows and entertainments were given in Bellemere, the home of the Brown family.

"We can have a lot more fun in the snow to-morrow!" whispered Sue, as she and her brother passed in, Uncle Tad handing the tickets to Mrs. Gordon, who smiled at them. She was one of the committee of ladies who, like Mrs. Brown, were helping with the entertainment. There were to be speeches by some of the men of Bellemere, but what would be more enjoyable to the young folks was the performance of a number of vaudeville actors and actresses, said to come all the way from New York.

"There's a jiggler who holds a cannon ball on his neck," whispered Charlie Star to Bunny, when the Brown children had found their seats, which were near those of some of their friends.

"He means a juggler," said George Watson.

"Yes, that's it -- a juggler," agreed Charlie.

"And there are a little boy and girl who do tricks and sing," added Mary Watson. "I saw their pictures."

"Oh, it'll be lovely!" sighed Sue. "I wish it would begin!"

The boys, girls and grown folks were still coming in and taking their seats. The curtain hid the stage. And how the children did wonder what was going on behind that piece of painted canvas! The musicians were just beginning to "tune up," as Uncle Tad said. The ushers were hurrying to and fro, seating the late-comers. One of the men who worked in the Opera House, sweeping it out, attending to the fires in winter, and sometimes selling tickets, got a long pole to open a skylight ventilator, to let in some fresh air.

Just how it happened no one seemed to know, but suddenly the long pole slipped and there was a crash and tinkle of glass. Nearly every one jumped in his or her seat, and some one cried:

"Look at the skylight! It's going to fall!"

Bunny Brown, his sister Sue, and every one else looked up. True enough, something had gone wrong with the skylight the man had tried to open. It seemed to have slipped from its place in the frame where it was fastened in the roof, and the big window of metal and glass looked as though about to fall on the heads of the audience directly under it.

"Oh, Bunny, let's run!" cried Sue. "It's going to drop right on us!"

And truly it did seem so. Slowly the big skylight was slipping from its fastenings, and several in the audience screamed.



Chapter II

"Let's Give A Show!"


Just when it seemed as if a bad accident would happen and that some one would be hurt by the fall of the roof-window, the man who had been using the long pole thrust it under the edge of the sliding skylight and held it there. Then he called:

"I have it! I can keep it from falling until somebody gets up on the roof and fixes it. Hurry up, though!"

"I'll go up and fix it!" said another usher. "Guess the first snow was too heavy for the skylight! Keep still, everybody!" he added. "There's no danger now!"

The man had to shout to be heard above the screams of the frightened and excited people, but he made his voice carry to all parts of the Opera House, and finally it became more quiet. Then a man stepped from behind the curtain and stood on the front part of the stage. He held up his hand to make the people know he wanted them to be quiet, and when his voice could be heard he said:

"There is no danger now. There was some, but it has passed. The man will hold the skylight in place until it can be fastened. And while he is doing that I wish those who are sitting under it would move quietly out into the aisles. Don't crowd or rush. You children can pretend it is like the fire drill you have at school."

"Oh, we do have fire drill at our school, don't we, Bunny?" cried Sue, in a rather loud voice. Her words carried to all parts of the theater and many laughed. This laugh was just what was needed to make the people forget their fright, and soon the place directly under the loosened skylight was clear. Bunny and Sue, with Uncle Tad and their boy and girl chums, moved out into the aisle, and soon the men began the work of fastening the skylight back in place. And you may be sure they fastened it tight.

While this is being done I will take a few moments to tell my new readers something about the two Brown children. As you may have guessed, there are other volumes which come before this one. The first is called "Bunny Brown and His Sister Sue."

Bunny and Sue lived with their father and mother in a pretty house in the town of Bellemere. Bellemere was on the seacoast and also near a small river. Mr. Brown was in the boat and fish business, and he owned a dock, or wharf, on the bay and had his office there. He had many men to help, and also a big boy, who was almost a man. The big boy's name was Bunker Blue, and he was very good to Bunny and Sue. Living in the same house with the Browns was Uncle Tad. He was Mr. Brown's uncle, but Bunny and Sue thought they owned just as much of the dear old soldier as did their father. Besides Uncle Tad, the children had other relations. They had a grandfather and a grandmother, and also an aunt, Miss Lulu Baker, who lived in a big city.

Bunny and Sue Brown had many friends in Bellemere. Besides the few boys and girls I have mentioned there were many others. And there was also Jed Winkler, an old sailor who owned a monkey, and, lately, he had bought a green parrot from an old shipmate of his. Jed Winkler had a sister, a rather cross maiden lady who did not like the monkey very much. And the monkey, whose name was Wango, seemed to know this, for he was always playing tricks on Miss Winkler.

The second volume of the series is called "Bunny Brown and His Sister Sue on Grandpa's Farm." There, you can easily imagine, the little boy and girl had lots of fun. During their visit to the farm they got up a circus, and there is a book telling all about it. They had a real tent, which their grandfather got for them, and in it they and some of their friends gave a very funny performance.

When Bunny and Sue went to Aunt Lu's city home they had many wonderful times, and when they went on a vacation to Camp Rest-a-While so many things happened near the beautiful lake that the children never tired talking about them.

It was after the children had spent such a happy time in the camp that they went to the "Big Woods," as Bunny and Sue called them, and, after that, their father and mother took them on an auto tour, when many strange things happened. "Bunny Brown and His Sister Sue and Their Shetland Pony" is the name of the book just before the one you are reading now, and after many adventures with the little horse the two children planned for winter fun. Going to the show in the Opera House was part of this fun.

It did not take very long for the man who had gone up to the roof to fix the broken skylight. The children could see him away up above their heads as they sat in the theater, or stood there, for those who had places directly under the skylight would not use the seats until the roof-window was fixed.

"There! It's all right now," said the man on the stage. "There is no more danger. Take your seats and the show will begin."

From all over the Opera House you could have heard delighted "Ohs!" and "Ahs!" from the children. There was a rustling of programs, a swish of skirts, several coughs, and one or two sneezes. Then the fiddles squeaked, there was rumble and boom of the drums, and the orchestra played the Star-Spangled Banner.

Every one stood up until the national air was ended and then the musicians began to play a dance tune which was so lively that the feet of every one, old and young, seemed to be tapping the floor.

Then came a pause, the lights in the Opera House were turned low, and at last the curtain went up. Bunny Brown and his sister Sue held tightly to the arms of their seats, lest they might slip out during the excitement that was to follow. And it was exciting for the children, as you may easily guess.

The first act was the juggler, or the "jiggler," as one of the boys had called him. He placed a pole on his chin, and on top of the pole a glass of water. Then with three balls he did a number of odd tricks.

"And all the while, mind you!" exclaimed Bunny, telling his father about it afterward, "the man held the water, on the pole on his chin and he didn't drop it once."

"Yes, that must have been wonderful," said Daddy Brown. "If he had dropped the pole he'd have broken the glass, wouldn't he?"

"And he would have spilled the water, too!" exclaimed Bunny's sister. "And it was real water!"

"No!" cried Mr. Brown, in fun, making believe he didn't believe this.

"Yes it was, really!" declared Sue, and Bunny nodded his head also.

The juggler did many other tricks, even tossing balls up into the air and letting them fall in a tall silk hat he wore. The hat had no crown to it, but it had a funny little door, or opening, cut in front, and as fast as the juggler would toss the rubber balls into his hat, they would roll out of the little door in front. My, how the children did laugh! But the juggler never even smiled.

The next act was that of an old man who, on the programme, was called an "Impersonator."

"What's that mean?" asked Bunny of Uncle Tad. "Does he do juggles too?"

"No, he dresses up like some persons you may have seen in pictures. He pretends he's General Washington, or the President, or some great soldier. He tries to look as much like these persons as he can, so they call him an impersonator. Watch, and you'll see."

When the "Impersonator" came out on the stage he did not look like any one but himself. He made a few remarks, but Bunny and Sue did not pay much attention. They were more interested in what he was going to do. The man, who wore a black suit, "like the minister's," as Mary Watson whispered to Sue, suddenly stepped over to a little table, on which were two electric lights and a looking glass.

The children could not see exactly what the man did. They noticed that his hands were working very quickly, but he had his back toward them. All at once his black hair seemed to turn white, and in a moment he caught up from a chair a coat of blue and gold; he slipped this on. Then he turned suddenly and faced the audience.

"Oh, it's George Washington!" cried a boy, and the audience laughed. And, to tell the truth, the man on the stage did look a great deal like our first president, as you see him in pictures. The man had put a white wig on over his black hair, and had put on the kind of coat George Washington used to wear.

I wish I had time to tell you all the different persons this actor made up to appear like, but I can mention only a few. From Washington he turned himself into Lincoln, and then into Roosevelt. Then he made up like some of the French and English generals, and afterward he made himself look like General Grant, smoking a cigar.

Every one applauded as the man bowed himself off the stage. There was a thrill of excitement when the next number was announced. A little girl was shown on the stage. She did not seem much older than Sue, but of course she was. She began to sing in a sweet, childish voice, and in the midst of her song a boy dressed in a suit of bright spangles suddenly appeared from the side. Without a word the boy began turning handsprings and somersaults and doing flipflops in front of the girl.

Suddenly she stopped her song, stamped her little foot, and in pretended anger cried:

"What do you mean by coming out here and spoiling my singing act?"

"Why, the man back there," said the boy, pointing behind the scenes, "told me to come out here and amuse the people," and he seemed, to smile right at Bunny Brown and Sue.

"He told you to come out and amuse the people, did he? Well, what does he think I'm doing?" demanded the girl.

"I don't know. I guess he thinks maybe you're making 'em cry!" was the boy acrobat's grinning answer.

"Well, I like that! The idea!" exclaimed the girl. "I'm going right back and tell him I won't sing another song in this show! The idea!" and she hurried off the stage.

"Oh, won't she sing any more?" whispered Sue to Uncle Tad.

"Yes," answered the soldier with a smile. "That's just part of the act -- to make it more interesting."

"Now that she is out of the way I'll have more room to do my flipflops," said the boy acrobat, and he started to do all sorts of tricks. But, just as Uncle Tad had said, the girl was only pretending, for pretty soon she came back again with a prettier dress on, and she danced and sang while the boy did handsprings to the delight of Bunny Brown, his sister Sue, and all the others in the audience.

I haven't room to tell you all that happened at the show that afternoon, for this story is to be about a show Bunny and Sue gave. But I will just say every one liked the entertainment, and when Bunny was coming out, walking behind Sue, he suddenly said:

"I know what we can do!"

"What?" asked the little girl.

"Let's give a show ourselves -- like this!" Bunny pointed toward the stage.

Sue looked at Bunny to make sure he was not joking. Then she answered and said:

"We will! We'll give a show ourselves!"



Chapter III

Talking It Over


One evening two or three days after the performance in the Opera House, where Bunny and Sue had so much enjoyed the impersonator, the juggler, the boy acrobat, and the girl singer, a number of ladies called at the home of Mrs. Brown. As it was early Bunny and Sue had not yet gone to bed so they could hear the talk that went on.

"I think we did very well, Mrs. Brown," said Mrs. West, the mother of Sue's playmate, Sadie. "We cleared nearly two hundred dollars for our Red Cross Chapter from the Opera House show."

"That's splendid!" exclaimed Mrs. Brown. "I didn't think we would make quite so much. But we could use still more money."

"Yes, if we had more money we could do more good," said Mrs. Bentley. "I don't suppose we could have another performance soon. The people would not come."

Bunny and Sue, who were in another room looking at picture books, glanced at one another. Then they smiled. Bunny slid down off his chair, followed by Sue.

"Shall we tell 'em?" asked Bunny.

"Yes," nodded Sue.

So the two children walked slowly into the room where their mother and the other ladies were talking about the Red Cross Society. Mrs. Brown was just saying something.

"No," she remarked, "I hardly believe we could arrange to give another show right away. It would be too much like --  -- "

"Mother!" interrupted Bunny, speaking in a low voice.

"Yes, Son!" answered Mrs. Brown. "But run away now, dear. Mother is very busy. I'll speak to you in just a minute."

"But we want to talk about the show, Mother," persisted Bunny.

"Oh, but I haven't time," said Mrs. Brown with a smile. "You saw the show, and that's enough. Now run away, like a good boy. And you and Sue must soon get ready for bed."

"But it's about another show, Mother!" insisted Bunny. "We heard what you said, Sue and I did -- and we want to help you get more money."

"Isn't that sweet of them!" exclaimed Mrs. Bentley.

"Well, our Red Cross Chapter certainly needs money," remarked Mrs. Brown, with a sigh; "but I'm afraid you can't help us any, Bunny."

"Oh, yes we can!" said Sue.

"Why, what are you children thinking of?" asked Mrs. Brown, in some surprise. "How can you help us get money for the Red Cross?"

"By a show!" cried Bunny, and he almost shouted the words he was so excited. "That's what we're going to do, Mother -- give a show -- me and Sue -- I mean Sue and I," he added quickly, as he saw his mother look strangely at him, for she had often told him he must learn to speak correctly.

"What do the children mean?" asked Mrs. Newton.

"I'll tell you!" went on Bunny, speaking very fast, for he feared he and Sue would be sent to bed before they had a chance to explain. "We thought of it after we saw the show in the Opera House. We boys and girls can get up a show, and we can charge money to come in. We had a circus once, in a tent, didn't we, Mother?" and Bunny appealed to Mrs. Brown.

"Yes, they once gave a show in a tent at their Grandpa's farm," said Mrs. Brown. "And it was quite good, too, for children. But I'm afraid a show like that, given in town here, wouldn't bring in much money for the Red Cross, my dears," and she smiled at Bunny and Sue.

"Oh, we weren't going to give a show like the circus one!" declared Bunny. "This will be different! We'll have some singing, like the girl did in the Opera House -- I guess Sue can sing. And I can do some somersaults, like those the boy did."

"And maybe we could get Uncle Tad to dress up like General Grant or Washington," added Sue.

"They have it all thought out!" exclaimed Mrs. West, with a smile.

"Oh, but that isn't all!" said Bunny. "There's lots of other things we can do. We told some of the boys and girls about it and they want to be in it. Please, Mother, couldn't Sue and I get up a show?"

"No, my dears, I don't believe you could," Mrs. Brown answered with another smile. "It is very good of you to want to help the Red Cross, but getting up a show is very hard work. I hardly think little boys and girls could do it."

"If ever we big folks get up another show we'll let you children have part in it," promised Mrs. Star.

"Oh, but we want to give a show of our own!" said Bunny. "And I guess we can, too. How much does it cost to buy the Opera House?" he asked.

"Oh, you don't have to buy it to give a show," said Mrs. West. "It can be hired for one or two nights. But when are you going to give your show?" she asked Bunny.

"Maybe 'bout Christmas," he said. "Folks have more money then, and we could get more for your Red Cross. Please, Mother, mayn't we give a show?"

"Oh, well, I'll see about it," said Mrs. Brown, more with the idea of getting Bunny and his sister off to bed than because she really thought they could ever give a show. She had an idea they would forget all about it by morning.

"Oh, goodie!" cried Sue, for when her mother said: "I'll see about it," it generally meant that something would happen. But of course giving a show was different, even though Bunny and Sue had once held a circus. You may read about that in the book of which I have spoken.

"Well, trot along to bed now, my dears," said Mrs. Brown. "We ladies have business to attend to. We'll talk about your show to-morrow."

"It's going to be a fine one," declared Bunny. "I'm going to learn how to do some back somersaults like that boy's on the stage."

"Well, be careful you don't get hurt," begged Mrs. West.

"Cute little dears, aren't they," said Mrs. Bentley, as Bunny and his sister Sue went out of the room.

"I should think they would keep you busy trying to guess what they will do next, Mrs. Brown," remarked Mrs. Star.

"They do," sighed the mother of Bunny Brown and his sister Sue. But she smiled as she sighed, for her little boy and girl never made her any real trouble.

"Do you think they really will give a show?" asked Mrs. Bentley.

"You never can tell," was Mrs. Brown's answer. "We didn't think they'd actually give a circus performance, but they did. However, a show in a real theater is quite different, and I hardly believe Bunny and Sue will go on with the idea."

But Bunny and Sue did -- at least they started talking it over the first thing next day, and when school was over quite a gathering of boys and girls assembled in a room over the Brown garage.

"Now, girls and fellows," said Bunny, as he stood in front of the crowd of his playmates, who were seated on old boxes, broken chairs, and other things stored away in the garage, "we're going to get up a show to make money for the Red Cross."

"Do you mean a make-believe show, and charge five pins to come in?" asked Harry Bentley.

"No, I mean a real show, like in a theater, and charge real money," went on Bunny. "Pins aren't any good for the Red Cross. They get all the pins they want. They need money -- my mother said so. Now we could get up a regular acting play -- like that one we saw at the Opera House. We could have some singing in it, and some jiggling and some of us could do tricks and stand on our heads."

"Going to have any animals in it?" one boy wanted to know.

"Yes, we could," answered Bunny. "They have animals on the stage just like in a circus, only it's different, of course. We could have our dog and cat in it."

"I've got a goat!" cried another boy. "He butts you with his horns, only maybe I could cure him of that."

"We could use Toby, our Shetland pony," added Sue. "He eats sugar out of my hand."

"And we could have my trained white mice," said Charlie Star.

"If you have mice in it I'm not going to play!" exclaimed Sadie West. "I don't like mice at all!"

"Neither do I!" added Jennie Harris.

"Well, we could get Mr. Jed Winkler's parrot, maybe," suggested Bunny.

"And his monkey!" some one added.

"Oh, yes!" cried all the children.

Suddenly the door of the room opened and in burst Tom Milton.

"Say!" he cried, "Mr. Jed Winkler's monkey is loose in Mr. Raymond's hardware store, and you ought to see the place! Come on! Mr. Jed Winkler's monkey is loose again!" and he jumped up and down he was so excited.



Chapter IV

The Climbing Boy


Tom Milton had been invited by Bunny Brown to come to the meeting in the room over the garage and talk about the play which Bunny and his sister wanted to give. But, for some reason or other, Tom had not come with the other children. Many, including Bunny, had wondered what kept Tom away, but now, when Tom rushed in with the news that Mr. Jed Winkler's monkey was loose, none of the children thought of anything but the long-tailed animal with his funny, wrinkled face.

"How'd he get loose?" asked Bunny Brown, as he jumped down off a box on which he had been standing.

"Did he hurt any one?" asked Sue.

"Is he smashing everything in Mr. Raymond's store?" Charlie Star wanted to know.

"I should say so! You ought to see!" cried Tom. "I was coming past on my way here when I heard a lot of yells and saw a big crowd in front of the store. I looked in, and the monkey was banging a frying pan on a coffee grinder and making a big racket. Mr. Raymond was trying to get him down off a high shelf, but Wango wouldn't come. Then I ran on here to tell you about it."

"I'm glad you did," said Bunny Brown.

"We'll have this meeting again after we see the monkey," he said. "The meeting is -- it's -- er -- well, I don't know what it is my mother says when her meetings are stopped, but this meeting about the show we're going to give, is stopped while we go to see Mr. Jed Winkler's monkey."

"Oh, won't it be fun to see him drum with a frying pan!" exclaimed Sue.

"Maybe he won't be doing that when we get there," said Tom Milton. "But I guess he'll be doing something just as good."

"That monkey is always doing something," declared Charlie Star. "How'd he get loose, Tom?"

"Don't know!"

"Maybe Miss Winkler let him loose," suggested Sadie West. "She doesn't like Jed's monkey."

"And I guess she doesn't like his parrot very much, either. It makes a lot more noise than her canary bird," said Mary Watson. "I was in there the other day, and the parrot screeched like anything!"

"Well, come on, we'll go see the monkey!" called Sue.

There was a scramble among the children for hats and coats, for the weather was cold, though there had been no more snow storms since the first one. As Bunny, Sue, and the others passed along the side of the house on their way out of the yard, Mrs. Brown called to them.

"Where are you going, children?" she asked.

"To see Mr. Jed Winkler's monkey," answered Bunny.

"Are you going to have him in your show?" Mrs. Brown wanted to know, for she had not forgotten the circus the children once gave.

"We were talking about it," explained Sue, "when Tom Milton come and told us the monkey was loose."

"And he is in the hardware store," added Bunny. "We're going to see him!" he cried, his eyes shining.

"Well, button up your coats, for it's cold," warned Mrs. Brown. "I guess this will be the end of the show business," she added to Mrs. Watson who had stopped in for a few minutes' talk. "The children will forget all about their play after they see the monkey. And I shall be just as well pleased. Their circus was fun, but it meant a lot of work, and if they give a show, as Bunny and Sue talk of doing, it will mean more work."

"I don't believe they'll do it," answered Mrs. Watson.

But she hardly knew Bunny Brown and his sister Sue.

On to the hardware store hurried the group of children. As soon as they turned the corner of the street leading to Mr. Raymond's place they saw a crowd in front of the store.

"Oh, come on! Hurry!" cried Bunny. "Maybe he'll be all through doing things when we get there! Hurry!"

The boys and girls began to run, and when they reached the store they heard, from inside, a clanging and crashing sound.

"I guess Wango is doing things yet!" cried Sue.

"I guess so," agreed Tom Milton. "Come on, let's go in the side door and we can see better," he proposed.

Tom seemed to know the best way to this "free show," and he led the others. Bunny, his sister, and their boy and girl friends went down a little alley, and thus into the store by a side entrance.

As they stepped into the hardware place there was another crash of pots and pans, and Sue cried:

"Oh, I see him! He's got an egg beater now in one paw!"

"And some pie pans in the other!" exclaimed Bunny.

"Where is he? I don't see him!" said Mary Watson.

"Right up on the shelf by the cans of paint," replied Bunny, pointing. "Say, if he opens any cans of paint and splashes that around won't it be fun!" he laughed.

"Hi there, Bunny Brown!" called Mr. Raymond, the hardware man, when he heard the little boy say this. "Don't be suggesting such things! That monkey might hear you and try it. I don't want my store all splashed up with red and green paint. Come on down now, Wango!" he called, snapping his fingers at the old sailor's queer pet. "Come on down, and I'll give you a cookie."

"I guess he'd rather have a cocoanut," suggested Sue. "My mother has some cocoanut for a cake, and there's a picture of a monkey on the paper, and he's eating cocoanuts."

"But I haven't any cocoanut to offer him," said Mr. Raymond. "I wish Jed Winkler would come and get his old monkey down! Wango would come to him."

"How'd the monkey get in here?" asked Bunny.

"I don't know," confessed Mr. Raymond. "First I knew, I heard the lady I was selling a coffee strainer to exclaim, and I looked up and there was Wango skipping around on the shelves. I guess Jed must have left a window open and the monkey got out, though he doesn't generally skip around outdoors in cold weather. Then he must have come along the street until he got to my place, and, when he saw the door open, in he popped. Jed's house is only a few steps from here. But I wish Jed would come and get his Wango."

"Here he is now!" cried a chorus of children's voices, and, looking toward the front of his store, Mr. Raymond saw the old sailor coming in.

"What's all the trouble here?" asked Mr. Winkler.

"It's your monkey again, Jed," answered Mr. Raymond. "Lucky my place isn't a china store, or you'd have a lot of damages to pay for broken dishes. As it is, Wango can't break any of my pots and pans, though he certainly is mussing them up a lot!"

Well might this be said, for, as the hardware man spoke, the monkey leaped from one shelf to another and, in so doing, knocked down a lot of tin pans which fell to the floor with a clatter and a bang.

"Can't you do something to stop him?" cried Mr. Raymond.

"Well, yes, I suppose I can," said Mr. Winkler slowly. "I didn't know he was loose till a minute ago, when some one came and told me. I was down on the fish dock, talking with Bunker Blue. But I'll get Wango down. I'm real glad he isn't in a china store, for he surely would break things! Here, Wango!" he called, holding out his hand to the monkey, now perched on a high shelf. "Come on down, that's a good chap! Come on down!"

"He doesn't seem to want to come," suggested a man with a red moustache.

"Oh, I'll get him. He needs a little coaxing," returned the old sailor. "Come on down, Wango!" he went on.

Wango looked at the egg beater he held in one paw, and then, seeing the little handle which turned the wheel, he began to twist it. To do this he dropped the pie pans he held in the other paw and they fell to the floor with a crash.

"Land goodness, he certainly makes noise enough!" said one of the women in the store, covering her ears with her hands.

Perched above the heads of the crowd, and paying no attention to the calls of Jed Winkler, the monkey began turning the egg beater. He seemed to like that most of all.

"Maybe he thinks it's a hand organ," suggested Bunny Brown, and the people in the store laughed.

"Come on, Wango! Come down!" cried Mr. Winkler, but the monkey would not leap down from the high shelf.

"Guess you'll have to climb up and get him yourself, Jed," suggested Mr. Reinberg, who kept the drygoods store next door. He had run in, together with other neighboring shopkeepers, to see what the excitement was about.

"I could get him down if I had something to coax him with," returned the old sailor.

"I promised him a cookie," said Mr. Raymond.

"He'd rather have a piece of cake -- cocoanut cake would be best," went on Mr. Winkler.

"I'll go home and get some," offered Bunny Brown. "My mother baked a cocoanut cake yesterday, and I guess there's some left."

"You don't need to go all the way back to your house after the cake," said Mrs. Nesham, who kept a bakery across the street from the hardware store. "I'll get one from my shelves."

She hurried across the way, and soon came back with a large piece of cocoanut cake.

"If the monkey doesn't take it I wish she'd give it to me," said Tom Milton.

"Oh, Wango will take this all right," said Jed Winkler. "Here you are, you little rascal!" he called to his pet. "Come down and see what I have for you." He held up the piece of cake. Wango saw it and this seemed to be just what he wanted. He dropped the egg beater, which fell to the floor with another clatter and clang, and then the monkey began climbing down the shelves.

He had almost reached the old sailor, his master, when the front door of the hardware store opened to allow a new customer to come in. Whether this frightened Wango, or whether he thought he had not yet had enough fun, no one knew. But instantly he snatched the piece of cake from Mr. Winkler's hand, and, holding it in his paw, skipped out the door.

"There he goes!" cried Bunny Brown. "He's loose again!"

"And he's up in a tree out in front!" added Tom Milton, who had rushed out ahead of the others in the store.

Surely enough, when the crowd got outside, there was Wango perched high in a big, leafless tree, eating cake.

THERE WAS WANGO PERCHED HIGH ON A BIG TREE. Bunny Brown and His Sister Sue Giving a Show. Page 42

"Well, how are you going to get him down out of there?" asked Mr. Snowden.

"Looks as if I'd have to climb after him," said Mr. Winkler. "When I was a sailor on a ship, and had Wango for a pet, he used to climb up the mast and rigging and I'd go after him. That was when I was younger. I don't believe I could climb that tree and get him now."

"Do you want me to do it for you, mister?" asked a new voice.

Bunny, Sue, and the other children turned to see who had spoken. They saw a boy about twelve years old, with bright, shining eyes standing beside Mr. Winkler and pointing up at the monkey in the tree. The strange boy seemed to have arrived on the scene very suddenly.

"Do you want me to climb the tree and get your monkey for you?" asked the boy. "I'll do it, if he doesn't bite."

"Oh, he doesn't bite -- Wango is very gentle," said Mr. Winkler. "But can you climb that high tree?"

"I've climbed higher ones than that," was the answer. "And ropes and poles and the sides of buildings. I can climb almost anything if I can get a hold. I'll go up and get the monkey for you!"

As he spoke he took off his coat; and though the day was cold Bunny noticed that the strange boy wore no overcoat. Hanging his jacket on a low limb of the tree which held Wango, the boy began to climb. And, as he did so, Sue pulled her brother's sleeve.

"Do you know who that is?" she whispered.

"Who?" asked Bunny Brown.

"That boy climbing the tree. Don't you 'member him?"

"No. Who is he?"

"Why, he's the boy who turned somersaults in the Opera House show!"



Chapter V

A Cold Little Singer


Bunny Brown was so excited in watching to see how the strange boy would climb up and get the monkey that, at first, he paid little attention to what Sue said. The boy by this time was beginning to scramble up the trunk of the tree. Sitting on a branch, high above the lad's head, was Wango the monkey, eating the piece of cake.

"It's the very same boy, I know it is!" declared Sue.

"What same boy?" asked Sadie West, while the other boys and girls watched the climber.

"The same one who was with the little girl that sang songs in the Opera House show. Don't you remember, Bunny?" asked Sue.

This time Bunny not only heard what his sister said, but he paid some attention to her. And, noting that the climbing boy was half way up the tree now, Bunny turned to Sue and asked her what she had said.

"This is the number three time I told you," she answered, shaking her head. "That's the boy from the show in the Opera House!"

Bunny looked closely at the climbing lad.

"Why, so it is!" he cried. "Look, Charlie -- Harry -- that's the acrobat from the show!"

The boy in the tree was in plain sight now, over the heads of the crowd, as he made his way upward from limb to limb, and several of Bunny's chums were sure he was the same lad they had seen in the show.

"But what's he doing here?" asked Bunny. "Mother read in the paper that the same show we saw here was traveling around and was in Wayville last night. I wonder why that boy is here?"

"And where's his sister that sang such funny little songs?" inquired Sadie West.

"We'll ask him when he comes down," suggested George Watson, who used to be a mean, tricky boy, making a lot of trouble for Bunny and Sue. But, of late, George had been kinder.

Higher and higher, up into the tree went the "show boy," as the children called him. Wango still was perched on the limb of the tree, eating his cake. He did not climb higher or try to leap to another tree, as Jed Winkler said he was afraid his pet might do.

Up and up went the boy, and a moment later he was calling in a kind and gentle voice to the monkey and holding out his hands.

"Come on, old fellow! Come on down with me!" invited the climbing boy. "They want you down below! Come on!"

Whether Wango was tired of his tricks, or whether he had eaten all his cake and thought the only way he could get more was by coming down as he was invited, no one stopped to figure out. At any rate the old sailor's pet gave a friendly little chatter and then advanced until he could perch on the boy's shoulder, which he did, clasping his paws around the lad's neck.

"That's the way! Now we'll go down!" said the boy.

"He's got him! He's got your monkey, Mr. Winkler!" cried the children standing beneath the tree.

"He's a good climber -- that boy!" said the old sailor. "He's as good a climber as I used to be when I was on a ship."

Down came the boy with the monkey on his shoulder. Of course Wango himself could have climbed down alone had he wished to, but he didn't seem to want to do this -- that was the trouble.

"There you are!" exclaimed the boy, as he slid to the ground, and walked over to Mr. Winkler, with Wango still perched on his shoulder. "Here's your monkey!"

"Much obliged, my boy," said the old sailor. "It was very good of you. Do you -- er -- do I owe you anything?" and he began to fumble in his pocket as if for money, while Wango jumped from the lad's back to the shoulder of his master.

"No, not anything. I did it for fun," was the laughing answer. "I'm used to climbing and that sort of thing. I like it!"

"Didn't you used to be in the show that was in the Opera House here last week?" asked Harry Bentley.

"Yes," answered the boy, as he put on his coat. "I was with the show."

"Why aren't you with it now?" asked Bunny.

"And where's your sister -- the one that sang?" added Sue.

The boy's face turned red, and he seemed to be confused.

"Well, we -- er -- I -- that is we left the show," he said. "Maybe I ought to say that the show left us. It 'busted up,' as we say. There wasn't enough money to pay the actors, and so we all had to quit."

"That's too bad," said Jed Winkler. "It was a pretty good show, too. But say, my boy, I feel that I owe you something for having gotten my monkey down out of the tree. If you haven't been paid by the show people, perhaps -- maybe --  -- "

"Oh, no, thank you! I don't take pay for doing things like climbing trees after pet monkeys," was the answer. The boy started to laugh, but he did not get very far with it. "You don't owe me anything. And now I must go and get my sister," he added.

"Where did you leave her?" asked Mrs. Newton, one of the ladies who had been in the store when the monkey began "cutting up."

"I left her sitting on a bench in the little park down near the river front," answered the boy.

"That's a cold place!" exclaimed Mrs. Newton. "Why don't you take her where it's warm?"

"Well, to tell you the truth, I don't know where to take her," said the boy. "We just had money enough left to pay our trolley fare from a place called Wayville, where we played last night, to this town. We thought we'd come back here."

"To give another show?" asked the hardware man.

"No, I guess our show is gone for good," was the boy's answer. "But I sort of liked this place, and so did my sister. I thought I might get work here, at least until I could make money enough to go back to New York."

"Got any folks in New York?" asked Mr. Winkler, as he stroked the head of his pet monkey.

"Well, no, not exactly folks," replied the show boy, as he brushed some bits of bark from his trousers. "But it's easier to get a place with a show if you're in New York. They all start out from there."

"That boy looks to me as though the best place for him, right now, would be at a table with a good meal on it," said Mrs. Newton. "He looks hungry and cold."

"He does that," agreed Mrs. Brown, who had followed Bunny and Sue to see that they did not get into mischief. "I'm going to invite him to our house." She stepped up closer to the lad who had got the monkey down out of the tree, and asked: "Wouldn't you like to come home with me and have something to eat?"

The boy's face flushed and his eyes brightened.

"Thank you," he said. "I really am hungry. I'll be glad to work for a meal. There wasn't money enough for breakfast and car fare too, but I thought there was a better chance for work here than in Wayville, and so my sister and I came on."

"And where did you say she was?" asked Mrs. Brown.

"I left her sitting in the little park down by the water front, while I came up into the town to look for work. Then I saw the crowd around the tree and --  -- "

"Poor little girl!" exclaimed Mrs. Brown. "Now, you two are coming home with me!" she went on. "We'll talk about work later. Come along, my boy. I've got children of my own, and I know what's good for 'em. Take me to where you left your sister. And don't all of you come, or you might bother the poor child," she added, as she saw the crowd about to follow. "I'll tell you all about it later."

"Can't we come, Mother?" asked Bunny Brown.

"Yes, you and Sue come with me. Mrs. Newton," she went on, turning to a fat lady, "I wish you'd go to my house and start to get something ready for these starved ones to eat. I'll be right along with them."

"And I'll take my monkey back home," said Jed Winkler. "My sister might be worried about him," and he smiled as the crowd laughed, for it was well known that Miss Winkler did not like Wango, though she was not unkind to him.

"Now show me where your sister is," said Mrs. Brown to the boy, as she walked along with him and her own two children. "By the way, what's your name?"

"Mart Clayton," he answered. "That's my real name, but my sister and I sometimes have stage names. Her real one is Lucile."

"That's a nice name," said Sue. "I like it better'n mine. Your sister sings, doesn't she?"

"Yes," answered the boy. "There she is, now!" he added, pointing to a bench in a little park that was not far from Mr. Brown's boat and fish dock.

"The poor, cold little singer!" murmured Mrs. Brown. "I must take care of them both!"

When they approached the bench the girl, who was about a year younger than her brother, looked up in surprise.

"Did you find any work?" she asked Mart eagerly.

"Well, no, not exactly," he answered.

The girl seemed much disappointed.

"But we're going to eat!" he added. "This lady has invited us to her house. After that I'll have a chance to look around and get a job to earn money to pay her and take us back to New York."

"Oh, you are the guests of Bunny and Sue for the meal. Guests don't pay," Mrs. Brown said, smiling at the strangers.

"Oh!" exclaimed Lucile. "That is -- it's very kind of you," she said.

"You poor thing! You're cold!" exclaimed Bunny's mother. "No wonder, sitting here without a jacket! Where's your cloak?"

"I -- I guess it's with our other baggage," was the girl's answer. "The boarding house kept it because we couldn't pay the bill when the show failed!" and tears came into her eyes.

"Never mind! We'll look after you," said motherly Mrs. Brown. "Come along, Bunny and Sue. Mrs. Newton will be at our house by this time."

As the five of them started down the street Bunny stopped suddenly.

"What's the matter?" asked his mother.

"I -- I forgot something," he said. "I've got to see Mr. Winkler!" and he started off on a run.



Chapter VI

General Washington


Mart Clayton, the boy who had climbed the tree to get down Mr. Winkler's monkey, looked first at funny Bunny Brown, who was trotting downstreet, and then he looked at Bunny's mother.

"Shall I run after him and bring him back?" asked Mart.

"O, no. Bunny will come back if I call him," was the answer. "But I wonder why he is in such a hurry to see Mr. Winkler? I'll find out," she went on. Then, making her voice louder, she called: "Bunny, come back here, please, come back."

"But, Mother, I've got to see Mr. Winkler!" exclaimed Bunny, as he paused and turned around. "It's about our show."

"That will keep until later," said Mrs. Brown with a smile. "I want you to come back with me now and help entertain the company," and she smiled and nodded to Mart and Lucile Clayton.

"Oh, yes. I -- I didn't mean to be impolite," said Bunny, as he walked slowly back. "But I wanted to ask Mr. Winkler if we could have his monkey in our show."

"Oh, are you going to have a show?" asked Lucile, as she walked along with Sue, while Mrs. Brown, Bunny and Mart followed.

"Yes!" exclaimed Bunny, who heard the question. "We had a circus once, and we made some money. And after we saw the Opera House show you were in, we wanted to have one ourselves. So we're going to get one up. Sue can sing and I can turn somersaults. Not as good as you, of course," he said to Mart. "And one boy has some trained white mice and if we could get Mr. Winkler's monkey and --  -- "

"And his parrot! He's got a parrot, too!" exclaimed Sue.

"Yes, if he'll let us have the parrot we could have a dandy show!" agreed Bunny.

"I hope it will be a better show than the one we were in," said Mart, with a sad little smile. "It isn't any fun to go traveling with a troupe and then have it 'bust up' on the road as ours did."

"Aren't you children very young to be traveling alone?" asked Mrs. Brown. "Haven't you any -- well, any folks at all?"

She did not like to mention "father or mother," for fear both parents might be dead and to speak of them might cause sorrow to Mart and Lucile. But surely, Mrs. Brown thought, the boy and girl ought to have some one to look after them.

"Oh, we weren't exactly alone," said Lucile, who was not as old as her brother. "We were like one big family until the show failed. Mr. and Mrs. Jackson were in charge, and Mrs. Jackson was very good to us. But people didn't seem to like our performance, and we didn't make enough money to keep on playing."

"I liked your show," said Bunny.

"So did I!" exclaimed his sister Sue. "It was grand."

"Yes, if we had done as well everywhere as we did in this town I guess we'd have been all right," said Mart. "But we didn't. We got stranded in Wayville -- that's the next largest town to this, I heard some one say, and we couldn't go any farther. Some of our baggage had to go to pay bills. Mr. and Mrs. Jackson left us at a boarding house while they went to New York to see if they could raise money."

"But I guess they couldn't," added his sister. "Anyhow they didn't come back, and we didn't have any money. So the boarding house lady kept what few things we had left, and Mart and I came away."

"I made up my mind I'd have to do something," went on the climbing boy, as Bunny and Sue thought of him. "I'm strong, and if I could get work I'd soon earn enough money to take me and my sister back to New York. Perhaps you could tell me where I could get a job," he added to Mrs. Brown.

"We'll talk about that after you get warm and have had something to eat," said she.

"Yes, maybe that would be better," agreed Mart. "It makes you feel sort of funny not to eat."

"I know it does," put in Bunny. "Once Sue and I went to Camp Rest-a-While, and we got lost in the woods, and we didn't have anything to eat for a terrible long while."

"It was 'most all day," sighed Sue. "And we were terrible glad when daddy and mother found us!"

"I should say you were -- well, very glad," laughed her mother. "But here we are at our house. Now come in, Lucile and Mart, and make yourselves at home."

"And after you get warm, and have had something to eat, maybe you'll tell us about how to get up a show in a theater -- not one in a tent like a circus," suggested Bunny.

"Yes, we'll help you all we can," promised Lucile.

Mrs. Newton, coming to the Brown house ahead of the others, had got a nice lunch ready, and from the way Mart and his sister sat down to it and ate it was evident that they were very hungry. It was nice and warm in the Brown house, too, and the children from the vaudeville troupe seemed to like to be near the fire.

"Now if you have had enough to eat, perhaps you will tell me a little bit more about yourselves," suggested Mrs. Brown, when the two visitors were ready to leave the table. "I want to help you," she went on, "and I can best do that if I know more about you. My husband is in the boat and fish business here in Bellemere," she said, "and though he is not as busy in winter as he is in summer, he may find work for you," she added to Mart.

"I hope he can!" said the boy. "Well, I'll tell you about myself and my sister. You see we come of a theatrical family. Our father and mother were in the show business up to the time they died."

"Oh, then your father and mother are dead?" asked Mrs. Brown kindly.

"Yes," went on Lucile. "We hardly remember them as they died when we were little. We were brought up by our uncle Simon and Aunt Sallie. They were in the show business, too, and they traveled under several different names.

"Sometimes we traveled with them, and again we'd be off on the road by ourselves. But whenever we went alone that way Uncle Simon would always get some one, like Mr. and Mrs. Jackson, to look after us and take charge of us. So we didn't have it so hard until Uncle Simon and Aunt Sallie went away."

"Went away!" exclaimed Mrs. Brown. "Where did they go?"

"That's what we can't find out," answered Mart "They left their address for us with Mr. Jackson, but he lost it, and now we don't know where our uncle and aunt are."

"But surely some one knows!" said Mrs. Newton.

"Well, yes, I guess Uncle Bill knows, but we can't find him," said Mart.

"You seem to belong to a lost family!" exclaimed Mrs. Brown, with a smile. "Who is Uncle Bill, and where is he?"

"We don't know where he is, but he's blind," put in Lucile. "The last we heard of him he was going to some Home for the Blind, or to some hospital to be cured. But we don't know where he is. If we could find him he'd have Uncle Simon's address, for Uncle Simon used to always write to Uncle Bill. Of course Uncle Bill had to get some one to read the letters to him. But we haven't seen either of our uncles for a long time."

"You poor children!" exclaimed Mrs. Brown. "This is too bad! We must see what we can do to help you. Where do you think your Uncle Simon and Aunt Sallie went to?" she asked.

"It was over to England or France, or some place like that," answered Mart. "It was just before the war started, and maybe their ship was sunk. Anyhow, we haven't heard from them since then, and Mr. Jackson lost their address," he added.

"But your Uncle Simon knew where Mr. Jackson was, didn't he?" asked Mrs. Newton with interest.

"Well, maybe he did and maybe he didn't," answered Mart. "You see Mr. Jackson and his wife travel about a lot. Lots of times letters get lost, so Uncle Simon may have written about us, and Mr. Jackson might never have got the letter."

"Yes, that's so," agreed Mrs. Brown. "Well, when my husband comes home we'll talk with him and see what is best to do. You had better stay here until then and make yourselves at home. Hark! There's the doorbell."

"Who do you suppose that is, Mother?" asked Sue.

"I can't tell that, Sue, from here."

"I'll go and see who it is, Mother," offered Bunny, as he ran through the hall. The others heard the front door open and the sound of a man's voice mingling with that of Bunny's. In a moment the little fellow came running back.

"Who is it?" asked his mother.

"General Washington," was the surprising answer.



Chapter VII

"Down On The Farm"


For a moment Mrs. Brown did not know whether to laugh at Bunny for playing a joke or to tell him he must not do such things when there were visitors at the house. But Bunny looked so serious that his mother thought perhaps he did not mean to be funny.

"Who is it?" she asked again.

"General Washington," replied the little boy.

"Bunny Brown!" cried Mrs. Newton, "what do you mean?"

"Well, it's the man who made believe he was General Washington in the Opera House show, anyhow!" declared Bunny. "'Course he doesn't look like General Washington now, but --  -- "

Lucile and Mart did not wait for Bunny to finish. Together they ran to the front door.

"Bunny Brown, you aren't playing any jokes, are you?" asked his mother.

"No'm! Honest I mean it!" cried Bunny, his eyes shining with excitement. "It's the same man who was General Washington and General Grant and a lot of other people at the show in the Opera House! He's at our front door now, and he wants to know if the Happy Day Twins are here."

"The Happy Day Twins?" exclaimed Mrs. Brown.

"That's the name the boy and girl went under on the programme, you know," explained Mrs. Newton. "The same children you have been so kind to -- Lucile and Mart Clayton. They took the name of the 'Happy Day Twins' on the stage you know. Did the impersonator want them, Bunny?" she asked.

"I didn't see any 'personator," answered the little boy. "He was General Washington, I tell you, only he wasn't dressed up."

"I must go and see," declared Mrs. Brown.

As she went down the hall she met the brother and sister coming back. They seemed much excited.

"It's our friend, Mr. Treadwell," explained Mart. "He heard we had started for this town, and he followed us. He heard about my climbing the tree after the monkey, and some one told him my sister and I had come to your house, Mrs. Brown. May I ask him in? It's Mr. Samuel Treadwell, and he's a good friend of ours."

"Certainly, ask him in," said Mrs. Brown, with a smile. "Perhaps he is hungry, too," she said to her friend Mrs. Newton, Mart having gone back to the front door. "I've heard that actors are often hungry."

"But he's General Washington, too, isn't he?" demanded Bunny, following Mart.

"Yes, he pretends to be all sorts of famous people -- on the stage," kindly explained Mart to Bunny. "You'll like him, he can do lots of tricks."

"Can he jiggle -- I mean juggle?"

"Yes, but not as good as the other man in the play."

By this time Mrs. Brown had reached the door. On the steps stood an elderly man, with a pleasant smile on his face. Mrs. Brown recognized him at once as the impersonator, though of course he had on no wig or costume now. He looked just like an ordinary man, except that his face was rather more wrinkled.

"I'm sorry to trouble you, madam," said the man, "but I have been looking for my little friends, the 'Happy Day Twins,' as they are billed. Their real names are -- well, I suppose they have told you," and he smiled at Lucile and Mart, who were standing in the hall.

"Yes, we have been learning something about them, but we would be glad to know more, so we could help them," said Mrs. Brown. "Won't you come in? We have just been giving the children a little lunch, and perhaps, if you have not eaten lately, you will be glad to do so now."

"More glad than you can guess, madam," said the man with a bow. "I am, indeed, hungry. We have had bad luck, as perhaps Lucile and Mart have told you."

"Yes, they spoke of it," said Bunny's mother. "And now please come in, and while you are eating we can talk."

"Say, we could have a regular show here now!" whispered Bunny Brown to his sister Sue. "We have three actors now, and you and I would make two more."

"Oh, I don't want to be in a show now," said Sue. "I want to hear what they're going to tell mother."

Bunny did also, and when Mr. Treadwell had seated himself at the table the children listened to what followed.

"When you rang I was just telling Mart that perhaps my husband could give him some work, so enough money could be earned for the trip to New York," said Mrs. Brown. "Is it true that no one knows where these children's uncle and aunt can be found?"

"Well, I guess it's true enough," said Mr. Treadwell. "There are two uncles and one aunt, according to the story. William Clayton, who is a brother of Mart's father, is blind, and in some home or hospital -- I don't know where, and I guess the children don't either," he added.

Lucile and Mart shook their heads.

"Simon Weatherby and his wife, Sallie, are brother and sister-in-law of Mrs. Clayton's," went on the impersonator. "The last heard of them was that they sailed for the other side -- England, France or maybe Australia for all I know. We theatrical folk travel around a good bit. Anyhow, Simon Weatherby and his wife left in a hurry, and they gave the care of the children over to Mr. and Mrs. Jackson.

"Now Mr. Jackson is all right, and a nice man, but he is careless, else he wouldn't get into so much trouble, and he wouldn't have lost the address of Mart's Uncle Simon. But that's how it happened. So the children have some relations if we can only find them, and what they are to do in the meanwhile, now that the show is scattered, is more than I know."

"Well, I know one thing they're going to do, and that is stay right here with me until they are sure of a home somewhere else," said Mrs. Brown.

"I'm glad to hear you say that!" exclaimed Mr. Treadwell, as he finished his lunch. "I heard they left the boarding house, and that they had no money. Well, I haven't any too much myself, but I followed them, hoping I could find 'em and help 'em. Now I've found my little friends all right," he said, looking kindly at Lucile and Mart, "but some one else has helped them."

"They helped some one else first," said Mrs. Newton, with a smile. "Mart got Mr. Winkler's monkey down out of a tree."

"I heard about that," returned Mr. Treadwell, with a laugh. "Well, now that I have located you, I suppose I'd better travel on, though where to go or what to do I don't know," he added with a sigh. "I'm not as young as I once was," he added, "and there isn't the demand for impersonators there once was. If I could get back to New York --  -- "

He paused and shook his head sadly.

"Why don't you stay here and look for work, just as I'm going to do?" asked Mart. "If you get to New York there won't be much chance. All the theater places are filled now for the winter season."

"That's so!" agreed the impersonator. "But I don't know what sort of work I could do here."

"You -- you could be in our show!" interrupted Bunny, who, with Sue, had been listening eagerly to all the talk. "We're going to have a show, and you three could be in it!"

"Going to have a show, are you?" asked Mr. Treadwell, with a smile.

"Yes, a real one," declared Sue. "Once we had a circus, but this show is going to be in the Opera House, maybe, and we'll give all the money we make to our mother's Red Cross."

"That will be nice," said Mr. Treadwell, with a smile. "But I'm afraid I'd be too big to fit into your show."

"Oh, no!" exclaimed Bunny. "We're going to have Bobbie Boomer in it, and he's a big fat boy."

Mr. Treadwell laughed and Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Newton joined in.

"What sort of play are you going to have?" asked Mr. Treadwell.

"Well, we were just talking about it, in our garage, when Tom Milton told us that Mr. Winkler's monkey was loose," explained Bunny, "and we didn't talk any more about it until just now. But the show is going to be different from the circus."

"Where are you going to have it?" asked Mrs. Newton.

"I don't know," confessed Bunny. "Maybe my father will let us have it in the boat shop. That's a big place."

A step was heard in the hall, and Bunny and Sue cried:

"There's our daddy now!"

Mr. Brown walked in, kissed the children and seemed quite surprised to see three strangers present. Matters were quickly explained to him, however, and he welcomed Mr. Treadwell, Lucile and Mart.

"Do you think you could find work for them?" asked Mrs. Brown, when the stories had been told.

"Well, I might," slowly answered Mr. Brown. "I need some help down at the dock and office to get things ready for winter."

"Don't make 'em work so hard they can't help in our show," begged Bunny.

"Oh, you're going to have another circus, are you?" asked his father, with a smile.

"No, it isn't going to be a circus, it's going to be a regular Opera House show!" cried Sue.

"What about?" her father wanted to know, as he caught her up in his arms.

"We don't know yet," Bunny said. "But maybe the play will be about pirates or Indians or soldiers."

"Why don't you have some nice quiet play that would be good for Christmas?" asked Mr. Brown. "Why not have a play with a farm scene in it? You have been down to Grandpa's farm, and you know a lot about the country. Why not have a farm play and call it 'Down on the Farm'?"

"That's the very thing!" suddenly cried Mr. Treadwell. "Excuse me for getting so excited," he said, "but when you spoke about a farm play I remembered that we have some farm scenery in our show that failed. I believe you could buy that scenery cheap for the children," he said to Mr. Brown. "There are three scenes, one meadow, a barnyard with a barn and an orchard; and the last had a house with it."

"Oh, Daddy! get us the farm theater things for our new play!" cried Bunny Brown.



Chapter VIII

The Scenery


Daddy Brown looked at his two children, and then, as he glanced across the table at the actor who made believe he was George Washington and other great men, Daddy Brown laughed.

"These youngsters of mine will be giving a real show before I know it, with scenery and everything," he said.

"Well, a show isn't much fun unless you have some scenery in it," said Mr. Treadwell, "and the scenery I spoke of, which was part of our show, can be bought cheap, I think."

"Say, Daddy, is the sheenery in a show like the sheenery in a automobile or one of your motor boats?" asked Sue.

"Oh, she's thinking of wheels and things that go around!" laughed Bunny. "That's ma-chinery, Sue, and scenery is what we saw in the Opera House -- make-believe trees, and the brook, you know."

"Oh!" exclaimed Sue. "Well, can we have that -- that sheenery for our play?" she asked her father.

"I'll see about it," he answered, and Bunny and Sue looked happy, for, like their mother, whenever their father said "I'll see," it almost always meant that he would do as they wanted him to.

"I'm afraid, though," said Mr. Brown, "that getting up a show in town will be harder, Bunny and Sue, than getting up a circus. In the circus you could use your dog Splash and some of the animals from Grandpa's farm. But a theater show, or one like it, hasn't many animals in it. You ought to do more acting than you do trapeze work."

"Oh, we can do it!" cried Bunny Brown. "They're going to help, aren't you?" and he looked over at Lucile and Mart.

"We'll help all we can," Mart promised. "That is, if we're here, and I don't see how we can get away, for we haven't any money to pay our fare on the train."

"That's my trouble, too," said Mr. Treadwell, with a smile. "I'd offer to help too, if I thought I was going to be here."

"Oh, then we'll be sure to have a show!" declared Bunny. "You can be General Washington and maybe some soldier, and we'll pretend you came down to the farm to see us. Then I'll turn somersaults and Sue can bring me out some cookies to eat, 'cause I get hungry when I turn somersaults. And you can do tricks like those you did in the Opera House," he added to Mart.

"What do you want me to do?" asked Lucile, with a smile.

"Oh, you -- you can help Sue bring out the cookies for Mart and me," decided Bunny. "And -- oh yes -- you can sing -- those songs you sang in the show we went to see, you know."

"All right, I'll help all I can -- if I'm here," said Lucile.

"Well, suppose we talk a little about the trouble you good theater folks are in," suggested Mr. Brown. "The show Bunny and Sue are going to give can wait for a while. Now what do you want to do -- get back to New York, all three of you?"

"Well, New York is the place almost all show people start from," said Mr. Treadwell, "but I don't know that there's much use going back there now. All the places in other shows will be taken. If I could get some sort of work here for the winter I'd stay."

"So would I!" declared Mart. "I like to stay in a place two or three weeks at a time, and not have to move to a new town every night, like a circus. Have you any work you could let me do?" he asked Mr. Brown.

"I was going to speak of that," replied the father of Bunny and Sue. "One of the young men in my office is going on leave, and I could hire you in his place. The wages aren't very big," he said, "but it would be enough for you to live on and take care of your sister."

"I suppose I could board here in Bellemere," suggested Mart.

"You can stay right here -- you and Lucile!" cried Mrs. Brown. "Our house is plenty large enough, and there's lots of room. Do stay here -- at least until you locate your uncle and your aunt."

"That's very kind of you," said Lucile softly, and she reached over and stroked Sue's curls.

"Oh, goodie!" cried Bunny, when he understood that his father was going to hire Mart Clayton to work in the office at the dock. "Then you can help us get up the show."

"Well, I'll do all I can," promised Mart.

"And I'll help, too," added Lucile.

"If you can find a place for me, Mr. Brown, I'll make the same promise," said Mr. Treadwell. "I don't care much about going back to New York, and if Mart and Lucile stay here I'd like to stay, too, and sort of look after them. I'll try to help them find their missing folks."

"I guess I can find work for you," said Mr. Brown. "Do you know anything about the fish or boat business?"

"Very little, I'm afraid. I once worked as a bookkeeper in a piano factory, though, if that would help any," he said.

"Keeping books is just what I want done," said Mr. Brown. "So you can have a place in my office. The man I have is going to leave, and you may take his place. He also has a room with Mr. Winkler and his sister, and you could get board there."

"That suits me all right, and thank you very much," said Mr. Treadwell. "I'll send over to Wayville and get what little baggage I have. But will it be all right for me to board at Mr. Winkler's?" he asked.

"Oh, yes. They'll be glad to have you."

"And you can see Mr. Winkler's monkey Wango and the parrot all the while!" cried Bunny Brown.

"That will be a treat!" laughed Mr. Treadwell.

So it was settled that both Mr. Treadwell and Mart would work for Mr. Brown. The man who pretended to be George Washington and other great men would board with the old sailor and his sister, while Mart and Lucile would live with the Browns.

"And we'll have lots of fun!" said Sue to Lucile.

"And will you show me how to make flipflops?" asked Bunny of Mart.

"Yes," answered the boy actor and acrobat, "I will."

While Lucile remained at Mrs. Brown's house, Mart, with Mr. Brown and the impersonator went over to Wayville to get the baggage of the theatrical folk. Mr. Brown was going to pay the board bills. Bunny and Sue wanted to go also, but their father said:

"I'll take you along when we go to look at the scenery. You'd only be in the way now, and wouldn't have a good time."

That night Lucile and Mart stayed at the Brown house, which was to be their home for some time, and Mr. Treadwell went to board with the Winklers.

"And when you come over in the morning tell us all about the monkey and parrot!" begged Bunny, as the actor started for his boarding place that evening.

"I will," was the promise.

"When are we going to get the scenery for our play, Daddy?" asked Bunny Brown, as he and his sister Sue were getting ready for bed that night.

"I'll take you over to-morrow after school," was the promise. And you can well imagine that the two children could hardly wait for the time to come.

The air was clear and cold, and it seemed as if there would be more snow when Mr. Brown brought around the automobile in which the trip to Wayville was to be made. Bunny and Sue, Lucile and Mart were to sit in the back, while Mr. Brown and Mr. Treadwell sat in front. They were going to the place where the theatrical scenery had been stored since the time the vaudeville troupe had got into trouble.

"I'm glad winter is coming, aren't you?" asked Bunny of Mart, as they rode along the roads which were still covered with snow from the first storm.

"Well, yes, I like winter," was the answer. "It's always the best time for the show business -- 'tisn't like a circus -- that does best in the summer time."

"We had our circus in summer," said Sue. "Now we're going to have a real theater show in the winter."

The automobile was going down a snowy hill into Wayville, and Mr. Brown had put on the brakes, for, once or twice, the machine had slid from side to side.

"I ought to have chains on the back wheels," said the fish merchant to Mr. Treadwell. "But if I go slowly I guess I'll be all right. Do you think we need any more scenery than the three sets you spoke of -- the barnyard, the orchard and the meadow?"

"No, I think that will be enough," said the actor. "The children only want something simple. You can tell when you see it."

"Can we pick apples in the orchard?" asked Sue.

Before Mr. Treadwell could answer something happened. Mr. Brown turned out to one side of the road to let another automobile pass, and, a moment later, his machine began sliding to one side at a place where there was a deep gully.

"Oh!" screamed Lucile. "We're going to upset!"



Chapter IX

Bunny Does A Trick


Nearer and nearer to the side of the deep gully, across the road that was slippery with snow, slid Mr. Brown's automobile. Bunny and Sue's father's hands held tightly to the steering wheel, and he pressed his foot down hard on the brake pedal.

"Oh! Oh!" cried the children.

"Sit still! It will be all right!" exclaimed Mr. Brown. "We won't be hurt!"

And so well did he steer the automobile that in a few seconds more it was back in the middle of the road and going safely down the hill. The dangerous gully was passed. It had all happened so quickly that Bunny and Sue had had no chance to get really frightened. But they were so sure their father could do everything all right that I hardly believe they would have worried even if the auto had started to roll over sideways. Bunny would probably have thought it only a trick, and he and Sue were very fond of tricks.

"The man in the other automobile didn't give you enough room to pass, did he, Mr. Brown?" asked the actor, when the danger was over.

"Not quite," was the answer. "We'll go home by another road that is wider, but I took this one because it is the shortest way."

"I hope I didn't do wrong to cry out that way," Lucile said, when they were on their way again.

"No, you didn't do any harm," said Mr. Brown. "I was a bit alarmed myself at first. But we're all right now."

"We were in a railroad wreck once," went on Lucile.

"Did the trains all smash up?" asked Bunny, his eyes wide open.

"Yes, they were badly smashed," answered Lucile. "I don't like to think about it. Mart was hurt, too!"

"Was you?" cried Bunny, forgetting, in his excitement, to speak correctly. "Say, you've had lots of things happen to you, haven't you?"

"Quite a few," answered the boy actor. "I've traveled around a good bit. But I think I like it here better than anywhere I've been."

"I do too," said Lucile. "Traveling everyday makes one tired."

A little later they reached Wayville, and Mr. Treadwell told Mr. Brown where to go in the automobile to look at the scenery. It was stored away, for the company that had "busted up," as Mart sometimes called it, had no further use for it.

"Oh, look! Here's a little house!" cried Bunny, when with their father and the others he and Sue had entered the big room where the scenery was stored.

"It's got a door to it," said Sue, "but the window is only make believe," and she found this out when she tried to stick her fat little hand out of what looked like a window in the side of the small house.

"Most things on a stage in a theater are make believe," said the man who pretended to be different persons. "You'll find the scenery isn't as pretty when you get close to it as it is when you see it from the other side of the footlights."

This the children noticed was true. The scenery was made of painted canvas stretched over a framework of wood. And the colors were put on with a coarse brush and was very thick, as Bunny and Sue saw when they went up close.

"But it looked so pretty in the Opera House," complained Bunny.

"That's because you were farther off, and because the lights were made to shine on it in a certain way," explained Mart. "It will look just as pretty again when you use it in your show."

Bunny and Sue were not so sure of this, but they were willing to wait and see. Mr. Brown and Mr. Treadwell looked over the scenery.

As the actor had said, there were three "sets" as they are called. One was a scene painted to look like a meadow, with a big green field, a stream of water and, in the distance, cows eating grass. Of course the cows were only pictured ones as was the grass and stream.

The barnyard scene showed more cows and the end of a barn, and in this barn there was a real door that opened and shut. Mr. Treadwell explained that the boy and girl actors could go through this door to enter upon or leave the stage during the play.

"There's a pump and a watering trough that goes with this scene," said the actor. "In the play as we used to give it the trough was filled with water and one of the actors had to fall into it."

"And does the pump pump real water?" cried Bunny.

"Yes, about a pail full," was the answer.

"Then we'll have it in our show!" cried the little boy. "I'll fall into the trough and get all wet, Sue, and you can pump more water on me from the pump."

"That'll be fun!" laughed Sue.

"We'll have to see about that act first," laughed Mr. Brown. "Now let's find out what else we have for the great play 'Down on the Farm.' Where's that orchard I heard you speak of, Mr. Treadwell?"

"I guess the orchard is behind the barn," laughed the old actor. And when some of the men in the storage place had lifted away the painted canvas that represented the barn, a pretty orchard scene was shown.

"There's the rest of the little house!" cried Bunny, for at first he had only noticed one side of it.

"Yes, there is one end of a house shown in this scene, as one end of the barn is shown in the other," explained the actor. "And there is a real door, too, that opens and shuts. The orchard, as you see, is only painted."

And so it was, but in such a way as to appear very pretty when set up and lighted.

"Here's a real tree!" cried Bunny, who was rummaging about back of the stacked-up scenery.

"Well, it's meant to look like a real tree," said Mr. Treadwell, "but it isn't, really. It's a pretty good imitation of a peach tree, and I suppose you could use it in your show, children."

"Peaches don't grow in the winter," objected Bunny, who had been on his grandfather's farm often enough to know this.

"We could make believe our show was in summer," said Sue.

"Yes, or you could make believe your play took place down south, where it's always warm," added Mart, "and you could have this for an orange tree."

"Oh, no! That wouldn't do!" laughed Mr. Treadwell. "The leaves aren't anything like those of an orange tree. I remember once when we gave an act with this tree it was supposed to be on a tropic island, and one of the actors fastened a cocoanut on it, to make the audience think it really grew there."

"What happened?" asked Mr. Brown, as he saw the actor laugh.

"Well, the cocoanut wasn't fastened on very well," was the answer, "and when the leading lady was standing under the tree, singing a sad song, the cocoanut fell off and dropped on her foot. She stopped singing right there, and the play was nearly spoiled. So don't have oranges grow on peach trees," he advised.

"We could have peanuts," suggested Bunny. "They wouldn't hurt if they fell on you."

Mr. Brown and Mr. Treadwell laughed at that, and Bunny wondered why they did.

The children were delighted with the scenery, once they had got over their surprise at how coarse the paint looked when they were close to it. The barn and the house, with their real doors that opened and shut, were quite wonderful to Bunny Brown and his sister Sue, and so was the tree.

This was made of wood with what seemed to be real bark on it, and had limbs, branches, and twigs that seemed very natural. But Mr. Treadwell explained that it was all artificial, like the palms you see in some hotels and moving picture theaters.

While Bunny and Sue waited, Mr. Brown talked with the man who had charge of the scenery, and in a little while the children's father said he would buy the set, which was offered at a low price.

"And can we give our show with it?" Bunny wanted to know when told what his father had done.

"Yes," said Mr. Brown. "It will be delivered in Bellemere day after to-morrow, and stored away in our garage until you decide when and where you are going to give your show. There is a lot to be done before your first performance, children. I guess you know that, from the work you had getting up your circus."

"We'll have a lot of fun!" declared Bunny, not thinking of the hard work. "When we get back home I'll tell the boys and girls about the scenery and they can come over to see it. Then we'll begin to practice for the show play."

"You'll have to have a play written for you, bringing in all the scenery I've bought," said Mr. Brown.

"I guess I can manage that part for them," suggested Mr. Treadwell. "I have written two or three little plays, and I guess I can do one more. I'll write out a little sketch and have parts to fit as many boys and girls as Bunny and Sue can get to act."

"Oh, I can get a lot of 'em!" cried Bunny. "And will you make it so Sue can pump water and I can fall in the trough and get all wet?"

"It's pretty cold to fall into the water," said the actor. "But we'll talk of that later."

You can imagine how excited the little friends of Bunny Brown and his sister Sue were when they heard that Mr. Brown had bought some real scenery for the children's play. As soon as the house, the barn, the meadow, the barnyard, and the orchard had been brought to the garage a crowd of boys and girls was on hand to look at them.

Sue led a number of her girl friends up in the loft to look over the painted canvas, and Bunny took charge of a throng of boys. Sue was explaining about the make-believe tree, that once had had a cocoanut on it, when suddenly there came a cry of pain from behind the painted canvas barn.

"Oh! Oh!" exclaimed a voice. "I'm stuck fast!"

"That's Bunny!" shouted Sue. "What's the matter?" she asked.

"Bunny tried to do a trick and he's caught!" answered Charlie Star. "You'd better go and get your father or mother!"



Chapter X

Getting Ready


Sue Brown was too curious when she heard Charlie say this to do as she had been told.

"Oh, Bunny!" she called out, as she heard her brother's cries, "what's the matter, and where are you?"

"He's stuck in the watering trough," explained Harry Bentley. "Come on back here and you can see him!"

"Get me out! Get me out!" begged Bunny. "Please get me out!"

"Better go get your father or mother," advised Charlie again. "I've pulled and pulled, and I can't get Bunny loose. His trick didn't work out right."

But Sue made up her mind that she would see what was the matter with Bunny before she called on her father and mother to come and help. She and Bunny had often been in little troublesome scrapes before, and often they got out by themselves. They might do it this time. So Sue darted around the piled-up scenery, and there she saw a group of boys around the stage watering trough.

This was made to look like the watering troughs you may have seen in the country, made from a big, hollowed-out log. Only this one was made of sheet tin, and painted to look like wood.

Down in the trough was Bunny Brown. He was stretched out at full length and he seemed to be caught. In fact he was caught, and the reason for it was that Bunny was a little too big to fit in the stage trough -- that is his shoulders were too large. But his legs and feet were free, and with his shoes he was drumming a tattoo on the inside of the tin trough, which was somewhat like a bathtub.

"Oh, Bunny Brown, what have you done now?" cried Sue, when she saw her brother in the trough and the crowd of boys standing around him.

"I -- I'm stuck fast!" Bunny replied. "I was practising a trick, like the one I'm going to do on the stage when we give our play. I got in the trough, and now I can't get out."

"It's a good thing we didn't put the water in as he wanted us to do," said George Watson, "else he'd be soaking wet now."

"Yes, I'm glad you didn't put the water in," agreed Bunny. "But say, I wish I could get out!"

He wiggled and squirmed, but still he was held fast.

"Oh, if he has to stay stuck in there all the while Bunny can't be in the show!" said Sadie West.

"We'll get him out!" declared Charlie Star. "Come on, Harry, you and George each take hold of him on one side, and Bobby Boomer and I'll pull his legs."

"My legs aren't caught!" said Bunny. "It's my shoulders!"

"Well, if I pull on your legs it'll help get your shoulders loose, I guess," returned Charlie. "Come on now, fellows!"

"Can't we girls help too?" asked Sue.

"Well, maybe you could," Charlie agreed. "All pull."

"Don't tear my clothes," protested Bunny. "If I tear my clothes maybe my mother won't let me be in the show."

"Come on now, let's all pull together!" suggested Charlie.

"COME ON NOW, LET'S ALL PULL TOGETHER!" Bunny Brown and His Sister Sue Giving a Show. Page 96

As many of the boys and girls as could, gathered around the trough and tried to pull Bunny loose. But he stuck fast in spite of all they could do. Then Sue said:

"I'm going to tell mother. She'll know how to get him loose. Once he was stuck in the rain water barrel, when it was empty, and my mother got him out. She can do 'most everything. I'll go for her."

"Yes, I guess you'd better," agreed Bunny. "We've got a lot to do to get ready for the play, and I can't do anything while I'm stuck fast here."

"It's a good thing this isn't in the play, or everybody in the audience would be laughing at us," said Harry Bentley.

"I -- I guess I won't get in the trough when we give our play real," decided Bunny. "I might get stuck then. I'll think up some other trick to do."

Sue was about to hurry away, intending to call her mother, when some one was heard coming up the stairs that led to the loft over the garage. A moment later the head and shoulders of Mart Clayton came into view.

"Oh, Mart!" cried Sue, for she and Bunny felt quite well acquainted with the boy and girl performers, "Bunny is stuck in the trough and he can't get out!"

"Is there water in it?" asked Lucile's brother quickly, as he jumped up the rest of the stairs.

"No!" answered a chorus of boys and girls. "Not a drop."

"Oh, then he's all right," said Mart. "I'll soon have him out."

And he did. It was very simple. Mart simply pulled Bunny's coat off, over the little fellow's head, and then Bunny was small enough to slip out of the trough himself. He had so wiggled and squirmed after getting into the tin thing like a bath tub that his coat was all hunched up in bunches. This kept his shoulders from slipping out, but when the coat was off everything was all right.

"What did you get in there for?" asked Mart, when Bunny was on his feet once more.

"I was practising my act," was the answer. "I'm going to be a farmer boy in the play, and then I hide in the trough so I can scare an old tramp that comes to get a drink of water. Only there isn't going to be any water in the trough when I do my act," said Bunny. "I wanted there to be some, but mother won't let me."

"I guess we can do that act just as well without water as with it," said Mart with a smile. "An audience likes to see real water on the stage, but we can use some in the pump, I guess. Now then, boys and girls, are you all going to be in the new play, 'Down on the Farm?'"

"Yes, I am! I am! So'm I!" came the answers, and Mart laughed and put his hands over his ears.

"I guess we'll have plenty of actors and actresses," he said. "Mr. Treadwell will be out here this afternoon and tell you something of the little play he is going to write for you -- for all of us, in fact, for my sister and I are going to be in it with you. But now suppose I tell you a little about a stage, and how to come on and go off."

"Is Bunny going to get stuck again?" asked Sue. "If he is I'm going to tell mother so she can help get him out."

"No, I won't get in the trough again," said Bunny. "I only did it now to see if I'd fit. And I don't -- very well," he added.

Then Mart told Bunny, Sue, and the others something about how a stage in a theater is set, and something about the proper way to come on and go off. A little later Lucile also came out to the garage and she drilled the girls in a little dance they were to give.

Then the two young performers showed the others how the stage scenery was set up to look as real as possible from the front.

"Where are you going to give your play?" asked Mart, as they all sat down to rest.

"Oh, we don't know, yet," said Bunny. "I guess we won't have it until around Christmas, and by then my father will think up some place for us."

"Couldn't we have it up here?" asked Sadie West. "All the scenery is here."

"Oh, there isn't room," said Lucile. "We have to have a stage, and then there is no place up here for the audience to sit. And there isn't any use in giving a play unless you have an audience. That's half the fun. What are you going to do with all the money you make, Bunny Brown?" she asked the little chap.

"Oh, I -- I guess we'll give it to mother's Red Cross," he answered. "But first we've got to find out what sort of acts we can give. Our dog Splash is a good actor -- he was in our circus."

"I guess Mr. Treadwell can work Splash into the play in some way," said Mart. "We'll ask him."

That afternoon the actor gathered the children around him, out in the loft over the garage, and, by questioning them, he found out what each one could do best. Some could recite little verses, others could sing and some could dance.

"Can't I have my trained white mice in the play?" asked Will Laydon. "They twirl around on a wire wheel and one of 'em stands up on his hind legs."

"Well, perhaps we can use them," said the actor. "Now I'll tell you a little about the play I am going to write for you. It will be in three acts. One act will be in the meadow, as we have the scenery for that and must use what we have. Another act will be in the barnyard, and we can use as many animals there as we can get. Then we'll have the last act in the orchard, and you children can be in swings, in the trees, or playing around."

"We've got only one tree and not many of us can get in that," objected Charlie Star.

"Well, perhaps I can rig up another tree -- or something that will do," said Mr. Treadwell. "We'll decide about that later. Now as to the play. I thought I'd have it very simple. It's about an old man and two children who have lived in the city all their lives. They are in the show business and they get tired of it. One day while traveling about they miss their train, and they are left in a lonely country town.

"At first they don't like it, but when they see how quiet and peaceful it is, after the hot, noisy city, they decide to stay. They reach a farmhouse and find some children who are tired of the country and want to go to the city. The old man and the city children tell the country children about how hot it is in town, and advise them to stay in the fields and meadows.

"Then the old man and the children with him do some of the things they used to do in a city theater, and the country children do some of the things they do Friday afternoons at school. And they all have a good time. Then they hear about some poor people who live in a hospital, or some place like that, and they decide to get up a show to make money to give to the poor folks who haven't had much joy in life. So they give a little show, make some money and all ends happily. How do you like that?"

No one spoke for a moment, and then Bunny cried:

"Why -- why that's just like you and -- and us, Mr. Treadwell! It's almost real -- like it is here."

"Yes," agreed the actor, "I thought I'd make it as real as possible, and as natural. It will go better that way. Do you like it?"

"Oh, it's lovely!" said Sue. "I hope Sadie West will speak the piece about a Dolly's Prayer."

"Yes, she speaks that very nicely," said Mary Watson.

"Then we'll have her do it in our little play," decided Mr. Treadwell. "And now I'll start to work writing the play and we can soon begin to practice."

"And we really can give the money to the Blind Home here, instead of to the Red Cross, maybe," said Bunny. "Once mother and some ladies got up an entertainment and they made 'most fifty dollars for the Blind Home."

"I hope we can make as much," said Lucile. "It's dreadful to be blind. I feel so sorry for our Uncle Bill. I wish we could find him."

"And I wish we could find Uncle Simon and Aunt Sallie," added Mart. "But still we like it here," he hastened to add, lest Bunny and Sue might think he and his sister did not care for all that Mr. and Mrs. Brown had done for them.

In the week that followed Mr. Treadwell, when he was not working in Mr. Brown's office, keeping books, wrote away at the little play. Mart, too, when he was not busy at the dock, helping Bunker Blue, did what he could to get ready for the show. The children did not tell any one except their fathers and mothers what it was to be about.

"It must be a secret," said Bunny Brown. "Then everybody will buy a ticket to come and see it."

"But where are we going to have the show?" asked Sue of Bunny one night.

"I don't know," Bunny answered.

"I must begin to look around for a place for you," said Mr. Brown. "I did think we could use the old moving picture theater, but that has been sold and is being torn down. But we'll find some place. How are you coming on with the children's play?" he asked the impersonator.

"Very well, I think," was the answer. "We'll soon be ready for a trial, or rehearsal, as it is called. Have you heard anything about the uncle and aunt of Mart and Lucile?" he asked.

"No," replied Mr. Brown, "I haven't. I have written several letters hoping to get some word, but I haven't as yet. I can't even find out where Mr. and Mrs. Jackson are. They might have found the address of the children's Aunt Sallie and Uncle Simon. But Jackson seems to have vanished after his show failed."

"Yes, that often happens," said Mr. Treadwell.

"If we could only find our Uncle Bill he could tell us just what we want to know," said Mart. "But I don't know where he is."

"Could he, by any chance, be in this Blind Home just outside of your town?" asked the actor.

"No, I thought of that, and inquired," said Mr. Brown. "There is no person named Clayton in the place. Well, we'll just keep on hoping."

The weather was now getting colder. Thanksgiving came, and there were jolly good times in the Brown home. Mart and Lucile said they had never had such a happy holiday since their own folks were with them, and Mr. Treadwell, who was invited to dinner, told such funny jokes and stories, making believe he was a colored man, or an Irishman, at times, that he had every one laughing. Bunker Blue came to dinner also, and he said he had had as much fun as if he had been to the theater.

"You'll come to our show, won't you, Bunker?" asked Bunny, when he could eat no more.

"Oh, sure, I'll come!" said the fish boy. "And I'll clap as loud as I can when you get in the water trough."

"I'm not going to get in," decided Bunny. "I'm going to let Charlie Star do that -- he's smaller 'n I am."

The children were given their parts for the farm play, and they practiced whenever they had a chance over the garage. The scenery was still stored there, and Mr. Brown was trying to find a place in town large enough for the show to be given.

It was one evening after a day of practice, and while Bunny, Sue, and the others in the Brown house were talking about the play, that a ring came at the front door.

"Oh, maybe that's a special delivery letter to say our uncle and aunt have been heard from!" exclaimed Lucile.

"Oh, if it should be!" murmured Sue, hopefully.

But it was Mr. Raymond, the hardware store keeper, in whose place Wango the monkey had once got loose.

"Good evening, Mr. Brown," was Mr. Raymond's greeting as he came in. "I heard you were looking for a place for the children to give some sort of entertainment -- is that so?"

"Yes," was the answer. "I did hope we might get the old moving picture theater, but that's been sold, and I really don't know what to do. We have the scenery, the children have nearly learned their parts, but we have no place to give the show."

"Well, I've come to tell you where you can find a place," said the hardware man, and Bunny and Sue clapped their hands in delight.



Chapter XI

The Strange Voice


"This is very kind of you, I'm sure, Mr. Raymond," said Mr. Brown. "I didn't know there was any place in town I hadn't thought of. The church will hardly do, and the Opera House costs too much to hire for a simple little play. The town meeting hall is too small, and I was thinking we'd have to get a tent, perhaps.

"No, you won't have to do that," said the merchant. "You know there's a big loft over my store, don't you?"

"Yes, but I thought you had that piled full of things," said Mr. Brown.

"Well, it was, but it's partly cleaned out now," was the answer. "I'm going to clean out the rest, and you can have that place for your show, and welcome. It won't cost you a penny for rent."

"Oh! Oh!" Bunny Brown and his sister Sue fairly squealed in delight.

"I'm glad you like it," said Mr. Raymond with a smile. "I was up in my attic, as I call it, the other day, and after I got to thinking about cleaning it out I thought of you children and your show. I heard some one say that Mr. Brown couldn't get just the place that would suit, so began to measure around, and I think mine will do."

"I'm sure it will," said Mrs. Brown.

"But is there a stage and are there seats for the audience?" asked Mart, who was the first to think of these things.

"No, there isn't a stage, nor yet any seats," said Mr. Raymond, and at hearing this Bunny and Sue looked disappointed. But they brightened up when Mr. Raymond went on with a smile:

"I'm going to build a stage in the place, and also put in seats. It's about time we had, in this town, some place where little shows and entertainments can be given. The town hall is too small, and the Opera House is too big. I'm going to make mine in-between."

"Like the big bear and the little bear and the middle-sized bear!" laughed Sue.

"That's it," said Mr. Raymond. "I expect to make some money by renting out my hall after I get it fixed up. But I'm going to let you folks have it for nothing this time," he was quick to say. "It will advertise the place, and people will know about it. So now if you'd like it I'll go ahead and fix up the stage and the seats, and as soon as it's ready you can move your scenery in and have your show, Bunny Brown."

"Will it be ready in time for a Christmas entertainment?" asked Lucile.

"Oh, yes, I'll see to that!" promised Mr. Raymond.

"Well, I'm sure we can't thank you enough," said Mr. Brown. "I had promised the children a place for their show, but I was just beginning to think I couldn't find one. This will be just the thing."

"And Mr. Raymond can come to our play for nothing!" cried Bunny.

"Yes, I think that's the least we can offer him," laughed Mrs. Brown.

There was great excitement in town the next day, especially among the boys and girls, when it became known that a new hall was to be built over the hardware store, and it can be easily believed that Bunny, Sue, and their friends who were to be in the play, "Down on the Farm," were more excited than any one else.

While they waited for Mr. Raymond to have his "attic," as he called it, cleaned out and the stage built and seats put in, Bunny and Sue, with Mart and Lucile, had plenty of fun, as well as some work. For it was work to get up a play, as the children soon found out. Mr. Treadwell did his part, in writing the different parts the boy and girl actors were to speak, but the boys and girls themselves had to learn them by heart, and it was not as easy as learning to speak a "single piece" for Friday afternoon at school.

But every one did his or her best, and soon it was felt that the play was coming on "in fine shape," as the actor said. It was easier for Mart and Lucile to learn their parts, as they were used to appearing on the stage.

When the children were not practicing they had fun on the snow and ice, for winter had set in early that year, and there was plenty of coasting and skating.

One day Mart and his sister came back to the Brown house, having been downtown to see how the new hall for the play was coming on -- Raymond Hall it was to be called.

"Is it 'most ready?" asked Bunny, who opened the door for the boy acrobat and his singing sister.

"Yes," was the answer. "Mr. Raymond has had the stage built and they are putting in the seats to-day. Was there any mail for us, Bunny?" Mart asked.

"No," answered the little boy.

"Oh dear!" sighed Lucile. "I don't believe we'll ever hear from our folks. I guess they've forgotten us!"

"Maybe you'll hear at Christmas," said Sue softly. "You get things at Christmas you don't get in all the year, and maybe you'll get the letter you want, Lucile."

"I hope so," was the answer. "It's lonesome not to have any folks writing to you. But of course we love it here!" she made haste to add, for indeed the Browns were very kind to the boy and the girl, and also to Mr. Treadwell, who seemed to like it in Bellemere.

At last the new hall was finished, the farm scenery Mr. Brown had bought was moved in, and one bright, sunny day, with the sparkling white snow on the ground outside, the boys and girls gathered over the hardware store for practice.

"Now we will try the first act," said Mr. Treadwell, when the meadow scene had been set up on the stage, and it "looked as real as anything!" as Sue whispered to Sadie West.

"Take your places!" said the actor. "Remember now, Bunny and Sue are supposed to be picking daisies in the meadow, and you other children are picking buttercups. All at once an old tramp comes along the road -- which is the front of the stage, as I've told you."

"Oh, I don't want to play if there's going to be an old twamp in it!" exclaimed little Belle Hanson. "I don't like twamps! They's awful dirty!"

"It isn't a real tramp," said Mr. Treadwell. "I dress up like one, Belle," for he had arranged to have a number of costumes for himself so he could take different parts in the little play.

"Well, if it's just a play twamp all wight," said Belle. "They's wagged maybe, but not dirty."

The children were told what they must do and say for the first act. They had practiced it over and over again, but even then some of them would forget at times.

"Now we're all ready," said Mr. Treadwell, at length. "Start to pick daisies, Bunny and Sue, and the rest of you pick buttercups. Then I'll make believe I'm a tramp and come along the road."

As this was not what is called a "dress rehearsal" neither Mr. Treadwell nor the children had on any special costumes. They were wearing their everyday clothes.

Bunny, Sue, and the others took their places, and spoke their proper lines.

"Oh, here comes a tramp!" suddenly cried Sue to her brother, as she was supposed to do in the play when Mr. Treadwell appeared on the stage. "Here comes a tramp!"

Now Bunny was supposed to have a speech at this point, but no sooner had Sue cried out just as she had been taught to do, than a strange voice answered her, saying:

"A tramp is it! Set the dog on him! Here, Towser! Get after the tramp! No tramps allowed around here! Bow! Wow! Wow!" and then came a shrill whistle as of some one calling a dog.



Chapter XII

A Surprise


Mr. Treadwell, who was closely watching Bunny Brown and his sister Sue, to see that they did their first part in the play all right, looked up in surprise as he heard the strange voice speaking about the tramp, calling the dog and whistling.

"Please don't do that," said the actor. "That isn't in the play. Who said it?"

"No -- nobody -- I guess," replied Charlie Star.

"Well, somebody must have said it, for I heard it," replied Mr. Treadwell, with a smile. "Don't do it again! Now Bunny and Sue try it again. Make believe, Sue, that you see a tramp coming down the road. I'm to be the tramp, you know, and on the night of the show I'll really dress up like one. Now go on."

Bunny looked at Sue and Sue looked at Bunny. The other children in the play also looked at one another. They were sure none of them had spoken, and yet Mr. Treadwell seemed to think the voice had been one of theirs.

"Oh, here comes a tramp!" cried Sue once more, and Bunny was just about to repeat his part, when, again, came the strange, shrill voice, saying:

"No tramps allowed! No tramps wanted! Give him a cold potato and let him go!"

"Oh, I'm not going to stay here!" suddenly cried Sadie West.

"There is something funny here," said Bunny Brown. "None of us is talking and yet we hear a voice."

Mr. Treadwell, who had been looking over the papers on which he had written down the different parts of the play, looked up quickly when he again heard the strange voice. He was just about to ask who had called out when something fluttered down out of the stage tree which was to be set up in the orchard scene. The tree was off to one side, in what are called in theater talk, the "wings." Out of the tree fluttered something with flapping wings.

"It's a big owl!" cried George Watson.

"Don't let it get hold of your hair or it'll pull it all out!" called Sue. "Owls feets gets tangled in your hair," and she put her hands over her head.

"Pooh! They don't either!" cried Helen Newton.

The children were rushing here and there about the stage, and Mr. Treadwell was trying to see where the strange bird was going to light, when Bunny Brown cried out:

"'Tisn't an owl at all! It's Mr. Jed Winkler's parrot!"

And when the fluttering bird had come to rest on top of the stage barn, it was seen that it was just what Bunny said -- a big, green parrot. There it perched, picking at a make believe shingle with its hooked bill, and calling in its shrill voice:

"No tramps allowed! No tramps allowed! Call the dog! Here, Towser! Give him a cold potato and let him go! Bow wow!"

Then how all the children laughed!

"Why, it surely is Mr. Winkler's parrot!" exclaimed Mr. Treadwell, as he looked at the green bird. "He was safe in his cage when I came out this morning, but he must have got loose. I'd better go and tell Miss Winkler, for she likes the parrot as much as she doesn't like Jed's monkey. She told me she was teaching the parrot to say some new words, but I didn't know they were about tramps or I would have known right away it wasn't any of you children speaking during the play. Come on down, Polly!" called the actor to the green bird.

But Polly seemed to like it up on top of the stage barn, and from the top of the roof it cried again:

"No tramps! No tramps allowed! Towser, get after the tramps!"

The children laughed again, and Mr. Treadwell said:

"It wouldn't do to have the parrot in the play, or he'd spoil the first scene. Now I'd better go and tell Miss Winkler where she can find the bird."

But he was saved this trouble, for just then Miss Winkler herself came up the stairs leading from the hall at one side of the hardware store.

"Is my parrot here, Mr. Treadwell?" she asked the actor who boarded at her house. "I let him out of his cage when I was cleaning it a while ago, and when I looked for him, to put him back, he was gone. One of my windows was open and he must have flown out. Some of my neighbors said they saw a big bird flying toward the hardware store, so I came over. Mr. Raymond and I couldn't find him downstairs, and he told me to look up here. Have you seen Polly?"

The big, green bird answered for himself then, for he cried out:

"Look out for tramps!"

"Oh, there you are!" exclaimed Miss Winkler. "Aren't you ashamed of yourself, Polly, to fly off like that? You'll catch your death of cold; too, coming out this wintry weather! Here, come to me!"

She held out her hand, and the parrot fluttered down to one finger. Miss Winkler scratched the green bird's head, and the parrot seemed to like this.

"No tramps allowed!" he cried.

"I taught him to say that!" said Miss Winkler. "I thought it would be a good thing for a parrot to say. Often tramps come around when Jed isn't at home, and if they hear Polly speaking they'll think it's a man and go away. Now, Polly, we'll go home!"

"No tramps allowed!" said the bird again.

"I hope my parrot didn't spoil the play," said Miss Winkler to Mr. Treadwell and the children.

"Oh, no," answered the actor. "We didn't know he was in here, and when he began talking I thought it was one of the boys or girls speaking out of turn. But he did no harm."

"I'm glad of that," said the elderly woman. "A parrot is a heap sight better than a monkey, I tell Jed. He ought to teach Wango to talk, and then he'd be of some use!"

The children laughed as she went downstairs with the parrot on her finger, and Sue said:

"A monkey would be funny if he could talk, wouldn't he?"

"I should say so!" exclaimed Mr. Treadwell. "But now, children, we'll get on with the play."

Miss Winkler took her parrot home and shut him, or her, up in a cage. Sometimes "Polly" was called "him," and again "her." It didn't seem to matter which. The bird had got out of an open window when Miss Winkler was busy in another room, and, like the monkey, had gone to the store of Mr. Raymond, not far away.

I need not tell you about the practice for the play, as it took so long for each boy and girl to learn his or her part, and how to come on and go off the stage at the right time. At the proper place I'll tell you all about the play, but just now I'll say that for several days there was hard practice with Mr. Treadwell, Mart, and Lucile to help, or "coach," as it is called, the children.

"Do you think we'll be ready by Christmas?" asked Bunny one day.

"Oh, surely," answered the actor. It was planned to have the play, "Down on the Farm," given Christmas afternoon, and the money was to go to the Home for the Blind in Bellemere, and not the Red Cross.

"Oh, it's snowing again!" cried Bunny Brown, as he ran into the house one afternoon, when he and Sue came home from school. "May we take our sleds out, Mother?"

"Yes, I think so," answered Mrs. Brown.

"Where's Lucile?" asked Sue. "Can't she come and sleigh ride with us?"

"She and Mart are out in the pony stable," answered Sue's mother. "Your father let Mart come home early from the office, and he and his sister have been out in the barn ever since. I can't say what they're doing. Maybe you'd better go and see."

"Come on, Sue!" cried Bunny Brown. "Maybe they're practicing some new acts for the play."

But when Bunny and his sister entered the stable where the Shetland pony was kept, a sound of hammering was heard.

"Are you here, Mart?" called Bunny.

"Yes," was the answer. "Come and see what Lucile and I have made for you and Sue!"

Bunny and his sister hurried into the room where the little pony cart stood, and there they saw something that made them open their eyes in delight.



Chapter XIII

"They're Gone"


The pony cart, which generally stood in the middle of the barn floor next to the stall of Toby, the little Shetland, had been rolled back out of the way, and in its place stood what first seemed to Sue and Bunny to be a large box. But when they looked a second time, they saw that the box was fastened on a large sled -- larger than either of their small ones.

"What are you makin'?" asked Sue.

"Oh, something to give you and Bunny a pony ride," answered Mart.

"Oh, it's a pony sled, isn't it?" cried Bunny.

"Well, yes, something like that," was the answer, given with a smile. "There wasn't much to do down at the dock to-day, so your father let me off early. On my way home I saw this large sled at Mr. Raymond's store. It was broken, so he let me buy it cheap. I brought it here, mended it, and fastened on it this drygoods box. Lucile helped me, and she lined it with an old blanket your mother gave us. Now what do you think of your sled?" and Mart stepped back out of the way so Bunny and Sue could see what he had made.

"Oh, it's just -- just dandy!" cried the little boy.

"And it's a real seat in it!" exclaimed Sue.

"Yes, we took a smaller box and put it inside the large one for a seat," explained Lucile. "Now don't you want to go for a ride?"

"I -- I -- oh, it's dandy," cried Bunny, his eyes round with pleasure.

"See," went on Mart, "I am going to take the thills off the pony cart and fasten them on this sled. Then you can hitch up the Shetland and go for a ride."

"Oh! Oh!" squealed Sue, in delight, as she jumped up and down on the barn floor.

"Say, this is more than dandy!" cried Bunny. "It's Jim Dandy!"

He went closer to look at the home-made sled while Mart took the shafts from the pony cart and fastened them on the dry goods box at a place he had made for that purpose.

"Why, there's room for all four of us in the sled!" said Bunny, as he noticed how large the box was. "And our pony can pull four. He's done it lots of times."

"Well, then I guess he can do it on the slippery snow," said Mart. "We'll come if you want us to, Bunny."

"Of course I want you!" said the little boy.

"And Lucile, too!" added Sue, for she was very fond of the singing girl actress.

"Yes, I'll come," said Lucile. "But if you drive, Bunny, you must promise not to go too fast."

"Oh, I'll go slow," he agreed.

"Maybe the snow'll stop and then we can't go riding," Sue said.

"Oh, go and look and see if it has!" cried her brother. "That would be too bad, wouldn't it, to have the snow stop after Mart had made such a fine sled?"

But a look out the window of the barn showed the white flakes still swirling down, and Bunny and Sue laughed and clapped their hands in delight as Mart brought the pony from his stall.

Everything was just right. The pony backed in between the shafts, and soon drew the new sled outside where the newly fallen snow let it slip easily along.

"It will look nicer when it's painted," said Mart.

"I think it's nice now!" said Bunny.

"Terrible nice!" agreed Sue.

"Well, get in, and we'll have a ride," suggested Lucile. "Can you drive, Bunny?"

"Oh, yes!" was the answer; and Bunny soon showed that he could by taking the reins and guiding the pony around to the front of the house.

"Come on out, Mother, and see what we have!" cried Sue, as Bunny stopped the little horse.

"Oh, isn't that just fine!" laughed Mrs. Brown, as she came to the door. "What a nice surprise for you children! Did you thank Mart and Lucile for making it?"

"I -- I guess we forgot," said Bunny. "But we're glad you live with us," he said to the boy actor and his sister.

"So are we!" laughed Lucile. "This is more fun than going about from one place to another, and traveling half the night."

"I'm glad, too," said Sue. "Now let's go for a ride."

And they did, down the village street, stopping now and then to let some of their boy or girl friends look at the new pony sled Mart had made from an old drygoods box and the broken "bob" from the hardware store.

The white flakes sifted down, like feathers from a big goose flying high in the air, the bells on the Shetland pony jingled, and Bunny and Sue thought that never had they been so happy.

The snow lasted several days, and each day after school Bunny Brown and his sister Sue went for a pony ride in the jolly sled. Mart had painted it a bright red, and it really looked very nice.

"That boy is handy with tools," said Mr. Brown to his wife one day, when they were talking about Mart and wondering if he and Lucile would ever find their relatives. "If he'd like to stay with me he would be good help around the boats in the summer. He and Bunker Blue are good friends, and one helps the other."

"Lucile is good help around the house," said Mrs. Brown. "I'd love to have them with me always, but of course if they have relatives it would be better for them to live in their own home. Do you think the children's play will be nice?"

"Oh, I'm sure it will. Mr. Treadwell says they are doing nicely. I don't suppose they will make much money, but they'll have the fun of it, and it is good for children to try to help others, as Bunny, Sue, and their friends are hoping to help the Home for the Blind."

"It's too bad about Mart's blind uncle, isn't it? Do you think he'll ever be found?"

"Well, we can only hope," said Mr. Brown.

Though Bunny and Sue had fun in the snow and on the ice they did not forget to practice for the new play, nor did the other children. One afternoon all the little actors and actresses were assembled in the new hall over the hardware store. A rehearsal was going on, and nearly all the mothers of the children were there, as Mr. Treadwell had asked them to come so he might talk to them about the costumes that had to be made for the little girls and boys.

Just after the second scene, which took place partly in the barnyard, and partly in the barn itself, Will Laydon came walking out to the middle of the stage where Mr. Treadwell stood.

"They -- they're gone!" exclaimed Will, seemingly much excited.

"Just a moment," said the actor, who was talking to Mrs. Brown. "I'll attend to you in a minute, Will."

"But they're gone!" exclaimed the boy, and Mrs. Brown and the other ladies turned to look at him in some surprise. "My white mice got out of their cage just now," said Will, "and they're running all over. My white mice are loose!"



Chapter XIV

Splash Hangs On


For a while there was a good deal of excitement and wild scampering about. Mice ran here and mice ran there. Children scrambled after them or scrambled to get out of their way. There were cries and shrieks and laughter.

One little white mouse, frightened and not knowing where to go, ran up the dress skirt and into the lap of the mother of Bunny Brown and his sister Sue.

"Come here, Will, and come quick," called Mrs. Brown to the owner of the white mice. "I do not like your sort of pet, come and take it away -- and come quick, I say!"

"All right, I'll come," answered Will.

"Don't be frightened," called out Mr. Treadwell. "I'm sure Will's white mice are too well-trained to harm any one."

"Oh, we're not afraid!"

"They won't hurt anybody," said the boy who owned the white pets, and who was going to have them do little tricks during the show. "Why, they're so tame they'll crawl all over you and go to sleep in your pocket!"

"Oh, take 'em away! Take 'em away!" cried one girl. "I wouldn't have come if I had known there were to be any mice!"

"But they're white mice," said Will, "and I didn't know they were out of the cage. Somebody must have opened the door."

"I'll help you hunt for the white mice," offered Bunny Brown. "I'm not afraid of 'em!"

"I aren't, either," added Sue.

"I'm not zactly 'fraid of 'em," said Helen Newton, "but they make you feel so ticklish when they crawl on you!"

"They're nice," said Bunny Brown, as he crawled under a chair to coax a white mouse that was trying to hide behind a paper bag. "And they'll do some nice tricks in our show."

It took some little time to catch all the white mice. Will made sure, by counting twice, that he had every one of his pets back in their wire cage.

Then Mr. Treadwell told the mothers of the little girls what sort of costumes the young actresses and actors must have for the different parts in the play. Everything was very simple, and no costly costumes need be bought.

"You see we want to make all the money we can for the Home for the Blind," explained Bunny.

"That's a good idea," said Mrs. West. "I think the children are just perfectly fine to do things like this. It teaches them to be kind."

After the talk about the dresses and suits, Mr. Treadwell went on with, the rehearsal, or practice. I have told you something of what the play was to be about, but changes were made in it from time to time, during practice, just as changes are made in real plays. It was found that one boy could speak a piece better than another boy, so he was allowed to do this, while the first boy, perhaps, was given a funny dance to do. The same with the girls -- some could sing better than others. Most of the solo singing in the play was to be done by Lucile Clayton. She had a very sweet, clear voice, and of course she had had more practice than any of the others.

Of course all the boys wished they could do some of the acrobatic work that Mart was to do on the stage. But though some of the lads of Bellemere, like Bunny Brown, were pretty good at turning somersaults or flipflops, none of them was equal to Mart, who had been on the stage for several years. But he was training Bunny, Harry Bentley, Charlie Star and George Watson to do a leap-frog dance which Mr. Treadwell said would be very funny.

Mr. Treadwell was not only the author of the little play, but he was also the stage director; that is, he told the boys and girls what to do and when to do it. In this he was helped by Lucile and Mart. These three performers, who had been in such bad luck when the vaudeville troupe broke up, were now quite happy again. Mr. Treadwell and Mart were working for Mr. Brown, and though they did not make as much money as when they had been acting in theaters, still they had an easier time. Lucile, too, liked it at Mrs. Brown's.

Of course the two "waifs" as they were sometimes called, wished they could find out where there uncle and aunt were. They also wanted to find their blind uncle. But, so far, no trace of any of them was to be had, though many letters were written by Mr. Brown and Mr. Treadwell.

Mr. Treadwell was a very busy man. After he finished work at Mr. Brown's office he would help the children rehearse for the farm play. In the play Mr. Treadwell was to take several parts. In one act he was a tramp, and in another a farmer. Then, too, he took the character of a man from the city, and later he did a number of impersonations, using the costumes he had made use of in the various theaters.

"Don't you think we could have our dog Splash in the play?" asked Bunny of Mr. Treadwell one afternoon when the rehearsal was finished.

"Why, yes, I think so," was the answer. "I'll be thinking up a part for him. Has he good, strong teeth?"

"Oh, yes!" exclaimed Sue, who was standing beside Bunny. "He has terrible strong teeth! You ought to see him bite a bone!"

"Well, I don't know that I want him to bite a bone on the stage," said Mr. Treadwell, with a laugh. "But we'll see about it."

Some days after that, during which time Mr. Treadwell spent many hours with Splash alone in the stable, Bunny and Sue were quite surprised on coming from school to hear loud barking in their yard.

"Maybe Splash is chasing a cat!" exclaimed Bunny.

"It must be a strange cat," said Sue; "'cause he likes all the other cats around here."

The children ran around the corner of the house and there saw a strange sight. Mr. Treadwell was running about the yard. After him ran Splash, and the dog was holding tightly to Mr. Treadwell's coat, shaking the tails as if trying to tear it off the actor.

"Oh! Oh!" screamed Sue. "Our Splash is mad at Mr. Treadwell!"



Chapter XV

Tickets For The Show


Back and forth across the snow-covered yard ran Mr. Treadwell, and after him went Splash, the dog, holding to the flying coat-tails of the actor.

"Splash! Splash! Come here to me!" cried Bunny. But the dog did not obey.

"Oh, Mother, come quick!" called Sue. "Our dog is going to eat Mr. Treadwell all up!"

Splash, indeed, did seem very angry, for he barked and growled. He growled more than he barked, for he could not open his mouth wide enough to bark when he was holding to the coat.

Mrs. Brown rushed to the kitchen door, and she was as much surprised as the children were at what she saw.

"Oh, call some one! Get some man to make Splash let Mr. Treadwell alone!" cried Sue.

The actor, with the dog still clinging to him, was running toward the children now, and, to his surprise, Bunny saw that Mr. Treadwell was laughing.

"Is he -- is he hurting you?" asked the little boy.

"Not a bit," was the answer. "Is Splash holding fast?"

"He's holding tight!" said Sue. "Oh, is he mad at you?"

Before Mr. Treadwell could answer there was a ripping sound, and a piece of cloth came loose from his coat. The piece of cloth stayed in Splash's teeth and the children's dog at once began to shake and worry it, as he might a big rat he had caught. And as Splash shook the piece of cloth he growled louder than before.

"Oh, has he torn your coat?" asked Mrs. Brown. "I never knew Splash to act that way before. He is always kind and gentle."

"He's all right now," answered Mr. Treadwell, with a laugh. "This is only in fun and part of the play."

"Part of the play!" exclaimed Bunny. "Didn't he really tear your coat?"

"No," answered the actor, and, turning around, he showed that his coat was not ripped a bit. Yet Splash certainly had a piece of cloth in his jaws.

"It's just a trick I have been teaching Splash during the last few days," explained Mr. Treadwell. "You see, I'm to take the part of a tramp in the first act. Now, most dogs don't like tramps, so I thought I'd have that sort of dog in the farm play.

"Splash will make a good actor dog, I think. First I found a bit of old cloth that he was used to playing with and shaking as he might shake a rat. Then I sewed this piece of cloth to my coat, so it would not pull off too easily. Then I took Splash out to the barn to train him. As soon as he saw his own private piece of cloth sewed on my coat he chased after me and wanted to get it. I ran away and we played at that game until Splash did just what I wanted him to.

"That is, he will run after me, grab hold of the piece of cloth sewed fast to my coat, and he'll hold on while I drag him about until the cloth tears loose just as you saw it. Though Splash barks and growls, it is all done in fun, and he likes the play very much."

"Is he going to do that on the stage?" asked Bunny.

"I hope that's what he'll do," said the actor, as he patted the dog, who came up to him, having given up, for the time, the teasing of the bit of cloth. "You see I'm to be a tramp in the first act of the play. I'll come walking down the road, and then, Bunny, you'll let Splash loose after me.

"He'll run out from the wings -- that is from the side, you know -- and chase me, for I'll be dressed in a ragged suit and on my coat-tails will be fastened the piece of cloth your dog likes so to tease. He'll grab hold of that, hang on, and I'll drag him across the stage. That ought to make the people laugh."

"I think it will," said Bunny. "And they'll think Splash is really mad at you, won't they?"

"I think they will, if we don't let them know any different," said the actor, with a laugh. "We must keep this part of our play a secret."

"Oh, yes! I love a secret!" said Sue. "We won't tell anybody."

"Splash is a smart dog," said Bunny, as he patted his pet.

"Indeed he is!" declared Mr. Treadwell. "He learned this hanging on trick much sooner than I thought he would. He likes to chase after me and let me drag him by my coat-tails."

After Splash had had a little rest the actor put him through the trick again, and Bunny and Sue laughed as they saw their dog swinging about the yard, making believe to chase a tramp. Of course, Mr. Treadwell was not dressed like a tramp now, though he would be in the first act of the play.

If Bunny and Sue could have had their way they would not have gone to school at all during the days when they were getting ready to give the play, "Down on the Farm." All the other boys and girls who were to be in it, also, would have been glad to stay at home from lessons, but, of course, that would never do. But all the time they had to spare from their books, Bunny, Sue, and the others spent either in practicing their parts or going to the hall over the hardware store where the performance was to be given.

Bunny and Sue had about learned their parts now, and so had most of the other children. Some were slower than others, and had to be told over and over again what to do. But, on the whole, Mr. Treadwell said he was well pleased.

School would close for the holidays a week before Christmas, and then there would be more time to rehearse. Meanwhile Bunny, Sue, and their friends had fun on the snow and ice as well as in practicing for the show.

Each day Mart and Lucile anxiously waited for the mail, to see if there were any replies to the letters sent out, seeking news of their uncles and their aunt. But no word came.

"I don't believe we'll ever hear," said Lucile with a sigh.

"It doesn't seem so," agreed her brother. "I guess we'll soon have to begin looking for another place with some show company on the road. I have almost enough money saved to take us to New York."

"Oh, but we can't let you go yet a while," said; Mr. Brown. "I'm sure we'll get some word of your relatives some day. Meanwhile, we are glad to have you stay with us. I like to have you work for me, Mart."

"Well, I'm glad to work, of course. But I feel that the theater is the place where I belong. Of course, it's harder work than in your office, but it's what my sister and I have been brought up to."

"I'm not going to hold you back," said Mr. Brown, to the boy and girl performers. "But stay here until after the holidays anyhow. By that time the little play will be over and you can decide what you want to do. Who knows? Perhaps by then we may find not only your blind Uncle Bill, but your Uncle Simon and Aunt Sallie as well."

But Mart and Lucile shook their heads. They did not have much hope. However, they were glad to help the children get ready for the farm play.

One afternoon, when Bunny and Sue came in from school and were getting ready to go to the hall to practice, they heard their doorbell ring loud and long.

"Oh, maybe that's a telegram for us!" exclaimed Lucile. She was always hoping for sudden good news.

"No, it's Charlie Star," said Bunny, who had gone to the door. "Oh, come down and see what he's got!" he cried, and Sue, Mart, and Lucile hastened down the stairs.

"What is it?" asked Sue, as she saw her brother and Charlie looking at something which Charlie held. "Is it a mud turtle?"

"It's tickets!" exclaimed Bunny. "Tickets for our show! Charlie printed 'em on his printing press!"

He held up for all to see a small square of pasteboard on which appeared:

GRA TE SHOW BY BUNNY BWOWN aND HiS SisTEER S*UE CoMe 1 comE All and sEE "DO$N onTHE farn!! ADMISHION    $25



Chapter XVI

Upside Downside Bunny


For a few seconds Bunny, Sue, Mart and Lucile looked over the shoulders of one another at the ticket which Charlie Star had brought to show them.

"I didn't know we were going to have real tickets!" exclaimed Bunny. "This is lots more fun than I thought."

"It's just like a real show, with real tickets an' everything!" exclaimed Sue.

"'Course that isn't a very good ticket, yet," explained Charlie. "I just got it set up and there's a couple mistakes in it. I'll have them fixed before the show."

"Yes, I guess it would be better to have the mistakes fixed before you print the tickets for the show," replied Mart, with a smile. He knew something about show tickets, and he could see more mistakes in the one Charlie had made than could the young printer himself.

"But it's very nice," said Lucile, not wanting Charlie's feelings to be hurt. "Only you aren't going to charge twenty-five dollars to come to the show, are you?" she asked with a smile.

"Oh, no, that ought to be twenty-five cents," said Charlie, "only I made a mistake. Or else Harry Bentley did. He helped me set the type."

"Where did you get the printing press?" asked Mart.

"It's one my father had when he was a little boy," answered Charlie. "He had it put away in the attic, and he always said I could take it when I got old enough. So I asked him for it to-day.

"He said I wasn't quite old enough, but when I told him about the show we're going to have for the Blind Home he said he guessed I could print the tickets. So I set up the type. Harry helped me, and when we get it fixed right I'll print all the tickets for nothing."

"That will be very nice," said Mrs. Brown, who came in to look at what Charlie had brought over. "You did very well for the first time, I think."

I suppose you children can see where Charlie made the mistakes in setting up the type. But with the help of his father he corrected them, and when the tickets were printed for the show they were all right, even to the price to get in, which was twenty-five cents.

But of course I haven't really reached the show part of this story yet. I just thought I'd mention the tickets. There was still much to be done before Bunny, Sue, and the other children were ready for the first act of the play, "Down on the Farm."

Mr. Treadwell gave a great deal of his time to telling the boys and girls what to do, and in going over the little farm play. All the time he could spare away from Mr. Brown's office the actor gave to the show. If you have ever been in a play you know how often you must do the same thing over. Finally the time comes when you are as nearly perfect as possible. It was that way with Bunny and Sue. Sometimes they were tired of saying over and over again such things as: "Here come a tramp!" or "Let's call Snap, he'll make the tramp go away!"

Those were only two "lines" in the play, but these, as well as others, had to be said over and over again, until Mr. Treadwell was sure the children would not forget.

Mart and Lucile, also, had to practice their parts, but as the boy and girl actor and actress had been in plays before, it was not so hard for them. And though the two little strangers gave much of their time to getting ready for the performance they still had hours when they thought of their missing relations -- Uncle Bill, Uncle Simon and Aunt Sallie.

For, though many letters had been written by Mr. Brown and Mr. Treadwell, no answers had come, and at times Lucile and Mart were very sad.

But no one could be sad very long when they were near Bunny Brown and his sister Sue. These two were always doing such funny things and saying such funny things that Mart and Lucile laughed more often than they were sad.

"Do you think, we can have Mr. Winkler's monkey and Miss Winkler's parrot in the show?" asked Bunny of Mart one day.

"I guess we can if Mr. Treadwell will write parts for them," answered Mart. "But the trouble is, you can't be sure that Wango and the parrot will do the things you want them to. The parrot might speak at the wrong time, and Wango might cut up by chasing his tail or hanging by his hind paws from the ceiling, and so make the audience laugh when we didn't want them to."

"That's so," agreed Bunny. "Then I guess we'll only just have our dog Splash in the play. He'll do whatever you tell him."

"He certainly chases after the tramp in a funny way," laughed Lucile. "I should think Mr. Treadwell would be afraid the dog would tear his coat."

"Oh, Splash only bites the old piece of cloth," said Mart. "It's a good trick."

A little while after this Bunny saw Mart going out to the garage with some ropes and straps under his arm. The garage was partly a barn, for the Shetland pony was kept in it and some hay for Toby, the pony, to eat was also stored in the same place.

"What are you going to do?" Bunny asked the boy acrobat.

"Practice a few of my new tricks that I'm going to do in the play," Mart answered. "There's a new kind of back somersault I want to turn, and a new kind of flipflop I want to make. You know in the play I do some tricks in front of the stage barn to make the farmers laugh. I'm supposed to be a boy who has run away from a circus."

"We knew a boy who really ran away from a circus once," said Bunny. "And he was in our show when we had one down at grandpa's farm."

"Well, I'm going to do a few circus tricks, as well as I can, though I never was in a tent show," said Mart.

"Please, may I come and watch you?" asked Bunny.

"Yes," answered Mart kindly.

So the acrobat and Bunny went out to the little barn, and there, with ropes and straps, Mart made a trapeze, such as you have often seen on the stage or in a circus. On the floor of the barn Mart spread a pile of hay.

"Is that for our pony to come out and eat?" Bunny wanted to know.

"Oh, no," answered Mart. "That's to make something soft for me to fall on, in case I slip. In the circus the performers have nets under them to catch them in case they slip. But you can't have nets in a garage very well, so I use the hay."

Bunny watched his friend swing to and fro, sometimes by his hands and sometimes by his toes, on the trapeze in the barn. And Mart was so sure and careful that he didn't slip once. So he didn't fall down on the hay.

"Did you ever fall?" asked Bunny, as he watched the young acrobat swing to and fro, with his head down.

"Oh, yes indeed! More than once. And once I broke my leg so I couldn't go on the stage for over a month."

"I don't want to break my leg," said Bunny.

"I hope you never do," answered Mart. "But, of course, as you aren't going on a trapeze you won't fall and break anything."

"I wish I could go on a trapeze," murmured Bunny. "I could do some of the things you do I guess."

"I'm afraid not," laughed Mart, with a shake of his head. "It isn't as easy as it looks, and you are not big enough. If you do your somersaults and part of a flipflop in the play, as you are going to do, you'll make a hit, Bunny."

"Do you mean I'll hit the floor?" asked the little boy.

"No," laughed Mart. "Though if you aren't careful that may happen. But when I say you'll make a 'hit' I mean that the audience will like the tricks you do and they'll clap."

"Like they did in the circus?" asked Bunny.

"Just like that," said Mart.

Bunny sat and watched his friend. It looked so easy when Mart swung to and fro on the rope, twisting and turning this way and that.

"I could do it," said Bunny to himself.

When Mart was called to the house by his sister he forgot to take down the ropes and straps that made the trapeze in the barn. They hung right before Bunny Brown's eyes.

"I believe I can do it!" said Bunny to himself, as he looked at the swinging trapeze. "Anyhow, if I do fall, there's some soft hay."

And then Bunny did what he should not have done. He pulled some boxes and rolled a barrel over to the middle of the barn floor until he had a sort of platform under the trapeze Mart had put up to practice on. Then Bunny climbed up, got hold of the swinging bar and swung his legs over. Then something queer happened, for the first thing Bunny Brown knew, there he was, hanging upside down with his legs over the trapeze and his head pointing to the pile of hay in the middle of the barn floor.



Chapter XVII

Sue's Queer Slide


Bunny Brown was at first so frightened, when he found himself swinging upside downside from Mart's trapeze, that he did not know what to do. He was too frightened even to call out, as he nearly always did when he found himself in trouble. Nearly always his first thought was of his father or mother. But this time he hardly knew what to do.

It had all happened so suddenly. He had not meant to get upside downside this way. All he wanted to do was to sit on the trapeze, as he had often sat in a swing, and sway to and fro. But something had gone wrong, something had slipped, and there Bunny was, hanging by his knees with his head toward the floor.

Then Bunny had a thought that he might let go with his clinging legs and drop to the pile of hay. That was what the hay was for -- to fall on. It was a thick, soft pile, but, somehow or other, Bunny did not like to think of falling on it head first.

"If I could only land on it with my hands or feet it wouldn't be so bad," thought the little fellow to himself. "But if I hit on my head --  -- "

And when he thought of that he clung with all his force to the wooden bar. He was still swinging to and fro, and on this first swing Bunny had knocked to one side the pile of boxes and the barrel with which he had made himself a sort of ladder so he could reach Mart's trapeze, which was several feet above the barn floor. So, now that the boxes by which he had climbed up were out of reach, Bunny could not get down by using them.

And he wanted, very much, to get down. He tried to wiggle around in such a way that he could reach the wooden bar with his hands, but he could not, and the more he wiggled the more it felt as though he might fall.

Then Bunny decided that he must call for help. He had hoped that Mart might come back, but the acrobatic boy was in the house helping his sister learn a new song Lucile was going to sing in the play. So Mart knew nothing of what was happening to Bunny.

"Mother! Daddy! Come and get me!" cried Bunny as he swung to and fro on the trapeze, head downward. "Come and get me! Mother! Daddy!"

Bunny might have called like this for some time, and neither his father nor his mother would have heard him. For Mr. Brown was down at his office on the dock, and Mrs. Brown was making a cake, beating up eggs with the egg beater.

An egg beater, you know, makes a lot of noise, and even if Bunny had been in the kitchen Mrs. Brown might not have heard him call out. And away out in the barn as he was, of course she couldn't hear him. I don't believe she could have heard him even if she hadn't been using the egg beater.

So poor little Bunny Brown swung by his legs on the trapeze in the upper part of the garage and he did not know how to get down nor how to stop himself.

"Daddy! Mother!" he called again, but no one heard him.

On a summer day, when the windows were open, Bunny's voice might have been heard from the barn to the house, but now no one heard him.

But, as it also happened, Sue was the means by which Bunny's trouble was discovered, though Sue, too, had an accident. Soon after Mart came to the house to help his sister, Sue heard the doorbell ring, and when she went to see who was there she saw Helen Newton, one of her little playmates who was to act in the show with Sue.

"Oh, Sue!" exclaimed Helen, "have you got a doll you could lend me? I have to have one in the play, and the only one I had isn't any good any more."

"Is your doll sick?" Sue wanted to know.

"She's worse than sick," said Helen. "Our puppy dog got hold of her the other day, and he dragged my doll all around the kitchen and all her clothes were torn off and she's chewed and she isn't fit to be seen. I can't have her in the play with me, though I did at first, before the puppy chewed her."

"I guess Sue can let you take one of her dolls," said Mrs. Brown, with a smile, as she came in from the kitchen where she had been doing her baking. "What one do you think would be best for Helen, Sue?"

"Oh, I guess my unbreakable doll, Jane Anna, would be best for in the play," Sue answered. "If you drop her, Helen, it won't hurt."

"No, and it won't hurt much if our puppy dog gets hold of her," added Helen. "Course our dog won't come to the play and chew up any dolls, but he might get hold of one again when I'm practicing at home. I think the Jane Anna will be best."

"I'll get her for you," offered Sue. But when she went to look for the doll for Helen, Jane Anna could not be found.

"I wonder where it is!" exclaimed Sue.

"Maybe your dog Splash chewed her up," said Helen.

"No, he doesn't chew dolls," replied Sue. "He chews up my school books, and Bunny's, but he doesn't chew dolls."

"I wish my dog would chew books," went on Helen. "Then I wouldn't have to study. Maybe he will chew them after he finds there isn't any of my old doll left to bite."

Sue looked in different places in the house for her unbreakable doll, but could not find it. She asked Lucile and Mart about it, when the brother and sister took a rest from the song which Lucile was to sing, though her brother had a part in it.

"Lost your doll, have you, Sue?" asked Mart. "Well, maybe she is hiding under the umbrella plant!"

"Oh, you're teasing me!" said Sue, and that's just what Mart was doing. For though Mrs. Brown did have an umbrella plant, and a rubber plant also, Sue's doll was not under either one.

"The last time I saw you have your unbreakable doll was out in the hayloft of the barn," said Lucile. "Don't you remember? You were playing house with Sadie West."

"O, now I remember!" cried Sue. "I left Jane Anna asleep in the hay in the corner of the loft. I'll go out and get her for you, Helen. You wait here."

So Helen sat down in a chair in the dining room while Sue ran out to the barn to look for her doll. Mart and Lucile began practicing the song again.

Now all this while Bunny Brown was swinging by his legs, upside downside on the trapeze. It seems to him a long while since he had started to hang head downward, but, really, it was not very long. For though it takes me quite a little while to tell you about it, really it all happened in a short while.

So Bunny Brown had not been swinging very long, head downward, before Sue ran out to the barn, or garage, whichever you like to call it, to look for her doll. Up the stairs into the loft, where Mart had fastened the trapeze, went Sue. She had just reached the top step and was wondering if her doll were really there when, all at once, Sue heard some one cry:

"Help me down! Help me down!"

"Oh, my!" was the little girl's first thought, "can that by my doll?"

Then she knew it couldn't be. For, though some dolls have inside them a little phonograph that can say words, Sue's Jane Anna had nothing like this.

"But somebody yelled!" said Sue to herself.

Just then the voice shouted again.

"Help me down! Help me down!"

"Oh, it's Bunny!" exclaimed Sue, as she heard her brother's voice. "Where are you, and what's the matter, Bunny?" she asked.

A moment later she looked toward the middle of the hayloft and saw the little boy swinging by his legs from the trapeze.

"Oh, Bunny Brown, are you doing circus tricks up here?" asked Sue. "Mamma wouldn't let you! Oh, Bunny Brown!"

"Help me down, Sue! Help me down!" shouted Bunny. "I daren't drop on the hay, and I want to get down!"

Sue took a step forward. She did not know just what she was going to do, but she wanted to help Bunny. And just then Sue's feet seemed to drop out from under her, and down she went in a funny slide.

DOWN WENT SUE IN A FUNNY SLIDE. Bunny Brown and His Sister Sue Giving a Show. Page 161

Down and down and down, with a lot of hay all around her, and out of sight of Bunny Brown, who was still on the trapeze, went sister Sue.



Chapter XVIII

Mr. Treadwell's Wig


Bunny Brown, swinging by his knees from the trapeze, had just one little look at his sister Sue, and then he didn't see her again. At first Bunny thought perhaps he had fallen asleep and had dreamed that he had seen Sue. So many things had happened since he climbed up on the funny swing that it would not have surprised Bunny to have learned that he had fallen asleep and dreamed.

But a moment later he heard Sue's voice, and then Bunny felt sure it was not a dream. For as Sue slipped and fell down a deep hole, together with a lot of hay, she called:

"Oh, oh! Oh, Bunny! Oh, Mother! Oh, Daddy!"

She wanted all three of them to help her and she didn't know which one she wanted most.

"Oh, Sue! Sue!" cried Bunny, as soon as he felt sure it was his sister he had seen and not a dream. "Sue! Come and help me!"

"Somebody's got to help me!" half sobbed Sue, and her voice seemed very faint and far away.

And no wonder! For Sue had slipped down the little hole over the manger, or feed-box, in the stall of Toby, the Shetland pony. In this barn, as perhaps you have seen in barns at your grandpa's farm in the country, there is a little hole cut in the floor of the loft, or upstairs part, so hay can be pushed down from the mow into the stall of a horse or a pony. There was a little hay covering this hole, so Sue did not see it when she went up to look for her doll. And it was down this hole that Sue had fallen.

Right down she went, into the manger of the pony's stall, but as the manger was filled with hay Sue didn't get hurt a bit. But the pony was very much surprised. It was just as if, when you were eating your bread and milk at the table some day, the ceiling over your head should suddenly have a hole come in it, and down through the hole, from upstairs, should slide a little horse.

"Oh! Oh!" cried Sue, in surprise. Of course the Shetland pony didn't say anything, but he was surprised just the same.

Sue wasn't hurt a bit, and soon she scrambled out of the manger and ran out of the stall. As she did so the little girl heard a bump, or thud, over her head. That bump made her think of Bunny, and how he was swinging on the trapeze.

"Oh, Bunny!" cried Sue, running up the stairs again. "Did you see me slide down the hay hole?"

"Yes," answered Bunny, "I did. And did you hear me fall on the pile of hay under the trapeze?"

"I heard a bumpity-bump sound!" said Sue.

"That was me," explained Bunny. "I couldn't hold on any longer, so I had to let go. But I fell in the hay and I didn't hurt myself at all. I thought I would hurt myself, or I'd have let go before this. Now I'm all right. I can do a trapeze swing almost as good as Mart. I'm all right now!"

Certainly he seemed so to Sue, who by this time had got to the top of the stairs and was looking across the loft at her brother. Bunny wasn't hurt -- the hay on which he had fallen was just like a feather bed.

"Well, we better go in now," said Sue. "We both falled down but we both didn't get hurt."

Bunny stood looking up at the trapeze. He was thinking of getting on it again, but as he remembered how frightened he was he made up his mind that he had better let Mart do those risky tricks.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" exclaimed Sue, as she and Bunny were going out of the barn toward the house. "I forgot my Jane Anna for Helen. I was coming out to get her when I heard you holler."

"I yelled a lot of times before anybody heard me," said Bunny, and he told Sue how he had climbed up on the pile of boxes, and how they had fallen so he could not get down off the trapeze.

"Well, you're down now," said Sue.

Mrs. Brown guessed that something was the matter when she saw Bunny and Sue coming back from the barn, looking rather excited, and she soon had the whole story. Then she told Bunny he must not get on Mart's trapeze again, as he was too little for that sort of play.

"Even if there's a lot of hay under it can't I get on?" asked Bunny.

"No, not even if there's a lot of hay under it," answered Mrs. Brown.

So that ended Bunny's hopes of becoming a trapeze performer in the show. But Mart still kept on practicing, and soon he could do a number of good tricks. Lucile, too, practiced her songs, and those who heard the children at their rehearsals said the show, which had first been thought of by Bunny and Sue, would be a good one.

Charlie Star fixed the mistakes in the tickets he was printing for the farm play and soon they were ready to be sold. All the fathers and mothers of the children who were to be in the play bought tickets, and so did other persons in Bellemere. The tickets were put on sale in the hardware store, in the drug store, in the grocery of Mr. Sam Gordon, and in other places about town.

Mr. Treadwell also made some big posters, telling about the show. These posters were hung in the window of the barber shop, and one was tacked up in the railroad station and another on Mr. Brown's dock office.

Everything was being made ready for the show which would be given Christmas afternoon. The children could hardly wait for the time to come, but, of course, they had to. Meanwhile, they had as much fun as they could when they were not at school or practicing their parts in the new hall built over the hardware store.

"How happy we could be living here and going to take part in a nice play if we only knew where our people were," said Lucile to her brother Mart one day.

"Yes, that's all we need to make us quite happy," said he. "But I guess we'll never see our uncles or Aunt Sallie again. Why, we haven't even heard from Mr. Jackson since our vaudeville show busted up.

"Well, I'm going to write just one more letter," went on Mart, and he got out pen, ink, and paper. "I'm going to write to that man in New York who used to act in the same play with Uncle Simon. Mr. Treadwell found that man's address the other day, and I'm going to write to him. He may know where Uncle Simon and Aunt Sallie are."

"Does he know where Uncle Bill is?" asked. Lucile.

"I don't know. I'll ask him," decided Mart.

When the letter had been written Bunny and Sue came in from school. It was snowing again, and the ground was white with the beautiful flakes. The coats of Bunny and Sue were also covered, for they had been throwing snowballs at one another. Their cheeks were red and their eyes sparkling.

"Want to walk down the street with me while I mail this letter?" asked Mart of the two children.

"Oh, yes!" cried Sue.

"Can't we go in the pony sled?" Bunny asked. "There's enough snow to make it slip easy now."

"Yes, I guess we could go in the pony sled," agreed Mart. "And we can stop at Mr. Winkler's and ask Mr. Treadwell, if he's at home, if he wants us to come to rehearsal to-night."

Soon Bunny, Sue, Mart, and Lucile were riding down the street in the pony sled, having a fine time in the snow storm. It was quite a heavy fall of snow, but the weather was not very cold.

After mailing the letter the four children drove to the home of Mr. Winkler.

"I hope the monkey does something queer," said Bunny.

"I wish the parrot would sing a funny song!" exclaimed Sue.

"Something seems to be the matter, anyhow," said Lucile, as they got out of the little sled and walked toward the front door of Mr. Winkler's house, where the actor boarded. "Look at Miss Winkler running around," and she pointed to the sister of the old sailor. Miss Winkler could be seen hurrying about the room from one window to another.

"Do you want us all to come to practice to-night, Mr. Treadwell?" asked Mart, as he and the children entered the house and saw the actor hurrying around after Miss Winkler.

"Come to practice? Oh, I don't know!" was the answer. "I can't talk to you right away, Mart. Something has happened!"

"What is it?" asked Lucile. "Have you heard anything about --  -- ?"

"Oh, it isn't about your kin, I'm sorry to say," was the actor's answer. "It's just that one of my best wigs is missing -- the one I wear when I dress up like General Washington. Those wigs are scarce, and I hardly ever let it out of my box. But now it is gone!"

"And I've searched high and low for it all over this house, but I can't find it!" said Miss Winkler.

Bunny and Sue did not know quite what to make of all the excitement over the lost wig which Mr. Treadwell wore on his head in certain parts of the play. So they stood to one side while the search went on. Sue looked in the sitting room, while Mr. Treadwell and Miss Winkler went into the parlor that was hardly ever opened.

Something that Bunny saw in a chair in front of the kitchen stove made him call out:

"Oh, Miss Winkler! there's a funny old man in your kitchen, and he's trying to open the cupboard door where you keep the cookies. Come and see the funny old man!"



Chapter XIX

Uncle Bill


"What's that, Bunny Brown?" called Miss Winkler, stepping to the door of the parlor, in which Mr. Treadwell was looking for his missing wig. "What's that you said about an old man?"

"There's one in your kitchen now," added Sue, for she was now looking at the funny "old man" in the kitchen.

"One what in my kitchen?" asked Miss Winkler, in surprise.

"A funny old man," said Bunny again. "And he's after some of your nice sugar cookies." Bunny knew Miss Winkler's sugar cookies were nice because she sometimes gave him and Sue some. Not too often, but once in a while.

"An old man after my cookies, is there?" cried the sailor's sister. "Well, I'll see about that!"

Down the hall she hurried, leaving Mr. Treadwell to look for the wig himself, and this he was doing.

"I suppose it's some tramp!" exclaimed Miss Winkler. "Wait until I take the broom stick to him! The idea of taking my cookies! I'd rather give 'em to you children than to an old tramp. I wish your dog was here, Bunny Brown!"

"Oh, so do I!" cried Bunny. "Splash would hang on to the tramp the way he hangs to Mr. Treadwell's coat in the play. Oh, Sue, let's go home and get our Splash, and sic him on the tramp!"

By this time Miss Winkler had reached the kitchen door. Bunny and Sue, with Lucile and Mart, stood to one side, so the sailor's sister could go in and stop the funny old man from taking her cookies.

Into the kitchen hurried Miss Winkler. There, surely enough, with his gray head just showing over the back of a hall chair on which he was standing, was what seemed to be an old man. He had on a black coat, and one hand appeared to be reaching up into the cookie closet.

"Hi there! Get down out of that!" cried Miss Winkler. "The idea of you daring to take my cookies! Get out of here! You tramp!"

And the green parrot, in his cage hanging in the kitchen, cried in his shrill voice:

"No tramps allowed! Out you go! Sic him, Towser! Bow wow!"

Bunny, Sue, Mart, and Lucile hurried into the kitchen after Miss Winkler. They saw her quickly take a broom from a corner.

And then, as the sailor's sister ran around in front of the chair, on which the old man tramp seemed to be standing, she gave a scream.

"Wango! You good-for-nothing monkey you!" cried Miss Winkler. "The idea of pretending you were a tramp! I've a good notion to take this broom to you, anyhow!"

There was a chatter from the chair and the gray head dropped down out of sight.

"Oh, was it Wango?" cried Bunny Brown.

"Indeed it was!" said Miss Winkler. "The idea of his fooling us all like that!"

"But he looked just like an old man with gray hair," said Sue.

"Indeed he did," chimed in Mart and Lucile Clayton.

Just then Mr. Treadwell came through the hall into the kitchen.

"It's no use, Miss Winkler," he said. "I can't find my big wig anywhere. If I use one like if in the play I'll have to send to New York for another. My wig is lost."

"No, it isn't, either!" exclaimed Miss Winkler. "There it is -- on Wango!"

She pointed to the monkey, which, just then, ran around from behind the chair on which he had been standing. And, surely enough Wango had on the big, white wig for which Mr. Treadwell and Miss Winkler had been searching so long. The wig made Wango look like an old man.

"And he has on one of my jackets, too!" exclaimed the actor. "It's one I use in some of my stage plays, children, where I have to have a very short, little jacket. No wonder you thought a tramp was in Miss Winkler's kitchen! Wango, are you trying to be an impersonator, such as I used to be?" asked Mr. Treadwell, laughing and shaking his finger at Mr. Jed Winkler's monkey.

Wango made a funny little chattering noise, and took off the wig, which he held out to the actor.

"See, he's saying he's sorry!" exclaimed Lucile.

Next Wango took off the jacket. It was one of the costumes Mr. Treadwell used on the stage.

"I guess he won't dress up again," said Mart. "I didn't know he was such a performer."

"Oh, Wango is a regular pest for playing tricks!" said Miss Winkler. "I tell Jed, every day, that I won't have the monkey around any longer, but I always give in and let him stay. Now if he was as nice and quiet as the parrot it would be all right."

And just then the parrot began to screech and to cry:

"No tramps allowed! Sic 'em, Towser!"

Really the parrot made more noise than Wango, but Miss Winkler did not seem to think so.

"Well, I'm glad to get back my wig, anyhow," said Mr. Treadwell, as he took that and the jacket from Wango. "This little monkey must have gone in my room, found that I left my trunk open, and then he took out what he wanted."

"Do you really think he knew he was dressing up like a tramp?" asked Lucile.

"You never know what Wango thinks he's doing," said Miss Winkler. "But I'm glad I caught him in time. There wouldn't have been a cookie left if he had got his paws in the jar."

"Are there any cookies left now, Miss Winkler?" asked Bunny, with a funny little side look at his sister.

"Oh, yes, there's a whole jar full," answered the sailor's sister.

"Are you -- aren't you going to give Wango any?" asked Bunny.

"Give Wango any? Give my good sugar cookies to that monkey? Well, I guess not!" cried Miss Winkler. Then, as she looked at Bunny and Sue, a more gentle look came over her face.

"But I guess I'll give you children some," she said. "If it hadn't been that you saw Wango he might have cleaned out my cupboard. Yes, I'll give you children some cookies."

So she brought the jar from the cupboard, and not only gave some of her cookies -- which were really very good -- to Bunny and Sue, but also to Mart and Lucile. And even Mr. Treadwell had some.

As for Wango -- well, I'll tell you a little secret. He had some of the cookies, too. For when Miss Winkler wasn't looking, Bunny and Sue fed the jolly little monkey some bits of their cake. Wango was very fond of sweet things.

And so the lost wig was found, and Miss Winkler didn't have to drive the gray-haired tramp out of her kitchen with a broom, for which I suppose she was very glad.

Mr. Treadwell had time, now, to talk to Mart and the other children about the farm play, and he told them there would have to be a number of rehearsals, or practices, yet, before they would be ready to give a performance Christmas afternoon.

The children were drilled over and over again in their parts, until at last, a few days before Christmas, the actor said:

"Well, now I am satisfied. I think we are ready for the show!"

And, oh, how glad Bunny, Sue, and the others were! All their hard work would amount to something now.

One night, about three days before Christmas, Mr. Brown came home from the dock office one evening with Mr. Treadwell and Mart, who had finished their work.

"I had a letter from the Home for the Blind to-day," said Mr. Brown, as they sat at the supper table, for Mr. Treadwell had been invited to share the meal. "The superintendent would like to have me call, so he can tell me something about the work of the home and the poor people who have to stay there in the darkness. He thinks if I tell the audience that comes to see the children's play something about the Home for the Blind more people will be glad to help."

"I think they would," said Mrs. Brown. "Why don't you go over?"

"I will," answered Mr. Brown. "There isn't much to do to-morrow, so I'll go and take Bunny and Sue with me. Would you like to go?" he asked Mart and Lucile.

They said they would, and the next day the five of them went over in Mr. Brown's automobile. Mr. Treadwell was invited, but he said he had to go to the hall to make sure all the scenery for the play was ready.

The Home for the Blind was in a big red brick building on the side of a hill about two miles across the valley from Bellemere. It did not take long to get there in the automobile, for though there was snow on the ground the roads were good.

Mr. Harrison, the superintendent of the home, welcomed Mr. Brown and the children.

"Now please don't think this is a sad place," said Mr. Harrison. "Though the men and women and the boys and girls here can not see, they get along very well, considering. So don't think it's too sad.

"Of course it is sad enough, but it might be worse. That's what all our blind folk have come to think -- that it might be worse. They have ways of 'seeing,' even if they have eyes that are no longer any use to them. I just want you to go over our place, and then you will be more glad than ever, I hope, that you are going to help us with your little play. For we need many things. We need books, printed in the kind of type that the blind can read, and we need many things so that our blind men and women can work and make articles to sell. The money you are going to give us from your play will help to buy these things."

Then, indeed, Bunny Brown and his sister Sue were very glad they had decided to have a play, and they saw men and women and boys and girls who did not seem to be without their sight, for they went about almost as quickly as Bunny and Sue did.

"That's because they have learned their way," said Mr. Harrison. "Our blind folks know their way around here just as you can walk around some parts of your house in the dark."

He led them toward the music room, for there was one where the blind inmates played and sang, and as Mr. Brown and the children went through the door Lucile uttered a low cry at the sight of a man who was just getting up from the piano.

"Uncle Bill!" cried Lucile. "Uncle Bill! Oh, we have found you at last!"



Chapter XX

The Dress Rehearsal


Bunny Brown, who had been listening to the piano music of the blind man, looked quickly at Lucile as she cried out about Uncle Bill. For Bunny remembered how much the actress girl and her brother had wanted to find their blind uncle, so he might tell them where their other uncle and aunt were.

Sue just said: "O-oh!"

"Uncle Bill!" cried Mart, in the same sort of wondering voice as had his sister. "Yes, that's our Uncle Bill!" he went on, as the blind man, who had been playing, came over toward them. There was a strange look on his face, and except for a queer look about his eyes, one would hardly have known he was blind.

"Who is calling me?" he asked. "I seem to know those voices, though I have not heard them for a long time. Who is it?"

Lucile and Mart stepped forward. Mr. Brown was right behind them, and Bunny and Sue were near their father. Mr. Harrison, who was in charge of the Home, looked on in surprise.

"Do you know Mr. Clayton?" he asked Lucile and Mart.

"Yes, he is our uncle," Mart answered in a low voice, but, low as it was, the blind piano player heard. Holding out his hands toward the young theatrical players he cried,

"Now I know those voices. Lucile! Mart! I have found you at last!"

"And we have found you!" cried Lucile. "Oh, how wonderful!"

"Can you tell us where Uncle Simon and Aunt Sallie are?" asked Mart. "We've lost track of them, and we were stranded after the show failed. We didn't know where to find you, and --  -- "

"Say, your trouble all came together, didn't it?" cried the blind man. "But now, perhaps, it is all over. Let me sit down with you, and then we'll have a long talk."

"But do you know where Aunt Sallie Weatherby is?" asked Lucile.

"Yes, of course! I have her address," said the blind Mr. Clayton.

By this time he had managed to walk up to Mart, clasping his hands. Then he found Lucile and kissed her. For, though he was blind, Mr. Clayton could tell by the sound of a person's voice just where they stood in a room, and walk over to them.

"Oh, how glad I am to find you again!" he said, as he felt around for a chair and sat down. "I have been waiting for a letter from Mr. Jackson so I might find you, but he has been a long time writing, and since my last letter to him I came to this place."

"We don't know where Mr. and Mrs. Jackson are," said Lucile. "They left us, after the company broke up, and we haven't heard from them since. But we didn't know you were here!"

"You weren't the last time we inquired," added Mart. "We knew you were in some such place as this, but Mr. Brown asked and no one here had heard of you."

"That's because I only came the other day," said the blind Mr. Clayton. "You see I am thinking of going back on the stage again, doing a funny piano act. I can play pretty well, even if I am blind," he said, turning toward Mr. Brown, for he seemed to know just where the children's father sat. "And as I don't like to sit around doing nothing I've decided to go back on the stage again."

"We're going on the stage!" cried Bunny, who, with Sue, had been waiting for a chance to get in a word or two.

"We're going to have a real play on a farm," said Sue. "And you ought to see our dog Splash hang on to Mr. Treadwell."

"Treadwell? Is that the impersonator?" asked Mr. Clayton.

"Yes," answered Mart. "He is helping us with the little play."

"And maybe you could be in it and play the piano!" cried Bunny. "We heard you play the piano terrible nice!"

"Well, I'm glad you liked it," said Mr. Clayton, with a laugh, "but I'm afraid I'm not quite ready to start a performance yet. I need more practice. Oh, but I am glad you have found me, and that I have found you!"

"Mr. Clayton only came to this Home a few days ago," explained Mr. Harrison to Mr. Brown. "I had forgotten that you had asked about some one of his name, or I would have sent you word before that the children's blind uncle was here."

"And if I had known they were so near me, and had been looking so long for me, I'd have sent them word," said Uncle Bill. "And now tell me all that happened, Mart and Lucile."

Their story was soon told, just as I have written it here -- how they were "stranded" when the show broke up, and how Mr. Brown took care of them. The story of Mr. Treadwell was also told to Mart and Lucile's Uncle Bill, and how the impersonator had written the little play.

"And once he lost his wig and Wango the monkey had it!" cried Sue.

"Indeed! Wango must be a funny monkey!" said Mr. Clayton.

"He's funny, and so's Miss Winkler," said Bunny.

They all laughed at this, and then Mr. Clayton told his story.

He had been an actor as were many of his relatives, including Mart and Lucile. He had been stricken blind some years before, and had been in many Homes and hospitals, trying to get cured. But at last he had given up hope, and settled down to make the best of life.

He often wrote to Lucile and Mart, and also to their Uncle Simon and Aunt Sallie. But of late he had lost the address of the boy and girl actor, and they had also lost his. They all traveled around so much that one did not know where the other was, except that Lucile and her brother always stayed together, of course.

"But where is Aunt Sallie?" asked Mart.

Mr. Clayton said that she and her husband were many miles away, in a far country, traveling about and acting. But he knew their address, and he would at once send them word that Lucile and Mart wanted to hear from them. Mr. Clayton had not heard from the Weatherbys for several months, he remarked.

"Very likely they've been trying as hard to find you as you have to find them," said Mr. Clayton. "They'll be glad to know that I have found you."

"And we're glad we've found you!" cried Lucile, as she kissed her blind uncle again. "Oh, it's so good to have folks!"

"We would be glad to have you come over to our house and stay with us," said Mr. Brown to the blind man.

"Thank you," he answered, "but I must stay here and finish learning to play the piano for the act I am to do. Of course I'll come over and see Lucile and Mart, though. I call it 'seeing' them, but of course I can't use my eyes," he added. "However, I've grown used to that, and I don't seem to mind being in the dark."

"You can't ever see anybody make faces at you -- if they ever do -- can you?" asked Sue, as she patted his hand.

"No indeed!" laughed Mr. Clayton. "I never thought of that. But I suppose some bad people like to make faces at me, and, as you say, if ever they do I sha'n't see them."

"I don't guess anybody would make faces at you when you play on the piano," said Bunny Brown.

"I don't guess so, either," added Sue.

There was more talk, and then it was time for Mr. Brown and the children to go back home. Mr. Clayton promised to write a telegram to Lucile's other uncle and aunt. He could write even though he was blind, and Mr. Harrison, at the Home for the Blind, promised to send the message.

"Then you'll hear from Uncle Simon and Aunt Sallie soon," said the blind man.

"I hope we hear before the play!" exclaimed Lucile. "It will make me so much happier when I sing."

"Perhaps you'll come over to the hall the night or the performance," suggested Mr. Brown to Mr. Clayton. "You can hear what goes on."

"I'll try to come," agreed the blind man.

Very happy, now that they had found their uncle, Mart and Lucile went home with Mr. Brown, Bunny, and Sue, promising to come often again to see Mr. Clayton.

"Wasn't it queer," said Mart, "that, after all, he should come to the same Home we're going to help with the farm play?"

"Very strange, indeed," said Mr. Brown.

"And now, if we can only get word from Uncle Simon and Aunt Sallie, how happy we'll be!" exclaimed Lucile.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll hear soon, my dear," said Mrs. Brown when they had reached home and told her the good news.

Then followed a time of anxious waiting, with Lucile and Mart looking almost every hour for a message from their uncle and aunt so far away. And they and the other children were kept busy getting ready for the play. For it was almost Christmas and time for the great performance.

The tickets had been printed, and all the mistakes corrected in the type that Charlie Star had set up. Many tickets had been sold, and it looked as though everything would be all right.

"I do hope we won't make any mistakes," said Bunny to his sister one day, as they were talking about the coming play.

"I hope so, too," she answered. "Wouldn't it be terrible if we got on the stage and forgot what we were going to say?"

"Yes, it would," agreed Bunny. "I'm going to keep on saying my lines over and over again all the while. Then I won't forget."

"Don't be too anxious, my dears," said Mrs. Brown, as she heard the children talking this way. "Sometimes the more you try to remember things like that, the more easily you forget. Just do your best, put your whole mind on it, and I'm sure you will remember the right words to say, and the right actions to do."

"It's easier to remember what to do than what to say," declared Bunny. "Mr. Treadwell tells us to act just as we would if we weren't on the stage, but of course we can't say anything we happen to think of -- we have to say the right words."

"I remember once, when I was a little girl," remarked Mrs. Brown, as she threaded her needle, for she was mending one of Sue's dresses, "I had to speak a piece in school, and I didn't know it at all well."

"Oh, tell us about it, Mother!" begged Sue.

"Please do!" cried Bunny Brown. For there was a funny little smile on his mother's face, and whenever the children saw that they knew there was a story back of it.

"Well, it was this way," went on Mrs. Brown. "When I was a little girl I lived in the country, and I went to school in a little red brick schoolhouse about half a mile down the road from our house. We had a very nice teacher, and one day she said we must all learn a piece to speak for the next Friday afternoon.

"Well, of course we children were all excited. Some of us had spoken pieces before, and some of us had not. And I was one that never had, but I was pleased to think I should get up in front of the whole school and speak a piece.

"When I went home that night I asked my mother what I should learn as my recitation. She got down a book that she had used when she was a little school girl, and in it were a number of nice pieces. There was one about Mary and her little lamb, but I thought that was too young for me to take, so I picked out one about a ship being wrecked at sea. There were about ten verses to the piece, and they told how a great storm came up and drove the vessel on the rocks."

"I'd like to see a big storm!" exclaimed Bunny.

"Please keep quiet!" begged Sue. "Mother can't tell about her speaking in school if you're going to talk all the while."

"I won't talk any more," promised Bunny Brown. "Please go on, Mother. I'll be quiet."

So Mrs. Brown continued:

"I began to learn this piece about the wreck. I don't remember now, how it all went, but I know the first two lines were like this:

"'The thunder rolls, The lightning flashes!'

"I remember those lines very well," said the children's mother, "and I thought how wonderful it would be if I could get up there and speak them in a loud voice. I practiced hard, too -- as hard as you have practiced for your play. And I thought I had the piece learned perfectly. Finally Friday afternoon came, lessons were finished, books put away and we got ready for the recitations in the main schoolroom.

"I forget the different pieces that were spoken. There were all kinds, but none like mine. Some were sad and some were funny, and some of the boys and girls got up and were so stage-struck that they couldn't think of a single word of the pieces they had learned.

"Then I was afraid this would happen to me, but when my name was called, and I walked up to the platform, I was glad to find that I could remember every single word -- or at least I thought I could.

"But dear me! As soon as I opened my mouth and began to speak it was just as though the bottom had opened and let everything fall out of everything. All I could think of was the first two lines:

"'The thunder rolls, The lightning flashes!'

"Over and over again I repeated those lines, and I could not get past them. The teacher looked sorry for me, and some of the boys and girls began to laugh. This made it all the worse for me, and my face grew red. Over and over again I told about the thunder and lightning, and at last I made up my mind I'd have to do something, or else go to my seat as some of the other girls had done, without finishing. And I didn't want to do that.

"So I braced my feet on the platform, and then I stood straight up in front of the whole school and fairly shouted out this verse:

"'The thunder rolls, The lightning flashes! It broke Grandmother's teapot All to smashes!'

"That's what I gave as my first recitation," went on Mrs. Brown, when Bunny and Sue had finished laughing. "How those words about my grandmother's teapot popped into my head I don't know. I don't even remember my grandmother's teapot, though I suppose she had one. But that's the verse I recited. And you should have heard the children laugh!"

"What did the teacher say?" asked Bunny.

"At the time I thought she was rather angry," answered his mother, "thinking I had done it on purpose, to make fun of the speaking. But really I had not. The wrong two lines popped into my head all of a sudden. And of course; they spoiled the piece. I know now, too, that she was trying to keep from laughing, and that made her look stern."

"I hope that doesn't happen to us," said Sue, as she and Bunny thought over the little story their mother had told them.

"I hope not, either," agreed her brother. "Come on -- let's go up in the attic and practice."

So they did, and for some time they went over the lines they were to speak on the stage. After a while Lucile and Mart came in and helped Bunny and Sue. The older boy and girl said the two little ones were doing very well. Mr. Treadwell, too, who heard Bunny and Sue go through their parts, said they did very well.

"We'll have a good practice to-morrow," said the impersonator.

Then Mr. Treadwell called a dress rehearsal. That is generally the last one before the show, and it is really a complete performance in itself, though the audience isn't allowed to come in.

The day before Christmas Bunny, Sue, Lucile, Mart, and the other girls and boys assembled in the hall over the hardware store for the dress rehearsal. Mr. Treadwell was there, and the men who were to help set up the scenery were on hand.

Just before it was time for the rehearsal to begin George Watson went up to Mr. Treadwell.

"If you please," said he, "couldn't Peter be in the play?"

"Peter? Who is Peter?" asked the impersonator. "I'm afraid it's too late to put any one else in, George. They wouldn't have time to practice, and, besides, we really have all the actors we need."

"Oh, Peter wouldn't need any practice," said George. "He'd be just fine in the barnyard scene. I brought him with me!"

"Well, I'm sorry, for I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint your friend Peter," said Mr. Treadwell. "But where is he?"

"Here in this basket," answered George, and he held up a small one in front of the stage manager.



Chapter XXI

"Where Is Bunny?"


Mr. Treadwell looked first at George, then at the basket, and once more at George.

"Now look here, George," said the actor. "I don't mind your making fun or having jokes, but I'm very busy now, for the first act of the rehearsal is going to start. Besides, you shouldn't bring your baby brother to the hall in a small basket like that."

"My baby brother?" cried George with a laugh. "I haven't any baby brother! I have a sister Mary, but --  -- "

"But you said Peter was in there," said Mr. Treadwell. "And if Peter is --  -- "

"Oh, Peter isn't a baby, and he isn't my brother," said George with another laugh. "He's only a --  -- "

But before he could say what Peter was a loud crow sounded from inside the basket which George held up.

"Cock-a-doodle-doo!" sounded all through the hall, and Bunny, Sue, and the others who were getting ready for their parts in the dress rehearsal of the play, laughed. Mr. Treadwell looked surprised.

"Why -- why -- it's a rooster!" he exclaimed.

"Yes, Peter is my pet bantam rooster," said George. "I brought him with me because I thought he could crow in the barnyard scene, and make it more natural like."

"Well, a crowing rooster would be a good performer to have in a barnyard scene on a stage," agreed Mr. Treadwell. "But the only thing about it is that we couldn't be sure that he would crow at the right time. He might crow when Lucile was singing, or when Bunny Brown was doing some of his tricks, or when Sue was making believe run away from me when I'm dressed up like a tramp."

"Yes," said George, "that's so. Peter crows a lot, and you can't tell when he's going to do it. But, Mr. Treadwell, he always crows when he flaps his wings, and if somebody could hold his wings so they couldn't flap then he couldn't crow. I wish we could have him in the play!"

"Well, we might try him, anyhow," said Mr. Treadwell, with a laugh. "Though I haven't anybody I could let stand near and hold the rooster's wings so he wouldn't crow."

"I could do that," offered George. "My rooster likes me."

"Yes, I suppose he does," agreed the stage manager. "But you have to recite a piece in the play, George, and your rooster might start to crow when you were reciting."

"That would make me laugh," said George, with a smile, "and I couldn't pucker up my mouth to whistle, and I have to do that in my piece."

"Then I guess we had better not have the rooster in the play," said Mr. Treadwell. "But since you have brought him we'll let him stay for the practice, and we'll see how he behaves. He certainly would be good in the barnyard scene, and make it quite natural, but I'm afraid he'll crow at the wrong time."

"And did you really think George had a little baby brother in the basket?" asked Sue, as the rooster was being shut up again.

"Yes, I really did," said Mr. Treadwell. "But now everybody get ready! The rehearsal will begin in a minute."

It took a little while for all the boys and girls to find their right places. Their mothers or big sisters were, in most cases, on hand ready to help them, to see that this little girl's dress was buttoned up the back, that her hair ribbon was prettily tied and that the little boys had their hair combed as it ought to be.

But at last everything was finished, and the stage was set for the first scene, that of the meadow. Everything was to go on just as if it was the real play -- the scenery, the lights, the curtain being raised and lowered, and everything.

Out in front were the mothers, the big sisters, with, here and there, an occasional father of the children who were taking part. This was the audience. Of course this audience didn't pay anything, but Bunny, Sue, and the others who were getting up the play, hoped a large throng would come Christmas afternoon, when the real play would be given.

I must not tell you, here, how the rehearsal went, for it was so like the play that if I set down all that took place I wouldn't have anything left to tell you about the main performance. All I will say is that after the meadow scene came the one in the barnyard.

"Now if the Peter rooster will crow right this will be a good scene," said Mr. Treadwell.

Well, the scene was all right -- at least at first. Bunny and Sue did their parts well, and so did the other children. The people sitting in front of the footlights -- which glowed as brightly as they would in the real performance -- said the show was going on finely. And Peter crowed just at the right time, too, without any one telling him to.

"That's great!" said Mr. Treadwell. "I think he can be in the play after all, George. It helps out the barnyard scene."

George felt quite proud of his bantam rooster, and Bunny and Sue were glad the feathered actor was in their show. But alas! Toward the end of the barnyard scene, when Lucile was singing a sad little song, Peter began to crow. He crowed and he crowed and he crowed, until Lucile could hardly be heard, and everybody laughed instead of sitting quietly.

"I'll go and hold his wings," offered George. But even that didn't quiet Peter. He kept on crowing louder than ever.

"I know what I'll do," said Bunny Brown. "I'll put Peter in his basket and carry him down to the cellar. That'll be dark, and he'll think it's night and he'll stop crowing."

"That will be just the thing!" said Mr. Treadwell.

So as Bunny Brown didn't have anything to do just then in the barnyard scene, he put Peter in the basket and carried the bantam rooster downstairs.

"What have you got there?" asked Mr. Raymond, the hardware man, as he saw Bunny with the basket.

The little boy told.

"Yes, put him down in the cellar," said Mr. Raymond. "That ought to keep him quiet. I'll turn on the electric lights down there for you, so you can see. Otherwise you might tumble downstairs in the dark."

Bunny had been down in the hardware store cellar before, once when his father was looking at a certain piece of iron for a boat, the iron being stowed away down in the basement, and at other times, when he himself wanted to buy some odds or ends from the hardware man to make some toy. So Bunny knew his way down into the cellar.

"I'll come and get you after the play," said Bunny to Peter, as he set the basket, with the rooster in it, on a big box.

Peter didn't answer. He didn't even crow. I guess he didn't like the dark. He might have thought it was night, when the electric lights were turned out after Bunny had gone upstairs, and Peter may have gone to roost.

Bunny tramped upstairs and went on with his parts in the play. Everything went along nicely, and every one said the last act, the one in the orchard, was fine. Bunny and Sue did well, as did Lucile, Mart and the others.

"I wish we could think of some way so my rooster would only crow at the right time," said George, when talking to Bunny, after the rehearsal was over.

Bunny Brown wished so, too, for he wanted the little play to be as real as it could, so the people who saw it would be glad they had come to pay money to help the Home for the Blind.

Mr. Clayton sent word from the Home that he would surely be on hand at the performance Christmas afternoon. He also said he had not yet received any word from the other uncle and aunt of the two vaudeville children.

"Oh, dear," sighed Lucile on Christmas eve, as she and her brother sat in the Brown home, "I do hope we can find Uncle Simon and Aunt Sallie!"

"So do I hope you do," said Sue. "But, oh, won't we have fun to-morrow at the play! And to-morrow is Christmas. I'm going to hang up my stocking. Are you going to hang up your stocking?" she asked Mart and Lucile.

"Well, I don't know," answered the boy slowly. "I guess, seeing that we haven't heard from Uncle Simon and Aunt Sallie yet, that maybe it wouldn't be any use for us to hang up our stockings, Sue."

"Oh, I think it would," said Mrs. Brown, with a funny little smile. "You tell Mart and Lucile to hang them up, Sue. I don't believe Santa Claus will forget them."

"There!" cried Sue. "You must do as mother says. Come on, Bunny!" she added. "Let's get our stockings ready, and we'll go to bed early. Christmas will come sooner then. Why, where's Bunny?" she asked, as she looked out in the kitchen where she had last seen her brother. "Bunny!" she called. "Come on, hang up our stockings!"

But Bunny Brown did not answer.

"Bunny isn't here!" said Sue. "Where is Bunny?"



Chapter XXII

Act I


"What's that? Isn't Bunny here?" asked Mr. Brown, who was busy talking to Mr. Treadwell about the play.

"This is the first I knew he wasn't here," answered Mrs. Brown. "Did any one see him go out?"

No one had.

"Perhaps he is upstairs," said Lucile.

"No, he wouldn't go up to bed without telling me," said Mrs. Brown. "Besides, he's been teasing me all evening to get his stockings ready to hang up, and he wouldn't go without them. Where can he be?"

"He isn't in the kitchen," said Sue, for she had gone out to look, and had come back again.

"Perhaps he is hiding away from you, just for fun," said Mart.

"He sometimes does play tricks," remarked Mr. Brown. "I'll take a look."

They all looked, and they called, but Bunny could not be found. He did not seem to be in the house. Mr. Brown even opened the back door and shouted, thinking perhaps Bunny had gone out to see that the Shetland pony was all right, as he sometimes did.

"Dear me!" exclaimed Mrs. Brown, "where can he be?"

"Oh, he's all right," said her husband. "It's early yet, even if it is dark, and maybe he went out to play in the snow, though of course he shouldn't at this hour."

"It's snowing, too," said Mrs. Brown, as she stood in the back door beside her husband. "Snowing hard! There's going to be a big storm, and if Bunny is out in it -- I wish Bunny would not do such things!"

"Oh, will he get freezed?" cried Sue, her eyes opening big and round.

"No, dear, he'll be all right," replied her mother. "But he must be found."

"Maybe he went out with Bunker Blue," suggested Mart.

Bunker Blue, the boy, or rather, young man, who worked for Mr. Brown at the fish and boat dock, had been at the house shortly after supper, and later had said he was going back to the office to make sure it was locked, for it would not be open on Christmas Day.

"Perhaps Bunny did go back with Bunker," said Mr. Brown. "Though he shouldn't have done that. But he was so excited about the play there is no telling what he might do."

"Bunker ought to be at the office about this time," said Mrs. Brown, looking at the clock. "Call him on the telephone," she begged her husband, "and ask him if Bunny is there. I hope he is."

Bunker Blue answered the telephone a few minutes later, when Mr. Brown had called him on the wire.

"No, Bunny didn't come out with me," said Bunker. "But I saw him in the kitchen with his cap, coat, and rubber boots on when I left. He seemed to be getting ready to go out."

"Then he's gone off somewhere without telling us anything about it!" cried Mrs. Brown. "Maybe he went over to Charlie Star's house, to make sure there would be enough tickets for the show. Oh, I wish he hadn't gone out!"

"I can telephone to Mr. Star and ask," suggested Mr. Brown. But when he had done this, and no Bunny Brown was there, they all began to get quite excited.

"I'll get on my coat and rubbers and go out with you," said Mart, as Mr. Brown began to put on his overcoat. "He might be in the barn, practicing some of the tricks he is going to do in the play to-morrow."

"Oh, I don't believe Bunny would go out to the barn alone after dark," said Mrs. Brown.

Her husband and Mart were just starting out into the storm to look for the missing Bunny when the tramp of feet was heard on the porch.

"Here comes somebody!" cried Sue. "I hope it's Bunny!"

But it was not. Instead it was Bunker Blue, and he was covered with snow flakes. His nose was red, too, even if his name was Bunker Blue.

"Has Bunny come back yet?" asked Bunker, as he stamped his feet on the porch, to get the snow off.

"No, he hasn't," answered Mr. Brown. "We are getting very anxious about him, too, though the worst that can happen is that he may get cold. He shouldn't have gone out!"

"Well, I didn't see anything of him," said Bunker Blue. "I was quite surprised at what you told me, over the telephone, about his not being in the house in this storm."

"Oh, maybe he'll never come back, and then we can't have our nice Christmas play!" exclaimed Sue.

"Oh, Bunny will come back all right -- don't worry about that," said her father gently. "If he doesn't come we'll go and get him. In fact, now that you are here, Bunker, we three might as well set out and look for the little fellow. He's got something on his mind, or he wouldn't go out as he did."

"I'm sure I can't see what made him go out," said Mrs. Brown. "It's snowing very hard, too," she added, as she shaded her eyes from the light in the room and looked out of the window.

"But it isn't very cold, that's one good thing," her husband added. "Of course I wish Bunny hadn't gone out, but, since he has, we must go out and find him."

"Could he, by any chance, be hiding somewhere in the house?" asked Mart.

"We'll look," decided Mr. Brown, "although we looked before."

He and Mart, as well as Bunker Blue, were dressed to go out into the storm to look for Bunny, who was so strangely missing, but when Mart said this Mr. Brown decided that it would be better to go over the house once more, to make sure Bunny was not hiding away.

"We'll take Sue with us to help search," said her father, as he took off his overcoat, for he did not know how long he would stay in the house. "Bunny and Sue play hide-and-go-seek games in the different rooms," went on Mr. Brown, "and Sue knows lots of hiding places; don't you, Sue?"

"Yes, we hide in lots of places," the little girl answered. "But I don't guess Bunny is hiding now."

"Oh, well, maybe he is, just to fool us," returned her father. "Come now, we'll begin the search."

And while the storm was getting more and more wild outside, with the wind blowing harder and the snowflakes coming down more and more thickly, Mr. Brown, Bunker, and Mart, with Sue and Mrs. Brown to help them, began searching through the house after Bunny. It was a good thing they took Sue with them, for she knew many "cubby holes" in which she and her brother often took turns hiding. And some of these even her mother had forgotten about, though Mrs. Brown thought she knew every nook and cranny of the house.

But Bunny was in none of these places, and though they looked and called his name and called again, from attic to cellar, there was no sign of the little fellow.

"He surely must have gone out!" decided Mr. Brown. "Very likely he's gone to see some of the boys to talk about the play."

"Then let's go and find him!" cried Bunker Blue, putting on his coat again.

"That's what I say!" came from Mart. "This is no night for a little boy to be out. It's snowing harder than ever."

So Mr. Brown, Bunker, and Mart started out to look for Bunny. They went first to one house and then to another, and there were many houses where Bunny Brown and his sister Sue were in the habit of calling. At most of the places were boys and girls with whom Bunny and Sue played, or who were to take part in the Christmas show. But none of these boys or girls had seen Bunny.

"Well, this is certainly strange!" declared Mr. Brown, when they had stopped at the last place where they thought it likely Bunny would be. "I guess we'll have to tell the police about it and have them help hunt for him. I don't see what else we can do."

"Maybe it would be the best way," agreed Bunker Blue. "I'll go down and tell the chief of police."

"No, we had better telephone -- that's quicker," said Mr. Brown. So they stopped in the drug store and Mr. Brown talked to the police station on the wire.

"All right," the chief answered back. "I'll start some of my men out on the search. You go back home and let me know as soon as Bunny is found or comes back."

This Mr. Brown promised to do, and soon he and Mart and Bunker were back at the Brown home. Mrs. Brown looked very much disappointed and worried when her husband came in without Bunny.

"Oh, where can he be?" she cried.

Just then the heavy tramp of feet was heard on the porch.

"Maybe this is Bunny!" exclaimed Mart.

And Bunny Brown it was, all covered with snow flakes, his eyes shining and his cheeks red with the cold. He carried a small basket in one hand, and the other was clasped in that of Mr. Raymond, the man who owned the hardware store.

"Why Bunny Brown! where have you been?" cried his mother, as the lamp light shone on his flushed face, and made the snowflakes sparkle.

"And what have you got in the basket?" asked Sue.

"That's Peter," was the answer, and before any one could ask who Peter was, if they had wished to, there came a loud crow from the basket.

"A rooster!" cried Mrs. Brown.

"Yes," said Bunny. "Peter -- he's George's pet bantam rooster. And he crowed at the wrong time in the practice to-day -- I mean Peter crowed -- so I took him down into Mr. Raymond's cellar. And then I forgot all about him, and I left him there, and I thought of him after supper, and I guessed he'd be hungry, so I went back to get him."

"Yes, that's just what he did," said the hardware man. "I was busy waiting on late Christmas Eve customers, when in came Bunny, all covered with snow. I didn't know what he meant when he told me he'd come back for the rooster, for I'd forgotten about the bird myself.

"Nothing would do but he must bring Peter home, and, knowing what a bad storm it was, I came back with him. I'd have telephoned, but my wire's out of order, so I couldn't reach you, and I didn't want to stop to go anywhere else. So I brought him over in my auto."

"It was very kind of you," said Mr. Brown.

"And, Bunny, it was very wrong of you to go away without telling us," said Mrs. Brown.

"I'm sorry," answered the little boy. "But I thought maybe Peter'd be lonesome all alone in the dark, and on Christmas Eve too."

"That's so!" laughed Mr. Raymond. "I guess, Mrs. Brown, you'll have to forgive Bunny on account of it's being Christmas Eve."

"Did you hang up your stocking, Mr. Raymond?" asked Sue, and they all laughed at that, so that every one felt better, and Bunny was not scolded, as perhaps he ought to have been.

"Well, I must get back to my store," said the hardware man. "Merry Christmas to you, and I'll see you all at the play to-morrow!"

"Yes, we'll all be there!" cried Bunny. "You're going to have a free ticket, you know!"

This had been decided on, because Mr. Raymond was so kind about letting the children have the new hall he had fitted up.

"Good-nights," and more "Merry Christmas" greetings were called back and forth, and then, as the hardware man left in his automobile, to go chugging through the storm, Bunny Brown and his sister Sue hung up their stockings for Santa Claus and went to bed.

"Oh, I'm so happy; aren't you, Bunny?" laughed Sue. "Christmas will be here in the morning, and we're going to have a play an' -- everything lovely!"

"Yes," answered Bunny. "I'm glad, and I'm glad I got Peter so he won't have to stay all alone, too."

The little rooster was taken out by Mr. Brown and put in the chicken house near the barn for the night. Word was telephoned to George that his pet bantam was all right. In a little while every one in the house was in bed.

If this book had started out to be a Christmas story I could put in a lot about what nice presents Bunny and Sue got. And also how Santa Claus did not forget Mart and Lucile. But as this is a book about Bunny Brown and his sister Sue giving a show, I must get to that part of my story. I'll just say, though, that the little boy and girl thought it was the finest Christmas they had ever known.

"I hope it won't snow so hard that nobody will come to the show," said Sue, when, after breakfast, she stood with her nose pressed in a funny, flat way against the window. It was snowing, but not too hard.

"O, I guess every one will come," said Mrs. Brown. "They have all bought tickets, anyhow, so you'll make some money for the Home for the Blind."

"And I hope Uncle Bill doesn't forget to come," put in Lucile.

"I had word from him a little while ago," said Mr. Brown. "I'm going for him in my auto. And now we must have an early dinner and get ready for the play."

I think Bunny and Sue were so excited that they did not eat as much roast turkey and cranberry sauce at that Christmas dinner as at others. But they had enough, anyhow, and in due time they were at the hall, where they met all the other children. Bunny had brought back the bantam rooster, thinking that perhaps, after all, Peter might have some part in the play. Will Laydon had his trained white mice with him, Splash was on hand, ready to cling to the piece of cloth on Mr. Treadwell's coat, and some other animal pets were ready to do their share in the play.

There was a final looking over of every one, mothers and sisters saw to it that the dresses and suits of the girls and boys were all right, and Mr. Treadwell was here, there, and everywhere, back of the scenes and curtain.

"Oh, there's a terrible big crowd!" exclaimed Bunny, as he looked out at the audience through a peep-hole in the curtain.

"Then we'll make a lot of money for the Blind Home," said Sue.

"I see Uncle Bill!" cried Mart, as he, too, looked out.

"Oh, I'm so glad!" exclaimed Lucile. "Now if we could only hear from Aunt Sallie and Uncle Simon everything would be all right."

The musicians were in their places. The hall was well filled, not only with boys and girls who had come to see their chums and playmates act, but with grown folks as well.

"Are you all ready?" asked Mr. Treadwell of Bunny, Sue and the others, as the musicians finished playing the opening piece.

"Yes," answered Bunny. "I'm all ready."

"Is my hair ribbon on right?" Sue wanted to know.

"Yes, you look sweet!" said Lucile.

"Now all ready for act one!" exclaimed the impersonator as he made sure that Snap was in his place.

And then up went the curtain on the meadow scene!



Chapter XXIII

Act II


There was a moment of silence when the curtain first went up, and then as the audience, many of them for the first time, saw the pretty meadow scene, there was loud clapping. For the opening act was very nicely gotten up. The scenery Mr. Brown had bought from the stranded vaudeville company had been so set up by Mr. Treadwell that it looked very natural.

"Why, bless me, if that don't look jest like my south meddar!" exclaimed old Mr. Tyndell, as he looked at the stage.

"Hush, father! The people will hear you!" whispered his wife.

"Wa'al, I want 'em to!" he went on. "That's a fine piece of meddar!"

Several sitting near the old farmer laughed, but no one minded it. And then, as the musicians began to play softly, Lucile stepped out from behind a make-believe stone in the meadow beside a pretend brook and began to sing her first song. Every one grew quiet to listen.

The play, "Down on the Farm," had been changed somewhat by Mr. Tread well from what he had first planned. This had to be done as he found out the different things the boy and girl actors could best do. And the first act had to do with Lucile, a lost girl who wandered to a farm meadow near the house where Bunny Brown and his sister Sue lived, only, of course, they had different names in the play.

Lucile sang her little song, and then she pretended she was so tired, from having walked a long way, that she must lie down and take a rest.

It was while she was lying down on some green carpet that took the place of green grass in the meadow that Bunny and Sue were supposed to come along and find her.

Bunny and Sue had a little act to themselves at this point. They stood on the stage and talked about the sleeping Lucile. Bunny said she looked sad and he was going to cheer her up.

"How are you going to make her feel happy?" asked Sue.

"I -- I'm going to turn a pepper -- no, I mean a somersault!" cried Bunny, stammering a trifle and making a little mistake, for this was the first time he had acted before such a large crowd. But no one laughed.

"Can you turn somersaults?" asked Sue.

"Yes, I'll show you!" answered Bunny. And then, on the stage, he began turning over and over.

All this was part of the play, of course, and Bunny was loudly clapped for the way in which he turned head over heels. He had practiced these somersaults many times, and Mart had helped him.

"Well, if you can make her happy by doing that maybe I can make her happier by singing a song," said Sue. "I'll practice my song while she's asleep as you practiced your somersaults."

And so Sue began to sing, while Lucile pretended to be asleep. After Sue's song Mart was supposed to come along, being a boy who had run away from a circus, and he was to watch Bunny try to turn a handspring. Bunny was to make believe he couldn't turn a handspring very well, and Mart would then take the center of the stage.

"Here! Look at me do a flipflop!" cried Mart, and then he really did some very good tricks for a boy acrobat.

All this while Lucile was pretending to be asleep, and when Mart's tricks were over she was supposed to wake up suddenly. At this point Sue was to see the pretend tramp, who, of course, was only Mr. Treadwell dressed up in old clothes.

Everything went off very well. Along through the meadow walked the actor tramp, and then, when Sue and Bunny called for "Snap," out rushed Splash.

"Grab him!" cried Bunny, and his dog caught hold of the loose piece of cloth sewed to Mr. Treadwell's coat. Then began a funny scene, with the actor pulling one way and Splash pulling the other, until, with a rip, the cloth came loose and Splash began shaking it as he might a rat.

Well, you should have heard the people laugh and clap at that! They wanted that scene done over again, but of course this wasn't like a song, with two verses. Mr. Treadwell only had one patch sewed on his coat, and when that was torn off he didn't want Splash to pretend to bite him again.

Finally the dog act came to an end and the little play went on with George and Mary Watson, Harry Bentley, fat Bobbie Boomer, Sadie West, Charlie Star and Helen Newton, besides other boys and girls, taking part. They all did well, and the fathers and mothers and strangers, too, applauded very loudly.

Lucile's Uncle Bill could hear all that was said, though he could see nothing, and he seemed to enjoy it all very much. The first act came to an end with all the children joining in singing a chorus.

"And now for act two!" exclaimed Mr. Treadwell, as the curtain went down. "This is in the barnyard, you know."

"I hope Peter crows at the right time!" said George, for it had been decided to try the rooster in that act.

While the audience sat in front of the lowered curtain, waiting for it to go up again, the children behind the curtain were very busy. Most of them had to dress in different clothes, or "costumes," as they are called, for the next act. And, for a time, there was much hurrying to and fro, much hunting here and there for things that had been mislaid.

"Where's my red hat?" called Charlie Star as he looked back of a piece of scenery that had a little brook painted on it. "Has anybody got my red hat?"

"Is it a fireman's hat, Charlie?" asked Sue, who was looking for some one to help her pin her dress in the back.

"No, it was a soldier's hat, but I'm going to make believe I'm a fireman, so I guess you could call it a fireman's hat," explained Charlie. "Has anybody seen my red hat?"

"Hush! Not so loud!" called Mr. Treadwell to Charlie. "The audience out in front will hear you, and they'll all be laughing at us."

"Oh!" said Charlie more quietly. "But I've got to have my hat, or I can't be in the next act."

"I'll help you hunt for it," said Bunny Brown. "I know where all my things are for the next act and I have time to help you, Charlie, 'cause you helped me a lot by printing the tickets for our show."

The two little boys began to hunt behind the scene, on the stage, for the missing red hat. They searched all around for it, but it seemed to have disappeared. Even Mr. Treadwell helped look, for he knew the play would not go right unless Charlie was dressed as had been planned for him.

"Did anybody see Charlie's red hat?" finally the impersonator called, when he managed to stop all the others from talking for a moment. "Please think, and see if you can remember seeing a red hat."

Then the buzz of talk broke out again, while the men who had been hired to do it kept on setting up the scenes for the second act. But all the children who had time to do so helped Bunny look for the red hat.

"Maybe Splash took it," suggested Sue, when she had finally gotten her dress pinned to suit her. "I saw him dragging something off to one corner a while ago."

"Was it a bone?" asked Bunny.

"I couldn't see very well, 'cause I was in a hurry," Sue answered.

"Come on -- we'll find Splash!" called Bunny to Charlie and some of the others who were helping in the search.

But even the dog seemed to have hidden himself. At last, however, he was heard growling in a dark corner, and Bunny saw that his pet was chewing something, and tossing it up in the air, as he often tossed a bit of cloth or an old shoe.

"Splash! What have you got?" cried Bunny. "Bring it here!"

At first the dog did not mind, but finally, when both Sue and Bunny told him to come, out he came, dragging something after him.

"Oh, it is my red hat!" cried Charlie, when he saw it. "It's my nice red hat that mother made for me to wear in the show!"

And that is what it was. But the red hat was nice and red no longer. Splash had chewed all the red off it, and the hat was also very much out of shape.

"Splash! You're a bad dog!" cried Bunny, shaking his finger at his pet, and Splash slunk away with his tail between his legs. He always did that whenever any one called him a bad dog.

"Oh, see how bad he feels," said Sue, in her gentle voice. "I guess he didn't mean to be bad and chew your hat, Charlie."

"But he did chew it!" replied the little boy who was to wear it in the next act. "Look! I can't even get it on! It isn't a hat at all!"

"Let me see," said Mr. Treadwell, coming up just then. He looked at what Splash had left of the hat. It was torn and chewed and the color was all gone, for the red had been only red ribbons pinned on an old cap, and Splash had made them look very sad indeed.

"What can I do?" asked Charlie. "Have I got to stay out of the play?"

Mr. Treadwell thought for a moment.

"No," he said. "I'll tell you what we'll do. You were to be a fireman and wear this red hat, weren't you?"

"Yes," answered Charlie.

"Well, you can still be a fireman, but instead of a red hat you can wear a tin one. A tin hat will be just the thing for a fireman. It will keep the make-believe hot sparks, as well as the water, off his head."

"But where can I get a tin hat?" asked Charlie.

"I'll have Mr. Raymond bring up a small tin pail from his hardware store downstairs."

And that's what was done, and the new, shiny tin pail made a very funny hat for Charlie. He liked it better than the red one that Splash had chewed.

After some delay the curtain went up again, showing the barnyard scene, and in this Bunny and Sue were to drive Toby, their Shetland pony, on the stage. It had been decided they could do this, as the pony was a very little one.

Up went the curtain again, and once more the big crowd clapped as they saw how pretty and natural it was. There was part of a barn with a real door that opened, and when it swung wide and out trotted the Shetland pony on to the stage, drawing a little cart in which sat Bunny and Sue, why, then you should have heard the applause!

And then something happened. Just how it came about no one knew, but, all of a sudden, there was a loud crow, and out from his basket, which had been hidden back of the wings, flew Peter, the rooster.

At first no one paid much attention to this, as they all knew it was part of the play. But when Peter suddenly flew out from back of the stage and alighted right on the pony's back, Toby was much frightened.

Up he rose on his hind legs, and then he made a dash for the edge of the stage. Straight for the footlights he started, dragging Bunny and Sue in the cart after him!

Men jumped to their feet and women screamed. It looked as if Bunny and Sue would be hurt.



Chapter XXIV

Act III


Lucky it was for every one that Mr. Treadwell was an old actor and stage manager and that he was used to slight accidents happening during a show. Just at the time Bunny and Sue, in the pony cart, were seemingly about to be run over the footlights. Mr. Treadwell was at one side of the stage, waiting for his turn to go on, dressed as an old soldier. When he saw what was happening to the little boy and girl he did not stop.

Rushing out he fairly slid across the smooth boards, in front of the make-believe barn, and he grabbed the pony's bridle in one hand. In the other he held the sword that he was supposed to use as a soldier.

"Halt!" cried the impersonator. "Stop right where you are, and surrender to General Grant!"

Mr. Treadwell really was dressed up like General Grant, but Bunny and Sue were surprised to hear him use these words, which were not in the play at all, "General Grant" had quite a different part to perform, and at first Bunny and Sue could not understand it. All they knew was that Mr. Treadwell had caught the pony's bridle in time to stop the frightened animal from walking over the edge of the stage, when Peter the rooster crowed so loudly from his back. Perhaps the sharp claws of the rooster may have tickled the pony. I should think they would. Anyhow the pony was stopped just in time.

"Don't be frightened, Bunny and Sue!" whispered Mr. Treadwell, as he motioned for the orchestra to play a little louder, so no one in the audience could hear what he said. Then he went on: "Just pretend it is all part of the show! Make believe I was to rush out this way, and call on you to surrender. I'll take Peter off the pony's back. The rooster makes him afraid. Now, Bunny, you say: All right General Grant! I'll surrender if it takes all summer!"

Bunny had been told so many times by Mr. Treadwell just what other things to say that this time he did not waste a second. So, almost as soon as the impersonator, dressed as General Grant, had rushed out, grabbed the pony's bridle, and called on Bunny and Sue to surrender, Bunny answered:

"All right, General Grant. I'll surrender if -- if it takes all summer!"

Bunny didn't know why some of the old men in the audience laughed so hard when he said this, but later on his father told him that some of them, like Uncle Tad, had fought under General Grant in the Civil War and that he had said words that were a "take-off" of one of General Grant's real speeches.

So, in less time than I have taken to tell you about it, the danger was over, Mr. Treadwell had turned the pony around so that it was headed back toward the make-believe barn, Peter, the crowing rooster had been taken from the back of the little horse, and the play was going on as usual.

Lucile came out and sang another song, Mart did some acrobatic feats, and the other boys and girls did their parts in the play, while "General Grant" appeared again and amused the audience.

"Dear me, Mrs. Brown!" exclaimed Mrs. Newton, who sat next to the mother of Bunny and Sue, "I thought at first that was an accident -- the way the pony started off the stage when the rooster got on his back -- but I guess it was all part of the play."

"It was clever of them to get up something to fool us like that -- almost too real and life-like, I think, though," said the mother of one of the little boys in the play.

Mrs. Brown knew, from the looks on the faces of Bunny and Sue, that it was an accident, and not intended, but she said nothing, for she did not want to spoil any one's pleasure in the show.

And so the performance went on, the boys and girls doing simple little things they had been taught by Mr. Treadwell. There were dances and drills, for it was a sort of mixed-up play, without very much of what grown folks call "plot." But it was just the thing for Bunny Brown and his sister Sue, and the only sort of play they could have given, for they were not very old.

In one scene George Watson, Harry Bentley, and Charlie Star played leapfrog, jumping over one another's backs. Bunny also had a part in this.

George tried to get his rooster to do a little trick in the barnyard scene. The boy stood near the barn door and held a piece of bread in his hand. He wanted Peter, the rooster, to fly up, perch on his head, and eat the crumbs of bread. But the rooster seemed to think he had done enough by perching on the pony's back, and he wouldn't fly on top of George's head at all. So they had to leave that trick out of the second act.

Then the curtain went down on the second act, the barnyard scene, and the boy and girls got ready for the last, the third act, in the orchard. This was to be the prettiest of all, for it was supposed to be in apple-blossom time, and the scene was a beautiful one, though it was cold, snowy, and wintry weather outside. Mr. Treadwell had done his best on this act.

It was hard work for some of the children, though most of them thought of it as play, but they had spent long hours in drilling.

As I have told you, there was a real tree in the scene, and a house, and the play was supposed to end with every one saying how happy he or she was to be "Down on the Farm," when they all sang a song with those words in it.

Everything went off very nicely. Bunny and Sue did even better in this third act than in the first or second, and there was no little accident like that with the pony and rooster.

They were coming to the climax of the third act. Sue was supposed to be lost, and Bunny was supposed to hunt for her. He was to look everywhere, and at last find her up in an apple tree -- or what passed for an apple tree -- on the stage.

All went well until Sue slipped out of the farmhouse, ran to the apple tree and climbed up in it to hide among the artificial branches. Then Bunny started to pretend to look for her. He stood under the tree, but didn't let on he knew she was there, though of course he really did know.

"I wonder where she can be?" he said aloud, just as he was supposed to say in the play. "Where can she have hidden herself?"

And just then little Weejie Brewster piped up from where she was sitting with her mother:

"Dere she is, Bunny! Dere's Sue hidin' up in de apper tree! I kin see her 'egs stickin' out! She's in de tree, she is!"

Of course everybody burst out laughing at hearing this, but the play was so near the end that what Weejie said did not spoil it. Bunny had to laugh himself, and so did Sue. Then Bunny looked up among the branches, pretended to discover Sue, and on he went with the rest of his talk.

The little white mice performed once again. Splash did another trick quite well, too. And then Peter, the rooster, as if to make up for not behaving nicely in the second act, flew out on the head of George just as he was handing Lucile a bouquet when she sang her "Rose Song."

Of course the rooster, coming out at that time, rather spoiled Lucile's song, but she didn't mind, and when the audience got over laughing she went on with it as if nothing had happened.

It was just before the last scene, where the whole company of boys and girls was to gather around Mr. Treadwell, in front of the house, and sing the farm song, that something else happened.

Down the aisle came Mr. Jed Winkler, and in his hand he held a yellow telegram envelope. He marched up to Mr. Brown and said, so loud that every one could hear him:

"This message just came! I was over at the telegraph office and the operator gave it to me to bring to you."

"Oh, thank you," said Mr. Brown.

There was a little pause in the play while the children were getting ready to sing the last song. Mr. Brown tore open the message.

"I hope there is no bad news," some one said, and every one in the audience hoped the same thing, for they all liked Mr. Brown.

Bunny and Sue, up on the stage, looked at their father in some wonderment, while Lucile, who was to lead in the singing, glanced at her brother. Could the telegram be about them?



Chapter XXV

The Final Curtain


Mr. Treadwell, who was off to one side of the stage getting everything ready for the last scene, came out now to tell Bunny, Sue, and the others to start the singing.

"And sing good and loud," said the impersonator, who was dressed in a funny clown suit. "Sing your best, so all the people will like the show that Bunny and Sue started."

The piano player struck a few notes and then Mr. Brown, who had finished reading the telegram, held up his hand and stepped out into the aisle, walking toward the stage.

"Wait a minute!" called Mr. Brown, and the piano player stopped.

"Is there anything the matter?" asked Mr. Treadwell, and Lucile's Uncle Bill seemed a bit uneasy, for, being blind, he could not so well take care of himself in case of accident as could the others.

"Don't you want Bunny and me to sing any more, Daddy?" called out Sue, from where she stood on the stage, and nearly every one in the hall laughed.

"Oh, yes, indeed, I want you to sing," said Mr. Brown. "But I have some good news, and I might as well tell it to those to whom it comes before the show goes on. It will not take more than a few minute. Lucile -- Mart -- the good news is for you!" And Mr. Brown waved the telegram at the boy acrobat and his sister, the singer.

"Is it from our kin?" asked Mart.

"Yes," answered Bunny's father. "This message came to me because, I suppose, your uncle, Mr. William Clayton, gave my address when he telegraphed to your uncle Simon and Aunt Sallie."

"And is the message from them?" asked Lucile.

"Yes," replied Mr. Brown. "It's from your Uncle Simon, and he says he and your aunt will be here in about a week. They have been giving a show in a far-off country, and they did not know you had lost track of them and your Uncle Bill. But everything is all right now. Your uncle and aunt are coming to look after you, and they say they are sorry you had so much trouble."

"We didn't have much trouble after we met you, and you took care of us," said Mart.

"Well, I'm glad you feel that way about it," replied Mr. Brown. "And I'll be glad to have you and Lucile stay with me until your uncle and aunt come back. It's well they telegraphed instead of waiting to send a letter, for the good news came more quickly. They say they just received the first letter your Uncle Bill sent, and they made haste to answer by telegraph."

"So everything is all right, is it?" asked Mart's Uncle Bill, from where he sat with a friend from the Home for the Blind.

"Yes," answered Mr. Brown. "Lucile and Mart have found their relatives, and I hope they never lose them again."

"That's fine!" cried the blind man. "This will be a jolly Christmas for everybody!"

And so it was, and no one was happier than Lucile and Mart that they had found their missing uncle and aunt.

"Oh, I can sing my last song so much more happily now!" said Lucile softly.

"And I'm going to turn three flipflops instead of one!" cried Mart.

"And I'll help you!" added Bunny Brown, and every one laughed again. It was a merry, happy, jolly time, just right for Christmas.

"Well, all ready now, children!" called Mr. Treadwell when Mr. Brown had taken his seat. "Now for the last grand chorus then the final curtain and the play will be over!"

Once more the piano played, and then the children, led by Lucile, lifted up their sweet voices in song. And it seemed to be a hymn of thanksgiving for the two children who had found their lost ones.

Circling around the tree in the stage orchard marched Bunny Brown, his sister Sue, and the other children. Then out danced Mr. Treadwell, in another funny suit, and then, all at once, out from the wings rushed Splash the dog. He stood up on his hind legs put his paws on Mr. Treadwell's shoulders, and marched across the stage that way, while the audience clapped and Bunny and Sue stared with wide-opened eyes.

"I -- I didn't know my dog could do that trick!" cried Bunny.

"I taught it to him for a surprise," said the actor. "Hi, Splash! Come on and have another dance with me!" And the dog walked across the stage again on his hind legs.

And then, with another song, given as the children stood in a double row facing the audience, the show of "Down on the Farm" came to a close and the final curtain fell, while the crowd of fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, uncles, aunts and friends applauded as loudly as they could. Mr. Brown gave a little talk about the Home for the Blind and many persons said they would help it.

"Well, from what I heard of it, I'll say that was a fine show!" said Lucile's Uncle Bill. "And one of the best parts was that telegram Mr. Brown read."

"Yes, I think so myself," said Bunny's father.

Back on the stage the children were hurrying to get off their costumes and into their regular garments, so they might go home and look at their Christmas presents once more.

"Shall we ever give the show again?" asked Charlie Star.

"Well, we might, in a day or so," said Mr. Treadwell. "If the audience would like to see it, we might give it some afternoon next week."

"Oh, yes, let's do it!" cried Bunny.

"Oh, yes!" cried Sue and the others.

While this talk was going on Mr. Raymond, the owner of the hall, came up to where Bunny Brown stood.

"I guess you're the treasurer of this show, aren't you?" he asked, and Sue noticed that the hardware man had something in his hand.

"No -- no," said Bunny, shaking his head, "I wasn't a -- a treasure. I was a farm boy in one act and I turned somersaults in another act."

"Well, I don't exactly mean that," said Mr. Raymond, with a laugh. "I mean you got up the show, didn't you?"

"Yes, Bunny and Sue really started it," said Mr. Treadwell.

"That's what I thought," said the hardware man. "Well, then, Bunny, this money comes to you. It's what was taken in at the door, and what was paid for tickets. Your father asked me to take charge of it, but, now that the first show, at least, is over, you'd better have it."

He handed a box that seemed to be full of silver money and bills to Bunny and Sue Brown.

"Oh! Oh!" exclaimed Sue. "It's most a thousand dollars I guess!"

"No, not quite as much as that," said Mr. Raymond. "But your show was a great success, and there's ninety dollars and fifteen cents there. The fifteen cents is from a boy who couldn't raise the quarter admission, so I let him in for fifteen. I'd have let him in for nothing, but he said he wanted to do all he could to help the Home for the Blind."

"Yes, this money's for the Blind Home," said Bunny. "I'm glad we got such a lot. I didn't think we'd get more than ten dollars."

"Indeed, you did very well, and I want to thank you on behalf of the blind people," said Mr. Harrison, manager of the Home, to whom Mr. Brown handed the money, after Bunny, Sue, and the other children had all had a look at it. "This will buy many a little comfort for my people."

Then, indeed, Bunny, Sue and the others felt repaid for all they had done to get up the show; and some of them had worked very hard to give the audience a pleasant and amusing time.

So everything came out well, and the finding of the uncle and aunt of Lucile and Mart was one of the nicest parts of the little play.

Soon the hall was deserted, and the children were on their way home. Mr. Bill Clayton -- though I presume his name was William, and not just Bill -- and Mr. Harrison went to the Brown house to stay for supper, and there the telegram from their Uncle Simon was read again by Lucile and Mart.

"I'm going to be a show actor when I grow up," declared Bunny Brown.

"And I'm going to sing on the stage -- I like it," said Sue.

"Well, it will be a good many years before you are old enough to go on the real stage," said her mother, with a laugh. "You or Bunny either."

And so the show that Bunny and Sue gave came to an end -- yet not quite an end, either. For the play was given over again the week after, and more money raised for the Home for the Blind. And among those in the audience were Mart and Lucile's Uncle Simon and Aunt Sallie. They had hurried their trip back to this country to look after Lucile and Mart, and they were glad to find their niece and nephew in such good hands.

"And if it hadn't been for Bunny Brown, thinking of getting up a show, maybe you'd never have found us," said Mart to his Uncle Simon.

"Maybe," agreed Mr. Weatherby. "Bunny did a lot, and so did his sister Sue! They're just the kind of children to do things!"

And perhaps, if all goes well, you may read of other doings of Bunny Brown and his sister Sue.

<eob>

Doctor Rabbit And Ki-Yi Coyote

By

Thomas Clark Hinkle



Doctor Rabbit Gets A Call


Doctor Rabbit lived in the very biggest tree in the Big Green Woods. He looked after all the other rabbits when they were ill and he doctored quite a number of the other little creatures of the Big Woods too, when they did not feel well. He was so jolly and cheerful, always trying so hard to help others, that he had a great many friends.

Doctor Rabbit said when he came to live in the Big Green Woods he didn't have the least idea that he would have so many adventures. "But then," he said one day as he curled his mustache, "it's a good thing I have so many adventures. They make me take plenty of exercise, and that's fine for my constitution." What he meant by this was that exercise kept him in good health.

I said Doctor Rabbit looked after some of the other creatures when they were ill. But there were some he did not dare go near. Well, I should say not! For instance, there was Ki-yi Coyote, who lived out on the Wide Prairie just outside the Big Green Woods. No, Doctor Rabbit never went near Ki-yi Coyote. And if old Ki-yi had been ill and if all his relatives had been so ill they never again would be able to get out of bed, Doctor Rabbit would not have cared at all. No indeed, he would have been glad of it, because Ki-yi Coyote and all his relatives, who lived far away, were ready any time to gobble up Doctor Rabbit.

Now, one fine morning in spring Doctor Rabbit began to have trouble with Ki-yi. On this morning Doctor Rabbit arose from his bed very early and prepared a fine breakfast for himself. He cooked some nice new potatoes and green peas he had found in Farmer Roe's garden. After he had eaten his breakfast he had to wash the dishes because there wasn't anybody else to do it. You see, he lived all alone in the big tree. He didn't like to wash dishes but he did it anyway. Then he put on his second best pair of glasses and went out in his front yard to get some fresh air and see if his neighbor, Blue Jay, was up.

There was a very good reason why he wanted to know whether Blue Jay was up. Just now Doctor Rabbit was greatly troubled. Now, what do you suppose he was troubled about? Why, word had been brought the night before that Billy Rabbit, the small son of Jack and Mrs. Jack Rabbit, who lived far out on the Wide Prairie, was ill. Blue Jay had come flying in to tell the news. He said Mrs. Jack Rabbit told him if Billy was not better by morning Doctor Rabbit would simply have to cross the Wide Prairie even if it was dangerous.

Now Doctor Rabbit was a cottontail rabbit, so of course he couldn't run faster than any other cottontail. He could not run anything like so fast nor so far as could Jack Rabbit. So Doctor Rabbit was greatly troubled this morning. He could not sit still, but kept walking slowly round and round in his front yard. As he walked round and round he said to himself, "I've never been so far out on the open Wide Prairie as Jack Rabbit's. Suppose I should go away out there to see little sick Billy and Ki-yi Coyote should get after me! Goodness gracious! He would be almost sure to catch me." Doctor Rabbit trembled a little and looked all around even though he was right in his own dooryard. He very much hoped he would not be called to go so far out on the Wide Prairie.

But what he feared happened. Very soon Jack Rabbit came running fast, and flying right along with him came Blue Jay. Busy Blue Jay generally knows everything that is happening.

Jack Rabbit walked straight up to Doctor Rabbit and, bowing politely, said:

"I'm so glad I found you at home, Doctor. My son Billy is no better. In fact, he is much worse, and we are troubled about him. Can't you run over and see him right now?"

For a moment Doctor Rabbit did not know what to say. He feared Ki-yi Coyote, but at the same time he hated to think of Billy Rabbit's being so ill with no one there to make him well. He thought and thought. Finally he said:

"Of course, Friend Jack Rabbit, I shall try to get over to see your son. But as you know, it's very dangerous for me because I can't run more than half as fast as you can. Now what could we do if old Ki-yi Coyote should happen to get after us?"

Friend Jack Rabbit scratched his head and said he hadn't thought about that. It was a very serious matter, too. For suppose Ki-yi Coyote should gobble up good Doctor Rabbit! Then what would the woods creatures do? They must certainly plan some means of going in safety.

"Say!" said Doctor Rabbit suddenly, "I've thought of a plan. I'll just ride on your back and we'll get there in no time!"

But Friend Jack Rabbit scratched his head again. He wasn't sure he could carry Doctor Rabbit, because the Doctor was very portly -- that is, he was pretty fat and heavy. But anyway he agreed to try the plan. So Doctor Rabbit hurried into his house and put on his best pair of gold glasses and his best clothes. He always liked, he said, to look his best before his patients. Then with his medicine case in hand he sprang upon Jack Rabbit's back.

"See how fast you can run to the edge of the Big Green Woods. That will be a good test!" shouted Doctor Rabbit, and Jack Rabbit answered, "Very well. If you're ready I'll try!"




In Fear Of Ki-Yi Coyote


Just as Jack Rabbit started for the edge of the Big Green Woods with Doctor Rabbit on his back, Blue Jay flew along ahead of them. Then came Robin-the-Red, whistling Red Bird and others. They had never seen Doctor Rabbit ride before and they all laughed and shouted at the funny appearance he made.

Away went Jack Rabbit as fast as he could for the edge of the Woods.

"This is fine!" cried Doctor Rabbit. "Keep it up, Jack Rabbit, and we'll be at your house in a jiffy!"

"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Blue Jay and the others as they flew along near the ground watching them. "Look at Doctor Rabbit in his new automobile! Look at him!" they shouted. Then they all laughed again. As they raced along Stubby Woodchuck came out of his house to see the funny sight, and so did Cheepy Chipmunk and Chatty Red Squirrel and Frisky Gray Squirrel and many others.

They all wondered if Jack Rabbit could hold out carrying Doctor Rabbit so far. They thought he must be mighty strong if he could. But when he reached the edge of the woods he stopped and said he would have to give it up. He lay down and panted for a while. By and by he said he hadn't the least idea that Doctor Rabbit was so heavy. Indeed, he said it seemed as if he was carrying a house on his back by the time he reached the edge of the woods.

Then they talked the matter over and decided they would both walk -- or run if they had to. Doctor Rabbit was a good deal worried. He looked out across the Wide Prairie and saw how far it was to Jack Rabbit's little house. How he did hate to start! Then he had an idea. He saw several small trees out on the Prairie some distance apart. "Say! Jack Rabbit," said he, "I wonder if there are any holes among the roots of those trees so I could 'hole up' [he meant run into a hole] if I had to. I mean if Ki-yi Coyote should get after us."

"Sure enough!" cried Jack Rabbit. "The rain has washed bare the top roots of every one of those trees and there are two or three holes under every tree!"

Doctor Rabbit looked very straight at Jack Rabbit and said, "Now are you right sure about that?"

"Yes, I am sure," Jack Rabbit said; "as sure as anything. It happens that I was at every one of those trees just yesterday and I sniffed and snuffed round every one of those holes. I didn't go into any of them for I don't like to go into holes. But those holes are certainly there. And if Ki-yi Coyote should get after us when we get pretty well out on the Prairie, you could make for a tree and I'd let him chase me. I'm not much afraid of him because I've run away from him many a time."

"All right," agreed Doctor Rabbit. "We'll go straight for the first tree. When we get there we'll look all around for the least sign of slinky Ki-yi, and if we don't see anything we'll move on to the next tree."

"Sure thing," Jack Rabbit said; "that will make you as safe as anything." So they started out. As they hurried along Jack Rabbit said:


"When we leave the last tree we'll have only a little way to go to my home. It's just a little farther on beside an oak fence post."

So they kept going, hoppity, hoppity, hop. And as they went Doctor Rabbit's courage rose little by little. After all, thought he, perhaps Ki-yi Coyote would not see them.

Even so, he kept a sharp eye out for anything that might be moving in the grass. And he told Jack Rabbit to do the same.

"Indeed I will, sir," Jack Rabbit answered. "I always do look out. I should say I do! And if Ki-yi Coyote starts up I'll see him quick as a flash!"

Then they hurried a bit faster because Doctor Rabbit said he wanted to get to the first tree and examine the holes for himself.




The Holes Under The Trees


Doctor Rabbit and Mr. Jack Rabbit moved across the Wide Prairie and looked about them in every direction. There was a great deal of bunch grass on the Wide Prairie, and this made them very nervous. They knew how easy it would be for Ki-yi Coyote to hide behind one of those bunches of grass until an innocent rabbit came very near.

Doctor Rabbit stopped and said, "I really believe we should keep just as far as possible from every bunch of grass." Then he jumped backward, because he saw something moving in the grass. But it proved to be nothing but a sunflower; so they walked on.

By and by they came to the first tree, and how glad they were! Doctor Rabbit went into the hole there to look about. After a little time he came out and said a gray squirrel had been there, but it had been a good while before. He said it looked to him like an old house that people had lived in once, but not for a long time. You know how the grass grows up tall in the front yard, and the windows get broken, and the doors creak when you open them, and there is a damp, musty smell in a house. Well, Doctor Rabbit said it was that way in the hole under the tree. Some animal, a gray squirrel, maybe, had lived there, and perhaps some other small animal before the gray squirrel; but they were gone now.

Doctor Rabbit said there was one thing that bothered him a little.

"What's that?" Friend Jack Rabbit wanted to know. "Why," replied wise Doctor Rabbit, "I was just thinking that possibly Ki-yi Coyote knows who lived here, and why they are gone. Maybe he made a breakfast of them!"

They didn't say any more about that part of it, and pretty soon they came to the next tree. Doctor Rabbit went into the hole here, also. He was gone so long that Jack Rabbit began to be quite troubled; but finally Doctor Rabbit came out and said a cottontail rabbit had been in there, but it had been a good while ago. He thought it likely that old Ki-yi Coyote had gobbled up the cottontail who had lived there.

"However," Doctor Rabbit said, "possibly he got away." Then he exclaimed, "I surely hope he got away."

Doctor Rabbit looked into the holes under the other two trees, and said some small animals had once lived in them.

All this naturally made Doctor Rabbit more and more nervous. It looked as if no animal was safe out so far on the Wide Prairie but fleet Jack Rabbit, and even he had to watch out mighty close.

When they left the last tree, Doctor Rabbit said, "Now let's run good and fast the rest of the way!"

And they did -- hoppity, hoppity, hoppity, so fast that they looked like two long gray streaks going toward Jack Rabbit's home.




Doctoring Billy Rabbit


When Doctor Rabbit at last reached Jack Rabbit's home, he found Billy Rabbit was suffering with nothing more than a case of acute indigestion -- that is, colic. Doctor Rabbit said this was caused by Billy's having eaten too many green peas from Farmer Roe's garden.

Mrs. Jack Rabbit explained that kind friends and neighbors had brought in all sorts of patent medicines. These medicines, they said, had cured many of their family, even some who had lived before they were born.

"But," said Mrs. Jack Rabbit, looking seriously at Doctor Rabbit, "although I gave Billy all the medicine they brought, he is no better. In fact, he is worse."

Doctor Rabbit looked at Billy Rabbit and then looked over his gold glasses at the neighbors and friends standing all around. Then he said, "He grew worse, did he? Ahem! ahem! he grew worse! I see! I see! Well, to tell you the truth, Mrs. Jack Rabbit, after all that dope I should think he would grow worse!"

Well, that was pretty plain. Some of the neighbors wanted to let it be known that they were angry, but they didn't dare. No, you see their own work on Billy Rabbit was a failure. They had sent for the doctor, and they had to do just what he said.

So they all kept still, and Doctor Rabbit, after he had cleared his throat in a very dignified way, said, "Mrs. Jack Rabbit, I would thank you for a tablespoon."

When he got the tablespoon, Doctor Rabbit gave Billy Rabbit about the nastiest tasting medicine in the world. Now, guess what it was! Castor Oil? That's right, you guessed it the first time! Yes, that's exactly what Doctor Rabbit gave him -- a whole tablespoonful.

Billy Rabbit swallowed the whole spoonful before he knew what it was. Then, although he had before been lying quite still, he jumped around in the bed, kicked off the covers, and said he never would take another dose of medicine in his life.

But Doctor Rabbit just laughed and said that was the way little sick rabbits usually talked. Then Doctor Rabbit ordered some grass tea for his patient, and no more green peas for a whole week. "I shall have to be going now," he said, "and how I do wish I were back in the Big Green Woods!"

Now all the jack rabbit neighbors were feeling pretty friendly by this time, because they saw that Doctor Rabbit really was a very smart doctor. They all wanted to go along with him for his protection.

But Doctor Rabbit said, "No, that will do no good. Ki-yi Coyote would see all of us sooner than two of us. Friend Jack Rabbit and I will go back alone."

So the two of them started back toward the woods.




Ki-Yi Coyote Chases Doctor Rabbit


Doctor Rabbit and Jack Rabbit hurried along across the Wide Prairie until they came to the first tree. Here Doctor Rabbit said they had better stop and look around a bit. So cautious Jack Rabbit went up on a little hill and looked all around, but he said he couldn't see a thing.

"Did you look mighty close in the direction of the Big Green Woods?" Doctor Rabbit wanted to know. (You see this was the direction in which they were going.)

"Indeed, I did look!" replied Jack Rabbit. "I looked more closely in that direction than in any other, and there wasn't a thing in sight."

"All right," said Doctor Rabbit, "we'll go for the next tree."

They came safely to the next tree, and pretty soon they came to the last tree. Doctor Rabbit was feeling fine now. They stopped by the tree and talked for a little while.

Doctor Rabbit said, "I don't think I should care much if Ki-yi Coyote did come after us. I could run away from him and be in the Big Green Woods in no time!"

But Jack Rabbit had run away from Ki-yi Coyote a good many times, and he knew. So he said pretty seriously, "I don't know about that, Doctor Rabbit. Ki-yi can run something awful."

"I know," said Doctor Rabbit, "but the Big Green Woods look so close that I feel sure I could beat him that far."

Then what do you suppose he said? Well, he didn't realize what he was saying, of course, but this is what he said: "Ha, ha, ha! Why, Friend Jack Rabbit, I feel so sure about it that I wish old Ki-yi would come tearing out this way right now! Yes, sir! I wish he would. Just let him come whenever he wants to. If he came, I'd run away and be in the Big Green Woods so quick he could hardly see me."

And then something happened, something that Doctor Rabbit was not ready for at all, because he really was not expecting it. Just then Ki-yi Coyote did come tearing over the great Wide Prairie after them. And he came from the direction of the Big Green Woods! Doctor Rabbit had forgotten all about that. He certainly was very much surprised, and very badly scared. He could have darted into the hole under the tree, of course, and that is just what he should have done. But sometimes when rabbits, like little boys and girls, get scared, they forget all about what is the best thing to do. What Doctor Rabbit ought to have done the very first thing when he saw Ki-yi coming was to say to himself, "Now, I mustn't be so scared that I don't know what I'm doing. I must be careful and get out of this, because I have no one to help me."

But he didn't stop to think. No, he was so frightened he just hiked out across the Wide Prairie!

Then kind Jack Rabbit was certainly scared, not for himself, but for Doctor Rabbit. So he started out after Doctor Rabbit, and when he caught up he shouted in his ear as loud as he could, "What's the matter with you, Doctor Rabbit? You must be crazy! Now, I'll take care of Ki-yi Coyote and you dodge back for that hole under the tree." Then Doctor Rabbit remembered. Crafty Ki-yi was right close and tried hard to seize him, but he didn't, and Doctor Rabbit darted safely into the hole.

It was a mighty close call. Ki-yi Coyote's sharp teeth had snapped twice at Doctor Rabbit, once so close that some of his tiny round tail was bitten off.

All this time clever Jack Rabbit was close beside Doctor Rabbit, shouting (just to fool Ki-yi Coyote, of course), "Oh, my! I've got a broken leg! I've got a broken leg! What shall I do if Ki-yi Coyote comes after me! Oh, good Ki-yi, please don't come after me, 'cause I've got a broken leg!"

Well, if it hadn't been for this, I think that Ki-yi would certainly have caught Doctor Rabbit, but after he had missed him once, and was just going for him again, he heard Jack Rabbit's moan. So he said, "I'll go after Jack Rabbit. He has a broken leg, and I can catch him without half trying." And off he started after Jack Rabbit.




Doctor Rabbit Gets A Scare


When Jack Rabbit saw that Ki-yi Coyote was after him, he started away on three legs for all the world as if one of his legs was broken. It was very easy for him to play this little joke, because he had practiced it a good deal when a small dog got after him.

"Oh dear! Oh dear! Oh dear! what shall I do?" clever Jack Rabbit shouted back toward Ki-yi Coyote; and old Ki-yi thought now he would surely have rabbit for dinner. So he ran as hard as ever he could.

"Ha! ha!" he yelled. "I always knew you'd break your leg some time, and I'd get you. Ha! ha! Now I'm going to have a nice, big, fat rabbit for dinner!" And Ki-yi Coyote took a long, swift jump to seize Jack Rabbit -- but he wasn't there! He was farther away than ever. And much to Ki-yi's surprise and anger, Jack Rabbit put all four legs down on the ground and said as he ran, "So you're going to have rabbit for dinner, are you? Well, it won't be me, and it won't be Doctor Rabbit, for he's safe. Good day, Ki-yi; I must be going!"

And away Jack Rabbit went running. But he wasn't to get away so easily this time, after all. Ki-yi was most terribly angry, and he made up his mind to chase Jack Rabbit just as long as he could see him.

In the meantime, Doctor Rabbit lay down on the cool earth in the hole, and panted and panted. He was dreadfully tired and frightened from his run for life. He kept thinking that Ki-yi would thrust his long nose into the hole and begin digging to get in. But Ki-yi didn't, of course.

After Doctor Rabbit had rested a few minutes he began to be anxious to know what had become of Friend Jack Rabbit. Had Ki-yi by any chance caught him? Doctor Rabbit was scared even to think about it. He decided he would try to find out what had happened. So he crept very cautiously toward the opening of the hole and peeped out. First he put only his nose out. Then he put his whole head out, and looked all around.

He had about decided that swift Jack Rabbit had given old Ki-yi the slip. "Guess I'd better hike for the Big Green Woods," said Doctor Rabbit to himself, and he was just going to start when he saw something that made him change his mind mighty quick. And this time he didn't run for the Big Green Woods, either. I should say he didn't! No, he just backed part way into the hole under the tree, and then stretched up his head and watched what was coming.

What Doctor Rabbit saw was poor Jack Rabbit running as hard as he could, and Ki-yi Coyote still after him!

As he came on toward the tree, Jack Rabbit shouted out ever so loud, "Doctor Rabbit! Doctor Rabbit! Come out and help me a little. I'm about to be caught! It's my rheumatism. He's almost got me now!" And just then Jack Rabbit had to dodge very quickly to keep from being caught.

It certainly looked very bad for poor Jack Rabbit, and right then Ki-yi Coyote came very near seizing him again! Doctor Rabbit was almost too scared to breathe. He didn't know what on earth to do except to spring out and let Ki-yi chase him instead. And he was about to do this when he thought of something else. So he just lay low and waited while Jack Rabbit came running nearer and nearer the tree.




Doctor Rabbit And Jack Rabbit Escape


While Jack Rabbit, with Ki-yi Coyote close after him, was running toward the tree, Doctor Rabbit shouted out, "Come right past this tree, Jack Rabbit! Come right past this tree! I've got a plan! Come right along, I'll help you. Come on! Come on!"

That encouraged Friend Jack Rabbit wonderfully. He took a few extra long jumps and managed to get a little farther ahead of Ki-yi Coyote. Of course he didn't know what Doctor Rabbit was going to do, but Jack Rabbit always had great faith in Doctor Rabbit. So he ran right past the hole under the tree.

Then, just as crafty Ki-yi was going by with his mouth wide open and his tongue hanging out, Doctor Rabbit sprang up and threw a whole bottle of his very nastiest medicine right into Ki-yi's face!

Well, you should have seen old Ki-yi then. He was more surprised than he ever had been before in his life. And mad! He was about the maddest coyote you ever heard of. His mouth had been wide open, so of course he got most of the medicine there. It tasted so nasty he stopped just a moment to try to get it out of his mouth, but when he found he couldn't, he started out after Doctor Rabbit. He was angrier than ever, and ran as hard as he could run.

Just as soon as Doctor Rabbit had thrown the bad-tasting medicine in Ki-yi Coyote's face, he started out for the Big Green Woods as fast as his legs could carry him. Jack Rabbit had dodged over a little hill and was out of sight.

When angry Ki-yi started after him again Doctor Rabbit was already near the Big Green Woods, so he looked back and just laughed and shouted. "Ha, ha, ha!" he laughed. "I guess you're pretty mad, aren't you, Mr. Ki-yi? Ha, ha, ha! How do you like the medicine? Is it as good as -- as good as jack rabbit? Ha, ha, ha!" And with that, Doctor Rabbit bounded into the Big Green Woods, and whisked out of sight.

As Doctor Rabbit ran along, he met Jack Rabbit, who also had managed to get into the woods. They both kept running until they reached Doctor Rabbit's home in the big tree.

Here tired Jack Rabbit threw himself down on the grass and panted for a long while. He said it was about the hardest race he ever had had in his life, and that he guessed he must be getting old, for he couldn't run as fast as he used to. But after Doctor Rabbit had brought out some liniment and rubbed him well, Jack Rabbit said he felt better. Then after he had eaten a good dinner with Doctor Rabbit, he said he felt so fine he believed he could run away from Ki-yi Coyote and not half try.

"What I need," said Jack Rabbit, "is a little of that liniment around the house, so my wife could rub me with it now and then. I believe it would cure my rheumatism."

"I am quite certain of it," Doctor Rabbit told him, and he wrapped up a bottle of it right away and gave it to Jack Rabbit to take home with him. After that they sat down and talked.

"I wish," said Jack Rabbit then, "that there were some way to run Ki-yi Coyote clear out of the Wide Prairie, or some way to get rid of him altogether."

Doctor Rabbit was leaning against a tree curling his mustache and frowning a little. When he was thinking hard, he usually did frown. "I've been thinking about that, Friend Jack Rabbit," he said, "and I believe I know a way to get rid of crafty Ki-yi, so he'll never bother us again."

"You do?" exclaimed Jack Rabbit eagerly, pricking up his long ears. "What is your plan?"

Doctor Rabbit dropped his voice to a whisper and said, "I haven't thought it all out yet, but I will right soon, and I'll let you know." Then he looked through the trees toward the edge of the woods, and pointing one front foot, said:

"Look! look! Ki-yi's sneaking along out there now!" Jack Rabbit looked quickly, and sure enough, Ki-yi Coyote was slipping along and peering into the woods.

"He doesn't see us at all," whispered Jack Rabbit, "and I think I'll skip out and go while I know where he is. Now, when you decide how you're going to run him out of the Wide Prairie and get rid of him, let me know, will you?"

"I surely will," Doctor Rabbit said, "and I'll have it all thought out by morning."

Then Jack Rabbit slipped away to tell all his friends and relatives that in some way, he didn't just yet know how, Doctor Rabbit was going to get rid of Ki-yi Coyote.




Ki-Yi Coyote Watches For Doctor Rabbit


It was just as Doctor Rabbit had expected. He had not told Jack Rabbit about it, but that very night Ki-yi Coyote came prowling around, just as Doctor Rabbit thought he would.

Doctor Rabbit was in bed, but he had not gone to sleep, when he heard a noise out in his front yard. Very quietly he put his head out of an upstairs window.

Sure enough! There was slinky Ki-yi walking around out there and mumbling to himself. He was saying, "I know well enough he lives here. I can smell his tracks, and I can smell rabbit, too, as plain as anything. He's gone to bed now, no doubt, so I'll hide out here and pay him a call in the morning."

"He, he, he!" Ki-yi chuckled softly to himself. He was so tickled to think he had found where Doctor Rabbit lived. He thought now it would be easy to surprise Doctor Rabbit and make a breakfast of him.

Only a little distance away flowed the Murmuring Brook, where Doctor Rabbit went every morning for a drink.

There was a path that led from Doctor Rabbit's house to the brook, and Ki-yi Coyote thought he would hide right beside the path in the bushes. Then when Doctor Rabbit came along in the morning, he could pounce upon him and have him for breakfast.

So sly Ki-yi picked out a good place near the path and lay down to wait until morning.

"I suppose I'll get pretty tired waiting," he said, "but a big fat rabbit for breakfast is worth waiting for." And he smacked his lips at the very thought of it. Then he said, "My! I haven't tasted rabbit for two whole months. Yes, indeed, I'll wait right here until morning!" And again Ki-yi smacked his lips.

Now it so happened that Downy Screech Owl was in the tree right above Ki-yi Coyote, and heard what he said.

"Get out of my woods!" Downy Screech Owl cried, in his strange voice.

Old Ki-yi jumped, he was so startled. Then he looked up and saw who it was. "Never mind, Screechy," he said, in his smoothest voice, "I just came in for a cool drink at the Murmuring Brook and a little nap here."

"You can't fool me!" Downy Owl cried back in his very strange voice. "You're after something, and I know it! I know whom you are after, too. You are after -- "

Right here Downy Screech Owl stopped talking. He happened to think he might say something that would get Doctor Rabbit into trouble. So he made up his mind to keep still for the present, and slip over in a little while and tell Doctor Rabbit where Ki-yi Coyote was. You see, Downy Owl didn't know that Doctor Rabbit was awake. He didn't know that Ki-yi Coyote had even been seen by anybody else.

Downy Screech Owl waited until Ki-yi Coyote curled himself up, as if for a nap, and then flew around to Doctor Rabbit's back door and knocked very gently.

Doctor Rabbit opened the door only a very little crack, but when he saw who it was, he let Downy Owl in. And Downy began right away, for he was very much excited: "Ki-yi Coyote is right out there, hiding by the path, waiting for you!" he said.

But to his surprise, Doctor Rabbit answered, "I know it. I've been watching him all the time!"

"My, I'm certainly glad you have," said Downy Screech Owl; "but what are you going to do?"

"Don't talk so loud!" Doctor Rabbit warned. "I'm going to do this: I'm going to fool old Ki-yi worse than he ever was fooled before in his life. The first joke I play on him will be funny. But the second joke I play on him will take him clear away from the Big Green Woods and the Wide Prairie for good and all."

"My goodness me!" was all Downy Screech Owl could say, he was so puzzled. "How are you going to play the jokes on sly Ki-yi, and what are the jokes?" he wanted to know.

"Never mind now," Doctor Rabbit whispered; "you just slip back and see if Ki-yi is still there. If he is, try to keep him there."




Doctor Rabbit Calls On Chatty Squirrel


Little Downy Owl flew back to the tree. There was Ki-yi Coyote still lying below on the grass, all curled up just as if he were fast asleep. Downy Screech Owl looked at him for a while and then, out of curiosity, flew down on a limb a little closer. Still Ki-yi Coyote did not move, so Downy Owl flew a little closer. Just then he saw sly Ki-yi move his ear the tiniest bit, and heard him mumble something to himself. Little Downy flew up high in the tree as quick as winking.

"I'll just wait," he said very softly to himself, "and if old Ki-yi starts to go away, I'll talk to him and try to keep him here until I see what Doctor Rabbit is going to do."

When it was almost morning, Doctor Rabbit got out of bed and peeped out toward the place where Ki-yi had been. Yes, sir! He was still there. Indeed, he was. Doctor Rabbit saw him stretch his head up and look toward the house in the tree.

Doctor Rabbit was so tickled he just laughed to himself. Then he slipped out at his back door and went very quietly through the woods until he came to the tree where Chatty Red Squirrel lived.

Chatty Red was still asleep, but when Doctor Rabbit thumped on the door, he came down to see who was there. When he saw Doctor Rabbit, he said, "Anyone sick over this way, Doctor?"

"No," said Doctor Rabbit, "I just wanted you to help me out a little."

"I certainly will, if I can," Chatty Squirrel said. You see, he had once had the colic very bad, and Doctor Rabbit had come right over and cured him, so he felt deeply grateful. "What do you want me to do?" Chatty asked.

"Well," Doctor Rabbit said, "first I want to tell you that Ki-yi Coyote is in the Big Green Woods. In fact, he's hiding near my house this very minute, and expects to make a breakfast of me when I go down to the Murmuring Brook for a drink."

"Sakes alive!" Chatty exclaimed. "How did you find out?"

Then Doctor Rabbit told him that he had been awake and listening, and that Downy Screech Owl was up in the tree watching Ki-yi, and if necessary would talk to him to keep him there.

"Well, well, well!" exclaimed Chatty Squirrel, rubbing his eyes. He had hardly been awake when Doctor Rabbit knocked on the door, but now he was getting wider awake every minute. "What do you want me to do?" Chatty asked again, with his eyes wide open and very bright.

"First I want to play a joke on him," said Doctor Rabbit, "and I'll tell you how to do it. Ki-yi is now right under that big elm tree between my house and the Murmuring Brook. You slip over through the trees as quick as you can and climb up to that old nest Jim Crow used to live in. There's a stone in the nest that Farmer Roe's boy threw at you the other day. Do you remember?"

"Indeed I do remember, because Farmer Roe's boy almost hit me with that stone," Chatty Squirrel said.

"Very well, then," said Doctor Rabbit, "you get into that nest and get hold of that stone, and when you have a good chance, drop it down right on Ki-yi Coyote. Then lie flat on the limb and keep perfectly still, so he won't know where the stone came from."

"But where are you going to be, and what will you do?" Chatty Squirrel wanted to know. He was very nervous about it.

"You wait and see; I'll attend to that," Doctor Rabbit said softly. "And now you hurry along before Ki-yi Coyote decides to go away."




Fooling Ki-Yi Coyote


Chatty Red Squirrel remembered well enough how Farmer Roe's boy had thrown that rock up at him a few days before when he had taken refuge in Jim Crow's old nest.

It so happened that Chatty Squirrel was not much hurt. In fact he was only bruised a little when the stone fell into the nest. But he had been badly scared -- indeed he had, because the stone was big enough to do him terrible harm if it had struck him squarely.

Chatty Squirrel thought it would be a mighty fine joke to slip over and drop that stone on Ki-yi Coyote. He naturally hated old Ki-yi as much as anybody, because for breakfast -- or just any time -- Ki-yi was quite as fond of tender squirrel as he was of fat little rabbit or juicy little owl.

So when Doctor Rabbit slipped away toward a little bridge over the Murmuring Brook, Chatty Squirrel started off through the tree tops toward the big elm under which Ki-yi Coyote lay waiting.

It was just daylight when Chatty Red reached the big elm and got into the old crow's nest where the stone was. He peeped over the edge of the nest and down. Yes, sir! There was old Ki-yi Coyote! He had his ears pricked up, and he was squinting through the trees toward Doctor Rabbit's house.

"He'll come this way now, very soon!" greedy Ki-yi said, and smacked his lips. Chatty heard him, and was so angry he almost scolded out loud. But he didn't. He kept perfectly still and thought about the stone. Ki-yi Coyote moved a little, and now he was right under the old crow's nest.

Chatty Red wondered where Doctor Rabbit was, and looked down on the ground and all around, but he couldn't see him.

"I'll obey orders, anyway," Chatty whispered to himself, and he got his nose under the stone and began to work it toward the edge of the nest.

Ki-yi Coyote didn't know what was going on, of course, so he just lay still, smacked his lips, and kept a sharp eye on Doctor Rabbit's house.

After a little work, Chatty Squirrel got the stone to the edge of the nest, and then just as Ki-yi Coyote stretched his head a little, Chatty pushed the big stone over. Kerplunk! the stone hit Ki-yi right on the ear! Well, he was about the scaredest coyote that ever was. He yelped and sprang up in the air, and jumped all around.

Then right from the other side of the Murmuring Brook came the voice of Doctor Rabbit. "Ha, ha, ha! Well, well, foxy Ki-yi, what made you jump so? Ha, ha, ha! guess you didn't know I could throw so straight! Ha, ha, ha!"

Naturally Ki-yi Coyote thought Doctor Rabbit had thrown the stone, and he was terribly angry. Away he started. Yes, sir, he just ground his teeth and said he certainly would get Doctor Rabbit, and get him in a hurry, too. But luckily Murmuring Brook was between them, so Doctor Rabbit laughed and shouted again and darted out of sight in the woods.




Ki-Yi Coyote Chases Doctor Rabbit


As soon as Ki-yi Coyote started after Doctor Rabbit, Chatty Squirrel began scolding as hard as he could. Ki-yi was running so fast he didn't hear, but Chatty scolded anyway. It seemed to relieve his angry feelings.

My! How angry Chatty Squirrel was! He was angrier than he had ever been in all his life before.

"The idea," Chatty Squirrel scolded, "of Ki-yi Coyote's coming into the Big Green Woods to make a breakfast of Doctor Rabbit! And he would make a breakfast of me, too, or of Blue Jay, or of any of us, if he had a chance. I wish I were as big as the big brown bear for a minute. I'd show old Ki-yi Coyote!"

And Chatty Squirrel scolded so fast and so loud that presently his neighbors heard him and came flocking around to see what the trouble was.

"What's that you say?" asked Stubby Woodchuck, running up to the foot of the tree.

"What's that? What's that? What's that?" cried Blue Jay, and Jim Crow, and ever so many others as they came up.

"You'd better say, 'What's that?'" Chatty Squirrel chattered. "I just now dropped a stone on Ki-yi Coyote, who was lying right down there in those bushes. He was all ready to pounce on Doctor Rabbit and gobble him up!"

"Indeed!" exclaimed Blue Jay in his shrill voice.

"Indeed!" Jim Crow called in his hoarse voice.

"Indeed!" said big Uncle Owl in his deep bass voice. "Indeed! Indeed!" he exclaimed again seriously, as he straightened his spectacles. Now Uncle Owl hardly ever said more than one word, and when he said three words without stopping, it meant something very unusual had happened to him. He was almost excited.

All the little creatures of the Big Green Woods kept a respectful silence, even Chatty Squirrel, and listened respectfully for Uncle Owl to speak. So big Uncle Owl (he was more than twice as big as little Downy Owl) cleared his throat and looked straight at Chatty Squirrel. Then he said, "Well, well, why didn't you kill him?"

"I wish I could have killed him," Chatty Squirrel chattered angrily. "But anyway I hit him. And Doctor Rabbit fooled him ever so much, because, you see, Doctor Rabbit was on the other side of Murmuring Brook and ran away from Ki-yi as easily as anything. But what are we going to do?" Chatty went on. "Haven't we got enough to do to live without having old Ki-yi Coyote sneaking around in the Big Green Woods? I tell you, my friends, it's an outrage!"

Then they all looked at big Uncle Owl, and after a while he said in his deep voice, "My friends, I think we should have Doctor Rabbit call a meeting at once and see if we can't get rid of this danger. It would be serious, very serious indeed, if Ki-yi Coyote should decide to live in the Big Green Woods. He might make a meal of almost any of us. I've noticed that he is not at all particular what he eats, whether it's a bird or an animal. Only yesterday I saw him spring from some bunch grass in the prairie and seize a friend of mine, a small owl that had just come out of an old hole prairie-dog Paddy-Paws used to live in.

"Yes, indeed," old Uncle Owl went on, much excited for him, "yes, indeed! We must find Doctor Rabbit, and see what he has to say about it. I'll not rest until this terrible Ki-yi Coyote is driven entirely away from our Big Green Woods." And with that, stately Uncle Owl waddled back to his hole in the tree, where he stood looking out.

The other little creatures of the Big Green Woods then talked the matter over. Blue Jay said that if only they all could make as much noise as he could, he was sure they could drive Ki-yi Coyote away with noise alone. But since the others couldn't make as much noise, this plan had to be given up.

Gay Red Bird said he surely did wish he could think of some scheme to scare Ki-yi away, but being a mere bird he couldn't. Robin-the-Red said so too. Stubby Woodchuck and Cheepy Chipmunk both said they'd like to do it, but they didn't know how, either. They all looked at one another, and each one waited for some one else to speak. And just then they saw Doctor Rabbit coming across the woods toward them.

He wasn't running as if he were the least bit scared. Oh, no, he was acting as if he were glad about something. There was no doubt about that, because every now and then he would kick up his heels and laugh. And the nearer he came the more he danced and laughed.




Doctor Rabbit Has A Scheme


Doctor Rabbit came up jumping and dancing and laughing. He was certainly very much tickled about something, that was plain.

"Good morning, my friends," he said finally. "I suppose you all have come out here to see what Chatty Squirrel is scolding about. Has he told you?"

"Yes, yes, about Ki-yi Coyote!" they all said together.

"Well," Doctor Rabbit said, and he laughed again, "I gave old Ki-yi the slip pretty easily that time. Indeed I did, and Chatty Squirrel and I certainly did fool him! I guess we did fool him! Ha, ha, ha!" And Doctor Rabbit was so tickled he just had to hold his sides when he remembered how Ki-yi Coyote had jumped, and how puzzled he had looked when the stone hit him.

"The last I saw of him," Doctor Rabbit said, "he was sneaking along the Wide Prairie at the edge of the woods, looking for Jack Rabbit; and he was mumbling to himself and saying he was going to get me and Jack Rabbit too. But I'll take care of that. He thinks I'm not smart enough for him, but just let him wait and see! When I ran away from him and got into the briar patch, he shouted in at me and said:

"'All right for this time, Doctor Rabbit, but I'll get you the next time, and some of your friends, too. In fact, I think I like the Big Green Woods, and I'm going to live here. Perhaps I'll live here right along!'"

That troubled everybody but Doctor Rabbit. All the other little creatures of the Big Green Woods looked seriously at one another, and Stubby Woodchuck climbed up on a stump and looked nervously around. "I wish we could drive Ki-yi Coyote ten miles away, and I wish he never could get back!" Stubby Woodchuck said, with a very scared look on his face.

"Let's do it!" shouted Blue Jay. Blue Jay didn't have the least idea how it could be done, but he was willing to try, even as small as he was.

"Perhaps Doctor Rabbit has a plan," said Robin-the-Red. "He usually helps us out."

Then they all looked at Doctor Rabbit. Even old Uncle Owl looked from his hole in the tree.

"Well," said Doctor Rabbit, cheerfully, "I have been thinking about this since yesterday. First I thought out a way for us to catch Ki-yi, but that would be pretty dangerous for us, so I have decided to try another plan. I think my scheme will work, and none of us will have to get very close to Ki-yi Coyote, either. In fact, I think Jack Rabbit and I can do it ourselves, though we shall need the help of one very savage creature. I will tell you about him later."

"Let's do it right now!" shouted busy Blue Jay.

"No," Doctor Rabbit said, "it will take a little time. I'm going over to see Jack Rabbit this very afternoon," he continued. "After I have talked with him and we are all ready, I'll tell Friend Blue Jay and he'll tell you. Then all you'll need to do will be to come close to this big tree, and hide, and watch. You must excuse me now," he said. "I must go over and see one of Frisky Grey Squirrel's children who has been eating too many green nuts. Early in the morning Blue Jay will tell you when we shall be ready."

And with that Doctor Rabbit went away, hoppity, hoppity, hoppity, to see the little sick squirrel.




The Little Creatures Of The Woods Are Excited


The next day all the little creatures of the Big Green Woods talked of nothing but fierce Ki-yi Coyote. They wondered how Doctor Rabbit ever would drive him out of the Wide Prairie. They were all unusually careful, of course, because they did not know what moment Ki-yi Coyote might come tearing along.

Stubby Woodchuck was afraid to get up on his stump to sun himself. He only put his head a little way out of his door and looked around. Cheepy Chipmunk was frisking around his stump and, seeing his neighbor, Stubby Woodchuck, he called out, "Come on over, Friend Stubby. I have some fine vegetables for breakfast!"

"No, thank you," Stubby Woodchuck said from his doorway. "We had all better keep indoors until that dreadful Ki-yi Coyote leaves the woods entirely," and Stubby closed his door and went back into his kitchen, for he had not had his breakfast.

While Cheepy Chipmunk was frisking around he got a terrible scare. He had just jumped up on his stump when he was sure he saw Ki-yi's long tail showing from behind a near-by tree. Poor Cheepy fell off backward, he was so scared. He picked himself up as fast as he could, but when he looked again, he saw it was only Chatty Red Squirrel's tail, blowing from behind the tree.

"Cheer! cheer! cheer!" shouted Blue Jay, who had seen Cheepy Chipmunk fall off the stump. "What's the matter, Cheepy? Ha, ha, ha!"

"You'd better go and attend to your business, if you have any," retorted Cheepy Chipmunk angrily. But saucy Blue Jay only laughed again. He understood Cheepy Chipmunk, and he knew he would not stay angry very long.

"I'll wager anything you fell because you thought you saw Ki-yi Coyote," shouted saucy Blue Jay; "I'm going out to see where he is!" And away he flew.

Cheepy Chipmunk went inside, where Mrs. Chipmunk was getting the vegetables ready for breakfast. Little Jimmy Chipmunk, Cheepy and Mrs. Cheepy's small son, was running around after his mother as she worked, and asking her questions. He had never seen Ki-yi Coyote, and so had no idea about his size. "Mamma," he asked, "is Ki-yi Coyote as big as one of Farmer Roe's horses?"

"Why, of course not," Mother Chipmunk answered. "But he's big enough, and fierce enough too, for that matter; and for the present you must not so much as poke your nose outside the door."

"Will Doctor Rabbit find some way to drive Ki-yi Coyote out of the Big Green Woods?" Jimmy Chipmunk asked.

"I believe he will; I do hope so," Mother Chipmunk said. She was a good deal worried about Jimmy Chipmunk, because he was so often careless, and went out without telling her a thing about it.

"I wish," said Jimmy, crossly, "that old Ki-yi would fall down a well so deep he never could climb out again. I just hate to stay in the house. I want to go over right now and play with Johnny Woodchuck. I told him I'd come this morning."

"I wouldn't let you go for the world," Mother Chipmunk said; and then, very quietly, she slipped out at the back door and climbed up on the stump. But the minute she got up on the stump she nearly fell off backward, she was so scared. You see, Mother Chipmunk's near neighbor climbed up on her stump at the very same time, and they were both so surprised to see each other that they were dreadfully frightened.

"My sakes alive!" Sophy Woodchuck's voice trembled. "How you did frighten me, Neighbor Chipmunk! I suppose we all are pretty easily frightened at this time. One never knows when that terrible Ki-yi Coyote will spring out and make an end of us!"

"I have great faith in Doctor Rabbit," Mother Chipmunk said. She had overheard what Doctor Rabbit had promised the day before. "He told us yesterday," she continued, "that he will drive Ki-yi Coyote clear out of the Big Green Woods and clear out of the Wide Prairie."

"I wonder how in the world he will do it!" Sophy Woodchuck said.

"I haven't the slightest idea," her neighbor replied.

"Well," Sophy Woodchuck said, "we don't care how he does it, so long as the thing is done."

"No, indeed!" Mother Chipmunk exclaimed. "If only Ki-yi Coyote is driven away."




Doctor Rabbit Talks With Big Dog Yappy


You remember how badly scared Sophy Woodchuck and Neighbor Chipmunk were when they both climbed up on their stumps at the same time. Well, after their scare was over, they sat on their stumps -- which were their homes, of course -- and went on talking about various things that had happened among their neighbors of late; but in particular they talked about the terrible Ki-yi Coyote.

Then all of a sudden something happened that made them jump off their stumps, and dart in at their back doors and lock them in a hurry.

They had heard some animal tearing through the woods, apparently straight at them. As they peeked from their windows they naturally thought it was Ki-yi Coyote. But it wasn't. Ki-yi Coyote would have been far too smart to make so much noise. No, it was Farmer Roe's big dog, Yappy.

Yappy wasn't running after anything in particular. He was just running through the woods to take a little exercise and enjoy himself.

Yappy ran around for a time while the little creatures of the Big Green Woods hid and looked out at him. After he had scratched on Cheepy Chipmunk's door and tried to dig into Stubby Woodchuck's home, Yappy started out of the woods as fast as he had come in.

Just as he passed Doctor Rabbit's house, Doctor Rabbit put his head out of a hole pretty well up in the tree and said, "Good morning, Yappy!"

Happy Yappy stopped mighty quick and looked all around. He couldn't see anybody at first, and he wondered who it was that had spoken. Stubby and Mrs. Stubby and Cheepy and Mrs. Cheepy came to their windows to peek out and listen. Robin-the-Red, Jim Crow, and ever so many other of the little creatures of the Big Green Woods also listened. They wondered what Doctor Rabbit would say to Yappy.

After gazing around and up a little, Yappy at last saw Doctor Rabbit looking from the hole up in the tree.

"Why, good morning, Doctor!" Yappy said, in his pleasantest voice. "Come down on the grass here; you will be more comfortable."

"No, thank you," Doctor Rabbit said, "I'd rather talk from up here. You look pretty hungry, and I just wanted to ask you how you would like to have Jack Rabbit for your breakfast to-morrow morning?"

This was a question that was a little hard for Yappy to answer, under the circumstances. Rabbit was his favorite dish, when he could get one. He saw he could not get Doctor Rabbit, and he thought Doctor Rabbit was just making fun of him. Of course, Yappy was pretty angry. He was all the more angry because, although he had chased Jack Rabbit many times, he never had been able to catch him. Still, he was always willing to try again.

"That's all right about my wanting Jack Rabbit," Yappy snapped; "I could catch him in no time if I wanted to."

Doctor Rabbit almost laughed out loud at this, but he didn't, because that might have spoiled what he wanted to do.

"Why, of course," Doctor Rabbit said in his most friendly tones. "And I have decided I'll give you a chance at him. In fact, I have been watching for you to tell you this very thing. Now, all you have to do," Doctor Rabbit continued, "is to go where I tell you, and when I tell you, and you will run right on to him."

Yappy was certainly puzzled about this matter. Why, he wondered, did Doctor Rabbit want to get rid of Jack Rabbit? "Oh, well," Yappy thought to himself, "perhaps Jack Rabbit has been over in the Big Green Woods cuffing Doctor Rabbit; or maybe it is just because Doctor Rabbit is angry at Jack Rabbit for something or other he's done."

"Well" -- and Yappy tried to say it as if he was not very much interested -- "Well, I don't care much, but if you want to, you may tell me when and where I can find him."

"Good!" said Doctor Rabbit, and then he continued, "He'll be in a new burrow right by the first tree you come to out in the Wide Prairie. And he'll be there to-morrow morning at exactly nine o'clock."

"How do you know that?" Yappy asked with deep curiosity.

"Never mind how I know," Doctor Rabbit retorted. "He'll be there as sure as anything."

Yappy yawned as if it didn't make much difference to him. Then he said, "Well, I guess I'll be moving," and away he ran through the woods until he was out of sight.

Doctor Rabbit chuckled to himself. He knew mighty well that Yappy was interested, even if he did try to act as if he didn't care. And he knew the greedy fellow would be at that tree at nine the next morning, too.

Of course the other little creatures of the Big Green Woods were much puzzled that Doctor Rabbit should seem to have turned so quickly against Jack Rabbit. But the next morning they found out all about it. And something happened of which they had never even dreamed.




Doctor Rabbit Talks With Jack Rabbit


You remember how Doctor Rabbit looked out of a hole and told Farmer Roe's dog Yappy about catching Jack Rabbit. Well, after Yappy had run away and was out of sight in the woods, Doctor Rabbit concluded he'd better see Jack Rabbit right away. So he slipped quietly out of his house and ran through the woods toward the Wide Prairie.

Doctor Rabbit was lucky, because Jack Rabbit happened to be right on the edge of the woods. And Jack Rabbit said his son Billy was very much better. "I am very grateful," continued Jack Rabbit, "and I wish I could do something now to make you as happy as I am."

"You certainly can," Doctor Rabbit said. "Do you remember the day Ki-yi Coyote chased us out on the Wide Prairie, and I threw the medicine in his mouth?"

"I certainly do," said Jack Rabbit. "And when we got safely over to your house, you said you were thinking about a plan to drive Ki-yi Coyote clear away from the Big Green Woods and the Wide Prairie forever. Is that what you want me to do?"

"Yes," said Doctor Rabbit, "that's exactly what I was going to speak about. I want you to help me. Will you do it?"

"Why," declared Jack Rabbit, "I should say I will, if I can. But how can I help? All you need to do is to tell me what to do and I will do it."

"Don't be too sure you will," Doctor Rabbit warned in a friendly way. "What I want you to do has some danger in it. Are you much afraid of Farmer Roe's Yappy?"

"Why, why, of course," Jack Rabbit hesitated; "that is, I -- I -- wouldn't want to fight him!"

"Ha, ha, ha!" Doctor Rabbit couldn't keep from laughing at the idea of Jack Rabbit's fighting Yappy.

"I don't want you to fight him," Doctor Rabbit said, "but would you be willing to let him chase you?"

"Surely," exclaimed Jack Rabbit quickly. "I've given him the slip many a time."

"Suppose," said Doctor Rabbit, "that Yappy and one of his dog friends both should get after you, could you get away?"

"Yes, sir," Jack Rabbit said; "I've given both of those hounds the slip. They are just fox hounds, and I'm not the least bit afraid when they get after me. But what has that to do with driving Ki-yi Coyote away?"

"Just this," said Doctor Rabbit, moving a little closer. "At nine o'clock to-morrow morning Ki-yi Coyote is going to be right under that big elm where he was this morning, to catch me. Chatty Squirrel heard him say he was. He said, 'Yes, I'll come every morning and hide there until I do catch that big fat rabbit' -- meaning me, of course."

"Oh, I see! I see!" laughed Jack Rabbit, and he began to dance a little jig of joy. "I know what you want me to do," Jack Rabbit laughed. "You want me to let big old Yappy and his friend get after me, and then you want me to run straight for that big elm, and so lead Yappy and the other hound right onto old Ki-yi. And then they will chase him instead of me!"

"That's it! that's it!" said Doctor Rabbit. He was mighty glad that Jack Rabbit did not seem at all afraid. "And," Doctor Rabbit continued, "when Yappy and his companion once see Ki-yi Coyote, they will forget all about you, and you can get away as easily as anything."

"Oh, ho, ho, ho! ha, ha, ha!" laughed Jack Rabbit. It seemed too good to be true that they could fool crafty Ki-yi, and fool him so completely. Old Ki-yi, who was always getting the best of things, would now get some of the other side. So thought happy Jack-Rabbit.

"That certainly will be mighty fine!" cried Jack Rabbit. "Ki-yi Coyote will be there, smacking his lips, all ready to gobble you up; and the first thing he knows, I'll pop square over him, and the next second, Yappy will pop square onto him, if he doesn't move mighty quick. Ho, ho, ho!" Jack Rabbit danced and laughed some more. "Yes, indeed, Doctor Rabbit," he said, "I'll surely be at the tree in the Wide Prairie to-morrow morning at nine o'clock. Then be sure to tell all the little creatures of the Big Green Woods to watch and see what happens."

"I will indeed," said Doctor Rabbit, as he started off; "and thank you," he said, "for your bravery."




Old Uncle Owl Gives Good Advice


You remember how Doctor Rabbit asked Jack Rabbit to do a rather risky thing to drive Ki-yi Coyote out of the Big Green Woods. Well, the next morning after this, Friend Jack Rabbit was up a good while before daylight. To tell the truth, he had not slept very much during the night. No, sir; he just couldn't get to sleep because he kept thinking about that joke he and Doctor Rabbit were to play on wicked old Ki-yi Coyote.

Of course, it was not all fun, either. I should say not! You see, greedy Yappy would certainly gobble up Jack Rabbit if he could get him. But Jack Rabbit was not very much afraid, because he had run away from Yappy a good many times before.

No, brave Jack Rabbit didn't stay awake because he was scared. I suppose he couldn't sleep for about the same reason that boys sometimes stay awake when the circus comes to town. And the boys used to get up before daylight to go and see the animals, and perhaps some of them do it yet.

Yes, Jack Rabbit was very, very curious. He wondered if Ki-yi Coyote would really hide in the Big Green Woods under the elm tree, as Doctor Rabbit had said he would.

So, about four in the morning, Jack Rabbit slipped away and went over to watch along the edge of the woods. He had not been there long when, yes, sir; Sure enough! There came Ki-yi Coyote sneaking along and looking all around to make sure, as he thought, that nobody saw him.

As slinky Ki-yi Coyote slipped along he came pretty close to Jack Rabbit, and then Jack Rabbit lay mighty still. Indeed he did! He hardly dared to breathe until Ki-yi Coyote had passed from sight beneath the big elm farther on in the woods. Then Jack Rabbit just kicked up his heels and danced for joy. He wanted to laugh too, ever so much, but he didn't dare, because sharp-eared Ki-yi might hear him. No, Jack Rabbit ran clear back to his tree before he laughed, and then he laughed as loudly as he wanted to. "I can scarcely wait until nine o'clock comes," he said, after he had laughed again and danced another jig of joy.

Stubby Woodchuck had heard Doctor Rabbit talking with Yappy, and so as often as Stubby saw one of the little creatures of the Big Green Woods, he told him about it. It was not long before every one of them knew, and they wondered why kind Doctor Rabbit had told Yappy where to find Jack Rabbit. In fact, they really couldn't understand it at all, because Doctor Rabbit was so good and kind to everybody.

But when Uncle Owl heard about it, he looked very wise and said to a number of the little creatures of the Big Green Woods, "I'm sure you need not be troubled, my friends; for I think we shall find that this has something to do with getting Ki-yi Coyote away from the Big Green Woods and the Wide Prairie. Bear in mind, I say I only suspect it does," and with another very wise look Uncle Owl walked back to his hole in the tree, and there stood looking toward the big elm where Ki-yi Coyote lay hiding and watching for Doctor Rabbit.

Then about a half hour before nine o'clock, busy Blue Jay flew all over the Big Green Woods and told all the little creatures of the woods to go as close as they dared to the big elm where Ki-yi Coyote lay, and then watch.

When some of them tried to have Blue Jay stop and talk, he said he didn't have time. He said he was in the biggest hurry he had ever known. "You watch! You watch!" he would cry back at them as he flew away to tell others.

Before long they were all either flying or creeping toward the big elm. They didn't know what Doctor Rabbit's plan was, of course, but they believed something mighty interesting was going to happen. When they were all hidden, some of them kept up such a whispering it seemed as if Ki-yi must surely hear. Each one said it wasn't he who whispered, until presently Uncle Owl called out loudly from his tree, "Who?" Then they did keep still. Because there was Uncle Owl looking right at them.




Yappy Chases Ki-Yi Coyote


All the little creatures of the Big Green Woods were looking toward the big elm where Ki-yi Coyote was hiding and were wondering what would happen.

Then all of a sudden they heard big-mouthed Yappy baying away out on the Wide Prairie. Pretty soon they heard another hound baying.

It was quite true that Jack Rabbit had been started up at last. He had waited at the tree, and it had seemed as though nine o'clock never would come. At last when he saw Yappy and his friend coming, he was really glad.

When they were pretty close, Jack Rabbit sprang up, put his long ears straight in the air, and away he went. You see, when he doesn't have to run very fast, he keeps his ears straight up in the air; but when he has to run as fast as he can -- the way he did when Speedy Grey Hound got after him -- then he lays his long ears down flat to his head. And how he does run! He looks like a streak, he goes so fast.

Jack Rabbit was not much afraid of Yappy, because you see, Yappy was only a fox hound. Now a fox hound is dangerous enough at night, when he is on the trail of Ray Coon or O. Possum, but he can't do any harm in the daytime to swift Jack Rabbit on the Wide Prairie.

Big Yappy and his friend, the other fox hound, had been trained to trail, at night, nothing but Ray Coon and O. Possum and Tom Wildcat. But in the daytime they certainly did like to start up Jack Rabbit. Most of all, though, they liked to start up Ki-yi Coyote.

"There he goes!" shouted happy Yappy to his friend, as Jack Rabbit jumped up; and away they all went. And Jack Rabbit, of course, led them straight away for the Big Green Woods.

As they ran, Jack Rabbit kept thinking to himself, "I surely do hate to run so close to Ki-yi Coyote. Indeed, I do! Just suppose he should go after me as hard as ever he could." Then he would comfort himself by thinking, "But then, he'll never do it with the two hounds chasing him. I'll be all right. Yes, I'll just keep going. My, but I wish I could kick old Ki-yi right on the nose as I go past him!"

But wise Jack Rabbit said to himself that as soon as he had started up Ki-yi Coyote, he would run right back to the Wide Prairie, where there was plenty of room, because he might need it.

While all the little creatures of the Big Green Woods were looking and wondering, Doctor Rabbit bounded into the woods from somewhere. In a jiffy he was in his tree, looking out from an upper window.

The two hounds were coming after Jack Rabbit as fast as they could, yelling terribly at each other, and saying that this time they certainly would catch him.

But Jack Rabbit was very wise. He ran a little slower until the two hounds were fearfully close, and all the little creatures of the Big Green Woods looking on were dreadfully scared for poor Jack Rabbit. In fact, Mother Chipmunk and Sophy Woodchuck began to weep, and wipe their eyes with the corners of their aprons, because they said something had surely gone wrong with Jack Rabbit and this was the last of him. It would be terrible, they said; and how would Mrs. Jack Rabbit ever make a living for all that family of little rabbits out on the Wide Prairie?

The next minute Jack Rabbit ran straight for the big elm. He saw Ki-yi Coyote lying with his body close to the ground. Old Ki-yi Coyote had seen them coming, but he thought, of course, he would just watch and see Jack Rabbit and the hounds go by. Then suddenly, before he could realize it, Jack Rabbit leaped clear over startled Ki-yi. "Ki-yi! Ki-yi!" he shouted, "I've brought you some company. Here they are. Good day! I must be going!" And away went Jack Rabbit out of sight.

Well, Ki-yi Coyote was both surprised and angry. He was about the angriest he had ever been in his life. But what could he do? Well, he couldn't do a thing except tear out of the woods as hard as he could go. And then how all the little creatures of the Big Green Woods did laugh, even Mother Chipmunk and Sophy Woodchuck!

Now when Yappy and his friend saw Ki-yi Coyote jump up, they shouted for joy. "Woo! woo! woo!" shouted Yappy gaily to his friend. "Sly old Ki-yi! Woo, woo, woo! Here he is right under our noses! Now we'll see about him! Woo, woo, woo!" And away they went after Ki-yi Coyote. Ki-yi was so mad he could have bitten a nail if there had been one handy, but, mad or no mad, he had to run as hard as he could.

Now the little creatures of the Big Green Woods all hurried to the edge of the woods and looked on as Yappy and his friend started out across the Wide Prairie after Ki-yi Coyote.




Ki-Yi Coyote's Strange Hiding Place


How Ki-yi Coyote did run when he got out on the Wide Prairie! He thought he would run as fast as possible, and so get out of sight and hide from the two hounds. Sure enough, sly Ki-yi did this very thing. He ran so fast that pretty soon he passed from sight over a little hill, and it certainly looked as if he had escaped. Old Ki-yi thought he had, and as he hid in some tall grass, he chuckled to himself to think how easy it was to get away from his enemies. "I'll just wait and rest here," he said. "Ha, ha, ha! I'll get my rabbit for breakfast yet!"

But Ki-yi Coyote had no more than said that than here came Yappy and the other hound right on his trail. And they kept coming right on and sniffing and smelling Ki-yi's tracks until they were so close that Ki-yi had to spring up and run again. Once more he ran fast and hid, but again he was trailed, and again he had to jump up and run.

They kept this up all morning, until Ki-yi Coyote was getting pretty tired. Then, a little later, he was so dreadfully tired that what do you suppose he did? No, he didn't stop to fight, although cowardly Ki-yi sometimes does do that. He thought about it, but after he had looked back he said to himself, "No, I won't stop to fight. I'm not quite able to tackle Yappy and that other big hound, too. I'm going to do something else. I'm going where I can rest."

And he did. He ran straight for Farmer Roe's corn crib and squeezed under it! The dirt was soft and cool under there, and tired Ki-yi stretched out and made himself very comfortable. Then Yappy and his friend ran up to the hole where Ki-yi Coyote had gone under the corn crib, and began barking for all they were worth; and presently Farmer Roe and his boy came out and looked under the corn crib. They were certainly surprised to see Ki-yi hidden under there, and they decided at once that they would try to catch him alive.

The two hounds kept on barking, and Farmer Roe and his boy went right to work fixing something outside; but Ki-yi did not know what they were doing, and he felt pretty safe.

All this time the little creatures of the Big Green Woods had looked on from the edge of the Wide Prairie. Blue Jay was in the very top of the big elm, and he called down every now and then to tell just what was happening.

When Ki-yi Coyote ran under the corn crib, Doctor Rabbit slipped up pretty close to Farmer Roe's house. He got a good hiding place in some weeds, where he could see all that happened.

After a while Farmer Roe and his boy got some kind of a box fixed, and this they placed over the hole into which Ki-yi Coyote had run. Then they took the two hounds away and locked them in the barn. Doctor Rabbit slipped back to the woods.

"They've got it all fixed to catch Ki-yi alive!" he told the other little creatures of the Big Green Woods.

"How do you know?" they asked in a chorus.

"I heard them say so; and now you just wait and see!" Doctor Rabbit said. Then he slipped back again to hide in the weeds and watch.

Of course he had to be very careful, because Yappy might come tearing out into the weeds at any moment. But Doctor Rabbit's eyes are very sharp. He was sure he could see any danger if it came near, so he was not much afraid.




Catching Ki-Yi Coyote


All afternoon Doctor Rabbit watched the strange box that Farmer Roe had placed at the hole where Ki-yi Coyote had gone under the corn crib, but nothing happened. Toward evening Doctor Rabbit came back to the little creatures waiting in the woods. He looked very wisely at them and said:

"My friends, nothing more has happened as yet, but I feel quite certain that Ki-yi Coyote will be caught. I'm pretty tired now and must have my supper. Just as soon as it is daylight, Jack Rabbit and I will slip over again and watch, and see what Farmer Roe and his boy do about that box."

At this all the little creatures of the Big Green Woods began talking at once. Then they bade Doctor Rabbit good-night, and went back to their homes to await the news.

The next morning they were all startled by hearing noisy Blue Jay shouting, "Come here! Come here, all of you! Doctor Rabbit told me to call you. Old Ki-yi is caught, and I can see him. I can see him!"

Well, you should have seen all those little creatures of the Big Green Woods tumbling out of their homes! Stubby Woodchuck came tearing out of his front door, and before he knew it, bumped into Cheepy Chipmunk, and knocked him over. They were both mad about it for a minute. Stubby got bumped on the ear and Cheepy got a bump on the nose, but in the excitement they forgot their anger and hurried to the edge of the Wide Prairie, where all the other little creatures of the Big Green Woods seemed to be gathering.

Chatty Red Squirrel came out of his house so fast he ran square into Frisky Grey Squirrel, and then Neighbor Grey was provoked. He said he never did know a Red Squirrel that had any manners; but Chatty Red Squirrel kept right on running, and so Frisky Grey Squirrel forgot his crossness and ran too, as fast as he could, with the other excited little creatures of the Big Green Woods.

In almost no time they all had reached the edge of the woods. Then they all looked toward Farmer Roe's house and the strange box.




The Little Creatures Of The Woods Are Happy Again


When the little creatures of the Big Green Woods looked toward Farmer Roe's house, they saw Doctor Rabbit behind a fence post, watching.

Yes, it was true: Ki-yi Coyote was in that box! They knew it because several times they heard Farmer Roe's boy say, "We got him! I was sure he would come out in the night!"

Then the little creatures of the Big Green Woods wondered what Farmer Roe was doing. He went into the barn several times and brought out some boards, a hammer, and a saw. First he sawed the boards, and then he hammered and nailed ever so long.

After a while all the little creatures of the Big Green Woods could see what Farmer Roe was doing. He was making a kind of wood and wire cage for Ki-yi Coyote. When it was all ready, Farmer Roe and his son put the cage against the box that Ki-yi Coyote was in. Then Farmer Roe's boy poked Ki-yi with a long stick and drove him into the cage. Then as the farmer and his boy stood looking at dusty Ki-yi in the cage, they talked for quite a long time; but the little creatures of the Big Green Woods could not hear what was said. At last Farmer Roe and his boy went into the house. Then wise Doctor Rabbit came running back to the woods and said it was mighty fine the way things were turning out.

"They are going to load Ki-yi Coyote into a wagon, take him to the city, and sell him to the men who have charge of a big park there," said Doctor Rabbit excitedly.

"That's fine! Splendid!" shouted all the little creatures of the Big Green Woods. "Hurrah for Doctor Rabbit and his scheme for getting rid of Ki-yi Coyote!"

"And now," shouted Cheepy Chipmunk, mounting a stump and speaking so that all could hear, "I want you all to come right down to my house for dinner. Mother Chipmunk wants all of you!"

"Fine!" shouted Jimmy Chipmunk. "I'll get something good to eat, because company's coming!" His mother frowned at him, but no one thought anything about what Jimmy had said, they were so delighted to get the invitation; because Mother Chipmunk was about the best cook in the whole woods.

Then away they all went toward Cheepy Chipmunk's house, talking and laughing and shouting. And Billy Rabbit and Jimmy Chipmunk and Johnny Woodchuck kicked up their heels and ran after each other all the way, they were so happy.

It was a fine thing, they all said, to be going to such a good dinner, and to know that Ki-yi Coyote would not trouble them any more. They declared that they had never been so happy in all their lives before.

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Bunny Brown And His Sister Sue At Camp Rest-A-While

By

Laura Lee Hope



Chapter I

Grandpa's Tent


"Bunny! Bunny Brown! There's a wagon stoppin' in front of our house!"

"Is there? What kind of a wagon is it, Sue?"

The little girl, who had called to her brother about the wagon, stood with her nose pressed flat against the glass of the window, looking out to where the rain was beating down on the green grass of the front yard. Bunny Brown, who had been playing with a tin locomotive that ran on a tiny tin track, put his toy back in its box.

"What kind of a wagon is it Sue?" he asked his sister again.

"It isn't a grocery wagon," Sue answered slowly. "Not a grocery wagon, like the one we rode in once, when we gave all those things to Old Miss Hollyhock."

"Has it got any letters on it?" Bunny wanted to know. He was on his way to the window now, having taken up the toy railroad track, with which he was tired playing.

"Yes, it's got a E on it," Sue said, "and next comes the funny letter, Bunny, that looks like when you cross your legs or fingers."

"That's a X," said Bunny. He knew his letters better than did Sue, for Bunny could even read a little. "What's the next letter, Sue?"

Bunny could have run to the window himself, and looked out, but he wanted to pick up all the things with which he had been playing. His mother had always made him do this -- put away his toys when he was through.

"What's the next letter, Sue?" Bunny Brown asked.

Sue was not quite sure of it. She put her little head to one side so she might see better. Just then a man jumped off the seat, and splashed through a muddy puddle as he walked around to the end of the wagon.

"Oh, Bunny!" Sue cried. "The man's going to bring something here, I guess. He's taking out a big bundle."

"Maybe it's a wagon from the store," said Bunny. And, as he looked out through the window glass, pressing his nose flat against it, as his sister Sue had done, he spelled out the word:

Express

"That's an express wagon, Sue," said Bunny.

"What's express?" Sue wanted to know.

"That means when you're in a hurry," Bunny said. "You know, when we're playing train, sometimes I'm an express train, and I go awful fast."

"Yes, I 'member that," said Sue. "Once, when we hitched our dog, Splash, up to our express wagon, he went so fast he spilled me out."

"Well, that's express," Bunny went on. "When you went out of the wagon so fast you were an express."

"I don't like express, then," said Sue. "I like to go slower. But that can't be an express wagon, then, Bunny."

"Why not?"

"'Cause that's not goin' fast. It's jest standin' still."

"Oh, well, when it does go, it goes fast. That's an express wagon, all right. Somebody's sent us something by express. Oh, Sue, I wonder what it is?"

Sue shook her head. She did not know, and she could not guess. She was watching the man out in the rain -- the expressman who was trying to get something out of the back of his wagon. It was a big bundle, that was sure, because Bunny and Sue could see the end of it.

"I wonder if it's a present for us?" Sue asked.

"It can't be a present," answered Bunny. "It isn't Christmas. Don't you remember, Sue, we had Christmas at Aunt Lu's city home."

"So we did, Bunny. But it's something, anyhow."

That was certain, for now the man was pulling a very large bundle out of his wagon. It was so large that he could not carry it all alone, and he called for Sam, the stable man, to come and help him. With the help of Sam, the expressman carried the package back into the barn.

"Oh, I wonder what it is?" said Sue.

"We'll go and ask mother," suggested Bunny. "She'll know."

Together, the children fairly ran upstairs to their mother's sitting room, where she was sewing.

"Oh, Mother!" cried Sue. "There's a fast wagon out in front -- a fast wagon and --  -- "

"A fast wagon, Sue? What do you mean? Is it stuck fast in the mud?" Mrs. Brown asked.

"No, she means an express wagon," said Bunny, with a laugh. "I told her express was fast, Mother."

"Oh, I see," and Mrs. Brown smiled.

"But the express wagon did stop," went on the little boy. "It stopped here, and Sam and the man took out a big bundle. It's up in our barn. What is it, Mother?"

"I don't know, Bunny. Something your father sent for, perhaps. He may tell us what it is when he comes."

"May we go out and look at it?" Sue asked.

"No, dear, not in this rain. Can't you wait until daddy comes home?"

"Yes, but I -- I don't want to, Mother."

"Oh, well, we have to do many things in this world that we don't want to. Now go and play with your dolls, or something. I think daddy will be home early to-night, on account of the storm. Then he'll tell you what's in the bundle."

"Does Sam know?" asked Bunny, as he watched the express wagon drive away.

"Perhaps he does," answered Mrs. Brown.

"Then we can ask him!" exclaimed Sue. "Come on, Bunny!"

"No, dears, you mustn't go out to the barn in this rain. You'd get all wet."

"I could put on my rubber coat," suggested Bunny.

"And so could I -- and my rubber boots," said Sue.

Both children seemed to want very much to know what was in the express package. But when Mrs. Brown said they could not go out she meant it, and the more Bunny Brown and his sister Sue teased, the oftener Mrs. Brown shook her head.

"No, you can't go out and open that bundle," she said. "And if you tease much more daddy won't even tell you what's in it when he comes home. Be good children now."

Bunny and Sue did not often tease this way, for they were good children. But this day was an unpleasant, rainy one. They could not go out to have fun, because of the rain, and they had played with all their toys, getting tired of them, one after another.

"Mother, if we can't go out to the barn, could we have our dog, Splash, in here to play with us?" asked Bunny, after a while. "We could hitch him to a chair, and make believe it was an express wagon."

"Oh, yes!" cried Sue. "And you could be the driver, Bunny, and you could leave a package at my house -- make believe, you know -- and then I wouldn't know what was in it, and I could guess, and you could guess. We could play a guessing game; will you, Bunny?"

"Yes, I'll play that. May we have Splash in, Mother?"

"No, dear."

"Oh, why not?"

"Because I just saw Splash splashing through a puddle of muddy water. If he came in now he'd get you all dirty and he would spoil my carpet."

"But what can we do, Mother?" Sue asked, and her voice sounded almost as if she were going to cry.

"We want to do something," added Bunny.

"Oh, dear!" sighed Mrs. Brown, yet she could not help smiling. Rainy days were hard when two children had to stay in the house all the while.

"We can play 'spress wagon without Splash!" exclaimed Sue, for she was a good little girl, and did not want to make her mother worry.

"All right," agreed Bunny. "We'll just make believe we have Splash with us to pull the pretend wagon."

He and Sue often played pretend, and make-believe, games, and they had much fun this way. Now they turned one chair on the side, and put another in front. The turned-over chair was to be the wagon, and the other chair, standing on its four legs, was the horse. Bunny got some string for reins, and the stick the washerwoman used to punch the clothes down in the boiler made a good whip, when another piece of string was tied on the end of that.

"Giddap!" cried Bunny, sitting on a stool behind the chair-horse. "Giddap! This is an express wagon, and we've got to hurry."

"You must leave a package for me!" cried Sue. "This is my house, over on the couch," and she curled up in a lump. "And this is my little girl," she went on, pointing to one of her dolls, which she had taken into her "house" with her. "If I'm asleep -- make-believe, you know," said Sue to Bunny, "you tell my little girl to wake me up."

"Pooh! I can't talk to a doll!" cried Bunny.

"Yes, you can, too," said his sister. "Just pretend, you know."

"Well, even if I do, how can your doll talk to you, and wake you up?"

"Oh, Bunny! I'm only going to be make-believe asleep, and of course a doll, who can pretend to talk, can make-believe wake me up as easy as anything, when I'm only make-believe asleep."

"Oh, all right, if it's only make-believe," agreed Bunny. "Giddap, Splash! I've named the make-believe chair-horse the same as our dog," he explained to Sue.

Then the game began, and the children played nicely for some time, giving Mrs. Brown a chance to finish her sewing. Bunny and Sue took turns driving the "express wagon," and they had left many pretend bundles at each other's houses, when a step was heard in the front hall, and Bunny and Sue cried:

"Daddy! Daddy! Oh, daddy's come home!"

They made a rush for their father, and both together cried out:

"Oh, Daddy, a express package came! What's in it?"

"Did a package come?" asked Mr. Brown, as he took off his wet coat, for it was still raining.

"Yep! It's out in the barn," said Bunny Brown.

"Oh, please tell us the secret!" begged Sue. "I know it must be a secret, or mother would have told us."

Mrs. Brown smiled.

"The children have teased all afternoon to know what was in the bundle," she said.

"Well, I'll tell them," said Daddy Brown. "The package, that came by express, has in it grandpa's tent."

"Grandpa's tent!" cried Bunny.

"The one we played circus in, out in the country?" Sue demanded.

"The same one," answered Daddy Brown, with a laugh.

"Oh, are we going to have another circus?" cried Bunny, joyously.

"Now sit down and I'll tell you all about it," said Daddy Brown, and he took Bunny up on one knee, and Sue on the other.



Chapter II

A Grand Surprise


"Don't you want to have supper first?" asked Mrs. Brown, as she saw her husband sit down in the easy chair, with Bunny and Sue.

"Oh, I'm in no hurry," he said. "I came home early to-night, because there were only a few boats out, on account of the storm. I might just as well tell the children about the surprise before we eat."

"Oh, then it's a surprise!" cried Sue, clapping her hands.

"Why, yes, I rather think you'll be surprised when you hear about it," answered Daddy Brown.

"And is it a secret, too?" Bunny wanted to know.

"Well, you don't know what it is yet; do you?" inquired his father.

Bunny shook his head.

"Well, then," went on Daddy Brown with a smile, "if there is something nice you don't know, and someone is going to tell you, I guess that's a surprise; isn't it?"

"Oh, yes!" cried Sue. "And now, Daddy, don't tease us any more. Just tell us what it is? Will we like it?"

"Can we play with it?" Bunny wanted to know.

Mr. Brown laughed so hard that Sue nearly fell off one knee, and Bunny off the other.

"What is it, Daddy?" asked the little boy. "What's so funny?"

"Oh, just you -- and Sue," said Mr. Brown, still shaking up and down and sideways with laughter. "You are in a great hurry to have me tell you the surprise, and yet you keep on asking questions, so I have to answer them before I tell you."

"You asted the most questions, Bunny," said Sue, shaking her finger at him.

"No, I didn't. You did!"

"Well, we'll each just ask one question," went on Sue, "and then you can tell us, Daddy. I want to try and guess what it is -- I mean what the tent is for. Shall we each take one guess, Bunny?"

"Yep. You guess first, Sue. What do you say the tent is for?"

Sue thought for half a minute, shutting her brown eyes and wrinkling up her little nose. She was thinking very hard.

"I -- I guess the tent is for a house for our dog Splash," she said, after a bit. "Is it, Daddy?"

"No," and Mr. Brown shook his head. "It's your turn, Bunny."

Bunny looked up at the ceiling. Then he said:

"I guess grandpa's tent is going to be for us to play in when it rains. Is it, Daddy?"

"Well, that's pretty nearly right," Mr. Brown answered. "And now sit quiet and I'll tell you the surprise."

But before I let Mr. Brown tell the children the secret, I just want to say a few words to the boys and girls who are reading this as their first book of the Bunny and Sue series. There are four other books that come ahead of this, and I'll tell you their names so you may read them, and find out all about Bunny and Sue.

Of course those of you who have read the first, and all the other books in the series, do not need to stop to read this. You have already been introduced to the Brown children. But to those who have not, I would say that Bunny Brown and his sister Sue lived with their father and mother, Mr. and Mrs. Walter Brown, in the town of Bellemere, which was on Sandport Bay, near the ocean.

Mr. Brown was in the boat business -- that is, he hired out boats to fishermen and others who wanted to go on the ocean or bay, sailing, rowing or in motor boats. Mr. Brown had men to help him, and also several big boys, almost as large as men. One of these last was Bunker Blue, a red-haired, good-natured lad, who was very fond of the two children.

In the first book of the series, named "Bunny Brown and His Sister Sue," I told you the story of the little boy and girl, and what fun they had getting up a Punch and Judy show, and finding Aunt Lu's diamond ring in the queerest way. In the second book, "Bunny Brown and His Sister Sue on Grandpa's Farm," I told you how they went off to the country, in a great big moving van automobile, fitted up like a little house, in which they could eat and sleep.

Bunker Blue went with them to steer the automobile, and they also took along the children's dog, Splash, who was named that because he once splashed in the water and pulled out Sue. On Grandpa's farm Bunny and Sue had lots of fun. They got up a little show, which they held in the barn.

After the little show had been given, Bunker Blue, and some larger boys, thought they could get up a sort of circus. They did, holding it in two tents, a big one and a smaller one. The smaller tent belonged to Grandpa Brown, when he was in the army. And it was this tent that had just come by express to the Brown home in Bellemere.

"Bunny Brown and His Sister Sue Playing Circus" is the name of the third book, and in that you may read all about the show that Bunny and Sue took part in -- how the tents were washed away, how Ben Hall did his queer tricks, and what happened to him after that.

When the two Brown children came back from grandpa's farm they received an invitation from Aunt Lu, to spend the fall and winter at her city home in New York.

"Bunny Brown and His Sister Sue at Aunt Lu's City Home" is the name of the book telling all that happened when the two children went to New York. They met a little colored girl, named Wopsie, they were lost in a monkey store, Bunny flew his kite from the roof of Aunt Lu's house, and toward the end Bunny and Sue were run away with when in a pony cart in Central Park.

At first they did not like being run away with, but after they were spilled out, and Aunt Sallie picked them up, and she and Wopsie found out that they -- but there! I mustn't put so much of that book in this book. You would much rather read it yourself, I am sure.

So I'll just say that at Aunt Lu's city home Bunny and Sue had many good times, and enjoyed themselves very much. They were almost sorry when it was time to come home, but of course they could not always stay in New York.

But now it was spring, and Bunny and Sue were once more back in Bellemere. They had met all their old friends again, and had played with them, until this day, when, as I have told you, it was raining too hard to go out.

Before I go on with this story, I might say that Bunny was about six years old, and Sue a year younger. The two children were always together, and whatever Bunny did Sue thought was just right. It was not always, though, for often Bunny did things that got him and Sue into trouble.

Bunny did not mean this, but he was a brave, smart little chap, always wanting to do something to have fun, or to find out something new. He would often take chances in doing something new, when he did not know what would happen, or what the ending would be. And Sue liked fun so much, also, that she always followed Bunny.

The children knew everyone in the village of Bellemere, and everyone knew them, from Old Miss Hollyhock (a poor woman to whom Bunny and Sue were often kind) to Wango, the queer little monkey, owned by Jed Winkler, the old sailor. Wango did many funny tricks, and he, too, got into mischief. Sometimes it was hard to say who got oftener into trouble -- Bunny Brown and his sister Sue, or Wango, the queer little monkey.

Now that I have told you all this, so my newest little children-reader-friends will feel that they know Bunny and Sue as well as everyone else, I will go back to the story.

Bunny and Sue were still sitting on their father's knee.

"Well, tell us the surprise!" begged Sue, reaching over and kissing her daddy.

"And make it like a story," begged Bunny.

"I haven't time to make it like a story now, my dears," said Mr. Brown. "But the bundle you saw the expressman bring to the barn this afternoon was the tent from grandpa's farm."

"The same one we played circus in?" Bunny wanted to know.

"The same one," answered his father. "I asked grandpa to send it to me."

"What are we going to do with it, Daddy?" Sue asked. "I've tried and tried, but I can't guess."

"Well, this is the surprise," replied Daddy Brown, "and I hope you'll like it. We are going off into the woods camping -- that means living in a tent. We'll cook in a tent -- that is when it rains so we can't have a campfire out of doors -- we'll eat in the tent and we'll sleep in it."

"Oh, Daddy! Shall we -- really?" cried Bunny, almost falling off his father's knee he was so excited.

"Yes, that's what we're going to do," said Mr. Brown. "We are going to spend the summer in camp, under a tent instead of in a cottage, as we sometimes do. Will you like that?"

"Oh, I just guess we will!" cried Bunny Brown.

"And can I take my dolls along -- will there be room for 'em?" asked Sue.

"Oh, yes, plenty of room," answered Daddy Brown.

"And will Splash come?" Bunny wanted to know.

"Oh, yes, we'll take your dog along, of course. It wouldn't be like a real camp without Splash. So now you know what the tent is for."

"May we go out and look at it?" asked Bunny.

"Oh, no, son. Not to-night. It's still raining, and the tent is all wet. It will dry out in a few days. Besides, you've seen the tent up."

"It's just like when we had it for the circus," explained Sue. "I don't want to go out to the barn and see it, Bunny. I'm hungry, and I want my supper."

"It's almost ready," said Mother Brown. "Then we really are going camping?" She looked at her husband as she asked the question.

"Yes, I thought that would be a nice way to spend the summer vacation," said Mr. Brown. "Grandpa's tent is very large. We can sleep in that one. I also have a smaller tent, in which we can set a table, and next to that will be one, still smaller, where we can cook on an oil stove in wet weather. We'll have a real camp!"

"Oh, fine!" cried Bunny.

"How nice!" exclaimed Sue.

"And where are we going to camp?" Mother Brown questioned.

"Up in the woods, about ten miles from here, near Lake Wanda," answered Mr. Brown. "And, now that I've told you all about the surprise, I think, we'll have supper."



Chapter III

Bunny And Sue Sleep Out


After supper the two children, and their father and mother, as well, found so much to talk over, about camping out, that it was bed-time for Bunny and Sue almost before they knew it.

"Oh, can't we stay up just a little longer?" begged Bunny, when his mother told him it was time for him and Sue to get undressed.

"Just let's hear daddy tell, once more, how he cooks eggs over a campfire," added Sue.

"Not to-night; some other time," said Mr. Brown. "That's one of the things you must learn when going to camp -- to obey orders."

Daddy Brown set Bunny and Sue down on the floor -- they had climbed up into his lap again after supper. He stood up tall and straight, like a soldier, and touched his hand to his head.

"Order Number One!" he said. "Time to go to bed. Good-night!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" answered Bunny, putting his hand to his head, as he had seen his father do. That was saluting, you know, just as a gentleman lifts his hat to a lady, or a private soldier salutes his officer.

Mr. Brown laughed, for, though Bunny had saluted as a soldier does, the little boy had answered like a sailor. You see, he knew more about sailors than he did about soldiers, living near the sea as he had all his life.

Whenever Mr. Brown wanted Bunny to do anything, without asking too many questions about it, or talking too much, Bunny's father would pretend he was a captain, and the little boy a soldier, who must mind, or obey, at the first order. This pleased Bunny.

"Order Number One!" said Mr. Brown again. "Bunny Brown report to bed. Order Number Two, so must Sister Sue!"

Then everyone laughed, and off to bed and dreamland went the two children. They lay awake a little while, talking back and forth through the door between their rooms, but soon their eyes closed, and stayed closed until morning.

Mr. and Mrs. Brown sat up about an hour longer, talking about going to camp, and then they, too, went to bed.

"I think the children will like it -- living in a tent near the lake," said Daddy Brown, as he turned out the light.

"Yes," said Mrs. Brown. "They'll be sure to like it. I only hope they'll not fall in."

"Well, if they do, Splash will pull them out," said Daddy Brown.

Bunny and Sue were up early the next morning. Even before breakfast they had thought of the good times they were going to have in camp at Lake Wanda.

"Daddy, may we go out and see the tent now?" asked Bunny.

"After a bit," answered Mr. Brown. "The tent got rather wet, coming by express through the rain, and I'm going to send Bunker Blue and some of the fishermen around to-day to put it up so it will dry out. Then we'll roll the tent up again, tie it with ropes, and it will be ready to take with us to Lake Wanda."

"When are you going?" asked Mrs. Brown.

"Oh, in about two weeks -- as soon as the weather gets a little more settled."

It was May now, and the flowers were beginning to bloom. Soon it would be June, and that is the nicest month in all the year to go camping in the woods, for the days are so long that it doesn't get dark until after eight o'clock at night, and one has that much longer to have fun.

When breakfast was over Bunny and Sue went out to the barn to look at the big express bundle which held the tent. It was too heavy for them to lift, or they themselves might have tried to put it up out on the lawn. Bunny Brown was that kind of boy. And Sue would have helped him. But, as it was, they waited for Bunker and some of the strong fishermen to come up from Mr. Brown's boat dock. In a little while the tent was put up on the lawn, and Bunny and Sue were allowed to play in it.

"The dining room tent will come in a few days," said Mr. Brown, "and also the cooking tent. I bought them in New York."

Then he told Bunny and Sue how they would go camping. The tents and cots, with bed clothes, and dishes, pots, pans, an oil stove and good things to eat, would all be put in the big moving van automobile, in which they had traveled to Grandpa Brown's farm in the country.

"We'll ride in that up to Lake Wanda," said Daddy Brown. "When we get to the woods, on the shore of the beautiful lake, we'll put up the tent, and make our camp. Then we'll have good times."

"Oh, I can hardly wait; can you?" asked Sue, speaking to her wax doll.

"I wish the time would hurry up," said Bunny. "But who is going to help you put up the tents, Daddy? You can't do them all alone."

"Oh, Bunker Blue is going camping with us."

"Goodie!" cried Bunny.

"And we'll also take Uncle Tad along," went on Daddy Brown.

"That's nice!" exclaimed Sue, clapping her hands. She and Bunny loved Uncle Tad. He was an old soldier, who had fought in the war. He was really Mr. Brown's uncle, but the children called him uncle too, and Uncle Tad loved Bunny Brown and his sister Sue very much.

The tent was not very wet from the rain, and Bunny and Sue had fun playing in it that day. Splash, their dog, played in the tent too. Splash asked nothing better than to be with Bunny and Sue.

"Bunny, are we going to sleep on the ground when we go camping?" Sue wanted to know, as she and her brother sat in the tent that afternoon.

"Well, maybe we will," the little boy said. "But I think I heard daddy say we would take some cot beds with us. You can sleep on the ground, though. Mother read me a story about some hunters who cut off some branches from an evergreen tree, and put their blankets over them to sleep on. They slept fine, too."

"Could we do that?" asked Sue.

"Yes," answered Bunny. And then a queer look came on the face of Bunny Brown. Sue saw it and asked:

"Oh, Bunny, is you got an idea?"

"Yes," Bunny answered slowly, "I has got an idea."

"Oh, goodie!" cried Sue. "Tell me about it, Bunny, and we'll do it!"

Bunny often had ideas. That is, he thought of things to do, and nothing pleased Sue more than to do things with her brother. They were not always the right things to do, but then the children couldn't be expected to do right all the while; could they?

So, whenever Bunny said he had an idea, which meant he was going to do something to have fun, Sue was anxious to know what his idea was.

"Tell me, Bunny!" she begged.

Bunny went over closer to his sister, looked all around the tent, as if to make sure no one was listening, and when he saw only Splash, the big dog, he whispered:

"Sue, how would you like to practice sleeping out?"

"Sleeping out?" said Sue. She did not just know what Bunny meant.

"Yes, sleeping out," said the little boy again. "Sleeping out in this tent, I mean. We'll have to do it, if we go to camp, and we might as well have some practice, you know."

Bunny and Sue knew what "practice" meant, for a girl whom they knew took music lessons, and she had to go in and practice playing on the piano every day.

Bunny thought that if you had to practice, or try over and over again, before you could play the piano, you might have to practice, or try, sleeping out of doors in a tent.

"How can we do it?" asked Sue.

"It's easy," Bunny answered. "We'll bring our blankets out here and sleep in the tent to-night."

"Maybe daddy and mother won't let us, Bunny."

"They won't care," said the little boy. "'Sides, they won't know it. We won't tell 'em. We'll just come out at night, when they've gone to sleep. We can slip down, out of our rooms, with our blankets, and sleep in the tent on the ground, just as we'll have to do in camp. 'Cause we mayn't always have cot beds there. Will you do it, Sue?"

"Course I will, Bunny Brown!"

Sue nearly always did what Bunny wanted her to. This time she was sure it would be lots of fun.

"All right," Bunny went on. "To-night, after it gets all dark, we'll come down, and sleep here."

"S'pose -- s'posin' I get to sleep in my own bed in the house, Bunny?"

"Oh, I'll wake you up," said Bunny. "I won't go to sleep, and I'll come in and tickle your feet."

Sue laughed. She always laughed when anyone tickled her feet, and even the thought of it made her giggle.

"Don't tickle 'em too hard, Bunny," she said. "'Cause if you do I'll sneeze and that will wake up daddy and mother."

"I won't tickle you too hard," Bunny said.

That night, after supper, Mrs. Brown said to her husband:

"Bunny and Sue are up to some trick, I know they are!"

"What makes you think so?" asked Mr. Brown.

"Oh, I can always tell. They are so quiet now, they haven't teased for anything all afternoon, and now they are getting ready to go to bed, though it isn't within a half-hour of their time."

"Oh, maybe they're sleepy," said Mr. Brown, who was reading the paper.

"No, I'm sure they are up to some trick," said Mother Brown.

And now, if you please, just you wait and see whether or not she was right.

Bunny Brown and his sister Sue did go to bed earlier than usual that night. Bunny, after supper, had whispered to his sister:

"If we go to bed sooner we can be awake quicker and go down to the tent."

"Can you open the door?" asked Sue.

"Yes, the back door opens easy."

"But has you got the branches from the evergreen tree cut so we can spread our blankets over them?" Sue wanted to know.

Bunny shook his head.

"I didn't dast do it," he said. "They might see me cutting 'em, and then they'd guess what we were going to do. We can each take two blankets off our beds, Sue, and that will make the ground soft enough. 'Sides, if we're going to be campers, and sleep in the woods, we mustn't mind a hard bed. Soldiers don't -- for daddy said so."

"Girls aren't soldiers!" said Sue. "But I'll come with you and we'll sleep on two blankets."

"To practice for when we go camping," added Bunny.

Sue nodded her head, and, with her doll, went up to bed in the room next to Bunny's.

"I just know those children are up to something," said Mother Brown, as she came down after tucking in Bunny and Sue. "I wish I knew what it was."

"Oh, I guess it isn't anything," laughed daddy.

Sue and her brother found it hard to keep awake. They had played hard all day, and that always makes children sleepy.

In fact, Bunny and Sue did fall asleep, but Bunny awakened sometime in the night, I suppose because he was thinking so much about going out into the tent.

The little fellow sat up in bed. A light was burning out in the hall, so he could see plainly enough. He remembered what he had promised to do -- wake up Sue by tickling her feet.

Softly he stole into her room, after putting on his bath robe. He dragged after him two blankets from his bed.

Reaching under the covers he gently tickled Sue's pink toes.

"What -- What's matter?" murmured Sue, sleepily.

"Hush!" whispered Bunny close to her ear. "Wake up, Sue! I don't want to tickle you any more, and make you sneeze. We're going to sleep out in the tent, you know."

Sue was soon wide awake. Softly she crawled out of bed, slipped on her bath robe, which was on a chair near her bed, and then, dragging two blankets after her, she and Bunny went softly down the stairs.

Carefully Bunny opened the door, and he and Sue went out on the side porch, and down across the lawn to where, in the moonlight, stood grandpa's tent.



Chapter IV

Splash Comes, Too


The camping tent, which had been put up by Daddy Brown, so it would be well dried out, stood wide open. Bunny and Sue, with their bed-blankets trailing after them, slipped in through the "front door."

Of course, there was not really a "front door" to a tent. There are just two pieces of canvas, called "flaps," that come together and make a sort of front door. Between these white flaps Bunny Brown and his sister Sue went, and they found themselves inside the tent.

"It -- it's awful dark, isn't it, Bunny?" whispered Sue, softly.

"Hush!" returned her brother. "We don't want them to see us. It will be light pretty soon, Sue."

"I -- I don't like it dark," she said.

"Shut your eyes and you won't see the dark," Bunny went on. His mother had often told him that when she wanted him to go to sleep in a dark room, or when only the hall light was dimly burning. So Bunny thought that would be a good thing to tell Sue. "Shut your eyes, and you won't see the dark," said Bunny Brown.

But, really, it was not very dark in the tent, after the two children had stood there awhile. The moon was brightly shining outside, and, as the tent was of white canvas, some of the light came through. So as Sue looked around she could begin to see things a little better now. There was not much to see. Just the ground, and a box or two in the tent. During the day Bunny and Sue had been playing with the boxes, and had left them in the tent.

"Come on, now," said Bunny. "We'll spread our blankets out on the ground, Sue, and go to sleep. Then we'll make believe we're camping out, just as we're going to do up at the lake."

As he spoke Bunny spread his two blankets out on the ground under the tent. He folded them so he could crawl in between the folds, and cover himself up, for it was rather chilly that spring night.

"I -- I want a pillow, Bunny," said Sue. "I want something to put my head on when I go to sleep."

"Hush!" cried Bunny in a whisper. "If you speak out loud that way, Sue, mother or daddy will hear us. Then they'll come and get us and make us sleep in our beds."

"Well -- well," answered Sue, and Bunny could tell by her voice that she was trying hard not to cry, "well, Bunny Brown, I -- I guess I'd better like sleepin' in my bed, than out here without no pillow. I want a pillow, an' it's dark an' cold, an' -- an' --  -- "

Sue was just ready to cry, but Bunny said:

"Oh, come on now, Sue! This is fun! You know we're making-believe camp out!"

"All right," Sue answered, after thinking it over a bit. "But can I -- can I sleep over by you, Bunny?"

"Yes. Put your blankets right down here by mine, and we'll both go to sleep. Won't daddy and mother be s'prised when they find we've camped out all night?"

"I -- I guess they will," Sue said. "It kinder s'prises me, too!"

Sue was dragging her blankets over toward the place when Bunny had his spread out on the ground, and she was just going to lie down, when the flaps of the tent were suddenly shoved to one side, and something came in.

"Oh! oh!" cried Sue, as she threw herself down in her blankets, and wrapped herself up in them, even covering her head. "Oh, Bunny! Bunny! What is it? What's after us?"

"I -- I don't know," said Bunny, and his voice trembled a little.

Then Sue raised her head and peeped out from under her blanket. She saw something standing in the front door of the tent, half way in, and half way out. The moon was still shining brightly, and Sue cried:

"Oh, Bunny! It's a bear! It's a bear!"

Just then there came a loud:

"Bow-wow-wow!"

Bunny and Sue both laughed then. Then were frightened no longer.

"Oh, it's our dog, Splash!" cried Sue. "It's only Splash!"

"Here, Splash!" called Bunny. Then with a joyous bark the dog sprang inside the tent, and snuggled close up to his two little play-mates.

"Now I isn't afraid," said Sue, as she put her arms around the big shaggy neck of her pet. "Now I isn't afraid any more. Splash can sleep with us; can't he, Bunny?"

"Yes, Sue. Now go to sleep. Isn't this fun?"

"Yes, it is when Splash is here," Sue said.

Though Bunny did not say so, he, too, was glad their dog had come to spend the rest of the night with them. Not that there was anything to be afraid of, oh, dear no! There were no bears, or wolves, or anything like that in Bellemere. There were big fish in the bay and in the ocean, but of course they never came up on land.

"And, even if they did," said Sue sleepily to Bunny when they were talking about this, as they lay close to the big dog in their blankets, "even if any fish did flop up, Bunny, Splash would catch them; wouldn't he?"

"Sure!" answered Bunny.

"You would; wouldn't you, Splash?" asked the little girl, her chubby arm around the dog's neck.

Splash whined softly, and rubbed his cold nose first against the warm cheek of Sue, and then against Bunny's. That was his way of kissing them, I think.

And so, strange as it may seem, Bunny and Sue went to sleep in the camping tent that night. They were well wrapped up in the warm blankets they had brought from their beds, and after the first few shivers they were not cold. And so they slept, and Splash slept with them. All this while Daddy Brown and Mother Brown knew nothing about their children having gone out in the night.

But Mother Brown soon found it out. I'll tell you about it.

About two o'clock every morning (when it was still quite dark, and when it was yet night, though you could call it morning), Mrs. Brown used to get up, and slip into the rooms of the children to see if they were covered up. For little folk often kick off the bed clothes in the night, and so get cold. Mother Brown did not want this to happen to Bunny and Sue.

This time, though, when Mother Brown went softly into Sue's room, to see if her little girl was all right, she did not find Sue in her bed.

"Why, this is queer," thought Mrs. Brown. "Where can Sue have gone? Perhaps she slipped out and went in with Bunny."

Sometimes Sue used to do this, when she would awaken and become a little frightened. But when Mother Brown went into Bunny's room Sue was not there, nor was Bunny. Mrs. Brown felt all over the bed, but there was not a sign of either of the children.

"Why -- why!" exclaimed Mother Brown. "What can have happened to them? Where can they be? Bunny! Sue!" she called, and she spoke out loudly now.

"What is it? What's the matter?" asked Daddy Brown, as he awakened on hearing his wife call. "What has happened?"

"Why, I can't find Bunny or Sue! They're not in their beds! I came in to cover them up, as I always do, but they're not here. Oh dear! I hope nothing has happened to them!"

"Of course nothing has happened!" said Daddy Brown. He sprang out of bed and lighted a light in Bunny's room. As he took one look at the tumbled bed, and saw that two of the blankets were gone, Mr. Brown laughed.

"What are you laughing at?" his wife asked him. "I don't see anything very funny to laugh at!"

"It's those children!" said Daddy Brown, "I know where they are!"

"Where?" cried Mother Brown, eagerly. "Where?"

"Out in the tent. They've taken their blankets and gone out there to sleep. They're playing camping out, I'm sure. We'll find them in the tent."

And, surely enough, as you well know, there they found Bunny Brown and his sister Sue, fast asleep on their blankets in the tent, with Splash sleeping between them.

Splash looked up and wagged his tail as Mr. and Mrs. Brown, wearing their bath robes and slippers, came softly into the little canvas house. Splash seemed to say:

"Hush! Don't wake up the children! They're sound asleep!"

And Bunny and Sue were sound asleep. Mr. and Mrs. Brown looked at one another, smiled, and then daddy picked up Bunny, blankets and all, while Mrs. Brown did the same with Sue.

"We'll put them right in their own beds, in the house, without waking them up," whispered Daddy Brown.

"Yes," nodded Mother Brown.

"What -- what's matter?" sleepily murmured Bunny as he felt himself being carried into the house. But that was all he said, and he did not even open his eyes.

Sue never said anything as her mother carried her. And as for Splash, once he saw that the children were being taken care of, he curled up in a corner of the tent, and went to sleep again.



Chapter V

Off To Camp


Bunny Brown opened his eyes, and sat up in bed. Then he blinked his eyes. Next he rubbed them. Then he looked all around the bed.

Yes, there was no doubt about it, he was in his own little room, with the pictures he so well knew hanging on the walls, with his toys on the box in the corner. It was his own room, and he had awakened in his own bed, and yet --  -- 

"Sue! Sue!" called Bunny in a whisper, looking toward the open door of the room in which his sister slept. "Sue, is you there!"

"Yes, Bunny, I'm here."

"And are you in your own bed?"

"Yes, I is."

Sometimes Bunny and Sue did not speak just right, as perhaps you have noticed.

"But, Sue -- Sue," Bunny went on, "didn't we go to sleep in the tent; or did we? Did I dream it?"

"I -- I don't know, Bunny," answered Sue. "I 'members about being in the tent. And Splash was there, too. But I'm in my bed now."

"So'm I, Sue. I -- I wonder how we got here?"

Bunny looked all around his room again, as if trying to solve the puzzle. But he could not guess what had happened. He remembered how he and Sue had gotten up in the middle of the night, and how they had crept inside the tent. Then Splash had come; and how funny it was when Sue thought their dog was a bear. Then they had all gone to sleep in the tent, and now --  -- 

Well, Bunny was certainly in his bed, and so was Sue in hers.

"How -- how did it happen?" asked Bunny.

He heard a laugh out in the hall. Running to the door he saw his father and mother standing there. Then Bunny understood.

"Oh, you carried us in from the tent when we were asleep; didn't you, Daddy?" asked Bunny, pointing a finger at his father.

"Yes, that's what I did."

"Oh, Bunny, what made you and Sue do a thing like that?" asked Mother Brown. "I was so frightened when I came in to cover you and Sue up, and couldn't find my little ones. What made you do it?"

"Why -- why," said Bunny slowly, "we wanted to get some practice at camping out, Sue and I did -- just like they practice piano lessons. So we went to sleep in the tent."

"Well, don't do it again until we really go camping," said Daddy Brown. "When we are in the woods, at Lake Wanda, you can sleep in the tent as much as you like, for then we'll have cot beds and everything right. Anyhow, I'm going to take down the tent to-day and get it ready to pack up for camp."

"When are we going?" asked Bunny.

"Oh, in about a week, I guess," answered his father.

"Then I'm going to pack up," declared the little boy. "I've got lots of things I want to take to camp."

"And so have I," called Sue, who had run out of her own room. "I'm going to take two of my best dolls, and all their clothes."

"You can take some of your toys and play-things but not too many," said Mrs. Brown. "You must remember that you'll be out in the woods a good part of the time, having fun among the trees, or perhaps on the lake. So you won't want too many home-toys."

"Are we going to have a boat on the lake?" asked Bunny eagerly.

"Yes, but you're not to go out in it alone. Bunker Blue is coming with us, and he will look after you on the water, and Uncle Tad will look after you in the woods -- that is when either daddy or myself is not with you children. Now you'd better get dressed for breakfast, and don't go out in the middle of the night any more and sleep in a tent."

"We won't," promised Bunny Brown and his sister Sue.

That week began the work of getting ready to go to camp. One of the first things Daddy Brown did was to get two other tents. One of these was to be the dining-room tent, where the table would be set for eating when in camp. Another tent, smaller than either of the two, would do to cook in.

Besides the tents they must take with them things to eat, knives, forks, spoons, dishes, pots and pans, an oil stove and bed clothing.

All these things Daddy Brown, or Mother Brown, with the help of Uncle Tad or Bunker Blue, packed. The big automobile, in which the Brown family had eaten and slept when on their trip to grandpa's farm, was once more made ready for a journey.

In this were packed the tents, the bedding, the stove, the good things to eat, and all that would be needed in camp. Of course, they could not take with them all they would want to eat through the summer, for they expected to stay in camp until fall. But there were stores not far from Lake Wanda, and in them could be bought bread, butter, sugar, tea, coffee, or whatever else was needed.

"Are we going to sleep in the automobile this time?" asked Bunny, as he looked inside the big moving van. "I don't see where we can make a bed," Bunny went on, for the van was quite filled with the tents, cot-beds, chairs, tables, the oil stove and other things.

"No, we're not going to sleep in the auto this time," said Mr. Brown. "It will only take us a day to get from here to Lake Wanda where we are going to camp. So we will get up here, in our own home in the morning, ride to camp, put up the tents, and that same night we will sleep in them."

"Oh, what fun it will be!" cried Sue, joyfully.

"It will be dandy!" exclaimed Bunny. "And I'll catch fish for our supper in the lake."

"I hope you won't catch them as you caught the turtle in the New York aquarium, the time we went to Aunt Lu's city home," said Mother Brown with a laugh.

"No, I won't catch any mud turtles," promised Bunny.

In the book before this one I've told you about Bunny catching the turtle on a bent pin hook with a piece of rag for bait. He had quite an exciting time.

Everyone at the Brown house was busy now. There was much to be done to get ready to go to camp. Bunny and Sue were each given a box, and told that this must hold all their toys and playthings.

"You may take with you only as much as your two boxes will hold," said Daddy Brown to Bunny and Sue. "So pick out the play-toys you like best, as the two boxes are all you may have. And when you get to camp I want you always, when you have finished playing, to put back in the boxes the toys you have finished with.

"In that way you will always know where they are, when you want them again, and you won't have to be looking for them, or asking your mother or me to help you find them. Besides, we must keep our camp looking nice, and a camp can't look nice if toys and play-things are scattered all about.

"So pick out the things you want to take with you, pack them in your boxes and, after you get to camp, keep your toys in the boxes. That is one of our rules."

"Aye, aye, sir!" answered Bunny making a funny little bob with his head as he had seen some of the old sailors, at his father's dock, do when they answered.

"I'm just going to take my dolls, and some picture books for them to look at," said Sue.

"Pooh! Dolls can't look at picture books!" exclaimed Bunny.

"Yes, they can too!" cried Sue.

"No, they can't!"

"Well, I mean make-believe, Bunny Brown!"

"Oh, well, yes; make-believe! I thought you meant real."

"Well, I can look at them real," said Sue, "and make believe I'm reading to my dolls."

"Oh, yes," agreed Bunny.

"What are you going to take?" asked Sue of her brother.

"Oh, I'm going to take my fish pole, and my pop gun --  -- "

"That only shoots a cork!" cried Sue. "You can't hit any bears with that."

"I can scare 'em with it when it pops!" cried Bunny. "That's all I want to do. I don't want to kill a bear, anyhow. I just want to scare 'em. And maybe when I scare a little bear I can grab it and bring it home and tame it."

"Oh, if you only could!" cried Sue. "Then we could make it do tricks, and we could get a hand-organ and go around with a trained bear instead of a monkey."

"Yes," said Bunny. "We could until the bear got too big. I guess I wouldn't want a big bear, Sue."

"No, little ones is the nicest. Maybe we'd better get a monkey, anyhow, 'cause they never grow big."

"I don't believe any monkeys grow in the woods where we're going to camp," observed Bunny. "But we'll look, anyhow, and maybe I can scare one of them with my pop gun."

Then the two children talked of what fun they would have in camp. They put things in their two boxes, took them out again and tried to crowd in more, for they found they did not want to leave any of their toys or play-things behind. But they could not get them all in two small boxes, so finally they picked out what they liked best, and these were put in the automobile.

Mr. and Mrs. Brown had done most of the other packing. The auto-moving van was quite full, there being just room enough for Mrs. Brown, Uncle Tad and the two children to ride in the back, while Daddy Brown and Bunker Blue sat on the front seat.

At last everything was ready. The last things had been put in the automobile, and tied fast. The children took their places, and called to Splash. Of course he was to go with them. He would run along the road, until he grew tired, and then he could ride in the automobile.

"All aboard!" called Bunker Blue as he sat at the steering wheel. "Is everybody ready?"

"I am!" answered Bunny Brown. "I've got my fishing pole, and I can dig some worms when I get to camp."

"Are you going to fish with worms?" asked Sue.

"Sure I am! Fishes love worms."

"I don't!" Sue said. "Worms is so squiggily." She always said that when Bunny spoke of worms.

"Well, I guess we're all ready," remarked Daddy Brown. "Start off, Bunker Blue."

"Chug-chug!" went the automobile.

"Bow-wow!" barked the dog Splash.

"Good-bye!" called Bunny and Sue to some of their little boy and girl friends who had gathered to wave farewell. "Good-bye! Good-bye!"

Then the big automobile rolled out into the road. The Browns were off to camp.



Chapter VI

Putting Up The Tents


"How long will it take us to get to Lake Wanda, Mother?" asked Bunny Brown, as, with Sue and Uncle Tad, he and his mother sat in the back of the big car that rumbled along the road.

"Oh, we ought to get there about noon," she answered.

"Just in time to eat," said Uncle Tad. "I suppose you children will be good and hungry, too."

"I'm hungry now," said Sue, "I wish I had a jam tart, Mother."

"So do I!" put in Bunny.

"I'll give you one in a few minutes," Mrs. Brown said. "We did have an early breakfast, and I suppose you are hungry now."

"Will we have to cook dinner as soon as we get to camp?" Bunny wanted to know.

"If we do I'll help," said Uncle Tad with a smile. "I can build a campfire. When I was a soldier, in the army, down South, we used to build campfires, and roast potatoes when we couldn't find anything else to eat."

"Did they taste good, Uncle Tad?" asked Sue.

"Indeed they did, little girl. And we had roast ears of corn, too. They were even better than the potatoes."

"I guess we'll have to make Uncle Tad the camp cook," said Mother Brown with a smile, as she brought out a basket of lunch for Bunny and Sue. In the basket were some cakes, sandwiches and a few of the jam and jelly tarts that Aunt Lu used to make. Only, as Aunt Lu had gone back to her city home, Mrs. Brown had learned to make the tarts, and Bunny and Sue were very fond of them.

As they rode along in the big automobile the children ate the little lunch, and enjoyed it very much. Uncle Tad took some too, for he had gotten up early, with the others, and he was hungry.

"I wonder if Daddy and Bunker Blue wouldn't like a tart," murmured Sue, after a bit, as she picked up the last crumbs of hers.

"Perhaps they would," said Mother Brown. "But they are away up on the front seat, and I don't see how we can pass them any. There is too much in the auto, or I could hand it to them out of the little window back of the seat. But I can't reach the window."

"I know how we could pass them a tart," said Bunny.

"How?" asked his mother.

"Climb up on the roof of the auto, and lower the lunch basket down to them with a string."

"Bunny Brown! Don't you dare think of such a thing!" cried his mother. "The idea of climbing onto the roof of this big automobile when it's moving!"

"Oh, I didn't mean when it was moving," Bunny said. "I wouldn't do that, for fear I'd be jiggled off. I meant to wait until we stopped. Then I could get up on the roof."

"No need to do that," said Uncle Tad. "For when we stop, then one of you can get down, and run up ahead with something for daddy and Bunker Blue."

And, a little later, the automobile did stop.

"What's the matter?" called Mrs. Brown to her husband, who was up on the front seat. "Did anything happen?"

"No, only the automobile needs a drink of water," answered Mr. Brown. I have told you how automobiles need water, as much as horses do, or as you do, when you get warm. Of course the automobile does not exactly drink the water. But some must be poured in, from time to time, to keep the engine cool. And this was why Bunker Blue stopped the automobile now.

While he was pouring water in, dipping it up with a pail from a cold spring beside the road, Bunny and Sue got out and took their father and the red-haired boy some jam and jelly tarts, and also some sandwiches.

"My! This is fine!" cried Mr. Brown, as he ate the good things Sue handed him. "I'm glad we're going camping; aren't you, children?"

"Oh, I should say we were glad!" cried Bunny, as he took a drink from the spring. There was half a brown cocoanut shell for a dipper, and Bunny thought he had never drunk such cool, sweet water.

Then, when Bunker Blue had eaten his sandwiches and tarts, they started off once more, rumbling along the country roads toward Lake Wanda.

"I wish we'd hurry up and get there," said Sue. "I want to see what camping is like."

"Oh, we'll soon be there," promised Daddy Brown, "and there'll be work enough for all of us. We'll have three tents to put up, and many other things to do."

On and on went the big automobile. Splash ran along the road, some time at the side of the car, sometimes behind it, and, once in a while, away up ahead, as if he were looking to see that the road was safe.

After a bit the dog came back to the automobile, and walked along so slowly, with his red tongue hanging out, that Sue said:

"Oh, poor Splash must be tired! Let's give him a ride, Mother!"

"All right. Call him up here."

"Come on, Splash!" called Bunny and Sue, for they each owned half the dog. They had pretended to divide him down the middle, so each one might have part of the wagging tail, and part of the barking head. It was more fun owning a dog that way.

Up jumped Splash into the back of the auto-moving van. He stretched out on a roll of carpet that was to be spread over the board floor of the big tent, and went to sleep. But first Bunny had given him some sweet crackers to eat. Splash was very fond of these crackers.

The automobile was going down hill now, and when it reached the bottom it came to a stop again.

"What's the matter now?" asked Mother Brown. "Does the auto want another drink?"

"No, not just now," answered daddy. "Something has happened this time."

"Oh, I hope nothing is broken!" said Mrs. Brown.

"Not with us," answered her husband. "But there is an automobile just ahead of us that seems to be in trouble. They are stuck in the mud, I think."

Bunny Brown and his sister Sue, their mother, Uncle Tad and even Splash got out to see what the matter was. I don't really believe Splash cared what had happened, but he always went where Bunny and Sue went, and when he saw them go this time he went with them.

Walking up toward the front part of the big automobile, where Bunker Blue and Daddy Brown sat, Mrs. Brown, Uncle Tad and the children saw, just ahead, a small automobile, off to one side of the road. The wheels were away down in the soft mud, and a man at the steering wheel was trying to make the car move up onto the hard road, but he could not do it.

"You seem to be in trouble," said Daddy Brown. There were two ladies out on the road, watching the man trying to start the car.

"I am in trouble," said the man down in the mud. "I turned off the road to pass a hay wagon, but I did not think the mud was so soft down here, or I never would have done it. Now I am stuck and I can't seem to get out."

"Perhaps I can help you," said Daddy Brown. "I have a very strong automobile here. I'll go on ahead, keeping to the road, and I'll tie a rope to your car, and fasten the other end to mine. Then I'll pull you out of the mud."

"I'd be very thankful to you if you would."

"Yes, we'd be ever so much obliged," echoed the two ladies, whose shoes were all muddy from having jumped out of the automobile down into the ditch.

It did not take Daddy Brown and Bunker Blue long to fasten a rope from their automobile to the one stuck in the mud. Then when the big auto-moving van, in which the Browns were going to camp, started off down the road, it pulled the small car from the mud as easily as anything.

"Thank you, very much," said the man when he saw that he and the ladies could go on again. "The next time I get behind a hay wagon I'll wait until I have room to turn out, without getting into a mud hole. I'm very much obliged to you, Mr. Brown, and if ever you get stuck in the mud I hope I can pull you out."

"I'm afraid you couldn't do it with your small car, when my auto is such a large one." Mr. Brown answered, "but thank you just the same."

Then the man in his small automobile, rode off with the two women, and, a little later, the Browns were once more on their way.

It was a little before noon when they came in sight of a big lake, which they could see through the trees. It was not far from the road.

"Oh, what lake is that?" asked Mrs. Brown.

"That is Lake Wanda, where we are going to camp," said Mr. Brown. "We'll turn in toward it, pretty soon, and begin putting up the tents."

"You said we'd have dinner first!" cried Bunny Brown.

"Are you hungry again?" asked his mother.

"I guess riding and being out in the air make them hungry," said Uncle Tad. "Well, children must eat to grow big and strong."

"Then Bunny and Sue ought to be regular giants!" laughed Mrs. Brown, "for they are eating all the while."

A little later the big automobile turned off the main road into a smaller one, that led to the lake. And when the children and Mrs. Brown had a good view of the large sheet of water they thought it one of the most beautiful they had ever seen.

The lake was deep blue in color, and all around it were hills, and little mountains, with many trees on them. The trees were covered with beautiful, green leaves.

"Oh, this is a lovely place," cried Mother Brown. "Just lovely!"

"I'm glad you like it," said her husband.

"I like it, too," echoed Bunny.

"So do I," added Sue.

"Well, shall we begin putting up the tents?" asked Mr. Brown. "It will be night almost before you know it here. You see the hills are so high that the sun seems to go to bed sooner here than he does at home."

"Oh, let's rest awhile before we do anything," said Mother Brown. "Just rest awhile and look at the lake."

"Hurrah!" suddenly cried Daddy Brown. "That's it! I've been trying to think what to call it, but you've done it for me. That's just what we'll call it! There couldn't be a better name!"

"Why, what are you talking about?" asked Mrs. Brown, in surprise.

"The name of our camp," explained Daddy Brown, laughing. "I have been trying, ever since we started, to think of a good name for it. 'Rest-a-While,' will be the very thing. That's just what you said a moment ago you know. 'Let's rest awhile and look at the lake.' So we will call this Camp Rest-a-While! Isn't that a good name?"

"Why, yes, it does sound very nice," said Mother Brown. "Camp Rest-a-While! That's what we'll call it then, though I didn't know I was naming a camp. Well, children -- Uncle Tad -- Bunker -- and all of us -- Welcome to Camp Rest-a-While!"

"Hurrah!" cried Bunny and Sue, clapping their hands.

And so the camp was named.

Mrs. Brown set out a little lunch, and they gathered about one of the boxes, in which the bed clothes were packed, to eat. The box was set on the ground, under a big chestnut tree.

"Where are you going to put up the tents?" asked Mother Brown.

"Right where we are now," said Daddy Brown. "I think we could not find a nicer spot. Here is a good place for our boat, when we get it. It is nice and dry here, and we can see all over the lake. Yes, this is where we will put up the tents for Camp Rest-a-While."

And, after they had all eaten lunch, including Splash, who was as hungry as Bunny or Sue, the work of putting up the tents was begun. The canvas houses were unrolled, and spread out on the ground. Then Daddy Brown, with Bunker Blue and Uncle Tad to help, put up the tent poles, and spread the canvas over them. By pulling on certain ropes, raising the poles, and then tying the poles fast so they would not fall over, the tents were put up.

There was the big one, that could be made into two or even three rooms, for them all to sleep in, Bunny, Daddy Brown, Uncle Tad and Bunker Blue in one part, and Mother Brown and Sue in the other, with a third part for company.

The big tent was almost up. Only one more rope needed to be made fast. Bunker Blue was pulling on this when Bunny and Sue, who were helping, heard Splash give a sudden bark. Then the dog jumped into the lake, and the children, looking, saw a great commotion going on in the water near shore. Splash seemed either to have caught something, or to have been caught himself. He was barking, howling and whining.

"Oh, a big fish has caught Splash! A big fish has caught our dog!" cried Sue, and, dropping the tent rope, of which she had hold, down to the edge of the lake she ran.



Chapter VII

A Big Black Bear


Something certainly seemed to be the matter with Splash. Bunny and Sue had never seen their dog act in such a funny way. He would dash into the water, not going far from shore, though, and then he would jump back, barking all the while.

Once or twice he tried to grab, in his sharp teeth, something that seemed to be swimming in the water. But either Splash could not get it, or he was afraid to come too close to it.

"Oh, Daddy! What is it? What is it?" asked Bunny and Sue.

Mr. Brown, who with Bunker Blue and Uncle Tad, was fastening the last ropes of the tent, hurried down to the shore of the lake.

"What is it? What's the matter, Splash? What is it?" asked Mr. Brown.

Splash never turned around to look at daddy. He again rushed into the water, barking and snapping his sharp teeth. Then Mr. Brown, taking up a stick, ran toward the dog.

"Let it alone, Splash! Let it alone!" cried Daddy Brown. "That's a big muskrat, and if it bites you it will make a bad sore. Let it alone!"

Daddy Brown struck at something in the water, and Bunny and Sue, running down to the edge of the lake, saw a large, brown animal, with long hair, swimming out toward the middle. Splash started to follow but Mr. Brown caught the dog by the collar.

"No you don't!" cried Bunny's father, "You let that muskrat alone, Splash. He's so big, and such a good swimmer, that he might pull you under the water and drown you. Let him alone."

Bunker Blue, who had come down to the edge of the lake, threw a stone at the swimming muskrat. The queer animal at once made a dive and went under the water, for muskrats can swim under the water as well as on top, and Bunny and Sue saw it no more.

Splash rushed around, up and down the shore, barking loudly, but he did not try to swim out. I think he knew Mr. Brown was right in what he said -- that it was not good to be bitten by a muskrat.

"Is that what it was, Daddy -- a rat?" asked Bunny.

"Yes," answered his father. "Splash must have seen the muskrat swimming in the water, and tried to get it. The muskrat didn't want to be caught, so it fought back. But I'm glad it got away without being hurt, and I'm glad Splash wasn't bitten."

"What's a muskrat?" Sue wanted to know.

"Well, it's a big rat that lives in the water," said Daddy Brown. "It is much larger than the kind of rat that is around houses and barns, and it has fine, soft fur which trappers sell, to make fur-lined overcoats, and cloaks, for men and women. The fur is very good, and some persons say the muskrat is good to eat, but I would not like to try eating it. But this muskrat was a big one, and as they have sharp teeth, and can bite hard when they are angry, it is a good thing we drove it away."

Bunny and Sue looked out over the lake. They could see the muskrat no longer, though there was a little ripple in the water where it had dived down to get away.

"Now we must finish putting up the tents," said Daddy Brown. "It will be night before we know it, and we want a good place to sleep in at Camp Rest-a-While."

"And are we going to have a fire, where we can cook something?" asked Bunny.

"Yes, we'll have the oil stove set up."

"I thought we would have a campfire," said the little boy.

"So we shall!" exclaimed Uncle Tad. "I'll make a campfire for you, children, and we'll bake some potatoes in it. We'll have them for supper, with whatever else mother cooks on the oil stove."

"I'll get some sticks of wood for the fire!" cried Sue.

"So will I!" added Bunny.

And while the older folk were finishing putting up the tents, and while Mother Brown was getting out the bed clothes, Bunny and Sue made a pile of sticks and twigs for the fire their uncle had promised to make.

Soon the big sleeping tent was put up, and divided into two parts, one for Sue and her mother, and the other for Bunny and the men folk. Cot-beds were put up in the tent, and blankets, sheets and pillows put on them, so the tent was really like a big bedroom.

"It will be nicer sleeping here than on the ground, like we did in the tent at home that night," said Bunny to Sue.

"Yes, I guess it will," she answered. "My dollie won't catch cold in a nice bed."

"Did she catch cold before?" Bunny wanted to know.

"Well, she had the sniffle-snuffles, and that's almost like a cold," Sue answered.

In the second-sized tent the dining table had been set up, and the chairs put around ready for the first meal, which would be supper. Mother Brown got the dishes out of the box, and called:

"Now, Bunny and Sue, let me see you set the table."

She had taught them at home how to put on the plates, knives, forks, spoons, cups, saucers and whatever was needed, and now Bunny and Sue did this, as their share of the work, while Bunker Blue, and the older folk, were busy doing different things.

In the cooking tent the oil stove was set up and lighted, to make sure it burned well. Then Camp Rest-a-While looked just like its name -- a place where boys and girls, as well as men and women could come and have a nice rest, near the beautiful lake.

When everything was nearly finished, and it was about time to start getting supper, a man came rowing along the shore of the lake in a boat. He called to Mr. Brown:

"Hey, there! Is this where you want your boat left?"

"Yes, thank you. Tie it right there," answered Daddy Brown.

"Oh, is that going to be our boat?" asked Bunny, in delight.

"Yes," answered his father, "I wrote to a man up here that has boats to let, to bring us a nice one. We'll use it while we are in camp. But you children must never get in the boat without asking me, or your mother. You mustn't get in even when it's tied to the shore."

"We won't!" promised Bunny and Sue. Once they had gotten in a boat that they thought was tied fast, but it had floated away with them. They landed on an island in the river, and had some adventures, of which I have told you in the first book of this series.

Bunny and Sue remembered this, so they knew that sometimes it was not even safe to get in a boat which was tied fast, unless some older person was with them.

The man left the boat he had brought for Mr. Brown. It was a large one and would easily hold Bunny and Sue, as well as all the others at Camp Rest-a-While.

"Now for the roast potatoes!" cried Uncle Tad. "Come on, children! We'll start our campfire, for I see your mother getting the meat ready to cook, and it takes quite a while to roast potatoes out of doors."

The campfire was built between two big stones, Bunny and Sue bringing up the wood they had gathered. Uncle Tad lighted the fire, for it is not safe for children to handle matches, or even be near an open fire, unless some older person is with them. Bunny and Sue had often been told this, so they were very careful.

When the fire had blazed up good and hot, Uncle Tad let it cool down a bit. Then he raked away the red hot embers and put in them some nice, big, round potatoes. These he covered up in the hot ashes, and put on more wood.

"Now the potatoes are baking," he said. "They will be done in time for supper."

And what a fine supper it was -- that first one in camp! Bunny and Sue thought they had never tasted anything so good. They all sat in the dining tent, and Mother Brown put the things on the table.

"Now where are your potatoes, Uncle Tad?" she asked.

"Here they are!" cried the old soldier, as he went to the campfire. He raked away the ashes and embers with a stick, and on a platter, made from a large piece of bark, off a tree, the old soldier poked out a number of round, black, smoking things.

"Why -- why!" exclaimed Sue, in surprise. "I thought you baked potatoes, Uncle Tad!"

"So I did, Sue."

"They look like black stones," said Bunny.

"You wait -- I'll show you," laughed Uncle Tad. He brought the bark platter to the table. Taking up a fork he opened one of the round, black, smoking things. Though the outside was burned black from the fire, the inside was almost as white as snow.

"There's baked potatoes for you!" cried Uncle Tad. "Put some salt and butter on them, and you never tasted anything better! But be careful -- for they're very hot!"

Supper over, the dishes were washed and put away. Then there was nothing to do but wait until it was time to go to bed.

"And I think we're all tired enough to go early to-night," said Mother Brown.

"But, before we go," said her husband, "I think we will have a little row on the lake in our boat. It is not yet dark."

It was beautiful out on the water, and the sun, sinking down behind the hills, made the clouds look as though they were colored blue, pink, purple and golden.

Bunny and Sue were almost asleep when the boat was headed back toward shore, and their eyes were tight shut, when daddy and mother lifted them out to carry them up to Camp Rest-a-While. The children hardly awakened when they were undressed and put to bed, and soon every one was sound asleep, for it was a dark night.

Bunny Brown was sleeping in the outer part of the bedroom-tent, in a cot next to his father's. Just what made Bunny awaken he did not know. But, all at once the little fellow sat up on his cot, and looked with wide-open eyes toward the entrance. There was a lantern burning in the tent, and by the light of it Bunny Brown saw a big shaggy animal, standing on its hind legs, and sniffing with its black nose. At first Bunny could not make a sound, he was so frightened, but finally he screamed:

"Oh, Daddy! Daddy! Wake up! It's a bear! A bear! A big black bear in the tent!"

Then Bunny slipped down between the blankets and covered up his head with the bed clothes.



Chapter VIII

The Ragged Boy


Daddy Brown was used to being suddenly aroused in the night by either Bunny or Sue. At home the children often awakened, and called out. Sometimes they would be dreaming, or perhaps they would want a drink of water. So Daddy Brown and Mrs. Brown Were used to answering when they heard the children call out.

But it was something new to hear Bunny calling about a big, black bear. He had never done that before, though one time, when he ate too much bread and jam for supper, he screamed that there was an elephant in his room, and there wasn't at all. He had only dreamed it.

But this time Daddy Brown had plainly heard his little boy say:

"Oh, it's a bear! It's a bear!"

Mr. Brown awakened, and sat up in his cot. He looked over toward Bunny's bed, but could see nothing of the little fellow, for as I have told you, Bunny was covered up under the blankets and quilt. Even his head was covered.

Then Mr. Brown looked toward the entrance, or front door of the tent. And, to his surprise, he saw just what Bunny had seen, a big, shaggy, hairy animal, standing on its hind legs, with its black nose up in the air, sniffing and snuffing.

"Why -- why!" exclaimed Mr. Brown, rubbing his eyes to make sure that he was wide awake, and that he was not dreaming, as he thought Bunny might have been. "Why -- why! It is a bear!"

"Sniff! Snuff!" went the big, shaggy creature.

"Daddy -- Daddy!" cried Bunny, his voice sounding faint and far off, because his head was under the covers. "Daddy, is -- is he gone?"

"No, not yet," answered Mr. Brown.

"What is it? What's the matter?" called Mrs. Brown, from behind the curtain, where she slept.

"Why," said Mr. Brown slowly. "It -- it seems to be a --  -- "

Then he stopped. He did not want to scare his wife or Sue, by telling them there was a bear in the tent, and yet there was.

"Oh, what is it?" cried Mrs. Brown again. "I heard Bunny crying! Is anything the matter with him?"

"No, he's all right," answered Bunny's papa. That was true enough. There was really nothing the matter with the little boy. He was just a bit frightened, that was all.

"But something is the matter," said Mrs. Brown, "I know there is! Why don't you tell me what it is?"

Daddy Brown did not know just what to do. He sat up in bed, thinking and looking first at the bear and then at Bunny. All Mr. Brown could see of Bunny was a heap under the bedclothes. But the bear was in plain sight, standing in the doorway of the tent, sniffing and snuffing near the lighted lantern.

Mr. Brown did not want to speak about the bear. He thought the big, shaggy creature looked quite gentle, and perhaps it would go away if no one harmed it. Perhaps it was just looking for something to eat, and as it couldn't find anything in the bedroom tent it might go to the one where the cooking was done.

Bunker Blue was still sound asleep, and so was Uncle Tad. Nor had Sue, sleeping next to her mother, in the other part of the tent, been awakened. Just Bunny Brown, and his father and mother were wide awake. Oh, yes, of course the bear was not asleep. I forgot about that. His little black eyes blinked, and opened and shut, and he wrinkled up his rubber-like nose as he sniffed the air.

"Well, aren't you going to tell me what it is? What's the matter in there? What happened?" asked Mother Brown. "If you don't tell me --  -- "

By this time Bunny Brown made up his mind that he would be brave. He uncovered one eye and peered out from beneath the bed clothes. His first sight was of the bear, who was still there.

"Oh! Oh!" cried Bunny. "It is a bear! It's a big, black bear! I didn't dream it! It's real! a real, big, black bear!"

Mrs. Brown heard what her little boy said.

"Oh, Walter!" she cried to her husband. "Throw something at it. Here's my shoe -- throw that. I've got two shoes, but I can only find one. Throw that at the bear and make him go away!"

Mrs. Brown threw over the curtain, that divided the tent into two parts, one of her shoes.

She really had two shoes, but when she felt under her cot in the dark, she could only find one. You know how it is when you try to find anything in the dark, even if it's a drink of water in the chair at the head of our bed. You move your hand all over, and you think some one must have come in and taken the water away. And when you get a light you find that, all the while, your hand was about an inch away from the glass. It was that way with Mrs. Brown's other shoe.

But she threw one over the curtain, calling out again:

"Hit him with that, Walter! Hit the bear with my shoe!"

But there was no need for Mr. Brown to do anything. The shoe thrown by Bunny's mother sailed through the tent. Straight at the bear it went, and before the shaggy creature could get out of the way, the shoe hit him on the end of the nose.

"Bunk!" went the shoe.

"Wuff!" grunted the bear.

Now you know a bear's nose is his most tender part. You could hit him on his head, or on his back, or on his paw -- that is if you were brave enough to hit a bear at all -- but you would not hurt him, hardly any, unless you hit him right on the end of his soft and tender nose. That's the best place to hit a bear if you want to drive him away, out of your tent, or anything like that. Hit him on the nose.

"Whack!" went Mrs. Brown's shoe on the end of the bear's nose.

"Wuff!" grunted the bear, and down he dropped on all four paws.

Now Mrs. Brown really did not mean to hit the bear. She was just tossing her shoe over the curtain so her husband might have something to throw at the bear, and, as it happened, she hit the bear by accident.

Of course it might have been better if one of Mr. Brown's shoes had hit the bear. I mean it would have been better for the Brown family, but worse for the bear. Because Mr. Brown's shoes were larger and heavier than his wife's. But then, it turned out all right anyhow.

For, no sooner did the bear feel Mrs. Brown's shoe hit him on the nose, than he cried out:

"Wuff!"

Then he turned quickly around, and ran out of the tent.

"Did you throw my shoe at him? Did you make him go away?" asked Mrs. Brown. "Because if you didn't, Walter, I've found my other shoe now, and I'll throw that to you."

"You won't need to, my dear," said Mr. Brown with a laugh. "One shoe was enough. You hit the bear yourself!"

"I did?"

"Yes, and he's gone. It's all right, Bunny. You can put your head out now. The bear is gone."

Bunny peeped with one eye, and when he saw that the big, shaggy creature was no longer there, he put his whole head out. Then, with a bound he jumped out of bed, and ran toward the back part of the tent, where his mother and sister were sleeping.

"Where you going, Bunny?" asked his father. "There's no more danger; the bear has gone."

"I -- I'm just going in here to get my pop gun, so if the bear comes back --  -- " Bunny said, "My pop gun is in here."

"Oh," said Mr. Brown, "I thought you were going to crawl in bed with your mother."

"Oh, no -- no!" Bunny quickly answered, shaking his head. "I -- I just want my pop gun. But," he went on, "if mother wants me to get in bed with her, and keep the bear away, why I will. Don't be afraid. I'll get in bed with you, Mother!"

"Oh, I guess the bear won't come back," said Mr. Brown with a laugh.

"Well, I'll get in bed with mother anyhow," said Bunny. "I'll have my pop gun all ready."

By this time Uncle Tad, Bunker Blue and Sue had been awakened by the talk. Outside the tent Splash could be heard barking, and there was a noise among the trees and bushes that told that the bear was running away.

"I -- I hope he doesn't bite our dog," said Bunny.

"Oh, I guess Splash will know enough to keep away from the bear," replied Mr. Brown. "Besides, I think the bear was only a tame one, anyhow."

"A tame bear?" asked Uncle Tad, as he was told all that had happened.

"Yes. He didn't act at all like a wild one. Besides, there aren't any wild bears in this part of the country. This was a tame one all right."

"Where did it come from?" asked Mrs. Brown.

"Oh, I think it got away from some man who goes about the country making the bear do tricks. Probably in the morning we'll see the man looking for his bear," answered her husband.

And that is just what happened. There was no more trouble that night. Everyone went to sleep again, Bunny in the cot with his mother; though when he was asleep and slumbering soundly, she carried him back to his own little bed near his father.

Soon after breakfast the next morning, when they were talking about the bear scare in the night, along came a man, who looked like an Italian organ-grinder. He said he had a pet, tame bear, who had broken away from where he was tied, in the night.

And it was this bear who had wandered into the tent where Bunny was sleeping. Where the bear was now no one knew, but the Italian said he would walk off through the woods, and see if he could not find his pet, which he had trained to do many tricks.

Two or three days later, Mr. Brown heard that the bear was safely found, so there was no more need to worry about his coming into the tent at night.

That day Daddy Brown, with the help of Uncle Tad and Bunker Blue printed a big cloth sign which they hung up between two trees. The sign read:

Camp Rest-A-While

"There," said Daddy Brown, "now the postman will know where to find us when he comes with letters."

"Oh, do they have mail up here?" asked Sue.

"No, daddy is only joking," said her mother. "I guess we'll have to go to the post office for letters."

One day, when they had been in camp about a week, Bunny and Sue, with the others, returned from a walk in the woods. As they came near the "dining-room tent," as they called it, they saw a ragged boy spring up from the table with some pieces of bread and meat, and dash into the bushes.

"Hold on there! Who are you? What do you want?" cried Daddy Brown. But the ragged boy did not stop running. He wanted to hide in the bushes.



Chapter IX

Tom Hears A Noise


Bunny Brown and his sister Sue, with their father, mother, Uncle Tad and Bunker Blue, hurried on toward the tent under which was set the dining table. They could see where the ragged boy had made a meal for himself, taking the bread and meat from the ice box. For a refrigerator had been brought to camp, and the iceman came on a boat, once a day, to leave ice.

"Who is he?" asked Bunny Brown, looking toward the bushes behind which the strange boy had run.

"What did he want?" Sue asked.

"I can answer you, Sue, but I can't answer Bunny," said Mr. Brown. "That boy was hungry, and wanted something to eat, but who he is I don't know."

"Poor little chap," said Mrs. Brown in a kind voice. "He didn't need to run away just because he wanted something to eat. I would be glad to give him all he wanted. I wouldn't see anyone go hungry."

"He looked like a tramp," said Bunker.

"But he was only a boy," remarked Uncle Tad.

"I wish he hadn't run away," said Mother Brown. "I don't believe he got half enough to eat. He took only a little." She could tell that by looking in the ice box.

By this time Splash, the big dog, who had not come up with the others, now rushed into camp. He sniffed around, and then, all of a sudden, he made a dash for a clump of bushes, and, standing in front of it began barking loudly.

"Oh, maybe the bear's come back and is hiding in there!" cried Bunny.

"More likely it's that ragged boy," said Uncle Tad. "That's where he made a rush for as soon as we came up."

Splash seemed about to go into the bushes himself, and drive, or drag, out whatever was hiding there.

But Mr. Brown called:

"Here, Splash! Come here, sir!"

The dog came back and then Bunny's father, going over to the bushes, looked down among them.

"You'd better come out," he said, to someone. The children could not see who it was. "Come on out," said Mr. Brown, "we won't hurt you."

Out of the bushes came the ragged boy. In his hand he still had some of the bread and meat he had taken from the ice box.

Bunny and Sue looked at him.

The boy's clothes were very ragged, but they seemed to be clean. He had on no shoes or stockings, but one foot was wrapped up in a rag, as though he had cut himself. He limped a little, too, as he came forward.

"I -- I couldn't run very fast with my sore foot, or I'd a' got away from you," he said slowly.

"But why should you want to get away?" asked Mr. Brown.

"Well, I took some of your stuff -- I was hungry and I went through the ice box -- and I s'posed you'd be looking for a policeman to have me arrested. That's why I ran. But I couldn't go very far, so I hid in the bushes. I thought I could get away when you weren't looking. Here's your stuff," and he held out to Mrs. Brown what was left of the bread and meat. Bunny and Sue thought the ragged boy looked hungrily at the food as he offered to give it back.

"You poor boy!" said Mrs. Brown, "I don't want it! You're welcome to that and more, if you need it. You must be hungry!"

"I am, lady. I haven't had anything since morning. I started to go back to the city, but it's farther than I thought, and I lost my way. When I struck this camp, I saw the sign -- 'Rest-a-While,' so I sat down to rest. Then I saw the ice box, and I was hungry, and -- and I -- well, I just helped myself."

His face was sunburned, so it could not be told whether he was blushing or not, but he hung his head as if ashamed of what he had done. He still held out the meat to Mrs. Brown.

Splash, who, now that he knew the boy was a friend of the family, did not bark any more, slid gently up, and began nibbling at the meat and bread in the boy's hand.

"Oh, look at Splash!" laughed Sue.

"Here, Splash! That isn't for you!" cried Mr. Brown. "But you might as well give it to him now, now that he's had his tongue on it," said Mr. Brown to the ragged boy. "We'll give you some more."

"Yes, sit right up to the table," said Mrs. Brown. "I'll get you a good meal."

The boy's eyes filled with tears, and he turned his head away so they would not be seen.

"Where did you come from?" asked Daddy Brown, as Mrs. Brown was setting out some food.

"I come from Benton," the boy answered, naming a city about twenty miles away. "I've lived there all my life until about a week ago, and I wish I was back there now."

"How did you come to leave?"

"Well, all my folks died, and I couldn't make much of a living selling papers, running errands and blacking shoes, so when a farmer down in the city market, said he wanted a boy on his farm, I said I'd come and work for him.

"I rode out on his wagon, after he had sold all his stuff one day, and I came to a place called Fayetteville."

"Yes, I know where that is," said Mr. Brown. "It's on the other side of the lake."

"I went to work for the farmer," said the ragged boy, who gave his name as Tom Vine, "but it was worse than being in the city. I never had a minute's rest and I didn't get enough to eat. I wasn't used to working out in the hot sun, and my legs and arms seemed as if they'd burn off me."

"Yes, I can see you're pretty well burned," said Mr. Brown. "Then you ran away?"

"Yes, sir. I couldn't stand it any longer. The farmer and his hired man used to whip me if I made a mistake, or if I didn't get up early enough. And they used to get up before daylight. So I made up my mind to run away, and go back to the city.

"I used to think the country was nice," the ragged boy went on, "but I don't any more. I don't mind working, but I don't want to be starved and whipped all the while. So I ran off, but I guess I got lost, for I can't find the way back to the city. I don't know what to do. When I got here, and saw that sign about resting, I thought that was what I needed. So I came in."

"And I'm glad you did," said Mrs. Brown. "Now you eat this and you'll feel better. Then I'll look at your sore foot, and we'll see what to do with you."

"You -- you won't have me arrested; will you?" asked the boy.

"No, indeed!" said Mr. Brown.

"And you -- you won't send me back to that farmer?"

"No, I think not. He has no right to make you work for him if you don't want to. Don't be afraid," said Bunny's father. "We'll look after you."

A little later the ragged boy had eaten a good meal. Then he was given some of Bunker Blue's old clothes, for he was almost as large as the red-haired boy, and the old clothes were thrown away.

Mr. Brown looked at the boy's sore foot, and found that there was a big sharp thorn in one toe. When this thorn had been taken out, and the toe bound up with salve, the ragged boy said he felt much better. Perhaps I shouldn't call him a ragged boy any longer, for he was not, with Bunker's clothes on.

"Mother, is he going to stay with us?" asked Bunny that evening when it was nearly supper time, and the new boy -- Tom Vine -- had gone after a pail of water at the spring.

"Would you care to have him stay?" asked Mrs. Brown.

"Yes," said Sue. "He's nice. I like him."

"Well, we'll keep him for a while," answered Mrs. Brown. "He needs help, I think."

Tom Vine told more of his story after supper. He had never been away from the city's pavements in all his life before he went out to the country with the farmer who hired him. He had never seen the ocean, or the woods. He did not even know that cows gave milk until he saw the farmer's hired man milking one day.

"I just don't know anything about the woods or the country," the boy said to Bunny and Sue, "so you can fool me all you like."

"Oh, we won't fool you," said Bunny kindly. "We'll tell you all we know."

"Thanks," said Tom Vine.

He had offered to travel on, after supper, and try to get back to the city.

"I don't want to be a trouble to you folks," he said to Mrs. Brown. "In the city I know some fellows, and they'll lend me money enough to buy some papers, and start in business."

"You had better stay with us awhile," said Mrs. Brown. "We have enough room for you, and you can help about camp."

"I can wash and dry dishes!" cried Tom eagerly. "I worked in a restaurant for a week once, and I know how to handle dishes."

"Then we can give you plenty of work," said Mrs. Brown, with a laugh. "For if there is one thing, in camp or at home, that I don't like it is washing dishes."

"I'll do them for you!" cried Tom, "and I'll be glad of the chance, too!"

"All right then. You'll be the head dishwasher of Camp Rest-a-While," said Mr. Brown, smiling.

And that is how Tom Vine came to stay with the Browns while they lived in the woods near Lake Wanda.

Tom, indeed, knew very little about the country. As he said, he had never been away from the city pavements, winter or summer, in all his life before. The first night in camp, when he was sleeping next to Bunker Blue, in a little part of the tent that had been curtained off for them, Tom awakened Bunker, by reaching over and punching him in the ribs.

"Hey, listen to that!" cried Tom.

"To what?" asked Bunker, only half awake.

"Somebody is outside the tent, calling: 'Who? Who? Who?'" said Tom. "I didn't do anything, did you? What do they holler 'who' for?"

Bunker listened. Surely enough he heard very plainly:

"Who? Who? Too-who?"

"Hear it?" asked Tom.

"Yes, it's only an owl," Bunker answered. "There's lots of 'em in these woods."

"What's an owl?" Tom wanted to know.

"Oh, it's a bird with big eyes, and it can only see at night. It comes out to get mice and bugs. Owls won't hurt you. Go on to sleep."

Tom did not go to sleep at once. But he was no longer afraid of the owl.

Tom was just going to sleep once more, when he heard another funny noise. This time he was sure some one said:

"Katy did! Katy did! Katy did!"

Tom sat up in his cot. He reached over to punch Bunker, to ask him what this was, when all at once, another voice cried:

"Katy didn't! Katy didn't! Katy didn't!"

"Listen to that, now, would you!" exclaimed Tom. "Bunker! Bunker Blue! Wake up! There's two people outside, and one says Katy did it, and the other says she didn't -- who's right?"



Chapter X

Out In The Boat


Bunker Blue turned sleepily over on his cot.

"What -- what's that?" he asked of Tom.

"Listen," Tom answered. "Don't you hear that, Bunker? First someone is hollering about Katy's doing something, and then somebody else yells that she didn't do it. Say, I don't like it here."

Bunker Blue laughed aloud.

"What's the matter out there?" asked Daddy Brown.

"Oh, it's only Tom," said the red-haired boy. "He doesn't like the song of the katydids."

"Song! Is that a song?" asked Tom.

"Some people call it that," said Mr. Brown, for he knew that a city boy might be just as frightened of sounds in the country as a country boy might of sounds in the city.

"That noise is made by a little green bug, called a katydid," Mr. Brown explained. "It looks something like a grasshopper."

"But they don't all say 'Katy did,'" objected Tom.

"No, some of them seem to say 'Katy didn't,'" agreed Mr. Brown. "Of course they don't really say those words. It only sounds as if they did. Now go to sleep. In the morning I'll show you a katydid."

Tom was not frightened any longer. He turned over and was soon sound asleep. Mr. Brown and Bunker also closed their eyes and the tent in Camp Rest-a-While was quiet once more. Bunny and Sue had not awakened.

Early the next morning, before breakfast, Tom was seen walking about among the trees of the camp. He seemed to be looking for something.

"What are you looking for?" asked Bunny.

"For Katy," Tom answered.

"There isn't any Katy with us," said Sue. "We have a cook, but her name is Mary, and she isn't here with us, anyhow. She's at home."

"No, I'm looking for a Katy bug," explained Tom, and then he told about the noises he had heard in the night.

"I'll help you look," said Bunny.

"So will I," added Sue. "I'd like to see a Katy bug."

But, though the children and Tom looked all over, they could not find a katydid until Mr. Brown helped them. Then on a tree he found one of the queer, light-green grasshopper-like bugs and showed it to the children.

"Why doesn't it cry now?" Sue wanted to know. "Make it cry, Daddy, so I can hear it!"

"Oh, I can't do that," Mr. Brown said with a laugh. "The katydid cries, or sings, mostly at night. I guess they don't want anyone to see them. Besides, I don't just know how they make the noises, whether they rub their rough legs together, or make a sound somewhere inside them. So I guess we'll have to let them do as they please."

Tom and the children stood for some little time, watching the pretty, green bug, and then came the sound of a bell.

"There!" cried Mr. Brown, with a laugh. "I guess you all know who made that noise, and what it means."

"It means breakfast!" cried Bunny.

"And mother rang the bell!" added Sue.

"That's right," said Bunker Blue, coming along just then. "And your mother doesn't want you to be late, either, for she's baking cakes, and you know how you like them!"

"Oh, cakes!" cried Bunny, clapping his hands. "I just love them!"

Soon the little party, including the new boy, Tom Vine, were seated around the table under the dining tent, eating pancakes that Mrs. Brown cooked over the oil stove.

Bunny and Sue said nothing for several minutes. They were too busy eating. Then Bunny, looking at Tom, asked:

"Can you jump over an elephant?"

"Jump over elephants? I guess not!" the new boy cried. "I never saw an elephant, except in a picture."

"We did," said Sue. "We saw a real elephant in a real circus, and we had a make-believe circus with a pretend elephant in it."

"And we knowed a boy named Ben Hall, who used to be in a real circus," went on Bunny. "He could jump over an elephant, and I thought maybe you could, too."

"No," said Tom, with a shake of his head. "I'm sorry, but I can't do that. About the only thing I can do is wash and dry the dishes."

"Well, it's a good thing to be able to do even one thing well," said Mrs. Brown, "and I'm glad you're here to wash and dry the dishes. There are plenty of them."

"I know something else you can do," said Bunny, smiling at Tom.

"What is it?"

"You can eat."

"Yes," and Tom laughed. "I like to eat, and I'm hungry three times a day."

"Bunny and Sue are hungry oftener than that," said Uncle Tad. "At least they say they are, and they come in and get bread and jam."

Bunny and Sue looked at each other and laughed.

After breakfast, just as he had said he would do, Tom Vine picked up the dishes, and got ready to wash them. Mrs. Brown watched him for a few minutes, until she was sure that he knew just how to go about it. Then she left him to himself.

"He is a very nice, neat and clean boy," she said to her husband. "I'm glad he came to us. But what are we going to do with him? We can't keep him always."

"Well, we'll let him stay with us while we are in camp here in the woods," said Mr. Brown, "and when we go back home, well, I can find something for him to do at the boat-dock, perhaps -- that is, if he doesn't want to go back to the city."

While Tom was doing the dishes Bunny and Sue had gone off into the wood a little way, to where they had made for themselves a little play-house of branches of trees, stuck in the ground. It was a sort of green tent, and in it Sue had put some of her dolls, while Bunny had taken to it some of his toys. The children often played there.

But they did not do anything for very long at a time, getting tired of one thing after another as all children do. So when Sue had undressed and dressed her two dolls, combing and braiding their hair, she said to Bunny:

"Oh, let's do something else now."

"All right," replied her brother. "What shall we do?"

"Can't you think of some fun?" Sue wanted to know.

Bunny rubbed his nose. He often did that when he was thinking. Then he cried:

"Let's ask mother to let Bunker Blue take us out in the boat. I want to go fishing."

"That will be nice," Sue said. "I'd like a boat ride, too."

Back to the camp went the children, but when they reached the tents they saw neither their father nor mother, nor was Uncle Tad or Bunker Blue in sight.

"They've gone away!" said Sue.

"Yes, so they have," agreed Bunny. "But I guess they didn't go far, or they'd have told us. Mother knew where we were."

"Let's go find them," said Sue. "Maybe they went out in the boat."

"We'll look," agreed Bunny.

The two children went to the edge of the lake, where a big willow tree overhung the water. The boat was kept tied to this tree.

"Oh, the boat's gone!" exclaimed Sue, as she reached the place and did not see it. "The boat's gone, Bunny!"

"Then they must have gone for a row, and they didn't take us!" and Bunny was much disappointed. He looked across the lake, up and down, as did Sue, and then both children cried out:

"Oh, look!" said Sue.

"There's the boat," added Bunny. "And Tom Vine is in it all alone! He hasn't got any oars, either. Look, Sue!"

Surely enough, there was the boat, some distance out in the lake, and Tom, the city boy, who knew nothing at all about boats, was in it. As he saw Bunny and Sue he waved his hands to them, and cried:

"Come and get me! I can't get back! I'm afraid! Come and get me!"



Chapter XI

Tom Sees A Man


Bunny Brown and his sister Sue stood by the lake shore, and didn't know what to do. Some distance out on the water floated the boat with Tom Vine standing up in it, waving his hands. And Tom cried once more:

"Come and get me! Come and get me!"

Bunny was the first to speak after that. And he said just the right thing.

"Sit down, Tom!" cried Bunny. "Sit down, or you'll tip over, and then you'll be drowned, and we can't get you."

Bunny shouted loudly, and his clear, high voice could easily be heard by Tom, for there was no wind, or at least only a little, to ruffle the water of the lake. Tom heard, and he knew what Bunny meant. Very carefully he sat down on one of the seats in the boat.

"Are you coming to get me?" he asked. "I can't get back to shore, and I can't swim. I don't like it out here!"

"Just sit still, and we'll think up a way to get you," called Bunny. "But don't stand up, whatever you do."

"No, you must keep sitting down," added Sue.

Mr. Brown had often told his children how to act when in boats. Small as they were they could both swim a little, Bunny, of course, better than Sue, because he was older. And they had both been told what to do in case they fell into the water -- hold their breath until they came to the top, when someone might save them, if they could not swim out.

But it was what Mr. Brown had told Bunny about not standing up in a boat that the little fellow now first remembered to shout to Tom. He did not want to see the new boy fall over into the lake.

And Tom must have known what Bunny meant, for he was now sitting very quietly in the boat, looking toward the shore where Bunny and Sue stood.

"How did you get out there?" Bunny asked. He had not yet thought of a way to get Tom back to land.

"I -- I didn't think the boat would float away," Tom answered. "I got in it and untied the rope. Then, the first thing I knew I was away out here. The wind blew me out, but it won't blow me back. I'll soon be out in the middle, I guess!"

Though there had been enough wind to blow Tom, in the boat, away from shore, there was hardly any wind now, so the boy could not be blown back. And how to get him to shore was something that Bunny and Sue could not tell how to do, especially as there were no oars in the boat.

"He can't row without oars," said Bunny.

"No, he can't," said Sue. She knew enough about boats to tell that. "And he hasn't any sail," she added.

"Haven't you got a stick, so you can push yourself back to shore?" called Bunny.

"I have a little stick, but it won't touch bottom," Tom answered. As he spoke he held up a short tree branch. Bunny had used it the day before as a fishpole, and when through playing had tossed it into the boat. Tom reached this stick over the side of the boat, and put it down into the water. But the lake was too deep there to let him touch the bottom, and so push himself to shore.

"Can't you swim out and get me, Bunny?" Tom cried. He was not as old a boy as was Bunker Blue, and so he was quite easily frightened, especially as he could not swim, and knew hardly anything about boats.

"Swim out and get me, Bunny!" Tom begged.

Bunny Brown shook his head.

"I couldn't swim that far," he shouted. "Besides, I'm not let go in the water unless my father or mother, or Uncle Tad or Bunker Blue is with me, and they're not here now."

"But how can I get back?" poor Tom wanted to know.

"We'll get you, somehow!" cried Bunny. "Won't we, Sue?"

"Yes," answered the little girl. But neither she nor her brother knew how they were going to save Tom.

"Anyhow, if I could swim that far, and daddy would let me," went on Bunny, speaking to his sister, "I couldn't take the oars out, and if I didn't have oars to row with, I couldn't bring the boat back, or Tom either."

"No, you couldn't," Sue said. She knew enough about boats to tell that, for she could row a little, with a light pair of oars.

"Call your father or mother!" called Tom, who was now farther from shore than ever. "Call them! Maybe they can get another boat, and come after me."

So Bunny and Sue called as loudly as they could, but neither Mr. Brown, his wife, Bunker nor Uncle Tad answered. They had taken a walk back in the woods, when Tom started to wash the dishes, and when Bunny and Sue were playing house in the leafy bower, and they had gone farther than they intended. So they could not hear Bunny and Sue calling.

"It's no use," said Bunny, after a bit. "We've got to save him ourselves, Sue. But I wonder how we can do it."

Sue thought for a minute. She did not rub her nose as Bunny had done. She could think without doing that. Then Sue said:

"If we only had a string on the boat, Bunny, we could pull Tom right to us. We could stand on shore and pull him in, just as we did with your little sail boat."

"That's right -- we could!" cried Bunny. Then he called:

"Tom, has you got a rope on your boat? If you has throw it to me and Sue, and we'll pull you in by it."

Tom looked in the bottom of the boat.

"There's a rope here," he said, "but it isn't long enough to reach to shore."

He held it up so the children could see. Certainly it was not half long enough. It was the rope by which the boat had been tied to the tree.

While Bunny and Sue stood there, wondering what to do, there came a rustling, cracking sound in the bushes back of them. They quickly turned, and saw their dog, Splash. He had been roving about in the woods, and had now come back to camp.

"Oh, Splash!" cried Bunny. "You can do it, I know you can!"

"What can he do?" asked Sue.

"He can swim out to Tom in the boat, and pull him back to shore. Go on, Splash!" cried Bunny, pointing to poor Tom. "Go on and get him! Bring him back!"

Splash bounded around and barked. He looked to where Bunny pointed, but though the dog could understand some of the things Bunny said, he could not tell just what his little master wanted this time. Tom was watching what was going on, and now he called:

"I know a better way than that."

"What?" asked Bunny.

"If you had a long cord, you could tie one end to a stick, and give it to Splash to bring to me. Then I could tie it to the boat, and you could pull me to shore."

"Oh, yes, we can do that!" cried Bunny.

"Have you got a long cord?" Tom asked.

"Yes, one I fly my kite with. I brought the cord along, but now I haven't any kite. I'll get that."

Bunny ran to the tent where he kept his box of playthings. He soon returned with a stick, on which was wound a long and very strong cord.

"This will pull the boat," he said.

He looked around for a stick to tie onto the end of the cord, and when he had done this he gave the stick to the dog.

"Take it out to Tom!" ordered Bunny.

But Splash only barked and dropped the stick. He wagged his tail, as if he were saying:

"I'll do anything you want me to, little master, but I don't know just what you mean."

Once more Tom called across the water.

"Throw the stick into the lake, Bunny. Then Splash will bring it to me. He knows how to jump in after sticks you throw into the water; doesn't he?"

"Oh, yes, Splash knows that all right," Bunny said. "Here, Splash!" he called.

Into the lake Bunny tossed the stick to which was fastened one end of his kite cord.

"Get it, Splash!" cried the little boy.

With a bark Splash sprang into the water. But instead of swimming out to Tom with the stick and string, he swam back to shore. That was what he had been taught to do, you see.

Splash dropped the stick at Bunny's feet, and wagging his wet tail, spattered drops all over Sue. The dog barked, looking up at Bunny, and seeming to say:

"There, little master! Didn't I do that fine? Wasn't that just what you wanted me to do?"

"No! No!" cried Bunny. "I don't want the stick, Splash! Take it to Tom -- out in the boat -- take it to him!" and he pointed to Tom.

Once more Bunny threw the stick into the water, and once more Splash sprang in and brought it to shore. It was not until Bunny had told Splash four times, that the dog knew what was wanted.

Then the fifth time, when Bunny threw the stick into the water, Splash jumped in after it and swam out to Tom in the boat. Tom kept calling:

"Here, Splash! Here, Splash! Come on, good dog!"

Up to the boat, with the stick and cord, swam the dog. Tom made the string fast to the boat, and then Bunny and Sue, standing on shore, pulled on their end. They pulled slowly at first, so as not to break the cord. But, once the boat was started, it came along easily, and soon Tom was on dry land again. Splash swam along behind the boat.

"There!" Tom cried, as he tied the boat fast. "I'll never do that again!"

"We're not let get in the boat," said Bunny, "but I guess daddy forgot to tell you."

"If he had I'd never have gotten in," Tom said. "But I'm glad you pulled me to shore."

The rest of the campers came back soon after that, and Mr. Brown got Tom to promise never to get in the boat alone again. Of course Tom was not in any real danger as long as he kept still, and Mr. Brown might easily have gone out and rescued him in another boat. But I think it was very clever of Bunny and Sue, and Splash, too, to get Tom back to shore as they did; don't you?

There were many happy, joyful days at Camp Rest-a-While. The children went on little picnics in the woods and often they were taken out in the boat by Bunker Blue. Bunny had a real fishpole and line and hook now, with "squiggily" worms, as Sue called them, for bait, and the little boy caught some real fish.

It was about a week after Tom's adventure in the drifting boat that one day, as he was walking through the woods with Bunny and Sue, on their way back from a farmhouse where they had gone after milk, that Tom suddenly came to a stop along the path.

"Wait a minute!" he said in a whisper, to Bunny and Sue.

"What's the matter?" Bunny wanted to know. "You look afraid, Tom. Are you?"

"Yes, I am," said Tom, and even Sue could tell that he was when she looked at him.

"Did you -- did you see a snake?" she asked, drawing closer to Bunny, for Sue did not like snakes, either.

"No, it wasn't a snake," returned Tom. "It was a man. Here, come on back among the bushes, and he can't see us," and, as he spoke, Tom drew Bunny and Sue away from the path, behind some thick bushes. Tom seemed very much afraid of something. And he had said he had seen a man. Bunny and Sue could not imagine why Tom should be afraid of a man.



Chapter XII

The Cross Man


"Come on! Come on!" whispered Tom to Bunny and Sue, as he led them still deeper back in among the bushes. "Don't let him hear you! Come on, and we'll hide!"

"Who is it? What's the matter?" Bunny wanted to know.

"Hush!" whispered Tom. "It's that man! He's after me, I guess. I'll tell you about it when we get away. He's coming! Hurry!"

Certainly someone, or something, was coming along the path from which Tom and the two children had just stepped to go in among the bushes. Tom was in such a hurry that he pulled Bunny and Sue along with him harder than he meant to. Finally Bunny said:

"Oh, Tom, I'm spilling the milk!"

Bunny was carrying the pail of milk they had bought at the farmhouse, and, though the pail had a cover on it, some of the milk had splashed out, and was running down Bunny's stocking.

"Set the pail down here, and we'll get it when we come back -- after that man goes," Tom said, in a whisper.

Bunny put the pail down on the ground, near a big stone, so he would know where to look for it again. Then, to hide, they all squeezed as far back in the bushes as they could, and waited.

"Is he coming after us?" asked Sue in a whisper.

"No, I guess he's only after me," answered Tom. "He won't touch you or Bunny."

"Is it a Gypsy man?" Bunny wanted to know.

"No, he isn't a Gypsy," replied Tom. "He's just a cross, bad man; and I don't want him to see me. Keep your heads down."

Bunny and Sue did so. Like frightened rabbits they crouched among the bushes. Tom kept hold of their hands, and though the children knew that Tom was afraid, for he had said so, still Bunny and Sue were not very much frightened, as long as the man was not a Gypsy and did not want them.

"There! He's gone past!" exclaimed Tom, as he stood up to look over the tops of the bushes. "He's gone, and we can come out. He didn't see us -- he won't get me this time."

"But who was he?" Bunny wanted to know. Tom, however, did not seem to hear him. Still holding Bunny and Sue by the hand, Tom led them back to the path. Bunny picked up the pail of milk.

"I'll carry it for you," Tom said. "We've got to hurry back to camp."

"Why?" asked Sue. "I can't hurry very much, for my legs hurt."

"I'll carry you," said Tom, "if Bunny will take the milk pail."

"Yes, I'll do that," said the little boy.

Once more he took the pail, while Tom hoisted Sue up onto his shoulder.

"Give me a piggy-back!" Sue begged, so Tom carried her pickaback, while Sue held tightly to her doll. Tom marched ahead along the path, and soon they were safely at the tent. Before Tom could say anything, Bunny and Sue, seeing their father and mother, called out:

"Oh, Tom saw a man, and we hid!"

Mr. and Mrs. Brown did not know what this meant.

"What sort of man was he?" asked Mrs. Brown quickly.

"He wasn't a Gypsy man," Bunny said.

"But he was after Tom, only he didn't see us," added Sue. "And I had a piggy-back ride home, and some milk got spilled on Bunny's stocking, but not much, and I'm hungry!"

Sue believed in telling everything at once, to have it over with.

"What is it all about?" asked Mr. Brown of Tom. "Did you and the children really, hide from a man?"

"Yes, sir."

"What man was it? I hope there aren't any tramps in these woods."

"Oh, no, he wasn't a tramp. He was the farmer I told you about -- the one I worked for, and from whom I ran away. I guess he was looking for me," Tom answered.

"Hum," said Mr. Brown. "Well, I suppose we'll have to wait and see what he wants. Was he coming this way?"

"No, he seemed to be wandering through the woods, as if he didn't know where to go."

"Oh, well, maybe he won't find you," said Mrs. Brown.

"I hope he doesn't," returned Tom, looking over his shoulder.

No strange man came to camp that night, and Bunny and Sue soon forgot all about the little fright Tom had had. But two days later, just as dinner was finished, there came a man rowing in a boat to the little wooden camp-dock Bunker Blue had built out into the lake.

Out of the boat climbed a man with black whiskers. He had on big, heavy boots, and in one hand he carried a whip. He walked up the path from the lake, and when he saw Mr. Brown and his family at the table, under the tent, which was wide open, the man stood still.

"Camp Rest-a-While, eh?" he said in rather a rough voice, as he read the sign. "Well, maybe this is the place I'm looking for. Have you seen a boy -- a ragged boy -- about fifteen years old in these woods?" he asked.

Before Mr. Brown could answer, Tom Vine, who had gone to the spring for a pail of water, came back. At the sight of the man Tom dropped the pail, spilling the water. At the same time the "ragged boy" cried out:

"There he is! There's the man! He's after me! Oh, please don't let him take me away!"

Tom turned to run back into the woods, but Mr. Brown called to him:

"Stay right where you are, Tom! This man won't hurt you. Stay where you are."

Though he was much frightened, Tom stood still.

"Now then, what do you want?" asked Mr. Brown of the man with the whip.

"I want that boy!" answered the man, pointing the whip at poor Tom. "I hired him to work for me, but he ran away. I want him back, and I'm going to have him!"

And oh, what a rough, cross voice the man had! He wasn't at all nice, Bunny and Sue thought.

"I've been looking for that boy, and now I've found him. I want to take him back with me," the cross man went on. "I was hunting all through these woods for him, and yesterday I heard that a boy like him was in a camp over here. So I came for to find out about it, and I've found him!"

"Is that the man you saw in the woods, when we went after milk the other day, Tom?" asked Bunny in a whisper.

"Yes," nodded Tom.

"Well, if this boy doesn't want to go with you I'm not going to make him," said Mr. Brown. "He came to us, and said you had not treated him well. I'll not send him back to you. Are you the farmer who hired him?"

"Yes, I'm that farmer," said the man, scowling. "Jake Trimble is my name, and when I want a thing I get it! I want that boy!"

"Oh, please don't make me go back to work for him!" begged Tom. "He beat me, and he didn't give me enough to eat!"

"Don't be, afraid," said Mr. Brown. "He shan't have you!"

"I say I will!" cried the cross man. "That boy hired out to work for me, and I want him!"

"You can't have him," said Mr. Brown quietly. "And I want you to go away from here. This is my camp, and it is a private one. Go. You can't have this boy."

"But he ran away from me!" said the cross man.

"Perhaps he did. He said he could not stand the way you treated him. Any boy would have run away," replied Mr. Brown. "I'm looking after this boy now, and I say you can't have him."

"Well, I'll get him, somehow, you see if I don't!" cried the cross man, as he turned to go back to his boat. And he shook his whip at Tom. "I'll get you yet!" he said. "And when I do I'll make you work twice as hard. You'll see!"

"Don't be afraid, Tom," said Mr. Brown, when the unkind man was gone. "I won't let him hurt you."

Tom picked up the overturned pail, and went again to the spring for water. When he came back he said:

"That was the farmer I met in the city. He took me out to his place, and was very mean to me. I just had to run away. I didn't think he'd try to find me. But I knew he must be looking for me when we saw him in the woods that day. I hid away from him then, but now he knows where I am."

"Don't you care," said Sue. "My daddy won't let him hurt you; will you, Daddy?" and she put her arms around her father's neck.

"We'll take care of Tom," said Mr. Brown. "I guess that man won't come back."



Chapter XIII

A Bad Storm


Bunker Blue was sitting out in front of the big camp-tent, on a bench, one day, with a pile of long sticks in front of him. With his knife Bunker was whittling the sticks to sharp points.

Bunny Brown and his sister Sue, who had been out in the woods, gathering wild flowers for the dinner table, came up to Bunker, and Bunny asked:

"What you doing, Bunker?"

"Why, I'm sharpening these sticks, Bunny," was the answer.

"What for?" asked Sue, as she put her wax doll down in the shade, so the sun would not melt the nose.

"Oh, I know!" cried Bunny. "You're making arrows! Are you going to have a bow, and shoot the arrows like an Indian, Bunker?"

Bunker Blue shook his head and smiled.

"You'll have to guess again, Bunny," he said.

Bunny took up one of the pointed sticks.

"Are they spears?" asked the little boy, as he put his finger gently on the sharp point. "Indians use spears to catch fish. Are you going to do that, Bunker?"

Bunker shook his head.

"You haven't guessed yet," he said.

"Oh, tell us!" begged Sue. "Is it a secret?"

"Sort of," said Bunker.

"Oh, how nice!" cried Sue. "I just love to guess secrets! Let me have a turn, Bunny."

The two children sat down in the shade near the tent. Bunker kept on making sharp-pointed sticks with his knife. Over in the dining-tent Tom Vine was setting the dinner table. This was some days after the cross man had come to the camp and had gone away. He had not come back since.

"Well, what is your guess, Sue?" asked Bunker, as he kept on making the sharp-pointed sticks.

"Let me see," pondered the little girl. "Oh! I know what they are for. You're going to put some other pieces of wood on the end of these sticks, Bunker, and make croquet mallets of them so we can have a game!"

"Is that it?" asked Bunny. "Is it for croquet?"

"No, that isn't what they're for," answered Bunker, smiling.

"Anyhow," went on Bunny Brown, "we couldn't play croquet in the woods here, 'cause we haven't any croquet balls."

"Oh, we might use round stones, mightn't we, Bunker?" Sue asked.

"Yes, we might," replied Bunker slowly, as he laid down one sharp-pointed stick and began whittling another. "We might, but that isn't the secret."

"Now, it's my turn to guess!" said Bunny. "You had a turn, Sue."

"Well, what do you say it is?" asked Bunker. "Go on, Bunny."

Bunny thought for about half a minute.

"Are you going to make a trap to catch something?" the little boy asked. Ever since he had come to Camp Rest-a-While he had begged Bunker to make a trap to catch a fox, or a squirrel, or something like that. Bunny did not want to hurt the wild animals, but he thought he would like to catch one in a trap, and try to tame it.

"No, I'm not making a trap," answered Bunker. "I don't believe you children could guess what these sticks are for if you tried all day. And, as it isn't my secret, I don't believe I'd better tell you. You go and ask your mother -- it's mostly her secret -- and if she wants to tell you -- why, all right."

"Oh, we'll go and ask mother!" cried Bunny. "Come on, Sue!"

The two children found Mrs. Brown in the cooking-tent, getting dinner ready.

"What's the secret?" cried Sue.

"What is Bunker making all the sharp-pointed sticks for?" Bunny wanted to know.

Their mother smiled at them. From a shelf over the oil stove she took down a large platter on which she put the eggs she was cooking.

"What is the secret, Mother?" begged Bunny. "Please tell us!"

"Yes," added Sue. "We've guessed and guessed, but we can't guess right. Bunker said you might tell us."

Mrs. Brown laughed, and, after she had put the platter of eggs on the table, she pointed to two large, round, tin boxes on a chair in the big tent.

"Can you read what it says on those boxes?" Mrs. Brown asked Bunny.

Bunny looked at the long word.

"It begins with a 'M'," he said, "and the next letter is 'A' and then comes --  -- "

"Oh, I know what's next!" cried Sue. "It's a 'R.' I can tell by the funny little tail that kicks up behind. It's just like the 'B' for Brown in our name, only the R has a kick-up tail at the end. That letter is a 'R'; isn't it, Mother?"

"Yes," answered Mrs. Brown. "But what is the whole word, Bunny? If you can tell what it is you'll know the secret."

Bunny could spell out each letter one after another and he did, until he had spelled this big word:

Marshmallow

But he could not say it. The word was too big for him. So his mother said it for him.

"Those are marshmallow candies in the tin boxes," said Mrs. Brown. "Now can you guess the secret?"

"Oh, I know!" cried Sue. "We're going to have a marshmallow roast by the campfire to-night! Is that it, Mother? And the sharp sticks Bunker is making are to put the marshmallow candies on to hold over the fire and roast! Isn't that it?"

"Yes, Sue, you have guessed it."

"Pooh! I was just going to say that," cried Bunny.

"Well, Sue said it first, dear," went on Bunny's mother. "Now get ready for dinner. After dinner we'll take a nice walk, and this evening, when it gets dark, Uncle Tad is going to build a campfire and we'll all roast marshmallows."

"Oh, what fun!" cried Sue, clapping her hands.

"Jolly, jolly fun!" laughed Bunny.

And that was why Bunker Blue was making the pointed sticks.

"Now for our walk!" called Mother Brown, when the dinner things had been cleared away, and Tom Vine had washed and dried the dishes, Bunny and Sue helping. "We'll take a walk over near the waterfall. I want to take a picture of it."

But, when they were all ready to start -- Bunker Blue, Splash and all -- Tom Vine could not be found.

"Why, where is he?" asked Bunny. "He was here a minute ago, for I saw him."

"Maybe he's losted," said Sue. She and Bunny got lost or "losted," as they called it, so often, that Sue thought that trouble could very easily happen to anyone.

"No, he isn't lost," said Daddy Brown. "Tom! Tom!" he called. "Where are you?"

"I'm here," was the answer, and Tom stood up. He had been sitting behind a thick bush, down near the edge of the lake.

"Oh, we were looking for you," Mr. Brown said. "Don't you want to come for a walk with us? We are going over toward the waterfall. It is very nice there."

Tom shook his head.

"I don't believe I'll go, thank you," he said.

"Why not?" asked Mrs. Brown. "Don't you feel well? Don't you like to walk in the woods, Tom?"

"Oh, yes'm, I like the woods, and I feel fine. I never had such good things to eat as I've had in this camp."

"Then why don't you want to come with us?"

"Well -- er -- well, because, you see that farmer I worked for lives over near the waterfall, and maybe he'll catch me if I go there."

"Oh, I won't let him catch you!" exclaimed Mr. Brown. "Come along, Tom. I'll look after you."

Then Tom came out of his hiding place, where he had gone after he heard Mrs. Brown say they were going to the fall. Soon the party of campers were marching through the woods, Tom holding Bunny's hand, while Bunker Blue looked after Sue.

The waterfall was very pretty, the water from a small river falling down over green, mossy rocks, into a deep glen, foaming and bubbling. Mrs. Brown took some pictures with her photograph camera, and then they sat down in a shady spot, and ate a little lunch they had brought with them. Splash, the big dog, had his share, too.

And that night was the grand marshmallow candy roast. Uncle Tad built a fire of wood in front of the big tent. When the smoke and the hottest flames had died away Bunny and Sue and the others, sitting on logs around the fire, toasted the candies, holding them over the fire on the pointed ends of the sticks Bunker Blue had made with his sharp knife.

"Oh, aren't they good!" cried Sue, as she began to eat a candy she had roasted.

"Look out! They're hot!" called Uncle Tad. But he was too late.

"Ouch!" cried Sue, as the hot candy burned her tongue. "Oh, it hurts!" she sobbed. "It hurts me!"

But Mother Brown put some cold, sweet cream on Sue's tongue, and soon the burning pain stopped.

After that Sue waited until the brown and roasted candy had cooled before she ate any.

"Oh, dear!" suddenly cried Bunny, as he was roasting a marshmallow for himself. "Oh, dear!"

"What's the matter with you?" asked his father. "Did you burn your tongue, Bunny?"

"No, but my candy slipped off my stick, and it's all burning up in the fire."

"Never mind," said Mother Brown. "Here's another candy. Next time don't hold the marshmallow over the fire so long. That makes it soft, so it melts, and it won't stay on the stick."

After Bunny and Sue learned how to do it they had no trouble roasting the marshmallows. Everyone roasted some except Splash, and he was very glad to eat the browned and puffed-up sweets, even if he could not hold them over the fire. But Splash took good care not to burn his tongue, as Sue had burned hers.

When the candies were all roasted, and eaten, it was time to go to bed. After Bunny and Sue were tucked in their cots, Bunny heard his father and Bunker Blue going about outside the tent. They seemed to be doing something to the ropes.

"What are you doing, Daddy?" Bunny asked.

"I think there's going to be a storm," answered Mr. Brown, "and I want to be sure the tents won't blow away. I'm making the ropes tight."

Pretty soon everyone at Camp Rest-a-While was in bed. It was not long before the wind began to blow and then, all at once, there came a bright flash of lightning, and a loud clap of thunder.

"Oh, what's that?" cried Bunny, sitting up in his cot, for the noise had awakened him. "What's the matter?" he asked.

"It's a thunder storm," replied his father. "Go to sleep, for it can't hurt you."

But Bunny could not go to sleep, nor could Sue. She, too, was awakened by the bright lightning, and the loud thunder. The wind, too, blew very hard, and it shook the sleeping tent as if it would tear it loose from the ropes.

"Do you think it is safe?" asked Mother Brown.

"Oh, I think so," answered her husband. "Bunker and I put on some extra ropes before we came in. I guess the tent won't blow away."

Everyone was wide awake now. The storm was a very heavy one. The wind howled through the trees in the wood, and, now and then, a loud crash could be heard, as some tree branch broke off and fell to the ground.

Then, suddenly, it began to rain very hard. My! how the big drops did pelt down on the tent, sounding like dried corn falling on a tin pan!

"Oh, the rain is coming in on me!" cried Bunny. "I'm getting all wet, Daddy!"

Surely enough, there was a little hole in the tent, right over Bunny's cot, and the rain was coming in there.

"Swish!" went the lightning.

"Bang!" went the thunder.

"Whoo-ee!" blew the wind.

It was certainly a bad storm at Camp Rest-a-While.



Chapter XIV

Tom Is Gone


"Daddy! Daddy!" cried Sue, from behind the curtain, in the part of the tent where she slept with her mother. "Daddy, do you think we'll blow away?"

"Oh, no," answered Mr. Brown. "Don't be afraid. Bunker and I fastened down the tent good and strong. It can't blow over."

"But I'm getting all wet!" cried Bunny. "The water's leaking all over my bed, Daddy!"

"Yes, I didn't know there was a hole in the tent. I'll fix it to-morrow," said Bunny's father. "You get in my bed, Bunny!"

"Oh, goodie!" Bunny cried. He always liked to get in his father's bed.

But as Bunny jumped out of his own little cot, and pattered in his bare feet across to his father's, he saw Daddy Brown getting up. Mr. Brown was putting on a pair of rubber boots, and a rubber coat over his bath robe, which he had put on when the storm began.

"Where you going, Daddy?" asked Bunny, as he crawled into the dry bed, and pulled the covers up over him, for the wind was blowing in the tent now. "Where you going?"

"I'm going out to see that the tent ropes are all right," said Mr. Brown.

"Going out? What for?" called Mrs. Brown. "You musn't go out in this storm. It's terrible!"

"Oh, but I must go!" answered Daddy Brown with a laugh. "I don't mind the thunder, lightning and rain. If some of the tent pegs come loose, the ropes will slip off, and the tent will blow over. Bunker Blue and I will go out and make sure everything is all right."

"I could go with you," said Uncle Tad from his cot. "Shall I?"

"No, you stay where you are," Daddy Brown said. "You might get the rheumatism if you got wet."

"I used to get wet enough when I was in the army," returned the old soldier. "Many a time, when it stormed, I used to get up to fix the tent."

"Well, Bunker and I will do it now, thank you," Mr. Brown went on. By this time Bunker Blue had on his rubber boots and coat. Then, taking a lantern with them, Mr. Brown and Bunker went outside.

"Fasten the tent door after us, Tom," called Mr. Brown to the city boy, "or everything will blow away inside. Tie the tent flaps shut with the ropes, and you can open them for us when we want to come in again."

Out in the storm went Daddy Brown and Bunker Blue. As they opened the flaps, or front door of the tent, a big gust of wind came in, and dashed rain in Bunny's face, so that he covered his head with the bed clothes. He had one look at a bright flash of lightning, and he could see the ground outside all covered with water.

"I'm glad I don't have to go out in the storm," he thought, and he felt sorry for his father and Bunker Blue.

But Mr. Brown had often been out on the ocean in worse storms than this, and so had Bunker, so they did not mind. With their lantern they walked all around the sleeping-tent, making sure that all the ropes were fast to the pegs, which were driven into the ground. Some of the wooden pegs were coming loose, and these Mr. Brown and Bunker hammered farther into the dirt.

All the while the wind blew, and the rain pelted down, while the lightning flashed brighter, and the thunder rumbled so loudly that it scared Sue.

"I -- I don't like it!" she sobbed, and she crept into bed with her mother. "Please make it stop, Mother!"

"No one can make the thunder stop, Sue, dear," said Mrs. Brown. "But the thunder won't hurt you, and the storm is almost over."

Just then there came a very loud clap.

"Oh, dear!" cried Sue. "I'se afraid!"

Bunny heard his sister, and called out:

"That sounded just like Fourth of July; didn't it, Sue? When the big boys fired the cannon on top of the hill."

"Isn't you afraid, Bunny?" asked Sue.

"No, I -- I like it," Bunny answered.

He tried to make himself believe he did, so Sue would not be so frightened.

"Well, if you isn't afraid I isn't goin' to be, either," said Sue, after a moment. And she stopped crying at once, and lay quietly in her mother's cot-bed. And then the storm seemed to go away. It still rained very hard, but the wind did not howl so loudly, and the lightning was not so scary, nor the thunder so rumbly.

The rain still leaked in through the hole in the tent, but Tom Vine moved Bunny's cot out of the way, and set a pail under the leak.

All at once there sounded a banging noise, as if a whole store full of pots and pans and kettles had been turned upside down.

"Oh, what's that?" cried Mother Brown.

"Sounded as if something blew away," said Uncle Tad. "I'll get up and look."

But he did not have to, for, just then, in came Daddy Brown and Bunker Blue, their rubber coats all shining wet in the lantern light.

"What made that noise?" asked Mother Brown.

"The cook-tent blew over," said Daddy Brown, "and all the pots, pans and kettles fell in a heap. But we'll let them go until morning, I guess, as the worst of the storm is over. Now we'll all go to bed again."

"This tent won't blow over; will it, Daddy?" asked Bunny.

"No, it's all safe now. Go to sleep."

But it was some little time before they were all asleep again. Nothing more happened that night, and Bunny and Sue were up very early the next morning to see what the storm had done.

Camp Rest-a-While was not a pretty sight.

Besides the cook-tent having been blown over, there were broken branches of trees scattered about. The tents were covered with leaves blown from the trees, and there were many mud puddles.

The oil stove, and the pots, pans and other things, with which Mother Brown cooked, were piled in a heap under the fallen cook-tent. The tent itself was soaking wet, and one of the poles that had held it up was broken.

"Oh, we can't ever have anything to eat!" said Sue sadly, as she looked at the fallen tent.

"We can build a campfire," said Bunny. "Uncle Tad used to cook breakfast over one; didn't you?" and he turned to the old soldier.

"Yes, Bunny, I did. But I guess we won't have to this time. We'll soon have the oil stove working."

Then he and Daddy Brown, with Bunker Blue and Tom Vine, set to work. The blown-down tent was pulled to one side, and it was seen that though everything under it was in a heap, still nothing was broken.

Soon some milk was being warmed for the children, and coffee made for the older folk. Then Mother Brown even made pancakes on the oil stove, which was set up on a box at one side of the dining-tent. The day was a fine one, and there was not enough wind to make the stove smoke.

So they had breakfast after all, and then began the work of making Camp Rest-a-While look as it had before the storm. A new tent pole was cut, and the tent put up again, stronger than before. Bunny and Sue helped by picking up the scattered pieces of tree branches, and piling them in a heap. Then they swept up the torn-off leaves, and by this time the sun had dried up some of the puddles of water. By noon time the camp looked as well as it had before the storm.

"And don't forget to fix the hole over my cot," cried Bunny. "I don't want to be rained on any more, Daddy."

"I'll fix it," said Mr. Brown, and he did.

"I didn't hear any fire engines last night," said Tom Vine as they sat at supper that evening, after coming in from a little sail around the lake, Bunker having fixed a sail onto the rowboat.

"Fire engines!" exclaimed Bunny. "Why should you hear fire engines, Tom?"

"Why, in the city, where I lived, before I went with that farmer, the fire engines used to come out after every storm. Places would be struck by lightning, you know. I've seen lots of fires. But I didn't hear any engines last night."

"There aren't any engines in these woods," said Daddy Brown. "Of course trees are often struck by lightning, and lightning often sets fire to houses in the country, but there aren't any engines out in the woods."

"And no policeman, either," added Tom. "It seems funny not to see a policeman, and have him yell at you to move on, or keep off the grass."

"Do you like it better here than in the city?" asked Mrs. Brown.

"Oh, heaps better, yes'm! I love it here. I hope I don't ever have to go back to the city -- or to that mean farmer."

Nothing had been seen of the man who wanted to get Tom back, since that day when he had called at the camp. Bunny and Sue had almost forgotten him, but it seemed that Tom had not. He was always a little bit afraid, thinking that the cross man might come back.

One morning, two days after the big storm, when Bunny, Sue and all the others were gathered around the breakfast table, Daddy Brown asked:

"Where is Tom Vine?"

"He was here a minute ago," Bunny said.

"I think he went to the spring to get a pail of water," put in Uncle Tad.

"Yes, that's where he went," said Mrs. Brown. "I said we would need some fresh water, and he went after it."

"Well, we won't wait for him," said Daddy Brown. "We'll eat, and he can have his breakfast when he comes."

But the others had finished breakfast, and Tom Vine had not come back from the spring, though they waited for some time.

"I wonder what's keeping him," said Mrs. Brown.

"He couldn't have fallen in; could he?" asked Uncle Tad.

"No, the spring isn't large enough," Bunker Blue answered. "I'll go to look for him."

Bunker ran off along the path that led to the spring. In a little while he came hurrying back. He carried a pail full of water, and he said:

"I found the empty pail by the spring, but Tom was gone!"



Chapter XV

Looking For Tom


Bunker Blue, with the pail of water, walked up to where Bunny, Sue and the others were still sitting at the breakfast table, though they had finished eating.

"Tom's gone," said Bunker again.

"Gone where?" asked Bunny.

"I don't know," answered the red-haired boy. "I looked all around by the spring, but I couldn't see him. The pail was there, but Tom wasn't."

"Could he have fallen in?" asked Mrs. Brown, just as Uncle Tad had asked.

Bunker Blue shook his head.

"The spring is only about big enough to dip a pail in," he said, "and Tom is bigger than the pail."

"But maybe he curled all up in a little heap when he fell in," said Bunny. "Oh, dear! I don't want Tom to be lost!"

Bunny and Sue had grown to like Tom very much.

Once more Bunker Blue shook his head.

"I could look right down to the bottom of the spring," he said. "It's quite deep, even if it isn't big. But Tom wasn't in it. There was a big bullfrog in the water, though."

"Was the frog big enough to -- to eat Tom?" asked Sue, her eyes wide open.

Sue's mother and father laughed, and Bunny said:

"A bullfrog couldn't eat anybody!"

"They could if they was a big enough frog; couldn't they, Daddy?" asked Sue.

"Well, I don't know," replied Mr. Brown. "Then you couldn't see anything of Tom, Bunker?"

"No, sir, not a thing."

"Had he filled the pail with water?" Uncle Tad wanted to know.

"The pail was empty, and it was tipped over," Bunker said. "I don't know whether Tom had filled it, and then something had knocked it over, or not. Anyhow, the pail had no water in it, so I dipped it into the spring to fill it, and came on back to tell you."

"That was right," said Mr. Brown. "We'll go over and look around. Tom may have seen some new kind of bird, or something like that, and have wandered off in the woods, following it."

"Maybe he saw a bear, and ran," suggested Bunny.

"No, I guess the only bear around here is the tame one that came in our tent the first night," said Mrs. Brown. "Oh, I do hope nothing has happened to Tom!"

They all hoped that, for the strange boy was very well liked.

Mrs. Brown remained at the tent to wash the breakfast dishes, since Tom was not there to do them, while the others -- Bunny, Sue, their father, Uncle Tad and Bunker -- went to the spring. It was on the side of a little hill, where grew many trees, and was about three minutes' walk from Camp Rest-a-While.

Mr. Brown and Uncle Tad looked all around the hole in the ground -- the hole was the spring, and it was filled with clear, cold water. The bottom of the spring was of white sand, and sitting down there, having a nice bath, was a big, green bullfrog. With his funny eyes he looked up at Bunny and Sue as they leaned over the spring.

"Oh, look!" cried Sue. "What a big frog!"

"But he isn't big enough to swallow Tom," said Bunny.

"No, that's so," agreed Mr. Brown. "We'll have to look for Tom. Bunny and Sue, you stay with me. Uncle Tad, you and Bunker walk around in the woods. It may be that Tom fell and hurt himself, when running after a bird or butterfly, and can't walk. We'll find him."

Tom, having lived all his life in the city, thought the birds and butterflies were most wonderful creatures. Every time he saw a new one he would run up to it to get a close look. He never tried to catch them, he just wanted to watch them fluttering about the flowers.

But, though they looked all around in the woods by the spring, there was no sign of Tom. Up and down, back and forth, they walked, looking beside big rocks or stumps, behind fallen logs and under clumps of bushes they peered, but no Tom could they find.

"Oh, he's losted, just like we was losted," said Sue, sadly.

"Yes, I guess he is," agreed Bunny. "Splash, can't you find Tom?"

The big dog barked: "Bow-wow!" But what he meant by that no one knew. Splash, however, could not find Tom.

"Let's call his name," said Uncle Tad.

So they called his name.

"Tom! Tom! Tom Vine! Where are you?"

But Tom did not answer.

"This is queer," said Mr. Brown. "I don't believe he'd run away and leave us. He liked it too much at our camp."

"Perhaps he saw that mean man," said Bunker Blue. "Tom may have seen the cross farmer who wanted him to come back to work, and Tom may have run away off and hid -- so far off that he can't hear us calling."

"Yes, that's so. He may have done that," agreed Mr. Brown. "We'll go back to camp, and wait for him. He may come when he thinks the man has gone away."

Back to camp they all went. Bunny and Sue felt bad about Tom's being lost. So did the others. Every time Splash would stop in front of a clump of bushes, and bark, as he often did, Bunny and Sue would run up, thinking their friend had been found.

But it would be only a bird, a rabbit or a squirrel that Splash had seen, which made him bark that way. Tom was not to be found.

They waited in camp all the rest of that day, only going out a little way for a row on the lake. Night came, and there was no Tom. It grew very dark, and still he had not come.

"Oh, dear!" cried Sue. "Will he have to sleep out alone all night?"

"Perhaps he'll come back before you are awake in the morning," said Mother Brown. "Anyhow, Tom isn't afraid of the dark, and it is now so warm that anyone could sleep out of doors and not get cold. I think Tom will be here in the morning."

But morning came, and there was no sign of Tom. A lantern had been left burning outside the tent all night, in case he should come. But he did not.

"Well," said Mr. Brown, after breakfast, "there's only one thing to do, and I'm going to do it."

"What is that?" asked his wife.

"I'm going over to Farmer Trimble's, to see if Tom is there."

"Oh, Trimble is the name of the man who wanted to take Tom away; isn't it?"

"Yes, that's the man who came here, and tried to get Tom. It may be that Mr. Trimble saw Tom at the spring, getting water, and made him go away. So I'm going over to the Trimble farm, and see."

"Oh, may we come?" asked Bunny.

"Yes," said Mr. Brown. "I guess so. I'll take you and Bunker Blue with me. And if we find Tom we'll bring him back with us. That man has no right to keep him!"



Chapter XVI

"Who Took The Pie?"


The shortest way to go to the Trimble farm was to row across the lake in the boat, and then to walk a little distance through the wood. Mr. Brown, with Bunny and Sue, started, with Bunker Blue at the oars, dipping them in the water, pulling hard on them, and lifting them out for another dip.

"Don't row too hard, Bunker," said Mr. Brown. "It is a hot day, and I don't want you to get tired out. Besides, we are in no hurry, so take it easy."

At the last minute, Splash, the dog, had run down the hill to the lake, and climbed into the boat. He did not want to be left behind.

"May we take him, Daddy?" asked Bunny.

"Oh, yes. Let him come along. He's a good dog, and maybe he can help us find Tom."

Splash was a regular water-dog. He could swim across the lake, he could jump in and bring back sticks that Bunny or Sue would toss in, and he liked to be in a boat. Splash knew that dogs, as well as boys and girls, must keep quiet in boats, especially small boats, so they would not tip over. And now Splash perched himself up in the bow, or front part of the boat, and quietly sat there, looking across at the other shore.

Bunny looked down over the side, where he was sitting, and saw some fish swimming about, for the water of the lake was very clear.

"I wish I had brought my fishpole," Bunny said. "I could catch some fish for dinner."

"We've something else to do besides catching fish to-day, Bunny," replied his father. "We've got to find Tom Vine."

"Do you think we'll find him, Daddy?" asked Sue, as she hugged one of her dolls, which she had brought with her.

"Well, maybe so, little girl. I can't think of anything else that would happen to Tom, except that he would be taken by Mr. Trimble. I think we'll find him."

They were half way across the lake when Sue suddenly cried:

"Oh, there she goes! Oh, she's fallen in!"

"What is it?" asked Mr. Brown, turning around quickly, for he was seated with his back toward his little girl.

"It's my doll!" Sue cried. "She jumped right out of my arms, and fell in the lake."

I guess Sue meant that her doll slipped out of her arms, for dolls can't jump -- at least not unless they have a spring wound up inside them, like an alarm clock, and Sue's doll wasn't that kind.

"Stop the boat, Bunker! Row back!" cried Mr. Brown. "Sue's doll fell overboard, and we don't want to lose her!"

Bunker stopped rowing, and he was reaching out with an oar to pull in the doll, which was floating like a little boat on top of the water, not far away. But before Bunker could save the doll, Splash, with a loud bark, jumped in and swam out toward the plaything of his little mistress.

Seizing the doll in his mouth, Splash swam back with her to the boat. Bunny stretched out his hand to take the doll, but Splash would not give it up to him. The dog knew that boys don't play with dolls, and that this one belonged to Sue. So Splash swam around to the other side of the boat where Sue was anxiously waiting, and he let her take the doll from his mouth.

"Good dog!" cried Sue, patting him with one hand. Then she began to squeeze the water out of her doll's dress.

"I'm glad I didn't bring my best doll," said Sue. "This is only one of my old ones, and it won't hurt her to get wet. I was going to give her a bath, anyhow, but I didn't mean to leave her clothes on. Anyhow, she'll soon dry, I guess."

Sue put the doll down beside her, on the seat, where the hot sun would dry up the water. Splash put his two paws on the edge of the boat, and Mr. Brown and Bunker Blue helped him in.

"Now you be quiet, Splash!" called Mr. Brown. "Don't go shaking the water off yourself, as you always do when you come in from a swim. For we can't get far enough away from you in the boat, and you'll get us all wet. Don't shake yourself!"

I don't know whether or not Splash understood what Mr. Brown said. At any rate, the dog went back to his place in the bow, and did not shake the water off his dripping fur. Whenever he did that he made a regular shower.

The boat was soon close to the other shore. Bunker Blue rowed up to a little dock, and tied fast. Then Mr. Brown helped out Bunny and Sue. Splash did not need any help. He jumped out himself and ran on ahead, now giving himself a good shake to get rid of the water drops.

A short walk brought the party to Mr. Trimble's farm. The cross farmer was not in the house, but his wife said he was out in the barn, and there Mr. Brown found him.

"Well, what do you want?" asked Mr. Trimble in that cross voice of his. He seemed never to smile.

"I came to see if you have that boy I'm taking care of -- Tom Vine," said Mr. Brown. "Did you take him away?"

"No, I did not," said Mr. Trimble, crossly.

"Do you know where he is?"

"No, I don't."

"Have you seen him at all?" asked Bunny's father. "Yesterday he went to the spring for a pail of water, but he did not come back. We are afraid something has happened to him. Then I thought perhaps you might have taken him, though you had no right to."

"Well, I didn't take him, though I had a right to," growled the farmer. "I hired that boy to work for me, and I gave him a suit of clothes, besides feeding him. He didn't stay with me long enough to pay for what I gave him. And if I catch him I'll make him work out what he owes me. But I haven't seen him since he was in your camp. I wish I did have him now. I'd make him step lively, and do some work!"

So Mr. Brown had his trip for nothing. Tom was not at the Trimble farm, that was sure.

"I guess he ran away from you the same as he did from me," said Mr. Trimble as Mr. Brown turned away.

Bunny's father shook his head.

"Tom Vine isn't that kind of boy," he said. "He may have run away from you because you didn't treat him well, but he would not run away from us. He liked it at Camp Rest-a-While."

"That's all you know about boys!" laughed the farmer. "I treated him as well as he needed to be treated. Boys are all lazy. They'd rather play than work. And you'll find out that Tom Vine has run away from you. He didn't want to work."

"He didn't work very hard at our camp," said Mr. Brown. "All he had to do was to wash the dishes and help with little things. He liked it. I'm sure something has happened to him, and I'm sorry, for I intended doing something for him."

"Well, I haven't got him, though I wish I had," grumbled Mr. Trimble. "If I catch him, I'll make him work hard!"

"Then I hope you don't catch him," Mr. Brown said.

He went down to the boat with the children and Bunker Blue, and they were soon back at camp.

"Did you see anything of him?" asked Mrs. Brown, coming down to the edge of the lake, as she saw the boat nearing the shore.

"No," answered Mr. Brown. "Mr. Trimble said he isn't at the farm, and I don't believe he is. You didn't see anything of him while we were gone, did you?"

Mrs. Brown shook her head.

"Uncle Tad has been looking up around the spring again," she said, "but he couldn't find him."

"Oh dear!" sighed Bunny. "Poor Tom is lost!"

"He must have been frightened by something at the spring," said Mr. Brown, "and have run off."

"Well, there's one thing we don't have to worry about," said Mrs. Brown. "There aren't any wild animals in these woods. None of them could get Tom."

She said that so Bunny and Sue would not be thinking about it.

Two days and nights passed, and there was no sign of Tom. One afternoon Mrs. Brown baked some pies in the oven of the oil stove. She was all alone in camp, for Mr. Brown, the children, and Bunker Blue had gone fishing. Uncle Tad had gone for a walk in the woods.

Mrs. Brown put the pies on a table in the cooking-tent to cool, while she went to the spring for a fresh pail of water. When she came back she looked at the pies. Then she rubbed her eyes and counted them.

"Why!" she cried. "One of the pies is gone! I baked four, and there are only three here. Who took the pie?"

She looked under the table, in boxes and on chairs, thinking perhaps a fox or a big muskrat might have come along and tried to drag the pie, tin and all, away. But the pie was not to be found.

"Who could have taken my pie?" asked Mrs. Brown.



Chapter XVII

A Noise At Night


When Mr. Brown, Bunny, Sue and Bunker Blue came back from their little fishing trip, they saw Mother Brown walking about the camp, in and out among the tents, looking here and there.

"Have you lost something, Mother?" asked Bunny.

"Well, yes, I have -- sort of," she said, smiling. "I've lost a pie!"

"Oh, a pie!" cried Sue. "Did you drop it, Mother, and did it fall down a crack in the board walk, like my penny did once?"

"No!" laughed Mrs. Brown. "It wasn't that way."

Then she told of having made four pies, setting them on the table to cool while she went to the spring for a pail of water.

"And when I came back, a whole pie was gone!" she said.

"Well, we certainly didn't take it, for we weren't here," said Daddy Brown. "And you were all alone in camp, Mother?"

"Yes, even Uncle Tad was gone."

"Oh, maybe he came back and took it!" exclaimed Bunny.

"No, he wouldn't do that," said his mother. "Some animal, perhaps a big muskrat, like the one Splash tried to catch, came up out of the lake and carried away my pie. I was just looking to see if I could find any marks of the rat's paws in the soft ground, when you came along. But I couldn't see any."

"I don't believe it was a rat, or any other animal, that took your pie," said Mr. Brown, as he, too, looked carefully on the ground around the table where the pie had been placed. The three other pies were there, but the fourth one was gone.

"There isn't a sign of any four-legged animal having been here," Mr. Brown went on. "I think it was some animal with only two legs who took the pie."

"Oh, you mean a -- a man!" cried Mother Brown.

Daddy Brown nodded his head for yes.

"Do you mean a tramp?" asked Bunker Blue.

"Well, yes, it might have been a tramp, though we haven't seen any around here since we've been in camp. However, if a pie is all they took we don't need to worry."

"Perhaps the poor man was hungry," said Mrs. Brown. "I'm sure I hope he enjoys my pie."

"He couldn't help liking it," said Bunny Brown. "Your pies are always so good, Mother!"

"I'm glad to hear you say that," exclaimed Mrs. Brown. "Well, we have enough for the next two days, anyhow, and I'll bake again to-morrow."

"Splash didn't take the pie," said Sue, "'cause he was with us in the boat."

"Then it must have been the tramp," Mrs. Brown said. "Never mind, we won't worry any more about it. Did you have a nice time?"

Then they told about their little fishing trip. When Uncle Tad came back from his walk in the woods, he, too, had to be told of the missing pie. Uncle Tad shook his head.

"We'll have to lock up everything around our camp if tramps are going to come in and take our pies, and the other good things Mother Brown makes," he said with a smile. "Or else one of us will always have to stay here to keep watch."

"I wish we had Tom Vine back," said Bunny. "I wonder where he is?"

Of course no one knew, and Mr. Brown began to think that, after all, Tom had done just as Mr. Trimble had said -- had run away.

The next day, after breakfast, Sue, who was changing the dress of one of her dolls, saw brother Bunny walking along the path that led toward the spring. Bunny carried a small wooden box.

"What are you going to do, Bunny?" she asked him. "Get a box full of water?"

"Nope. This box won't hold water. It's got holes in."

"But what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to make a trap to catch a fox."

"Oh, Bunny! Can I help you?"

"Yes. Come on. But you must keep awful still, 'cause foxes are easy scared."

"I will, Bunny. And may I bring my doll with me? I can put her to sleep on some soft dried leaves when you want me to help you."

"Yes, you may bring one doll," said Bunny. "But don't bring one of the kind that cries when you punch it in the stomach, or it might make a noise and scare the fox. I'm going to catch one and train him to do tricks."

"How are you going to catch him, Bunny?"

"In this box. Come on, I'll show you."

"I guess I won't bring any of my dolls," said Sue, after thinking about it for a minute. "A fox might bite her."

"Yes, that will be better," said the little boy.

So, carrying the box, and some other things, which Sue helped him with, Bunny and his sister went a little way into the wood.

"Don't go too far!" their mother called after them.

"We won't!" they promised. Since coming to Camp Rest-a-While Bunny and Sue had not been lost, and they did not now want to have that trouble if they could help it.

"Are there any foxes in here?" asked Sue, looking around as she and Bunny came near the spring.

"Hush! Don't speak so loud," whispered her brother. "You might scare 'em."

"Is they any here?" asked Sue, this time in a very soft whisper.

"I guess so," answered Bunny. "They must come to the spring to get a drink of water, same as we do. I'm going to put my trap near the spring."

There was a large flat stone, near the place where the water for the camp was found. On this stone Bunny put the box, bottom side up. It had no cover to it. One edge of the box Bunny held up by putting a stick under it, and to the stick he tied a long string.

"Is that a trap?" asked Sue.

"Yep," Bunny answered. "Now I'm going to put something under the box that foxes like. They'll crawl under to eat it, and when they're there I'll pull the string. That will make the stick come out and the box will fall down, and cover up the fox so it can't get away."

"Oh, that'll be fine!" cried Sue. "But what're you going to give the foxes to eat, Bunny?"

"I'll show you," said the little fellow. From his pocket he took some bits of bread, a few crumbs of dried cake, a little piece of pie wrapped in paper, and half an apple.

"There!" Bunny exclaimed as he put these things under the raised-up box. "Foxes ought to like all that. Now we'll hide back here in the bushes, Sue, and I'll have hold of the long string. As soon as we see a fox, or any other animal, go under the box, I'll pull away the little stick, and we'll catch him!"

"All right," said Sue. So, the trap having been set, Bunny and Sue hid themselves in the hushes to wait. But for a long time no fox, or any other animal, came along. Bunny and Sue grew tired of sitting in the bushes and keeping quiet. They could only whisper, and this was not much fun.

"I -- I guess I'll go home," said Sue, after a bit.

"Oh, no, stay with me!" Bunny begged. "Maybe I'll catch a fox pretty soon. Oh, look, Sue!" he cried, this time aloud, he was so excited. "There's a bird going into the box. I'll catch the bird, to show you how my trap works."

"You won't hurt the bird; will you, Bunny?" begged Sue.

"No, I won't hurt it a bit," Bunny replied.

A sparrow was hopping along the flat stone, toward the upraised box, under which were the bread and cake crumbs, and other good things that birds like. Closer and closer to the box went the bird, and finally it was all the way under, picking up the crumbs.

"Now watch me catch him!" cried Bunny.

He pulled the string, out came the stick, down came the box, and the bird was caught.

"I've got him! I've got him!" cried Bunny. "That's the way I'd catch a fox!"

He and Sue ran to the box trap. Bunny lifted it up and out flew the bird, not at all hurt, and only a little frightened. Bunny raised the box up again, and held it there with the stick. Then he and Sue went back among the bushes to wait; all ready to pull the string again.

But though Bunny's trap would catch a sparrow, there did not seem to be anything else he could catch. No foxes or other animals came to get a drink, and later Bunny's father explained to him that nearly all wild animals wait until after dark to get water, for fear of being caught.

After a while Bunny and Sue grew tired of waiting in the bushes.

"I'll just leave the trap here," said Bunny, "and maybe a fox will go in and knock the stick down himself. Then he'll be caught."

"But a fox could easy upset the box," said Sue.

"Maybe he could," agreed Bunny. "I'll put a stone on top of it." And he did.

Bunny and Sue reached camp in time for dinner. In the afternoon they went with their mother to pick huckleberries, and helped fill two pails.

"I'll make pies of these berries," said Mother Brown.

"And I hope nobody takes any of the pie," said Bunny. "'Cause I like huckleberry pie myself an awful lot."

That evening Daddy Brown built a campfire, and Bunny and Sue, with Bunker Blue, sat about it roasting marshmallows.

"I wish Tom Vine was here to help eat them," said Sue.

"So do I," agreed Bunny.

But Tom Vine was not there. Where was he? No one at Camp Rest-a-While could tell.

Bunny Brown did not sleep well that night. Perhaps he had eaten too many marshmallow candies. At any rate, he awoke soon after he went to bed. He was wishing he had a drink of water, and he was thinking whether he would best get up for it himself, or awaken his father, when the little fellow heard a noise outside the tent. It was a noise as if someone were walking around. At first Bunny thought it was Splash, but, looking over in the corner of the sleeping-tent, Bunny saw his dog there. Splash, too, had heard the noise, for he was getting up and growling deep in his throat.

Then, all at once, came a loud bang, as if someone had knocked down five or six tin pans.



Chapter XVIII

Splash Acts Queerly


"Daddy! Daddy!" cried Bunny Brown. "Daddy, did you hear that?"

"I couldn't very well help hearing it," said Mr. Brown sitting up on his cot, which was next to Bunny's. "Who's out there?" Mr. Brown cried, and with a jump he reached the flaps of the tent, which he opened, so he could look out.

Splash, who had jumped out, barking, when the noise sounded, rushed out of the tent. The tins had stopped rattling, and it was very quiet outside, except for the noise Splash made.

"What is it?" called Mrs. Brown, from her side of the tent.

"I don't know," answered her husband. "Someone -- or some animal -- seems to be making a noise. Maybe it is someone after more of your pies, Mother."

"We'll take a look," said Uncle Tad. He got out of his bed, and went to stand beside Daddy Brown at the opening of the tent.

"Can you see anything?" Mrs. Brown asked. Bunny could hear his sister whispering. Sue also, had been awakened, and wanted to know what had caused the noise in the night.

"No, I can't see anything," said Mr. Brown. "Splash is coming back, so I guess it wasn't anything."

He and Uncle Tad could see the children's dog walking back to his bed in the tent. Splash slept on a piece of old carpet. The dog was wagging his tail.

"What is it Splash? Did you see any tramps?" asked Mr. Brown.

Splash did not answer, of course, but he wagged his tail as he always did when he was with his friends.

"I guess it couldn't have been anything," Mr. Brown went on. "Maybe a squirrel or chipmunk was looking for some crumbs in the dining-tent, and knocked down the pans. I'll just take a look out there to make sure."

Mr. Brown and Uncle Tad went outside the tent. Splash did not go with them. He seemed to think everything was all right.

"Did you find him, Daddy?" asked Bunny, when his father came back.

"No, son. I don't believe there was anyone. I saw where the pans had been knocked down, but that was all."

Bunny was given the drink of water he wanted and soon was asleep. The others, too, became quiet and slept. But in the morning Mrs. Brown, in getting breakfast, found that a piece of bacon and some eggs had been taken from the ice box.

"The eggs and bacon were in the refrigerator all right when I washed up the supper dishes last night," she said. "I counted on having them for breakfast. Now they're gone!"

"Then there must have been someone in our camp, snooping around last night," said Daddy Brown. "It was a tramp, after all. And when he helped himself to something to eat he knocked down the pans. That's how it happened."

"I suppose so," said Mother Brown. "Well, I'm sure if the poor tramp was hungry I'm glad he got something to eat. But I wish he had not taken my bacon and eggs."

However, there was plenty else to eat in Camp Rest-a-While, so no one went hungry.

"I wonder if it was the same tramp that took the pie," said Bunny as he finished the last of his glass of milk.

"He must be a hungry tramp to eat a whole pie, and all those eggs, and the big piece of bacon," said Bunker Blue.

"Oh, I guess the things he took lasted him for several meals," Mr. Brown said. "The funny part of it is, though, that Splash did not bark. When he ran out of the tent last night the tramp could not have been far away. And yet Splash did not bark, as he always does when strangers are around at night. I think that's queer."

"So do I," put in Uncle Tad. "Maybe Splash knew the tramp."

"Splash doesn't like tramps," said Bunny.

"Well, he must have liked this one, for he didn't bark at him," added Bunker Blue with a laugh. "Maybe Splash knew this tramp before you children found your dog, on the island where you were shipwrecked."

For Bunny and Sue had found Splash on an island, as I told you in the first book of this series. That was when Bunny and Sue were "shipwrecked," as they called it.

Nothing else had been taken from Camp Rest-a-While except the bacon and eggs, and as Bunker Blue was going to the village that day he could buy more meat for Mother Brown. The eggs they could get at the farmhouse where they bought their milk. So, after all, no harm was done.

"The only thing is," said Daddy Brown, "that I don't like the idea of tramps prowling about our tents at night. I'd rather they would keep away."

BUNNY AND SUE OFTEN WENT BATHING IN THE COOL LAKE. Bunny Brown and His Sister Sue at Camp Rest-a-While. Page 181.

It was so lovely, living out in the woods, near the beautiful lake, as the Browns were doing, that they soon forgot about the noise in the night, and the tramps. Bunny and Sue were getting as brown as little Indian children. For they wore no hats and they went about with only leather sandals on, and no stockings, their sleeves rolled up to their elbows, so their arms and legs were brown, too. They often went bathing in the cool lake, for, not far from the camp, was a little sandy beach.

Of course, it was not like an ocean beach, or the one at Sandport Bay, for there were only little waves, and then only when the wind blew. In the ocean there are big waves all the while, pounding the sandy shore.

One day Mrs. Brown told daddy they needed some things from the village store -- sugar, salt, pepper -- groceries that could not be bought at the farmhouses near by.

"I'll take the children, row over, and get what you want," said Mr. Brown, for it was easier to row across the lake, and walk through the woods, than to walk half-way around the lake to the store. With Splash, Bunny and Sue in the boat Mr. Brown set off.

They landed on the other shore, and started to walk through the woods. On the way they had to pass along a road that was near to the farm of Mr. Trimble, the "mean man," as Bunny and Sue called him. Perhaps Mr. Trimble did not intend to be mean, or cross, but he certainly was. Some folk just can't help being that way.

"Huh! Are you coming over again to bother me about that runaway boy, Tom Vine?" asked Mr. Trimble, as he saw Mr. Brown.

"No, I've given Tom up," replied the children's father. "I guess he has gone back to the city. I'm sorry, for I wanted to help him."

"Boys are no good!" cried Mr. Trimble. "That Tom is no good. But I'll pay him back for running away from me!"

"Did he come back to you?" asked Mr. Brown, thinking perhaps, after all, the "ragged boy," as Sue sometimes called him in fun, might have thought it best to go back to the man who had first hired him.

"You don't see him anywhere around here; do you?" asked Mr. Trimble.

"No, I don't see him," said Mr. Brown, wondering why the farmer answered in that way.

"Well, he isn't here," said Mr. Trimble, and he went on hoeing his potatoes, for he was in a field of them, near the road, when he spoke to Mr. Brown.

As Bunny, Sue and their father walked on, Splash did not come with them. He hung back, and seemed to want to stay close to a small building, near Mr. Trimble's barn. Splash walked around this building three or four times, barking loudly.

"What makes Splash act so funny?" asked Bunny.

"I don't know," answered Mr. Brown. "Here, Splash! Come here!" he cried. But Splash would not come.



Chapter XIX

In The Smoke-House


"What makes Splash act so queer?" asked Bunny again.

"I'm sure I don't know," said his father. "I guess we'll have to go back and get him."

Certainly Splash did not seem to want to keep on to the village with Mr. Brown and the children. The dog was running around and around the small house, barking loudly. Mr. Trimble seemed not to hear the dog's barks, but kept right on hoeing potatoes.

"We'll go back and get Splash!" decided Mr. Brown.

He and the children walked slowly back. Splash kept on barking.

"You seem to have something in that little house which excites our dog," said Mr. Brown.

"It doesn't take much to get some dogs excited," answered the farmer. He did not seem to care much about it, one way or the other.

"What sort of house is that?" asked Mr. Brown. He looked at it closely. The little house had no windows, and only one door. And there was a queer smell about it, as though it had once been on fire.

"That's a smoke-house," said Mr. Trimble. "It's where I smoke my hams and bacon. I hang them up in there, build a fire of corn-cobs and hickory wood chips, and make a thick smoke. The smoke dries the ham and bacon so it will keep all winter."

"What a funny house!" said Sue.

"It hasn't any windows," observed Bunny.

"We have to have smoke-houses tight and without windows," explained Mr. Trimble, "so the smoke won't all get out."

"Are there any hams or bacon in there now?" asked Mr. Brown.

"No, we don't do any smoking until fall, when we kill the pigs."

"Well, there's something in there that bothers our dog," went on the children's father. For, all this while, Splash was running around the smoke-house, barking more loudly than before.

Just then Bunny Brown thought of something. He pulled at his father's coat and whispered to him:

"Oh, Daddy! Maybe Tom Vine is shut up in there -- shut up in the smoke-house!"

Mr. Brown looked first at Bunny and then at the strange little house which had no windows. The door of it was tightly shut.

"That's so, Bunny," said Mr. Brown. "Perhaps Tom is in there. That would make Splash bark, for he knows where Tom is." Mr. Brown thought as Bunny did, that Mr. Trimble might have caught Tom, and locked him up in the dark smoke-house.

"Oh, Daddy! Do you s'pose Tom's in there?" asked Sue in a whisper, for she had heard what Bunny had whispered.

Daddy Brown nodded his head. He walked up to Mr. Trimble and said:

"Now look here! There's something in that smoke-house, and I want to see what it is. Our dog knows there's something there, and I'm pretty sure of it myself."

"Well, what do you think it is?" asked Mr. Trimble. "If there's anyone in there I don't know it. But I'll open the door, and let you see. Your dog certainly is making a lot of noise."

"Have you got that poor boy, Tom Vine, locked up in there?" asked Mr. Brown.

The farmer laughed.

"Tom Vine locked up in there? Certainly not!" he cried. "I wish I did have. I'd like to punish him for running away from me. But I haven't seem him since he was at your camp. No, sir! He isn't in my smoke-house. I don't believe anything, or anybody, is in there. But I'll open the door and let you look inside. Why, the door isn't locked," the farmer went on, "and I guess I couldn't keep a boy like Tom Vine in a smoke-house without locking the door on him."

Mr. Brown did not know what to think now. As for Bunny and Sue they thought surely their new friend, Tom, was locked in the queer little house.

"Oh, now we'll see him!" cried Sue, and she felt very glad.

Mr. Trimble dropped his hoe across a row of potatoes, and walked to where Splash was still barking away in front of the smoke-house.

"Will your dog bite?" asked the farmer.

"No, he is very gentle," answered Mr. Brown. "But I'll call him away while you open the door."

"I'll hold him," said Bunny. "I'll hold him by his collar."

By this time Splash seemed to have barked enough, for he grew quiet. Perhaps he knew the door was going to be opened. He came away when Bunny called him, and the little boy held tightly to the dog's collar.

"I'll help you hold him," cried Sue, and she, too, took hold.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you," said Mr. Trimble, with a sour sort of laugh, "but you won't see any boy, or anything else, as far as I know, in this smoke-house. I did pile in some bean poles last fall, and I guess they're there yet, but that's all. Now watch close."

He put his shoulder against the door, and pushed. As it swung open, an animal, something like a little red dog, with a sharp, pointed nose and a big, bushy tail, sprang out and ran down the little hill, on which the smoke-house stood.

"Why -- why!" cried Mr. Trimble. "There was an animal in there after all! I didn't know it."

"A fox! It's a fox!" cried Bunny Brown. He had once seen in a book a picture of a fox, and this animal looked just like the picture.

"Yes, that's a fox sure enough, and I guess it's the one that's been taking my chickens!" cried Mr. Trimble. "I wish I had my gun! I'd shoot the critter!"

He picked up a stone, and threw it at the fox, but did not hit the running animal. Then something queer happened.

Splash, who was being held by Bunny and Sue, gave a sudden bark. Then he gave a sudden jump. He went so quickly that he pulled Bunny and Sue after him, and they both fell down in the dirt. But it was soft, so they were not hurt.

They had to let go of Splash's collar, though, and the dog now began to run after the fox, barking again and again.

"Splash! Splash!" cried Bunny. "Come back. The fox will bite you!"

"Don't worry," said Daddy Brown. "Splash can never catch that fox. The fox can run too fast, and he has a good head-start. Splash will soon get tired of running, and come back."

"The idea! The idea," exclaimed Mr. Trimble, "of a fox being in my smoke-house! That's what made your dog all excited."

"Yes, that was it," said Daddy Brown. "But I thought you might have Tom Vine shut up in there. I'm sorry I made the mistake."

"Oh, well, that's all right," said Mr. Trimble. He did not seem so cross now. He even smiled at Bunny and Sue.

"Maybe I was too quick with that boy," he said. "But I'm a hard working man, and them as works for me has to work hard, same as I do. But maybe I was too hard on Tom. I certainly was mad when he ran away and left me, and I made up my mind I'd punish him, if I could get him back. But I haven't seen him since he was at your camp. And you thought he was in the smoke-house?" he asked.

"Yes, I really did," replied Mr. Brown. "But I guess you didn't know a fox was in there; did you?"

"No, I didn't," answered the farmer. "He must have gone in during the night, when the door was open. The place sort of smells of meat, you know. Then the door blew shut, and the fox couldn't get out.

"And Splash smelled him!" cried Bunny, who had gotten up and was brushing the dust off. Sue was doing the same thing.

"Yes, your dog smelled the fox," said Mr. Trimble. "That was what made him bark and get all excited."

"I'm going to catch a fox in my trap," said Bunny. "I've got a trap set over by our spring. Maybe this is the fox I'm going to catch," he went on.

"I'm afraid not," said Mr. Brown. "This fox is so scared that he'll run for miles. He'll never come back this way again. Well, we haven't found Tom Vine yet; have we?" and he looked at Bunny and Sue.

"No, and you never will find him," said Mr. Trimble. "Boys are no good. Tom ran away from you same as he did from me. But maybe I was a little too harsh with him. I wouldn't lock him up in a dark smoke-house, though. That's no place for a boy."

Bunny and Sue were glad to hear the farmer say that.

"Well, we'd better be getting on to the village," said Mr. Brown. "Come along, children."

"Oh, let's wait for Splash to come back," said Bunny. "I don't want him to be lost."



Chapter XX

In Bunny's Trap


Pretty soon Splash was seen coming over the hills. He did not run fast, for he was tired from having chased the fox. The dog was wet and muddy, too.

"Oh, Daddy! What happened to Splash?" asked Bunny, as the dog came slowly along, and stretched out in the shade of a tree.

"Did the fox bite him?" Sue wanted to know. "If he did I don't like foxes, and I don't want Bunny to catch any in his trap."

"No, the fox didn't bite your dog," said Mr. Brown. "I guess he just ran away from Splash. And Splash tried to catch him, and ran through mud and water until he got all tired out. You don't like foxes, either, do you, Splash?"

Splash barked once, and did not even wag his tail. That one bark must have meant "No." And I guess Splash was too tired to wag his tail, as he always did when he was happy, or pleased.

"Maybe he'd like a drink of water," said the farmer. "I'll bring him some from the well. It's good and cold. I'm going to drink some myself, as it's a hot day. I could give the children a glass of milk," went on Mr. Trimble to Daddy Brown. "I've got plenty up at the house."

"Oh, I don't want to trouble you," said the children's father.

"It's no trouble!" said the farmer. "My wife will be glad to give them some. Come on, Splash!" he called. "We'll get you a cold drink after your run. So the fox got away from you same as that boy Tom Vine ran away from me."

Mr. Trimble was smiling and laughing now. Somehow or other he did not seem as mean and cross as he once had. Bunny and Sue were beginning to like him now. He was quite a different man from the one who had called at Camp Rest-a-While looking for Tom.

Splash eagerly drank the cool water, and then he rolled in the grass to get some of the mud off his coat. Mrs. Trimble brought out some milk for Bunny and Sue, and also a plate of molasses cookies, which they were very glad to have.

"Sit down under this shady apple tree," said Mrs. Trimble, "and help yourselves. Maybe you'd like a glass of milk," she said to Mr. Brown.

"Well, I don't care much for milk, except in my tea and coffee," he said. "Thank you, just the same."

"How about buttermilk?" asked Mr. Trimble. "That's what I like on a hot day, and she's just churned."

"Yes, I should like the buttermilk," returned Bunny's father, and soon he was drinking a large glass.

"What funny looking milk!" remarked Sue, as she helped herself to another molasses cookie from the plate in front of her. "It's got little yellow lumps in it, Daddy."

"Those are little yellow lumps of butter," said Mr. Brown. "To make butter, you know, they churn the cream of sour milk. And when the butter is all taken out in a lump, some sour milk is left, and they call that buttermilk. Would you like to taste it, Sue?"

Sue, who had drunk the last of her glass of sweet milk, nodded her curly head. But when Daddy Brown put his glass to her lips, and just let her sip the buttermilk he had been drinking, Sue made such a funny face that Bunny laughed aloud.

"Oh -- oh! It -- it's sour -- like lemons!" cried Sue.

"Yes, it is sour!" said Mr. Brown. "But that is why I like it."

"I like molasses cookies better," said Sue, as she took a bite from one to cleanse away the sour taste in her mouth. "You can make just as good cookies as my mother or my Aunt Lu can," said Sue to Mrs. Trimble.

"Can I? I'm glad to hear that," said the farmer's wife, with a smile. "Have some to put in your pockets."

"Oh, I'm afraid you've given them too many already," objected Mr. Brown.

"Molasses cookies won't hurt children; nor milk won't either," the farmer said. "Any time you're over this way stop in. I'm sorry you can't find that boy Tom. And I'm sorry I was a bit cross with him, or maybe he'd be here yet. But I haven't seen him."

Splash was rested now, and clean. And he had had a good drink of cold water, so he was ready to start again. The children, too, felt like walking, and, after having thanked the farmer and his wife, Mr. Brown set off once more with Bunny and Sue, Splash following behind.

"Come again!" Mrs. Trimble invited them.

"We will, thank you," answered Daddy Brown.

"She's real nice; isn't she?" asked Bunny, when they were once more in the road.

"Yes," said Daddy Brown.

"And I like that farmer, too," said Sue. "I didn't like him at first, when he shook his fist and was so cross, but I like him now."

"Yes, he is different from what he was at first," returned her father. "But I'm afraid we've seen the last of Tom. He must have run away. Maybe he was afraid, after all, that Mr. Trimble would stay cross, and would try to get him back onto the farm. Well, it's too bad, for Tom was a nice boy, but it can't be helped."

"I'd like Tom back," said Bunny.

"So would I," added Sue.

"What's the matter, Splash?" asked Mr. Brown, for the big dog had run up the side of a little hill along the road, and was barking at a hole in the ground.

"Maybe he thinks the fox lives there," said Bunny.

"Maybe," said Daddy. "Come on, Splash. Even if that is the hole of the fox he isn't there now. You chased him too far away. Come on!"

But Splash did not want to come. He pawed away the dirt at the side of the hole, and put his sharp nose down inside it.

"There must be something there, Daddy," said Bunny, standing still, and looking up the hill at the dog. "Let's go and see what it is."

"If it's a fox I'm not going!" cried Sue, holding back.

"I don't believe it's a fox," said Mr. Brown. "But we'll take a look. I'll carry you, Sue, and then, even if it is some animal in the hole, you won't be afraid."

Sue didn't mind going closer if her father carried her, and soon the two children, and Mr. Brown, were looking down into the hole at which Splash was barking.

All at once a light brown animal, covered with fur, and larger than the muskrat Splash had barked at in the lake, stuck its head out of the hole.

"Oh, look!" cried Bunny. "It's a little bear!"

"No, that's a ground-hog, or woodchuck," explained Mr. Brown. "They won't hurt you. This must be the old father or mother, and there may be little ones in the hole, or burrow, so the old folks want Splash to go away."

But Splash did not want to go. He barked louder than ever at the sight of the woodchuck, and pawed at the dirt with his fore paws. But he could not reach the brown, furry animal.

"Come away, Splash!" called Mr. Brown.

Still Splash barked.

Then, all at once, the woodchuck thrust out his head quickly, and made a grab for one of Splash's paws. The dog howled, and ran down the hill.

"There!" exclaimed Mr. Brown. "Now I guess you'll leave the woodchucks alone, Splash."

"Oh, is Splash hurt?" asked Bunny, for the dog was running along on three legs, holding the other up off the ground.

"Oh, I guess he isn't hurt much," Mr. Brown said. "Come here, Splash, until I look at your foot."

Splash limped up. He was not badly bitten. The woodchuck had just pinched him to drive him away. Splash looked at the hole and barked. But he did not offer to go near it again. So the old lady, or old gentleman, ground-hog -- whichever it was -- with the little ones, was left safe in the burrow on the side of the hill.

Mr. Brown, Bunny, Sue and Splash went on to the village. They bought the things Mother Brown wanted and then started for camp again. Nothing much happened on the way back. Mrs. Brown was told of the visit to Mr. Trimble's, and how the fox ran out of the smoke-house.

"And now," said Bunny, as his father finished telling what had happened, "now I'm going up to see if we've caught a fox or a ground-hog in my box trap. Come on, Sue."

"All right. I'm coming, Bunny, but if it is a fox or a ground-hog, you won't let him bite me; will you?"

"Course I won't, Sue!" said the little fellow, picking up a stick from beside the sleeping-tent. "Come on!"

Bunny Brown and his sister Sue were soon at the place where Bunny had set the box-trap, with the stone on top to hold it down, in case an animal got beneath.

"Now go easy, Sue!" whispered Bunny, as they crept through the bushes. "If there's a fox, or anything else, just going in, we don't want to scare him away."

"No," said Sue. "I won't make any noise."

She walked along quietly behind her brother. Now they were in sight of the box-trap Bunny had made.

"Is -- is anything in it?" Sue asked.

"Yes, I think so," her brother answered. "Don't make a noise. The box is down, and I guess something is under it. I hope it's a fox."

"I don't," said Sue. "Foxes bite."

"Well, you can sell 'em for a lot of money," argued Bunny. "And maybe I could train this one. But maybe it's only a ground-hog."

"I don't like them either," said Sue, "'cause one bit Splash."

"Say, what kind of animals do you like?" asked Bunny, turning to look at his sister. "What would you like me to catch in my trap?"

"A nice kitty cat," said Sue quickly. "Then I could have her to play with, and she'd like me and my dolls. Couldn't you catch a nice white kitty cat, Bunny?"

Bunny did not answer. He was looking at his box trap. His eyes opened widely.

"Oh, look, Sue!" he cried. "Look! My trap is moving! Something big is under the box!"



Chapter XXI

Bunker Goes Ashore


"Bunny! Bunny! I -- I want to go home!" cried Sue.

"What for?" asked her brother. "It's nice here, and I've got something in the trap, Sue."

"I know it, Bunny. I can see it move. That's why I want to go back to camp."

"Are you 'fraid, Sue?"

Sue nodded her head, and clasped closer in her arms the doll she had brought with her.

"Wait until we see what's in the trap -- under the box," said Bunny. "I'll lift it up and look under. If it's a fox I won't let him out."

Bunny started toward the box that was still moving slowly about on the big flat rock where Bunny had set his trap.

"Don't you touch it!" cried Sue. "Don't lift up the box, Bunny!"

"Why not?" he asked.

"'Cause the fox might get out and bite us. Let it alone."

Bunny stood still and looked at the box. It had stopped moving for a while. Then it began again, going about in a sort of circle.

"Why -- why!" cried Sue. "It's just like Blind Man's Buff!"

And, really, that is how the box moved about, just like some boy or girl, with a handkerchief tied over his or her eyes, trying to move about to catch someone, and yet trying not to bang into a tree or the fence.

"The fox, woodchuck, or whatever it is under my box," said Bunny Brown, "can't see which way he's going. That's why the box jiggles around so funny. But I'm going to see what's under it."

"If you lift it up, I'm going back to camp," declared Sue, turning back.

"But I want to see what it is!" cried Bunny. "I've caught an animal, and I want to look at it!"

You remember I told you he had fixed up a box, raised at one end by a little stick. Under the box were some good things to eat, such as animals and birds like. Bunny had tied a long string to the stick, and he and Sue had hid in the bushes, ready to pull the string, pull out the little stick, and let the box trap fall down on whatever was eating the bait.

But all Bunny caught were some sparrows, which he let go. Then he had set the trap again, and had gone off. Now there was something under the box, that was sure.

"How do you think it got caught, Bunny?"

"I guess the fox -- or whatever it is -- crawled under the box to get the cake crumbs, and he bumped against the stick, knocked it away, and the box came down on him," Bunny said. "Sue, I do want to see what I've caught."

"You -- you might get bit," his sister said.

Bunny thought that over for a minute.

"I know how I could do it," he said.

"How?" Sue wanted to know.

"I could get a long stick, and lift the box up with that. Then as soon as the fox came out, we could run, and we wouldn't be near enough for him to bite us."

"Oh, Bunny! That would be a good way, I'll stay and watch if you do it like that."

Bunny found a long pole, like a fishing rod. Holding this out in front of him, he walked toward the box. He tried to raise it up, but the stone on top made it too heavy.

"Push off the stone first," said Sue.

Bunny had not thought of that. With two or three shoves of his pole he knocked the stone off the top of the box. Then, once more, he tried to raise his trap to see what was under it.

All at once the children heard some one calling:

"Bunny! Sue! Where are you?"

"That's Bunker Blue," said Bunny.

"Here we are!" answered Sue. "Bunny's got something in his trap! Come and help us get it, Bunker."

There was a noise in the bushes, a dog barked, and along came the red-haired boy and Splash. The box was moving about more quickly now, for the heavy stone was not on top.

"Say, you have caught something!" cried Bunker. "There's surely something under the box, Bunny."

"It's a fox," said Bunny.

"Or maybe a ground-hog," added Sue.

"Maybe, and maybe not," went on Bunker. "We'll have a look. Here, let me take your pole, Bunny. Splash, you be ready to grab whatever it is!"

With a sudden push Bunker upset the box. Out ran a gray and brown animal.

"Oh, look!" cried Bunny.

"Is it a fox? Oh, don't let it bite me!" cried Sue, and she ran toward Bunker, who caught her up in his arms.

Splash, with a bark, sprang toward the little animal that had run out of Bunny's box trap. But the little animal, instead of running away, just curled up into a ball and stayed there. And Splash stopped short. He barked at the animal but did not try to bite it.

"He's afraid of it, and no wonder!" said Bunker. "Best leave that alone, Splash!"

"What is it?" asked Bunny.

"It's a hedgehog, or a prickly porcupine," said Bunker. "That animal is all covered with sharp quills, like a lot of toothpicks. They aren't very tightly fastened to him, and if a dog, or some other animal, tries to bite, he gets his mouth full of sharp, slivery quills from the hedgehog. That makes the dog's mouth very sore, and he can't bite anything again for a long time. That's why the hedgehog curls himself up into a little ball. In that way he is all covered with quills that stick out in every way. No dog or any other animal, can bite without getting badly hurt. I guess you'd better let the porcupine go, Bunny."

"I will," said the little fellow. "I don't want Splash hurt. Come away, Splash!"

Splash did not care very much about biting or worrying the hedgehog. The dog barked once or twice, and then came away. Then the porcupine uncurled himself, and ran off into the wood.

"Well, I caught something in my trap, anyhow," said Bunny.

"That's what you did," said Bunker Blue. "And the hedgehog, walking around under the box, kept pushing it along with his head. He was trying to find a way out. Come on back to camp now. Supper is ready and your mother sent me to find you."

The next two days it rained, and Bunny and Sue did not have much fun at Camp Rest-a-While. They had to stay in the tents. But the third day it cleared off, and the wind blew away the storm clouds.

That afternoon Bunker took Bunny and Sue out in the boat, fishing. They took with them some lunch to eat, and a bottle of milk to drink if they got thirsty. Sue also took an old umbrella to keep the sun off herself and her doll.

Bunker rowed the boat half way across the lake, and tied it to one of the trees that grew on a little island. There he and Bunny fished, but they did not catch anything.

"Maybe if we went on the island we would catch something," said Bunny. "May we, Bunker?"

"Well, I don't know. We might," said the red-haired boy. "I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll go ashore on the island, and try fishing a bit. If I have any luck I'll come back and get you two. You and Sue stay in the boat, Bunny, until I come back." Then the big boy got out and went ashore, leaving Bunny and Sue in the boat.



Chapter XXII

In The Woods


Bunker Blue seemed to be gone a long time. Five, ten -- fifteen minutes went past and he did not come back. Bunny and Sue began to get tired.

"He must be catching a lot of fish," said Bunny, after a bit, while he dangled his own hook in the water. Bunny wasn't catching anything -- he didn't have even a nibble, though he was using the right kind of hook and line, and he had a real "squiggily" worm on his hook -- Bunker had put it there for him.

"Maybe Bunker caught a big fish," said Sue, "and it pulled him into the water, eh, Bunny?"

Bunny shook his head.

"No," he said. "That didn't happen."

"Maybe it might," went on Sue. "There might be big fish in this lake. Or maybe it was a muskrat, like the one Splash barked at."

Splash, asleep up in the front of the boat, hearing his name spoken, looked up and wagged his tail.

"I didn't call you," said Sue. "But, oh, Bunny! maybe Bunker did fall in!"

Bunny shook his head again.

"No, he didn't fall in," said the little fellow. "If he had we'd have heard him holler, and he hasn't hollered."

Sue thought that over. It seemed all right. She knew she would "holler," as Bunny called it, if she fell into the water, and of course if a big fish or a muskrat had pulled in Bunker, he, too, would cry out. And it had been very still and quiet since the red-haired boy had gone ashore on the island.

"I know what we can do," said Bunny, after a bit.

"What?" asked Sue.

"We can untie the boat, and row around to the other side of the island where Bunker went," suggested Bunny. "He told us not to get out of the boat until he came back, and we won't, 'cause mother told us to mind Bunker. But he didn't tell us not to row the boat around where he is."

"That's right," agreed Sue. "We can do that."

Bunny and Sue knew something about boats, and they could each row a little. So while Bunny loosed the rope by which the boat was tied, Sue took up one oar. Then Bunny took the other. He shoved the boat out a little way. It began to move, first slowly, and then faster. All at once Sue cried:

"Oh, Bunny! My umbrella!"

It was open, and a gust of wind almost blew it out of the boat. Bunny caught the umbrella just in time. To do this he had to let go of his oar, and it slid overboard, into the water. But Bunny was not thinking about the oar just then. He had a new idea.

As he held the open umbrella he felt the wind blowing strongly against it. The wind was almost strong enough to blow the umbrella out of his hands. But he held on tightly.

"Oh, Bunny, your oar is gone!" cried Sue, as she saw it float away.

"I -- I can't help it," answered her brother. "I can't reach it, Sue. You get it."

"I can't. It's too far away."

"Well, let it go!" cried Bunny. "I know something else we can do, Sue. Oh, this will be fun! It's better than fishing!"

Sue was pulling, as best she could, on her one oar. But boats are not meant to be rowed with one oar, though you can scull, or paddle, with one. If you row with one oar your boat swings around in a circle, instead of going straight ahead.

"I can't row this way, Bunny!" called Sue. She knew enough about boats for that. "You'll have to get your oar, Bunny."

"We won't need it, Sue," called her brother. "Take in your oar. We won't need that either. We're going to sail. Look! the umbrella is just like a sail."

And so it was. The wind, blowing on the open umbrella Bunny held, was sending the rowboat along just as if a sail had been hoisted. The boat was moving quite fast now. Bunny and Sue were so pleased that they did not think about the lost oar, which had fallen overboard and had floated away. As Bunny had said, they did not need oars now.

"Isn't this fun!" cried Bunny.

"Yes," said Sue. "I like it. My dolly likes it, too! Do you like it, Splash?"

Splash did not answer. He hardly ever did answer, except with a bark or a whine, when Bunny or Sue spoke to him, and the children did not understand dog language. Anyhow, Splash seemed to like the umbrella sail, for he stretched out in the bottom of the boat and went to sleep.

Bunny held the open umbrella, and Sue held her doll. Of course, the doll had nothing to do with the sailing of the boat, but Sue kept her in her arms.

"You aren't going to sail very far; are you, Bunny?" asked Sue as the boat kept on going faster and faster.

"Not very far," Bunny answered. "We'll just sail around the end of the island where Bunker went fishing."

Now this would have been all right if the children had sailed around the end of the island where Bunker Blue happened to be. But they did not. It was not their fault, either. For Bunker had gone to the other end of the island, and he was sitting on a log, waiting for a fish to bite.

You see, this is the way it was. Bunker Blue told about it afterward. He went off the island, leaving Bunny and Sue in the boat. Bunker walked to the lower end of the island. Bunny and Sue saw him going. He was going to try for fish there.

But when the red-haired boy got to that end of the island he saw that the water was so shallow that no large fish could be caught in it.

"I'll just go to the other end," thought Bunker.

So, without calling to Bunny and Sue, Bunker walked along the other shore of the island, to the upper end. And Bunny and Sue, being behind a lot of trees and bushes, did not know that Bunker was not in the place where he had said he was going.

Bunker found the water deep enough at the upper end of the island, and there he sat down to fish.

"I'll just see if they're biting good here," he said to himself, "and, if they are, I'll go back and get the children."

Bunker had to wait quite a while for his first bite, and by that time Bunny and Sue had decided to start off themselves in the boat. And so they did, with the umbrella for a sail, as I have told you.

Faster and faster they went, around the lower end of the island. They expected to see Bunker there, but they did not, because he was at the upper end.

"Why -- why -- Bunker isn't here," said Sue, in surprise.

"Then we'd better go back," announced Bunny, still holding to the umbrella. "Stick your oar in the water, Sue, and steer back to where we were."

You can steer a boat with one oar, if you can't row it with one, and Sue knew a little bit about steering. But the oar was too heavy for Sue's little hands, and it soon slipped over into the lake. She tried to grab it, but was too late. The second oar was lost overboard.

"Oh, dear!" Sue cried. "It's gone."

"Never mind," said Bunny. "We don't need oars with the umbrella for a sail. Only we can't sail back where we were unless the wind blows the other way. And I don't see where Bunker is."

"Maybe he's gone home and left us," said Sue.

"He couldn't -- not without a boat," objected Bunny. "We'll have to sail over to camp and get daddy or Uncle Tad to row back for him."

"Yes, let's sail to our camp," agreed Sue. "Won't they be s'prised to see us come up this way with an umbrella?"

"I guess they will," said Bunny.

The wind blew stronger. It was all Bunny could do to hold to the umbrella now. The wind almost blew it from his hands. Even with Sue to help him it was hard work.

"If you could only tie it fast," suggested Sue.

"Maybe I can," said Bunny. "Here's a rope."

The rope by which the boat had been tied to a tree on the island lay in the bottom of the boat. The umbrella had a crooked handle, and the tying of one end of the rope around this, helped Bunny to hold the queer sail.

The boat now went on faster and faster.

"Why, there's our camp, away over there!" cried Sue, pointing. "Why don't you sail to it, Bunny?"

Bunny looked. Indeed, the white tents of Camp Rest-a-While were on the other side of the lake -- far away. And the wind was blowing the boat farther and farther off. Bunny and Sue could not get back to camp, for now they had nothing with which to steer their boat. Of course, if the wind had been blowing toward the tents, instead of away from it, they could have gotten there without steering. But now they could not.

"Oh, dear!" cried Sue. "Where are we going, Bunny?"

"We are going to the woods, I guess," he said. They were sailing toward the wooded shores of the lake, away on the other side from their camp, and a long way down from the island where they had left Bunker Blue.

Harder blew the wind on the umbrella sail. Faster went the boat. Finally it ran up on shore, right where the woods came down to the edge of the lake.

Splash jumped out with a bark, and began stretching himself. He did not like to stay too long in a boat. He wanted to run about on shore.

"Bunny, where are we?" asked Sue.

"I don't know," answered her brother. "But we are on land somewhere, I guess. It's nice woods, anyhow."

The trees and bushes grew thick all about.

"Let's get out," Bunny went on. He shut down the umbrella sail, and took off the rope. Then he tied the boat to a tree. He got out, and helped Sue.

"Where's our camp?" the little girl wanted to know.

Bunny looked across the lake. He could not see the white tents. Neither could Sue.

"Bunny -- Bunny," said the little girl slowly. "I -- I guess -- we're losted again."

"I -- I guess so, too," agreed Bunny Brown.



Chapter XXIII

In The Cave


Splash, the big, shaggy dog, ran up and down the shore of the lake, poking his nose in among the bushes here and there, barking loudly all the while.

"What's the matter with Splash?" asked Sue of her brother. "Is there a wild animal here, Bunny?"

"No, I don't guess so," the little boy answered. "Splash is wagging his tail, and he wouldn't do that if there were wild animals around. He doesn't like a wild animal. I guess Splash is just glad 'cause he is out of a boat. Splash doesn't like a boat."

"I do," said Sue. "But we didn't ought to have come away in the boat all alone, Bunny. Mother told us not to, you know."

"I know she did, Sue, but we couldn't help it. We were just going to look for Bunker Blue and the wind blowed us away from the island. We couldn't help it."

"No, I don't guess we could, Bunny. But what are we going to do now?"

"I guess we'll have to walk back to Camp Rest-a-While," answered Bunny. "We can leave the boat here, and Bunker can come and get it."

"Can't we sail back in our boat, with the umbrella, same as we sailed down here?" Sue wanted to know.

"We could if the wind would blow right, but it isn't," said Bunny. He had been among his father's boatmen often enough to know that you have to go with the wind, and not against it, when you're sailing a boat. "We'll have to walk, Sue."

"Let's holler and yell," said the little girl, as she straightened out the dress of her doll.

"What for?"

"So daddy or mother can hear us," Sue went on. "If we holler real loud they may hear us, and come and get us in another boat. If we hadn't lost the oars, Bunny, we could row back."

"Yes, but the oars are lost. I guess we'll just have to stay here, Sue. We're losted again. But I'm not afraid. It's nice here, and if we get hungry I can catch a fish. I have my pole, and there's a worm on my hook yet."

"Is he a squiggily worm?" Sue wanted to know.

"He was kind of squiggily," answered Bunny, "but I guess he's all done squiggling now. He's deaded."

"Then I wouldn't be afraid of him," Sue said. "I could fish with him, too. I don't like squiggily worms. They tickle you so."

Bunny walked back to the boat, which the wind had blown partly up on shore. He looked for his fishing pole and line, and, after he had taken it out, he saw the little basket of lunch his mother had put up. It had not yet been opened.

"Oh, Sue!" Bunny cried. "Look! We've got our lunch! And there's a bottle of milk, too! Now we can have a picnic!"

"And you won't have to catch any fish!" cried Sue, clapping her hands. "I'm hungry Bunny. Let's have the picnic now!"

Bunny was willing, for he was hungry too, and the children, taking the basket of lunch, sat down in a shady place on the shore to eat. As Sue was taking off the napkins, in which the sandwiches and cakes were wrapped, she happened to think of something.

"Oh, Bunny!" Sue said. "Part of this lunch was for Bunker Blue."

Bunny thought for a second or two.

"Well, Bunker isn't here now," he said, "and he can't get here, less'n he swims. I don't guess he'll want any lunch, Sue."

"And anyhow, he can catch a fish," said Sue. "Bunker is good at fishing, and he likes to eat 'em."

"I wonder where Bunker is now," pondered Bunny.

He looked back up the lake. He could not see the island where they had left Bunker. It was out of sight around a bend in the lake shore.

"Do you think he'll swim down here and want some lunch?" asked Sue.

"No," answered Bunny. "We can eat all this. Bunker won't come."

And so the children began on their lunch, sharing some of it with Splash, who, after a bath in the lake, lay down in the sun to dry himself.

By this time Bunker Blue, back on the far end of the island, had caught three fine, big fish. He was so excited and glad about getting them that, for a while, he forgot all about Bunny Brown and his sister Sue. Then he happened to remember them.

"I'll go back to the boat and get the children," said Bunker Blue to himself. "They can catch fish here, and that will tickle Bunny. He never yet caught real big fish like these."

But when Bunker went to the place where he had left Bunny and Sue in the boat, the children were not there, nor was there any sight of the boat. Bunker had been fishing by himself longer than he thought, and by this time Bunny and Sue were out of sight around a bend in the shore.

Bunker rubbed his eyes. Then he looked again. There was no doubt of it -- the boat was gone, and so were the children.

"Where can they be?" asked Bunker, aloud. But there was no one on the little island to answer him.

Then the red-haired boy happened to think that perhaps Bunny might have taken the boat around to the other end of the island. Bunker quickly ran there, but no boat was to be seen.

"They've either drifted away," said Bunker, "or else they've rowed themselves away. It's too bad; but they know how to behave in a boat, that's one good thing. They won't try to stand up, and so fall overboard. I wonder if I could call to them?"

Bunker shouted, but Bunny and Sue were too far away to hear him. Bunker then sat down on a stone. He did not know what to do. He looked over to the main shore, where he could just see the white tents of Camp Rest-a-While.

"Well, if we don't come back pretty soon, Mr. Brown will know something is wrong, and he'll get another boat and come over here," thought Bunker. "Then I can tell him what has happened, and we can go and look for the children. I guess they'll be all right. All I can do is to wait."

All this while Bunny and Sue were eating their lunch. They were not frightened now, and they very much enjoyed their little umbrella-sail excursion in the boat and the picnic they were having.

But, pretty soon, it began to grow cloudy, and then it began to rain.

"I don't like this," said Sue. "I want to go home, Bunny."

Bunny, himself, would have been glad to be in camp with his father and mother, but he thought, being a boy, he must be brave, and look after his little sister, so he said:

"Oh, I guess this rain won't be very bad, Sue. We'll go back into the woods, under the trees. Then we can keep dry. And we'll take the lunch, too. There'll be enough for supper."

"Will we have to stay here for supper?" asked Sue.

"Maybe," answered Bunny. "But if we do it will be fun. Come on!"

It was now raining hard. Bunny carried the lunch basket, with the bottle of milk -- now half emptied -- in one hand. The other hand clasped Sue's. They went back in the wood a little way, and, all at once, Bunny saw something that made him call:

"Oh, Sue! Here's a good place to get in out of the rain!"

"What is it?" Sue asked.

"A cave!" cried Bunny. "It's a regular cave, like robbers live in! Come on, Sue! Now we're all right! Oh, this is fun!" and Bunny ran forward into the dark hole in the side of the hill -- right into the cave he ran.



Chapter XXIV

"Who Is There?"


Sue did not run into the cave after her brother Bunny. She stood, hugging her doll close to her, under a big, evergreen tree, so that only a few drops of rain splashed on her.

Bunny Brown, standing in the "front door" of the cave, as he called it, looked at his sister.

"Come on in, Sue!" he called. "It's nice here, and you can't get wet at all."

"I -- I don't want to," Sue answered.

"Why not?" Bunny wanted to know.

"'Cause," and that was all Sue would say. Then it began to rain harder, and the drops even splashed down through the thick branches of the evergreen tree.

"Oh, come on!" cried Bunny. "It's nice here, and dry, Sue. Why won't you come?"

"'Cause I don't like those robbers!" answered Sue at last. "I'd rather stay out in the rain than go in with those robbers."

"What robbers?" asked Bunny, his eyes opening wide.

"You said that was a robbers' cave," declared Sue, "and I don't like 'em."

Bunny laughed.

"There's no robbers here, Sue," he said. "I only meant that this looks just like the pictures of a robbers' cave. There isn't any robbers here. Come on in. It's nice and dry here."

"Are you sure there's no robbers?" Sue wanted to know.

"Sure," said Bunny. "Listen!" He went back a little farther in the cave and cried:

"Robbers! Robbers! Go on away! That will drive 'em off, Sue," he said. "Now come on in."

The little girl waited a half minute, to make sure no robbers came out after Bunny's call. Then she, too, ran into the cave.

"Isn't it nice here?" Bunny asked.

"Ye -- yes, I -- I guess so," and Sue spoke slowly. She was not quite sure about it. "But it -- it's dark," she went on.

"All caves are dark," Bunny Brown answered. "They have to be dark or they wouldn't be caves. Nobody ever saw a light cave."

"Well, I like a light cave best," said Sue. "How long has we got to stay here, Bunny?"

"Till Daddy comes for us, I guess," he said. "We can't walk back to camp all alone. I don't know the way. We'd get losted worse than we are now."

"Has we got to stay here all night?" Sue wanted to know.

"Well, maybe," said Bunny slowly. "But we could easy sleep here. There's some nice dried leaves we could make into a bed, and we've some of our lunch left. We can eat that for supper, and save a little for breakfast."

"What will we give Splash?" asked Sue. She had looked over Bunny's shoulder as he now opened the lunch basket. There did not seem very much left for two hungry children and a dog. Splash was now nosing about in the cave. He did not bark, and Bunny and Sue knew there could be no one in the hole but themselves -- no wild animals or anything.

"There isn't enough to give Splash much," said Bunny slowly. "But maybe he can dig himself up a bone in the woods. We can leave the crusts for him. Splash likes crusts."

"I don't," Sue said. "He can have all of mine."

Bunny Brown and his sister Sue had not yet learned to like the crusts of their bread. But Splash was not so particular.

The wind was now blowing harder, and the rain was flowing in the front of the cave. It blew in the faces of the children.

"Come on farther back," said Bunny, as he saw Sue wrapping her dress around her doll to keep off the rain.

"It -- it's too dark," Sue answered.

Bunny walked back a little way. Then he cried:

"Oh, Sue. Come on back here. It's real light here. There's a chimbly here and the light comes down it fine!"

"You come and get me -- I can't see -- it's so dark," Sue answered.

Bunny had left her standing near the front part of the cave, where it was still light, and he had run back into the dark part. There, half way back, he had found a place where there was a hole in the roof -- a "chimbly," as Bunny called it.

Through this hole, or chimney, light came down, but between that place, and the entrance, was a dark spot. And it was this dark patch that Sue did not want to cross alone.

"I'll come and get you," Bunny called, and, a minute later, he and Sue were standing together under the hole in the cave roof. Some few drops of rain came down this chimney, but by standing back a little way the children could keep nice and dry, and, at the same time, they were not in the dark.

"Isn't this nice, Sue?" asked Bunny.

"Yes," she said. "I like it better here."

It was a good place for the children to be in out of the storm. They were far enough back in the cave now so that the wind could not blow on them, and no rain could reach them. Splash had come this far back into the cave with them, and was sniffing about.

Bunny walked around the light place, and found some boxes and old bags. In one of the boxes were some pieces of dried bread, and an end of bacon. There was also a tin pail and a frying pan. And, off to one side, were some ashes. Bunny also saw where a pile of bags had been made into a sort of bed.

"Look, Sue," said the little boy. "I guess real people used to live in this cave. Here is where they made their fire, and cooked, and they slept on the pile of bags. We can sleep there to-night, if daddy doesn't come after us."

"But I hope he comes!" exclaimed Sue.

Bunny hoped so, too, but he thought he wouldn't say so. He wanted to be brave, and make believe he liked it in the cave.

"I -- I'm thirsty," said Sue, after a bit. "I want a drink, Bunny."

"I'll give you some of the milk, Sue. There's half a bottle of it left."

"I'd rather have water, Bunny."

"I don't guess there's any water here, Sue," answered Bunny.

Then he listened to a sound. It was Splash, lapping up water from somewhere in the cave. It did not sound very far off.

"There's water!" Bunny cried. "Splash has found a spring. Now I can get you a drink, Sue. Splash, where is that water?"

Splash barked, and came running to his little master. Bunny walked to the place from which Splash had come, and there he found a spring of water coming out of the rocky side of the cave. It fell into a little puddle, and it was from this puddle that Splash had taken his drink. Bunny held a cup under the little stream of water and got some for Sue. Then he took a drink himself.

"Say, this cave is fine!" he cried. "It's got water in it and a place for a fire. All the smoke would go up that hole. We'll get Bunker and daddy and mother and Uncle Tad and come here and have a picnic some day. Don't you like it, Sue?"

"I -- I'd rather be back at Camp Rest-a-While," said the little girl. "Can't we go?"

"I'll go and see how hard it's raining," said the little boy.

He went to the front door of the cave, and looked out. It was storming very hard now. The wind was blowing the limbs of the trees about, and dashing the rain all over.

"We can't walk home in this storm," said Bunny to Sue. "We'll have to stay in this cave until they come for us."

"All right," Sue said. "Then let's eat."

The children ate some more of the lunch they had brought with them.

"Now let's make the bed," said Sue. "We'll sleep on a pile of the bags, Bunny, and pull some of 'em over us for covers. Splash won't need any covers. He never sleeps in a bed."

Bunny and Sue had often "played house," and they knew how to make the old blankets, and pieces of carpet they found in the cave, into a sort of bed. It was not so light now, for it was coming on toward night, and the sky was covered with clouds.

"If we shut our eyes and go to sleep we won't mind the dark," said Bunny.

"All right -- let's," agreed Sue.

They cuddled up on the bags, their arms around one another, with Sue's doll held close in her hand, while Splash lay down not far from them.

Bunny was not sure he had been asleep. Anyhow he suddenly opened his eyes, and looked toward the chimney hole in the roof of the cave. A little light still came down it. But something else was also coming down. Bunny saw a big boy -- or a small man -- sliding down a grapevine rope into the cave. First Bunny saw his feet -- then his legs -- then his body. Bunny wondered who was coming into the cave. He made up his mind to find out.

"Who is there?" he suddenly called. "Who are you? What do you want in our cave?"

The figure sliding down the piece of grapevine into the cave, through the chimney hole, suddenly fell in a heap on the floor, close to where Bunny and Sue were lying on the pile of bags. Splash jumped up and began to bark loudly.



Chapter XXV

Back In Camp


Bunny Brown tried to be brave, but when he saw someone come into the cave in the darkness, in such a queer way, the little boy did not know what to do. He thought of Sue, and felt that he must not let her get hurt, no matter what else happened.

"Oh, Bunny!" cried Sue. "Is that one of the robbers? Is it, Bunny? If it is I don't want to stay here! You said there weren't any but picture book robbers in this cave, Bunny Brown!"

Bunny did not answer right away. He did not know what to tell Sue.

But the big boy who had dropped down through the chimney hole straightened up suddenly. Bunny could see him patting Splash on the head.

And that was rather strange, for Splash did not easily make friends with strangers. He would not bite them, but he would bark at them, until some of his friends had said it was all right, and that he need bark no more.

But, after his bark of surprise this time, Splash seemed to have suddenly made friends with the big boy who had come sliding down the chimney hole of the cave.

"Who -- who are you?" asked Bunny again.

Instead of answering the big boy laughed. Then he asked:

"Are you Bunny Brown and his sister Sue?"

"Ye -- yes -- yes, we are," Bunny said. "But how did you know?"

"Oh, I can tell, all right."

Splash seemed very glad to meet the strange boy. There was still light enough coming down the chimney hole for Bunny to see the dog's wagging tail. And Splash did not wag his tail for persons he did not like. This must be a friend.

"Is -- is you a robber?" asked Sue. She had hidden her face in the pile of bags, and was holding closely to her doll.

Again the big boy laughed.

"No, I'm not a robber," he said, "though I did take a piece of your mother's bacon. But I'll pay her back for it. How in the world did you find my cave, and where is your father, or Bunker Blue? And what are you doing out alone in this storm? Are you --  -- "

But Bunny Brown broke in on the questions.

"Oh, I know who you are! I know who you are!" Bunny cried. "You're Tom Vine who ran away from us! Why did you run away? Daddy has been looking for you. You are Tom Vine; aren't you?"

"Yes, Bunny, I am. Wait a minute and I'll light a lantern, and you can see me better. Look out, Splash, so I won't step on you."

So that was why Splash had made such good friends with the big boy who came down the cave chimney hole -- Splash knew Tom Vine, of course, even in the darkness.

Tom walked over to one of the boxes, and brought out a lantern. This he lighted. Bunny and Sue blinked their eyes at the sudden light, but they were soon used to it. Then they looked at Tom.

Yes, it was he. But he was even more ragged than when they had first seen him. He was laughing, though, and did not seem sad.

"And to think when I came home, and slid down the chimney of my cave, which I sometimes do, when I don't want to go around to the front door -- to think when I did this I should find Bunny Brown and his sister Sue here!" said Tom. "How in the world did you find me?"

"We weren't looking for you," answered Bunny. "We were in the boat, with Bunker Blue. He went on an island to fish, and we sailed away with the umbrella. We landed here and I found this cave, to get out of the rain. I told Sue it was a make-believe robbers' cave."

"Well, I guess I'm the only robber who ever lived in it," said Tom. "But what are you children going to do? Tell me all about how you got here."

This Bunny and Sue did, from the time they started out with Bunker Blue, until Bunny opened his eyes to see Tom sliding down the grapevine rope.

"And now I'll tell you about myself," said Tom.

"Have you been living here in this cave ever since you went away from our camp?" asked Bunny.

"Yes," answered Tom. "This has been my home. No one knew I was here. I wanted to keep out of sight of Mr. Trimble, for fear he'd make me go back to his farm."

"Oh, he won't make you go back," said Bunny. "He's sorry he was so cross to you. He told daddy so; didn't he, Sue?"

"Yes, he did. I'm glad we found you, Tom," and she put her little hand in his big one.

"And I'm glad I found you and Bunny, Sue. And I'm glad that Mr. Trimble isn't looking for me. I was getting tired of hiding out this way. I want to go back to your camp."

"You can come," said Bunny. "Daddy wants you, I know, for he said he did. Come on back now."

"Wait a minute," said Tom. "First I'll tell you how I came here. And then, I guess, we'll have to stay until morning, as it is storming too bad to leave the cave now."

Tom then told that he had heard Mr. Trimble was looking for him, to make him go back to the farm.

"And, as I was afraid he'd catch me, I ran away from your camp that day when I went for the pail of water," said Tom. "As I was at the spring I saw Mr. Trimble going past behind some bushes. He didn't see me, because I stooped down. And when he got past I ran away. I didn't want him to get me.

"I found this cave, and I've lived in it. I took some old boxes and bags from a barn. They were thrown away, so no one wanted them, I knew. Then I found this lantern and I brought that here."

"How did you get anything to eat?" asked Bunny.

"Well, I took that," said Tom. "In the night I went back to your camp, and took some things. I didn't think your folks would care very much."

"They didn't," said Bunny. "Did you take the pie and the bacon and eggs?"

"Yes," said Tom, "I did. I have earned some money, though, and I'll pay for them."

"And did you knock down the pile of tins?" Bunny asked, "and make the noise in the night?"

"Yes," laughed Tom. "I thought sure your folks would catch me then, but I got safely away. And ever since then I've stayed in this cave. I found it by accident. It made a nice dry place. During the day I would go off to different farms and work enough to earn a little money to buy things to eat. All the while I was afraid Mr. Trimble would find me. He was such a mean man."

"But he's turned good now," declared Bunny, "and he's sorry he was bad to you. He wouldn't even shut you up in a smoke-house," and Bunny told of finding the fox in the little house.

"So then I can go back to your camp, and Mr. Trimble won't try to get me; will he?" asked Tom.

"Nope, he won't hurt you at all," said Bunny. "And please can't we go back to our camp now? Daddy and mother will be so worried about us."

"Why, yes, I guess I can take you," said Tom. "It isn't very far, and there's a good road. I see you have an umbrella. That will keep Sue dry. You and I won't mind getting wet, Bunny; will we?"

"Nope," said the little fellow.

When they went to the entrance of the cave they found that the rain had stopped, and the moon was shining. It was quite light in the woods. Leading Bunny and Sue by the hands, with Splash following after, Tom started for Camp Rest-a-While. He stopped for a moment on top of the cave, to show the children the chimney hole, and how he had slid down it by holding on to a long grapevine, that twined around a tree growing near the hole. The grapevine was like a long rope.

Through the woods went Bunny, Sue and Tom. As they came near the camp they saw lanterns flashing, and voices called:

"Bunny! Bunny Brown! Sue! Sue! Where are you?"

"Here we are, Daddy! Here we are!" cried Bunny and Sue together. "And Tom Vine is with us!" added Bunny.

Those carrying the lantern rushed forward, and soon Bunny and Sue were clasped in their father's and mother's arms, while Uncle Tad and Bunker were shaking hands with Tom, and listening to his story of how he had found the children in the cave where he made his home.

"And to think you two went off in a boat with an umbrella for a sail!" cried Mother Brown to the children. "Don't you ever do it again!"

"We won't!" promised Bunny. "But what happened to you, Bunker?"

"Well, after you left me on the island," said the red-haired boy, "I waited until I saw your father coming after me in a boat. He took me to camp, and I told him I thought you and Sue had drifted down the lake. So we set out to find you, but you got here all right."

"And I don't want to sleep in any more caves," said Sue.

"I like it," Bunny said. "It was nice!"

The children were soon asleep in their cots in the camp tent, and after Tom had told his story to Mr. and Mrs. Brown, he, too, was given his old bed. He had nothing more to fear from Mr. Trimble, and he need not have run away, only he was afraid of the farmer. And for that reason he did not go back to camp, or send any word to Mr. Brown.

But everything came out all right, and Mr. Trimble came over and told Tom how sorry he was for having been so unpleasant as to make him run away.

Bunny Brown and his sister Sue stayed at Camp Rest-a-While all that summer and they had much fun, and many more adventures, but I have no room to tell you about them in this book. Perhaps I may write another volume about them later. As for Tom Vine, he was taken to live in Bellemere, where he worked at Mr. Brown's boat business with Bunker Blue. He did not have to live in a cave any more, and had a good home.

And now, having told all there is to tell, I will let you say good-bye to Bunny Brown and his sister Sue.

<eob>

Six Little Bunkers At Grandma Bell's

By

Laura Lee Hope



Chapter I

All Upset


"There! It's all done, so I guess we can get on and start off! All aboard! Toot! Toot!" Russ Bunker made a noise like a steamboat whistle. "Get on!" he cried.

"Oh, wait a minute! I forgot to put the broom in the corner," said Rose, his sister. "I was helping mother sweep, and I forgot to put the broom away. Wait for me, Russ! Don't let the boat start without me!"

"I won't," promised the little boy, as he tossed back a lock of dark hair which had straggled down over his eyes. They were dark, too, and, just now, were shining in eagerness as he looked at a queer collection of a barrel, a box, some chairs, a stool and a few boards, piled together in the middle of the playroom floor.

"The steamboat will wait for you, Rose," Russ Bunker went on. "But hurry back," and he began to whistle a merry tune as he moved a footstool over to one side. "That's one of the paddle-wheels," he told his smaller brother Laddie, whose real name was Fillmore, but who was always called Laddie. "That's a paddle-wheel!"

"Why doesn't it go 'round then?" asked Violet, Laddie's twin sister. "Why doesn't it go 'round, Russ? I thought wheels always went around!" Vi, as Violet was usually called, loved to ask questions, and sometimes they were the kind that could not be easily answered. This one seemed to be that kind, for Russ went on whistling and did not reply.

"Why doesn't the footstool go around if it's a wheel?" asked Vi again.

"Oh, 'cause -- 'cause --  -- " began Russ, holding his head on one side and stopping halfway through his whistled tune. "It doesn't go 'round?"

"Oh, I got a riddle! I got a riddle!" suddenly cried Laddie, who was as fond of asking riddles as Vi was of giving out questions. "What kind of a wheel doesn't go 'round? That's a new riddle! What kind of a wheel doesn't go 'round?"

"All wheels go around," declared Russ, who, now that he had the footstool fixed where he wanted it, had started his whistling again.

"What's the riddle, Laddie?" asked Vi, shaking her curly hair and looking up with her gray eyes at her brother, whose locks were of the same color, though not quite so curly as his twin's.

"There she goes again! Asking more questions!" exclaimed Rose, who had come back from putting away the broom, and was ready to play the steamboat game with her older brother.

"But what is the riddle?" insisted Vi. "I like to guess 'em, Laddie! What is it?"

"What kind of a wheel doesn't go 'round?" asked Laddie again, smiling at his brothers and sisters as though the riddle was a very hard one indeed.

"Pooh! All wheels go around -- 'ceptin' this one, maybe," said Russ. "And this is only a make-believe wheel. It's the nearest like a steamboat paddle-wheel I could find," and he gave the footstool a little kick. "But all kinds of wheels go around, Laddie."

"No, they don't," exclaimed the little fellow. "That's a riddle! What kind of a wheel doesn't go 'round?"

"Oh, let's give it up," proposed Rose. "Tell us, Laddie, and then we'll get in the make-believe steamboat Russ has made, and we'll have a ride. What kind of a wheel doesn't go around?"

"A wheelbarrow doesn't go 'round!" laughed Laddie.

"Oh, it does so!" cried Rose. "The wheel goes around."

"But the barrow doesn't -- that's the part you put things in," went on Laddie. "That doesn't go 'round. You have to push it."

"All right. That's a pretty good riddle," said Russ with a laugh. "Now let's get on the steamboat and we'll have a ride," and he began to whistle a little bit of a new song, something about down on a river where the cotton blossoms grow.

"Where is steamboat?" asked Margy, aged five, whose real name was Margaret, but who, as yet, seemed too little to have all those letters for herself. So she was just called Margy. "Where is steamboat?" she asked. "Is it in the kitchen on the stove?" and she opened wide her dark brown eyes and looked at Russ.

"Oh, you're thinking of a steam teakettle, Margy," he said, as he took hold of her fat, chubby hand. "The teakettle steams on the kitchen stove," went on Russ. "But we're making believe this is a steamboat in here," and he pointed to the barrel, the boxes, the chairs and the footstool, which he and Rose had piled together with such care. For it was a rainy day and the children were having what fun they could in the big playroom.

"I want to go on steamboat," spoke up the sixth member of the Bunker family a moment later.

"Yes, you may have a ride, Mun Bun," said Rose. "You may sit with me in front and see the wheels go around."

Mun Bun, I might say, was the pet name of the youngest member of the family. He was really Munroe Ford Bunker, but it seemed such a big name for such a little chap, that it was nearly always shortened to Mun. And that, added to half his last name, made Mun Bun.

And, really, Munroe Ford Bunker did look a little like a bun -- one of the light, golden brown kind, with sugar on top. For Mun, as we shall call him, was small, and had blue eyes and golden hair.

"Come on, Mun Bun!" called Russ, who was the oldest of the family of six little Bunkers, and the leader in all the fun and games. "Come on, everybody! All aboard the steamboat!"

"Oh, wait a minute! Wait a minute!" suddenly called Vi. "Is there any water around your steamboat, Russ?"

"Water? 'Course there is," he answered. "You couldn't make a steamboat go without water."

"Is it deep water?" asked Vi, who seemed started on her favorite game of asking questions.

Russ thought for a minute, looking at the playroom floor.

"'Course it's deep," he answered. "'Bout ten miles deep. What do you ask that for, Vi?"

"'Cause I got to get a bathing-dress for my doll," answered the little girl. "I can't take her on a steamboat where the water is deep lessen I have a bathing-suit for her. Wait a minute. I'll get one," and she ran over to a corner of the room, where she kept her playthings.

"Shall I bring a red dress or a blue one?" Vi turned to ask her sister Rose.

"Oh, bring any one you have and hurry up!" called Russ. "This steamboat won't ever get started. All aboard! Toot! Toot!"

Vi snatched up what she called a bathing-dress from a small trunkful of clothes belonging to her dolls, and ran back to the place where the "steamboat" floated in the "ten-miles-deep water," in the middle of the playroom floor.

"Now I'm all ready, an' so's my doll," said Vi, as she climbed up in one of the chairs behind the big, empty flour barrel that Mother Bunker had let Russ take to make his boat. "Gid-dap, Russ!"

"Gid-dap? What you mean?" asked Russ, stopping his whistling and turning to look at his sister.

"I mean start," answered Vi. "Don't you know what gid-dap means?"

"Sure I know! It's how you talk to a horse. It's what you tell him when you want him to start."

"Well, I'm ready to start now," said Vi, smoothing out her dress, and putting the bathing-suit on her doll.

"Pooh! You don't tell a steamboat to 'gid-dap' when you want that to start!" exclaimed Russ. "You say 'All aboard! Toot! Toot!'"

"All right then. Toot! Toot!" cried Vi, and Margy and Mun, who had climbed up together in a single chair beside Vi, began to laugh.

"I know another riddle," announced Laddie, as he took his place inside the barrel, for he was going to be the fireman, and, of course, they always rode away down inside the steamboat. "I know a nice riddle about a horse," went on Laddie. "What makes a horse's shoes different from ours?" he asked.

"Oh, we haven't time to bother with riddles now, Laddie," said Rose. "You can tell us some other time. We're going to make-believe steamboat a long way across the deep water now."

"A horse's shoes aren't like ours 'cause a horse doesn't wear stockings -- that's the answer," went on Laddie.

"All aboard!" cried Russ again.

"All aboard!" repeated Laddie.

"Oh, let's sing!" suddenly said Rose. She was a jolly little girl and had learned many simple songs at school.

"Let's sing about sailing o'er the dark blue sea," went on Rose. "It's an awful nice song, and I know five verses."

"We'll sing it after a while," returned Russ. "We got to get started now. All ready, fireman!" he called to Laddie, who was inside the barrel. "Start the steam going. I'm going to steer the boat," and Russ took his place astride the front end of the barrel, and began twisting on a stick he had stuck down in one of the cracks. The stick, you understand, was the steering-wheel, even if it didn't look like one.

"All aboard! Here we go!" cried Laddie from down inside the barrel, and he began to hiss like steam coming from a pipe. Then he began to rock to and fro, so that the barrel rolled from side to side.

"Here! What're you doing that for?" demanded Russ from up on top. "'You're jiggling me off! Stop it! What're you doing, Laddie?"

"I'm making the steamboat go!" was the answer. "We're out on the rough ocean and the steamboat's got to rock! Look at her rock!" and he swung the barrel to and fro faster than ever.

"Oh! Oh!" cried Rose. "It's all coming apart! Look! Oh, dear! The barrel's all coming apart!"

And that's just what happened! In another moment the barrel on which Russ sat fell apart, and with a clatter and clash of staves he toppled in on Laddie. Then the chairs, behind the barrel, where Rose, Vi and Margy and Mun were sitting, toppled over. In another instant the whole steamboat load of children was all upset in the middle of the playroom floor, having made a crash that sounded throughout the house.



Chapter II

Daddy Bunker's Worry


"Dear me! What's that? What happened?" called Mother Bunker from the sitting-room downstairs. "Is any one hurt, children? What did you do?" she asked, as she stood, with some sewing in her hands, at the foot of the stairs, listening for some other noise to follow the crash. She expected to hear crying.

"Is any one hurt?" she asked again. She was somewhat used to noises. One could not live in the house with the six little Bunkers and not hear noises.

"No'm, I guess nobody's hurt," answered Russ, as he climbed out from the wreck of the barrel. "Get up," he added to his brother Laddie.

"I can't," answered Laddie. "My leg's all twisted up in the soap-box." And so it was. A box had been put on one of the chairs, and Mun Bun and Margy had been sitting on that. This box had fallen on Laddie's leg, which was twisted up inside it.

"But what happened?" asked Mother Bunker again. "You really mustn't make so much noise when you play."

"We couldn't help it, Mother," said Rose, who, being the oldest girl, was quite a help around the house, though she was only seven years old. "The steamboat turned over and broke all up, Mother," she went on.

"The steamboat?" repeated Mrs. Bunker.

"I made one out of the flour-barrel you let me take," explained Russ. "But Laddie rocked inside it, and it all fell apart, and then the chairs fell on top of us and Mun and Vi and Margy all fell out and -- "

"Oh, my dears! Some of you may be hurt!" cried Mrs. Bunker, as she heard a little sob from Mun Bun. "I must come up and see what it is all about," and, dropping her sewing, up the stairs she hurried.

There were six little Bunkers, as you have probably counted by this time. Six little Bunkers, and they were such a jolly bunch of tots and had such good times, even if a make-believe steamboat did upset now and then, that I'm sure you'll like to hear about them.

To begin with, there was Russ Bunker. Russell was his real name, but he was always called Russ. He was eight years old, and was very fond of "making things."

Next came Rose Bunker. She was only seven years old, but she could do some sweeping and lots of dusting, and was quite a little mother's helper. Rose had light hair and eyes, while Russ was just the opposite, being dark.

Violet, or Vi, aged six, was a curly-haired girl, with gray eyes, and, as I have told you, she could ask more questions than her father and mother could answer.

Then there was Laddie, or Fillmore, a twin of Vi's, and, naturally, of the same age. Just how he happened to be so fond of asking riddles no one knew. Perhaps he caught it from Jerry Simms, who had served ten years in the army, and who never tired of telling about it. Jerry was a not-to-be-mistaken Yankee who worked around the Bunker house -- ran the automobile, took out the furnace ashes and, when he wasn't doing something like that, sitting in the kitchen talking to Norah O'Grady, the jolly, good-natured Irish cook, who had been in the Bunker family longer than even Russ could remember.

Jerry was a great one for riddles, too, only he asked such hard ones -- such as why does the ginger snap, and what makes the board walk? -- that none of the children could answer them.

But I haven't finished telling about the children. After Laddie and Violet came Margy, aged five, and then Mun Bun, the youngest and smallest of the six little Bunkers.

Of course there was Daddy Bunker, whose name was Charles, and who had a real estate office on the main street of Pineville. In his office, Mr. Bunker bought and sold houses for his customers, and also sold lumber, bricks and other things of which houses were built. He was an agent for big firms.

Mother Bunker's name was Amy, and sometimes her husband called her "Amy Bell," for her last name had been Bell before she was married.

The six little Bunkers lived in the city of Pineville, which was on the shore of the Rainbow River in Pennsylvania. The river was called Rainbow because, just before it got to Pineville, it bent, or curved, like a bow. And, of course, being wet, like rain, the best name in the world for such a river was "Rainbow." It was a very beautiful stream.

The Bunker house, a large white one with green shutters, stood back from the main street, and was not quite a mile away from Mr. Bunker's real estate office, so it was not too far even for Mun Bun to walk there with his older sister or brother.

The six little Bunkers had many friends and relatives, and perhaps I had better tell you the names of some of these last, so you will know them as we come to them in the stories.

Mr. Bunker's father had died when he was six years old, and his mother, Mrs. Mary Bunker, had married a man named Ford. She and "Grandpa Ford" lived just outside the City of Tarrington, New York. "Great Hedge Estate" was the name of Grandpa Ford's place, so called because at one side of the house was a great, tall hedge, that had been growing for many years.

Grandma Bell was Mrs. Bunker's mother, and lived at Lake Sagatook, Maine. She was a widow, Grandpa Bell having died some years ago. Margy, or Margaret, had been named for Grandma Bell.

Then there was Aunt Josephine Bunker, or Aunt Jo, Mr. Bunker's sister. She had never married, and now lived in a fine house in the Back Bay section of Boston. Uncle Frederick Bell, who was Mother Bunker's brother, lived with his wife, on Three Star Ranch, just outside Moon City in Montana.

And now, when I have mentioned Cousin Tom Bunker, who had recently been married, and who lived with his wife Ruth at Seaview, on the New Jersey coast, I believe you have met the most important of the relatives of the six little Bunkers. You see they had a grandfather, and two grandmothers, some aunts, an uncle and a cousin. Well supplied with nice relatives, were the six little Bunkers, and thus they had many places to visit.

But I'll tell you about that part later on. Just now we must see what happened after the steamboat broke to pieces because Laddie jiggled himself inside the barrel, when Russ was sitting on the outside of it.

"Are you sure none of you is hurt? You look so!" cried Mother Bunker, as she saw the confused mass of children, barrel staves, box, footstool and chairs in the middle of the playroom floor.

"I'm all right," said Laddie, as he pulled his leg out from where it was doubled up in the box, and stood up straight.

"So'm I," added Russ. "Did I fall on you, Laddie?"

"Yep -- but it didn't hurt me much."

"My dear Mun Bun!" said his mother, pulling the little boy out from under a chair. "Are you hurt?"

Munroe Bunker was going to cry, but when he saw that Margy had no tears in her eyes, he made up his mind that he could be as brave as his little sister. So he squeezed back his tears and said:

"I just got a bounce on my head."

"Well, as long as it wasn't a bump you're lucky," said Russ with a laugh.

Vi pulled her doll out from under the pile of barrel staves. The doll's bathing-dress was torn, but Rose said that didn't matter because it was an old one anyhow.

"What made it break?" asked Vi as she did this. "Did somebody hit your steamboat, Russ? Or did it just sink?"

"I guess it sank all right," Russ answered, laughing.

"Well, what made it?" went on Vi.

"Oh, my dear! Don't ask so many questions," begged Mrs. Bunker.

"I got a new riddle," announced Laddie, as he rubbed his leg where it had been a little scratched on a box. "It's a riddle about a wheelbarrow and --  -- "

"You told us that!" interrupted Russ.

"Well, then I can make up another," Laddie went on. He was always ready to do that. "This one is going to be about a barrel. When does a barrel feel hungry?"

"Pooh! There can't be any answer to that!" declared Russ. "A barrel can't ever be hungry."

"Yes it can, too!" cried Laddie. "When a barrel takes a roll, isn't it hungry? A roll is what you eat," he explained, "I didn't think that riddle up," he added, for Laddie was quite honest. "Jerry Simms told me. When is a barrel hungry? When it takes a roll before breakfast -- that's the whole answer."

"That's a very good riddle," said Mrs. Bunker with a smile. "But I haven't yet heard what happened."

"Didn't you hear the noise?" asked Rose with a laugh. "It made a terrible bang."

"Oh, yes, I heard that," answered Mrs. Bunker. "But what caused it?" she asked anxiously.

Five little Bunkers looked at Russ, as the one best fitted to tell about the upset.

"We had a make-believe steamboat," explained the oldest boy. "Laddie was inside the flour barrel you let me take. He was the fireman. I sat outside the barrel to steer. But Laddie jiggled and wiggled and joggled inside the barrel and --  -- "

"I had to, Mother, 'cause I was making believe the steamer was on the rough ocean where the water is ten miles deep," interrupted Laddie. "So I rolled the barrel and joggled it and --  -- "

"And then it fell in!" added Rose. "I saw it."

"I felt it," remarked Russ, rubbing his back. "But it didn't hurt me much," he added.

"I guess the barrel was so old and dry that it couldn't hold together when you two boys got to playing with it," said Mrs. Bunker. "Well, I'm glad it was no worse. At first it sounded as though the house was coming down. You had better play some other game now."

"Oh, the rain has stopped!" cried Rose, looking out of a window. "We can play out in the yard now."

"Yes, I believe you can," said her mother. "But you must put on your rubbers, for the ground is damp. Run out and play!"

With shouts of glee and laughter the six little Bunkers started to go outdoors. It was a warm day, late in June, and even the rain had not made it too cool for them to be out.

As the six children trooped out on the side porch they saw their father coming up the walk.

"Why, it isn't supper time, and daddy's coming home!" exclaimed Rose.

"What do you s'pose he wants?" asked Russ.

"Maybe he heard the barrel break and came up to see about it," suggested Laddie.

"He couldn't hear the barrel break away down to his office," said Russ.

Just then Mrs. Bunker, from within the house, saw her husband approaching. She went out on the porch to meet him.

"Why, Charlie!" she exclaimed, "has anything happened? What is the matter? You look worried!"

"I am worried," said Mr. Bunker. "I've had quite a loss! It's some valuable real estate papers. They are gone from my office, and I came to see if they were on my desk in the house. Hello, children!" he called to the six little Bunkers. But even Mun Bun seemed to know that something was wrong. Daddy Bunker's voice was not at all jolly.

His loss was worrying him, his wife well knew.



Chapter III

Grandma's Letter


While the other children, being too young to understand much about Daddy Bunker's worry, ran down to play in the yard, Russ and Rose stayed on the porch with their father and mother. They heard Mrs. Bunker ask:

"What sort of papers were they you lost?

"Well, I don't know that I have exactly lost them," said Mr. Bunker slowly, as though trying to think what really had happened, "I had some real estate papers in my desk at the office. They were about some property I was going to sell for a man, and the papers were valuable. But a little while ago, when I went to look for them, I couldn't find them. It means the loss of considerable money."

"Perhaps they are in your desk here," said Mrs. Bunker, for her husband sometimes did business at his home in the evening, and had a desk in the sitting-room.

"Perhaps they are," said the father of the six little Bunkers. "That is why I came home so early -- to look."

He went into the house, followed by his wife and Russ and Rose. Mr. Bunker stepped over to his desk, and began looking through it. He took out quite a bundle of books and papers, but those he wanted did not seem to be there.

"Did you find them?" asked his wife, after a while.

"No," he answered with a shake of his head, "I did not. They aren't here. I'm sorry. I need those papers very much. I may lose a large sum of money if I don't find them. I can't see what could have happened to them. I had them on my desk in the office yesterday, and I was looking at them when Mr. Johnson came along to see about buying some lumber from the pile in the yard next to my office."

"Perhaps Mr. Johnson might know something about the papers," suggested Mrs. Bunker.

Her husband did not answer her for a moment. Then he suddenly clapped his hands together as a new thought came to him, and he said:

"Oh, now I remember! I left those papers in my old coat."

"Your old coat!" repeated Mrs. Bunker with interest.

"Yes. That old ragged one I sometimes wear at the office when I have to get things down from the dusty shelves. I had on that coat when I was holding the papers in my hand, and then Mr. Johnson came along. I wanted to go out in the lumberyard with him, to look at the boards he wanted to buy, so I stuck the papers in the pocket of the old coat."

"Then that's where they must be yet," said Mrs. Bunker. "Where is the coat?"

"Oh, I always keep it hanging up behind the office door. Yes, that's it. I remember now. When Mr. Johnson came in and I went out to look at the lumber with him, I stuck the papers in the inside pocket of the old, ragged coat. And then I forgot all about them until just now, when I had to have them. I'll hurry back to the office and get the papers out of the pocket of the coat."

"May we come with you?" asked Russ.

"Please let us," begged Rose.

Mr. Bunker, who did not seem quite so worried now, looked at his wife.

"Take the children, if you have time," she said. "At least Rose and Russ. The others are playing in the sand," for that's what they were doing. Vi, Laddie, Margy and Mun Bun were digging in a pile of sand at one end of the yard.

"All right, come along, Little Flower, and you, too, Whistler," said Mr. Bunker, giving Russ a pet name he used occasionally.

The two children, delighted to be out after the rain, went down the street with their father, leaving their smaller brothers and sisters playing in the sand. Russ and Rose felt they were too old for this -- especially just now.

"Did you hear what happened to us?" asked Russ, as he walked along, holding one of his father's hands, while Rose took the other.

"What happened when?" asked Mr. Bunker.

"When I made a steamboat partly out of a barrel," went on Russ. "It got broken when Laddie was inside it and I was outside. But we didn't any of us get hurt."

"Well, I'm glad of that," said Mr. Bunker with a smile.

"And Laddie made up a funny riddle about the barrel" went on Rose. "Jerry told it to him, though. It's like this -- 'Why does a barrel eat a roll for breakfast?'"

"Why does a barrel eat a roll for breakfast?" repeated Mr. Bunker. "I didn't know barrels ate rolls. I thought they always took crackers or oatmeal or something like that."

"Oh, she hasn't got it right!" said Russ, with a laugh at his sister. "The riddle is, 'When is a barrel hungry?' and Laddie says Jerry told him it was when the barrel takes a roll before breakfast."

"Oh, I see!" laughed Mr. Bunker. "Well, that's pretty good. Now I have a riddle for you. 'How many lollypops can you buy for two pennies?'" and he stopped in front of a little store with the two children -- one on each side of him.

Russ looked at Rose and Rose looked at Russ. Then they smiled and looked at their father.

"I think we can find the answer to that riddle in here," went Mr. Bunker, as he led the way into the candy store, for it was that kind.

And Russ and Rose soon found that they could each get a lollypop for a penny.

"You used to get two for a cent," said Russ. "But I guess, on account of everything being so high, they only give you one."

"Well, one at a time is enough, I should think," said Mr. Bunker, as they went out of the store. "If you had two lollypops I'd be afraid you wouldn't know which one to taste first, and it would take so long to make sure that you might grow old before you found out, and then you wouldn't have any fun eating them."

"Oh, you're such a funny daddy!" laughed Rose.

They walked down Main Street, and soon came to Mr. Bunker's real estate office. He hurried inside, followed by the children.

Mr. Bunker looked behind the door in the little room where he had his desk. The office was made up of three rooms, and in the large, outer one, were several clerks, writing at desks. Some of them knew the two little Bunker children and nodded and smiled at them.

"Where's that old coat of mine I sometimes wear?" asked Mr. Bunker of one of his clerks, when the office door had been opened but no garment was found hanging behind it.

"Do you mean that ragged one?" asked the clerk, whose name, by the way, was Donlin -- Mr. Donlin.

"That's the one I mean," said Mr. Bunker. "I stuck some real estate papers in the pocket of that coat yesterday when I went out to the lumber pile with Mr. Johnson, and now I want them. I must have left them in the pocket of the old, ragged coat."

"If you did they're gone, I'm afraid," said Mr. Donlin.

"Gone? You mean those papers are gone?"

"Yes, and the old coat, too. They're both gone. If there were any papers in the pocket of that old coat they're gone, Mr. Bunker."

"But who took them?" asked the real estate man, much worried.

"Why, it must have been that old tramp lumberman," answered the clerk. "Don't you remember?"

"What tramp lumberman?" asked Mr. Bunker.

"It was this way," said Mr. Donlin. "After you went out to the lumber pile with Mr. Johnson -- and I saw you had on the old coat -- you came back in here and hung it up behind the door."

"And the valuable papers were in the pocket," said Mr. Bunker. "I remember that."

"Well, perhaps they were," admitted the clerk. "Anyhow, you hung the ragged coat behind the door. And just before you went home for the night an old tramp came in. Don't you remember? He was red-haired."

"Yes, I remember that," said the children's father.

"Well, this tramp said he used to be a lumberman, but he got sick and had to go to the hospital, and since coming out he couldn't find any work to do. He said he was in need of a coat, and you called to me to give him your old one, as you were going to get another. Do you remember that?"

"Oh, yes! I certainly do!" cried Mr. Bunker. "I'd forgotten all about the tramp lumberman! And I did tell you to give him my old coat. I forgot all about having left the papers in it. I was so busy talking to Mr. Johnson that I never thought about them. And did the tramp take the coat?"

"He did, Mr. Bunker. And he said to thank you and that he was glad to get it. He went off wearing it."

"And my papers -- worth a large sum of money -- were in the pocket!" exclaimed Mr. Bunker. "I never thought about them, for I was so busy about selling Mr. Johnson the lumber. It's too bad!"

"I'm sorry," said the clerk. "If I had known the papers were in the old coat I'd have looked through the pockets before I gave it to the tramp."

"Oh, it wasn't your fault," said Mr. Bunker quickly. "It was my own. I should have remembered about the papers being in the coat. But do you know who that tramp was, and where he went?"

"I never saw him before," replied Mr. Donlin, "and I haven't seen him since. Maybe the police could find him."

"That's it! That's what we'll have to do!" cried Mr. Bunker. "I shall have to send the police to find the old lumberman; not that he has done anything wrong, but to get back my papers. He may keep the coat. Very likely he hasn't even found the papers. Yes, I must tell the police!"

But before Mr. Bunker could do this in came the postman with the mail. There were several letters for the real estate dealer, and when he saw one he exclaimed:

"Ah, this is from Grandma Bell! We must see what she has to say!"

Daddy Bunker opened the letter, which was written to him by his wife's mother -- the children's grandmother -- and when he had read a few lines, he exclaimed:

"Oh, ho! Here is news indeed! Good news!"

"Oh, what is it?" asked Russ. "Did grandma tell you in the letter that the tramp lumberman left your papers at her house?"



Chapter IV

Fourth Of July


Daddy Bunker looked at his little boy and girl. And, on their part, Russ and Rose looked at daddy. They were thinking of two things -- the letter from Grandma Bell and Mr. Bunker's real estate papers that the tramp lumberman had carried off in the old coat. Russ and Rose didn't know much about real estate -- except that it meant houses and barns and fields and city lots. And they didn't know much about valuable real estate papers, but they did know their father was worried about something, and this made them feel sad.

"Has grandma got your papers?" asked Russ again.

"Oh, no, little Whistler," answered Mr. Bunker with a laugh. "She doesn't even know I have lost them."

"But what's the letter about?" asked Rose.

"It's a letter from Grandma Bell inviting us all up to her home at Lake Sagatook, in Maine, to spend part of the summer," answered Mr. Bunker. "Grandma Bell wants us to come up to Maine, and have a good time."

"Oh, can we go?" cried Russ, and, for the moment, he forgot all about his father's lost papers.

"Oh, won't it be fun!" cried Rose. "I love Grandma Bell!"

"Yes, I guess every one who knows her does," said Mr. Bunker, for he was as fond of his wife's mother as he was of his own, who was the children's Grandma Ford.

"When can we go?" asked Russ.

"Oh, it's too soon to settle that part," answered his father. "We'll have to take this letter home and talk it over with mother. Then I must see if I can't get the police to find this red-haired tramp lumberman who is carrying those valuable papers around in my old coat. It's queer I never thought that I put them in the pocket. Very queer!"

"Maybe the tramp will bring them back," said Rose after a bit. "Lots of times, when people find things, they bring them back."

"Yes, that's so, he might do it, if he is honest," said Mr. Bunker. "But perhaps he isn't, and maybe he has not yet looked in the pockets of the coat. But I'll just telephone to the police, and see if any of them have seen the tramp that came to my office."

There were not many policemen in Pineville, and most of them knew Mr. Bunker. He telephoned from his office to the chief, or head policeman, and asked him to be on the watch for a red-haired tramp lumberman wearing an old coat.

"Get me back the papers. I don't care about the coat -- he may have that," said Mr. Bunker.

The chief promised that he and his men would do what they could, and some of the policemen at once began looking about Pineville for the tramp.

"But I guess maybe he has traveled on from here," said Mr. Bunker, as he came away from the telephone. "I'm afraid I'll never see my valuable papers again."

"Will you be so poor we can't go to Grandma Bell's?" asked Russ. That would be very dreadful, he thought.

"Oh, no, I won't be as poor as that," answered Daddy Bunker with a smile. "We'll go to see Grandma Bell all right. But I would like to get those papers."

He told the clerks in his office and some friends of his about his loss, and they promised to be on the lookout for the tramp. Then Daddy Bunker took Rose and Russ back home with him, along Main Street, in Pineville.

"Did you find them?" asked Mrs. Bunker anxiously, as she saw her husband coming up the walk toward the house. "Did you get your papers?"

"No," he answered. "I forgot that I had given the old coat to a tramp, and the papers were in one of the pockets," and he told his wife what had happened at the real estate office.

"And we got a letter from Grandma Bell!" exclaimed Rose as soon as she had a chance to speak.

"And we're going to see her -- up to Lake Sagatook, in Maine," added Russ.

"No? Really?" cried Mrs. Bunker in delight. "Did you get a letter from mother?" she asked her husband.

"Yes, it came to me at the office," he answered, giving it to his wife.

"Do you think we can go?" she asked, when she had read the letter.

"Why, yes, I guess so," slowly answered Mr. Bunker. "It will do you good and the children good, too. We'll go to Grandma Bell's!"

"Oh, goody!" cried Russ, and he began to whistle a merry tune. Rose started to sing a little song, and then she said:

"Oh, but I must go in and help set the table!" for she often did that, as Norah had so much else to do at meal-time.

"All right, Little Helper!" said Mother Bunker with a smile. "We can talk about the trip to grandma's when we are eating supper."

Some of the other children heard the good news -- the loss of the real estate papers did not bother them, for they were too little to worry; but they loved to hear about Grandma Bell.

"And I'm going to take some fire-to'pedos!" exclaimed Laddie. "I'm going to shoot 'em off for Fourth of July at grandma's."

Daddy Bunker shook his head.

"I think we'd better have our Fourth of July at home here, before we go," he said. "That will be next week, and we can go to Maine soon afterward. Grandma Bell doesn't like fire-crackers, anyhow. We'll shoot them off before we go."

"Goody!" cried Laddie again. Anything suited him as long as he could have fun. "We'll shoot sky-rockets, too. What makes 'em be called sky-rockets?" he asked, "Do they go up to the sky?"

"You go and ask Jerry Simms about that," suggested Mr. Bunker. "Jerry can tell you how they shot signaling rockets in the army. Trot along!"

Laddie was glad to do this. He liked to hear Jerry talk.

"Maybe he'll tell me a riddle about sky-rockets," said the little fellow.

Russ sat down on the porch and began whittling some bits of wood with his knife.

"What are you making now, Russ?" asked his father, while Mrs. Bunker went in to see that Rose was setting the table right, and that Norah had started to get the meal.

"I'm making a wooden cannon to shoot fire-crackers," the boy answered. "You can put a fire-cracker in it and light it, and then it can't hurt anybody."

"That's a good idea," said Mr. Bunker, "You can't be too careful about Fourth of July things. I'll be at home with you and the other children on that day, to see that you don't get hurt."

"Are you sure Grandma Bell wouldn't like to have us bring some shooting things down to her?" asked Russ.

"Oh, yes, I am very sure," answered his father with a laugh. "Grandma Bell doesn't like much noise. We'll have our Fourth before we go."

"That'll be fun!" said Russ, and he went on whittling at his cannon. His father did not really believe the little boy could make one, but Russ was always doing something; either whistling or making some toy.

At supper they talked about the fun they would have at Grandma Bell's. It was quite a long trip in the train, and they would be all night in the cars.

"And that'll be fun!" cried Russ. "We can all of us sleep when the train is going along."

"Can we, Daddy?" asked Laddie. "Really?"

"Oh, yes, they have sleeping-cars," said Mr. Bunker.

"Do the cars sleep?" asked Laddie, his eyes opening wide in surprise. "Oh, that's funny -- a sleeping-car. And -- and --  -- Say! maybe I can think up a riddle about a sleeping-car," he added.

"You'd better think about drinking your milk, and getting good and fat, with rosy cheeks, so Grandma Bell will like to kiss them," said Mother Bunker with a laugh. "Don't think so much about riddles or sleeping-cars."

"Maybe I can think of a riddle with a sleeping-car in it and some milk, too," said Laddie.

"Perhaps you can!" laughed Daddy Bunker. "A cow in a sleeping-car would do for that."

After the children had gone to bed -- each one eager to dream about Grandma Bell -- Mr. and Mrs. Bunker sat up and talked about what was to be done.

"It's too bad about those papers the tramp took in the old coat," said Mrs. Bunker.

"Yes, I am sorry to lose them," said her husband. "But perhaps the tramp may be found, and I may get them back."

Russ, Rose, and all the rest of the six little Bunkers got up early next morning.

"Is It Fourth of July yet?" asked Munroe.

"No, not yet, Mun Bun," answered Rose with a laugh. "But it soon will be -- in a few days."

"I'm going to finish my cannon," said Russ.

"Come on!" called Laddie to his twin sister Vi. "Let's go down and dig a hole in the sand pile."

"What for?" she asked. Violet hardly ever did anything without first asking a question about it.

"Huh?"

"What for we dig a hole?"

"To put fire-crackers in," answered Laddie. "And when they shoot off -- 'Bang!' -- they'll make the sand go up in the air."

"Like a sky-rocket?" asked Vi.

"Yes, I guess maybe like a sky-rocket," answered Laddie.

So down to the sand pile he and his sister went. Mun Bun and Margy played in the grass in the side yard, Russ whittled away at his wooden cannon, whistling the while, and Rose, after she had done a little dusting, made a new dress for her doll.

"'Cause I want her to look nice for Grandma Bell," said the little girl.

And thus they played at these and other things, and had a good time.

A few mornings after this Russ was suddenly awakened by hearing a loud noise under his window.

"What's that?" he cried. "Thunder?"

"It's Fourth of July!" answered his father. "Some boy must have shot off a big early fire-cracker! Get up, children! It's Fourth of July, and we are going to have some fun! Get up!"

"Hurray!" cried Russ. "Hurray for the Fourth of July!"



Chapter V

The Tramp


Such fun as the six little Bunkers had! Daddy Bunker was up before any of them, to see that little fingers were not burned by pieces of punk or stray ends of fire-crackers, and before breakfast Russ and Laddie had made enough noise, their mother said, to last all day.

"It's a good thing we decided not to go to Grandma Bell's until after the Fourth;" she said. "Dear mother never could have stood this racket."

"We like it," said Russ.

He and Laddie did, and Mun Bun did not mind it very much, though he did shut his eyes and jump when a big cracker went off.

Rose, Margy and Vi didn't like the fire-crackers at all, though they didn't mind tossing torpedoes down on the sidewalk, to hear them go off with a little bang.

Mrs. Bunker was afraid some of the children might get burned or hurt with the fireworks, and she wished they hadn't had any; but Daddy Bunker promised to stay with the little folk all day, and see that they got into no danger. And he did, firing off the big fire-crackers himself.

The wooden cannon Russ made didn't work very well. The first fire-cracker that was shot off in it burst the wooden affair all to pieces.

"But I don't care," said Russ with a jolly whistle. "It made one awfully good noise, anyhow."

"To-night we'll go down to the Square and see the big fireworks," said Daddy Bunker, for the town of Pineville was old-fashioned enough to have a Fourth-of-July celebration.

"And you said we could have ice cream and cake this afternoon," said Rose to her mother.

"Yes, I did," agreed Mrs. Bunker. "Norah is freezing the cream now, and she made the cake yesterday."

"Oh, goody!" cried Laddie, clapping his hands. "Ice cream and cake. Is it chocolate cake, Mother?" he asked.

"I don't know -- you'll have to ask Norah," was the answer.

"Come on, let's!" said Rose, and they ran around to the kitchen door, looking in where the good-natured cook was busy with pots and pans.

"Chocolate cake is it? Sure it's both kinds," Norah answered with a laugh. "It's regular thunder-and-lightning cake -- you wait an' see!"

"Thunder-and-lightning cake! Oh, what kind is that?" asked Rose.

"Maybe it's a riddle," suggested Laddie.

"Oh, you're always thinking about riddles!" exclaimed Russ. "Come on, let's go out to the barn and have some fun in the hay," for Mr. Bunker kept a horse for driving customers about to look at real estate.

"What kind of fun can we have?" asked Vi.

"Come on, and you'll see," returned Russ.

By this time most of their fireworks had been shot off, though Daddy Bunker had insisted that they save a few for afternoon. And, making sure that the children did not have smoldering pieces of punk, which might set the barn on fire, Mrs. Bunker watched the six little tots run out there to have fun.

"Have you heard anything about the papers the tramp carried away in your old coat?" she asked her husband, who did not go to the office that day.

"No, the police couldn't find the man," answered Mr. Bunker. "I guess my papers are gone for good. But I mustn't worry about them; nor must you. I want you and the children to have a good time at Grandma Bell's."

"Oh, we always have good times there," said his wife. "I'll be glad to go. It is lovely in Maine at this time of year."

Out in the barn the children could be heard laughing and shouting.

"I hope they don't try to make any more steamboats out of old barrels, and get caught in the ruins," said Mrs. Bunker with a laugh, as she thought of the funny accident that had happened in the playroom.

"Oh, I guess they'll be all right," said Mr. Bunker. "It's quiet now, so I'll lie down and have a nap, to get ready to take them to the fireworks to-night."

The six little Bunkers had played some games in the barn -- sliding down the hay, pretending an old wagon was a stage coach and that the Indians captured it -- games like that -- when they heard Norah calling loudly to them.

"What's she saying?" asked Laddie, who had found a hen's nest in the hay and was wondering whether he had better take in the eggs or let them stay to be hatched into little chickens. "What's Norah want, Russ? Have we got to come in?"

"She says come and get the thunder-and-lightning cake," said Russ, who was listening at the barn door.

"And ice cream! She said ice cream, too!" added Vi. "I heard her!"

"Yes, I guess she did say ice cream," admitted Russ. "Come on!" and he set out on a run toward the house.

"Wait for me! Wait for me!" begged Mun Bun, whose short legs could not go as fast as could those of Russ.

"I'll wait for you, Mun," said Rose kindly, and she turned back and took the little fellow's hand.

"Maybe all the cream'll melt if we don't run," said Mun, as he toddled along beside Rose.

"Oh, no, I guess not. Norah will save some for us," said the little girl, humming a song.

And Rose was right. Norah made all the children sit down on the side porch, and she waited until Mun and Rose -- the last to arrive -- reached the place, before she dished out the cream. Daddy and Mother Bunker were there, too, with their dishes, and so was Jerry Simms.

"This is better than bein' in the army," said the old soldier.

"Didn't you ever have ice cream there?" asked Russ.

"Oh, once in a while. But it wasn't at all the kind Norah can make. Sure she's a wonder at ice cream!"

"And we're going to have thunder-and-lightning cake, too!" added Rose.

"Well, I don't know what kind that is, but it sounds good on a Fourth of July," said Jerry with a laugh. "I hope it doesn't explode when I eat it, though, like a ham sandwich did once."

"Did a ham sandwich explode?" asked Russ, who always liked to hear the old soldier tell army stories.

"Well, sort of," answered Jerry. "It was over in the Philippines. I was eating my sandwich, and some of the soldiers were firing at the enemy, and the enemy was firing at us. And a shell came pretty close to where I was sitting. It went off with a bang, and a piece of the shell hit the sandwich I was just going to bite."

"It's a mercy the shell didn't hit you," said Mrs. Bunker.

"Part of it did -- my hand that held the meat and bread," explained Jerry. "But it's good I wasn't biting the sandwich at the time, or I might have lost my head. However, here comes the thunder-and-lightning cake. Now we can see what it is."

Norah came out of the kitchen with two heaping plates, and, at the sight of them, the six little Bunkers said:

"Oh! Ah! Oh!"

There were six "Ohs" and six "Ahs!" as you can imagine; one for each boy and girl.

"Is this thunder-and-lightning cake?" asked Russ.

"That's what it is," answered Norah. "It's the first time I've made it in a long while. I hope you'll like it."

"Sure they can't help it if you made it!" chuckled Jerry, who was exceedingly fond of Norah.

"Go 'long with you!" she told him, laughing.

"It does look just like thunder, it's so dark!" said Russ, biting into a slice of the cake.

"And where's the lightning?" asked Rose.

"That's the pink part," answered the cook. "You see I take some chocolate-cake dough, and mix it up with white-cake dough, and then I put in some dough that I've colored pink, and mix that through in lines and streaks, and that's the lightning," explained Norah.

And when the cake had been baked in this way, and cut, each slice showed a white part, a dark brown part and a pink, jagged streak here and there, as lightning is sometimes seen to streak through the dark clouds.

"Oh, it's awful good!" cried Laddie, as he took a second slice to eat with the home-made ice cream.

"Will it make a noise like a fire-cracker?" asked Vi, who always had some sort of question ready.

"It won't make a noise unless you drop it, darlin'," said Jerry with a laugh. "Then it'll go 'thump!'"

"Don't you dare talk that way about my cake!" said Norah. "The idea of sayin' it would make a noise if it fell."

"I was only joking" rejoined the former soldier. "The cake is so light, Norah, that I'll have to tie strings to it to keep it from goin' up to the sky like a balloon!"

"Go 'long with you!" laughed Norah, but she seemed pleased all the same.

"We're going to see balloons to-night at the fireworks," remarked Rose. "Did you ever see any, Jerry?"

"Yes, we had 'em in the army."

"Did you ever go up in one?" asked Russ eagerly.

"Once," said the former soldier.

"Oh, tell us about it!" begged Laddie, and Jerry did, while the six little Bunkers sat about him, finishing the last of their cream and cake.

Then Jerry had to go to get some gasolene for the automobile, as Mr. Bunker kept a machine, as well as a horse and carriage, and the children were left to themselves. They were thinking about the fireworks they were to see in the evening, and talking about the fun they would have at Grandma Bell's, when Russ, who got up to go down on the grass and turn a somersault, suddenly stopped and looked at a man coming up the side path.

The man was a very ragged one, and he shuffled along in shoes that seemed about to drop off his feet. He had on a battered hat, and was not at all nice-looking.

"Oh, look!" whispered Rose, who saw the ragged man almost as soon as Russ did.

"I see him!" Russ answered. "That's a tramp! I guess it's the one daddy gave his coat to with the papers in. Maybe he's come to give 'em back. Oh, wouldn't that be good!"



Chapter VI

Mun Bun's Balloon


Six little Bunkers looked at the ragged man coming up the walk toward the porch. He was a tramp -- of that even Mun Bun, the smallest of the six, was sure.

"Have you got anything for a hungry man?" asked the ragged chap, taking off his ragged hat. "I'm a poor man, and I haven't any work and I'm hungry."

"Did you bring back my daddy's papers?" asked Russ.

"What papers?" asked the tramp, and he seemed very much surprised. "I'm not the paper man," he went on. "I saw a boy coming up the street a while ago with a bundle of papers under his arm. I guess maybe he's your paper boy. I'm a hungry man --  -- "

"I don't mean the newspaper," went on Russ, for the other little Bunkers were leaving the talking to him. "But did you bring back the real estate papers?"

"The real estate papers?" murmured the tramp, looking around.

"'Tisn't any riddle," added Laddie. "Is it, Russ?"

"No, it isn't a riddle," went on the older boy. "But did you bring back daddy's papers that he gave you?"

"He didn't give me any papers!" exclaimed the tramp.

"They were in a ragged coat," added Rose. "In the pocket."

The tramp looked at his own coat.

"This is ragged enough," he said, "but it hasn't any papers in it that I know of. I guess they'd fall out of the pockets if there was any," he added. "This coat is nothing but holes. I guess you don't know who I am. I'm a hungry man and --  -- "

"Aren't you a lumberman, and didn't my father give you an old coat the other day?" asked Russ.

The tramp shook his head.

"I don't know anything about lumber," he said. "I can't work at much, and I'm hungry. I'm too sick to work very hard. All I want is something to eat. And I haven't any papers that belong to your father. Is he at home -- or your mother?"

"I'll call them," said Rose, for she knew that was the right thing to do when tramps came to the house.

But there was no need to go in after Mr. and Mrs. Bunker. They had heard the children talking out on the side porch, and a strange man's voice was also noticed, so they went out to see what it was.

"Oh, Daddy!" cried Russ. "Here's the tramp lumberman you gave the old coat to, but he says he hasn't any papers!"

"Excuse me!" exclaimed the tramp, "but I don't know what the little boy is talking of. I just stopped in to ask for a bite to eat, and he and the other children started talking about a lumberman and some papers in a ragged coat. Land knows my coat is ragged enough, but I haven't anything belonging to you."

Mr. Bunker looked sharply at the ragged man, and then said:

"No, you aren't the one. A tramp lumberman did call at my real estate office the other day, and I told one of my clerks to give him an old coat. In the pocket were some valuable papers. But you aren't the man."

"I know it, sir!" answered the tramp. "This is the first time I've been here. I'm hungry and --  -- "

"I'll tell Norah to get him something to eat," said Mrs. Bunker, who was kind to every one.

And while she was gone, and while the six little Bunkers looked at the ragged man, the children's father talked to him.

"I'd like to find that tramp lumberman," said Mr. Bunker. "I gave him the coat because he needed it more than I did, but I didn't know I had left the papers in the pocket. You're not the man, though. I didn't have a very good look at him, but he had a lot of red hair on his head: I saw that much."

"My hair's black -- what there is of it," said the ragged man. "But I don't know anything about your papers. But if I see a red-haired lumberman in my travels around the country, I'll tell him to send you back the papers."

"That will be very kind of you," said Mr. Bunker, "as I need them very much. Do you think you might meet this red-haired lumberman tramp, who has my old coat?"

"Well, I might. You never can tell. I travel about a good bit, and I meet lots of fellers like myself, though I don't know as I ever saw a lumberman."

"This man wasn't a regular tramp," said Mr. Bunker. "He was only tramping around looking for work, and he happened to stop at my place."

"That's like me," said the black-haired tramp. "I'm looking for work, too. Got any wood that needs cutting?"

"Not now," said Mr. Bunker with a smile. "Jerry Simms cuts all my wood. But I'll give you some money, and maybe that will help you along, and the cook will fix you something to eat."

"That's very kind of you," said the tramp. "And if ever I see the man with your papers I'll tell him to send 'em back." "Please do" begged Mr. Bunker.

By this time Norah had wrapped the tramp up a big paper bag full of bread and meat, with a piece of pie. Tucking this under his arm, he shuffled off to go to some quiet place to eat.

Soon it was time to go to the square in the middle of the city, where the fireworks were to be shown. The six little Bunkers, talking over the fun they had had that day, and thinking of the good times they were to have at Grandma Bell's, walked along with their father and mother. Behind them came Norah and Jerry Simms.

"Maybe the tramp will come to see the fireworks," said Rose, who was walking beside Russ.

"You mean the red-headed one that has daddy's papers?"

"No, I mean the one that came begging at our house to-night."

"Well, maybe he will," admitted Russ. "If I was a tramp I'd walk all around and go to every place that I was sure they were going to have fireworks."

"So would I," said Rose. "I love fireworks."

"But you couldn't be a tramp," declared her brother.

"Why not?" Rose wanted to know.

"'Cause you're a girl, and only men and boys are tramps. I could be a tramp, but you couldn't."

And then the fireworks began, and the six little Bunkers thought no more about tramps, missing papers, or even about the visit to Grandma Bell's for a time, as they watched the red, green and blue fire, and saw the sky-rockets, balloons and other pretty things floating in the air.

If the red-haired tramp, or the one for whom Norah had put up the lunch that evening, came to the fireworks, the six little Bunkers did not see the ragged men.

They stayed until the last pinwheel had whizzed itself out in streams and stars of colored fire, until the last sky-rocket had gone hissing upward toward the clouds, and until the last glow of red fire had died away in the sky.

"Now we'll go home!" said Mother Bunker. "You tots must be tired. You've had a full day, for you were up early."

"But we've had lots of fun," said Russ, "piles of it."

"And now we'll get ready to go to Grandma Bell's, won't we?" asked Rose.

"Yes. To-morrow and for the next few days we'll be busy getting ready to go to Maine," said Mrs. Bunker.

"I want a balloon!" suddenly said Mun Bun. He had not done much talking that evening. Probably it was because he was too excited watching the fireworks. It was the first time he had been taken to the evening celebration.

"Do you mean you want to go to Grandma Bell's in a balloon?" asked his father. "Maybe you mean you're so tired you can't walk any more, and you want a balloon to ride in. Well, Mun Bun, we can't get a balloon now, but I can carry you, and that will be pretty nearly the same, won't it?"

"I want a balloon," said the little boy again, "but I want you to carry me, too. Can't I have a balloon, Daddy?" and he nestled his tired head down on his father's shoulder. Norah was carrying Margy, but the other little Bunkers could walk.

"A balloon, is it?" said Mun's father. "Do you mean a fire-balloon?"

"No, they burn up," said Mun Bun, in rather sleepy tones. And, in truth, several of the paper balloons sent up that evening had caught fire. "I want a big balloon I can ride in," he said, "like Jerry told about. I want to go up in a balloon!"

"Well, maybe you'll dream about one," said Mother Bunker with a laugh. "And that will be better than a real one, because if you fall out of a dream balloon you land in bed. But if you fall out of a real balloon you may land in the river."

Mun Bun did not answer. He was asleep on his father's shoulder.

The next day, between times of walking around the yard looking for fire-crackers that, possibly, hadn't exploded the day before, and finding stray torpedoes, the six little Bunkers talked of the fun they had had. They went into the house, now and then, to see how Mother Bunker and Norah were coming on with the packing. For a start had been made in getting ready to go to Grandma Bell's, now that the Fourth of July was passed.

Mrs. Bunker was so busy that she did not keep as close watch over the children as usual, and it was nearly time for lunch before she thought of them.

"Norah, see if they're all in the yard, please," she said. "And count them, to be sure all six are there. Then we'll get them something to eat, and do some more packing this afternoon."

Norah looked out in the yard.

"I see only five of 'em, ma'am," she reported.

"Which one is gone?" asked Mrs. Bunker quickly.

"I don't see Mun Bun," said the cook.

Just then Rose came running into the house.

"Oh, Mother!" she cried. "Guess where Mun Bun is!"

"I haven't time to guess!" said Mrs. Bunker. "Tell me quickly, Rose! Has anything happened to him?"

"I -- I guess he's all right," answered Rose, who was out of breath from running. "But he's standing under a tree up the street, and he won't come home."

"He won't come home?" repeated Mrs. Bunker. "Why won't he come home, Rose?"

"'Cause his balloon is caught. He's got hold of the string and his balloon is up in the tree and he won't come home. He says he's going to take a ride up to the sky!"

"Oh, goodness me! what has happened now?" exclaimed Mrs. Bunker. "Norah!" she called. "Come! Something is the matter with a balloon and Mun Bun! We must go see what it is!"

One or the other of the six little Bunkers was always, so it seemed to their mother, in trouble of some sort, and she or Norah or Jerry Simms or their father had to drop anything they might be doing to rush to the help of the child who had gotten itself into something or some place it should not have got into.



Chapter VII

Laddie's New Riddle


Norah O'Grady, the cheerful cook for the six little Bunkers, saw their mother hurrying out of the house with Rose.

"What's the matter, Mrs. Bunker?" asked Norah. "Is there a fire, and are ye goin' for a policeman?"

Firemen and policemen, aside from Jerry Simms, were Norah's two chief heroes.

"No, there isn't a fire, Norah" answered Mrs. Bunker. "But Rose just told me that Mun Bun is caught up in a tree with a balloon, and I've got to go and get him down. Maybe you'd better come, too."

"Better come! I should say I had!" cried Norah, quickly taking off her apron. "The poor little lad caught up in a balloon! The saints preserve us! 'Tis probably one of them circus balloons, or maybe a German airship came along and caught him up! The poor darlin'!"

"Oh, no!" exclaimed Rose, as she trotted along with her mother and Norah, "Mun isn't in a balloon. His balloon is caught in a big tree and the little darlin' won't come away and --  -- "

"It couldn't be much worse!" gasped Norah. "We'll have to get a fireman with a long ladder, 'tis probable, to get him down."

"I don't see how it could have happened," said Mrs. Bunker. "He was in the yard playing, a little while ago. The next time I looked he was gone. Where did the balloon come from, Rose?"

"Mun Bun bought the balloon!" said the little girl.

"He bought it?" cried Norah and Mrs. Bunker.

"Yes, it's a five-cent one. He had five cents that Jerry Simms gave him, Mun had, and he bought the balloon, and it had a long string to it, and it got caught up in a tree -- the balloon did -- and Mun Bun's got hold of the string and he won't come away, 'cause if he does he'll maybe break the string and the balloon and --  -- "

Rose had to stop, she was so out of breath, but she had told all there was need to tell.

Mrs. Bunker and Norah, who had reached the street and could look down and see Mun Bun standing under a tree not far away, came to a sudden stop.

"And then the little darlin' isn't caught up by a German airship?" asked the cook.

"No. It's just a balloon he bought with the five cents Jerry gave him," explained Rose, "and it's caught in a tree, and --  -- "

"I see how it is," said Mrs. Bunker, and she laughed. "Mun Bun doesn't want to come away without his toy balloon. We must get it for him, Norah!"

"Sure, that we will! The saints be praised he isn't flyin' above the clouds this blessed minute!" and with Norah, now laughing also, the three of them went to where Mun stood under the tree. Caught on one of the branches overhead was a big red balloon. It was fast to a string, and the little boy held the other end of the cord.

"I can't get it down!" he exclaimed.

"Well, it's a good thing you didn't climb up after it," said his mother. "We'll get it down for you, Mun."

She took hold of the string, and Norah, finding a long stick, carefully poked it up among the tree branches until she had loosed the toy balloon. Then it floated free, and Mun Bun could walk along with it floating on the end of the string above his head.

"It's a awful nice balloon," he said. "If it was bigger I could have a ride in it like Jerry did in the one when he was in the army."

"Well, I'm glad it isn't any bigger," said Mrs. Bunker. "Small as it is, you gave us enough trouble with it, Mun."

"But Mun Bun's all right! Norah was scared about him," said the girl, hugging the little boy close to her as they all walked back toward the house.

"Where did you get the balloon?" asked Mrs. Bunker.

"Down at Mrs. Kane's store," answered Mun, mentioning a little toy and candy shop on the block on which the six little Bunkers lived. They spent all their spare pennies there.

And it was in bringing his toy balloon home, on the end of a long string, letting it float in the air over his head that Mun Bun had had the accident at the tree when the blown-up rubber bag got caught in the branch. He wouldn't leave it, of course, and Rose ran to tell her mother. That's how it all happened.

"Well, come in to lunch now!" called Mrs. Bunker to the other children, who were, playing in the yard. "And don't go away from the house this afternoon. It's quite warm, and I don't want any of you to go off in the blazing sun. If you do we can't go to Grandma Bell's."

This was enough to make them all promise they would spend the afternoon in the shade near the house, while Mrs. Bunker and Norah went on with the packing of the trunks. A great many things must be taken along on the visit to Maine, when so many children have to be looked after. They used up much clothing.

"How long're we going to stay at Grandma Bell's?" asked Russ, as he left the dining-room after lunch.

"Oh, perhaps a month," his mother answered. "She told us to come and stay as long as we liked, but I hardly think we shall be there all summer."

"Shall we come back home?" asked Rose.

"I hardly know," said Mrs. Bunker. "We may go to visit some of your cousins or aunts -- land knows you have enough!"

"Oh, wouldn't it be fun if we could go out West to Uncle Fred's ranch?" cried Russ.

"I'd like to go see Cousin Tom at the seashore," put in Rose. "I love the seashore."

"I like cowboys and Indians!" exclaimed Russ.

"Could we go see Aunt Jo, in Boston?" asked Laddie. "I'd like to go to a big city like Boston."

"Maybe we could go there, some day," said Mrs. Bunker. "But why would you like to go there, Laddie?"

"'Cause then maybe I could hear some new riddles. I didn't think up a new one -- not in two whole days!"

"My! That's too bad!" said Mr. Bunker, who had come home to lunch, and who had heard all about Mun's balloon. "I'll give you a riddle, Laddie. Why does our horse eat oats?"

"Wait a minute! Don't tell me!" cried the little boy. "Let me guess!"

He thought hard for a few seconds, and then gave as his answer:

"Because he can't get hay."

"No, that isn't it," said Mr. Bunker. And when Laddie had made some other guesses, and when Russ, Rose and the remaining little Bunkers had tried to give a reason, Daddy Bunker said:

"Our horse eats oats because he is hungry, the same as any other horse! You mustn't always try to guess the hardest answers to riddles, Laddie. Try the easy ones first!"

And then, amid laughter, Mr. Bunker started back to the office.

"Have you found that red-haired tramp yet, Daddy?" asked Russ. "And did you get back your papers?"

"No, Russ, not yet. And I don't believe I ever shall."

"Maybe I could find him if you'd let me come down to your office," went on the little boy.

"Well, thank you, but I don't believe you could," said Mr. Bunker. "You'd better stay here and help your mother pack, ready to go to Grandma Bell's."

Out in the shady side yard some of the little Bunkers were playing different games. Mun and Margy were making sand pies, turning them out of clam shells on to a shingle, and letting them dry in the sun. Mun's red balloon floated in the air over the heads of the children, the string tied fast to a peg Russ had driven into the ground.

Russ, after having done this kindness for his little brother, began to whistle a merry tune and at the same time started to nail together a box in which he said he was going to take some of his toys to Grandma Bell's. Rose had taken her doll and was sitting under a tree, making a new dress for her toy, and Laddie and Vi had gone down to the little brook which bubbled along at the bottom of the green meadow, which was not far from the house. This brook was not very deep or wide. It flowed into Rainbow River, and was a safe place for the children to play.

Laddie and Vi had taken off their shoes and stockings before going down to paddle in the water, and after a while Russ, stopping in his work of hammering the box to look for more nails, heard Laddie calling out in a loud voice:

"Oh, Vi! what made the boat sink? What made the boat sink?"

At the same time Vi gave a loud shriek.

Russ dropped his hammer and started to run toward the brook.

"What's the matter?" called his mother, who saw him running.

"I don't just know," answered Russ, over his shoulder, "but I guess Laddie has a new riddle. He's hollering about why does a boat sink. But Vi's crying, I think."

"Oh, my!" exclaimed Mrs. Bunker, again stopping in her work of packing a trunk. "I hope those children haven't fallen into the brook!"



Chapter VIII

"Where Is Margy?"


Led by Russ, Mrs. Bunker and Norah hurried down to the brook that ran through the green meadow. It was just like the time they ran when Rose called them about Mun's balloon.

"Did you see anything happen, Russ?" asked his mother.

"No'm, I didn't," he answered. "I was making a box to take some of my things to Grandma Bell's, and I heard Vi yell and Laddie asking a riddle."

"Asking a riddle?"

"Well, it sounded like a riddle," Russ answered. "He kept saying: 'What made the boat sink? Oh, Vi, what made the boat sink?'"

"I hope it was only a riddle, and that nothing has happened," said Mrs. Bunker.

"Maybe it'll be no worse than Mun and his balloon," said Norah. "Anyhow, I can see the two children!" and she pointed across the green meadow to the brook. "They seem to be all right."

There, on the grassy bank, was Laddie jumping up and down, and pointing to something in the water. And the something was Vi though she appeared to be out in the middle of the brook, in a part where it was deep enough to come over the knees of Russ.

"What's the matter, Laddie?" asked his mother. "Has anything happened to Vi?"

"She's in the boat, and it's sunk," was the answer. "Oh, what made the boat sink?"

"Silly boy! Stop asking riddles at a time like this!" cried Mrs. Bunker. "What do you mean, Laddie?"

"It isn't a riddle at all," he answered. "The boat did sink and Vi is in it. What made it?"

"A boat! Sure there's no boat on the brook, unless the boy made one himself," said Norah.

"I did make one -- out of a box, and Vi was riding in it, but it sank," said Laddie. "What made it sink?"

Then Mrs. Bunker, Norah and Russ came near enough to the shore of the brook to see what had happened. Out in the middle, standing in a soap box, was Violet. The little girl was crying and holding out her hands to Laddie, who seemed quite worried and excited.

"She's sunk! She's sunk!" he said over and over again.

"Be quiet, silly boy!" ordered his mother, who saw that Vi was in no danger. "We'll get her out. Why didn't you wade out to her yourself, and bring her to shore?"

"'Cause I thought maybe something was out there," said Laddie.

"Something out there? What do you mean?" asked his mother.

"I mean something that made the boat sink -- something that pulled it down in the water with Vi. A shark maybe, or a whale!"

"Nonsense!" laughed Mrs. Bunker. "There are only little baby fishes in the brook."

"But something made the boat sink!" insisted Laddie.

"We'll see about that when we get Vi to shore," said Mrs. Bunker. "Come on," she called to the little girl. "Wade to shore, Vi. You have your shoes and stockings off, haven't you?"

"Oh, yes, Mother."

"Then wade to shore. You're all right."

So Vi stepped out of the soap box, which Laddie had called the boat, and started for shore. The box floated down the brook, and Russ ran out on a little point of land to catch hold of it when it should float to him.

"Now you're all right," said Mrs. Bunker to her little girl, as Vi came ashore. "But what happened?"

"We were playing sailor," explained Laddie, "and I made the boat out of a box. Then Vi went for a ride, but the boat sank. What made it sink, Vi?"

"'Cause it's full of cracks and holes -- that's why!" answered Russ, who had caught the soap box as it floated down to him. "Look! It let in a lot of water, and that's what made it sink," he went on, as he held out the play boat.

The bottom and sides of the box were filled with many holes, from which the water now dripped. Laddie told how he had set it afloat in the brook, with Vi as a passenger. He had pushed her out from shore, hoping to give her a nice ride, but in the middle of the stream the boat went down, and Vi was frightened -- or maybe just cross because she was not getting the ride she expected. She screamed. Laddie couldn't understand why the boat sank, and called out to know. That was when Russ heard them.

"But you're all right now," said Mrs. Bunker. "And it's so warm to-day that wading in the brook won't hurt you. Only don't upset and fall in. I don't believe you can ride in your boat, Laddie. It won't float when it leaks so much."

"'Course not," said Russ, who knew something about boats. "You got to stuff up all the cracks and holes with putty, Laddie."

"All right; I'll do that," said the little fellow. "I like a boat. I'll give you a nice ride, Vi, a real long one, after I stuff up the holes."

"No, I guess I don't want to ride in the boat any more," said the little girl, who was wading in the shallow water near shore, "This is more fun."

"Well, I'll go in the boat myself," said Laddie, taking the box from his brother. "Got any putty?" he asked.

"No. But maybe Jerry Simms has," answered Russ. "He was putting a new window glass in the barn yesterday, and he had putty then."

Laddie ran off to beg some putty from the good-natured Jerry, and Vi, after paddling about a little longer in the brook, went back to the house with her mother and Norah.

"I guess I'll make me a boat, too," decided Russ. "I can fix the box for my things to-morrow."

He went to the barn with Laddie, and soon the two boys were building "boats" out of soap boxes, stuffing the cracks and holes with putty which Jerry gave them.

Then they went down to the brook and floated the boxes. They did not sink so quickly as had the one with Vi in it, and Russ and Laddie had lots of fun until supper time.

"I'm so tired I don't know what to do!" said Mrs. Bunker after supper. "I've packed two trunks, and I've helped rescue Mun Bun from a balloon and Vi from a sinking boat that wasn't a riddle after all." And the whole family, including the six little Bunkers, laughed as they thought of the queer things that had happened that day.

"I'll tell you what we can do," said Daddy Bunker. "It's early, and there is a nice moving picture show in town. We'll all go down and see it. That will rest you, Mother."

"Oh, yes! Let's go!" cried Rose.

And so they did.

The show was very nice, and there were some funny pictures. But Mun and Margy fell asleep before the show was over, and might have had to be carried home, only Jerry Simms came along in the automobile, which he had taken down to the shop to be repaired, and they rode to the house in that.

"Are we going to take our automobile with us to Grandma Bell's?" asked Russ.

"No, it's too far," his father answered. "But we can hire one there if we need one. Grandma hasn't one, I believe."

"She doesn't like to ride in them," said Mrs. Bunker. "Mother is old-fashioned. She has a carriage and a big carry-all."

"But we'll have fun there, anyhow, won't we?" asked Russ.

"I'm sure I hope so," his father answered.

The next few days were busy ones. More trunks were packed, Russ finished making his box for his things, and Laddie started to make one also. But he couldn't drive nails very straight, and his box fell apart almost as fast as he made it.

"I don't guess I'll take one," he said. "I'll put my things in your box, Russ."

"No, you can't," said the older boy. "There won't be room. But I'll make you a box for your own self," and this he did, much to Laddie's delight.

The other children brought from the playroom so many toys they wanted taken along that Mrs. Bunker said there would be no room in the trunks for anything else if she took all the youngsters piled up for her. So she picked out a few for each boy and girl, and put their best toys in.

At last the day came when they were to take the train for Grandma Bell's. Daddy Bunker had left one of his men in charge of the real estate office for the time he was to be away.

"And will that man find the red-haired lumber tramp that took your papers in the old coat?" asked Rose.

"I hope so," answered her father.

But it was not to happen that way, as you shall see.

The journey to Grandma Bell's was a long one. To get to Lake Sagatook, in Maine, the Bunkers would have to travel all of one afternoon, all night and part of the next day. They would sleep in the queer little beds on the train.

"And that'll be a lot of fun!" said Russ to Rose.

"Oh, yes, lots!" she agreed.

At the last minute it was found that many things which needed to be taken could not be put in any of the trunks.

"Make a big bundle of them," said Daddy Bunker. "Wrap up all the extra things in a bundle and roll 'em in a blanket. We can express that as we could a trunk."

So this was done.

At last everything was ready. The trunks and the big bundle were set out on the front porch for the expressman, and when he came the six little Bunkers, and their father and mother, watched the things being put on the auto truck.

"And now we'll start ourselves," said Mr. Bunker, when the expressman had started toward the depot. "Jerry will take us all down in the auto."

With final good-byes to Norah and some of the neighbors who gathered to see the party off, Mrs. Bunker started for the car, at the steering wheel of which sat Jerry Simms.

"Are we all here?" asked Daddy Bunker. "Wait until I count noses. Let me see: Russ, Rose, Vi, Laddie, Mun Bun and --  -- "

Just then Mrs. Bunker uttered a cry.

"Why, where is Margy?"

And where was Margy? She was not with the other little Bunkers!



Chapter IX

Rose's Doll


Daddy Bunker, who had started to "count noses," to make sure all his family was together, ready to start in the automobile with Jerry Simms for the depot, stopped suddenly when he found that little Margy was not with the other children. At the same time Mother Bunker also saw that one of her little girls was missing.

"Where did Margy go?" asked Mrs. Bunker. "I told her not to run back into the house."

"She didn't," said Norah. "I was standing right by the door all the while, and she didn't go in."

"Maybe she went in the back way," said Russ.

"The back door is locked," returned Norah. "She must have run down the street to say good-bye to some of her playmates while the expressman was loading in the trunks."

"I'll go and look," offered Russ.

"And you look in the back and side yards, Rose," said Mr. Bunker.

Rose ran around to the back yard. A hasty look showed her that her little sister was not there, and she hurried around to the front porch to tell her father and mother.

At the same time Russ came back from his trip down the street.

"I didn't see her anywhere," he reported, "and I called, but she didn't answer."

"Where can the child be?" cried Mrs. Bunker. "Norah, are you sure she isn't in the house?"

"Positive. But I'll take a look."

Just then Russ cried:

"Here comes the expressman back again. Maybe he forgot some of the trunks!"

"No, he took them all," said Mr. Bunker. "I don't see --  -- "

The express auto stopped in front of the Bunker house.

"Did you miss anything?" asked the man, laughing.

"Miss anything?" repeated the children's father.

"Oh! Margy! We missed her!" said Mrs. Bunker.

"Well, I guess I've got her here on my truck," went on the expressman, laughing some more.

"You have my little girl?" cried Mrs. Bunker, "How did she get into your auto?"

"That I don't know," the expressman said, "but here she is," and he lifted out the big bundle loosely wrapped in an old blanket. The bundle had in it the things that wouldn't go in the trunks. It was open at both ends, and tied with straps and ropes.

Out of one end stuck the dark, and now tangled, curls of Margy Bunker, and Margy was laughing.

"Oh, what a girl you are!" cried her mother. "How did you get in there, Margy?"

"I -- I wiggled in," was the answer, as the expressman carried the bundle, little Bunker and all, to the porch. "I wanted to get my rubber ball that was inside so I just wiggled in, I did."

"Did you really find her in that bundle?" asked Mr. Bunker, as the expressman put it down on the porch, and Margy, with the help of her mother, "wiggled" out.

"Yes, she was in there," was the man's answer. "I loaded that bundle on last, I remember, because it was soft and I didn't want to crush it with the heavy trunks. It's a good thing I did, though I didn't know there was a little girl inside."

"How did you find out she was in there?" asked Mrs. Bunker.

"Well, I stopped my machine when I got down the street a way, to take on some more packages," answered the expressman, "and I heard a funny sound. It was like a sneeze."

"I did sneeze," said Margy, while Norah was busy smoothing the wrinkles out of her dress. "Some dust got up my nose and I sneezed."

"First I thought it was a little puppy dog, or a cat -- sometimes people send animals by express," explained the driver. "But when I looked back I saw a little girl's head sticking out of the bundle, and I knew right away where she belonged. I thought you didn't want to ship her as baggage or by express, so I brought her back as fast as I could."

"I'm glad you did," said Mrs. Bunker. "We couldn't imagine where she had gone."

"What did you do, Margy?" asked Russ.

"I -- I just crawled inside the bundle," replied the little girl "I 'membered I put my rubber ball inside, and I wanted it, so I wiggled inside. And when I got there I was so tired I went to sleep, I guess."

And that is just what happened. Margy had wiggled herself all the way inside the bundle, which was not wrapped very tightly. It was big enough to hold her, and neither her feet nor her head stuck out of either end.

The bundle had been put on the porch with the trunks, and Margy found it easy to crawl into it after her ball, which, with other toys of the children, had been put in the bundle at the last minute.

"Well, now we'll start off again," said Daddy Bunker. "Don't any of you children crawl into any bundles, or shut yourselves up in trunks! We all want to go to Grandma Bell's together."

The expressman once more carried the bundle to his auto truck, and found it a little lighter this time, for Margy was not snuggled up inside it. Then, after "counting noses," Mr. Bunker, his wife and the children got into the auto with Jerry Simms, and started for the depot.

"Now I guess we're all right," said the children's father, as he saw that the baggage was safely put on the train, including the bundle into which Margy had "wiggled" herself. "All aboard!"

"That's what you called when we were playing steamboat," said Rose to Russ, as they got into the passenger car.

"Yes. We had lots of fun that day, didn't we?" he asked.

"Yes. And we'll have a lot of fun at Grandma Bell's," said his sister.

As the six little Bunkers were to stay on the train all the rest of that day and night, as well as part of the next day, they did not go in an ordinary day coach. They went in one that had big, deep seats, which, when the time came, could be turned into beds, with sheets, pillow cases, and curtains hanging in front. But, until the beds were needed, the seats were used by the passengers, some riding backward and some forward.

As there were eight Bunkers, including the father and mother, they needed several beds for sleeping at night. Daddy would take Mun Bun in with him, and Margy would be tucked in with her mother.

Russ and Laddie said they wanted to sleep together, while Rose and Violet were to share a berth between them, and thus they would be as comfortable as possible on the trip.

"But it will be quite a while before the berths are made up," said Mr. Bunker to the children. "So sit beside the windows and look out."

It was lots of fun riding in the train to Grandma Bell's. The smaller children had not traveled much, and everything was new to them. Rose and Russ had been on little trips, though, so they did not so much marvel at the things they saw. But every time the train passed cows or horses in a field, went under a bridge or over one, or through a tunnel, it was something for the other four little Bunkers to wonder at and say:

"Oh!" and "Ah!"

After a while, though, they grew less excited, and sat in the big, deep seats more quietly, looking at the trees and telegraph poles that seemed to rush by so swiftly. There were a few other passengers in the sleeping-car -- that is, it would be a sleeping-car when the berths were made up -- and for a time the children looked at the men and women who were traveling.

"I wonder if they have any Grandma Bell to go to?" asked Vi of her mother.

"Oh, yes, I suppose so," was the answer, for Mrs. Bunker was busy reading, and hardly knew what she said.

"Are they going to our Grandma Bell's?" asked Vi quickly.

"To our Grandma Bell's? No, I don't suppose that!" exclaimed Mrs. Bunker, realizing that Vi was surprised. "But they have some place to go."

"I don't believe they have any place as nice as our Grandma Bell's house," went on Vi. "When'll we get there, Mother? Do you know?"

"Oh, not for a long while. Now please don't ask so many questions, Vi. I want to read. Look out of the window."

Vi did for a little while. Then she turned to her father and asked:

"How many telegraph poles are there?"

"Oh, I don't know," he answered. Then, knowing that once Vi started to ask questions she would never stop, he bought her a picture book from the train boy.

"I want a book, too," demanded Laddie.

"So do I," said Margy.

"Here! Give 'em each one!" exclaimed Mr. Bunker with a laugh. "Maybe that will keep 'em quiet until bedtime."

"I don't want a book now, thank you," said Rose. "I'm going to get my doll to sleep." She had brought with her the largest doll she owned, almost as large, it was, as herself, and this she held in her arms as she sat in the seat away from the others, as the car was not crowded.

Five little Bunkers sat looking at the picture books Daddy Bunker had bought them. Mr. and Mrs. Bunker were reading papers and Rose was getting her doll to "sleep." The doll did really shut its eyes, so Rose did not have to pretend very hard that her pet was soon in slumberland.

"Now I'm going to put her to bed," she whispered, and, walking down to the end of the car ("where it'll be quiet," the little girl said to herself), she laid the doll, wrapped in a shawl, down in the deep corner of the seat.

The afternoon wore on. The little Bunkers looked at their picture books -- taking turns -- and again gazed out of the window. Rose thought her doll had slept long enough, so she walked down to the end of the car to get her pet.

The little girl came back with a bundle in her arms, and, sitting down beside her mother, began unwrapping the shawl.

And then something very queer happened. There was a tiny little cry, and the bundle in Rose's arms moved! The little girl cried:

"Oh, Mother, look! Look, Mother! My dollie has come alive! It has turned into a real, live baby! Look! Oh, Mother!"



Chapter X

The Wrong Daddy


Mrs. Bunker turned from her paper to look down at what Rose held in her arms. And, to the surprise of the children's mother, she saw that her little girl held, not a doll, that could open and close her eyes, but a real, live baby, which was kicking and squirming in its blankets, and wrinkling up its tiny face, making ready to cry.

"Oh, Rose!" cried Mrs. Bunker. "What have you done?"

"I -- I -- didn't do anything!" Rose answered. "But my doll turned into a live baby!"

"Oh!" exclaimed Mrs. Bunker. "You have -- you have --  -- "

And just then, down at the other end of the car, a woman's voice cried:

"Oh, my baby! My baby! Where is my baby? This is only a doll!"

At once the car was a scene of great confusion. Mr. Bunker ran to where Rose and her mother sat, Rose still holding the live baby. The other little Bunkers wondered what had happened.

At the other end of the car a woman rushed frantically along, holding out a doll.

"Look! Look!" she cried. "Somebody took my dear baby and left this doll! Oh, conductor, stop the train!"

Daddy Bunker seemed to be the first to understand what had happened. He hurried to Rose, and tenderly lifted up the little baby, which was now crying hard. Perhaps it knew that something had happened, or perhaps it was hungry.

"Here is your baby, madam," said Mr. Bunker to the woman. "And I guess you have my little girl's doll. It's just a mix-up -- just a great, big mistake. Here is your baby!"

The woman, whose face showed delight now instead of fear and worry, clasped her baby in her arms, first handing the doll to Mr. Bunker.

"Oh, my baby! My precious!" she crooned, pressing her face close to the child. "I thought some one had taken you!"

"I -- I guess I took up your baby for my doll," put in Rose. "I laid my doll down in a seat at the end of the car so she would go to sleep nice and quiet."

"That's just what I did with my baby," said the woman.

"And then I went to get my doll, and I thought she'd come to life," went on Rose.

"The seats where the baby and doll were must have been right next to one another," said Mrs. Bunker. "That's how Rose picked up your little one in mistake for her doll."

"I suppose so," the baby's mother answered with a smile. "Well, it has all come out right, I'm glad to say. But at first I was dreadfully frightened."

"It was a queer mistake," said Mr. Bunker. "Rose put her doll down to sleep in the seat right next to where the live baby was sleeping. And the seats looked so much alike, and Rose's doll was in a white shawl, just like the real baby, so that's how it happened."

"And the baby is such a little one, and Rose's doll is so big, that no wonder she didn't know the difference until she saw the real baby open its eyes," went on Mother Bunker. "Well, it was a funny happening."

The other passengers laughed and talked about it, and so did the six little Bunkers. Then it was time to go into the dining-car for supper, after which the berths would be made up, so those who wished could go to bed.

The children were all sleepy, for they had gotten up early, so they hurried through their supper. They were interested in seeing the colored porter make the beds when they got back to their own coach.

He pulled out the bottom parts of two seats, until they met in the middle. Then he fastened them together, pulled down what seemed to be a big shelf overhead, and from this recess, or closet, he took blankets, curtains, sheets, pillows, cases and everything needed for nice, clean beds.

As Mrs. Bunker was afraid the children might roll out of the upper berths in the night if the train went fast or swayed, they all had lower berths. Soon the children with their heaviest clothing taken off, were stretched out and, a little later, lulled by the clickity-click-clack of the wheels, they were deep in slumber.

The younger children did not awaken all night, but Rose and Russ both said they did once during the hours of darkness.

"And I heard a baby cry," said Rose. "Was it the one I took for my doll?"

"I guess it was, Little Helper," answered her mother, the next morning when Rose told about it.

After breakfast, eaten at little tables in the dining car, the lady brought the baby down for Rose and all the other little Bunkers to see.

"Oh, isn't she cute?" cried Rose, "I wish we could keep her!"

"I'm glad you like her," said the baby's mother, "but I want to keep her for myself."

Once more it was daylight, and as the train rumbled on toward Lake Sagatook, the Bunkers looked from the windows, or looked again at the picture books their father had bought for them.

"When shall we be there?" asked Russ, for perhaps the tenth time. He was getting a bit tired of train travel.

"We'll get in at the station about noon," his father told him, "but we have to drive about five miles in a wagon or an auto to get to Grandma Bell's place. That is on the shore of Lake Sagatook."

"And I hope none of you fall in," said Mrs. Bunker.

"We'll get a boat," said Russ.

"And I hope it won't sink," added Vi, remembering her last boat ride.

"Oh, say! I've thought of a new riddle!" shouted Laddie. "Why don't the tickets get mad when the conductor punches 'em? Why don't they?"

"I don't know -- I give up," said Daddy Bunker. "What's the answer?"

"Oh, I haven't thought of a good answer yet," said Laddie with a laugh. "I just thought of the riddle!"

And he sat by the window, murmuring over and over to himself:

"Why don't the tickets get mad when the conductor punches 'em?"

On and on rumbled the train. They were getting near the end of the trip, and the children were counting the time before they would get to the station where they could start to drive to Lake Sagatook and Grandma Bell's house, when the conductor came through the coach and told Mr. Bunker that if he changed cars, and took another train at a junction station, he could save all of an hour.

"We'll do that," decided the children's father. "We'll change at Clearwell, and get on a train there that will take us to Sagatook earlier." The name of the station where they were to start to drive to grandma's was Sagatook. The lake was five miles back in the woods.

They were soon near the junction, where two railroad lines came together, and there the Bunkers were to change. They gathered up their belongings and stood ready to get off the car in which they had been nearly a whole day.

Clearwell was quite a large place, and the station, where the two different railroad trains came in, was a big one. There was quite a crowd getting off the train on which the Bunkers had ridden, and more of a crowd on the platform.

"Follow me!" called Daddy Bunker to his wife and children. "And don't lose any of your bundles."

He was carrying Mun Bun, while Mrs. Bunker had Margy in her arms. Russ, Rose, Laddie and Vi came along behind.

Laddie stopped for a moment to look at some pictures on the magazine covers at the news stand, and then, as he gave a quick glance, and saw the others crossing the platform, and leaving him, he ran on to catch up to them.

He saw a man's hand dangling among others in the crowd, and in another instant, Laddie had grasped it. He thought it was his father's, and he called, above the noise of the crowd:

"Why don't the tickets get mad when the conductor punches 'em?"

"Eh? What's that? Tickets? A conductor? I'm not the conductor!" a voice exclaimed. "Who's this grabbing my hand?"

Laddie looked up.

He had hold of the wrong daddy!



Chapter XI

The Funny Voice


The man whose hand Laddie had taken hold of in the crowd, thinking it was his father's, looked down at the little fellow and smiled. And when Laddie saw the smile he felt better.

"What was it you were asking me, little boy?" the man kindly inquired.

"I was -- I was asking you a riddle," said Laddie.

"What about?" the man wanted to know.

"It was about a conductor punching tickets on the train," said Laddie. "But I don't know the answer."

"First, what is the question?" the man inquired, still smiling.

"It's why don't the tickets get mad when the conductor punches 'em?" Laddie repeated.

"Hum," mused the man. "I don't believe that I know the answer to that riddle. Did you think I did?"

"Well, I -- I didn't know," said Laddie slowly. "Nobody seems to know the answer to that riddle. But, you see, I thought you were my father when I took hold of your hand."

"Oh, you did!" and the man laughed and gave Laddie's hand a gentle squeeze. "Well, I thought you were my little boy, for a moment. But then I happened to think that he is away down in New York City, so, you see, it couldn't be my little boy. But are you lost?"

"Oh, no," answered Laddie. "That is, I'm not very much lost. You see, we're going to my Grandma Bell's, and we changed cars here."

"How many of you are going to Grandma Bell's?" asked the man as he stopped in the crowed and began looking around.

"My father and my mother and six of us little Bunkers," answered Laddie.

"Six little Bunkers!" repeated the man. "Is that another riddle?"

"Oh, no. But you see there are six of us. There's Russ and Rose, and Vi and Margy, and then there's me -- I'm Laddie -- and Mun Bun."

"Mun Bun!" cried the jolly man. "Is that some pet?"

"No, he's my little brother," explained Laddie. "His real name is Munroe Bunker, but we call him Mun Bun for fun."

"Oh, I see," and the man laughed again. "Six little Bunkers, on a train arrive, one gets lost and then there are five," he chanted.

"Oh, that's like ten little Injuns!" laughed Laddie, and though he had picked the wrong daddy out of the crowd of railroad passengers, he didn't feel at all lost now.

"Yes, it is a little like 'ten little Injuns, standing in a line, one fell out and then there were nine,'" the man went on. "But are you sure you are not lost?"

"Oh, no. Only a little," answered Laddie. "My real daddy must be around here somewhere."

"With the rest of the little Bunkers?" asked the man.

"Yes, I -- I guess so," said Laddie, looking around for his father and mother, as well as brothers and sisters. "We came on the train from Pineville," he went on, "and we're going to Grandma Bell's. I stopped to look at some pictures by the news stand and then I --  -- "

"And then you picked me out of the crowd for your daddy," finished the man, as Laddie stopped, not knowing what else to say. "Well, there is no harm done. And, unless I'm much mistaken, here comes your daddy now, looking for you."

"Oh, yes! That is my daddy!" cried Laddie, as he saw his father pushing his way through the crowd, looking on all sides, as if hunting for something -- or for somebody. Why, to be sure, for Laddie himself!

"Better call to him," suggested the man. "I don't believe he sees you."

"Here I am, Daddy!" shouted Laddie, and, letting go of the man's hand, he ran straight into Mr. Bunker's arms.

"Why, Laddie! where have you been?" asked his father. "Your mother thought maybe you might have been left on the express train, but I was sure I saw you get off."

"I did," Laddie said. "I walked along but I picked out the wrong daddy."

"The wrong daddy?" asked Mr. Bunker, not knowing just what to think. "Is this another riddle, Laddie?"

"He means me," the man said, coming up just then. "I believe I got off the same train you did. Anyhow this little boy came along behind me in the crowd and began asking something about a conductor and punching tickets."

"That is a riddle, but the other wasn't," Laddie explained. "Only I don't know the answer."

"Well, never mind. You must hurry with me," said his father, "We missed you, and I had to come back to hunt you up. The other train is almost ready to start.

"Thank you for taking care of the boy," went on Laddie's father to the man. "If you have ever traveled with children you know what a task it is to watch out for them."

"Oh, indeed I know. I have four of my own," said the man. Then he waved his hand to Laddie, saying: "Good-bye, Little Bunker."

"Good-bye!" Laddie called to the man whose hand he had taken in mistake, then he hurried off with his father to where Mrs. Bunker and the others were waiting.

"Laddie! where were you?" asked his mother.

"He had the wrong daddy," explained Mr. Bunker.

"And he told me something like a riddle, only it wasn't," went on the little boy. "It was like the Injuns verse. 'Six little Bunkers in a bee hive, one got lost and then there were five.'"

"But we weren't in a bee hive!" cried out Russ.

"I know. The man didn't say bee hive, either," Laddie admitted. "But I don't know what it was. Anyhow he was a nice man and it was a funny little verse."

A little later the family got aboard another train, and started off on a short ride that would bring them to Sagatook, whence they could drive to the lake where Grandma Bell lived.

This part of the railroad journey was not very long, and they rode in an ordinary day coach, and not in a heavy sleeping car with big seats.

Now and then the train passed through places where there were big trees growing.

"Are they the woods?" asked Russ with much interest.

"Yes," his father told him. "Maine has in it many woods, and there are big forests around Lake Sagatook where Grandma Bell lives. You must be careful not to get lost in them."

"I'll be careful," promised Russ.

A little later the train puffed in at a small station and there the Bunkers got out. They saw, waiting, a big automobile, though it was not as nice as the one they had at home.

"Are you the Bunkers?" asked a man standing near the automobile.

"Yes," answered Mr. Bunker. "Were you waiting for us?"

"I was. Mrs. Bell hired me to come over and get you. You see I'm about the only one that's got an auto in these parts, and as it's quite a drive through the woods for a team, Mrs. Bell thought maybe I'd better come in my machine."

"I'm glad you did," said Mr. Bunker. "There will be room for all of us in it."

"Yes, and the baggage too," said the man, who said he was Mr. Jim Mead. "When I get an auto I want one big enough for the whole family. Pile in now, children, and make yourselves at home."

"Do you know our Grandma Bell?" asked Russ of Mr. Mead.

"I should say I did!" he answered. "She and I are neighbors and good friends. Pile in and I'll soon have you out at the lake."

"Is it a nice lake?" asked Vi.

"It is indeed, little pussy," answered Mr. Mead, playfully pinching her chubby cheek. "It's the finest lake in the world. And it's as blue as his eyes," and he pointed to Mun Bun, who was kicking the big auto tires with the toes of his shoes to see how hard they were.

"I guess we'll like it there," said Rose, as she smoothed out her doll's dress.

"I'm going to swim!" declared Russ.

"Well, pile in, and I'll soon have you at Grandma Bell's," said Mr. Mead, and very quickly the automobile was chugging along a woodland road, under tall, green trees.

"There's the house," said Mr. Mead, in about half an hour, as he pointed through the trees. The children had a glimpse of a big white house near the shore of a blue lake amid the trees, and a little later they were getting out of the machine on the drive, while a dear old lady, with pretty white hair, was kissing Mother Bunker.

"Oh, I'm glad to see you! Glad to see you -- every one!" cried Grandma Bell. "I'm very glad you came. Let me see if you're all here. Daddy, mother, and six little Bunkers, that's right. Now come right in and get something to eat! I'm so glad to see you!"

And as the six little Bunkers started to go into the house, suddenly a strange voice that seemed to come from the woods cried:

"Let me out! Let me out! Take me! Don't leave me behind!"

Every one looked at every one else. Were any of the little Bunkers missing?



Chapter XII

Russ Couldn't Stop


"Mercy me!" cried Grandma Bell as she heard the strange voice. "What is that?"

As if in answer the call came again:

"Take me out! Don't leave me here! I want to go! Take me! Oh, my eye, give me some pie!"

"It's in the automobile!" said Daddy Bunker.

"But who can it be?" asked his wife.

"You must have forgotten and left one of the children under a robe, though goodness knows it's hot enough without any covering to-day," said Grandma Bell. "Are all the children here?"

Once more she counted them, naming each one in turn: Russ, Rose, Vi, Laddie, Margy and Mun Bun -- six little Bunkers.

"All here -- every one," said Grandma Bell. "Unless you bought a little baby on the way up."

"Oh, I almost had one!" exclaimed Rose. "I laid my doll down in a seat, and when I picked her up she was alive, but it was a lady's baby and --  -- "

Once more the voice called from the auto:

"Take me out! Don't leave me here! Oh my eye, give me some pie!"

"There is a child in there!" said Grandma Bell "Who is it?" she asked of Mr. Mead, who had been taking some of the Bunkers' baggage into the house, and who came out just then.

"Who is what?" asked the man who had so kindly given the children a ride over from the station.

"What child is hidden in that auto?" asked Grandma Bell. "It isn't one of the six little Bunkers, for they're all here. But there is some child in that auto."

"Why no, there isn't," said Mr. Mead. "There's nobody in my machine but --  -- "

"Let me out! Oh, let me out!" cried the voice again.

"There!" exclaimed Grandma Bell.

A queer look came over Mr. Mead's face. Then he laughed. Once more the voice sounded.

"Let me out! Let me out!"

"Who is it?" asked Grandma Bell.

"Why that's Bill Hixon's parrot!" said the owner of the big auto. "I've got him in a cage in the back of my car. He's doing that yelling. I forgot all about him!"

"Are you sure it's a parrot and not a child in there?" asked Grandma Bell.

"Oh, sure!" answered Mr. Mead. "There he goes again. Listen!"

Again came the cry:

"Let me out! Let me out! Take me with you! Oh my eye, give me some pie!"

And this time it could be told that the voice was that of a parrot, though, at first, it had sounded like a little child crying.

"Now you keep still there, Polly," said Mr. Mead.

"Polly wants a cracker! Give Polly a cracker!" shrieked the parrot.

"I'll give you a fire-cracker if you don't keep still," said Mr. Mead with a laugh.

"Well, I do declare!" said Grandma Bell. "How did Bill Hixon's parrot get in your auto, Mr. Mead?"

"Oh, Bill's sending him over to his mother's to keep for him while he's off in the woods lumbering," said Mr. Mead. "He knew I was coming up this way, Bill Hixon did, so he asked me to bring his parrot along. I put the bird in his cage under the back-seat of the auto, and I forgot all about him, or her, whichever it is. I guess Polly has been asleep all the while until just now."

"Oh, let us see the parrot!" begged Rose. "I love to hear them talk," and she tucked her doll under her arm and walked toward the auto.

"Be careful, he might bite!" said Mother Bunker.

"Oh, he's in a cage -- he or she -- whichever it is," said Mr. Mead. "Bill said the parrot was a good one, and likes children. I guess it won't hurt any to let the tots see the bird."

Mr. Mead opened a sort of little cupboard under the back seat of his auto, and brought out a parrot's cage. In it was a green bird, which, as soon as it came out into the sunlight, began preening its feathers and moving about, climbing up on the wires, partly by its claw feet and partly by its strong beak.

"Polly wants a cracker! A sweet cracker!" squawked the parrot. "Lovely day! How are you? Here, Rover, sic the cats!" and the parrot whistled as well as Russ himself could have done.

"Oh, what a nice parrot!"

"Could we keep him?"

"Doesn't he talk plain?"

"Listen to that whistle!"

"Oh, isn't she nice!"

These were some of the things the six little Bunkers said as they listened to Bill Hixon's parrot, as it moved about in the cage on the back seat of Mr. Mead's auto.

"Couldn't we keep it, Mother?" asked Rose. "I'd like it almost as much as my doll!"

"Oh, mercy no, child! We couldn't keep Mr. Hixon's parrot!" said Mrs. Bunker.

"Have you one, Grandma Bell?" asked Russ.

"No, I'm thankful to say I haven't," said Mrs. Bell with a laugh. "I like children, and I love to hear them talk and laugh; but I don't like parrots. I have a dog and a cat; so I think we'll let Mr. Hixon have his own parrot."

"I don't care for 'em myself," said Mr. Mead. "Well, I'll be getting along with this one now. I guess I've got out all your baggage."

"Yes, and thank you very much," said Mr. Bunker.

"Come on! Gid-dap! Go 'long, horses!" cried the parrot. "Give me a cracker! Go long, horses!"

"He thinks you're driving horses," said Russ.

"I don't know what he thinks," said Mr. Mead. "He talks a lot, that's sure. I won't be lonesome for the rest of the way. I'll let the parrot ride outside with me, I guess. He'll be sort of company for me."

"Pretty Poll! Give me a cracker! Let me out and give me a cracker!" cried the green bird.

"Here's one!" said Laddie, holding out a bit of cracker which he had left from a package his mother had bought for him on the train.

"Look out! He might bite you!" said Laddie's father.

"Bill said his bird was gentle, but, still, maybe the little boy had better be careful," said Mr. Mead. "Here, I guess I had better feed him."

He held out the bit of cracker to Polly, who took it in one black claw, and then began to bite off pieces, saying, meanwhile:

"That's the way to do it! That's the way I do it!"

"Oh, he's awful cute!" said Rose. "I wish we had one!"

"But if grandma's got a dog and a cat, maybe the parrot wouldn't like 'em," put in Russ.

"Have you a dog and a cat, grandma?" asked Rose, as Mr. Mead drove off in his auto with the parrot.

"Yes, I have, my dear."

"Oh, where are they?"

"Zip, my dog, is out in the barn, I imagine. He generally goes out there when Tom is working around."

"Who's Tom?" asked Laddie. "Is he the cat?"

"No, Tom is the hired man. Thomas Hardy is his name."

"And where's the cat?" asked Vi, looking around the front yard, as if she might see the pussy under some flower bush.

"Oh, Muffin is in the house, I presume," said Grandma Bell. "And that's where we'd better go. I guess you're all hungry after your trip, aren't you? My, but I'm glad to see you -- every one!" and she smiled at the six little Bunkers through her glasses.

"And I guess they're glad, to be here -- I know we are," said Mrs. Bunker. "They've talked of nothing but Grandma Bell's ever since we got your letter inviting us to come here."

"Well, I hope they'll like it," said the dear old lady.

"We like it already," said Russ. "Please, may I go out and see the dog?"

"I want to go, too," put in Laddie.

"And I want to see the cat," added Rose, "Is her name Muffin?"

"That's her name," said Grandma Bell. "And I call my dog Zip because he runs around so much. But you'd better rest a bit first, and eat. Then you can go out and see things."

"I want to see the lake!" exclaimed Laddie. "Can we sail boats on it?"

"Now, first of all," said Mr. Bunker, and he spoke seriously, "I don't want any of you children to go near that lake unless some of us older folk are with you. Mind! Don't go too close unless we are with you, or until you have been here a little while and know your way about. You must be careful of the water."

The children promised they would; and then, when Grandma Bell's hired girl had set out a lunch, and it had been eaten, and the children had put on old clothes, out they ran -- all six of them -- to have fun.

"Will they be all right?" asked Mother Bunker.

"Oh, yes. They can't come to any harm if they keep away from the lake, and that isn't deep near the shore. Don't worry about them. Let them have a good time."

And this the children seemed bent on having. They raced around, shouting and laughing. A big maltese cat came out on the porch to see what all the noise was about, and did not run away, even when all six of the little Bunkers charged down on her at once.

"Oh, isn't she just too lovely!" cried Rose, as she caught the cat up in her arms. "She's almost as big as my doll!"

Muffin seemed to like children, and did not mind being petted. Rose, Vi and Margy as well as Mun Bun, stroked the soft fur, but Russ and Laddie soon tired of this.

"Come on, let's go out to the barn and find the dog," said Russ to his brother.

"That's what we will!" said Laddie, and away they went, Russ whistling a merry tune.

Grandma Bell's house was built on the edge of a patch of woods, with fields at the back and the lake to one side. There were some farms in that part of Maine, and about five miles from grandma's home was the village of Sagatook. It was a smaller place than Pineville.

The barn was back of the house. Once the place had been a big farm, but when Grandpa Bell died his widow sold off most of the land to other farmers, keeping the house, barn, a field or two and a patch of woods for her home. It was a lovely place, just the nicest spot in the whole world for the six little Bunkers.

"I hear a dog barking," said Laddie, as he and Russ drew near the barn.

"So do I," said Russ. "I guess that's Zip."

They went on a little farther, and saw a man standing in the barn door with a dog beside him. The dog barked, but wagged his tail, to show that he was friendly.

Russ and Laddie came to a halt, but the man waved his hand to them and asked:

"Are you some of the six little Bunkers?"

"Yes, we're two of 'em," answered Russ.

"Well, that leaves four. They're in the house, I suppose. Mrs. Bell told me you were coming to-day."

"Are you the hired man?" asked Laddie. "And is that Zip?"

"That's who I am, and that's who he is. Come and meet Zip. He's a fine dog and loves boys and girls."

Zip soon made friends with Laddie and Russ, and the boys, who felt sure they would like Tom Hardy, the hired man, ran about the barn, seeing all sorts of chances in it to have good times.

"Oh, I know we'll like it here!" said Russ.

"'Course we will," agreed Laddie.

Zip followed the boys about the barn as they poked into all the nooks and corners. Tom, as every one called the hired man, was busy about his work and paid little attention to Laddie and Russ.

It was about half an hour after the boys had gone out to the barn, and Mrs. Bunker was wondering if they were all right, when Laddie came running to Grandma Bell's house, very much excited and out of breath, crying:

"Oh, come quick! Come quick!"

"Mercy me! what's the matter now?" asked Mrs. Bunker.

"Russ can't stop! Russ is going and he can't stop!" panted Laddie.



Chapter XIII

The Red-Haired Man


For a moment or so no one seemed to know what answer to make to Laddie. He stood there, all out of breath, looking at his father and mother and Grandma Bell, who were sitting on the side porch.

"What -- what did you say?" asked Mr. Bunker.

"It's Russ," Laddie answered. "He's going and he can't stop! I tried to make him, and he tried himself, but he can't stop, and he's running like anything!"

"What in the world does he mean?" asked Mother Bunker.

"Tell me about it!" said Grandma Bell.

"It's out in the barn," explained Laddie. "Russ got on something, and he can't stop running!"

"Maybe he's in a trap!" exclaimed Laddie's mother.

"If he was in a trap he couldn't run," said her husband. "I'll go out and see what it is."

The other little Bunkers were still playing with Muffin, the big gray cat, as Mr. and Mrs. Bunker and Grandma Bell hurried out to the barn.

As they drew near it they heard a voice shouting:

"Oh, make it stop! Make it stop going! I'm so tired! My legs are so tired!"

At the same time a low rumbling could be heard, like that of very distant thunder.

"Oh, what is it?" gasped Mother Bunker. "Oh, Russ, what have you done now?"

But a moment later they were all relieved to see Tom, the hired man, come to the door of the barn, leading Russ by the hand. The boy looked frightened, but not hurt.

"What was it?" asked his father.

"I got to going and I couldn't stop," explained Russ, who was breathing almost as hard as Laddie had done after his run.

"What did you get to going on, and why couldn't you stop?" his mother wanted to know.

"Oh, it was a -- a sort of wooden hill," explained Russ. "I was running on it and --  -- "

"What does he mean -- a wooden hill in the barn?" asked Mrs. Bunker.

"It was the treadmill," explained Thomas Hardy. "I was in another part of the barn, and I guess Russ must have wandered upstairs, where we keep the old treadmill they used for the threshing machine and churn. He started to walk on the wooden roller platform, and it moved from under him. He had to keep running so he wouldn't slip down. That's what he meant when he said he couldn't stop."

"That was it," explained Russ. "I saw a funny machine upstairs in the barn, and I got on it. I didn't know it would move."

"Well, you couldn't get hurt on it, that's one good thing," said Grandma Bell. "At the same time it's better not to get on queer machines, or play with things you don't know about, Russ. The next time you might be hurt."

"I'll be careful," promised the little boy.

"What is the treadmill?" asked Vi, who had come out to the barn to see what all the excitement was about.

"It's a sort of engine," Grandma Bell explained. "You see out here, years ago, when Grandpa Bell ran the farm, we didn't have gasoline engines such as are now used in automobiles and for pumps and other farm work. So we had to use a sort of engine that one or two horses could make go. It was called a treadmill, and some were made so that even dogs, trotting on a moving wooden platform, could work a churn. We used to have one of those, but the one Russ got on was a treadmill for one horse."

"I saw it," said Laddie. "Russ wanted me to get on, but I wouldn't. He did and then he couldn't stop. He couldn't stop running!"

"That's right!" exclaimed Russ. He could laugh now, as he remembered what had happened. "Then I told Laddie to run and get somebody to help me," he added.

"I ran, but I didn't run on that funny machine," Laddie said. "And maybe I can think up a riddle about it, after a while."

By this time the rest of the little Bunkers had come out to the barn and, led by Tom, they went upstairs to see the treadmill. It was a big machine, with wheels and rollers; and a wooden platform, made of cross sticks, so the feet of the horse would not slip, was what Russ had run on. As he walked up a "wooden hill," as he called it, the slats moved from under his feet, for this is what they were meant to do when the horse should walk on them. And this moving platform of wood spun a wheel around, which, in its turn, would work a churn, a machine for threshing wheat or rye or do other work on the farm.

"But we haven't used the treadmill for years," said Grandma Bell. "I forgot about its being in the barn. Well, I'm glad no one was hurt. But be careful after this."

"I'd like to see it work," remarked Rose, so Tom Hardy got on the wooden platform and walked up the little hill it made. Then came the rumbling sound, and the faster Tom walked the faster the treadmill went around.

The weather was warm, it being early in July, soon after the Fourth, and a more delightful time of year would be hard to find during which to spend a vacation in the woods on the shore of Lake Sagatook.

"May we go down and paddle in the water?" asked Russ of his mother, after he and the other little Bunkers had wandered out to the barn and had seen Zip, the dog, and Muffin, the cat. "Mayn't we go down and wade in the lake?"

"Do you think it will be safe?" asked Mrs. Bunker of her husband.

"Well, I'll go down there and have a look," he said. "If we are to stay here for a month or so the children will have to get used to playing near the water. If it's safe we'll feel we won't have to be with them all the while."

"I think it will be safe if they keep near the shore out on the little point of land that extends into the lake," said Grandma Bell. "There is a sandy beach there, and the water is not deep. Let the children play there. You can see them from the house; so, if we look out every now and then, we'll be sure they are all right."

"Very well," said Daddy Bunker. "We'll first have a look at the lake."

"Oh, goody!" cried Russ.

"Now we can have a lot of fun and sail boats!" added Laddie. "We can have a whole lot of fun."

"I'll take my doll down and give her a bath," said Rose.

"Oh, won't water spoil your doll, my dear?" asked Grandma Bell.

"I don't mean my big one, that the lady took for her baby," explained the little girl. "I mean my small rubber doll."

"Oh! Well, I guess it will be all right to bathe her in the lake," said Grandma Bell with a laugh.

Daddy Bunker found that the sandy point, which Grandma Bell told about, was a very nice and safe place for the children to play. So, dressed in their old clothes which water and sand would not soil, they all trooped down to Lake Sagatook, and there, in the shade of the big woods, they began to have fun.

Russ and Laddie made little boats and set them adrift in the blue water. Rose and Vi played with their dolls, for they had each brought two or three of them. Mun Bun and Margy dug in the sand with sticks which they picked up on the shore of the lake.

"It's almost like the seashore," said Rose, when she came back from having given her rubber doll a dip in the lake, "only the water doesn't taste salty like when you cry tears."

"I like it here," said Vi. "I wish we could stay always."

The children were having lots of fun when, in the midst of their play, they heard the sound of water being splashed and the noise made by the oars of a boat. Looking up, they saw a rowboat not far from shore, and in it sat a big man.

And, at the sight of this man, Russ dropped the chip he was floating about, pretending it was a submarine, and, in a whisper, said:

"Hi, Laddie! do you see his hair?"

"Yes -- it's red," returned Laddie.

"Well, maybe that's the tramp lumberman that took daddy's old coat and real estate papers," went on Russ. "He had red hair! Maybe this is the same one! Oh, Laddie! If it should be!"



Chapter XIV

The Doll's Buttons


For a little while Laddie and Russ watched the man in the boat as he rowed slowly toward the sandy point of land in the lake, on which the six little Bunkers were playing. The man's hair was certainly very red. The sun shone on it, and Russ and Laddie could see it quite plainly. And, too, he had on a ragged coat.

Rose and the other children were farther in toward shore, playing away. Laddie and Russ, as the two older boys of the family, thought they ought to do something toward getting back Daddy Bunker's papers.

"He's coming nearer," said Laddie, in a whisper to his brother.

"Yes," agreed Russ. "He'll soon be near enough for us to ask him if he's got 'em."

The red-haired man in the boat rowed nearer and nearer to the sandy point in Lake Sagatook. He did not seem to see the two small boys who were so anxiously waiting for him.

"What's he doing?" asked Laddie, for the man now and then would stop rowing and handle something he had in front of him.

"He's fishing," said Russ. "I can see his pole."

Laddie saw it too, a moment later. The man in the boat was a fisherman.

Pretty soon he was near enough for the boys to call to him.

"Hey!" exclaimed Russ. "Have you got 'em?"

He supposed, of course, that the man would know what he was talking about. And so it might seem, for the man made answer:

"Well, I had 'em but I lost 'em. But I'll get 'em again."

"Oh, daddy will be so glad!" cried Laddie. "Did you lose 'em out of your coat?"

The man looked up quickly.

"Lose 'em out of my coat? Why, no," he said. "I lost 'em off my hook -- two of the biggest fish I've caught this day! But I'll get 'em back -- or some just like 'em which will be as good. Hello, youngsters," he added with a smile. "Do you live at Mrs. Bell's place?"

"We're just visiting her," explained Russ. "She's our grandma. We're the six little Bunkers."

"Oh, ho!" exclaimed the man with a laugh. "That's so -- there are six of you! I can see now," and he looked beyond Russ and Laddie to where Rose, Vi, Margy and Mun Bun were playing on the sandy point and having lots of fun.

"But are you fond of fishing, that you ask if I lost 'em?" the man went on.

"If you please," replied Russ, "we didn't mean to ask about your fish, though we're sorry you lost any. But have you daddy's papers?"

"Daddy's papers? I don't know what you mean," the man said.

"Aren't you a lumberman?" asked Laddie, not liking to use the name "tramp," as the man, though he did have on a ragged coat, did not seem like the lazy wanderers who prowl about the country asking for food but not wanting to work.

"No, I'm not a lumberman," said the man. "What makes you ask that?"

"Well, you look like the lumberman -- only he was a tramp -- that my father gave a ragged coat to," went on Russ. "And there were real estate papers in the coat, and daddy wants 'em back."

"Ha! Is that so?" asked the man, "Well, I'm sorry but I don't know anything about 'em. I never saw your father that I know of, though I do know Mrs. Bell. I live on the other side of the lake. But I come over here fishing once in a while."

"And haven't you daddy's papers?" asked Laddie.

"No, I'm sorry to say I haven't."

"But you have red hair," went on the little boy.

"Yes, my hair is red all right," laughed the man, as he ran his hand through the fiery curls on his head. "My hair is very red. Sometimes I wish it wasn't so red. But it's of no use to worry about it, I suppose. But what has my red hair to do with your father's papers?"

Then Laddie and Russ, taking turns, told about their father's clerk in the real estate office giving the tramp lumberman the old coat, and how, in one of the pockets, were the valuable papers. The boys told of the search for the tramp, and also of their trip from Pineville to Lake Sagatook.

"And so you haven't yet found the red-haired man with the papers, have you?" asked the fisherman, smiling at the two boys.

"No," said Russ, a bit sadly. "First we thought you might have 'em."

"Do you know any red-haired lumberman -- one that's a tramp?" Laddie asked.

"No, I can't say that I do. But tell your father, and also your Grandma Bell, that I'll be on the watch for one. My name is Hurd -- Simon Hurd. Your grandma knows me. Tell her I'll be on the watch for a red-haired lumberman. We have all sorts up here in Maine, and some of 'em have red hair, though I don't know that any one will have your father's papers. Ha! There's one I've got, anyhow!" the man suddenly exclaimed.

He dropped the oars, with which he had been slowly rowing the boat, and caught up his pole. Then, as the boys watched, they saw him reel in his line and lift from the water a big fish, which sparkled in the sun as it leaped and twisted, trying to get off the hook.

"Hi, that's a big one!" cried Russ, leaping up and down on the sand, he was so excited.

"Yes, he's as big as one of the two I lost," the man went on.

He landed his prize in the boat, while the boys and, the other little Bunkers crowded to the end of the sandy point to watch what was going on.

"I guess you children brought me good luck," said Mr. Hurd, the red-haired fisherman. "I'm going to row along now, but I'll keep my eyes open for the tramp lumberman that may have your father's papers."

"Thank you," said Russ.

The six little Bunkers watched until the fisherman was out of sight around the next point, and then they started to play again.

"I thought sure he was the one that daddy wanted," said Russ, a little sadly.

"So did I," added Laddie. He, too, was disappointed. "Maybe I could make up a riddle about a red-haired man," he added more cheerfully.

"Maybe you could," agreed Russ.

"I guess I will, too," said Laddie. "I can think of a riddle the next time."

A little later the children heard a voice asking:

"Well, are you having a good time?"

They looked up to see Daddy and Mother Bunker walking toward them through the woods.

"Oh, we're having lots of fun!" said Rose, who had been amusing Vi, Margy and Mun Bun.

"And we almost found your lost papers," added Russ.

"How?" asked Mr. Bunker.

Then the boys told about the red-haired man.

"I'm afraid my papers are gone for ever," said Mr. Bunker with a shake of his head, "I'll have to lose that money. But it might be worse. Don't worry about it any more, children."

But, though the children were too little to worry very, much about their father's trouble, Russ and Laddie could not help thinking about it now and then.

"This is a lovely place for the children to play," said Mother Bunker. "I shall never feel worried about them when they are here. The water is so shallow near the shore."

And so it was. The six little Bunkers -- even Mun Bun, the smallest of them all -- could wade out quite a distance from shore on the smooth, sandy bottom, and not be in danger.

All that day -- except when it was time to go in to eat -- the children played on the shore of Lake Sagatook. They saw boats come and go -- some with fishermen in them, like Mr. Hurd, and others that carried lumber and other things from shore to shore.

"Can we go out in a boat some day?" asked Russ of his father.

"Yes, some day I'll get a boat and take you all for a row," Mr. Bunker promised.

But there were many other things to do at Grandma Bell's to have fun besides going out on the lake in a boat. There were chickens and cows to look at; there was Zip to play with, and Muffin too; and there were lovely places in the woods where they could take their lunches and have picnics.

"Grandma Bell's is the nicest place in the world!" said Rose.

"That's what!" exclaimed Russ.

And Laddie tried to think up a riddle about why Grandma Bell's house was like fairyland, only he couldn't get just the right sort of answer, he said.

One day Russ, Laddie, and Rose went out to the barn with Tom Hardy to watch him feed the chickens. He gave them grains of yellow corn.

"Where do you get the corn?" asked Laddie.

"Out of the corn crib," answered Tom. "See it over there," and he pointed to a shed, through the slat sides of which could be seen the yellow ears of corn.

"How do you get the little pieces off the cobs?" asked Rose.

"Oh, I shell the corn in a sheller," answered Tom. "Come on, I'll show you," and he took the children to the corn crib where there was a queer machine, turned by a handle on a wheel. In an iron spout Tom dropped big, yellow ears of corn. Then he turned the wheel. There was a grinding noise, and out of one spout ran the yellow kernels of corn in a stream, while from another hole dropped the shelled cob, with nothing left on it.

"That's how I shell the corn cobs for the chickens," said the hired man. "But be careful not to put your hands down the spout where I drop the ears of corn."

"Why not?" asked Rose, who was catching Vi's trick of asking questions.

"Because if you do that it might shuck the fingernails off your hand," answered Tom. "Keep away from the corn-sheller."

It was later that same afternoon when Rose, who had been out to the barn with Russ and Laddie, came running back, tears streaming from her eyes.

"Oh, Mother! Come quick!" she cried, "Come quick!"

"What's the matter?" asked Mrs. Bunker.

"Oh, it's my doll!" answered Rose. "Laddie and Russ are shucking off all her buttons! Come quick!"



Chapter XV

Laddie's Queer Ride


When Rose, with tears streaming from her eyes, came running to her mother, Mrs. Bunker felt sorry for her little girl; but she was just a little puzzled to understand what was wrong. "Shucking off all her buttons" certainly sounded queer.

"What is it, Rose?" she asked. "What are Russ and Laddie doing?"

"They're shucking all the buttons off my doll."

"Shucking the buttons off your doll?"

"Yes. In the corn shucker, where Tom shucks the ears of corn for the chickens."

Mrs. Bunker didn't yet quite know what Rose meant, for the mother of the six little children had not been out to the corn crib, and did not know what was there.

"It's my middle-sized doll," explained Rose. "Please come and take her away from Russ and Laddie 'fore they shuck off all her buttons. Don't you know -- she's got yellow shoe buttons on her dress -- rows of 'em down the front and in the back. It's my messenger girl doll."

Mrs. Bunker followed Rose out to the corn crib. She began to understand what had happened. Among the many dolls Rose had was one she called her "messenger girl" doll It was about a foot tall, and the doll wore a blue dress, in color something like the suits worn by the telegraph messenger boys in the cities. To make the doll's dress more like a uniform, Rose had sewed on the back and front several rows of yellow shoe buttons, which she had cut from old tan shoes at home. The doll really had on her dress more buttons than she needed, but as some messenger and elevator boys in hotels and apartment houses have the same, I suppose Rose had a right to decorate her doll that way if she liked.

"How did it happen?" asked Mrs. Bunker, as she followed her little girl out to the corn crib.

"It was after we saw Tom shuck some corn to feed the chickens -- he showed us how he did it," Rose answered.

"But what did Russ and Laddie do?"

"Oh, they went in and looked at the corn shucker. But they didn't put their hands in and turn the wheel, 'cause Tom said if they did that their fingernails would come off."

"Mercy me! I shouldn't want that to happen," said Mrs. Bunker with a laugh. "But go on, Rose, tell me what they did do?" she went on, for she saw that Rose felt very sad.

"Well, they wanted to shuck some corn," went on the little girl, "but they didn't durst do it. Then Russ saw me have my messenger girl doll, with the yellow shoe buttons down her back and front, and he said she looked just like an ear of corn."

"That wasn't very nice of him," put in Mrs. Bunker.

"Oh, well, I didn't mind," said Rose. "The yellow shoe buttons are like the grains of corn the chickens eat. One button did come off and a rooster picked it up and swallowed it." Rose was no longer crying.

"Poor rooster! I hope it won't hurt him," laughed Mrs. Bunker.

"I don't guess it will," said Rose, "'cause he crowed awful loud right after it. He must have liked it. But, anyhow, Russ said my doll looked like an ear of corn, so he asked me to let him take her to shuck off her buttons."

"And did you?" asked Mrs. Bunker.

"Yes'm, I did, Mother. He and Laddie put my doll in the corn shucker and they started to turn the wheel. Then I thought maybe my doll would be hurt, and I wanted her back again. But they wouldn't give her to me, so I came to tell you!" And once more the tears came into the little girl's eyes.

"Well, I'll fix it all right," said Mrs. Bunker. "Don't cry, Rose. Even if her buttons are all shucked off we can sew more on. Don't cry!"

So Rose dried her tears and hurried on after her mother out to Grandma Bell's corncrib.

As they came near it they could hear a grinding noise, and then the voice of Laddie called:

"Oh, Russ! here come some of the buttons."

"Yes! A lot of 'em!" Russ added. "Oh, she's shucking fine, Laddie -- just like an ear of corn!"

"Dandy!" exclaimed Laddie. "It's too bad Rose didn't wait to see what we were doing. This is fun!"

"I'm here now! And you just give me my doll!" cried Rose. "I told mamma on you, that's what I did!"

The grinding noise kept up for a moment or two longer, and the laughter of the two little boys could be heard. Then Mrs. Bunker, followed by Rose, went into the corncrib. Mrs. Bunker saw a curious sight.

Standing at one side of the corn-shelling machine was Russ, turning the big wheel, which went round quite easily. On the other side was Laddie, and in his hat he was catching a little stream of yellow shoe buttons that came down through the spout.

"Boys! Boys! What are you doing?" cried Mrs. Bunker.

"Hello, Mother!" cried Russ. "She shucks dandy. All the buttons are coming off, just the way Tom made the kernels of corn come off the cobs for the chickens! Look!" and he pointed to the buttons dropping from the tin spout into Laddie's hat.

"Oh, my doll! My nice doll!" cried Rose. "She'll be spoiled now. She won't have any buttons left! Oh, I -- I'm mad at you!" and she cried again and stamped first one foot and then the other at Laddie and Russ.

"Oh, you mustn't do that," said Mrs. Bunker gently.

"I don't care!" pouted Rose, half tearfully. "They ought not to shuck all the buttons off my doll!"

"Are you doing that, Russ?" asked his mother.

"Yes'm. But Rose said we could, and then, after she let us take her doll, she wanted it back, and we can't get her out till she goes through the shucker and all her buttons come off. Then she'll pop out the other spout like an ear of corn."

"Here she comes!" shouted Laddie. "All the buttons are off now! But, gee! you can sew more on, Rose. And here's your doll!"

As he spoke the doll dropped from a tin spout on the other side of the machine, at the place where the shelled cobs dropped out. And there wasn't a single yellow shoe button left on the doll.

"Oh -- oh, dear!" sobbed Rose. "She's all spoiled!"

"Never mind," said Mrs. Bunker. "We can sew the buttons on again. But you boys shouldn't have done it," she told Russ and Laddie. "What made you?"

"Well, we wanted to shuck something," said Russ, who was beginning to feel a little sorry for what he had done, "Tom told us not to shuck any kernels off the corn, 'cause he'd fed the chickens enough. And he said we mustn't put our hands or any sticks in the machine. But we wanted to shuck something."

"And the yellow shoe buttons on Rose's doll looked just like corn," added Laddie.

Mrs. Bunker wanted to laugh, but she did not even smile. Rose felt too bad.

"There's a wheel inside this machine, Tom told us," said Russ, "and it's got a lot of sharp points on it. And when it goes around and the ears of corn get down inside, the points on the wheel knock and pull all the kernels off.

"We didn't durst take any ears of corn, so we took Rose's doll and we put her through the sheller. Rose said we might. And all her buttons came off just like kernels."

"So I see," said Mrs. Bunker. "Well, don't do it again."

"We won't," promised Laddie. "Here's your doll, Rose," he added, as he picked it up off the floor. Every button had been pulled off in the machine.

"Oh, dear!" sighed his sister. "She's spoiled!"

"Oh, no. I'll help you make her look like a messenger again, Rose," said her mother "But you boys had better keep away from the corn-shelling machine. You might be hurt."

Russ and Laddie promised. They had not really meant to annoy Rose, but they had just not stopped to think. They did so want to see the yellow shoe buttons pulled off their sister's doll. And that's just what happened. The doll was shaped something like an ear of corn, and the yellow buttons stuck out like kernels. And so the doll was "shucked."

After a while Rose got over feeling bad, and the next day all the yellow buttons were sewed back on the doll. And Tom kept the corncrib locked, so Laddie and Russ could not get into it again.

"But it was lots of fun seeing the yellow buttons drop out the spout," said Russ.

"And I could almost make up a riddle about it," added Laddie.

"I don't want any riddles about my doll," objected Rose. "She's too nice. I'm going to sew some yellow buttons on now, and black ones too, 'cause you lost some of the yellow ones."

"Well, we won't shuck her any more," promised Russ.

These were happy days at Grandma Bell's. Something new could be played by the children all the while. They loved it in the woods, and on the shores of beautiful Lake Sagatook.

"When are you going to get the boat, Daddy, and take us out?" asked Russ one afternoon, when they had seen the red-haired fishermen once more. He came close to the sandy point, and talked to the six little Bunkers, but he said he had not yet found the lumberman who had been given the ragged coat with Mr. Bunker's papers in the pocket.

"I'll get a boat next week," promised Mr. Bunker. "Then we can all go for a row."

"And fish, too?" asked Russ.

"Yes, we'll fish also," said his father.

But, as it happened, Laddie got tired waiting for the boat, and made one himself. At least he made a sort of raft.

He nailed some boards and pieces of wood together, and when he pushed the raft into the shallow water, near the shore of Sandy Point, as the children called their play-spot, Laddie found that he could stand up on his raft and push himself along. The raft floated with him on it, as though it were a boat. Of course the water came up over the top, but as Laddie went barefooted this did not matter.

One day he went down to the lake with a piece of clothesline. On the way he whistled to Zip, the playful dog.

"What are you going to do with him?" asked Russ.

"I'm going to see if he'll give me a ride," answered Laddie.

"A ride? How? There isn't any express wagon here."

"I don't need an express wagon," said Laddie. "I'm going to make Zip be a whale, or maybe a shark, and pull me on my raft-boat."

"How can you?" asked Russ.

"I'll show you," Laddie answered.

He tied one end of the piece of clothesline to his raft, and on the other end of the line he made fast a round stick.

"Here, Zip! Zip!" cried Laddie, "Go after the stick!"

He threw the stick, still tied to the rope, into the water of the lake, as far as he could from shore.

"You run down the shore a little farther and whistle to Zip," said Laddie to Russ. "You can whistle better than I can. When Zip swims to you with the stick in his mouth he'll pull me on the raft."

"Oh, I wonder if he will!" exclaimed Russ.

Zip, the big dog, was already swimming out to get the floating stick, and Laddie took his place on the raft, which he had pushed out from shore.

"I'll have a fine ride!" said the little boy.



Chapter XVI

Mun Bun Sees Something


"Here, Zip! Ho, Zip! Come here!" called Russ, and he whistled to the dog, which was swimming along with the stick in his mouth.

The dog heard, and, turning toward the shore of the lake, made his way to Russ, who was standing on the little sandy beach. And, as Zip swam along, and pulled on the clothesline, which was fast to the stick in his mouth, and also fast to the raft on which stood Laddie Bunker, the little boy was given a ride.

Zip was a strong dog, and as the raft was light, and as Laddie was not heavy, the swimming animal had no trouble in pulling the queer boat after him.

"Oh, I'm having a fine ride!" shouted Laddie, as he stood in his bare feet on the raft, over which the water washed. "Come on, Russ! You can have a ride after I do."

"Will your raft hold me?" asked his brother.

"We can put some more boards on and make it," Laddie answered. "Oh, we'll have lots of fun!"

"Come on, Zip! Come on! That's a good dog!" called Russ, and the dog, which was used to swimming out into the lake and bringing back sticks that the children threw, swam on toward shore with the round piece of wood to which the clothesline was fastened still in his mouth. And of course as Zip pulled on the line he also pulled the raft along, and so gave Laddie a ride.

"Oh, it was lots of fun!" shouted the little boy, as the raft came into shallow water where it would no longer float. For Zip had reached shore by this time, and had dropped the stick at the feet of Russ. Then Zip stood there, wagging his tail, and shaking the water off his shaggy coat, waiting for Russ to toss the stick into the water again.

"Here you go, Zip! Bring it back!" cried Russ. "Bring the stick back again!" and, once more, he tossed it into the water.

"Don't you want him to give you a ride?" asked Laddie.

"Wait till we see if he gives you another one," suggested Russ.

And Zip did. Out he swam to where the piece of wood floated, still tied to the clothesline that was fast to the raft. And when Zip swam along, of course he pulled the raft after him.

"Oh, he does it! He does it again!" cried Laddie, capering up and down on the raft. "Now we'll make the boat bigger, Russ, and you can have a ride, and so can --  -- "

But then, all of a sudden, something happened. Laddie was doing too much capering about on the raft. Before he knew it he stepped off with one foot, and, though he tried to get back on, he couldn't.

Off he fell, right into the water, splashing down with his clothes on. Zip pulled the raft along without the little boy on it.

"Hi! What are you doing?" asked Russ.

"I -- I didn't mean to! I slipped off!" answered Laddie. "But the water isn't cold."

"You're all wet, though," Russ said. "Oh, you'll get it!"

"These are my old clothes," answered the smaller boy. "Mother said it wouldn't hurt to get 'em wet."

"Did she say you could fall in with 'em on?" asked Russ.

"No," answered Laddie slowly, "I didn't know I was going to fall in, so I couldn't ask her. But I'm glad I did, 'cause it feels so nice, and he kicked around in the water. The bottom being of clean sand, there was no mud, and, as Laddie had said, he wore old clothes."

"Say, Zip is a regular steamboat engine!" exclaimed Russ, as the dog kept on pulling the raft, though Laddie had fallen off. "We'll make it bigger, Laddie, and then I can ride on it."

"Maybe we both can," said Laddie, who got up out of the water, and waded to shore.

"No, I guess the two of us would be too heavy for Zip to pull. We'll take turns," said Russ. "Come on, we'll make a bigger raft. There's lots of wood out by the barn."

And so the boys did. Russ was stronger than Laddie, and could handle bigger boards and pieces of wood. Soon the raft was made big enough so that Russ could stand up on it and not have it sink to the bottom of the lake near the shore.

"Do you like it? asked Laddie.

"It's lots of fun," answered Russ. "I'm glad you thought of this."

"I was trying to think of a riddle," said Laddie. "It was something about what makes the lake wet when it rains, and then I saw some pieces of board floating along and I thought of a raft and I made one."

"And I'm glad you thought of it instead of the riddle," said Russ with a laugh. "You can't ride on a riddle."

"You could if a riddle was a train or a boat," Laddie said. "And I made up a riddle about the conductor punching the tickets and they didn't get mad. Don't you 'member?"

"Oh, yes, I remember," said Russ. "But come on, we'll have some more rides."

So the boys took turns having Zip pull them along on the raft until the dog, much as he liked to go into the water after sticks, grew tired and would not splash out any more.

"Well, we'll play it to-morrow," said Laddie.

"Or this afternoon, maybe," said his brother.

They tied the raft to a tree near shore, leaving the stick fast to the rope, ready for more fun.

"Mercy, Laddie, what happened to you?" asked Mrs. Bunker, as she saw the two boys come through the garden up to Grandma Bell's house. "Did you fall into the water?"

"I -- I sorter -- sorter -- stepped in -- off the raft," answered the little boy. "Oh, it was lots of fun!"

"But you must be more careful," said his mother. "Was the water deep?"

"No, Mother. It was near shore," explained Russ, and he told how Zip had given them rides.

"Well, come into the house, and get on dry clothes," said Grandma Bell. "And, to make sure you won't catch cold -- though I don't see how you can on such a hot day -- I'll give you some bread and jam!"

"Oh, goody!" cried Laddie, for he knew how nice the bread and jam made by Grandma Bell tasted.

"I wish I'd fallen in," said Russ.

"Well, you may have some bread and jam also," said his grandmother, laughing. "And we'll call one, two, three, four more little Bunkers, and they may have bread and jam, too."

That afternoon and the next day the other little Bunkers had rides on the raft pulled by Zip. And when the dog got tired of splashing out in the water to bring back the stick and tow the raft, Laddie and Russ, in their bare feet, pulled it themselves, giving Rose, Vi, Margy and Mun Bun rides along the shore.

They had lots of fun, and thought Lake Sagatook the nicest place in all the world to spend part of their vacation.

Daddy Bunker and Mother Bunker liked it, too. They took long walks in the woods, and also went for rows in the boat Daddy Bunker hired.

For the children's father did as he had promised, and got a large, safe rowboat, in which they went for trips on the lake, and also went fishing. Mrs. Bunker did not care to fish, but she went along to hold the smaller children and keep them from falling out of the boat.

Several times Laddie, Russ or the other children saw Mr. Hurd, the red-haired fisherman. Each time they asked him if he had seen the tramp lumberman with the papers Mr. Bunker wished so much to get back, and each time the fisherman had to say that he had not seen the man wanted.

Once Mr. Hurd came in his boat and showed Daddy Bunker a good place to fish. Russ and Laddie went along also, and Russ caught two fishes. Laddie got only one, but as it was bigger than either of those his brother caught, Laddie felt very proud.

One day, when Laddie and Russ had gone with their father for a row in the boat, Mrs. Bunker, who was in the house with Grandma Bell helping her sew, said to Rose:

"You might take the smaller children down to the woods by the lake and play there. It's cool and shady, and you may take some cookies, or other little lunch with you, and have a sort of picnic."

"And may we take Muffin?" asked Vi.

"Yes, take Muffin," said Grandma Bell, for the maltese cat liked to be with the children as much as they liked to have her. Zip, the dog, had gone off with Tom Hardy.

Grandma Bell put up a lunch for the children, and then Rose led them down to the shady shore of the lake, where they were to have some fun.

"I'm going to make a dress out of green leaves for my doll," said Vi.

"And I'm going to make a new bathing suit for my rubber doll," said Rose. "What are you two going to do?" and she looked at Margy and Mun Bun, who were toddling along hand-in-hand.

"We's goin' in swimming'," said Mun Bun.

"He means wading with his shoes and stockings off," said Vi. "He asked mother if he could, and she said yes."

"Did she say Margy could, too?" asked Rose.

"Yes. Both of 'em."

Soon the two smaller children were paddling about in the water near the shore of the lake, while Rose and Vi sat under the shade of trees, not far away, and sewed.

The two older girls were trying on their dolls' dresses when, all of a sudden, Mun Bun came running up from the lake, his eyes big with wonder, and after him ran Margy.

"Oh, I saw it! I saw it!" cried Mun Bun. "It's a great big bear! He came right up out of the lake! Oh, come and look, Rose!" and he ran to take his sister's hand, while Margy hid behind Violet.

"What is it, Mun Bun?" asked Rose.

"Oh, I saw something big -- an animal -- I -- I guess it's a bear -- come up out of the lake!" cried the little fellow. "Come and look!"



Chapter XVII

A Red Coat


When Mun Bun had said that a bear had come up out of the lake, at first Rose felt she was going to be frightened, but when she saw that her littlest brother and sister were also afraid, Rose made up her mind that she must be brave.

She looked at Vi, and Vi was a little frightened, too, but not as much so as Mun Bun and Margy.

"What was it you saw, Mun?" asked Vi, even now not able to stop asking questions. "Where was it?"

"It was a big bear, I guess," answered the little fellow.

"Pooh!" cried Rose, in a voice she tried to make sound brave. "There aren't any bears in these woods. Grandma Bell said so."

"Well, anyhow, it was a -- a something!" said Mun Bun. "It came up out of the water and it made a big splash."

"It splashed water on me," said Margy.

"What did you think it was?" asked Vi.

"Maybe -- maybe a -- a elephant," replied the little girl. "It had a big long tail, anyhow."

"Then it couldn't be a elephant," declared Rose.

"Why not?" Vi wanted to know.

"Because elephants have little, short tails. I saw 'em in the circus."

"But they have something long, don't they?" Vi went on.

"That's their trunk," explained Rose. "But it isn't like the trunk we put our things in. Elephants only put peanuts in their trunks."

"Then what makes 'em so big? Their trunks, I mean," asked Vi.

"I don't know," Rose confessed. "Only I know elephants have little tails."

"This animal had a big tail," declared Mun Bun.

"Maybe it was the elephant's trunk they saw," suggested Vi. "Do you think it was?"

"Elephants don't live in the lake," decided Rose. Then she started down toward the shore where Mun Bun and Margy had been paddling in their bare feet.

In truth, she did not want to go very much. That was why she had done so much talking before she started.

"Where are you goin'?" asked Violet.

"I'm going to see what it is!" declared Rose.

"Oh-o-o-o!" exclaimed Vi. "Maybe it'll bite you. Did it have a mouth, Mun Bun?"

"I didn't see its mouth, but it had a flappy tail."

"I'm going to call mamma!" exclaimed Vi, "Don't you go, Rose!"

But Rose was already halfway to the shore of the lake. In another moment she called out:

"Oh, I see it! I see it!"

"What is it?" asked Mun, made brave by what he saw Rose doing, and he followed her. Vi and Margy trailed after them. "What is it?"

"It's a big rat, that's all, but it isn't the kind of rats we saw the hired man catch in a trap at the barn. It's a nicer rat than that, and it's eating oysters on a rock near the shore."

"Oh, is it really eating oysters?" asked Vi.

"They look like oysters," replied Rose. "Oh, there he goes!" and, as she spoke, the animal, which did look like a rat, plunged into the water and swam away, only the tip of its nose showing.

"Tisn't a bear," said Rose, "and 'tisn't an elephant."

"Then what is it?" asked Vi.

Rose did not know, but when the children went to the house and told Grandma Bell about it, she said:

"Why, that was a big muskrat. They won't hurt you. There are many of them in the lake, and in the winter the men catch them for their skins to make fur-lined coats from. It was only a big muskrat you saw, Mun Bun."

"And was he eating oysters?" asked Vi, who liked to know all about things.

"They were fresh-water clams," said Grandma Bell. "There are many of them in the lake, too. The muskrats bring them up from the bottom in their paws, and take them out on a rock that sticks up from the water. There they eat the clams."

"Well, I'm glad it wasn't a bear I saw," put in Mun Bun.

"So am I," said Mother Bunker with a laugh. "But you needn't be afraid -- there are no bears here."

While this had been going on Laddie and Russ, with their father in the boat, had been having a good time. They rowed up the lake, and once or twice Mr. Bunker let the boys take the oars so they might learn how to row.

"If you are going to be around the water," said Mr. Bunker, "you ought to learn how to row a boat as well as how to swim."

"I can swim a little," said Russ.

"Yes, you do very well," returned his father. "And before we go back I must teach Laddie."

"I like to wade in my bare feet," said the smaller boy.

"Well, when you learn to swim you'll like that," replied his father. "But now let's see if we can catch some fish. I told mother I'd try to bring some home, and I guess Muffin is hungry for fish, too. So we'll bait our hooks and see what luck we have."

Mr. Bunker stopped rowing the boat and got his own fishing-rod and line ready. Russ could fix his own, but Laddie needed a little help. Soon the three, sitting in the boat, were waiting for "bites."

All at once there was a little shake and nibble on Laddie's line. He grew excited and was going to pull up, but his father whispered to him:

"Wait just a moment. The fish hasn't taken hold of the hook yet. He is just tasting the bait. If you pull up now you'll scare him away. Wait a little longer."

So Laddie waited, and then, as he felt a sudden tug on his line, he quickly lifted the pole from the water. Up in the air went the dripping line, and on the end of it was a fine fish.

"Laddie has caught the first one," said Mr. Bunker. "Now we'll have to see what we can do, Russ."

"I think I have one now," said Russ in a low voice.

Mr. Bunker looked at his son's pole. The end of it was shaking and bobbing a little, and the line was trembling.

"Yes, you have a bite," said Mr. Bunker. "Pull up, Russ! Pull!"

Russ pulled, as Laddie had done, and he, too, had caught a fine fish.

"Well, well!" exclaimed Mr. Bunker, as he took this second one off the hook. "You boys are beating me all to pieces. I'll have to watch out what I'm doing!"

"Why don't you pull up your line. Daddy, and see what you've got on your hook?" asked Laddie.

"I believe I will," his father answered. "Here we go! Let's see what I have!"

Up came his line, and the pole bent like a bow, because something heavy was on the hook.

"Oh, daddy's got a big one! Daddy's got a terrible one!" cried Laddie.

"It's bigger than both our fishes put together," added Russ.

"I certainly have got something," said Mr. Bunker, as he kept on lifting his pole up. "But it doesn't act like a fish. It doesn't swim around and try to get off."

Something long and black was lifted out of the water. At first the two little boys thought it was a very big fish, but when Mr. Bunker saw it he laughed and cried:

"Well, look at my luck! It's only an old rubber boot!"

And so it was. His hook had caught on a rubber boot at the bottom of the lake and he had pulled that up, thinking it was a fish.

"Never mind, Daddy," said Russ kindly. "You can have half of my fish."

"And half of mine, too," added Laddie.

"Thank you," said their father. "That is very nice of you. But I must try to catch one myself."

And he did, a little later, though it was not as big as the one Russ has caught.

But after that Mr. Bunker caught a very large one, and Russ and Laddie each got one more, so they had enough for a good meal, as well as some to give to Muffin.

Then Daddy Bunker and the boys rowed home, and were told all about the muskrat that Mun Bun had seen come out of the lake to eat the fresh-water clams.

"How would you all like to go after wild strawberries to-day?" asked Grandma Bell of the six little Bunkers one morning, about two days after the fishing trip.

"Oh, we'd just love it!" said Rose.

"Well, get ready then, and we'll go over to the hill across the sheep meadow, and see if we can find any. There used to be many strawberries growing there, and I think we can find some to-day. Come on, children!"

Mrs. Bunker got ready, too, but Daddy Bunker did not go, as he had some letters to write. Margy wore a little red coat her mother had made for her, and she looked very pretty in it.

Down by the brook, and along the shore of the lake they went, until they came to a meadow, around which was a fence.

"What's the fence for?" asked Violet.

"To keep the sheep from getting out," said Grandma Bell. "There are sheep in this meadow belonging to Mr. Hixon, the man who owns the funny parrot."

They climbed in between the rails of the fence and started across the sheep meadow. Grandma Bell and Mother Bunker were talking of the days when the children's mother was a little girl. Russ and Rose were walking along together, and Laddie was trying to think of a riddle. Violet walked with Mun Bun, and, for a moment, no one thought of little Margy in her red coat.

"Are you all right?" asked Mrs. Bunker, turning to look back at the children. And then she saw Margy straggling along at the rear, all by herself. Margy had lagged behind to pick buttercups and daisies.

"Come, Margy! Come on!" cried Mrs. Bunker. "You'll get lost."

"Doesn't she look cute in her red coat?" asked Rose.

And hardly had she said that when there came from a clump of tall weeds near Margy the bleating of a ram, and the animal himself jumped out and started for the little girl, whose red coat made her look like a bright flower in the green meadow.



Chapter XVIII

Laddie And The Sugar


"Oh! Oh, Margy!" cried Mrs. Bunker.

"Oh, the poor little dear!" exclaimed Grandma Bell. "The old ram has seen her red coat and doesn't like it! I must get her away."

"I'll help!" cried Mother Bunker. Meanwhile they were both running toward Margy, where she stood with her back turned toward the ram, picking flowers.

"You had better leave the old ram to me. I know how to drive him off," said Grandma Bell. "You take the children, Amy, and get on the other side of the fence. It isn't far," and she pointed to the fence ahead of them.

"Won't the ram hurt you?" asked Rose, who had taken Mun Bun and Violet by their hands to lead them along.

"No, I'm not afraid of him," said Grandma Bell. "I've seen him before. You see he's like a bull -- or a turkey gobbler -- they don't any of 'em like the sight of red colors. Run, children! Amy, you look after them," she said to Mrs. Bunker. "I'll get Margy."

Mrs. Bunker knew that Grandma Bell knew a lot about farm animals. So, calling to Violet, Mun Bun and Rose, and seeing that Russ and Laddie were on the way to the fence, Mrs. Bunker followed the two boys.

"I could throw stones at the ram," said Russ.

"So could I," added his brother. "Let's go do it!"

"No. You do as grandma told you, and get on the other side of the fence," said his mother. "Grandma Bell can take care of the ram."

The ram, which had big, curving horns, walked toward Margy, now and then stopping to stamp his foot or give a loud:

"Baa-a-a-a!"

"What's he saying?" asked Vi.

"Never mind what he's saying," said Mrs. Bunker. "Run! Don't stop to ask questions."

"I guess the ram's saying he doesn't like red coats," put in Russ.

They were soon at the fence and out of any danger from the ram. Grandma Bell was now close to Margy, who had stopped picking flowers, and was looking at the animal with his shaggy coat of wool and his big, curved horns.

"Come to me, Margy!" cried her grandmother, and Margy ran, and was soon clasped in Mrs. Bell's arms.

"Baa-a-a-a!" bleated the old ram, again stamping his foot, as he shook his lowered head.

"Oh, he's going to bunk right into Grandma Bell!" cried Laddie, on the safe side of the fence.

"I'll go back and help her drive the ram off," said Mother Bunker. "You children stay here."

"Will the old ram-sheep come and get us?" asked Vi.

"No, he can't get through the fence," her mother answered after a look around. "Don't be afraid."

By this time Margy's grandmother had caught the little girl up in her arms, and was walking away from the ram.

"I must cover your red coat up with my apron, and then the ram can't see it," said Grandma Bell. "It's the red color he doesn't like."

"'Cause why?" asked Margy.

"I don't know why -- any more than I know why turkey gobblers and bulls don't like red," answered her grandmother. "But we had better get out of this meadow. I didn't know the ram was so saucy, or we should have gone around another way."

"Will he bite us?" Margy went on.

"Oh, no. He may try to hit us with his head. But that won't hurt much, as his horns are curved, and not sharp. Go on back, Bunko!" called Grandma Bell to the ram, Bunko was his name. "Go on back!"

But Bunko evidently did not want to go back. He bleated some more, stamped his feet, and shook his head. Margy's red coat was almost all covered now by her grandmother's big apron that she wore when she want to pick wild strawberries. But still the ram came on.

"Go on, Mother!" called Mrs. Bunker to Grandma Bell. "You take Margy to the fence and I'll throw clumps of dirt at the ram."

This she did, hitting the ram on the head with soft clods of earth, while Grandma Bell hurried to the fence with Margy.

"There we are!" cried the grandmother, as she set the little girl safely down on the far side, away from the ram. "Now Bunko can't get us."

"Baa-a-a-a!" bleated Bunko. He shook his big, curved horns at Mrs. Bunker, but he did not try to run at her and strike her with his head. Perhaps he felt that, as long as the little girl with the red coat had gone out of his meadow, everything was quite all right again.

"Well, that was quite an adventure," said Mother Bunker, as they were all together again, and on their way to the strawberry hill. "Did the ram ever chase you before, Mother?"

"Oh, no, but he often comes up to sniff at my dress when I take a short cut through the pasture. But I'm not afraid of him, and he knows it. I suppose he wondered what sort of new red flower Margy was."

"I picked some flowers," said the little girl, "but I dropped 'em when you carried me, Grandma."

"Never mind. We can get more," returned Mrs. Bell.

On they went to the place where the wild strawberries grew. They brushed aside the green leaves, and saw the fruit gleaming red underneath. They filled little baskets with the berries, though I think the children ate more than they put in the baskets.

"The old ram wouldn't like it here," said Russ, as he popped a berry into his own mouth.

"Why not?" asked Vi.

"'Cause there's so much red here. He wouldn't like it at all."

"Oh, I think he wouldn't mind strawberries," said Grandma Bell with a laugh. "However, the next time we won't go through the ram's meadow. We can go back another way. Now let's see who will get the most berries. We'll take some home to Daddy Bunker!"

The children had lots of fun on the warm, sunny hillside, picking the sweet, red, wild strawberries, but if Daddy Bunker had had to depend on the six little Bunkers to bring him home some of the fruit he would have got very few berries, I'm afraid. For the children ate more than they picked. But then, one could hardly blame them, as the strawberries were good.

However, Grandma Bell and Mother Bunker saved some for daddy, so he had a chance to taste them, and he ate them at supper that night as he listened to the story of the ram and Margy's red coat.

The next day, as Laddie, Russ and Rose were out in front of Grandma Bell's house, playing under the trees, they saw a farmer going down the road with a box under his arm.

"Do you suppose he's going after strawberries?" asked Rose.

"If he is we'd better tell him to look out for the old ram," remarked Laddie.

"I will," said Russ. And then he called out loudly:

"Hey, Mr. Parker!" for that was the farmer's name. "Hey, Mr. Parker, you'd better look out!"

"Look out for what?"

"For the old ram. He chased my grandma and my sister Margy yesterday," went on Russ. "But Margy had a red coat on."

"Well, I haven't anything red on," the farmer said with a laugh. "But I'm much obliged to you for telling me. And, as it happens, I'm going right where that old ram is."

"Oh, aren't you 'fraid?" asked Laddie.

"No," answered the farmer. "The ram will be glad to see me. You see, I'm taking him and the sheep some salt," and he showed the children that he had salt in the box under his arm. "I'm going to give my cattle some salt," went on the farmer, "and Mr. Hixon, who owns the sheep, asked me to salt them, too. So I'm going to. The ram will be so glad to see me with the salt that he won't hurt me at all."

"It's funny sheep like salt," said Laddie.

"It is. But they do," said the farmer, as he went on down the road.

It was a little later that afternoon that Russ, who had been making a toy sailboat, whistling merrily the while, wanted to go down to the lake to sail it.

"Come on, Laddie!" he called. "Let's go to the lake to sail the boat."

"Laddie went in the house," said Rose. "I'll find him then," returned Russ, and into the house he went, calling:

"Laddie! Laddie! Where are you? Come on and help me sail the boat!"

"Laddie was here a minute ago," said Jane, the hired girl, when Russ reached the kitchen in his search. "He asked me to give him some sugar in a cup."

"What'd he want of sugar?" asked Russ.

"I don't know," answered Jane. "But I gave him some and he went out in a hurry."

"Maybe he's going to make candy," said Russ.

"No, I don't believe so. He'd have to cook sugar on a fire to make candy, and you know your grandmother or your mother wouldn't let you play with fire."

"That's so," agreed Russ. "I wonder what Laddie wanted of the sugar. I've got to find him."



Chapter XIX

Down In The Well


Russ went out of the kitchen and looked all around the house for his brother Laddie. He did not see the little fellow, but, on the side steps he saw some white grains of sugar, and Russ could follow them a little way. The trail led down across the brook and toward the meadow.

"He went this way," Russ thought to himself, "and he had the sugar with him. Maybe he's going out to the woods to feed the birds. Or maybe he's going to have a play party with Rose and the others. I'll find 'em and have some fun myself."

But Laddie was not with the other little Bunkers, for Russ saw Rose, Vi, Margy and Mun Bun playing under one of the trees.

"Hi, Rose!" called Russ. "Have you found Laddie?"

"No," Rose answered, "I didn't look for him."

"I saw him," said Tom, the hired man. "He went over that way," and he pointed across the brook.

"Do you mean over to Strawberry Hill?" asked Russ, for so they had come to call the place where the wild red berries grew.

"Well, yes, I s'pose you might say towards Strawberry Hill," replied Tom.

Across the brook hurried Russ, and, a little way ahead of him, he saw his brother.

"Hi, Laddie!" he called. "Wait for me! Where are you going?"

Laddie waited, and Russ soon caught up to him. But Laddie did not at once answer his older brother's question. So Russ asked again:

"Where are you going?" Then, before Laddie had a chance to say anything, Russ went on: "I know! You're going to pick wild strawberries, and put sugar on 'em."

"No, I'm not," returned Laddie slowly. "I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to give some sugar to the sheep."

"Give sugar to the sheep?" cried Russ in surprise. "What're you going to do that for?"

"'Cause they don't like salt, I guess," answered Laddie. "I don't like salt, and I don't guess a sheep does. The farmer said he was going to give salt to the sheep, but they must like sugar better. So I got Jane to give me some, and I'm going to take it to the sheep."

"I'll help you take it," said Russ. "I should think sheep would like sugar better than salt."

Together the two little boys kept on over the meadow until they came to the field where the sheep were grazing. There were quite a number of them.

"What'll we do if the old ram runs at us?" asked Russ, as he and Laddie crawled under the fence.

"He won't run at us," said the smaller boy, who seemed to have thought it all out. "We haven't got anything red on, and he only runs at you if you have red on. Anyhow, if he does, we can give him some sugar and that will make him like us."

"Yes, I guess it will," agreed Russ.

With Laddie holding the bag of sweet stuff, the two boys walked toward the sheep. They were eating grass, but soon some of the woolly creatures noticed the two little fellows and stopped eating to walk toward them.

"Here they come!" exclaimed Russ. "Get the sugar ready, Laddie. And there comes the old ram over from the other side of the field. Save some sugar for him."

"I will," Laddie said. Then he poured some of the sugar out from the bag on the ground, and the sheep began to nibble at it.

I am not sure whether sheep like sugar better than salt or not. I should think they might, and yet salt on some things is better than sugar would be. I wouldn't like my roast chicken with sugar on it, but I do like it with salt. Anyhow, the sheep licked up the sugar that Laddie sprinkled on the grass for them.

"Let me give 'em some!" begged Russ, and he reached for the bag. Just how it happened the boys did not know, but the bag was knocked from Laddie's hand, and the rest of the sugar was spilled out on the ground. More sheep came up and soon all began eating it.

"They like it lots better'n salt!" said Laddie.

"Sure they do!" agreed Russ. "We'll bring more sugar, and we'll tell Mr. Hixon about it. I guess he'd like to give his sheep the things they like best. They like 'em to grow good and fat."

The boys were so interested watching the sheep eat the sugar, that they forgot all about the ram that had seemed so angry because of Margy's red coat. The first they knew was when they heard a loud:

"Baa-a-a-a-a!"

Then they heard a pounding of hoofs on the ground and the ram came running at them.

"Oh, look!" cried Russ. "Here he comes! We'd better get on the other side of the fence! Come on, Laddie!"

"I'm coming!" answered the little fellow. "Hurry!"

"It -- it's too bad we didn't save him some sugar," panted Russ, as he and Laddie ran on. "Maybe that's what makes him mad at us."

"Maybe it is," agreed Laddie. "Hurry, Russ!" he shouted, looking over his shoulder. "He's coming closer!"

The ram was, indeed, running faster than the boys, and only that they had a start of him he would have caught them before they got to the fence, and then he might have butted them with his head.

But, as it was, Russ reached the fence first. He turned to wait for Laddie, who was a little behind him.

"And if that old ram had hurt you I'd 'a' thrown stones at him," said Russ afterward. But Laddie, with an extra burst of speed, managed to get to the fence, and Russ helped him through. The ram was so close that his head struck the rails with a bang.

"It's a good thing it wasn't us he hit," said Russ, as they found themselves safe on the other side.

"That's right," agreed Laddie. "He's terrible mad 'cause we didn't save him any sugar. I was going to, but it all spilled."

They stood on the safe side of the fence looking at the ram, which shook its head, stamped its feet, and, now and then, uttered a loud "Baaa-a-a-a-a!"

I don't really believe the ram was angry at Russ and Laddie for not giving him sugar. I think the leader of the flock thought perhaps the boys might be troubling the sheep, and wanted to drive them from the field. That's just what he did, anyhow -- drive them from the field.

For a little while the boys stood watching the sheep. Those that had come to eat the sugar seemed to have licked up all there was on the grass, and they came with the others, to stand behind the ram, near the fence. They all looked at the boys.

"I guess they like us," said Laddie.

"All but the ram," said Russ. "And I don't like him."

"Neither do I," agreed his brother.

"Well, come on," said Russ, after a bit. "We can't have any fun here. Let's go and sail the boat I made. I was looking for you when Jane said she gave you the sugar. I couldn't think what you were going to do."

"I thought about the sugar for the sheep when I saw the man going with the salt," explained Laddie. "But I guess I won't do it any more -- not while the old ram is in the field. Come on, we'll go and sail your boat."

The boys went back to the house and got the new sailboat Russ had made. Going down to the sandy shore of the lake with it, they found Rose and Violet sitting in the shade, playing with their dolls.

"Oh, I know what we can do!" exclaimed Russ, who was carrying the boat.

"What?" asked his brother.

"We can take the dolls -- those Rose and Vi have -- and give 'em a ride on the boat."

"Give Rose and Vi a ride on the boat?" asked Laddie, who had not been listening very closely. "It isn't big enough."

"'Course 'tisn't!" agreed Russ. "I don't mean that. I mean give the dolls a ride."

"Oh, yes, we can do that!" cried Laddie. "It'll be fun! Will you let us?" he called to the two little girls.

"Let you what?" asked Rose.

"Let us give your dolls a ride on the boat?"

Russ had taken a board, whittled one end sharp, like the prow, or bow, of a boat, and had rounded the other end for the stern. In the middle he had bored a hole and stuck in this a stick for a mast. On the mast he had tied a bit of cloth for a sail. And when the boat was put in the shallow water of the lake, near shore, the wind blew it along nicely.

"Oh, yes! Let's give our dolls a ride!" cried Vi.

"You can give yours a ride, but I'm not," declared Rose.

"Why?" Russ wanted to know.

"'Cause she might fall off into the water."

"I can put a stone on her so she won't fall off the boat," said Russ.

"Huh! Think I'm going to let you put a stone on my doll? I will not!" Rose exclaimed.

"I could tie her on," suggested Laddie. "I've a piece of string."

"Well, maybe that's all right," Rose agreed, and then she and Violet let Russ and Laddie take the dolls, which they tied on the sailboat. Then along in the little sheltered cove of the lake the boat sailed, giving the dolls a ride.

But, suddenly, there came a strong puff of wind, and the boat tipped to one side. Laddie could not have tied the string on Vi's doll very strong, for she slipped off into the water.

"Oh, your doll will be drowned!" cried Rose.

"No, she can't drown! She's rubber," answered Vi. "I'll just play she had a bath in the lake."

"Well, it's a good thing it was your doll and not mine, that fell in," went on Rose, "'cause my doll's a sawdust one -- this one is. But I have a rubber doll up at the house, a nice one.

"Go and get her!" suggested Russ. "Then I can sail the boat in deeper water and it won't hurt if it tips over with two rubber dolls on."

So Rose got her other doll, and then the children had fun sailing the boat with two make-believe passengers, who did not mind how wet they got. If the boat didn't tip over of itself, Russ or Laddie made it, just to see the dolls go splashing into the water.

The children played at this game for some time, and then Jane called them to come to lunch. At the table Laddie and Russ told about taking sugar to the sheep, and how the ram chased them.

"You mustn't do it again," their father said. "Not only that it isn't good to waste sugar by giving it to the sheep, but the old ram might hurt you. Don't do it again."

The boys promised they wouldn't, and then Rose and Vi told of their fun with the rubber dolls and the boat.

In the afternoon, when Mrs. Bunker and Grandma Bell were getting ready to go for a walk with the children, Russ came running up to the house, from down near the barn, crying:

"Oh, Rose! Margy took your rubber doll, and now she's down in the well! She's down in the well!"

"Oh, mercy sakes!" cried Grandma Bell, who heard what Russ said. "Is Margy in the well or the doll?"

But Russ didn't stop to answer. Back toward the well he ran, as fast as he could go, having picked up the rake near the fence of the kitchen garden.



Chapter XX

The Dog-Cart


Mrs. Bunker saw Grandma Bell hurrying down toward the barn, halfway between which and the house, was the well, and at once the children's mother began to fear that something was wrong.

"Has anything happened?" asked Mrs. Bunker.

"I'm afraid there has," answered Grandma Bell. "Russ came running up to the house, and said something about a doll having fallen into the well. Then he grabbed up the rake and ran back before I could ask him what he meant."

"Oh, I do hope none of the children will try to get it out!" cried Mrs. Bunker.

Then Grandma Bell and Mother Bunker ran down to the well. There they saw Mr. Bunker with the long-handled rake fishing down in the round hole, at the bottom of which was deep water.

"What has happened?" demanded Mrs. Bunker.

"It's all right -- don't be frightened," her husband told her, as he looked around. "It's only a doll that has fallen into the well. I'm trying to get it out with the rake."

"Only a doll -- that isn't so bad," said Mrs. Bunker. "Whose doll is it?"

"Mine," answered Rose. She and the other children now stood about the well house. "Margy took it, Russ says, and dropped it into the water."

"I was givin' the dollie a bath," Margy explained. "The other dolls had a ride on Laddie's boat, and they felled in the water and had a nice swim, but this doll didn't have any and I was givin' her one."

"Oh, but you shouldn't have done that without asking mother," said Mrs. Bunker. "And besides, I've told you to keep away from the well. You might fall in."

"Oh, I didn't go very near," said Margy. "I -- I just throwed the dollie in. I stood 'way back and I throwed her in 'cause I wanted her to have a swim like the other dolls."

"Can you get it out?" asked Mrs. Bunker.

"I think so," answered her husband. "The doll is caught on one of the buckets, halfway down the well. I sent Russ up to get the rake, for I'm afraid If I pull up the bucket the doll will drop off and fall to the bottom of the well."

All watched Daddy fishing for the doll. The rake was not quite long enough, but by fastening a stick onto the handle it could be reached down far enough so the iron teeth caught in the doll's dress, and up she came.

"Why -- why!" exclaimed Margy, "she isn't wet at all."

"No," said Daddy Bunker, "she didn't get down to the water. If she had I don't believe I could have gotten her up, as the well is very deep. But don't do it again, Margy."

Rose took the doll, whose dress had been torn a little by the rake.

"I'll make believe she's had a terrible time and been sick," said the little girl, "and I'll give her bread pills."

The rake was carried back to the kitchen garden, Daddy Bunker put on his coat, which he had taken off to get the doll up from the well, and then Grandma Bell brought some pails and baskets from the kitchen.

"What are we going to do?" asked Russ.

"We are going after berries," his mother told him.

"Strawberries?" cried Laddie.

"Not this time," said Grandma Bell. "This time we are going to gather huckleberries."

"Then you must be going to bake huckleberry pies!" exclaimed Daddy Bunker.

"Well, I'll bake some if the children don't eat more berries than they put in the pails and baskets," said Grandma Bell, with a funny twinkle in her eyes.

"We won't eat very many," promised Russ. "We'll pick a lot of berries for the pies, won't we, Laddie?"

"Sure we will!"

Off to the place where the huckleberries grew went the six little Bunkers, with their mother and their grandmother.

"And I'm coming, too," said Daddy Bunker. "I'm too fond of huckleberry pie to risk having all the berries go into the children's mouths. I'll go along and pick some myself, then I'll be sure of one pie at least."

But the six little Bunkers were really very good. Of course, I'm not saying they didn't eat some berries. You'd do that yourself, when they grew on bushes all around you. But the children put into the pails and baskets so many that Grandma Bell said there would be a big pie for daddy, and several smaller ones for the children.

As the little party of berry pickers came back from the fields late that afternoon, Russ and Laddie, walking ahead, saw Zip, the dog, dragging along a piece of rope, fastened to a heavy bit of log.

"He's terrible strong, Zip is," said Laddie. "Look at him pull that log."

"Yes, he is strong," agreed Russ. And then he suddenly cried: "Oh, I know what we can do!"

"What?" asked Laddie, always ready for anything.

"We can make a cart and have Zip pull us in it. If grandma had a pony I guess she'd have a pony-cart, but she hasn't, so we can make a dog-cart."

"How can we do it?" asked Laddie.

"Well, you just take an old box -- we saw some of the kind I want down at the grocery store -- and you put wheels on it."

"Where are you going to get the wheels?" asked Laddie.

Russ had to stop and think about that part. Then he happened to remember that he had seen two wheels from an old baby carriage out in the barn. Grandma Bell had once had a woman working for her who had a little baby, and this woman had kept the carriage at the Bell farmhouse. But after a while it broke, or wore out, and when the woman and her baby went away there were only two wheels of the carriage left.

"We can take them," said Russ, "and maybe we can find two more somewhere. We'll ask daddy or grandma."

"Say, it'll be lots of fun if we can make a dog-cart!" cried Laddie. "Could we really ride in it, do you s'pose?"

"Why, yes!" answered Russ. "Zip is strong enough to pull us both. Look at him pull that log. Feel how hard he pulls on the rope!"

The boys took hold of the rope and tried to hold back on it. But Zip was so strong that he dragged them along a little way, as well as the log. And Zip growled and snarled, pretending he was very angry.

"Look out!" cried Mother Bunker. "He might bite you!"

"Zip is only playing," said Grandma Bell. "He never bites. But what are you doing?" she asked Russ and Laddie.

"We're trying how hard Zip can pull, to see if he can pull us when we make a dog-cart," explained Russ.

"Please, Grandma, may we?" asked Laddie. "And may we have the two old baby carriage wheels out in the barn?"

"Yes, certainly," his grandmother said. "But I don't know where there are any more wheels. You'll have to get along with two."

"Well, we could do that," Russ said. "But four would be better. Oh, Laddie! We'll have a lot of fun making the dog-cart!"

"That's what we will!" said the smaller boy.



Chapter XXI

Russ Hears News


When Daddy Bunker heard about the plan of Russ and Laddie to make a dog-cart, he at first thought the boys could not do it.

"How are you going to harness Zip to the cart?" he asked.

"Oh, we can do it," declared Russ. "We can make a harness out of pieces of rope and some straps in the barn. And we can get a box and put some wheels on it for a cart. It'll be easy."

"But maybe Zip won't let himself be hitched up," said Daddy Bunker. He wanted the boys to have fun while at Grandma Bell's, but he did not want them to go to a lot of work making something, and then be disappointed if it did not work.

"Oh, I guess Zip won't mind being harnessed," said Grandma Bell. "Once we had a man working for us who had a small boy. This boy -- his name was Bobbie -- made a little cart and used to drive Zip hitched to it, and the dog pulled Bobbie all around very nicely."

"Did he? Hurray! Then he'll pull us!" shouted Laddie.

As soon as Russ and Laddie got back to Grandma Bell's house they began to look for things of which to make the dog-cart and the harness. Two wheels were all they could find, but Daddy Bunker thought they would answer very nicely.

"I'll help you make the harness," said Tom Hardy. "I guess there are enough odd straps around the barn to make a harness for two dogs."

Russ and Laddie were glad to hear Tom say this. They felt that making the harness would be the hardest part of the work. The cart would be easier; at least so they hoped.

From the grocery store, down at the "Four Corners," where Grandma Bell traded, the boys, the next day, got a fine large soap box. It was quite strong, too.

"And it's got to be strong if you boys are going to ride around behind that dog Zip!" said the storekeeper. "He's a goer, Zip is! A goer!"

Tom helped the boys fasten the old baby carriage wheels to the box, and also helped them make a pair of shafts, just like those in between which a horse trots, only, of course, the ones for Zip were smaller. The hired man was as good as his word in the matter of a harness, and soon everything was in readiness for the first ride.

"The only thing I'm afraid of," said Mother Bunker, "is that Zip won't let himself be harnessed. He may not like it."

But the big dog did not seem to mind in the least. He came when Russ called him, and he wagged his tail when the boys showed him the soap-box cart and the harness.

"Now we're going to have some fun when you give us a ride!" said Russ, patting Zip's shaggy head.

"Bow-wow!" barked the dog, as much as to say:

"That's right! We'll have fun!"

Daddy Bunker, as well as his wife and Grandma Bell, came out to see how the first trip would turn out. Tom put the harness on Zip. The dog only sniffed at it and wagged his tail. Perhaps he thought of the time when he had been harnessed this way by Bobbie.

"Oh, it's nice! I like it!" cried Mun Bun, when he saw the home-made dog-cart with the baby carriage wheels. "I want a ride now."

"So do I," added Margy, who never liked to be left, out of anything in which her smaller brother had a share.

"You little folks had better not get in until Russ and Laddie try it," said Mr. Bunker "And they had better keep on the soft grass when they start to drive Zip."

"Why should we stay on the grass?" asked Laddie.

"So if you fall out of the cart you won't get hurt," his father answered with a merry laugh.

"Oh, we won't fall out," declared Russ. "The cart is big enough for two of us."

And the soap box was large enough for Russ, Laddie and one more little Bunker, though two made a more comfortable load than three. Tom had nailed in a board for a seat, and really the dog-cart, though rather roughly made, was very nice.

"Get in now, and let's see how you go," said Daddy Bunker. He was holding Zip by part of the harness that went around the dog's head. To this, which was a sort of muzzle, there were fastened two pieces of real horse reins, and by these Zip's head could be pulled to the left or the right, according to which way the little drivers wanted him to go.

"He guides just like a real horse or a boat," said Laddie. Of course there was no bit in Zip's mouth, as there is in the mouth of a horse, for dogs have to keep their mouth open so much, to cool off when they are hot, that a bit would be in the way.

In the soap box Laddie and Russ took their places. Daddy Bunker handed them the lines and let go of the dog's head.

"Gid-dap!" called Russ.

"Go fast!" ordered Laddie.

"Hold tight and don't get spilled out!" begged Mother Bunker.

"We will!" promised Laddie.

Russ was driving and he didn't feel much like talking just then. He had to give all his attention to Zip.

Away trotted the dog, pulling after him the cart with the two boys in it. Over the grass he went, and when Russ saw that the dog seemed to know just what to do, and didn't show any signs of wanting to turn around and upset the cart, Russ turned his steed toward the path.

"We can go faster here, where it isn't so soft," he said.

And Zip did pull the cart along at good speed. Around and around on the gravel paths he pulled the boys, and he seemed to be having as much fun from it as they were.

"He goes very nicely," said Daddy Bunker, smiling.

"I'd like a ride in the cart myself, if I were small enough," said the children's mother, laughing.

"Yes, Zip is a good dog for the six little Bunkers to play with," observed Grandma Bell. "They'll have a good time with that cart."

"Give us a ride! Give us a ride!" begged Rose.

"Yes, can't you take some of them for a turn now?" asked Mrs. Bunker.

"As soon as Laddie and I go around once more," promised Russ.

Zip didn't seem a bit tired, though he had run fast part of the time. Laddie got out and this made room for Rose and Violet, for Daddy Bunker said Russ had better stay in and do the driving.

"But I'm going to drive after a while? when I learn how," declared Rose, and they said she might.

Zip gave Russ, Rose and Vi as nice a ride as he had given the two boys, and the girls clapped their hands in glee and laughed joyously as they rattled along over the paths.

Then came the turn of Margy and Mun Bun, and they liked it more than any one, I guess, and didn't want to get out of the cart.

"But Zip is tired now," said Mrs. Bunker. "See how fast he is breathing, and how his tongue hangs out of his mouth," for the dog had been pulling the cart for over an hour. "Get out, Mun and Margy, and you may have another ride after Zip rests."

The little children loved the dog, and wanted to be kind to him; so, when their mother told them this, they got out of the cart, and Zip was unharnessed and given some cold water to drink and a nice bone on which to gnaw.

"If he was a horse he could have oats," said Russ. "But I guess he likes a bone better."

"I guess so, too," said Grandma Bell, and she smiled.

With the dog-cart, taking rowing trips on the lake now and then, going fishing, hunting for berries and walking in the woods, the six little Bunkers at Grandma Bell's had a fine time that early summer. There seemed to be something new to do every day, or, if there wasn't, Russ or Laddie made it.

"And I've thought up a new riddle," said the smaller boy one day.

"What's it about?" asked Russ.

"It's about Zip," Laddie replied. "Why is Zip like a little boy when he's tired? I mean when Zip is tired. Why is he like a little boy then?"

"'Cause he wants to sit down and rest," answered Russ.

"Nope; that isn't the answer," said Laddie, shaking his head.

"Why isn't it?"

"'Cause it isn't. I know the answer, and it isn't that. Tom helped me think the riddle up. Maybe it's an old one, but Tom said it was good. Why is Zip, when he's tired, like a little boy?"

Russ thought for a while, and then he said:

"I don't know. I give up. Why is he, Laddie?"

"'Cause his breath comes in short pants. You see when Zip is tired his breath is short -- he pants, Tom told me. And a little boy, like you and me, Russ, wears short pants. So that's why Zip is like one."

"Oh, I see!" laughed Russ. "That's pretty good. I know a riddle too, Laddie."

"What is it?"

"This. What makes a miller wear a white hat?"

Laddie thought over this for a moment or two and then said:

"He wears a white hat so the flour dust won't show so plain."

"Nope; that isn't it," Russ declared.

"Is it because nobody would sell him a black hat?" asked Laddie.

"Nope. Shall I tell you the answer?"

"No. Let me guess!" begged the smaller boy.

He gave several other answers, none of which, Russ said, was right, and at last Laddie murmured:

"I give up! Why does a miller wear a white hat?"

"To keep his head warm, same as anybody else!" laughed Russ. "Tom told me that riddle, too," he added.

"Well," said Laddie slowly, as he took off his own hat to run his fingers through his hair, "that isn't as good a riddle as the one about Zip's breath coming in short pants."

"Maybe not. But it's harder to guess," said Russ.

Then the two boys, after waiting for Zip's breath to come out of short pants -- that is, waiting for him to get rested -- went for a ride in the dog-cart.

As they were going down the road they saw, coming toward them, a man with bright red hair. He was driving a horse and carriage.

"There's Mr. Hurd," said Russ. "He's the one we thought was the tramp lumberman that got daddy's real estate papers."

"I see him," said Laddie. "Look! He's waving to us! Let's go over and see what he wants."

Mr. Hurd was driving down a cross road, and waited for the boys to come up to him.

"Hello, Russ and Laddie!" he called, "I've got some news for you!"

"News?" asked Russ.

"Yes. Do you remember when you took me for the red-haired lumberman that you thought had your father's papers: Remember that?"

"Yes," answered Russ, "I do. But you weren't him. I wish we could find him."

"Maybe you can," said Mr. Hurd, and Russ looked at him in a queer way. What did Mr. Hurd mean?



Chapter XXII

Off On A Trip


"Are you sure this tramp lumberman who took the old coat with your father's papers in it, had red hair?" asked Mr. Hurd as Zip came to a stop near the carriage, and lay down in the shade, for, not being a big horse, the dog could do almost as he pleased when harnessed up.

"Yes, he had red hair," said Russ. "But he really didn't mean to take the papers. I heard my father say. It was just a mistake."

"Yes, I guess that was it," agreed Mr. Hurd. "Well, your father would like to get those papers back, wouldn't he?"

"Indeed he would!" exclaimed Russ. "He and mother were talking about 'em only last night. Daddy would like to get 'em very much."

"Well," went on Mr. Hurd. "I'll tell you the news I spoke about. Do you know where Mr. Barker's place is?"

"Yes," answered Russ. Laddie let his brother do most of the talking this time. "It's over on the road to Green Pond, isn't it?" and Russ, sitting in the dog-cart beside Laddie, pointed in the direction of the place he spoke of. It was about three miles from where Grandma Bell lived. Russ had heard his father, mother and grandmother speak of Mr. Barker's place. He was a man who owned many fields and woodlands.

"That's right, Russ," said Mr. Hurd. "Mr. Barker's place is over by Green Pond. I see you know it all right. Well, now I heard yesterday that there is a red-haired lumberman working for Mr. Barker, cutting down trees for him, and getting ready to build an ice-house on the shore of Green Pond."

"Is he a tramp lumberman?" asked Russ.

"As to that I don't know," answered Mr. Hurd. "That's what your father will have to find out for himself. But he can easily do that. All he'll have to do will be to go over to Mr. Barker's place -- it isn't far -- and ask for the red-haired lumberman. Mr. Barker has a big place, and hires a good many men, but almost anybody would know a red-haired lumber-jack. There aren't so many of 'em in these parts."

"And if he's the tramp that got daddy's old coat then he must have the papers," said Russ.

"Well, yes, I suppose so. Unless he's lost 'em or sold 'em," went on Mr. Hurd. "Your father said those real estate papers were worth money, so maybe the tramp that found them in the pocket of the old coat sold them."

Russ and Laddie looked sad on hearing this. Suppose, after all, Daddy Bunker should not get his papers back? That would be too bad!

"As I say," went on Mr. Hurd, "I know only what some one told me. It was another man who works for Mr. Barker. He said a red-haired lumberman came one day last week, and Mr. Barker hired him. I wouldn't be surprised if he was a tramp, for regular lumbermen wouldn't be down here this time of year. They'd be up in the woods. But, boys, you tell your father to go have a look at this red-haired man over at Mr. Barker's place."

"We'll tell him," said Russ. "And thank you."

"Gid-dap!" called Mr. Hurd to his horse, and down the road it went, the carriage soon being out of sight. Zip, the dog harnessed to the cart which Russ and Laddie had helped make, still lay in the shade. He was taking a good rest.

"Oh, wouldn't it be fine if this is the lumberman daddy wants, and he could get back his papers?" said Laddie.

"Very fine," agreed Russ. "We'd better go back and tell him right away. Maybe he'll take us to Mr. Barker's place with him!"

"Oh, maybe!" cried Laddie. "Let's hurry home."

But you can not always tell what is going to happen in this world. If, just then, a white rabbit had not scooted out of the bushes and run through the woods right in front of Zip, perhaps this part of the story would never have been written. It is certain that if there had been no rabbit to chase, Zip wouldn't have run as fast as he did. For he ran very fast.

And, just as I told you, it was because the white rabbit popped out of the bushes right in front of the dog.

"Bow-wow!" barked Zip, as he saw the bunny. "Bow-wow!" and that meant: "I guess I'd better chase you!"

And that's what Zip did. Up he sprang from the grass, and after the white rabbit he ran. The dog started off so quickly that Russ and Laddie were almost thrown out of the cart. If they had not held to the sides of the box very hard they would have fallen out. As it was they were jerked and tossed about as Zip ran after the rabbit.

"Oh, what's the matter?" asked Laddie, who had not seen the bunny. "Did a bee sting Zip?" This had happened once, and the dog had run around yelping and barking, no one knowing what was the matter with him for a while.

"No, I don't believe it was a bee," answered Russ. "It was a rabbit. Whoa, Zip! Whoa!" called the little boy, pulling on the leather lines.

But Zip did not stop. Very few dogs would, when once they had started to run after a rabbit.

"Bow-wow! Bow-wow!" barked Zip, and on he ran, faster and faster. He seemed to enjoy it very much.

It was a good thing the woods were not of the roughest kind just at this place, for otherwise the dog-cart would have been smashed to pieces. As it was it bumped and swayed from side to side, and Laddie and Russ had all they could do to keep from bouncing out.

"Whoa! Whoa!" called Russ, but Zip paid no attention. Nor did he care how much the little boy driver pulled on the lines. As Zip had no bit in his mouth to hurt him when it was pulled on hard, he was not going to stop. The leather muzzle around his nose did not hurt him as a bit would have done.

I don't know just how far Zip would have run after the white rabbit, if something had not happened to put an end to the chase. The rabbit, probably getting tired of being run after, suddenly darted down inside a hole. This was his burrow, or underground house, and once down in that, the rabbit knew no dog could get him.

So into his hole, as if he were going down cellar, went the bunny. And Zip, with a howl of disappointment, saw the rabbit disappear. The dog stopped at the outside edge of the hole, and barked as loudly as he could. Perhaps he thought he was giving the bunny an invitation to come up.

But the bunny never answered. They don't bark, but they can make a funny little squeaking sound at times. This one didn't do even that.

"He's gone, Zip! You can't get him," said Russ.

"Bow-wow," answered the dog, almost as if he understood what Russ said, and as though he answered:

"Yes, he's gone, but I'll get him the next time."

"He gave us a good ride, anyhow, didn't he, Russ?" asked Laddie. "I guess he rode us 'most a mile."

"Half a mile, anyhow," answered Russ. "And oh, look, Laddie! We can see Green Pond!"

They were up on top of a hill, and, looking through the trees, they could see, sparkling in the sun, the waters of Green Pond, about two miles away.

"That's where Mr. Barker lives," said Laddie.

"And maybe the red-haired lumberman is there with daddy's papers," said Russ. "Oh, Laddie! I know what let's do!"

"What?"

"Let's go down to Mr. Barker's place and ask the lumberman if he's a tramp, and if he is the one that took the old coat. Let's do that!"

"All right," agreed Laddie. "It isn't far and Zip will ride us there and home again, so we won't get tired. If we get the papers won't daddy be glad?"

"Terrible glad! Come on, we'll go!"

And, calling to Zip to come away from the rabbit hole, Russ and Laddie in their dog-cart started on a trip which was to have a strange ending.



Chapter XXIII

The Lumberman's Cabin


Along the road that led down the hill, and through the woods to Green Pond, went Zip the dog; pulling after him the cart in which Russ and Laddie rode.

"I'm glad we're riding," said Laddie. "It would be awful far to walk to Mr. Barker's place at Green Pond and back again, wouldn't it, Russ?"

"Oh, I don't know," Russ answered slowly, as he guided Zip around a turn in the crooked path. "I could walk it, but your legs aren't as long as mine. I walked two miles once, with daddy."

"What'll we do when we see that red-haired lumberman?" asked the smaller boy.

"We'll ask him for daddy's old coat and the papers."

"But maybe he'll want the old coat," suggested Laddie.

"Oh, well, he can have that," Russ answered. "Daddy gave him that, anyhow. But we can ask him for the papers."

"S'posin' he hasn't got 'em?"

"What makes you s'pose so much?" demanded Russ. "Wait till we get there, and we can tell what to do."

"All right," agreed Laddie. "I can be thinking of a riddle. Maybe I could ask the lumberman a riddle, Russ. Could I?"

"Maybe. But maybe he doesn't like 'em. Some folks don't."

"I could ask him an easy one, about the miller's hat, or about why the tickets don't get mad when the conductor punches 'em."

"No, don't ask him that one," Russ said.

"Why not?"

"'Cause that one about the tickets is too hard -- nobody knows the answer. You don't yourself."

"I know I don't, but maybe the lumberman might. Maybe he'd like to answer it. I guess I'll ask him."

"No, don't do it," advised Russ. "He's a poor lumberman, or he wouldn't want an old coat. And if he's poor he wouldn't pay money for tickets, so he wouldn't know why the conductor punched 'em."

Laddie thought about this a while.

"All right," he said, finally, as Zip trotted along down the hill, and came out on a level road that led to Green Pond. "I'll make up a new riddle for the lumberman," he went on. "Or I could ask him about Zip's breath coming in short pants."

"All right, ask him that," agreed Russ. "I hope he gives us the papers."

Mr. Barker's place was on the shores of Green Pond. In fact the man owned the whole pond -- or little lake, for that was what it was -- and all the woods around it. His house, a very big one, stood in the woods not far from the pond, and all about the house were beautiful grounds, with roads and paths leading through them. And around the house was a high iron fence, with gate-ways here and there.

Russ and Laddie, riding in their soap-box dog-cart, came along the public road. Ahead of them they could see the big iron fence around Mr. Barker's place. They knew it, for they had driven past it the week before with Grandma Bell, when she took the six little Bunkers and Daddy Bunker and Mother Bunker for a picnic ride in the big carriage.

"There's the place," said Laddie, pointing.

"I see it," returned Russ. "Now we'll drive in and find the lumberman and get daddy's papers."

Russ guided Zip up to one of the big iron gates, and as the boys turned into the drive a man came out of a little house near the entrance and held up his hand. It was just as the policeman does in the city street when he wants the automobiles and wagons to stop, so Russ called to Zip:

"Whoa!"

The dog had learned to stop when any one driving him said this, so now he halted and, being tired, he stretched out on the ground. His harness was loose, so he could do this.

"Where are you boys going?" asked the man at the gate.

"We want to find a lumberman," said Russ.

"A lumberman?"

"Yes. One works here and he has daddy's old coat and there are some papers in the pocket that daddy wants," Russ explained. "He's red-haired," he went on. "I mean the lumberman is, not my father."

"Oh," said the man at the gate. "So you're looking for some one. But Mr. Barker lives here and you can't go in, I'm afraid."

"We know Mr. Barker lives here," returned Russ. "We live over at Lake Sagatook -- that is, we don't zactly live there, but we're visiting Grandma Bell."

"Oh, are you some of the little children staying at Mrs. Bell's house?" asked the gate-tender. "I heard she had company. I know her well, but I don't often get a chance to see her. So you're her company."

"She's our grandma," explained Russ. "And we are the six little Bunkers -- everybody calls us that. 'Course Laddie and I are only two Bunkers -- there're four more at home -- Rose, Vi, Margy and Mun Bun."

"What's Mun Bun?" asked the gate-man. Nearly every one asked this on hearing the funny name.

"Mun Bun is our littlest brother," explained Russ, who was doing all the talking.

"His right name is Munroe, but we call him Mun Bun for short."

"Well, as long as you don't eat him for short I guess it will be all right," said the gate-man with a laugh.

"Is that a riddle -- about eating Mun Bun?" asked Laddie.

"No. That's supposed to be a joke," explained the gate-man. "Your brother's nickname is Bun, you say. Well, a bun is something good to eat, but I hope you don't eat your little brother -- joke, you see."

Russ and Laddie laughed. They didn't exactly understand the joke, but they thought the gate-man was jolly and they wanted to be jolly too.

"So you six little Bunkers -- at least two of you -- came to see Mr. Barker, did you?" asked the man at the entrance.

"No, we didn't zactly come to see him," answered Russ. "We want to see the lumberman that took daddy's ragged coat with the papers in the pocket -- only he didn't know they were there and he didn't take the coat. That was given to him."

"You want to see a lumberman?" repeated the guard at the gate, for he was a sort of guard. "But we haven't any lumbermen here."

"He's red-haired," Russ reminded him.

"Oh, I guess I know whom you mean!" said the gate-man. "There is a red-haired man cutting trees over in the woods. Mr. Barker is going to build a new dock for his boats in Green Pond, and there is a red-haired man chopping down trees for the work. He is a lumberman, I s'pose."

"And is he red-haired?" asked Laddie eagerly.

"Yes, his hair is red. I remember now. He came here one day and asked if there was any work on the place. I was going to tell him there wasn't, when one of the gardeners said the foreman was looking for a man to chop trees. So this red-haired man was hired."

"And is he a tramp?" asked Russ.

"Well, he did look sort of like that, ragged and dusty."

"And did he have a ragged coat?" Russ went on.

"I didn't notice particularly," answered the gate-man. "He was pretty much ragged all over, I guess, but I didn't pay much attention to him, as I was busy. But he certainly was red-haired."

"Oh, I do hope he's got daddy's papers!" went on Russ. "Mr. Hurd told us about the lumberman," he went on, "and we came to see him."

"Well, you can do that," said the guard at the gate. "Just follow this road until you come to the lake. This lumberman -- I think his name is Mike Gannon -- lives by himself in a little cabin near the place where the new dock is to be built. He said he was used to living by himself, so the foreman told him he could camp out there. And there you'll find him, if he isn't chopping down trees in the woods. Just follow this road to the lake. Will your dog pull you there?"

"Oh, yes, Zip is a good puller," said Russ. "He gave us this ride from Lake Sagatook."

"And he ran after a rabbit!" added Laddie. "And he might 'a' got it, only the bunny went down a hole."

"They mostly do that when a dog chases 'em," said the gate-man. "Well, you just follow the road along until you come to the cabin where the red-haired lumberman lives -- Mike Gannon is his name -- and then you can ask him about the ragged coat and the papers. Stop and tell me about it on your way out."

"We will," promised Russ and Laddie. Then Russ called to Zip:

"Gid-dap!"

Up jumped the dog with a bark, as much as to say "Good-bye!" to the gate-man, and down the gravel drive he trotted with the cart.

"He was a nice man, wasn't he?" observed Laddie.

"Yes, terrible nice," agreed Russ. "I hope we find the red-haired lumberman."

"I forgot to ask him a riddle," went on Laddie. "I mean the man at the gate. But I can ask him one when we go back."

"If we have time," Russ said. "We can't stay too long, or mother and daddy and Grandma Bell will wonder where we are."

"That's so," agreed Laddie. "Well, we'll just find the lumberman and get the papers and take them to daddy."

Only it was not going to be quite as easy as that, the boys were to learn.

Along the pretty drive, under the trees, they went in the dog-cart. Pretty soon they came to a part of the road where the little lake came close to the roadway, and, just beyond, was a log cabin.

"There's where the lumberman lives," said Russ.

"Yes, I guess he does," agreed Laddie.

And just then, all of a sudden, Zip saw a cat out in front of the cabin. With a growl and a bark the dog began to run toward the cat as fast as he could go, pulling the cart after him.

"Whoa! Whoa! Stop!" cried Russ.

"Stop! Stop, Zip!" yelled Laddie. "Stop!"

But the dog did not hear, or would not mind. Straight at the cat he rushed, and pussy, seeing a strange dog coming, and pulling a soap-box cart in which were two boys -- pussy, seeing this strange sight -- arched her back and made her tail get as big as a big bologna sausage.



Chapter XXIV

The Old Coat


"Bang!"

That was the soap-box cart hitting against a tree.

"Tunk! Tunk!"

Those were the soft sounds Russ and Laddie made as they were spilled out on the grass near the lumberman's cabin.

"Bow-wow!"

That was Zip barking at the cat.

"Hiss-siss!"

That was the cat making queer noises at Zip.

"Wow-ow-ow-Yelp!"

That was Zip howling because the cat scratched his nose.

For that's just what the cat did. Zip rushed at her so fast that he banged the cart against a tree, and turned it over on its side, spilling out Russ and Laddie. And Zip, not seeming to care what happened to his little masters, kept on after the cat.

But pussy was brave, and she didn't run and climb a tree, as most cats did when Zip chased them. She just stood, arching her back, making her tail big, and sissing queer sounds until the dog came near enough, when she darted out a paw, and the sharp claws scratched Zip on the nose. Then Zip howled and sat down to look at the cat. And the cat stayed right there looking at Zip.

For a moment or two Russ and Laddie didn't know just what had happened. But they scrambled to their feet. Then they saw Zip and the overturned cart and the cat, and they understood.

"He chased a cat," said Laddie.

"Zip, you're a bad dog!" cried Russ, and he shook his finger at the pet. "Didn't Grandma Bell tell you not to chase cats?"

This was true. Grandma Bell had told Zip that, but, like boys and girls, he sometimes forgot. Zip wasn't a bad dog, and he never bit cats. He just liked to chase them once in a while.

"Are you hurt, Laddie?" asked Russ.

"No. Are you?"

"Nope. Say! but didn't Zip run fast, though?"

"Terrible fast. Faster than when he chased the rabbit."

There were a few red spots on Zip's nose where the cat had scratched him. The dog licked them away with his tongue, and looked rather silly. It wasn't very often a cat stayed to fight him.

Russ and Laddie started for the overturned cart, to set it up on the wheels again, when the door of the log cabin opened and out came a red-haired man, whose clothes were quite old and ragged. He wore a pair of boots, into the tops of which his trousers were tucked, but he had on no coat. Russ and Laddie looked particularly to see if he had a coat, but he had none.

"Hello! What's going on here?" asked the man.

"If you please, our dog chased your cat," said Russ, "but he didn't hurt him -- I mean our dog didn't hurt your cat."

"I'm glad of that," said the man with a smile. "That's a good cat of mine. I haven't had her very long, but I wouldn't want a dog to hurt her. But your dog seems to be scratched," went on the man, as he looked carefully and saw some more red spots of blood on Zip's nose.

"Yes, your cat scratched him," returned Russ. "I guess Zip won't chase her any more."

"I guess not," the red-haired man agreed. "So you had an upset, did you?" he went on as he noticed the overturned cart. "Did either of you get hurt?"

"No, thank you," answered Russ. "We fell on the soft grass."

"That's good," returned the man. "I suppose you belong up in the big house, though I haven't seen you before, and I didn't know there were any children up there."

"No, we don't live in the big house," said Russ, for the man had pointed toward the residence of Mr. Barker. "We live over at Lake Sagatook -- I mean we're visiting Grandma Bell -- and we came to see you. We're two of the six little Bunkers."

"Oh, you're two of the six little Bunkers, are you?" asked the man. "Well, if the other four are as nice as you I'd like to see them. You say you came to see me?"

"Yes, sir," answered Russ. "You're the lumberman, aren't you?"

"Well, yes, I used to be a lumberman when I could get work at it," answered the man standing in the cabin door. "I know how to cut down trees and all that sort of thing."

"And you have red hair," added Russ.

"Yes, you're right, I have got red hair," and the lumberman ran his fingers through it as though to pull out some and make sure it had not changed color.

"Is your name Mike Gannon?" asked Russ.

"That's my name, little Bunker -- I don't know your first name."

"It's Russ, and his is Laddie," and Russ pointed to his brother.

By this time the cat, seeing that Zip was not going to chase her any more, had taken the arch out of her back and her tail looked like a small frankfurter sausage, and not like a big bologna one.

"Well, Russ and Laddie Bunker, I'm glad to see you," said Mr. Gannon. "And so you live over at Lake Sagatook, and not here at Green Pond. Why did you come so far?"

"To see you," answered Russ.

"To see me!" exclaimed the red-haired lumberman in surprise. "Well, I'm no great sight to look at, that's sure. But still I'm glad to see you. Are you sure you wanted me?"

"You're red-haired," said Russ slowly, as though going over certain points.

"That's right," said the lumberman.

"And you cut down trees," went on Russ.

"Correct."

"And were you ever a tramp?" Russ asked.

"Well, yes, you could call me that," admitted the red-haired man, speaking slowly. "I'm a sort of tramp lumberman. I never like to stay long in one place, and so I'm roving all over. You could call me a tramp."

"That's good," said Russ.

"Well, sometimes it is, and sometimes it isn't," said Mr. Gannon. "It isn't so bad tramping in the summer, but in the winter it isn't so nice. You get cold and hungry."

"I meant it's good 'cause you're the very one we want to see," went on Russ, who felt quite big and grown-up, now that he and Laddie had come this far alone. "Now where is the ragged coat?"

"The ragged coat?" questioned Mr. Gannon. He did not seem to know what Laddie meant.

"Didn't you get a ragged cent from my daddy's real estate office about a month ago?" went on Russ in surprise. "It was in Pineville, where we live when we aren't visiting Grandma Bell. Did you get a ragged coat there?"

"Pineville -- Pineville?" murmured the red-haired lumberman to himself, as if trying to remember. "Yes, I did tramp through there and -- Hold on!" he cried. "I remember now! I did ask at an office if they had an old coat they could give me. I hadn't one worth wearing. I did get an old coat, and, as you say, it was ragged."

"Our father gave you that," went on Laddie. "Or he told one of his real estate men to do it."

"Yes, that's right -- I remember now. I did beg a coat from a real estate office," said Mr. Gannon. "And that was your father's place, was it? Well, I'm glad to meet you boys. Your father was kind to me. But Pineville is a long way from here. It took me almost a month to walk it, stopping to work now and then."

"We came in the train," said Laddie, "and I know a riddle about the conductor punching the tickets, but I don't know --  -- "

Russ didn't want his brother to get to talking about riddles at a time like this. So he interrupted with:

"And have you got that ragged coat now, Mr. Tramp -- I mean Mr. Gannon? Have you got that coat now?"

"Have I got that ragged coat, you mean?" asked the man.

"Yes. Our daddy wants it back!"

Mr. Gannon looked a bit surprised.

"Not to wear," explained Russ quickly. "He doesn't want it to wear. You can keep it, I guess. But when he told the clerk in his office to give the coat to you there were some papers in one of the pockets and --  -- "

"Real estate papers," broke in Laddie, remembering this part.

"Yes, real estate papers," said Russ. "They were in the pocket of the old, ragged coat, and my daddy would like awful much to get 'em back. Have you got the coat?"

Mr. Gannon did not speak for a moment or two. He seemed to be trying to think of something. Then, as Russ and Laddie looked at him, and as Zip sat looking at the cat, the red-haired tramp lumberman said:

"Well, now, it's a funny thing, but I have got that old coat yet. It's too ragged for me to wear -- it got a lot more ragged after your father gave it to me -- but I sort of took a liking to it, and I kept it. I've got it yet."

"Where is it?" asked Russ eagerly.

"Right here in my cabin. Mr. Barker lets me stay here while I'm cutting down trees to build his dock. I like to be by myself. I've got the coat here. I'll get it."

He went inside and came out a moment later with a ragged coat in his hand. It was tattered and torn.

"This is the coat your father gave me," said the lumberman, "but I'm sorry to say there are no papers in the pockets. You can look yourself if you like. There isn't a paper at all!"

As Russ watched, the red-haired man thrust his hands first into one pocket and then into the others. But no papers came out. Russ looked sad and disappointed. So did Laddie.

"This is the coat all right that I got at a real estate office in Pineville," said Mr. Gannon. "But every pocket was empty when I got it. I remember feeling in them. There were no papers at all. If there were ever any in the pockets they must have dropped out before I got the coat. The pockets are full of holes, anyhow. I'm sorry!"

So were Laddie and Russ. They watched while Mr. Gannon went through each pocket of the ragged coat once more. But it was of no use. No papers were to be found.

"Come on, Laddie," said Russ in a low voice to his brother. "We'd better go back home. Good-bye!" he called over his shoulder to the red-haired lumberman.

"Good-bye," answered Mr. Gannon. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I haven't your daddy's papers."



Chapter XXV

"Hurray!"


Slowly and sadly Russ and Laddie drove their dog-cart back toward Grandma Bell's house. They went slowly because it was uphill from Green Pond, and Zip was tired. He had chased after a rabbit and a cat, and he had pulled Russ and Laddie all the way. No wonder the dog was tired. So the boys did not try to drive him fast.

And the two boys were sad because, though they had found the right red-haired tramp lumberman -- the same one that had Daddy Bunker's ragged coat -- still the real estate papers were not in it.

"It's too bad," said Russ, as Zip walked along.

"Yes," agreed Laddie.

"I thought surely we'd get the papers," Russ went on.

"And I didn't ask him any riddle," said Laddie.

"Oh, well, never mind that," went on Russ.

"Maybe I can ask him again, though," said Laddie, brightening up. "We can have daddy take us there, and I can ask him then."

"What would daddy want to take us there for?" asked Russ.

"To see the old coat. Maybe Mr. Gannon has another, and that has the papers in."

"I don't guess so," answered Russ. "Gid-dap, Zip."

Zip didn't "gid-dap" very fast, but he kept on going. And when he came to the top of the hill, and began to trot down toward Lake Sagatook, he went faster. I think he knew he could have a good rest in the barn, and also have some hot supper.

For it was getting near to supper-time. The sun was going down in the west, and in a little while it would be dark. Already the shadows were longer, and it was already a little dark when the boys drove through little patches of wood.

But they did not get lost, for Zip knew the way back, and soon the dog-cart was rattling up the gravel drive of Grandma Bell's house.

"There they come!" cried a voice, and there was a general rush to the porch. Daddy and Mother Bunker, with Grandma Bell, Jane the hired girl, and the four little Bunkers looked at the wanderers.

"Where in the world have you two been?" cried Mother Bunker.

"We were worried about you," said her husband.

"And we were just going to get Tom to hitch up the horse and go to look for you," added Grandma Bell.

"Were you lost?" Rose asked.

"Did the old ram chase you?" Vi wanted to know.

Margy and Mun Bun toddled down the steps to look at Zip, who had stretched out on the grass, still hitched to the cart.

"Oh-oo-o-o! His nose is all scratched," said Margy. "Does it hurt you, Zip?" she asked, gently patting him, and the dog wagged his tail.

"Did some other dog bite him?" asked Mun Bun.

"No, a cat scratched him," answered Russ.

"What cat?" the children's mother wanted to know.

"It was the red-haired lumberman's cat," Russ went on. "We went to his cabin, over at Green Pond, where Mr. Barker lives. His name is Mike Gannon -- the tramp lumberman, I mean. Mr. Hurd told us about him, and we went to see him and --  -- "

"I forgot to ask him a riddle!" broke in Laddie.

"Never mind about riddles now, my dear," said Mother Bunker softly. "Let us hear what Russ is saying."

"Did you really find a red-haired tramp lumberman?" asked Mr. Bunker.

"Yes," answered Russ. "And he had your ragged coat, but the papers weren't in it, Daddy. And he was sorry and so were we and I'm hungry!"

"So'm I!" added Laddie, before the words were fairly out of his brother's mouth. "I'm awful hungry!"

"But what does it all mean?" asked Mrs. Bunker. "Have you two boys really been somewhere?"

"We found the red-haired tramp lumberman, I told you," said Russ, "but he didn't have those papers."

"Let me hear all about it once again," begged Daddy Bunker. He seemed as much excited as Russ and Laddie had been when they first saw Mr. Gannon.

"First let me get them something to eat," said Grandma Bell. "We had our supper -- an early one," she went on, "but I saved some for you boys. You shall eat first, and then tell us your story."

"I guess Zip wants to eat, too," said Laddie. "He didn't catch the rabbit and the cat scratched him."

"I'll have Jane give Zip a good supper," said Grandma Bell. "And there is strawberry shortcake for you boys."

"Oh, goody!" cried Russ.

Laddie clapped his hands in joy.

And, taking turns, between bites, as it were, when they were eating supper, Russ and Laddie told of having met Mr. Hurd, who had spoken of the red-haired lumberman working at Mr. Barker's place.

"So we went there, and Zip chased his cat," explained Russ. "And we upset, but he was nice and he showed us the ragged coat, only the pockets were full of holes and there weren't any papers."

"Well, that's too bad!" said Daddy Bunker. "You two little boys were very kind to do as much as you did, though."

"Do you suppose, by any chance, this tramp lumberman might know something of your papers, Charles?" asked Grandma Bell.

"I'll go over and see him in the morning," said Mr. Bunker.

"May we go along?" asked Rose. "I'd like to see the cat that scratched Zip."

"He won't scratch him again," Laddie said. "They're good friends now."

"I don't want to see Zip scratched," returned Rose. "I just want to see Green Pond and the red-haired man and the cat."

"I'll tell you what we can do," said Grandma Bell. "We can all go on a picnic to Green Pond to-morrow. We'll go in the carry-all and take our lunch. I know Mr. Barker, and he'll let us eat our lunch in his woods. Then you can ask the red-haired man about the lost papers, Charles."

Mr. Bunker said this would be a good plan, and the next morning, bright and early, after the lunch had been put up, the six little Bunkers, with their father and mother and grandmother, started for Green Pond.

In a little while they were traveling along through the woods, down the same hill on which Zip had chased the rabbit. This time Zip had been left in the barn with Tom Hardy. Daddy Bunker was driving the horse.

"Here's the gate where the man told us about Mr. Gannon," said Russ, pointing out the driveway. The man on guard knew Grandma Bell, and let them go on through. They were soon at the log cabin.

Daddy Bunker knocked on the door, but there was no answer.

"I guess he isn't at home," said Grandma Bell.

"Are you looking for the lumberman -- the red-haired man who cuts trees?" asked a gardener, coming along just then.

"Yes, we should like to see him," said Daddy Bunker.

"Well, he's over in the woods, chopping. I'll call him for you."

They all waited at the cabin, and soon there came the sound of some one tramping through the bushes along the shore of the pond. Then the red-haired man came into view.

"Oh, ho!" he exclaimed, as he caught sight of Russ and Laddie. "The two little Bunkers who came to see me yesterday!"

"All of us are here now -- the whole of the six little Bunkers," said Russ. "And here is my father, and mother and Grandma Bell, too!"

"Well, I'm sure I'm glad to see you all," said Mr. Gannon, who had an axe over his shoulder.

"We came to see about that ragged coat," explained Daddy Bunker. "I guess my two boys told you why I wanted it. I remember you now. You are the man my clerk gave the coat to, back in Pineville, aren't you?"

"Yes, and I want to thank you. That coat seemed to bring me good luck. I got work right after you gave it to me, and I've been working ever since, though I did tramp a lot."

"Well, I'm glad to hear you had good luck," said Daddy Bunker. "But I'm sorry you didn't find the real estate papers I left in the coat pocket. They must have been in when my clerk let you have it, but perhaps they dropped out."

"I guess they must have," said the lumberman. "I never saw any of them, and I wore the coat right after you gave it to me. I'll get it and let you see for yourself."

He set down his axe outside the log cabin and went in. Pretty soon he came out again with, the ragged coat -- the same one he had showed to Laddie and Russ.

"Here it is," said the red-haired tramp lumberman, as he handed the garment to Mr. Bunker, "It's just as I got it from you. I don't wear it much now, as I have another. But you'll find no papers in the pockets."

"Yes, that's the old coat I used to wear around the office," said Mr. Bunker, as he took it from. Mr. Gannon. "And I'm sure I put those papers in the inside pocket, and then I forgot all about them."

As he spoke he reached his hand down in the pocket of the old coat. The pocket must have been pretty deep, for Daddy Bunker's hand went away down. Then a funny look came over the face of the father of the six little Bunkers.

He pulled out his thumb, and his whole hand, and, instead of pulling out a plum, as Little Jack Horner did, Mr. Bunker pulled out -- the missing papers!

"Look what I found!" he cried. "Hurray! The very papers I want!"

"Were they in the coat?" asked the red-haired lumberman in amazement.

"They were," said Daddy Bunker. "Away down inside the lining. They slipped through a hole in the pocket. And there they have been all this while -- in the lining of the old coat."

"And I never knew it," said Mr. Gannon. "Are you sure they are the papers you want?"

"The very ones," answered Mr. Bunker, glancing at them. "And they are worth a lot of money, too. I am very glad I found them."

"So am I," said the lumberman. "I would hate to think I lost the papers out of the old coat, even though I didn't know they were in the lining. Well, I'm glad you have them back."

"Oh, but this is good luck!" said Grandma Bell.

"And Russ and Laddie brought it to us, for they found out where the coat was," said Mother Bunker.

"But we wouldn't have known if Mr. Hurd hadn't told us," said Russ.

"And maybe we wouldn't have come, only Zip chased the rabbit," added Laddie.

"Well, it was good luck all around, and I have my papers back," said Daddy Bunker. "And now we'll go on with the picnic."

Daddy Bunker gave the lumberman some money, as his share in the good luck, and told him when he was through working for Mr. Barker to come to Pineville.

"I'll give you work there," said the children's father.

"All right, I'll come," promised Mr. Gannon. "And the next time any one gives me an old coat I'll look in the torn lining, as well as in the pockets, and if I find any valuable papers I can give them back right away."

Then he told of having tramped from place to place after leaving Pineville, wearing the old coat, until he reached Green Pond.

"It's just like a story in a book," said Rose.

"Yes, it surely is," agreed Daddy Bunker, as he put the valuable papers into his coat pocket, that had no hole in it.

Then the six little Bunkers and the others went on to a lovely spot on the shore of Green Pond and ate their picnic lunch.

"Oh, it's just lovely here," said Rose, as she gave Mun Bun another small piece of cake.

"I wish we could stay forever," added Laddie. "I like it! I can think up awful good riddles here."

"It's fun to sail boats," said Russ, as he whistled a merry tune.

"And there are so many things to see and do at Grandma Bell's house," added Vi.

"I won't throw any more dollies down the well," promised Margy, who remembered her little trick.

"That's good!" laughed Mother Bunker. "But, nice as it is, we can't stay much longer. We are going somewhere else."

"Where?" asked Russ eagerly.

"Well, we have an invitation from your aunt to spend the last of July and part of August in Boston," said his mother. "Would you like to go?"

"We love Grandma Bell, but we would like to go to Boston," answered Rose.

And what the children saw and did there you may learn by reading the next book in this series, to be called: "Six Little Bunkers at Aunt Jo's."

"We did have such a lovely time!" said Rose on their homeward way. "Didn't we, Russ?"

"Yes. And I'm glad daddy got his papers. Oh, look! There goes a bunny!" and he pointed. "Margy -- Mun Bun! Look! There's a bunny like the one Zip chased," and Russ turned to the two small children.

But Mun Bun and Margy were fast asleep on the seat between Mother Bunker and Grandma Bell.

<eob>

The Life Of George Washington In Words Of One Syllable

By

Josephine Pollard



Chapter I.

Boy-Hood.


George Wash-ing-ton was born in the State of Vir-gin-i-a, at a place known as Bridg-es Creek, on Feb-ru-a-ry 22, 1732. His great grand-sire, John Wash-ing-ton, came from Eng-land in the year 1657, and took up lands in that state and was a rich man. George was the son of his grand-son Au-gus-tine. Au-gus-tine's first wife was Jane But-ler who died and left him with two boys. His next wife was Ma-ry Ball, and George was her first child.

The old home-stead in which George was born stood near the banks of the Po-to-mac Riv-er, and was built with a steep roof that sloped down to low eaves that hung out far from the main wall. There were four rooms on the ground floor, and some near the roof, and at each end of the house was a great fire-place built of brick, with broad hearth-stones, such as were in style in those days.

A stone is all that marks the birth-place of George Wash-ing-ton. He was not more than eight years of age when his fa-ther went to live on a farm near the Rap-pa-han-nock Riv-er. The house was built much in the same style as the one at Bridg-es Creek, but it stood on high ground, and here all his boy-hood days were spent.

As there were no good schools in A-mer-i-ca at that time, those who had the means sent their sons to Eng-land to be taught and trained. Law-rence Wash-ing-ton was sent when he was 15 years of age, and as he was the first-born it was thought that he would in time take his fa-ther's place, as head of the house.

The school to which George was sent stood in a field on his fa-ther's land, and was taught by a man named Hob-by. This gave it the name of the "Hob-by School."

There were but three things taught there: How to read -- How to write -- and How to do sums -- and some folks thought that these were all their boys and girls had need to learn. Books were scarce and dear, and as most of the men raised fine crops, and kept up a brisk trade, they were well pleased to have their boys learn how to buy and sell, and to make out bills. George had been trained by his fa-ther, who was a strict and yet a just man, to love the truth and to do right at all times. He was made to feel that it was a sin to tell a lie, and much worse to hide a fault than to own it.

George had a small axe of which he was quite proud, and boy-like, he cut right and left with it, and thought not of the harm he might do. On the lawn stood a small tree which his fa-ther hoped to see grow up to a good height and to bear fine fruit. George made a great gash in this tree with his sharp axe, and when his fa-ther saw it he was quite sad. He called the boy to his side, and in a stern voice said:

"Who did this? Who cut this tree?"

George hung his head with shame. He knew he had done wrong; and he stood in fear of his fa-ther, who he knew would use the rod where there was need of it. It was a chance for the boy to show what kind of stuff he was made of. George raised his face, still red with the blush of shame, and said in his frank way, and with-out a sign of fear:

"I did it, fa-ther, I can-not tell a lie."

There was no need to use the rod on such a boy as that, and the fa-ther must have felt a thrill of joy when he found that the great truths he had taught his son had such a hold on his mind and had struck their roots deep in-to his heart.

It is told that he clasped George to his breast, and said with tears in his eyes; that it would grieve him less to lose scores and scores of trees, than to have his boy tell one lie.

But you must not think that George Wash-ing-ton was such a good-good boy that he could guide him-self, and did not need to be kept in check. He was high strung, as quick as a flash, and felt that he was born to rule, and these traits his mo-ther had to keep down and train so that they would not wreck the young boy, for when George was not yet twelve years of age his fa-ther died, and his mo-ther was left with the care of five young folks. The task was one for which she was well fit, as she had rare good sense, a fine mind, a strong will, and a kind heart.

She used to read to her boys and girls each day out of some good book, talk with them, and tell them how they could best serve God and man, and George laid up each word in his heart, and sought to pay her back as well as he could for all her kind love and care.

She said of George that he was "a good boy;" and it has been said in her praise that "a no-ble mo-ther must have borne so brave a son."

When George was 13 and his half-bro-ther Law-rence 21, Eng-land and Spain went to war, and Law-rence went with the troops that were sent to the West In-dies. The sight of Law-rence in war-like trim, the sound of drum and fife, and the march of troops through the streets, fired the heart of the young lad, and from that time his plays and games, in school and out, took on a war-like turn.

There was a boy at school, named Wil-li-am Bus-tle, who took up arms and marched with as much zeal as George Wash-ing-ton. But George was at all times com-mand-er-in-chief!

He was fond of all the sports that boys love, and could run, and jump, and climb, and toss bars, and took part in all those feats that kept him in health and strength.

He could pitch quoits with great skill, and the place is shown at Fred-er-icks-burg where, when a boy, he flung a stone a-cross the Rap-pa-han-nock. He was fond of a horse, and there was no steed so wild that George could not mount on his back and tame him.

Mrs. Wash-ing-ton had a colt which she thought so much of that she let it run loose in the field. He was so fierce that no one had dared to get on his back.

One day George went out to view the colt with some of his boy friends, and he told them that if they would help him put the bit in the colt's mouth he would mount. The boys drove the colt in-to a small lot, put the bit in his mouth, and Wash-ing-ton was soon on his back. The beast rushed in-to the field, but was soon curbed by the strong arms of the boy on his back. Then the colt reared and plunged and tried in all sorts of ways to get rid of the lad, who clung to the colt's bare back as if he had been glued there. Mad with rage the colt tried once more to throw him, but strained too hard, and fell to the ground and died in a short time.

The group of boys were well scared at this sad end of their fun, and scarce knew what to do. When they went back to the house Mrs. Wash-ing-ton asked the boys if they had seen her fine breed of colts. "The one I am most proud of," said she, "I am told is as large as his sire." Some of the lads hung their heads and knew not what to say; but George spoke up in his frank way and said that the colt was dead.

"Dead!" cried she; "and from what cause?"

Then George told her just what had been done, and how hard the beast had fought to get free, and how at the last, with one wild fierce plunge, he fell down and died.

A flush rose to the mo-ther's cheek, and then she said to her boy: "It is well; but while I grieve at the loss of my fine colt, I feel a pride and joy in my son, who speaks the truth at all times."

George was fond of his books too, and was so wise a lad, and so full of thought, and had so keen a sense of what was just, that his school-mates came to him when they got in-to a war of words, or of blows, that he might say which side was right and which was wrong, and thus put an end to the fight. This use of his mind made George look at things in a clear light, and gave him that look of true pride which all men of high mind, the real kings of earth, are wont to wear.

In due time George out-grew the Hob-by School, and was sent to live with his half-bro-ther Au-gus-tine, at Bridg-es Creek, where there was a school of a high grade. But George had no taste for Lat-in or Greek, and liked best to do sums, and to draw maps. He wrote with great care, page after page of what he called "Forms of Wri-ting."

These were notes of hand, bills of sale, deeds, bonds, and the like, such as one would think a boy of 13 would not care much a-bout.

In this same book (it is kept to this day) George wrote out one hun-dred and ten "Rules," which were to guide him in act and speech at home and a-broad. Some few of these I will give you, that you may see at how young an age this boy set out to train him-self, and fit him-self for the high place he was to fill. It al-most seems as if he must have known the high rank he was to take; but this could not be. His soul was fixed on high things; he had; no low tastes; and he was led by the hand of God.

Here are some of the rules that George Wash-ing-ton took as the guide of his youth.

"In the pres-ence of o-thers sing not to your-self with a hum-ming noise, nor drum with your fin-gers or feet.

"Sleep not when o-thers speak, sit not when o-thers stand, speak not when you should hold your peace, walk not when o-thers stop.

"Turn not your back to o-thers when speak-ing; jog not the ta-ble or desk on which an-o-ther reads or writes; lean not on a-ny one.

"Read no let-ters, books, or pa-pers in com-pa-ny; but when there is a need for do-ing it, you must ask leave. Come not near the books or wri-tings of a-ny one so as to read them, un-less asked to do so, nor give your o-pin-ion of them un-asked; al-so look not nigh when an-o-ther is wri-ting a let-ter.

"In wri-ting or speak-ing give to each per-son his due ti-tle ac-cord-ing to his rank and the cus-tom of the place.

"When a man does all he can, though it suc-ceeds not well, blame not him that did it.

"Be slow to be-lieve e-vil re-ports of a-ny one.

"Be mod-est in your dress and seek to suit na-ture rather than to win ad-mi-ra-tion. Keep to the fash-ion of your e-quals, such as are civ-il and or-der-ly with re-spect to times and pla-ces.

"Play not the pea-cock, look-ing all a-bout you to see if you be well decked, if your shoes fit well, your stock-ings sit neat-ly, and your clothes hand-some-ly.

"Make friends with those of good char-ac-ter, if you care for your own rep-u-ta-tion, for it is bet-ter to be a-lone than in bad com-pa-ny.

"Speak not of dole-ful things in time of mirth, nor at the ta-ble; speak not of mourn-ful things, as death, and wounds, and if o-thers men-tion them, change, if you can, the dis-course.

"Ut-ter not base and fool-ish things 'mongst grave and learn-ed men; nor hard ques-tions or sub-jects a-mong the ig-no-rant; nor things hard to be believed.

"Be not for-ward, but friendly and court-e-ous; the first to sa-lute, hear, and an-swer; and be not pen-sive when it is time to con-verse.

"Gaze not on the marks or blem-ish-es of o-thers, and ask not how they came.

"Think be-fore you speak, pro-nounce not im-per-fect-ly, nor bring out your words too hast-i-ly, but or-der-ly and dis-tinct-ly.

"Treat with men at fit times a-bout bus-i-ness; and whis-per not in the com-pa-ny of o-thers.

"Be not cu-ri-ous to know the af-fairs of o-thers, nor go near to those that speak in pri-vate.

"Un-der-take not to do what you can-not per-form, but be care-ful to keep your prom-ise.

"Speak not e-vil of the ab-sent, for it is un-just.

"Make no show of ta-king great delight in your food; feed not with greed-i-ness; cut your bread with a knife; lean not on the ta-ble; nei-ther find fault with what you eat.

"When you speak of God, let it be grave-ly and in re-ver-ence. Hon-or and o-bey your pa-rents, al-though they be poor.

"Let your a-muse-ments be man-ful, not sin-ful.

"La-bor to keep a live in your breast that lit-tle spark of ce-les-ti-al fire, called con-sci-ence."

It is not known where George found these rules he took so much pains to write out, but it is plain that he set great store by them, and made use of them through out his whole life.




Chapter II.

Youth.


George was a great pet with his bro-ther, Law-rence Wash-ing-ton, who thought it would be a nice thing for him to serve on board one of the King's ships-of-war. While Law-rence was in the West In-dies he was on good terms with Gen-er-al Went-worth and Ad-mi-ral Ver-non, and he had no doubt they would do their best to get his bro-ther a good place. He spoke to George a-bout it, and the boy was wild with joy. His mo-ther's pride was roused, and at first she did not put a straw in his way, but gave him all the help she could. But as the time drew near, her heart, which had been so strong and brave and full of pride, gave way and she felt that she could not part with her dear boy.

One of her friends wrote to Law-rence that Mrs. Wash-ing-ton had made up her mind not to let George go to sea. She said that some of her friends had told her it was a bad plan, and "I find," said he "that one word a-gainst his go-ing has more weight than ten for it."

So they gave up the scheme, and George was sent back to school.

He would, on fine days, go out in the fields and tracts of land a-round the school-house, and with line and rod take the size and shape, the length and width, and mark it all down in one of his books, and so much pains did he take that from the first to the last page not a blot or blur is to be seen.

These neat ways, formed in his youth, were kept up through all his life, and what seems strange is that day-books, and such books as you will find in great use now-a-days were not known at that time. The plan had been thought out by George Wash-ing-ton when a boy of 16, and shows the cast of his mind.

Near this time George was sent to live with his bro-ther Law-rence, at his fine place on the Po-to-mac, which he had called Mount Ver-non, to show how much he thought of the ad-mi-ral of that name.

Here George had a chance to make friends with those of high rank, and he spent much of his time with George Fair-fax who made his home at Bel-voir, near Mount Ver-non. Lord Fair-fax, a man of wealth and worth was much at Bel-voir at that time. He had bought large tracts of land in Vir-gin-i-a, which had not been staked out, or set off in-to lots. In fact he did not know their size or shape, but he had heard that men had sought out some of the best spots, and had built homes there, and laid out farms for which they paid no rent, and he thought it quite time to put a stop to such things.

In March, 1748, George Wash-ing-ton, who had been picked out by Lord Fair-fax for this task, went on his first trip with George Fair-fax to stake off these wild lands. He wrote down what was done from day to day, and by these notes we learn that he had quite a rough time of it, and yet found much that was to his taste. He and the men with him rode for miles and miles through lands rich in grain, hemp, and to-bac-co, and through fine groves of trees on the bank of a broad stream.

One night, writes George, when they had been hard at work all day, they came to the house where they were to be fed and lodged. The wood-men went to bed with their clothes on, but George took his off, and as he turned in he found his bed was of loose straw with not a thing on it but the thread-bare blank-et he was to wrap him-self in. The fleas and bugs soon forced George to get up and put on his clothes and lie as the rest of the men did, and "had we not been so tired," he says "I am sure we should not have slept much that night." He made a vow then that he would sleep out of doors near a fire when on such tramps, and run no more such risks.

On March 18, they reached a point on the Po-to-mac, which they were told they could not ford. There had been a great rain-fall and the stream had not been so high, by six feet, as it was at that time. They made up their minds to stay there for a day or two; went to see the Warm Springs, and at night camped out in the field. At the end of two days, as the stream was still high, they swam their steeds to the Mar-y-land side. The men crossed in birch-bark boats, and rode all the next day in a rain storm to a place two-score miles from where they had set out that morn. Wash-ing-ton writes that the road was "the worst that had ever been trod by man or beast."

On March 23, they fell in with a score or two of red-men who had been off to war and brought home but one scalp, and they had a chance to see a war-dance. The red-men cleared a large space, and built a fire in the midst of it, round which they all sat. One of the men then made a grand speech in which he told them how they were to dance.

When he had done, the one who could dance the best sprang up as if he had just been roused from sleep, and ran and jumped round the ring in a queer kind of way. The rest soon joined him, and did just as he did. By this time the band made it-self heard, and I shall have to tell you what a fine band it was.

There was a pot half full of water with a piece of deer-skin stretched tight on the top, and a gourd with some shot in it, and a piece of horse's tail tied to it to make it look fine. One man shook the gourd, and one drummed all the while the rest danced, and I doubt if you would care to hear the noise that was made.

Late in the day of March 26, they came to a place where dwelt a man named Hedge, who was in the pay of King George as justice of the peace. Here they camped, and at the meal that was spread there was not a knife nor a fork to eat with but such as the guests had brought with them.

On the night of the first of A-pril the wind blew and the rain fell. The straw on which they lay took fire, and George was saved by one of the men, who woke him when it was in a blaze.

"I have not slept for four nights in a bed," wrote Wash-ing-ton at this time to one of his young friends at home, "but when I have walked a good deal in the day, I lie down on a heap of straw, or a bear-skin by the fire, with man, wife, young ones, dogs, and cats; and he is in luck who gets the place next the fire."

For three years he kept up this mode of life, but as it was a hard life to lead he could be out but a few weeks at a time. His pay was a doub-loon a day, and some-times six pis-toles.

A doub-loon is a gold coin of Spain, worth not quite 16 dol-lars. A pis-tole is a small gold coin of Spain, worth not quite four dol-lars.

This rough kind of life, though he did not know it, was to fit him for the toils and ills of war, of which he may have dreamt in those days, as he still kept up his love for war-like things.

While at work on the land round the Blue Ridge, he now and then made his way to Green-way Court where Lord Fair-fax dwelt at this time. Here he had a chance to read choice books, for Lord Fair-fax had a fine mind though his tastes were queer. He lived on a knoll, in a small house not more than twelve feet square. All round him were the huts for his "help," black and white. Red-men, half breeds, and wood-men thronged the place, where they were sure they would get a good meal. He had steeds of fine breed, and hounds of keen scent, for he was fond of the chase, and the woods and hills were full of game.

Here was a grand chance for George, who had a great taste for field-sports, and his rides, and walks, and talks with Lord Fair-fax were a rich treat to the home-bred youth. This wise friend lent George good books which he took with him to the woods and read with great care, and in this way stored his mind with rich thoughts.

In Vir-gin-i-a there were some few men who had served in the late war 'twixt Eng-land and Spain, and they put George through such a drill with sword and with gun that he learned to use them both with great skill.

A Dutch-man, named Van-Bra-am, was one of these men, and he claimed to know a great deal of the art of war. He it was that took George in hand to teach him the use of the sword, and how to fence.

When he was 19 years of age the red-men and the French had made such in-roads on the front, that it was thought best to place men on guard to keep back these foes, and to up-hold the laws of the state of Vir-gin-i-a. There was need of some one to take charge of a school-of-arms at one of the chief out-posts where the French sought to get a foot-hold, and the choice fell on George Wash-ing-ton, who set to work at once to fit him-self for the place.

His broth-er's ill health caused this scheme to be dropped for a time, as Law-rence was forced to go to the West In-dies for change of air, and begged George to go with him. George gave up all thought of self, and the two set sail for Bar-ba-does, Sep-tem-ber 28, 1751. At sea he kept a log-book, took notes of the course of the winds, and if the days were fair or foul, and learned all he could of the ways of a ship and how to sail one.

They reached Bar-ba-does on No-vem-ber 3, and were pleased with the place, and all the strange sights that met their gaze. On all sides were fields of corn and sweet cane, and groves of trees rich in leaves and fruit, and all things held out a hope of cure for the sick man, whose lungs were in a weak state.

They had been but two weeks in Bar-ba-does when George fell ill with small-pox, and this for a time put an end to all their sports. But he had the best of care, and at the end of three weeks was so well that he could go out of doors.

Law-rence soon tired of this place, and longed for a change of scene. They had to ride out by the first dawn of day, for by the time the sun was half an hour high it was as hot as at mid-day. There was no change in the sick man's health, and he made up his mind to go to Ber-mu-da in the spring. He was lone-some with-out his wife, so it was planned that George should go back home and bring her out to Ber-mu-da.

George set sail, De-cem-ber 22, and reached Vir-gin-i-a at the end of five weeks. He must have been glad to step on shore once more, for the cold winds and fierce storms to be met with at sea, at that time of the year, made life on ship-board some-thing of a hard-ship.

Law-rence did not gain in health, and ere his wife could join him he wrote her that he would start for home -- "to his grave." He reached Mount Ver-non in time to die 'neath his own roof, and with kind friends at his bed-side. His death took place on the 26th of Ju-ly, 1752, when he was but 34 years of age.

He had been like a fa-ther to George, and their hearts were bound by ties so strong and sweet that it was a great grief for them to part.

But George had no time to sit down and mourn his loss. There was work for him to do. New cares were thrust on him by his bro-ther's death, that took up all his time and thoughts for some months; and he had to keep up his drills with the men at the school-of-arms, for which he was paid by the State.




Chapter III.

The First Step To Fame.


The time had now come when Wash-ing-ton was to take a fresh start in life, and win for him-self high rank.

The French, who thought they had just as good a right as the Eng-lish to take up land in A-mer-i-ca, pressed their claims, and built forts on the great Lakes and on the banks of the O-hi-o Riv-er. They made friends of the red-men at or near these posts, and made it known that they would fight the Eng-lish at all points.

The red-men on the north shore of Lake On-ta-ri-o were good friends with the French; but those on the south shore were not. They had been well dealt with by the Eng-lish, and their chief, Half-King did not like the war-like move that was made by the French.

He went to the French post on Lake E-rie, and spoke thus to the troops there: "You have no right to come here and build towns, and take our land from us by fraud and force. We raised a flame in Mon-tre-al some time a-go, where we asked you to stay and not to come here on our land. I now ask you to go back to that place, for this land is ours.

"Had you come in a peace-ful way, like the Eng-lish, we should have let you trade with us as they do, but we will not let you come and build on our land and take it by force.

"You and the Eng-lish are white. We live in a land be-tween you, to which you and they have no right. The Great Be-ing gave it to us. We have told the Eng-lish to move off, and they have heard us, and now we tell it to you. We do not fear you, and we mean to keep you both at arm's length."

The French-man said to Half-King: "You talk like a fool. This land is mine, and I will have it, let who will stand up a-gainst me. I have no fear of such as you. I tell you that down the O-hi-o I will go, and build forts on it. If it were blocked up I have troops e-nough to break through it and to tread down all who would try to stop me. My force is as the sand of the sea!"

This proud speech made Half-King feel as if he had been stabbed to the heart. It was the death-blow to his race. But he turned with hope and trust to the Eng-lish, who thus far had not shown a wish to do what was not just to his tribe.

On Oc-to-ber 30, 1753, Wash-ing-ton set out from Will-iams-burg in Vir-gin-i-a with a small band of men. He was just of age, and ranked as Ma-jor Wash-ing-ton. He was to go to the French out-post near Lake E-rie, with a note from Gov-er-nor Din-wid-die to the head man there, and to ask for a re-ply in the name of King George.

He was to find out where forts had been built, and how large a force of troops had crossed the Lakes, and to learn all that he could of those who had dared to set up the flag of France on soil which the Eng-lish claimed as their own.

Wash-ing-ton's route lay through thick woods and swamps where the foot of man had not trod; he had to climb steep and rough hills where wild beasts had their lairs; and to cross streams on frail rafts, if they could not swim or ford them. There were but eight men in the whole band, and the post they were to reach lay 560 miles off, and the whole of the way had to be made on horse-back or on foot.

They met some of the In-di-an chiefs at a place called Logs-town and Wash-ing-ton made his first speech to the red-men. He told them what he had come for, and asked that some of their braves might go with him as guides and safe-guards for the rest of the way. He then gave them what was called a "speech-belt," wrought with beads, as a sign that they were friends and full of peace and good-will.

The chiefs were mild and full of peace. They said that Wash-ing-ton might have some of their men as guides, but he would have to wait for two or three days as the young braves had gone out in search of game.

This Wash-ing-ton could not do. There was no time to lose, and so he set out with but four red-men as guides, and Half-King was one of them.

Through rain and snow, through a long stretch of dark woods that seemed to have no end, through deep streams and swamps where there was no sure foot-hold for man or beast, the brave band kept on their way. At the end of 35 days from the time they left Will-iams-burg they reached a place called Ven-an-go, where they saw a house from the top of which a French flag flew, and Wash-ing-ton called a halt. The head man in charge asked him and his friends to sup with him. The wine was passed with a free hand, but Wash-ing-ton did not drink like his French host. He knew he would need to keep a cool head for his work. When the French-man had his tongue loosed by the wine, he told a good deal.

"We have got the land," he said, "and we mean to keep it. You Eng-lish may have two men to our one, but you are slow. It takes you a long time to move."

The man's tongue wagged on in a free way, and Wash-ing-ton, who had kept his wits, wrote down all he said that could be of use to him.

The next day it rained hard and they could not go on. Then for the first time the French-man found that there were red-men with the Eng-lish. Wash-ing-ton had kept them back, for he feared to trust them to the wiles of the French. But now the shrewd man made a great time, and hailed them as dear friends. He was so glad to see them! How could they be so near and not come to see him? He gave them gifts and plied them with strong drink, till Half-King and his braves thought no more of what they had pledged to the Eng-lish. They were soon in such a state that they did not care to move. It took some time for Wash-ing-ton to get them free from the wiles of the French, and it took four days more of snow and rain, through mire and swamp, to reach the fort for which they had set out.

Here Wash-ing-ton met the chief of the fort and made known the cause that had brought him. He gave him the note from Gov-er-nor Din-wid-die, in which it was asked why the French had come in-to a State that was owned by Great Brit-ain, and they were bid to go in peace. The French took two days in which to think of the course they should take, and in this time Wash-ing-ton set down in his note book the size and strength of the fort and all that he could find out. He told his men to use their eyes, and to count the boats in the stream, and the guns in the fort.

The first chance he had, Wash-ing-ton drew a plan of this fort, and it was sent to Eng-land for King George to see.

Wash-ing-ton saw that the Half-King and the braves with him had much to say to the French, and he did not trust them. He heard that the Eng-lish who sought to trade on the O-hi-o were seized by the French, and that some red-men had passed the fort with two or three white scalps.

All this made him wish to get off safe with his small band, and when the French chief gave him a sealed note, he had a shrewd guess as to what was in it. At last, when the start was to be made, the French chief had large stores of food and wine put on their boats, and made a great show of good will, but at the same time he tried to keep the red-men with him, and told them he would give them guns for gifts the next day. Wash-ing-ton was pressed by the red-men to wait that long for them, and the next morn the French had to give the guns. Then they tried to get the red-men to drink once more, but Wash-ing-ton plead with them, and at last got them to start.

It was hard to steer the boats, as the stream was full of ice, and at times they had to leap out and stand in the wet for half an hour at a time, to drag the boats by main force off the shoals. On the part of the trip that had to be made by land, they had a hard time too. It was cold, the roads were deep in mire, and the steeds were so worn out, that it was feared they would fall by the way. Wash-ing-ton gave up his horse to help bear the food and things for use, and he asked his friends to do so too. They all went on foot, and the cold grew worse. There was deep snow that froze as it fell. For three days they toiled on in a slow way.

At last Wash-ing-ton made up his mind to leave the men and steeds in charge of one of his band, and to strike off with his pack on his back and his gun in his hand by a way which, it seemed to him, would take him home by a short cut. He had the sealed note that he wished to give up as soon as he could. He took but one man with him. At night they lit a fire, and camped by it in the woods. At two in the morn, they were once more on foot.

They fell in with a red-man who claimed to know Mr. Gist, the man who was with Wash-ing-ton, and called him by his name in his own tongue and seemed glad to see him. They asked the red-man if he would go with them and show them a short-cut to the Forks of the Al-le-gha-ny Riv-er. The red-man seemed glad to serve them, and took Wash-ing-ton's pack on his own back. Then the three set out, and walked at a brisk pace for eight or ten miles.

By this time Wash-ing-ton's feet were so sore that he could not take a step with-out pain, and he was well tired out. He thought it best to camp where they were, and the red-man begged Wash-ing-ton to let him bear his gun. But the Ma-jor would not let it go out of his own hands. This made the red-man cross, and he urged them to keep on and said there were red-skins in the woods who would scalp them if they lay out all night. He would take them to his own hut where they would be safe.

The white men lost faith in their guide, and were soon quite ill at ease. When the red-man found that he could not make them go his way, or do as he said, he ceased to wear the face of a friend. At heart he was the foe of all white men. All at once he made a stop, and then turned and fired on them.

Wash-ing-ton found that he was not hit, so he turned to Mr. Gist, and said, "Are you shot?"

"No," said Gist. Then the red-man ran to a big white oak tree to load his gun. Gist would have killed him, but Wash-ing-ton would not let him.

Gist says, "We let him charge his gun. We found he put in a ball; then we took care of him. The Ma-jor or I stood by the guns. We made him make a fire for us by a small run as if we meant to sleep there. I said to the Ma-jor; 'As you will not have him killed, we must get rid of him in some way, and then we must march on all night;' on which I said to the red-man, 'I suppose you were lost and fired your gun.'

"He said he knew the way to his log-hut and it was not far off. 'Well,' said I, 'do you go home; and as we are tired we will fol-low your track in the morn-ing, and here is a cake of bread for you, and you must give us meat in the morn-ing.' He was glad to get off," Wash-ing-ton says, "We walked all the rest of the night, and made no stop, that we might get the start so far as to be out of their reach the next day, since we were quite sure they would get on our track as soon as it was light."

But no more was seen or heard of them, and the next night, at dusk, the two white men came to the Al-le-gha-ny, which they thought to cross on the ice.

This they could not do, so they had to go to work with but one small axe, and a poor one at that, and make a raft. It was a whole day's work. They next got it launched, and went on board of it; then set off.

But when they were in mid-stream the raft was jammed in the ice in such a way that death seemed to stare them in the face.

Wash-ing-ton put out his pole to stay the raft so that the ice might pass by; but the tide was so swift that it drove the ice with great force. It bore down on the pole so hard that Wash-ing-ton was thrown in-to the stream where it was at least ten feet deep. He would have been swept out of sight if he had not caught hold of one of the raft logs. As they found they could not cross the stream, or get back to the shore they had left, they quit the raft, and got on a small isle near which they were borne by the tide.

But this was not the end of their ill luck. It was so cold that Mr. Gist's hands and feet froze, and both he and Wash-ing-ton were in great pain through-out the long dark night. A gleam of hope came with the dawn of day, for they found the ice 'twixt them and the east bank of the stream was so hard as to bear their weight, and they made their way on it, and the same day came to a place where they could rest. Here they spent two or three days.

They set out on the first of Jan-u-a-ry, and the next day came to Mon-on-ga-he-la, where Wash-ing-ton bought a horse. On the 11th he got to Bel-voir, where he stopped one day to take the rest he was in need of, and then set out and reached Will-iams-burg on the 16th of Jan-u-a-ry. He gave to Gov-er-nor Din-wid-die the note he had brought from the French chief, showed him the plans of the fort, and told him all that he had seen and done.

The fame of his deeds, of the ills he had borne, and the nerve and pluck he had shown, was soon noised a-broad, and George Wash-ing-ton, though a mere youth, was looked up to by young and old.




Chapter IV.

To The Front!


The French chief in his note to Gov-er-nor Din-wid-die had said, in words that were smooth but clear, that he would not leave the banks of the O-hi-o; so the Eng-lish felt as if it were time for them to make a move, though they did not wish to bring on a war.

Land was set off on the O-hi-o where a fort was built, and the rest of it left for the use of the troops.

Wash-ing-ton was asked to lead the troops, but he shrank from it as a charge too great for one so young. So Josh-u-a Fry was made Col-o-nel, and Wash-ing-ton Lieu-ten-ant Col-o-nel of a force of 300 men.

It was hard work to get men to join the ranks. The pay was small, and those who had good farms and good homes did not care to leave them. Those who had a mind to go were for the most part men who did not like to work, and had no house or home they could call their own.

Some were bare-foot, some had no shirts to their backs, and not a few were with-out coat or waist-coat, as the vest was called in those days.

If it was hard work to get this kind of men, it was still more of a task to find those who would serve as chiefs, and Wash-ing-ton found him-self left in charge of a lot of raw troops who knew no will but their own.

But Van-Bra-am, who had taught Wash-ing-ton how to use the sword, was with him, and gave him just the aid he had need of at this time.

On A-pril 2, 1754, Wash-ing-ton, at the head of 150 men, set off for the new fort at the Fork of the O-hi-o. The roads were rough, and the march was slow, and it was not till A-pril 20 that they reached Will's Creek. Here they were met by a small force, in charge of Cap-tain Ad-am Ste-phen. The rest of the force, with the field-guns, were to come by way of the Po-to-mac. These last were in charge of Col-o-nel Fry.

When Wash-ing-ton reached Will's Creek word was brought him that a large force of French troops had borne down on the new fort. Cap-tain Trent, who was in charge of the few troops in the fort, was a-way at the time, and the young En-sign Ward did not know what to do. He sought the aid of Half-King, who told him to plead with the French, and to beg them to wait till the Cap-tain came back, and the two went at once to the French camp. But the French would not wait, or make terms of peace. They had come as foes, and told En-sign Ward that if he did not leave the fort at once, with all his men, they would put him out by force. All the French would grant was that our men might take their tools with them; so the next morn they filed out of the fort, gave up their arms, and took the path to the woods. The French took the fort and built it up, and called it Fort Du-quesne (kane), which was the name of the Gov-er-nor of Can-a-da.

When the sad news was brought to Wash-ing-ton he was at a loss to know what to do, or which way to turn. Here he was with a small band of raw troops right in the midst of foes, red and white, who would soon hem them in and use them ill if they found out where they were. Yet it would not do to turn back, or show signs of fear. Col-o-nel Fry had not yet come up and the weight of care was thrown on Wash-ing-ton.

He let the Gov-er-nors of Penn-syl-va-ni-a and Ma-ry-land know of his plight, and urged them to send on troops. But none came to his aid.

He had a talk with his chief men, and they all thought it would be best to push on through the wild lands, make the road as they went on, and try to reach the mouth of Red-stone Creek, where they would build a fort. By this means the men would be kept at work, their fears would be quelled, and a way made for the smooth and swift march of the troops in the rear.

There was so much to be done that the men, work as hard as they might, could not clear the way with much speed. There were great trees to be cut down, rocks to be moved, swamps to be filled up, and streams to be bridged. While in the midst of these toils, the bread gave out, and the lack of food made the men too weak to work. In spite of all these ills they made out to move at the rate of four miles a day, up steep hills, and through dense woods that have since borne the name of "The Shades of Death."

While at a large stream where they had to stop to build a bridge, Wash-ing-ton was told that it was not worth while for him to try to go by land to Red-stone Creek, when he could go by boat in much less time.

This would be a good plan, if it would work; and to make sure, Wash-ing-ton took five men with him in a bark boat down the stream. One of these men was a red-skin guide. When they had gone ten miles, the guide said that that was as far as he would go. Wash-ing-ton said, "Why do you want to leave us now? We need you, and you know that we can not get on with-out you. Tell us why you wish to leave."

The red-man said, "Me want gifts. The red-men will not work with-out them. The French know this, and are wise. If you want the red-men to be your guides, you must buy them. They do not love you so well that they will serve you with-out pay."

Wash-ing-ton told the guide that when they got back he would give him a fine white shirt with a frill on it, and a good great-coat, and this put an end to the "strike" for that time. They kept on in the small boat for a score of miles, till they came to a place where there was a falls in the stream at least 40 feet. This put a stop to their course, and Wash-ing-ton went back to camp with his mind made up to go on by land.

He was on his way to join his troops when word was brought him from Half-King to be on his guard, as the French were close at hand. They had been on the march for two days, and meant to strike the first foe they should see.

Half-King said that he and the rest of his chiefs would be with Wash-ing-ton in five days to have a talk.

Wash-ing-ton set to work at once to get his troops in shape to meet the foe. Scouts were sent out. There was a scare in the night. The troops sprang to arms, and kept on the march till day-break. In the mean-time, at nine o'clock at night, word came from Half-King, who was then six miles from the camp, that he had seen the tracks of two French-men, and the whole force was near that place.

Wash-ing-ton put him-self at the head of two score men, left the rest to guard the camp, and set off to join Half-King. The men had to grope their way by foot-paths through the woods. The night was dark and there had been quite a fall of rain, so that they slipped and fell, and lost their way, and had to climb the great rocks, and the trees that had been blown down and blocked their way.

It was near sun-rise when they came to the camp of Half-King, who at once set out with a few of his braves to show Wash-ing-ton the tracks he had seen. Then Half-King called up two of his braves, showed them the tracks, and told them what to do. They took the scent, and went off like hounds, and brought back word that they had traced the foot-prints to a place shut in by rocks and trees where the French were in camp.

It was planned to take them off their guard. Wash-ing-ton was to move on the right, Half-King and his men on the left. They made not a sound. Wash-ing-ton was the first on the ground, and as he came out from the rocks and trees at the head of his men, the French caught sight of him and ran to their arms.

A sharp fire was kept up on both sides. De Ju-mon-ville, who led the French troops, was killed, with ten of his men. One of Wash-ing-ton's men was killed, and two or three met with wounds. None of the red-men were hurt, as the French did not aim their guns at them at all. In less than half an hour the French gave way, and ran, but Wash-ing-ton's men soon came up with them, took them, and they were sent, in charge of a strong guard, to Gov-er-nor Din-wid-die.

This was the first act of war, in which blood had been shed, and Wash-ing-ton had to bear a great deal of blame from both France and Eng-land till the truth was made known. He was thought to have been too rash, and too bold, and in more haste to make war than to seek for peace. These sins were charged to his youth, for it was not known then how much more calm, and wise, and shrewd he was than most men who were twice his age.

The French claimed that this band had been sent out to ask Wash-ing-ton, in a kind way, to leave the lands that were held by the crown of France. But Wash-ing-ton was sure they were spies; and Half-King said they had bad hearts, and if our men were such fools as to let them go, he would give them no more aid.

Half-King was full of fight, and Wash-ing-ton was flushed with pride, and in haste to move on and brave the worst. He wrote home: "The Min-goes have struck the French, and I hope will give a good blow be-fore they have done."

Then he told of the fight he had been in, and how he had won it, and was not hurt though he stood in the midst of the fierce fire. The balls whizzed by him, "and," said Wash-ing-ton "I was charmed with the sound."

This boast came to the ears of George II. who said, in a dry sort of a way, "He would not say so if he had heard ma-ny."

When long years had passed, some one asked Wash-ing-ton if he had made such a speech. "If I did," said he, "it was when I was young." And he was but 22 years of age.

He knew that as soon as the French heard of the fight and their bad luck, they would send a strong force out to meet him, so he set all his men to work to add to the size of the earth-work, and to fence it in so that it might be more of a strong-hold. Then he gave to it the name of Fort Ne-ces-si-ty, for it had been thrown up in great haste in time of great need, when food was so scant it was feared the troops would starve to death. At one time, for six days they had no flour, and, of course, no bread.

News came of the death of Col-o-nel Fry, at Will's creek, and Wash-ing-ton was forced to take charge of the whole force. Fry's troops -- 300 in all -- came up from Will's Creek, and Half-King brought 40 red-men with their wives and young ones and these all had to be fed and cared for.

Young as he was Wash-ing-ton was like a fa-ther to this strange group of men. On Sundays, when in camp, he read to them from the word of God, and by all his acts made them feel that he was a good and true man, and fit to be their chief.

The red-men did quite well as spies and scouts, but were not of much use in the field, and they, and some men from South Car-o-li-na, did much to vex young Wash-ing-ton.

Half-King did not like the way that white men fought, so he took him-self and his band off to a safe place. The white men from South Car-o-li-na, who had come out to serve their king, were too proud to soil their hands or to do hard work, nor would they be led by a man of the rank of Col-o-nel.

In the midst of all these straits Wash-ing-ton stood calm and firm.

The South Car-o-li-na troops were left to guard the fort, while the rest of the men set out to clear the road to Red-stone Creek. Their march was slow, and full of toil, and at the end of two weeks they had gone but 13 miles. Here at Gist's home, where they stopped to rest, word came to Wash-ing-ton that a large force of the French were to be sent out to fight him. Word was sent to the fort to have the men that were there join them with all speed.

They reached Gist's at dusk, and by dawn of the next day all our troops were in that place, where it was at first thought they would wait for the foe.

But this plan they gave up, for it was deemed best to make haste back to the fort, where they might at least screen them-selves from the fire of the foe.

The roads were rough; the heat was great; the food was scant, and the men weak and worn out. There were but few steeds, and these had to bear such great loads that they could not move with speed.

Wash-ing-ton gave up his own horse and went on foot, and the rest of the head men did the same.

The troops from Vir-gin-i-a worked with a will and would take turns and haul the big field guns, while the King's troops, from South Car-o-li-na, walked at their ease, and would not lend a hand, or do a stroke of work.

On the morn of Ju-ly 3, scouts brought word to the fort that the French were but four miles off, and in great force. Wash-ing-ton at once drew up his men on the ground out-side of the fort, to wait for the foe.

Ere noon the French were quite near the fort and the sound of their guns was heard.

Wash-ing-ton thought this was a trick to draw his men out in-to the woods, so he told them to hold their fire till the foe came in sight. But as the French did not show them-selves, though they still kept up their fire, he drew his troops back to the fort and bade them fire at will, and do their best to hit their mark.

The rain fell all day long, so that the men in the fort were half drowned, and some of the guns scarce fit for use.

The fire was kept up till eight o'clock at night, when the French sent word they would like to make terms with our men.

Wash-ing-ton thought it was a trick to find out the state of things in the fort, and for a time gave no heed to the call. The French sent two or three times, and at last brought the terms for Wash-ing-ton to read. They were in French. There was no-thing at hand to write with, so Van Bra-am, who could speak French, was called on to give the key.

It was a queer scene. A light was brought, and held close to his face so that he could see to read. The rain fell in such sheets that it was hard work to keep up the flame. Van Bra-am mixed up Dutch, French, and Eng-lish in a sad way, while Wash-ing-ton and his chief aids stood near with heads bent, and tried their best to guess what was meant.

They made out at last that the main terms were that the troops might march out of the fort, and fear no harm from French or red-skins as they made their way back to their homes. The drums might beat and the flags fly, and they could take with them all the goods and stores, and all that was in the fort -- but the large guns. These the French would break up. And our men should pledge them-selves not to build on the lands which were claimed by the King of France for the space of one year.

The weak had to yield to the strong, and Wash-ing-ton and his men laid down their arms and marched out of the fort.

A note of thanks was sent to Wash-ing-ton, and all his head men but Van Bra-am, who was thought to have read the terms in such a way as to harm our side and serve the French.

But there were those who felt that Van Bra-am was as true as he was brave, and that it was the fault of his head and not his heart, for it was a hard task for a Dutch-man to turn French in-to Eng-lish, and make sense of it.




Chapter V.

As Aide-De-Camp.


In spite of the way in which the fight at Great Mead-ows came to an end Gov-er-nor Din-wid-die made up his mind that the troops, led by Wash-ing-ton, should cross the hills and drive the French from Fort Du-quesne.

Wash-ing-ton thought it a wild scheme; for the snow lay deep on the hills, his men were worn out, and had no arms, nor tents, nor clothes, nor food, such as would fit them to take the field. It would need gold to buy these things, as well as to pay for fresh troops.

Gold was placed in the Gov-er-nor's hands to use as he pleased. Our force was spread out in-to ten bands, of 100 men each. The King's troops were put in high rank, and Col-o-nel Wash-ing-ton was made Cap-tain. This, of course, was more than he could bear, so he left the ar-my at once, and with a sad heart.

In a short time Gov-er-nor Sharpe of Ma-ry-land was placed by King George at the head of all the force that was to fight the French. He knew that he would need the aid of Wash-ing-ton, and he begged him to come back and serve with him in the field. But Wash-ing-ton did not like the terms, and paid no heed to the call.

The next Spring, Gen-er-al Brad-dock came from Eng-land with two large bands of well-trained troops, which it was thought would drive the French back in-to Can-a-da. Our men were full of joy, and thought the war would soon be at an end. Brad-dock urged Wash-ing-ton to join him in the field. Wash-ing-ton felt that he could be of great use, as he knew the land and the ways of red-men, so he took up the sword once more, as Brad-dock's aide-de-camp.

Ben-ja-min Frank-lin, who had charge of the mails, lent his aid to the cause, and did all that he could to serve Brad-dock and his men. Brad-dock, with his staff and a guard of horse-men, set out for Will's Creek, by the way of Win-ches-ter, in A-pril, 1755. He rode in a fine turn-out that he had bought of Gov-er-nor Sharpe, which he soon found out was not meant for use on rough roads. But he had fought with dukes, and men of high rank, and was fond of show, and liked to put on a great deal of style.

He thought that this would make the troops look up to him, and would add much to his fame.

In May the troops went in-to camp, and Wash-ing-ton had a chance to learn much of the art of war that was new and strange to him, and to see some things that made him smile.

All the rules and forms of camp-life were kept up. One of the head men who died while in camp, was borne to the grave in this style: A guard marched in front of the corpse, the cap-tain of it in the rear. Each man held his gun up-side down, as a sign that the dead would war no more, and the drums beat the dead march. When near the grave the guard formed two lines that stood face to face, let their guns rest on the ground, and leaned their heads on the butts. The corpse was borne twixt these two rows of men with the sword and sash on the top of the box in which he lay, and in the rear of it the men of rank marched two and two. When the corpse was put in the ground, the guard fired their guns three times, and then all the troops marched back to camp.

The red-men -- the Del-a-wares and Shaw-nees came to aid Gen-er-al Brad-dock. With them were White Thun-der, who had charge of the "speech-belts," and Sil-ver Heels, who was swift of foot. Half-King was dead, and White Thun-der reigned in his stead.

The red-men had a camp to them-selves, where they would sing, and dance, and howl and yell for half the night. It was fun for the King's troops to watch them at their sports and games, and they soon found a great charm in this wild sort of life.

In the day time the red-men and their squaws, rigged up in their plumes and war paint, hung round Brad-dock's camp, and gazed spell-bound at the troops as they went through their drills.

But this state of things did not last long, and strife rose twixt the red and white men, and some of the red-skins left the camp. They told Brad-dock they would meet him on his march, but they did not keep their word.

Wash-ing-ton was sent to Will-iams-burg to bring the gold of which there was need, and when he came back he found that Brad-dock had left a small guard at Fort Cum-ber-land, on Will's Creek, and was then on his way to Fort Du-quesne. He would give no heed to those who knew more of the back-woods than he did, nor call on the red-men to serve as scouts and guides. He was not used to that kind of war-fare, and scorned to be taught by such a youth as George Wash-ing-ton.

The march was a hard one for man and beast. Up steep hills and through rough roads they had to drag the guns, and Brad-dock soon found out that these new fields were not like the old ones on which he had been wont to fight.

Hard as it was for his pride to seek the aid of so young a man, he was at last forced to ask Wash-ing-ton to help him out of these straits.

They had then made a halt at Lit-tle Mead-ows. Wash-ing-ton said there was no time to lose. They must push on at once.

While at this place Cap-tain Jack, and his brave band of hunts-men came in-to camp. They were fond of the chase, and were well-armed with knives and guns, and looked quite like a tribe of red-skins as they came out of the wood.

Brad-dock met them in a stiff sort of way. Cap-tain Jack stepped in front of his band and said that he and his men were used to rough work, and knew how to deal with the red-men, and would be glad to join the force.

Brad-dock looked on him with a gaze of scorn, and spoke to him in a way that roused the ire of Cap-tain Jack. He told his men what had been said, and the whole band turned their backs on the camp, and went through the woods to their old haunts where they were known and prized at their true worth.

In the mean-time Wash-ing-ton, who had had a head-ache for some days, grew so ill that he could not ride on his horse, and had to be borne part of the time in a cart.

Brad-dock -- who well knew what a loss his death would be -- said that he should not go on. Wash-ing-ton plead with him, but Brad-dock was firm, and made him halt on the road. Here he was left with a guard, and in care of Doc-tor Craik, and here he had to stay for two long weeks. By that time he could move, but not with-out much pain, for he was still quite weak. It was his wish to join the troops in time for the great blow, and while yet too weak to mount his horse, he set off with his guards in a close cart, and reached Brad-dock's camp on the eighth of Ju-ly.

He was just in time, for the troops were to move on Fort Du-quesne the next day. The fort was on the same side of the Mon-on-ga-he-la as the camp, but twixt them lay a pass two miles in length, with the stream on the left and a high range of hills on the right. The plan was to ford the stream near the camp, march on the west bank of the stream for five miles or so, and then cross to the east side and push on to the fort.

By sun-rise the next day the troops turned out in fine style, and marched off to the noise of drum and fife. To Wash-ing-ton this was a grand sight. Though still weak and ill, he rode his horse, and took his place on the staff as aide-de-camp.

At one o'clock the whole force had crossed the ford north of the fort, and were on their way up the bank, when they were met by a fierce and sharp fire from foes they could not see. Wild war-whoops and fierce yells rent the air. What Wash-ing-ton feared, had come to pass. Brad-dock did his best to keep the troops in line; but as fast as they moved up, they were cut down by foes screened by rocks and trees.

Now and then one of the red-men would dart out of the woods with a wild yell to scalp a red-coat who had been shot down. Wild fear seized Brad-dock's men, who fired and took no aim. Those in the front rank were killed by those in the rear. Some of the Vir-gin-i-a troops took post back of trees, and fought as the red-men did. Wash-ing-ton thought it would be a good plan for Brad-dock's men to do the same. But he thought there was but one way for troops to fight, and that brave men ought not to skulk in that way. When some of them took to the trees, Brad-dock stormed at them, and called them hard names, and struck them with the flat of his sword.

All day long Wash-ing-ton rode here and there in the midst of the fight. He was in all parts of the field, a fine mark for the guns of the foe, and yet not a shot struck him to do him harm. Four small shots went through his coat. Two of his steeds were shot down; and though those who stood near him fell dead at his side, Wash-ing-ton had not one wound.

The fight raged on. Death swept through the ranks of the red-coats. The men at the guns were seized with fright. Wash-ing-ton sprang from his horse, wheeled a brass field-piece with his own hand, and sent a good shot through the woods. But this act did not bring the men back to their guns.

Brad-dock was on the field the whole day, and did his best to turn the tide. But most of his head-men had been slain in his sight; five times had he been forced to mount a fresh horse, as one by one was struck down by the foe-man's shot, and still he kept his ground and tried to check the flight of his men.

At last a shot struck him in the right arm and went in-to his lungs. He fell from his horse, and was borne from the field. The troops took fright at once, and most of them fled. The yells of the red-men still rang in their ears.

"All is lost!" they cried.

"Brad-dock is killed!"

Wash-ing-ton had been sent to a camp 40 miles off, and was on his way back when he heard the sad news.

But Brad-dock did not die at once. He was brought back to camp, and for two days lay in a calm state but full of pain. Now and then his lips would move and he was heard to say, "Who would have thought it! We shall know how to deal with them the next time!"

He died at Fort Ne-ces-si-ty on the night of Ju-ly 13. Had he done as Wash-ing-ton told him he might have saved his own life, and won the day. But he was a proud man, and when he made up his mind to do a thing he would do it at all risks. Through this fault he missed the fame he hoped to win, lost his life, and found a grave in a strange land.

His loss was a great gain to Wash-ing-ton, for all felt that he, so calm, so grave, so free from fear, was the right sort of man to lead troops to war. Those who had seen him in the field thought that he bore a charmed life, for though he stood where the shot fell thick and fast he was not hurt, and showed no signs of fear. But Wash-ing-ton was weak, and in need of rest, and as the death of Brad-dock left him with no place in the force, he went back to Mount Ver-non where he thought to spend the rest of his days.

The fight which he took part in as aide-de-camp, and which had so sad an end, goes by the name of Brad-dock's de-feat.




Chapter VI.

Col-O-Nel Of Vir-Gin-I-A Troops.


The troops in Vir-gin-i-a were left with-out a head. There was no one to lead them out to war, and if this fact came to the ears of the French, they would be more bold.

Wash-ing-ton's friends urged him to ask for the place. But this he would not do. His brother wrote him thus: "Our hopes rest on you, dear George. You are the man for the place: all are loud in your praise."

But Wash-ing-ton was firm. He wrote back and told in plain words all that he had borne, and how he had been served for the past two years.

"I love my land," he said, "and shall be glad to serve it, but not on the same terms that I have done so."

His mo-ther begged him not to risk his life in these wars. He wrote her that he should do all that he could to keep out of harm's way, but if he should have a call to drive the foes from the land of his birth, he would have to go! And this he was sure would give her much more pride than if he were to stay at home.

On the same day, Au-gust 13, that this note was sent, word came to Wash-ing-ton that he had been made chief of all the troops in Vir-gin-i-a, and the next month he went to Win-ches-ter to stay.

Here he found much to do. There was need of more troops, and it was hard work to get them. Forts had to be built, and he drew up a plan of his own and set men to work it out, and went out from time to time to see how they got on with it. He rode off thus at the risk of his life, for red-men lay in wait for scalps, and were fierce to do deeds of blood.

The stir of war put new life in-to the veins of old Lord Fair-fax. He got up a troop of horse, and put them through a drill on the lawn at Green-way Court. He was fond of the chase, and knew how to run the sly fox to the ground. The red-man was a sort of fox, and Fair-fax was keen for the chase, and now and then would mount his steed and call on George Wash-ing-ton, who was glad to have his kind friend so near.

In a short time he had need of his aid, for word came from the fort at Will's Creek that a band of red-men were on the war-path with fire-brands, and knives, and were then on their way to Win-ches-ter.

A man on a fleet horse was sent post-haste to Wash-ing-ton, who had been called to Will-iams-burg, the chief town.

In the mean-time Lord Fair-fax sent word to all the troops near his home to arm and haste to the aid of Win-ches-ter.

Those on farms flocked to the towns, where they thought they would be safe; and the towns-folks fled to the west side of the Blue Ridge. In the height of this stir Wash-ing-ton rode in-to town, and the sight of him did much to quell their fears.

He thought that there were but a few red-skins who had caused this great scare, and it was his wish to take the field at once and go out and put them to flight. But he could get but a few men to go with him. The rest of the town troops would not stir.

All the old fire-arms that were in the place were brought out, and smiths set to work to scour off the rust and make them fit to use.

Caps, such as are now used on guns, were not known in those days. Flint stones took their place. One of these was put in the lock, so that when it struck a piece of steel it would flash fire, and the spark would set off the gun. These were called flint-lock guns.

Such a thing as a match had not been thought of, and flint stones were made use of to light all fires.

Carts were sent off for balls, and flints, and for food with which to feed all those who had flocked to Win-ches-ter.

The tribes of red-men that had once served with Wash-ing-ton, were now on good terms with the French. One of their chiefs, named Ja-cob, laughed at forts that were built of wood, and made his boast that no fort was safe from him if it would catch fire.

The town where these red-men dwelt was two score miles from Fort Du-quesne, and a band of brave white men, with John Arm-strong and Hugh Mer-cer at their head, set out from Win-ches-ter to put them to rout.

At the end of a long march they came at night on the red-men's strong-hold, and took them off their guard. The red-men, led by the fierce chief Ja-cob, who chose to die ere he would yield, made a strong fight, but in the end most of them were killed, their huts were set on fire, and the brave strong-hold was a strong-hold no more.

In the mean-time Wash-ing-ton had left Win-ches-ter and gone to Fort Cum-ber-land, on Will's Creek. Here he kept his men at work on new roads and old ones. Some were sent out as scouts. Brig-a-dier Gen-er-al Forbes, who was in charge of the whole force, was on his way from Phil-a-del-phi-a, but his march was a slow one as he was not in good health. The plan was when he came to move on the French fort. The work that was to have been done north of the fort, by Lord Lou-doun, hung fire. It was felt that he was not the right man for the place, and so his lord-ship was sent back to Eng-land.

Ma-jor Gen-er-al Ab-er-crom-bie then took charge of the King's troops at the north. These were to charge on Crown Point. Ma-jor Gen-er-al Am-herst with a large force of men was with the fleet of Ad-mi-ral Bos-caw-en, that set sail from Hal-i-fax the last of May. These were to lay siege to Lou-is-berg and the isle of Cape Bre-ton, which is at the mouth of the Gulf of St. Law-rence. Forbes was to move on Fort Du-quesne, and was much too slow to suit Wash-ing-ton who was in haste to start. His men had worn out their old clothes and were in great need of new ones, which they could not get for some time. He liked the dress the red-men wore. It was light and cool, and, what had to be thought of most, it was cheap. Wash-ing-ton had some of his men put on this dress, and it took well, and has since been worn by those who roam the woods and plains of our great land.

I will not tell you of all that took place near the great Lakes at this time, as I wish to keep your mind on George Wash-ing-ton.

The schemes laid out by Gen-er-al Forbes did not please Wash-ing-ton, who urged a prompt march on the fort, while the roads were good. He wrote to Ma-jor Hal-ket, who had been with Brad-dock, and was now on Forbes' staff: "I find him fixed to lead you a new way to the O-hi-o, through a road each inch of which must be cut when we have scarce time left to tread the old track, which is known by all to be the best path through the hills." He made it plain that if they went that new way all would be lost, and they would be way-laid by the red-skins and meet with all sorts of ills.

But no heed was paid to his words, and the warm days came to an end. Six weeks were spent in hard work on the new road with a gain of less than three-score miles, when the whole force might have been in front of the French fort had they marched by the old road as Wash-ing-ton had urged.

At a place known as Loy-al Han-nan, the troops were brought to a halt, as Forbes thought this was a good place to build a fort. Some men in charge of Ma-jor Grant went forth as scouts. At dusk they drew near a fort, and set fire to a log house near its walls. This was a rash thing to do, as it let the French know just where they were.

But not a gun was fired from the fort. This the King's troops took for a sign of fear, and were bold and proud, and quite sure that they would win the day. So Brad-dock had thought, and we know his fate.

At length -- when Forbes and his men were off their guard -- the French made a dash from the fort, and poured their fire on the King's troops. On their right and left flanks fell a storm of shot from the red-skins who had hid back of trees, rocks, and shrubs.

The King's troops were then brought up in line, and for a while stood firm and fought for their lives. But they were no match for the red-skins, whose fierce yells made the blood run chill. Ma-jor Lew-is fought hand to hand with a "brave" whom he laid dead at his feet. Red-skins came up at once to take the white-man's scalp, and there was but one way in which he could save his life. This was to give him-self up to the French, which both he and Ma-jor Grant were forced to do, as their troops had been put to rout with great loss.

Wash-ing-ton won much praise for the way in which the Vir-gin-i-a troops had fought, and he was at once put in charge of a large force, who were to lead the van, serve as scouts, and do their best to drive back the red-skins -- work that called for the best skill and nerve.

It was late in the fall of the year when the King's troops all met at Loy-al Han-nan, and so much had to be done to clear the roads, that snow would be on the ground ere they could reach the fort. But from those of the French that they had seized in the late fight, they found out that there were but few troops in the fort, that food was scarce, and the red-skins false to their trust.

This lent hope to the King's troops, who made up their minds to push on. They took up their march at once, with no tents or stores, and but few large guns.

Wash-ing-ton rode at the head. It was a sad march, for the ground was strewn with the bones of those who had fought with Grant and with Brad-dock, and been slain by the foe, or died of their wounds.

At length the troops drew near the fort, and made their way up to it with great care, for they thought the French would be in wait for them, and that there would be a fierce fight.

But the French had had such bad luck in Can-a-da, that they had lost heart, and those in the fort were left to take care of them-selves. So when the Eng-lish were one day's march from the fort, the French stole out at night, got in-to boats, set the fort on fire, and went down the O-hi-o by the light of the flames.

So the fort which had been the cause of so much blood-shed, fell at last with-out a blow, and on No-vem-ber 25, 1758, Wash-ing-ton, with his van-guard, marched in and placed the Brit-ish flag on the wreck of the once proud strong-hold, the name of which was changed to Fort Pitt.

The French gave up all claim to the O-hi-o from that time. The red-skins were quick to make friends with those who held sway, and there was peace with all the tribes twixt the O-hi-o and the Lakes.

Wash-ing-ton had made up his mind to leave the field when this war came to an end, and in De-cem-ber of the same year he bade his troops good-bye.

He had been with them for five years in a hard school, and the strain on his mind had been so great that he lost his health, and felt that he could war no more.




Chapter VII.

The Home Of Wash-Ing-Ton.


In the year 1758, while Wash-ing-ton was with his troops at Win-ches-ter, he met and fell in love with Mrs. Mar-tha Cus-tis. Her home was known as the White House, and here she dwelt in fine style, for she had great wealth. She had a boy six years of age, and a girl of four.

Such were her charms that men of wealth and rank sought for her hand, but Wash-ing-ton, so calm and grave, and with his way yet to make in the world, won her heart, and they were to be wed at the close of the war.

She had heard of the brave deeds he had done, and was proud to be the wife of such a man, so on Jan-u-a-ry 6, 1759, the two were made one.

In the course of a few months Wash-ing-ton went to live at Mount Ver-non, where he spent much of his time in the care of his own lands, and those of his wife.

He had a seat with those who made laws for the State, and no man was thought more of than George Wash-ing-ton.

Wash-ing-ton loved to be at Mount Ver-non, where he had spent a great part of his boy-hood, with his bro-ther, Law-rence, of whom he was so fond. The house stood on a knoll, and near it were wild woods and deep dells, haunts of the fox and the deer, and bright streams where fish could be found at all times.

His chief sport was the chase, and, at the right time of the year, he would go out two or three times a week, with dogs and horns and trained steeds, in search of the sly fox who would lead him and his friends a fine run.

Some times he would go out with his gun and shoot wild-ducks, great flocks of which might be found on the streams close at hand. Or he would scour the woods for the game with which they were filled, and which none but those who owned the place had a right to kill.

A man who had a bad name and paid no heed to the laws that were made, was wont to make his way to the grounds near Mount Ver-non and shoot just what game he chose. More than once he had been told to leave and not come back, but he paid no more heed than if he had been deaf, and was sure to take his pick from the best kind of ducks.

One day when Wash-ing-ton was out on horse-back he heard the sound of a gun down near the edge of the stream. He put spurs to his horse, dashed through bush and brake, and soon came up to the rogue who had just time to jump in his boat and push from shore. Then the bad man raised his gun, cocked it, and took aim at Wash-ing-ton, whom he would no doubt have shot down in cold-blood.

But Wash-ing-ton rode at once in-to the stream, and seized the prow of the boat, and drew it to shore. Then he sprang from his horse, wrenched the gun from the thief's hand, and laid on the lash in such a way that the rogue took to his heels when let loose, and came no more near Mount Ver-non.

As I have told you, men of great wealth dwelt on the shores of the Po-to-mac, and kept house in fine style. They had a large force of slaves, and made great feasts for their friends. One of them used to come out in a rich barge to meet Wash-ing-ton. This barge was rowed by six black men in check shirts and black vel-vet caps.

Wash-ing-ton had a coach and four, with black foot-men, for Mrs. Wash-ing-ton to use when she drove out; but he chose to go on horse-back. Some-times he and his wife went to An-na-po-lis, to a ball or feast of some sort, where Wash-ing-ton took part in the dance, and all the belles of the day were proud to dance with him, for he had a grand style that made him seem like no one else in the room.

When storms kept him in the house, he would read, or spend the time at his desk with pen in hand.

He was kind to his slaves, and took the best of care of them when they were sick, but was quick to see that they did not shirk their work. He knew, too, just the kind of work each one was fit for, and which he could do the best.

Four of his slaves set out to hew and shape a large log. Wash-ing-ton kept his eye on them and thought they loafed too much. So he sat down, took out his watch, and timed them: how long it took them to get their cross-cut saw and the rest of their tools; how long to cut off the limbs from the tree they had laid low; how long to hew and saw it; what time they spent in talk; and how much work they did while he sat there and took notes. In this way he found out just how much work four men could do in the course of a day -- and take their ease.

Wash-ing-ton was quick to lend a hand in time of need, and once when word was brought him that the dam had broke loose, and the mill would soon be swept off, he ran at the head of all his slaves and work-men, and toiled as hard as they in a fierce rain-storm, to check the force of the flood.

The cares of home and state made such calls on his time and thoughts, that he could not be said to live quite at his ease, and he left his mark -- a high one -- on all that he did.

His crops were of the best, and he sought to cheat no one. The flour he sold from year to year was put up with so much care, and was of such a good kind and so true in weight that all that bore the brand of George Wash-ing-ton, Mount Ver-non, was held at a high rate in the West In-di-a ports.

Quite a trade was kept up with Eu-rope, where all the goods had to be bought that were used in the house or on the farm.

Twice a year Wash-ing-ton sent on a long list of such things as he had need of: ploughs, hoes, scythes, horse-goods, and clothes for all the house-hold. For these last he had to give size and height, name, and age, of those who were to wear them.

In one of these lists Wash-ing-ton, who had need of a new suit of clothes, said he was six feet in height, quite thin, and had long limbs. He was then 31 years old.

You will see by what I have told you just how Wash-ing-ton spent much of his time for at least five years. They were five sweet years to him; full of peace, and rest, and joy. He was fond of his home, and felt as much pride in Nel-lie and John Parke Cus-tis as if they had been his own boy and girl. Nel-lie was a frail child, and did not gain in strength, though she had the best of care. Her death took place June 19, 1773, when she was but 17 years of age.

This was a sad blow to Wash-ing-ton, as well as to his wife, and then all their hopes were placed on the son, who bade fair to be a fine strong man. But he died in the year 1781, at the age of 28.

While Wash-ing-ton dwelt in peace at Mount Ver-non, war was rife in the land, but as he had with-drawn from those who bore arms he took no part in it It was called Pon-ti-ac's war, as it was led by a chief of that name, but the O-hi-o tribes were with him, and the plot was deep laid.

Large tracts of wood-land were laid waste; homes were burnt, and those who dwelt in them robbed and slain; and so sly and shrewd were the red-skins that it was some time ere the white men could put a stop to their deeds of blood.

It was in 1760 that King George the Third made up his mind to tax the folks in A-mer-i-ca for all the goods they bought in Eng-land. The trade was large, and in this way the king could add much to his wealth. But the scheme did not work well. It was first tried in Bos-ton, and set all the folks there by the ears. They claimed that they had rights as well as the king. They had come to this land to be free, and free they would be. They would do with-out tea and such things, and dress as well as they could in clothes made out of home-made goods.

The king next said that goods bought from Eng-land must bear the king's stamp, for which a sum was to be paid more than the cost of the goods. This was known as the Stamp Act. The folks in A-mer-i-ca were poor. They had not the means to pay this tax. The thought of it filled them with rage; and for five years there was much talk of the wrong the king had done to those who dwelt in A-mer-i-ca.

On the first day of No-vem-ber, 1765, the Stamp Act was to go in-to force, and all New Eng-land was in arms. At Bos-ton bells were tolled; flags were hung at half-mast; shops were shut, and bon-fires built.

In New York, the Act -- in clear print -- was borne through the streets on a pole, on top of which was a death's head.

A man named Col-den whose place it was to serve out the stamps had to flee to the fort, round which was placed a strong guard from a ship-of-war. The mob broke in-to his coach-house, drew out his coach, put in it a form -- stuffed and dressed to look some-what like Col-den -- and marched up to the Park where they hung it on a tree.

At night they took the form down, put it in a coach, and bore it back to Bow-ling Green, where the whole thing -- coach and all -- was burnt right in range of the guns of the fort where the King's troops were.

In March 1766, the king drew back the Stamp Act, which gave great joy to those who had the good of A-mer-i-ca at heart, and to none more than to George Wash-ing-ton. But he made it known that he felt it to be his right as their king to tax them as he chose, and this hurt the pride of those who wished to make their own laws, and be in bonds to no one.

Wash-ing-ton -- as did most of those who had Eng-lish blood in their veins -- looked up-on that land as his home, and was loath to break the chain that bound him to it. But he did not think well of the Stamp Act, and saw what was sure to come to pass if the king pressed too hard on the A-mer-i-cans.

On Sep-tem-ber 5, 1774, a band of true men from all the States met for the first time in Phil-a-del-phi-a, and Wash-ing-ton set out from Mount Ver-non on horse-back to take his seat with them. With him were Pat-rick Hen-ry and Ed-mund Pen-dle-ton; and as they rode side by side they talked of the land they loved, and of the hopes they had that all would be well.

The band met with closed doors. Each man wore a grave face. Pat-rick Hen-ry made a strong speech at the close of which he said, "All A-mer-i-ca is thrown in-to one mass. Where are your land-marks? * * * They are all thrown down."

He said he did not call him-self by the name of the State in which he was born, but by the name of the land which gave him birth -- then known as "the land of the free."

Wash-ing-ton was not a man of words, but of deeds. But what he said was of great weight as it came from a wise brain and a true heart.

Pat-rick Hen-ry said there was no man in the whole band so great as George Wash-ing-ton. The band broke up in No-vem-ber, and Wash-ing-ton went back to Mount Ver-non. But not to the gay times and good cheer he once had known. George Fair-fax -- who had been his friend from boy-hood -- had gone to Eng-land to live, and Bel-voir took fire one night and was burnt to the ground.

The stir in Bos-ton, and in the West where the red-skins were on the war-path, made the whole land ill at ease. Troops were kept on drill, and the roll of the drum was heard in all the small towns. Men came to talk with Wash-ing-ton and to find out what he thought was the best thing to do, and the best way to drill or to arm troops.

It was of no use to plead with the king. He had made up his mind and would not yield an inch. A large force of the best men in Vir-gin-i-a met at Rich-mond, March 20, 1775, and Wash-ing-ton was called on for some plan as to what their course should be.

He told them that he thought there was but one thing to do. Pat-rick Hen-ry put it in-to words that rang through the land: "We must fight! I repeat it, Sir, we must fight! An ap-peal to arms, and the God of hosts, is all that is left us!"

All hearts were full of zeal; and Wash-ing-ton wrote to his bro-ther, Au-gus-tine, that if there was need of it he would lead troops to war, and risk his life and all his wealth in the cause, which seemed to him a most just one.




Chapter VIII.

The Battle Of Bunker Hill.


In the year 1775 war was rife in New Eng-land. The King's laws were felt to be more for slaves than for free-men, and all made up their minds to throw off the yoke. They could not bear the sight of the red-coats; and the King's troops were just as fierce in their hate of our men.

Ships-of-war brought a large force of troops to New Eng-land, led by men of rank and fame. They filled the streets of Bos-ton, and it was thought they might bring the A-mer-i-cans to terms, and not a drop of blood be shed. But this was not to be.

A large force of our men were in camp on the hills and fields near Bos-ton, the sight of whom might well cause the well-clad Brit-ish to smile. They had left their farms in great haste at the cry of "To arms!" had seized their guns, and come in the home-spun clothes it was their pride to wear. Those from Mas-sa-chu-setts were led by Gen-er-al Ar-te-mas Ward; those from New Hamp-shire by Col-o-nel John Stark; those from Rhode Isl-and by Gen-er-al Na-than-i-el Greene; and those from Con-nect-i-cut by Gen-er-al Is-ra-el Put-nam; all brave and true men, and full of fight.

But the troops had need to be well armed; and all the guns and such things as there was need of in war times were in Bos-ton, where the red-coats were on guard. But though sharp eyes were on the watch, sly deeds were done by those who knew the ways in and out of each store-house. Carts went out of town heaped high with dirt in which guns and balls were hid; and all sorts of tricks were used to get such things past the red-coats.

At length it came to the ears of Gen-er-al Gage, that some field guns were at Sa-lem, and he sent troops there to seize them. But when they reached Sa-lem they found no guns there.

Then word came to Gen-er-al Gage that there was a large stock of arms and war-stores at Con-cord, which was less than a score of miles from Bos-ton.

In the night of A-pril 18, the red-coats set out for Con-cord. Gen-er-al Gage had said that no one but the troops should leave the town, but the news was borne to Lex-ing-ton -- a town on the road to Con-cord -- by those who were as swift as the hare, and as sly as the fox.

The folks there met in groups, with hearts on fire. Bells were rung and guns were fired. Men who heard these sounds ran as fast as they could to Lex-ing-ton, to hold the bridge, and keep back the foe.

At five o'clock, on the morn of A-pril 19, the red-coats came in sight, and at once three-score and ten men stood out on the green near the wall to meet them.

Ma-jor Pit-cairn who was at the head of the King's troops called out to these brave men to lay down their arms and leave the place. But they paid no heed to his words. Then he sprang from the ranks, shot off a small gun, swung his sword in air, and told his men to fire. The troops ran up, with loud cheers, and poured a storm of shot on our men, some of whom were killed. Then they pushed on to Con-cord, and did all the harm they could at that place: spiked guns, threw pounds and pounds of shot down the wells, and spoiled a large lot of flour and food that had been stored there for use in time of need.

When the King's troops turned back to Lex-ing-ton, they were quite worn out with what they had done, and would have been cut down by our men if Gage had not sent a force to their aid.

For the blue-coats had flown to arms, and poured in-to Lex-ing-ton by all the roads that led led there-to. The red-coats might laugh at their clothes, and the way in which they tried to keep step, but they found out that they knew how to use guns, and that each man was a dead-shot.

The fresh troops Gage sent up from Bos-ton had to form a square, so that the worn out men who had had a long march and hard work might have a chance to rest. Then they all set out to march back to Bos-ton, with two field guns in the rear to keep off the "flock of Yan-kees," who dogged their steps, and kept up a fire in front and rear, and from each stone-wall and hedge that lined the road.

There was loss on both sides, but what hurt the King's troops the most was to be put to flight by such a lot of scare crows, as they thought our troops were.

A close watch was kept on Bos-ton by our men, who were soon in such force that it would not have been safe for the red-coats to try to leave the town. The Kings troops did not like to be shut in, in this way, and lost no chance to mock at and taunt those who kept them at bay.

On the north side of Bos-ton lay a long strip of land, from the heights of which one could see the town and all the ships at or near the wharves. Put-nam thought it would be a good plan to seize these heights and place troops there; but Ward and War-ner thought it was not safe to risk it. It might bring on a fierce fight and cause much blood to be shed.

Put-nam had no fear of his own men. He knew how brave they were, and how well they could fight back of a screen. "They have no fear of their heads," he said, "their chief thought is their legs. Shield them, and they'll fight on till doom's-day."

Two or three of those who had led troops in the French war, were of the same mind as Put-nam, and their words had weight. The chief man was Col-o-nel Pres-cott, who was just the style of man, in port and in dress, that a lot of raw troops would look up to. He wore a fine hat, a top-wig, and a blue coat faced and lapped up at the skirts.

He it was whom Gen-er-al Ward chose to lead the troops which were to seize the heights, build the earth-works there, and guard them from the foe. There were 1200 in all, and they set out on the night of June 16, 1775. Not a light was shown. Not a sound was heard, but the tramp -- tramp -- tramp of these men on their way to face death.

A small neck of land joined Charles-town to the main-land, and as they drew near this the troops hushed their steps, and moved with great care. For on this the red-coats kept a close watch. Five of their ships-of-war stood so that their guns would sweep this neck of land, and earth-works were on Copp's Hill, which faced Charles-town.

On the blue-coats went, past the guards, past the guns, past the Neck, and up to the heights of Bunk-er's Hill. Here they were to make their stand, but it was found that Breed's Hill, which was half a mile off, was not quite so steep, and would give them more of a chance at the red-coats, while Bunk-er's Hill would shield them in the rear.

Put-nam thought Breed's Hill was the right place and was in haste for the work to go on. There was no time to lose. So pick and spade were brought out, and the earth dug out so as to serve as a wall to screen them from the fire of the foe.

The night was warm and still. Now and then Pres-cott would steal down to the edge of the stream, to see and hear if the red-coats had made a stir. There was not a sound save the cry of "All's well! All's well!" from the watch-man on guard in the town, and on the ships-of-war.

All night the work on the heights went on. At dawn of day the men there were seen by the sea-men on the ships-of-war, and at once their guns were brought up and turned on the hill. Their shot did not harm the works, but one man who went out-side was killed, and this threw the rest in-to a great fright. They were not used to scenes of war, and the sight of a man shot down in their midst was more than their nerves could stand.

Some took to their heels at once, and did not come back, and had Pres-cott not been a brave man him-self he could not have held his troops as he did. He stood up on top of the earth-works in full view of the red-coats, and talked with his men, and his words of cheer put new strength in their hearts, so that they were in less dread of the balls that whizzed near them.

The noise of the guns roused the red-coats in Bos-ton, and Gen-er-al Gage gazed at Breed's Hill like one in a dream. A fort full of men had sprung up in the night! How had it been done? What kind of men were these he had to meet? As he stood on Copp's Hill and looked through his field glass, he spied the tall form of Pres-cott, in his blue coat, on the wall of the fort.

"Will he fight?" asked Gage, "Yes, sir," said one who stood near, and who knew Pres-cott. "He will fight to the last drop of blood; but I can't say as much for his men."

"We must seize the works!" cried Gage, and at once called up his chiefs for a talk, and to plan the best way to do this deed.

The noise in the streets of Bos-ton, the roll of the drum, the sound of the trump that calls to war, the sharp click of hoofs, and the deep roll of wheels that bore the field guns, were heard on the heights, and let the troops there know that war was at hand.

The men were worn out with their hard task, and their loss of sleep. They had not brought much food with them, and their thirst was great. The heat made them feel weak and dull. There was need of more men, and a lot of raw New Hamp-shire troops, led by Col-o-nel Stark came to their aid. In the mean time those on the height had to bear the fire of the guns from the ships and from Copp's Hill, which broke on them at ten o'clock.

At noon the blue-coats saw more than a score of boats full of troops cross from Bos-ton in straight lines. The sun shone on their red-coats, and flashed from the tips of the guns they bore, and from the brass field guns that stood on the deck. It was a gay scene. They made their way to a point north of Breed's Hill, where Gen-er-al Howe, who led them, could see the full strength of the blue-coats. They had more troops than he thought, and he caught sight of fresh ones on their way to Breed's Hill.

Howe at once sent to Gage for more troops, and more balls for the field guns, and as it would take some time for them to be sent round, the red-coats in the mean-time were served with food and drink. The "grog" was passed round in pails, and the men sat round on the grass, and ate and drank their fill, while the poor men on the heights looked down and longed to share their feast.

But while the red-coats took their ease, the blue-coats had a chance to add to the strength of their fort, and to push out the breast-works to a point known as the Slough.

Near this was a pass where the foe might turn the left-flank of the troops or seize Bunk-er's Hill.

Put-nam chose one of his men, a Cap-tain Knowl-ton, to hold this pass with his Con-nect-i-cut troops. He at once set to work to build a sort of fort, back of which his men could fight with more ease than if they stood out in the field. Not a long way off was a post-and-rail fence set in a low foot-wall of stone, and this fence ran down to the Mys-tic Riv-er. The posts and rails of a fence, near this, were torn up in haste, and set a few feet at the rear of it, and the space 'twixt the two was filled with new-mown hay brought from the fields near at hand.

While Knowl-ton and his men were at work on this fence, Put-nam and his troops threw up the work on Bunk-er's Hill.

In the mean time Stark had set out from Med-ford on a six mile march. He was a cool, calm man, and had been through the French war, of which I have told you. He led his men at a slow pace, so that they would be fresh and strong to take part in the fight. As they came up to the Neck, which they had to cross, and which was lined with guns on both sides, one of the aides urged him to let the men take a quick step.

The old man shook his head, and said, "One fresh man in a fight is worth ten tired ones," and kept on at the same pace; and did good work that day back of the post-and-rail screen.

War-ren, who had been made a Ma-jor Gen-er-al, came to serve in the ranks. Put-nam said he might lead the troops at the fence. He said he did not care to lead; he was there to fight. "Where will the fire be the hot-test?" he asked. He was told that the fort on Breed's Hill was the point the foe sought to gain. "If we can hold that," said Put-nam, "the day is ours."

War-ren at once made his way there, and the troops gave a round of cheers when he stepped in-to the fort. Pres-cott, who was not so high in rank, sought to have War-ren take charge of the troops. But he would not. "I have come to serve in the ranks," he said, "and shall be glad to learn from one so well-skilled as your-self."

The red-coats thought to take the works with ease, and win the day. Gen-er-al Pig-ot, with the left wing, was to mount the hill and seize the earth-works, while Gen-er-al Howe came up with the right wing to turn the left-flank of our men and stop all flight at the rear.

Pig-ot and his men came up the height, and not a gun was fired by our troops till the red-coats were in range. Then, as they were all good marks-men each shot told, and some of the best men fell at the first fire. The foe fell back in haste, but were brought up once more by those who stood at their head with drawn swords.

They were met by a fire more fierce than the first, and vexed by the guns that bore on their flank from the band of men in Charles-town. So much blood had been shed, and the men were in such a state of fright, that Pig-ot was forced to give the word to fall back.

We will now see what sort of luck Gen-er-al Howe had. He led his troops up the bank of the stream, and thought to take the slight breast-work with ease, and so get in the rear of the fort. But he did not know the ground, and could not bring his large guns through the swamp he met with. In the pause some of his men were hurt and some killed by the guns that were set by the post-and-rail fence.

Howe's men kept up a fire as they came on, but as they did not take good aim the balls flew o'er the heads of our troops, who had been told to hold their fire till the red-coats were quite near.

Some few did not do as they were told, and Put-nam rode up and swore he would cut down the next man that fired ere he had the word to do so. When the red-coats were in the right range, such a storm of lead poured on them from guns in the hands of men who did not miss a mark that the place was like a field of blood.

Such a host were slain that the red-coats lost heart, and fell back in great haste. Some of them ran back as far as the boats, and got on board of them that they might be safe from the fire of the marks-men.

Once more the red-coats charged the fort, which it was their aim to get in-to their own hands. In the mean time the shells from Copp's Hill and the ships-of-war had set Charles-town on fire. The town was built of wood, and was soon a mass of flames. The dense smoke put out the light of the sun On all sides was heard the din of war. The big guns kept up their great roar. Bomb-shells burst in the air. The sharp hiss of the small balls, and the shouts and yells of the men made a scene to strike the heart with awe.

Our men stood firm, and with eyes fixed on the foe, who, as soon as they were close at hand, were shot down by the guns whose aim was so sure.

The red-coats stood the first shock, and then kept on, but were met by such a stream of fire that they were soon brought to a halt. In vain did the men who led them urge them on with drawn swords. Whole ranks were mowed down. Some of Gen-er-al Howe's staff were slain, and the troops, wild with fear, broke ranks and fled down the hill.

For a third time Gen-er-al Howe brought up his men, some of whom threw off their knap-sacks and some their coats that they might not be weighed down by them.

The red-coats made a feint as if they would take the fort at the fence, and did much harm there to our men. While some of his troops were at work at that point, Howe brought the rest of his force to the front and rear of the main fort, which was then stormed on three sides at once.

Pres-cott told some of his men to stand at the back part of the fort and fire at the red-coats that showed them-selves on the wall. Soon one leaped up and cried out "The day is ours!" and was shot down at once, as were all those who had joined him.

But our men had fired their last round, and there was nought for them to do but to meet the foe in a hand-to-hand fight. With stones and the butt-ends of their guns they sought to drive back the red-coats, but the tide was too strong for them, and they had to give way.

War-ren, who had done brave work that day, was the last to leave the fort. He scarce had done so ere he was struck by a ball and fell dead on the spot.

As our troops fled by way of Bunk-er Hill, Put-nam ran to the rear and cried, "Halt! make a stand here! We can check them yet! In God's name form, and give them one shot more!"

But the troops could not be brought to a stand, and the red-coats won the day, but with the loss of more than half of their men. And it hurt their pride to think that it had cost them so dear to take these earth-works that had been thrown up in one night by a mere hand-ful of raw troops.

Their loss was 1,054.

Our loss was 450.




Chapter IX.

Commander-In-Chief.


The deeds done ere this by the King's troops had made a great stir through-out the land. The chief men of each State met in Phil-a-del-phi-a, and sought out ways and means to help those who were in arms, as foes of King George, and a large force of men, from Ma-ry-land, Penn-syl-va-ni-a, and Vir-gin-i-a, were soon on hand to march and join the troops near Bos-ton.

But who was to lead them? The choice at once fell on George Wash-ing-ton, but he held back. He thought that Mas-sa-chu-setts' troops might not care to be led by a man from the south; and, too, Gen-er-al Ward, who was then at their head had the first right, for Wash-ing-ton's rank was not so high as his.

There was much talk on this score, and in the midst of it a Mas-sa-chu-setts man, John Ad-ams, rose and said that the man he thought fit to lead our troops was in that room, and he came from Vir-gin-i-a.

All knew whom he meant, and as Wash-ing-ton heard his own name he rose from his seat and left the room.

Then votes were cast, and all were for Wash-ing-ton, and he felt that he could not say No to such a call. He spoke his thanks in a few words, and said that he would do the best that he could, and serve with-out pay. He set out from Phil-a-del-phi-a June 21, 1775. With him were Gen-er-al Lee and Gen-er-al Schuy-ler, and a troop of light-horse, which went all the way to New York.

As soon as it was known that Wash-ing-ton was on the road, crowds ran out to meet him, and to show their pride in him.

When he reached New York he heard of the fight at Bunk-er Hill, and made haste to join the troops in their camp at Cam-bridge. He reached there Ju-ly 2. The next day all the troops were drawn out in line, and Wash-ing-ton rode out at the head of his staff till he came to a large elm tree. Here he wheeled his horse, and drew his sword and took charge of all our troops as their Com-mand-er-in-chief.

He found much to do, and much to bear from his own men as well as from the red-coats. It came to his ears that our men who fell in-to the hands of the red-coats at Bunk-er's Hill, were not well used, and he wrote at once to Gage and asked him to be less harsh. Gage, who had fought by his side in 1753, when both were young men, wrote back that he thought he should have praise and not blame, since he had saved the lives of those who were doomed to be hung.

Wash-ing-ton at first thought he would do as he was done by, but his heart failed him, and those of the red-coats that were in the hands of our troops were set free, if they gave their word they would not fight for King George.

By such acts Wash-ing-ton sought to show that "A-mer-i-cans are as mer-ci-ful as they are brave."

The camps in which Wash-ing-ton found his troops were as odd as the men them-selves. Some of the tents were made of boards, some of sail-cloth, or bits of both, while here and there were those made of stone and turf, brick and brush-wood. Some were thrown up in haste and bore no marks of care, while a few were wrought with wreaths and twigs, and spoke well for the taste of those who made them.

The best camp of all was that of the Rhode Is-land men in charge of Gen-er-al Na-than-i-el Greene. Here were found as good tents as the red-coats had, and the men were well-drilled and well-dressed. Greene was brought up on a farm. His fa-ther was a black-smith, and at times his son worked with the plough, or took his place at the forge.

At the first note of war, Greene left the farm and in the month of May, 1775, was in charge of all the troops of his own small state. He went to Bos-ton, and took notes while there of all that the red-coats did, and in this way learned much that he could put to good use. His troops had fought at Bunk-er Hill, and there were none in the whole force that bore them-selves so well, or made so fine a show.

Greene was six feet tall, and not quite two score years of age. He was strong and well built, and his frank way won the heart of Wash-ing-ton, and the two were warm friends from that time.

Wash-ing-ton now set to work to add strength to the weak parts of his line, and to throw up fresh works round the main forts. All the live stock had to be kept off the coast so that they would not fall in-to the hands of the foe.

He sought to draw the red-coats out of Bos-ton, but they would not stir. When Wash-ing-ton took charge of the troops, he thought that he could go back to his home when the cold days came on, and spend some time there with his wife.

But there was no chance for him to leave, so he wrote to Mrs. Wash-ing-ton to join him in the camp. She came and staid with him till the next spring; and this was her course all through the war.

She came in her own coach and four, with her son and his wife. The black foot-men were drest in red and white, and the whole turn-out was in the style in use in Vir-gin-i-a at that day.

Wash-ing-ton had his rooms in the Crai-gie House, in Cam-bridge, and here Mrs. Wash-ing-ton took charge and gave the place more of a home-like air.

At that time the camp of Cam-bridge was filled with all sorts of troops. Some had spent the most of their lives in boats, some were brought up on farms, some came from the woods, and each group wore the dress that pleased them best, and laughed at those who were not drest the same.

This made sport for some time and jokes flew thick and fast.

One day some men came in-to camp drest in an odd garb, such as was worn to hunt in. The suit was made of deer-skin, and the long shirt had a deep fringe all round. This dress was the cause of much mirth to men who came from the sea-shore, and were used to short coats, and rough plain clothes.

There was snow on the ground, and when the jokes gave out, snow-balls took their place, for a war of words is quite sure to end in blows. Men came up to the aid of both sides. Fists were used, and all took part in the hand-to-hand fight, and there was a great stir in the camp.

While the fight was at its height Wash-ing-ton rode up. None of his aides were with him. He threw the reins of his own horse in-to the hands of the black-man who rode near, sprang from his seat, and rushed in-to the thick of the fray. Then he seized two of the tall stout hunts-men by the throat, and talked to them and shook them while he held them at arm's length.

This put an end to the brawl at once, and the rest of the crowd slunk off in haste, and left but three men on the ground: Wash-ing-ton, and the two he held in his grasp.

As the cold days and nights came on the men grew home-sick, and longed to be by their own fire-sides. It was right that some of them should go, for they had served out their time, and this made the rest lone-some and sad. Songs would not cheer them, and they paid no heed to the words of those who sought to rouse them from these depths of woe.

Wash-ing-ton was full of fears, which were shared by all those who were near him in rank, yet he did not lose hope. Gen-er-al Greene wrote, "They seem to be so sick of this way of life, and so home-sick, that I fear a large part of our best troops will soon go home." Still his heart did not lose hope. All would come right in time; and his words of cheer were a great help to Wash-ing-ton at this time.

The year 1775 had been a dark one for our land, and there was no ray of hope to light the dawn of 1776. There were but 10,000 troops to take the field. There was a lack of arms, a lack of clothes, and a lack of food, and these things made camp-life hard to bear, and were a great grief to the heart of the chief. He could not sleep. Had the foe known of their plight, they would have borne down on them and swept them out of sight. But God took care of them.

In the first month of the year there was a stir on the Bos-ton wharves. A large fleet of boats lay in the stream, on board of which the red-coats swarmed, and there were two sloops-of-war filled with guns and war-like stores.

All were in charge of Gen-er-al Howe, and Wash-ing-ton guessed what his plans were! and felt that the time had come for him to strive to wrest Bos-ton from the King's troops.

The out-look was bright. More troops had come to his aid, and he made up his mind to place part of his force on Dor-ches-ter Heights, and, if he could, draw out the foe to fight at that place. At a sign, the troops on the Heights and at Nook's Hill were to fire at the same time, and rake the town with balls and bomb-shells. At the same time boats full of troops were to start from the mouth of Charles Riv-er, and act in the rear of the red-coats. It was thought that these moves on the part of our troops would bring on such a fight as they had had on Breed's Hill.

On the night of March 4, our men made their way to the Heights, and at dawn of the next day strong forts loomed up, and seemed as if they must have been brought there at the touch of a wand.

Howe gazed on them and said, "The reb-els have done more work in one night than my whole ar-my would have done in a month."

He must drive them from the Heights, or leave Bos-ton. While pride urged him on, fear held him back, for he knew that his loss would be great. But he must make a move of some sort, so he made up his mind to send boats out that night with a force of troops in charge of Lord Per-cy. But a storm came up from the east; the surf beat high on the shore where the boats would have to land; and the scheme was put off till the next day. But it stormed just as hard the next day; the rain came down in sheets; and the boats staid where they were.

In the mean time our men kept at work on the hills on the north side and south side, and when the storm ceased Gen-er-al Howe saw that the forts were now so strong there would be no chance to take them.

Nor was it safe for him to stay in Bos-ton. Yet the Ad-mi-ral said that if Howe's troops did not seize the Heights, the ships-of-war should not stay near Bos-ton; so his lord-ship would have to leave with what grace he could, much as it might wound his pride.

When the word went forth that the troops were to leave, strange sights were seen in Bos-ton town and bay. For some days the red-coats went this way and that in great haste. More than three-score-and-ten boats were cast loose for sea, with at least 12,000 men on board of them. While this stir took place not a shot was sent from the Heights, and it was well that this was so, as the red-coats had laid plans to set the town in a blaze if our troops fired one gun.

The red-coats left Bos-ton March 17, and our troops, in charge of "Old Put" -- as the brave Put-nam was called -- marched in-to town in fine style.

For some days the fleet lay off the coast of Rhode Isl-and, and it was feared for a-while that they meant to strike a blow and win back what they had lost. But no such thing took place, and ere long the fleet sailed out of sight.

"Where they are bound," wrote Wash-ing-ton, "and where they next will pitch their tents, I know not."

He thought they were on their way to New York, but such was not the case. They had steered for Hal-i-fax, to wait there for more troops, and for the large fleet that was to come from Eng-land.

A vote of thanks and a large gold coin with his face on one side of it, were sent to Wash-ing-ton by the chief men of the land, as part of his due for what he had so far done to save A-mer-i-ca from King George's rule.

Wash-ing-ton, who thought the next move of the red-coats would be on New York, set out for that place, and reached there A-pril 13. He went to work at once to build forts, and to send out troops, and to make the place as strong as it ought to be. He did not know the plans of the foe, nor from what point they would hurl the bolts of war.

All was guess-work, but still in the midst of doubt it would not do to be slack.

The town was put in charge of the troops, and the rules were quite strict. Those who went in or out had to give the pass-word. "We all live here, shut up like nuns," wrote one who was fond of a gay life, "There's no one in town that we can go to see, and none to come and see us."

Good times in New York were at an end. Our troops had been forced to leave Can-a-da, and it was known that the red-coats would push their way to New York. Forts were built on high banks up the Hud-son, and on the isles at its mouth, and all done that could be done to check them in their march.

In the mean time it had been thought a good plan to set a day in which it might be shown through-out the land that A-mer-i-ca was, and, of a right, ought to be, a free land. So in Ju-ly an Act was drawn up and signed by the wise men who met in Phil-a-del-phi-a to frame the laws for the new States, and there was great joy, for it was a great day.

Bells were rung. Shouts and cheers rent the air. Fires blazed, and hearts burned, and men knelt to pray, and give thanks to God.

John Ad-ams said the Fourth of Ju-ly ought to be kept up with great pomp through-out A-mer-i-ca, -- "with shows, games, sports, guns, bells, and bon-fires" -- till the end of time.

The news did not reach New York till Ju-ly 9, and at six o'clock that night Wash-ing-ton read the Act to his troops.

New York was wild with joy, and felt that more must be done than just to ring bells and light fires.

In Bow-ling Green, in front of the fort, there stood a cast of George Third, made of lead. This a mob of men pulled down and broke up, that the lead might be run in-to small shot and be used in the cause for which they fought.

This did not please Wash-ing-ton, and he told his troops that they must not take part in such deeds.

The joy did not last long, for on Ju-ly 12, the ships-of-war in the bay sent out a broad-side, and it was thought they would at once fire the town. Crowds were on the streets. The troops flocked to their posts. Fear was in each heart, and New York was in a great stir. But two ships -- the Phoe-nix and the Rose -- left the fleet and shaped their course up the Hud-son.

Then the guns were still, and fear died out for a-while. That night there was a fresh scare. Guns boomed and clouds of smoke were seen near the ships-of-war down the bay.

Men on the look-out told that a ship-of-the-line had come in from sea, and each man-of-war gave her a round of guns as she passed by. At her fore-top mast-head she bore the flag of St. George. No need to tell more. "Lord Howe is come! Lord Howe is come!" was the cry that went from mouth to mouth, and the word soon flew through the town, and all felt that the hour of doom was close at hand.

Lord Howe sought peace, and not blood-shed, and hoped, by the terms he would make, to bring not a few hearts back to their King. But he came too late.

The Kings troops did not think much of the rank that was borne by our men, who, they felt, had no right to put on the airs they did, and call them-selves grand names.

In a few days Lord Howe sent one of his men on shore with a flag of truce, to seek speech with Wash-ing-ton. The man's name was Brown. His boat was met half-way by a barge which had on board one of our troops, named Reed, to whom Brown said he had a note for Mis-ter Wash-ing-ton.

Reed said that he knew no man of that name.

Brown held out to him the note he had in his hand, which bore on its face: George Wash-ing-ton, Esq.

Reed said that he could not take the note. He knew what was due to his chief. So there was naught for Brown to do but to take to his oars. He had not gone far when he came back to ask "What style should be used to please Gen -- (here he caught him-self and said) Mis-ter Wash-ing-ton." Reed told him that Wash-ing-ton's rank was well known, and Lord Howe could be at no loss as to the right style.

In a day or two an aide-de-camp came with a flag from Lord Howe, and asked if Col-o-nel Pat-ter-son might have speech with Gen-er-al Wash-ing-ton. Reed, who met the aide was prompt to grant this and pledged him-self that no harm should come to him who came in the King's name.

So the next day Pat-ter-son came, and when he stood face to face with Wash-ing-ton, bowed and said "Your Ex-cel-len-cy." Wash-ing-ton met him with much form and state. He was not a vain man, but was proud of the rank he held, and thought that no man -- were he a king -- had a right to look down on A-mer-i-ca, or show the least slight to her Com-mand-er-in-chief.

When he came to hear the terms on which Lord Howe sought to make peace, he found they were not such as he could take, so the war went on.




Chapter X.

In And Near New York.


The red-coats had a camp on Stat-en Isl-and, and for the next month or so ships-of-war came that far up the bay, and brought with them a large force of troops. North-east of them was the long stretch of land known as Long Isl-and, where they could land their troops with ease, and make their way to New York.

Wash-ing-ton knew that he could not keep them back, but he meant to vex them all he could. Gen-er-al Greene was placed with a large force on Brook-lyn Heights, to guard the shore, and troops were sent a mile back to throw up earth-works to check the march of the foe if they should try to come up on the land side.

At mid-night of Au-gust 21, a spy brought word that the King's troops were on the move, and would soon show their strength, and "put all to the sword."

The next day the sound of great guns was heard, and a cloud of smoke was seen to rise from the groves on the south side of Long Isl-and. Word soon came to New York that the King's troops were at Graves-end, and that our troops had fled and set fire to the stacks of wheat to keep them out of the hands of the foe.

Wash-ing-ton at once sent off a large force to check the foe at Brook-lyn, and to lend aid to those in the fort on the Heights. He told them to be cool, but firm; not to fire when the foe were a long way off, but to wait till they were so near that each shot would tell. And if one of them should skulk, or lie down, or leave his place in the ranks, he was to be shot down at once.

Sir Hen-ry Clin-ton led the King's troops, and Lord Corn-wal-lis had charge of the field-guns. Corn-wal-lis made haste to seize a pass that ran through the hills, but found Col-o-nel Hand there with a fine lot of marks-men, and so made a halt at Flat-bush.

This was so near New York that great fright spread through the town. Those who had the means left the place. There was good cause for fear, as it had been told that if our troops had to leave New York it would at once be set on fire. This was false, but they did not know it. Their hearts were full of dread.

Gen-er-al Put-nam was sent to take the place of Gen-er-al Greene who was sick in bed. The brave man was glad when he had leave to go, for he did not want to be kept in New York when there was a chance to fight for the land he loved.

It was nine o'clock on the night of Oc-to-ber 26, that Sir Hen-ry Clin-ton set out with his van-guard, on his march from Flat-bush. Lord Corn-wal-lis brought up the rear-guard with all the large guns, and the large force of troops led by Gen-er-al Howe.

Not a drum was heard, nor the sound of a trump as they took their course through by-roads and on cause-ways till they came near the pass through the Bed-ford Hills where they made a halt.

No guard had been put on the road or the pass by Gen-er-al Greene, who must have thought it too far out of the way to need such care.

Clin-ton was quick to see this, and at the first break of day his troops were on the Heights, and with-in three miles of Bed-ford.

In the mean-time scouts had brought word to our lines that the foe were in force on the right, and Put-nam at once sent out troops to hold them in check.

At day-light small fights took place here and there. A brisk fire was kept up at Flat-bush. Now was heard the big boom of a large field-piece. Then a ship-of-war would send forth a broad-side on the fort at Red Hook. Wash-ing-ton was still in doubt if this was part of the main fight in which New York was to share. Five ships of the line tried to beat up the bay, but were kept back by a strong head wind. As the day wore on, and there were no signs that the red-coats meant to strike New York, Wash-ing-ton went to Brook-lyn in his barge, and rode with all speed to the Heights. He was just in time to see the fight in the woods, which he could do naught to stay.

He stood on a hill, and through his large spy-glass had a view of the whole field. He saw his men cut their way through a host of foes. He saw them caught in traps, and hemmed in so that they were 'twixt two fires.

The whole pass was a scene of blood, and through it rang the clash of arms, the tramp of steeds, the storm of shot, and the cries of men who fought for their lives. On this side and that, our troops were swept down or put to rout by a force they had not strength to meet. Wash-ing-ton wrung his hands at the sight. "Good God!" he cried, "what brave men I must this day lose!"

The red-coats went in-to camp that night in front of our lines, but out of reach of the guns of the fort.

Our loss was 3,000.

Theirs less than 400.

The next day New York Bay and the small isles were wrapped in a dense fog, from which New York was quite free. Here was a chance for the troops to leave the works on the Heights, and make their way to New York.

Fresh troops were sent down from Fort Wash-ing-ton and King's Bridge, and Wash-ing-ton felt that no time should be lost. His fear was that the King's ships would come up the bay at the turn of the tide, sail up the East Riv-er and catch in a trap all our troops that were on Long Isl-and.

It was late at night when the troops stole out from the breast works. In the dead of night a big gun went off with a great roar, that gave a shock to the nerves of those who were in dread that the least sound might warn the foe of their flight to the New York side.

But no harm came of it, the fog shut out the view, and by day-break our troops had all left the fort and were safe on the New York side. Wash-ing-ton, who had not slept for two days and nights, and had spent the most of the time on horse-back, would not step in-to the boat till he saw that all his troops were on board.

The fog rose as the rear boats were in mid-stream, and when the red-coats climbed the crest of the earth-works they found not a sign of life there, and not a thing they could use. Our men had made a clean sweep, and were proud of the way in which they stole a march on the red-coats.

Still, New York was not safe; and Wash-ing-ton sought in all ways to find out the plans of the foe. Ships-of-war went up the Sound, and up the Hud-son, and guns were fired on the forts that lay on each side of the town. But he knew that if the red-coats took New York they would soon be made to give it up, and so he made up his mind that his best course was to with-draw his troops, to Har-lem Heights. This was done, with the loss of a few men who had a fight with some red-coats on the way, and there he staid a few days, and spent much time on horse-back.

He took note of the land, and chose sites for forts, and breast works, and on Oc-to-ber 23, took his stand at White Plains, where a strong fort was built.

Soon the din of war was heard. The guns from Fort Wash-ing-ton and Fort Lee poured their fire on the men-of-war, but could not keep them back, and the red-coats still gave chase to our troops. Fort Wash-ing-ton fell in-to the hands of the foe in spite of a strong fight made to hold it.

One day Wash-ing-ton went out with some of his staff to look at a height at the north where it was thought he might make a stand, and leave the camp where he then was.

One of them said, "There is the ground where we ought to be."

"Let us go then and view it," said Wash-ing-ton.

They were on their way to the place, when a horse-man rode up in haste and cried out, "The red-coats are in camp, Sir!"

"Then," said Wash-ing-ton, "we have some-thing else to do than this," and at once put spurs to his horse and set off for the camp at full speed.

When he reached there he found all his troops drawn up to meet the foe that was close at hand. In his calm way he turned to those who had been out with him on the hills, and said "Go back to your posts, and do the best you can."

A short, sharp fight took place, in which our troops made a brave stand, but the red-coats were too strong for them, and drove them back to the camp, and seized the hill on which they had stood.

That night the troops of Wash-ing-ton and Howe lay not far a-part. Wash-ing-ton kept his men at work, and forts were built, and earth-works thrown up. These works were made of the stalks of corn, or maize, which the men took from a field near at hand. The roots of the stalks, with the earth on them, were placed on the face of the works, in the same way that sods of grass, and logs of wood were used. The tops were turned in, and loose earth thrown on them so that they were held in place, and made a good shield from the fire of small-arms.

The next day, when Howe saw how much had been done by our troops to add to their strength, he made a change in his plans. His own men were in a sad plight, and not fit to cope with the well-fed troops that kept them at bay. The nights were cold, the Fall rains set in, and not a few of the red-coats were ill. Their chiefs knew how to fight in straight lines, but were not so shrewd and so quick to make use of what lay at hand as our chiefs were. So he broke up his camp, and in a few days the whole force of red-coats fell back from White Plains.

But the strife was kept up at the North, and the foes were at work on sea and on land from New York to Al-ba-ny. Our troops met with ill-luck, and Wash-ing-ton was filled with grief.

Fort Wash-ing-ton was in the hands of the foe; Fort Lee was of no use; and the next move of the red-coats was to cross the Hud-son, north of Fort Lee, and make their way through New Jer-sey. By that means they could shut in all our troops 'twixt the Hud-son and the Hack-en-sack.

Wash-ing-ton at once sent off his men to save the bridge at Hack-en-sack. No time was to be lost. They left the camp with all haste, but ere they could reach the Hack-en-sack the van-guard of the foe was close at their heels. It was thought that a fight would take place, but Corn-wal-lis turned back and some of his troops slept that night in the tents that our men had left.

These were dark days. Wash-ing-ton led his troops through New Jer-sey, hard pressed by Corn-wal-lis, whose van-guard came in-to New-ark just as Wash-ing-ton's rear-guard had left it. His whole camp were in flight. He staid a few days at New Bruns-wick, in hopes that fresh troops would be sent to his aid, but none came, though his needs were so great. The men who, as he thought, would seize their guns and join his ranks, fled from their homes and sought a safe place as soon as they heard that the red-coats were near.

On De-cem-ber 2, Wash-ing-ton was at Tren-ton, where he made but a brief halt. Then he crossed the Del-a-ware, and left New Jer-sey in the hands of the foe. If he and his men once got to Phil-a-del-phi-a, they would find troops there with whose aid they might hope to turn back the red-coats so close on their track.

Gen-er-al Lee, who was at the heels of the foe, was at Mor-ris-town, De-cem-ber 11, where his troops had been forced to halt for two days for want of shoes. He was a man who loved his ease, and to lie late in bed.

One day as he sat at a desk with pen in hand, one of his aides named Wil-kin-son, who was with him, looked down the lane that led from the house to the main road and saw a band of red-coats on horse-back.

He cried out to Lee "Here are the red-coats!"

"Where?" said Lee.

"Round the house!"

"Where is the guard?" said Lee with an oath. "Where is the guard? Why don't they fire?"

The guards had not thought it worth while to keep watch, when their chief was so much at his ease, so they had stacked their arms and sat down on the south side of a house to sun them-selves. As the horse-men came up they gave chase to the guards who fled for their lives, and left Lee and his aide to do the best that they could.

The red-coats drew near the house where Lee was, and swore that they would set fire to it if the Gen-er-al showed fight. So he was forced to yield, and was brought out in great haste -- for they wished to make sure of their prize -- and placed on Wil-kin-son's horse which stood at the door. He was but half-drest, had no hat on his head, and wore low shoes, and a loose rough coat. In this style he had to ride to New Bruns-wick, where the King's troops at sight of him set off their big guns, for their joy was great.

The loss of Lee was thought at the time to be a great blow to our cause, as it was hoped that he would do much to bring the war to an end, and to lead the troops out of their sore straits.

In the mean-time Wash-ing-ton was on his way to cross the Del-a-ware. There was snow on the ground, and the march of the troops could be traced by the blood-spots from the feet of those whose shoes were worn out.

The red-coats were in force at Tren-ton, in charge of a man, named Rahl, who had done brave work for King George at White Plains and Fort Wash-ing-ton.

Wash-ing-ton's plan was to add to his force, and, as soon as he could, cross the Del-a-ware and strive to wrest Tren-ton from the hands of the foe. He and his force were to cross the stream nine miles north of the town; Gen-er-al Ew-ing was to cross with his troops a mile south of the town; and Gen-er-al Put-nam to leave at a point south of Bur-ling-ton.

It was a bold scheme, full of risk to all who took part in it, yet there was naught to be done but to push on, and hope for the best.




Chapter XI.

A Sad Year.


Christ-mas night was the time set to cross the Del-a-ware, and at sun-set the troops were on the move. It was a dark, cold night. The wind was high, the tide strong, and the stream full of cakes of ice which drove the boats out of their course. It seemed at times as if the boats would be crushed to bits, Men who were used to boats, and had been brought up on the sea, and had fought with fierce storms and wild gales, found it hard work, with all their skill, to make their way from shore to shore.

Wash-ing-ton, who crossed with the troops, stood on the east bank till all the field-guns were brought to land, and it was four o'clock ere the men took up their line of march. Tren-ton was nine miles off, and they could not reach there till day-light, too late to take the King's troops off their guard.

Most of the troops at Tren-ton were Hes-sians, from Hesse, a small Ger-man state whose prince had lent his troops to King George for hire. As I have told you they were in charge of Rahl. Rahl thought more of his brass band than he did of his men, was full of good cheer and liked to have a good time. He would sit up till a late hour in the night, and then lie in bed till nine o'clock the next day.

The one who leads troops to war should be like a watch-dog, quick to see and to hear all that goes on, and to be on guard at all times.

Each day he had the guns drawn out and dragged through the town, just to make a stir and have the band out. But when the Ma-jor told him that he should have earth-works thrown up on which to place the guns he said, "Pooh! pooh! Let the foe come on! We'll charge on them with the bay-o-net!"

"But Herr Col-o-nel," said the old Ma-jor, "it costs not much, and if it does not help it will not harm."

But Rahl laughed as if he thought it a good joke, turned on his heel and went off, and the works were not thrown up.

On this night, too, there was a great stir in the camp at Tren-ton, for the men did their best to keep Christ-mas, and their thoughts were of home and the dear ones there. They made what cheer they could, and did not dream that the foe was so near.

A storm of hail and snow set in as soon as our troops took up their march. They could scarce see their way through the sleet they had to face. The night was so cold that two of the men froze to death. At dawn of day some of the men came to a halt at a cross-road, where they did their best to dry their guns. But some were past use, and word was sent to Wash-ing-ton of the state of their arms. They were in doubt what to do.

Wash-ing-ton in a burst of rage bade the man go back to his chief at once, and tell him to push on and charge if he could not fire.

At eight o'clock Wash-ing-ton drew near the town at the head of his troops. He went up to a man who had come out to chop wood by the road-side and asked him where the guard was who stood at the out-post of Rahl's camp.

The man said in a harsh voice, "I don't know."

"You may tell him," said one of our men who stood near, "for that is Gen-er-al Wash-ing-ton."

At once a great change came o'er the man to whom Wash-ing-ton spoke. He raised his hands, and cried, "God bless you! God bless you!" and then showed where the guards could be found.

Soon was heard the cry from Rahl's men, "The foe! the foe! turn out! turn out!" Drums beat to arms. The whole place was in a stir. Wash-ing-ton came in on the north, Sul-li-van on the west, and Stark at the south end of the town.

Rahl scarce knew how to act. He rode to the front of his troops and got them out of the town. Then he seemed to feel that it was a shame to fly in that way, for he was a brave man, so he led his men back in a wild dash out of the woods and in-to the town to meet the foe.

In the midst of the fight, a shot struck him and he fell from his horse. The troops would heed no voice but that of their chief, and fled up the banks of a creek on the way to Prince-ton.

Wash-ing-ton saw the stir and thought they had wheeled to form a new line. He was told that they had laid down their arms, and his joy was great. The day was ours!

But for the wild flight of Rahl's men, it would have gone hard with our troops. Wash-ing-ton did not know it at the time, but he found out that Ew-ing and Put-nam had tried to cross the stream but were kept back by the ice, and he with his raw troops would, he was sure, have been put to rout had Rahl and his men been on their guard.

The poor Ma-jor, who had in vain urged Rahl to throw up breast-works, had a bad wound of which he died in Tren-ton; and Rahl him-self, to whom the red-coats owed their ill-luck, was laid to rest in a grave-yard in that town.

And where was Gen-er-al Howe all this time? In New York, where he thought to take his ease till the Del-a-ware froze so that his troops could cross. He was much shocked at the news that the Hes-sians who had been brought up to war should have laid down their arms for a troop of raw men in rags. He sent Lord Corn-wal-lis back to take Jer-sey, and, as he said, "to bag the fox."

By the third of Jan-u-a-ry red-coats, with Corn-wal-lis at their head, were near at hand. Wash-ing-ton was in a tight place, with a small creek 'twixt his few raw troops and the large force of the foe. Back of him lay the Del-a-ware which it was now not safe to cross.

In this dark hour a gleam of hope came to his mind. He saw a way out of the trap, and that was by a quick night-march to get at the rear of the King's troops, dash on the camp at Prince-ton, seize the stores that were left there, and push on to New Bruns-wick.

A thaw had set in which made the roads deep with mire, but in the course of the night the wind veered to the north, and in two hours the roads were once more hard and frost-bound.

That the foe might not guess his plan, Wash-ing-ton bade some of his men keep at work with their spades on the pits near the bridge, go the rounds, change guards at each bridge and ford, and keep up the camp-fires till day-break, when they were to join those on the way to Prince-ton.

In the dead of the night Wash-ing-ton drew his troops out of camp and the march took place. The road which they had to take was cut through woods, and the stumps of the trees made the march a slow one, so that it was near sun-rise when Wash-ing-ton came to the bridge at the brook three miles from Prince-ton.

As our troops left the woods they came face to face with a force of red-coats, and a sharp fight took place, which did not last long.

Wash-ing-ton was in the midst of it. In the heat of the fight, his aide-de-camp lost sight of him in the dusk and smoke. The young man dropped the reins on the neck of his horse, drew down his cap to hide the tears in his eyes, and gave him up for lost. When he saw Wash-ing-ton come out from the cloud with his hat raised and the foe in flight, he spurred up to his side.

"Thank God you are safe!" cried he.

"A-way, and bring up the troops," said Wash-ing-ton, "the day is our own!"

At day-break, when Gen-er-al Howe thought to bag his fox, he found the prize had slipped from his grasp, and soon learned that the King's troops had lost their hold on New Jer-sey.

The fame of Wash-ing-ton, and of the brave deeds of those who fought to be free, went a-cross the sea, and made friends for him and the cause. Not a few came to their aid. One of these brave souls was a Pole, whose name was Kos-ci-us-ko.

The com-mand-er-in-chief said to him "What do you seek here?"

"To fight for the cause you have at heart."

"What can you do?"

"Try me."

This style of speech, and the air of the man, pleased Wash-ing-ton so well that he at once made him an aide-de-camp. This was in 1777. He served the cause well, and went back to his own land in 1786 with the rank of Brig-a-dier Gen-er-al.

In 1777 La-fay-ette came from France to join the troops led by Wash-ing-ton. He had wealth and high rank in his own land, and had lived but a score of years. He left his young wife, and the gay court of France, and made his way to A-mer-i-ca to do what he could to aid the foes of King George.

He came, he said, to learn and not to teach, and would serve with-out pay, and as one who came of his own free-will.

He soon won his way to the heart of Wash-ing-ton, and a strong bond of love grew up 'twixt the two which naught but death could break.

In the mean-time the whole of our land south of the Great Lakes was a scene of strife and blood-shed, and it was hard work for our troops to keep the red-skins and red-coats at bay.

I have not space to tell you of all the fights that took place, nor the ways in which Wash-ing-ton sought to vex the King's troops.

On the third of Oc-to-ber of this year -- 1777 -- we find him at Ger-man-town, where the main force of the red-coats were in camp. His plan was to drive them out, but though his troops fought with much skill and in the midst of a dense fog, they were forced back, and the day was lost.

The ships-of-war in the Del-a-ware led Wash-ing-ton to think that Lord Howe meant to turn his guns on Phil-a-del-phi-a, and his mind was filled with doubts and fears.

In the same month word came to him that Bur-goyne -- who was at the head of the King's troops in the north -- had been forced to yield to Gen-er-al Gates at Fish-kill. This was such a blow to the King's cause that the troops at West Point and else where on the Hud-son, who were to have gone to the aid of Bur-goyne, left the forts and made their way to New York.




Chapter XII.

Foes In The Camp.


It is much worse to have one foe in the camp than to have a host of foes out-side, for who can tell what harm he may do who comes in the guise of a friend?

In the year 1774 a young man, named John An-dre, came with the King's troops, and fought in their ranks at St. John's and Crown Point.

He had a brave heart, and a fine mind, and did much to keep up the hearts of the men when in the camp. He was fond of the fair sex and had praised in rhyme the charms of a Miss Ship-pen who wed Ben-e-dict Ar-nold in the year 1780.

Ar-nold had fought well on our side at the north, and won much praise. He had been a sea-man in his youth, and was both strong and brave. But he grew proud and vain, and sought to rank as high as the Com-mand-er-in-chief, with whom he found much fault.

Wash-ing-ton had great faith in him, and did not dream he was false at heart.

For some ill-deeds while at Phil-a-del-phi-a Ar-nold had been brought to court and tried and his guilt proved, and this had made him wroth with Wash-ing-ton, and the cause he had sworn to aid.

He sought for a way to pay back the slight and raise him-self to fame. With this end in view he wrote to Sir Hen-ry Clin-ton -- but did not use his own name -- that he would like to join the cause of King George on the terms that he set forth. He was in need of funds for he was deep in debt, but Clin-ton did not see fit to make use of him.

Two or three more of his schemes failed, and at last he asked that he might have charge of the post at West Point. This Wash-ing-ton gave him, and in Au-gust Ar-nold fixed him-self in a fine house that stood on the east side of the stream, half a mile or so south of West Point.

From this place he sent notes to An-dre, the aide-de-camp of Clin-ton, who wrote back and signed his name John An-der-son.

Ar-nold's plan was to throw West Point and the High-lands in-to the hands of Sir Hen-ry Clin-ton at the time that Wash-ing-ton was at King's Bridge, and the Eng-lish troops in New York.

A fleet, with a large land force on board, was to come up to the High-lands, and Ar-nold would at once yield up the post in-to their hands. This act he thought would bring the war to an end, with the flag of King George at high mast, and then great would be the name and fame of Ben-e-dict Ar-nold.

That the scheme might not fail, Ar-nold wrote to An-dre to meet him at Dobb's Fer-ry, Sep-tem-ber 11, at noon.

But Ar-nold had spent the night of the 10th at Hav-er-straw, on the west shore, and on his way back in his barge, as he had no flag, he was fired on by the guard boats of the King's troops. So he had to put off his plans for a day or two.

In the mean-time the sloop-of-war Vul-ture -- a good name for such a bird of prey -- was brought up the Hud-son so as to be near at hand to aid in the vile scheme.

On Sep-tem-ber 18, Wash-ing-ton with his suite crossed the Hud-son at Ver-planck's Point, in Ar-nold's barge, on his way to Hart-ford. Ar-nold went with him as far as Peeks-kill, and talked with him in a frank way, and as if he were most true to the cause.

An-dre went up the Hud-son on the 20th and went on board the Vul-ture where he thought to meet Ar-nold. But Ar-nold knew it would not be safe for him to be there; so he kept in the back-ground.

The next night a boat crept up to the side of the Vul-ture in which were two men. Their oars scarce made a sound.

An-dre, who wore a blue great coat, went on board this boat and was rowed to the west side of the stream. Six miles south of Sto-ny Point they came to shore at the foot of a high mount known as the Long Clove. It was mid-night. Dark was the hour, and dark the place, and dark the deed.

Ar-nold was there hid in the shade of the woods. A man was near who came to wait on him and take care of his horse. He and An-dre had a long talk. One, two, three hours passed, and still there was more to say. One of the men who had brought An-dre, and whose name was Smith, warned them that it was near day-break, and the boat would be seen by our guards if they did not go back soon.

Ar-nold feared that the sight of a boat on its way to the Vul-ture might bring harm to him and his scheme, so he urged An-dre to stay on shore till the next night. The boat was sent to a creek up the Hud-son, and An-dre on the horse that Ar-nold's man had rode, set off with Ar-nold for Smith's house.

The road took them through the small town of Hav-er-straw. As they rode on in the dark the voice of one of the guards at an out-post made An-dre start, for he knew he must be with-in our lines. But it was too late to turn back, and at day-break they reached Smith's house.

Scarce was the door closed on them when the boom of great guns was heard from down the stream. An-dre felt ill at ease, and had good cause for fear.

The fact was that as soon as Liv-ing-ston, who had charge of our troops at Ver-planck's Point, heard that the Vul-ture was with-in shot of Tel-ler's Point, which juts out 'twixt Hav-er-straw Bay and Tap-pan Sea, he sent some men and some big guns to that point in the night to fire on the sloop-of-war.

An-dre kept a close watch on the scene from a top room in Smith's house. At one time he thought the Vul-ture was on fire; but his heart gave a throb of joy when he saw the sloop-of-war drop down the stream out of reach of gun shot.

Ar-nold gave An-dre the plans of the works at West Point, and told him what and how he was to do. As the Vul-ture had changed her place, he told An-dre it would be far more safe for him to go back to New York by land. And he would reach there in less time.

But An-dre said that he must be put on board the sloop-of-war the next night; and in case he should change his mind Ar-nold gave him a pass that he might go by sea or by land. At ten o'clock that morn Ar-nold left him to his fate.

Time moved at a slow pace with poor An-dre. Once on board the Vul-ture he would be safe; his task would be done, and West Point would soon be in the hands of the red-coats. As night set in he grew still more ill at ease, and asked Smith how he had planned to get him on board the Vul-ture.

It gave him a shock to learn that Smith had not done the least thing. The boat-men had gone home, and he would not take him on board the Vul-ture. But he said he would cross the Hud-son with him and start him on the road to New York by land, and go some of the way with him on horse-back.

They set off at sun-set, and went for eight miles on the road to White Plains when they were brought to a halt by a band of our troops who were out as watch-men.

An-dre showed his pass signed with Ar-nold's name, and so they took him for a friend and not a foe. He wore a coat of Smith's that made him look like a plain man.

The two were warned that it was not safe for them to be on the road at night, as they might meet the Cow-Boys from the King's troops, who but a short time since had swept through that part of the land.

Smith was full of fears, and An-dre had to yield to his wish to take a bed in a farm-house near at hand. This they did, but An-dre could not sleep. He knew that he was not safe. At day-break he woke Smith, and made him haste to leave the place.

Two and a half miles from Pine's Bridge, on the Cro-ton Riv-er, An-dre and Smith took a scant meal at a farm-house which had been stripped by the Cow-Boys.

Here Smith took leave of An-dre, who was to go the rest of the way to New York a-lone. He felt no fear now, as he had passed our lines, and was clear of those who kept watch on the out-posts.

Six miles from Pine's Bridge he came to a fork in the road. The left branch led to White Plains. The right branch led to the Hud-son. He had thought at first that he would take the left hand road, as the right one was said to be filled with Cow-Boys. But he had naught to fear from them, as he was on their side; and as it was a more straight road to New York, he turned down it and took his course on the banks of the Hud-son.

He had not gone far when he came to a place where a small stream crossed the road and ran down a dell that was thick with trees. A man stepped out with a gun and brought An-dre to a stand. Two more armed men came up to aid the first one, whose name was Paul-ding. Paul-ding's coat was in rags, and was of the kind that was worn by the King's troops. When An-dre caught sight of it his heart leapt for joy, for he was sure he was safe. So sure that he did not guard his tongue. He asked the men if they were on his side, and they said they were. He then told who he was, and that he had been sent to a post up the Hud-son and was in haste to get back. As he spoke he drew out a gold watch, such as few owned in those days, and none but men of wealth.

Think what a shock it must have been to An-dre when Paul-ding said they were not his friends but his foes, and he was in their hands.

Then An-dre tried to make out that what he first told was a lie, but that he would now tell the truth; and he drew forth his pass to prove that he was all right. Had he done this in the first place he might have gone on his way. "A still tongue shows a wise head."

The men seized his horse by the rein and told An-dre to get off. He warned them that he had been sent out by Gen-er-al Ar-nold and that they would be ill dealt with if they held him back.

"We care not for that," they said, as they led him through the shrubs on the edge of the brook. They then went to work to search him, and took note of the way in which he was drest. They were poor men, and had not had a chance to see such fine clothes.

An-dre wore a round hat, a blue great-coat, 'neath which was a red coat decked off with gold-lace, a nan-keen vest, small-clothes and boots.

They made him take off his coat and vest, and found naught to prove that he had sought to harm their cause, and they had a mind to let him go.

Paul-ding, who had been twice in the hands of the red-coats and ill-used by them, was still not quite free from doubt. A thought came to his mind.

"Boys," said he, "his boots must come off."

At this An-dre's face flushed, and he said that his boots were hard to get off, and he begged that he might not lose time in this way.

But the men were firm. They made him sit down, his boots were drawn off, and the plans that Ar-nold gave him were brought to light.

Paul-ding looked at them and cried out,

"He is a spy!"

He then asked An-dre where he had got these plans. "From a man at Pine Bridge" he said; "a man whom I did not know."

As he put on his clothes An-dre begged the men to let him go. He would pay them a large sum, and stay with two of the men while one went to New York to get it.

Here Paul-ding broke in, "Keep your gold! We want none of it. Were it ten times as much, you should not stir one step!"

An-dre had to yield to his fate, and was led by the men to our post which was ten or twelve miles off. An-dre rode on horse-back with one man in front, and one at each side.

At noon they came to a farm-house, and those who dwelt there sat at the mid-day meal. The house-wife, whose heart was touched by a sight of An-dre's youth and look of grief, asked him to draw near and take some of the food. Then as she caught sight of his gold-laced coat, the good dame said that she knew it was poor fare for such as he, but it was the best she had.

Poor An-dre shook his head, and said, "Oh, it is all good, but in-deed I can-not eat!"

When the four reached the out-post and Jame-son, who was in charge, saw the plans that had been found on An-dre, he at once saw that they had been drawn up by the hand of Ben-e-dict Ar-nold.

He at once did the thing he ought not to have done, which was to write to Ar-nold, and tell him that a man who said his name was John An-derson had been caught, and held, though he bore a pass signed by him. The plans found on him had been sent to the Com-mand-er-in-chief, and An-dre, with a strong guard was sent with the note to Ar-nold.

In a short time, Ma-jor Tall-madge, who was next in rank to Jame-son, came back from a trip to White Plains. He had a clear head, and as soon as he heard the case he at once urged Jame-son to send a man in haste to bring An-dre back. This was done, but Jame-son had not thought to have the note to Ar-nold brought back, so it sped on to let the knave know that his plot had failed.

As soon as Ar-nold read the note he sprang on the horse of the man who brought it, and rode with all speed to the dock where his six-oared barge lay moored. He threw him-self in-to it and bade his men pull out in mid-stream and row as fast as they could to Tel-ler's Point, as he must be back in time to meet Wash-ing-ton, who was then on his way to West Point.

The guards knew his barge, so they did not fire on it, and a bit of white cloth waved in the air served as a flag of truce. He soon was on board the Vul-ture, where he gave him-self up, and the cox-swain and six barge-men with him. This was a mean act, and showed just what kind of a man Ar-nold was, but as soon as the men made it known that they had been led to think that all was right, and that a flag of truce gave them a safe pass, they were at once set free.

Ar-nold gave the red-coats much aid, and they were glad to make use of him. But they did not care to make friends with so base a man. At the close of the war, he went to Eng-land, and made his home there. He was shunned by all, and died in the year 1801, at the age of three-score.

As Wash-ing-ton drew near the fort at West Point, he thought it strange that no guns were fired. "Is not Gen-er-al Ar-nold here?" he asked of the man who came down to the shore to meet him.

"No, sir. He has not been here for two days past; nor have I heard from him in that time."

This was strange; but soon the note from Jame-son was placed in his hands, and when he had read of the deep-laid scheme, he said with a deep sigh, "Whom can we trust now?"

Word was at once sent out to the guards to check Ar-nold's flight, but it was too late. He had slipped from their grasp.

Let us now see how An-dre bore his hard fate. He had the best of care, and made hosts of friends, who grieved that one so young, so well-bred, and of such high rank, should have done a crime for which he must be hung.

It was a great grief to Wash-ing-ton, who would have felt no pang had Ar-nold been in An-dre's place. But death to the spy! was one of the rules of war, and Oc-to-ber 2 was the day set for An-dre to be hung. He had asked that since it was his lot to die he might choose the mode of death; and begged that he might be shot. This Wash-ing-ton could not grant, though in his heart he longed to do so; but thought it best that An-dre should not know.

On the morn of the 2d, An-dre drest him-self with great care, in the full suit worn by those who bore his rank in the King's troops. He was calm, while all those near him were in tears.

He walked with a firm step to the place where he was to end his life, arm in arm with two of our troops. When he caught sight of the rope he gave a start, and asked if he was not to be shot. When told that no change could be made, he said "How hard is my fate! -- But it will be but a brief pang!"

Then he stepped in-to the cart, took off his hat and stock, loosed his shirt at the throat, put the noose round his neck and bound his own eyes.

When told that there was a chance for him to speak if he chose, he said "I pray you to note that I meet my fate like a brave man."

Then the cart was moved off and he was left in mid-air, and death took place in a short time. An-dre was laid in a grave near the place where he was hung, but in 1821 was borne to the land of his birth, and placed near the tombs of Kings and Queens.

He that breaks laws must pay the price. If you want to make friends, and to have them love and trust you -- be true. Let no one coax you to sin. The eye of God is on you, and he sees all your deeds. You may hide your crime for a while, but you may "be sure your sin will find you out." Be not an Ar-nold nor an An-dre.




Chapter XIII.

The Hardships Of War.


We will now go back to the place we left, and see where Wash-ing-ton was at the close of the year 1777. He had been forced to leave New Jer-sey in the hands of the King's troops. His own troops were worn down by long and hard toil, and had need of rest. They were in want of clothes too, and could not keep warm in the tents, so he sought out a place where they could build huts and screen them-selves from the cold winds and storms.

He chose Val-ley Forge, which was on the west bank of the Schuyl (school)-kill Riv-er, and a score of miles from Phil-a-del-phi-a. Sad was the march of the troops to Val-ley Forge. Food was scant, their clothes were worn out, and a track of blood marked the way they trod. They had fought hard, but not to win, and this made their hearts low.

On De-cem-ber 17, they reached Val-ley Forge, and had to freeze in their tents till they could cut down the trees and build the huts they were to live in.

The walls were six feet and a half high, and were made of logs filled in with clay. The roofs were made of logs split in half.

No pen can paint the hard lot of those poor men shut in at Val-ley Forge. For some days they had no meat. For three days they had no bread. Some of the men had to sit up all night by the fires, as there were no clothes for their beds, and they could not sleep for the cold. Some of the men were so scant of clothes that they could not leave their huts.

Wash-ing-ton was kept short of funds and of troops, though he plead hard for both, and was sore pressed on all sides. He scarce knew what to do. There was but one thing he could do, and that was to wait.

While his troops were in this sad plight -- some of them sick un-to death -- the red-coats, who held Phil-a-del-phi-a in siege, led a gay sort of life, and were much at their ease.

Near the first of March a Ger-man came to Wash-ing-ton's camp to lend him his aid.

His name was Bar-on Steu-ben. He had fought for long years in the wars that had been waged in Eu-rope, had been aide-de-camp to Fred-er-ick the Great, and had won much fame by his brave deeds. The French, who were friends to our cause, knew that we had need of such a man as Bar-on Steu-ben, and urged him to come to A-mer-i-ca, and he was at once sent to join the troops at Val-ley Forge.

Our troops had had no chance to drill, there was no one to teach them, and they had fought with a rush and a dash, and in a pell-mell sort of way. Steu-ben went to work to drill these men, the best of whom had much to learn, and he found it a hard task at first as he could not speak our tongue. At last a man was found who spoke French, and him Steu-ben made his aide-de-camp and kept him close at hand.

The men were slow to learn, for the drills were new to them, and Steu-ben would get wroth with them and call them "block-heads," and all sorts of hard names. But though he had a sharp tongue, and was quick to get in a rage, he had a kind, true heart, and soon won the love of the men.

For eight months the red-coats had held Phil-a-del-phi-a. In the spring Gen-er-al Howe went home, and left his troops in charge of Sir Hen-ry Clin-ton, who made up his mind to lead the troops back to New York. But he did not wish his plans to be known.

In the mean-time, Wash-ing-ton knew that a scheme of some sort was on foot -- so he sent troops out to check the King's troops should they move by land. The red-coats left Phil-a-del-phi-a on June 18, and as there was but one road for them to take, their train stretched out for twelve miles. They made a halt at Al-len-town, and Clin-ton had not quite made up his mind which way to go from that place. He at first thought he would go as far as the Rar-i-tan Riv-er, and then ship his troops to New York; but when he found that our troops were not far off, he turned to the right and took the road to Mon-mouth.

His march was a slow one; the heat was great; the rains made the roads bad, and they had to stop to bridge the streams, and to build cause-ways so that they could cross the swamps.

Wash-ing-ton in the mean-time had gone on to Kings-ton; but as soon as he learned Clin-ton's course, he moved his troops so as to get in the rear of the red-coats.

On the night of June 27, the foe went in camp on the high ground near Mon-mouth Court House. The van-guard of our troops was five miles off, and in charge of Gen-er-al Lee.

At day-break the van-guard of the red-coats set forth down the hill, while Clin-ton with his choice troops staid in camp on the heights of Free-hold, to give the long train of carts and pack mules a chance to get well on the way. At eight o'clock all were in line of march to Mid-dle-town.

As soon as Lee heard that the foe were on the move, he set out to meet them, and was joined by the troops in charge of La-fay-ette. As Lee stood on one of the hills he caught sight of a band of red-coats hid some-what by the woods, which he thought was a part of the main force. So he sent some of his troops to draw their fire and check them in the rear, while he with the rest of his force would take a short cut, through the woods, get in front of the corps, and cut it off from the main force.

Wash-ing-ton was on his way with his main force, when the boom of big guns rang out on the air. The sound caused him to change his pace to a quick step, and when he drew near Free-hold church, where the road forked, he sent Greene with part of his force to the right, while he with the rest of the troops took the left hand road.

Wash-ing-ton stood on the ground with his arm thrown up on the neck of his horse, when a man rode up and said the blue-coats were in flight. Wash-ing-ton was vexed, for he was quite sure it was not true. Then up came one with fife in hand, quite out of breath, and in great fright. He was seized at once so that he would not scare the troops then on their way, and told that he would be flogged if he dared to spread the tale he had brought.

Wash-ing-ton sprang on his horse, and sent men out to learn the truth, while he spurred past the Free-hold church. The news seemed too strange to be true. He had heard but a few guns, and did not think there had been much of a fight. Was Lee to blame for this wrong move? He feared so. As he reached the high ground he saw Lee and his men in full flight, and by this time he was in a fine rage.

"What do you mean by this?" he asked in a fierce stern tone as Lee rode up to him.

At sight of Wash-ing-ton's face Lee was struck dumb for a-while, but when he could speak he tried to tell why he had thought it best to fall back. There was not much time for a talk, as the foe were not far off. The sight of their Com-mand-er-in-chief put a stop to the flight, and plans were at once made to turn the luck. The place where they were was good for a stand, as it was on high ground which the foe could not reach but by a cause-way.

Lee knew that Wash-ing-ton had lost faith in him, so he held back, and would give no aid to his chief. Wash-ing-ton rode back to Lee in a calm mood, and said to him; "Will you keep the com-mand on this height, or not? If you will, I will go back to the main force and have it formed on the next height."

Lee said it was all the same to him where he was placed, that he would do just as Wash-ing-ton said, and "not be the first to leave the ground."

Soon guns were heard on both sides. Lee and his men, who were in the fore-ground made a brave stand, but were at length forced to fall back. Lee brought off his troops in good style by the cause-way that crossed the swamps, in front of our troops in charge of Lord Stir-ling, and was the last to leave the ground. When he had formed his men in line back of the swamp, he rode up to Wash-ing-ton, and said, "Here, sir, are my troops, what do you wish me to do with them?"

Wash-ing-ton saw that the men were worn out with long tramps, hard fights, and the great heat, so he told Lee to take them to the rear, and call in all those he might meet with who had fled from his ranks.

The foe sought to turn both our flanks, but were checked by a sharp fire, and at length they gave way and fell back to the ground where Lee had been that morn. Here the woods and swamps were on their flanks, and their front could not be reached but by the cause-way. Great as was the risk, Wash-ing-ton made up his mind to charge on the foe, and this was his plan: Gen-er-al Poor was to move round on their right, Gen-er-al Wood-ford on the left, while the big field guns should gall them in front. But night set in ere they could act on this plan. Some of the troops had sunk on the ground, and all were in need of rest. Wash-ing-ton told them to lie on their arms just where they chanced to be when it grew dark, as he meant to go on with the fight at dawn of the next day. He lay on his cloak at the foot of a tree, and La-fay-ette lay near him.

At day-break the beat of drums roused them from their sleep, but the foe had fled, and had been so long on the way that Wash-ing-ton could not hope to check them.

Our loss in the fight at Mon-mouth was 69, while 250 of the King's troops were left dead on the field. Some of the troops on both sides had died in the swamp, and some were found on the edge of a stream that ran through it, where, worn out with their toils, and weak from heat and thirst they had crawled to drink and die.

Lee's pride had been so hurt that he wrote to Wash-ing-ton in a way that he should not have done to his Com-mand-er-in-chief, and he was brought to court by the Board of War and tried for his wrong deeds. His guilt was proved, and he was told that he could not serve for the next twelve months. He went to his home in Vir-gin-i-a where he led a queer kind of a life. His house was a mere shell, and had but one room, but lines were chalked on the floor and each space was used as if it was a room by it-self. Here was his bed, there were his books; in this space he kept all his horse gear, and in that one he cooked and ate his meals.

With pen and with tongue he strove to harm Wash-ing-ton, whom his shafts failed to hurt, and who spoke not an ill word of Lee. He liked him as a friend but did not think he was fit to lead troops to war. Lee died in the course of four years, and on his death-bed he thought he was on the field of war, and his last words were a call to his men to stand by him.

For a year or two more the strife was kept up on the coast from Maine to Flor-i-da, and both red-coats and red-skins took part in scenes that chill the blood to read of. Houses were burnt and land laid waste, forts were stormed and seized from our troops whose force was too small to hold them. Now and then there was a gain for our side, but in spite of his ill luck Wash-ing-ton held on with a brave heart, and would die at his post but would not yield.

In the first part of the year 1780 we find Wash-ing-ton in camp at Mor-ris-town, with a lot of half-fed and half-clad troops.

No such cold had been known in this zone. The Bay of New York froze so hard that the ships-of-war that lay in it were ice-bound. Food was scant, and there was a lack of fire-wood.

Wash-ing-ton saw what a chance there was for a bold stroke, but he had no funds with which to fit out his troops, or to move them to the coast. The cost of war was great, and gold was scarce. He could not strike a big blow for New York to wrest it from the hands of the foe, as he might have done at this time had his troops been well-fed and well-clad but he would do what he could in a small way.

A bridge of ice had formed 'twixt New Jer-sey and Stat-en Isl-and, so Wash-ing-ton sent Lord Stir-ling with 2,500 men to start up and seize a force of 1,200 red-coats. His lord-ship crossed in the night, but was seen and had to fall back to E-liz-a-beth-town. Some of his men fell in-to the hands of the King's troops, and some in-to the hands of Jack Frost.

This raid gave a start to the foe and they set out to tease and vex our out-posts, which they thought could be done at small risk, as there was snow on the ground, and the troops could be borne on sleighs.

Not far from White Plains -- and a score of miles from the out-posts of the red-coats -- 300 of our men had a post in a stone house known as Young's house, as that was the name of the man who owned it. It faced a road which ran north and south down through a rich plain, and so on to New York. Our men kept a close watch on this road, to stop the red-coats who might seek to pass with food or live-stock. The red-coats made up their mind to break up this nest of blue-birds, and the night of Feb-ru-a-ry 2, was set for the task.

The King's troops set out from King's Bridge, some in sleighs and some on horse-back. The snow was deep, and it was hard for the sleighs to break their way through. The troops at length left them, and marched on foot. They could not bring their field guns with them. Now and then they would come to a place where the snow was more than two feet deep, and they had to take by-ways and cross roads so as not to get near our out-guards.

The sun rose while they were yet six miles or more from Young's house. This spoiled their plan, but still they kept on. Ere they could reach the house, the news flew like wild-fire that the red-coats were near, and men left their farms and homes to aid those in Young's house. But though they fought well, they had not strength to hold the fort. Not a few were killed. The house was sacked and set on fire, and the red-coats made haste to get back to their lines with those of our men whom they had seized, and who were sent to New York and put in the vile jails there.

In the year 1780, France sent ships-of-war and troops to aid our cause, and to drive the red-coats from New York. The French troops were in charge of Count de Ro-cham-beau, who was told to do just as Wash-ing-ton said; for he was Com-mand-er-in-chief.

Wash-ing-ton's heart gave a throb of joy at this proof of good-will, and his grief was that he had not more troops of his own to join with these that he might push for New York at once. He must wait till the rest of the French troops, then on their way, came to port.

In the mean-time his thoughts were turned to the South, where the red-coats, led by Corn-wal-lis, waged a fierce war. Our troops there were in charge of Gen-er-al Greene, who was full of cheer, and did his best to keep the foe at bay, but with poor luck as his force was small.

But Wash-ing-ton had faith in him; yet such a large force of the King's troops had been sent by sea to aid Corn-wal-lis that Wash-ing-ton feared that Greene would not be safe. So he wrote to La-fay-ette, who was on his way to meet the French fleet that had been sent to Ches-a-peake Bay, to push on and join the troops at the South.

At this time Wash-ing-ton was at a place near West Point, and his whole force on the Hud-son, in May 1781, was not more than 7,000; half of whom were not fit to take the field.

Here word came to him of feuds at the North, and that the foe were in force on the north side of Cro-ton Riv-er.

Col-o-nel De-lan-cey, who led this raid, held the place that An-dre had filled, and bore the same rank, and De-lan-cey's horse-men were the dread of all those who dwelt in that part of the land. Our troops had an out-post not far from Pine's Bridge, in charge of Col-o-nel Greene of Rhode Isl-and, who had served all through the war.

De-lan-cey set out at night at the head of 100 men on horse-back and 200 on foot. They crossed the Cro-ton at day-break, just as the night-guard had been called off, and bore down on the out-post.

They first went to the farm-house where Col-o-nel Greene and Ma-jor Flagg slept, and put a strong guard round it. Ma-jor Flagg sprang from his bed, threw up the sash, and fired at the foe, but was shot through the head and then hacked with sword cuts and thrusts.

They then burst through the door of Greene's room. He was a man of great strength, and for some time kept the foes at bay with his sword, but at last he fell, for what could one man do in such a fight?

By the time the troops sent out by Wash-ing-ton reached the post, De-lan-cey's men had flown. They tried to take Greene with them, but he died on the way, and they left him at the edge of the woods.

Wash-ing-ton felt sad at heart when he heard of the death of his brave and true friend, Col-o-nel Greene, and the next day he had his corpse brought to the west bank of the Hud-son. Guns were fired to tell that one who had fought well had gone to his rest, and strong men shed tears as he was laid in his grave, for his loss was a source of great grief to all.




Chapter XIV.

The Close Of The War.


In the month of May, Corn-wal-lis had planned to bring his troops to Pe-ters-burg and strike a blow at La-fay-ette, who was near Rich-mond. La-fay-ette fled as soon as he heard that Corn-wal-lis had crossed the James Riv-er, for he had but few troops and did not care to bring on a big fight till the men came up who were then on the way to aid him.

Corn-wal-lis thought he could soon catch "the boy" -- as he called him -- but his youth made him spry, and the red-coats did not get up to him.

On June 10, Gen-er-al Wayne came up with 900 men, to add to La-fay-ette's strength, and this made him change his whole plan. With 4,000 men and Ba-ron Steu-ben he might hope to win in a fight with the red-coats, and he turned his face to the foe. Corn-wal-lis was at that time 'twixt La-fay-ette and Al-be-marle Court House, where stores were kept. The Mar-quis, by a night march through a road that had long been out of use, got in front of the King's troops, and held them in check.

Corn-wal-lis turned back, and marched first to Rich-mond, and then to Will-iams-burg, while La-fay-ette kept close in his rear. Here they had a fierce fight, in which the loss was great on both sides, and the gain but small.

At this time word came to Corn-wal-lis that Wash-ing-ton had borne down on New York and that he must send some of his troops to that town. This would leave him too weak to stay where he was, so on Ju-ly 4 he set out for Ports-mouth.

La-fay-ette gave chase the next day and took post nine miles from his camp. His plan was to fall on the rear-guard, when the main force should have crossed the ford at James-town. But Corn-wal-lis guessed what he meant to do and laid a trap for him. A sharp fight took place, in-to which Wayne threw him-self like a mad-man, but the foe were as ten to one and our troops were forced back to Green Springs.

In Ju-ly La-fay-ette wrote to Wash-ing-ton that Corn-wal-lis had left Ports-mouth by sea, and he thought he was on his way to New York. It was true the troops had gone on board the boats, but though wind and tide were fair they did not sail.

With the French fleet to help him, Wash-ing-ton saw a chance to fight the foe by land and sea, so he turned from New York and marched to Vir-gin-i-a to aid La-fay-ette, who longed to have his chief at the head of his troops but did not know he was so near.

As our war-worn troops went through Phil-a-del-phi-a they were hailed with shouts and cheers from the throngs that filled the streets. They kept step to the sound of the drum and fife, and raised a great cloud of dust, for there had been quite a drought.

The French troops passed through the next day, but not in the same style. They made a halt a mile from the town, where they brushed off the dust from their guns, and their gay white and green clothes, and then marched with a light step to the sound of a fine band. Crowds were on the streets, and bright smiles and loud shouts met these who had come from France to lay down their lives if need be for the cause we had at heart.

When Wash-ing-ton turned his back on New York, Sir Hen-ry Clin-ton sent word to Corn-wal-lis that he would not need the troops he had asked for; so Corn-wal-lis went from Ports-mouth to York-town, where he took his stand.

York-town was a small place on the south side of York Riv-er. The stream at this point was not more than a mile wide, but it was so deep that ships of large size and weight could go through. Here he threw up works on both sides of the stream, which gave him a fine strong-hold, as the banks were high and set out from the main-land. He thought there was no foe near but La-fay-ette, and he had no great fear of one so young.

He felt so safe that he wrote to Clin-ton that he could let him have a large force of men to add strength to New York, where it was thought our troops would strike the next blow.

In the mean-time La-fay-ette threw out troops to the rear, to work with the French fleets that would soon be in Ches-a-peake Bay, and so a net was drawn round Corn-wal-lis at a time when he thought he was most safe.

Wash-ing-ton was at Phil-a-del-phi-a on Sep-tem-ber 5, and at Bal-ti-more three days from that time. He left Bal-ti-more on the ninth, at day-break, with but one of his suite, as he was in haste to reach Mount Ver-non. The rest of his suite rode at their ease, and joined him the next day at noon. It was six years since Wash-ing-ton had seen his old home, and how full of toil and care those years had been! In three days he had to leave the dear old place, and with his guests push on to join La-fay-ette, who was at Will-iams-burg. By Sep-tem-ber 25, the French and our troops were in camp near that town, and at once set to work to get things in train for the next fight.

Corn-wal-lis had built forts on the north and south banks of the stream, and had done all he could to add strength to York-town. Ships-of-war were in front, and boats had been sunk at the mouth of the stream. Field-works were at the rear with big guns on top, and there were long rows of trees that had been cut down and left so that their limbs stuck out and made a fence it would not be safe to climb. At the right and left of York-town were deep dells and creeks, and it was not strange that Corn-wal-lis felt that he was in a sure strong-hold.

Our troops were twelve miles off when they took up their march on Sep-tem-ber 28, and that night they went in camp two miles from York-town. Wash-ing-ton and his staff slept on the ground, his head on the root of a tree. The next morn our troops drew out on each side of Bea-ver Dam Creek, the A-mer-i-cans on the east side and the French on the west. The Count de Grasse, with the main fleet, staid in Lynn Haven Bay so as to keep off the ships that might come from sea to aid the red-coats.

On the night of the first of Oc-to-ber our troops threw up two earth-works, on which the red-coats turned their guns at day-light and killed three of the men. While Wash-ing-ton stood near the works a shot struck the ground close by him and threw up a great cloud of dust. One of his staff who stood near was in a great fright, but Wash-ing-ton was calm and showed no signs of fear.

On Oc-to-ber 6, our troops set out to dig the trench that the first line would use in the siege of York-town. So dark was the night, and so still were the men, that the foe did not know of it till day-light. Then they fired on them from the forts, but the men were screened and kept at their work. By the ninth the trench was dug and the guns fixed to fire at the town.

Wash-ing-ton put the match to the first gun, and a storm of balls and bomb-shells dared Corn-wal-lis to come out and fight. For three or four days the fire was kept up on both sides, and bomb-shells crossed in mid-air, and at night flashed forth like great stars with tails a blaze of light. Our shells did much harm in the town, and to the earth-works of the foe.

The red-hot shot from the French forts north-west of the town reached the King's ships-of-war. The Char-on a 44 gun ship, and three large boats for troops, were set on fire by them. The flames ran up to the tops of the masts, and as the night was dark the scene was a grand one to the eye, but a sad one to the heart.

On the night of the 11th, a new ditch was dug by the troops led by Bar-on Steu-ben, and for two or three days the foe kept up a fire on the men at work.

At eight o'clock on the night of Oc-to-ber 14, they set out to storm both York-town and the Point on the north bank at the same time.

The van-guard of our troops was led by Al-ex-an-der Ham-il-ton. When at school he wrote to one of his boy friends, "I wish there was a war;" and in 1776 when he was but 19 years of age, he was placed at the head of the men who fired the guns and bomb-shells. The next year he was aide-de-camp to Wash-ing-ton, in whom he found a true and wise friend. With great joy and pride Ham-il-ton led the van in a head-long dash past the trees, which they pushed or pulled down with their own hands, where they could not climb them, and was the first to mount the wall. One of his men knelt so that Ham-il-ton could use him for steps, and the rest of the men got up the best way they could. Not a gun was fired, and the fort fell in-to the hands of our troops with a small loss on both sides.

The French stormed the fort at the Point in as brave a way, but with less speed, and lost more men.

Wash-ing-ton stood on the ground in the grand fort where he could see all that took place. An aide-de-camp near him spoke up and said that he ran a great risk from a chance shot through one of the port-holes. "If you think so," said Wash-ing-ton, "you can step back."

Soon a ball struck the gun in the port-hole, rolled on, and fell at his feet. Gen-er-al Knox seized him by the arm. "My dear Gen-er-al," said he, "we can't spare you yet."

"It is a spent ball," said Wash-ing-ton in a calm voice; "no harm is done."

When each charge was made and both forts were in our hands, he drew a long breath, turned to Knox and said, "The work is done and well done!" Then he said to his black man, "Bring me my horse," and rode off to see where next his lines should move, and how the trap could be closed on Corn-wal-lis.

Corn-wal-lis found that he could not hold his forts; no troops had come to his aid, and he would soon have to yield to the foe.

This was too much for his pride, so he made up his mind to leave those who were sick or had wounds, and fly from York-town. His scheme was to cross the stream at night, fall on the French camp ere day-break, push on with all speed, and force his way to the north and join Sir Hen-ry Clin-ton in New York.

A large part of his troops had crossed the stream on the night of Oc-to-ber 16, and the rest were on their way when a fierce storm of wind and rain drove the boats down the stream. They could not be brought back till day-light and it was then too late for them to move on or to turn back.

The hopes of Lord Corn-wal-lis were at an end, and on the 17th he sent a flag of truce and a note to Wash-ing-ton and asked that his guns might cease their fire for one day so that terms of peace could be drawn up.

Wash-ing-ton feared that in the mean-time troops from New York would reach Corn-wal-lis, so he sent word back that his guns should cease their fire for but two hours. Wash-ing-ton did not like the terms drawn up by Corn-wal-lis, so he made a rough draft of such terms as he would grant. These were sent to Corn-wal-lis on the 19th, and he was forced to sign them, and in two hours his troops were to march out of the forts.

At noon our troops were drawn up in two lines more than a mile in length; the A-mer-i-cans on the right side of the road, the French on the left. At two o'clock the red-coats passed out with slow steps, and were led to a field where they were to ground their arms. Some of them, in their rage, threw down their guns with such force as to well nigh break them.

On the day that Corn-wal-lis had been forced to lay down his arms at York-town, the large force that was to aid him set sail from New York. They did not reach Ches-a-peake Bay till Oc-to-ber 29, and when they found they were too late they turned their prows and went back to New York.

The down-fall of Corn-wal-lis was felt to be a death-blow to the war, and great joy was felt through-out the land. Votes of thanks were sent to Wash-ing-ton, to De Ro-cham-beau and De Grasse, and Wash-ing-ton gave high praise to all the troops for the way in which they had fought at the siege of York-town.

From that time the red-coats lost heart, and on No-vem-ber 25, 1783, they marched out of New York, and Wash-ing-ton marched in at the head of his brave men, who had fought and bled and borne all the ills that flesh could bear that the land they loved might be free.

In a few days Wash-ing-ton was called to An-na-po-lis to meet with those who made the laws, and his chief men who had been with him through all the sad scenes of the war, came to bid him good-bye.

With a heart full of love he said to them, "I can-not come to each of you to take my leave, but shall be glad if each of you will come and take me by the hand." This they did. No one spoke a word. Tears were in all their eyes.

Wash-ing-ton left the room, and went on foot to the boat which lay at the end of what was then and is now White-hall Street. His friends kept close in the rear. When Wash-ing-ton was in his barge he turned, took off his hat, and waved good-bye, and those on shore did the same, and watched the barge till it passed out of their sight.




Chapter XV.

First In Peace.


At the close of the war, and of the year 1783, Wash-ing-ton went back to Mount Ver-non. He reached his home to his great joy on the eve of Christ-mas day, and he was in a good state of mind to keep the feast.

"The scene is at last closed," he wrote, "and I am eased of a load of care. I hope to spend the rest of my days in peace."

Mount Ver-non was locked in ice and snow for some time. Wash-ing-ton wrote that he was so used to camp life that he could not help feel when he woke each day that he must hear the drums beat, and must go out to plan or to lead his troops. He was now at his ease, and longed for the spring so that his friends could come to him. "My way of life is plain," he said; "I do not mean to be put out of it. But a glass of wine and a bit of meat can be had at all times."

He would not give notes of his life to those who wished to write it up at this time lest it should look vain. "I will leave it to those who are to come to think and say what they please of me," he wrote. "I will not by an act of mine seem to boast of what I have done."

As spring came on, friends flocked to Mount Ver-non, and Wash-ing-ton met them in a frank way. His wife, too, was full of good sense and good cheer. She loved to knit, and had been used all through the war to knit socks for the poor men who were in the ranks.

But as Wash-ing-ton took his rides through his place, he felt the changes there since he had left. Old friends were gone, and the scenes of his youth were no more. La-fay-ette spent a few days with him, and the love he felt for the brave young man was as strong as at first.

He wrote a sad note to him when he was gone which showed what a warm place the young French-man had in his heart. He said, "As you left me, I asked if this were the last sight I should have of you. And though I wished to say 'No,' my fears said 'Yes.' I called to mind the days of my youth and found they had long since fled to come back no more. I must now go down the hill I have climbed all these years. I am blessed with strength, but I some of a short-lived race, and may soon go to the tomb. All these thoughts gave a gloom to the hour in which I parted with you."

Wash-ing-ton made a trip through some of the states of the West, and saw there was a chance for great trade there, and he wrote much of what he had seen. But his chief joy was in his home and land, where he planted trees and loved to watch them grow. He writes down each month of what he sets out; now it is a choice slip of grape vine from France; or it may be a tree that stays green all the year round. Some of the bushes he set out still stand strong in their growth on the place.

He notes the trees best for shade and which will not hurt the grass. He writes of rides to the Mill Swamp in quest of young elms, ash trees, and white thorn, and of the walks he lays out and the trees and shrubs he plants by them.

A plan of the way in which he laid out his grounds is still kept at Mount Ver-non, and the pla-ces are marked on it for the trees and shrubs. He owned five farms, and he kept maps of each. He read much of soils, the way to raise good crops, and the best style of ploughs and farm tools to use. He rode the first half of the day to see that all went well. When he had dined, he would write till dark if he had no guests. If friends came he did all he could to make them feel at ease and at home. He was kind, and loved by all. He would not talk much of the war nor of what he had done in it. He took great care not to talk of his own acts, so that if there had been a guest who did not know the facts, he would not have found out by a word from Wash-ing-ton that he was one who had won a great name in the eyes of the world.

Though grave in his looks and ways, he loved to see youth glad and gay. He was fond of the dance, and it was long the boast of more than one fair dame that she had danced with the chief. There had been balls in camp in the dark days of the war.

Wash-ing-ton, as we have seen, had been fond of the hunt in his youth, and La-fay-ette sent him some hounds from France, so he took up his old sport. But the French hounds did not do well, and he found they could not be trusted.

Ere the war had been long past, it was found that there was need of new laws by which the States should be ruled. The chief men of the land were called to Phil-a-del-phi-a to form them, and Wash-ing-ton went from Mount Ver-non to take part in the work. It was then that the code of laws was drawn up which bears the name of "Con-sti-tu-tion of the U-ni-ted States."

These laws said that the States should be ruled by a Pres-i-dent. The choice for this post fell on Wash-ing-ton, and in the spring of 1788 he bade good-bye to Mount Ver-non and made his way to New York, where he was to take the oath that he would serve the land and be true to her in peace and in war.

As he passed through the towns, crowds came out to cheer him, flags were raised, guns roared, and at night there was a great show of fire-works.

When he came to Tren-ton, the place where in the past he had crossed the stream in the storm, through clouds of snow and drifts of ice, he found a scene of peace and love. Crowds were on the bank, the stream gleamed in the sun, the sky was blue, and all hailed him with joy.

On the bridge that crossed the Del-a-ware an arch was raised and twined with wreaths of green and gay blooms. As Wash-ing-ton passed 'neath it a band of young girls, drest in white and with wreaths on their heads, threw bright blooms at his feet, and sang an ode that spoke the love and praise that were in all hearts.

At E-liz-a-beth-town Point he was met by men who had been sent from New York, and led to a barge which had been made for his use. It was filled with sea-men of high rank, who made a fine show in their white suits.

Boats of all sorts, gay with flags, and some with bands on board, fell in the wake of Wash-ing-ton's barge, and as they swept up the bay of New York the sight was a grand one. The ships at the wharves or in mid-stream, dipped their flags, and fired their guns, bells were rung, and on all the piers were great crowds that made the air ring with their shouts.

On the last day of A-pril, 1789, Wash-ing-ton took the oath in front of the hall where the wise men of the land had been wont to meet in New York. He stood in full view of a great crowd to whom this was a new and strange sight. The States were to be as one, and this man, whose name and fame were dear to them, was to pledge him-self to keep them so.

On a ledge that bulged out from the main part of the house, was a stand spread with a rich red cloth on which lay the Word of God, the Book of Books. Wash-ing-ton was clad in a full suit of dark-brown home-made cloth, white silk hose, and dress sword with steel hilt, and his hair was drest in the style of the day.

As he came in sight he was hailed with the shouts of the crowds in the streets and on the roofs. He came to the front of the ledge close to the rail, so that he could be seen by all, laid his hand on his heart, bowed three or four times, and then went back and took his seat in an arm-chair near the stand.

In a short time he rose and went once more to the front with John Ad-ams, who was to be next him in rank, and the friends who were to stand by him in this new field. While the oath was read Wash-ing-ton stood with his hand on the Word of God, and at the close he said, "I swear -- so help me God!" One of the men would have raised the book to Wash-ing-ton's lips, but he bent his head and kissed it.

Then there was a cry of "Long live George Wash-ing-ton!" and all the bells in the town rang out a peal of joy, and the crowd rent the air with their shouts and cheers.

Wash-ing-ton bowed and made a speech that was full of good sense. Then all went on foot to St. Paul's Church to pray that God would bless the land.

Wash-ing-ton felt most of all as he wrote to his friends, a fear lest he should come short of what the land hoped to find in him. The eyes of the world were on him. He had won fame in the field, but how would he rule the State? There was still much to be done. Great Brit-ain held some of the posts at the West, on the plea that debts due to some of her men had not been paid; the red-men were still a source of fear to the homes in the Wild West; and there was no hard cash with which the States could pay their debts.

He found that his time was no more his own. From dawn till dark men came to him, and he saw that he must be saved from this or he could do no work. Mrs. Wash-ing-ton joined him and soon days were fixed for the calls of friends. The house was kept well, but there was no waste. One who dined there wrote that there was no show. The Pres-i-dent said a short grace as he sat down. One glass of wine was passed to each, and no toasts were drank. He was kind to his guests and strove to put them at their ease. He was strict in the way he kept the Lord's day. He went to church and would have no calls on that day.

As to Mrs. Wash-ing-ton, those who knew her at the time speak of her as free from all art. She met her guests in a well-bred way as one who had ruled in a great house. She, too, was more fond of their home at Mount Ver-non than of the new rank and place. To stay at home was the first and most dear wish of her heart.

Wash-ing-ton was touched to the quick when he heard that I some one had said that there was more pomp at his house than at St. James, where King George held his court, and that his bows were much too stiff and cold.

Wash-ing-ton wrote, "I grieve that my bows were not to his taste, for they were the best I can make. I can say with truth that I feel no pride of place, and would be more glad to be at Mount Ver-non with a few friends at my side, than here with men from all the courts of the world." He then goes on to tell how they treat their guests. "At two or three o'clock each Tues-day they come and go. They go in and out of the rooms and chat as they please. When they first come in they speak to me, and I talk with all I can. What pomp there is in all this I do not see!"

The red-men, who could not be kept in peace, roused the land once more to arms. Wash-ing-ton did not wish for war, but he had to call out troops. They went forth and laid waste In-di-an towns. Wash-ing-ton thought it would be a good plan to meet the In-di-an chiefs and talk with them. Three chiefs came to him, and said they would go to the rest and try to make peace. Wash-ing-ton made a set speech and told them it would be a good work to do, or else those tribes, "if they thieved and killed as they had done, would be swept from the face of the earth."

He had thought much of the state of the red-men in the land. He had but small faith in schools for the youth, save as far as to teach them to read and write. The true means to do them good, he thought, was to teach them to till the ground and raise crops in the same way as the white folks, and he said if the tribes were pleased to learn such arts, he would find a way to have them taught.

In the end, Gen-er-al St. Clair had to be sent out with troops to put the red-men down. Wash-ing-ton's last words to him were to be on the watch, for the red-skins were sly and would wait for a chance to find him off his guard.

But St. Clair did not pay heed to these wise words, and the red-skins got in-to his camp, some of his best men were slain, and the whole force was put to rout.

When the news was brought to Wash-ing-ton he said in a quick way, "I knew it would be so! Here on this spot I took leave of him and told him to be on his guard! I said to him 'you know how the red-skins fight us!' I warned him -- and yet he could let them steal in-to his camp and hack and slay that ar-my!" He threw up his hands, and his frame shook, as he cried out "O what a crime! what a crime!"

Then he grew calm, and said that St. Clair should have a chance to speak, and he would be just to him. St. Clair was tried, and was found free from guilt.

Wash-ing-ton's mo-ther died at Fred-er-icks-burg, Vir-gin-i-a, Au-gust 25, 1789, aged 82. When her son first went to war, she would shake her head and say, "Ah, George should stay at home and take care of his farm." As he rose step by step, and the news of his fame was brought to her, she would say "George was a good boy," and she had no fear but that he would be a good man, and do what was right.

In the year 1789, a great war broke out in France, in which Lou-is XVI lost his crown and his head, and deeds were done that you could scarce read of with-out tears. Men seemed like fiends in their mad rage, and like wild beasts in their thirst for blood.

In 1793 France made war on Eng-land; and in 1797 sought to break up the peace of the U-ni-ted States, but of this I will tell you by and by.

In the mean-time the four years -- which was the full term Wash-ing-ton was to rule -- came to an end. He had no wish to serve for two terms, but the choice fell on him, and he once more took the oath, on March 4, 1792. In 1796, as France was still at war, it was thought best that Wash-ing-ton should hold his place for a third term.

But this he would not do. He had made up his mind to leave these scenes and to give up that sort of life, and those who plead with him could not move him. He took leave of his friends in a way that moved them to tears; and his fare-well speech, though in plain style, touched all hearts and made them feel what a loss it was to part with so great and good a man.

On March 4, 1797, John Ad-ams took the oath, and bound him-self to serve as Pres-i-dent for a term of four years. Wash-ing-ton was there, and as he rose to leave the house there was a great rush to the door, as all wished to catch the last look of one who had had for so long a time the first place in their hearts. So great was the crush that it was feared there would be loss of limbs if not of life.

As Wash-ing-ton stood in the street he waved his hat as cheer on cheer rose from the crowd, and his gray hairs streamed forth in the wind. When he came to his own door he turned to the throng with a grave face and tried to say a word or two. But tears rose to his eyes, his heart was full, and he could not speak but by signs.

He soon set off for Mount Ver-non, the dear home of his heart. He had been there but a few months when the French, by their acts, seemed to want to bring on a war with the U-ni-ted States. They took our ships at sea, and there was no way left but to stand up for our rights.

Pres-i-dent Ad-ams wrote to Wash-ing-ton, "We must have your name, if you will let us have it. There will be more in it than in a host of men! If the French come here we shall have to march with a quick step."

Wash-ing-ton wrote to Pres-i-dent Ad-ams, "I had no thought that in so short a time I should be called from the shade of Mount Ver-non. But if a foe should come in our land, I would not plead my age or wish to stay at home."

He saw the dark clouds that showed a storm, and he feared his days of peace would be few. It was with a sad heart that he felt his rest was at an end, but he had so strong a sense of what was right that he did not hold back. He said he would do all he could for the troops, but he would not take the field till the foe was at hand.

For months Wash-ing-ton led a life full of hard work. He had much to do for the troops, and at the same time work at home. He would write for hours, and took long rides each day. To his great joy, there was, in the end, no war with France.

He seemed in first-rate health up to De-cem-ber 12, 1799. On that day a storm set in, first of snow, then of hail, and then of rain, and Wash-ing-ton was out in it for at least two hours. When he reached the house his clerk, Mr. Lear, saw that the snow hung from his hair, and asked him if he was not wet through. "No," said Wash-ing-ton, "my great coat kept me dry." But the next day his throat was sore and he was quite hoarse; and though much worse at night he made light of it and thought it would soon pass off.

When he went to bed Mr. Lear asked him if he did not think it best to take some-thing. "Oh, no," said Wash-ing-ton. "Let it go as it came." But he grew worse in the night, and it was hard for him to breathe, and though his wife wished to call up one of the maids he would not let her rise lest she should take cold.

At day-break, when the maid came in to light the fire, she was sent to call Mr. Lear. All was done that could be done to ease him of his pain, but he felt him-self that he had but a short time to live. Mr. Lear was like a son to him, and was with him night and day.

When Mr. Lear would try to raise and turn him so that he could breathe with more ease, Wash-ing-ton would say, "I fear I tire you too much." When Lear told him that he did not, he said, "Well, it is a debt we must all pay, and when you want aid of this kind I hope you'll find it."

His black man had been in the room the whole day and most of the time on his feet, and when Wash-ing-ton took note of it he told him in a kind voice to sit down.

I tell you these things that you may see what a kind heart he had, and how at his last hour he thought not of him-self.

His old friend, Dr. Craik, who stood by his side when he first went forth to war, in the year 1754, was with him in these last hours, when Death was the foe that Wash-ing-ton had to meet. He said to Dr. Craik, "I die hard, but I am not a-fraid to go, my breath can-not last long." He felt his own pulse, and breathed his last on the night of De-cem-ber 14, 1799.

His wife, who sat at the foot of the bed, asked with a firm voice, "Is he gone?" Lear, who could not speak, made a sign that he was no more. "'Tis well," said she in the same voice. "All is now at an end, and I shall soon join him."

Thus lived and died this great and good man, "first in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of" those who love "the land of the free."

Praise did not spoil him or make him vain; but from first to last he was the same wise, calm, true friend, full of love to God and of good-will to man.

Great and good men have been born in-to the world, but none whose name and fame rank as high as that of GEORGE WASH-ING-TON.

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Slicko, The Jumping Squirrel: Her Many Adventures

By

Richard Barnum



Chapter I

Slicko Learns To Jump


Half way up the side of a tall tree there was a round hole in the trunk. The hole was lined with soft, dried leaves, and bits of white, fluffy cotton, from the milkweed plant. And, if you looked very carefully at the hole, you might see, peering from it, a little head, like that of a very small kitten, and a pair of very bright eyes.

But it was not a kitten that looked from the little hole in the trunk of the tree. Kitties can climb trees, but they do not like to live in them. They would rather have a warm place behind the stove, with a nice saucer of milk.

Now if I tell you that the little creatures who lived in this hole-nest had big, fluffy tails, and that they could sit up on their hind legs, and eat nuts, I am sure you can guess what they were.

Squirrels! That's it! In the nest, half way up the big tree in the woods, lived a family of gray squirrels, and I am going to tell you about them, or, rather, more particularly, about one of the little girl squirrels whose name was Slicko.

One morning Mrs. Squirrel, who had gotten up out of the nest early, to go out and get some breakfast for her little ones, came back very quickly, jumping from one tree branch to another, and fairly scrambling down into the nest where the little boy and girl squirrels of her family were still asleep.

"Why, what's the matter, Mother?" asked Mr. Squirrel, in the queer, chattering language he and his wife used. "Why are you in such a hurry this morning? See, you have dropped a lot of nuts!"

He looked out over the edge of the nest, down to the ground, where he saw some of the nuts Mrs. Squirrel had dropped. She had been bringing them home for breakfast.

"What made you run so?" asked Mr. Squirrel, who had stayed home with the little ones, while his wife went after nuts.

"Well, I guess you'd have hurried too," said the mamma squirrel, "if you saw what I saw!"

"What was it?" asked Mr. Squirrel, and he pulled his head in from the nest-hole, so that if any bad animals were down below on the ground they could not see him.

"It was a man, with a dog and a gun," said Mrs. Squirrel. "He was out hunting, and I'm almost sure he saw me!"

"My, that would be too bad!" exclaimed Mr. Squirrel. "Do you think he followed you to shoot you?"

"I hope not," said Mrs. Squirrel. "I ran as fast as I could when I saw him, and I did not hear his gun go off, but I did hear the dog bark."

"Hum!" said Mr. Squirrel, in his own language, and he seemed as worried as your papa might be if he heard there was a bad animal, or a runaway horse, coming after you. "So the hunter did not shoot his gun, eh?"

"Not that I heard," answered Mrs. Squirrel. "But he may be trying to find this nest."

"I'll look out and see if he is coming," said Mr. Squirrel.

"Be careful he doesn't see you," said Mrs. Squirrel.

"I will," replied her husband. And then he carefully, carefully peeked out of the hole of the nest in the hollow trunk of the tree. Squirrels are smarter than we think. Though they do not know how to shoot a gun, they know that a gun can hurt them, and when one is shot off in the woods, all the squirrels, and the birds and wild creatures, are very much frightened, and run to hide.

So Mr. Squirrel looked out to see if he could see a man with a gun and a dog. But he saw nothing, and he was glad of it.

"I guess he didn't see which way you went, Mamma," he said to his wife. "Now we will give the children their breakfast, and then we must begin teaching them their lessons. For if hunters, with dogs and guns, are to come to our woods, it is time our little ones knew how to look after themselves, and how to hide, and jump to safe places."

"I think so, too," said Mrs. Squirrel. "Wake up, children!" she cried. "Come, Slicko! Hurry up, Chatter! Come, Fluffy and Nutto! Breakfast is ready!"

Four little squirrels -- two boys and two girls -- awoke in the tree-nest and sat up on their hind legs in the soft leaves and cotton. They saw the nuts their mother had brought, and at once began eating them. That was all they had to do to get ready for breakfast.

The squirrel children did not have to dress, for they wore their fur suits all the year 'round, never taking them off. In winter their fur grew much thicker than in summer, to keep them warmer.

The squirrel children did not have to wash themselves in a basin. All any of them did was to wet one paw with his little red tongue, and wipe it over his face. Then he was washed. But you wouldn't like to do that, I'm sure.

"Come, children, eat your breakfasts," said Mrs. Squirrel, "and then you are going to have a new lesson."

"A new lesson!" chattered Slicko, one of the girl squirrels, to her mamma, speaking in a language that you or I could not have understood. "What kind of a lesson is it going to be?"

You see the squirrel children had been taught how to gnaw open hard nuts, and to take out the sweet, juicy kernels inside. They had been taught how to climb trees, and wash their faces. But there were many other things for them to learn. Slicko was the largest of the squirrel children, and she asked the most questions.

"What is your lesson going to be, Mother?" Slicko wanted to know.

"I hope it's going to be a sleeping lesson," said Fluffy, one of the boy squirrels. "I'm sleepy yet," and he yawned and stretched himself, just like a little monkey.

"Oh, fie on you!" said his papa. "Squirrels should be lively, and hop about when they awake in the morning. Come now, if you have finished your nuts, your mamma and I will teach you a new lesson, and one that you must learn well, or there may be danger for you."

"Pooh, I'm not afraid! What sort of danger?" asked Nutto, the other boy squirrel. He was called Nutto because he was so fond of eating chestnuts.

"Oh, I'm afraid," said Chatter, the littlest girl squirrel. "Don't say such scary things, Nutto," and Chatter looked over the edge of the nest as though she might see a big hawk-bird swooping down, for her papa and mamma had told her to always hide when a big hawk flew over the woods. But no hawk was in sight, now.

"You are going to have some jumping lessons," went on Mr. Squirrel. "After you learn to jump, I will tell you why."

You see the papa squirrel did not want just then to tell the little ones about their mamma having seen a hunter-man, with a dog and gun, for fear, if he did, they might be too frightened to come out of the nest and learn to jump. But Mr. Squirrel knew there was no danger near, just then, at any rate, and he wanted his children to be as brave as they could be.

Soon, after the breakfast nuts were eaten, the four little squirrels went out on a straight branch, that stuck out from the tree trunk near the nest. Papa and Mamma Squirrel stood there with them.

"Now this is the idea," said Mr. Squirrel, in his chattering language, that you or I could not have understood, but which was as plain to the little squirrels, as a papa dog's language is to a puppy, or a mamma cat's mewing to her little kittens. "You are all going to learn to jump," said Mr. Squirrel.

"What's a jump?" asked Slicko, who, as I have said, was always asking questions. She asked more questions than her two brothers and her sister together. But Slicko wanted to know about things.

"See!" exclaimed Mr. Squirrel. "This is a jump. Now I am on this limb beside you. Now watch!"

He gave a little spring, or jump, through the air, and landed on the branch of another tree, some distance off.

"That is a jump," said Mr. Squirrel. "It is getting from one branch to another without running or walking. It is a quick way of walking, I suppose you could call it, and when you are in a hurry, as when some one is chasing you, and you have no time to run or walk, you must jump. Now let me see you jump down here, just as I did. Come on, all of you!"

"Yes, go on!" said Mamma Squirrel, who was still on the tree limb by the nest. "You little squirrels must learn to jump. That is the one, big lesson left for you to learn."

Slicko looked at Chatter. Fluffy looked at Nutto. Then they all looked down at their papa on the lower limb.

"Come on! Don't be afraid!" called Mr. Squirrel. "Jump! You won't be hurt!"

"But -- but I'm afraid," said Nutto, who, you remember, had said he was not at all frightened.

"Oh, you mustn't be afraid," said Mr. Squirrel. "There is nothing to hurt you. I'm sure you can jump if you try. Give a good, hard spring, and you'll land down here on the limb beside me. Besides, if you do fall, the ground is covered with soft leaves, and you won't be hurt. Come on. Jump!"

But the little squirrels did not want to.

"You go first," said Nutto to Fluffy.

"No, I'd rather watch you go first," spoke Fluffy.

"Maybe Chatter will go," suggested Nutto. "The girls are not as heavy as we are, and they won't be hurt if they fall."

"One of you boys ought to go first," said Slicko. "You are always saying you're not afraid. You jump first, Nutto, and Chatter and I will come after you."

"Oh, I don't want to," said Nutto.

And there the four little squirrels stood on the limb near the nest, each one afraid to jump. Their papa stood waiting for them, and he kept thinking that if the hunter and his dog should come along then, the little squirrels would be in danger of being shot, if they did not know how to jump out of the way, and hide.

"Come on. You must learn to jump!" called Mrs. Squirrel.

Slicko took a long breath. After all, though she did ask a number of questions, Slicko was rather brave.

"I'm going to jump," she said.

"That's the girl!" cried her father. "Come on; jump down here beside me!"

Slicko moved over close to the edge of the tree branch. Then, with another long breath, such as a boy takes before he dives, when he is in swimming, Slicko jumped from the tree branch.

She found herself sailing through the air. At first she was greatly frightened. She spread out her tail, and then she found that she was floating through the air almost as gently as a bird's feather. Her tail helped her to fall gently, for it was just like a big, open umbrella, and held her up, as the parachute holds up the man who jumps from a balloon.

"There goes Slicko!" cried her mamma. "Slicko is learning to jump!"

Down, down, down through the air went Slicko, the jumping squirrel. Would she land on the tree branch beside her father? Slicko certainly hoped so, but still it was her first jump.


Chapter II

Slicko Meets Squinty


"That's the way to do it!" cried Mrs. Squirrel, as she saw Slicko sailing down through the air toward the limb on which was perched Mr. Squirrel.

"Don't be afraid. You'll get down all right!" called Mr. Squirrel.

Slicko fluffed out her tail as wide as she could. She felt that it was her tail which would save her from landing too hard and hurting her paws. Nearer and nearer she came to the limb on which was her papa.

"Here you are!" cried Mr. Squirrel, a moment later, and with a little shaking up, Slicko found herself safely beside her dear papa.

"Wasn't that nice?" asked Mr. Squirrel, moving over close beside his little girl.

"Oh, indeed it was," said Slicko, breathing a little faster than usual, for this was her first jump, you see.

"Now, Chatter, Fluffy and Nutto! It's your turns!" said Mrs. Squirrel. "See, Slicko made a good jump, and you can each do the same. Come on."

"Yes, do!" said Mr. Squirrel. "You really must learn to jump, and then I'll tell you why."

"Oh, is it a secret?" asked Chatter, the other little girl squirrel. She was a sister to Slicko.

"Yes, it's a secret," answered Mrs. Squirrel.

Now I am not quite sure about it, but I suppose girl squirrels want to hear a secret just as much as real girls do, and I have always found that if you wanted to get a real little girl to do anything for you, that she would do it ever so much more quickly, if she thought there was a secret about it.

Perhaps that is why Chatter made up her mind to jump as Slicko had done. Mind, I am not saying for sure, for I don't know. But maybe it was so.

Anyhow, Chatter moved over close to the edge of the tree limb. She looked down to where her papa and Slicko sat up on their hind legs, watching her.

"Here I come! Catch me!" spoke Chatter.

"All right -- don't be afraid," answered her papa. "You won't fall."

Chatter gave a jump, and down she went. Almost before she knew it, she had landed on a smooth place on the limb, close beside her sister and papa.

"There! I did it!" cried Chatter, in delight.

"Of course you did!" said Slicko. "Wasn't it fine?"

"It certainly was," agreed Chatter.

"Come now! The girls have jumped, and you boys mustn't let them get ahead of you!" called Mr. Squirrel, to Nutto and Fluffy. "Come on, jump down here."

Well, of course the boy squirrels weren't going to let the girl squirrels beat them, so first Nutto jumped, and then Fluffy.

"There, now you have all learned to jump," said Mrs. Squirrel. "Of course this is only the beginning. You must practice every day, just as you did when you were learning to climb trees, by sticking your sharp toe-nails in the soft bark. Every day you do a little jumping."

"But why, Mamma?" asked Slicko. "Is that the secret?"

"That is the secret," answered Mr. Squirrel. "You must learn to jump because your mamma saw a hunter-man, with a gun and dog in our woods this morning, and we must be ready to run away, and hide, if he should find our nest.

"And, as you cannot always run or walk, and climb trees, you must need to know how to jump, so you can jump out of danger. That is why we gave you jumping lessons to-day. Now, when you are rested, you must jump some more. And you must learn to jump up as well as jump down, though jumping down is easier."

The squirrel children asked many questions about the hunter-man, with his dog and gun, and Papa and Mamma Squirrel told their little ones all they knew, warning them always to hide when they saw a man with a gun.

"Well, I'm going to learn to jump farther and higher," said Slicko. "No hunter is going to catch me, if I can help it."

So Slicko began practicing jumping, going from one tree branch to another, up and down, and sideways. The papa and mamma squirrel watched on all sides while their children were jumping, to make sure the hunter-man did not come.

Whether it was because Slicko was larger and stronger than her brothers and sister, or because she practiced harder, I do not know. But it is certain that, in a few days, Slicko was the best jumping squirrel in that part of the woods. She could jump farther than could Chatter, and even though Nutto and Fluffy were boy squirrels, Slicko could beat them.

"Yes, Slicko is certainly a fine jumper," said Mrs. Squirrel, to her husband one day. "She can jump almost as far as we can."

"Well, I hope she is careful," spoke Mr. Squirrel. "I was over near the swamp, to-day, looking to see if I could find any sweetflag root for supper, and I heard a noise like a gun. That hunter-man is still in the woods."

"Maybe it was thunder you heard," said Mrs. Squirrel.

"No, I'm sure it was the gun of the hunter-man," went on her husband. "Well, I am glad the little ones can jump. It will help them to keep out of his way."

"Indeed it will," said Mrs. Squirrel.

For a week or so after this, the little squirrels practiced jumping every day. As soon as they had had their breakfast of nuts, or oats or wheat, which their papa or mamma brought in from the farmer's fields, the little squirrels would begin jumping.

Sometimes they would run up and down the tree trunks, and again they would pretend to hide under the leaves, for their parents had told them that was a good way to keep out of sight when there was any danger in the forest.

The Squirrel family lived in the woods, a very nice woods indeed; with many green trees growing in it. The ground in some places was covered with brown leaves, that had fallen off the trees, and in other places there was soft green moss, like the velvet carpet in the parlor at your house.

And, not far from the tree where Slicko and the other squirrels lived, was a pretty brook that ran through the wood, making nice music as it trickled over the stones. The water was cool, and good to drink, and often Slicko, and her brothers and sister, would come to the edge of the brook to bathe, or get a drink.

One day, after she had practiced her jumping lesson for some time, Slicko said to her sister, Chatter:

"Come on, let's take a little walk in the woods. It is nearly time for chestnuts to be ripe, and we may find some."

"Oh, I don't want to go," Chatter said. "I am tired from having jumped so much. I am going to lie down on the green moss, and go to sleep."

"Oh, then will you come, Nutto?" asked Slicko, of her brother.

"No, for Fluffy and I are going to hunt hickory nuts," said the boy squirrel. "You had better come with us. Chestnuts are not ripe yet. You won't find any. But, if you come with us, you'll find some hickory nuts."

"Oh, I think I can find some chestnuts," spoke Slicko, and then, as neither her brothers nor her sister would come with her, the little girl jumping squirrel started off in the woods by herself.

She ran along on the ground a little way. Then she climbed up a tree, and running out on a branch of that, she leaped from the end of it to the end of another branch, in a tree a little farther on. Slicko was a good jumper.

In this way she hurried on until she was quite a way from her home-nest.

All of a sudden, Slicko heard a noise in the bushes, as if some big animal were breaking a way through them.

"My! I hope that isn't the hunter-man and his dog!" exclaimed Slicko in a whisper to herself. "I had better be careful, and take a look before I go on any farther."

So the little jumping squirrel cuddled down under some leaves on the tree branch where she was sitting, and peered out. At first she could see nothing, except the bushes below her waving as something pushed through them. Whatever it was, it seemed to be coming nearer and nearer her tree.

Slicko felt sure it was the hunter-man, and she was getting ready to give a big jump, and hurry home to the nest, when, all at once, she saw something sort of pink and white come out of the bush. As soon as Slicko saw this, she knew it was not a hunter-man, for it walked on four feet, whereas a hunter walks on two feet.

"Why, it's a little pig!" exclaimed Slicko, looking down. She knew it was a pig, because, not far from the woods where she lived, there was a farm, and on the farm was a pen of pigs. Slicko had seen them once.

"Yes, that's a pig! I'm not afraid of him," said the little squirrel girl. "Hello!" she called down to the pig, who was rooting along in the ground, looking for something to eat, I suppose.

"Hello!" called Slicko. "What's your name?"

"Oh, hello! How you frightened me, calling that way!" answered the pig. "My name is Squinty. What's yours?"

Now if you had been listening to this talk between the two animals -- the squirrel and the pig -- all you would have heard would have been something like this:

"Chatter! Chat! Chat! Chit! Chit! Chirp! Chir-r-r-r-r-r-r-r!"

And then:

"Uff! Uff! Wuff! Wuff! Ugh! Ugh!"

One was the squirrel talking, and the other was the pig answering.

Of course it would not sound like real talk, such as you use, but it was real enough for Slicko and Squinty, and they could understand each other very well. They could also understand man-talk, your talk, also, as I will tell you a little later. But neither Slicko nor Squinty could speak man-language.

"Ha! So your name is Squinty, eh?" asked Slicko, of the little pig. "Why are you called such a funny name?"

"Because one of my eyes squints a little," was the answer. "See!" Squinty looked up to show Slicko, and the little pig was such a funny picture, as he stood there, with one eye partly shut, and the other wide open, with his head on one side, and one ear cocked forward and the other backward, he was so funny, I say, that Slicko could not help laughing.

"Huh! What are you laughing at?" asked Squinty, in his funny grunting voice, with his little flat, rubbery nose wiggling sideways, and also up and down.

"I am laughing at you," answered Slicko. "Excuse me, but I can't help it. You are so funny, and you have such a funny name."

"Oh, I don't mind being laughed at," said Squinty, with a sort of pig-laugh. "I am glad if you want to laugh, for it is better to laugh than cry. And I don't mind my funny name," he said. I think that was very nice of Squinty to say, don't you?

"I am glad I met you," said the little girl squirrel. "At first I thought you were a hunter in the bushes."

"And I thought you were some one chasing me, when you called that way," said Squinty. "But you haven't told me your name yet."

"I am Slicko, the jumping squirrel," was the answer, "and I am hunting in these woods for some chestnuts. What are you doing here?"

"I am here because I have run away," said Squinty. "I am looking for something to eat. Are hickory nuts good?"

"Very good," Slicko answered. "I'll see if I can find some for each of us."

The little squirrel found some hickory nuts, but they were so hard that Squinty, the comical pig, could not eat them.

"I guess you'd like some acorns, they are softer," Slicko said.

"Indeed I would, thank you," spoke Squinty.

Then Slicko led the little pig to where there were some acorn nuts, and Squinty ate them. Very glad he was to get them, too, for he was quite hungry.

"Why are you called Slicko?" asked Squinty, when he did not feel quite so hungry as at first.

"My mamma called me that," answered the little squirrel, "because my fur is so slick and shiny."

"It is a good name," said Squinty. "Don't you want to travel along with me, through the woods, and have adventures?"

"Thank you, no. I guess not," replied Slicko. "Hark! What's that?"

They both listened, and heard a sound like:

"Chatter! Chatter! Chat! Chit! Chat! Chir-r-r-r-r-r!"

"What is it?" asked Squinty, in a whisper.

"That is my mamma calling me," answered Slicko. "I must go back to the nest now. Good-bye, funny little pig."

"Good-bye," answered Squinty, and he went on, looking for adventures. He had many of them, and I have told you about them in the first of these books, called "Squinty, the Comical Pig." He was bought by a boy, taught to do many tricks, and finally ran back again to his home in the pen on the farm.

After Slicko had said good-bye to Squinty, the comical pig, the little girl squirrel ran and jumped on through the woods, for her mother kept calling to her to come to the nest.

"My, I hope nothing has happened," said Slicko, as she hurried on. "And I didn't find any chestnuts," she said, as she looked at the few hickory nuts she was bringing home. "Fluffy and Nutto will laugh at me. But I don't care."

Pretty soon Slicko reached the nest.

"My! Where have you been?" asked her mamma.

"Looking for chestnuts," answered Slicko.

"Did you find any?" asked Nutto, as he and his brother came climbing up the tree just then.

"No, but I found some hickory nuts, and some acorns, and I gave some acorns to a cute little pig," said Slicko, explaining how she had met Squinty.

"I wish we had gone with you," said Fluffy. "I'd like to have seen that pig. Come on, Nutto. Let's go out and see if we can find him in the woods."

"No, you must not go away!" chattered Mrs. Squirrel. "I want you all to stay here. Something has happened, and we shall have to go away from our nice nest."

"Go away from our nest!" cried Slicko, in surprise.

"Yes," answered Mrs. Squirrel. "It is no longer safe to stay here. But here comes your papa. He will tell you all about it. We are in great danger, and that is why I called you all back. Now listen to what your papa has to say."


Chapter III

Slicko Goes On A Visit


Mr. Squirrel came along, hurrying and jumping through the leafy branches of the trees as fast as he could come. When he was still some distance away from the nest, he took a long jump, and landed on the limb near the hole in the tree.

"Did you see him?" asked Mrs. Squirrel.

"Yes. He is in the woods," chattered Mr. Squirrel. "But he may not be here for some minutes. We have time to run and hide. And we had better not keep together. We must all go different ways, and then he will not find us so easily."

"Oh, what is it?" cried Slicko. "What has happened?"

"The hunter-man, and his dog, have found out where our nest is," said Mrs. Squirrel. "At any minute he may come here to shoot us, or catch us."

"Oh, how dreadful!" cried Chatter, and even Nutto, who was supposed to be very brave, for a squirrel, looked frightened.

"But don't worry too much," said Mr. Squirrel. "I have seen the hunter in time -- him and his dog and gun -- and we will get safely away from him. Come now, we will separate, each going a different way; then the hunter will not find us, I hope."

"But where shall we go?" asked Slicko. "And what shall we do for something to eat, and a place to sleep nights, if we go away from our home-nest?"

"Well, you squirrels are old enough now, to hunt food for yourselves," said Mrs. Squirrel. "I am glad of that, for I shall not worry so much about you. And you know how to run and jump."

"I am glad we learned how to jump in time," said Slicko.

"Yes, if you had waited, and kept on putting it off," said Mr. Squirrel, "you would not now be ready to run and hide away from the hunter, and be able to take care of yourselves. As for a place to sleep, your mother and I are going to send you all on visits to our friends, or relations. You can stay with them for a while, until it will be safe for us all to come back to our nest again."

"Oh, then we are going on a visit!" exclaimed Slicko.

"Something like that, yes," answered her father. "And we must hurry, too, for the hunter may be here any minute. I passed him in the woods, and he was coming this way."

"Did he see you, Papa?" asked Nutto.

"No, for I kept well behind the leaves, and hurried on. My! how that dog did bark, though. He seemed very savage."

"Squinty, the comical pig, told me of a dog he knew," said Slicko, "but he said that dog was kind and gentle. His name is Don."

"This dog's name wasn't Don, I'm sure of that," spoke Mr. Squirrel. "But we must not stay talking here. Scatter, every one of you! Nutto and Fluffy, you go over to Grandpa Beechnut's nest, and stay with him. I don't believe the hunter knows where that is.

"Chatter, you can stay with Mr. and Mrs. Acorn, the squirrels who live in the hollow stump. Your mother and I will go off in the woods, and make a new nest, so if we can not come back to our old one, we will still have a home when winter comes."

"But what am I to do?" asked Slicko. "Where am I to go?"

"I have not forgotten you," said Mrs. Squirrel. "You can go over and stay with your Aunt Whitey until it is safe. Your aunt will be glad to have you, for she lives all alone, and she has room for only one small squirrel in her nest beside herself. You run over there, and tell her all that has happened -- how the hunter has found our nest."

"And go quickly!" suddenly cried Mr. Squirrel. "Here the hunter-man comes now -- with his dog."

Just then there sounded through the woods:

"Bow wow! Bow wow! Bow wow!"

"That's the dog," said Mr. Squirrel. "Hurry, children, and don't forget the lessons we have taught you."

"We won't!" promised Slicko.

Then came another sound, a dreadful noise, like thunder.

"Bang!" sounded through the woods, making the leaves on the trees shake.

"That's the hunter's gun!" exclaimed Nutto. "Run, everybody!"

Off through the woods scampered Slicko, her father and mother and her brothers and sister. Slicko climbed up one tree, jumped into another, and still another.

"I don't believe the hunter and his dog will get me," thought Slicko, as she hurried on toward the nest where her Aunt Whitey lived.

Pretty soon the hunter-man and his dog came to the foot of the tree where Slicko used to live.

"Ha! There's that squirrel nest I saw the other day," said the man to himself. "I wonder if there are any in it? I'll wait a while, and see if I can shoot any of them for my dinner."

"Bow wow! Bow wow!" barked the dog. Perhaps he, too, wanted some squirrels for his dinner.

All around the foot of the tree ran the dog, barking as loudly as he could. Maybe he was hoping he could scare the squirrels out of the nest so his master could shoot them with his gun.

The man waited and waited, looking up at the hole in the trunk of the tree, where he knew the squirrels had lived. But he did not know they had gone. That was the time the squirrels were smarter than the hunter.

Several hours passed, and still the man waited. Every now and then he would look up at the hole, with his gun all ready to shoot, and the dog, who had been running off in the woods, looking for more squirrels, would come back, barking louder than ever.

"Well, I guess those squirrels have gone away, Carlo," the man finally said to his dog. "It is of no use for us to stay here. Come, we will go look for other squirrels to shoot."

"Bow wow! Bow wow! That will be fun!" barked Carlo. Of course being a dog, he did not know any better.

And so the hunter-man went away from the empty nest, where Slicko and the other squirrels had lived.

All this while Slicko, the jumping squirrel, was hurrying along through the woods, toward the nest of her Aunt Whitey. Slicko's aunt had that name because there was a white spot on the end of her tail. Mrs. Whitey and Mrs. Squirrel were sisters, and of course that made the squirrel, with the white on the end of her tail, Slicko's aunt. And Slicko liked Aunt Whitey very much. There were always plenty of nuts in Aunt Whitey's nest, and Slicko, as well as her brothers and sister, liked to come on a visit. But this time Slicko was all alone.

Pretty soon the little jumping girl squirrel came to the tall tree where Aunt Whitey lived.

"Now I must be very careful," thought Slicko. "I must wait, before running in, to see if any hunter-men, or dogs, or other enemies are watching me. For if they are, they would see where I go in, and they could find the nest, and maybe catch Aunt Whitey and me."

Squirrels, like birds and other woodland creatures, do not like human beings to know where their nests or homes are. So they take care to make the front doors in such a way they can not easily be seen, and when the forest creatures go in, they always look around first, to see that no enemy is watching. In that way they keep their homes, or nests, secret. They have to, for they have so many enemies.

Slicko looked all around, and, seeing no dogs, wild animals or hunter-men on the watch, to spy on her aunt's nest, the little squirrel scrambled up the tree, sticking her sharp toe nails in the soft bark as she had been taught to do.

When Slicko was half way up, she saw a hole in the tree, just such a hole as at her nest at home. This was the front door to the home of her aunt.

Slicko gave two or three taps on the bark with her front paw.

The little girl squirrel always did this when she called on Mrs. Whitey, so the squirrel lady would know it was one of her little friends or relations, and not a bad owl, or hawk-bird, wanting to eat her up.

Slicko expected to hear her aunt chatter, as she always did:

"Come in and have some nuts!"

But there was no answer.

Slicko knocked again with her little paw, and then, thinking her aunt might be asleep, the little jumping squirrel gave a little hop down inside the nest. It was just like the nest at home, which she and the others had left because of the danger from the hunter-man.

At first, coming in the dark nest, after having been out in the bright sunlight, Slicko could see nothing. Just as when you come into the house, after having walked along the snowy road from school, you have to wait until your eyes get used to the darker house. It was that way with Slicko.

Pretty soon, however, she could look about the nest, and then her heart grew sad. For she saw that Aunt Whitey did not live there any more. The nest was deserted, and empty. Most of the soft leaves, and the cotton from the milkweed plant had been tossed out. The nest was all upset. Most of the nuts were gone, and it looked as though some boy, or man, or animal had been inside, catching the squirrel lady, and taking the nuts she had stored away to eat.

"Oh, dear!" thought Slicko. "This is terrible! Aunt Whitey has either run away, or been caught. There is no one here to take me! What shall I do? Can I stay here all alone? Oh, dear! Isn't it too bad!"

Slicko cowered down in the empty nest and wondered what she should do, now that she had no home to go back to.


Chapter IV

Slicko Sees A Circus


For a few minutes after jumping down into the empty nest of her Aunt Whitey, little Slicko did not know what to do. It had all happened so suddenly -- the breaking up of the family, each one going to a different place to hide, the coming of Slicko to these woods, and the finding of the empty nest -- that the little squirrel did not know what to think of it.

Slicko listened as sharply as she could for any sounds of danger. She bent her two little ears forward, just as her mamma had told her to do when she wanted to listen to any far-off sounds. But Slicko could hear nothing.

That is, she could hear nothing that sounded like danger. Of course she could hear the wind blowing through the trees, the singing of the grasshoppers, the call of the birds and noises like that.

And none of these sounds meant any harm to the little squirrel. She had heard them all her life.

"Oh, but it is so lonesome!" whispered Slicko to herself. She did not want to speak aloud in her queer, little chattering voice, for fear some one -- like a bad dog or a snake -- would hear her. And yet Slicko wanted to talk to some one, even if it was only herself.

She lifted up her head, from where she had nestled it down among the dried leaves in her aunt's nest, and looked about her. The nest was rather dark, but Slicko could see better now. And what she saw made her sure that her aunt had either been taken away by some enemy, or had run off in a great hurry.

For the nest was all upset. The leaves were scattered about, and most of the nuts were gone.

"Well, I guess I'd better stay here for a while," thought Slicko to herself. "There are a few nuts here, and I can eat them when I get hungry. When I want more, I shall have to go out and get them, but, by that time, it may be safe. Yes, I'll stay here to-night, anyhow."

Slicko peeped out of the opening to the nest -- it was a sort of front door to the squirrel house. Slicko could see that it was getting dark in the woods; that night was coming on. And night, Slicko knew, was no time for a little girl squirrel to be alone in the forest.

There were big-eyed owls flying about then, and other enemies that might catch her.

"So I shall be better off staying in the nest, even if Aunt Whitey isn't at home," thought Slicko. "Poor Aunt Whitey!" she whispered. "I wonder where she can be."

Then Slicko happened to think that perhaps her squirrel aunt might be hiding outside somewhere, as wild animals often do hide, near their nests, or homes, whenever they have been frightened away.

"I'll call to her," said Slicko to herself.

Going softly to the opening to the nest, Slicko put out her head, and called:

"Aunty! Aunty Whitey! Where are you?"

She listened, but all she heard in reply was the singing of a robin, the call of a grasshopper and the noise of the wind in the trees.

"I guess she has gone far off," thought Slicko. "Well, I will stay here until I find some other place to go. Oh dear! If mamma and papa only knew I was here all by myself, they would come to me, or take me with them. But now I shall have to stay all alone. Oh dear!"

It was the first time little Slicko had ever been alone at night, but she was going to be brave. Little animals have to be brave whether they want to or not, and they have to leave their homes and find their own things to eat, much younger than do real children.

So, in a way, animals do not so much mind being away from their papas and mammas as you children would.

At first Slicko was pretty lonesome. She shivered, and cuddled down in the leaves of her aunt's nest, and wished she had her brothers Fluffy and Nutto, and her sister Chatter, to play with. They had always played little jumping or running games before going to sleep nights. But now Slicko was all alone, and had no one to play with.

But, as I have said, Slicko was going to be brave.

After the little jumping squirrel got over her first feeling of fright, she began to be hungry. There were a few nuts left in the nest, and Slicko ate some of them, and felt better.

"And now I must make a warm place to sleep," she thought. Her mother had taught her how to make herself a bed in the dried leaves, and now Slicko did this. She smoothed out a little hole, and pulled up some leaves that would fall over her, and cover her up like a blanket, when she went to sleep. For though it was not yet winter, it was very cool in the woods at night.

Soon Slicko was fast asleep. Animals go to sleep very easily when they have eaten, and are not frightened. They do not have to be sung to, nor told stories, and they do not have to have the light turned down low. They always go to bed without a light.

Once, in the middle of the night, Slicko was awakened. She heard a noise at the opening of the nest, a scratching sort of noise, and it sounded as though some one were trying to come in.

"Oh, dear! I wonder who it can be?" thought Slicko. "But I'm not going to get up to look," she went on. "No, indeed!"

Instead, she covered herself up deeper in the leaves, and tried to go to sleep. She could not, though, for the noise kept up. And then, all of a sudden, something hooted:

"Who! Who! Who! Tu-whoo!"

"Oh, it's an owl!" thought Slicko. "A big owl. But he can't get in here to eat me. I'm safe. Maybe that's the owl that drove Aunt Whitey out of her nest."

Once more the owl hooted, and then Slicko heard the flapping of its wings as it flew away.

"He didn't get me that time," thought Slicko. "But I must be very careful! Very careful!"

Soon the little girl squirrel was asleep again, and when next she awakened, the sun was shining down, through the hole, into the nest.

"Oh, good! It's morning!" chattered Slicko. "Now the owl can't get me."

Slicko knew that owls fly only at night, for they have such funny eyes, that sunlight makes them almost blind, and they cannot see to catch little squirrels. So Slicko knew she was safe, for a while, at least.

"Now for breakfast, then to wash my face and paws, and we'll see what happens," whispered Slicko to herself. It did not take long to eat the nuts for breakfast. Then Slicko felt thirsty. She knew there was a nice spring of water not far from her aunt's nest, for, when she had come visiting other times, she had gone to it to get a drink.

"And I wonder if it would be safe now?" thought Slicko. "I'll take a look and see."

She peered from the nest and saw nothing to frighten her. Some birds were flitting through the leafy trees, and down on the ground some little hop-toads were jumping about. Perhaps they were playing some game, as you play tag, for you know animals have fun just as children do, though, to be sure, it is a different kind of fun.

"Yes, I'm going to get a drink," said Slicko, and she slipped out of the nest, and began to climb down the side of the tree. But she was very careful how she did it, for she knew danger might be near, though she could not see it.

She ran quickly half way around the tree and stayed there a second, with her body held flat against the trunk. Slicko was colored gray, and the tree bark was a sort of gray, so, unless you had looked very sharply, you might not have seen her yourself, until Slicko moved.

While she was holding herself there, very quietly, Slicko was looking about to see if the owl, or any other bad bird, or animal, were in sight. But she saw nothing, and then she scrambled down to the ground, and ran to the spring.

Taking a good drink of the cool water, Slicko washed her paws and face in it. Then she combed out her tail with her claws, for all squirrels are very clean and tidy animals.

"Well, I wonder what I shall do now," thought Slicko. "I guess I'll have to stay in Aunt Whitey's nest for a long time, maybe. I had better look about for more nuts, for when those in the nest are gone, I shall need more to eat. Yes, I will look for nuts."

She started off through the woods, but she had not gone very far, when, all of a sudden, she saw something brown moving up in a tree.

In a second Slicko hid herself under some leaves, and waited. She was in a place where she could watch the brown creature. At first Slicko thought it might be a big snake, or maybe the owl that had tried to get her in the night.

Then, as the brown creature moved closer, Slicko saw that it had a long tail, and four legs, and the legs had something like hands on the ends.

"Why, it looks just like a brown, hairy boy!" thought Slicko. "And I'm afraid of boys. Mamma said they were dangerous. I wonder what I had better do?"

Slicko hid deeper down in the leaves, and, a little later, as the brown animal came closer, the girl squirrel saw that it was not the kind of a boy she had ever seen before. For, though boys can climb trees, they can not climb up and down as fast as the brown animal was doing, nor can they hang by their tails. In fact, as Slicko knew, boys have no tails.

And then Slicko heard the brown animal say:

"Ha! Here are some of those chestnuts! I must get some, for, though they are not as good as cocoanuts, they will keep me from being hungry. Yes, I'll get some!"

"Ha!" thought Slicko. "That creature is not a boy, that's sure! And it eats nuts just as we squirrels do. I don't believe it will do me any harm. I'm going out to see."

Slicko crawled out from under the leaves, and, as soon as she moved, the brown creature called out:

"What is that? Who is there? Who is it?"

His voice was a sort of chatter and chirp, like that of some bird, but Slicko could understand it pretty well.

"It is I, if you please," said Slicko. "I am a little girl squirrel, and I am staying at my aunt's nest, but she isn't home. Who are you, if you please?"

"I am Mappo, the merry monkey," was the answer. "But I can't see you. Where are you?"

"Down in these leaves," answered Slicko, and she waved her tail, so Mappo could see her.

"Oh, there you are!" cried the monkey, and down he scrambled beside her. "What are you doing here?" asked Mappo.

"I am hiding away from a hunter and his dog," went on the little squirrel. "All our family ran away from our nest, and I came here. But my aunt is gone too, so I am all alone."

"Never mind," said Mappo, kindly, "I am all alone also, so we will keep each other company."

"Where did you come from?" asked Slicko, who had never before seen a monkey.

"Oh, I used to live in a big woods, with my brothers and sisters," said Mappo. "But, of late, I have been with a circus. I ran away from my cage in the circus though, and came to these woods. And I've had the most fun! I met a comical little pig named -- "

"Oh, I know what he was named!" interrupted Slicko.

"What was his name?" asked Mappo.

"Squinty!" cried the little girl squirrel. "And he had the funniest nose, and one of his eyes was half shut, and -- "

"That's the one!" exclaimed Mappo. "How did you meet him?"

Then Slicko told of having talked to Squinty, and Mappo also told how he had met the comical little pig, just as I have told you in the book about Squinty.

"But you said you used to be in a circus," spoke Slicko, after a while.

"So I did," answered Mappo.

"What's a circus?" Slicko wanted to know.

"What! Have you never seen a circus?" asked Mappo. "Well, I must show it to you. It is not far off. But I am not going back to it right away. Come along."

Mappo, the merry monkey, started off through the forest, with Slicko following. Pretty soon they saw a road in front of them. And, on the other side of the road, were some big white things, that looked like houses people live in.

"Those are the circus tents," exclaimed Mappo. "Listen and you can hear the music."

Slicko sat up on her tail and listened. She heard many strange sounds.


Chapter V

Slicko And Tum Tum


"Mappo," asked Slicko, as she sat under the shade of a tree, near the road, and looked across at the tents in the vacant lot, "is that what you call a circus, Mappo?"

"That is a circus, little Slicko," answered the monkey, kindly.

Slicko saw the white tents, she heard the bands playing music, she heard men and boys calling out strange words, such as "ice cream cones!" "pink lemonade!" and "peanuts!" The last word was the only one Slicko knew, for she had heard that before.

Once a squirrel who had lived in a city park came to visit Slicko's mamma and papa. And this city squirrel told how the children used to go to the park and feed the squirrels peanuts. So Slicko knew what peanuts were, when she heard the circus boys and men shouting about them.

"So that is a circus, is it?" asked little Slicko, as she looked at the big, white tents, all gay with colored flags, fluttering in the wind, and heard the nice music.

"Yes," answered Mappo, "that is a circus."

"And you ran away from it -- you ran away from a nice place like that?" asked Slicko in surprise.

"Oh, well, I got tired of being in a cage all the while," said Mappo, the merry monkey. "I am going back again soon, I guess, as it is no fun to have to hunt for things to eat all the while. In the circus, though I did have to stay in a cage, I got all I wanted to eat without any trouble. Yes, I think I shall run back again, soon."

"I should think, if you had run away, they would come after you, to find you," said Slicko.

"They did come once," spoke Mappo, with a laugh. "Once when I was in the woods, talking to Squinty, the comical pig, some circus men came after me to catch me, but I ran away. They haven't caught me yet," and he laughed and chattered, showing his many, white teeth.

For a little while Slicko and Mappo sat in the woods looking at the circus, and then, all of a sudden, the little girl squirrel cried out:

"Oh, Mappo! What are those funny animals, as big as houses, with two tails? What are they?"

"Ha! Ha! Ha!" laughed Mappo, the merry monkey. "Two tails! Ho! Ho!"

"Well, they do have two tails," said Slicko. "What are they?"

"That's just what Squinty, the comical pig, wanted to know," spoke Mappo. "He thought they had two tails also. Ha! Ha!"

"Well, haven't they?" asked Slicko, frisking her big tail.

"No," answered Mappo. "Those are elephants, and they have only one tail. The short thing is their tail, and the long thing, in front of them, hanging down, is their nose."

"Their nose!" cried Slicko. "What a funny nose!"

"It is called a trunk," explained Mappo. "But it is really the elephant's nose. He breathes through it, but he can also use it like a hand. He picks up what he wants to eat in it, and it is hollow, like the hose with which they fill the circus tubs, so we animals can drink. Through his hollow trunk, the elephant sucks up water, squirting it down his throat when he is thirsty."

"What a funny animal an elephant is!" exclaimed Slicko. "And how big! Especially that first one, with the two big, white things sticking out of his mouth. What are those?"

"Those are his teeth, or tusks," explained Mappo. "But you need not be afraid of that big elephant."

"Why not?" asked Slicko.

"Because he is the kindest, and most jolly elephant in the whole circus," went on Mappo the monkey. "His name is Tum Tum, and if you were to meet him you would like him very much."

"Did Squinty, the comical pig, meet Tum Tum?" asked Slicko.

"No, Squinty did not have a chance," said Mappo, "but he saw him. If I can, I'll call Tum Tum over here to see you. I'm sure you'd like him. And he'd give you a ride on his back."

"Oh, I'd be afraid to let him!" exclaimed Slicko.

"Pooh! He wouldn't hurt a fly!" laughed Mappo. "Lots of the children who come to the circus ride on Tum Tum's back. He is very kind to them, and he would be kind to you. Only, if you should see him, be sure to tell him you're not a rat or a mouse."

"Of course I'm not a rat or a mouse," said Slicko. "Why should I tell Tum Tum, the elephant, that I am not, when he can see for himself, if he has any eyes?"

"Well, you do look a little like a great rat," said Mappo. "Not that it's any harm, Slicko. But, you see, Tum Tum and other elephants are very much afraid of rats and mice. I don't know why, unless they are afraid the little creatures will run up inside their trunks and make them sneeze. But, anyhow, you're not a rat or a mouse. And if you see Tum Tum, be sure to tell him that, the first thing."

"I will," promised Slicko, "but maybe I won't see Tum Tum to speak to."

"Oh, you might," answered Mappo. "You can't tell."

Just then the merry little monkey gave a jump, and cried out:

"Ha! There come some circus men over this way. I think they are going to hunt for me again. I don't want to be caught just yet, and be put back in my cage, so I'm going to run off and hide in the woods again. Good-bye, Slicko. I am glad I met you."

"Good-bye, Mappo!" cried the little girl squirrel. "I am glad I met you, and I'm sorry you're going to run away again. But I won't tell them where you are. I guess I'll go hide, too."

So Mappo, the merry monkey, ran off through the woods one way, and Slicko ran the other, and they did not see each other again for some time.

I might say that I expect to tell you, in a book after this one, some of the adventures of Mappo, the merry monkey, but I have no room for him in this story.

Slicko ran on through the woods, jumping from tree to tree as she had been taught. She was all alone again, and she was feeling rather lonesome without Mappo, or for some of her squirrel friends.

Slicko made her way back to the nest where her aunt had lived. She rather hoped Mrs. Whitey might be back there, waiting for her, but the nest in the tall tree was still empty. There was no sign of the nice old lady squirrel.

"Well, I guess I had better gather some nuts, and hide them away," thought Slicko. "I may have to stay in this nest a month or more, until papa and mamma make a new home for me, and my sister and brothers."

So Slicko scrambled down to the ground again, and began to gather nuts and acorns. These she carried up to the nest, hiding them away under the leaves. Some she put in a hollow stump, on the ground not far away from the tree where the nest was.

When Slicko had done this, she sat down on her tail, curling it up at her back like a feather, to take a rest, for she was rather tired.

"My!" she thought, as she sat there. "What a lot of things have happened to me since I had to leave my home. An owl got after me, I have seen a circus, I met a monkey and I have seen a creature, with two tails, called an elephant. At least an elephant looks as though it had two tails, no matter what Mappo says," went on Slicko. "I wonder if I shall ever meet Tum Tum, and tell him I am not a rat or a mouse? What a funny thing it would be if I did."

Slicko sat on the edge of the nest for some time, and then she began to feel hungry.

"I wish I had some of those peanuts I heard them talking about in the circus," said Slicko in a whisper. "I know they must be good, from what that city-park squirrel said. And I wonder what pink lemonade and ice cream cones are? I don't believe they are good to eat."

You can see that Slicko had many things to learn -- things that you know already, such as that ice cream cones are good to eat. But, if Slicko did not know that, she knew other things that you children do not know, such as where to find nuts, and how to gnaw through the shells, and get at the meat without using a nut cracker.

All of a sudden, as Slicko was running toward the spring of water to get a drink, after her dinner, she heard a crashing in the bushes.

"I wonder if that is Mappo coming back," thought Slicko. She looked through the trees, and saw something almost as large as a house, and dark in color, pushing through the bushes.

"Why, it's an elephant -- it's Tum Tum!" exclaimed Slicko, as she saw the big creature, with his trunk on one end, and his tail on the other, and two big, long, white teeth sticking out of his mouth. "Yes, that surely is Tum Tum!"

Slicko spoke the last words out loud.

"Ha! Who is calling to me?" asked the circus elephant in his deep, rumbling voice. "Who is calling me?"

"I spoke your name, Tum Tum," said Slicko. "Here I am, by this old stump."

Tum Tum, the jolly elephant, looked at the little squirrel, and then he began to shiver and shake as hard as he could. He shook so hard that he shook a lot of pine cones down off a pine tree up against which he was leaning.

"Oh my! Oh dear! This is terrible!" cried Tum Tum in his big, deep, rumbling voice. "Oh dear!"


Chapter VI

Slicko Goes Nutting


Slicko was so surprised, at first, by the cries of Tum Tum, and at the fear which the big elephant showed, that she did not know what to think. It really seemed that Tum Tum was afraid of her -- of a little, jumping squirrel girl!

Then Slicko happened to remember what Mappo had told her.

"If ever you see Tum Tum," the monkey had said, "tell him at once that you are not a mouse or a rat."

"Ha! That's what I must do!" thought Slicko. "Tum Tum must be afraid of me. I'll speak to him."

Scrambling half way up the trunk of a tree, to make herself higher, and nearer to the big ears of Tum Tum, Slicko cried out in her chattering voice:

"I'm not a mouse, Tum Tum! I'm not a rat!"

"Ha! What's that?" asked the elephant, flapping one of his ears sideways, so he could hear better. "What did you say?"

"I said I was not a rat or a mouse -- I'm only a little girl squirrel, and I wouldn't hurt you for the world," went on Slicko.

"Oh, I'm so glad!" cried the elephant, and he did not shiver and shake any more, and did not knock down any pine tree cones.

As first it might seem funny for a squirrel to say she would not hurt an elephant, because an elephant is so large. But I have told you that elephants are sometimes afraid of even such a little thing as a mouse.

"So you are not a rat, eh?" asked the elephant of Slicko.

"No, Tum Tum, and I'm not a mouse, either," answered the little girl squirrel.

"Ha! How do you happen to know my name?" asked Tum Tum.

"Mappo, the merry monkey, told me," said the little squirrel girl. "And Mappo told me I was to tell you I was not a mouse or a rat. I won't run up your trunk, and scare you."

"That's good," said Tum Tum. "Now I can see clearly that you are a little squirrel. I like you! But what about that little rascal, Mappo? Where is he? I came out to look for him. They want him back in his cage to ride around the circus ring on the back of a pony, and do other tricks to make the children laugh."

"Oh, he ran away," said Slicko. "He thought he heard some men coming after him. He said he did not want to go back to the cage just yet. He wants to have some fun in the woods."

"Well, well! He is a funny monkey," said Tum Tum. "And I came all the way from the circus grounds to find him. But if he is gone, I won't look any farther. I'll go back to my tent, for the men may be coming after me."

"Oh, can't you stay here with me a little while? I am so lonesome!" spoke Slicko.

"Well, I might stay a short time," Tum Tum said. "But what are you doing in the woods all alone, little Slicko?"

Then the little squirrel girl told how she had had to run away from her own nest, and how she had not been able to find her aunt, and how she was now living all by herself in the woods.

"Well, I wish I could stay with you, and keep you company, Slicko," said Tum Tum. "But I belong back in the circus, and I guess you would rather jump through the tree branches, and skip about in them, than go as slowly as I have to go, crashing through the bushes. And I certainly never could climb a tree, and sleep in a nest, as you do," went on Tum Tum, with a jolly laugh.

"No, I suppose not," said Slicko. "You are too big for a nest. Well, if you see Mappo, please send him back to me. I am so lonesome."

"If I see him I will," Tum Tum answered. And then he walked on back through the woods.

"Good-bye, Slicko!" called the jolly elephant. "I have to be in the show this afternoon. I have to make believe play ball, and eat my dinner at a real table, and then I have to play the hand organ with my trunk. Those are some of my tricks."

"Oh, I met a pig who said he could do tricks!" cried Slicko.

"Was his name Squinty?" inquired the jolly elephant.

"Yes," said Slicko, "his name was Squinty."

"I met him, too," said Tum Tum. "He was a comical little pig. But now I must hurry back," and on he went, crashing his way through the bushes. Some day, in another book, I shall tell you all the adventures of Tum Tum, the jolly elephant.

Slicko felt more lonesome than ever when the elephant had left her. She did not know what to do, and she wanted, more than ever, to see her mamma and papa, and sister and brothers again. Then, all at once, Slicko thought of something.

"Oh, I forgot to ask Tum Tum to give me a ride on his back!" exclaimed Slicko. "Mappo said he would, as he was such a kind elephant. I'm going to call to him."

So Slicko called, in her chattering voice:

"Tum Tum! Tum Tum!"

"Yes, I hear you. What is it?" asked the elephant, stopping.

"Would you please give me a ride on your back," begged Slicko. "Mappo, the merry monkey, said you gave children at the circus rides, and I am so little you would hardly feel me."

"Of course I'll give you a ride!" cried Tum Tum. "I thought I was forgetting something," he went on, as he crashed back through the bushes. "I meant to invite you for a little ride on my back," went on Tum Tum. "Why, I shouldn't feel you any more than I should a feather, Slicko. Besides, I am very strong; I could carry ten children on my back, and hardly know it."

"Oh, indeed you must be very strong!" cried the little squirrel girl.

Tum Tum, with a jolly noise that sounded as much like a laugh as any elephant can make, stood under the branch of the tree on which Slicko was perched.

"Hop down, little squirrel," invited the big, jolly elephant. Down hopped Slicko, landing on the back of Tum Tum, and then what a fine ride she had!

Tum Tum could step over bushes that would have taken Slicko some time to climb, and some bushes Tum Tum trampled under his big feet as though they were straw.

Other bushes the elephant pushed his big body through, as easily as the clown in the circus jumps off the horse's back through the paper hoop.

"Do you like riding on my back?" asked Tum Tum, swinging along.

"Oh, it is just fine!" cried Slicko, as she sat there, with her tail held over her head like a sun umbrella. "But don't go too far with me, Tum Tum, please."

"I won't," the elephant said. And pretty soon he turned back with Slicko, and left her on the same branch from which she had jumped -- right near her aunt's nest.

"Well, good-bye once more, Slicko," called Tum Tum. "I may see you again to-morrow. And if you meet that Mappo, tell him he is wanted back in the circus."

"I'll tell him," promised Slicko.

Once more the little jumping girl squirrel was all alone in the big woods. Somewhere in the forest were her father and mother, and her sister and brothers were somewhere about. But just where, Slicko did not know.

"Well," thought the little creature, in a way squirrels and other animals have of thinking, "well, I guess I shall have to stay alone to-night again. And perhaps for many more nights and days. I wonder what will become of me, and if I shall ever see my folks again. Oh dear!"

Slicko felt a little sad for a moment, but then she knew that she would have to be brave, and do things for herself, since there was no one to help her.

"I think I'll put some more leaves, and some cotton from the milkweed plant, in Aunt Whitey's nest," thought Slicko. "That will make it warmer."

Fixing up the nest so it would be nicer to stay in took Slicko until nearly dark. Then, after she had carried up some nuts to the nest, so she would have them ready for morning, Slicko curled up in the soft leaves and went to sleep.

Nothing bothered her this night. No bad old owl, with big, round, staring eyes, tried to get the little squirrel. Perhaps the owl, which had tried it before, was sure the nest was empty, and that he could not get anything to eat from it. At any rate the owl did not come, and Slicko was glad of it.

In the morning, after her breakfast, having had a drink and washed at the spring, Slicko said:

"I think I had better go off in the woods nutting, to-day. I shall need many nuts to eat, if I have to stay here all winter, and I had better begin to gather them now before they are all gone."

Slicko knew, as do all squirrels, the best places in the woods to look for nuts. Soon the little girl squirrel had found many chestnuts, acorns, hickory nuts and beech nuts. These she carried, a few at a time, up to her aunt's nest-house.

"If Aunt Whitey should come back, there would be enough for her and me too," thought Slicko.

The store-house of the nest was almost full of nuts, but still Slicko was not satisfied.

"I must get more," she said to herself, "for we may have a long winter, with much snow." Well, Slicko knew how hard the winter was for squirrels, and all animals.

So the next day Slicko went off nutting again. She had not gone very far through the woods before she came to a little grassy place, and there, in the middle of it, Slicko saw a nice pile of nuts, all gathered up, ready to be taken away.

"Oh, that's just fine!" thought Slicko to herself. "The nuts are all in a nice heap, and I don't have to pick them up, one by one, and carry them home. I can take a whole paw full at once."

Now Slicko was a wise little squirrel in some ways. But she had many things yet to learn. She did not stop to think that nuts in the woods never heap themselves up in a pile without some animal or some person doing it. Slicko thought the nuts were put there just for her. But it was all a trick, as you shall soon see.

Of course Slicko did not at once jump down to get the nuts. She knew enough not to do that, for she had often been told some animal might be waiting to grab her. So she looked all around, and, seeing nothing, down she scrambled.

As Slicko came nearer to the pile of nuts, and saw how nice they looked, she said to herself:

"Oh, there will be enough for all winter. How lovely!"

But there was something else besides the nuts there on the ground, though Slicko did not see it. If she had noticed it, and had kept out of the way, she might not have had as many adventures as she did have. But little squirrels are not always wise and smart, any more than real children are.

Right up to the pile of nuts scampered Slicko. She took up some chestnuts in her paws, that were like little hands, and then, all of a sudden, something clicked, and snapped, and Slicko felt herself caught by one leg, and held tightly.


Chapter VII

Slicko Is Caught


Poor Slicko was so surprised at first, and her leg pained her so much, from whatever it was that had grasped it, that the little squirrel lay quite still for a moment. Her heart beat very fast, and she thought of the many dangers, which her father and mother had told her might happen to little squirrels.

"And I'm sure something dreadful has happened to me!" thought Slicko, as she looked all around with her bright eyes. "Yes, something dreadful has happened. I wonder what it is. Can it be that an owl, or a hawk or a snake has caught me?"

Slicko tried to think of these different birds and the snake, for each one has a different way of catching a squirrel, and Slicko wanted to make sure which it was that had hold of her.

Then, as she heard no fluttering of wings, which she would have heard had it been a big bird which had caught her, and, as she did not hear the hiss of an angry snake, she felt sure it was none of those dangers.

"But what can it be that has hold of my leg?" thought Slicko.

She looked down, and there, partly hidden under the grass and the pile of nuts, where Slicko had not seen it before, was a steel trap. And her leg was caught in that trap, between two pieces of steel, that pressed together as hard as the rubber rollers of the wringer press on the clothes on washday.

"Oh dear!" though Poor Slicko. "I am caught in a trap! Papa and mamma told me to be careful of traps, but I didn't see this one. I guess I was thinking too much of the nuts. Oh dear! What shall I do? How can I get out?"

That is what Slicko thought as she lay there, her leg in the trap, hurting her very much. All animals, when they are caught in a trap, at once begin to think of how they can get out. Some think one way, and some another, but they all think, or else how could some of them get out the way they do? Of course I don't mean to say that animals think just the way we do, any more than they talk the way we do. But they talk and think in a language of their own.

Slicko was not a very old squirrel, and this was the first time she had ever been in a trap. If she had been an older squirrel, she would not have gone near the pile of nuts, for an older squirrel would have been sure they were put there on purpose to fool some animal.

But Slicko did not think. That was why she was caught in the trap.

"Oh, I must get out!" chattered poor Slicko. "I must get away from here, or some one may come and catch me!"

Slicko tried to pull her leg out of the trap, but the strong spring of it held the steel jaws tightly together. Some animal traps have sharp teeth on the steel jaws that spring together, and they hurt very much. But this trap was not that kind, and Slicko was glad of it. So the only thing that happened to her leg was that it was badly pinched, and squeezed tightly.

Still she knew that if she did not pull herself away, something else dreadful might happen to her.

"Well," said Slicko to herself, when she had tried several times to pull her leg out and could not, "if I can't get loose from the trap, maybe I can pull the trap with me, off into the woods, and I can find some other big man-squirrel to help me get loose. That's what I'll do."

But when Slicko tried to run off, with the trap still fastened to her leg, she found that she could not. The trap was chained to a tree, and Slicko was held fast.

"Oh dear!" cried the little squirrel. "I'm never going to get loose. I wish my mamma or papa would come!"

But Papa and Mamma Squirrel were away off in the woods, and they thought their little daughter was safe with her Aunt Whitey. They did not know all that had happened.

Slicko tried and tried again to get out of the trap, or to pull the trap away with her, but she could not. Then, as she was pretty tired, and as her little heart was beating very fast, she lay down to rest.

Finding some of the nuts close to her nose, she began to eat one, for she was quite hungry, even if she was fast in a trap.

After Slicko had eaten a few nuts, she felt better. She was a little stronger, too, and she thought perhaps now she could get out of the trap, but, when she tried, the jaws of it held her as tightly as ever.

"Oh dear! Oh dear! Oh dear!" cried poor Slicko.

All at once she heard, off in the woods, the sound of bushes being trampled down. Twigs and branches snapped and broke, and Slicko knew something was coming.

"I hope it isn't a bear, or any bad animal that will get me," thought the little girl squirrel. With her bright eyes snapping, Slicko watched and waited.

All of a sudden, through the bushes, straight for the place where Slicko lay, near the pile of nuts, came a boy. Slicko knew it was a boy because he was just like the hunter-man, only smaller. But the boy had no gun, and Slicko was glad of that. However, there was a dog with him, and for that, Slicko was sorry.

"Here, Rover! Rover!" called the boy to his dog, for Rover was running all about, sniffing under stones and bushes. "Here, Rover! Let's see if we have anything in our trap," the boy called.

"Ah! so he is the one who put the trap here to catch me!" thought Slicko. She could understand some man or boy-talk, though she could not speak it herself, just as your dog understands how to run to you when you say: "Come here!" But, though he understands you, he cannot make you understand him.

"Bow wow!" barked the dog with the boy. "Bow wow!"

"Yes, I hear you. What is it?" the boy asked.

"Bow wow! Wow! Wow!" barked the dog, and Slicko saw him looking straight at her.

I guess the dog was trying to tell the boy there was something in the trap, but the boy didn't understand dog-talk very well.

"Bow wow!" barked the dog again. And then, as Slicko tried to hide herself down under the leaves, where the dog could not see her, that dog barked louder than ever.

"Bow wow! Wow! Wow! Woppity-wop-wow!"

"Well, you're making a lot of fuss!" exclaimed the boy, as he pushed his way through the bushes. "Have you caught something, Rover, old boy?"

"Bow wow! Yes!" answered the dog.

Then the boy came up to the trap.

"Ha! I have caught something!" he cried. "A squirrel, too! I thought I would if I piled up those nuts there, and hid the trap near them. Ha! I've caught a squirrel."

"Oh, what a mean boy you are!" said Slicko to herself. "You set the trap on purpose to catch me! Oh, how mean!"

Now this boy was not mean exactly, or cruel, as you shall soon see. He was only thoughtless, as most boys are. He never really intended to hurt the little squirrel. Perhaps he thought the fur on a squirrel's leg was so thick that the trap, springing shut, would not hurt. And, really, Slicko was not hurt such a terrible lot. But she felt badly enough, let me tell you.

"Yes, I have a squirrel!" the boy cried, and he seemed real glad of it. "Now I can take it home and tame it."

Slicko did not know what "tame" meant, but she thought if it meant being caught by your leg in a trap, that she would not like it at all.

"Yes," went on the boy, "I'll take the squirrel home and tame it, and teach it tricks."

"Ha! Tricks!" said Slicko to herself. "Where have I heard that word before? Oh, I know! Squinty, the comical pig, could do tricks, and so could Tum Tum, the jolly elephant.

"Well, maybe if this boy teaches me some tricks, it will not be so bad. Then I could go home and surprise Chatter, Fluffy and Nutto. I don't believe they can do tricks."

Slicko watched the boy and dog. The dog was barking and jumping about in the leaves. He seemed quite excited at seeing the squirrel in the trap.

"Quiet, Rover! Lie down!" said the boy, and Rover minded like the good dog he was.

"Now, let's see how I am going to get this little squirrel home," the boy went on. "I ought to have brought a box."

"I wonder if he means take me to his home or my home?" thought Slicko. "I guess he must mean his home, for he doesn't know where mine is -- I don't know myself."

"I hope the trap didn't break her leg," the boy went on. "I don't believe it did, for the spring wasn't very strong."

"Oh, I'm sure my leg is broken," thought poor Slicko. "It hurts very much."

The boy put out his hand very slowly to take the little squirrel out of the trap.

"I wonder if you'll bite," he said.

"Ha! That's so. I can bite!" said Slicko out loud, but, to the boy, her talk only sounded like chattering.

Slicko had sharp teeth, and very strong. They had to be, for with them she had to gnaw off the shell of hard hickory nuts. So Slicko knew she could bite fiercely if she wanted to.

"But I don't know that I want to," thought Slicko. "If I bite, the boy will be angry at me, and if he is to teach me tricks, it will be better if we are friends. No, I won't bite him, though I could if I wanted to."

Slowly and carefully, the boy put out his hand toward Slicko.

"I wish I had a thick pair of gloves," he said. "Then if you bit, it wouldn't hurt. I got bit by a squirrel once, and I don't want it to happen again."

"I won't bite you," said Slicko, though of course the boy could not understand her. Now his hand was on the soft fur of Slicko's back, and he stroked her gently.

"Poor little squirrel," said the boy. "I'm sorry you were caught in the trap, and I hope you're not hurt much. I -- I guess I'm never going to set any more traps."

The boy felt sorry now, for poor Slicko looked at him with such a sorrowful look in her bright eyes, that it really seemed as if she were crying tears of pain -- that is, if squirrels can cry. They can feel pain, at any rate.

So you see, though it was a sad thing for Slicko to be caught in a trap, in one way it was a good thing, for it taught the boy a lesson, and made him more kind-hearted.

"I'll soon have you loose, little squirrel," the boy went on. Then he quickly pressed on the spring of the trap with one hand, while he held Slicko with the other. The jaws of the trap came open, and Slicko's leg was loose. And oh! how good it felt not to be squeezed as she had been.

Then, all of a sudden, Slicko felt herself lifted up, and put into a soft, dark place -- a place as dark as the deepest, darkest part of the nest at home -- the cellar part where the nuts were stored away for winter.


Chapter VIII

Slicko's New Home


Slicko, the jumping squirrel, found herself all huddled up in a heap in the soft, dark place. She did not feel much like jumping just then -- indeed she could not have jumped if she had wished, for there was no room.

Besides, her leg, that had been caught in the trap, hurt her quite a lot, though not so much as it had at first.

"I -- I wonder where I am," thought Slicko, as she tried to look about her. Soon she could see better than at first, and, as a squirrel's eyes are made to see in the dark, much as are the eyes of the owl-bird, Slicko could soon make out where she was.

She was down inside a sort of bag, very soft and cozy, but even though it was so soft, Slicko could not get out. She tried, but there was no hole. Even the top, through which she had been put in, was tightly closed.

Slicko tried her teeth on some of the soft stuff, but it tickled her little red tongue, so she stopped.

"I wonder where I am," thought Slicko, again.

And, though she did not know it, she was in the boy's coat pocket, and he had pinned the flap down over it, so the little squirrel could not get out. Later on Slicko took many trips in that same pocket, and was not afraid, but this time her little heart beat very fast, for she did not know what was going to happen to her.

"Well, I don't believe I'll try to catch any more squirrels," said the boy. "I'll take this trap home with me."

"Ah, that's good!" thought Slicko. "If he takes the trap away, no more squirrels will be caught. That's very good!"

"And I guess I'll take some of these nuts home to feed my new squirrel," went on the boy, speaking out loud the way boys do sometimes, especially if they have their dogs with them.

"Bow wow!" barked Rover, the dog. "Bow wow!" That was his way of saying that he, too, thought it would be a good thing to take home some of the nuts.

Slicko heard the nuts rattling into the other pocket of the boy who had caught her, and then she felt him walking off with her. Through the woods he went, as Slicko could tell, for she heard the rattle and crack of the bushes, as the boy pushed his way through them.

After what seemed to Slicko a long time, she fell asleep in the boy's pocket, and, when she awoke, she was in such a bright light that it made her eyes blink very fast. The boy had opened his pocket, and had taken Slicko out in his hands.

"Oh, what have you got, Bob?" asked a small girl, one of the boy's sisters.

"A little squirrel," he answered.

"Where did you get it?" asked another girl.

"I caught it in a trap in the woods, Sallie," the boy answered.

"Oh, how cruel, to catch a poor little squirrel in a trap!" exclaimed the first little girl.

"Oh, I didn't hurt it," said Bob. "And, when it gets tame I'm going to teach it some tricks."

"Are you going to put the squirrel in a cage with a wheel?" asked the girl whose name was Mollie.

"Yes, as soon as papa gets me that kind of a cage," the boy said. "But, until then, I'll let it stay in a box."

"I hope it doesn't get away like Squinty, your pig, did," spoke Sallie.

"Oh, no, I won't let the squirrel get away," said the boy.

"Ha!" thought Slicko. "Squinty the pig! I wonder if this is the boy who made a pet of Squinty. If it is the same one, I am sure he will be kind to me."

"Where do you suppose Squinty is now?" asked Sallie.

"Back in the pen with the other pigs," the boy replied. "After he got away, he grew too big to keep for a pet. But this squirrel won't grow too big."

"I'm sorry for that," thought Slicko. "For if I grew big enough I, too, might be allowed to go back to my home. But I will wait and see what will happen. I will be as good as I can, and learn all the tricks I can, and the boy and his sisters will love me."

"Oh, isn't she cute!" cried one of the little girls, as she put her finger on the soft fur of Slicko's back.

"Look out, she might bite!" exclaimed the other little girl.

"Indeed I'll not!" chattered Slicko. "I wouldn't be so impolite as that."

That is what Slicko said, but of course the boy and his sisters could not understand. But they could see that Slicko was very gentle, and, as she lay there, in the boy's warm hand, the two little girls petted her, and loved Slicko.

"Now I'll put her in a box," the boy said, "and give her some nuts to eat and some water to drink."

"That will be fine!" thought Slicko, for she was very thirsty and hungry.

A little later she found herself in a small wooden box. In one corner were some nuts, in another a dish of water, and in a third corner some nice soft cotton, almost like the kind that comes on the inside of the pods of the milkweed plant.

"Well, this isn't like my home-nest in the tree, nor like Aunt Whitey's nest," thought Slicko, "but as long as I have to stay here, I might as well make the best of it. I can eat and drink, anyhow. I shall not be hungry or thirsty."

Slicko took up a hickory nut in her paws, that were like little hands, and, sitting up on her hind legs, with her tail spread out over her like an umbrella, she began to eat the meat of the nut.

"Oh, look!" cried one of the girls, who was watching. "Come and see the squirrel eat, Sallie!"

"Ha! It isn't so wonderful -- just to eat," thought Slicko. "I wonder how those girls would like it, if I came to look on every time they ate!"

Slicko could not get away, so she had to eat with the boy's sisters looking on. Not that Slicko minded very much, for she was beginning to like her new home, and she felt sure that she would be in no danger from dogs, or other animals. And if she got enough to eat, water to drink, and had a nice, warm place to sleep in, what more could a squirrel ask?

Slicko's leg hurt her a little bit, but it was getting better all the while, and she was feeling happier and happier every minute. True, she would have been very glad if her papa and mamma and her sister and brothers had been with her, but then she knew she could not have everything she wanted.

"And it's just wonderful that the same boy who has me had Squinty, the comical pig, for his pet," thought Slicko. "Squinty said the boy was good and kind, and I'm sure he'll teach me some nice tricks. I shall love to learn tricks."

For two or three days Slicko stayed in the box where the boy had first put her. Every day she was given fresh water, and this was what she needed almost more than she did nuts to eat. All animals need water, especially in hot weather, so if ever you have a squirrel, or any other pets, see to it that they have all the cool, clean water they wish to drink.

"I wonder when my new cage is to come, whatever a cage is," thought Slicko, after she had been in the box about a week. "I am anxious to see it, and I wonder what that wheel is the boy spoke about."

Slicko was soon to know, however.

One day, when Slicko was eating nuts in her box, she looked up at the top, over which had been fastened a bit of wire so she could not get out, and, looking down at her, Slicko saw the boy's big dog staring in.

"Bow wow!" barked the dog.

"Chatter-chat! Chit-chat-chatter-r-r-r-r-r-r!" went Slicko.

That was her way of saying: "How do you do?"

She did not feel afraid, for she knew the dog could not get at her in the box.

"Oh, Bob! The dog is after your squirrel!" suddenly called Mollie.

"Yes, come quickly!" shouted Sallie.

"Bow wow!" barked the dog. And he seemed to say:

"Don't worry! I wouldn't hurt that little squirrel for the world. I just want to look at her."

"Oh, Rover won't hurt Slicko," said the boy, who had given his new pet the same name as had the squirrel's mamma. In fact, Slicko was so smooth and slick, and so clean, that it would have been hard to get any other name to fit her as well as did Slicko.

"See, the dog and squirrel will be good friends," said the boy. With that he reached in and lifted Slicko out of the box, holding her close to Rover.

Rover put out his red tongue and touched Slicko with it. And Slicko put out her tiny-paw and touched Rover. That was her way of shaking hands.

"See, they are friends!" said the boy. "Soon, when Slicko gets a little tamer, I'm going to let her run out of the cage, and go all over the house."

"She may run away, like Squinty, the comical pig," said Mollie.

"Oh, I don't believe she will," answered the boy.

Just then some one called:

"Bob! Bob! Where are you? Come here! The new cage for your squirrel has come!"

"Oh, it's my new home!" thought Slicko. "I wonder what it is like."


Chapter IX

Slicko Does Some Tricks


Slicko was put back into the wooden box, and Bob fastened the wire over the top again.

"Ha! The boy didn't need to do that!" thought the little squirrel. "I won't run away -- at least not until I see my new house."

The boy and his sisters went to where their mamma had called them, and soon they came running back again. The boy carried a big wire cage, something like the one in which Slicko had once seen a canary bird flying about. But this new cage for Slicko was much larger, and, at one end, was a big round wheel of wire, something like a merry-go-round, only it whirled the other way, like a hoop, and there were no wooden animals, or seats, on this squirrel wheel.

"What can it be for?" thought Slicko.

Bob, the boy, lifted Slicko up out of her little wooden box.

"Let's see how you like your new cage," he said.

"Oh, but there's nothing for her to eat or drink in it," cried one of the girls.

"I'll put in some nuts and water," Bob said. "Come, Slicko, go into your new cage."

Bob opened a little wire door, and thrust Slicko through it into the cage. The door went shut with a click and a slam, that reminded Slicko of the time she had been caught in the trap. She looked around quickly, wondering if there were a trap near her now. But she saw only the clean, new, wire cage, with little dishes for nuts and water, a little covered-over dark place, where she could crawl in during the day, and go to sleep in the dark; and then there was that great big wire wheel, that spun around very easily when Bob touched it with his finger.

"Oh, I'm never going in that!" thought Slicko, somewhat afraid.

She crouched down, and looked carefully all around her new cage. She wanted to see if there were any danger near. But all she saw, through the wires, was the boy, his two sisters and Rover, the dog she had grown to like very much.

"Oh, I guess it will be all right here," thought Slicko. "I will not be afraid."

"Doesn't she look cute in there?" asked Mollie, laughing.

"She certainly does," agreed Sallie.

"You wait until I teach her some tricks," spoke the boy. "Then she'll be worth looking at."

Slicko made up her mind she would learn the tricks as soon as she could.

"Then I'll be like Squinty, the comical pig," she said to herself.

Soon Slicko felt quite at home in her new cage. She went inside the little bedroom, that was pretty dark, even in the daytime. Squirrels, and all wild animals, like to be in the dark, and off by themselves, once in a while.

Inside the little bedroom, which was made of tin and wire, like the rest of the cage, was some soft cotton, and in this Slicko could cuddle up and keep warm, even when winter came. And, as I have said, there was a dish for nuts and another for water. These the boy filled, and soon Slicko was eating her first meal in her new home.

"I wish she'd go in the wheel, and ride it," said Mollie.

"She will, after a while," the boy said. "I know how to make her."

Slicko wondered how he would do it, but she could not guess.

For several days the little jumping squirrel lived in her new cage. The boy and his sisters would come to watch her, and bring her nice things to eat, so Slicko soon became real tame. Often other children would come to look at her.

Sometimes the boy would take her out, and put her in his pocket, as he had done on the day he brought Slicko from the woods, after she had been caught in the trap. Then Slicko would stick her head out, just a little bit, and all the children would exclaim:

"Oh, isn't she cute!"

Slicko did not know exactly what "cute" meant, but she tried to be as nice and polite as she could.

"Have you taught your squirrel any tricks yet?" asked Mollie of her brother, one day.

"No, but I am going to try one now. Do you want to watch?"

"Indeed I do!" said the little girl.

Slicko saw the boy take all the nuts out of the eating dish.

"I wonder what he is doing that for," the little squirrel thought. "I'm hungry, and I want to eat those nuts." But the boy took every one.

"What are you going to do?" asked his sister.

"You'll soon see," he answered with a laugh. "I am going to teach Slicko her first trick."

Then the boy placed two or three nice, sweet, juicy chestnuts inside the wheel of the squirrel cage. This wheel went around and around, just as a barrel rolls over the ground, only the wire wheel of the squirrel cage stayed right in the same place, whirling about as does a merry-go-round.

"Now, when Slicko goes in to get the nuts, she'll make the wheel go around," the boy said to his sisters. "The faster she runs, the faster the wheel will go, and she'll be doing a trick."

"Oh, let's watch her!" cried Sallie.

"Well, you may watch all you like," said Slicko to herself, "but I am not going in that wheel. I'm afraid!"

So she stayed in the other part of the cage, looking at the chestnuts, and wishing she could get them, for she was getting more and more hungry every minute.

"Maybe I can pull one out without going in the wheel myself," thought Slicko. She reached her paw in through the little round hole that led into the wheel from her cage. She could almost touch the chestnuts, but not quite.

"There! She's going in!" cried one of the girls softly.

But Slicko did not go.

"If she wasn't afraid, she'd go in and have a ride," the boy said. "Come on, Slicko," he called, "it won't hurt you."

Slicko did not want to. However, she kept getting more and more hungry, and those chestnuts looked so good!

"I'm going to try it!" said the little jumping squirrel to herself, finally. "I don't believe that boy would do me any harm."

Very slowly and carefully, Slicko stepped into the moving wheel. It rocked gently to and fro. As soon as the squirrel was all the way inside, it moved more. She felt as though she were falling and then, so that she should not fall, she took two or three little steps.

The wire wheel seemed to slide out from under her. It went whirling around, and the faster Slicko ran, the faster the wheel went. The little squirrel stayed right in the same place, but the wire wheel went round and round under her pattering feet.

"There she goes!" cried Sallie.

"Oh, see how fast she can run!" exclaimed Mollie.

"Yes, she has learned to do the trick," said the boy. "I thought she would get so hungry that she would go in after the chestnuts, and then she'd make the wheel whirl."

And that was just what Slicko had done. She was so surprised at the fast motion of the wheel that she did not think to eat the nuts inside. But now, after whirling about for some time, Slicko did not run so fast. The wheel went slower and slower, and finally stopped. The nuts, which had been rattling around with Slicko, dropped down beside her, and she began to eat them, sitting up on her hind legs, and holding them in her front paws, while she gnawed off the shell.

"Oh, isn't she just too cute for anything!" cried Sallie.

"Just lovely," said her sister, Mollie.

"Well, that's one trick," the boy said. "It's the easiest of all. Now that she knows the wheel won't hurt her, she'll often take a whirl in it."

"Yes," said Slicko to herself, as she heard Bob say this, "I think I shall."

And, from then on, Slicko was no longer afraid of the whirling wheel of her cage. Bob did not have to put any more nuts in it to get her to go in. Slicko liked it, and went in herself, several times a day. It gave her something to do -- like playing a game.

The cage where Slicko was kept was too small to let her run about and jump very much, and the wheel was just the very thing. On that, Slicko could pretend she was running a race, as she used to do with her brothers and sister in the woods.

"Oh, I wonder what has become of Chatter, and all the rest of them," thought Slicko many times, as she thought of her former home. "And I wonder if I shall ever see them again!"

"What are you doing, Bob?" asked Mollie, one day as she saw her brother pasting some paper over a little wooden hoop. It was just like those the men in the circus jump through, only smaller.

"I am getting ready for another trick for Slicko," he said.

"Do you think you can get her to jump through one of those paper covered hoops?" asked Sallie.

"I think so," replied Bob. "I'm going to try."

Slicko was quite tame by this time, and often would be allowed to run about the room, being let out of her cage. Sometimes Bob would sit in a chair, and put some nuts in his pocket. Then Slicko would run along on the floor, crawl up Bob's leg, dive down into his pocket, and pull out the nuts.

"That's another trick," Bob would say with a laugh. "My squirrel is getting to be very smart!"

"But how are you going to get her to jump through a paper hoop?" asked Mollie.

"I'll soon show you," said Bob.

By this time he had two or three hoops all ready, pasted over with thin red, white and blue paper, so that they looked very pretty indeed.

"Now, Slicko," said Bob, as he took the little squirrel out of her wire cage, "you are going to learn a new trick to-day. And I want you to pay strict attention, and do as I tell you."

Bob took a piece of sweet apple, of which Slicko was very fond, and put it on top of a little box on the dining-room table. Then he put Slicko down at the other end of the table, and stood near her, with one of the paper hoops in his hand.

"Now, Slicko," said Bob, as he pointed at the apple, "that is for you, if you do as I want you to do. Go get the apple, Slicko."

Slicko knew what apple was. She could smell it, and she thought it must be meant for her. She scampered toward it, but, when she had almost reached it she found Bob holding a paper hoop out in front of her. The hoop was between Slicko and the apple.

Slicko started to go around to one side, to get out of the way of the hoop, but Bob moved it, so that it was still in front of her.

"Well, I can go the other way," thought Slicko. But, when she turned the other way, there was still the paper hoop in front of her. It was between her and the apple, and she wanted that apple very much.

"Ha!" thought Slicko, "if Bob doesn't take that paper hoop out of my way, I'll jump right through it and get the apple anyhow!"


Chapter X

Slicko Runs Away


"Come on, get the apple, Slicko!" called Bob.

"How can she, when you keep putting that paper hoop in front of her?" asked Bob's sister Mollie.

"She'll go right through it," said Sallie.

"That's just what I want her to do," Bob answered, with a laugh. "It will be a fine trick."

Slicko did not understand all of this talk, but she did want that apple, and when she heard Bob say "trick," she began to understand that, after all, perhaps the hoop was only put in front of her for fun.

So the next time she ran toward the piece of apple on the table, and the boy moved the paper hoop in front of her, Slicko gave a sudden little jump, and, right through the paper she went, breaking a hole in it, and landing close to the piece of apple.

"Hurrah!" cried the boy. "There she goes!"

"Oh, wasn't that cute!" exclaimed Mollie.

"Just too sweet for anything," spoke Sallie. "I hope she didn't hurt herself!"

"Hurt herself? Of course not!" cried Bob. "How could she, when the paper was so soft and thin? And she has learned another trick now, haven't you, Slicko?"

Slicko was too busy eating the apple to answer, even if she could have spoken boy language. She sat up on her hind legs, with her tail spread out over her head, and, holding the bit of apple in her paws, which were like little hands, she nibbled at the sweet pulp.

"Will she do it again?" asked Mollie.

"I guess so," answered the boy. "I'll try her once more. This time I'll give her a nut."

When Slicko had finished eating the apple, Bob took her gently up in his hands, and set her down at one end of the table. On the other end he placed some pieces of hickory nut meats, with the shells off.

"Ah, ha!" thought Slicko. "They look good! I can eat them without stopping to gnaw off the hard shell."

The little jumping squirrel started toward the pile of nut meats, but, before she could reach them, Bob put in front of her another hoop, covered with paper.

Just as she had done at first, Slicko tried to run to one side, but Bob kept the hoop in front of her. Slicko had forgotten about jumping through, even though she had done it only a little while before.

Most animals are that way when first they learn a new trick. They forget very easily, until they have done it over and over again. It was this way with Slicko.

But as Bob kept the hoop in front of her, and as she kept smelling the nice nuts at the other end of the table, it came into Slicko's head that she must jump through the paper of the hoop to get them, just as she had done to get the piece of apple.

"Here I go!" thought the little squirrel.

She gave another little jump, and right through the second paper hoop she went, coming down on the table close to the nut meats, which she began to eat; and very good they tasted, indeed.

"Ha! She did the trick again!" cried Bob.

"What a cunning squirrel!" exclaimed Mollie.

"She's just too dear for anything," said Sallie.

Slicko understood a little of this talk, and she was glad she had pleased the children. She was beginning to be very happy in her new home, and she liked Bob and his sisters very much.

The boy had Slicko jump through the paper hoops several more times that day, and then he put her back in the big wire cage, and let her rest. Wild animals do not like to be doing tricks all the while. They get tired just as you do.

The next day Slicko did the hoop tricks again, and soon she was so smart that she knew, as soon as she saw Bob with the paper-covered things, that she was to do her jumping trick. She did not have to have a piece of apple placed at one end of the table to make her jump, now.

But, each time, after she was through doing her little tricks, she was given something good to eat. That is always the way to train wild animals or pets -- be kind to them when they have done what you want them to do.

Slicko lived in the house with the boy for several weeks. The weather had gotten colder now, and winter would soon be here. Slicko could tell this, for sometimes the windows of the room, in which her cage stood, were left open, and she could feel the cold wind. But her fur coat was growing warm and thick now, and she would not have minded being outdoors, no matter how cold it was, if she had plenty to eat.

But, after all, Slicko was rather glad that she had a good home for the coming winter. She remembered how, when she had lived in the home-nest, she had heard her papa and mamma talking in their chatter language about how hard it was, sometimes, to find things to eat, when the white snow covered the ground. Squirrels always store away nuts, but sometimes they can not get enough, and sometimes the winter is so long that they eat up all they have in their nest, before it is time for spring to come and bring other food.

"But that can't happen to me here," thought Slicko. "No matter how cold it is outside, or how much snow there is, I shall be warm in this house, and Bob and his sisters will give me enough to eat. After all, maybe it is a good thing Bob caught me and brought me here."

Bob taught his pet squirrel other tricks. He taught Slicko to crawl right up to his pocket, and go to sleep there. He also taught her to go into his pockets after lumps of sugar, and other good things to eat. When she had found them, she would come out and sit on his shoulder to eat them. This always made the children who saw it laugh, and they thought Slicko was a very cute squirrel indeed.

Bob's sisters tried to teach Slicko tricks. But they wanted to make a sort of doll of her, and, though Slicko was a girl squirrel, she knew nothing of dolls.

"Oh, wouldn't she look cute dressed up in one of my dolls' dresses?" asked Mollie of Sallie, one day.

"Yes, indeed! Let's try it!" exclaimed Sallie.

They took Slicko out of her cage, and, though they handled her very gently, the little squirrel did not like being put inside a doll's dress.

"Oh, isn't she too cute!" cried Mollie.

"Yes," said Sallie. "Now let's put her in the doll carriage and wheel her about."

But this was too much for Slicko. It was bad enough to be dressed up as a doll, but when it came to being put in a thing on wheels, and ridden about the room, that was more than Slicko would stand. She did not mind her wire wheel in the cage, but she did not like to be wheeled in the carriage.

Out she jumped, and with her paws she pulled off the doll's dress that had been tied on her. Then, chattering as loudly as she could, she ran to her cage, and hid in the little place where she slept. There Mollie and Sallie could not get her.

"Oh, well, never mind. Let's play with our real dolls," said Mollie. "Maybe Bob wouldn't like us to dress up his squirrel."

"All right," agreed Sallie. And Slicko was glad to be left alone.

She did not mind when Bob taught her tricks.

"If I learn a number of them," thought Slicko, "I shall be as smart as Squinty, the comical pig, or as Mappo, the monkey, or Tum Tum, the jolly elephant. I wonder if I shall ever see them again."

Slicko felt a little sad when she thought of her animal friends. Then she began thinking of her father and mother, of her sister and brothers, and of Aunt Whitey.

"I wonder where Aunt Whitey could be?" thought Slicko. "I should like to see her again."

At these times Slicko became a little lonesome and homesick. But, whenever she was beginning to get too sad, Bob would come, take her out of the cage, and either give her something good to eat, or put her through some of her tricks. Then Slicko would be happy once more.

As the days went on, Slicko became so tame that the door of her cage was never shut. She could come and go as she pleased, and she roamed all about the house. She would come to the dinner table, and sit up near Bob, who would feed her from his plate. And then she would scramble into his pocket, to get a bit of sugar.

The winter came, with its cold and snow. Slicko stayed in the warm house. Then the days began to get warmer. Spring was coming. One day it was warm enough for the windows of the room, where Slicko's cage stood, to be opened. The little squirrel smelled the fresh air of spring. She seemed to smell the cool, green woods, where the trees were just beginning to put on their new green dresses of leaves.

Something seemed to be calling to Slicko. She heard the hum of bees, the song of birds and the chatter of other squirrels. A strange feeling came over Slicko. She wanted to run away to the woods.

She looked all around the room. No one was there. The door of her cage was open. Softly, on her pattering feet, Slicko ran to the window. She climbed to the sill, looked out into the garden, and off to the woods. Then Slicko jumped down into the soft, green grass, and ran away.


Chapter XI

Slicko's Big Adventure


Slicko had been a tame squirrel for several months. Before that, and for a longer time, she had been just a little wild squirrel, living in the woods, and doing as all wild squirrels do.

So, when she jumped out of the window and ran away, she became, for the time being, just as wild as she ever had been. For a little while she forgot all the tricks Bob had taught her, and she forgot the nice pieces of apples and the nuts he used to give her. Slicko was just the same, now, as were her brothers, or her sister -- a little, wild animal.

She ran over the grass, crouching down low, and taking big jumps so no one would see her. Most of all, Slicko wanted to keep out of the way of Muffins, the big black cat at Bob's house.

This cat was not a good friend of Slicko's. Often, when the little squirrel was not watching, the cat would come quietly up close to her, and look at Slicko with very hungry eyes. Sometimes Bob would see Muffins, and drive her away.

"Muffins wouldn't hurt your squirrel," said Mollie, who liked the cat very much.

"Of course she wouldn't," said Sallie. "Rover, your dog, wouldn't hurt Slicko, so why would our cat?"

"Well, a cat is different from a dog," Bob would say. "A cat can't help sneaking up, and wanting to jump on anything it sees moving. But a dog only barks, and makes a big fuss. He doesn't really do any harm. Of course I don't mean to say Muffins would intend to do Slicko any harm, but I won't give Muffins a chance."

So Bob never let the big cat come near his squirrel, and Slicko was glad of it, for Muffins had very hungry eyes. And now, when Slicko was running away, and Bob was not there to look after her, and when there was no strong wire cage to run and hide in, Slicko was very careful. She looked on both sides of her, as she ran along over the grass. Slicko was not going to be caught, if she could avoid it.

The little squirrel came to a tree, and up it she scrambled as fast as she could go. It was the first tree she had climbed since Bob had caught her in the trap, and Slicko was glad to find she had not forgotten how. Her leg, that had been pinched in the trap, was now as strong as the other ones.

Sticking her claws in the bark of the tree, Slicko went up, away to the top.

"There!" exclaimed the little squirrel, "if Muffins comes after me, she'll have trouble in reaching me."

Cats can climb trees, too, almost as well as squirrels can, though not so fast. But a cat does not very often go way up to the top of a tree, as Slicko had done.

The little runaway squirrel sat down on a tree branch and looked about her. The tree was just putting out its first green leaves, and the wind was blowing the branches gently to and fro, like a swing.

"Oh, this is lovely!" thought Slicko. "It is much nicer than my wheel in the cage. I am glad I ran away. I am never going back in the big house again."

You see, after all, though wild animals may seem contented to be pets, they always want to be free as they were at first.

Slicko began to look all over the tree to see if any nuts grew on it. She was not yet old enough to know that there would be no nuts until fall. Nor could she tell that the tree she was in was a pear tree, and never grew nuts. There would be no pears, either, until late in the summer.

Slicko was beginning to feel hungry. True, she had eaten her breakfast before running away, but now she felt hungry again. There seemed to be nothing to eat in the tree where she was hiding. It was no fun to be hungry.

"I must see about getting something to eat," thought Slicko. "I'll stay up here awhile, and then I'll go down and hunt for some nuts or bits of apple. Oh, I'll have a fine time, and I won't have to jump through paper hoops, or do any tricks."

Pretty soon Slicko, who sat on a limb of the tree where she could look at the window of the room where she used to live, heard the voice of Bob, her little master.

"I say!" cried Bob, "have any of you seen Slicko?"

"She was in her cage, a little while ago," said Mollie. "Isn't she there now?"

"No, and her cage is open, and so is the window of the room," went on Bob. "I'm afraid she has run away, or else maybe Muffins has caught her."

"Oh, you bad boy, to say such a thing!" cried Sallie. "Muffins wouldn't take Slicko. More likely it's Rover!"

"Rover wouldn't either," said Bob. "I wonder where Slicko can be. Here, Slicko! Slicko!" he called. "Come and get some nuts! Come and get some sugar!"

Slicko, up in the tree, heard Bob, but, though she was very hungry, she would not go down and get in his pocket, as she used to do. Slicko made up her little squirrel mind that as long as she had run away, she would not go back so soon.

"I want to have a little fun," she said to herself.

Bob called and called again. He looked all over for Slicko, even up in the trees, but Slicko managed to hide behind a leafy branch, and Bob could not see her. Bob even called Rover, thinking the dog might be able to help him find the lost squirrel.

From her perch in the tree, Slicko saw Bob and Rover running about. The dog barked:

"Bow wow! Bow wow! Bow wow!" as if he were calling Slicko to come down. But the little squirrel was not yet ready.

"I know what I'll do," said Bob. "I'll get some nuts and put them where Slicko can see them, close by the open window. I'll set her cage there, too, on a chair in the room. Maybe she's lost, and can't find her way home. But perhaps she can smell the nuts, and when she comes for them, she'll see her cage, and be glad to go back into it."

"Oh, yes, do that," said Mollie. "Once when my canary bird flew away, I hung the cage on a tree outside, and left the door open. And, pretty soon, Dick flew back into it."

"Well, I hope Slicko comes back to her cage," said Bob.

But Slicko had no idea of coming back so soon.

In a little while Bob had put some nuts on the ground outside the window, and near them, on a chair inside the room, he put the squirrel's cage.

"Now I'll hide and watch to see if Slicko comes back," said Bob. But Slicko did not want to be seen, so she stayed up in the tree. She was more hungry than ever, but she would not go down and get the nuts. After a while Bob got tired of hiding and waiting.

"I'll just go off and play ball," he said to his sisters. "When I come back, maybe Slicko will be in her cage."

Slicko waited until Bob had gone. The little squirrel looked down, and seeing Mollie and Sallie off on the front porch, playing with their dolls, she thought it would be safe to go down and get a few nuts.

Very carefully Slicko climbed down the tree. Stopping now and then, to make sure there was no danger, she reached the pile of nuts. She ate some, and oh! how good they tasted.

Then, all at once, Slicko heard something coming softly through the grass behind her. It was so soft that it sounded only like the wind blowing, but Slicko knew that it was not the wind.

Slicko turned quickly, just in time to see Muffins, the cat, make a spring for her.

"Oh my!" cried Slicko, and, turning quickly, the little squirrel made a mad dash for the pear tree. She had a nut in her paws, but she dropped that in running.

"Meaouw! Wow!" snarled Muffins, the big, black cat. She gave a spring, sticking out her claws, and trying to catch Slicko, but she was just too late. Slicko reached the tree, and up it she went almost to the very tip-top.

Muffins followed, and ran up the tree trunk a little way, but she did not go as far as Slicko had gone.

"My! That was the time she almost caught me!" thought Slicko, her little heart beating very fast. "I must be more careful after this. And oh! those nuts were so good. But I won't dare go down after them again until it's dark, when Muffins can't see me."

Slicko stayed in the tree all the rest of that day. She could see the pile of nuts on the ground, but, though she was very, very hungry, she did not dare go down to get any for fear of Muffins.

Slicko saw Bob come and look at the nuts. The boy cried out:

"Oh, my squirrel has been here! Some of the nuts are gone! Slicko is somewhere around here!"

But, though Bob looked in all the trees around the house, he could not find Slicko. Slicko saw Bob, though.

The little squirrel stayed in the tree all that night. But she did not have a very good time. It was cold, and it rained, and there was no hole, and no nest, into which Slicko could crawl to keep warm. She just had to shiver. And she was more hungry than ever, too.

"Oh dear! Running away isn't as much fun as I thought it would be!" said Slicko. "To-morrow, when Bob puts out the nuts again, and leaves the cage open, I'm going to run back into it. I have had enough of living like this. I had rather do tricks, such as jumping through paper hoops, than be cold and hungry."

But the next day Bob went away, and did not put out any nuts for his little squirrel. And those he had put out were carried away by the rats.

So Slicko got very few of them to eat, and she was quite hungry. She managed to find a few old acorns in the woods, but they were not so good as the nuts, apples and sugar Bob and his sisters used to feed her. And, as the window of the room was not open, and as the cage was not put out, Slicko could not run back home again.

"Isn't Bob going to try to catch his squirrel?" asked Mollie of Sallie, on the second day.

"No, I heard him say he guessed she was gone for good," said Sallie.

"Well, I haven't -- I'm here yet, and I'm coming back to my cage -- that is when I see it," Slicko said to herself.

That afternoon Slicko, perched in the top of her tree, saw one of the attic windows of Bob's house open.

"Ha!" exclaimed the little squirrel. "I can jump in there from my tree. I'll do it."

Slicko scrambled up to the highest branch. From there she could easily jump in through the attic window, and this she did.

She looked around, and she was glad when she saw some butternuts on the floor of the attic. Slicko soon gnawed a hole in one, and ate out the sweet meat. Then she felt much better.

It was nice and warm in the attic, and there was a pile of old clothes there. On these Slicko lay down and went to sleep.

When Slicko awoke, it was all dark. She had slept until it was night. She sat up on her hind legs and listened. She could hear nothing. The house was very quiet. Slicko looked at the window by which she had entered. It was tightly shut now.

All of a sudden Slicko felt thirsty. She knew there was no water up in the attic, but there was plenty down stairs in the kitchen. Bob always left a pan full there on the floor for his pet.

"I'll go down stairs and get a drink in the kitchen," said Slicko to herself.

Squirrels can see in the dark, almost as well as can owls, as I told you before. Soon Slicko was making her way safely down the front stairs.

As she got to the kitchen, she saw a light burning low. And, by this light Slicko could see a man, with a piece of black cloth over his face, taking knives and forks and spoons from a table, and putting them into his pocket.

Slicko, of course, did not know that the things were knives and forks and spoons. She only knew they were the things Bob and his sisters, and father and mother ate with. And, when she saw the man putting them into his pocket, Slicko thought they might be something good for her to eat.

"That must be Bob's papa," thought Slicko. "Well, I'll give him a surprise. I'll run up his leg and go into his pocket. Then he'll know I'm home again."


Chapter XII

Slicko Finds Her Nest


Scampering softly over the oilcloth of the kitchen floor, Slicko came close to the man. Slicko thought it was Bob's papa, but it was not. I'll soon tell you who the man was.

"I do hope he has some sugar for me," thought Slicko, for sometimes Bob's papa would play at tricks and games with the little squirrel, and do just as Bob did -- hide things in his pocket.

Slicko was almost at the man's leg. Her little claws made a patter-patter-pat sound on the floor oilcloth. The man heard it, and started.

"A rat!" he cried. "I don't like rats!"

"The idea of calling me a rat!" thought Slicko. "I'll soon show you who I am, Mr. Bob's papa."

The next moment Slicko scrambled up the man's leg, sticking her claws in the soft cloth of his trousers.

"Get away from me! Get away from me!" the man cried, very much excited, and he struck at Slicko. "Get off me!" and the man was fairly screaming now. "Get away! I hate rats! I'm afraid of 'em!"

"Why, he's worse than Tum Tum, the elephant," said Slicko to herself. "But maybe he's only fooling. I'll climb up on his shoulder and sit there. Then maybe he'll give me something to eat."

Quickly Slicko scrambled up to the man's shoulder. She put her soft, cold nose on his neck.

"Oh! Oh! Go away! A rat! It'll bite me!" cried the man.

He leaped aside and with his hand brushed Slicko away. She fell on the kitchen table. And then, all of a sudden the whole house was filled with light. Slicko sat up on the table in time to see the man give a jump through the window, while from his pocket fell a shower of knives and forks and spoons. For the man was a burglar -- a thief -- and he had come in the night to rob.

Out of the window he jumped. Slicko could see him very well, for the electric lights were turned on now. Up stairs Bob's papa had heard the burglar cry out, and he had switched on the lights.

"What a funny man," thought Slicko of the burglar, "to jump out of the window as I did. I wonder why he is running away."

Slicko saw a pan of water on the floor. She scrambled down and took a long drink, for she was quite thirsty. But she was not at all afraid.

"I wish that man had let me sit on his shoulder," she said to herself. "He might have given me a nut, or a piece of sugar. And he called me a rat -- I don't like that."

After getting her drink, Slicko sat up on the table again, and waited. She heard voices talking, and people coming down stairs. Bob and his father came into the kitchen.

"Oh, look! There's my squirrel Slicko!" cried Bob. "She's come back!"

"Chatter! Chatter! Chat-chat-chatter-r-r-r-r!" chirped Slicko. "Of course I'm your little pet squirrel come back again. I'm sorry I ran away." Only, of course, Bob did not understand this.

"What has happened?" asked the voice of Bob's mother.

"Slicko has come back," said Bob.

"Is that all?"

"No, something else happened," said Bob's father, "and I guess we have Slicko to thank that our house was not robbed."

"Our house robbed! What do you mean?"

"Why the kitchen window has been broken open, and here is some of our silver scattered about," said Bob's father. "I heard a man yell something about a rat, and I turned on the lights. He must have been a burglar, but he got away."

"What frightened him?" asked Bob. By this time Slicko was sitting on Bob's shoulder, eating a lump of sugar he had gotten for her from the pantry.

"I think Slicko, your squirrel, frightened him," said the boy's father. "That must have been it. The burglar came in here to rob us. In the night Slicko came back, somehow, and probably she tried to make friends with him, as she does with you, not knowing who he was. The man must have thought Slicko was a rat, and, being afraid, he ran off. Slicko saved us from being robbed, for see, the man dropped most of the things he took. Your squirrel is very smart, Bob. She scared away the thief."

"She is a good little squirrel," said Bob. "I am glad she came back to me."

Slicko was put back into her cage for the rest of the night. She was glad she had come back to Bob. Everybody went to bed.

The next day Slicko did her tricks again, and learned some new ones. She had many nuts and apples to eat.

Still Slicko was not happy. The weather grew warmer. It was very warm in the house, but Slicko was not allowed to be out of her cage.

"I don't want her to run away again," said Bob.

Poor Slicko was now very mournful. As the warm days came, she wanted to be free to run in the shady woods. She would rather have sat swinging on the branch of a tree, than whirl around in the wire wheel of her cage.

"Bob," said the boy's father to him one day, "don't you think your squirrel would be happier if you let it go out in the woods to live?"

"What! Let my pet squirrel go?" asked Bob, in surprise.

"Yes," answered his father. "Slicko is not happy in her cage now. She might have been, in the winter, but now it is summer, and she ought to be out in the open. I think she wants to go."

Oh, how much Slicko hoped she could go! Her little heart beat very fast, as she looked through the bars of her cage.

"Let Slicko go!" said Bob softly. "Oh, I can't do that!"

"Slicko did us a very great favor," said Bob's father. "She frightened away the burglar. I think, as a reward, you ought to let her go, Bob."

Bob said nothing for a long while. Then he spoke softly.

"Very well, father," he said. "I'll let Slicko go free!"

Bob took the cage, with his pet in it, to the edge of the woods. He opened the little wire door.

"You may go, Slicko," said Bob. "Go off to the woods where you belong. I'll set you free, but I hope you will come and see me, sometime."

"Chatter-chatter-chatter-r-r-r-r-r!" chirped Slicko. She sprang out of the cage, and stood upright for a moment on the ground. Then, she scrambled up on Bob's shoulder and put her cold, soft nose on his cheek. That was her way of kissing him good-bye.

Down scrambled Slicko, and off to the woods she ran.

"Good-bye, Slicko, my little jumping squirrel!" called Bob, as he went back to the house with the empty cage. And yet, after all, he felt happy that he had let Slicko go.

Slicko ran on and on through the woods. All that day she wandered about. She found a spring and got a drink of water, and in a field she found an early apple tree, and ate an apple.

The next day, as Slicko was jumping through the woods, she came to a tree that she was sure she had seen before. Half way up was a big lump, on which she knew she had often sat. A little farther up was a broken limb, and, close to that limb was a hole.

"Why, that's the nest where I used to live," said Slicko. "I wonder if papa and mamma, and Chatter and Fluffy and Nutto have come back! I'm going up to see."

Up the tree scrambled Slicko. She looked in her old nest. Something inside it moved.

"Hello!" said Slicko.

"Why -- why -- why it's Slicko -- come back!" cried Chatter. "Papa -- Mamma! Nutto, Fluffy! Come here. Slicko has come back!"

Out of the nest rushed all the Squirrel family. They sat on their tails and looked at Slicko.

"My! How she has grown!" cried her mother, patting Slicko with her paws.

"How long have you been here?" asked Slicko. "That time you sent me to Aunt Whitey's, I couldn't find her -- she wasn't home."

"No, Slicko," said her papa, "your aunt had hurriedly moved to another nest. We didn't know it when we sent you there. And, not long ago, we all came back here. For it is safe now. The hunter-man and his dog have gone from these woods."

"And so we are all together again," said Fluffy. "I'm glad."

"So am I!" exclaimed Slicko.

"But where have you been -- and what happened to you?" asked the mamma squirrel.

"Oh, I have had so many adventures!" cried Slicko. "I can jump through paper hoops, I can crawl in Bob's pocket and get sugar, and I scared away a burglar!"

"My, you did have some adventures," said Mrs. Squirrel. "But come in now, and have some dinner."

And so that was the end of Slicko's adventures for a while. She got safely back to her nest, and she lived there with her father and mother, and sister and brothers, for many years.

Sometimes she would meet Squinty, the comical pig, or Mappo, the merry monkey. And that reminds me. I have some stories to tell you about him. But I shall have to put them in another book. It will be named "Mappo, the Merry Monkey," and in it you may read all about his many adventures.

"Are you going to run away again, Slicko?" asked Nutto, one day about a week after his sister came back.

"No, I am only going to run up to the top of this tree, and down again," said the little squirrel, and she did.

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Three Sioux Scouts

By

Elmer Russell Gregor



Chapter I

Watching For Buffaloes


White Otter, the famous young war chief of the Ogalala Sioux, and his friends Sun Bird and Little Raven, of the Minneconjoux tribe, were searching the plains for buffaloes. It was early spring, the time of The-new-grass-moon, and the Sioux were expecting the great buffalo herds on their migration northward from the winter feeding grounds.

"Pretty soon Ta-tan-ka will come -- then we will have some good days and plenty of meat," White Otter told his friends. "Yellow Horse is singing the Medicine Songs to bring the buffaloes. They will come."

"My father does that," said Sun Bird. "I have seen him do it many times."

"Your father is a great Medicine Person, like Yellow Horse," declared White Otter.

Although the villages of the Ogalalas and the Minneconjoux were many days' travel apart, the young warriors visited one another with considerable frequency. The year previous White Otter had accompanied the Minneconjoux on a great war expedition against the Blackfeet. Now Sun Bird and his brother, Little Raven, had come to the Ogalala village to participate in the spring buffalo hunt.

The three young scouts made an impressive appearance as they cantered across the plain on their speedy little hunting ponies. White Otter was tall and lithe. Sun Bird was considerably shorter, and heavier in physique. Little Raven was younger and less matured in face and stature. All showed the characteristics of the Dacotah warrior. They were fearless, cautious and crafty. Each had proved his courage and skill in a number of thrilling exploits, and despite their youthfulness all three were famous warriors. They wore the simple dress of the hunter, which consisted of moccasins, and buckskin leggins reaching to the thighs. They were naked above the waist. Their hair was worn in two braids wrapped with fur. White Otter and Sun Bird, as chiefs of their respective tribes, were entitled to wear the coveted war bonnet of eagle plumes. Both had left it off to be as inconspicuous as possible in their search for game. White Otter, however, wore a single eagle feather in his scalp lock. They were armed with bows and arrows and flint hunting knives. White Otter and Sun Bird carried fire sticks. Each was provided with a robe of elkskin which was folded beneath him, across the back of his pony.

For two days they had searched the plains to the southward of the Ogalala camp. They had seen nothing, however, to indicate the approach of the great buffalo herds. Still they felt certain that it would be only a day or so until the buffaloes appeared.

"When we see them we will ride fast and tell my people," said White Otter.

"Yes, yes, we will be the first to tell about it," Little Raven declared, enthusiastically.

They were a considerable distance from the Ogalala village, and as the third day drew toward its close they began to wonder if it might not be foolhardy to venture farther to the southward. They knew that there was a possibility of encountering both the Kiowas and the Pawnees in that direction, and the Utes from the west and even their hated foes, the Crows, sometimes moved down into that disputed territory. The Sioux realized, therefore, that they were exposing themselves to considerable danger.

"We have come a long ways -- we must watch out," White Otter cautioned.

"It is true," agreed Sun Bird. "The Pawnees travel in this country. Perhaps they are looking around for buffaloes. We must be cautious."

They had stopped at a little grove of cottonwoods, which offered feed and water for the ponies. As the day had almost ended, they were tempted to spend the night at that spot. White Otter, however, decided against it.

"It would be foolish," he declared. "Our enemies know about this place. Perhaps they will come here when it gets dark. We must ride away."

"It is the best thing to do," said Sun Bird.

They loitered until the ponies had finished feeding, and then they prepared to ride away. At that moment a small band of antelopes suddenly appeared on the crest of a low ridge to the westward. They had stopped, and seemed to be watching something on the other side of the ridge. It was evident that they had been alarmed. The Sioux became suspicious. They watched closely.

"Something has frightened Ta-to-ka-dan," said Sun Bird.

"See, they are running down the ridge," Little Raven whispered, excitedly.

The antelopes were bounding down the slope. When they reached the bottom they turned toward the little grove in which the Sioux had taken shelter. The latter watched them with considerable uneasiness.

"It is bad," declared White Otter. "Perhaps some one is peeping over that hill. If those antelopes come close they will find out about us. Then they will run away. If hunters are watching on that ridge they will know that something is over here in this place. Perhaps they will come here to find out about it."

"It is bad," said Sun Bird.

The antelopes were still running toward the grove. Several old bucks, however, had stopped to look back at the ridge. The rest of the band continued across the plain. They were running against the wind. As they came within arrow range of the grove they suddenly stopped, and appeared suspicious. They had caught the danger scent.

"Ta-to-ka-dan is sharp," laughed Sun Bird.

"The wind has told about us," said Little Raven.

White Otter kept silent. He watched the antelopes with grave misgivings. Their behavior alarmed him. He felt quite sure that they would arouse the distrust of any foes who might be loitering within sight, and tempt them to investigate the grove. The idea suggested disturbing possibilities.

"See, Ta-to-ka-dan is standing out there like a frightened old woman," he said, irritably. "If our enemies are about they will come over here to see what has frightened Ta-to-ka-dan."

"Come, we will ride away," proposed Little Raven.

"Wait, wait," Sun Bird cried, excitedly. "I saw something peep over the top of that hill."

"I see it," said Little Raven. "It looks like Ma-ya-sh, the wolf."

They saw what appeared to be the head of a prairie wolf rising cautiously above the top of the ridge. The buck antelopes had discovered it, and were flashing the danger signal and stamping nervously.

"It is bad," White Otter said, uneasily. "Perhaps it is Ma-ya-sh, the wolf -- perhaps it is a hunter. We must watch sharp."

As they continued to watch the ridge, the little band of antelopes suddenly turned and bounded away toward the north. It was evident that they had determined to avoid the grove. In a few moments the bucks that had been watching the ridge cantered after them.

"It is good," said White Otter. "Now we will find out who is over there on that hill. If it is Ma-ya-sh and his people they will go away. If it is our enemies they will keep watching this place."

"Something is watching," Sun Bird told him.

The head of the mysterious prowler still showed above the ridge. It was boldly outlined against the fading sunset sky. It appeared to be the head of Ma-ya-sh, the prairie wolf. The Sioux distinctly saw the long, lean snout, and the pointed ears of Ma-ya-sh. Still they were suspicious. They knew that scouts often covered themselves with the skin of Ma-ya-sh to creep up on game, and also to spy upon their foes without arousing distrust.

"I do not believe it is Ma-ya-sh," White Otter declared, finally. "It keeps too still. Ma-ya-sh would move around. I believe it is a hunter."

"We will watch," said Sun Bird.

"Look, look, there is another!" cried Little Raven.

A second head had suddenly appeared. It, too, seemed to be the head of a prairie wolf. The Sioux, however, were doubtful. If the distant objects really were wolves, their actions were most unusual. They were careful to keep themselves well concealed behind the ridge, and as the antelopes were a considerable distance to the northward, it was evident that the mysterious creatures were watching the grove. The Sioux were concealed in the timber, and there was no possibility of being seen. They determined to watch, therefore, until the strange objects on the ridge either showed themselves or disappeared. In a few moments one withdrew from sight.

"That is bad," said White Otter. "Now I believe they are scouts. Perhaps one has gone away to call the hunters. We must watch out."

Daylight was fading. Twilight was settling upon the plain. The Sioux found it difficult to distinguish the remaining object on the ridge. They felt considerably relieved to know that night was close at hand.

"Pretty soon it will be dark," said White Otter. "Then we will ride away."

They waited impatiently for nightfall. Their one fear was that a company of foes might ride toward the grove before darkness made it possible to withdraw without being seen. They had little fear of being caught, but they were anxious to avoid being discovered. Once seen, they realized that it might be perilous to loiter in the vicinity, and they were eager to remain until they found the buffalo herd. They watched closely until night finally came. Then they mounted their ponies and rode from the grove.

"Well, White Otter, how do you feel about it?" Little Raven inquired, as they rode cautiously toward the east.

"I believe we are in danger," White Otter told him.

They continued across the plain until they came to a shallow ravine, which they had passed on their way to the grove. White Otter advised stopping there until daylight.

"This is a good place," he said. "We will wait here and listen."

They picketed the ponies in the bottom of the gully, and then they crawled to the plain to watch and listen. It was a long time before they heard anything to arouse their suspicions. Then they heard the dreary wail of a prairie wolf, in the direction of the grove. Although it sounded natural, the Sioux distrusted it. Twice it rose shrilly through the night, and then it ceased. They were almost certain that it had been a signal. They listened anxiously for an answer from the ridge. The silence, however, continued.

"I believe it was a scout," said White Otter. "Perhaps he was calling his people."

"Perhaps we will hear the ponies," suggested Little Raven.

"We are too far off," White Otter told him. "Those people will ride easy."

"Perhaps it was only Ma-ya-sh," said Sun Bird. "Perhaps he went there to drink."

"Yes, it may be true, but I believe it was some one different," replied White Otter. "We are in the country of our enemies. We must be sharp."




Chapter II

Mysterious Signals


Fearful that a company of foes might have taken shelter in the little grove of cottonwoods, the Sioux determined to take every precaution against a sudden attack. While Little Raven remained in the ravine with the ponies, White Otter and Sun Bird seated themselves upon the plain to listen for sounds from the grove. All was still. They began to wonder if they had been needlessly alarmed. At that moment one of the ponies whinnied softly. White Otter and Sun Bird scrambled wildly into the gully. Little Raven had already seized the pony and turned its head out of the wind. The other ponies also seemed restless and nervous, and White Otter and Sun Bird attempted to quiet them.

"It is bad," White Otter said, softly. "I believe some one is riding this way."

The thought was startling. The Sioux stood beside their ponies, listening uneasily. One question flashed through the mind of each of them. Were enemies approaching stealthily under cover of the darkness? They heard nothing to give them a clew. Many moments passed. The silence increased their suspense. They believed they were in peril. It seemed folly to loiter in the ravine.

"Come, we will go," whispered White Otter.

They mounted the ponies and rode from the ravine. Once on the plain, they stopped for a moment to listen. Then the pony again attempted to call, but Little Raven silenced it with his riding quirt. The warning was significant. The Sioux believed that strange horses were close at hand. They turned their ponies and rode silently away into the night. It was some time before they ventured to speak.

"Well, my brothers, I believe Ma-ya-sh came to find us," White Otter laughed, softly, when they were beyond earshot of the ravine.

"Yes, White Otter, I believe your words were true; I believe scouts were peeping over that ridge," Sun Bird told him.

"Do you believe they saw us?" Little Raven asked, anxiously.

"No," replied White Otter. "Perhaps they found out about our ponies."

Although they realized that it might be perilous to linger in the vicinity, the Sioux determined to remain within sight of the grove until they learned if their suspicions were real. When they reached a low ridge, a considerable distance to the eastward, they decided to stop and wait for daylight.

"See, pretty soon it will be light," said Sun Bird. "Then we will find out if there is any one over there in that place."

When the night shadows finally lifted from the plain, White Otter and Sun Bird concealed themselves below the crest of the ridge to watch, while Little Raven waited at the base of the slope with the ponies. The grove was in plain sight, and the Sioux watched expectantly.

"If there are hunters over there, pretty soon they will ride out to look for buffaloes," said Sun Bird.

"Perhaps they are watching," White Otter reminded him.

A few moments later they saw two horsemen ride from the grove, and turn toward the ravine. They rode across the plain at an easy canter, and showed little caution. As they drew near the ravine, however, they became more careful. Once within arrow range, they stopped, and it was apparent that they were watching the top of the gully. Then they rode slowly forward.

"Those are the scouts that peeped over that hill," declared White Otter. "I believe they are trying to find out about us."

The horsemen had disappeared into the ravine. The Sioux had been unable to identify them. They felt certain that the strangers would soon find the pony tracks. The idea alarmed them.

"Perhaps they will follow us," suggested Sun Bird.

"Watch," said White Otter.

The horsemen had suddenly appeared. They had crossed the ravine, and were riding slowly over the plain. The Sioux knew at once that they were looking for pony tracks. It was not long before they found them. They followed the trail a bowshot or more, and then they stopped. They were looking directly toward the ridge. The Sioux watched them in breathless suspense. They were straining their eyes to identify them, but the distance made it impossible.

"I cannot tell who they are," declared White Otter. "Can you tell about it?"

"No; they are too far away," Sun Bird told him. "Perhaps they will come closer."

"I believe they are talking about it," said White Otter.

At that moment the horsemen turned their ponies, and galloped off toward the west. They crossed the ravine, and rode toward the grove. They passed it, however, and continued toward the ridge farther to the westward. It was not long before, they disappeared.

"It is bad," declared White Otter. "Now we do not know who they are."

"Well, we know that our enemies are in this place," Sun Bird told him. "Now it will be useless to look for the buffaloes. If Ta-tan-ka comes, those scouts will tell their people about it. Yes, I believe they are looking for buffaloes."

"My brother, I feel different about it," said White Otter. "Perhaps those scouts are with a war party. Perhaps they are Pawnees. Perhaps they are going to fight my people. I must find out about it."

Sun Bird remained silent. It was not the part of a warrior to ask questions. He waited for White Otter to explain his plans.

"Now I will tell you what I propose to do," White Otter told him. "We must stay here and watch. Perhaps those scouts are trying to fool us. Perhaps they are trying to make us believe they have gone away. I believe they are peeping over that hill."

"Well, they will not catch us," laughed Sun Bird.

While White Otter continued to watch, Sun Bird crept down the slope to tell Little Raven about the two mysterious horsemen. The ridge to the westward was far away, and White Otter knew that it would be impossible to discover any one who might be hiding there. He had little doubt that at least one of the unknown riders had stopped to watch the plain.

"Did you see anything?" Sun Bird inquired anxiously, when he returned.

"No, I did not see anything, but I believe some one is watching over there on that hill," White Otter told him.

"Then we must be cautious," said Sun Bird.

They watched until the day was half gone, and then, having seen nothing to indicate that foes were loitering in the vicinity, they began to feel somewhat reassured. They wondered if the two horsemen might not have been stray hunters who had been led to the grove by the antelopes. Having found the fresh pony tracks, they might have feared to loiter in the locality. In spite of the possibility, however, the Sioux resolved to take no chances.

"We will keep watching," declared White Otter.

Soon afterward their patience was rewarded when they saw what appeared to be a cloud of dust or smoke rising behind the distant ridge. They watched it with great interest. For some time it puzzled them. It was faint and indistinct, and they wondered if it was dust raised by the hoofs of buffaloes or ponies. Then they noted that it seemed to rise intermittently in puffs, and continued in one particular spot.

"So-ta, smoke," White Otter said, finally.

"Yes, yes, it is smoke," agreed Sun Bird.

"Those scouts are calling their people," declared White Otter. "I believe it is a war party."

"We will see," said Sun Bird.

In a short time the smoke faded from the sky. The Sioux felt sure that the signal had been seen by those for whom it was intended. They had little doubt that a company of horsemen were riding across the plain on the other side of the ridge.

"It is bad," said White Otter. "Those scouts found pony tracks at the place where the trees grow. They followed them to that gully. They found them coming this way. Then they were afraid, and went to call their people. I believe they will try to find out about us."

"Well, my brother, they are a long ways off," Sun Bird reminded him. "We can keep away from them."

"We must stay here and watch," declared White Otter. "Perhaps it is a big war party of Pawnees. Perhaps they are going to fight my people. I believe something bad will come of it."

"We will keep watching until we find out about it," Sun Bird assured him.

As time passed and they saw nothing more, White Otter became uneasy. A disquieting possibility had suddenly presented itself to his mind. It filled him with distrust, and awakened fears for the safety of his people.

"I do not like this thing," he told Sun Bird. "That ridge goes a long ways. We cannot see over it. Perhaps a war party is riding along behind that hill. Perhaps they are going to the lodges of my people. I would like to look over that hill, and find out about it."

"You must not try to do that," Sun Bird cautioned him. "It would be foolish. I believe scouts are watching over there. If we show ourselves they will come after us."

White Otter remained silent. He was worried and perplexed. He believed that what Sun Bird had said was true. Still he knew that if a war party of foes was moving against the Ogalala camp it was his duty to learn of it, and carry a warning to his people. For the moment, however, he saw no way of accomplishing it. The ridge from which he was watching was parallel with the ridge to the westward, and there was a wide expanse of open plain between them. To reach the other ridge it would be necessary to ride out in full sight of any foes who might be watching from concealment. White Otter realized that such a maneuver would be foolhardy. He decided that it would be impossible to do anything before nightfall.

"Yes, my brother, I see that what you say is true," he said, finally. "The lodges of my people are three sun's travel away. It is a long ways. A war party travels slow so that the ponies will be fresh when the fight begins. There is only one thing to do. We must keep watching until it gets dark. Then we will ride over that hill, and try to find out about those people."

"I believe it is the best thing to do," said Sun Bird.

Late in the day, however, they saw something which convinced them that the two horsemen had been part of a clever stratagem to deceive any one who had been watching. An eagle suddenly appeared high over the plain, and flew toward the grove of cottonwoods. It was evident that the bird intended to alight in the timber. The Sioux watched closely. Once above the grove, the eagle set its wings and dropped toward the trees. Then, as it got nearer, it rose and circled far out over the plain. The Sioux were quick to understand the significance of the maneuver.

"Hi, Hu-ya saw something down there among the trees," White Otter cried, excitedly.

"Yes, I believe there is something over there in that place," said Sun Bird.

"I believe scouts are hiding there," declared White Otter. "Hu-ya has told us about them. It is good."

They watched the grove with new interest. They knew that Hu-ya, the great war bird, was not likely to be frightened by Ma-ya-sh, the prairie wolf, nor Ta-to-ka-dan, the antelope, nor even by great Ma-to-ho-ta, the bear. They felt quite certain, therefore, that Hu-ya had discovered other enemies in the grove.

"Perhaps a war party is hiding over there," said Sun Bird. "Perhaps they found out about the ponies. Perhaps they sent those scouts to fool us."

"I do not believe a war party is hiding in that place," White Otter told him. "A war party would go away while it was dark."

"Yes, I believe that is true," agreed Sun Bird.

The Sioux were perplexed. Although the actions of Hu-ya, the war bird, led them to believe that the grove concealed some of their foes, they were unable to guess why the latter had loitered in the timber. While they were trying to solve the mystery they saw another smoke signal rising behind the ridge. It appeared in the place where they had discovered the other signal. The smoke column was light and indistinct, and soon broke into intermittent puffs. In a few moments it ceased.

"Now I know that some one is hiding over there where the trees grow," declared White Otter. "I believe they are scouts. I believe they found out about the ponies. It made them cautious. I believe those riders went to bring the war party. I believe, they will come to that place when it gets dark. We must watch out."

"I believe they are Pawnees," said Sun Bird.

"I do not know who they are, but I am going to find out about it," White Otter told him.




Chapter III

Old Enemies


They watched until the grove finally faded out in the twilight. Then they listened for sounds which might warn them of the arrival of a war party. It was barely dark when they heard signals passing across the plain. The cry of Ma-ya-sh sounded faintly from the west. It scarcely died away before an answer rose from the vicinity of the grove.

"The war party is coming," said Sun Bird.

"Listen!" cautioned White Otter.

They listened closely. Many moments passed. The stillness was unbroken.

"What was it?" inquired Sun Bird.

"I heard something, far away," White Otter told him. "It sounded like a pony. I believe some one stopped the noise."

As time passed and they heard nothing further, they felt sure that a company of foes had arrived at the grove. The thought made them uneasy. They feared that the two scouts would be sure to tell their companions about the pony tracks which crossed the ravine and led away toward the east. The Sioux recalled that the mysterious riders had spent some time looking toward the ridge.

"Perhaps they know we are here," said Sun Bird.

"Yes, I believe that is why they went away," replied White Otter. "I believe they went to tell their people about it. Their friends waited behind those trees to see if any one came over to this place."

"Well, they did not see us," said Sun Bird.

"No, they could not see us, but perhaps they know some one is watching them," White Otter told him. "Perhaps scouts will ride over here to find out about it. I believe scouts were close by when we were hiding over there in that gully. Now they will come to this hill. It would be foolish to stay here."

"Well, my brother, what do you propose to do?" inquired Sun Bird.

"I propose to find out about those people," replied White Otter.

"How can you do that?"

"Come, we will go to Little Raven," said White Otter. "Then I will tell you about it."

They crossed back over the ridge, and found Little Raven waiting with the ponies. He said he had seen nothing but a stray antelope on that side of the ridge.

"My brothers, you must listen sharp to what I am about to tell you," said White Otter. "I believe a war party is hiding over there where those trees grow. I do not know who it is. That is bad. Perhaps it is the Pawnees. The Pawnees are our enemies. Once they came to our village and did much harm. Perhaps they are going again to make war on my people. It is true that we came here to look for buffaloes. Well, we found something different. We are Dacotahs. We must find out who is over there. We must try to find out where they are going. Then we will know what to do. Perhaps we will do a big thing for my people."

White Otter paused and waited for his companions to speak. Many moments passed before Sun Bird finally replied.

"My brother, your words are good," he said. "You are a great war chief. You are the leader. Come, tell us what you propose to do."

"My brothers, I am going over there where the trees grow to find out who is there," declared White Otter. "Now listen sharp. There is only one way to do this thing. I believe scouts will come to this place. If we cross over this hill and go straight ahead we will meet them. We must not do that. I will tell you what to do. That gully where we hid ourselves goes a long ways toward the lodges of my people. It is good. We will follow this ridge that way. When we get past those trees, we will cross this ridge and ride over to that gully. Those people will go the other way to look for us. They will follow the tracks of our ponies. When we get to that gully we will listen. If we do not hear anything, I will go ahead and creep up to those trees. Perhaps I will find out who is there."

"You are very brave, but you must not go there alone," said Sun Bird. "You will be in great danger. I will go with you."

"No, you must not do that," White Otter told him. "You must stay behind and help Little Raven with the ponies. Then if anything bad happens to me, perhaps you can help me. It is the best way to do. Come, my brothers, we will go away before those scouts come over here and find us."

They rode northward along the base of the ridge. They went a long distance before White Otter finally turned toward the west. Then they rode to the top of the ridge, and stopped to listen. All was still. Darkness hid the grove. They knew that the ravine was directly ahead of them, and they advanced cautiously toward the west.

"Perhaps the ponies will call," Little Raven suggested, uneasily.

"We must be ready," White Otter cautioned him.

They rode across the plain in silence, alert for the first warning of danger. They realized that at any moment they might encounter scouts moving cautiously through the night along the flank of an advancing war party. When they finally reached the ravine, the night was far gone. White Otter and Sun Bird immediately dismounted, and climbed to the top of the ravine. They looked anxiously in the direction of the grove. It was hidden far away in the darkness. They watched for the tell-tale glow of a fire, but had little hope of seeing it.

"No, those people are not so foolish," declared White Otter.

"Well, my brother, if there is no fire it will be hard to see who they are," Sun Bird told him.

"Perhaps my ears will tell me that," replied White Otter. "I know the words of the Pawnees. I know the words of the Crows. I know the words of the Kiowas. I will get close to that place and listen sharp."

"White Otter, I believe it would be foolish to go over there," said Sun Bird. "If you will listen to my words, I will tell you something better."

"You are my brother, and you are a chief of the brave Minneconjoux -- I will listen to your words," agreed White Otter.

"It is good," declared Sun Bird. "Now I will tell you how I feel about this thing. We are in a good place. Those people cannot see us when it gets light. You say perhaps those people are Pawnees. It may be true. You say perhaps they are going to fight your people. It may be true. You say it makes you feel bad. You say we must find out about it. It is true. I will tell you the best thing to do. We will stay here until the light comes. Then we will watch close. If any one comes away from that place we will see them. If they travel toward the lodges of your people they will go by this place. Then we will follow them. We will get close and find out who they are. If they go the other way, we will let them ride away. My brother, I believe it is the best thing to do."

White Otter kept silent. He was studying the plan of Sun Bird. The latter waited patiently for him to reply. It was some time before White Otter spoke.

"Sun Bird, I have listened to your words, but I will not do as you propose," he said, finally. "You say if those people are going to the lodges of my people they will pass this place. Perhaps they have passed by here in the darkness. If we wait here until the light comes perhaps it will be too late to help my people. My brother, I must find out about it. I am going to do what I told you about."

"Well, you are the leader," Sun Bird told him. "I will not talk any more against it."

"It is good," replied White Otter.

A few moments afterward he disappeared into the night. Choosing a star to guide him in the proper direction, he loped across the plain as easily and as silently as Ma-ya-sh, the wolf. Aware that there was a possibility of blundering into his foes, he stopped many times to listen. The great plain was steeped in silence. He believed that the strangers had remained in the grove. The thought somewhat relieved his anxiety for his people. He had little fear for himself. Having passed through many thrilling adventures, he had learned to look upon danger and death with the stolid indifference of the seasoned warrior.

White Otter had gone a long distance from the ravine when he suddenly heard the long, dismal wail of a prairie wolf rising through the night. The cry had sounded somewhere near the ridge upon which the Sioux had passed the day. White Otter smiled as he realized that his prophecy about the scouts had been verified.

"They did not find us," he murmured.

As the call was not repeated, he continued toward the grove. He believed that the scouts were notifying their comrades that the country was free of foes. White Otter found keen satisfaction in the thought of outwitting them. He had little doubt that they were his hated foes, the Pawnees, and he felt certain that they were on a war expedition.

As he approached the grove, White Otter slackened his pace and became as alert and cautious as To-ka-la, the little gray fox. He knew that if a war party had taken possession of the grove, sentinels had been stationed on the plain to watch for foes.

"Now I must be cautious," he told himself.

Soon afterward he saw the grim, black outlines of the grove directly ahead of him. It was a number of arrow flights away, however, and he stopped to listen. He heard nothing. Then he advanced. Slowly, cautiously, he moved through the darkness, listening and watching for the sentinels who he feared were close at hand. Then he heard a pony snort. He stopped and waited in breathless suspense. He decided that the sound had come from the grove. He advanced still more cautiously. When he finally came within bowshot of the trees, he suddenly realized his peril. Alone and on foot, he knew that once discovered there would be little chance of escape. Still he was unafraid. Familiarity with danger had given him confidence.

"I will get away," he kept telling himself.

Then he suddenly heard the murmur of voices. For an instant the sound alarmed him. He had approached nearer the grove than he had supposed. He sank noiselessly to the plain. He lay there some time, endeavoring to identify the speakers. It was hopeless. The voices were low and indistinct, and he could not distinguish the words. He realized that he must go nearer. He crept slowly forward, a bow length at a time. Then he stopped to listen. The voices had ceased. His heart beat wildly. An alarming possibility flashed through his mind. Had he been discovered? It seemed impossible. He banished the thought. The silence, however, made him suspicious.

"Perhaps they are listening," he whispered.

The silence continued. White Otter was perplexed. He was less than half a bowshot from the cottonwoods. He heard the leaves trembling. He moistened his finger, and found the direction of the breeze. It was stirring toward the grove. He felt relieved. It seemed less likely that he had been discovered. Still he was uneasy. The sudden hush alarmed him.

"Yes, they must be listening," he declared.

A moment afterward a pony whinnied. It seemed to be on the other side of the grove. It was answered by several ponies in the timber. Then some one called. The signal was low and guarded. A reply came from the grove. White Otter heard hoofbeats. Some one was riding toward the cottonwoods. White Otter listened in trying suspense. He heard many voices. He breathed easier. The mystery was explained. He suddenly realized that the scouts had returned. It was the sound of their approach that had hushed the speakers in the grove.

"It is good," White Otter said, with great relief.

He believed that as the scouts had failed to find evidence of foes, the company in the grove might grow bolder. The next few moments seemed to confirm his hopes. The strangers were talking with far less caution. Still he was unable to catch their words.

"I must go nearer," he said.

He crawled carefully toward the timber, stopping after each bow length to watch and listen. The sounds from the grove reassured him. The warriors were talking and laughing, and apparently had little fear of attack. The ponies, too, were making considerable noise. He heard them stamping, and grunting and shaking themselves. However, he felt quite certain that they were securely picketed.

The sky was sprinkled with stars, and it was possible to see several bow lengths through the night, but White Otter knew that it would be impossible to penetrate the sinister black shadows which enveloped the grove. His ears alone might tell him what he wished to know. He was quite familiar with the words of the Pawnees, and the Crows, and had heard the dialect of the Kiowas, and he hoped to identify the strangers by their talk. It was a difficult and perilous undertaking, for White Otter knew that to be successful he must approach close up to the edge of the timber.

The night was well advanced and he knew that there was little time to spare. The ravine was far away, and he realized that he would be compelled to exert himself to the utmost to reach it before daylight betrayed him to his foes. Once discovered on the open plain there would be little hope of escape. He determined to make his attempt without further delay. For a moment only he hesitated, while he turned his face toward the sky.

"Wa-kan-tun-ka, make me strong to do this thing," he murmured.

Then he began his perilous, stealthy advance toward the timber.

The sounds convinced him that the strangers were assembled at the pool in the center of the grove. He feared, however, that sharp-eared sentinels might be lurking at the edge of the plain. Aware that the slightest sound might betray him, he sank close to the earth and crept forward as cautiously as a panther stalking its prey. It took many moments to go a bow length. He had stopped behind a dense cluster of bushes close to the edge of the timber, when he was startled by the sound of voices within several bow lengths of him. He believed he had encountered the sentinels. Scarcely daring to breathe, he pressed his body against the plain and listened. The words of the speakers came distinctly to his ears. He failed to recognize them. They were not the words of the Pawnees. They did not sound like the words of the Crows. The dialect seemed strange and unfamiliar. For some moments White Otter was confused. He wondered if his ears were deceiving him. Then he suddenly identified the peculiar accent. Several years before he had heard it in the Kiowa camp. The mystery was solved. The people in the grove were Kiowas.

Having learned the identity of his foes, White Otter was equally eager to know if it was a war party or only a company of hunters. He saw little chance of gaining the information. Unable to see the warriors or to understand their words, there seemed no way to guess the intentions of the Kiowas. In the meantime the night was slipping by. Daylight was not far off. White Otter knew that it would be perilous to loiter. Nevertheless he waited, each moment hoping to hear something which might tell him whether the Kiowas were out for peace or war. At last he was rewarded. He heard sounds in the timber which convinced him that the Kiowas were dancing, and singing their war songs. The scouts at the edge of the grove had joined in the chant, and White Otter seized the opportunity to retreat.

Raising himself from the ground, he crawled slowly backward until he had gone a bow length. Then he stopped to listen. The sounds still came from the grove, but he heard nothing from the sentinels. Their silence aroused his fears. Alarming possibilities suggested themselves. Were the Kiowa sentinels listening? Had he betrayed himself? He sank to the plain and waited. The moments seemed endless. The uncertainty tried his courage. He was tempted to spring to his feet, and dash wildly across the plain. He realized that the Kiowas would soon overtake him. Then he heard the sentinels talking and making their way into the grove. They had abandoned their vigil. His heart filled with joy. He had accomplished his mission. The way was open. He was free to go.

The eastern sky was already turning gray when White Otter finally approached the spot where he had left Sun Bird and Little Raven. He stopped and imitated the bark of the little gray fox. Three times he gave the signal. Then he listened for an answer. A familiar voice sounded softly through the darkness.

"The way is clear," said Sun Bird.

A moment afterward White Otter joined him at the top of the ravine. They descended into the gully to join Little Raven.

"Well, my brothers, I have found out about those people," White Otter told his companions. "They are Kiowas. I believe it is a war party."

"How did you find out about it?" inquired Little Raven.

"I went ahead until I got close to those trees," said White Otter. "Then I crawled up behind some bushes. Then I heard some one talking. I did not know the words. Pretty soon I found out about it. It sounded like the Kiowas. I waited a long time. Then I heard those people dancing and singing. Then I said: 'It is a war party.' That is all I know about it."

"Well, pretty soon it will be light," Sun Bird told him. "Then we will find out what the Kiowas propose to do."

"Yes, we must watch them until we know where they are going," said White Otter.




Chapter IV

Trailing A War Party


At daylight the Sioux peered anxiously toward the grove. It was some time before the little cluster of trees emerged from the shadows. At that moment the Kiowas appeared.

"See, there are our enemies," said Sun Bird.

"Watch sharp," White Otter cautioned him.

Although the Kiowas were too far away to be counted, the Sioux saw at once that it was a large company. They felt sure it was a war party. The Kiowas had turned toward the north. White Otter watched them with considerable uneasiness.

"It is bad," he said. "There are many warriors. They are riding toward the lodges of my people. We must follow them."

"Yes, yes, we will follow them," declared Sun Bird.

They watched closely as the Kiowas rode slowly across the plain. They were a long distance to the westward of the ravine, and were moving directly toward the north. As they drew nearer, the Sioux began to count them. There were sixty horsemen in the company. They made an imposing spectacle as they rode along in pairs. Even at the distance the Sioux noted that some of the warriors in the lead wore great war bonnets, and they knew that those men were chiefs and war leaders. Then several riders left the column and galloped away in advance of the company.

"The scouts are going ahead to watch for enemies," said Sun Bird.

"Hi, they are coming this way," cried White Otter.

Two riders had turned toward the east, and were riding toward the ravine. They were some distance to the southward of the Sioux, but the latter were greatly alarmed. They felt quite certain that the crafty scouts would follow along the top of the ravine to make sure that it was free of foes. The Sioux were in despair. They feared that they had run into a trap. There seemed to be no way of escape. Discovery seemed certain.

"They will find us!" cried Sun Bird.

White Otter watched the horsemen in thoughtful silence. He was searching his brain for a way out of the predicament. The scouts had covered three-quarters of the distance to the ravine. Delay was perilous. Roused by the thought, White Otter suddenly determined to race away in full sight of his foes.

"Come," he cried, as he scrambled wildly into the ravine.

"The Kiowas are coming!" Sun Bird told Little Raven.

"Jump on your ponies and follow me," shouted White Otter.

They rode boldly out upon the plain, and turned toward the east. Glancing back they saw that the Kiowas had stopped at sight of them. The scouts made no effort to follow.

"It is good," cried White Otter. "The Kiowas do not know what to do. We will fool them."

Convinced that their foes had no intention of pursuing them, the Sioux slackened the speed of their ponies. Then, when they had gone a safe distance, they turned to watch the perplexed Kiowas. The latter were gathered in a close group, and appeared to be holding a council.

"Well, we are far enough away, now we will wait here and see what those people propose to do," said White Otter.

"Do you believe they know who we are?" Little Raven asked him.

"No," replied White Otter.

A moment afterward the Kiowas resumed their advance toward the north. The scouts had joined their comrades. White Otter was perplexed. He had expected the war party to turn in another direction. If the Kiowas really were bound for the Ogalala camp he believed they would attempt to conceal their intentions. The fact that they continued boldly on their way aroused his suspicions.

"I do not know what to make of it," he told his companions. "If those people are going to my village, I believe they will turn around to fool us."

"I do not believe they know who we are," said Sun Bird. "Perhaps they took us for Pawnees or Cheyennes. Perhaps they do not believe we will follow them."

"Yes, yes, I see that what you say is true," White Otter replied, hopefully. "They do not know who we are. I believe they take us for Cheyenne hunters. It is good. If they keep going ahead, we will circle around and get ahead of them. Then we will go to tell my people. When the Kiowas come to fight us, we will be waiting for them."

The Kiowas had urged their ponies into a canter. The scouts were riding toward the ravine. The Sioux watched curiously. They wondered if the Kiowas intended to ignore them.

"It is mysterious," White Otter declared, suspiciously. "My brothers, I believe those people are trying to fool us. We must be sharp."

The scouts turned and rode along the top of the ravine, and the war party continued toward the north. Sun Bird and Little Raven waited for White Otter to announce his plans. The latter, however, remained silent. He seemed bewildered by the unusual behavior of the Kiowas. He was watching the two scouts. They glanced back at frequent intervals to make sure that the Sioux were not following them. Otherwise they showed little interest.

"It is mysterious," White Otter said, again. "I do not know what to make of it. Come, Sun Bird, tell me how you feel about it."

"The Kiowas are going toward your village -- it looks bad," Sun Bird told him.

"We must follow them," said White Otter. "Come, we will try to fool them."

He rode away toward the east. The two Minneconjoux asked no questions. They looked upon him as the leader, and they were content to rely upon his judgment. As they cantered across the plain they glanced back at the Kiowas. The two scouts had stopped, and appeared to be looking after them.

"Those scouts are watching us," said Little Raven.

"It is good," laughed White Otter. "We will fool them. Come, ride faster."

They galloped the ponies. Then, as they again looked back, they saw that the war party, too, had stopped, far away to the westward. White Otter laughed gleefully. He turned to the southward, toward the ridge which they had left the day before. His companions believed that he was planning some wily stratagem to deceive his foes.

"Keep watching," cautioned White Otter. "Perhaps those scouts will follow us."

The Kiowas, however, showed no intention of riding after them. One of the scouts was racing toward the war party. The Sioux believed he had gone for instructions. They kept looking back to see what he would do after he had talked with his companions.

"See, see, he is riding back to that gully," cried Little Raven. "Perhaps they are going to follow us."

"No, I do not believe it," said Sun Bird.

The war party was moving on toward the north. A few moments afterward the scout rejoined his companion. Then they, too, rode northward along the top of the ravine. It was apparent that the Kiowas had decided to pay no further attention to the Sioux.

"The Kiowas are sly," declared White Otter. "I cannot tell what they propose to do. Perhaps they are going to the lodges of my people. Perhaps they are trying to fool us. We must follow them and find out about it."

When the Sioux finally reached the ridge, the Kiowas had already disappeared into a dip of the plain. Once over the ridge, White Otter and Sun Bird left their ponies with Little Raven, and climbed the slope to watch. They had little doubt that the crafty Kiowa scouts were similarly employed far away to the northward.

"Now I will tell you why I came here," said White Otter. "I do not believe the Kiowas know who we are. I believe they take us for scouts. Perhaps they take us for Cheyennes. The Cheyenne village is behind us. I came this way to make them believe we were going there. When those scouts do not see us, they will believe we have gone away. Then they will go ahead. We will follow them."

"It is good," Sun Bird told him.

They had not watched long, however, before White Otter became impatient. He realized that he was wasting valuable time. He wondered if he had blundered. If the Kiowas really intended to go to the Ogalala camp, he feared that he had given them a big advantage. They were a long distance ahead of him, and he knew that it would be necessary to ride hard to beat them to the goal. The thought shook his confidence. He began to doubt the wisdom of his maneuver. Each moment added to his uncertainty. He studied the plain for a way to follow the war party without being seen. The ridge offered the only opportunity. It extended a considerable distance toward the north, and by riding along the east side of it he believed he might again come in sight of his foes.

"Come, Sun Bird, we will ride along behind this hill, and try to follow the Kiowas," he said.

Then Little Raven called, and when they turned they saw him pointing excitedly toward the north. Looking across the plain, they discovered a riderless pony running toward the west.

"Bring up the ponies! Bring up the ponies!" White Otter called, in alarm.

They hurried down the ridge and met Little Raven. Then they sprang upon the ponies, and galloped over the ridge. Once over the top, they ran back to watch, while Little Raven took charge of the ponies. Two horsemen had already appeared in pursuit of the runaway pony. The Sioux realized that they had barely escaped discovery.

"They did not see us," declared Sun Bird.

"It is good," said White Otter.

They watched the race with great interest. The riders soon overtook the pony. Then they turned about and cantered away toward the east. The Sioux looked inquiringly at one another. Who were the strange riders? Where had they come from? Was another war party in the vicinity? The alarming questions flashed through their minds. They were puzzled.

"I believe it is the Kiowas," White Otter declared, finally. "I believe they have turned toward The-place-where-the-day-begins."

"Then they must be trying to fool us," said Sun Bird.

"I do not know what they are trying to do," White Otter replied, suspiciously.

In the meantime the distant horsemen had disappeared, and the plain seemed free of foes. The Sioux looked toward the east. They examined the tops of the knolls and ridges, and watched closely for dust, but saw nothing to convince them that the war party had gone in that direction.

"This thing is mysterious," said Sun Bird.

They realized that they were in an awkward predicament. They knew that if scouts were loitering in the vicinity of the spot where they had last seen the Kiowa war party it would be perilous to remain on the western side of the ridge. Still, if they crossed the ridge and attempted to advance along the other side they feared they would be discovered by scouts watching somewhere on that side of the plain. For some moments they were undecided as to just what to do.

"My brothers, I will tell you how I feel about this thing," Sun Bird said, suddenly. "If the Kiowas have turned toward The-place-where-the-day-begins, I do not believe they are going to the lodges of our people. If that is true, it would be foolish to follow them. I believe there are many enemies in this country. We must not stay here. Come, we will ride around and find out if the buffaloes have come into this place. Then we will go back to our people."

"Sun Bird, before we go away we must find out about this thing," White Otter told him. "Perhaps it is true that the Kiowas are not going to the lodges of my people. We are not sure about it. Perhaps they know who we are. Perhaps they turned around to fool us. Perhaps if we do not follow them they will circle around and come to the lodges of my people. My brothers, we must find out where those Kiowas are going."

"How can we do that?" inquired Little Raven. "A war party leaves scouts behind. If we try to follow the Kiowas before it gets dark those scouts will see us. If we wait until it gets dark the Kiowas will be too far away."

"Listen sharp, my brothers, and I will tell you how I propose to do this thing," said White Otter. "It would be foolish to follow along this hill. If we do that the Kiowas will see us. We will do something different. We will cross over this hill, and ride away toward The-place-where-the-day-begins. If the Kiowas are watching they will say, 'Hi, those scouts were hiding behind that hill. Now they believe we have gone away. See, they are going to tell their people about it. They are riding toward the Cheyenne camp. They must be Cheyennes.' We will keep going toward the Cheyenne lodges. Then we will circle around, and try to find the Kiowas. If we do not find them over there, we will know that they have gone to fight my people."

"It is good," agreed Sun Bird.

"We will go," said White Otter.

They crossed the ridge, and rode boldly away toward the southeast, in the direction of the Cheyenne camp. They had little doubt that sharp-eyed Kiowa scouts were watching them. They glanced back many times, but saw nothing to confirm their suspicions.

Toward the end of the day they came in sight of another little grove of cottonwoods. They circled about it many times before they finally ventured within arrow-range. The grove was unoccupied, and contained a tiny pool. They killed several sage grouse in the timber.

"It is good," said White Otter. "We will stay here until the sun goes away. Then we will circle around and try to find the Kiowas."

At the end of the day they left the grove and rode off toward the north, hoping to cross the trail of the war party. Twilight had already fallen upon the plain when they finally found the fresh tracks of many ponies. The trail led toward the east. The Sioux felt sure that it had been made by the Kiowas.

"Now we know that your people are safe," declared Sun Bird.

"Yes, I believe it is true," replied White Otter.

He was gazing thoughtfully across the plain. A new possibility had suddenly suggested itself. He felt certain that he had guessed the destination of his foes. He turned eagerly to his companions.

"Now I know about this thing," he told them, excitedly. "I believe those Kiowas are going to fight the Cheyennes. Yes, now I see how it is. They took us for Cheyennes. They tried to fool us. When we went away they circled around and came over here. Yes, yes, those Kiowas are going to fight the Cheyennes."

"I believe it is true," said Sun Bird. "Now we know about it. Well, we will not follow them. We will go back and look for buffaloes."

White Otter was silent. His friends saw that he was thinking about something. They waited for him to speak.

"The Cheyennes are our friends," he said at last. "Once we went with them to fight the Pawnees. Once we went with them to fight the Kiowas. We took away some good ponies in that fight. The Cheyennes are very brave. Red Dog, their chief, is our friend. My brothers, I am thinking about these things."

"How do you feel about it?" inquired Sun Bird.

"I will tell you," said White Otter. "We are Dacotahs. The brave Cheyennes are our friends. The boastful Kiowas are our enemies. A Dacotah helps his friends and fights his enemies. I am going to tell the Cheyennes about the Kiowas."

"It is good," declared Sun Bird.

"Hi, we will go to the village of our brothers the Cheyennes, and help them fight the Kiowas," Little Raven cried, enthusiastically.




Chapter V

Off To Warn The Cheyennes


Having resolved to carry a warning to their friends, the Cheyennes, the Sioux abandoned their peaceful hunting expedition, and prepared for war. The idea filled them with enthusiasm. The Kiowas were old foes who stole Sioux ponies and killed Sioux hunters at every opportunity, and the three young scouts were ready and eager to make war upon them. It was not the first time they had maneuvered against the Kiowas, and they had learned from experience that the latter were brave and crafty foes.

"White Otter, you are a great war chief, you must be the leader," declared Sun Bird.

"Yes, White Otter, you are the leader," agreed Little Raven. "Tell us what you propose to do."

"We must get to the Cheyenne village ahead of the Kiowas," White Otter told them. "We will not follow them. We will circle back toward the Cheyenne lodges. Come, we must go."

They turned about and rode in the direction of the Cheyenne camp. It was a day's journey distant, and they realized that to beat the Kiowas they must reach the village before the next sunrise. The day was almost gone, and the light was fading from the plain. Aware that it would be necessary to ride continuously through the night, they held the ponies to an easy canter. As they rode they kept a sharp watch to the eastward where the heavy night shadows were already forming. They were fearful that the Kiowas might have discovered them. In that event they felt sure that those crafty foes would endeavor to intercept them before they reached the Cheyennes.

"There is a hill over there," White Otter said, suspiciously. "It is bad. Perhaps the Kiowas are riding along behind it."

They looked anxiously into the east, but the ridge had vanished into the dusk. They wondered if grim Kiowa warriors were racing along behind the barrier. The idea troubled them. They rode faster. The approach of darkness, however, gave them confidence. They believed it would be possible to elude their foes under cover of the night.

When they finally turned toward the east the plain was dark. They rode more cautiously. It was not long before they heard sounds which made them suspicious. A wolf howled somewhere ahead of them. They immediately stopped to listen. They heard it a second time, but it seemed perfectly natural.

"It sounds like Ma-ya-sh," said Little Raven.

"I believe it is a Kiowa," White Otter told him. "We must watch out."

They turned from their course, and rode on at a walk. Before they had gone an arrow flight, they heard the cry of the wolf a short distance north of them. They wondered if the scout who had called before had circled to search for them.

"No, I believe it is some one different," whispered White Otter. "It did not sound the same."

"Your ears are sharp," said Sun Bird.

A moment afterward a pony whinnied shrilly. Little Raven's pony replied. They stopped in alarm. It was apparent that the Kiowas were on all sides of them. They feared that the pony had betrayed them. They were at a loss to know just what to do.

"Listen," cautioned White Otter.

They waited anxiously to hear the hoofbeats of advancing ponies. The plain was still. They wondered if the Kiowas, too, had stopped to listen. The possibility made them cautious. They feared to ride away before they located their foes. They believed that if the Kiowas heard them they might close in and make it impossible to escape. Their only chance seemed to be to withdraw quietly, and slip away in the darkness.

"It is bad," White Otter whispered. "Perhaps some of the Kiowas will try to keep us here until their friends ride to the Cheyenne camp."

"Yes, yes, I believe it is what they are trying to do," declared Sun Bird.

The thought aroused them. They realized that each moment of delay lessened the chance of arriving at the Cheyenne village in time to warn their friends. They feared that the war party was racing wildly through the night in an effort to beat them to the goal.

"We must go ahead," said White Otter.

They rode cautiously toward the east. When they had gone several arrow flights without encountering their foes they became bolder. They urged the ponies to a canter. A moment later a piercing yell rose behind them. It was answered on both sides of them. They heard the hoofbeats of galloping ponies.

"Keep going! Keep going!" cried White Otter.

Aware that further caution would be useless, they lashed the ponies to top speed, and began a wild race across the plain. They heard the Kiowas thundering after them. They were whooping savagely, and the Sioux learned that they were on three sides of them. The front appeared to be open. Then White Otter suddenly suspected a trap.

"Watch out for the hill!" he cried, warningly.

They feared that other Kiowas were waiting for them on top of the ridge. There seemed to be no way to avoid them. With foes on both sides of them, they were forced to ride ahead. Ready to fight those who might attempt to bar the way, they stared anxiously into the night for a sight of the low, black barrier that threatened them with disaster. It soon loomed up through the darkness. They drew their bows and prepared to fight. Then, when they had almost reached the base of the ridge, White Otter attempted a bold bit of stratagem to outwit his foes.

"Stop! Stop!" he cried.

They threw the ponies upon their haunches. Then they listened. The Kiowas rushed past them. White Otter saw his opportunity. There was not a moment to spare.

"Come!" he shouted, as he rode wildly toward the south.

The trick had been successful. The Kiowas rode part way up the ridge before they discovered that they had passed their foes. Then they dashed recklessly down the slope, and stopped for an instant to learn which way the Sioux had gone.

"Follow me," cried White Otter.

When they had gone a bowshot, the Sioux turned up the ridge and swept over the summit before the Kiowas who were waiting to intercept them learned what had happened. They reached the level plain and were a full bowshot away when they heard the Kiowas riding furiously down the ridge in pursuit of them.

"Ride faster!" shouted White Otter.

They forced the ponies to the utmost in an effort to get beyond hearing of their foes. The Kiowas had become quiet. Even the sounds from their ponies had died away. The Sioux felt encouraged. They believed they had ridden beyond earshot of their pursuers. Still they kept the ponies to the exhausting pace, for they determined to make the most of their advantage.

"We have fooled them -- it is good," laughed White Otter. "They cannot hear us. They do not know which way to go."

"White Otter, you are as sharp as To-ka-la, the fox," Sun Bird told him.

"Yes, yes, you were too sharp for the Kiowas," declared Little Raven.

"Well, my brothers, we must not feel too big about this thing," White Otter cautioned them. "The war party is ahead of us. We must watch out."

He had barely ceased speaking when they heard the wolf cry rising through the night. It sounded far behind them. Three times it echoed across the plain. They knew at once that it was a signal.

"The scouts are telling their friends about us," said White Otter.

They listened for an answer. They hoped it would give them a clew to the whereabouts of the war party. There was no reply. It was evident that the main company of Kiowas were either beyond hearing or too cautious to betray themselves. The first possibility gave the Sioux considerable concern. If the war party was beyond hearing, they realized that it was far in advance of them. They wondered if their ponies were equal to the task of overtaking their foes.

"We must go faster," White Otter said, impatiently.

The ponies were running at speed which few ponies in the Dacotah nation could equal, and the Sioux believed that if they could maintain the pace they would eventually overtake and pass the Kiowas. The gallant little beasts showed no signs of weakening, and the riders made no effort to spare them. White Otter rode a fiery little piebald which had been presented to him by Curly Horse, the war chief of the Minneconjoux Sioux. It had proved its powers on an expedition against the Blackfeet the year previous, when it outran the famous black war pony of the Blackfeet chief. Many Buffaloes. White Otter had little fear that it would fail him in the present emergency. Sun Bird rode a wiry little roan, that had proved a worthy competitor of the piebald. Little Raven was mounted upon a wild-eyed pinto, which White Otter had presented to him several years before. It, too, was famous for speed and endurance.

Convinced that there was slight danger of being overtaken by the scouts, the Sioux fixed their thoughts upon the war party. The wolf calls still came from the west, but there was no response from the east. White Otter wondered if the main force of Kiowas really were as far away as they appeared to be.

"Perhaps they are watching for us," suggested Sun Bird. "Perhaps they are keeping quiet so that we will not know where they are."

"It may be true," said White Otter.

They had little doubt that the Kiowas would make every effort to prevent them from carrying a warning to the Cheyenne camp. White Otter believed that the war party planned to approach the village under cover of the night, and make a sudden attack at daylight.

"We will tell the Cheyennes about it," he said. "They will be ready when the Kiowas come to fight them."

The Sioux were still a long distance from their goal, however, and they feared to become too confident. Two disturbing possibilities confronted them. One was that they might eventually encounter the war party. The other was that the courageous little ponies might suddenly collapse with exhaustion. The latter thought caused them the most anxiety. They decided to ride at an easier pace. Then White Otter resolved to turn more to the southward in the hope of passing the Kiowas. He also believed that it would offer a shorter and more direct route to the Cheyenne camp.

The signals from the west had ceased, and the Sioux wondered if the scouts had abandoned hope of getting into communication with the war party. Then the hateful call suddenly sounded across the plain. It seemed considerably nearer. They were perplexed. Had the Kiowas actually gained upon them? It seemed unlikely.

"Perhaps we have passed the war party," said Sun Bird.

"It is mysterious," declared White Otter. "I believe we are running into danger."

They stopped for a moment to listen. The ponies had barely come to a standstill when they heard another signal directly ahead of them. It was so distinct and close at hand that it startled them. The one who had made it seemed to be within arrow range. The Sioux believed that they had overtaken the war party. The thought roused them. They wondered if the Kiowas had discovered them. They heard a horse cantering across the plain. It was somewhere on their right. It passed, and they felt relieved. Then they heard voices. The speakers were within bow range. The rider was moving toward them. The voices ceased as the pony drew near. Then the Sioux heard a low, cautious challenge pass between the scouts. A moment afterward they resumed their talk. The rider had joined his friends.

"The Kiowas have left scouts behind to watch," White Otter whispered. "Pretty soon those other scouts will come. We must get away."

Then several of the Kiowa ponies called, and the Sioux rode away at a furious pace. The Kiowas instantly raised the alarm, and raced after them. White Otter heard an arrow pass over his head.

"Keep low on your ponies!" he cried. "The Kiowas are shooting their arrows."

The Sioux ponies soon carried their riders beyond danger, and then White Otter veered sharply in his course and threw the Kiowas from the trail. Although there seemed to have been a number of riders, the Sioux believed that they were scouts, and that the war party was still riding toward the Cheyenne camp.

"They will not catch us again," laughed White Otter, as he turned still farther to the southward.




Chapter VI

A Perilous Mission


Daylight was close at hand when the Sioux suddenly heard the dogs barking furiously in the Cheyenne village. The sounds filled them with alarm. Had they arrived too late to warn the Cheyennes? Had the Kiowas beaten them to the goal? Had the fight begun? The possibilities tried their courage. Lashing their exhausted ponies into a final, heart-breaking sprint they raced recklessly toward the camp.

As they came within bowshot of the village they heard a company of horsemen riding to meet them. They drew in the ponies, and listened in trying suspense. Had they encountered friends or foes? They determined to take no chances. Drawing their bows, they waited for the riders to approach. They had stopped. They, too, were suspicious and cautious.

"Ho, Cheyennes, we are Dacotahs," cried White Otter. "We have come to help you."

They heard the murmur of voices. A pony called. Then all was still. The Sioux waited impatiently. Many moments passed. They became suspicious.

"I believe it is the Kiowas," said Sun Bird.

As he spoke a voice sounded from the darkness. It addressed them in the Sioux dialect.

"Ho, Dacotahs, tell us who you are," it said.

"Watch out, perhaps the Kiowas are trying to catch us," said Sun Bird.

"I am White Otter; ask your chief Red Dog about me," White Otter called out.

"Ho, my brother, we will come to meet you," said the stranger.

"Wait," cried White Otter. "First tell me who you are."

"I am Painted Weasel -- do you know me?"

"Yes, I know you," said White Otter.

The Sioux advanced and found a small company of Cheyennes waiting a short distance from the village. Painted Weasel was an old friend whom the Sioux greeted warmly. They found a number of other acquaintances in the company that had ridden out to intercept them. Painted Weasel, however, was the only one who spoke their words.

"Your ponies have run fast," said Painted Weasel. "Has anything bad happened to you?"

"My brother, the Kiowas are coming to fight you," White Otter told him. "We found out about it, and came here to tell you. They are close by. There is little time. Ride to the camp and call your warriors."

Painted Weasel addressed his companions. When he finished speaking, three Cheyennes rode silently into the night. The Sioux knew that they had gone to watch for the Kiowas.

"Come," said Painted Weasel.

When they arrived at the camp they were met by Red Dog, the Cheyenne war chief, an old friend and ally whom White Otter and Sun Bird had saved from death at the hands of the Pawnees.

"Ho, my brothers, you have come to our lodges -- it is good," cried Red Dog.

"No, Red Dog, it is bad," White Otter told him. "We came here to tell you that the Kiowas are coming to fight you. They are close by. You must get ready."

When Red Dog repeated the warning to his tribesmen, they were thrown into a frenzy of excitement. In a few few moments the camp was in an uproar. All was confusion, as the alarmed Cheyennes ran through the village calling the people from the lodges. Then Red Dog took command, and restored order.

"Light the fires!" he cried. "Drive in the ponies."

The women and boys brought fuel for the fires. A company of young men rode out on the plain to drive in the ponies. The warriors gathered eagerly about their chief. The Sioux noted that the Cheyennes were few in numbers.

"It is bad," Red Dog told White Otter. "Many of our warriors have gone to hunt buffaloes. There are few of us here. It will be hard to hold off the Kiowas."

"We will help you," said White Otter.

"It is good," replied Red Dog. "I have seen you do big things. My people will feel strong because you are here."

Fires had been lighted to prevent the Kiowas from entering the camp under cover of the darkness. Soon afterward the young men drove in the ponies. They were driven into a stout corral. Then the warriors stationed themselves along the edge of the village to watch for the Kiowas. The Sioux joined Red Dog. The latter was a cripple, having had both legs broken at the time the Sioux saved him from the Pawnees.

"See, it is getting light," White Otter said, hopefully. "I believe the Kiowas will hold back. Perhaps they know that we have told you about them."

"Do they know who you are?" inquired Red Dog.

"No," replied White Otter. "I believe they took us for your people."

"It is good," declared Red Dog.

As darkness finally passed, and dawn lighted the plain, the little company of Cheyennes looked anxiously toward the west. The Kiowas, however, failed to appear. The Cheyennes felt more hopeful. They believed there was less chance of the Kiowas attacking the camp in daylight.

"If they do not know that our people are away, they will be cautious," said Red Dog. "Perhaps they were coming here to run off ponies."

"Yes, I believe that is what they proposed to do," White Otter told him.

Soon afterward they saw three of the Cheyenne scouts riding toward the camp. When they arrived, the warriors crowded about them to learn what they had discovered. They said that they had heard nothing of the Kiowas during the night, but at daylight they had discovered what appeared to be a wolf, at the top of a ravine some distance to the westward. The actions of the wolf had convinced them that it was a disguised scout, and they believed the war party was hiding in the ravine. Two of the Cheyenne scouts had remained out on the plain to watch.

"Yes, I believe that wolf was a Kiowa," White Otter told Red Dog. "That is how they tried to fool us, but we were too sharp."

"I do not believe they will come here while it is light," said Red Dog. "Thunder Hawk and Running Buffalo are watching. They are sharp. The Kiowas will not get past them."

Convinced that there was no immediate danger of an attack, the Cheyennes relaxed their vigilance. Red Dog appointed some of the older boys to watch along the edge of the camp, while the warriors assembled in council to discuss plans for defending the village.

"My brothers, the Kiowas are close by," said Red Dog. "Our brothers, the Sioux, have told us about them. It was a big thing to do. If these brave Sioux had not come here, perhaps the Kiowas would have run off many ponies. Now we know about it. The Kiowas are strong. There are few of us. It will be hard to keep them out of the camp. We must send scouts to bring back the hunters. Then we must make a big fight until our people come."

"Red Dog, give us fresh ponies, and we will go to find your brothers," White Otter told him.

"It is good," said Red Dog. "Cheyennes, the Sioux are our friends. They are going to bring back the hunters. They are great scouts. The Kiowas cannot fool them. Come, my brothers, lead out three of my best war ponies for these brave Sioux."

Three of the best ponies in the Cheyenne tribe were brought for White Otter and his companions. When they mounted them and prepared to ride away, an old man came forward and signaled that he wished to speak to them.

"It is Ghost Bear, he is a great Medicine Person," Red Dog told them.

"Young men, I have some words for you," he said in the Sioux tongue. "You came here to help us. You are our friends. I know about you. You are brave. You are going into great danger. You are going into the country of our enemies, the Pawnees. I do not wish anything bad to happen to you. That is why I am going to help you. But first tell me who is the leader."

"My brother, White Otter, is the leader," Sun Bird told him. "He is a great war chief of the Ogalalas. He has done many big things."

"Yes, yes, I know that White Otter is a great chief," said Ghost Bear. "I know that he saved the life of Red Dog. I know that he went with our people to fight the Kiowas. Now, White Otter, I am going to give you something to keep you safe. You must wear this mysterious Medicine Bag about your neck. It will make you strong and keep you from harm. It will give you power to overcome your enemies."

He advanced to White Otter and gave him a small buckskin bag. White Otter fastened it about his neck. The superstitious young Ogalala felt certain that it contained some mysterious Medicine Token which would guard him against misfortune.

"Ghost Bear, I see that you are a great Medicine Person," he said. "You have given me this mysterious Medicine Thing. I will keep it. I believe it will make me strong."

"My brothers, you are about to ride away, perhaps the Kiowas will try to catch you," said Red Dog. "I do not believe they will be able to come up with those ponies. We will keep watching. If the Kiowas go after you, we will ride out and drive them back."

"No, my brother, that would be foolish," White Otter told him. "Ghost Bear has given me this great Medicine Thing. I see that these ponies are fast. The Kiowas cannot harm us. You must keep watching. The Kiowas are sharp. Pretty soon we will bring back your brothers. Then we will ride out and chase away the Kiowas. We will take many ponies. Now we are going away. Be brave, my friends."

Then the three Sioux scouts rode away toward the south. The Cheyennes stood at the edge of the camp and looked after them. They kept a sharp watch to the westward. There was no sign of their foes. They wondered if the Kiowas had discovered the three horsemen.

"I do not believe the Kiowas will follow them," Red Dog said, hopefully.

They continued to watch until the Sioux were far away. Then they felt less anxious. Having gained a big lead, they believed the Sioux would have little difficulty in keeping ahead of their foes. Then they suddenly discovered something which filled them with gloomy forebodings of evil. A golden eagle, the war bird, had appeared in the sky. It was circling directly over the camp. The Cheyennes watched it with superstitious fear.

"It is bad," cried old Ghost Bear, the Medicine Man. "It means war."

"Look, look, the great war bird is flying toward the place where the Kiowas are hiding," cried the Cheyennes.

"It is a bad sign," the old men declared, solemnly.

"My brothers, we must get ready to fight," said Ghost Bear. "The war bird has warned us. I believe the Kiowas will come to the village."




Chapter VII

Red Dog's Stratagem


Shortly after the Sioux had disappeared, the Cheyennes discovered what appeared to be smoke, far away to the westward. They watched for some time before they became convinced that it was not a cloud. Then as they finally agreed that it was smoke, they felt sure that it was a signal from the Kiowa war party.

"It is bad," said Red Dog. "I believe the Kiowas are waiting for more warriors. They are sending up that smoke to tell them where they are."

"It must be so," declared Painted Weasel, a famous scout.

The possibility filled the Cheyennes with gloom. Already outnumbered by the war party in the distant ravine, they realized that there was little chance of holding the village against a still stronger force of foes. For a moment they gave way to despair. Some of them proposed to abandon the camp, and seek safety in flight.

"No, no, that would be useless," Red Dog cried fiercely. "Look about you. Do you see the old people and the women and children? Well, my brothers, think about it. They cannot travel fast. If we try to get away, the Kiowas will soon come up with us. Then most of us will be killed. We must stay here and fight. We are Cheyennes. Does a Cheyenne throw away his women and children to save himself? I am your chief. I will stay here and fight back the Kiowas until our brothers come to help us."

The words of Red Dog roused the fighting blood of his warriors. They replied with a ringing war cry that echoed threateningly across the plain, and carried a bold challenge to their foes. The courage of their chief gave them confidence, and they were eager to meet the Kiowas. Some of the old men ran for the war drums. Then the warriors gathered in the center of the camp, and began to dance and sing their boastful war songs.

"It is good," cried Red Dog. "I see that you are ready to fight. If the Kiowas come to the village we will kill them and take away their ponies."

Once begun, the war ceremonies were continued far into the day. Then they were suddenly brought to an end by the appearance of one of the scouts who was racing toward the camp. When he came nearer they recognized him as White Horse, a noted warrior. As he rode his sweating pony into the village, the Cheyennes gathered eagerly about him to learn what he had seen.

"It is bad," White Horse told them. "Many more Kiowas have gone into that gully."

"Come, get off your pony and tell us about it," said Red Dog.

"Well, my brothers, I was watching with Running Buffalo and Thunder Hawk," said White Horse. "For a long time we did not see anything. Then we saw some smoke. It was far away. Pretty soon it stopped. Then we saw some smoke coming out of that gully. Then we said, 'Some more Kiowas are coming. They are over there where we saw that first smoke. They are trying to find the war party.' Then we watched close. Pretty soon we saw a scout crawl out of that gully. He looked all around. He could not see us. Then he looked toward that place where the smoke was. He looked a long time. Pretty soon we saw some one on a pony over there. Then the man who came out of the gully began to wave a robe. Then the man on the pony began to ride around. Running Buffalo said, 'Those Kiowas are talking to one another.' We kept watching. Pretty soon we saw many riders coming out of the place where the smoke was. They were riding toward that gully. Then some more Kiowas came out of the gully to watch. They were waving their arms. The riders came faster. Then they all went into that gully. My brothers, it is a great war party. I believe they will come to the village when it gets dark. Now I have told you about it."

The Cheyennes remained silent for some moments after White Horse had ceased speaking. His words had confirmed the significance of the distant smoke signal. They believed that the odds against them had doubled. The thought sobered them. They felt little inclination to talk. At last, however, old Ghost Bear rose to address them.

"My friends, White Horse has brought bad words," he told them. "He says that many Kiowas are hiding over there in that gully. What I told you about the great war bird has come true. I believe we will have a big fight. Well, we are Cheyennes. We have fought the boastful Kiowas many times. We have killed many of their warriors. We have run off many of their ponies. Pretty soon I am going to burn some sweet grass, and sing the Medicine Songs. Then I am going to talk to the Above People. I am going to ask them to help us. They will make us strong. Cheyennes, you must be brave. I believe we will hold off the Kiowas until our brothers come. I have finished."

A few moments later Red Dog spoke. The Cheyennes turned to him with eager attention. He was a great war leader, the son of their beloved chief, War Eagle, who had been killed in a disastrous battle with the Pawnees, and they looked upon him with respect and admiration. They believed that he might find a way to overcome the advantage of the Kiowas, and save the camp.

"My people, Ghost Bear has given you good words," said Red Dog. "I believe what he says is true. I believe the Kiowas propose to fight us. I am not thinking about that. I am thinking about the old people and the women and children. We must try to get them away before the Kiowas come.

"Now, my brothers, listen sharp. I will tell you what I propose to do. We will keep watching until its gets dark. I do not believe the Kiowas will come while it is light. When it begins to get dark we will send the old people and the women and children away. Some of you must go with them. You must ride far over toward the Place-where-the-day-begins. Then you must circle around and go toward the lodges of our brothers, the Ogalalas. You must send a scout ahead to tell the Ogalalas about it. They will come to help you.

"After the women and children have gone away, the rest of us will get ready to fight the Kiowas. We will try hard to keep them out of the camp. Perhaps we will be wiped away. I cannot tell about that. We are Cheyennes. A Cheyenne is not afraid to die."

The Cheyennes immediately approved the plan of Red Dog. They believed it offered the only chance of saving the women and children. All of the warriors, however, wished to remain at the camp with Red Dog to fight the Kiowas.

In the meantime old Ghost Bear came from the Medicine Lodge with the sacred Medicine Pipe. He called the Cheyennes to assemble in the camp. When they had formed the council circle, Ghost Bear asked a boy to bring some dry willow sticks. Then he asked a warrior to kindle a fire. As the sticks began to burn, Ghost Bear unwrapped the Medicine Pipe. Then he rose, and tossed a handful of sweet grass upon the fire. As it burned he raised his aged face toward the sky, and chanted a Medicine Song. Then he took some dried bark of the red willow from a small buckskin bag, and filled the bowl of the pipe. Having made these preparations, he turned to the Cheyennes.

"My brothers, I have called you here to take part in the great Medicine Ceremony," he told them. "I have made many smokes to the Above People. It is good. I believe they will help us. Now I am going ahead with the great Medicine Ceremony. You must watch close, and see what I do."

He drew a blazing stick from the fire, and lighted the pipe. For several moments he extended the pipe stem toward the sky, while he invited the mysterious Above People to smoke. Then he drew upon the pipe and puffed the smoke toward the sky, the earth, the east, the south, the west and the north. Having begun the ceremony, he passed the pipe to Red Dog, who puffed the smoke toward the sky. The chief passed the pipe to the warrior at his right, and thus it went round the circle, each warrior puffing smoke toward the sky and calling upon the Above People to help him.

After all had smoked, the pipe was returned to Ghost Bear, who replaced it in its wrappings. Then he began a weird, melancholy chant, while he moved slowly around the little fire, shaking a medicine rattle. The Cheyennes watched him in superstitious fascination. They believed implicitly in the strange Medicine Beings with whom old Ghost Bear claimed relationship, and they hoped that he might arouse them against the Kiowas.

When Ghost Bear finally ended the mysterious Medicine Ceremony, the Cheyennes again stationed themselves along the edge of the camp to watch the plain. The day was almost finished. The thought of darkness filled them with doubts. They believed that the night threatened them with disaster.

"Pretty soon it will be dark," they told one another, uneasily.

As the sun finally disappeared behind the western rim of the plain, they saw a horseman riding toward the camp. They watched him in great suspense. It seemed a long time before he came within bow range. Then they recognized him as Running Buffalo, one of the scouts.

"Running Buffalo is coming to tell us something about the Kiowas," they said.

"My brothers, the Kiowas are singing the war songs and making many talks," Running Buffalo told them. "I believe they will set out to fight us as soon as it gets dark. It is bad. There are many Kiowas. Yes, each of us will have to fight three Kiowas. I do not know what will become of the old people, and the women and children. I will not talk about it. My heart is heavy."

"Running Buffalo, we know that many Kiowas are over there in that place, but we are not afraid," Red Dog told him. "We are ready. We will make a big fight, and try to hold them back until our brothers come to help us. Our friends, the Sioux, have gone to bring them.

"Now listen to what I am about to say. I am going to fool the Kiowas, and let the old people and the women and children get away. I am going to send them to our friends, the brave Ogalalas. Now I will tell you what I propose to do. When it gets dark some of us will ride away toward the Place-where-the-warm-wind-blows. We will not go far. Then we will turn around, and ride back to the camp. We will make a big noise. Our brothers in the camp will make a big noise. When the Kiowas hear it they will say, 'Hi, some people have come to help the Cheyennes.' Then they will stop, and send out scouts. Well, while we are making that noise, the women and children will get away. They will go toward the Place-where-the-day-begins. Then they will circle around and ride fast toward the Ogalala lodges. Some of us will go with them. Some one will ride ahead and ask the Ogalalas to help us. If the Kiowas go that way you must tell us about it. Now you know what I propose to do. See, the light is going. Ride back there and tell your brothers about it."

"It is good," said Running Buffalo. "I will go. When the Kiowas ride toward the village we will keep ahead of them. When you hear the little gray fox barking you will know that the Kiowas are coming."

He mounted his pony and rode away into the west. The Cheyennes watched him in gloomy silence. The light was fading. The day had ended. Night was close at hand.

Then Red Dog began preparations for the defense of the camp. The boys and old men were piling brush and wood along the edge of the village, to be lighted if the Kiowas attempted to enter. Fires had already been lighted in the center of the camp. The war ponies were brought in, and securely picketed. The frightened women were packing meat for their journey into the north.

Red Dog called the warriors to the fire. It was a pitiably small company. The Cheyenne chief looked upon them with pride. They were great broad-shouldered fellows in the prime of life. Their solemn faces and serious eyes told him that they understood the peril which threatened them. Still there was no trace of fear in their hearts. They waited calmly for the words of their chief.

"My friends, the light has almost gone," Red Dog told them. "We must get ready to send away the women and children, and the old people. I will ask some of you to go out on the plain. Do not go far. Then you must turn around, and ride to the village. Call out, and sing the war songs. Make a big noise.

"Now I will call out the names of some warriors to go with the women and children. Cloud Eagle, and Two Dogs, and Walks Alone, and Hairy Robe, and Lame Bear must take these people to the Ogalalas. I will make Cloud Eagle the leader. Now you must get ready to go. When we make that big noise you must ride away."

The five warriors who had been selected to guard the women and children on the perilous journey into the north were eager to remain and fight the Kiowas. They concealed their disappointment, however, and began to round up the ponies.

"Listen, Cheyennes," old Ghost Bear cried, excitedly. "I am an old man, but I am not going away. My arms are strong. My eyes are sharp. I will stay here and help you fight the Kiowas."

Encouraged by his example, many other valiant veterans of the war trail offered their services against the Kiowas. Red Dog accepted them. He realized that in the emergency their assistance might be valuable.

"My brothers, you are very brave," he told them. "All of you have fought in many battles. If you feel like staying here to fight, I will tell you to stay. Perhaps you will kill many Kiowas."

Having made preparations for the daring stratagem by which he hoped to save the women and children, Red Dog divided his little force into two companies. He appointed Painted Weasel as leader of the company that was to ride out on the plain, while Red Dog assumed command of the warriors in the camp. Then the Cheyennes waited for darkness.

When night finally settled upon the plain, Painted Weasel and his companions mounted their ponies and rode away toward the south. At the same time Cloud Eagle assembled the women and children. Then the Cheyennes listened for the signal that would set the camp in a tumult.

"Hi, they are coming!" cried Red Dog.

The hoofbeats of galloping ponies sounded across the plain, and a moment afterward the night rang with the wild shouts of the riders. The warriors in the camp replied with the piercing Cheyenne war cry. Then a perfect bedlam of sounds rose from the village. Men shouted, dogs barked and ponies whinnied.

"Come, come, ride away!" Red Dog told Cloud Eagle.

A moment afterward the little company galloped toward the east. The hoofbeats of the ponies were smothered by the noise from the camp. When the wild tumult finally subsided, the warriors raised their voices in the war songs, and the sounds carried far across the plain. Red Dog felt certain that the noise had reached the ears of the Kiowas.

"It is good," he cried. "We have frightened the Kiowas. They will be cautious. It will be a long time before they come close. The women and children have got away."

The Cheyennes became quiet. They stood at the edge of the village, listening anxiously. The plain was silent. A great joy filled their hearts. They believed that their women and children had escaped from the Kiowas.




Chapter VIII

The Attack On The Camp


Elated at the successful escape of the women and children, the Cheyennes awaited the Kiowas with less anxiety. They stood at the edge of the village, listening for a warning from the scouts. Some of the older boys had been appointed to stand beside the piles of brush, ready to light them at the command of their chief. A small detail of warriors surrounded the corral to prevent the Kiowas from running off the ponies. The old men kept the fires blazing fiercely in the center of the camp. Everything was ready. The Cheyennes were eager to begin the fight.

"Perhaps the Kiowas are afraid to come," laughed old Ghost Bear.

"Keep watching -- they will come," Red Dog warned him.

When half of the night had passed, and they had heard nothing of the war party, some of the younger warriors began to repeat the words of Ghost Bear. The older men cautioned them against becoming too confident. They believed that the Kiowas were delaying the attack with the hope of catching them off their guard.

"The Kiowas are sharp," said Red Dog. "We must watch out or they will fool us."

Soon afterward the warriors along the southerly side of the camp called out that they had heard a signal. The bark of the little gray fox had sounded far away to the southward. The Cheyennes listened in tense silence. In a few moments the signal was repeated. They knew it had come from one of their scouts. They turned to one another in surprise. Having expected the Kiowas to approach from the west, the call in the south perplexed them.

"It is bad," said Red Dog. "The Kiowas have separated."

"Perhaps scouts went over there to find out who came to the camp," suggested Painted Weasel.

"Yes, that may be true," Red Dog replied, thoughtfully.

Then they heard another signal. It sounded from the West, and was nearer the camp. Red Dog saw his suspicions confirmed. He was confident that the Kiowas had separated into two companies.

"They are coming up on both sides of us," declared Painted Weasel.

A moment later they heard hoofbeats. A pony was racing toward them, from the west. The dogs barked furiously. The Cheyennes believed that one of the scouts was approaching, but they determined to be prepared. They drew their bows, and watched suspiciously. The pony stopped when it came within arrow range. Then they heard the familiar signal.

"Who are you?" inquired Red Dog.

"Thunder Hawk," said a voice from the darkness.

"Ride ahead," Red Dog told him.

In a few moments Thunder Hawk entered the camp. He said that the Kiowas had separated into two companies. One had ridden toward the south. The other was approaching from the west.

"Running Buffalo followed the Kiowas who rode away," said Thunder Hawk. "White Horse is watching the Kiowas who are coming toward the village. He sent me here to tell you about it."

"Did you hear us making that noise?" Red Dog asked him.

"Yes, we heard ponies running, and shouts, and then we heard the war songs," said Thunder Hawk. "After that the Kiowas rode away."

"They must be scouts," said Red Dog. "Perhaps they are trying to find out who came here."

"No, they are not scouts," declared Thunder Hawk. "There are many ponies. It is a big war party. I believe they are the warriors who came from the Place-where-the-sun-sleeps."

"Then I know about it," said Red Dog. "I believe scouts saw the ponies out there on the plain. Those riders who went away are going to circle around, and try to run off those ponies. Well, we will fool them. The ponies are here."

"Yes, yes, that is what they propose to do," the Cheyennes told one another.

While they were talking, they heard some one approaching from the south. They felt certain it was Running Buffalo. He stopped and imitated the bark of the little gray fox. Then he galloped to the camp.

"Get ready to fight!" cried Running Buffalo. "The Kiowas are coming. They are close behind me. They are trying to find the ponies."

"The ponies are here," Red Dog told him, as he pointed toward the corral.

"It is good," said Running Buffalo. "My brothers, there are many Kiowas in that war party."

"We are ready," Red Dog said, grimly.

Having learned that the Kiowas were advancing upon the camp, the Cheyennes listened anxiously for the approach of White Horse. As time passed, and he failed to arrive, they became uneasy about him. They wondered what had caused him to loiter. They feared that the Kiowas who were approaching from the south might circle about the village and trap him.

"I will go out there and find him," Thunder Hawk proposed, impulsively.

"Wait," cautioned Red Dog. "White Horse is sharp. The Kiowas will not catch him. He is waiting to find out about something. He will come."

As he finished speaking they heard the signal in the north. It filled them with alarm. Their thoughts turned to Cloud Eagle and the helpless company in his care. Had the crafty Kiowas sent scouts into the north? The Cheyennes weakened at the possibility. They waited in breathless suspense for White Horse to reach the camp.

White Horse soon relieved their fears. He said that the Kiowas who were advancing from the west had stopped some distance out on the plain. Then he had circled toward the north to make sure that scouts had not gone in that direction. He had heard nothing to arouse his suspicions.

"It is good," declared Red Dog.

"I do not believe the Kiowas know anything about our people who went away," said White Horse. "I believe they came here to run off ponies. When they found out that we knew about it, they sent scouts to bring more warriors. Now they are going to make a big fight. Those people I was watching will wait out there until they hear their friends moving ahead. Then they will all rush in. I believe scouts are creeping toward the camp. We must watch sharp."

"White Horse, your words are good," said Red Dog. "I believe you have found out what the Kiowas propose to do."

Realizing that the Kiowas might begin the attack at any moment, the Cheyennes stood at the edge of the camp, weapons in hand, watching and listening for their foes. They had little doubt that scouts were moving cautiously through the darkness in an effort to reconnoiter the camp. The thought kept them alert. They listened sharply for the sound of stealthy footfalls. For a long time, however, all was still. Then a pony snorted, in the corral. A dog harked savagely outside the camp.

"Light the fires!" cried Red Dog.

The boys shoved glowing embers into the brush piles. A moment afterward they burst into flames. A wide circle of light spread about the camp. The Cheyennes looked for their foes. They had retreated into the night.

"It was a scout; he was trying to find the ponies," explained a warrior at the corral.

Believing that the Kiowas were close to the camp, Red Dog ordered the boys to keep the fires blazing. The warriors crouched in the shadows from the lodges. They heard nothing further from their foes. They wondered if the scouts had been frightened away.

"The Kiowas are like wolves," laughed Painted Weasel. "They are afraid of the fires."

As if to verify his words, the dismal wail of Ma-ya-sh, the prairie wolf, sounded from the south. The Cheyennes started at the sound. They knew it was a signal from the war party. They believed the Kiowas were ready to advance.

"Watch out!" shouted Red Dog. "The Kiowas are coming."

The wolf call was repeated in the west. It had barely died away before the Kiowa war cry echoed shrilly through the night. The Cheyennes answered the challenge. Then the Kiowas raced toward the camp. They rode close up to the lodges, but the Cheyennes were prepared, and drove them back with a deadly volley of arrows. The Kiowas turned and sought shelter in the darkness.

"We have chased them back," the Cheyennes cried, excitedly.

"Keep watching," Red Dog cautioned them.

The Kiowas were riding around the camp, and yelling fiercely. They appeared to be attempting to stampede the ponies. The latter were plunging and snorting in terror, and those in the corral threatened to break away at any moment. Then the Kiowas suddenly made another attempt to enter the village. They rode recklessly to the edge of the camp, and tried to drive the Cheyennes before them. The latter, however, refused to yield. They realized that to give way meant disaster, and they fought with a stubborn ferocity that bewildered their foes. The old men and the boys fought as fiercely as the warriors. Somewhat sheltered by the lodges, they shot their arrows with deadly accuracy, and the Kiowas were again compelled to withdraw. This time they went far out on the plain.

The Cheyennes seized the opportunity to turn to their disabled comrades. They had paid a heavy price for victory. A third of the little force had been killed or wounded. There was little time to think about it. The old men barely had time to drag the wounded to a place of safety before they heard the Kiowas again charging upon the village.

The Cheyennes were amazed when their foes passed beyond bow range of the camp, and thundered away toward the south. It was some moments before they recovered from their bewilderment. They were at a loss to understand the strange maneuver. At first they were suspicious, and expected to hear the Kiowas riding toward them from another direction. Then, as time passed and they heard nothing further, they became convinced that the Kiowas had actually gone away. It seemed too good to be true. Despair gave way to joy. The Cheyennes began to laugh, and shout and sing the war songs.

"My brothers, we have done a big thing," Red Dog told them. "We have chased away that great war party of Kiowas. They are running across the plain. It is something to tell about. I --  -- "

"Listen!" Painted Weasel cried, in alarm.

A moment afterward the startled Cheyennes heard the Kiowa war cry at the edge of the camp. Then, before they realized what had happened, they saw the warriors along the westerly side of the village driven back by a great company of Kiowas who swarmed into the camp on foot. At the same time the horsemen attacked the camp on the south. The wily Kiowas had completely outwitted their foes. The Cheyennes were bewildered and demoralized. They rushed wildly to reinforce their comrades along the threatened side of the village, and the Kiowa horsemen found little opposition. They quickly overcame the feeble guard at the corral, and stampeded the ponies. Then they swept into the camp. The Cheyennes were outnumbered four to one. The village was filled with Kiowas. Resistance meant death.

"Jump on the war ponies and save yourselves!" cried Red Dog.

The Cheyennes rushed toward the terror-stricken ponies in the center of the camp. The Kiowas followed after them. A furious hand-to-hand encounter ensued. Most of the old men were killed. A few escaped notice in the general confusion, and disappeared into the night. Old Ghost Bear ran far out on the plain, and hid in the sage.

The Cheyennes finally gained possession of the war ponies. They mounted and attempted to ride away. Less than half of the company escaped. Once out of the village, they rode frantically toward the north. The Kiowas made little effort to overtake them. A small company of warriors pursued them a short distance across the plain, but soon turned back to assist in rounding up the ponies, and share in the plunder.

When they found that they were not pursued, the little band of Cheyennes stopped to learn who had escaped. Many famous warriors were missing. Then they suddenly discovered that both Red Dog and Ghost Bear were absent.

"I saw Ghost Bear run out of the camp," declared Running Buffalo. "I believe he got away."

"Where is Red Dog?" Painted Weasel asked, anxiously.

"He was with us when we were fighting to get away," said Running Buffalo. "I saw him kill two Kiowas. Then the Kiowas rushed at us, and I did not see what became of him."

"Red Dog is dead -- the Kiowas have killed him," cried the disheartened Cheyennes.

"Perhaps they have carried him away," said Painted Hawk.

They rallied at the thought. If Red Dog had been captured, they resolved to rescue him. They turned toward the camp. Then they stopped in dismay. The village was ablaze. The Kiowas had set fire to the lodges. The Cheyennes heard them yelling triumphantly, far away to the southward.

"My brothers, there are few of us left," declared Running Buffalo. "It is useless to try to do anything. Come, we will ride after our people, and ask the Ogalalas to help us. Then we will bring a great war party to fight the Kiowas."

They turned toward the north with heavy hearts, and rode silently away into the darkness.




Chapter IX

Pawnees


As the Sioux scouts rode toward the south to find the Cheyenne hunters, they watched closely to make sure that the Kiowas were not following them. Then, as the day advanced and they saw nothing of their foes, they believed that they had escaped from the Cheyenne camp without attracting the attention of the Kiowa scouts. The thought encouraged them.

"It is good," said Sun Bird. "There is no danger."

"We must not be too sure about it," White Otter cautioned him. "Red Dog told us about the Pawnees. We must watch out."

At first they attempted to follow the trail of the Cheyennes, but as the latter had left the camp some days before the tracks were old and indistinct. The Sioux realized that they would be forced to ride slowly to follow them. Then, too, they feared that the Cheyennes might make many wide and unnecessary detours in their search for buffaloes, and an effort to follow them might cause much useless riding and a great loss of time. Aware that each moment was precious, White Otter finally determined to leave the trail and ride directly across the plain in the hope of encountering the hunters.

"It is the best thing to do," said White Otter.

"Yes, I believe it will be the quickest way to find the hunters," agreed Sun Bird.

Late in the day they discovered a number of fresh pony tracks leading toward the west. White Otter and Sun Bird dismounted to examine them. They decided that they had been made only a short time before. The trail made them suspicious. They looked anxiously across the plain. There was nothing in sight.

"Perhaps it is the Cheyennes," said Sun Bird.

White Otter remained silent. He was walking slowly along the trail, and examining the tracks with great care. His companions waited for his decision. At last he rose, and shook his head in doubt.

"Do you feel different about it?" Sun Bird inquired, anxiously.

"My brother, I am not sure about it," White Otter told him. "Only a few ponies passed this place -- there are many Cheyennes."

"Perhaps they were scouts, going over there to look for buffaloes," suggested Sun Bird.

"Perhaps," said White Otter.

He was looking anxiously toward the west. The plain was level and free of cover, and it was possible to see a long distance ahead. White Otter realized that the riders were farther away than he had supposed.

"Perhaps they are wild ponies," said Little Raven.

"Yes, that may be true," replied White Otter. "Well, we will try to find out about them. Come, we will follow them."

He rode slowly along the trail, and Sun Bird and Little Raven followed him. His doubts had made them suspicious, and they kept a sharp watch for foes. They had gone a considerable distance when White Otter suddenly stopped and dismounted. He stooped and lifted something from the ground. He examined it with great interest. Then he turned to his companions.

"See," he said. "I have found something that tells me what I wish to know."

He passed the object to Sun Bird. It was a small, round, highly polished piece of bone. It had a hole bored through the end of it. Sun Bird recognized it at once. It had come from a bone breast-plate, worn by warriors to protect them from the arrows of their foes. For some moments he stared at it in silence. Then he gave it to Little Raven.

"Now we know that those ponies carried riders," said White Otter. "They are not our friends, the Cheyennes. They are warriors."

"I believe they are Pawnees," declared Sun Bird.

At that moment White Otter discovered something far away to the northward. A column of smoke was rising against the sky. They watched it until it finally faded from view. They believed it had been a signal from the Kiowa war party. Then White Otter suddenly guessed the truth.

"My brothers, I believe those people are Kiowas," he said. "I believe they are going to help their friends fight the Cheyennes. I believe those Kiowas near the Cheyenne camp sent up that smoke to tell their friends where they are. Come, we will see if it is true."

A short distance farther on the trail turned abruptly toward the north. They felt certain that a company of Kiowas had gone to participate in the attack on the Cheyenne camp. The thought roused them to action. They realized that the little force of Cheyennes were in a desperate plight.

"My brothers, we must try to find the hunters," cried White Otter. "There is no time to spare."

They left the trail and cantered away toward the south. The day was far gone, and they were eager to find the Cheyennes before darkness fell. They feared that the Kiowas would attack the camp some time during the night. Would the Cheyennes be able to hold them off until their tribesmen came to their aid? The Sioux had grave doubts. They looked anxiously across the plain, hoping each moment to see the hunters come in sight. The day passed, however, and the Cheyennes failed to appear. The Sioux gave way to despair.

"It is bad," White Otter said, soberly, as they abandoned the search at dark.

They found a little spring at the base of a solitary cottonwood tree, and decided to remain there until daylight. After they had picketed the ponies they sat in gloomy silence, staring thoughtfully into the night. The Cheyennes had given them some dried elk meat, but they had no desire to eat. Their hearts were filled with fears for the people in the Cheyenne camp.

"If the hunters were close by I believe they would come here for water," said Sun Bird. "I believe they are far away."

"It must be so," agreed White Otter. "We looked hard but we could not find them. We did not find their tracks. Perhaps they have followed the buffaloes."

"Perhaps they have gone back to their village," suggested Little Raven.

For a moment the possibility gave them hope. Then they suddenly realized that it would have been difficult for the Cheyennes to have passed them without being seen. They feared that the hunters were still somewhere to the southward, searching for the buffalo herds.

"Well, when it gets light we will ride around until we find their tracks," said Sun Bird. "Then we will soon come up with them. I believe Red Dog and his friends will keep the Kiowas out of the camp until we bring the hunters."

"Red Dog and his friends are very brave, but there are many Kiowas," White Otter told him. "I feel bad about it."

Then their thoughts were diverted by the strange behavior of the ponies. They had raised their heads, and were looking nervously into the darkness. The Sioux seized their weapons, and sprang to their feet. They untied the ponies and stood beside them, ready to mount and ride away at the first warning of danger.

"Do you hear anything?" Little Raven asked White Otter.

"No," said White Otter.

The ponies still seemed restless and frightened, but they made no attempt to call. The wind was blowing directly toward them. The Sioux believed that if either men or horses were approaching the ponies would have called. Nevertheless, they determined to take every precaution.

"Perhaps something is coming here to drink," said Sun Bird.

"Listen," whispered White Otter.

They heard something moving about in the darkness. One of the ponies snorted and plunged wildly. It tore the lariat from the grasp of Little Raven, and dashed away. White Otter and Sun Bird sprang upon their ponies and raced after it. At that moment Little Raven saw two small awkward creatures galloping toward him. He shot his arrow before he recognized them. One of them rolled over, bawling lustily. The other ran off. Little Raven suddenly identified them as cubs of the grizzly bear.

"Hi, now I must watch out," he said.

The next moment a savage roar sounded close at hand, and he saw the mother bear running toward the wounded cub. He shot his arrow, and the bear turned to face him. For an instant he saw the threatening glare of her eyes. Then she rushed at him. He shot another arrow. Then he fled toward the cottonwood. He barely had time to draw himself to the lowest limb before the enraged bear was at the tree. She reared unsteadily, and tried to climb. Little Raven attempted to draw an arrow from his bow-case and almost fell from the limb. In the meantime the bear had dropped to the ground, and galloped back to her cubs. At that moment Little Raven heard his friends returning with the ponies.

"Watch out, Ma-to-ho-ta is here!" he cried. "I have killed one of her babies. She is very mad."

"Where are you?" White Otter inquired, anxiously.

"I am up here in this tree," said Little Raven.

"Ma-to-ho-ta has turned our brother into Zi-ca, the squirrel," laughed Sun Bird.

As the Sioux advanced, the bear rushed to meet them. Little Raven heard them shoot their arrows, and gallop away. There was no sound from the bear. He believed they had killed it.

"Ma-to-ho-ta is dead," he shouted.

"Stay where you are," cautioned White Otter. "We will find out about it."

Little Raven heard the ponies snorting nervously, as his friends rode forward to investigate. Then he heard one of the cubs whining. Some one shot an arrow. The cub became quiet. A moment afterward White Otter called him.

"Come down, my brother, Ma-to-ho-ta and her babies are dead," he said.

"I was like a feeble old man," Little Raven cried, angrily, as Sun Bird gave him the lariat of the runaway pony. "That horse fooled me."

"It is bad," said White Otter. "If the Pawnees came here instead of Ma-to-ho-ta they would have run off that pony."

They picketed the ponies, and went to examine the bear. It was unusually large, but thin, and poor in fur, as usual at that season. Little Raven cut off the claws and shared them with his companions. They fastened them to their rawhide belts. Then White Otter cut open the carcass and drew out the heart. He divided it into three portions, and they ate it. It was an old custom of their people, and they believed that it would give them the strength and courage for which Ma-to-ho-ta was famous.

The night passed without further alarm, and at the first signs of dawn the Sioux rode away to search for the Cheyennes. Red Dog had told them that the hunters proposed to go a day's journey to the southward, and then circle about the plain until they discovered the buffalo herd.

"Well, they must be close by," declared Little Raven.

"We must try hard to find them," White Otter told him.

His mind was filled with distressing possibilities concerning the people in the Cheyenne village. Had the Kiowas made an attack? Had Red Dog and his warriors beaten them off? White Otter feared to hope.

Half of the day had passed before the Sioux saw anything to give them encouragement. Then White Otter discovered a great dust cloud rising behind a long, undulating sweep of the plain, far to the westward. They watched it with breathless interest.

"I believe many buffaloes are running behind that hill," said Sun Bird. "I believe the Cheyenne hunters are chasing them."

"Yes, yes, it is the buffalo herd!" cried Little Raven. "Now we will find the hunters."

"Come, we will ride over there, but we must be cautious," White Otter told them.

They cantered hopefully across the plain. They felt quite certain that they would find the Cheyenne hunters pursuing the buffaloes behind the distant ridge. As they drew near, however, White Otter urged caution. The dust cloud had died away, and he was somewhat suspicious. His companions heeded his warning.

"Yes, we must watch out," agreed Sun Bird.

As they finally came within arrow range, they stopped and examined the top of the ridge with great care. It was exposed, and bare of cover, and offered a poor hiding place. The Sioux saw nothing to arouse suspicion.

"There is no one there," declared Sun Bird.

"I believe it is safe," said White Otter.

Eager to reach the Cheyennes before they got farther away, the Sioux galloped boldly toward the ridge. When they reached it, White Otter and Sun Bird dismounted and scrambled up the slope to reconnoiter. The plain was dotted with dead buffaloes, and farther to the westward they saw a great company of riders pursuing the herd.

"They are our friends, the Cheyennes," Sun Bird said, excitedly. "Come, we must catch up with them."

"I cannot tell who they are, but I believe they are the Cheyennes," White Otter told him.

They told Little Raven to bring the ponies. Then they rode impulsively across the plain. Their eagerness to overtake the hunters made them reckless. They raced after the distant horsemen at top speed. They passed a cluster of trees but took little notice of them. Convinced that they had found the Cheyennes, their one desire was to overtake them. Buffaloes and hunters had disappeared into a dip of the plain.

"They are riding fast, it will be hard to catch them," declared Sun Bird.

The hunters apparently had failed to notice them. The Sioux were somewhat surprised. They had expected to be discovered when they rode over the ridge. White Otter became suspicious.

"It is mysterious," he said.

They had begun to ascend the hill over which the hunters had disappeared. Great clouds of dust rose to the westward. It was evident that the chase was still continuing. Then White Otter suddenly glanced back across the plain. He stopped his pony and cried out in alarm.

"Stop!" he shouted.

A small company of horsemen were riding after them. They appeared to have come from the little grove of trees. The Sioux studied them with grave suspicion. At first they took them for Cheyenne scouts. As they came nearer, however, White Otter became doubtful.

"Watch out," he warned. "Perhaps we have run into a trap."

He had barely uttered the warning, when the horsemen whom they had been pursuing swept down upon them from the top of the ridge. For one brief moment the Sioux stared at them in astonishment. They could scarcely believe their eyes. The buffalo hunters were Pawnees. They were already within arrow range.

"Come!" cried White Otter, as he rode madly down the slope.

"Keep low, they are shooting their arrows," warned Sun Bird.




Chapter X

A Desperate Chase


The Sioux turned toward the south with the hope of encountering the Cheyennes somewhere in that direction. The Pawnees were close behind them, and the race was thrilling. The scouts who had followed them from the grove were riding desperately to get in front of them. The buffalo hunters were thundering after them. The Sioux feared that unless they could withdraw beyond bow range it would be only a matter of moments before either they or their ponies were pierced by Pawnee arrows. Having escaped from the first fierce volley, they crouched low and lashed the Cheyenne ponies into a terrific burst of speed to outdistance their foes.

"The Pawnee ponies are tired; they will soon give out," cried Sun Bird.

It was their one hope. They believed that the Pawnees had fatigued their ponies in the long chase after the buffaloes, and they had doubts that they could maintain the pace. The ponies of the scouts from the grove, however, appeared fresh and speedy, and the Sioux felt less hopeful of eluding them. There were nine riders in the latter company, and they were racing wildly along the flank of the Sioux in an attempt to pass them. They were still beyond range, but were riding at a sharp angle which would soon bring them within bowshot.

"See, the hunters are dropping back!" Little Raven cried, joyfully. "Their arrows are falling behind us."

"We must watch those other riders," White Otter cautioned him. "Their ponies are fresh. They are coming fast. We must keep ahead of them."

It seemed as if the hope of the Sioux was being realized. The main company of Pawnees appeared to be losing ground. They had ceased wasting their arrows. The Sioux glanced back and saw that the distance between them and their pursuers had increased considerably. The riders on their flank, however, were keeping up with them. Little Raven drew his bow.

"Save your arrows," cautioned White Otter.

Aware that the Sioux were distancing them, the Pawnee hunters were shouting encouragement to their tribesmen. The latter, however, were unable to gain. They were forcing their ponies to the limit, but the Sioux held their advantage. They were riding toward a small stand of timber, some distance ahead of them.

"The Cheyenne ponies are fast, they will carry us away," said Sun Bird.

A moment afterward Little Raven's pony stumbled and plunged to its knees. Little Raven was thrown heavily to the ground. His friends turned in dismay. The Pawnees yelled triumphantly, and lashed their ponies to a fresh burst of speed. Little Raven had kept tight hold of the lariat, however, and as the pony struggled to its feet he sprang upon its back. Then he discovered that the animal had been crippled. It ran with short, faltering strides, and had lost its speed.

"My pony is lame -- leave me and save yourselves," Little Raven cried, bravely.

"We will die together," White Otter told him. "Come, we will kill these Pawnees."

They drew their bows and prepared to fight. The Pawnees were within arrow range. The nine scouts were abreast of them. The hunters were close behind them. The crippled pony was steadily losing ground. Their situation was desperate. An arrow passed between White Otter and Sun Bird. Another grazed the flank of the injured pony. The Pawnees were almost upon them. The Sioux saw little chance of reaching the timber. Escape seemed impossible. They abandoned hope.

"Come, my brothers, we will show the Pawnees how to die," Sun Bird said, fiercely.

At that moment Little Raven's pony recovered from the effects of its fall. It sprang forward with new life. The injury appeared to have been only temporary. The Sioux yelled with joy. Their hopes revived. They determined to fight desperately for their lives. The Pawnee scouts were circling to get in front of them. White Otter shot his arrow at the foremost rider, and the Pawnee fell to the plain. Sun Bird's arrow sent a pony to its knees. Little Raven twisted about and wounded a Pawnee behind him. Then they raced forward and gained the lead. A volley of arrows came from the Pawnees. White Otter was struck in the shoulder. It was a slight wound, and he withdrew the arrow and shot it at his foes. Then the Sioux crouched low on their ponies, and rode toward the timber. They soon drew away from the exhausted ponies of the Pawnee hunters, but the scouts kept close beside them. The Sioux were within several arrow flights of their goal, however, and their hopes grew stronger. They made savage use of their heavy riding quirts, and the Cheyenne ponies increased their speed. Stride by stride they drew away from the Pawnees until they finally carried their riders beyond bowshot.

"Keep them running, keep them running!" cried White Otter. "We will get away."

They reached the timber more than a bowshot ahead of the nearest Pawnees. Then they jumped from the trembling ponies, and prepared to fight off their foes. The latter, however, had failed to follow them. Aware that the Sioux had suddenly gained the advantage, the Pawnees were cautious about exposing themselves. They had stopped a long bowshot beyond the trees, and appeared to be holding a council.

"The Pawnees are afraid to come after us," declared Little Raven.

"We must be ready," White Otter told him.

In a few moments the Pawnees separated, and surrounded the grove. Then they circled around the timber, shouting taunts, and whooping savagely. The Sioux laughed at them.

"They sound very fierce," Sun Bird said, sarcastically.

"They are very cautious," laughed White Otter.

They wondered what the Pawnees proposed to do. They showed little inclination to approach. They had stopped riding. Many of them had dismounted. The Sioux watched closely. They feared that the crafty Pawnees might be attempting to trick them.

"I believe they will go away," Little Raven said, finally. "They did not come out to fight. They are hunters. They have killed many buffaloes. If they leave them back there, Ma-ya-sh, the wolf, will eat them. I believe some of those warriors will go back there to watch. I believe some of them will go to their village to send their people for that meat. My brothers, how do you feel about it?"

"I do not believe they will go away," Sun Bird told him.

"No, they will not go away," declared White Otter. "We have killed some of their friends. They are mad. They will stay here."

Soon afterward they saw a number of warriors leave the circle and ride nearer the grove. Then they stopped, and began to shout, and shake their weapons. In a few moments the rest of the Pawnees began to cry out threateningly. Then a warrior on a spotted pony rode forward and began to talk. He spoke in loud tones, and Little Raven, who had been a captive in the Pawnee camp, understood many of his words.

"He is talking about those warriors who were making that noise," said Little Raven. "He is telling his friends how brave those young men are. He says they are coming in here to drive us out."

"Well, their friends will see that they are very foolish," declared Sun Bird.

"Do you know that warrior who is talking?" White Otter asked Little Raven.

"He talks like Jumping Horse, but he is too far away, I am not sure about it," said Little Raven. "I believe some of those warriors know who I am. It is bad. They will try to catch me."

"Hi, those foolish young men are getting ready to ride over here," said White Otter. "I believe they propose to throw themselves away. Watch out, they are coming."

A moment afterward the little company of Pawnees raced toward the timber. They were yelling and waving their bows, and their tribesmen were wild with excitement. The Sioux waited calmly at the edge of the timber. When the riders drew near, however, they suddenly swerved and rode around the grove at top speed. They were within easy arrow range, and the Sioux instantly realized the significance of the maneuver.

"They are trying to make us shoot our arrows," said White Otter.

"We are not so foolish," laughed Sun Bird. "We will wait until they rush in."

When the riders saw that the trick had failed, they returned to their companions. Then the Pawnees crowded together for another council. The Sioux saw the warrior on the spotted pony talking excitedly, but they were unable to catch his words.

"I believe that man is the leader," declared White Otter. "He is telling his friends what to do."

"I believe he is Jumping Horse -- he is a great war leader," said Little Raven.

"They are getting ready to rush in," Sun Bird declared, uneasily.

Then the same company of warriors again rode forward, shouting, and singing their war songs. They lashed their ponies into a gallop and rode recklessly toward the grove. This time, however, they did not turn aside.

"Get ready to fight," cried Sun Bird.

"Wait until they come close," cautioned White Otter.

There were ten Pawnees in the attacking party, and they kept close together and attempted to ride their ponies into the little patch of timber. The Sioux took shelter behind the trees, and waited until their foes were almost upon them. Then they raised the Dacotah war cry and shot their arrows. Two of the Pawnees toppled from their ponies. The others halted in dismay. Unable to see the Sioux, they were bewildered and alarmed. Before they could rally, the Sioux renewed the savage attack, and another rider slipped limply from his pony. Then the Pawnees lost hope and raced away in pursuit of the riderless ponies.

"Hi, we showed the Pawnees how to fight," Sun Bird cried, fiercely.

"Now they will try hard to kill us," White Otter warned him.

The defeat of the warriors who had attacked the Sioux threw the Pawnees into a rage. They began to race furiously around the grove, gradually drawing nearer until they were within close arrow range. Then they shot their arrows into the timber. The Sioux were well sheltered, however, and had little fear of being hit.

"It is good, the Pawnees are sending us arrows," Little Raven said, mockingly.

"Keep watching," replied White Otter. "They are very mad. I believe they will rush in."

It was not long before the Sioux saw the motive for the attack. The Pawnees were attempting to divert their attention, while several daring scouts rode close up to the timber and carried off the three unfortunate warriors who had been killed. Then the entire company withdrew beyond bow range.

"The Pawnees have carried away their brothers," said Sun Bird. "Perhaps they are going to give up the fight."

"No, I do not believe it," White Otter replied, doubtfully.

The Pawnees had formed in a great circle about the timber. They were watching quietly, like a company of wolves that had surrounded their quarry but feared to attack. The Sioux tried to guess their intentions. Sun Bird and Little Raven hoped that they might suddenly withdraw, but White Otter was suspicious.

"I believe they will stay here until it gets dark," he said. "Then they will try to creep up close. It is bad. We cannot help our friends, the brave Cheyennes."

The thought filled them with despair. For the moment their own peril was forgotten in their concern for the safety of Red Dog and his people. Having failed to find the Cheyenne hunters, the Sioux feared to think what might have happened to the little company in the distant village. The peril roused them.

"We have done a foolish thing," Sun Bird cried, hotly. "Now we must try to get away and do the thing we set out to do."

"I am thinking about it," White Otter told him.

"What do you propose to do?" inquired Sun Bird.

"When it grows dark we will try to get past the Pawnees," White Otter said, quietly.




Chapter XI

A Night Of Surprises


Late in the day half of the Pawnees withdrew toward the east. The Sioux felt certain that they had gone to watch the buffaloes which they had killed. The rest of the company came nearer to the timber. Then they began to taunt and threaten the Sioux. The latter took no notice of them. They waited anxiously for the end of the day, hoping that darkness might make it possible to escape.

"There are not so many Pawnees; perhaps we will be able to get away," Little Raven said, hopefully.

"They will watch sharp," White Otter told him.

Although the company had been reduced by half, the Sioux were still outnumbered by ten to one. They felt encouraged, however, when the Pawnees showed no further inclination to attack them. The sun was getting low in the west, and the day was passing. They were eager for night.

Then, as twilight was settling upon the plain, two scouts returned from the east. It was evident that they had brought word of great importance. The Pawnees appeared to be much excited. They had gathered about the scouts, and were talking earnestly. A few moments later the Sioux were amazed to see the entire company ride off toward the east.

"Watch out, it is a trick," said Sun Bird.

"I believe those riders came back to fool us," declared Little Raven.

White Otter offered no explanation. He was watching the Pawnees with grave interest. As they continued across the plain, an alarming possibility flashed through his mind. He turned excitedly to his companions.

"My brothers, I believe the Pawnees have found the Cheyenne hunters," he said.

"It is true," cried Sun Bird. "Perhaps the Cheyennes found those dead buffaloes. Come, we will follow the Pawnees, and find out about it."

"Wait," said White Otter. "We must be cautious. Perhaps scouts are watching to see what we propose to do. We will fool them. We will ride toward the Place-where-the-warm-wind-blows. Then when it gets dark we will circle around and come back to the place where the Pawnees killed those buffaloes."

"It is good," said Sun Bird.

They waited a few moments longer to make sure that the Pawnees had actually gone. Then, as they saw nothing of them, they mounted the ponies and rode toward the south. They held the ponies to an easy canter, and kept a sharp watch behind them. The Pawnees failed to appear.

"Wa-kan-tun-ka, the Great Mystery, has given us our lives," declared Sun Bird.

"It is true," said White Otter. "Perhaps we will be able to help the Cheyennes. I believe we will find them over there near those buffaloes."

At dark they turned sharply toward the east. They went a long way before they finally circled toward the north. They rode in silence, listening sharply for sounds from the Pawnees. The night was still.

"Perhaps the Cheyennes are getting ready to fight the Pawnees," suggested Sun Bird.

"That would be bad," declared White Otter. "If the Cheyennes are over there we must find them, and tell them to come away. They must go to help their people. There is little time. I am thinking about Red Dog, and the women and children in that camp. Perhaps the Kiowas have killed them."

When they finally drew near the place where the Pawnees had killed the buffaloes, they stopped to listen. Then, as they heard nothing to alarm them, they advanced with great caution. The sky was bright with stars, and they were able to see a short distance through the night. They knew that they were to the eastward of the place where they had first seen the buffaloes.

"Pretty soon we will circle around, and go over there," said White Otter.

They turned toward the west, and soon came in sight of the ridge from which they had discovered the Pawnee hunters. A few moments later a pony called within bowshot of them. They stopped in alarm. Then a voice challenged softly from the darkness. Little Raven recognized the Pawnee dialect. He immediately replied.

"It is good, my brother," he said in the Pawnee tongue. "Where are our enemies?"

"They are hiding over there among the trees," said the Pawnee. "Our brothers are watching."

"It is good," Little Raven told him. "We will go ahead. You must keep watching."

"Who is with you?" the Pawnee inquired, curiously.

"I hear something -- keep quiet," Little Raven said, craftily.

The next moment they rode up the ridge. They listened uneasily, for they feared that the Pawnee might become suspicious and follow them. As they heard nothing to verify their fears, they crossed the ridge and moved stealthily out across the plain.

"Little Raven, you are as sharp as an old wolf," whispered White Otter. "You have done a great thing. Now we know that the Cheyennes are over there where the trees grow."

They also knew that sharp-eared Pawnee scouts were on guard, and they feared that it would be difficult to avoid them. The Sioux moved forward with the alert, nervous caution of frightened deer. They had not gone far when the ponies snorted and swerved aside. They stopped in alarm. Then they discovered one of the dead buffaloes. They had difficulty in persuading the ponies to pass it.

"Perhaps the Pawnees will hear us," whispered Sun Bird.

"Listen," cautioned White Otter.

Some one was riding toward them. Their hearts beat wildly. They feared to move. Many anxious moments passed. Then the sounds gradually died away. What had become of the rider? Which way had he gone? They listened anxiously for a clew. It was a long time before they felt secure. Then, as the stillness continued, they moved slowly forward.

"The way is clear," White Otter whispered, finally.

They continued their perilous advance. Then they heard the cry of the big gray timber wolf, somewhere behind them. It was the favorite signal of the Pawnees. They feared that their foes had discovered them. They stopped and listened. In a few moments they heard the call farther out on the plain. The Pawnees were signaling. What did it mean?

"Perhaps that scout back there is telling his friends about us," said Sun Bird.

"No, no, he does not know about us," Little Raven assured him. "I fooled him. He took us for Pawnees."

"Perhaps the Pawnees are getting ready to rush against the Cheyennes," said White Otter.

The possibility startled them. They realized that if the Pawnees were closing in upon the grove there was not a moment to spare. They stared anxiously into the night in an effort to locate the timber. It was hidden in the darkness. There was nothing to guide them in the proper direction. They knew that it would be easy to pass beyond it. The blunder might prove fatal.

"We must watch sharp," whispered White Otter.

They circled cautiously until they eventually saw the clump of trees showing darkly through the night. Then they stopped and listened suspiciously. They felt certain that Pawnee scouts were close at hand, and they feared colliding with them. The wolf calls had ceased. The plain was steeped in silence. The Sioux moved forward.

"If the Pawnees find us, we must ride fast toward those trees," said White Otter.

"Perhaps the Cheyennes will take us for Pawnees, and kill us," Little Raven told him.

"When we get close we will call out and tell them who we are," replied White Otter.

They advanced directly toward the timber. There was not a sound. The silence aroused their suspicions. Were the Pawnees, too, advancing toward the grove? They wondered if a company of those crafty foes had dismounted, and were creeping quietly forward under cover of the darkness. Alert to catch the slightest sound, the three daring scouts moved on. When they were near the timber they stopped. They felt sure that the Cheyennes were watching at the edge of the grove. They believed that it would be perilous to go nearer without warning them. Still they feared to call. They listened for sounds from their friends. The grove was silent.

"Stay here with the ponies," White Otter whispered. "I will crawl ahead, and find our friends. If the Pawnees come, ride to the trees."

He left his pony with Sun Bird, and disappeared into the shadows. Realizing that the Cheyennes might take him for a foe, he feared to make the slightest sound. When he was close upon the grove he stopped to listen. The silence continued. White Otter dropped to his hands and knees and crept still nearer. He was within a few bow lengths of the timber. Each moment he expected to hear the subdued murmur of voices, or the restless stamping of ponies. He heard neither. The stillness puzzled him.

"Ho, Cheyennes, I am a Dacotah," he called, softly. "I have come to help you."

He waited in great suspense. There was no reply. Had the Cheyennes failed to hear him? Were they unfamiliar with his words? He knew that many of the Cheyennes understood and spoke the Dacotah dialect. He crept forward until he was within leaping distance of the trees. Then he repeated his message. Again it went unanswered.

"It is mysterious," he murmured, uneasily.

While he waited, the cry of the timber wolf sounded across the plain. It made him impatient. He feared that the Pawnees were preparing to charge upon the grove. His fears were strengthened a moment afterward when the cry was repeated from another part of the plain. Twice more it rang ominously through the night; each time from a different direction. White Otter believed that the Pawnees were ready to advance. There was no time for further caution. He rose, and ran recklessly to the edge of the timber.

"Cheyennes, I am a Dacotah, hold your arrows!" he cried.

There was no one there. White Otter hurried into the grove, calling the Cheyennes. They failed to answer. He circled frantically through the timber. The grove was deserted. He was overcome with astonishment. For a moment he stood staring wildly into the shadows. Then he was roused by the sound of ponies. They were close by. He ran to the plain. Sun Bird and Little Raven met him.

"There is no one here -- the Cheyennes have gone," White Otter told them.

They heard him in amazed silence. The announcement overwhelmed them. They had expected to find a strong force of Cheyennes waiting at the edge of the grove.

"Well, there is no time to talk about it," Sun Bird said, anxiously. "Listen, the Pawnees are closing in. That is why we came ahead."

"Yes, I hear them," replied White Otter. "If we stay here they will surely catch us. We must try to get away."

"It will be a hard thing to do," Sun Bird told him. "The Pawnees are all around us."

They heard the boastful war songs of their foes echoing weirdly across the plain. It was evident that the Pawnees saw little need of caution. Believing that they had trapped the Cheyennes in the timber, they were riding boldly forward to attack them. For an instant the Sioux forgot their peril in their joy at the escape of their friends. Then they realized that they had run into the trap from which the Cheyennes had apparently escaped.

"The Pawnees are getting close, we must go," said White Otter.

"Watch out for scouts," Sun Bird cautioned him.

Once again the Sioux rode carefully across the plain. This time they turned directly toward the east. They knew that the Pawnees were riding to meet them. There seemed little chance of avoiding an encounter. The possibilities filled them with gloomy misgivings. Once discovered, they feared that they would be surrounded and speedily annihilated. Still they believed that it would have been even more perilous to have taken shelter in the grove. Their one chance was to slip between the Pawnees in the darkness.

The Sioux were many arrow flights from the timber when they finally stopped to listen. The ponies raised their heads. The Sioux drew tightly on the lariats to prevent an outcry. Then they looked anxiously for their foes. They failed to discover them.

"Watch out, they are close by," whispered White Otter.

Then they heard the Pawnee ponies. They were coming directly toward them. The Sioux crowded closely together, and waited. They had drawn their arrows, and were prepared to make a fierce fight. The moments seemed endless. At last they heard the Pawnees talking. An instant later a rider confronted them. Before he had recovered from his surprise, the Sioux swept him aside, and broke through the circle of foes. Lashing their ponies to desperate speed, they rode safely away before the Pawnees recovered from their bewilderment.

"Ride fast!" cried White Otter. "Some of those warriors will follow us."

They had not gone an arrow flight before they heard a company of Pawnees racing after them. Determined to hold their lead, they forced the ponies to still greater speed. Then they heard the great company of Pawnees thundering toward the timber. They chuckled gleefully.

"They will find out something big," laughed Sun Bird.

In a few moments the night rang with the shouts of the Pawnees. They were attacking the grove. The Sioux listened with keen satisfaction. Then the noise suddenly subsided. Having encountered no resistance, it was apparent that the bewildered Pawnees were investigating. As the stillness continued, the Sioux felt certain that the Pawnees were racing silently about the plain in an effort to find their foes.

"Now we must fool those warriors behind us," said White Otter.

He turned sharply toward the north. Then they listened to learn if the Pawnees had followed them. Their hearts filled with joy as they heard them racing away toward the east.

"We are safe!" Little Raven cried, joyously.

"Yes, we got away from them," said White Otter.




Chapter XII

Friends


Having eluded their pursuers, the Sioux drew the ponies to an easy canter and continued toward the north. They heard the Pawnees signaling far away across the plain. They were still searching for the Cheyennes. The Sioux wondered how the latter had escaped, and which way they had gone.

"It is mysterious," declared White Otter.

"I do not know how they got away, but I believe they are ahead of us," said Sun Bird. "The Pawnees found the buffaloes and chased them off. The Cheyennes know about it. I do not believe they will stay in this place. I believe they will go to their people."

"Well, we must keep going ahead," said White Otter. "When it gets light the Pawnees will begin to look around. If we stay here they will find us. We did not find the Cheyennes, but we must go away. It is bad."

They continued to ride until the night was half gone, and then they stopped beside a little stream to rest the ponies. They believed that the Pawnees were far behind them, but they determined to take precautions. They took turns at watching until daylight. Then they looked anxiously across the plain for signs of their foes. They were nowhere in sight.

"It is good," declared Sun Bird. "Now we will go to the Cheyenne camp. Perhaps we will find our brothers there."

White Otter kept silent. He was troubled and depressed. His mind was filled with thoughts of Red Dog and his gallant little company. Having failed to bring the hunters to their assistance, White Otter had grave fears for their safety.

"Come, eat some of this meat, and then we will ride away," he told his companions.

While the ponies grazed, the Sioux ate heartily of the dried elk meat which Red Dog had given them. As they sat beside the stream they continued to watch the plain. They were about to ride away when White Otter discovered something moving along the top of a hill to the westward.

"Watch sharp, there is something over there," he said, suspiciously.

It was some moments before his companions discovered the distant object. Then they saw it moving slowly down the side of the ridge. They tried to identify it.

"It looks like Ma-ya-sh, the wolf," said Sun Bird.

"Perhaps it is a scout," suggested Little Raven.

"I believe it is Ma-ya-sh," White Otter told them. "See, it is moving down that hill. It does not see us. If it was a scout he would know about us. Then he would hide behind that hill and watch. I believe it is Ma-ya-sh."

"Yes, I believe it is Ma-ya-sh," said Sun Bird. "Now we know that there is no one over there. If the Pawnees were over there Ma-ya-sh would not show himself."

"It is true," replied White Otter.

Convinced that the object moving along the ridge really was a prairie wolf, they mounted the ponies and continued into the north. Hopeful that the Cheyenne hunters had preceded them, they determined to separate to search for the trail. Sun Bird rode farther to the westward, and Little Raven circled toward the east. As the plain was level, it was easy to keep within sight of one another.

The day was well advanced when White Otter saw Sun Bird riding in a circle. It was the danger signal, and White Otter immediately stopped. Then he, too, rode in a circle to warn Little Raven. When the latter saw him, White Otter galloped his pony toward Sun Bird. Little Raven also rode toward the west.

"What did you see?" White Otter inquired, anxiously, as he approached the Minneconjoux.

"Here are fresh pony tracks," Sun Bird told him.

The trail had come from the westward, and turned abruptly toward the north. It showed the hoof marks of many ponies. For some moments they studied it in silence.

"It must be the Cheyennes," Sun Bird said, finally.

"Yes, I believe those are the marks of the Cheyenne ponies," replied White Otter.

"What is it?" inquired Little Raven, who joined them at that moment.

"Here are the marks of some ponies," White Otter told him.

"I believe it is the trail of our brothers, the Cheyennes," said Little Raven.

"We are not sure about it," White Otter told him. "Perhaps it is the Pawnees. Perhaps they passed by us when it was dark. Perhaps they circled over here and went ahead to catch the Cheyennes. We must not let them fool us again. We will watch out."

"You are a good leader," declared Sun Bird. "I see that what you say may be true. Yes, we will be cautious."

They rode rapidly along the trail. It was plain and easy to follow. They had not gone far, however, when they saw something which brought them to a sudden stop. A riderless pony had appeared on a knoll directly ahead of them. They watched suspiciously. At sight of them the pony raised its head and whinnied. Then it began to feed. It moved in an awkward and unnatural manner that aroused their fears.

"I believe some one is hiding behind that pony," declared White Otter.

"If he is a scout why did he go up on that high place?" Little Raven asked, curiously. "If he kept hiding we would not know about him."

"Perhaps he was coming down that hill before we saw him," said White Otter. "Then he saw us and hid behind his pony. Now he is trying to lead it over the top of that hill."

"Yes, I believe that is what he is trying to do," declared Sun Bird.

The pony was still feeding, and moving slowly toward the top of the hill. They felt sure that it was guided by some one behind it. It was far beyond arrow range. As they were in no danger, the Sioux waited to watch it.

"Perhaps it is a Cheyenne," said Sun Bird. "Come, White Otter, make the signal."

At that moment a warrior sprang upon the pony, and disappeared over the top of the hill. The Sioux had been unable to identify him. His appearance, however, caused them considerable anxiety. They realized that if he was a Cheyenne he had probably mistaken them for foes. In that event he would warn his companions, and they might race away before the Sioux could get in touch with them. If he was a Pawnee the possibilities were more alarming.

"It is bad," said Sun Bird. "If we go ahead, perhaps we will run into the Pawnees. If we hold back perhaps our brothers, the Cheyennes, will ride away from us."

"We will go ahead," said White Otter.

They approached the hill with great care. They watched closely before they ventured up the slope. When they reached the top they saw a large company of horsemen, far away across the plain. They appeared to be watching the hill. The Sioux believed the scout had warned them.

"Come, make the signal," said Sun Bird. "We will see what comes of it."

"Yes, make the signal," urged Little Raven. "I believe they are Cheyennes."

White Otter raised his hands high above his head. It was the sign for peace. He repeated the signal several times. Then he rode his pony part way down the hill, and returned to the top. In the meantime Sun Bird had waved his robe up and down, and then spread it upon the ground. He, too, repeated the signal. It was an invitation to come and talk. Having thus proclaimed their peaceful intentions, and invited the strangers to meet them, the Sioux watched for an answer to the signals. The horsemen made no reply.

"They are cautious," said Sun Bird. "Perhaps they take us for Pawnees."

"Perhaps it is the Pawnees after all," declared Little Raven.

"Well, they are far away, they cannot catch us," White Otter told them. "We will go toward them. Then we will see what they propose to do."

They rode a bowshot across the plain. Then they stopped and repeated the signals. In a few moments a rider separated from his companions, and replied to the signs. He raised his hands above his head. Then he suddenly swept his right hand toward the ground. It, too, was an invitation to approach and talk.

"They are trying to draw us over there," said Sun Bird. "No, we are not so foolish. We will wait until we see who they are."

"It is the only thing to do," agreed White Otter.

Having previously mistaken the Pawnees for the Cheyennes, the Sioux determined to be careful. Sun Bird dismounted and again signaled with his robe. Then they waited. Many moments passed before they received an answer. Then three riders started slowly across the plain.

"It is too many, watch out," cautioned White Otter. "Come, we will tell them what to do. Follow me."

The Sioux rode forward abreast. When they had gone a short distance, they turned and rode back. Then White Otter rode forward alone. The signal was meant to warn the approaching horsemen that one only must come to the council. The strangers, however, ignored the suggestion. All three continued toward the Sioux. White Otter turned and cantered toward his friends.

"Come," he said. "I believe those people are trying to fool us."

They rode back toward the hill. Their action made it plain that they mistrusted the intentions of the strangers. The latter seemed to understand. They had stopped, and were holding their hands above their heads to proclaim their peaceful intentions. The Sioux continued toward the hill. Then two of the horsemen turned about, and cantered toward their companions. The third rider still waited with his hands raised.

"It is good," cried White Otter. "I will go and find out who he is."

"Be cautious," Sun Bird warned him.

"I will watch out," declared White Otter.

He turned his pony, and rode toward the stranger. The latter immediately lowered his arms. Sun Bird and Little Raven watched anxiously. White Otter advanced with great caution. He was making every effort to identify the horseman before he came within arrow range. Neither of them had drawn their weapons. To have approached weapons in hand would have been evidence of suspicion and lack of faith. When they finally came within bow range, they stopped and examined each other with close attention. Then White Otter suddenly recognized a friend.

"Ho, Running Crow, now I see who you are," he cried, eagerly.

"Hi, hi, it is my brother, White Otter," shouted the Cheyenne.

A moment afterward they met and clasped hands. The Cheyenne was a noted warrior and scout with whom White Otter had shared several perilous adventures. Aware that White Otter had found a friend, Sun Bird and Little Raven immediately rode forward to join them.

"Ho, my brothers," Running Crow cried cordially. "I see that one of you is Sun Bird. I do not know about that other warrior."

"He is my brother, Little Raven," said Sun Bird. "Little Raven is a great warrior."

"My brothers, how do you come to be in this place?" Running Crow inquired, anxiously.

"Red Dog sent us to find you," White Otter said, soberly.

"Has something bad happened to our people?" Running Crow asked quickly.

"The Kiowas were all around the camp," said White Otter. "It was a great war party. I believe your people are in much danger."

The Cheyenne remained silent. For some moments he stared wildly into the eyes of the Ogalala. The Sioux watched him with pity. They knew that he was striving to master his grief before he spoke.

"When did you leave my people?" he asked, finally.

"Two suns have passed since we came away from your village," White Otter told him.

"It is bad, it is bad," Running Crow declared gloomily. "Come, we will go and tell my brothers about it."

"Who is the leader?" inquired Sun Bird, as they rode toward the Cheyennes.

"I am the leader," said Running Crow.

The Sioux found many old friends and allies among the Cheyennes. There was Red Crane, and Turns Around, and Black Beaver, and Sitting Bear and Fighting Wolf and several more. Some were unable to speak the Dacotah dialect, but they clasped hands with the young scouts and made it plain that they were glad to see them. Then Running Crow addressed his warriors.

"My brothers, I have bad words," he said. "There is little time to talk. Listen sharp. These brave Dacotahs came here to find us. Red Dog sent them. The Kiowas were all around our village. They say it was a great war party. Two suns have passed since the Dacotahs came away. I do not know what has happened to our people. Perhaps the Kiowas have killed them. Come, my brothers, we must ride fast to the camp."




Chapter XIII

The Abandoned Camp


Early the following day the Cheyennes came in sight of their village. They looked anxiously across the plain, hoping to see something which would quiet their fears. They were a long way off, however, and it was impossible to learn what they wished to know. They rode furiously toward the lodges. As they approached they began to shout fiercely, and look for the Kiowas. There was no response from the camp.

"It is bad," Running Crow cried, in alarm.

When they finally came within bowshot, they suddenly realized that the village was deserted. Their hopes died at the thought. They rode frantically to the edge of the camp. It bore grim testimony to the success of the Kiowa attack. The corral was empty. Many of the lodges were burned. Still, silent forms lay about the village. A dog howled dismally.

"Our people have been wiped away," Running Crow cried, dolefully, as he rode his frightened pony into the camp.

The Cheyennes followed silently behind their leader. They looked solemnly upon the valiant friends who had given their lives in defense of the village. Grief overcame them. They were unable to speak.

"It is bad, it is bad," White Otter said, bitterly. "What I was thinking about has come to pass. Red Dog and his people have been killed."

The Sioux moved about the camp with bowed heads. It was a scene which stirred their sympathy and filled them with gloom. Many of the Cheyennes had dismounted, and were entering the lodges which had escaped the flames. It was evident that they were searching for friends and relatives whom they had failed to find in the camp. Other riders were searching about the plain in the vicinity of the village. Then Running Crow suddenly called them to the center of the camp.

"My brothers, a terrible thing has happened to our people," he said. "The ponies are gone. The lodges are burned. Many brave friends are dead. Our enemies, the Kiowas, have done this thing! Remember it. Keep it in your hearts. Keep thinking about it. It is useless to talk about it. You are Cheyennes. You see what I see. You feel what I feel. It is enough.

"My brothers, listen sharp. Many brave warriors are lying here, but many of our people are missing. Where are the women? Where are the children? Where is Red Dog? Where is Ghost Bear? Where are Cloud Eagle, and Two Dogs, and Walks Alone, and Hairy Robe and Lame Bear? Where are Painted Weasel, and Running Buffalo, and Thunder Hawk and White Horse? What has become of those people? --  -- "

"I will tell you!" cried a voice from the edge of the camp.

The Cheyennes turned in alarm. Old Ghost Bear, the Medicine Man, was tottering into the village. They gazed upon him with frightened, superstitious eyes. He looked like one who was dead. He stood before them, swaying dizzily, and holding his hand across his eyes. The Cheyennes waited silently for him to speak. It was some moments before he was able to control himself.

"Cheyennes, Cheyennes, Cheyennes, look about you!" he cried. "Everything has been wiped away. The Kiowas were too strong for us. We held them off a long time. We waited for you. You did not come. Then the Kiowas got into the village. We fought hard, but we could not drive them out. They killed many of our people. They ran off the ponies. They burned the lodges."

Ghost Bear suddenly covered his face with his hands, while his aged body shook with grief. The Cheyennes looked upon him with compassion. It was the first time they had seen him betray emotion, and they realized that the great catastrophe had broken his heart. They feared he was about to die. He had dropped to his knees, and was moaning and sobbing like a child. Running Crow went forward and placed his hand upon him. Ghost Bear dropped his hands, and looked wildly at his tribesman.

"Come," said Running Crow. "You are a great Medicine Person. You must help us. Tell us what has become of the women and children. Tell us what has become of Red Dog. Tell us what has become of all those warriors."

"Yes, yes, I will tell you about it," said Ghost Bear, as he struggled to his feet.

He gave a thrilling account of the desperate battle with the Kiowas. The Cheyennes listened with breathless interest. Their eyes flashed as he told how Red Dog got the women and children safely out of the camp. Then he told how the Kiowas had entered the village, and speedily overwhelmed the little company of Cheyennes. He said that some of the Cheyennes reached the ponies, and fought their way from the camp. He saw Red Dog kill two Kiowas.

"Then I ran away, and I do not know what became of Red Dog and those brave warriors," Ghost Bear continued. "Perhaps they were killed. I ran a long ways. Then I crawled into some bushes. It was very dark, and the Kiowas could not find me. I heard them passing around me many times. Then they went away. I heard them running off the ponies, and singing the war songs. Pretty soon I saw the lodges burning. I felt very bad. Well, my brothers, I waited in those bushes until you came here. At first I took you for the Kiowas. I wanted to die, so I came to the village. Then I saw you. Now I have told you all I know about it."

"Ghost Bear, you have told us how this thing happened," said Running Crow. "You have told how the women and children got away. It is good. You say you do not know what became of Red Dog and those warriors. We will try to find out about them."

Running Crow called several warriors, and told them to circle far out over the plain in a search for the missing Cheyennes. He feared that they might have been killed beyond the camp. The scouts rode away. The Cheyennes watched them closely, as they rode carefully about the plain. It was a long time before they returned. They said that they had found the tracks of many ponies going toward the north. They declared that there were no dead Cheyennes outside of the camp.

"It is good," cried Running Crow. "I believe our brothers got away. Perhaps they have gone into the country of the Ogalalas. I believe Red Dog went with them."

As he finished speaking, a warrior at the edge of the camp cried out and said that several riders were approaching from the north. The Cheyennes hurried from the village to see them. The riders instantly discovered them, and stopped the ponies. There were three. They were far away.

"I believe they are our people," Running Crow declared, excitedly. "They are coming back to find out about this thing. Come, we must let them know who we are."

One of the warriors rode forward and raised his arm high above his head. Then he rode rapidly to and fro. It was the rallying signal. A moment afterward the riders galloped forward. As they came nearer, they again became cautious. Then the Cheyennes began to call to them. They heard them, and raced the ponies toward the camp. As they came within arrow range, the Cheyennes recognized them. They were Painted Weasel, and Thunder Hawk and White Horse.

"Our brothers have come back -- it is good," cried the Cheyennes. "Now we will find out about this thing."

"Well, my brothers, I see that you are alive -- it is good," said Running Crow, as he met them at the edge of the camp.

"There are only a few of us left," Painted Weasel replied, soberly.

"Where are the warriors who were with you?" inquired Running Crow.

"They are following our people toward the lodges of the Ogalalas," Painted Weasel told him.

"Is Red Dog with them?" Running Crow asked, anxiously.

"No," said Painted Weasel. "We do not know what became of him. We came back here to find out about it. He was with us when we were fighting to get away. He was very brave. I saw him kill two Kiowas."

"Yes, yes, I saw him kill them," cried old Ghost Bear.

"What became of him?" Painted Weasel asked him.

"I cannot tell you that," said Ghost Bear. "I ran out of the village, and did not see any more of him."

"I was close beside him," declared Thunder Hawk. "Then the Kiowas rushed at me, and I had a hard time of it. When I looked around I did not see anything more of Red Dog. Then I heard my brothers riding away. I went after them. I thought Red Dog was with them. Well, my brothers, he was not there. No one knew anything about him."

"Perhaps he was killed," said White Horse. "Did you look all around?"

"Yes, we looked sharp," Running Crow told him. "We did not find him."

"Then I believe the Kiowas must have carried him off," said Painted Weasel.

The Cheyennes were crushed by the possibility. Dismay kept them silent. They knew only too well the fate that awaited Red Dog if he had fallen into the hands of his enemies. Their courage rose at thought of his peril. They determined to save him, or avenge his death.

"Yes, my brothers, I believe the Kiowas have carried off Red Dog," White Horse told them. "We must try to save him. There is only one thing to do. We must go to the Kiowa Camp, and try to take him away."

"My brothers, I have listened to your words -- they are good," said Running Crow. "I believe the Kiowas caught Red Dog. It is bad. He is our chief. He has done many good things for his people. We must try to help him. Now I will tell you how I feel about it. White Otter is a great war chief of the Ogalalas. He has done many big things. He has helped us fight the Pawnees. He has helped us fight the Kiowas. We know that he is a good war leader. He has been to the Pawnee village. He took away the great chief Wolf Robe and that great Medicine Person, Yellow Horse. He has been to the Kiowa camp. He went into that camp and ran off ponies. White Otter knows how to do big things. My brothers, I am going to ask this great Ogalala war chief to lead us to the Kiowa camp."

"It is good!" cried the Cheyennes. "White Otter is a great chief. He must be the leader."

"Come, White Otter, tell us how you feel about it," said Running Crow.

"My brothers, I will lead you to the Kiowa camp," White Otter told them. "Your people are my friends. We came here to help you. The Kiowas are our enemies. They have killed many of your people. They have burned your lodges. They have run off your ponies. I believe they have carried away your chief. Red Dog is my friend. My heart is bad against the Kiowas. I am going to the Kiowa camp to find out about Red Dog. Yes, Cheyennes, I will lead you to fight our enemies. I believe my people will come to help us."

"Hi, hi!" cried Running Crow.

When they learned that the Ogalala would lead them against the Kiowas, the Cheyennes felt sure of victory. They had great confidence in his ability, for his exploits had made him famous. For the moment they forgot their grief, as they thrilled at the call of the war trail. Their hearts burned with a fierce desire for vengeance, and they believed that White Otter would give them an opportunity to retaliate upon their foes. The thought stirred them. They began to sing the war songs, and make savage threats against the Kiowas. Some of the younger warriors began to dance. The village rang with their shouts. The older men soon yielded to the excitement. In a few moments the entire company joined in the wild antics of the war dance.

White Otter took no part. He, too, longed to shout, and sing, and dance and make fierce threats against his foes, but he realised that it was not the part of a great chief to yield to his emotions. Sun Bird and Little Raven, however, took a prominent part in the dance. White Otter heard their voices rising in the fierce Dacotah war cry, and his blood tingled at the sound.

Then the Cheyennes finally brought the wild ceremony to an end, and stood quietly beside their ponies, awaiting instruction from the Ogalala chief. White Otter looked upon them with admiration. They were a splendid body of warriors, and he was proud to command them. Tall and sinewy, their stern faces and flashing eyes proclaimed their courage. They compared favorably with the famous Dacotah fighting men, and having seen them in battle White Otter knew that they were equally bold and indomitable.

"Cheyennes, I see that you are ready," said White Otter. "It is good. You have made me the leader. I will tell you how I feel about this thing. I believe my people will come here to help us. Some of you must stay here to watch for them. Then you must bring them to the Kiowa camp. The rest of us will go ahead to fight the Kiowas. Their village is two sun's travel away. They have reached their lodges. We must follow them to their camp. When we get there I will tell you what to do. I have finished."

As Running Crow translated the words, White Otter saw disappointment on the faces of the Cheyennes. They began to talk softly to one another. He knew at once that they were discussing who should be left behind to watch. Each hoped to avoid the task. All wished to fight the Kiowas. Then Ghost Bear suddenly offered a solution of the difficulty.

"Listen, my brothers," he cried, eagerly. "All of you are young men. A young man must fight. I am old. I cannot ride the war ponies. I will stay here and watch for the Ogalalas. If they come I will tell them where to find you."

"If you stay here alone, perhaps something bad will happen to you," Running Crow told him.

"No, no, nothing will happen to me," Ghost Bear assured him. "I will put away those brave warriors who are lying here. Then I will wait for the Ogalalas. There is meat here. The Kiowas did not find it. I will have plenty to eat. I am a Medicine Person, nothing can harm me. If enemies come here, I will run away and hide in the bushes. Come, my brothers, ride away and leave me. There is little time."

"Ghost Bear, you are very brave," declared White Otter, when Running Crow told him of the old Medicine Man's proposal.

A few moments later the Cheyenne war party left the camp. They rode across the plain, singing their war songs, and old Ghost Bear cackled gleefully as he heard them. He watched until they were beyond range of his dim old eyes. Then he moved slowly into the village. He stopped and gazed sadly upon the forms of his friends.

"Listen, you Silent People," he cried. "The Kiowas have sent you on The Long Trail. You were very brave. Our people will talk about you a long time. Now our brothers have gone to kill many Kiowas. White Otter, the great war chief of the Ogalalas, is the leader. Soon you will hear a great noise. You will know it is the Kiowas. They will cry like women when our brothers begin to kill them. Then you must laugh at them."




Chapter XIV

In Pursuit Of The Kiowas


The Kiowa trail was easy to follow, for the great herd of ponies had left many tracks. White Otter felt sure that the Kiowas would lose little time in getting to their camp. The trail confirmed his decision. It led toward the southeast, the direction of the Kiowa village. White Otter believed that it would be useless to attempt to overtake his foes. Some of the younger, more impulsive warriors were eager to race ahead, but White Otter held them back.

"It is useless to kill your ponies," he told them. "The Kiowas have reached their lodges."

When they had passed beyond sight of the Cheyenne village, he began to take precautions. Two possibilities suggested themselves. He realized that the Kiowas might have expected pursuit and left scouts behind to watch their trail. He also knew that the Pawnees were abroad, and he feared that they might have followed the trail of the Cheyenne hunters. He sent scouts to ride ahead and on both sides of the war party.

"If you see anything, tell us about it," he told them.

Then the war party continued across the plain. White Otter realized that while his force was large enough for a sudden attack against the Kiowa camp, it was not sufficiently strong to risk a fight in the open. Besides, he hoped to accomplish his purpose without bringing further loss upon the Cheyennes.

The day passed without alarm. Toward sunset they saw one of the scouts returning. They believed he had discovered something. White Otter called Running Crow to act as interpreter.

"He says he saw some buffaloes over there," said Running Crow, as he pointed toward the south.

"Then I believe the Pawnees are near," White Otter told him. "We must watch out for them. Tell your brother to go back there, and keep watching. Tell him when it gets dark to come to the place where many trees grow. He will find us there."

Running Crow repeated the instructions, and the scout rode away. It was not long before one of the scouts who was riding in advance came back. He was a warrior named Standing Bull, who spoke the Sioux dialect.

"We looked sharp but we did not see anything," he told White Otter. "Sitting Bear and Black Beaver are riding ahead. I came back to find out where to find you when it gets dark."

"You will find us at the place where many trees grow," White Otter told him. "Do you know that place?"

"Yes, I know it," said Standing Bull. "There is good water there."

He rode ahead to join his companions. He had barely gone before one of the other scouts joined the war party. He, too, reported that he had seen nothing to arouse suspicion. When he learned where the Cheyennes planned to spend the night he rode away.

"It is good," said Running Crow, who rode beside White Otter. "Our brothers have seen nothing but some buffaloes."

"Perhaps those buffaloes will bring the Pawnees," replied White Otter.

"No, my brother, I do not believe we will see the Wolf People," Running Crow told him. "They have killed many buffaloes. They have plenty of meat. I believe they will take it to their people."

Shortly afterward they came in sight of a large grove of aspens. It was a familiar camp site, and White Otter had been there before. As they drew near the timber they stopped, while scouts went forward to investigate. They rode cautiously about the grove to make sure that it was free of foes. The Cheyennes watched closely. They realized that it offered a tempting hiding place to Kiowa scouts. One of the riders finally disappeared into the timber. A few moments afterward be signaled the war party to advance.

"The way is clear," said Running Crow.

When the Cheyennes entered the grove the scouts showed them a number of fresh pony tracks. White Otter examined them with much interest. They seemed to cause him considerable uneasiness.

"Well, my brother, how do you feel about those tracks?" Sun Bird asked him.

"It looks bad," said White Otter. "There were three ponies in this place. It was not long ago. Perhaps it was Kiowa scouts. Perhaps they saw us coming here. Perhaps they have gone to tell their people about it. We must watch out."

"If the Kiowas come here the scouts will tell us about it," said Running Crow.

"Yes, that is true," replied White Otter. "But some one must keep watching out there on the plain. The Kiowas are sharp. Perhaps they will creep past the scouts."

Several warriors offered to go out on the plain to watch. Then the Cheyennes picketed their ponies, and lay down to rest. For two days they had ridden hard, and they were tired and sore.

"White Otter, I have something bad to tell you," Sun Bird said, as he seated himself beside the Ogalala.

White Otter turned inquiringly.

"The Kiowas took away our ponies," said Sun Bird. "Painted Weasel told me about it. Running Buffalo found Little Raven's pony, but our ponies are with the Kiowas."

"Hi, that is bad," cried White Otter. "Well, I will get back my pony. Curly Horse, your chief, gave it to me. I will not let it go. It is the fastest pony I ever rode. Yes, I will take it away from the Kiowas."

"We will get them back," Sun Bird declared, confidently. "My pony is very fast. I will not let the Kiowas keep it."

The loss of the ponies saddened them. White Otter felt sure that neither friend nor foe owned a pony with the speed and endurance of the little piebald which he had received from the Minneconjoux chief. Sun Bird was equally attached to the little roan. It had beaten most of the ponies in the Minneconjoux camp, and had carried him to safety in several thrilling escapes from his foes.

"How did the Kiowas get those ponies?" White Otter asked, suddenly.

"Painted Weasel says that all the war ponies were in the camp," said Sun Bird. "When the Kiowas ran into the village, the Cheyennes ran to get the ponies. They had a big fight. The Kiowas got many of those ponies. Our ponies were with those ponies they took away."

The sun had disappeared, and the twilight shadows were forming on the plain. Many of the Cheyennes were asleep. The ponies had finished feeding, and most of them were lying down. The camp was in peaceful repose. White Otter looked on with satisfaction.

"It is good," he said. "The Cheyennes and their ponies are resting. They will be strong to fight."

Then, as night closed down, White Otter left his companions and seated himself at the edge of the grove. He was serious and thoughtful. He suddenly realized his responsibility. The Cheyennes had placed themselves under his leadership. They were depending upon him to save their chief. He knew the difficulties and perils which were before him. He wondered if he would be able to overcome them. For a moment he felt doubtful. Would he fail? Would he bring another staggering disaster upon the unfortunate Cheyennes? He grew weak at the thought. Then he realized that he was yielding to fear. The idea roused him. He felt ashamed. He rallied from the mood. He recalled that he had overcome the Kiowas under still greater difficulties. It restored his confidence. His courage returned. He laughed away his fears.

"I am an Ogalala," he said, proudly. "I will do what I have set out to do."

He rose, and turned his face toward the heavens. He asked Wa-kan-tun-ka, the Great Mystery, to give him strength and courage to overcome his enemies. Then he returned to his friends. He found Sun Bird and Little Raven asleep. Running Crow was seated a short distance away. White Otter joined him.

"My brother, why are you awake?" White Otter asked. "I am the leader. I will watch. Come, Running Crow, lie down and sleep."

"No, I cannot sleep," Running Crow told him. "My heart is heavy. I am thinking about my people. I am thinking about my friends who were killed by the Kiowas. I am thinking about Red Dog. Perhaps the Kiowas have killed him."

White Otter remained silent. The words of Running Crow revived his fears. He knew the bitter enmity between the Kiowas and the Cheyennes, and he feared that Red Dog might have been killed soon after entering the camp. Running Crow seemed to understand the significance of his silence.

"I see that you believe Red Dog is dead," Running Crow said, sharply.

"No, I do not believe it," White Otter told him. "We cannot tell about it until we get to the Kiowa camp. I --  -- "

He ceased speaking. A pony had called, close at hand. Running Crow sprang to his feet. The Cheyennes sat up to listen. White Otter stared anxiously into the night.

"It is one of the scouts," said Running Crow.

"Watch," White Otter cautioned him.

For some moments all was still. Then they heard some one riding toward them. They had little doubt that it was a scout, but they were cautious. The Cheyennes had risen and moved to the edge of the grove. The rider had stopped. They became suspicious. They waited anxiously for a signal. At last it came.

"Do not be afraid, my brothers," said a familiar voice.

A moment later Fighting Wolf, one of the scouts, appeared out of the darkness. Running Crow began to talk with him. The Cheyennes listened eagerly. The Sioux, however, were unable to understand his words.

"Fighting Wolf says that he heard the call of the great gray wolf," Running Crow told White Otter. "It was far away."

"The Pawnees made that call," declared White Otter. "We will be cautious."

At dawn the scouts returned to the grove. With the exception of Fighting Wolf and his companions who had heard the wolf call, they declared that the night had passed without alarm. White Otter felt considerably encouraged. He believed that the Kiowas had failed to guard their trail. It was evident that they had little fear of being overtaken before they reached their camp.

"I believe they will keep a sharp watch around their village," White Otter told Running Crow.

The sun had not appeared when the war party left the grove and cantered away toward the Kiowa camp. White Otter asked Running Crow to select the most expert warriors to ride in advance, as he believed there was great danger of encountering Kiowa scouts. When half of the day had passed, White Otter began to notice familiar landmarks which told him that he was approaching the vicinity of the Kiowa camp. He became more cautious.

"We are getting close to our enemies," he told Running Crow.

Soon afterward they saw the famous scout, Painted Weasel, racing toward them. White Otter immediately called a halt. They watched the scout with considerable anxiety. He was lashing his pony, and pointing behind him.

"Perhaps the Kiowas are coming," they told one another.

When Painted Weasel came within shouting distance he called out to White Otter in the Sioux tongue.

"So-ta, so-ta!" he cried.

"Painted Weasel says smoke," White Otter told them.

"My brother, we saw some smoke a long way ahead of us," Painted Weasel said, excitedly. "We were peeping over the top of a hill. We saw many trees. We were watching sharp. Then I saw that smoke. I believe the Kiowa camp is over there. I came to tell you about it."

"Yes, it is true," White Otter told him. "The camp is in that place. I know about it. Where are your brothers?"

"Standing Bull and Red Crane are watching."

"It is good," said White Otter. "Running Crow, tell your people about it."

The Cheyennes became greatly excited. Almost within sight of the Kiowa camp, they were eager to approach and begin the fight. Some of the warriors proposed riding back to the ridge with Painted Weasel to reconnoiter. White Otter kept them back.

"Cheyennes, you have made me the leader," he cried. "You must do as I tell you. Now listen to my words. Red Dog your chief is in that camp. If you let the Kiowas know that we are here, Red Dog will be killed. There is only one way to do this thing. We must hide until it gets dark. Then some of us will go ahead and try to find out something. There is a gully over there toward the Place-where-the-warm-wind-blows. I will take you over there. It is a good place to hide in. Before we go there we must call in our brothers, and tell them about it."

Running Crow repeated the words to his tribesmen. They heartily indorsed the plan.

"The Ogalala is a great leader," they said.

Then a warrior rode out on each side of the war party and galloped his pony in a circle. The scouts were visible, far away across the plain. They soon saw the riders and understood the signals. In a few moments the Cheyennes saw them riding in. In the meantime Painted Weasel had ridden away to acquaint his companions with the plans of the war party.

"Now we will go to that gully," said White Otter.

He circled more to the southward, and led them across the plain at a brisk canter. The scouts finally overtook them, and rode along beside them. They kept a sharp watch for their foes, but except for a few stray bunches of antelopes, the plain appeared lifeless. The day was well advanced when they eventually reached a deep ravine that extended far across the plain.

"We will hide here and watch until it gets dark," White Otter told them.

Guards were appointed to watch the ponies, and then most of the warriors crawled up the side of the ravine to watch the plain. They looked eagerly into the east in the hope of discovering smoke from the Kiowa camp.

"Perhaps it has died out; perhaps it is too far away," Running Crow told them.

Sun Bird and Little Raven had joined White Otter. The three young scouts lay beside each other at the top of the ravine. They stared silently across the plain. The sun had set, and the evening shadows were already gathering in the east.

"See, see, some one is riding this way," Little Raven cried suddenly.

Three horsemen were racing toward the ravine. The Cheyennes were talking excitedly. They felt certain that the riders were the scouts who had gone to watch from the ridge to the eastward. The Sioux also believed that Painted Weasel and his companions were returning with word of some important discovery. Running Crow hastened to join White Otter.

"It looks bad," he said suspiciously. "Something has happened."

"Pretty soon we will know about it," White Otter said, quietly.

As the scouts approached the ravine, the foremost rider raised his hand above his head as a token of friendship. Then they recognized him as Painted Weasel. When he reached them he called for White Otter.

"Here is White Otter," Running Crow told him.

"The Kiowa scouts have gone to that hill to watch," said Painted Weasel. "We got away before they saw us."

"It is good," replied White Otter.

"Now it will be hard to get near the camp," said Running Crow.

"We will fool them," White Otter assured him.




Chapter XV

Daring Scouts


At dark White Otter called the Cheyennes to assemble in the ravine. Then he announced his plans.

"My brothers, I am going to the Kiowa camp to find out about Red Dog," he said. "I will try to find out about the ponies. Then I will come back and tell you what to do. You must wait here. Keep a sharp watch. Do not let the Kiowas find you. If you hear them coming, ride away to that place where the trees are. If I do not come back before another sun goes away you will know that something bad has happened to me. I will watch out. I do not believe the Kiowas will catch me. Now I am going to ask Sun Bird and Little Raven to go with me. Sun Bird knows about that camp. Little Raven will help us with the ponies. Now, my friends, I am going away. Pretty soon I will come back and tell you about Red Dog."

When Running Crow told the plan to the Cheyennes, they expressed their disapproval. Most of them wished to accompany White Otter on the perilous expedition. They believed that it would be foolhardy for the three Sioux to go without them.

"White Otter, I will tell you how my brothers feel about this thing," said Running Crow. "They say that it would be foolish for the Dacotahs to go to that camp alone. The Kiowas are watching. Perhaps you will meet them. There will be only three of you. There will be many Kiowas. Perhaps you will be killed. Then your people will say, 'The Cheyennes held back. They were afraid. They sent our brothers ahead to die.' Then we would feel bad. Come, take some of these brave warriors with you. Then if the Kiowas come after you, it will be easy to get away."

"Running Crow, I have listened to your words," replied White Otter. "If too many of us go to do this thing, the Kiowas will hear us. We must not let them know that we are here until we are ready to rush into the camp. Do not feel afraid. Nothing will happen to me. Once I went to that camp with my brother Sun Bird, and took away ponies. I will go there again."

"Well, my brother, I see that you propose to go ahead with this thing, so I will not talk any more against it," said Running Crow.

"It is good," declared White Otter.

Soon afterward the three Sioux scouts rode away. When they were a bowshot from the ravine White Otter turned toward the south. He felt quite certain that the Kiowas would expect the Cheyennes from the north or the west, and he believed it would be safer to approach the camp from the southward.

"Yes, it is the best way to go," said Sun Bird.

They eventually circled toward the east, and crossed the ridge without encountering their foes. Then they rode cautiously in the direction of the Kiowa camp. They knew that it was located beside a wide stream to the eastward of another low ridge. Having passed the scouts, the Sioux hoped to reach the second ridge without being discovered. It seemed a long time before it finally loomed up before them. Then they stopped. The camp was only a short distance away. White Otter suddenly began to sniff.

"So-ta, smoke," he said.

The wind was blowing toward them, and they caught the odor from the Kiowa fires. They spent some time listening for voices from the ridge. The way appeared to be clear. They rode slowly forward. They had gone only a short distance when White Otter suddenly stopped his pony, and dismounted.

"It would be foolish to ride closer to that place," he said, softly. "I believe scouts are watching on the top of that hill. If we ride over there they will hear the ponies. I will tell you what I propose to do. Little Raven, you must stay here with the ponies. Sun Bird, you must go ahead with me. Little Raven, you must listen sharp. If you hear anyone coming toward you ride away. Do not let the Kiowas know who you are. When we come back we will make the call of To-ka-la, the little gray fox. Now we will go ahead."

"I will keep your words," Little Raven said, quietly.

White Otter and Sun Bird disappeared. A few moments later they stopped at the base of the ridge to listen. The silence reassured them, and they crawled cautiously up the slope. Once at the top, they looked eagerly toward the east. They located the camp by the glow from the fires. Then they saw them twinkling far away among the trees. They watched with the grim, silent satisfaction of a panther that has discovered its prey.

"Come," whispered White Otter. "We will go down there and look for the ponies. Then we will crawl up to the camp and try to find out about Red Dog."

They moved carefully down the ridge, and hurried across the plain. On a former expedition they had learned that the Kiowas pastured their ponies to the northward of the camp, and they turned in that direction. They had no thought of attempting to run off the ponies, however, for they realized that such a maneuver would cost the life of the Cheyenne chief. Besides, they felt certain that the piebald and the roan and the best of the Cheyenne war ponies had been taken to the camp for safe keeping. They believed that the rest of the stolen ponies were with the great herd of Kiowa ponies that were turned loose upon the plain in the vicinity of the village. White Otter was eager to locate them so that the Cheyennes would know exactly where to find them when they came to attack the camp.

"Perhaps the Kiowas drove them close to the lodges," suggested Sun Bird.

"Yes, it may be true," said White Otter.

They circled carefully about the plain, searching for the ponies, but were unable to find them. They finally became convinced that the crafty Kiowas had driven them close to the camp. It was the usual precaution in times of danger.

"Well, we will not look any more," said White Otter. "The night is passing. There is little time. Come, my brother, we will creep up close to the camp. Perhaps we will find the ponies there."

They turned toward the Kiowa village, and advanced with great caution. They stopped many times to make sure that the way was open, before they finally came within bow shot of the camp. It was located in a grove of cottonwoods that lined the banks of a stream. The lodges showed distinctly in the light from the fires, but the trees made it difficult to see into the village.

"We must go closer," declared White Otter.

At that moment a dog began to bark, and they stopped in alarm. Had the dog caught their scent? Their hopes weakened at the thought. They listened, fearfully, expecting to hear the other dogs take up the challenge. Their fears, however, were not confirmed. The dog soon became quiet. The peril had passed.

"It is good," whispered White Otter. "We will go ahead."

They moved through the darkness as silently as shadows, and approached close to the edge of the timber. Then they stopped. They were almost within leaping distance of the camp. They feared to advance nearer because of the dogs. Then White Otter suddenly thought of a way to overcome the peril.

"Come, my brother, we will climb into this big tree," he proposed. "Then we can see into the camp, and the dogs will not find us."

"It is good," said Sun Bird.

They climbed noiselessly into a large cottonwood, and went sufficiently high to obtain a splendid view of the Kiowa camp. The Kiowas were assembled about a large fire, and a warrior whom the Sioux took to be the chief was talking excitedly. In a few moments they recognized him. They had outwitted him several years before.

"Hi, I know that warrior -- it is 'The Lame Wolf,'" laughed Sun Bird.

"Yes, I see who it is," replied White Otter.

A moment afterward they made a still more interesting discovery. They saw a number of ponies tied at one end of the camp, and among them they identified the piebald and the roan. They were tied before a lodge, and the Sioux believed that the Kiowa who occupied it was the one who had taken the ponies from the Cheyenne camp.

"Pretty soon we will take them away," said Sun Bird.

White Otter kept still. He was searching the camp for Red Dog. The Cheyenne chief was not in sight. White Otter became alarmed. He wondered if the Kiowas had already killed their prisoner. The possibility staggered him. He fastened his attention upon the man who was addressing his people. He appeared to be telling them something important. They were listening with serious attention. The entire tribe seemed to have assembled at the council fire, for the Sioux saw men, women and children in the group. Then the speaker suddenly pointed toward one of the lodges, and the Sioux looked eagerly in the direction. A moment afterward the robe was drawn from the doorway of the lodge, and three warriors appeared. The Sioux instantly recognized one as Red Dog.

"Watch sharp!" said White Otter.

The appearance of the Cheyenne chief threw the Kiowas into a turmoil. They rose to their feet, and began to shout, and jeer, and threaten their foe. The latter walked slowly forward between his guards. He was badly crippled and walked with difficulty, and the Kiowas laughed at his misfortune. Several boys followed behind him, mimicking his gait. The eyes of the Sioux flashed dangerously.

"I would like to kill those people," declared Sun Bird.

"Wait," White Otter said, grimly.

Red Dog was led to the council fire. The Kiowas immediately began to threaten him. They crowded closely about him, shouting and shaking their fists, but the Cheyenne appeared calm and fearless. Then the warrior whom the Sioux had recognized called out sharply, and the Kiowas fell back. A moment afterward he addressed the prisoner. The Sioux wondered if he was speaking in the Cheyenne dialect. Red Dog gave no indication that he understood him. When the Kiowa finally paused, and appeared to be waiting for a reply, the Cheyenne remained silent. The Kiowa laughed scornfully, and turned away. Then Red Dog was taken back to the lodge.

The Sioux felt greatly relieved. They believed that Red Dog would be spared for the night at least. The thought gave them hope. They believed that the following night they might be able to rescue him from his predicament.

"We have found out what we wished to know," said White Otter. "Come, we will go and tell the Cheyennes about it."

"Yes, we must get far away before the light comes," declared Sun Bird.

They were about to descend, when they suddenly heard voices. The speakers were approaching the camp. They were close to the tree in which the Sioux had concealed themselves. The latter waited anxiously for the prowlers to pass. They believed that they were scouts who had been watching on the plain. Then the voices ceased, and the Sioux became uneasy. They wondered if the scouts had gone. They watched to see them enter the camp. Long moments passed. The scouts failed to appear. The Sioux wondered what had become of them. Then they heard them talking directly beneath them. They had stopped at the tree. The Sioux wondered if they had been discovered. They feared to move. At last they heard the Kiowas passing on. A moment afterward they saw two warriors enter the camp.

"Now we will go," said White Otter.

They descended from the tree, and sped safely into the night. Dawn was almost at hand when they finally found Little Raven.

"You have come -- it is good," he said. "Did you find Red Dog?"

"Yes, we saw Red Dog in the Kiowa camp," White Otter told him.

"Did you see the ponies?"

"Yes, our ponies are in that camp," said Sun Bird.

"Hi, that is good," declared Little Raven.

"Did anything happen to you?" White Otter asked him, as they rode toward the Cheyennes.

"No, nothing happened to me," said Little Raven. "I listened sharp, but I did not hear anything."




Chapter XVI

A Thrilling Rescue


Having crossed safely over the ridge where they believed the Kiowa scouts were watching, the Sioux rode desperately to reach the ravine before daylight. There was not a moment to spare. Dawn was flushing the eastern sky when they finally encountered the first Cheyenne scout. They stopped, and White Otter imitated the bark of To-ko-la, the little gray fox.

"You have come back -- it is good," cried Painted Weasel.

"Yes, it is good," White Otter told him.

They ran the ponies toward the ravine. The Cheyennes were overjoyed at their safe return. They gathered eagerly about them to learn if they had reached the Kiowa camp.

"Cheyennes, Red Dog is alive," White Otter told them. "We saw him in the Kiowa camp."

"It is good, it is good," cried Running Crow. "My brothers, you have done a big thing."

The Cheyennes were beside themselves with excitement. Their gloom vanished. Their hearts filled with hope. Having learned that their chief was alive, their one thought was to rescue him. They realized, however, that it would be foolhardy to make the attempt before night. The thought suddenly sobered them. The delay suggested alarming possibilities. They began to have doubts.

"Perhaps the Kiowas will kill Red Dog before the night comes," they told one another.

Aroused by the thought, some of the warriors made reckless proposals to attack the camp at once. The majority, however, talked against it.

"We must wait," Running Crow told them. "If we let the Kiowas see us, they will kill Red Dog before we can help him. I do not believe anything will happen to him before the night comes. Come, White Otter, you are the leader, tell us how you feel about it."

"My brothers, we must wait," declared White Otter. "I do not believe the Kiowas will kill Red Dog before the night comes. I will tell you how I feel about it. I believe the Kiowas are getting ready for a big talk. They will tell their people about the great fight. They will dance and sing the war songs. Then Red Dog will be in danger. I believe they will bring him out to kill him. I do not believe they will do anything until it gets dark. Then we will be close to the camp. We will rush in and carry away your chief. Pretty soon I will tell you how I propose to do it. You must wait until I tell you about it. If you do anything foolish, Red Dog will surely die.

"Now I will tell you something different. My brothers, we found the ponies. The war ponies are in the Kiowa camp. The other ponies are outside with the Kiowa ponies. We will run off the ponies when we carry away Red Dog. This will be a big fight. I know that all of you are brave enough to go through with it. You must also be sharp. We must fool the Kiowas. Then they will not kill Red Dog before we get into the camp. I believe some scouts are still watching over there on that long hill. I believe they will go away before it gets dark. We must keep hiding in this place until they go away. Now I have told you what I have to say about it."

His words made a favorable impression upon the Cheyennes. They were convinced that his plan offered the only hope of saving Red Dog. They were eager to learn how he proposed to overcome the Kiowa camp without sacrificing the life of the Cheyenne chief. White Otter showed no inclination to tell them.

"My brothers, White Otter is a great chief," said Running Crow. "A great chief does not tell what he is about to do. You must wait until it is time to go ahead with this thing. Then White Otter will tell us about it."

Day had dawned, and the sun was appearing above the plain. Most of the Cheyennes crept to the top of the ravine to watch for signs of the Kiowas. They wondered if scouts were still watching on the distant ridge. There was no way of learning.

The day was well advanced when the Cheyennes discovered a band of animals on the summit of the ridge. They studied them with eager attention. The distance made it difficult to identify them. Some thought they were ponies. White Otter and Sun Bird disagreed with them.

"He-ha-ka, elk," said the Sioux.

"Yes, yes, it is true," agreed Running Crow.

The animals were moving slowly along the ridge. Their appearance convinced the Cheyennes that the ridge was free of foes. They believed that the Kiowa scouts had returned to the village.

"The way is clear -- it is good," said Running Crow.

"Perhaps they are watching close to the camp," White Otter told him.

Then he called Sun Bird and Little Raven into the ravine.

"My brothers, I have some words for you," he said. "Pretty soon the day will pass away. I have been watching for our people. Now I do not believe they will come in time to help us. Perhaps the Cheyennes took a long time to go to our camp. Well, we cannot wait. We must go ahead with what we came to do. Red Dog is our friend. We must try to help him. I am about to do a big thing. I will ask you to help me. There will be great danger. Perhaps we will be killed. You are Dacotahs. You are brave. I know you are not afraid to die."

"White Otter, I will go with you," said Sun Bird.

"Yes, my brother, I will go," Little Raven told him.

"It is good," declared White Otter. "Now I will tell the Cheyennes about it."

He asked Running Crow to summon his tribesmen. They hurried into the ravine, and assembled before the Ogalala.

"My brothers, I have called you here to tell you what I propose to do," said White Otter. "The day has almost gone. Night is close by. We must get ready.

"Listen to my words. When we go to fight the Kiowas it would be foolish for all of us to go together. If we do that, the scouts will find out about it and tell their people. Then Red Dog will be killed before we get to the camp. There is only one way to do this thing. We must make three war parties. Now I will tell you about it. I am going to make Running Crow a leader. He must take some warriors and go away first. Running Crow and his brothers must circle far around and come up on the other side of the camp. I am going to make Standing Bull a leader. He must take some warriors and go away next. Standing Bull and his brothers must circle around and come up on the side where the ponies are. I am going to make Painted Weasel a leader. He must take some warriors and go away last. Painted Weasel and his brothers must ride straight ahead to the camp. All of you must send scouts ahead to watch for the Kiowas. You must watch sharp. If you let them find you we cannot help Red Dog. When you all get close enough to shoot an arrow into the camp, you must wait. When Painted Weasel is ready he must make the cry of Ma-ya-sh, the wolf. Then Painted Weasel and Standing Bull must lead their brothers ahead. You must make a big noise. Standing Bull and his brothers must run off the ponies. Painted Weasel and his brothers must go to the camp.

"Now, Running Crow, listen sharp. When you hear that noise you must bring your brothers to the other side of the camp. Do not make any noise until you are close. Then rush ahead.

"While you are all doing these things, Sun Bird and Little Raven will go with me into the camp. We will try to save Red Dog and lead away the war ponies. You must come fast, my brothers, or the Kiowas will kill us. Each of you must do as I have told you to do. Now, my brothers, I will ask you how you feel about it.

"White Otter, you have given us great words," declared Running Crow. "I believe you have told us how to fool the Kiowas. You have asked me to be a leader. It is good. I will keep your words. Yes, my brother, I will do as you have told me to do."

"It is good," said White Otter.

"My brother, you are a great war leader," said Painted Weasel. "If we do as you tell us to do, I believe we will save Red Dog and run off many ponies. I will keep your words. I will lead my brothers close up to the camp. We will make a big fight. We will try hard to help you."

"It is good," White Otter told him.

"Great chief of the Ogalalas, I have listened to your words," said Standing Bull. "They are good. I believe it is the only way to do this thing. I will keep your words. I will lead my brothers to run off the ponies."

"It is good," said White Otter. "Well, my brothers, I see that you all feel good about this thing. It makes me feel big."

Having learned the plan of attack, the Cheyennes looked forward to the fight with enthusiasm. They crept up the ravine and watched impatiently for the day to pass. They glared fiercely into the east, and murmured boastful threats against the hated foes in the distant camp.

"Hi, hi, pretty soon we will show the Kiowas how to fight," they cried, savagely.

When the purple evening shadows finally settled upon the plain, the war leaders called the warriors into the ravine, and began to select the men who were to accompany them. The Cheyennes watched with intense interest as Running Crow and Painted Weasel and Standing Bull went about making their selections. All were famous warriors who commanded the respect and admiration of their tribesmen, and the latter had little preference between them. Then White Otter suddenly called Running Crow.

"Running Crow, I believe Painted Weasel and his brothers will have the biggest fight," he said. "The Kiowas will run out that way when they hear the noise. Painted Weasel must take the most warriors. You will also have a big fight, because you must rush into the camp. You must take many warriors. Standing Bull will run off the ponies. I do not believe he will get into the fight. Standing Bull must not take so many warriors."

"It is true," agreed Running Crow. "I have told my brothers about it. Painted Weasel is calling the most warriors. Standing Bull has called only a few."

"It is good," said White Otter.

When the selections had finally been made, each war leader made a short, fiery address to his warriors. Their words roused the fighting spirit of the Cheyennes. They made it plain that they hoped to wipe out the sting of their recent defeat and take full vengeance upon the Kiowas.

"My people are very mad," Running Crow told White Otter. "They will make a big fight."

Darkness had already fallen, and White Otter determined to reconnoiter the plain before the first war party left the ravine. He sent White Horse and Red Crane and Fighting Wolf and Sitting Bear to look for the Kiowas. White Horse and Red Crane advanced toward the distant ridge. Sitting Bear circled toward the north. Fighting Wolf rode toward the south. The Cheyennes waited anxiously for them to return. Sitting Bear came first. He said he had ridden far out over the plain but had heard or seen nothing of their foes. Then Fighting Wolf rode in. He, too, declared that he had failed to find the Kiowas. It was a long time before White Horse and Red Crane arrived. They said they had searched carefully along the ridge, but had failed to locate their enemies.

"It is good," said White Otter. "Now we are ready to go ahead. Come, Running Crow, call your warriors."

When Running Crow and his companions were ready to depart, White Otter addressed them.

"My brothers, you are going into great danger," he warned them. "Perhaps you will have a hard fight. Running Crow is a good war leader. He will take you into the Kiowa camp. Then you must try to save your chief. When you get away come here and wait for your brothers. Do what I have told you to do. Do not try to do anything different. Go, my brothers, Red Dog is waiting for you."

"White Otter, we will keep your words," Running Crow told him. "When we hear that great noise we will rush ahead."

"It is good," said White Otter.

They rode silently from the ravine, and cantered away toward the south. White Otter listened soberly as the hoofbeats of the ponies gradually died away. He knew that they were staking their lives on his ability as a war leader. He realized his responsibility. Failure meant death for Red Dog, disaster for the Cheyennes, and disgrace for him. He drove the thought from his mind.

"I will do this thing," he murmured, fiercely.

Standing Bull and his warriors were impatient, and eager to depart. White Otter held them back. He waited until he believed that Running Crow and his companions were well on their way before he finally sent away the second war party.

"Standing Bull, you must run off the ponies," said White Otter. "There are only a few of you. Do not try to get into the fight. Keep the ponies going. Make a big noise."

"I will do as you tell me," replied Standing Bull.

After they had gone, White Otter called Painted Weasel.

"Painted Weasel, you are a brave scout and a good war leader," White Otter told him. "I have seen you fight the Pawnees. I have seen you fight the Kiowas. I know you are brave. That is why I made you the leader of this war party. You will have the hardest fight of all. You must follow us to the Kiowa camp. You must wait close by until we have time to get into the camp. Then you must give the cry of Ma-ya-sh, the wolf, and rush ahead. Make a great noise. Try to frighten the Kiowas. Perhaps you will find us at the edge of the camp. Perhaps the Kiowas will hold us in the village. You must try to help us carry off Red Dog."

"White Otter, you are my friend," replied Painted Weasel. "I have seen you do some big things. All of these warriors know about you. They will be very brave because you are here. I will keep your words. We will fight hard to get Red Dog out of the camp."

"It is good," said White Otter. "Come, my brothers, we will go."

They mounted the ponies and rode from the ravine. Then they cantered slowly across the plain. White Otter and Painted Weasel rode in front. Sun Bird and Little Raven followed close behind them. Then came the gallant Cheyenne fighting men. They rode along in grim silence. When they had crossed the second ridge, White Otter stopped them.

"Now, my brothers, we must leave you and go ahead," he told Painted Weasel. "Hold back until we have time to reach the camp. Then go ahead. Be cautious. Now send some one with us to hold the ponies."

Two young Cheyennes rode forward to join the Sioux. Then White Otter led his little company toward the Kiowa camp. They soon saw the camp-fires flickering between the trees. When they drew nearer they suddenly heard sounds which aroused their fears. The Kiowas were shouting and beating the war drums. White Otter listened uneasily.

"It is bad," he said. "The Kiowas are dancing and singing the war songs. Red Dog is in danger. There is little time."

They rode faster. When they finally came within bowshot of the camp, White Otter stopped and dismounted. Sun Bird and Little Raven also dismounted. Then they left their ponies with the Cheyennes, and hurried away. They kept farther to the southward than they had gone the previous night, for White Otter was anxious to conceal himself nearer the center of the village.

"Now, my brothers, I will tell you what to do," he said, softly. "When we get to the edge of the camp, we will look for Red Dog. Then we will look for the war ponies. I will ask Sun Bird to go with me to help Red Dog. I will ask Little Raven to creep into the camp and lead out the ponies. Now we will go ahead."

The plain was shrouded in darkness, and they crept to the border of the camp without being discovered. Then they looked upon their foes. The Kiowas were seated about a great fire in the center of the village. They had ceased dancing, and were listening to a warrior who appeared to be relating some thrilling experience. The Sioux felt sure that he was describing the battle at the Cheyenne camp. They took little interest in him, for their one thought was to discover Red Dog. He was not in sight. They felt relieved. They were within a few bow lengths of the lodge into which he had been taken the previous night.

In the meantime, Little Raven had discovered the Dacotah ponies. They were tied before a lodge, a short distance on his left. He touched White Otter and pointed toward them. White Otter nodded understandingly. Little Raven crawled away into the darkness.

A moment afterward the Kiowa finished his boastful tale, and received a noisy ovation from his people. The Sioux smiled. Then another warrior rushed into the circle and drove his tomahawk into a painted post near the fire. The Sioux were familiar with the ceremony. They knew that the Kiowa claimed a coup for some daring feat which he had performed in the fight with the Cheyennes, and was about to tell his tribesmen of his valor. As the speaker drew the attention of the Kiowas, White Otter seized the opportunity to creep closer to the lodge in which he hoped to find Red Dog. When he was within a bow length of it, he stopped and placed his lips to the ear of Sun Bird.

"I believe Red Dog is in this lodge," he whispered. "I am going to creep up behind it. Follow me."

They crawled cautiously forward until they were at the rear of the lodge. Then White Otter placed his ear at the bottom of the lodge cover, and held his breath to listen. All was still. He signaled to Sun Bird. He, too, lay close to the ground and listened. In a few moments he shook his head. He had heard nothing. They believed that Red Dog was alone in the lodge. The thought filled them with joy. The warrior was still telling his boastful tale. The Kiowas were silent. The Sioux believed their opportunity was at hand. They drew their knives and began to cut the lodge cover from the stakes which held it to the ground. Then they were suddenly interrupted by the shrill neighing of a pony somewhere at the other end of the camp. The warrior ceased speaking. The Kiowas cried out excitedly. The Sioux turned to each other in dismay.

"Run around the other side of the lodge!" cried White Otter.

They separated and circled the lodge. Two warriors were coming out with Red Dog between them. The Sioux shot their arrows, and the Kiowas fell. Before the people in the camp realized what had happened, White Otter had reached the Cheyenne chief and freed his arms. Then he drew him toward the edge of the camp. The Kiowas rushed forward. Sun Bird fought desperately to hold them back.

Then the cry of Ma-ya-sh sounded from the plain. The Kiowas stopped in alarm. A moment afterward the night rang with a wild din that filled their hearts with terror. They heard their foes advancing on three sides of the camp. For an instant they crowded together in panic. Then the warriors ran for the ponies. They heard them thundering across the plain. They saw a dim, shadowy form dash into the camp and disappear with the Sioux war ponies. Then they heard the Cheyennes yelling at the edge of the village. The Kiowas rushed forward to drive them out. At that instant another company of horsemen entered from the opposite side of the camp. The Kiowas became demoralized and fled wildly before their foes. The Cheyennes swept into the camp.

"Come, my brothers, here are the ponies," cried Little Raven, as he joined his comrades at the border of the village.

The three warriors who had waited with the ponies had already come forward. Red Dog mounted and raced away to lead his warriors. The Sioux followed close behind him. The Kiowas had abandoned the camp, and were fleeing across the plain. The Cheyenne victory was complete. They had overcome their foes without losing a man.




Chapter XVII

Disaster


When the Cheyennes finally returned to the ravine they found Standing Bull and his companions awaiting them with a great herd of ponies. Among them were the fast war ponies which the Cheyennes had liberated from a corral at the end of the Kiowa camp.

"White Otter, we have done what you asked us to do," said Standing Bull.

"You are a good leader," White Otter told him. "See, my brothers, we have brought back your chief."

"Hi, hi, here is Red Dog!" Standing Bull cried, delightedly.

It was the signal for a great ovation to the Cheyenne chief. His warriors gathered about him with wild enthusiasm. Their piercing yells echoed shrilly across the plain, and put new terror into the hearts of the fleeing Kiowas. Then the guards with the ponies called out and warned the Cheyennes that the frightened animals were threatening to stampede.

"Be quiet, be quiet!" shouted Running Crow, "You have frightened the ponies."

The Cheyennes heeded the warning and became quiet. A few moments afterward Red Dog addressed them.

"My brothers, first I will tell you about these brave Dacotahs," he said. "When the Kiowas came to kill me, the Dacotahs shot their arrows through them, and gave me my life. Then White Otter pulled me away. Sun Bird fought back the Kiowas. Little Raven took away the Dacotah ponies. It was a great thing to do. Dacotahs, my heart feels big. You saved me from the Pawnees. Now you have saved me from the Kiowas. My people will talk about it a long time.

"Now, Cheyennes, here are some words for you. You were very brave. You came to that camp and fooled the Kiowas. You chased them out of their lodges. You made them run like rabbits. The Kiowas killed our people, but you killed many Kiowas. The Kiowas took our ponies, but you got them back, and took away many Kiowa ponies. Now we feel different in our hearts."

"Red Dog, I will tell you who brought your people to that camp to help you," said Running Crow. "White Otter brought them. He was the leader. He told us how to fool the Kiowas."

"White Otter is a great chief," replied Red Dog.

"White Otter, my people want you to give them some words," said Running Crow.

"Cheyennes, you have done a big thing," White Otter told them. "You were very brave. Running Crow, and Painted Weasel and Standing Bull are good war leaders. All of them did what they set out to do. That is how your chief, Red Dog, happens to be alive. Cheyennes, I will tell you that my brother, Sun Bird, was very brave. He fought back many Kiowas, while I was helping Red Dog. Cheyennes, I will tell you that my brother, Little Raven, was very brave. He crawled into the Kiowa camp and led out our ponies. Hi, my brothers, we feel good to get back those ponies. Now Red Dog has come back to you. He must be the leader. I have finished."

The Cheyennes remained at the ravine until daylight, and then as they saw nothing of the Kiowas they set out toward the north. They rode away in buoyant spirits, laughing, and shouting and singing the war songs. As usual, scouts rode ahead and along either flank. The warriors rode in pairs with Red Dog and White Otter in the lead. The men in charge of the ponies followed close behind the war party. The Cheyennes had little fear of pursuit, for they had thoroughly demoralized the Kiowas and taken away most of their ponies.

"They will not follow us," laughed Red Dog.

Although they felt secure from the Kiowas, the Cheyennes realized that there was a possibility of encountering the Pawnees. Having found them upon their hunting grounds, they felt quite certain that the Pawnees would keep a close watch. They believed, however, that the latter were farther toward the west, and they hoped to avoid them.

"We will watch out," said Red Dog.

The warriors in charge of the captured ponies were having considerable difficulty in holding them together, and the war party was forced to travel slowly. It disturbed them, for they were eager to withdraw from the Pawnee hunting grounds as soon as possible. They knew that the Pawnees were constantly moving about the plain, and they feared that some sharp-eyed scout might discover them. In that event they felt quite certain that the large herd of ponies would tempt the Pawnees to make an attack.

Half of the day had passed before they discovered anything to make them suspicious. Then they saw one of the scouts racing toward them. They stopped to wait for him.

"It is Turns Around," said Red Dog. "I believe he has found something bad."

In a few moments Turns Around reached them. He rode directly to Red Dog. They talked earnestly. Then Red Dog called out to the Cheyennes. They looked anxiously toward the west.

"Turns Around says he saw a warrior over there," Red Dog told White Otter. "He says he believes the warrior was a Pawnee. He says he believes the warrior saw him. He came back to tell us about it."

"It is bad," White Otter said, soberly. "If that warrior saw Turns Around, perhaps he will follow him and see us."

"It is true," replied Red Dog. "Well, we must keep going ahead. We cannot travel fast. We must keep with the ponies. They are holding us back. It is bad. I will feel good when we get away from this place. Now I am going to send Turns Around, and Sitting Bear over there to watch."

"Perhaps that scout will circle around and get behind us," suggested White Otter.

"Yes, I am thinking about that," said Red Dog. "I will send Black Beaver, and Fighting Wolf back there to watch."

Red Dog told his plans to the Cheyennes. The scouts immediately rode away. At the same time the war party continued toward the north. Red Dog sent a number of warriors to assist in keeping the ponies in order. Then the Cheyennes attempted to make better speed.

"Perhaps that warrior is a hunter," Red Dog told White Otter, hopefully. "If he is a hunter I do not believe he will try to follow us."

White Otter was silent. The discovery of the solitary rider had made him suspicious. Having encountered the strong force of Pawnees farther to the westward, he feared that they were still roaming about the plain. If one of their scouts came in sight of the Cheyennes, he believed there would be a fight. He realized that it would be difficult to escape without abandoning the ponies, and he knew that the Cheyennes would be unwilling to make that sacrifice.

They heard nothing further from the scouts until late in the day, and then Black Beaver overtook them. His announcement caused considerable excitement. White Otter believed that the Cheyennes were alarmed. Red Dog had left him, and was talking seriously with Running Crow.

"My brother, I believe the scouts have seen the Pawnees," Sun Bird told White Otter.

"Something bad has happened," said White Otter.

Then Red Dog galloped up beside him. He appeared uneasy and troubled. The Sioux asked no questions. In a few moments, however, Red Dog told them what Black Beaver had said.

"Black Beaver says he saw three wolves peeping over the top of some rocks," said Red Dog. "He says they did not look right. He asked Fighting Wolf about it. Fighting Wolf said they did not look right. Then they went away. Our brothers rode ahead. They kept looking back. They did not see anything. Then they rode over a little hill. Then Fighting Wolf held the ponies, and Black Beaver ran back to watch. He peeped over the hill, and saw two warriors riding away toward the Place-where-the-sun-sleeps. Then he saw a wolf peeping over the rocks. Then Fighting Wolf stayed there to watch, and Black Beaver came to tell us about it. My brothers, it is bad. I believe the Pawnees have found out about us. Come, White Otter, you are a great war leader, tell me what you make of it."

"It looks bad," White Otter told him. "I believe what you say is true. I believe the Pawnees know about us."

"Well, if they know about us, they will bring a big war party to run off these ponies," declared Red Dog.

"I do not believe those scouts know about the ponies," said Sun Bird. "Perhaps they are only trying to find out who we are. We are going away. Perhaps they will not try to follow us."

"I believe they will follow us," declared White Otter.

"Well, there is only one thing to do," Red Dog told them. "We must get away as fast as we can. We are not afraid of those Pawnees, but we must not lose the ponies."

"Those are good words," said White Otter.

Fearful that they were being followed, the Cheyennes surrounded the ponies and lashed them into a sharp gallop. It was impossible to hold them together. They soon scattered, and some broke from the herd and raced wildly across the plain. The Cheyennes rode furiously to turn them back.

"It is useless," they cried. "We cannot run them so fast."

Black Beaver had already turned back to join Fighting Wolf. The day was far gone, and the Cheyennes believed that if they could avoid an encounter before dark, they might be able to throw the Pawnees from their trail under cover of the night. The thought encouraged them. They ran the ponies at a brisk pace, and kept a sharp watch behind them. Then they saw Turns Around and Sitting Bear approaching from the west. When they reached the war party they told Red Dog that they had seen nothing more of the solitary rider.

"It is good," said Red Dog. "Perhaps it was a hunter. I believe he has gone away."

At that moment, however, the Cheyennes heard shouts behind them. Looking back in alarm, they saw Black Beaver and Fighting Wolf racing after them. They were lashing their ponies and riding at a furious pace.

"Watch out, I believe the Pawnees are close behind them!" cried Red Dog.

"Run the ponies! Run the ponies!" cried the scouts. "Many Pawnees are coming!"

The two riders had barely reached them when the Cheyennes saw a great company of horsemen ride over a hill. They knew at once that they were Pawnees. When the latter discovered the herd of ponies they began yelling excitedly. They raced across the plain at break-neck speed, and the Cheyennes realized that they would soon be overtaken.

"Come, we will ride back there and fight them off," proposed several young warriors.

"No, no," cried Red Dog. "Stay where you are. We must keep together and try to hold the ponies. Keep them running. Stay on all sides of them. Do not fight until the Pawnees try to rush in. Perhaps they will be afraid to come close."

The Pawnees were gaining with each stride of the ponies, and the Cheyennes knew it was hopeless to attempt to escape. Aware that an encounter was inevitable, they had surrounded the ponies, and were prepared to fight off their foes. The Sioux rode together at the head of the herd.

"It looks bad," said Sun Bird. "The Cheyennes made a big fight to get these ponies, but I believe the Pawnees will run them off."

"We must fight them back," White Otter told him.

"See, see, they are trying to get ahead of us," cried Little Raven.

The Pawnees had suddenly separated, and were moving forward along the flank of the war party. The Cheyennes instantly guessed their plan.

"They are going to ride around and close us in!" cried Red Dog. "Come, stop the ponies, and make a circle!"

They made desperate attempts to stop the ponies, but the wild yells of the Pawnees had frightened them into a panic and they were beyond control. They were running madly, but the Pawnees were passing on both sides of them. Another company of foes were closing in from the rear. The Cheyennes at the rear of the herd turned about and drove them back with a fierce volley of arrows. Then the Pawnees who had passed began to close in ahead of them. The Cheyennes saw the danger.

"Come, Cheyennes, follow me!" cried White Otter.

He raced forward, and a number of Cheyennes left the ponies and followed him. Sun Bird and Little Raven rode close beside him. White Otter raised his voice in the war cry and rode straight at his foes. His reckless courage roused his companions, and they charged savagely upon the surprised Pawnees and swept them from the path.

"Follow the Sioux! Follow the Sioux!" cried Red Dog.

The Cheyennes lashed the ponies into a wild burst of speed. The Pawnees began to shoot their arrows. They charged within short bow-range and made a furious attack upon the riders along the edge of the herd. A number of Cheyennes fell from their ponies. Their companions instantly closed the gap, and drove the riderless ponies into the herd. Then they sent a deadly shower of arrows against their foes. The Pawnees dropped behind their ponies for protection, but the Cheyennes brought many of the ponies to the plain.

"Yes, yes, kill the Pawnee ponies!" cried Running Crow.

At that moment, however, the entire company of Pawnees charged recklessly upon the herd. The Cheyennes fought valiantly, but they were greatly outnumbered, and the Pawnees soon broke through them. Once past the guards they rode wildly into the herd, yelling and waving their arms. The terrorized ponies scattered like a covey of frightened grouse, and fled across the plain. The Pawnees raced after them.

"Come, we must catch them!" Running Crow cried, fiercely.

"Wait," shouted Red Dog. "The Pawnees are too strong for us. They are near their camp. If we follow them many more warriors may come to help them. It is useless to throw away our lives. If we let the Pawnees kill us, what will become of our people? We must hold back. We are not strong enough to fight them."

"Red Dog, your words are good," declared White Otter. "It is useless to throw yourselves away."




Chapter XVIII

Reenforcements


The Cheyennes were disheartened by the loss of the ponies. They rode across the plain in gloomy silence. Having rallied from the catastrophe which had fallen upon their village, they were completely disheartened by the fresh disaster which had overtaken them.

"It is bad," said Running Crow. "The Evil Ones must be working against us."

The credulous Cheyennes were impressed by the thought. It deepened their gloom, and filled them with superstitious dread. Their recent misfortunes suddenly assumed a new significance. They believed that they had aroused the displeasure of the Evil Ones. The idea startled them. They feared that still greater calamities might befall them.

As the disastrous day finally came to its end, they approached a familiar camp site beside a large pool on the open plain. It was the only water within a half day's travel, and as the plain offered splendid pasturage for the ponies Red Dog determined to stop. Some of the warriors were eager to pass by, and continue the retreat from the Pawnee hunting grounds.

"No, it would be foolish," Red Dog told them. "We must stop here and rest the ponies."

The Cheyennes slid dejectedly from the ponies, and threw themselves upon the ground. They held the lariats, and watched indifferently while the ponies grazed. There was little talk. Their hearts were heavy. Their spirits were crushed. A splendid victory had ended in a bitter defeat. A number of their comrades had been killed. The Cheyennes felt subdued.

"Our brothers feel bad," Little Raven said, softly.

"Bad things have happened to them," declared Sun Bird.

White Otter made no comment. He, too, was serious and depressed. He had expected a war party of his people to come to the aid of the Cheyennes. He was at a loss to explain why they had failed to appear. Having assured the Cheyennes that the Ogalalas would help them, he feared that they might doubt the sincerity of his pledge. The thought troubled him. He felt sure that if his tribesmen had joined the war party, the Pawnees would have been beaten off.

"My people did not come," he told Sun Bird. "It is bad. I do not know what to make of it."

"Perhaps the Cheyennes took a long time to go to your village," said Sun Bird. "There were many women and children. They held back the warriors."

"Many suns have passed," White Otter reminded him.

They became silent. For a long time they sat watching the plain. White Otter looked hopefully toward the north. He knew that the Pawnees were two full days' travel from their village, and they would be forced to travel slowly with the great herd of ponies. If the Ogalalas should appear before the night passed he believed they might still overtake the Pawnees and recover the ponies. The possibility thrilled him. Then, as darkness finally came, the great hope died from his heart.

"My brothers, night has come," Red Dog told his warriors. "I do not believe the Pawnees will turn back to find us, but we must watch out. We are in the country of our enemies. I will ask some of you to ride out on the plain and watch."

"I will go," White Otter said, eagerly.

"White Otter, you are a great chief," Red Dog told him. "You have done big things to help us. You must lie down and rest. My young men will watch."

"No, no, I will watch," insisted White Otter. "Perhaps something good will come of it. Red Dog, you must listen to my words."

"I will not talk against it," said Red Dog.

"I will go," replied White Otter.

"I will go with you," said Sun Bird.

"No, my brother, I must go alone," White Otter told him.

A few moments later four scouts left the company, and disappeared into the night. One was White Otter. He rode away toward the north.

"I believe White Otter has gone to watch for his people," Little Raven told Sun Bird.

"It may be true," said Sun Bird.

Once beyond hearing of the Cheyennes, White Otter struck the piebald with his riding quirt, and the wonderful creature bounded away at marvelous speed. He rode far into the north before he finally came in sight of a dense cluster of trees. They were several arrow flights away. He stopped the piebald, and listened sharply. All was still.

"It is bad," White Otter murmured.

He rode slowly toward the timber. Then the piebald suddenly stopped and raised its head. White Otter peered eagerly into the darkness. A moment later a pony called. It was within bowshot. White Otter drew his arrows, and waited in trying suspense. The piebald was restless. He believed that some one was approaching. Then he heard voices. They were close by. He imitated the bark of the little gray fox. The sounds subsided. He listened anxiously. Many moments passed. Hope gave way to suspicion. Had he betrayed himself to his foes? The possibility startled him. Then he heard an answer to his signal. The bark of the little gray fox sounded a short distance ahead of him. His eyes flashed. His heart bounded with joy.

"Ho, Dacotahs," he cried, eagerly.

"Ho, my brother, come ahead," some one replied.

"My ears tell me who you are, but I must be cautious," said White Otter. "Come, Ogalala, tell me your name."

"Black Moccasin," said the voice.

"It is good," cried White Otter.

He rode forward, and met the famous Ogalala scout. They cantered toward the trees.

"Have you fought the Kiowas?" Black Moccasin inquired, anxiously.

"Yes, we went to their village and took away Red Dog and many ponies," White Otter told him.

"Well, we came fast, but I see that we did not get here in time to help you," said Black Moccasin.

"My brother, you must help us fight the Pawnees," replied White Otter. "The Pawnees came up with us and ran off the ponies that we took away from the Kiowas. That is why I came to find you."

"Hi, hi, that is bad," said Black Moccasin.

At that moment some one challenged them.

"It is good, my brother," cried Black Moccasin. "White Otter is here."

"Ride ahead," the scout told them.

They advanced and met Hollow Bear, another noted Ogalala warrior. He accompanied them to the grove. White Otter was overjoyed to find a great company of Ogalalas assembled at the campsite. With them were the five Cheyenne scouts who had accompanied the women and children to the Ogalala camp, and the company of warriors who had escaped from the Cheyenne village. White Otter was welcomed with enthusiasm.

"My brothers, I have found you -- it is good," he said. "There is little time to talk. First I will tell these brave Cheyennes that Red Dog is alive. We took him away from the Kiowas. We also ran off many ponies. Come, Cloud Eagle, you know my words, tell your brothers about it."

The Cheyennes were wild with joy. It was some moments before White Otter could proceed with his talk.

"Now, Cheyennes, I will tell you something bad," he said, finally. "We were driving away those ponies. Everything was good. Then the Pawnees came. They were very strong. They caught up with us and ran off those ponies. We could not stop them.

"Ogalalas, we must ride after those Pawnees and try to get back those ponies. The Pawnees are not far ahead of us. I believe they stopped when it got dark. Their village is two sun's travel away. They cannot travel fast. I believe we can come up with them. I will lead you. Come, jump on your ponies, and follow me."

The warriors ran to untie the ponies. A few moments afterward they followed their famous young war chief across the plain. It was a great war party. Wolf Robe, the venerable Ogalala chief, had sent his best fighters to aid the Cheyennes. White Otter thrilled at the thought of leading them against the Pawnees.

"White Otter, how did you come to find us?" Black Moccasin asked curiously.

"I knew about that place -- it is a good place to stop," White Otter told him. "When Red Dog stopped over there by the water I kept watching to see you. You did not come. I felt bad. Then it got dark. Then I said, 'Perhaps my brothers are close by.' Then I thought about that place. I said, 'Perhaps my brothers are waiting there until it gets light.' Then I came ahead to find out about it."

"Are the Cheyennes far away?" Black Moccasin asked him.

"No, we will soon find them," said White Otter.

He led the way at a fast pace, for he was eager to set out on the trail of the Pawnees without further delay. When they finally approached the spot where he had left the Cheyennes, White Otter raced forward in advance of the war party.

"Watch out, some one is riding fast!" the Cheyennes cried in alarm, as they heard a pony galloping toward them from the north.

"It must be White Otter," said Red Dog. "Perhaps he has found out about something."

They sprang to their feet, and waited anxiously for the rider. As he came within bowshot, they began to call.

"Who are you?" they inquired, suspiciously.

"Do not be afraid, everything is good," cried White Otter.

"Yes, yes, it is White Otter," the Cheyennes told one another.

A few moments afterward the Ogalala joined them. They gathered around him to learn what had happened.

"Listen!" he cried. "Do you hear those ponies? They are bringing my people. Cheyennes, my words have come true. The Ogalalas are coming to help you."

They heard the hoofbeats of many ponies. The sound filled them with joy. A great hope entered their hearts.

"It is the Ogalalas! It is the Ogalalas!" they cried, excitedly.

Then the great Sioux war party dashed out of the night. Their arrival threw the Cheyennes into a tumult. For a moment all was confusion. Then White Otter took command, and restored order.

"Come, come, my brothers, we are making too much noise," he said, sharply.

The great company of fighting men instantly became quiet. They dismounted and waited for instructions from their chief.

"Cheyennes, my people have come here to fight," White Otter said, proudly. "We will ride after the Pawnees. We will bring back those ponies. A Dacotah does not turn back. We will do what we set out to do. Cheyennes are you ready to go into this fight?"

"Yes, yes, we are ready!" shouted the Cheyennes.

"It is good," declared White Otter.

"Wait, Ogalalas, I will give you some words," said Red Dog. "I have talked with Cloud Eagle and Two Dogs and Walks Alone and Hairy Robe and Lame Bear. Those warriors took our women and children to your village. They gave me good words. Now I know that our people are safe in your lodges. Now I know that they will have plenty to eat and a good place to sleep in. Now I know that our people will stay with you until we fight the Pawnees and bring back the ponies. It is good. Ogalalas, you have good hearts for your friends. The Cheyennes feel good about it. We will always try to help you.

"Ogalalas, your great chief, Wolf Robe, is too old to fight, but he has sent you here to help us. It is good. Now we are strong enough to fight the Pawnees. White Otter says that a Dacotah does not turn back. It is true. The Dacotahs are very brave. Well, the Cheyennes will keep close beside you.

"Ogalalas, White Otter, your chief, is a great leader. He took me away from the Kiowas. He was the leader. He told my people how to get into that camp. We did what he told us to do. Everything was good. All my people came out of that fight. It is something to talk about. Cheyennes -- Ogalalas -- listen to my words. I am going to ask White Otter to be the leader of this great war party. He is as brave as Ma-to-ho-ta, the bear. He is as sharp as To-ka-la, the fox. He fooled the Kiowas. I believe he will fool the Pawnees. If White Otter is the leader, I believe we will get back those ponies. Now you all know how I feel about it."

His proposal was approved by the entire company. The Cheyennes believed that the young war chief of the Ogalalas possessed some mysterious power which made him immune from peril, and enabled him to triumph over his foes. They believed that his leadership greatly increased their chances for a victory over the Pawnees. The Ogalalas were equally certain of success.

"I will be the leader," said White Otter. "Now we must get away. Pretty soon the light will come. There is little time. Come, Red Dog, send some one to call in the scouts. Then we will ride away."

Red Dog sent several riders to find the three Cheyenne scouts who were watching on the plain. Then the Cheyennes gathered about the warriors who had escaped from the Cheyenne camp to learn the details of the disastrous battle with the Kiowas. It was not long, however, before they were interrupted by the arrival of the scouts. They said that they had watched carefully but had heard nothing of their foes.

"It is good," said White Otter. "Come, my brothers, get on your ponies. We will go to fight the Pawnees."




Chapter XIX

The Pawnees At Bay


Aware that each moment was precious, White Otter rode through the night at a desperate pace. Behind him thundered the great war party of Sioux and Cheyennes. Beside him rode Red Dog, the Cheyenne chief, and Black Moccasin, the famous Ogalala scout. Convinced that they would see nothing of the Pawnees until they finally came up with them, White Otter saw little need for caution. He believed that the Pawnees had stopped for the night, to rest the ponies, and he was eager to cover as much distance as possible before daylight.

The Ogalalas were enthusiastic at the idea of an encounter with their old-time enemies, the Pawnees. They knew from experience that the hated "Wolf People" were brave and stubborn fighters, but they felt confident of victory. They followed gayly after their leader, talking, and laughing and chanting their war songs. Behind them came the Cheyennes. Their gloom had vanished. Their confidence was restored. The warriors who had returned with the Ogalalas had greatly strengthened their numbers, and with the formidable Dacotahs for allies they believed that success was assured.

"Pretty soon it will be light," said White Otter. "Then we will send scouts to find the tracks of the ponies. We will follow them until we come up with the Pawnees."

"While the foolish Pawnees are sleeping, we are rushing closer," laughed Red Dog.

"Perhaps they kept going ahead," said Black Moccasin. "Perhaps they were afraid some one would follow them."

"No, I do not believe it," declared Red Dog. "They saw that we were not strong enough to fight them. They do not expect any one to follow them."

"They cannot keep running those ponies," White Otter told them. "They must stop to rest."

At dawn White Otter became more cautious. He stopped the war party and made known his plans.

"The light has come, we must look for the Pawnees," he said. "I am going to send out some scouts to find the tracks of those ponies. I will send Sun Bird, and Little Raven, and High Eagle. Now, Red Dog, you must send three of your people with my brothers."

"It is good," said Red Dog. "I will send Running Crow, and Painted Weasel and Standing Bull."

"Now, my brothers, I will tell you what to do," said White Otter. "I will ask Sun Bird and Little Raven to go ahead. I will ask the rest of you to ride out on both sides of us. Look hard until you find the tracks of those ponies. I believe they are close by. If you find them, make the signal. We will keep watching. If we find those tracks, we will make the signal. Perhaps scouts are watching on the high places. Look out for them."

The six scouts went away. Then the war party rode ahead. Eager to prevent the Pawnees from increasing their lead, they rode at a stiff pace. It was not long before they saw Standing Bull riding rapidly in a circle, some distance to the westward.

"It is good," said White Otter. "Standing Bull has found the tracks. We will go over there."

Standing Bull and Painted Weasel had found the trail of the Pawnees. A close examination of the tracks convinced White Otter that the Pawnees were traveling at a moderate pace.

"They made those tracks before the last sun went away," he said.

"It is true," agreed Black Moccasin.

"Call the scouts," said White Otter. "Then we will go ahead, and find out where the Pawnees stopped."

They saw one of the scouts approaching from the east. The fact that he was alone made them suspicious. They believed that his companion had remained to watch something. As the rider came nearer they saw that it was High Eagle, the Ogalala.

"We saw some people far away toward the Place-where-the-day-begins," said High Eagle. "Three were on ponies. They rode ahead. Four were on foot."

"Which way are they going?" inquired White Otter.

"They are going straight ahead -- the same way we are going," High Eagle told him. "They are far away. Running Crow is watching them."

"I believe those people are Kiowas," said White Otter. "We chased them far away. Now they are going back to their village. We will not think about them."

"Yes, yes, it must be the Kiowas," laughed Red Dog.

"High Eagle, we have found the tracks of the Pawnees," said White Otter. "We are going to follow them. Go back there and bring Running Crow."

When they learned that the scouts had discovered a small company of Kiowas, some of the Cheyennes were eager to ride away in pursuit of them. White Otter immediately objected. He realized that the maneuver would cause delay and confusion, and might betray them to the Pawnees.

"No, you must not go over there," he said. "You must keep going ahead to catch the Pawnees. If you hold back they will get to their village. Then it will be hard to run off the ponies. I am the leader. You must do as I tell you."

Red Dog repeated the message to the Cheyennes, and they dismissed the Kiowas from their thoughts. They knew that White Otter and his warriors were risking their lives to help them, and they were eager to obey his commands. Then they saw High Eagle and Running Crow riding to join them. Sun Bird and Little Raven, however, had failed to appear. White Otter felt little fear for their safety. He believed that they were scouting carefully in advance of the war party in an effort to locate the Pawnees.

"Pretty soon they will come," he told Red Dog.

A few moments afterward they rode over a low ridge, and saw the two Minneconjoux scouts. They were waiting at a grove of cottonwoods. The war party raced forward to join them.

"Here is the place where the Pawnees stopped," said Sun Bird, as White Otter approached.

"Yes, I see where the ponies were feeding," replied White Otter.

He believed that the Pawnees had remained at the spot until daylight. In that event he realized that they could not be very far ahead of him. He hoped to come in sight of them before the end of the day.

"We must go on," said White Otter.

They galloped away on the trail. It led directly toward the south. As they advanced the plain became rough and broken, and there were many low knolls and ridges. White Otter realized that it offered splendid protection to hostile scouts, and he became more cautious.

"Come, Sun Bird, ride ahead and keep watching the high places," he said. "I will ask Little Raven to go with you. Follow the tracks of the ponies. We will ride behind you."

The Minneconjoux galloped away. The war party rode easily until the scouts were a long way ahead. Then they again raced their ponies at high speed in the hope of soon overtaking the Pawnees.

As the day advanced and they failed to see anything of their foes, some of the warriors feared that they would be unable to overtake them before they reached the great Pawnee camp. The thought discouraged them. White Otter, however, was still hopeful of coming up with them. He felt sure that he was steadily gaining upon them, and he expected to see them before the end of the day. Red Dog, too, was confident that they would come in contact with the Pawnees before nightfall.

"Hi, hi, I believe our brothers have found them!" Black Moccasin cried, excitedly.

The Minneconjoux were riding in a circle on the top of a low hill. The war party rode toward them with high hopes.

"What has happened?" White Otter inquired, anxiously.

"We saw two riders over there on that next hill," said Sun Bird. "They went away very fast. I believe they were Pawnee scouts."

"Did they see you?" asked White Otter.

"Yes," replied Sun Bird. "They must have been peeping over that high place. We looked sharp, but we could not see them. When we went up that hill we saw them riding away. They kept looking back. Then we rode here to call you."

"It is bad," said Red Dog. "They will tell their people about us. Now it will be hard to catch them."

"Well, my brothers, there is no use of talking about it," declared White Otter. "There is only one thing to do. We must rush ahead and try to catch the Pawnees before they get away."

"Yes, that is the only thing to do," said Black Moccasin.

They raced ahead at top speed. They had gone only a short distance when they saw a small company of horsemen sweep into view over a nearby rise of the plain. They stopped at sight of the war party. Then they turned and raced toward the south. They appeared to have been thrown into a panic. White Otter and his warriors rode after them with the fierce eagerness of wolves in sight of game.

"Those warriors came to find us, but they found something different," laughed Little Raven.

"Their people must be close by," declared White Otter.

The Pawnees had disappeared behind the ridge. When the war party reached it, they saw them still riding furiously toward the south. They had lost considerable ground, however, and White Otter felt encouraged.

"We will come up with them," he told his companions.

"Yes, yes, we are closing in," said Red Dog.

They heard the scouts whooping fiercely, and they believed that they were attempting to warn their tribesmen. Then they discovered a great smother of dust rising in the distance. They realized that they had come in sight of the Pawnees.

"Come, come, ride faster!" cried White Otter.

They forced the ponies into a terrific pace. They were steadily gaining upon the four scouts. The latter were making frantic efforts to escape.

"Pretty soon we will catch those riders," White Otter declared, grimly.

At that moment, however, the Pawnee scouts turned toward the east. White Otter instantly detected the clever ruse.

"Do not follow them," he cried. "They are trying to lead us off. Keep after the ponies."

Then they swept over a rise of the plain, and saw the Pawnees and the ponies directly ahead of them. They were a long distance away, however, and were riding desperately. They appeared to have the great herd of ponies under complete control, and White Otter realized that the chase threatened to be a long one.

"They are far ahead of us," he said, soberly.

Having actually sighted the Pawnees, the war party was determined to overtake them. Forcing the ponies to a killing pace, they began to gain upon their foes. Stride by stride they overcame the lead of the Pawnees until the latter were barely two arrow flights away. Then the Pawnees lashed the ponies into a furious sprint, and held off their pursuers. The wild race across the plain became a test of endurance between the rival ponies. Both companies of riders knew that the gallant little beasts must eventually collapse, but each hoped that their foes would be the first to weaken. The ponies appeared to be well matched, however, and the exhausting chase continued.

The Pawnees were approaching a long, straggling line of trees that reached far across the plain. White Otter knew that the timber marked the course of a stream. He rode wildly to overtake his foes before they reached it. Once they crossed the water he realized that it would be difficult to reach them, and still more difficult to secure the ponies. His efforts were useless, however, for the Pawnees held their lead. They were still safely beyond arrow range when they finally forced their gasping ponies across the stream, and came to a stand in the timber along the bank. White Otter pulled up the sweating piebald. The long pursuit had come to an end. The Pawnees had placed a formidable barrier between them and their foes. For the moment, at least, they were safe from attack.

"Now I know why they did not stop to fight," White Otter said, bitterly. "They were trying to get to that place. Now they are there. It is bad."

"Well, we made them stop," declared Red Dog.

"Yes, we kept them from getting to their camp," said Black Moccasin. "Now we are close. They cannot get away. Pretty soon we will go over there and run off the ponies."

"My brother, that will be a hard thing to do," White Otter told him.




Chapter XX

A Hard Won Victory


White Otter and his warriors approached within bowshot of the stream. Then they sat upon their tired ponies, and stared silently across at the Pawnees. The latter were in sight among the trees. They had driven the captured ponies from the timber, and were herding them upon the open plain. Less than a third of the company guarded them. The rest of the Pawnees were watching along the bank of the stream.

"Perhaps those warriors will try to hold us back while their friends get away with the ponies," Red Dog declared, suspiciously.

"I believe that is what they propose to do," said Black Moccasin.

"No, I do not believe it," White Otter told them. "Those ponies have come a long ways. They have run fast. The Pawnees will let them rest. When it gets dark perhaps they will try to take them away."

"I believe what White Otter says is true," declared Sun Bird.

The Pawnees had gained the advantage. White Otter realized that an attempt to cross the stream might result in heavy loss. He determined to wait until he had carefully studied the possibilities. Both the Ogalalas and the Cheyennes, however, were eager to make an attack. The Pawnees were jeering, and daring them to cross the stream.

"Hi, you Dacotahs, are you afraid to follow us through the water?" some one called, mockingly. "You came here to help the Cheyennes. Why are you holding back? Have we frightened you? Go back to your lodges and sit with the old women. Perhaps they will tell you how to fight."

The taunt roused the Ogalalas into a frenzy. They were wild with rage. Some of them rode recklessly to the edge of the stream. Many of the Cheyennes followed them. White Otter warned them against attempting to cross.

"Stop!" he cried. "The Pawnees are trying to catch you. Are you going to throw away your lives? The Pawnees are like Zi-ca, the squirrel. They make a big noise, but they hide behind the trees. They are trying to make you mad. If you ride into the water, they will kill you with their arrows. Come, my brothers, turn back. Shake the words of the Pawnees from your ears."

The Ogalalas saw the wisdom of his words. They lingered a moment or so, shouting boastful threats against the Pawnees. Then they turned back. The Cheyennes accompanied them. The Pawnees laughed fiercely.

A moment afterward a ringing shout sounded farther along the stream. The Pawnee scouts had crossed, a long distance to the eastward. They were riding to join their tribesmen.

"Those Pawnees feel very brave," laughed White Otter.

The day was passing, and White Otter realized that he must decide upon a plan of action. He left High Eagle and a small company of scouts to watch the Pawnees, and then he led the war party beyond earshot of their foes. He called a council and asked Running Crow to act as interpreter.

"My friends, we must find out the best way to run off those ponies," he said. "When it gets dark we must be ready to do something. Now I will tell you how I feel about it. I believe the Pawnees will try to send away those ponies. They will try to fool us. We must be sharp. I will tell you what I propose to do. If any of you feel different about it, you must talk against it.

"Now, my brothers, listen sharp. I believe there is only one way to get those ponies. When it gets dark we will send scouts along the water. They must follow along the water until they find a good place to go across. Then they must go across, and watch the Pawnees. If the Pawnees try to run off the ponies, the scouts must make the signal. After those scouts go away we will make two war parties. Our brothers, the Cheyennes, will keep together. Red Dog will be the leader. My people will keep together. I will be the leader. One war party must stay here. One war party must go toward the Place-where-the-day-begins. Then that war party must circle around and cross over the water. Those warriors must run off the ponies. The war party that stays here must go straight ahead to fight the Pawnees. Then we will be on two sides of them. Now I have told you how I feel about it."

"My brothers, you have heard the words of a great chief," said Red Dog. "White Otter is the leader. I will do as he proposes to do. I believe it is good."

"Cheyennes, I believe White Otter has told us the best way to fight the Pawnees," said Running Crow.

"My friends, White Otter is a great war leader," declared Black Moccasin. "He has led his people in many battles. If we do as he tells us to do, I believe we will get back those ponies."

Many more warriors indorsed the plan of the Ogalala chief. No one spoke against it. Having led them to a splendid victory over the Kiowas, the Cheyennes felt confident that he would be equally successful against the Pawnees.

"Well, my brothers, I see that there is no one to talk against this thing -- we will go ahead with it," White Otter told them. "Now I will call out the names of the scouts who must go to watch the Pawnees. I will call my brother Hollow Bear, and I will call Standing Bull. Hollow Bear is an Ogalala. Standing Bull is a Cheyenne. Both of them are great warriors. Now I will tell you about those war parties. I see that there are more Ogalalas than Cheyennes. The Ogalalas must fight the Pawnees. The Cheyennes must try to get the ponies. Come, Red Dog, tell me how you feel about it."

"It is good," agreed Red Dog.

Having decided upon the plan of attack, the war party again approached the stream. High Eagle and his companions said that the Pawnees had made no attempt to leave the timber. White Otter felt sure that they, too, were waiting to attempt some bold bit of stratagem under cover of the night. The thought made him suspicious, and watchful. He saw nothing which would give him a clew to the intentions of the Pawnees.

As the light slowly faded from the plain the Pawnees began to sing their war songs and shout fierce threats against their enemies. The Ogalalas and the Cheyennes listened in silence. The threatening flash of their eyes, however, betrayed the wrath that blazed in their hearts. They waited for darkness, and the opportunity to rush upon their foes.

In the meantime Hollow Bear and Standing Bull had ridden away on their perilous mission. They went a considerable distance toward the north before they finally turned to the eastward. Then they made a wide detour and approached the stream. They waited a long time at the edge of the water, listening for sounds from their foes. As they heard nothing to alarm them, they rode cautiously into the stream. They reached the opposite side in safety, and moved out upon the plain.

Soon afterward Red Dog and his warriors arrived at the stream, an arrow flight from the place where the scouts had crossed. They, too, stopped to listen. All was quiet. The Cheyennes, however, waited beside the water. They were listening for the signal which would warn them that the Ogalalas had begun the fight.

"My brothers, the scouts have gone," White Otter told the Ogalalas. "I believe they are across the water. Red Dog and his brothers have gone. I believe they are waiting for the signal. Everything is ready. We must begin the fight. I will ask you to be brave. Drive back the Pawnees and get to the ponies. Red Dog and his warriors will come to help us. Keep close around the ponies. Drive them across the water. Are you ready?"

"Hi, hi!" cried the Ogalalas.

"Come!" shouted White Otter.

At that moment they heard the thunder of hoofbeats across the stream. A piercing shout rang through the night. It was a warning from the scouts. Then the wild yells of the Pawnees sounded from the edge of the water. The Ogalalas realized what had happened.

"They are running off the ponies!" cried White Otter. "Follow me!"

The Ogalalas raised the great Dacotah war cry, and rode boldly into the stream. They heard Red Dog and the Cheyennes farther to the eastward. The Pawnees began to shoot their arrows. The Sioux sent a volley into the timber. Then they lashed their ponies forward, and charged recklessly upon their foes. The Pawnees held their ground, and offered desperate resistance. The Sioux, however, were thoroughly aroused, and they fought with a sullen ferocity that made them irresistible. The Pawnees finally gave way, and raced across the plain in pursuit of the ponies. The Ogalalas kept close behind them. They heard the Cheyennes whooping fiercely, and they believed that they had overtaken the herd.

"Hi, hi, the Cheyennes are making a big fight!" the Dacotahs cried, excitedly.

When they were within arrow range of the ponies, the Pawnees turned and fought savagely to hold them back. For a moment the Sioux were halted. Then they rallied, and swept forward in a ferocious attack that completely overcame their foes. A moment afterward they were at the rear of the herd.

In the meantime Red Dog and his tribesmen had raced ahead of the Pawnees, and were attempting to turn the ponies. Once at the front of the herd, they rode wildly among the Pawnees and drove the frightened ponies from their course. Whooping, and lashing furiously with their heavy riding quirts, they gradually forced the ponies toward the east. The Pawnees attacked them with great bravery, but the Cheyennes beat them off. Then a company of Ogalalas raced along the flank of the herd and came to the assistance of their allies.

"Turn the ponies -- run them to the water!" they cried.

They soon gained control of the herd and raced the ponies toward the stream. The Pawnees had no thought of yielding. Infuriated by the success of their foes, they fought valiantly to regain possession of the ponies.

"Hold them off, hold them off!" shouted White Otter.

While Red Dog and a company of Cheyennes rode ahead to drive aside the Pawnees, the rest of the war party surrounded the herd. The Pawnees found it impossible to reach the ponies. They rode close up to their foes and fought with reckless courage, but each time they were driven off.

"Hi, the Pawnees are brave," Sun Bird told White Otter.

"Yes, they are making a great fight," acknowledged White Otter.

When they finally reached the timber the ponies attempted to turn aside, and in a moment the herd was thrown into wild confusion. The Pawnees were quick to seize the opportunity. Yelling fiercely, they dashed forward like a pack of mad wolves, and attempted to cause a stampede.

"Come, Cheyennes, drive the ponies into the water!" cried White Otter. "Ogalalas, hold back the Pawnees!"

Then the Sioux and the Pawnees fought a thrilling hand-to-hand encounter, while the Cheyennes made frantic attempts to drive the unruly ponies into the timber. Wild with panic, the frenzied beasts plunged, and reared, and kicked in their efforts to break through the circle of riders that surrounded them. At last the Cheyennes lashed them into submission and drove them forward. They plunged down the bank, and floundered wildly across the stream. Then the Cheyennes raced them away into the north.

"Hi, my brothers, some of us must go back there, and help our brothers, the Ogalalas," said Red Dog, when they were several arrow flights from the stream.

Then they heard the Dacotah war cry ringing through the night. Soon afterward White Otter and his gallant fighters overtook them. They were in high spirits.

"Where are the Pawnees?" inquired Red Dog.

"They are running to their lodges," laughed White Otter.

"White Otter, you are a great chief," declared Red Dog. "The Ogalalas are as brave as Ma-to-ho-ta, the bear. We will go to your village, and tell your people what you have done. Yes, we will give some ponies to your chief, Wolf Robe."

"It is good," replied White Otter.

Then he called Sun Bird and Little Raven to ride beside him. It was a long time before he spoke.

"My brothers, we have done what we set out to do," he said, finally. "It was a great fight. Many brave warriors were killed. I will not talk about it. You were very brave. You have helped me to do a big thing. Sun Bird, I saw you drive back many Pawnees. Yes, you were always in the fight. Little Raven, I saw you fight off three Pawnees. Yes, I saw you do some big things. My brothers, I will tell your great chief Curly Horse about you. I will tell him that you did big things to help my people."

"White Otter, your words make me feel good," said Sun Bird. "You came to our lodges and went with us to fight the Blackfeet. Now we have helped you fight the Pawnees. It is good. We are Dacotahs. A Dacotah will fight for his brother."

"It is true," declared Little Raven.

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The Book Of Nature Myths

By

Florence Holbrook



The Story Of The First Humming-Bird.


Part I. The Great Fire-Mountain.

Long, long ago, when the earth was very young, two hunters were traveling through the forest. They had been on the track of a deer for many days, and they were now far away from the village where they lived. The sun went down and night came on. It was dark and gloomy, but over in the western sky there came a bright light.

"It is the moon," said one.

"No," said the other. "We have watched many and many a night to see the great, round moon rise above the trees. That is not the moon. Is it the northern lights?"

"No, the northern lights are not like this, and it is not a comet. What can it be?"

It is no wonder that the hunters were afraid, for the flames flared red over the sky like a wigwam on fire. Thick, blue smoke floated above the flames and hid the shining stars.

"Do the flames and smoke come from the wigwam of the Great Spirit?" asked one.

"I fear that he is angry with his children, and that the flames are his fiery war-clubs," whispered the other. No sleep came to their eyes. All night long they watched and wondered, and waited in terror for the morning.

When morning came, the two hunters were still watching the sky. Little by little they saw that there was a high mountain in the west where the light had been, and above the mountain floated a dark blue smoke. "Come," said one, "we will go and see what it is."

They walked and walked till they came close to the mountain, and then they saw fire shining through the seams of the rocks. "It is a mountain of fire," one whispered. "Shall we go on?" "We will," said the other, and they went higher and higher up the mountain. At last they stood upon its highest point. "Now we know the secret," they cried. "Our people will be glad when they hear this."

Swiftly they went home through the forest to their own village. "We have found a wonder," they cried. "We have found the home of the Fire Spirit. We know where she keeps her flames to help the Great Spirit and his children. It is a mountain of fire. Blue smoke rises above it night and day, for its heart is a fiery sea, and on the sea the red flames leap and dance. Come with us to the wonderful mountain of fire."

The people of the village had been cold in the winter nights, and they cried, "O brothers, your words are good. We will move our lodges to the foot of the magic mountain. We can light our wigwam fires from its flames, and we shall not fear that we shall perish in the long, cold nights of winter."

So the Indians went to live at the foot of the fire-mountain, and when the cold nights came, they said, "We are not cold, for the Spirit of Fire is our good friend, and she keeps her people from perishing."


Part II. The Frolic Of The Flames.

For many and many a moon the people of the village lived at the foot of the great fire-mountain. On summer evenings, the children watched the light, and when a child asked, "Father, what makes it?" the father said, "That is the home of the Great Spirit of Fire, who is our good friend." Then all in the little village went to sleep and lay safely on their beds till the coming of the morning.

But one night when all the people in the village were asleep, the flames in the mountain had a great frolic. They danced upon the sea of fire as warriors dance the war-dance. They seized great rocks and threw them at the sky. The smoke above them hid the stars; the mountain throbbed and trembled. Higher and still higher sprang the dancing flames. At last, they leaped clear above the highest point of the mountain and started down it in a river of red fire. Then the gentle Spirit of Fire called, "Come back, my flames, come back again! The people in the village will not know that you are in a frolic, and they will be afraid."

The flames did not heed her words, and the river of fire ran on and on, straight down the mountain. The flowers in its pathway perished. It leaped upon great trees and bore them to the earth. It drove the birds from their nests, and they fluttered about in the thick smoke. It hunted the wild creatures of the forest from the thickets where they hid, and they fled before it in terror.

At last, one of the warriors in the village awoke. The thick smoke was in his nostrils. In his ears was the war-cry of the flames. He sprang to the door of his lodge and saw the fiery river leaping down the mountain. "My people, my people," he cried, "the flames are upon us!" With cries of fear the people in the village fled far away into the forest, and the flames feasted upon the homes they loved.

The two hunters went to look upon the mountain, and when they came back, they said sadly, "There are no flowers on the mountain. Not a bird-song did we hear. Not a living creature did we see. It is all dark and gloomy. We know the fire is there, for the blue smoke still floats up to the sky, but the mountain will never again be our friend."


Part III. The Bird Of Flame

When the Great Spirit saw the work of the flames, he was very angry. "The fires of this mountain must perish," he said. "No longer shall its red flames light the midnight sky."

The mountain trembled with fear at the angry words of the Great Spirit. "O father of all fire and light," cried the Fire Spirit, "I know that the flames have been cruel. They killed the beautiful flowers and drove your children from their homes, but for many, many moons they heeded my words and were good and gentle. They drove the frost and cold of winter from the wigwams of the village. The little children laughed to see their red light in the sky. The hearts of your people will be sad, if the flames must perish from the earth."

The Great Spirit listened to the words of the gentle Spirit of Fire, but he answered, "The fires must perish. They have been cruel to my people, and the little children will fear them now; but because the children once loved them, the beautiful colors of the flames shall still live to make glad the hearts of all who look upon them."

Then the Great Spirit struck the mountain with his magic war-club. The smoke above it faded away; its fires grew cold and dead. In its dark and gloomy heart only one little flame still trembled. It looked like a star. How beautiful it was!

The Great Spirit looked upon the little flame. He saw that it was beautiful and gentle, and he loved it. "The fires of the mountain must perish," he said, "but you little, gentle flame, shall have wings and fly far away from the cruel fires, and all my children will love you as I do." Swiftly the little thing rose above the mountain and flew away in the sunshine. The light of the flames was still on its head; their marvelous colors were on its wings.

So from the mountain's heart of fire sprang the first humming-bird. It is the bird of flame, for it has all the beauty of the colors of the flame, but it is gentle, and every child in all the earth loves it and is glad to see it fluttering over the flowers.



The Story Of The First Butterflies.


The Great Spirit thought, "By and by I will make men, but first I will make a home for them. It shall be very bright and beautiful. There shall be mountains and prairies and forests, and about it all shall be the blue waters of the sea."

As the Great Spirit had thought, so he did. He gave the earth a soft cloak of green. He made the prairies beautiful with flowers. The forests were bright with birds of many colors, and the sea was the home of wonderful sea-creatures. "My children will love the prairies, the forests, and the seas," he thought, "but the mountains look dark and cold. They are very dear to me, but how shall I make my children go to them and so learn to love them?"

Long the Great Spirit thought about the mountains. At last, he made many little shining stones. Some were red, some blue, some green, some yellow, and some were shining with all the lovely colors of the beautiful rainbow. "All my children will love what is beautiful," he thought, "and if I hide the bright stones in the seams of the rocks of the mountains, men will come to find them, and they will learn to love my mountains."

When the stones were made and the Great Spirit looked upon their beauty, he said, "I will not hide you all away in the seams of the rocks. Some of you shall be out in the sunshine, so that the little children who cannot go to the mountains shall see your colors." Then the southwind came by, and as he went, he sang softly of forests flecked with light and shadow, of birds and their nests in the leafy trees. He sang of long summer days and the music of waters beating upon the shore. He sang of the moonlight and the starlight. All the wonders of the night, all the beauty of the morning, were in his song.

"Dear southwind," said the Great Spirit "here are some beautiful things for you to bear away with, you to your summer home. You will love them, and all the little children will love them." At these words of the Great Spirit, all the stones before him stirred with life and lifted themselves on many-colored wings. They fluttered away in the sunshine, and the southwind sang to them as they went.

So it was that the first butterflies came from a beautiful thought of the Great Spirit, and in their wings were all the colors of the shining stones that he did not wish to hide away.



The Story Of The First Woodpecker.


In the days of long ago the Great Spirit came down from the sky and talked with men. Once as he went up and down the earth, he came to the wigwam of a woman. He went into the wigwam and sat down by the fire, but he looked like an old man, and the woman did not know who he was.

"I have fasted for many days," said the Great Spirit to the woman. "Will you give me some food?" The woman made a very little cake and put it on the fire. "You can have this cake," she said, "if you will wait for it to bake." "I will wait," he said.

When the cake was baked, the woman stood and looked at it. She thought, "It is very large. I thought it was small. I will not give him so large a cake as that." So she put it away and made a small one. "If you will wait, I will give you this when it is baked," she said, and the Great Spirit said, "I will wait."

When that cake was baked, it was larger than the first one. "It is so large that I will keep it for a feast," she thought. So she said to her guest, "I will not give you this cake, but if you will wait, I will make you another one." "I will wait," said the Great Spirit again.

Then the woman made another cake. It was still smaller than the others had been at first, but when she went to the fire for it, she found it the largest of all. She did not know that the Great Spirit's magic had made each cake larger, and she thought, "This is a marvel, but I will not give away the largest cake of all." So she said to her guest, "I have no food for you. Go to the forest and look there for your food. You can find it in the bark of the trees, if you will."

The Great Spirit was angry when he heard the words of the woman. He rose up from where he sat and threw back his cloak. "A woman must be good and gentle," he said, "and you are cruel. You shall no longer be a woman and live in a wigwam. You shall go out into the forest and hunt for your food in the bark of trees."

The Great Spirit stamped his foot on the earth, and the woman grew smaller and smaller. Wings started from her body and feathers grew upon her. With a loud cry she rose from the earth and flew away to the forest.

And to this day all woodpeckers live in the forest and hunt for their food in the bark of trees.



Why The Woodpecker's Head Is Red.


One day the woodpecker said to the Great Spirit, "Men do not like me. I wish they did."

The Great Spirit said, "If you wish men to love you, you must be good to them and help them. Then they will call you their friend."

"How can a little bird help a man?" asked the woodpecker.

"If one wishes to help, the day will come when he can help," said the Great Spirit. The day did come, and this story shows how a little bird helped a strong warrior.

There was once a cruel magician who lived in a gloomy wigwam beside the Black-Sea-Water. He did not like flowers, and they did not blossom in his pathway. He did not like birds, and they did not sing in the trees above him. The breath of his nostrils was fatal to all life. North, south, east, and west he blew the deadly fever that killed the women and the little children.

"Can I help them?" thought a brave warrior, and he said, "I will find the magician, and see if death will not come to him as he has made it come to others. I will go straightway to his home."

For many days the brave warrior was in his canoe traveling across the Black-Sea-Water. At last he saw the gloomy wigwam of the cruel magician. He shot an arrow at the door and called, "Come out, O coward! You have killed women and children with your fatal breath, but you cannot kill a warrior. Come out and fight, if you are not afraid."

The cruel magician laughed loud and long. "One breath of fever," he said, "and you will fall to the earth." The warrior shot again, and then the magician was angry. He did not laugh, but he came straight out of his gloomy lodge, and as he came, he blew the fever all about him.

Then was seen the greatest fight that the sun had ever looked upon. The brave warrior shot his flint-tipped arrows, but the magician had on his magic cloak, and the arrows could not wound him. He blew from his nostrils the deadly breath of fever, but the heart of the warrior was so strong that the fever could not kill him.

At last the brave warrior had but three arrows in his quiver. "What shall I do?" he said sadly. "My arrows are good and my aim is good, but no arrow can go through the magic cloak."

"Come on, come on," called the magician. "You are the man who wished to fight. Come on." Then a woodpecker in a tree above the brave warrior said softly, "Aim your arrow at his head, O warrior! Do not shoot at his heart, but at the crest of feathers on his head. He can be wounded there, but not in his heart."

The warrior was not so proud that he could not listen to a little bird. The magician bent to lift a stone, and an arrow flew from the warrior's bow. It buzzed and stung like a wasp. It came so close to the crest of feathers that the magician trembled with terror. Before he could run, another arrow came, and this one struck him right on his crest. His heart grew cold with fear. "Death has struck me," he cried.

"Your cruel life is over," said the warrior. "People shall no longer fear your fatal breath." Then he said to the woodpecker, "Little bird, you have been a good friend to me, and I will do all that I can for you." He put some of the red blood of the magician upon the little creature's head. It made the crest of feathers there as red as flame. "Whenever a man looks upon you," said the warrior, "he will say, 'That bird is our friend. He helped to kill the cruel magician.'"

The little woodpecker was very proud of his red crest because it showed that he was the friend of man, and all his children to this day are as proud as he was.



Why The Cat Always Falls Upon Her Feet.


Some magicians are cruel, but others are gentle and good to all the creatures of the earth. One of these good magicians was one day traveling in a great forest. The sun rose high in the heavens, and he lay down at the foot of a tree. Soft, green moss grew all about him. The sun shining through the leaves made flecks of light and shadow upon the earth. He heard the song of the bird and the lazy buzz of the wasp. The wind rustled the leafy boughs above him. All the music of the forest lulled him to slumber, and he closed his eyes.

As the magician lay asleep, a great serpent came softly from the thicket. It lifted high its shining crest and saw the man at the foot of the tree. "I will kill him!" it hissed. "I could have eaten that cat last night if he had not called, 'Watch, little cat, watch!' I will kill him, I will kill him!"

Closer and closer the deadly serpent moved. The magician stirred in his sleep. "Watch, little cat, watch!" he said softly. The serpent drew back, but the magician's eyes were shut, and it went closer. It hissed its war-cry. The sleeping magician did not move. The serpent was upon him -- no, far up in the high branches of the tree above his head the little cat lay hidden. She had seen the serpent when it came from the thicket.

She watched it as it went closer and closer to the sleeping man, and she heard it hiss its war-cry. The little cat's body quivered with anger and with fear, for she was so little and the serpent was so big. "The magician was very good to me," she thought, and she leaped down upon the serpent.

Oh, how angry the serpent was! It hissed, and the flames shot from its eyes. It struck wildly at the brave little cat, but now the cat had no fear. Again and again she leaped upon the serpent's head, and at last the creature lay dead beside the sleeping man whom it had wished to kill.

When the magician awoke, the little cat lay on the earth, and not far away was the dead serpent. He knew at once what the cat had done, and he said, "Little cat, what can I do to show you honor for your brave fight? Your eyes are quick to see, and your ears are quick to hear. You can run very swiftly. I know what I can do for you. You shall be known over the earth as the friend of man, and you shall always have a home in the home of man. And one thing more, little cat: you leaped from the high tree to kill the deadly serpent, and now as long as you live, you shall leap where you will, and you shall always fall upon your feet."



Why The Swallow's Tail Is Forked.


This is the story of how the swallow's tail came to be forked.

One day the Great Spirit asked all the animals that he had made to come to his lodge. Those that could fly came first: the robin, the bluebird, the owl, the butterfly, the wasp, and the firefly. Behind them came the chicken, fluttering its wings and trying hard to keep up. Then came the deer, the squirrel, the serpent, the cat, and the rabbit. Last of all came the bear, the beaver, and the hedgehog. Every one traveled as swiftly as he could, for each wished to hear the words of the Great Spirit.

"I have called you together," said the Great Spirit, "because I often hear you scold and fret. What do you wish me to do for you? How can I help you?"

"I do not like to hunt so long for my food," said the bear.

"I do not like to build nests," said the bluebird.

"I do not like to live in the water," said the beaver.

"And I do not like to live in a tree," said the squirrel.

At last man stood erect before the Great Spirit and said, "O Great Father, the serpent feasts upon my blood. Will you not give him some other food?"

"And why?" asked the Great Spirit.

"Because I am the first of all the creatures you have made," answered man proudly.

Then every animal in the lodge was angry to hear the words of man. The squirrel chattered, the wasp buzzed, the owl hooted, and the serpent hissed.

"Hush, be still," said the Great Spirit. "You are, O man, the first of my creatures, but I am the father of all. Each one has his rights, and the serpent must have his food. Mosquito, you are a great traveler. Now fly away and find what creature's blood is best for the serpent. Do you all come back in a year and a day."

The animals straightway went to their homes. Some went to the river, some to the forest, and some to the prairie, to wait for the day when they must meet at the lodge of the Great Spirit.

The mosquito traveled over the earth and stung every creature that he met to find whose blood was the best for the serpent. On his way back to the lodge of the Great Spirit he looked up into the sky, and there was the swallow.

"Good-day, swallow," called the mosquito.

"I am glad to see you, my friend," sang the swallow. "Are you going to the lodge of the Great Spirit? And have you found out whose blood is best for the serpent?"

"The blood of man," answered the mosquito.

The mosquito did not like man, but the swallow had always been his friend. "What can I do to help man?" he thought. "Oh, I know what I can do." Then he asked the mosquito, "Whose blood did you say?"

"Man's blood," said the mosquito; "that is best."

"This is best," said the swallow, and he tore out the mosquito's tongue.

The mosquito buzzed angrily and went quickly to the Great Spirit.

"All the animals are here," said the Great Spirit. "They are waiting to hear whose blood is best for the serpent."

The mosquito tried to answer, "The blood of man," but he could not say a word. He could make no sound but "Kss-ksss-ksssss!"

"What do you say?"

"Kss-ksss-ksssss!" buzzed the mosquito angrily.

All the creatures wondered. Then said the swallow: -- 

"Great Father, the mosquito is timid and cannot answer you. I met him before we came, and he told me whose blood it was."

"Then let us know at once," said the Great Spirit.

"It is the blood of the frog," answered the swallow quickly. "Is it not so, friend mosquito?"

"Kss-ksss-ksssss!" hissed the angry mosquito.

"The serpent shall have the frog's blood," said the Great Spirit. "Man shall be his food no longer."

Now the serpent was angry with the swallow, for he did not like frog's blood. As the swallow flew near him, he seized him by the tail and tore away a little of it. This is why the swallow's tail is forked, and it is why man always looks upon the swallow as his friend.



Why The White Hares Have Black Ears.


In the forest there is a beautiful spirit. All the beasts and all the birds are dear to him, and he likes to have them gentle and good. One morning he saw some of his little white hares fighting one another, and each trying to seize the best of the food.

"Oh, my selfish little hares," he said sadly, "why do you fight and try to seize the best of everything for yourselves? Why do you not live in love together?"

"Tell us a story and we will be good," cried the hares.

Then the spirit of the forest was glad. "I will tell you a story of how you first came to live on the green earth with the other animals," he said, "and why it is that you are white, and the other hares are not."

Then the little hares came close about the spirit of the forest, and sat very still to hear the story.

"Away up above the stars," the gentle spirit began, "the sky children were all together one snowy day. They threw snowflakes at one another, and some of the snowflakes fell from the sky. They came down swiftly between the stars and among the branches of the trees. At last they lay on the green earth. They were the first that had ever come to the earth, and no one knew what they were. The swallow asked, 'What are they?' and the butterfly answered, 'I do not know.' The spirit of the sky was listening, and he said, 'We call them snowflakes.'

"'I never heard of snowflakes. Are they birds or beasts?' asked the butterfly.

"'They are snowflakes,' answered the spirit of the sky, 'but they are magic snowflakes. Watch them closely.'

"The swallow and the butterfly watched. Every snowflake showed two bright eyes, then two long ears, then some soft feet, and there were the whitest, softest little hares that were ever seen."

"Were we the little white hares?" asked the listeners.

"You were the little white hares," answered the spirit, "and if you are gentle and good, you will always be white."

The hares were not gentle and good; they were fretful, and before long they were scolding and fighting again. The gentle spirit was angry. "I must get a firebrand and beat them with it," he said, "for they must learn to be good."

So the hares were beaten with the firebrand till their ears were black as night. Their bodies were still white, but if the spirit hears them scolding and fighting again, it may be that we shall see their bodies as black as their ears.



Why The Magpie's Nest Is Not Well Built.


A long time ago all the birds met together to talk about building nests.

"Every Indian has a wigwam," said the robin, "and every bird needs a home."

"Indians have no feathers," said the owl, "and so they are cold without wigwams. We have feathers."

"I keep warm by flying swiftly," said the swallow.

"And I keep warm by fluttering my wings," said the humming-bird.

"By and by we shall have our little ones," said the robin. "They will have no feathers on their wings, so they cannot fly or flutter; and they will be cold. How shall we keep them warm if we have no nests?"

Then all the birds said, "We will build nests so that our little ones will be warm."

The birds went to work. One brought twigs, one brought moss, and one brought leaves. They sang together merrily, for they thought of the little ones that would some time come to live in the warm nests.

Now the magpie was lazy, and she sat still and watched the others at their work.

"Come and build your nest in the reeds and rushes," cried one bird, but the magpie said "No."

"My nest is on the branch of a tree," called another, "and it rocks like a child's cradle. Come and build beside it," but the magpie said "No."

Before long all the birds but the magpie had their nests built. The magpie cried, "I do not know how to build a nest. Will you not help me?"

The other birds were sorry for her and answered, "We will teach you." The black-bird said, "Put the twigs on this bough;" the robin said, "Put the leaves between the twigs;" and the humming-bird said, "Put this soft green moss over it all."

"I do not know how," cried the magpie.

"We are teaching you," said the other birds. But the magpie was lazy, and she thought, "If I do not learn, they will build a nest for me."

The other birds talked together. "She does not wish to learn," they said, "and we will not help her any longer." So they went away from her.

Then the magpie was sorry. "Come back," she called, "and I will learn." But by this time the other birds had eggs in their nests, and they were busy taking care of them, and had no time to teach the lazy magpie. This is why the magpie's nest is not well built.



Why The Raven's Feathers Are Black.


Long, long ago the raven's feathers were white as snow. He was a beautiful bird, but the other birds did not like him because he was a thief. When they saw him coming, they would hide away the things that they cared for most, but in some marvelous way he always found them and took them to his nest in the pine-tree.

One morning the raven heard a little bird singing merrily in a thicket. The leaves of the trees were dark green, and the little bird's yellow feathers looked like sunshine among them.

"I will have that bird," said the raven, and he seized the trembling little thing.

The yellow bird fluttered and cried, "Help, help! Will no one come and help me!"

The other birds happened to be far away, and not one heard her cries. "The raven will kill me," she called. "Help, help!"

Now hidden in the bark of a tree was a wood-worm.

"I am only a wood-worm," he said to himself, "and I cannot fly like a bird, but the yellow bird has been good to me, and I will do what I can to help her."

When the sun set, the raven went to sleep. Then the wood-worm made his way softly up the pine-tree to the raven's nest, and bound his feet together with grass and pieces of birch-bark.

"Fly away," whispered the wood-worm softly to the little yellow bird, "and come to see me by and by. I must teach the raven not to be cruel to the other birds."

The little yellow bird flew away, and the wood-worm brought twigs, and moss, and birch-bark, and grass, and put them around the tree. Then he set them all on fire. Up the great pine-tree went the flames, leaping from bough to bough.

"Fire! fire!" cried the raven. "Come and help me! My nest is on fire!"

The other birds were not sorry to see him flutter. "He is a thief," said they. "Let him be in the fire."

By and by the fire burned the grass and the pieces of birch-bark that fastened his feet together, and the raven flew away. He was not burned, but he could no longer be proud of his shining white feathers, for the smoke had made every one of them as black as night.



How Fire Was Brought To The Indians.


Part I. Seizing The Firebrand.

Oh, it was so cold! The wind blew the leaves about on the ground. The frost spirit hid on the north side of every tree, and stung every animal of the forest that came near. Then the snow fell till the ground was white. Through the snowflakes one could see the sun, but the sun looked cold, for it was not a clear, bright yellow. It was almost as white as the moon.

The Indians drew their cloaks more and more closely around them, for they had no fire.

"How shall we get fire?" they asked, but no one answered.

All the fire on earth was in the wigwam of two old women who did not like the Indians.

"They shall not have it," said the old women, and they watched night and day so that no one could get a firebrand.

At last a young Indian said to the others, "No man can get fire. Let us ask the animals to help us."

"What beast or what bird can get fire when the two old women are watching it?" the others cried.

"The bear might get it."

"No, he cannot run swiftly."

"The deer can run."

"His antlers would not go through the door of the wigwam."

"The raven can go through the door."

"It was smoke that made the raven's feathers black, and now he always keeps away from the fire."

"The serpent has not been in the smoke."

"No, but he is not our friend, and he will not do anything for us."

"Then I will ask the wolf," said the young man. "He can run, he has no antlers, and he has not been in the smoke."

So the young man went to the wolf and called, "Friend wolf, if you will get us a firebrand, I will give you some food every day."

"I will get it," said the wolf. "Go to the home of the old women and hide behind a tree; and when you hear me cough three times, give a loud war-cry."

Close by the village of the Indians was a pond. In the pond was a frog, and near the pond lived a squirrel, a bat, a bear, and a deer. The wolf cried, "Frog, hide in the rushes across the pond. Squirrel, go to the bushes beside the path that runs from the pond to the wigwam of the two old women. Bat, go into the shadow and sleep if you like, but do not close both eyes. Bear, do not stir from behind this great rock till you are told. Deer, keep still as a mountain till something happens."

The wolf then went to the wigwam of the two old women. He coughed at the door, and at last they said, "Wolf, you may come in to the fire."

The wolf went into the wigwam. He coughed three times, and the Indian gave a war-cry. The two old women ran out quickly into the forest to see what had happened, and the wolf ran away with a firebrand from the fire.


Part II. The Firebrand In The Forest.

When the two women saw that the wolf had the firebrand, they were very angry, and straightway they ran after him.

"Catch it and run!" cried the wolf, and he threw it to the deer. The deer caught it and ran.

"Catch it and run!" cried the deer, and he threw it to the bear. The bear caught it and ran.

"Catch it and fly!" cried the bear, and he threw it to the bat. The bat caught it and flew.

"Catch it and run!" cried the bat, and he threw it to the squirrel. The squirrel caught it and ran.

"Oh, serpent," called the two old women, "you are no friend to the Indians. Help us. Get the firebrand away from the squirrel."

As the squirrel ran swiftly over the ground, the serpent sprang up and tried to seize the firebrand. He did not get it, but the smoke went into the squirrel's nostrils and made him cough. He would not let go of the firebrand, but ran and ran till he could throw it to the frog.

When the frog was running away with it, then the squirrel for the first time thought of himself, and he found that his beautiful bushy tail was no longer straight, for the fire had curled it up over his back.

"Do not be sorry," called the young Indian across the pond. "Whenever an Indian boy sees a squirrel with his tail curled up over his back, he will throw him a nut."


Part III. The Firebrand In The Pond.

All this time the firebrand was burning, and the frog was going to the pond as fast as he could. The old women were running after him, and when he came to the water, one of them caught him by the tail.

"I have caught him!" she called.

"Do not let him go!" cried the other.

"No, I will not," said the first; but she did let him go, for the little frog tore himself away and dived into the water. His tail was still in the woman's hand, but the firebrand was safe, and he made his way swiftly across the pond.

"Here it is," said the frog.

"Where?" asked the young Indian. Then the frog coughed, and out of his mouth came the firebrand. It was small, for it had been burning all this time, but it set fire to the leaves and twigs, and soon the Indians were warm again. They sang and they danced about the flames.

At first the frog was sad, because he was sorry to lose his tail; but before long he was as merry as the people who were dancing, for the young Indian said, "Little frog, you have been a good friend to us, and as long as we live on the earth, we will never throw a stone at a frog that has no tail."



How The Quail Became A Snipe.


"It is lonely living in this great tree far away from the other birds," said the owl to herself. "I will get some one to come and live with me. The quail has many children, and I will ask her for one of them."

The owl went to the quail and said, "Will you let me have one of your children to come and live with me?"

"Live with you? No," answered the quail. "I would as soon let my child live with the serpent. You are hidden in the tree all day long, and when it is dark, you come down like a thief and catch little animals that are fast asleep in their nests. You shall never have one of my children."

"I will have one," thought the owl.

She waited till the night had come. It was dark and gloomy, for the moon was not to be seen, and not a star twinkled in the sky. Not a leaf stirred, and not a ripple was on the pond. The owl crept up to the quail's home as softly as she could. The young birds were chattering together, and she listened to their talk.

"My mother is gone a long time," said one. "It is lonely, and I am afraid."

"What is there to be afraid of?" asked another. "You are a little coward. Shut your eyes and go to sleep. See me! I am not afraid, if it is dark and gloomy. Oh, oh!" cried the boaster, for the owl had seized him and was carrying him away from home and his little brothers.

When the mother quail came home, she asked, "Where is your brother?" The little quails did not know. All they could say was that something had seized him in the darkness and taken him away.

"It crept up to the nest in the dark," said one.

"And oh, mother, never, never go away from us again!" cried another. "Do not leave us at home all alone."

"But, my dear little ones," the mother said, "how could you have any food if I never went away from our home?"

The mother quail was very sad, and she would have been still more sorrowful if she had known what was happening to her little son far away in the owl's nest. The cruel owl had pulled and pulled on the quail's bill and legs, till they were so long that his mother would not have known him.

One night the mole came to the quail and said, "Your little son is in the owl's nest."

"How do you know?" asked the quail.

"I cannot see very well," answered the mole, "but I heard him call, and I know that he is there."

"How shall I get him away from the owl?" the quail asked the mole.

"The owl crept up to your home in the dark," said the mole, "but you must go to her nest at sunrise when the light shines in her eyes and she cannot see you."

At sunrise the quail crept up to the owl's nest and carried away her dear little son to his old home. As the light grew brighter, she saw what had happened to him. His bill and his legs were so long that he did not look like her son.

"He is not like our brother," said the other little quails.

"That is because the cruel owl that carried him away has pulled his bill and his legs," answered the mother sorrowfully. "You must be very good to him."

But the other little quails were not good to him. They laughed at him, and the quail with the long bill and legs was never again merry and glad with them. Before long he ran away and hid among the great reeds that stand in the water and on the shores of the pond.

"I will not be called quail," he said to himself, "for quails never have long bills and legs. I will have a new name, and it shall be snipe. I like the sound of that name."

So it was that the bird whose name was once quail came to be called snipe. His children live among the reeds of the pond, and they, too, are called snipes.



Why The Serpent Sheds His Skin.


The serpent is the grandfather of the owl, and once upon a time if the owl needed help, she would say, "My grandfather will come and help me," but now he never comes to her. This story tells why.

When the owl carried away the little quail, she went to the serpent and said, "Grandfather, you will not tell the quail that I have her son, will you?"

"No," answered the serpent, "I will keep your secret. I will not whisper it to any one." So when the mother quail asked all the animals, "Can you tell me who has carried away my little son?" the serpent answered, "I have been sound asleep. How could I know?"

After the quail had become a snipe and had gone to live in the marsh among the reeds, the cruel owl looked everywhere for him, and at last she saw him standing beside a great stone in the water.

She went to the serpent and said, "Grandfather, will you do something for me?"

"I will," hissed the serpent softly, "What is it?"

"Only to take a drink of water," answered the owl. "Come and drink all the water in the marsh, and then I can catch the quail that I made into a snipe."

The serpent drank and drank, but still there was water in the marsh.

"Why do you not drink faster?" cried the owl. "I shall never get the snipe."

The serpent drank till he could drink no more, and still the water stood in the marsh. The owl could not see well by day, and the serpent could not see above the reeds and rushes, so they did not know that the water from the pond was coming into the marsh faster than the serpent could drink it.

Still the serpent drank, and at last his skin burst.

"Oh," he cried, "my skin has burst. Help me to fasten it together."

"My skin never bursts," said the owl. "If you will drink the water from the marsh, I will help you, but I will not fasten any skin together till I get that snipe."

The serpent had done all that he could to help the owl, and now he was angry. He was afraid, too, for he did not know what would happen to him, and he lay on the ground trembling and quivering. It was not long before his old skin fell off, and then he saw that under it was a beautiful new one, all bright and shining. He sheds his old skin every year now, but never again has he done anything to help the owl.



Why The Dove Is Timid.


A spirit called the manito always watches over the Indians. He is glad when they are brave, but if they are cowardly, he is angry.

One day when the manito was walking under the pine-trees, he heard a cry of terror in the forest.

"What is that?" said he. "Can it be that any of my Indian children are afraid?"

As he stood listening, an Indian boy came running from the thicket, crying in fear.

"What are you afraid of?" asked the manito.

"My mother told me to go into the forest with my bow and arrows and shoot some animal for food," said the boy.

"That is what all Indian boys must do," said the manito. "Why do you not do as she said?"

"Oh, the great bear is in the forest, and I am afraid of him!"

"Afraid of Hoots?" asked the manito. "An Indian boy must never be afraid."

"But Hoots will eat me, I know he will," cried the boy. "Boo-hoo, boo-hoo!"

"A boy must be brave," said the manito, "and I will not have a coward among my Indians. You are too timid ever to be a warrior, and so you shall be a bird. Whenever Indian boys look at you, they will say, 'There is the boy who was afraid of Hoots.'"

The boy's cloak of deerskin fell off, and feathers came out all over his body. His feet were no longer like a boy's feet, they were like the feet of a bird. His bow and arrows fell upon the grass, for he had no longer any hands with which to hold them. He tried to call to his mother, but the only sound he could make was "Hoo, hoo!"

"Now you are a dove," said the manito, "and a dove you shall be as long as you live. You shall always be known as the most timid of birds."

Again the dove that had once been a boy tried to call, but he only said, "Hoo, hoo!"

"That is the only sound you will ever make," said the manito, "and when the other boys hear it, they will say, 'Listen! He was afraid of Hoots, the bear, and that is why he says Hoo, hoo!'"



Why The Parrot Repeats The Words Of Men.


In the olden times when the earth was young, all the birds knew the language of men and could talk with them. Everybody liked the parrot, because he always told things as they were, and they called him the bird that tells the truth.

This bird that always told the truth lived with a man who was a thief, and one night the man killed another man's ox and hid its flesh.

When the other man came to look for it in the morning, he asked the thief, "Have you seen my ox?"

"No, I have not seen it," said the man.

"Is that the truth?" the owner asked.

"Yes, it is. I have not seen the ox," repeated the man.

"Ask the parrot," said one of the villagers. "He always tells the truth."

"O bird of truth," said they to the parrot, "did this man kill an ox and hide its flesh?"

"Yes, he did," answered the parrot.

The thief knew well that the villagers would punish him the next day, if he could not make them think that the parrot did not always tell the truth.

"I have it," he said to himself at last. "I know what I can do."

When night came he put a great jar over the parrot. Then he poured water upon the jar and struck it many times with a tough piece of oak. This he did half the night. Then he went to bed and was soon fast asleep.

In the morning the men came to punish him.

"How do you know that I killed the ox?" he asked.

"Because the bird of truth says that you did," they answered.

"The bird of truth!" he cried. "That parrot is no bird of truth. He will not tell the truth even about what happened last night. Ask him if the moon was shining."

"Did the moon shine last night?" the men asked.

"No," answered the parrot. "There was no moon, for the rain fell, and there was a great storm in the heavens. I heard the thunder half the night."

"This bird has always told the truth before," said the villagers, "but there was no storm last night and the moon was bright. What shall we do to punish the parrot?" they asked the thief.

"I think we will no longer let him live in our homes," answered the thief.

"Yes," said the others, "he must fly away to the forest, and even when there is a storm, he can no longer come to our homes, because we know now that he is a bird of a lying tongue."

So the parrot flew away sorrowfully into the lonely forest. He met a mocking-bird and told him what had happened.

"Why did you not repeat men's words as I do?" asked the mocking-bird. "Men always think their own words are good."

"But the man's words were not true," said the parrot.

"That is nothing," replied the mocking-bird, laughing. "Say what they say, and they will think you are a wonderful bird."

"Yes, I see," said the parrot thoughtfully, "and I will never again be punished for telling the truth. I will only repeat the words of others."



The Story Of The First Mocking-Bird.


Far away in the forest there once lived the most cruel man on all the earth. He did not like the Indians, and he said to himself, "Some day I will be ruler of them all." Then he thought, "There are many brave warriors among the Indians, and I must first put them to death."

He was cunning as well as cruel, and he soon found a way to kill the warriors. He built some wigwams and made fires before them as if people lived in each one.

One day a hunter on his way home heard a baby crying in one of the wigwams. He went in, but he never came out again. Another day a hunter heard a child laughing. He went in, but he never came out again. So it was day after day. One hunter heard a woman talking, and went to see who it was; another heard a man calling to people in the other wigwams, and went to see who they were; and no one who once went into a wigwam ever came out.

One young brave had heard the voices, but he feared there was magic about them, and so he had never gone into the wigwams; but when he saw that his friends did not come back, he went to the wigwams and called, "Where are all the people that I have heard talk and laugh?"

"Talk and laugh," said the cunning man mockingly.

"Where are they? Do you know?" cried the brave, and the cunning man called, "Do you know?" and laughed.

"Whose voices have I heard?"

"Have I heard?" mocked the cunning man.

"I heard a baby cry."

"Cry," said the cunning man.

"Who is with you?"

"You."

Then the young brave was angry. He ran into the first wigwam, and there he found the man who had cried like a baby and talked in a voice like a woman's and made all the other sounds. The brave caught him by the leg and threw him down upon the earth.

"It was you who cried and talked and laughed," he said. "I heard your voice and now you are going to be punished for killing our braves. Where is my brother, and where are our friends?"

"How do I know?" cried the man. "Ask the sun or the moon or the fire if you will, but do not ask me;" and all the time he was trying to pull the young brave into the flames.

"I will ask the fire," said the brave. "Fire, you are a good friend to us Indians. What has this cruel man done with our warriors?"

The fire had no voice, so it could not answer, but it sprang as far away from the hunter as it could, and there where the flames had been he saw two stone arrowheads.

"I know who owned the two arrowheads," said the brave. "You have thrown my friends into your fire. Now I will do to you what you have done to them."

He threw the cunning man into the fire. His head burst into two pieces, and from between them a bird flew forth. Its voice was loud and clear, but it had no song of its own. It could only mock the songs of other birds, and that is why it is called the mocking-bird.



Why The Tail Of The Fox Has A White Tip.


"I must have a boy to watch my sheep and my cows," thought an old woman, and so she went out to look for a boy. She looked first in the fields and then in the forest, but nowhere could she find a boy. As she was walking down the path to her home, she met a bear.

"Where are you going?" asked the bear.

"I am looking for a boy to watch my cows and my sheep," she answered.

"Will you have me?"

"Yes, if you know how to call my animals gently."

"Ugh, ugh," called the bear. He tried to call softly, but he had always growled before, and now he could do nothing but growl.

"No, no," said the old woman, "your voice is too loud. Every cow in the field would run, and every sheep would hide, if you should growl like that. I will not have you."

Then the old woman went on till she met a wolf.

"Where are you going, grandmother?" he asked.

"I am looking for a boy to watch my cows and my sheep," she answered.

"Will you have me?" asked the wolf.

"Yes," she said, "if you know how to call my animals gently."

"Ho-y, ho-y," called the wolf.

"Your voice is too high," said the old woman. "My cows and my sheep would tremble whenever they heard it. I will not have you."

Then the old woman went on till she met a fox.

"I am so glad to meet you," said the fox. "Where are you going this bright morning?"

"I am going home now," she said, "for I cannot find a boy to watch my cows and my sheep. The bear growls and the wolf calls in too high a voice. I do not know what I can do, for I am too old to watch cows and sheep."

"Oh, no," said the cunning fox, "you are not old, but any one as beautiful as you must not watch sheep in the fields. I shall be very glad to do the work for you if you will let me."

"I know that my sheep will like you," said she.

"And I know that I shall like them dearly," said the fox.

"Can you call them gently, Mr. Fox?" she asked.

"Del-dal-halow, del-dal-halow," called the fox, in so gentle a voice that it was like a whisper.

"That is good, Mr. Fox," said the old woman. "Come home with me, and I will take you to the fields where my animals go."

Each day one of the cows or one of the sheep was gone when the fox came home at night. "Mr. Fox, where is my cow?" the old woman would ask, or, "Mr. Fox, where is my sheep?" and the fox would answer with a sorrowful look, "The bear came out of the woods, and he has eaten it," or, "The wolf came running through the fields, and he has eaten it."

The old woman was sorry to lose her sheep and her cows, but she thought, "Mr. Fox must be even more sorry than I. I will go out to the field and carry him a drink of cream."

She went to the field, and there stood the fox with the body of a sheep, for it was he who had killed and eaten every one that was gone. When he saw the old woman coming, he started to run away.

"You cruel, cunning fox!" she cried.

She had nothing to throw at him but the cream, so she threw that. It struck the tip of his tail, and from that day to this, the tip of the fox's tail has been as white as cream.



The Story Of The First Frog.


Once upon a time there was a man who had two children, a boy and a girl, whom he treated cruelly. The boy and the girl talked together one day, and the boy, Wah-wah-hoo, said to his sister, "Dear little sister, are you happy with our father?"

"No," answered the girl, whose name was Hah-hah. "He scolds me and beats me, and I can never please him."

"He was angry with me this morning," said the boy, "and he beat me till the blood came. See there!"

"Let us run away," said Hah-hah. "The beasts and the birds will be good to us. They really love us, and we can be very happy together."

That night the two children ran away from their cruel father. They went far into the forest, and at last they found a wigwam in which no one lived.

When the father found that Wah-wah-hoo and his sister were gone, he was very unhappy. He went out into the forest to see if he could find them. "If they would only come again," he said aloud, "I would do everything I could to please them."

"Do you think he tells the truth?" asked the wolf.

"I do not know," answered the mosquito. "He never treated them well when they were with him."

"Wolf," called the father, "will you tell me where my children are?"

Wah-wah-hoo had once told the wolf when a man was coming to shoot him, and so the wolf would not tell where they were.

"Mosquito," said the father, "where are my children?"

Hah-hah had once helped the mosquito to go home when the wind was too strong for him, and so the mosquito would not tell.

For a long time Wah-wah-hoo and his sister were really happy in the forest, for there was no one to scold them and to beat them, but at last there was a cold, cold winter. All the earth was covered with snow. The animals had gone, and Wah-wah-hoo could find no food. Death came and bore away the gentle Hah-hah. Wah-wah-hoo sat alone in the gloomy wigwam wailing for his sister. Then in his sadness he threw himself down from a high mountain and was killed.

All this time the father had been looking for his children, and at last he saw his son lying at the foot of the mountain. Then he too wailed and cried aloud, for he was really sorry that he had treated them so cruelly. He was a magician, and he could make his son live, but he could not make him a boy again.

"You shall be a frog," said he, "and you shall make your home in the marsh with the reeds and the rushes. There you shall wail as loud as you will for your sister, and once every moon I will come and wail for her with you. I was cruel to you and to her, and so I must live alone in my gloomy wigwam."

Every summer night one can hear the frog in the marsh wailing for his dear sister Hah-hah. Sometimes a louder voice is heard, and that is the voice of the father wailing because he was so cruel.



Why The Rabbit Is Timid.


One night the moon looked down from the sky upon the people on the earth and said to herself, "How sorrowful they look! I wish I knew what troubles them. The stars and I are never sad, and I do not see why men should be troubled." She listened closely, and she heard the people say, "How happy we should be if death never came to us. Death is always before us."

The path of the moon lies across the sky, and she could not leave it to go to the earth, but she called the white rabbit and said, "Rabbit, should you be afraid to go down to the earth?"

"No," answered the rabbit, "I am not afraid."

"The people on the earth are troubled because death is before them. Now will you go to them and whisper, 'The moon dies every night. You can see it go down into the darkness, but when another night comes, then the moon rises again,' -- can you remember to tell them that?"

"Yes," said the rabbit, "I will remember."

"Say this," said the moon: "'The moon dies, but the moon rises again, and so will you.'"

The rabbit was so glad to go to the earth that he danced and leaped and sprang and frolicked, but when he tried to tell the people what the moon had said, he could not remember, and he said, "The moon says that she dies and will not rise again, and so you will die and will not rise again."

The moon saw that the people were still troubled, and she called the rabbit and asked what he had said to them.

"I said that as you die and do not rise, so they too will die and not rise," said the rabbit.

"You did not try to remember, and you must be punished," said the moon, and she fired an arrow tipped with flint at the rabbit.

The arrow struck the rabbit's lip and split it. From that time every rabbit has had a split lip. The rabbit was afraid of the moon, and he was afraid of the people on the earth. He had been brave before, but now he is the most timid of animals, for he is afraid of everything and everybody.



Why The Peetweet Cries For Rain.


"Come to me, every bird that flies," said the Great Father. "There is work to be done that only my birds can do."

The birds were happy that they could do something to please the Great Father, for they remembered how good he had always been to them. They flew to him eagerly to ask what they should do for him. "O Great Father," they sang all together, "tell us what we can do for you."

"The waters that I have made know not where to go," said the Father. "Some should go to the seas, some should go to the lakes in the hollows among the mountains, and some should make rivers that will dance over the rocks and through the fields on their way to the sea."

"And can even as small a bird as I show them where to go?" asked the sparrow eagerly.

"Yes," said the Father, "even my little humming-bird can help me."

Every bird that flies had come to the Father, but the peetweet had come last because he was lazy.

"I do not really wish to fly all over the earth," said he, "to show the waters where to go."

"Oh, I wish I were a bird," said a butterfly. "I should be so glad to do something for the Father."

But the peetweet went on, "I should think the lakes could find their way into the hollows of the mountains by themselves."

The Father heard the lazy peetweet, and he said, "Do you not wish to show the waters where to go?"

"They never showed me where to go," said the lazy bird. "I am not thirsty. Let whoever is thirsty and needs the water help the lakes and rivers."

The other birds all stood still in wonder. "He will be punished," they whispered.

"Yes, he must be punished," said the Father sadly. Then said he to the lazy peetweet, "Never again shall you drink of the water that is in river or lake. When you are thirsty, you must look for a hollow in the rock where the rain has fallen, and there only shall you drink."

That is why the peetweet flies over river and lake, but ever cries eagerly, "Peet-weet, peet-weet!" for that is his word for "Rain, rain!"



Why The Bear Has A Short Tail.


One cold morning when the fox was coming up the road with some fish, he met the bear.

"Good-morning, Mr. Fox," said the bear.

"Good-morning, Mr. Bear," said the fox. "The morning is brighter because I have met you."

"Those are very good fish, Mr. Fox," said the bear. "I have not eaten such fish for many a day. Where do you find them?"

"I have been fishing, Mr. Bear," answered the fox.

"If I could catch such fish as those, I should like to go fishing, but I do not know how to fish."

"It would be very easy for you to learn, Mr. Bear," said the fox. "You are so big and strong that you can do anything."

"Will you teach me, Mr. Fox?" asked the bear.

"I would not tell everybody, but you are such a good friend that I will teach you. Come to this pond, and I will show you how to fish through the ice."

So the fox and the bear went to the frozen pond, and the fox showed the bear how to make a hole in the ice.

"That is easy for you," said the fox, "but many an animal could not have made that hole. Now comes the secret. You must put your tail down into the water and keep it there. That is not easy, and not every animal could do it, for the water is very cold; but you are a learned animal, Mr. Bear, and you know that the secret of catching fish is to keep your tail in the water a long time. Then when you pull it up, you will pull with it as many fish as I have."

The bear put his tail down into the water, and the fox went away. The sun rose high in the heavens, and still the bear sat with his tail through the hole in the ice. Sunset came, but still the bear sat with his tail through the hole in the ice, for he thought, "When an animal is really learned, he will not fear a little cold."

It began to be dark, and the bear said, "Now I will pull the fish out of the water. How good they will be!" He pulled and pulled, but not a fish came out. Worse than that, not all of his tail came out, for the end of it was frozen fast to the ice.

He went slowly down the road, growling angrily, "I wish I could find that fox;" but the cunning fox was curled up in his warm nest, and whenever he thought of the bear he laughed.



Why The Wren Flies Close To The Earth.


One day when the birds were all together, one of them said, "I have been watching men, and I saw that they had a king. Let us too have a king."

"Why?" asked the others.

"Oh, I do not know, but men have one."

"Which bird shall it be? How shall we choose a king?"

"Let us choose the bird that flies farthest," said one.

"No, the bird that flies most swiftly."

"The most beautiful bird."

"The bird that sings best."

"The strongest bird."

The owl sat a little way off on a great oak-tree. He said nothing, but he looked so wise that all the birds cried, "Let us ask the owl to choose for us."

"The bird that flies highest should be our king," said the owl with a wiser look than before, and the others said, "Yes, we will choose the bird that flies highest."

The wren is very small, but she cried even more eagerly than the others, "Let us choose the bird that flies highest," for she said to herself, "They think the owl is wise, but I am wiser than he, and I know which bird can fly highest."

Then the birds tried their wings. They flew high, high up above the earth, but one by one they had to come back to their homes. It was soon seen which could fly highest, for when all the others had come back, there was the eagle rising higher and higher.

"The eagle is our king," cried the birds on the earth, and the eagle gave a loud cry of happiness. But look! A little bird had been hidden in the feathers on the eagle's back, and when the eagle had gone as high as he could, the wren flew up from his back still higher.

"Now which bird is king?" cried the wren. "The one that flew highest should be king, and I flew highest."

The eagle was angry, but not a word did he say, and the two birds came down to the earth together.

"I am the king," said the wren, "for I flew higher than the eagle." The other birds did not know which of the two to choose. At last they went to the oak-tree and asked the owl. He looked to the east, the west, the south, and the north, and then he said, "The wren did not fly at all, for she was carried on the eagle's back. The eagle is king, for he not only flew highest, but carried the wren on his back."

"Good, good!" cried the other birds. "The owl is the wisest bird that flies. We will do as he says, and the eagle shall be our king." The wren crept away. She thought she was wise before, but now she is really wise, for she always flies close to the earth, and never tries to do what she cannot.



Why The Hoofs Of The Deer Are Split.


The manito of the Indians taught them how to do many things. He told them how to build wigwams, and how to hunt and to fish. He showed them how to make jars in which to keep food and water. When little children came to be with them, it was the manito who said, "See, this is the way to make soft, warm cradles for the babies."

The good spirit often comes down from his happy home in the sky to watch the Indians at their work. When each man does as well as he can, the manito is pleased, but if an Indian is lazy or wicked, the spirit is angry, and the Indian is always punished in one way or another.

One day when the manito was walking in the forest, he said to himself, "Everything is good and happy. The green leaves are whispering merrily together, the waves are lapping on the shore and laughing, the squirrels are chattering and laying up their food for winter. Everything loves me, and the colors of the flowers are brighter when I lay my hand upon them."

Then the manito heard a strange sound. "I have not often heard that," said he. "I do not like it. Some one in the forest has wicked thoughts in his heart."

Beside a great rock he saw a man with a knife.

"What are you doing with the knife?" asked the manito.

"I am throwing it away," answered the man.

"Tell me the truth," said the manito.

"I am sharpening it," replied the man.

"That is strange," said the manito, "You have food in your wigwam. Why should you sharpen a knife?"

The man could not help telling the truth to the manito, and so he answered, but greatly against his will, "I am sharpening the knife to kill the wicked animals."

"Which animal is wicked?" asked the manito. "Which one does you harm?"

"Not one does me harm," said the man, "but I do not like them. I will make them afraid of me, and I will kill them."

"You are a cruel, wicked man," said the manito. "The animals have done you no harm, and you do not need them for food. You shall no longer be a man. You shall be a deer, and be afraid of every man in the forest."

The knife fell from the man's hand and struck his foot. He leaped and stamped, but the knife only went in deeper. He cried aloud, but his voice sounded strange. His hands were no longer hands, but feet. Antlers grew from his head, and his whole body was not that of a man, but that of a deer. He runs in the forest as he will, but whenever he sees a man, he is afraid. His hoofs are split because the knife that he had made so sharp fell upon his foot when he was a man; and whenever he looks at them, he has to remember that it was his own wickedness which made him a deer.



The Story Of The First Grasshopper.


In a country that is far away there once lived a young man called Tithonus. He was strong and beautiful. Light of heart and light of foot, he hunted the deer or danced and sang the livelong day. Every one who saw him loved him, but the one that loved him most was a goddess named Aurora.

Every goddess had her own work, but the work of Aurora was most beautiful of all, for she was the goddess of the morning. It was she who went out to meet the sun and to light up his pathway. She watched over the flowers, and whenever they saw her coming, their colors grew brighter. She loved everything beautiful, and that is why she loved Tithonus.

"Many a year have I roamed through this country," she said to herself, "but never have I seen such bright blue eyes as those. O fairest of youths," she cried, "who are you? Some name should be yours that sounds like the wind in the pine trees, or like the song of a bird among the first blossoms."

The young man fell upon his knees before her. "I know well," said he, "that you are no maiden of the earth. You are a goddess come down to us from the skies. I am but a hunter, and I roam through the forest looking for deer."

"Come with me, fairest of hunters," said Aurora. "Come with me to the home of my father. You shall live among my brothers and hunt with them, or go with me at the first brightness of the morning to carry light and gladness to the flowers."

So it was that Tithonus went away from his own country and his own home to live in the home of Aurora.

For a long time they were happy together, but one day Aurora said, "Tithonus, I am a goddess, and so I am immortal, but some day death will bear you away from me. I will ask the father of the gods that you too may be immortal."

Then Aurora went to the king of the gods and begged that he would make Tithonus immortal.

"Sometimes people are not pleased even when I have given them what they ask," replied the king, "so think well before you speak."

"I have only one wish," said Aurora, "and it is that Tithonus, the fairest of youths, shall be immortal."

"You have your wish," said the king of the gods, and again Tithonus and Aurora roamed happily together through forest and field.

One day Tithonus asked, "My Aurora, why is it that I cannot look straight into your eyes as once I did?" Another day he said, "My Aurora, why is it that I cannot put my hand in yours as once I did?"

Then the goddess wept sorrowfully. "The king of the gods gave me what I asked for," she wailed, "and I begged that you should be immortal. I did not remember to ask that you should be always young."

Everyday Tithonus grew older and smaller. "I am no longer happy in your father's home," he said, "with your brothers who are as beautiful and as strong as I was when I first saw you. Let me go back to my own country. Let me be a bird or an insect and live in the fields where we first roamed together. Let me go, dearest goddess."

"You shall do as you will," replied Aurora sadly. "You shall be a grasshopper, and whenever I hear the grasshopper's clear, merry song, I shall remember the happy days when we were together."



The Story Of The Oriole.


The king of the north once said to himself, "I am master of the country of ice and snow, but what is that if I cannot be ruler of the land of sunshine and flowers? I am no king if I fear the king of the south. The northwind shall bear my icy breath. Bird and beast shall quiver and tremble with cold. I myself will call in the voice of the thunder, and this ruler of the south, his king of summer, shall yield to my power."

The land of the south was ever bright and sunny, but all at once the sky grew dark, and the sun hid himself in fear. Black storm-clouds came from the north. An icy wind blew over the mountains. It wrestled with the trees of the southland, and even the oaks could not stand against its power. Their roots were tough and strong, but they had to yield, and the fallen trees lay on the earth and wailed in sorrow as the cruel storm-wind and rain beat upon them. The thunder growled in the hollows of the mountains, and in the fearful gloom came the white fire of the forked lightning, flaring through the clouds.

"We shall perish," cried the animals of the sunny south. "The arrows of the lightning are aimed at us. O dear ruler of the southland, must we yield to the cruel master of the north?"

"My king," said a little buzzing voice, "may I go out and fight the wicked master of the storm-wind?"

The thunder was still for a moment, and a mocking laugh was heard from among the clouds, for it was a little hornet that had asked to go out and meet the power of the ruler of the north.

"Dear king, may I go?" repeated the hornet.

"Yes, you may go," said the king of the south, and the little insect went out alone, and bravely stung the master of the storm-wind.

The king of the north struck at him with a war-club, but the hornet only flew above his head and stung him again. The hornet was too small to be struck by the arrows of the lightning. He stung again and again, and at last the king of the north went back to his own country, and drove before him the thunder and lightning and rain and the black storm-clouds and the icy wind.

"Brave little hornet," said the king of the south, "tell me what I can do for you. You shall have whatever you ask."

Then said the little hornet, "My king, on all the earth no one loves me. I do not wish to harm people, but they fear my sting, and they will not let me live beside their homes. Will you make men love me?"

"Little hornet," said the king gently, "you shall no longer be a stinging insect feared by men. You shall be a bright and happy oriole, and when men see you, they will say, 'See the beautiful oriole. I shall be glad if he will build his nest on our trees.'"

So the hornet is now an oriole, a bird that is loved by every one. His nest looks like that of a hornet because he learned how to build his home before he became an oriole.



Why The Peacock's Tail Has A Hundred Eyes.


Juno, queen of the gods, had the fairest cow that any one ever saw. She was creamy white, and her eyes were of as soft and bright a blue as those of any maiden in the world. Juno and the king of the gods often played tricks on each other, and Juno knew well that the king would try to get her cow. There was a watchman named Argus, and one would think that he could see all that was going on in the world, for he had a hundred eyes, and no one had ever seen them all asleep at once, so Queen Juno gave to Argus the work of watching the white cow.

The king of the gods knew what she had done, and he laughed to himself and said, "I will play a trick on Juno, and I will have the white cow." He sent for Mercury and whispered in his ear, "Mercury, go to the green field where Argus watches the cream-white cow and get her for me."

Mercury was always happy when he could play a trick on any one, and he set out gladly for the field where Argus watched the cream-white cow with every one of his hundred eyes.

Now Mercury could tell merry stories of all that was done in the world. He could sing, too, and the music of his voice had lulled many a god to sleep. Argus knew that, but he had been alone a long time, and he thought, "What harm is there in listening to his merry chatter? I have a hundred eyes, and even if half of them were asleep, the others could easily keep watch of one cow." So he gladly hailed Mercury and said, "I have been alone in this field a long, long time, but you have roamed about as you would. Will you not sing to me, and tell me what has happened in the world? You would be glad to hear stories and music if you had nothing to do but watch a cow, even if it was the cow of a queen."

So Mercury sang and told stories. Some of the songs were merry, and some were sad. The watchman closed one eye, then another and another, but there were two eyes that would not close for all the sad songs and all the merry ones. Then Mercury drew forth a hollow reed that he had brought from the river and began to play on it. It was a magic reed, and as he played, one could hear the water rippling gently on the shore and the breath of the wind in the pine-trees; one could see the lilies bending their heads as the dusk came on, and the stars twinkling softly in the summer sky.

It is no wonder that Argus closed one eye and then the other. Every one of his hundred eyes was fast asleep, and Mercury went away to the king of the gods with the cream-white cow.

Juno had so often played tricks on the king that he was happy because he had played this one on her, but Juno was angry, and she said to Argus, "You are a strange watchman. You have a hundred eyes, and you could not keep even one of them from falling asleep. My peacock is wiser than you, for he knows when any one is looking at him. I will put every one of your eyes in the tail of the peacock." And to-day, whoever looks at the peacock can count in his tail the hundred eyes that once belonged to Argus.



The Story Of The Bees And The Flies.


There were once two tribes of little people who lived near together. They were not at all alike, for one of the tribes looked for food and carried it away to put it up safely for winter, while the other played and sang and danced all day long.

"Come and play with us," said the lazy people, but the busy workers answered, "No, come and work with us. Winter will soon be here. Snow and ice will be everywhere, and if we do not put up food now we shall have none for the cold, stormy days."

So the busy people brought honey from the flowers, but the lazy people kept on playing. They laughed together and whispered to one another, "See those busy workers! They will have food for two tribes, and they will give us some. Let us go and dance."

While the summer lasted, one tribe worked and the other played. When winter came, the busy workers were sorry for their friends and said, "Let us give them some of our honey." So the people who played had as much food as if they, too, had brought honey from the flowers.

Another summer was coming, and the workers said, "If we should make our home near the lilies that give us honey, it would be easier to get our food." So the workers flew away, but the lazy people played and danced as they had done before while their friends were near, for they thought, "Oh, they will come back and bring us some honey."

By and by the cold came, but the lazy people had nothing to eat, and the workers did not come with food. The manito had said to them, "Dear little workers, you shall no longer walk from flower to flower. I will give you wings, and you shall be bees. Whenever men hear a gentle humming, they will say, 'Those are the busy bees, and their wings were given them because they were wise and good.'"

To the other tribe the manito said, "You shall be flies, and you, too, shall have wings; but while the workers fly from flower to flower and eat the yellow honey, you shall have for your food only what has been thrown away. When men hear your buzzing, they will say, 'It is good that the flies have wings, because we can drive them away from us the more quickly.'"



The Story Of The First Moles.


A rich man and a poor man once owned a field together. The rich man owned the northern half, and the poor man owned the southern half. Each man sowed his ground with seed. The warm days came, the gentle rain fell, and the seed in the poor man's half of the field sprang up and put forth leaves. The seed in the rich man's half all died in the ground.

The rich man was selfish and wicked. He said, "The southern half of the field is mine," but the poor man replied, "No, the southern half is mine, for that is where I sowed my seed."

The rich man had a son who was as wicked as himself. This boy whispered, "Father, tell him to come in the morning. I know how we can keep the land." So the rich man said, "Come in the morning, and we shall soon see whose land this is."

At night the rich man and his son pulled up some bushes that grew beside the field, and the son hid in the hole where their roots had been.

Morning came, and many people went to the field with the rich man. The poor man was sorrowful, for he feared that he would lose his ground.

"Now we shall see," said the rich man boastfully, and he called aloud, "Whose ground is this?"

"This is the ground of the rich man," answered a voice from the hole.

"How shall I ever get food for my children!" cried the poor man.

Then another voice was heard. It was that of the spirit of the fields, and it said, "The southern half of the field is the poor man's, and the northern half shall be his too."

The rich man would have run away, but the voice called, "Wait. Look where the bushes once stood. The boy in the hole and his wicked father shall hide in the darkness as long as they live, and never again shall they see the light of the sun."

This is the story of the first moles, and this is why the mole never comes to the light of day.



The Story Of The First Ants.


"This jar is full of smoked flesh," said one voice.

"This has fish, this is full of honey, and that one is almost running over with oil," said another voice. "We shall have all that we need to eat for many days to come."

These are the words that a villager coming home from his work heard his mother and his sister say.

"They have often played tricks on me," he said to himself, "and now I will play one on them." So he went into the house and said, "Mother, I have found that I have a wonderful sense of smell, and by its help I can find whatever is hidden away."

"That is a marvelous story," cried the sister.

"If you can tell me what is in these jars," said his mother, "I shall think you are really a magician. What is it now?"

"This is flesh, this fish, this honey, and this jar is full of oil," said the man.

"I never heard of such a marvel in all my life," cried the mother; and in the morning she called her friends and said, "Only think what a wonderful sense of smell my son has! He told me what was in these jars when they were closed."

It was not long before the people all through the country heard of the wonderful man, and one day word came that the king wished to see him at once.

The man was afraid, for he did not know what would happen to him, and he was still more afraid when the king said, "A pearl is lost that I had in my hand last night. They say you can find things that are lost. Find my pearl, or your head will he lost."

The poor man went out into the forest. "Oh, how I wish I had not tried to play tricks," he wailed. "Then this sharp sorrow, this dire trouble, would not have come upon me."

"Please, please do not tell the king," said two voices in the shadow of the trees.

"Who are you?" asked the man.

"Oh, you must know us well," said a man coming out into the light. "My name is Sharp, and that man behind the tree is named Dire, but please do not tell the king. We will give you the pearl; here it is. You called our names, and we saw that you knew us. Oh, I wish I had not been a thief!"

The man gave the pearl to the king, and went home wishing that no one would ever talk to him again of his sense of smell.

In three days word came from the queen that he must come to her at once. She thought his power was only a trick, and to catch him she had put a cat into a bag and the bag into a box.

When the man came, she asked sharply, "What is in this box? Tell me the truth, or off will go your head."

"What shall I do?" thought the man, "Dire death is upon me." He did not remember that he was before the queen, and he repeated half aloud an old saying, "The bagged cat soon dies."

"What is that?" cried the queen.

"The bagged cat soon dies," repeated the man in great terror.

"You are a marvelous man," said the queen. "There is really a bag in the box and a cat in the bag, but no one besides myself knew it."

"He is not a man; he is a god," cried the people, "and he must be in the sky and live among the gods;" so they threw him up to the sky. His hand was full of earth, and when the earth fell back, it was no longer earth, but a handful of ants. Ants have a wonderful sense of smell, and it is because they fell from the hand of this man who was thrown up into the sky to live among the gods.



The Face Of The Manito.


Many years ago the manito of the Indians lived in the sun. Every morning the wise men of the tribe went to the top of a mountain, and as the sun rose in the east, they sang, "We praise thee, O sun! From thee come fire and light. Be good to us, be good to us."

After the warm days of the summer had come, the sun was so bright that the Indians said to their wise men, "When you go to the mountain top, ask the manito to show us his face in a softer, gentler light."

Then the wise men went to the mountain top, and this is what they said: "O great manito, we are but children before you, and we have no power to bear the brightness of your face. Look down upon us here on the earth with a gentler, softer light, that we may ever gaze upon you and show you all love and all honor."

The bright sun moved slowly toward the south. The people were afraid that the manito was angry with them, but when the moon rose they were no longer sad, for from the moon the loving face of the manito was looking down upon them.

Night after night the people gazed at the gentle face, but at last a night came when the moon was not seen in the sky. The wise men went sorrowfully to the mountain top. "O manito," they said, "we are never happy when we cannot gaze into your face. Will you not show it to your children?"

The moon did not rise, and the people were sad, but when morning came, there was the loving face of the manito showing clearly in the rocks at the top of the mountain.

Again they were happy, but when dark clouds hid the gentle face, the wise men went to the foot of the mountain and called sadly, "O manito, we can no longer see your face."

The clouds grew darker and fell like a cloak over the mountain, the trees trembled in the wind, the forked lightning shot across the sky, and the thunder called aloud.

"It is the anger of the manito," cried the people. "The heavens are falling," they whispered, and they hid their faces in fear.

Morning came, the storm had gone, and the sky was clear. Tremblingly the people looked up toward the mountain top for the face of the manito. It was not there, but after they had long gazed in sorrow, a wise man cried, "There it is, where no cloud will hide it from us." In the storm the rocks had fallen from the mountain top. They were halfway down the mountain side, and in them could be seen the face of the manito.

Then the people cried, "Praise to the good manito! His loving face will look down upon us from the mountain side forever-more."

For a long time all went well, but at last trouble came, for they heard that a great tribe were on the war-path coming to kill them. "Help us, dear manito," they cried but there was no help. The warriors came nearer and nearer. Their war-cry was heard, "O manito," called the people, "help us, help us!" A voice from the mountain answered, "My children, be not afraid." The war-cry was still, and when the people looked, for the warriors, they were nowhere to be seen. The people gazed all around, and at last one of the wise men cried, "There they are, there they are!"

They were at the foot of the mountain, but the people no longer feared them, for now they were not warriors but rocks. To keep from harm those whom he loved, the manito had made the warriors into stone. They stood at the foot of the mountain, and to-day, if you should go to that far-away country, you could see the rocks that were once warriors, and above them, halfway up the mountain side, you could see the face of the manito.



The Story Of The First Diamonds.


The chief of an Indian tribe had two sons whom he loved very dearly. This chief was at war with another tribe, and one dark night two of his enemies crept softly through the trees till they came to where the two boys lay sound asleep. The warriors caught the younger boy up gently, and carried him far away from his home and his friends.

When the chief woke, he cried, "Where is my son? My enemies have been here and have stolen him."

All the Indians in the tribe started out in search of the boy. They roamed the forest through and through, but the stolen child could not be found.

The chief mourned for his son, and when the time of his death drew near, he said to his wife, "Moneta, my tribe shall have no chief until my boy is found and taken from our enemies. Let our oldest son go forth in search of his brother, and until he has brought back the little one, do you rule my people."

Moneta ruled the people wisely and kindly. When the older son was a man she said to him, "My son, go forth and search for your brother, whom I have mourned these many years. Every day I shall watch for you, and every night I shall build a fire on the mountain top."

"Do not mourn, mother," said the young man. "You will not build the fire many nights on the mountain top, for I shall soon find my brother and bring him back to you."

He went forth bravely, but he did not come back. His mother went every night to the mountain top, and when she was so old that she could no longer walk, the young men of the tribe bore her up the mountain side in their strong arms, so that with her own trembling hand she could light the fire.

One night there was a great storm. Even the brave warriors were afraid, but Moneta had no fear, for out of the storm a gentle voice had come to her that said, "Moneta, your sons are coming home to you."

"Once more I must build the fire on the mountain top," she cried. The young men trembled with fear, but they bore her to the top of the mountain.

"Leave me here alone," she said. "I hear a voice. It is the voice of my son, and he is calling, 'Mother, mother.' Come to me, come, my boys."

Coming slowly up the mountain in the storm was the older son. The younger had died on the road home, and he lay dead in the arms of his brother.

In the morning the men of the tribe went to the mountain top in search of Moneta and her sons. They were nowhere to be seen, but where the tears of the lonely mother had fallen, there was a brightness that had never been seen before. The tears were shining in the sunlight as if each one of them was itself a little sun. Indeed, they were no longer tears, but diamonds.

The dearest thing in all the world is the tear of mother-love, and that is why the tears were made into diamonds, the stones that are brightest and clearest of all the stones on the earth.



The Story Of The First Pearls.


There was once a man named Runoia, and when he walked along the pathways of the forest, the children would say shyly to one another, "Look, there is the man who always hears music."

It was really true that wherever he went he could hear sweet music. There are some kinds of music that every one can hear, but Runoia heard sweet sounds where others heard nothing. When the lilies sang their evening song to the stars, he could hear it, and when the mother tree whispered "Good-night" to the little green leaves, he heard the music of her whisper, though other men heard not a sound.

He was sorry for those other men, and he said to himself, "I will make a harp, and then even if they cannot hear all the kinds of music, they will hear the sweet voice of the harp."

This must have been a magic harp, for if one else touched it, no sound was heard, but when Runoia touched the strings, the trees bent down their branches to listen, the little blossoms put their heads out shyly, and even the wind was hushed. All kinds of beasts and birds came about him as he played, and the sun and the moon stood still in the heavens to hear the wonderful music. All these beautiful things happened whenever Runoia touched the strings.

Sometimes Runoia's music was sad. Then the sun and the moon hid their faces behind the clouds, the wind sang mournfully, and the lilies bent low their snow-white blossoms.

One day Runoia roamed far away till he came to the shores of the great sea. The sun had set, darkness hid the sky and the water, not a star was to be seen. Not a sound was heard but the wailing of the sea. No friend was near. "I have no friends," he said. He laid his hand upon his harp, and of themselves the strings gave forth sweet sounds, at first softly and shyly. Then the sounds grew louder, and soon the world was full of music, such as even Runoia had never heard before, for it was the music of the gods. "It is really true," he said to himself softly. "My harp is giving me music to drive away my sadness."

He listened, and the harp played more and more sweetly. "He who has a harp has one true friend. He who loves music is loved by the gods," so the harp sang to him.

Tears came into Runoia's eyes, but they were tears of happiness, not of sadness, for he was no longer lonely. A gentle voice called, "Runoia, come to the home of the gods."

As darkness fell over the sea, Runoia's friends went to look for him. He was gone, but where he had stood listening happily to the music of the gods, there on the fair white sand was the harp, and all around it lay beautiful pearls, shining softly in the moonlight, for every tear of happiness was now a pearl.



The Story Of The First Emeralds.


In the days of long ago there was a time when there were no emeralds on the earth. Men knew where to find other precious stones. They could get pearls and diamonds, but no one had ever seen an emerald, because the emeralds were hidden away in the bed of the sea, far down below the waves.

The king of India had many precious things, and he was always eager to get others. One day a stranger stood before his door, and when the king came out he cried, "O king, you have much that is precious. Do you wish to have the most beautiful thing in earth, air, or water?"

"Yes, in truth," said the king. "What is it?"

"It is a vase made of an emerald stone," answered the stranger.

"And what is an emerald stone?" asked the king.

"It is a stone that no one on earth has ever seen," said the stranger. "It is greener than the waves of the sea or the leaves of the forest."

"Where is the wonderful vase?" cried the king eagerly.

"Where the waves of the sea never roll," was the answer, but when the king was about to ask where that was, the stranger had gone.

The king asked his three wise men where it was that the waves of the sea never rolled. One said, "In the forest;" another said, "On the mountain;" and the last said, "In the sea where the water is deepest."

The king thought a long time about these answers of the wise men. At last he said: "If the emerald vase had been in the forest or on the mountain, it would have been found long before now. I think it is in the deepest water of the sea."

This king of India was a great magician. He went to the sea, and there he sang many a magical song, for he said to himself, "I have no diver who can go to the bed of the sea, but often magic will do what a diver cannot."

The king of the world under the water owned the beautiful vase, but when he heard the songs, he knew that he must give it up. "Take it," he said to the spirits that live in the deepest water. "Bear it to the king of India. The spirits of the air will try to take it from you, but see that it goes safely to the king whose magic has called it from the sea."

The spirits of the sea rose from the waves bearing the precious vase.

"It is ours, it is ours," cried the spirits of the air. "The king of India shall never have it." The spirits of the air and the spirits of the water fought together. "What a fearful storm!" cried the people on the earth. "See how the lightning shoots across the sky, and hear the thunder roll from mountain to mountain!" They hid themselves in terror, but it was no storm, it was only the spirits fighting for the emerald vase.

One of the spirits of the air bore it at last far up above the top of the highest mountain. "It is mine," he cried. "Never," said a spirit of the water, and he caught it and threw it angrily against the rocky top of the mountain. It fell in hundreds of pieces.

There was no vase like it in the east or the west, the north or the south, and so the king of India never had an emerald vase; but from the pieces of the vase that was thrown against the mountain came all the emeralds that are now on the earth.



Why The Evergreen Trees Never Lose Their Leaves.


Winter was coming, and the birds had flown far to the south, where the air was warm and they could find berries to eat. One little bird had broken its wing and could not fly with the others. It was alone in the cold world of frost and snow. The forest looked warm, and it made its way to the trees as well as it could, to ask for help.

First it came to a birch-tree. "Beautiful birch-tree," it said, "my wing is broken, and my friends have flown away. May I live among your branches till they come back to me?"

"No, indeed," answered the birch-tree, drawing her fair green leaves away. "We of the great forest have our own birds to help. I can do nothing for you."

"The birch is not very strong," said the little bird to itself, "and it might be that she could not hold me easily. I will ask the oak." So the bird said, "Great oak-tree, you are so strong, will you not let me live on your boughs till my friends come back in the springtime?"

"In the springtime!" cried the oak. "That is a long way off. How do I know what you might do in all that time? Birds are always looking for something to eat, and you might even eat up some of my acorns."

"It may be that the willow will be kind to me," thought the bird, and it said, "Gentle willow, my wing is broken, and I could not fly to the south with the other birds. May I live on your branches till the springtime?"

The willow did not look gentle then, for she drew herself up proudly and said, "Indeed, I do not know you, and we willows never talk to people whom we do not know. Very likely there are trees somewhere that will take in strange birds. Leave me at once."

The poor little bird did not know what to do. Its wing was not yet strong, but it began to fly away as well as it could. Before it had gone far, a voice was heard. "Little bird," it said, "where are you going?"

"Indeed, I do not know," answered the bird sadly. "I am very cold."

"Come right here, then," said the friendly spruce-tree, for it was her voice that had called. "You shall live on my warmest branch all winter if you choose."

"Will you really let me?" asked the little bird eagerly.

"Indeed, I will," answered the kind-hearted spruce-tree. "If your friends have flown away, it is time for the trees to help you. Here is the branch where my leaves are thickest and softest."

"My branches are not very thick," said the friendly pine-tree, "but I am big and strong, and I can keep the north wind from you and the spruce."

"I can help too," said a little juniper-tree. "I can give you berries all winter long, and every bird knows that juniper berries are good."

So the spruce gave the lonely little bird a home, the pine kept the cold north wind away from it, and the juniper gave it berries to eat.

The other trees looked on and talked together wisely.

"I would not have strange birds on my boughs," said the birch.

"I shall not give my acorns away for any one," said the oak.

"I never have anything to do with strangers," said the willow, and the three trees drew their leaves closely about them.

In the morning all those shining green leaves lay on the ground, for a cold north wind had come in the night, and every leaf that it touched fell from the tree.

"May I touch every leaf in the forest?" asked the wind in its frolic.

"No," said the frost king. "The trees that have been kind to the little bird with the broken wing may keep their leaves."

This is why the leaves of the spruce, the pine, and the juniper are always green.



Why The Aspen Leaves Tremble.


"It is very strange," whispered one reed to another, "that the queen bee never guides her swarm to the aspen-tree."

"Indeed, it is strange," said the other. "The oak and the willow often have swarms, but I never saw one on the aspen. What can be the reason?"

"The queen bee cannot bear the aspen," said the first. "Very likely she has some good reason for despising it. I do not think that an insect as wise as she would despise a tree without any reason. Many wicked things happen that no one knows."

The reeds did not think that any one could hear what they said, but both the willow and the aspen heard every word. The aspen was so angry that it trembled from root to tip. "I'll soon see why that proud queen bee despises me," it said. "She shall guide a swarm to my branches or" -- 

"Oh, I would not care for what those reeds say," the willow-tree broke in. "They are the greatest chatterers in the world. They are always whispering together, and they always have something unkind to say."

The aspen-tree was too angry to be still, and it called out to the reeds, "You are only lazy whisperers. I do not care what you say. I despise both you and your queen bee. The honey that those bees make is not good to eat. I would not have it a anywhere near me."

"Hush, hush," whispered the willow timidly. "The reeds will repeat every word that you say."

"I do not care if they do," said the aspen. "I despise both them and the bees."

The reeds did whisper the angry words of the aspen to the queen bee, and she said, "I was going to guide my swarm to the aspen, but now I will drive the tree out of the forest. Come, my bees, come."

Then the bees flew by hundreds upon the aspen. They stung every leaf and every twig through and through. The tree was driven from the forest, over the prairie, over the river, over the fields; and still the angry bees flew after it and stung it again and again. When they had come to the rocky places, they left it and flew back to the land of flowers. The aspen never came back. Its bright green leaves had grown white through fear, and from that day to this they have trembled as they did when the bees were stinging them and driving the tree from the forest.



How The Blossoms Came To The Heather.


Only a little while after the earth was made, the trees and plants came to live on it. They were happy and contented. The lily was glad because her flowers were white. The rose was glad because her flowers were red. The violet was happy because, however shyly she might hide herself away, some one would come to look for her and praise her fragrance. The daisy was happiest of all because every child in the world loved her.

The trees and plants chose homes for themselves. The oak said, "I will live in the broad fields and by the roads, and travelers may sit in my shadow." "I shall be contented on the waters of the pond," said the water-lily. "And I am contented in the sunny fields," said the daisy. "My fragrance shall rise from beside some mossy stone," said the violet. Each plant chose its home where it would be most happy and contented.

There was one little plant, however, that had not said a word and had not chosen a home. This plant was the heather. She had not the sweet fragrance of the violet, and the children did not love her as they did the daisy. The reason was that no blossoms had been given to her, and she was too shy to ask for any.

"I wish there was some one who would be glad to see me," she said; but she was a brave little plant, and she did her best to be contented and to look bright and green.

One day she heard the mountain say, "Dear plants, will you not come to my rocks and cover them with your brightness and beauty? In the winter they are cold, and in the summer they are stung by the sunshine. Will you not come and cover them?"

"I cannot leave the pond," cried the water-lily.

"I cannot leave the moss," said the violet.

"I cannot leave the green fields," said the daisy.

The little heather was really trembling with eagerness. "If the great, beautiful mountain would only let me come!" she thought, and at last she whispered very softly and shyly, "Please, dear mountain, will you let me come? I have not any blossoms like the others, but I will try to keep the wind and the sun away from you."

"Let you?" cried the mountain. "I shall be contented and happy if a dear little plant like you will only come to me."

The heather soon covered the rocky mountain side with her bright green, and the mountain called proudly to the other plants, "See how beautiful my little heather is!" The others replied, "Yes, she is bright and green, but she has no blossoms."

Then a sweet, gentle voice was heard saying, "Blossoms you shall have, little heather. You shall have many and many a flower, because you have loved the lonely mountain, and have done all that you could to please him and make him happy." Even before the sweet voice was still, the little heather was bright with many blossoms, and blossoms she has had from that day to this.



How Flax Was Given To Men.


"You have been on the mountain a long time," said the wife of the hunter.

"Yes, wife, and I have seen the most marvelous sight in all the world," replied the hunter.

"What was that?"

"I came to a place on the mountain where I had been many and many a time before, but a great hole had been made in the rock, and through the hole I saw -- oh, wife, it was indeed a wonderful sight!"

"But what was it, my hunter?"

"There was a great hall, all shining and sparkling with precious stones. There were diamonds and pearls and emeralds, more than we could put into our little house, and among all the beautiful colors sat a woman who was fairer than they. Her maidens were around her, and the hall was as bright with their beauty as it was with the stones. One was playing on a harp, one was singing, and others were dancing as lightly and merrily as a sunbeam on a blossom. The woman was even more beautiful than the maidens, and, wife, as soon as I saw her I thought that she was no mortal woman."

"Did you not fall on your knees and ask her to be good to us?"

"Yes, wife, and straightway she said: 'Rise, my friend. I have a gift for you. Choose what you will to carry to your wife as a gift from Holda.'"

"Did you choose pearls or diamonds?"

"I looked about the place, and it was all so sparkling that I closed my eyes. 'Choose your gift,' she said. I looked into her face, and then I knew that it was indeed the goddess Holda, queen of the sky. When I looked at her, I could not think of precious stones, for her eyes were more sparkling than diamonds, and I said: 'O goddess Holda, there is no gift in all your magic hall that I would so gladly bear away to my home as the little blue flower in your lily-white hand.'"

"Well!" cried the wife, "and when you might have had half the pearls and emeralds in the place, you chose a little faded blue flower! I did think you were a wiser man."

"The goddess said I had chosen well," said the hunter. "She gave me the flower and the seed of it, and she said, 'When the springtime comes, plant the seed, and in the summer I myself will come and teach you what to do with the plant.'"

In the spring the little seeds were put into the ground. Soon the green leaves came up; then many little blue flowers, as blue as the sky, lifted up their heads in the warm sunshine of summer. No one on the earth knew how to spin or to weave, but on the brightest, sunniest day of the summer, the goddess Holda came down from the mountain to the little house.

"Can you spin flax?" she asked of the wife.

"Indeed, no," said the wife.

"Can you weave linen?"

"Indeed, no."

"Then I will teach you how to spin and to weave," said the good goddess. "The little blue flower is the flax. It is my own flower, and I love the sight of it."

So the goddess sat in the home of the hunter and his wife and taught them how to spin flax and weave linen. When the wife saw the piece of linen on the grass, growing whiter and whiter the longer the sun shone upon it, she said to her husband, "Indeed, my hunter, the linen is fairer than the pearls, and I should rather have the beautiful white thing that is on the grass in the sunshine than all the diamonds in the hall of the goddess."



Why The Juniper Has Berries.


Three cranberries once lived together in a meadow. They were sisters, but they did not look alike, for one was white, and one was red, and one was green. Winter came, and the wind blew cold. "I wish we lived nearer the wigwam," said the white cranberry timidly. "I am afraid that Hoots, the bear, will come. What should we do?"

"The women in the wigwam are afraid as well as we," the red cranberry said. "I heard them say they wished the men would come back from the hunt."

"We might hide in the woods," the green cranberry whispered.

"But the bear will come down the path through the woods," replied the white cranberry.

"I think our own meadow is the best place," the red cranberry said. "I shall not go away from the meadow. I shall hide here in the moss."

"I am so white," the white cranberry wailed, "that I know Hoots would see me. I shall hide in the hominy. That is as white as I."

"I cannot hide in the hominy," said the green cranberry, "but I have a good friend in the woods. I am going to ask the juniper-tree to hide me. Will you not go with me?" But the red cranberry thought it best to stay in the moss, and the white cranberry thought it best to hide in the hominy, so the green cranberry had to go alone to the friendly juniper-tree.

By and by a growling was heard, and soon Hoots himself came in sight. He walked over and over the red cranberry that lay hidden in the moss. Then he went to the wigwam. There stood the hominy, and in it was the white cranberry, trembling so she could not keep still.

"Ugh, ugh, what good hominy!" said Hoots, and in the twinkling of an eye he had eaten it up, white cranberry and all.

Now the red cranberry was dead, and the white cranberry was dead, but the little green cranberry that went to the juniper-tree had hidden away in the thick branches, and Hoots did not find her. She was so happy with the kind-hearted tree that she never left it, and that is the reason why the juniper-tree has berries.



Why The Sea Is Salt.


Frothi, king of the Northland, owned some magic millstones. Other millstones grind corn, but these would grind out whatever the owner wished, if he knew how to move them. Frothi tried and tried, but they would not stir.

"Oh, if I could only move the millstones," he cried, "I would grind out so many good things for my people. They should all be happy and rich."

One day King Frothi was told that two strange women were begging at the gate to see him.

"Let them come in," he said, and the were brought before him.

"We have come from a land that is far away," they said.

"What can I do for you?" asked the king.

"We have come to do something for you," answered the women.

"There is only one thing that I wish for," said the king, "and that is to make the magic millstones grind, but you cannot do that."

"Why not?" asked the women. "That is just what we have come to do. That is why we stood at your gate and begged to speak to you."

Then the king was a happy man indeed. "Bring in the millstones," he called. "Quick, quick! Do not wait." The millstones were brought in, and the women asked, "What shall we grind for you?"

"Grind gold and happiness and rest for my people," cried the king gladly.

The women touched the magic millstones, and how they did grind! "Gold and happiness and rest for the people," said the women to one another. "Those are good wishes."

The gold was so bright and yellow that King Frothi could not bear to let it go out of his sight. "Grind more," he said to the women. "Grind faster. Why did you come to my gate if you did not wish to grind?"

"We are so weary," said the women. "Will you not let us rest?"

"You may rest for as long a time as it needs to say 'Frothi,'" cried the king, "and no longer. Now you have rested. Grind away. No one should be weary who is grinding out yellow gold."

"He is a wicked king," said the women. "We will grind for him no more. Mill, grind out hundreds and hundreds of strong warriors to fight Frothi and punish him for his cruel words."

The millstones ground faster and faster. Hundreds of warriors sprang out, and they killed Frothi and all his men.

"Now I shall be king," cried the strongest of the warriors. He put the two women and the magic millstones on a ship to go to a far-away land. "Grind, grind," he called to the women.

"But we are so weary. Please let us rest," they begged.

"Rest? No. Grind on, grind on. Grind salt, if you can grind nothing else."

Night came and the weary women were still grinding. "Will you not let us rest?" they asked.

"No," cried the cruel warrior. "Keep grinding, even if the ship goes to the bottom of the sea." The women ground, and it was not long before the ship really did go to the bottom, and carried the cruel warrior with it. There at the bottom of the sea are the two millstones still grinding salt, for there is no one to say that they must grind no longer. That is why the sea is salt.



The Story Of The First Whitefish.


One day a crane was sitting on a rock far out in the water, when he heard a voice say, "Grandfather Crane, Grandfather Crane, please come and carry us across the lake." It was the voice of a child, and when the crane had come to the shore, he saw two little boys holding each other's hands and crying bitterly.

"Why do you cry?" asked the crane, "and why do you wish to go across the lake, away from your home and friends?"

"We have no friends," said the little boys, crying more bitterly than ever. "We have no father and no mother, and a cruel witch troubles us. She tries all the time to do us harm, and we are going to run away where she can never find us."

"I will carry you over the lake," said the crane. "Hold on well, but do not touch the back of my head, for if you do, you will fall into the water and go to the bottom of the lake. Will you obey me?"

"Yes, indeed, we will obey," they said. "We will not touch your head. But please come quickly and go as fast as you can. We surely heard the voice of the witch in the woods."

It really was the witch, and she was saying over and over to herself, "I will catch them, and I will punish them so that they will never run away from me again. They will obey me after I have caught them."

The crane bore the two little boys gently to the other shore, and when he came back, there stood the witch.

"Dear, gentle crane," she said, "you are so good to every one. Will you carry me over the lake? My two dear children are lost in the woods, and I have cried bitterly for them all day long."

The spirit of the lake had told the crane to carry across the lake every one that asked to be taken over; so he said, "Yes, I will carry you across. Hold on well, but do not touch the back of my head, for if you do, you will fall into the water and go to the bottom of the lake. Will you obey me?"

"Yes, indeed, I will," said the witch; but she thought, "He would not be so timid about letting me touch the back of his head if he were not afraid of my magic. I will put my hand on his head, and then he will always be in my power." So when they were far out over the lake, she put her hand on the crane's head, and before she could say "Oh!" she was at the bottom of the lake.

"You shall never live in the light again," said the crane, "for you have done no good on earth. You shall be a whitefish, and you shall be food for the Indians as long as they eat fish."



Was It The First Turtle?


Once upon a time there was a great fight between two tribes of Indians. It was so fierce that the river ran red with blood, and the war-cries were so loud and angry that the animals of the forest ran away in terror. The warriors fought all day long, and when it began to grow dark, all the men on one side had been killed but two warriors, one of whom was known as Turtle. In those days there were no such animals as turtles in the ponds and rivers, and no one knew why he was called by that name. At last Turtle's friend was struck by an arrow and fell to the ground.

"Now yield!" cried the enemies.

"Friend," said Turtle, "are you dead?"

"No," said his friend.

"Then I will fight on," said Turtle, and he called out, "Give life again to the warriors whom you have killed with your wicked arrows, and then I will yield, but never before. Come on, cowards that you are! You are afraid of me. You do not dare to come!"

Then his enemies said, "We will all shoot our arrows at once, and some one of them will be sure to kill him." They made ready to fire, but Turtle, too, made ready. He had two thick shields, and he put one over his back and one over his breast. Then he called to his fierce enemies, "Are you not ready? Come on, fierce warriors! Shoot your arrows through my breast if you can."

The warriors all shot, but not an arrow struck Turtle, for the two shields covered his breast and his back, and whenever an arrow buzzed through the air, he drew in his head and his arms between the shields, and so he was not harmed. "Why do you not aim at me?" he cried. "Are you shooting at the mountain, or at the sun and the moon? Good fighters you are, indeed! Try again."

His enemies shot once more, and this time an arrow killed the wounded friend as he lay on the ground. When Turtle cried, "Friend, are you living?" there was no answer.

"My friend is dead," said Turtle. "I will fight no more."

"He has yielded," cried his enemies.

"He has not," said Turtle, and with one great leap he sprang into the river. His enemies did not dare to spring after him.

"Those long arms of his would pull us to the bottom," they said; "but we will watch till he comes up, and then we shall be sure of him."

They were not so sure as they thought, for he did not come up, and all that they could see in the water was a strange creature unlike anything that had been there before.

"It has arms and a head," said one.

"And it pulls them out of sight just as Turtle did," said another.

"It has a shield over its back and one over its breast, as Turtle had," said the first. Then all the warriors were so eager to watch the strange animal that they no longer remembered the fight. They crowded up to the shore of the river.

"It is not Turtle," cried one.

"It is Turtle," declared another.

"It is so like him that I do not care to go into the water as long as it is in sight," said still another.

"But if this is not Turtle, where is he?" they all asked, and not one of the wise men of their tribe could answer.



Why The Crocodile Has A Wide Mouth.


"Come to my kingdom whenever you will," said the goddess of the water to the king of the land. "My waves will be calm, and my animals will be gentle. They will be as good to your children as if they were my own. Nothing in all my kingdom will do you harm."

The goddess went back to her home in the sea, and the king walked to the shore of the river and stood gazing upon the beautiful water. Beside him walked his youngest son.

"Father," asked the boy, "would the goddess be angry if I went into the water to swim?"

"No," answered the father. "She says that nothing in all her wide kingdom will do us harm. The water-animals will be kind, and the waves will be calm."

The boy went into the water. He could swim as easily as a fish, and he went from shore to shore, sometimes talking with the fishes, sometimes getting a bright piece of stone to carry to his father. Suddenly something caught him by the foot and dragged him down, down, through the deep, dark water. "Oh, father!" he cried, but his father had gone away from the shore, and the strange creature, whatever it was, dragged the boy down to the very bottom of the river.

The river was full of sorrow for what the creature had done, and it lifted the boy gently and bore him to the feet of the goddess. His eyes were closed and his face was white, for he was dead. Great tears came from the eyes of the goddess when she looked at him. "I did not think any of my animals would do such a cruel thing," she said. "His father shall never know it, for the boy shall not remember what has happened."

Then she laid her warm hand upon his head, and whispered some words of magic into his ear. "Open your eyes," she called, and soon they were wide open. "You went in to swim," said the goddess. "Did the water please you?"

"Yes, surely."

"Were the water-animals kind to you?"

"Yes, surely," answered the boy, for the magic words had kept him from remembering anything about the strange creature that had dragged him to the bottom of the river.

The boy went home to his father, and as soon as he was out of sight, the goddess called to the water-animals, "Come one, come all, come little, come great."

"It is the voice of the goddess," said the water-animals, and they all began to swim toward her as fast as they could.

When they were together before her, she said, "One of you has been cruel and wicked. One of you has dragged to the bottom of the river the son of my friend, the king of the land, but I have carried him safely to shore, and now he is in his home. When he comes again, will you watch over him wherever in the wide, wide water he may wish to go?"

"Yes!" "Yes!" "Yes!" cried the water-animals.

"Water," asked the goddess, "will you be calm and still when the son of my friend is my guest?"

"Gladly," answered the water.

Suddenly the goddess caught sight of the crocodile hiding behind the other animals. "Will you be kind to the boy and keep harm away from him?" she asked.

Now it was the crocodile that had dragged the boy to the bottom of the river. He wished to say, "Yes," but he did not dare to open his mouth for fear of saying, "I did it, I did it," so he said not a word. The goddess cried, "Did you drag the king's son to the bottom of the river?" Still the crocodile dared not open his mouth for fear of saying, "I did it, I did it." Then the goddess was angry. She drew her long sword, and saying, "The mouth that will not open when it should must be made to open," she struck the crocodile's mouth with the sword. "Oh, look!" cried the other animals. The crocodile's mouth had opened; there was no question about that, for it had split open so far that he was afraid he should never be able to keep it closed.



The Story Of The Picture On The Vase.


On some of the beautiful vases that are made in Japan there is a picture of a goddess changing a dragon into an island. When the children of Japan say, "Mother, tell us a story about the picture," this is what the mother says: -- 

"Long, long ago there was a goddess of the sea who loved the people of Japan. She often came out of the water at sunset, and while all the bright colors were in the sky, she would sit on a high rock that overlooked the water and tell stories to the children. Such wonderful stories as they were! She used to tell them all about the strange fishes that swim in and out among the rocks and the mosses, and about the fair maidens that live deep down in the sea far under the waves. The children would ask, 'Are there no children in the sea? Why do they never come out to play with us?' The goddess would answer, 'Some time they will come, if you only keep on wishing for them. What children really wish for they will surely have some day.'

"Then the goddess would sing to the children, and her voice was so sweet that the evening star would stand still in the sky to listen to her song. 'Please show us how the water rises and falls,' the children would beg, and she would hold up a magic stone that she had and say, 'Water, rise!' Then the waves would come in faster and faster all about the rock. When she laid down the stone and said, 'Water, fall!' the waves would be still, and the water would roll back quickly to the deep sea. She was goddess of the storm as well as of the sea, and sometimes the children would say, 'Dear goddess, please make us a storm.' She never said no to what they asked, and so the rain would fall, the lightning flare, and the thunder roll. The rain would fall all about them, but the goddess did not let it come near them. They were never afraid of the lightning, for it was far above their heads, and they knew that the goddess would not let it come down.

"Those were happy times, but there is something more to tell that is not pleasant. One of the goddess's sea-animals was a dragon, that often used to play in the water near the shore. The children never thought of being afraid of any of the sea-animals, but one day the cruel dragon seized a little child in his mouth, and in a moment he had eaten it. There was sadness over the land of Japan. There were tears and sorrowful wailing. 'O goddess,' the people cried, 'come to us! Punish the wicked dragon!'

"The goddess was angry that one of her creatures should have dared to harm the little child, and she called aloud, 'Dragon, come to me.' The dragon came in a moment, for he did not dare to stay away. Then said the goddess, 'You shall never again play merrily in the water with the happy sea-animals. You shall be a rocky island. There shall be trees and plants on you, and before many years have gone, people will no longer remember that you were once an animal.'

"The dragon found that he could no longer move about as he had done, for he was changing into rock. Trees and plants grew on his back. He was an island, and when people looked at it, they said, 'That island was once a wicked dragon.' The children of the sea and the children of the land often went to the island, and there they had very happy times together."

This is the story that the mothers tell to their children when they look at the vases and see the picture of the goddess changing a dragon into an island. But when the children say, "Mother, where is the island? Cannot we go to it and play with the sea-children?" the mother answers, "Oh, this was all a long, long time ago, and no one can tell now where the island was."



Why The Water In Rivers Is Never Still.


All kinds of strange things came to pass in the days of long ago, but perhaps the strangest of all was that the nurses who cared for little children were not women, but brooks and rivers. The children and the brooks ran about together, and the brooks and rivers never said, "It is time to go to bed," for they liked to play as well as the children, and perhaps a little better. Sometimes the brooks ran first and the children followed. Sometimes the children ran first and the brooks followed. Of course, if any animal came near that would hurt the children, the brook or river in whose care they were left flowed quickly around them, so that they stood on an island and were safe from all harm.

Two little boys lived in those days who were sons of the king. When the children were old enough to run about, the king called the rivers and brooks to come before him. They came gladly, for they felt sure that something pleasant would happen, and they waited so quietly that no one would have thought they were so full of frolic.

"I have called you," said the king, "to give you the care of my two little sons. They like so well to run about that one nurse will not be enough to care for them, and of course it will be pleasanter for them to have many playmates. So I felt that it would be better to ask every river and every brook to see that they are not hurt or lost."

"We shall have the king's sons for our playmates!" whispered the rivers. "Nothing so pleasant ever happened to us before."

But the king went on, "If you keep my boys safely and well, and follow them so closely that they are not lost, then I will give you whatever gift you wish; but if I find that you have forgotten them one moment and they are lost or hurt, then you will be punished as no river was ever punished before."

The rivers and even the most frolicsome little brooks were again quiet for a moment. Then they all cried together, "O king, we will be good. There were never better nurses than we will be to your sons."

At first all went well, and the playmates had the merriest times that could be thought of. Then came a day when the sunshine was very warm, but the boys ran faster and farther than boys had ever run in the world before, and even the brooks could not keep up with them. The rivers had never been weary before, but when this warm day came, one river after another had some reason for being quiet. One complained, "I have followed the boys farther than any other river." "Perhaps you have," said another, "but I have been up and down and round and round till I have forgotten how it seems to be quiet." Another declared, "I have run about long enough, and I shall run no more." A little brook said, "If I were a great river, perhaps I could run farther," and a great river replied, "If I were a little brook, of course I could run farther."

So they talked, and the day passed. Night came before they knew it, and they could not find the boys.

"Where are my sons?" cried the king.

"Indeed, we do not know," answered the brooks and rivers in great fear, and each one looked at the others.

"You have lost my children," said the king, "and if you do not find them, you shall be punished. Go and search for them."

"Please help us," the rivers begged of the trees and plants, and everything that had life began to search for the lost boys. "Perhaps they are under ground," thought the trees, and they sent their roots down into the earth. "Perhaps they are in the east," cried one animal, and he went to the east. "They may be on the mountain," said one plant, and so it climbed to the very top of the mountain. "They may be in the village," said another, and so that one crept up close to the homes of men.

Many years passed. The king was almost broken-hearted, but he knew it was of no use to search longer, so he called very sadly, "Search no longer. Let each plant and animal make its home where it is. The little plant that has crept up the mountain shall live on the mountain top, and the roots of the trees shall stay under ground. The rivers" -- Then the king stopped, and the rivers trembled. They knew that they would be punished, but what would the punishment be? The king looked at them. "As for you, rivers and brooks," he declared, "it was your work to watch my boys. The plants and trees shall find rest and live happily in their homes, but you shall ever search for my lost boys, and you shall never have a home."

So from that day to this the rivers have gone on looking for the lost children. They never stop, and some of them are so troubled that they flow first one way and then the other.



How The Raven Helped Men.


The raven and the eagle were cousins, and they were almost always friendly, but whenever they talked together about men, they quarreled.

"Men are lazy," declared the eagle. "There is no use in trying to help them. The more one does for them, the less they do for themselves."

"You fly so high," said the raven, "that you cannot see how hard men work. I think that we birds, who know so much more than they, ought to help them."

"They do not work," cried the eagle. "What have they to do, I should like to know? They walk about on the ground, and their food grows close by their nests. If they had to fly through the air as we do, and get their food wherever they could, they might talk about working hard."

"That is just why we ought to help them," replied the raven. "They cannot mount up into the air as we do. They cannot see anything very well unless it is near them, and if they had to run and catch their food, they would surely die of hunger. They are poor, weak creatures, and there is not a humming-bird that does not know many things that they never heard of."

"You are a poor, weak bird, if you think you can teach men. When they feel hunger, they will eat, and they do not know how to do anything else. Just look at them! They ought to be going to sleep, and they do not know enough to do even that."

"How can they know that it is night, when they have no sun and no moon to tell them when it is day and when it is night?"

"They would not go to sleep even if they had two moons," said the eagle; "and you are no true cousin of mine if you do not let them alone."

So the two birds quarreled. Almost every time they met, they quarreled about men, and at last, whenever the eagle began to mount into the air, the raven went near the earth.

Now the eagle had a pretty daughter. She and the raven were good friends, and they never quarreled about men. One day the pretty daughter said, "Cousin Raven, are you too weak to fly as high as you used to do?"

"I never was less weak," declared the raven.

"Almost every day you keep on the ground. Can you not mount into the air?"

"Of course I can," answered the raven.

"There are some strange things in my father's lodge," said the pretty daughter, "and I do not know what they are. They are not good to eat, and I do not see what else they are good for. Will you come and see them?"

"I will go wherever you ask me," declared the raven.

The eagle's lodge was far up on the top of a high mountain, but the two birds were soon there, and the pretty daughter showed the raven the strange things. He knew what they were, and he said to himself, "Men shall have them, and by and by they will be no less wise than the birds." Then he asked, "Has your father a magic cloak?"

"Yes," answered the pretty daughter.

"May I put it on?"

"Yes, surely."

When the raven had once put on the magic cloak, he seized the strange things and put them under it. Then he called, "I will come again soon, my pretty little cousin, and tell you all about the people on the earth."

The things under his cloak were strange indeed, for one was the sun, and one was the moon. There were hundreds of bright stars, and there were brooks and rivers and waterfalls. Best of all, there was the precious gift of fire. The raven put the sun high up in the heavens, and fastened the moon and stars in their places. He let the brooks run down the sides of the mountains, and he hid the fire away in the rocks.

After a while men found all these precious gifts. They knew when it was night and when it was day, and they learned how to use fire. They cannot mount into the air like the eagle, but in some things they are almost as wise as the birds.



The Story Of The Earth And The Sky.


The sky used to be very close to the earth, and of course the earth had no sunshine. Trees did not grow, flowers did not blossom, and water was not clear and bright. The earth did not know that there was any other way of living, and so she did not complain.

By and by the sky and the earth had a son who was called the Shining One. When he was small, he had a dream, and he told it to the earth. "Mother Earth," he said, "I had a dream, and it was that the sky was far up above us. There was a bright light, and it made you more radiant than I ever saw you. What could the light have been?"

"I do not know, my Shining One," she answered, "for there is nothing but the earth and the sky."

After a long, long time, the Shining One was fully grown. Then he said to the sky, "Father Sky, will you not go higher up, that there may be light and warmth on the earth?"

"There is no 'higher up,'" declared the sky. "There is only just here."

Then the Shining One raised the sky till he rested on the mountain peaks.

"Oh! oh!" cried the sky. "They hurt. The peaks are sharp and rough. You are an unkind, cruel son."

"In my dreams you were still higher up," replied the Shining One, and he raised the sky still higher.

"Oh! oh!" complained the sky, "I can hardly see the peaks. I will stay on the rough rocks."

"You were far above the rocks in my dream," replied the Shining One.

Then when the sky was raised far above the earth and no longer touched even the peaks, a great change came over the earth. She, too, had thought the Shining One unkind, and she had said, "Shining One, it was only a dream. Why should you change the sky and the earth? Why not let them stay as they were before you had the dream?"

"O Mother Earth," he said, "I wish you could see the radiant change that has come to pass. The air is full of light and warmth and fragrance. You yourself are more beautiful than you were even in my dream. Listen and hear the song of the birds. See the flowers blossoming in every field, and even covering the rough peaks of the mountains. Should you be glad if I had let all things stay as they were? Was I unkind to make you so much more lovely than you were?"

Before the earth could answer, the sky began to complain. "You have spread over earth a new cloak of green, and of course she is beautiful with all her flowers and birds, but here am I, raised far above the mountain peaks. I have no cloak, nor have I flowers and birds. Shining One, give me a cloak."

"That will I do, and most gladly," replied the Shining One, and he spread a soft cloak of dark blue over the sky, and in it many a star sparkled and twinkled.

"That is very well in the night," said the heavens, "but it is not good in the daytime, it is too gloomy. Give me another cloak for the day." Then the Shining One spread a light blue cloak over the sky for the daytime, and at last the sky was as beautiful as the earth.

Now both sky and earth were contented. "I did not know that the earth was so radiant," said the sky. "I did not know that the sky was so beautiful," said the earth. "I will send a message to tell her how lovely she is," thought the sky, and he dropped down a gentle little rain.

"I, too, will send a message," thought the earth, "and the clouds shall carry it for me." That is why there is often a light cloud rising from the earth in the morning. It is carrying a good-morning message from the beautiful earth to the sky.



How Summer Came To The Earth.


Part I.

There was once a boy on the earth who was old enough to have a bow and arrows, but who had never seen a summer. He had no idea how it would look to have leaves on the trees, for he had never seen any such things. As for the songs of birds, he may have heard them in his dreams, but he never heard them when he was not asleep. If any one had asked, "Do you not like to walk on the soft grass?" he would have answered, "What is grass? I never saw any."

The reason why this boy had never heard of summer was because there had never been a summer on the earth. Far to the north the earth was covered with thick ice, and even farther south, where the boy lived, the ground was rarely free from ice and snow.

The boy's father was called the fisher. He taught his little son to hunt, and made him a bow like his own, only smaller. The boy was proud of his arrows, and was always happy when he went out to hunt. He had often shot a lynx, and once or twice he had shot a wolverine. Sometimes it chanced that he found nothing to shoot, and then he was not happy, for he realized how cold it was. His fingers ached, and his feet ached, and the end of his nose ached. "Oh, if I could only carry the wigwam fire about with me!" he cried, for he had no idea of any other warmth than that which came from the fire.

Now it chanced that Adjidaumo, the squirrel, was on a tree over the boy's head, and he heard this cry. He dropped a piece of ice upon the end of the boy's little red nose, and the boy bent his bow. Then he realized who it was, and he cried, "O Adjidaumo, you are warm. You have no fingers to ache with the cold. I am warm just twice a day, once in the morning and once at night."

"Boys do not know much," replied Adjidaumo, dancing lightly on the topmost bough. "The end of my nose is warm, and I have no fingers like yours to be cold, but if I had chanced to have any, I have an idea that would have kept them warm."

"What is an idea?" asked the boy.

"An idea is something that is better than a fire," replied the squirrel, "for you can carry an idea about with you, and you have to leave the fire at home. A lynx has an idea sometimes, and a wolverine has one sometimes, but a squirrel has one twice as often as a boy."

The poor boy was too cold to be angry, and he begged, "Adjidaumo, if there is any way for me to keep warm, will you not tell me what it is? A lynx would be more kind to me than you are, and I am sure a wolverine would tell me."

Adjidaumo had rarely been cold, but when he realized how cold the boy was, he was sorry for him, and he said, "All you have to do is to go home and cry. When your father says, 'Why do you cry?' answer nothing but 'Boo-hoo, boo-hoo, boo-hoo! Get me summer, get me summer!'"

Now this boy rarely cried, but his hands and feet were so very cold that he thought he would do as the squirrel had told him, and he started for home. As soon as he reached the wigwam, he threw himself down upon the ground and cried. He cried so hard that his tears made a river that ran out of the wigwam door. It was a frozen river, of course, but when the fisher saw it, he knew it was made of the tears of his little son. "What are you crying for?" he asked, but all the boy answered was "Boo-hoo, boo-hoo! Get me summer, father, get me summer!"

"Summer," repeated the fisher thoughtfully. "It is not easy to get summer, but I will find it if I can."


Part II.

The fisher made a great feast for the animals that he thought could help him to find summer. The otter, the lynx, the badger, and the wolverine came. After they had eaten, the hunter told them what he wished to do, and they all set out to find summer.

For many days they traveled, and at last they came to a high mountain upon whose summit the sky seemed to rest.

"That is where summer is," declared the badger. "All we have to do is to climb to the summit and take it from the heavens." So they all climbed and climbed, till it seemed as if they would never reach the top. After a long time they were on the very highest summit, but the heavens were above them.

"We cannot reach it," said the fisher.

"Let us try," said the lynx.

"I will try first," said the otter. So the otter sprang up with all his might, but he could not touch the heavens. He rolled down the side of the mountain, and then he ran home. The badger tried, and the beaver tried, and the lynx tried, but not one of them could leap far enough to reach the heavens. "Now I will try," said the wolverine. "I am not going to climb away up here for nothing." The fisher watched most eagerly, for he thought, "There's my boy at home crying, and what shall I do if I cannot get the summer for him?"

The wolverine leaped farther than any wolverine ever leaped before, and he went where no animal on the earth had ever been before, for he went straight through the floor of the heavens. Of course the fisher followed, and there they were in a more lovely place than any one on the earth had ever dreamed of, for they were in the land of summer, and summer had never come to the earth.

The soft, warm air went down through the hole in the floor and spread over the earth. Birds flew down, singing happily as they flew, and all kinds of flowers that are on the earth to-day made their way through the hole as fast as they could, for they knew all about the little boy in the wigwam who was wishing that summer would come.

Now there were people in the heavens, and when they found that summer was going down to the earth through the hole in the floor, they cried out to the Great Spirit, "Take summer away from him, take it away from him!" and they shot their arrows at the fisher and the wolverine. The wolverine dropped through the hole, but the fisher was not quick enough, and he could not get away.

The Great Spirit said, "The heavens have the summer all the year, but the earth shall have summer half the year. I shall close the hole in the floor so the fisher cannot go down to earth again, but I will make him into a fish and give him a place in the heavens."

When the Indians look up at the sky, they see a fish in the stars, and they say, "That is the good fisher who gave us the beautiful summer."



The Story Of The First Snowdrops.


An old man sat alone in his house. It Was full of shadows; it was dark and gloomy. The old man cared nothing for the shadows or the darkness, for he was thinking of all the mighty deeds that he had done. "There is no one else in the world," he muttered, "who has done such deeds as I," and he counted them over aloud. A sound outside of the house interrupted him. "What can it be?" he said to himself. "How dares anything interrupt me? I have told all things to be still. It sounds like the rippling of waters, and I have told the waters to be quiet in their beds. There it is again. It is like the singing of birds, and I have sent the birds far away to the south."

Some one opened the door and came in. It was a youth with sunny curls and rosy face.

"Who said you might come in?" muttered the old man.

"Did not you?" asked the youth, with a merry little laugh. "I am really afraid that I came without asking. You see, every one is glad to see me and" -- 

"I am not," interrupted the old man.

"I have heard rumors of your great deeds," said the youth, "and I came to see whether the tales are true."

"The deeds are more true than the tales," muttered the old man, "for the tales are never great enough. No one can count the wonderful things I have done."

"And what are they?" asked the young man gravely, but with a merry little twinkle in his eyes that would have made one think of the waves sparkling in the sunlight. "Let us see whether you or I can tell the greatest tale."

"I can breathe upon a river and turn it to ice," said the old man.

"I can breathe upon the ice and turn it to a river," said the youth.

"I can say to water, 'Stand still,' and it will not dare to stir."

"I can say, 'Stand no longer,' and it will go running and chattering down the mountain side."

"I shake my white head," said the old man, "and snow covers the earth."

"I shake my curls," said the young man, "and the air sparkles with sunshine. In a moment the snow is gone."

"I say to the birds, 'Sing no more. Leave me,' and they spread their wings and fly far away."

"I say, 'Little birds, come back,' and in a moment they are back again and singing their sweetest songs to me."

"No one can count the leaves," said the old man, "but whether I shake the trees with my icy touch, or whether I turn my cold breath upon them, they fall to the ground with fear and trembling. Are there any rumors of my deeds as great as that?"

The young man answered gravely, but with a laugh in his voice, "I never saw any leaves falling to the ground, for when I appear, they are all fair and green and trembling with the gladness of my coming."

So the two talked all night long. As morning came near, the old man appeared weary, but the youth grew merrier. The sunlight brightened, and the youth turned to the open door. The trees were full of birds, and when they saw him, they sang, "O beautiful spring! glad are we to look again upon your face."

"My own dear birds!" cried spring. He turned to say good-by, but the old man was gone, and where he had stood were only snowflakes. But were they snowflakes? He looked again. They were little white snowdrops, the first flowers of spring, the only flowers that can remember the winter.



Why The Face Of The Moon Is White.


An Indian chief had a fair young daughter. One day the wind came to him and said, "Great chief, I love your daughter, and she loves me. Will you give her to me to be my wife?"

"No," answered the chief.

The next day the maiden herself went to the chief and said, "Father, I love the wind. Will you let me go with him to his lodge and be his wife?"

"No," declared the chief, "I will not. When the wind was a child, he often came into my wigwam through some tiny hole, and try as I would to make my fire, he always put it out. He knows neither how to fight nor how to hunt, and you shall not be his wife."

Then the chief hid his daughter in a thick grove of dark spruces. "The wind might see her in a pine," he thought, "but he will never catch sight of her in a grove of spruces."

Now the wind could make himself invisible if he chose, and all the time that the chief was talking, the wind was close beside him listening to every word. When the next night came, the wind ran round and round the grove of spruces until he discovered a tiny place where he could get in. When he came out, the maiden was with him. He did not dare to go near the Indians to live, for he was afraid that the chief would come and take her away from him; so he built a new lodge far to the north-ward. To that lodge he carried the maiden, and she became his wife.

Neither the wind nor his young wife had thought that the chief could ever find them, but he searched and searched, and at last he came to their lodge. The wind hid his wife and made himself invisible, but the father struck all about with his great war-club, and a hard blow fell upon the head of the wind. He knew no more of what the chief was doing.

When he came to himself, he discovered that his wife was gone, and he set out in search of her. He roamed about wildly in the forest, and at last he saw her in a canoe with her father on the Big-Sea-Water. "Come with me," he called. She became as white as snow, but she could not see the wind, because after the blow upon his head he had forgotten how to make himself visible.

He was so angry with the chief that he blew with all his might upon the tiny canoe. "Let it tip over," he thought. "I can carry my wife safely to land." The canoe did tip over, and both the chief and his daughter fell into the water. "Come, dear wife," cried the wind. "Here is my hand." He did not remember that he was invisible, and that she could not see his hand. That is why she fell down, down, through the deep water to the bottom of the lake. The chief, too, lost his life, for the wind did not try to help him.

When the wind discovered that his wife was gone from him, he became almost wild with sorrow. "The wind never blew so sadly before," said the people in the wigwams.

The Great Spirit was sorry that the chief's daughter had fallen into the water and lost her life, and the next night he bore her up to the stars and gave her a home in the moon. There she lives again, but her face is white, as it was when she fell from the canoe. On moonlight nights she always looks down upon the earth, searching for the wind, for she does not know that he is invisible. The wind does not know that far away in the moon is the white face of his lost wife, and so he roams through the forest and wanders about the rocks and the mountains, but never thinks of looking up to the moon.



Why All Men Love The Moon.


Thunder and Lightning were going to give a feast. It was to be a most delightful banquet, for all the good things that could be imagined were to be brought from every corner of the world.

For many days before the feast these good things were coming. The birds flew up with what they could find in the cold air of the north and the warm air of the south. The fishes came from the east and from the west with what they could find in the cold water or in the warm water. As for what grew on the earth, there was no end to the luxuries that came every morning and every evening. Squirrels brought nuts, crows brought corn, the ants brought sweet things of many kinds. Food that was rich and rare came from India and Japan. The butterflies and the humming-birds were to arrange the flowers, the peacocks and the orioles promised to help make the place beautiful, and the waves and the brooks agreed to make their most charming music.

Thunder and Lightning were talking about whom to invite, and they questioned whether to ask the sun, the moon, and the wind. These three were children of the star mother.

"The star mother has been so kind to us that I suppose we ought to invite her children," said Thunder.

"The moon is charming, but the sun and the wind are rough and wild. If I were the star mother, I would keep them in a corner all day, and they should stay there all night, too, if they did not promise to be gentle," said Lightning.

"We must invite them," replied Thunder, with what sounded much like a little growl, "but it would be delightful if they would agree to stay away, all but the moon."

That is why the sun and wind were invited as well as the moon. When the invitation came, the two brothers said to their little sister, "You are too small to go to a feast, but perhaps they asked you because they were going to ask us."

"Star mother, I think I will stay at home," said the moon tearfully.

"No, little moon," replied the star mother; "go to the feast with the other children."

So the three children went to the feast, and the star mother waited for them to come home.

When they came, she asked, "What did you bring for me?" The hands of the sun were full of good things, but he said, "I brought only what I am going to eat myself," and he sat down in a corner with his back to the others, and went on eating.

"Did you bring anything for me?" she asked the wind.

"I brought some good things halfway home, and then I was weary of carrying them," answered the wind, "so I have eaten them."

"I should never have imagined that you would be so selfish," said the star mother sadly, and she asked the little moon, "My daughter, did you bring anything for me?"

"Yes, star mother," answered the little moon, and she gave her mother more good things than any one had ever seen in their home before. There were rare luxuries that the fishes and the birds had brought. There were rich colors that the peacocks and orioles had promised, and there was even some of the charming music that the waves and brooks had agreed to make.

The star mother praised the little maiden. Then she looked at her two boys. She was sad, for she knew that they must be punished for their selfishness. "Sun," said she, "you wish to turn your back on all, and your punishment shall be that when the warm days of summer have come, all men will turn their backs on you." To the wind she said, "Wind, you thought of no one but yourself. When the storm is coming and you are afraid and fly before it, no one shall think of you. All men shall close their doors against you and fasten them." Then to her little daughter she said, "My little moon, you were unselfish and thoughtful. You shall always be bright and beautiful, and men shall love you and praise you whenever they look upon your gentle, kindly face."

This is why men hide from the sun and the wind, but never from the moon.



Why There Is A Hare In The Moon.


Many strange things happened long ago, and one of them was that a hare, a monkey, and a fox agreed to live together. They talked about their plan a long time. Then the hare said, "I promise to help the monkey and the fox." The monkey declared, "I promise to help the fox and the hare." The fox said, "I promise to help the hare and the monkey." They shook hands, or rather shook paws. There was something else to which they agreed, and that was that they would kill no living creature.

The manito was much pleased when he heard of this plan, but he said to himself, "I should like to make sure that what I have heard is true, and that they are really gentle and kind to others as well as to themselves. I will go to the forest and see how they behave toward strangers."

The manito appeared before the three animals, but they thought he was a hunter. "May I come into your lodge and rest?" he asked. "I am very weary."

All three came toward him and gave him a welcome. "Come into our lodge," they said. "We have agreed to help one another, so we will help one another to help you."

"I have been hungry all day," said the manito, "but I should rather have such a welcome than food."

"But if you are hungry, you must have food," declared the three animals. "If there were anything in our lodge that you would care to eat, you might have part of it or all of it, but there is nothing here that you would like."

Then said the monkey, "I have a plan. I will go out into the forest and find you some food."

When the monkey came back, he said, "I found a tree with some fruit on it. I climbed it and shook it, and here is the fruit. There was only a little of it, for fruit was scarce."

"Will you not eat part of it yourself?" asked the manito.

"No," answered the monkey. "I had rather see you eat it, for I think you are more hungry than I."

The manito wished to know whether the fox and the hare would behave as unselfishly toward him, and he said, "My good friends, the fruit was indeed welcome, but I am still hungry."

Then the fox said, "I will go out into the forest and see what I can find for you."

When the fox came back, he said, "I shook the trees, but no more fruit fell. I could not climb the trees, for my paws are not made for climbing, but I searched on the ground, and at last I found some hominy that a traveler had left, and I have brought you that."

The manito had soon eaten the hominy. He wished to know whether the hare would behave as kindly as the others, and before long he said, "My good friends, the hominy was indeed welcome, but I am still hungry."

Then the hare said, "I will gladly go out into the forest and search for food." He was gone a long time, but when he came back, he brought no food.

"I am very hungry," said the manito.

"Stranger," said the hare, "if you will build a fire beside the rock, I can give you some food."

The manito built a fire, and the hare said, "Now I will spring from the top of the rock upon the fire. I have heard that men eat flesh, that is taken from the fire, and I will give you my own."

The hare sprang from the rock, but the manito caught him in his hands before the flame could touch him, and said, "Dear, unselfish little hare, the monkey and the fox have welcomed me and searched the forest through to find me food, but you have done more, for you have given me yourself. I will take the gift, little hare, and I will carry you in my arms up to the moon, so that every one on the earth may see you and hear the tale of your kindness and unselfishness."

The Indians can see a hare in the moon, and this is the story that they tell their children about it.



The Children In The Moon.


They had no idea where they came from. All they knew was that they lived on the hill, and that the old man of the hill called them Jack and Jill. They had plenty of berries to eat, and when night came, they had soft beds of fir to sleep on. There were all kinds of animals on the hill, and they were friendly to the two children. They could have had a most delightful time playing all day long if it had not been for having to carry water.

Every morning, just as soon as the first rays of the sun could be seen from their home, they heard the voice of the old man of the hill calling, "Jack! Jill! Take your pail and get some water." Whenever they were having an especially pleasant game with some of the animals, they heard the same call, "Take your pail and get some water." It is no wonder that Jack awoke one night when no one called and said, "Jill, did he say we must get some water?" "I suppose so," answered Jill sleepily, and they went out with the pail.

The moon was shining down through the trees, and they imagined that she was nearer than ever before. The forest was not half so lonely with her gentle face looking down upon them. Soon they felt happier than at first, and they played little games together, running from tree to tree.

"We have spilled half the water," said Jill.

"There's plenty left," said Jack, "if half is spilled."

"Do you suppose there are any children who play games whenever they like and do not have to carry water?"

"Plenty of them," declared Jack.

"Jack and Jill Went up the hill To get a pail of water,"

sang a voice so clear that it seemed close at hand, and so soft that it seemed far away.

Jack started, fell, and rolled down the hillside, and Jill came tumbling after. As for the water, what was left was spilled before Jack had rolled over once; and before he had rolled over twice, the same voice sang, -- 

"Jack fell down And broke his crown, And Jill came tumbling after."

"It is about us," cried Jill.

"I have not broken any crown," said Jack.

"It is the crown of your head," declared Jill.

"Oh!" said Jack; "but where's the water?"

"It has gone tumbling down the hill," answered the same voice.

"How can water go tumbling?" cried Jill. "We tumbled."

"Water tumbles too," replied the voice, "especially when it is frozen."

"Oh!" said Jack.

"Oh!" said Jill.

"The stream is frozen," called the voice.

"What stream?" asked the children together.

"The stream that goes down the hill," answered the voice. "Did you not know that you were bringing water to keep the stream full?"

"No, indeed," said the children.

"The old man of the hill is only a rock, and what you thought his voice was only the water flowing around it."

"Oh!" cried Jack.

"Oh!" cried Jill.

"The stream is frozen," said the voice, "and the earth has a cloak of snow and ice."

"Who are you?" asked Jill shyly.

"Do you really not know? What a strange child you are! I am the moon, of course. Very pleasant people live with me, and I have come to invite you both to go home with me. Will you come?"

The children looked up through the trees, and there was the gentle face of the moon, looking more gentle and kind than ever. "Come," said she, and they went very willingly. They have lived in the moon many years, but they never again carried a pail of water for a stream. "That is the work of the clouds and the sun," says the moon.



Why There Is A Man In The Moon.


"Goodman," said the goodwife, "you must go out into the forest and gather sticks for the fire. To-morrow will be Sunday, and we have no wood to burn."

"Yes, goodwife," answered the goodman, "I will go to the forest."

He did go to the forest, but he sat on a mossy rock and fished till it was dark, and so he brought home no wood. "The goodwife shall not know it," he thought. "I will go to the forest to-morrow morning and gather sticks."

When morning came, he crept softly out of the house when it was hardly light, and went to the forest. Soon he had as many sticks as he could carry, and he was starting for home when a voice called sternly, "Put those sticks down." He looked to the right, to the left, before him, behind him, and over his head. There was no one to be seen.

"Put those sticks down," said the voice again.

"Please, I do not dare to put them down," replied the goodman, trembling with fear. "They are to burn, and my wife cannot cook the dinner without them."

"You will have no dinner to-day," said the voice.

"The goodwife will not know that I did not gather them last night, and she will let me have some dinner. I am almost sure she will," the goodman replied.

"You must not gather sticks to-day," said the voice more sternly than ever. "It is Sunday. Put them down."

"Indeed, Mr. Voice, I dare not," whispered the goodman; and afar off he thought he heard his wife calling, "Goodman, where are you? There is no wood to burn."

"Will you put them down, or will you carry them forever?" cried the voice angrily.

"Truly, I cannot put them down, for I dare not go home without them," answered the goodman, shaking with fear from head to foot. "The goodwife would not like it."

"Then carry them forever," said the voice. "You care not for Sunday, and you shall never have another Sunday."

The goodman could not tell how it came about, but he felt himself being lifted, up, up, up, sticks and all, till he was in the moon.

"Here you shall stay," said the voice sternly. "You will not keep Sunday, and here you need not. This is the moon, and so it is always the moon's day, or Monday, and Monday it shall be with you always. Whenever any one looks up at the moon, he will say, 'See the man with the sticks on his back. He was taken to the moon because he gathered wood on Sunday.'"

"Oh dear, oh dear," cried the goodman, "what will the goodwife say?"



The Twin Stars.


In front of the little house was a pine-tree, and every night at the time when the children went to bed, a bright star appeared over the top of the tree and looked in at the window. The children were brother and sister. They were twins, and so they always had each other to play with.

"Now go to sleep," the mother would say when she had kissed them good-night, but it was hard to go to sleep when such a beautiful, radiant thing was shining in at the window of the little house.

"What do you suppose is in the star?" asked the sister.

"I think there are daisies and honey and violets and butterflies and bluebirds," answered the brother.

"And I think there are roses and robins and berries and humming-birds," said the sister.

"There must be trees and grass too, and I am sure there are pearls and diamonds."

"I can almost see them now," declared the sister. "I wish we could really see them. To-morrow let us go and find the star."

When morning came, the star was gone, but they said, "It was just behind the pine-tree, and so it must be on the blue mountain." The blue mountain was a long way off, but it looked near, and the twins thought they could walk to it in an hour. All day long they walked. They went through the lonely woods, they crossed brooks, they climbed hills, and still they could not find the radiant star that had looked in at their window. The hour had come when their mother always put them to bed and kissed them and said good-night, but now they had no mother, no good-night kiss, and no bed. They were tired and sleepy. They heard strange sounds in the forest, and they were frightened. "I am so tired," the sister whispered. "I am afraid a bear will come. I wish we could see the star."

The sky had grown dark, and a star could be seen here and there, but it was not their star. They went on till they could go no farther. "We will lie down on the grass," said the brother, "and cover ourselves up with leaves, and go to sleep."

Tired as they were, they did not have time to go to sleep before they heard a bear calling "Ugh! Ugh!" in the woods. They sprang up and ran out of the woods, and just before they came to the bottom of the hill, they saw right in front of them a beautiful little lake. They were not frightened any more, for there in the water was something radiant and shining. "It is our own star," said they, "and it has come down to us." They never thought of looking up into the sky over their heads. It was enough for them that the star was in the water and so near them. But was it calling them? They thought so. "Come," cried the brother, "take my hand, and we will go to the star." Then the spirit of the skies lifted them up gently and carried them away on a beautiful cloud.

The father and mother sat alone in the little house one evening, looking sadly out of the window through which the twins had looked. "There is the star that they loved," the mother said. "I have often listened to them while they talked of it. It is rising over the pine-tree in front of the house." They sat and watched the star. It was brighter and more radiant than ever, and in it the father and mother saw the faces of their lost children. "Oh, take us too, good spirit of the skies!" they cried. The spirit heard them, and when the next evening came, close beside the star there was another star. In that were the father and mother, and at last they and the children were all very happy to be together again.



The Lantern And The Fan.


In a Japanese village there once lived a man who had two sons. When the sons were grown up, each brought home a wife from another village a long distance away. The father was greatly pleased with his two daughters-in-law, and for many months they all lived very happily together.

At last the two young wives asked to go home to visit their friends. Among the Japanese the sons and the sons' wives must always obey the father, so the two wives said, "Father-in-law, it is a long, long time since we have seen our friends. May we go to our old home and visit them?" The father-in-law answered, "No." After many months they asked again, and again he answered, "No." Once more they asked. The father-in-law thought, "They care nothing for me, or they would not wish to leave me, but I have a plan, and I can soon know whether they love their father-in-law or not." Then he said to the older of the two wives, "You may go if you wish, but you must never come back unless you bring me fire wrapped in paper." To the younger he said, "You may go if you wish, but you must never come back unless you bring me wind wrapped in paper." The father-in-law thought, "Now I shall find out. If they care for me, they will search the country through till they find paper that will hold fire and wind."

The two young wives were so glad to visit their old friends that for almost a month they forgot all about the gifts that they were to carry to their father-in-law. At last, when it was time to go home, they were greatly troubled about what they must carry with them, and they asked a wise man where to find the strange things. "Paper that will hold fire and wind!" he cried. "There is no such paper in Japan." The two women asked one wise man after another, and every one declared, "There is no such paper in Japan." What should they do? They feared they would never see their home again. They were so sad that they left their friends and wandered a long distance into the forest. Great tears fell from their eyes.

"I do not let people cry in my woods," said a voice. "My trees do not grow well in salt water."

The poor wives were so sorrowful that they forgot to be afraid, and the older one said, "Can we help crying? Unless I can carry to my father-in-law fire wrapped in paper, I can never go home." "And I," wailed the younger, "unless I can carry wind wrapped in paper, I can never go home. None of the wise men ever heard of such things. What shall we do?"

"It is easy enough to wrap fire in paper," answered the voice. "Here is a piece of paper. Now watch." They watched, and the strangest thing in all the world happened right before their eyes. There was no one to be seen, but a piece of paper appeared on the ground and folded itself into a Japanese lantern. "Now put a candle inside," said the voice, "and you have paper holding fire. What more could you ask?"

Then the older woman was happy, but the younger was still sad. She saw now that fire could be carried in paper, but surely no one could carry wind. "O dear voice," she cried, "can any one carry wind in paper?"

"That is much easier than to carry fire," replied the voice, "for wind does not burn holes. Watch."

They watched eagerly. Another piece of paper came all by itself and lay on the ground between them. There was a picture on it of a tree covered with white blossoms. Two women stood under the tree, gathering the blossoms.

"The two women are yourselves," said the voice, "and the blossoms are the gifts that the father-in-law will give you when you go home."

"But I cannot go home," the younger wailed, "for I cannot carry wind wrapped in paper."

"Here is the paper, and there is always plenty of wind. Why not take them?"

"Indeed, I do not know how," the younger woman answered sorrowfully.

"This way, of course," said the voice. Some long, light twigs flew to the paper. It folded itself, over, under, together. It opened and closed, and it waved itself before the tearful face of the younger woman. "Does not the wind come to your face?" asked the voice, "and is it not the fan that has brought it? The lantern carries fire wrapped in paper, and the fan carries wind wrapped in paper."

Then, indeed, the two young women were happy, and when they came to the home of their father-in-law, he was as glad as they. He gave them beautiful gifts of gold and silver, and he said, "No one ever had such marvels before as the lantern and the fan, but in my home there are two more precious things than these, and they are my two dear daughters."

<eob>

Lives Of The Presidents: Told In Words Of One Syllable

By

Jean S. Remy



George Wash-Ing-Ton.


Way down in Vir-gin-i-a, near a small creek, called Bridg-es Creek, there is a shaft of white stone; -- on it is the name of George Wash-ing-ton and the date of his birth: Feb-ru-ar-y 22d, 1732.

On this spot once stood the big brick house in which George Wash-ing-ton was born; it was built in 1657 by John Wash-ing-ton; his grand-son, Au-gus-tine, was the fa-ther of the lit-tle boy who be-came our first pres-i-dent. The moth-er of George Wash-ing-ton was Ma-ry Ball; so sweet and fair was she, when she was a young girl, that she was known as "Sweet Mol-ly."

Now she was not the first wife of Au-gus-tine Wash-ing-ton; and he had two boys, Law-rence and Au-gus-tine, when he made her his wife. These boys were so kind to their small broth-er George, when he was young, and gave him so much help, all through his life, that their names should stay in your minds. When George was three years old his home was burned to the ground, and his fa-ther built a fine new house, just o-ver the riv-er from where the cit-y of Fred-er-icks-burg now stands. Here George went to his first school, and the name of the man who taught him was so queer, it will not go out of your mind; -- it was "Hob-by." In those old days, the boys wrote to their boy-friends, just as they do at this day. See what George, when he was nine years old, wrote to his best friend, Rich-ard Hen-ry Lee: -- "Dear Dick-ey, I thank you ver-y much for the pret-ty pic-ture book you gave me. Sam asked me to show him the pic-tures and I showed him all the pic-tures in it; and I read to him how the tame el-e-phant took care of his mas-ter's lit-tle boy, and put him on his back and would not let an-y-bod-y touch his mas-ter's lit-tle son. I can read three or four pages some-times with-out miss-ing a word. Ma says I may go to see you and stay all day with you next week if it be not rain-y. She says I may ride my po-ny. He-ro, if Uncle Ben will go with me and lead He-ro. I have a lit-tle piece of po-et-ry a-bout the book you gave me, but I mustn't tell you who wrote the po-et-ry.

"G. W.'s com-pli-ments to R. H. L. And likes his book full well. Hence-forth will count him as his friend, And hopes ma-ny hap-py days he may spend.

"Your good friend, "GEORGE WASH-ING-TON."

"I am go-ing to get a whip top soon, and you may see and whip it."

You see the boys in those old days were fond of books, and toys and hors-es just as the boys of to-day are; and there is a tale of George, and a young colt, which shows that he was a brave and strong boy, who did not fear to tell the truth, though he had done wrong. He and some of his boy-friends were in a field, in which were kept some young colts, some of which had been used.

The boys caught one colt, put a bit in its mouth, and held it, while George sprang on its back. The colt, mad with fear, sprang in the air, tore through the field, and tried in vain to throw the boy; at last he leaped with such force, that he broke a blood ves-sel, and fell to the ground dead. Just at this time George's moth-er came out, and saw the dead colt. She asked the boys if they knew how he died. "Yes, mad-am," at once said her own boy; and then he told the whole truth. There are more tales of the boy-life of George and all show that he was a brave, strong boy, full of life and fun, and at the head in games and sports of all kinds.

His fa-ther died when he was on-ly e-lev-en (11) years old; but his moth-er lived to be an old, old la-dy, who was, you may be sure, ver-y proud of her great son.

Af-ter his fa-ther's death George made his home with his broth-er, Au-gus-tine, un-til he was six-teen (16) years old; and the short notes which he wrote to his moth-er were not like those he sent to his boy-friends, or like those which you boys and girls write to-day. He be-gan, "Hon-ored Mad-am;" and end-ed the stiff lit-tle note, -- "Your du-ti-ful son."

In those days folks lived on great big farms, or plan-ta-tions, as they were called, and raised to-bac-co, which was sold for much mon-ey in Eng-land. George's fa-ther had a ver-y large plan-ta-tion and ma-ny slaves to work on it; some day this would all be-long to George, and so he was taught how to write in a big round hand, how to do sums, and to look out for those who were in his care.

All through these years there was talk of war; for a cru-el war be-tween the French and Eng-lish, known as King George-'s War, had be-gun; and the boys, who heard so much talk of war, of course played at it; and George was ev-er at the head, ev-er lead-ing these bands of young sol-diers; he longed, just as boys would to-day, to throw a-way his books, to leave school, to go to the true war and bear a real gun; and when he was fif-teen, his broth-er Law-rence, who was a sol-dier, tried to make his moth-er let him join the na-vy, as he was too young to go to the war. But this moth-er was a ver-y wise wo-man, and said no; that his place was at home un-til he knew how to care for the great plan-ta-tion and the ma-ny slaves that in five or six years would be his.

Now, at this time, this great land of ours was so wild that it was hard to tell how much land a man owned, just where one great farm end-ed and the next be-gan; and a man who knew the land so well that he could tell folks just these things would be of much use; so George now be-gan to give much time to just this work; and so well did he do it that soon folks came to him when they were in doubt.

In fact this work led, as you shall see, straight up to the pres-i-dent's seat. His broth-er Law-rence had mar-ried Anne Fair-fax, and in their home at Mt. Ver-non George met ma-ny great men; a-mong oth-ers was Lord Thom-as Fair-fax, who owned a piece of land so large that he did not know how big it was; he sent George to find this out; and now this young boy had a rough piece of real work to do.

In March, 1748, he and a young friend, George Wil-liam Fair-fax, left the ease of Mt. Ver-non to live in the wild woods, where they would see on-ly Indians, or, at the best, rough white men; in the log huts of the white men they found so much dirt that, af-ter one tri-al, rath-er than sleep on dir-ty straw, with no sheet, and but one torn, thin blan-ket, they ei-ther lay on the bare floor, near the big wood-fire, or else built a huge fire in the woods and lay close to it on the earth. They had to swim their hors-es o-ver streams; they shot wild deer and birds, and of-ten cooked and ate them, alone in the great wild woods, far from e-ven the camp of the In-di-ans. Once, at least, we know, from a little book in which each night George wrote of what they had done that day, that they saw a grand war-dance of the In-di-ans; the mu-sic by which they danced was made by a pot half full of wa-ter, with a deer-skin o-ver the top, and a gourd filled with shot; this must have made queer mu-sic to dance by.

The boys were gone six weeks, and did their work so well that the gov-ern-or heard of it, and he made George a "pub-lic sur-vey-or;" that is, it was his place to find out the size of all the new farms; and his word was to be law. He must have done this work well, too, for the lines which he laid down were the ones used by the new States years and years af-ter his death.

Now, for weeks at a time, he was a-lone in the woods with the In-di-ans; liv-ing in their camps, and learn-ing of their life; they taught him ma-ny things; and they, in turn, learned to love and trust him; this lone-ly life made him a grave and qui-et man; one who talked lit-tle; and it taught him to think for him-self, at an age when most boys are told what to do by their par-ents and friends.

When he was not in the woods, hard at work, he was at Mt. Vernon; and here the talk was of the great lands in the west; and of the war bet-ween the Eng-lish and the French, who were each try-ing to drive a-way the oth-er, and were both try-ing to force out the In-di-ans. It was pret-ty hard for the In-di-ans, who now had not on-ly to fight each oth-er, but the white men, too. At last they took sides, some with the Eng-lish, some with the French; and a fierce war broke out o-ver the land near the O-hi-o River; no white men had yet lived there, and both sides wished to own it.

The French moved ver-y fast, and built great forts, and sent men there to keep the Eng-lish a-way; it was no "play-war" in which Wash-ing-ton now took part; he had real men under him; but, just as he be-gan to learn what real war was, he had to go to the West In-dies with his broth-er Law-rence, who was ver-y sick. They spent the win-ter there, but Law-rence did not get well, and came back to Mt. Ver-non in the spring, where he died in Ju-ly, 1752.

He left his land in charge of Wash-ing-ton, who now made his home there; and when his broth-er's daugh-ter died he be-came the own-er.

Now, while Wash-ing-ton had been a-way, the French had been ver-y ac-tive; they had made friends with the In-di-ans, and had e-ven dared to send some Eng-lish tra-ders in a ship to France.

At this act Eng-land was up and in arms, and sent o-ver great ships and ma-ny men to help fight the French. The first step that Eng-land took was to send men to warn the French a-way from the Eng-lish forts in Penn-syl-va-ni-a; and Wash-ing-ton, who knew bet-ter than a-ny one else the rough wild woods, and who was a friend of the In-di-ans, led a lit-tle band of sev-en men through the dense, dark woods and o-ver riv-ers filled with float-ing ice, up to the French lines. He told the chief man of the French troops just what the Eng-lish said, but this French man would not give up one inch of ground that he had won from the In-di-ans, and gave Wash-ing-ton a note to take back with him, in which he said as much.

Of course Eng-land could take but one course now; and so the long, fierce war known as the "Sev-en Years' War" be-gan. Wash-ing-ton was made a colo-nel, and showed so much skill, and was so brave, that in a short time he took charge of part of the troops of Gen-er-al Brad-dock.

In June, 1755, the troops made a start for Fort Du-quesne, where they were to stay; and on this trip, while they were deep in the woods, the In-di-ans, with fierce shrieks and wild cries, sprang on them from the rocks and trees. The horse on which Wash-ing-ton rode was shot; Gen-er-al Brad-dock got such a wound that he died, and ma-ny poor men were killed. Here again Wash-ing-ton act-ed so brave-ly, and was so wise, that the sol-diers said that Brad-dock had lost the day and Wash-ing-ton had saved the ar-my.

At Brad-dock's death Wash-ing-ton was made chief of all the troops in the col-o-nies; and the first thing he did was to place men near the homes which the white men were mak-ing in the new lands, and so help these ear-ly set-tlers to stop the In-di-ans when they came to rob them and to burn up their lit-tle log cab-ins, for a great fear of the red men was o-ver all the land. Now, when the war came to a close with the fall of the French, we find that Wash-ing-ton is a very great man, that his troops love him ver-y much, and that the heads of the states feel that he is a strong, wise man, and one whom they can trust. All this time, you know, he was an Eng-lish sol-dier, fight-ing for Eng-land; but, deep in his heart, and in the hearts of all the brave men who fought with him, there was, we may be sure, a love for this fair land, and a long-ing for its best good.

After the war was at an end Wash-ing-ton, who was ver-y glad to give up his post, mar-ried Mrs. Eus-tis, a young wid-ow with two lit-tle chil-dren, a girl of six years and a boy of twelve, and went to Mt. Ver-non to live. For twen-ty years now he lived the qui-et life he loved so well. He took good care of his farm, was hap-py with his fam-i-ly and friends, and grew, day by day, in power. He did not lead an i-dle life, you may be sure; he rose ear-ly, had his break-fast at sev-en in sum-mer and eight in win-ter; then rode o-ver his farm and saw that all was right. He had his din-ner at two o'clock; then had an ear-ly tea, and of-ten was in bed by nine o'clock. Twice a year he sent to Lon-don for things need-ed in the way of dress for his fam-i-ly and slaves, for tools, books, drugs, etc. Some of the things he bought for the chil-dren I think you boys and girls would like, too. He sent for "tops, lit-tle books for chil-dren to read, a doll, and oth-er toys."

Wash-ing-ton loved hors-es and was ver-y fond of hunt-ing. The name of his pet horse was "Blue-skin"; he must have looked ver-y fine when he was on horse-back; for he was a big man, with bright blue eyes and high color, and he wore a red vest with gold lace on it, and a dark blue cloth coat. Mrs. Wash-ing-ton rode in a fine car-riage drawn by four hors-es, and her driv-er wore the Wash-ing-ton col-ors of red, white and gold. These old days were full of life and fun, but there was work as well, and soon came more talk of war.

All through these twen-ty years this land was grow-ing big-ger and big-ger; and at last came the time when folks did not see why they should not be free from Eng-land and rule their own land in their own way.

At last Eng-land made a law called the "Stamp Act," which put so high a tax on goods that folks here would not pay it; tea was one of the things on which this tax was put; and when Eng-land sent o-ver three ships full of tea to Bos-ton, our men would not let it be ta-ken from the ships, but broke the great chests and threw all the tea in the wa-ter. This act is known as the "Bos-ton Tea Par-ty"; and now the first signs of war were seen; a fierce fight took place at Lex-ing-ton, one Sun-day morn-ing, be-tween the Brit-ish and A-mer-i-can troops; and now, all o-ver the land, went up the cry, "To arms! To arms!"

This is how the great War of In-de-pend-ence be-gan; and you know the name of the man who was at once put at the head of the A-mer-i-can ar-my -- George Wash-ing-ton, of course! Now he is not an Eng-lish-man fight-ing for his king, but an A-mer-i-can fight-ing to free his own land. A long, hard fight it was, too, but not once did Wash-ing-ton or his brave men lose heart. He drove the Brit-ish out of Bos-ton, and then, for fear they would go to New York, he sent men there; but the Brit-ish ships went to Can-a-da in-stead, and made that land theirs.

It was just at this time that Rich-ard Hen-ry Lee, the boy-friend of Wash-ing-ton, made a move in Con-gress that our land should say to the whole world that it would be free from Brit-ish rule; and so the Dec-lar-a-tion of In-de-pend-ence was drawn up and sent out to the world on July 4, 1776.

From an English print, 1733.]

War now be-gan in dead-ly earn-est; and, at the great bat-tle of Long Isl-and, our men met with great loss of life, and had to flee from the foe. Soon af-ter this bad news the Brit-ish took Phil-a-del-phi-a, and now Wash-ing-ton was sad at heart; on Christ-mas day of 1776, though, our troops won in the great fight that took place at Tren-ton, and there was joy in the whole land; good news came with the New Year, too, for Wash-ing-ton won ma-ny fights; and at last, in Oc-to-ber, 1777, the Brit-ish troops in charge of Gen-er-al Bur-goyne gave up their arms to Gen-er-al Gates. That win-ter of 1777 was a bad one for Wash-ing-ton and his men; at no time in the war did they suf-fer so much; the time was spent at Val-ley Forge, and the men lived in log huts which they had first built, in long straight lines, like cit-y streets; twelve men lived in each hut, and there was a fire-place at the back, but no fire could keep out the aw-ful cold, and no hut was snug e-nough to keep out the snow that fell in great drifts a-round this lit-tle town of log huts. To make things worse there was lit-tle food to be had; the men had on-ly poor, thin clothes, and their bare feet oft-en left marks of blood on the white snow. But the men did not lose hope, and kept their faith through all the long months in their great lead-er, whose lot was quite as hard as theirs was; the farm-house in which he had a room still stands, and it is hard to be-lieve, as you look at this old house on the banks of the Del-a-ware Riv-er, that once the big or-chard back of it and all the pret-ty fields were filled with poor little wood-en huts in which, for the sake of free-dom, lived and suf-fered thou-sands of brave men.

In the spring things were bet-ter, for France joined A-mer-i-ca in her fight for free-dom, and three years from this time the Brit-ish were beaten at York-town and A-mer-i-ca was free. One of the great French-men, who gave us much help, and was a firm friend of Wash-ing-ton's, was the Mar-quis de La-fay-ette.

A ver-y sad thing dur-ing these last years of the war was the base act of Ben-e-dict Ar-nold, who made up his mind to sell to the Brit-ish some posts near West Point, of which he had charge. He sent a note to Clin-ton by a young Brit-ish spy, Ma-jor An-dre; but on his way to the Brit-ish lines this young man was caught by three of our men. They found the note in his boots and he was brought to the A-mer-i-can camp, tried for his life and hung as a spy. Ben-e-dict Ar-nold had made his way to a ship and set sail for Eng-land, and his name is hat-ed, not on-ly by his own land, but by e-ven the land to whom he tried to sell his coun-try.

It was in March, 1783, that the news of peace spread through the land, and it is said that Wash-ing-ton wept with joy, as he read the glad news to his troops; he gave or-ders that the whole ar-my should give thanks to God; and this was done at a great meet-ing on the day af-ter Lord Corn-wal-lis laid down his sword. Then there was a great ball giv-en at Fred-er-icks-burg, and Wash-ing-ton's old moth-er, sev-en-ty-four years old, was there lean-ing on the arm of her son; and do you not think she was proud, as one af-ter an-oth-er of the great French of-fi-cers bowed to her, and spoke in her son's praise?

It was on Christ-mas eve that Wash-ing-ton came home to Mt. Vernon, af-ter eight years of war: rid-ing in state, with his wife at his side, this great A-mer-i-can, feared now by kings, and loved more than ev-er by the coun-try he had made free, came glad-ly back to take up the qui-et coun-try life he loved so well; and here, could he have had his way, he would have lived un-til his death; but this new coun-try need-ed at its head a man whom folks loved and trust-ed, and of whom oth-er lands stood in fear. No man but Wash-ing-ton could fill this great place; and so, at the end of three years, once more at his coun-try's call, he left his home, -- this time to be-come the first Pres-i-dent of the U-ni-ted States. Not one voice was a-gainst him; eve-ry man in the new coun-try vot-ed to give him this last hon-or; and on Ap-ril 30th, 1789, in New York Ci-ty, he took the oath of of-fice. Wash-ing-ton, who was a ve-ry rich man, had tak-en no mon-ey for serv-ing his coun-try in the war; and said he would take none now; but be-cause oth-er Pres-i-dents might not be rich e-nough or good e-nough to want to do the same, the peo-ple made him take $25,000 a year; now, you know, the Pres-i-dent gets $50,000 a year.

Wash-ing-ton was in New York but one year, then the cap-i-tal was moved to Phil-a-del-phia, and here he lived in great state, un-til af-ter eight years in the Pres-i-dent's chair, once more, and for the last time, he came back home to Mt. Ver-non.

At the end of his term of of-fice, Wash-ing-ton on-ly wait-ed to see the next Pres-i-dent, John Ad-ams, take the chair, and soon af-ter he came back talk a-rose of war with France; and, of course, the coun-try turned to him; he was a-gain put in charge of the ar-my, and took up the pub-lic life he had so glad-ly laid down. But he had not long to bear it this time, for on De-cem-ber 12th, 1799, while rid-ing in a hard rain-storm, he took a heav-y cold, from which he died on Sat-ur-day night, De-cem-ber 14th, be-tween ten and twelve o'clock.

Wash-ing-ton was bur-ied at Mt. Ver-non, and to-day the tomb of "The Fa-ther of his Coun-try," as he is lov-ing-ly called is a sa-cred place; not on-ly to us, but to the men and wo-men of the old lands, which were taught by him so long a-go to hon-or and fear this great, new A-mer-i-ca.

Wash-ing-ton had been dead just one hun-dred years on De-cem-ber 14th, 1899, and the date was made much of in the U-nit-ed States: in New York Ci-ty, in Wash-ing-ton, and at Mt. Ver-non there was a great time in his hon-or, for this great man is as dear to his coun-try to-day as he was when he was a-live.




John Ad-Ams.


John Ad-ams was born, not in the far South with ma-ny slaves to wait on him, but on a small farm in Brain-tree, Mass. Here, from old Eng-land had come, in 1636, his great-grand-fa-ther, Hen-ry Ad-ams; and in this old home was born on Oc-to-ber 19th, 1735, John Ad-ams, who was to be the sec-ond Pres-i-dent of the U-nit-ed States. Now, on this farm in the east, there was much work to be done, and few to do it; the folks who had made their homes here did not lead such lives of ease as those who lived on the great farms in the South.

As a small boy, though, of course, he was taught to read and write, John Ad-ams had a good deal of hard work to do. There was wood to chop, and snow to be cleared a-way; there were hors-es and cows to care for, and there was much work to do in the fields. In all this work John took his part, like the brave, strong boy that he was. When the days grew long and cold, he was sent to an old school near his home, and here he at once took his place with the boys, as one who would lead in fun and sport of all kinds. There was a good deal of fun, too, in those days, for boys and girls both; in the cold days there was good, strong ice on which to skate; there was snow to play in, and to make fine roads for long rides in a sleigh; and, when the days were long and hot, there were fish in the big streams, and there was game in the wild woods. John was not fond of his books, but still he did good work at school; and when he was quite young went to Har-vard Col-lege. He left it in 1755, just at the start of the "Sev-en Years' War"; and the name of George Wash-ing-ton, the brave young Col-o-nel of Vir-gin-ia, rang loud in his ears.

He taught school in Wor-ces-ter to earn the means to take up law; and in 1758 he be-came a law-yer. He had ma-ny cas-es, and grew wise and great, though he did not make much mon-ey, as folks in the small town of Brain-tree were far from rich and paid small fees. But he did make ma-ny kind friends, and far and near he was known as a man of clear, strong mind and quick, bright thoughts; he had a fine, sweet voice, too, and his speech-es were al-ways wise and showed much thought.

In the strife with Eng-land he was, from the start, on the side of A-mer-i-ca. So much did Eng-land fear him in 1757, the Eng-lish king sent word that he would give him great wealth if he would serve him at this time. Ad-ams would not do this; he would speak and act just as he thought right, and be bound by no king. When the "Stamp Act" passed in 1764, he made a great speech, which was sent to those at the head of his State; and when, in 1770, a troop of Brit-ish fired on a mob of A-mer-i-can men and boys in the streets of Bos-ton, he took the case to the courts, and spoke for the Brit-ish Cap-tain and his men, though they had killed five of our men. It may seem strange to you that Ad-ams, who stood for A-mer-i-can rights, should here take sides with the Brit-ish; but, first of all, he stood for law; and, though he knew he ran the risk of los-ing his high place in the hearts of A-mer-i-can men, still he would do what he thought right. But men love truth, and like to see a brave man act as he thinks right, and so felt that he had just the clear, cool head and brain and the strong warm heart to give aid in the dark days that were to come to the land. He was sent to the First Con-gress and was one of the three men who drew up the Dec-la-ra-tion of In-de-pend-ence.

Where the first Continental Congress met September, 1774.]

He was al-so one of three men to go to France and ask for the aid which she gave to A-mer-i-ca, in the spring af-ter that hard win-ter at Val-ley Forge. Do you see why this trip at this time was a brave act, and one by which Ad-ams ran a great risk of los-ing his life? Eng-land had no wish that he should reach France, and her ships tried in vain to get him. If he had been caught he would have been hung, as a man who was false to his land and his king. You know that he went to France though, and did his work well. He stood up for our rights and had a bill passed which made the ports of France and Eng-land free to our goods. At the end of the war he was sent to Eng-land to look out for our rights there; and, though now this is a pleas-ant task, it was not then, for it was hard for Ad-ams to be true to A-mer-i-ca and yet not an-ger the Eng-lish king, George III.

From an anonymous print.]

But we have seen how bold and brave a man he was, so the first thing he said to the king was: "I must tell your Maj-es-ty that I love no coun-try but my own"; and said the king: "An hon-est man will nev-er love an-y oth-er." In spite of this, Ad-ams met with much rude-ness at the Eng-lish court; but he did his best for his coun-try, and when he came home in 1787, af-ter twelve years of hard work, he was met with great joy. He was made Vice-Presi-dent with Wash-ing-ton, and at the end of Wash-ing-ton's term of of-fice he was made Pres-i-dent. He served on-ly four years and then made way for Thom-as Jef-fer-son.

At the age of six-ty-eight years, with the love of the whole land, he went to his home in Quin-cy, Mass. His heart was ever with his coun-try; and he lived un-til his son, John Quin-cy Ad-ams, was made Pres-i-dent of the U-nit-ed States.

His last thoughts were for his coun-try. On June 30th, 1826, he gave as a toast for the great feast to be held on Ju-ly 4th the words: "In-de-pend-ence for-ev-er."

At Quincy, Mass.]

He died on the night of this, A-mer-i-ca's great day. His last words were of Jef-fer-son. He said: "Thom-as Jef-fer-son still lives." But this was not so, for Jef-fer-son had died a few hours be-fore on this same day; and this young land wept for two of her great men, both of whom, in giv-ing up their best to their coun-try, helped to make it the great, free land that it is to-day.




Thom-As Jef-Fer-Son.


When Thom-as Jef-fer-son was a boy his home was so near the In-di-ans' camp and he saw so much of them that I am sure all boys will like to read of him. His fa-ther, Pe-ter Jef-fer-son, took his bride, Jane Ran-dolph, to a house on a wild tract of land of o-ver 1,000 a-cres, way out in Vir-gin-ia, right in the midst of great woods. He was a big, strong man, and this strength was ve-ry use-ful to him in mak-ing his new home, for he had to chop down huge trees and then cut them up in-to the logs of which the lit-tle log cab-in was built. He took with him in-to this wild new land on-ly a few slaves, but with their help his farm soon grew large, and he be-came a rich man. The In-di-ans were great friends of his, and al-ways sure of a warm wel-come in his home.

Still, the In-di-ans were not al-ways at peace with the white men, who had come to make their homes so near them, and folks had to be on the watch for fear the red men would rob and kill them. Pe-ter Jef-fer-son was made Col-o-nel of the men who kept the In-di-ans back in the woods, and a-way from the lit-tle town that was fast grow-ing up near his home.

Now, this great, strong man was fond of books, and it was with his fa-ther that lit-tle Thom-as be-gan to stu-dy. He was al-so taught to ride, to swim and to shoot; and as he was fond of mu-sic he spent long hours in learn-ing to play on the vi-o-lin, or "fid-dle" as it was then called. The In-di-ans near his home liked him, and he used to play tunes for the lit-tle, brown In-di-an boys to dance by.

He was on-ly nine years old when he went to board-ing school with a Mr. Doug-lass, and here he be-gan to stu-dy Lat-in, Greek and French. He was so near home that he did not stay a-way long at a time; and in-deed, this home was such a hap-py one, so full of life and fun, that he did not want to be a-way from it long at one time.

But this hap-py time did not last long, for Thom-as was but four-teen years old when his brave fa-ther was shot in a fight with the In-di-ans. This boy was now at the head of as big a place as the fa-ther of George Wash-ing-ton had left to him, and though he kept on with his books he had the care of this great farm to think of and plan for. He was a bright, well-read boy; and was but six-teen when he took a place at Wil-liam and Ma-ry Col-lege. Here, his love for books and mu-sic kept him from the wild life led by some of the young men there, and made friends for him a-mong the great men, whose homes were in Wil-liams-town.

He met a great law-yer, George Wythe, and be-gan the stu-dy of law with him when, at the end of two years, he left col-lege. In five years he be-gan the prac-tise of law in his old home in Vir-gin-ia. In two years, so bright and quick was he, and of such a strong, clear mind, that he had 198 cas-es, held a high place in his State, and was a rich man.

In 1770, while he and his moth-er were a-way from home, the old house burned down. When news of this came to Jef-fer-son, his first thought was for his books, and he said to the slave who had told him: "Did you save an-y of my books?" "No, mas-ter," said the slave, "but we did save your fid-dle." You see e-ven when he was a great and bu-sy man he still loved his fid-dle; but the loss of all his law books was ve-ry hard for a bu-sy law-yer, and it took him a long while to get the new books that he must have.

The Home of Thomas Jefferson.]

He had be-gun to build a ve-ry large new house at Mon-ti-cel-lo, and so in the lit-tle end of this he now went to live. Two years lat-er, to this home, which was to be-come known all o-ver the world, he brought his bride, Mrs. Mar-tha Skel-ton, a young and ve-ry rich wid-ow. They were mar-ried on New Year's Day, 1772, and came to their home in such a hard snow-storm that the hors-es could not drag the coach through the big drifts, so these two young folks left the warm coach, and rode the tired hors-es up to the door of their new home. Jef-fer-son and his wife gave great care to Mon-ti-cel-lo, and it was known far and near for its great beau-ty and for its choice and rare fruits and flow-ers.

But Jef-fer-son was much from home. In 1762 he was sent to Con-gress, and here he at once stood at the head of the band of wise and great men who were then there. His mind was so clear and bright that in all the grave things that came up he knew at once just what to do, he had the trust of all men.

He was a great help in writ-ing the Dec-la-ra-tion of In-de-pend-ence; in fact, it may well be said that he wrote it. Soon af-ter this great act he left Con-gress and turned his mind to the laws of his own State; he made them safe and just for all men, both rich and poor. In 1779 he was made gov-ern-or of Vir-gin-ia; and now his work was hard; not on-ly must he find a way to keep the In-di-ans from the hous-es of the white men but the Brit-ish came down to the south and laid his fair home in ruins. Not for long years did Mon-ti-cel-lo grow in beau-ty once more. But through all the dark years of war Jef-fer-son did his work well; he forced back the In-di-an foes, and gave help and aid to his State while the War for In-de-pend-ence went on. When the war was at an end, this strong, just man, with his clear, wise brain, was just the one to stand up for our rights in the lands a-cross the sea, so he was sent to France at the time Ad-ams was in Eng-land. While here he had a bill passed by which Eng-land said she would look on our land as free; and this was a big point for us to gain.

When Jef-fer-son came home he was made Sec-re-ta-ry of State, and in this high of-fice did much good work; it was he who first gave us our own coins to use in place of the Eng-lish coins, which, up to that time had been in use here. Now, Al-ex-an-der Ham-il-ton was in charge of the work of mak-ing the coin, and a great feud came up be-tween him and Jef-fer-son as to how this should be done. Men, of course, took sides in this strife, and so two bands sprang up which were known as Re-pub-li-cans and Fed-er-al-ists; to-day these two bands are known as Re-pub-li-cans and Dem-o-crats. Al-ex-an-der Ham-il-ton was killed in a du-el by Aa-ron Burr in Ju-ly, 1804.

In 1801, Jef-fer-son was made Pres-i-dent; and while he was in the chair this land grew strong and great.

Our first steam-boat was built by Rob-ert Ful-ton while Jef-fer-son was Pres-i-dent; and it did not look at all like the great boats of to-day; it was a heav-y, clum-sy boat, which went by sails as well as steam.

Rob-ert Ful-ton's first Steam-boat.]

Jef-fer-son tried hard to put an end to the slave-trade, which he felt was a great wrong; he thought, too, that folks should have the right to serve God in their own way; and he held that on-ly men who could read and write should vote.

He was a great and a wise man; books were his dear friends; and so one of the hard-est things he had to do, af-ter he went home to Mon-ti-cel-lo, when he left the White House, was to sell all his books to Con-gress in or-der to get mon-ey to live on. To his own home hosts of friends and stran-gers came to see the great man, just as they had when he was in Wash-ing-ton. But he sold his books so cheap that the mon-ey did not help him much; and, at last, it seemed as if he must sell his dear old home. But now the peo-ple for whom he had done so much helped him, and a big fund was raised, so that he could keep his home and live there in com-fort un-til his death.

He lived to be a ver-y old man, and e-ven when he was so weak he could not rise from his bed, his great, strong brain was still clear. You know that he died on the 4th of Ju-ly, 1826, just a few hours be-fore the death of his old friend, John Ad-ams.

Next to the name of George Wash-ing-ton, there is no name a-mong the great men of our land, of which the peo-ple are so proud, as that of Thom-as Jef-fer-son.




James Mad-I-Son.


In the home of his grand-fath-er at Port Con-way, Vir-gin-i-a, was born, in the spring of 1751, the small boy who was to be our fourth Pres-i-dent. He was ver-y young, though, when he went to live at Mont-pel-ier, his fath-er's great farm in Vir-gin-i-a, and here he led much the same life as George Wash-ing-ton did when a boy. He was but a small boy when the French and Eng-lish War be-gan, and when Brad-dock lost the day, a great fear of the In-di-ans spread to the ver-y door of his home; and he grew up with the name of George Wash-ing-ton ev-er in his ears, as a great he-ro.

His school days were much like those of Jef-fer-son. He was a young boy when he could read French and Span-ish with ease, and was as well hard at work at Greek and Lat-in. In 1769 he went to Prince-ton Col-lege, and here, as well as when he was at home, Jef-fer-son was a great help to him. The old-er man wrote to the boy in the qui-et old col-lege town, a-bout the scenes of war; he told him much of the Brit-ish troops in the Bos-ton streets, of young John Ad-ams and of Wash-ing-ton. So, when in 1771 he left col-lege, he knew a great deal a-bout the strife of the day, and had deep, clear thoughts a-bout it. At home he led a qui-et life with his books, un-til 1774, then he was put at the head of a few men, who were to guard their own town if the Brit-ish troops came there. In this post he showed such a wise, clear mind and did his part so well that in a short time he was put in a high place in his State, and from there in 1779 was sent to Con-gress. Jef-fer-son was at this time Gov-ern-or of Vir-gin-i-a, and the two men were close, warm friends.

For twen-ty five years Mad-i-son was one of the first men in this land. He had no taste for war, but he soon took a high place with those who made the laws of the land. One of the great things he did was to help draw up the Con-sti-tu-tion of the U-nit-ed States.

In 1794 this grave and qui-et man mar-ried, as Wash-ing-ton and Jef-fer-son had done, a young and love-ly wid-ow. She was but twen-ty-two years old, twen-ty years young-er than he, and her name was Mrs. Dor-o-thy Payne Todd. Lat-er on, the folks who grew to love this fair la-dy so well, gave her the name by which we know her to-day -- "Dol-ly Mad-i-son." She was a Quak-er-ess, and so fair and sweet was she, in her qui-et lit-tle gown of gray, that once a friend said to her: "Dol-ly, tru-ly thou must hide thy face, so ma-ny stare at thee."

For one year af-ter his mar-riage, Mad-i-son lived at Mont-pel-ier; then a-gain he went in-to pub-lic life, first in his State, and af-ter that, in 1800, as Sec-re-ta-ry of State un-der Jef-fer-son.

Now, be-gan the gay life at the White House, for which "Dol-ly" Mad-i-son won so much fame. Jef-fer-son's wife was dead, and it was the wife of his friend that helped him en-ter-tain the White House guests. Well did this love-ly la-dy do her part, and in 1808 when, as the wife of the Pres-i-dent, she be-came the real mis-tress of the White House, more than ev-er did the peo-ple love her. To-day, of all the pic-tures of the Pres-i-dents' wives that hang up-on the White House walls, none is more love-ly than that of the gay and pretty "Dol-ly Mad-i-son."

Mad-i-son was most of all a man of peace, and yet it was while he was in of-fice that the U-nit-ed States was drawn in-to the War of 1812. Eng-land, then at war with France, said she had the right to search A-mer-i-can ships to see if they were tak-ing aid to France. A-mer-i-ca would not give this right to Eng-land, and so the war be-gan. In 1814 the Brit-ish came to the cit-y of Wash-ing-ton, and for the on-ly time in A-mer-i-can his-to-ry the Pres-i-dent had to leave his home.

Mad-i-son, with the Sec-re-ta-ry of State and some friends, went to a lit-tle inn near Wash-ing-ton, and here they were met by Mrs. Mad-i-son, who had stayed as long as she could at the White House to save some things from the hands of the Brit-ish. She had brought the great Dec-la-ra-tion of In-de-pend-ence, and had cut from its big frame the pic-ture of Wash-ing-ton and brought it safe-ly a-way. The Brit-ish troops set fire to the White House, the na-vy yard, the Cap-i-tol, and in fact the whole town. They left in great haste, though, when they heard that our troops were on the way, and the next day Mrs. Mad-i-son put on the dress of a wash-wo-man, so folks would not know her, and made a start for her home, but the British had set fire to a bridge she had to cross on the way and then she begged an A-mer-i-can sol-dier to row her o-ver the riv-er. He would not do so un-til she told him who she was, and then he was ver-y glad to take this brave lit-tle la-dy in his boat. On-ly black ash-es marked the spot on which the White House had once stood, so she had to go to her sis-ter's home, where the Pres-i-dent soon joined her.

The Eng-lish troops now tried to take Bal-ti-more, but our brave men drove them back; and when they tried to make a raid on New Or-le-ans, Gen-er-al Jack-son and his troops fought so hard that the foe could not get in-to the cit-y.

This was the last fight of this war, and peace was signed at Ghent, De-cem-ber 24th, 1814. From that day Eng-land has had to leave our ships a-lone and to treat A-mer-i-ca as one of the great nations of the world.

In 1817 Mad-i-son was not sor-ry to go back to his old home, and here ma-ny hap-py years were spent, for the fair la-dy of the White House kept o-pen house in her own home, and guests from far and near were glad to come here. One of Mad-i-son's dear-est friends was old Thom-as Jef-fer-son, who oft-en rode o-ver from his home at Mon-ti-cel-lo, which was on-ly thir-ty miles from Mont-pel-ier.

Mad-i-son wrote a good deal at this time; and once a-gain was seen in pub-lic life. In 1829 he was at the head of the great change made in all the laws of the whole land.

He died af-ter a long sick-ness at his home in Mont-pel-ier on June 28th, 1836.




James Mon-Roe.


James Mon-roe was, like Wash-ing-ton, Mad-i-son and Jef-fer-son, born in Vir-gin-i-a. Our first Pres-i-dent was just twen-ty six years old when, in West-more-land County, on A-pril 28th, 1758, was born the boy who was to be the fifth Pres-i-dent. His fa-ther, Colo-nel Spense Mon-roe, owned a big farm and was quite rich. Lit-tle James was sent to good schools and did not have to work to earn the means to stay in school. He learned at first to hunt, to skate and to swim; and was good friends with all the boys; but through all the fun and school work came up the talk of war; of the long strife with Eng-land and the fierce red men. It was hard for a brave boy to hear such talk and yet keep on at his books, and though Mon-roe did go to Wil-liam and Mary Col-lege, he did not stay long, for we hear of him in 1775 at the camp near Bos-ton. In 1776 we see him at the head of a band of men, and from that time on he was in the thick of the fight. He fought at White Plains and Har-lem Heights, and was so brave that the great Wash-ing-ton gave him high praise for his work, and made him, when but eight-een years old, a cap-tain in the ar-my. At the great fight at Tren-ton he got a bad wound and had to rest for some time. In the big fights of the war this brave young man was one of the first in the field; his hopes were ev-er high, and he put heart in-to the weak and worn men who looked to him for help in the sad years of the war. In 1780 he be-gan the stud-y of law with his old friend Thom-as Jef-fer-son and soon led the bright men of the day.

So good a friend of his was Jef-fer-son, that the home to which Mon-roe took his bride in 1785, was planned for him by Jef-fer-son, who, so it is said, al-so gave him the nails to build it with.

In 1794 he was sent to France to look out for A-mer-i-ca's rights, but he found talk of war there at that time. The peo-ple did not want a king an-y long-er, but wished to be-come a free land like A-mer-i-ca, with a pres-i-dent at the head; and Mad-i-son, who was a Re-pub-li-can, took sides with the Re-pub-li-cans in France. The king did not like this, and so Mad-i-son had to come home at the end of two years.

But he met with a wel-come at home, and his own State made him its Gov-ern-or. In 1803 he was once more sent to France; this time to buy the State of Lou-is-i-an-a from the French, and he paid Na-po-le-on for this large State $15,000,000.

Twice Mon-roe was sent to Spain and once to Eng-land, where his task was to force Eng-land to stop her search of A-mer-i-can ships. You know he could not do this, for that was the cause of the War of 1812.

Tired and sad at heart, he came back home, and was glad to rest for a while in his own home; but he was of too much use to his coun-try to be i-dle long. Once more, in 1811, he was made Gov-ern-or of Vir-gin-i-a.

Then came the War of 1812; and it was Mon-roe, now Sec-re-ta-ry of State, who, at the head of a few men, saw the Brit-ish land near Wash-ing-ton and sent word to Mad-i-son to leave the cit-y. He al-so act-ed as Sec-re-ta-ry of War at this time, and so well did he do his part that in 1816 he was named for Pres-i-dent by the Dem-o-crats. He got the most votes and so took the first place in our great land.

His first act was to pay off the great debt which the War of 1812 had brought on us. He did this in a ver-y short time; and now our trade grew so great that rail-roads were built; and so our first rail-road was made while Mad-i-son was Pres-i-dent.

There was a fierce war with the In-di-ans in Flor-i-da at this time; but Gen-er-al Jack-son was sent down there and he forced them to lay down their arms and keep the peace.

Just at this time, too, we got Flor-i-da from the King of Spain, and gave up Tex-as, af-ter pay-ing a big sum of mon-ey to the A-mer-i-cans, who had been robbed by Spain.

Mis-sou-ri came in-to the Un-ion while Mon-roe was Pres-i-dent, and there was a fierce storm of words; the North said she should not hold slaves after she was a State, the South said that she should.

At last Con-gress gave way to the South-ern States; but made a law that there should be a line drawn through the land, north of which no State should hold slaves.

In 1825 Mon-roe was free to go to his home at Oak Hill, Vir-gin-i-a, and here he lived un-til 1830. His wife died in that year, and then he went to live with his daugh-ter in New York. He died here on the 4th of Ju-ly, 1831, and his name is one that the whole land loves and hon-ors.

He was bur-ied in New York, but on the one hun-dredth an-ni-ver-sa-ry of his birth, his bod-y was tak-en to Rich-mond, Vir-gin-i-a, and a hand-some stone raised o-ver his grave.




John Quin-Cy Ad-Ams.


The lit-tle boy who be-came our sixth Pres-i-dent led a life not at all like that of an-y oth-er of the boys of whom you have read. His fa-ther was John Ad-ams, our sec-ond Pres-i-dent, and when, on Ju-ly 11th, 1767, lit-tle John Quin-cy Ad-ams was born in the old home at Brain-tree, Mass., his great fa-ther was al-read-y speak-ing brave-ly for his coun-try's rights in the cit-y of Bos-ton. In 1772 the fam-i-ly moved to Bos-ton, and lit-tle John, for two years, saw, as the oth-er boys did, the Brit-ish sol-diers in their bright red coats on pa-rade in the Bos-ton streets, and heard on all sides talk of war with Eng-land. He saw a lit-tle of real war, too; for when he was eight years old, his moth-er took him on top of a high hill, called Be-mis Hill, from which he saw the smoke and heard the roar of can-non in that aw-ful bat-tle of Bunk-er Hill. When, in 1776, the Brit-ish left Bos-ton, this lit-tle lad of nine years used to oft-en ride on horse-back in and out of the city to bring home the lat-est news. This was a ride of twen-ty-two miles from the old home at Brain-tree, where Mrs. Ad-ams had gone when her hus-band went to Con-gress, and I think it took a pret-ty brave and strong boy to ride all those long miles a-lone.

When John Ad-ams went to France to try and get her aid for A-mer-i-ca, he took with him his lit-tle boy, then ten years old. It was a rough, hard trip; for, not on-ly were there fierce winds which lashed the waves in-to fu-ry, but they were chased by Brit-ish ships, for Eng-land did not want John Ad-ams to get this help from France. But they reached Par-is in safe-ty, and lit-tle John was at once put in a French school. He on-ly stayed for a-bout a year and went back home with his fa-ther in the spring. Now for three months he was with his moth-er, and then in No-vem-ber he and some oth-er boys who were placed in his fa-ther's care, all start-ed for France, where they were to be put in a good school.

This trip was hard-er than the oth-er one, for the big ship, "Sen-si-ble," sprang a leak, and af-ter some days of great per-il, they were glad to go to the near-est land, which was Spain; and now there was a long, hard trip by land be-fore France could be reached. They had sailed on Nov. 13th, 1779, and it was not un-til Feb. 5th, 1780, that the lit-tle par-ty reached Par-is.

For two years now our lit-tle lad was hard at work with his books in Par-is; then his fa-ther was sent to the Neth-er-lands as A-mer-i-can Min-is-ter, and he took his lit-tle son there and placed him in a school in Am-ster-dam; from here he went to the U-ni-ver-si-ty at Ley-den, where he stayed un-til Ju-ly, 1781.

He was now on-ly four-teen years old; but you see he had been in so ma-ny lands, that he could speak as the folks did in those strange lands, and this was a rare thing in those days. In 1781 Fran-cis Da-na, then the A-mer-i-can Min-is-ter to Rus-sia, need-ing some one to help him in his work, sent to Ley-den for this young boy. They passed through Ger-ma-ny on the way to Rus-sia, and here John Quin-cy learned some-thing of an-oth-er new land. Then, af-ter a year in Rus-sia, he left Mr. Da-na and stud-ied for a year in Swe-den. The next spring he went to his fa-ther in Hol-land, and then went to Par-is with him, and was pres-ent when the trea-ty of peace be-tween Eng-land and A-mer-i-ca end-ed the War of In-de-pend-ence.

For two years more he stud-ied a-broad, and then sailed for home in May, 1783. He at once en-tered the jun-ior class at Har-vard Col-lege and grad-u-a-ted with next to the high-est hon-ors in 1787. Then he took up law, as his fa-ther had done, and be-gan to prac-tise in Bos-ton. He made few friends; folks did not love him as they had ei-ther Mad-i-son or Mon-roe, but he was al-ways known to be a man of great pow-er, and of great learn-ing; and know-ing so much of other lands, he was just the man to be sent as A-mer-i-can Min-is-ter to these coun-tries.

In 1794 Wash-ing-ton sent him to Hol-land, and in 1796 he was sent to Ber-lin.

When, in 1801, Ad-ams came back home, it was to find new hon-ors wait-ing for him. He was sent first to the State Sen-ate and then to Con-gress. You see the steps by which our Pres-i-dents rose to pow-er were much the same in ev-er-y case. A du-ty well done in a small place led to some-thing a lit-tle high-er, and so on to the great-est hon-or of all -- the Pres-i-dent's chair.

The State of Mas-sa-chu-setts was ver-y proud of John Quin-cy A-dams; not only was he a great states-man and the son of the man whom they all loved, but he was, as well, a fine schol-ar, and a bril-liant speak-er. In 1809 he was sent a-broad a-gain for his coun-try; this time to Rus-sia, where he had not been since he was a boy of four-teen; in 1815 he was sent to France, but he was here on-ly a few months, when war broke out in France, and all the min-is-ters from oth-er coun-tries were called a-way; he went at once to Eng-land, and here he had a much more pleasant time than his father had when he went there as the first Amer-i-can min-is-ter; the U-nit-ed States was now known as a big strong coun-try, and no one dared to be rude to her min-is-ter. In 1817 his own land felt the need of the great man who had served her so well a-broad, and he was called home to be-come Sec-re-ta-ry of State. No man was so well fit-ted for this post as he; for there were ma-ny men from the lands a-cross the sea, now com-ing and go-ing in the cap-i-tal of the U-nit-ed States, to talk o-ver great ques-tions; there were new states com-ing in-to the Un-i-on; and oth-er lands were al-ways try-ing to gain a lit-tle pow-er here; so John Quin-cy Ad-ams, who not on-ly was a great schol-ar, and a fine law-yer, but al-so knew well so ma-ny lands be-sides his own, was just the man to help Pres-i-dent Mon-roe through his eight years of work.

He al-so was the man best suit-ed for the Pres-i-dent's chair, at the end of Mon-roe's term of of-fice. Not once, while Ad-ams was in Wash-ing-ton work-ing hard, did he for-get his old fa-ther, watch-ing, in his home at Quin-cy, the bu-sy life of his great son. Once ev-er-y year he went to the qui-et old home, and told his fa-ther of the life in Wash-ing-ton, in which the old-er man had once held so great a place.

At the age of six-ty-eight, Ad-ams went back to his home in Quin-cy, but in 1830 once more he was sent to Con-gress, and for six-teen years he kept his seat there; he grew old and gray serv-ing his na-tive land; he made bit-ter en-e-mies, but ma-ny warm friends; he feared no one, and his voice was al-ways for the free-dom of this great land. On No-vem-ber 19th, 1846, he had a stroke of par-al-y-sis while walk-ing in Bos-ton; but three months later we saw him a-gain in Wash-ing-ton, and tak-ing his old seat in Con-gress. As the gray old man came feeb-ly in-to the hall, ev-er-y man pres-ent rose to his feet, and so stood un-til he took his seat. He was too weak now to talk, and on-ly once more did he try to speak his mind on one of the great ques-tions of the day. This was on Feb-ru-a-ry 21st, 1848. He rose to speak, but fell in-to the arms of a man near him; at once they took him in-to a cloak-room, and sent for his wife. For two days did he lay there, and then, on the morn-ing of Feb-ru-a-ry 23d, his great soul took its flight. His last words were: "This is the last of life, and I am con-tent."




An-Drew Jack-Son.


The boy who was to be our sev-enth Pres-i-dent did not lead the sort of life, as boy or man, that the oth-er Pres-i-dents did. He was the son of a poor I-rish-man who came here from Ire-land in 1765. He was born on March 15th, 1767, in a small place in South Car-o-li-na, called the Wax-haw Set-tle-ments. Poor and mean was the log house in which he first saw the light, and when his fa-ther died, which was when An-drew was a wee baby, the life of the lit-tle home was hard-er yet. His moth-er was a brave, good wo-man, and so well did she do her hard part in life that she was loved by all who knew her, and was known far and near as "Aunt Bet-ty."

Andrew was a great care to her when a boy, for, full of life and fun, he did not care for books, and was at the head in all sorts of wild sport. He was ev-er read-y for a fight with boys who made him an-gry; the small boys looked to him for help in any strife with boys big-ger than they; and so strong was he, or read-y to knock a boy down for a real or a fan-cied wrong, that they soon found it best to give him his own way, and let him take his place as lead-er a-mong them; when he was at the head all went well.

He was just nine years old when the Dec-la-ra-tion of In-de-pend-ence was signed, and then came four years of war with Eng-land. In 1780 this war was car-ried into the South, and on May 29th a number of Brit-ish sol-diers un-der Colo-nel Tarle-ton killed and wounded over 200 of the men and boys from the Wax-haw set-tle-ments. A-mong those who helped to care for the hurt and dy-ing men were Mrs. Jack-son and her boys. An-drew was on-ly four-teen when he fell in-to the hands of the Brit-ish, and he, with o-ver one hun-dred sick and dy-ing men, was kept for days in a dir-ty pen, with no beds, lit-tle to eat and on-ly stale wa-ter to drink. To make things worse, small-pox broke out and An-drew was one of those who had it. His brave moth-er was at last a-ble to free him, and it was ow-ing to her lov-ing care that he did not die at this aw-ful time.

Af-ter he was well e-nough to be left, his moth-er, who was ver-y sor-ry for the poor A-mer-ican sol-diers, went to Charles-ton to take care of those who were sick and wound-ed here. Just as she had be-gun her no-ble work she was ta-ken sick and died.

Soon af-ter her death came the good news of peace; and now young An-drew be-gan to pay some heed to his books, with the hope of stud-y-ing law. He al-so taught school for a while, though he could not have been a ver-y good teach-er, for he nev-er learned how to spell ver-y well him-self. Still, in 1787, we find he has learned e-nough to take up the prac-tice of law, and he be-gan this work in Nash-ville, Ten-nes-see; and now we see the boy who had been the lead-er in boy-ish sports, games and fights, be-come at once a lead-er a-mong men. He was tall and quite good look-ing, with bright blue eyes and red-dish hair, and he was full of fun and life; he rode horse-back well, and knew how to shoot straight; and a-bove all he was a brave man, a-fraid of noth-ing.

In 1788 he was giv-en a place in which he had to try for the State all men who had done wrong and it need-ed, in those wild days and in that new land, a brave man for such a work, for he would make ma-ny foes, both a-mong the bad white men and the In-di-ans. His work took him from Nash-ville to Jones-bor-ough, and here the In-di-ans were ver-y strong and ver-y cru-el, kill-ing and rob-bing the white men and wo-men, and e-ven the lit-tle ba-bies in their moth-ers' arms. Hear-ing and see-ing day by day more and more of this sav-age war-fare, al-ways in dan-ger of be-ing killed by night or day by some In-di-an hid-ing be-hind a tree or house, Jack-son learned to know the In-di-ans and their hab-its bet-ter than most men did, so was read-y to fight them in their own way in a few years.

He made his home in Nash-ville and built up a good law prac-tice. He grew in pow-er so fast that in 1797 he was sent as the first man from Ten-nes-see to Con-gress. He went all the way from his home to Phil-a-del-phi-a, a dis-tance of 800 miles, on horse-back. In 1798 we see him a-gain at home as Judge of the Su-preme Court, and here he stayed un-til 1804. Then came four-teen years of peace for the land, and a hap-py home life for him. A-mong oth-er things which Jack-son did at this time was to build a large log store in which he kept all sorts of things which both the white men and the In-di-ans want-ed. His home, which was called "The Her-mit-age," was a fine house for those days, and in later years it grew as well known as Mt. Ver-non and Mon-ti-cel-lo. Jack-son was all through his life a man who would stand up for his own way, if it led to strife with his best friend, and more than once he fought du-els to the death. In Con-gress he would, when he rose to speak, some-times choke with blind rage if he could not make his point and force men to yield to him.

Af-ter years of peace came the War of 1812, and from that hour Jack-son's name was first in the minds of men. He showed great skill in his fights with the red men, and won much fame in a fierce fight with the Creeks, a bad tribe of In-di-ans in Al-a-ba-ma.

He could force men to do as he said; the young men of that day looked up-on him with awe and fear, but rushed to fill his ranks and serve un-der him.

In 1815 he won the day at New Or-le-ans, and put the Brit-ish troops to flight with great loss of life. At the end of the war, back home went Jack-son for the rest of which he stood in sore need; but, in 1818, strife with the Sem-i-nole In-di-ans in Flor-i-da came up, and Jack-son was sent there.

At this time Spain owned Flor-i-da, and it was both Span-ish troops and In-di-an foes that Jack-son had to meet, but he won his way, and at last made Spain yield her rights in Flor-i-da and sign a peace. In 1823 she sold Flor-i-da to us for $5,000,000; not such a great sum when we think what a rich and great place this "Land of Flow-ers" is. Jack-son was now put at the head of things in Flor-i-da, and the hard-est part of his work was to keep peace in the bad tribe of Sem-i-nole In-di-ans. With their chief Os-ce-o-la at their head they would creep out from the woods and swamps of Flor-i-da, rush on the homes of the white men, and burn them to the ground, and then dash back to the woods, where they could safe-ly hide. At the end of four years Jack-son was glad to go home to the Her-mit-age; here he and his wife led a qui-et life and kept up ma-ny of the ways of their young days, though now they were quite rich. Af-ter din-ner, they would sit, one on each side of the great big wood fire, in the large hall, and smoke their old pipes, with the long stems, just as they had in their log cab-in of long a-go. But the great gen-er-al could not live this qui-et life long; in 1823 he was sent to Con-gress; and here he met with high hon-or. On New Year's Day, 1824, the great men of the day gave him the pock-et tel-e-scope that Wash-ing-ton had owned; a year from the day on which the Bat-tle of New Or-le-ans was fought, John Quin-cy Ad-ams gave him a great feast, at which were men, who held high rank here and in oth-er lands; and on the day that he was fif-ty-sev-en years old, Pres-i-dent Mon-roe gave him a gold badge for his brave acts in his fights for his coun-try. In 1828 this rough, but brave and kind, old man, was made pres-i-dent; and now he stood up for his own way, just as he had in the wars of his land, and when he was but a boy. His first act was to stop some states in the South from leav-ing the Un-ion. John C. Cal-houn was at the head of a band of men, who felt that the North had more rights than the South; had more than its share of wealth and land; so rose the wish to set up a rule just for the South. "But," said Jack-son, "if one state goes out oth-ers will; and our great land will be a ru-in." So he stopped this plan, just in time.

All the years that Jack-son was pres-i-dent, our great land gained in strength; new rail-roads were built; and new steam-boats; the land grew rich year by year.

In 1824 the slaves in Mex-i-co were set free, and Tex-as came in-to the Un-ion.

On the whole, Jack-son's term was a good one for the land; and so well did the peo-ple like him, that he is the on-ly pres-i-dent of whom it has been said that he was bet-ter liked when he went out of of-fice than when he went in.

The last years of his life were spent at "The Her-mit-age," where he died on June 8th, 1845.




The Life Of Mar-Tin Van Bu-Ren.


The place in which Mar-tin Van Bu-ren was born was far from the homes of the oth-er boys who be-came our pres-i-dents; and his life, as a boy, was not one bit like theirs. His fa-ther and moth-er were Dutch; Hoes was his moth-er's queer name; and the name of the small town, in which, on De-cem-ber 5th, 1782, he was born, was Dutch too -- Kin-der-hook; the lit-tle town was on the Hud-son Riv-er, way up in New York state. His fa-ther kept a good inn, and had a small farm; so he could send Mar-tin to good schools; Mar-tin was so quick and bright at his books that he took up the study of law when he was four-teen; and at twen-ty-one he was a law-yer and at work in Kin-der-hook. He was a man who made friends with great ease; and as he was a good law-yer as well, his state soon saw that he was the man to speak for it at Wash-ing-ton. So in 1821 he was sent to Con-gress; then in 1828 he was made gov-ern-or of New York state; and this was a big step toward the pres-i-dent's chair; he was sec-re-tary of state when Jack-son was pres-i-dent; and in 1837 he took the oath of of-fice, and be-came pres-i-dent.

He was in of-fice on-ly one term; and those four years were hard ones for him.

Just at this time the men in Can-a-da tried to be free from Eng-land, and have home-rule; and some of our men took sides with them; this made Eng-land an-gry of course; and if Van Bu-ren had not put a stop to such things, we should have had war once more; but he said all who tried to give aid to Can-a-da should be sent to jail; and so the fear of war was put down.

At the end of Van Bu-ren's first term some want-ed him to take the chair a-gain; but more want-ed Gen-er-al Har-ri-son, who had made a great name in the In-di-an wars. Van Bu-ren was rich, and Har-ri-son was poor; and this race for the pres-i-dent's chair was called the "Log Cab-in a-gainst the White House." Af-ter Har-ri-son took the chair, Van Bu-ren went back to his home at Kin-der-hook, where he lived in qui-et, until, in 1848, he was once more put up for pres-i-dent; but James K. Polk had more votes than he, and so won the e-lec-tion.

In 1853 Van Bu-ren and his son went to Eu-rope, where they stayed two years. He spent the rest of his life at his old home, where he died on Ju-ly 24th, 1862.




Wil-Liam Hen-Ry Har-Ri-Son.


Wil-liam Hen-ry Har-ri-son was born in Berke-ly, Vir-gin-i-a, on Feb-ru-a-ry 9th, 1773; his fath-er, Ben-ja-min Har-ri-son, was not a rich man, but lived at ease on a small farm; he was a man of much force in his state, and was at one time its gov-ern-or. He was a brave, strong man, and taught his small son to be like him; now while lit-tle Wil-liam was hard at work at school, he heard much talk of the In-di-an wars; and his heart was full of long-ing to fight these cru-el foes of the white men.

So, though he went to Hamp-den Syd-ney Col-lege, he did not stay long, but left to join the ar-my. He was such a brave fight-er that, when he was twen-ty-one, Wash-ing-ton put him in charge of the troops at Fort Wash-ing-ton, just the place where the In-di-ans were strong-est and most cru-el.

Ma-jor Gen-er-al Wayne was at the head of the ar-my, and so rash and fear-less was he, that his troops called him "Mad An-tho-ny." He knew well how to fight the red men though, and in 1794 beat them in a fierce fight, on the spot where the cit-y of De-troit now stands. So brave was young Har-ri-son at this time, that he was made a cap-tain; for six years Har-ri-son was in the heat of the In-di-an wars; and learned all the sav-age ways of war; then he went home to rest, but was soon sent to Congress. So well did he do his work here, that In-di-an-a now chose him for gov-ern-or; and here he was so much liked that he kept his seat three terms; the hard-est task that he had to do while gov-ern-or was to keep peace with the In-di-ans; and side by side with his name, stands that of a great and good In-di-an chief Te-cum-seh; for years these two men tried to help the In-di-ans and teach them to live in peace; but at last the hate of the red men for the whites who were forc-ing them from their lands, end-ed in a great fight at Tip-pe-ca-noe, where the In-di-ans lost the bat-tle. So brave had Har-ri-son been in this fight, that he was made a gen-er-al; and in the War of 1812 was put at the head of the ar-my. At the close of the war, the brave old In-di-an fight-er went to live on his farm at South Bend, In-di-an-a, in the then state of O-hi-o; but he was too great a man to live a qui-et life, and was sent to Con-gress twice and once a-broad in his coun-try's serv-ice. Then in 1836, he ran for Pres-i-dent, but did not get the most votes; four years la-ter he was put up once more, and he and John Ty-ler won by a big vote. It was in this race for Pres-i-dent, that the song was sung, whose cho-rus you hear to-day: "Tip-pe-ca-noe and Ty-ler, too."

On the 4th of March, 1841, Wil-liam Hen-ry Har-ri-son, the old In-di-an fight-er, now six-ty-eight years old, came from years of qui-et home life, to take up the cares and wor-ries of a pres-i-dent's life, but the task was too much for him, and a month af-ter-ward, on A-pril 4th, 1841, the brave old man died.




John Ty-Ler.


As a boy, the life of John Ty-ler was much the same as that of the boys of to-day. He was born on March 29th, 1790, in Charles Cit-y, Vir-gin-i-a, at a time when the whole land was at peace. No talk of the red men came to his young ears; and no fear fell like a dark cloud over the fun and play of his boy-hood. He was the son of a man who had for friends the great men of his day; -- Wash-ing-ton and Ben-ja-min Har-ri-son were warm, close friends of old John Ty-ler; and he was at one time Gov-ern-or of Vir-gin-i-a. Young John was sent to school when he was a ver-y small boy; and, though he was fond of sports and games, he kept hard at work at his books and won a high place at school. He was a mere boy when he could en-ter Wil-liam and Ma-ry Col-lege; and he left in 1806 at the head of his class. He at once took up law with his fa-ther, and soon showed the good stuff of which he was made. Clear and quick was his mind, swift to think and feel; and his words came as fast as his thoughts. He rose with great, quick strides towards the first place in the land. In 1825 he was made Gov-ern-or of Vir-gin-i-a; and in 1827, was sent to Con-gress, where he kept his seat for six years; these were years of strife as to the slave trade, and there were fierce, hard words and harsh thoughts be-tween the men of the North and those of the South. Ty-ler was at home for a few years af-ter he left Con-gress, and took a high place as a law-yer. In 1836 he was put up with Har-ri-son in the race for the pres-i-dent's chair. But it was not till 1840 that he won this place; then, as the vice-pres-i-dent had not a great deal to do, Ty-ler went home to Wil-liams-burg. It was here that the sad news of Har-ri-son's death was brought to him, and he at once went on to Wash-ing-ton. Here he found he had a hard task; for he and his Con-gress did not think the same on the great ques-tions of the day and were ev-er at strife. One of his first acts was to put down a state war in Mis-sou-ri. A Mor-mon, by the name of Smith, and a band of men who thought as he did went down there to live; folks there did not like this and tried to drive them out of the state, but this was a hard thing to do, for there were a-bout 12,000 Mor-mons. At last, Ty-ler sent troops there to put down the strife, and the Mor-mons were sent to Il-li-nois. They were here but a short time when the same old strife a-rose, and then they fled to the lands in the far west -- where they are to-day, in the state of Utah. War broke out in Tex-as while Ty-ler was in the chair, and af-ter fierce fights be-tween the Tex-ans and Mex-i-cans the Tex-ans won, and were at the head of the state. They asked at once to come in-to the Un-ion, and in 1845 this great state came in. In the last year of Ty-ler's rule Sam-u-el F. B. Morse found out how to send words in just a flash of time through miles and miles of space; and you chil-dren know well that the fine wire stretched from one great pole to the next on which the quick news was sent was called the "tel-e-graph."

At the end of Ty-ler's first term, James Knox Polk had the most votes, and so took the pres-i-dent's chair; and this news was the first that was sent o-ver the tel-e-graph wires.




James Knox Polk.


As a boy James Knox Polk led a life that would please a good ma-ny of the boys of to-day. He was born in Meck-len-burg County, North Car-o-li-na, on No-vem-ber 2d, 1705; but in 1806 his fa-ther went to Duck Farm, Ten-nes-see, and lit-tle James, e-lev-en years old, was of much help in the new home. Where the day's work took the big, strong fa-ther, there went the small son; if there was a long ride to get food or clothes from some big town, lit-tle James could help care for the hors-es and when his fa-ther and oth-er men, for weeks at a time, were in the great, wild woods, hunt-ing, mak-ing new roads, or helping each oth-er build the log cab-ins, which were the homes of these ear-ly set-tlers, James would be there too, cook-ing meals and keep-ing the camp neat and bright for the men who came back tired and hun-gry at night.

So years passed by with much work in the o-pen air and lit-tle of stud-y or books; but when James was four-teen years old it was time that he should earn mon-ey.

He was not a big, strong boy; he could not stand rough, hard work on a farm; he did not love to hunt; he had no taste for war; so he was put in a small store, that he might learn to man-age a big store when he grew old.

Here he first saw some books, and his love for them a-woke; for weeks and months he worked a-lone with an-y book or pa-per he could find.

At last his fa-ther took him from the store and sent him to school; he was now eight-een, but he was so quick to learn, so bright and smart, that five years from this time he left the U-ni-ver-si-ty of North Car-o-li-na at the head of his class.

When he came back to Duck Riv-er, not on-ly was his fa-ther proud of his boy, but all Ten-nes-see knew that he was one of the bright-est young men in the state.

Now, just at this time, Gen-er-al Jack-son was fight-ing so brave-ly a-gainst the In-di-ans and all the boys of Ten-nes-see were as proud of this great he-ro as the boys of Vir-gin-i-a had been of Wash-ing-ton. In 1819, when young James Polk went to Nash-ville, Ten-nes-see, to take up law, he was near Jack-son's home; and he and the great Gen-er-al be-came fast friends. It was ow-ing to Jack-son's help that, in 1824, Polk, then a bright young law-yer, took his first pub-lic step and was sent to the state leg-is-la-ture.

He a-rose so fast in the love and trust of his state that he was sent to Con-gress when on-ly thir-ty years old; and here he stayed for thir-teen years.

In 1840 he went back to his home at Grun-dy's Hill in Nash-ville, hav-ing made a great name in Wash-ing-ton; not once did he lose his hold on the great ques-tions of the day, e-ven while here at home; and in 1845 he was chos-en pres-i-dent of the U-nit-ed States.

While he was in of-fice, once more the U-nit-ed States was at war, and this war is known as the "Mex-i-can War." Its cause was this: -- 

Our peo-ple in Mex-i-co said that a big tract of land down there was theirs; the Mex-i-cans laid claim to it too; so Gen-er-al Tay-lor went down to see that our rights were looked af-ter.

In the first fight he won, and lost but nine men; then he laid siege to their great cit-y of Mon-te-rey, and af-ter a hard fight took the town.

That same year Gen-er-al Scott took the cit-y of Ve-ra Cruz; on Sep-tem-ber 14th, 1847, the A-mer-i-can troops took the cit-y of Mex-i-co, and the long war was at an end.

In 1848 came the news of great gold mines in Cal-i-for-ni-a; and men went in such num-bers to this state that the "Gold Fe-ver of 1849" is a well known term to-day.

While Polk was in the chair, three new states came in; and two of them were free states; that is, no slaves could be kept there; just at this time some men formed a band, and said that no slaves should be kept in an-y new state which the U-nit-ed States should gain.

In 1849 Polk went home to Nash-ville, Ten-nes-see; he was on-ly fif-ty-eight years old; but was so worn out with years of work that he lived but a few months af-ter he got home; he died on the 15th of June, in the same year.




Zach-A-Ry Tay-Lor.


Zach-a-ry Tay-lor was born in Vir-gin-i-a, on No-vem-ber 24th, 1784; but when he was a small boy his fa-ther went to live in Ken-tuck-y; and long af-ter the rest of the land was at peace this state was the scene of such fierce fights with the In-di-ans that it was known as "The dark and blood-y ground." It is not strange that this boy, who lived at a time when wo-men as well as men had to know how to load and fire guns, so that they could help to keep the red men from their homes, should have grown up to be a brave, strong man.

As a boy he went to good schools, but cared far more for the tales of war which his brave fa-ther told him than he did for his books; he did love books which told of great fights and brave men, and read all that he could get. When he was just of age he went to war, in place of a friend, and was so brave and fear-less that he soon took a high place.

He was in the great fight of Tip-pe-ca-noe; and all through the War of 1812 he showed great skill in his fights with the red men; -- well he knew all their tricks and modes of war. He gained great fame in Flor-i-da, when he was sent there to make the Sem-i-nole In-di-ans keep the peace. For years had this tribe of In-di-ans made war on the white men; their chief, Os-ce-o-la, had, years a-go, gone to one of the forts with his wife, who was a slave girl; he had been put in chains, and she held at the fort. In his rage, he had sworn to lead his men in war, when he could get to them; at last his chance had come, and he had fled by night from the fort. To rouse his tribe and hurl them at the whites, was his first thought; and long and cru-el were the fights that went on for years. At last Tay-lor was sent to Flor-i-da; and now a trick was played on this great chief of the In-di-ans; with a flag of truce, he came to the fort to talk with the gen-er-al; and by the or-ders of the gen-er-al, he was held there a pris-on-er; he was sent, at last, to Fort Moul-trie in Charles-ton har-bor, and there, in the year 1838, he died. With their chief dead, the Sem-i-nole In-di-ans had no heart for war; and soon the few red men left of this great, fierce tribe were put far a-way from each oth-er, in new states, and there was peace in Flor-i-da.

Gen-er-al Tay-lor won great fame in the Mex-i-can War; in 1847 he won the fight of Bu-e-na Vis-ta, which took place on Wash-ing-ton's birth-day; and he won too the fights of Pa-lo Al-to and Mon-te-rey. On Sep-tem-ber 24th, 1847, our troops took the cit-y of Mex-i-co, and the war was brought to an end. As Tay-lor went home to Ba-ton Rouge, he met with praise, at each place he passed; folks came in crowds to see the great he-ro; cheers filled the air; flags were raised and guns were fired; he was the i-dol of the land. His men too were fond of him, for all through the war he had been kind and good to them, and shared their hard life. He was such a he-ro to the whole land, that it is not strange that he was named for the next pres-i-dent, and got the most votes. He took the chair of state in 1849, but the brave old man came in just at the time when the strife a-bout slaves was at its height; and the cares of the of-fice were too much for him, as they had been for Har-ri-son. On Ju-ly 4th, 1850, there was a great time in Wash-ing-ton, in which he took part; but his health was too weak to stand this strain; and in the midst of his work, on Ju-ly 9th, 1850, the brave old In-di-an fight-er died.




Mil-Lard Fill-More.


In a log ca-bin way out in the western part of New York State, deep in the dense, wild woods, was born, on Jan-u-a-ry 7th, 1800, the boy who was to be the thir-teenth pres-i-dent of the U-nit-ed States. His fa-ther had gone there from Ver-mont, to get a-way from the In-di-ans, who gave no peace in his old home; and no house stood near-er than four miles to the lit-tle home he had built in the wild new land; there was no school; and if there had been lit-tle Mil-lard had not much time to go; for he was ver-y young, when he was taught to earn mon-ey and help in the lit-tle home. He learned how to make cloth from the soft white wool; and was hard at work, in this way, till he was nine-teen years old; then a love of books came to him; and a law-yer took note of him and gave him such aid that he soon took a high place in the law-stud-ies. When he was twen-ty-two, he went to Buf-fa-lo, and taught school, to help pay his way, as he went on with the stud-y of law. He was bright and quick, and, in 1823, he be-gan to prac-tise law and soon rose to such a high place in the state bar that his state sent him to Con-gress. Here his work was done so well that he was made vice-pres-i-dent, when Tay-lor took the pres-i-dent's seat; and on his death be-came pres-i-dent.

While he was in the chair one of his aids was the great Dan-iel Web-ster, who looked af-ter the laws of all the states. He had been in of-fice but a short time, when a band of men tried to get Cu-ba from Spain; but they were soon put down. He was in of-fice one term, and then went home to Buf-fa-lo, and took up the prac-tice of law a-gain. In 1855 he went to Eu-rope, where he stayed for one year; he then came home to lead a qui-et life, full of stud-y, till his death on March 8th, 1874.




Frank-Lin Pierce.


A brave sol-dier in the War of the Rev-o-lu-tion was Ben-ja-min Pierce, the fa-ther of the boy who was to be our four-teenth pres-i-dent; and it was in the old town of Hills-bor-ough, New Hamp-shire, that, on No-vem-ber 22d, 1804, Frank-lin Pierce was born. The fa-ther was a big strong man, fond of sports and fun of all kinds and much liked by all; he was the chief man in Hills-bor-ough, and was at one time gov-ern-or of his state. In such a home it is not hard to see that the life of lit-tle Frank-lin would be full of work and play as well. He was sent to good schools, and was just six-teen when he went to Bow-do-in Col-lege. He was full of fun, and at once took the lead in the col-lege life; but he worked hard at his books too; in 1824 he left col-lege, and took up the stud-y of law, and soon be-came one of the bar. He was now at his old home in Hills-bor-ough, and folks felt that he was a man of brains and great force; he was sent to Con-gress, and held high of-fice in his state while he was still a young man; and in the Mex-i-can War he showed him-self as brave a man as his fa-ther had been. At last, in 1853, he was made pres-i-dent. At this time, the strife as to the slave trade was at its height; some states wished to have slaves, while some held it wrong. At last Con-gress made a law that all new states should do as they pleased. The first "World's Fair" was held in New York, just at this time, in a great hall made of glass, which was known as "The Crys-tal Pal-ace."

Pierce was in of-fice one term; at the end of that time he went back home to Con-cord, Mas-sa-chu-setts, where he lived a qui-et life un-til his death, on Oc-to-ber 8th, 1867.




James Bu-Chan-An.


A strong, brave, young man from Ire-land was the fa-ther of our fif-teenth pres-i-dent. He had come here in 1783, and bought a small farm in Penn-syl-va-ni-a; so well did he do that he soon bought a store as well; and when, on A-pril 23d, 1791, at Cove Gap, lit-tle James was born, his fa-ther was quite a rich man. He sent his son to the best schools and he was just six-teen years old when he went to Dick-in-son col-lege. Here he took first place with ease. In 1809, when he left col-lege, he be-gan the stud-y of law. In the War of 1812 he served in the ar-my; and at the close of the war his state chose him to help make her laws. He was a young man when his state sent him to Wash-ing-ton where he held his place in Con-gress for ten years. In 1831 he was sent to Rus-sia to look out for our rights there; and in 1853 he held the same post in Eng-land. You see, he rose fast to the first place in the land, for in 1857 he was made pres-i-dent. While he was in the chair of state, the Prince of Wales came here for the first time, and this shows that Eng-land felt we were now one of the big coun-tries of the world, and that she must treat us as such.

It was while Bu-chan-an was pres-i-dent that Cy-rus W. Field laid the first wire un-der the O-cean, by which words could be sent from this new land to those old lands on the oth-er side. The talk a-bout slav-er-y was so fierce at this time that a fight in which brave lives were lost took place, and the name which shines out bright is that of John Brown of Kan-sas. He was a friend of the black men, and took their part. He struck the first blow in their cause at the fort at Har-per's Fer-ry, which he held for two days. He took all the guns that were there, as he wished to arm the black men and then lead them to the South to fight for their friends, held there as slaves. Of course this was a-gainst the law of the land, and troops were sent to seize this brave and good man. His two sons fought with him, and he saw them both shot down, but he did not give up till in the heat of the fight he fell with six wounds. He did not die at this time; af-ter this he was hung as one who had fought a-gainst the law of his land. His last act, as he was on his way to the place where he was to be hung, was to kiss a lit-tle ba-by which a poor slave held up to him as he passed.

His death was not in vain, for from now on the ques-tion of sla-ver-y was the talk of the whole land, and in 1860 South Car-o-li-na took the lead and said that she would not bear the laws of the Un-ion, but would rule her land in her own way. Soon, six more South-ern states said the same; and these states which cut loose from the North were called the "Con-fed-er-a-cy;" at the head as pres-i-dent was Jef-fer-son Da-vis.

This was the state of things when Bu-chan-an left the chair, and went to his home in Penn-syl-va-ni-a, at a place called Wheat-land.

In the last year of his life he wrote a book of his life, which is still in print. He died at his home on June 1st, 1868. He was the last of the "Peace" pres-i-dents, for it was A-bra-ham Lin-coln who took his place, and in his term the strife as to the slave trade led to our "Civ-il War."




A-Bra-Ham Lin-Coln.


Thom-as Lin-coln, who was the fa-ther of A-bra-ham Lin-coln, had seen a sad sight when he was but a boy of eight years; while he and his brothers were hard at work with their fa-ther in the dense, wild woods which grew close to their small home in Ken-tuck-y, an In-di-an chief crept close to them; he fired one shot, and the boys saw their big, strong fa-ther fall dead. They were brave boys, and while one ran for help, the oth-ers kept at bay the In-di-ans who came from the woods. A band of men soon came to their aid, and drove the fierce red men back to the woods. It was a rough, hard life in which Thom-as Lin-coln grew up; and he could not read or write when, at twen-ty years, he took as his wife Miss Nan-cy Hanks; she was a bright girl and soon taught him at least to write his name.

It was a poor log-house in Har-din Coun-ty, Ken-tuck-y, to which he took his bride; and yet in this home so mean and small, was born, on Feb-ru-a-ry 12th, 1809, the boy who was to be pres-i-dent of this great land. Few boys and girls know what it is to be as poor as this lit-tle boy was, or to lead as hard and sad a life. His clothes were thin and poor, his shoes, when he had an-y, were oft-en full of holes; he did not al-ways have as much as he would like to eat, and in the long, hard win-ters he was oft-en ver-y cold. It was not an eas-y life, and it was full of hard work, for peo-ple in this rough place could not read and there were no schools; but when he was still a young boy his folks moved to In-di-an-a, and though there was more work to be done, life was not quite so sad, for he and his sis-ter Nan-cy now had a play-mate, their cous-in, Den-nis Hanks, who was full of life and fun. "Abe," as folks called him, was but eight years old when his par-ents went out into the West to live, but he was so strong that he could help chop down the trees of which the new home was made; then, too, he learned how to shoot the game and wild fowl in the big woods, and so could bring good things in-to the house to eat. But a dark time came in his life soon, for the kind, good moth-er took sick and died. Her death was a great loss to "Abe," and he felt much grief that there was no one to say a pray-er at her grave; so he wrote to the min-is-ter in the old home in Ken-tuck-y, and asked him if he would not come there and bless his moth-er's grave. This good man came as soon as he could, but it was a long while af-ter her death be-fore "Abe" had his wish. That win-ter was long and hard for the poor lit-tle boy and girl with no moth-er to see that they were warm, or that they had good food to eat; but in the fall of 1819, the fa-ther brought home a new wife, Mrs. Sal-ly John-son and now at last a ray of bright light came to stay with "Abe" and Nan-cy. The new moth-er was a good, kind wo-man, and was quite rich for those days. She soon had the home bright and neat; she put good warm clothes on "Abe" and Nan-cy; saw that they had food to eat and at once sent them to school.

"Abe" was now e-lev-en years old, tall and big, and of more strength than most boys of his age. His fa-ther hired him out for all sorts of work; to pitch hay, to chop wood, to help on the farm; no work was too hard for this big, strong boy; but, with all this work, he kept at his books too. Late at night, while all the rest slept, he would stud-y his books; and as books were few he read them ma-ny times o-ver; one of the books he loved the most was the "Life of Wash-ing-ton."

He was a young man, for it was in March, 1828, that a chance came to him to see more of life; he was hired to take a boat filled with skins down the Mis-sis-sip-pi Riv-er to New Or-le-ans; he did this work well, and when he came back was paid a good price for it. He was just of age when his folks went to Il-li-nois to live; and now he helped build a home, cleared a big field in which it stood, split rails to fence it in, and then went off to make his own way in life.

The first thing he did was to help build a flat-boat and then take it down to New Or-le-ans; when he came back the man who owned the boat gave him a place in his store at New Sa-lem; and now he had a good chance to get books to read; and you may be sure he was glad of this. He was soon known in the place as a bright young man, and one who would not lie, or steal, or do an-y mean thing; he was full of fun and jokes, and the folks in the town were all fond of him; he was called "Hon-est Abe." When the "Black Hawk War" broke out he went at the head of a small band of men to the seat of war; he was in no great fight, but learned much of war and how to rule the rough men who were in his care.

When he came home he was felt to be one of the first men in the town, and in 1834 he took a high place in the state. He now took up the stud-y of law, and was soon in ac-tive prac-tise; he had a good, kind heart, and did much good to those who were too poor to pay him. In 1846 he was sent to Con-gress; this time he was there but one year; then came back to Spring-field, Il-li-nois, and built up a fine law prac-tise. His name was now known through all this great land; and in the slave strife he was al-ways on the side of the slaves. He spoke so oft-en for the slaves that in 1860, the South said if he was put up for pres-i-dent, by the North and West, they would leave the Union. But he was just the man to fill this high office at this time; and as he had the most votes he took the of-fice of Pres-i-dent in 1861. There is a sto-ry told of these days, which shows that Lin-coln, when a great man, had no shame for the days when he was poor. Old John Hanks, who had helped him build that rail fence so long a-go, came to Il-li-nois with two of those rails; and on them was a big card which told where they came from, and who split them. Lin-coln was just a-bout to make a speech to a big crowd; and when he saw these rails he said that he had split them when a boy, but thought he could do bet-ter now. Then shouts and cheers went up from the crowd, you may be sure; and from that time Lin-coln was known in the race for pres-i-dent as "The Rail Split-ter."

When he left his home to go to Wash-ing-ton, a great crowd came to see him off, but he was so sad he could not say much to them. There were plots to kill him at this time, and he knew it; but he gave no thought to his own life, and went straight to his post of du-ty as Pres-i-dent. It was with a sad heart that he saw this great land torn with war; and he would have been glad to keep peace, but this he could not do. When the South fired at the flag of the Un-ion at Fort Sum-ter, a cry went up through the whole land. The South fought for what it called "States Rights;" the right of each state to rule in its own way; but this Lin-coln would not have. He cared more for the Un-ion than he did for the slaves; for, though he thought all men should be free, he said, if he could save the Un-ion, he did not care if not one slave was made free; he had no wish to keep the South from its rights; but, at last, he felt it wise to send out a bill, which said that all the slaves should be free, and have the same rights as white men. This land was in no state for war; much had to be done; clothes and food got for the troops; and arms as well had to be made or bought at once. The first great fight was at Bull Run in Vir-gin-i-a; and the loss of life on both sides was great; the North lost from the first; men who had nev-er been in a fight be-fore went mad with fear and ran for their lives. But at the fight at Get-tys-burg the men of the North were brave and fought with such skill that the great fight was won by the North.

Grant was put at the head of the troops who went down to free Mis-sis-sip-pi; and it was not long be-fore he placed the Stars and Stripes over this fair state. The South made a brave fight, for what it thought was right and just; but as the war went on, the troops of the South were in a bad state; they could get no food, no clothes, and so ma-ny men had been shot that in the last years of the war young boys had to help fill up the ranks. Now came Sher-man's march to the sea, and he took Sa-van-nah and all its guns and stores. This was a great blow, and now one by one the sea-ports of the South fell in-to the hands of the North. At last Gen-er-al Lee, a great and good man of the South, sent word to Grant that he would come to terms and make peace. Grant was kind at this hard time; he let Lee keep his sword, and said that the men might keep all their hors-es. It was in A-pril, 1865, that peace came to our great land; and the North went mad with joys; bells pealed, and fires blazed in the streets; flags were raised and guns were fired; but in the South there was no joy; on-ly great grief.

From the grief of the South a great crime sprang; on the night of A-pril 14th, as Lin-coln sat in a box at the the-a-tre watch-ing a play he was shot by a man from the South named Wilkes Booth. When he had shot Lin-coln, this man sprang on the stage and tried to run from the place; he fell and broke his leg; but in this state he got to the door, where he jumped on his horse and fled for his life. He was found at last in a barn, and made such a brave fight for his life that the barn had to be set on fire be-fore he could be caught; e-ven then he would not come out and give him-self up; but fought till he was shot down where he stood.

Lin-coln had been shot in the back of his head, and could not move or speak; -- men took him with care to a house near by, but there was no help for him; and in the ear-ly morn of the next day a great life came to a sad end. The whole land, the South as well as the North, wept at his death; for no sane man felt that Booth's deed was wise or just; and to this day the name of A-bra-ham Lin-coln, the "Sav-iour of his Coun-try," is held dear by North and South.




An-Drew John-Son.


An-drew John-son's life as a boy was quite as hard as that of lit-tle "Abe" Lin-coln. He was born in Ra-leigh, North Car-o-li-na, on De-cem-ber 29th, 1808, in a small log cab-in; and near his home were the big farms of the rich men of the South, on which lived in more ease than he the slaves, who looked down on his fa-ther and mo-ther as "poor white trash."

His fa-ther died when An-drew was but four years old; he must have been a brave man, for he lost his life try-ing to save a man from drown-ing. Lit-tle An-drew was too poor to go to school; he had to try and earn mon-ey, when he was but ten years old; so he was sent to a tail-or to learn to make clothes; here, for five years he worked hard; and then he heard a man read; and for the first time it came to his mind that he could learn to do this; he got the men in the shop to teach him his "A, B, C;" and he was so quick to learn that soon he could read a lit-tle; but it was not till he was wed to a bright young girl that he learned a great deal of books; this was when he was eight-een, and he had gone to Green-ville, Ten-nes-see, to set up in life for him-self. These young folks were both poor, but both bright; and the wife was a great help to John-son all through his life. He rose fast in his new home; we see him, from the first, take the part of the poor; and he was soon put in high of-fice in the town; it was not long ere he rose to a high place in the state, and, in 1843, we see the poor lit-tle tail-or boy of 1826 in the halls of Con-gress, stand-ing up for the rights of the class in which he was born. In 1846 he took the seat of John Quin-cy Ad-ams, who was too sick to hold it; does it not seem strange that two men who had lived as boys so un-like should rise to just the same place? For ten years he was in Wash-ing-ton, where he helped make the laws of the land; then in 1853, he was made gov-ern-or of Ten-nes-see. When the Civ-il War broke out, he took sides with the North, though he was born in the South and lived there; and when Lin-coln was made pres-i-dent he took the next place as vice-pres-i-dent.

On Lin-coln's death, he took the pres-i-dent's chair. The whole land was now up-set; in the South the white men had no work; and the slaves did not know how to care for them-selves. In the North there was strife as to the terms on which the South should come back in-to the Un-ion; and on ma-ny things John-son and his Con-gress did not think the same; so there was strife be-tween them. It came to its height in 1868, when the Sen-ate tried John-son for "high crimes and mis-de-mean-ors;" this means that Con-gress thought the pres-i-dent did not act for the good of the land, and should be put out of of-fice; but the men who tried him did not all think the same; and most of them said he should keep his place.

So he was in the chair for four years, and then went home to E-liz-a-beth-town, Ten-nes-see, where he lived till his death on Ju-ly 29th, 1875.




U-Lys-Ses Simp-Son Grant.


The boy who was to be first a great gen-er-al in the ar-my, and then Pres-i-dent of the U-nit-ed States, was born at Point Pleas-ant, O-hi-o, A-pril 27th, 1822. As a boy he did not care for books, but was fond of sports and games, and had a great love for horses; he was but eight years old when he put a young colt to a sled, and hauled sticks and logs from the woods to his home; and he was but twelve when he made a trade of a horse he had for a young colt which had not been used much; on his way home a dog sprang at the colt, which, at once, mad with fear, tried to run a-way; the boy held fast to his reins, and stopped the colt just on the edge of a great cliff; but it was in such fear that it would not move, and the boy for a time knew not what to do. At last he took his hand-ker-chief, tied it o-ver the colt's eyes, and so drove him home. Folks near the Grant home said there was no horse which young U-lys-ses could not ride; he was a boy who had a firm will and strong nerves; and was at the head in all sports or games; for young boys soon learn which one of them must take the lead.

He did not stand so high in school, but did his tasks well; and in 1839 he went to West Point. Here he soon had ma-ny friends; and they gave him a name which clung to him for life; he was called "Uncle Sam," from the U. S. in his first two names. At West Point, he read a great deal of war, and the men who had done brave deeds for their coun-try; and when he left there he was, at heart, as well as in name, a sol-dier of his coun-try. He at once took his place with the troops, who were at war with the In-di-ans in the West; but his first big fight was at Pa-lo Al-to in 1846. At the close of this war Grant, who had shown much skill, and knew no fear, was sent to the West once more to force the In-di-ans to keep peace.

He was in Cal-i-for-ni-a while the gold craze was at its height, to try and make the rough men who came in search of gold keep the laws of the land. Then, from 1854, he had a few years of peace, and start-ed to tan hides and skins, in Ga-le-na, Il-li-nois; but his life was ev-er at his coun-try's call; and he was one of the first men to take up arms in the Civil War. He was made a gen-er-al soon af-ter the war broke out; and one of his first acts was to block all the streams and roads near his post at Cai-ro, on the O-hi-o River, so that the South could get no food or arms. Grant was known as a brave fight-er, and oft-en was in the midst of the fight at the head of his men. At a great loss of life to his troops, he took two strong forts from the South, Forts Hen-ry and Don-el-son; and then came that great fight at Shi-loh; where the troops of the South were cut down, and the North won the day; Grant was now put next to the head of the whole ar-my; and at once tried to take the cit-y of Vicks-burg. The siege of this cit-y was hard for those in its walls, and for the troops in front of it; for Grant and his men could get no food from the North, and the cit-y was quite cut off from help. The cit-y made a brave stand for two long months; but had to give in at last, and at the end of that time Grant and his men marched in-to the cit-y; now this great gen-er-al showed what a kind heart he had, for he gave food and clothes to the poor men who had fought so long and so well, to save their town; and he tried hard, at this time, to think of some way to bring the war to a close. Grant was not a hard man, but he was a just one; and in his camps, the men must live the right sort of lives; he would not let his men steal food from the farms a-bout them, or rob the poor folks in their homes. He was a plain man, and his dress showed his plain tastes; once, when he had his troops march past him, that he might see how they looked, he wore such a plain garb that his cap-tains were dressed bet-ter than he. He wore no sword, sash, nor belt; just a plain, dark suit, with a soft felt hat on his head, and a pair of kid gloves on his hands; he was a great smoker, and, it is said, his big plans were all made when his ci-gar was in his mouth. In 1863, Grant won a great fight at Chat-ta-noo-ga; and in the fierce fight in the Wil-der-ness, he and Gen-er-al Lee met for the first time.

Grant's next great work was to seize Pe-ters-burg; and so he laid siege to the town; he dug a huge mine in front of the doomed cit-y, and filled it full of pow-der that would go off when fired with a match; when this great charge went off, the fort was blown to small bits, and heaps of dead and dy-ing men lay in the midst of the ru-in; but the brave men of the South still held the fort, and drove back the troops from the North as they rushed up; and so well did they fight that Grant and his men had to draw back, and leave Pe-ters-burg a-lone for some time.

The next time he tried to take the town though, Gen-er-al Lee, who was in charge, was forced to yield; and soon the red, white and blue waved o-ver the South-ern cit-y. Soon af-ter this, Grant took from Lee all the troops in his charge; and it was now plain to see that the war must soon end.

You read in the life of Lin-coln, of the terms of peace which Grant gave to the great chief of the South; and it seems that these two men, Grant and Lee, had no hard thoughts for each other; for when peace was made, they shook hands, and part-ed friends. Each had done his best in the cause he thought right. Grant's trip to the North when the war was at an end was a grand one; crowds rushed to see the man who had saved the Union, and cheers and shouts rang to the skies. He was, of course, named for pres-i-dent and a great vote put him in of-fice.

He was in the pres-ident's seat for two terms; and was the on-ly man since Wash-ing-ton, who was thought of for a third term; but this the whole land said no to; as no man should be pres-i-dent longer than Wash-ing-ton had been. In Grant's last term, a big fair was held in Phil-a-del-phi-a, called the "Cen-ten-ni-al;" to keep in mind this was the great day on which this land was made free. At the end of Grant's two terms, he took a tour of the world; and all lands made much of the sol-dier pres-i-dent; rich gifts were placed in his hands; and at the courts of the old world, kings and queens were glad to have this plain qui-et man as a guest.

His last home was in New York; and here, in 1884, he fell sick; he lost much mon-ey at this time, and was, in truth, a poor man. But he was, to the last, a brave man; and in the midst of much pain, he wrote the book of his life, that when he was dead his wife should have mon-ey from its sale.

He died after eight long months of great pain, at Mt. Mc-Greg-or, near Sar-a-to-ga, on July 23d, 1885; his bod-y lay in state in New York for some days, and crowds from far and near came to view this great man for the last time.

He was laid to rest Au-gust 8th, 1885, at Riv-er-side Park, New York Cit-y; and the white mar-ble tomb that marks this spot is a gift to the great dead, from the land he served so well.




Ruth-Er-Ford B. Hayes.


Ruth-er-ford B. Hayes was born in Del-a-ware, O-hi-o, Oc-to-ber 4th, 1822; such a strong, ro-sy lit-tle boy was he, that he had the pet name of "Rud-dy;" his fa-ther had a big farm and a store as well, so he was quite rich, and lit-tle Rud-dy grew up in a bright and hap-py home. He came of a race of brave men, who had fought and died for this fair land in the wars of the Rev-o-lu-tion and of 1812; and he grew up as brave as they. He and his lit-tle sis-ter Fan-ny went when young to a small school near their home; and the good, wise moth-er helped them with their books at home; Ruth-er-ford worked hard at school, and went when quite young to the high school, where he soon stood at the head of his class. He was six-teen when he went to Ken-yon Col-lege, Ohio. Now, though he was so good at his books, he loved sport and fun as well; and he was so strong, that he could walk miles on the cold-est of days, and yet get no hurt. Once he walked all the way from col-lege to his home and back, when the snow lay deep on the ground, and this was for-ty miles; he could swim and skate, and knew how to fish and hunt; the boys at col-lege all liked him; he had hosts of friends, and the strong, brave will that kept him at the head in games and sports put him first in his class too. He left col-lege in 1842, and took up the stud-y of law at Har-vard Col-lege; in 1846, he was made one of the bar, and took up prac-tise of law in Cin-cin-nat-i. When the Civ-il War broke out, he, as cap-tain of a band of men from his home, did brave, good work. Once he was shot and fell to the ground; but he did not give up; he told his men what to do as he lay there in great pain, and kept up till some one came to take his place as lead-er. At the end of the war, he was a gen-er-al; and was much loved by his men. He was sent to Con-gress by his state; and then made its gov-ern-or for three terms. In 1876, he was made pres-i-dent; though some thought by a fraud in the count; and the Dem-o-crats said that their man, Sam-u-el J. Til-den, should have been pres-i-dent. While Hayes was at the White House, there was a great la-bor strike, from the East to the West, on all the rail-roads. The heads of the roads said that they would not pay the men, in their hire, as much as they had done; and so, all the men left their work and no trains could run, for the men came in great mobs to stop them; at last, they rose in arms, and then the troops were sent out to force them to keep the peace; nine men were killed, and some of the rest were bad-ly hurt. But the men did not give up for a long time; they held Pitts-burg for two days, and burned cars and the grain kept in them.

Of course, in the end, the law had to be o-beyed and the mobs were made to come to terms, and lay down their arms.

There was a war with the In-di-ans while Hayes was in the chair; but this was put down by Gen-er-al How-ard; and after some fierce fights, the chiefs were caught and bound to keep the peace. There was a change made in the way of life at the White House while Hayes was there, for no wine was ever put on the ta-ble for guests or for the pres-i-dent and his wife; this was the first time, and so far, the on-ly time, that wine has not had its place at least at the state meals at the White House. Hayes was in Wash-ing-ton for one term and then went to his home in Mas-sil-lon, O-hi-o. He died on Jan-u-a-ry 17th, 1893.




James A-Bram Gar-Field.


In rough log cab-ins, out in the midst of wild woods, we have read that six of our pres-i-dents were born; the sev-enth, James A-bram Gar-field, was born in Or-ange, O-hi-o, on No-vem-ber 19th, 1831.

His fa-ther had built, with his own hands, their small, rude home; and it stood deep in the wild wood, whose trees would, at times, catch fire from the sparks thrown from the steam en-gines some miles off. Near the Gar-field home was their field of grain; one day this caught fire, and in trying to save his wheat, the fa-ther of lit-tle James lost his life. It was a hard life to which he left his young wife and the four lit-tle ones; but she was a brave good wo-man; she had to work hard of course, and so did the boys; but the moth-er taught them from books as well; and lit-tle James was but four years old when he went to his first school. He was a tough, strong boy, and soon did a large part of the farm work; in the long sum-mers he had the most work to do, and then in the win-ters he could go to school; he was a brave boy, for the school was miles from home, and his road lay through the deep woods, in which wild beasts roamed at will. But he went his way, and if he felt fear, did not show it; he had a great love for books, and late at night, with the big wood-fire for his light, he would read o-ver and o-ver his few books. His moth-er had taught him to love the Bi-ble, and this Good Book he knew well. But, at last, the time came when he was so old that he could leave home, and so help the moth-er more than he had done. The first thing he did was to drive mules on the tow-path of the O-hi-o Ca-nal; here he earned $10.00 a month, but the men he met were coarse and rough, and the life rude and vile; so, with a sad heart, the young boy, fresh from his good home in the qui-et woods, took what he had made here, and went back to the place he loved. He was sick for a long while now; and as he lay on his bed, he made up his mind that he would go to col-lege, and lead a good, use-ful life out in the big world; that he would use his brains more than his hands. With this hope in front of him, he made mon-ey in the sum-mer to pay his way at school in win-ter; and soon knew all that they could teach and went to Hi-ram Col-lege; here at first he did all sorts of work to pay his way; rang the bells, swept the floors, and built the fires; but he was soon paid to teach in the col-lege, for he was too bright and quick to do such hard work long. In 1854, he went to Wil-liams Col-lege, and left at the head of his class in 1856.

From now on he rose fast; he taught school when he left col-lege; his boys loved the big strong man and said so much in his praise, that men learned to love him too; and in 1859 he was made one of the O-hi-o Sen-ate, and soon af-ter sent to Con-gress. Then came the Civ-il War, in which he fought brave-ly; he won much fame in some of the great bat-tles, and was made a gen-er-al. He was a warm, close friend of Lin-coln; and on the day of Lin-coln's death, it was Gar-field who spoke such calm, good words to a mob of men on Wall Street, New York, that he kept them from rash acts at this sad time. At the close of the war, Gar-field was in Eu-rope for a short time; and when he came home, he was sent to Con-gress, where he kept his seat for a long time. In 1880 he was named for pres-i-dent, and took his seat in 1881. But there was a great grief in store for this land, once more. On July 2d, 1881, just four months from the time he took his seat, Gar-field was shot by Charles Gui-teau, as he, with James G. Blaine, was on his way to take a train north from Wash-ing-ton. They bore him back to the White House, and the man who had done this foul act was seized. The whole land prayed for Gar-field's life, but he grew worse fast; and it was thought best at last to take him to Long Branch, where it was cool-er than in Wash-ing-ton. But the long, hot months dragged on; and the sick man did not grow well in the cool salt air, as it had been hoped; in spite of all care, the pres-i-dent failed day by day; and on Sep-tem-ber 19th, 1881, the whole world heard with sorrow of this good man's death. The great men of the day wept side by side, as Gar-field lay in state in Wash-ing-ton; and men of note, in all walks of life, felt his death as a great grief. He now lies at rest in Cleve-land, O-hi-o. Gui-teau was hanged for the crime he had done; and it is but just to say, that some thought he was not in his right mind when he shot Gar-field.




Ches-Ter Al-An Ar-Thur.


Ches-ter Al-an Ar-thur was born in Fair-field, Ver-mont, on Oc-to-ber 5th, 1830, and his fath-er had charge of the church in that place and was one of the first men to speak for the poor slaves. Now, in those days, those good men did not live as well as they do now; for folks were poor in the small towns; so this small boy was al-so born in a log cab-in; but he was sent to good schools, and was quite young when he knew so much that he could go to Un-ion Col-lege. All the time he was here he paid his own way, and when he left Col-lege he taught school, so that he could lay by means to go to New York and stud-y law. He was soon in law prac-tise, and he and an old school-mate made the name of their firm well known. Ar-thur took the part of the black race, just as his fa-ther had done, and in 1856, he won a suit which let the ne-groes ride in horse-cars with the whites. A slave-girl had been put off a car and Ar-thur took up her case and won it. For some years he held high of-fice in the state of New York and was a gen-er-al in the Civ-il War; he was not in the fights, but saw that the troops had clothes and food; he did this hard task so well that, when the war was at an end, the pres-i-dent gave him the best place in New York State; he was made chief of the great port of New York and held this post for two terms.

In 1880 he was made vice-pres-i-dent with Gar-field as pres-i-dent; and, of course, took the chair when Gar-field died. He held this place for one term and then went back to his home in New York Cit-y, and took up his law work. There was a split in his par-ty at the end of his term; some men wished Ar-thur to run once more for pres-i-dent, but more wished James G. Blaine of Maine; so, of course, Blaine was named. The Dem-o-crats named Gro-ver Cleve-land; and as all the men on that side wished this one man to win, he had the most votes; and for the first time in a long while, the Dem-o-crats won in the race for pres-i-dent.

Two years from the time that Ar-thur came home, and right in the midst of his law work, he died in New York Cit-y; this was on No-vem-ber 18th, 1886; and he was laid to rest in Al-ba-ny.




Ste-Phen Gro-Ver Cleve-Land.


The race of brave, strong men from whom Ste-phen Gro-ver Cleve-land sprang made their first homes here, in Mas-sa-chu-setts, as far back as 1635. His fa-ther had charge of a small church in Cald-well, New Jer-sey, and here, in a neat white frame house, which you may see for your-selves to-day, was born, on March 18th, 1837, the boy who was to rise, step by step, to the pres-i-dent's seat.

He was three years old when they moved to Fay-ette-ville, New York, and here he first went to school and lived till he was twelve years old. He showed a strong will, and a great love for books, as a small boy; he would have his own way, if he could get it; and this was why he was sent to a high school, when he was not so old by some years, as the rest of the boys there; he gave his fa-ther no rest till he sent him; and once there he made up his mind to lead his class.

He was just twelve when his strong will sent him to work in a store near his home, so that he could help care for the big fam-i-ly in the small home. The man who hired him, soon saw that, if he was young, he knew how to work well, and that he could trust him; for two years he worked in the store and then went back to his books.

But, just at this time, his fa-ther died; and he then had to find a way to care for those in great need at home. With the same pluck that he had shown in the past, he now went to work in a "Home for the Blind," in New York. In this big cit-y, the bright boy saw and heard much which gave him new thoughts, and put in his heart the wish to make his life a great one. At the end of two years in the "Home," he made up his mind to learn law; and he asked a man whom he knew to lend him twen-ty-five dol-lars to start him. The fact that this man did so shows that he had trust in young Gro-ver Cleve-land; he could now start his work, and went to Buf-fa-lo to do so. Here he lived for eight years; at first he helped his un-cle, in the care of a big farm, and the mon-ey he so made was sent to his moth-er. Soon he had the chance to stud-y law; the place where he went was two miles from his un-cle's home, but back and forth, rain or shine, he walked each day. There is told a tale that shows how he loved the books of law; for, the first day he went to this place, a book was put in his hands to read; he kept at it for hours, till dark came; then he found the rest of the men had gone home; all the doors were locked; and he must stay there all night.

Such hard work soon made him a man who well knew the law; and folks gave him big cases that brought him much fame. He did not go to the war, when it broke out, for he felt that he could not leave his folks at home with no one to care for them.

He rose fast in his law work; and more than one great case did he win; he cared far more to take the part of the poor than of the rich; and at no time in his life did he look for high place or fame; it came to him though, for he was just the man to fill a high post well. His name was soon known in his state and at Wash-ing-ton; for three years he was Sher-iff of E-rie Coun-ty and then he took up his law prac-tise once more; but soon he was put at the head of his cit-y as its May-or; and then was made the Gov-ern-or of the great state of New York. Here he did good work; he put down those who had tak-en bribes, and had not been good, true men, and he tried to see that the laws were well kept; men saw that he was the right man to fill this high place, for he had no fear of what might be thought of him; he just did as he felt right; and so, while he was still gov-ern-or, he was named for pres-i-dent by a great vote, and was e-lect-ed. When he took the oath of of-fice in Wash-ing-ton, he did not kiss the big Bi-ble which oth-er pres-i-dents had kissed, but a lit-tle old book, much worn with use, which his moth-er had giv-en to him when he first left home. He was in the chair four years and while here, he took for his wife Miss Fran-ces Fol-som; he was the first pres-i-dent to wed in the White House. Cleve-land was pres-i-dent for four years; at the end of that time, the Re-pub-li-cans placed Ben-ja-min Har-ri-son in the pres-i-dent's chair.

But, at the end of one term, once more the Dem-o-crats won the day; and a-gain, in 1893, we see Gro-ver Cleve-land pres-i-dent.

In May of 1894, the World's Fair was o-pened; and few boys and girls are too young to know some-thing of the beau-ty of the Great White Cit-y built on the shores of Lake Mich-i-gan in Chi-ca-go. In the last years of Cleve-land's term, there was much talk of the state of things in Cu-ba. The men there wished to be free from Spain, who had ruled them, with a hard hand, for hun-dreds of years.

Spain sent down troops of sol-diers; and harsh laws were made to force the Cu-bans to keep the peace. But Cu-ba would not give up; and the U-ni-ted States be-gan to feel pit-y for this brave lit-tle is-land, try-ing to get free.

In the midst of the strife, Cleve-land's term of of-fice came to an end, and he came to New York to live and take up law a-gain. He now has his home in Prince-ton, New Jer-sey, and has a large law prac-tise.




Ben-Ja-Min Har-Ri-Son.


In the first part of this book, you heard of a brave In-di-an fight-er, whose name was Wil-liam Hen-ry Har-ri-son; and you saw this brave man mount step by step to the pres-i-dent's chair. It is his grand-son, Ben-ja-min Har-ri-son, whom we now see pres-i-dent of the U-ni-ted States. He was born in his grand-fa-ther's home at North-Bend, In-di-an-a, on Au-gust 20th, 1833. There were no good schools near his home; so in a small log house, in his grand-fa-ther's grounds, he first went to school; he and a few oth-er boys and girls were taught here by those whom the Har-ri-sons hired. In this school the seats were of planks, laid on sticks that were stuck in holes in the floor; they had no backs; and were so high that the small boys and girls could not touch their feet to the floor. On-ly in the win-ter did this small boy go to school; in the sum-mer he had work to do on the big farm; he did his work well; but he also learned to shoot, to fish, to swim, and to ride.

He was much liked by all the boys, for he was full of sports and jokes. In 1820 he went to Mi-a-mi Col-lege, and left in 1822, to stud-y law. In one of his first cases, the light was so dim, that he could not see the notes he had made with such care. What should he do? There was but one thing he could do: fling to one side the notes and plead his case without an-y. This was a hard thing to do; but he did it so well, that he won his case; and the great men of the day gave him much praise for his speech.

When the Civ-il War broke out he raised a troop of men, from his own state, and was made the col-o-nel of this band, which was called the "70th In-di-an-a."

He served for two years, and won fame in some of the great bat-tles of the war; so brave was he at Re-sa-ca, that he was made a Brig-a-dier Gen-er-al. Through the long years of war, he was kind and good to the men in his care; they loved him well, and gave him the name of "Little Ben."

Not till the war was at an end, did he leave the field; then with much fame, he went back home, and took up his work at law. He took a high place in his own state and made some great speech-es.

It was now the year 1889; just one hun-dred years had passed since Wash-ing-ton, our first pres-i-dent, took his place as Pres-i-dent of the U-nit-ed States; and the whole land thought it right to cel-e-brate the date. So in New York Cit-y, on A-pril 29th and 30th, was held the "Wash-ing-ton Cen-ten-ni-al." The cit-y was hung from end to end, with red, white and blue; the grand, good face of Wash-ing-ton, framed in the flag of the land, or wreathed in green, looked down on the gay scene. Rank by rank, the troops filed by a-midst the shouts and cheers of the dense crowds that filled the streets, and looked from the win-dows of stores and hous-es. Rich and poor, great and small, kept this great day; the pres-i-dent and oth-er great men from Wash-ing-ton were brought to the foot of Wall Street, on a barge hung with flags; here all the ships of war were drawn up on each side; and as the par-ty went to the spot where Wash-ing-ton took his oath of of-fice, young girls, clad in white, cast flow-ers be-fore them. As the troops filed past the pres-i-dent, one saw, not just those from the North; but up from the South came hosts of men, bearing the flags of their states; all glad to share in this great day of the na-tion; and there were men from across the seas too; the Ger-mans and the French marched side by side with the A-mer-i-cans. By night, fire-works and bon-fires filled the streets with light, and blazed in beau-ty; no such great time had ever been known in this land; and this was as it should be; for it was all done for the great, good man, who had led our troops so well in our first war, that he had made us free; and had then, by a wise and just rule, helped us to be the great, strong land that we are to-day.

While Har-ri-son was in of-fice, work was be-gun for the "World's Fair," which was held in Chi-ca-go, in 1892, just four hun-dred years since Co-lum-bus first saw A-mer-i-ca. Har-ri-son went to Chi-ca-go and o-pened the fair with a speech on Oc-to-ber 14th, 1892; but folks could not go there till the next year. In 1893, Har-ri-son went home to In-di-an-a, and took up his law work, once more; he is still a-live, is well known as a good law-yer, and has many warm friends a-mong the great men of our day.

We have seen that Gro-ver Cleve-land now be-came pres-i-dent; at the end of his four years, the Re-pub-li-cans put Wil-liam Mc-Kin-ley in of-fice.




Wil-Liam Mc-Kin-Ley.


The man, who now, in the year 1900, stands at the head of our great land, was born at Niles, O-hi-o, on Jan-u-a-ry 29th, 1843. In the schools near his home he was taught his let-ters and, as a child, was fond of books, and quick to learn. He was a mere boy, when he taught school to earn the means to go to Col-lege. The school-house in which he taught still stands; it is a plain, square, white house, with two win-dows in front and three on each side. His moth-er was a good wo-man, with a clear, strong brain; she taught him, as well as his eight broth-ers and sis-ters, to love truth, and to live brave and strong lives.

Young Wil-liam was not long to lead a life of peace; for in 1861 he, then but a boy of eight-een, left his books and his home, and went to the war. Many sto-ries prove how brave he was while there; but two will show you why he rose so fast from the ranks. At one time the guns had been left on the road, af-ter a great fight; and it would be a hard task to go back near the foe to get them. But, young Mc-Kin-ley said, "The boys will haul them;" and he and a few oth-ers went back for them and brought them into our lines. Then he was at one time two miles from the fight, in charge of the food; he was quite safe; but he thought our men would fight bet-ter, if they had some cof-fee and food. So he filled a cart and drove straight to the lines, where our brave men were hard at work. Was this not a brave act? To risk his life for the sake of tak-ing food and drink to the worn men. He worked his way straight to the front and came out of the war a cap-tain. He went home at once and took up the stud-y of law in Can-ton; one of his first speech-es was for the rights of the black men; he said that they should have the same right to vote that white men had; and he was ev-er on the side of the black man. In 1869 Mc-Kin-ley was mar-ried to Miss I-da Sax-ton. They were both very young when their two lit-tle chil-dren died. The young law-yer did all he could to cheer his wife; and she was as brave as he, and did not let her grief keep him from his work. He rose fast in his state, and held high place more than once; then, in 1877, he was sent to Congress. In 1891 he was made gov-ern-or of O-hi-o; and in 1897, he had made such a great name for him-self that he was put up for pres-i-dent by the Re-pub-li-cans, and e-lect-ed. Just as he came in-to of-fice, the strife in Cu-ba was at its height; and men here in our great, free land had much pit-y for the Cu-bans, who were try-ing to get free from Spain, just as we had tried to shake off the hand of Eng-land long years a-go. The Span-ish rule grew worse and worse, as Spain found that Cu-ba would not give in. At last Gen-er-al Wey-ler, a harsh and cru-el man, was sent there to force peace on an-y terms; but Gen-er-al Go-mez knew his foes well, and his brave men fought with a strength born of a great hate for Spain. By and by, when Spain saw she could not win the day, she sent word that if Cu-ba would lay down her arms, she could have the rights for which she had asked in vain in the past.

But it was too late; Cu-ba had no faith in Spain, and would now be free from her hard yoke. There was much want in the big towns of Cu-ba at this time, for Wey-ler had made all the poor folks, who had lived in peace on their small farms, come in-to the towns. He said they gave help to the Cu-ban troops, and so he forced them to leave their homes and would on-ly let them bring with them just the few things that they could put on their backs. Then he had their lit-tle homes, and their crops which they had raised with care, all burned to the ground. He had lit-tle food to give this great host of poor peo-ple, and ma-ny died in the streets for the want of bread. You may be sure that our great land saw the pain and want down in Cu-ba, and longed to give aid; but an act of help on our part would mean war with Spain, and this Mc-Kin-ley did not wish. But there came a day when a great cry went up through the U-nit-ed States at a foul deed done in the bay of Ha-va-na. Our great war ship, the "Maine," was blown up by a bomb, as she lay at an-chor in the har-bor. The thought of our poor men sent to such a death raised the cry of war in all hearts. "Re-mem-ber the Maine," was the war-cry; and men cried for war at once with Spain. But Mc-Kin-ley gave Spain one more chance to stop the fight and free Cu-ba; this she would not do. So on A-pril 21st, 1898, once more the U-nit-ed States had to make read-y for war. From all the states men poured in and camps sprang up here and there, where the men were taught to load and fire their guns. Off at Hong-Kong, in charge of our war-ships, was brave Ad-mi-ral Dew-ey. He knew that the Span-ish fleet was in Ma-ni-la Bay, near the Phil-ip-pine Is-lands, which were ruled by Spain; the loss of these ships would be a great blow to Spain just at this time; so Dew-ey steered his ships there to strike a blow for his coun-try.

It was night when he reached the spot, and be-fore the Span-iards knew he was near, six of his great ships had slipped past their forts. Then a fierce fire poured on him from the forts; but it did not do much harm. At last the Span-ish fleet saw him, and at once the ships o-pened fire; but Dew-ey's flag-ship, the "O-lym-pi-a," sent out such a storm of shot and shell, that the first of the Span-ish ships was sunk, and all on board killed.

The fight last-ed two hours; and at the end of that time the Span-ish fleet had all been sunk. Great joy was felt in the U-nit-ed States when this glad news was heard, and Dew-ey was the he-ro of the whole land.

Our men down in Cu-ba fought well, and ma-ny brave deeds were done. On June 6th Ad-mi-ral Samp-son fired on the forts at San-ti-a-go; our men put their hearts in their work and their aim with the great guns was true and straight. The Span-iards did not aim so well, and their shots did not go so far, and so the shot and shell from their forts did not do us much harm.

Soon our men had stopped the fire from all the forts save Cas-tle Mor-ro, and this fort was rent and torn in great holes.

On June 24th our "Rough Ri-ders," with The-o-dore Roose-velt at their head, were sent out to clear the way to San-ti-a-go. The foe poured a hot fire on our men from the tall grass and weeds in which they lay hid-den; and there was great loss of life. Full of fire and pluck were these "Rough Ri-ders," and led by their brave colo-nels, Roose-velt and Wood, they forced the Span-ish troops back, foot by foot. The line of fight was five miles long; the heat was fierce; and food and wa-ter scarce. But at last the troops came to the fort of San Juan Hill; then, with a mad rush, up, up went our men to the Span-ish fort at the head! Cheers and shouts rose to the skies as the red, white and blue waved from the old Span-ish fort; but the cost of this fort had been great, for there was much loss of life on both sides. On Ju-ly 3d Cer-ve-ra, the Span-ish Ad-mi-ral, tried to sail his fleet out of the bay of San-ti-a-go; he was seen, though, by our men, and af-ter a hot chase and fierce fight-ing, the whole Span-ish fleet was burned or sunk.

Spain lost scores of brave men; but on our side not one man was killed, nor did we lose a ship.

The end of the war was near; on Ju-ly 10th we laid siege to San-ti-a-go, and on Ju-ly 17th we went in-to the cit-y and raised ov-er it the Stars and Stripes.

In this part of the world the last shot had been fired; but Dew-ey in the far east did not know this, and so he struck one more blow for his coun-try.

He took the cit-y of Ma-ni-la with the loss of but twelve men, and when our flag waved o-ver this cit-y, the end of the Span-ish war had come. On Jan-u-a-ry 1st, 1899, the Span-ish flag, which for four hun-dred years had waved o-ver Cu-ba, was hauled down; the red, white and blue of our own land took its place; and Cu-ba, free from the hard rule of Spain, blessed the great na-tion that had come to her aid.

In Sep-tem-ber of 1899 Ad-mi-ral Dew-ey came home; and from end to end of this land his name was cheered.

He was the guest of the cit-y of New York for three days; and well did the cit-y hon-or the he-ro of Ma-ni-la.

When we took Ma-ni-la from Spain, and so closed the Span-ish war, it did not give us the Phil-ip-pines. The men there were glad to have us drive out the Span-iards, but did not wish us to take their place. Long months of war fol-lowed, but now, A-gui-nal-do, their chief, has yield-ed and peace seems to be at hand.

It was not eas-y to see when Mc-Kin-ley be-came pres-i-dent that we were soon to be in the midst of war; but our land has borne her part well. We have gained new lands in the far east, and our flag waves o-ver strange peo-ple who have not yet learned that it stands for free-dom. They still fear that the yoke of the U-nit-ed States will be as hard to bear as that of Spain. This is not so, and it will not be long be-fore all these far-off lands will learn to love and bless the Red, White and Blue, just as ev-er-y State in our great Un-ion does to-day.

<eob>

Tum Tum, The Jolly Elephant: His Many Adventures

By

Richard Barnum



Chapter I

Tum Tum Goes Swimming


Tum Tum was a jolly elephant. I shall tell you that much at the start of this story, so you will not have to be guessing as to who Tum Tum was. Tum Tum was the jolliest elephant in the circus, but before that he was the jolliest elephant in the woods or jungle.

In fact, Tum Tum was nearly always happy and jolly, and, though he had many troubles, in all the adventures that happened to him, still, he always tried to be good-natured over them.

So I am going to tell you all about Tum Tum, and the wonderful things that happened to him.

Once upon a time Tum Tum was a baby elephant, and lived away off in a far country called India, with many other elephants, little and big, in the jungle.

The jungle is just another name for woods, or forest, only the jungle is a very thick woods. The trees grow big and strong, and between them grow strong vines so that it is hard for any living creature except an elephant, or maybe a snake to push his way along. A snake can crawl on the ground under the vines, you know.

Well, Tum Tum lived in this jungle, and with him lived his father and mother. His father was a great big elephant, named Tusky, and he was called this because he had two big, long, white teeth, called tusks, sticking out on either side of his long trunk, which was like a fat rubber hose.

Tum Tum's mother was named Mrs. Tusky, but she did not have any long teeth like her husband. Perhaps she had had some once, and had lost them, breaking down a big tree, or something like that.

Tum Tum had no brothers or sisters, but there were other little boy and girl elephants in the herd, or family of elephants, where he lived, and, altogether, he had a good time in the jungle, Tum Tum did.

One day Tum Tum, who had been eating his dinner of leaves, with his father and mother, heard a loud trumpeting in the woods back of where he was standing. Trumpeting is the noise an elephant makes when he blows through his long trunk, or nose. It is his way of speaking to another elephant.

"Who's that calling?" asked Mrs. Tusky, of her husband.

"Oh, it sounds like some of the little boy elephants," said the old papa elephant, as he pulled up a tree by the roots, so he could the more easily take a bite from the tender top leaves.

"I hope it doesn't mean any danger for us," said Mrs. Tusky, looking at Tum Tum, who was busy finishing his dinner.

Elephants, you know, no matter if they are big, are just as much afraid of danger as are other wild animals. Of course they are not so much afraid of the other beasts in the jungles, for the elephant can fight almost anything, even a lion or a tiger.

But an elephant is afraid of the black men, or natives, who live in the jungle, and an elephant is also afraid of the white hunters, who come into the big forest from time to time.

"I hope no hunters are about, to make one of our elephant friends trumpet that way," said Mrs. Tusky, speaking in a way elephants have.

"Oh, no, don't be afraid," said her husband, eating away at his tree leaves. "There is no danger." But, as he said this, he put up his long trunk-nose, and carefully sniffed the air. That is the way animals have of telling if danger is near. They do it by smelling as well as by listening and seeing. Only one cannot see very far in the jungle, as the trees are so thick.

Mr. Tusky also lifted up his big ears, about as large as ten palm-leaf fans, and listened for any sounds of danger. All he heard was the crashing of tree branches and bushes, as some of the other elephants, farther off in the jungle, pushed their way about eating their dinners.

Then, suddenly, some elephant called, trumpeting through his trunk:

"Tum Tum! Hello, Tum Tum! Can't you come out and play?"

"Oh, it's some of your little elephant friends," said Mr. Tum Tum, to the little boy elephant. I say "little," though Tum Tum was really a pretty good size. He was much larger than a horse.

"Oh, may I go and play with them?" asked Tum Tum, just as any of you might have done.

Of course Tum Tum did not speak in words, as you or I would have done. Instead he spoke in elephant language, though he could also speak and understand other animal talk. And he could also understand man-talk, just as, in my other books, I have told you how dogs, cats, pigs and monkeys can understand what we say to them, though they cannot talk to us.

"May I go out and play?" asked Tum Tum.

"Oh, I guess so," answered his father. "But do not go too far away. And you must listen for the sound of the danger trumpet from Mr. Boom. When he signals that there is danger, you must run back, for that will mean we shall have to go off farther in the jungle, and hide."

"I'll be careful," promised Tum Tum.

Elephants in the jungle live in big families, or herds. At the head is the largest elephant of them all, the leader. He is always on the lookout for danger, and when he sees, hears or smells any, he gives a signal, or trumpet, through his trunk, and then all the elephants run away and hide.

Tum Tum, the jolly elephant, stopped eating his dinner, for he had had enough, anyhow, and off through the jungle he crashed. He did not wait to go by the path, for he was so big and strong. Even though he was a little chap, as yet, he could crash through big thick bushes, and even knock over pretty large trees, if they were in his way.

"I'm coming!" called Tum Tum to his play-fellows, the other elephants. "I'm coming!"

Tum Tum came to a tree that stood in his way. He could just as well have gone around it, but that was not what he was used to. He lowered his head, and banged into it.

"Crash!" over went the tree, broken off short.

"I'll soon be with you!" Tum Tum called again, for he still could not see his little friends. "Who's there?" he asked.

Back through the jungle came the answer:

"We're all here -- Whoo-ee, Gumble-umble, Thorny and Zunga!"

These were the names of the elephants with whom Tum Tum played. Whoo-ee was a boy elephant, and he had that name, because he used to make a funny sound, almost like his name, when he whistled through his trunk. Gumble-umble was another boy elephant, and he was called that because he grumbled, or found fault, so often.

Thorny was a girl elephant, and she got her name, because she was so fond of eating the tender, juicy leaves from the thorn tree. Zunga was another girl elephant, and she was just called that name because her mother thought it sounded nice -- just as Tum Tum's mamma thought his name was the nicest one in the jungle.

"I'm coming!" trumpeted Tum Tum, and then he came to another tree that stood in his path.

"I guess I'll have to knock this out of the way," he thought to himself, and he lowered his strong head and started toward it.

"Crack!" went his head against the tree, but the tree did not break. It was very strong.

"Humph!" thought Tum Tum. "I guess I'll have to pull you up by the roots if I can't break you off."

So he wound his trunk around the tree. Then he pulled and he pulled and he pulled some more until, all of a sudden, the tree came up by the roots.

It came up so quickly that Tum Tum tumbled over backwards, head over heels.

"Smash!" down in the bushes went Tum Tum, holding up the tree in his trunk.

"Ha! Ha!" came an elephant laugh from the jungle in front of Tum Tum.

"Oh, just look at him!" a voice called.

"What happened, Tum Tum?" asked a third elephant.

"Are you playing one of your tricks?" some one else wanted to know.

Tum Tum looked up from where he lay on his back in the bushes. He saw Whoo-ee, Gumble-umble, Thorny and Zunga looking at him, their mouths wide open, laughing.

And then, instead of getting angry, and being cross, Tum Tum just laughed himself, such a jolly laugh!

"Ha! Ha!" he giggled. "I -- I fell over backward pulling up this tree. Did you see me?"

"Did we see you? Well, I guess we did!" cried Whoo-ee.

"Well, maybe you did, but I didn't," complained Gumble-umble. "Zunga got right in my way, when I wanted to look."

"Oh, I'm sorry," said Zunga. "I didn't mean to."

"Oh, don't mind Gumble-umble," said Tum Tum, with another jolly laugh. "He's always finding fault. I'll pull up another tree, and fall again, Gumble-umble, so you can see me do it, if you like."

"No, don't. You might hurt yourself," said Thorny, the other girl elephant.

"Pooh!" cried Tum Tum. "I'm not afraid!"

"Well, never mind about pulling up more trees now," said Whoo-ee. "We called you to come out, and have some fun with us. We are going swimming."

"Where?" asked Tum Tum, as he got up off his back, and blew some dust over himself to keep away the flies.

"Oh, we're going down in the river," said Zunga. "It's so hot to-day, that a nice bath will cool us off. Come on."

"I'd better ask my mother," said Tum Tum. "I didn't know you were going swimming, when you called for me to come and play with you. I'll go ask her."

"All right, we'll wait for you. Only don't be all day," said Gumble-umble. "We want to go in the water before night."

"Oh, you mustn't mind him," laughed Whoo-ee. "I don't know what's the matter with him to-day; he's always finding fault. Did you get a thorn in your foot, Gumble, that makes you so cross?"

"No, I didn't," answered the other boy elephant. "But I don't want to stand here all the afternoon in a hot jungle, waiting for Tum Tum."

"I won't be long," promised the jolly elephant. He hurried back through the woods to where his father and mother were still eating.

"Mother, may I go in swimming?" he asked, as he came to where Mrs. Tusky stood.

"Yes, but don't go so far, that you can't hear any calls that may come from Mr. Boom. There's no telling when the hunters may find us."

"I'll listen, and be careful," said Tum Tum.

Back he crashed through the jungle, and soon he and his elephant friends were on their way to the river, that was not far from where the herd of elephants was feeding.

"There's the river!" suddenly called Whoo-ee, as he caught sight of the sparkling water through the trees.

"Let's see who'll be the first one in!" called Whoo-ee, as he began to run.

"Oh, don't leave us behind," begged Thorny and Zunga.

"Oh, that's the way with girls -- always making a fuss!" complained Gumble-umble. "Why can't you run like we boys do?"

"Because you're bigger and stronger than we are," said Zunga.

"Well, we're not going to wait for you," said Gumble-umble.

"Never mind, I don't care whether I'm first in the water or not," said Tum Tum. "I'll stay with you, Thorny, and Zunga."

"Isn't Tum Tum nice?" whispered Zunga to Thorny, as they went along through the jungle.

"Yes," said Thorny.

Whoo-ee and Gumble-umble hurried on through the woods, and Whoo-ee was the first to splash into the water.

"I beat!" he cried.

"Well, I'd have been first only I stumbled over a tree root," said Gumble-umble.

He was always finding fault, it seemed.

Into the water splashed the five elephant children. They went out where it was about deep enough to come up to their ears, and then they sucked water up in their trunks and sprayed it over their backs, to drive away the flies and gnats that bit them. Then they swam out into deep water, and rolled and tumbled about, having great fun. They splashed each other, squirted water all over, and soon were as cool as cucumbers on ice.

All at once, through the jungle, there sounded a loud trumpeting.

"Hark!" cried Whoo-ee, as he stopped squirting water on Thorny. "What's that?"

"It's Mr. Boom signaling that there's danger!" cried Tum Tum.




Chapter II

Tum Tum Is Caught


Tum Tum, and the other elephants who were in swimming, made no more noise than a fly walking up the window. They all kept quiet and listened.

Through the jungle again sounded the trumpet call:

"Umph! Umph! Boom! Boom! Toom!"

"That sure means danger!" cried Tum Tum. "Come on! We had better go back to where our fathers and mothers are."

"Indeed we had!" said Thorny, as she and Zunga waded to the shore, water dripping from them.

"That's always the way!" complained Gumble-umble. "Just as we are having fun, something has to happen."

"Look here!" exclaimed Whoo-ee, "you don't want to be caught in a trap, do you?"

"Of course not," said Gumble-umble.

"And you don't want a hunter to shoot you, or to carry you away far off somewhere, do you?"

"You know I don't," and Gumble-umble did not speak quite so crossly this time.

"Well, then," said Whoo-ee, "let's do as Tum Tum is doing, and start for home. There must be some danger, or Mr. Boom wouldn't have called to us that way."

"Indeed he wouldn't," said Tum Tum, and he did not laugh in his jolly way now. "My mother told me to be sure and listen for a call from Mr. Boom. She said he would be looking for danger, and when he called, I was to hurry home."

Tum Tum was out on the bank of the river now. Gumble-umble was the last one of the elephants to come from the swimming pool.

"Let's hurry," said Tum Tum.

"That's what I say!" cried Thorny. "I don't want to be caught by some hunter."

The elephant children knew what hunters were, for their fathers and mothers had often told them about the natives who tried to catch elephants. Indeed, some of the older elephants had more than once been caught in traps, but they had gotten out.

Without stopping to put on any clothes, for of course elephants do not wear any, Tum Tum and the others hurried off through the jungle toward where the rest of the herd was feeding. Several times as they hastened along, they could hear Mr. Boom trumpeting, and it sounded as though he said:

"Hurry along! Hurry along! There's danger! Danger!"

And Tum Tum and the others did hurry, you may be sure of that.

Before the elephant children reached the place where they had left the herd feeding, Tum Tum saw something pushing through the jungle toward them.

"Look out!" he warned his playmates. "Something is coming!"

The five elephants stopped short, and were beginning to get afraid when, all at once, Tum Tum's mother burst through the bushes and came up to him.

"Oh, I was so frightened!" she said, speaking through her trunk. "I thought you were never coming!"

"Oh, we heard Mr. Boom," said Tum Tum, "and we came on as soon as we could. But what's the matter, mamma?"

"Plenty is the matter, or, rather, is going to be, unless we can get away," said the mamma elephant. "A big band of hunters is in the jungle, and they are coming this way."

"Did you see them?" asked Whoo-ee.

"No, indeed! If we waited until they were close enough for us elephants to see them, they would be so close, that we could not get away. Some monkeys brought word that the hunters were on the march. So we are going to start at once and go afar off, into a deep, dark part of the jungle, where they cannot find us."

"Well, we had a swim, anyhow," said Tum Tum. "I'm hungry, mamma. Have we time to eat?"

"No, indeed," said the lady elephant. "We'll just have to eat as we go along. You children had better go to your fathers and mothers," she said to Whoo-ee, Gumble-umble, Thorny and Zunga. "They are, very likely, looking for you."

So the four friends of Tum Tum started off, and soon the whole herd of elephants was moving off through the jungle, led by Mr. Boom, who had heard of the danger from a monkey friend.

All that day the herd of elephants kept on, crashing their way through the jungle. They did not follow any path, but made one for themselves. Through the thick, strong vines they pushed their way, breaking down trees, or pulling them up by their roots. Nothing could stop the elephants when they were running away from danger.

"Oh, dear! This is no fun! I'm tired! I'm not going to run any more!" complained Gumble-umble. "I don't believe there is any danger, anyhow."

"Oh, but there must be," said Tum Tum, who, with Whoo-ee, was hurrying along beside his play-fellow. "Otherwise they wouldn't make us go so fast," and he pointed with his trunk to Mr. Boom, and some of the older men elephants, who were leading the herd.

"Well, I'm not going to go so fast," said Gumble-umble. "I'm going to stop and have a rest."

"No, you're not!" exclaimed his father, who came up behind Gumble-umble, just then. "I'm sorry," the papa elephant said, "but you must keep on. It would never do to stop now, or the hunters would get us. Here, I'll push you along," and with his strong head, Gumble-umble's father shoved his son along, whether Gumble-umble wanted to go or not.

Tum Tum needed no pushing. He was glad enough to hurry along as fast as he could. So were the other small elephants, for they did not want to be caught.

Then, after a while, Mr. Boom signaled that they were far enough off now, and need not hurry any more. They were safe, at least for a time.

"And I'm glad of it!" exclaimed Gumble-umble. "I can't walk another step," and he lay down to rest. All the elephants were tired, and hungry. But they had come to a place where there was plenty of food and water.

Soon they were eating, drinking and getting ready to spend the night in the jungle, for it was now almost dark. Tum Tum found a nice cozy place between his mother and father, and soon he was sound asleep.

For some time after this, the herd of elephants was kept on the move by the hunters. Then, finally, the men with guns were left so far behind that there was no more danger for them. Then all the elephants were glad. They did not have to run through the jungle any more, and they had time to eat and drink.

Tum Tum and his friends went in swimming many times, and Tum Tum grew so fat and large and strong, that he was soon the largest of all the children elephants in the herd. In fact, he was almost as large as his father and mother, and of all the elephants he was the strongest, except only Mr. Boom. No elephant was stronger or braver than Mr. Boom. That was what made him the leader.

One day, when Tum Tum had grown to be a big, fine strong elephant, though as jolly as ever, something happened to him. I shall tell you all about it now.

The herd of elephants was in the forest as before. They were eating away, when, all of a sudden, Mr. Boom gave the signal with his trunk.

"Danger! Danger!" he cried, in his deep, booming voice, that was like distant thunder.

"Oh, we've got to run again!" cried Mr. Tusky, who was the father of Tum Tum.

It is a good thing elephants do not live in houses, and also good that they have nothing to move with them, when they go from place to place, or they would have trouble, because they have to run away from danger so often.

Once again they were on the march, with Mr. Boom in the lead. Now Tum Tum was so big and strong, that he was allowed to march at the head of the herd with Mr. Boom.

"Oh, but I am afraid to have him there," said Mrs. Tusky to her husband.

"Nonsense!" exclaimed the papa elephant. "He must learn to take his place. Some day he will be the leader of the herd, and will warn the others of danger."

Through the forest jungle rushed the elephants, trampling down the trees and bushes. Behind them could be heard the shouts of the hunters, and the firing of guns. There was also the noise of big wooden and tin drums being beaten, and horns being blown. There was also the trumpeting of other elephants -- tame elephants. For hunters use tame elephants to help them catch the wild ones.

"Wait! don't run away! You will not be hurt!" called the tame elephants to Tum Tum, and the other wild ones.

But the wild elephants did not want to be caught. They did not know they would be kindly treated by their masters. All the wild elephants wanted to do was to get away. So with Tum Tum and Mr. Boom at their head, away they rushed through the jungle.

All at once the rushing herd of wild elephants came to a fence in the jungle. It was a strong fence, made of big bamboo trees stuck in the ground. It was such a strong fence that even Mr. Boom, try as he did, could not break it down. When he found that after one or two blows from his head would not break the fence, he called out to the other elephants:

"Never mind the fence! We can't break through it, so we'll run along beside it. Maybe there'll be a hole in it somewhere."

So the elephants rushed through the jungle, alongside of the fence, just as you might do, until you came to a gate, or hole. That was what Mr. Boom was looking for -- a hole in the fence.

But he did not see any. In fact, this fence was a trap, and soon Mr. Boom and the other elephants knew this.

"Run away from the fence! Run over this way!" called Mr. Boom.

The elephants ran, but soon they saw another fence in front of them -- a fence as strong as the first one. Mr. Boom and some of the strong elephants, including Tum Tum, tried to break it down, but they could not. If they had all gotten together, and pushed at one spot, they might have broken it, but they pushed in different places, and the fence held them back.

"Never mind!" called Mr. Boom. "Maybe this fence has a hole in it. We'll run along it and find out."

"Why can't we turn around and go back?" asked Gumble-umble of Tum Tum, behind whom he was now running.

"Because the hunters are behind us," said Tum Tum. "If we turned back, they would surely catch us. The only thing to do is to run on."

Tum Tum was beginning to be a smart elephant, you see. He knew many things about danger. But, had he only known it, there was something he did not know -- and this was that he and the others were, even then, running right into a trap.

On and on rushed the elephants. The two lines of fences that had been far apart, were now so close together that they could both easily be seen at once. It was like going down a long lane, in the cow pasture, with a fence on either side.

Then Mr. Boom saw the danger.

"Go back! Go back!" called the big leader elephant. "Go back!"

But it was too late. Right in front of the elephants was a big round place, like a baseball park, with a high fence all around it -- a very strong fence. There was a gate by which the elephants could be driven into this park, only it was a trap, and not a park. And there was no way out of it. The fence ran all about it, except this one hole. And through that hole the elephants were being driven.

"Go back! Go back!" cried Tum Tum, waving his trunk at the other elephants as Mr. Boom was doing.

But the elephants were afraid to go back because the hunters were rushing up behind them. The hunters had driven the elephants into the trap, and were going to keep them there.

Up rode the hunters on tame elephants. Into the trap they drove the wild ones, Tum Tum and all the others.

"Alas! We are caught!" cried Mr. Boom. "Come, let us see if we cannot break through this fence!"

He rushed at it with his big head, but the fence was too strong for him.

Into the midst of the wild elephants came the tame ones, with the hunter-men on their backs. The tame elephants talked to the wild ones.

"Be quiet!" said the tame elephants. "You will not be hurt! See us! We were once like you, but we were caught and we like it. Be quiet!"

Some of the elephants quieted down, but others rushed about, trying to break through the fence. Tum Tum was one of these. Then, all at once two tame elephants, with men on their backs, rushed at Tum Tum. Chains and ropes were thrown over his back, and around his legs. The chains and ropes were pulled tight.

Tum Tum was caught in the trap.




Chapter III

Tum Tum And Mappo


Tum Tum was not now such a jolly elephant as he had been the day he went in swimming, or as happy as when he pulled up the tree, fell over backward, and laughed at his own joke. No, indeed! Tum Tum was feeling very unhappy now.

"Oh, mamma!" Tum Tum cried. "Oh, papa! What has happened?"

Mr. and Mrs. Tusky were not able to answer Tum Tum. They, too, as well as nearly all the other elephants, had been caught in the trap. Some of them, like Tum Tum, were held fast with chains and ropes, and others were trying to batter down the fence of the trap with their heads. But they felt that they could not do it, as the fence was too strong.

"Let me go! Let me loose!" cried Tum Tum in his elephant language.

Of course the hunter men, who had taken Tum Tum and the others prisoners, did not understand this talk, but they could see that Tum Tum was very strong, and might break loose.

"Better put a couple more chains on that fellow," said one of the hunters to another.

"I guess so," agreed the second hunter. "That is the finest and biggest elephant we have caught in this herd."

At first Tum Tum thought they must be speaking of Mr. Boom, who surely was the largest and strongest elephant in the jungle. But, when Tum Tum looked around, Mr. Boom was not to be seen. He had gotten away. He had turned, and run out of the trap, and he was so big and strong that even the tame elephants, with the hunters on their backs, could not stop him. Away he rushed into the jungle. But he was very sad, for he alone, of all the herd, had escaped.

"I wonder of whom they can be speaking, so big and strong," thought Tum Tum. He saw two tame elephants, with hunters on their backs, and carrying chains, coming toward him.

"Why -- why, they must mean me!" said Tum Tum to himself. He stopped trying to break down the fence, which the hunters had built as a trap, and waited.

"Look out for him," said one of the men. "He looks dangerous. He looks like a bad elephant."

Tum Tum was not a bad elephant. He was very strong, but he was not bad.

"Oh, mamma, what shall I do?" cried Tum Tum, as he saw the tame elephants, with chains, coming closer to him.

For all his great strength, Tum Tum was yet only a boy elephant. He was not very wise. He did not know what to do.

"Listen," said Tum Tum's father. "You are now the leader of the herd, Tum Tum. Mr. Boom is gone, and I am too old to be the leader. So you must be. We elephants will do as you do. If you can break down the fence, and get away from the hunters, we will follow you."

"I will try, once more, to break down the fence," said Tum Tum. "Let some of the strong, young elephants come to help me. Come, Whoo-ee -- come, Gumble-umble! We will smash down the fence!"

But one of the tame elephants, who heard what Tum Tum said, called to him, and spoke:

"Oh, brother. Do not break down the fence."

"Why not?" asked Tum Tum, who could easily understand the language of the tame elephant. "Why should I not break the fence, and let my friends, and my father and mother, out of this trap. Why not?"

"Because," answered the tame elephant, with the chains, "you cannot do it. Already you are held with ropes, and soon we will put more chains on you, so that you cannot move."

"And why would you -- you who are elephants like ourselves -- why would you do this to us, who never harmed you?" asked Tum Tum.

"Because it is for your good," said the tame elephant. "The white hunters are very strong. You may get away from them now, but they will come after you again. It is better to give in now. If you are good, and do not try to break down the fence, you will wear no chains."

"But what will happen to us -- to me and my father and mother?" asked Tum Tum.

"You will be put to work, piling teak logs in the woods," said the tame elephant. "You will have enough to eat, you will have shelter from the rain and the flies. You will have water to drink and to wash in. It is a good life. I like it."

"Is that all that will happen to me?" asked Tum Tum.

"Perhaps not," answered the tame elephant. "You may be sent far across the big water, in a house that floats, and go, as other elephants have gone, to a circus, or menagerie, for the boys and girls to look at, and feed peanuts to."

"What are peanuts?" asked Tum Tum, who was hungry.

"I do not know, never having eaten any," said the tame elephant. "But one of my brothers, who was in a circus in a far off land, and who came back here, said they were very good. Now shall we put the chains on you -- I and my tame brothers -- or will you be quiet -- you and the others?"

Tum Tum thought for a minute. After all he was caught, and it would be hard to get away, even if he were the strongest elephant in the herd, now that Mr. Boom was gone. Then, too, it might be nice in a circus, and Tum Tum certainly wanted to see what peanuts were like.

"I -- I will be good, tame brother," he said. "You need not put the chains and ropes on me."

"You are wise, Tum Tum," said the tame elephant. "We will put no chains on you. And about the others?" he asked.

"The others will do as I do," said Tum Tum. "I am the leader now."

"Good!" trumpeted the tame elephant, whose name was Dunda. "My brother from the jungle is wise."

So Tum Tum had no more chains put on his legs or back, and those that were on him, with the ropes, were taken off.

"So we are not to try to break from the trap?" asked Whoo-ee.

"No, for we will be well treated here," said Tum Tum, "and some of us may go to a circus."

"What is a circus?" asked Zunga.

"It is a place where boys and girls look at us, and feed us peanuts," answered Tum Tum.

"I will not go to any circus!" cried Gumble-umble. "I am going to break out of this trap!"

"You must not!" cried Tum Tum. "I have said that we would all be good, and I am the leader."

"You cannot lead me!" trumpeted Gumble-umble, and he rushed at the fence of the stockade, or trap. But before he could reach it, two tame elephants rushed at him, and Gumble-umble was soon bound with strong chains and ropes, so that he could hardly move.

"It is all your fault!" he cried to Tum Tum.

"No, it is your own," said Gumble-umble's papa. "Now you must quiet down and be a good elephant. We are caught, we can go no more to the jungle, but perhaps it is best for us."

So Tum Tum and the wild elephants were thus caught.

For a time the herd of wild elephants was kept inside the fence. They were given good things to eat, and plenty of water to drink, and to blow over themselves with their trunks, to cool off. They did not try to get away, though once, in the night, Mr. Boom came as close to the outside of the trap, or stockade, as he dared, and trumpeted, trying to call his herd back to him. But they would not go. They were beginning to like it, with the tame elephants.

In a little while all the wild elephants, Tum Tum included, were quite tame. Then they were taken out, a few at a time, out to the forest, and shown how to pile up the heavy logs of teakwood, which is used for building ships, and sometimes for making tables and chairs.

The tame elephants showed the wild ones how to carry the logs on their tusks, or in their trunks, and how to pile them up as neatly as you can pile up your building blocks.

Tum Tum learned to do this, and also how to push heavy wagons about with his head. He also learned much of the man-talk, so that his driver, or mahoot, as he is called, could, by a few words, make Tum Tum understand just what was wanted.

One day Tum Tum was taken away from the rest of the herd, and he did not even have a chance to say good-by. He was led up what seemed to be a little bridge, and Tum Tum was afraid it would fall with him. But it did not.

Next he walked down into a dark place, and he found other elephants there. Some of them he knew.

"Where are we, and where are we going?" he asked.

"We are in a ship, and we are being taken across the ocean to a circus," answered Whoo-ee, who was one of the elephants in the dark place, which was the inside of a steamship.

"A circus! Good!" cried Tum Tum. "Now I shall know how a peanut tastes."

The ship began to move and rock. It rocked and swayed for many days, for it was on the ocean. And then, one day, a sailor came down to see the elephants. He brought with him a queer little animal, with thick, brown hair. And this animal chattered in jungle talk.

"Ha! I seem to know who that is!" thought Tum Tum.

"Chatter! Chatter! Chat! Chur-r-r-r-r-r!" went the little brown-haired animal, as he sprang from the arms of the sailor.

"Umph! Umph!" trumpeted Tum Tum.

Then the little brown monkey, for such it was, gave a jump from the arms of the sailor, and landed up on the back of the elephant.

"Hello, Tum Tum!" cried the monkey.

"Why, it's Mappo!" exclaimed Tum Tum. "How did you get here?"

"I was caught in a net, when I was eating some cocoanut," the monkey said. I have told you how that happened in a book called, "Mappo, the Merry Monkey."

"Caught in a net, eh?" said Tum Tum. "That is too bad. I was caught myself. But where are you going?"

"To a circus," answered Mappo.

"So am I!" cried Tum Tum. "This is fine! We'll be in the circus together!"

The monkey and the elephant were good friends, for they had known each other in the jungle, Tum Tum often having passed under the tree where Mappo's home was.

The sailor who had brought Mappo down to see the elephants, smiled as he saw Tum Tum making friends with him.

"I guess I'll leave them together," said the sailor.

So Mappo went to sleep on Tum Tum's big back.

The monkey had not slept very long, before he was suddenly awakened, by finding himself almost sliding off.

"What is the matter, Tum Tum?" asked Mappo.

"The ship is trying to stand on its head, I think," said the elephant. "Oh, here I go!" and he fell down on his knees, while Mappo sailed through the air and fell on a pile of hay.




Chapter IV

Tum Tum In The Circus


With Mappo chattering in his monkey language, and the elephants in the lower part of the ship trumpeting through their trunks, there was so much noise, that it is no wonder many of the animals were frightened.

"Oh, what is it? What is it?" Mappo chattered.

"I don't know," answered Tum Tum, "unless the hunters are coming after us again," and, raising his trunk, he gave the call of danger, as he had heard Mr. Boom, the big leader elephant, give it in the jungle.

"Hush! Be quiet!" called an old elephant near Tum Tum. "Why do you call that way, brother?" he asked in elephant language.

"There is danger," replied Tum Tum. "I must tell the others to get out of here."

"That cannot be done," said the old elephant. "We are in a ship, on the big water, and if we got out now, in the ocean, we would surely drown. Be quiet!"

"But why am I tossed about so?" asked Tum Tum. "Why can I not stand up straight?"

"Because the ship is in a storm," answered the old elephant. "I know, for I have been on a ship before. The wind is blowing and tossing the ship up and down.

"But there is no danger. Only keep quiet, and, since you are the new leader of the elephants, tell them to be quiet, or some of them may be hurt. See, down come the sailors to see what is the trouble."

Surely enough, down came a whole lot of sailors, in white suits, to see why all the elephants had trumpeted so loudly, and why Mappo, the merry monkey, had squealed.

"Hush! Be quiet!" called Tum Tum to the other elephants. "Be quiet or I shall beat you with my trunk, and make you."

When Tum Tum spoke that way, all the other elephants heard him, and they grew quiet. Some, who had fallen on their knees, when the ship tossed from side to side, now got up. They placed their big legs far apart, so they could stand steadily.

"We will be all right when the storm passes," said the old elephant who had spoken to Tum Tum.

Mappo picked himself up off the pile of hay, and, just then, his friend the sailor came to get him.

"I guess you have been here long enough, Mappo," said the sailor. "You might get hurt down here, with all these big elephants."

Mappo was glad enough to go, not that he felt afraid of the elephants, but he knew that one of them might, by accident, fall on him, and an elephant is so large and heavy that, when he falls on a monkey, there is not much left of the little chap.

"Good-by, Tum Tum!" called Mappo to his big friend. "I'll come and see you, when the storm is over."

"All right," answered Tum Tum. "And I hope the storm will soon be over, for I do not like it."

The ship was swinging to and fro, like a rocking chair on the front porch when the wind blows. But finally the elephants became used to it, and some of them could even go to sleep. But Tum Tum stayed awake.

"There might be some danger," he thought to himself, "and if there was, I could warn the others. I am the leader, and must always be on the watch for danger, just as Mr. Boom would be, if he were here."

But I am glad to say no more danger came to the ship. It rode safely through the storm, and in a few days, it was gliding swiftly over the blue sea.

"What will happen to us, when the ship stops sailing?" asked Tum Tum of the old elephant, who seemed to know so much.

"After it gets to the other side of the ocean," said the old elephant, "we shall be taken out -- we and all the animals. Then we shall go to the circus."

"Is the circus nice?" asked Tum Tum.

"I have been in one or two, and I like them," said the old elephant, whose name was Hoy. "There is hard work, but there is also fun."

"Tell me about the fun," said Tum Tum. "I do not like to hear about the hard work."

"The work goes with the fun," said Hoy, "so I will tell you about both. The hard work comes in marching through the hard city streets, that hurt your feet. That is when we go in the parade. I know, for I have been in many parades. But it is fun, too, for we elephants have a little house on our backs, and men and women ride in it. Then the bands play, and the people laugh and shout to see us pass by. Yes, that is fun," and the old elephant, who had been sent to make the voyage in the ship, so that he might keep the new, wild elephants quiet, shut his eyes as he thought of the circus days.

"Is there other hard work?" asked Tum Tum.

"A great deal," said Hoy. "You will have to push heavy wagons about with your head, and lift heavy poles, as you did in the lumber yard when you came from the jungle. And then you will have to do tricks in the circus ring."

"What are tricks?" asked Tum Tum.

"Tricks are what I call hard work, but they make the people in the circus laugh," answered Hoy. "You will have to stand on your head, turn somersaults and do many things like that."

"Now tell me about the fun," begged Tum Tum.

"Yes, there is some fun," spoke Hoy, slowly. "You will get nice hay to eat, and water to drink, and the children in the circus will give you popcorn balls and peanuts to eat. Also, you will wear a fine blanket, all gold and spangles, when you march around the ring in the tent. But now I am tired, and I want to go to sleep."

So the old elephant slept, and Tum Tum stood there, swaying backward and forward in the ship, wondering whether he would like a circus.

It took several weeks for the ship to make the journey from jungle land to circus land, and, during that period, Mappo, the merry monkey, came down to see Tum Tum several times.

"I am going to be in the circus, also," said Mappo, when one day Tum Tum spoke of the big show under the white tent.

"Are you?" asked the jolly elephant. "That will be nice. We'll see each other."

"And will you take care of me, so the tiger won't get me?" asked Mappo.

"Indeed I shall!" cried Tum Tum through his big trunk.

At last the day came when the ship reached her dock, and the animals were taken out. The chains were loosed from the legs of Tum Tum and the other elephants, and they were hoisted up from the lower part of the ship, and allowed to go ashore. Tum Tum was glad of it, for he was tired of the water. But his journey was not over, for, with the others, he was put in a railroad car, and hauled by an engine. At last, however, he reached a big wooden building, and the old elephant, Hoy, said:

"This is where the circus stays in winter. Now you will begin to have hard work, and also fun."

"Well," thought Tum Tum, as, with the other elephants, he marched toward the big barn-like building, "if there is enough fun, I shall not mind the hard work."

Then, as he felt rather jolly, after getting out of the big freight car, Tum Tum picked up a piece of stick from the ground, and began tickling another elephant in the ribs with it.

"Yoump! Umph! Woomph!" trumpeted this elephant. This was his way of saying:

"Hi, there! What are you doing? Stop it!"

"Oh, that's only in fun!" laughed Tum Tum.

"Well, my ribs are too sore to want that kind of fun," the other elephant said. "Now you just quit!"

But Tum Tum was so jolly that he wanted more fun, so he tickled another elephant. This elephant, instead of speaking to Tum Tum, just reached over with her long trunk, pulled one of Tum Tum's legs out from under him, and down he went in a heap.

"Ha! Maybe you like that kind of fun!" cried the elephant who had made Tum Tum fall.

"It didn't hurt me!" said Tum Tum, as he got up. But, after that, he was careful not to play any jokes on this elephant.

It was very cold in this new land to which Tum Tum had come, for it was winter. It was not at all like his green, hot jungle, and he was glad when he was led, with the other elephants, into the big barn, where the circus stayed in winter.




Chapter V

Tum Tum And Don


"Well, this is certainly a funny place," thought Tum Tum, the jolly elephant, as he looked about him. And well might he say so.

He found himself inside a large barn, which was nice and warm, and for this Tum Tum was glad, for it felt more like the warmth of his jungle, and Tum Tum, who had been shivering in the cold, outer air, now felt much better.

The earthen floor of the barn was covered with sawdust, and all around the sides of the barn were cages containing many animals. There were lions, tigers, wolves, leopards, monkeys, snakes, and many other strange beasts, some of which Tum Tum had seen in his jungle home, and some of which he had never before seen.

"I suppose that is where Mappo will be put," thought Tum Tum, as he looked at the cages full of lively little monkey chaps.

Then Tum Tum looked and saw a number of elephants, chained in a row on another side of the circus barn, and he knew that would be his place. Opening out of the big barn was a smaller one, and in that were many horses and ponies.

There were many men in the circus barn, and they all seemed to be doing something. Some were carrying pails of water to the animals, others were feeding hay to the elephants, and meat to the lions, tigers and spotted leopards. Tum Tum did not care for meat, but he was very hungry for some of the juicy, green leaves that grew on trees in his jungle.

As he could get none of those now, he had to eat dry hay, and very good that tasted, too. He had grown to like it on board the ship.

"Bring the elephants over here!" called one circus man to another, and Tum Tum felt himself being led along by a man who had a stick with a hook in the end of it. But the man did not stick the hook in Tum Tum, because Tum Tum was good and gentle now.

Tum Tum, though he had been a wild elephant in the jungle only a few weeks before, had learned many things, since he had been caught. He had learned that men were his friends, and would not hurt him, though they made him do as they wanted him to, and ordered him about as though he were a little dog instead of a big, strong elephant. The men did not seem to be afraid of Tum Tum, though he was a little afraid of them, especially when they carried sharp hooks, which hurt one's skin.

"Come along!" cried the man who was leading Tum Tum and the others, and over to one side of the circus barn they went, to be chained by a leg to a very strong stake driven into the ground.

"Feed them up well," said the first man, "and then we'll see about putting them through some tricks."

"Ha!" thought Tum Tum. "So the tricks are to begin soon, are they? I wonder what kind I shall do, and whether I shall like them or not?"

Tum Tum waited anxiously to see what would happen next. What did happen was that he got something to eat, and a little treat into the bargain.

For with the big pile of hay that was given him, there were some long, pointed yellow things.

"Ha! What are those?" asked Tum Tum of Hoy, the big, tame elephant who had been in a circus before.

"They are carrots," said Hoy.

"Are they good to eat?" asked Tum Tum.

"Try and see," answered Hoy, with a twinkle in his little eyes. He was eating the yellow carrots as fast as he could.

Tum Tum took one little bite, holding the carrot in his trunk. And, as soon as he chewed on it, he knew that he liked carrots very much.

"Ha! That is certainly good!" he said to Hoy. "I wish I had carrots every day."

"Oh, but you won't get them every day," said the old elephant. "They are just special, to get you to feeling jolly, so you will learn your tricks more easily."

"Well, I feel pretty jolly anyhow," said Tum Tum. "I'll do any tricks I can."

He did not know yet all that was to happen to him, before he learned to do his tricks.

Tum Tum had been in the circus nearly a week before he was taught any tricks. In that week he had plenty to eat, and good water to drink, some of which he spurted over himself with his trunk. That was his way of taking a bath, you see.

Then, one day, some circus men came to where Tum Tum was chained, and one of them said:

"Now, we'll take out this big elephant, and teach him some tricks. Get Hoy, so he'll show Tum Tum what we want done."

"Ha! So now the tricks begin!" cried Tum Tum to Hoy.

"Yes, and you want to watch out, and do as you are told, or you may not like it," said Hoy.

Tum Tum and the older elephant were led to the middle of the circus ring. The chains were taken off Tum Tum's legs, but a rope was put around his front ones, and he wondered what that was for. Then Tum Tum and Hoy were stood in a line with some other big elephants.

"All ready now!" cried a circus man, snapping his long whip. "Stand up!"

Hoy raised himself up on his hind legs, lifting his trunk high in the air.

"Do as I do! Do as I do!" called Hoy to Tum Tum. "Stand up on your hind legs."

"I -- I can't!" answered Tum Tum, who tried. But he found he could not.

Then a funny thing happened. All of a sudden Tum Tum found his front legs and head being pulled up in the air by the rope, and, before he knew it, he was standing on his hind legs whether he wanted to or not.

The circus men had pulled on the end of the rope, which ran through a pulley, hoisting Tum Tum in the air. That was the way they had of teaching him to stand up. Several times Tum Tum was let down to the ground, and hauled up again, and each time he was pulled up, the circus man would call out:

"Stand up on your hind legs! Stand up on your hind legs!"

"Is this a trick?" asked Tum Tum of Hoy, who did not have to have a rope around him to pull him up.

"Yes, it is one trick," answered the old elephant. "There are many more, though, to learn."

Tum Tum was beginning to be tired of being hauled up this way. So were some of the other elephants, and one of them tried to break loose. But he was hit with a rope, and squealed so that none of the others tried to get away.

"Now then, take off the ropes, and we'll see how many have learned their lesson," said the head circus man.

"Now's your chance to show how smart you are," whispered Hoy to Tum Tum. "When he tells you to stand up next time, do it all by yourself. Then you'll have learned this one trick."

"I'll try," promised Tum Tum.

The elephants stood in a row. The head circus man cracked his whip, and called:

"Up on your hind legs!"

Tum Tum gave a little spring, and raised his front legs from the ground. He settled back on his strong hind legs, and there he was, doing just as Hoy was doing! Tum Tum had learned his first lesson, just as he had learned to pile teakwood logs in straight piles.

"Ha! We have one smart fellow in the bunch, anyhow!" cried the circus man.

Tum Tum was glad when he heard this, just as you would be, if you had learned your lesson in school. For it is a good thing to learn to do things, even for an elephant.

But if Tum Tum thought he would get a rest after he had shown that he could do the trick without being hauled up by a rope, he was sadly mistaken. Over and over he had to do the trick, until he felt tired, large and strong as he was.

Some of the elephants could stand up on their hind legs for a second or so, and then they fell down again. They were made to practice again with ropes, but no ropes were needed for Tum Tum.

"Well, that's enough for one day," said the head circus man finally. "Give them all some carrots with their hay. To-morrow we shall try having them stand on their front legs."

"Will that be harder?" asked Tum Tum of Hoy as he marched to the side of the barn where the elephants were kept.

"Much harder," said the old elephant. "But I think you can do it."

"I'll try, anyhow," spoke Tum Tum, with a jolly laugh. "I think tricks are fun."

Standing on his front legs, with his hind ones in the air, was not as funny as he had thought. In the first place, he had to start with the rope, and, before he knew it, his hind legs were pulled out from under him, by the circus men, and Tum Tum was almost standing on his head. Hoy told him what to do, and how to balance himself, just as he told the other elephants, and soon Tum Tum could do it very well. When this practice was over, and when Tum Tum could stand on either his front or hind legs, without being pulled by a rope, he was given more carrots to eat.

Tum Tum could now do two tricks, but, as you children know, who have seen elephants in a circus, there are many others that can be done.

Elephants can be made to sit down in a low, strong chair, they can be made to stand on top of a small tub, to play see-saw, to ring bells, play hand organs with their trunks, and do many other queer things they never thought of doing in the jungle.

Why, I have seen elephants fire cannon, wave flags, and play baseball. Elephants are very wonderful, and very wise and lively, for such big animals.

As the winter days went by, Tum Tum learned many tricks in the circus. He learned to stand with other elephants, in a long row, and let the acrobats jump over him, and he also let the clowns jump right on his broad back. Tum Tum learned to do a little dance, too, but he never danced as well as the ponies could, for Tum Tum was very heavy. Tum Tum also learned how to walk across, and kneel down over his master, who lay flat on the sawdust, and though Tum Tum, with his big body, came very close to the man, he never touched him. If Tum Tum had stepped, even with one foot, on the man, he would have hurt him very much. But Tum Tum was careful.

One day, when spring was near at hand, and when it was nearly time for the circus to travel on the road, from one town to another, Tum Tum was out in front of the barn, helping push some of the big circus wagons about. He pushed them with his strong head.

All at once Tum Tum felt something bite him on the hind leg, and he heard a barking noise, such as monkeys sometimes make.

"Is that you, Mappo?" asked Tum Tum quickly. He could not turn around, for he was pushing the wagon up hill.

"Bow wow! Bow wow! Bow wow!" was the barking answer, and Tum Tum felt his legs nipped again.

"Stop that, Mappo, if you please," said the big elephant. "Please don't do that, when I am pushing this wagon."

But Tum Tum's leg was bitten again, and he cried:

"Mappo, I shall squeeze you in my trunk, if you do not let me alone. I like a joke as well as you do, but it is no fun to have your legs nipped when you are pushing a heavy wagon. Stop it!"

"Bow wow! Bow wow! Bow wow!" came the answer.

"That doesn't sound exactly like Mappo," said Tum Tum. "I wonder who it can be?"

When Tum Tum had pushed the wagon to the top of the hill, he could turn around. Then, instead of seeing the merry little monkey, he saw a big black and white dog, who was barking and nipping at his heels.

"Oh, ho! So it is you, eh?" asked Tum Tum. "Who are you, and what are you biting me for?"

"My name is Don," barked the dog, "and I am biting you to drive you away. I am afraid you might hurt my master. I never saw such an animal as you, with two tails. Go away!" and Don barked louder than before, and once more tried to bite the elephant's feet.

"Here, Don! Don!" called a man's voice. "Come away from that elephant!"

"Bow wow!" barked Don. "I am going to bite him!"

"Oh, are you?" asked Tum Tum. And with that he reached out with his trunk, caught Don around the middle, and lifted him high in the air. Don did not bark now. He howled in fear.




Chapter VI

Tum Tum And The Wagon


"Please let me down! Oh, please do!" begged Don, the dog, of Tum Tum, the jolly elephant, as the big creature from the jungle held the dog high up in the air.

Tum Tum did not feel so very jolly just then. He did not want to hurt Don, but neither did the elephant like to be nipped on his hind legs, when he was pushing a wagon.

"Oh, the elephant has our dog!" cried a boy who was with the man who had called after Don. "Oh, papa, will he hurt him?"

"No, Tum Tum won't hurt anyone," said a circus man. "I'll get your dog back for you, but he must be careful of elephants after this."

"He never saw one before," said the boy's father.

All this while Tum Tum was holding Don high in the air in his trunk.

"Oh, won't you let me down?" begged Don.

"I will, if you won't bark at me again, and bite me," said Tum Tum. "I don't want to hurt you, doggie boy, but I can't have you bothering me, when I'm doing my circus work."

"Oh, I'll be good! I'll be good!" promised Don, and with that Tum Tum lowered him gently to the ground, uncoiled his trunk from around Don's middle, and the dog ran howling to his master and the boy.

"Don, what made you bite the elephant?" asked the boy.

Don only barked gently in answer. He could not speak man or boy talk, you know, any more than an elephant could, though he understood it very well.

"I told you the elephant wouldn't hurt your dog," said the circus man. "Tum Tum is very gentle."

Don crept behind his master, and looked at Tum Tum. The elephant walked down to get another wagon to push up hill, as all the circus horses were too busy to pull it.

"Bow wow!" barked Don, but this time he was talking to Tum Tum, and not barking angrily at him. "Are you an elephant?" asked Don, in his own language, which the elephant understood very well.

"Yes, I am an elephant," said Tum Tum.

"And you have two tails," went on Don.

Almost anyone who sees an elephant for the first time thinks that.

"No, I have only one tail," Tum Tum answered. "The front thing is my trunk, or long nose. I breathe through it, pick up things to eat in it, and squirt water through it."

"My! It is very useful, isn't it?" asked Don, wagging his tail.

"Indeed it is," said Tum Tum. The elephant and the dog were fast becoming friends now, and were talking together, though the boy and his father and the circus men did not know this.

"Then was it your trunk that you picked me up in?" asked Don, of the elephant.

"Yes," replied Tum Tum, "and I am sorry if I frightened you."

"Oh, well, that's all right," answered Don. "I am all right now, and I suppose I did wrong to bark at you, and bite. I am sorry."

"Then I'll excuse you," spoke Tum Tum. "But what is your name, and where do you live?"

"My name is Don, and I live on a farm," answered the dog. "We have a comical little pig on our farm named Squinty. Did you ever see him?"

"I think not," answered Tum Tum. "You see I haven't been in this country very long. Did you bring the pig to the circus?"

"Gracious, no!" barked Don. "He had to stay home in the pen. But my master, his boy and I came to see you elephants, and other circus animals. Only I never knew what an elephant was like before."

"Well, now you know," said Tum Tum, "so you won't bark at, or bite, the next one you see."

"Indeed I shall not," said Don. "I have to bark at Squinty, the comical pig, once in a while, when he gets out of the pen, and once I took hold of his ear in my teeth."

"I hope you didn't hurt him," said Tum Tum.

"No, I wouldn't do that for the world," said Don. And those of you who have read about "Squinty, the Comical Pig," know how kind Don was to him.

"So you came to see the circus?" went on Tum Tum to Don, as the dog's master and his boy looked about at the strange sights.

"Yes, though I don't know exactly what a circus is," said Don.

"Well, this is the start of it," Tum Tum said. "These are our winter quarters. Soon we shall start out on the road, and live in a tent. Then I shall do my tricks, the children and the people will laugh and shout, and give me popcorn balls and peanuts. Oh, yum-yum!" and Tum Tum smacked his lips because he thought of the good things he was going to have to eat a little later on.

"Can you do tricks?" asked Don.

"Indeed I can, a great many," the elephant said. "I can stand on my hind feet -- so!" and up he rose in the air, until his little short tail dangled on the ground.

"Anything else?" asked Don. "That's a good trick. Let me see you do another."

"Look!" cried Tum Tum, and this time he stood on his front legs, and raised his hind ones in the air.

"That's harder to do," said the jolly elephant.

"I should think so," agreed Don. "I'm going to try it myself." Don did try, but when he wanted to stand on his front legs, he fell over and bumped his nose. And when he tried to stand on his hind legs, he fell over backward and bumped his head.

"I -- I guess I can't do it," he said to Tum Tum.

"It needs much practice to do it well," spoke the jolly elephant.

"Here, Tum Tum!" called one of the circus men. "This is no time to be doing tricks. Come and help push some more of these wagons. If the circus is ever to start out on the road, to give shows in the tent, we must start soon. Come, push some of these wagons, with your big, strong head."

"I'll have to go now," said Tum Tum to Don, the dog, for they were now good friends. "I may see you again, sometime."

"I hope you will," spoke Don. "Your circus is coming to our town, I know, for the barns on our farm are pasted over with posters, and bills."

"Then I may see you when we get there," said Tum Tum, as he walked slowly forward to push the wagon pointed out by the circus man.

That is how Don and Tum Tum became acquainted. As the dog went off with his master and the boy, he barked a good-by to Tum Tum, saying:

"If you come near our place, I'll show you Squinty, the comical pig. One eye is wide open, and the other partly shut."

"He must be a funny chap," said Tum Tum. The big, jolly elephant pushed into place the heavy wagon. Then it was dinner time. But as Tum Tum was eating his hay and carrots in the animal tent, for he was kept in that, now that the weather was warmer, all at once Tum Tum heard a loud shouting.

"Look out for that wagon. The tiger cage wagon is rolling down hill. It will turn over, be smashed, and the tiger will get out! Stop that wagon, somebody!"

Tum Tum heard this shouting, and looking out of the side of his tent, he saw a big red and gold wagon rushing down the hill backwards.

"I must stop that wagon," said Tum Tum.




Chapter VII

Tum Tum Looks For Mappo


Tum Tum, the jolly elephant, pulled hard on the chain that held his big leg fast to a stake driven into the ground. He wanted to get loose so he could stop the wagon from rolling down hill, maybe upsetting and letting the big tiger out.

"I know I can stop the wagon, if they will only take this chain off my leg, so I can get out there," thought Tum Tum, as he pulled and tugged at the chain and peg.

Outside the tent men were running and shouting. Some of them tried to put stones in the way of the wagon wheels, but the tiger's cage was so heavy that it rolled right over the stones.

The tiger was frightened and angry, and he growled and snarled, until you would have thought he was back in the jungle again.

"Let me loose! Let me loose!" trumpeted Tum Tum through his trunk, as he waved it to and fro. Of course none of the circus men could understand this language, but Tum Tum's keeper knew what the big elephant meant.

The keeper came running in the tent.

"Tum Tum!" he cried. "I believe you can stop that wagon. Stop the tiger cage! Get in front of it, and push on it with your big head. That will stop it from rolling down hill!"

"I will! I will!" said Tum Tum, only, of course, he spoke in elephant language.

The keeper soon took the chain off Tum Tum's leg, and the big elephant rushed out of the tent, and toward the rolling wagon. None of the men had yet been able to stop it, and it was half way down the hill now, going faster and faster. Inside, the tiger was growling and snarling louder than ever, and trying to break out through the iron bars.

"Look out! He'll get away!" cried Mappo, who had run and jumped inside the cage with the other monkeys. "Old Sharp Tooth will get loose."

"No, he won't!" said Tum Tum, who was now going toward the tiger's cage as fast as he could. "Don't be afraid, Mappo," the elephant went on, for he knew monkeys are very much afraid of tigers. "I won't let him get you, Mappo," said Tum Tum.

On rushed the big elephant toward the rolling cage. He got in front of it, and then he stood still, in the middle of the hill, waiting for the tiger's cage, on wheels, to roll down to him.

"Look out, Tum Tum, or it will hit you!" chattered Mappo.

"That's what I want it to do," said Tum Tum. "But it can't hurt me, as my head is so big and strong. Now you watch me!"

On came the tiger's cage. Tum Tum stood there ready to let it bunk into him. His legs were spread far apart so he himself would not be knocked over.

Bang!

That was the tiger's cage hitting Tum Tum on the head.

"Ouch!" yelled the big elephant through his trunk, for though it did not hurt him much, he felt a little pain.

Then he stood there, and pushed so hard on the big wagon, that it could not roll down hill any more. Instead, it began to roll back up the hill, as Tum Tum pushed on it.

"That's the way to do it, Tum Tum!" cried the elephant's keeper. "I knew you could do it. Come on now, old fellow. Push the cage right back where it belongs."

Tum Tum did so. Soon the tiger's cage was in line with those of the lions, wolves, bears and other animals, ready for the circus to begin.

"Oh, but I'm glad the tiger didn't get loose," said Mappo, to Tum Tum. "I was so afraid!"

"Why were you afraid?" the big elephant wanted to know.

"Oh, because Sharp Tooth, the tiger, does not like me. I am sure he would bite me, if he got loose."

"Why would he do that?" asked Tum Tum.

"Because I would not let him out of his cage, when he and I were caught in the jungle," answered the monkey.

Then he told about the time Sharp Tooth had tried to get out of his cage.

"Never fear, Mappo," said Tum Tum. "I'll not let Sharp Tooth hurt you as long as I am around."

"Thank you," said Mappo.

For several days after this the circus went from town to town, traveling after dark each night, so as to be ready to give a show in the day-time.

One day Sharp Tooth, the tiger, spoke to Tum Tum as the elephant was passing the cage.

"Why did you stop my wagon from rolling down hill, Tum Tum?" asked the tiger.

"Because I did not want to see it smashed, and see you thrown out, Sharp Tooth," answered Tum Tum.

"But that is just what I wanted to do -- get out," spoke the tiger. "I want to get loose! I am tired of staying in the cage!"

"But if you got out, you might bite someone," went on Tum Tum.

"Yes, that is just what I would do," growled the tiger. "I would bite and scratch until the men would be glad to let me go back to my jungle again. I am mad at you for not letting my cage run on. If you had, I would now be free."

"Well, I am glad you are not free," said Tum Tum, as he looked at the sharp teeth and sharp claws of the tiger, and thought of little Mappo.

"Then I am mad at you, and I am going to stay mad," said the tiger, and he sulked in his cage.

Tum Tum was not very much afraid of the tiger now, even though he knew the bad animal might some day get loose and scratch him.

"I don't believe Sharp Tooth will ever get out," said Tum Tum to himself.

The big elephant had good times in the circus. He had to do only a few tricks in the afternoon, and some more in the evening. The rest of the time he could eat or sleep, except when the circus moved from place to place. Then he would have to help the other elephants push the heavy wagons up on the railroad trains. But Tum Tum did not mind this.

What he liked, best of all, was to stand in the animal tent, before and after his trick performances, and watch the children and grown people come in to look at him and the other animals. Some of the little children seemed afraid of the elephants, but when Tum Tum saw one of these frightened little tots, he would just put out his trunk, and gently stroke some other little boy or girl, so as to show how gentle he was. Then the frightened one's mother or father would say:

"See, the good elephant will not hurt you. Come, give him some peanuts or popcorn."

Then the child would hand Tum Tum a peanut, and Tum Tum would eat it with a twinkle in his little eyes.

Of course Tum Tum would much rather have had a whole bag full of peanuts at a time, for he could put them all in his mouth, and more, at once.

Still, Tum Tum was glad enough to get single peanuts at a time, and though it was hard work to chew a single one in his big mouth, just as it would be hard for you to chew just one grain of sugar, still Tum Tum was very polite, and he never refused to take the single peanuts.

"A big ball of popcorn makes something pretty good to chew on," said Tum Tum to one of the elephants chained near him. "I like that, don't you?"

"Indeed I do," the elephant said. "We never got anything as nice as popcorn and peanuts in the jungle, did we?"

"No," answered Tum Tum, thinking of the days in the dense jungle. Tum Tum wondered what had become of Mr. Boom and where his father and mother, and his other elephant friends, might be.

"I suppose they are still back in the lumber yard, piling up teakwood logs," thought Tum Tum. "I am glad I am in the circus, even if I did have to be pulled up with a rope to make me learn how to stand on my head and my hind legs."

Tum Tum could do many other tricks besides these now, and he was such a jolly old elephant, always doing as he was told without any grumbling, that all the circus men liked him.

If there was anything hard to do, or any trick that none of the other elephants could go through, Tum Tum was sure to be called on.

"He is the smartest elephant of all," his keeper would say, and this made Tum Tum feel very proud and happy.

One day there was much excitement in the animal tent, and at first Tum Tum thought maybe the tiger had gotten loose again, or that another big cage had rolled down hill.

When one of the animal men rushed in and called out something, Tum Tum knew it was not that.

"One of the monkeys is missing," said one trainer to another. "It is Mappo, that smart one."

"Ha! Is that so?" asked the other. "How did he get loose?"

"He must have slipped out of the cage, when we were on the road. Come, we are going to try to find him."

"I know a good way," said the keeper of Tum Tum. "I shall take my elephant with me. My elephant and that monkey Mappo were good friends. If Mappo sees Tum Tum, he will be glad to come back. So we will take Tum Tum to hunt Mappo."

"Ha! That is good!" thought Tum Tum, as he listened.

Soon the hunt for Mappo began. Many of the circus men started for the woods to look for the lost monkey. Tum Tum went along also, his keeper riding on his back.

"I wonder if we will find Mappo?" thought Tum Tum.




Chapter VIII

Tum Tum And The Fire


Through the woods, near the circus town, went the men looking for lost Mappo. They wanted to get back the monkey because he was such a good one to do tricks, and because the children, many of whom came to the circus, liked to see him ride on the back of a dog, or pony, and jump through paper-covered hoops.

"We must find Mappo!" cried the keeper who had him in charge.

Mappo had run away, as I have told you in the book about his adventures, because he was afraid Sharp Tooth, the big tiger, would get loose and bite him. In the woods he had many wonderful adventures.

He met Slicko, the jumping girl squirrel, about whom I have told you, and also Squinty, the comical pig. Mappo liked Squinty, the pig, very much, for Squinty was a nice little chap.

On and on went Tum Tum and the men, looking for the lost monkey. After the search had gone on for several hours, Mappo, who was walking along through the woods with Squinty, saw the circus men coming after him.

"Here's where I have to run and hide," said Mappo.

"Why?" grunted Squinty, the comical pig.

"Because the circus men are after me. Look!" and the monkey chap pointed through the woods to where could be seen some men in red coats.

"Oh, and look at that funny animal with two tails!" cried Squinty. "I'd be afraid of him."

"You wouldn't need to be," said Mappo. "That is only Tum Tum, the elephant, and he is very jolly. He would not hurt a fly. I guess he is looking for me, but, as I don't want to go back to the circus just yet, I'll go off in the woods and hide."

"And I guess I'll go hide, too," said Squinty, for he, also, had run away, but not from a circus. He had run away from his pen at the farm -- the farm where Don, the dog, lived.

So Mappo hurried off to climb a tall tree. As Tum Tum went along through the bushes, he saw his little monkey friend.

"Ha! There is Mappo!" said Tum Tum to himself, and he hurried on through the woods.

"Wait a minute, Mappo!" called Tum Tum, in animal language.

But Mappo would not wait, and Tum Tum could not tell the circus men with him that the lost monkey was just ahead of them. Tum Tum could not speak man talk, you know, and the circus men had not yet seen Mappo. So the little monkey got away.

Tum Tum saw a little animal with Mappo, and the elephant said to himself:

"Ha! That must be Squinty, the comical pig, of whom Don, the dog, told me. I would like to meet Squinty, but I don't see how I can. He can run through these woods faster than I can. Well, maybe I will see him some day. And I do hope Mappo comes back to the circus. It will be lonesome without him."

But Mappo had many adventures before he came back to the circus.

"Well, I guess it's no use hunting for him any more," said one of the circus men. "That monkey has gotten far away. We had better go back to the tents."

"Yes, I think we had," said the man who was riding on the back of Tum Tum.

The elephant knew that Mappo was not so very far off, but Tum Tum had no way of telling his keeper about it.

Back to the circus went Tum Tum, and another monkey had to do the tricks that Mappo used to do in the performances that day.

"What happened?" asked Sharp Tooth, the tiger, of Tum Tum, as the elephant went past the cage of the striped beast. "Where did you go a little while ago?"

"Out looking for Mappo, the monkey," answered Tum Tum.

"Did he run away?" asked the tiger.

"Yes, I guess he was afraid you would bite him."

"And so I would, if I could get him," snarled the tiger. "He is to blame for me being shut up in this cage."

Tum Tum said nothing, for he did not want to get in a quarrel with the tiger.

Day after day went past in the circus, and still Mappo did not come back. Sometimes Tum Tum was lonesome for his little monkey friend, but there was so much to do, that no one in a circus could be lonesome for very long at a time.

Tum Tum was learning some new tricks, and this took up much of his time. Each day he was growing bigger and stronger, for he was not a very old elephant, when he had been caught in the jungle. Now he was very strong, and he could easily have pushed two heavy animal cages at once. He was the strongest elephant in the whole circus.

One day, when the circus was going along the road from one town to another, one of the wagons became stuck fast in the mud, for it had rained in the night. It was the wagon in which rode the hippopotamus, with his big red mouth that he could open so wide.

The whole circus procession had to stop, or at least all the wagons behind the hippopotamus cage, had to stop, as they could not get past.

"Bring up some of the elephants, and have them pull the hippo's cage out of the mud!" cried the head circus man. He called him "hippo" for short, you see.

Up came two big elephants, and chains were put about their necks, and made fast to the hippopotamus wagon.

"Now, pull!" cried the circus men, and the elephants strained and pulled as hard as they could.

But the wagon did not move out of the mud.

"Pull harder!" cried the circus man, and he cracked his long whip, but he did not hit the elephants with it.

But, no matter how hard the elephants pulled, they could not pull the hippopotamus wagon out of the mud.

"Well, what are we going to do?" asked the head circus man. "We cannot stay here all day."

"Suppose you let my elephant, Tum Tum, try to pull the wagon out of the mud," said Tum Tum's keeper. "My elephant is very strong."

"Ha! But is he as strong as two elephants?" asked the head circus man.

"I think so," said the keeper. "Let us try. But Tum Tum can push better than he can pull, so I shall put him in back of the wagon, and let him push it out of the mud with his head. Let some of the men steer the wagon in front, when Tum Tum pushes from behind."

"Very well, we shall try," said the head circus man.

The ten horses who pulled the hippopotamus wagon had been unhitched when the two elephants tried to pull it. Now the two elephants were led to one side, and Tum Tum came up.

"Ha! He thinks he can push that wagon out of the mud, when we two could not pull it," said one elephant to the other.

"Yes, he is very proud," spoke the other.

Tum Tum heard them.

"No, I am not proud," said Tum Tum, "and I am not sure that I can push the wagon out of the mud, but I am going to try."

His keeper led him up in back of the hippopotamus wagon. It was very large and heavy, and had settled far down in the soft mud of the road. The hippo was still in it, and the hippo was very heavy himself, weighing as much as two tons of coal. The circus men could not let the hippopotamus out of his cage, because he was rather wild, and might have run away or made trouble. So they had to leave him in.

"Now, Tum Tum, you have some hard work ahead of you!" said his trainer, as he led the elephant up behind the wagon. "Let me see, if you can push this out of the mud hole."

"Umph! Umph!" grunted Tum Tum through his trunk. That was his way of saying that he would do his best.

Tum Tum went close up to the wagon, and stuck his four big feet well down in the mud to brace himself. Then he put his large head against the wagon, and began to push.

Tum Tum took a long breath, and then he pushed, and pushed and pushed some more.

"He can never do it," said one of the two elephants who had tried to pull the wagon.

"Indeed he cannot," spoke the other.

"Wait and see!" grunted Tum Tum. "I have not finished yet."

He pushed harder and harder. His head was hurting him, and his feet were slipping in the mud of the road. Still he kept on pushing.

"I don't believe your elephant can do it," said one of the circus men. "We had better hitch about four of them to the wagon."

"No, let Tum Tum try once more. I am sure he can do it," spoke the elephant's kind keeper.

When Tum Tum heard this, he felt himself swell up inside. It was as though he had new strength.

"I will push that wagon!" he said to himself. "I will push it out of the mud!"

Then he took another long breath, and pushed with all his might on the wagon.

"Now it's going!" cried Tum Tum.

Slowly at first, and then faster, the big hippopotamus wagon rolled out of the mud, and on to the firm, hard road.

"There it goes!" cried a circus man.

"Hurray! Tum Tum has done it!" shouted another.

"I told you he was strong," said Tum Tum's keeper.

"He surely is," spoke the head circus man. "But I never thought he could push that wagon."

Tum Tum had not thought so himself, but even an elephant never knows what he can do until he tries.

"Huh! I s'pose he thinks he's smart, because he pushed a wagon we couldn't," said one of the two elephants to the other.

"Yes," said the second one, "but if they'd given us another chance, we could have done it, too."

But I do not believe they could. And Tum Tum did not think he was "smart," either. He only felt that he had done what he had been told to do, even though it was hard work, and did hurt his head.

So the hippopotamus wagon was pushed out of the mud, and the circus procession went on down the road.

It was not long after this that something else happened to Tum Tum. The elephant seemed to be having many adventures since he came from the jungle.

The circus had gone on and on, showing in many different places. Tum Tum, in each place, had looked to see if Mappo had come back, but the little monkey had not. Perhaps he was still off in the woods with Squinty, the comical pig.

It was a very hot day, and the animals in their cages, and the elephants, camels and horses, in the tent, had hard work to get a cool breeze or find any fresh air to breathe. In the west were some black clouds that looked as though they would bring a thunder shower.

Just before the show began, Tum Tum was taken out of the tent to help push some of the heavy wagons into place.

"Oh, look at the elephant!" cried some boys who had no money to go inside and see the show. They were glad to see even an elephant.

Tum Tum finished his work of pushing the wagons into place and his trainer led him toward a big tub filled with water, for he knew his pet elephant would want a drink, as it was so hot.

Near the water tub stood a peanut wagon, and the smell of the roasting nuts made Tum Tum hungry for some. But he knew the children in the circus would soon give him plenty.

All of a sudden some boys, who were trying to get closer to Tum Tum, ran into the peanut wagon, and tipped it over. All at once the red-hot charcoal that kept the peanuts warm, spilled out, and the wagon, and some straw near it, caught fire. My, how it blazed!

"Fire! Fire!" cried the peanut man. "Oh, somebody put out the fire, or all my peanuts will be burned up!"

Tum Tum looked at the fire, and wondered if he could help put it out.




Chapter IX

Tum Tum And The Balloons


"Come away, Tum Tum!" cried the elephant's keeper. "I don't want you getting all excited about a fire, and maybe burned. A few peanuts are not worth it. We'll let some of the tent men put out the fire. Come away!"

But Tum Tum did not want to go away from the fire. He was not much afraid of it. Most wild animals are afraid of fire, but Tum Tum was tame now, and he knew that though fire burns, it also does good, in cooking food, even for animals. Besides, Tum Tum had seen so much of fire, since he had come to the circus, and had seen so many flaring lamps at the night performances, that he was not afraid of just a blazing peanut wagon.

"I'm sorry to see all those peanuts burned up," thought Tum Tum. "I wonder if I can't save them -- maybe I'll get some for myself, if I do."

Tum Tum thought quickly. There was a great deal of excitement around him, for the straw was now blazing in many places and the peanuts and wagon were all in flames.

"Come away, Tum Tum!" called his keeper.

"Fire! Fire! Fire!" yelled the peanut man.

"Bring water here, somebody!" shouted another man.

"Get a pail! Get a pail!" one of the boys yelled.

"Call out the fire engines!" said another.

But Tum Tum knew a better way than that. His trunk was just like a hose, only, of course, not so long. He could suck it up full of water, and squirt it out again, just like a pop gun shoots out a cork. And that was what Tum Tum did.

He put his trunk into the tub of water, and sucked up as much as he could. Then Tum Tum aimed his trunk right at the blazing peanut wagon and the straw.

Whooo-ish! went the water, as Tum Tum squirted it out of his trunk. On the fire it spattered.

Hiss-s-s-s-s! went the fire, like an angry snake.

"Ha! That's the way to do it, Tum Tum!" cried his keeper. "You know how to put out a fire! That's the way. You're as good as a fire engine yourself!"

Tum Tum did not answer. In the first place, he could not talk to his keeper except in elephant language, which the circus man did not understand. And, in the second place, Tum Tum was going to suck up more water in his nose, for the fire was not quite out yet. And you know it is hard to talk when you have your nose full of water, even if you are an elephant.

Whooo-ish! went more water from Tum Tum's trunk on the blazing peanut wagon and straw.

Hiss! went the fire again, as it felt the wet water. Fire does not like water, you know.

"Once more, Tum Tum! One more trunk full, and you'll have the fire out!" cried the elephant's keeper.

Again Tum Tum dipped his trunk into the tub of water, and spurted it on the fire.

This time the fire went out completely. Tum Tum had made it so wet, with water from his trunk, that it could no longer burn.

"Oh, what a smart, good elephant!" cried the peanut man. "He saved my wagon from burning up. I must give him some peanuts!"

A few of the peanuts were burned, but there were plenty left, and, though some of them tasted a little like smoke, Tum Tum did not mind that. He chewed several bags full -- shells and all -- and was hungry for more.

But now it was time to go back into the circus tent, and have his handsome blanket put on, to take his place in the procession. The boys, one of whom had accidentally upset the peanut wagon, looked at Tum Tum eagerly.

"Say, he's a smart elephant all right!" he cried.

"That's what he is!" said another. "I'd like to have him!"

"Huh! What would you do with an elephant?" asked his friend. "An elephant would eat a ton of hay a day."

"Would he?"

"Sure he would."

"Well, then, I don't want an elephant," said the boy. "I guess a dog is good enough for me. A dog can eat old bones; he doesn't need a ton of hay a day."

The boys helped the peanut man turn his wagon right side up, and they also helped him gather the scattered peanuts. Then the man built another fire, and went around the tent, selling his peanuts.

"Tum Tum, you are getting smarter and smarter each day," said his keeper, as he led him back to get ready for the parade. "I am proud of you. You are the best elephant in the circus."

Tum Tum heard what was said of him, but he only flapped his big ears, that were nearly the size of washtubs. Then he stood in line with his companions, and ate the peanuts and popcorn balls the children fed to him over the ropes.

"My, I s'pose Tum Tum will be so stuck up, and proud, that he won't want to speak to us, after he has done so many wonderful things," said one of the jealous elephants. "He pushed the wagon out of the mud, and now he has put out a peanut wagon fire. Some elephants have all the luck in this world."

Tum Tum's eyes twinkled, but he said nothing. He just ate the popcorn balls and peanuts. But he was not at all proud or stuck up.

Tum Tum was now such a gentle and tame elephant, that children could ride on his back. At first, some of the circus performers, who had their children with them, let them get up on Tum Tum, and then, when his keeper found that Tum Tum did not mind, some of the boys and girls who came to see the show each day were allowed to ride. Up and down the tent they went on Tum Tum's back, sitting in the little house that was strapped fast to him.

Tum Tum was led about by his keeper when the children thus rode, and very glad Tum Tum was to give the boys and girls this fun, for he liked children very much.

Tum Tum would have been very glad if Mappo, the merry monkey, had come back to ride on his back, as he did sometimes. But Mappo was far away; where, Tum Tum did not know.

Nearly every day something new happened to Tum Tum in the circus. Every day he saw new faces, new boys and girls and once in a while, he did some new tricks. He had enough to eat, a good place to sleep, he did not have to work very hard, and, best of all, he was in no danger.

So, altogether, Tum Tum liked the circus life much better than he had liked being in the jungle. Still, now and again, he would wish himself back in the cool, dark woods, smashing through the thick bushes, and breaking down, or pulling up, big trees by their roots.

In the circus were some men from India, where Tum Tum had worked in the lumber yard, piling up teakwood logs, and these Indians could talk the language spoken in India -- the man-language Tum Tum had first learned. He liked to have them come to see him, rub his trunk, and talk to him in their queer words.

One day another adventure happened to Tum Tum. He was out in front of the circus tent, after he had helped roll some of the heavy animal wagons into place, when he saw some children, with their papa, coming to the circus.

"Oh, papa!" cried a little boy, "couldn't we ride on the elephant's back?" and he was so excited, this little boy was, that he danced up and down with his red balloon. All the children had these toy balloons.

"Oh, I don't believe you could ride on the elephant's back," said the little boy's papa.

"They can, if you will let them," said Tum Tum's keeper. "My elephant is very kind and gentle, and many children ride on him. I will hold them on, if you are willing."

"Oh, let us, papa!" cried a little girl.

"All right, I don't mind," he said.

Tum Tum was led close to a wagon, from which the children could easily get into the little house on his back. In that they sat with their papa and the keeper, and around the circus grounds they went. It was not yet time for the show, and Tum Tum did not have to go in.

"Oh, what a lovely ride!" cried the little boy, when it was over. "Thank you so much!"

Tum Tum was glad the children had enjoyed it.

Then, as the boy and girl got down from the elephant's back, their toy balloons slipped out of their hands and floated off through the air.

"Oh, there goes my balloon!" cried the little girl.

"And there goes mine, too!" cried the little boy. "Oh, papa!"

"Never mind, I'll get you some others," said the man.

"But I'd rather have that one," the little boy said, half crying.

"I would, too," added his sister.

Just then the wind blew the two balloons into the top of a tall tree. It was a tall, slender tree, too little for any one to climb up, or put a ladder against.

"Oh, now we can never get our balloons!" sobbed the little girl, as the toys bobbed about in the wind, the strings fast to a tree branch. Then Tum Tum made up his mind, just as he had done at the peanut fire.

"I'll get those balloons back for the children," thought the big, kind, jolly elephant.




Chapter X

Tum Tum And The Lemonade


The little boy and girl, who had ridden on the back of Tum Tum, the jolly elephant, stretched up their hands toward the balloons that had caught in the tree. They even got up again into the little house, and, standing up, tried to reach their floating toys.

"Sit down! Sit down!" called their father.

"Yes, you might fall," said Tum Tum's trainer, or keeper, who was also riding in the little house on the elephant's back.

"But we want our balloons!" cried the little boy.

"Yes, our nice toy balloons!" said the little girl, and there were tears in her eyes. Tum Tum felt sorry for her. He did not like to see little girls cry.

"I must get those balloons back for them," Tum Tum said to himself, over and over again.

"I'll get you other balloons," said the children's papa again, trying to make them feel happier. But the boy and girl wanted the same balloons they had had first.

"Now if Mappo were only here," thought Tum Tum, "he could easily climb up that tree, even if it is a slender one, and will easily bend. For Mappo is not very heavy, and he could go away up to the top of the tree.

"But no one else can, and none of the monkeys but Mappo is smart enough to do it. So I'll have to get the balloons myself."

And how do you think Tum Tum did it? Of course he could not climb a tree -- no elephant could, even if it were a big tree. But Tum Tum was very strong, and, just as he had often done in the jungle, he wrapped his long, rubbery hose-like nose, or trunk, around the tree.

"Here, Tum Tum, what are you doing?" called his keeper.

"Umph! Umph! Wumph!" Tum Tum answered. That meant: "You just watch me, if you please, and you'll see."

Then Tum Tum just pulled and pulled as hard on that tree, and up he pulled it by the roots. Right out of the ground the big elephant pulled the tree, and then, holding it in his strong trunk, he tipped it over so the top branches were close to the children on his back.

And, tangled in the branches were the cords of the toy balloons, that still bobbed about.

"Oh, look!" cried the boy. "Here are our balloons, sister!"

"Oh, so they are!" exclaimed the little girl. "Oh, what a good elephant he is to get our balloons back for us!"

"I should say he was!" cried the papa. "That is a smart elephant you have," he said to the keeper.

"Yes, Tum Tum is very good and smart," said the circus man. He reached over, loosed the strings of the balloons from the tree branch, and gave the ends of the cords to the children.

"Now you may let go of the tree, Tum Tum," the man said to the elephant, and Tum Tum dropped the tree on the ground.

"Oh, papa, the elephant was so good to us, can't we buy him a bag of peanuts?" asked the little girl.

"I guess so," answered her papa, with a laugh.

"And may I buy him some popcorn balls?" asked the boy.

"Oh, yes, but I hope Tum Tum doesn't become ill from all that sweet stuff," said the papa.

"Oh, I guess he won't -- he's used to being fed by the children," the circus man said.

When Tum Tum heard the boy and girl talking about getting him good things to eat, the big elephant felt very glad. For he was such a big fellow that he was nearly always hungry, and, no matter how many peanuts or popcorn balls he had, he was always willing to eat more.

It was now nearly time for the circus to begin, and Tum Tum was led back toward the tent, the children still riding on his back, holding tightly to the strings of their balloons. They were not going to lose them a second time, if they could help it.

Near the tent was the same peanut man whose stand had nearly burned up the time Tum Tum put out the blaze with water from his trunk. The boy and girl bought two bags full of peanuts from this man, and from another man they bought popcorn balls. These they fed to Tum Tum, who reached out his trunk for them, and put them into his mouth.

"Good-by, Tum Tum!" called the little girl to him, waving one hand, while in the other she held her balloon.

"Good-by, elephant!" called the little boy, also waving his hand. "I'll see you in the circus," he added.

Tum Tum waved his trunk. He was too busy chewing popcorn and peanuts to speak, even if he could have talked boy and girl language, which he could not.

Later on, in the show, Tum Tum, as he went through his tricks, saw the little boy and girl sitting near the ring, with their papa, watching the animals and performers.

Two or three days after that something else happened to Tum Tum, and it made him very happy.

He was in the tent, after the show, eating his hay, and blowing dust over his back now and then to keep away the flies and mosquitoes, when, all of a sudden, in came a monkey. Tum Tum gave one look at the monkey, and then another look.

"Why -- why!" cried Tum Tum, in elephant language. "That looks like Mappo."

"I am Mappo!" cried the little chap. "Oh, don't let him get me!"

"Let who get you?" cried Tum Tum. "What is the matter?" for Mappo looked very frightened.

"The hand-organ man is after me!" chattered Mappo, and with that he gave a jump, and landed right upon Tum Tum's broad back.

"Don't be afraid," said the elephant. "No one will get you while I am here, Mappo," and Tum Tum swung his long trunk.

Then in came the hand-organ man after the monkey, just as I have told you he did in the book about Mappo. But the circus men and Tum Tum would not let Mappo go. And Tum Tum looked so big and fierce and strong that the hand-organ man was afraid to try to take Mappo away.

So that is how Mappo came back to the circus again, after having had many adventures. He told Tum Tum all about them.

"Are you going to run away again?" asked Tum Tum.

"No, I guess not," answered Mappo, hanging by his tail.

Tum Tum was glad Mappo had come back, for the big elephant was lonesome for his little friend, and I guess Mappo was also lonesome for Tum Tum. At any rate, the two were soon as good friends as before.

The show went on from town to town, and it was nearing the time for the circus season to be over. Then the animals would be taken back to the big barn, there to stay all winter, until spring and summer should come again.

One day a bad man came into the tent where the elephants were standing, eating their hay, and held out something in his hand. Tum Tum, and the other elephants, stretched out their trunks, for it seemed as if the man had something good for them to eat. And Tum Tum, being the nearest, reached it first.

The thing the man held out was in a bag, and it smelled like peanuts. In fact, there were a few peanuts, and shells, in the bag but, besides that, there were also some sour lemons, which Tum Tum did not like at all. But he had chewed on them before he knew what they were, not stopping to open the bag the bad man gave him.

As he felt the sour juice running down his throat, Tum Tum gave a squeal. He was angry at the man who had played this trick on him.

"Ha! Ha!" laughed the man. "I fooled you that time, Mr. Elephant. How do you like lemons?"

Tum Tum did not answer.

He just reached his trunk in his mouth, and pulled out the sour stuff, and threw it away. The man laughed very hard at his mean trick, and one of the keepers said to him:

"You had better look out. Elephants have good memories, and if ever you get near Tum Tum, where he can reach you, you may be sorry for what you did."

"Oh, I'm not afraid of an elephant!" cried the man with another laugh.

"If ever I can reach that man with my trunk, I'll make him wish he'd never given me lemons," thought Tum Tum. But, try as he did, he could not stretch himself far enough to reach the man, for there were chains about the legs of the elephant.

Later on that day, the same man came walking past the elephants in the animal tent, after the circus was over. I guess he had forgotten about the trick he played. But Tum Tum and the other elephants had not forgotten.

All of a sudden Maggo, the elephant standing next to Tum Tum, saw the bad man, and, reaching out her trunk, Maggo caught him around the waist, and lifted him off his feet.

"Oh! Oh! Put me down! Oh, an elephant has me!" cried the man.

Instantly there was great excitement in the animal tent. The people yelled, and the trainers came running over to see what was the matter. They saw the man lifted high in the air in Maggo's trunk.

"Put him down! Put him down at once!" cried Maggo's keeper.

But Maggo was not going to do that at once.

"Now is your chance, Tum Tum," said Maggo. "I'll hold this bad man, who gave you lemons instead of peanuts, and you can hit him with your trunk."

"No, I'll not do that," said Tum Tum, who was very gentle. "If I did, I might hurt him, for I strike very hard with my trunk. But I will fix him, so he will not play any more tricks on elephants."

Then Tum Tum dipped his trunk in a tub of water near by, and, suddenly, spurted it all over the man, making him as wet as if he had gone in swimming.

"Oh, my! Oh, dear! Oh, stop it!" cried the man excitedly, with the water squirting all over him.

"Let him down now, Maggo," said Tum Tum, with a queer little twinkle, like laughter, in his eyes. "I guess he won't want to play any more tricks."

Maggo set down the dripping man, who was glad enough to run away. He did not once look back.

"It served you right, for giving Tum Tum lemons," said a keeper. "Some elephants would have done worse than just to squirt water on you."

One afternoon it was very hot in the circus. It was so hot that the sides of the animal tent were lowered to let in the air, but, even at that it was not very cool.

"Don't you wish we were back in the jungle, near some river, where we could wade in and float until the sun went down?" asked Maggo of Tum Tum.

"Indeed I do," was the answer. "But there is no use wishing."

"It doesn't seem so," spoke Maggo, and she fanned herself with her large ears, in a way elephants have. "I wish I had something cool to drink," went on Maggo.

"Yes, a nice, cool drink would be just fine," said Tum Tum. "But I do not see where we are going to get it," he went on.

Then he happened to look over the side of the tent, which had been let down low, to allow the breeze to come in. What Tum Tum saw made him feel very good.

Just outside the tent, was a lemonade stand, and on the ground by it was a big washtub full of pink lemonade, the kind they always sell at circuses. Tum Tum stretched out his trunk, and found that he could easily reach the pink lemonade.

"I say, Maggo," called Tum Tum, in an elephant whisper. "I know how to get a cool drink."

"How?" asked Maggo. "Now, don't play any joke on me. I could not bear that. I am so thirsty!"

"No, this isn't a joke," said Tum Tum. "At least it isn't a joke on you. Come, we shall both have a drink. Put your trunk out over the side of the tent. On the ground outside is a big washtub, full of pink lemonade. We can easily suck it up through our trunks and drink it. Come on, I'll show you how to do it."

"Oh, fine!" cried Maggo. Then she and Tum Tum, not thinking it was wrong, put their trunks down in the pink lemonade, and sucked it all out, putting it into their mouths.

"Oh, but that's good!" cried Tum Tum, for the lemonade happened to be very sweet.

"It certainly is," said Maggo. "I wish there were more."




Chapter XI

Tum Tum And The Tiger


The two elephants sucked up all the pink lemonade from the washtub near the stand outside the tent. Then they felt much better, and cooler. They did not mind the heat so much.

But, in a little while, there was a great sound of some one shouting and calling outside the tent. It was the voice of the man who had made the pink lemonade to sell to those who came to see the circus.

"Oh, my lemonade!" cried the man. "My pink lemonade! It is all gone! Some one drank it all up, or else it leaked out of the tub! What shall I do? What shall I do?"

The man ran up and down, trying to find his lemonade, but it was all gone.

"Say, Tum Tum," said Maggo, "was that his lemonade we drank?"

"I -- I guess it must have been," said Tum Tum. "But I didn't know it belonged to anybody. I thought it was just standing there in the tub, and that we might as well take it as anyone else."

"Well, it's too bad if we've taken the poor man's lemonade, that he was going to sell for money," said Maggo.

"Yes, it is," agreed Tum Tum. "But we can't help it now."

"Yes," spoke Maggo. "We can't do anything."

Just then the man who owned the lemonade looked up, and saw the trunks of the two elephants sticking out over the top of the tent. The man guessed what had happened.

"Ha! They took my lemonade!" the man cried. "They sucked it up through their trunks. Oh, they took my lemonade, and I'll make the circus pay for it!"

Tum Tum's keeper heard the noise the man was making, and came running up.

"What is the matter?" asked the circus man.

"Oh, yoy! Yoy!" cried the man. "Your elephants took all my pink lemonade, from the washtub where I had ice in it! They sucked it up in their rubber-hose trunks!"

"Tum Tum, did you and Maggo do that?" asked the keeper.

Tum Tum could not answer, of course. But the circus man looked at Tum Tum's long, white ivory tusks, and on one of them were some splashes of pink lemonade.

"Yes, Tum Tum, you did it," said the man. "Well, I won't punish you, for you did not know any better, I suppose."

"But what about my lemonade?" asked the peddler. "Don't I get paid for it?"

"Yes, I guess the circus will have to pay you," spoke the keeper. "After all, I am glad Tum Tum had it, for he has been a good elephant, and so has Maggo. I am glad they had it!"

The other elephants wished they had had some also, but there was not enough to go around. The keeper paid the man for the lemonade the elephants had taken, and the man made another washtub full. But this he took care to place far enough away from the tent, so the elephants could not reach over and suck it up in their trunks.

"Well, we made a lot of trouble, even though we did not mean to," said Tum Tum to Maggo that evening, when they were cooling off after the show. "But that lemonade tasted good, didn't it?"

"It certainly did," said Maggo with a sigh that almost shook the tent.

That night Tum Tum, and all the elephants, had to work very hard, pushing the heavy animal cages down the road to where they were loaded on the railroad cars to go to a distant city. As Tum Tum was pushing the cage of Sharp Tooth, the big tiger, he heard that striped animal talking with Roarer, the lion.

"Can you hear me, Roarer?" asked Sharp Tooth, as her cage was pushed alongside that of the King of Beasts.

"Yes, I can hear you, Sharp Tooth," said Roarer. "What is it you want to say?"

At this Tum Tum lifted wide his ears away from his sides, so he could hear better.

"I think something is going to happen," mused Tum Tum.

Then Tum Tum made up his mind that he would listen and find out what it was. He knew the tiger and lion were dangerous animals. They had never become tame, and were always trying to find a way to escape, or get loose from their cages.

"And if that's what they're trying this time, I'll stop them if I can," thought Tum Tum.

So, while he was pushing first the tiger, and then the lion cage along, he listened, though he pretended not to hear anything.

"What is it you want to tell me, Sharp Tooth?" asked Roarer.

"Listen carefully," answered the tiger. "Can you hear me?"

"Yes, yes," growled the lion again. "What is it? Be quick!"

"I know a way to get out of our cages," said the tiger. "If I tell you, will you come with me? Then we can run off to the woods, and live there until we can find our way back to the jungle. Will you come with me, Roarer?"

"Yes," said the lion, "I will. Tell me how to get out of my cage and back to the jungle."

The lion and tiger did not know that the jungle, where they had lived, was many miles away, across the big ocean.

"This is how we can get out," said Sharp Tooth. "You know when the man cleans our cages each night, he leaves the door unlocked so the feeding man can follow and put meat in easily."

"Does he do that?" asked the lion. "I never noticed."

"Yes, he always does that," said the tiger. "For a little while each evening, just before we are fed, the doors of our cages are not locked. We can easily push them open, before the meat man comes to feed us and closes them. We can get out then."

"But if we go before we get our meat, we shall be hungry," roared the lion.

"What of it, silly?" cried Sharp Tooth. "Is it not better to get away, and be hungry for a little while, than to stay here shut up in a cage all your life?"

"Well, I suppose it is," said the lion with a big sigh. "Then we are to come out of our cages to-night?"

"Yes, soon after the man has finished cleaning them, and has left the door unlocked. He does not know that I know about the door. I suppose he imagines I think it is as tightly shut as ever. But it isn't!"

"Good!" cried the lion. "Then we'll run away! But when?"

"To-night," hissed the tiger. "Be quiet now, some one may hear us."

"Ha! Some one has already heard you," thought Tum Tum. "So you are going to get away to-night, are you? Well, not if I know it! I'll stop you all right! It would never do to have you loose in the woods; all the people would be scared. Let me see, how can I stop you?"

Tum Tum wished he could speak man-talk, so he could tell the keepers what the lion and tiger were going to do. But Tum Tum could speak only animal language.

"But I can stay near the tiger's cage, and when he does get out, I can grab him in my trunk, before he has time to scratch me, and push him back in his cage again," thought Tum Tum. "By that time the keepers will come, and shut the cage doors. Yes, I'll do that with Sharp Tooth; but what about Roarer? I need help there. I'll get Maggo."

So Tum Tum told Maggo, about the lion and tiger going to escape from the circus.

"And if you'll stand in front of the lion's cage, he won't dare run very far," said Tum Tum to Maggo. "If you'll look after the lion, I'll look after the tiger."

"All right," said Maggo, "I shall. It would not be right for those fierce animals to get away."

Toward evening, when the show was over for the afternoon, Maggo and Tum Tum were allowed to roam about the animal tent a little, the chains being taken off their feet.

"Now's our time, Maggo," whispered Tum Tum. "You go over by the lion's cage, and I'll stay by the tiger's."

"All right, I will," said Maggo.

Over she went to stand in front of the lion's cage. The cleaning man had been around, and the doors of the cages were open.

Then, before Tum Tum could get to the tiger's cage, that big, striped beast gave one blow with his paw on the unlocked door, pushing it open. He sprang out, crying:

"Come on, Roarer! Come on with me. I'm out! Jump out through the door and we'll go to the jungle!"




Chapter XII

Tum Tum's Brave Deed


Tum Tum tried to get in front of Sharp Tooth and stop the tiger from getting out of his cage, but the big elephant was not quick enough. Besides, the tiger moved so swiftly, that hardly any one could have stopped him.

"Come back here! Come back!" cried Tum Tum, when he saw Sharp Tooth running out of the tent.

"Indeed I will not! I'm off to the jungle!" snarled the striped beast. "Come on, Roarer!" she called.

But Roarer could not, for Maggo, the big elephant, had placed herself in front of the door of his cage, and was leaning against it. And Maggo was so big and heavy that Roarer could not push open the iron-barred door.

"Get out of my way!" cried the lion to the elephant.

"No, no! I will not!" answered brave Maggo.

Then the lion put his paws through the bars of the cage and scratched Maggo, but the lady elephant did not mind that. She made a loud noise through her trunk, and this call brought the keepers on the run. One of them saw what the matter was.

"Quick!" cried this keeper. "The lion's cage door is not fastened. He is trying to get out, but the elephant is holding him in. Quick! Fasten shut the door!"

Then the circus men, very quickly, made the door tightly shut, and that was the end of Roarer's chances for getting out. Oh, but that lion was angry!

He sprang about the cage, roaring loudly, but he could not get out to go and join Sharp Tooth, the tiger.

"Some of you put some salve on the elephant's scratches," said the head circus man, "while I look to see if any other animals have gotten loose."

Then he saw the open door of the tiger's cage, and he cried:

"Sharp Tooth is loose! We must go and find that tiger!"

Then some one else called:

"And Tum Tum is gone also!"

"What, Tum Tum gone!" cried the elephant trainer. "That's so," he said, as he saw that the place where Tum Tum used to stand was empty.

"I wonder where Tum Tum can be?" said the keeper. Maggo wished she could tell how Tum Tum had tried to stop the tiger from running away, but how the big elephant had not been in time. However, the head keeper must have guessed it.

"I don't believe Tum Tum ran away," he said. "He must have gone out after the tiger. Come on, we must find them both."

As it happened, the circus performance was over, so there were no boys or girls, or men and women, to be frightened by hearing that the tiger was loose. Sharp Tooth was so excited at getting out of the cage, that she did not try to bite anybody. She slipped out of the tent, and ran toward some woods near the circus lot.

But Tum Tum was right after her. The tiger could go along very fast, but the elephant could travel almost as quickly, and he kept right behind the striped beast.

"Ha! Go on back! Stop following me!" snarled Sharp Tooth.

"No, I'll not," answered the brave elephant. "I want you to come back to the circus."

"I'll never come!" snapped the tiger.

"Oh, yes, you will," the elephant said.

The tiger kept on, and Tum Tum followed. Finally the tiger ran up a tree and crouched out on a big limb.

"Ha! Now you can't follow me!" she said to the elephant. "You can't climb up this tree!"

"No, but I can stay here until you come down," said Tum Tum, "and that's what I'll do."

"Bah!" snarled the tiger. "Go away and let me alone!"

But Tum Tum would not. He stayed under the tree where the tiger was, for he knew that soon the circus men would come to hunt for Sharp Tooth, to put her back in her cage.

And, surely enough, that is just what happened. The head keeper could easily see which way the tiger and elephant had gone, for, though Sharp Tooth did not make much of a track, Tum Tum did. An elephant cannot crash and push his way through the bushes and trees without making a broad path. And this path the circus men followed. Soon they came to the tree in which Sharp Tooth was crouching.

"Here she is!" cried one. "Bring up the cage!"

The tiger's empty cage was wheeled under the tree, and the door was open. Inside was put a nice piece of meat, such as the tiger loved, and she was very hungry now.

"You had better go down in your cage and behave yourself," said Tum Tum.

"No, I will not!" snarled the tiger. But when the circus men snapped their whips, and fired off guns, and brought blazing torches, Sharp Tooth was afraid. Besides, she was very hungry, and as the lion had not run away with her, she was afraid she could never get to the jungle alone.

"I guess I had better go down in my cage," said the tiger. "But," she added to Tum Tum, "if ever I get a chance to scratch you, I will."

Into the cage she jumped, and the circus men slammed the door shut. The tiger was caught again.

"Good old boy, Tum Tum!" called the elephant's keeper to him, as they were going back to the animal tent. "You saved the tiger from getting away, and that was a good thing, for Sharp Tooth might have bitten someone. You are a very good elephant!"

This made Tum Tum feel quite happy, more happy even than did the nice big lumps of sugar, and loaves of bread, he was given for his supper as a reward.

For you know animals like to be spoken kindly to, as well we do, boys and girls. You just try it with your dog. Speak harshly to him, or scold him, and see how he cringes down, and tucks his tail between his legs. He knows when you are not kind to him.

And then try speaking nicely. Tell him what a good dog he is, and how much you like him, and see what a change there is.

He will jump up, and wag his tail, and bark, he is so glad because you are speaking kindly to him. And, if you let him, he will try to kiss you with his red tongue. Oh, yes, indeed, animals know a great deal more than most persons think they do.

So that was how Sharp Tooth got out of her cage, and how Tum Tum helped to catch her again. After that the animals' cages were never left open, even for a second.

"Did you get very scratched?" asked Tum Tum of Maggo, when everything was once more quiet in the animal tent.

"No, not much," answered the lady elephant.

"I'm sorry I was not quick enough for the tiger," said Tum Tum. "Never mind, it is all over now."

Then the two elephant friends stood side by side in the tent and ate hay and talked to each other in elephant language.

And now my story of Tum Tum is drawing to a close. I shall tell you one more thing that happened to him, and then I am finished.

One day the circus was showing near a large city, and great crowds of people came out to see it. There were boys and girls -- more than Tum Tum had ever seen before. The big tent was full.

Tum Tum did all his tricks as best he could. He stood on his head, and on his hind legs. He sat up at the table, and made believe eat a meal. In this trick Mappo, the merry monkey, had a part, for he sat up with Tum Tum, and they both ate.

When the circus was almost over, and Tum Tum had played soldier, and marched out of the ring carrying Mappo on his back, while Mappo waved a flag, the little monkey, who could see out of the top of the tent said:

"Tum Tum, we are going to have a big thunder shower. I can see the lightning and the black clouds."

"Well, it will not hurt us," said Tum Tum. "We often used to have thunder storms in the jungle, and here we are under a tent."

Then, suddenly the storm came. It grew very black, and the thunder and lightning frightened the big crowds in the circus tent. It rained very hard, too, so that some of the tent ropes were made loose and slipped.

"Run out, quick!" suddenly called a man. "The tent is going to fall on us! Run, everybody!"

"No! Sit still! Keep your seats!" the circus men cried, but the crowd was frightened and ran.

Just then, one of the big poles of the tent began to fall.

"That pole must not fall!" cried Tum Tum's keeper. "But how can I hold it up? I am not strong enough."

Then he looked at Tum Tum, the big elephant.

"Ha! Tum Tum will hold up the pole, until all the people get out of the tent!" cried the circus man. "Here, Tum Tum," he called. "Hold up this pole."

Tum Tum knew what was wanted of him. He pushed his strong head against the pole, and it did not fall over. Tum Tum held it up, and the tent did not come down.

"Tum Tum, you are a fine elephant!" cried his master. "I love you!"

The rain was soon over, and that night, after the evening performance, the circus went on to another town.

That brings me to the end of Tum Tum's adventures. But I have some stories about other animals, and in the next book I'll tell you about "Don, a Runaway Dog; His Many Adventures."

As for Tum Tum, he lived in the circus for many, many years, growing older and stronger and wiser every day, and everybody thought he was the jolliest elephant in all the world.

<eob>

The Bobbsey Twins On Blueberry Island

By

Laura Lee Hope



Chapter I

The Gypsies


"Oh, dear! I wish we weren't going home!"

"So do I! Can't we stay out a little while longer?"

"Why, Flossie and Freddie Bobbsey!" cried Nan, the older sister of the two small twins who had spoken. "A few minutes ago you were in a hurry to get home."

"Yes; they said they were so hungry they couldn't wait to see what Dinah was going to have for supper," said Bert Bobbsey. "How about that, Freddie?"

"Well, I'm hungry yet," said the little boy, who was sitting beside his sister Flossie in a boat that was being rowed over the blue waters of Lake Metoka. "I am hungry, and I want some of Dinah's pie, but I'd like to stay out longer."

"So would I," added Flossie. "It's so nice on the lake, and maybe to-morrow it will rain."

"Well, what if it does?" asked Nan. "You didn't expect to come out on the lake again to-morrow, did you?"

"Maybe," answered Flossie, as she smoothed out the dress of a doll she was holding in her lap.

"I'd like to come out on the lake and have a picnic every day," said Freddie, leaning over the edge of the boat to see if a small ship, to which he had fastened a string, was being pulled safely along.

"Don't do that!" cried Nan quickly. "Do you want to fall in?"

"No," answered Freddie slowly, as though he had been thinking that perhaps a wetting in the lake might not be so bad after all. "No, I don't want to fall in now, 'cause whenever I go in swimming I get terrible hungry, and I don't want to be any hungrier than I am now."

"Oh, so that's the only reason, is it?" asked Bert with a laugh. "Well, just keep inside the boat until we get on shore, and then you can fall out if you want to."

"How am I going to fall out when the boat's on shore?" asked Freddie. "Boats can't go on land anyhow, Bert Bobbsey!"

"That will be something for you to think about, and then maybe you won't lean over and scare Nan," said Bert, smiling.

"Do you want I should land you at your father's lumber dock, or shall I row on down near the house, Bert?" asked a man who was pulling at the oars of the boat. "It won't make any difference to me. I've got lots of time."

"Then, Jack, row us down near the house, if you don't mind," begged Nan. "I want to get these two fat twins ashore as soon as I can; Freddie especially, if he's going to almost fall overboard when I'm not looking."

"I'm not going to fall overboard!" cried the little fat fellow. "Can't I row, Jack?"

"Not now, Freddie. I'm in a hurry," answered the man, one of the workers from Mr. Bobbsey's lumberyard.

"But you told Bert, just now, that you had lots of time," insisted Freddie.

"Well -- er -- ahem -- I haven't time to let you row, Freddie. Maybe I will some other day," and Jack looked at Bert and smiled, while he said to himself: "You've got to get up early in the morning to match a smart chap like him," meaning Freddie, of course.

A short time before, the Bobbsey twins had returned from the city of New York where they had spent a part of the winter. Now it was spring and would soon be summer, and, as the day was a fine, warm one, they had gone on a little picnic, taking their lunch with them and pretending to camp on one of the many islands in the lake. Now they were on their way home.

"Well, here you are, safe on shore!" announced Jack, as the twins called Mr. Henderson, the man whom their father had sent with them to manage the boat.

"Yes, and there goes Freddie -- falling overboard!" cried Bert with a laugh, as his little fat brother stumbled over a coil of rope on the dock and tumbled down. "It's a good thing you didn't do that in the boat, little fat fireman."

"I didn't hurt myself, anyhow," said Freddie, as he got up. "Come on, Flossie, let's run home. I'm terrible hungry."

"So'm I," added his sister, who was as fat as he, and just the same size. The two smaller Bobbsey twins started on ahead, while Bert, after seeing that the boat was well tied, followed on more slowly with his sister Nan.

"It was a nice ride we had," Nan said, "wasn't it, Bert?"

"Yes, it's great out on the lake. I wonder if we'll ever go camping as we talked of when we were in New York?"

"Maybe. Let's tease mother to let us!"

"All right. You ask her and I'll ask father. There's one island in the lake where --  -- "

But Bert did not have a chance to finish what he was going to say, for just then Flossie and Freddie, who had hurried on ahead, came running back, surprise showing on their faces.

"Oh, Bert!" cried Freddie. "It's here! It's come!"

"Can we go to see it?" added Flossie. "Oh, I just want to!"

"What's here? What do you want to see? What is it?" asked Bert and Nan together, taking turns at the questions.

"The circus is here!" answered Freddie.

"Circus?" asked Bert in surprise.

"Yep! We saw the wagons!" went on Flossie. "They're all red and yellow, and they've got lookin' glasses all over the sides, and they have rumbly wheels, like thunder, and horses with bells on and -- and --  -- "

"You'd better save a little of your breath to eat some of the good things you think Dinah is going to cook for you," said Nan with a laugh, as she put her arms around her small sister. "Now what is it all about?"

"It's a circus!" cried Freddie.

"We saw the wagons going along the street where our house is," added Flossie. "All red and yellow and --  --  Oh, look!" she suddenly cried. "There they are now!"

She pointed excitedly down the side street, on which the Bobbsey twins then were, toward the main street of Lakeport, where the Bobbsey family lived. Nan and Bert, as well as Flossie and Freddie, saw three or four big wagons, gaily painted red and yellow, and with glittering pieces of looking glass on their sides. The prancing horses drawing the wagons had bells around their necks and a merry, tinkling jingle sounded, making music wherever the horses went.

Bert and Nan gave one look at the wagons, and then they both laughed. Flossie and Freddie glanced up in surprise at their older brother and sister.

"Look what they thought was a circus!" chuckled Bert.

"Isn't it?" asked Flossie. "Isn't that a circus?"

"No, dear," answered Nan. "Don't laugh so much," she said to Bert, as she saw that the two small twins felt hurt. "They do look something like circus wagons."

"They are circus wagons!" declared Freddie. "And pretty soon the elephants will come past. I like elephants."

"You won't see any elephants to-day," said Bert. "That isn't a circus procession."

"What is it?" Flossie demanded.

"Those are gypsy wagons," explained Nan. "Gypsies, you know, are those queer people, who are dark-skinned. They wear rings in their ears and live in wagons like those. They ride all over the country and tell fortunes. I wanted to have my fortune told by a gypsy once, but mother wouldn't let me," she added.

"It's silly!" declared Bert. "Just as if a gypsy could tell you what's going to happen!"

"Well, Lillie Kent had hers told," went on Nan, "and the gypsy looked at her hand and said she was going to have trouble, and she did."

"What?" asked Flossie eagerly.

"She lost a nickel a week after that -- a nickel she was going to buy a lead pencil with."

"Pooh!" laughed Bert, "she'd have lost the nickel anyhow. But say, there are lots of gypsies in this band! I've counted five wagons so far."

"Maybe they're going to have a circus," insisted Freddie, who did not like to give up the idea of seeing a show.

"Course they're going to have a circus," said Flossie. "Look at all the horses," for behind the last two wagons were trotting a number of horses, being led along by men seated in the ends of the bright-colored wagons. The men had straps which were fastened to the heads of the animals.

"No; gypsies don't give shows. They buy and sell horses," said Bert. "I've seen 'em here in Lakeport before, but not so many as this. I guess they're going to make a camp somewhere on Lake Metoka."

"Maybe we'll see 'em when we go camping," said Freddie.

"It isn't yet sure that we're going," returned Nan. "But, come on. There are no more gypsy wagons to see, and we must get home."

Flossie and Freddie, somewhat disappointed that, after all, it was not a circus procession they had seen, started off again. They wished they could have seen more of the gypsies, but the gay wagons rumbled on out of sight, though this was not the last the Bobbsey twins were to see of them. In fact, they were to meet the gypsies again, and to have quite an adventure with them before the summer was over.

"Well, we had a good time, anyhow," said Freddie to Flossie. "And we almost saw a circus, didn't we?"

"Yep," answered his sister. "I'm going to be a gypsy when I grow up."

"Why?" asked Freddie.


"'Cause they've got so many looking glasses on their wagons."

"I'm going to be a gypsy, too," decided Freddie, after thinking it over a bit. "'Cause they've got so many horses. I'm going to ride horseback, and you can ride in one of the wagons, Flossie."

"No. I'm going to ride horseback, too," declared the little girl. "I'm going to have a spangly thing in my hair and wear a dress all glittery and stand on the horse's back and ride --  -- "

"Gypsies don't do that," protested Bert. "It's the people in circuses that ride standing up."

"Gypsies do too," declared Freddie, not knowing a thing about it but feeling he must back up anything Flossie said.

"No, they don't, either."

"Well, maybe they have gypsies in a circus. They have Indians, you know."

"I don't believe they do," put in Nan. "Gypsies wouldn't like to be in a tent and work every afternoon and every evening. They want to live in their wagons and be more out of doors."

"Well, maybe we'll be gypsies and maybe we'll be in a circus," said Freddie. "We'll see, won't we, Flossie?"

"Yep."

By this time the Bobbsey twins had reached their house, or rather, they had turned the corner of the street leading out from the lake, and were in sight of their home. What they saw caused Bert, Nan, Flossie and Freddie to set out on a run. In front of their house was a crowd of people. There were men, women and children, and among them the twins could see their mother, fat Dinah, the cook, and Sam Johnson, her husband, who attended to the Bobbsey furnace in winter and the lawn in summer.

"What's the matter?" asked Nan.

"Something has happened!" cried Bert.

"The house is on fire!" shouted Freddie. "I must get my fire engine that squirts real water!" and he raced on ahead.

"Wait a minute!" called Bert.

The Bobbsey twins saw their mother coming quickly toward them. She held out her arms and cried:

"Oh, I'm so glad you're safe!"

"Why, what's the matter?" asked Flossie.

"I can't just say," answered her mother; "but Helen Porter can't be found. Her mother has looked everywhere for her, but can't find her."

"She's been carried off by the gypsies!" exclaimed John Marsh, an excited boy about Bert's age. "The gypsies took her! I saw 'em!"

"You did?" asked Bert.

"Sure I did! A man! Dark, with a red sash on, and gold rings in his ears! He picked Helen up in his arms and went off with her! She's in one of the gypsy wagons now!"

When John told this Flossie and Freddie huddled closer to their mother.



Chapter II

A Surprise


"What's all this? What's the matter?" asked a voice on the outside fringe of the crowd that had gathered in front of the Bobbsey home, and, looking up, Bert saw his father coming down the street from the direction of his lumberyard. "Has anything happened?" asked Mr. Bobbsey, after a glance had shown him that his own little family was safe and sound.

"Dere suah has lots done gone an' happened, Mistah Bobbsey," answered fat Dinah. "Oh, de pore honey lamb! Jest t' think ob it!"

"But who is it? What has happened?" asked Mr. Bobbsey, looking about for some one to answer him. Flossie and Freddie decided they would do this.

"It's gypsies," said the little "fat fireman," as his father sometimes called Freddie.

"And they carried off Helen Porter," added the little "fat fairy," which was Flossie's pet name. "An' I saw the wagons, all lookin' glasses, an' Freddie an' I are goin' to be gypsies when we grow up." Flossie was so excited that she dropped a lot of "g" letters from the ends of words where they belonged.

"You don't mean to say that the gypsies have carried off Helen Porter -- the little girl who lives next door?" asked Mr. Bobbsey in great surprise.

"Yep! They did! I saw 'em!" exclaimed John Marsh. "She had curly hair, and when the gypsy man tooked her in his arms she cried, Helen did!"

"Oh!" exclaimed Flossie, Freddie and other children in the crowd.

"There must be some mistake," said Mr. Bobbsey. "Those gypsies would never take away a child, even in fun, in broad daylight. It must be a mistake. Let me hear more about it."

And while the father of the Bobbsey twins is trying to find out just what had happened, I will take a few minutes to let my readers know something of the twins themselves, for this book is about them.

It may be that some boy or girl is reading this as his or her first venture into the volumes of the "Bobbsey Twins Series." If so, I will state that there are a number of books which come before this, though this story is complete in itself.

To begin with there were four Bobbsey twins, as you have guessed before this. Nan and Bert were about ten years old, tall and dark, with eyes and hair to match.

Flossie and Freddie were short and fat, and had light hair and blue eyes. So, now that you know them you will have no trouble in telling the twins, one from the other.

With their mother and their father, who owned a large lumberyard, the twins lived in the eastern city of Lakeport near the head of Lake Metoka. There were others in the family besides the twins and their parents. There was dear old, black, fat Dinah, the cook, who made such good pies, and there was Sam, her husband. And I must not forget Snoop, the black cat, nor Snap, the big dog, who once did tricks in a circus. You will hear more about them later.

"The Bobbsey Twins," is the name of the first book, and in that you may read of many adventures that befell the children. They had more adventures in the country, and there is a book telling all about that happy time, and also one about the seashore.

When the Bobbsey twins went to school there was more fun and excitement "than you could shake a stick at," as Dinah used to say, though why any one would want to shake a stick at fun I can't tell. Then came jolly times at "Snow Lodge," and on a houseboat. From there the twins went to "Meadow Brook," and afterward came home, there to have more fun.

The book just before this one you are reading is called "The Bobbsey Twins in a Great City." In that you may learn how Bert, Nan, Flossie and Freddie went to New York where Mr. Bobbsey had some business to look after. While there the twins helped to solve a mystery about a poor old man. I think, however, that I had better not tell you any more about it, but let you read it for yourself.

And now we find the twins back in Lakeport, ready for a good time during the summer that would soon be at hand. Only the gypsy scare had rather alarmed every one for the time being.

"But now let me hear what it is all about," said Mr. Bobbsey, who had come home from the office of his lumberyard to find an excited crowd in front of his house. "Were there really any gypsies?" he asked his wife. "And did they take away Helen Porter?"

"I don't know about that last part," said Mrs. Bobbsey; "but a caravan of gypsies did pass by the house a little while ago. I heard Dinah say something about the gaily painted wagons, and I looked out in time to see them rumbling along the street. Then, a little later, I heard Mrs. Porter calling for Helen, and, on seeing the crowd, I ran out. I was worried about our children until I saw them coming from the lake, where they had gone for a row in the boat."

"I can't believe that gypsies took Helen," said Mr. Bobbsey.

"Oh, but she's gone!" several neighbors told him. "We can't find her anywhere, and her mother is crying and taking on terribly!"

"Well, it may be that Helen is lost, or has even strayed away after the gypsies, thinking their wagons were part of a circus, as Nan says Flossie thought," said Mr. Bobbsey. "But gypsies wouldn't dare take a little girl away in broad daylight."

As he said this he looked at his own little children and at others in the crowd, for he did not want them to be frightened.

"Years ago, maybe, gypsies did take little folks," he said, "but they don't do it any more, I'm sure."

"But where is Helen?" asked John Marsh. "A gypsy man has her, I know, 'cause I saw him take her."

"Are you sure?" asked Mr. Bobbsey, for John was an excitable boy, sometimes given to imagining things that never happened.

"Course I'm sure," he said. "Cross my heart!" and he did so, while the other children looked on wonderingly.

"Suppose you go over to Mrs. Porter's house," said Mrs. Bobbsey to the children's father. "She's worried, I guess, and her husband isn't home yet. Maybe you can help her. I was just going in when you came along."

"All right, I'll go," said Mr. Bobbsey.

"Can't we come?" asked Freddie, and as he had hold of his little sister's hand, it was Flossie, of course, whom he included in his question.

"No, you must go with your mother," said his father, and when the little fat fireman seemed disappointed Mr. Bobbsey went on: "I guess supper is almost ready, isn't it, Dinah?"

"Deed it am. An' dere's puddin' wif shaved-up maple sugar scattered ober de top an' --  -- "

"Oh, I want some of that!" cried Flossie. "Come on, Freddie! We can look for the gypsies after supper."

"And we'll get Helen out of the shiny wagons," added Freddie, as he hurried toward the Bobbsey home with Flossie, fat Dinah waddling along after them.

"I'll go with you," offered Bert to his father. "Maybe you would want me to go on an errand."

"Yes, take Bert with you," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "I'll look after Nan, Flossie and Freddie. And be sure to tell Mrs. Porter that if I can do anything for her I will."

"I'll tell her," and then Mr. Bobbsey, with Bert, walked to the Porter house next door.

The crowd in the street grew larger, and there was much talk about the gypsies. Some said that several little boys and girls had been carried off, but, of course, this was not so.

As Flossie and Freddie tore on toward the house in front of fat Dinah, they continued to chatter about the gypsies.

"If gypsies take little girls we don't want to be them -- the gypsies, I mean -- Freddie."

"Humph-umph; that's so. Well, I guess we'll be in a circus anyhow. That'll be more fun. You can ride a horse in the ring, and sometimes I can ride with you and sometimes I can be a clown. When I'm a clown I can squirt water from my fire engine over the other clowns. That'll make the folks holler and laugh."

When Nan and Mrs. Bobbsey reached the house each of the little twins was munching on a piece of maple sugar, given them by Dinah to keep them from nibbling at the pudding before the time to serve it came.

"My, Momsie! aren't you glad the gypsies came and got Helen Porter? It gives us something to think about," remarked Freddie coolly.

"Freddie Bobbsey!" gasped his mother. "No, I am not glad the gypsies got Helen -- if they did. And you and Flossie find enough to think about, as it is. And give the rest of us enough to think about, what is more."

"There go daddy and Bert into Mrs. Porter's house now," said Nan.

"Now tell me just what happened, and I'll do all I can to help you," said Mr. Bobbsey to Mrs. Porter, when he got to her house and found her half crying in the sitting-room where there were a number of other women.

"Oh, Helen is gone, I'm sure she is!" cried the mother. "The gypsies have taken her! I'll never see her again!"

"Oh, yes you will," said Mr. Bobbsey in mild tones. "I'm sure it's all a mistake. The gypsies haven't taken her at all. What makes you think so?"

"Johnnie Marsh saw them carry her away."

"Then let's have Johnnie in here where we can talk to him. Bert, suppose you do one of those errands you spoke of," said his father with a smile, "and bring Johnnie in out of the crowd where I can talk to him quietly."

John, or Johnnie, as he was often called, was very ready to come when Bert found him outside the Porter house, telling over and over again to a crowd of boys what he had seen, or what he thought he had seen.

"Now tell us just what happened," said Mr. Bobbsey, when the small boy was seated in a chair in the Porter parlor.

"Well, I was coming from the store for my mother," said Johnnie, "and I saw the gypsy wagons. I thought it was a circus."

"That's what Flossie and Freddie thought," said Bert to his father.

"But it wasn't," went on Johnnie. "Then I saw Helen playing in Grace Lavine's yard down the street when I came past. And a little while after that, when I had to go to the store for my mother again, 'cause I forgot a yeast cake, I saw a gypsy man running along the street and he had Helen in his arms and she was crying."

"What made you think it was Helen?" asked Mr. Bobbsey.

"'Cause I saw her light hair. Helen's got fluffy hair like your Flossie's."

"Yes, I know she has," said Mr. Bobbsey. "What did you do when you thought you saw the gypsy man carrying Helen away?" and they all waited anxiously for Johnnie's answer.

"I ran home," said Johnnie. "I didn't want to be carried off in one of those looking-glass wagons."

"Quite right," said Mr. Bobbsey. "Then you really didn't see the gypsy man pick Helen up in his arms?"

"No," slowly answered the little boy, "he only just ran past me. But he must have picked her up in Grace's yard, for that's where Helen was playing."

"Then we'd better go down to where Grace Lavine lives and see what she can tell us," said Mr. Bobbsey.

"You don't need to," put in Bert. "I see Grace out in front now with some other girls. Shall I call her in?"

"Oh, please do!" exclaimed Mrs. Porter. "My poor Helen! Oh, what has happened to her?"

"We'll get your little girl back, even if the gypsies have her," said Mr. Bobbsey. "But I don't believe they have taken her away. Call in Grace, Bert."

Grace was not as excited as Johnnie, and told what she knew.

"Helen and Mary Benson and I were playing in my yard," said Grace. "We had our dolls and were having a tea party. Mary and I went into the house to get some sugar cookies, to play they were strawberry shortcake, and we left Helen out under the trees with her doll. When we came back she wasn't there, nor her doll either, and down the street we saw the gypsy wagons."

"Did you see any gypsy man come into the yard and get Helen?" asked Mr. Bobbsey.

"No," said Grace, shaking her head, "I didn't. But the gypsies must have taken her, 'cause she was gone."

"Oh, please some one go after the gypsies, and make a search among them, at any rate!" cried Mrs. Porter.

"We'll get right after them," said Mr. Bobbsey. "I don't really believe the gypsies took Helen, but they may have seen her. They can't have gone on very far. I'll call some policemen and we'll get after them."

"I'll come with you," said Bert. "Maybe we'd better get an automobile."

"It would be a good idea," said his father. "Let me see now. I think --  -- "

But before Mr. Bobbsey could say what he thought there was the sound of shouts in the street, and when those in the Porter home rushed to the windows and doors they were surprised to see, coming up the front walk, the missing little girl herself!

There was Helen Porter, not carried off by the gypsies at all, but safe at home; though something had happened, that was sure, for she was crying.

"Here she is! Here she is!" cried several in the crowd, and Mrs. Porter rushed out to hug her little girl close in her arms.



Chapter III

Worried Twins


"Oh, Helen! how glad I am to have you back!" cried Mrs. Porter. "How did you get away from the gypsies? Or did they really have you?"

The little girl stopped crying, and all about her the men, women and children waited anxiously to hear what she would say.

"Did the gypsies take you away?" asked Mr. Bobbsey.

"No, the gypsies didn't get me," said Helen, her voice now and then broken by sobs. "But they took Mollie!"

"Took Mollie!" cried Mr. Bobbsey. "Do you mean to say they really did take a little girl away?"

"They -- they took Mollie!" half-sobbed Helen, "and I -- I tried to get her back, but I couldn't run fast enough and -- and --  -- "

"Well, if they really have Mollie," went on Mr. Bobbsey, "we must get right after them and --  -- "

"Mollie is the name of Helen's big doll -- almost as large as she is," explained Mrs. Porter, who was now smiling through her tears. "Mollie isn't a little girl, though probably there are several in Lakeport named that. But the Mollie whom Helen means is a doll."

"Oh, I see," said Mr. Bobbsey. "But did the gypsies really take your doll, Helen?"

"Yes, they did," answered the little girl. "A bad gypsy man took her away. I was playing with Mollie in Grace Lavine's yard, and Grace and Mary went into the house to get some cookies. I stayed out in the yard with my doll, 'cause I wanted her to get tanned nice and brown. I laid her down in a sunny place, and I went over under a tree to set the tea table, and when I looked around I saw the gypsy man."

"Where was he?" asked Mr. Bobbsey.

"He was just getting out of one of the red wagons. And there was a little gypsy girl in the wagon. She was pointing to my doll, and then the man jumped down off the wagon steps, ran into the yard, picked up my doll, and then he jumped into the wagon again and rode away. And he's got my nice doll Mollie, and I want her back, and -- oh, dear!" and Helen began to cry again.

"Never mind," said Mr. Bobbsey quietly. "I'll try to get your doll back again. How large was it?"

"Nearly as large as Helen herself," said Mrs. Porter. "I didn't want her to play with it to-day but she took it."

"Yes, but now the gypsy man with rings in his ears -- he took it," explained Helen. "He carried my doll off in his arms."

"Then it must have been the doll which Johnnie saw the gypsy man carrying, and not Helen!" exclaimed Bert. "Did it look like a doll, Johnnie?"

"Well, it might have been. It had light hair like Helen's, though."

"Helen's doll had light hair," said Mrs. Porter. "And probably if a gypsy put the doll under his arm, and ran past any one it would look as though he were carrying off a little girl. Especially as the doll really had on a dress Helen used to wear when she was a baby."

"That is probably what happened," said Mr. Bobbsey. "The gypsy man's little girl saw, from the wagon, the doll lying in the Lavine yard. Gypsies are not as careful about taking what does not belong to them as they might be. They often steal things, I'm afraid. And, seeing the big doll lying under the tree --  -- "

"Where I put her so she'd get tanned nice and brown," interrupted Helen.

"Just so," agreed Mr. Bobbsey. "Seeing the doll under the tree, with no one near, the gypsy man made up his mind to take her for his little girl. This he did, and when he ran off with Mollie, Johnnie saw what happened and thought Helen was being kidnapped.

"But I'm glad that wasn't so, though it's too bad Mollie has been taken away. However, we'll try to get her back for you, Helen. Maybe the gypsies took other things. If they did we'll send the police after them. Now don't cry any more and I'll see what I can do."

"And will you get Mollie back?"

"I'll do my best," promised the Bobbsey twins' father.

There being nothing more he could do just then at the Porter home, Mr. Bobbsey went back to his own family, and told his wife, Flossie, Freddie and Nan what had happened.

"Oh, I'm so glad Helen is all right," said Mrs. Bobbsey.

"But it's too bad about her doll," sighed Nan. She had a doll of her own -- a fine one -- and she knew how she would feel if that had been taken.

"Helen's doll could talk," said Flossie. "I know, 'cause she let me make it talk one day. You wind up a winder thing in her back, and then you push on a shoe button thing in her front and she says 'Mamma' and 'Papa' and other things."

"Yes, that's right," said Nan. "Mollie is a talking doll. I guess she has a little phonograph inside her. Maybe that's the noise Johnnie heard when the gypsy man carried the doll past him, and Johnnie thought it was Helen crying."

"I guess that was it," agreed Mr. Bobbsey.

"Well, it's too bad to lose a big talking doll. I must see what I can do to help get it back. I'll call up the chief of police."

"It would be worse to lose your toy fire engine," declared Freddie.

"Why, Freddie Bobbsey!" exclaimed his little sister, "nothing could be worse than to lose your very best doll -- your very own child!"

Mr. Bobbsey, being one of the most prominent business men in the town, had considerable business at times with the police and the fire departments, and the officers would do almost anything to help him or his friends.

So, after supper -- at which Dinah had served the pudding with the shaved-up maple sugar over the top, Flossie and Freddie each having had two helpings -- Mr. Bobbsey called up the police station and asked if anything more had been heard of the gypsies.

"Well, yes, we did hear something of them," answered Chief Branford, over the telephone wire. "They've gone into camp, where they always do, on the western shore of the lake, and as I've had several reports of small things having been stolen around town, I'm going to send on officer out there to the gypsy camp, and have him see what he can find. You say they took your little girl's doll?"

"No, not my little girl's," answered Mr. Bobbsey, "but the talking doll belonging to a friend of hers."

"Her name is Molly, Daddy," said Flossie, who, with the other Bobbsey twins, was listening to her father talk over the telephone. "I mean the doll's name is Mollie, not Helen's name."

"I understand," said Mr. Bobbsey with a laugh, and he told the chief the name of the doll and also the name of the little girl who owned it.

"Well, what is to be done?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey, as her husband hung up the receiver.

"I think I'll go with the policeman and see what I can find out about the gypsies," said Mr. Bobbsey. "If they are going to take things that do not belong to them they may pay a visit to my lumberyard, if they have not done so already. I think I'll go out to the gypsy camp."

"Oh, let me come!" begged Bert, always ready for an adventure.

"I wouldn't go -- not at night, anyhow," remarked Nan.

"Nor I," added Freddie, while Flossie crept up into her mother's lap.

"Oh, I'm not going until morning," said Mr. Bobbsey. "Then I'll take you, Bert, if you'd like to go. We'll see if we can find Helen's big, talking doll."

"She must feel bad at losing it," said Nan.

"She does," said Bert. "Though how any one can get to like a doll, with such stupid eyes as they have, I can't see."

"They're as good as nasty old knives that cut you, and kite strings that are always getting tangled," said Nan with a laugh.

"Yes, I guess we like different things," agreed her brother. "Well, I'm glad it wasn't Flossie or Freddie the gypsies took away with them."

"I wouldn't go!" declared Freddie. "And if they took Flossie, I'd get my fire engine and squirt water on those men with rings in their ears till they let my sister go!"

"That's my little fat fireman!" laughed Mr. Bobbsey. "But now I think you're getting sleepy. Your row on the lake made the sandman come around earlier than usual I guess. Off to bed with you."

Flossie and Freddie went to bed earlier than Nan and Bert, who were allowed to sit up a little later. There was much talk about the gypsies, and what they might have taken, and Nan and Bert were getting ready for bed when a pattering of bare feet was heard on the stairs, and a voice called:

"Where's Snoop?"

"Why, it's Flossie and Freddie!" cried Mrs. Bobbsey, as she saw the two small twins. "Why are you out of bed?" she asked.

"Freddie thought maybe the gypsies would take our cat Snoop," explained Flossie, "so we got up to tell you to bring him in."

"And bring in Snap, our dog," added Freddie. "The gypsies might take him, 'cause he does tricks and was once in a circus."

"Oh, don't worry about that!" laughed Mr. Bobbsey. "Get back to bed before you take cold."

"But you won't let the gypsies take them, will you?" asked Flossie anxiously.

"No, indeed!" promised her mother. "Snoop is safely curled up in his basket, and I guess Snap wouldn't let a gypsy come near him."

But Flossie and Freddie were not satisfied until they had looked and had seen the big black cat cosily asleep, and had heard Snap bark outside when Bert called to him from a window.

"The gypsies won't take your pets," their father told the small twins, and then, hand in hand, they went upstairs again to bed.



Chapter IV

The Goat


"Can't we come, too?"

"We're not afraid of the gypsies -- not in daytime."

Flossie and Freddie thus called after their father and Bert, as the two latter started the next morning to go to find the gypsy camp. The night had passed quietly, Snap and Snoop were found safe when day dawned, and after breakfast Mr. Bobbsey and his older son were to go to Lake Metoka and find where the gypsies had stopped with the gay red and yellow wagons. They were going to see if they could find any trace of Helen's doll, and also things belonging to other people in town, which it was thought the dark-skinned visitors might have taken.

"Please let us go?" begged the little Bobbsey twins.

"Oh, my dears, no!" said Mrs. Bobbsey. "It's too far; and besides --  -- "

"Are you afraid the gypsies will carry us off?" asked Freddie. "'Cause if you are I'll take my fire engine, and some of the funny bugs that go around and around and around that we got in New York, and I'll scare the gypsies with 'em and squirt water on 'em."

"No, I'm not afraid of you or Flossie's being carried off -- especially when your father is with you," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "But there is no telling where the gypsies are camped, and it may be a long walk before they are found. So you stay with me, and I'll get Dinah to let you have a party."

"Oh, that will be fun!" cried Flossie.

"I'd rather play hunt gypsies," said her brother, but when he saw Dinah come out of the kitchen with a tiny little cake she had baked especially for him and his sister to have a play-party with, Freddie thought, after all, there was some fun in staying at home.

"But take Snap with you," he said to Bert. "He'll growl at the gypsy men, and maybe he'll scare 'em so they'll give back Helen's doll."

"Well, Snap can growl hard when he wants to," said Bert with a laugh. "But still I think it wouldn't be a good thing to take him to the gypsy camp. They nearly always have dogs in their camp -- the gypsies do -- and those dogs might get into a fight with Snap."

"Snap could beat 'em!" declared Freddie.

"No, don't take him!" ordered Flossie. "I don't want Snap to get bit."

"I don't either," agreed Bert, "so I'll leave him at home I guess. Well, there's daddy calling me. I'll have to run. I'll tell you all about it when I come back."

So, while Flossie and Freddie, with the little cake Dinah had baked for them, went to have a good time playing party, Mr. Bobbsey, with a policeman and Bert, went to the gypsy camp. The policeman did not have on his uniform with brass buttons -- in fact, he was dressed almost like Mr. Bobbsey.

"For," said this policeman, whose name was Joseph Carr, "if the gypsy men were to see me coming along in my helmet, with my coat covered with brass buttons, and a club in my hand, they would know right away who I was. They could see me a long way off, on account of the sun shining on the brass buttons, and they would have time to hide away that little girl's doll, or anything else they may have taken. So I'll go in plain clothes."

"Like a detective," said Bert.

"Yes, something like a detective," agreed Mr. Carr. "Now let's step along lively."

Several persons had seen the gypsy caravan of gay yellow and red wagons going through Lakeport, and had noticed them turn up along the farther shore of Lake Metoka. There was a patch of wood several miles away from the town, and in years past these same gypsies, or others like them, had camped there. It was to these woods that Bert and his father were going.

"Do you think we'll find Helen's doll?" asked the boy.

"Well, maybe, Bert," answered his father. "And yet it may be that the gypsies have it, but will not give it up. We'll just have to wait and see what happens."

"If I get sight of it they'll give it up soon enough," said Policeman Carr.

After about a two-hours' walk Bert, his father and Mr. Carr came to the woods. Through the trees they looked and saw the red and yellow wagons standing in a circle. Near them were tied a number of horses, eating what little grass grew under the trees, while dogs roamed about here and there.

"I'm glad we didn't bring Snap," said Bert. "There'd have been a dog fight as sure as fate."

"Yes, I guess so," agreed his father.

By this time they had entered the gypsy camp, and some of the dark-faced men, with dangling gold rings in their ears, came walking slowly forward as if to ask the two visitors with the little boy what was wanted.

"We're after a big doll," said Mr. Bobbsey. "One was taken from a little girl in our town yesterday. Perhaps you gypsies took it by mistake; and, if so, we'd be glad to have it back."

"We haven't any doll," growled one big gypsy. "We have only what is our own."

"I'm not so sure about that," said Mr. Carr. "We'll have a look about the camp and see what we can find."

The gypsy growled and said something else, though what it was Bert could not hear. The gypsies did not seem pleased to have visitors, nor did the dogs who sniffed about the feet of Bert, his father and the policeman. One dog growled, while others barked, and then the gypsy man who had first spoken made them go away.

"You are wasting your time here," said this gypsy, who seemed to be the leader, or "king," as he is sometimes called. "We have nothing but what is our own. We have no little girl's doll."

"We'll have a look about," said Mr. Carr again.

But though the policeman and Mr. Bobbsey, to say nothing of Bert, who had very sharp eyes, looked all about the gypsy camp, there was no sign of the missing doll. If a gypsy man had taken it, of which Helen, at least, was very sure, he had either hidden it well or, possibly, had gone off by himself to some other camp in another part of the woods.

"If the doll would only talk now and tell us where she is, we could get her," said Bert with a laugh to his father, when they had walked through the camp and come out on the other side.

"That's right," agreed Mr. Bobbsey; "but I'm afraid the doll isn't smart enough for that. Do you see anything else that the gypsies may have taken?" asked the twins' father of the policeman.

"I'm not sure," answered Mr. Carr. "We had a report of two horses missing, and they may be here, but most horses look so much alike to me that I can't tell them apart. I guess I'll have to get the men who own them to come here and see if they can pick them out."

For half an hour Bert, his father and Mr. Carr roamed through the gypsy camp, the dark-faced men and women scowling at them, and the dogs now and then barking. If there were any boys or girls in the camp Bert did not see them, and he thought they might be hiding away in some of the many wagons.

"Well, we didn't find the doll," said Mr. Carr when they were on their way back to Lakeport. "But I'm sure some of the horses the gypsies have don't belong to them. The chief of police is going to make them move away from that camp anyhow, for the man who owns the land doesn't like the gypsies there. He says they take his neighbors' chickens."

Flossie and Freddie, as well as Helen Porter, were much disappointed when Mr. Bobbsey and Bert came back without the doll. Helen was sure some gypsy had it, but as it could not be found, nothing could be done about it.

"We'll help you look for your doll this afternoon," said Freddie to the little girl, into whose eyes came tears whenever she thought of her lost pet. "Maybe you left Mollie under some bush in Grace's yard."

"I looked under all the bushes," said Helen.

"Well, we'll look again," promised Freddie, and they did, but no doll was found.

The next day the gypsies were made to move on with their gaily colored wagons, their horses and dogs, and though they went (for they had no right to camp on the land near the lake), they were very angry about it.

"They said they had camped there for many years," reported Mr. Carr, telling about the police having driven the dark-faced men and women away, "and that they would make whoever it was that drove them away sorry that he had done such a thing."

"I suppose that means," said Mr. Bobbsey, "that they'll help themselves from somebody's chicken coop."

"We haven't got any chickens," said Freddie.

"But we've got a dog and a cat," put in Flossie. "If those gypsies take Snap or Snoop I -- I'll go after 'em, I will!"

"So'll I!" declared her little fat brother.

"What'll you do when you get to where the gypsies are?" asked Bert.

"Why, I -- I'll --  -- " began Freddie.

"Oh, I'll just pick Snoop up in my arms and tell Snap to come with me and we'll run home," answered Flossie.

"But maybe the gypsies --  -- "

"Don't, Bert," admonished his father. "I do not believe that you little twins need worry about your cat and your dog," he continued.

But for several days and nights after that Flossie and Freddie were very much worried lest their pets should be taken away. But the gypsies did not come back again -- at least for a time, and though the small Bobbsey twins again helped Helen hunt under many bushes for her talking doll it could not be found.

"I just know the gypsy man took my Mollie!" declared Helen.

"I'll help you get it back if ever I see those gypsies," declared Freddie, but at that time neither he, Flossie nor Helen realized what strange things were going to happen about that same talking doll.

It was about a week after this (and summer seemed to have come all of a sudden) that, when the mail came one morning, Mrs. Bobbsey saw a postal card that made her smile as she read it.

"What's it about, Momsie?" asked Freddie, when he noticed his mother's happy face. "Are we going back to New York?"

"No, but this postal has something to do with something that happened in New York," was Mrs. Bobbsey's answer. "It is from the express company to your father, and it says there is, at the express office, a --  -- "

Just then Mrs. Bobbsey dropped the postal, and as Nan picked it up to hand to her mother the little girl saw one word.

"Oh!" cried Nan, "it's a postal about a goat!"

"A -- a goat?" gasped Flossie.

"A goat!" shouted Freddie. "A live goat?"

"Why -- er -- yes -- I guess so," and Nan looked at the postal again.

"Oh, I know!" cried Freddie. "It's that goat I almost bought in New York -- Mike's goat! Oh, did daddy get a goat for us as he promised?" asked the little boy of his mother.



Chapter V

A Bumpy Ride


The Bobbsey twins -- all four of them -- stood in a circle about their mother, looking eagerly at her and at the postal card which Nan had handed to her. Freddie and Flossie were smiling expectantly while Nan and Bert looked as though they were not quite sure whether or not it was a joke.

"Is it really a goat, Mother?" asked Bert.

"Well, that's what this postal says," answered Mrs. Bobbsey. "A goat and cart have arrived at the express office, and your father is asked to come to get them and take them away."

"Course he's got to take 'em away," said Freddie. "The goat'll be hungry there, for he can't get anything to eat."

"And he might butt somebody with his horns," added Flossie.

"Daddy wouldn't buy a butting goat," Freddie declared. "Anyhow, let's go and get him. I want to have a ride."

"If there really is a goat outfit at the express office for us," said Bert, "we'd better get it I think. I'll take the postal down to the lumberyard office and ask daddy --  -- "

"I'm going with you!" cried Freddie.

"I'm comin', too!" added Flossie.

"Suppose you all go," suggested Mrs. Bobbsey. "Your father will tell you what to do, for I'm sure I don't know what to say. I never had a goat. Four twins, a dog and a cat are about all I can manage," she said laughingly, as fat Dinah came waddling into the room to ask what to order from the grocery.

"A goat! Good lan' ob massy!" exclaimed the colored cook. "Dere suah will be trouble if de honey lambs takes t' playin' wif goats! Um! Um! Um! A goat! Oh, landy!"

"I know how to drive a goat!" declared Freddie. "Mike, the red-haired boy in New York, showed me. Flossie and I had a ride in his wagon for two cents apiece. It was fun, wasn't it, Flossie?"

"Yep. I liked it. We had lots of fun in New York. Freddie rode on a mud turtle's back and we had bugs that went around and around and around."

"Maybe the goat will go around and around and around," said Nan, half laughing.

"Well, hurry down to your father's office with the postal," advised Mrs. Bobbsey. "He'll know what to do."

And when the four excited Bobbsey twins -- for even Bert was excited over the chance of owning a goat -- reached their father's office he told them all about it.

"You remember," he said, "that when Freddie and Flossie 'almost' bought the goat in New York I promised that if I could find a good one for sale, with a harness and wagon I'd buy it for you this summer. Well, I heard of one the other day, and I got it, having it sent on here by express. Now we'll go down and see what it looks like."

"It's going to be my goat -- Flossie's and mine, isn't it?" asked Freddie, as they started for the express office down near the railroad station.

"No more yours than it will be Nan's and Bert's, my little fat fireman," said Mr. Bobbsey with a laugh. "You must all be kind to the goat and take turns riding in the wagon."

"Can't we all ride at once?" asked Nan.

"Well I don't know how large the wagon is," answered Mr. Bobbsey, as he started from his lumberyard for the express office with the children. "Maybe you can all get in at once if the goat is strong enough to pull you."

"I hope he's a big goat," said Freddie. "Then me and Bert will drive him and ride you and Flossie, Nan."

"Don't let him run away with me, that's all I ask!" begged Nan, laughing.

They found the goat in a crate on the express platform. Near him was a good-sized wagon, like those the children had seen in Central Park when on their visit to New York.

"Oh, we can all get in it!" cried Freddie, as he ran from the wagon over to where the goat was bleating in his crate. The animal was a large white one, and he seemed gentle when Flossie and Freddie put their hands in through the slats of the crate and patted him.

"I think he'd like to get out where he can walk around and have something to eat and drink," said Mr. Bobbsey. "We must take him out of his crate."

This was soon done with the help of the express agent, and, when the last piece of wood was taken off, the goat stepped out of his crate in which he had traveled from a distant city, and gave a loud,

"Baa-a-a-a-a!"

Then he stamped his forefeet on the platform, and shook his head, on which were two horns.

"Oh, look out! He'll run away!" cried Freddie, who was afraid of losing his goat before there was a chance for a ride.

But the goat seemed tame, kind and gentle, and after walking about a little, stood still beside the crate and let the children pat him, while Mr. Bobbsey paid the express agent.

There was a piece of paper pasted on the crate in which the goat had traveled. One end of the paper was flapping loose, and, seeing it, the white animal nibbled at it, and finally ate it, chewing it up as though he liked it; as indeed he did, not so much for the paper as for the dried paste by which it had been stuck on.

"Oh, look!" cried Nan. "The goat's eating the label off his crate so we can't send him back. He likes us, I guess."

"We like him, anyhow," said Freddie, laughing and patting the billy. "Come on, Bert. Hitch him up and give us a ride."

"Shall I?" asked Bert of his father.

"Why, yes, I guess so. Might as well start now as any time. The man I bought him from said he was kind and gentle and liked children. Harness him up, Bert."

A complete harness had come with the goat and wagon, and when the white animal had been given a drink of water and fed some grass which Flossie and Freddie pulled for him, Bert, helped by his father and the express agent, put the harness on.

"What are we going to call him?" asked Nan. "We'll have to have a name for our goat. We don't want to call him 'it,' or 'Billy.'"

"Name him Whisker," said Bert. "See, he has whiskers just like an old man."

"Oh, that's a nice, funny name!" laughed Flossie, and Freddie thought so too. So the goat was named Whisker, and he seemed to like that as well as any. What he had been called before they got him, the children did not know.

Whisker did not seem to mind being hitched to the wagon, and when Mr. Bobbsey had made sure that all the straps were well fastened, Bert took the front seat, with Nan beside him, while Flossie and Freddie sat in the back. They set off, Mr. Bobbsey walking beside the goat to make sure he did not run away.

But Whisker seemed to be a very good goat indeed, and went along nicely, and so slowly and carefully that Freddie, several times, begged to be allowed to drive.

"I will let you after a while," promised Bert. "Let me get used to him first."

When the Bobbsey twins came riding down their street in the goat wagon you can imagine how surprised all the other children were. They gathered in front of the house and rushed into the yard when Bert turned Whisker up the driveway.

"Oh, give us a ride! Give us a ride!" cried the playmates of the Bobbsey twins.

"Yes, I'll give you all rides," promised Bert good-naturedly.

Then began a jolly time for the Bobbsey twins and their friends. Whisker did not seem to mind how many children he hauled around the smooth level yard at the side of the house, and sometimes the wagon was as full as it could hold. Nor did the goat try to butt any one with his horns, letting the boys and girls pet him as much as they pleased.

"He's almost as nice as my doll the gypsies took," said Helen Porter, after she had had a ride. "I like Whisker."

"Did you find your doll?" asked Flossie.

"No. I can't find Mollie anywhere. I just know she's been turned into a gypsy. Oh, dear!"

"Flossie and I'll help you find her," promised Freddie once again. "Some day I'm going to drive the goat all alone, and I'll give you and Flossie a long ride, Helen. Then we'll go off and find your doll."

"That'll be nice," said Helen.

The Bobbsey twins never knew how many friends they had until they got the goat wagon. For a time Snoop and Snap were forgotten, because there was so much fun to be had with Whisker. Bert gave many rides to his little sister and brother and to their playmates, and in a few days Freddie was allowed to drive the goat, so gentle was the white animal.

One day, soon after Bert had hitched Whisker to the wagon, and was going to give his two sisters and brother a ride, a telephone message came from Mr. Bobbsey, asking Bert to come to the lumber office to get something Mr. Bobbsey had to send home to his wife.

"I'll give you a ride when I come back," promised Bert, hurrying down the street.

"We'll leave Whisker hitched up," said Nan. "I'll go in and finish sewing up that hole in my stocking I was mending."

"And I'll stay out here in the goat wagon," said Freddie, while Flossie nodded her head to say she would do the same thing.

A little later, and before Bert had come back from his father's office, Helen Porter came walking past the Bobbsey house. Looking in the yard, she saw Flossie and Freddie seated in the goat wagon.

"Come on in," invited Flossie. "We're having a make-believe ride, and you can ride too. Can't she, Freddie?"

"Yep. An' I'm going to drive -- make-believe. Come on, Helen. When Bert comes I'll ask him to take us to help find the gypsies and get back your doll."

Helen hurried in and took her place in the wagon, and the three children had lots of fun pretending they were going on a long trip. They did not really go, for the goat was tied to a post.

"I wish Bert would hurry back," said Flossie, after a bit. "I'm tired of staying in one place so long."

"So'm I," said Freddie. Then he got out of the wagon and began loosening the strap by which the goat was fastened to the post.

"What're you doing?" Flossie asked.

"I -- I just want to see what Whisker'll do," answered the little boy. "Maybe he's tired of standing still."

Indeed, the goat seemed to be, for no sooner had Freddie got into the wagon again than off Whisker started, walking slowly toward the back of the yard, where there was a gate to a rear street which led to the woods.

"Whoa!" cried Freddie, but he did not say it very loudly. "Whoa, Whisker! Where you going?"

"Oh, he's runnin' away!" cried Helen. "Let me out! He's runnin' away!"

"No, he's only walking," said Freddie. "It's all right. As long as he walks, you won't get hurt. I guess I'd better drive him, though."

"Can't you stop him?" asked Flossie. "Bert won't like it to have us take him away."

"We aren't taking him away; he's taking us away," said Freddie. "I can't make him stop. Look!" Again he called: "Whoa!" but the goat did not obey.

On and on went Whisker, slowly at first, then walking a little faster and pulling after him the wagon with the children in it.

"Oh, he's going to the woods!" cried Flossie, as she saw the goat heading for the patch of trees at the end of the back street. "Stop him, Freddie!"

"Maybe he wants to go there," said Freddie. "He won't stop for me."

"But it -- it's such a bumpy road," said Helen, the words being fairly jarred out of her. "It's all -- all bu-bu-bumps and hu-hu-humps."

"That's 'cause we're in the woods," said Freddie, for by this time the goat had drawn the wagon into the shade of the woods, not far from the Bobbsey home. It was indeed a bumpy place, Whisker pulling the children over tree roots and bits of broken wood. But the wagon was stout, and the goat was strong. Then, suddenly, Freddie had an idea.

"Oh, Helen!" he cried, "I guess Whisker is taking us to find your lost doll!"



Chapter VI

Jolly News


Whisker, the big white goat, seemed to know exactly what he was doing, whether or not it was taking the two smallest Bobbsey twins and Helen Porter to the woods to find the lost doll. For the goat stepped briskly along, pulling after him the wagon in which the children rode. They were bumped about quite a bit, for the path through the woods was anything but smooth.

In some places there was no path at all, but this did not seem to worry Whisker. He went along anyhow, now and then stopping to nibble at some green leaves, and again turning to one side to crop some grass.

"Do you really think he's taking us to my doll?" asked Helen eagerly.

"I -- I hope so," answered Flossie, somewhat doubtfully.

"Maybe he is," said Freddie. "Anyhow, the gypsies that took your doll Mollie came to the woods, and we're in the woods, and maybe the doll is here and maybe we'll find her."

That was as much as Freddie could think of at one time, especially as he had to hold the reins that were fast to the bit in Whisker's mouth. For the goat was driven just as a horse or pony is driven, and Freddie was doing the driving this time.

At least the little boy thought he was, and that was very near the same thing. But Whisker went along by himself pretty much as he pleased, really not needing much driving by the leather reins. And he never needed to be whipped -- in fact, there was not a whip in the wagon, for the Bobbsey children never thought of using it. They were kind to their goat.

"Oh, I'm falling out!" suddenly cried Helen, as the wagon went over a very rough, bumpy place in the path.

"Hold on tight like me," said Flossie. "Anyhow," she went on, as she looked out of the wagon, "if you do fall you won't get hurted much, 'cause there's a lot of soft moss and leaves on the ground."

"But I'll get my dress dirty," said Helen.

"Then we'll go down to the lake and wash it off," said Freddie, for the woods in which they now were led down to the shore of the lake.

"Well, I don't want to fall, anyhow," said Helen. "'Most always when I fall I bump my nose, an' it hurts."

"It's smoother now, and I guess the wagon won't tip over," observed Freddie, a little later.

They had come now to a wider path in the woods, where it was not so bumpy, and the wagon rolled easily over the moss and leaves as Whisker pulled it along.

"It's nice in here," said Flossie, looking about her.

"Yes, I'm glad Whisker took us for a ride," said Freddie.

"He wouldn't have if you hadn't unhitched his strap," remarked Flossie. "What'll Bert say?"

"Well, Whisker was tired of standing still," went on her brother. "And, anyhow, Helen wanted to come for a ride to find her doll; didn't you?" he asked their little playmate.

"Yep, I did," she answered. "I want my doll Mollie awful much."

"Then we'll look for her," Freddie went on. "Whoa, Whisker!"

Whether the goat really stopped because Freddie said this word, which always makes horses stop, or whether Whisker was tired and wanted a rest, I can not say. Anyhow, he stopped in a shady place in the woods, and the children got out.

"I'll tie the goat to a tree so he can't go off and have a ride by himself," said Freddie, as he took the strap from the wagon.

But Whisker did not seem to want to go on any farther. He lay down on some soft moss and seemed to go to sleep.

"We'll leave him here until we come back," said Freddie. "And now we'll look for Helen's doll."

Perhaps the children had an idea that the gypsies may have left the talking doll behind in the woods when they were driven away by the police. For, though they were not near the place where the dark-skinned men and women had camped, Flossie, Freddie and Helen began looking under trees and bushes for a trace of the missing Mollie.

"Do you s'pose she can talk and call to tell you where she is?" asked Flossie, when they had hunted about a bit, not going too far from the goat and wagon.

"I don't know," Helen answered. "Sometimes, when I wind up the spring in her back she says 'Mamma' and 'Papa' without my pushing the button. My father says that's because something is the matter with her."

"Well, if she would only talk now, and holler out, we'd know where to look for her," added Freddie.

"Let's call to her," suggested Flossie.

"All right," agreed Helen.

So the children called:

"Mollie! Mollie! Where are you?"

Their voices echoed through the trees, but there was no other answer -- at least for a while. Then, when they had walked on a little farther, and found a spring of water where they had a cool drink, they called again:

"Mollie! Mollie! Where are you?"

Then, all at once, seemingly from a long way off, came an answering call:

"Wait a minute. I'm coming!"

"Oh, did you hear that?" gasped Flossie.

"It was somebody talking to us," whispered Helen.

"And it wasn't the echo, either," went on Flossie.

"Maybe it was your doll," suggested Freddie. "Did it sound like her voice?"

"A -- a little," said Helen slowly.

"We'll call again," suggested Flossie, and once more the children cried aloud:

"Mollie! Mollie! Where are you?"

"Wait a minute. Stand still so I can find you! I'm coming!" was the answer.

The three little ones looked at one another in surprise, and they were, moreover, a little frightened. Was it possible that the missing, talking doll was really in the woods and had answered them? That it could talk, because it had a phonograph inside, they all knew. But would it answer when spoken to?

"It didn't sound like Mollie," whispered Helen, after a bit. "Her voice wasn't as loud as that."

"Oh-o-o-o-o!" suddenly gasped Flossie. "Maybe it was -- the gypsies!"

That was something the children had not thought of before. Suppose it should be the same gypsy man who had taken away the doll?

"It couldn't be the gypsies," said Freddie, looking around him. "They all went away. Daddy said so."

"But maybe there was one left," suggested his sister.

"Pooh! I'm not afraid of one gypsy," declared Freddie. "If he bothers me I'll sic Whisker on him."

"You can't sic a goat -- they can't bite or bark like a dog," retorted Flossie.

"No, but Whisker can butt with his horns!" cried Freddie. "That's what I'll do! If it's a gypsy I'll sic Whisker on him!"

Just then the children heard the voice again, calling:

"Where are you? I want to find you!"

Once more they looked at one another rather afraid. And then came a loud "Baa-a-a-a-a!" from Whisker.

"Come on!" cried Freddie. "Maybe they're trying to take our goat away!"

He started on a run through the woods toward the place where they had left Whisker and the wagon, now out of sight behind some bushes.

"Wait! Wait for me!" cried Flossie, who was left behind with Helen. "Don't run off without us, Freddie!"

"Oh, excuse me," he said, politely enough. "But we don't want those gypsies to take Whisker."

"Whisker'll butt 'em," said Flossie. "Wait for us."

"Yes, I guess our goat won't let anybody take him," went on Freddie, walking now, instead of running. "Come on, Flossie and Helen! Maybe it's your doll talking and maybe it isn't. But we'll soon see!"

Together the three children hurried on, soon coming within sight of the goat. There was Whisker peacefully lying down, still asleep. And running toward him, along the woodland path, was Bert, who, as he caught sight of Freddie and the others, called:

"Oh, there you are! I've been looking everywhere for you. Didn't you hear me calling?"

"Was that you?" asked Freddie. "We thought maybe it was a gypsy man."

"Or Helen's doll," added Flossie. "Her doll, Mollie, can talk, you know, Bert. And Whisker gave us a ride here so we looked for the doll."

"Yes, and then I had to come looking for you," said her brother. "But never mind. I've found you and I've got jolly news."

"Do you mean jolly news because you found us?" asked Freddie.

"No, it's jolly news about something else," Bert said. "But I've got to hurry home with you so mother won't worry. Then I'll tell you."



Chapter VII

Where Is Snap?


"How did you youngsters come to run away?" asked Bert, when he was driving the goat wagon back through the woods again, taking a path that was not quite so bumpy as the first one. "My goodness! I came back from daddy's office to find mother and Nan looking everywhere for you. How did you happen to run away?"

"We didn't runned away," said Flossie, who was so excited over what had happened that she forgot to speak the way her teacher in school had told her to. "Whisker runned away with us."

"I guess he didn't go without being told, and without some one's taking off his hitching strap," said Bert, with a smile.

"Anyhow, we didn't run much, Whisker just walked most of the time," said Freddie.

"Well, it's all the same," returned Bert. "I had to chase after you to find you. Didn't you hear me calling?"

"Yes, but we thought it was gypsies or Helen's doll," answered Flossie. "We were looking for Mollie, you know."

"You'll not find her unless you find that band of gypsies," said Bert. "Anyhow, you mustn't come off to the woods alone, you little children."

"We had Whisker with us," Freddie declared. "And if any of the gypsy men had come he'd have butted 'em with his horns."

"He might, and he might not," went on Bert. "Anyhow, I guess you had a nice ride."

"We did," said Flossie. "Only we're sorry we couldn't find Helen's doll. How did you find us, Bert?"

"Oh, I could see by the wheel and hoof marks in the soft dirt which way Whisker had taken the wagon, and I just followed."

"But what is the jolly news?" Freddie demanded. "Are we going back to New York?"

"Better than that!" answered Bert. "We're going camping!"

"Camping?" cried the two little Bobbsey twins in the same breath. "Where?" asked Freddie. "When?" asked Flossie.

"It isn't all settled yet," answered Bert. "You know daddy and mother talked about it when we were in the big city. And to-day, when I was down at the lumberyard I heard daddy speaking to a man in there about some of the islands in Lake Metoka. Daddy wanted to know which one was the best to camp on."

"And did the man say which was a good one?" asked Freddie.

"I didn't hear. But I asked daddy afterward if we were going to camp this summer, and he said he guessed so, if mother wanted to."

"Does mother want to?" asked Flossie eagerly.

"She says she does," answered Bert. "So I guess we'll go to camp this summer all right. Isn't that jolly news?"

"Um," said Freddie, not opening his mouth, for in one pocket of his little jacket he had found a sweet cracker he had forgotten, and he was now chewing on it, after having given his sister and Helen some.

"Oh, I wish we could go now and take Whisker with us!" cried Flossie.

"If we go we'll take the goat cart!" decided Bert.

"And we'll take our dog Snap, and our cat Snoop, too!" announced Freddie. "They'll like to go camping."

Mrs. Bobbsey and Nan were anxiously waiting for Bert to come back with the runaways, and when he came in sight, driving the goat cart, the children's mother hurried down the back road to meet them.

"Oh, my dears! you shouldn't go away like that!" she called.

"Whisker wanted to go," said Freddie. "And we had a nice ride even if it was bumpy. And we thought we heard Mollie's doll calling, but it was Bert."

"Well, don't do it again," said Mrs. Bobbsey. She always said that, whenever either set of twins did things they ought not to do, and each time they promised to mind. But the trouble was they hardly ever did the same thing twice. And as there were so many things to do, Mrs. Bobbsey could not think of them all, so she could not tell Nan and Bert, Flossie and Freddie not to do them.

"When are we going camping?" asked Freddie, as he got out of the goat cart.

"And what island are we going on?" asked Flossie.

"Oh, my! I see you have it all settled so soon!" laughed Mrs. Bobbsey. "Your father and I have yet to talk it over.

"We'll do that to-night," she went on. "And now you children come in and get washed, and Dinah will give you something to eat. You must be hungry."

"We are," said Flossie. "And Helen's hungry, too. Aren't you, Helen?" she asked.

"Um -- yes -- I guess so."

"Well, we'll soon find out," laughed Mrs. Bobbsey. "I think your mother won't mind if I give you a little lunch with Flossie and Freddie. Nan can tell her that you are here and are all right. She doesn't know you had a runaway ride in the goat wagon."

"It was a bumpy ride, too," explained Flossie. "And we didn't find Mollie the talking doll."

"Well, maybe you will some day," said Mrs. Bobbsey kindly.

And while Flossie, Freddie and Helen ate the nice little lunch, fat, black Dinah got ready for them, Bert and Nan went for a ride in the goat wagon, stopping at Mrs. Porter's house to tell her that Helen was safe in the Bobbsey home.

"And now let's talk about camping!" cried Bert that night after supper when the family, twins included, were gathered in the dining-room, the table having been cleared. "When can we go?"

"I think as soon as school closes," said his father. "Summer seems to have started in early this year, and I want to get you children and your mother off to some cool place. An island in the middle of the lake is the best place I can think of."

"It will be fine!" cried Bert. "Which island are we going to camp on?"

"There are two or three that would do nicely," answered Mr. Bobbsey. "I talked to some friends who own them, but I think one called Blueberry Island would suit us best."

"It has a nice name," said Nan. "I like -- Blueberry Island! It sounds just as if it were out of a book."

"Is it a fairy island?" Freddie wanted to know, for he liked to have fairy stories read to him.

"Well, maybe it will turn out to be a fairy story," said Mr. Bobbsey with a laugh. "It's the largest island in the lake, and several other parties are going there camping, so Mr. Ames, the man who owns it, told me."

"Why do they call it Blueberry Island?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey.

"Because there are many blueberries on it," answered her husband. "And if we go there I shall expect you children to pick plenty of blueberries so Dinah can make pies. I'm very fond of blueberry pie."

"I like it, too," said Freddie. "We'll take Whisker with us, and he can haul a whole wagon load of blueberries."

"I wouldn't ask you to pick as many as that," said his father with a laugh. "Two or three quarts would be enough for a pie, wouldn't they, Mother?"

"I should hope so! But do you really mean we are to go camping on Blueberry Island?"

"Surely," answered Mr. Bobbsey. "It will be a nice way to spend the summer."

"And shall we live in a tent?" asked Freddie, "and cook over a camp fire? and go fishing? and -- and -- and --  -- "

"Yes, all of that and more, too," said his father, catching up the little fat fireman and bouncing him toward the ceiling.

Then followed a happy hour talking over the plans for going camping on Blueberry Island, until Mother Bobbsey said it was time for Flossie and Freddie, at least, to go to bed.

Off they went to Slumberland, to dream of living in a big white tent with a flag on top of it.

"Just like a circus!" as Freddie said the next morning at breakfast.

"Or a gypsy camp," added Flossie. "Are there any gypsies on Blueberry Island, Daddy?"

"No, not a one."

"'Cause if there was," went on the little girl, "I wouldn't take my doll with me. I wouldn't want her tooked away like Helen's was."

"We won't let any gypsies come," said Mr. Bobbsey.

One warm summer day came after another until it was nearly time to close the school, and all the boys and girls in Lakeport were thinking of vacation. The Bobbseys were getting ready to go to the Blueberry Island camp. Mr. Bobbsey had bought the tents and other things and they were to go to the island in a boat.

"And we'll take Whisker, our goat, and Snap and Snoop," said Flossie, "and my dolls and the bugs that go around and around and around and --  -- "

"You'll have a regular menagerie!" said Nan.

"We'll have some fun, anyhow," cried Freddie. "I wonder if we could hitch Snap and Whisker up together and make a team?"

"Let's try," suggested Bert. "Come on, Freddie, we'll find our dog."

But when they called Snap he did not come running in from the yard or barn as he had always done before. Bert and Freddie called, but there was no answering bark.

"Where is Snap, Dinah?" asked Bert, when a search about the house did not show the missing dog.

"I done seed him heah about half an hour ago," said the colored cook, "an' den, all to oncet, I didn't see him ag'in. I wonder if dat ole peddler could hab took him?" she asked, speaking half to herself.

Bert and Freddie looked at one another in surprise. Where was Snap?



Chapter VIII

Off To Camp


"This is queer," said Bert, when a more careful search about the house and barn failed to find Snap. "If he's run away, it will be about the first time he has done that since we've had him."

"Let's ask at some of the houses down the street," said Nan. "Sometimes the children coax him in to play with them, and he forgets to come home because they make such a fuss over him."

"Here's Snoop, anyhow!" cried Freddie, coming out of the barn with the big black cat in his arms. "He can go to camp with us."

"But we want Snap, too!" added Flossie. "We need a dog to keep the gypsies away."

"There won't be any gypsies on Blueberry Island!" Bert reminded them.

"You can't tell," declared Freddie.

"Maybe there'll be one or two, an' I don't want them to take my doll the way they did Helen's," added Flossie.

"Didn't Helen get her doll back?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey, coming out of the house in time to hear what the children were saying.

"No'm, and she feels awful sad," replied Flossie. "And now the gypsies has took Snap."

"The gypsies have taken Snap -- really, Flossie, you must speak more correctly," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "But what do you mean about Snap's being taken?"

"He seems to be gone," reported Bert.

"We've looked everywhere for him, and now we're going to ask down the street," added Nan.

"But we've got Snoop," said Flossie, and so it was. "We" -- that is, she and Freddie both -- had the big black cat, one twin carrying the head and the other twin the hind legs. But Snoop was often carried that way and he did not mind.

"Snap not here? That is odd," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "Have you whistled and called to him?"

"Every way we know," replied Bert. "Listen!" and, putting his fingers in his mouth, he gave such a shrill whistle that his mother and Nan had to cover their ears, while fat Dinah, waddling to her kitchen window, cried:

"Good land ob massy! What am dat -- a fire whistle?"

"I can whistle like that!" shouted Freddie, dropping his end of the black cat. As it happened to be the head end he was carrying, this left the hind legs to Flossie and poor Snoop was thus dangling head down.

"Miaou!" he cried sadly, and then he gave a wriggle, and another one, and got loose.

Freddie made a sort of hissing sound on his fingers -- not at all a nice, loud whistle as Bert had done -- but it was pretty good for a little fellow.

"He ought to hear that," Bert said, when he was done blowing his call, and his mother and sister had uncovered their ears. "But he doesn't come."

"Did you ask Dinah about him?" Mrs. Bobbsey questioned.

"Yes, and she said --  -- Oh, she said something about a peddler!" cried Nan. "We forgot to ask her what she meant."

"Did Snap chase after a peddler?" asked Bert, for the colored cook was still at the window.

"No, I didn't see you all's dog chase after de peddler, honey lamb," replied Dinah. "But jest a little while ago a woman wif a red dress on, all trimmed wif yaller, real fancy like, comed to de back do' sellin' lace work. Snap was heah den, eatin' some scraps I put out fo' him, an' de woman patted him an' talked to him in a queer like way."

"She did!" cried Bert excitedly. "What'd she say?"

"Lan' goodness! You all don't s'pose I knows all de queer languages in de United States, does yo'?" asked Dinah, shaking her kinky head. "But de woman talked queer t' Snap, an' he wagged his tail, which he don't often does t' strangers."

"No," put in Flossie, shaking her head vigorously, "Snap don't often talk to strangers. He's awful dig-dignified with 'em. Isn't he, Freddie?"

"Well, he doesn't like tramps, and they're strangers," replied her brother. "Are peddlers tramps, Bert?"

"No, I guess not. But some of 'em look like tramps -- pretty near, maybe."

"What happened to the woman peddler?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey.

"Oh, I soon got rid ob her," said Dinah. "I tole her we was gwine t' lib in de woods an' we didn't want no fancy lace 'cause it would git all ripped on de trees an' bushes. So she went off."

"And what happened to Snap?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey.

"Oh, he was eatin' his scraps de last I seen ob him," answered Dinah. "An' he wagged his tail ag'in at de woman in de gay dress what looked like she was gwine on a picnic."

"A dress of red and yellow," said Nan. "Isn't that the color the gypsies wear?"

"Was the woman a gypsy?" asked Bert quickly.

"She mought o' been," answered the cook. "She had gold rings in her ears, an' she was dark. Not as dark as me or Sam, but like some of them Eytalian men. I didn't pay much 'tention to her, 'cause I was makin' a cake. But maybe Snap done followed her to see to it she didn't take nuffin. 'Cause ef she was a gypsy she mought take things."

"Yes, and she's taken Snap -- that's what she's done!" cried Bert. "That's what's happened to our dog. The gypsies have him! I'm going to tell daddy, and have him get a policeman."

"Now don't be too sure," advised Mrs. Bobbsey. "Perhaps that peddler may have been a gypsy, and she may have made friends with Snap -- those people have a strange way with them about dogs and horses -- but it isn't fair to say she took your pet. He may have followed her just to be friendly. You had better ask at some of the houses down the street first."

"Come on!" cried Bert to Nan. "We'll go and ask."

"And I'm coming, too!" added Freddie. "I can call Snap and you can whistle for him, Bert."

"And I'll take Snoop, and Snoop can miaou for him," said Flossie.

"No, you two little ones stay here," directed Mrs. Bobbsey. "I want to wash and dress you for dinner. Let Bert and Nan hunt for Snap."

"Then can't we go in the goat cart?" Freddie asked.

"We'll all have a ride when we come back," promised Bert. "We first want to find Snap, if we can, to see if he'll hitch up with Whisker," the boy told his mother.

So while Flossie and Freddie went into the house to get freshened up after their play, Nan and Bert went from house to house asking about Snap. But though the big, trick dog sometimes went to play with the neighbors' children, this time there was no sign of him. One after another of the families on the block said they had not seen Snap.

Several servants had noticed the gypsy woman "peddler," as they called her, for she had made a number of calls on the block, trying to sell her lace, but no one had seen Snap with her.

"Oh, I guess Snap just ran away for a change, as Flossie and Freddie sometimes do," said Mr. Bobbsey when he came home that evening and had been told what had happened. "He'll come back all right, I'm sure."

But Nan and Bert were not so sure of this. They knew Snap too well. He had never gone away like this before. Flossie and Freddie, being younger, did not worry so much. Besides, they had Snoop, and the cat was more their pet than was the dog, who was Bert's favorite, though, of course, every one in the Bobbsey family loved him.

Several times that evening Bert went outside to whistle and call for his pet, but there was no answering bark, and when bedtime came Bert was so worried that Mr. Bobbsey agreed to call the police and ask the officers who were on night duty to keep a lookout for the missing animal. This would be done, the chief said, since nearly all the officers in Lakeport knew Snap, who often visited at the police station.

Morning came, but no Snap was at the door waiting to be let in, though Bert was up early to look. Snoop, the big black cat, was in his usual place, getting up to stretch and rub against Bert's legs.

"But where's Snap?" asked the boy.

"Miaou," was all Snoop answered. Perhaps he knew, but could not tell.

"Well, I'm afraid your dog is lost," said Mr. Bobbsey, when at the breakfast table Bert reported that Snap was still away. "We'll put an advertisement in the paper and offer a reward if he is brought back."

"Maybe he's gone to camp on Blueberry Island and is waiting over there for us," said Flossie.

"Maybe, my little fat fairy!" agreed her father, catching her up for a good-bye kiss. "Let's hope so. And now you must soon begin to get ready to go camping."

The children heard this news with delight, and, for a time, even lost Snap was forgotten. He had often visited the neighbors before, and had always come back, so Bert hoped the same thing would happen this time.

There was much to do to get ready to go to Blueberry Island. There were clothes to pack and food to be bought, for though it was not many miles from the island back to the mainland where there were stores, still Mrs. Bobbsey did not want to have to send in too often for what was needed.

The goat wagon was very useful for going on errands during the days that it took them to get ready to go off to live in the woods. Bert and Nan, sometimes with Flossie and Freddie, rode here and there about town, and Whisker was as good as a pony, being strong and gentle.

Everywhere they went Nan and her brother looked for Snap and asked about him. But, though many in Lakeport knew the dog, and had seen him on the day he was last noticed, no one could tell where he was. No one could be found who had seen him with the gypsy woman -- if he had gone with her -- though a number said they had noticed the gaudy, red-and-yellow-dressed peddler strolling about with her lace.

"Our dog's gone and Helen's doll is gone," said Nan the night before they were to go to camp. "I wonder what will be taken next."

"I hope they don't get our Snoop," said Flossie, as she went to look at the big black cat who was sleeping in the box, with a handle, in which he was to be taken to the island.

"And I hope they let Whisker alone," said Freddie.

"Whisker can take care of himself, with his horns," observed Bert. "I'm not afraid of a gypsy trying to get our goat."

The tents had been sent to the island, and a man would set them up. Plenty of good things to eat were packed in boxes and baskets. Dinah and Sam had made ready to go to camp, for they were included in the family. Dinah was to do the cooking and her husband was to look after the boats and firewood.

"And, oh, what fun we'll have!" cried Flossie the next morning, when the sun rose warm and bright and they started for Blueberry Island.

"It would be better if we had Snap," said Bert. "You don't know how I miss that dog!"

"We all do," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "Perhaps we'll find him when we come back, Bert. Your father will come back from the island once or twice a week, and he'll come to the house to see if Snap has come back."

"He'll never come back," said Bert, with a sad face. "I'm sure the gypsies took him, and they'll keep him when they find out he can do circus tricks."

"Well, maybe we'll find the gypsies and, if they have Snap, we can make them give him up," said Nan.

"I hope so," murmured Bert.

There was a small steamer that made trips across the lake, and in this the Bobbseys were to go to Blueberry Island, as they had so many things to take with them that a small boat would never have held them all.



Chapter IX

A Night Scare


"Well, are you all ready?" asked Daddy Bobbsey, as he came out and locked the front door. On the steps in front of him, or else down the front walk, were his wife, Nan, Bert, Flossie, Freddie, Sam, Dinah, Snoop, in his traveling crate, Whisker, the goat, hitched to his wagon, and a pile of trunks, boxes and other things.

"If we're not ready we never will be," said Mrs. Bobbsey with a sigh and a laugh, as she looked over everything. "We aren't going so far, but what we can send for anything we forget, which is a good thing. But I guess we're all ready, Daddy."

"Good! Here comes the expressman for our trunks, and behind him is the automobile we're going to take down to the steamer dock. Now have you children everything you want?" and he looked at Flossie and Freddie particularly.

"I've got my best doll, and Snoop's in his cage," said Flossie. "And my other dolls are in the trunk and so are the toys I want. Is your fire engine packed, Freddie? 'Cause you might want it if the woods got on fire."

"Yep; my fire engine is all right," answered the little fellow. "An' I've got everything I want, I guess -- except -- maybe --  -- " he was thinking then. "Oh, I forgot 'em! I forgot 'em!" he quickly cried. "Open the door, Daddy! I forgot 'em!"

"Forgot what?" his father asked with a smile.

"The tin bugs that go around and around and around," answered Freddie. "You know, the ones I buyed in New York. I want 'em."

"Well, it's a good thing you thought of them before we got away, for I wouldn't have wanted to come back just to get the tin bugs."

"But they go around and around and around!" cried Flossie, who liked the queer toys as much as did her brother. "They're lots of fun."

"Well, as long as we're going to camp on Blueberry Island for fun as much as for anything else," said Mr. Bobbsey, "I suppose we'll have to get the bugs. Come on, Freddie."

The little twin had wrapped his tin bugs in a paper and left them on a chair in the front hall, so it was little trouble to get them. Then the trunks, bags and bundles were piled in the wagon and taken to the steamboat dock, while the Bobbsey family, all except Bert, took their places in the automobile. Bert was to drive Whisker to the wharf, as it was found easier to ship the goat and wagon this way than by crating or boxing the animal and his cart.

"I'd rather ride with Bert and Whisker than in the auto," said Freddie wistfully, as he saw his brother about to drive off.

"So would I!" added Flossie, who always chimed in with anything her twin brother did.

"But you can't," said Mrs. Bobbsey decidedly. "If you two small twins went with Bert in the goat wagon something would be sure to happen. You'd stop to give some one a ride or you'd have a race with a dog or a cat, and then we'd miss the boat. You must come with us, Flossie and Freddie, and, Bert, don't lose any time. The boat won't wait for you and Whisker."

"I'll be there before you," promised Bert, and he was, for he took a short cut. He said on the way he had stopped at the police station to ask if there was any news about the missing Snap, but the trick dog had not been seen, and so the Bobbseys went to camp without him.

If there had not been so much to see and to do, they would have been more lonesome for Snap than they were. As it was, they missed him very much, but Bert held out a little hope by saying perhaps they might find their pet on Blueberry Island, though why he said it he hardly knew.

"All aboard!" called the steamboat men as the Bobbseys settled themselves in comfort, their goods having been put in place. The goat wagon was left on the lower deck where stood the horses and wagons that were to be taken across the lake, for the steamer was a sort of ferryboat. "All aboard!" called the deck hands.

There was a tooting of whistles, a clanging and ringing of bells, and the boat slowly moved away from the dock.

"Oh, it's just lovely to go camping!" sighed Nan.

"We haven't really begun yet," said Bert. "Wait until we get to the woods and have to go hunting for what we want to eat, and cook it over an open fire -- that's the way to live!"

"I guess there won't be much hunting on Blueberry Island," said Mr. Bobbsey, with a laugh.

"Well, we can make-believe, can't we?" asked Freddie.

"Oh, yes, you can make-believe," said his mother. "And that, sometimes, is more fun than having real things."

I will not tell you all the things that happened on the steamboat, for so much more happened on Blueberry Island that I will have to hurry on to that. Besides, the trip to the middle of the lake did not take more than an hour, and not much can take place in an hour.

I say not much, and yet sometimes lots of things can. But not a great deal did to the Bobbseys this time, though, to be sure, a strange dog tried to get hold of Snoop in his crate, and Freddie nearly fell overboard reaching after his hat, which blew off.

"But I could swim even if I did fall in," he said, for Mr. Bobbsey had taught all four twins how to keep afloat in water.

"Well, we don't want you falling in," his mother answered. "Now you sit by me."

This Freddie did for a short time. Then he got tired of sitting still and jumped down from his chair, at the same time calling to his little sister:

"Say, Flossie, let's go and watch the engine."

"All right," answered the little girl, ready, as always, to do anything her brother suggested.

As Flossie jumped from her chair to join her brother, she accidently kicked an umbrella belonging to a man who was sitting near by, and the umbrella fell to the floor and slipped out under the railing right into the water.

"Oh -- oh -- oh!" gasped Flossie.

But Freddie turned and ran as fast as he could to the stairs that led to the lower deck.

"Here! where are you going?" cried his father, and started after his son.

"Goin' after that umbrella!"

"I think not!" and Mr. Bobbsey caught up with Freddie and picked him up in his arms.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Bobbsey told the man how sorry she was, and said that they would replace the umbrella. But the man returned that he would not allow that.

"No one needs an umbrella on such a lovely day, anyway," he said.

But a deckhand who was cleaning some mops in the water had already rescued the umbrella.

"Blueberry Island!" called a man on the steamer, after the boat had made one or two other stops. "All off for Blueberry Island!"

"Oh, let us off! Let us off!" cried Flossie, getting up in such a hurry from her deck chair that she dropped her doll. "We're going camping there."

"I guess the passengers know it by this time, without your telling them," laughed her father. "But come on -- don't forget anything."

Such a scrambling as there was! Such a gathering together of packages -- umbrellas -- fishing rods -- hats, caps, gloves and the crate with black Snoop in it. Sam and Dinah helped all they could, and between them and Mr. and Mrs. Bobbsey and the children the family managed to get ashore at last.

A gangplank had been run from the boat to the dock, and over this Bert drove Whisker and the goat cart. The goat seemed glad to get off the steamboat.

"Oh, wouldn't Snap just love it here!" cried Nan, as they went on shore and looked at the island. "Isn't it too bad he isn't with us?"

"I'm going to find him!" declared Bert. "Those old gypsies sha'n't have our trick dog!"

Blueberry Island was, indeed, a fine place for a camp. In the winter no one lived on it, but in the summer it was often visited by picnic parties and by those who liked to gather the blueberries which grew so plentifully, giving the island its name.

In fact, so many people came to one end of the island in the berry season that a man had set up a little stand near the shore, where he sold sandwiches, coffee, candy, and ice-cream, since many of the berry-pickers, and others who came, grew hungry after tramping through the woods.

But where Mr. Bobbsey was going to camp with his family, the berry-pickers and picnic parties seldom came, as it was on the far end of the island, so our friends would be rather by themselves, which was what they wanted.

Mr. Dalton, the man who kept the little refreshment stand, had his horse and wagon on the island, and he had agreed to haul the Bobbsey's trunks and other things to where their tents, already put up, awaited them.

"And can't we ride there in the goat wagon?" asked Freddie of his mother, as he saw Bert get up behind Whisker in the little cart.

"Yes, I think you and Flossie may ride now that we are on the island," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "Do you want to go, Nan?"

"No, I'll walk with you and daddy. I'll get enough goat rides later."

"Oh, how nice it is!" cried Mother Bobbsey when she and Nan came in sight of the tents of the camp. "I know we shall like it here!"

"I hope you will," said her husband. "And now we must see about something to eat. I suppose the children are hungry."

"Dey's always dat way!" laughed fat Dinah. "I neber seen 'em when dey wasn't hungry. But jest show me whar's de cook-stove an' suffin' t' cook, an' dey won't be hungry long, mah honey lambs!"

Dinah was as good as her word, and she soon had a fine meal on the table in the dining tent, for the men Mr. Bobbsey had hired to set up the canvas houses had everything in readiness to go right to "housekeeping," as Nan said.

There were several tents for the Bobbsey family. One large one was for the family to sleep in, while a smaller one, near the kitchen tent, was for Dinah and her husband. Then there was a tent that served as a dining-room, and another where the trunks and food could be stored. In this tent was an ice box, for a boat stopped at the island every day and left a supply of ice.

The children helped to unpack and settle camp, though, if the truth were told, perhaps they did more to unsettle it than otherwise. But Mr. and Mrs. Bobbsey were used to this, and knew how to manage.

So the meal was eaten, Whisker was put in his little stable, made under a pile of brush-wood, and the children went out rowing in a boat. They had lots of fun that afternoon, and Bert even did a little hunting for Snap, thinking that, by some chance, the trick dog might be on the island. But Snap was not to be found.

"Though, of course, we didn't half look," Bert said. "We'll look again to-morrow."

And now it was evening in "Twin Camp," as the Bobbseys had decided to call their place on Blueberry Island. There had been quite a talk as to what to name the camp, but when Dinah suggested "Twin," every one agreed that it was best. So "Twin Camp" it was called, and Daddy Bobbsey said he would have a wooden sign made with that on it, and a flag to hoist over it on a pole.

Beds were made up in the sleeping tent, and soon even Nan and Bert declared that they were ready to go to Slumberland by the quickest train or steamboat which was headed for that place. They had been up early and had been very busy. Flossie and Freddie dropped off to sleep as soon as they put their heads on the pillows.

Freddie did not know what time it was when he awakened. It was in the night, he was sure of that, for it was dark in the tent except where the little oil light was aglow. What had awakened him was something bumping against him. His cot was near one of the walls of the sleeping tent and he awoke with a start.

"Hi!" he called, as he felt something strike against him. "Who's doin' that? Stop it! Stop it, I say!"

"Freddie, are you talking in your sleep?" asked his mother, who had not slept very soundly.

"No, I'm not asleep," Freddie answered. "But something bumped me. It's outside the tent."

"Maybe it's Whisker feeling of you with his horns," said Flossie, who slept near her brother, and who had been awakened when he called out so loudly.

"It -- it didn't feel like Whisker. It was softer than his horns," Freddie said. "Momsie, I want to come into your bed."

"No, Freddie, you must stay where you are. I guess it was only the wind blowing on you."

"No, it wasn't!" said Freddie. "It was a bump that hit me. I'm afraid over here!"



Chapter X

The "Go-Around" Bugs


Without waiting for his mother to tell him that he might, Freddie slipped off his cot and went scurrying over the board floor of the tent toward Mrs. Bobbsey's bed.

"I'm coming, too!" said Flossie, who generally went everywhere her small brother did.

"Did something hit you, too?" asked Freddie, turning to his sister.

"No, but it might. If you are afraid I'm afraid, too."

"Oh, you children!" said Mrs. Bobbsey with sigh. "I believe you only dreamed it, Freddie."

"No, Momsie, I didn't! Really I didn't! Somethin' bumped me from outside the tent. It hit me in the back -- not hard, but sort of soft like, an' -- an' I woked up. I want to sleep with you!"

"What's it all about?" asked Daddy Bobbsey. Then Freddie had to explain again, and Flossie also talked until Nan and Bert were awakened.

"It might have been Whisker," said Bert. "If he got loose and brushed against the tent and Freddie had rolled with his back close against the side it would be like that."

Just then there sounded in the night the "Baa-a-a-a-a!" of the white goat.

"There he is!" cried Bert.

"But it sounds as though he were still safely tied up," said Mr. Bobbsey. "I'll have a look outside. Too bad we haven't Snap with us. He'd give the alarm in a minute if anything were wrong."

The goat bleated again, but the sound did not seem near the tent, as it would have done if Whisker has been loose. Putting on his bath robe and slippers, Mr. Bobbsey took a lantern and went outside. Bert wanted to come with his father, but Mrs. Bobbsey would not hear of it.

"We want a little man in here to look after us," she said, smiling.

"Ain't I almost a man? I can make my fire engine go," Freddie said, forgetting his fright, now that the "big folks" were up, and the light in the tent was turned higher.

They could hear Mr. Bobbsey walking around outside, and they heard him speaking to the goat who bleated again. Mr. Bobbsey was as fond of animals as were his children, and Whisker was almost like a dog, he was so tame and gentle.

"Was the goat loose, Daddy?" asked Nan, when her father came back into the tent.

"No, he was tied all right in his little stable. It wasn't Whisker who brushed against Freddie, if, indeed, anything did."

"Something did!" declared the small boy. "Didn't I wake up?"

"Well, you might have dreamed it," said Nan. "You often talk in your sleep, I know."

"I did feel something bump me," declared Freddie, and nothing the others could say would make him change his idea.

"Did you see anything?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey in a low voice of her husband when the twins were in their beds again. Flossie's and Freddie's cots were moved over nearer to those of their parents', and they had dropped off to slumber again, after getting drinks of water.

"Well, I rather think I did," answered Mr. Bobbsey in a low voice.

"You did! What?"

"I don't know whether it was a horse or a man, but it was something. It was so dark I couldn't see well, and the trees and bushes come up around the tents."

"How could it be a horse?"

"It might have been the one that belongs to Mr. Dalton. If the horse were walking around, cropping grass wherever he could find it, he might have brushed past the side of the tent and so have disturbed Freddie."

"Yes, I suppose so," agreed Mrs. Bobbsey. "But couldn't you tell a horse from a man?"

"No, it was too dark. I only just saw a shadow moving away from the tents as I stepped out."

"And was Whisker all right?"

"Yes, though I guess he was lonesome. He tried to follow me back here when I left him."

"I suppose Whisker misses the children," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "But do you think it could be a man who was wandering about our tents?"

"It could be -- yes."

"One of the gypsies?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say as to that. In fact, I don't believe the gypsies are anywhere around here. The children have that notion in their heads, but I don't believe in it. Perhaps it was a blueberry picker who was lost."

"But if he was lost, and saw our tents, he'd stop and ask to be set on the right road," went on Mrs. Bobbsey. "Besides, blueberries won't be ripe for another week or so, and nobody picks them green."

"No, I suppose not," agreed her husband. "Well, I'm sure I don't know who or what it was, but I saw a dark shadow moving away."

"Shadows can't do any harm."

"No, but it takes some one or something to make a shadow, and I'd like to know what it was. I'll take a look around in the morning," said Mr. Bobbsey. "We don't want Twin Camp spoiled by midnight scares."

"Maybe we'd better get another dog, if Snap doesn't come back," suggested his wife.

"I'll think about that. We can't very well train Whisker to keep watch. Besides, he can't bark," and Mr. Bobbsey laughed as he got back into bed.

There was no more disturbance that night and the twins did not again awaken. Mr. Bobbsey remained awake for a while, but he heard nothing, and he believed that if it was a man or an animal that had brushed against the tent where Freddie was sleeping, whoever, or whatever, it was had gone far away.

Dinah had a fine breakfast ready for the twins and the others the next morning. There were flap-jacks with maple syrup to pour over them, and that, with the crisp smell of bacon, made every one so hungry that there was no need to call even Nan twice, and sometimes she liked to lie in bed longer than did the others.

"Did you find what it was that bumped me, Daddy?" asked Freddie, as he, as last, pushed back his plate, unable to eat any more.

"No. And we don't need to worry about it. Now we must finish getting Twin Camp in order to-day," went on Mr. Bobbsey, "and then we will begin to have fun and enjoy ourselves."

"Are we going to catch any fish?" asked Bert. "Always, when you read of camps, they catch fish and fry them."

"Yes, we can go fishing after we get the work done," said his father. "Work first and play afterward is a rule we'll follow here, though there won't be much work to do. However, if we're to go fishing we'll have to dig some bait."

"I can dig worms!" cried Freddie. "Worms are good for bait, aren't they, Daddy?"

"For some kinds of fish, yes. We'll fish part of the time with worms and see what luck we have. Bert, you and Freddie can dig the bait."

"I want to help," said Flossie. "I helped Nan get out my dolls and toys, and now I want to dig worms."

"All right, little fat fairy!" laughed Bert. "Come along."

"Mercy, Flossie, digging bait is such dirty work! What do you want to do that for?" asked Nan.

"I don't care if it is dirty, it's fun."

"You might have known, Nan," laughed Mrs. Bobbsey, "that Flossie would not object to dirt."

With a shovel for turning up the dirt, and a tin can to hold the worms, Bert and the two smaller twins were soon busy. But they did not have as good luck as they expected. Earthworms were not plentiful on the island. Perhaps they could not swim over the lake from the main shore, Freddie suggested.

"Aren't bugs good for bait?" asked Freddie, when he had looked in the tin can and found only a few worms wiggling about after more than half an hour's digging on the part of himself and Bert.

"Some kinds of bugs are good for fishing; yes," Bert answered, and, hearing that, Freddie started back for the tent where the trunks were stored.

"What are you going to do?" Bert called after his little brother.

"I'm going to get the go-around bugs. We can use them for bait. Water won't hurt 'em -- the store man told me so. We can use the go-around bugs."

"Oh, they're no good -- they're tin!" laughed Bert.

But Freddie was not listening. He had slipped into the tent and was searching for the toys he had bought in New York. Bert kept on digging for worms, now and then finding one, which Flossie picked up for him, until he heard another call from Freddie. The little fellow came running from the tent with an empty and broken box in his hand.

"Look! Look!" cried Freddie. "My go-around bugs comed alive in the night and they broke out of the box. Oh, dear! Now I can't have 'em to catch fish with! The go-around bugs broke out of the box and they've gone away!"



Chapter XI

The Blueberry Boy


"What's the matter, Freddie? What has happened? I hope you haven't hurt yourself," and Mrs. Bobbsey, who heard the small twin calling to Bert about the tin bugs, hurried from the tent, where she was making the beds, to see what the trouble was.

"No, Momsie, I'm not hurt," Freddie answered. "But look at my go-around bugs!" and he held out the empty and broken box.

"What's the matter with them?" asked Mr. Bobbsey who came up just then from the shore of the lake where he had gone to make sure the camp boats were securely tied.

"My bugs are all gone!" went on Freddie. "They broke out of the box in the night! They bited themselves out!"

"No, they didn't bite the box," said Flossie, coming up to look at what her small brother held. "They just went around and around and around, and they knocked a hole with their heads in the box and so they got out. Did you look for them on the floor of the tent, Freddie?"

"No, I didn't."

"Come on, we'll have a look," Bert said. He dropped the shovel with which he had been digging for worms and ran over to his little brother. He took the box from Freddie.

"That must have been smashed in the moving," Bert said to his father.

"No, it wasn't smashed," Freddie said, hearing what Bert remarked to Mr. Bobbsey. "Flossie and I were playing with the bugs yesterday after we got here, and the box wasn't broken then. It was all right, and so were the go-around bugs. But now they're gone!"

"Maybe the box fell off a table or something," said Mr. Bobbsey, "and broke that way. We'll look on the floor of the tent for your bugs, my little fat fireman."

But no bugs were to be found after a careful search had been made, and Freddie and Flossie were quite disappointed.

"We can't go fishing if we can't find any bugs for to bait the hooks," said Freddie, tears in his blue eyes.

"Never mind," his father answered. "The tin bugs wouldn't have caught many fish, and if we don't find your toys I'll get you some more when I go to town. You and Bert had better keep on digging the worms, I guess. They're better for fish."

"And I'll pick 'em up," offered Flossie. She was a queer little child in some ways, not afraid of bugs and "crawly things."

It did not take Freddie or Flossie long to forget what had made them unhappy, and though for a time they were sorry about the loss of the bugs, they soon became so interested in helping Bert dig for worms that they were quite jolly again.

"Here's an awful fat one, Flossie!" cried Freddie. "Pick that one up just terribly careful-like. I'm going to save him for my hook, and maybe I'll get the biggest fish of all."

"How'll you know where to find this one when you want it, I'd like to know, Freddie Bobbsey?" returned his sister.

"Tie a blue ribbon on it," suggested Bert.

"Yes, we might," said Flossie slowly. "Maybe Nan has a ribbon. I'll ask."

Bert laughed and said:

"I was just fooling, little fat fairy. I don't believe you can do that."

"I don't see why," dissented Freddie. "We can try, anyway. Here, I have a red string in my pocket. That'll do better than a ribbon."

He pulled out the string, and the two smaller children tied it around the middle of the earthworm, but, much to Flossie's dismay, they tied it so tightly that it almost cut the worm in two.

"Oh, Freddie Bobbsey! You fix that right away!" cried his twin sister, and he loosened the string.

Pretty soon Bert again dropped the spade he had taken up and said:

"There, Freddie, you dig awhile. I want to see about the lines and poles. We have almost worms enough."

Freddie was glad to do this, and Flossie was eager to pick up the crawling creatures. Bert went back to the tent to get out the poles, lines and hooks. There he found his father and mother looking at the broken box that had held the tin bugs.

"How do you think it became smashed?" Mrs. Bobbsey asked.

"I don't know," answered her husband. "It looks as though some one had stepped on it."

"But who could do that? Flossie and Freddie think so much of the bugs that they take good care of them, and they wouldn't put them where they would be stepped on. Do you suppose any of the men that have been helping set up the camp could have done it?"

"I hardly think so. If they did they wouldn't take the bugs away, and that is what has happened. It seems to me as though the box had been broken so the bugs could be taken out. For the cover fits on tightly, and it often sticks. Freddie and Flossie often come to me to open it for them. Probably whoever tried to open it could not do so at first, and then stepped on it enough to crack it open without damaging the tin bugs inside."

"But who would do such a thing?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey, and Bert found himself asking, in his mind, the same question.

"That's something we'll have to find out," said Mr. Bobbsey, and neither of them noticed Bert, who, by this time, was inside the tent where the fishing things were kept.

"Could it be the gypsies?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey.

"Well, I don't altogether believe all that talk about the gypsies," said Mr. Bobbsey slowly. "I think they may have taken Helen's talking doll, but that's all. However, if there are any gypsies here on the island, and if they saw those gay red, yellow and spotted bugs of Flossie's and Freddie's they might have taken them. They like those colors, and the crawling bugs might amuse them."

"Oh, but if there are gypsies on this island I don't want to stay camping here! They might take away some of the children -- Flossie or Freddie! Nan and Bert are too old."

"Nonsense!" laughed Mr. Bobbsey. "There are no gypsies here, and you needn't worry."

"All the same I wish Snap were here with us," went on Mrs. Bobbsey. "I'd feel safer if I knew the dog were with the children all the while, as he was before."

"Well, if he doesn't come back, or if we don't find him soon, I'll get another dog," promised Mr. Bobbsey. "Now don't worry about gypsies. Maybe this broken box was only an accident."

"But what about the shadow you saw last night. Maybe that was a --  -- "

Just then Dinah came waddling from the cook tent toward the large one where Mr. and Mrs. Bobbsey stood. Bert could see and hear all that went on.

"Mrs. Bobbsey, did yo' take dat big piece ob bacon I cut a few slices off of last night?" asked the cook.

"Why, no, Dinah, I didn't," answered Mrs. Bobbsey. "Why do you ask?"

"'Cause as how dat bacon's gone. It's done gone complete! I hung it inside de tent, up high where none ob dem chatterin' squirrels or chipmunks could git it, an' now, when I want some fo' dinnah it's gone. Maybe de chilluns took some fo' dere fish hooks, 'cause I done heah Bert talk about bait."

"No, I didn't take it," answered Bert himself, stepping out of the small tent where the poles, oars for the boats and other camp articles were kept. "We've got worms enough for bait."

"Bacon gone, eh?" said Mr. Bobbsey. Then, as he looked at his wife and glanced at Bert, he went on: "Well, maybe a stray dog jumped up and got it. Some dogs can jump very high, Dinah. Snap could, I remember."

"Good land ob massy! Ef I t'ought dat 'er Snap had come back t' mah honey lambs I'd be so glad I wouldn't mind de bacon," said the fat cook. "But I don't reckon no dog took it, Mistah Bobbsey. I t'ink it war' a two-legged robber dat --  -- "

"Never mind that now, Dinah!" said Mrs. Bobbsey quickly. "Come here and finish making the beds, I want to walk down to the lake with Mr. Bobbsey," and she nodded to her husband. "One piece of bacon won't matter," she went on. "We have plenty more."

"Yes, I knows dat," said Dinah, who was puzzled. "But if no 'count folks is gwine t' come t' dish yeah camp an' walk off wif vittles dat way --  -- "

"It's time it was stopped, isn't it?" asked Bert, as he walked toward the fat cook. "Say, Dinah," he went on as he saw his father and mother stroll down to the shore of the lake, "did you hear a queer noise in the night?"

"Did I heah a queer noise around de camp las' night?" repeated Dinah. "Well, I suah did, honey lamb! I done heard a owl hoot, an' dat's a suah sign ob bad luck."

"No, I don't mean that kind of noise, Dinah. Did you hear anything else?"

"Yas. I done heah mah man Sam snore suffin' terrible! It were 'most like thunder. Did you all heah dat, honey lamb?"

"No, I didn't hear that, Dinah," answered Bert, with a laugh. "But something or somebody brushed past our tent in the night, and woke up Freddie. Then my father went outside and saw some one sneaking away."

"Oh, mah good lan' ob massy!" cried Dinah. "Dat's where mah bacon went to! Wait until I tells your fader, honey lamb, an' --  -- "

"No! Hold on! Wait a minute!" cried Bert, catching Dinah by her apron as she was hurrying away. "Dad knows it already, and so does mother. I guess they don't want to scare us children, but I'm not afraid. I'll tell you what I think, Dinah."

"What's dat?"

"I think there are gypsies on this island, and that they're after Flossie and Freddie!"

"Oh, mah goodness! Oh, mah goodness! Oh, mah goodness!" cried Dinah quickly. It seemed she could think of nothing else to say.

"But I'm not afraid," went on Bert. "We'll just have to keep a good watch, and not let those two little twins out of our sight. Don't tell my mother or father that you know this. You and I and Nan will keep watch."

"Dat's what we will!" exclaimed the fat cook. "An' if dem gypsies lays so much as a fingernail on mah honey lambs I'll pull de gold rings offen dere ears an' frow dish water on 'em -- dat's what I'll do to dem gypsies!"

"I wish we had Snap back, or that Whisker were a dog instead of a goat," said Bert. "But maybe if I let Whisker roam around the camp at night he'll be as good as a watch dog."

"He can butt wif his horns," said Dinah.

"Yes, and he can make a bleating noise. That's what I'll do," said Bert. "I'll use Whisker as a watch dog. Now don't say anything to father or mother about our knowing there're gypsies here," went on Bert.

"I won't -- I won't say a word," promised Dinah. "But I'll keep mah ole eyes skinned fo' Flossie an' Freddie, an' so will Sam. It's got 't be mighty smart gypsies dat'll take away mah honey lambs!"

Bert was really much excited by what he had seen and heard. The smashing of the box, what his father and mother thought about it, the taking of the bacon and the scare the night before -- all this was quite a surprise.

"Are you sure it's gypsies?" asked Nan when her older brother told her what had happened.

"I'm sure of it," said Bert. "Now what you and I've got to do is to keep a good watch over Flossie and Freddie. Course we're too big for the gypsies to take, but they could easy walk away with those little twins."

"What d'you s'pose they'd do with 'em, Bert, if they did take Flossie and Freddie?"

"Oh, they wouldn't hurt 'em, of course. They'd just black up Flossie's and Freddie's faces with walnut juice to make 'em look dark, like real gypsies, and they'd keep 'em until dad paid a lot of money to get the twins back."

"How much money?"

"Oh, maybe a thousand dollars -- maybe more."

"Oh!" exclaimed Nan. "Then we must be sure never to let Flossie or Freddie out of our sight. We've got to watch them every minute."

"Of course," agreed Bert. "We'll fool those gypsies yet."

Carrying out their plan to be very careful of their little brother and sister, Bert and Nan took the small twins in the boat with them when they went fishing an hour later. Bert would not go out far from the shore of Blueberry Island -- indeed, his mother had told him he must not, for the lake was deep in places -- and the older twins did about as much watching the bushes along the bank for signs of gypsies as they did fishing.

Flossie and Freddie, however, not worrying about any trouble, had lots of fun tossing their baited hooks into the water, and Freddie yelled in delight when he caught the first fish. Flossie also caught one, but it was very small, and Bert made her put it back in the lake.

The children caught enough fish for a meal, though when they started out neither their father nor mother thought they would. But the worms proved to be good bait.

"We'd have caught bigger fish if we'd had my tin bugs for bait," said Freddie.

"I don't want my bugs put on a hook," said Flossie. "When will you find them, Freddie, and make them go around and around?"

"I don't know," he answered.

The tents were put in good order and for two or three days the children had great sport playing, going fishing and taking walks in the woods with their father and mother, or going for trips on the lake. There were no more night scares.

"Maybe it wasn't gypsies after all," said Nan to her brother one day.

"Yes, it was," he said. "They were here, but they went away when they found out we knew about them. But they'll come back, and then they may try to take Flossie or Freddie. We've got to keep a good watch."

It was about a week after they had come to Blueberry Island that the Bobbsey twins -- all four of them -- went for a ride in the goat wagon. There was a good road which ran the whole length of the island, and Whisker could easily pull the wagon along it.

The twins had taken their lunch and were to have a sort of picnic in the woods. They rode under the green trees, stopped to gather flowers, and Nan made a wreath of ferns which she put over Whisker's horns, making him look very funny, indeed. Then the twins found a nice grassy spot near a spring of water, and sat down to eat the good things Dinah had put up for their lunch.

Freddie had taken one bite of a chicken sandwich when, all of a sudden, there was a noise in the bushes near him, and a queer face peered out. Freddie gave one look at it, and, dropping his piece of bread and chicken, cried:

"Oh, it's a blueberry boy! It's a blueberry boy! Oh, look!"



Chapter XII

The Drifting Boat


At first Nan and Bert did not know whether Freddie was playing some trick or not. Flossie had gone down to the spring to get a cupful of water, and so was not near her little brother when he gave the cry of alarm.

But Bert looked up and had a glimpse of what had startled Freddie. Certainly there was a queer, blue face staring at the three twins from over the top of the bushes. And the face did not go away as they looked at it.

"A blueberry boy! What in the world is a blueberry boy?" asked Nan.

"There he is!" cried Freddie, pointing. "He's been picking blueberries. That's why I call him a blueberry boy."

"Yes, and he's been eating them, too, I guess," added Bert. "Did you want anything of us?" he asked of the stranger.

By this time Flossie had come back with the water -- that is, what she had not spilled of it -- and she, too, saw the strange boy.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"My name's Tom," was the answer. "What's yours?"

"Flossie Bobbsey, an' I'm a twin an' we're campin' on this island, and we had some bugs that went around and around and --  -- "

"Flossie, come here," called Nan. She did not want her little sister to talk too much to the strange boy. Nan had an idea the boy might belong to the gypsies.

"I saw him first," put in Freddie. "I saw his face all covered with blueberries, and I dropped my standwich -- I did."

He began looking on the ground for what he had been eating, but finding, when he picked up the bread and bits of chicken, that ants were crawling all over the "standwich," he tossed it away again.

"Aw, what'd you do that for?" asked Tom, the blueberry boy. "That was good to eat! Ain't you hungry?"

"Yes, but I don't like ants," returned Freddie. "'Sides, there's more to eat in the basket!"

"Cracky!" exclaimed Tom. "That's fine! There isn't anything in my basket but blueberries, and not many of them. You get tired of eatin' 'em after a while, too."

"Are you -- are you hungry?" asked Bert. As yet no one else had appeared except the boy. He seemed to be all alone. And he was not much larger than Bert.

"Hungry? You'd better believe I'm hungry!" answered the boy with a laugh that showed his white teeth with his blueberry-stained lips and face all around them. "I thought I'd have a lot of berries picked by noon, so I could row back to shore, sell 'em and get somethin' to eat. But the berries ain't as ripe as I thought they'd be -- it's too early I guess -- so I've got to go hungry."

Nan whispered something to Bert who nodded.

"We've got more sandwiches here," Bert said to the blueberry boy. "Would you like one?"

"Would I like one?" asked the boy, who seemed to answer one question by asking another like it. "Say, you just give me a chance. I ain't had nothin' since breakfast, and there wasn't much of that."

With a bound he jumped through the bushes and stood in the little grassy glade where the Bobbsey twins were having a sort of picnic by themselves. They saw that Tom had on ragged clothes and no shoes. Indeed, he looked like a very poor boy, but his face, though it was stained with the blueberries he had eaten, was smiling and kind. The Bobbsey twins thought they would like him.

"Here -- eat this," and Bert held out some sandwiches. Dinah had put in plenty, as she always did.

"And he can have some cake, too," said Freddie. "I don't want but two pieces, and I told Dinah to put in three for me."

"Oh, what a hungry boy!" laughed Nan.

"And the blueberry boy can have one of my pieces of cake," said Flossie. "Where did you get the blueberries?" she asked, looking into his basket.

"I didn't get many -- that's the trouble," he said. "It's a little too early for them. But the earlier they are the better price you can sell 'em for. So I came over alone to-day."

"Where do you live?" asked Bert, as the boy was hungrily eating the sandwich.

"Over in Freedon," and Tom Turner, for such he said was his name, pointed to a village on the other side of the lake from that where the Bobbsey twins had their home. "Our folks come here every year to pick blueberries, but never as early as this. I guess I've had my trouble for nothing. I've eaten more berries than I put in my basket, I guess. But I was so hungry I had to have something. I didn't find many ripe ones at that, and I guess I got as much outside of me as I did inside," and he laughed again, showing his white teeth.

"Where do you folks live?" Tom asked, as he took a piece of cake Nan offered him.

"We're camping on this island."

"You don't mean to say you are gypsies, do you?" asked the blueberry boy in surprise.

"No, of course not!" Bert answered. "We live in Lakeport -- Bobbsey is our name and --  -- "

"Oh, does your father have a lumberyard?"

"Yes."

"Oh! Well, then you're all right! My father drives one of your father's lumber wagons. He just got that job this week -- been out of work a long while. I heard him say he had a place in the Bobbsey lumberyard, but I never thought I'd meet you. I thought maybe you was gypsies at first."

"That's what I thought you were," said Nan.

"We're going to be gypsies when we get older -- Freddie and me," announced Flossie.

"No, we're not, Flossie. We're going to be in a circus."

"Oh, yes! And I'm going to ride a horse standing up."

"And I'm going to be a clown --  -- "

"And he'll have his little fire engine --  -- "

"And squirt water on the other clowns and --  -- "

"And the folks'll holler and laugh. And I'm going to have a glittery --  -- "

"Dear me, Flossie and Freddie, we've heard all about that at least a dozen times lately," protested Bert.

"But Tom hasn't heard about it. He's int'rested," declared Freddie.

"I knew a feller once that had been in a circus," said Tom. "He said they had to work awful hard. There's the show every afternoon and every night and the parade in the mornin' and the practisin' and gettin' ready. He said too that the fellers at the head of the show was awful strict about how everybody behaved themselves. It wasn't much fun, he said, and it was lots of work."

"My!" gasped Freddie. "I -- I guess we'll be gypsies. I don't like to work -- much."

"That is, not very much," agreed Flossie.

"Are there any gypsies here?" asked Bert, for he thought it would be a good chance to find out what he wanted to know.

"Yes, there are some," was Tom's unexpected answer. "They had a camp on the lower end of the island last week. I expected to see some of 'em to-day. They're great blueberry pickers, and that's one reason I came early. Most always the gypsies get the best of the blueberries 'fore we white folks have a chance."

"Are there gypsies on this island now?" asked Nan, looking over her shoulder into the bushes, as though she feared a dark-faced man, with gold rings in his ears, might step out any moment and make a grab for Flossie or Freddie.

"Well, I guess they're here now, 'less they've gone," said Tom. "I saw some of the men and women here day before yesterday. They had been over to the mainland buyin' things from the store, and they rowed over here. I'd come to look for blueberries, but there wasn't as many ripe as there is to-day, though that isn't sayin' much. But the gypsies are here all right."

"Then we'd better go," said Nan to Bert.

"Why?" Tom asked.

"Because," said Nan slowly, "we don't like gypsies. They might take --  -- "

"They took Helen's talking doll!" exclaimed Flossie. "She cried about it, too. I would if they'd take my doll, only I got her hid under my bed. You won't tell the gypsies, will you?"

"No, indeed!" laughed Tom. "You're afraid of them, are you?" he asked Nan.

"Yes -- a little," she said slowly.

"They won't hurt you!" Tom said. "They're not very fond of workin', and they'll take anything they find lyin' around loose, but they won't hurt nobody."

"They took Helen's doll," said Freddie, who had finished his two pieces of cake, "and maybe they got my bugs that go around and around --  -- "

"And around! They go around three times," put in Flossie.

"I was going to say that, only you didn't wait!" cried Freddie. "But we've got a goat!" he went on, "and he's almost as good as Snap, our dog, and maybe the gypsies got him."

"My, you don't think of anything but gypsies!" said Tom with a laugh. "I'm not worried about them. If I see any of 'em on the island I'll ask 'em if they have your dog and bugs."

"And Helen's doll," added Flossie. "She wants Mollie back."

"I'll ask about that," promised Tom. "You've been awful good to me, and I'd like to do you a favor. I know some of the gypsy boys."

"I guess I'll tell my father they're camping on this island," said Bert.

"Let's go tell him now," suggested Nan. "We've stayed here long enough."

"And I guess I'll row back to the mainland," added Tom. "There's no use waiting here for the blueberries to get ripe. I'll come next week."

He walked back a little way with the Bobbsey twins to where he had left his boat. Then he was soon rowing across the lake, waving his hand to his new friends, his white teeth showing between his berry-stained lips.

"He's a nice boy -- that blueberry boy," said Freddie. "I saw him first, I did!"

Mr. Bobbsey nodded his head thoughtfully when the twins, taking turns, told him what Tom had told them.

"Gypsies on the island, eh?" remarked Mr. Bobbsey. "Well, I suppose they think they have a right to camp here. But I'll see about it. Maybe some of them are all right, but I don't like the idea of staying here if the place is going to be overrun with them. I must see about it."

For the next few days and nights a close watch was kept about Twin Camp, but no gypsies were seen. Nor did any more blueberry-pickers come. Indeed, the fruit was not ripe enough, as the Bobbseys could tell by looking at some bushes which grew near their tents.

It was about a week after this, when Mr. Bobbsey had gone to Lakeport one morning on business, that Flossie and Freddie went down to the shore of the lake not far from their camp.

As they looked across the water they saw drifting toward the island an empty rowboat. There was no one in it, as they could tell, and the wind was sending it slowly along.

"It's got loose from some dock," said Freddie, who knew more about boats than most boys of his age.

"Maybe it'll come here and we can get it," said Flossie. "Let's throw stones at it."

"No, that would only scare it away," said Freddie. "Wait till it gets near enough, and then I'll wade out and poke it in with a stick."

So the two little twins waited on shore for the drifting boat to come to them.



Chapter XIII

In The Cave


"Look out, Freddie! Don't you go wadin' too far!" cried Flossie, as she saw her little brother kick off his low shoes, quickly roll off his stockings, and start out toward the boat which now a strong puff of wind had blown quite close to the island shore.

"I'll be careful," he answered. "Mother said I could wade up as far as the wig-wag cut on my leg, and I'm not there yet."

Freddie had several scars and scratches on his legs, reminders of accidents he had suffered at different times. One scar was from a cut which he had got when he had fallen over the lawn mower about a year before. It was the biggest cut of all, and was near his right knee. He called it his "wig-wag" cut, because it was a sort of wavy scar, and when he wanted to go in wading his mother always told him never to go in water that would come above that cut, else he would get his knickerbockers wet.

So now he was careful not to go out too far. He watched the water rising slowly up on his bare legs as he waded along on the sandy bottom of the lake toward the drifting boat.

"If you took a stick you could reach it now," called Flossie.

"I guess I could," Freddie said.

"I'll hand you a stick," Flossie offered, looking for one along the shore. There were many dead branches, blown from the trees, and she soon handed Freddie a long one. With it the little boy was able slowly to pull the boat toward him, and he had soon shoved the "nose," as he sometimes called the bow, against the bank of the island.

"Now I can get in!" laughed Flossie. "And I won't have to take off my shoes and stockings either," and into the boat she scrambled.

"Oh!" exclaimed Freddie. "Are you going to get in the boat?"

"I am in," answered his sister. "Aren't you comin' in, too?"

Freddie looked at the boat, at his sister, at the lake, and at his shoes and stockings on the shore. Then he said:

"Well, it doesn't belong to us -- this boat don't."

"I know," said Flossie. "But you pulled it to shore and we can keep it till somebody comes for it. And we can make-believe have a ride in it. Momsie won't care as long as it's fast to the shore. Come on, Freddie!"

It seemed all right to Freddie when Flossie said this, especially as the boat was close against the shore. He put on his shoes and stockings, drying his feet in the grass, and then he took his seat in the boat beside his little sister.

"Now we'll play going on a long voyage," she said. "We'll take a trip to New York and maybe we'll be shipwrecked."

"Like Tommy Todd's father," added Freddie.

"Yep. Just like him," said Flossie, "only make-believe, of course."

"And I'll be captain of the ship, and you can be a sailor," went on Freddie. "It'll be lots of fun!"

Bert and Nan had gone riding in the goat wagon to the other end of the island, Mr. Bobbsey was at his office and Mrs. Bobbsey, with Dinah, was working about Twin Camp, so there was no one to watch Flossie and Freddie. Mrs. Bobbsey supposed they were playing safely at the lake shore, and, as a matter of fact, they were on shore, though in the boat.

"I wonder whose it is?" said Freddie, when they had made a make-believe voyage safely to New York, after having been shipwrecked at Philadelphia -- a place the little twins remembered, as one of their aunts lived in that city.

"Maybe it's a gypsy boat," said Freddie.

"Or else it's the one the blueberry boy had," added his sister.

"Oh, yes, maybe it is his!" cried Freddie. "And if it is, didn't we better ought to take it to him?"

"How?" asked Flossie.

"Why, we can push it along the shore with sticks, 'cause there's no oars in it, and when we see him picking blueberries we can holler to him to come an' get his boat."

Flossie thought this over a few seconds. Then she said:

"Let's!"

This meant she would do as Freddie said. The twins did not stop to consider whether they were doing something they ought not to do. They planned to keep near shore, and that was as much as they remembered of what their mother had told them -- that they were not to go out on the lake in any boat without her permission or their father's.

"But paddling along the shore isn't going out," said Freddie. "Anyhow, mother and father would want us to give back the boat to the blueberry boy, wouldn't they?"

"Course," said Flossie. "Get another stick, Freddie, and we can poke the boat along, and we won't have to go far out at all."

In a little while the two twins were shoving the drifted boat along the shore by pushing the ends of their sticks into the soft bank. The boat was of good size, and it was flat-bottomed, which meant it would not easily tip over. Flossie and Freddie each knew how to row, though they had to have oars made especially for them. But they knew how to keep in the middle of a boat, and never thought of rocking it or changing seats, so they were much safer than most children of their age would have been.

Having lived near Lake Metoka all their lives, they knew more about boats and water than perhaps some of you small boys and girls do; and they could both swim, though, of course not very far, nor were they allowed to try it in deep water.

"Oh, this is lots of fun!" cried Flossie, as she and Freddie poled the boat along. "This is real trav'lin'!"

"But we mustn't go too far," said Freddie, not quite sure whether or not his mother would think what he and his sister were doing was just right. "As soon as we see the blueberry boy we must give him his boat and go back home."

"If he wants to row us back, can't we let him?" asked Flossie.

"Yes, but he can't row, 'cause there are no oars in the boat," said Freddie.

"Maybe he has 'em with him. I guess that's what happened," went on the little girl. "You know we take the oars out of our boat and put them up on shore. And then maybe the blueberry boy forgot to tie his boat."

"And it blew away and we found it," finished Freddie. "Come on, push hard, Flossie. Let's go fast and make believe we're a steamboat."

That suited Flossie, and they were soon pushing the boat along the shore quite fast. They went out past a little point on the island, some distance away from their own camp, the white tents of which they could see.

"Oh, how nice the wind is blowing!" cried Flossie, after a bit. "I don't hardly have to push at all, Freddie."

"That's good," he said. "We'll be a sailboat instead of a steamboat. If we only had a sail now!"

"Maybe you could hold up your coat," suggested his sister. "Don't you remember that shipwreck story mother read us. The men in the boat held up a blanket for a sail. We haven't any blanket, but if you held one end of your coat and I held the other it would be a sail."

"We'll do it!" cried Freddie, as he slipped off his jacket. It was small, but when he and his sister held it crosswise of the boat, the wind, which had begun to blow harder, sent the boat along faster than the children had been pushing it.

"Oh, this is fine!" Freddie cried. "I'm glad we played this game, Flossie."

"So'm I. But look how far out we are, Freddie!" Flossie suddenly cried. "We can't reach shore with our sticks."

Freddie looked and saw that this was so.

"I wonder if we can touch bottom out here," he said. "I'm going to try."

He let go of his coat, and as it happened that Flossie did the same thing, the little jacket was blown into the water.

"Oh!" cried Flossie. "Oh! Oh!"

"I can get it!" excitedly shouted Freddie. "I'll reach it with my pushing stick."

He managed to do this, taking care not to lean too far over the edge so the boat would not tip. Then he caught the coat on the end of the stick and pulled his jacket into the boat.

"Oh, it's all wet!" cried Flossie.

Freddie did not stop to tell her that every time anything fell into the water it got wet. Instead, he began to search in his pockets.

"What's the matter -- did you lose something?" asked Flossie.

"I guess we can eat 'em after they dry out," said Freddie, after a bit, pulling out some soaked sugar cookies.

Freddie spread them out on one of the boat-seats where the sun would dry them, and then he wrung from his coat as much water as he could. Next he spread the jacket out to dry, Flossie helping him.

All this time the children failed to notice where they were going, but when they had seen that the soaked cookies were getting dry and had eaten them, Freddie looked about and, pointing to shore, cried:

"Oh, look, Flossie!"

"We're going right toward a big, dark hole!" said the little girl.

"That isn't a hole -- it's a cave," Freddie said. "Maybe it's a pirate cave, and there'll be gold and jewels in it. The wind is blowing us and our boat right into it!"

And that was what was happening. The wind had changed, and, instead of blowing the boat away from the island, was blowing it toward it. And directly in front of Flossie and Freddie was a big hole in the steep bank of the island shore. As Freddie had said, it was a cave. What was in it?



Chapter XIV

Helen's Visit


While the two children sat in the drifting rowboat, which was being slowly blown toward the island shore again, Flossie suddenly gave a little jump, which made the boat shake.

"What's the matter?" asked Freddie. "Did something bite you?" for his sister had started, just as you might do if a fly or a mosquito suddenly nipped your leg.

"No, nothing bit me," she answered. "But I felt a splash of rain on my nose and --  --  Oh, Freddie! Look! It's going to be a thunder-lightning storm!"

Freddie, whose eyes had seen nothing but the cave, now looked up at the sky. The blue had become covered with dark clouds, and in the west there was a dull rumble.

"I -- I guess it is going to rain," said Freddie slowly.

"I know it is!" Flossie answered. "There's 'nother drop!"

"I felt one, too," said her brother. "It went right in my eye, too!" and he winked and blinked.

"And there's another one on my nose!" cried Flossie. "Oh, Freddie! What are we going to do? I haven't an umbrella!"

For a moment the little boy did not know what to do. He looked at his coat, but that was still wet, though it had been spread out on the seat to dry. He could not wrap that around Flossie, as he thought at first he might.

The wind, too, was blowing harder now, and there were little waves splashing against the side of the boat. But the wind did one good thing for the children -- it blew the boat toward shore so much faster, and shore was where they wanted to be just now. They knew they had drifted out too far, and they were beginning to be afraid. The shore of the island looked very safe and comfortable.

"We can get under a tree -- that will be an umbrella for us," said Flossie. "Aren't you glad we're going on shore, Freddie?"

"Yes, but I guess we can get in a better place out of the rain than under a tree, Flossie."

"Then we'd better get," she said, "'cause it's rainin' hard now. I've got about ten splashes on my nose."

The big drops were beginning to fall faster. The clouds had quickly spread over the sky, which was now very dark, and the wind kept on blowing.

"Where can we go out of the storm?" asked the little girl.

"Huh?"

"Where we goin', Freddie?"

"In there," answered her brother, pointing.

"What! In that dark hole?"

"It isn't a hole -- it's a cave. An' maybe we'll find gold and diamonds in there, like in the book Momsie read to us. Come on. We can go into the cave, and we won't get wet at all. I'll take care of you."

"I -- I'm not afraid," said Flossie slowly. "But I wish Snap was with us; or Whisker. I guess Whisker would like a cave."

"So would Snap," said Freddie. "But we can't get 'em now, so we've got to go in ourselves. Come on. And look out, 'cause the boat's goin' to bump."

And bump the boat did, a second later, against the shore of the island, close to the open mouth of the black cave. It was raining hard now, and Freddie helped Flossie out of the boat, and then, holding each other by the hand, the children ran toward the cavern. No matter what was in it, there they would be sheltered from the rain they thought.

The cave, as Freddie and Flossie saw, could be entered from either the land or the water. At one side it was so low that a boat could be rowed into it for a little way. On the other one could walk into it by a little path that led through the trees. The water of the lake splashed into the cave a short distance, and then came to an end, making a sort of little bay, or cove, large enough for two or three boats. And the cave, as the children could see when their eyes became used to the darkness, was quite a large one.

"I wonder if anybody lives here," whispered Flossie, as she kept close to her brother.

"We live here now," he said. "Anyhow, we're going to stay here till the rain stops."

"Maybe a bear lives here," said Flossie in a whisper.

"Pooh!" laughed Freddie. "There are no bears on Blueberry Island, or daddy would have brought a gun. And he said I didn't even need my popgun, 'cause there wasn't a thing here to shoot. But I did bring my popgun."

"You haven't got it here now, though," said Flossie.

"I know I haven't. I left it in the tent by the go-around bugs. I mean before the go-around bugs got away. But my popgun is there. I saw it. Only I haven't it now, so I can't shoot anything. But there's nothing to shoot, anyhow." Freddie added the last for fear his sister might be frightened in the dark cave.

It was very dark, especially back in the end, where Flossie and Freddie could see nothing. But by looking toward the place where they had come in, they could see daylight and the lake, which was now quite rough on account of the wind. They could also see the rain falling and splashing.

"I'm glad we're in here," said Flossie. "It's better than an umbrella."

"Lots better," agreed Freddie. "If we had some cookies to eat we could stay here a long time, and live here."

"We couldn't sleep, 'cause we haven't any beds," declared Flossie.

"We could make beds of dried grass the way Bert told us to do if we went camping."

"But have you any more cookies?" asked Flossie, going back to what her brother had first spoken of. "I'm hungry!"

"Only some crumbs," Freddie said, as he put his hand in the pockets of his coat, "and they're all soft and wet. We can't eat 'em."

"Well, we can go home when it stops raining," said Flossie, "an' Dinah'll give us lots to eat."

The two children were not frightened now. They stood in the cave, and looked out at the storm. It was raining harder than ever, and the thunder seemed to shake the big hole in the ground, while the lightning flashes lighted up the cave so Freddie and Flossie could look farther back into it.

But they could not see much, and if there was any one or anything in the cave besides themselves, they did not know it. They saw the boat blown inside the cave, and it came to rest in the little cove, which was a sort of harbor.

Then, almost as quickly as it had started, the storm stopped. The wind ceased blowing, the rain no longer fell, the thunder rumbled no more and the lightning died out. For a few minutes longer Flossie and Freddie stayed in the cave, and then, as they were about to go out, the little girl grasped her brother by the arm and cried:

"Hark! Did you hear that?"

"What?" asked Freddie.

"A noise, like something growling!"

Freddie looked back over his shoulder into the dark part of the cave. Then, speaking as boldly as possible, he answered:

"I didn't hear it. Anyhow, I guess it was the wind. Come on, we'll go home!"

"Are we going back in the boat?" Flossie asked.

"I guess not," Freddie replied. "It'll be rough out on the lake -- it always is after a storm. We can walk down the path to our camp. Besides, this isn't our boat. Maybe it belongs here and we'd better leave it."

"Then you'd better tie it," said Flossie. She and her brother had been told something of the care of boats, and one rule their father had given them was always to tie a boat when they got out of it. In the excitement of the storm the children had forgotten this at first, but now Flossie remembered it.

"Yes, I'll tie the boat," Freddie said, "and then whoever owns it can come and get it."

It did not take him long to scramble around to the edge of the little cove. Once there, he tied the rope of the boat fast to a large stone that was half buried in the ground. Making sure it would not slip off, Freddie came back to where Flossie waited for him.

She was quite ready to leave the cave, and soon the two children were outside under the trees that still were dripping with rain.

The sun was now shining. Flossie and Freddie had had an adventure, they thought, and that was fun for them.

"Which way is home -- I mean where our camp is?" asked Flossie, as she and Freddie walked along together.

"Down this way," he said. "See the path?"

Certainly there was a path leading away from the cave, but Freddie did not stop to think it might lead somewhere else than to Twin Camp. It was a nice, smooth path, though, and he and Flossie set out along it not at all worried.

"I'm hungry," said the little girl, "and I want to get home as soon as I can."

"I'm hungry, too," Freddie said. "We'll soon be home."

But the children might not have reached the camp soon, only that a little later they heard their names called in the wood, and, answering, they found Nan and Bert looking for them in the goat wagon drawn by Whisker.

"Where in the world have you been?" asked Bert of his little brother and sister.

"Oh," answered Freddie, "we've been out in a boat and in a cave and we only had cookies to eat and they were wet and --  -- "

"We heard a noise in the cave. Maybe it's a bear, an' if it is Freddie can take his popgun the next time we go there. Can't you, Freddie?"

"Dear me!" laughed Nan. "What's it all about?"

Then the two small twins told more slowly what had happened to them, and Nan and Bert told their small brother and sister that, coming back from their little trip, they had found Mrs. Bobbsey much worried because she could not find Flossie and Freddie.

"Then it began to rain," said Nan, "and we were all as worried as could be. We looked at our boats, and when we found they were tied at the dock we didn't think you were out on the water. Then when it stopped raining Bert and I started out to find you and so did Sam, though he went a different way."

"And we called and called to you," said Bert. "Didn't you hear us shouting?"

"Maybe that was the noise we heard in the cave," said Freddie to his sister.

"What about this cave?" asked Bert. "Tell us where it is."

Then, riding back to camp in the goat wagon, the two small twins told again of the big hole in which they had taken refuge from the storm.

"I'd like to see that," Bert said. "We'll go there to-morrow."

"We can walk there, or Whisker can take us," said Freddie. "And then we can come home in the boat, but you'll have to take some oars, Bert."

"That's so -- there is a boat!" exclaimed the older Bobbsey boy. "I wonder whose it can be?"

But they did not learn at once, for the next day, when they all went to the cave -- including Mr. and Mrs. Bobbsey -- the boat was not there.

"Somebody untied it and took it away," said Freddie, as he pointed out the rock to which he had made fast the rope.

"Are you sure you tied it tightly?" asked his father.

"Yep. I made the same kind of knot you showed me," and Freddie told how he had done it. Flossie, too, was sure her brother had fastened the boat properly.

"Well, then somebody's been here in the cave," said Bert. "Say, it's a big place, Daddy! Can't we get a lantern and see where it goes to back there," and he motioned to the dark part.

"Some time, maybe, but not now," said Mr. Bobbsey, who, with his wife, had walked along the island path to the cave while the children rode in the goat wagon. "I didn't know there was a cave on Blueberry Island. I don't believe many persons know it is here. But the boat might belong to some of the berry pickers, and they hunted for it until they found it."

"Did the blueberry pickers make the funny noise in the cave?" asked Flossie.

"I don't know," replied her father. "I don't hear any noise now. I presume it was only the wind."

Mr. Bobbsey and Bert, lighting matches, went a short way back into the cave, but they could see very little, and the children's father said they would look again some other day.

"But, Flossie and Freddie, you mustn't come here alone again," said Mr. Bobbsey.

"If it rains and we're near here can't we come in if we haven't an umbrella?" asked Freddie.

"Well, yes, perhaps if it rains. But you mustn't go out in a drifting boat again, rain or no rain," ordered Mr. Bobbsey.

Flossie and Freddie promised they would not, as they always did, and then the camping family started back for their tents.

"What do you think of that cave, the boat's being taken and all that's happened?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey in a whisper of her husband, as they walked toward camp together.

"I don't know what to think," he said slowly.

"Do you suppose the gypsies could be in there?"

"Well, they might. But don't let the children know. They are having a good time here and there's no need, as yet, to frighten them."

For the next few days there were happy times in Twin Camp. The children went on many rides in the goat wagon and had other fun. Then, one afternoon when they were all sitting near the tents waiting for Dinah to get dinner, they saw a steamer heading toward the little dock.

"Oh, maybe it's company!" cried Flossie, clapping her hands.

And so it proved, for when the boat landed Mrs. Porter and her little girl, Helen, got off.

"We came to see how you were," said Mrs. Porter. "Helen wanted a trip on the water, so we came on the excursion boat. We're going back this evening. How are you?"

"Very well, indeed," said Mrs. Bobbsey, "and glad to see you. Helen can play with Flossie and Freddie."

"Did you see any of the gypsies, and did they have my talking doll?" asked Helen as soon as she had taken off her hat in the tent and had gone outside to play with the two small Bobbsey twins.



Chapter XV

The Doll's Dress


"Haven't you got your lost doll back yet?" asked Freddie, as he moved over on a board, nailed between two trees, to make room for Helen to sit down between him and Flossie.

"No, I haven't found Mollie," answered the little girl, who had come to visit her friends. "I guess she's a gypsy by this time."

"Helen, are you sure a gypsy man took your doll?" asked Nan, who had been sent out by her mother to see if the little ones were all right.

"Yes, I'm sure," answered Helen. "I left her in the yard; and, besides, didn't Johnnie Marsh and me both see the gypsy man runnin' off with her?"

"Well, maybe it did happen that way," said Nan. "But what makes you think we might have seen that gypsy man here, Helen?"

"'Cause Johnnie Marsh said gypsies were camped on Blueberry Island."

"We haven't seen any yet," remarked Bert, who had come out to ask the little girl visitor about some of his boy friends in Lakeport.

"Maybe they're hiding 'cause they've got Helen's doll," said Flossie. "And maybe they're in the cave Freddie and I found."

"Did you find a cave?" asked Helen. "My mamma read me a story once about a cave and a giant that lived in it. Did your cave have a giant inside?"

"It had a noise!" answered Flossie excitedly. "Me and Freddie heard it! But we didn't go see what it was. Are you hungry, Helen?" she asked, suddenly changing the subject.

"Yes, I am. I only had some cake and ice-cream on the boat."

"We're goin' to have ice-cream!" Freddie cried. "Sam chopped up the ice this morning and I heard him turning the freezer. I wish dinner would hurry up and be ready."

It was not long after this that fat Dinah rang the gong which told that the meal was cooked, and soon they were all seated in the dining tent making merry over it. Mrs. Porter told how Helen had been teasing, ever since the Bobbseys had come to Blueberry Island, to be brought for a visit.

"She says that maybe the gypsies who took her doll are here," went on Mrs. Porter; "though I tell her she will never see Mollie again. But Helen begged hard to come, and so -- here we are."

"And we're very glad to see you," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "Can't you stay longer than just until this evening?"

"No, not this time, as we didn't bring any extra clothes with us. But Helen might come later for a visit of a few days."

"Oh, yes, please let her come!" begged Flossie.

"We'll see," said Mrs. Porter. "Did you find Snap?" she asked Bert.

"No, we haven't heard anything of him. I was going to ask if you had," and he looked anxiously at Helen's mother.

"No, I haven't heard a word about your pet," answered Mrs. Porter, "though I've asked all your boy friends, and so has Helen. Tommy Todd and the others say they are keeping watch for Snap, and if they see him they'll let you know. Has anything else happened since you've been here?" she asked Mr. and Mrs. Bobbsey.

"Nothing much," answered Nan's mother. "We have had a lovely time camping, and --  -- "

"Flossie's and my go-around bugs broke out of their box!" cried Freddie, and then he begged his mother's pardon for interrupting her when she was speaking. His mother smiled, excused him, and then she let him and Flossie, in turn, tell about the missing bugs.

"Come on, we'll play hide-and-go-to-seek," proposed Flossie after dinner, while her father and mother and Mrs. Porter were still sitting about the table talking. "Do you and Nan want to play, Bert?" she asked her older brother.

"No, Flossie," he answered with a smile. "I'm going to help Sam cut wood for the campfire. We're going to have a marshmallow roast to-night."

"Oh, I just wish I could stay!" cried Helen. "I love roast marshmallows!"

"We'll roast some when you come again," said Nan, who was going to do some sewing, so she could not play with the smaller children just then. Soon the game of hide-and-go-to-seek began.

Freddie said he would hide first, and let both girls hunt for him. He thought he could hide so well that he could fool them both, and still get "home safe" before they spied him.

So while Flossie and Helen "blinded" by hiding their faces in their arms against a tree, Freddie stole quietly off to hide. He found a good place behind a pile of brush-wood, and there he cuddled up in a little bunch and waited, after calling "coop!", until he heard the two girls searching for him.

By peeping through the brush Freddie could see Helen and his sister looking all about for him -- behind trees, down back of fallen logs, and in clumps of ferns.

Then Freddie saw the girls go far enough away from "home," which was a big oak tree, so that he thought he would have a chance to run in "free."

This he did, and how surprised Flossie and Helen were when they saw him dash out from the pile of brush-wood!

"I'll blind now and let you hide," said Freddie, though if the game was played by the rules it would be his turn to hide again, as he had not been caught.

So this time the little boy hid his head in his arms and began counting up to a hundred by fives, and when he had called out loudly: "Ninety-five -- one hundred! Ready or not, I'm coming!" he opened his eyes and began searching.

Freddie had to be more careful about going away from the "home" tree than had the two little girls. Either one of them could have spied him and have run to touch "home" before he did. But Freddie was all alone hunting for his sister and Helen, and when he had his back turned one or the other might run in ahead of him.

"But I'll find 'em," he told himself. "I'll spy 'em both and then it will be my turn to hide again."

Meanwhile, Flossie and Helen were well hidden. Flossie had found two logs lying on a pile of leaves, not far from the "home" tree, and she had crawled down in between them pulling leaves over her. Only her nose stuck out, so she could breathe, and no one could have seen her until they were very close.

Helen had picked out a hollow stump in which to hide. It was deep enough for her to get inside, and the bottom was covered with old leaves, so it was soft and not very dirty. Helen had been given an old dress of Flossie's to put on to play in, so she would not soil her own white one.

"I'm going to have a good place to hide," thought Helen, as she climbed up on a pile of stones outside the old stump and jumped down inside, crouching there.

Then she waited for Freddie to come to find her, and as there was a crack in the stump, she could look out and see where he was. As soon as he got far enough away from "home," Flossie, who was nearer the oak tree, would run in free, -- and then she would try to reach it.

Meanwhile she crouched in the hollow stump, trying not to laugh or cough or sneeze, for if she did that Freddie would hear and know where she was. Helen saw something white in the stump with her. At first she thought it was a piece of paper, but when she picked it up she knew it was cloth. And as she looked at it her eyes grew big with wonder.

Without stopping to think that she was playing the hide-and-go-to-seek game Helen suddenly stood up in the hollow stump, her head and waist showing above the edge like a Jack-in-the-box. In her hand she held the white thing she had found.

Flossie, from her hiding place between the two logs, could look over and see what Helen was doing. Seeing her standing up in plain sight Flossie, in a loud whisper, called to her friend:

"Get down! Get down! Freddie will see you and then you'll be it! Get down!"

"But look! Look at what I found! In the hollow stump!" answered Helen. "Oh, I must show you!"

"No! Get down!" cried Flossie, pulling more leaves over herself. "Here comes Freddie. He'll see you!"

The little boy was coming from the "home" tree. He caught sight of Helen, and cried:

"Tit-tat, Helen! Tit-tat, Helen! I see her in the hollow stump!"

"I don't care if I am it," Helen answered. "Look what I found!"

"What is it?" asked Flossie, sitting up amid the leaves.

"It's the dress Mollie wore when the gypsy took her away!" exclaimed Helen. "Oh, my doll must be somewhere on this island!" and holding the white object high above her head she ran toward Flossie.



Chapter XVI

Snoop Is Missing


The children suddenly lost interest in the game of hide-and-go-to-seek. Freddie thought no more of spying Flossie or Helen. Flossie no longer cared about hiding down between the two logs, and Helen did not care about anything but the white dress she was holding up as she scrambled out of the hollow stump.

"It's my doll's dress!" she said over and over again. "It's my lost doll's dress!"

"Are you sure?" asked Flossie, as she shook the leaves from her dress and hair, and came over to her friend.

"Course I'm sure!" answered Helen. "Look, here's a place where I mended the dress after Mollie tore it when she was playing with Grace Lavine's dollie one day."

Mollie hadn't really torn her dress. Helen had done it herself lifting her pet out of the doll carriage, but she liked to pretend the doll had done it.

"Let's see the torn place," said Flossie, and Helen showed where a hole had been sewed together.

"I 'member it," Helen went on, "'cause I sewed it crooked. I can sew better now. It's my doll's dress all right."

"It's all wet," said Freddie, who, though a boy, was not too old to be interested in dolls, though he did not play with them. "Maybe the gypsies live around here," he went on, "and they washed your doll's dress and hung it on the stump to dry."

"Maybe!" agreed Helen, who was ready to believe anything, now that she had found something belonging to her doll.

"No gypsies live around here," said Flossie, "'cause we haven't seen any. But maybe they live in the cave."

"The cave's far off," said Freddie. "But it's funny about that dress."

"I -- I found it when I hid in the stump," explained the little visiting girl. "First I thought it was a piece of paper, but as soon as I touched it I knew it wasn't. Oh, now if I could only find Mollie!"

"Maybe she's in the stump, too," Freddie said. "If the gypsies washed her dress they'd have to cover her up with leaves or bark so she wouldn't get cold while her dress was drying."

"The gypsies didn't wash her dress," said Helen.

"How do you know?" asked Flossie.

"'Cause nobody washes dresses an' makes 'em all up in a heap an' puts 'em in a hollow stump," Helen went on. "You've got to hang a dress straight on a line to make it dry."

"That's so," added Flossie. "You only roll a dress up the way this one was rolled when you sprinkle it to iron, don't you, Helen?"

"Yep. Oh, I do wish I could find my Mollie!"

"Well, she must be somewhere around here if she isn't in the stump," insisted Freddie. "If the gypsies took off her dress they must have dropped the doll. Let's look!"

This was what the two little girls wanted to do, so with Freddie to help they began poking about with sticks in the leaves that were piled around the stump. They searched for some time, but could find no trace of the lost doll.

"We'd better go and tell my mamma and your mamma," said Flossie. "Maybe they'll get a policeman and he'll find the gypsies and your dollie, Helen."

"All right -- come on!"

Out of breath, the children ran to the tents where Mrs. Porter was just thinking about going in search of her little girl, as it was nearly time for the steamboat to come back for them.

"Oh, I found Mollie's dress! I found Mollie's dress!" cried Helen, waving it over her head.

"It was in a stump!" added Freddie.

"And it was all wet from bein' rained on, I guess," said Flossie, for indeed the doll's dress was still damp, and very likely it had been out in the rain. That stump would hold water for some time, like a big, wooden pitcher.

Mrs. Porter was very much surprised to hear the news, and thought perhaps her little girl was mistaken. But when she had looked carefully at the dress, she knew it was one she herself had made for Helen when that little girl was a baby.

"But how did it come on this island?" she asked.

"It must have been dropped by the gypsies," said Mr. Bobbsey. "In spite of what they said to us some one of them must have picked up the doll and carried her away for some little gypsy girl. And the gypsies must have been on this island. Some of the blueberry pickers said they saw them, but when I looked I could not find them. By that time they must have gone away."

"And did they take my doll with them?" asked Helen.

"Well, I'm afraid they did," said Mr. Bobbsey. "If they wanted your pet badly enough to take her away so boldly, as they did from the yard, they'd probably keep her, once they had her safe. It isn't every day they can get a talking doll, you know."

"I wish there was some way of getting Helen's doll back," said Mrs. Porter. "She does nothing but wish for her every day. She has other dolls --  -- "

"But I liked Mollie best," Helen said. "I want her. If she only knew I had her dress she might come to me," she added wistfully.

"She might, if she were a fairy doll," said Mrs. Bobbsey, as she patted Helen on the head. "But we'll look as carefully as we can for your little girl's pet, Mrs. Porter. If Mollie is on this island we'll find her."

"And I'll leave this dress here," said Helen, "so you can put it on her when you do find her. Then she won't take cold."

"I'll wash the dress and have Dinah iron it for you," promised Flossie. "I can't iron very well."

"Thank you," said Helen. "Oh, I'm so glad I came here, for I found part of Mollie, anyhow."

Helen and her mother left Blueberry Island, promising to come again some day, and Flossie and Freddie said they would, in the meanwhile, look as well as they could for the lost doll.

That night, in front of the tents, there was a marshmallow roast. The Bobbsey children, with long sticks, toasted the soft candies over the blaze, until the marshmallows puffed out like balloons and were colored a pretty brown. Then they ate them.

Flossie and Freddie dropped about as many candies in the fire as they toasted, but Bert and Nan at last showed the small twins how to do it, and then Freddie toasted a marshmallow for his father and Flossie made one nice and brown for her mother.

"I dropped mine in the dirt, after I cooked it," said Freddie to his father, as he came running up with the hot candy, "but I guess you can eat it."

"I'll try," laughed Mr. Bobbsey, and he brushed off all the dirt he could, but had to chew the rest, for Freddie stood right in front of his father, to make sure the marshmallow was eaten.

"Is it good?" asked the little boy.

"Fine!" cried Mr. Bobbsey. "But I can't eat any more," he said quickly, "because I might get indigestion."

"Then I'll eat 'em," said Freddie. "I'm not afraid of id-idis-idisgestion."

It was jolly fun toasting candies at the campfire, but as everything must come to an end some time, this did also, and the children went to bed and the camp was quiet, except that now and then Whisker gave a gentle "Baa-a-a-a!" from his resting place under a tree, and Snoop, the black cat, purred in his sleep.

The next day it rained, so the twins could not go to look for the doll, as they wanted to. They had to stay around the tents, though when the shower slackened they were allowed to go out with their rubber coats and boots on.

Toward night the sun came out, and they all went down to the dock to meet the steamboat, for Mr. Bobbsey had gone over to the mainland after dinner, to attend to some business at the lumber office, and was coming back on the last boat.

It was after supper that Dinah, coming into the dining tent to clear away the dishes, caused some excitement when she asked:

"Has any ob you all seen Snoop?"

"What? Is our cat gone?" asked Bert.

"Well, I hasn't seen 'im since Flossie an' Freddie was playin' hitch him up like a hoss to a cigar box wagon," went on Dinah. "He come out to me an' I gib 'im some milk, an' now, when I called 'im t' come an' git his supper, he ain't heah!"

Flossie and Freddie looked at each other. So did Nan and Bert. Even Mr. Bobbsey seemed surprised. But he said:

"Oh, I guess he just went off in the woods for a rest after Flossie and Freddie mauled him when they were playing with him. Go call him, Bert."

So Bert went out in front of the tent and called: "Snoop! Snoop! Hi, Snoop, where are you?"

But no Snoop answered. Then Flossie and Freddie called, and so did Nan, while Sam went farther into the woods among the trees. But the big black cat, that the children loved so dearly, was missing. Snoop did not come to his supper that night.



Chapter XVII

Freddie Is Caught


"Hark! Wasn't that Snoop?"

"Listen, everybody!"

Bert and Nan suddenly made these exclamations as they, with the rest of the Bobbsey family, were sitting in the main tent after supper. The lanterns had been lighted, the mosquito net drawn over the front door, or flap of the tent, to keep out the bugs, and the camping family was spending a quiet hour before going to bed.

Bert thought he heard, in the woods outside, a noise that sounded like that made by the missing cat Snoop, and Nan, also, thought she heard the same sound.

They all listened, Mr. Bobbsey looking up from his book, while Flossie and Freddie ceased their play. Mrs. Bobbsey stopped her sewing.

"There it is again!" exclaimed Nan, as from the darkness outside the tent there came a queer sound.

"What is it?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey. "It doesn't sound like Snoop."

"Maybe it's Snap!" exclaimed Freddie. "He used to howl like that."

"It did sound a bit like a dog's howl," admitted Bert. "May I go out and see what it is, Daddy?"

"I'll take a look," said Mr. Bobbsey. He stepped to the flap of the tent and listened. The queer sound came again, and he went outside, while Bert went near the tent opening to listen. He, as well as his father, then heard another noise -- that made by some one walking across the ground, stepping on and breaking small sticks.

"Who's there?" suddenly called Mr. Bobbsey, exactly, as Bert said afterward, like a soldier sentinel on guard. "Who's there?"

"It's me -- Sam," was the answer. "I done heard some queer noise, Mr. Bobbsey, an' Dinah said as how I'd better git up and see what it was."

"Oh, all right, Sam. We heard it too. Listen again."

Sam stood still, and Mr. Bobbsey remained quietly outside the big tent. Sam and his wife lived in a smaller tent not far away, and they usually went to bed early, so Sam had had to get up when the queer noise sounded.

Suddenly it came again, and this time Bert, who had stuck his head out between the flaps of the tent, called:

"There it is!"

"Who! Who! Who!" came the sound, and as Mr. Bobbsey heard it he gave a laugh.

"Nothing but an owl," he said. "I should have known it at first, only I couldn't hear well in the tent. You may go back to bed, Sam, it's only an owl."

"Only an owl, Mr. Bobbsey! Yas, I reckon as how it is; but I don't like t' heah it jest de same."

"You don't? Why not, Sam?"

"'Cause as how dey most always ginnerally bring bad luck. I don't like de sound ob dat owl's singin' no how!"

"He wasn't singing, Sam!" laughed Bert, after he had called to the rest of the family inside the tent and told them the cause of the noise.

"Ha! Am dat yo', Bert?" asked the colored man. "Well, maybe an owl don't sing like a canary bird, but dey makes a moanful soun', an' I don't like it. It means bad luck, dat's what it means! An' you all'd better git t' bed!"

"Oh, I'm not afraid, Sam. We thought it was Snoop mewing, or Snap howling, maybe. You didn't see anything of our lost dog, did you?"

"Not a smitch. An' I suah would like t' hab him back."

"Ask him if he or Dinah saw Snoop," called Flossie.

Bert asked the colored man this, but Sam had seen nothing of the pet cat either.

"Oh, dear!" sighed Freddie. "Both our pets gone -- Snap and Snoop! I wish they'd come back."

"Maybe they will," said his mother kindly. "It's time for you to go to bed now, and maybe the morning will bring good news. Snap or Snoop may be back by that time."

"That's what we've been thinking about poor Snap for a long while," grumbled Nan.

"Well, I'm afraid Snap is lost for good," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "He never stayed away so long before. But Snoop may be back in the morning. He may have just wandered off. It isn't the first time he has been away all night."

"Only once or twice," said Bert, who came back to the book he was reading. "And both times it was because he got shut by accident in places where he couldn't get out."

"Maybe that's what's happened this time," suggested Nan. "We ought to look around the island."

"We will -- to-morrow," declared Bert.

"And look in the cave Flossie and I found," urged Freddie. "Maybe Snoop is there."

"We'll look," promised his brother.

When Flossie and Freddie were taken to their cots by their mother, Flossie, when she had finished her regular prayers, added:

"An' please don't let 'em take Whisker."

"What do you mean by that, Flossie?" asked her mother.

"I mean I was prayin' that they shouldn't take our goat," said the little girl.

"I want to pray that, too!" cried Freddie, who had hopped into bed. "Why didn't you tell me you were going to pray that, Flossie?"

"'Cause it just popped into my head. But you stay in bed, an' I'll pray it for you," and she added: "Please, Freddie says the same thing!"

Then she covered herself up and almost before Mrs. Bobbsey had left the sides of the cots both children were fast asleep.

"Poor little tykes!" said the mother softly. "They do miss their pets so! I hope the cat and dog can be found, and Helen's doll, too. It's strange that so many things are missing. I wonder who Flossie meant by 'they,' I must ask her."

And the next morning the little girl, when reminded of her petition the night before and asked who she thought might take the goat, said:

"They is the gypsies, of course! They take everything! Blueberry Tom said so. And I didn't want them to get Whisker too."

"Who in the world is Blueberry Tom?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey.

"He's the boy who was so hungry," explained Freddie. "He came to the island to pick early blueberries only there wasn't any."

"Oh, now I remember," Mrs. Bobbsey said with a laugh. "Well, I don't believe there are any gypsies on this island to take anything. Snoop must have just wandered off."

"Then we'll find him!" exclaimed Nan.

During the next few days a search was made for the missing black cat. The twins, sometimes riding in their goat wagon, and again going on foot, went over a good part of the island, calling for Snoop. But he did not answer. Sam, too, wandered about getting firewood, and also calling for the lost pet. Mr. Bobbsey made inquiries of the boatmen and the man who kept the soda-water stand, but none of them had seen the children's pet.

Bert printed, with a lead pencil, paper signs, offering a reward for any news of Snoop, and these were tacked up on trees about the island so the blueberry pickers might see them. But though many read them, none had seen Snoop, and, of course, Snap was missing before the Bobbseys came to camp, so, naturally, he would not be on the island.

But in spite of the missing Snap and Snoop, the Bobbsey twins had lots of fun in camp. During the day they played all sorts of games, went on long walks with their father and mother, or for trips on the lake. Sometimes they even rowed to other islands, not far from Blueberry Island, and there ate their lunch.

The fishing was good, and Freddie and Bert often brought home a nice mess for dinner or supper. Whisker, the big white goat, was a jolly pet. He was as gentle as a dog and never seemed to get tired of pulling the twins in the wagon, though the roads of the island were not as smooth as those in Lakeport.

But though the twins had fun, they never gave over thinking that, some day, they would find Snap and Snoop again.

"And maybe Helen's doll, too," said Flossie. "We'll hunt for her some more."

"But it's easier to hunt for Snoop," said Freddie, "'cause he can holler back when you holler at him."

"How can a cat holler?" asked his sister.

"Well, he can go 'miaou,' can't he?" Freddie asked, "an' ain't that hollerin'?"

"I -- I guess so," Flossie answered. "Oh, Freddie, I know what let's do!" she cried suddenly.

"What? Make mud pies again? I'm tired of 'em. 'Sides, Momsie just put clean things on us."

"No, not make mud pies -- I'm tired of that, too. Let's go off by ourselves and hunt Snoop. You know every time we've gone very far from camp we've had to go with Nan and Bert; and you know when you hunt cats you ought to be quiet, an' two can be more quiet than three or four."

"That's right," agreed Freddie, after thinking it over.

"Then let's just us two go," went on Flossie. "We won't get lost."

"Nope, course not," said Freddie. "I can go all over the island, and I won't let you be lost. Snoop knows us better than he does Nan and Bert anyhow, 'cause we play with him more."

"And if we find him," went on Flossie, "and he's too tired to walk home we'll carry him. I'll carry his head part an' you can carry his tail."

"No, I want to carry his head."

"I choosed his head first!" said Flossie, "The tail is nicest anyhow."

"Then why don't you carry that?"

"'Cause it's so flopsy. It never stays still, and when it flops in my face it tickles me. Please you carry the tail end, Freddie."

"All right, Flossie, I will. But we had better go now, or maybe Momsie or Nan or Bert or Dinah might come out and tell us not to go. Come on!"

So, hand in hand, now and then looking back to make sure no one saw them to order them back, Flossie and Freddie started out to search for the lost Snoop. They wandered here and there about the island, at first not very far from the camp. When they were near the tents they did not call the cat's name very loudly for fear of being heard.

"We can call him loud enough when we get farther away," said Freddie.

"Yep," agreed his sister. "Anyhow he isn't near the tents or he'd've come back before this."

So the two little twins wandered farther and farther away until they were well to the middle of the island, and out of sight of the white tents.

"Snoop! Snoop! Snoop!" they called, but though they heard many noises made by the birds, the squirrels and insects of the woods, there was no answering cry from their cat.

After a while they came to a place where a little brook flowed between green, mossy banks. It was a hot day and the children were warm and tired.

"Oh, I'm goin' in wading!" cried Freddie, sitting down and taking off his shoes and stockings.

"You hadn't better," said Flossie. "Mamma mightn't like it."

"I'll tell her how nice it was when I get home," said the little fellow, "and then she'll say it was all right. Come on, Flossie."

"No, I've got clean white stockin's on and I don't want to get 'em all dirty."

"Huh! They've got some dirt on 'em now."

"Well, they aren't wet and they'd get wet if I went in wading."

"Not if you took 'em off."

"Yes they would, 'cause I never can get my feet dry on the grass like you do. You go in wading, Freddie, and I'll sit here an' watch you."

So Freddie stepped into the cool water and shouted with glee. Then he waded out a little farther and soon a queer look came over his face. Flossie saw her brother sink down until the brook came up to the lower edge of his knickerbockers, wetting them, while Freddie cried:

"Oh, I'm caught! I'm caught. Flossie, help me! I'm caught!"



Chapter XVIII

Flossie Is Tangled


Flossie Bobbsey, who had been sitting on the cleanest and dryest log she could find near the edge of the stream to watch Freddie wade, jumped up as she heard him cry. She had been wishing she was with him, white stockings or none.

"Oh, Freddie, what's the matter?" she cried. "What's happened?"

"I -- I'm caught!" he answered. "Can't you see I'm caught?"

"But how?" she questioned eagerly. "You aren't caught in a trap like Snap was, are you?"

"No, it isn't a trap -- it's sticky mud," Freddie said. "My feet are stuck in the mud!"

"Oh -- oh!" said Flossie, and a queer look came over her face. "You are stuck in the mud! How did you do it, Freddie?"

"I didn't do it! It did it! I just stepped in a soft place, and now when I pull one foot out the other sticks in deeper. Can't you help me out, Flossie?"

"Yes, I'll help you out!" she cried, and she ran down to the edge of the stream, as though she intended to wade out to where poor Freddie was trying to pull his feet loose from the sticky mud.

"Oh, don't come in! Don't come in!" cried Freddie, waving her back with his hand. "You'll be stuck, too!"

Flossie stood still on the edge of the little brook. She looked at Freddie, who was in the middle of the stream, too far out for Flossie to reach with her outstretched hands, though she tried to do so.

"Can't you pull your feet out?" she asked.

"Nope!" answered Freddie. "I can't, for I've tried. As soon as I get one foot up a little way the other goes down in deeper."

"Then I'll go and call mamma!"

"No, don't do that!" begged Freddie. "Maybe if you would get a long stick, Flossie, and hold it out to me, I could sort of pull myself out."

"Oh, I know. It's like the picture in my story book of the boy who fell through the ice, and his sister held out a long pole to him and he pulled himself out. Wait a minute, Freddie, and I'll get the stick. I'm glad you didn't fall through the ice, though, 'cause you'd get cold maybe."

"This water is nice and warm," said Freddie. "But I don't like the mud I'm stuck in, 'cause it makes me feel so tickly between the toes."

"I'll help you out," said Flossie. "Wait a minute."

She searched about on the bank until she found a long smooth branch of a tree. Holding to one end of this she held the other end out to her brother. Freddie had to turn half around to get hold of it as his back was toward Flossie, and she could not cross the brook.

"Now hold tight!" cried the little boy. "I'm going to pull!"

Flossie braced her feet in the sand on the bank of the brook and her brother began to pull himself out of the mud. His feet had sunk down to quite a depth, and when he first pulled he made Flossie slide along the ground until she cried:

"Oh, Freddie, you're going to make me stuck, too! Don't pull me into the water!"

Freddie stopped just in time, with the toes of Flossie's shoes almost in the water.

"Did you pull loose a little bit?" she asked.

"Yes, a little. But I don't want to pull you in, Flossie. If you could only hold on to a tree or a rock, then I wouldn't drag you along."

"Maybe I can hold to this tree," and Flossie pointed to one near by. "If I can stretch my arms I can reach it."

"Look for a longer tree branch to hold out to me," said Freddie, and when his sister had found this she could reach one end to her brother, keep the other end in her right hand, and with her left arm hold on to a small tree. The tree braced Flossie against being pulled along the bank, and when next Freddie tried, he dragged his feet and legs safely from the sticky mud, and could wade out on the hard, gravelly bottom of the brook.

"I guess that was a mud hole where some fish used to live," said the little fellow, as he came ashore, a little bit frightened by what had happened.

"Your feet are all muddy," said Flossie, "and you are all wet around your knees."

"Oh, that'll dry," said Freddie. "And I can wash the mud off my feet. It was awful sticky."

It certainly seemed to be, for it took quite a while to wash it off his bare feet and legs, though he stood for some time in the brook, where there was a white, pebbly bottom, and used bunches of moss for a bath sponge.

But at last Freddie's legs were clean, though they were quite red from having been rubbed so hard with the moss-sponge. Flossie, too, having helped her brother scrub himself, had gotten some water on her shoes and stockings, and a little mud, too.

"But we can walk through places where the grass is high," said Freddie, "and that will brush the mud off, and the sun will dry your stockin's same as it will my pants."

"And we'll keep on calling for Snoop," said Flossie.

Freddie having put on his stockings and shoes, the two children set out again, wandering here and there, calling for the black cat. But either he did not hear them or he would not answer, and when, after an hour or two, they got back to camp, they had not found their pet.

"Where have you two been?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey. "I was just getting anxious about you."

"We've been looking for Snoop," said Flossie.

"And I went in wadin' an' got stuck in the mud, and my pants got a little wet, and Flossie's shoes and stockin's got wet an' muddy, but we waded in tall grass and we're not very muddy now," said Freddie, all out of breath, but anxious to get the worst over with at once.

"Oh, you shouldn't have gone in wading!" cried Mrs. Bobbsey.

"You didn't tell me not to -- not to-day you didn't tell me," Freddie defended himself.

"No, because I didn't think you'd do such a thing," replied his mother. "I can't tell you every day the different things you mustn't do -- there are too many of them."

"But there are so many things we can do too -- oh, just lots of them."

"Yes, and the things we may do and the things we're not to do are just awful hard to tell apart sometimes, Momsie," put in Flossie.

"Yes'm, they are," added Freddie. "And how is a feller and his sister to know every single time what they're to do and what they're not to do?"

"Suppose you try stopping before you do a thing to ask yourselves whether you ought to do it or not, and not wait until after the thing is done to ask yourselves that question," suggested Mrs. Bobbsey. "That might help some."

"Well, I won't go wading any more to-day," promised the little fellow. "But I didn't think I'd get stuck in the mud."

Mrs. Bobbsey wanted to laugh, but she did not dare let the two small twins see her, for they would think it only fun, and really they ought not to have gotten wet and muddy.

"And so you couldn't find Snoop," remarked Mr. Bobbsey at supper that night. "Well, it's too bad. I guess I'll have to get you another dog and cat."

"No, don't -- just yet, please," said Nan. "Maybe we'll find our own, and we never could love any new ones as we love Snap and Snoop."

"Nope, we couldn't!" declared Flossie, while Freddie nodded his head in agreement with her.

"But you could get us some new go-around bugs," the little girl went on. "We haven't found ours yet."

"That's so," remarked Mr. Bobbsey. "It's queer where they went to. Well, I'll see if I can get any more, though I may have to send to New York. But you two little ones must not go off by yourselves again, looking for Snoop."

"Could we go to look for Snap?" asked Freddie, as if that was different.

"No, not for Snap either. You must stay around camp unless some one goes with you to the woods."

It was a few days after this, when Mrs. Bobbsey, with the four twins, went out to pick blueberries, that they met a number of women and children who also had baskets and pails. But none of them was filled with the fruit which, now, was at its best.

"What is the matter with the berries?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey. "We have been able to pick only a few. The bushes seem to have been cleaned of all the ripe ones."

"That's what they have," said Blueberry Tom, who was with the other pickers. "And it's the gypsies who's gettin' the berries, too."

"Are you sure?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey. "We haven't seen any gypsies on the island."

"They don't stay here all the while," said Tom. "They have their camp over on the main shore, and they row here and get the berries when they're ripest. That's why there ain't any for us -- the gypsies get 'em before we have a chance. They're pickin' blueberries as soon as it's light enough to see."

"Well, I suppose they have as much right to them as we have," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "But I would like to get enough for some pies."

"I can show you where there are more than there are around here," offered Tom. "It's a little far to walk, though."

"Well, we're not tired, for we just came out," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "So if you'll take us there, Tom, we'll be very thankful."

"Come on," said the boy, whose face was once more covered with blue stains. "I'll show you."

The other berry pickers, who did not believe Tom knew of a better place, said they would stay where they were, and, perhaps, by hard work they might fill their pails or baskets, and so Tom and the Bobbseys went off by themselves.

Tom, indeed, seemed to know where, on the island, was one spot where grew the largest and sweetest blueberries, and the gypsies, if the members of the tribe did come to gather the fruit, seemed to have passed by this place.

"Oh, what lots of them!" cried Bert, as he saw the laden bushes.

"Yes, there's more than I thought," said Tom. "I'll get my basket full here all right."

Soon all were picking, though Flossie and Freddie may have put into their mouths as many as went in their two baskets. But their mother did not expect them to gather much fruit.

They had picked enough for several pies, and Mrs. Bobbsey was looking about for the two smaller twins who had wandered off a little way, when she heard Flossie scream.

"What is it?" asked her mother quickly. "Is it a snake?" and she started to run toward her little girl.

"Maybe she's stuck in the mud, as Freddie was!" exclaimed Bert.

"Mamma! Mamma!" cried Flossie. "Come and get me!"

"She -- she's all tangled up in a net!" cried the voice of Freddie. "Oh, come here!"

Mrs. Bobbsey, Nan, Bert and Tom ran toward the sound of the children's voices.



Chapter XIX

The Twins Fall Down


Again Flossie cried:

"I'm all tangled! I'm all tangled up! Come and help me get out!"

"What in the world can she mean?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey.

"I'm sure I don't know," answered Bert.

"What did Freddie say about a net?" asked Nan, as she stumbled and spilled her blueberries. She was going to stop to pick them up.

"Never mind them," her mother said. "Let them go. We must see what the matter is with Flossie."

They saw a few seconds later, as they turned on the path. On top of a little hill, in a place where there was a grassy spot with bushes growing all around it, they saw Flossie and Freddie.

Freddie was dancing around very much excited, but Flossie was standing still, and they soon saw the reason for this. She was entangled in a net that was spread out on the ground and partly raised up on the bushes. It was like a fish net which the children had often seen the men or boys use in Lake Metoka, but the meshes, or holes in it, were smaller, so that only a very little fish could have slipped through. And the cord from which the net was woven was not as heavy as that of the fish nets.

"Flossie's caught! Flossie's caught!" cried Freddie, still dancing about.

"Come and get me loose! Come and get me loose!" Flossie begged.

"Mother's coming! Mother's coming!" answered Mrs. Bobbsey. "But how in the world did it happen?"

She did not wait for an answer, but, as soon as she came near, she started to rush right into the net herself to lift out her little girl. But Bert, seeing what would happen, cried:

"Look out, Mother! You'll get tangled up, too. See! the net is caught on Flossie's shoes and around her legs and arms. She must have fallen right into it."

"She did," said Freddie. "We were walking along, picking berries, and all of a sudden Flossie was tangled in the net. I tried to get her out, but I got tangled, too, only I took my knife and cut some of the cords."

"And that's what we've got to do," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "The net is so entangled around Flossie that we'll never get her out otherwise. Have you a knife, Bert?"

"Yes, Mother. Stand still, Flossie!" he called to his little sister. "The more you move the worse you get tangled."

With his mother's help Bert soon cut away enough of the meshes of the queer net so that Flossie could get loose. She was not hurt -- not even scratched -- but she was frightened and she had been crying.

"There you are!" cried Mother Bobbsey, hugging her little girl in her arms. "Not a bit hurt, my little fat fairy! But how in the world did you get in the net, and what is it doing up on top of this hill in the midst of a blueberry patch?"

"I -- I just stumbled into it," said Flossie, "same as Freddie got stuck in the mud, only I didn't wade in the water."

"No, there isn't any water around here," returned Nan. "I can't see what a net is doing here. I thought they only used them to catch fish."

"Maybe they put it up here to dry, as the fishermen at the seashore dry their nets," said Mrs. Bobbsey.

"No," announced Tom, who had been looking at the net, "this ain't for fishes."

"What is it for then?" asked Bert.

"It's for snarin' birds. I've seen 'em before. Men spread the nets out on the grass, and over bushes near where the birds come to feed, and when they try to fly they get caught and tangled in the meshes. I guess this net ain't been here very long, for there ain't any birds caught in it."

"But who put it here?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey. "I think it's a shame to catch the poor birds that way. Who did it?"

Tom looked carefully around before he answered. Then he said:

"I think it was the gypsies."

"The gypsies!" cried Bert.

"Yes. They're a shiftless lot. They don't work and they take what don't belong to 'em. They're too lazy to hunt with a gun, so they snare birds in a net. Why, they'll even eat sparrows -- make a pie of 'em my mother says. And when they get robins and blackbirds they're so much bigger they can broil 'em over their fires. This is a bird-net, that's what it is."

"I believe you're right," said Mrs. Bobbsey, when she had looked more closely at it. "It isn't the kind they use in fishing. But do you really think the gypsies put it here, Tom?"

"Yes'm, I really do. They put 'em here other years, though I never seen one before. You see the gypsies sometimes camp here and sometimes on the mainland. All they have to do is to spread their net, and go away. When they come back next day there's generally a lot of birds caught in it and they take 'em out and eat 'em."

"Well, they caught a queer kind of bird this time," said Bert, with a smile at his little sister. "And it didn't do their net any good," he added, as he looked at the cut meshes.

"I'm sorry to have destroyed the property of any one else," said Mrs. Bobbsey, "but we had to get Flossie loose. And I don't believe those gypsies have any right to spread a net for birds."

"My mother says they haven't," replied Tom. "It's agin the law."

"Let's take the net away," suggested Bert.

"No, we haven't any right to do that," said his mother, "but we can tell the man who has to enforce the laws against hunting birds. I'll speak to your father about it. Are you all right now, Flossie?"

"Yes, Momsie. But it scared me when I was in the net."

"I should think so!" exclaimed Nan, petting her sister. "Did you just stumble into it?"

"Yep. I was walkin' along, and I saw a bush with a lovely lot of blueberries on it. I ran to it and then my foot tripped on a stone and I fell into the net. First I didn't know what it was, and when I tried to get up I was all tangled. Then I hollered."

"And I helped her holler," said Freddie.

"Indeed, you did, dear. You were a good little boy to stay by Flossie. But you're both all right now, and next time you come berrying stay closer by mother."

"You've got lots of berries," said Flossie, looking at Bert's basket.

"Yes. Tom showed us this good place. And now I guess we'd better go," said Bert. "Maybe those gypsies might come to look in their net."

He glanced around as he spoke, but though it was lonely on this part of Blueberry Island there were no signs of the dark-skinned men with rings in their ears who had set the bird net.

Dinah made enough blueberry pie to satisfy even the four twins, and when Mr. Bobbsey heard about the net he told an officer, who took it away. Whether or not the gypsies found out what had happened to their snare, as the net is sometimes called, the Bobbseys did not hear, nor did they see any of the wandering tribe, at least for a while.

Jolly camping days followed, though now and then it rained, which did not make it so nice. But, take it all in all, the Bobbseys had a fine time on Blueberry Island. Mr. Bobbsey got Flossie and Freddie some new "go-around" bugs, and the small twins had lots of fun with them. The old ones they did not find.

Snoop was not found either, though many blueberry pickers, as well as the Bobbseys themselves, looked for the missing black cat. Nor was Snap located, though an advertisement was put in the papers and a reward offered for him. But Whisker did not go away, nor did any one try to take him, and he gave the twins many a fine ride.

"And I'm glad the gypsies didn't get Whisker," observed Flossie. "I like him. Maybe not so much as I like Snap and Snoop, but awfully well I like him."

"Yes, he's a nice goat. Nicer'n Mike's goat that we 'most bought, but didn't. I'm glad now that we didn't get Mike's goat, aren't you, Flossie?"

"Yes, I am."

The Bobbseys had been camping on the island about a month, when one day Mrs. Bobbsey went over to Lakeport to do some shopping, taking Nan and Bert with her, and leaving Flossie and Freddie in charge of their father. Of course Dinah and Sam stayed on the island also.

But you can easily imagine what happened. After Mr. Bobbsey had played a number of games with the small twins he sat down in a shady place to rest and read a book, thinking Flossie and Freddie would be all right playing near the big tent.

The two little ones were making a sand city. They made a square wall of sand, and inside this they built sand houses, railroads, a tunnel and many other things, until Freddie suddenly said:

"Oh, if we only had some of the clam shells that are down by the lake we could make a lot more things."

"So we could!" cried Flossie. "Let's go and get some!"

So, never thinking to ask their father, who was still reading, away rushed the two twins, after "clam" shells. They were not really shells of clams, but of fresh water mussels, but they were almost like the shells of the soft clams one sees at the beach. The mussels are brought up on shore by muskrats who eat the inside meat and leave the empty shells. The small twins often used the shells in their play and games.

The place where the mussel shells were usually to be found was not far from the tents, but like most children in going to one place Flossie and Freddie took the longest way. They were in no hurry, the sun was shining brightly, and it was such fun to wander along over the island. So, before they knew it, they were a long distance from "home," as they called Twin Camp.

"Maybe we oughtn't to've come," said Flossie, as she stopped to pick some blueberries.

"We're not so far," said Freddie. "I know my way back. Oh, Flossie! look at that butterfly!" he suddenly called, making a grab for the fluttering creature. The butterfly flew on a little way and Freddie raced after it, followed by Flossie.

"Now I'm goin' to get it!" the little boy cried. With his hat he made a swoop for the butterfly, and then suddenly he and Flossie, who was close behind him, tumbled down through a hole in the ground, which seemed quickly to open at their very feet, between two clumps of bushes.

"Oh!" cried Freddie, as he felt himself falling down.

"Oh, dear!" echoed Flossie.

Then they found themselves in great darkness.



Chapter XX

The Queer Noise


Freddie Bobbsey sat down with a thump. Flossie Bobbsey sat down with a bump. This was after they had fallen down the queer hole. And yet it had not been so much of a fall as it was a slide.

Both of them being fat and plump -- much fatter and plumper since they had come to Twin Camp than before -- the thump and the bump did not hurt them very much.

They had slid down into the hole on a sort of hill of sand, and if you have ever slid down a sandy hillside you know the stopping part doesn't hurt very much. And, after all, the part of a fall that hurts, as the Irishman said, is not really the falling, it's the stopping so suddenly that causes the pain.

"Freddie! Freddie!" called Flossie, a few seconds after she and her little brother had fallen down the hole. "Freddie, are you there?"

"Yep, I'm here, Flossie," was Freddie's answer, "only I dunno 'xactly where it is. I can't see."

"Nor me neither. But are you been hurted, Freddie?"

"No, are you?"

The children were forgetting all about the right way to use words, which their mother had so often told them, but as they were excited, and a little frightened, perhaps we must excuse them this time.

"I -- I just sort of -- of bumped myself, Flossie," said Freddie. "Are you all right? And where are you?"

"I'm right here," replied the little girl, "but I can't see you. I -- I --  -- It's awful dark, Freddie!"

"I can see a little light now," Freddie went on. "Let's get up and see if we can crawl back. My legs are all right."

"So's mine, Freddie. I guess I can --  -- " and then Flossie suddenly stopped and gave a scream.

"What's the matter?" asked Freddie, and the little boy's voice was not quite steady.

"I -- I touched something!" gasped his sister. "It was something soft and fuzzy."

"Oh, was that you?" asked Freddie, and his voice did not sound so frightened now. "Well, that was my head you touched. I -- I thought maybe it was something -- something after me. I didn't know you were so close to me, Flossie."

"I didn't either. But I'm glad I touched you. Where's your hand. I'm sort of stuck in this sand and I can't get up."

By this time the eyes of both the children had become more used to the darkness of the place into which they had fallen, and they could dimly see one another. Freddie scrambled to his feet, shaking from his waist and trousers the sand that had partly filled them when he had slid down the incline, and gave his hand to Flossie. She had about as much sand inside her clothes as he had, and she shook this out. Both children then turned and looked up at the slide down which they had so suddenly fallen.

Up at the top -- and very far up it seemed to them -- they could see, at the end of the sandy slide where they had started to slip, a hole through which they had fallen. It was between two big stones, and had a large bush on either side. It had been covered with grass and bushes so that the small twins had not seen it until they stepped right into it. Then the grass and bushes had given way, letting the children down.

"We -- we've got to get back up there -- somehow," said Freddie with a doleful sigh, as he looked at the place down which he and his sister had tumbled.

"Yes, I would like to get up out of here," said Flossie, "but how can we, Freddie?"

"Climb up, same as we falled down. Come on."

Taking his sister by the hand, Freddie started to climb up the hill of sand. But he and Flossie soon found that though it was easy enough to slide down, it was not so easy to climb back. The sand slipped from under their feet, and even though they tried to go up on their hands and knees it was not to be done.

"Oh, dear!" cried Flossie after a while, "I wish we were Jack and Jill."

"Why?" asked Freddie.

"'Cause they went up a hill, an' we can't."

"Maybe we can if we try again," said Freddie. "Anyhow, I don't want to be Jack, and fall down and break my crown."

"You haven't any crown," said Flossie. "Only kings an' -- an' fairies have crowns."

"Well, it says in the book that Jack has a crown; an' if I was Jack I'd have one too. Only I'm not and I'm glad!"

"Well, I wish I was Jill, so I could have some of that pail of water," sighed Flossie. "I'm firsty," and she laughed as she used the word she used to say when she was a baby.

"So'm I," said Freddie. "Let's try to get up to the top, an' then we can get a drink, maybe. Only I'd rather be Ali Baba than Jack, then I could say, 'Open Sesame,' and the door to the cave would open of itself, and we could walk out and carry diamonds and gold with us."

"I'd rather have bread and butter than gold. I'm hungry. And I'd most rather have a drink," sighed the little girl. "Come on, Freddie, let's try to get up that hill. But it's awful hard work."

"Yes, it's hard," agreed Freddie; "but we've done lots harder things than that." You see, Freddie was trying to keep up his little sister's courage.

Once more the two little twins tried to climb the hill of shifting sand, but they could get up only a little way before slipping back. They did not get hurt -- the sand was too soft and slippery for that, but they were tired and hot, and, oh! so thirsty.

"I'm not goin' to climb any more!" finally said Flossie. "I'm tired! I'm goin' to stay here until mamma or papa or Nan or Bert comes for us."

"Maybe they won't come," Freddie said.

"Yes, they will," declared Flossie, shaking her head. "They allers comes when we're lost and we're losted now."

"Yes, I guess so," agreed Freddie. "I wonder where we are anyhow, Flossie?"

"Why, in a big hole," she said. "Oh, Freddie!" she suddenly cried, "maybe we can get out the other way if we can't climb up."

"Which other way?" asked her brother.

"Out there," and in the light that came down the hole through which the twins had fallen Freddie could see his sister pointing to what seemed another dim light, far away at the end of the big hole. For Flossie and Freddie had fallen into a big hole -- there was no doubt of that. Though it was pretty dark all about them, there was enough light for them to see that they were in a cavern.

"Maybe it's a cave, like the one we went into from the lake when we found the boat," said Flossie, after thinking it over a bit, "and if we can't get out one end we can the other."

"Maybe!" cried Freddie eagerly. "Anyway, we can't get up that hill of sand," and he pointed to the one down which they had slid. "Come on, we'll walk toward the other light."

Far away, through what seemed a long lane of blackness, there was a dim light, like some big star, and toward this, hoping it would lead to a hole through which they could get out, the children walked.

As they neared it the light grew brighter, and they were beginning to feel that their troubles were over when suddenly they both came to a stop.

For, at the same time, they had heard a queer noise. It came from the darkness just ahead of them and was such a funny sound that Flossie put both her arms around Freddie, not so much to take care of him as that she wanted him to take care of her.

"Did -- did you hear that?" she whispered.

Freddie nodded his head, and then, remembering that Flossie could not very well see his motions in the darkness he said:

"Yes, I heard it. I wonder --  -- "

"Hark!" whispered Flossie. "There it goes again!"



Chapter XXI

"Here Comes Snap!"


The sound came once more through the darkness to the little Bobbsey twins, and as they listened to it Flossie and Freddie looked at one another in surprise. They could just dimly make out the faces of each other in the dimness.

"Mamma! Mamma!" cried a voice, for it was a voice that had caused the queer sound; yet it did not sound like the voice of man, woman or child. "Mamma! Mamma!" it cried.

"Hear it?" asked Flossie again.

"Yep," answered Freddie. "It's a little boy or girl -- like us -- an' it's in this cave. I guess lots of childrens get lost here like us. Now I'm not afraid."

"Mamma! Papa! Mamma!" came the voice again.

"It -- it's kind of funny," whispered Flossie to Freddie. "Don't you think it's kind of funny, Freddie?"

"Yes, but I know what makes it."

"What?"

"It's being in this cave. You know how we used to holler at the hill, when we went to the country -- 'member that?"

"Yep," answered Flossie.

"An' how our voices used to come back an' sort of hit us in the face?" went on her brother.

"Yep."

"Well, that was an echo," said Freddie, "an' that's what makes it sound so queer here. It's an echo."

"Oh," said Flossie. She had not thought of that.

Once more the voice sounded out of the darkness.

"Mamma! Papa! Mamma!"

"There! Hear it? It's an echo!" cried Freddie.

Flossie listened a moment. Then she said:

"If it was an echo, Freddie, why didn't your voice echo too?"

"Oh, -- er -- well -- 'cause I didn't want it to," Freddie made answer. "I can do it now. Hello! Hello! Hello!" he called as loudly as he could.

And then, to the surprise of the children, back came a voice in answer, and in more than an answer, for it asked a question. No longer did the voice call: "Mamma! Papa!"

Instead it cried:

"Hello, there! What's the matter? Who are you and what do you want? Where are you?"

Flossie and Freddie were so startled that, for a moment, they could only hold on to each other in the darkness.

Then Freddie found his voice enough to speak. He said:

"Did you hear that echo, Flossie?"

"That wasn't an echo," declared his little sister quickly. "Echoes only say the same things you say and this -- this was different."

"Yes, it was," Freddie agreed. "But maybe it's a different kind of echo."

"Try it again," suggested Flossie, when they had remained quietly in the darkness for a time. And during that time they had not heard the strange voice calling. It seemed to have been hushed after the "echo," if that is what it was, made answer. "Call again," Flossie begged her brother. Once more he called:

"Hello! Hello! Hello!"

"Well, what do you want?" back came a voice in question. This time there was no doubt about its not being an echo. It had not repeated a single word that Freddie had cried.

"Oh, how funny!" cried Flossie. "What makes it do that?"

Before Freddie could answer, even if he had known what to say, the two children saw a light coming toward them. It was the light of a lantern, bobbing about in the darkness, and because it was a light, which chased away some of the gloom, they were glad, even though they had been a bit frightened by the queer voice and the echo which did not repeat words as the other echo had done.

"Oh, maybe it's daddy and Bert come to look for us!" cried Flossie eagerly.

Freddie thought the same thing, for he called out:

"Here we are, Daddy!"

But, to the surprise and disappointment of the children, a surly voice answered them:

"I'm not your father! Who are you, anyhow, and what are you doing in this cave?"

Flossie and Freddie, clinging to each other, shrank back in fear. Then, as the light came nearer, they saw that the lantern was carried by a tall man -- a man with a very dark face. He had gold rings in his ears, on his feet were big boots, and around his neck was a bright yellow handkerchief.

"Oh!" gasped Flossie. "Oh, he -- he's a gypsy!"

Freddie saw it, too. The man seemed surprised to see the children. He gave a sort of grunt, held the lantern up to their faces, and exclaimed:

"Why, there's two of 'em!"

"Yes, we -- we're twins!" stammered Flossie.

"Twins are always two," Freddie added, thinking, perhaps, that the gypsy man did not know that.

"Twins, eh?" remarked the man in a questioning voice.

"The Bobbsey Twins," said Freddie. "We came from our camp, and we --  -- "

"How'd you get in this cave? That's what I want to know!" cried the man, and he spoke harshly. "Tell me, how did you get here?" he asked, and he held the lantern in front of the faces of the two little children.

"We -- we fell in here!" said Freddie, pushing Flossie behind him. He felt that he must look after his little sister and protect her.

"Fell in?" cried the man.

"Yes, through a hole. We slid down a sandy hill, and we couldn't climb back again. We saw a little light over this way and we walked to it and then we heard some one cry: 'Mamma!' Are there any more little children here?" Freddie asked.

"Hum! Yes, some," half-grunted the gypsy. "But not your kind. I don't see how you came here," he went on, speaking to himself, it seemed, for he did not glance at Flossie or Freddie and there was no one else near by. The man looked all about the cave.

"Which way did you come?" he asked.

"Back there," and Freddie, who was doing most of the talking, pointed toward the place where he and Flossie had tried so hard to climb up.

"Come and show me," the man ordered them, and when they walked back with him, the lantern making queer shadows on the side walls of the cave, Flossie and Freddie pointed to the place down which they had slid.

"Hum!" murmured the gypsy. "I never knew there was a way into the cave from there. I must see about that. It wasn't open before. Well, now you're here I've got to make up my mind what I'll do with you," he went on, as he motioned for Flossie and her brother to walk back in front of him. He held the lantern so they could see where to step, but the earthen floor of the cave was smooth, and the children did not stumble.

"Will you take us back to Twin Camp, where we live?" asked Freddie. "We're the Bobbseys you know, and we didn't mean to run away again, though I guess we're lost. My mamma and my papa will be looking for us, and if you'll take us to the camp --  -- "

"Well, maybe I will after a bit, but not now," said the gypsy, shaking his head so that his earrings jiggled. "You'll have to stay here with us awhile. If you went out now, and told your folks you had found us here we'd all be sent to jail, most likely. I'll see what the others say."

Flossie and Freddie wondered what others he meant, but he did not tell them. He kept walking close behind them, and there was nothing for them to do but to keep on.

Suddenly they turned a sort of corner of the cave, and then the children saw something that surprised them. Seated around a table, on which some candles, stuck in bottles, were burning, were a number of men. They were all gypsies, like the man who had met the children farther back in the cave, and as he walked forward, behind Flossie and Freddie, the other gypsies looked up.

"Who was calling?" asked one of the dark men at the table.

"These two," said the first man, pointing to the little Bobbsey twins. "They answered my call and I found them. They fell down a hole at the far end of the cave, near the sand. I never knew it was there."

"It is an old entrance," put in a gypsy who was eating some bread and tomato, cutting first a slice of one and then of the other with a big knife. "That entrance was overgrown with grass long ago," he added.

"Well, these two stumbled on it," grumbled the man who had found Flossie and Freddie. "We'd better stop it up. And now what's to be done with 'em?"

"We'll have to keep 'em here for a while," said two or three at once, and hearing this the hearts of Flossie and Freddie were sad.

"Yes," went on the first gypsy, "we'll have to keep 'em here until we're ready to go, and that won't be for two or three days yet. The only trouble is that some of their folks may find where we have hidden 'em and --  -- "

"Hi!" suddenly cried an old gypsy, and then he said something very quickly, but in words the children could not understand. It was gypsy talk. After that all the men spoke in this queer way, but Flossie and Freddie felt sure they were being talked about, for the men looked at them many times in the light of the lantern and candles.

Suddenly, when there came a lull in the talk, and the twins were wondering what was coming next, they heard a dog barking. Now, ordinarily, this would not have surprised them, for they knew the gypsies kept many dogs, and some might be in the cave. But there was something different about this bark.

In wonder Flossie and Freddie looked at each other. Then Freddie cried out:

"That sounds like Snap!"

All at once there came a regular chorus of barks, and with them a man's voice could be heard shouting. Then came a dog's growl and yells from a man's voice, then more barks.

"Look out!" shouted some one in the cave. "The dog's loose!"

Flossie and Freddie saw a big dog spring into view from somewhere out of the darkness of the cave, and as the eyes of the twins lighted on him, Freddie cried:

"Here comes Snap! Here comes Snap! Oh, Flossie! our dog that was lost is found! Here's Snap!"



Chapter XXII

Happy Days


There was no doubt about it. There was Snap, alive and happy, if one could tell that last by the way he barked and tried to kiss both Flossie and Freddie at the same time with his red tongue. It was Snap, but he was thinner than when at home in Lakeport, and his nice coat of hair was muddy in some places, and not at all neat.

"Oh, but it's Snap! It's our Snap!" cried Freddie in delight.

"And he found us!" added Flossie. "Now the gypsies can't make us stay here," and standing beside the big dog she looked boldly at the dark men who were now standing about the table.

A man came running out of the darkness of what seemed to be a small cave inside the larger one, and cried:

"He broke away! I couldn't keep him any longer. He seemed to hear some one calling him."

"Keep still!" sharply ordered the gypsy who had had the lantern.

"Oh!" exclaimed the other man, as he saw Flossie and Freddie. "Is it their dog?"

There was no need to answer him. Any one could see that Snap belonged to the Bobbsey twins. He was so happy with them.

"Did you -- did you have our dog all the while?" asked Freddie, as he played with Snap's long ears.

The gypsy who had had the lantern said something in his strange language and no one answered. Probably he had told them not to speak.

"Oh, I'm so glad to see you!" cried Flossie. "We looked everywhere for you, Snap. Didn't we, Freddie?"

"Yes, we did. And now we've got him we can go home. Snap knows the way home. He can take us there."

"Oh, no, he can't," said Flossie.

"Why?" asked her brother.

"'Cause he's never been in our tent-camp. He doesn't know where it is. But maybe you know, Freddie."

"Yes, I know the way -- if -- if we can get out of this cave," and he looked at the gypsies. They were talking among themselves. One of them walked toward Snap and held out his hand toward a broken rope around the dog's neck. But the animal growled in such a fierce way that the gypsy drew back in fear.

Then there was more talk among the dark-faced men about the children and the dog. The men seemed to be worried. Snap barked and ran a little way ahead, as though to lead the way out of the cave. Again a man tried to catch him, but the dog's savage growl made him draw back.

"I guess Snap wants us to come with him," said Flossie. "Let's go, Freddie."

"All right -- come on;" and Freddie, taking Flossie's hand, started out of the cave. They were afraid, the children were, that the gypsies might stop them, but the man who had had the lantern said:

"Come on. I'll show you two the way out and you can go to your camp. No use keeping you, now that your dog is loose. He'd make trouble for us. Hurry up, you fellows, get things out of the way!" he called to the other gypsies, and they began taking things off the table as though they were going to leave.

But Flossie and Freddie did not care about that. All they knew was that they had found Snap, and that they were going home with him to Twin Camp. And Snap was as glad as were they.

"There you are!" said the gypsy in rather a growling voice, as he led the children to where a big patch of sunlight shone into the cave. "I guess you can find your way home from here."

Flossie and Freddie ran on, Snap going ahead, and, to the surprise of the twins they found themselves at the mouth of the cave -- the same place where they had taken shelter from the rain the day they were in the drifting boat.

"Why, look here!" cried Freddie. "Isn't this funny, Flossie? We've come out of the same cave we were in before. How did we get in?"

"I don't know," answered the little girl, "'cept maybe it's a fairy cave an' changes."

But it was not that kind at all. The children had only fallen down a hole at one end of the cave, and when the gypsy man led them through they came out at the other end, where they had first gone in. Snap barked and ran down to the edge of the lake to get a drink of water.

"He's glad to come out," said Flossie.

"Awful glad," agreed Freddie. "So'm I."

"Me, too," added the little girl. "I wonder how he got in there?"

"I guess the gypsies took him," said Freddie. "They liked him 'cause he is such a good dog. I'm so glad we've got him back. Now if we could get Snoop back we'd be all right, wouldn't we, Snap?" and he put his arms around the dog's shaggy neck, while Flossie patted his back.

Happy because they had found their dog, and not worrying at all about having been so nearly kept prisoners by the gypsies in the cave, the two little Bobbsey twins hurried away from the cavern. They were anxious to get back to camp to tell the others how they had found Snap. And the dog seemed just as anxious to get away from the cave as were the little boy and girl.

Every once in a while Freddie would turn and look back, and when his sister asked him why he did this he told her he was looking to see if he could see the black cat.

"She ought to be easier to find than Snap," he said, "'cause she was with us here on Blueberry Island, and Snap must have been taken by the gypsies in Lakeport." Afterward they found that this was so.

As the children, with their dog, walked along through the woods, keeping close to the lake shore, as they knew that path led to their camp, Flossie and Freddie heard a shout among the trees.

"There's Nan!" Freddie said.

"Yes, and Bert," added his sister. "I guess they're looking for us."

They were sure of this a little later, for they heard the cry:

"Flossie! Freddie! Where are you?"

"Here we are!" they answered, and then sounded a noise of some one coming toward them. The next moment Nan and Bert came into view. Both stopped in surprise at the sight of the dog.

"Where'd you get him?" asked Nan.

"Is he really Snap?" cried Bert.

"Yep! He really is," answered Freddie. "We found him!"

"In a cave," added Flossie.

"In a cave?"

"And there were gypsies there," went on the little girl.

"An' they wanted to keep us," said Freddie.

"But they didn't," added Flossie.

"No. But Snap was there."

"And he growled at the gypsy man."

"And he came away with us."

"Snap was awful glad to see us, Nan."

"And here we are now," said Freddie, putting an end to this duet.

"Oh, dear!" exclaimed Nan. "This is dreadful! Gypsies on this island, and they almost kidnapped you! You must tell daddy right away. We've been looking everywhere for you. We thought you were lost again. And you're all dirty and sandy!" she cried.

"That's where we fell down a hole into the cave," said Freddie, and he told Nan and Bert what had happened. Mr. Bobbsey was much surprised when the twins came home with the long-missing Snap. So was Mrs. Bobbsey, as well as Sam and Dinah.

"Gypsies here, are there?" exclaimed Mr. Bobbsey. "Well, I'll have to see about that. We don't want them hiding in a cave and stealing our things. I guess I'll get some police officers and pay the tribe a visit."

But when Mr. Bobbsey got to the cave with the officers the gypsies were not there. They must have known that when the children went out they would tell what had happened and that the police would come. So there was nothing for the police to do. The gypsies had run away. They went to the mainland in boats, some of the blueberry pickers said who had seen them.

"And now that the island is free from the gypsies we'll have lots more fun," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "The thought of them made me nervous."

"Hark!" suddenly exclaimed Nan. She, as well as all the other members of the Bobbsey family, had followed the police to the cave, even Flossie and Freddie going along, riding to the place in the goat wagon drawn by Whisker.

"Hark to what?" asked Bert.

"I thought I heard a noise," said the little girl. "Yes, there it goes again, a sort of squeaky noise."

"It's a -- it's a cat!" cried Flossie. "Oh, if it should be --  -- "

Before she could finish one of the policemen flashed his lantern around the sides of the cave, and then, from a dark corner, some animal came slowly out.

"It is a cat!" cried Flossie.

"And it's our Snoop!" added Freddie. "Oh, we've got him back again!"

"Oh, goody!" cried Nan.

"Well, well," said Mr. Bobbsey, "everything is turning out right for you children now."

"And Snoop really was in this cave!" exclaimed Bert.

And so it proved. Whether he had wandered off and had become lost in some little hole of the cave, where he could not get out, or whether the gypsies had stolen him, as they had Snap, the Bobbseys never heard. But they knew they had their black cat again, and they were happy, especially the little twins.

"I want to hug him!" cried Flossie, as the cat rubbed up against her legs.

"So do I!" cried Freddie. "And I want to hug the head part. You can hug the tail end!"

"That end doesn't purr!" exclaimed Flossie. "I want the end that purrs."

"You must take turns," said Mrs. Bobbsey, laughing. "You ought to be glad you have Snoop back instead of quarreling about him. Well, we have found nearly everything we wanted now, except that bacon some one took the first night."

"I guess the gypsies got that," said Mr. Bobbsey. "It must have been one of them who was sneaking around in the night, and who awakened the children. They probably wanted to have something to eat in their cave. But they've gone now."

"Yes, and they seem to have left something behind them," observed one of the policemen. "I see something white over on one of the boxes they used for a table. Maybe it's only some old papers, though."

Bert hurried over and picked up the white thing.

"It's a doll!" he cried. "Flossie, did you leave your doll here?"

"Nope," answered the little twin.

"A doll!" cried Nan. "Oh, maybe it's Helen's talking doll! Let me see, Bert!"

But Bert had already pressed a spring and the doll began to call in a queer phonographic voice:

"Mamma! Papa!"

Flossie and Freddie looked at one another.

"That's the noise we heard when we fell into the cave," they said.

"Then the gypsies did take Helen's doll after all, and brought it with them to this island," said Mr. Bobbsey. "My, but they are great rascals! They took our dog, our cat, our bacon, and Helen's doll."

"But we've got everything back except the bacon," said Bert. "The doll seems to be all right, too, except she hasn't a dress."

"Oh, Helen found that the day she was here on the island," said Flossie. "She found it in an old stump, you know, and I guess maybe the gypsies hid it there, or dropped it."

"I guess so," agreed her mother. "Well, now, isn't this just wonderful! We've found Helen's doll, and your dog and cat. It's a good thing we came to Blueberry Island."

"But I'm sorry the gypsies came here," said Nan. "They made a lot of trouble."

"They've gone now, though," remarked Bert. "It's queer that they brought our dog and Helen's doll here with them."

"Maybe the little gypsy girl, whose papa took away Helen's doll, brought it here to play with," said Nan.

And perhaps that is how it had happened. But the gypsies had gone away, and no one knew just how they came to leave the doll in the cave. They may have been afraid to take it away for fear a policeman would see them have it. And then, too, it might suddenly speak when they had it, as it spoke in the cave when Flossie and Freddie heard it.

"Well, everything's come out all right," said Mr. Bobbsey, "and now for some happy days on Blueberry Island, with nothing to worry about." And, indeed, the Bobbsey twins did have very happy times.

Snoop and Snap were back with them again, and with Whisker, the goat, played with the children. Helen was told about her lost doll having been found, and she came to the island to get it. The go-around bugs were not found. Maybe the gypsies took them. But Mr. Bobbsey bought new ones for the little twins.

The police said the gypsy man who had picked the doll up from the yard where Helen had left it for a moment, must have taken it for his little girl, and have hidden it in one of the wagons. Then, some one of the band, going about Lakeport before the Bobbseys went to the island, saw Snap about the house and enticed him away. They probably took him over from the mainland in a rowboat. Snap was a friendly dog. As for Snoop he either wandered away or was stolen. But now no more fear need be felt about the gypsies, for they were far away, and when it rained the Bobbsey twins used to play in the gypsy cave, as they called it.

"Oh, but I just love it on Blueberry Island!" said Flossie, as they all came back to camp from a little picnic in the woods one day.

"So do I," said Freddie. "Now let's hitch up Whisker and have a ride." And they did.

And so I must bring this story about the adventures of the Bobbsey twins to an end. They had many other good times, some on Blueberry Island, and others when they went back to their Lakeport home, and I may tell you about them later. Snap and Snoop had a large part in the good times, and the dog and cat were none the worse for having been kept in the gypsy cave. Nor was Helen's doll, which the little girl was very glad to get back. It talked as well as ever.

And now I will say good-bye for you to the Bobbsey Twins.

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Tommy Smith's Animals

By

Edmund Selous



Chapter I.

The Meeting

"The owl calls a meeting, and has an idea: They all think it good, though it SOUNDS rather queer."


THERE was once a little boy, named Tommy Smith, who was very cruel to animals, because nobody had taught him that it was wrong to be so. He would throw stones at the birds as they sat in the trees or hedges; and if he did not hit them, that was only because they were too quick for him, and flew away as soon as they saw the stone coming. But he always meant to hit them -- yes, and to kill them too, -- which made it every bit as bad as if he really had killed them. Then, if he saw a rat, he would make his dog run after it, and if the poor thing tried to escape by running down a hole, he and the dog together would dig it out, and then the dog would bite it with his sharp teeth until it was quite dead. It never seemed to occur to this boy that the poor rat had done him no harm, and that it might be the father or mother of some little baby rats, who would now die of hunger. Even if the rat got away, he would whip the dog for not catching it, yet the dog had done his best; for, of course, dogs must do what their masters tell them, and cannot know any better. It was just the same with hares or rabbits, squirrels, rooks, or partridges. Indeed, this boy could not see any animal playing about, and doing no harm, without trying to frighten it or to hurt it.

When the spring came, and the birds began to build their nests, and to lay their pretty eggs in them, then it is dreadful to think how cruel this Tommy Smith was. He would look about amongst the trees and bushes, and when he had found a nest, he would take all the eggs that were in it, and not leave even one for the poor mother bird to sit on when she came back. Indeed, he would often tear down the nest too, after he had taken the eggs. Perhaps you will wonder what he did with these eggs. Well, when he had brought them home and shown them to his father and mother, who never thought of scolding him, or to his little brothers and sisters (for he was the eldest of the family), he would throw them away, and think no more about them. If he had left them in the nest, then out of each pretty little egg would have come a pretty little bird. But now, for every egg he had taken away, there was one bird less to sing in the woods in the spring and summer.

At last this boy became such a nuisance to all the animals round about, that they determined to punish him in some way or other. They thought the first thing to do was for all of them to meet together and have a good talk about it. In a wood, not far off, there was a nice open space where the ground was smooth and covered with moss. Here they all agreed to come one fine night, for they thought it would be nice and quiet then, and that nobody would disturb them, as, perhaps, they might do in the daytime.

So, as soon as the moon rose, they began to assemble, and I wish you could have been there too, to see them all come, sometimes one at a time, and sometimes two or three together.

The rat was one of the first to arrive, and then came the hare and the rabbit arm in arm, for they knew each other well, and were very good friends. The frog was late, for he had had a good way to hop from the nearest pond, where he lived, so that his cousin, the toad, who was slower, but lived nearer, got there before him. The snake had no need to make a journey at all, for he lived under a bush just on the edge of the open space. All the little birds, too, had gone to roost in the trees and bushes close by, so as to be ready in good time; and, when the moon rose, they drew out their heads from under their wings, and were wide awake in a moment. The rook and the partridge, and other large birds, were there as well, and the squirrel sat with his tail over his head, on the branch of a small fir tree. Then there were weasels, and lizards, and hedgehogs, and slow-worms, and many other animals besides.

In fact, if you had seen them all together, you would have wondered how one little boy could have found time to plague and worry so many different creatures. But you must remember that even a very little boy can do a great deal of mischief. Perhaps there were some animals there that little Tommy Smith had not hurt, because he had not yet seen them, but these came because they knew he would hurt them as soon as he could; and, besides, they were angry because their friends and companions had been ill-treated by him.

At last it seemed as if there was nobody else to come, and that everything was ready. Still, they seemed waiting for something, and all at once a great owl came swooping down, and settled on a large mole-hill which was just in the middle of the open space. Now, the owl, as perhaps you know, is a very wise bird, and, for this reason, all the other animals had chosen him to be the chief at their meeting, and to decide what was best to be done, in case they should not agree amongst themselves. He at once showed how wise he was, by saying that before he gave his own opinion he would hear what everybody else had to say. Then everybody began to talk at once, and there was a great hubbub, until the owl said that only one should speak at a time, and that the hare had better begin, because he was the largest of all the animals there.

So the hare stood up, and said he thought the best way to punish Tommy Smith was for every one of them to do him what harm he could. For his part, he was only a timid animal, and not at all accustomed to hurt people. Still, he had very sharp teeth, and he thought he might be able to jump as high as Tommy Smith's face and give him a good bite on the cheek or ear, and then run off so quickly that nobody could catch him. The rabbit spoke next, and said that he was just as timid as the hare, and not so strong or so swift. All he could do was to go on digging holes, and he hoped that some day Tommy Smith would fall into one of them. The hedgehog then got up, and said he would hide himself in one of these holes and put up his prickles for Tommy Smith to fall on. This would be sure to hurt him, and perhaps it might even put one of his eyes out. The rat thought it would be better if the hedgehog were to get into Tommy Smith's bed, so as to prick him all over when he was undressed; but the hedgehog would not agree to this, as he did not understand houses, and thought he would be sure to be caught if he went into one.

"Well, then," said the rat, "if you are afraid I will go myself, for I know the way about, and am not at all frightened. In the middle of the night, when it is quite dark, and when Tommy Smith is fast asleep, I will creep up the stairs and into his room, and then I can run up the counterpane to the foot of his bed and bite his toes."

"Why his toes?" said the weasel. "I can do much better than that, and if you will only show me the way into his room, I will bite the veins of his throat, and then he will soon bleed to death."

"That would be taking too much trouble," said the adder, coming from under his bush. "You all know that my bite is poisonous. Well, I know where this bad boy goes out walking, so I will just hide myself somewhere near, and when he comes by I will spring out and bite his ankle. Then he will soon die."

The birds, too, had different things to suggest. Some said they would scratch Tommy Smith's face with their claws, and others that they would peck his eyes out. The frog wanted to hop down his throat and choke him, and the lizard was ready to crawl up his back and tickle him, if they thought that would do any good.

At length, when everyone else had spoken, the owl called for silence, and then he gave his own opinion in these words: -- "I have now heard what every animal has had to say, and I have no doubt that we could easily hurt this boy very much, or perhaps even kill him, if we really tried to. But would it not be a better plan, first to see if we cannot make little Tommy Smith a better boy? Many little boys are unkind to animals because they know nothing about them, and think that they are stupid and useless. If they knew how clever we all of us really are, and what a lot of good we do, I do not think they would be unkind to us any more. I am sure that they would then have quite a friendly feeling towards us. But they cannot know this without being taught. Tommy Smith's father and mother ought, of course, to teach him, but as they will not do so, why should not we teach him ourselves? To do this, we shall have to speak to him in his own language, as he does not understand ours; but that is not such a difficult matter to us animals. I myself can speak it quite well when I want to, for I often sit on the trees near old houses at night, or even on the houses themselves, and I can hear the conversations coming up through the chimneys. That is why I am so wise. So I can easily teach all of you enough of it to make you able to talk to a little boy. My idea, then, is to teach little Tommy Smith before we begin to punish him, and it will be quite as easy to do the one as the other. Only let the next animal that he is going to kill or throw stones at, call out to him, and tell him not to do so. This will surprise him so much that he will be sure to leave off, and then each of us can tell him something about ourselves in turn. In this way he will get such a high idea of all of us, that he will never annoy us any more, but treat us with great respect for the future."
All the other animals thought this was a very clever idea of the owl's, and they agreed to do what he said, before trying anything else. So they begged him to begin teaching them the little-boy language at once (all except the rat, for he knew it too), so that they should lose no time. This the owl was quite ready to do, and he taught them so well, and they all learnt so quickly, that when little Tommy Smith got up next morning to have his breakfast, there was hardly an animal in the whole country that was not able to talk to him.




Chapter II.

The Frog And The Toad

"Tommy Smith takes a turn in the garden next day, And he finds the frog ready with something to say."


AS soon as he had had his breakfast, Tommy Smith went out into the garden. It had been raining a little, and the first thing he saw was a large yellow frog sitting on the wet grass. Tommy Smith had a stick in his hand, and he at once lifted it up over his shoulder.

"Don't hit me," said the frog. "That would be a very wicked thing to do."

Tommy Smith was so surprised to hear a frog speak that he dropped his stick and stood with both his eyes wide open for several seconds.

"Why do you want to kill me?" said the frog.

Tommy Smith thought he must say something, so he answered, "Because you are a nasty, stupid frog."

"I don't know what you mean by calling me nasty," said the frog. "Look at my bright smooth skin, how nice and clean it is -- cleaner than your own face, I daresay, although it is not long since you have washed it. As for my being stupid, you see that I can speak your language, although you cannot speak mine; and there are lots of other things which I am able to do, but you are not. I think I can catch a fly better than you can."

By this time it seemed to Tommy Smith as if it was quite natural to be talking to an animal, so he said, "I never thought that a frog could catch a fly."

"You shall see," said the frog. And as he spoke a fly settled on a blade of grass just in front of him. Then all at once a pink streak seemed to shoot out of the frog's mouth; back it came again -- snap! His mouth, which had been wide open, was shut once more, and the fly was nowhere to be seen.

"Have you caught it?" said Tommy Smith.

"Yes," said the frog, "and swallowed it too."

"But how did you do it?" said Tommy Smith; "and what was that funny pink thing that came out of your mouth?"

"That was my tongue," the frog answered.

"Your tongue!" cried Tommy Smith. "But it looked so funny -- not at all like my own tongue."

"No," said the frog. "My tongue is quite different to yours, and I do not use it in the same way. Hold out your hand so that I can hop into it, and then I will show you all about it."

Tommy Smith did as he was told, and -- plop! there was the frog sitting in his hand. He at once opened his mouth, which was a very wide one, and allowed Tommy Smith to look at his tongue. What a funny tongue it was! It seemed to be turned backwards, for the tip, which was forked, instead of being just inside the lips as it is with us, was right down the throat, whilst the root of it was where the tip of our tongue is.

"But how do you use a tongue like that?" said Tommy Smith.

"Put the tip of your forefinger against your thumb," said the frog; "only, first, you must turn your hand so that the back of it is towards the ground, and the palm upwards." Tommy Smith did so. "Now shoot your finger back as hard as you can." Tommy Smith did this too. "That," said the frog, "is the way I shoot my tongue out of my mouth when I want to catch a fly. Like this" -- and he shot it out again. "You see it flies out like the lash of a whip, and my aim is so good that it always hits what I want it to, whether it is a fly or any other insect. Then I bring it back, just as you would bring your finger back to your thumb again, or as the lash of a whip flies back when you jerk the handle. The tip of it goes right down my throat where it was before, and the fly goes down with it."

"But why does the fly stay on your tongue?" said Tommy Smith. "Why doesn't it fly away?"

"It would if it could, of course," said the frog; "but it can't. My tongue, you see, is sticky -- just feel it, -- and so whatever it touches sticks to it, and comes back with it, if it isn't too large."

"Well, it is very curious," said Tommy Smith. "But when you said you could catch a fly, I did not know that you were going to eat it too. Then, do you like flies? and do you eat them every day?"

"I eat them when I can get them," said the frog; "but I like them better at night than in the daytime, if only I can catch them asleep. You eat during the day, and go to sleep at night. That is because you are a little boy. I am a frog, and we frogs like to be quiet in the daytime, and come out to feed when it is dark. We eat all sorts of insects -- beetles, and flies, and moths, and caterpillars, and we eat slugs as well, and that is why we are so useful."

"Useful?" cried Tommy Smith. "Oh, I don't believe that! I am sure that a frog can be of no use to anybody."

"If you were a gardener you would think differently," said the frog; "at least, if you were not a very ignorant one. Have I not told you that I eat slugs and insects, and do you not know that slugs and insects eat the leaves of the flowers and vegetables in your garden? Have you never seen your father or his gardener pouring something over his rose-trees to kill the insects upon them? Now, I eat a great many insects in a single night, and I am only one of the frogs in your garden. There are others there besides me. If we were all to be killed, your father would find it much more difficult to have nice roses, and he would lose other flowers too, for there are insects which do harm to all of them. As for the slugs, if you will go out some night with a lantern, you may see them feeding on some of the handsomest plants, with your own eyes. That is to say, unless one of us frogs has been there; for if we have, you will not see any. Then you have seen caterpillars feeding on the cabbages. Well, I feed on those caterpillars. So always remember that the boy who kills a frog, does harm to his father's garden."

"I don't want to do that," said Tommy Smith; "so, if what you say is true" -- 

"You can find it in a natural history book, if you look," said the frog; "but I ought to know best myself. And I can tell you this, that when a frog speaks to a little boy, he always speaks the truth."

"Well, then," said Tommy Smith, "I will never hurt a frog again."

How pleased the poor frog was when he heard that. He gave a great hop out of Tommy Smith's hand, and came down upon the grass again, and then he hopped about for a little while, jumping higher each time than the time before. "Frogs always speak the truth," he said, -- "when they speak to little boys. And now, perhaps, you would like to learn something more about me. Ask me any question you like, and I will answer it, because of what you have just promised."

This puzzled Tommy Smith a little, because he did not know where to begin, but at last he said, "You seem to me a very big frog. Were you always as big as you are now?"

"Why, of course not," said the frog, "a frog grows up just as much as a little boy does. I was once so small that you would hardly have been able to see me. But, besides being smaller, I was quite a different shape to what I am now. I had no legs at all, but instead of them I had a long tail, with which I used to swim about in the water, so that I was much more like a fish than a frog, and many people would have thought that I was a fish."

"That sounds very funny," said Tommy Smith.

"But were not you once much smaller than you are now?" said the frog.

"Oh yes!" Tommy Smith answered, "but however small I was, I was always a little boy, and had hands and feet, just as I have now."

"With you it is different," said the frog; "but there are some animals who are one thing when they are born, but change into another as they grow older. It is so with us frogs, and, if you listen, I will tell you all about it."

"Go on," said Tommy Smith, "I should like to hear very much."

"In the nice warm weather," the frog continued, "we hop about the country, and then we like to come into gardens. But in the winter we go to ponds and ditches and bury ourselves in the mud at the bottom, and go to sleep there. In the early spring, when the weather begins to get a little warmer, we come up again, and then the mother frog lays a lot of eggs, which float about in the water, and look like a great ball of jelly. After a time, out of each egg there comes a tiny little brown thing, and directly it comes out, it begins to swim about in the water, as well as if it had had swimming lessons, although, of course, it has never had any. It soon grows bigger, and then you can see that it has a large round head and a long tail, but you cannot see any legs. But, as it goes on growing, a small pair of hind legs come out, one on each side of the tail, and then every day the tail gets smaller and the hind legs larger. Still there are no front legs yet, but at last these come too. The tail is now quite short, and the head and body begin to look like a frog's head and body, which they did not do before, and they go on looking more and more like one, until, at last, the little brown thing with a tail, that swam about like a fish in the water, has changed into a little baby frog, that hops about on the land. Then this little baby frog grows larger and larger, until, at last, he becomes a fine fat frog, as big and as handsome as I am."

"It all seems very curious," said little Tommy Smith; "and I never knew anything about it before."

"That is because nobody ever told you," said the frog, "and you have never thought of finding out for yourself. But have you not passed by ponds in the spring time and seen those little brown things with tails that I have been telling you about swimming about in them?"

"Oh yes, I have!" said Tommy Smith; "but I always thought that those were tadpoles."

"They are tadpoles," said the frog, "but they are young frogs for all that. A little tadpole grows into a big frog, just as a little boy grows into a big man. So you see, what a funny life mine has been, and what a lot of curious things have happened to me."

"Yes, you have had a funny life, Mr. Frog," said Tommy Smith, "and I think it is very interesting. But is there any other clever thing you can do besides catching flies? I can catch flies myself, but I do it with my hand instead of with my tongue."

"I can change my skin," said the frog, "and that is something which you cannot do."

"No," said Tommy Smith; "and I do not believe you can do it either. I think you are only laughing at me."

"Well," said the frog, "as it happens, my skin fits me quite comfortably now, and is not at all too tight, so I do not want to change it yet. But I have a cousin -- a toad -- who is quite ready to have a new one. He lives a little way off, in the shrubbery; so if you would like to see how he does it, I can bring you to him. He is very good natured, like myself, and if you will only promise to leave off hurting him, as well as me, he will be very pleased to show you, I am sure. I must tell you, too, that he is almost as useful in a garden as I am, for he lives on the same things, and catches flies and slugs just as I do."

"Then isn't he quite as useful?" said Tommy Smith; but as the frog didn't seem to hear, he went on with -- "Then I will not hurt him any more than I will you."

"Come along, then," said the frog; and he began to hop in front of the little boy until they came to the shrubbery, where, in the mould beside a laurel bush, there sat a great, solemn-looking toad.

"I have brought someone to see you," said the frog. "This is little Tommy Smith, who used to be such a bad boy, and kill every animal he saw; but now he has promised not to hurt either of us."

"I am glad to hear it," answered the toad, "and I hope he will soon learn to leave other creatures alone too. Well, what is it he wants?"

"He wants to see you change your skin," said the frog.

"He had better look at me, then," said the toad, "for that is just what I am doing."

Tommy Smith bent down to look, and then he saw that the toad was wriggling about in rather a funny way, as if he was a little uncomfortable. He noticed, too, that his skin had split along the back, and it seemed to be wrinkling up and getting loose all over him, although it had been too tight before. This loose skin was dirty and old-looking, but underneath it, where it was split, Tommy Smith could see a nice new one that looked ever so much better. The more the toad wriggled, the looser the old skin got, and it was soon plain that he was wriggling himself out of it, just as you might wriggle your hand out of an old glove. At last he had got right out of it, and there lay the old skin on the ground.

"You see," said the frog, "that is how we change our skin, just as you would change a suit of clothes. Does he not look handsome in his new one?"

"Very handsome -- for a toad," said Tommy Smith. (The toad only heard the first two words of this, so he was very pleased.) "But what is he doing with his old skin, now that he has got it off?"

"If you wait a little, you will see," said the frog.

All this time the toad was pushing his old skin backwards and forwards with his two front feet, and he kept on doing this until, at last, he had rolled it up into a sort of ball. Then all at once he opened his great wide mouth and swallowed the ball, just as if it had been a large pill.

Tommy Smith was so surprised that he could hardly believe his eyes. "He has swallowed his own skin!" he cried.

"Of course I have," said the toad; "and the best thing to do with it, I think. I always like to be tidy, and not to leave things lying about. Now, good-morning," and he began to crawl away, for he was not an idle toad, but had business to attend to.

"And I have something to see about," said the frog, "so I will say good-bye, too, for the present. But remember what you have promised -- never to hurt a frog or a toad;" and, with two or three great hops, he was out of sight.

Tommy Smith stood thinking about it all for some time, and then he ran into the house to tell everybody all the wonderful things he had learnt about frogs and toads, and to beg them never to kill any, because they do good in the garden.




Chapter III.

The Rook

"The rook gives advice which we must not neglect. I hope that his CAWS will produce an effect."


IT was a nice, fine afternoon, and Tommy Smith was just going out for a little walk. He thought he would take his little terrier dog with him, so he called, "Pincher! Pincher!" But Pincher was not there, so he had to go without him. He was very sorry for this, for when he had got a little way from the house, what should run across the road but a rat, which sat down just inside the hedge and looked at him. "What a pity," he said out loud. "It's no use my trying to catch him alone, for he's sure to get away; but if Pincher had been with me, we would have hunted him down together."

"Then you would have done very wrong," said the rat, as he peeped at little Tommy Smith through the hedge. "You are a naughty boy yourself, and you teach Pincher to be a naughty dog."

"What!" said Tommy Smith; "then can you talk as well as the frog and toad?"

"Of course I can," the rat answered; "and I think if I were to talk to you for a little while as they did, you would not wish to hurt me any more either. I am sure I am just as clever as a frog or a toad."

"Can you change your skin like them?" said Tommy Smith.

"My skin never wants changing," said the rat; "but there are many other things I can do which are quite as clever as that."

"Well, do some of them," said Tommy Smith.

"I will," said the rat, "but not now. I can do things much better at night, and I prefer being indoors. To-night, when everybody is in bed and asleep, and the house is quiet, I will come to your room and wake you up. We can talk without being disturbed then, and I will soon teach you what a clever animal I am."

"I wonder what you will have to tell me," said Tommy Smith. "But say what you will, I believe that rats were only made to be killed."

The rat looked very angry. "They have as much right to be alive as little boys have," he said. "But good-bye for the present," and he scampered away.

Tommy Smith walked on, and when he had gone some little way, he saw a number of rooks walking about a field. There was a haystack in the field, and he thought that perhaps if he were to get behind it and wait there for a little while, some of the rooks would come near enough for him to throw a stone at them. So he put several stones in his pocket, and then, with one in his hand, he began to walk towards the haystack. When he got there, he sat down behind it, and peeped cautiously round the corner. Yes, the rooks were still there, and some of them were coming nearer. "Oh," thought Tommy Smith (but I think he must have thought it aloud), "I have only to wait a little while, and then, perhaps, I shall be able to kill one."

"For shame!" said a voice close to him.

Tommy Smith looked all about, but he saw no one. "Who was that?" he said.

"Oh, fie!" said the voice. "What? kill a poor rook? What a wicked, wicked thing to do!"

Tommy Smith thought that there must be someone on the other side of the haystack, so he went there to see; but he found no one. Then he walked all round it, but nobody was there. But the rooks had seen him as he went round the haystack, and they all flew away. Then the same voice (it was rather a hoarse one) said, "Ah! now they are gone; so you will not be able to kill any of them."

"Who are you?" said Tommy Smith. "I hear you, but I cannot see anybody;" and, indeed, he began to feel rather frightened.

"If I show myself, will you promise not to hurt me?" said the hoarse voice.

"Yes, I will," said Tommy Smith.

"Very well, then. Throw away that stone you have in your hand, and the ones in your pocket as well."

Tommy Smith did this, and then, what should he see, standing on the very top of the haystack, but a large black rook. "Why, where were you?" he said. "I did not see you there when I looked."

"No," the rook said; "I hid myself under a little loose hay, for I did not want a stone thrown at me. I saw you coming, and I knew very well what you wanted to do, so I thought I would wait till you came, and then give you a good talking to. And, indeed, a naughty boy like you, who wants to kill rooks, ought to be scolded."

"I don't see why it is so naughty," answered Tommy Smith; "I have always thrown stones at the rooks, and nobody has ever told me not to."

"That is just why I have come to tell you how wrong it is," said the rook. "Would you like anybody to throw stones at you?"

Tommy Smith had to confess that he would not like that at all.

"Then, do you not know," the rook went on, looking very grave, "that you ought to do the same to other people that you would like other people to do to you? Have not your father and mother taught you that?"

"Oh yes, they have," said Tommy Smith; "but I don't think they meant animals."

"They ought to have meant them," said the rook, "whether they did or not, for animals have feelings as well as human beings. If you are kind to them, they are happy; but if you are unkind to them and hurt them, then they are unhappy. An animal, you know, is a living being like yourself, and surely it is better to make any living being happy than to make it unhappy."

Tommy Smith looked rather ashamed when he heard this, and did not quite know what to say. He thought the rook spoke as if he were preaching a sermon, and then he remembered having heard some old country people talk of "Parson Rook." Still, what he said seemed to be sensible, and all he could say, at last, as an answer was, "Oh, it's all very well, but you know you rooks do a great deal of harm."

"That shows how little you know about us," answered the rook. "We do not do harm, but good; and if the farmers knew how much good we did them, they would think us their best friends."

"Why, what good do you do them?" said Tommy Smith. "I always thought that you ate their corn."

"Perhaps we may eat a little of it," the rook said; "that is only fair, for if it were not for us, the farmer would have very little corn or anything else. I am sure, at least, that he would have scarcely any potatoes."

"Oh! but why wouldn't he?" said Tommy Smith.

"I will explain it to you," said the rook. "So now listen, because you are going to learn something. There is an insect which you must often have seen, for it is very common in the springtime. It is about the size of a very large humble-bee, and it has wings too, but you would not think it had at first, for they are hidden under a pair of smooth, brown covers, which are called shards. In the daytime it sits upon a tree or a bush, or sometimes you may see it crawling along a dusty road. But in the evening it begins to fly about with a humming noise. This insect is called the cockchafer. The mother cockchafer lays her eggs in the ground, and, after a few weeks, there comes out of each egg something which you would not think was a cockchafer at all, because it is so different. It has a yellow head and a long white body, which is bent at the end in the shape of a hook. On the front part of its body it has three pairs of legs, like a caterpillar's, only they are very small; but behind, it has no legs at all. It has a very strong pair of jaws, and with these it cuts through the roots of the grass and corn and wheat under which it lies, for these are the things on which it feeds. There is hardly anything which the farmer plants, and would like to see grow, that this grub or caterpillar (for that is what it is) does not eat and destroy; but what it likes best of all is the potato.

"The cockchafer-grub lies in the ground for four years before it turns into a real cockchafer, and all this time it keeps growing larger and larger; and, of course, the larger it grows, the more it eats and the more harm it does. Now if there were no one to kill this great, greedy thing, I don't know what the farmers would do, for all their crops would be spoilt. But we rooks kill them, and eat them too, for they are very nice, and we like them very much. We eat them for breakfast, and dinner, and supper, so you can think what a lot of them we eat in the day. When you see us walking about over the fields, we are looking for these great white things, and, whenever we give a dig into the ground with our beaks, you may be almost sure that we have either found one of them or something else which does harm too. When the fields are ploughed, a great many grubs and worms are turned up by the ploughshare, and then you may see us following the plough, and walking along in the furrow it has made, so as to pick up all we can get. So think what a lot of good we must do, and remember that the boy who kills a rook is doing harm to somebody's corn, or wheat, or potatoes."

"I do not want to do that," said Tommy Smith.

"Of course not," said the rook; "so you must not throw stones at us any more."

"I won't, then," said Tommy Smith. "But why do the farmers shoot you, if you do them so much good?"

"You may well ask," the rook answered. "They ought to be ashamed of themselves. I will tell you something about that. Once upon a time some farmers thought they would kill us all because we stole their corn; so they all went out together with their guns, and whenever they saw any of us, they fired at us and killed us, until, at last, there was not a rook left in the whole country; for all those that had not been shot had flown away. The farmers were so glad, for they thought that next year they would have a much better harvest. But they were quite wrong, for, instead of having a better harvest, they had hardly any harvest at all. The slugs and the caterpillars, and, above all, the great, hungry cockchafer-grubs, had eaten almost everything up; for, you see, there were no hungry rooks to eat them. The little corn we used to take from the farmers they could very well have spared, but now, without us, they found that they had lost much more than they could spare. Then the farmers saw how foolish they had been, and they were very sorry, and did all they could to get the rooks to come back again; and when they did come back, they took care not to shoot them any more."

Tommy Smith was very interested in this story which the rook told him, and he was just going to ask where it all happened, and whether it was near where he lived or a long way away, when the rook said, "Well, I must be flapping" (just as an old gentleman might say, "Well, I must be jogging"); "there is a meeting this afternoon which I ought to attend."

"A meeting!" Tommy Smith said, feeling quite surprised.

"Certainly," replied the rook. "Why not? I belong to a civilised community, so, of course, there are meetings. I should be sorry not to go to some of them."

It seemed very funny to Tommy Smith that birds should have meetings as well as men. "But, perhaps," he thought, "it is not quite the same kind of thing." Only he didn't like to say this, in case the rook should be offended, so he only asked, "What sort of a meeting is it that you are going to, Mr. Rook?"

"A very important one," the rook answered. "It is a meeting to try someone who is accused of having done something wrong."

"Why, then, it is a trial," said Tommy Smith. "But do rooks have trials?"

"Of course," said the rook. "Have I not just said that we are a civilised community? We are not wild birds. Amongst civilised people, when someone is accused of doing wrong, he is tried for it, is he not?"

"Oh yes!" said Tommy Smith. "If he is a man, he is."

"If he is a man, men try him," said the rook; "but if he is a rook, rooks do."

"But what do you do if you find him guilty?" said Tommy Smith.

"Why, we punish him, to be sure," said the rook; "and if he has been very wicked, we peck him to death."

"Oh, but that is very cruel," said Tommy Smith. He forgot that he had seen innocent rooks shot without thinking it cruel at all.

"Not more cruel than hanging a man," the rook answered. "Do you think it is?" and Tommy Smith couldn't say that he did. He thought he would very much like to see this trial that the rook was going to. "Oh, Mr. Rook," he said, "do let me go with you." But the rook said, "Oh no! that would never do. No men are allowed at our trials. There are no rooks at yours, you know."

"No," said Tommy Smith; "but that is because" -- 

"Never mind why it is," interrupted the rook; "no doubt there is some good reason, and we have our reasons too. We could not try a rook properly if we thought a man was watching us. It would make us nervous. Sometimes (but not very often) a man has watched us without our knowing it, and then he has told everybody about our wonderful trials. But people have not believed him; and other men, who sit at home and see very little, and only believe what they see, have written to say it was all nonsense. But now, when they tell you it is all nonsense, you will not believe them, because a rook himself has told you it is all true."

"Oh yes, and I believe it," said Tommy Smith. "But do tell me what the rook you are going to try has done."

"I cannot tell you that till we have tried him," said the rook, "for perhaps it may not be true after all. As yet, I do not even know what he is accused of. Perhaps it is of stealing the sticks from another rook's nest to make his own with. Perhaps it is of something even worse than that. But this you may be sure of, that if we do peck him to death, it will be because he has behaved himself in a manner totally unworthy of a rook. Now I really must go, or I shall be late. Good-bye, -- and, let me see, I think you promised never to throw stones at rooks again."

"Oh no!" said Tommy Smith, "I promise not to."

"Or to shoot us when you grow up," said the rook, just turning his head round as he was preparing to fly.

"Oh no! indeed, I won't," said Tommy Smith; and the rook flew away with a loud caw of pleasure.



Chapter IV.

The Rat

"The rat is a king. Tommy Smith has a peep At his palace: but is he awake or asleep?"


"I SEE you," said the rat, as Tommy Smith passed through the yard of his father's house. "I see you, but it is not the right time yet. Wait till to-night."

So all that day Tommy Smith kept thinking of what the rat had promised; and when his bedtime came, instead of wanting to stay up longer, as he usually did, he was quite pleased to go, and went upstairs without making any fuss. "Now," thought he, as he made himself nice and snug in bed, "I shall keep awake till the rat comes. I am not at all sleepy. I can see the branch of the cedar tree by the window shaking in the wind, and I can hear the clock ticking on the staircase. 'Tick, tick -- tick, tick,' -- I wonder if it gets tired of saying that all day long, and all night long, too, without ever once stopping, -- unless they don't wind it up. 'Tick, tick -- tick, tick.' If I keep on counting it, I shan't go to sleep. 'Tick, tick -- tick, tick -- tick, tick -- tick -- squeak!'"

"What was that?" said Tommy Smith, as he sat up in bed. "That wasn't the clock;" and then, all at once, the old clock on the stairs struck one. "One? Then it must be wrong. When I got into bed it was only" -- 

"It is quite right," said a squeaky little voice close to Tommy Smith's ear, "I don't know what time it was when you got into bed, but you have been asleep for a good many hours; and now it is one in the morning, which is what I call a nice, comfortable time."

"I suppose you are the rat," said Tommy Smith, rubbing his eyes.

"Yes, I am," the same voice answered. "But it is too dark for you to see me here. Get up, and put on some of your clothes, and then we will come down to the kitchen. The fire is not quite out, and you can put a few more sticks on it. Then you will be able to see me as well as I can see you now, and we can talk together comfortably."
"But can you see in the dark?" said Tommy Smith, whilst he sat on the bed and began to put on his stockings.

"Oh yes," the rat answered; "just as well as I can in the light."

"I wish I could," said Tommy Smith, "for I can't see you at all."

"Of course not," said the rat. "So, you see, it has not taken a very long time to find out something which I can do, but you can't. Well, you are ready now, so come along. You will be able to follow me, for I will pat the floor just in front of you with my tail, -- and that is another thing which you couldn't do, even if you were to try for a very long time."

"Because I haven't got a tail," said Tommy Smith.

"That is one reason," the rat answered; "but you can't be sure you could do it even if you had one. It might be too short, you know. Now, come along." Pat, pat, pat. "Do you hear?"

Tommy Smith heard quite plainly, and he followed the rat through the door, and down the stairs, and right into the kitchen. The fire was still alight, as the rat had said. There were some sticks lying in the fender, and Tommy Smith put some of them on to make it burn up. Then there was a blaze of light, and he could see the rat sitting up on his hind legs, and holding his front paws close to the bars so as to warm them.

"Now," the rat said, "we will begin at once. I promised to show you that I could do some clever things as well as the frog and toad. Do you see that bottle of oil standing there on the dresser?"

"Oh yes, I see it," said Tommy Smith.

"Well," the rat went on, "I should like to taste a little of it. But how do you suppose I am to get at it?"

"Why, by knocking it over," said Tommy Smith at once. "That is the only way that I can see."

"Fie!" said the rat. "That may be your way of drinking oil, but I should be ashamed to make such a mess. I am a rat, and I like to do things in a proper manner."

Tommy Smith felt a little offended at this, and he said, "I never knock a bottle over when I want to get oil or anything else out of it, for I am a little boy, and have a pair of hands to lift it up with, and pour what is in it out of it. But you have no hands, and you cannot get your head into it, because the neck is too narrow, and your tongue is not long enough to reach down to where the oil is. So I don't see what you can do, unless you knock it over."

"Fie!" said the rat again. "Well, you shall soon see what I can do." And almost as he said this, he was on the dresser, and from there he gave a little jump on to the window-sill, and sat down, with his long tail hanging over the edge of it. Now the neck of the bottle came almost up to the edge of the window-sill, and the rat's tail was as long as the bottle.

"Oh, I see!" cried Tommy Smith.

"You will in a minute," said the rat, and he drew up his tail, and began to feel about with the tip of it till he had got it right inside the mouth of the bottle. Then he let it down again until it was dipped more than an inch deep into the oil at the bottom -- for the bottle was not quite half full.

"Oh, how clever!" cried Tommy Smith, clapping his hands.

"I should think so," said the rat, as he drew out his tail, and then, putting the end of it to his mouth, he began to lick off the delicious oil. "You say that I have not a pair of hands," he went on. "That is true, but you see I have a tail, and I make it do just as well."

"So you do," said Tommy Smith; "and I see that you are a very clever animal indeed."

"We are clever in many other ways besides that," said the rat. "Oil, you know, is not the only thing which we care about. We like eggs for breakfast, just as much as you do, and when we find any, we take them to our holes, even if they are a long way off. Now, how do you think we do that?"

"Let me see," said Tommy Smith. "You have no hands, and I don't think you could carry an egg in your tail. I think you must push it in front of you with your nose and paws."

"Oh, we can do that, of course," said the rat, "but it takes so long, and, besides, the eggs might get broken. We have better ways than that. Sometimes, if there are a great many of us, we all sit in a row, and pass the eggs along from one to the other in our fore-paws. But we have another way which is cleverer still, and as there is a basket of eggs in that cupboard there, I don't mind showing it you; for, between ourselves, when we do that trick, we like to have a little boy in the kitchen at nights to look at us. But, first, I must call a friend of mine." The rat then gave rather a loud squeak, and out another rat came running; but Tommy Smith didn't see where it came from.

"What is it?" said the second rat.

"Oh, I want to show little Tommy Smith how we carry eggs about," said the first rat.

"Very well," said the second rat. "Come along." And they both scampered into the cupboard together. (The door of the cupboard was half open. I think it ought to have been shut.)

Very soon the two rats came out again, but whatever do you think they were doing? Why, one of them was on his back, and the other one was dragging him along the floor by his tail, which he had in his mouth. But what was that white thing which the rat who was being dragged along was holding? Was it an egg? Yes, indeed it was; and he was holding it very tightly with all his four feet, so that it was pressed up against his body, and didn't slip at all.

Tommy Smith could hardly believe his eyes. "Is that how you do it?" he cried. "I see. One rat holds the egg, and the other pulls him along by the tail."

"Of course he does," said the rat. "He pulls him and the egg too."

"Well," Tommy Smith said, "of all the clever things I have ever seen, I think that is the cleverest. But where are you going with it?"

Yes, it was easy to ask, but there was no one to answer him; for both the little rats were gone all of a sudden, -- and, what is more, the egg was gone too. "That will be one egg less for breakfast," thought Tommy Smith to himself. "I wonder that I didn't think of that before. Ah, Mr. Rat," he called out, "you may be very clever, but you are a thief, for all that. That egg which you have just taken away belongs to me. I mean it belongs to my father and mother. I call that stealing."

"Oh, do you?" said the rat, for he had come out of his hole again. "Then just let me ask you one question. Who laid that egg?"

"Why, the hen did, of course," answered Tommy Smith.

"Oh, did she?" said the rat. "Then I suppose your father, or someone else, took it away from her, and I call that stealing."

"Oh no," said Tommy Smith; "I don't think it is."

"Don't you?" said the rat. "Well, you had better ask the hen what she thinks. I feel sure she would agree with me."

Tommy Smith felt certain that the rat was wrong, and that the egg had not been stolen. Still, he thought he had better not ask the hen; and, whilst he was considering what he should say, the rat went on with -- "There are other things we rats do which are quite as clever as what you have just seen. But, perhaps, if I were to show them you, you would make some other rude remark about stealing."

"Perhaps I should," Tommy Smith answered; "and, besides, I feel very sleepy, and should like to go upstairs to bed again."

As he said this, he yawned, and looked straight into the fire; but, dear me, what was happening there? The coals in it seemed to be getting larger and larger, till they looked like the sides of great red mountains, and the spaces between them were like great caves, so deep that Tommy Smith could not see to the bottom of them. In and out of these caves, and all down the sides of the red mountains, hundreds of rats were running, and they all met each other in the centre of -- what? Not of the fireplace. Of course not, for they would have been burnt. Nor of the kitchen either. There was no kitchen now. It had all disappeared. It was in the centre of a great hall, or amphitheatre, that Tommy Smith stood now; and when he looked round him, he saw only those great rugged mountains, which seemed to make its walls on every side. He looked up but he could see nothing. There was neither sun, nor moon, nor stars, yet everything was lit up with a strange light, which seemed to Tommy Smith like the red glow of the fire, though he couldn't see the fire any more. It had gone with the kitchen.

"Where am I?" he cried.

"In the great underground store-cupboard of the rats," said a voice close beside him; and, looking round, he saw the same rat who had come up into his bedroom, and taken him down to the kitchen, and shown him his clever tricks.

Yes, he was the same rat, -- but how different he looked! On his head was a yellow crown, which was either of gold, or else it must have been cut out of a cheese-paring; and in his right fore-paw he held his sceptre, which looked exactly like a delicate spring-onion. He had a necklace of the finest peas round his neck, from which a lovely green bean hung as a pendant upon his breast, and his tail was twisted into beautiful rings. "I am the king of the rats," he said, "and all the other rats are my subjects. Those great caves which you see in the sides of the mountains are so many passages that lead into all the kitchens of the world. Through them we bring all the good things that we find in the kitchens, and larders, and pantries, and then we feast on them here in our own palace; for a rat's palace is his store-cupboard. See!" And with this the rat king struck his sceptre on the ground, and at once all the rats left off scampering about, and formed themselves into a great many long lines, which stretched from the mouths of all the caves right into the very middle of that wonderful place. There they all sat upright, side by side, waiting to be told what to do. Then the king of the rats waved his sceptre three times round his head, and called out, "Supper." Immediately all kinds of things that are good for rats to eat, such as bits of cheese, scraps of bread or toast, beans, onions, bacon, potatoes, apples, biscuits, -- everything of that kind that you can possibly think of (besides some things that you can't possibly think of), began to pour out from all the great caves, and to fly like lightning from rat to rat down all the long lines. One rat seized something in his fore-paws and passed it on to another, and that one to the next, so quickly that it made Tommy Smith quite giddy to look at it; and he hardly knew what was happening, till all at once there was an immense heap of provisions piled up in the very centre of the floor. Then the king of the rats climbed up to the top of the heap, and called out, "Take your places," and in a moment all the other rats came scampering up, and sat in a large circle round the great heap of provisions. "Begin!" said the king; and every rat made a leap forward, and fixed his teeth into the first piece of bread, or cheese, or toast, or bacon, that he could get hold of, and there was such a noise of nibbling, and gnawing, and scratching, and squeaking. Tommy Smith was quite frightened, and put his fingers to his ears.
"What are you doing that for?" said the king of the rats. "Didn't you hear me tell you to begin?"

"But I don't want to begin," said Tommy Smith.

"Why not?" said the king; and all the other rats stopped eating, and said, "Why not?"

"Because I don't like eating in the night," Tommy Smith answered; "and, besides, I can't eat what rats eat."

At this there was a great commotion, and the king of the rats cried out, "Bite him!" in a very loud and shrill voice.

Oh, how fast little Tommy Smith ran! "The caves!" he thought. "They lead to all the kitchens of the world, so one of them must lead to ours." He got to one, but the rats were close behind him. He could see their eyes shining in the dark as he looked back. "Oh dear!" he said; "I shall be caught. It's getting narrower and narrower, and, of course, it must be a rat's hole at the other end. Ah, there! I'm stuck, and I shall be bitten all over." As he said this, he kicked and squeezed as hard as he could, and, to his great surprise, he found that the sides of the rat-hole were quite soft -- in fact, they felt very like bedclothes; and the next moment his head was on his own pillow, and the old clock on the staircase struck two.

"Well, good-night," said a squeaky little voice, that he seemed to have heard before. "If you will go to sleep, I can't help it, but I think the way in which little boys turn night into day is quite dreadful."

The next time Tommy Smith heard the old clock on the stairs, it was striking eight, so, of course, it was broad daylight, and high time to get up. "What a funny dream I have had," he said, as he rubbed his eyes; "or did the rat really come, as he said he would?" Then, after thinking a little, he said to himself, "Rats are certainly very clever animals, and I don't think I'll kill another, even if they do steal a few things. At anyrate, I won't hurt them until they hurt me."




Chapter V.

The Hare

"When you've read through this chapter, I'm sure you'll declare That you hate everybody who hunts the poor hare."


WHAT a beautiful day it was!

How bright the sun shone, and how pleasantly the birds were singing, -- for it was the lovely season of spring. All the air was full of melody, so that it seemed to Tommy Smith as if he had somehow got inside a very large musical box, which would keep on playing. And so he had, really, only it was Nature's great musical box, -- the music was immortal, and the works were alive.

Far up in the sky the lark was doing his very best to please little Tommy Smith and everybody else, for he made whoever heard him feel happier than they had felt before. But what was little Tommy Smith doing to show how grateful he was to the bird that gave him so much pleasure? Why, I am sorry to say that he was trying to find the poor lark's nest, so that he might take away the eggs which were in it, -- those eggs which the mother lark had been taking so much trouble to keep warm, so that little baby larks might come out of them, which she meant to feed and take care of till they were grown up, and could fly and sing like herself. It was the thought of those eggs, and of the mother bird sitting upon them, which made the lark himself sing so gladly up in the air, for, when he looked down, he fancied he could see them; and he knew that there was someone waiting for him there who would be glad to see him again, when he came down to roost. But Tommy Smith did not think of this, for nobody had talked to him about it. All he thought of was how he could get the eggs, so that he could take them away with him, and show them to other boys.

Ah! what was that? How gracefully the cowslips waved, and up went a lark into the sky; and as he rose he seemed to shake a song out of his wings. Tommy Smith thought there was sure to be a nest close to where he had risen, so he went to look; but before he had got to the place, away went something -- something brown like a lark, but ever so much larger, and, instead of flying, it galloped along over the ground; so, you see, it was not a bird at all. What was it? Tommy Smith knew well enough, for he had often seen such an animal before. "Ha!" he cried. "Puss! puss! A hare! a hare!" and he sent the stick which he had in his hand whizzing after it; but, I am glad to say, he did not hit it.

The hare did not seem so very frightened. Perhaps he knew that he could run away faster than any stick thrown by a little boy could come after him. At anyrate, before he had gone far, he stopped, and then he turned round, and raised himself right up, almost on his hind legs, and looked back at Tommy Smith.

"Well," he said, as Tommy Smith came up; "you see you cannot catch me."

"No," said Tommy Smith -- he was getting quite accustomed to having talks with animals, -- "you run too quickly."

"For my part," said the hare, "I wonder how any little boy who has a kind heart can like to tease and frighten a poor, timid animal who is persecuted in so many ways as I am."

"What do you mean by 'persecuted'?" said Tommy Smith. "That is a word which I don't understand. It is too long for me."

"It is a great pity," the hare went on, "that a little boy should always be doing something which he does not know the word for. To 'persecute' people is to be very cruel to them, and whenever you hurt, or annoy, or frighten, or ill-treat any of us animals, then you are persecuting us."

"If I had known that," said Tommy Smith, "I would not have done it."

"Then you mustn't do it any more," said the hare; "and especially not to me, because I have so many enemies who are always trying to injure me."

"Why, what enemies have you?" said Tommy Smith.

"Plenty," the hare said. "First, there is that wicked animal the fox, who is always ready to kill and eat me whenever he has the chance. He is very cunning, and, as he knows he cannot run fast enough to catch me, he tries all sorts of ways to pounce upon me when I am not expecting it. Sometimes he will wait by a hole in the hedge that he has seen me go through, and when I come to it again, he springs out and seizes me with his teeth and kills me, for he is much stronger than I am. Then sometimes one fox will chase me past a place where another fox is hiding, and then the fox that was hiding jumps out at me, and they both eat me together."

"How wicked!" said Tommy Smith.

"Is it not?" said the hare. "And then there is that horrid little creature the weasel. He follows me about till he catches me, and then he bites me in the throat, so that I bleed to death."

"That is horrid of him," said Tommy Smith. "But there is one thing which I cannot understand. The weasel does not go so very fast, and you can run faster than a horse. I am sure that if you were to run away, he would never be able to catch you."

"You don't know what it is," said the hare. "That odious little animal follows me about, and never leaves off. You see, wherever I go I leave a smell behind me."

"Do you?" said Tommy Smith. "That seems very funny. Why, I am close to you, and I don't smell anything."

"Little boys cannot smell nearly as well as animals," said the hare. "However, I don't quite understand it myself, for I am sure I am as clean as any animal can be, and there is nothing nasty about me; and yet whenever my feet touch the ground, they leave a smell upon it. That is my scent; but other animals have their scent too as well as I, so I needn't mind about it. Now the weasel has a very good nose, so that he is able to follow the scent that I have left on the ground, until he comes to where I am; and, besides, when I know that that cruel little animal is following me, I get so frightened that I cannot run away, as I would from you, or from a fox, or a dog. And so he comes up and kills me."

"Poor hare!" said Tommy Smith. "I feel very sorry for you. I am afraid that you are not clever like other animals, or else you would escape and get away more often. The rat would run down a hole, I am sure, and so would the rabbit. I have often seen him do it."

"Pray do not compare me to the rabbit," said the hare. "I have twice as much sense as he has, and I can tell you that you make a great mistake if you think I am not clever, for I am very clever indeed, as I will soon show you. If you will follow me a few steps, I will take you to the place where I was lying when you frightened me out of it. See, here it is. Look how nicely the grass is pressed downward and bent back on each side, so that it makes a pretty little bower for me to rest in when I am tired of running about. That is better, I think, than a mere hole in the ground; and, for my part, I look upon burrowing as a very foolish habit. I prefer fresh air, and I think that it is much nicer to see all about one than to live in the dark. This little bower of mine is what people call my form, and I am so fond of it that, however often I am driven away, I always come back to it again. And now, how do you think I get into this form of mine? I have told you that wherever I go I leave a scent upon the ground, so if I just came to my form and walked into it, any animal that crossed my scent would be able to follow it till he came to where I was. Now, what do you think I do to prevent this?"

"I don't know," said Tommy Smith, after he had thought a little; "I don't see how you can prevent it, for you must come to your form on your feet, -- you cannot fly."

"No," said the hare; "but I can jump. Look!" And he gave several leaps into the air, which made Tommy Smith clap his hands and call out, "Bravo! how well you do it!"

"Now," said the hare, "when I am coming back to my form, I leap first to this side and then to that side, and then I make a very big jump indeed, and down I come in my own house. Of course, by doing this, I make it much more difficult for a fox or a weasel to smell where I have been, for it is only where my feet touch the ground that I leave my scent upon it."

"Ah, I see," cried Tommy Smith; "so, when you make long jumps, your feet will not touch the ground at so many places as they would if you only just ran along it."

"Of course not," said the hare.

"And then there will not be so many places for a dog or a fox to smell where you have been," said Tommy Smith.

"Not nearly so many," said the hare; "that is the reason why I do it. I hope you think that quite as clever as just running down a hole, which is what the rat and the rabbit do."

"I think it very clever, indeed," said Tommy Smith; "and I see now that you are a clever animal."

"I have other ways of escaping when I am chased," the hare went on; "and I think, when you have heard them, you will confess they are quite as clever as anything which that conceited animal, the rat, has shown you. As to the rabbit, I say nothing. He is a relation of mine, and we have always been friendly. But the brains are not on his side of the family."

"Please go on, Mr. Hare," said Tommy Smith. "I should like to hear all you can tell me."
"Well," the hare said, "I have told you about the fox and the weasel, but they are not my only enemies. I have others -- horses and dogs, and, worst of all, hard-hearted men and women, who ride the horses, and teach the dogs to run after me, and to catch me. It is a pretty sight to see them all meet together in some field or lane. First one rides up, and then another, until there are quite a number. They laugh and talk whilst they wait for the huntsman to come with his pack of hounds. All are merry and light-hearted; even the horses neigh, they are in such spirits. Does it not seem funny that one creature's wretchedness should make so many creatures happy? And there are women -- ladies, some of them quite young, and so pretty -- like angels. I have seen them smile as if they could not hurt any living thing. You would have thought that they had come to stroke me, instead of to hunt me to death. But I know better. They are not to be trusted. They have soft cheeks, and soft eyes, and soft looks, but their hearts are hard.

"At last, up comes the huntsman, in his green coat and black velvet cap. He cracks his whip, and the dogs leap and bark around him -- such a noise! I hear it all as I lie crouched in my form, and my heart beats with terror. But I cannot lie there long, for now they are coming towards me. I start up, and run for my life. Away I go, one poor, timid animal, who never hurt anyone, and after me come men and women, boys and girls, horses and dogs, all happy, and all thinking it the finest thing in the world to hunt and to kill -- a hare."

"Are the dogs greyhounds?" said Tommy Smith.

"No," answered the hare; "the dogs I am talking about now are not greyhounds, but beagles. They hunt me by scent, but the greyhound hunts me by sight, for he runs so fast that he can always see me."

"Does he run as fast as you do?" asked Tommy Smith.

"Yes, indeed," said the hare; "he runs much faster, but he does not always catch me, for all that. When he is close behind me, I stop all of a sudden, and crouch flat on the ground. The greyhound cannot stop himself so quickly, for he is not so clever as I am. He runs right over me, and it is several seconds before he can turn round again. But I turn round as soon as he has passed me, and then I run as fast as I can the other way, so that, when he starts after me again, he is a good way behind. When he catches up to me, I do the same thing again. This clever trick of mine is called doubling, and I AM so proud of it, for if it was not for that, the greyhound would catch me directly."

"Then does he never catch you?" said Tommy Smith.

"He never has yet," said the hare. "But I have other ways of getting away from him, as well as from other dogs, and I will tell you some of them. Sometimes I run under a gate. The dogs are too big to do this, so they are obliged to jump over it. Then, when they are near me, on the other side I double, in the way I told you, run as fast as I can back to the gate, and go under it again. Of course they have to jump over it a second time, and in this way I keep running under the gate and making them jump over it until they are quite tired, for, of course, it is more tiring to jump over anything than only to run under it. At last, when they are too tired to run any more, I slip quietly through a hedge and gallop away."

"Bravo!" cried Tommy Smith.

The hare looked very pleased, and said, "I see that you are not at all a stupid boy, so I will tell you something else. Now, supposing you were being chased across the fields by a lot of dogs, and you were to come to a flock of sheep, what would you do?"

Tommy Smith thought a little, and then he said, "I think I should call out to the shepherd and ask him to help me."

"Yes, and I daresay he would help you," said the hare, "for he would remember the time when he was a little boy, and he would feel sorry for you. But he would not feel sorry for me, who am only a little hare (he was never that, you know). He would throw his stick at me, as you did, and then he would do all he could to help the dogs to catch me. No, it is not the shepherd that I should ask to help me, but the sheep -- they are so gentle, -- and when I came to them I should run right into the middle of them, and then the dogs would not be able to find me."

"But would not the dogs follow you in amongst the sheep and catch you there?" said Tommy Smith.

"No," said the hare, "they would not be able to; for the flock would keep together, so that the dogs could only run round the outside of it. But I should keep right in the middle, and wherever the sheep went, I should go with them; I could run between their feet, you know. Besides, the dogs would not be able to see me amongst so many sheep."

"No," said Tommy Smith. "But could not they still follow you by your scent?"

"No, indeed, they could not," said the hare; "for, you see, sheep have a stronger scent than I have, and they would put down their feet just in the very place where I had put down mine, and then their scent would hide mine. So, you see, by hiding amongst a flock of sheep I should save my life, for the dogs would not be able either to see me, or smell me, or to follow me, even if they could."

"Have you ever done it?" said Tommy Smith.

"Oh yes!" said the hare; "and there is something else which I have done. Sometimes when the dogs were chasing me, I have run to where I knew another hare was sitting, and I have pushed that hare out of his place, so that the dogs have followed him instead of me. I sat down where he had been sitting, and they all went by without finding it out."

"Well," said Tommy Smith, "that may have been very clever, but I don't think it was at all kind to the other hare."

The hare looked a little surprised at this, as if he had not thought of it before. "One hare should help another, you know," he said; "and, besides, I daresay the dogs did not catch him after all. He may have found another hare."

Tommy Smith was just beginning with "Oh, but" -- when the hare said, "Never mind!" rather impatiently, and then he continued, "And now I am going to tell you something which will show you that, although I am not a large or a fierce animal, I can sometimes be revenged on those who injure me, though they are larger and fiercer than myself."

"Oh, do tell me," said Tommy Smith, for the hare had paused a little, and seemed to be thinking.

"Ah!" he began again; "how well I remember it. I was very nearly caught that time. How fast the greyhounds ran, and how close behind me they were! What could I do to get away? I had gone up steep hills to tire them; and I had tired them, but then I had tired myself still more. I had run up one side of a hedge and down the other, so that they should not see me, and then I had gone through the roughest and thorniest part of that hedge, in hopes that they would not be able to follow. But they had kept close after me all the time, and now they were just at my heels. Then I doubled. Oh, how close I lay on the ground as the greyhounds leaped over me! I saw their white teeth, and their glaring eyes, and their red tongues lolling out of their great open mouths. But they had missed me, and I was saved for a little while. But where was I to run to next? There were no hedges now; no woods, or hills, or rocky ground, nothing but smooth level grass, which is just what greyhounds love to race over. Was there no escape? Yes. What was that long line far away where the green grass ended and the blue sky began? White birds were wheeling above it, and, from beneath, came a sound as though a giant were whispering. That was the sound of the sea, and the long line meeting the sky was the line of the cliffs. Oh, if I could reach it! But, first, I had to double -- once -- twice -- three times; over me they flew, and off I darted again. And now the line grew nearer, the white birds looked larger as they sailed in the air, and the whispering sound was changing to a moan -- to a roar. Yes, I was close to it now, but the greyhounds were just behind me, and their hot breath blew upon my fur. They had caught me! No. On the very edge of the cliffs I doubled once more, and once more they went over me."

"And over the cliffs?" said Tommy Smith.

"Yes," said the hare; "over me, and over the cliffs as well. Something hid the sky for a moment, -- a dark cloud passed above me. Then the sky was clear again; and there were no greyhounds now. Over and over, down, down, down they went, and were dashed to pieces on the black rocks, and drowned in the white waves. I know they were, for I peeped over the edge and saw it. You may ask the seagulls, if you like. They saw it too."

"Were they all drowned?" said Tommy Smith.

"Yes, all," said the hare.

"And were you glad?" he asked, for it seemed to him very dreadful.

"Well," the hare said, "I was glad to escape, of course, and so would you have been. But yet I could not help feeling sorry for the poor dogs, because they had been taught to chase me, and it was not their fault. Do you know who I should have liked to see fall over the cliffs instead of them?"

"Who?" said Tommy Smith.

"The cruel, hard-hearted men who taught them," said the hare. "It is they who ought to have been drowned, and I am very sorry that they were not."

"You poor hare!" said Tommy Smith, as he stroked its soft fur, and played with its long, pretty ears. "It is very hard that you should always be hunted, and I do think that you are very badly treated. But what clever ways you have of escaping! Do you know, I think you are the cleverest animal I have had a talk with yet, and I like you very much."

"Ah! it is all very well to say that now," said the hare. "But who was it that threw a stick at me?"

"I never will again," said Tommy Smith. "You know you jumped up all of a sudden, so that I had no time to think. But I did not come out on purpose to throw it at you. I only wanted to find a lark's nest, so as to get the eggs."

When the hare heard that, I cannot tell you how sad and grieved he looked. "What!" he said. "Would you take the poor lark's eggs away, and make it unhappy? No, no; if you really like me, as you say you do, you must promise me not to do anything so cruel as that. The lark is the best friend I have. He sings to me as I lie in my form, and consoles me for all my troubles. His voice cheers me too, when I am being chased by the dogs, for he always seems to be saying, 'You will get away; I know you will get away.' Then sometimes he comes down to roost quite close to me, and we talk to each other. He tells me what it is like up above the clouds, and I tell him all that has been going on down here. He has his trials too, for there are hawks that try to catch him, just as there are greyhounds that try to catch me; so we sit and comfort each other. Promise me never to be unkind to my friend the lark."

"I won't hurt him," said Tommy Smith. "And if ever I find his nest with eggs in it, I will only just look at them and leave them there."

"Oh, thank you," the hare said; "and you won't hurt me either?"

"No, indeed, I won't," said Tommy Smith. "Do you know, I begin to think that it would be better not to hurt any animal."

"Oh, much better!" said the hare, as he skipped gladly away. "Except the fox, -- and the weasel, you may hurt him -- if you can catch him." He said that, of course, because he was a hare, and felt prejudiced. You must not think I agree with him. Only a critic or a silly person would think that.




Chapter VI.

The Grass-Snake And Adder

"Tommy Smith has a talk with the grass-snake, and then With the adder: they're both as conceited as men."


WHEN Tommy Smith had said good-bye to the hare, he thought he would walk home through some woods which were not far off. So off he set towards them, and as he went along he said to himself, "I know there are a great many animals that live in the woods. Now I wonder which of them will be the first to have a talk with me. Let me see. The pigeon and the squirrel both live there, for I have often seen them together on the same tree. And then there is the -- " Good gracious! What was that just gliding out from under a bush? Tommy Smith gave a start and a jump, and well he might, for it was a large snake, perhaps three feet long. He was so surprised that, at first, he didn't quite know what to do, and before he had made up his mind, it was too late to do anything, for the snake had wriggled away into another bush. "It was an adder," said Tommy Smith out loud. "That, at least, is an animal which I ought to kill, because it is poisonous."

"I beg your pardon," said a sharp, hissing voice. "I am not an adder, and I am not poisonous."

Tommy Smith looked all about, but he could see nothing. Still, he felt sure that it must be the snake who had spoken, because the voice came from the very centre of the bush into which he had seen it go. So he answered, "Of course it is very easy for you to say that, but everybody knows that snakes are poisonous, and, if you are not a snake, I should just like to know what you are."

"I did not say that I was not a snake," said the voice again. "Of course I am, but I am not an adder for all that. There are two different kinds of snakes in this country. One is the adder, which is poisonous, and the other is the grass-snake, which is quite harmless. Now I am the grass-snake, so if you had killed me, you would have done something very wrong, for you would have killed a poor harmless animal."

"Well," said Tommy Smith, "if that is true, I am glad I didn't kill you. But are you quite sure?"

"If you don't believe me," said the snake, "you must get some good book of natural history, and there you will find it mentioned that we grass-snakes are quite harmless. It is the great superiority which our family have always had over that of the adder. People may call him a 'poisonous reptile,' but they cannot speak of us in that way. If they were to, they would only show their ignorance."

"But how am I to know which is one and which is the other?" asked Tommy Smith.

"You will not find that very difficult," the grass-snake answered; "and if you will promise not to hurt me, I will come out from where I am and show you."

Of course Tommy Smith promised (you see he was getting a much better boy to animals than he used to be), and directly he had, the snake came gliding out from under the bush, and lay on the ground just at his feet. "Now", he said, "to begin with, I am a good deal longer than an adder. I should just like to see the adder that was three feet long, and I am an inch longer than that. No, indeed! Whenever you see such a fine, long snake as I am, you may be sure that it is a nice grass-snake, and not a nasty adder."

"I won't forget that," said Tommy Smith. "But, I suppose, snakes grow like other animals. How should I be able to tell you from an adder if I were to meet you before you were three feet long?"

"Why, by my skin, to be sure!" said the grass-snake. "Look how beautifully it is marked, and what a fine greenish colour it is. I may well be proud of it, for a very great poet indeed has called it 'enamelled,' and says that it is fit for a fairy to wrap herself up in. Think of that! The adder's is quite different, only a dull, dirty brown, which I might call ugly if I were ill-natured. But I am not, so I will only say that it is plain. I don't think any fairy would like to wrap herself in his skin."

"But are there fairies?" said Tommy Smith.

"There are, as long as you are a little boy," said the grass-snake; "but as soon as you are grown up there will be none."

"How funny!" said Tommy Smith. "But do you know, Mr. Grass-Snake, I should not like to wrap myself up in your skin, even if I could, because it is so hard and covered with scales. And besides, how could the fairies get into it without killing you first? I don't suppose you can change it as the frog and the toad do."

"Not change it!" said the grass-snake. "And why not, pray? I should think myself a very stupid animal if I could not do that. Of course I change it, and then it looks and feels quite different to what it did when it was on me. You see, it is only just the outer part which comes off. That is quite thin, and I don't think you would find it very much harder than the petal of a flower. Some day, perhaps, you may find it if you look about in the grass or the bushes; for I rub myself against the grass or bushes to get it off."
"Then you do not swallow your skin as the toad does?" Tommy Smith asked.

"I should not like to do anything so nasty," said the grass-snake angrily, "and I wish you wouldn't keep talking to me about frogs and toads. They are very low animals, and only fit to be eaten."

Tommy Smith was quite shocked when he heard this, and he said, "Take care, Mr. Grass-Snake. Frogs and toads are very useful animals, and my friends, too. So I won't let you eat them."

"That is talking nonsense," said the grass-snake. "You can't help my eating them, especially frogs. Why, there are three frogs in my stomach at this moment."

Directly Tommy Smith heard that, he made a dart at the grass-snake, and caught hold of him before he could get away. I don't know what he meant to do. Perhaps he meant to kill the poor snake, which would have been very wrong, as you will see. But before he had time to do anything at all, two curious things happened. One was that the snake opened his mouth very wide indeed, and out of it came first one, then another, and then a third frog. Yes; three large frogs came out of the snake's mouth, one after the other, and there they all lay on the grass. That was one funny thing, and the other was that, as soon as Tommy Smith caught hold of the snake, the snake began to smell in a way that was not at all pleasant. Indeed, it was such a very nasty smell that Tommy Smith was glad to drop him, so that he got away into the bush again.

"Ah, ha!" the snake said, as soon as he was safe, "I thought you wouldn't hold me very long. Just look at your hand now."

Tommy Smith looked at his hand. It had a thick yellowish fluid on it, which made it feel quite moist, and it was this fluid which had such a disagreeable smell. He was very much offended with the grass-snake, and he called out to him, "I think that is a very nasty trick to play, indeed."

"I thought you wouldn't like it," replied the grass-snake, "and that is just why I did it. I wanted you to let me go, and, you see, you very soon had to. I always do that when anyone catches me; and, for my part, I think it is a very clever idea of mine."

"But how do you do it?" asked Tommy Smith, whilst he stooped down and wiped his hand on the grass.

"Why, I hardly know," said the grass-snake. "It comes naturally to me. Nobody can be cleaner or more well-behaved than I am, as long as I am treated properly. But when I am attacked, and my life is in danger, I do the only thing which I can do to protect myself. It is just as if you had a bottle of something which smelt so strongly that when you took out the cork and sprinkled it about, nobody could stay in the room. Now I have something which smells like that, only instead of keeping it in a bottle, I carry it under my skin, and when I want to use it, then, instead of taking out a cork, I just open my skin, and it comes out in little drops all over me."

"Open your skin?" said Tommy Smith. "Why, how do you do that?"

"I don't know how I do it," said the grass-snake, "but I do do it."

"Well," Tommy Smith said, "however you do it, I think it is a very nasty habit. And besides, I shouldn't have caught hold of you if you hadn't told me that you had been eating frogs. I think it is very cruel of you to eat them. Why do you do it?"

"Why do I do it?" answered the grass-snake. "Why, because I feel hungry, to be sure. Why do you eat sheep, and oxen, and pigs, and ducks, and fowls, and turkeys?"

"Oh! but everybody eats them," said Tommy Smith.

"Every snake eats frogs," said the grass-snake. "We were made to eat them, and the frogs were made for us to eat. That is my theory. It is a good one, I feel sure, for it explains the facts and makes me feel comfortable."

"But they are so useful," said Tommy Smith; "and they do so much good in the garden."

"I don't eat them all," said the grass-snake, "and I don't often go into gardens. Frogs and toads may be very useful, but perhaps if I didn't eat some of them there would be too many of them in the world, and then, instead of being useful, they would be a nuisance. You see, I don't eat them all. I leave just as many as are wanted, as long as you don't kill them. But if you were to kill them too, then there would be too few."

Tommy Smith thought a little, and then he said, "Are you obliged to eat them?"

"Of course I am," said the grass-snake, "just as much as you are obliged to eat beef and mutton. You would think it very hard if you were to be killed just for eating your dinner. Then why should you want to kill me for eating mine? No, no; take my advice, and learn this lesson. Never kill one animal for eating another animal."

Tommy Smith thought over this for a little, and it seemed to him to be right. "After all," he thought, "the frog and the toad eat insects, and if no animal might eat any other animal, then a great many animals would die of starvation, and that would be very dreadful." So he said to the grass-snake, "Well, Mr. Grass-Snake, I think you are right, and, if you come out of your bush, I will not try to catch you any more." So the grass-snake came wriggling out again, and then Tommy Smith asked him why he had brought the frogs out of his mouth after he had eaten them.

"It was because you frightened me," said the grass-snake. "You see, I wanted to get away, and, with three frogs inside me, I felt rather heavy. But as soon as the frogs were gone I was much lighter, and could go much quicker. Now don't you think it was a very clever idea?"

"I don't think it was a very clean idea," said Tommy Smith; "but as you were frightened, perhaps you couldn't help it. But now, Mr. Grass-Snake, are there any other clever things which you can do, and which are not quite so nasty? If there are, I should like to hear about them."

"I can lay eggs," said the grass-snake, "which is more than the adder can do."

"But can you really lay them?" said Tommy Smith; "and do you make a nest for them, like a bird?"

"No," said the grass-snake. "A bird makes a nest for her eggs because she has to sit on them, and she wants a nice, comfortable place to sit in. Now I don't sit on my eggs, for that is not at all necessary. I just find a nice, warm, moist place for them, and when I have laid them there, I go away and leave them. I have no time to sit on them like a bird. I am much too busy."

"But how are your eggs ever hatched?" said Tommy Smith.

"Oh," said the grass-snake, "I am so clever that I know the heat of the place where they lie will be enough to hatch them. So when they are once safely laid, I don't bother about them any more."

"Yes," said Tommy Smith; "but if you go away, who is there to look after the young snakes when they come out of the egg?"

"They look after themselves," said the grass-snake. "Birds are like little boys and girls. They are great babies, and want someone to take care of them whilst they are young. But we snakes are so clever that as soon as we come into the world we can take care of ourselves, and don't want anyone to help us."

"I should like to see some of your eggs," said Tommy Smith. "What are they like?"

"They are white," said the grass-snake, "and they are joined together in a long string, sometimes as many as sixteen or even twenty. So you may think how beautiful they look, like a necklace of very large pearls. Only they are not hard like pearls. Their shell is soft, and not at all like the shell of a bird's egg."

"I should like to see them," said Tommy Smith.

"Well," said the grass-snake, "you must look about in manure-heaps, and then, perhaps, you will find some. That is the sort of place that I like to lay them in."

Tommy Smith thought that this was another nasty habit of the grass-snake, but he didn't like to say so, because he had said it twice before; so, after a little while, he said, "And do you really like being a snake, Mr. Grass-Snake?" You see he had to say something, and he didn't quite know what to say.

"Like it?" said the grass-snake. "Of course I do. I should be very sorry to be anything else. Yes, we snakes have a happy life. In summer we crawl about and eat frogs, and in winter we find some nice place to go to sleep in."

"Then do you sleep all the winter?" said Tommy Smith.

"Of course," said the grass-snake. "What else is there to do? There are no frogs in winter, and it is cold and unpleasant. The best thing is to go to sleep, and that is what I always do."

Now whilst Tommy Smith was talking to the grass-snake he kept looking at the poor dead frogs that were lying on the grass, and you can think how surprised he was when, all at once, one of them moved a little, and then began to crawl away very slowly. Then the others moved, and began to crawl away too. So they were not dead after all. You see, when a snake eats a frog (or anything else), he does not chew it, as we do, but just swallows it whole, and then sometimes the frog will keep alive for some time inside the snake's stomach. Tommy Smith spoke to the frogs, but they were too faint to answer. So he took them up, and washed them in a little ditch which was close by, and then laid them in a nice long tuft of grass. When he had done that, he came back to where he had left the grass-snake, but he did not find him there again. "Where are you?" he called out. "Do you mean me?" said a voice quite near him. It was a hissing voice, certainly, and sounded a good deal like the grass-snake's. But still it did not sound quite the same, Tommy Smith thought. So he said, "I mean you, if you are the grass-snake," in rather a doubtful tone of voice. "No, indeed," hissed the voice again, "I am something better than a grass-snake. I am an adder." And as the adder said this, he came crawling out from a little clump of furze-bush, where he had lain hidden.

Tommy Smith saw that what the grass-snake had said was true, for the adder's body was shorter and of a duller colour than the grass-snake's. His head, too, was different. It was flatter, and swelled out more on each side where it joined the neck, so that the neck looked smaller in proportion to the size of the head. Altogether, Tommy Smith felt sure that the next time he went out for a walk and saw a snake, he would be able to tell whether it was a grass-snake or an adder. "And if it is an adder," he said to himself, "why, I ought to kill it." And then he said out loud, "Mr. Adder, you don't seem at all afraid of me; but, do you know, I think I ought to kill you, because you are poisonous."

"I think you ought to leave me alone because I am poisonous," said the adder. "For if you were to try to kill me, I should have to bite you, and then, perhaps, I should kill you."

Tommy Smith did not like this remark of the adder's at all. He began to feel afraid himself, and he would have liked to have run away. But he thought that if he did, the adder might attack him when his back was turned. So he stood quite still, and only said, "Why aren't you harmless like the grass-snake?"

"That is not a very polite question!" said the adder in reply. "I belong to the poisonous branch of the family, and I am proud to belong to it. The grass-snake is a poor creature, and I pity him. I should like to see anyone catch me in the same way that they catch him. I would soon teach them the difference between us."

"But you do so much harm," said Tommy Smith.

"What harm have I ever done you?" said the adder.

"You have not done me any harm," said Tommy Smith, "but that is because I have never seen you before now."

"You may never have seen me," said the adder, "but I have seen you very often. Sometimes I have been quite near to where you were walking, but when I have heard you coming, I have just crawled out of the way, and let you go by without hurting you. Now don't you think that was very good of me? I should just like to know what you have to complain of."

"You have never hurt me, I know," said Tommy Smith. "But think how many people you do hurt."

"Do you know anybody that I have hurt?" asked the adder.

"No," answered Tommy Smith, "I don't know anybody; but I am sure you must have hurt a great many people, because you are poisonous."

"Well," said the adder, "I think you might walk about a long while asking people before you found anyone that I had done any harm to. I never interfere with people unless they interfere with me, so I think the best thing they can do is just to let me alone. It is true that my two front teeth are poisonous, and that I can kill some creatures by biting them. But these creatures are not men or women, but only mice or small birds or frogs. You know I have to eat them, so I may just as well kill them before I begin. The grass-snake eats his frogs alive. That is much more cruel than if he killed them first, as I do."

"How do you kill them?" said Tommy Smith. "I suppose you sting them with your forked tongue, and then they die."

"Did you not hear me say that I bit them," said the adder; "and that I had two poisonous teeth? My tongue is not poisonous at all. There is no more harm in it than there is in yours."

"Oh! but, Mr. Adder," cried Tommy Smith, "do you know I once went to the Zoological Gardens in London, and I saw the snakes there, and whenever one of them put out his tongue, as you do yours, the people all said, 'Look at its sting! Look at its sting!'"

"That is only because they were ignorant people," said the adder, "and did not know any better. No; it is the two long teeth in my upper jaw that are poisonous, and, if you will just kneel down, I will open my mouth so that you can see them, and then I can explain all about it to you."

Tommy Smith didn't quite like the idea of kneeling down and putting his face close to the mouth of the adder. He had heard of men who put their heads inside a lion's mouth, and he thought that this would be almost as dangerous. However, the adder promised not to bite him, and as he said he never had bitten a little boy in the whole of his life, and should not think of doing so without a proper reason, he thought he might trust him. So he knelt down and looked. Then the adder opened his mouth, and, as he did so, two little white things like fish-bones seemed to shoot forward into the front part of it. "Those are my two poison-fangs," he said. "When my mouth is shut, they lie back against my upper jaw, but as soon as I open it to bite anyone, they shoot forward so as to be in the right place." Tommy Smith looked at the teeth. They were as sharp as needles and almost as thin, but they were not straight like common needles, but curved backwards like crochet-needles. "What curious teeth!" he said.

"Perhaps they are more curious than you think," said the adder; "just look at the tips of them, and see if you notice anything."

Tommy Smith looked as the adder told him, and he was surprised to see a tiny little hole at the tip of each tooth. "Why, Mr. Adder," he said, "it seems to me as if your teeth were hollow and wanted stopping."

"They are hollow," said the adder, "and I will tell you why. At the root of each of them I have a little bag which is full of poison. You cannot see it, of course, because it is hidden under the flesh of my upper jaw. But things which cannot be seen are very often felt. Now, when I bite an animal, these little bags open, and a drop or two of poison runs down each tooth where it is hollow, so that it goes into the flesh of that animal and mixes with its blood."

"And does that kill it?" asked Tommy Smith.

"Oh yes!" answered the adder; "because I only bite small animals. It would not kill a horse, or a cow, or even a pig, unless it was very young. But it kills field-mice, and shrew-mice, and things of that sort."

"But there is one thing, Mr. Adder, which I don't understand," said Tommy Smith. "I thought that one had to swallow poison for it to kill one. But you say that this poison of yours goes into the blood."

"I don't know anything about poisons that have to be swallowed," said the adder; "I only know about my poison, and I use that in the way I have told you. My poison must go into the blood. If you were only to swallow it, I daresay it would not hurt you at all."

"I should not like to try," Tommy Smith said. "But are you going?" for the adder had begun to crawl away.

"Yes," said the adder; "I am going now, for I have plenty to do. I should not have wasted my time like this, only I heard that poor creature, the grass-snake, talking about himself, so I thought I would just show you what a much more important animal I am than he."

"I think that you are rather conceited, Mr. Adder," said Tommy Smith. "The grass-snake is very clever. He can lay eggs, and he says that is more than you can do."

"I should be ashamed to do such a thing," said the adder. "A young grass-snake requires an egg, but a young adder knows how to do without one. We can crawl as soon as we come into the world. As for my being conceited, perhaps I am, just a little. But that is natural. I can never forget that I have poison flowing in my veins. Now I will say good-bye, for I have plenty to do, and must not waste my time any longer."

"Good-bye, Mr. Adder," Tommy Smith called after him, for he thought he had better be friendly with such an animal. "I hope that you will never bite me." But the adder merely gave a contemptuous hiss, and was gone.




Chapter VII.

The Peewit

"To eat peewit's eggs to a peewit seems wrong, So a hen MAY think hen's eggs to hens should belong."


"PEE-WEE-EET! Pee-wee-eet!" That is what a bird kept saying as he flew in circles round Tommy Smith. Sometimes he flew quite a long way off, and sometimes he came so near him that it seemed as if he would settle on his head. "Pee-wee-eet! Pee-wee-eet!" And what a pretty bird this was! How his white breast glanced in the sun, and how the glossy green feathers of his back shone in it. He kept turning about in the air as he flew, so that Tommy Smith could see every part of him.

In fact, this bird was playing the strangest antics. Sometimes he would clap his wings together above his back, at least Tommy Smith thought he did; and then he would make such a swishing and whizzing with them, that really it was quite a loud noise -- almost like a steam-engine. Then, all at once, he would turn sideways and make a dive down towards the ground, and sometimes (this was the funniest trick of all) he would tumble right over in the air, as if he had lost his balance and was really falling. If Tommy Smith had ever seen a tumbler pigeon it would have reminded him of one, but he never had. And all the while this bird kept on calling out, "Pee-wee-eet! pee-wee-eet!" as if he wanted Tommy Smith to speak to him, as, perhaps, he did.

"I know what bird you are," said Tommy Smith. "I have often seen you flying over the fields, but you have never come so close to me before. I think your name is" -- 

"Pee-wee-eet! pee-wee-eet! That is my name. They call me the peewit."

"Yes," said Tommy Smith; "because you say" -- 

"Pee-wee-eet! pee-wee-eet!" screamed the bird. "Yes, that is why. It is because I say 'Pee-wee-eet'"; and as the peewit said this, he made a sweep down and settled on the ground just in front of Tommy Smith. So close! Tommy Smith could almost have touched him with his hand. He was a handsome bird! Now he could see that, besides his beautiful green back and his white breast, he had a handsome black crest at the back of his head, that stuck out a long way behind it -- as if his hair had been brushed up behind, Tommy Smith thought, only, of course, it was not hair, but feathers.

The peewit was not at all afraid, but looked up at Tommy Smith, with his head on one side, and said, "Yes, that is my name. A name isn't sensible if it hasn't a meaning. Some people call me the lapwing, but I don't know what that means. I would rather you called me the peewit. I like that name best. Well, now you may ask me some questions if you like." Tommy Smith would rather have listened to what the peewit had to tell him about himself first, and then asked him some questions afterwards, for, just then, he didn't quite know what questions to ask. But, of course, he had to say something, or it would have seemed rude, so he began with, "Please, Mr. Peewit, will you tell me why you say 'pee-weet' so often?"

"Why shouldn't I say it?" said the peewit. "It is my song, and I think it is a very good one too."

"But I don't call it a song at all," said Tommy Smith.

"Don't you?" said the peewit.

"No," said Tommy Smith. "It is not at all like what the lark or the nightingale sings. That is what I call singing."

"If all birds were to sing as well as each other," the peewit said, "perhaps you would not care to listen to any of them half so much. Now you say, 'How sweetly the lark sings,' or 'How beautifully the nightingale sings,' because they sing better than other birds. But if every bird was as clever at singing as they are, then to sing well would be such a common thing, that you would hardly notice it at all. As it is, you don't think about the lark nearly so much as the nightingale, because you hear him much oftener. So perhaps, after all, it is better that some birds should sing more sweetly than other birds. Don't you agree with me?"

"I don't know," said Tommy Smith. "I should never have thought of that, myself."

"There are a number of things that little boys would never have thought of," said the peewit. "Besides," he went on, "however well a bird may sing, all he means by his singing is that he is very happy. That is what the lark means when he sings high up in the blue sky; and it is what the nightingale means when he sings all night long by his nest. And that is what I mean, too, when I sing, 'Pee-wee-eet! pee-wee-eet!' So if you look at it in that way, my song is just as good as theirs, or any other bird's."

Tommy Smith did not think the peewit was right in this opinion of his, but he thought that he had better not contradict him so early in the conversation. So he only said, "Then, I suppose, you must always be happy, Mr. Peewit, for you are always saying 'Pee-wee-eet'?"

"I am always happy as long as people don't shoot me, or take away my eggs," said the peewit. "Why should I not be? It is very pleasant to be alive."

"And the grass-snake said he was happy too," thought Tommy Smith. "Then, are all animals happy, Mr. Peewit?" he asked.

"Oh yes," the peewit answered, "they all enjoy their life. That is why it is so wrong to kill them. For when you kill an animal, you take some of the happiness that was in the world out of it, and you can never put it back there again, however much you try."

"I never will kill animals any more," said Tommy Smith. "But now, Mr. Peewit, won't you tell me something about yourself? Do you do any clever things as well as the other animals that I have spoken to?"

"Why, haven't you seen the way I tumble about in the air?" said the peewit. "And don't you think that that is very clever? You couldn't do it yourself, however much you were to try."

"No," said Tommy Smith, "but then I have not got wings, you know. Perhaps if I had got wings, I would be able to do it as well as you."

"Do you think so?" said the peewit. "That is only because you are very conceited. Why, even the swallow can't do it. He is a splendid flier, and goes very fast. But, though you were to watch him for a whole day, you would not see him do such funny things in the air as I do. As for the other birds -- well, look at the cuckoo. What do you think of the way in which he flies? Why, he just goes along without doing anything at all. Do you think he could turn head over heels or make the noise with his wings that I do? If he can, then why doesn't he? I should just like to know that."

"Are you playing a game in the air when you fly like that, Mr. Peewit?" asked Tommy Smith.

"Yes," answered the peewit; "that is just what I am doing. Sometimes I play it by myself, but I like it better when there are some other peewits to play it with me. We do it to amuse ourselves, and because we are so happy and have such good spirits. But it is only in the springtime that we play such games, for we are happier then than at any other time of the year. In the autumn and winter we fly about in great flocks over the fields and marshes, or come down upon them and look for worms and slugs and caterpillars, for those are the things we eat. We are happy then, too, but not quite so happy as we are in the springtime, and you won't see us playing such pranks then, although there are a great many more of us together. Oh yes! it is a game, but it is a very useful kind of game, I can tell you."

"How is it useful?" asked Tommy Smith.

"Why, it prevents people from finding our eggs," answered the peewit. "I have told you that we only fly like this in the spring. Well, that is just the time when we lay our eggs. Now whilst the mother peewit is sitting quietly on her eggs, the father peewit keeps flying and tumbling about in the air. When you go for a walk over the fields, you do not notice the mother peewit on her eggs, for she sits quite still and never moves. But you can't help noticing the father peewit, and you only think of him. If you happen to go too near the place where the eggs are, the father peewit comes quite close to you, and flies round and round your head, as I did just now. You think that is very funny, and so you keep looking at him up in the air, and never think of looking on the ground where the eggs are."

"Are the eggs laid on the ground?" said Tommy Smith.

"Of course," said the peewit. "But let me go on. When the father peewit sees you are looking at him, he flies a little farther away from the eggs, and, of course, you follow him. Then he flies a little farther off still, and in this way he keeps leading you farther and farther away from the eggs, till he thinks they are safe, and then off he flies altogether."

"That is very clever," said Tommy Smith. "But supposing you didn't follow the father peewit, but kept walking towards where the eggs were, what would the mother peewit do?"

"Why, she would fly away before you got to her," said the peewit. "And you would find it very difficult to find the eggs even then."

"Then, is it only the father peewit that tumbles over in the air?" said Tommy Smith.

"It is he who does it most," said the peewit. "He has more time, and besides it would not be thought right for a mother peewit to throw herself about in that way whilst she has a family to attend to. When the mother peewit goes up from her eggs, she flies quietly away till she is a long way off. Then she settles somewhere on the ground, and waits for you to go away, and when you have gone away, she comes back to her eggs again."

"Then I suppose you are a father peewit?" said Tommy Smith.

"Oh yes," the peewit answered. "You have seen how I can tumble. And besides, look how long my crest is. The crest of the mother peewit is not nearly so long."

"Where is the mother peewit?" asked Tommy Smith -- for he thought he would like to see her too.

"She is not far off," the peewit answered, "and she is sitting on her eggs."

"Oh! I should so like to see them," cried Tommy Smith. "May I?"

"If I show you them," said the peewit, "will you promise not to take them away."

"Oh yes, I promise not to," said Tommy Smith. "I will only look at them -- unless you would be so kind as to give me one," he added.

"Give you one!" cried the peewit. "I would rather give you the bright green feathers from my back, or the beautiful crest that is on my head. Give you one, indeed! No, no; they are not things to be given away. But come along. You have promised that you will not take them, and I know you will not break your word." Then the peewit spread his wings, and rose into the air again, and began to fly along in front of Tommy Smith, who had to run to keep up with him. "Pee-wee-eet! pee-wee-eet!" he cried. "Come along. Come along."

"Oh, but you go so fast!" said Tommy Smith, panting. "I wish I had wings like you."

"I don't wonder at your wishing that," the peewit said. "I should think it dreadful if I could only walk and run." All at once the peewit flew down on to the ground again. "Here they are," he said, as Tommy Smith came up; "and what do you think? Why, one of them has hatched already; a day earlier than I expected."

"But where are the eggs?" asked Tommy Smith. "I don't see them, and I don't see any nest either. But what -- Oh! there is the mother peewit sitting on the ground," he cried out suddenly. And so she was, with her eggs underneath her. This time she did not fly away, for the father peewit had told her not to be uneasy.

"Oh, but there is no nest," said Tommy Smith. "She is sitting on the bare ground."

"Bare, indeed!" exclaimed the mother peewit. "There is plenty of sand on the ground, and what more can one want? Just look!" and as she spoke she moved a little to one side, and there, in a slight hollow, Tommy Smith saw four -- no, three eggs, and something else, something that was soft and fluffy, so it could not be an egg, although it was the same size, and the same sort of colour, yellowish, with black spots. Why, could that be a little baby peewit? Yes, indeed it was, for it moved a little, and made a little chirping noise.

"Don't touch him," cried the father peewit. "He is too young for that."

"And little boys are so rough," said the mother peewit.

"But you may look at him," said the father peewit.

"Oh yes, do," said the mother peewit; "and tell me what you think of him. Isn't he the prettiest little fluffy thing in the whole world?"

"Until the others are hatched," said the father peewit. "Then there will be three more, you know."

"To be sure there will," said the mother peewit, looking very proud; "and they will all be as pretty as each other. But I think this one will be the cleverest," she added. "There was a certain something in the way he chipped the shell, and he has lain in a thoughtful attitude ever since he came out."

"I am glad to hear it," said the father peewit. And then they both looked up at Tommy Smith, as if they expected him to say something.

But Tommy Smith was too busy to say anything just then. He had gone down on his hands and knees, and was looking at the eggs, for they interested him more even than the little peewit that had just been hatched. They were such funny-shaped eggs, large at one end and pointed at the other, something like a small pear, Tommy Smith thought, and they lay in the little hollow with their pointed ends all meeting together in the middle of it. They were of a greenish yellow colour, with great black splotches upon them. Of course they were much smaller than the eggs that a hen lays, but still, Tommy Smith thought, they were large eggs for a peewit to lay. A peewit is hardly so large as a pigeon, but these eggs were a good deal larger than a pigeon's egg. "Yes, they are very nice eggs," he said at last, as he got up from his hands and knees. "Are they good to eat?"

"Yes," said the father peewit, "they are"; and as he said this he looked very, very sad.

"Yes, they are good to eat," said the mother peewit, as she nestled down on her eggs again. "Oh, how I wish they were not!"

"Why?" said Tommy Smith. (He was only a little boy, or he would not have asked such questions.)

"I will tell you why," said the mother peewit. "There are bad men who come and take our eggs because they are so good to eat, and then they sell them to greedy wretches, who are still worse than themselves. Oh, how wicked men are! Just fancy! They eat our poor little children whilst they are still in their cradles."

"Yes," said the father peewit, "for the mere pleasure of eating, they will ruin thousands of families."

"Is it so very wicked to eat eggs?" asked Tommy Smith. "I have eaten a great many myself."

"What! peewit's eggs?" cried both the birds together.

"Oh no," said Tommy Smith feeling very uncomfortable. "But I have often eaten fowl's eggs."

"That is different," said the mother peewit. "We will say nothing about that."

"No, no," said the father peewit. "We do not wish to be censorious."

"What does that mean?" asked Tommy Smith, for it was a long word, and he did not remember having heard it before.

"I mean," said the father peewit, "that if people only ate fowl's eggs, peewit's eggs would be let alone, and that would be a very good thing. Fowls, you know, are accustomed to it, but we peewits have finer feelings."

"Yes," said the mother peewit; "we are more sensitive than common poultry."

Tommy Smith couldn't help remembering what the rat had said to him about asking the hen, and he thought he would ask her some day. But now he was talking to peewits. "You told me it was very difficult to find your eggs," he said.

"So it is," said the father peewit; "but it is not impossible."

"I wish it were," said the mother peewit. "But there are wicked men who learn how to do it, and then they can find them quite easily. Oh, what a wicked world it is!"

Tommy Smith didn't know what to say to comfort the poor peewits, until all at once an idea occurred to him. "Why do you lay eggs at all?" he said. "You know, if you didn't lay them, nobody could take them away from you."

"Not lay eggs?" cried the mother peewit. "Why, it is our duty to lay them. We have our duties to perform, of course."

"If we did not lay eggs," said the father peewit (he looked very grave as he spoke), "there would soon be no more peewits in the world, and what do you suppose would happen then?"

Tommy Smith didn't know, so he said, "What would happen, Mr. Peewit?"

"It is too dreadful to think about," the peewit said. "The very idea of it makes one shudder. A world without peewits! Oh dear! a nice sort of world that would be!"

The mother peewit shook her head. "It could hardly go on, dear; could it?" she said.

"It might," answered the father peewit, "but there would be very little meaning in it."

Tommy Smith certainly thought the world might go on without peewits, but he didn't quite understand the last part of the sentence. "But it seems to me," he said to himself, "that animals think themselves very important." "And are you a useful animal?" he said aloud to the father peewit, -- for the mother peewit was busy again with her eggs and the young one.

"Useful!" exclaimed the peewit. "Why, we are sometimes put into gardens to eat the slugs and the insects there. I suppose that is being useful."

"Oh yes," said Tommy Smith; "if you don't eat the cherries, or the strawberries, or the asparagus, or" -- 

"We are not vegetarians," said the peewit, "we prefer an animal diet, and we only eat things that do harm."

"But don't you eat worms?" said Tommy Smith.

"Of course we do," said the peewit.

"But I don't think worms do harm."

"If they don't, it is because we eat them," the peewit retorted. "If we didn't eat them, there would be too many of them, and then, of course, they would do harm."

"Well, when I grow up," said Tommy Smith, "I will have peewits in my garden as well as frogs, and -- Oh! but do you agree with frogs?" he asked, for this was an important point.

"Young frogs agree very well with us," said the peewit. "So it comes to the same thing, doesn't it?"

"I don't know," said Tommy Smith. "Not if the old ones don't."

"As for the old ones," said the peewit, "we leave them alone. They are too big to be interfered with. So, you see, that's all right too."

Tommy Smith didn't feel quite so sure about this. He couldn't help thinking that perhaps the peewits ate the little frogs. But, just as he was going to ask them this, he remembered that if he didn't make haste home, he would be late for dinner. Of course, as soon as he began to think about his own dinner, he forgot all about the peewit's, and said good-bye at once. So off he ran. The mother peewit just nodded to him as she sat on her eggs, but the father peewit rose up into the air again, and flew round him, and swished his wings, and tumbled about, and cried, "Pee-wee-eet! pee-wee-eet!" and Tommy Smith felt quite sure that he meant "Good-bye, good-bye."




Chapter VIII.

The Mole

"If we're only contented, some cause we shall find To be thankful: the mole thought it nice to be blind."


THE next walk that Tommy Smith took was over some fields where there were a great many mole-hills. Of course, Tommy Smith had often seen mole-hills before, but I am not sure if he had ever seen a mole; for a mole, as you know, lives underneath the ground, and does not often come up to the top of it. So, when he saw a little black thing scrambling about in the grass, he cried out, "Oh! whatever is that?" and ran to it and picked it up.

"You won't hurt me, I know," said the mole (for it was one) -- "and I don't mind your looking at me." You see Tommy Smith was getting a much better boy to animals, now that they had told him something about themselves, and the animals were beginning to find this out, and were not so frightened of him as they used to be.

Tommy Smith looked at the mole, and stroked it as it lay in his hand, and then he said, "Why, what a funny little black thing you are."

"Little!" said the mole; "I don't know what you mean by that. I am much bigger than the mouse or the shrew-mouse. You don't expect me to be as big as the rat, do you?"

"I don't know," said Tommy Smith, "but, you know, the rat is not so very big."

"He is as big as he requires to be, I suppose," said the mole, "and so am I. I have never felt too small in all my life, and I wonder that you should think me so. Why, look at those great hills of earth which I have flung up all over the fields. I am big enough to have made those, anyhow, and strong enough too. And look, how large and high they are."

"But are they so very high?" said Tommy Smith. "Why, I step over them quite easily."

"Dear me, that seems very wonderful," said the mole. "But I advise you not to do it often, for it must be a great exertion, and you might hurt yourself. But you must not think that because you are very big, I am very small. That would be very conceited."

Tommy Smith saw that he had not said the right thing, so he tried to think of something to say that the mole would like better. "Oh," he said at last, "what a very pretty, soft coat you have! I like it very much, indeed."

"Yes; feel it," said the mole. "It is a very handsome fur; and I can tell you something about it which is curious."

"What is that?" said Tommy Smith.

"Why, you may stroke it whichever way you like," answered the mole, "without hurting me. It is not every animal that has a coat like that. There is the cat, poor thing! If you stroke her fur one way, she is very pleased and begins to purr; but if you stroke it the other way, it hurts her, and she does not like it at all. That is because her hair is long and lies all one way. Now my hair is short, and it does not lie any way."

"I suppose you mean that it does not point either towards your head or your tail," said Tommy Smith.

"Yes, that is what I mean," said the mole. "Instead of that, it sticks straight up, and when you stroke it, it moves whichever way your hand moves, without making me feel at all uncomfortable."

"That is a very nice fur to have," said Tommy Smith. "Then, I suppose that sometimes if you were burrowing, and you wanted to go backwards for a little way, it would not hurt you to do so."

"Not at all," said the mole. "Now the poor cat could not do that. She could not go backwards in a burrow, because it would rub all her hair up the wrong way."

"But cats don't burrow," said Tommy Smith.

"Of course not," said the mole. "They know that they would not be able to, so they don't try. They are poor things."

Tommy Smith could not see why cats should be poor things because they didn't burrow, but the mole seemed quite sure of it, and he did not like to contradict him. "I suppose, Mr. Mole," he said, "that you are made for burrowing."

"Yes, I am," said the mole, "and I can do it better than any other animal in the world. You see, I have a pair of spades to help me, and I dig with both of them at the same time."

"A pair of spades!" cried Tommy Smith in surprise. "Why, where are they? I don't see them."

"Where are they?" said the mole; "why, here they are, to be sure," and he stretched out his two little front feet, and moved them about.

"Ah, now I see what you mean," said Tommy Smith, and he bent down his head and began to look at them more closely.

The mole might well have called his feet spades, for they were shaped something like them, and he used them to dig with, -- which is what spades are used for. They were short and broad, with five little toes, and each toe had a very strong claw at the end of it. These funny little feet stuck out on each side of the mole's body, and they were so very close to the body that they looked as if they had been sewn on to it. There did not seem to be any leg belonging to them at all. Of course there were legs, and very strong ones too, but they were so short, and so hidden under the skin, that Tommy Smith could not see them, although he felt them directly. The hind legs and feet were much smaller, and not nearly so strong, which, the mole said, was because they had not so much work to do. Between them there was a very short tail, just long enough, Tommy Smith thought, to take hold of and lift the mole up by. But he did not do this, in case he should be offended. "Well," said the mole, after Tommy Smith had looked at him for a little while, "what do you think of me? I hope you think me handsome."

"Yes, I think you are," Tommy Smith answered, though he did not feel quite sure of this. "At anyrate, your fur is handsome, for it is like velvet."

"Yes," said the mole; "and, do you know, I am sometimes called the little gentleman in the black velvet coat."

"It is not quite black," said Tommy Smith. "There is a greyish colour in it too. I think it would look very pretty if it was made into something. Oh, Mr. Mole," he cried all of a sudden, "now I remember that I have heard people talk about moleskin waistcoats!"

At this the mole gave a little squeak, and jumped quite out of Tommy Smith's hand, and then he began to burrow into the ground as fast as he could, and this was very fast indeed, so that before Tommy Smith had got over his surprise, he was almost out of sight. "Oh, Mr. Mole," he cried, "do come back!" but the mole was very angry, and would not consent to for some time.

"If I do," he said at last, "you must promise me never to talk in that way again."

"Oh, I never will," said Tommy Smith. "I quite forgot who I was talking to."

"Moleskin waistcoats, indeed!" said the mole. "I think the people who wear them are very wicked people. They never think how many poor little moles must be killed only to make one. I hope you have never worn a waistcoat like that?"

"Oh no," answered Tommy Smith, "I never have. Nobody has ever given me one."

"I hope you never will," said the mole; "for if you do, you will be almost as wicked a man as a mole-catcher, and he is the wickedest person I know of."

"A mole-catcher!" cried Tommy Smith; "then are there men who catch moles?"

"Oh yes, indeed there are," said the mole. "There are men who do that and nothing else."

"How do they do it?" asked Tommy Smith.

"They have traps," answered the mole, "which they put in the passages and corridors of our great underground palaces."

"Your houses, I suppose, you mean," said Tommy Smith.

"I mean what I say," said the mole. "You may live in a house, I daresay, but I think the place that I live in is quite large and fine enough to be called a palace, so I call it one."

"Oh! but it cannot be so big as the house that I live in," said Tommy Smith.

"Well," said the mole, "I should just like to know how long the longest corridor in your house is."

Tommy Smith thought to himself a little. The house he lived in was not a very large one, for his father was not a very rich man. There were not many passages in it, and he did not think the longest of them was long enough to be called a corridor. Still, he thought that they must be longer than the passages of a mole's house, and he couldn't help feeling rather proud as he said, "Oh! I don't know exactly, because I have never measured it, but perhaps it is six yards long."

"Six yards?" cried the mole. "Do you call that a corridor? Why, some of mine are more than twenty times as long as that. You might walk over a whole field without coming to the end of them. And how many corridors has your house got, then?"

"Oh, I think there are three," said Tommy Smith; but this time he didn't feel nearly so proud.

"Good gracious!" cried the mole. "Why, yours must be a very poor place to live in. I wish I could show you over my palace, but you are such an awkward size that you would never be able to get into it. My corridors are longer than yours, but they are not nearly so high. However, perhaps it is just as well that you can't get into it, for if you were once there, I am sure you would never want to go back again."

"Perhaps, Mr. Mole," said Tommy Smith, "as you can't show me over it, you will tell me what it is like."

"Well," said the mole, "I will; and perhaps, if you are always a good boy, and never think of wearing a moleskin waistcoat, I will show it you some day from the outside; but that can only be when I have done with it, and am going to build a new one, for I should have to break open the roof for you to see into it. Well, then, the principal part of my palace is called the keep, or fortress, -- I call it the fortress. It is very large, and the roof goes up into a beautiful, high dome. You know what a dome is, I suppose?"

"Oh yes," said Tommy Smith; for once he had been to London, and he remembered the dome of St. Paul's Cathedral.

"I wish you could see how high and stately it is," said the mole. "It goes right up into the bush ever so high."

"You mean 'into the air,' I think," said Tommy Smith.

"I mean what I say," said the mole; "into the bush. That is why you can't see it."

"Oh, but I can see it," said Tommy Smith. "I can always find your fortresses, Mr. Mole. I see lots of them every time I go out walking. They are not hidden at all. Why, there they are all over the field, and you know you told me to look at them yourself."

The mole gave a little choky laugh. "Oh dear!" he cried, "and do you really think that those are my fortresses? You are very much mistaken if you do. Why, they are only the hills that I throw up when I am making my tunnels and corridors. All you will find if you open them is a hole going down into one of those. Oh no; my fortress is not built there. It is carefully hidden under a bush or the root of a tree, so that you can't see it, however high it is. Only the wicked mole-catcher is able to find it, and I am very sorry he can."

This was a great surprise to Tommy Smith, for he had always thought that the mole lived under those little brown heaps of earth. But he had only thought so because he had never taken any trouble to find out about it. "I see you are cleverer than I thought, Mr. Mole," he said; "but I should like you to tell me something more about your palace and fortress."

"I told you that it was very large," said the mole, "and that it went up into a high dome outside. Inside, it is not nearly so high, but it is very nice and comfortable; and the floor and the sides and ceiling are always quite smooth and polished, for I polish them myself, and never leave it to the servants."

"But how do you polish them?" said Tommy Smith.

"Why, with my fur to be sure," said the mole. "I prefer that to a piece of wash-leather." (He laughed again as he said this, but Tommy Smith didn't know what for.) "My fur, as you see, is smooth too. If you were to walk down one of my corridors, you would be surprised to find how hard and smooth the sides of it are. That is because I am always running up and down them, and rubbing them with my fur."

"But doesn't that make you very dirty?" said Tommy Smith. "Surely the earth must get into your fur and stay there."

"It never stays there," said the mole with great pride. "I have a very strong muscle which runs all along my back just under the skin, and when I twitch that, every little piece of mould or earth that is in my fur flies out of it again. There! now I have twitched it. Look at me and see how clean I am, although I have only just come out of the ground. Oh no; there is never anything in my coat! It is a saying in our family that a mole may live in the dirt, but he is never dirty."

"That seems very funny," said Tommy Smith. "But tell me some more about the fortress that you live in."

"That is just what I was going to do," said the mole, "but you ask so many questions, that I am not able to get on. Now I will begin again, and perhaps it would be better if you were to say nothing till I have done."

So Tommy Smith sat down on the ground to listen, and the mole went on in these words:

"Inside my fortress there is a large room which is quite round. I call it my bedroom or dormitory, because sometimes I go to sleep there. There are two different ways of getting into it. One of them is by the floor, and that is easy. But the second way is by the ceiling, and that is much more difficult."

"By the floor and the ceiling?" cried Tommy Smith, quite forgetting what the mole had said. "How very funny! I get into my room through a door in one of the sides."

"Dear me!" said the mole. "Well, I should not like to enter a room in that way."

"Why not?" asked Tommy Smith.

"The idea of such a thing!" said the mole. "As for doors, they are things I don't understand. Galleries and tunnels are what I use, and I think them much grander."

"But" -- Tommy Smith was beginning.

"Let me get on," said the mole. "I have two galleries inside my fortress, an upper one and a lower one. The lower one is the largest. It runs all round the ceiling of my bedroom. From it there are five little passages which run up into the upper one. That goes round in a circle too, but it is high up inside the dome of my fortress, and a long way above the ceiling of my bedroom. So what do you think I have done? I have made three little tunnels, which go from my upper gallery right into the top of my bedroom. I just run down one of them, and tumble into it through the ceiling."

"But can't you get into your bedroom from the lower gallery too?" asked Tommy Smith.

"Oh no," said the mole; "that would never do. It would be so easy; and a mole likes to do things that are difficult. I go into my lower gallery first, and then I go from that into my upper gallery. I can go by five different passages, and choose which I like."

"Five different passages! That is a lot," cried Tommy Smith.

"Yes; and there are three more from the upper gallery into the bedroom!" said the mole. "How many doors are there into your rooms?"

"Oh, one," said Tommy Smith.

"Only one!" said the mole. "That is very sad. Why, if I had only one tunnel into my room I should be almost ashamed to go through it. But then you have only a house to live in, and not a palace, as I have."

Tommy Smith thought that this was rather a grand way of talking, and he was just beginning, "Perhaps, if you were to see my house" -- when the mole went on with, "Of course, such a fine palace as mine ought to have a good many fine roads leading up to it."

"Ought it?" said Tommy Smith; "and how many has it?"

"Seven," said the mole.

"Seven!" exclaimed Tommy Smith.

"Yes," said the mole, "and I make them all myself. Why, how many has yours?"

"It has only one," said Tommy Smith, "but I think that is quite enough."

"For a house, perhaps, it may be," said the mole; "but I should be sorry to have to put up with it. My palace has seven, and I know some very rich moles who have eight. These are the great corridors which some people call the high roads. Some of them run through fine avenues of tree-roots, and, you know, a fine avenue of tree-roots has a splendid appearance. They wind all about, and go for ever such a way, and there are smaller corridors which run out of them on each side, and spread all over the fields."

"You mean under the fields, Mr. Mole," said Tommy Smith; "for, you know, the grass grows over your corridors, and nobody can see them."

"I am very glad they can't," said the mole, "or my bedroom, or my nursery either."

"What, have you a nursery too?" said Tommy Smith. "Why, that is just as if you were a person."

"Of course I have a nursery," said the mole. "What should I do with my children if I had not? I could not have them always in the fortress, or playing about in the corridors. They would be quite out of place there, and very much in the way. So I have a nursery for them, and they lie there upon a nice warm bed, which I make myself, of young grass and other soft things."

"Oh, then I suppose that you are the mother mole," said Tommy Smith.

"Yes, I am," said the mole; "and you should call me Mrs. Mole, and not Mr. as you have been doing; and as for my being like a person, why, I am one, of course, and an important person too, I think. Why, do you know that I drain the land?"

"Do you really, Mrs. Mole?" said Tommy Smith; "but is not that very difficult?"

"You would find it so, I daresay," answered the mole, "but to me it is quite easy."

"How do you do it?" asked Tommy Smith.

"Why, by digging to be sure," the mole said. "I just make my tunnels, and my trenches, and my corridors, and then when the rain comes it runs off into them, and doesn't lie on the ground so long as it would if they were not there."

"Oh, but if the water runs into your tunnels," said Tommy Smith, "how is it that you are not drowned?"

"Oh, it does not stay there long enough for that," said the mole; "and, besides, I am a very good swimmer. Just take me up again and put me into that little pond there, and I will show you," -- for there was a pond not far off where some ducks and geese were swimming about. "Drive those rude things away first," said the mother mole, as Tommy Smith stood with her in his hand, at the edge of the pond, just ready to drop her in. "If they see me, they will be sure to make some rude remark, and, indeed, there is no saying what liberties they might take."

So Tommy Smith drove away the ducks and geese, and then dropped the mother mole into the water, and, -- would you believe it? -- she swam almost as well as if she had been a duck or a goose herself, moving all her four little feet at a great rate, and going along very quickly. She did look so funny. She went across the pond, and then turned round and came back again, and, as she scuttled out on to the bank, she said, "So now you see that a mole can swim. Can you?"

"No," answered Tommy Smith; for he had not learnt to, yet.

"Dear me," said the mother mole, "you cannot swim, or dig, or drain the ground, and I am so much smaller and can do all three, besides a great many other things. But then I am a mole."

"I didn't say that I couldn't dig," Tommy Smith said. "I can, a little, only I do it with a spade. I mean a real spade," he added. "Of course, I can't do it with my hands."

"What stupid hands!" said the mole. "Why, what can they be good for? But are you sure you could dig properly, even if you had a spade? Do you think you could do anything useful now? For instance, could you dig a well?"

"I shouldn't like to do it all by myself," said Tommy Smith; "it would take me a very long time. But I don't suppose you dig wells either."

"Oh, don't you!" said the mole; "then how do you think we get our water to drink when the weather is dry? Of course, if we have a pond or a ditch near us we can easily make a tunnel to the edge of it, but it is not every mole who is so fortunate as to live by the waterside. Those who do not, have to dig deep pits for the water to run into; for I must tell you that there is always water to be found in the earth, if only you dig deep enough for it. If you make a hole which goes right down into the ground, very soon the water will begin to trickle into it through the sides and the bottom, and then, of course, it is a well. I wish you could see some of our wells. They are so nicely made, and sometimes they are brim full."

"So you have real wells with water in them!" cried Tommy Smith; for it seemed to him so very funny that moles should have wells as well as men.

"To be sure, we have," said the mole; "and I think it is very clever of us to have thought of it."

"Yes, it is indeed," said Tommy Smith; "and I begin to think that all the animals are clever."

"I don't know about that," said the mole; "but we are."

"Oh yes; and so is the rat, and the frog, and the peewit, and" -- 

"I am glad to hear it," said the mole. "I should not have thought so."

"Oh! but they are really," Tommy Smith went on eagerly. "Do let me tell you how the peewit" -- 

"I have nothing to learn from him, I hope," said the mole; "a poor foolish bird who wastes all his time in the air."

"Oh, but if you only knew how the mother peewit" -- Tommy Smith was beginning again.

"I should be sorry to take her as an example," said the mole sharply; "she is a flighty thing, without solid qualities. Other animals may be all very well in their way," she went on, after a pause, "but they are not moles, and they none of them know how to dig."

"Oh, but the rabbit" -- 

"The rabbit, indeed!" cried the mole very indignantly. "Why, what can he do? He can just make a clumsy hole, and that is all. He is a mere labourer; and I hope you do not compare him with a real artist like myself."

"Oh no," said Tommy Smith; but he thought the mole was very conceited.

"Not that it is his fault," the mole continued. "Of course, he cannot be expected to make such wonderful places as I do. After all, what has he got to dig with? His feet are only paws, they are not spades, as mine are; and then he has two great big eyes for the dirt to get into, which must be a great inconvenience to him."

"But haven't you eyes, too, Mrs. Mole?" asked Tommy Smith.

"Would you like to try and find them?" answered the mole. "You may, if you like."

So Tommy Smith knelt down on the ground and began to look all about where he thought the mole's eyes were likely to be, and to feel with his fingers in the fur. But look and feel as he might, it was no use, he couldn't find the eyes anywhere. But, just as he was going to give up trying, all at once he thought he saw two little black things hardly so big as the head of a small black pin. Could those be eyes? Tommy Smith hardly believed that they could be, for some time; they were so very small. "Are those your eyes, Mrs. Mole?" he asked at last.

"Yes, indeed they are," the mother mole answered; "and are they not a beautiful pair? How difficult they are to find, and how well my fur hides them! It would not be easy for the mould to get into them; they are not like those great staring things of the rabbit."

"They are very small," said Tommy Smith.

"I should think so!" said the mole; "and what an advantage it is to have small eyes."

"But can you see with them?" said Tommy Smith.

"Oh no," said the mole; "and what an advantage it is not to be able to see."

Tommy Smith did not understand this at all. "The rabbit can see," he said, "and so can all the other animals."

"They are obliged to," answered the mole, "and so they have to put up with it; but a mole lives in the dark, and therefore it does not require to see."

"But what are eyes for, if they are not to see with?" Tommy Smith asked. He felt sure it was a sensible question, and it seemed to him that the mole was talking nonsense.

"They are for not getting in the way when you make tunnels in the ground," said the mole. "Mine never get in the way, so I know that they are the best eyes that anyone can have."

This was quite a new idea to Tommy Smith, and he tried to think what it would be like to live in the ground, and to have eyes that you couldn't see with, and that didn't get in the way. At last he said, "It seems to me, Mrs. Mole, that it would be much better if you had not any eyes at all."

"That is a strange idea, to be sure!" said the mole. "Not have eyes, indeed! That would be a fine thing."

"But if you can't see with them," said Tommy Smith.

"What of that?" said the mole; "we have them, and so we are proud of them. It is a saying in our family that a mole may be blind, but he has eyes for all that."

"Poor little mole," said Tommy Smith, for though the animal seemed to be quite happy itself, he couldn't help feeling very sorry for it. "But are you quite blind?"

"If I am not quite, I am very nearly," the mole answered, "and I am thankful for that. I just know when it is light and when it isn't, which is all a mole requires to know."

"But can't you see me?" Tommy Smith asked.

"You, indeed!" answered the mole. "And why should I want to see you?"

"I'm afraid you are blind," Tommy Smith said quite sadly.

"At anyrate," said the mole, "I have less seeing to do than almost any other animal, and, when I think of that, I can't help feeling proud, though I know I oughtn't to be. But I think you have talked enough about my eyes," the mole continued. "Perhaps you would like to know something about my teeth now. Look! there they are," and she opened her mouth as wide as she could, which was not very wide, for her mouth was so small. What funny little white teeth they were, and how sharp, -- as sharp and as pointed as needles.

"Why are they so pointed?" asked Tommy Smith. "The rabbit's teeth are not at all like that, and the rat's are not either."

"It is because we eat different things," said the mole. "Different kinds of animals have different food, and so they have different kinds of teeth to eat it with. Mine are nice and sharp, because they have to bite and kill whatever they catch hold of."

"But what is it that they have to bite and kill?" said Tommy Smith.

"Ah, you would never guess," answered the mole. "You must know that we moles are very brave animals, and we fight a great deal; sometimes with each other, but mostly with great serpents which live in the ground, although it really belongs to us."

"Serpents?" said Tommy Smith. "Why, do you mean snakes?"

"Of course I do," said the mole.
"Snakes that live in the ground!" Tommy Smith cried. "Why, I don't know of any that do. The grass-snake doesn't, or the adder either. What are these snakes like, Mrs. Mole?"

"They are smooth and slimy," said the mole. "They have no head, or, if they have, it looks like another tail, and they are always crawling through the ground, which is ours, of course, and trying to break into our palaces."

"Oh, but I call those worms!" said Tommy Smith.

"You may call them so if you like," said the mole, "but I call them snakes. You should see the way I fight with them! How they writhe and twist about when I seize them between my sharp teeth. They try hard to get away, and they would kill me if only they could. But I am too brave and too strong for them, so I kill them instead, and eat them as well. We moles are very heroic."

"Do you eat anything else?" asked Tommy Smith.

"Caterpillars sometimes, and a beetle or two," answered the mole. "But I like snakes best of all."

"Worms," said Tommy Smith.

"Snakes," said the mole. But Tommy Smith was right, the mole's snakes were harmless worms; but it is nice to think oneself a hero.

"Good-bye," said the mole rather suddenly. "I am tired of talking, and I want to have a little sleep."

"Oh, but it is the middle of the day," said Tommy Smith.

"What of that?" said the mole. "I feel tired, so I shall go to sleep."

"Then do you always sleep in the daytime?" asked Tommy Smith.

"I know nothing about daytime or nighttime," the mole answered, "and perhaps if you lived under the ground, as I do, you would not either. I feel tired now, so I shall go to sleep now. Good-bye"; and the mother mole began to sink into the earth, and all at once she was gone, -- just as Tommy Smith was going to ask her what was the use of having such a grand palace to live in if she was blind and couldn't see it.

One sometimes thinks of a good question just too late to ask it.




Chapter IX.

The Woodpigeon

"The woodpigeon greets Tommy Smith with a coo, Which he modifies slightly to 'How do you do?'"


WHAT could be more beautiful than the woods that fine spring morning on which Tommy Smith walked through them? The sky was blue, and the air was soft, and the birds were singing everywhere. There was a concert, surely; the trees had given it. That is what came into Tommy Smith's head, and perhaps he was right. It is in spring that the season begins. Then ladies and gentlemen dress themselves finely, and come and stand together in a crowd, and there is talking, and laughing, and singing. And here in the woods the trees had all put on fine new dresses of bright green, for their season of spring had come, and green was the fashionable colour. They stood together too, -- ever so many of them, -- and bent their heads towards each other, and seemed to be whispering. Then their leaves rustled, which was a much pleasanter sound than ladies' and gentlemen's talking and laughing (though perhaps it did not mean quite as much); and, oh! what beautiful sounds came from their midst. Tommy Smith knew that it was not the trees who were singing, but the birds in them. "But it seems as if it were the trees," he thought, "because I can't see the birds. But perhaps the trees ask the birds to sing for them, as we ask people to play and sing for us. That is how they give their concerts and parties, perhaps. The large ones are like rich people who can afford to hire a whole band, but the little ones and the bushes are the people who are not so well off, and they can only have a bird or two." Tommy Smith thought all this, because he was a little boy, and liked to pretend things, but a long time afterwards, when he was much wiser, he used to remember those walks of his in the woods, and sometimes he would say to himself, "Yes, those were the best seasons; those were the concerts and parties most worth going to."

A fallen tree lay across Tommy Smith's path. It had once been a tall, stately oak, now it made a nice mossy seat for a little boy. We are not all of us so useful when we grow old. "I will sit down on it," thought Tommy Smith, "and listen to the birds singing, and pretend they are people, and not birds at all." So Tommy Smith sat down and listened. A thrush was sitting on the very tip-top of a high fir tree, and soon he began to fill the whole air with his beautiful, clear, joyous notes. "I like that as well as the piano," said Tommy Smith, "and I don't think I know any lady who could sing such a beautiful song." Then the robin began. "That is lower and sweeter," he thought. "People make a great deal more noise when they sing, but it doesn't seem to mean so much, or, if it does, I don't like the meaning so well. Then a jay screamed, and some starlings began to chatter. "Oh, there!" cried Tommy Smith, clapping his hands. "That is much more like people. Ladies talk and sing just like that. But not like that," he continued; for now another sound began to mingle with the rest, such a pretty, such a very pretty sound, so soft, and so tender and sleepy, "like a lullaby," Tommy Smith thought. And, as he listened to it, all the woods seemed to grow hushed and still, as if they were listening too. "Oh," said Tommy Smith, "it is no use pretending any more. That couldn't be people. No men, and no women either, have such a pretty voice as that."

"Coo-oo-oo-oo, coo-oo-oo-oo," said the voice. It had been some way off before, but now it sounded much nearer. "Coo-oo-oo-oo, coo-oo-oo-oo." Why, surely it was in that tree, only just a little way from where Tommy Smith was sitting. "I will go and look," he thought. "I know who it is. It is the woodpigeon. Perhaps he will stay and talk to me."

So he got up, and walked towards the tree. But -- was it not strange? -- as he came to it the voice seemed to change just a little. Only just a little; it had still the same pretty, soft sound, and the end part was just the same, but, instead of "Coo-oo-oo-oo, coo-oo-oo-oo," which it had been saying before, now it was saying -- yes, and quite distinctly too -- "How do you do-oo-oo-oo? How do you do-oo-oo-oo?" Yes, there could be no doubt of it, and as Tommy Smith came quite up to the tree, there was the woodpigeon sitting on one of the lowest branches, bowing to him quite politely, and asking him how he was.

"Oh, I am quite well, Mr. Woodpigeon," answered Tommy Smith. "I hope you are."

"Oh, I am quite well too-oo-oo-oo," cooed the woodpigeon, bobbing his head up and down all the while.

"Why do you move your head up and down like that whilst you speak?" asked Tommy Smith.

"Why, because it is the proper thing to do-oo-oo-oo," replied the woodpigeon.

"But I don't do it when I speak," said Tommy Smith.

"Oh no; but then I am not you-oo-oo-oo," said the woodpigeon.

Tommy Smith didn't know how to answer this, so he thought he would change the subject. "What have you been doing this morning, Mr. Woodpigeon?" he said.

"Why, sitting here in the woo-oo-oo-oods and coo-oo-oo-ing," the woodpigeon answered.

"Oh, but not all the morning, have you?" said Tommy Smith.

"Oh no," said the woodpigeon. "From about six to nine I was having my breakfast in the fields."

Tommy Smith thought that three hours was a very long time to take over one's breakfast, and he said so. "I don't take half an hour over mine," he added.

"That is all very well," said the woodpigeon; "but your breakfast is brought to you, whilst I have to find mine for myself. What you eat is put down before you on a table, but my table is the whole country, and it is so large and broad that it takes me a long while to find what is on it, and to eat as much of it as I want."

"I wonder what your breakfast is like, Mr. Woodpigeon," said Tommy Smith. "I suppose it is very different to mine."

"Let me see," cooed the woodpigeon. "This morning I had a few peas and beans, besides some oats and barley. I got those in the fields, and I found some green clover there too, as well as some wild mustard, and some ragweed and charlock, and a few other seeds and roo-oo-oo-oots."

"Oh dear, Mr. Woodpigeon," said Tommy Smith; "why, what a lot you do eat."

"I don't call that much," said the woodpigeon. "When I was tired of looking about in the fields, I went to the woods again, and got a few acorns, and some beechnuts, and" -- 

"Oh! but look here, Mr. Woodpigeon," said Tommy Smith. "You couldn't have eaten all those this morning, because they are not all ripe now, and" -- 

"I didn't say they were ripe," said the woodpigeon; "and if I didn't eat them this morning, then I did on some other morning, so it's all the same. Those are the things I eat, at anyrate, and I can't be expected to remember exactly when I eat them. I had a few stones though, of course. They are always to be had, whatever time of year it is. Stones are always in season."

"Stones!" cried Tommy Smith in great surprise. "Oh, come now; I know you don't eat them."

"Oh, don't I?" said the woodpigeon. "I should be very sorry if I couldn't get any, -- I know that. It would be a nice thing, indeed, if one couldn't have a few stones to eat with one's meals. That would be a good joke."

Tommy Smith thought that he wouldn't think it a joke to have to eat stones, and he could hardly believe that the woodpigeon was speaking the truth. But he was such an innocent-looking bird, and seemed so very respectable, that he thought he must be. "Are they very large stones?" he asked at last.

"Oh no," answered the woodpigeon. "They are not large, but very small -- just the right size to go into my mill."

"Into your mill?" said Tommy Smith.

"Yes," said the woodpigeon; "the little mill which is inside me."

Tommy Smith was getting more and more puzzled. What could the woodpigeon mean? "And yet he is such a nice bird," he said to himself. "I don't think he would tell stories."

"I see that you don't understand me," said the woodpigeon; "so, if you like, I will explain it all to you."

"Oh, I should so like to know!" said Tommy Smith.

So the woodpigeon gave a gentle coo, and began to tell him all about it. "Yes," he said, "I have a mill inside me, and everything that I eat goes into it to get ground up."

"Why, then, you are a miller," said Tommy Smith.

"In a way, I am," said the woodpigeon; "for I own a mill. But then, you know, a miller lives inside his mill, but my mill is inside me."

"I should so like to see it," said Tommy Smith.

"You never can do that," said the woodpigeon in an alarmed tone of voice; "for you would have to kill me first, and that would be a most shocking thing to do. But it is there, all the same, though you can't see it, and it is called the gizzard."

"Oh, the gizzard!" said Tommy Smith. "I know what that is, because I have" -- and then he stopped all of a sudden. He had been going to say that he had tasted it sometimes when there was fowl for dinner, but he thought he had better not. It didn't seem quite delicate to talk to a woodpigeon about eating a fowl.

"The gizzard is the mill that I am talking about," said the woodpigeon. "All the food that we eat goes into it, and then it is ground up, just as corn is ground between two hard stones. But though our gizzard is very hard, it is not quite so hard as stones are, so we swallow some small sharp stones, which go into our gizzard, and are rolled about with the grain and seeds there, and help to crush them. Then, when they are nice and soft, they are ready to go on into the stomach. So now you know what sort of thing a gizzard is, and why we swallow stones."

"But don't the stones hurt you?" asked Tommy Smith.

"Do you think we would swallow them if they did?" answered the woodpigeon. "What a foolish question to ask!"

Tommy Smith stood for a little while thinking about it, and wondering if he had a mill inside him, till at last the woodpigeon said, "Perhaps you would like to ask me a sensible question."

"Oh yes," said Tommy Smith, and he tried to think what was a sensible question. He had thought of a good many questions to ask, and they had seemed sensible at the time, but now he began to feel afraid that the woodpigeon would think them foolish. At last he said, "Please, Mr. Woodpigeon, where do you live?"

"Oh, in this tree," said the woodpigeon, "half-way up on the seventeenth storey."

"I suppose you mean the seventeenth branch," said Tommy Smith.

"Of course I do," said the woodpigeon. "I have my nest there, and my wife is sitting on the eggs now."

"Oh, do let me see them," cried Tommy Smith.

"Oh no," said the woodpigeon. "They are too high up for that. You would not be able to climb so far, and you cannot fly as we birds do, for you are only a poor boy, and have no wings."

"I wish I had wings," said Tommy Smith. "Is it very nice to fly, Mr. Woodpigeon?"

"It is nicer than anything else in the whole world," the woodpigeon answered. "Just fancy floating along high above everything, as if the air were water, and you were a boat. Only you go much quicker than a boat does, and sometimes you need not use the oars at all."

"Your wings are the oars, I suppose," said Tommy Smith.

"Yes, indeed," said the woodpigeon, "and how fast they row me along. Swish! swish! swish! and when I am tired I just spread them out and float along without using them. That is delightful. I call it resting on my wings."

"It must be something like swinging, I think," said Tommy Smith.

"Yes," said the woodpigeon; "only you swing upon nothing, and you only swing forwards. Oh, how cool and fresh the air is, even on the hottest day in summer! The sun seems shining quite near to me, and the sky is like a great blue sea that I am swimming through; but oh, so quickly! quicker than any fish can swim. When I look up, I see great white ships with all their sails set. They are the clouds, and sometimes I am quite near them. How fast we go! We seem to be chasing each other. And when I look down, I see green islands far below me. Those are the tops of trees that I am flying over. My nest is in one of them, and I always know which one it is. When I am above it, I pause as a boat pauses on the crest of a wave, and then down, down, down I go, such a deep, cool, delicious plunge, till at last the leaves rustle round me, and I am sitting amongst the branches again, and cooing."

"By your nest?" asked Tommy Smith.

"Oh yes; when I have one," said the woodpigeon. "I have now, you know, because it is the springtime."

"I wish I could see it with the eggs in it," said Tommy Smith. But it was no use wishing, he hadn't wings, and he couldn't climb the tree. "How many eggs are there?" he asked.

"Two-oo-oo-oo," said a voice, higher up amongst the foliage; and Tommy Smith knew that the mother woodpigeon was sitting there on her nest, and looking down at him all the while.

"Only two eggs!" he said. "I don't call that many."

"It may not be many," said the mother woodpigeon, "but it is the right quantity. Three would be too many, and one would not be enough. Two is the only possible number."

"Oh no, indeed it isn't," said Tommy Smith eagerly. "Fowls lay a dozen eggs sometimes, and pheasants" -- 

"Possible for a woodpigeon, I meant," said the mother woodpigeon. "With fowls, no doubt, anything may take place, but large families are considered vulgar amongst us."

"Fowls may do what they please," said the father woodpigeon. "They are lazy birds, and don't feed their young ones."

"That is why they lay so many eggs," said the mother woodpigeon. "They don't mind having a herd of children, because they know they won't have to support them."

Tommy Smith was surprised to hear the woodpigeons talk like this of the poor fowls, for he had often seen the good mother hen walking about with her brood of children, calling to them when she found a worm, and taking care of them so nicely. "It seems to me," he thought, "that every animal thinks itself better than every other animal; and they all think whatever they do right, just because they do it, and the others don't. But I suppose that is because they are animals, and not human beings." Then he said out loud, "But I am sure the mother hen feeds her chickens, because I have seen her scratching up worms for them out of the ground, and" -- 

"Yes, that is a nice way to feed one's little ones," said the mother woodpigeon. "A raw, live worm! Why, what could be nastier? No wonder they are forced to pick up things for themselves."

"If they waited till their parents put a worm into their mouths, they would starve," said the father woodpigeon. "It is quite dreadful to think of."

"But I think the little chickens like picking up their own food," said Tommy Smith. "They look so pretty running about."

"They would look much prettier sitting in a warm nest, as ours do," said the mother woodpigeon.

"And they would feel much more comfortable with you feeding them, my dear," said the father.

"And with you helping me, you know," said the mother bird, and she stretched her neck over the branch, and cooed softly to her husband, who looked up at her, and cooed again.

"Then do you both feed them?" asked Tommy Smith.

"Yes," said the father woodpigeon; "and we take it in turns. You would not find many cocks who would do that, I think."

"No; or help to hatch the eggs," said the mother woodpigeon. "He does that too. Oh, he is so good!"

"Nonsense!" said the father woodpigeon. "It is what all birds ought to do-oo-oo-oo."

"Yes; but it isn't what they all do do-oo-oo-oo," said the mother woodpigeon.

"More shame for those who do not," said the father woodpigeon; "but I hope there are not many." And then they both waited for Tommy Smith to ask them another question.

"Please, Mrs. Woodpigeon," said Tommy Smith, "what do you feed your young ones with?"

"We feed them with whatever we eat ourselves," said the mother woodpigeon, "and we always swallow it first, to be sure that it is quite good."

This surprised Tommy Smith very much indeed, for it seemed to him almost as wonderful as eating stones. "Oh! but if you swallow the food yourselves," he said, "how can your young ones have it?"

"They don't have it till we bring it up again," said the father woodpigeon. "They put their beaks inside ours, and then it comes up into our mouths all ready for them to swallow."

"Isn't that rather nasty?" said Tommy Smith.

"You had better ask them about that," said the mother woodpigeon. "They will tell you whether it is nasty or not."

"They think it nice," said the father woodpigeon.

"And no wonder," said the mother woodpigeon. "When we swallow it, it is hard and cold, but when it comes up again for them to swallow, it is soft and warm, and very like milk. It is not every bird who feeds its young ones like that."

"Oh no," said Tommy Smith; "most birds fly to them with a worm or a caterpillar in their beaks, and give it to them just as it is."

"That is the old-fashioned way," said the mother woodpigeon; "but we are more civilised, and have learnt to prepare our children's food."

"Besides," said the father woodpigeon, "we eat seeds and grains, and little things like that, and it would take us a very long time to carry a sufficient number of them to the nest. Our young ones would be so hungry, and we should not be able to bring them enough to satisfy them, and then they would starve. So we have thought of this way of managing it, and I think it is one of the cleverest things in the whole world."

"Yes, indeed," cooed the mother woodpigeon, as she looked down from the branch where she sat on her nest; "one of the cleverest things in the whole world."

"Is it only pigeons that do that?" asked Tommy Smith.

"I won't say that," answered the mother woodpigeon. "There are some other birds, I believe, who have followed our example."

"Yes, they imitate us," said the father woodpigeon; "but they can never be pigeons, however much they try to be."

"Never," said the mother woodpigeon. "They don't drink water as we do. That is the test."

"Why, how do you drink water?" asked Tommy Smith. "Don't you drink it like other birds?"

"I should think not," said the father woodpigeon. "Other birds take a little in their bills, and then lift their heads up and let it run down their throats, but we pigeons would be ashamed to drink in such a way as that. We keep our beaks in the water all the time, and suck it up into our throats. That is how we drink, and nothing could make us do it differently. We don't lift our heads up."

"But why shouldn't you lift them up?" said Tommy Smith; for he thought to himself, "If all the other birds drink like that, it ought to be the right way."

"Why shouldn't we?" said the father woodpigeon. "Why, because it would be stupid, -- and wrong too," he added after a pause, during which he seemed to be thinking.

"There is a still stronger reason," said the mother woodpigeon, "the strongest of all reasons; at least, I cannot imagine one stronger. It would be unpigeonly." And from the tone in which she said this, Tommy Smith felt that it would be no use to say anything more on the subject.

"If there was any water here," said the father woodpigeon, "I would drink a little just to show you, but the nearest is some way off. However, you can watch some tame pigeons the next time they are drinking, for we all belong to one great family, and have the same ideas upon important points. Now I am going for a short fly, but if you like to stay and talk to my wife, I shall be back again in an hour."

But Tommy Smith had to go too, for his lessons began at eleven o'clock, and of course it would not do to miss them, though it seemed to him that he was getting a much better lesson from the woodpigeons. "But I wish," he said, "before you fly away, Mr. Woodpigeon, you would just tell me what you do all day." But as Tommy Smith said this, there was a rustle and a clapping of wings, and the father woodpigeon was gone.

"He is so impetuous," said the mother woodpigeon. "There is no stopping him when he wants to do anything. But I will tell you what we do all day, so listen. We rise early, of course, and fly down to breakfast at about six. After three or four hours we come back to the woods again, and coo and talk to each other there for about an hour. Then we go off to drink and to bathe, which is the nicest part of the whole day. After that we feel a little tired and sleepy, so we sit quietly in the woods till about two. Then it is quite time for dinner, so off we go again and feed till about five. After dinner it is best to sit quiet and coo a little. A quiet coo aids digestion. Then we have a nice refreshing drink in the cool of the evening, and after that we go straight to tree."

"Do you mean to bed?" said Tommy Smith.

"Of course I do," said the mother woodpigeon. "We sleep in trees. They are the only beds we should care to trust ourselves to."

"Aren't they rather hard?" said Tommy Smith.

"Not at all," said the woodpigeon. "You see, we have our own feathers, so that makes them feather-beds. They are soft enough and warm enough for us, you may be quite sure."

"But it must be very windy up in the trees," said Tommy Smith.

"That is the great advantage of the situation," said the mother woodpigeon. "Our beds are always well aired, so we need never feel anxious about that. However much it rains they can never be damp, for how can a bed be damp and well-aired at the same time?"

Tommy Smith couldn't think of the right answer to this, and the woodpigeon went on, "So, now, I have told you how we pass the day. What a happy, happy life! He must have a cruel heart who could put an end to it." (And Tommy Smith thought so too.)

"But is that what you always do?" he asked.

"Of course, when there are eggs and young ones it makes a difference," said the mother woodpigeon; "and in winter we keep different hours. But that is our usual summer life, and I think it a very pleasant one."

"Oh, so do I!" said Tommy Smith. "Thank you, Mrs. Woodpigeon, for telling me. Now I must go to my lessons, and I will tell them all about it at home."

"If you come back afterwards, I will tell you some more," said the mother woodpigeon.

Tommy Smith said he would, and then he ran away as fast as he could to his lessons, for he was a little late. And as he ran, he could hear the mother woodpigeon saying, "Come back soo-oo-oo-oon! come back soo-oo-oo-oon!"




Chapter X.

The Squirrel

"The pert little squirrel's as brisk as can be; He calls his house 'Tree-tops,' and lives in a tree."


SO Tommy Smith went home to his lessons, and when he had finished them, he put on his hat and came out again, and began to walk through the woods to where the mother woodpigeon was waiting for him on her nest. "Tommy Smith! Tommy Smith! Where are you going to, Tommy Smith?" said a voice which he had not heard before. At any rate, he had not heard it talk before. Such a funny little voice it was, something between a cough and a sob, and if it had not said all those words so very distinctly, it would have sounded like "sug, sug, -- sug, sug, -- sug, sug, sug, sug, sug." Now I come to think of it, Tommy Smith must have heard it before, for he had often been for walks in the woods. But when a voice which has only said "sug, sug" before, begins to talk and say whole sentences, it is not so easy to recognise it. "Who can that be?" said Tommy Smith; and then he looked all about, but he could see no one. "Who are you?" he called out; "and where are you calling me from?"

"From here, Tommy Smith, from here," answered the voice. "Can't you see me? Why here I am."

"Are you the rabbit?" said Tommy Smith; but he thought directly, "Oh no, it can't be the rabbit, because it comes from a tree, and no rabbit could burrow up a tree."

"The rabbit, indeed!" said the voice. "Oh no, I am not the rabbit. That is a funny sug, sug, sug, sug-gestion."

"Oh, I know!" cried Tommy Smith. "It is the" -- 

"Look!" said the voice. And all at once there was a red streak down the trunk of a beech tree and along the ground, and there was a little squirrel sitting at Tommy Smith's feet, with his tail cocked up over his head. "Oh!" cried Tommy Smith, -- and before he could say anything else the squirrel said "Look!" again, and there was another red streak, up the trunk of a pine tree this time, -- and there he was sitting on a branch of it, with his tail cocked up over his head, just the same as before.

"Oh dear, Mr. Squirrel," said Tommy Smith -- the branch was not a very high one, and they could talk to each other comfortably -- "how fast you do go!"

"Oh, I like to do things quickly," said the squirrel. "Mine is an active nature during three-parts of the year."

"And what is it during the other part?" asked Tommy Smith.

"Oh, I don't know anything about it then," the squirrel answered.

This puzzled Tommy Smith a little. "Why not?" he said.

"Oh, because I'm asleep," said the squirrel. "One can't know much about oneself when one's asleep, you know; and, besides, it doesn't matter."

"But do you go to sleep for such a long time?" said Tommy Smith. "I know that the frogs and the snakes go to sleep all the winter, but I didn't know any regular animal did."

"Why, doesn't the dormouse?" said the squirrel. "He's a much harder sleeper than I am. I suppose you call him a regular animal."

"Oh yes," said Tommy Smith. He had forgotten the dormouse, and, of course, he was a regular animal. By a "regular animal," I suppose Tommy Smith meant one that wasn't an insect, or a reptile, or a worm, or something of that sort. Perhaps he couldn't have said exactly what he meant, but whatever he did mean, you may be sure that it was not very sensible, because all living creatures are animals, and one is just as regular as another, if you look at it in the right way.

"Well," said the squirrel, "I think we are to have a little chat, are we not? It's you that must ask the questions, you know."

"Oh, I should so like to," said Tommy Smith, "but I promised the mother woodpigeon to go back and talk to her, and I am going there now."

"The mother woodpigeon will be on her nest for another hour or two," said the squirrel, "so you will have time to talk to her and to me too. And let me tell you, it is not every little boy who can have a talk with a squirrel."

Tommy Smith thought that it was not every little boy who could have a talk with a woodpigeon either. But he wanted to have both, so he said, "Very well, Mr. Squirrel, and I hope you will tell me something interesting about yourself."

The squirrel only nodded, and said nothing; and then Tommy Smith remembered that he had to ask the questions, so he said, "Why is it, Mr. Squirrel, that you go to sleep in the winter? It seems so funny that you should. I stay awake all the time, you know -- except at night, of course, -- so why can't you?"

"That is easily answered," said the squirrel. "You have food in the winter, don't you?"

"Oh yes," said Tommy Smith.

"Of course you do," said the squirrel. "It is all got for you, so you have no trouble. I have to find mine myself, but in the winter there is none to find. So if I didn't go to sleep, I should starve."

Tommy Smith remembered, then, that the grass-snake had told him that he went to sleep in the winter, because he could get no frogs to eat; and the frog had said he did, because he could find no insects. So he saw that there was the same reason for all these three animals, who were so different from each other, doing the same thing. "And that's why the dormouse goes to sleep too, I suppose," he said to himself, and then he began to think that if any other animals went to sleep all the winter, it must be because they could get no food.

"But I don't think I could go to sleep if I was very hungry," he said to the squirrel; "and if I did, I'm sure I should wake up again very soon and want my dinner."

"I daresay you would," said the squirrel; "and if you couldn't get it, you would soon die."

"But do you never wake up and want your dinner, Mr. Squirrel?" said Tommy Smith.

"Oh yes," said the squirrel, "I often wake up, but whenever I do, I can always get it. Do you know why? Because I am such a clever animal, that I hide away food in the autumn, so that I can find it in the winter."

"But you said you couldn't find food in the winter," said Tommy Smith.

"Oh, I meant that I couldn't find it growing on the trees and bushes," said the squirrel. "Of course I can find what I have stored away, and that is enough for all the time I am awake. But it wouldn't be enough for the whole winter, so I sleep or doze most of the time, and then I don't require anything."

"But why don't you store away enough food for the whole winter?" said Tommy Smith. "Then you needn't go to sleep at all, you know."

"Good gracious!" said the squirrel, "that would take a great deal too much time. It is all very well to put a few things aside, so as to have something to eat on sunny days -- for those are the days I like to wake up on, -- but just fancy having to find dinners beforehand for every day all through the winter. I could never do that, you know. One dinner to think about is quite enough as a rule. How should you like to have to cook two dinners every day, and always put one of them in a cupboard?"

"But you don't cook your dinners, Mr. Squirrel," said Tommy Smith.

"And you don't look for yours," said the squirrel. "I do. You see," he went on, "I only begin hiding things away towards the end of autumn, so there isn't so very much time."

"But you have the rest of the year to do it in too," said Tommy Smith.

"Oh no," said the squirrel; "that's quite a mistake. In the spring and summer I have something else to think about. Besides, there is nothing worth hiding away then -- no acorns, or beechnuts, or filberts, and, of course, one wants to have something really nice to eat when one wakes up in the winter. But in the autumn all those things are ripe. The autumn is the great eating-time. That is the time of the year that I like best of all."

"What! better than the spring or the summer?" said Tommy Smith.

"Well, in the spring there are buds on the trees," the squirrel reflected; "and the birds' nests have got eggs inside them. They are both very nice, though I like nuts better still. But, you see, buds and birds' eggs don't keep, and so" -- 

"Oh but, Mr. Squirrel," cried Tommy Smith, "you surely don't eat the eggs of the poor birds! Oh, I hope you don't!" (You see he was not at all the same Tommy Smith now that he used to be, and he didn't go birds'-nesting any more.)

The squirrel looked just a little bit ashamed. "I wouldn't, you know," he said, "if they didn't make their nests in the trees."

"Of course they make their nests in the trees!" said Tommy Smith indignantly. "They have just as much right to the trees as you have, and I think it is very wicked of you to eat their eggs."

"Perhaps it is," said the squirrel; "but, you see, I get so hungry, and fresh eggs are so nice. By the bye, on what tree did you say the woodpigeon was sitting? I think I will go there with you."

"Indeed, you shan't!" said Tommy Smith (and he was very angry). "I won't take you there. You want to eat her eggs, I know; and I think you are a very naughty animal."

The squirrel looked at Tommy Smith for a little while without speaking, and then he said, "You know, I never eat hen's eggs."

"Don't you?" said Tommy Smith. It was all he could think of to say, for he remembered that he did eat hen's eggs. Of course he knew that that was different -- the peewit had told him that it was -- but just at that moment he couldn't think of why it was different, and he couldn't help wishing that he hadn't been quite so angry with the squirrel. "Perhaps you don't eat too many eggs," he said in a milder tone.

"Of course not," said the squirrel. "Wherever there are plenty of squirrels, there are plenty of birds too, as long as people with guns don't shoot them. That shows that we don't eat too many. And then, as for our killing trees" -- 

"Oh, but do you kill trees?" said Tommy Smith. "I didn't know that you did that."

"Why, sometimes when we are very hungry," said the squirrel, "we gnaw the bark all round the trunk of a small tree, and then it dies. So those people who are always finding out reasons for killing animals say we do harm to the forests. But I can tell them this, that no forest was ever cut down by the squirrels that lived in it. Men cut down the forests, and shoot the birds and the squirrels; but if they left them all three alone, they would all get on very well together. Once, you know, almost the whole of England was covered with forests. Do you think it was the squirrels who cut them all down?"

"Oh no," said Tommy Smith. "It was men with axes, I should think."

"Yes," said the squirrel. "It is that great axe of theirs that does the mischief, not these poor little teeth of mine. It is axes, not squirrels, that they should keep out of the woods."

Tommy Smith thought the squirrel might be right, but he wanted to hear something more about what he did and the way he lived, so he said, "Oh, Mr. Squirrel, you haven't told me where you hide the nuts and acorns that you eat when you wake up in the winter."

"Oh, in all sorts of places," said the squirrel. "Sometimes I scrape a hole in the ground and bury them in it, and sometimes I put them into holes in the trunks of trees, or under their roots, if they run along the ground, or into any other little nook or crevice near where I live. In fact, I put them anywhere where it is convenient, but not where it is inconvenient. That is another of my clever notions."

"But isn't it rather difficult to find them again when you wake up a long time afterwards?" said Tommy Smith.

"It would be to you, I daresay," said the squirrel; "but it is quite easy to me. You see, I have a wonderful memory, and never forget where I once put a thing. Even when the snow is on the ground, I know where my dinner is. It is under a white tablecloth then, instead of being upon one. I have only to lift up the tablecloth, and there it is."

"Do you mean that you scrape the snow away, Mr. Squirrel?" said Tommy Smith.

"Yes, that is what I mean," said the squirrel; "but I like to talk prettily. Well, have you anything else to ask me? You had better make haste if you have, because we squirrels can never stay still for very long, and I shall soon have to jump away. Look how my tail is whisking. I always go very soon after that begins."

Tommy Smith thought that, as the squirrel had proposed having a chat himself, and had prevented him from going on to the woodpigeon, it was not quite polite of him to be so very impatient. But he thought he would be polite, at anyrate, so he went on, all in a hurry, "I suppose, Mr. Squirrel, as you go to sleep in the winter, you have to come out of the trees and find a place on the ground to" -- 

"Out of the trees!" exclaimed the squirrel. "I should think not, indeed. That would be very unsafe. Besides, I should never feel comfortable if I did not rock with the wind when I was asleep. I should have a nasty fixed feeling, which would wake me up every minute."

This surprised Tommy Smith a good deal. He knew that squirrels lived in the trees all day, but he did not know before that they slept in them at night too. "Then do you make a nest like a bird, Mr. Squirrel?" he asked.

"Like a bird, indeed!" said the squirrel. "No; I make one like a squirrel. It is not necessary for me to imitate a bird. We squirrels can make nests a great deal better than birds can."

Tommy Smith did not quite believe this. At anyrate, he felt sure that a squirrel could not make a better nest than some birds can. But he remembered that some other birds make only slight nests, or none at all. "And perhaps," he thought, "he only means those kinds of birds." But he thought he had better not ask the squirrel this, in case he should be offended, so he only said, "Oh, Mr. Squirrel, will you please tell me all about your nest, and how you make it, and what it looks like."

"Well," the squirrel began, "it is very large; much larger than you would ever think, to look at me. I could get inside the cap you have on your head. But how large do you think the house I make, and go to sleep in, is?"

"Perhaps it is a little larger than my cap," said Tommy Smith. He did not think it could be much larger.

"Why," said the squirrel, "it is larger than you sometimes. You know those great heaps of hay that stand in the fields -- haycocks I think they call them, -- well, if you were to take my house to pieces, it would sometimes make a heap almost as big as one of them."

"Would it, really?" said Tommy Smith. "But why is it so large?"

"You see," said the squirrel, "if the walls were not nice and thick, they would not keep out the cold properly, and so I have to find a great deal of moss and grass, and a great many sticks and leaves, to make it with. Then I have to repair it every year -- it would be too much trouble, you know, to build a new one, -- and so it keeps on getting bigger, because of the fresh sticks and things I bring to it. That is why my house is so large."

"And are you always quite comfortable inside it?" said Tommy Smith.

"Oh yes," said the squirrel; "always comfortable, and always dry. I knit everything so closely together, that neither the rain nor the snow can get through."

"I suppose your house has a door to get in and out by," said Tommy Smith.

"It has two doors," said the squirrel, "a large one and a small one. Why, what a question to ask! You will be asking if it has a roof to it next."

"Has it a roof?" said Tommy Smith. (So, you see, the squirrel was quite right.)

"Of course it has," said the squirrel. "The idea of living in a house without a roof to it! I build it high up in the fork of a tree," he went on; "and I lie curled up inside it, as snug and as warm as can be."

"But isn't it too warm in the summer?" asked Tommy Smith.

"Oh, I don't go into it then," said the squirrel. "The house I have been telling you about is for the winter, but in the summer I have my summer-house to go into."

"Oh, then you have two houses!" said Tommy Smith. "That is cleverer than a bird, for they have only one nest."

"I have two," said the squirrel, "and they are not at all the same."

"Oh, do tell me what the summer-house is like," said Tommy Smith.

"It is more lightly built than the winter-house," said the squirrel, "and not nearly so large. That is how summer-houses are always built, you know. Perhaps you have one in your garden."

"Oh yes, we have," said Tommy Smith.

"And isn't it much smaller than the other one?" said the squirrel.

"Oh yes, it is," said Tommy Smith.

"Well," said the squirrel, "my summer-house is constructed on the same principle. I will show it you, if you like, for I really can't sit still any longer. Just look at my tail! It will whisk itself off soon if I don't jump about."

"Oh, I should so like to see it, Mr. Squirrel!" cried Tommy Smith. "Yes, do come down, and" -- 

"Oh, I'm not coming down," said the squirrel. "I shouldn't think of doing that. I shall go home by the treeway, and you can walk underneath me. Now then!" And as the squirrel said this, he gave his tail such a whisking, and away he ran along the branch he had been sitting on, right to the end of it, and then gave such a jump on to the branch of another tree, and then out of that tree into another one, and so from tree to tree, so fast that Tommy Smith could hardly keep up with him as he ran along the ground underneath.

It was not always that the squirrel had to jump from one tree to another, because their branches often touched each other, and then he would run along them without jumping at all. Sometimes they would be very near together without quite touching, and then when he came to the end of the branch he was on, he would lean forward, and, with his little fore-paws, catch hold of the tips of several of those belonging to another tree, and draw them all together, and then give a little spring amongst them, and away he would go again. This was when he was in the fir trees. But to see him run down the long, drooping branch of a beech tree, right to the very end, and then drop off it on to another one far below -- that was the finest sight of all. He did it so very gracefully. His tail was not turned up over his back now, as it had been whilst he was sitting up, but went streaming out behind him like a flag. And sometimes he would whisk it from side to side, and say, "Sug, sug, -- sug, sug, -- sug, sug, sug, sug, sug!"

"Here it is!" cried the squirrel at last, from one of the very top branches of the tree he was on (it was a large beech tree). "Here is 'Tree-tops.' Can you see it?"

"Oh yes, I can see the top of the tree you are on," said Tommy Smith; "but" -- 

"Oh, I don't mean that!" said the squirrel. "'Tree-tops' is the name of my residence. You know, houses have usually a name of some sort. So I call mine 'Tree-tops.' That describes it very well, because it is in a tree-top, and there are tree-tops all round it."

"But aren't all squirrels' nests like that?" said Tommy Smith.

"Oh yes," said the squirrel; "and they can all be called 'Tree-tops.' I daresay you've seen more than one house that was named 'The Elms,' or 'The Firs,' or 'The Beeches.' But now look about, and see if you can see my summer-house."

Tommy Smith looked all about near where the squirrel was sitting high up in the tree, and at last he saw something that looked like a little black ball. "Is that it?" he said.

"Yes," said the squirrel, "that's it. Look! Now I am in it," and he made a little spring at the ball of sticks, and disappeared inside it. The jump made the thin end of the branch swing about, and the squirrel's summer-house swung with it, so that it looked as if it might be shaken off.

"Oh, do come out," Tommy Smith cried. "I'm sure it can't be safe in there."

"Not safe!" said the squirrel, as he poked his little head out, and looked down at Tommy Smith. "Do you think I would live with all my family in a house that was not safe? I have a wife and five children, you know, and we all live here together."

"Do you really, Mr. Squirrel?" said Tommy Smith, for he could hardly believe it.

"Why, of course we do," said the squirrel; "and great fun it is, too. You should see how we swing about in a high wind. Delightful!"

Tommy Smith thought that it would make him giddy. "It must be dangerous," he said. "Suppose you were all to be swung out, or the branch were to be blown off, or" -- 

"Oh, we never think of such things," said the squirrel. "They are sure not to happen; and even if they did, we should be all right, somehow, I daresay."

"I don't think you would," said Tommy Smith. "The woodpigeon might, perhaps, but, you see, you can't fly, and so" -- 

"Oh, can't I?" said the squirrel. "Why, how did I get here then, from tree to tree? Didn't you see me?"

"Oh, but that was jumping," said Tommy Smith.

"Jumping? Nonsense!" said the squirrel. "Why, I went through the air, you know, and that is just what one does when one flies, isn't it?"

"Oh yes, of course," said Tommy Smith, "but" -- 

"Very well," said the squirrel; "then when I jump, I fly."

"But you haven't got wings," said Tommy Smith. He knew he was right, but he didn't know how to prove it.

"That makes it all the more clever of me," said the squirrel. "It is easy enough to fly if you have wings, but very difficult indeed if you haven't. But we squirrels are a clever family, and can do anything. Why, one of us is called the 'Flying Squirrel,' you know; and why should he be called a flying squirrel if he can't fly? Not fly? Why, look here! -- look here! -- look here!" -- and at each "look here!" the squirrel was in a different tree, and still he went on jumping, or flying (which do you think it was?), from one to another, until very soon he was quite out of sight.

And he never came back -- at least not whilst Tommy Smith was there. I think he must have come back at some time or other, to sit in his little summer-house again with his wife and children. But Tommy Smith had not time enough to wait for him; so, as soon as he was sure that he was really gone, he walked away to his friend the woodpigeon.




Chapter XI.

The Barn-Owl

"In at Tommy Smith's window the owl has a peep; He talks to him wisely, and leaves him asleep."


IT was just the very exact time for a little boy like Tommy Smith to have been in bed for about five minutes (your mother will know what time it was); so, of course, he had been in bed for about five minutes, and he wasn't asleep yet. It was a beautiful night, the window was open a little at the top, and Tommy Smith was looking through it, right away to where the moon and the stars were shining. All at once a great white bird flitted across the window -- so silently! -- without making any noise at all. Most birds, you know, make a swishing with their wings, which you can hear when you are close to them (sometimes when a good way off too, like the peewit), but this bird made none at all.

"Oh!" cried Tommy Smith, "whatever was that?" As he said this, the great white bird flew back again, but -- just fancy! -- instead of passing by the window as it did before, it flew up on to it, and sat with its head inside the room, looking at Tommy Smith. "Oh, who are you?" said Tommy Smith. And yet he knew quite well that it was an owl. No other bird could have such great, round eyes, and such a funny wise-looking face.

The owl sat looking at Tommy Smith for a little while, and then he said in a very wise tone of voice, "Guess who I am."

"I think you are the owl," said Tommy Smith.

"That is right," said the owl. "But what kind of owl do you think I am?"

"Oh," said Tommy Smith, "I suppose you are the owl that says 'Tu whit, tu whoo.'"

"I am not," said the owl very decisively. "I have never said anything so absurd in the whole of my life. Why, what does it mean? Nothing, I should say. It has simply no meaning. What I do say is 'Shrirr-r-r-r,' which is very different, is it not now?"

"Yes," said Tommy Smith, "it is very different, but" -- 

"Of course it is," said the owl; "when I say that, I feel that I am making a sensible remark."

Tommy Smith didn't think that "shrirr-r-r-r" was a much more sensible remark than "tu whit, tu whoo," but he thought he had better not say so, as the owl spoke so positively.

"There are a great many different kinds of owls in the world, you know," the barn-owl continued. "Some are very large, as large as an eagle, and others are a good deal smaller than I am. Here, in England, there are three kinds, -- the wood-owl, the tawny owl (I can't answer for what they say), and the barn-owl. Now I, thank goodness, am a barn-owl. I must ask you to remember that, because, naturally, I shouldn't like to be mistaken for one of the others."

"Oh, I'm sure I shall remember it," said Tommy Smith, "because" -- 

"Never mind saying why," said the owl, "it would take too long. Well, and were you surprised to see me?"

"Oh yes, I was a little," said Tommy Smith. "I just looked up, and I saw a great white thing going past the window."

"I suppose I looked white to you," said the owl; "but that is because you are not nocturnal, as I am. But, if you were an owl, like me, you would see that I am not really white. At anyrate, there is more of me that isn't white, than that is. My face is white, I know, -- these beautiful, soft, silky feathers that make two circles round my fine dark eyes, -- my face-discs they are called (what a pity you can't see them better!), they are white, and very handsome they look. I am very proud of them, for I am the only owl in England that has them. But, after all, my face, though it is beautiful, is only a small part of me. My back, which is much larger, is not white at all, but a light reddish yellow. There, now you get the moonlight on it nicely. Such pretty, delicate colouring. What a pity you are not nocturnal! Then, even my breast is not quite white. It has some very pretty grey tints about it. And yet I am called the 'white owl,' as well as the 'barn-owl,' and often that name is put first in books. It is very annoying. The barn-owl is a good sensible name; for I do know something about barns, and I am very fond of catching the mice that live in them. But why should I be called white, when I have such pretty colours? It is one of my grievances. You know I have a good many grievances."

"Have you?" said Tommy Smith. (He knew what a grievance was; one of those things that ought never to be made out of anything.)

"Yes," said the owl; "and do you know what I do with them?"

"No," said Tommy Smith. He didn't quite understand what the owl meant.

"Well," said the owl -- "mind, I'm going to say something very wise now (you know I'm an owl), -- I put up with them."

"Oh!" said Tommy Smith.

"Yes," said the owl. "It will take you a very long time to find out what a wise remark that was. You couldn't have made it, you know; I mean, of course, with the proper expression. I couldn't myself once, when I was only a young owl, but now that I am grown up, and have a wife and family to assist me, I can."

"Oh yes," said Tommy Smith. (It was all he could think of to say.)

"You've no idea," the owl went on, "what a time it takes one to make some remarks properly. Now take, for instance, the one, 'It's a sad world!' It seems very easy, but even if you were to repeat it a hundred times a day for the next fortnight, you wouldn't be able to say it in the way it ought to be said -- like this," and the owl snapped his beak, and said it again. "That sounds convincing," he remarked; "but as for a little boy saying it in that way, -- no, no."

"Is it so very difficult," said Tommy Smith.

"Well, it wants help," said the owl; "that's the principal thing. If you were left to yourself, you'd never manage it; but first one person helps you, and then another, until at last -- after a good many years, you know -- you get into the way of it. It's like shrugging one's shoulders. It takes one half a lifetime to do that -- well."

"Does it?" said Tommy Smith.

"Ask your father," said the owl; "only you mustn't expect him to make such a wise answer as I should, because, of course, he isn't an owl, like me."

Tommy Smith didn't think the owl had said anything so very wise, but he had used a word twice which he didn't know the meaning of, and so he said, "Please, Mr. Owl, what does being 'nocturnal' mean?"

"To be nocturnal," said the owl, "is to wake up and see at night, and go to bed in the daytime, which is what we owls do."

"Oh yes, I know," said Tommy Smith; "and if an owl ever does come out in the daytime, a lot of little birds fly after him and" -- 

"Yes," said the owl. "It is very grand, is it not, to be attended in that way? Common birds have to fly about by themselves, but, of course, when one is a great owl, it is natural that people should make a fuss about one."

"But, Mr. Owl," said Tommy Smith (he really couldn't help saying this, though he was afraid the owl might be angry), "don't the little birds fly after you because they don't like you, and" -- 

"Dear, dear!" said the owl, "what funny notions little boys do get into their heads. Not like me, don't they? That is very ungrateful of them, because I like them very much. Sometimes I like them almost as much as a mouse, you know. But, after all, what does it matter whether they like me or not? The important thing is to have a retinue, all the rest is of no consequence. Why do you suppose" -- The owl stopped all of a sudden, as if he had just thought of something, and then he said, "But, perhaps, hearing so many wise things, one after the other, in such a short time, may be bad for you, -- too much strain on the brain, you know. What do you think?"

"Oh, I don't think it will do me any harm," said Tommy Smith.

"Very well," said the owl; "in the cool of the night, perhaps, it may not, but I wouldn't answer for it in the daytime, if the sun was at all hot. Well, now do you suppose that if all the people in the world who had retinues were to know what their retinues thought about them, they would be any the happier for it?"

"I don't know," said Tommy Smith.

"Well," said the owl (I really cannot tell you how wise he looked as he said this), "I do."

"But what is a retinue?" asked Tommy Smith.

"Oh dear," said the owl, "I have been forgetting that I am a wise owl, and that you are only a little boy who doesn't know long words. A retinue is an entourage, you know, and" -- 

"But I don't know what that word means either," said Tommy Smith (and, indeed, he thought it was rather a more difficult one than the other).

"Oh dear," said the owl, "I am forgetting again. Why, when there are a lot of little birds, who fly round you and twitter whenever you come out and show yourself, that is what I call having a retinue or an entourage; and, depend upon it, it is a very grand thing to have. The more birds there are to twitter about you, the grander bird you are. But it doesn't so much matter what they twitter, and as for what they think, you had better know nothing at all about that."

It was all very well for the owl to talk in this very wise way, but Tommy Smith felt sure that the little birds didn't like him at all, and only flew round him to annoy him when he happened to come out in the daytime. And he didn't think it was such a very grand thing to have a retinue like that. "They would peck at him too, I daresay, if they weren't afraid," he said to himself; "and no wonder, if he eats them." But he wasn't quite sure whether the owl did this or not, so he thought he had better ask him before feeling angry with him.

"Do you eat the little birds, Mr. Owl?" he said.

"Not very often," the owl answered. "The fact is, I don't so very much care about them. Only, sometimes, when I want a change of diet, or if they happen to get in my way, I like to try them. They can't complain of that, you know."

"Why not?" said Tommy Smith.

"They haven't time," said the owl. "You see, I catch them asleep, and by the time they wake up, they've been eaten."

"I think it's a great shame," said Tommy Smith; "and I think you're a wicked bird to do it. You ought to be shot for doing such things, and when I am grown up, and have a gun" -- 

"Wait a bit," said the owl. "Do you know what you would be doing if you were to shoot me? Why, you would be shooting the most useful bird in the whole country. You wouldn't want to do that, I suppose?"

Tommy Smith didn't quite know what to say to this. "Of course, if you really are very useful," he began -- 

"Well, if you were a farmer," the owl went on, "I don't suppose you would like to have all your corn, and wheat, and hay, and everything eaten up by rats and mice, would you?"

"Oh no," said Tommy Smith.

"That is what would happen, though, if it wasn't for me," said the owl. "You see, I eat the rats and mice. They are my proper food, especially the mice. A full-grown rat is rather large for me -- too large to swallow whole, at anyrate; and I like to swallow things whole if I can. But the mice and the young rats are just the right size, and you've no idea what a lot of them I eat. I have a very good appetite, I can tell you, and so have my children. Of course, I have to feed them as well as myself, so there is plenty of work for me to do. Every night I fly round the fields and farmyards, and when I see a mouse, or a rat, or a mole, or a shrew-mouse, down I pounce upon it. Now think how many owls there are all over the country, and think what thousands and thousands of rats and mice they must catch every night, and then think what a lot of good they must do. Or, here is another way. Think how many rats and mice there are even now, although there are so many owls to catch them, and think how much harm they do, and think how many more there would be, and how much more harm they would do if there were no owls to catch them. That is a lot of thinking is it not? Well, have you thought of it all?"

"I've tried to," said Tommy Smith.

"It's difficult, isn't it?" said the owl. "It's all very well to say 'think,' but the fact is, you can't think what a useful bird an owl is -- and especially a barn-owl. But, perhaps, you don't believe me."

"Oh yes, I do," said Tommy Smith. "I always thought that owls killed rats and mice."

"You can prove it, if you like," said the owl, "and I'll tell you how. I told you that I liked to swallow animals whole, so, of course, everything goes down -- fur, bones, feathers (if it does happen to be a bird), and all. But I can't be expected to digest such things as that, so I have to get rid of them in some way or other. Well, what do I do? Why, I bring them all up again in pellets about the size and shape of a potato."

"Oh, but potatoes are of different sizes and shapes," said Tommy Smith.

"I mean a smallish-sized oblong potato," said the owl. "That is what my pellets look like, only they are of a greyish sort of colour. Sometimes they are quite silvery."

"How funny!" said Tommy Smith.

"How pretty, I suppose you mean," said the owl. "Yes, they are pretty. Now, if you look about under the trees in the fields where I have been sitting, you will see these pretty pellets of mine lying on the grass. Pick them up and pull them to pieces, and you will find that they are nothing but the fur, and skulls, and bones of mice, and shrew-mice, and young rats. Sometimes the skull and beak of a bird will be there, and then it will almost always be a sparrow's. Sparrows are a nuisance, you know, because there are too many of them. But, as for mice, there will be three or four of them in every pellet (you can count them by the skulls), and you know what a nuisance they are. Let anyone who is not quite sure whether I am a useful bird or not look at my pellets. Then he'll know, and if he shoots me after that, he must either be very stupid, or very wicked, or both. Well, do you still mean to shoot me when you grow up?"

"Oh no," said Tommy Smith, "I never will, now that I know how useful you are, and what a lot of good you do."

The owl looked very pleased at this, so Tommy Smith thought he would take the opportunity to ask his advice about something which had been puzzling him a good deal. "Please, Mr. Owl," he said, "I promised the rat not to kill him any more. But, if rats and mice do such a lot of harm, oughtn't I to kill them whenever I can?"

"Certainly not," said the owl. "A little boy should be kind to animals, and not trouble his head about anything else. No, no; be kind to animals and leave the rats and mice to me." That was the wise owl's advice to Tommy Smith, and I think it was very good advice.

"Where do you live, Mr. Owl?" (that was the next question that Tommy Smith asked). "I suppose it is in the woods."

"No," the owl answered. "Barn-owls do not live in the woods. The tawny-owls and the wood-owls do. Woods are good enough for them, but we like to have more comfortable surroundings. We don't object to trees, of course. A nice hollow tree is a great comfort, and I, for one, could not do without it. But it must be within a reasonable distance of a village, and the closer it is to a church, the better I like it."

"Do you, Mr. Owl," said Tommy Smith.

"Yes," said the owl. "I don't mind how far I am from a railway station or even a post office, but the church must be near."

"I suppose you like to sit in the tower, Mr. Owl," said Tommy Smith.

"I should think so," said the owl; "the belfry is there, you know, and I am so fond of that. It is so nice to sit in one's belfry and think of one's barns, and farms, and haystacks. And then, when the bells ring, you can't think what fun that is -- especially on the first day of January when they ring in the New Year. I get quite excited then, and I give a scream, and throw myself off the old tower, and fly round it, and whoop and shriek until I seem to be one of the mad bells myself. For they are mad then, you know. They go mad once every year -- on New Year's day. People come out to listen sometimes. They look up into the air, and say, 'Hark! There they go. It is the New Year now. They are ringing it in.' Then all at once the bells stop ringing, and it is all over; the New Year has been rung in. But what there is new about it is more than I can say, wise as I am. It all seems to go on just the same as before, and sometimes I wonder what all the fuss has been about. I have never been able to see any difference myself between the last minute of the thirty-first of December and the first minute of the first of January. On a cold rainy night especially, they seem very much alike. But, of course, there must be a difference, or the bells wouldn't ring as they do."

"Oh, they ring because it's the new year, Mr. Owl," said Tommy Smith.

"Yes, that's it," said the owl; "but I should never have found it out without them."

Tommy Smith began to think that the owl couldn't be so very wise after all, or surely he would have known the difference between the old year and the new year. He was going to explain it to him thoroughly, but he was getting rather sleepy by this time, and it is difficult to explain things when one is sleepy.

So he didn't, and the owl went on with, "Oh yes, we love churches, we owls do. We have our nests there, you know, and we could not find a safer place to make them in. Anywhere else we might be disturbed and rudely treated, for people are not nearly so polite to us as they ought to be. But we are always safe in a church, for no one would be so wicked as to annoy us there. Besides, a church is a wonderful place to hide in. People pass by it, and come into it, and sit down and go out again, without having any idea that we are there, and have been there all the time. They never think of that."

"What part of the church do you build your nest in, Mr. Owl?" said Tommy Smith.

"Oh, that is in the belfry too," said the owl. "The belfry is my part of the church. I think it must have been built for me, it suits me so well. I am called the belfry-owl sometimes, and that is a very good name for me too. But now don't ask me any more questions, because you are getting sleepy, and I have something to tell you before you go to sleep."

And then the owl told all about the grand meeting that the animals had held in the woods, and all that they had said to each other, and what they had decided to do to try and make Tommy Smith a better boy to animals, and how, at first, they had wanted to hurt him (or even to kill him), because they were so angry with him, until the owl had persuaded them not to. It was all the wise owl's doing. He knew that the best way to make a little boy kind to animals was to teach him something about them; and who could teach him so well as the animals themselves?




Chapter XII.

The Leave-Taking

"All 'Tommy Smith's Animals' take leave with joy, For they know Tommy Smith is a different boy."


WHEN Tommy Smith had gone to sleep, the owl flew away, and he flew to the same place where he had met the other animals before, and found them all there again waiting for him (of course, it had been arranged). Then all the animals began to tell each other about the conversations they had had with Tommy Smith, and what a very much better boy he had become. They were all so glad; and, of course, they all thanked the owl, because it had been his idea.

Then the owl thanked all the animals for thanking him, and he said that it was his idea, but that it might just as well have been the idea of any other animal there, and he wished that it had been, because, then, he could have called it clever, but now, of course, he couldn't, for that would be praising himself, -- which would never do. You see, he wanted to be modest. One ought always to be modest when one makes a speech. And now (the owl said) he was quite sure that Tommy Smith would never be unkind to animals any more as long as he lived, because, just before he flew away, he had asked him to promise that he wouldn't. But Tommy Smith had just gone off to sleep then, and so he had had to promise it in his sleep. "And, you know," said the owl, "that when a promise is made in that way, it is always kept." Then all the animals clapped their -- well, whatever they could clap, and said "Hurrah!" and the meeting broke up.

And the owl was right. As Tommy Smith grew older, and became a big boy, he found that animals did not talk to him any more in the way they used to do. It seemed as if they only cared to talk to little boys or girls. But there was one way of having conversations with them, which he got to like better and better, and that was to go out into the woods and fields and watch what they were doing. He soon found that that was quite as interesting as really talking to them. In fact, it was talking to them in another kind of way, for they kept telling him all about themselves, only without speaking. And the more Tommy Smith learnt about them, the more he liked them, until the animals became his very best friends. Of course, one is never unkind to one's very best friends, and, besides, Tommy Smith had given the owl a promise -- in his sleep.

<eob>

The Apple Dumpling, And Other Stories For Young Boys And Girls

By

Frances Elizabeth Barrow



The Apple Dumpling.


Many years ago, there was a little old woman who lived a long way off in the woods. She lived all by herself, in a little cottage with only two rooms in it, and she made her living by knitting blue woollen stockings, and selling them.

One morning the old woman brushed up the hearth all clean, and put everything in order; then she went to the pantry and took out a great black pot, and filled it full of water, and hung it over the fire, and then she sat down in her arm-chair by the fire. She took her spectacles out of her pocket and put them on her nose, and began to knit a great blue woollen stocking.

Very soon she said to herself, "I wonder what I shall have for dinner? I think I will make an apple dumpling." So she put her knitting down, and took her spectacles off her nose, and put them in her pocket, and, getting out of her arm-chair, she went to the cupboard and got three nice rosy-cheeked apples. Then she went to the knife-box and got a knife; and then she took a yellow dish from the dresser, and sat down in her arm-chair, and began to pare the apples.

After she had pared the apples, she cut each one into four quarters. Then she got up again, and set the dish of apples on the table, and went to the cupboard, and got some flour and a lump of butter. Then she took a pitcher, and went out-of-doors to a little spring of water close by, and filled the pitcher with clear, cold water. So she mixed up the flour and butter, and made them into a nice paste with the water; and then she went behind the door, and took down a rolling-pin that was hung up by a string, and rolled out the paste, and put the apples inside, and covered the apples all up with the paste. "That looks nice," said the old woman. So she tied up the dumpling in a nice clean cloth, and put it into the great black pot that was over the fire.

After she had brushed up the hearth again, and put all the things she had used away, she sat down in her arm-chair by the fire, and took her spectacles out of her pocket and put them on her nose, and began to knit the big blue woollen stocking.

She knit eight times round the stocking, and then she said to herself, "I wonder if the dumpling is done?" So she laid down her knitting, and took a steel fork from the mantelpiece, and lifted the lid of the pot and looked in.

As she was looking in, her spectacles tumbled off her nose, and fell into the pot.

"Oh, dear! oh, dear! -- that's bad! that's bad!" said the old woman.

She got the bright tongs, and fished up her spectacles, and wiped them with the corner of her apron, and put them on her nose again, and then she stuck the fork into the apple dumpling.

The apples were hard. "No, no, no," she said; "it is not done yet."

So she put on the lid of the pot, and laid the fork on the mantelpiece, and sat down in her arm-chair, and began to knit again on the big blue woollen stocking.

She knit six times round the stocking, and then she said to herself, "I wonder if the dumpling is done?"

So she put her knitting down, and took the fork from the mantelpiece, and lifted the lid of the pot and looked in.

As she was looking in, her spectacles tumbled off her nose, and fell into the pot.

"Oh, dear! oh, dear! -- that's bad! that's bad!" said the old woman.

She got the bright tongs and fished up her spectacles, and wiped them with the corner of her apron, and put them on her nose again, and took the fork and stuck it into the dumpling. The apples were just beginning to get soft.

"No, no, no; it is not quite done yet," said the old woman.

So she put on the lid of the pot, and laid the fork on the mantelpiece, and sat down in her arm-chair, and began to knit again on the big blue woollen stocking.

She knit twice round the stocking, and then she said to herself, "I wonder if the dumpling is done?"

So she laid down her knitting, and took the fork from the mantelpiece, and lifted the lid of the pot, and looked in.

As she was looking in, her spectacles tumbled off her nose, and fell into the pot.

"Oh, dear! oh, dear! -- that's bad! that's bad!" said the old woman.

She got the bright tongs and fished up her spectacles, and wiped them with the corner of her apron, and put them on her nose again, and took the fork and stuck it into the dumpling.

The apples were quite soft. "Yes, yes, yes; the dumpling is done," said the old woman.

So she took the dumpling out of the pot, and untied the cloth, and turned it into a yellow dish, and set it upon the table.

Then she went to the cupboard and got a plate, and then to the knife-box and got a knife; then she took the fork from the mantelpiece, and drew her arm-chair close up to the table, and sat down in it, and cut off a piece of the dumpling, and put it on her plate.

It was very hot, and it smoked a great deal; so the old woman began to blow it. She blew very hard. As she was blowing, her spectacles tumbled off her nose, and fell into the dumpling.

"Oh, dear! oh, dear! -- that's bad! that's bad!" said the old woman.

She took her spectacles out of her plate, and wiped them with the corner of her apron, and said to herself, "I must get a new nose. My nose is so little, that my spectacles will not stick on my nose."

So she put her spectacles into her pocket, and began to eat the dumpling.

It was quite cool now. So the old woman ate it all up, and said it was very good indeed.



The Little Boy That Was Afraid Of The Water.


Once on a time there were two little boys. William was five years old, and Johnny was not quite three. The weather was very warm, and these little boys got so weak, and looked so pale and sick, that the doctor said their parents had better take them to Hastings, and let them bathe in the sea. So their Mother packed up their clothes, and some books, for she did not wish them to be idle; and one pleasant afternoon they all went by the railway to Hastings.

The little boys were very much amused at all they saw. There were several other boys in the carriage, and William and Johnny looked very hard at them, and wished they knew what their names were, and whether they had a Noah's Ark and Rocking-Horse like theirs.

After three hours' ride by the puffing, screaming railway, they arrived safely at Hastings, and they found a carriage waiting for them, which soon took them to the house which their papa had hired. Tea was immediately brought up, and then, as they were all very tired, they went early to bed.

After breakfast the next morning, William and Johnny walked down to the smooth and beautiful beach with their parents, where a great many people, some of them children, were bathing. They seemed to like it very much; and it really did look very inviting, for the sun made the water sparkle like diamonds, and the waves seemed dancing and leaping, and looked as if they longed to give everybody a good splashing.

William was delighted. He could hardly wait to be undressed, he was in such a great hurry to be ducked; and when the bathing-woman took him and plunged him under the water, although he gasped for breath, he laughed, and kicked, and splashed the water, and cried, "Duck me again! duck me again!" and he looked so pleased, that some other children came to where he was, and they all had a grand frolic together.

Little Johnny laughed too, as he stood in the machine; but, when his Mother said, "Come, Johnny, now it is your turn," he made a terrible face, and cried, "Dear Mamma, please let me go home. I shall never see you again if you put me in that great big water." But his Mamma said he must go in, because it would do him a great deal of good, and she undressed him, and put him into the woman's arms.

Johnny now began to scream as loud as he could, and cried out, "Mamma, Mamma, I want to go back to you." But the old woman did not mind him a bit, and holding him by his arms, she plunged him under the water.

The poor little fellow came up gasping and panting, and sobbed out, "Oh, my dear Mamma, come and kiss me 'fore I die."

Everybody laughed -- for there was no danger -- except his kind Mother. A tear started to her eye, for she knew her dear little son really thought he was dying, and would never see her again. But in a little while he felt better, and, after his Mother had taken him, and had rubbed him all over and dressed him, and he had run up and down the beach with William and the other children, he felt such a nice warm glow all over him, that he forgot all about his fright.

Very soon he said, "Mamma, I am so hungry -- I am as hungry as a little bear."

"That is because you have been in the water," replied his Mother.

"Are the fishes always hungry? -- does the water make them hungry too?" said Johnny.

"I believe they are always ready to eat," replied his Mother; "you know that they are caught by bait. This bait is often a little worm, put upon a sharp hook. The fish snap at the bait, and the hook catches them in the mouth. Come, little hungry fish," added his Mother, "and I will give you something to eat; but I will not put it on a hook to hurt you."

The next day the little boys went into the water again, and, although Johnny made up a doleful face, he did not think he should die this time; and, when he saw the other children laughing and splashing each other, and crying, "Duck me again! what fun we are having!" he tried to like it too, and after a little while did begin to like it; for when children try to overcome their foolish fears, they will almost always succeed, and be rewarded, as Johnny was, by the pleasure they enjoy, and the happiness they give to their parents.

After a few days Johnny got to be so brave, that he was the first to run down to the beach and jump into the bathing-woman's arms, and he cried louder than any, "Duck me again!" and splashed everybody that came near him; and both William and Johnny got so strong, and ate so heartily, and had such great red cheeks, that when they went home to London, a few weeks after, their friends hardly knew them, and Johnny never again had any foolish fears about going into the water.

<eob>

The Third Little Pet Book, With The Tale Of Mop And Frisk

By

Aunt Fanny



Part I.

The Dogs Leave Home.


In a small town by the side of a lake, there once lived two dogs named Mop and Frisk.

Frisk was a pert black and tan dog, with a tail that stood bolt up in the air, and a pair of ears to match; while Mop was a poor old cur, with a head like a worn-out hair-broom; ears like bell-pulls; a mouth that went from ear to ear, and a great bush of a tail. Then he had to drag the cart of an old rag-man round the town, to earn his meals; while Frisk, who lived with a pie-man, had a fine ride in the cart each morn; and all the work he had to do was to bark at the bad boys who tried to steal the pies. The rest of his time he spent in play.

One day the old rag-man, who was as cross as ten bears, and far too fond of beer, came out of a shop where he had been to drink, while poor Mop had to wait in the cold. The rag-man's legs went from side to side; he could not walk; so he got in the cart, on top of all the rags, and cried to Mop:

"Come, go on, you bad cur, or I'll make you!" and with these words, he let fall a great stick on the back of the poor dog, and gave him a kick with his thick hob-nail shoes. Mop tried to start, but it was more than he could drag. Down came the stick once more; and this time, made quite wild with pain, he gave one yelp and one jump, broke the old ropes that held him to the cart by a great jerk, and made off down the road like a flash. The bad old man did bawl to him to come back; but Mop was too wise for that, and did not stop to see if the wind was west or not, till he came to a part of the town which was quite new to him.

The place where our dog now found him-self was a sort of blind court, with the blank wall of a house on each side, and, worse than all, with not the sign of a thing to eat to be seen.

"A fly to snap at would be a good thing," said the poor dog with a sigh. "I think I could eat a bit of brick, if I could get one up. But cheer up! it will all come right in time! I'm free at least -- that is one good thing!" and he gave three jumps and three barks for joy, so loud that they most took the top of his head off.

Just then there came up, at a smart pace, Frisk the pie-man's dog. He held his head in the air as proud as you like. When he saw Mop, he tried to turn up his nose at him, but it was so flat, there was no turn up to it. Then he gave a loud sniff, and said with an air:

"Who are you? Where did you come from?"

"I am as good a dog as you," said Mop. "My coat is not quite so fine to be sure, and my ears don't stick up so much; but I'm a nice sort of chap for all that. Shake a paw."

"What! shake a paw with such an old flop-ear as you? You must be mad."

Mop did want to say, "You are a pert, stuck-up cur," but he was too well-bred; so he made a bow, and put his paw on his heart; and said: "I meant no wrong; but I took you for Frisk, the pie-man's dog."

"Well, so I am -- or so I was, I mean; till last week; but, you see, the trade was too low for a dog of my style -- with such ears and such a long tail. I was not made to bark out of the back of a pie-cart at all the rag-tags in town; so I have cut the pie-man, and mean to try high life in some big house. My own aunt lives with a judge; and it will be odd if some rich man does not like my looks, and take me home with him. But I must be off; it would not do to be seen with you, if I hope to rise in the world. A good time to you, my boy. He! he! you are such a beau, you can't fail to cut a dash. G-o-o-d day!"

"Stop a bit!" cried Mop, as Frisk ran off. "You don't think much of me now I see, but time may show me to be the best dog yet. What if we were each to try to find a new place, and meet here in a month from now, to tell what has past in the mean time? Don't you think that would be a nice plan?"

"Oh! I'll do so if you wish!" said Frisk; "but don't ask me to bow when we meet, I beg; it won't do, you know."

"Shake a paw then," said Mop.

Frisk, very loth, put the tip of one claw on Mop's paw. Then the two dogs stood back to back, and, with a one! two!! three!!! off they went as if a mad bull was at their heels.




Part II.

The Dogs Meet Once More.


On the last day of the month, Mop and Frisk, true to their word, came to the place where they last said good-by. But how each one did look to see if his mate were the same dog he last saw!

Mop's coat was rough no more -- it shone like silk; his ears were cut; he wore a fine brass neck ring, with a new name on it; and his whole air was that of a dog in luck.

Poor Frisk was so thin that you could count all his ribs. His tail stood up in the air no more. He hung his head and crept close by the wall, as if he did fear some one would beat him if he dared to run or jump.

Good Mop did not look on him with scorn when he saw him in this sad way; but ran up to him on three legs, with one paw held out for "How d'ye do," and his great fly-brush of a tail a-wag for joy.

"Why, Frisk, old dog!" he cried, "how glad I am to see you! How have you been this long time?"

"O Mop!" said Frisk in a sad tone, "will you speak to me now I am so poor? It is I who am not fit to be seen this time."

"Frisk, my good dog," said Mop in a grave tone, "real worth is not a thing of looks. Let me tell you that if I knew you to steal a bone, you would lose my good-will in truth. But I do not look down on dogs if they are poor and good. Come home with me; we can talk more at our ease in my nice house, where you will find some first-rate bones, if you would like them."

"O yes! I guess I would!" cried Frisk.

So the dogs set off on a trot by the side of a fine lake, on the banks of which the town was built. They soon came to a large house, with a court-yard in front, tall green rails all round, and a great gate by which to go in. There was a small gate near the large one, the latch of which Mop could lift with his nose, for Frisk and him-self to pass; and then the dogs ran round to the back of the house. On one side of the yard Frisk saw a fine dog-house, fit for the king, with a roof that ran to a peak, a porch in front, and a dove-cote on a pole on top. In-side there was a heap of clean, warm hay, and on a blue plate were some nice bones.

"There!" said Mop, "don't you call that prime? Help your-self to the bones, Frisk; I can get lots more."

Frisk did not wait to be asked twice, but fell to, and soon made way with the legs of a fowl. When these were gone, kind Mop ran to the house and got a beef-bone for him. Poor Frisk ate as if he was not used to such fine fare, and the good dog Mop, who gave up his own meal to feed Frisk, felt as glad as if he had had it all him-self.

When Frisk had made an end of the bones, he and Mop laid down in the dog-house; and as Frisk had asked him to do so, Mop told his tale, as you shall hear.

But first he asked Frisk to rise, so he could put more of the soft hay on his side. "Do you feel quite warm?" he asked.

"O yes! thank you, dear Mop," said Frisk; "as warm as a toast. You will make me cry, if you are so kind to me. When you were poor, I was a cross dog to you. Oh! I can not bear to think how bad I was;" and a great big tear came out of each of Frisk's eyes, and ran off at the end of his nose.

"Oh! that is all gone. We will be kind old dogs now, and do all the good we can in the world. And now here goes for the grand tale of all my joys and woes since I saw you."


Mop's Tale.

"You know, Frisk, that when we left the court, you chose to go in the town, and I by the lake. I felt sad to think I had no one to care for me in the world. But my watch-word is, 'Don't give it up!' and I could not think that all would leave me to want a bone. So I laid down by the road-side, in hopes to see some one who would take care of me.

"First, I saw a man on a fine horse; and as he had no dog, I said to my-self, 'Who knows but what he wants one to keep the flies from his horse's legs!' So I ran by him a short way, when -- would you dream the man could be so bad? -- he gave me a cut with his whip, that made me hop and yelp for pain. 'Serve you right for a vile cur!' he said with a loud laugh, and on he rode.

"Next came a blind man; but he had a dog to lead him. The blind man's hat was laid on the ground, and when a cent was put in it, the dog gave one bark; when two cents were put in, he gave two barks, and so on. So, you see, there was no room for me there, and I had to trot on.

"At last I saw a small boy and girl trip down the road, hand in hand, with their nurse close by them. They wore such fine coats and hats, that it was plain they were rich; but when the boy put his small hand on my head, and said, 'Good dog,' and the girl did the same, I knew they must be kind too.

"So I ran by them, in hopes they would speak to me once more.

"There were some wild rose-buds on the bank of the lake, and when the girl saw them she cried: 'O Hal! just see those sweet rose-buds! How nice they look! They have just come out! Won't you pick me a few?'

"'Yes, dear May,' said the boy; and he let go her hand and ran to where the rose-buds grew.

"'Don't go there, dear child,' cried nurse; 'you may fall in the lake.'

"'No I won't! I'll take care,' cried Hal; and as he spoke he bent way down the bank. O me! the earth gave way, his foot did slip, and ere the nurse could run to his aid, the poor child fell, with a loud cry, in the lake.

"There was no time to be lost; and, more glad than I can say, that I was on the spot, I leapt in the lake, swam to the side of the child, and in as short a time as it takes to tell, I had his coat in my teeth, and got him safe to shore.

"The nurse took her dear boy in her arms and cried for joy; and May was so glad that she put her arms round my wet head, and gave me a long hug.

"'We must take the good dog home with us, Miss May,' said nurse, 'and tell your pa-pa what he has done for Hal. And now let me wrap my shawl round you, Hal, and then we must all run home as fast as we can, for fear you may take cold.'

"We were soon at this house, where Mr. and Mrs. Grey, the pa-pa and mam-ma of Hal and May, live; and nurse soon told them how I had saved the life of their dear son.

"You may think how great was my joy to have them call me, 'Good dog! brave dog! the best dog in the world!' and give me a hug and say I must live with them from that time.

"So Mr. Grey sent me out with Hal to the yard; and he got Jim, the groom, to wash and trim me, while May ran to ask the cook for some meat to feed me. The dear child did wish so much to make me glad, that she tied her own white bib round my neck to keep me neat while I ate, and fed me with her own hand; while Hal, and a wee bit of a girl, who came to see them, did look on.

"It was not quite as much to my taste as hers to be fed; but she was so full of the fun of it, that I would not for the world have made one growl.

"Next day their pa-pa got me this nice house, and Hal put round my neck the brass ring you see me wear; which they say has on it: 'To Dash, the good dog, from Hal and May.'"

When Mop, or Dash, as we must now call him, had come to an end, Frisk drew a deep sigh, and said: "Well, Dash, as that is your name, if I had been as good as you, I might be as well off by this time; but I think, when you hear what a sad life I have led for the past month, you will say I am well paid for my fine airs to you. So now to my tale."


Frisk's Tale.

"I made haste to the best part of the town, when I left you and the court, and, late in the day, found my-self in a fine place. Near the best house was a group of three small boys; they were at play with some small, round, smooth stones; and when one stone hit the next, a boy could cry out: 'That is mine!'

"Well, for my sins, I came to a halt just in front of these boys.

"'Oh! oh! look at that nice dog!' cried one whose name I found was Bob. 'I guess he is lost. I mean to have him for my dog.'

"'No, you shall not,' said Ned, the next in size. 'He shall be my dog.'

"'No, he shall be mine,' said Sam. 'I want him! I will have him!' and on that they all tore up the steps of the house, and burst in-to a room where their mam-ma was, with:

"'Ma, I want the dog!'

"'Ma, give me the dog!'

"'No, no, no, ma! -- me! me! me!'

"'O dear! what a noise!' said their mam-ma. 'Do be still. If you want the dog, take him; but don't whine, or go on as if you all had the tooth-ache.'

"All this time I was such a gump, I sat quite still; but when I saw the boys come out and rush at me with rude words, I said to my-self, 'Come on, Frisk; I do not think it will do to get a new place here.' So I made up my mind to take to my heels; when, O my dog-star! down came a great bat on my head, and the three boys fell on me all at once; grab'd me by the ears, tail, and one leg, at the same time, and would have torn me to bits, I am sure, if their mam-ma had not come and made Bob and Ned let go.

"I was put in the front room then, in a whole skin, and here, in spite of all he could do, I broke from Sam and hid my-self at the back of a couch that stood by the fire-place.

"'Now what's to be done?' said Sam.

"'Let's hunt him out with sticks,' said Ned.

"'Good! come on!' cried Bob and Sam; and with-out more words, Bob armed him-self with the broom, and Ned and Sam got canes, as if they were in chase of some wild beast, and all flew, with a loud whoop! to bang poor me out of my strong-hold.

"I don't know what would have been my fate, if I had not hit on what to do just in time. The sides and front of the couch, by good luck, came down past the seat, and bands of broad tape were put from side to side, to keep the white slip in its place. I gave a jump, made out to land on the tapes, and sat on them in great fear lest they might give way.

"It was well I did so; for the boys made their sticks fly from side to side at such a rate, that the first blow would have been the death of me. This game went on for some time, till they were quite at a loss to know why I did not come out or make a cry.

"'Why where can he be?' cried Sam. 'Look and see, quick!'

"Ned went down on his knees -- 'Why he's gone!' he said with a gasp.

"'O the b-a-a-d thing!' cried Sam. 'Ma! ma! our dog's lost! Boo! hoo! hoo!' and to my great joy, all three left the room to treat their dear 'ma' to a howl. Oh! how I did long to snap at their legs.

"By this time so much fluff and dust had got up my nose in my close nook, that I was fit to choke; and as the boys were gone, I dared to come out. There was a large arm-chair close by, with a deep, soft seat that was just to my taste. I hopt in, laid down, and was soon in a fine nap.

"Think, then, what was my state of mind to wake up with a yell and a land-slide on top of me! Up flew a fat old dame from the arm-chair, where she had just sat down, as if she was shot! Bang! came a great gilt book, that she let fall in her start, right on the end of my poor tail, as I leapt to the floor! 'E-e-e!' went she; 'yi! yi! yi!' went I; and 'Hur-ra! here's the dog!' cried Ned, as he came bang in at the door, caught me by one ear, and ran up to the top floor with me in wild joy; which put the last touch to my woes!

"Once in their play-room, the bad boys made me drag a toy-cart full of dirt, ran straws in-to my ears, beat me with sharp sticks, and shot peas at me out of a pop-gun. They kept up these nice plays till tea-time; when they were so kind as to let me go, and treat me to a few old scraps of cold meat for my share of the meal.

"When tea was done, their mam-ma bid them go right to work and learn their tasks; and, with pouts and whines from all three, they sat down. As soon as their mam-ma left the room, Ned took out of his desk a mouse-trap, with a poor wee mouse in it, all in a shake of fear, and cried: 'Here, Sam, just see what I've got! An't that gay?'

"'What? what? let me look!' cried Bob, who had sat till now with his legs spread out, and a book be-fore him up-side down.

"'No, you shan't. Go 'way!' said Ned, in a whine.

"'I will! I will!' Bob did bawl; and as he spoke he did jump up and give Ned's hair a great pull! Then Sam gave Bob a punch, and the three boys did fight and kick each other at a fine rate; in the midst of which pow-wow I left the room, and ran off down the back stair.

"Here the maids were more kind to me than the boys; for cook made me a nice soft bed in a box, and gave me some bones to pick; while Jane, the maid, took me in her lap, and let me sleep there, snug and warm, till she went to bed.

"But you could no more guess what the next day had in store for me, than you could say how deep the sea is; so I will tell you.

"Just as Jane came in with the tea-tray, and cook had got a tin pan to pour me out some milk, down came those vile boys full tilt, to grab hold of me once more. The kind cook asked them to let me be, till I had had my milk; but she might as well have asked the wind not to blow; and with Bob to hold me, and Ned and Sam to mount guard on each side, they made haste once more to the play-room.

"When they had me safe, and the door shut, Bob cried in great glee: 'Now, boys, I tell you what we'll do: let's play our dog was a slave, that we had caught just as he was on the point to run off. We will tie him by the fore paws and flog him well.'

"Oh! oh! how I felt when I heard these words! My hair stood on end with fear. I threw my-self on the floor, and cried for help. Ah me! no help came. One would think they might have felt for a poor dog that could not help it-self. But no; they were with-out heart.

"Bob found a cord, and tied my feet to a large nail in the wall. Ned and Sam did each fetch the strap that they had round their task-books, and then these bad boys beat me till I felt as if I must die.

"At last they heard their mam-ma call from her room, 'Boys, boys, come right to your tasks -- it is past nine o'clock;' for she did teach them her-self I found out. At the sound of her voice, they left off, and ran to the door to beg for a short time more.

"Now was my time at last. I freed my paws by a great jerk, shot past Sam's legs, flew down the stair, and out of the house; for by great good luck, Jane had just gone to the door to let in the post-man. I am glad to say I sent Sam too down the stair like a shot, with a boot-jack and a pair of tongs, which Ned and Bob threw, and which were meant for me, at his heels. This made up, in part, for the pain he had put me to. But, oh! how sore and lame I was! I sank on the earth when I was clear out of sight, and felt as if my death was near. If it had not been for what next took place, my end would have come that day; but as I lay there all in a shake, I heard a child's voice say: 'O dear Fred! here is such a poor dog! Just see! he looks half dead! Let us stop and pat him!'

"'Dear me! Poor toad!' cried Fred. 'Where could he have come from? Pat him well; don't fear.'

"Her soft hand on my head made me raise my eyes, and I saw a boy and girl of nine and ten years old. They did not seem to be rich, but they were just as neat and nice as two pins, and their kind looks and words made me feel sure they were good.

"'Poor dog! I fear he wants food,' went on Nell. 'I mean to give him a bit to eat, Fred.'

"'Let me feed him too!' cried the boy. 'Here, take my knife and cut some bread for him.'

"Nell took a loaf from the bag on her arm, and with Fred's knife cut off a good thick slice. She gave half to him, and they broke it in bits and fed me by turns.

"'You dear pet,' said Nell, with a sigh, 'how I wish I could take you with me! But we are too poor; it can not be.'

"'Oh! don't you think mam-ma would let us have him?' cried Fred.

"'No, dear,' said Nell; 'we must not think of it. Come, bid the dog good-by, and let us make haste home.'

"I could but lick her hand to thank her for the food, and as I could rise now, I felt that it was best to run on.

"'Good-by, you dear doggy!" cried both; and they did stand and watch me till I was out of their sight. Oh! how I did wish I could go home with them!

"Just as I did turn round the end of the street, I heard an odd sound --  -- "

Here Frisk rose in haste and said: "But I dare not stay, dear Dash; I ought now to be at home. Some day when I can get out, I will come and tell you the rest of my sad tale, for the worst part is yet to come."

"But where must you go, Frisk?" said Dash.

"Why, to the show, where I play," said Frisk.

"You play! Can you act?" cried Dash.

"Yes! come out-side. Now, just see here!" and while Dash did stare at him, with his mouth and eyes so wide open that you would not think he could close them at all, Frisk stood on his hind legs, and went thro' a jig, with a look on his face as if he had lost his last hope; then fell down on the grass, stiff and stark, as if he had been shot; got up, made a low bow, and then went lame on three legs.

"Dear me!" cried Dash, "how smart you are! Where did you learn all that?"

"It would take a long time to tell," said Frisk. "If I can, I will come and see you next week, and you shall then hear all. Now, good-by."

"Here, take this nice sweet bone with you," cried Dash. "Good-by, old chap. I hope I shall see you soon;" and the good dog went back to his house, full of Frisk's tale. He tried so hard to think of a way to do him some good, that he got quite a bald spot on the top of his head, and at last laid down with his nose in his paws, to sleep on it, and dream of bones with-out end; for, you know, he gave up his own to feed one worse off than him-self. Good Dash! I hope each dear girl and boy who reads this will try to be like him, for that is the way to be loved by all.




Part III.

Dash Sees A Play.


The same eve, when Mr. Grey came home he said in a sly way: "I see there is a show of dogs, who dance and act a play, in town; but Hal and May do not care to see them, I know."

"O yes! yes! we want to go!" cried both at once. "Do take us to see them, pa-pa."

"Well, get your hats then," said Mr. Grey, "and we will go."

"Let's take Dash," said May. "He wants to see the dog-show too!"

Her pa-pa said, with a laugh, that he did not think Dash would care to see a play; but Hal and May did beg so hard, that at last he said they might take Dash if they chose.

So the two ran up the stair in high glee to their nurse, who put on May's round straw hat and silk sack, and got her nice black mitts to put on her wee hands.

May said, "I want to put on my mitts my-self, nurse;" so nurse said she might do so, and went on to dress Hal.

But when May went to put the mitts on, she was in such haste, that she tried to get the right mitt on the left hand. The mitt would not go on, of course, and she cried out: "Why, nurse, this is all wrong; it's got no thumb at all!"

How Hal and nurse did laugh when they saw what May had done! May had to laugh too, when nurse did show her that the mitts were quite right, if they were put on in the right way. They had great fun. But their pa-pa came to bid them make haste; so they told nurse good-by, and ran down the stair, hand in hand, as gay as two larks. Dash came to join them in the court-yard, and soon they were all four on their way to the show.

But, dear me! when the man at the door of the show saw Dash, he said: "I can't let dogs in, sir."

Here was a blow! and May, with her sweet blue eyes quite sad, cried out: "But you will let our Dash in, Mr. Show-man, won't you? You don't know what a good dog he is; he saved Hal's life!"

Now when the show-man heard dear May say this, and saw her sweet face and blue eyes raised to his, he could not help a smile, and said: "Well, for such a dear pet, I must say, yes. Dash may go in, but he must lie still and make no noise. One bark, and out he goes!"

"Oh! he will be as still as a deaf and dumb mouse!" cried Hal and May both at once. So, to the great joy of all, Dash went in. Hal and May took their seats with their pa-pa on a long bench, in a large room full of gay folks, and Dash sat on the floor close by them.

There was a stage at one end of the room; a fall of green baize hung in front of it. In a short time a bell went "ting-a-ling! ting-a-ling!" and up rose the baize. Then Dash saw a small house, with a grape-vine at the side and tall trees, which he took for real ones, but Mr. Grey said were wood and green paint. You could see a green field at the back of the stage, and high hills, while the blue sky was as clear as it was out of doors.

Mr. Grey had a bill with the names of the dogs that were to act on it, and Dash heard him read it to Hal and May.

The name of the play was:

The Death Of Poor Jack, The Run-A-Way.

Jack, Frisk. Col. Grape-Shot, Trip. The Guard, Tray And Wasp. Jack's Mam-Ma, Fan. The Sexton, Snap. The Judge, Short.

Dash, when he found Frisk was to act, scarce drew a breath for fear he should lose a bit of the play, and sat so still that not a hair moved.

First, in came two dogs on their hind-legs as the guard, in red coats and caps and blue pants. They had guns too; and they had such an odd look with their own tails up in the air out-side their coat-tails, and their head held as stiff as ram-rods to keep their caps on, that all the folks burst out in a laugh.

Then the guard did peep round all the trees, and in all the holes they could find, on a hunt for Jack; and when they did not find him, they shook their heads as if to say: "No one here! that's a fact!"

At last one of the guard went to rap at the door of the house. He gave such a hard knock, that he shook his cap down on one eye, and had to hold his head on one side, as if he had the tooth-ache, so as to see at all. It made him feel so bad, that he went off in a pet to the back of the stage, and left the guard whose cap was all right to knock for him-self. This one was so short, that he had to make a jump and stand on tip-toe to do it.

Out came a dog in the dress of an old dame, who, Mr. Grey said, was Jack's mam-ma. She wore a black gown, a white cap, and plaid shawl, and had a work-bag on her arm, or fore-leg, and a big pair of specs tied on her nose. When she saw the guard, she spread out her paws, and gave each a look in turn, as if to ask what they came there for.

The short guard made signs to her, to show they were on a hunt for a man who had left the camp with-out leave. The old dame shook her head at this, and put a paw on her heart, as if to say she hadn't heard of such a thing; but the one-eyed guard shook his head too, and did point thro' the door, as much as to say that the man was in there, he was sure. Then the old dame shook her head once more, and spread her skirt to keep them out of the house; but the guard were too smart for that. They aimed their guns at the wall of the house, to shoot Jack if he was in-side; and when the old dame saw that, she moved from the door-way, with a high squeak, and let them pass.

In they went full tilt, and the one-eyed guard, in his haste, quite lost sight of his part, let fall his gun, and ran off on all four legs! It pains me to tell that a sad yelp was heard in-side the house, as if he had got a box on the ear for this fault; and Dash could not but think that to act was not such fine fun as you might take it to be.

Soon out came the guard, with Jack held fast by both fore-legs, and the old dame at their backs, who cried with all her might and main. The run-a-way, who was Frisk to be sure, wore a coat and cap like the guard, and made a sad noise at his hard fate. He put his paw on his heart, and cast up his eyes as if to beg them to let him off; but they shook their heads. Then he held out both paws to his mam-ma, and she ran to him, put her paws round his neck, and did kiss him as well as she could. The guard gave him a pull to make him come. Frisk did kiss his paw and wave his cap to his mam-ma, who fell down in a swoon; and then they all three did march off. And that was the end of Part One.

Just as the scene was to close, the old dame did lift up her head and fore-paws and look round. When she saw it was not time, she fell down once more; so flat, that all the folks burst out in a laugh. I fear they would not have been so gay if they knew how the poor dog was beat by the show-man, when the play was done, for this small fault.

Next came a horn-pipe by a dog in a Scotch dress. He did it so well, that all the folks did clap their hands, and want him to do it once more; but it was now time for Part Two of the play; and he ran off with a low bow.

When the baize was drawn up once more, the small house was gone, and a high desk was set on one side of the stage, with a bench in front for Col. Grape-shot. And at the desk sat the judge who was to try Jack for his life. The dog who was judge wore a fine black silk gown, with white fur down the front; he had white bands at his neck, and a great white wig on top of his ears, which made him look droll, I can tell you.

And now, O dear! the deep roll of a drum was heard, and in came, one by one, a sad set in-deed!

First did march the dog who beat the drum, and next to him Col. Grape-shot, in a grand blue and gold coat; a gold-laced hat, with red and white plumes; white pants, with a red stripe down each leg, and a sword by his side.

Then came the guard with Jack, and, last of all, a dog with a long box in a hand-cart, which he drew. O dear! dear! this was to put poor Jack in when he was dead. The dog wore a black coat and an old red night-cap; and tied fast to one leg was a spade. He led the poor mam-ma by the paw, and once in a while tried to cheer her up; for he would lift his leg and give her a kind pat on the back with the end of his spade. But I think this did more harm than good, for each time he did so she gave a short howl, and half fell down. But now the guard, with Jack and Col. Grape-shot, were in a row in front of the judge, who waved his paw, and made a bow, as much as to say: "Go on."

Col. Grape-shot, on this, did first point to Jack, and then pat the bench he sat on, as much as to say he had bid him stay in the camp. Then he shut his eyes, and leant his head on his right paw, to show that he went to sleep, and then he made two or three quick steps to the back of the stage, to let them know that Jack had run off while he slept. Then he shut his eyes once more, woke up with a start, flew to the guard, and, with a bark and a growl and a yap! yap! yap! let them know that Jack had cut off, and they must go and find him. Then he did point to the guard and Jack, to tell the judge that the run-a-way was found; and at last he made a low bow, and spread out his paws, by which, I dare say, he meant that his part was at an end.

And now it was the turn of the judge, and he must say what was to be done to a man who was so bad as to run out of camp in time of war. The judge cast up his eyes, and threw up his paws, as if it was a sad shock to him to hear that Jack had been so bad. Then he did point to the guns of the guard and to Jack, and did nod his head as if he would nod it off. It was too plain! Poor Jack must be shot!

His mam-ma, when she saw this, ran to the judge and fell on her knees; that is, she sat down on her hind-legs, with her paws held out, to beg him to let Jack off; but he shook his head "no." Then she did the same to Col. Grape-shot; but it was all of no use. Jack put his paws round her neck, and did kiss her good-by, at which Hal and May cried quite hard, and then gave him-self up to the guard. They took him to the back of the stage, put a white cloth on his eyes, and made him kneel down. Then they stood in front of him, side by side, put up their guns, and, flash! bang!! off went two shots; and poor Jack fell dead on the stage!

Down popt his mam-ma once more in a swoon; while the guard took off the lid of the box, and put Jack in-side, who laid as stiff as a ram-rod. The dog who drew the hand-cart put on the lid, and went off first; then the Col. and judge, arm in arm; then the guard, who had to drag Jack's mam-ma by the arms, and didn't seem to like it much; and last, the dog who beat the drum and who did bang a-way for dear life all the time.

But just as the folks were quite in tears for the fate of poor Jack, in came the dog with the hand-cart full tilt, and in a great scare; for the lid of the box was half off, and you could see one of Jack's paws stuck out of a crack on top. All at once, off flew the lid, and out came Jack in a new dress, to dance a jig, and show that he had come to life once more, and was just as good as new.

Oh! how the folks did laugh at this, and clap their hands! while Jack went on to show all his queer tricks. First, he held up both his legs on his right side, and took a walk with the two on his left side; then he leapt thro' a ring or hoop, that was let down from the top of the stage, and took a turn round in the air as he went; and, by way of a wind up, he stood on his head in the ring, and let him-self be drawn up out of sight, as the green baize came down.

O dear! how much May and Hal liked all this, while Dash did not know how in the world Frisk could do it; and when all the boys and girls were as full as they could hold of the fun of the thing, Dash had as much as he could do to keep in a howl of grief; for, you must know, the dog could tell by poor Frisk's face that all this was no fun to him.

And now the show was done, and it was time to go home.

As they went, May and Hal had a nice long talk. May said: "O dear Hal! how I wish we had a dog that knew how to dance! What fun, when Sue and Kate Brown came, to have him show off!"

"Dear pa-pa, do buy one for us, won't you?" said Hal. "O my! buy that queer dog -- what was his name? -- the one that stood on two legs, and on the top of his head, and was shot -- that one!"

When Dash heard Hal ask his pa-pa to buy Frisk, his heart went pit-a-pat, and he gave a short, glad bark, which meant, "O yes! do buy Frisk!"

"But," said pa-pa, "you know that Frisk acts 'Jack, the Run-a-way;' and what if I should buy him, and he should trot off the next day! You know Dash could not have a red coat on, and run on his hind-legs to bring Frisk back; and what would you do then?"

Then Dash did wish with all his might that he could talk, "O dear!" he said to him-self; "I would give all my ears, and half my nose, if I could let them know that Frisk would not run off;" and then, strange to say, his love and wish to help Frisk made him get up on his hind-legs, and put his fore-paws up in the air; and he gave such a droll whine, that May and Hal burst out in a laugh, and said, "Look, pa-pa! just look at Dash! He too begs you to buy Frisk!" and then they both went and stood one on each side of the dog, put their hands up, and made such a queer whine just like him, that it was the best fun in the world to see and hear them.

"But," said pa-pa, "if the show-man will sell him to me, do you not know it would be wrong to make the poor dog keep up his tricks?"

"Wrong! why how, pa-pa?"

"Well, my dears, it seems too sad a thing to tell you, but it is too true. The show-man has to beat his dogs, and starve them, to get them to learn the tricks that made you laugh so much. You saw how thin they were, and you heard them cry out, when they left the stage. If they made the least slip or mis-take, they got a hard blow for it. In this way they find out that they must do all their tricks quite right, or they will have the whip laid on their poor thin sides and heads; and so not a day goes by that the dogs are not starved and made to feel the whip.

"Oh! oh!" cried Hal and May, "we did not know that. We would not beat or starve a dog, or a cat, or a worm. What a bad show-man! We would like to beat him."

"Oh! I hope not," said pa-pa. "The show-man may not think that dogs feel as much as we do. But I know you will be kind to all. I know you would not strike Dash, if he, by chance, broke one of your toys or hurt you in play."

"O no! in-deed," they both cried; and they ran up to the dog, and gave him a good hug, and a kiss on the top of his head.

You may be sure that Dash had not lost one word of all this talk; and he was still more sad when he knew how much poor Frisk had to bear. He made up his mind to tell Frisk to run off, and come to him. "I will hide him in my house till the show-man goes," he said to him-self. "I saw a great ham-bone on the shelf to-day. I know it will fall to my share, and, oh! won't it be good! I will give this to Frisk, and eat bits of bread. Yes, I will save up all the nice bones for him. Was he not a good dog?"

But a whole week went by, and no Frisk. The ham-bone got quite dry; and Dash was sure poor Frisk must be ill or dead.

At last one day, when Dash had lost all hope, he heard the pit-a-pat of four small feet in the yard. He had just gone in his house to take a short nap; but, I can tell you, he made but one jump out, for there was Frisk, on all fours, to be sure, but with his blue pants on his hind-legs, his red coat on his fore-legs, with the coat-tails, one on each side of his own tail, which was up in the air in an arch of joy, for here he was a real, true run-a-way.

Dash flew to meet him. "Why, Frisk!" he cried; "make haste -- fast -- come -- get right in my house. Don't mind if you tear those old coat-tails with the thorn-bush. There! that's the thing! -- here you are, all safe! Now tell me, how did you get off?"

Frisk had run so fast that he could not speak; he could just pant, and lay his head on Dash's, with a look full of love. At last he said: "O Dash! I have run off in the midst of the play -- the show-man struck me so hard for what I could not help -- for my cap fell off -- and I did think I must die with the pain. O Dash! if you knew what I have gone thro', your heart would break, and you would say, I did right to run a-way." The big tears ran down his nose, and his sobs did seem as if they would choke him; and Dash gave such a long howl of woe, that it makes me cry as I write these words, and I am quite sure you will cry as you read them.

Then Dash got out all his best bones to feed poor Frisk, who ate as if he had not seen a bone an inch long in a month.

When he had done, Dash said: "Now, dear Frisk, if you feel like it, tell me all you have gone thro'."

So they sat down, and while the tears ran down Dash's nose, Frisk told the rest of his sad tale.




Part IV.

The Conclusion Of Frisk's Tale.


You will bear in mind, Dash, that I left off where the good child fed me with bread. Well, this made me strong, and I went on my way. Soon I heard a sound, like that of a flute or fife; it was quite near, but I could see no one. All at once, a great mob of boys and men came down the road, and made a crowd close by me. I went in the midst of them to find out what it all meant. Dear me! it was some-thing queer to be sure. There was a man with a big drum fast to his back, which he beat with a drum-stick tied to one of his feet. In the front of his coat was a set of Pan's pipes, out of which he blew the tune the old cow died of. In his left hand he held a whip, while in his right was a cord, which led three dogs. The first one was an old dog, with bow-legs, who when the crowd did stop, got up on his hind-legs, and gave a look round at the two be-hind, who stood, right up on their hind-legs, all in a grave, glum way. One of these was in the dress of a girl. She had on a large round hat, full of big red bows. The hat was so big, and shook so much, that it did seem as if her head, hat, and all, would drop off, if it got a hard knock.

"The dog with the bow-legs wore a blue coat, a flat hat with a broad brim, and such a high shirt col-lar, that the sharp ends all but put his eyes out. He had a pair of specs tied on his black nose with twine. The third had on a cap and coat like those of a small boy. And all did look as if they were on their way to be hung.

"Then the man made a jig tune on his pipe, and beat the drum with his foot till he was as red as fire in the face, while the dogs kept time with hop, skip, and jump, with one eye on the whip.

"The men and boys were full of the fun. O dear! how they did clap their hands and laugh! and I, great goose that I was, stood on my hind-legs, to try how it felt, and kept near the dogs all day, and saw them dance at least ten times.

"At last, when the sun had set, the man came to an old house, and let him-self in with a key; the dogs went in too, while I stood out-side on two legs, to try to peep thro' a small crack in the door. Soon there came -- oh! such a good smell of hot beef-bones. I felt as if I would give all four of my legs for just one bone.

"I gave the door a push, and found it moved; and then, to make a long tale short, I went in; for I said to my-self: 'The man may beat me to death, but if I stay here I shall starve to death; so I can but try for a bone.'

"I found my-self in a low, dark room. The walls were black with dirt and smoke. The dogs lay in one part of the room, and the man sat by the fire. On a hook was a great pot, and from this came such a nice smell, that all the dogs, and I with them, did lick our lips the whole time.

"And now there came in the room an old dame, with a dry, brown face, for all the world like the nut-shell dolls the pie-man's boy used to make.

"'Well, John,' she said, 'have you had a good day?'

"'Yes, Gran-ny; I took a hat full of cents. See here, what a lot of them! But that dog there, he lost me a three cent piece to-day; so he goes with-out his bone.'

"The poor dog with the bow-legs gave a great howl when he heard this; but the show-man hit him on the nose with his whip, and he slunk off, while the big tears ran in a stream down his face.

"The rest stood on their hind-legs in a row, while the old dame with the nut-shell face took the pot from the fire.

"'Here,' said she to the show-man, 'hold the dish while I pour the stew out.'

"Oh! how it did smoke! and what a fine smell it had! The man got a loaf of bread and two blue plates from the shelf, and a knife and fork for each; and then they went to work to eat as fast as they could, while the dogs and I did look on with all the eyes we had. When the show-man had eat-en all he could, he took some more meat, cut it up in bits, and said: 'Now, I shall give each dog a bit in turn. Look sharp you! If the wrong dog starts when I call, he gets none at all. Now then, Pete!'

"The dog in the cap made a jump and one snap, and the meat was gone.

"'Now then, Hop!' said the man; and the dog in the girl's hat got it; and then it was Pete's turn, while poor Bob with the bow-legs, who lost the three cents, kept up a kind of soft howl and a sob, as if his heart would break.

"All this time I did think I must die for want of food, and I made up my mind to stand on my hind-legs till the show-man gave me some meat too. So I got up and did not fall, while you could count ten, then I ran up to the show-man, and stood on my hind-legs at his side.

"'Why bless me, dame!' he cried, 'where did this dog come from?'

"'Where to be sure,' said the dame; 'you let him in your-self.'

"'Did I, Gran-ny? Well, that is queer. I did not see him. He seems to know how to stand up -- sit down, sir.'

"Down I went like a flash.

"'Get up, sir,' and up I got once more as stiff as a po-ker.

"'Why don't you take him for one of your set,' said the old dame. 'He must be lost, for just see here! his name is on the brass ring round his neck.' Then she put on a pair of old horn specs to spell my name out. 'F-r-i-s-k Frisk; what a nice name! and what a clean, trim chap he is! Why, John, he would be a great help to you, he seems so smart.'

"'So he would,' said the man. 'He would soon learn to dance, and he knows now how to stand up. I can soon teach him more. Here, you, sir! take that!' and he threw me a large bit of meat, which I was glad to get, you may be sure. Then I took the rest of my share in my turn with Pete and Hop, and, O dear! how nice it was, and how glad I was to get it!

"When we had eat all up, the show-man took off the hats and coats of his dogs, and sent them and me to sleep in a large flat box, that stood at the end of the room. It was full of straw and quite nice.

"Then the man sat down by the fire to smoke his pipe and have a chat with his old brown nut-shell Gran-ny.

"I was so glad to rest, that I went fast to sleep right off. But, O dear! O dear! the next morn, it was sad as it could be, for I had to learn to dance a jig, and stand on my head, and he beat me so, that I had a fit. I did think he would break each bone I had, and the more I cried the more he beat me.

"But I had to learn; and in two weeks' time I went out with the rest.

"One day the same man I ran from to-day saw me dance in the street. He was a big show-man, and had dog plays, and was quite rich and great; so he tried to buy me. I heard him tell my man, that the dog who used to play 'Jack, the Run-a-way,' was just dead, and I would make a first-rate Jack in his place.

"So he paid, I don't know how much, and got me, and set me to learn my part. O my dear Dash! my life was one scene of hard blows and hard fare. The poor wee dog who acts the old dame in the play is worse off than I, for she is so weak, that she can not do her part well; and oh! how he beats her! She has told me more than once that she would be glad to die, and I get quite wild when I think I can not help her. If the bad man would whip me for her, I would be glad to take it, tho' I get blows all the time for my own share."

"Oh! how sad!" cried Dash, the big tears in his eyes. "What a bad, bad man! How glad I am you have run a-way from him. But what shall we do to hide you?"

"Dear Dash, if you will keep me here for four or five days, I may get some one to take me, who is as good and kind as Mr. Grey, and then some day I will try to show you how much I feel what you have done and will do for me."

"Don't speak of it," said Dash. "It is as much of a joy to do good as to have good done to one's self. You shall stay here with me, dear Frisk! and we will wait and see what comes of it."

"O you good old dog! you dear Dash! I will stay in your house all the time. I will be as still as a drum with a hole in it."

"Yes, and I know you will come out all right at last. I tell you what! I heard May and Hal ask their pa-pa to buy you. O my! they want you so much!"

"Do they? O dear! then I can stay here all the rest of my life." And in his joy he tried to stand on his head; but the roof of the dog-house was too low, and his legs came down on top of Dash's back, and gave him quite a start.

"But," said Dash, "I must tell you that May and Hal said you were to dance for them."

"O dear! if that is all, I will dance the whole day for a good home."

So the two dogs kept house for a week, and Dash went out and got the bones, while Frisk made the straw beds, and swept the scraps out with his paws for a broom. Not the tip of his nose did he show in the day-time, but at night he took a run round the lawn to get the twist out of his legs.

The fat old cook in the house said she did not know how Dash could eat so much; for he would beg for bones five or six times a day. She was a good old soul, and she gave him all the bones she had, and he would lick her hand and wag his tail, and all but speak to thank her.

At last one day, Dash heard Mr. Grey say that the show-man had gone a-way. He had tried his best to find Frisk. He said he would give a large sum to get him back; and all the boys in town went out to hunt the poor dog. But they did not find him, as you and I know.




Part V.

Frisk Finds A New Home.


And now, as I shall tell you, one day May and Hal went out on the lawn, when lo! there stood Frisk, first on his hind-legs, and then on his head; then he danced a jig, and then ran up to lick their hands.

"O my! O look! here is that dear Jack we saw in the play," cried May.

"Yes, so it is! Why, Jack, where did you hide all this time?" said Hal, and he gave him a soft pat, and May put her white arms round his neck.

Tears of joy stood in Frisk's eyes, and he ran with May and Hal and Dash up to the house, where their pa-pa and mam-ma were.

You may be sure the two went hard to work to kiss and coax pa-pa to let Jack or Frisk stay. They asked him to look how thin the poor dog was, and how sad it would be to send him back to the show-man, who would beat him, and may-be kill him, he would be in such a rage.

"O now, dear pa-pa! do let him live with us!" they cried; "we will not beat him, and he may dance or not, as he likes. Come, we will kiss you ten times;" and they both got his face down, and gave them to him on each cheek at the same time, and made him and mam-ma laugh so, they could not speak a word for quite a while.

Well, the end of all this long tale is, that Mr. Grey wrote to the show-man, and said he had got his dog, Frisk, and he would like to keep him. I do not dare to tell you how much he said he would give to buy him; but it was such a large sum, that the show-man took it. And now Jack -- Frisk, as they call him -- and Dash have each a house to live in, but they eat and take their naps in one, for they love to get as close, side by side, as they can. Frisk stands on his hind-legs and his head, and does his jig dance in great style for May and Hal, and all the boys and girls who come to see them. If you want to see him, you must speak quick; for I fear he will soon be so fat, with all the nice bones and kind words he gets, that his hind-legs won't hold him up. But of this you may be quite sure, that Frisk and Dash will have a good home as long as they live, and when they die of old age, if you don't cry for their sad loss, May and Hal will; for, you know, Dash saved Hal's life; and life is dear to the young when they have no sad times, but joy and fun each day.

And now May, and Hal, and Dash, and Frisk, must bid you good-by. If you want to hear how they get on, you must come and tell me, and if you give me a good kiss, I will let you know.

Good-by! my dear pets! May the good God bless you all.

<eob>

The Curlytops Snowed In

By

Howard R. Garis



Chapter I

A Letter From Grandpa


"Ted! Teddy! Look, it's snowing!"

"Oh, is it? Let me see, Mother!"

Theodore Martin, who was seldom called anything but Teddy or Ted, hurried away from the side of his mother, who was straightening his tie in readiness for school. He ran to the window through which his sister Janet, or Jan as she liked to be called, was looking.

"Oh, it really is snowing!" cried Ted in delight. "Now we can have some fun!"

"And look at the big flakes!" went on Jan. "They're just like feathers sifting down. It'll be a great big snowstorm, and we can go sleigh-riding."

"And skating, too!" added Ted, his nose pressed flat against the window pane.

"You can't skate when there's snow on the pond," objected Jan. "Anyhow it hasn't frozen ice yet. Has it, Mother?"

"No, I think it hasn't been quite cold enough for that," answered Mrs. Martin.

"But it'll be a big snowstorm, won't it?" asked Jan. "There'll be a lot of big drifts, and we can wear our rubber boots and make snowballs! Oh, what fun, Ted!" and she danced up and down.

"And we can make a snow man, too," went on Teddy. "And a big snowball!"

"An' I frow snowballs at snow man!" exclaimed the voice of a smaller boy, who was eating a rather late breakfast at the dining-room table.

"Oh, Trouble, we'll make you a little snow house!" cried Jan, as she ran over to his high chair to give him a hug and a kiss. "We'll make you a snow house and you can play in it."

"Maybe it'll fall down on him and we'll have to dig him out, like the lollypop-man dug Nicknack, our goat, out of the sand hole when we were camping with grandpa," added Ted with a laugh. "Say, but it's going to be a big storm! Guess I'd better wear my rubber boots; hadn't I, Mother?"

"I hardly think so, Teddy," said Mrs. Martin. "I don't believe the snow will get very deep."

"Oh, Mother, won't it?" begged Jan, as if her mother could make it deep or not, just as she liked.

"Why won't it be a big storm, Mother?" asked Teddy. "See what big flakes are coming down," and he looked up at the sky, pressing his face hard against the window. "Why won't it?"

"Because it seldom snows long when the flakes are so big. The big flakes show that the weather is hardly cold enough to freeze the water from the clouds, which would be rain only it is hardly warm enough for that. It is just cold enough now to make a little snow, with very large flakes, and I think it will soon turn to rain. So you had better wear your rubbers to school and take an umbrella. And, Teddy, be sure to wait for Janet on coming home. Remember you're a year older than she is, and you must look after her."

"I will," promised Teddy. "If I have to stay in, Jan, you wait for me out in front."

"Will you have to stay in, Teddy?"

"I don't know. Maybe not. But our teacher is a crank about things sometimes."

"Oh, The-o-dore Mar-tin!" exclaimed his mother, speaking his name very slowly, as she always did when she was displeased or was quite serious, "you must not say such things about your teacher."

"Well, the other boys say she's cranky."

"Never mind what the other boys say, you must not call her that. Teachers have it hard enough, trying to see that you children know your lessons, without being called cranks. Don't do it again!"

"I won't," promised Teddy, just a bit ashamed of himself.

"And get ready to go to school," went on his mother. "Did you clean your teeth -- each of you -- and comb your hair?"

"I did," said Janet.

"I cleaned my teeth," announced Ted, "but my hair doesn't need combing. I combed it last night."

For most boys this would hardly have been of any use, but with Teddy Martin it was different. Teddy's hair was so curly that it was hard work to pull a comb through it, even though he went slowly, and when he had finished it was curlier than before, only more fluffed up. Janet's was the same, except that hers was now getting longer than her brother's.

No wonder then that the two children were called "Curlytops;" for their hair was a mass of tangled and twisted ringlets which clung tightly to their heads. Everyone called them Curlytops, or just Curlytop, of course, if one happened to meet Teddy or Janet alone.

"I think you'd better give your hair a little brushing this morning, anyhow, Teddy," his mother said. "You can get a few of the wrinkles out."

"Well, if I do they won't stay," he answered. "Oh, but look at it snow!" he cried. "The flakes are getting smaller; don't you think so, Jan?"

"I think so -- a little."

"Then it'll last and be a big storm, won't it, Mother?" he asked anxiously.

"Well, maybe so. But you don't want too big a storm, do you?"

"I want one big enough for us to go coasting on the hill and have sleigh-rides. And we can skate, too, if the pond freezes and we scrape off the snow. Oh, we'll have fun, won't we, Jan?"

Without waiting for an answer Ted ran upstairs to take a few of the "wrinkles" out of his curly locks, while Nora Jones, who helped Mrs. Martin with the housework, looked for the children's umbrella and rubbers.

It was the first snowstorm of the season, and, as it always did, it caused much delight, not only to the Curlytops but to the other children of Cresco where the Martin family lived. Janet watched eagerly the falling flakes as she put on her rubbers and waited for Teddy to come down from the bathroom, where he had gone to comb his hair, though he could not see much use in doing that.

"It'll only be all curly again," he said. But still he minded his mother.

"The flakes are getting lots smaller," said Janet, as she and Teddy started for school. "We'll have big heaps of snow, Ted, and we can have fun."

"Yes, I think it will be more of a storm than I thought it would amount to at first," said Mrs. Martin. "I'm glad we have plenty of coal in the cellar, and an abundance of dry wood. Winter has started in early this year."

"And pretty soon it'll be Thanksgiving and Christmas!" cried Ted. "Then what fun we'll have!" exclaimed the excited boy.

"Now don't get any snow down inside your collars," called Mrs. Martin to her children, as they went down the street.

"We won't!" they promised, and then they forgot all about it, and began snowballing one another with what little snow they could scrape up from the ground, which was now white with the newly-fallen crystals.

"I'm going to wash your face!" suddenly cried Ted to his sister.

"You are not!" she cried, and away she ran.

Meanwhile, Trouble Martin, which was the pet name for Baby William, the youngest of the family, sat in the dining-room window and laughed at the falling flakes and at his brother and sister going to school, romping on their way.

"There, I did wash your face!" cried Ted, as he finally managed to rub a little snow on his sister's cheek, making it all the redder. "I washed your face first this year!"

"I don't care. You got some down inside my collar and my neck's wet and I'm going to tell mother on you!"

"Oh, don't!" begged Ted. "I won't do it again, and I'll wipe your neck with my handkerchief."

"Well, maybe I won't tell if you don't do it again," promised Janet, while her brother got out his pocket handkerchief.

"Ouch! Oh!" cried Janet, as Teddy started to dry her neck. "Your handkerchief's all wet! It's got a lot of snow on it! Let me alone!" and she pushed him away.

"Wet? My handkerchief wet?" asked Ted. "So it is!" he exclaimed. "I guess some snow must have got in my pocket. I'll use yours, Jan."

"No, I don't want you to. I'll wipe my own neck. You let me alone!"

Jan was laughing; she did not really care that Ted had washed her face, and she soon had her neck quite dry. Then the two Curlytops hurried on to school.

The street was filled with children now, all going to the same place. Some paused to make a slide on the sidewalk, and others took turns running and then gliding along the slippery place.

"Oh, here's a dandy one!" called Tommie Wilson, who lived not far from Teddy Martin. The two boys saw a long smooth place on the sidewalk in front of them, where some early school children had made a slide.

"Come on!" cried Tommie, taking a run.

"Come on!" yelled Teddy.

One before the other they went down the sidewalk slide.

"Look out for me!" called Janet and she, too, took a running start.

But alas for the children. Near the end of the slide one of Tommie's feet slid the wrong way and after he had tried, by waving his arms, to keep upright, down he went in a heap.

"Get out the way!" cried Teddy. But Tommie had no time, and right into him slid Ted, falling down on top of his chum, while Jan, not able to stop, crashed into her brother and then sat down on the slide with a bump. All three were in a heap.

"Oh, Tommie Wilson!" cried Janet, looking at her books which had fallen out of her strap. "See what you did!"

"I couldn't help it!"

"You could so! You tripped on purpose to make me fall!"

"I did not, Janet Martin."

"No, it wasn't Tommie's fault," declared Teddy. "He couldn't help it. Are you hurt Jan?"

"No -- not much -- but look at my books."

"I'll pick 'em up for you," offered Tommie, and he did, brushing off the snow. Then he helped Janet to get up, and she began to laugh. After all it was only fun to fall on a slippery slide.

"There goes the bell!" cried Teddy, when he had helped brush the snow off his sister's skirt.

"One more slide!" exclaimed Tommie.

"I'm going to have one, too!" called Teddy.

"You'll be late for school, and be kept in!" warned Janet.

"We'll run," Tommie said, as he started at the top of the slippery place.

He and Ted had their one-more slide, and then, taking hold of Janet's hands, they hurried on to school.

Behind them and in front of them were other children, some hurrying to their classes, others waiting for a last slide, some falling down in the snow. Others were washing one another's faces and some were snowballing.

In school the teachers had hard work to keep the minds of their pupils on their lessons. Every now and then some boy or girl would look out of the window when his eyes ought to have been on spelling book or geography. All wanted to see the snow sifting down from the clouds.

The flakes, that had been large at first, were now smaller, and this, as most of the children had been told, meant that the storm would last. And they were glad, for to them snow meant grand winter fun with sleds and skates.

"We'll have some bobsled races all right," whispered Teddy Martin to Tommie Wilson, and the teacher, hearing what Teddy said, kept him after school for whispering. But she did not keep him very long, for she knew what it meant to have fun in the first snow of the season.

Teddy found Janet waiting for him when he came out, for it was now snowing hard and Teddy had taken the umbrella with him when he went to his room. He was a year older than his sister and one class ahead of her in school.

"Were you bad in class?" Janet asked.

"I only whispered a little. She didn't keep me in long. Come on now, we'll have some fun."

And fun the Curlytops and their playmates did have on their way home from school. They slid, they snowballed, they washed one another's faces and some of the boys even started to roll big snowballs, but the flakes were too dry to stick well, and they soon gave this up. It needs a wet snow to make a big ball.

When Teddy and Janet got home, their cheeks red, their eyes sparkling and their hair curlier than ever because some snow had gotten in it, they found their mother reading a letter which the postman had just left.

"Oh, what's it about?" asked Jan. "It's from Cherry Farm, isn't it, Mother? I can tell by the funny black mark on the stamp."

"Is it from grandpa?" asked Teddy.

"Yes," answered Mrs. Martin. "The letter is from grandpa."

"Is he coming here to spend Christmas, or are we going there just as you said we might?" asked Janet.

"I'm not sure about either one yet," replied her mother. "But grandpa sends his love, and he also sends a bit of news."

"What is it?" asked Ted.

"Grandpa Martin writes that an old hermit, who lives in a lonely log cabin in the woods back of Cherry Farm, says this is going to be the worst winter in many years. There will be big snowstorms, the hermit says, and Grandpa Martin adds that the hermit is a good weather prophet. That is, he seems to know what is going to happen."

"A big snowstorm! That will be fun!" cried Teddy.

"Maybe not, if it is too big," warned his mother. "Grandpa Martin says we ought to put away an abundance of coal and plenty of things to eat."

"Why?" asked Janet.

"Because we may be snowed in," answered her mother.




Chapter II

A Runaway Sled


For a moment Ted and Janet looked at their mother. Sometimes she told them strange things, and she did it with such a serious face that they could not always tell whether or not she was in earnest.

"Do you mean that the snow will come up over the top of the house so we can't go out?" asked Teddy.

He remembered a picture his mother had once showed him of a lonely log cabin in the woods, almost hidden under a big white drift, and beneath the picture were the words: "Snowed in."

"If it comes up over the top of the house we can't ever get out till it melts," went on Jan. "Will it happen that way, Mother? What fun!"

"Dandy!" cried Ted.

"Oh, indeed! Being snowed in isn't such fun as you may think," said Mrs. Martin, and then the Curlytops knew their mother was now a little bit in earnest at least.

"Of course," she went on, "the snow will hardly cover our house, as it is much larger than the one in the picture I showed Teddy. But being snowed in means that so much snow falls that the roads are covered, and the piles, or drifts, of the white flakes may be high enough to come over the lower doors and windows.

"When so much snow falls it is hard to get out. Even automobiles and horses can not go along the roads, and it is then people are 'snowed in.' They can not get out to buy things to eat, and unless they have plenty in the house they may go hungry.

"That is what Grandpa Martin meant when he said we might be snowed in, and why he warned us to get in a quantity of food to eat."

"But shall we really be snowed in, Mother?" asked Ted.

"I don't know, I'm sure. Grandpa was only telling us what the hermit told him. Sometimes those old men who live in the woods and know much about nature's secrets that other persons do not know, can foretell the weather. And the snow has certainly come earlier this year than for a long time back. I am afraid we shall have a hard winter, though whether or not we shall be snowed in I cannot say."

"Well, if we're going to be snowed in let's go coasting now, Janet!" suggested Ted to his sister.

"May we, Mother?" asked the little girl.

"Yes. But don't go on the big hill."

"No. We'll stay on the small one."

Teddy ran out of the room to get the sled.

"Me want to go on sled!" cried Baby William.

"Oh, Trouble! We can't take you!" said Jan.

"I wish you could," said Mrs. Martin. "He hasn't been out much to-day, and I want to get him used to the cold weather. It will be good for him. He loves the snow. Just give him a little ride and bring him back."

"All right," agreed Janet. "Come on, Trouble. I'll help you get your cap and jacket on."

"Is he comin' with us?" demanded Ted, as he got his sled and Janet's down out of the attic, where they had been stored all summer. "I'm not goin' coasting with him!"

"Don't forget your 'g's,' Teddy," said his mother gently.

"Well, I don't want to take the baby coasting," and Teddy was careful, this time, not to drop the last letter as he sometimes did from words where it belonged. "Can't have any fun with him along!"

"I'll just give him a little ride," whispered Janet. "You boys will have to make the hill smooth anyhow, and we girls can't have any fun till you do that. So I'll ride Trouble up and down the street for a while."

"Oh, all right. And I'll take him coasting some other time," promised Ted, a little bit ashamed of the fuss he had made. "We'll go on and get the hill worn down nice and smooth."

It was still snowing, but not very hard, and the ground was now two or three inches deep with the white flakes -- enough to make good coasting when it had been packed down smooth and hard on the hill which was not far from the home of the Curlytops. There were two hills, the larger, long one being farther away.

At first the runners of the two sleds were rusty, but Ted scraped them with a piece of stone and they were soon worn smooth and shiny so they would glide along easily.

Trouble was delighted at the chance of being taken out on his sister's sled. Janet gave her little brother a nice ride up and down the sidewalk, and then she ran and rode him swiftly to the house where her mother took him up the steps. Trouble did not want to go in, and cried a little, but his mother talked and laughed at him so that he soon smiled. Mrs. Martin wanted Janet to have some fun with Teddy on the hill.

There were a number of boys and girls coasting when Janet reached the place where her brother had gone. The hill had now been worn smooth and the sleds shot swiftly down the hill.

"Come on, Janet!" cried her brother. "It's lots of fun! I'll give you a push!"

Janet sat on her sled at the top of the hill, and Ted, with a little running start, thrust her along the slope. Down went Janet, the wind whistling in her ears.

"Look out the way! Here I come, too!" cried Ted behind her. "I'll race you to the bottom!"

But Janet had a good start and Ted could not catch up to her, though he did beat Tommie Wilson who had started at the same time the Curlytop lad had.

With shouts and laughter the children coasted on the hill. At the bottom they came to a stop on a level place, though some of the older boys gave their sleds an extra push and then went on down another hilly street that was a continuation of the first. At the foot of this street ran the railroad and there was some danger that sleds going down the second hill might cross the tracks. Of course, if there were no trains this would have been all right. But one could never be certain when a train would come, so most of the children were told never to go down the second hill. They could not do it unless they pushed their sleds on purpose, over the level place at the bottom of the first hill.

"I wouldn't want to ride down there," said Teddy, as he saw some of the larger boys fasten their sleds together in a sort of "bob," and go down the second hill together.

"No, this little hill is good enough," Janet replied.

She and Teddy, with their boy and girl friends had great sport coasting on the snow. It was getting dusk, and some of the smaller children had gone home.

"We'd better go, too," said Janet. "It's snowing again, Ted, and maybe it will happen -- what grandpa's letter said -- we'll be snowed in."

"Well, I'm going to have one more coast," Teddy answered.

"I'll wait for you," returned his sister.

She saw her brother slide down the small hill and come to a stop on the level place at the bottom. Then, before Ted could get off his sled, down came a lot of the big boys, riding together on a bob.

"Look out the way!" they called to Teddy. "Look out the way! We're going fast and we can't stop! We're going down the second hill! Look out the way! Clear the track!"

But Teddy had no time to get out of the way. In another second, before he could get up off his sled, the bob of the big boys crashed into him and sent him over the level place and down the second hill.

Ted's sled was really running away with him, and down the dangerous slope.

"Oh, Teddy! Teddy!" cried Janet when she saw what had happened. "Come back! Come back!"

But Teddy could not come back. His sled was a runaway and could not be stopped. Luckily Teddy had not been hurt when the big boys ran into him, and he managed to stay on his sled. But he was going very fast down the second hill.

"Oh, dear!" cried Janet, and down she ran after her brother.

I will take just a moment here to tell my new readers a little about the Curlytops, so they may feel better acquainted with them. Those who have read the first volume of this series may skip this part. That book is entitled "The Curlytops at Cherry Farm," and tells of Janet and Ted's summer vacation, which was spent at the home of Grandpa Martin. They found a stray goat, which they named Nicknack, and they had many good times with their pet. They also met a boy named Hal Chester, who was being cured of lameness at a Home for Crippled Children, not far from grandpa's house. Grandpa Martin had on his farm many cherry trees and how the "lollypop" man helped turn the cherries into candy is told in the book.

The second volume is called "The Curlytops on Star Island," and relates the experiences of the two children, with Trouble and their mother, when camping with grandpa on an island in Clover Lake. On the island Ted and Janet saw a strange blue fire, though they did not learn what caused it until after they had met a strange "tramp-man" who sometimes stayed in a cave.

When their camping days on Star Island came to an end, the Curlytops went back to their home in the town of Cresco, where Mr. Martin owned a large store. And now we find them coasting down hill.

As for the children themselves, you have already been told their names. Theodore and Janet they were, but more often they were called just Ted and Jan. Baby William was generally called "Trouble," because he got in so much of it. But Mother Martin usually called him "dear Trouble." He often went with Jan and Ted when they rode with Nicknack, and Trouble had adventures of his own. Besides Mr. and Mrs. Martin there was Nora, the maid.

Grandpa Martin has been mentioned, and of course there was Grandma Martin. They lived at Cherry Farm. Mrs. Martin's sister, Miss Josephine Miller, lived in the city of Clayton.

Aunt Jo, as the children called her, owned, besides her city home, a country place in Mt. Hope on Ruby Lake. She said she would some day build a nice, new bungalow at the lake.

Another relative, of whom the Curlytops were fond, was Uncle Frank Barton. He was really Mr. Martin's uncle, but Ted and Jan claimed him as their own. He had a big ranch near Rockville, Montana, and the children hoped to go there some day.

Besides their goat, Ted and Jan had a dog named Skyrocket and a cat called Turnover, because she would lie down and roll over to get something to eat. The dog's name was given him because he was always so lively, running and jumping here, there and everywhere.

And now that you have learned more about the family, you will, perhaps, wish to hear what was happening to Teddy.

Down the second hill he went on his runaway sled, very fast, for the bob of the big boys had struck his coaster quite a blow. And the second hill was much more slippery than the first, some of the boys having sprinkled it with water, that had frozen into ice.

"Oh, dear!" thought poor Ted, as he went sliding down faster and faster. "I'm afraid!"

And well he might be, for at the foot of the hill, where the railroad crossed, he could now hear the puffing of an engine and the ringing of a bell.

"Ted! Teddy! Come back! Stop!" cried Jan, as she ran down the hill. But Teddy could neither stop nor come back just then.




Chapter III

Nicknack On The Ice


Janet Martin did not know what to do. In fact, a girl much older than Ted's sister would have been puzzled to know how to stop the little boy on his runaway sled from going across the railroad tracks. Of course he might get across before the train came, but there was danger.

"Oh, dear!" cried Jan. "Those big boys were mean to bunk into Ted, and push him over the second hill!"

She was tired now, and running down a slippery hill is not easy. So Jan stood still. Many of the other coasters did not know that Ted was in danger. They saw the larger boys coasting down the second hill, and perhaps they thought Teddy knew what he was about as long as his sled was going so straight down the same slope.

For Ted was steering very straight. With his feet dangling over the back of his sled he guided it down the hill, out of the way of other boys, some of whom he passed, for his sled was a fast one.

Teddy was frightened. But he was a brave little fellow, and some time before he had learned to steer a sled with his feet, so he was not as afraid as he might otherwise have been.

"Oh, what will happen to him?" wailed Janet, and tears came into her eyes. As soon as she had shed them she was sorry, for it is not very comfortable to cry wet, watery, salty tears in freezing weather.

"What is the matter, Curlytop?" asked a bigger girl of Jan. This girl had been giving her little brother and sister a ride on her sled.

"My brother is sliding down the second hill, and there's a train coming," sobbed Jan. "He'll be hurt! We never go on that hill!"

The big girl looked down at Ted. He was quite far away now, but he could easily be seen.

"Maybe he'll stop in time," said the big girl. "Oh, look!" she cried suddenly. "He's steered into a snow bank and upset!"

And this was just what Ted had done. Whether he did it by accident, or on purpose, Jan could not tell. But she was still afraid.

"He'll get hurt!" she said to the big girl.

"Oh, I guess not," was the answer. "The snow is soft and your brother would rather run into that, I think, than into a train of cars. Come on, I'll go down the hill with you and see if he is all right. You stay here, Mary and John," she said to her little brother and sister, placing them, with their sled, where they would be out of the way of the other coasters.

"I'll leave my sled here, too," said Jan, as she went down the hill with the older girl.

When they reached Teddy he was brushing off the snow with which he had become covered when he slid, head first, into the drift alongside the road.

"Are you hurt?" cried Jan, even before she reached him.

"Nope!" laughed Ted. "I'm all right, but I was scared. I thought I'd run over the track. Those fellows nearly did," and he pointed to the boys on the bobsled, which they had made by joining together two or three of their bigger sleds, tying them with ropes, and holding them together as they went down hill by their arms and legs.

The boys on this bobsled had stopped just before going over the track when the switchman at the crossing had lowered the gates. He was now telling the boys they must not coast down as far as this any more, as trains were coming. And, as he spoke, one rumbled by.

"You might have been hurt by that if you had not stopped your sled in time," said the big girl to Ted.

"That's what I thought," he answered. "That's why I steered into the snow bank."

"Those big boys were mean to shove you down the second hill," declared Janet.

"Well, maybe they didn't mean it," said the big girl.

"No, we didn't," put in one of the larger boys, coming up just then. "We're sorry if we hurt you, Curlytop," he added to Ted.

"You didn't hurt me, but you scared me," was the small boy's answer.

"You certainly know how to steer," said the bigger boy. "I watched you as we passed you on the hill. I knew if we got to the bottom first we could keep you from getting hurt by the train. Now you and your sisters sit on my big sled, and we'll pull you to the top of the hill to pay for the trouble we made."

"I'm not his sister," said the big girl.

"I am!" exclaimed Jan quickly.

"I might have known that. You two have hair just alike, as curly as a carpenter's shaving!" laughed the big boy. "Well, hop on the sled, and you, too," he added, nodding at the big girl. "I guess we can pull you all up."

"Course we can!" cried another big boy, and when Ted, Jan and the larger girl, whose name was Helen Dolan, got on the largest of the sleds that had made up the bob, they were pulled up the two hills by a crowd of laughing boys, Teddy's sled trailing on behind.

So the little incident did not really amount to much, though at one time both Ted and Jan were frightened. They coasted some more, being careful to keep out of the way of the bigger boys and girls and then, as it was getting dark, Jan said again they had better go home.

"One more coast!" cried Ted, just as he had said before. "It may rain in the night and melt all the snow."

"It's awful cold," shivered Janet, buttoning up her coat. "If it tries to rain it will freeze into snow. And it's snowing yet, Ted."

"Yes. And almost as hard as it was this morning. Say, maybe we'll be snowed in, Jan! Wouldn't it be fun?"

"Maybe. I never was snowed in; were you?"

"No. But I'd like to be."

The time was to come, though, when Ted and Janet were to find that to be snowed in was not quite so much fun as they expected.

They reached home with rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes, to find supper ready for them.

"Did you have a good time?" asked their mother.

"Fine!" answered Janet.

"And I got run away with," added Ted, who always told everything that happened.

"Run away with!" exclaimed his father. "I thought they didn't allow any horses or automobiles on the coasting hill."

"They don't," Ted answered. "My sled ran away with me, but I steered it into a snow bank and upset," and he told of what had happened.

"You must be very careful," said his father, when Ted had finished. "Coasting is fun, but if everyone is not careful you may get hurt, and we wouldn't like that."

It was still snowing hard when Ted and Jan went to bed, and it was with eager faces that they looked out into the night.

"Do you s'pose we'll be snowed in?" asked Jan.

"I hope so -- that is, if we have enough to eat," answered Ted. "That's what grandpa said to do -- buy lots to eat, 'cause the hermit said it was going to be an awful bad winter."

"Did you ever see a hermit, Ted?"

"No. Did you?"

"No. But I'd like to, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, I would, Jan."

"Maybe I'll be a hermit some day," went on the little girl, after she had gotten into bed, her room being across the hall from Ted's.

"Huh! You can't be a hermit."

"I can so!"

"You can not!"

"Why?"

"'Cause hermits is only men. I'll be the hermit!"

"Well, couldn't I live with you -- wherever you live?"

"Maybe I might live in a dark cave. Lots of hermits do."

"I wouldn't be afraid in the dark if you were there, Teddy."

"All right. Maybe I'd let you live with me."

"Does a hermit like snowstorms, Teddy?"

"Children, you must be quiet and go to sleep!" called Mrs. Martin from downstairs. "Don't talk any more."

Ted and Janet were quiet for a little while, and then Janet called in a loud whisper:

"Teddy, when you're a hermit will you have to eat?"

"I guess so, Jan. Everybody has to eat."

"Children!" warned Mrs. Martin again, and then Jan and Ted became quiet for the rest of the night.

It was very cold when the children awoke in the morning, and as soon as they were up they ran to the windows to look out. It had stopped snowing and the air was clear and bright with sunshine.

"We didn't get snowed in," called Janet, in some disappointment.

"No," answered Ted. "But it's so cold I guess the pond is frozen and we can go skating."

"Oh, that'll be fun!" cried Jan. "Will you help me skate, Ted? 'Cause I can't do it very well yet." She had just learned the winter before.

"I'll help you," her brother promised.

There was a pond not far from the Martin home, and it was so shallow that it froze more quickly than the larger lake, which was just outside the town, and where the best skating was. The smaller boys and girls used the little pond, though sometimes they went to the lake when it was perfectly safe.

After school Jan and Ted, taking their skates, went to the pond. There they found many of their little friends.

"How's the ice?" asked Teddy of Harry Kent.

"Slippery as glass," was the answer.

"Then I'll fall down!" exclaimed Jan.

And she did, almost as soon as she stood up on her skates. But Ted and Harry held her between them and before long she could strike out a little. Then she remembered some of the directions her father had given her when he taught her to skate the year before, and Jan was soon doing fairly well. Ted was a pretty good skater for a boy of his age.

"You're doing fine, Curlytop!" called Harry Morris, one of the big boys who had pulled Ted and Jan up the hill on his sled the previous night. He had come to see how thick the ice was. "You're doing fine. But why don't you hitch up your goat and make him pull you on the ice?"

"Oh, Ted, we could do that!" cried Janet, as the big boy passed on.

"Do what?"

"Harness Nicknack to a sled and make him give us a ride. Maybe he could pull us over the snow as well as on the ice."

"We'll try it!" cried Teddy.

He took off his skates and hurried home, telling Janet to wait for him at the pond, which was not far from the Martin house. In a little while Teddy came back driving Nicknack hitched to Ted's sled. The goat pulled the little boy along over the snow much more easily than he had hauled the small wagon.

"This is great!" cried Ted. "I'm going to drive him on the ice now. Giddap, Nicknack!"

Teddy guided the goat to the ice-covered pond. Nicknack took two or three steps on the slippery place and then he suddenly fell down, the sled, with Ted on it, gliding over his hind legs.

"Baa-a-a-a!" bleated Nicknack, as if he did not at all like this.




Chapter IV

The Snow House


"Oh, Teddy, you'll hurt Nicknack!" cried Janet, when she saw what had happened.

"I didn't mean to," Ted answered, jumping off the sled. "He slipped on the ice and I couldn't stop the sled."

"Help him get up," went on Jan. "He can't get up himself with that sled on his hind legs."

Teddy pulled back the sled, but still Nicknack did not get up.

"Maybe one of his legs is broken," suggested Tom Taylor, a boy who lived near the Martins.

"If it is he'll have to run on three legs. Our dog did that once, when one of his legs had been run over," said Lola Taylor, Tom's sister.

"Come on, Nicknack, get up!" cried Ted. "Stand up and give us a ride on the ice."

But the goat only went: "Baa-a-a-a!" again, and he seemed to shake his head as if to say that he could not get up.

"His legs are all right," Teddy said when he had looked at them as well as he could, and felt of the parts that stuck out from under Nicknack's body. "Why doesn't he stand up?"

"What's the matter, Curlytop?" asked Harry Morris.

"My goat won't stand up on the ice," Ted answered. "He fell down and his legs are all right, but he won't stand up."

"Maybe it's because he knows he can't," said Harry. "Goats aren't made to stand on slippery ice you know. Their hoofs are hard like a cow's. They are all right for walking on snow or on the ground, but they can't get a good hold on the ice. I guess the reason Nicknack won't stand up is because he knows he'd fall down again if he tried it. Here, I'll help you get him over into the snow, and there you'll see he'll be all right."

With the help of Harry, the goat was half led and half carried off the pond to the snow-covered ground. There Nicknack could drag the sled easily, and he gave Ted and Jan a nice ride, also pulling Lola and Tom.

Ted offered the big boy a ride behind the goat, but Harry said:

"I'm much obliged to you, Curlytop, but I'm afraid your sled is too small for me. Your goat is strong enough to pull me, I guess, but I'd fall off the sled, I'm afraid."

"I wish I could make him pull me on the ice," said Teddy. "How could we make him stop slipping?" he asked the big boy.

"Well, you'd have to have sharp-pointed iron shoes put on his hoofs, the same as they shoe horses for the winter. Only I don't know any blacksmith that could make shoes small enough for a goat. Maybe you could tie cloth on his hoofs, or old pieces of rubber, so he wouldn't slip on the ice."

"That's what we'll do!" cried Teddy. "To-morrow we'll make some rubbers for our goat, Jan."

"Do you think he'll let us put 'em on?" asked Jan.

"Oh, course he will. Nicknack is a good goat."

Ted and Jan drove him around some more in the snow, and this was not hard pulling for Nicknack, as the sled slipped along easily and he had no trouble in standing up on his sharp hoofs in the soft snow. But Ted did not again drive him on the ice that day.

"I know what we can do to have some fun," said Jan, as she and her brother started Nicknack toward home after having had some more rides themselves, and giving some to their little friends.

"What?" asked Ted. "Haven't we had fun enough?"

"Yes, but we can have more," went on Jan. "And this fun is good to eat."

"If you mean stopping at a store and getting some lollypops -- nopy!" and Ted shook his head quickly from side to side.

"I didn't mean that," declared Jan.

"It's good you didn't," came from her brother, "'cause if you did we couldn't."

"Why not?" Jan asked.

"I haven't got a penny," returned Teddy. "I asked mother for some when I went home to get Nicknack, but she told me to wait a minute while she paid the milkman."

"Didn't you wait?" asked Jan in some surprise. It seemed strange that Teddy would miss a chance like this, as Mrs. Martin did not give the Curlytops pennies every time they asked for them. She did not want them to get in the habit of spending money too freely, especially when it was given them, and they had done no little thing to earn it. Nor did she want them to buy candy when she did not know about it. So the giving of pennies was really an event in the lives of Ted and Jan, and the little girl wondered very much now, why it was her brother had not taken the money when his mother was willing to give it.

"Why didn't you want to wait, Ted?" asked Jan.

"Oh, I wanted to all right," he answered; "but Nicknack didn't want to. I got him -- Nora and me -- all harnessed up, and I tied him out in front; then I went in to ask for the pennies -- one for you and one for me."

"Oh, I wish you'd got 'em," said Jan, rather sorrowfully.

"I would have, only for the goat," explained her brother. "Mother told me to wait; but, just as she said it, I saw an automobile come along in front of our house close to where I'd tied Nicknack.

"Our goat got scared and tried to run away, 'cause the auto chucked snow on him, and then I had to run out to catch him. That's why I couldn't wait for the pennies. I jumped on the sled just as Nicknack was startin' to run away --  -- "

"Star-ting!" corrected Janet.

"Well, star-ting, then," laughed Ted. "Anyhow, I couldn't make him turn around to go back for the pennies, so I came on right over to the pond."

"And we had a lot of fun there," stated Jan. "Only I didn't like to see our goat fall down."

"Well, he'll stand up when we get rubbers for him," said Ted. "But how're we going to have more fun, Jan?"

"Make snow-cream," answered the little Curlytop girl.

"What's that?" asked Ted. "Like ice-cream?"

"Yes, only different. Don't you know? Mother lets us make it sometimes. You take a lot of snow -- clean snow in a pail -- and you stir some eggs and milk and sugar and flavoring in it, and that makes almost the same as ice-cream."

"How're we going to do it?" asked Ted, as the goat pulled him and his sister slowly along the snow-lined street. "We haven't got any sugar or milk or eggs or flavoring -- not even a pail."

"We can stop at Aunt Sallie's and get 'em all," said Janet. "She'll like us to make snow-cream, I guess. She can help us eat it."

"Then let's!" cried Teddy. "Go on, Nicknack, we're going to make snow-cream! Is it awful good?" he asked his sister.

"Terrible good," she answered. "I didn't have any yet this winter, but we had some last. It's better'n lollypops."

"Then it must be specially extra good," decided Ted. "Hurry up, Nicknack."

The goat hurried as much as he could, but, though it was easier going on the snow than on the ice, still it was not as easy as on the dry ground in summer.

Along the street, around this corner, then around the next went the Curlytops on the sled pulled by Nicknack, until, at last, they came to the house of Aunt Sallie, a dear old lady who was always glad to see them.

"My gracious sakes alive!" she cried, as she met the two children. "Here we come, in our coach and four, just like Cinderella out of the pumpkin pie!"

"Oh, Cinderella didn't come out of a pumpkin pie, Aunt Sallie!" gasped Janet.

"No? Well, I was thinking of some pumpkin pies I just baked, I guess," said Aunt Sallie Newton, who was really Mrs. Martin's aunt, and so, of course, the Curlytops' great-aunt, though they called her "Aunt" Sallie, and not "Great-aunt" Sallie. "Yes, I guess that was it -- the pumpkin pies I baked. Maybe you'd like some?" she asked, looking at the children.

"Oh, I just guess we would!" cried Teddy eagerly.

"And we'd like some snow-cream, too, if you please," said Jan. "Could we make some, Aunt Sallie?"

"Snow-cream?"

"Yes, like mother used to make. You take some snow," went on the little girl, "and stir it up with milk and sugar and eggs --  -- "

"Oh, yes! I know!" laughed Aunt Sallie. "I used to make that when I was a little girl. Now I'll tell you what I'll do; if you're sure it will be all right with your mother, I'll get you each a little piece of pumpkin pie and then I'll make the snow-cream."

"Oh, goodie!" cried Jan and Teddy exactly together.

So, while Nicknack stayed outside in a sheltered corner by the house and nibbled the dried leaves of some old flowers, Aunt Sallie got the pieces of pie for the children, each slice on a nice little plate with a napkin under it.

"And now for the snow-cream!" said Aunt Sallie.

She went out into the kitchen, and almost before Jan and Ted had finished their pieces of pie back she came with two dishes with something good in them.

"I made it just as you told me," she said to Jan. "I stirred the eggs and sugar and milk up in some clean snow and flavored it. Tell me if you like it."

The children tasted, and Ted exclaimed:

"I could eat three dishes!"

"But I guess one will be enough after the pie," said Aunt Sallie, and Ted thought so, too, after he had finished the nice dessert. Then he and his sister, after thanking Mrs. Newton, went out and got on the sled again, hurrying Nicknack on, for it was growing late. They were soon safe at their own home.

"Mother, are there any old rubbers in the house?" asked Ted that night, after having told of the fun skating on the pond and riding over the snow behind Nicknack.

"Old rubbers? What do you want of them?" asked Mrs. Martin.

"I want to make some overshoes for the goat."

"Overshoes for the goat! What will you try next, Teddy?" and his mother laughed.

"We really are going to do it," added Jan. "Nicknack can't stand up on the slippery ice without something on his hoofs."

"Why don't you get him a pair of skates?" asked Father Martin with a laugh. "Though you'd have to get him two pairs, to have enough to go around, as Nicknack has four feet."

"He couldn't stand up on skates," answered Ted. "His hoofs are like skates now, they're so hard and shiny."

"And so you think overshoes would be the thing?" asked his father. "Well, maybe they would do. I'll see if I can find some old rubbers or rubber boots that you can cut up."

A pair of boots that had holes in them and could no longer be used by Mr. Martin, were found in the attic. Some pieces of rubber were cut from the legs and when the inside lining had been partly peeled off four thin squares of rubber could be cut out.

"We'll tie these on Nicknack's hoofs and see if he can stand up on the ice," said Teddy. "I wish it was to-morrow now, so we could do it."

Ted and Jan hurried home from school the next day to hitch Nicknack to Ted's sled and drive him down to the ice to try the goat's new rubbers. They were tied on his hoofs with pieces of string, Mrs. Martin helping the children do this. Nicknack was a gentle and patient goat, but he acted rather strangely when the rubber squares were tied over his hoofs.

He stamped his feet, shook his head and bleated. He did not quite understand what was going on, but he made no special trouble and started off well when he had been hitched to the sled.

"Me want a wide!" called Trouble from the veranda, as Ted and Jan went gliding away over the snow.

"Next time!" answered Ted.

"This sled isn't big enough," added Janet. "We ought to get a bigger sled, Teddy," she went on. "One as big as our goat wagon, and then we could have fine rides and take Trouble with us."

"We'll ask daddy to get us one," said her brother.

When they reached the pond the only skaters on it were Tom and Lola Taylor. Tom laughed as he saw Nicknack.

"Ho!" he cried, "your goat will fall down on the ice again."

"Maybe he won't," answered Teddy. "Just you watch!"

He drove Nicknack toward the frozen pond, but the goat stood still at the very edge.

"He's afraid to go on -- he knows he'll slip," said Tom.

"I guess that's it," agreed Teddy. "Go on, Nicknack!" he called. "Giddap! You won't fall 'cause you've your rubbers on."

"Oh! has he, really?" asked Lola.

"'Deed he has. We made him some out of an old rubber boot," replied Teddy. "Look!" and he pointed to the black squares tied on Nicknack's hoofs.

"How funny!" gasped Lola.

"Maybe he won't slip with them on," remarked Tom, "but I guess he isn't sure of it. He won't go on the ice."

And indeed Nicknack did not seem to want to do this. He turned first to one side and then the other as Ted tried to drive him on to the frozen pond. Nicknack did not mind pulling the Curlytops over the snow, where he knew he would not slip, but he was afraid of the ice.

"I know how to get him on," said Teddy.

"How?" asked Tom.

"Here, you hold this cookie in front of him," went on Teddy. "I put it in my pocket to eat myself, but I'll give it to Nicknack. Hold it in front of his nose, Tom, and when he goes to bite it you just walk away with it. Then he'll follow after you, and when you walk on the ice he'll do the same."

"Say, that is a good way!" cried Tom. "I'll do it!"

"Once he's on the ice, if the rubbers keep him from slipping, he'll be all right," went on Ted.

He tossed Tom the cookie and Tom held it in front of the goat's nose. Surely enough Nicknack reached out for it, but as soon as he did this Tom stepped back a little way, the goat following.

This was done two or three times, Nicknack getting nearer the icy pond each time, until at last he had all four rubber-covered feet on it.

"Shall I give him the cookie now?" asked Tom.

"No, make him come a little farther for it," answered Ted, who was sitting on the sled in front, holding Nicknack's reins, while Janet sat behind her brother.

So Tom backed a little farther away from the goat, that still walked on to get the cookie which he could smell, and which he wanted very much. And before Nicknack knew it he was walking over the ice and he did not slip at all, for the pieces of rubber on his hoofs held him up, just as they would have held up Teddy or Janet.

"Now he's all right!" called Teddy. "He can walk on the ice now, and run, too, I guess. Give him the cookie, Tom."

So Nicknack had the cookie, and then Teddy drove him over and around the pond. Nicknack seemed to like it, now that he did not slip.

When Teddy and Janet had had a good ride they let Tom and Lola take a turn, Tom driving, and the goat went as well for him as it had gone for Teddy.

"I didn't know a goat was as much fun in winter as it is in summer," said Tom. "I wish I had one."

"We'll give you more rides when we get a big sled," promised Ted.

"Are you going to get one?" Lola asked.

"We're going to ask our father for one," replied Ted. "And I guess he'll let us have it so we can take Trouble out for rides. Giddap, Nicknack!" and once more he started the goat across the ice.

The Curlytops and their friends had great sport with the goat and sled that day, and Nicknack hardly slipped at all. He was getting used to the ice, Tom said.

After two days during which the Curlytops had fun with their sleds and skates, it began to snow again, covering the ground yet deeper with the white flakes, while the frozen pond and lake were buried out of sight.

"No more skating for a while," said Tom Taylor, as he walked to school with Teddy and Jan one morning.

"No. But we can sleigh-ride and build a snow fort," answered Ted.

"And a snow man, too," added Janet.

"Why not make a snow house?" asked Lola. "The snow is soft and it will pack well. Let's make a snow house!"

"We will!" cried Ted. "We'll start one after school in our back yard. We'll make one big enough for us all four to live in."

"And we can stay there even if the snow covers the top," added Janet.

"Wouldn't we freeze?" asked Lola.

"No. Mother read us a story about a man who was caught out in a big snowstorm, and he dug down under the snow and let it cover him all up, except a place to breathe, and he was warm."

"Well, we'll build a snow house, but I guess there won't be enough snow to cover it," cried Tom.

"I like lots of snow," put in Teddy.

All that day it snowed, even when the Curlytops and the other children ran laughing and shouting out of school. Tom and Lola went with Jan and Ted to the Martins' back yard and there they began to build a snow house.




Chapter V

Nicknack Sees Himself


The snow was just right for making snow houses, or for rolling big balls that grow in size the more you push them along. For the snow was wet -- that is, the flakes stuck together. Sometimes, when the weather is cold, the snow is dry and almost like sand. Then is not a good time to try to make snow houses, snow men or big snowballs.

"But it's just right now!" cried Teddy, as he ran into the back yard with his sister and the other girl and boy. "We'll make a fine snow house!"

"First we'll make some big snowballs," said Tom Taylor.

"I thought we were going to make a snow house!" exclaimed Ted.

"So we are," agreed Tom. "But the way to start is to make big snowballs. Roll them as big as you can and they'll make the sides of the house. We'll pile a lot of snowballs together and fill in the cracks between. That's the way to start."

Ted and the others saw that this was a good way, and so they began. First they each made a little snowball. But as they rolled them along around the big yard the balls gathered the snow up from the ground, packing it around the little ball that had first been started, until Ted's was so big that he could hardly move it.

"It's big enough now!" called Tom. "Put it over here, where we're going to start the snow house, and I'll roll my big ball next to yours, Ted."

This was done. Then Jan's snowball, and that of Lola were put in a row and the four walls of the snow house were started. There was plenty of the snow to be had and the children worked fast. Before dusk they had the four walls of the house made, with a doorway and windows cut, but there was no roof on, though the walls of the white house were above Tom's head, and he was the tallest.

"Aren't we going to make a roof?" asked Ted.

"We'll do that to-morrow," answered Tom. "We ought to have some boards to lay across the top, and then we could pile snow on them. It's easier that way, but you can make a roof of just snow. Only it might fall in on our heads."

"We don't want that," said Janet. "Boards are better, Tom."

When it was too dark to see to do any more work on the snow building, the Curlytops went into the house and their playmates hurried to their home for supper.

"We'll finish the house to-morrow," called Teddy to Tom.

The next afternoon, when they came home from school, the children started to make the roof. Ted had asked his father to get him some boards, and this Mr. Martin had done. They were laid across the top of the four walls, and snow was piled on top of them, so that from the outside the house looked as if made entirely of snow. From the inside the boards in the roof showed, of course, but no one minded that.

The snow house was large enough for five small children to get in it and stand up, though Tom's head nearly touched the roof.

"But that doesn't count," laughed Ted. "You can pretend you're a giant and you could lift the roof off with your head if you wanted to."

"Only you mustn't want to!" cautioned Jan.

"I won't," promised Tom.

"We ought to have a door so we could close it, and then it would be like a real house," Lola said.

"Couldn't we make one?" asked Ted.

"It would be hard to make a door fast to the snow sides of the house," answered Tom. "If we had a blanket we could hang it up for a curtain-door, though."

"I'll get one!" cried Janet, and she ran in to ask her mother for one.

The blanket was tacked to the edge of one of the boards in the roof, and hung down over the square that was cut out in the snow wall for the door. When the blanket was pulled over the opening it was as cozy inside the snow house as one could wish.

"And it's warm, too!" cried Ted. "I guess we could sleep here all night."

"But I'm not going to!" exclaimed Jan quickly. "Anyhow we haven't got anything to sleep on."

"We can make some benches of snow," Tom said. "Let's do it!"

"How?" asked Ted.

"Well, we'll just bring in some snow and pile it up on the floor along the inside walls. Then we can cut it square and level on top, as high as we want it, and we can sit on it or lie down on it and make-believe go to sleep."

"That'll be fun!" cried Lola.

With their shovels the Curlytops and the others were soon piling snow up around the inside walls of the white house. Then the benches were cut into shape, and they did make good places to sit on; though it was too cold to lie down, Mrs. Martin said when she came out to look at the playhouse, and she warned the children not to do this.

"We ought to have a chimney on the house," suggested Tom, after he had gone outside to see how it looked.

"We can't build a fire, can we?" asked Jan, somewhat surprised.

"No, of course not!" laughed Ted. "A fire would melt the snow. But we can make a chimney and pretend there's smoke coming out of it."

"Let's do it!" cried Lola.

"All right," agreed Tom. "You're the lightest, Teddy, so you get up on the roof. You won't cave it in. I'll toss you up some snow and you can make it square, in the shape of a chimney."

This Ted did, and with a stick he even marked lines on the snow chimney to make it look as if made of bricks.

"That's fine!" cried Tom. "It looks real!"

"It would look realer if we had something like black smoke coming out," declared Janet.

"Oh, I know how to do that!" exclaimed Lola.

"How?" asked her brother.

"Get some black paper and stick it on top of the chimney."

"Maybe my mother's got some," said Ted. "I'll go and ask her."

Mrs. Martin found an old piece of wrapping paper that was almost black in color, and when this had been rumpled up and put on top of the snow chimney, where Ted fastened it with sticks, at a distance it did look as though black smoke were pouring out of the white snow house.

"Now we ought to have something to eat, and we could pretend we really lived in here," said Janet, after a bit, when they were sitting on the benches inside the house.

"You go and ask mother for something," suggested Ted. "I got the paper smoke. You go and get some cookies."

"I will," Janet promised, and she soon came running from the house with a large plate full of molasses and sugar cookies that Nora had given her.

"Um! but these are good!" cried Tom, as he munched some with the Curlytops and his sister.

"This is a fine house!" exclaimed Teddy. "I'm glad you helped us build it," he said to Tom.

"Only it wants some glass in the windows," said Ted, looking at the holes in the snow walls of the house.

"We don't need glass," immediately put in Tom.

"Why not?" asked Jan. "If we put wooden windows in we can't see through 'em."

"We can use sheets of ice!" cried Tom. "My father said that that's the way the Eskimos do up at the north pole. They use ice for glass."

"You can see through ice all right," said Ted. "But where could we get any thin enough for windows for our snow house?"

"All the ice on the pond and lake is covered with snow," added Lola.

"We can put some water out in pans," went on Tom. "If it's cold to-night it will freeze in a thin sheet of ice, and then to-morrow we can make windows of it for our snow house."

"Oh, that'll be fun!" cried Ted.

"It will be almost like a real house!" added Jan.

Mrs. Martin said, when the Curlytops asked her, that Tom's plan might work if the night turned cold enough to freeze. And as after dark it did get colder she put some water out in large shallow pans. In the morning the water was frozen into thin sheets of ice, clear as crystal, and Ted and Jan could see right through them as well as they could see through glass.

"They're great!" cried Tom when he saw them, and that afternoon when school was out, the ice windows were set in the holes in the walls of the snow house.

"'Dis nice place!" Trouble said, when he was taken out to it. "I 'ikes it here! I stay all night!"

"No, I guess you won't stay all night," laughed Tom. "You might freeze fast to the snow bench."

"How plain we can see out of the windows," said Lola. "Oh, see, Ted, here comes your goat! I guess he's looking for you."

"He must 've got loose and 've run out of his stable," said Teddy. "I'll go to fasten him up. Here, Nicknack!" he called as he walked out of the snow house toward his pet.

Nicknack kept on coming toward the white house. He walked up to one of the windows. The sun was shining on it and as Ted looked he cried:

"Oh, I can see Nicknack in the glass window just as if it was a looking glass. And Nicknack can see himself!"

This was true. The goat came to a sudden stop and looked at his own reflection in the shiny ice window. Nicknack seemed much surprised. He stamped in the snow with his black hoofs, and then he raised himself up in the air on his hind feet. At the same time he went:

"Baa-a-a-a! Baa-a-a-a-a!"

"Oh, Nicknack's going to buck!" cried Ted.

"Who's he going to buck?" asked Tom, sticking his head out of the blanket door of the snow house.

"I guess he thinks he sees another goat in the shiny ice window," went on Ted, "and he's going for that. Oh, look out! Come back, Nicknack! Come back!" Teddy yelled.

But with another bleat and a shake of his head Nicknack, having seen himself reflected in the ice window, and thinking it another goat, started on a run for the snow house, inside of which were Jan, Tom, Lola and Trouble.




Chapter VI

The Snow Man


Sounding his funny, bleating cry, like a sheep, Nicknack gave a jump straight for the ice window in which he had seen himself as in a looking glass.

"Crash!" went the ice window.

"Oh, my!" screamed Lola, inside the snow house.

"What is it?" asked Jan, for Lola stood in front of her.

Trouble looked up from where he was sitting beside Tom on the snow bench, and just then the goat went right through the soft, snow side of the house and scrambled down inside.

"Dat's our goat!" exclaimed Trouble, as if that was the way Nicknack always came in. "Dat's our goat!"

For a moment Jan and Lola had been so frightened that they did not know what it was. Luckily they were not in Nicknack's way when he jumped through, so he did not land on them.

But the snow house was so small that there was hardly room for a big goat inside it, besides the four children, even with Ted outside, and Nicknack almost landed in the laps of Tom and Trouble when he jumped through. In fact, his chin-whiskers were in Trouble's face, and Baby William laughed and began pulling them as he very often did.

"Baa-a-a-a!" bleated the goat and then he quickly turned around to see, I suppose, what had become of the other goat against which he had leaped, intending to butt him out of the way.

"Oh, Nicknack!" cried Jan. "What made you jump in on us like that?"

"Oh, my, I'm so scared!" gasped Lola. "Will he bite us?"

"Nicknack never bites," answered Janet reprovingly. "But what made him jump into the snow house and break the ice window?"

"'Cause he saw himself in it," answered Ted, coming in just then. "I knew what he was goin' to do but I couldn't stop him. Say, Tom, he made an awful big jump!"

"I should say he did!" exclaimed Tom. "I thought the whole place was coming down! You'd better call your goat out, Curlytop, or he may knock our snow house all to pieces."

"All right, I will," agreed Ted. "Here, Nicknack!" he called. "Come on outside!"

Nicknack turned at the sound of his little master's voice, and just then he saw another ice window. The sun was shining on that, too, and once more Nicknack noticed the reflection of himself in the bright ice, which was like glass.

"Baa-a-a-a-a!" he bleated again. "Baa-a-a-a!"

"Look out! He's going to jump!" cried Tom.

He made a grab for the goat, but only managed to get hold of his short, stubby tail. To this Tom held as tightly as he could, but Nicknack was not going to be stopped for a little thing like that.

Forward he jumped, but he did not quite reach the ice window. Instead his horns and head butted against the side wall of the snow house, and in it he made a great hole, near the window.

This made the wall so weak that the snow house began to cave in, for the other wall had almost all been knocked down when the goat jumped through that.

"Look out!" cried Ted. "It's going to fall!"

"Come on!" yelled Tom, letting go of Nicknack's tail.

"Take care of Trouble!" begged Jan of her brother.

Ted caught his little brother up in his arms. It was as much as he could do, but, somehow or other, Ted felt very strong just then. He was afraid Trouble would be hurt.

And then, just as the children hurried out of the door, pulling away, in their haste, the blanket that was over the opening, the snow house toppled down, some of the boards in the roof breaking.

"Oh, it's a good thing we weren't in there when it fell!" cried Lola. "We'd all have been killed!"

"Snow won't kill you!" said her brother.

"But the boards might have hurt us," said Lola. "Our nice house is all spoiled!"

"And Nicknack is under the snow in there!" cried Ted.

"No, he isn't! Here he comes out," answered Janet. And just as she said that, out from under the pile of boards and the snow that was scattered over them, came Nicknack. With a wiggle of his head and horns, and a scramble of his feet, which did not have any rubber on now, Nicknack managed to get out from under the fallen playhouse, and with a leap he stood beside the children.

"There, Nicknack! See what you did!" cried Janet.

"Spoiled our nice snow house!" added Lola.

"We'll build you another," promised Ted. "Say, I never knew our goat was such a good jumper."

"He's strong all right," agreed Tom.

"Nicknack a funny goat!" laughed Trouble, as his brother set him down on a smooth place in the snow.

"I guess Trouble thinks it was all just for fun," said Tom. "He isn't scared a bit."

"Oh, Trouble doesn't get scared very easy," answered Jan. "He's always laughing. Aren't you, Trouble?" and she hugged him.

"Well, shall we build the house over again?" asked Tom, when Ted had taken the goat back to the stable and fastened him in so he could not easily get loose.

"It'll be a lot of work," said Lola. "You'll have to make a whole new one."

"Yes, Nicknack didn't leave much of it," agreed Tom. "Shall we make a bigger one, Ted -- big enough for Nicknack to get in without breaking the walls?"

"Oh, I don't know," returned Ted slowly. "There isn't much snow left, and some of the boards are busted. Let's make a snow man instead."

"All right!" agreed Tom. "We'll do that! We'll make a big one."

"I don't want to do that," said Jan. "Come on, Lola, let's go coasting."

"An' take me!" begged Trouble.

"Yes, take him," added Ted. "He'll throw snowballs at the snow men we make if you don't."

So Baby William was led away by the two girls, and Tom and his chum started to make a snow man. But they soon found that the snow was not right for packing. It was too hard and not wet enough.

"It's too cold, I guess," observed Tom, when he had tried several times to roll a big ball as the start in making a snow man.

"Then let's us go coasting, too," proposed Ted, and Tom was willing.

So the boys, leaving the ruins of the snow house, and not even starting to make the snow man, went to coast with the girls, who were having a good time on the hill with many of their friends.

"Oh, it's snowing again!" cried Ted when the time came to go home, as it was getting dusk.

"We've had a lot of storms already this winter," added Lola.

"My grandpa wrote in a letter that a hermit, up near Cherry Farm, said this was going to be a bad winter for storms," put in Jan. "Maybe we'll all be snowed in."

"That'll be great!" cried Tom.

"It will not!" exclaimed his sister. "We might all freeze to death. I don't like too much snow."

"I do!" declared Ted. "And there's a lot coming down now!"

There seemed to be, for the white flakes made a cloud as they blew here and there on the north wind, and it was quite cold when the Curlytops and their friends reached their homes.

All the next day it snowed, and Ted and Jan asked their father and mother several times whether or not they were going to be snowed in.

"Oh, I guess not this time," answered Mr. Martin. "It takes a regular blizzard to do that, and we don't often get blizzards here."

Though they felt that possibly being snowed in might not be altogether nice, still Ted and Jan rather wanted it to happen so they could see what it was like. But that was not to come with this storm.

Still the wind and snow were so bad, at times, that Mrs. Martin thought it best for the Curlytops to stay in the house. Trouble, of course, had to stay in also, and he did not like that a bit. Neither did Jan or Ted, but there was no help for it.

"What can we do to have some fun?" asked Teddy, for perhaps the tenth time that day. He stood with his nose pressed flat against the window, looking out at the swirling flakes. "Can't I be out, Mother?" he asked again.

"Oh, no, indeed, little Curlytop son," she answered.

"But we want some fun!" chimed in Jan. "Isn't there anything we can do?"

"Have you played with all your games?" asked her mother.

"Every one," answered the little girl.

"And we even played some of 'em backwards, so's to make 'em seem different," put in Teddy.

"Well, if you had to do that it must be pretty hard!" laughed Mrs. Martin. "I know it isn't any fun to stay in the house, but to-morrow the storm may be over and then you can go out. I know that won't help matters now," she went on, as she saw that Teddy was about to say something. "But if you'll let me think a minute maybe I can plan out some new games for you to play."

"Oh, Mother, if you only can!" cried Jan eagerly.

"Don't talk -- let her think!" ordered Teddy. "We want to have some fun -- a lot of fun!"

So he and his sister sat very quietly while his mother thought of all the things that might be possible for a little boy and girl and their baby brother to do when they had to stay in the house.

"I have it!" cried Mrs. Martin at last.

"Something for us to play?" asked Janet.

"Yes. How would you like to play steamboat and travel to different countries?"

"Not real?" cried Ted, with a look at the snow outside.

"Oh, no, not real, of course," said his mother, with a smile. "But you can go up in the attic, and take the old easy chair that isn't any good for sitting in any more. You can turn that over on the floor and make believe it's a steamboat. In that you and Jan and Baby William can pretend to travel to different countries. You can say the floor is the ocean and you can take some blocks of wood to make the islands, and if any one steps in the make-believe water he'll get his feet wet."

"Make-believe wet," laughed Teddy.

"That's it," his mother agreed with a laugh. "Now run along up and play, and then you won't think about the snow and the storm. And before you know it -- why, it will be night and time to go to bed and in the morning the storm may be over and you can be out."

"Come on!" cried Jan to her brother.

"Wait a minute," he said, standing still in the middle of the room, while Trouble, who seemed to know that something was going on different from usual, jumped up and down, crying:

"We hab some fun! We hab some fun!"

"But you mustn't jump like that up in the attic," said his mother, shaking her finger at him. "If you do you'll rattle the boards and maybe make the plaster fall."

"Do you mean the plaster like the kind I had on when I was sick?" asked Jan.

"No, my dear, I mean the plaster on the ceiling," said her mother. "Well, Teddy, why don't you go along and play the game I told you about?" she asked, as she saw the little boy still standing in the middle of the sitting-room. "Play the steamboat game with the old chair. The chair will be the ship, and you can take the old spinning wheel to steer with, and maybe there's a piece of stovepipe up there that you can use for a smokestack. Only, for mercy's sake, don't get all black, and don't let Trouble get black."

"Come on, Ted!" cried his sister to him.

"I was just thinkin'," he said thoughtfully. "Say, Mother, don't folks get hungry when they're on a ship?"

"I guess so, Ted."

"And even on a make-believe one?"

"Well, yes, I suppose they do. But you can make believe eat if you get make-believe hungry."

"But what if we get really hungry?" asked Teddy. "I'm that way now, almost. Couldn't we have something real to eat on the make-believe steamboat, Mother?"

Mrs. Martin laughed.

"Why, yes, I suppose you could," she answered. "You children go on up to the attic and get the old chair ready to play steamboat, and I'll see what I can find to bring up to you to eat."

"Now we can have some fun!" cried Ted, and he no longer looked out of the window at the snow, and wished he could be in it playing, even though that was not exactly good for him.

Up the stairs trooped the Curlytops, followed by Trouble, who grunted and puffed as he made his way, holding to the hem of Jan's dress.

"What's the matter, Trouble?" asked Jan, turning around.

"Maybe he's making believe he's climbing a mountain," said Ted. "You always have to breathe hard when you do that."

"Did you ever climb a mountain?"

"No, but I ran up a hill once," answered her brother, "and that made my breath come as fast as anything. I guess that's what Trouble is doing."

"No, I is not!" exclaimed the little boy, who heard what his sister and brother were saying about him. "I 'ist is swimmin', like I did at Cherry Farm," he said. "I play I is in the water."

"I guess he's ready to play steamboat, all right," laughed Jan. "Come along, little fat Trouble!" she called, and she helped him get up the last of the steps that led to the attic.

The children found an old easy chair. It was one Mr. Martin had made some years before, and was a folding one. It had a large frame, and could be made higher and lower by putting a cross bar of wood in some niches. The seat of the chair was made of a strip of carpet, but this had, long ago, worn to rags and the chair had been put in the attic until some one should find time to mend it. But this time never seemed to come.

Often, before, Ted, Jan and Trouble had played steamboat with it. They laid it down flat, and then raised up the front legs and the frame part that fitted into the back legs. These two parts they tied together and could move it back and forth, while they made believe the carpet part of the chair was the deck of the boat.

"All aboard!" called Janet, as Teddy laid the chair down on the floor.

"Wait a minute!" called her brother.

"What for?" Janet wanted to know.

"'Cause I haven't got the steerin' wheel fixed. I got to get that, else the boat will go the wrong way. Wait until I get the old spinning wheel for a steerer."

Up in the attic, among many other things, was an old spinning wheel, that used to belong to Mrs. Martin's mother's mother -- that is the great-grandmother of the Curlytops. The spinning part of the wheel had been broken long before, but the wheel itself would go around and it would make something to steer with, just as on the real large steamers, Ted thought.

The spinning wheel was put in front of the chair steamboat, and then Jan got on "board," as it is called.

"Wait for me!" cried Trouble, who was hunting in a corner of the attic for something with which to have some fun.

"Oh, I won't forget you," laughed Jan, and then all three of the children were ready for the trip across the make-believe ocean.

They crowded together on the carpet deck of the chair boat while Ted twirled the wheel and Jan moved the legs back and forth as if they were the engine. Trouble cried "Toot! Toot!" he being the whistle, and they rode about -- at least they pretended they did -- and had lots of fun, stopping at wooden islands to pick cocoanuts and oranges from make-believe trees.

"Here comes mother with something real to eat!" cried Teddy, after a bit, and up to the attic did come Mrs. Martin with some molasses cookies. The children had lots of fun eating these and playing, and before they knew it, night had come, bringing supper and bedtime.

Toward evening of the second day it stopped snowing, and the next day was quite warm, so that when Ted and Jan went out to play a bit in the snow before going to school, Ted found that the white flakes would make fine snowballs.

"Oh, it packs dandy!" he cried. "We can make the snow man this afternoon!" and he threw a snowball at Nicknack's stable, hitting the side of it with a bang.

"Yes, this will make a good snow man," said Tom after school, when he and Ted tried rolling the large balls. "We'll make a regular giant!"

And they started at it, first rolling a big ball which was to be the body of the snow man.




Chapter VII

A Strange Bedfellow


Around and around in the back yard, near what had once been a snow house, but which was only a big drift now, went Ted and Tom, rolling balls to make the snow man. Finally Ted's ball was so large that he could not push it any more.

"What'll I do?" he asked Tom. "Shall I leave it here and make the snow man right in this place?"

"No. I'll help you push it," Tom said. "We want that for the bottom part of the snow man, so it will have to be the biggest ball. Wait, I'll help."

The two boys managed to roll the ball a little farther, and it kept getting larger all the while, for as it rolled more snow clung to it and was packed on.

"There, I guess it's big enough," panted Tom, after a while. "Now, we'll pile my ball on top and then we'll put a head on our man."

"Where's his legs goin' to be?" asked Jan, who came out of the house just then to look on for a while, bringing Trouble with her.

"Oh, we'll carve them out of the lower part of the big snowball," answered Ted. "I'll show you."

With a shovel he and Tom cut away some of the snow, making big, fat, round, white legs for the man, who, as yet, had neither eyes, a nose nor a mouth, to say nothing of ears.

"Now we've got to have some buttons for his coat and some eyes for his head," said Tom, when the legs were made. On them the snow man stood up very straight and stiff.

"What do you want for eyes?" asked Ted.

"I saw a snow man in Grace Turner's yard last year," said Jan, "and that one had pieces of coal for eyes."

"That's just what we'll use!" cried Tom.

"I'll get the coal in our cellar," offered Ted, as he ran away to get the black lumps.

"Bring a lot and we'll make some buttons for his coat," called Tom.

"I will," Ted answered.

"Don't get the lumps too big!" shouted Jan.

"No, I won't," replied Ted; then he ran on to do his errand.

Two of the largest chunks of coal were stuck in the snow head of the man, and now he really began to look like something. The rest of the coal was stuck in the larger snowball and the black lumps looked just like coat buttons in two rows.

"There's his nose!" exclaimed Tom, as he fastened a lump of snow in the middle of the man's fat face. "And here's his mouth," he went on as he made a sort of cut in the snow with a stick.

"Oh, that doesn't look like a mouth," cried Janet. "I know a better way than that."

"Pooh! girls don't know how to make snow men!" exclaimed Ted. "You'd better go and get your doll, Janet."

"I do so know how to make a snow man, Theodore Martin! And if you think I don't I won't tell you the best way to make a mouth! So there!" and Janet, with her head held high in the air, and her nose up-tilted, started away, taking Trouble with her.

"Oh, I didn't mean anything!" protested Ted. "I was only foolin', Jan!"

"That's right!" added Tom. "Go on, tell us how to make a good mouth. Mine doesn't look much like one, but that's the way I always make 'em when I build a snow man."

"Well, I'll tell you," said Jan, turning back. "You want to take a piece of red flannel or red paper. Then it looks just like the snow man had red lips and was stickin' out his red tongue. I mean sticking," she added, as she remembered to put on her "g."

"Say! that is a good way to make a mouth, Ted!" cried Tom. "We'll do it. But where'll we get the red flannel?"

"I've got a piece of red cloth left over from my doll's dress," went on Janet. "I'll get that for you."

"Thanks," murmured Ted. "I guess girls do know something about snow men," he added to Tom.

"Course they do," the other boy agreed. "I like your sister Janet."

Ted began to feel that, even if Janet was a year younger than he, she might be smarter in some ways than he was. He was sure of it when he saw how well the snow man looked with his red tongue and lips which Tom made from the scarlet cloth Jan gave him.

"Now if we only had a hat for him he'd look great!" cried Ted, when the last touches were being put on the snow man, even ears having been given him, though, of course, he could not hear through them.

"I know where there's an old hat -- a big stovepipe one," said Jan. She meant a tall, shiny, silk hat.

"Where is it?" asked Tom.

"Up in our attic. Daddy used to wear it, mother said, but it's too old-fashioned now. Maybe she'd let us take it."

Mrs. Martin said the children might have the old tall hat, which was broken in one place, but the snow man did not mind that. It was soon perched on his head and then a very proper figure indeed he looked, as he stood up straight and stiff in the yard back of the house.

More than one person stopped to look at what the Curlytops had made and many smiled as they saw the tall silk hat on the snow man. He even had a cane, made from a stick, and he was altogether a very proper and stylish snow man.

Trouble seemed to think the white man with his shiny black hat, was made for him to play with, for no sooner was it finished than Baby William began throwing snowballs at "Mr. North," as Mrs. Martin said they ought to call the gentleman made from white flakes.

"Oh, you mustn't do that!" cried Ted, as he saw what his little brother was doing. "You'll hit his hat," for one of Trouble's snowballs came very near the shiny "stovepipe" as Jan had called it.

"Trouble 'ike snow man," said the little fellow, laughing.

"Well, we like him, too," answered Janet, "and we don't want you to spoil him, baby. Don't throw snowballs at Mr. North."

"Here, I'll help you make a little snow man for yourself," offered Ted to his brother.

"Oh, dat fun!" laughed the little fellow. "I want a biggest one."

"No, a small one will be better, and then you can throw as many snowballs at it as you want," went on Ted.

Jan helped Ted make the snow man for Trouble, for Tom and Lola were called home by their mother. In a short while Trouble's white image was finished. Jan found more red cloth to make the lips and tongue, Ted got more coal for eyes and coat buttons and then he made a paper soldier hat for the small snow man.

"Do you like it, Trouble?" asked his brother, when it was finished.

"Nice," answered Baby William. "Bring it in house to play wif!"

"Oh, no! You mustn't try to do that!" laughed Janet. "If you brought your snow man into the house he would all melt!"

"All melt away?" asked the little fellow.

"Yes, all melt into water. He has to stay out where it's cold. Play with him out here, Trouble."

So Trouble did, making a lot of snowballs which he piled around the feet of his man, so that they might be ready in case the snow man himself wanted to throw them.

Then Teddy and Janet went coasting just before supper, coming home with red cheeks and sparkling eyes, for it was cold and they had played hard.

"Well, Trouble, is the snow man all right?" asked Ted, as he and Jan sat down to supper a little later.

"Iss. Big snow man in yard," answered Baby William.

"He'll take care of your little snow man all night," added Janet. "Then your little snow man won't be afraid to stay out in the dark, Trouble."

"Trouble's snow man not be in dark," was the answer. "He gone bed. Trouble's snow man gone bed."

"What does he mean?" asked Ted.

"Oh, I presume he's just pretending that he put his snow man to bed in a drift of snow," said Mrs. Martin. "The poor child is so sleepy from having played out all the afternoon that he can't keep his eyes open. I'll put you to bed right after supper, Trouble."

"Trouble go to bed -- snow man go to bed," murmured Baby William. He was very sleepy, so much so that his head nodded even while he was eating the last of his bread and milk. And then his mother carried him off to his room.

Ted and Janet sat up a little later to talk to their father, as they generally did.

"Did you hear any more from Grandpa Martin?" asked Ted, after he had finished studying his school lesson for the next day.

"What about?" asked Mr. Martin.

"About the big snowstorm that's coming."

"Oh, you mean about what the hermit said," laughed his father. "No, we haven't had any more letters from grandpa."

"But we will have enough to eat even if we are snowed in, won't we?" Jan queried.

"Oh, yes, I guess so," answered Daddy Martin. "Don't worry about that."

"Can those hermits really tell when there's going to be a big storm with lots of snow?" asked Ted.

"Well, sometimes," admitted Mr. Martin. "Men who live in the woods or mountains all their lives know more about the weather than those of us who live in houses in towns or cities most of the time. Sometimes the hermits and woodsmen can tell by the way the squirrels and other animals act and store away food, whether or not it is going to be a hard winter. But don't worry about being snowed in. If we are we'll make the best of it."

A little later Ted and Jan, still thinking what would happen if a storm should come heavy enough to cover the house, started for their bedrooms. As Janet undressed and turned back the covers of her bed she gave a scream.

"What's the matter?" asked her mother from the hall.

"Maybe she saw a baby mouse!" laughed Ted.

"Oh, no. Mother! Daddy! Come quick!" cried Jan. "There's somebody in my bed!"

Mrs. Martin ran into her little girl's room, and there, on the white sheet, half covered, she saw a strange bedfellow.




Chapter VIII

The Lame Boy


"Oh, what is it? What is it?" cried Jan, backing into the farthest corner of her room. "What's in my bed?"

"It's a man!" cried Ted, who had run in from his room. "Oh, Daddy, there's a man in Jan's bed!" he shouted down the stairs.

"It can't be -- it isn't large enough for a man!" said Mrs. Martin, who was going toward the gas jet to turn it higher.

Her husband dropped the paper he had been reading as the children were getting ready for bed, and came racing up the stairs. Into Jan's room he went, and, as he entered, Mrs. Martin turned the light on so that it shone more brightly.

Daddy Martin gave one look into Jan's bed and then began to laugh.

"Oh, Daddy! what is it?" cried the little girl. "Is it a man in my bed?"

"Yes," answered her father, still laughing. "But it's a very little man, and he couldn't hurt anybody."

"Not if he was a -- a burglar?" asked Ted in a whisper.

"No; for he's only a snow man!" laughed Mr. Martin.

"A snow man!" exclaimed Mrs. Martin.

"A snow man in my bed!" gasped Jan. "How did he get there?"

By this time so much noise had been made that Trouble, in his mother's room, was awakened. He came toddling into Jan's room, rubbing his sleepy eyes and holding up his little nightdress so he would not stumble over it.

"Dis mornin'?" he asked, blinking at the bright lights.

"No, it isn't morning, Trouble," answered his mother with a laugh. "But I guess Jan will have to sleep in your bed and you'll have to come in with me. The snow man has melted, making a little puddle of water and her sheets are all wet. She can't sleep in that bed."

They all gathered around to look at the strange sight in Jan's bed. As her mother had said, the snow man, which was about two feet long, had melted. One of his legs was half gone, an ear had slid off and his nose was quite flat, while one of the pieces of coal that had pretended to be an eye had dropped out and was resting on his left shoulder.

"Dat my snow man!" announced Trouble, after a look. "Me put him s'eepin's in Jan's bed!"

"You did?" cried Mother Martin. "Well, it's a good thing you told us, for I was going to ask Ted if he had done it as a joke."

"No'm, Mother; I didn't do it!" declared Ted.

"And it is the little snow man we helped Trouble make," added Jan, as she took another look. "I couldn't see good at first 'cause it was so dark in my room. But it's Trouble's snow man."

"Did you really bring him in and put him to sleep in Jan's bed?" asked Baby William's father.

"Iss, I did," answered Trouble, still rubbing his eyes. "My snow man not want to stay out in dark cold all night alone. Big snow man might bite him. I bringed him in wif my two arms, I did, and I did put him in Jan's bed, I did. He go s'eepin's."

"Well, he's slept enough for to-night," said Mr. Martin, still laughing. "Out of the window you go!" he cried, and raising the sash near the head of Jan's bed he tossed the snow man -- or what was left of him -- out on the porch roof.

"Here, Nora!" called Mrs. Martin. "Please take the wet clothes off Jan's bed so they'll dry. The mattress is wet, too, so she can't sleep on it. Oh, you're a dear bunch of Trouble!" she cried as she caught Baby William up in her arms and kissed his sleepy eyes, "but you certainly made lots of work to-night. What made you put the snow man in Jan's bed?"

"So him have good s'eepin's. Him very twired an' s'eepy out in de yard. I bringed him in, I did!"

"Well, don't do it again," said Mr. Martin, and then they all went to bed, and the snow man -- what was left of him -- slept out on the roof, where he very likely felt better than in a warm room, for men made of snow do not like the heat.

"Well, Trouble, what are you going to do to-day?" asked his father. He was just finishing his breakfast and Baby William had just started his.

"Trouble goin' make nudder snow man," was the answer.

"Well, if you do, don't put it in my bed," begged Jan, with a laugh.

"Put him in wif Nicknack," went on Trouble.

"Yes, I guess our goat doesn't mind snow, the way he butted into our house," observed Ted.

"Oh, aren't we going to build another ever?" asked Jan. "It was lots of fun. Let's make another house, Ted."

"All right, maybe we will after school. It looks maybe as if it would snow again."

"We have had more snowstorms than we usually do at this time of the year," remarked Mrs. Martin. "I guess Grandpa Martin's old hermit told part of the truth, anyhow."

"Come on, Jan!" cried Ted to his sister, as they left the table to get ready for school. "We'll have a lot of fun in the snow to-day."

"Will we go coasting or skating?" Janet asked.

"There isn't any skating, unless we clean the snow off the pond," replied Ted. "And that's an awful lot of work," he added. "When we come home from school we'll build a great big snow house, if the snow is soft enough to pack."

"On your way home from school," said Mrs. Martin to Ted and Jan, "I want you to stop at your father's store. He'll take you to get new rubber boots. Your old ones are nearly worn out, and if we are to have much snow this winter you'll need bigger ones to keep your feet dry. So stop at daddy's store. He'll be looking for you."

"New rubber boots!" cried Ted. "That's dandy!"

"Oh, may I have a high pair?" asked Jan. "I want to wade in drifts as high as Ted does, and I can't if you get me low boots."

"Your father will get you the right kind," said Mrs. Martin. "The boot store is near his, and he'll go in to buy them with you."

Jan and Ted were very glad they were going to have new rubber boots, and Ted was thinking so much about his that when his teacher in school asked him how to spell foot he spelled "b-o-o-t!"

The other boys and girls laughed, and at first Ted did not know why. But, after a bit, when he saw the teacher smiling also, he remembered what he had done. Then he spelled foot correctly.

"Theodore was thinking more of what to put on his foot, than about the word I asked him to spell," said the teacher.

Mr. Martin's store was not far from the school, and Ted and Jan hurried there when their lessons were over.

"Where you goin'?" asked Tom Taylor, as he came running out of the school yard. "Come on, Curlytop, and let's make another snow man."

"I will after I get my new rubber boots," promised Ted. "You can start making it in our yard if you want to. But don't let Trouble make any more little snow men. He put one in my sister's bed last night."

"He did?" laughed Tom. "Say, he's queer all right!"

"Well, Curlytops, did you come to buy out the store?" asked Mr. Martin with a laugh as he saw his two children come in and walk back toward the end, where he had his office.

"We want rubber boots," said Ted.

"And I want big high ones, just like those he's going to have," begged Jan, pointing to her brother.

"We'll get them just alike and then you won't have any trouble," laughed her father. "Only, of course, Ted's will have to be a little larger in the feet than yours, Jan."

"Oh, yes, Daddy! That's all right," and she smiled. "But I want mine high up on my legs."

Telling one of his clerks to stay in the office until he came back, Mr. Martin took Ted and Jan to the shoestore a few doors down the street. There were many other boys and girls, and men and women, too, getting boots or rubbers.

"Well, Mr. Martin," said the clerk who had come to wait on the Curlytops, "I see you're getting ready for a hard winter. If you get snowed in out at your house, these youngsters can wade out and buy a loaf of bread."

"We're going to have a lot to eat in our house," put in Ted, "'cause a hermit my grandpa knows said we might get snowed in."

"Indeed!" exclaimed the clerk. "Well, it looks as though we would have plenty of snow. We've had more so far this year than we did in twice as long a time last season. Now about your rubber boots," and he took the measure of the feet of Ted and Jan, and soon fitted them with high boots, lined with red flannel.

"Do they suit you, Jan?" asked her father.

"Yes, they're just right," she answered. "I like 'em!"

"They're fine!" cried Ted, stretching out his legs as he sat on the bench in the shoestore. "Now I can wade in deep drifts," for the boots could be strapped around his legs at the top, as could Jan's, and no snow could get down inside.

"Well, run along home and have fun in the snow!" said their father. "Oh, I forgot something! Come on back to the store a minute. I bought a new kind of chocolate candy to-day and I thought maybe you might like to try it."

"Oh, Daddy! We would!" cried Jan, clapping her hands.

"Mind you! I'm not sure you'll like it," her father said, trying not to smile, "but if you don't, just save it for Nicknack. He isn't particular about candy."

"Oh, we'll like it all right!" laughed Ted. "Hurry, Jan. I'm hungry for candy now!"

The chocolate was very good, and Ted and Jan each had as large a piece as was good for them, and some to take home to their mother, with a little bite for Trouble. As the Curlytops were getting ready to leave their father's store the clerk came from the office and said:

"While you were gone, Mr. Martin, a lame boy came in here to see you."

"A lame boy?" Mr. Martin was much surprised.

"Yes. He said he had been in a Home up near Cherry Farm, where you were last summer," went on the clerk.

"What did he want?" asked Mr. Martin.

"I don't know. He didn't say, but stated that he would wait until you came back. So I gave him a chair just outside the office. He seemed to know about you and Ted and Jan."

"A lame boy! Oh, maybe it was Hal Chester!" cried Jan.

"But Hal isn't lame any more," Mr. Martin reminded her. "At least he is only a little lame. Did this boy limp much?" he asked the clerk.

"Well, not so very much. He seemed anxious to see you, though."

"Where is he?" asked Mr. Martin. "I'll be glad to see him. Where is he now?"

"That's what I don't know. I had to leave the office a minute, and when I came back he was gone."

"Gone?"

"Yes, he wasn't here at all. And, what is more, something went with him."

"What do you mean?" asked Mr. Martin.

"I mean the lame boy took with him a pocketbook and some money when he went out," answered the clerk.




Chapter IX

Through The Ice


Mr. Martin said nothing for a few seconds after hearing what his clerk told him. Ted and Jan looked at each other. They did not know what to say.

"Are you sure the lame boy took the pocketbook and the money?" asked the Curlytops' father of his clerk.

"Pretty sure; yes, sir. The pocketbook -- it was a sort of wallet I had some papers in besides money -- was left on this bench right near where he was sitting while he was waiting for you. I went away and when I came back he was gone and so was the pocketbook. He must have taken it."

"Was there much money in it?"

"Only about fifteen dollars."

"That's too bad. I wonder what the boy wanted. Didn't he say?"

"Not to me, though to one of the other clerks who spoke to him as he sat near the bench he said he was in need of help."

"Then it couldn't have been Hal Chester," said Mr. Martin, "for his father is able to provide for him. Besides, Hal wouldn't go away without waiting to see Ted and Jan, for they had such good times together at Cherry Farm and on Star Island.

"Hal Chester," went on Mr. Martin to the clerk, who had never been to Cherry Farm, "was a lame boy who was almost cured at the Home for Crippled Children not far from my father's house. He left there to go to his own home about the time we broke up our camp. I don't see why he would come here to see me."

"Maybe his father lost all his money and Hal wanted to see if you'd give him more," suggested Jan.

"Or maybe he wanted to get work in your store," added Ted.

"I hardly think so," remarked his father. "It is queer, though, why the boy should go away without seeing me, whoever he was. I'm sorry about the missing pocketbook. I know Hal would never do such a thing as that. Well, it can't be helped."

"Shall I call the police?" asked the clerk.

"What for?" Mr. Martin queried.

"So they can look for this lame boy, whoever he was, and arrest him for taking that money."

"Maybe he didn't take it," said Mr. Martin.

"He must have," declared the clerk. "The pocketbook was right on the bench near him, and after he went away the pocketbook wasn't there any more. He took it all right!"

"Well, never mind about the police for a while," said the children's father. "Maybe the lame boy will come back and tell us what he wanted to see me about, and maybe he only took the pocketbook by mistake. Or some one else may have walked off with it. Don't call the police yet."

"I'm glad daddy didn't call the police," said Ted to Jan, as they went home a little later, carrying their fine, new, rubber boots.

"So'm I," agreed his sister. "Even if it was Hal I don't believe he took the money."

"No, course not! Hal wouldn't do that. Anyhow Hal wasn't hardly lame at all any more. The doctors at the Home cured him," said Ted.

"Unless maybe he got lame again in the snow," suggested Janet.

"Well, of course he might have slipped down and hurt his foot," admitted Ted. "But anyhow I guess it wasn't Hal."

Neither of the Curlytops liked to think that their former playmate would do such a thing as to take a pocketbook that did not belong to him. Mother Martin, when told what had happened at the store that day, said she was sure it could not be Hal.

"There's one way you can find out," she said to her husband. "Write to Hal's father and ask him if he has been away from home."

"I'll do it!" agreed Mr. Martin, while Ted and Jan were out in the snow, wading in the biggest drifts they could find with their high rubber boots on. Their feet did not get a bit wet.

In a few days Mr. Martin had an answer from the letter he had sent to Mr. Chester, Hal's father. The letter was written by a friend of Mr. Chester's who was in charge of his home and who opened all the mail. Mr. Chester, this man wrote, was traveling with his wife and Hal, and no one knew just where they were at present.

"Then it might have been Hal, after all, who called at your office," said Mrs. Martin to her husband. "He may have been near here, and wanted to stop to see the children, and, not knowing where we lived, he inquired for your store. But if it was Hal I'm perfectly sure he didn't take the pocketbook."

"So am I," said Mr. Martin. "And yet we haven't found it at the store, nor was there anyone else near it while the lame boy was sitting on the bench. It's too bad! I'd like to find out who he was and what he wanted of me."

But, for the present, there seemed no way to do this. Ted and Jan wondered, too, for they would have liked to see Hal again, and they did not, even for a moment, believe he had taken the money. Hal Chester was not that kind of boy.

The Curlytops had much fun in the snow. They went riding down hill whenever they could, and made more snow men and big snowballs. Ted and Tom Taylor talked of building a big snow house, much larger than the first one they had made.

"And we'll pour water over the walls, and make them freeze into ice," said Ted. "Then Nicknack can't butt 'em down with his horns."

But there was not quite enough snow around the Martin yard to make the large house the boys wanted, so they decided to wait until more of the white flakes fell.

"There'll be plenty of snow," said Ted to his chum. "My father had another letter from my grandfather, and he says the hermit said a terribly big storm was coming in about two weeks."

"Whew!" whistled Tom Taylor. "I guess I'd better go home and tell my mother to get in plenty of bread and butter and jam. I like that; don't you?"

"I guess I do!" cried Ted. "I'm going in now and ask Nora if she'll give us some. I'm awful hungry!"

Nora took pity on Ted and the other boy who was playing in the yard with him, and they were soon sitting on the back steps eating bread and jam.

They had each taken about three bites from the nice, big slices Nora had given them, when around the back walk came a man who was limping on one leg, the other being of wood. Though the man's clothes were ragged, and he seemed to be what would be called a "tramp," he had a kind face, though as Ted said afterward, it had on it more whiskers than ever his father's had. Still the man seemed to be different from the ordinary tramps.

"Ah, that's what I like to see!" he exclaimed as he watched the boys eating the bread and jam. "Nothing like that for the appetite -- I mean to take away an appetite -- when you've got more than you need."

"Have you got an appetite?" asked Tom Taylor.

"Indeed I have," answered the man. "I've got more appetite than I know what to do with. I was just going to ask if you thought I could get something to eat here. Having an appetite means you're hungry, you know," he added with a smile, so Ted and Tom would understand. The man looked hungrily at the bread and jam the boys were eating.

"Would you -- would you like some of this?" asked Teddy, holding out his slice, which had three bites and a half taken from it. The half bite was the one Ted took just as he saw the man. He was so surprised that he took only a half bite instead of a whole one.

"Would I like that? Only just wouldn't I, though!" cried the man, smacking his lips. "But please don't ask me," he went on. "It isn't good for the appetite to see things and not eat 'em."

"You can eat this," said Teddy, as he held out his slice of bread and jam. "I've taken only a few bites out of it. And I cleaned my teeth this morning," he added as if that would make it all right that he had eaten part of the slice.

"Oh, that part doesn't worry me!" laughed the tramp. "But I don't want, hungry as I am, to take your bread and butter, to say nothing of the jam."

He turned aside and then swung back.

"There is butter on the bread, under that jam, isn't there?" he asked.

"Yes," answered Tom. "It's good butter, too."

"So I should guess," went on the man. "I can most always tell when there's butter on the bread under the jam. There's always one sure way to tell," he said.

"How?" asked Ted, thinking it might be some trick.

"Just take a bite!" laughed the man, and the two boys on the back steps laughed, too.

"Are you sure you don't want this?" the tramp went on, as he took the partly eaten slice Ted held out to him. "I wouldn't for the world, hungry as I am, take your slice --  -- "

"Oh, Nora'll give me more," said Ted eagerly. He really wanted to see the man bite into the slice. Ted said afterward that he wanted to know how big a bite the man could take.

"Well, then, if you can get more I will take this," said the man, as he eagerly and, so it seemed to the boys, very hungrily bit into the slice -- or what was left of it after Ted had taken out his three and a half nibbles. What Ted took were really nibbles alongside the bites the man took.

"Were you in a war?" asked Tom, as he watched the tramp take the last of Ted's bread.

"No. Why did you think I was -- because I have a wooden leg?"

The boy nodded.

"My leg was cut off on the railroad," went on the tramp. "But I get along pretty well on this wooden peg. It's a good thing in a way, too," he added.

"How's that?" asked Tom.

"Well, you see havin' only one leg there isn't so much of me to get hungry. It's just like having only one mouth instead of two. If you boys had two mouths you'd have to have two slices of bread and jam instead of one," went on the tramp, laughing. "It's the same way when you only have one leg instead of two -- you don't get so hungry."

"Are you hungry yet?" asked Tom, as he saw the tramp licking off with his tongue some drops of jam that got on his fingers.

"I am," the man answered. "My one leg isn't quite full yet -- I mean my one good leg," he added. "You can't put anything -- not even bread and jam into this wooden peg," and he tapped it with his cane.

"Take my slice of bread," said Tom kindly. "I guess I can get some more when I get home."

"Nora'll give you some same as she will me," said Teddy. "Go on and eat -- I like to watch you," he added to the tramp.

"Well, you don't like to watch me any more than I like to do it," laughed the ragged man, as he began on the second slice of bread and jam.

He ate that all up, and then, when Teddy and Tom went in and told Nora what had happened, the good-natured girl insisted on getting some hot coffee and bread and meat for the hungry man.

"Jam and such like isn't anything near enough," she said, "even if he has but one leg. I'll feed him proper."

Which she did, and the tramp with the "wooden peg," as he called it, was very thankful. Before he left he cut some wood for Nora, and also whittled out two little wooden swords for Ted and Tom.

"I'm glad we gave him our bread and jam; aren't you?" asked Ted of his chum.

"Yep," was the answer. "I liked him, and it was fun to see him take big bites."

A snowstorm came a few days later, and, for a time, the Curlytops thought it might be the big one Grandpa Martin's hermit had spoken of. But the snow soon changed to rain and then came a thaw, so that there was not a bit of snow left on the ground, all being washed away.

"Oh, dear!" sighed Jan, as she looked out of the window. "This isn't like winter at all! We can't have any fun!"

"Wait till it freezes," said Ted. "Then we'll have lots of fun skating on the pond."

Two nights later there came a cold spell, and the ice formed on the pond. But, though the Curlytops did not know it, the ice was not as thick as it ought to have been to make it safe.

On the big lake, where the larger boys and girls went skating, a man, sent by the chief of police, always tested the ice after a freeze, to make sure it was thick enough to hold up the crowds of skaters. But on the pond, where the water was not more than knee-deep, no one ever looked at the ice. The little boys and girls went there just as they pleased.

"Come on skating!" cried Ted, after school the first day of this cold weather. "Well have a race on the ice, Jan."

"All right," she answered. "I can skate faster than you if I am a girl!"

"No, you can't!" exclaimed Ted.

"I want to come!" cried Trouble, as he saw his brother and sister starting out with their skates on straps over their shoulders.

"Oh, no! You're too little!" said his mother. "You must stay with me."

But Trouble did not wish to do that, and cried until Nora came in and said he might help her bake a cake. This pleased the little fellow, who, if he were given a piece of dough, not too sticky, to play with, had a fine time imagining he was making pies or a cake.

So Ted and Janet hurried off to the pond and were soon skating away with other boys and girls of their own age and size.

"Come on, now, let's race!" cried Ted, after a bit. "I'll get to the other side of the pond 'fore you do, Jan!"

"No, you won't!" she exclaimed, and the Curlytops started off on their race, the others watching.

For a while Ted was ahead, and then, whether it was because she was a better skater or because her skates were sharper, Jan passed her brother. He tried to catch up to her but could not.

And then, when Jan was about twenty feet ahead of Teddy and in the middle of the pond, the ice suddenly began to crack.

"Look out! Come on back! You'll go through!" cried Tom Taylor.

"Oh, she's in now!" screamed Lola.

And, as Lola spoke, Jan went through the ice into the black water beneath.

"Skate to shore! Skate to shore!" called Tom to the others. "Get off the ice or you'll go in, too!"

The other children did as he said, and it was well that they did, for the ice was now cracking in all directions from the big hole in the middle, through which Janet had gone down.

Teddy, who was skating as hard as he could, could not stop himself at once, but went on, straight for the hole through which his sister had slipped.

"Stop! Stop!" yelled Tom, waving his hands at Ted. "Stop!"

Ted tried to, digging the back point of his skate into the ice as he had seen other skaters do when they wanted to stop quickly. But he was going too fast to come to a halt soon enough, and it looked as though he, also, would go into the water.

"Fall down and slide! Fall down!" cried a bigger boy who had come over to see if his own little brother was all right on the pond.

Ted understood what this boy meant. By falling down on the ice and sliding, he would not go as fast, and he might stop before he got to the hole where the black water looked so cold and wet.

Flinging his feet from under him Ted dropped full length on the frozen pond, but still he felt himself sliding toward the hole. He could see Janet now. She was trying to stand up and she was crying and sobbing.




Chapter X

Thanksgiving


"Look out, Teddy! Look out, or you'll fall in same as I did!"

This is what Janet Martin called to her brother as she saw him sliding toward her when she was in the pond where she had broken through the ice. She stopped crying and shivering from the icy water long enough to say that.

"Stop, Teddy! Stop!" she shouted.

"I'm tryin' to!" he answered. He pressed hard with his mittened hands on the smooth ice on which he had thrown himself. It was very slippery. He was sliding ahead feet first and he could lift up his head and look at his sister.

Luckily the water was not deep in the pond -- hardly over Janet's knees -- and when she had fallen through the ice she had managed to stand up. Her feet, with the skates still on them, were down in the soft mud and ooze of the pond, the bottom of which had not frozen.

"I can't stop!" yelled Teddy, and it did seem as though he would go into the water also. But he stopped just in time, far enough away from the hole to prevent his going through the ice, which had cracked in three or more places.

"Crawl back to shore!" yelled the big boy, named Ford Henderson, who had come to look after his own little brother, whom he found safe. "Crawl back to shore, Curlytop. Don't stand up, or you might fall down where the ice is thin and crack a hole in it. Crawl back to shore!"

"But I want to help Janet!" said Teddy, who was almost ready to cry himself, since he saw in what plight his sister Janet now was.

"I'll get her out!" called Ford.

Then, while Teddy slowly crawled back over the ice, which every now and then cracked a little, as if the whole frozen top of the pond were going to fall in, Ford, the big boy, not in the least minding his feet getting wet, ran to where Janet stood up in the hole. Ford broke through the ice also, but as he was quite tall the water did not even come to his knees.

"Don't cry. You'll be all right soon," said Ford in a kind voice to the little girl. "I'll take you home!"

Then, being strong, he lifted her up in his arms, skates and all, and, with the mud and water dripping from her feet while his own were soaking wet, the big boy ran toward the Martin home with Janet.

"You come along, too, Curlytop!" called Ford to Teddy. "If I bring in your sister, all wet from having fallen through the ice, your mother will be afraid you are drowned. Come along!"

So Teddy, quickly taking off his skates, Tom Taylor helping him, ran along beside Ford, who was carrying Janet. The other boys and girls who had run from the cracking ice in time to get off before they broke through, followed, so there was quite a procession coming toward the Martin house. Mrs. Martin, looking out of the window, saw it and, seeing Jan being carried by the big boy, guessed at once what had happened.

"Oh, my goodness!" she cried to Nora. "Jan has fallen through the ice. She'll be soaking wet and cold. Get some hot water ready, and I'll bring some blankets to warm. She must be given a hot bath and put to bed in warm clothes. Maybe Teddy is wet, too, or some of the others. Hurry, Nora!"

And Nora hurried as she never had before, so that by the time Ford had set Jan down in a chair by the stove in the kitchen and had helped Mrs. Martin take off her wet skates and shoes, the water was ready and Janet was given a hot foot bath.

"You must dry yourself, Ford," said Mrs. Martin. "I can't thank you enough for saving my little girl!"

"Oh, she was all right," answered Ford. "She stood up herself, because the water wasn't deep, and I just lifted her out of the mud. Ted did well, too, for he stopped himself from going into the hole."

"I was going to get Janet out," Teddy answered.

"I knew you would be a brave little boy when your sister was in danger," said Mrs. Martin. "Now here is some hot milk for you, Janet, and I guess you're old enough to have a little coffee, Ford. It will keep you from catching cold I hope."

"Couldn't he have some bread and jam with it, Mother?" asked Janet, as she sipped her warm drink. "Maybe he's hungry."

"Maybe he is!" laughed Mrs. Martin.

"Oh, don't bother!" exclaimed Ford.

But Mrs. Martin got it ready and Ford ate the bread and jam as though he liked it. So did Ted, and then Nora took some cookies out to the boys and girls from the pond who had gathered in front of the Martin home to talk about Janet's having gone through the ice and of how Ford had pulled her out of the mud.

Altogether there was a great deal of excitement, and many people in town talked about the Curlytops that night when the boys and girls went to their homes with the news.

"Some one ought to look after the ice on the little pond as well as on the lake when there is skating," said Mr. Martin, when he heard what had happened. "We want our little boys and girls to be safe as well as the larger ones. I'll see about it."

So he did, and after that, for the rest of the winter and each winter following, a man was sent to see how thick the ice on the little pond was, and if it would not hold up a big crowd of little boys and girls none was allowed on until it had frozen more thickly.

"But when are we going to build the big snow house?" asked Jan one night at supper, when she and Ted had played hard on the hill after school.

"You can't build it until there's more snow," said her mother. "You'll have to wait until another storm comes. I expect there'll be one soon, for Thanksgiving is next week, and we usually have a good snow then."

"Oh, is it Thanksgiving?" cried Ted. "What fun we'll have!"

"Is grandpa or grandma coming to see us this year?" asked Jan.

"No, they have to stay on Cherry Farm. I asked them to come, but grandpa says if there is going to be a blizzard, and any danger of his getting snowed in, he wants to be at home where he can feed the cows and horses."

"Aren't we going to have any company over Thanksgiving?" asked Ted.

"Well, maybe," and his mother smiled.

"Oh, somebody is coming!" cried Jan joyfully. "It's going to be a surprise, Ted! I can tell by the way mother laughs with her eyes!"

"Is it going to be a surprise?" Ted asked.

"Well, maybe," and Mrs. Martin laughed.

The weather grew colder as Thanksgiving came nearer. There were two or three flurries of snow, but no big storm, though Jan and Ted looked anxiously for one, as they wanted a big pile of the white flakes in the yard so they could make a snow house.

"We'll make the biggest one ever!" declared Ted. "And maybe we'll turn it into a fort and have an Indian fight!"

"I don't like Indian fights," said Janet.

"They'll only be make-believe," Ted went on. "Me an' Tom Taylor an' some of the fellows'll be the Indians."

But the big snow held off, though each morning, as soon as they arose from their beds, Jan and Ted would run to the window to look out to see if it had come in the night. There was just a little covering of white on the ground, and in some places, along the streets and the sidewalks, it had been shoveled away.

"Do you think it will snow for Thanksgiving?" asked the Curlytops again and again.

"Yes, I think so," their mother would answer.

Such busy times as there were at the Martin house! Mrs. Martin and Nora were in the kitchen most of each day, baking, boiling, frying, stewing and cooking in other ways. There was to be a pumpkin pie, of course -- in fact two or three of them, as well as pies of mincemeat and of apple.

"There must be a lot of company coming," said Ted to Janet; "'cause they're bakin' an awful lot."

"Well, everybody eats a lot at Thanksgiving," said the little girl. "Only I hope we have snow and lots of company."

"Did you hear anything more about the lame boy and the missing pocketbook and money?" asked Mrs. Martin of her husband two or three days before Thanksgiving.

"No, not a thing," he answered. "He did not come back to the store, and we haven't found the lost money. I am hoping we shall, though, for, though I can't guess who the lame boy was, if he wasn't Hal, I wouldn't want to think any little chap would take what did not belong to him."

"Nor would I," said the Curlytops' mother.

The next afternoon something queer happened. Teddy and Janet had not yet come home from school, and Mrs. Martin and Nora were in the kitchen baking the last of the things for Thanksgiving and getting things ready to roast the big turkey which would come the next day.

The front doorbell rang and Mrs. Martin said:

"You'd better answer, Nora. My hands are covered with flour."

"And so is my nose," answered the maid with a laugh. "You look better to go to the front door than I do."

"Well, I guess I do," agreed Mrs. Martin with a smile. She paused to wipe her hands on a towel and then went through the hall. But when she opened the door no one was on the steps.

"That's queer," she said to herself, looking up and down the street. "I wonder if that could have been Teddy or Jan playing a joke." Then she looked at the clock and noticed that it was not yet time for the children to come home from school.

A man passing in the street saw Mrs. Martin gazing up and down the sidewalk.

"Are you looking for someone?" he asked.

"Well, someone just rang my bell," answered Mrs. Martin. "But I don't see anyone."

"I saw a lame boy go up on your veranda a few minutes ago," went on the man. "He stood there, maybe four or five seconds and then rang the bell. All at once he seemed frightened, and down he hurried off the steps and ran around the corner, limping."

"He did?" cried Mrs. Martin. "Why, how strange! Did he say anything to you?"

"No, I wasn't near enough, but I thought it queer."

"It is queer," agreed Mrs. Martin. "I wonder who he was, and if he is in sight now?"

She ran down the steps and hurried around the corner to look down the next street. But no boy, lame or not, was in sight.

"Maybe he was just playing a trick," said the man. "Though he didn't look like that kind of boy."

"No, I think it was no trick," answered the mother of the Curlytops, as she went back into the house.

"What was it?" asked Nora.

"A lame boy, but he ran away after ringing," answered Mrs. Martin. "I wonder if it could have been the boy who was at Mr. Martin's store, and who might know something about the stolen pocketbook, even if he did not take it. Perhaps he came to tell us something about it and, at the last minute, he was too frightened and ran away."

She told this to Mr. Martin when he came home, and he said it might be so.

"If it is," he went on, "that lame boy must be in town somewhere. I'd like to find him. I'll speak to the police. The poor boy may be in trouble."

The police promised to look for the lame boy and help him if he needed it. And then all else was forgotten, for a time, in the joys of the coming Thanksgiving.

The night before the great day, when the Curlytops were in the sitting-room after supper talking of the fun they would have, and when Trouble was going to sleep in his mother's lap, Daddy Martin went to the window to look out.

"It's snowing hard," he said.

"Oh, goodie!" laughed Jan.

"Now we can build the big snow house!" cried Ted.

Just then the doorbell rang loudly.




Chapter XI

The Snow Bungalow


"Who's that?" asked Mrs. Martin, without thinking, for, of course, there was no way of telling who was at the door until it was opened.

"I'll go to see," offered Daddy Martin.

"Oh, maybe it's that queer lame boy," suggested Ted.

"Don't let him get away until you talk to him," cautioned Mother Martin. "I'd like to know who he is."

"Whoever is there doesn't seem to be going to run away," remarked the Curlytops' father. "They're stamping the snow off their feet as if they intended to come in."

"Oh, I wonder if it could be them?" said Mrs. Martin questioningly.

"Who, Mother? Who do you think it is?" asked Jan, but her mother did not answer. She stood in the hall while her husband went to the door. Outside could be heard the voices of people talking.

Then the door was opened by Mr. Martin, letting in a cloud of snowflakes and a blast of cold air that made the Curlytops shiver in the warm house.

"Well, here we are!" cried a jolly voice.

"Sort of a surprise!" some one else added; a woman's voice Jan decided. The other was a man's.

"Well, how in the world did you get here at this time of night?" asked Daddy Martin in surprise. "Come right in out of the storm. We're glad to see you! Come in and get warm. It's quite a storm, isn't it?"

"Yes. And it's going to be worse," the man's voice said. "It's going to be a regular blizzard, I imagine."

"Oh, goodie!" murmured Ted.

"But who is it -- who's come to see us so late at night?" asked Janet.

"Pooh! 'Tisn't late," said her brother. "Only a little after eight o'clock. Oh, it's Aunt Jo!" he cried a moment later as he caught sight of the lady's face when she took off her veil and shook from it the snowflakes.

"Yes, it's Aunt Jo, Curlytop!" cried the lady. "I'd hug you, only I'm wet. But I'll get dry in a minute and then I will. Where's my little Curlytop girl, and where's that dear bunch of Trouble?"

"Here I is!" cried Baby William, who had been awakened when the bell rang. He had been put on the couch by his mother, but now came toddling out into the hall. "Who is it?" he asked, rubbing his sleepy eyes.

"It's Aunt Jo!" cried Ted. "Aunt Jo's come to visit us for Thanksgiving. Oh, I'm so glad!" and Teddy danced wildly about the room.

"And it's Uncle Frank, too!" cried Mother Martin. "You children don't know him as well as you do Aunt Jo, for you haven't seen him so often. But here he is!"

"Is it Uncle Frank from out West where the cowboys and Indians live?" asked Ted, stopping his dance to think of this new interest.

"That's who I am, young man!" answered the hearty voice of the man who had come through the storm with Aunt Jo. "As soon as I shake off this fur coat, which has as much snow on it as a grizzly bear gets on him when he plays tag in a blizzard, I'll have a look at you. There! It's off. Now where are the children with such curly hair? I want to see 'em!"

"Here they are," answered Daddy Martin. "They were just going to bed to get up good appetites for the Thanksgiving dinner to-morrow. But I guess we can let them stay up a little longer. We didn't expect you two until to-morrow."

"We both managed to get earlier trains than we expected," explained Aunt Jo.

"And we met each other at the Junction, without expecting to, and came on together," added Uncle Frank. "Thought we'd give you a surprise."

"Glad you did," returned Mr. Martin. "I was beginning to get afraid, if the storm kept up, that you wouldn't get here for Thanksgiving."

"Wouldn't have missed it for two dozen cow ponies and a wire fence thrown in!" laughed Uncle Frank, in his deep voice. "Now where's that curly hair?"

Jan and Ted, just a little bashful in the presence of their Western uncle, who did not often leave his ranch to come East, went forward. Uncle Frank looked at them, ran his fingers through Ted's tightly curled hair and then cried:

"Oh, I'm caught!"

"What's the matter?" asked Aunt Jo with a laugh.

"My fingers are tangled in Ted's hair and I can't get them loose!" said Uncle Frank, pretending that his hand was held fast. "Say, I heard your hair was curly," he went on, after he had finally gotten his fingers loose, having made believe it was very hard work, "but I never thought it was like this. And Jan's, too! Why, if anything, hers is tighter than Ted's."

"Yes; we call them our Curlytops," said Mother Martin.

"And here's another. His hair isn't curly, though," went on Uncle Frank. "What did you call him?"

"His name is William Anthony Martin," said Aunt Jo. "I know, for I picked out the name."

"But we call him Trouble," said Ted, who was looking eagerly at his big uncle from the West, hoping, perhaps, that he might bring out a gun or a bow and some arrows from the pockets of his fur overcoat. But Uncle Frank did nothing like that.

"Come out in the dining-room and have something to eat," invited Mr. Martin.

"No, thank you. Miss Miller and I had supper before we came here," answered Uncle Frank. "We knew we'd be a little late. But we'll sit and talk a while."

"Mother, may Ted and I stay up and listen -- a little bit?" begged Janet.

"Oh, yes, let them, do!" urged Aunt Jo. "It isn't so very late, and they don't have to go to school to-morrow. Besides if this storm keeps up all they can do is to stay in the house."

"We got big rubber boots, and we can go in deep drifts," explained Jan.

"Did you? Well, I guess the drifts will be deeper to-morrow than you've ever seen them if I'm any judge of weather," remarked Uncle Frank. "It's starting in like one of our worst blizzards."

"Then we'll be snowed in like the hermit said we'd be!" cried Ted. "That'll be fun!"

"What does he mean about a hermit?" asked Aunt Jo.

Then Daddy Martin told about the letter from grandpa at Cherry Farm, and of the hermit's prediction that there was going to be a hard winter.

"Well, Thanksgiving is a good time to be snowed in," said Uncle Frank. "There's sure to be enough to eat in the house."

"Were you ever snowed in?" asked Ted, when he was seated on one of Uncle Frank's knees and Jan was on the other.

"Oh, lots of times," was the answer.

"Tell us about it!" eagerly begged the Curlytops.

"I think you had better hear Uncle Frank's stories to-morrow," said Mother Martin. "It is getting late now, and time you were asleep. You may get up early, if you wish and you'll have all day with our nice company."

"Oh, Mother! just let Uncle Frank tell one story!" pleaded Jan.

"We haven't heard one for an awful long while," added her brother. "I mean a story like what he can tell," he added quickly. "Course you tell us nice stories, Mother, and so does Daddy, but can't Uncle Frank tell us just one?"

"I don't know," returned Mother Martin, as if not quite sure.

"Oh, please!" begged Jan and Ted together, for they thought they saw signs of their mother's giving in.

Trouble seemed to know what was going on. He wiggled down from his father's knees and climbed up on those of Uncle Frank. Then he cuddled down in the big man's arms, and the big man seemed to know just how to hold little boys, even if their pet names were like that of Trouble.

"I 'ikes a 'tory!" said Trouble simply. "I 'ikes one very much!"

"Well, now that's too bad," said Uncle Frank with a laugh. "But if daddy and mother say it can't be done, why -- it can't!"

"Do you know any short ones?" asked Mr. Martin. "I mean a story that wouldn't keep them up too late, and then keep them awake after they get to bed?"

"Oh, I guess I can dig up a story like that," said Uncle Frank, and he scratched his head, and then stuck one hand down deep in his pocket, as if he intended digging up a story from there.

"Well, I suppose they won't be happy until they hear one," said Mrs. Martin. "So you may tell them one -- but let it be short, please."

"All right," agreed Uncle Frank.

"Oh, this is lovely!" murmured Janet.

"What's the story going to be about?" asked Ted.

"What would you like it to be about?" inquired Uncle Frank.

"Tell us of the time you were snowed in," suggested Jan. "And maybe we'll have something like that happen to us."

"Ha! ha!" laughed Uncle Frank. "Well, maybe after you hear about what happened to me you won't want anything like it yourselves. However, here we go!"

He settled himself in the easy chair, cuddled Trouble a little closer to him, and, after looking up at the ceiling, as if to see any part of the story that might be printed there, Uncle Frank began:

"Once upon a time, not so very many years ago --  -- "

"Oh, I just love a story to begin that way; don't you, Ted?" asked Janet.

"Yep. It's great! Go on, Uncle Frank."

"You children mustn't interrupt or Uncle Frank can't tell, or it will take him so much longer that I'll have to put you to bed before the story is finished," said Mother Martin, playfully shaking a finger at Ted and Jan.

"All right, we'll be quiet," promised the little girl.

"Go on, Uncle Frank," begged Teddy.

"Once upon a time, a few years ago," began Uncle Frank the second time, "I was living away out West, farther than I am now, and in a place where hardly anyone else lived. I had just started to make my living in that new country, and I wanted to look about a bit and see a good place to settle in before I built my log cabin.

"I took my gun and rod, as well as something to eat, so I could hunt and fish when I wished, and I set out one day. I traveled over the plains and up and down among the mountains, and one night I found that I was lost."

"Really lost?" asked Jan, forgetting that no questions were allowed.

"Well, I guess you could call it that," said Uncle Frank. "I didn't know where I was, nor the way back to where I had come from, which was a little settlement of miners. There I was, all alone in the mountains, with night coming on, and it was beginning to snow.

"It was cold, too," said Uncle Frank, "and I was glad I had on a fur coat. It wasn't as big as the one I wore here," he said, "but I was very glad to have it, and I buttoned it around me as tight as I could and walked on in the darkness and through the snowstorm, trying to find my way back.

"But I couldn't. I seemed to be getting more lost all the while, and finally I made up my mind there was no help for it. I'd have to stay out in the woods, on top of the mountain all night."

"All alone?" asked Jan.

"All alone," answered Uncle Frank. "But I wasn't afraid, for I had my gun with me, and I'd been out all night alone before that. But I didn't like the cold. I was afraid I might freeze or get snowed in, and then I never could find my way back.

"So, before it got too dark, and before the snow came down too heavily, I stopped, made a little fire and warmed some coffee I had in a tin bottle. I drank that, ate a little cold bread and meat I had, and then I felt better.

"But I wanted some place where I could stay all night. There were no houses where I could go in and get a nice, warm bed. There were no hotels and there wasn't even a log cabin or a shack. I couldn't build a snow house, for the snow was cold and dry and wouldn't pack, so the next best thing to do, I thought, would be for me to find a hollow log and crawl into that.

"So I looked around as well as I could in the storm and darkness," went on Uncle Frank, "and finally I found a log that would just about suit me. I cleared away the snow from one end, kicking it with my boots, and then, when I had buttoned my fur coat around me, I crawled into the log with my gun.

"It was dark inside the hollow log, and not very nice, but it was warm, and I was out of the cold wind and the snow. Of course it was very dark, but as I didn't have anything to read, I didn't need a light.

"After a while I began to feel sleepy, and before I knew it I was dozing off. Just before I began to dream about being in a nice warm house, with some roast turkey and cranberry sauce for supper, I felt some one else getting inside the hollow log with me.

"I was too sleepy to ask who it was. I thought it was somebody like myself, lost in the storm, who had crawled in as I had done to keep from freezing. So I just said: 'Come on, there's lots of room for two of us,' and then I went fast asleep. I thought I'd let the other man sleep, too.

"Well, I stayed in the log all night and then I woke up. I thought it must be morning, but I couldn't see in the dark log. Anyhow, I wanted to get up. So I poked at what I thought was the other man sleeping with me. I poked him again, and I noticed that he had on a fur coat like mine.

"'Come on!' I cried. 'Time to get up!'

"And then, all of a sudden there was a growl and a sniff and a snuff, and, instead of a man crawling out the other end of the log, there was a big, shaggy bear!"

"Really?" asked Jan, her eyes big with surprise.

"Really and truly," said Uncle Frank.

"Oh! Oh!" gasped Teddy. "Weren't you scared?"

"Well, I didn't have time to be," answered Uncle Frank. "You see, I didn't know it was a bear that had crawled into the log to sleep with me until he crawled out, and there wasn't any use in getting frightened then.

"Out of the log scrambled the bear, and I guess he was as much surprised as I was to find he'd been sleeping in the same hollow-tree-hotel with a man. Away he ran! I could see him running down the hill when I crawled out of the log. Morning had come, the snow had stopped, and I could see to find my way back to the town I had left. But I was glad the bear got in the log with me, for he helped keep me warm. And, all the while, I thought it was another man with a fur coat on like mine.

"There, now that's all the story, and you Curlytops must go to bed! Hello! Trouble's asleep already!"

And so the little fellow was, in Uncle Frank's arms.

"Oh, that was an awful nice story!" said Jan. "Thank you!"

"Yes, it was," added her brother. "I'm awful glad you came to see us," he went on. "I hope you'll stay forever and tell us a story every night. We like stories!"

"Well, one every night would be quite a lot," said his uncle. "But I'll see about it. Anyhow, Aunt Jo and I are glad to be here -- at least I am," and Aunt Jo nodded to show that she was also.

"Come, children!" called Mrs. Martin. "Uncle Frank was very good to tell you such a nice, funny story. But now you really must go to bed. To-morrow is another day, and our company will be here then, and for some time longer."

"Did you know they were coming, Mother?" asked Jan, as she slid off her uncle's knee.

"Well, I had an idea," was the smiling answer.

"Is this the surprise daddy was talking about?" Ted queried.

"Yes, this is it," answered his father. "Do you like it?"

"Um, yes!" laughed Ted, and Jan smiled to show that she was of the same mind.

When the Curlytops were in bed Aunt Jo and Uncle Frank told Mr. and Mrs. Martin of their journey. For some time each one had been planning to come to visit their relatives, Aunt Jo from her home in Clayton and Uncle Frank from his Western ranch in Montana. Of course he had started some time before Aunt Jo did, as he had farther to travel. But they both reached the railroad junction, not far from Cresco, at the same time. Then they came the rest of the way together, arriving in the midst of the storm.

"Well, we're glad you're here," said Mrs. Martin, "and the children are delighted. They knew we had some surprise for them, though we did not tell them you were expected. Now I expect they'll hardly sleep, planning things to do in the snow and on the ice."

Indeed Ted and Jan did not go to sleep at once, but talked to each other from their rooms until Mrs. Martin sent Nora up to tell them if they did not get quiet they could not have fun with Aunt Jo and Uncle Frank.

"Oh, it's snowing yet, Jan!" cried Ted, as he jumped out of bed the next morning. "It's going to be a fine storm!"

"That's good!" laughed Janet. "I wonder if Uncle Frank knows how to build a snow house."

"We'll ask him. Come on! Let's hurry down and see if he's up yet."

Uncle Frank was up, and so was Aunt Jo and the whole family, except Trouble, for it was later than the Curlytops thought.

"Make a snow house? Of course I know how!" laughed Uncle Frank. "Many a one I've made out on the prairie when I've been caught in a blizzard."

"Why don't you build a snow bungalow?" asked Aunt Jo.

"What's a bungalow?" asked Jan.

"Well, it's a sort of low, one-story house, with all the rooms on one floor," explained her aunt. "There is no upstairs to it."

"We did build a snow house, and it hadn't any upstairs," said Ted. "But Nicknack, our goat, saw his picture in one of the glass-ice windows, and he butted a hole in the wall."

"Well, he's a great goat!" laughed Uncle Frank. "But if you're going to build another snow house, do as Aunt Jo says, and make it a low bungalow. Then it won't be so easy to knock down. We build low houses out West so the wind storms won't knock them down so easily, and you can pretend your goat is a wind storm."

"That'll be fun!" laughed Ted.

"And we'll make the bungalow with sides and a roof of wood," went on Aunt Jo, "and cover the boards with snow. Then it will look just like a snow house, but it will be stronger. I'll help you. I'm going to build a bungalow myself this summer," she went on, "and I'd like to practise on a snow one first."

"Come on!" cried Ted. "We'll build the snow bungalow!"

"Better get your breakfasts first," said his mother.

This did not take long, for Ted and Jan were anxious to be at their fun. And a little later, with Aunt Jo and Uncle Frank to help, the snow bungalow was started.




Chapter XII

Trouble Is Lost


"What sort of house are you going to build, Uncle Frank?" asked Ted, as he and his sister watched their uncle and their aunt out in the big yard back of the house.

"Well, I call it a shack, though your aunt calls it a bungalow," was the answer. "Between us I guess we'll manage to make something in which you Curlytops can have fun. I've made 'em like this on the prairies -- those are the big, wide plains, you know, out West, where there are very few trees, and not much lumber," he went on. "We have to use old boards, tree limbs, when we can find them, and anything else we come across.

"It used to be that way, though there is more lumber now. But I've often taken a few sticks and boards and made a sort of shelter and then covered it with snow. It will stand up almost all winter, if you don't let a goat knock it down," he added with a laugh.

"We won't let Nicknack knock this snow bungalow down," said Janet.

"No, we'll coax him to be good," added Aunt Jo.

It had stopped snowing, though heavy clouds overhead seemed to hold more that might fall down later, and the Curlytops had not given up hope of being snowed in, though really they did not know all the trouble that might be caused by such a thing.

There were plenty of boards and sticks in the Martin barn and around it, and Aunt Jo and Uncle Frank had soon made a framework for the bungalow. It was larger than the first snow house the children had made, and it was to have a wooden door to it so the cold could be kept out better than with a blanket.

"What are you doing?" asked Tom Taylor on Thanksgiving day morning, when he came over to play with Jan and Ted.

"Making a snow bungalow," Ted answered. "Want to help?"

"My, yes!" answered Tom. "Say, it's going to be a dandy!" he exclaimed when he had been introduced to Aunt Jo and Uncle Frank, and was told what they were doing to give the Curlytops a good time.

When the dinner-bell rang the wooden part of the bungalow was nearly finished and there were two windows in it of real glass, some old sashes having been found in the barn. These had once been in a chicken coop.

"Well, we're glad to have Uncle Frank and Aunt Jo with us for the Thanksgiving dinner," said Daddy Martin, as they all sat at the table.

"And I'm going to be right next to my dear little Trouble!" cried Aunt Jo, reaching over to hug Baby William.

"Look out he doesn't eat everything off your plate," warned Mother Martin with a laugh. "He says he's very hungry."

"Well, that's what everybody ought to be on Thanksgiving day," said Uncle Frank. "We ought to be hungry enough to like a good dinner, and be thankful we have it, and wish everybody else had the same."

"That's right!" cried Daddy Martin, and then he began to carve the big, roasted turkey, while Mother Martin dished out the red cranberry sauce.

I will not tell you all the good things there were to eat at the Martins' that Thanksgiving, for fear I might spoil your appetite for what you are going to have to-day -- whatever day it happens to be. Not that you might not have just as nice a dinner, but it will be different, I know.

Such a brown, roasted turkey, such red cranberry sauce, such crisp, white celery and such a sweet pumpkin pie -- never were they seen before -- at least as far as I know.

There was eating and talking and laughter and more eating and more talking and more laughter and then they began all over again.

At last even Uncle Frank, who was a bigger man than Daddy Martin, said he had had enough to eat. So the chairs were pushed back, after Nora had brought in some snow cream, which was something like ice cream only made with snow instead of ice, and Uncle Frank told about a prairie fire.

Then Aunt Jo told one about having been on a ship that struck a rock and sank. But no one was drowned, she was glad to be able to say.

Ted and Jan liked to listen to the stories, but they kept looking out in the back yard, and finally Uncle Frank said:

"I know what these Curlytops want!"

"What?" asked Mother Martin.

"They want to go out into the yard and finish the snow bungalow! Don't you, Curlytops?"

"Yes!" cried Jan and Ted.

"And I want to go out, too," went on Uncle Frank, "for I'm not used to staying in the house so much, especially after I've eaten such a big dinner. So come on out and we'll have some fun."

"I'm coming, too!" cried Aunt Jo. "I love it in the fresh air and the snow."

"Come on, Mother Martin!" called Mr. Martin to his wife. "We'll go out with them. It will do us good to frolic in the snow."

"All right. Wait until I get on some rubbers."

"Me come, too!" cried Trouble, who had fallen asleep after dinner, but who was now awake.

"Yes, bring him along," said Daddy Martin.

They were soon all out in the yard. The storm had not started in again, but Uncle Frank said it might before night, and there would, very likely, be much more snow.

Then they began the finishing touches on the snow bungalow. They piled the masses of white flakes on top of and on all sides of the board shack, or cabin, Uncle Frank and Aunt Jo had built. Soon none of the boards, except those where the door was fastened on, could be seen. They were covered with snow.

"There!" cried Uncle Frank, when the last shovelful had been tossed on. "There's as fine a snow bungalow as you could want. It will be nice and warm, too, even on a cold day."

"And Nicknack can't knock it down, either," added Ted.

"Well, he'll have harder work than he did to knock down the plain snow house you built," said Aunt Jo. "Now let's go inside and see how much room there is."

The bungalow would not hold them all at once, but they took turns going in, and it was high enough for Uncle Frank to stand in, though he had to stoop a little.

Some benches and chairs were made of the pieces of wood left over and Uncle Frank even built a little table in the middle of the play bungalow.

"You can eat your dinners here when it's too warm in the house," he said with a laugh.

Then Ted, Janet, Tom Taylor and his sister Lola had fun in the new bungalow while the older folk went in to sit and talk of the days when they were children and played in the snow.

Daddy Martin told about the strange lame boy who had come to his store and, later, to the house, but who had gone away without waiting to tell what he wanted.

"Ted and Jan are anxious to see him to make sure he is not their friend Hal," said Mr. Martin. "But I do not think it is. Hal would not take a pocketbook."

"Then you have never found the lost money?" asked Mrs. Martin.

"No, never," her husband answered. "Still I do not want to say the lame boy took it until I am more sure."

The Curlytops and their friends played in the yard around the snow bungalow until it was getting dark. Trouble had been brought in some time before by his mother, and now it was the hour for Jan and Ted to come in.

"We'll go coasting to-morrow, Tom!" called Ted to his chum.

"All right," was the answer. "I'll call for you right after breakfast."

"We'll hitch Nicknack to the big sled and make him pull us to the hill," said Janet, for Mr. Martin had bought a large, second-hand sled to which the goat could be harnessed. The sled would hold five children, with a little squeezing, and Trouble was often taken for a ride with his brother and sister, Tom and Lola also being invited.

"Come to supper, children!" called Mrs. Martin, as Ted and Jan came in from having spent most of the afternoon in the snow bungalow. "I don't suppose you are hungry after the big dinner you ate," she went on, "but maybe you can eat a little."

"I can eat a lot!" cried Ted.

"I'm hungry, too," added Janet.

"Well, I wish you'd wash Trouble's hands and face, Jan," went on Mrs. Martin. "I hope you didn't let him throw too many snowballs."

"Why, Trouble wasn't with us -- not after you brought him in!" exclaimed Ted.

"He wasn't?" gasped Mrs. Martin. "Hasn't he been out with you since about an hour ago, and didn't he come in with you just now?"

"No," answered Jan.

"Why, I put on his mittens, little boots and jacket," said his mother, a worried look coming over her face. "He said he wanted to go out and play with you. I opened the back door for him, and just then Aunt Jo called me. Are you sure he didn't go out to you?"

"No, he didn't," declared Jan. "We haven't seen him since you brought him in. Oh, dear! is Trouble lost?"

Mrs. Martin set down a dish that was in her hand. Her face turned pale and she looked around the room. No Trouble was in sight.

"What's the matter?" asked Mr. Martin, coming in just then.

"Why, I thought Baby William was out in the yard, playing with Jan and Ted," said Mrs. Martin, "but they came in just now and they say he wasn't. Oh, where could he have gone?"

"Maybe he went out in the front instead of to the back when you put on his things," said Aunt Jo, "and he may be in one of the neighbor's houses. We'll go and ask, Uncle Frank and I."

"I'll come, too," said Mr. Martin. "Mother, you call through the house. He may not have gone out at all."




Chapter XIII

Nicknack Has A Ride


Mrs. Martin hurried into the hall and in a loud voice called:

"Trouble! Trouble! Where are you? Baby William! Come to Mother!"

There was no answer. Ted and Jan looked anxiously at each other. Their father had gone with Uncle Frank and Aunt Jo to inquire in the houses next door and those across the street. Sometimes Trouble wandered to the neighbors', but this was in the summer, when doors were open and he could easily get out. He had never before been known to run away in winter.

"Oh, where can he be?" exclaimed Janet.

"We'll find him," declared Teddy.

He saw that Janet was almost ready to cry.

"Help me look, children," said Mrs. Martin. "He may be in one of the rooms here. We must look in every one."

So the search began.

The Curlytops and their mother had gone through about half the rooms of the house without finding Trouble when Uncle Frank and Aunt Jo came back.

"Did you find him?" they asked Baby William's mother.

"No," she answered. Then she asked eagerly: "Did you?"

"He hadn't been to any of the neighbors' houses where we inquired," said Uncle Frank.

"Dick is going to ask farther down," added Aunt Jo. "I think he said at a house where a little boy named Henry lives."

"Oh, yes! Henry Simpson!" exclaimed Ted. "Trouble likes him. But Henry's house is away down at the end of the street."

"Well, sometimes William goes a good way off," said his mother. "I hope he's there. But we must search all over the house."

"And even down cellar," added Uncle Frank. "I know when I was a little fellow I ran away and hid, and they found me an hour or so later in the coal bin. At least so I've been told. I don't remember about it myself. I must have been pretty dirty."

"Oh, I don't think Trouble would go in the coal," said his mother. "But, Nora, you might look down there. We'll go upstairs now."

With Uncle Frank and Aunt Jo to help in the search the Curlytops and their mother went up toward the top of the house. Mother Martin looked in her room, where Trouble slept. He might have crawled into her bed or into his own little crib, she thought. But he was not there.

"He isn't in my room!" called Ted, after he had looked about it.

"Are you sure?" asked the anxious mother.

"Yes'm."

"And he isn't here," added Janet, as she came out of her room. "I looked under the bed and everywhere."

"In the closet?" asked Uncle Frank.

"Yes, in the closet, too," replied Janet.

"Maybe he's in my room," said Aunt Jo. "It's a large one and there are two closets there. Poor little fellow, maybe he's crying his eyes out."

"If he was crying we'd hear him," remarked Ted.

He and Janet followed Aunt Jo into her room. The light was turned on and they looked around. Trouble was not in sight and Aunt Jo was just starting to look in her large clothes closet when she suddenly saw something that caused her to stop and to cry out:

"Oh, what made it move?"

"What move?" asked Uncle Frank, who had followed her and the Curlytops in. "What did you see move?"

"My big suitcase," replied Aunt Jo. "See, it's there against the wall, but I'm sure I saw it move."

"Did any of you touch it?" asked Uncle Frank.

"No," answered Aunt Jo; and Ted and Jan said the same thing.

"What is it?" Mother Martin asked, coming into the room. "Did you find him?" she asked anxiously. "He isn't in my room, nor in Ted's or Janet's. Oh, where can he be?"

"Look! It's moving again!" cried Aunt Jo.

She pointed to the suitcase. It was an extra large one, holding almost as much as a trunk, and it stood against the wall of her room.

As they looked they all saw the cover raised a little, and then the whole suitcase seemed to move slightly.

"Maybe it's Skyrocket, our dog," said Ted. "He likes to crawl into places like that to sleep."

"Or maybe it's Turnover, our cat," added Janet.

Uncle Frank hurried across the room to the suitcase. Before he could reach it the cover was suddenly tossed back and there, curled up inside, where he had been sleeping, was the lost Trouble!

"Oh, Trouble, what a fright you gave us!" cried his mother.

"Were you there all the while?" Aunt Jo demanded.

Trouble sat up in the suitcase, which was plenty big enough for him when it was empty. He rubbed his eyes and smiled at those gathered around him.

"Iss. I been s'eepin' here long time," he said.

"Well, of all things!" cried Aunt Jo. "I couldn't imagine what made the suitcase move, and there it was Trouble wiggling in his sleep."

"How did you come to get into it?" asked Uncle Frank.

"Nice place. I like it," was all the reason Trouble could give.

He still had on his jacket and rubber boots which his mother had put on him when he said he wanted to go out and play in the snow with Jan and Ted.

"And, instead of doing that he must have come upstairs when I wasn't looking and crawled in here," said Mrs. Martin. "You mustn't do such a thing again, Baby William."

"Iss, I not do it. I'se hungry!"

"No wonder! It's past his supper time!" cried Aunt Jo.

"Did you find him?" called the anxious voice of Daddy Martin from the front door. He had just come in. "He wasn't down at the Simpsons'," he went on.

"He's here all right!" answered Uncle Frank, for Mrs. Martin was hugging Trouble so hard that she could not answer. She had really been very much frightened about the little lost boy.

"Well, he certainly is a little tyke!" said Mr. Martin, when he had been told what had happened. "Hiding in a suitcase! That's a new kind of trouble!"

They were all laughing now, though they had been frightened. Trouble told, in his own way, how, wandering upstairs, he had seen Aunt Jo's big suitcase, and he wanted to see what it would be like to lie down in it. He could do it, by curling up, and he was so comfortable once he had pulled the cover down, that he fell asleep.

The cover had not closed tightly, so there was left an opening through which Trouble could get air to breathe. So he did not suffer from being lost, though he frightened the whole household.

Supper over, they sat and talked about what had happened that day, from building the snow bungalow to hunting for Trouble. Before that part had been reached Trouble was sound asleep in his mother's lap, and was carried off to his real bed this time. A little later the Curlytops followed, ready to get up early the next day to have more fun.

"Well, we haven't got that big storm yet, but it's coming," said Uncle Frank, as he looked at the sky, which was filled with clouds.

"And will we be snowed in?" asked Ted.

"Well, I wouldn't exactly say that," his uncle answered. "Would you like to be?"

"If you and Aunt Jo will stay."

"Well, I guess we'll have to stay if we get snowed in, Curlytop. But we'll have to wait and see what happens. Where are you going now?"

"Over on the little hill to coast. Want to come with me, Uncle Frank?"

"No, thank you. I'm too old for that. I'll come some time, though, and watch you and Janet. What are you going to do with your goat?" he asked, as he saw Ted taking Nicknack out of the stable.

"Oh, our goat pulls us over to the hill in the big sled, and then we slide down hill on our little sleds. I'm going to take Jan and Tom Taylor and Lola."

"And Trouble, too?" Uncle Frank asked.

"Not now. Trouble is getting washed and he can't come out."

"No, I guess he'd get cold if he did," laughed Uncle Frank.

He helped Ted hitch Nicknack to the big sled, not that Ted needed any help, for he often harnessed the goat himself, but Uncle Frank liked to do this. Then the Curlytops and Tom and Lola Taylor started for the hill.

There they found many of their playmates, and after Nicknack had been unhitched so he could rest he was tied to a tree and a little hay put in front of him to eat. The hay had been brought from home in the big sled which stood near the tree to which Nicknack was tied, and Ted and Jan began to have fun.

Down the hill they coasted, having races with their chums, now and then falling off their sleds and rolling half way down the hill.

"I know what let's do, Teddy," said Jan after a bit.

"I know something, too!" he laughed. "I can wash your face!"

"No, please don't!" she begged, holding her mittened hands in front of her. "I'm cold now."

"Well, it'll make your cheeks nice and red," went on Teddy.

"They're as red now as I want 'em," answered Jan. "What I say let's do is to see can go the farthest on our sleds."

"Oh, you mean have a race?"

"No, not zactly a race," answered the little girl. "When you race you see who can go the fastest. But now let's see who can go the longest."

"Oh, I see!" exclaimed Teddy. "That will be fun. Come on!" and he started to drag his sled to the top of the hill, Janet following after, "like Jack and Jill," as she laughingly told her brother.

When the two children were about half way up the hill, their heads bowed down, for the wind cut into their faces, they heard a shout of:

"Look out the way! Look out the way! Here we come!"

Ted and Jan looked up quickly and saw, coasting toward them, another little boy and girl on their sleds.

"Come over here!" cried Teddy to his sister. "Come over on my side of the hill and you'll be out of the way."

"No, you come over with me!" said Janet. "This is the right side, and mother said we must always keep to the right no matter if we walked up or slid down hill."

"Well, maybe that's so," agreed Teddy. "I guess I'll come over by you," and he started to move across the hill, while the little boy and girl coasting toward him and Jan kept crying:

"Look out the way! Look out the way! Here we come!"

And then a funny thing happened. Teddy thought he was getting safely out of the way, and he certainly tried hard enough, but before he could reach the side of his sister Janet, along came the sled of the little boy, and right into Teddy's fat legs it ran.

The little boy tried to steer out of the way, but he was too late, and the next Teddy knew, he was sitting partly on the little boy and partly on the sled, sliding down the hill up which he had been walking a little while before.

"Oh!" grunted the little boy when Teddy part way sat down on him.

"Oh!" grunted Teddy.

The reason they both grunted was because their breaths were jolted out of them. But they were not hurt, and when the sled with the two boys on it kept on sliding downhill all the other boys and girls laughed to see the funny sight.

"Well!" cried Teddy when he reached the bottom of the hill and got up, "I didn't know I was going to have that ride."

"Neither did I," said the little boy, whose name was Wilson Decker. "Me and my sister were having a race," he went on, "and now she beat me."

"I'm sorry," said Teddy. "I didn't mean to get in your way. My sister and I are going to have a race, too, and that's what we were walking up to do when I sat on you. Don't you want to race with us? We're going to have a new kind."

"What kind, Curlytop?" the little boy asked.

"To see who can go the longest but not the fastest," answered Teddy. "Come on, it'll be a lot of fun!"

So the little boy and his sister, whose sled, with her on it, had first gotten to the bottom of the hill, went up together with Teddy, to where Jan was waiting for him.

"Oh, Teddy!" cried the little Curlytop girl, laughing, "you did look so funny!"

"I -- I sort of felt funny!" replied Teddy. "They're going to race with us," he went on, as he pointed to Wilson Decker and his sister.

"That'll be nice," returned Janet. "Now we'll all get on our sleds in a line at the top of the hill. It doesn't matter who goes first or last, but we must start even, and the one who makes his sled go the longest way to the bottom of the hill beats the race."

They all said this would be fair, and some of the other children gathered at the top of the hill to watch the race, which was different from the others.

"All ready! I'm going to start!" cried Janet, and away she went, coasting down the hill. The other three waited a little, for there was no hurry, and then, one after the other, Wilson, Teddy and Elsie (who was Wilson's sister) started down the hill.

Janet's sled was the first to stop at the bottom, as she had been the first to start, and she cried:

"Nobody can come up to me!"

But Elsie on her sled was exactly even with Janet.

"Well, if Teddy or your brother don't go farther than we did then we win the race -- a half of it to each of us," said Janet.

And that's just what happened. Teddy's sled went a little farther than did Wilson's, but neither of the boys could come up to the girls, so Jan and Elsie won, and they were proud of it. Then they started another race.

They were having grand fun, shouting and laughing, when suddenly a strange dog, which none of the children remembered having seen before, ran along and began barking at Nicknack.

The goat, who was used to the gentle barking of Skyrocket, did not like this strange, savage dog, which seemed ready to bite him.

"Baa-a-a-a!" bleated the goat.

"Bow-w-w!" barked the dog, and he snapped at Nicknack's legs.

This was more than the goat could stand. With another frightened leap he gave a jump that broke the strap by which he was tied to the tree. Then Nicknack jumped again, and this time, strangely enough, he landed right inside the sled which, a little while before, he had pulled along the snow to the hill.

Right into the sled leaped Nicknack, and then another funny thing happened.

The sled was on the edge of the hill, and when the goat jumped into it he gave it such a sudden push that it began sliding downhill. Right down the hill slid the sled and Nicknack was in it.

"Oh, your goat's having a ride! Your goat's having a ride!" cried the other children to the Curlytops.




Chapter XIV

Snowed In


Nicknack was indeed having a ride. Whether he knew it or not, or whether he wanted it or not, he was sliding downhill in the very sled in which he had pulled the Curlytops a little while before.

"Oh, look!" cried Janet.

"You'd better catch him 'fore he gets hurt!" added Tom.

"I never knew a goat could ride downhill!" laughed Jack Turton, a funny, fat, little fellow.

"Did you teach him that trick, Curlytop?" asked Ford Henderson, the big boy who had carried Janet home the day she went through the ice.

"I guess he must have learned it himself," answered Ted.

"That bad dog made him do it," said Janet. "Go on away, you bad dog!" she cried, stamping her foot.

Then Janet caught up some snow in her hand and threw it at the dog, which gave a surprised bark and ran away, with his tail between his legs, the way dogs do when they know they have done something wrong for which they deserve a whipping.

Perhaps, too, this dog was so surprised at seeing a goat ride downhill that he ran away on that account, and not because Janet threw a snowball at him. For a goat riding down a snow hill in a sled is certainly a funny sight. I never saw one myself, though I have seen a goat in a circus ride down a wooden hill made of planks and this goat sat on a seat in a wagon that, afterward, he drew about the ring with a clown in it.

So, I suppose, if a goat can ride downhill in a wagon it is not much harder to do the same thing in a sled.

At any rate, Nicknack rode down the hill, and the big sled kept going faster and faster as it glided over the slippery snow.

"Get out, Nicknack! Get out!" cried Janet, as she saw what was happening to her pet. "You'll be hurt! Jump out of the sled!"

Ted ran down the hill after the sliding sled, but as it was now going very fast, the little boy could not catch up to it.

"I guess your goat won't be hurt," said Ford Henderson to Jan. "Goats can climb rocks and jump down off them, so I guess even if his sled upsets and spills him out Nicknack won't get hurt."

"The snow is soft," said Lola.

"Look, he is going to upset!" cried Ted, who had stopped running and, with the other children, was looking down the hill. Nicknack was half way to the bottom now.

Just as Ted spoke the sled gave a twist to one side and Nicknack cried:

"Baa-a-a-a!"

Then, just as the goat was about to leap out, the sled ran into a bank of snow, turned over on the side and the next moment Nicknack went flying, head first, into a big, white drift.

"Oh, our nice goat will be killed!" cried Jan. "Oh, Teddy, you'd better go for a doctor!"

"No, Nicknack won't be hurt!" said Ford Henderson, the big boy, trying not to laugh, though Jan did make a very funny face, half crying. "Goats often land head first on their horns. Anyhow, I've read in a book that they do, and they don't get hurt at all. Goats like to fall that way. He's all right. See! He's getting out of the drift now."

And so Nicknack was. He had not been in the least hurt when he jumped, or was thrown, head first into the soft snow, though he might have broken one of his legs if he had rolled downhill with the sled. For that is what the sled did after it upset.

Kicking and scrambling his way out of the snow bank, Nicknack climbed up the hill again. He could easily do this, even without the pieces of rubber tied on his hoofs, for they were sharp hoofs, and he could dig them in the soft snow, as boys stick their skates into the ice.

Up came Nicknack, and then with a little waggle of his funny, short, stubby tail he walked over to a little hay still left near his feeding place, and began to eat.

"Say, he's a good goat all right!" cried Tom Taylor. "He's a regular trick goat! He ought to be in a circus."

"Maybe we'll get up a circus and have him in it some day next summer," promised Ted.

"You'd better go an' get our sled 'fore it's broke," called Janet to him.

"That's right," agreed Ford. "Some of the coasters might run into it and break it, or hurt themselves. I'll get it for you."

Ford was not coasting on the little hill, being too big a boy. But he liked the Curlytops and was always helping them when he could, even before he helped get Janet out of the frozen pond when she broke through the ice.

The heavy sled, to which Nicknack could be hitched, was not easy to pull up the hill, but Ford managed to do it. Then, after Ted, his sister and their playmates had coasted all they wanted to, the goat was harnessed again, and back home he trotted over the snow, pulling the Curlytops.

Ted had fastened some sleighbells to his pet, and they now made a merry jingle as Nicknack trotted along. The goat went quite fast, for I suppose he knew a nice supper of the things he liked was waiting for him in his stable. And it was not altogether pieces of paper off tin cans, either, though some goats like to chew that paper because it has sweet paste on it.

"Well, did you have a nice time?" asked Uncle Frank, as the Curlytops came home.

"Fine!" cried Janet.

"And Nicknack had a ride downhill!" added her brother.

"No!" exclaimed Uncle Frank, in surprise. "Now you're fooling me!"

"Nope!" said Ted earnestly. "He did, honest!" and he told all about it.

Aunt Jo and the other grown-ups also had to hear the story, and there was many a good laugh as the little Curlytops and the grown folks sat in the living-room that evening and talked over the things which had happened during the day.

"It's getting colder," remarked Daddy Martin, as he went out on the porch to look at the thermometer before going to bed.

"Does it look as if it would snow?" asked his wife.

"Well, there are no stars out, so it must be cloudy, and cloudy weather in winter generally means snow."

"Have we any of the roast turkey left from Thanksgiving?" asked Uncle Frank.

"Oh, yes, plenty," answered Daddy Martin. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, so if we get snowed in we'll have plenty to eat."

"Oh, we'll have plenty besides turkey," put in Mother Martin. "But I don't believe we'll get snowed in."

It was not quite time for Ted and Janet to go to bed, and they liked to sit up and listen to what their father and mother, Aunt Jo and Uncle Frank had to say. The Curlytops loved company as much as you children do.

Trouble had been put to bed, though not before he had made his sister and brother tell, over and over again, how Nicknack rode downhill on the sled. Trouble laughed each time he heard the story.

The Curlytops were playing a little game with Uncle Frank, and Aunt Jo, Daddy and Mother Martin were talking about the good times they used to have in winter when they were children, when Mrs. Martin said:

"I feel a cold wind blowing, don't the rest of you?"

"It is chilly," agreed her husband. "The wind must have sprung up suddenly and is coming through the cracks of the windows."

"There's more wind than comes through a crack," said Mrs. Martin. "I think a door is open. It comes from the front. Did you shut the hall door, Dick?"

"Yes, I closed it after I came in from looking at the thermometer," answered her husband.

"Well, I'm going to see what makes such a draft on my back!" exclaimed Mrs. Martin, getting up.

She went out into the hall, and the others did not think much more about it for a little while until Mrs. Martin suddenly cried:

"No wonder I felt a cold wind! Trouble Martin! What will you do next? Oh, dear! You're always doing something! Come in this instant!"

"What's he doing now? I thought he was safe in bed and away over in Dreamland," said Daddy Martin.

"So did I," returned his wife. "But he must have gotten up and come downstairs. I didn't hear a sound, but here the little tyke has the front door open! Oh, how cold it is!"

"What made you do it, Trouble?" his father asked, as he caught the little fellow up in his arms.

"Trouble want to see snow," was the answer.

"It is snowing, and snowing hard!" exclaimed Ted. "Hurray, it's a regular blizzard!"

Indeed it was snowing hard. Those inside had a glimpse of the storm before Daddy Martin closed the door Trouble had opened. It had not been fastened tight and the little boy had managed to pull it open. He had awakened after being put to sleep for the night in his crib, and had crept downstairs. His mother thought the wind blowing the hard flakes of snow against a window near him must have awakened him.

"I'll go up to bed with him now," she said, "and I'll see that he doesn't get up again until morning."

"I guess we'll all go to bed," said Aunt Jo. "I'm tired and sleepy myself."

Ted and Jan looked out of the window as they began to undress.

"It's snowing hard," said Teddy.

"And maybe we'll be snowed in!" added his sister.

All night the storm raged. The wind blew hard and the snow came down in great, white feathery piles. Ted and Jan slept soundly, for they had played hard the day before. It was late in the day when they awakened, and they saw a light in the hall outside their room.

"What's the matter?" asked Janet, as she saw her mother up and dressed. "What you dressed for at night, Mother?"

"Hush! Don't wake Trouble. He was restless all night, but he is sleeping now. It isn't night, it's morning."

"But what makes it so dark?" asked Teddy.

"Because the snow covers nearly all the windows, especially on this side of the house."

"Is it snowing yet?" asked Jan.

"Yes; snowing hard," her mother answered.

"Are we snowed in?" asked Ted.

"Yes," replied Mrs. Martin, "I'm afraid we are snowed in, Teddy boy. It's a terrible storm, and very cold!"




Chapter XV

Driven Back


Teddy and Janet, who had put on their bath robes as they crawled out of bed, looked at one another in the light that streamed into their mother's room from the hall. Their faces were happy. They were not afraid of the big storm. It was just what they had hoped would happen. But they did not know all the trouble that it was to cause.

"Are we really snowed in?" asked Janet.

"Yes, I think we really are," answered her mother, motioning to the children to come out into the hall so they would not awaken Trouble.

"Just like that hermit grandpa wrote about said we'd be?" Ted wanted to know.

"Well, I don't know just how big a storm that hermit thought would come," said Mrs. Martin; "but this is certainly a bad one. If you get dressed you can look out of the windows at the back of the house. The snow isn't so high there, and you can see what a lot has fallen in the night."

"Where's daddy?" asked Ted.

"He's getting ready to go out to the barn to see if the horse and cow are all right." The Martins had lately bought a cow, and they had had a horse for some time, though the children would rather ride behind their goat Nicknack than in the carriage with old Jim, who was not a very fast horse.

"Come on, Jan!" called Ted. "We'll get dressed and we'll go out and have some fun."

"Oh, no, you can't go out!" exclaimed his mother. "And please don't make much noise."

"Why can't we go out?" asked Janet at once.

"Because the snow is too deep. It's over your heads in some of the drifts, and it's so cold and still snowing so hard that I wouldn't dream of letting you Curlytops go out."

"Not even with our new rubber boots?" Teddy asked. "They are good and high and we could wade through the snow with them."

"Not even with your new rubber boots, Teddy boy. Now be good and don't tease. Get washed and dressed, and Nora will give you some breakfast."

"Come on!" called Ted in a whisper to his sister. "We'll have some fun anyhow! Snowed in! That's just what we wanted!"

"Snowed in, is it?" exclaimed Uncle Frank, coming from his room. "So you have got a real snowstorm here at last, have you?" he went on to Mrs. Martin. "Well, this makes me think of my ranch in the West. Where's Dick?" he asked.

"He's trying to see if he can get out to the barn to make sure the horse and cow have water and something to eat," said Mrs. Martin, for her husband had gotten up a little earlier.

"Well, I'll go and help him," said Uncle Frank. "I'm used to storms like this. It's a regular blizzard by the sound of it."

Indeed the wind was howling around the corner of the house, and at times it seemed to blow so hard that the house shook. As yet Ted and Jan had not had a look outside, for the windows upstairs, from which they had tried to see the storm, were coated with snow. The window sills had drifted full of the white flakes, and more had been piled on top of them. Then the warmth inside the room had made the snow that blew on the windows melt a little. This had frozen and more snow had fallen and been blown on the glass until from some of the windows nothing at all could be seen.

"But if you go downstairs to the kitchen I think you can look out a little," said Mrs. Martin to her two Curlytops.

Downstairs hurried Janet and Teddy. They only stopped to call "Good-morning!" to Nora, who was busy at the stove, and then the two children pressed their faces against the window panes.

They could not see much at first -- just a cloud of swirling snowflakes that seemed to fill the air to overflowing. Then Janet cried:

"Why, it's almost up to the window sill, Teddy!"

"That's right! The back yard is full of snow, Nora!"

"I know it is. I went in over my knees when I went out to see if the morning paper had come."

"Did it come, Nora?"

"Indeed it didn't! I guess there won't be any paper for a few days if this storm keeps up, for the boys can't get around to deliver it. I could hardly get the door shut after I opened it. It's terrible!"

"It's fun!" cried Teddy.

"Course it is!" agreed Janet. "We wanted to be snowed in!"

"Well, you got your wish, Curlytops, and I hope it isn't any worse than that," said Nora. "Though how we're to get out of the house and get things to eat is more than I know."

"We've got lots left from Thanksgiving," said Teddy.

"Haven't we got any milk?" asked Janet.

"Oh, yes, there's plenty left from last night, though if the storm keeps up I don't see how your father is going to get out to the barn to milk the cow, and Patrick cannot get over to do it through this storm."

Patrick was a man who milked for the Martins and sometimes did other work for them about the place.

"Daddy can milk," said Ted.

"Yes, I know he can," agreed Nora, "if he can only get out to the barn. But look at the big drifts in the yard."

Jan and Ted looked out again. The yard was indeed filled with great heaps of snow, many of them higher than the heads of the children. The yard was a big one and at the far end was the barn.

"Oh, look!" cried Ted. "Our snow bungalow is gone, Janet!"

"Oh, it's blowed down!" cried Janet.

"No, it hasn't," said Nora. "I could just see the tip top of it when I got up early this morning, but now the snow has covered it. The bungalow is there all right, but you can't see it. It's under a big drift."

"Oh, wouldn't it be fun if we were out in it now?" cried Teddy.

"Indeed, and you'd starve and freeze," laughed Nora.

"No, we wouldn't," declared Teddy. "It's nice and warm out there. Uncle Frank said he used to make snow bungalows like that out West and he's lived in one a whole week in a blizzard."

"But he had something to eat," went on Nora, "and there's nothing in your bungalow."

"Yes, there is, a little," remarked Teddy. "We had a play party in it yesterday -- Jan, me and Trouble, and we left some of the things we couldn't eat. I put 'em in a box and tied 'em up in a piece of carpet we had there. I was going to come back and make-believe I was a tramp and awful hungry, only I forgot it. There's things to eat out there, Nora. We wouldn't starve."

"Well, I guess your mother wouldn't let you go out there and play anyhow, in this storm."

"We'll have some fun in the house," said Janet. "Oh, doesn't it snow, Ted!"

There came a big gust of wind just then and a cloud of snow hid the yard from sight. All the children could see was a lot of whiteness.

"Oh, what about Nicknack?" asked Jan suddenly.

"What you mean?" asked her brother.

"I mean will he have enough to eat? Maybe we've got to go out and feed him."

"I gave him something to eat last night," said Teddy, "and I left a big pail of water in his stable. I guess he'll be all right. Anyhow Daddy and Uncle Frank are going out to the barn and they can feed our goat."

Nicknack had a little stable, like a big dog house, built next to the main barn, of which it was a part, though he had his own little door to go in and out.

"Get your breakfasts, children, and then you can sit by the window and watch the storm," said Mrs. Martin, coming into the kitchen just then. "Trouble is waking up and I'll want you to help take care of him. You'll all have to stay in the house to-day and play quiet games."

"Let's go and look out the front windows," proposed Janet.

She and Ted ran through the hall to the parlor. But from those windows they could see nothing, for the glass was either so crusted with snow, or the drifts were really so high in front of the windows, that it was impossible to look out.

"It is an awful big storm!" cried Janet as she went back to the warm dining-room. Not much could be seen from those windows, either.

"Maybe it will stop in a little while," said Teddy, "and then we can go out and have a ride with Nicknack."

"Indeed, Nicknack would be buried deep in the snow over his head if you took him out," said Aunt Jo, as she came downstairs. "You Curlytops haven't an idea how bad this storm is. I never saw a worse one. We may be snowed in for a week!"

"Hurray!" cried Teddy.

"It'll be fun," added Janet.

As the children sat down to breakfast, the lights being turned on because it was so dark, though it was nearly nine o'clock, their father and Uncle Frank got dressed ready to go out to the barn.

The men had on their overcoats, caps and big rubber boots. On their hands were warm gloves and each one carried a snow shovel, which the Curlytops' father had brought up from the cellar.

"We're going to try to get out to the barn," said Mr. Martin. "I'm not sure the cow and horse have enough to eat."

"Oh, can't I come?" begged Teddy.

"And me, too!" added Janet.

"No, indeed, Curlytops!" cried Mr. Martin. "You'd be lost in the snow and maybe Uncle Frank and I couldn't dig you out again. Stay here until we come back."

The children hurriedly finished their breakfasts, and then ran to the kitchen windows to see their father and Uncle Frank try to dig their way to the barn. And the men really had to dig their way, for between the barn and the house the drifts were too deep to wade through. Many of them were over the heads of Daddy Martin.

The Curlytops could see little, as the snow was still blowing and drifting. Now and then they saw their father or their Uncle Frank for just a moment, but the men were so covered with the white flakes that they looked like snow men.

Finally there was a stamping of feet in the back entry, and when Nora opened the door there stood Uncle Frank and Daddy Martin. They were covered with snow and looked very tired.

"What's the matter?" asked Mrs. Martin. "Couldn't you get to the barn, Dick?"

"No, we were driven back," her husband answered. "It is a terrible storm, and very cold. We dug a path part way to the barn, but the wind blew the snow in it, filling it up as fast as we could dig it out. I guess we can't get to the barn. We surely are snowed in!"




Chapter XVI

Digging A Tunnel


Even seeing their father and uncle so tired out from shoveling snow and from struggling with the storm did not make the Curlytops think how bad it was to be snowed in. They still thought it was going to be fun. And so, in a way, it was, I suppose. At any rate they had a warm house in which to stay and plenty of good things to eat.

"Well, what are you going to do?" asked Mrs. Martin of her husband as, standing in the entry, he brushed some of the snow off his boots with the broom.

"We'll have to try again," said Uncle Frank.

"Is it like your out-West blizzards, Uncle Frank?" asked Teddy.

"Yes, this is almost as bad as the ones we have out there," he said. "Only this isn't quite so cold."

"It's cold enough for me!" exclaimed Mr. Martin. "Here, Jan," he called to his little girl. "Just take hold of my nose, will you, my dear?"

"What for, Daddy?" asked the little girl.

"I want to see if it is still fast to my face," answered her father. "It got so cold when I was shoveling snow that I thought maybe it had frozen and dropped off."

Janet grasped her father's nose in her warm hands.

"Oh, it's awful cold!" she cried with a little shiver.

"I know it is!" laughed Mr. Martin. "That's what made me afraid it was going to drop off. I'm glad I still have it."

"Are you cold, too, Uncle Frank?" asked Teddy.

"A little, yes. But I shoveled hard at the snow and I'm warmer now."

"Take some hot coffee," said Mrs. Martin. "Nora will pour it out for you. No, Trouble! You mustn't do that!" she cried, as she saw Baby William crumbling a slice of bread into the pitcher of milk.

"What's he doing?" asked Aunt Jo.

"Goin' make a cake," the little fellow answered. "Make cake an' have p'ay party."

"Well, you can have a play party with something else," laughed his mother. "We can't let you waste milk that way when we can't tell when we'll get more if daddy can't get out to the barn to milk the cow."

She took the slice of bread away from William and set him down from the table to which he had climbed up in a chair.

"'Member the time he made a cake when we were camping with grandpa on Star Island?" asked Janet of Ted.

"I guess I do!" he laughed. "The dough was all over everything!"

"Well, let's try it again now," said Uncle Frank to Daddy Martin, when they had had some hot coffee. "We've got to get out to the barn, somehow."

"Yes," agreed the father of the Curlytops. "I don't want the horse and cow to be hungry or thirsty. I hope the water in the barn isn't frozen. If it is we'll have to carry some from the house."

"And that might freeze on the way out," said Uncle Frank.

"You could take a pail of hot water and that wouldn't freeze," Teddy remarked.

"Our horse or cow couldn't drink hot water," objected Janet.

"Well, they could wait for it to cool just as we do for our hot milk sometimes."

"Yes, they could do that," agreed Janet. "Oh, I wish we could go out in our bungalow!"

"Don't dare try it!" cried Daddy Martin. "If you children went out in the snow you might not get back until your ears and fingers were frost-bitten, to say the least."

"What does frost-bitten mean?" Teddy asked.

"Well, it means almost frozen," explained his mother. "Now you and Janet can take Trouble up to the playroom and have a good time, while I help Nora with the work."

"We want to see daddy and Uncle Frank dig in the snow out to the barn," said Teddy.

"Well, you may watch them a little while, and then take care of Baby William."

"You can't see very much," said Uncle Prank, "The snow is still coming down hard and it blows so we can hardly see one another. So you won't see much of us from the windows."

"Well, maybe we can see a little," remarked Janet, and she and Teddy, with Trouble between them, perched on chairs with their faces close against the snow covered glass. Of course the snow was on the outside, but it made the inside of the window-pane quite cold, and in a little while, Jan drew her face away and, feeling her nose, cried:

"Oh, Ted! It's frozen 'most, like daddy's was!"

"So's mine!" exclaimed Ted, feeling of his nose.

"Mine cold, too!" added Trouble, putting his chubby palm over his "smeller" as he sometimes called his nose.

Indeed the noses of the children were cold from having been pressed so long against the window, and when Aunt Jo heard what they had been doing she said:

"I wouldn't stay near the window any longer if I were you. The wind blows in a little, and it's drafty. You will get cold all over -- not only your little noses. Go up to the playroom and I'll come, too. We'll have some fun."

"Just wait until we see if we can watch daddy and Uncle Frank a minute," pleaded Teddy.

They all looked out of the window again. Once in a while they had a glimpse of their father or his uncle tossing the snow to one side. The two men were trying to dig a path from the house to the barn, and they were down in a deep trench, with white walls on either side.

"This is a terrible storm!" said Aunt Jo as she went up to the playroom with the Curlytops and Trouble. "I hope no little boys or girls are out in it."

"I hope not, either," echoed Jan with a little shiver, as she heard the wind howl around the corner of the house and dash the hard flakes of snow up against the windows.

"If any boys or girls were out in it they could stay in our bungalow," said Ted. "There's some blankets in there and a little to eat."

"And they could drink snow for water," said Jan. "I ate some snow once and it tickled my throat."

"Snow isn't good to eat," said Aunt Jo. "Up near the North Pole, the Eskimos and travelers never eat snow. It would make them ill. They melt it and drink the water when they are thirsty. But I hope no little boy or girl has to leave his or her warm house and live in your bungalow, nice as it may be. I'm afraid they'd be pretty cold in it even with a blanket and a piece of carpet."

"If daddy and Uncle Frank would dig a path we could go out to our bungalow and see," observed Jan.

"Maybe there's a tramp in it, like we thought there was on Star Island," went on Ted.

And, though neither Ted nor Jan knew it, there was someone in their snow bungalow.

Up in the playroom the Curlytops and Trouble had fun with Aunt Jo. She told them stories and made up little games for them, while outside the storm raged and the snow came down faster than ever.

"Come on!" cried Teddy after waiting a bit, "let's play that guessing game some more."

"Oh, let's!" agreed Jan. "It's lots of fun!"

This was a game in which one of them would think of something in the attic -- the old spinning wheel, the steamboat chair or maybe a string of sleigh bells. Then the one who had the turn of thinking would tell the others the first letter of the name of the thing thought of, and perhaps something about it. The others had to guess what it was, and whoever guessed first was next in turn to think of something.

Teddy, Jan and Aunt Jo played this game for a while, but it was not much fun for Trouble. He was too little to know how to spell the things he thought of, though he could name almost everything in the attic, even if he called some by nicknames he made up himself.

"Let's play something that will be fun for Trouble," said Aunt Jo after a while.

"What?" asked Teddy.

"How would hide the bean bag be?" asked Aunt Jo.

"We haven't any bean bag," replied Teddy. "We had one, but Trouble threw it in the hedge and we can't find it."

"Well, I can easily make one," said Aunt Jo, and this she quickly did, getting beans from the kitchen, and sewing a bag from a piece of cloth from the rag-bag.

"Now we'll let Trouble hide the bag first," said Aunt Jo, "as he hasn't had much fun this last hour. You take the bag of beans, Trouble dear, and hide it anywhere you like. Only you must remember where you put it, so when we give up, if we can't find it, you can get it to hide again."

"All right!" laughed the little fellow, and then they told him all over again so he would be sure and not forget.

"Maybe you look where I put it," said Trouble, when he was about to take the bag and hide it.

"No, well blind our eyes so we can't see," promised Jan.

"And we won't look until you tell us you're ready," added Ted.

"And I promise I won't peep!" laughed Aunt Jo.

"Aw wight!" said Trouble, with a wise look on his chubby little face.

Then the others closed their eyes, and turned their backs, so they would be sure to see nothing, and Trouble, with the bag of beans in his hand, went wandering about the attic looking for a place to hide what he hoped Aunt Jo and the others would have to look a long time for.

"Are you ready, Trouble?" asked Jan, after a bit.

"Have you hid it yet?" inquired Ted.

"Yes, I put it hid," answered Baby William, and when they looked they saw him sitting on the floor near the chimney.

Then began the hunt for the bean bag. Aunt Jo and the two Curlytops looked in all the places in which they thought Trouble might have hidden it. They peered into boxes and old trunks, under boards, around the ledges of rafters and beams and everywhere.

"I guess we can't find it!" said Aunt Jo at last. "You hid it too well, Trouble. Tell us where you put it and then hide it in an easier place next time. Where is the bean bag, dear?"

"I -- I sittin' on it!" laughed Trouble, and when he got up, there, surely enough, was the bag under him on the attic floor.

How they both did laugh at him, and Trouble laughed, too, and they had lots more fun, each one taking a turn to hide the bag.

Now and then the children would go to the window to look out, but they could see little. All Cresco was snowed in. As far as the children could see, no one was in the street.

Cresco, where the Curlytops lived, was a large town, and there was a trolley line running through it, but not near the home of Janet and Ted.

"But I guess the trolley isn't running to-day," Teddy remarked, after a game of bean-bag.

"I guess not," agreed Aunt Jo. "The cars would be snowed under."

Just then Mrs. Martin called Aunt Jo to help her with some work, and the children were left to themselves. They ran to the window, hoping they could see something, but the snow was either too high on the sill or the glass was frosted with the frozen flakes so no one could look through.

"Let's open the window!" suddenly proposed Ted. "Then we can get a little snow and make snowballs and play with 'em in here."

"Oh, let's!" cried Janet.

"Me want snowball, too!"

"We'll give you a little one," promised his sister.

By standing on a chair Teddy managed to shove back the catch of the window, but to raise the sash was not so easy. It was frozen down, and held fast by the drift of snow on the sill.

"I know how to raise it," said Jan.

"How?" asked her brother.

"Get daddy's cane and push it up. I saw Aunt Jo do it the other day."

Mr. Martin's cane was down in the hall, and Ted soon brought it upstairs. He put one end of it under the upper edge of the lower window sash and then he and Jan pushed with all their might. But the window did not go up.

"Push harder!" cried Teddy.

"I am!" answered Janet.

They both shoved as hard as they could on the cane and then it suddenly slipped. There was a crash and a tinkle of glass, and the children toppled over on the floor while the room was filled with a swirl of snowflakes blown in through the broken window.

"Oh, it's busted!" cried Teddy. "You did it, Janet Martin!"

"Oh, The-o-dore Baradale Martin! I did not! You pushed it yourself!"

"I didn't!"

"You did so!"

"Well, who got the cane, anyhow?"

"Well, who told me to get it?"

"I got some snow! I got some snow!" cried Trouble, and he tossed handfuls at his brother and sister, who had risen to their feet and were looking at the broken glass. The end of the cane had gone through it and the wind and snow were blowing into the room. On the carpet was a white drift that had fallen from the window sill.

"Oh, children! what are you doing?" cried Mrs. Martin, when she saw what had happened.

"The window broke," said Teddy slowly.

"Yes, I see it did," answered his mother. "Who did it?"

Then Teddy proved himself a little hero, for he said:

"I -- I guess I did. I got the cane and it slipped."

"I -- I helped," bravely confessed Janet. "I told him to get the cane and I pushed on it, too."

"Well, I guess you didn't mean to," said Mrs. Martin kindly. "But it's too bad. We can't get the window fixed in this storm, and daddy will have to nail a board or something over the hole. Trouble, come away from that snow!"

Trouble was having fun with the snow that came in through the hole, and did not want to stop. But his mother caught him up in her arms and took him out of the room, sending in Nora to sweep up the pile of white flakes on the carpet.

Then Daddy Martin nailed a heavy blanket over the window to keep out the cold wind, though a little did come in, and snow also.

"Did you and Uncle Frank dig a path out to the barn?" asked Teddy, when the excitement over the broken window had died down.

"Not yet," answered his father. "I guess we'll have to make a tunnel."

"Oh, a real tunnel, like railroad trains go through?" cried Ted.

"Yes, only made of snow instead of earth and rocks. We're going to make a snow tunnel."

"Oh, that'll be fun!" exclaimed Jan.




Chapter XVII

In A Big Drift


"What are you men going to do now?" asked Mrs. Martin, as her husband and Uncle Frank sat near the stove in the kitchen warming their feet, for they were very cold, having come in after a second attempt to make a path to the barn.

"We're going to try a tunnel," said Mr. Martin. "The snow is too deep between the back door and the barn to try to shovel a path through it. As fast as we toss the snow away it blows in again and fills up the path so we can hardly get back to the starting place. Now if we begin in front of the house, where there is a big drift, we can tunnel out to the side of the barn."

"What good will that do?" asked Aunt Jo.

"When we make a tunnel it will have a top on it, like a roof over a house. It will be a long snow house, the tunnel will, and the snow can't blow in and fill it up."

"But what will you do with the snow you dig out of the tunnel?" Mrs. Martin enquired. "You'll have to dig ahead and pile the snow back of you and you'll be just as badly off."

"No," said her husband. "In front of the house is a big drift that goes all the way to the barn. But one side of the drift, near the house, is low and we can make a hole there to start. Then as we dig away the snow we can bring it back to this hole and dump it outside. If we work long enough we'll have a tunnel right through to the barn."

"In what will you carry the snow out of the tunnel?" asked Aunt Jo.

"In the big clothes baskets," answered Daddy Martin. "A tunnel is the only way I can see by which we can get out to the barn. Come on, Uncle Frank! If your feet are warm enough we'll begin. The horse and cow will be glad to see us."

"Can't you make a place so the children can watch you?" asked Mother Martin. "I can't have them in the playroom now as the window is broken. Scrape off some snow around the front windows so they can see what you're doing."

"We will," promised Uncle Frank.

So before he and Daddy Martin began to dig the tunnel they made a cleared place in front of one of the parlor windows so a view could be had of the big drift where the tunnel was to be started.

"Oh, I wish I could dig!" cried Ted.

"So do I!" echoed Janet.

"Don't you Curlytops open any more windows, or try to get out where your father and Uncle Frank are making the tunnel," warned Mrs. Martin. "This storm is getting worse instead of stopping."

So the children stayed by the window and watched.

With their big, wooden shovels and the big clothes baskets in which to pile the snow they dug from the tunnel, Daddy Martin and Uncle Frank started off to their work.

As the children's father had said, there was a large drift near the front of the house. On one side it sloped sharply to the ground, making a sort of snow wall, almost straight up and down. It was in the middle of this snow wall that the tunnel hole was to be started.

"Well, here we go!" cried Uncle Frank, as he waved his shovel at the watching children in the window.

He made a jab into the snow wall, and cut out a big square chunk of whiteness. This he tossed back of him out of the way. For a time this could be done, and there was no need to use the baskets. But as the tunnel was dug farther in, the pile of white flakes would have to be carried out. As the tunnel was only going to be big enough for one person to walk in at a time, and not wide enough for two to go side by side, the two men were to take turns digging, one using the shovel and the other bringing out the clothes basket filled with snow which would be emptied outside.

"Oh, I can't see Uncle Frank any more!" cried Ted, who was eagerly watching with his sister and Trouble.

"Where's he gone?" asked Janet.

"He's dug a hole for himself inside the snow bank -- in the tunnel -- and I can't see him now. He's away inside! Oh, what fun! I wish we could be in there," he added.

"So do I," echoed Janet. "Maybe we can when it gets warmer and the snow stops coming down."

"We'll ask mother," decided Teddy.

"I see my papa!" suddenly called Trouble. "He's bringin' out de clothes!"

"No, that's a basket of snow he has," said Janet with a laugh, for her father had just then come out of the tunnel with the first load of snow that had been dug loose by Uncle Frank.

From then on, for some time, the children had a sight of their father or their Uncle Frank only once in a while, as either one or the other came to the mouth of the tunnel to empty the basket filled with snow. Sometimes it would be Daddy Martin and again Uncle Frank, as they were taking turns.

"I guess the tunnel must be most finished," said Janet, when they had been watching for some time.

"Anyhow here they come in," added Teddy, as he heard a noise at the back of the house.

"Did you tunnel your way to the barn?" asked Mrs. Martin, as her husband and Uncle Frank came into the kitchen.

"Not yet. It's farther than we thought, and hard work," answered Mr. Martin. "We came in to get some dinner and then we're going at it again."

"And will you see if Nicknack is all right when you get out to the barn?" asked Teddy.

"I surely will," promised his father. "I thought I heard him bleating when I first went out, so I guess he's all right."

"Couldn't you bring him into the house?" asked Janet.

"He's lonesome out there," added Ted.

"Bring your goat into the house?" cried Mother Martin. "Oh, my goodness, no!"

"Then we'd like to go out and see him," went on Teddy.

"Well, maybe, when we get the tunnel finished, and if it isn't too cold, I'll take you out," promised their father.

After dinner he and Uncle Frank began work on the tunnel again. The storm seemed to be stopping a little and the wind did not blow so hard.

"Please, Mother, couldn't Jan and I go out, just for a little while?" begged Teddy toward evening, when it was getting almost too dark for Mr. Martin and Uncle Frank to see to dig in the tunnel.

"What do you think, Aunt Jo?" asked Mrs. Martin.

"Oh, I should think it wouldn't hurt them to go out for a few minutes. Wrap them up well, and I'll go with them, on the side of the house where there isn't so much snow. But I wouldn't let Baby William go."

"No, I'll not."

So Ted and Jan and Aunt Jo got on their warm wraps and stepped out of the front door, where Daddy Martin and Uncle Frank had cleared a place on the veranda. Trouble cried to go, but, though the storm was not as bad as it had been at the start, it was too cold for him.

Ted and Janet did not mind it at first. They ran around, laughed, shouted and threw the snow. Then they began to feel the cold, which was more severe than they had thought.

"Oh, what big drifts!" cried Teddy, as he saw some out in the road.

"Awful big!" agreed Janet. "Let's go and look in the tunnel."

There was little to see, however, except a big white hole in the great drift, for Daddy Martin and Uncle Frank were at the far end, digging their way to the barn and Nicknack.

"Come now, it's time to go in," said Aunt Jo. "I promised your mother I'd keep you out only a little while. I think it's going to storm worse than ever. Come on in!"

"Please wait until I take one jump!" begged Teddy.

He gave a run and a jump, down a little side hill in the yard near the house. Into a pile of snow he leaped, and the next instant he had disappeared from sight! The snow had closed over his head!

"Oh, where is he? Where's Teddy?" cried Janet, very much frightened.

"I guess he's in the big drift!" answered Aunt Jo.

"Oh, Daddy! Uncle Frank!" cried Janet. "Come quick! Teddy's in a big drift!"




Chapter XVIII

Nicknack Is Gone


Daddy Martin and Uncle Frank came running from the snow tunnel. Each one carried a shovel, for while the Curlytops' father had been digging away at the snow with his shovel, Uncle Frank had used the other to pile into the basket the loosened heap of white flakes.

"What's the matter?" asked Janet's father as he looked at her. "Why did you call me?"

"'Cause Teddy's in a big drift -- down there!" she answered, pointing.

"Yes, he really did jump down there, and the snow was so soft that he went all the way through," added Aunt Jo.

"Then we must get him out in a hurry!" cried Uncle Frank. "Come on, Dick! This will be a new kind of digging for us."

"I should say so!" exclaimed Mr. Martin.

The two men ran toward the big drift, but when they got close they walked more carefully, for they did not want to make more snow fall in on top of Teddy through the hole he left when he jumped into the big drift.

"Are you down there, Son?" asked Mr. Martin, leaning over the hole and calling to the little boy.

Janet began to cry. She was afraid she would never see her brother again, and she loved him very much.

"Don't cry," said Uncle Frank kindly. "Well get Teddy out all right. Did he answer you?" he inquired of Daddy Martin.

"Not yet, but I guess --  -- "

Just then a voice seemed to call from under their very feet.

"Here I am!" it said. "Down in a big pile of snow. Say, can you get me out? Every time I wiggle more snow falls in on top of me!"

"We'll get you out all right, Ted!" shouted his father. "Just keep as still as you can. Can you breathe all right?"

"Yep!" came back the answer, as if from far away.

Then Daddy Martin and Uncle Frank began to dig in the big drifts with their shovels, while Aunt Jo and Janet looked on. As yet Mrs. Martin and Nora knew nothing about what had happened, nor did Trouble.

"But it's of no use to tell your mother and frighten her, Janet," said Aunt Jo. "They'll have Teddy dug out in a minute, and then he can tell her himself what happened to him, and we'll all have a good laugh over it."

"Won't he smother?" asked Janet.

"Oh, no," answered Aunt Jo. "Falling under snow isn't like falling under water. There is a little air in snow but not any in water -- at least not any we can breathe, though a fish can. But still if a person was kept under heavily packed snow too long he would smother, I suppose. However, that won't happen to Teddy. They're getting to him."

Uncle Frank and Daddy Martin were tossing the snow away from the drift by big shovelfuls. In a little while they had dug down to where Teddy stood in a little hollow place he had scooped out for himself with his hands. He was covered with snow, but was not hurt, for falling in the big drift, he said, was like tumbling into a feather bed -- the kind Trouble had once cut up when he was at his grandmother's on Cherry Farm.

"Well, how in the world did you get down there?" asked Teddy's father, when the little boy was lifted up safe on the path again, and the snow had mostly been brushed from him.

"I -- I just jumped," Teddy answered. "I wanted to see how far I could go and I didn't think about that being the edge of the terrace."

For the big drift was on the edge of a terrace, where the front lawn was raised up from the rest of the yard. So the drift was deeper than any of the other piles of snow around it.

"However, you're not hurt as far as I can see," went on Mr. Martin. "But please don't go in any more drifts. Uncle Frank and I won't have time to dig you out, for we must keep at work on the tunnel."

"Isn't it finished yet?" asked Aunt Jo.

"No. And I don't believe it will be to-night. It's getting late now and we can't work much longer. It's going to snow more, too," added the father of the Curlytops as he looked up at the sky, from the gray clouds of which more white flakes were falling.

"Can't we go into the tunnel?" asked Teddy, who did not seem much frightened by what had happened to him.

"Well, yes, I s'pose you could go in a little way," his father answered. "We won't do any more digging to-night," he said to Uncle Frank.

"No, but we'd better put some boards in front of the hole we have dug to keep it from filling with snow in the night."

"Yes, we'll do that," said Mr. Martin.

The two men led the way to the tunnel, in which they had been digging most of the day. Aunt Jo, Teddy and Janet followed. At the window, one of the few out of which she could look into the big storm, Mrs. Martin motioned for the Curlytops to come in. Daddy waved his hand and called that he would bring them in as soon as he had showed them the tunnel.

The Curlytops thought this a wonderful place. They had been through railroad tunnels, but they were black and smoky. This snow tunnel was clean and white, not a speck of dirt being in it. Though it was cut through a great, white drift it was getting dark inside, for the sun was not shining, and night was coming.

"Wouldn't this be a dandy place to play?" cried Ted.

"Fine," answered Janet. "Nicer than our snow bungalow. When can we dig out to our bungalow?" she asked her father.

"Oh, in a day or two, I presume. It's pretty well covered with snow, and we must first see that the horse and cow are all right. It will be time enough to think of play after we have done that."

"And we've got to feed and water Nicknack, too," added Janet.

"Yes, we mustn't forget your goat," laughed Uncle Frank.

"Did you leave him any hay and water?" asked Daddy Martin.

"I did," Teddy answered. "I put a lot of hay where he could get it and some water to drink in a pail."

"Well, then maybe he'll have enough until we can dig our way out to him," said Mr. Martin. "But it isn't going to be easy. This has been a terrible storm, and I'm afraid it's going to be worse. I hope the poor of our town have coal enough to keep warm and enough food to eat. Being snowed in is no fun when one has to freeze and starve."

Teddy and Janet were glad they were so comfortable. They, too, hoped no one was suffering, and if they had known that not far away a poor boy was in great distress they would not have slept as well as they did that night. But they did not know until afterward, when they found out the secret about the snow bungalow.

"Well, come on out now," called Daddy Martin, as the Curlytops were looking at the snow tunnel. "It's time to go in. You've been out in the cold long enough."

"It is very cold," agreed Aunt Jo. "I'm just beginning to notice it."

Into the warm house they went, stamping and brushing off the snow that clung to them. As they gathered about the supper table, which was well filled with good things to eat, Nora came in to say that it was snowing again.

"I thought it would," remarked Daddy Martin. "We surely must finish that snow tunnel to-morrow," he said to Uncle Frank. "We may need the horse to help us break a way to the road."

"And we'll need more milk to-morrow," said Mother Martin.

That evening, as they sat in their warm house playing games and listening to the crackling of the corn which Aunt Jo popped, the Curlytops were very thankful for the nice home they had to stay in.

"How the wind blows!" cried Aunt Jo as she took the children up to bed.

"Is it snowing yet?" asked Teddy.

"I can't see," his aunt answered. "It's so dark and the snow covers the windows. But I wouldn't be surprised if it were. The storm is not over yet. I guess you children will have all the snow you want for once."

"We can have rides downhill for a long while," remarked Janet.

"And make snow men and snow forts and snowballs as much as we like," added Teddy.

All night long the storm raged again. The wind blew and the snow came down, but not as hard as it had the night before. If it had, there is no telling what would have happened. The Curlytops would have been snowed in worse than they were.

But it was bad enough, as they saw when they awakened and looked out the next morning. That is they tried to look out, but it was little indeed that they could see. For some of the windows from which they had had a glimpse of the outer world the day before were completely covered now.

"We'll have to do some digging to get to the opening of the tunnel," said Daddy Martin to Uncle Frank, "and we'll have to dig all day to get to the barn. But we've got to do it."

"That's right!" agreed Uncle Frank.

"Couldn't I help?" asked Teddy.

"No, I'm afraid not, Curlytop," answered his father. "It's pretty hard work for us men."

"But will you let me go out and see Nicknack as soon as you dig to his stable?" the little boy asked.

"I'll see about it -- if the snow isn't too deep," his father replied.

"I want to come, too!" added Janet.

"Well, maybe you can," said Uncle Frank. "We'll see."

Then, after they had had a warm breakfast, the two men started the digging again. Teddy and Janet could not see them because they were so far inside the tunnel. And as the Curlytops could not be out to play they had to amuse themselves as best they could in the house.

Aunt Jo played with them and Trouble. Baby William was the hardest to amuse, as he was very active. He wanted to run about and do everything, and two or three times, when they looked for him, they found he had slipped away and was out in the kitchen, teasing Nora to let him make a cake.

It was well on in the afternoon when there came a stamping and pounding in the back entry.

"Oh, there's daddy and Uncle Frank knocking the snow off their feet!" exclaimed Janet.

"Maybe they've been out to the barn," said her brother.

"And maybe they've brought Nicknack in," added Janet.

The Curlytops ran to the kitchen, not stopping to wait for Trouble, who cried to be taken along. There in the entry, brushing the snow from them and stamping it from their boots, were Daddy Martin and Uncle Frank.

"Did you get to the barn?" inquired Teddy.

"Yes, we got there all right."

"And is our horse and cow all right?" Janet inquired.

"Yes, they're all right, and were glad to see us."

"Did you see our goat?" cried Teddy next.

"No, we haven't dug out to his stable yet. We're going to in a minute," said Daddy Martin.

"We thought we'd come in and get you two Curlytops and take you out to see Jim and the cow," added Uncle Frank.

"It isn't snowing quite as hard as it was, and it isn't quite so cold. We thought it might do the children good, for they've been cooped up all day," the children's father explained to his wife.

"So they have, but they haven't fretted much, except Trouble, and he didn't know any better. All right, take them out and then come in. We'll have an early supper. I do hope the storm will be over by to-morrow."

"I think it surely will," her husband said.

Teddy and Janet were soon warmly bundled up and were taken out of doors by their father and uncle. The keen wind cut their faces and the snowflakes blew in their eyes, but they liked it.

Through the snow tunnel they were carried to the barn door, which was open. It opened right into the snow tunnel, and inside was a lantern, for the barn was dark, being more than half covered with snow and there being only one or two windows in it.

Jim, the horse, whinnied when he heard his friends come in, and the cow mooed.

"They're glad to see us," said Janet.

"Yes, I guess they are," laughed her father. "I'm going to milk the cow. Then we'll shake down some hay for her and Jim, and give them more water, too. I'm glad the pump wasn't frozen."

So while Daddy Martin milked the cow, Uncle Frank tossed down hay from the mow upstairs in the barn and pumped some water.

"And now can't we get Nicknack?" asked Teddy, when a foaming pail of milk was ready to be carried to the house.

"Yes, I think so," answered his father.

"I called to him but he didn't answer," said Janet.

"I'll soon dig a way to Nicknack's place," said Uncle Frank, and he started at a point where the tunnel ran to the barn door. It did not take him long, with the big shovel, to clear a place so that the door to Nicknack's stable was free, for the drifts were not so deep on this side of the barn.

"Now for the goat!" cried Daddy Martin. "Stand back, Curlytops, and let Uncle Frank go first."

Uncle Frank, holding the lantern over his head, entered the goat's stable. He stood still for a few seconds.

"Is he all right?" asked Teddy anxiously.

"Well, I can't see him at all," Uncle Frank answered.

"You can't see him?" echoed Mr. Martin.

"No, Nicknack isn't here. He's gone!"




Chapter XIX

What Nicknack Brought


Teddy and Janet were so surprised they did not know what to say. They just stood and looked at one another in the light of the lantern their father held after having milked the cow. Uncle Frank was in Nicknack's little stable with another lantern.

"Are you sure he isn't there?" asked Mr. Martin, for well he knew how sorry the Curlytops would feel if anything happened to their goat.

"There isn't a sign of him," answered Uncle Frank. "You can come and look for yourselves."

"Maybe he's lying down asleep," suggested Teddy.

"I've looked all over," said Uncle Frank.

Teddy darted out of the barn, followed by Janet.

"Here! Come back!" cried their father. "You may get lost in the storm. It's snowing and the wind is blowing and it's hard to see where you're going, especially after dark."

"We want to see where Nicknack is," pleaded Teddy.

"Wait, and I'll go with you," his father remarked. "Perhaps he has burrowed down under the hay or straw to keep warm."

But when all four of them stood in front of Nicknack's little stable, which was too small for more than two to get in at a time, the Curlytops saw that their pet was not there. Uncle Frank flashed the lantern up high and down low, but no goat was to be seen.

"Where can he be?" asked Teddy, anxiously.

"Was the door fastened?" Daddy Martin inquired.

"Yes, it was shut and the catch was on. I had to take it off to get in," replied Uncle Frank. "Nicknack couldn't have gotten out that way."

"And there is only one door," went on Mr. Martin. "Did you look to see if any boards were loose on the sides of the stable, Uncle Frank?"

"No, I didn't, but I will."

With his lantern Uncle Frank began looking around the goat's stable, pushing against the boards, on the outside of which the snow was piled. Finally Uncle Frank gave a shout.

"What is it?" cried Teddy. "Have you found Nicknack?"

"No, but I've found the place where he got out. Look!"

Holding the lantern so all could see, Uncle Frank showed where a large board had been knocked loose. It swung to one side and showed a hole in the snow outside.

"Is he in there?" asked Jan, as she saw the hole. It was like the tunnel her father and Uncle Frank had dug, but smaller.

"I don't know whether he's there or not," answered Uncle Frank. "I'll have a look, though."

He pulled the board loose. It hung by one nail only. Then, stooping down so he could look into the hole, which seemed to have been dug in the snow outside, and flashing his lantern into it, Uncle Frank called:

"Here, Nicknack! Are you there? Come here!"

There was no answer, the only sound being the howl of the wind and the swish of the snowflakes in the storm.

"Isn't he there?" asked Teddy, his voice sounding as though he wanted to cry.

"I can't see him," answered Uncle Frank. "But I think he must be in the snow somewhere around here. We'll have to dig him out just as we dug you out of the big drift, Teddy."

"Is Nicknack in a drift?" Janet whispered. Somehow, if Nicknack were in a drift, it seemed better to Jan to talk in whisper.

"I can't imagine where else he would be," Uncle Frank said. "He must have gotten tired of staying here all alone, so, with his horns and head he just knocked this big board loose. That gave him room enough to get out, and then he began to dig his way through the snow. There was a little hollow place in the edge of the drift that is on this side of his stable, and that gave him a chance to start. He didn't paw any snow inside his stable, and that's why I didn't at first see which way he had gone."

"But how can we get him?" asked Jan, who felt the tears coming into her eyes.

"Oh, we can dig him out," her father said. "Don't worry. We'll soon get Nicknack for you."

"To-night?" Teddy demanded.

"Well, maybe not to-night," his father answered. "It's pretty late now, and getting colder. And there's no telling how far away Nicknack has dug himself into the snow bank. He's a strong goat, Nicknack is, and once he started to burrow through the snow, one couldn't say when he'd stop. He might even dig his way to the house."

"Honest and truly?" asked Teddy.

"Well, he might," said Mr. Martin. "Anyhow, we'll wait until morning before we start digging for him."

"But won't he die?" asked Janet.

"No, he can get air under the snow for quite a while, just as Teddy could when he jumped into the drift. And if he gets hungry he can wiggle his way back to his stable the same way he wiggled out. The way is open and we'll leave this board off so he can get in easily. There is hay and water here. The water didn't freeze, being warm under so much snow and down in the hay where you put the pail, Teddy. So Nicknack will be all right until morning I think."

"What made him go out?" asked Teddy.

"I think he got lonesome," laughed Uncle Frank. "He missed you two Curlytops, and he wanted to come to see you."

"But where is he?" asked Janet.

"Oh, somewhere in the snow between here and the house," answered her father. "Don't worry about Nicknack. He's able to take care of himself. Maybe he'll be back in his stable in the morning."

Janet and Teddy were not at all sure of this, but they hoped it might prove true. They liked their goat very much. He was a fine playfellow for them.

"Let us call, Jan," suggested Ted. "Nicknack likes us, and maybe he'll answer if we holler. You call first."

"All right," Jan responded. Then, at the top of her voice, she yelled: "Nicknack, come here!"

Then Teddy shouted: "Nicknack! Oh, Nicknack!"

Then they all waited in silence, but heard nothing in reply to their calls.

"Well, it's of no use to stay here any longer," said Daddy Martin, as they stood looking at Nicknack's empty stable. "We'll leave everything as it is and come here in the morning. It will be easy enough for us to get out, now that we have the tunnel made."

"Yes, come on back to the house, and I'll tell you some stories about my Western ranch," added Uncle Frank. "Some day I want you Curlytops to come out there and have pony rides."

"Oh, can we?" cried Teddy.

"To be sure you can."

"And shall we get snowed in?" asked Janet.

"Well, not if I can help it. But come in the summer when there won't be any snow. You'll like it out on my ranch in Montana."

The Curlytops were sure they would, and they were so anxious to hear more about it and talk of getting pony rides among the cowboys that, for the time, they forgot about Nicknack's trouble.

Back to the house they went, locking the stable door after seeing that the horse and the cow had plenty to eat. Daddy Martin carried the pail of milk, of which Trouble was to have his share, for he drank a great deal of it.

"Nicknack's gone!" cried Teddy as they entered the house, after brushing and shaking off the snow.

"Gone!" cried Mother Martin.

And then she and Aunt Jo were told what the Curlytops had discovered when they went to the goat's stable.

"Well, maybe he'll come back," said Aunt Jo. "After supper I'll tell you about a new bungalow I'm going to build at Ruby Lake, and I want you two Curlytops to come to see me there."

"Oh, won't we have fun at Uncle Frank's ranch and Aunt Jo's bungalow!" cried Teddy.

"Yes, we will!" echoed his sister.

After supper Uncle Frank began to tell a Western story of things that had happened at his ranch. He told of Indians having taken some of his ponies, and of how he and his cowboys chased and caught the Red-men and took back the little horses.

"We didn't want them to steal our ponies," he said.

"Daddy didn't want that lame boy to take the pocketbook in his store, but the lame boy did," said Janet, who was fast falling asleep.

"What made you think of that?" asked her father.

"Oh, I was just thinking," answered the little girl. "Maybe that lame boy was hungry like Uncle Frank said the Indians were."

"Maybe," agreed her mother. "But it isn't sure he took the pocketbook. You never found out who he was, did you?" she asked her husband.

"No, the poor fellow seemed to be too frightened to come back. I hope nothing happened to him. I'd rather lose the money than have him hurt, though, of course, I wouldn't want to learn that he would take what was not his. But now, Aunt Jo, it's your turn to tell about your new bungalow."

So Aunt Jo began her story, and by the time it was finished Teddy and Janet were ready for bed, where Trouble had gone long before.

"Still snowing," said Uncle Frank, as he went to the back door and looked out. "I imagine this is the biggest storm you folks in the East ever had."

"Yes, it is," agreed Daddy Martin.

The house was soon dark and quiet, while outside the cold wind blew and the snow piled in big drifts.

Janet and Teddy had fallen asleep, wondering what had happened to their pet goat, and the first thing they asked, on awakening in the morning was:

"Is Nicknack here?"

"We haven't seen him," answered their mother. "But daddy and Uncle Frank are going to dig for him after breakfast."

When the meal had been finished it was found that the snow had stopped, at least for a time, and that the weather was a little warmer. Janet and Ted were allowed to play out in a cleared place in the yard.

"Part of the tunnel caved in during the night," said their father, "and we'll have to dig it out before we can get to Nicknack's stable. But we'll call you as soon as we find him."

It took some time to dig through the snow, and while their father and Uncle Frank were doing this Ted and Janet made a little hill in the yard and slid down that on their sleds.

Then they saw Uncle Frank coming toward them.

"Did you find Nicknack?" called the Curlytops.

"No. We dug through the hole he made in the snow, but it came to an end at your bungalow, and there's no sign of the goat."

"Maybe he's in our play bungalow," said Teddy.

"The door is closed," went on his uncle. "I'm afraid your goat is snowed under farther off. We're going to dig some more after dinner. But we'll find him."

Janet and Teddy were worried about Nicknack.

"Please dig hard for him!" begged Janet, as the two men started out with their shovels after dinner.

"We will," they promised.

Just as they were going out to the kitchen, to get their shovels which they had left in the back entry, there came a pounding in that very place as though some one were stamping snow off his boots.

"What's that?" asked Uncle Frank.

"Someone coming to see us -- one of the neighbors perhaps," remarked Mr. Martin. "This is the first any of them have broken out after having been snowed in."

Once more the pounding noise sounded.

"Come in!" cried Uncle Frank, as he started toward the door.

"Baa-a-a-a!" came the answer.

"Nicknack!" cried Teddy and Janet joyously.

Uncle Frank threw open the door. There stood the goat, covered with snow, and stamping to get off as much as he could. Into the kitchen he walked as though he felt at home there, and Teddy and Janet began to hug him.

"Hold on there! Wait a minute!" called their father.

"What is it?" asked Mrs. Martin. "What's the matter, Dick?"

"There's something on that goat's neck!"

"Something on his neck?"

"Yes, a note or something. Nicknack has brought in something out of the storm. We must see what it is!"




Chapter XX

In The Bungalow


The Curlytops were very much excited when they heard their father say Nicknack had something on his neck. They had been so anxious to hug their pet that they had not thought of anything else, and had not noticed anything.

"We thought you were lost in the snow," murmured Janet.

"So he was," declared Teddy. "But he came in out of the snow," he added. "Didn't you, Nicknack?"

"Yes, and he brought something with him," went on Mr. Martin. "You must stop hugging Nicknack, Curlytops, until I see what it is."

He led the goat gently away from the children. Nicknack bleated again.

"I guess he's hungry," said Teddy.

"I'll get him a cookie!" offered Janet.

"You'd better give him a real meal," put in Nora. "He'll be hungry and want more than cookies, I'm thinkin'."

"Get him anything you like," said Mr. Martin, "as long as I get this off his neck. It is a note!" he cried. "It's tied on with a piece of string. It's a note -- a letter!"

"Who in the world would send a note by Nicknack in that queer way, I wonder," remarked Mrs. Martin.

"I've read of persons lost in the mountains sending a note for help tied around the neck of a St. Bernard dog," said Uncle Frank. "Maybe somebody used Nicknack as a dog."

Meanwhile Teddy and Jan had to run to the pantry to get Nicknack something to eat. Trouble was now petting the goat and asking:

"Where you been, Nicknack? Where you been all dis while?"

"It is a note from some one in trouble!" cried Daddy Martin as he pulled the bit of paper from Nicknack's neck.

"What does it say?" asked Uncle Frank.

"And who is it from?" Mrs. Martin inquired.

"It's signed 'The Lame Boy,'" answered her husband. "And he must be in the snow bungalow the children built!"

"In the snow bungalow!" cried Aunt Jo in surprise.

"That's what it says. I'll read it to you," went on Mr. Martin. Then, while Teddy and Janet fed cabbage leaves and pieces of cookie to their goat, their father read aloud the short note.

"I am out in a little playhouse in your yard," the note read. "I hurt my foot so I can't walk and I am snowed in. This goat came in to see me and I tied this note on his neck. I thought maybe he would take it to somebody who would help me. I have only a little piece of bread left to eat. Please help me, whoever finds this."

"Help him! Of course we will!" cried Uncle Frank. "Where's my shovel? Come on, Dick! We've got to dig him out! Come on, everybody!"

"I want to help!" cried Teddy.

"So do I!" added Janet.

"Let me dig!" begged Aunt Jo. "I can handle a snow shovel as good as a man, and you must be tired, Uncle Frank."

"No, we'll soon dig him out," said Daddy Martin. "The rest of you stay here. Ruth," he went on to his wife, "get some hot water ready, and a bed. If that poor boy has been snowed up in that bungalow for two or three days he must be almost dead, and half starved, too."

"But how did he get there?" asked Mrs. Martin.

"And who is he?" asked Aunt Jo.

"All I know is what I read in the note," replied the father of the Curlytops. "It may be the same lame boy who was in my store and ran away before I had a chance to talk to him."

"And maybe he's the one who you thought might have taken the pocketbook," added Uncle Frank.

"Well, we won't talk of that now," said Daddy Martin. "We'll get him dug out of the snow first, and ask him questions later. Come on!"

"How do you suppose Nicknack got to the bungalow?" asked Teddy.

"Oh, I guess he just dug his way through the snow, making a tunnel for himself from his barn," answered Mrs. Martin.

Whatever had happened to Nicknack he seemed glad now to be with his Curlytop friends. He ate the pieces of cookie and the cabbage leaves they gave him, and bleated to ask for more.

Turnover, the cat, and Skyrocket, the dog, who had been in the house ever since the big storm, were also glad to see their friend the goat.

"And we'll be glad to see that lame boy, whoever he is, when daddy and Uncle Frank dig him out," said Mother Martin.

With their big shovels it did not take the two men long to dig their way to the snow bungalow. The pile of white flakes was deep over it but not so deep that a tunnel had to be cut, though it was through a tunnel, as they found out afterward, that Nicknack had made his way from the bungalow to the house. Only it was a small tunnel, such as an animal would make wallowing his way through the drifts.

The day before, when looking for Nicknack, Uncle Frank and Daddy Martin had tunneled to the bungalow door, but in the night this tunnel had caved in, so they had to do the work over again.

"Here we are!" cried Uncle Frank, as his shovel struck on some wood. "This is the bungalow. Now to see who's inside of it!"

"Here's the place where the goat got out," went on Mr. Martin. "Whoever tied that note on his neck must have pulled loose a board to let him get out into the snow. Hello in there!" he called, striking with his shovel on the bungalow.

"Yes -- I'm here," came back the faint answer.

"We'll have you out in a few minutes," cheerfully called Daddy Martin. "You'll soon be all right!"

Then he and Uncle Frank made larger the hole where the board had been torn off, for the snow was piled up against the door, having drifted heavily during the night.

As they entered the bungalow, after knocking off more boards, they saw, lying on the rug and a piece of carpet in the corner, a boy who, when he tried to stand up, almost fell.

"I -- I'm sorry," he began, "but I --  -- "

"Now don't say another word!" exclaimed Daddy Martin. "We'll take you to the house and you can talk afterward -- after you've had something to eat and when you get warm. You'll be all right! Don't worry!"

Picking the boy up in his arms Mr. Martin carried him through the snow to the warm house. There the Curlytops and others gathered about him.

"He isn't Hal," whispered Janet after a look.

"No," answered her brother. "That isn't Hal."

"But he's lame," went on Janet, as she saw the boy limping across the room to a chair near the fire which Mrs. Martin made comfortable for him with blankets. "He's lame a whole lot!"

The Curlytops were anxious to hear the boy's story, but Daddy Martin would not let him talk until he had eaten some food and taken some warm milk.

"Now we'll listen to you," said Uncle Frank. "How did you come to go into the bungalow?"

"I went in there to get out of the storm," answered the boy. "My name is Arthur Wharton, and I used to be in the same Crippled Children's Home with Hal Chester. That's how I knew your name and where you lived. Hal told me. And when I was taken out of the Home I came to Cresco to find you, for I thought maybe you would help me," and he looked at Daddy Martin.

"Who took you away from the Home?" asked the Curlytops' father.

"A man who had charge of me after my father and mother died. They put me in the Home to get cured, but when they died this man, who had charge of what money my father left, said there was not enough to keep me there with the other boys and girls.

"So he took me out and made me go to work. Only I couldn't do much on account of my lame foot. So I ran away from that man. I had a little money saved up, and I came here. I heard Hal say how kind the Curlytops were and I wanted to see if their father could help me."

"Did you once come to my store?" asked Mr. Martin.

"Yes, I did," answered the lame boy. Mr. Martin did not speak of the lost pocketbook and money.

"Why didn't you wait to see me?" asked Ted's father.

"Because, after I was sitting in your store waiting for you, I got to thinking and I got scared for fear you'd send me back to that bad man who used me so hard. So I went out when the clerk wasn't looking. I got another place to work, and made enough to live on, but it was not as nice as when my father and mother were alive."

"And did you afterward come to this house and ring the bell?" asked Mrs. Martin.

"Yes, I was going to ask you to help me. But, at the last minute, I got afraid again and ran away. After that I didn't know what to do. I got a little work, but it wasn't much, and three or four days ago I was discharged because I was too slow on account of my lame foot. I worked in a store over at Butler." This was a place about five miles from Cresco.

"I thought maybe I could get work in your store," went on Arthur to Mr. Martin, "so I started to walk here again from Butler. I wasn't going to run away from you this time. But the storm came up, I lost my way and in the dark I crawled into the snow-covered house back of yours. First I thought it was a part of the stable. I found some things to eat in it."

"We left them from our play party," said Teddy.

"I'm glad you did," went on the lame boy with a smile, "for that is all I had. Then my foot got worse when it began to storm. Then I saw I was snowed in and I knew I'd have to stay. But I got hungry and I had only a crust of bread left, for I ate all the rest of your things, and I had to let snow melt in my hand and drink the water. Then the goat came in. I knew he was your goat, 'cause Hal had told me about Nicknack. The goat stayed with me all last night, and I snuggled up to him and kept warm. Then I thought maybe I could send him for help. I'd read of men in the mountains doing that with the dogs.

"I had a pencil, a paper and some string in my pocket. So I wrote a note and tied it on the goat's neck. Then I tore loose a board in the side of the little house and the goat began to burrow out through the snow. The hole he came in by was snowed shut. Then I guess I must have gone to sleep for that's all I remember until I heard you calling to me just now."

"Well, you have had a hard time," said Mr. Martin, "but now we will take care of you. Don't worry any more."

And Arthur did not. After a good meal to make him forget his hunger, he was put in a warm bed, and the next day he was much better. The storm was over now, and people were beginning to dig themselves out after having been snowed in for so long a time.

One of Mr. Martin's clerks came up from the store to say that everything was all right down there, and he brought other good news.

"That pocketbook we thought the lame boy took," he said, "has been found."

"Where?" asked Mr. Martin, eagerly.

"It had fallen under a box and I saw it there when I cleaned the store and moved the box," was the answer.

"Oh, I'm so glad!" cried Teddy, when he heard the news.

"So'm I!" added Janet

They did not tell Arthur that, at one time, it was thought he might have taken the money. They did not want to make him feel bad. For he was happy now, with the Curlytops.

"Can he always live with us?" asked Janet.

"I like him," added Ted.

"I'm glad you do," said their father. "But I think it will be best to send him back to the Home for a while, as a doctor told me he could be cured of his lameness if he stayed about a year. So we'll send Arthur back and in the summer we can go to see him when we visit at Cherry Farm."

Arthur said he would be glad to go back to the Home, for he had many friends there and liked it, though he liked the Curlytops, too. The man who was his guardian tried to make trouble and keep the boy from going back to be cured, but Mr. Martin and Uncle Frank soon had matters straightened out, and another guardian was put in charge of Arthur.

When the big storm was over the Curlytops had more fun on their skates and sleds. Then they got ready for Christmas. Arthur stayed with them until after the holidays. Then, much better than when he ran away and went wandering about in the cold, he was sent back to the Home, where, a year later, he was cured so he did not limp any more.

"And if it hadn't been that Nicknack found him in the bungalow and brought the note to us through the snow, we might not have known until too late that Arthur was there," said Mother Martin.

"Nicknack is a good goat!" exclaimed Teddy. "We'll always take him with us."

"Are you going to bring him out to the ranch when you come to see me?" asked Uncle Frank.

"Are we going out to your ranch?" asked Janet.

"Yes. I have spoken to your father about it, and he says you may come. But not until winter is over. It is no fun out there when it is cold."

What the children did when they went out to Montana you may learn by reading the next book of this series to be called: "The Curly tops at Uncle Frank's Ranch; or, Little Folks on Ponyback."

"Well, we had lots of fun being snowed in, didn't we?" asked Janet of her brother, after New Year's Day, when Arthur had said good-bye and gone back to the Home.

"Oh, we had an awful good time!" cried Teddy. "The best ever!"

Then Teddy and Janet went skating and had fun, with plenty more in prospect when they should go out West to Uncle Frank's ranch.

<eob>

A Primary Reader: Old-Time Stories, Fairy Tales And Myths Retold By Children

By

E. Louise Smythe



The Ugly Duckling.


A duck made her nest under some leaves.

She sat on the eggs to keep them warm.

At last the eggs broke, one after the other. Little ducks came out.

Only one egg was left. It was a very large one.

At last it broke, and out came a big, ugly duckling.

"What a big duckling!" said the old duck. "He does not look like us. Can he be a turkey? -- We will see. If he does not like the water, he is not a duck."

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

The next day the mother duck took her ducklings to the pond.

Splash! Splash! The mother duck was in the water. Then she called the ducklings to come in. They all jumped in and began to swim. The big, ugly duckling swam, too.

The mother duck said, "He is not a turkey. He is my own little duck. He will not be so ugly when he is bigger."

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

Then she said to the ducklings, "Come with me. I want you to see the other ducks. Stay by me and look out for the cat."

They all went into the duck yard. What a noise the ducks made!

While the mother duck was eating a big bug, an old duck bit the ugly duckling.

"Let him alone," said the mother duck. "He did not hurt you."

"I know that," said the duck, "but he is so ugly, I bit him."

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

The next duck they met, said, "You have lovely ducklings. They are all pretty but one. He is very ugly."

The mother duck said, "I know he is not pretty. But he is very good."

Then she said to the ducklings, "Now, my dears, have a good time."

But the poor, big, ugly duckling did not have a good time.

The hens all bit him. The big ducks walked on him.

The poor duckling was very sad. He did not want to be so ugly. But he could not help it.

He ran to hide under some bushes. The little birds in the bushes were afraid and flew away.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

"It is all because I am so ugly," said the duckling. So he ran away.

At night he came to an old house. The house looked as if it would fall down. It was so old. But the wind blew so hard that the duckling went into the house.

An old woman lived there with her cat and her hen.

The old woman said, "I will keep the duck. I will have some eggs."

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

The next day, the cat saw the duckling and began to growl.

The hen said, "Can you lay eggs?" The duckling said, "No."

"Then keep still," said the hen. The cat said, "Can you growl?"

"No," said the duckling.

"Then keep still," said the cat.

And the duckling hid in a corner. The next day he went for a walk. He saw a big pond. He said, "I will have a good swim."

But all of the animals made fun of him. He was so ugly.

*    *    *    *    *

The summer went by.

Then the leaves fell and it was very cold. The poor duckling had a hard time.

It is too sad to tell what he did all winter.

At last it was spring.

The birds sang. The ugly duckling was big now.

One day he flew far away.

Soon he saw three white swans on the lake.

He said, "I am going to see those birds. I am afraid they will kill me, for I am so ugly."

He put his head down to the water. What did he see? He saw himself in the water. But he was not an ugly duck. He was a white swan.

The other swans came to see him.

The children said, "Oh, see the lovely swans. The one that came last is the best."

And they gave him bread and cake.

It was a happy time for the ugly duckling.



The Little Pine Tree


A little pine tree was in the woods.

It had no leaves. It had needles.

The little tree said, "I do not like needles. All the other trees in the woods have pretty leaves. I want leaves, too. But I will have better leaves. I want gold leaves."

Night came and the little tree went to sleep. A fairy came by and gave it gold leaves.

woke     cried      glass little    again      pretty

When the little tree woke it had leaves of gold.

It said, "Oh, I am so pretty! No other tree has gold leaves."

Night came.

A man came by with a bag. He saw the gold leaves. He took them all and put them into his bag.

The poor little tree cried, "I do not want gold leaves again. I will have glass leaves."

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

So the little tree went to sleep. The fairy came by and put the glass leaves on it.

The little tree woke and saw its glass leaves.

How pretty they looked in the sunshine! 'No other tree was so bright.

Then a wind came up. It blew and blew.

The glass leaves all fell from the tree and were broken.

*    *    *    *    *

Again the little tree had no leaves. It was very sad, and said, "I will not have gold leaves and I will not have glass leaves. I want green leaves. I want to be like the other trees."

And the little tree went to sleep. When it woke, it was like other trees. It had green leaves.

A goat came by. He saw the green leaves on the little tree. The goat was hungry and he ate all the leaves.

happy     best

Then the little tree said, "I do not want any leaves. I will not have green leaves, nor glass leaves, nor gold leaves. I like my needles best."

And the little tree went to sleep. The fairy gave it what it wanted.

When it woke, it had its needles again. Then the little pine tree was happy.



The Little Match Girl.


It was very cold. The snow fell and it was almost dark.

It was the last day of the year.

A little match girl was running in the street. Her name was Gretchen. She had no hat on.

Her feet were bare. When she left home, she had on some big slippers of her mama's. But they were so large that she lost them when she ran across the street.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

Gretchen had a lot of matches in her old apron.

She had a little bunch in her hand.

But she could not sell her matches. No one would buy them.

Poor little Gretchen!

She was cold and hungry.

The snow fell on her curly hair. But she did not think about that.

She saw lights in the houses.

She smelled good things cooking.

She said to herself, "This is the last night of the year."

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

Gretchen got colder and colder.

She was afraid to go home. She knew her papa would whip her, if she did not take some money to him.

It was as cold at home as in the street. They were too poor to have a fire. They had to put rags in the windows to keep out the wind.

Gretchen did not even have a bed. She had to sleep on a pile of rags.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

She sat down on a door step.

Her little hands were almost frozen.

She took a match and lighted it to warm her hands. The match looked like a little candle.

Gretchen thought she was sitting by a big stove. It was so bright.

She put the match near her feet, to warm them. Then the light went out. She did not think that she was by the stove any more.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

Gretchen lighted another match.

Now she thought she could look into a room. In this room was a table.

A white cloth and pretty dishes were on the table. There was a roast turkey, too. It was cooked and ready to eat. The knife and fork were in his back. The turkey jumped from the dish and ran to the little girl.

The light went out and she was in the cold and dark again.

Christmas   candles many     until

Gretchen lighted another match. Then she thought she was sitting by a Christmas tree. Very many candles were on the tree. It was full of pretty things.

Gretchen put up her little hands. The light went out.

The lights on the Christmas tree went up, up -- until she saw they were the stars.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

Then she saw a star fall.

"Some one is dying," said little Gretchen.

Her grandma had been very good to the little girl. But she was dead.

The grandma had said, "When a star falls some one is going to God."

The little girl lighted another match. It made a big light.

Gretchen thought she saw her grandma. She never looked so pretty before. She looked so sweet and happy.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

"O grandma," said the little girl, "take me. When the light goes out you will go away. The stove and the turkey and the Christmas tree all went away."

Then Gretchen lighted a bunch of matches. She wanted to keep her grandma with her. The matches made it very light.

The grandma took the little girl in her arms. They went up, up -- where they would never be cold or hungry.

They were with God.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

The next day came.

Some men found a little girl in the street. She was dead.

In her hand were the burned matches.

They said, "Poor little thing, she froze to death."

They did not know how happy she was in heaven.



Little Red Riding-Hood.


When May was six years old, her grandma made her a red coat with a hood. She looked so pretty in it that the children all called her "Red Riding-Hood."

One day her mama said, "I want you to take this cake and some butter to grandma."

Red Riding-Hood was very glad to go. She always had a good time at grandma's.

She put the things into her little basket and ran off.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

When Red Riding-Hood came to the wood, she met a big wolf.

"Where are you going?" said the wolf.

Red Riding-Hood said, "I am going to see my grandma. Mama has made her a cake and some butter."

"Does she live far?" said the wolf.

"Yes," said Red Riding-Hood, "in the white house by the mill."

"I will go too, and we shall see who will get there first," said the wolf.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

The wolf ran off and took a short way, but Red Riding-Hood stopped to pick some flowers.

When the wolf got to the house, he tapped on the door.

The grandma said, "Who is there?" The wolf made his voice as soft as he could. He said, "It is little Red Riding-Hood, grandma."

Then the old lady said, "Pull the string and the door will open."

The wolf pulled the string and the door opened.

He ran in and ate the poor old lady.

Then he jumped into her bed and put on her cap.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

When Red Riding-Hood tapped on the door, the wolf called out, "Who is there?" Red Riding-Hood said, "It is your little Red Riding-Hood, grandma."

Then the wolf said, "Pull the string and the door will open."

When she went in, she said, "Look, grandma, see the cake and butter mama has sent you."

"Thank you, dear, put them on the table and come here."

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

When Red Riding-Hood went near the bed, she said, "Oh, grandma, how big your arms are!"

"The better to hug you, my dear."

"How big your ears are, grandma."

"The better to hear you, my dear."

"How big your eyes are, grandma."

"The better to see you, my dear."

"How big your teeth are, grandma!"

"The better to eat you."

Then the cruel wolf jumped up and ate poor little Red Riding-Hood.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

Just then a hunter came by. He heard Red Riding-Hood scream. The hunter ran into the house and killed the old wolf.

When he cut the wolf open, out jumped Little Red Riding-Hood and her grandma.



The Apples Of Idun.


Once upon a time three of the gods went on a journey.

One was Thor and one was Loki. Loki was ugly and mean.

The gods liked to walk over the hills and rocks. They could go very fast for they were so big.

The gods walked on and on.

At last they got very hungry. Then they came to a field with cattle.

Thor killed a big ox and put the pieces into a pot.

*    *    *    *    *

They made a big fire but the meat would not cook. They made the fire bigger and bigger, but the meat would not cook.

Then the gods were very cross.

Some one said, "Give me my share, and I will make the meat cook."

The gods looked to see who was talking. There in an oak tree was a big eagle.

The gods were so hungry that they said, "Well, we will."

*    *    *    *    *

The supper was ready in a minute.

Then the eagle flew down to get his share. He took the four legs and there was not much left but the ribs.

This made Loki cross for he was very hungry. He took a long pole to hit the eagle. But the pole stuck to the eagle's claws. The other end stuck to Loki.

Then the eagle flew away. He did not fly high. He flew just high enough for Loki to hit against the stones.

*    *    *    *    *

Loki said, "Please let me go! Oh, please let me go!"

But the eagle said, "No, you tried to kill me. I will not let you go."

And the eagle hit him against the stones.

Loki said again, "Please let me go!"

But the eagle said, "No, I have you now."

Then Loki knew the eagle was a giant and not a bird.

This giant had a suit of eagle's feathers. He was flying in his eagle suit when he saw Loki.

*    *    *    *    *

Now the gods lived in a city named Asgard.

In this city Idun kept the beautiful golden apples. When the gods felt they were growing old, they ate the apples and were young again.

The giant wanted to be like the gods. So he said to Loki, "I will let you go, if you will get me the apples of Idun."

But Loki said, "I can't do that."

*    *    *    *    *

So the eagle bumped him on the stones again.

Then Loki said, "I can't stand this. I will get the apples for you."

Loki and the eagle went to the city. The eagle stayed by the gate, but Loki went into the city. He went up to Idun. She was putting the apples into a beautiful golden box.

Loki said, "Good morning, Idun Those are beautiful apples."

And Idun said, "Yes, they are beautiful." "I saw some just like them, the other day," said Loki.

strange    show bring     picked

Idun knew there were no other apples like these, and she said, "That is strange. I would like to see them."

Loki said, "Come with me and I will show them to you. It is only a little way. Bring your apples with you."

As soon as Idun was out of the gates the eagle flew down. He picked her up in his claws. Then he flew away with her to his home.

*    *    *    *    *

Day after day passed and Idun did not come back. The gods did not have the golden apples to eat, so they began to get old.

At last they said, "Who let the apples go?"

Then Loki looked pale and the gods said, "Loki, you did it." And Loki said, "Yes, I did."

He did not tell a story that time.

Then Loki said, "I will get Idun and the apples back, if I may have the falcon suit."

*    *    *    *    *

The gods said, "You may have it, if you will bring the apples back."

Loki put on the falcon suit and flew away. He looked like a big bird flying.

When Loki came to the giant's home, he was glad the giant was not there. He changed Idun into a nut and then flew away with the nut.

When the giant came home, Idun was gone. The golden apples were gone, too.

Then the giant put on his eagle suit and flew after Loki.

Loki heard the eagle coming. Loki flew faster.

*    *    *    *    *

Poor Loki was all out of breath. The eagle flew faster and faster.

Then the gods got on the walls to look for Loki. They saw him coming and the eagle after him.

So they made fires on the walls. At last Loki flew over the walls.

Then the gods lighted the fires. The fires blazed up.

The eagle flew into the fire and was burned.

As soon as Loki put the nut down, it changed to Idun.

The gods ate the beautiful golden apples and were young again.



How Thor Got The Hammer.


Sif was Thor's wife.

Sif had long golden hair. Thor was very proud of Sif's golden hair.

Thor was always going on long journeys. One day he went off and left Sif alone. She went out on the porch and fell asleep.

Loki came along. He was always playing tricks.

He saw Sif lying asleep. He said, "I am going to cut off her hair."

So Loki went up on the porch and cut off Sif's golden hair.

*    *    *    *    *

When Sif woke up and saw that her hair was gone, she cried and cried. Then she ran to hide. She did not want Thor to see her.

When Thor came home, he could not find Sif.

"Sif! Sif!" he called, "Where are you?"

But Sif did not answer.

Thor looked all around the house. At last he found her crying.

"Oh, Thor, look, all my hair is gone! Somebody has cut it off. It was a man. He ran away with it."

*    *    *    *    *

Then Thor was very angry. He said, "I know it was Loki. He is always getting into mischief. Just wait until I get him!"

And Thor went out to find Loki. Pretty soon he found him.

Thor said, "Did you cut off Sif's hair?" Loki said, "Yes, I did."

"Then you must pay for cutting off my wife's hair," said Thor.

"All right," said Loki, "I will get you something better than the hair."

*    *    *    *    *

Loki went down, down into the ground to the home of the dwarfs. It was very dark down there. The only light came from the dwarfs' fires.

The dwarfs were ugly little black men. They were not any bigger than your thumb. They had crooked backs and crooked legs. Their eyes looked like black beads.

Loki said, "Can you make me a gold crown that will grow like real hair?"

The dwarfs said, "Yes, we can." So the busy little dwarfs worked all night.

*    *    *    *    *

When morning came the dwarfs gave Loki his crown of golden hair. They gave him a spear and a ship, too.

Loki took the things up to Asgard, where the gods all lived.

Then the gods all came up to him. He showed them the things.

The gods said, "They are very wonderful."

And Loki said, "Oh, nobody else can make such things as my little dwarfs."

A little dwarf, named Brok, was standing near by. He heard Loki say that. Then he stepped up and said, "My brother can make just as good things as these."

Loki laughed and said, "If you can get three things as wonderful as these, I will give you my head."

*    *    *    *    *

Brok went down into the ground where his little dwarfs were working.

Brok's brother was named Sindre. He said to his brother, "Loki says that you can't make such nice things as his dwarfs can. He said that he would give me his head if I could get him such wonderful things as his."

This made the dwarfs angry. Their eyes grew big. They said, "He will see what we can do."

Sindre wanted to know what the wonderful things were.

Brok said, "Loki has a golden crown that will grow like real hair. A ship that can go anywhere. A spear that never misses the mark."

"We will show him," said the dwarfs.

*    *    *    *    *    *

The dwarfs soon had the fires burning. Then Sindre put a pigskin into the fire.

He gave the bellows to Brok and said, "Now blow as hard as you can."

Then Sindre went out. Brok blew and blew.

A little fly came in and bit him on the hand.

The fly bit him so hard that Brok thought he would have to stop blowing, but he did not.

Then Sindre came back. He took out a golden pig from the fire.

*    *    *    *    *

He next put a lump of gold into the fire.

He said to Brok, "Blow and blow and blow, and do not stop."

Then Sindre went out again.

So Brok blew as hard as he could.

Then the same fly came in and bit him again.

Brok thought that he could not stand it, but he kept on.

When Sindre came back, he took a gold ring from the fire.

*    *    *    *    *

Then Sindre put a lump of iron into the fire.

He said to Brok, "Now blow as hard as you can."

And Sindre went out. Brok blew and blew. The same mean fly came again, and bit him on the forehead. It bit so hard that the blood ran into his eyes.

Brok put up his hand to brush away the fly.

Just then Sindre came back.

He took the hammer out of the fire.

"There!" he said, "You have almost spoiled it. The handle is too short, but it cannot be helped now."

*    *    *    *    *

Brok hurried up to Asgard with his things.

All the gods came around to see. Then Loki came up to show his things.

He put the crown of gold on Sif's head and it began to grow like real hair.

He gave the spear to Odin and said, "This spear will never miss its mark."

Then he took out the ship. He said, "This is a wonderful ship. It will sail on any sea, and yet you can fold it up and put it into your pocket."

Loki felt very proud, for he thought his things were the best.

*    *    *    *    *

All the gods felt very sorry for little Brok. They thought Loki's things were fine. They were afraid Brok's would not be so nice.

They said, "Now, Brok, show your things."

Brok took out the gold ring. He said, "Each night this ring will throw off a ring just like it. He gave the ring to Odin."

Then Brok took out the golden pig. He said, "This pig can go anywhere, on the ground or in the air. It can go faster than any horse. If the night is dark, the shining pig will make it light."

*    *    *    *    *

Then Brok showed the hammer. He said, "This is not a very pretty hammer. When I was making it, Loki turned himself into a fly and made me spoil it. The fly bit me so hard that I had to stop blowing. So the handle is a little short. But it is a wonderful hammer. If you throw it at anything, it will hit the mark and come back to you."

The gods picked up the hammer and passed it around.

They said, "It will be just the things with which to keep the Frost Giants out of Asgard."

*    *    *    *    *

The gods said, "Brok's things are the best."

Brok gave the hammer to Thor. That is the way Thor got his wonderful hammer.

Then Brok said to Loki, "You said I could have your head if my things were the best."

And Loki was angry and said, "Yes, I told you that you could have my head. But you can't touch my neck."

Of course, Brok could not get his head without touching his neck.

So Brok did not get Loki's head.



The Hammer Lost And Found.


The Frost Giants did not like the sunshine. They did not like to see the flowers. They did not like to hear the birds sing. They wanted to spoil everything.

The Frost Giants wanted to get into Asgard. But they did not know how. They were afraid of Thor and his hammer. They said, "If we can only get the hammer, we can get into Asgard."

They talked and planned all night. At last one Frost Giant said, "I know how we can get the hammer. I will dress in a bird suit. Then I will fly up to Thor's house and get the hammer."

*    *    *    *    *

The next night the Frost Giant flew into the house while Thor was asleep.

He took the hammer and flew away with it.

When Thor woke, he put out his hand to get the hammer. It was gone.

He said, "Loki, the hammer is gone. The Frost Giants have taken it. We must get it back."

Loki said, "I can get it back, if Freyja will let me have her falcon suit."

So he went to Freyja and said, "Will you let me have your falcon suit? I can get the hammer back if you will." Freyja said, "Yes, of course I will. If I had a gold suit you could have it. Any thing to get the hammer back."

*    *    *    *    *

Loki took the falcon suit and put it on. He flew over the city. All the people saw him flying. They said, "What a strange bird!" They did not know that it was Loki going for the hammer.

When Loki came to the city of the Frost Giants, he took off the falcon suit. He walked and walked until he came to Thrym's house. Thrym was the giant who took the hammer.

Thrym was sitting on the porch, making gold collars for his dogs.

When he saw Loki, he said, "What do you want?"

Loki said, "I have come for the hammer."

The old giant laughed and said, "You will never get that hammer. It is buried eight miles deep in the ground.

"But there is one way you can get it. I will give you the hammer if you get Freyja for my wife."

*    *    *    *    *

So Loki went back to Asgard.

Thor said, "Well, did you get the hammer?"

"No, but we can get it if Freyja will be Thrym's wife."

Then they went to Freyja's house. They said, "Put on your very best clothes and come with us. You must be Thrym's wife."

Freyja said, "Do you think I will be the Frost Giant's wife? I won't be his wife."

Thor said, "We can get the hammer back if you will."

But Freyja said, "No, I will not be his wife."

Loki said, "You will have to, if we get the hammer back."

Still Freyja said, "I will not go." And she was very angry. She shook so hard that she broke her necklace and it fell to the floor.

*    *    *    *    *

Then the gods said, "Thor, you must dress like Freyja. You will have to play you are the bride."

Thor said, "I won't do it. You will all laugh at me. I won't dress up like a girl."

They said, "Well, that is the only way we can get the hammer back."

Thor said, "I do not like to dress like a girl, but I will do it." Then they dressed Thor up like Freyja.

They put on Freyja's dress, necklace and vail, and braided his hair.

Loki said, "I will dress up too, and be your servant."

They got into Thor's goat wagon and went to the Giants' home.

*    *    *    *    *

When the Frost Giants saw them coming, they said, "Get ready, here comes the bride! We will sit down to the table as soon as they come."

The dinner was ready on time. The table was full of good things. All sat down.

The bride ate a whole ox and eight salmon before the others had a bite.

"She must be very hungry," the Frost Giants said.

"Yes," Loki said, "she was so glad to come. She hasn't eaten anything for eight days."

Then they brought in the mead.

The bride drank three barrels of mead.

"How thirsty she is!" said the Frost Giants.

Loki said, "Yes, she is very thirsty. She was so glad to come. She did not drink anything for eight days."

*    *    *    *    *

Old Thrym said, "I had every thing I wanted but Freyja. Now I have Freyja."

And Thrym went to kiss the bride. He lifted her vail, but her eyes shone like fire.

Thrym stepped back. He said, "What makes Freyja's eyes shine so?"

Loki said, "Oh, she was so glad to come. She did not sleep for eight nights."

Then Loki said, "It is time for the hammer. Go and get it and put it in the bride's lap."

As soon as the hammer was in his lap, Thor tore off the vail.

He took the hammer and whirled it around. Fire flew from it. The fire burned the house and the Frost Giants ran away.

So Thor got his hammer back.



The following stories by Miss Smythe were originally published under the title of "The Golden Fleece." They have been carefully revised and illustrated for this book.



The Story Of The Sheep.


Long, long ago there lived a king in Greece. He had two little children, a boy and a girl.

They were good children and loved each other very much.

One day they were playing in the garden.

"Oh, Helle, look!" said the boy.

There on the grass was a fine large sheep. This sheep had a fleece of gold and his horns were gold, too.

The children wanted to pat the sheep, but they could not catch him. When they went near, he ran away on the clouds.

*    *    *    *    *

Every day they played in the garden and every day the sheep came, too.

By and by he grew tame and let the children pat his golden fleece.

One day the boy said, "Helle, let us take a ride."

First he helped his sister on the sheep's back.

Then he got on and held to the horns.

"Hold tight to me, Helle," he said.

*    *    *    *    *

The sheep went up, up into the sky, and ran a long way on the clouds. But Helle got dizzy and fell down into the sea.

The boy felt very bad to lose his sister, but went right on.

Then he came to the land Colchis. He killed the sheep and gave the golden fleece to the king.

The king was glad to have it and nailed it to an oak tree.

By the tree was a dragon. The dragon never went to sleep. He would not let any one but the king come to the tree.

So no one could get the golden fleece.



The Good Ship Argo.


Jason was a brave young man. He lived a little way from the king's city.

One day the king gave a big party and invited Jason.

It was a very dark night and it rained hard.

Jason had to go across a creek, but there was no bridge.

The creek was full of water and Jason had to wade.

One of his shoe-strings came untied and he lost his shoe in the water.

When he came to the king's house, he had but one shoe.

*    *    *    *    *

The king did not like this, for a fairy had said, "The man who shall come to your house with one shoe, will be king."

So he knew Jason was to be king.

Then he said to Jason, "You may be king when you bring me the golden fleece."

Jason was glad to go, and asked many brave men to go with him.

To get the golden fleece they would have to fight wild men and animals.

They made a big ship which they named "Argo."

The men who went on the Argo were called Argonauts.



Jason And The Harpies.


The ship Argo sailed a long way. There were two strong men on the ship. They had wings and could fly.

One day the Argo came to a land where the blind king lived.

This poor king had a hard time. When he sat down to the table to eat, some ugly birds called Harpies, came too. The Harpies had skin like brass and nobody could hurt them. They had claws of iron, and scratched people when they tried to drive them away.

When the king's dinner was ready, the Harpies came and took it away. When Jason and his men came, the king told them all about it. Jason said they would help him.

*    *    *    *    *

They all sat down to the table. When the food was put on the table, the Harpies came flying in. Jason and his men took their swords.

They cut at the Harpies but could not hurt them.

Then the two men with wings flew up in the air. The Harpies were afraid and flew away. The men flew after them.

At last the Harpies grew very tired and fell into the sea and were drowned.

Then the men with wings came back.

Now the blind king could eat all he wanted.

*    *    *    *    *

It was now time for Jason and his friends to go away.

The king thanked them over and over again for helping him.

When they said good-bye, he told them how to get to the land where they would find the golden fleece.

On the sea where Jason and his men had to sail, were two big rocks. These rocks moved on the waterlike icebergs.

They were as high as a big hill. They would come close to each other, then they would go far apart.

*    *    *    *    *

When fishes swam in the water the rocks would come together and kill the fishes.

If birds flew in the air, the rocks would come together and kill birds.

If a boat sailed on the water, the rocks would come together and break the boat into little pieces.

These rocks had been put in the sea, so no one could go to the land where the golden fleece was.

When the ship Argo came to the rocks, Jason sent a dove out.

The rocks came together when the dove was almost past.

Then they went far apart. Jason made his men row as hard as they could.

The rocks began to come together. "Row hard, my men," said Jason.

Just as they got past, the rocks hit, but Jason and his men were all right.

So they came to Colchis.



The Brass Bulls.


When Jason came to Colchis, he went to the king and said, "Will you give me the golden fleece?"

The king wanted to keep the fleece.

So he said to Jason, "You may have it, but you must do something for me first."

"You must plow with the brass bulls, and plant the dragon's teeth."

The brass bulls looked like real bulls, but they were larger and stronger.

They blew out fire and smoke from their noses and mouths.

The bulls had a stall made of iron and stone. They had to be tied with strong iron chains.

*    *    *    *    *

When the dragon's teeth were planted, iron men grew up.

They always killed the one who had planted them.

The king wanted the bulls to kill Jason.

He said, "If the bulls do not kill him the iron men will."

The king had a daughter named Medea. She saw Jason was a brave young man and did not want him killed.

She knew how to help him. She stepped into her carriage, which was pulled by flying snakes.

Then Medea flew through the air. She went to hills and creeks and picked all kinds of flowers.

She took the flowers home and cooked them.

*    *    *    *    *

Then Medea went to Jason when the king did not know it.

She said to Jason, "Rub your face and hands and legs with this juice."

When he did this, he was as strong as a giant.

Nothing could hurt him then. Fire could not burn him, and swords could not cut him.

The next day Jason had to plow with the brass bulls and plant the dragon's teeth.

*    *    *    *    *

Early in the morning, the king and princess went out to the place.

They had good seats where they could see well.

All the people in the city came out to see Jason plow.

The little boys climbed the trees so they could see better.

Then Jason came to the place. The stall where the brass bulls were tied was not far off.

The door was opened and Jason went in.

He untied the bulls and took hold of their horns.

Then he made the bulls come out of their stall.

*    *    *    *    *

The bulls were very angry and blew fire and smoke from their mouths.

This made the cruel king glad. But the people who saw it were afraid. They did not want Jason killed. They did not know that the princess had helped him.

Jason pushed the bulls' heads down to the ground. Then they kicked at him with their feet, but could not hurt him.

He held their heads down on the ground until the plow was ready.

*    *    *    *    *

Jason took the chains in one hand. He took the handle of the plow in the other.

The bulls jumped and wanted to run away.

But Jason held so hard they had to go very slowly.

When it was noon the ground was all plowed.

Then Jason let the bulls go.

They were so angry that they ran away to the woods.

Now Jason went to the king and said, "Give me the dragon's teeth."

The king gave him his hat full.

Then Jason planted the dragon's teeth, just as a man plants wheat.

By this time he was very tired, so he went to lie down.

In the evening he came back.

The iron men were growing up. Some of the men had only their feet in the ground.

Some of them were in the ground up to their knees.

Some had only their heads out. They all tried to get out so they could kill Jason.

Then Jason did what Medea told him he should do.

He took a giant's marble and threw it near the men.

All the iron men wanted to get the marble.

So they began to fight each other. As soon as one had his feet out of the ground, he cut at the man next to him. So they killed each other.

Then Jason took his sword and cut off all the heads that were out of the ground.

So all the iron men were killed and the king was very angry.

But Medea and the people were glad.



Jason And The Dragon.


The next day Jason went to the king and said, "Now, give me the golden fleece."

The king did not give it to him, but said, "Come again."

Then Medea said, "If you want the golden fleece, you must help yourself. My father will not give it to you. A dragon is by the tree where the golden fleece is, and he never sleeps. He is always hungry and eats people if they go near him. I can not kill him but I can make him sleep. He is very fond of cake. I will make some cake and put in something to make the dragon sleep."

*    *    *    *    *

So Medea made the cakes and Jason took them and threw them to the dragon.

The dragon ate them all and went to sleep.

Then Jason climbed over the dragon and took the nail out of the tree.

He put the golden fleece under his coat and ran to the ship Argo.

Medea went with him and became his wife.

Oh, how angry the king was! He had lost the golden fleece and the brass bulls and the dragon's teeth. And now his daughter was gone.

*    *    *    *    *

He sent his men in ships to take Jason, but they could not get him.

At last Medea and Jason and the other Argonauts came to Greece.

Jason's father was there. He was a very old man. Jason wanted his father to be king, so he asked Medea to make the old man young.

Then Medea took her carriage and flew through the air.

She did not come back for nine days. She picked flowers from the hills. She found all kinds of stones, too.

*    *    *    *    *

When she went home she put all these things into a pot and cooked them.

Then she put a stick into the pot and leaves grew on it.

Some of the juice fell on the ground and grass grew up.

So Medea knew the juice would make things grow.

Jason's father went to sleep and Medea put some of the juice into his mouth.

His white hair turned black and teeth grew in his mouth.

When he woke up, he looked and felt like a young man.

He lived many years and when he died Jason was king.

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